Champion of the Winter

by La_Monserga

Summary:

A Gameresque Fic based on ASOIAF/GOT and related fandoms. It will contain a few elements of Assassins Creed (Not a crossover fic). Cross-posted in FFN. AU. Worldbuilding

Jon Snow gains some help from an unexpected source to help him find his origin and purpose in life. Some characters may appear OOC. Contains elements from the novels and the show.

Notes:

A.N. – I love to read Gamer Fics. But any stories that I have come across this site for HP or GoT of the same genre are incomplete or the authors have abandoned them. So I thought to try my hand on writing a story myself. Constructive criticisms are welcome. There may be some influences from the numerous stories that I’ve read on this and other sites. If you spot them, kindly inform me so that I can acknowledge them. I’ll try to update as soon as I am able and hope that this one too doesn’t become one of the unfinished stories.

Disclaimer – Story and character rights are reserved to the original author/show creators. I am just playing with the world they created with their own characters. I may introduce my own characters for the sake of the progress of the story, other than those, none of the theme or characters are mine.

Chapter 1: The Wolf Awakens

Champion of the Winter

 

The wolf awakens

 

In his short life, Jon never had been this much distressed. He indeed lived in the cold, unforgiving North, but life had been great for him. Father who cares for him, siblings who love him (well, there is Sansa, but what can you do). He knew that he was different from his brothers and sisters. Lady Stark had been very clear in that aspect. Jon still remembered that one time when Father – Lord Stark wasn’t present at Winterfell, and he got scared on a particularly stormy night. He woke up from his sleep by the sounds of thunderclaps. He ran from his room and without realizing anything, he reached the Lord’s room and banged on the door. An irate Lady Stark opened the door only to have the winds knocked out of her by a whimpering Jon Snow clashing to her middle, muttering mournfully “Mama, I don’t like these sounds!”

Lady Catelyn wrenched herself free from his grasp and grabbed the back of his neck and dragged him to his room. She threw him on his bed and turned on her heels to leave. Before slamming the door shut, she told him in a voice as hard as cold steel, “Learn one thing very clearly, Bastard, I. Am. Not. Your. Mother!”

Four years old Jon didn’t know what it means to be a bastard. However, from then on, he started to pick up that very word from conversations all around him. Things that he previously overlooked had made it glaringly impossible for him to ignore further. Disdain from various household staff, mainly those who were part of the retinue of Lady Stark that came from Riverrun, the mocking tones of Septa Mordane, the difference in the lessons he took along with Robb from Maester Luwin, even in the practice yard where Ser Rodrick always eager to answer the questions of Robb at the expense of sometimes completely ignoring Jon’s presence. Sansa, who used to follow them everywhere, one day stopped altogether to acknowledge Jon. When he asked her the reason, she primly told him, “You are a bastard. A lady like me shouldn’t be associating with someone like you!” Normally sullen and quiet Jon had withdrawn more onto himself. Yet, he still had Robb and Arya by his side…and Bran and Baby Rickon.

His closeness with Robb came to a sudden uncertainty when Lord Stark brought Theon Greyjoy home as a ward by the end of Greyjoy rebellion. Five years older Theon was someone much more fascinating to Robb than the often quiet Jon. Theon with his fancy speech and flamboyant behaviour had soon captured Robb’s attention that he started to ignore Jon. Robb once vehemently reminded Jon that as he is a bastard, he can never be the Lord of Winterfell. Afterward, he apologized to him and thence, somewhat ignored Jon’s bastard status. Theon had taken an instant dislike of Jon soon after being introduced to him. With a sneer painted on his face, he muttered “Bastard.” Robb, who was standing nearby, heard him but didn’t say anything to discourage him. Jon had shrugged off the insult for Robb’s sake.

Jon knew there will always be a distance between him and Robb as he is the heir. But at one place he was determined to be better than Robb, and that was the practice yard. He was better than Robb at wielding a sword. Robb, who was slightly taller and bigger than him, had always preferred the use of strength. Whereas Jon was much quicker. He preferred to use speed to dispatch his opponent than Robb’s way of bashing them relentlessly. In technicality, Jon was a tad better than Robb at their age, but he used to suppress his skill and often let Robb win in their spars in fear of attracting more tirades of Lady Stark.

That morning, during their usual sparring session, Jon had Robb on the backfoot. The spectators were cheering them both on, Jon’s senses were on high alert. He could point out where each individual was standing in the yard. He even could tell that the Lord and Lady Stark were standing on the balcony overlooking the practice yard and watching them spar. That realization jolted him, he toned down his attacks on Robb, and predictably, Robb disarmed him in the following two strikes. The yard broke into applauds and the watchers cheered for Robb. When the din was dying down, Theon’s mocking voice rose above “Hah, the bastard wished himself to be Ser Arthur!”

Jon was used to the mocking of Theon, he didn’t reply. Instead, he proffered his hand to Robb, “Good bout, Stark.”

He expected a hearty laugh with a shake of hands and a slap on the back. But this time, Robb had a sneer worthy of Theon on his face and said, “You were not even a challenge, Snow.”

Whatever good feeling Jon had in his chest at that moment, completely died down. He took a look at the balcony where the Lord and Lady still stood. Lady Stark had a beaming smile on her face, whereas Lord Stark was as stoic as ever. Not even a reproachful look for his son. Jon mustered his features and put on a blank face, “Then I’ll strive to be better, milord, to provide you a challenge.”

He bowed to him and turned around to go to the armoury to put away his practice blade and armour. He didn’t see the horrified look on Robb’s face when the realization hit him for what he just said to his brother and the tone he used.

Godswood always calmed him whenever his mind was in turmoil. Jon kneeled before the Heart Tree to pray. His ardent wish was to find a place for himself. Where he can be more than a bastard, where no one will look down upon him or sneer at him for being the single most stain on his father’s otherwise pristine reputation. He knew that he couldn’t live at Winterfell for all his life, Lady Stark may tolerate him at this moment for his father’s sake, but that can’t be indefinite. He had to leave before he was thrown out. He and Robb are now ten years old. There may be some blissful childhood yet remain, but when Robb attains his majority and wed some highborn lady, his less than the precarious status of being the Bastard of Winterfell will be jeopardised even further. The Night’s Watch could be an answer for Jon, their uncle Benjen was a Ranger of the Watch. But Jon is not naïve. People like Benjen who have volunteered to serve at the Watch were rather short in counting. Whatever prestige the Watch had, it had diminished more and more, and now it is nothing but a glorified penal colony for the dregs of the entire Westeros.

Jon touched the Hearts Tree, eyes closed, he muttered earnestly, “Please, show me the way! What am I to do?” Jon didn’t expect any answer from the Gods, he knew he was nothing but a speck in their vast design of the world, so he was startled when the leaves started to blow in the non-existing wind. It sounded like a murmur at first, but it became louder with time.

“Crypt! The Crypt!”

Jon scrambled back on his haunches, mouth agape. Did it really happen? Did the Gods answer him truly?

The leaves ruffled once more, “Visit The Crypt!”

Jon got to his feet and ran out of the Godswood! He didn’t stop till he was in his room and barred the door. Heart pounding, he sat on his bed. The Gods want him to visit the Crypt? Why? What possible answer could be there for his future?

---

 

Sleep eluded Jon that night. He was tossing and turning on the bed but couldn’t shrug off the bizarre experience he had that afternoon. He was solemn and withdrawn more than usual throughout the supper. Robb thought it was due to his ill-thought taunts at the yard earlier. He tried to apologize to Jon, but he was too distracted to even notice what Robb was saying. He didn’t even hear when Lord Stark asked him something. Arya’s swift kick to the shin brought him to the real world.

“What!?” He asked disgruntled to her.

“Father asked you something, stupid.” Her cheeky reply and due admonishment of Lady Stark followed.

“I am sorry, milord, I was not paying attention.” He apologized.

“We can see that. What has you thinking so hard?” Ned asked curiously.

“Only something Maester Luwin said during our lessons, milord. I am still trying to find the right way to answer his query.”

Theon snorted from further down the table, “A true scholar you are. Trying to forge your links, are you, Maester Snow?”

“That’s enough, Theon.” Lord Stark chided, looking back at Jon, peering earnestly at him he asked, “Are you having troubles with your lessons?”

“No, Lord Stark, not troubles per se, it is just the way the Maester teaches us. He makes us think about our answers in more depth before we provide them.” Robb nodded in affirmation.

Ned kept looking at Jon’s eyes, “If you are sure…”

Jon gulped, he had a feeling that Lord Stark knew that he wasn’t being truthful, “I am, milord, I want to make you and the Maester proud.”

Lady Stark’s derisive snort could be heard. Ned nodded at Jon’s reply, “I am glad that you are taking your lessons seriously.”

Jon let out an inaudible sigh thinking that he dodged the danger for the time being. He excused himself from the table and got up to go to his room. Robb followed him quickly.

“Jon, would you wait for just a bloody moment?”

“What do you want, Robb?”

Robb appeared red in the face, he stood before Jon scuffing the stone with the toe of his boot, “I am sorry for what I said earlier, I wasn’t thinking straight…you know, blood rushing high and all…”

Jon looked genuinely bewildered, “What are you talking about, Stark?”

Robb looked up, frowning he replied, “At the yard, after our bout…when you congratulated me after my win…”

“Oh.” Jon had completely forgotten about that. Now he realized why his brother was acting weird, “OH!”

“Oh!?” Robb said incredulously, “That’s all you have to say?”

Jon sighed. “Listen, Robb, I really forgot all about that! Truly, you have nothing to be sorry about. I know I would’ve said something inappropriate in your shoes, what with all those people cheering and applauding. Forget it, brother. I didn’t mind anything.”

Robb was dumbstruck, “But you looked so…”

“What? Handsome? Aye, I am. Thank you for finally admitting it, brother.”

Robb snorted, “I wouldn’t use the word ‘handsome’, but pretty, aye, pretty as a maid. You should ask Sansa for some of her lace to tie your pretty maid hair.”

Jon puffed up in mock outrage, “You go too far, Stark. I will have my revenge, Ser. On the morrow, at the yard. I have to answer you for today also, haven’t I?”

Robb chuckled, “In your dreams, Snow.”

Jon laughed too, “Good night, brother, I better get on the quest of proper answer for Maester Luwin.”

Robb hugged him one-armed, “See you on the morrow, brother.”

Jon never felt so restless in his life. He couldn’t lie still. Something was pricking at the back of his mind. An urge that he cannot put his finger at. Around the hour of the owl, he finally admitted defeat and got up from his bed. He started to pace around his room, trying to soothe his restless mind. Suddenly, the urge that was quite dormant till now surged forward, he felt a tug at the core of his being. Something was calling out for him. The more he tried to ignore it, the more intense and painful it became. He put on his cloak and boots and quietly got out of his room.

At this hour of the night, even the servants had gone to sleep. Only the guards patrolling the boundary walls and the corridors. Jon knew how to evade the guards. Thanks to his adventures with Arya, he was quite adept at blending in the background. In the dark of the night, it became even easier. He tiptoed his way out of the keep, the tug made him make his way towards the entrance of the Crypt! He stood before the closed door and thought to go back to his room. But an invisible power made him unable to turn back. Letting out an explosive sigh, he picked up a nearby torch and gave in to the tug, with nary a sound the door opened.

---

 

Generations of Starks were laid to rest in this crypt, Kings of Winter from ages-old are buried here. Their effigies were hewn from stone situated before their tombs. Stern, long-faced individuals sat on the Winter Throne with their blades across their lap and snarling dire wolves at their feet. Jon didn’t even know any of them save a few, like his grandfather Lord Rickard Stark, his uncle Brandon Stark, and his aunt Lyanna. Many a night Jon spent right at the Crypt, laying by the feet of the effigy of Aunt Lyanna. After the Godswood, this is the only place where he can find a modicum of solace. No one knows about his ventures of the crypt during the night. Not even Arya. He felt right at home by her feet, the cold, hard, stone floor like a feather bed, the chilly wind like a warm embrace. He couldn’t describe why he feels so, he just does. He stopped in front of Lyanna’s statue and touched her cheek, drawing courage and inspiration from her. Jon asked for her blessing in his mind before venturing further down the Crypt. Onwards he went, the air became colder and heavy. He felt like he was intruding in a forbidden land. Something foreboding kept inciting the feeling that he didn’t belong there, but a voice back in his mind, which he was almost sure belonged to his Aunt Lyanna, kept urging him to go forward. Jon gulped down the uneasiness and hardened his resolve, he continued with a sure gait.

After what felt like hours walking through the cold, dark Crypt, Jon had reached a dead-end. The stone wall that stood before him depicted scenes of old. Creation of the Wall, Winterfell’s First Keep. A figure who Jon suspected to be Bran the Builder. Giants, mammoths, ice creatures, even White Walkers! It looked like Old Nan’s stories are made pictures on this wall. Jon didn’t know how long he stood before the wall looking at those pictures. It felt like they were trying to say something to him, but what it was, he couldn’t understand. The tug was still urging him on as if whatever it is he was supposed to look for or find, was right behind this wall. But how to go on? Was there supposed to be a door there?  Jon took the torch closer to the wall to inspect the pictures more thoroughly. There, right at the height of his head, a head of a dire wolf protruding outwards! The only anomaly among all the other pictures etched on the wall. He touched the wolf's head. It seemed to be loose, he pressed on harder. With a whooshing noise, the wolf head went into the wall. There was a low rumble, then a noise like stones grinding against each other began to sound. Little pieces of rocks shook loose from the ceiling, Jon raised his arms above his head for protection and darted his eyes for cover! Then suddenly, the wall started to rise upwards. Warm air blew through the cold crypt, and for the first time in his life, goosebumps appeared on Jon’s skin due to warm air, not cold air.

Beyond the wall stood a cavernous room. The sound of Jon’s footstep echoed so loud that it almost made him cover his ears. Right in the middle of the room, there was a tomb. An effigy much larger than the other tombs in the crypt sat before the tomb. The man featured on the effigy was a stern and hard-looking Northerner. A giant dire wolf stood snarling at his feet, and a great sword laid across his lap. The eyes of the statue in the torchlight seemed to have come alive. They followed Jon’s movement with each step that he took. He gulped down his nervousness and approached the tomb. 

Jon didn’t notice the alter right before the effigy. Of course, the sheer presence of the man didn’t leave any scope to notice anything else. He almost tumbled over the alter by the time he reached the feet of the statue. On it, there was a pair of leather vambrace. The dust collected around the room proved that Jon was the first person to visit the room in over a hundred years, mayhaps even over thousands of years. Yet, the leather of those vambraces looked as if they were stitched just that day. The metal pieces still retained their polish. Jon felt as if he was under a spell, his body wasn’t under his control anymore. His hands reached on their own accord and grabbed the armours, the leather felt soft under his fingers. He tugged up the sleeves of his tunic and put the bracers on. A blow of air both warm and cold swept through the room, swirling the dust around him. The bracers felt warm against his skin, effusing weird energy throughout his entire body. The flow of energy slowly started to feel painful, it brought Jon to his knees. There was a kind of ringing in his ears, he could hear the screaming of somebody, which, after a while, he realized was his own. Then as abruptly the pain began, it stopped altogether. Jon opened his eyes to rub away the tears that flowed abundantly. He didn’t realize when he dropped the torch from his hand. It puttered out on the cold, dusty floor. Yet, he had no problem seeing. A greenish light seemed to have alighted around the room. He looked around for the source of the light but couldn’t find anything. Then suddenly a translucent greenish screen appeared in front of his eyes, on it, letters in ruby red sparkled into life –

Welcome, Champion!

Jon didn’t remember what happened after that.

 

 

 

Chapter 2: A Champion's World

A Champion’s World

 

Jon opened his eyes with a groan. He rubbed his eyes to get rid of the residual sleep when he felt something unusual on his forearm. Opening his eyes, he looked closely at his arm. He sprang upward with a fast-beating heart. His eyes bulged out of their sockets when he saw the vambraces from last night still on his forearms. He thought them to be a dream and pinched himself, only to yelp from the pain that caused. He tentatively rubbed his right index finger on the left arm bracer. Suddenly, another greenish screen appeared in front of him, with the same red letterings –

Welcome, Champion!

You have slept in your bed, it restored your Health, Stamina, Mana to their maximum. Whatever ailments you may have suffered are nullified.

 

Continue to Champion’s Character Screen?

Yes / No

Jon couldn’t understand what in the Seven Hells is happening. He tried to remove the bracers from his arms, but couldn’t budge them. Due to his uncontrolled flailing of arms, his fingers brushed through the word “Yes” and another screen popped up removing the previous one.

 

Champion’s Character Screen

Name: ???????? ?????????(Jon Snow)

Of House(s): ????????? / Stark

Age: 10 years

Description: ???????? ?????????(Jon Snow) is the son of ??????? and ?????? ?????????. Currently, he is known as the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark or the Bastard of Winterfell.

Lvl: 1

Exp: 0/100

Health: 50/50

Stamina: 50/50

Mana: 50/50

Str: 2 (How strong you are in regards to how hard you can hit, and how well you can block)

End: 2 (Endurance refers to how much damage you can take. Per End point adds 10 Health points)

Per: 2 (Perception is your ability to see, hear, taste or notice unusual things)

Dex: 2 (Dexterity is coordination and the ability to move well whether it is on your feet or how good you are with your hands)

Int: 1 (Knowledge, Wisdom and the ability to think quickly)

Wil: 2 (Willpower affects your overall Stamina and Mana count. How long can you keep going before you tire yourself out. Per Wil point adds 10 Mana and 5 Stamina points respectively)

Cha: -2* (Charisma refers to how charming you are. Also, it affects how others think of you)

Luc: 1 (Your overall Luck)

UAP* (10)

*(UAP – Undistributed Attribute Points)

Title: Bastard of Winterfell

Traits: Wolfblood: Blood of the First Men runs through your veins. You can become a powerful warg, or as the Free Folk beyond the Wall calls it, a Skinchanger. Greenseer ability could also be possible for someone of your bloodline. You are normally resistant to Cold.

??????????? - ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Perks – (1) Champion’s Mind: As a Champion chosen by the Gods to avert worldwide disaster, you have been granted the Champion’s Mind perk. Which means you will always be in control of your mental state. Outside influences like Battle Lust may affect you for the duration, but you will always be responsible for your actions.

(2) Champion’s Body: As a Champion chosen by the Gods to avert worldwide disaster, you have been granted the Champion’s Body perk. This means you will heal faster than normal, any negative effect like poisoning, alcohol, or possession will not affect you in long term. You will be automatically restored to your optimum physical self after a good night’s rest.

(3) Bastardry: This perk enables you to become closer to the lowborn much quickly as they see you as one of their own but at the cost of derision and disdain from the highborn. Also, while this perk is active, your Cha attribute may suffer a negative effect.

Current Attribute Loss: -4 Cha*

Perk Points (2)

Available Perks:

*Sword Proficiency: As the Title described, you become proficient in wielding a sword. As you continue to practice and grow confident, you will unlock further improvements of this category.

Cost: 1 perk point

 

*Bow Proficiency: As the Title described, you become proficient using a bow. As you continue to practice and grow confident, you will unlock further improvements of this category.

Cost: 1 perk point

 

*Centaur: How good are you handling a horse. Are you good enough to be known as a half-horse, half-human? This perk helps your overall handling of horses be it for a leisurely ride, jousting or battle. The horse and human almost become as one.

Cost: 1 perk point

 

*Warg: You are the blood of the First Men. You can share the mind and body of your chosen companion (s). But beware, if your mental fortitude is low, the beast may take over (Renders Null due to Champion’s Mind perk)

Cost: 1 perk point

 

*(You will earn 2 perk points per 2 levels. As you progress your character, more perks will become available to you. Warning – Higher level perks will cost considerably higher)

** The ? is shown because certain information will be available to you as you progress towards your eligibility, or they can be unlocked by completing quests.

Continue to Skill Screen?

Yes / No

 

Jon sat there dumbfounded. He couldn’t understand what exactly is going on! What is with all these descriptions? Why are there question marks at his name or rather his parents’ name? What was he supposed to do with this? Undecided for now, he reached out and touched the “Yes” word again. Like before, another screen popped up in the space of the previous one.

 

Champion’s Skill Screen

Skill: Martial

Sub: Sword (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Bow (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Club (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Strategy (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Leadership (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Horse Riding (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Hunting (Lvl. 1 10/100)

*The more you study or practice a Martial skill, the higher your level will grow and may eventually evolve to more rewarding skillsets

 

Skill: Social

Sub: Orator (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Singer (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Dancer (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Conversationalist (Lvl. 1 10/100)

*The more you practice a Social skill, the higher level you will achieve and may eventually evolve to more rewarding skillsets

 

Skill: Scholar

Sub: Language

Old Tongue (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Common Tongue (Lvl. 2 10/100)

Valyrian (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Science

Smithy (Lvl 1 0/100)

Agriculture (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Herbalist (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Alchemy (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Biology (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Bestiary (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Economy (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Politics (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Magica (Lvl. 1 0/100)

*The more you study a Scholar skill, the higher your level will grow, and may even help you in other aspects of your life

 

Skill: Intrigue

Sub: Sneak (Lvl. 1 10/100)

  Pick-Pocket (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Lock-Pick (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Tracking (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Subterfuge (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Blending (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Lying (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Observation (Lvl. 1 0/100)

*The more you practice an Intrigue skill, the higher your level will grow, and may even evolve into much higher rewarding skillsets or become essentials in other aspects of your life

 

Continue to Inventory Screen?

Yes / No

Again, everything went over Jon’s poor head. He didn’t understand a single thing of whatever those screens were trying to say to him. He even felt a little bad for himself by the abysmal state of his attributes and skillsets. With a morose sigh, he chose “Yes”.

 

Champion’s Inventory Screen

Here Jon almost fell off his bed. The Screen that was now open in front of him showed a miniature version of himself. It was wearing the same clothes he had on. Around his (avatar?!) there were empty slots. Those were empty at this moment but Jon could see obscure imprints in those slots like they are telling what are those slots are to be used for. Like the ones immediately to his left and right side, the one on right had an imprint of a sword, crisscrossed with an axe, also there was a morning star perpendicular to the cross. The left side slot had an imprint of a shield, above it, an image of a bow could be seen. The one around his head had an image of a helm, below that one, there was an image of a locket/necklace in that slot. The one beside his torso had an imprint of armour. The slots beside his hands showed images of gauntlets. Jon thought they would show the vambrace he already had on, but those appear to be his normal attire. He couldn’t understand that. There were slots for two rings, a belt/cummerbund, breeches and boots. At the rightmost side of his avatar, there were a bunch of empty slots stacked in rows. The bottom-most row showed one single gold coin beside the words 5 Gold Dragons 10 Silver Stags 30 Copper Stars. That was the same amount of money Jon currently had. Astonished, he sat there thinking what to do now. His mind kept going back to his character screen for some reason. He muttered the word “Character” and what do you know, the said screen appeared.

Jon took a close look at every aspect of the screen. His attributes are quite low for his liking. He thought he needed to get them up, but how to do that. He touched the word “End” experimentally, and the value of it went up 1 point. Delighted, he started to distribute the rest of the 9 AP. He put 1 each to Str, Dex, and Int. From the remaining 6 points, he put 2 to Wil, 2 to Cha and 1 to Luc and 1 to Per. He felt quite happy with his decisions. Next came perks. The Champion’s Mind and Body perks were very helpful. But which of the new perks to select? They are all looking very useful. After pondering for a long time, Jon decided to select Sword Proficiency and Bow Proficiency for now. Happy with his choices, he selected “Apply Changes”. Now his character screen looked like this –

Champion’s Character Screen

Name: ???????? ?????????(Jon Snow)

Of House(s): ????????? / Stark

Age: 10 years

Description: ???????? ?????????(Jon Snow) is the son of ??????? and ?????? ?????????. Currently, he is known as the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark or the Bastard of Winterfell.

Lvl: 1

Exp: 0/100

Health: 60/60

Stamina: 60/60

Mana: 70/70

Str: 3

End: 3

Per: 3

Dex: 3

Int: 2

Wil: 4

Cha: 0

Luc: 2

UAP (0)

Title: Bastard of Winterfell

Traits: Wolfblood: Blood of the First Men runs through your veins. You can become a powerful warg, or as the Free Folk beyond the Wall calls it, a Skinchanger. Greenseer ability could also be possible for someone of your bloodline. You are normally resistant to Cold.

??????????? - ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------

Perks – (1) Champion’s Mind

(2) Champion’s Body

(3) Bastardry

Current Attribute Loss: -4 Cha*

(4) Sword Proficiency

(5) Bow Proficiency

 

On his Skill screen, the Sword and Bow skills had also changed status –

Sword (Lvl. 2 40/100)

Bow (Lvl. 2 40/100)

 

Jon thought, without the perks he was at Level 1 with 10 out of 100 skill efficiency, and he was faring better than Robb. After applying the perks, he just got somewhat better than his previous status, which he was sure that he could have achieved by diligent practice. He could’ve bought the Warg perk instead of wasting the perk points on Sword and Bow proficiency. He decided that he had to be very careful with his choices. Although what he was doing still eluded him. He felt he needed to be prepared for any outcome from these bizarre happenings.

His musings cut short by a series of knocks on his door. He could hear Robb yelling for him to get up. Jon waved his hand through the screen to try and dispel it somehow. To his enormous relief, the screen dissipated into nothing the moment his hand streaked through it. He took a deep breath and said to himself, “Alright Snow, Let’s go and face the world.”

Chapter 3: Learning the Ropes Pt. 1

Learning the Ropes Pt. 1

Jon almost tripped over his own feet when he got out of his room. Wherever his eyes went, he could see the same colored screens (albeit smaller) over people’s heads. He was so out of it that he almost knocked down Robb by running into him.

“What’s the matter, Snow? Sleep hasn’t left you yet?”

Jon wrestled with his focus and tried his best to ignore all those flashing green-red signs. He noticed that like others, Robb had his sign too.

Name: Robb Stark

Title: Lord, Heir to Winterfell

Age: 10 years

Lvl. – 3

Jon stumbled yet again. Robb and he were of the same age; they partake almost the same lessons or same drills in the yard. Then how come Robb’s level is higher than his? Was the Champion’s System taking the piss at his expense?

He was about to retort when suddenly a chime sounded out of nowhere. Robb was standing there looking increasingly worried that Jon suddenly appeared to become a lackwit.

“Are you feeling okay, Jon?” Robb’s sincere tone put a smile on his face.

“Aye, brother. I just seemed to have woken up rather slow this morning.”

A snort sounded from behind Jon, Theon was passing them on his way to the Great Hall to break his fast.

“Don’t blame this morning, Snow, you are slow all the mornings.”

Robb put a hand on Jon’s shoulder to stop him, “That’s enough, Theon.”

He just smirked and continued on his way. Jon noticed Theon’s sign above his head.

Name: Theon Greyjoy

Title: Lord (Prince), Heir to Pyke

Age: 15 years

Lvl. – 8

“Don’t mind him, brother. Come, let’s go break our fast, shall we?” Robb clapped Jon’s shoulder.

Jon followed him to the Great Hall, keeping a tight leash on his focus to not be distracted by the signs now hovering above every person’s head. The head table was empty save Lord Stark, who was always among the first of the Lord’s family to arrive at the Great Hall in the mornings. Jon looked at his sign –

Name: Eddard Stark

Title: Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North

Age: 32 years

Lvl. - ?

Jon was taken aback by the description of Lord Stark’s level. How come his level isn’t showing? Another chime pinged in his ears, he jolted back to reality, afraid others may have heard the sound. But a glance around assured him that nobody heard anything. He continued to his place and bid morning to the Lord. While eating, he noticed that a mark “!” flashing near his left hand! Pretending to reach for his goblet of milk, Jon touched the mark and a few screens popped up before him.

Growing from the Roots

You are the Gods’ Champion. Hence, they have returned you to your most basic level. You are tasked to work hard and build up every aspect of your being to their optimum level. Do not be disheartened by your lack of progress in comparison to others. For you are given the tools to overcome your shortfalls much swifter than the others. Be true to your diligence and perseverance and you will become a legend among men by the Gods’ graces. Always remember, Young Champion, Winter is Coming.

Jon let out a small sigh of relief. He was not lacking, he had to prove his mettle. Something he had been doing since the day he realized the meaning of the term “Bastard”. He closed his eyes and sent a prayer to the Gods and promised them that he will do all he can to become worthy of the blessing they’d put upon him.

But how to dispel this screen? He couldn’t go on waving his hands all the time or people are sure to lock him up in his room. He desperately wished for the screen to “Go Away!” To his immense surprise, that screen blinked out of existence, only for another to take up its place.

Observe!

Descriptions of characters or items display their most basic information. You are to use the “Observation” skill to garner further and sometimes hidden information about them. Continual use of the skill will power it up which will also affect the Perception attribute and level up the same.

Delighted to learn about that useful skill, Jon dispelled the screen and controlled his focus on Lord Stark while mentally commanding “Observe!” He was rewarded by a much longer description of the man.

Name: Eddard Stark (Ned)

Title: Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, The Quiet Wolf

Age: 32 years

Lvl. - ?

Health: ?

Stamina: ?

Mana: ?

Str: ?

End: ?

Per: ?

Dex: ?

Int: ?

Wil: ?

Cha: ?

Luc: ?

Description: Lord Eddard Stark (Ned) is the second son of Late Lord Rickard and Late Lady Lyarra Stark of Winterfell. He is a formidable warrior with great renown, proved his mettle during King Robert’s rebellion and the Greyjoy rebellion. He is wed to Catelyn Stark and raising 5 trueborn children Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon along with his ? ? ?(Jon Snow). His only living sibling Benjen is the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch. Eddard Stark is well respected among his subordinate Lords.

Reputation: 65/100

Dispelling the screen Jon let out a small sigh. Again those infernal ‘?’ marks, and what was with the Reputation score, if Lord Stark was revered among his men, why did his reputation scored so low? Jon’s musing cut short by a series of pings. Discreetly looking around the table, Jon tried the mental command once again! “Messages”

Obscured Facts!

In your journey, you will come across descriptions which will be hidden from you by the ‘?’ mark. It could mean that you are not yet ready to receive the information or your level is not high enough to see the information. The latter is true when in concern of people much higher level than you. Often, information will become clear when you complete certain quests.

 

Reputation

Reputation describes the level of your acceptance with the concerned person. The higher the count, the more the person will have goodwill, trust, friendship, love towards you. The negative count means the concerned person’s derision or hatred towards you.

 

Champion’s System

You, the Champion, are the only one to be blessed by the Gods by the way of acquiring the System. Hence, only you’ll be privy to the information. No one else shall see the screens or hear the alerts for incoming messages. Fear not, Champion. The System shall take care of you so that you can carry out Gods’ will unhindered.

Jon could dance a number; it was too good to be true. Dispelling the latest set of messages he concentrated on his plate when a whirlwind named Arya made her presence known to the mere mortals at the Great Hall. She banged open the doors and ran inside, took a moment to see who else was present, then she took a running jump in his father’s arms.

“Morning, Father.” Arya chirped happily.

Lord Stark chuckled at his daughter’s antics, “Morning, My sweet.”

She sprang from his father’s arms and latched onto Jon’s neck next, “Morning, Brother.”

Jon laughed and mussed her hair much to her annoyance, “Morning, Little sister.”

She shoved and elbowed Robb aside and took a seat next to Jon. Robb disgruntled looked at her and asked, “What am I? Some unwanted pet? Where is my morning wish?”

Arya blew him a raspberry and retorted, “Aye, that you are, and that’s why you don’t get any.”

“Arya!” Lord Stark’s chiding voice rang out and Arya dropped her head, mumbling an apology.

She hugged Robb one-armed and said, “Good morning to you too, stupid.”

Lord Stark sighed and shook his head in exasperation. Slowly the other members of the Stark household gathered in the hall. Lady Catelyn came in carrying baby Rickon in her arms, followed by Sansa, a miniature copy of her Lady mother. Bran came in skipping and started to regale everyone about the bird’s nest he found on top of some building. Lord and Lady Stark having their conversation in low voice, Sansa feeding Rickon and telling him stories about Knights and Princes, Arya having a debate with Bran about something or other, Robb conspiring about something with Theon…a rather typical morning for the members of the house Stark.

Jon kept his head down and his eyes focused on his plate. A little while later, he chanced a glance and saw that everyone was lost in their little bubbles. He decided to test his Observation skill.

Name: Arya Stark

Title: Lady, Underfoot

Age: 7 years

Lvl. - 3

Health: 30/30

Stamina: 40/40

Mana: 30/30

Str: 1

End: 2

Per: 2

Dex: 4

Int: 2

Wil: 2

Cha: 3

Luc: 2

Description: Arya is the second and younger daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark. Arya loves her family very much, but her most favourites are her father Lord Eddard and her ‘?’ Jon. Arya wants to become a warrior princess like Princess Nymeria. She hates sewing, stitching, dancing, singing or everything that Sansa loves to do. Arya wants to learn how to wield a sword properly and become a great marksman with a bow.

Reputation: 80/100

Jon had to hide his smirk, that was so typical Arya! He averted his eyes from her.

Name: Robb Stark

Title: Lord, Heir to Winterfell

Age: 10 years

Lvl. - 3

Health: 60/60

Stamina: 65/65

Mana: 40/40

Str: 5

End: 4

Per: 2

Dex: 2

Int: 3

Wil: 4

Cha: 5

Luc: 2

Description: As the eldest male child of Lord and Lady Stark, Robb is the future Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Robb loves all of his siblings and his ‘?’ Jon very much. He idolizes his father and tries to emulate him. Robb’s innermost fear is that he will not be as good a Lord as his father. He is afraid of disappointing him. Robb is secretly jealous of the relationship that Jon and Arya have. He wished he could have the same kind of loving brother/sister relationship with Sansa, since Jon and Arya look alike, he hoped their alikeness would make him and Sansa likewise inseparable. But to his dismay, Sansa doesn’t care about any of that.

Reputation: 75/100

Reading about Robb’s attributes, Jon felt a spike of jealousy surging up. But he suppressed that, he now knew that he could surpass Robb quite easily now. He was surprised to know about Robb’s fear though. He always appeared so confident. Jon felt bad about how he saw his and Arya’s shenanigans. He cannot approach Sansa and change her ways, but he can surely include Robb when he and Arya next try to do something idiotic. It brought a tear to his eyes to know that Robb thinks so highly about him.

Name: Theon Greyjoy

Title: Lord (Prince), Heir to Pyke

Age: 15 years

Lvl. - 8

Health: 80/80

Stamina: 90/90

Mana: 30/30

Str: 8

End: 7

Per: 5

Dex: 5

Int: 3

Wil: 2

Cha: 6

Luc: 2

Description: Last remaining son of Lord Balon Greyjoy. Theon hated the fact that he had to come to Winterfell whereas his sister Asha was allowed to remain at their home. Theon wants to become a figure that will someday demand respect from his homeland. Theon is quite attached to Robb, he sees him as a young brother. He hates Jon for the basic fact that he is Robb’s ‘?’ that Robb loves very much.

Reputation: -20/100

Jon was yet again surprised, who would’ve thought that Theon hated him because Robb loved him. What kind of weird, crazy thought is that?

Name: Rickon Stark

Title: Lord, Baby

Age: 3 years

Lvl. - 2

Health: 20/20

Stamina: 20/20

Mana: 30/30

Str: 2

End: 2

Per: 1

Dex: 1

Int: 1

Wil: 2

Cha: 3

Luc: 2

Description: As the youngest child of Lord and Lady Stark, Rickon’s only goal in life is to have as much fun as he could.

Reputation: 50/100

Jon smiled a little, Baby Rickon indeed.

Name: Sansa Stark

Title: Lady

Age: 9 years

Lvl. - 3

Health: 30/30

Stamina: 30/30

Mana: 40/40

Str: 2

End: 2

Per: 1

Dex: 1

Int: 3

Wil: 2

Cha: 7

Luc: 2

Description: Sansa loves her singing, dancing, silks and laces very much. She dreams about having a love story as great as Florian and Jonquil. She hopes to offer her favour to a dashing prince who is also a brave knight, who will go to war and win accolades. The prince of her dreams often looks like Jon, that’s why she always pretended to be the Princess of the Tower whenever they played in their childhood so Jon could rescue her. Although, her mother forbade her to do so anymore saying that Jon was a bastard. She still doesn’t understand it quite clearly, she just wants to please her mother. She loves all her siblings, except mayhaps Arya.

Reputation: 20/100

Jon nearly spat out the mouthful of milk he just drank. It was true that it hurt Jon when Sansa stopped playing with them and snootily said that she wasn’t supposed to play with a bastard. He realized it correctly that Lady Stark made her stop playing with them. Jon made a promise to himself that he will try to protect Sansa in real.

Name: Brandon Stark

Title: Lord

Age: 5 years

Lvl. - 2

Health: 30/30

Stamina: 45/45

Mana: 60/60

Str: 3

End: 3

Per: 4

Dex: 3

Int: 4

Wil: 4

Cha: 5

Luc: 2

Description: Bran just want to be free. He doesn’t like the stuffy lessons his parents make him take from the Maester. He wants to climb the tallest towers to watch the birds fly. He wants to travel far in the world. His deepest desire is to become a fearsome and renowned knight of the realm like Ser Arthur Dayne or Ser Barristan Selmy. He thinks Robb and Jon are the best big brother/ ‘?’ anyone can ever have.

Reputation: 70/100

Jon was glad that Bran thinks that about him. He will have to teach him the way of swords the next year when he would start his training in the yard.

Name: Catelyn Stark (Tully)

Title: Lady of Winterfell

Age: 26 years

Lvl. - ?

Health: ?

Stamina: ?

Mana: ?

Str: ?

End: ?

Per: ?

Dex: ?

Int: ?

Wil: ?

Cha: ?

Luc: ?

Description: Family, Duty, Honour! Lady Stark tried to live by her house words all her life. She had been a dutiful wife since she wed to Eddard Stark. Though it was true that she loved her original betrothed Brandon the Wild Wolf very much, she came to love her husband, the Quiet Wolf. After a decade of blissful married life, she had gifted her husband five healthy and beautiful children. Her only complaint is her husband’s ‘?’ Jon Snow. She fears that someday the boy’s mother will come back and her husband will set her aside for her. She doesn’t know who that woman was, and she also knows that she cannot condemn a child for their parents’ deeds, still, her fear for that unknown woman stops her from showing any shred of affection towards the boy.

Reputation: -40/100

Jon wanted to shout at her that her fear was baseless. If his mother ever showed up, he will persuade her to leave again, both mother and son would leave Winterfell behind and try their luck out in the vast world. Winterfell belonged to his brother Robb. He would never do that to him. Morosely he finished his meal and excused himself from the table. As he was leaving, he could hear the derisive sniff from Lady Stark. Head bowed down, he left the hall. Just who was his mother? Why wouldn’t Lord Stark tell him about her? Was she even alive? He discreetly tried to wipe his tears when he heard the tell-tale ping of another alert. Absent-minded he brought up the screen.

Quest Alert!

Find out about the identities of your parent!

Reward: ?

Failure: You will never learn their identities.

Accept: Y / N

Determination surged through Jon. He accepted the quest, he will find about his mother even if it was the last thing he did. With renewed vigour, he made his way out to the practice yard.

“Ah, Snow. Finally decided to show your face, have you?” A voice boomed from the yard.

Startled out of his reverie, Jon looked around to find Ser Rodrick Cassel striding towards him.

Name: Ser Rodrick Cassel

Title: Master-at-arms of Winterfell

Lvl. - ?

“What are you standing there for, boy? You are late for your session. For that, you will run around the yard ten times and I will not hear any complaints from you…is that clear?” Ser Rodrick thundered.

“Yes, Sir!” Jon squeaked out.

“What are you waiting for then? GO!”

Jon went, very quickly. After the fifth circle around the yard, his muscles started to protest. He stopped to catch his breath but another roar came from Ser Rodrick made him jump and continue. The Health, Stamina and Mana Bars flashed into existence at the top-left corner of his view. He could see that his stamina was draining rapidly. He tried to ignore it and continued to run. His legs felt like they were tied with the biggest boulder anyone could find. His lungs felt like the bellows in Mikken’s forge. His heart was beating so fast that he was afraid that it will come ripping out of his chest. With the last ounce of his strength, he crossed the yard mark from where he started his run and collapsed on the ground. Mud and water sprayed all around from his fall. He could hear the chuckling of the guards who were also present at the training yard to sharpen their skill. But Jon didn’t care. He was just glad to lay there. Mayhaps they will allow him to lie there quietly and die.

Ping!

That infernal alert again. Grumbling, Jon slowly raised his head to bring out the screen.

Quest Complete!

A stroll around the yard!

Run ten circles around the Practice Yard!

Reward: +5 Reputation with Ser Rodrick Cassel

10 exp

+1 End

+1 Wil

What in the name of Seven Hells?! When did he accept that quest? And that was a stroll? He would hate to see a rigorous run then. Wiping his face off the mud, he gingerly got to his feet.

“Had a nice, little nap there, Snow? That’ll teach you to not come down to practice late, boy. Now go and get ready at the armoury!” Barked Ser Rodrick.

Jon limped on his way towards the armoury. He spotted Robb and Theon coming down towards the yard laughing and japing. Another boom sounded from Ser Rodrick. Snickering about their fate, Jon started to put on the practice armours. While taking up the leather arm bracers, he thought that he had to get the mysterious bracers off his hands, but to his surprise, the bracers morphed and became leather wristbands.

Ping!

Sighing, Jon brought out the message screen again.

Champion’s Bracers!

These are magical devices. They will act as indestructible bracers in their normal form with a few surprises. When the Champion, that means you, needs to put on other armours, they will morph into leather wristbands and will again retain their form when the armours are off.

That was quite helpful, wondered Jon. He finished putting on his armours and chose a suitable blade. He always preferred hand and a half bastard swords or long swords to greatswords. The sword and shield combination or only sword fitted well with his style of fighting. He was fleet on his feet, he used his speed and flurry of attacks to overwhelm his opponents.

Coming out of the armoury, he couldn’t help but snort when he saw Robb and Theon struggling to run circles around the yard. Seeing the smirk on his face, Robb shot him a poisonous glare and Theon sneered at him and showed him the bird.

“Stop dallying, Snow! We are not getting any younger here!” Barked the Master.

Jon ran into the yard and took his stance. “Good, go through your basic stances for 20 counts, then practice the swings you were taught on the straw dummy. Get on with it!”

Ping!

Quest Alert!

Sword of the North: Part 1

Practice the basic stances for 20 counts

Swing the proper way at the dummy

Last 5 minutes with your sparring partner

Bonus Objective: Swing the proper way at the dummy for the same amount of time with your non-sword arm

Beat your sparring partner

Reward: ?

?

?

40 exp

Accept: Y / N

The bonus objective amazed Jon, swinging the sword with his left arm? If he can manage to properly do that, he will be slowly able to build up enough strength in his left arm to use it in a battle. Mayhaps he will even be able to dual wield like Ser Arthur. He was determined to achieve the objectives of this quest.

Jon took special care when he was performing his basic stances. He managed to do the stances twice, once as a right-handed swordsman, next, as a left-handed one. After completing the stances, he took to the dummy. The world soon fell out of his notice, it was only him, his sword and the dummy. He kept swinging at the dummy, trying out all the combos Ser Rodrick taught him. When he finished his moves by thrusting the blade deep in the dummy’s belly. He took a step back and had a deep breath. Again, he started to swing the sword, this time, with his left hand. His arm began to tire as he never before used it to swing the sword. But Jon was determined that he will finish the combo. He gritted his teeth and carried on, swinging the sword as accurately as he could by his non-dominant hand, finishing it again with a thrust.

Jon bent over with his hands over his knees, taking in large gulps of air. His left arm felt like it will fall off from his shoulder. Sweat ran freely from his brow, his tunic clinging to his body. He shook his head and stood back up. Jon looked around the yard to find Robb and Theon had finished their run by then and were going through their stances. He looked for Ser Rodrick to find the man was staring at him intently. He looked down to the ground as he approached him.

“Who told you to swing with your non-sword arm, boy?”

“No one, Ser, I thought if I practice enough, I could mayhaps use both my arms.”

“And the stances…”

“I did them twice, once as a right-handed. Then next as a left-handed.”

Ser Rodrick grunted in reply. He kept peering at Jon with narrowed eyes. Jon started to get worried about what could he possibly had done wrong.

“Are you ready for your spar then, lad?” The gruff but kind tone shocked Jon. He expected harsh rebuking for deriving from his given orders.

“Aye, Ser, I am ready for it.”

“Good. Lord Robb, enough with your stances, get ready for a spar!” Robb beamed at the order. Rodrick turned to Jon, “Go and have a drink of water, lad. Then come to the spar.” Jon nodded and made his way towards the well. He gulped down the ice-cold water and poured a little on his head. It revitalized him. He turned this way and that to pop his joints then strode towards the yard again.

Robb was already there standing ready for him. Seeing Jon he smirked, “Ready to get beaten again, Snow?”

Jon replied with his smirk, “You may get surprised, Stark.” He could hear Theon trying to put a bet on the outcome of the spar. Well, if the squid loses money, all the better – thought Jon.

They began to circle each other, both trying to find a gap in the other’s defence. Robb with a sword and a buckler, Jon only a sword gripped in both hands. Predictably it was Robb who lost his patience and charged Jon. He nimbly sidestepped the strike and lashed out with his own. Robb caught it on his buckler and made a slash at Jon’s midsection. He took a step back and to the side only to lunge at his legs. Robb brought his buckler down to guard but it was a feint, Jon’s next attack was towards his unprotected chest. Robb barely brought his sword around to parry the attack. They began to circle again. This time it was Jon who rushed on, with a flurry of swings and slashes he had Robb on the back foot like the previous day. Only the buckler in Robb’s arm prolonged the bout. They exchanged blows after blows. Robb with all the strength he could muster, Jon with the speed that belied his age. He evaded most of Robb’s attacks rather than meeting them head-on which frustrated him greatly and he started to make mistakes. This was the moment Jon was waiting for, he concentrated harder on Robb’s movements, one more mistake will declare the outcome of the bout. And the inevitable happened a couple of moments later. Jon allowed a gap to form which Robb was desperate to take advantage of. He overextended his lunge to put an end to the fight, only for Jon to lock his arm with his right arm while swinging the sword with his left and held it at Robb’s neck.

“Yield?” He was breathing hard.

“Aye. I yield!” Robb’s breathing too was coming short.

There was a splattering of applauds around the yard. They looked around to find the spectators that thronged the yard are cheering for them both. Jon looked up to see Lord Stark standing there with a smile on his face. He nodded at him once which caused Jon’s face to split in a huge smile. Beside him stood Lady Stark scowling down at him. Jon averted his gaze and offered his hand at Robb.

“Good bout, Stark.”

“Seven Hells, Jon, what was with that move?”

Jon rubbed his neck, “Just something I thought at the hit of the moment.”

Robb barked a loud laugh, “If you continue to pull moves like that out of your arse, I’ll have to get a hell lot better, and soon enough.”

Jon Smirked, “Aye, give a chance to Greyjoy to win his money back.”

They turned to look at Theon thrusting a bag of coins to a guard’s hand and storming off the yard. They looked back at each other and bent down laughing.

Ping!

Quest Complete!

Sword of the North: Part 1

Reward: Sword Skill +50

+1 Str

5 Gold Dragons

40 exp

Chapter 4: Learning the Ropes Pt. 2

Learning the Ropes Pt. 2

After their sparring session, Jon and Robb went to the armoury to take off their protective gears and put away the practice blades. They made their way to the well to scrub and wash off the mud they accumulated. Robb asked Jon if he wanted to visit the Town with him. Jon took a look at the sky to determine the time. It was two hours to midday. He declined Robb’s offer saying that he wants to practice with the bow for some time. Robb japed that soon Ser Rodrick has to yield the master-at-arms position to Jon. Chuckling Jon went back to the armoury and brought up the System screen, the bracers had reverted to their usual form.

Jon took a moment to gather his thoughts. He wanted to find out exactly what the skills with weapons entailed. He brought up the Skills Screen and focused on the Sword Skill.

Sword Skill

As the name describes, this skill will enable you, The Champion, in the ways of swords. You will become a proficient fighter with any blade you use to wield. But remember Champion, each sword is different from the other. Thus, each sword demands different styles of fighting. You may become good enough with any kind of blade or fighting style, but you will only be proficient, mayhaps master even, with only a few of them. Don’t lose heart, young Champion, the System will help you to overcome the odds if you truly want to become a legend of swords!

Jon was happy, though at first, he wanted to become a master of all kinds of the sword, after some careful rumination (he sent silent gratitude for Champion’s Mind), he realized that becoming proficient with his chosen blades should be his priority. If he became good enough with longswords and bastard swords, his expertise may bleed over some of his skills with short swords and broadswords. Also, to his recollection, the Essosi had many different styles than the Westerosi in the ways of the blade. There are Dothraki arakhs, sickle-like blades from the Summer Isles and the slightly slanted blades from Yi Ti if he remembered his books correctly. There are many blades in this world, and if he tried to master them all at once, he may never become a true blade master. As the System said, different blades demand different styles. He will practice harder with his preferred blades, and in time, he may try his luck with other types. Easy and sure steps should help him reach his goal. One day he hoped to travel the world, mayhaps the search for his mother and her family will take him to those far away lands. He wanted to see the Dothraki sea, the three sister cities of Old Valyria, the fabled lands of Sothoryos, mayhaps even the darkened lands of Asshai. He will beg his father to let him go. As a bastard son, he wasn’t bound to any duties that tied Robb down…but he, Jon, was free to choose his path. Jon made up his mind then, he will forge his destiny. The Gods favoured him for a reason, he needed to be better, and for that, he needed to learn all that he could. Who knew, mayhaps after serving the Gods’ duties, he could finally find his place in the world, else, there is always the Wall.

Jon brought up the Bow Skill screen. Like with swords, bows too varied in makes and uses. Long Bows are primarily used for long-distance warfare. But at his current height, it would be impractical for him to wield a bow that was much bigger than he was. Similarly, Crossbows are almost impossible for him to use right now due to his lack of strength. He couldn’t winch the lever at its place after firing the bolts. The only practical choice left for him was the Short Bow or as they are known, Hunter’s Bow. Jon picked up one such and a full quiver. He crossed paths with Ser Rodrick on his way towards the Archery Ground. The Master took a look at him and said, “I thought I gave you leave from the yard, lad. What are you doing back here?”

Jon stuttered, “There is still some of the morning left…I thought I could use with a little archery practice…”

Jon could’ve sworn that he saw the corner of the gruff man’s lips moved upward in a ghost of a smile. Ser Rodrick grunted, “On your way then, lad. Be sure that your Lord father will be hearing about this.”

Again, Jon wondered if he did anything wrong by defying the orders he was given. Soon he reached the targets and all thoughts left his mind. He took his position at twenty paces from the target, took out an arrow and placed it on the bowstring. He felt as he pulled back the string that it was rather easier than the previous day. Could it be because of the perk he used? He concentrated on the target before him and eased his breathing. When he felt he was ready, he let the arrow fly. It flew true and struck the bullseye. A wide smile made its way on Jon’s face, he would’ve had a problem making the shot even a day prior.

Ping!

Quest Alert!

Eyes to the Prize – The Northern Bow: Part 1

Make consecutive 10 shots at 20 and 30 paces

Bonus Objective: Use each arm alternatively to make the shots

Reward: ?

?

?

50 exp

Accept: Y / N

Jon accepted the quest with much enthusiasm. He gripped the bow tightly with his right hand, placed an arrow on the string and drew back with his left arm. The already battered, non-dominant arm was trembling terribly. Still, Jon stood fast and tried to make the shot. To his dismay, the shot went way over the target. It went so high that the arrow almost hit the guard patrolling on the wall. He cursed loudly at Jon. But he wasn’t of the mind to pay heed to his shouting. A wave of guilt and sadness washed over him that he failed the quest. He tried a few more shots with his right arm but his concentration was frayed enough that none of the shot made another bullseye. Jon picked up his equipment and returned them to the armoury. He was too demoralized to join the others at the Great Hall to partake in the midday meal. He thought about going to the Godswood and asking forgiveness from the Gods for his failure. But his feet carried him towards the only place where he could find some modicum of peace for his depressed soul.

 

---

 

The statue of Lyanna Stark seemed to be smiling sadly at Jon. He curled himself into a ball at her feet and started to sob. He couldn’t believe his rotten luck. He never had a blissful childhood due to the scorns and insults he had to endure all his life. He felt that he was forced to grow up long before his time whereas his siblings, his half-brothers and sisters could spend their days in relative ease. He knew he was in for a very hard life ahead, due to his bastard status. All of his life’s prospect hanged by a thread in the name of the generosity of his Lord father. If he deemed Jon was worthy enough, he may grant him a small holdfast in a faraway place, too far so that he couldn’t poison the minds of his trueborn brothers as Lady Catelyn says. Else, he was sure to join the Night’s Watch. When he found the Champion’s Bracers, he was terrified at first, but then an excitement filled his soul. Here was his chance to be someone else, becoming something else. He thought he could make a name for himself and shed the unwanted title of Bastard of Winterfell. He believed that the Gods have finally heard his pleas and gave him a way to find and reach out to his mother. But here he lies, an utter failure. He was given a chance of a lifetime and he blew it away by his incompetence.

A warm breeze blew through the Crypt. To Jon, it almost felt like a caress of the softest hands. A small murmur could be heard from unknown corners of the Crypt. A series of pings made Jon sit up and wipe away his tears.

Ongoing Quests!

Some quests require a predetermined set of achievements/abilities to be completed. If the requirements do not meet, the quests are marked as Ongoing Quests and kept at a perpetual active state. The Champion can attempt to fulfil these long-term quests at a later date when he feels that he is ready or he has met the requirements to finish the quests. Ongoing Quests can be found on the Quest Screen.

 

 Quest Alert!

Two of a Kind

Do you want to become a Dual Wielder? Do you want to shoot arrows with either hand? Try to find out how to train your non-dominant hand to work simultaneously with your dominant hand.

Reward: +1 Dex

+1 Int

10 Exp

Accept: Y / N

 

Quest Alert!

Sharp as a Blade

You can train your body to become the perfect weapon of warfare. But a body cannot function without a sound mind. If your body needs working out to be in top physical condition, then your mind needs books to be sharpened at its finest. Try to read a book or two.

Visit Maester Luwin about relative books that may help you.

Bonus Objective: ?

Reward: +1 Int

+1 Wil

10 Exp

Accept: Y / N

Jon let out a peal of heartfelt laughter. He wasn’t a failure. That thought cheered him up like nothing before. Accepting the quests, he jumped to his feet and brushed his outfit off the dust. He reached up to the statue and kissed its cheek exclaiming, “Thank you. Mother!” He then turned around and ran out of the Crypt. He was almost out of the doors when his action caught up to him. He screeched to a halt and turned back towards Lyanna’s tomb, eyes bulging out of his head.

Ping!

Quest Update!

Find out about the identities of your parents.

Could Lyanna Stark be your mother? Why do you feel the attachment with her?

Find out more about the Winter Rose of Winterfell.

Reward: ?

Failure: You will never learn their identities.

 

---

 

Jon trudged up to the Maester’s turret in deep thought. He tried to understand the connection he always felt with his Aunt Lyanna. Then there was the quest update. What if it was correct? What if the woman he was told as his aunt was indeed his mother? Then why would Lord Stark say she was his aunt? And if Aunt Lyanna was his mother, then was it true that Lord Stark his father? What he did know about Lyanna Stark? Jon felt like his head would bust like an egg. So much he didn’t know, yet so much more he was yet to discover.

Reaching the Maester’s room he knocked on the door, “Maester Luwin?”

After waiting for a few minutes without any reply, Jon pushed on the door to find it unlocked. He went inside the room. The room’s décor said a lot about the man who resides in it. The walls were covered in shelves which are filled with books and tomes. There was a study table under the window and besides that, stood a cupboard full of various herbs and vials of different medicines. Jon took a small tour around the room, the bookshelves appeared to be so much more interesting than the medicine cupboard.

The Maester was a learned man. There were so many books on so many different subjects that Jon had a newfound respect for the man. He noticed books from war strategy to agricultural technics all in his collection. And the worn covers proved that he didn’t just collect them, but diligently read through each one of them.

“Jon? What are you doing here, lad?”

Jon almost jumped up in surprise. He was so lost in those book titles that he never heard the Maester’s approach.

 “I came here to find you, Maester.”

“Indeed? You acquired new cuts or bruises then?”

“No, Maester, I came to ask for your help…” mumbled Jon.

“My help?” Luwin’s eyebrows rose upwards. He took a seat on the chair in front of his table and peered closely at Jon. “What, pray tell, can I help you with, Jon?”

Jon rubbed his neck and stuttered, “Um, I’ve heard…that how we practice and work out in the yard to keep our bodies in top condition…” He looked up to Luwin’s face, who waved his hand for him to go on. “…and I also heard, how it was that a sound body needs a sound mind to work well. So, I thought reading mayhaps will help as work out for my mind…to make it sharp like a blade?”

Jon looked at the Maester nervously as he scrutinized his face. Then, to his relief, a pleased smile appeared on the old man’s face.

“I am glad to hear that, lad. Knowledge indeed acts as a whetstone to keep the mind sharp. So, tell me then, young man, which subjects you want to pursue first?”

Jon took another glance around the shelves…so many choices. His mind went back to the last subject he was thinking about; could it be possible…?

“How about recent history, Maester? King Robert’s rebellion?”

“Oh? That is a strange subject to read about.” Luwin raised an eyebrow at him.

He had to think fast, and his mind almost readily supplied him with an answer, “Well, it changed the structure of our country, didn’t it? A whole dynasty went down and a new one took over…I’ll wager the history behind it all and the war strategy will be an interesting read.”

The Maester appeared thoughtful, he scratched his chin and looked at the books, “You are right on that, of course…Well, those are the books or Robert’s rebellion. Take whichever you want to read. When you are finished with the book, leave it on my table and you may collect the next one.” Luwin pointed out the books.

 

Ping!

Success: Subterfuge +5

Jon went to the shelves with a spring in his steps. He carefully perused the books and one caught his attention. It was a huge tome titled From Harrenhal To Kings’ Landing. It was a compendium of the entire rebellion penned by a Maester Goddard. Jon took the book out and tucked it under his arm. When he was about to turn around, he noticed another smaller book placed behind the one he just took down. The book was emitting a strange glow. He thought about calling the Maester’s attention, but then curiosity won the better of him. He pulled the book out. It was a rather small and slim volume than the others, titled Whispers in the Wind, written by Brynden Rivers. Jon opened the book –

Ping!

You have picked up a book of skill!
This book will enhance your Intrigue and its subsequent skills!

Do you wish to use the book? Y / N

A smile split Jon’s face from ear to ear.

Ping!

You have acquired skills:

+ 10 Sneak

+10 Pick-pocket

+10 Lock-pic

+10 Tracking

+10 Subterfuge

+10 Blending

+10 Lying

+10 Observe

Jon couldn’t believe his eyes. One single book gave a boatload of skill points. He made a point that he will scour the Maester’s tower and the Library tower in search of other skill books if there was any.

He was about to leave the Maester when another thought pervaded his mind, he turned to him,

“Um…Maester?”

“Yes, Jon?”

“You see, Maester, I wanted to learn how to wield a blade and a bow with my left hand…But it feels like they are not workable as with my right hand…I mean I have the grips, the stance, but the littlest movements are not as sure as with the right. You have so many books on warfare…so I thought mayhaps you would know something to help me?”

Luwin chuckled, “I would wager that I am the first Maester who is asked to correct sword movements. Your problem can only be solved by regular practice, but on the other hand, what you said about the little movements ring true. Many a warrior in history were proficient to wield blades with both hands, but all of them preferred their dominant hand better. Hmm…an interesting thought…it may work…”

Jon became more and more puzzled as Maester Luwin kept muttering unintelligible words and looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“Um…Maester?”

“Tell me, lad, will you help me in conducting a little experiment of mine? It may help with your uses of left arm if we become successful.”

Jon fervently nodded his head.

“Very well. Tell me, have you learned your Valyrian letters? No, of course not. We haven’t had those lessons yet. Here…this is a book on Valyrian language, you are to learn the letters and copy them on parchment, with your left hand…and you will do so till you are fluent in it. The letters are complicated enough that writing them regularly will hopefully loosen your left hand enough to use just as your right hand. Do you have any questions?”

Jon shook his head.

“Off you go then. And do keep me informed about your progress.”

Jon left the Maester’s turret with his arms laden with books.

---

 

After supper, Jon was summoned to Lord Stark’s solar. Robb shot him a glance, an eyebrow raised – what did you do?

Jon shrugged his shoulders and shook his head – I have no idea, let me go and see.

Jon knocked on the door to let the Lord know of his arrival.

“Enter.” came the stern voice from behind the doors.

Jon entered the room as quietly as he could. Eddard Stark was seating behind his desk with his elbows resting on it. He bid Jon take a seat in front of him. Jon sat down, his fingers fiddling with each other in nervousness. Lord Stark leaned forward and rest his chin on his hand.

“I had visits from Ser Rodrick and Maester Luwin. What do you think they were about?”

Jon gulped, “I don’t know, my lord.”

Lord Stark sighed, “We are alone here, Jon. You can call me father.”

“Yes, father.”

“So you have no idea why I had visits from the Master-at-arms and the Maester the same day?”

Jon shook his head.

“Tell me then, why do have the sudden urge to read or the fact that you were practising beyond what you were told?”

Jon gulped again, what should he answer? He couldn’t explain to anyone about the Bracers or Gods’ blessing. Because there is no way for him to prove his claims. Also, he had an inclination that the Gods don’t want anybody to know about it. The quests and the objective systems were even harder to make anybody else understand. In the end, Jon thought it would be better to say half-truths.

“I want to become the best I can be…and to do that I need the exercises in the yard and the knowledge I can gather from the books.”

“Why do you have the sudden interest in becoming the best, Jon?”

Jon looked down at his hands, “I am a bastard, father. I know my prospects are not very bright. All that I have to look forward to is to your generosity that you may one day grant me a small land to call my own. Or mayhaps I have been destined for the Wall…” his voice became quieter.

“The Wall is a noble calling, son. Your uncle Benjen is there.”

Jon didn’t know where he got the sudden courage to speak up, all the frustration and insults he endured throughout his life, came bursting forth. “If the wall is a noble calling and the men there are the noblest of all, then why do the Seven Kingdoms send their thieves and rapists to the wall as punishment?  Men like uncle Benjen can be counted on a single hand who went there voluntarily. I know that I am a stain on your reputation, but is that my crime? Is it my destiny to suffer punishment for someone else’s folly? I never asked to be born. Then why would I have to suffer for it? Why I have to endure the scorns of Lady Stark for something that is out of my control? Why should I be insulted by a damn squid hostage in what is supposed to be my own home only because I don’t know my mother’s name? You say I am your blood, but the people here are more welcoming to an Ironborn than they are to me!” Jon didn’t notice when he got up to his feet. He dropped back on the chair like boneless, feeling very tired, “You should have killed me as a babe.”

Lord Stark kept his visage blank throughout his tirade, after a few moments he leaned back into his chair. “You will be confined in your rooms for two days for to your insolence. You will be barred from the yard for the same duration. You may visit the Maester for your lessons but you are forbidden to interact with your siblings. Am I understood?”

Jon nodded his head.

“You are excused.”

Jon got up to leave the room. When he neared the doors, Lord Stark called him back.

“Your mother would’ve been proud of you, son. You have the wolfblood.”

Jon nodded his head again and got out of the room.

Ping!

Success: Orator +10

Leadership +10

 

Jon took a deep breath, things will never be the same again from now on.

Chapter 5: One Small Step for Jon Snow…

One Small Step for Jon Snow…

Jon knew his father’s order will be imposed from the next morning. So he figured that he needed to do a few things while he still could. He didn’t return to his room from Lord Stark’s solar. Instead, he went to the Godswood. He climbed the Hearts Tree and broke off two sticks the length and breadth of a longsword. He was barred from the training yard, but that didn’t mean he can’t practice in his room. He tied them together and put them behind his back, under his tunic. He had to walk stiff but it’s for only a short time. Then he went to the Maester’s room. If his calculation was correct, then Maester Luwin was partaking in his supper at the Great Hall. There, he swiped a couple more books – one on the treaties between the kingdoms since the Conquest, and another on the political histories of the North. If he was going to be confined by forced incarceration, then he will make sure that his time was spent wisely. The last stop he made was at the Crypt. He felt that he needed to explain to Lady Lyanna why he wouldn’t be visiting her for the next few days.

Jon stood in front of her statue. She appeared to be smiling down at him as if she approved of how Jon plans to spend his punishment. He took hold of her hands. “I don’t know anything about you, My Lady. I wonder if you are my mother…and I intend to find out the whole truth. But one thing is for sure, even if it appears that you are my aunt only, I’ll forever consider you my mother. For you have always been there when I needed someone. Mayhaps it was you who guided me towards the Gods and their blessing. I will always love you for that, mother. I will not be able to visit for a few days, but after that, I’ll come back. I heard that the winter roses were your favourite. I’ll try to bring you some the next time. Good night, mother.” He kissed her cheek and made his way out of the Crypt.

Jon was near the doors when he heard the approaching footsteps. He entertained the idea of hiding at first, but then thought better of it and continued on his way. Right on the staircase, he came face to face with Lord Stark.

“Jon?! What are you doing here at this hour of the night?” Lord Stark was surprised, and a little suspicious.

Jon raised the gloves that he pulled off earlier when he held Lyanna’s hands. “I left them here earlier when I was playing with Arya. As I will not be allowed to come out later, I came down now to retrieve them. I don’t want them to be damp or damaged.”

Ned peered at him for a few moments, then nodded, “Very well then. On your way, lad.”

Jon nodded and strode out with his head held high.

 

Ping!

Success: Lying +5

---

 

You have slept in your bed, it restored your Health, Stamina, Mana to their maximum. Whatever ailments you may have suffered are nullified.

 

Jon had stayed up the previous night and read through the history of the rebellion. Finishing the book acquired him 10 points to his Common Tongue skill and added one single point to his Intelligence attribute. Though he went to sleep near the hour of the wolf, his Champion’s body aided him to be well-rested when he woke up an hour before the sunrise. He put a chair to his table and sat there contemplating the things he read and started to make notes.

Though the book stated that the proper rebellion had started when the Mad King Aerys had burned his grandfather Rickard Stark alive and his uncle Brandon chocked himself to death trying to reach his father, the wick was lighted during the tourney of Harrenhal. An unknown knight, only known as the Knight of the Laughing Tree created quite a raucous when he unhorsed three knights. Then the Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen won the jousting event and crowned Lady Lyanna as his Queen of Love and Beauty. The uproar that caused was enormous. Princess Elia, Rhaegar’s wife was present at the tourney as well as then Lord Robert Baratheon, the betrothed of Lady Lyanna. It was said that the Prince had slighted Dorne, Stormlands and the North with a single stroke. Later it was said that the Prince had then abducted and absconded with the Lady. Lord Brandon, the then heir to Winterfell was at Riverrun for his wedding with Lady Catelyn when the news reached them. Lord Brandon went to the Capital and demanded that the Prince “come out and die!” The Mad King threw Lord Brandon in the Black Cells and demanded Lord Rickard to come down to the Capital, who went there with 100 men and demanded a Trial by Combat to free his heir. Aerys then roasted Rickard in his armour claiming fire as his champion while he put Brandon in shackles around his neck in front of his father and a sword almost within his reach. Rickard died by fire and Brandon choked to death trying to reach for the sword. Then the King demanded from Lord Jon Arryn, who was fostering Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon, for his wards’ heads. The three men then raised their banners and rebelled against the Targaryens and the loyalists. The alliance later joined by the Riverlands by the ways of marriages, Ned Stark to Catelyn Tully and Jon Arryn to Lysa Tully. Robert slew Rhaegar in single combat where he caved in his chest with his war hammer. After that, when the Allied forces, led by Ned Stark, reached the Capital, they found that the Westland led by Lord Tywin Lannister, who sat out the entire rebellion, were already there and sacked the city. The Mad King was slain by his own Kingsguard Ser Jaime Lannister. Princess Elia and her children with Prince Rhaegar, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon were murdered brutally and their bodies were presented to Robert Baratheon by Tywin as a peace offering. Ned Stark vehemently protested about the merciless killings of the innocents and stormed out to lift the siege of Storm’s End. Then he went to Dorne to retrieve his sister only to return with her body, saying she had died of a fever. The alliance then put Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne and had him wed to Cersei Lannister.

So much were unclear to Jon. The glaring inconsistencies could never be overlooked. If Prince Rhaegar suddenly declared Lady Lyanna his Queen of Love and Beauty, then how could he offer a crown made of winter roses? That flower can only be found in the North, in extreme cold condition. Then how did the Prince, or whoever arranged for the crown, had fresh winter roses for the crown to be made and that too in a place like Harrenhal, deep in the Riverlands? Lyanna was said to be a fierce she-wolf, then how come she was abducted without anybody noticing from the heart of the North? Or the fact that nobody was aware of their journey from the North to Dorne? Who told Lord Brandon about the abduction? Only four Kingsguard were counted for during the entirety of the rebellion, Prince Llewyin Martell was killed alongside Rhaegar, Ser Barristan Selmy was injured and surrendered after the fall of Rhaegar, Ser Jaime Lannister was with the Mad King, Ser Jonothor Darry was with Queen Rhaella, he later arranged for his cousin Ser Willem Darry, the then Commander of the Gold Cloaks to fled to Essos with Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys. Ser Jonothor died by his Queen’s side when Lord Stannis attacked Dragonstone. But Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne were at Dorne. Jon had heard stories about how Lord Stark and his friends came upon them when they tried to rescue Lady Lyanna and how Lord Stark had beat Ser Arthur in single combat. What were they doing at Dorne? Ser Gerold was then the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he was supposed to be with the King, or even with the Crown Prince. And it was said that the Prince and Ser Arthur were best of friends, why then the Sword of Morning left his friend alone to die? It was said that they were guarding Lady Lyanna, but Jon didn’t believe that it would take three Kingsguards, the likes of the White Bull, Ser Gerold; the Black Bat, Ser Oswell; and the Sword of Morning, Ser Arthur to guard a lone woman so far from her home and country. How did Lord Stark come to know that his sister was in Dorne? Nothing made sense, the numbers just didn’t add up. And to top it all off, Lord Eddard Stark had come back from Dorne with the bones of his sister and a newborn babe in his arms, Jon himself. He was now almost sure that Lyanna Stark is his mother.

Jon sat at the table tugging on his hair. His eyes darting through all the notes he had made. Trying to find one clue, one confirmation that he was wrong about the conclusion he had reached. If Lyanna is his mother, then is he a child born of rape? A Blackfyre or a Sand instead of a Snow, but bastard nonetheless? But he didn’t have any Valyrian features, did he? He heard that the Targaryens or Blackfyres have silver blond, almost white hair. They have purple coloured eyes. He had dark hair…and grey eyes. He couldn’t be the blood of the dragons, could he? Out of all Stark children, only Jon and Arya had the Stark looks. And everybody, even Lord Stark, was heard to say how Arya was Lyanna reborn, by the looks and nature. It wasn’t a big secret either that Jon and Arya look like true siblings, born of the same parents. It could be said that if Jon were a girl, or Arya were a boy, they would look exactly alike. He leaned back into his chair and heaved a sigh. Even his Champion’s Mind wasn’t able to shed a light. He brought his face to his hands and rubbed vigorously, trying to stave off the weariness he felt.

Suddenly, a strong icy wind blew through the open window, scattering all the parchments upon Jon’s table. He scrambled out of the chair running to catch the flying parchments, the notes on them could prove fatal if fell into the wrong hands. Jon didn’t notice where he was going in his haste of catching every last bit of those parchments. One landed right at the hearth, and Jon, without thinking, thrusted his hand into the roaring flame to snatch it back. It had already caught on fire, tried as he might, he couldn’t save it. Once again, his action caught up to him rather late. Jon snatched his hand back from the open flame and looked at it with fearful eyes. The sleeve of his tunic was singed around the edge but his hand was absolutely fine. Not even a single boil or a burnt mark could be found on his pristine, white skin. In a daze, Jon again slowly put his hand in the flame, after waiting a few moments, he took the hand out. The sleeve had caught fire now, but his skin remained unblemished. For fire can’t hurt a dragon.

Ping!

Quest Complete!

Find out about the identities of your parents!

You are the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen!

Reward:

Trait: Dragonblood: Blood of Old Valirya runs through your veins. Your blood is magic. You may develop the ability like Deanys the Dreamer and have Dragon-dreams as you mature. It is also possible for someone of your bloodline to hatch a dragon egg and become a dragon rider. You are resistant to fire.

Trait: The Song of Ice and Fire. Your bloodlines have granted you unique abilities. As you mature, and your skill(s) grow, you will come to know of the blessings your birth has given you.

+3 Strength

+3 Endurance

+3 Perception

+3 Dexterity

+3 Intelligence

+3 Willpower

+10 Charisma

+3 Luck

Title: The Hidden Dragon

 200 exp

 

Ping!

Your Character Sheet has been updated!

 

Ping!

Level Up!
You have reached Level 2!

Jon felt sick. He ran to the privy and emptied his stomach. He came back on shaky legs to his bed and collapsed on it.

---

 

It’s been two hours since Jon got back to his bed. A maid had come and put a plate of food on the table, his morning meal. He didn’t feel the energy to get up and eat. He didn’t think that he can eat anything. He just kept staring at the Champion’s Character Screen.

His real name is Aemon, like the Dragon Knight. How many times was it that he fought with Robb for who to be the Dragon Knight in their games? Now he was Aemon for true. And he was a Targaryen, not a Blackfyre, or a Snow, he wasn’t a bastard. They were married, Rheagar and Lyanna were married. But he was already married to Princess Elia, how could he marry Lyanna then? Did they know each other from before? The crown of winter roses certainly points out their familiarity. Did they plan to run away together? Why would then the rumour of the Prince abducting Lyanna spread throughout the Kingdoms? Was it Robert Baratheon who started the claim because he was spurned by Lyanna? It wasn’t hard to imagine an older Arya raising all kinds of hells if she was being married off against her wishes. It can be understandable why his uncle claimed him as his bastard after the massacre of Targaryen children at the Red Keep. If his identity came to the front, he would’ve joined his half-siblings’ fate. If the honourable Ned Stark said he was his bastard, nobody was to gainsay him.

Jon got up from his bed and reached for the food. He chewed on without paying any notice what he was eating, his turbulent mind running here, there, everywhere. Finishing the plate, he started to pace around his room, he just couldn’t sit still. He brought out the sticks he collected last night from their hidden place. He went through the motions of the stances. Jon took a deep breath and prepared himself for a battle. He let loose whatever he learned in the training yard. Parries, thrusts, slashes, stabs – he attacked the imaginary foes with every ounce of his strength. All of his rages poured through. He didn’t know for how long he warred with the shadow opponents. It seemed to him like too soon that he collapsed on all four panting. Sweat ran down his brow like a river, his tunic sticking to his body.

Ping!

Success: +10 Sword

+1 End

Jon hardened his resolves. It wouldn’t do him any good wallowing in misery. He needed information, he needed to know why his parents had to die, why his step-mother, his siblings were killed. And he had been granted a boon unknowingly by the form of this punishment. Nobody to tell him if he immersed himself in tomes for two days. He wiped his brow and got up, it was time to visit the Maester.

---

 

When Jon reached the Maester’s tower, he could see Robb, Theon and Bran were taking their lessons from him. Well, Robb and Theon were conspiring in low voices and Bran was squirming in his seat looking out the window. Jon knocked on the door, they all looked up to him.

“Jon!” Bran shouted excitedly and tried to run towards him, only Robb to grab his shoulder and kept him in his seat. Theon had a wide mocking grin stretched on his face.

Robb raised an eyebrow at him – What the hell were you thinking?

Jon shrugged his shoulders – I don’t know, my mouth got the better of me.

Robb shook his head – I am sorry, brother.

Jon nodded – It’s alright.

The sound of Luwin clearing his throat brought an end to their silent conversation, “What can I do for you, Jon?”

“I have come to return this book to you, Maester. I am done with it.”

Luwin’s eyebrows reached his hair. “You’ve read the entire thing? I just gave you the book last night!”

Jon nodded his head, “Aye, Maester. When I came to know that I am to be barred from any outdoor activities, I stayed up the night and finished reading the book.”

Luwin peered closely at Jon. He certainly looked like a fright. Hair sticking out everywhere, dark circles under his eyes, rumpled and sweat-stained clothes. Jon’s earlier break-down helped him to establish his story. Theon’s snickering could be heard in the back, then a shuffle and sharp yelp. Robb had kicked him in the shin.

“While I am glad about your newfound scholarly attitude, lad, I feel I must object with the tendency you are showing. Seeking knowledge is a noble path, but not at the cost of one’s health. If I am to help you farther in your quest of knowledge, Jon, then you must give me your word that you will not lose yourself between the pages and will properly take care of yourself.” Luwin said sternly.

Jon nodded, “Aye, Maester, I promise. It was just that sleep didn’t come easily to me last night, so I thought I may as well finish my reading.”

“Very well, will you be wanting a different subject or continue with the one you are currently on?”

“I will continue. There are still so many things I am yet to understand.”

“Hmm, good. You know where the books are, then.”

Jon went to the shelf and put the tome back in its place. He took out two more books and dared a glance for any more skill books, no such luck. He bid the Maester goodbye on his way out, giving the shortest nod to Robb – I’ll see you later, Stark.

Robb winked at him – Be good now, Snow.

---

 

Jon made several trips to the Maester for the duration of his punishment. He now understood that there was a huge conspiracy that brought down the dynasty of the dragons. The so-called abduction of his mother or the deaths of his maternal grandfather and uncle were the excuses the conspirators used to do the dirty deeds. What he didn’t understand was the motive of the said men. Were they acting alone or were there more than one group of men? Is it possible that someone or someones saw an opportunity and sowed chaos for their gains during the turmoil? Who are these men that brought such devastating blow to both sides of his family? Jon swore to himself that he will get to the bottom of this mystery.

He spent his punishment reading tomes and practising his Valyrian letterings. As the Maester said, writing down the spiral letters did indeed loosen up his left hand and wrist. His diligence proved true when he could write in Common Tongue with both his hands at almost the same speed. Maester Luwin was ecstatic with his progress. He kept reminding Jon to keep him posted on his martial experiences with his left hand. Jon also kept up with his sword practice. Right-handed, left-handed, even times with both hands – he used the sticks as many times as he could. On the third day, the day that his punishment was over, he woke up with several alerts.

 

 Ping!

Quest Complete!

Two of a Kind

Do you want to become a Dual Wielder? Do you want to shoot arrows with either hand? Try to find out how to train your non-dominant hand to work simultaneously with your dominant hand.

Reward: +1 Dex

+1 Int

10 Exp

 

Ping!

Quest Complete!

Sharp as a Blade

You can train your body to become the perfect weapon of warfare. But a body cannot function without a sound mind. If your body needs working out to be in top physical condition, then your mind needs books to be sharpened at its finest. Try to read a book or two!

Visit Maester Luwin about relative books that may help you!

Bonus Objective: Find a Skill Book

Reward: +1 Int

+1 Wil

10 Exp

Bonus Objective Reward: 20 Exp

 

Ping!

Quest Complete!

Free as a Bird!

You’ve been caged and now you are free to reach out for the skies once again. Your punishment made you come out stronger than you were!

Reward: +1 Str

+1 Per

+10 Politics

+ 10 Economy

+10 Lying

+10 Strategy

+20 Valiryan

+20 Common Tongue

20 Exp

 

Ping!

Level Up!

You’ve reached Level 3!

Chapter 6: Stats of Jon Snow 1

Notes:

Stats of Jon Snow after Chapter 5

Character Screen

Name: Aemon Targaryen (Jon Snow)

Of House(s): Targaryen / Stark

Age: 10 years

Description: Aemon Targaryen (Jon Snow) is the son of Prince Rheagar Targaryen and Princess Lyanna Targaryen (of House Stark). He is being raised by his uncle Lord Eddard Stark as his bastard son. Currently he is known as the Bastard of Winterfel.

Lvl: 3

Exp: 10/300

Health: 110/110

Stamina: 85/85

Mana: 120/120

Str: 8

End: 8

Per: 7

Dex: 7

Int: 8

Wil: 9

Cha: (14-4) 10*

Luc: 5

UAP (10)

Title: Bastard of Winterfel, The Hidden Dragon

Trait: Wolfblood: Blood of the First Men runs through your veins. You can become a powerful warg, or as the Free Folk beyond the Wall calls it, a Skinchanger. Greenseer ability could also be possible for someone of your bloodline. You are resistant to Cold.

Trait: Dragonblood: Blood of Old Valirya runs through your veins. Your blood is magic. You may develop the ability like Deanys the Dreamer and have Dragon-dreams as you mature. It is also possible for someone of your bloodline to hatch a dragon egg and become a dragon-rider. You are resistant to fire.

Trait: The Song of Ice and Fire. Your bloodlines have granted you unique abilities. As you mature, and your skill(s) grow, you will come to know of the blessings your birth has given you.

Perks – (1) Champion's Mind: As a Champion chosen by the Gods to avert worldwide disaster, you have been granted the Champion's Mind perk. Which means you will always be in control of your mental state. Outside influences like Battle Lust may affect you for the duration, but you will always be responsible for your actions.

(2) Champion's Body: As a Champion chosen by the Gods to avert worldwide disaster, you have been granted the Champion's Body perk. Which means you will heal faster than normal, any negative effect like poisoning, alcohol, or possession will not affect you in long term. You will be automatically restored to your optimum physical self after a good night's rest.

(3) Bastardry: This perk enables you to become closer to the lowborns much quickly as they see you as one of their own, but at the cost of derision and disdain from the highborns. Also, while this perk is active, your Cha attribute may suffer negative effect.

Current Attribute Loss: -4 Cha*

(4) Sword Proficiency: As the Title described, you become proficient wielding a sword. As you continue to practice and grow confident, you will unlock further improvements of this category.

(5) Bow Proficiency: As the Title described, you become proficient using a bow. As you continue to practice and grow confident, you will unlock further improvements of this category.

UPP (1)

Money: 10 Gold Dragons 10 Silver Stags 30 Copper Stars

---

Skill Screen!

Skill: Martial

Sub: Sword (Lvl. 2 100/200)

Bow (Lvl. 2 40/200)

Club (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Strategy (Lvl. 1 20/100)

Leadership (Lvl. 1 20/100)

Horse Riding (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Hunting (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Skill: Social

Sub: Orator (Lvl. 1 20/100)

Singer (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Dancer (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Conversationalist (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Skill: Scholar

Sub: Language

Old Tongue (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Common Tongue (Lvl. 2 40/200)

Valiryan (Lvl. 1 20/100)

Science

Smithy (Lvl 1 0/100)

Agriculture (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Herbalist (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Alchemy (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Biology (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Bestiary (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Economy (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Politics (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Magica (Lvl. 1 0/100)

Skill: Intrigue

Sub: Sneak (Lvl. 1 20/100)

Pick-Pocket (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Lock-Pick (Lvl. 1 10/100)

Tracking (Lvl. 1 20/100)

Subterfuge (Lvl. 1 15/100)

Blending (Lvl. 1 20/100)

Lying (Lvl. 1 35/100)

Observe (Lvl. 1 22/100)

---

Quest Screen!

Quest Alert!

Eyes to the Prize – The Northern Bow: Part 1

Make consecutive 10 shots at 20 and 30 paces

Bonus Objective: Use each arm alternatively to make the shots

Reward: ?

?

?

50 exp

Chapter 7: ...One Giant Leap for Aemon Targaryen

…One Giant Leap for Aemon Targaryen

It had been a month since Jon’s punishment. He was granted a few short quests in between, nothing earth-shattering, but just a few chores around the Keep to help out the staff. It granted him a total of 50 Exp points and a better understanding of the Small Folks. He had kept up with his training and lessons with the Maester. The only change he caused was he included Robb whenever he and Arya came up with a prank or just general misadventures. It resulted in a much closer relationship between the brother and sister, and a rather disgruntled Theon…but who cared about anything that the Squid thought.

The first thing Jon did after getting out of his punishment was going to the Glass House. He made a bouquet of the winter roses and quietly smuggled it into the Crypt. He broke down in front of the effigy of Lyanna as he finally truly knew her to be his mother.

Jon had found a clearing in the Godswood farther than the Hearts Tree, where he made an archery range for himself. He didn’t want a repeat of when he tried to shoot with his left hand. For the safety of the people, and himself, he had chosen the deepest part of the wood to practice discreetly. He still had a way to go but he wasn’t as dismal as he was when he first started this workout. His Valyrian writing had surely enabled him to use his left hand with more ease. As a bonus, he had reached the second level with the skill, up to par with his Common Tongue skill. He kept Maester Luwin in the loop with his progress, the old man was ecstatic about it. He mumbled something about developing a new technique for warriors/knights to use. He had insisted that Jon visit him every other day and tell him about his practices in details while he made notes.

His abilities with swords had increased in leaps and bounds. He had kept the Weirwood sticks and squeezed in any free moments he could find to practice with his dual-wielding. Everything in the secret, of course, he didn’t want his fa-uncle to find out what he was doing. He wasn’t ready for another confrontation with him yet. Jon was trying hard to find what was the meaning of the trait The Song of Ice and Fire. He had a vague idea that it had to do something with magic, he could ask the Maester’s help since Maester Luwin had a Valyrian steel link in his chain proving his studies in magic. But then again, he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention towards him.  

---

 

Jon had just finished his practice in the yard for that morning when he found Arya lurking nearby. She must have given the Septa the slip and absconding from her sewing lessons. Jon chuckled to himself and went over to her. Arya was hiding beside some barrels of nails near the stable. Jon crouched down to her level and whispered in her ear –

“Alright, what are we hiding from?”

Arya let out a yelp and turned to face him, she glared fiercely at Jon. “Don’t do that, stupid!”

Jon laughed and mussed her hair, “So, are you going to tell me what are you hiding from here?”

Arya scowled. “Stupid Sansa made me mad. I wanted a few minutes to catch the cat so he doesn’t get into the kitchen like the other day. But Stupid Sansa found out and snitched to the Septa.”

Jon smiled, “If I help you with your cat, will you promise to go back to your lessons?”

Arya looked down and fumbled with the hem of her dress. “I guess…”

“Then let’s go, little sister. We have a traitorous cat to catch.”

Ping!

To Catch a Cat!

Chase the cat around Winterfell and catch it before it hides or gets into the kitchen!

Bonus Objective: Avoid tripping over obstacles in your path and colliding with people while you run!

Reward: +1 Dex

10 Exp

?

Accept: Y / N

Jon accepted the quest and took off running after the cat. It wasn’t as easy as he thought. He couldn’t avoid colliding with people in the corridor, who yelled at him somewhat fierce for ramming into them. Or he couldn’t help from falling flat on his face jumping over unassuming barrels or boxes in the yard. After running for fifteen minutes, a battered and bruised Jon caught the cat. He took it back to Arya who was laughing her head off at Jon’s misery.

“Here is your cat, now I think you are needed to be at your lessons, young lady.” Jon said through laboured breath.

“Don’t call me a Lady, stupid.” Arya snapped and took the cat in her arms. She turned towards the sewing room but again ran back to Jon and gave him a tight hug, “Love you, Jon! You are the bestest brother in the world!”

Jon smiled and hugged Arya back as tightly. Even though he now knew the truth, Arya will always be his little sister, a shadow of his deceased mother. “I love you too, little sister.”

Ping!

Quest Completed!

To Catch a Cat!

Bonus Objective: Failed!

Reward: +1 Dex

10 Exp

Failed to earn bonus reward!

Since that day, Jon had been given a Quest each morning. He had to run along the top of the walls and battlements of Winterfell. At first, people thought him to be losing his mind, when it became a daily occurrence, they stopped paying attention to him when he zoomed past them running every morning. Theon made some mocking remarks to him and Robb asked with concern why Jon had taken a sudden interest in running on the walls every morning. Jon replied that it helped him with his balance and stamina. He tried to entice Robb in his runs, although he became somewhat interested, then Theon happened. Jon shrugged and never again brought up the subject.

A couple of months went by when again Jon encountered the same situation with Arya. This time he caught the cat much quicker and managed to avoid ramming into too many people or tripping over every box or barrels he had to jump over. His spatial awareness became attuned enough that he could plan a way through almost in an instant. It helped with his body movements while he ran. Seeing the progress he had made, he added running through obstacles in his workout regime at his secret yard. There he had more space to run full tilt and also many more obstacles for him to avoid or jump over or sliding under.   

---

 

It had been almost a year since Jon had become the Champion. He and Robb had progressed from wooden training sword to blunted tourney swords at the yard. Jon had to try very hard to appear at par with Robb or slightly better than him. He could decimate Robb if he wanted to, but he figured that would be detrimental to the ego of the future heir of Winterfell. Not to mention, the rantings of Lady Stark which he wanted to avoid at any cost. He progressed far ahead of his peers, he stood at a place now where he could take on a new guard recruit and almost beat him. The only thing holding him back was his inexperience and the proper strength. Else his skill, speed or stamina was almost at par with an adult.

Meanwhile, Bran had started his training in the yard. As Jon promised himself, he made it a point to show the ways to Bran and help him out along with Robb whenever they could. It was weird to see that Bran taking his lessons from Jon and Robb more seriously than he did with Ser Rodrick.

Arya didn’t want to be left behind. So she had made sad faces and produced enough fake tears to Jon that he felt guilty and started to train her during the crack of dawn at the out of the way backyard. He had roped Robb into this secret training schedule. He had grumbled at first about waking up this early every morning, but a slap at the back of his head from Jon and a puppy face from Arya soon put an end to that. Jon had wrung out a promise from Arya that in exchange for their training, Arya had to take her other lessons seriously and she will not run from the Septa as regularly. He tried to make her promise to fight less with Sansa, but he doubted that the Old Gods themselves couldn’t even manage that.

Everything went smoothly at first, but a well-behaved Arya was as much an anomaly as two suns in the sky. Soon enough, Jon and Robb had found themselves sitting before Lord Eddard in his solar.

Ned laced his fingers on top of the desk and peered down at the boys sitting in front of him. Robb squirming under the stern gaze of his father, but Jon remained as stoic as ever. Since their argument, Ned had kept an eye on Jon. He knew something had changed in Jon, but for the life of him, he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. All he knew was that Jon had become much more sure about himself. He seemed to have found a new wealth of confidence and grace. He had heard from the others about Jon’s progress in his lessons (though he had no idea about Jon’s secret training regime). He let out a sigh for the enigma that Jon had become.

“For what reason do you boys think that I called you here?”

Robb and Jon exchanged glances but remained quiet.

“Why do you think that Arya is suddenly behaving so well?”

Robb looked at Jon – I think he found out.

Jon raised an eyebrow – I think so too, let’s see where this lead on.

Ned cleared his throat. “If you boys wouldn’t mind stopping your silent conversation…?”

They both turned towards him in unison, eyes bulging out.

Ned snorted, “What? You thought you two are the only ones who could have an entire conversation just by looking at each other? You are forgetting that I had two brothers and a sister, and we were as close as you two are. Why, I can even teach you tricks that will make your tiny heads spin…”

The boys appeared very eager at this point. Ned cleared his throat again.

“That’s not the reason I called you here. I want to know why you two have started to train Arya in arms?”

Jon looked at Robb – You tell him.

Robb frowned – Why me? It was your idea.

Jon pursed his lips – You are the heir to the Lord, be responsible.

Robb sighed in defeat.

“Any day now, lads, I am not getting any younger here.”

Robb gulped and took in a deep breath, “When Bran started his training, Arya became morose. She wanted to learn the ways of the sword, or how to shoot properly…so Jon thought” he received a kick at the shin. “…I mean Jon and I, we both thought that we could cheer up our little sister. We figured that if we teach her how to handle the weapons properly, she cannot hurt herself by learning on her own…”

Robb looked at Jon – Was it alright?

Jon nodded – You did good, brother.

Ned rested his chin on his hands. “Why did you decide that it was okay for her to train in arms in the first place? Sansa doesn’t want to learn the ways of the sword; she is becoming a proper lady. Arya should try to follow her elder sister.”

This time it was Jon who spoke up. “With all due respect, Lord Stark, you are wrong. Sansa is not Arya, neither Arya is Sansa. They are as different from each other as day and night. Sansa is the perfect little Southern lady, she is happy with her sewing, singing, dancing and praying at the Sept and dreams of a gallant knight. But Arya is of the North. She will sooner bash the head of the man who will show her the littlest disrespect than to run away crying. And who said that a lady cannot wield weapons? The House Mormont, your lealest Bannermen, they train their women from the day they can handle a sword. Can anybody say that they are not Ladies of a high born house? They are ladies, aye, but ladies of the North! They do not believe in the flowery pomp and poise of the Southorns.”

This time Jon received a kick at his shin, Robb was glaring at him – Are you trying to get punished again?

Jon had the sense to look ashamed.

Ned sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You are correct of course. But that doesn’t mean that Lady Stark will agree with you. At this moment she is happy that both her daughters are trying hard at their lessons. Soon she will become aware of what Arya is doing, what then? How do you plan for that fallout?”

The boys had their heads down, thinking very hard. Indeed, they hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Jon started in a small voice, “I may have a solution…but it was more of a long time solution…”

Ned indicated for him to go on.

“Why not send Arya to foster at the Bear Island? She will learn how to become a proper Northern Lady under the watchful eyes of Lord Jorah and Lady Meage. Also, they are the fiercest warriors of the North. Arya will be very happy there.”

Ned hummed in thought, this idea indeed had merit.

Jon gulped and took another gamble head-on, “…and we, I mean Robb, Bran, Rickon and I could do with some more Northern learnings.”

Ned raised an eyebrow in askance.

“I mean, all we have are lessons from Maester Luwin about the Houses of the realms, treaties between the kingdoms, strategies, economy and law. Ser Rodrick trains us with arms. But what of the North, its culture? We are of the First Men, what do we know about them? We only heard about Brandon the Builder, Brandon the Shipwright, Theon the Hungry Wolf, Torrhen the Last Winter King…the history of North cannot be said in a few short sentences, I refused to believe it. Robb here is the future Lord of Winterfell, he is to become the Warden of North. He must know the lands and its people which he is to be the Lord of. Bran and Rickon, are the Starks. They carry the name that has been around for thousands of years. They need to know their legacy. I am not a Stark, but I am of the Stark blood. I would like to know about my ancestors too.”

Only the sound of the fire burning in the hearth could be heard in the solar. The boys sat still in their seats. Lord Stark leaning back in his chair scratching his chin, deep in thought. After a couple of minutes, the silence got the better of the boys, they started to fidget in their seats.

Suddenly Lord Stark sat up straight and looked at them with utmost seriousness. “What you’ve said is indeed true. I’ll be doing a disservice to my ancestor if I do not ensure the future generation of Stark learn about themselves. I will send for someone who will come and teach you about the North.” The boys exchanged a happy smile. “But we have been distracted from the original topic.” Lord Stark peered at the boys. Again they started to fidget under his gaze. “I think it would be better if you continue with her training, but be very discreet as you were. Your idea of fostering Arya to the Mormonts have merits, Jon. But she is yet very young. We will revisit that topic in another year or two. For the time being, you are to act responsibly with her. Do not make me regret my decision. You are to make sure she knows proper care while handling her arms. Also, you need to make her attend her other lessons without any fuss. You can be strict with her for her sake. And if, by Gods’ grace, Sansa one day shows eagerness for the same lessons, please do not discourage her. Help her too as much you can. Do I have your words?”

Both the boys had ear-splitting grins on their faces, they nodded eagerly.

“Good. Now, don’t think I have forgotten about your cheek earlier either, Jon. You are to help out in the kitchen for a week for your lack of decorum.”

Jon opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it.

“Don’t think you’ll be alone, your brother will be joining you to share your burden.”

Robb looked aghast, “What?! But I didn’t say anything!”

“But you thought the same, did you not? Jon may have uttered the words, but the thought ran through both your heads, were they not? Furthermore, do you want to abandon your brother for something that you both did?”

Rob lowered his head and shook to say no. He glared at Jon though – Look what you did, Snow.

Jon had a small smirk on his face – Oh come on, Stark, a little work wont destroy you.

“You are excused now.”

Robb was out of his seat in a blink, but Jon appeared to have something more to say.

“Yes, Jon?”

“Father, if you don’t mind, could you tell us about our Uncles and Aunt? We know practically nothing about them. You just said that you could not only talk to each other by looks like Robb and I can, but more. Could you tell us stories from your youth? You must have had fun, You, Uncles Brandon and Benjen…Aunt Lyanna. I would like it very much to have some stuff to blackmail Uncle Benjen with when he comes for a visit next…” He looked at Robb who once again took to his seat and was looking at Ned eagerly.

Ned’s visage took a blank look at Jon’s request, he gazed sternly at the boys for a few moments. Then he sighed and shook his head.

“Please understand one thing, talking about them is very painful for me. We may not have been as close as you are, but we were close. Their absence still haunts me…” His face took a sorrowful mien, then he shook his head again and a mischievous glint showed in his eyes, “Do you know that your Uncle Brandon and I had once convinced your Uncle Benjen that if he prayed to the biggest horse in the stable as the horse god of old, he will become a better rider? The poor lad went and annoyed father’s horse so much that it kicked him. Lyanna was so mad at us. Ben still bears the cut above his left eye…”

The rest of the evening was spent with Ned reminiscing about the days of the past. The solar was full of sounds of laughter. Jon sat there absorbing every bit of information about his mother without anyone noticing.

Ping!

Quest Complete!

The North Remembers!

Try to secure tutelage about the history of the North!

Reward: +10 Orator

+10 Leadership

+10 Old Tongue

+1 Int

20 Exp

.

Ping!

Quest Complete!

A Trip Down the Memory Lane!

Coax your Uncle to talk about your mother!

Reward: +10 Subterfuge

+1 Int

+1 Luc

20 Exp

Jon shook his head, he could never get used to these secret quests. He shook off the thought and concentrated again on the stories about his mother and uncles.

---

 

Changes appeared rapidly within the walls of Winterfell. A fortnight after Ned talked to Jon and Robb, Lady Jonelle Cerwyn (*The Dragon Cub by Alperez16) arrived as the tutor for all Stark children. Lady Catelyn didn’t like her presence at her home and she made it known to her Lord Husband, quite loudly in fact. But Lord Stark remained unmoved from his decision and Lady Jonnelle, or as she asked the children to call her, Lady Ella took up educating the Starks what it meant to be a Northerner.

Lady Ella didn’t arrive alone at Winterfell, she brought along her cousin, Lord Medger Cerwyn’s youngest son Cley Cerwyn along with her. Apparently, Lord Cerwyn had made a condition that in exchange for Lady Ella being a tutor for the Stark children, Cley will be fostered at Winterfell. Being of the same age as Jon and Robb, Cley soon found himself integrated into the group. What was previously known as the Terrible Trio of Jon, Robb and Arya, the dreaded pranksters and general source of mayhem around Winterfell, had become the Fearsome Four with Cley’s inclusion. Arya was at first a little hostile towards Cley, thinking he will be trying to drive her brothers away from her, but soon enough, after a few bribes of pastries, she came to think of him as another brother whom she could wrap around her fingers on a whim.

Cley brought with him something new to the training yard. For his age, Cley was rather adept in spear fighting. He regularly challenged both Stark boys to spars with the sword against the spear and made them bit the dust. The jeering from Cley and Arya irritated Jon and Robb so, they had taken Cley aside and begged him for additional practice in proper countering of spears. Though they had threatened him with dire consequences if he let Arya know that they had begged him for his favour. The smirk on Cley’s face made them both gulp in fear, they regretfully accepted the fate that Cley would hold this over their heads for indefinite time…but anything for learning to better themselves with arms.

---

 

News had spread around soon that Lord Stark had agreed to fosterage. In six months, Ned’s solar was flooded with requests of fosterage. When Jon said that their generation knew nothing about the North’s history or culture, Ned took it to his heart. Him being fostered at the Vale from a young age, he had almost lost his connection with the land and its people. Circumstances had made him the Lord of Winterfell, else he wasn’t even brought up to hold the mantle. After their conversation that day, he made a vow that he will make sure his children will be brought up with Northern Ethics. Even if he had to fight with Catelyn over this decision. He knew only death will pry Sansa from Lady Stark’s grasp, so he focused mainly on Robb’s fosterage. Surprisingly enough, there were a few offers to foster Jon as well. He took Maester Luwin with him and together they discussed the most favourable way to ensure Robb’s fosterage. He couldn’t just send Robb to any of his Bannermen, there were too much politics to think about. He needed to be subtle yet firm enough that the ruffled feathers would be soothed down. He wanted to have his way clear for when he would send Arya to the Bear Island. He could offer Bran as a page or squire to Brynden Tully if Cat became disgruntled enough.

After some scrutiny, Ned had decided that he would send Robb to White Harbour. Lord Manderly being the unofficial economist of the North, the future Warden could learn about trades and coinage from a respected source. The Manderlys also had household knights, Robb’s martial lessons could continue uninterrupted that way. He will make a counteroffer to Lord Manderly to foster one of his granddaughters. As they were the followers of the Seven, that way both Lady Stark and Sansa couldn’t have enough to complain about. He would send Jon to Karhold as Lord Karstark mentioned in his raven that he wouldn’t mind having him. Ned’s only concern was Arya, if she suddenly lost the company of both Jon and Robb, she could’ve caused untold misery throughout the household, only saving grace was that she had taken well to Cley Cerwyn, so Ned had high hopes that his youngest daughter wouldn’t cause too much trouble.

It took Lord Stark a fortnight to send ravens and confirm his decision with his Lords. After receiving their affirmation, he broached the subjects during supper one evening. As expected, Arya screamed bloody murder that Jon and Robb will be leaving Winterfell. Lady Stark stormed out of the hall on the prospect of sending her firstborn away from her. Robb and Jon both had horrified looks upon their faces. It took Lady Ella all of her patience to calm the situation down enough so that Lord Stark could finish giving his news. First, he had to assure the boys that they are not being punished, the decision was only for the betterment of their future. Then he tried to reason with Arya and Bran who were by now clinging to their elder brothers. Ned requested Sansa to take Rickon to his room, the babe had been scared enough without understanding anything and had been adding to the commotion with his wailing. Lady Ella pried Bran off of Robb and took him to his room, and Cley, bless him, whispered something about spear or deer (Ned couldn’t hear him correctly) and took Arya on his shoulders out of the keep. Only Theon remained at his seat, looking sulkily at his plate.

Ned took the boys to his solar and explained to them about his planning. They were nervous, yet excited about the fosterage. Lord Stark drilled in them about their responsibilities, they were to obey Lords Manderly and Karstark. Any order they would give, they are to be taken as if it came from Lord Stark himself. Furthermore, they would need to be on their best behaviours and show everybody what it meant to be a Stark. The boys dutifully listened to him. Afterwards, when Ned asked them if they have any doubts, Jon’s only question was what would become of Arya’s training, or helping Bran at the yard. Ned promised them that he would talk with Cley who would take up training Arya, and Bran would have to do with Ser Rodrick.

Soon, it was time to reason with the Lady of the house. Catelyn was enraged enough by the time Ned reached their rooms. She ranted and raved at him for near an hour. When she became tired and quietened down a bit, Ned made her take a seat and told her about the hardships he had to face when he first became the Lord of Winterfell. He told her how his fostering at Vale became detrimental to his rule. As the Northerners were of different make, they were doubtful that Ned would ever become the Stark of Winterfell. He had to prove himself at every step he took. His life became even harder because he took a Southern wife, and how it reached a catastrophic stage when he had built a Sept at the heart of the North. Ned had come clean about every situation he had to hide from his wife, every scorn, every derision that he guarded her against. They talked well into the night. In the end, Lady Stark came to understand the harm she could cause to her son’s ruling if she kept clinging to her Southern views. She was ashamed about the disrespect Ned had to endure because she wasn’t considerate enough. Family, Duty, Honour…her own house words were screaming at her. In her quest of becoming a proper Southern wife, she forgot that she now resides in the North, where the people were different, their views were different. After more than a decade of marriage and living in the North, she didn’t bother to learn about what had become her own home. They had resolved their differences that night and perhaps, for the first time became husband and wife for true. Though Catelyn had tried her luck and asked him about Jon’s mother, Ned sombrely replied to her that he would tell her one day for sure, all she needed to know at that moment was Jon and he shared blood.

---

 

Jon never dreamed that he would be leaving Winterfell for fosterage. He felt both sad and excited about his prospects. Sad that he had to leave behind his mother, his little sister, his uncle and cousins, the very familiar keep and its surroundings. But on the other hand, he was excited beyond anything about exploring the North further than he had ever gone before. He sneaked into the Crypt that night and spend some time conversing with his mother, telling her about his fears and doubts. Also, how excited he was to finally have a chance to proving himself beyond the walls of Winterfell. The next few days took him to pack his belongings and reconcile with Arya. He made her promise that he would write to her as often as he could. He and Robb had talked with Cley about Arya’s training, he was only so happy to take over from them. He promised them that he would make sure that their little sister becomes one hell of a warrior.

Soon, the day arrived when they had to leave their home. Jon and Robb readied their horses and took them to the yard. The Stark family was standing there to bid farewell to them. Rickon only laughed when his brothers took him in their arms and hoisted him up in the air. Bran was sniffing and begged them not to go. Arya stood there with a sullen face. She hugged Robb and warned him to not become any stupider than he already is. Robb choked back a laugh and hugged her tighter. When it was time for Jon, Arya broke down and latched onto Jon, crying her eyes out. It took Robb, Jon and Cley, all three of them to calm Arya down. Jon didn’t expect anything from Sansa, but to his immense surprise, she hugged him and gifted him a silk kerchief with a white direwolf embroidered upon it. He kissed her forehead and requested her to not pick fights with Arya. Lady Stark only gave him a stiff nod, but to Jon, that was more than enough. Finally, he stood in front of Lord Stark.

“Son, now you are venturing out in the world to become a man. You will show everybody out there that the Stark blood of old still demands respect. Listen to your Lord, and never waiver from doing your duties.”

“I will make you proud, Father.”

“I know you will, son. You may not have my name, but you are my blood, I have complete faith in you.”

Ned hugged him tightly, “Perhaps once you return, I’ll tell you about your mother.”

Jon pulled back from him and stared directly at his eyes, whispering back so none save Ned could hear him, “I already know… Uncle!”

Colour drained from Ned’s face, Jon only nodded back at him and got up on his horse. Robb was already up on his own and was waiting for him to finish his goodbyes. They rode together through the gate and turned back once to wave back at their family.

Half a day’s ride from Winterfell, they had to bid goodbye to each other. Robb will venture further down the Kingsroad southwards and Jon will turn towards the east. They got down and stood side by side looking back the way they had come from.

“I guess it is goodbye, for now, Snow.”

“Aye, you should learn to take care, Stark, I will not be there to baby you anymore.”

Robb punched Jon in the arm. “I will miss you, Brother!”

“I will miss you too, Brother!”

They got back on their horses, Robb turned towards Jon for one last time, “Send ravens, keep me posted about your adventures at Karhold.” He winked at Jon.

“As long as you keep me posted about your follies at White Harbour.” Jon smirked back.

They both laughed and turned their horses towards their destinations. Jon took a deep breath. The air seemed different to him outside of the walls of Winterfell.

Ping!

Congratulations, Champion! You have completed your training phase! Your proper journey begins now!

Chapter 8: Creating Cacophony at Karhold

Creating Cacophony at Karhold

It had been six months that Jon had arrived and settled in Karhold. The Lord of the castle, Rickard Karstark, was a stern but caring man. He didn’t mind Jon’s bastard status, he had the blood of the Starks, his kin, and that was all that mattered to the Lord. He might have cautioned his household about the fact since Jon didn’t receive the usual scorn or sneer like at Winterfell. But then again, many of those had been caused by Lady Stark.

Lord Karstark’s eldest sons, Harrion and Eddard, were older by a few years of Jon. So they didn’t care that much about him, citing him as a child. They were there to receive him when he arrived, but afterwards, they had left him to his own devices. Torrhen, the third son, who was a year younger than Jon, had become his close companion. They had picked up a rather easy friendship training and having lessons together. Torrhen had shown him around the castle and the surrounding area and helped Jon to settle himself. They did have an avid stalker in form of Alys, Lord Karstark’s youngest child and daughter, but since Jon was used to having Arya dogging his every step, he didn’t mind her to the annoyance and spluttering of Torrhen. Alys blushed bright red when Jon asked her about her interests. She timidly told him about her passion for horse riding. Jon promised her to give lessons in riding. She stammered her thanks and ran back inside the keep. Torrhen had burst out laughing and told to an incredulous Jon that his sister might have started planning for their wedding already.

The Godswood here at Karhold was far different than that of Winterfell. Of course, the face of the Heart Tree was curved differently, here it wore a frown instead of a sorrowful face from back home, but the connection that Jon felt with the Old Gods, albeit a little different, was still present. At home, he felt a sense of tranquillity and easy acceptance, here, the Godswood felt like a stern but caring guardian, much like the Lord of the castle himself.

The Castle Karhold wasn’t as grand as Winterfell, but it had its charm. Jon tried to imagine the times gone by through these walls since its inception almost a thousand years ago. The library, smaller than he was used to, but was stuffed with rare and valuable tomes about the history of the house and the North. Although Jon did spot a few skill books on the shelves, he hadn’t had a chance to look closely at them yet. He had a medium-sized but quite comfortable room here with the view over the yard and a part of the farming fields that surrounded the keep. The castle may not have been warm because of hot water flowing through the walls by pipe, like back in Winterfell, but it had a friendly and calm atmosphere, well, as calm as it could be when Harrion and Eddard were not creating raucous that is. The brothers were close like Jon and Robb, but they were always at each other’s business and wrestling each other to domination for the littlest bit of disagreement. All of these done good-naturedly, of course. The Lady of the house, Anya Karstark were often seen to be chasing and pulling her eldest, almost to the brink of manhood, sons by the ears exasperatedly for their antics, much to the amusements of others, even the stern Lord Karstark was seen to wear a smirk during those times. Lady Anya was truly a gentle soul, she had welcomed Jon to her home with open arms, always fussing over him. He once even accidentally heard her lamenting about him being a motherless child to her ladies. Jon couldn’t help but comparing her to Catelyn and felt an enormous amount of respect for Lady Anya.

Maester Darryl was much older than Luwin but was very genial overall. He was amazed at Jon’s reasoning and strategic mind during their lessons.  When Jon had told him about how he and Maester Luwin were experimenting with the use of the left hand, he was very interested in their method and told Jon that he would be making correspondence with the Maester of Winterfell in this regard for sure.

Jon had taken up his training right where he left them at Winterfell. Here at Karhold, he didn’t feel the need to hold himself back. So he was soon receiving accolades for his skills with the sword. The Master-at-arms, Donnel Keen, a grumpy old man who, according to Torrhen, never had a smile on his face, made his approval known for Jon’s skills. That reason only was enough for Torrhen to almost start worshipping Jon.

There was, however, a dark cloud hovered the general acceptance of Jon at Karhold. Arnolf Karstark, a cousin of the Lord and steward of the castle, had made his opinion known about the Bastard of Winterfell. Only the fear of Lord Karstark stopped him from showing open hostility towards Jon, but he made up for that with his hidden barbs and insults. The sneer and scowls of his were for everyone, none escaped those. But, on the whole, Jon was very happy with his fosterage otherwise.

Jon had found a workable clearing in the nearby woods where he could continue his obstacle course. He couldn’t keep it secret however since Torrhen had become his shadow. The both of them usually leave early in the morning for their work out in the woods. Jon had to help Torrhen to walk back to the keep after the first day. He had thought that would be the end of him coming down to the woods every morning, but he was wrong about Torrhen’s enthusiasm, he was standing beside the gates with a big smile on his face the next day Jon was about to leave the keep.

Jon was very close to dual wield swords, his practising in the yard and the writing with his left hand had come through. He could wield a sword in his left hand as good as with his right. He only needed to practice using them simultaneously. He had reached almost level 4 in his sword skill, the continuous working with swords, both on and off the yard, had paid off. His bow skill, however, wasn’t coming as good as his sword skill. He had reached level 3 in it and could make 10 out of 10 shots at 20 paces by his right hand, but his left-handed shots were often veering off target. Jon was determined to get his bow skill up to the task as quickly as possible, the unfinished quest in his Quest Screen had started to grate on his nerves.

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Jon had come out to the woods surrounding Karhold on his own. Though Torrhen was supposed to come with him, he had received punishment for some pranks he pulled off on Alys. When Jon left with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he could see him standing by his window with a sad look on his face. Jon gave him a cheery wave and received the bird in return. Laughing, he mounted his horse and rode out of the castle. This was not the first time Jon had gone hunting in the woods. It had plenty of games but almost none of the dangerous predators. Therefore, the boys from Karhold were often found in the woods hunting for birds or rabbits. Lady Anya had ranted at them saying that if they spend any more time in there, they would become the beasts of the woods themselves.

Jon had tied his horse to a tree after he went a little deep in the woods. He ventured further in on his foot. The rabbits would scatter for sure if they heard the hoofbeats of a horse. That morning had proved to be lucky for him, in only half an hours turn, he had bagged three rabbits and two pheasants. Encouraged by his success, Jon had ventured further into the woods than he normally did. He didn’t even notice that he gotten in far too deep than even Harrion or Eddard said they had.

Jon came upon a small creek deep in the woods, he had taken cover behind a bunch of rocks because he could hear the unmistaken sound of some animal drinking water. He peered cautiously around the rocks and spotted a buck. It was a magnificent beast with the biggest set of antlers on its head. Very slowly he took off his bow from his shoulder and notched an arrow to it. He took a deep breath and let loose the arrow. It flew true and struck the buck near its throat. It let out a keening sound and tried to run away, but Jon was faster, his next shot had hit its chest area and probably went through its lung. It tried to run away but waddling after a few paces, it went down. Jon got out of his hiding place and leapt over the creek. The buck was still breathing when he reached it, it tried to get up but couldn’t muster the strength. Jon took out his skinning knife from its sheath and after muttering a quick prayer to the Old Gods, he slit its throat to give it a quick death.

Jon had just gotten up to find vines so that he can tie up the buck and dragged it to his horse when the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his every sense screamed at him about danger. He slowly turned on his heels and came to see a huge bear standing on top of the copes of rocks he was hiding behind. Jon cursed under his breath, he should’ve realized that the other animals could be around for the creek to be a source of water.

Ping!

Quest Alert!

Bear the bear!

Stay alive!

Reward: ?

That was really helpful, mused Jon absentminded. The bear snarled and took a step towards Jon. He very slowly took out his bow and aimed an arrow towards it with trembling hands. It took another step and Jon let the arrow fly. Though his hands were trembling something fierce, his aim was true, the arrow embedded itself on the right shoulder of the bear. It let out a roar of pain and dashed towards Jon, he had ditched his bow by then realizing it wouldn’t help him in the current situation. For the lack of any other weapon, Jon grabbed the skinning knife and held it tight in his grip.

The bear wasn’t slowed at all with the arrow wound, in a blink, it had reached Jon and swiped at him. Jon dove into his training and tried to parry the swipe, the sharp edge of the knife left a shallow cut at the bear’s claw. Enraged, it stood back on his hind legs and let out another roar. It lunged at Jon and he tried to dive sideways to avoid its claw, but this time the bear managed to land an attack. Jon was thrown backwards and had the winds knocked out of him. He felt as if his chest was on fire. He looked down to find three long gashes across his chest, his torn jerkin was slowly getting wet from the seeping blood. Shakily, Jon stood back on his feet, firming his resolve, he again held up the knife. He snarled back at the bear, he would not die alone in the wood, on his back, he would not go down without a fight. Jon felt as if his blood lit on fire, primal energy suffused him, his senses became sharper – he could smell the salty tang of blood in the air, he could hear the heartbeats of his own and the bear’s, he could see the tensing of muscles behind the thick, black fur of the bear.

The bear once again lunged at Jon, this time he jumped upwards. Jon twisted in the air and landed atop the bear. He wound his left arm around its neck and pulled back with all of his strength. Even though it felt nothing to the bear, but having Jon on its back and his arm around its neck enraged it further and it stood on its hind legs once again. The bear’s action showed to be in favour of Jon, as it stood up, Jon was now hanging from its neck, his entire weight now tugging at the bear’s windpipe. No matter how small Jon was in comparison with the bear, it surely felt the discomfort of almost getting choked. It kept flailing its forelegs about trying to snag Jon and free itself. He gritted his teeth and brought his right arm up to stab the bear in the head, but the flailing made him miss his target. He had just made a gash across its snout, in pain, the bear shook its entire body and almost dislodged Jon. He tightened his grip with his failing strength, he could feel that he would not be able to hold on for much longer. With an angry yell, Jon again stabbed at the bear, he didn’t notice where the blade landed, he kept swinging his right arm and stabbing at its head. After what felt like a lifetime, the bear collapsed on the ground, creating a tremor. Jon leapt up from its body which was convulsing in death throws. From a distance, Jon looked at the bear and saw the right side of its head was almost cut to the ribbons. One of his stabs had landed on its eye and went through to its brain, which was what ultimately brought the bear down to the ground.

Jon collapsed on his knees and emptied his stomach. He laid on his back and started to take big gulps of air, his arms were screaming at him. After a few minutes, with his breathings once again under his control, Jon tried to get up, he winced at the pain that flared up in his chest. He took a glance at the bear to find that it was finally dead. He dragged his leaden feet towards the creek and drank the ice-cold water to his heart’s content. He tried to wash off the blood from his hands and face as much as he could. He then took off his jerkin and undershirt to wash the wounds on his chest. He made strips from the ruined undershirt to tie the wounds till he could be back to the castle.

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The castle of Karhold was in an upheaval. Jon Snow had left the castle after dawn to go hunting and is yet to return even after nightfall. Lord Rickard stood at the yard and directing guards to form a search party to bring his liege lord’s son safely back. Harrion and Eddard too stood ready in their gear to ride out with the men. Lady Anya stood back with Torrhen with worried looks on their faces and Alys was clinging to her skirt crying her eyes out. 

The men were ready to ride out when the guards atop the gatehouse shouted about an approaching rider. Everyone present at the yard stood back and looked on flabbergasted as Jon Snow slowly rode through the gates dragging two enormous beasts wrapped in vines behind his horse. Lord Rickard rushed forward and helped him off the horse. When he was steady on his legs, he thundered at him –

“Where in the seven hells have you been?”

Jon looked at the ground and stammered, “I beg your forgiveness, my Lord, I just went hunting and lost my way in the woods.”

Rickard took a glance at the bodies of the massive buck and the huge bear which were attracting a crowd around them. He indicated at Jon’s chest where the make-shift bandages were still seeping with blood, “What happened to you?”

Jon shrugged his shoulder and winced in pain, “The bear almost got to me.” He replied nonchalantly.

Rickards jaw slacked in incredulity and his mouth formed an “O”. Harrion and Eddard face-palmed hard at Jon’s answer. Only Torrhen’s bark of laughter broke the strange atmosphere of the yard and brought everybody to their senses. Lord Rickard indicated to Lady Anya and told her to take Jon to see the Maester, she came forward and cuffed Jon lightly at the back of his head and put her arm around his shoulder to steer him towards the Maester’s rooms. Torrhen followed them shaking his head. Rickard let out a sigh – What the hell was he to tell Lord Stark about this incident?! He took another look at the slain beasts and shook his head in amazement – the lad has nerves of steel, a Northman through and through! A feast will have to be arranged for the next day.

Ping!

Quest Completed!

Bear the bear!

Rewards: +100 Hunting

+100 Bestiary

+100 Biology

+100 Observe

+100 Strategy

+1 Str

+1 End

+1 Wil

+1 Luc

+100 Exp

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Ping!

Trait Skill Unlocked!

Wolfblood: You have become one with your inner wolf. Your senses are sharper than before and will get better as you mature. You will enter into a bloodlust at the height of the battle and will give you that much-needed edge in battles. 

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Ping!

Champion’s Body will make sure that you are healthy by the next morning. However, you shall have to bear the superficial wounds and their treatments till they are cured the normal way. It may seem inconvenient but bear the stings of stitches, Champion.

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Lady Anya was spitting mad, she almost stripped skin of Jon’s back for his recklessness. She was so wroth that her sons gave her a wide berth for the next couple of days. Jon was confined to his rooms for the duration it took his wounds to settle and for the Maester to take out the stitches from his chest. Torrhen was happy with this turn of events, for now, he was at the yard waving cheerily at Jon and receiving birds in return. Alys, the miniature version of her mother, tried to appear stern whenever she spoke to Jon, her behaviour was so comical that Jon couldn’t stop himself from laughing, it sent an irate Alys marching out of his room with her nose up in air haughtily.

Harrion had cornered him during the feast the next day of his hunt. He asked about the hunt and questioned the littlest details. In the end, he slapped Jon’s shoulder and nodded at him in respect, for it was an experience of a lifetime even when Jon tried to tone down everything.

The raven he received from Winterfell was much worse than he thought it would be. He could almost hear the disappointment in Ned’s voice from the note. He chastised him thoroughly for his careless ways and piled on the guilt that Jon was already feeling by mentioning how worried his cousins were, especially Arya. At the end of the note, Ned had told him how proud he was of him. Lord Karstark had sent the stuffed head of the bear to Winterfell, which was now hung at the wall behind the Lord’s seat at the Great Hall. The antlers set of the buck was mounted up on the wall at the hall of Karhold. It had become quite a conversation piece for Lord Rickard who would proudly tell everyone who asked about how his ward had brought down the huge beast with two shots and afterwards took on a massive bear with nothing but a skinning knife. Jon was gifted with a cloak made from the bear pelt. It was so big that it dragged on the ground, but he was told that it would adjust with his height as he grew up.

Jon had received a few letters from Robb. He had told him all about the splendour and wonders of New Castle. He regaled Jon about his trips to Bravos with Ser Wendel, son of Lord Wyman. Though he didn’t venture out to the streets of Bravos, still, his description of the free city had ignited Jon’s desire to travel somewhat fierce. Robb had come to know about Jon’s bear-some encounter in letters from Winterfell. He at first rebuked him for not telling him about the incident himself and then asked for a return letter with minute details of his experience.

Jon had garnered a respectful position among the men-at-arms and household staff of Karhold for his deed, much to Arnolf’s dismay. He had also earned the nickname of White Wolf because he always wore the kerchief he had received from Sansa tied to his arm with the white wolf on display for all to see. Lady Anya also stitched him a few of those herself when she came to know about the nickname.

As Jon’s wounds had made it impossible for him to practice with his swords, he was constricted within the archery range. He counted it as a blessing that now he could invest even more time to bring his bow skill up to par. Within a week and a half of constant practising, Jon had finally completed the quest that had been bugging him for longer than a year.

Ping!

Quest Complete!

Eyes to the Prize – The Northern Bow 1

Reward: +100 Bow

+100 Hunting

+100 Observe

Bonus Reward: +20 Reputation with all men-of-war

*Every man familiar with any kind of arms will have respect for your skill

+50 exp

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Ping!

Quest Alert!

Eyes to the Prize – The Northern Bow 2

Make consecutive 10 shots at 80 to 100 paces

Bonus Objective: Use each arm alternatively

Bonus Objective: Make consecutive 10 shots from running horseback at stationery targets (bonus reward for using alternative hands)

Reward: ?

?

?

+ 200 Exp

Jon’s eyebrows went skywards by the dire requirements of the newest quest. He let out a deep sigh and took up his bow once again, the euphoria he felt moments ago for finally completing the quest had already evaporated.

[CotW]

Off the yard, Jon had spent quite some times in the Maester’s room and the Library of Karhold. He had brushed up his Valyrian skill and earned further 2 levels in it. Now he could speak almost fluent bastardized Valyrian in Bravosi dialect. The dialects of other regions or proper Valyrian were still out of his grasp though.

The Karstarks had many books on Old Legends of the North, each of them written in Old Tongue. Lady Anya had patiently helped him to brush up on the language which he had started to learn from Old Nan back at Winterfell when she found him trying to badger the Maester about it who himself was not so good with the old language. She sat with her youngest children and Jon and read to them from those books. Jon was overwhelmed, He had a vague dream once that his mother was reading stories to him, like once he saw Lady Catelyn doing for Robb and Sansa. Lady Anya’s gentle encouragement had brought Jon’s skill in Old Tongue up to par with his Common Tongue and Valyrian skills.

The Maester’s tome collection and the Karhold Library had also garnered him loads of Skill Books. He had advanced almost all of his skills to at least Level 3 save Magica. For the life of him, Jon couldn’t understand what would take for magical education. His bracers were surely magical, shouldn’t using them constantly had increased his skill by now?

Lady Anya had also taught him ballroom decorum. When she started her lessons, all the boys were laughing their collective heads off at Jon’s discomfort, but when she rounded each one of them up and made them dance with the ladies of her court, they were singing in a different tune. They might have grumbled a lot, but none of them could deny the fact that each of them became adept on the dance floor under the watchful eyes of Lady Anya.

One time, Alys had fallen ill and ran a very high fever. She became very clingy to her mother in her sickbed. She wouldn’t eat or sleep till her mother was sitting beside her bed. Jon took pity on the Lady and tried to relieve her by offering himself as her stand-in. When Alys refused to go to sleep without her mother, Jon had to sing her to sleep. He sang to her the Northern lullabies like Old Nan used to sing to him. Unknown to him, Lady and Lord Karstark were standing by Alys’ door listened to him singing. Once Alys had recovered her health, Lady Anya had cornered Jon and made him take singing lessons. Her opinion was – it would be a crime to not allow anyone to hear Jon’s voice. Jon agreed to her reluctantly, he thought that mayhaps, by this way, he could honour his father – the Bard Prince.

[CotW]

Once Maester Darryl had taken the stitches out of Jon’s wound, he went back to his training with renewed vigour, he was adamant to make up for the lost times. The elder Karstark sons had taken an interest in Jon after his tryst with the bear. They had questioned him so much about the incident that it had reached a point where Jon was about to tear off his hair if he had to hear any more of their questions. Their curiosity sated, they had taken Jon under their wings, or so they’d said. They told him about the fighting technique when one would lose his weapons, Jon had never in his life heard that there was a technique behind a simple fistfight. It was just something that drunkards resort to. Eddard smirked when Jon had said him so. He took him out to the yard and told him to try and hit him. He promised that he will not be hitting back because he would not need to. Jon stared at him for some time disbelievingly. Then he shrugged his shoulder and threw a punch to Eddard’s face. Jon didn’t understand what had happened. His punch didn’t land on Eddard, Eddard himself hadn’t touched him, then how come he was lying on his back, staring up at the sky? Jon got up to his feet and turned to see the smirking visages of the elder Karstark brothers. He looked at Torrhen and he shrugged his shoulder. He too had no idea what his brothers were talking about. Harrion and Eddard then took the boys with them and found a quieter spot at the yard, where they told them about the art of fistfight, a technique that had been developed by a Karstark almost around the time of the Conquest, the practice of which enables a man to keep fighting even when he had no weapons on him. It took hand-eye coordination, balance and strength of the upper body as well as strong sets of legs to become a decent fighter. The training of this technique was hell, but if one went through it, they would surely become a formidable fighter with or without a blade in his hands, because their arms and legs had turned into weapons. It didn’t take a Maester to guess that Jon and Torrhen had started the training from the next day.

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It had been a year and a half since Jon came to Karhold. Jon was never happier even when he was at Winterfell. He indeed missed his cousins and the familiar surroundings of the old castle, but life at Karhold had its charm. Lord Rickard would sit him and Torrhen down and tell them about the politics and history of the North, but he had this style of giving lessons, that it would seem he was telling them stories. Through his anecdotes, they had become quite adept at Northern philosophy, they very clearly understood how a Northman thinks.

Lady Anya was someone that Jon had respected very much. He often thought that had his mother lived, she would’ve been like Anya Karstark. The Lady had always treated him as if he was her fourth son, she never used his bastard status to create a wall around her children. To her, Jon was the same as Torrhen. On his twelfth name day, she had arranged for a small feast, just like she did for any of her children. That morning, when she had gifted Jon a new set of clothes, prominent among them was a fine black jerkin, on which featuring a painstakingly embroidered picture of his namesake, a white direwolf, Jon couldn’t stop his tears. Lady Anya hugged him close till he could compose himself.

The Karstark brothers and Jon had become a close-knit group. After the bear incident, they didn’t let Jon go to the woods alone. They had gone back to the creek with Jon and each bagged games big enough to brag about. On one such hunting trip, Jon had found his avian companion.

*Flashback*

Jon was aiming for the deer in front of him when a strange screeching noise made him lose his concentration. Trying to find the source of the sound, he carefully ventured into the thicket just a few yards to the left from where he had taken cover. There, under the branches and bramble, Jon had found a newly hatched bird, which must have dropped from its nest from a nearby tree. Jon carefully freed the bird from the branches and held it up against his chest. It was an ugly little thing, yet to sprout feathers. Jon went out and carefully looked up at the surrounding trees in search of the nest.

After some time, he was called back by Harrion, who was dragging the very deer Jon was trying to shoot.

“What do you have there, Jon?”

“A hatchling, it must have fallen from its nest. I am trying to find the nest.”

By then, the other two had joined them. Torrhen peered at the bird and commented –

“Ugly little thing, isn’t it?”

Eddard snorted, “Look who’s talking!”

The four of them had spread out and scoured the immediate area for the nest of the baby bird, but to no avail. Jon decided to take the bird back to the castle with him. He would try to raise it.

They had gotten to their horses and were on their way back to the keep. “What kind of bird is it?” Torrhen asked.

“I have no idea, mayhaps the Maester would know…”

Maester Darryl had consulted his books and found out the species of the bird. He had told them that it was a baby falcon. Native to the mountain ranges of Vale, it was very rare to see one such bird so far in the North. It was also very strange that they couldn’t find the nest from which the bird might have fallen off. Jon thought that bird was a blessing from the Old Gods, he tried with all his might to keep it hale and hearty. The bird proved to be a warrior, it fought against all odds and became healthy. Soon it sprouted grey feathers all over its body, with a white underside, almost the colour of the Stark Banner. Jon had named it Gale and started to train it. He had borrowed a book on falconry from the Maester.

[CotW]

Jon had always felt a very strong connection with Gale, it seemed she could tell what he was saying to her. It had become a common sight for the residents of Karhold to see Jon walking around the keep with Gale sitting on his shoulder, having a quiet conversation with the bird. The brothers had made fun of him for it but when Lord Rickard enquired, Jon had told him about the connection he felt. Lord Rickard said that Jon could have been starting a warg bond with the bird. After that, nobody tried to make any jokes about it, rather they had taken to Gale with reverence. Because, to the Northmen, wargs were thought to be blessed by the Gods.

Some days, Jon would wake up from his sleep in the morning with the feeling of cold air running all over his body. He would be confused and went back to sleep wrapping the kilt around him. After experiencing such things many times, one day Jon suddenly found himself looking on top of the tree lines. He could feel the air current flowing through, keeping him afloat. He tried to look at his body only to find it had shrunk down and sprouted feathers all over. The feathers were ruffling in the winds. Jon could see every minute details down on the ground, the chickens that were pecking around the coop, the cat sitting on top of the forge roof, basking in the sun, rats skittering about the farmlands outside of the keep…suddenly, he swooped down from his glide towards the farms…he extended his legs…he snatched up a rat…and now he was flying up again…landing on the roof of the keep…his beak tore through the skin of the rat…he could taste the tangy iron of blood…

Jon woke up and found himself on his bed, the taste of blood still lingering in his mouth.

Ping!

Perk Activated!

You have spontaneously availed and enabled a perk!

Warg: You are the blood of the First Men. You can share the mind and body of your chosen companion(s). But beware, if your mental fortitude is low, the beast may take over (The negative effect of this perk have been rendered null due to Champion’s Mind perk)

Since that day, Jon had shared the mind with Gale quite often, but he didn’t feel right about warging into Gale in front of everybody. He only did it when he was either alone or was around the Karstark brothers or Lord Rickard himself. The Lord was quite proud to have witnessed a warg demonstrating his skills. He had pointed out the tomes in his Library to Jon to help him understand his gift better. Anya or Alys didn’t care about any of this, to them, Gale was a precious little thing they had helped rearing up from her infancy. They only cared about spoiling her rotten with their extra bacon strips much to Jon’s consternation.

Jon had trained his mind to keep his and Gale’s consciences apart. He needed to do that or else he could be facing serious problems if his mind was divided while he was fighting. He trained himself to keep a link open with which he and Gale could communicate with each other. He had found it very useful when he went hunting. Gale had spotted the target from above long before Jon was near it, then she directed him towards the right path and near the target. The first time they had done that, Jon was so excited that he shot four extra rabbits just as gifts for Gale. She wasn’t complaining though. His Tracking Skill had gone through the roof due to their connection. 

*Flashback ends*

It was Alys’ nameday. Lord and Lady Karstark hadn’t left anything to the chance for their darling little daughter’s special day. The whole household was on its feet since the morning, the kitchen staff had been run ragged to prepare every one of Alys’ favourite dish. The keep itself was decorated from top to bottom. Alys had commandeered Gale for the day. The bird was sitting on top of her shoulder and looking at everyone imperiously as if it was her special day and none had better dare to try anything and spoil it. The four boys were chased around the keep by Lady Anya, doing numerous errands. As the afternoon approached, they were rushed to take bath and ready themselves for the feast for Princess Alys (and Gale). The gifts were first, new dresses from the Lord and Lady, a beautiful necklace from Harrion, a sunburst locket like their sigil to go with the necklace from Eddard, a new comb from Torrhen, a wooden horse statue, curved personally by Jon and numerous other gifts. The girl was beaming like the sun. Jon although have attended nameday feasts for his cousins, but was never this much involved. Lady Catelyn had always tried to confine him to his rooms and only let him out around the time for the feasts. She always feared that Jon would do something to spoil the day for her children.

The four boys had sneaked out of the castle to conduct their celebration. Basically, the elder two had dragged the younger two with them. They had spent the evening getting drunk to celebrate their sister’s nameday. When they tried to sneak back inside of the castle, they made more raucous than they could have if they tried to go back to their rooms the normal way. Lady Anya ranted at them for a long time and then sent them to their rooms threatening with dire consequences come the morning.

It was the hour of the wolf when Jon was awakened by urgent mental nudges from Gale. Though he went to sleep inebriated, he had woken up stone-cold sober thanks to Champion’s Mind. It took him a moment to understand why Gale had woken him up so urgently. He could see through her eyes from the rookery where she usually sleeps that the castle was being invaded by wildlings. Skagosi, as far as Jon could sense from the way they dressed. He leapt up from his bed and hurriedly dressed and put on his armour. Only Lord Rickard would be in a commanding position since all three of his sons were drunk out of their minds. Jon didn’t have much faith in Arnolf. He rushed out of his rooms grabbing whatever weapons he could lay his hands on in his hurry. The yard was already a chaotic mess. Skagosi clashed with the guards of the night shift, other guards running out of the barracks half-dressed and many even were coming out without armours. Lord Rickard was on the balcony trying to direct the guards. Jon took a look around the carnage and jumped down from the balcony he was standing upon. He landed on the roof of the stable and took his stance. Arrows left his bow with unbelievable speed, none of them missing their targets. Soon, he had fired his last arrow. He threw the bow away and tried to draw his sword, only to find that he had buckled on an empty scabbard in his rush to get out. He jumped down from the rooftop and ran into the fray, weaving and dodging the ongoing battle. He had found a man advancing towards a guard who was busy fighting another invader. Jon took a running leap and landed feet first on the man, his leg impacting with the Skagosi’s knee and a crunching noise of bone-breaking made it clear that he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon. Jon wrenched the spear from his hands and advanced towards the fighting.

Jon had lost all sense of time. Evade. Parry. Thrust. Dodge. Thrust. Slide. Thrust. He had let his Wolfblood taken over. With Gale directing him towards his enemies, he was revelling in the bloodlust. He had just eviscerated a man with the blade of his spear when suddenly Gale sent him a sense of approaching danger. Jon turned back and brought up the spear just in time to block the downward slash from a giant of a man. The force of the impact had jarred his bones. Jon stood his ground and sized his enemy. It was a man of about six and a half to seven feet tall. The man was as wide as he was tall, but it wasn’t due to fat, Jon could see the rippling muscles of his arms shone under the moonlight. He had braced himself for the next attack. Jon did successfully parry off the next slash, but the spear had seen better days. It didn’t survive the impact with the man’s sword this time and broke down in the middle. Jon was left standing with a blunt bit of stick. He threw the broken thing away and tried to lure the man to another place where he can snatch another weapon and renew his attack. He dodged and weaved around the man in search of a weapon, any weapon. But soon Jon’s luck ran short and he stepped on a bit of a ground that had been sleeked with spilt blood. His foot skidded just a bit and it was all to make Jon stumble and caught his foot on the body of a fallen man. He had crashed to his knees.

Time had seemed to be slowed down. Jon could see the raised sword coming down towards his head. He raised his arms on instinct to defend himself. He was thinking of Winterfell, the home he would never see again. His cousins, Arya, Robb, Sansa, Bran, baby Rickon. His uncles Eddard and Benjen. Cley Cerwyn. The Karstark brothers. Lord Rickard and Lady Anya. Little Alys…and finally his mother, Lyanna Stark. He felt a strange feeling, happy that he will be with his parents, step-mother and siblings soon…but sad that he couldn’t finish the work his mother and the Gods had entrusted him. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, waiting for the blade to claim his life.

*Snikt!*

*Clang!*

Another bone-jarring impact to his hands brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes and for a moment had forgotten everything about the ongoing battle for the incredulity of the situation. Two Valyrian blades, about ten inches long, which had come out of the Champion’s bracers from under his wrists and palms, forming a cross, had stopped the sword. He let out a maniacal laugh at the absurdity of it all. The Skagosi looked at him with fear in his eyes and took a step backwards. Jon had a wolfish smile stretched on his face, he jumped up to his feet and ran towards the man, arms spread out like wings. As he reached him, he went down on his knees, the velocity carried him skidding onwards. As he went between the giant’s legs, he slashed out at his knees. The man let out a scream and went down on his knees. Jon leapt up and turned on his heel, he jumped on the man’s back and thrusted out his hands, towards his neck from both sides. The blades went through bones and flesh with ease. A gurgling sound came from the man as he collapsed. Jon retracted his hands and looked at the blades in wonder. The rippling, black appearance of Valyrian steel had an otherworldly beauty about them. Jon experimented with the blades for a short time, a jerking manoeuvre was all it took to bring out and retract the blades. Jon had a suspicion that they may also respond to mental commands, but he dismissed it for the time being. He grabbed the short axe from the fallen man’s belt and went back into the fight.

Jon was like a deadly whirlwind. He kept hacking away with the axe and blocking, parrying or stabbing with his hidden blade. It wouldn’t have been an easy fight if Jon was facing a trained army, but to the untrained wildlings, he appeared as if the wrath of Gods. He almost single-handed decimated the entire invading force. About half of them lay dead or dying by Jon’s hands. The rest was soon overtaken by the Karhold guards and put to the blades. Jon stood in the middle of the yard breathing hard. The guards surrounded Jon and put him up on their shoulders. They carried him inside of the keep while chanting “White Wolf! White Wolf!” at the top of their lungs.

The hall was filled with people. The wounded was being taken care of by Maester Darryl and several maids under his direction. Lord Rickard had a bandage covering a wound on his shoulder, he was sitting in his seat looking grim. Lady Anya was trying to calm a distressed Alys in her lap. The Karstark brothers were sitting at a corner nursing their pounding heads, they were yet to get back from their drunken stupor. All of them looked up when the mob of celebrating soldiers came in yelling and carrying a bloody Jon on their shoulders. Lord Rickard leapt to his feet, Lady Anya placed Alys down and rushed towards Jon. When the men put Jon down on his feet, she hugged him tightly, then pulled back and peered at him from head to toe.

“Are you alright? Are you badly hurt?”

Jon gave her a wan smile, “I am not hurt, My Lady. None of these is mine.” He indicated the blood and gore still covering his body.

“Did you manage to kill any wildling?” Torrhen had joined them by then.

Jon shrugged, “Mayhaps one or two…”

Donnel Keen, the old and gruff Master-at-arms snorted hearing Jon’s reply. He turned to Lord Rickard and bowed, “Pardon me, milord, but the attack tonight could’ve turned into a disaster if it wasn’t for young Snow here.” He turned towards Jon, “One or two, my arse!” Donnel looked back at Lord Rickard with a proud smile, “I didn’t see him at first as I was with you directing our men, but I heard from the men that the White Wolf had jumped down from the balcony on the roof of the stable, from there he shot down wildlings with every arrow in his quiver. By then you were already wounded, My Lord, and had to return inside. I was doing my best to leading the men on my own. But then I saw something that I won't be forgetting till me death bed.”

Keen then started to describe how Jon had jumped right into the fray and started to decimate the invaders first with a spear and then with an axe, the hidden blades went unnoticed as far as Jon understood. When he described him laughing manically before cutting down the wildlings, Jon wanted to melt right into the ground. The people gathered in the hall were looking at him with awe. He could see the proud smiles on the faces of the Karstarks. Not being much eager for praises, Jon excused himself claiming to be needing a bath. He almost ran away from the hall from under the fond and awed gazes of the people.

In his room, Jon had for the first time used Observe on the bracers –

Ping!

Champion’s Bracers!

Mythical objects. These bracers have many magical properties. Primary among them is the ability to change forms. They will change from bracers to leather wristbands when the Champion is in need to put on the full armour. In their normal appearance, the bracers are made of supple leather, with coloured Valyrian steel plates placed on the outside. The bracers also have eight inches long Valyrian steel blades hidden at the underside. The blades will come out when the Champion applies a special manoeuvre, else, it can also be accessed by the mental command of the Champion.

Tired Jon didn’t delve further into the magic or the properties of the bracers.

[CotW]

The name of the White Wolf had reached a fervent height around Karhold. From Smallfolks to Noble Karstark bannermen, were all praises for the son of Stark. Young maids started to give him coy smiles or sighed whenever he passed them by. Men in the yard hailed him whenever he stepped out. All in all, Jon had become a figure of legend over the night. The Karstark brothers didn’t leave the chance to have fun at Jon’s expense for the sudden growth of his admirers, especially of the female persuasions.

They had asked him how he was able to fight when he too was drunk like them, Jon had used the excuse that he wasn’t as drunk as they were. He couldn’t very well tell them how his Champion’s Body helped him. They had accepted the excuse since they couldn’t remember much of the night. The four of them had put their heads together and came up with a theory that the attack wasn’t an unprompted one. It was too coincidental that they had chosen the day of Alys’ nameday celebration to attack the castle. They were way more organized than just a bunch of wildling trying their luck. They had come into the night of celebration and caught them with their pants down. Someone or a lot of someones had informed them of the goings-on around the castle.

When they had approached Lord Rickard with their theory, he didn’t reject it. He too thought the attack was too convenient to happen on that night. He ordered his sons and ward to try and smoke out any conspirator if there was one. The four then prepared for a long journey and rode out of the castle, on the pretext of visiting the minor Banner Lords of Karhold.

After travelling around for four months, their search had led them all the way to the Last Hearth. Lord Jon Umber, the Greatjon was happy to receive Lord Karstark’s sons and the famed White Wolf in his home. Jon was thoroughly embarrassed about the nickname and the fact that it had reached this far here in the Last Hearth, much to the brothers’ amusement. The Greatjon had arranged a feast in their honour, where he had boomed in his indomitable way and listed out each of Jon’s exploits to all and sundry. The Karstark brothers were having the time of their lives seeing Jon squirming under all the attention he was receiving from every maid present at the Hall.

On the next day, they had gathered in the solar of Lord Umber and told him about the reason for their visit. They had presented the Lord a letter signed from Lord Rickard. The Last Hearth also gets attacked by Wildings constantly. Lord Umber, his son and heir Jon (Smalljon) Umber, his brothers Mors (Crowfood) and Hothor (Whoresbane) Umber were all present in the discussion. The Umbers had offered any help they can to root out the inside man that had been plaguing all of their lands.

Jon and the Karstartk brothers had been enjoying Umber hospitality for a week when Lord Umber received a raven saying that Robbet Glover, brother of Galbert, the Lord of Deepwood Motte, was in pursuit of a band of Wildlings. They had chased them through the Wolfswood and probably would take the pass of the Last Lake.

Smalljon had taken twenty men and rode out to head them off along the banks of Last Lake. Jon and the Karstarks had ridden out with them. It had taken them a week to reach Last Lake. They had decided not to make camps out in the open. All twenty-five of them had taken to sleep in their bedrolls under the trees of the forest, neither they had made any campfire, fearing that would alert the Wildlings about their position. That night they made do with the rations of dried meat and a chunk of cheese each. Near the dawn, the sentry made the signal of approaching men. They had no way to know if they were wildlings or Glover men. Jon had left Gale at Karhold under Alys’ care. He climbed a nearby tree and started to quietly advance towards the oncoming men by leaping and swinging from branches to branches.

Jon was perched on a branch covered by leaves and waited for the men to come near the small clearing. He had left his sword with this stuff for the ease of climbing trees. The only weapons Jon had with him were an armlong dagger and a small axe strapped to his waist, and of course, the hidden blades. The axe was a thing of beauty. The Greatjon was a man who loved to collect axes. He had every kind of axes in his collection, small ones, huge ones – when he heard how Jon tore through a bunch of Wildling armed with only a small axe, he took him to his armoury and gifted the axe to him. It was entirely made of castle forged steel – from the blade to the handle, soft leather strips wrapped around the grip riveted to the solid handle, the blade itself looked like a teardrop, on one side it was rounded with a sharp edge, the other side, it was narrowed like a spear point. (Picture the axe from ACIII that Connor wields)

Soon enough, Jon could hear snapping of twigs and crunching of dried leaves, the men he was waiting for were finally here. They must have not expected any attack from the front side, as they were not careful about making noises. He could see from their assortment of furs and the presence of a very small number of steel weapons, that these were indeed the Wildling group the Glovers were chasing. He was about to get back to his party when he spotted that some of those men were carrying prisoners on their shoulders. Many of them were young women. He didn’t need to be a Maester to tell the fate that awaited the poor girls. Seeing them, the red haze of rage that he associated with the activation of Wolfblood made its presence known. Jon let out a loud and shrill whistle to alert the Karstark brothers and the Umber men. The raiding party below him was startled and tried to spot any attacking forces. Jon moved from his place through the cover of the dense leaves. He positioned himself at the back of the group and leapt off from the tree branch with the axe in his right hand the dagger in his left.

The two men at the back of the group hadn’t expected an attack from the top. The one on the right side had his head split in two and the left-sided one had a dagger in his brain before realizing anything and dropped dead on the ground. The commotion alerted the raiding party, they turned around to see Jon getting up on his feet with bloody weapons in his hands and two of their numbers lay dead on the ground. Chaos ensued within the small clearing, the Wildlings dropped their prisoners and tried to rush towards Jon, but the Umber men had reached them by now. Clashes of weapons and screams of wounded or dying men rang through the air. Two men rushed at Jon, one took a swing of his club at his head, the other thrust his spear to his midsection. Jon locked the club by the blade of his axe and turned away to evade the spear thrust. He wrenched on his axe and the man with club grunted with overextending his arms towards Jon, he used the opportunity and drove the dagger in his throat. The spearman came again and this time tried a downward thrust, Jon shuffled his steps to make the spear miss and put his left foot down to capture the shaft between the ground and his feet. He used the momentum and jumped off the spear towards the man and kneed him in the face. Jon drove his dagger into the fallen man’s chest and got up to find his next opponent. Another one rushed at him with a raised cudgel, a quick parry and hacking with the axe later, he was on the ground with a slit throat.

A giant man, like the one Jon fought against at Karhold, was fighting against two Umber men, soon he dispatched both soldiers and turned towards Jon. He peered at the wolf motif stitched on his leather armour and growled at Jon.

“You are the White Wolf! I heard that you killed my brother, Borg. I will kill you here and now and fuck your corpse. Then I will hunt down your family and kill every man and fuck every woman. They will bear the sprogs of Olaff and curse your name.”

Jon had a feral smile on his face, he adjusted his grips on his axe and dagger.

Ping!

Tame the Wild!

Injure and subdue the leader of the raiding party. He holds the proof of the information you seek.

Reward: ?

Olaff proved to be a better fighter than his brother. He didn’t fall for the feints and kept on his attacks at Jon. Jon was starting the miss the long reach of a sword. He tried to parry the sideway slash of Olaff’s sword with his axe and lashed out with his left hand, but the dagger fell short of reaching the behemoth of a man. He ducked down another swipe at his head and made a slash at his forearm, Olaff didn’t even felt that wound. Jon tried to use the same tactic he did against Borg, but here on the forest ground, it was impossible to slide through in between the giant’s legs. Jon’s moment’s indecision was all it took for Olaff to cover the gap between them and taking a swing at his head, by instinct, Jon raised his left arm and the bracer took on the full impact. Though the strike didn’t damage the bracer, it made his left arm numb and the dagger was dropped from his loosened grip. Jon leapt backwards, his left hand now almost useless, he tried to find any gap that he could exploit. Olaff had a twisted scar on the right side of his face, which made his right eye almost obscured by hanging bits of skin. He could be vision impaired on his right side. Jon decided to take the gamble. He strapped the axe back in his belt and looked around him and picked up a club from a fallen Wildling, it had the needed range he could use. Jon rushed towards Olaff with the club raised, he ducked under his swing and jumped to the right, Olaff had turned a bit with the follow-through of his swing. Jon lashed out with the club and smacked at his arm with all his strength.

*Crack!*

Olaff screamed and dropped his sword, cradling his right arm. Jon had broken his elbow with the strike for sure. He whirled around his back and swung the club with the full momentum at Olaff’s left knee, another cracking sound and Olaff was on the ground writhing in agony. Jon went to the prone body of Olaff and smashed the club down at his crotch.

“What was that you were saying about fucking my family?”

Ping!

Quest Completed!

Tame the Wild!

Reward: Reputation +100 with the Smallfolk

You are a legend among the Smallfolk. They have come to know you as their protector.

+20 Exp

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the famous White Wolf!”

Jon turned around and found another group of men approaching them, clad in House Glover livery. A man, who could only be Robett Glover, came striding forward and smacked the smirking youth who had commented on the back of his head.

“That’s enough out of you, Forrester.” He turned towards Jon, “Are you Jon Snow?”

“Aye, My Lord, and if I am not mistaken, you are Lord Robbet, brother of Lord Galbert Glover.”

“Aye, I am. what are you doing out here, lad?”

“We were at the Last Hearth when a raven from your lord brother had reached there telling about you chasing down a band of raiders. Lord Umber sent a small retinue of Umber men led by the Smalljon to head them off and help you to bring them down. The Karstark brothers and I tagged along with them.”

Robbet nodded and ordered his men to help the Umber men in freeing the prisoner and finishing off the raiding party. Jon hadn’t moved away from Olaff. The youth called Forrester came to stand beside him.

“So, the famous Jon Snow, the White Wolf. I thought you’d be much bigger than this…”

“And who might you be?”

“Asher Forrester, spare of the spare, that is, the third son among four of Lord Gregor Forrester of Ironwrath.”

Jon nodded and looked back at the men rounding the wounded soldiers around.

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

“You are talking plenty for the both of us.”

Asher snorted but fell silent. Soon every surviving Wildling raider was put through the blade. When Robbet came to finish Olaff off, Jon stopped him.

“My Lord, if I may?” Robbet motioned for him to continue, “During the fight, this man had confessed that it was his brother who led the attack at Karhold. We were investigating the invasion which had led us to the Last Hearth, and that was when we learned about the raiding of the Motte. Think about it, My Lord, it was a coordinated attack, one band went to Deepwood Motte, the other tried to invade Karhold. The Skagosi were never this organized before. And why would they attack both Karhold and the Motte but skip over the Last Hearth? There must be more than what we know, and this man holds the key. We should take him back to the Last Hearth for interrogation.”

Robbet appeared to be thinking hard. “You say his brother led the attack at Karhold?”

“Aye, this one, Olaff, here had recognized me from the motif on my armour. He said he will avenge his brother’s death by my hands by killing me and my family.”

Robbet nodded, “If what you are saying is true, lad, then this is truly beyond simple raiding. Let us drag this sorry carcass back to the Greatjon. He will make him sing like a bird.”

 

Notes:

A.N. – Sorry if this chapter seem a little rushed. I want to finish the backstories and reach the canon timeline as soon as I possibly can.

Chapter 9: Island Hopping Pt. 1

Island Hopping Pt. 1

It took the combined forces around ten days to reach the Last Hearth, as there had been more men than horses, their marches slowed down quite a bit. The freed women prisoners had taken to travel near Jon, they even tried to make their sleeping arrangements near about where Jon had laid his bedroll. They claimed that they feel much safer being around the White Wolf. His cheeks had been perpetually red throughout the entire journey. The Karstark brothers had made it to a game about who could render Jon spluttering and imitating a shy maid with his blushing the first thing in the morning. Even Lord Robbet and the Smalljon didn’t leave a chance to take a shot at Jon. Worse of them was Asher Forrester, the second day when he saw the young women flocking to Jon, he got down to his knees and proclaimed Jon to be his master and offered him his firstborn if he would take him as his disciple and teach him his ways. The entire contingent was having a good laugh at the expense of the White Wolf.

About a day out from the Last Hearth, Robbet had gathered the young lords and Jon and asked for their opinions about how to proceed with Olaff. It was suggested that they should stuff him in a sack and let everybody believe that they had killed off the raiding party in its entirety. That way, they could throw off any spies that might be present at the Keep. They took separate ways and went about directing the men about their plans. Lords Glover and Umber went to their men respectively to warn them, while the Karstarks, Asher and Jon came to the freed prisoners. They had decided to let Jon do the talking as they would be much more agreeable to the White Wolf. So, at much snickering of Torrhen and Asher, Jon approached the group.

“If I could have your attention, please…”

The women were sitting bundled together around a campfire. They had just received their nightly ration. Seeing Jon, they all got up hastily and curtsied to him.

“Yes, milord?”

Jon shook his head, “I am no lord…”

The women didn’t show any inclination to his claim, they just kept staring at the ground, although, the blushing of their cheeks were very much noticeable even in the firelight. Sound of snickering could be heard from behind, Jon sent a glare at the culprits. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Regardless, what I am about to tell you is of much import. I urge you to heed my words and act accordingly when we reach the Umber keep on the morrow…”

Jon explained to them what they were to say about the raiding party and the subsequent battle with them if anybody to ask them. He iterated the importance of the mummer’s farce and how the safety of the whole North could be centred on that. The women appeared to be drinking in his words as if words of the Gods and nodded their acceptance reverently when he asked them. Jon sighed again and took his leave of them. The snickering had turned to howls of laughter by now.

“I hate you all!” Jon’s mutterings were like kindling to the fire, the boys had leaned on to each other laughing their collective heads off.

---

 

They had sent an outrider to warn the Greatjon off, the party were received among applauds and cheers when they entered the keep of the Last Hearth. The Greatjon slapped on his son’s back hard enough to send any normal man to the ground, he boomed his welcome to the Glover men. After dispersing the men and ordering the servants to take care of the freed prisoners, the lords and Jon had gathered in Lord Umber’s solar, Smalljon had carried a big sack on his shoulder into the room, his father and uncles looked at him askance, he just nodded towards the server serving them platters of food.

“That will be all.” Lord Umber commanded the man, he bowed his head and left the room. Smalljon closed and barred the door.

“Now tell me, what the fuck is in that sack?”

Smalljon opened the sack a little and showed everyone the gagged face of Olaff, he had numerous bruises on his face as the men had taken a few shots at him on the way back. The lords all sat straight in their seats.

“What in the name of seven fucking hells is going on?” Growled Greatjon.

Lord Robbet motioned to Jon, “Why don’t you tell them, Lad? It was your theory.”

Jon nodded and took a deep breath. He then told them about all of his observations, about how the Skagosi had attacked a day of celebration when all of Karhold men were ill-prepared to fend off the attack. How their investigation had led them to the Last Hearth and finally to the pass around Last Lake to the Wolfswood where they fought off the raiding party; how he fought against both the brothers, Borg and Olaff and what Olaff revealed during their fight. Jon also told about the suspicious nature of how the raiders divided into two groups and attacked Karhold and Deepwood Motte simultaneously but completely avoided the Last Hearth in between the said keeps. Finally, he reached the part where they all decided to bring Olaff, one of the leaders of the raiding party back with them so they can interrogate him.

Hothor Umber was very eager to carry out the interrogation. It was said that he went to the Citadel to become a Maester but some incident which included whores brought an end to that. He didn’t earn his links but earned the nickname ‘Whoresbane’ instead. Both he and Smalljon took Olaff to a secluded room to have a quiet discussion.

[CotW]

The massive conspiracy they’d unearthed by questioning Olaff was truly frightening. The new leader of the Skagosi clans, or Magner as they are called, Gustoff was as ambitious as ruthless and cunning. He had sent his men to infiltrate the houses of North to learn about any weaknesses they have or any important dates that they can exploit. They had learned that the leadership of Bear Island is currently in a disorderly state when Lord Mormont’s son, Ser Jorah Mormont, had absconded for the crime of selling poachers to the slavers from Essos. The Old Bear, Jeor Mormont, had abdicated his rule to his sister, Lady Meage and left for the Wall to take the Black in shame for his son’s deeds. The Skagosi thought this was the perfect time to attack and take control of the Island. That way, they would have strong bases on both coasts of the North. Afterwards, they would launch a joint invasion from these strongholds, first, they would attack the houses around Winterfell which would already be in disarray by the Wildling attacks that, in reality, these Skagosis would have caused, and when the Starks had sent out men to help their vassal lords, they would either attack the castle as it would be in a weakened state by not having enough manpower to fend off the attack, or their inside man would cause some kind of disruption inside to engage the remaining force and let the invaders inside the keep and attack the already distracted and diminished men. Once, Winterfell is captured, the rest of the strongholds like the Dreadfort were an only matter of time, and they would have the entire North under their reign. They had already smuggled a huge number of men discreetly to the North taking advantage of the land’s sparse population and scores of empty lands and dense forests, they have divided into smaller groups and hidden in the vast forest of the Wolfswood. Their current whereabouts were unknown to everyone, even to Magner Gustoff. The invading force was the first part of the conspiracy; one band were to attack the Karhold in the darkness of the night on the day of the nameday celebration of the Lord’s daughter. Their mission was to attack and kill as many unprepared Karstark men as possible and kill or carry off the Lady of the house and/or the Lord’s daughter to further disrupt their activities. The other band were to go as far westward as they could and cause disturbance in the guise of Wildling attacks. They were ordered to lure the chasing men into the Wolfswood and upon reaching near the Last Lake, one small group would have broken off the main party and led the pursuing men in a wild chase in the middle of the forest. While the main party would reach the Last Hearth unmolested and sneak into the castle under the cover of the night to again kill men and causing a disturbance, also to carry off Sara Umber, daughter of Mors and flee to the north of the Wall by way of one of the deserted castles along the Wall, and from there, rendezvous back at Skagos.

The Lords present at the Hearth were shaken to their cores by what they had learned. Mors had gone into a towering rage and had beaten Olaff to death when he heard about the plan of abducting his daughter. All the concerned parties had confined themselves in the Lord’s solar for further planning. It appeared that it was only Jon’s presence that had quashed the first phase of the Skagosi conspiracy. The lords had decided that sending ravens would prove futile as they don’t yet know the identities of the infiltrated men. And they also couldn’t launch an attack at Skagos while leaving their backs and homes exposed when it was confirmed that there were a large number of Skagosi invaders present in the North. The only thing they were sure about was the hidden Skagosi would launch an attack at Bear Island within a year. They had a timeframe to be prepared for its counter. It was decided that since ravens were useless, the lords, especially Lord Stark would have to be told in person. They planned for the Karstarks and Jon to return to Karhold and warn Lord Rickard about everything they had learned and the subsequent plans. While the Lord and the elder brothers remained there to prepare the men, Jon and Torrhen would continue to Winterfell under the guise of Jon going home for a visit. They would alert Lord Bolton at the Dreadfort on their way to Winterfell. From there, they would continue to White Harbour, for a visit to Robb Stark, and would board a ship from there bound for Bear Island for the nameday celebration of little Lyanna Mormont. A small contingent of Karstark and Stark men will go with them for the protection of the Lords’ sons.

Meanwhile, Smalljon and Hothor Umber will lead a force directly towards Bear Island and make a hidden camp in the woods on the banks of the Bay of Ice. They would wait there for fishing boats from the Motte to ferry them across the bay. The Glovers will bolster their defences and would send additional forces with the Umbers.

They had a rudimentary plan of action for the first six months of their restricted timeframe. Any changes thereafter would have to be made after the lords become aware of the situation and veteran commanders like Lords Stark and Bolton would direct them by trusted men as messengers who would ride between the castles.

[CotW]

A fortnight later, after the initial preparations, the Karstarks and Jon were getting ready to leave for Karhold, when Jon saw Asher in the yard also preparing his horse. They had become quite close during their stay at the Last Hearth. Being of the same age and experiencing the horror of the battlefield tend to bring people close. Thus, Jon, Torrhen and Asher became fast friends. Seeing Asher also getting ready to leave while Lord Robbet was yet to depart for the Motte puzzled Jon.

“What are you doing, Asher?”

“I am coming with you, of course,” Asher replied with a cocky smirk.

“What do you mean, you are coming with us?”

Asher came beside Jon and slung an arm across his shoulder, “Didn’t I tell you? Lord Robbet and I had sent letters to my father and Lords Glover and Karstark to change my fosterage from Deepwood Motte to Karhold…and seeing how I became the best friend with the famous White Wolf, they had agreed with it. So, here I am, getting ready to be on death-defying journeys with my best friend.” He dramatically laid his head on Jon’s shoulder.

Irritated, Jon shoved him away, “Fuck you, Forrester!”

“Nah, unlike you, I prefer women.”

The Karstark brothers were laughing at the duo’s antics. Jon narrowed his gaze at Asher, then he smirked evilly and turned to Torrhen, “You know Torrhen, it would be boring without any challenge when we leave Harrion and Eddard behind. I was wondering how to practice my Karstark Holds only with you. Now it seems we have a willing candidate with us.”

Torrhen too had an equally evil smirk on his face. Seeing that, Asher gulped nervously and was wondering if it was the right idea to change his fosterage.

---

 

Their return to Karhold sparked a rather funny reunion sight, due to Gale screeching somewhat fierce and pecking Jon within an inch of his death. He had a hard time calming her down, after much cajoling and promise of a boatload of bacon strips finally made Gale sit quietly but imperiously on his shoulder. It seemed to him that the bird had become even haughtier under Alys’ influence during his absence.

As expected, Lord Rickard too sat dumbfounded by the enormity of the Skagosi schemes. He had agreed with the initial planning and provided to it by sending riders to Dreadfort and Winterfell. He didn’t say anything to the messengers, only telling Lord Bolton to expect a delegation and Lord Stark to expect his son for a short visit. He kept Harrion and Jon back and send the others away to take retire for the night. After their departure, he approached Jon and hugged him tightly.

“I can’t offer you enough gratitude for saving my wife and daughter. If I didn’t say it before, I am saying it now – The decision of fostering you was the best one I’ve made in my life. You have not only saved my family, but you have also saved the lives of my men. You are truly Godsend for us. Karhold is forever in your debt, anything you ever need, you’ll only have to ask. This my heir and I swear on the honour of being a Karstark!” Harrion nodded fervently along with his father’s words.

Jon was shocked, the things he had craved most of his life, affection and acceptance, were offered to him freely at Karhold. Except for Robb and Arya, and sometimes his Uncle Ned, he never truly felt accepted as a member of a family. Bran and Rickon didn’t count as they were yet to become wise with the way of the world, and Sansa plain confused him with her alternatively warm and cold behaviours. He pulled back from the embrace and said –

“You will never have to thank me, My Lord. Coming here under your care had been more rewarding for me than you know. I have gained another father figure in you who had patiently taught me how to become a true Northman. I have gained three more brothers in Harrion, Eddard and Torrhen. Brothers to have fun with, fight with, and stand shoulder to shoulder in battle. I have another little sister in Alys to dote on…and above all else, I have finally felt like what it was to have a mother. I have never known my own, but whenever I thought of a mother’s love, I had come to imagine Lady Anya after my time here. Where ever life takes me, whatever may I become, I will always remember her as the mother who had raised me.”

Lord Rickard had a proud smile on his face hearing Jon’s heartfelt response. Harrion slapped his shoulder affectionately as they took their leaves.

[CotW]

The next day, a tearful Lady Anya had hunted Jon down and hugged him tightly to her chest. She combed his hair with her fingers and placed a loving kiss on his forehead. Jon had a mile-wide smile on his face throughout the day after that.

Alys had found another victim for her crush in form of Asher. She had taken to following him everywhere and stare at him with puppy dog eyes and ran away blushing whenever he asked her something. Jon and Torrhen had fun luring Asher to places where he could bump into her. They had howled with laughter even after what seemed like the hundredth time Alys squeaked and ran away from him. Both of them had threatened the howling duo with dire consequences, but they only stopped when Alys had let Gale at them. The bird was very affectionate with Alys and listens to her second only to Jon. She would even peck Jon at her command if Alys provided her with enough bacon.

It was decided that Jon, Torrhen and Asher would go with twenty-five Karstark men, their first stop was to be the Dreadfort. They would spend a night there, or near about there they would make camp. Neither of them wanted to spend a moment longer there than they absolutely had to. The infamy of the Leech Lord was known by all. Afterwards, they were to ride hard for Winterfell. They needed time to be on their side. Within a week they were ready to leave. Harrion and Eddard were already out, discreetly gathering their bannermen. Lord Rickard, Lady Anya and Alys came down to the yard to bid them farewell. All three of them had newly forged swords on their belts. Jon had his trusty dagger and the axe, which he had named Freedom, also hung on his belt. They were looking sharp in their house colours, reversed for Jon. He had a snarling white direwolf resplendent on his chest, a new gift from Lady Anya to her unofficial fourth son. Lord Rickard nodded at them in approval.

“You all know how to behave out there. Never forget your lessons and don’t bring shame to your houses.” He approached Jon and laid a hand on his shoulder, whispering so that none could overhear his words, “You know what is at stake, I wish you success in your mission. May the Old Gods watch over you.” He clasped Asher’s shoulder next and went on to hug Torrhen goodbye.

Lady Anya was already in tears, “It’s a shame that you are leaving again only returning after so long. Take care of yourselves and each other. Do not act foolishly. I’ll know if you do.” All three nodded in response, even though Asher didn’t spend that much time in Karhold, he too was taken to the Lady’s gentle, loving behaviour, and always strived hard to not disappoint her.

Alys reluctantly passed Gale over to Jon and hugged her brothers goodbye. Then she shyly approached Asher and offered him a silken ribbon as her favour. Asher was gobsmacked by that act so much that he couldn’t decide what to say. He offered Alys a smile that was more like a grimace and glared venomously at the snickering duo beside him.

They got up on their horses and rode out of the castle with their twenty-five guards. Their destination, the Dreadfort.

---

 

The Dreadfort cast a fearful shadow on its surrounding area. The Red Kings of the old had erected the castle to strike fear among their subjects. Guards could be seen patrolling the battlements in between the pointed shapes that decorated along the walls made of red stones. Jon thought it would be folly to expect the castle will fall to any outside attacks as their party approached the huge gates made out of iron.

“Ho, riders! State your business.” A shout came down from atop the gatehouse.

The captain of the guards trotted forward, “We are the delegation from Karhold. Our Lord had sent missive for Lord Bolton. The Lord’s son, Lord Torrhen Karstark is here along with the wards, Lord Asher Forrester of Ironwrath and Jon Snow of Winterfell.”

“Await there while we send a message for our Lord.”

A short while later the gates opened and let the party inside. Pink banners depicting red flayed man on a cross fluttered everywhere. The guards stood alert and the staff scurried along doing their duties. An edgy atmosphere seemed to hang about the castle. A man who seemed to be the master-at-arms ushered them towards the Lord’s solar. Jon noticed that the passages appeared to be gloomy, contributing further to the notoriety of the Red Kings and the current Lord of the castle.

Roose Bolton had the appearance of a man suffering from lack of blood, his pale skin and dead eyes looked as if he just got up from his sickbed. If Jon hadn’t heard about the Lord before, he would’ve thought Lord Bolton to be dying. They bowed as the cold gaze of the Lord assessed the three in front of him. In a whispering voice, he asked –

“What did the Lord Karstark think urgent enough that he sent advance notice of his son’s visit but couldn’t say it by a raven?”

Receiving a nudge from Jon, Torrhen gulped and took a step forward, “Pardon me, My Lord, but the information we carry is indeed quite urgent. Our Lord had drilled into us to let his missive only seen by you.” He took out a rolled parchment sealed by the Karstark seal and handed it over to Lord Bolton.

Jon watched the man closely as he read the message. He was very impressed by the Lord’s cerebral control as he read through the entire message, only a raised eyebrow was any indication for outward emotion. He looked up from the message and peered at the three, he motioned for them to take seats.

“Dire news indeed. Tell me of your encounters, don’t leave anything out.”

Torrhen, with bits of help from Jon, recited the entire incident to Lord Bolton. The Lord clasped his hands together and rested his chin atop them. He didn’t utter a word throughout their delivery, he just kept looking at them in a very cold and calculating way that unnerved them greatly.

When they finished, he gave a small nod and leaned back in his chair rubbing his shaved chin. He turned his cold gaze towards Jon and whispered, “So, it seems the North is in debt of the famous White Wolf for his actions.”

Jon looked down, “I was just performing my duties, My Lord, as any Northman would do.”

Lord Bolton nodded, “I will order rooms to be prepared for you if you seek rest and sustenance.”

Torrhen took a look at Jon and Asher, all three of them were already at their wit’s end by the atmosphere of the castle and demeanour of its lord. “We thank you for your generosity, My Lord. But I am afraid that we must decline. As you surely understood, our Lord had ordered us to make haste for Winterfell and warn Lord Stark. We need to cover as much ground as we could till the daylight lingers.”

The Lord nodded, “Very well then, be on your way. Tell Lord Stark that I await his instruction.”

They bowed to the Lord and hastily took their leave.

[CotW]

After a quiet and long ride away from Dreadfort, Asher was the first to break the tensed silence save for the hoofbeats.

“What the fuck was that? I almost shat in my breeches!”

Jon chuckled, “That was the Leech Lord of the Dreadfort for you. He always unnerved me whenever he visited Winterfell.”

Torrhen shuddered, “Mother used to tell us stories of the Red Kings when we were younger. I always thought she made those up to scare us into behaving. Now, after seeing the castle, I am starting to have my doubts.”

They made their way a little further and stopped to put up camp for the night.

---

 

At the crack of the dawn the next morning, after breaking their fast, the Karhold party broke their camp. Jon just saddled his horse when suddenly he got an alert.

Ping!

Quest Alert!

Plan your journey through the Weeping Waters.

Reward: ?

He was puzzled by the abruptness of this current quest. Normally they gave a goal or a reason, never had he saw such a vague mission given by the Champion’s system. He wondered how he could deviate their way towards the Weeping Waters.

“Let us go through the village near Weeping Waters.”

Torrhen looked at him, “Okay, why?”

“We could restock the feed for our horses in the village. And I don’t know about you lot, but I would quite welcome a fish or two for supper this night instead of the usual dried, salted meat and blocks of cheese.”

They looked at Halder, captain of the guards for his opinion. Halder rubbed his chin and replied, “That would take us off from our path for just a little bit. Then again, since we didn’t stop at the Dreadfort, we do need to restock the feeds, but we are a bit ahead of our schedule. Me think it won't hurt to go through the Weeping Waters…and the Wolf is right, my tongue sure wants to taste anything other than meat and cheese now.”

As decided, they turned their horses towards the Weeping Waters.

[CotW]

By mid-morning, they had finished purchasing feeds for the horses and freshly caught fish from the local village. They crossed the horses at a shallow point of the river to the opposite bank to take one of Hunter’s Paths along the woods. It would be a relatively straighter way to Winterfell.

They had made a little advance through Hunter’s Path when a woman’s scream stopped them in their tracks. Jon narrowed his eyes and turned to the others.

“Let’s go and have a look, shall we?”

They got down from their horses and tethered them to nearby trees. They moved fast on foot as quietly as possible through the dense forest towards the screaming. Soon, they came across a clearing with a small, muddy, knee-deep millpond, the screaming could be heard approaching them from the opposite side, Jon signalled the men to take cover behind the trees and hide. Only Jon, Torrhen, Asher, Halder and two more guards remained standing out in the open.

The screamer came tumbling through under bushes into the clearing. It was a young girl, of about ten and four, but she was completely in the nude, numerous bleeding scratch marks bore throughout her body, which she got from running through the woods. Seeing them, the girl made a sudden stop and crashed on all four, she tried to scramble up on her feet but managed to fall again. She crawled backwards from them babbling incoherently with a look of utter terror on her face. Suddenly, her eyes caught on the wolf insignia on Jon’s shirt, her eyes went wide and letting out a wail, she launched herself at Jon’s feet.

“You are the White Wolf! Please, save me, milord! Don’t let him catch me!”

Jon took the cloak off his shoulder and wrapped it around the girl, he tried to calm her down and coax some answer out of her, but she wasn’t in a state to say anything, she kept wailing about some pursuers. They could hear the baying of dogs in the distance. Jon lifted the girl in his arms and carried her to the edge of the clearing and set her down under a tree. Then he returned to his position and readied his bow, everyone else had spread out and done the same. Gale sent him images of an approaching horde of dogs and a small group of men behind them. Soon, half a dozen dogs came charging into the clearing, frothing in their mouths, Jon and his men didn’t waste any time and shot them down as soon as they came into view. Hoofbeats could be heard not too far away from the dogs.

A group of ten men on horseback entered the clearing. They had mismatched sets of armour on, one of them had flowers in his hair and was constantly swatting off flies. The leader of these men appeared to be the young man with blotchy, pink skin, who sat slouching on his horse in the middle. He took a glance around and focused his gaze on Halder, thinking him to be the leader of the small group.

“You have killed my bitches and intruded in my hunt. Reek, what should we do with these annoying bastards?”

The man with flowers gave a very disturbing smile, “Give their skins to Reek, milord, Reek needs a new mattress in his pigsty.”

Hearing their voices, the girl let out a loud whimper. The leader seemed to be thrilled hearing the girl, he sat straight and a vicious smile painted on his wide, wormy lips.

“Ah, you also have my other bitch captured. No matter, I’ll discipline her and fuck her on top of your corpses for leading my precious girls to you.” He signalled for his men to charge the six men down.

Time seemed to again slow down for Jon, he let out a shrill whistle to signal the hidden men, he shot once, twice and two of the riders fell from their horses, the others also tried to shoot, but only Asher landed his arrow on the mark. Jon dropped his bow and took out Freedom and the dagger. He threw the dagger and it ended up hilt-deep in the left eye of the man named Reek. It was now six on six, but six men on horseback against six on foot. The leader became enraged by the death of Reek, he took out a falchion from his scabbard and yelled out.

By that time, the men came out from their hiding spot and had surrounded them. Seeing the additional men, the leader tried to turn his horse around and escape. But Jon was onto him. He grabbed the man by his free hand and yanked him down from his horse in the muddy water.

The man came up spitting out water. He still had a cruel smile stretched on his face, showing his uneven teeth. “I know you, you are the Bastard of Winterfell. The peasants think you to be some hero from the old times. But you are not a hero, are you, bastard? You are just a little boy playing a hero. I’ll have your skin, bastard. This is my land, those were my precious girls you killed. You even took Reek away from me. I will wear your skin for that, bastard.”   

Jon didn’t reply, the red haze of bloodlust was in his eyes. The only thing running through his mind was the man in front of him was a rapist, he loved to hunt young girls like animals and raped them, Jon hated rapists.

The man started to hack at him with his falchion. He had an unorthodox style as if he never had any formal education in arms. He just kept swinging and hacking away with the falchion. Jon dodged and weaved through his attacks, his Wolfblood was at a boiling point, kept in check by the Champion’s mind. Soon enough, the man put in a little more force in his backhand swing that left his torso open, and Jon heaved a mighty kick at his unprotected midsection. As the man crashed on the ground hard, Jon leapt up and landed on the downed man with his right knee impacting on his chest, now it was time for him to hack. Freedom sang through the air and the man’s right arm was hacked off from his shoulder. Jon dropped the axe and started to pummel at the man. He didn’t know how long he was beating the man up, but Halder’s voice cut through the red haze.

“That’s enough, Wolf.”

 Jon stayed his hand and looked down on the bloody pulp that was the face of the leader. He looked around to find the rest of the bandit group were all finished off. He got up and grabbed the leader by his neck and made him kneel. His head hung low, blood and spittle dribbled down his chin.

“What should we do with him?” Halder put forth his question.

“Get the girl here, mayhaps she could tell us more about him.”

Torrhen and Halder went to the girl and after much coaxing made her come forward. She took one look at the leader and started whimpering, she stepped closer to Jon. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her away from the leader, he spoke to her in a soothing voice.

“Hey, hey, look at me.”

The girl looked up with fearful teary eyes.

“He can’t hurt you anymore now, alright? You are safe. You don’t need to be afraid of him anymore. Do you understand?”

She nodded timidly.

“Can you tell us anything about him? How did you end up here?”

The gist of what the girl said to them in between stammers and sobs was that the man was called Bastard of the Weeping Waters. The villagers didn’t know his real name. He lived at the end of the village with his men. He whipped and beat any man that dared to cross his path. He was never seen alone without the one called Reek, who was even more disturbing than his master. The man quite literally reeked of foul smell. Often, the villagers would found young girls missing from the village. They did suspect the man of doing so, but nobody dared to say that to him. The girl had come into the woods to gather firewood when she came upon the group. They captured her and kept her tied up all night. The man kept telling her that he had a feeling that she would become his new favourite bitch. They didn’t torture her but kept her awake through the night. In the morning he stripped her and told her to run, promising that if she provided him with a good chase he would reward her. She had been running through the forest when she came upon Jon and his group. She feared that the missing girls were also used for his ‘hunt’ but didn’t survive to tell the tale.

Every man there gripped their weapons hard by the end of the girls telling, each wanted to finish the man off. Torrhen spoke out –

“What shall we do with him?”

“We are still in the Bolton lands, mayhaps we should bring him to Lord Bolton -”

At this, the man started to laugh through laboured breaths.

“You don’t get it, do you? You with all your fancy clothing and steel swords, fooling everybody. But under the skin, you are the same, there is no secret hidden there.” He looked up and peered at Jon, “You and I, we are the same, bastard. Do you know that? We are doing what our fathers are afraid to do. Isn’t that right, bastard? We are carrying out our -”

His ranting was cut short by a blade separating his head from his body. Everybody looked up shocked at Asher who was cleaning his bloody sword nonchalantly on the leader’s clothing. He looked up feeling everyone’s gaze at him.

“What? His voice was starting to grate on my nerves.” He shrugged his shoulder.

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let us clean up all this mess, shall we?”

In the end, it was decided that four men would be sent back to the Dreadfort escorting the girl. They would also take the heads of the leader and Reek with them. There at the castle, they will present the girl to Lord Bolton and would tell him about the depravity that had been going on in his lands. Later the men will ride hard and join them at Winterfell.

Before leaving, the girl grasped Jon’s hand, “You are truly a great hero, milord. The songs are right about you. The Old Gods have sent you to protect us all.” She gave him a shy smile.

The rest of them also got up on their horses and continued on the way to Winterfell. After a few minutes, Asher suddenly yelled out.

“Wait a moment, did she say songs? There are songs about Jon? Well, well, well…that is very interesting!”

“Fuck you, Forrester!”

“Love you too, Snow!”

The men chuckled at the bantering duo.

Ping!

Quest Complete!

You have gotten rid of a sick animal and protected the North and its people from his sickness.

Reward: Title – Protector of the North

+50 Hunting

+50 Tracking

+50 Exp

.

Ping!

Level Up!

You have reached Level 4!

---

 

Jon felt reinvigorated when the castle of Winterfell came into view. It had been almost three years since he had seen the castle. He urged his horse faster onwards. The guards on the wall had seen them coming and had the gate opened. The party trotted into the yard amidst loud whispers.

“It’s Jon Snow!”

“Snow is back!”

“It’s the White Wolf!”

His uncle and cousins were waiting for him in the yard. As soon as Jon got down from his horse, he was tackled to the ground by Arya, Bran and Rickon. Their combined laughter rang out through the yard. Jon got up carrying the three and tried to place them back on the ground. But Arya had latched herself to his side.

“How have you two been?”

Bran excitedly started to ramble on, “We were good, Jon! We have all heard about your fights! Did you really kill the big bear that is hanging in the Great Hall? I have been training with Ser Rodrick, but he doesn’t allow me to spar with him like you or Robb! Will train with me, Jon?”

Jon chuckled and ruffled his hair, “Easy there, little pup. I’ll listen to all you have to say, but first let me say my greetings to father, alright?” Bran nodded enthusiastically. He placed a kiss on both his and Rickon’s forehead.

Jon got down to his knees and finally managed to pry Arya off of him. “And how have you been, little sister? Hey, are you crying?”

Arya snapped back at him, “I am not crying, stupid!” She discreetly tried to wipe her eyes on her sleeve.

Jon chuckled and hugged her close to him.

He got up and approached Ned. “My Lord.” He bowed to him.

Ned grabbed him in a tight embrace, “Welcome home, son.”

Jon introduced Lord Stark with Torrhen and Asher. Then he approached Sansa, who smiled shyly at him.

“My lady.” Jon bowed to her and placed a kiss on her hand.

Sansa gave him a pleased smile, “Welcome home, Jon.” He nodded at her.

He also greeted Lady Ella and Wynafryd Manderly who was standing beside them, fluttering her eyes at Jon. At the last, Jon reached Cley Cerwyn. They hugged each other and slapped on the back like long lost brothers.

“It’s good to see you again, Cley.”

“Aye, Jon, ‘tis good to see you.”

Lady Catelyn wasn’t present, and Jon didn’t expect her to be either.

After greeting them, Ned said to Torrhen and Asher that rooms had been readied for them. He turned to Jon and said –

“Your rooms are also cleaned and ready for you, Jon. Go and take some rest.”

“Forgive me, My Lord, but we really need to speak before doing anything else.”

Lord Stark immediately became sombre, he nodded his head and indicated them to follow him. Before going into the keep, Jon whistled loudly, a screech came in reply and then, Gale swooped down and landed on Jon’s shoulder. He continued with the regal-looking bird sitting atop his shoulder among the awestruck looks of everyone.

[CotW]

Ned sat at his desk rubbing his temple. The letters from Lords Umber and Karstark laid open on his desk. He could feel a headache settling in. Skagos swore vassalage to the Starks, albeit grudgingly. Now it seemed that they were once again ready to rebel. He had to take decisive actions as the Lord Paramount and Warden of the North. His Lords expect him to take up charges. He peered at the three boys sitting in front of him. Not boys, no, they are young men. They have already proven their mettle in battles and had drenched their blades in blood. The fosterage proved to be a boon for Jon. He appeared to be taller, leaner and powerful. Well, the proof of his strength and courage was currently hanging on the wall of his Hall. That bear was a monstrosity. He had watched the three closely as they gave their report. The close friendship that they had developed didn’t escape his eyes. They appeared to be as close as brothers. Almost like himself and Robert in their younger days. That brought back another thought to Ned. Jon had called him uncle when he left for Karhold. How did he know? What did he know? He needed to confront him soon. But right now, he needed a goblet of ale. The headache had settled in. He sent the boys off to their rooms to wash and rest before the feast that evening. He needed to think.

[CotW]

The feast that night was a raucous affair. Jon was regaling his cousins about the misadventures he had gone on with Torrhen. How they pulled pranks on Harrion and Eddard, or how they had lured Alys onto Asher just a few days prior. Asher too had his revenge, he had let know all and sundry how maidens everywhere followed Jon around, but the brave White Wolf had turned tail and seek for shelter in the safety of his rooms.

Jon could see the grim visage of his uncle, and narrowed eyes and pursed lips of Lady Catelyn. He could understand why his uncle appeared so serious. And Lady Stark…well, he wouldn’t mar his happiness of reuniting with his cousins by thinking about her.

[CotW]

Jon had waited for the night to grow quieter. Around midnight, he sneaked out of his room and made his way to the Crypts under the cover of darkness. He had lit a torch at the entrance of the Crypt and went to his mother’s tomb. He placed the torch in a bracket and sat down leaning on the wall behind.

“Hello, Mother. I have come back, although for a very short time. I need to go away again very soon…”

He told the statue of Lyanna Stark all about his adventures. How he had killed a huge bear, how he had defended Karhold or rescued prisoners from a terrible fate. How he had stopped a sick man on his way to Winterfell. He told her about the residents of Karhold, Torrhen, Lord Rickard, Harrion, Eddard, Alys…and Lady Anya. He told her about the loving ways of the Lady. How she had shown him affection, soothed his pain and how he had come to see her as another mother of him. He begged forgiveness from Lyanna for that. He told her about the impending danger that was about to fall on the entire North and how he was trying to prevent that. He promised her that he will introduce her to Gale and bring back winter roses the next time he had the chance.

Jon was about ready to leave when he heard shuffling footsteps approaching him. He hurriedly got up to his feet and looked around the entrance, but the footsteps came from behind him, he turned around to find Ned Stark coming out from behind the tomb of Brandon Stark. Jon let out a defeated sigh and slid back down on the ground.

“How long have you been hiding there?”

Ned sat down beside him. “Since you came down here.”

“So you have heard everything?”

“Aye, I did.”

Jon nodded. They continued to sit in silence.

“When did you find out? How did you find out?”

“You remember confining me to my rooms for yelling at you?” Ned nodded, “I pursued Maester Luwin to lend me books to read for the duration of my punishment. He gave me books on recent histories and I read through every single one of them.”

Ned raised an eyebrow, he was impressed, that was not a very small feat for someone at the age of ten.

“And…?” He prompted Jon to continue.

“And I found out that everyone in the entire seven kingdoms is fucking idiot.”

He received a cuff at the back of his head.

“Language!”

“Sorry.”

Silence lingered on.

“Well, what did you find out?”

“I found out several glaring inconsistencies throughout the entirety of the rebellion. Things that everybody knew, but when you put them together, they didn’t make any senses…and after everything was over, you arrived at the Capitol with her body and a newborn babe in your arms claiming him as your bastard. Nobody even raised the question of how did an honourable man like you wandered off your marriage bed and fathered a bastard. Nobody asked how exactly she died. That’s why I called them all idiot.”

Ned sighed, he didn’t know what to reply. Jon continued with his speech.

“I had made a few notes, they were scattered on my desk when suddenly a gust of wind blew them apart. A few of them landed into the burning hearth.” Jon got up and raised his hand towards the lit torch, “unthinking I shoved my hand into the fire to save my notes.”

Ned had jumped to his feet when Jon put his hand into the flame of the torch. He tried to snatch his hand back but stopped himself seeing the still unblemished hand amid the flame. He sighed and sat back down muttering.

“Fucking dragons!”

“Language!”  

They looked at each other incredulously and roared in laughter.

They sat in silence for a while. Then Jon asked –

“I am not really a bastard, am I?” He knew these answers, still, he wanted to hear them from his uncle.

Ned sighed, “No, you are not. They were married. They married at the Isle of Faces in front of a Heart Tree and a Septon. They were married in both of their religions.”

“And Princess Elia…?”

“Targaryens were known to take more than one wife. Your father had decided to take a second wife and had chosen your mother.”

Jon’s eyes went wide at that piece of information.

Ned scowled, “Understand that, I never had any idea about all of these. I only came to know about them when I talked to your mother at Dorne and after reading the letters between all three of them.”

“There are letters?” Jon asked eagerly.

“Aye, I will give them to you later. There are also some things for you left behind by your father.”

Jon nodded his head. Ned looked back at Lyanna’s face and sighed again.

“Princess Elia had suffered complications giving birth to your half-sister, Rheanys. She couldn’t conceive after that.”

Jon was shocked – What about Aegon then?

Ned nodded his head, “I know what you are thinking, what about Aegon. It was some plan concocted by your father Rheager and Queen Rhealla. Elia stayed at Dragonstone for a year and they had smuggled in an orphan boy with Valyrian features to claim him to be the son of Rheager. The Mad King was already after Elia. They tried to protect her by creating this ruse. It was Elia who convinced your father to take a second wife to secure his place as the Crown Prince.”

Ned got up and touched Lyanna’s cheek. “She never agreed to the betrothal with Robert. She claimed that a man who already had a bastard and is known to frequent whore-houses will never be faithful to her. I never listened to her. I wanted Robert to become my brother for true so much that I ignored my sister. I argued for his favour, said he will change. But I saw the man having whores in his arms during the battles he incited to reclaim his ladylove.” He shook his head and turned to Jon.

“Do you know that your father had sent a message for parley? Aye, right before the battle of Trident. I was so wroth that I rejected his offer, saying we will only meet on the battlefield. Now, I think if I went to that meeting, mayhaps both your parents would’ve been alive today.”

The silence stretched on.

“I think you did the right thing. For all you know, that could’ve been a ruse for your capture and then forcing your banners to surrender their arms. You were at the opposing ends of a war after all.”

Ned offered him a pained smile.

“Could you tell me my real name?”

“Your father wanted to name you Aegon, as the conqueror. But after learning about the fate of that orphan boy, your mother named you Aemon, after the famous Dragonknight, also after your father’s favourite uncle.”

“His favourite uncle?”

“Aye, his Great Granduncle or something like that. The current Maester at Castle Black, Maester Aemon. He was born Aemon Targaryen. They were said to be very close, frequently exchanged letters between them.”

“I have another uncle at the wall?” Jon’s voice was full of wonderment.

Ned chuckled and ruffled his hair. For all of Jon’s maturity, he was still a boy. “Aye, you do. Now come on, let us get back to our rooms and find sleep for the rest of the night. Oh, and you are to come to my solar around afternoon on the morrow. I’ll give you the letters I mentioned and the things your fathers left for you.”

Jon nodded and got to his feet. He took one last look at his mother’s face and call out to Ned.

“My Lord…Uncle?”

“Yes, son?”

“Mayhaps my sire was a different man, but I knew you to be my father since my childhood. You have raised me, educated me. You will always be the father I will know, for my own was taken from me even before my birth. You and Lord Rickard are the only father figures for me who had invested time in rearing me. Him, I can count as a favourite uncle, like Uncle Benjen…but you, you will be my father only.”

Ned’s eyes misted over, he hugged Jon tightly. “You’ll always be my son too, Aemon!”

Jon shook his head, “Jon for now uncle, I have yet to earn that name.”

“Aye, ‘tis a big burden to carry a name that great.”

They walked together to exit the Crypt.

“You do understand to keep all of this a secret, don’t you?”

“Aye, I know the circumstances that made you claim me as your bastard. But I think you should tell Robb, he is your heir, he has a right to know.”

Ned nodded, “Aye, I will tell him after we deal with the invaders.”

He frowned at Jon when he muttered under his breath.

“What is it, Jon?”

He quietly replied, “I think you should also tell about it to Lady Catelyn, I could do with a little affection in my mother’s home.”

Ned sighed and nodded his head. After a few paces, he asked again –

“You were saying something about inconsistencies about the Rebellion?”

“Aye, I still have the notes I made. I’ll give them to you in the morrow. But we need not think about them at this time. One conspiracy at a time is easier to handle, don’t you think?”

They chuckled and went on their way.

Chapter 10: Interlude: An Emotional Day

Interlude: An Emotional Day

You have slept in your bed, it restored your Health, Stamina, Mana to their maximum! Whatever ailments you may have suffered are nullified!

Jon’s mind welcomed the familiar view of his old rooms that morning. He had a slight smile on his face as he got up and started to get ready for the day. His uncle had said that they were to rest for a couple of days to fend off the weariness of their hard travels. Then they would continue with their plans, it would also give Lord Stark time to get his thoughts in order. He had put on his favourite doublet, the one Lady Anya gifted him, the image of the white wolf prominent at the front. He made his way towards the Great Hall to break his fast. All of the Stark family and friends were already present at the hall, as well as Torrhen, only Asher was missing. Jon chuckled in his mind, that lazy arse was always late in the mornings.

Jon gulped when he saw that Wynafryd Manderly had a seat open beside her and looking at him expectantly. He changed his direction subtly and went to sit between Arya and Bran. Both of them gave him dazzling smiles and a side-way hug each. Sansa from his opposite seat squealed in excitement.

“Jon, that’s a wonderful doublet you have on. The stitching is exquisite!”

Jon gave her a shy smile, “Thank you, Sansa. Lady Anya had made this for me. She is a very skilful seamstress.”

Arya piped up from beside him, “Only Sansa could be excited about some stupid clothes! I wanna hear more about Gale!”

Sansa turned red in anger and embarrassment, “Just because it is something that I enjoy, that doesn’t make it stupid.”

“Of course it does, because you are stupid!”

“That’s enough, Arya.” Ned admonished her. But the damage was already done. Sansa got up from her seat with a sniff.

“If I may be excused, I have had my fill for this morning.” She made her way out of the Hall.

“Sansa!” Lady Catelyn called after her daughter, but she didn’t reply to her.

Jon sighed, “That was not very nice, little wolf. She is your sister, she doesn’t deserve to be insulted so by you.”

Arya stared at him with a look of utter betrayal on her face. “You are taking the side of Sansa?! Don’t you remember how she makes fun of me and calls me Horseface?!”

Jon turned towards her, “Don’t you remember what your Lord Father always says about you?”

Arya took a glance at Ned and shook her head bewildered.

“He always says that you look like your Aunt Lyanna. She was said to be one of the most beautiful women in all of Westeros, and if you look exactly like her, then…?” Jon raised an eyebrow at her.

Arya again shook her head confusedly.

“You too will grow up to be one of the most beautiful ladies in the North, the whole of Westeros for that matter. Everybody will be praising the beautiful Lady Arya, and all who ever called you ‘Horseface’, will be eating their words.”

Arya’s cheeks had turned pink, she elbowed hard at Jon’s side. “I am not a lady, stupid.”

Jon chuckled, “Of course not. But you still owe Sansa an apology.” He said sternly.

Arya scowled, “Do I have to?”

Jon turned fully in his seat, “Arya, have you ever seen Robb and I fight as you do? We may have had our differences, but we always made up, because we are brothers, we are members of the pack…and we are better off for that, we are stronger together. Sansa is your sister, your family. She’s too a member of the pack. Remember Father’s words? When the snows fall and white winds blow…”

“…the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” Arya, Bran and Rickon finished together.

“Exactly.” Jon looked at Arya expectantly, she had her head down.

“Fine, I’ll apologize to her!”

Jon smushed her hair and looked up to see a proud smile on Ned’s face, he nodded to him approvingly. Lady Stark had her head down, keeping her gaze fixed at her plate. She seemed to be lost in thought, her eyes were red-rimmed, she appeared to be not have had a restful night. Could his uncle already have told her about him? Jon shrugged mentally.

The atmosphere that the morning drama ensued were broken by Asher almost running into the Hall. Red-faced, he bowed to Ned.

“Pardon my tardiness, My Lord. I couldn’t find my bearings this morning.”

 “…or any other mornings!” Jon and Torrhen said in unison.

“Jon.” Ned chided, while Asher took his seat scowling at the duo.

Ned cleared his throat, “Tell me about your lessons, Jon.”

Jon took a moment to gather his thoughts. “My lessons with Maester Darryl in economy, treaties and the likes took up to where I have left it with Maester Luwin. He is patient with his pupils and takes great care in explaining the lessons. Lord Rickard had taken it up to himself teaching Torrhen, Asher and I about the politics of the North. He also teaches us strategies and warfare. He is great in his lessons, Father. It never felt that he was giving us lessons, but telling us stories and anecdotes, and afterwards, asking us what have we learned and what we could have done differently in those situations, then he patiently explains to us if we are wrong.” All three of them had brilliant smiles on their faces thinking about those lessons.

Ned gave them a pleased smile, he made a mental note to praise Lord Rickard for his teaching techniques. He saw Torrhen nudge Jon and whisper something in his ear. Jon turned red and shook his head, glaring at him.

“What is it, Jon?” Ned asked amusedly.

Jon sighed and gave another venomous glare at Torrhen, stutteringly he said, “Lady Anya had taught us dancing…”

Torrhen chuckled, “What he is not saying, My Lord, is that the Wolf here is as graceful on the dance floor as he is in the yard. But that is not what I was talking about.” Arya made a face at the term dancing and Bran had an eager look plastered on.

Jon hissed at Torrhen, “Shut your mouth, will you?”

“Jon?” Ned prompted him.

Defeated, he mumbled, “Lady Anya also had made me taking singing lessons after she caught me humming to Alys in her sickbed.”

Torrhen chimed in, “She says that he has a golden voice, and we have to agree with her. Alys throws tantrums if Jon doesn’t sing her to sleep every night.”

Arya scowled at Jon, “That is not fair, you never sang to me!”

“That’s not right, little wolf, I used to sing to you when you were little and once you had the fever and wouldn’t go to sleep till I sang to you, but…” Jon trailed off.

A quiet sob escaped from the Lady Stark. She had banned the bastard from visiting her daughter and tongue-lashed him something fierce. By now Jon was sure that his uncle had a chat with her.

Ned cleared his throat again, “What about your arms training?” He tried to divert the conversation.

“My training with the sword has become somewhat repetitive. Master Keen is as great a teacher as Ser Rodrick, but I find myself getting bored by the lessons. I was hoping to spar with you, Father.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Ned replied, “Mayhaps the time has come for me to take a closer look at your swordplay. I will certainly begin with that while you are staying here to set you on your way. And the next I see Robb, I’ll assess his progress and teach him too.” Jon nodded his head fervently. “What about other training?”

“Well, spear fighting too had come to a stop since Cley wasn’t there to point out my faults…” He sent a wink at Cley, who smirked back. “I have developed somewhat a style for my own with short axe and dagger for the lack of sword expertise, but I have indeed become much better with a bow.”

Theon, who had been sitting at a corner quietly up till then, let out a derisive snort. “Please, Snow. The day you become an expert with the bow, is the day I shave off my head.”

Asher perked up at that, “Is that a promise, Greyjoy?” He had heard a lot about the squid-ward from Jon, he wanted to take him down a peg or two for his friend.

Jon kicked him at the sheen, “How about a wager instead, say, five dragons?”

“Never pegged you for a coward, Snow! I say twenty dragons!”

Jon shrugged his shoulder, “It’s your money.”

Theon got up from his seat, “Be at the yard in half an hour.” He turned to leave the Hall.

Asher’s mocking voice rang out, “We shall have a merry time at Winter Town on the morrow, lads, Greyjoy will be generously providing the money.” Theon stormed out of the hall in rage.

A glare from Ned fixed Jon at his seat, “While I don’t approve of any kind of wagering boys, I am curious to see your progress. I am going to let it be for this time only. Do not make it a habit, understood?” He said sternly. They couldn’t nod their heads fast enough.

---

 

Jon went out at the yard flanked by Arya and Bran. Arya had given the Septa the slip again. She was hopping with excitement. Bran, on the other hand, was asking twenty questions per minute. Words about the wager had spread throughout the keep, the yard was more crowded than normal. They could see Theon standing in the middle and shooting arrows after arrows at the target. He sneered at Jon looking at the procession behind him.

“If your adoring fans could live without you for a few minutes, Snow, we have a challenge waiting.”

Jon went to the weapon stand and picked up a bow and a quiver full of arrows. He came to stand beside Theon, he looked at the targets and found them to be at thirty paces. He had a smirk on his face, he had been practising at hundred paces now for his quest. This was going to be insultingly easy.

Theon went first, he took his stance and rapidly fired five arrows. His grouping was impressive with one arrow in the bullseye. Then it was Jon’s turn. He took aim and fired his arrow, without missing a beat, he whirled around Theon and fired another arrow at the target on the right with his alternate hand, then he went down on one knee with the bow held horizontally to the ground and fired at the left side target, then he did a turn on the knee and fired again at the middle one. His drawing and releasing of the arrows were lightning fast, all of this took only a couple of heartbeats.

Everyone in the yard was silent, they couldn’t believe their eyes. Jon’s first arrow went through Theon’s bullseye by slicing the shaft in half and driving the arrowhead further into the target. His next two shots were bullseyes on either side. His last arrow had divided his previous one in the middle and drove both the former arrowheads deep into the target.

Jon looked at Theon and said, “I believe the last arrow isn’t needed, don’t you think?”

Theon didn’t reply, he slapped a pouch of coins at Jon’s chest and stormed off the yard. The crowd broke off into cheers, his friend approached him and clapped on his back. Arya and Bran were hollering at the top of their lungs from the fences where they had climbed up to get a good vantage point. Suddenly, they all went quiet. Jon turned to see the reason and found Ned came striding up at him, a look of cold fury etched on his face.

“Put the bow and arrows back and pick up a practice sword, then follow me to the Godswood.” He had picked up a broadsword himself and swung it around to test its balance while marching on towards the Godswood. He looked back over his shoulder and barked, “Now, Jon!”

Jon hurriedly put the bow and arrows back and picked up a blunted longsword himself and scrambled after Ned. The crowd had already dispersed by then, his friends looked at each other in confusion and shrugged their shoulders.

Jon found his uncle beside the hot spring pacing agitatedly. He looked up at his nephew when he heard his footsteps and in a very cold voice, asked him –

“What in the Gods’ name was that?”

“I was challenged by Theon…”

“I didn’t ask you about the challenge, I asked about the hideous showing off that you performed!” Roared Ned.

Jon gulped, he had never seen his uncle this much angry.

“Prepare yourself!” Ned suddenly charged at Jon with his sword raised. Jon had just the time to raise his and block the attack. The impact jarred his arm so that it felt to him as if the bones in his arm had been shattered into thousand pieces. He was shocked by the speed and ferocity of his uncle’s attacks. Within a blink, he was on the ground, disarmed and breathing hard.

Ned went back to his place and barked, “Again! Pick up your sword!”

 Jon groaned and got to his feet, holding the sword in a ready stance, but he wasn’t ready for the repeat performance. Time and time again his uncle just decimated whatever sword skill he had mustered.

Within a few minutes, Jon wasn’t even able to pick himself up from the ground, he was drenched in sweat and bruises started to form where his uncle’s sword had struck him. Ned wasn’t even out of his breath.

He looked down at Jon disappointedly and sat down on the rock he preferred by the side of the spring.

“I never taught my sons to show off. And I can guarantee neither did Rickard.”

Jon had managed enough strength to sit up by now. He had his eyes trained on the ground, shame coursing through his veins.

“Did you feel good when I made your skills in sword look like nothing?” He shook his head. “How do you think Theon felt when you mocked him in the yard?”

Jon tried to retort about the hundreds of times Theon had mocked him when he deliberately lost in spars with Robb, but Ned put up a hand to stop him.

“I know how he behaved with you in the past, how Robb often behaved due to his influence. Do you think I let Robb be when he did the same? No, I admonished him about his behaviours, and if need be, punished him. You may have never come to know about them because I did it in the privacy of my solar. Because he is my heir, one day he is to rule over the people present here. I had to protect that image of his as I did with yours just now. What do you think everybody’s reaction would have been if they saw the White Wolf bite the dust so easily? You have made a name for yourself, and I had to protect that.”

Ned took a deep breath and put his hand into the water.

“Why I didn’t do the same with Theon, you may ask. The answer is simple, he is not my blood. The lessons I can and will impart with Robb and you, I won't do that with him.”

He turned to Jon, “Look at me, son.” Jon looked up at his uncle’s eyes. “You need to understand, never, should you be mocking an opponent. Someone could be out there with even greater skill than yours. They could as easily beat you as you beat others. Showing off your skills has its place, when you need to put the fear of Gods into your enemies or when you are trying to protect the lives of the people with you, you can show off and made them doubt about confronting you, but never in a mocking way. You are right in thinking that the challenge today was well beneath your skills. But you should’ve let your skills speak for you. What you did today was mocking the labour, the hours of dedication that Theon put in his skill. That is not the honourable way.”

Ned sighed and dropped his head. “I know that people mock me for my views on honour. Honourable fool, they call me. Mayhaps I am a fool because I never learned the fine balance between honour and cunning. That is why I want you, Robb – all my children, to learn from my mistakes. Be the most cunning you can be, be the absolute best you are destined to be, but never forget your honour. This world still needs honourable people to steer it to the right path. I know there may come times when you have to do some things that will go opposite to my teachings, but do not let those few instances describe who you are. Try to be honourable in other deeds that will follow.”

Ned got up to his feet, “Be here at the crack of dawn on the morrow. Your training in the Starks’ way of swords will begin then.” He left a thoughtful Jon behind in the Godswood.

Ping!

Quest Alert!

The Northern Blizzard – Part 1

Master the Starks Sword style from your uncle within the duration of your stay

Reward: ?

Jon groaned and laid back down on the ground. It seemed to him that the System agreed with his uncle that he needed to learn humility. For mastering any style in such a short time, he would need to put the backbreaking effort into it.

---

 

After washing off the sweat and grimes of his ‘lesson’ with his uncle and a change of clothing, Jon decided to visit the Glass Gardens. He needed to gather winter roses for his mother. Lunch was still a while away, he had plenty of times for a visit to his mother.

The rosebushes were blooming with beautiful, blue winter roses. Jon had a smile on his face when the sweet smell of the flowers reached his nose, it was as if his mother’s presence could be felt through the scent of winter roses.

His hands stayed from plucking the flowers when he heard the sound of sniffling coming from somewhere inside of the Garden. A little investigation had revealed it to be Sansa, she had sequestered herself at a corner beside the rosebushes, sitting there hugging her knees to her chest, head down and sniffing away. Jon dropped his head with a sigh.

“Sansa?”

“Go away!”

“I am afraid I can’t do that, milady.”

“Have you come to mock me some more then?”

“When have I ever mocked you?”

“I know what you all think! Stupid Sansa, she knows nothing except sewing and dresses. She doesn’t like to get her clothes dirty because she is vain. Arya is the best. She is the apple of everyone’s eyes. But Sansa is stupid because she wants to make her mother happy by trying to be a good daughter to her.”

Jon sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.

“May I have a seat?”

She didn’t reply to him.

“Fine, I’ll just stand here.”

“You can sit.” Came her timid answer.

Jon sat down a little away from her, leaning on the wall behind.

“Now, tell me truly, have I ever made fun of you for your love of singing, dancing and dresses?”

Sansa shook her head, “No, you didn’t. But I know that Arya is your favourite, you and Robb will do everything for her. I know how you both were giving her lessons in arms…and how you made Cley promise to continue doing that after you went for your fosterage with the Karstarks. Everybody loves her, only stupid Sansa gets left behind. When Wynafryd came here, I was so happy at first, thinking I was getting a new friend. But slowly, everybody started to forget about me. Jeyne and Beth were so interested in her hairstyle and the designs of her dresses. Septa Mordane had praises for her very neat needlework. Even Arya talks with her more civilly than she does with me. Mother and Father are always busy with their duties. Where does that leave me?”

“What about your lessons with Lady Ella?”

“Septa tells me that a proper lady shouldn’t be learning about those foolish things.”

Jon made a tight fist in anger.

“Have you told your Lord Father about that?”

“No, I told you, Father is always busy. He doesn’t have time to just chat with me.”

“Fine, I will talk with him. You should know, Sansa, Lady Ella had come here to teach everybody. Not just Bran and Rickon or Arya. Robb and I also took lessons from her when we were here. Lord Stark wanted all of us to know more about the North and its people.”

“But the Septa…”

Jon cut her off, “The Septa isn’t from the North, Sansa, but you are. You are the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the North. Don’t you think it’s your duty to know about the lands and the people your father is the lord of?”  

Sansa nodded her head a little. Her face still flushed from her crying. Jon reached out and took her hand in his.

“You want to know something that everybody forgot?” Sansa nodded eagerly. “Among all the Stark children, you were the first to born in the North. Robb was born at Riverlands, I came from Dorne…but you, Sansa, you are born in the North, in a way, you are more Northerner than both Robb and I put together. I wager if you tell him that, he will be so pissed.” Jon gave her a smirk, Sansa let out a giggle in reply.

After a few minutes of silence, Jon asked her –

“What do you think of training in arms, Sansa?”

She frowned, “But Mother and the Septa say that…”

“I am not talking about them, I am talking about you. Do you want to learn about how to handle arms?”

Sansa bit her lips in thought.

“I don’t know, Jon. I mean, I never thought about it. I love the stories of brave knights and how they impressed their ladyloves, but wielding arms myself, never. I am not like Arya, Jon.”

“No, you are not like Arya, and Arya is most definitely not like you. Both of you have unique personalities. Arya mayhaps the one with a warrior’s spirit, but you are a beautiful and smart, young lady. I think you are smarter than all of us together. It certainly doesn’t mean that you are not a brave soul with the fight in your heart. You are a wolf, Sansa, never forget that.”

Sansa gave him a disbelieving look. “I am not smarter than all of you.”

“What? I am telling you the truth. Robb, if something comes to his mind, he won't rest till it’s done, he is bullheaded like that. Arya, she will rather stab someone than sit still and listen to them. Bran had his head in the clouds, and Baby Rickon, well, he is wilder than Arya. So technically, that leaves you to be the only smartest one, does not it?”

She gave him a beautiful smile. “You have left yourself out of that list, Jon.”

Jon shrugged. “I am not a Stark. And besides, I have my dumb moments. Asher and Torrhen can tell you about them.”  

Sansa sighed and leaned back on the wall. “I still don’t think me wielding arms is a good idea.”

“How do you know it’s not? You have never picked up any in your life. I bet you can become a great archer. Or learn to fight with daggers or a spear. You have the build.” Jon leaned in conspiratorially, “And who knows, you may give Arya some serious competition in becoming a famous fighter like Princess Nymeria.”

Sansa giggled again and shoved him away. “Stop making wild stories, Jon. If you are forgetting, I am a lady, and ladies don’t fight.”

“I dare you to tell that to the ladies of Bear Island.”

Sansa had a thoughtful look on her face. Jon suddenly leapt to his feet and offered her a hand.

“Come with me!”

“What?”

“Come with me, I want to show you something!”

He pulled her to her feet and started to drag her out of the Garden.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Just come with me and you will see.”

He took her out of the Glass Garden and to the Godswood. Sansa was panting for running all the way there, she sat down on a rock and wiped her brow.

“Jon Snow, if it was your ploy to make me start working out, then I will…”

Jon put up his hands, “It was not, I promise. I truly wanted to show you something.”

She frowned at him, “What is this special thing then?”

“You’ll see!”

Jon let out a loud whistle, minutes later, Gale landed gracefully on his shoulder. Sansa gasped at seeing her.

“You have seen her from afar. Now meet Her Grace, Princess Gale.”

The bird looked at her imperiously.

“She is so beautiful, Jon!” Sansa gushed.

“Aye, she is. People will tell you she is even snootier than any real princesses. She is the perfect lady. You can pet her, she won't mind.”

Sansa carefully reached out and caressed the feathers on Gale’s chest. The bird had her eyes closed in pleasure. Suddenly, she leapt up from Jon’s shoulder and swooped towards Sansa. She shrieked and covered her face with her hands. Gale landed on Sansa’s shoulder and started to preening the loose strands of her hair.

“Don’t worry, it just means that she likes you,” Jon assured her.

Sansa slowly removed her hands from her face and turned her head towards Gale. The bird fixed her yellow eyes to her blue ones and then started to rub her head to her cheek. Sansa let out a loud giggle.

“She is so precious!” She was about to melt into a puddle.

“Congratulations, you are now on a very short list of people that Gale approves of.”

“Oh? And who else is on this list?”

“Well, now there is you, obviously,” Jon took a seat on another rock beside Sansa, “Then there is Lady Anya, little Alys…and she sometimes graces me with her presence.”

Sansa let out a peal of tinkling laughter. Jon thought that he liked the sound of her laughter.

“So, what do you think of her?”

“She is so beautiful and graceful. She is like a proper lady.”

“Aye, that she is. But she is also a ferocious killer. The sky is her queendom, and she hunts with the swiftness and zeal of a bloodthirsty predator.”

Sansa gave him a look, “I can see what you are trying to do, Jon Snow.”

He just smirked at her.

She let out a sigh and reached out to pet the feathers on Gale’s back. “Fine, you win. I will try to learn how to wield arms. But if Mother catches me, I am blaming you.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Jon bowed his head in acquiescence, “As you wish, milady.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments.

“Why are you doing this, Jon?”

“What do you mean?”

“This…making me feel better. Trying to make me a proper Northern Lady, taking my side instead of Arya’s…why are you doing all these?”

Jon sighed. “I don’t know if you remember it or not, but you were once the best and only friend I had. I mean there were you, me and Robb, but it was always you and I against Robb. We were always playing the Lady of the Tower, where Robb was always made to be the monster, and I, your brave knight, I was to fight the monster and rescue you. Do you remember that?”

Sansa nodded, eyes far away from the present, thinking about those days. Jon had his head down, looking at the water of the spring.

“And then, one day suddenly, you stopped talking to me. When I asked, you said that a lady shouldn’t mingle with a bastard. I didn’t know what to say or feel. By then, Theon had arrived, someone far more interesting to Robb than the simple me. I was truly alone then, Sansa, I had lost both my best friend and my brother and I had no idea what to do. Arya was just a baby then. Lady Stark was often in bed because she was heavy with Bran. I tried to chase my loneliness away by trying to talk with Baby Arya. I took care of her, oftentimes, I spent all my day with her. I think that is the reason why She is so fond of me. I tried to chase the ghost of my friend away with a little sister.”

Sansa had a hand covering her mouth, eyes brimming with tears, she never had any idea about any of these. Jon continued with his reminiscing.

“Then, we grew up some more, Theon had become old news and Robb once again became the brother I had. By then, Arya also had grown up, always following me everywhere, nobody could control her other than me. Robb used to get jealous, he tried to be like me with her, but Arya preferred me over him. Now that I think about it, Robb too was trying to fill the gap of the little sister he lost with Arya, for neither of us had gotten back our Sansa, the third member of our little pack. So we- Robb, Arya and I, became the new pack, and started have our fun in our ways. Not like Lady of the Tower, no. Arya would have bashed our heads with a club for even mentioning it.” Jon chuckled, “Bran and Rickon were too young to get involved with our misdeeds, so it was just us three. Sometimes I could see my best friend, going about her lessons, being a dutiful daughter, but she was lost to me.”

Sansa launched herself at Jon by then, almost toppling him off the rock he was sitting on. Gale screeched in annoyance about suddenly losing her perch and flew off to a nearby branch, looking balefully at them.

Sansa was sobbing in Jon’s chest, he was befuddled, he didn’t know how to comfort a crying girl.

“I am so sorry, Jon. I never knew any of it. Mother told me to stop spending time with you, I didn’t want to, please believe me. I just wanted to make Mother happy.”

Not getting what else to do, Jon started to pat her on her head. “It’s alright, Sansa.”

Moving away to look at him, Sansa scowled and slapped him on his chest, “That’s not how you comfort when someone is crying, stupid!”

“How would I know? I never had anybody crying on top of me. Well, there was that girl, but she wasn’t sobbing in my shirt…”

“What girl?”

Jon scowled in thought, “I will tell you later.”

Sansa nodded and looked down to the ground. “Please forgive me?” She asked in a low voice.

Jon sighed and grabbed her hands in his. “There is nothing to forgive, Sansa.”

“Why?”

Jon smiled, he untied his armband and unfurled it. It was a kerchief with a white dire wolf embroidered on it. The colours had faded from over-usage.

“Do you recognize it?”

Sansa gasped, “It was the kerchief I gifted you when you left for your fosterage!”

“Aye, I had taken to wear it on my arm, with the wolf displayed to all. This is the reason why people started to call me the White Wolf. Lady Anya had stitched me some more, but this one is my favourite, I use it all the time. Come to think of it, it is because of you, I am the White Wolf.”

Sansa giggled, “You should thank me then.”

“I do, I do thank you all the time, Sansa. When you gifted me this, I thought mayhaps my friend wasn’t lost. She is still there. That’s why I am trying so hard to help you now, Sansa. I am trying to help you become the best you can be. We are the pack of direwolves. We all have a part to play. Lord Stark is the Quiet Wolf, the fearsome leader of the pack, Robb is the Young Wolf, the able and dutiful heir. Arya is the Wild Wolf, the untamable, but fiercely loyal to the pack. Bran is the Wise Wolf, one day he will become one of the greatest thinkers, a great knight, or mayhaps a wise Maester. Rickon is still a little pup. But you Sansa, you are the Red Wolf, the cleverest of them all.”

Sansa gave him a watery smile, “And you are the White Wolf, protector of all.”

Jon chuckled at that. He squeezed her hands, “Thank you for bringing my friend back to me, Sansa.”

Sansa leaned in and gave a peck on his cheek, “I will always be your friend, Jon.”

“Now come on, you haven’t had a proper breakfast this morning. I wager you are dying of hunger by now.”

“Yes, I could eat a horse…or a dozen lemon cakes.” They both broke in laughter.

They got up and started to get out of the Godswood. Jon signalled for Gale, but she didn’t land on his arm as he expected, she had chosen Sansa’s shoulder instead.

“See, what did I tell you? She only graces me with her presence when the mood strikes her.” He turned to Gale, “If you remember, Your Grace, it was I who had found you in the woods and nursed you back to health.”

Gale turned her head away from him in reply as if she had better things to do than listening to the nonsense he was speaking. Jon sighed defeated and shook his head. Sansa was laughing seeing the bird and the young man acting all weird.

“You are an idiot!” She laughingly said.

Jon thought, he truly liked that sound of laughter.

---

 

As he approached Lord Stark’s solar, Jon’s heart seemed to be burst out of his chest. He didn’t know what to expect. He never thought he would be getting anything from his parents, ever, but here he is. He took a moment to compose himself before knocking on his uncle’s doors.

During the mealtime, he had apologized to Theon for showing off at their archery challenge. He was at first hesitant to accept it, thinking it to be some trick, but later accepted his hand and shook it, albeit grudgingly. Jon offered him to return the money, but Theon refused, saying “A wager is a wager. I will take my money back from you some other day, on another wager, mayhaps.”

Arya threw a tantrum after seeing Gale sitting on Sansa’s shoulder. She wanted it to be her who the bird should get close to, Jon had a hard time make her understand that it entirely depended on Gale and he had nothing to do with it. Sansa kept a smug smile on her face throughout the meal and kept feeding Gale bits and pieces of meat while throwing Arya sneaky looks, making her angrier. Only pleading gazes from Jon made her stop bugging Arya any further.

Jon took a deep breath and knocked on the doors.

“Enter.” Ned’s voice came from the room.

Jon gulped and entered the room. He was shocked to see Lady Catelyn sitting there beside his uncle.

“I am sorry, My Lord, I would come back later.”

It was Lady Stark who stopped him. “No, you don’t have to leave. Your uncle had asked me to be present for this. Please, take a seat.”

Jon sighed and sat down in front of the desk. “So, you know about it all then?”

Lady Catelyn nodded, “My Lord Husband finally deemed me worthy enough to know about it.” She gave him a venomous glare, Ned looked down at his hands. “I can understand why he didn’t tell me anything when he brought you home. I was new, he didn’t know me. I was to marry your Uncle Brandon, not your Uncle Ned. I could relate to his hesitance. But what about afterwards? When I had come and lived in the North for a decade? When we have…” She choked down a sob, “We had five children together, and he still doesn’t trust me. I am an outsider to him still.” She broke down crying.

Jon rushed to her side and got to his knees. He was about to pat her hands when Sansa’s words rang in his mind, so he just kept a hold of her hands instead, “Please, My Lady…Aunt, you don’t have to cry…everything had turned out for better in the end, all the secrets out in the open…”

She looked up to him, “You don’t understand, Aemon. I had cursed the unknown woman who had my husband’s heart. Whenever I asked him about your mother, he had shut me out. I was afraid that one day, this woman will come back and he will set me aside for her…because his love for her is much deeper than he has for me. I was right, he loved her deeply, only it was a love a brother has for his sister. I was angry at him, at this woman…and I took that anger out on you, a motherless child. Family, Duty, Honour – these are the words of my house, Aemon. I had tried my absolute best to be a dutiful wife, to be a loving mother and raise my family with honour…but you, you have received none but undeserved scorns from me…I have failed – I have failed my family, my duties and honour, he made me a failure…”

“Please, My Lady, I am certain he had his reasons for not telling you…” He looked pleadingly at Ned, urging him to say something…anything.

Ned sighed and looked towards his crying wife, “Please try to understand me, Cat. When I reached the Tower of Joy, I didn’t know what to expect…but I certainly didn’t expect to see my little sister lying on her bed covered in blood. She had just given birth alone at that godforsaken place, with help from only a midwife. She put her newborn babe in my arms. ‘Promise me, Ned,’ she had asked me. She heard about the fate that befell Elia and her child, she knew Robert would kill him if he came to know. So I gave my word to my dying sister, I promised her that I would protect her son at all cost. I claimed him as my bastard. What is a stain in my honour against my words to her? When we came back, you were wroth about him, as any wife should for her husband’s child outside of marriage bed. I had thought about telling you afterwards, but then I saw how your anger towards him gave him another layer of protection. I would have stayed quiet, if not his dragonblood flowed true…he came to know about my biggest secret all on his own, by the intellect his own and his blood…I would have never told him about his mother, only to keep him alive, unhappy mayhaps, but alive nonetheless…I would have made him take the Black…”

“Don’t you dare, Eddard Stark!” Lady Catelyn had stood up so fast, her chair toppled over. Jon was almost knocked on his arse. He was sure that he could almost see smoke coming out of her flared nostrils.

“Don’t you dare to send the rightful heir to the throne off to that frozen hell of criminals. I have to answer to my ancestors. Do you know that I had spent the entirety of last night begging forgiveness from the Mother, Father and Maiden for the wrongness you had compelled me to carry on? My Gods will never forgive me if I failed to protect my family…my entire family. I will not let you try and destroy the life of a young man, your sister’s son – Lyanna’s boy! I met her only for a short time at Harrenhal, but she accepted me into her family. She accepted me to be her good-sister. It will be over my dead body if I let her son spend his life amongst the scums of the kingdoms.”

Jon was shocked beyond anything. He had seen Catelyn Stark as she doted on her children. He had seen her sneering at him, turning her hateful gazes at him all the times, throwing taunts and barbed words at his way. He had never expected her to be fighting with her husband for his future. Could he be wrong in truly knowing her?  

“My Lady…Cat, please, let me explain…” Ned too had gotten up to his feet, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender. Lady Stark again broke down in tears. Ned wrapped his arms around her. Jon turned away and went to the hearth, trying to tune out the murmurings of his uncle and aunt.

After everybody had calmed down, they retook their seats. Catelyn looked pale and broken. Jon had never seen her so defeated.

“You can write to Robert, Ned. You legitimize him, give him the Stark name. There are so many empty castles in North, you can make him a lord of any one of them. The other lords will not complain because of his growing reputation. Please, just don’t send him away to waste his life.”

Jon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This day was becoming more and more bizarre. The emotional upheavals he had faced throughout the day had made him tired, and he had yet to confront the past, with his parents’ memories. 

“My Lady…Aunt Catelyn, I thank you for your words. You cannot know how happy I am to have your acceptance after so long. I appreciate that you had let me live in your home when you didn’t know the truth. I appreciate it even more now that you are going so far in offering me your name, a castle even, knowing full well how risky it is for your family if the truth comes out in the open. You have my heartfelt gratitude for all these. But for all intents and purposes, you were right in one thing, I am not a Stark. I can never become a Stark. Stark blood indeed flows through my veins, but it is mixed with dragonblood too. I am the last son of my father, for all I know, I am the last Targaryen. I can’t let that name die out.”

“Will you go for the Iron Throne?”

Jon turned his head away from them, looking at the fire in the hearth, “I don’t know. That cursed seat had brought nothing but sorrow for my family…both of them. For now, I just want to travel, I want to see all this world has to offer…I want to make a name for myself.”

Lady Stark reached out and took his hand in hers, “You are a good boy, Aemon. You are far wiser than your years.”

Jon wanted to let the past lie in the past. He wanted to try this new closeness he was experiencing with his aunt, he squeezed her hand, “Jon for now, Aunt. I am not yet ready to bear a name that great…just like I said to the grumpy, old man here.” He gave her a smirk.

“Careful, young man. Don’t forget that I am your Lord still. I can have you punished for that slight.”

“That is for the outside of that door. In here, you are just a doting old man who loves his children and nephew to the bits.”

They all laughed at that, thankful for the levity that drove away from the gloom that thickened the air just a little while ago.

Ned cleared his throat, “Jon, it is time…”

Jon understood what he was trying to say, he took a deep breath to strengthen his resolve. Catelyn got up from her seat and came to stand beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Jon threw her a grateful look and nodded back to Ned.

Ned got up from his seat and went to the portrait of a Stark King of old behind the lord’s desk. He pulled some levers and the portrait swung open revealing a vault hidden behind. Ned opened the vault with a very old looking key and brought out a chest. He carried it to the desk and set it down. He looked at Jon and sighed sadly.

“Inside of this chest, there are documents that I collected from the Tower of Joy, along with the stuff your mother said that Rheager had left behind for you before leaving for the war.”

Jon kept looking at the chest, he was excited yet apprehensive of the things inside of it. Ned sighed again and opened the chest. Jon could see several things inside of it. But his focus was trained on a bunch of parchments that could be letters.

“Aye, those are the letters between Lyanna, Rheager and Elia. All of them.”

Jon reached for the letters in a trance. He opened the first one and started to read.

He didn’t know how long it took for him to read through all of them. The first of the letters were from his father and stepmother. They painted an image of the treacherous place that was Kings’ Landing. They told how his father, in one of his disguised tour of the realms had come to meet his mother by fate. His father said he fell in love with her the first time he saw her. He said how it was for duty that he married Elia, but came to care for her deeply. Princess Elia had told in her letters how she would welcome the union if it came to be. How she was afraid for her daughter and her own life under the madness of Aerys. How the Queen and Rheager had smuggled in an orphan boy and called him Aegon only so that the Little Birds of Varys would be misdirected. The puzzle of the winter roses came clear as it was Elia who had managed for a supply of those flowers at the tourney. She had hinted about it in her letter to his mother, almost teasing her about the surprise that awaited her there. The tone of the letters became frantic about the news of the betrothal between Robert and Lyanna. Rhaeger assuring her that everything would be alright, Elia telling her that she was urging Rhaeger almost continuously to make haste with his plans. When the Rebellion started, Elia said in her letters how much she was fearing for everyone, she wanted to send Rhaenys to Dorne, not to her brothers, but Lyanna. It sounded from her letters that she didn’t expect to be alive after everything was over. She had urged Lyanna to take care of her daughter, Rhaeger, their soon to be born child…and also her brothers. She told her that if something indeed happened to her, how Prince Doran would confine himself and wouldn’t let anybody see how much he was hurting. How Prince Oberyn would rage and curse, and in the end, would completely break down. She asked her to take care of her brothers for her.

The last of the letters was from Lyanna herself, it was addressed to her child. Jon had uncontrolled tears running down his cheeks by then. Reading about Rhaeger and Elia was beyond any of his expectations. He tried to open the letter of his mother, but couldn’t manage it with his trembling hands. He held out the letter towards Catelyn, who had also been reading the letters with him. She too had a tear-streaked face, she nodded at Jon and took the letter to break the seal. She looked at Jon and he nodded, permitted her to read it. She cleared her throat and started to read the letter aloud.

My dearest sweet child,

You are yet to see the light of this world while I am writing this letter to you. Your father thinks you to be a girl, but I can feel that I will have a strong and handsome baby boy in my arms just in a few days.

We are so very eager to meet you, your father, step-mother, your big sister, and of course me, your mother. You will have a big family, you also have uncles, lots of them.

You also had one uncle who is not in this world anymore. He and your grandfather, my father, had left us behind. There are a few bad men who wanted to see our families suffer.

Your stepmother thinks that she will not be here to welcome you. She wanted to send your sister to us. But your other grandfather, your father’s father, had stopped her. We don’t know how they are faring anymore.

I am all alone here, far from my home, even your father had left me behind. But I have three brave men looking after me. They too are very eager to see you. One of them, your father’s best friend, your Uncle Arthur told me that he will teach you how to wield a sword even before you start to walk. But don’t you worry, I will beat him with the biggest stick I can find if he forces you.

I fear for your father, my sweet one. He and your Uncle Ned are fighting. We never wanted everything to turn so horrible. We had left a letter for your Uncle Brandon and your Grandfather Rickard that we are leaving. The boy said he knew your uncle very well and he will make sure that they get the letter. I don’t know what happened afterwards.

Now I pray to the Gods that you live. Even if I am not there to see you, even if your father fails to reach you, I pray that you live and be the best you can. And if there are people who managed to cause us harm, I am sure you will make them pay for their follies. You will make it so that they know that Winter has come for them, with Fire and Blood.

Be brave, my sweet. You are the blood of wolves and dragons. You are our Song of Ice and Fire. Your father believes that you are destined to be the protector of all men. He believes in his prophecies, but I believe in the mettle of men. I know you will become the warrior that everybody will fear to stand up to. I know you will protect the helpless, you will care for your fellow men. You will be the Hero that everyone needs.

I hope I am there when you read this letter, if not, I love you, my son. Your father loves you. Your stepmother loves you. Your sister loves you. Your uncles will love you. You are all of our pride and joy.

Your loving mother,

Lyanna Targaryen (of House Stark)

Lady Catelyn held a sobbing Jon close to her chest. He was crying for the family he lost. The parents, sibling he never met. He cried for his uncle and grandfather. He cried for the mother who had so high hopes for him. He made a vow that he will fulfil her promise. He will make the people who brought his families down pay, he will make sure that Winter comes for them, with the vengeance of Fire and Blood.

Jon wiped his eyes and face, in a gruff voice he asked, “Who?”

Lord Stark looked at him askance.

“Who was it that she left the letter with?”

“I don’t know, son, I was at the Vale when they eloped. I only came back to the North after your Uncle Brandon and your Grandfather had died.” He looked towards Catelyn.

“I don’t know either, Jon. Brandon had just reached Riverrun for our wedding. Then suddenly he was riding off with only a few friends with him. We didn’t know where he went, only knew that he was yelling about killing someone for bringing shame to his family. Months later, we come to know about his captivity at the Capitol…and afterwards, all of the Seven Hells had broken free.”

Jon was pacing around the room, “That boy…man, whoever he was, he incited everything that happened. He either never delivered her letter, or he changed the message, sending everything to the Hells. I want to know who he was.”

Ned too was trying to think about the identity of the man, “He may not even be alive now, son. Many had died, many had left these lands forever. We may never know his identity.”

Jon was standing by the hearth, eyes trained to the flames, “If he is alive, I will find him, and I will make him pay for everything. My mother demanded it.”

The room was silent for a long time.

“There are still some things left in the chest, Jon.”

Jon sighed and came back to his seat. Ned reached inside of the chest and pulled a garment out. It was a cloak, emblazoned with the dire wolf sigil of House Stark.

“Is that…?”

“Aye, I believe this is your mother’s maiden cloak.”

Jon held the cloak close to his nose, he could almost smell a faint scent of winter roses, his mother’s smell.

Underneath the cloak, they found a declaration of marriage between Rheager of House Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark, the marriage was conducted by a Septon Maynard, witnessed by Ser Arthur of House Dayne.

There was another certificate, this one was the declaration of the birth of a child of House Targaryen. The name Aemon was put in by his Uncle Ned’s handwriting.

“Jon, I am sure this one will ease your mind a bit…”

Jon looked at his uncle to find him holding out a sword for him. Curious, he grabbed it and took it out of its scabbard. It was a beautiful longsword. The blade was dark and with distinctive rippling patterns, screaming of its Valyrian make. It had golden crossguards in the shapes of flame. A big ruby decorated in the middle of the crossguards. The pommel of the sword appeared to be shaped like a claw of a dragon. The slimmer build of the sword was proof enough of its identity.

“The Dark Sister!” Jon’s voice was full of wonderment.

“Aye, one of the two swords of your House. It is said to be lost since the Blackfyre Rebellion. Your father somehow found it and left it to be wielded by you.”

He swung it around to test the blade. It was so light that he felt as if he was wielding his dagger. Its edges were as sharp as the day it was forged. Satisfied, he put it back in its scabbard and turned towards Ned.

“My father left it for me?”

“Aye, he did.”

Jon nodded, "Then I am changing its name...for now at least. Too many heads will be turned and will put us all under unnecessary scrutiny if they see me with this blade."

“What do you want to call it then?”

Jon thought for a while, then he offered the sword back to his uncle. “You have your Ice, I have my Frost.”

Ned nodded appreciatively and held the sword.

“Do you think Mikken can discreetly make a new pommel for it?”

“Aye, it can be done. What do you want it to be?”

Jon gave him a feral smile, “A wolf’s head, of course!”

Ned’s smile back to him was just as feral.

A sudden loud gasp brought their attention back to the third person present in the room. Catelyn had a hand covering her mouth, looking inside of the chest. Ned looked at her and dropped his head in realization.

“Aye, his father had also left that for him.”

Curious, Jon went back to the chest. Ned reached in and brought out an oval-shaped stone. It was bigger than Jon’s head, white of colour with red dots adorning it all over. Intricate scale patterns covered it fully.

“What is it?”

Catelyn replied in a quivering voice, “It is a dragon egg. I have only read about them. But none of the books told of an egg this big!”

Jon took the egg in his hands. Shocked, he looked up to his Aunt and Uncle.

“I think it’s alive!”

 

 

Notes:

A.N. – I am afraid I didn’t do justice to Lyanna’s letter. Sorry about that.

Chapter 11: Island Hopping Pt. 2

Island Hopping Pt. 2

The next day came way too soon in Jon’s opinion. He hadn’t fully recovered from events of the previous day, especially after encountering the memories of his parents…and then, he had a dragon egg left for him by his father. A real fucking dragon egg and it felt alive to him. He was yet to come to terms with that fact alone. He got ready for the day, the sun was yet to show its face, but his uncle ordered him to be at the Godswood. He stumbled his way towards there.

Ned was already there at the Godswood, he was kneeling before the Hearts Tree praying. Jon went and kneeled beside him, offering his prayers to the Gods. He prayed to them to watch over the lost souls that were his parents- all three of them, and his sister, Rhaenys.

Ned had brought the training swords with him. He ordered Jon to show his stances to him first. Afterwards, he got him through a series of moves that Jon hadn’t seen before. Northern Blizzard indeed. If this was the way the Starks fight, no wonder they had become the Kings of Winter. Jon saw numerous men to practice and fight with swords, but none came closer with what his uncle was showing him. The moves demanded far more strength as well as a tremendous amount of agility than he was used to. Both uncle and nephew just went through the motions of swordplay, neither of them brought up the conversation they had last evening. Ned had Jon practising for a couple of hours before calling it a halt, reminding Jon to meet him at his solar for the planning of countering the invasion.

Instead of going inside and wash, Jon just cleaned his hands and face at the hot spring and went towards the back courtyard, where Arya was to begin her training soon. He hoped that Sansa kept her words and came for the practice.

He found them in the yard, Cley was directing Arya through her warm-ups, seeing Jon, she smiled brightly. He looked around to see Sansa peering at them from behind a pile of crates. Jon smiled and waved to her to join them. She gave him a nervous smile which was more of a grimace. Tentatively, she came out to the yard and stood beside Jon. Arya stopped in her tracks seeing her sister there and scowled.

“What is she doing here?”

“Arya,” Jon said in a warning tone.

“No, Jon. She will tell mother everything. She will ruin it all.” She vehemently shook her head.

 Sansa was already on the verge of tears. Jon put a hand on her shoulder.

“Stop it, Arya, she will do no such thing. I called her here.”

“Why?”

“I want to train in arms…” Sansa answered timidly.

Arya looked dumbfounded between Jon and Sansa, suddenly peals of laughter erupted from her lips and she crashed on the ground clutching her belly. Whenever it seemed that she would stop, she took another glance at Sansa and again started with her crazed laughter. Jon and Cley found it hard to keep their faces straight. Sansa had forgotten all about her nervousness and was fuming with her hands on her hips.

“And what, pray tell, is so funny about my wish to be trained in arms?”

Arya replied in between laughter, “Be-because…you are Sansa! Oh, my aching tummy…”

Sansa stomped her foot in anger and was about to rush back to the keep, but Jon stopped her.

“Enough, Arya. It was I who invited her here to train. Stop acting like that and get on with your training.”

At hearing that, Arya stopped her laughter. She glared furiously at the both of them, stood up, grabbed her wooden sword and went to hack furiously at the straw dummy. Jon sighed, he knew he was in for a hard time calming his little sister. She didn’t take it well with Gale’s bonding with Sansa, and then Jon went and invited her to something that was just for Arya alone. Cley gave them a helpless smile and went to watch over Arya.

Jon turned to Sansa and gave her an encouraging smile.

“Are you ready for your first lesson?”

“Aye, what do you want me to do first? Shall I do what Arya was doing earlier?”

Jon shook his head, “No. Arya was warming up and now practising with melee combat. You are not dressed for that.” He indicated at her clothing. Indeed, Arya was wearing a tunic and breeches, probably she pilfered them from Bran. Sansa was standing there in her flowing gown.

“But I don’t own any of those kinds of clothing.”

“That’s where your sewing skill should help you, don’t you think?” Jon winked at her conspiratorially.

“What will I do today then? Sansa asked with a frown. She didn’t want the day to be a waste.

Jon smiled at her. “Since we can’t test where your melee strength lies, we will practice a little bit of archery today.”

He handed her a small practice bow, one he had borrowed from Bran, and went through the finer points of archery with her. He had her practice for about an hour before calling it quits for the day. Not used to physical workouts, Sansa was drenched in sweat and so very exhausted, that she was about to collapse where she stood. Jon helped her get to the keep with a tip about how to lessen the pains of her aching arms. Arya stormed past them without uttering a word.

“Don’t worry about it, I will talk to her.”

He smiled at her and bid her goodbye at her doors. It was time for him to wash up and break his fast.

---

 

Breakfast at the Great Hall was a different affair than the Stark family was accustomed to. Nobody knew what to say or do with a sullen Arya or a tired but genuinely happy Sansa.

Jon went to Ned’s solar after breakfast. He was allowed entrance after knocking, finding the Lord and Lady of Winterfell going over their usual morning discussion about household stuff. Both of them gave him a welcoming smile, a new thing to receive from Lady Catelyn.

“My Lord, My Lady.” Jon bowed to them.

“Hello, Jon.”

“Come in and have a seat, son.”

Ned narrowed his eyes at Jon and asked, “Would you mind telling me why my daughters were acting so differently this morning?”

Jon took a glance at Lady Stark and said, “I gave Sansa her first lesson in arms today…and Arya was mad about that, thinking Sansa trying to intrude at something that was only for her.”

“What?! You gave Sansa lessons in…? I knew about Arya’s rolling in mud but now Sansa too? Ned, what is this all about?”

Jon turned towards her with a serious face and said, “My Lady…Aunt Cat, Did Uncle tell you about what I encountered on my way home?”

Cat looked between the two and shook her head no.

Jon sighed and explained to her about the incident at Weeping Waters. She had gone white in fear hearing Jon’s experience.

“I really cannot express enough how disturbing everything was. While I hope that neither Sansa nor Arya has to face anything like that in their lives, I know it will be foolish to not prepare them for the world outside. While their father, brothers and I will lay our lives down for them, we cannot promise to always be there to protect them. They need to know how to protect themselves. I need my cousins to be safe, Aunt. Please, don’t ask me to stop the training of either of them, this I beg of you.”

Catelyn reluctantly gave her approval for her daughters to practice in arms. She knew what Jon was talking about, the world was full of vicious and distasteful individuals, she wanted her daughters to be protected from them. But that didn’t mean that she had to like it. She said so to Jon sternly and had them know that she would talk with Cley about it too. While her voice was stern, she wasn’t as scornful with Jon as before, something that Ned pointed out to them, fearing others would take note of it too.

Jon gave him a smirk, “They say absence begets fondness. Lady Stark could have started to appreciate my existence more once I was gone from Winterfell, and that fondness continued enough for her to tolerate me with kindness now.”

Ned barked a laugh at that. “That is indeed possible.”

Jon was happy to see his generally brooding uncle act and laugh so freely. The secret was taking a toll on his soul it seemed. He was now free of that burden, above all, his wife had truly become his partner to share his burdens.

Lady Catelyn bade them goodbye and went to her duties. Soon, Ser Rodrick, his nephew and captain of the guards- Jory Cassel, Maester Luwin, Asher and Torrhen came to the solar. It was time to plan on how to counter the invasion.

First and foremost, Ned had rejected the initial idea of Jon and his party going to White Harbour and from there to Bear Island by boat. If they went that way, they would need to go around a long way coasting almost all of the kingdoms to reach the Island, also it would take an insane amount of time to travel. Instead, he ordered them to travel to Moat Cailin where a delegation from White Harbour would await them. Ned knew it would be futile to try and make Jon stay behind, as he was also sure that his son, Robb would never let the chance of going to battle by, so instead of wasting his breath arguing with Jon, and later with Robb, he had decided to let them join and taste the burden of leading men in battle. That way, he or his trusted men could keep an eye on them, lest they sneak off on their own. With Jon’s current reputation and prowess on the battlefield, He was sure that none of his Lords will object to the idea of him leading a company. He would send words to Lord Manderly to send either of his sons to help Robb with his command, he would need to prove his mettle as the future Lord of Winterfell.

Jon’s company will meet with Robb’s at the Moat and from there, they would board boats and travel through Fever River, Saltspear and Blazewater Bay to Sunset Sea, it would prove the rouse of two of Lord Stark’s sons were out enjoying a leisure cruise while visiting a vassal house for nameday celebration of an heir of that house. Meanwhile, Ned and the other lords would keep a trickle of men travelling to the Stony Shore and made camp there. They would move from there to Sea Dragon Point at the end of the eighth month and meet the rest of the army there.

Jon had pointed out that if they alert the Mountain Clans and sent men to both Stony Shore and the Northern Mountains, they could gather at the foothills of the mountains and along the shore of Bay of Ice as well as Sea Dragon Point and could provide a pincer attack. Ned, Ser Rodrick, Maester Luwin – all had proud looks on their faces at Jon’s strategical mind. Nobody had ever thought of including the Mountain Clans as they tended to keep them to themselves. Ned had met only once with the clans, after he became the Lord of Winterfell, the Clan Leaders had come down to take a measure of their new liege lord. They seemed happy with his skills in battle during Robert’s Rebellion and wholeheartedly accepted ‘The Ned’ but they were not asked to participate during the Ironborn Rebellion. He decided to send ravens to the Leaders because no one could infiltrate the reclusive clans. 

They had decided that the men would navigate around the Wolfswood and made the long way towards Stony Shore through Barrowlands and The Rills. The Ryswells and the Flints would provide ships for Jon and Robb. While the rest of the men from White Harbour, The Rills and Widows’ Watch would rendezvous with the Cerwyn men and go to Sea Dragon Point by Torrhen’s Square. The Tallharts were to maintain guard at the borders of the Wolfswood so that any remnants of the invaders chased by the army could not get past them. Hornwood and Bolton Men would meet at Winterfell and would make their way north towards Deepwood Motte to bolster their defence. Half of them would remain at the Motte to help Lord Glover while Lords Bolton and Hornwood would take the rest at Sea Dragon Point where Lord Bolton would take command of the force. The Karstark men would join with the Umber men and they would directly reach for the Northern Mountains. Ned would go with his men to the mountains and take command of the men there. Riders would be sent to the lords with the instructions so they could take actions as discreetly as possible. The Skagosi had infiltrated the Smallfolk as per the information. So, calling for levies would not be attempted, they would have to do with their men-at-arms. The rider to the Motte would carry an extra instruction for Lord Glover to secure the fishing boats of the fishing villages along the shore for the later part of the year. They need to be protected as transportation, and also to prevent the Skagosi to commandeer them for their invasion.

All the while, Jon, Robb and their men would entrench themselves at Bear Island and bolster its defence. They would hold off the attacks as much as they could while the main force rammed the attackers from both sides.

Under the current circumstances, these were the best defensive and offensive plans they could form. But they knew that no plan survives contact with the enemy. Jon was sure that veteran war commanders like his Uncle Ned and Lord Bolton would do well, but it would be a trial by fire for both himself and Robb, for they would take part in actual battle. Jon took a glance at Asher and Torrhen, he could see by their nervous yet determined faces that they had reached the same conclusions. Soon, they all would become men, toughened by war.

Ned had estimated the time of a month and a half for the riders to go and return from various Northern houses. After that, Jon and company would leave for Moat Cailin. He would send words for Howland Reed, he hoped that the reclusive lord would come out of his self-isolation and provide help to his sons. Everybody left the meeting grim-faced. War was at the horizon.

---

 

Jon thought to go to Godswood to get out of the sombre mood. His clearing and the obstacle course that he had created there, had always helped him to calm his mind. Besides, he needed to get as much practice as he could manage to get done with his sword lessons within the constricting period. He would need the advantage at Bear Island.

Jon was glad to find that his endurance had improved much than the last time he had used the course. He went through it five times before he completely ran out of breath. After catching his breath, he picked up the tourney sword he brought and started going through the moves his uncle taught him that morning, in his usual way of practising with swords, first with the right hand, then with the left.

Tired to the bone, Jon was making his way towards the keep when he found Arya alone at the Godswood, whacking away at a tree with a stick.

“What are you doing, little wolf?”

She ignored him and continued with what she was doing.

“Come on, little sister, talk to me.”

“So now I am your little sister?”

“What that supposed to mean?”

“You let Sansa carry around your bird, but not me. You spend all your time with her yesterday, don’t try to deny it, I saw you. You even invited her to train. That was supposed to be my training time. Not hers.”

Jon sighed resignedly, his cousins would be the death of him. He sat, or crashed down, under a tree and relaxed his aching limbs.

“Come on, sit down with me.”

Arya stomped over and sat down with a huff, arms crossed over her chest and head turned away from Jon.

“As I have told you before, who Gale lets near her is completely upon herself. She is a fussy creature, she doesn’t allow everyone to go near her. Why she allowed Sansa, I would never know, but I think with time, she would come to accept you too. Alright?”

She let out another huff but nodded her head.

“And as for training Sansa, tell me, do you want to see her hurt, or Gods forbid, dead?”

Arya snapped her head towards Jon with bulging eyes.

“No!”

“Do you know, that on my way here I found a girl getting attacked by a few bad men? She was in a very bad state because she couldn’t defend herself. Do you want to see Sansa having the same fate as that girl?”

Horrified, Arya shook her head no.

“I want both of you to remain safe, little sister. I know you love Sansa, but you don’t need to fight with her all the time. Talk to her, and you will find that you are more alike. You are pack members, Arya, sisters…family. Will you do that for me?”

Arya nodded her head grumpily.

“Am I forgiven then?”

Arya glomped at Jon and held him tight, her face buried in his neck.

“You are my favourite brother, Jon. Even when you are stupid.”

Jon chuckled and ruffled her hair.

“Now, would you mind terribly if you sneak me some food out of the kitchen? I am hungry but so tired that I can hardly move.”

Arya gave him an impish smile and ran off. Jon sighed, handling Arya was easy enough. If only every other problem in his life could be handled this easily. Soon Arya came back with an armload of food and a skin of water. The two helped themselves with the food and chatted about everything under the sun, just like in the old days.

*Line Break*

Time went on much quicker, it was already nearing a month since Jon had returned to Winterfell. Most of the riders that his Uncle Ned had sent to the other houses, had already returned with the lords’ replies. A few who went to the far situated houses were yet to return. Time was nearing for Jon’s departure to Moat Cailin. He was almost near to master the Starks’ Way of Swords or as he was starting to call it in his mind, the Northern Blizzard, due to his constant practising with or without his uncle. He also kept on giving arms lessons to both Sansa and Arya. Sansa could never become an expert with swords like her sister. But she proved that she could be an adept fighter with a spear or twin daggers. Jon and Cley had taken halves of her training, Cley with spear and Jon with daggers. She also progressed with her archery skill at a phenomenal rate. Arya was so envious of that feat of her sister. She had to practice hard to reach where she was, but Sansa was natural with bows.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had an ugly row with Septa Mordane. It all started when the Septa found Sansa at the lessons with Lady Ella, it reached the peak after she found Sansa stitching some tunics and breeches for her own. She had berated her badly. Jon was yet again had to console a crying Sansa. This time, he took the matter to his uncle.

*Flashback*

Jon peeked into his uncle’s solar that morning to find both the Lord and Lady having their morning meeting as usual. He knocked on the door.

“May I come in, My Lord?”

“Of course, son, do come in.”

“My lady.” He bowed to Cat to her smile.

“What do you need?”

“I want to talk about Sansa, uncle, and to you too, aunt,” Jon said seriously.

“Oh?”

“Aye, I found her crying again in the Glass Garden. This time, it was not because of Arya, but the Septa had been very rude to her.”

Lord Stark’s face had taken a stony look, Lady Catelyn too had narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. Nobody should dare to upset their daughter.

“She apparently had found Sansa at the lessons with Lady Ella. She had berated her later for taking part in what she called ‘foolish savagery’. And then, during their next sewing lessons, when she found that Sansa stitching tunic and breeches for herself to use during her training, she tore into her. She yelled at her so much that even Arya was ready to beat the Septa to death with her wooden sword. That was the first time I saw the sisters this close, though I hoped that the circumstance could have been a different one. I truly wish that either Lady Stark or you have a word with her.”

“This would be taken care of, Jon. You may leave now.” Ned’s voice was cold as ice.

Both of them had taken to discreetly listening in to the Septa’s lessons for a week. The next week, they arrived together just as the Septa started to berate Arya in her usual ways. She was staggered seeing the Lord and Lady present at the room. Hurriedly she got up from her seat and welcomed them. Ned looked at his daughters and gave them an encouraging nod. Lady Stark went to stand behind her daughters. She whispered for Lady Wynafryd and the other girls to leave the room.

“Tell me, Septa, how goes your lesson with my daughters?”

“Oh, they are going absolutely marvellous, My Lord. My Lady Sansa is a delight to teach, although Lady Arya could use a little talking from either of you.” She gushed.

“Oh? What are you teaching them?”

She went on about how she was teaching them to teachings in the books of the Seven Pointed Star, singing, dancing, sewing, courtly behaviour and marital duties.

“What about house politics? Economics? Household management? Treaties between different realms? Anything that a lady of a functioning household should know? What about Northern Culture?”

“Oh, I don’t worry about those foolish savageries…” She stopped talking as she suddenly realized what she was talking about, and to whom.

“Foolish savagery, are they?” Ned thundered out. The Septa took several steps back in fear. “Have you forgotten, woman, that you are standing at the heart of the ‘Savage North’? Standing before its Lord? Is this the rubbish you are teaching my daughters?” He took a threatening step towards the Septa’s cowering form.

“Ned!” Lady Stark’s voice stopped him from advancing further. The Septa gave her a grateful look. But Catelyn Stark appeared as thunderous as her husband.

“As I understand, you hail from a little town of the Reach, are you not?” Lady Stark asked.

The Septa nodded her head fearfully.

“Do you realize that the words you have just spoken could incite war between these two realms?”

A horrified look spread on her face. She tried to stammer out something but Ned stopped her from speaking.

“Tell me, aren’t Septas celibate?” She nodded her head again, “Then how come, a maiden like you, who have forgone her own marital duties, deems herself an expert enough to teach my daughters how to be good wives?” Ned asked her in a mocking tone. He was never sarcastic on a principal, he favoured speaking straight and true, but this time it was his daughters. He wouldn’t let this fool of a woman try and ruin their lives.

“Pack your things, you are leaving the North the first thing on the morrow.”

Paled with fear, the Septa gave Lady Stark a pleading look.

“Do not look for me, woman. You have brought this on your head yourself. I will talk with the Septon, I will teach my daughters about the Seven if they are interested. Their lessons in sewing, singing, dancing, courtly decorum - all will be handled by myself and Lady Ella. The rest of the lessons, they will take from Maester Luwin along with the boys. Your services are not needed here anymore.”

The next time the Stark sisters saw Jon, they both had a running jump and tackled him to the ground, laughing heartily. They knew it was Jon who had gone to their parents and told them about the Septa. Jon received an extra tight hug from Arya and a peck on the cheek from Sansa for his deed.

When the Septa was leaving through the gates of Winterfell, an egg sailed over everybody and struck her on her head, Arya would vehemently deny doing that.

Ping!

Quest Completed!

Removing the Seven Pointed Pain!

Reward: +100 Subterfuge

+100 Conversation

+100 Old Tongue

+50 Exp

Jon chuckled at the alert. The System had a very weird sense of humour.

*Flashback End*

Since then, both sisters became much closer than before. It seemed that it was the Septa that was driving the sisters apart. Now they were as loving as possible with their usual sisterly bouts, but nothing to the extremes like before.

---

 

The final riders had come back to Winterfell, in a week, Jon would lead a company of a hundred men towards Moat Cailin. There, they would be received by another hundred men from White Harbour, led by Robb Stark.

Jon had increased his time of practising, he needed to master the style before time runs out. He had even stopped giving lessons to Arya and Sansa, much to their complaints. But he cited about his own preparation for the coming war and the much-needed practice to them, the sister reluctantly left him alone after that. Cley Cerwyn was diligent in his duties, though he was upset that he wasn’t going to Bear Island with Jon and the rest. Lord Stark told him that an able hand was needed here at Winterfell to help Ser Rodrick, who would also be staying behind to guard the residents of the keep, as the Lord would be taking Theon along with him.

It was three days before Jon’s departure, he was once again present at the Godswood at the crack of dawn with his uncle. They had progressed to spar with each other by then, though Jon was yet to find any breach to his uncle’s defence. This morning found them getting ready to have another round of practice after praying to the Hearts Tree. Ned with his broadsword and Jon with a longsword began to circle each other. It was Jon who attacked first, Ned sidestepped to dodge a charging Jon and brought his sword down on his passing back. Jon proved his agility by turning his body and the blade missed him completely, he swung his own blade to Ned’s midsection. Ned jumped back to avoid the blade, Jon followed through with a thrust which Ned parried. They again began to circle each other. This time they both charged at each other, trying to match strike for strike. Though Jon’s strength was impressive for his age, to his uncle, it mattered none, but he proved to be more agile than the older man. He kept dodging and weaving between each of Ned’s attacks, the ones that he couldn’t avoid, he used his sword to glide the attacks away from him.

Even with all his endurance and agility, Jon could feel that his strength was failing, the strikes that he let his sword bore, had jarred him to his bones, a few more strikes, and his uncle won't even need to use his sword, Jon would drop his blade all on his own. Desperate enough for a win, Jon took out Freedom from his belt, which he had taken to carry all the time with him, he now faced his uncle with a sword in his right hand and Freedom the axe in his left. Ned’s next strike he caught by Freedom and used the axe’s blade to lock the sword and wrenched it downward and away from his body while swinging his sword towards his uncle’s neck, stopping the blade just an inch from touching him.

“Yield?” Jon was panting.

“Aye, I yield!” Ned too was breathing hard.

“So you have taken to cheating?”

Jon looked to the ground, “Er…not cheating, I wanted a win desperately, so I thought to use the axe…”

Ned chuckled, “Don’t look so disheartened, son. I was just japing with you. You didn’t cheat. You couldn’t match with my strength so you took what other option was available to you. You have already mastered what I was trying to teach you, else, you couldn’t have lasted this long. You only lack in strength and experience to fight with a fully grown man, but you certainly outclass anyone your age. I am proud of you, Jon, you have managed to learn the Starks’ Way of Swords far faster than any Starks before you.”

Jon was beaming with happiness.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I need to unwind and rest my old bones.” He ruffled Jon’s hair and strode out of the Godswood.

Ping!

Quest Completed!

The Northern Blizzard – Part 1

Master the Starks Sword style from your uncle within the duration of your stay

Reward: +200 Sword

Bonus Reward: +20 Reputation with all men-of-war

*Every man familiar with any kind of arms will have respect for your skill

+50 exp

Jon let out an excited yell. He had done it. He had overcome the first obstacle of the Northern Blizzard.

---

 

The day of their departure had finally arrived. The men were already in the yard performing a final check of their gears and provisions. Jory Cassel, nephew of Ser Rodrick and captain of the guards was going with the company as Jon’s second-in-command, he was giving directions to the men. Asher and Torrhen were also stood ready by their horses. Jon went to say his goodbyes to his family. He clasped hands with Cley, the boy was still somewhat feeling down to be left behind. Ladies Ella and Wynafryd gave their curtsies. Though Jon had cut short his speech with Wynafryd, her stares scared him. Rickon, once again crying his eyes out that Jon was leaving once more. He tried to calm him with the promises of new stories when he came back. Bran, though apprehensive, was also excited that his brothers were going to battle, secretly wishing that he could join them. Jon had gotten a promise from him that he would seriously take his lessons to make both him and Robb proud. Arya was trying very hard to not cry, she was not a little girl anymore, thank you very much. But when Jon hugged her and mussed her hair, she bit on her lips hard to stop her tears from spilling. She hugged him back tightly.

“Take care of yourself, stupid.”

Jon chuckled, “I will, little wolf, you too take care of yourself, and no more fighting with Sansa.”

Arya scowled at him and Jon laughed, “Alright, mayhaps a little fighting won't hurt anybody.”

Sansa had red-rimmed eyes from crying, she shyly reached and brought out something for Jon. He took it in his hand to find a newly embroidered kerchief, this one had the white wolf motif as well as the words “White Wolf” stitched on it.

“I couldn’t let my brave knight go without my favour, could I?” She gave him a shy smile.

“I am forever thankful to you for this, My Lady.” Jon bowed and placed a kiss on her hand. But suddenly Sansa forgot all her decorum and hugged Jon tightly.

“Please be careful, Jon, and come back to us, both you and Robb!”

“I will, Sansa, you have my word!”

She gave a peck on his cheek and let him go.

Jon now stood before the Lady Stark, she too bore the signs of crying. He bowed to her and whispered,

“I will take care of Robb, Aunt, I give you my word.”

Catelyn gave him a watery smile and kissed him on his forehead, “You be careful too, Jon.”

When it was the turn to say goodbye to his uncle, Jon had a feeling as if his parents were standing behind Ned Stark, encouraging their son on his first venture as a commander of an army. He stood before him with his back straight, his uncle assessed him from head to toe, pride showing plainly in his eyes.

“I wished for you to keep a hold on to your carefree days for a little longer, but you have already begun your journey in becoming a man. I wish you good fortunes in the days to come. Make your blood proud.”

He handed him a sword in a newly made scabbard, the pommel showing a white wolf’s head, with ruby red eyes. Jon took the sword out and the Dark sister, hiding as Frost sang in the open air in all its glory. Everyone in the yard gasped at seeing the Valyrian blade. He re-sheathed it and grasped his uncle’s forearm.

“I promise you that I will become worthy of this blade, Father. Frost will always protect the North and its people.”

The men rode out of Winterfell, Jon turned on his horse to look back at the castle. Almost two years ago he left his home for the first time as a young boy. Now, he is leaving it again as a young warrior on his way to protect his homeland. He had indeed come a long way. He bowed his head and sent a prayer to the Old Gods.

Asher took his horse beside Jon’s.

“That was a Valyrian sword.”

“Good for you, Forrester, you can see with your eyes.”

“How could a sap like you entrusted with such a sword, I would never know.”

“The things that you don’t know, Asher, could feel a few thousand tomes. Don’t you worry your tiny, little head about stuff beyond your grasp.”

“Oh, wise Maester Jon, please allow me to bask in your brilliance.”

“Stop it, both of you, you are starting to sound like a married couple.” Torrhen said exasperatedly.

 They laughed at that. Jory chuckled at their bantering.

“That’s right, lads, keep your spirits up. We are in for a very interesting next few months.”

---

 

The Moat came into view after three weeks of hard riding. They didn’t tarry on the road as they were told that the party from White Harbour was already on their way when they were departing themselves from Winterfell. Jon could see the old bastion of the First Men standing proud. Only three of the twenty fabled towers remaining, the rest withered away in the bite of time, but the Moat Cailin remained a stronghold of the North guarding the passage to the south. For centuries, it protected the Northern Realms from the attacks of Andals or other conquering forces. The passages from Maester Yandel’s recollections of Aegon’s Conquest that he had read from Maester Luwin’s library, came forth to Jon’s mind. He could almost understand why King Torrhen ventured south to meet the Dragon Army at the Trident. He had hoped to turn back the conquering force at Riverlands with the full Northern might, and if he failed to do that, he could fall back to the Moat and form a strong defensive position there. But the stories of Field of Fire and rumours of the devastation one dragon could bring, let alone three, must have changed his mind and he couldn’t risk the lives of his men in favour of a wooden castle that is susceptible to fire. Jon was sure that King Torrhen knelt to the dragons, not the Targaryens or their army.

They could see a welcoming party coming towards them from the Moat. Banners with dire wolves, mermen and lizard-lions could be seen fluttering over their head.

“Lord Reed finally came out of his keep then.” Jory said seeing the lizard-lion banner of House Reed. Jon urged his horse on to go faster, he wanted to meet with his brother that he hadn’t seen in two years.

Jon almost jumped off from his still running horse when Robb and his host finally reached them. Both brothers were walking fast towards each other.

“You are late, Snow.”

“A true Northman is never late, nor is he early. He arrives when he desires so, don’t you know that, Stark?”

They broke into laughter and hugged each other tightly. For too long the brothers were separated, they wanted to tell each other of their experiences, ask about the other’s – so many things they wanted to speak of. But now, they needed to be the commanders of men their father had trusted them to be. Robb started with the introductions.

“May I present Ser Wendel Manderly, the second son and an heir to Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbour. He is to act as my mentor and also my second-in-command of our combined host.”

Ser Wendel was a big man. Jon had heard how people call his father, Lord Wyman as the Lord-too-fat-to-ride. But his son wasn’t big because of fat, solid muscles underneath his armour proved that he spends a considerable amount of time in the yard honing his skills at arms. Robb continued with the introductions.

“…and to my right, is Lord Howland of House Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch. My Lord Reed had answered to our Lord Father’s request and came down to the Moat with a host of his own to help us in our venture.”

Lord Howland Reed was a small man, almost to the same height as Robb and Jon. But Jon knew that the small statures of the Crannogmen shouldn’t be taken lightly, they may not be renowned warriors of open warfare, but the Crannogmen was well known through the North for their impeccable talents with bows, blow darts, tridents and spears. They each were excellent scouts, their small statures also helped them quite greatly to hide and ambush unsuspecting enemies. If one knew how to properly place them, the Crannogmen could change the tides of war. The Greywater Watch and its lords, of the old Marsh Kings, were leal men of the Starks of Winterfell. They had kept watch over the Neck and its swamplands and guarded the North against invading forces by leading them and trapping them in the dangerous swamplands filled with quagmire, lizard lions and other horrible denizens of the land.

Lord Reed was peering closely at Jon as if he was trying to find something on his face. Jon suddenly remembered that he was there with his uncle when they went to the Tower of Joy. He knows about my true identity – thought Jon.

“My Lords, allow me to introduce to you Jon Snow, my brother, and also the co-commander of our joint forces for this excursion.”

Ser Wendel gave Jon an appraising stare. “Of course, the White Wolf. News of your exploits has reached us at the New Castle, lad. You are becoming quite famous in this lands.”

“You honour me, My Lord.” He bowed his head to him and then turned towards Lord Reed. “My Lord Reed, father had said how much he trusted in your friendship. I was wondering if I could have a private word with you at some point.”

Howland gave him a calculating gaze, “Of course, Jon. I will wait eagerly to know what My Lord Stark has been telling about me.”

Jon introduced Torrhen, Asher and Jory to them. They continued onwards to the Moat after all introductions have been made. Robb was riding beside Jon.

“So, is that the bear pelt that you wear as a cloak?”

“No, that is quite big for me still, drags on the ground. Is that the Bravosi dagger you wrote to me about?”

“Aye, it’s a beauty, isn’t it?”

The inconsequential conversation carried on the whole way to the keep. There they made camp at the Gatehouse Tower, the largest of the remaining three, for the night. Lord Reed had provided them fishing boats and river rafts to reach Saltspear. They would board the ships from there. Robb and Ser Wendel had brought a host of hundred and fifty men. Along with the hundred men from Winterfell and the twenty-five men from Karhold and the Crannogmen Lord Reed said would accompany them, their combined forces accounted for three hundred men.

[CotW]

They were all sitting around the campfire in a circle. Even though Jon had not seen Robb for two years, that night his attention was towards Howland Reed. He wanted to have a conversation with him about the Tower of Joy. Soon he got a chance as Ser Wendel started to tell them all about their latest trip to Essos. Robb, even though he had been there a few times for a short while, still was fascinated enough about the free cities. Lord Reed excused himself and went out of the tower, giving Jon a look to follow him outside. After a few minutes, Jon followed him out. Lord Reed was standing a few paces from the tower, watching the trees standing under the moonlight as if the sentient guards of the lands. Jon went to stand beside him.

“Lord Stark told me in his letter about showing you a trunk?”

“Aye, My Lord, he did.”

Howland nodded. “She was one of the most remarkable people that I had the privilege to know in my life.”

“So you’ve met her before the Tower then?”

“What do you know about the tourney of Harrenhal?”

“Just what everybody else knows. That and a few things I had come to learn from the letters.”

“You know about the crowning and the winter roses, but not anything further than that, is that what you mean?”

“Aye, the crowning was planned between two of them as a surprise for the third. It was hinted to her in one of the letters.”

Howland nodded again. “You don’t know about the mysterious Knight of the Laughing Tree?”

“I read about him, aye, but there wasn’t much about him.”

“It was not a ‘he’, but a ‘she’.”

Jon looked incredulously at him.

“Aye, I went on a pilgrimage to the Isle of Faces. After spending two months there, I was coming back to my home when I heard about the tourney. Naturally curious, I went to see the tourney. There some squires accosted me. It was her who came to my rescue. I often think about that day – there she was, standing over me, guarding a man she didn’t even know and beating his attackers black and blue. I feel no shame to admit to you now that I fell in love with her. I can certainly understand what he saw in her, for she was that magnificent.”

Jon had a smile on his face, thinking about the person that his mother was.

“She couldn’t do much at that moment, but she didn’t forget the slight they had shown to her countryman. She chased them away and took me to her tents. She patched me up and brought me to her brothers. Your uncles, well, Brandon always appeared to be larger than life. He could laugh as freely as he could become enraged at a moment’s notice. Your ‘father’ called it the Wolfblood to me in our conversations. But it was her that had all my attention at that time. She put me up for the night, and the next day, she said to me, ‘I will teach them a lesson, Howland. You leave that to me.’” He chuckled ruefully. He turned towards Jon with a smirk on his face.

“That day, when they were announcing the list for the tilts, everybody was wondering who the mysterious knight was. ‘He’ rode fast and true, and knocked all three knights of those misbehaving squires on their arses. ‘He’ said that he doesn’t want their armours neither their horses, just wanted that the knights teach their squires humility befitting the grace of a true knight. No greater slap anybody had landed in any noble’s face in my opinion.” He let out a saddened sigh.

“But things didn’t turn well, his father was paranoid, and ordered him and everyone else to find and bring the knight to be punished. I was there with her trying to hide the very distinctive armour and the shield when he found us. I could see the amazement and the love for her in his eyes. We three brought our heads together and left the armour parts abandoned and scattered in a false trail. Afterwards, the stag came strutting with the shield and boasted how the knight had abandoned his effects and ran for his life once he saw him coming and how it was only by chance that he couldn’t see his face properly. You can understand how puzzled we were about his claims. Everybody was praising his cunning in almost capturing the rogue knight. There, egged on by all that praising, that pompous prick then bellowed at the top of his lungs about how his friend, his brother had brought him a proposal of betrothal and he accepted that.”

“He did what?” Jon was incensed.

“Aye, both of them had horrified looks on their faces, but neither of us could say anything. For if we opened our mouths, she could have been beheaded. His father was beyond any reasoning by that time. The next day, she made me leave, telling me not to say anything to anybody and that both of them will come up with some plan. I bade her farewell and came back to my home, with the memories of the most beautiful, passionate and wonderful woman. The next I heard about her was when the entire seven kingdoms were at war. How she was abducted by him from her lawful betrothed.”

Jon was pacing along the ruined yard. He was too agitated to sit still. Did his uncle know about what his friend had done?

“Did my u…Father know about any of these?”

“No, only three of us knew about the knight’s identity and what the stag had done, and now only you know. I tried to tell your father, but it was never a good time. We were either planning for the wars, were at war or tending our wounds. I was injured and had to stay away from the front and from your father’s company for a long time. When I got better, the war was over and we were riding for the Tower. I tried to tell him the truth. But both of us were worried about her, and after we found her, nothing mattered anymore. She was gone forever. All of the seven kingdoms had bled dry and that fool and braggart had become the most powerful man in all of Westeros.” Tears were leaking from Howland’s eyes by then.

Blood was roaring in Jon’s ears. The red haze had covered his vision fully, he was having a very hard time keeping control of his emotions even with the Champion’s Mind. That fucking bastard Robert Baratheon, that whoring piece of shit, his bragging and measuring of cocks had led to the deaths of his parents. To the death of his sister. He wanted to hit something.

“If you will forgive me, My Lord, I want to remain alone for some times.” He said to Howland in a chocked voice. Lord Reed nodded his head and turned to go back to the camp. Jon had turned in the opposite direction and ran out of the yard.

He didn’t know for how long or how far he ran. He came to a stop near a swamp and brought Frost out from the scabbard slung on his back. He started to whack at the trees around him. The Valyrian steel left deep gashes in the trunks of some century-old trees, some of the younger and thinner trees were sliced almost through and tittered and fell into the swamp. Jon crashed down on his knees and let out a yell of rage, frustration and sadness. The woods around him came to life with the howling of wolves – as if the entire world was sharing in his pain. Gale landed sometimes later on his shoulder and rubbed her head to his cheek, his familiar felt his pain and came to him for any help she could provide.  

Jon sat there breathing hard when the hair on the back of his neck stood in alarm. Something was coming for him, Gale launched herself off from his shoulder with a screech. Jon saw through the side of his eyes that a lizard lion was coming fast towards him. For such a big reptile, it could move very fast. Jon leapt to the right and avoided its sharp teeth by a hairbreadth. He got up to his feet and grabbed Frost with both hands. The creature charged at him again, Jon sidestepped it and brought his sword down in a hack but missed, its agility surprised him and in that moment’s distraction, he failed to avoid its tail that the creature swatted him with. It felt like being hit by a horse’s kick. Jon crashed into a fallen tree, his sported a gash on his forehead from where his head collided with the tree. He wiped the blood off from his eye and jumped over as the critter snapped its jaw full of pointed teeth at his legs. Jon landed on his feet and looked around for anything to help kill this beast. He didn’t have long for his respite though, it turned around and ran fast on its four legs towards him. Jon turned around and ran, trying put distance between them. He saw a hanging branch within his reach, he put one foot on a gnarled tree trunk and jumped upwards. He grabbed the branch with his left hand and swung himself up the tree. He sat on the branch watching as the lizard lion clawed away at the trunk trying to get to him.

Jon sat on the tree as the creature roamed beneath it. Sometimes it tried to get up on the tree, sometimes, it sniffed around it as if trying to find another way to get its prey. After about thirty minutes, Jon had had enough of that. He assessed his situation, he couldn’t get down from the tree, neither he could cross over to another in the dark, he might miss the branch he was aiming for and crash down to the ground. He looked upwards and found another branch a little thicker than his arm. The wolfish smile was back on his face, he took out Freedom and started to hack that branch off. Gale was sitting on a branch above and watching over Jon with keen eyes.

Painstakingly, Jon had made the piece of the log as smooth as he could. He had sharpened one end of it to a point. It was a pretty thick and heavy spear. Jon looked down and found the lizard lion still moving around the tree, more agitated for being hit by the falling woodchips Jon had dropped while making the spear. Jon positioned himself by placing his feet on a V made by the branches. Seeing its prey relatively closer than before, the creature once again tried to claw its way up the tree. Jon lowered the spear a little and the beast snapped at it. It opened its jaw staring at Jon, a sound that came from it was somewhat between a growl and a hiss. Jon didn’t waste the opportunity, he jumped down from the tree aiming the log-spear at the creature’s open maw. If it was a normal spear, the beast could have snapped it in half with its powerful jaw, but the thick log down its gullet made it very hard to break the spear, the pointy end also had done some damage to its innards, Jon was sure of it. He looked on as the lizard lion thrashed about, trying to dislodge the spear. Didn’t want to make the creature suffer for long, Jon took out Frost and drove it through its head, killing it instantly. Tired in both body and mind, Jon decided to call it a night, but he couldn’t find his way back to the Moat. He climbed back up on the tree and lodged himself securely between branches, he would sleep the night on the tree and would find his way back come dawn. He wrapped his cloak around his body to protect himself from the mosquitos and other insects of the marshland and fell asleep. He could feel Gale fluttered down on a nearby branch, trying to get some sleep herself.

---

 

The men at the Moat were in a pandemonium – Jon Snow hadn’t come back the night before. Lord Reed said that he went out alone in the night and now it was morning, yet not a hair or hide could be seen of him. Ser Wendel had a scowl on his face, probably thinking about the irresponsible youth that had put their entire plan in danger even before they had a chance to begin. Robb had a pinched look about him, he was sure that Jon must have had a reason for disappearing this way. But where could he be? They were trying to form a plan to send out a party in search of him when the very man they were worried about came stumbling into view through the forest. His bloody and dishevelled state made them all stare at him dumbfounded.

“Where the fuck did you go?” Robb roared at him.

“Just went for a stroll.”

Robb went more furious about his casual attitude. “Oh? And what happened to you?” He waved his hand indicating the dried blood on his body and the scab that was forming on his forehead.

“Oh, this? Just tripped over a lizard lion.” He shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly.

“What?!” Robb couldn’t believe his ears, he wondered if either he or Jon was drunk.

 “Aye. Don’t worry though, I killed it.” He continued towards the camp, he needed a wash and a change of clothes. He didn’t look back to the stunned audience he had left behind.

A chuckle from Asher broke the silence. “That is the White Wolf for you. Oftentimes, he takes a stroll through the woods and slays a beast or two. Sometimes, its bears, if not, then its lizard lions.”

Torrhen let out a snort. Soon both of them were laughing their heads off leaning on to each other about the whole situation and the looks from the men Jon was getting.

---

 

It took them about three days to reach Saltspear and to the docked ships there by the fishing boats and rafts. Robb had hounded Jon at every step trying to find out what made him leave the camp that night. He promised to tell him later when they were alone and away from prying ears.

Lord Reed too wanted to have a chat with him, but that was also impossible due to the close quarters they were in. Jon was fascinated by the way the Crannogmen used blowpipes. Seeing his eagerness, Lord Reed had promised him to give him lessons in it, they would soon have plenty of times at their hands on the way to Bear Island.

Robb was jealous when he saw Frost in Jon’s hand. He had said to him that this was another discussion they would have when they could find some time to be alone.

The Flints and the Ryswells had sent two ships each for them. They divided the men and had them board the ships. Jory boarded one ship as the commander while Ser Wendel boarded another. He wanted to put some distance between himself and Jon. He was still miffed about the whole disappearance thing. The third ship was commanded by a Ryswell captain of guards who had joined them with fifty men. Lord Howland stayed with the lads to act as a chaperon on the last ship. Though he had doubts about how much control he could have over a bunch of rambunctious boys.

It would take them about a month and a half to sail around almost all of the western coast of the North and reach Bear Island, longer if the weather became treacherous. The four youth had a merry time on board the ships, once they got over the seasickness. Robb had a smug look on his face the first time Jon and the others were hanging off the railings hurling out their guts. Jon gave his cousin a venomous glare that promised retribution, but the sick look on his face only made Robb laugh harder. He would regale at them about his trips to Bravos by ship, and how he was not at all bothered about seasickness. He only stopped when the other three threatened him to throw overboard if he didn’t shut his mouth.

They had started to having spars on the deck once they had found their sea feet. Jon was easily the best of them. He had started teaching Robb the Starks Way of Swords. They had decided that if Robb had the basics down, then Lord Stark would have an easier time giving him the full lessons. Jon didn’t rest from badgering Howland till he wore him down and received lessons on how to use blowpipes. The others too wanted to join in the lessons seeing the usefulness of the weapon. A man could render his enemies incapacitated silently from a short distance. It could be very useful in covert attacks, infiltrations or ambushes. The Crannogmen used to coat the darts with two kinds of concoctions made from fruits and herbs indigenous to the swampy region of the Neck, one could put a man to sleep for hours, the other can render someone groggy and confused, but enraged enough to attack their fellow men in confusion. Lord Reed had promised them a supply of each concoction and also a supply of the fruits and herbs along with the recipes so they could make the pastes themselves. Jon had very soon become adept at using the blowpipes, he believed that his training with the bow for so many hours had bled through and helped him in handling this new weapon.

Their fates had shined on them as they had relatively pleasant weather throughout their journey. The month and a half were soon over as they anchored in a small gulf just around the bend of Sea Dragon Point for the night, deciding to reach for the Island in the morning. Jon was asleep in the cabin assigned for the four of them when a mental nudge from Gale woke him up. She had preferred to perch atop the masts and flying around during their journey, rather than being cooped up in the small cabin. Jon got up to the deck and took in the sight of the night sea. He wrapped his cloak around him tightly, the sea air was sending a chill to his bones. He tried to understand what made Gale so agitated. But he couldn’t find any disturbance in their vicinity. He decided to take a flight with the bird. He went to wake Lord Reed, the man had been helping him with his warging abilities, being a warg himself, though not as powerful as Jon. He doubted Jon being a warg seeing how close he was to the bird. Jon had admitted to him about his powers and how he always had a link with Gale’s mind. Howland made him practice discreetly under his watch and strict instruction.

He knocked on Lord Reed’s cabin door. “My Lord Reed, please get up.”

Howland answered from the inside, a few moments later, he opened the door.

“Jon? What is the matter, lad?”

“Gale woke me up, My Lord. She seems very agitated about something. I went up the deck but couldn’t find anything of import. I want to take a flight with her.”

Howland was instantly alert, he knew how the familiars could make their humans aware if there were dangers about. Also, he had heard from Jon that it was Gale who alerted him of the attack at Karhold. He grabbed his cloak and went up to the deck with Jon. They found a secluded place where Jon sat down comfortably and reached out for Gale. After about five minutes, he opened his eyes, fury etched on his face.

“Ironborns!” He spat.

---

 

They had quietly alerted all four ships. The men were ready within a few minutes. Nobody wanted to let the reaping scums go. The ships quietly came out of the gulf and proceeded towards Bear Island. Jon was standing by the prow of the ship and watching through Gale’s eyes with Lord Reed keeping him steady. They came to a stack of rocks jutting from the seawater when he signalled them to stop. Lord Reed told the captain of the ship to take cover behind the rocks and to drop anchor. The order relayed to the other ships.

“There are two longships. Only a skeleton crew remained on board, the rest of them are at the island.”

Howland was thinking hard, “Even with the skeleton crew, they would manage to evade us and escape. And if they see us coming, they would signal their raiding party onshore and would be gone before we are in a position to attack. Their ships are much swifter than ours.”

Jon was gripping the railings tightly. He wanted to send the iron-scums to their drowned god the hard way. He turned around and faced the men with blazing fury in his eyes.

“I want four volunteers who wouldn’t mind getting a little wet in freezing water.”

Howland was instantly alarmed, “What are you planning, lad?”

Jon divested his cloak on the deck and made sure that his weapons were secured about him. “Something foolish, My Lord. But don’t worry, the men will be safe if a little cold.” He turned to Robb, “You have the command, brother. Wait for my signal and then come to the shore ready for battle.” He looked at Asher and Torrhen, “Help him with the men, would you?” He then motioned for the men who had raised their hands to volunteer in Jon’s mad scheme and all five of them jumped down to the freezing, cold water, swimming towards the longships.

“Wait, what signal?” Robb asked confusedly.

Asher shrugged, “Fuck if I know.” He looked at the others and said, “I trust you have everything under your controls, lads, now if you will excuse me…” He too stripped his cloak off and jumped down to the water.

“Wait, Asher!” Torrhen and Robb rushed to the railings to see him swimming after Jon and his party.

“Now what?”

“Now we wait for whatever Jon is planning.” Howland said resignedly and went to the ship’s captain to signal the other ships to be ready for attack.

---

 

They reached the ships in silence, the chattering sound of their teeth was drowned by the noise of water lapping at the ship’s hull. Jon was about to give orders to the men when he saw Asher swam beside them.

“What the fuck you are doing here, Asher?” Jon whisper shouted.

“I love your scrawny arse so much that I followed it through the freezing water. What do you think I am doing?” Came Asher’s snarky reply.

“My Lords, please, the water is not getting any warmer.” One of the men pleaded with them, they knew how these two loved their bantering.

“Now that we are six in counting,” Jon threw Asher a reproachful look, “we will divide and go to each ship. Asher, you take two men and board that ship. Kill any man you find onboard, but don’t engage in an open fight. Be as quiet as you can. Don’t let them raise the alarm. Then cut the ropes of the anchor and try to get the ships as close to the shore as possible. After that, send the signal to the others.”

“And, what, pray tell, is the signal?”

“Why, lighting the ships on fire, of course. We will be warming our cold limbs soon, thanks to the Iron-scums’ generosity.” Jon’s feral smile was returned from all of them.

Jon and his party scaled the side of the ship and climbed onto the deck quietly. They found only three men on the deck, one at the ship’s wheel and the two others stood fore and aft sides by the railings, keeping watch for their crew members that went ashore. Jon motioned for his men to take care of the sentries by the railings. He went for the man at the wheel. He crouched low and made his way towards the wheel by the covers of the shadows. He reached behind the man and covered his mouth with his left hand, preventing him from making any sound and slit his throat with his dagger, blood spurted all over the wheel. Jon gently lowered the body on the deck, without making any sound. He looked about and found his men had finished off with their targets. He waved them towards the wheel and the sails and himself went below deck. There was no cabin in the ship, only hammocks strung about for the crew to rest. Jon found three Ironborns sleeping in the hammocks. He quietly went and killed one after another, not letting them utter a single word. He did a thorough search but found nobody else. Suddenly the ship lurched and from the motion of the ship, Jon understood that the seafaring men from House Flint had managed to make the ship move according to the plan.

Chapter 12: Island Hopping Pt. 3

Island Hopping Pt. 3

Onboard the Flints’ ship, Robb was pacing impatiently. Jon, Asher and four of their men had vanished into the blackness of the night and freezing water. Jon didn’t even leave behind any clear course of action for them, only gave them a vague instruction before jumping into the water and probably swam off to his death. What would he tell their father if something happened to his brother? He would have to have a very serious conversation with that idiot if, by Gods’ graces, he came out alive of this folly. Robb would wring out a solemn promise from that idiotic arse to not get into dangerous situations daily.

Lord Reed had commandeered the Myrish spyglasses from the ship’s captain and was looking through it at the Iron-born ships. He hadn’t uttered any word after Jon and his party disappeared to their probable demise. He hoped that Lyanna’s boy didn’t throw away his life on a whim, for she would beat him to another death when they meet in the afterlife for not looking after her son. Suddenly, he noticed that something was happening at the longships.

“My Lord Robb, I think you need to see this.”

Robb rushed to Howland’s side and almost snatched away the spyglass from him.

“The ships, they are moving!”

“Aye, My Lord, but what of our men? What should we do?”

Robb continued to look through the glasses, he was biting his lips in deep thought.

“The Ironborns had no reason to suddenly raise anchors and move the ships towards the Island. We will assume it is Jon and his men controlling the ships.” He stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts, then he turned to face Howland. “Tell the captain to raise the sails at half-mast. We will move forward slowly but cautiously. Relay the message, My Lord.”

The four ships came out of their covers. Advancing slowly towards Bear Island. There were no reactions from the longships, surely they had seen them coming by now. The lack of action from the Ironborns had fortified Robb’s notion that it was indeed Jon and his men who were controlling the ships. How did they manage to subdue the reavers and take control of the ships?

The coast of Bear Island came into view after what felt like days. The spyglasses revealed nothing but a few scattered lights throughout the Island. Getting even closer, they realized that the lights they were seeing were of flames, the reaving scums were hurting and killing Northmen in the darkness of the night like the cowards they were. Robb’s hand fisted tightly in rage. All of a sudden, two more flames closer than those of the Island erupted into his view. It took a few moments for his vision to settle, then he looked closely and found that the longships were lit on fire. His blood began to sing in his veins in anticipation of the coming fights. He turned towards Howland with a wolfish smile stretched on his face.

“That was it, My Lord. That was the signal Jon told us about. Alert the men, we are going in for a battle.” He turned towards the captain and yelled, “Raise the sails to full-mast, captain, give us as much speed as you can. My brother needs me.”

---

 

Jon watched as the shore of the Island slowly drew nearer. The fire that they had set on the deck was slowly spreading throughout the ship. The two men with him were standing close to the fire, warming their bodies after their midnight swim in freezing water. Jon kept a hand on the ship’s wheel, he had a short lesson in controlling a ship from the Flint man, Jared. They would need to veer the ship away from the dock so that it didn’t get damaged from the collision. He shouted above the sounds of roaring flames to his men to alert the other ship to steer away from the dock, one of them scrambled to the railings avoiding the fire to send the said signal. Jon spun the wheel as hard as he could and braced for the impact, yelling for the men to hold on. The ship rammed into the stony part of the Island beach with an ear-splitting sound, Jon ran for the railings yelling for the men to follow him, they had to jump off before the ship capsized. They landed into the water once again and waded their way through to the dock. Jon looked for the other ship and found it had ploughed through the sands of the beach and leaned on one side. Asher and the other two had jumped off the ship safely and were running fast towards them.

Asher came to a skidding halt beside Jon, “Great plan, commander, we almost roasted ourselves.”

Jon gave him a smirk, “But it worked…didn’t it?”

Asher looked at the burning ships and smiled ear to ear. “Aye, it sure worked.” He turned towards the settlement further inland, they could see the fires burning here and there from their spot. “Now what are we to do?”

Gale had sent images to Jon that a bunch of men were coming fast towards their position, he was sure they were the Ironborns, trying to make a quick escape.

“Now, we make our stand here.”

He took a step forward and turned to the men who accompanied him through his insane planning and were now standing beside him prepared to fight, only six of them against Gods knew how many.

“Men, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for putting your faith in me. You’ve followed me through freezing water, obeyed my commands to the last and made sure that the reaving scums don’t have an easy time to make with their escape. You showed me today that you are true sons of the North. But our trials are not over yet, my friends. We have come to this Island to protect our fellow Northmen from people who wanted to cause harm. Now, we are standing here for a different battle, but with the same cause nonetheless. We stand here to protect and avenge our brothers and sisters from the damned Ironborns who had invaded their peace. We don’t know when Robb Stark will reach us with the rest of our forces. We don’t know if or when we will get any help from the Mormonts. But I will remain here, standing guard so that not a single Ironborn gets past me. I will not blame you if you want to take cover and wait out the battle that is coming for us. But I have faith that you will stand shoulder to shoulder with me. You will once again put your faith in me. We are the Northmen. A single one of us is more than a match for ten of them. We will show these thieving cunts what happens when someone dares to attack our lands. Are you with me, my friends?”

All five of them raised their swords above their heads with a resounding shout of “Aye!”

Jon got back to his place.

“Are you ready for this fight, Asher?”

“You know it, brother!” Asher had a big smile on his face.

 Jon nodded his head. He took out Frost and Freedom and got ready. The Iron-borns are coming.

[CotW]

The reavers came rushing out towards the dock. There were about thirty men by Jon’s estimate. Some of them were carrying people on their shoulders. People who were women and children abducted from their homes, from their beds to become salt wives and thralls. Jon bared his teeth in a snarl.

The Ironborns halted in their tracks by the sight before them. They could recognize the remains of their ships which were almost burned down at the beach by then. They could see six silhouettes by the dock, enshrouded by smokes from the fires.  The leader of the raiding party, Grayon, dropped his sack of loots and hefted his double-handed axe. He will make these Greenlanders, whoever they were, pay the iron price for burning his ships. He pointed his axe towards the shadows and yelled at his men to attack.

The first man that reached Jon had thrusted his sword at him, Jon locked the blade with Freedom and whirled about to reach behind him, Frost pierced through his lower back and came out of his belly. He freed his sword and went for the next opponent. Three men came at him at the same time, he took a step to the right and faced two of them who attacked from each side. Jon parried the swing of a sword from the right with Frost and raised Freedom to block the hack of an axe to his head and shoved the axe along with the man back. He thrusted his sword to the unprotected head of the first man and the Valyrian steel went through his right eye and came out of the back of his head. He turned on his right heel and pulled his sword free while swinging Freedom at the second man, the pointed end of the axe grazed the man’s thigh and unbalanced him for a moment, Jon jumped up and forward and brought the bladed end of the axe down to the man’s head, burying the blade to his brain. The third man, who looked to be the same age as Jon himself, rushed towards him with his sword raised, Jon again turned on his heel and went down on one knee, he thrusted Freedom backwards over his shoulder, the steel blade of the axe pierced the leather armour the man was wearing and lodged into his abdomen, Jon put his back against the man and heaved him over his left shoulder with all the strength he could muster. The man tumbled over and crashed on the ground in front of him, he put his sword through his chest to end his life.

The little break he got, Jon looked for his men. He saw Asher fighting with two men simultaneously not too far away from him, Jared and the other Flint men were also fighting as men possessed. Another Ironborn came at him, Jon parried the attack and sent a kick at the man’s leg sideways, breaking the bones and brought him down to his knees, he went behind him and ran Freedom’s blade through his throat.

A guttural roar from behind had alerted Jon about an incoming attack, he rolled forward to avoid whatever it was and turned around. He saw a big man advancing towards him, a huge double-handed axe was in his hands, another two Iron-borns were following him closely. The big man seemed to be the leader of the raiders. He swung his axe overhead and brought it down in a hacking move, Jon tried to lock his axe with his own, but the man jerked his weapon free and bashed his head with the handle of the axe. Jon could feel his forehead splitting open and blood was starting to run down from it through the side of his face. He shook off the dizziness in time to see a lackey trying to stab him, he blocked the attack with his left bracer and brought down the pommel of his sword at his face and shoved him towards the leader. The man stumbled but got himself steady, he turned and tried to bring down his sword to Jon’s head, he took a step back and threw his axe at him, it lodged in his throat and chin making the man collapse. Jon ducked down another swing of the axe from the leader and rolled towards the downed man and got his axe back in his hand. The third man thrusted his sword at him, he parried it and kicked him at his chest and knocked him away.  The leader tried to again bash the axe handle to his face, but Jon moved his head and punched the man in his nose, making him turn. The third man had got up again and was approaching him cautiously, Jon whirled on his left toe and swung his sword at him, he barely dodged it by stepping back, although, the follow-through of his swing sliced open a gash at the leader’s side, cutting through his armour with ease. He yelled in pain and swung the axe again, this time, Jon managed to catch the axe with his own and sliced his sword at the leader’s hands, he cut off a few of his fingers and made him drop the axe. He kicked the axe away and with the same motion turned towards the third man and swung his axe at his head, taking the top portion of the head off. Jon turned towards the leader and saw him grabbing his injured hand and limping away from him with a look of fear on his face. He rushed to him and kept slicing at his body with his sword, the Valyrian blade cut through his hard leather armour like a warm knife through butter. Soon the man was bent over his waist, blood was pouring in buckets from his torso, Jon brought his sword down and separated his head from his body.

[CotW]

Though they were fighting like they had nothing to lose, the sheer weight of their opponent’s number was overwhelming the Northmen. Jared and another of the Flint men had already died, Asher had a broken left arm hung uselessly to his side and a deep gash on his chest. The other two Flint men were on their last legs - they could fall from sheer exhaustion at any given moment. Jon himself had a deep cut on his thigh that was making him limp, he lost his vision in his left eye as blood flowed to it from the cut on his forehead. He also had a split lip that he received when a man punched him in the face. The loss of their leader hadn’t stopped the attacks from the Ironborns, they were fighting for their lives. It would have been the end for Jon and the rest of his men if the Mormont men hadn’t reached them by then. The men of Bear Island, led by Dacey Mormont, crashed into the back of the raiding men.  

The Mormont men had turned the tide of the battle, although, their load was lessened by Jon and his men as they had decimated almost a third of the raiding party. Jon alone had killed about ten men himself, including the leader. Among all these commotions, Robb’s ship had docked and men started to pour out from it. Lord Reed was directing the men while Robb himself stood guard over Jon, Torrhen doing the same for Asher.

None of the Iron-borns was spared that night. Dacey Mormont came to Robb and bowed deeply.

“My Lord Stark, you have reached just in time to stop these fuckers. They had abducted my sister Jorelle, if you haven’t arrived when you did, I fear to even imagine the fate that awaited her.” She had a shiver run down her spine.

“It is not me who you should thank, My Lady, but my brother, Jon Snow. It was him who stood guard with only five men with him and fought the reaving cunts.” Robb motioned towards Jon who was sitting on the ground, leaning against Torrhen’s legs, Asher sat beside him, leaning on the other, trapping the poor lad between the both of them.

Dacey looked Jon all over and nodded her head, “The White Wolf, aye. News of you has reached our ears. You have my thanks, Lord Snow.”

Jon tried to get up but Dacey motioned for him to stay put.

“I am no lord, My Lady. And it was not just me. Asher here, Jared and the other Flint men have fought bravely this night. Jared even lost his life, along with one of his friends. They are the ones who deserve your gratitude.”

Dacey nodded her head and gave him a smirk. “You are an interesting man, Jon Snow. I will look forward to having a chat with you…alone.”

She turned towards Robb who was trying to hide his smirk from the discomfort that was evident on Jon’s face and said, “Please excuse me for not receiving you properly, My Lord. If you would, kindly gather your men and come with us to the keep, my Lady Mother will be there to receive you. The hospitality of Bear Island is yours.” She bowed to him, then she looked at Jon and winked before turning away to go and give orders to her men, with extra sway to her hips.

“Is it just me or the women everywhere lust after our Wolf here? What is your secret, Jon?”

“If you don’t shut your mouth, Forrester, I will break your other arm.”

“I can take you on with only one arm, Snow.”

“Sure, Asher, whatever makes you sleep at night.”

Torrhen slapped both of them on the back of their heads. “If you two don’t shut up, I will move away from here.”

---

 

Dawn had broken through by the time they had managed to free all the prisoners and gathered the corpses of the Ironborns in one place. Jorelle had been stuck with her sister Dacey, not leaving her side even for a moment. The experience had disturbed her immensely. Makeshift stretchers had been made for Jon, Asher and the two injured Flint men, but they all refused to be carried, instead, Jon insisted that they carry the fallen men with the dignity they deserved. They limped their way to the keep, Jon using Robb and Asher using Torrhen as supports.

Messenger had been sent to Lady Maege of their arrival, she was waiting for them in the yard. Upon seeing her little daughter, the iron lady of the Bear Island lost her composure and ran to pick Jorelle up in her arms. She held her tight against her chest and kept rubbing a hand on her back to soothe her sobbing daughter. Dacey had led with the rounds of introductions. Lady Maege had thanked them profusely for their help in saving her people, especially her daughter. After the ceremony of bread and salt, they were shown to the rooms they would be staying, or in case of the injured, led towards the Maester’s rooms. Asher only had dislocated his shoulder, nothing was broken. The Maester set it straight in no time. But his real injury was the gash on his chest, he needed stitches for that, though the Maester assured him that he would be right as the rain once again in a fortnight. Jon too received stitches for his leg, though he knew he would be fighting fit by the next morning, the wound would trouble him still for a week.

Lady Maege had thrown a feast in the honour of the Future Warden of the North and his companions, also to thank them for their help stopping the Ironborns. News had been spread how it was Jon who had led the men to capture the longships in the dark of the night, swimming in freezing water. And later how he had led the defence with only five men to back him. Legend of the White Wolf had reached a new level that night. The attraction of Jon for the ladies had also reached a new height. Dacey and Alysane, the two oldest Mormont daughters, glued themselves at his sides. Though somewhat jealous, the other three had thoroughly enjoyed Jon’s discomfort at being the centre of attention of the two ladies. Only the excuse of the leg injury had saved Jon from dancing with every woman present at the hall. He was scared out of his wits by how some of them were openly drooling while looking at him.

[CotW]

The next morning, Lord Reed found Jon standing alone on the battlement of the wooden walls around Mormont keep. He was absent-minded stroking Gale’s feathers who was perched on his shoulder and looking at the rising sun. He went to stand beside him.

“What is troubling you, lad?”

“I am looking at the sun, My Lord, the start of a new day…and thinking how Jared and Aaron, the other man who died, won't ever get to experience a new day.”

“They died fighting in a battle, Jon. That is the honourable way to go for all Northmen.”

“Aye, they died with honour. But My Lord, it was I who led them to their deaths. I promised them that they would be safe, but ultimately, they had lost their lives. How do I stand before their friends now, My Lord? What do I say to the families that lost their sons for my decisions?”

Howland sighed, “I believe this is why Lord Stark had given you and Lord Robb the command here. He wants you to feel the weight you must carry to lead men into battles. For you are not putting just your own life at risk, but also the men that you are leading. Nobody could teach you these lessons, these are some things that you have to learn on your own. I am not much of a commander myself, but I am a Lord to my keep. I have men who depended on me. I have to make decisions every day for the betterment of them. What I can provide you with is advice. Tell me, what do you think would have happened to the people that the Ironborns were abducting?”

“They would have been tortured and raped and would have become slaves to those bastards.”

“So do you regret risking the lives of your men and your own saving them?”

“No, I don’t! I will risk my life however many times I have to I will do so to help my fellow men!”

Howland smiled at him, “As you should. Now, did you force…Jared and Aaron, to stand and fight with you?”

Jon lowered his head, “No, I gave them all a chance to go and wait out the fight. I was ready to fight the Iron-borns all on my own. But Asher, the bloody idiot that he is, stood firm by my side. Jared, Aaron…the other two, they all stayed behind…”

“Aye, they stayed because they believed in your cause, believed in you. Asher, from what I have seen, is your best friend, he is your brother in all but blood. So is Torrhen. It was a very hard thing to restrain Robb from going alone to your help. I am sure they would have done the same thing if they were there with you at the dock. As for the men, they volunteered to go with you when you asked. They followed you through freezing water, helped you capturing and destroying the Ironborn’s ships. They knew that leaving the reavers alone meant that they will come back again in the future. They will come back again to kill their fathers, brothers, sons. They will be there again to torture and rape their mothers, their sisters, daughters. That was why they fought beside you, to save their friends and family. They didn’t leave you because they saw you were ready to throw away your life for the protection of others. They followed a fearless leader in a battle to the death. That is the only advice I can give you, Jon. Always lead by example.”

Howland turned towards him, “Never ask your men to do something that you would hesitate to do yourself. You have started on the path to becoming a great warrior, people began to take notice of your skills, you have earned their respect. Already stories are told about how the White Wolf stood firm facing a horde with only five men backing him. History has witnessed how soldiers followed men who braved impossible odds and led to victories several times. You are born with the blood to be such a leader of men, lad. Never doubt that.”

Jon nodded and turned his head once again towards the rising sun.

“Do you think she would have approved my actions?” He asked in a small voice.

Howland chuckled, “Lad, she would have done exactly what you did. The fearless attitude that you have, you got that from her. And like him, you got your leadership abilities. People were ready to lay their lives down for the Bard Prince. You reflect both of them…and they would have been damn proud of the man you are becoming.”

Jon had a beaming smile on his face hearing that. Howland patted his back and turned towards the keep, reminding him to attend the meeting with Lady Maege after breaking their fast. Jon told him that he would follow him back inside in a little while. He was feeling much better than when he woke up that morning.

Gale rubbed her head to Jon’s cheek, Jon chuckled, “Aye, I am feeling alright, love.” He turned his head to look at her amber eyes, “Thank you for taking care of me, princess.”

Gale replied with a screech.

---

 

When the visiting nobles gathered in the solar of Lady Maege and brought her up to date with everything that had become known and planned only among the lords of the North, disbelief etched on her face. The Skagosi couldn’t possibly trek through an entire continent just to invade their little island, could they?  Then, Jon recounted his experiences - all of them. From the attack on Karhold to the skirmish at Last Lake. What the Skagosi had revealed during his interrogation by the Umbers. Then they presented her with the letter from Lord Stark. It didn’t matter if she believed them or not, she had to carry out the orders given to her by her liege lord.

It was decided that half of the men they had brought with themselves would start repairing and fortify the walls around the settlements. The other half would help with the training of men. They would be on the rotation of fifteen days, where one half would take over the duties of the other. Sometimes fresh eyes were needed to see if there was any gap in what they thought to be a solid defence.

Jon and Robb would take commands of each half. They had their seconds-in-command as Ser Wendel and Jory Cassel to guide them in their duties. Lord Reed and the Crannogmen were in charge of setting out traps. They would dig out trenches and pitfalls and fill them with wooden stakes. The supplies they had brought with them would help with the initial setups of the defence. Lord Stark had promised that further supplies of weapon, food and other assorted materials would be sent for the forces that would be living on the Island for near about a year.

[CotW]

After their wounds were healed, Jon and the others were taken to practice hard in the yard. Jon was training Robb with the Starks’ Way of Swords. He was training with Howland on proper handling of blowpipes and tridents or spears. He was supervising the men with their drills and fortification of their defences. He never had a moment just to sit quietly. After a couple of months of the same routine, Lord Reed came up with a plan of having a small competition among the forces as well as the residents of the Island. That would test the progressions and also could provide some entertainments and relaxation to the men that were working hard so that they didn’t burn out too early.

The competition was planned for two divisions, one for the common soldiers and smallfolk and the other for the nobles. There would only be melee and archery contests. The soldier’s melee would be fought in groups, and then one on one combat between the last ten standing as there were more people in that division. The nobles would follow the standard melee rules.

The soldiers had their competition first, they had enjoyed fighting the mock battles to prove their mettle. Mormont men vs. Stark men, Karstark men vs. Manderly men., Crannogmen vs. Flint men and all of the possible combinations. In the end, it was a Crannogman who won the archery event and a Mormont soldier who won the melee.

When it was the nobles’ turn, it was a forgone conclusion that Jon would win the archery event. Only Lord Reed had provided a little bit of competition to him. Else, all fell short to even perform near his level. The melee on the other hand became free for all. Everyone who took part had fought to their best. But the most memorable bouts were when Robb fell to his mentor, Ser Wendel. Jory, after defeating Torrhen, fell to Jon. Asher proved to be a tough opponent when he fell the Flint captain but bit the dust against the experience of Lord Reed. The most entertaining fight was between Maege Mormont and her daughter Dacey. The duo didn’t leave an inch to the other in their fight, trying to bash each other’s head. In the end, it was the daughter who emerged as the winner of that duel only because Lady Maege was out of her breath. The penultimate fights were decided to be between Lord Reed and Jon while Dacey would face Ser Wendel.

Jon had taken to wield two swords for the tourney, he was facing Lord Reed who had a spear and a buckler on his hands.

“My Lord, shall we dance?”

Howland smirked at him, “I have fought with another dual wielder, you know? Mayhaps the greatest swordsman of all time, Ser Arthur. Show me what you can do.”

And show him was exactly what Jon did. He was a long way from becoming even close to the rank of Ser Arthur, but he was fast on his feet, he was agile and wove between the strikes aimed at him, and his own strikes were lightning quick. Above all, he was constantly changing his offensive and defensive arms and kept his opponent guessing. Thanks to his hours of practice and Maester Luwin’s brilliant idea of using his non-dominant arm regularly for menial tasks had enabled him to use both of his arms simultaneously. Even though Howland fought against him quite brilliantly, soon he found his buckler wrenched from his hand, his spear trapped between Jon’s arm and body and a sword pointed at his throat.

“Do you yield, My Lord?”

“Aye, I yield.”

Among the noise of clamouring and whooping audience, Howland clapped Jon’s shoulder and spoke in a quiet tone, “You are indeed becoming quite a swordsman, Aemon. But you have yet much to learn. I hope you get that chance quite soon.” He winked at him before collecting his effects and left the field.

Jon was surprised by Howland’s words. What did he mean by all that? Another thought arose in his mind, he said at the beginning that he had fought ‘with’ a dual wielder, shouldn’t he say fought ‘against’ one? He didn’t dwell on that any longer as another bout of applause declared the end of the other duel. Dacey Mormont had emerged victorious against Ser Wendel. The knight was grumbling good-naturedly about aggressive she-bears, Dacey laughed at his comments.

The final fight of the tourney, Dacey Mormont vs. Jon Snow. The combatants began to circle each other. Dacey gave Jon a smirk.

“Come on then, Wolf, I won't bite…much.”

Jon gave a wolfish smile in return, he started to run towards Dacey. She swung her mace at the onrushing Jon but he slid down beneath her extended arm and leapt up reaching behind her. He had dropped his blades and grabbed hold of her wrist and twisted it to make her drop her mace. Shocked by the way Jon attacked her, Dacey tried to turn around and bash his head with her shield. He moved with her and put his left leg in between her legs and braced himself, he heaved and flipped her over by grabbing her shoulder. Dacey crashed down on the ground and became disoriented enough for Jon to straddle on her waist and pin her left arm with the shield on the ground with his right while pressing his left forearm under her chin. The fight was over almost within a couple of blinks. The crowd was quiet seeing the unorthodox moves.

Torrhen, who was watching the fight from the sideline, slapped Asher on the back hard enough to almost sending him to the ground, “I don’t believe it…he put the ‘Karhold’ on her!”

“Do you yield, My Lady?”

Dacey took a few moments from getting over the disorientation, she looked up to Jon and gave him a saucy smile, “If I don’t, will you punish me?”

Jon went red from her words, making Dacey smile even viciously.

“My, you are quite forward, aren’t you, Jon Snow? You have already gotten on top of me, in front of everyone nonetheless.”

Seeing a spluttering Jon, Dacey gave out a laugh, “I yield, Wolf, the day is yours.”

Jon got up on his feet and helped her to stand up. The audience had gone wild, chanting of “White Wolf” came from all around. Jon gave a bow to Lady Maege as the host and waved to the people.

Dacey ran a hand through her hair, she was standing with her hips cocked to a side, accentuating her curves even more. “I enjoyed our time together, Wolf. I hope this is not our only tumble together.”

She gave him a wink and went out of the makeshift arena, her hips were swaying in a mesmerizing way. Robb, Asher and Torrhen came rushing to him, speaking all at once.

“Bloody hell, Jon, what the fuck was that?”

“You put the karhold on her…wait till I tell this to Harrion and Eddard.”

“I now personally worship you, please teach me your ways, oh wise one.”

Jon took a step back and held up his arms, “Easy there, lads. One at a time…and to answer each of you – That was one of the hand-to-hand combat techniques we practised at the Karhold, aptly named after the keep where it was developed; No Torrhen, don’t you dare telling them about this and finally, fuck you, Forrester.”

“I am sure you would prefer a certain she-bear instead.”

They all broke into laughter.

Ping!

Quest Completed!

Win the tourney of the Bear Island

Reward: Exp +50

+10 Gold Dragons

[CotW]

The feast that night was a jolly affair. Noble-borns and Common folks all gathered together to celebrate their wins. The air in the Mormont keep that night was full of laughter, music and merriment. Jon didn’t have the excuse of a lame foot this time to hide behind, so he was passed around the dance floor among the ladies, everyone wanted the chance to get up close to the hero of Bear Island, winning the tourney only added to the flame.

Jon found his way into Dacey’s arms after a few dances with the other ladies. The heir to the Mormont seat was resplendent in a flowing blue gown. Jon decided that she was as amazing on the dance floor as she was on the battlefield.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Jon?”

“Aye, My Lady…”

Dacey cut him off, “Call me Dacey, I don’t give a shit about all those stuffy courtesies.”

“As you say, My…Dacey.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Your Dacey? Becoming possessive, are you, Wolf?”

She let out a peal of tinkling laughter at his spluttering. “Forgive me, that was too good to pass on.”

Jon gave her a shy smile in return.

“My little sisters have become quite fond of you, Jon.”

Jon became excited talking about her sisters, he truly loved little children. “Aye, they are such treasures. Lyra and Jorelle are near about the same ages as Arya back home and little Alys Karstark. Like them, these two are also quite fond of stories and mock adventures that I take them on. And like all women of Bear Island, they were born to wield arms, and I have a little experience in that, so they badger me till I gave in…and Baby Lyanna…”

“She was named after your aunt; do you realize that?”

Jon gave her a fond smile at that question. If only she knew – he thought. Baby Lyanna indeed captured a special place in her heart with just her name alone, it was only a plus for her that she was also very adorable.

“Aye, your lady mother had told me. You honour my family.”

“Please, Lady Lyanna Stark was said to be the true winter rose of the North. We heard tales about her kindness for her people, also how she never shied away from putting the males in their places. We can only hope that our Lyanna grows up to be like her.”

They danced in silence for a few minutes.

“You haven’t asked about our father…”

“It is not my place to ask such questions, My Lady.”

She slapped his shoulder, “Dacey, Jon, Dacey. Come on, say with me, Dacey.”

He gave her an irritated look, “Fine, Dacey then, happy now?”

“It warms my heart to hear my name coming from your lips.” She gave him a teasing smile.

Jon gave out a frustrated sigh. She laughed again and pulled herself closer to his body. The song they were dancing to was coming to its end. Dacey put her lips near Jon’s ear. Her warm breath on his skin made him shiver pleasingly.

“They say that my mother went to the woods and found a bear to beget us. I am thinking of following in her footsteps. Mayhaps I will find myself a wolf in the woods, who knows?”

She gave him a peck on his cheek and walked away attracting his eyes on her undulating hips.

Jon stood there dumbfounded with a hand on his cheek. Women truly confounded him.

---

 

The time drew nearer when they all estimated that the Skagosi would attack. The supplies from Winterfell and other lords helped the Islanders to arm every fighting man and woman as well as fortify their defences. Jon and Howland Reed had taken to find secluded places each sunrise and sunset for Jon to warg into Gale and take a look around for anything suspicious. Jon flew far to the Sea Dragon Point under Gale’s skin and saw movements of men there, making camps and securing supplies. He couldn’t see any banners flying as the men were warned from doing so, but he was sure that the men from White Harbour, Widow’s Watch, The Rills, Castle Cerwyn had gathered there. Men from Dreadfort and Hornwood had also joined them by now…probably.

He didn’t see any gatherings or movements around the foothill of the Northern Mountains. The Mountain Clans with Umber and Karstark men should already be there by then. Jon was getting restless. He asked Howland if it would be beneficial to send a raven to the Clans. Howland disagreed. His opinion was that if the Clans were already on the movement, then sending ravens would be futile. He told Jon to have faith in his uncle. Ned Stark would be there for sure.

[CotW]

Jon was having trouble sleeping, he tossed and turned for about an hour in futility to fall asleep, but sleep was a cruel mistress that eluded him that night. With a frustrated sigh, he got up and dressed. He would take a walk around the settlements and inspect the defences to soothe his mind. The sentries around the walls bowed to him when they saw their commander walking among them. He stopped here and there speaking with his men, when suddenly a guard, whose group was stationed at the eastern side keeping watch on the mainland, came to him running.

“M’lord, you need to come with me quickly.”

Jon didn’t waste any time asking questions and ran with the guard towards their post. At first, he couldn’t see anything in the darkness. The guard who came for him pointed towards a specific area where it seemed the shadows had clustered around. Jon tried to look closer but was still unable to see anything. At his mental nudge, a grumpy Gale woke from her sleep and took flight. Soon, she sent him images of men crossing the sea in small boats and rafts. Jon turned towards the men.

“Go and wake Lady Maege and Lord Robb. The Skagosi are coming.”

He put a hand on the shoulder of the guard who came to him, “You have keen eyes, my friend. You may have saved us all yet.”

[CotW]

They were battle-ready within minutes and standing at their stations with anticipations. Howland was with Jon while he took a flight in Gale’s body, trying to take a measure of the oncoming horde. Even Gale’s eyes weren’t good enough to see clearly through the darkness, still what he saw made his heart plummet to his stomach. He went back to his body and stared around with wide eyes.

“There are more men than we previously thought. By my estimate, the Skagosi had near about five thousand men or more.”

Everybody around him started to talk all at once. They had a right to be anxious, even with the visiting company, the total fighting hands they had were about six to seven hundred strong. Lady Maege’s voice rose above the din.

“It doesn’t matter if they are five thousand or ten thousand. They dare to attack our homes. We will fight till the last man and woman. We will not go quietly. If we die tonight, we will die with honour. Let us show this Skagosi the might of the bears. Here. We. Stand.”

Everyone roared in unison. They would fight till their last breath. Jon hoped that his uncle reached them on time with his forces.

[CotW]

Roose Bolton took command at Sea Dragon Point nearly a month ago. He had trekked through all around Wolfswood as Lord Stark commanded. When he arrived at Winterfell with his men, he had to face scandalous complaints by Ned Stark about what his bastard was doing in his lands. Though he never admitted that Ramsay was his, he was still pissed that the Stark bastard had killed his son. He tried to curb Ramsay of his ways, but he was wild, and that whoreson Reek had twisted his mind even further. All things considered, he lost a son in the end, and he would bide his time and would have his revenge.

The Glovers had managed to secure the fishing boats as was planned. But they were insufficient to ferry all his men across the sea to the Bear Island. He ordered his men to fell trees from the woods nearby and made rafts, it was a slow and arduous process. It certainly didn’t help with all the whining of Halys Hornwood. That man loved to whine about everything. It grated at Roose’s patience.

He was having a tankard of ale when a guard posted outside of his tent told him that he had a messenger waiting for him. He gulped it all in one go and stood up securing his sword belt tightly. Mayhaps the time for battle was finally there. He got out of his tent.

“Where is he?”

“He is at the command tent, m’lord. Lord Horwood be questioning him.”

Irritation flared in his mind, he strode towards the command tent with fast steps. Reaching the tent, he whipped the curtain on the entrance out of his way. The guard seemed to be reporting to Hornwood, and he sat there nodding his head sagely, the fool.

Roose smiled inwardly seeing the look of terror on the soldier’s face. Good, they should all fear him. He took a seat and peered at him, in his whispering voice he asked –

“What is your message?”

The soldier gulped being addressed by the infamous Lord Bolton, he stammered, “I-I was posted as one of the l-lookouts, m’lord. I s-saw the Skagosi m-moving about, taking boats and r-rafts and sailing off. I-I rode hard t-to give my r-report to you.”

“How many men do you reckon, give me an estimate.”

“I-I don’t know, m’lord.”

“What about their weapons, what do they carry?”

“I-I didn’t s-see clearly, m’lord.” The man was sweating in buckets.

“What good is your report then? Get out of my sight.”

The soldier looked relieved to be getting out of there. Hornwood was looking troubled.

“What are we to do now, My Lord?”

“We do exactly what we are here to do, we sail for Bear Island and attack them from behind.”

“In this darkness? We can’t even see farther than our hands.” He whined.

“Aye, the Skagosi are inconsiderate that way. We are yet to have sufficient rafts for all our men. We need to divide our forces and make the trip twice. I will be going with the first half, you will stay back and join us later with the second half as reinforcement.”

Hornwood looked as if he sucked a lemon whole. Fucking idiot.

[CotW]

Jon had a company of Crannogmen with him. He and Lord Reed had taken commands of the archers and stationed themselves on the battlements at both sides of the eastern gate. Robb and Lady Meage were commanding from the top of the gatehouse. Ser Wendel and Dacey stood on the ground in command of the infantry. Asher and Torrhen stood at either side of Jon, bows ready in hand.

The Skagosi had landed in drove and were rushing towards them.

“Nock!”

“Draw!”

“Loose!”

Hundreds of arrows soared through the air and found their targets. Men fell on the ground giving out pained cries of death. Many fell into the traps and pitfalls laid about the beach. The ground soaked in the blood of the dead and dying. Still, the Skagosi kept coming in waves. Jon thanked the Old Gods that they didn’t have siege engines with them, else it would have been a foregone conclusion of their death. What the Skagosi did have, were long poles with grooves cut in intervals for hand and footholds. They carried the poles forward in groups, trying to brace the ends against the foot of the wall and push it upwards with one or two clinging at the other end, they were to reach the top of the walls and attack the men around them, securing a clear way for the others to climb up. Archers were covering for the pole-bearers; they were shooting at the men on top of the wall. Soldiers fell from those arrows, still, they continued to shoot, trying to bring as many men with poles down as they could. A few of the Skagosi managed to uplift their poles against the wall and land on top of the battlements. They fought like wild beasts. The first few soldiers fell to the sheer ferocity their enemies showed. Jon slung his bow back on his shoulder and took out Freedom and his dagger. He couldn’t use Frost in such close combat situation, where a missed swing could take out a man on their side. He shouted at his men to keep shooting and skipped over the bodies to join in the fray.

He ducked down a swing of a cudgel and drove his dagger to the man’s throat. The next one came at him with a spear. Jon didn’t have enough room to dodge about, so he approached him straight on. The man thrusted the spear at his midsection, Jon turned sideways and let the spear go by, but he brought down Freedom and broke the spear shaft in half. He kicked the man in the chest which made him topple off the wall. He had reached to the pole that was leaning on the wall, he looked down to see Skagosi were already scaling up the pole, he called for the men around him and put their shoulders to the pole.

“Heave!”

They pushed with all their might and dislodged the pole and made it fall along with the men that were clinging to it. Another pole had landed by then a few feet away. Jon brought out his weapons and again went to fight.

“Jon!” Robb yelled from the top of the gatehouse.

Jon looked towards his frantic cousin, Robb was waving his arms wildly pointing down to the oncoming horde.

“Ram!”

His heart sank. He looked over the wall to see a large group of men were carrying a huge tree trunk, rushing towards the gate to use it as a battering ram. The size of it was so huge that it would breach the gate in just a few ramming.

“Bring them down!” Jon yelled at the archers.

“Dacey, Ser Wendel, brace the gates!” Lady Maege commanded down to the yard.

The men in the yard rushed towards the gates. They put shields pressed up on the gates and braced their shoulders against them.

“Hold, men!” Ser Wendel commanded.

The men on the wall started to shoot arrows at the men carrying the ram. But they had wooden bucklers strapped to their arms which they were holding up, covering their heads and torsos. The arrows embedded themselves in the bucklers, not impeding their advancement.

“Asher, shoot them in their legs!” Jon yelled out.

Archers changed their targets and started to shoot at their legs, but by then, they had reached the gates and rammed into it hard. The wooden gate groaned from the impact.

“Brace, men, put your feet to the ground!” Ser Wendel yelled.

Robb and Lady Maege had come down from the gatehouse. They, along with the men with them, pushed on the backs of the men before them to put more pressure on the shields.

The Skagosi rammed once again at the gate. With a loud snapping noise, the gate gave in. the ram broke through and got lodged into the woods. The middle portion of the gates was broken backwards, making gaps. But the bar on the gate still held, locking the gates at their places. The men were knocked off their feet by the impact on the gates. They jumped back up and tried to dislodge the ram, getting hacked and sliced by the Skagosi who was reaching through the gaping hole. Robb had received a gash on his shoulder.

“Spears!” Lady Maege ordered.

Men with spears rushed forward, thrusting out with spears through the gaps trying to drive the Skagosi back from the gates. Archers continued to rain arrows from above.

[CotW]

Ned was restless sitting in the boat. They had lost valuable times coming through the mountain path. The path was always treacherous; nobody knew when a rockslide would block their way. They had lost days in moving boulders and clearing the path for the army. Thankfully, most of the forces had already gathered at the foothills. But they couldn’t take any action in absence of their commanders. All the Clan leaders but Orys Wull were following them in the next boat. The Wull, Lords Umber and Karstark were with him on the same boat. Both the lords were fuming at opposite sides. The prickly lord of Umbers had raised serious objections about his place in the boats when they were all getting on. After Arthos Flint got in, there was no place left for Greatjon to climb aboard. He started to yell to all and sundry, insulting Lord Rickard in the process. Ned already had his patience running thin, worrying about his sons. He would have punched the Umber Lord, not caring if he actually would hurt him or not, if Arthos didn’t leave the boat and offered his place to Greatjon to appease him. But Rickard by then had gotten mad because of insults thrown at him. He even threatened to take his men back. Ned couldn’t believe it. Here were lords of noble houses, behaving like small children, and his sons, who were so much younger than all of them, fighting a battle, mayhaps even at the cost of their lives. He grabbed the side of the boat so tightly in anger that his knuckles had turned white.

“What is troubling you, The Ned?” Orys asked him.

“My sons are there, fighting a battle for us and here we are, behaving like little brats.”

 “Ah, you know how they are. That shouldn’t anger you so.”

“My sons are there, Orys, fighting for their lives. They stand alone!” Ned snapped at him.

“Not for long. Clansmen, put your backs to it!” Orys ordered the oarsmen. The boats picked up the pace.

[CotW]

There was a lull in the battle. The Skagosi had pulled back and were trying to regroup away from the range of the arrows. The men at Mormont keep were getting their injured and dead companions back inside of the keep and repairing what they could of the broken gates. The commanders were having a meeting of their own.

Lord Reed broke the silence, “We are running low on arrows. We cannot hold up another attack like this.”

Lady Mormont snapped, “Where are Lord Stark and his reinforcements?” She was massaging her shoulder which she had injured while bracing the shields.

Everyone turned towards Jon. He nodded and warged into Gale. A few minutes later he snapped his eyes open.

“They are coming. They are late but they are coming now. Both from Sea Dragon Point and the Northern Mountains. I saw boats and rafts full of men.”

“Are you sure they are not Skagosi?” Ser Wendel asked, sporting a cut above his right eye.

“Aye, I am sure. They had armours and castle forged steels on them.”

“But what if the Skagosi attack in the meantime? How are we to repel them again?” Robb sounded out his doubt, nursing his wounded shoulder.

That had them all thinking hard. It would be very difficult to repel another attack without helps from archers.

“Let us ride out and meet them.” Jon looked up to everybody.

“What? Are you out of your fucking mind, lad?” Lady Maege growled at him.

“Mayhaps. But listen to me…”

Jon had another insane glint on his eyes, just like he had before he jumped into freezing water to capture Iron-born ships. The others shared looks between them, thinking what mad scheme he had thought up this time.

“The Skagosi are disorganized now. They didn’t expect our defences to be this strong. It is clear that they don’t have any competent leaders among them, else they would not have tried to attack the same way over and over again. I say we ride out. We were just defending from their attacks till now, we haven’t attacked ourselves. We ride out and put the fears of Gods in them. They don’t have the armours or shields to withstand a cavalry attack. If we can time our assault, we can scatter them enough for them to notice the army coming from behind. We can crush them between us.”

Everybody had a thoughtful look on their faces.

“It is a viable plan…” Said Ser Wendel.

“Aye, we can pull this off…”

Dacey jumped to her feet, “Great, then let us get our horses ready.”

“Oh no, you are not coming with us, lass.” Lady Maege got to her feet too.

“What? You are japing, aren’t you?”

“No, I am not. You are to stay behind and look after the defences.”

“No way in Seven Hells I am doing that.”

“Don’t try that tone on me, girl. You will do what you are told…”

The screaming duo of mother and daughter went back to the keep. Robb let out a chuckle.

“Heh, I would hate to be near whoever loses that fight.”

Jon cleared his throat and patted him on his uninjured shoulder.

“Er…you are staying back too, Stark.”

“What? No fucking way! You are not leaving me behind once again, Snow!”

“Robb, please try to understand…”

“Why? Give me one good reason, Jon. And it is better not be ‘because you are the heir.’”

“That is exactly why you should stay back, brother. You are the future Lord Paramount of the North. We can’t risk you. Besides, the men here will be needing a commander to lead them. I am sure Lady Maege will make Dacey stay behind. Help her mount the defences after we leave. Please, brother. I promised Sansa and Arya that I will take you back home safe. I gave my word to your mother that I will look after you. Please don’t make me out to be a liar.”

“What about you, Jon? Is your life so cheap that you always put yourself at risks?”

“Let me tell you a secret, brother, I am blessed by the Gods. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Jon winked at him.

Robb scoffed hearing his answer.

“Believe what you will, Stark. But rest assured that I will come back. I give you my word, and you know how I always keep my words.”

[CotW]

They had arranged for a hundred riders, all waiting lined up before the gates. Jon sat atop of his horse warged into Gale. He was keeping track of the advances of the reinforcements. Lord Reed had said that he was not much of a rider, he would be staying back helping Robb and Dacey with the defences. The sulking duo was standing beside him, glaring at the riders. Torrhen was also staying behind, being not so good rider himself.

Jon watched through Gale’s eyes as the men in the boats had almost reached the shores. He came back to his body and gave a nod. Men put their shoulders to the battered bar and removed it from the gates after much wrestling. They started to canter out of the keep.

“Scared yet, Forrester?”

“Not on your life, Snow.”

Lady Maege raised her mace above and yelled, “For the North!”

“For the North!” They all yelled back and kicked their mounts to run faster.

The Skagosi didn’t expect a cavalry charge. The horses crashed into their lines and made them scatter. The steel swords or in the case of Lady Maege, the mace, they were wielding were too much for the Skagosi to defend from with their wooden shields and leather or bronze armours. Still, their number was so great that the losses they suffered were minimal. Soon, the horses were wedged in between foot soldiers and were attacked from all around. Many were wrenched from the top of the horses to the ground. Jon had abandoned his horse long ago, he and Asher stood back to back and were fighting in a frenzy. Jon lost track of how many men he had killed. Frost and Freedom had become red, drenched in the blood of enemies.

“I never thought that I will be dying while looking at your ugly mug, Snow.”

“Oh, cry me a river, Forrester, you should pity me, you don’t have to look at that thing you call your face.”

Asher’s reply cut short by the club he received at his head, he only survived because of his helm, still, he fell on the ground.

“Asher!” Jon yelled and whirled on his toe, taking the head off of Asher’s assailant. He got down on one knee to check on him. Asher shook his head to clear off the dizziness.

“Aye, I am alright, Jon.”

“Keep up, Forrester, we are not out of it yet.” He helped him to get back on his feet.

They were showing this much arrogant attitude because they were sure that help was just a short while away, unlike the time when they stood against the Iron-borns. They got back into their positions and kept on fighting. Soon, instead of coming at them in continuous waves, their attackers were turning away from them.

“What is happening?”

“The reinforcement, Asher, they have arrived.” Jon had a big smile on his face.

Chapter 13: It's All Relative

It’s All Relative

When the shores of Bear Island came into view, Ned started to get even more restless. They could hear the clashing of arms and screams of dying men over the sounds of water. Torchlights soon came into view along the eastern walls of the keep, clusters of men on top of them. And, a little further from the shoreline, a huge host of men were fighting against horseriders, not more than a hundred heads.  They saw some of the riders were wrenched from their saddles and got lost between the men on foot. Ned tightened his fist on the grip of Ice, which was laid on his lap. Orys barked to his men.

“Blood of the North is being spilt, men. Get us there faster!”

The boat jerked to a stop when it reached the shore. Ned jumped out of it as a man possessed, Ice unsheathed and raised above his head, he needed to reach to his sons. His men yelled battle cry and rushed into the fray. Greatjon was whirling his battleaxe over his head like a madman. Rickard was fighting in a frenzy beside him, he too wanted to reach to his son and ward as soon as they possibly could.

---

 

The Skagosi weren’t prepared for any attack from the back. They were licking their wounds they had received from the Bears, then some riders came out of the keep and drove them into even further disarray. They just got some semblance of fighting order and tried to pushing back against the riders when they were being cut down by enemies who landed on the shore using their very own methods. They tried to turn around and fight against the new foe, when another army arrived and attacked their flank from the right, they too used boats and rafts. The combined might of the entire North proved to be too much for the invaders. With their route to escape cut out, the only solution left for them was to yield their arms, more than one-third of the force of five thousand were already watering the soil of Bear Island with their blood. 

---

 

Ned gave orders to his men to secure the prisoners and see to their own wounded and dead. He could see Maege Mormont and Ser Wendel Manderly doing the same. He tried to look for Robb and Jon beside them, but he couldn’t find them.

“You are late, My Lord.”

Ned turned around to see Jon and that Forrester boy coming towards him. Their armours looked as if painted red, blood dripping from their weapons, but both of them had beaming smiles on their faces. They didn’t look to be hurt bad.

“Jon!” Ned rushed to him and hugged him tight against his chest. Lya’s boy…his son was safe. He pushed back from him and looked at him from head to feet.

“Are you alright, son? Where is your brother?”

“Robb is back at the keep, commanding defence with Lady Dacey and Lord Reed after we mounted our attack. Do not worry, father, he is safe. He got a scratch on his shoulder, but otherwise, he is alright.”

Ned nodded, he looked to the Forrester boy and asked, “How are you, lad?”

“I am doing fine, My Lord, thank you for asking.” He yelled out. Ned looked towards Jon askance.

Jon snorted and said, “He took a blow to his head, his ears are still ringing, he will be fine.”

Rickard Karstark had reached them by then. “Jon, it is good to see you alright, lad. How is Torrhen?”

Jon bowed to him, “It is good to see you too, My Lord. Torrhen as back at the keep, helping with the defences.”

Rickard nodded, he arched a brow at him, “Lady Maege was talking about how you planned the ride out and crush the invaders in between the forces and then rode at the front.”

Ned turned his head so fast towards Jon that they were surprised he didn’t hurt his neck. Jon gulped seeing his uncle’s furious gaze upon him.

“I did what you taught me, My Lord. You told me that if I have an upper hand, I shouldn’t hesitate to exploit it.”

“I am proud of you, son, but we will be having a chat later.”

Jon mentally sighed about the ominous nature of his uncle’s comment. He nodded his head. Ned moved towards Lady Mormont to lend her a hand. Lord Rickard gave Jon a sly smile.

“I am proud of you too, my boy. I just wish that nobody says anything to Lady Anya.”

Jon paled like a ghost, he was more afraid to have that conversation over the one with his uncle.

---

 

The victory feast a couple of days later at Bear Island felt like the Harvest Festival. Almost all of the Northern Lords were present there to raise a glass and toast the brave warriors. Jon was once again put into an embarrassing position when a singer started to sing about the legendary White Wolf. Jon slid down so low in his seat that only the top of his head was visible over the table. Robb and the others were singing along the chorus lines while banging their goblets on the table. They tried to nudge him to sit up, but he appeared to be shrunk down even lower. Theon, who had tried to get Robb’s attention by his tales of adventures into brothels, were glaring down at his mug when the part came about how the White Wolf led his small pack to hunt down thieving reavers. Fucking squid, thought Jon in his mind.

“Come on, Wolf, show me why my sister was so smitten by you in the last feast.” Alysane dragged Jon up from his seat and led him to the dance floor, beaten her sister only by a few steps. Dacey threw her sister a murderous glare and went back to drag Robb forward and started to dance just beside them. Jon sent her a smile which could be described as a grimace and started to lead Alysane around the floor. This Mormont sister was even more adventurous than her elder sister. Jon had a hard time prying himself off of her.

---

 

The fate of the invaders was determined by the War Council. While Lord Stark tried to give them all a lighter sentence, they argued that there was no point in showing mercy to the invaders. And since they couldn’t be sent to the wall, as the Skagosi were no better than the Wildlings, they would only make it difficult for the Black Brothers, and neither could they be incarcerated for an indefinite time, they had all concluded that execution was the only way. Jon was squeamish about the sentencing, it was a different matter killing people in the heat of battle, but mass executing was another cup of ale. He took notice of the lords and how they appeared when they or their men carried out the deeds, for Lord Stark had told all, one who gave the sentence, should swing the blade. He saw lords like his uncle, Rickard Karstark, Howland Reed was solemn, while Lord Umber and Lady Mormont were appeared to be quenching their thirst for vengeance. He was most disturbed by the looks of Lord Bolton, the normal stone-like façade that Roose wore was absent, instead, the gleam in his eyes could light the blackest night.

After the execution and directing the men to burn the bodies, Ned took his sons to the Godswood of Mormont Keep, all three of them knelt before the Hearts Tree and prayed to the Old Gods, even Jon and Robb had executed men that day.

Ned sat down on a log and indicated for his sons to take seats beside him, none had uttered a single word since their return.

“I wished for you boys to retain your innocence longer, but alas, the Gods have their plans for us all.” Ned broke the silence.

“Did we do the right thing, father?” Jon was scratching lines on the dirt with a broken stick.

“I don’t know son. If you ask, have we performed our duties, then aye, we have. We have protected our lands, our people from the enemies. But if you are asking that were we on the right of killing so many, then I have no clear answer for you. We abided by the laws of the land. We do not have the facilities to hold them, we neither could have sent them to the Wall, so we had to take their lives for the crime they committed. I know executing a man hangs heavy on the soul. That is why we are here. Pledging to the Gods and asking them to ease the burdens on our minds and souls.”

“Couldn’t we send them back to their lands?” Robb asked in a low voice.

“No, we couldn’t. Transporting so many men would have required almost double the guards, if not triple. Then there were the supplies to think about. All the lords of North have already contributed in defence of the Bear Island, none at present are in a place to afford what we all think is impractical expenditure.”

“What do you mean, father?”

“We have decided in the War Council, son. We will, once and for all, eradicate the threat to North from Skagos. In three moon’s time, we will muster our forces and launch our attack to bring them down to their knees. Magnar Gustoff had dared to attack unprovoked. None of the lords wants to show any leniency. And I, as the Lord Paramount, agree with them. We cannot leave our backyard unprotected from this kind of attacks in future.”

Ned noticed that Jon had a faraway look on his face.

“What are you thinking, Jon?”

“I hope you realize, father, that they were not all Skagosi.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, father. Skagos is not but an island, a bit bigger than Bear Island mayhaps, but it was full of hills and rocks. The people there, no matter how big their clans could be, couldn’t provide an army as big as we faced.”

“Are you saying that they were helped by outside forces?”

“Not outsiders, no, but Northerners. From beyond the Wall.”

“Wildlings?” Ned spat.

“Aye, mayhaps Magnar Gustoff made alliances with them.”

Ned was rubbing his chin in deep thought, “An interesting speculation, but that is all it is. We cannot be sure till we confront this Magnar.” He peered at Jon, “You know, there was another issue brought up in the Council.”

Jon turned his head to his uncle, “Oh?”

“Aye, after we bring the Skagosi to heel, we will need a lord to take his seat there, almost all of them voted in favour of the White Wolf.”

Robb let out a whoop of delight. “That is great news, father! Jon, just imagine, you as the guardian lord of Skagos and my bannerman, just like we always planned, brother!” 

Jon was stunned into silence, he never expected that. He looked from the excited face of Robb to the questioning eyes of his uncle. He would hate to disappoint Robb, but he didn’t think lording over Skagos was something that the Old Gods had in their plans for him. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh.

“I am honoured and grateful that the Council had thought so highly of me. But I am afraid that I have to decline, My Lord.”

“What?! Jon, are you serious?”

“Robb!” Ned put up a hand to stall his son’s diatribe, “May I know why you are declining the offer?”

Jon sighed, he didn’t have any clear answer to give. “I plan to travel, father. I want to see Westeros; I want to visit the far lands to the east. I don’t want to be tied down right now. And anyway, I don’t know where I will end up in the future…” He gave a meaningful look to his uncle.

“You can appoint a steward, Jon. One who can run your holdings while you travel. Please, brother, don’t just throw it all away without further thoughts.”

“Robb, while I agree that the offer is more than generous for a bastard like me, it is also quite impractical. You and I, we both led men and destroyed their forces. They would come to know of me as the killer of their families. Whosoever holds the lordship, will have an uphill battle to win over its people. But the hardship will be double for me. If I manage to bring them to an understanding, the steward I appoint then will need further time to gain their approval. Then we have to think about the smallfolk, we have slain almost all the fighting men by our estimates. We will be needing men to establish a working guards’ roaster. Northerners are a tough breed, aye, but they don’t know how to navigate in a rocky area, let alone find their livelihood there.”

“Jon!” His uncle’s voice cut through his rant, he turned to him to see that he was indicating the ground near his feet. He looked down to find that he had been scratching out the Targaryen sigil while he was thinking out loud. He hastily moved his feet and wiped it off.

“I agree with what you are saying, son. But I would also advise you to think some more on this.”

“Aye, father.”

“Come, let us return to the keep. It is almost time for supper.”

They got up and made their way inside. Jon cleared his throat.

“Er…father?”

“What is it now, son?”

“I want to visit the Wall.”

“Oh?” They stopped at their tracks, Robb was looking at Jon suspiciously.

“Aye, it has been a long time since I met Uncle Benjen. And if we are right about the wildlings involvement, we need to discuss this in details with the Lord Commander.”

“Aye, and they also need to know their security leak by the ways of their abandoned castles. But that will come afterwards. Right now, your men will need their commander, the White Wolf to lead them again. After we deal with the Skagosi, you may visit your uncle.”

“I will be going with him, father. He needs a chaperon to watch over him.” Robb narrowed his eyes to Jon.

“What? Are you afraid that I will bring down the Wall, Stark?” Jon chuckled.

“I think you will attack the wildling hordes all by yourself, Snow. The White Wolf should be put on a leash.”

“I would like to see you try.”

“Don’t tempt me, brother.”

---

 

As planned by the War Council, the North had launched an allied attack on Skagosi lands. It didn’t take them much longer to destroy their defences and capture the Magner. Jon himself didn’t lead the attacks this time, seeing Lord Stark himself at the vanguard. He was ordered to secure the supply routes and helped in quick evacuations of the wounded from the front lines. The men that he and Robb led, were quickly become known as the ‘Wolfpack’. The company of hundred men that was comprised of not only Stark men, but men from almost all Northern houses, handpicked by their commanders themselves, had earned their reputation for their swift actions and reliability on the battlefield. With Asher and Torrhen acted as captains and commanded by the White Wolf and the Young Wolf, the Wolfpack had etched their names in Northern history.

At the trial of Gustoff, it became clear that he indeed formed alliances with several wildling tribes. They heard stories about how the ‘King-beyond-the-wall’ was gathering all of the tribes under his command. A few dissenter tribes, who didn’t want to be commanded by this King, chose to ally themselves with the Skagosi to invade and capture Northern lands. Jon’s wish to visit the wall would come true, but they would act as a delegation from the Warden of the North to Night’s Watch.

The subject of the ruling lord of Skagos was brought up again after Gustoff and his minions were put to the swords. Ned had discussed the matter with Jon on their travels for a length of time. In the end, he had decided to abide by Jon’s wishes. He discussed with his lords and made them agree that if Jon wasn’t to be the Lord of Skagos, then neither of the lords’ sons or nephews would get to rule the island. Instead, the lands were given to the Mountain Clans. They had helped the North and answered the call to arms in the Robert’s Rebellion as well as in the current predicament but never were they commended or rewarded for their steadfast loyalty to the Starks. Plus, the Clansmen knew how to use the rocky terrain to yield crops and other sustenance. Also, they’d been warring with the wildling attacks since the creation of the Wall, none could be more suitable than them to become the ruling power of Skagos. The Wulls, the Norreys, the Burleys, the Liddles, the Flints – all were happy with this decision, they promised to take care of the lands and the people for the Ned. They would be leaving behind some of their men to maintain the peace, in the coming six moon’s time, they would take proper control of the island. With every detail hashed out, the lords and their men began to prepare for the journey back home, after travels and wars for almost yearlong for some of them, it was time to return to their families.

---

 

Robb wasn’t japing when he told Jon that he would be coming with him to the Wall. Jon tried to make him dissuade from it and leave for White Harbour with Ser Wendel Manderly, but Robb was adamant. He ordered the Stark men, who were part of the Wolfpack, to prepare for the journey to the wall along with them. Jon could only watch as his stubborn cousin went about his ways, talking to Ned hadn’t proved much successful either, for his uncle too thought that he needed a minder to keep track of him. Jon pointed out that they were of the same age, hence it doesn’t make any sense to have Robb as a chaperon. Ned replied that he trusted Robb to have a leveller head and to take the necessary decision in his stead. Jon could yell in frustration.

The morning before their departure, Lord Reed and the Crannogmen had left for the Neck. Jon was sad to see the man go, he became used to having him around, giving him lessons in arms, helping him with his warging ability, or just have a chat with him. He went to bid him goodbye before they boarded the ships bound for White Harbour.

“I was wondering when you will be coming for a visit.” Howland smiled at Jon.

“Forgive me, My Lord, I had to prepare for my journey. Else, I would have come much sooner.”

“It is alright, lad. Now, what can I do for you?”

“I want to thank you, Lord Reed, for everything you have done for me for the past year. I will miss our times together for lessons.”

“I did what I could for her son to help him find his way in the world. You need not thank me for that.”

Jon often wondered about the person his mother was, he had heard so many describe her in so many different ways. But perhaps, the truest persona of Lyanna Stark could be described by someone like Howland Reed, who have met her for only a short time, yet she still claimed a special place in his heart, even after so long of her passing.

“I have something for you.” Lord Reed brought out a long thin package wrapped in clothes.

Jon received it with a look of pure delight on his face, he took special care to unwrap it and found a beautifully carved blowpipe, adorned with images of wolves, running wild or howling at the moon, along with a healthy supply of both kinds of Crannogmen concoctions and herbs to make more.

“A master should gift his pupil with the arms when he proves that he has learned how to wield it with enough skill.” Howland had a proud smile on his face.

“I thank you, My Lord, I cannot express in words what this means to me.” Jon gushed in gratitude.

“Think nothing of it, Jon. It has been my distinct pleasure to train you to combat like a Crannogman. But you must promise me that you will visit whenever you found yourself going to the south.”

“I promise you, My Lord, I will come and visit you in Greywater Watch.”

Howland put a hand on Jon’s shoulder and lowered his voice, “I didn’t ask you for propriety’s sake, Aemon, you must visit my home. There are still a few things that you need to know, but alas, they are not my secrets to tell. Promise me, lad!”

Jon could only nod his head. He wondered what more secrets the Lord of Greywater Watch could hold. Puzzling with it, he bade the lord good fortune on his voyage and came back to finish preparing for his journey.

---

 

The Wall came into view quite a while before their boats were anywhere near the castle of Eastwatch-by-sea. The idea and the sheer majesty of the construction of something so legendary rendered all of them speechless. The seven hundred feet tall, and more than three hundred miles long wall of ice had merged into the crags jutted out of the Bay of Seals. As they proceeded further, the castle of Eastwatch came into view, standing sentinel over the grey, windswept shore of the Bay. A few huts of the nearby fishermen’s village could be seen strewn about at its foot. Jon could feel a thrum in his bones as they were nearing the Wall. He was almost sure that it was the magic of the Wall, calling out to him.

The commander of Eastwatch-by-sea, Cotter Pyke, was a rough, uncouth man. He rubbed all the wrong ways to Robb’s senses. Jon pushed him to carry the conversation with Maester Harmune while he dealt with Commander Pyke by himself. When he heard about the wildling involvement in the Skagosi invasion, he let out a string of slurs. He raised his hands and swore to the high heaven that it was not something that he could pursue, the security risks that the entire realm was facing, were the things that the Lord Commander Mormont should be aware of, not him. He said to them that he had enough on his plates as it was with only a small contingent of Black Brothers at the Eastwatch. With the manpower he was granted, he could just about manage to man the Wall, sending out ships patrolling the waters of the Bay of Seals to prohibit possible wildling infiltration couldn’t be conceivable with what he had under his command. Jon understood that it was futile to make a point with this man, it was only the morning, yet Pyke was already down in his cups. With such a man as commander, it was no wonder that the Watch was failing miserably at their duties.

Robb had learned from the Maester that the quickest way to Castle Black would be the trail along the foot of the Wall. They will be skirting around the forest, but since they are armed and travelling by groups, they should be safe from wildling attacks or attacks by beasts roaming these woods. They had decided to continue their journey the next day, after spending the night at Eastwatch.

They were the Northmen, they were accustomed to the cold, but they were not prepared for the cold that was around the seven hundred feet tall wall of ice. When they went atop the Wall, it felt to them as if they had travelled to a different country. Miles and miles of snow-covered ground, the trees of the forests were white with fallen snow. They saw nothing but white in front of their eyes. The Wall itself was beyond any of their cognitive measures. They had heard about it, read about it, but never could they believe in something that had been standing for thousands of years, strong as the day it was built.

They started their journey early on the next morning. It would take them about a week to reach Castle Black. Maester Harmune had offered to send a man with them but they refused. They started to slowly trek through the snow-covered ground on horseback.

On the third day, Gale had alerted Jon of an elk herd in the nearby woods. He took some men and went for a hunt and came back with a few elk carcasses big enough for all the men to have a semblance of a feast that night. After dining on roasted venison, they sat around the fire pit trading stories. Asher suggested that the environment was eerie enough that scary stories would be very appropriate. Torrhen was very apprehensive, but his objections drowned out when others very enthusiastically supported the notion. One by one, each man around the fire told of a story that they had heard, or from the popular folktales fitting their situation. Jon went last. He wrapped his cloak tightly about him and picked up a stick to stroke the fire. He looked everyone in their eyes and started to tell his story in a low but serious voice.

“I heard this story from Lord Reed, who swears by everything that this is a fact. It had happened down at a village near Harrenhal. A man, who was by trade a hunter, often left his village for months at a time. He used to say that it was not the hunting for beasts, but the forests that beckoned him. He loved nature so much that oftentimes he forgot to return to his family and friends, living among the trees.

One day, he returned to his village after almost six months. Naturally, his family was very happy to have their son returning home. He spent the day with his family, telling them all the wonderful things he had witnessed in the woods. In the afternoon, he went out to the local tavern to find his friends. He was greeted by a few acquaintances there, but he couldn’t find any of his friends. Begging leave from the men, he went to the home of his best friend. He was shocked to see the state of the hut. His friends, who like everyone else in the village, might not have much but took pride in how he cared for his home. That once pristine abode of his friend was now no more than an abandoned hovel.

Thinking something might have happened to his friend, the hunter was agitated, he went inside of the derelict hut to find the man to be sitting in a corner, his hands wrapped around his knees, swaying back and forth, back and forth, and muttering under his breath. The hunter was scared out of his wits seeing his friend in such a state. He approached him cautiously calling out his name. after a while, and a lot of callings, the man seemed to be jolted back to his senses. His wild eyes roamed about his home and then landed on the hunter. It was as if the man had a hard time recognizing his childhood friend. The hunter sat in front of his friend, trying to coax out what had happened to him.

What the man told him was a tale that seemed very farfetched, but the hunter noticed that it pained the man to even recalling the events. He told that he and their other friends had gone out for a day of fishing and hunting like they had been doing since their childhood days. It was in the afternoon, nearly night when they heard the sound of weeping coming from somewhere near. They went to investigate and came upon a lass, not older than perhaps ten and five, sitting under a tree, hugging her knees close to her chest and resting her head on top of them. It was the girl’s whimpering cries they had heard. They went near her, they could see that her dress was torn and drenched in fresh blood, her hair, which was black as the night, was dishevelled. They thought of her to be a victim of bandits. They tried to call her, but the girl didn’t raise her head. They went closer to her, talking softly so as not to scare her, still, the girl won't look at them. When one of them reached down to touch her shoulder, the girl snapped up her head, it was not a face they saw, but just a slab of flesh. No eyes, nose or mouth.

They ran away from there, leaving behind all the fish and birds and rabbits they had gathered in panic. They didn’t stop till they reached their village. They swore to each other to never go in that forest and had gone back to their homes, trying to forget it all. A week later, it was the night of a full moon. The man went out to call on a mutual friend, one who went with him to the forest, he couldn’t rouse him from outside of his home. So, he went in. Inside, he found none of the family, no wife, no children. Only the man of the house sitting at a corner, his face and hands covered in blood, with a bloody knife in his hand, stabbing the floor in front of him and muttering to himself. No matter what he did, he couldn’t break out the man from his indistinct state of mind. Come morning, there were no traces of the man could be found. Since then, all the men who went into the forest had gone missing, each on a full moon night. He was the last one remaining, and it was once again a full moon night.

The hunter sat stunned hearing his friend’s tale. It couldn’t be real, could it - thought he. He tried to reason with his friend. He tried to tell him that there must be other reasons behind all the disappearances. Or it could be simply something he thought deep in the cups. His friend looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, in a gravelly voice, he replied, ‘Dreaming these things, am I? Then WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT BEHIND YOU?’”

Jon was speaking in a low, gentle voice. When he suddenly yelled out and pointed behind them, everyone jolted in their seats. Torrhen tried to turn and stand up all at once, thus ended up falling flat face-first on the ground. Jon toppled off the log he was sitting on laughing his head off.

“You fucking prick!” Torrhen growled getting up on his feet.

“Now, now, Torrhen, I am sure there are many men who are afraid of a little dark.” Asher said in a sugary voice.

“Fuck off, Forrester!” Torrhen stormed off to his bedroll and started to prepare for the night.

Chuckling, they all broke up and arranged for their sleeping areas. It was quite late into the night when a shrill scream woke them up from their sleep. Thinking it was some woman in danger, Robb jumped to his feet with his sword unsheathed, only to find Jon and Asher rolling on the ground laughing while Torrhen was trembling under his furs. The howling duo had found berries in nearby bushes and squeezed them to gather red, blood-like juice. Then they lathered it on their faces and hands and went to spook Torrhen.

Torrhen was livid, “You fucking cunts! I will gut you alive! I will mount your heads in my room!”

The men had a hard time restraining him from attacking the two because they too were laughing like madmen.

The Castle Black came into view in the evening on the seventh day. They could hear the guards on top of the gate blowing the horn alerting the men of incoming riders. They spurred on their horses.

“Get a move on, Torrhen, it is getting dark after all.” Robb sent a smirk at his way.

“Fuck you, Stark!” Torrhen rode on ahead alone from the group.

---

 

 Benjen Stark was waiting at the yard since he heard the one horn blast for incoming riders. They had received a raven from Eastwatch that Robb and Jon were coming for a visit as the delegation from the Warden of the North. It had been a few years since he saw his nephews. He had been to Winterfell, but with both boys away for fosterage, he didn’t get the chance to see them. So, here he was waiting excitedly for the boys to ride through the gates. When he saw them coming, a face splitting grin formed on his face. There was Robb, with his Tully colourings, but a Stark in everything else. And then there was Jon, Benjen could see features of the Starks, better yet, features of his siblings getting more and more prominent with each passing year on that boy. He was built like Bran, his posture was screaming of Ned, and his hair and smile were just like Lya. Moisture formed at the corner of his eyes.

“Uncle Benjen!” The boys yelled excitedly and scrambled off their horses to rush at him. He laughed loudly as they both crashed into him and wrapped them in his arms. The men in the yard were looking wide-eyed at their serious and strict first ranger who was acting that way.

“Come on, lads, let me get a good look at you.”

They both pushed away from him and stood shoulder to shoulder for his inspection, just like they had been doing since they were wee little babes. Benjen looked at them from head to feet and nodded his head.

“You have nearly become men grown. Very soon, you won't even ask me to tell you stories.” He shook his head in mock sadness.

The boys looked at each other and shared a grin. They each wrapped an arm over his shoulder and pinned him between themselves.

“Never, Uncle Ben…”

“We won't ever be too old to hear stories from you…”

“Especially the one where you went to pray to the horse lord…”

“…just to become a better rider.” They both finished in unison. Benjen chuckled at their antics.

“I can’t believe Ned told you of that story. It seems I need to have a chat with my brother about telling his sons stories which were meant to be forgotten.” He looked between his nephews and raised an eyebrow, “And I am pretty sure that I am entitled to hear quite a few stories myself. Isn’t that right, White Wolf?” He nudged at Jon, “…or perhaps I should ask the Young Wolf?” he looked at Robb.

“Indeed we do, uncle, why, would you like to hear about the story where a young lad jumped over the railings of a ship and right into the freezing, cold water of the Bay of Ice?” Robb replied with a smirk.

---

 

Lord Commander Jeor Mormont read the missive from Lord Stark carefully. He was in a meeting with Lord Stark’s sons, Maester Aemon and Benjen Stark. What the letter told him was indeed very alarming. The blasted raven again cawed for corns. He placed the letter down on his desk and let out a sigh. He clasped his hands together and sat forward in his chair.

“We knew of the gathering of the wildlings under this ‘King-beyond-the-wall’. First Ranger Benjen could assure you that we have been keeping a closer eye on the stirrings of the clans. But it was indeed news to us that there were a few disgruntled clans who made deals with the Skagosi.”

“That is not all, My Lord. As our father has told you in his letter, the wildlings are having quite an easy time venturing southwards by the ways of the abandoned towers and castles along the Wall. More patrols atop the wall or men are needed to stop these invaders.” Robb urged the man.

“That is easier said than done, My Lord Stark.” The Maester said in a solemn tone, “The Watch is not what it was used to be.”

“Aye, the Maester has it right. We could probably count to a thousand Black Brothers divided into three castles, most of them being the dregs and scums of the realms. They ship them off to us and wash off their hands. It falls to us to train the men in a semblance of a fighting force. We could scrounge enough to just man the Wall. A few learned men like your uncle here could be made into rangers to venture out beyond the Wall. But it was never enough. The castles you speak of, they are in ruins, even if we could send men out to those castles, they cannot even protect themselves from nature, let alone a wildling attack.”

Jon was listening quietly to the discussions, but he couldn’t remain silent any longer. “You could send letters to the lords, even to the King and ask them for help…”

Maester Aemon turned his head towards Jon, “Young master Snow?”

“Aye, Maester.”

“You have made quite a name for yourself in such a young age, lad. But you are still to learn about how the world works.”

“I don’t understand, Maester.”

Lord Commander snorted, “What the Maester is trying to tell in his polite way, lad, is that why do you think the lords will care if the keeps along the Wall crumble to dust? Their coins are better used for their purposes, that is their belief. The Watch still functions as it is only because, as us Northerners say, The North Remembers. Indeed, the North remembers their pledge to the Watch, whatever meagre handouts they manage to send our way, we have to make our peace with that. The rest of the realms would scourge their dungeons and send us more greenboys who are the worst excuse of human beings, for us to feed and train with our insufficient supplies if and when we ask them for help. That is the extent of the help we can expect of them.”

“Mayhaps if you let the King know…”

Jeor leaned forward on his desk, “Do you think we never send pleas of help to the King? Yoren, our recruiter, goes to the Capitol twice a year. Whenever he tries to speak to the King, he was never present. He talks with his small council. The representatives of the King think that whatever the Watch got, is enough to protect themselves from the Snarks and Grumpkins, and a few wildlings with sticks. The King’s coins are spent for feasts and tourneys. The Hand of the King tries to speak in our favour, but he is still a Southorn. He could never understand what we have to work with each day.”

Jon was seething, the Nights’ Watch, the once prestigious order had indeed become the worst. He knew that if he hadn’t found the bracers, he would have joined the order himself, no matter what he told his Uncle Ned. The whoring bastard Robert was leading the realms to the depths of hells. He wondered what kind of a King his father would have become. Would he too avert his gaze from the plight of the North, or would he have done something to help the Watch? He looked towards Robb.

What are you planning, Snow? – Robb raised an eyebrow.

What can we do to help them, brother? – Jon nodded his head towards Lord Commander.

I can’t think of anything! – Robb pursed his lips.

Do you reckon father could have any success sending messages to the South? – Jon narrowed his eyes.

Aye, that is the best we can hope for now. – Robb nodded his head.

Benjen was looking at his nephews as they carried on having a silent conversation between them. He cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we should break this meeting for now.”

“Aye, take the lads to see the top of the Wall, Benjen. Mayhaps the cold air could churn up some ideas in their young heads.” Jeor made a pointed stare at Benjen.

“Aye, Lord Commander.” Benjen got up from his seat and ushered the boys out of the solar.

Jeor started to massage his forehead. Problems for the Watch seemed to come in never-ending waves.

“What do you think, Maester?”

“The air began to change, Lord Commander. Only time will tell which way they will blow.”

“A clearer answer would have been appreciated.”

“Forgive an old man of his follies, My Lord. With your leave?”

Jeor sighed and leaned back into his chair as the old Maester made his way out of the solar. He again picked up the missive from Lord Stark. What was he to answer back to the Warden of the North?

---

 

Jon was standing atop the Wall, looking out at the snow-covered ground from the foot of the Wall to the end of the dark, foreboding forest. The wind was quite furious so high up. He wrapped his cloak about him more tightly. A few Brothers were standing further away, standing sentry.

“Be careful that the wind doesn’t carry you off, nephew.”

Jon turned his head to see his uncle coming towards him. “I have quite a secure footing, uncle, you need not worry.”

“Aye, secure enough to ram a burning ship aground.” Benjen gave him a smirk.

Jon chuckled and turned back his gaze. Uncle and nephew stood there in silence for a while.

“What troubles you, lad?”

Jon sighed and looked around for any eavesdropper. The Black Brothers on top of the wall were standing quite far from them. The howl of the winds would cover their voices from reaching them.

“I know about my mother, uncle.”

Benjen turned towards him with a surprised look on his face, “So he finally relented, did he? Good for you, Jon. You are finally aware of your roots, both of them.”

Jon nodded his head. He waited for a few moments for any comments from his uncle. But none came.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what, Jon?”

“The identity of my mother, you don’t know it?”

Benjen sighed, “It is between your parents, lad. I respect my brother enough to not pry into his life. If Ned decides someday that I ought to know, he will tell me.”

Jon shook his head, “It is not what you think, uncle. You knew her very well.”

“Oh?” Benjen looked at him askance.

“Aye, she was the one who taught you how to ride a horse properly.”

Benjen’s face turned ashen, he kept looking at Jon with wide, unblinking eyes, his jaw slacked. “Lya?!” He croaked.

Jon nodded, “Aye, your sister.”

Benjen took a couple of steps back, “No, no…she was…they said that she died of fever…no!”

Jon rushed towards him and helped him to sit down resting against the footwall. He never thought that his uncle would break down like this. He sat beside him putting an arm over his shoulder. Benjen was shivering, not from the cold, but from the emotional blow, Jon just gave to him.

“How did you…did Ned…” He couldn’t form his words properly.

“No, I found out by myself quite accidentally…” Jon launched on to the tales of how he came to know of his heritage and the consequent conversations with Ned Stark and Howland Reed.

He told him everything he knew, everything he learnt from his Uncle Ned, from the letters of his parents, what Howland Reed had told him. Benjen laughed when he was told about the Knight of Laughing Tree.

“That sure sounds like something Lya would do.” He wiped the tears off his eyes. “Who else knows about this?”

“Uncle Ned and Lord Reed, as they were the ones who went to the tower. I insisted on telling to Lady Stark. And now you. I plan to tell Robb at sometimes in the future, as it is his right to know as the heir to the North.”

Benjen nodded, “Do you plan to…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“To take the Iron Throne? I don’t know, uncle. I am yet to decide on that.”

They fell quiet, sitting side by side.

“I was there too, you know. All four of us Stark siblings were there at Harrenhal.”

“Aye, Uncle Ned told me.”

“I made fun of your mother, she was shedding tears after listening to the Prince sing. She got annoyed and emptied her glass of wine on my head before storming off the hall.” He let out a hollow laugh.

“I was a boy myself, not so much older than you are now. I was so excited to see the jousts, watching those legendary knights fight in the tourney. I didn’t think of anything else. But now that I look back, there was something in the air. Who bloody cared about celebrating Lord Darry’s daughter’s name day. But all the lords of the realms or their heirs were present at that tourney. Something big was to happen at that tourney. The King wasn’t scheduled to come, but to everyone’s surprise, he made an appearance. Your grandfather didn’t go, because there must always be a Stark at Winterfell. We went in his stead. Ned came down from Vale with Robert and Lord Arryn. I was so happy to see my brother after such long a time. Bran was being Bran, boasting about to the ladies and trying to impress his betroth, or having a drinking competition. I didn’t pay much attention to what Lya was doing. When they called for the list, I was excited to see the mystery knight. Seven hells, what would have I done if I knew it was Lya under those armours.” He shook his head.

Jon kept quiet; Benjen continued to reminisce. “When the Mad King called for the knight’s arrest, I too went out with the searching party, trying to win some glory. I came back to find that Robert Baratheon had chased the knight away. He was explaining to one and all in glorifying details how he fought with the fucker…and then he announced to all about his betrothal with Lya. I remember seeing her being equally mad and scared. The next day, the Prince gave the crown of winter roses to Lya after winning the joust, declaring her as his Queen of Love and Beauty. I remember Robert raving and ranting to Bran and Ned. Ned was trying to make him stop, but Bran just sat there, all quiet. I was afraid that should my wild brother do something foolish. Lya bustled inside of the tent, another round of shouting later, she dragged off Ned and Bran out of the tent. Robert tried to follow, but she quite furiously told him off that we were going for a family discussion. I watched as Robert storming off, Lya sent Ned and me away, telling us that she needed to speak with Bran alone. So we just roamed about ourselves, around evening, we found Robert Baratheon had set up a session of drinking around a campfire with a serving wench sitting on his lap.

We came back home after the tourney, Ned went to Vale again. I remember Lya yelling at our father about her betrothal. He tried to calm her down. Bran was quite uncharacteristically remained silent about everything. About six moons later, they both went to Riverrun, for Bran’s marriage. After that, everything stopped making sense. Ravens came about Lya’s abduction by the Prince. They told how Bran was a prisoner at the Capitol. Father went with his men to try and rescue him…and then, war. Ned returned with the woman who was to marry Bran. Two little babes in their arms. I couldn’t stay at Winterfell. I could hear their voices – father, Bran…Lya! I begged Ned to let me go, I begged him for permission to join the Watch – I don’t know, for my penance mayhaps, for being alive.” Wrecking sobs shook Benjen’s entire body.

They fell quiet. Uncle and nephew both sat there on the ice of the Wall listening to the winds’ howl at the night. After a long while, Benjen nudged Jon’s shoulder.

“So, Aemon, eh? I remember how you liked to pretend to be the dragon-knight in your games.”

“Not yet, Uncle Ben, not yet…I am still Jon and will be so till I become worthy enough to bear such a name. I need a favour from you though.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to set up a discreet meeting with my namesake.”

“Your namesake? What are you…Maester Aemon?”

“Aye, he is my great grand uncle, or add another couple of great to that. That is the other reason for my visit here, I wanted to meet with both my uncles.”

Benjen nodded, “Give me a few days, I will see what I can do…Now come, let us go inside and get warm. We will catch our death sitting out here on the ice.”

They got up and made their way to the lift.

“You know, I was thinking how you more and more look like as if all my siblings put together when you rode through the gates. But your heart, it’s all Lya.”

Jon gave him a sad smile, “I would like to hear more about her from you.”

“And I would love to talk about her with you, son.”

---

 

The boys were looking while the Master-at-arms, Ser Aliser Thorne was training the recruits. The surly man was teaching them less and insulting them more. Watching the training for quite a while, they decided to go down and have a few spars of their own. They skirted around the men and went to the weapon racks to choose their arms.

“Look here, you maggots. The young lordlings have decided to grace us with their presence and have come down to wallow in the mud with us.” Ser Aliser’s scathing voice cut over the grunting and panting of the recruits.

They turned around to see the man approaching them, “So you are Lord Stark’s whelps, are you?”

Robb bristled in indignation, Jon grabbed his arm and indicated him to remain quiet. He had heard of the man from his uncle. Ser Aliser was a Targaryen loyalist. He refused to bend the knee to Robert and chose the Black instead. He hated all of those who partook in the Rebellion, and Eddard Stark was most notable among them.

“Aye, Ser, this is Lord Robb, eldest son and heir to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. These are Lord Torrhen Karstark of Karhold and Lord Asher Forrester of Ironwrath. My name is Jon Snow.”

“Yes, the White Wolf. We have heard about you even here in this frozen peace of shithole, Lord Snow.”

“Forgive me, Ser, but I am no lord.”

Ser Aliser quirked an eyebrow, “Aren’t you? Your clothing says quite a different tale, Lord Snow.” The men around them snickered hearing that.

Jon was having a hard time keeping all three of Robb, Asher and Torrhen calm from the barbs that targeted them, Jon in particular.

Ser Aliser sneered at them, “What are you doing in my yard?”

Jon took a deep breath, he needed to remain calm too, “We didn’t mean to disrupt your lessons, Ser. We just came down to have a few spars of our own.”

“Hear that lads, Lord Snow is here to show you what a lordling can do with a sword. If you pay close attention, you may learn a thing or two.” He turned towards Jon with a mocking smile on his face, “Come on then, My Lord, have a spar with me. Let us show these filths what a young warrior like you does to a proper foe.”

Jon could see that Benjen was striding fast towards them, probably wanting to put an end to all of these. Jon shook his head at him. He turned to find his cousin and friends were all red in the face, eyes burning with anger. He pushed them along and took them towards the weapon racks.

Robb was seething, “Why did you stop me, Jon? I could have…”

Jon cut him off, “You could have what, Robb? Punish him? Take a look around, brother, he is already at the Wall, he is already being punished. Here in Castle Black, it is different from the outside world. None here is a lord or a peasant. They are all Black Brothers, they are all the same. You want to be respected by them, you have to earn it.”

Robb didn’t look like he was convinced, neither did the others. Jon smirked and unclipped his belt with Frost and Freedom sheathed to it.

“Calm down, brother. Here, keep a hold of these. Let me see if I have learned enough to go against a fully trained knight.”

He winked at them and went to choose a sword with workable balance. Only a bastard sword seemed alright in his hand. He strapped on a buckler and swung the sword as he approached the yard, which was surrounded by the recruits, all eager to see how their master-at-arms beat the shit out of a lordling.

Ser Aliser snorted seeing Jon’s sword, “A bastard sword for a bastard, how apt.” The men around them roared in laughter. “Are you finally ready for our spar, My Lord?”

Jon nodded his head and went into a guarded stance. Ser Aliser started to circle him, trying to find an angle of attack. Jon moved along with him. The knight took a quick few steps forward and swung his blade aimed at his head. Jon bent backwards and let the sword glide away from him, then he got back to his stance. Ser Aliser tried to jab at his side, but Jon caught it on his buckler to deflect it, the knight put his buckler forward and tried to bash his sword arm, Jon turned on his left heel to avoid the attack. He took a couple of steps back and again got back in his defensive stance. Ser Aliser was quick on his feet as well as bulkier than him. He didn’t want to challenge him in strength. He planned to be defensive and on the lookout for a chance to make a strike of his own. The knight again rushed towards him and swung at his body, Jon drove forward and rolled under the knight’s extended arm and jumped up behind him, he tried to swing his sword, but the knight proved to be quicker than he thought. He turned around just in time to deflect Jon’s strike with his buckler. He again made a jab at his body. Jon jumped backwards and out of his reach.

“Stop dancing around and fight me, bastard!” He snarled at him.

Jon hid his smirk behind his raised buckler. He is losing his cool – he thought, good, that means he may make a mistake. Ser Aliser rushed at him again and swiftly swung his sword once, twice, thrice. Jon avoided all and danced away from him, making the knight come towards him, again and again. He could see that the knight was getting frustrated, being bested by a greenboy, and a Stark-spawn to boot. His swings became wilder, leaving his body more open, Jon was waiting for such a chance. Ser Aliser thrusted his sword to his upper torso and over-extended his reach, Jon put his right foot forward and pivoted on the heel bending backwards at the same time, leaving the sword gliding way top of him. He could see from his position the shocked look in the Knight’s eyes, he never saw movements like this, Jon dragged his left foot back and turned on his left heel and swung his sword with his full strength and momentum towards the Knight’s wide open mid-section. If it wasn’t a blunted sword, or if he wasn’t wearing his armours, Ser Aliser would have spilt his guts with that strike. Still, he grabbed his belly with his shielded arm and doubled over in pain, Jon jumped up and towards him with his sword drawn back, Ser Aliser saw him move by the corner of his eyes and put his buckler up to stave the attack off. But it was a feint, Jon didn’t land the attack with his sword, instead, he punched with his left hand and bashed his buckler hard to the Knight’s face. Ser Aliser crumpled down on the ground, blood was flowing freely from his broken nose and cut lips. Jon brought his left heel down on his wrist and put pressure on it for the knight to release the grip of his sword, he raised his blunted sword point first aimed at the knight’s throat.

“Snow, that is enough, lad!”

Jon stopped and turned his head. The Lord Commander was standing on the landing just outside of his solar watching over the fight. He nodded his head and lowered the sword, stepping away from the downed man. Ser Aliser sat up and wiped his face off and spat a glob of blood and spittle, he was looking at Jon with a venomous glare.

“I think that is enough lesson for the day, don’t you think, Ser?” Jon offered his hand to the knight.

He grabbed his hand and Jon pulled him off the ground, even he was a head shorter than the man, Jon was staring hard at his eyes.

“I heard you speak of my family as the ‘Usurper’s dogs’. You made a very big mistake there, Ser. You see, we are not dogs, but wolves, and we protect our pack members…from any kind of attack.” He gave him a curt nod and turned back towards the weapons rack to put his sword back on it.

Robb and the others had huge smiles on their faces.

“Damn, Jon, that was brutal!” Asher clapped him on his back.

“Aye, you destroyed him, brother!” Robb couldn’t be happier. Jon had exacted vengeance for the slight to their family.

“So this is how the famous White Wolf fights?” They turned around to see Benjen coming towards them, a big smile etched on his face. “Not bad, nephew. You are indeed becoming quite the warrior.” He ruffled his hair.

Jon gave them all a small smile and turned to look at Ser Aliser. The man shoved a Brother roughly out of his way and went inside the castle. Jon let out a sigh and shook his head. Even the man was a Targaryen loyalist, he had to do it. He couldn’t let one of his families belittled for the sake of the other. He was as much a wolf as he was a dragon, after all.

Ping!

Quest Success!

For this night and all the nights to come!

Earn the respect of the Black Brothers

Reward: +30 Reputation with the Watch

---

 

It had been a week since they had come to Castle Black, and three days after Jon demolished Ser Alisher. Jon and the others got to spar in the yard without any problems whatsoever. The recruits even thronged to their practice and watch how they wield a blade. Some even approached them for a lesson and two, which they were happy to give. Ser Alisher kept his distance from them. He sneered if he saw them giving the recruits arms lessons, and took it out later on those poor berks. Still, that didn’t stop them from learning from the White Wolf.

That morning, Jon was not that invested in sparring with his friends. Uncle Benjen had said the previous night that he managed to arrange for a meeting with Maester Aemon. The old Maester had asked him to be in his rooms later that morning. Robb and Asher asked him a couple of times why he appeared to be distracted, Jon made up some excuses and went back to his room to freshen up. He grabbed the chest his Uncle Ned had given him. It held the egg and all the letters of his parents.

His heart was beating fast as he stood before the door to the Maester’s rooms. This was the first time he would meet a member of his father’s family. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Enter.” The Maester’s voice came from the room.

Jon pushed the doors open and entered the room. The room was very much like the rooms of Maester Luwin or Darryl, sparsely decorated, but hundreds of tomes and scrolls covered almost all the walls in numerous shelves. The Maester himself was sitting by the hearth in a chair, his legs covered in a thick blanket.

“Good morning, Maester.” Jon stuttered out.

“Good morning to you too, young master Snow. Come, have a seat.”

Jon dragged a spare chair from the room and set it in front of the Maester and sat upon it. He was wondering how should he proceed.

“Your uncle said that you have some important information to share with me.” The question was evident in his voice.

“Aye, Maester, but I don’t know where to start.”

Aemon chuckled, “Always start at the beginning, lad. I have been told that is the best way.”

Jon blurted out, “I am your nephew!” He couldn’t stop himself.

For whatever it was the Maester thought Jon wanted to have this meeting, he didn’t expect to hear those particular words. He sat straight in his chair, his milky white eyes trained towards Jon, brows furrowed.

“Viserys? You can’t be him. You would have found out by your features…”

“No Maester, I am the son of your other nephew, Rhaeger.”

“Aegon? But they told me you were dead…no, no…you are Lyanna’s boy! Oh, Rhaeger! Oh, you bloody fool!”

“Maester?!” Jon was getting concerned about him, if a younger man like his Uncle Benjen could break down, then Maester Aemon was bound to have a more severe reaction than him. He was almost out of the room to go and get some help when the old man himself stopped him.

“Come back, lad, it is quite alright. I am used to having such earth-shattering news of my family. Come back to your seat.”

Jon slowly came back and sat down. “I am sorry, Maester.”

He waved the apology away, “Don’t fret about it.” He raised his hand towards his face but stopped short from touching. “May I?”

Jon understood that he wanted to use his hand as a substitute for his eyes. He replied, “Aye, Maester.”

“Call me uncle, lad.” He brushed his fingers all over Jon’s face, tears spilt down his cheeks.

“The colours of your hair and eyes?”

“Black and grey…Uncle!”

He nodded happily. “You strongly favoured the Starks, but I can feel traces of Egg in you. Just as he was about your age.”

He grasped Jon’s hands, “Thank you, nephew, I had lamented thinking that I was the last Targaryen. For none knew whether Viserys is still alive or not.”

“He lives, Uncle, him and his sister, Daenerys, I was told they are somewhere in Essos, hiding from Robert’s hired hands.”

Maester Aemon nodded, “That is indeed great news, yes! A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing. But tell me, you are not truly named Jon, are you?”

Jon squeezed his hands, “I heard that father wanted to name me Aegon, but mother disagreed, she named me after his favourite uncle, whom he respected greatly.”

“Aemon?” He breathed.

“Aye, Uncle, mayhaps Mother wanted me to be a wise man like you, but I had no easier friendship with books, so I took after our other namesake.”

The Maester chuckled hearing his answer. Both Targaryens, young and old, spoke for a long time. Jon again told his story of how he found out about his ancestry. Maester Aemon told him how his father, Rhaeger had come to meet him at the wall in disguise. How he was obsessed with the prophecy of the Promised Prince after a witch made some predictions to him. He didn’t know about the conspiracy Rhella and Rhaeger carried out about the child named Aegon, for letters could always get lost. Whenever they exchanged messages, it was always about the new songs his father wrote or asking advice from his wise uncle. He showed Jon the letters, he even mentioned to him about glimpsing ‘the beauty of a winter rose’ on his way to and from the wall. They both shed tears together for the family they lost.

During a lull in their conversation, Maester Aemon asked, “What do you plan to do, Aemon?”

Jon chuckled, “It is funny how everyone keeps asking me the same question, and I tell them the same answer each time – ‘I haven’t decided yet.’ To tell you the truth, Uncle, I am not sure myself. I want to travel the world. And I will do it in any way possible. Afterwards, I am not sure. I feel like there is so much for me to accomplish. It is the exact reason why I tell everyone to call me Jon. I feel like I haven’t earned to bear the name ‘Aemon’ yet. One of my namesakes was the famous Dragonknight, and the other one is truly the wisest man I have the fortune to meet.”

Maester Aemon smiled at him, “You honour me, nephew. If you think me wise, then please listen to what I have to say.”

“Of course, Uncle.”

He sat back up in his chair and grabbed Jon’s hands in a tight grip. “Be Jon Snow for as long as you like. But once you decide, you need to become Aemon Targaryen. Just as I told my brother after he was crowned by the Great Council – Kill the boy Egg, and let the man Aegon be born. I say the same to you now; when you feel that you are ready, kill the boy Jon Snow, and let the man Aemon Targaryen be born.”

“When will I become ready?”

“You will know when the time is right, nobody can decide that for you. All I can say for now is never stop growing. There are lessons to learn from everything and everybody around you. Be the best that you can be. But maintain caution that you do not become arrogant. I heard about your little incident at the yard. While I agree that Ser Aliser needed to be taken down a step or two, mayhaps you could have led with a calmer mind. I hope you know about my brother Aerion? Do not become another Brightflame, Aemon. Lord Stark had done well by you; you are growing into a fine young man. Never forget his teachings, for you cannot forego your roots.”

A sombre silence filled the room. After a few moments, Jon remembered the things his father left for him.

“I have the Dark Sister, Uncle!” He said excitedly.

“Oh? So he left it for you then? I wondered what happened to the blade. It was I who gave it to him. Brynden left it under my care before he disappeared beyond the wall.”

Jon took out the still sheathed sword and helped the Maester to grip it.

"I changed its appearance a bit, and also renamed it to keep its identity hidden, for now, else I would attract too much attention. I hope you do not mind."

"It is your birth right, Aemon. You can do whatever you like with it." He brushed his fingers on the wolfhead pommel. "What do you call it?"

"Frost, I wanted it to be linked with my Stark family, alongside Uncle Ned's Ice while I still maintain the name, Jon Snow. Dark Sister will once again sing freely in the hand of another Aemon Targaryen, Uncle, that I promise you."

"A fitting name for such a fine sword." The Maester nodded. He handed the sword back. "And I also appreciate the plans you have for it."

“…and I also have a dragon egg.” Jon took out the egg from the chest, it still felt warm to his touch, he pushed the egg to his uncle’s hands. At first, the old man frowned, then his face split into a childlike smile.

“It is alive!”

Jon was happy that his uncle could also feel the life inside the stonelike shell. “Aye. Uncle, it is alive.”

Suddenly, Maester Aemon went very serious. “You must give me your word that you will not try to hatch it as my brother did.”

“But, Uncle…”

“Your word, Aemon!”

Jon sighed, “I promise you that I will not take any risks to hatch this egg. I have been trying to find anything related to dragons. But I won't ever try to hatch it by dousing it in the wildfire, you have my word.”

“I can help you with that information. I have a few tomes in my collection written by the Valyrian dragonlords. Not even the Maesters at Citadel are aware of these. I have discovered them in a hidden room at Dragonstone in my youth and kept them secret for fear of my brother. You are learned in Valyrian, are you not?”

“Aye, Maester Luwin took great care in teaching me.” He was very happy about this unexpected wealth of knowledge.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, Uncle, I am also a warg!”

Jon laughed loudly at the stunned look on the old man’s face.

---

 

Jon didn’t know where he was. The ground and the bushes around him are covered in deep snow. The trees could be there since the beginning of the time, so big they were. He didn’t know how he got here, wherever ‘here’ is. He didn’t have his weapons about him, which he found even more strange. He never ventured out at least without his dagger, and since receiving Frost and Freedom, he always made sure they are secured to his belt. Was he attacked and the muggers ran off with his weapons? He shook his head, trying to remember where he was before ‘waking up here’. He looked around him for any sign of a landmark but couldn’t find any. The sun was of no help as it was hidden by a cloudy sky. He broke off a branch from a tree for a makeshift staff and took off decided on a way.

He walked by his estimation about an hour through the woods and snow. Still, he couldn’t find any sign of a way out. The funny thing was that if he was stuck that deep in a wood, he had yet to meet any kind of wild lives. He couldn’t even hear the buzzing of insects. Tired of treading through the snow, he decided to rest for a few minutes and think about the odd situation he found himself in. He sat down and leaned against a tree. But he jumped back to his feet almost instantly, he recognized the area. He had been walking through dense wood for a long time, yet he was back right where he started. He was almost sure that he didn’t turn around at any point and kept his way as straight as possible. He looked around the ground but couldn’t see his footprints. It didn’t snow in the meantime that they would get covered. He grabbed his staff tightly, what the fuck is going on?

A sound of chuckling came from behind him. He whirled around to find an old man standing, leisurely leaning against a tree. He was quite tall, about six feet in height. His long, white hair was covering half of his face. He was wearing a blood-red tunic and black breeches with black boots. His tunic had linings of grey. He also had a grey cloak on his shoulder with a grey hood, though it wasn’t covering his head.

“Who the fuck are you? Where am I?” Jon growled at him.

“You are exactly where you were meant to be, young man.” The man said with a smile.

“I am in no mood for riddles, old man, speak clearly.”

“Or what? Would you beat me to death?” He smirked at Jon.

“You are about to find out.” Jon took a step forward threateningly.

A sudden gust of wind blew through the trees. The old man seemed almost annoyed by it.

“Oh, alright. I was just having a little fun.” The man stood straighter and drew a serious mien on his face. “Come, walk with me, Aemon.”

Jon was shocked out of his skull. Another one knew of his secret, a man he didn’t even recognize?

“Who are you? How do you know about that name?

The man again gave his infuriating smirk to him. “I know everything there is to know about you, Aemon Targaryen. Now come, we mustn’t tarry any longer.” He strode away without a backward glance.

Jon had to run to catch up with him. For an old man, he was quite quick on his feet.

“Can you at least tell me who you are, My Lord?”

“Of course, how rude of me,” he shook his head as if he hadn’t heard Jon asking the same question before, “Ser Brynden Rivers, at your service, also known as Lord Bloodraven. Bastard son of King Aegon IV. Former Hands to the King Aerys I and King Maeker I. Former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

Jon took a wide-eyed glance at the old man, truly, the red birthmark, which looked like a raven spreading its wings, was present at the right side of his face and neck, the reason he was called ‘Bloodraven’. Also the empty left eye socket, a reminder of when he lost it in the duel against Aegor Bittersteel.

“Are not supposed to be dead?” Jon blurted out.

Bloodraven let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t know. Am I?” He asked him back.

Jon didn’t know what he was to reply. They continued to walk in silence.

“My Lord…”

He cut him off, “You can call me uncle, you know, like Aemon, I am also your distant uncle. So you can call me uncle like you call him.”

“You know about that? Oh…of course, you do, a thousand eyes and one!” Jon muttered under his breath.

Bloodraven let out another barklike laughter. “Ask me what you were going to ask, lad.”

“Very well, Uncle Brynden, where exactly are we?”

“We are right at the middle of true North, lad, the lands beyond the Wall.”

When did he cross the Wall, and how? Jon shook his head. “And where are we going?”

“Oh, we are not going anywhere, for we are already here.”

Jon looked around him. They had reached the top of a wooded hill. Right at the summit, there was a huge Weirwood tree. Jon turned towards Bloodraven with an incredulous look on his face.

“It’s impossible. I have been travelling in the same direction for an hour but turned back to where I started from. Yet here we are, walking the same way and reached this hill.”

Bloodraven turned away from him and snickered. “That would be my doing, Aemon, think nothing of it.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“Oh, don’t be like that. I do get to have a little fun with my grand-nephew, don’t I?” Jon kept staring at him. Bloodraven shook his head and muttered, “You bloody Northerner!”

He waved his hands to indicate the surrounding area, “This is where I want you to come, Aemon. Memorize this place. Right beneath this tree, you will find the entrance to a cave. You must come to the cave, Aemon.”

“Is this another of your bloody mummery?”

His face changed as if carved out of stone. “I have been called many things in my life, Aemon. A bastard, a kinslayer, a dark mage…but never was I known for japing about the safety of the realms, safety of all the people. What I ask of you now, know this, it is paramount that you heed my words. Come to this hill, Aemon. The lives of the entire Westeros, mayhaps even the world, may depend upon it.”

“But I don’t know where is this place, I have never been to the north of the Wall.”

Bloodraven pointed towards a mountain range at a distance. “You see those mountains, those are the Frostfang Mountains. Right at the foot of it is the rounded hilltop called Fist of the First Men, situated at the western edge of the Haunted Forest. That is where we are standing now, this is the Haunted Forest.” He turned Jon towards the south, he could see the wall in distance. “And that way, as you can see, is the Wall. You must come beyond the wall, Aemon. Convince your Uncle Benjen to act as a guide for you. Leaving the Wall, you will reach a place called Craster’s Keep in several day’s journeys. From there, keep the Fist on your left, and continue to venture north in a relatively straight line, you cannot miss this hill. We must talk face to face, Aemon. Come and find me.”

Jon tried to wrap his head around everything Bloodraven had told him. He was extremely confused about the whole situation.

“Wait, is this all happening in real? Or is it all inside of my head because I drank too much?”

“Of course it is all happening in your head, Aemon, but that doesn’t mean that it is anything but real.” He winked at him, “Now it is time for you to return, Aemon. You must wake up now…”

“…up Jon, you must wake up now!” Robb’s voice cut through the haze.

Jon opened his eyes and bolted up straight, he was still at Castle Black, in their shared room with Robb and others, and his cousin was shaking his shoulder to get him to wake up from his sleep.

“Gods, Jon, were you drunk or what? I must have been calling you for the past fifteen minutes.”

Jon shook his head, he could still feel the grip of Bloodraven’s hand on his shoulder. “I was too tired, brother, so I slept quite deeply. I am up now.”

“Well, get a move on then, time for breaking our fast is almost over.” Robb got out of the room.

Jon got up and started to dress, he was still thinking about the dream he had. Sounds of wings made him turn around towards the window. Lord Mormont’s raven flew in through it and landed on his empty bed. The bird looked at him and started cawing.

“Snow! Snow! Snow!”

Jon chuckled, “Aye, I am Jon Snow.”

“Hill! Hill! Hill!”

Jon could only stare at the bird.

“Come! Come! Come!” The raven flew out of the window.

Jon made a plan to have a talk with his Uncle Benjen about a trip beyond the Wall, as soon as possible.

Chapter 14: The Land Beyond Time and Hearth

The Land Beyond Time and Hearth

Jon made his way towards the dining hall of Castle Black. He had his eyes peeled for a glimpse of his uncle, he didn’t want to waste time. The dream of Bloodraven and the messages from the actual raven had shaken him up so. He crossed the yard in deep thought, not seeing his uncle anywhere. He found Robb and the others sitting together having their meals. He took a plate of food consisting of bread, burnt sausages and poached eggs and a mug of ale to wash it all down, and went to sit with them.

“Have you seen Uncle Benjen this morning?” Jon asked Robb sitting opposite of him.

“No, I heard he is in a meeting with the Lord Commander. So mayhaps we will get to see him later in the morning.” Robb shrugged his shoulder.

Jon nodded and concentrated on his food. He was still thinking about how he should approach his uncle with the proposal for accompanying in a ranging mission beyond the Wall. He was brought back to the world by a sharp kick from Robb to his shin. He looked up at him indignantly.

“What?!”

Robb narrowed his eyes at him, “I was the one who is supposed to ask you that question. Asher has been trying to rouse you but you seemed to be enamoured with your sausage.” He gave him a smirk. Asher and Torrhen chuckled.

Jon threw him a dirty look, “You are not as funny as you think, do you know that, Stark?”

“Oh, I am plenty funny to the right audience, Snow, now please answer the question.”

“I am sorry, was there a question somewhere between those childish barbs?”

Asher leaned forward on the table, “Now I am also pretty sure that you are up to something, Jon. Come on, out with it.” Torrhen too turned towards Jon with a questioning look on his face.

Jon took a look at all their faces and sighed, he pushed his almost finished plate of food away and leaned in closer to the table, beckoning the others to move even closer towards him.

“I am planning on meeting with the Lord Commander later and propose him of a ranging beyond the Wall. I need to convince Uncle Benjen first so that I can come with him to this ranging. Mayhaps we could find this ‘King-beyond-the-Wall’ and take a measure of the man and the force he has under him.” He couldn’t tell them of the real reason he wanted to go beyond the Wall after all.

“I knew it!” Robb whispered furiously, “I knew you would do something foolhardy if you come here after what we found at Skagos. That is why I insisted to come along with you. Forget it, Jon, you are not going out there.”

Jon ran a hand through his hair in frustration, he should have thought that was exactly what Robb was going to say. He tried for a different approach, he took a gamble with it and decided to give them half-truths.

“You do know I am a warg, right?” Everybody nodded their heads, “What I didn’t tell you is that since I came here, or more clearly since I came into contact with the Wall, the magic of it had woken something in me and I am started to have this sort of dreams. Which I am pretty sure is Greenseer dreams. When you came to wake me this morning, Robb, I was having one such dream. It indicated me to go beyond the Wall, and I intend to follow it through.”

Jon could see that his friends hadn’t believed him. They were still looking at him suspiciously.

“Look, I don’t care if you believe me or not. I know I am in the right. If you don’t want me to go alone out there, Robb, then, by all means, come with me. Now that I said about it, I think it will be a far better idea for all of us to go. This way, we can convince the Lord Commander that we will not be needing too many resources from the Watch or more men for our trip. We will go with the men we brought along with us. Only Uncle Benjen will come with us as a guide and a representative for the Watch.”

Robb looked very seriously at Jon, “Brother, do you know how wroth Father was when he heard about your actions with the Ironborn or the invaders? He almost took it out of my hide because I didn’t stop you from doing those foolish things. He specifically told me to drag your arse back home if I feel the situation demands it. And I think this -” he waved his hand to Jon, “truly demands it.”

Jon couldn’t see any way of making Robb agree with him, he was desperate. “Robb, brother, I know Father worries about us. I know that I have put you through hell when I dove into the sea or charged out to meet the Skagosi. But I need you to understand, please! I cannot properly explain this to you, but I feel that this place that I saw in my dreams, holds the key to my destiny. Would you deny me of it?”

Jon knew he was being unfair to Robb, but he had to go to the hill with the Weirwood tree, by any means possible.

Robb had his head down in deep thought. Jon waited for him to answer with growing anxiety. After a long while, he raised his head and looked for Asher and Torrhen. “What do you lads think about this?”

Asher took a few moments to form his answer, “Jon does pull some insane ideas out of his crazed head, but they are always beneficial in the end. If he feels this strongly to go to the place he dreamt of, I think we should give him a chance. We will be there to watch his back after all.”

Torrhen was rubbing his brows, he was well aware of the dangers Jon normally attracted towards himself. “Aye, if we deny him now, he may give us the slip and go out there alone. You all know how wily our Jon is. If we are out there with him, mayhaps we can control this wild beast somewhat.” He sent him a smirk.

Robb let out a frustrated sigh, “Very well, we will all go along with this madness.” He turned towards Jon and pointed his finger to him, “But, you need to convince Uncle Benjen and the Lord Commander on your own, don’t expect any help from me doing that, Snow.”

Jon had a face splitting grin on. “Thank you, all of you. You have no idea what this means to me. And don’t you worry, Robb, I will take care of everything.”

Robb snorted, “That is what I am afraid of.”

Jon didn’t mind the jab, he had overcome the first obstacle. Next, he needed to convince his uncle, and through him, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

---

 

 It was easier than he thought to make his uncle understand the urgency of his visiting the hill with the Weirwood tree. He took his Uncle Benjen with him to a discussion with Maester Aemon. There, he told the both of them about his dream and the message that Bloodraven had told him through it. Benjen was sceptical about it all, but Maester Aemon was thoughtful.

“What you have described, Aemon is the true nature of our Uncle Brynden. The man was vilified, made a myth of the blackest nature, but in reality, he was nothing more than a man devoted to his duties to the realm and its people. He and I came to the Wall together, escorted by Ser Duncan. We had spent many nights just talking. In a way, I knew him better than any living soul. Are you certain he truly lives still? He must have become ancient by now, and my telling so should hold some light to the matter.”

Jon snorted the way the Maester said the last thing. Indeed, Bloodraven should be a man over hundred years of age by now.

“And this ancient relic of a man sent our nephew here a message in his dreams? Pardon me, but I just don’t believe in all this magic.” Benjen scoffed.

Maester Aemon turned his sightless eyes towards the ranger, Benjen squirmed in his seat by the intensity in those milky white eyes trained on him.

“Pardon me for asking, Benjen Stark, but doesn’t your family boast to have the blood of First Men? Haven’t you read about your ancestors who were wargs and have direwolf companions? Greenseeing abilities? Like the blood of First Men, the blood of old Valyria too boasts for the magic it holds. Deanys the Dreamer has documented what she believed to be prophetic dreams, and believing in her powers, the Targaryens managed to escape the Doom that ended the Valyrian Empire. Our ancestors rode actual fire breathing dragons. There are more things between heaven and earth, Master Benjen, that a man’s philosophy can’t even dream of. Take this young man here, for instance, he is a warg, have a falcon companion and starting to show some Greenseer abilities.”

Jon was listening intently to his Targaryen uncle, a lifetime could be spent listening to the man, for he was equal to none in knowledge and wisdom with any man he had met in his life. He reached out and touched the arm of his agitated maternal uncle.

“Uncle Ben…we are at the Wall. A construct that has been standing tall for nearly eight thousand years. Our world has seen numerous summers in this long a time, yet the Wall made of ice hasn’t melted down. What can it be if it is not magic? Uncle Aemon is right, our blood does contain the power, Uncle Ben, for it was Bran the Builder who had built this thing - Brandon Stark!”

Jon could see that Benjen was still reluctant, but also couldn’t refute the arguments both Aemons put forward to him. He let out a defeated sigh and nodded.

“Very well, I will speak with the Lord Commander. But I am not making any promises, and I certainly will not be telling him about all this magical business, I’ll be laughed right out of his solar.” He glared at the duo, daring them to tell him otherwise. Jon gave him a beatific smile.

“Thank you, Uncle Benjen, that is all I ask.”

Benjen huffed and got out of the room. Jon was mentally cheering about getting over another obstacle when Maester Aemon cleared his throat to indicate he had something more to say to him.

“While I hope success in your endeavour, Aemon, I also urge you to maintain caution. Magic is not to be taken lightly, it is like a sword without a hilt. It can hurt the wielder the same it does to the one it was wielded for. The Maesters at the Citadel had spent years of their lives to dissuade the notion of magic, for they think it is too unreliable. And whatever Uncle Brynden tells you, think it over, do not decide upon them readily.”  

Jon nodded his head, “Aye, uncle, I will keep it in my mind.”

---

 

Benjen had somehow managed to make the Lord Commander granting them leave for a ranging mission. He was reluctant of sending his former liege lord’s sons out there into the dangerous, wildlands beyond the Wall, but since they would be accompanied with a contingent of armed guards, and would be guided by a seasoned ranger like Benjen Stark, who was also their uncle, he finally agreed to let them accompany on this mission.

Their preparations took two days, on the dawn of the third day, they went out by the tunnel under the Wall, towards the lands of proper North, lands of mystery and unknown dangers. Jon had become used to the wonder that was the Wall made of ice, but when he was riding through the tunnel with dripping ice water falling on top of him, he was once again mesmerized by its creation.

When they were out into the sunlight, Gale had made her presence known by shrieking. She was strangely absent during the entirety of their stay at Castle Black. She circled them twice before flying over the path they had decided to follow. Jon had an inclination that Bloodraven was behind Gale’s suspicious disappearance and now her acting like a flying herald. He turned towards Benjen who was riding beside him.

“That, Uncle Ben, is Gale. She is my friend, companion, and the spoiled princess thanks largely to Lady Anya, little Alys and Sansa.”

Gale, who had turned around for another pass overhead, had swooped down to flew over the men’s heads and when she was passing Jon, she whacked him on his head by her wings, eliciting snickers from Robb and the others.

“Alright, alright! You are not a spoiled princess!” Jon shouted after her. He turned to face his uncle as if trying to say – see, what did I tell you. Benjen laughed out loud by the antics of his nephew and his haughty familiar.

“We should follow her Uncle, she is showing us the way.” Jon gave Benjen a meaningful stare. Benjen nodded and tried to map out the straightest route towards Craster’s Keep in his head.

[CotW]

It took them five days of trekking through the snow to reach Craster’s Keep. It was laughable to call the collection of ramshackle huts haphazardly made of wood and stone, a keep. But still, it was a somewhat fortified homestead so far beyond the Wall. Benjen had warned the men of uttering a single word in the presence of Craster or even look towards any women present at the keep.

As they rode through the makeshift gates, a man came out of the main hut. He was old, wearing clothes similar to that of a Black Brother, but fur patches sewn in his clothing helped with spotting the difference. He sneered at Benjen when his eyes fell over him, baring his yellow teeth.

“Benjen Stark. I hadn’t wish ta see yer ugly face for a long while. What are ye doing back so soon?”

Jon could see that Benjen’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. But he maintained the civility of his tone, “Greetings Craster, we are on yet another ranging mission.”

Craster peered towards the men, “They don’t look like crows ta me.”

“Aye, they are not Black Brothers, they are men from Winterfell, guarding the sons of Lord Stark.”

“Ah, the sons of yer kneeler brother.” He looked for Jon and Robb, “They look mighty pretty, prettier than me wives.” He guffawed at his own words.

Benjen stopped Robb’s hand from reaching for his sword. Craster looked on amusedly at their reactions.

“Did I offend ye, pretty boy? Ye wanna take out yer sword ta punish me?” Craster again snarled at them like a wild animal, “Learn from yer crow uncle boy, yer on my lands, so yer under my rules.” He turned once again towards Benjen, “I take it ye wanna shelter?”

“Aye, and some supplies and information, if you would.”

“Fine then, yer can come inside, but warn yer men, crow, I’ll take their hands if they touch me pig, I’ll gauge their eyes if they look where they’re not supposed ta be lookin’.” Saying that Craster turned around and went inside his home.

Benjen led the men towards the makeshift shed to tether their horses. He turned to them with a serious look, “Once again, do not say a word to that man and for the sake of Old Gods, do not look at anybody in the eyes.”

They were all confused with all these warnings, Asher couldn’t help himself from asking, “Why shouldn’t we look? And what did he mean by wives?”

Benjen shook his head, “Trust me, Lord Forrester, you don’t want to know.”

---

 

Ned was happy when he saw Winterfell in the distance. It had been months since he was away from his home. He spurred on his horse a little faster to reach for the welcoming walls of the keep. When he rode through the gates, he saw all of his family stood in the yard to welcome him home. As soon as he got down from his horse, he was attacked by three blurs, Arya, Bran and Rickon slammed into him babbling happily. He got down to his knees and hugged each of his children. He placed a kiss on each of their foreheads and placed little Rickon on his shoulders. Sansa, as always, the perfect little lady, had waited for her father to come forward. She gave him the warmest and sweetest smile and hugged him tightly.

“I have missed you, Father!” Her voice was muffled in the leathers of his armour.

He put Rickon on the ground and bent down to kiss Sansa’s forehead, she was becoming a very beautiful woman, he wondered. “I have missed you too, sweetling.”

He gave a nod towards Cley Cerwyn, Ladies Jonelle and Wynafryd, and approached his wife. Catelyn Stark stood there resplendent in her mix of Tully and Stark colours and flaming red hair. She bowed to him, “Welcome home, My Lord Husband. Winterfell is yours.”

He hugged her and kiss on her cheek, “’ Tis good to be home again, My Lady.”

She took another glance at the men that came with Ned as if searching for someone. Not finding what she was looking for, a shadow of worry passed over her face, eyes narrowed, she nodded with a sniff and turned around, “I have ordered the servants to draw a bath for you. If you please, you should clean yourself before partaking in meals at the Great Hall, My Lord. Now, you must excuse me for I have my duties to attend to.” She marched inside of the keep.

Ned stood there bewildered by the frosty behaviour of his wife, what had he done now?

Cat had avoided him for the rest of the day, she performed each of her duties as the benevolent Lady of the House but gave him a cold shoulder. Even during the meals, she kept herself busy by discussing lessons of the children with Lady Ella, Ned tried to answer their children’s thousands of questions all at once and kept wondering what he did so heinous now for his wife to behave in such a way.

As the night deepened, they had retired for the day. Ned was waiting for his wife to come into their bedroom, too long he had been away from her. Catelyn stormed into the room and shut the doors with a slam.

“Cat!” He spread his arms for an embrace, but Catelyn pushed him away. She was fuming mad.

“Where are the boys, Ned? Where have you left them?”

Ned sighed and sat down on the bed. She was worried about her son and nephew’s absence, he finally understood. He tried to explain to her about the aftermath of their war and how Jon had insisted to visit the Wall to warn the Watch and also pay a visit to Benjen. Robb, being a dutiful brother and heir to the North, accompanied him to lend even more weight to his words, as well as keeping an eye on the untameable White Wolf. Catelyn was pacing around the room throughout Ned’s explanations, muttering under her breath about irresponsible boys and how she would wring their ears and knock their heads together once she got hold of them. Ned got up and went to her. He wrapped his arms around her and nudged her neck.

“Now, how about I show you how much I have missed my wife?”

Catelyn moaned against his chest, still, she pushed back against him and gave him a mock glare, “Don’t think you are out of the woods yet, husband. If I hear that they got into some danger because you didn’t stop them beforehand, you would be sleeping with the horses for the foreseeable future.”

Ned chuckled and lowered his head to capture her lips with his own.

[CotW]

Ned immersed himself into the drudgery of life at Winterfell. He preferred the peace to the excitement and violence of battles, thank you very much. Each morning, he would get up from the warm embrace of his beautiful wife. He would then go to the Godswood to pray to the Gods. Sometimes, he would observe how his girls were advancing with their training. He was still amazed at the closeness Sansa and Arya showed nowadays. The sisterly spats were always there, but they had started to appreciate the other, Arya even dragged Sansa to some of her mischiefs, much to Cat’s consternation. After breaking his fast, he would go to his solar to take care of the parchment, a lord’s work never ends – he thought sometimes. In the afternoons, he would observe how Bran was progressing with his training before sitting down at the Great Hall to hold court and hear the pleas and complaints of his people. Maester Luwin and Cat would be there to provide their help. Then a peaceful supper with family and retiring for the day. The Quiet Wolf loved the quietness of his home life.

It had been a couple of weeks since he had returned home. He was sitting at the solar answering to the missives from his lords. Many of them had started to make subtle plays for betrothals of Robb, Sansa and Jon. The lords were very impressed by Jon’s prowess on the battlefield and his ability to lead men. He even heard rumours about how Jon was the son of Brandon instead of his get because he was as fierce as Brandon was. The Honourable Ned Stark didn’t want to sully his dead brother’s name and claimed the boy to be his own. Ned thought what they would think if they somehow came to know about Jon’s parentage. He was checking the ledgers for the expenditures of the month when Maester Luwin knocked on the doors of his solar.

“Pardon me, My Lord, but there was a raven from the Wall for you.”

Ned took the rolled-up parchment from the Maester’s hand and broke the seal. He sat down heavily on his chair after he had read the note. Robb and Jon went beyond the wall with Benjen. What the fuck was going in the heads of those two? How could Benjen allow them to step a foot beyond the Wall? Hadn’t Robb insisted that he would keep a watch on his brother, then why would he go along with this instead of dragging him back home as he ordered him to do? He was massaging his temple; he could feel a headache had started to settle in. Those two boys would be in a world of pain when they return. Suddenly, he sat straight in his chair, what was he to tell his wife? A chill ran down his spine.

---

 

They had been on their way again, trekking through the snow. They had left Craster’s Keep behind a week ago. Benjen had a hard time keeping everyone calm. The men he had not worried about since the Stark men would listen to the orders given by a Stark, even a Stark wearing the blacks. It was his nephews that he didn’t allow to leave his sides for the duration of their stay at Craster’s. He told them to keep their heads down when the daughter-wives of the repulsive man offered them food. Craster had trained his beady, little eyes on them, making comments to provoke any reaction out of them. When they left the homestead at the dawn of the next day, both Robb and Jon had exploded in righteous anger. They were intelligent, they had understood what Craster meant by his wives by observing the similarities between the poor women and girls that who they were. When they explained it to the others that Craster forced his daughters to marry him and then beget more children by them, all of them had wanted to go back and raze his home to the ground while stringing the vile man on a Weirwood tree and offering his entrails to the Old Gods like in the old times. Benjen had a new appreciation for his brother Ned because of his ability to calm down an enraged mass and make his voice heard. He told them about how Craster’s was a resting point for the rangers beyond the wall. They went there to restock their supplies and to get information about wildling tribes. The Watch knew about his practices and his link with the tribes, still, they tended to overlook it all for the sake of the argument ‘lesser of two evils’ and had an unspoken deal with the man. He could see that the young men were not mollified, but they didn’t raise any other objections afterwards.

Benjen was riding at the head of the party, flanked by his nephews and their friends. The arduous, long journey wasn’t seemed to be that much of a hardship because of the bantering duo that was Jon and Asher. Their constant bickering was a regular source of entertainment for the men.

After riding quietly for a while, Asher let out a long and drawn-out sigh, “Who would have thought that making friends with Jon will cost me my balls. They are already frozen and about to fall off.”

Jon replied from the other side with a smirk, “Do you even have balls? I thought otherwise.”

Asher hunched forward to peer around the others to Jon, “How would you know? Did you grope me? Have you taken advantage of me while I was asleep?”

Jon snorted, “Is that you admitting in a roundabout way that you truly have a cunt?”

Robb didn’t pay mind to those inane bantering, he nudged Benjen and asked, “Where are we now, Uncle Ben?”

Benjen looked around him and pointed far to the left, “You see that hill over there beyond the trees, that looks like as if a fist was rising out of the ground? That is the Fist of the First Men. I think we have reached the place where we are supposed to come.” He looked towards Jon.

Jon had heard his uncle’s words, he had turned serious in an instant. He kept turning his head in every direction as if to find a specific spot. “Keep your eyes peeled for a wooded hill, there would be a Weirwood tree at the summit. You can’t miss it.”

Torrhen pointed out to their right, “You mean the tree Gale is sitting upon?”

Jon turned to look and saw that Gale was indeed sitting on a branch of the Weirwood tree atop the hill, looking down at them imperiously. He gave out an ear-to-ear smile, “Aye, Torrhen, that is exactly it.”

They spurred their horses and went up the hill with a few difficulties. Soon they had reached the tree and got down from their rides. Jon went up to the tree and touched its trunk with his eyes closed.

Benjen watched for a few minutes as his nephew seemed to be praying to the tree. He called out, “Jon?”

Jon turned around and said, “We are here, Uncle Benjen. Tell the men to make camp here, I will see you all in a while. I am going to find a cave.”

Robb jumped up and blocked his path, “Oh no, you don’t. You are not going anywhere alone. We are coming with you.”

Jon stared hard at him, “Robb, this is not some merry trip that we are all going together. I am here for a specific reason.”

Robb returned his stare with equal force, “Exactly, brother. This is not a merry trip. We don’t know if there are any hidden dangers in this cave of yours. We will be watching your back. If you want, the men will remain here, but we are coming with you.” He pointed at himself and at Asher and Torrhen, both of whom adjusted their gears with resolute looks about them.

“Not only them, nephew, I will also be coming with you. I am answerable to your parents after all.” Benjen interjected.

Jon let out a frustrated sigh, “Fine, you all can come with me!”

“We were not asking for your permission, Snow.” Robb said with a smirk, “Now, let’s find your cave.”

They were searching for a while when Jon spotted the entrance to the cave, it was hidden behind shrubbery, if he didn’t know of its existence, he would have overlooked it. He called for the others. Each of them lit a torch and went into the dark cave. Jon was at the front, sword at the ready in his right hand, and a torch held above head in his left. They carefully advanced farther in a single file, Jon was followed by Robb, Asher and Torrhen, with Benjen bringing the rear and watching their backs. They didn’t know how many turns they took. The tunnel seemed to be a never-ending one, hewn out of soil and rocks. White roots of the tree above were dangling from the ceiling, surprisingly, the musty scent that was expected in such a deep tunnelling cave was absent. Instead, they could smell the scents of flower, grass and something that reminded them of rain. After walking for a long time, they finally reached an area large enough to be called a hall. Numerous tunnels other than the one they have been following had honeycombed the area. They stepped into the hall and were looking around to the network of tunnels with wonder in their eyes.

“Now, which way are we supposed to go? Or is this it?” Robb asked Jon.

He too was looking around for any sign for him to indicate that he had reached his destination. “I don’t know. All I have been told was to come to the hill and find this c…” his words died in his mouth, a sound of shuffling feet came from ahead of them. They all stood shoulder to shoulder and raised their swords, only to be shocked by the appearance of a being not taller than of a child. They had green-tinted, rough-looking skin like the berk of a tree, large doe-like green eyes, green hair on their head. The being raised their arms in the air as a sign of submission, they had four fingers in each hand, and said in a very childlike voice-

“Kalm, kinder ór menn. Ungrrinn khampion var köllumk. Eru þú hann?” (Peace, children of men. The young champion was called. Are you him?)

They looked at each other’s shocked faces, Jon took a step forward, “Já, Ek em ungrinn khampion. Ek var köllumk hí með minn fǫðurbróðir.” (Aye, I am the young champion. I was called here by my uncle.)

The being nodded their head, they waved their hand for them to follow, “Komþár, hrafnrinn er waiting fyrir þú” (Come then, the raven is waiting for you.)

The being gone within a blink of an eye. The five of them stood rooted to their spots.

“That was a fucking Child of the Forest!” Robb yelled out.

“Aye, and they wanted us to follow them.” Jon said solemnly.

“How the fuck are you so calm, Jon? We just saw a myth come to life!” Robb had started to panic. If they were not in that situation, they would have found that funny.

“Simmer down, brother. No need to get your blood up yet. And I am calm because I don’t think this is the end of surprises that await us down here. I promise I will also lose my mind along with you when we get out of here.”

“That was Old Tongue, Jon, I understood only a few words of it, not all. Where did you learn it?” Benjen asked.

“Old Nan taught me. She used to sing to me about the Children of the Forest, tell stories from the Northern folklore. I asked her to teach me the tongue of the North.”

“Why didn’t she taught me?” Robb was indignant.

“She tried to, but by then Greyjoy had arrived at Winterfell.” Jon gave him a pointed look. Robb had the decency to look ashamed. He knew how he acted along with the Squid-ward.

“Aren’t we supposed to follow the Child?” Asher said in a trembling voice.

“Aye, but how are we to follow? They vanished too fast for us to catch up.”

As if summoned by the sound of their name, the mythical being once again appeared out of the darkness in front of them.

“Koma, koma, hrafnrinn villir til meet.” (Come, come, the raven wants to meet.)

“Apologr, en megþúr líðminnir fastr? vér erum eigi sem fastr sem þú eru.” (Sorry, but can you go a little slower? We are not as fast as you are.)

The Child smiled at them, they nodded and waved their hand for them to follow, and turned around to walk slowly farther into the cave.

Jon said, “Come on then, let us continue.”

The Child kept looking back at them over their shoulder and gave them a wide smile each time. They acted like they were very glad to have guests at their home. They led Jon and the others to another larger cavern. It was darker than the rest of the tunnel they had travelled. Even the torches in their hand couldn’t chase away all the darkness of the cave. The Child clapped their hands once and motioned their hands in an outwards swipe as if spreading the energy from their hands. Shockingly, torches came to life all along the walls of the cave. The sudden brightness made the five avert their eyes.

“Heil hrafn, khampionrinn er hí til sjá þú.” (Greetings, Raven. The Champion is here to see you.)

A raspy voice sounded from the centre of the cave, “Ek thank þú, logr.  Let mik sjá minn kind.” (I thank you, River, let me see my family.)

With their eyes adjust in the light, the five were looking about the cave. They stifled their gasps when their eyes found the speaker. Right at the middle of the cave, there were roots of the Weirwood tree that formed a throne-like seat. Sat on that throne was a very old man. The roots have half entwined him within themselves, one such root even went inside of his empty left eye socket. They were shocked by the grisly sight, wondering if they should help the old man. Jon took a step towards the man. Robb tried to grab his shoulder but he shook him off. On his way to the throne, Jon turned to the child and bowed his head.

“Þú hafminnr thanks, gamall einn.” (You have my thanks, ancient one.)

The Child gave him a big smile and waved him on. Jon went nearer to the throne and greeted the old man.

“You don’t look so good, Uncle.”

Bloodraven gave the same bark like laughter as from the dream. “How true, nephew. Thank you for visiting me.”

“You didn’t leave me much choice, did you, Uncle? You have no idea how much grovelling I had to do for them to let me come this far beyond the Wall.”

“Yes, you are truly blessed to have such loyal family and friends.” Bloodraven turned his eye towards Jon’s companions, “They don’t appear to be very happy being here.”

Jon turned around to see that Benjen, Robb, Asher and Torrhen were gripping their blades tightly and looking about the throne of roots as if contemplating the easiest way to rescue the old man and Jon from the cave.

“Be at ease, lads. No need to worry. Uncle Ben, everything is alright.” Jon tried to reassure them.

“I am sure they will be fine, nephew. But I am afraid that the time is rather short and you need to proceed.”

Jon nodded, “Tell me, Uncle, what I must do.”

“You need to meet the beings far older and wiser than us, nephew. I can guide you some of the ways, but you must complete the journey on your own.” Bloodraven motioned with his hand, “Leggjpaster, inn leaf.” (Bring the paste, Leaf.)

Jon hadn’t noticed that more Children had filled into the cave and standing close to the walls. One of them came forward carrying a small pot in their hands. It was full of red looking paste.

“What is it, Uncle?” Jon sniffed at it, it was giving a strange intoxicating smell.

“A paste made from Weirwood leaves, seeds and sap. They will help you to truly open your eyes.”

“Jon, no!” Robb shouted from behind. Jon turned to see Robb and the others were trying to reach him, but some of the Children were standing in their way with spears raised.

“Worry not, brother. I am not in any kind of danger here, trust me.”

Bloodraven gave him a crooked smile, “Indeed, nephew, but first, you need to come out from behind the shell you have been hiding into and embrace your true self. If you do not appear to be true to yourself, you cannot interpret the truth of the world. You must proclaim your birthright before you venture on.”

Jon looked incredulously at Bloodraven, he couldn’t be serious, could he? Did he need to speak out loud about his true name and parentage? But the old man didn’t appear to be anything but serious, he was looking expectantly towards him. Jon turned around to look at his companions, they were looking at him with wide eyes, restrained somewhat by the Children, no wonder thinking what they were talking about. His eyes fell on to his Uncle Benjen, he too was looking at everything with wide eyes. For so long he had been a ranger for the Watch, yet he never encountered something like this in his entire life. Jon looked into his eyes as if trying to ask his permission silently. Benjen lowered his head for a few moments, then he looked back at Jon and nodded his head. Jon let out a deep, resigned sigh. This was it, now even his friends would come to know about his secret. He took another glance at them and turned towards Bloodraven once more, his back straight. He cleared his throat and began to speak in a loud voice –

“My true name is Aemon Targaryen! I am the trueborn son of Prince Rhaeger and Princess Lyanna Targaryen of House Stark! I am their Song of Ice and Fire! I am the blood of both the wolf and the dragon!”

Bloodraven had a soft smile on his face, he indicated for him to eat the paste. Jon scooped a handful to his mouth and gulped it down. When the bittersweet paste touched his tongue, he started to feel lightheaded. He finished eating and looked at Bloodraven askance.

“Come closer to the roots and grab hold on to them, Aemon.”

Jon nodded and went forward to grip onto the thickest root Bloodraven had indicated, the moment he came into contact with the root, his world exploded in a bright white flash of light. He had lost all of his outward senses.

[CotW]

“JON!” Robb shouted out his name as he saw him collapsing beside the throne of roots. He tried to move forward but he couldn’t. Looking down, he found that thick strands of roots had grown out of the ground and snared their feet to their places. He glared at the Children, they didn’t appear to be much concerned.

“Release us!” Robb snarled.

“Peace, young Robb Stark. We do not mean you any harm.” The old man said.

“Who the fuck are you? What have you done to my brother?” Or is it cousin – a thought arose at the back of his mind.

“Please excuse my nephew for not introducing us properly. As you have witnessed, he had things of much more import in his mind.” The old man made a gesture towards Jon, “My name was once Brynden Rivers, I was also known by the name of Lord Bloodraven. Former Hand of two Kings, former Lord Commander of the Watch, and currently an observer of all that was, will be and could have been.”

He watched as they were struggling to get free from their binds. “If you are released, do you give your word that you will not attack us?”

“That is yet to be seen, old man, release us now.” Robb growled.

“Your word, young Stark, else enjoy being stuck where you stand.”

“You have our words.” Benjen spoke out. Robb turned his head to look at him, Benjen gave him a reassuring nod. Robb looked back at the man called Bloodraven.

“Aye, you have our words.”

“Very well, Rain, let þau líða.”

A Child said something in a high pitched voice and made gestures with their hands. The roots slackened and released them from their binds. They rushed towards Jon.

“Do not move him or make him release his grip from the root.”

“What happened to him?” Robb was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Worry not, he is fine. He is just going on a trip to meet some people.”

“Who? And how is he lying down here unconscious helps in anything?” Benjen had sat down beside Jon and gently put his head on his lap.

“That is a mystery even to me, Benjen Stark. For I am not but a guide for our young nephew. I can only show him the way, but cannot go along with him. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go and make sure Aemon finds his way. Perhaps you can tell the lads about our nephew in the meantime?” Bloodraven sat back in his seat and the colour of his working eye turned from purple to white. Some of the Children came forward and stood before the throne. As if they were guarding the old man while he appeared to be gone in some sort of trance.

“What in the name of seven hells is going on, Uncle Ben?” Robb was still scared out of his wits.

“Calm down, nephew, Maester Aemon had warned me that something like this might happen when he learned that Jon was coming here to meet with Bloodraven.” Benjen tried to ease their minds.

Robb put a hand on Jon’s forehead. “I am so very confused about everything…what he said…about who he was…is it all true?” Robb looked at his uncle, begging him to deny it all.

Asher cleared his throat, “Torrhen and I shall wait outside of this room, this is between you two.”

Benjen stopped them, “No, please stay, Asher, Torrhen. You are his friends. He would want you to know. But you must promise me that whatever is discussed here, will not leave this cave. You must not tell any of these to another soul unless Jon himself gives permission. It is indeed a matter of life and death and possible war.”

They all agreed to abide by his request. Benjen leaned on the roots behind him, “Mind you, I have not had any idea about these myself. I came to know only when Jon spoke to me of finding the truth about his mother…”

---

 

Once again, Jon found himself waking up in a strange place. But this one was nothing like the previous place he had woken up to. Where ever he looked, he could only see whiteness. No sky, no trees, not even grounds. Only seemingly endless whiteness surrounded him. He took a few steps, he couldn’t even see footprints of his own on what he thought was the ground. He would have lost his mind, if not the scenery started to change in front of his eyes.

Smoke began to pour out from somewhere. He tried to look for the source, but his attention was diverted when the thick smokes started to take shapes. He saw a big direwolf prowling around what Jon assumed was its home. It had six pups waddling around its legs. A gust of wind blew through them and the pups all scattered. One of them, the white one, started to travel further alone, away from its pack. The adult wolf took two of the pups along with it and started to go another way. The rest of the three remained where they were. One of them seemed to have had hurt its legs, it couldn’t get up on its own. The adult wolf found itself to be ambushed by what seemed to be lions made out of shadows. It tried to protect the pups, but the lions jumped on him altogether and tore it to the shreds. One of the pups, a brown coloured one, ran and hid. But the other pup, the one with the red coloured fur, wasn’t that lucky. The lions grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and carried it with them. The brown pup hid further in the shadows and disappeared from the sights of those figures. The red pup was left at the mercies of the lions, they would chase it, bit it, turned it into their playthings till the pup became lifeless and just laid there as if breathing out its last.

The other pups, the ones who were left behind, were being looked after by the biggest one, the grey coloured pup took care of the lame pup and the wild black pup. But when the adult wolf was being hunted down, it howled to the sky and ran forward to its parent, leaving the smaller pups behind. Thick tendrils of smoke, which seemed like tentacles of some sort, tried to grab for them. But the pups evaded all and escaped in opposite direction. The lame pup seemed to be carried in the arms of a giant. The grey pup got itself surrounded by men wielding sharp blades. They attacked it without mercy and severed its head. The small black pup hid in a hole and didn’t come out. The lame pup started to convulse in the giant’s hands and had shed its furs, it had sprouted black wings and turned into a giant raven.

The red pup was dragged all over the place, finally, it was brought to where it once left from, a smokey shape had taken a blade and sheared the furs off of it, leaving it once again beaten and bloody.

The white pup had carried on alone all through this, it had hunted and roamed on its own. It had grown to be even bigger than its parent. But it was set upon by a murder of crows. Their endless numbers had pecked and scratched it with their sharp beaks and talons till the white wolf lay there bleeding to death. Once the crows left the dead wolf, it had caught fire. Out of the flames, it came as it had been, fierce and strong. The red wolf had found its way to the white wolf by then, the white one licked the wounds of the red one and tried to nurse it back to health. Together, they ran to save the black wolf who had been caught by some figures, they tried to reach for their packmate, but the black wolf was not so lucky to avoid the blades. The duo tore through the figures and started to prowl their place of origin. The brown wolf had found its way to them by then, bearing numerous cuts and scratches all over its body. The lame wolf turned raven flew overhead and started to caw with ominous effect. Cold and ice started to form around them, they were boxed in and were about to die when a dragon flew in and breathed fire on the chunks of ice to melt them, rescuing the wolves. When all was settled again, the dragon seemed to have lost its mind and started burning everything in its vicinity. The white wolf sprouted leathery, dragon-like wings from its back and flew up to confront the dragon. It tore through the dragon’s throat with its powerful jaw. The raven was sitting high above by then where the lions once roamed. The red wolf sat tall at their birthplace, the brown one once again slunk into the shadows, and the white wolf, it had lost its wings in the fight with the dragon, was once again drove away by shadowy figures to prowl alone.

Jon was overwhelmed by what he saw. He was sure that the white wolf was him. But the others, could they be the other Starks? His Uncle Ned, dead. the grey pup, clearly Robb, also dead. The red wolf, Sansa, tortured almost to death. Arya, the brown wolf, lost in the world. Baby Rickon, dead. And Bran, the sweet summer child, turned into something he was not. He didn’t know when he got down to his knees. The immense weight of sadness was unbearable for him.

“Excuse my tardiness, nephew, your cousin and friends were in quite a hostile mood.” Bloodraven arrived out of nowhere. He saw that Jon was kneeling on the ground with tears streaming down his cheeks. He could see the remnants of the scenes that Jon had seen. He placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Get yourself up, Aemon, don’t let these break you so.”

“What were these things, Uncle Brynden, were they the destiny that you spoke of? Is this what written for all our fates?”

Bloodraven helped Jon up on his feet, “What you saw in those visions, were things that could be. Some of them may come true, some may not. For your mere presence here has altered the path of fate’s wheel.”

Jon wiped the tears away, “I swear to you here and now uncle, I will not let my family suffer these fates. I will protect them, my uncles, cousins, every one of them.”

Bloodraven peered down at him. “What about your other family, Aemon? Will you let one part of your family to ruins to save the other part? You are as much a dragon as you are a wolf, don’t you remember?”

Jon was lost for words. He remembered seeing the white wolf attacking a dragon. Who could that be? Viserys? Daenerys? Could he truly let the dragons suffer just to save the wolves?

He lowered his gaze towards the ground, “I don’t know, Uncle. What should I do?” He pleaded to Bloodraven.

He put a hand on his shoulder, “Do your duty, Aemon. Do your duty to your family, to your land, and its people. That is what I dedicated my entire life to, and that is all I can say to you.”

Jon just wanted to seat at a corner with his head down. He was feeling as if all of his strength had left his body. Bloodraven pulled him by his shoulder and they began to walk. Jon didn’t even take notice when a path formed upon the unending white ground. He just kept his head down and walked wherever Bloodraven led him.

“This is as far as I can go with you, Aemon. The rest of the path you have to travel on your own.”

Jon looked up to see that they had reached the gates to some city. Huge walls made of white marble stood proud, probably protecting it from all sides. Guards wearing armours patrolling on top of them. They were standing in front of a huge gate made of wood and iron. The enormous thing must take at least a dozen men to push and pull it.

“What is this place?” Jon never heard or read of the existence of such a city, not even in Essos.

“I can’t tell you that, nephew, because I don’t know the answer myself. All I was told was to lead you here.”

“You were told? By whom?”

“You will find out, Aemon. Just go inside of this city.” Bloodraven bent down to put his head closer to Jon’s, he put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Do not fret over what you saw back there. The future is not written in stone…yet. You have the power to change it. You are the Chosen One, Aemon. You are blessed to bring about changes all around you.”

“Am I worthy enough to carry such a burden?” Jon chocked down a sob, the images of the massacre still hung heavy on his soul.

“How will you know if you don’t make an effort?” Bloodraven gave him a soft smile and another squeeze of the shoulder. Then he turned around to leave. But instead of walking away, his figure slowly faded from view.

Jon took a deep breath and turned towards the gate. Now, how could he make his presence known? Should he yell or knock on the doors? He raised a hand to touch it, and to his shock, the gates opened on their own.

---

 

Aurick had gone out to hunt for food. Their clan had camped not so far away from the Children’s tree. He was sitting on top of a tree and watching over his traps when he heard sounds of men and horses. He almost fell from his perch in shock when quite a big group of men came riding for the Children’s tree. They made camp underneath it and some of them went searching around the hilltop. He quietly got down from his tree and ran for his camp as silently as he could. If those men came to know about his presence, he would not live to see the next morning. He needed to tell Tormund about these men. They didn’t look like the fucking crows, but they were led by one and they were armed to the teeth. If the lords from the south were sending men north of the Wall, then his clan leader must know about them.

What seemed to him like after hours of running, he burst through the camp boundaries and collapsed in front of the leader’s tent in exhaustion. A woman who was sitting nearby working on a rabbit pelt, stoop up and came to him.

“What happen’d ta ye?”

Aurick was out of his breath, he just lay down there panting hard, “Call…Tormund…men…with swords…crow…” The woman looked alarmed by what she heard. She hurried inside the tent to inform their leader.

Tormund, the giant of a man with wild red hair and beard, came rushing out of the tent, hefting his heavy axe over his shoulder. He grabbed Aurick by his leather and yanked him off the ground to make him stand.

“What are ye talkin’ about crows?” He growled at him.

“I was out huntin’ when I heard voices. Saw buncha men ridin’ horses. They came fer the Children’s tree.”

Tormund yelled for his men to get ready and go hunting for some crows when Mara, the spearwife who came bearing news from Mance Rayder with her band, stopped him.

“Hear him out fully before ye rush off with yer cocks hangin’ about.” She turned towards Aurick, “How many crows did ye see?”

“They ain’t no crow. They be Southorn men. From beyond the Wall. An’ a crow leadin’ them.”

The leaders exchanged looks, men from south of the wall coming this far north?

“How many did ye see?”

“’ Bout fifty of ‘em. They’ll carried steel swords and armour.”

Mara dragged Tormund to a side, they needed to go about this with calmer heads.

“What ye on, woman?” Tormund yelled indignantly.

“Use yer head, ye fuckin’ auroch. Ye heard that they ain’t no crow. What do the lords of south be wantin’ out here? We canna be attackin’ ‘em. They’ll kill us all.”

Tormund mulled these things in his mind, “What we ter do then?”

“We go an’ keep watch. Mance woulda wanna know fer sure.”

Tormund called for his most able hunters and trackers, they got ready to go out and keep watch at these lords’ men.

---

 

Jon was walking on a paved path of such quality that he wouldn’t even dream of it. The houses on both sides of the path were so grand and luxurious, that they would put shame to the keeps of the wealthiest of lords. Beautiful people were roaming about the city, Jon had heard that those of Valyrian looks have otherworldly beauty. But the men and women he was seeing around him, possessed more ethereal beauty than of the Valyrians. He constantly craned his neck this way and that, trying to absorb it all. He didn’t know where he was supposed to go. But an urge from deep inside of his being pushed him to follow a certain path. He gave in to that feeling of his and continued, looking about the happy faces of pretty people.

Jon found himself standing before a palatial manse. He wondered if the gates would open on their own as the city gates did. He approached the doors and heard a gong of a bell loud enough to reverberate to his bones. Once again, the doors opened on their own. Jon went inside after sending a prayer to the Old Gods.

He was lost for words, standing before him a woman, he hadn’t seen anybody in his life who could match her beauty. She was wearing a flowing dress made of some gossamer material, showing off her womanly curves, her long black hair was braided with what Jon thought chains of gold beads. She gave him a beautiful smile, and spoke in a lilting voice –

“Welcome, Champion.”

Jon shook himself off the stupor he was feeling and bowed low to the lady.

“Pardon me, My Lady, but I was directed here…”

“Yes, Champion, I know why you are here. For it was I who asked your ancestor to guide you here.”

“Forgive me for asking, but who are you, My Lady?”

“I was once known as Minerva, and for who I am, I am one of those who you call the Old Gods.”

Jon felt as if the ground shifted under his feet. He was standing before a Goddess? He crashed down on his knees, bowed from the waist down, his head almost touching the feet of the Goddess.

“Please get up, Champion. You don’t need to bow to me.”

Reluctantly, Jon got up to his feet, he was wondering what he should be saying but nothing came to his mind. What does one speak of in front of a higher being?

“Come, take a walk with me, Champion.”

“Pardon me, My Lady, are you truly one of the Old Gods?”

“Yes, Champion. We were here in this world long before any other beings. We were referred to as the Ancient Ones. We have been long gone from this world, my child. What you see before you, the city, the people, even I – all are a faint echo of our essence. We have created you, humans, after images of our own. Some of us, like Vulcan, who liked to tinker, managed to create the beings you know as the Children of the Forest. We created you and placed you in the world as you know. Why you may ask. For beings such as us, we needed to find something to take our minds off the tedium of our lives. Humans were like small children, running about and getting into troubles and fights. We created calamities, disasters, just to see what they would do. The early humans began to worship us, they gave us names of their own choosing. People of old Valyria called us Arrax for Jupiter, Aegarax for Vulcan, Balerion for Pluto, Tyraxes for myself, Minerva, so on and so forth. The Andals dreamt of us as the Seven – Jupiter as Father, Juno for Mother, Diana as the Maiden, Mars as Warrior, Vulcan as Smith, Pluto as the Stranger and finally, Vesta and I together embodied the Crone. The Children were such simple creatures, they just carved out faces in trees and collectively began to worship us simply as Gods. When the First Men came to the continent now known as the Westeros, they took up the religious beliefs of the Children. The Rhoynish, they too made versions of us for their own purposes. Even now, many of the Gods you may hear about, are only different names given to us by that specific cult. Thus, Vulcan became R’hllor, Pluto, the Many-Faced One.”

Jon felt as if his brain was leaking out of his ears. He couldn’t even imagine that the Old Gods and the New Gods to be as one. If he said something like that to any Northerner or a Septon or Septa, they will beat him to death with a stick. He couldn’t help but let out a snort imagining such a scene. The Goddess looked at him, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Jon blushed and mumbled an apology. Minerva continued with her speech.

“What we didn’t realize while pouring into our creations that we had given them a little more than we planned. Some of our powers, our magica if you please, were transferred into them. The Children received the most since they were special creations of Vulcan, the eccentric tinkerer. Among the humans, the Valyrians got the powers of seers, fire wielder, blood magic, beast mastery and the likes. They had learned to tame the dragons, bestial beings of pure magic. They had created an entire empire with the help of their dragon companions and their magica. The Children had gotten the powers to commune with nature and all its denizens. The Weirwood trees, these plants work as the pure focus of the innate magic that had been infused into the lands. The Children learned to use these trees to commune with us or to glimpse images of what was, what could have been and what must be. When they started to mix blood with the First Men, the already magical blood became much more potent. A prime example of this fact is the Stark family. For thousands of years, they were the Kings of Winter, powerful leaders who often were seen with direwolf familiars. Wargs, skinchangers – all of them. Even some Greenseer powers of the Children found their way through these bloodlines. The Rhoynish got their water magics. But the Andals feared these powers, and so tried to suppress them. Slowly, their blood had forgotten that they too once held such powers.”

They had reached a balcony overlooking the city. The sheer beauty of it made Jon hoping that he was there in real, not just glimpsing an echo of a long-forgotten memory. The Goddess had a sad look upon her face as she was looking out to her people.

“You must be wondering why I am telling you all these. The reason for it is, we cannot help you, our children anymore. All we can do is watch you struggle from the great beyond, and it pains us. I hope you remembered when I said that we created you, humans, in our images. Like you humans, we too had our vices. We had denied it, overlooked it. But in the end, we had all faded away with time by our decadence. Only a faint echo of us remained behind, we use it to commune with the Children, the only ones who can still wield our magica, we try to guide them, help mankind in any way possible through them. But they too, are not infallible. Our powers are limited. We can hear you when you pray to us through the trees, but we are not able to help you, except in direst situations. That is where you come in, Champion. The world we had created, with the humans in it, started to degrade from what it once was. The greed, violence of those who inhabit it, had caused its corruption. Some of us had predicted that something like this would happen, and our children would require saving from follies of their own making. Juno, the Royal Mother, had commissioned a special magical artefact, I designed it myself and Vulcan made it. That is the artefact you now wear on your hands. The Bracers were designed to appear before a worthy warrior who would become our Champion whenever the world needs one. Over the ages, scores of our children had taken up the mantle of the Champion. The Last Hero from your lore, or the Azor Ahai, Yin Tar, Neferion, Hyrkoon the Hero, Eldric Shadowchaser -  in other beliefs, had been one such Champion also. Now, the Bracers had chosen you, for another disaster will soon come upon mankind, and you will be needed to protect them all.” Minerva turned to look at Jon expectantly.

Jon had never felt so humbled in his life. He had been given the tools that once used by heroes of old. Great men and women had been here where he was.

“What disaster are you talking about, My Lady? And how can I, a mere boy be the saviour of all? The Bracers must have chosen wrong this time.”

Minerva smiled softly at him, “You doubt in your blood, Champion. Fear not, for your blood is not ordinary. Bloods of the First Men and Children along with the blood of Old Valyria are flowing in your veins. They hold unimaginable powers. Just look at your ancestor, Brynden Rivers. Never had there been such a powerful Greenseer or warg before him. And your blood is not only the blood of First Men, but the blood of Winter Kings, you are the true Song of Ice and Fire. I will help you to awaken the rest of your powers when you return to your reality.

And as for the approaching danger, you must be aware of the myth that is the Night King. He is real, Champion. Your ancestor had once driven him away, and he had been slumbering since his defeat, accumulating his powers. How he came to be, you will learn in time. But know this, the Night King, his White Walkers and the army of their undead minion will begin their march soon. You have at the very least, a decade to prepare yourselves. You need to become a leader of men, Champion, you need to see them through the coming of another Long Night.”

Jon was feeling faint, the weight of the world was placed on his shoulders. He opened his mouth to ask the Goddess how he was to accomplish the tasks set for him, but he found that he couldn’t make any sound. The Goddess approached him and enveloped him in an embrace.

“I understand this is too much to ask of you, Champion. But you need not worry. We, that is, the Bracers will make sure that you are ready when the time comes. They are designed to work that way. You must have realized the difference between the workings of them – when you acquired them and now. You noticed how they behave differently to you now?” Jon nodded his head. “That is how they were made. Each man or woman is different, hence, the Bracers change with the needs of each Champion. Some of the things they gave you at first will not work anymore, because you do not need them. Some new things will make themselves known as you mature with your powers.”

Minerva pulled away from him and started to lead him inside once again. “Come, there is one last thing you need to know before you must return.”

The Goddess had led him into a room. There were candles strewn about all over the place. Each of the candles was lit, but they didn’t have flames. Instead, they were showing moving images of multiple people. Some Valyrian dragon lords flying on their dragons. Some men or women fighting against their enemies. Everywhere Jon looked, he saw a different man or woman in those images.

“These, Champion, are your forebears and the Champions that came before you. You will learn from their lives. Sometime in the future, you will start to have dreams of them, you will live their lives as they did in those dreams. Any experience you have gained in those dreams will bleed through to your being. You will assimilate all of their learnings as you grow to your title of Champion.

You must return now, Champion. Remember, do not doubt in your blood, and prepare yourselves. Oh, and before you leave, I said that I will awake your powers.”

Minerva smiled and raised her right hand, the point of her index finger was shining like a star. She touched the centre of Jon’s forehead with her finger. Pain flared everywhere inside of his body…

---

 

Robb sat vigil beside his unconscious brother (cousin?). He still couldn’t believe what his uncle had told them. The history they had grown up hearing were all lies. His father had lied to all. The true heir to the throne was raised as a bastard, ignored by all. He had acted out against him influenced by Theon’s words. Shame coursed through his body when he remembered those moments, he wondered what would happen once Jon wakes up. As if triggered by his thoughts, Jon started to move about.

“Jon!” Robb yelled out, “Uncle Benjen, I think Jon is about to wake up.”

Benjen, who had been talking with Bloodraven, rushed to Jon’s other side. Asher and Torrhen were sleeping to the side, they woke up and stood over their prone friend, wondering what were they to do. Jon let out a strangled yelp and sat bolt upright. Robb and Benjen flinched back from him. His eyes had turned completely red, his skin had turned white as bone. He yanked at his cloak, armour and upper body clothes and divested them off him. The numerous scars that he collected – the claw marks from the bear on his chest, the scars from the Ironborn and Skagosi fights, all appeared angry red. Robb tried to hold down his thrashing brother, but the heat emanating from him made him withdraw his hands quickly. His skin was hot enough to form blisters in his fingers even through the gloves. Smoke started to rise from him. Jon tried to get up on his feet but he stumbled and crashed down on one knee. He raised his head upwards and yelled as if he was being tortured, tears of blood flowing down from his eyes.

“What is happening to him? You told us that he would be alright?” Benjen yelled at Bloodraven.

“I was told that he would not be harmed. Do you think me callous enough to endanger the last hope for my family?” Bloodraven snarled back.

With another loud yell, Jon punched the grown with his right fist. As if by the contact, he suddenly burst into flames. Everybody around him let out yelps of shock. Even the Children, who were observing from the sides, rushed forward to have a better look. Slowly, Jon got up to his feet, this time, he didn’t stumble. Red and black coloured flames were running all over his body, pulsing with every breath he took. His eyes were shut and his hand fisted as if trying to control the fire, and to his disbelief, Robb saw that the flames were indeed being controlled by Jon. Slowly, they seemed to be submerged within his skin. When the fire completely died down, Jon once again stumbled and crashed down on the ground. Robb rushed to help him. His skin was back to normal, not blistering his fingers when he touched him, he was shivering from the cold. Robb snatched the discarded cloak from the floor and wrapped it tightly around Jon. His brother opened his eyes slowly as if it was an arduous task to just do that. He smiled tiredly at him.

“Jon, are you alright?”

“Aye, brother, I am feeling fine, just tired…”

Robb stopped himself from flinching when Jon called him brother. He noticed there was something different about Jon. He looked closely and let out a gasp.

“Jon, your eyes…”

“What about them?” His brows furrowed.

“They changed their colour…they are purple now…”

Jon was taken aback by that. He saw his uncle and friends were all watching him with surprised looks on their faces. Bloodraven was sitting on the edge of his seat, looking down at him with eager anticipation. The Children that thronged around them, were muttering among themselves, repeating only a single phrase - ljós leggja (Light Bringer).

“What happened to you, Jon?”

Jon looked up and peered seriously into Robb’s eyes, “I met a Goddess!”

 

 

 

Notes:

A.N. - I've used an Old Norse translator for the Old Tongue, because the Old Tongue translator wasn't as good in my opinion.

Chapter 15: An Offer You Can't Refuse

An Offer You Can’t Refuse

Benjen volunteered to go out of the cave and check up on the men. Jon had fallen asleep to recover from whatever he experienced when he had gone into the trance. Asher and Torrhen said that they would watch over him. Benjen thought Robb would take some rest as well since he didn’t move from Jon’s side for a single moment. But he was surprised when he too came out of the caves with him. Together, they went to inspect the men and give them the necessary orders. Benjen let Robb take the charge since Jon and he was the commanders of this troop. He gave him suggestions to set up a scheduled perimeter watch since they were deep into wildling territory. After they were done with their intended works, Benjen wanted to get back to Jon, but Robb begged off for some time alone. He sat leaning on the Weirwood tree looking at the distance, deep in thought. Benjen sighed and went to sit beside him, keeping an eye out for any eavesdropper.

“What is troubling you, nephew?”

Robb jumped as if he didn’t notice when his uncle came and sat beside him. “It is nothing, Uncle Ben.” He stuttered.

“I have known you two since you both were mere babes swaddled in blankets. I have watched you grow. Granted, I didn’t see you as often as I wished for, but I had seen you waddling around Winterfell. Saw you when you took up your practice swords for the first time. I even knew that it was you two who taught Arya to prank me by putting horseshit in my shoes. So, want to try to answer me again? But this time, lead with the truth, please.”

Robb sighed and leaned his head on the tree trunk. “I don’t know, Uncle. What are you supposed to feel when you find out the brother you grew up along with, wasn’t your brother at all. My father, the most honourable man in all of Westeros, had been lying to me, my mother, you and to everyone else for the past fifteen years. I don’t know what to think. The Jon I knew, doesn’t even exist. Hells, it is not even his name.”

Benjen put his hand on Robb’s shoulder, “I get it, Robb. I know how you feel. I was angry at Ned too when I found out about your aunt and Jon. But you must understand what your father went through during that time, just as I did when I had calm down enough. You need to know the risk he took when he came back home with him. All I can advise you to ease your mind is that you go and talk with Jon, nephew. He is the same person as he had always been. Him having a different name doesn’t change the lad you know.”

Robb let out a hollow laugh, “But it does, Uncle Ben. If someday I come to know myself that I am not Robb Stark, son and heir of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, but instead I am Robb Snow, bastard son of the deceased Brandon Stark, that will change everything. My life and the lives of others will become completely different from what they have been. I am not even talking about the emotional scars, no. Now, I am training to become the next Lord of the North. In that situation, all my learnings will be for nought, because it is not me, but my young brother, or cousin in that situation, who is set to be the Lord of the North. Jon -” His breath hitched, “Jon was brought up as a bastard when the truth is that he is a prince of the realms. The true heir to the throne. The misunderstanding my father caused, had cost him the lessons he needed if someday he is to go for his birthright. He doesn’t know how to be a lord. Seven Hells, my mother had seen to it, and I helped her whenever I overlooked her scorns or Theon’s insults to him. It must have been the Gods who intervened and had let us go for our fosterage. Jon had finally got a semblance of lessons in being a lord from Lord Karstark, but not from my father. He would have wanted for him to join the Watch and throw away his life. If the situations changed, I don’t think I could have ever done something like that for the son of Sansa or Arya.”

Benjen sighed, he was glad to know that his nephew was such a loyal person with strong morals. Robb’s blaming himself for the follies of others was proof enough of how much he loved his cousin.

“What I have been told, Robb, is that they have reconciled, your parents and Jon. They had talked after the truth became known and cleared everything between them. I don’t know about the Ironborn and I don’t care either. But you need to talk to him first before you start to blame yourself. Jon is the same lad, even if his name or parents are different than you grew up to know. Do you understand?”

Robb nodded his head reluctantly.

“Then come on, it is not safe to discuss all of these out in the open. Let’s go and see if our ljós leggja has woken up or not.”

They got up and made their way to the caves.

“What does it mean, Uncle, ljós leggja? The Children were very excited about it.”

“As far my knowledge in Old Tongue goes, it means the Light Bringer.”

Robb had an awed look on his face, “The Light Bringer? From the myth? But wasn’t that the name of the sword the Last Hero wielded?”

“Aye, that is what I heard myself too. But who knows what is the truth among all these myths. We have all thought the Children of the Forest to be a myth, but then again, here we are.” Benjen gave him a smirk.

Robb shook his head, truly, he had never even thought in his wildest dreams that they would get to meet a part of the Northern legends.

[CotW]

Jon woke up with a start, he had entered into Gale’s mind in his sleep. It had been a long time since he warged unknowingly. He looked wildly around the cave because just a moment ago he was thinking about hunting a rodent. He had practised enough to block out Gale’s thoughts from invading his mind, but it seemed all of his controls over his power were gone.

“You look spooked, Aemon. What happened?”

Jon remembered with a jolt about where he was and with whom he was. He turned to see that Bloodraven was smirking at him.

“I skinchanged into my bird in my sleep, Uncle, it had stopped long ago. I don’t know why I can’t control my power anymore.”

“That would be the Weirwood paste, it tends to disrupt our mental stabilities for a time. As it makes it more fluid and open, it helps with glimpsing into the past, future or present. I had to start practising my skinchanging abilities from the scratch myself after I was administered with the paste by the Children.”

“Great,” Jon muttered under his breath, “another thing to learn anew.”

“Stop grumbling, boy. It is unbecoming for a prince of the realms. Now, tell me, what have you learned in your trip?”

Jon looked around to find that Asher and Torrhen, who were sleeping beside him, were getting up, but he couldn’t see his uncle or cousin anywhere.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to wait till the others are here so that I don’t have to repeat myself.” Bloodraven nodded in agreement. “Where are they anyway?”

“They went out to check up on the men. They should return in a while.”

A rumbling sound came from Jon’s belly, making him blush. Bloodraven chuckled hearing that.

“Ah, it seems I have been remiss in my hospitality. Rain, megþúr leggjfyrirr sumr matr?” (Rain, can you bring some food?)

The Child who was asked nodded happily. Along with some others, they brought platters of fruits for all of them to eat, with ice-cold water in earthen pots to drink. Jon smiled at his friends as they sat down together to eat. They were making small talks while they ate but largely avoided mentioning anything about Jon’s heritage, for this was not the time neither the place for such discussion. After a little while, Benjen and Robb came back to the cave. Robb tried to smile at him but it was more like a grimace, his uncle meanwhile greeted him enthusiastically.

“Ah, finally you are up, lad.”

“Aye, Uncle Ben, it took a lot out of me.”

“So, tell us what did you mean when you said that you met a Goddess.” Benjen said as he took his seat across from them and picked up a piece of fruit.

Jon took a healthy gulp of water to clear his throat, then he started to talk about his experiences. He didn’t say anything about his visions in the smokes, neither did he mention anything about his bracers since nobody seemed to notice it, ever. He told them all about the Ancient Ones, how they made the world as they knew, the religions formed based on them, and finally, the warning about the Long Night.

Everyone was fascinated by Jon’s tale. But Benjen scoffed when he heard the warnings concerning the Night King and his army. Bloodraven pointed out that everything the Northern lore tells about, Children of the Forest, wargs, Greenseers – almost all of them were present at that cave, refuting their mythical status, then why couldn’t the stories about the Long Night be true also. Benjen didn’t have any rebuttal for that.

After the meal was completed, Bloodraven asked about their plans. Neither of them had any clear plan of action. Benjen told about the abysmal state the Watch found itself in nowadays due to negligence for years by the King and the lords of the realms. They didn’t have the strength to stop the wildings from infiltrating, let alone stopping powerful enemies like the White Walkers. They didn’t even know how to kill one. It was all lost in the pages of history. Jon and the others talked about the overall martial strength of the North, while they could call up to their forces of about fifty to sixty thousand strong, convincing the lords of doing so would be a colossal task. Making the other kingdoms come to their aid for the same would be even harder. Jon mentioned what the Goddess had told him about the Andals suppressing their magica. The Southerners, who were mostly descendants of the Andals, would never accept the fact of a magical threat. Everyone fell quiet, contemplating about the future.

Bloodraven cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat. “If you don’t mind listening to an old man, I may have some basic plans for us to follow, to begin with.”

Everybody nodded in acceptance. What the old man told them was that they had the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch and future Lord of the North with them. Robb, with the help of his father, could strengthen the North, and in turn, the Night’s Watch, while Benjen invested his times to find proofs about the return of the Others. Bloodraven himself would be looking through times for any possible way to stop or kill the White Walkers, or the Night King himself as everything that he thought he knew had changed due to the Gods’ intervention. He would also keep a lookout for any movements of the Others by his power of skinchanging. Granted, it was not a very good plan, but it was all they could do for the time being, for neither of them had the power to command and make every highborn do their biddings.

Jon was surprised that he wasn’t included in those plans, “What about me, Uncle Brynden, what am I to do?”

“You, dear nephew, are needed to bring the kingdoms together. If Lady Minerva was correct, then you are now needed out of the North more than you can imagine. We have about a decade according to her. This time that you were granted, you should utilize it to the fullest, these years you should spend to grow, both as a warrior and a leader of men. The future of mankind may depend upon your success. Also, very soon, you will be leaving these lands for a long time.”

Jon gave him a puzzled look, “And where will I be going?”

Bloodraven gave him his annoying smirk once again, “You will find that out soon enough. Now, time is of the essence, you cannot be here for an indefinite amount of days. What I propose to you all, save Aemon, is to eat the Weirwood paste.”

Everybody looked squeamish hearing that, they all remembered the pain Jon went through.

“While I cannot promise that every one of you will become wargs or Greenseers, I can give assurance that your mental aptitude will advance in leaps and bounds, which you will need for the coming future. The decision is, of course, yours.”

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Benjen said, “I don’t know about you lads, but I find that I need to have my mind more acceptable to all the surprises I am facing. I don’t think I am too old to learn new things. I will be having that paste, please.” He extended his hand towards one of the Children who was holding a pot of paste. They smiled their beatific smile and gave Benjen the pot.

Robb, Asher and Torrhen looked at Jon, silently asking for his opinion. He gave them a soft smile, “I think you all should have it, we are to face very interesting times ahead. We should utilize every advantage available to us”

They acquiesced and each took a pot. Soon, all of them were lying on the ground unconscious. Jon, with the help of the Children, moved them to more comfortable positions.

“While they are out for the count, nephew, I think we should have a chat ourselves.”

Jon nodded and went to sit before Bloodraven.

“Listen carefully, Aemon. You will find many things on your journey. Some very welcoming, some quite disturbing. I cannot tell you each and everything right here, for you need to find them yourselves. But what I can tell you is you must let the wheel roll before you can break it. Do you understand?”

Jon thought hard, “Do you mean to say that I must let things play out before I can change things?”

“Yes, and no. You remember your visions in those smokes, and what I told you about them?” Jon grimaced and nodded his head, “You must let fate play their hands for everybody. Remember, you cannot save everyone. I don’t think I can stress enough on that fact alone.”

“So you are telling me to stand aside and watch as my family suffer?” Jon was fuming.

“Did I tell you to do that? No, you must do what you feel is right. But you can’t save them till they needed to be saved.”

Jon had gotten even more confused, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Bloodraven sighed seeing the confounded look on his face.

“Forget it, you will know when the time is right for you to act upon them. For now, the paste is interfering with your thought process. But remember, you must be wary of the grey rats when you will visit the Old Town. Do not forget about this warning, Aemon.  You will be needing a supply of the paste, for one of my future disciples cannot reach to me. The other will find his way to me himself. I will ask the Children to give you some when you leave, they do not get spoiled, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Am I not your disciple, Uncle?”

Bloodraven smiled at him, “I am afraid not, Aemon. You are destined for much greater things. The ones I am talking about will help you pave the way for a peaceful future, for my time is coming to an end.” Jon tried to speak, but Bloodraven raised his hand to stop him. “Do not fret, nephew. I have lived more than my share of life. For over a hundred years, I have served my duties, I think I have earned my rest, don’t you? Now go and get some rest yourself. You have done all you could do here for the time being. You need to be ready to leave with the first light. And I must warn you, you will be receiving some blessings from the Gods.” He gave him a mischievous smile and leaned back in his seat. His eye once again went white.

---

 

At the dawn of the next day, they got ready to leave the cave and return to Castle Black. Bloodraven once again reminded them about the coming dangers and urged them to carry out their parts. He said he will be keeping watch over them and will communicate in his unique way, through animals. Jon was the last to bid him goodbye, he didn’t know if there was the next time that he would see him. Bloodraven understood his feelings, he laid his hand on his head and muttered a soft blessing in Valyrian tongue, the ones that family members say to the young ones in the hope to keep them safe. Tears threatened to fall from Jon’s eyes. He muttered his farewell and rushed out of the cave, not wanting to show his tears to the old man.

Bloodraven chuckled seeing his nephew’s reaction, “Ah, youth, so very ashamed to shed tears. I wish you good fortunes for the days to come, Aemon Targaryen. May the Gods keep watch over you.” He was about to lean back and went into his trance when he sat back right up.

“Fuck, I almost forgot about his gift. Logr, munu þú leggjminnr kind hans gift? (River, will you bring my nephew his gift?)

The Child smiled and nodded their head. They rushed out of the cave to do the old man’s bidding.

[CotW]

The men were ready to depart. They were waiting for the lords to come and take charges. When the five appeared out of the cave, they brought their horses to them. The man who brought Jon’s horse to him stood transfixed at his spot, looking behind him with wide eyes. Seeing the man like that, Jon turned around thinking of some danger sneaked up to them. But he found one of the Children, the one who was called River, came rushing to him, carrying a bow in their hands.

“Khampion, þinn fǫðurbróðir hafði spyrjumk oss til gerþessir bow fyrir þú.  þat er gerumk ór ironwooð.  Engi megmunur sinn equal en weirwooð longbows.  þat er einn ór kindr, því at vér nýtöttumk magic til benð bússrinn til þessi shape.  þat munu hafsamrr reach ok megin sem einnhverr weirwooð longbow.  Nýtatt þat inn þinn travels vel.” (Champion, your uncle had asked us to make this bow for you. It is made of ironwood. None can be its equal but Weirwood longbows. It is one of a kind because we used magic to bend the woods to this shape. It will have the same reach and strength as any Weirwood longbow. Use it well in your travels.)

Jon got down to his knees and received the gift with bowed head, “Ek thank þú, ancient einn, fyrir þessi rikki gift.  Maygodanar watch yfir þú.  Please takgóðr kare ór minn fǫðurbróðir.” (I thank you, Ancient One, for this great gift. May the Gods watch over you. Please take good care of my uncle.)

The Child smiled their wide smiles, “Vér munu, khampion.  Hann er ok dýrr til oss.  Maygodanar bless þú sem vel.” (We will, Champion. He is also dear to us. May the Gods bless you as well.) They turned away from them and seemed to be melted into the greenery.

Jon was about to get up on his horse when he realized that everyone was looking at him. He shrugged his shoulder. “What?”

“What is that? It looks like ironwood!” Asher could recognize it anywhere since it was the main source of income for his house.

Jon looked over the bow, it was a result of beautiful craftsmanship, images of wolves and dragons entwined every inch of the delicately curved bow. The Children’s magica made the wood, which was truly as hard as iron, more pliable to use as a bow. He tried to pull the string but found that he needed to put in much more strength than normal bows to it.

“Aye, they made it especially for me. According to them, it is one of a kind, since nobody can bend ironwood this way.”

“Aren’t You a lucky fuck.” Asher grumbled.

“Don’t get jealous, Asher, I also look better than you.” Jon smirked.

“Let’s get on with it, lads.” Benjen interjected, knowing that those two will not stop otherwise.

Once again, they were stopped from leaving the hill. This time, by Gale. She landed on a branch of a nearby tree and screeched loudly at Jon. Jon had to concentrate harder to share his mind with his familiar, he hated that he needed to learn to control their connection all over again. He raised his arm and asked them all to halt.

“What is it this time?” Robb was annoyed to be stopped once again from leaving.

“I think Someones want to meet us.” Jon said mysteriously and got down from his horse.

The men let out cries of shock as two huge direwolves came out from the nearby bushes. They raised their weapons to attack the vicious beasts when Jon spoke out loudly –

“Stop, they do not mean any harm to us.”

Jon advanced slowly to the wolves who were sitting quietly, looking curiously at him. He took off his gloves and put out his hands for them to smell, he could hear everyone behind him make choking sounds of stifled gasps, but he didn’t take his eyes off the wolves. The wolves nudged at his hands, their noses were cold to touch. Soon, both of them were licking Jon’s hand. He let out a laugh of utter delight and started to scratch them behind their ears. Benjen called to him with uncertainty in his voice.

“Jon…”

“Fear not, Uncle Ben, this is the blessings of Gods that we were told about. Living sigils of House Stark, companions of the Winter Kings of old.” He turned towards the Weirwood tree and bowed his head, “Thank you for your gifts, Lady Minerva.”

He called for Robb and Benjen, “Robb, Uncle Benjen, please come forward and let them have a sniff at you. I promise you that they will not attack.”

Both of them reluctantly got off from their horses and approached the three with caution. Soon, they too were being licked by the huge beasts. Jon noticed that the one with the fur black as the night, was the male, and the other one, the one with grey fur and white underbelly was a female. It appeared that the female was heavy with pups. The male wolf seemed to have taken a special liking to Benjen.

“He seems to like you, Uncle Ben, you may have just gotten your companion.”

Benjen had a look of pure delight on his face as the wolf continued to nudge him for more petting, he laughed as he licked his face.

“Aye, you are a friendly one, aren’t you, boy?”

Robb, who was still scratching the ears of the female wolf, asked, “What about this one, Jon, for whom is she to be the companion of?”

Jon put his face near the wolf, who licked his entire face, he laughed at that, “I don’t know brother, I feel a faint connection with her, but it is not her…its quite hard to explain in words.”

Robb looked at him with wide eyes, he whispered, “I kind of have the same feelings.”

Jon looked curiously at him, could the paste started to work its magic for Robb?

“Mayhaps one of her pups…” He didn’t complete his thought.

With one final scratch to the black wolf, Benjen urged his nephews to get a move on, they needed to return to Castle Black as early as they could. Jon tried to tune out the mutterings of the men who were still shocked by the events. Soon the legend of the White Wolf would grow further, tales would be told of him being blessed by the Old Gods as myths came to life in the forms of the Children of the Forest and direwolves in front of him.

---

 

Tormund, Mara and their band were hiding quite a bit away from the men from the south. Aurick was correct, there were fifty men, and all of them were armed to fight. They didn’t have a chance to take them on by themselves. They watched as a crow and a young lordling appeared from the other side of the hill and ordered the men about. When they again disappeared, the men posted guards all around their camp.

“What are we ta do now, Mara?”

“Look on, what else?” Came her curt reply.

Tormund snorted and dug in for a long night.

The next morning, the southerners were getting ready to leave. The crow from before once again came back from wherever he had gone to, but this time he had four lordlings with him. Ygritte, one of Tormund’s best hunters, let out a low whistle.

“Those are some pretty lookin’ lordlings.” She said appreciatively.

“We coulda take them down from behind, ya know, when they turn ta leave, we coulda attack them from behind these trees.” Tormund put out his idea for all.

“Shut yer fuckin’ gob an’ use yer eyes.” Mara snarled at him.

And Tormund did so, what unfolded before his eyes, he hadn’t expected to see in his life. A Children of the Forest came to them. They talked with one of the lordlings and gave him a bow. The Lordling went to his knees and showed them proper respect. And here he thought that the southerners on the other side of the Wall had forgotten their roots.

“A fuckin’ Child of the fuckin’ forest blessed him!” Ygritte swore under her breath.

“Aye, and yer leader wanted ta attack them.” Mara’s glare only made Tormund’s cock hard, he gave her a leer back, he for sure liked women with fights in them. “Fuckin’ idiot.” Mara turned her head back towards the southerners.

It was not only the Child who came for them, before their unbelieving eyes, they saw two huge direwolves came ambling out of the forest and started to act like Godsdamned puppies with the boy.

“Methinks we must leave now.” Tormund would never risk his men to those wolves. Men with steel arms was one thing, but attacking those beasts? Not on your fucking life.

They quietly got back to their own camp. Tormund called for one of the women to bring them mugs of fermented goat’s milk. Mara was deep in thought. Tormund emptied his cup in a single gulp.

“Mance should know what we saw here.” Mara mumbled in her cup. Tormund nodded in agreement. Their leader should most definitely know about the reappearance of the Children.

“Aye, ye need ta leave soon and go ta him.”

“What are ye gonna do?” Mara asked him back.

“I shoulda go ta that fucker Craster and find out abou’ the crow.”

“Why the crow?”

“Dinnit ye see he was orderin’ the lordlings abou’? I bet me axe that he is someone we shoulda know.”

Ygritte, who was sitting quietly, spoke up then, “Shouldn’ we follow that lordling with the bow and those wolves?”

Tormund guffawed, “Har, I know why ye wanna go fer ‘em but keep yer breeches on, lass. This ain’t the time.”

“I shoulda steal him on his way back ta Wall.” She grumbled to the laughter of all in that tent.

---

 

Their way back didn’t seem that much longer due to their treading through the known path. Jon didn’t find any chance to talk with his friends or Robb about the revelations at that cave. He planned to have a chat with them at Castle Black, whichever of them he could find alone and first.

The wolves have gotten along very well with the party. They kept themselves apart from the horses so that they are not spooked and hunted for their own food. Sometimes they would bring elk or deer carcasses for the humans. The men appreciated having fresh venison at their meals. The male, black-furred wolf never seemed to stray far from Benjen other than when they went hunting, Jon suspected that mayhaps his uncle was on the verge to establish his warg connection with the wolf. Benjen was quite happy to have a wolf companion for himself, he had decided to call him Grim. The wolf seemed to be quite pleased with his name, he wagged his tail and licked Benjen’s face when he was called by that name for the first time. Robb and Jon tried to name the she-wolf, but she didn’t like any of the names they had come up with for her. Winter, Proudfoot…even Lya, for their Grandmother Lyarra and of course, Lyanna Stark. But the wolf huffed and turned her head away each time they tried to call her by one of those names.

Both the cousins still felt a sliver of connection with the she-wolf. But not as strong as the one Jon had with Gale or Benjen started to form with Grim. Jon was quite sure that what they were feeling, was the faint connection with the unborn pups in the she-wolf’s belly. Jon practised hard to re-establish his mental connection with Gale. Slowly he was reaching the point he was at before with her and stopped having his or Gale’s emotions mixed up and in turn making both of them dizzy. He tried to teach Benjen and Robb the first few steps to skinchange into an animal, but there seemed to be a wedge formed between the cousins. Robb took every chance to avoid Jon whenever he could.

Jon had reached the end of his tether with Robb’s behaviour by the time they neared Castle Black. They had reached the Godswood where the Black Brothers went to take their vows. Jon stopped his horse there and said –

“If you don’t mind, Uncle Ben, I want to offer my prayers to the Gods before I went back to the Castle. Would you please wait for me for a while?” Benjen tried to object as they were only a couple of hours away from the Castle, but seeing the look on Jon’s face, he gave his consent. With his uncle’s permission, he turned to Robb, “Join me, brother.”

Again, Robb tried to avoid that, “You can go ahead, Jon, I will offer mine later.”

“I am not asking, Robb.” His voice was cold, Robb could see the glint in his eyes which made his now purple coloured eyes appear as if twin purple flames even in the gloom of the forest. Quite unnerved, Robb followed Jon towards the Hearts Tree.

When they had entered the clearing and were away from prying ears, Jon turned to his cousin and exploded at him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Stark?”

“I don’t know what you mean…” Robb averted his gaze from him.

“Look at my face and say the same thing.” Jon challenged.

Reluctantly, Robb turned his head towards Jon, both cousins were standing with their feet apart, shoulders strained and with all-consuming fires in their eyes. An outsider would have thought that they might be preparing for a duel to death.

“Thank you for finally looking me in the eyes, now would you like to tell me what is wrong? Why are you avoiding even talking with me?”

“I am not avoiding you…”

“Cut the shit, brother, you were never good at that like Greyjoy.”

It was Robb’s turn to explode, “That is exactly it, we are not brothers, are we? Jon? Hells, it is not even your name, Aemon Targaryen!” Robb yelled in frustration.

Jon’s shoulders slumped at Robb’s words. The fire went out from his eyes. He slowly sat down in front of the Weirwood tree and leaned on it.

“Do you truly believe that, Robb? Do you think that we are not brothers?”

Robb too deflated seeing the look on Jon’s face, it reminded him of the times back at home when anyone would insult him for his bastardry and he would sink into the shadows with a defeated look about him.

“Gods, Jon – Aemon, I am sorry…I-I didn’t mean to say that…”

Jon sighed and put his head to his hands. “Would you like to sit down, Lord Stark?”

“Please, bro- cousin, fuck it…Jon, please don’t…you know me, I always run my mouth without thinking…”

Jon took a deep breath and raised his head, “Sit down, Robb. It is time that we have cleared whatever this is between us. No more avoidance, no more secret. I have had my fill with that shit.”

Robb slumped down beside him.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“I don’t know. Uncle Benjen told me to talk to you, but I don’t know how…What do you say to someone you think of your brother, but find out that he was your cousin and your father had been lying to you about him all of your life.” He chuckled ruefully.

“You do understand why he lied, don’t you?”

“Aye, he did it so you wouldn’t have the same fate as your siblings.”

Jon nodded. “Now, care to explain to me, what troubles you so, apart from what you already mentioned?”

Robb ran a hand through his hair, “I reckon I was upset about what father had intended for you. First, I was shocked when I heard you say those things in the cave. Then you were unconscious and Bloodraven also left us alone. Uncle Ben told us how you found out about your heritage.” He indicated towards Jon’s sword, “Dark Sister, and you had the gall to not show it to me properly.”

Jon let out a laugh, the wall between them that had arisen was slowly crumbling away.

“Aye, I am mostly angry with father, and I think I mayhaps took that out unknowingly on you, by avoiding you. As if I was trying to atone for the wrongs of my father’s by pushing you away.” He held up a hand to stop Jon from speaking, “I know, it was quite moronic. In my defence, I wasn’t thinking straight…you know how that weird paste scrambles your head. I was angry at everybody for the insults they showed to you. I was angry at my mother for the way she treated you. I was angry at father for not telling at least the family the truth…it all culminated in my acting poorly.”

Jon put an arm around his shoulder, “You know that we talked and have cleared things between us, your parents and I?” Robb nodded, “I thank you for the love you hold in your heart for me. It is because of that that you want to lash out at everybody for every wrong they have done to me. I understand that Robb, truly I do. We may not be brother in real, but I have always think of you as one, and I will be forever grateful to you if you allow me to call you so.”

“You are my brother, J..Aemon.”

“No, brother, Jon will do for now. And if you want to hear my opinion, do not be too harsh on your father. He did what he could to keep everyone safe and maintain the peace between the kingdoms after a horrible war.”

“How can you just overlook what he did to you, Jon? He never even allowed you to take your lordly lessons with me. You, who is the true heir to the Iron Throne, was not even allowed to know how to maintain his keep. Only thanks to our fosterage that you finally had your lessons in lordly duties. And what of the future? If you hadn’t find out yourself, I don’t think he would have ever told you about your parents. Also, he would have probably made you take the black.”

Jon sighed, “I said I understand his reasoning, I didn’t say that his reasoning was sound. He tried to do his best in his circumstances.”

“Whatever, I will be discussing with him once we return home.”

“For fuck’s sake, Stark! Please, once in your life, try to not be such a mulish fucker and think things through before you act on them.”

Robb remained quiet, but the stubborn settings of his jaw let Jon know that his requests fell into deaf ears.

“I think we have been here for quite a while. Let’s go back to the others.”

They got up to their feet and started to make their way out of the Godswood.

“I am yet to speak alone with Asher and Torrhen after everything. I plan to do so on top of the Wall after getting our rests. I would prefer it very much if you are there to support me.”

Robb stopped in his tracks and turned towards Jon, “You will always have my support, brother. Now that you have mentioned it…” he started to go down on his knees.

“What the fuck are you doing, Robb?”

“I want to offer my fealty to you, Your Grace.”

“Get up from the damned ground, you fuck. I am not the King yet. Stop acting like this, Robb!” Jon was frustrated with the way his cousin was behaving.

Rob got up muttering under his breath, “The idea seemed quite good in my head.”

Jon looked at him with narrowed eyes, “The paste truly fucked up with your head, didn’t it? That’s it, you are going to learn the meditations that Lord Reed had taught me.”

[CotW]

The men back at Castle Black were wary seeing the two large direwolves came ambling with the returning party. Benjen had assured Lord Commander Mormont that the wolves would not harm anyone if they are not attacked, or any of the Starks were threatened. Grim had gone with Benjen to his quarters while the she-wolf had trailed after the cousins to their rooms. She claimed the foot of Robb’s bed and laid down for a nap. The boys decided to follow her example to get some rest for themselves.

After supper that evening, Jon asked Asher and Torrhen to come with him and Robb to the top of the Wall. The four of them stood huddled together around a brazier at a secluded spot, looking out to the vast snow-covered wilderness.

“You lads haven’t yet mentioned anything about the cave.” Jon threw his comment to the wind.

Asher looked at him with an eyebrow raised, “You expected us to holler at the top of our lungs to all about stuff which is the most well-kept secret in recent times? Truly, Jon?”

“I didn’t mean it quite like that…”

“Aye, we know what you meant. But we didn’t have the chance to talk just among ourselves, did we?”

Jon dropped his head to his chest, he didn’t open the conversation the way he wished to. Torrhen looked at him and let out a deep sigh.

“You are worried about our opinion of you now, don’t you?”

Jon nodded his head.

“Well, what do you think?”  Asher asked.

“I don’t know. Northerners are generally untrusting of the Targaryens. It only reached a new height after one of my grandfathers killed the other by burning him alive and strangling his heir to death.”

“Quite true, but I didn’t see a Targaryen prince who fought and protected my home from the Skagosi and wildling invaders.” Torrhen said in a challenging tone.

“Neither did I when I followed the man through freezing water to capture Ironborn ships and stood only with four others to stop a horde of Ironborns.”

“Aye, we know you, the White Wolf, Jon Snow or Aemon Targaryen, whatever your name be, you are the lad who sang lullabies so that my sick and whiney sister can sleep.”

“…and you are the lad who didn’t think about his safety and dived into the fights of immeasurable odds. You are our friend, nay brother, Your Grace. Even now, when you suddenly had grown a thick tail of pomp and entitlement to go with your even thicker head.”

Jon kept looking between the two as they were tagging on one after the other. His shoulder slumped as the weight of unease lifted from them. He beamed at the two.

“Thank you, both of you. You don’t know how much I appreciate your acceptance.” He slung his arms on their shoulders and dragged them into a hug. “Oh…and fuck you, Forrester.”

Asher pushed off from the hug, “Fuck you too, My Prince!” He bowed mockingly at him.

All of them laughed freely. Jon felt as if the cloud of uncertainty that hung over them since their encounter with Bloodraven had lifted from their heads.

Robb said, “I have a question though, It seemed to me that the old man kind of cornered you to admit about your heritage.”

“Aye, it seemed very strange to me too, you didn’t need to say those things just to glimpse at Lady Minerva.” Asher retorted.

Jon ran a hand through his hair. “I know, I was warned about his machinations. He had his motives for making me do so. But what they might be, I have no idea.”

“What are we to do about the Night King and his army?” Torrhen asked.

“What can we do? Can we make the lords listen to us? They have no reason to believe the words of the boys no older than fifteen namedays. Even when they had proven themselves in battle. They believe that magic had left this world along with the dragons. The Northmen still may see the reasons, but the Southerners are an entirely different cup of ale.” Jon turned away from the brazier to look down at the yard. “For now, all that stands between mankind and its doom is a bunch of men who were sent here to be forgotten.”

“I will try to do my best to make father believe in us, Jon.” Robb put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not that easy, Robb. Let us pretend that Uncle Ned believed us, he takes steps to make the North as strong as possible, what of the other realms then? They would think that we are preparing for a war against them. Let’s say we ask him to write to the King for aid, Lord Arryn may or may not listen to our plea. What of Tywin Lannister? Mace Tyrell? They are the lords of the two wealthiest realms, also martially the strongest. Both realms have stronger connections within the Capitol than the North because of our normally reclusive tendencies. No brother, we are completely on our own. We have to maintain a very fine balance in strengthening ourselves as well as not to raise suspicions of the other realms. We need to plan each of our steps very carefully before we take them.”

Asher leaned on the footwall, “What about Bloodraven’s prediction that you are soon to travel out of the North?”

“I don’t know, Asher. I cannot see that happening in near future. I want to travel, aye, but when and where, I do not know.”  

“I think we should get back to our rooms, Icicles have started to form under my nose.” Torrhen wrapped his cloak tightly around him.

[CotW]

A couple of days later, they took their leave from Castle Black. Jon had gone to Maester Aemon and told him about their journey beyond the wall. He was genuinely shocked about knowing the origin of the Gods, as well as the ominous warning about the approaching danger in form of the Night King. He promised Jon that he will direct his steward to research any information about the White Walkers that might be in the archive of the Castle.

Grim stayed back with Benjen, he had formed a fledgling warg bond with the wolf. Jon had given him some instructions about the way Lord Reed had taught about how to further strengthen their bond. On the morning of their departure, Grim came down with them to the gates to bid them and the she-wolf goodbye. He licked Jon’s hand and looked from his face to the she-wolf as if asking him to take care of her. Jon scratched behind his ears and promised the wolf that he will do just that. Benjen had come down to bid his nephews goodbye. Jon could see Ser Aliser was looking at their party from afar with a sneer present on his face. In another life, you would have bowed to me. – thought Jon.

“So, this is it then?” Benjen had finished saying his farewell to Robb.

“Aye, Uncle Ben, we have been away for far too long. ‘Tis time for us to return.”

Benjen wrapped Jon up in a hug, “Take care of yourself, lad, you have quite the burden thrust upon you.”

“I will, Uncle Ben, promise me that you will take care of yourself too. Don’t be too far away from Grim, he will protect you from dangers you are not even aware of. Trust in his instincts and do practice the meditations techniques I showed you. They indeed help with the bonding.”

Benjen chuckled, “Aye, Maester Jon, I promise to take great care of my lessons.” He ruffled his hair.

“I will miss you, Uncle Ben.”

“I will miss you too, lad.” He clasped his forearm, “I wish good fortunes to you for the days to come.”

“And I, you.” Jon squeezed back on Benjen’s arm.

---

 

Kings’ Landing, Nearly a year ago

Lord Jon Arryn sighed as he neared the Small Council’s room in the Red Keep. He could feel in his bones that age is nipping at his heels. He would have been happier if he was back at his own home in Eyrie, raising his newborn son and spending the rest of his days in peace. But Robert needed him at the Capitol, to run the realms. The weight of the pin attached to his chest seemingly getting heavier with each passing day. The childless man was glad when his friends Lords Rickard and Steffon had sent their sons to him for fosterage. He tried to raise Ned and Robert as he would have done his sons if he had any. While Ned grew up to be an honourable and just man, he didn’t know where he went wrong with Robert. Nowadays, whenever he saw the man with growing girth, reeking of wine and the cheap perfume of whichever whore he had spent the night with, Jon had a hard time comparing him with the lad he had welcomed to his home all those years ago. He wanted to blame it all to the Stark girl, Ned’s sister, for her being abducted and dead led Robert to become such a man, but if he was being true to himself, Robert had been just as he was right then since his days of youth. Why he even fathered a lass while he was fostered at Eyrie. Jon had made arrangements to raise the girl while Robert didn’t even blink an eye for his daughter. Not to mention all the children he had fathered since out of his marital bed. He kept a closer eye on the children, arranged for them to grow up in orphanages when their mothers couldn’t care for them. He charged the Qohorik smith, Tobho Mott, in secret to take Robert’s eldest bastard son as his apprentice. He didn’t trust the Lannisters that now filled every corner of the city. The Queen was indeed her father’s daughter in ruthlessness. He could still see the images of Princess Elia and her children’s bloody corpses in front of his eyes, presented to Robert at the throne room by Tywin Lannister. Ned was in the right to demand justice for that brutality, but what shocked Jon was the contempt Robert had shown for the innocent children and their mother. Dragonspawn, he called them. Seemingly forgetting that he was one such dragonspawn himself as his grandmother was a Targaryen – one of the reasons why they had put him up on the throne, his blood connection with the dragon lords. Sometimes, Jon wondered why they had exchanged one inept ruler with another. He tried to maintain the peace among the realms as the Hand of the King while Robert ate, drank and whored his way to an early grave because he still held on to a sliver of hope and love for the young lad he had taught at his knees. One day soon, when his son grew up a bit, he would give the pin back to Robert and would bid this city full of shit-stench and backstabbing sons of whores goodbye and go back to his home.

He opened the doors to the Council’s room and found the rest of the members were already present. Ser Baristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; Grandmaester Pycelle; Varys, the Master of Whisperers; Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships; Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws and finally, Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin. He had brought young Petyr from Vale to act as the Master of Coin when Lord Qarlton Chelsted had died and left the seat empty. The young lord of Baelish Keep from Fingers had proven his worth when he somehow kept Robert’s reign afloat despite the dismal state of the King’s coffer. They needed to cut back down on the frivolities, but none could dissuade Robert from holding feasts and tourneys, or his wife from spending the non-existent golds for useless junks. Robert wouldn’t even listen about the dire state of the economy, ‘counting coppers’ he derisively called it.

He gave a small smile to Petyr as he took his seat at the table. Petyr smirked and bowed to him.

“My Lord Hand.”

Stannis, who was sitting beside him, gnashed his teeth as per usual and gave him a curt nod, Lord Arryn tolerated the man because of his steadfastness and sense of justice, but the rigidity that he showed in every other aspect of life grated on his nerves.

“Shall we continue with our meeting for the day, My Lords?”

Pycelle let out a wheezy cough, stopping Lord Arryn from opening the meeting, “Pardon me, My Lord Hand, but should not we wait for His Grace to come to this meeting?”

“I am sure our King has other things on his agenda than participating in the meeting to run his realms properly.” Stannis gritted out.

The words just left his mouth and the doors to the room were opened with a resounding crash. Robert Baratheon had arrived for his Small Council’s meeting, a rare occurrence if ever. He staggered to the table, clearly still drunk from the previous night. His squire, a Lannister boy, came running after him. Lord Arryn had objected to his presence in the Council’s room before, but Robert had waved it away, saying he needed his glass to be full if he was to sit through the tediousness of the meetings. Lord Arryn knew the lad was more of the Queen’s spy than the King’s squire, but his complaints fell into deaf ears.

They all had gotten up on their feet when the King entered the room, King Robert indicated them all to retake their seats. Renly laughed as Robert crashed into his seat at the head of the table. “You just proved Stannis wrong, brother dear. He was so sure that you will not come to this meeting.” Stannis scowled and gnashed his teeth some more.

“Yes, yes, we are all very glad for my presence. Now, let’s get this shit done.” Robert extended his hand for his squire to shove a glass full of wine in it.

Lord Arryn sighed inwardly and continued with the meeting. Reports from the realms were read, trade deals with Essosi merchants and between the realms and the taxes for them planned. The Council members gave reports after their charges, all the while the King sat slumped in his seat and kept drinking glass after glass of wine.  The meeting nearing the end leaving only Varys’ reports.

“What of the dragonspawns?” Robert growled over his glass.

The eunuch teetered and said, “My little birds had spotted them in Lys a few months ago, but they had since disappeared from there.”

“Send more men, I want them found as soon as possible.”

Jon shook his head, even after all these years, Robert still thirsted for Targaryen blood.

Varys laughed and bowed low, “It will be done, Your Grace.” He reached inside of his loose sleeves and brought out few small pieces of parchments. “My little birds have been singing in quite a different tune from the North…”

Robert sat up straight in his seat, news from his brother in all but blood had always managed to get a rise from him.

“Oh? How is the dour fuck?”

“Lord Stark is quite well, Your Grace. He has arranged for his heir to foster at the White Harbour.”

“Of course he did. See Jon, Ned sent his boy away to foster. Just as we went to you at that age.”

Lord Arryn nodded his head. He had hoped that if Ned decided to foster his children, he would think of one of the Southern houses, to create better ties with other kingdoms. But then again, it was his heir, so fostering him to one of his leal houses should help the lad in the future, and Ned had other children to foster out of the North.

Varys gave a fake cough, “Ah, yes, Your Grace, but the song continues…” Robert motioned for him to speak, “It appears that Lord Stark has also sent his baseborn son for fosterage to the Karstarks.”

“So finally Lady Catelyn managed to get the bastard out of her home, how very interesting.” Baelish leaned forward in his seat.

“Yes, My Lord Baelish, but it is this young man that my little birds sing quite intriguing songs about.”

“Well, don’t keep us waiting, man. Tell us what so interesting about Ned’s son?” Robert demanded.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Varys cleared his throat, “While the heir, Robb Stark, has taken well with the Manderlys, taking lessons in arms and trade deals, this Jon Snow is apparently becoming quite a young warrior. He has slain a giant bear with nought but a skinning knife and has almost single-handed thwarted a Skagosi attack at his foster father’s home. Also, he had stopped an invasion of a wildling band and rescued a few abductees. The smallfolk have been singing his praises all around the North, saying he is the hero from the old legends reborn. As of now, Jon Snow and Robb Stark are taking a ship to the Bear Island to partake in the celebration of the youngest Mormont daughter’s nameday.”

Renly, who had been leaning back lazily in his seat, laughed as Varys finished his report, “Ah, how the mark of a warrior has fallen these days. Now anyone can be called a great hero after chasing away a few stick-wielding savages.” Baelish also snorted at that.

“Savages with sticks or not, it is indeed remarkable for a young lad to fight against grown men and came out the winner. How old is he? Ten and two?” Stannis spoke through gritted teeth.

“Of course, I bowed down to your superior knowledge of warfare, dear Stannis.” Renly bowed his head mockingly to further irk Stannis.

“Enough!” Robert boomed, “It seems to me that Ned has done quite well in raising his whelps. Don’t you think so, Jon? After all, he named the lad in your honour.” Lord Arryn grimaced at that thought. He didn’t know if it was a sign of adoration or a slight that Ned had named his baseborn son after him. Robert continued, “Varys, keep me informed if you hear anymore songs about Ned’s boy. Now, if we are done with all the other horseshits, I want to hear where are we at arranging for my feast. I want all the fucking Crownlanders to be present for that.”

Lord Arryn felt a headache is about to settle in, another meaningless feast. He cleared his throat, “I don’t think the Royal Treasury can afford such a lavish feast at this moment, Your Grace. Perhaps -”

“Bah! I didn’t take the damn throne to count coppers like a miser, Jon. I want a feast. Make it happen.”

He sighed helplessly and looked towards Petyr, who smirked and bowed his head, “As you wish, Your Grace, I may have to shuffle things around for a bit, but it is indeed possible.”

“There, problem solved. See Jon? Now, if there is nothing else, I call this meeting to an end.” He heaved himself off the seat after a few tries and stumbled out of the room, his squire dutifully running after him. Renly and Petyr made their way out of the room talking and laughing between themselves. Grandmaester Pycelle walked out quite faster than his normal slow gait, no doubt going to send a raven to Tywin Lannister. Only Stannis, Ser Barristan and Lord Arryn himself remained behind in the room.

“Another feast, My Lord Hand? How much deeper in Lannister debts are we going to find ourselves into?”

Lord Arryn sighed, “You did hear what His Grace has said, did you not, Lord Stannis? He hates, as he says, ‘counting coppers!’” He spat.

“His whoring and drinking is leading the realms to the depths of the Seven Hells. Speak to him, Lord Arryn, for he listens to none but you.” Stannis gave them curt nods and strode out of the room.

“What do you think, Ser Baristan?”

The aged knight rubbed his face tiredly, “What can I say, My Lord Hand. I am but a humble servant to the throne. Gone are the days when the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had a sway to the Council or the King’s opinion.”

“Careful, Lord Commander, others may not be as generous as I for if you continue to speak such way.”

“Pardon an old man’s tongue, Lord Arryn. My head is not what it used to be.” He bowed to him and got up from his seat. As he was making his way out of the room, he stopped and turned back towards him, “What do you think about Lord Stark’s son?”

“What about him?” Lord Arryn too got to his feet.

“As a baseborn son of a lord, he doesn’t have many prospects for his future, other than mayhaps joining the Watch. If he is truly becoming as good with the sword as Lord Varys claimed, we could offer him a place with the White Cloaks. Gods only know we need good men in our Order.”

“That is indeed a sound plan, Ser Baristan. But let the lad grow up a bit more, then I will talk with Ned about his son squiring for you.”

“With your leave then, Lord Arryn.” Ser Baristan bowed and left the room.

[CotW]

Kings’ Landing, Three months after the North’s retaliatory attack of Skagos

Yet another pointless meeting to pander Robert’s whims. – Thought Lord Arryn as he sat through the Council’s meeting for the fulfilment of His Grace’s latest desire to hold a tourney. Petyr was saying that to make proper arrangements for everything, the crown would need to take a further loan of two million Gold Dragons from Lord Tywin Lannister when Robert burst into the room with his drunken stagger, Ser Jaime Lannister was helping him to keep steady on his feet. They all rose to their feet as the King took his seat, Robert slumped down on it and waved negligently for the Council members to sit back down.

“Where are we with my tourney?”

“Ah, yes, Your Grace, I was just telling to My Lords of the Council that we need to take another loan from Lord Tywin.” Baelish simpered.

“Then what is stopping you from doing so? Tywin won’t mind. They say the Lord Lannister shits gold. Isn’t that right, Kingslayer?” He guffawed at his jape.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Ser Jaime’s face appeared as if hewn from stone.

“Ha! His very own son says so too!” Another round of guffaws followed, “So get the coins from Tywin. Gods know he owes me for tolerating his shrew of a daughter.”

Everyone else present in the room squirmed in their seats and cast discreet glances at Ser Jaime. But the Golden Lion appeared as if he has heard nothing, he bowed his head to the king and strode out of the room to stand guard beside the doors.

“So, that’s done with, is there anything else I should know about?” The King said between taking gulps of wine.

Varys teetered and wiped his powdered face with a perfumed kerchief. “Pardon me, Your Grace, but you gave me orders to keep you informed about Lord Stark’s son…”

Robert opened his half-lidded eyes with a snap and sat straight in his seat, eager to know about his friend’s son.

“Oh? And what the lad has done now?”

“It appears that the Skagosi had planned a large scale invasion of the Northern lands. The first stage of that was an attack on Bear Island. But Lord Stark stopped that attack with the Northern host at his back and in retaliation, took arms to the Skagosi and brought them to heel at last. But the interesting fact is, Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s son, was one of the leaders to defend the Island till Lord Stark arrived with his forces. I heard from my little birds that he even led a cavalry charge out of the keep to further drive the invaders to the sea while Lord Stark and his men cut them down from the back. Later, when the Northern lords went for the retaliatory attack to Skagos, he and the Stark heir led a company of men, who were in charge of guarding the supply line for the army and evacuating the wounded from the battlefields. From the lords to the smallfolk, everybody is singing praises for the White Wolf. As of now, he has gone to the Wall to pay a visit to his uncle, Benjen Stark.” Varys finished his lengthy report.

“Hah!” Robert slapped on the table with absolute glee, “Ned raised his boy right, didn’t he, Jon? That settles it, send a raven to the North. If Ned doesn’t want to come south and visit me, then his son must come. It would be a great opportunity for the lad. A warrior like him will learn a lot from the King’s tourney. I hope he takes part in it, unlike his dour father.”

Lord Arryn bowed his head in compliance. Renly leaned towards Baelish and muttered to him, “So, it appears that we will be hosting a Northern wolf pup.”

“Yes, My Lord Renly, it will be very interesting to meet the Bastard of Winterfell.”

Lord Arryn couldn’t help but agree with that, it would certainly be very interesting to meet his namesake.

---

 

Jon and Robb had decided to ride as hard as they could since they had left the Last Hearth behind. Jon had been long away from his home, Robb even longer. Their stay at the Hearth was very awkward for the cousins because Lord Umber kept pushing his niece to seat beside or spend time with either one of them. While Robb had no problem conversing with Lady Sara Umber, Jon was tongue-tied whenever she came near him. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy her company, but in his mind, he kept comparing the girl with Dacey Mormont, and to his surprise, Sansa. Hence, the poor girl always came up short in Jon’s mind in terms of beauty or sensuality.

The Greatjon was very happy when he heard that Jon had developed a fighting style of his own by using the very axe he had gifted him. He said that he would give him a better axe from his collection, but Jon declined, saying he became quite attached to his axe. Lord Umber praised in his loud voice to all for Jon’s choice of name that he had given to his axe, for it was indeed the cause of freedom for all the women he rescued from the Skagosi invaders.

A week of hard riding later, they could see the grey castle of Winterfell looming at the horizon. Jon and Robb shared a happy glance between them. Finally, they had returned to their home. Suddenly, the she-wolf let a keening sound and laid down on the ground, panting heavily. She had become even heavier with her pups. The wolf was strangely absent during their stay at the Last Hearth, she had gone into the woods and stayed there as if she didn’t want to scare the men with her presence. Jon got down from his horse and approached the giant beast.

“What is the matter, girl? Are you feeling alright? Come on, we are not that far from home. You can rest your feet there.”

The wolf whimpered and turned her head to her belly.

Ping!

Quest Alert!

Make sure that the she-wolf gives birth within the walls of Winterfell

“Oh shit!” He loudly exclaimed.

Robb, who also had gotten off his horse and came to stand beside them, asked, “What is the matter, Jon?”

“I think her pups are coming. But this isn’t a suitable place to give birth. She needs to get behind the walls of Winterfell.”

“How?” Asher interjected, “If you haven’t noticed yet, neither of us can carry her. She is huge!”

The she-wolf turned her head towards Asher and growled low in her throat. Torrhen laughed and slapped Asher on his back.

“Haven’t you learned anything, Forrester? You should never comment on a lady’s weight” Asher raised his hands in surrender to the chuckles of all standing around the wolf.

Jon was thinking hard, how could he move the she-wolf to the castle. Suddenly, an idea sparked in his head. Could it be done? He debated within his head. Only one way to find out.

“Get me some spears. Lads, I will need your cloaks, now!”

“What are you doing, Jon?” Robb asked as he unclasped his cloak.

“We will make a stretcher for her…”

They all looked at him incredulously as he started to arrange the things he had asked.

[CotW]

Ned was sitting in his solar, having a chat with Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone over a few cups of ale. He was on his way to the Wall escorting his youngest son, Ser Waymer Royce, who had decided to take the Black. He stopped on his way to Winterfell to meet with him. When Ned was staying at Eyrie under the fosterage of Lord Arryn, the two became quite close. The older man had invited the shy, young boy to go hunting with him on numerous occasions. Lord Royce was laughing over a particular humorous memory of their time together at Vale when someone knocked on the doors of the solar.

“Enter.” Ned called out.

Vayon Poole, the steward of Winterfell, came in and bowed to the lords. “Pardon me for the intrusion, My Lord, but the men at the gatehouse have spotted riders approaching.”

“Are they flying any banner?”

“Aye, My Lord, the Stark direwolf is flying high over their heads. Lord Robb and Jon Snow are back.” He had one of the biggest smiles on his face.

Happiness blossomed in Ned’s chest, his boys had finally returned. He smiled at his steward, “Send for Lady Stark, she will want to be present to welcome the lads.”

“I have already sent someone to inform her, My Lord. She may have already reached the yard as we speak.”

Ned nodded and turned towards Lord Royce. “If you will excuse me, My Lord, it seems my sons are finally back home after a long absence.”

“Of course, Lord Stark, let us go and greet your sons. I have heard about their heroics on my way here. I very much would like the meet with such fine young men.”

Ned went to the yard with a bounce in his steps. Already Catelyn and his children gathered at the yard, waiting eagerly for the boys. Ned went and stood beside his wife, who gave him a beaming smile. She was happy more than words could describe and almost jumping on her feet like a young lass in excitement. Her boys were finally back. Almost all of the household staff came out to the yard to welcome the heroes of Bear Island.

Two men in Stark livery raced past the gates in a gallop yelling at the top of their lungs.

“Clear the way! Clear the way to the kennels!”

“Not the kennels, you idiot! She won't fit there! Clear the way to the broken tower!”

Ned and Cat looked at each other dumbfounded, the same thought running through their minds – What in the Seven Hells is happening? Very soon, the question was answered when Robb, Jon, Asher and Torrhen came charging through the gates, carrying something huge in between themselves. Their faces were red and sweat-stricken from exertion. They didn’t stop but raced their horses on the path made by the man who came riding before them. As they passed them by, Robb and Jon threw their greetings in the air –

“Pardon us, father! But we are in a hurry!”

“Aye, we will be right back!”

Some more men rushed after them, while the rest of their troop made their way into the keep in an orderly way. Ned hurried on his way to the broken tower with a frown on his face. He heard Jon’s falcon screeching as she flew over his head.

“What are they up to now, Ned?” Catelyn asked, she was agitated by the way the boys acted as she hurried along with him. Their children ran before them, even Sansa didn’t wait for her parents and ran after her siblings.

“I don’t know, Cat. As you know, Benjen sent the very cryptic message, telling me to expect a surprise, but I certainly didn’t expect something like this.”

As they neared the broken tower, they could see some of the men were helping the boys to unload whatever it was they were carrying, down on the ground. When they lowered the bundle, everyone in the vicinity gasped in shock and took a few steps back. There lay a giant wolf, the biggest any of them had ever seen, it was clear that the wolf was carrying pups in her belly and quite near to give birth. The boys had made a stretcher out of spears and cloaks and tied that thing to their saddles as they carried the huge beast into the keep. The men had hard work lowering the wolf. Jon leapt from his horse as soon as it was free from the burden and rushed towards the wolf.

“Hold on, girl! We are nearly there!” He rubbed the wolf between her ears.

He and the other three went two to each side and heaved one end of the stretcher up while another four of their men held it up in the back. Together, the eight of them carried the she-wolf inside of the broken tower. The two that came riding before them, had already been to the inside, they arranged heaps of hay at a corner as a bed for the wolf. The men carried the wolf and lowered her gently on top of the heap.

As they came out of the broken tower, leaving the wolf inside, Robb yelled at the top of his voice. “Mollen! Someone send for Mollen!”

Mollen, the kennel master, was among the men who had gathered in the yard. He came forward as he heard his name being called.

“I am here, milord.”

Robb waved his hand to the tower, “She is about to give birth. What shall we do now?”

Mollen peered inside from behind the cover of the door, he didn’t dare to go near the giant wolf, “Nothing we can do for now, milord. She will take care of herself and her pups, ‘tis in their instincts. We can only make sure that she has plenty of food and water while she is nursing.”

They let out a collective of sighs hearing that.

Ned cleared his throat, the boys jumped at the sound and turned to look at him. “Would you boys mind telling me what is going on?”

Again they had their silent conversation, finally, Robb gathered up his courage and spoke up, “We found her, father, her and her mate, who was named Grim, by the way, he stayed back at the Wall with Uncle Benjen. We found them when we went beyond the Wall -”

He was cut short by a thundering Catelyn Stark. “You went beyond the Wall?!”

Fuck, thought Ned, he forgot to alert the boys that he didn’t tell Lady Stark about their venture beyond the Wall.

[CotW]

It took quite a while to Calm the Lady Stark down. Ned and Robb both promised her that they would speak with her later. Jon didn’t dare to come in front to face her ire. He would approach her once she calmed down somewhat. They had an impromptu introduction with Lord Royce and his son Ser Waymer there in front of the broken tower. Both of them were quite amused and intrigued by the events that unfolded before them. Their conversation came to stop by a squeal from Arya.

“The pups! They are here!”

“Careful, Arya. Do not go near them. The mother won't like it.” Ned cautioned his overenthusiastic daughter.

True to his words, the she-wolf growled when anybody peered in. But she didn’t make any sound when Jon or Ned poked their heads in as if she approved of them. Carefully, uncle and nephew went inside of the tower and stood at a safe distance, watching as the mother wolf nursed her six newborn wolf pups. Both of them had soft smiles on their faces.

“I never thought that I would see a direwolf on this side of the Wall.” Ned said with reverence.

“And now there are seven of them.” Jon replied.

“Aye.” Ned put an arm around Jon’s shoulder. “You mentioned that her mate is called Grim. What is her name?”

“She doesn’t have any. Whatever Robb and I came up with, she never seemed to like any of those names.”

Ned looked closely at the she-wolf, he felt an unexplainable nudge in his head. “How about Iss? It means ice in Old Tongue.”

The she-wolf turned her head towards Ned at the sound of her name. Jon smiled at her reaction.

“Aye, I think she likes her name.”

Ping!

Quest Completed!

Make sure the she-wolf gives birth within the walls of Winterfell.

Notes:

A.N. - Sorry for the late update, thanks to the threat of Cyclone Yaas, our power distributor had taken it upon themselves to care for the powerlines and send us into the dark age for two entire days with constant power failures.

Chapter 16: Southwards Bound

Southwards Bound

Ned ordered a servant to bring raw meat from the kitchen and a pot full of water. Uncle and nephew carried that inside of the broken tower and left it near the corner where Iss was nursing her pups. He took off his gloves and brought his hand near her for her to get a whiff of him. Iss sniffed at his hand before licking it. Jon scratched her head and whispered –

“Take care of your pups in peace, girl. We will see you later.”

As they came out of the tower, they found Sansa trying to coral her two younger siblings away from there.

“Father, you have to speak to them. Mother told me to get them inside but they are not budging.” She stamped her foot in frustration.

“Children, listen to your sister. Let the mother wolf rest. For she won’t be very welcoming to you right now.”

“But Father…” Arya whined.

“No sweetling, I promise that you will get to meet with the pups soon. For now, let us all go inside.” He took Rickon in his arms and placed him on his shoulder.

“Father, I saw the pups, they are tiny.” Rickon was very excited.

“Aye, little pup, they are indeed very tiny. Tinier than you.” He tickled his belly.

Rickon giggled, “No tickles, Father, please. Where is their father?”

“He is with your Uncle Benjen.”

“So we will get to meet him when Uncle Benjen comes back?”

“Aye, I will ask your uncle to bring the father wolf with him to visit his pups very soon.”

Jon shook his head fondly seeing his uncle and little cousin conspiring how to get the father wolf to visit Winterfell soon. He took a look around the yard, Asher and Torrhen were deep in conversation with Lord Royce and his son. Robb was holding a squirming Bran by his shoulder while Lady Catelyn was talking to him in whispers. By the looks on their faces, Jon understood that his cousin was getting his ears chewed out by his mother for getting into unnecessary dangers. Sansa was trying to get a stubborn Arya back inside of the keep. Jon walked towards them.

“My lady.” He bowed to Sansa which made her smile.

“Ser White Wolf.” She curtsied to him.

“Jon!” Arya jumped into his arms.

“Hello there, little wolf.”

“Father won’t let me go and see the pups, Jon.” She thought that her favourite brother could somehow smuggle her inside.

“He is right, little wolf. She needs to get settled herself first and know all of you. Once she does that, and the pups grow a bit, I will bring you to them for petting. Now, how about we go inside?”

“I suppose.” She frowned down to her feet. But at the next moment she started to bounce on her toes, “Robb said you went beyond the Wall. Did you see the giants? Or the mammoths? Huh, Jon?”

Jon laughed at how her mood changed from one to another in a blink. “Breath, little sister.” He hugged her close to himself and offered her other arm to Sansa. The three of them went inside the Keep chatting happily among them.

[CotW]

They didn’t have a feast as the boys’ entrance and appearances of seven direwolves had shaken everyone in Winterfell. The feast will commence on the next day, serving dual purposes of celebrating the boys coming back home after a successful war campaign and also, welcoming a visiting lord, Yohn Royce and his son. Ravens had arrived from Karhold and Ironwrath that lords Rickard Karstark and Gregor Forrester had left for Winterfell when they learned that the lads were coming straight to Winterfell from the Wall. Ned was quite sure that it was ladies Karstark and Forrester who had made their husbands agree to this trip so they can meet with their boys themselves. Truly, it had been a long time since any of them saw each other, what with about a year and a half long worth of travels and battles.

After a lavish lunch, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell sat at the Lord’s solar with Jon and Robb. The boys looked at each other in fear when they entered the room, for Lady Catelyn was red in the face with anger. How she maintained her composure during the lunch, they could never know.

“Now, which one of you will tell me about this trip beyond the Wall? Or how did you come to find a pregnant direwolf and…By the Sevens! Jon! Why are your eyes purple?” She gasped in shock, making Ned look curiously, and with a fear in his heart, towards his nephew’s eyes.

He found that she was right, Jon’s eyes have indeed turned purple. They didn’t notice it under the gloomy, cloudy sky outside when they arrived, and frankly, nobody had any other thoughts in their minds with the commotions Iss caused. But now, even under the lights of torches and the hearth, it was clear that Jon’s eyes are purple. Ned was thinking about the repercussion it could cause.

The boys squirmed in their seats, Jon took a discreet glance at his uncle before looking directly at Lady Catelyn. “All of it is tied together with what we are to tell you, My Lady, but I believe that Lord Commander Mormont had sent a raven about our ranging beyond the wall?” He looked askance at his uncle.

It was Ned’s turn to squirm in his seat under his wife’s furious gaze.

“Er…I had received a raven from the Lord Commander of the Watch about the ranging mission. But I didn’t mention it to you because I didn’t want you to worry any further.” Ned gave her a pleading look.

Catelyn narrowed her eyes and turned to look at the boys.

Robb kicked Jon under the table – Do something.

Jon narrowed his eyes at him – Why can’t you do something?

Robb shook his head – She already chewed me out in the yard, it is your turn.

“I am still waiting for an answer.” Lady Stark’s stern voice brought them back from their silent conversation.

“Um…you see, My Lady. I had received a dream…” Jon launched into the tale about how Bloodraven appeared in his dreams and asked him to go beyond the Wall for a meeting with him. He stressed the fact that Robb tried to dissuade him from going, but since he was adamant, Robb had no choice but to follow him along. And they had their Uncle Benjen with them, who never allowed them out of his sight, plus they had all of their troops, so they were not any real danger.

Catelyn was drumming her fingers on the table while Jon described their journey and what they found out there. When he reached the part about him claiming his identity before eating the Weirwood paste, she leaned forward and looked deep into his eyes.

“So you are telling me, that this old man in a cave cornered you and you revealed your secret to all of them. Now more people know about the secret that could lead to another war.”

“Aye, but you need not worry about Asher and Torrhen, Aunt. We were practically inseparable in this past year, we fought and bled together. And as Uncle Ned says, you get to learn who your true friends are on the battlefield, we have found ours. They are our brothers. They will never divulge our secrets.” Robb nodded his head fervently to support Jon’s claim.

Catelyn was massaging her temple as if trying to fend off a headache. “I don’t doubt about their loyalty, Jon. What troubles me is your tendency to leap before you look. Are you to tell me that if anybody strongarms you, you will be revealing your innermost secrets to them? I thought you are matured, Jon. I would expect this kind of things from Robb,” she ignored the indignant “Mother!” from her son, “but never from you.”

Jon’s face had turned red from shame, he was gazing at his hands, “Aye, Robb and the others have already taken me to the task about that idiocy of mine. But in my defence, my brain had kind of stopped working properly, I was standing there in front of a group of Children of the Forest, a myth had come to life before our very eyes, and a man who was also out of the myth. Brynden Rivers, one of the most infamous characters of our history since the Conquest. I somehow lost all of my reasoning.” Jon hurriedly continued as he saw Catelyn opening her mouth to say something, “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have done that, and I would try my very best to not act the same again. It was indeed very foolish of me and I am truly sorry for that. I should’ve not fallen for his manipulations.”

Ned was sitting quietly behind his desk and looked on with keen interest at the drama which was going on in his solar. He tried to discern Robb’s reaction for finding out his brother’s – no, cousin, true identity, but he seemed to be avoiding in meeting his eyes, it puzzled him. Catelyn sighed and sat back in her seat.

“Please try to remember, Jon, whatever you do, it could affect us all – Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa. They are not yet ready to face all the hardships you two have experienced already. One misstep from you could alter their lives forever.” Jon nodded his head. “Continue, please.”

Jon did, he talked about how he met with one of the Gods. He told them about how it was the humans who had created different pantheons of the beings in their preferable images. He told them how Lady Minerva told him about the coming doom and how he was charged to protect mankind from the Night King and his armies.

Catelyn had turned pale by the end of Jon’s tale, the base of her entire religious belief was shaken. She would be lying if she said that she never had thought of the Northerners as tree-worshipping savages before she came up here. To her, the only true religion was of the Seven, as her Septa had drilled it into her head since her childhood. Now, she was hearing her husband’s nephew claiming that he had met with the personification of the Crone? And not only that, the Gods she had been praying and the Gods for whom she still held a smidgen of disregard are the same. She didn’t know what to think, she had a tight hold on Ned’s arm.

Ned sighed and leaned on his desk. Just as his wife, he too couldn’t make himself believe the tale his nephew had just shared. He looked at the boys, neither of them had the mischievous glints in their eyes when they thought that they had pulled a successful prank. No, instead they appeared as serious as he had seen them on the battlefields. They are not lying – his inner voice screamed at him.

“While I do not doubt you, you do realize how fantastical your story sounds, don’t you? It can be believable to Bran, Rickon or mayhaps even Arya, but not the entire North.”

The boys nodded, Jon looked to Robb – What now, brother?

Robb indicated to the door – Perhaps your bow could convince them?

Jon nodded and excused himself, he rushed to his rooms to get the bow and took it back to his uncle’s solar. He put the bow down on the desk.

“We have three proofs to our claims. The first is nursing her pups inside the broken tower. Lady Minerva had directed Grim and Iss to find us. Direwolves once again will roam alongside the Starks. The second is this bow. The men with us have seen a Child giving me this bow as a gift.”

Ned picked up the bow to examine with a frown on his face. He tried its string before turning it over in his hands and looked closely at the carved images on the wood. “This is ironwood!” He exclaimed in shock.

“Aye, Uncle Ned. The Children had used their magica to bend a wood that is as tough as iron and cannot be used like a bow. But they made it pliable, and according to them, none can come close to this in terms of reach or efficiency save mayhaps Weirwood longbows. Not only that, they had managed to carve into it. It is one of a kind since nobody else can make a bow out of ironwood.”

Catelyn ran her fingers over the bow, granted she didn’t know much about weapons, but she couldn’t deny that it was a beautifully crafted weapon.

“You said there are three proofs, what is the third one?” Ned poured himself and his wife glasses of ale. They needed to steady themselves after listening to Jon.

Jon looked at Robb – Shall I?

Robb had a grim look on his face, he nodded his head a little – Aye, they need to know.

Jon nodded back. He raised his right hand to eye level and closed his eyes. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell looked on intently as Jon seemed to be deep in a trance, he had started shaking, his face had gone red and sweat started to form on his brow. Ned tried to call out to him but Robb stopped them from interrupting. Suddenly, he opened his fist and a bright red flame erupted in his palm. Ned and Cat let out yelps of shock and pushed themselves away from the desk. The fire danced on and around his hand but not causing him any harm, leaving his skin free of blisters and burns. Jon again closed his hand in a fist and the fire died out. He collapsed in his seat and was panting hard. Robb scrambled to his feet and poured a cup of ale and shoved it into his hand. Jon nodded his head in thanks and drank the entire thing in one gulp.

“What in the name of Seven Hells is that?” Ned was never this shocked in his entire life. Catelyn still clutched her chest, both of them had gone bone white.

“Lady Minerva told me that I am the Song of Ice and Fire. Bloods of the First Men – the Winter Kings, the Children of the Forest and Old Valyria run through my veins. She had awakened the innate magic that was present in my blood, and it resulted in what you just saw. I was told to practise with it, still, I become unusually weak and tired even after the littlest bit of this magical exertion. Only Robb, Asher and Torrhen know of my practising.”

His uncle and aunt took a few moments to absorb his words. Robb was keeping an arm around his shoulder, to help him sit straight, he knew how vulnerable Jon becomes whenever he tried to ignite the flames. Jon had his head turned towards the hearth, though he had a faraway look on his face.

“You know, the Children call me ljós leggja, the Light Bringer, as the sword of the Last Hero from the myth. Lady Minerva called me Azor Ahai. When I returned to Castle Black, I went to the library there, trying to find any mention of the famed hero. My father believed himself to be Azor Ahai, later, according to Uncle Aemon, he started to believe that the hero will be born of his blood. Besides getting a male heir, that was the other reason why he pursued Mother. But I think that he was indeed Azor Ahai, and as it was stated in the myth, Azor Ahai forged his blade thrice, only the third try was successful. In my father’s case, the first try was my sister Rhaenys. The second try was that false Aegon. I was his third try. And like in the story, for Lightbringer to work, the hero had to temper the sword with his wife, Nissa Nissa’s life blood. I was born to the death of my mother.”

His three listeners were looking at him with morbid incredulity. Ned cleared his throat, “Um…Jon?”

Jon shook himself from the anguish that had started to blossom in his heart. “Forgive me, it was just some ramblings of an idle mind. Please, do not pay attention to it.” He tried to smile at them, “Anyhow, we were discussing the looming threat of utter annihilation.”

“Aye,” Ned sighed, “How do you propose we are to present this to the lords of the North?”

“Tell me something, Father,” Robb said with a smirk, he and the others had talked among themselves on how to proceed with their plans. “Why would our ancestor built a seven hundred feet tall and three hundred miles long solid wall of ice just to keep some men on the other side of it? They are humans like you and me. You don’t need something as massive as the Wall to prevent them from crossing to our lands. How do you explain that the said Wall still stands even after thousands of years, enduring countless summers? How do you explain the thrums of magic that the Northerners feel in their bones when they come close to the Wall? We both have felt it…well, him more than me,” he indicated to Jon while smirking, “because his arse is further special than mere blood of the First Men.”

He squeaked receiving an elbow to the ribs from Jon and a rebuke of “Language!” from his mother. His father sighed and shook his head in exasperation.

“Pardon my tongue, Mother, having spent more than a year among the company of men in harsh conditions had affected our languages a bit. As I was saying, We - Jon, Asher, Torrhen, myself, even the men with us had felt the calling of the magic of the Wall. They would have denied it first-hand if they hadn’t seen a Child appear before them. Magic isn’t gone from the world, Father, as the Southerners would have us believe,” he threw an apologetic glance at his mother, “it still resides everywhere around us. We Northerners boast of our long memory, but in this instance, we had forgotten just like the rest of the world.”

Jon put his hands on the desk, looking beseechingly at his uncle, “Uncle Ned, we know that we cannot right out admit everything to all of the North, above all the secret behind my birth. We know the precarious position we are forcing you into, but we implore you, please, do not ignore these warnings. For they are nothing else – reappearances of direwolves or the Children, stirrings of the wildlings. They all indicate that evil is on the rise again. Nowhere was it said that the Last Hero had killed off the threat about eight thousand years ago, they just say that he drove them off. We need to be in a stronger position if we wish to withstand the second coming of the Long Night.”

Catelyn looked at her husband, he sat there leaning back in his seat, staring intently at the boys. “Ned?” She whispered.

Ned rubbed his eyes tiredly. He reached for the jug of ale and poured four glasses of it, indicating the others to their drinks as he gulped down his own.

“You are asking me to do the things that I wanted to do since the day I had to take up the charge of being the Warden of the North. I want to see our land and its people prosper, but we don’t have the fund. What little we grow or farm is not enough to feed everybody. We need to buy food from the Riverlands and the Reach just so that our people don’t go to bed hungry. Even that isn’t enough at times. You lads have grown up inside of castles. Now, when you are on the verge of becoming men, you are venturing out into the world and experiencing the hardship it offers. You don’t know that when winter comes, the lords stayed safe and warm in their keeps, but the smallfolk…they don’t have those amenities. Oftentimes, the elder of a family goes out in the middle of winter, telling their loved ones that they are going for a hunt. In reality, they are choosing the coldness to die over watching their family suffer from hunger. If they go out that way, there is one less mouth to feed. Come summer, sometimes they come back home. More often than not, their corpses could be found under melting snow. Other kingdoms have to force their people to be called for levies, here in the North, people eagerly join because that way they would have food on their plates, and coins to feed their family. This is how the Northerners live. We, the lords, know how our people suffer, but we cannot do anything to counter that. Because we just don’t have the resources. Now, you tell me, how am I supposed to strengthen our people, when they are already weak from starving?”

Jon had his head down, for he had indeed seen how the people struggled just to live day after day. At Karhold, at Bear Island…at Winter Town.

“Trading.”

“Pardon?”

“I said trading, Uncle Ned.” Jon looked up to his uncle, “We don’t have enough farmable lands, but we have forests, miles and miles of it. And they are full of wild games. Beasts we can harvest furs from, or meat. I have read that the free cities of Essos are always in need of lumber. We can sell to them directly. With Skagos finally under the North’s control, we can establish a trading centre there.”

Robb tagged on after him, “Aye, That way, the lords nearer to the wall could send their wares to the port at Skagos, while the lords nearer the neck could send theirs to White Harbour. We can establish a trading alliance directly with Braavos. I don’t think Lord Manderly will deny you if you commission him to build you a few ships.” He hurriedly tried to placate his father seeing a frown forming on his face, “I know the coffer of Winterfell will take a dip, but if we come out successful, and I believe that we will, then soon, mayhaps within a couple of years, the coins will start to flow into our treasury. I think it is time for the North to rebuild our fleet after Bran the Burner. If you are wary about the cost, you can always send a raven to the Capitol about tax exemption for a few years, Lord Arryn and the King are close to you after all.” Contempt was evident in Robb’s voice when he mentioned the King, making Ned frown at his son.

“And I will try to contact Uncle Brynden, to see if he can convince some of the Children to come to the south of the Wall and weave their magic so that our people can grow enough food to not let their loved ones starve. I will most definitely see to it before I leave the North.”

“Leave? Where will you be going, Jon?” Ned’s heart thudded in his chest.

“I don’t know, Uncle, Bloodraven made a prediction that I am soon to leave these lands. When or why I am yet to know.”

“Is it wise, Jon?” Catelyn’s voice was tremulous, “Now that your eyes have taken to appear as your father’s, people will raise questions.”

Jon gave her a contrite smile and took her hands in his, “Aunt Cat, please don’t take it to your heart what I am about to say…” Catelyn gave him an uncertain nod, “I think this will be another layer of security for me. Because rumours are abundant about how Uncle Ned was courting Lady Ashara Dayne at the tourney of Harrenhal. People will make the easy connection that I am her son because she also had the purple eyes.”

Catelyn’s expression had turned stony as she removed her hands from Jon’s grasp. Ned sighed and placed an arm around his wife’s shoulder.

“People have it the other way around. It was your Uncle Brandon who was with Lady Dayne at that tourney, I, myself was quite smitten with a certain shy redheaded woman who had gotten on famously with my sister.” He nudged Catelyn’s shoulder, who had a look of disbelief in her eyes and pinked cheeks, “I only danced with Lady Dayne so that Brandon would get his head out of his arse and pay proper attention to his betrothed.”

“Language!” Lady Catelyn chided her husband, “Ned, why didn’t you say anything about all of these before?” She was looking quite pleased.

“We never have been this close, My Lady. All these secrets had taken a toll on our relationship.”

“Oh, Ned!” She placed a loving hand on his cheek.

A loud sound of clearing throats brought the two of them back to the present, and to realize that they were not alone.

“Er…right. As I was saying, it was Brandon, not I, and there are already rumours among the Northern lords that Jon is indeed Brandon’s son with Lady Dayne, I claimed him as my own to save faces for everybody. They say so because they can see the wildness in Jon on the battlefield that Bran had possessed.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, it was truly astounding how people make assumptions to justify their leaps of misplaced logic. “Aye, it will give to the rumours of my being Lady Ashara’s son some credence.”

“Still, I can’t, in good conscience, give you permission to leave the North.”

The contempt he thought he saw on his son’s face before had become prominent. Robb leaned on the desk with a sneer, “Oh? And what is your plan regarding Jon, Father?”

Jon tried to pull his brother back, “Robb, please…”

Robb shook off his hand from his shoulder. “Not now, Jon.” He turned back towards his father, “Well, My Lord, do you wish for him to take the Black and waste his life there among thieves and rapers? Just so no further problems arise for your friend to retain his crown?”

Ned never expected such vitriol from his own son, “Be mindful with whom you are speaking to, lad.”

“Aye, I know with whom I am speaking to, Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and brother in all but blood to King Robert Baratheon. Do you know with whom you are speaking? I am Robb Stark, brother in blood and all else to Aemon Targaryen, and I won’t sit quietly while you deal with my brother unjustly.”

Jon and Lady Catelyn could only look on as the father and son squared off against each other.

“What unjust are you speaking of? I have raised him as my son, kept him under my roof while I could have handed him over to any of my bannermen and forget about him.”

“Aye, you raised him, but as a bastard. You very well know how our world sees a bastard. And you raised the prince of the realms, the true heir to the throne completely unprepared to run his own keep, let alone the seven kingdoms.”

“Robert is the true king. His claim is true by the rights of conquest…”

“Robert is a liar and a lecher who used trickery…”

“Enough!” They all jumped in their seats as Ned’s fist slammed on the desk. “You will be punished for your insolence. You have no idea what you are speaking about…”

Robb cut him off by letting out a burst of mirthless laughter, “Me? It seems to me that it is you who doesn’t have any idea what he is speaking about. Tell me, My Lord, you probably have a quite clear memory of the Knight of the Laughing Tree? And how your friend Robert boasted to all about his valiant battle with that rogue knight? I believe it was during this grandstanding when he claimed to one and all about how he intended to become a true brother to his beloved Ned Stark by marrying his sister. You remember it, don’t you?”

Ned didn’t expect the argument to turn this way, he nodded his head dumbly wondering where Robb was going with this.

“Do you know who was under those armours, My Lord? It was your sister, Lyanna Stark. Aye, she took up arms to teach the knights a lesson whose squires had insulted her countryman, one of her father’s bannermen, the then-future lord of Greywater Watch, Lord Howland Reed. He was there with Aunt Lyanna trying to get rid of those armours when Prince Rhaeger had found them, and helped them to discard the armours. So tell me, My Lord, how was it your brother Robert fought with the Knight of the Laughing Tree and won the shield when she wasn’t even anywhere near him?”

Blood had drained from Ned’s face, this couldn’t be true, could it? He looked towards Jon who was staring at him solemnly and nodded his head.

“Aye, Uncle Ned, Lord Reed had told me all about the tourney of Harrenhal. He tried to tell all of these to you too during the Rebellion, but you were never in a position to listen to him, what with Robert Baratheon always being there with you.”

Robb was relentless, “Not only that, Uncle Benjen had told me how Aunt Lyanna had begged Grandfather Rickard to break off the betrothal. He would’ve even listened to her, if not for the constant ravens sent by a certain person from Eyrie about what a great man that is Robert Baratheon. Tell me, My Lord, do you expect me to bring proposals from likeminded lechers and whoring b…men for Sansa or Arya? Or, Gods forbid, and our situations change, you expect me to send any of their children off to lead a life of uncertainty among the worst scums of the realms? If so, then you may as well start to train Bran to take up after you, I am renouncing my claims as Heir of Winterfell…”

“Robb, no!” Jon and Lady Catelyn tried to get him out of the room, but Robb couldn’t be moved.

“You have chosen the friend you call your brother, Lord Stark, over your own family. Now, I choose mine, my cousin by blood but brother in everything else, and I will stand by him in everything. This I promise to you.”

Gone was the posture of the stern lord of Winterfell. Ned Stark, the Quiet Wolf had the appearance of a broken man, hunched over his desk with his head in his hands. Lady Catelyn was standing beside him, rubbing her hand on his back in a soothing manner. She looked at his son with fury in her eyes.

“Get out of here, Robb. You had no right to speak like that with your lord father. Get out of here before I forget that you are my son.”

Jon forcefully dragged Robb out of his uncle’s solar and brought him to his rooms.

“You were way out of the line in there, Stark. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Robb stubbornly remained quiet and kept looking at the flames of the hearth.

“If Lord Stark doesn’t, I will have to see that you are punished for how you behaved with your father. You will meet me at the dawn in the yard, Robb. No excuses.”

“Whatever.” Robb muttered.

“You better be there, Stark.” Jon got out of the room.

---

 

Kings’ Landing

Lord Jon Arryn, Hand to the King Robert Baratheon, sat exhausted on the Iron Throne after a gruelling day of holding court in the name of the King. As usual, King Robert was absent, so it fell to the Hand to sit in his stead. He sheathed the blade he had lain upon his lap, it was a finely crafted blade, gifted to him by his wife Lysa for him to use during such times as holding courts. He stood up from the throne made of swords, carefully taking note of the edges and points so that he didn’t cut himself like King Aerys. The Mad King was known to cut himself regularly on the throne and for his disgusting habit of picking at the scabs. As he stood, his back popped loudly, his body was protesting for all the stress he had been putting it through. Ser Arys Oakheart was the guard for the day. He gave Lord Arryn a sympathetic nod.

“My body is protesting hard, Ser Arys. One of these days, I won’t be able to even walk the steps up to the throne.”

Ser Arys smiled, “You are made of sterner stuff, My Lord Hand.”

“You flatter me, kind Ser, but let’s face the truth, I am an old, doddering fool. I don’t know how much longer I can serve His Grace.” He gave him a nod and made his way out of the throne room.

He was surprised to see another member of the Kingsguard standing beside the doors. Ser Mandon Moor turned his lifeless eyes towards him as he stepped out of the throne room. He gave Lord Arryn a curt nod.

“Her Grace has requested an audience with you, My Lord Hand.”

Lord Arryn sighed inwardly. Cersei Lannister, for she couldn’t be anything else in his mind, didn’t just request, but ordered for him to appear before her, and she had sent her faithful dog Mandon Moor to make sure Lord Arryn followed her order.

“Kindly tell Her Grace that I will meet with her after I freshen up a little. As you can see, Ser, I just finished holding court for the day.”

“Her Grace was quite insistent that you meet with her as soon as you are done with holding court.” Ser Mandon’s expression didn’t change a bit.

Of course, she was. – Thought Lord Arryn, “Very well, Ser. Where would I find Her Grace?”

“She has gone for a stroll at the gardens with her hand maidens. I can escort you to her.”

“I am sure that I can find the way by myself, Ser Mandon.” He gave the knight a curt nod and swiftly made his way towards the gardens. As he reached the exit to the gardens, he saw a few Lannister household guards manning the gates. Footsteps from behind had alerted Lord Arryn that Ser Mandon had followed him. He shook his head a little, he should have realized that as a member of the Kingsguard, Ser Mandon was on duty to guard the Queen for the day. Age was truly catching up to him.

Lord Arryn found the Queen to be sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree. Her hand maidens were sitting by themselves a little apart from her. Queen Cersei sat resplendent in her flowing dark green silk gown matching her eyes. Her golden hair woven in a complex style atop her head. No matter what her personality was, nobody could deny that Cersei Lannister was a beautiful woman.

“Your Grace.” Lord Arryn bowed to her.

“Ah, Lord Arryn. Why you look quite tired; did you come directly from the throne room, My Lord?”

Lord Arryn thought to take up the practice of Stannis Baratheon and gnash his teeth together.

“Ser Mandon was quite insistent that I visit you immediately, Your Grace. I had indeed just finished holding the court for the day when he found me.”

“Oh, that man.” Cersei shook her head. “I asked him to tell you that I would like to see you at your convenience, but naturally he thought otherwise.” False sympathy dripped from her voice. “Please, take a seat, My Lord Hand. Would you like some food? A drink, perhaps?” She indicated the opposite end of the bench on which she was perched herself.

“My thanks, Your Grace, a glass of wine would certainly help.” Lord Arryn sat down opposite of the Queen.

A serving girl hurried along and poured him a glass of wine at the Queen’s nod. He took a savouring sip of the fine Arbour Gold under the scrutiny of the Queen.

“Are you sure you do not want to eat something, My Lord? Ser Mandon should not have said that I requested your presence right this moment. A fine man, he is. Jaime says he is the most dangerous man of the Kingsguard. After him, of course.” She laughed out at that, “But as you can see, he is quite literal at what he was ordered to perform. I will be having a word with him for his misinterpretation of my request.”

Lord Arryn didn’t miss the subtle threat behind her words. “It is of no issue, Your Grace. I am quite happy to spend some time with such a beautiful company.”

Cersei gave him a pleased smile. “You are quite the flatterer, My Lord Hand.”

“Not at all, My Queen. You are indeed the most beautiful woman in all of Seven Kingdoms” He set aside his glass, “Now if it pleases Your Grace, why did you summon me?”

“Ah, yes, of course. I almost forgot. I wanted to speak to you about the upcoming tourney.”

Lord Arryn shook his head. “I am afraid you have the wrong man to discuss the tourney, Your Grace. Lord Renly is in charge of the arrangements and Petyr is looking after the expenses. I just review and stamp my approvals on the parchments they send my way.”

“Oh no, My Lord, I do not have any intention to discuss the itinerary of the tourney. I want to have a chat with you about a certain rumour that I heard.”

“Oh? And what is this rumour, Your Grace?”

Cersei laced her fingers together on her lap and slightly narrowed her eyes. “I heard that invitation is being sent for the bastard of Lord Stark to attend this tourney.”

Lord Arryn’s back stiffened just a bit. Where are you going with this, you hag? – He thought. “Ah, yes. young Jon Snow. His Grace is quite insistent that the lad visits him. He had heard about his heroics a lot and want to meet with the son of his friend in person.”

A scowl formed on Cersei’s face, “Is it wise, My Lord? Sending special invitation from the King to a baseborn son of a lord could send quite the wrong message to the kingdoms.”

Baseborn or not, I am sure the lad will be more delightful than that spawn of yours. I have heard whispers about Joffrey. I know what a vicious cunt your son is and how he behaves with the staff as well as his siblings. – Mused Lord Arryn.

“I tried to dissuade him from doing so, Your Grace. But you know Robert, once a notion gets into his head, none can turn him away from that.”

“I do not like this, My Lord Hand. He is sending a special invitation to his friend’s bastard. What’s next? Does he plan to get those bastards of his own and raise them in the red keep along with the royal children?”

Lord Arryn sighed, “I understand your concerns, Your Grace. But all I can say to you is that I will have another chat with His Grace and try to change his mind about this.”

Cersei didn’t reply, she turned her head away from him.

“If that is all, Your Grace, May I take my leave? I am quite tired after holding court all day long in absence of His Grace.”

“Yes, Robert hasn’t recovered yet from last night’s ‘entertainments’!” A sneer marred her beautiful visage.

Lord Arryn got up from the bench and gave her a bow. Just as he turned away from her, Cersei called him from behind.

“I am thinking about giving Robert a gift, My Lord Hand. Do you think he will appreciate a small, beautifully crafted dagger? They are quite useful and easier to carry, and I heard quite the praises for the works of that Qohorik smith, Tobho Mott, I believe is his name?”

“Yes, My Queen, he is truly quite the craftsman.” Lord Arryn again gave her a curt bow and swiftly made his way out of the gardens.

This is not good. He thought as he went on his way, she had found out about Robert’s bastard and now planning to end the life of that poor lad. I have to think up something to keep him safe. Oh, Robert. If only you could control your urges…

---

 

Jon woke up with a start. Something felt unusual in his sleep. He looked around the room as sleep left his eyes. Suddenly, panic rose in his chest as he found a woman lying beside him, half draped over his body. He couldn’t see her face as brown locks of hair obscured her face. He slowly moved from underneath her and got out of the bed, grabbing a pair of breeches and a tunic that lay discarded on the floor. As he dressed, he took a closer look around the room. It seemed to be a room of Winterfell castle - the stones of walls and the rune carved wooden beams were proofs of that, but Jon had never seen this room in his life. His eyes fell over a mirror which was placed at the corner beside the bed. Something about his reflection didn’t appear quite right to him, so he went and stood before the mirror.

He had to stifle a yelp of shock because the man that was looking back at him from the mirror was not him. The man of the mirror was much thinner, but by no means weak, had a narrow, Northern face with a pointy set of beard. Jon brushed his fingers over his face, wondering what in the name of Gods had happened to him.

“Greetings, Champion.”

Jon whirled on his feet to see a pale silhouette of Lady Minerva floating near the window.

“My Lady.” He went down on his knees.

“Please, get up, My Champion. We have much to discuss and we do not have enough time.”

Jon got up and stood before the Goddess.

“You must be wondering where or who you are?” Jon nodded, “As I told you before, the artefacts you wear, will help you to delve into memories from the past. Memories of your ancestors or the previous men who held the title of the Champion. You will relive their lives in these memories, learn from their successes or failures. But I must warn you, you cannot change anything, for these events had already come to pass. All you will be seeing is an echo of the events from the eyes of men who had experienced these by themselves. Think of this as a ride in a cart. You will not be in charge of the bodies you will find yourself to be in, the men or women will live their lives as they did, and you will only observe and learn as them. Right now, you inhibit the body of Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. Soon you will be notified of the Andal Invasion of the North.”

Lady Minerva faded from view. As soon as she was gone, the woman in the bed started to stir from her slumber. Jon/Theon turned towards her.

“My love, what are you doing up so early? Please, come back to bed…” She opened her arms in invitation. Jon/Theon could see her perky breasts and pink nipples peeking out from under the furs. Jon felt as if he was being pushed further away from the consciousness of the man and just made to watch, but in no way could he control the body. Theon smiled and got into the bed and on top of his wife, Melana.

“I do have a kingdom to run, my sweet, but I will also be remiss in my duties if I neglect my beautiful wife.” He bent down and captured her lips with his own. His right hand cupped her left breast and kneaded it. Melana moaned in his mouth. Theon started to kiss down her jaw, collarbone, the valley in between her breasts while his hands were busy on the soft mounds of flesh. He licked her navel and was about to delve down when an insistent knocking on the doors ruined the moment.

“Who is it?” Theon growled in annoyance.

“My King, you are needed in the Great Hall. It is quite urgent.”

“I am sure whatever it is, can wait for an hour or two.” He turned his head and placed a soft bite on his wife’s belly, happy to hear her moaning out in pleasure.

“I am afraid it can’t, My King. A messenger from Lord Bolton had arrived carrying dire news. There is an invasion, My King.”

Blood roared in Theon’s ears. Who had dared to invade his lands? He jumped up from the bed much to his wife’s displeasure and started to put on his armours and weapons. His magical bracers, as always, changed from their leather wristbands forms to their original bracers forms.

“Duty calls, My Queen. But I give you my words that I will finish what I have started once I have dealt with the fucking cunts who dared to spread their greedy paws towards my lands.” He bent down to give a peck at his wife’s forehead before hurrying out of the room.

He reached the Great Hall to find an agitated man in Bolton colours fidgeting before the throne. He sat down and asked, “Speak in short and precise words, what did Lord Rogar have said?”

Rogar Bolton, or as he was known, Rogar the Huntsman, was the last of the Red Kings before they kneeled to the Starks and accepted the vassalage of the Kings of Winter. Age had caught up to the former Red King, he was leading a quiet life inside the Dreadfort and training his heir, Leander, to take up after his passing.

The Bolton man took a knee before Theon, he kept looking at the ground and spoke in a loud, clear voice, “Lord Rogar has sent a message that warships are approaching the coast, My King. Lord Leander went on a fishing trip and spotted them. He had sent a messenger to our Lord. The invaders mayhaps already have landed by the time it took me to ride hard from Dreadfort to Winterfell, My King.”

Theon leaned back to the throne, his eyes were blazing with fury.

“Aidan!” He yelled out the name of his master-at-arms, Aidan Poole. The man hurriedly approached the throne. “Prepare the men, it seems we will be going for a war.”

He got up and left the Great Hall. He went out to the Godswood. Entering it, he let out a loud whistle. He didn’t have to wait for long, a huge direwolf came rushing from within the woods. Brodir had come running to answer the calling of his companion. He stood almost as tall as Theon, his grey fur glistening under the summer sun. Theon rubbed the wolf behind his ears and brought his face down to touch his forehead with his own.

“We are going for a fight, boy. Are you ready to sink your teeth into the flesh of some foolish cunts?”

Brodir licked his face in reply.

Everything started to fade into wisps of smoke.

[CotW]

When the smoke once again coalesced together to become solid figures, Jon/Theon found himself sitting atop horseback, riding along on a Hunter’s Path in a slow trot through some woods with his men at his back. They heard a sharp whistle sounded ahead of them. Theon put his right arm up to stop the men from advancing. He could hear hoofbeats approaching them. Brodir silently came out of the woods, as if he suddenly materialized out of the darkness. He came to stand beside his horse, only his warging abilities kept the horse from running in full out panic. A men came out from behind a cluster of trees and stopped his horse a little away from them. Theon recognized him as one of the outriders he had sent out days ago to scout for the enemies. The man placed his right fist over his heart and bowed.

“My King.”

“What have you got?”

“The Umber and Karstark men have driven the Andals back to the sea, My King. As of now, I heard their ships are relocating at Widow’s Watch.”

“That is good news, what else?”

“Lord Rogar is no more, My King. He and his men were ambushed when they were returning to Dreadfort from seeing the men camped out at the feet of Sheepshead Hill. The Hornwoods gave them chase but lost them in the darkness of the night. Lord Leander hasn’t returned to Dreadfort since then, he has camped out near Weeping Waters. Rumours have it that one of the Andal Warlords by the name of Argos Sevenstar made to shore there and directing his men to raid along the coastline. Lord Leander is trying to protect the villages and the men but he is in dire need of help, My King.”

“And Lord Leander shall receive help.” He turned his horse to face his men, “Men, Leander Bolton stands alone and fighting the battle for all of us Northerners. Let us go and give our brothers a helping hand. Let us show these Andal fuckers what happens when they dare to come into the wolf’s den. We will sacrifice their entrails to the Gods, we will mount their heads on the very coast they dared to invade. I promised my wife that her children will live in a happy and prosperous North and I have no intentions to turn back on my promise. I make another promise to you, my brothers, I will see to it that your children don’t have to fight this battle once again, for I will put the fear of our Gods in them. This I swear to you…I swear it by earth and water, I swear it by bronze and iron…”

The men raised their weapons high in the air and shouted in unison with their king, “…we swear it by ice and fire!”

The scene once again faded from view.

[CotW]

This time, when the smokes cleared, Jon/Theon found himself in the middle of a pitched battle. He had a shield strapped to his left hand and a long sword in his right. Three Andals charged at him, he blocked the sword from left with the shield and kicked at the knees of the man in the middle while parrying the sword thrust from the man in right. His heel connected to the side of the man’s knee and even though he was heavily armoured, the kick landed at the joints of the armours with enough force to bend it in an awkward angle, the man grunted and got down on a knee. Theon capitalized on this and drove his sword through the gap of the man’s gorget and half helm. The man on the left once again swung his sword at him, Theon raised his shield and covered his torso while freeing his sword from the dying man. The man on the right tried to land a sneak attack but was stopped by a force of nature, Brodir had jumped on the man’s back and forced him down on the ground. He clamped his jaws on his neck and gave it a shake, breaking the man’s neck in the process. Theon drove his shoulder to the middle of the remaining man and forced him back a couple of steps. They exchanged blows for a couple of minutes before Theon relieved him off his sword and drove his own through the gap on the side, right into the man’s chest.

The wolf and the man wreaked havoc on the Andals. Weeping Water ran red that day from the blood of both Andals and the Northmen. The Northerners fought valiantly against the better-equipped Andals, not giving them an inch in battle. Theon found himself fighting side by side with Leander Bolton.

“Great to see you, My King! Are you having a nice enough time?” The man was smiling viciously.

“Aye, My Lord Leander, you arrange for the warmest of welcomes.” Theon smiled back just as viciously to him.

After a while, they spotted a tall, beefy man fighting against three Northerners. Leander pointed him out to Theon.

“That, My King, is Argos Sevenstar. He is the warlord that led this invasion. He claims that his gods have promised him lands and wealth.”

“Then let me give him a proper welcome from our Gods.” Theon hefted his shield and sword up and took a step towards the man but stopped by Leander.

“Just promise me one thing, My King, you will grant me the privilege of ending his life. I have sworn at my father’s grave to avenge his death.”

Theon nodded his head and advanced towards the warlord as he despatched the last of the Northerners who were fighting him. Seeing as Theon approached him, he sneered.

“Ah, the little wolf who fancies himself a king. Come to die by my hands, have you, little wolf? I promise that your death will be as painful as I can make it.”

His boasting cut short as Brodir made his way beside Theon, his muzzle and claws were red with dripping blood of his victims. Sevenstar took a few steps backwards seeing the massive beast. It was Theon’s turn to smirk back.

“I can assure you, you Andal cunt, that there is nothing little about us wolves.” He turned his head towards Brodir, “líðbrodirr, þessi er minn veiði.” (Go Brodir, this is my hunt)

As he saw Brodir leave to attack others, Sevenstar regained some of his bravadoes. “You should have kept that beast with you, little wolf. Now, you will face alone against the might of Argos Sevenstar, blessed by the Seven themselves. I have fought against the Valyrians and took my sword from their cold corpse. I will water your Godswood with your blood before I burn them to the ground.”

Sevenstar raised his greatsword over his head and rushed to attack, Theon dove to a side and jumped up to his feet, he tried to swing his sword at Sevenstar’s midsection, but the man brought his sword down to block that attack. Theon started to circle him, trying to find a point of attack. Sevenstar swung his sword aiming for his head, Theon ducked behind his raised shield. The sword sliced off the top portion of his shield. Theon jumped back from the reach of the sword and peered closely at it. It was made of black metal with a smoky appearance, rippling patterns could be seen all over it. He had heard about Valyrian made weapons, this must be one of those, like the hidden blades from my bracers – he thought. None of the conventional weapons was supposed to fare well against Valyrian steel. Theon dropped his sword and unstrapped the now destroyed shield from his left hand. He would have to use his magical bracers against him. An eager smile formed on Sevenstar’s face as he saw Theon divesting off his sword and shield.

“Do you wish to surrender, little wolf? Then get down on your knees and I will make your death a quick one.”

Theon smirked and twisted his wrists to bring out the hidden blades. He rushed Sevenstar and dodged when he swung the greatsword, but as he was passing him by, he lashed out with his right hand and thrust his open palm at the right side of his torso through the gap in his armour, letting the hidden blade pierce through. He jerked his hand back and left a rending wound at Sevenstar’s right side and cut off a chunk of the plate-mail armour he was wearing. Sevenstar screamed in pain and grabbed his side by his left hand. He watched disbelievingly at the blood that poured out in torrents from his side. He snarled at Theon and again rushed at him, but Theon kept dodging him, he was sure that he had pierced his lung through the side, it was only a matter of time that the blood loss from his wound would make him go down. True to his prediction, Sevenstar’s movements slowed as his breathing became laboured. By then, he was coughing up blood. He swung his blade at him but missed as Theon danced away from him. The force behind his swing made it hard for him to maintain his balance in his weakened state, thus he toppled over, coughing up more blood on the ground. His sword has fallen from his numb hand. Northmen around them yelled in celebration of their King’s win. Sevenstar’s men had started to drop their weapons and surrendered to the Northerners seeing their leader had fallen in battle. Theon walked over and picked the weapon up from the ground for a closer inspection. It was a beautifully crafted sword made of Valyrian steel, lighter than any other broadsword he had ever wielded. In the back recess of Theon’s mind, Jon could recognize that sword to be the Stark ancestral sword, Ice.

“You have my thanks for providing me with this sword, Andal.” He turned his head to his men and called out, “Lord Leander, he is all yours. Just be careful that his head is attached to his body and his face is recognizable. I have further plans for him.”

[CotW]

Jon/Theon found himself onboard a ship. He was standing at the prow with Leander Bolton and Aidan Poole standing at either side of him. They were looking at the corpse that was strung in front of the ship like a grotesque figurehead. Leander took out his vengeance for his father’s death by giving Argos Sevenstar a death by the bloody eagle. His back was cut open and his ribs were broken and spread apart with his lungs brought out and spread over the broken ribs like wings of an eagle while the man still drew breath. Later, they strung his body on his own ship as they prepared to cross the Narrow Sea to launch an invasion of their own on the shores of Andalos. Decay had already set into the corpse, making the man somewhat unrecognizable, but he could still be distinguished by his armours which they strapped onto his corpse.

“Isn’t it a tad excessive, My King?” Aidan asked while looking wearily at the rotting corpse.

“Wasn’t it excessive when he or his men were killing and raping Northern men and women?” Theon spat. He had ordered for every man that they captured to be beheaded and their heads to be mounted on spikes along the eastern shore, as a warning to every invader of what would happen if they turn their gaze on Northern lands.

“I thought that only we Boltons have our bloody ways.” Leander quipped.

“How do you think we Starks became the Kings of Winter? By giving our enemies bunch of flowers?” Theon smirked.

“Land ahead!” The man who was perched onto the Crows’ Nest yelled down.

“Get the men ready to launch the attack, but warn them, they may loot and kill to their heart’s content, but rapers will be losing their heads. We Northmen do not treat women that way.”

Theon looked on as the shore came nearer and nearer. People who had thronged to see their ship’s return started to panic and run about as headless chickens when they caught sight of the corpse of their beloved warlord. Theon had a wolfish smile on his face, his new sword, which he named ‘Ice’ after the long-lost Stark legacy sword, was about to taste Andal blood.

[CotW]

They were back at the North. As the men pillaged and burned the localities along the Andalos coast, Theon himself took to raid the few noble’s dwellings who lived there. He brought back with him chests full of gold, jewellery and precious stones. He made a few Andal captives carry the chests to the Wolfswood and dug out a hole under a Weirwood tree. He will bury the treasures there for later usage. For the war with the Andals wasn’t over yet. He wouldn’t have the time to invest in making the North prosperous while battling the invaders off these lands. He will finish the men he had forced to hide the treasures and offer their blood to the Gods, begging them to watch over his wealth.

One of his guards called out for him, telling him that the prisoners have finished burying the loot. Theon had a vicious smile on his face as he unsheathed his Valyrian sword.

[CotW]

Jon opened his eyes and let out a relieved breath to find himself in the familiar surrounding of his room this time. He laid his head back on the pillow and rubbed his temples. He was having a hard time keeping his thoughts separated from those of Theon the Hungry Wolf. His Champion’s Mind wasn’t working as it had before since his encounter with Bloodraven. Like his warging, it too had been affected. Though he was regaining his mental abilities, it was a very slow process. He looked out of the window and watched as the first rays of the sun started to break through the darkness of the night.

After a while, Jon jumped up from his bed. An idea had started to form in his mind.

[CotW]

Robb was sleeping soundly in his room when someone started to shake him. He turned away from whoever was disturbing his sleep, but the person didn’t quit.

“Get up, Stark.” He could hear his brother’s voice through the haze of sleep.

“Fuck off, Jon.” He mumbled in his pillow and shoved his head under the furs.

He was rudely woken up as Jon yanked him from his bed down on the ground with the furs and all.

“The fuck is wrong with you, Jon? It is not even properly dawn yet.”

“Stop whining and get ready. We will be going out.”

“Where?”

“You will see, now get up. I have to go and drag Asher’s arse from his bed.” He turned away to leave the room, but stopped before the doors and looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, and if I find that you have gone back to sleep, I will shove snow down your breeches. I mean it, Robb.”

He ducked out of the room snickering as Robb threw a pillow at his retreating form.

[CotW]

Robb, Asher and Torrhen had gathered in front of the stable. They stood there wrapped up in cloaks to stave off the morning chill, grumbling among themselves that Jon had woken them up at this ungodly hour and ordered them to come to the stables while he had vanished only Lady Minerva knew where.

Jon came out of the keep carrying two huge sacks with him. He put them down and started to unbolt the stable doors.

“Get a move on, lads. Hodor or the other stableboys aren’t up yet, we have to saddle the horses ourselves.”

Robb gave a dubious glance at the sacks, “What are these?”

“Some empty sacks, spades and pickaxes. The other one has loaves of bread, dried fruits, salted meats and skins of water in it. We won’t be returning till the day is over I am afraid.”

“And where are we going?”

“We are going to dig a hole.” Jon gave them a mysterious smile.

---

 

Ned sat down beside his wife at the Great Hall to break his fast. It had been a week since their confrontation at his solar. Jon had dragged Robb to him to say his apologies, but his son remained stubborn. Catelyn’s tears or Jon’s threat, nothing seemed to work on Robb, he had apologized to him but continued to avoid Ned at every possible opportunity. Ned’s mind was still reeling from the information he got to know. Old memories, as well as old wounds, arose for Eddard Stark. He yet had to come to terms with the fact that Lya was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. And Robert? Ned knew of his boastful nature but he never even imagined that he could stoop that low. Grief and guilt overwhelmed him whenever Ned saw Jon these days, for he had indeed sent letters to his father and sister, requesting, nay begging, them to give Robert a chance. Those were the reasons that he didn’t dole out any punishment for Robb. He felt that he deserved whatever accusations his son threw his way. Jon had taken it upon himself to punish Robb for the way he behaved. He dragged him to the yard every day at dawn and ran him through rigorous training that left him wheezing on the ground and walking with a limp. Ned had thought to speak with Jon so that he would let it be somewhat easier for Robb, but Cat had dissuaded him from doing that, she thought Robb should be punished for his acts and if Ned didn’t feel to do so by himself, then whatever Jon was doing with him, was justifiable.

Lord Royce was quite happy to meet with both Robb and Jon. He had heard about how the young men have led the defence of Bear Island and later, acted as rearguards for the troops that went to Skagos. Being an experienced commander himself, Lord Royce gave them suggestions on how to move troops or how to make or break camps within a minimum of time. Both lads quite eagerly partook in those tactical discussions.  

Before he left for the Wall with his son, Lord Royce challenged Ned for a spar in the yard. For old time’s sake, Ned agreed and the two lords clashed blades against each other. Ned was beaten at the end after a prolonged bout. Jon had cornered him later that day and asked why he didn’t push for a win against Lord Royce. Ned had to make him understand that he could’ve seriously injured the older man if he had gone for a win. Moreover, Lord Royce was one of his mentors during his stay at the Vale, he chose to throw the spar for the same reason they agreed to the spar, the sake of the old times.

Iss had come out of the broken tower after the fourth day. Somehow she acquired the knowledge of when the household sat down for meals, she would come beside Ned’s seat and nudged him until he gave her a piece of bacon or meat from his plate, it didn’t matter even when Ned had ordered for a separate plate only for herself, she would not budge till she had the morsels from Ned’s hands. Ned had to order the guard to keep a closer watch on Arya lest his overenthusiastic daughter went inside the broken tower. She routinely asked each morning either him or Jon if that was the day she could hold the wolf pups. Ned and Jon had visited the pups, and Iss indulged them by showing off her children to them. There were four male and two female pups. The runt of the litter, the pup with fur white as the snow seemed to recognize Jon’s touch and snuggled to his hand whenever he felt Jon petting him.

Ned greeted his wife with a kiss on her cheek, they had become very affectionate with each other lately. As he sat down, Iss came ambling inside the Hall. The first day she did so, she had caused quite a scare amongst the guards and the servants. Nobody was prepared to see such a huge beast walking through the keep. Iss came beside him and nudged his shoulder. She didn’t even look at the plate which was set out for her. Ned sighed and picked up a few sausages from his plate and held those out for Iss. He turned to see Catelyn trying to hide her smirk from him. He raised an eyebrow asking silently what amused her so.

“It seems you have acquired another daughter, husband, another girl to bend you around her fingers, or paws in this case.”

Ned chuckled and scratched Iss behind her ears, the she-wolf had finished the sausages and finally deigned to notice her plate. Ned took a glance around the table but found neither boys nor their friends present for the morning meal. He turned to his wife.

“Where are the lads this morning?”

“I don’t know. Ser Rodrick informed me that the guards saw the four of them riding out at the crack of the dawn. And a little while ago, Vayon came to me saying that the kitchen staff were complaining about somebody raiding the pantry and making off with a sackload of food. I think the boys were behind that one. They could have gone for a day of hunting.”

Ned nodded his head, though something about that didn’t sit quite right with him. They didn’t say anything about a hunting trip the day before, then why would they go out so early? When did they make the plan?

Sansa, who was listening as her parents were conversing about the boys, pouted and said, “Does that mean they won’t be training with us today?”

Even a year ago, Ned would have never expected his prim and proper eldest daughter to look forward to training with arms. He was amazed at the changes he saw in her.

“That’s not fair.” Arya piped up, “Jon had promised me that he would show me some tricks that will help me to shoot like Sansa today.”

That’s another thing, who would have ever thought of Sansa being so proficient with a bow? – thought Ned.

“I am sorry, my sweets, they must have planned this among themselves last night. For none of us knew that they would go out so early this morning. I am afraid that you will have to practice on your own for today.”

Both sisters scowled and started to talk with each other in low voices, probably planning retribution for Jon and Robb. Ned was happy to see that since the departure of Septa Mordane, the sisters became closer than ever.

Ned finished his meal and went to his solar, planning on finishing some of the parchment works that were beginning to pile up on his desk. He was soon engrossed in his works. His concentration broke a couple of hours later by a knock on the doors.

“Enter.”

“Pardon me, milord, but a convoy was spotted.” Vayon informed him.

“The Karstarks or the Forresters?” Ned knew that either could arrive at any day by then.

“’Tis the Karstarks, milord. They are flying the sunburst banners.”

Ned stood up to go and greet Rickard, and most probably his wife. Soon, the Karstark party came through the gates. Lord Rickard rode ahead of a horse-drawn cart that carried the Ladies Anya and Alys Karstark. After the rounds of introduction and the ceremony of bread and salt, Rickard glanced around the yard.

“I don’t see the lads anywhere, Ned?”

“I have been informed that the four of them rode out at the crack of the dawn, they probably have gone for some hunting.”

Rickard turned to see the scowl that formed on his wife’s face hearing Ned’s answer. He chuckled, “You know how the lads are, My Lady. It was hardly a day when Torrhen and Jon hadn’t gone out for a hunt at Karhold.”

A series of loud gasps came from the new arrivals. Lady Anya pulled her daughter behind her while clutching her chest. Ned turned to see that Iss had come out to offer her greetings. He assured Rickard and his men that she didn’t mean them any harm.

Rickard, still jittery, tried to gather his nerves, “So the rumours are indeed true then. The boys have returned with a direwolf. I have heard on the road how the Starks are once again blessed by the Old Gods.”

“She has pups!” Arya blurted out from beside her mother.

“There are pups?” Alys Karstark had forgotten all about being shy or the scary, big wolf and peered around her mother’s skirt for the exciting prospect of seeing little wolf pups.

“Aye, but Father and Jon won’t let me see them.”

At that instance, Ned and Rickard looked at each other and gulped in terror because of the mischievous glints that shone in both the girls’ eyes. They could only imagine what kind of chaos the older of the duo would drag the younger into.

[CotW]

It had taken Jon a while to find the exact Weirwood tree with the clearing that he had seen in his dream. When he found the tree, he signalled the others to get off from their horses.

“Alright, lads. I am entrusting you with a Stark Family secret here. You may ask why I brought you here and not my uncle. The reason is, I have received another dream. Aye, just as same as the one with Bloodraven, but this time, I dreamt as if I was Theon the Hungry Wolf. I dreamt of his defending the North from the Andal invasion with the help of a Bolton lord. I saw him invading the Andalos coast and burying his loot here. They may remain buried here still, or they may not, for Theon could have dug them up later in his life. I didn’t want to give false hope to my uncle. This way, if we found the treasure, North will benefit and can be prepared for the Long Night, if not, we four only waste a day of labour. What say you?”

The others nodded their heads and brought the equipment out from the sack. They started to dig the soil where Jon had marked. It was backbreaking labour digging the almost frozen solid ground, coupled with their inexperience, the four took a long time to dig up a foot-deep hole.

Exhausted, Torrhen leaned on his spade and said –

“I don’t think we can manage to dig much deeper by ourselves just in a day.”

“Aye, it was a mistake on my part to think that we could manage this by ourselves.” Jon crashed down on the ground beside the hole.

Asher had laid down on the grounds. “So what are we to do now?”

Jon looked at Robb – What do you think, Stark?

Robb wiped his brow and speared mud all over his face – I think we need to tell father.

Jon gave him a hard stare – Very well, but you will talk to him.

Robb spluttered – But I…

Jon turned away from him and said, “Let’s go back to the castle.”

[CotW]

When Ned heard that the boys were returning, he went to the yard. He looked on amusedly as the four rode through the gates, covered head to toe in mud and grime. But he didn’t see any games that they brought back with them, neither they had any hunting gears. Only Jon was carrying something in sacks tied to his saddle.

“I reckon every beast and bird fled when they spotted you four?”

They looked at each other guiltily, Jon opened his mouth to say something but Ned stopped him. “I don’t want to hear it. Go get yourselves cleaned. The Karstarks have arrived earlier today.”

Ned could only chuckle at the speed the foursome fled from his presence, but he was surprised to see Jon doubled back.

“We haven’t gone for hunting, Lord Stark. We need to have a discussion later in your solar.”

Curious, Ned nodded his head with a frown.

[CotW]

Supper that evening at Winterfell was a celebration of shorts, with a reunion of a mother and her sons (for Lady Anya always thought of Jon as her own) after nearly two years and a retelling of the story of how the boys carried a pregnant Iss inside of the keep so she could give birth to her pups in safety, the air of the Great Hall was full of merriment. Though, not quite so for Jon. He found himself between Arya and Alys with both the girls giving him puppy dog eyes so that he would take them to see the pups. He had sent pleading looks to both ladies Catelyn and Anya, but neither of them came to his rescue, moreover, Jon was almost sure that he saw smirks upon their faces whenever the girls were pestering him.

After supper, the four paid a visit to Ned at his solar. He waited patiently as Jon and Robb had one of their silent conversations. Finally, under Jon’s glare, Robb sighed and cleared his throat.

“Father, we didn’t go for a hunt this morning.” Ned was quite happy inside as his son was speaking to him properly after a week, but his face remained impassive as he motioned for Robb to continue, “As we had discussed when we returned, the North needs to be prepared to face the Long Night but we lack the coinage. Jon had a dream last night, that may or may not help us out in that regard.”

Ned frowned and leaned back in his seat. “Explain.”

Robb sent Jon a look, he sighed and nodded.

“What Robb means, Lord Stark is that I have had a dream, another visitation from Lady Minerva per se. But in this dream, I was living the life as Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf…”

Jon recounted his story and told his uncle how he thought he could manage to recover the treasure, if there was any, with only his friend’s help.

“We saw no other option than telling you, My Lord. We will need your help to see if my hunch was right or not.” He looked beseechingly at Ned.

Ned stippled his fingers together. This would require some careful planning.

[CotW]

Ned watched as men kept digging under the Weirwood tree. He had ordered Jory to discreetly bring reliable men to where Jon pointed them. It took them three days to dig out a hole as deep as a grown man’s height. The ground had been frozen solid after centuries of cold and snowdrifts. Rickard and Gregor were beside him on their horses while the boys themselves had gone down the hole to lend a few helping hands to the men. The Forresters had arrived a day after the Karstarks did. Ned hadn’t told the lords why they were excavating deep in the woods, only hinted that it was of utmost secrecy and something that would help the entire North. The boys’ fame among the men and the rumours of them receiving blessings of the Children and the Gods had certainly helped with that. Now, here he was, praying in his mind that the dreams of Jon came true.

“Milord, we have hit something.” A man shouted from the hole.

“Bring it up.” Ned could feel his heart began to beat faster with anticipations.

The men carried out what looked like a medium-sized chest, chunks of clay were frozen on it after centuries of being buried under the ground. Jon almost snatched a pickaxe from the man next to him. He swung it overhead and brought it down with all his strength upon the lid. The already weakened wood broke with a muted crack, he dropped the axe and tore apart the broken pieces with his bare hands. Ned could see the gleaming of metals coming from inside of the chest. Jon scooped up a handful of small gold ornaments and rare gems and offered them to Ned.

“Let the North become prosperous, My Lord.”

---

 

They had found about ten similar trunks buried within the ground, along with the remnants of human skeletons, which Jon said were the Andals that Theon forced to dig the hole and later killed them as sacrifices to the Gods. Rickard and Gregor were very enthusiastic in partaking in the discussions of how to utilize the newfound wealth best to the cause. The boys once again proposed building a trading post at Skagos as well as fortifying the island so it wouldn’t be vulnerable to wildling attacks and also rebuilding the broken castle at Sea Dragon Point as a stronghold to deter Ironborn attacks. Their logic was, if the North started to establish new trading relations with the rest of Westeros and Essos, then the Southerners won’t be any wiser of them finding the buried treasure of Theon Stark. That would give them the excuses they need to slowly rebuild the broken keeps all around the North and erect new glass gardens at every lord’s resident so that the North had a steady supply of food even during the winter. Rickard had a proud smile on his face when Jon brought his ideas to the table, making Ned realize once again how the man had helped Jon becoming the best he can be with his gentle encouragements and patience.

The pups had started to trot along after their mother on their tiny, little legs. They had also chosen their human companions, the four male pups attached themselves with the four boys, while the female pups ran after Sansa and Arya. Robb named his grey-furred pup Grey Wind, and Rickon laughed as the black-furred pup licked his face. He yelled loudly and claimed his name was Shaggydog. Ned would like the dare anyone to make him understand the difference between a direwolf and a dog. Bran said he still hadn’t found a suitable name for his pup. Sansa’s pup reflects the same as her human, she was calm and demure like a lady, hence she was named Lady by Sansa. Arya named her pup Nymeria, after the princess. Her wolf was as wild as she. Often Ned watched amusedly as the girls – Arya and Alys, run away giggling with the pup hot on their trails, chased by either an irate Catelyn or an exasperated Lady Ella. Both Catelyn and Lady Anya blamed Jon for the chaos the two girls and the wolf brought every day because they sought refuge with him whenever they were blamed and Jon tried to shield them by taking all the blames on his head. But as people say, a mother always knows, so the ladies Catelyn and Anya knew who the real perpetrators were, but didn’t say anything to either of them other than a gentle cuffing at Jon’s head. They subtly encouraged these behaviours. Ned had asked Cat why she allows that to happen, smiling, she replied to him that Jon and Arya’s shenanigans reminded her of what she used to do with her siblings. Then she sighed and lamented about the times when she tried to forbid Arya from spending times with Jon.

Jon’s pup was the most remarkable, his fur was as white as freshly fallen snow. He had intelligent, red eyes. People often whispered about Jon as the Blessed One, as his pup bore the appearance of the Weirwood trees. While the other pups yapped all day long, the white pup never made a sound. He was either a mute or an immensely intelligent creature. He observed everything with his gleaming red eyes and followed Jon silently. Even barely a month old, he obeyed every command given to him by Jon. Due to his silent nature and white fur, Jon had named the pup Ghost. Along with the rumours of him being blessed by the Children and being gifted with a bow, his connection with his bird, and now the wolf pup, his prowess in the yard and the fame that he earned in his exploits and during the Skagosi invasion, were slowly turning Jon into a living legend among the smallfolk.

That morning, as they sat down to break their fast, Maester Luwin rushed into the Great Hall.

“A raven from the Capitol, My Lord!”

Ned frowned and took the scroll from the Maester, it bore the seal of the crowned stag. He broke the seal and started to read the missive, as he read, his face became more serious. He laid the parchment down on the table and looked at Jon.

“King Robert has sent his invitation for you to attend a tourney at Kings’ Landing in three moon’s time.”

Catelyn had a hand covering her mouth, her eyes full of fear, Jon and Robb looked at each other. Jon turned towards Ned and gave him the slightest nod.

[CotW]

They had gathered at Ned’s solar after breakfast. Ned proffered the letter to Jon and asked him to read it aloud to Robb and Catelyn.

Dear Ned,

It has been a while since we saw each other. What was it, ten years since the Greyjoy Rebellion? I hope you and yours are happy and healthy.

News has reached us in the Red Keep about your sons’ heroics. His Grace was quite happy to learn that your boys have grown to become such fierce warriors. He has expressed his desire to see his old friend. I know that you are busy taking care of the North, but His Grace has insisted that either you come to visit him or you send your son, Jon Snow, for the tourney at Kings’ Landing in three months of your receiving this missive.

I sincerely hope to either see you or meet your son, my namesake.

Yours truly,

Jon Arryn

Lord Paramount of the Vale

Lord of Eyrie and Warden of the East.

Hand to the King

His Grace, King Robert of House Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoyner and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, defender of the faith, is hereby sending an invite to Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord Paramount of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, to attend the tourney that will be held in the tenth month of this year. If Lord Stark is unable to attend, he must send his son, Jon Snow, as his representative according to His Grace’s wish.

Sincerely,

Lord Jon Arryn

Lord Paramount of the Vale

Lord of Eyrie and Warden of the East

Hand to the King

“Do you think that they come to know about Jon?” Lady Catelyn was clutching her hands together.

“No, If Robert knew, then he wouldn’t have sent a raven, instead, we would’ve been trying to mount a defence against his host. It is as Lord Arryn said, they have come to hear about Jon’s exploits. That shouldn’t be surprising since bards have been singing songs about the White Wolf for nearly two years now. Still, I can’t -” He stopped himself and took a deep breath, he didn’t need another bout with his son. “I don’t think it will be wise for Jon to visit Kings’ Landing.”

“But Uncle Ned, this is exactly what Bloodraven predicted. This is why I must travel south.” Jon insisted.

“And I will be going with him, Father.” Robb added.

“Robb -” Lady Catelyn stopped as Robb grabbed her hands and squeezed them.

“It is alright, Mother. Father can’t go since we have plans to implement here in the North. And he needs to remain here to see them through. If I go with Jon, we can give wind to the ruse that we will be travelling to Essos after we attend the tourney. Just as heirs sometimes do before taking up their duties. That is if I am still the heir.” He gave a challenging look to Ned.

“Shut up, Robb.” Jon hissed at him.

Ned’s face was impassive as he leaned back in his seat, looking intently at the boys. He sighed and lowered his hand from his chin, “As I know Robert, he won’t rest this time till either Jon or I visit him. Also, Robb was right, I simply can’t up and leave the North at this moment. Which only leaves us with one option, Jon must go to Kings’ Landing. But,” Ned sat up straight, “You must promise me to be very cordial and careful the entire duration of your stay there. You don’t know the viper’s pit that is the Capitol. I also agree with Robb’s idea of the two of you going together, he can keep you from your more destructive tendencies,” He looked at Jon, “but then again, I have my doubt after getting to know about the ranging beyond the Wall.” He narrowed his eyes to Robb, who blushed and looked down. “But I have faith that the two of you will look out for each other, no matter what.” They both nodded their heads fervently, they very much wanted to go and see the Capitol.

“Ned, think about what you are saying. They are just boys…” Catelyn had gone pale.

“Aye, they are boys, but also, they are hardened battle commanders. Not mere greenboys.”

“Have no fear, dear Mother. We will not be by ourselves.” Robb gave her a smirk.

“Aye, Aunt Cat, do you think the rest of the Wolfpack would just allow us to go by ourselves?”

 “Great, two likeminded, thick-headed young boys to keep watch over two even more thick-headed young boys. I am so relieved.” Catelyn snidely remarked.

Ned snorted and took his wife’s hand within his, “Do not worry, My Lady, Maester Luwin will travel with them, at least till they reach Old Town. He has been asking me for a leave to visit the Citadel since his study on swordplay had created quite a stir. I believe he helped you with your dual-wielding?” He asked Jon, who nodded his head. “Luwin would be a much better chaperon than certain someone who I’ve been duped to entrust with the charge before…” Robb averted his eyes, “…so I believe the boys will be in better hands, of course, provided they do not incite anyone’s ire there.”

“Why don’t you order Jory again to go with them, along with Maester Luwin?” Catelyn still wasn’t very sure.

“Because, dear wife, I will be needing my captain of guards here in the North for the other undertakings. But Robb and Jon will have the same company they had been leading. Those fifty men respect them and know how their commanders think.”

The arguments and counter-arguments continued for quite a while. In the end, Catelyn reluctantly agreed with their plans and gave her blessings for the boys to travel south.

[CotW]

It took them two weeks to reach the Neck. As Maester Luwin was travelling with them in a cart, they couldn’t ride hard throughout the day but maintained a slow and steady pace. As expected, Asher and Torrhen had jumped at the chance to travel. Their lord fathers didn’t raise any objection to that, but it was Lady Anya Karstark and Lady Molina Forrester, Asher’s mother, who were reluctant to let their boys go again for a very long time. Jon too had a difficult time prying Arya off of him. Only the presence of Nymeria had prevented her from hiding in one of their trunks and stow away. Sansa was very excited about them going for a tourney, though, while the Sansa from two years ago would have been blabbering about handsome knights and love stories and nothing else, the new Sansa was quite worried about the prospect of either Jon or Robb taking part in the tourney. She had given Jon her usual favour though. When Robb asked about his favour from her, Sansa made faces at him. Poor Robb had to content himself with a lick from Lady instead. Bran and little Rickon were running about yelling that their brothers would come home as brave knights while Shaggydog and the still-unnamed pup of Bran’s yipping after them. Tearful Lady Catelyn asked them, again and again, to take care of themselves and to not take any kind of risks. Ned stood there watching the farewell with a solemn look on his face. He was sure that Maester Luwin would perform his duties admirably and will keep the lads in line, still, fear and doubt lingered in his chest.

Jon and Robb thought that they would have to leave their pups at home. But as they were getting ready to leave, Grey Wind and Ghost started to whine from beside their mother. Iss was sitting imperiously beside Ned, she looked at the boys once, then she nudged her pups towards them as if permitting them to leave with their humans. Grey Wind yipped excitedly and ran before Robb’s horse, while Ghost gave Jon a doggy (wolf?!) smile with a lolling tongue. It was very funny to watch the first interaction between Gale and Ghost. The bird screeched loudly at the wolf with her wings spread, Ghost was growling low in his throat. After a while, when they both calmed down a bit and stopped threatening the other, Gale neared a little towards Ghost and the wolf licked her head to show his friendliness, Gale screeched again and flew off to sit at a branch of a tree and glared balefully at Ghost. Sansa fell on the ground seeing the behaviours of the two animals. Gale didn’t come near Ghost or Jon for a day.

As the towers of Moat Cailin came into view, they spotted a party advancing towards them, flying banners depicting lizard-lions. Jon had a wide smile on his face thinking of meeting with Lord Reed once again. He insisted on visiting the Moat again as he remembered his promise to Lord Reed. They would go to White Harbour afterwards and catch a ship to Kings’ Landing from there. The lord of Greywater Watch himself had come to invite the sons of his liege lord for a couple of days’ rest at his keep.

“It is good to see you again, My Lord.”

“Aye, Jon, it is good to see you again.” Lord Reed peered at Grey Wind and Ghost. The wolves had grown quite a bit in their travels. They were now as big as smaller hounds. Lord Reed smiled at the boys. “Direwolf companions for those of the Stark blood, just like the Winter Kings of old. Aye, we have heard about how you four carried their mother on your horses even this far.”  

Howland had brought with him the special rounded boats of the Crannogmen for them to travel from the Moat to Greywater Watch. It was impossible for anyone other than a man from the marshlands to steer the boat in the right way. They wondered how these precarious-looking vessels could carry the men and their horses to the keep, but Lord Reed had assured them that those boats would never capsize under the control of a Crannogman no matter how much weight they carry.

On the way to the keep, Lord Reed had told them stories of the old Marsh Kings. Stories of how the Crannogmen had led the Andals to chase their tails in these confusing and dangerous lands. For none could traverse safely here without the help of a Crannogman.

The keep of Greywater Watch was a sight to behold. It wasn’t a huge keep in any way. It was made entirely out of wood, and only two stories high. The most amazing thing about the keep was, it was not stationary. The keep was built on one of those mysterious floating, little islands of the marshlands that kept moving about. Nobody could launch an attack at Greywater Watch because none could ascertain where the keep truly was.

Lord Reed invited everybody inside of the keep after the ceremony of bread and salt. He had introduced them to his family, his wife the Lady Jayna, his children Meera and Jojen Reed. Lady Jayna welcomed them with a bright smile. Meera was curious about the wolves and asked scores of questions about them. Jojen was a quiet and serious boy, Jon had never met anyone of that age to be that serious. Lord Howland bid the rest of them to take rest but stopped Jon from going with them. He asked him to follow him. Jon could see that Robb and the others were eager to follow come along.

“Can they come with us?”

“Do you think it will be wise? I have some news about her.”

Jon sighed, “They know, Lord Reed. How they come to know, is a long story which I will tell you later. But they know about me.”

Lord Reed rubbed his chin in thought for a little bit, then he nodded, “Very well, they can come with us.” He turned to Robb, “Forgive me, My Lord Robb, I had no intention to show slight to you. But if you know about the truth, I am sure you can understand why I insisted that Jon should come with me alone.”

Robb waved his hand, “It is alright, Lord Reed. We understand the need for secrecy. We didn’t mind.”

“I thank you, My Lord. Come Your Grace, it is not something that can wait any longer.”

Jon tried to protest about the honorific, but the man had already turned around and started to walk away. Lord Reed led them to a room quite far from inside of the keep, inside of the said room stood a man. He was tall and had broad shoulders. His arms showed the sign of muscles from within his clothes, indicating that he was quite fit. He had long dark hair and a closely shaved beard. As soon as Jon entered the room, the man went down on a knee. Jon was about to protest, but Lord Reed stopped him. He said –

“Kindly allow me to make introductions. May I present, Prince Aemon Targaryen, trueborn son and heir of late Prince Rhaeger Targaryen and Princess Lyanna Targaryen of House Stark, the true heir to the Iron Throne.” He turned towards Jon, “My Prince, this is former Kingsguard to King Aerys, Prince Rhaeger and Princess Lyanna. Current Kingsguard and sworn shield to yourself, Prince Aemon. Allow me the distinct pleasure of introducing you to Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of Morning.”

Notes:

A.N.- Please don't mind if parts of this chapter seemed quite long. I didn't know where to stop.

A.N. 2 - I know some of the readers would complain about Ned's explanation about losing the spar with Lord Royce or how the Starks acquired Ice. Firstly, I thought that someone like Ned could throw a fight to appease an older friend and guest. Secondly, there are no explanations about how or when the Starks got the Valyrian sword. I thought it could be appropriate to show that Theon Stark won the sword from Sevenstar. I thought it can be believable that the warlord fought against some lesser Valyrian lords and won the sword off of them. Otherwise, it is an AU people. I didn't keep every other thing just as Mr. Martin wrote them.
The same thing applies to Theon's treasure. The logic behind burying it outside of Winterfell is that Theon thought that the Andals could come again with a much larger force and the next time they might not be that lucky to drive them off. In that case, Theon could even lose control over Winterfell, so he thought it wise to bury the treasure outside the castle and get it later after the wars were done with. But as Stark history goes, Theon never stopped fighting, so he didn't get the chance to unearth his buried treasure. I have read fictions where Jon or the MC suddenly found a huge amount of wealth without any proper explanations. I thought my way could be a tad believable (?).

Chapter 17: Interlude 2: A Series of Fortunate Events

Interlude 2: A Series of Fortunate Events

Jon stood there with his mouth hanging open.

He tried to say words as “What” or “How”, but his tongue wasn’t working properly, when he tried to speak, the word that came from him was sounding something like “Gleba?” The others weren’t any better either. Robb, Asher, Torrhen – they had their jaws almost hanging to the floor.

“My Prince,” Ser Arthur had his head bowed, “pardon me for not being at your side for such a long time. Circumstances weren’t favourable to me. When I heard from Lord Reed about you, my desire only grew that much to ride out and reach for you, but My Lord Howland won’t permit me to do so. He told me that he invited you to his home. I had been waiting eagerly for that glimmer of hope. Your Grace, I swear my services to you, Prince Aemon of House Targaryen. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and guard your secrets. I will give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

A nudge from Lord Reed brought Jon back to reality, he had heard the last part of Ser Arthur’s oath of fealty, as he turned to look towards Lord Reed, he saw the man smiling at him encouragingly. Jon cleared his throat and spoke –

“And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise, Ser Arthur of House Dayne, the first of my Kingsguard.”

Ser Arthur got up to his feet with a brilliant smile on his face. Jon kept looking between the two men. “How?” He croaked.

“As you have said before, My Prince, ‘tis a quite long story. I was afraid that if I didn’t bring you to him as soon you arrived, my old friend here would have brought my keep down on our heads to reach for you. Why don’t we all retire for the night and save the discussions for the morning?”

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight. That’s the fucking Sword of Morning! And he is alive!”

Asher received dual elbow jabs at his sides from Robb and Torrhen. “Shut up, Forrester!” Robb hissed at him.

Jon shook his head in exasperation, he turned towards the famed knight, “Please excuse Asher, Ser. He took a blow to the head and hasn’t been the same since.”

The older men chuckled at the younger ones’ antics. Ghost and Grey Wind were standing still by their humans till then, now they came forward to have a whiff of Ser Arthur. The knight offered his ungloved hands for the wolves to smell. They did and licked his hands afterwards, clearly approving of the man to be near their charges. Ser Arthur’s eyes never seemed to leave Jon’s face. It was as if he was trying to find something in him. Lord Howland cleared his throat.

“I believe that we should truly retire for the night. Come, My Lords, let me show you to your rooms.” He ushered them out of the room and took them back towards what the four thought the guest wing of the keep. Lord Reed had prepared four rooms for them, but they opted to share the biggest one. He had to order the stuff to rearrange the beddings into the single room. He understood that the four needed to have some discussions amongst themselves. As he was getting back to Arthur, he could hear their excited whispers through the doors.

“That was Arthur fucking Dayne!” Asher Forrester whisper shouted.

“Why don’t you say that again and a little louder, Forrester. I don’t think they have heard you at the Kings’ Landing yet.” Torrhen Karstark replied irritated.

Lord Reed shook his head in amusement, he was quite grateful for the unique natural defences of his keep. It certainly kept any undesirable individuals from infiltrating here. None here was to overhear any talks or bore witness to the happenings and send messages to the Capitol. That was how he had managed to keep the Sword of Morning’s existence a secret still. Not even his liege lord was aware of that fact. He returned to the room and found the knight to be sitting in a chair with quite a pleased smile on his face.

“I take it you were satisfied to finally see the prince, my friend?”

“Yes, Howland. I have been waiting for this day for the past fifteen years. He is the perfect blend of his parents. He has his mother’s colouring and features on his father’s Valyrian built. But I thought you said he had the Stark’s grey eyes.” He looked questioningly at him.

“Aye, the last time I saw him, he still had the grey eyes of the Starks, not the purple orbs of the dragon lords. If I have to guess, I think it is tied with the story behind them acquiring their companions.”

Ser Arthur laughed a little, “A Targaryen prince with a direwolf companion. Oh, Rhaeger, if you could see your son now.” He let out a sigh of sadness.

“Didn’t I mention it to you? He also bonded with a falcon. I am sure you will meet with her pretty soon.”

Ser Arthur could only stare at his friend.

[CotW]

Jon herded his friends to the yard of Greywater Watch and the four carried on with their usual warm-ups. Jon had inducted the other three into his training regime and tried to drill into their heads the importance of being faster and stronger. As the time passed, Jon started to spot different aspects that were apparent in his friends. Robb was stronger than the other two, he and Jon could exchange blows without pulling back and without the fear of hurting the other. Asher was faster on feet with a matching reflex and a better rider while Torrhen possessed keener eyes. He could spot games the quickest and his aim with the bows were only second to Jon.  He pushed them harder to hone their skills and tried to help them to get their other skills up to par with the ones they were born with. He had introduced them to the obstacle course that he had created in the Godswood of Winterfell after a week of returning to the keep. Jon was glad that after grumbling for a few minutes (after all, Asher was not too fond of getting up every day at the crack of the dawn), his cousin and friends had taken quite well to the course. They had tried to include mock fighting while running through the obstacles. Chasing one, fighting three against one, or just simply trying to outrun each other – they had tried all possible combinations and it helped with their arms training in the yard which had impressed Ser Rodrick. They had continued their training even on the road, pushing the men with them to partake in the activities along with them each morning. The Wolfpack and their troop were nothing but at the peak of their physical prowess.

The residents of the Greywater Watch had taken aback as the foursome took to the yard. They had seen nothing like what the four was doing. Before taking up arms to hone their skills, they ran the perimeter of the yard, varying in speed – sometimes at a slower pace, sometimes at a sudden burst of speed. They tried to trip or push each other, making it hard for them to run straight. It was clear to the observers that the four were well aware of their surroundings. After warming up, they had taken the practice swords and started with the basic combo. Meera approached them and demanded that they spar with her. The four shared a look among them, making her narrow her eyes.

“Are you of the mind that girls shouldn’t be practising with arms, My Lords?”

Robb bowed to her, “Forgive us, My Lady. It is not that. We have been to the Bear Island, and neither of us would dare to say that women are not supposed to be taking up arms. Why my own sisters practice in the arts of weaponry. It is just that we have sparred with your lord father, and if you are taught by him…”

“…You would hand our arses to us.” Asher finished his sentence and received a slap at the back of his head from Jon.

Meera smirked, “Oh, I am sure that the heroes of Bear Island won’t be afraid of little old me and could take care of themselves.” She hefted her blunted spear.

The four talked and Robb was chosen to spar with Meera first. As the two started their spar, Jon was called by Ser Arthur.

“I hear that you are quite adept at dual wielding, Jon. Would you mind having a go with me? I wanted to see what the White Wolf is capable of.”

Jon’s eyes went wide, he looked at his friends – Asher had glassy eyes and slackened jaw and Torrhen was imitating a fish. Jon shook his head and turned back to the man.

“It would be my pleasure, Ser -”

“Eric Sand.” Arthur cut him off.

“Of course, Ser Eric.” Jon stood back to watch his cousin going up against Meera Reed.

“Oh, for the sake of the Gods, close your mouth, Forrester! You are behaving just as Alys does whenever she is near you.” Torrhen hissed at Asher, inciting a snicker from Jon. Asher scowled at him and gave him a discreet finger.

Robb had to apply every bit of his skills to get the upper hand on Meera, the unique way that the Crannogmen fought with spears were included with her ingenuity which she had inherited from her lord father. After their bout was over, Robb offered her a sincere bow.

“You are quite a spearwoman, My Lady. If you were to have a little bit more experiences, it would’ve been I who’d have yielded to you.”

Meera scowled, “I thank you for your words, Lord Robb. You just showed me that I need to practice more. And please, do not call me a lady.”

Jon chuckled hearing that, “You would go well along with Arya, My L…I mean Meera. She too quite fiercely denies of her being a lady as well as whacking us around with her practice swords to put us in our places.”

Ser Arthur cleared his throat, “Shall we, Jon?”

Jon gulped down the feeling of impending doom and nodded his head. The people around the yard stopped whatever they were doing and stood to watch the famous White Wolf fight against their Dornish friend. Nobody knew of the man’s true identity, save the name Eric Sand and the fact that the fearsome warrior was Lord Reed’s closest friend. They had seen him spar with their lord and giving arms lessons to his daughter or to the men who wanted to learn the arts of swords. Discreet wagers were being called for how badly the young lad would lose.

Ser Arthur had taken two blunted longswords and stood ready for Jon. He stood facing him sideways, he scratched a line on the ground with the point of his sword, bent his knees a little. The right-hand sword was pointing at the ground while he was twirling the offhand sword at his back. Jon stood with his right sword arched in front of him while his offhand sword held up above his head parallel to the ground.  Both the warrior stood motionless but their eyes were darting all around, trying to find an opening for their attacks. Jon moved first, he took a step forward and thrusted his right sword at the knight’s chest. Arthur swung his left sword forward and deflected the attack, simultaneously he brought his right sword in an upward slashing motion and tried to catch Jon’s right hand with it, Jon brought down his left sword and caught the slash on its blade. Both of them disengaged and took a couple of steps backwards, they began to circle each other. Suddenly, Arthur charged forward and began to whirl his swords too fast for the eyes to follow. Jon could only rely on his own reflexes to block or deflect the flurry of attacks, he had never felt the power behind each strike save when he sparred with his Uncle Ned. He tried to counter the attacks with the style his uncle taught him. He began to let the strikes slide over his swords rather than going against them with counter-attacks. Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction, he had only seen Ned Stark fought this way, but he was not called the greatest swordsman of the last century for nothing, he adjusted his style accordingly and again charged Jon with another flurry of swings. Jon defended with all he had, but soon his arms started to protest from the exertion. He decided to throw caution to the winds and went forward with attacks of his own, he knew he won’t last long, so he decided to concentrate his attacks on Arthur’s left hand. If he even managed to make the knight drop his off-hand weapon, he would count that as a win. He sacrificed his right sword to Arthur’s counter and dropped it, while jabbing his left sword at his left hand and rapped it with all his strength on his knuckles, making him loosen his grip, he snaked the sword up and flicked his wrist, instead of divesting Ser Arthur of his sword, the knight had adjusted his grip and locked his blade with his own. He pushed him back with his right hand and sword still locked and pressed the point of his right sword at Jon’s neck.

“I yield.” Jon was breathing hard.

Arthur smiled and removed his sword. He clapped on Jon’s shoulder almost sending him to the ground.

“The rumours are indeed true then. The White Wolf is on his way to becoming a fearsome warrior.”

“I still lost to you, Ser.”

Arthur smirked and bent down to whisper in his ear, “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you centred your attacks on my left hand. ‘Tis a true warrior’s sign when they make an opening in their opponent’s defence when there is none. You lost because of your lack of strength and experience. I commend your uncle, for he has trained you well.”

The yard rang with the noises of applauds and cheering. Ser Eric had defeated the White Wolf in a bout to behold. Jon’s pack members were smiling from ear to ear.

“You lasted against him for this long?!” Asher and Robb could hardly restrain themselves.

“Aye, but I still lost.”

“Don’t lose heart, White Wolf. I have never seen anyone come as close as you did in defeating Ser Eric, and I have watched the man practice and spar since I was but a babe.” Meera’s voice cut through the lads’ exuberance. “Come, My Lords, I think that was enough excitement for one morning. Let us clean ourselves and break our fast.” She gave them a small smile with a nod and went to put her spear back on the racks.

The four watched her walking away. Torrhen shook his head, “You know, I don’t think I will ever understand women.”

Robb raised an eyebrow at him, “Do you perchance developing an affection for Lady Reed?”

Torrhen turned bright red and mumbled something under his breath. Jon leaned in closer.

“What was that? We couldn’t quite catch it quite clearly.”

“I said it was Dacey Mormont, happy now?” He snapped.

The cousins exchanged glances. “Huh? You are smitten by the she-bear?”

Jon mock whispered to Robb, “I think their love story will be as remarkable as of Florian and Jonquil, only that their roles will be reversed. How do you think Torrhen would look in a gown?”

“Why don’t you send a raven to Wynafryd Manderly and get an opinion?” Torrhen snarled at him, cutting off Jon’s laughter.

The friends continued on their way inside of the keep, Jon realized that Asher was not with them. He turned and saw him standing alone in the yard with a faraway look upon his face.

“Asher? Aren’t you coming?”

As if he was woken from a trance, Asher looked around, “I have something to take care of, you lads go on.” He hurriedly walked off to the opposite direction from the keep.

“What is the matter with him?” Robb asked.

Jon could only shrug in reply.

[CotW]

They had sat down for the meal and talking among themselves. Lord Reed was stating how glad he was to see the two finest swordsmen he had the good fortune to know, having a spar with each other. All talks came to a sudden stop when they saw Asher came stumbling into the hall, clutching something protectively against his chest.

“Asher?” Jon, worried for his friend, called out to him.

Asher raised his head and looked Jon in the eyes, “Jon? How did you come to know that you had a bond with Gale or Ghost?”

Whatever Jon thought, he didn’t expect to hear that question, stutteringly he answered, “A calling of some kind…a tug in your mind, a feeling that was not yours but not unfamiliar either…it is quite hard to explain to someone who doesn’t have a warg bond.” Robb and Lord Reed nodded their heads in agreement. “Why are you asking that, Asher?”

“I think I have just found my own familiar.” Asher slowly raised his cupped hands for all to see, a tiny raven chick raised its head and looked at them with curious eyes.

---

 

Ned was having a blissful morning; it wasn’t often he had the leave to wake up late. When as usual, he had woken with the first ray of the morning sun, he decided to indulge for the day and went back to sleep snuggling against Catelyn. His wife smiled in her sleep and scooted closer into his chest. Ned buried his nose in her hair and took a deep whiff, filling his nostrils with a flowery scent. The moment was broken by incessant scratching noises and whining that came from outside of their room. At first, Ned thought to ignore it, but Iss was relentless, she started to push against the closed doors. Ned knew that none of the guards dared to go near the she-wolf to stop her from waking their lord and lady. With a sigh, he kissed Catelyn’s forehead and got up from the bed.

Catelyn moaned at the loss of body heat, “Ned, I thought we were sleeping in today?” She whined from under the furs.

“I thought so too, my love, but as you can hear, one of my daughters is quite insistent for my company.” Ned chuckled, he had welcomed the idea of Iss being another daughter of his.

Catelyn raised her head and looked at him askance, when she heard the scratching and whining, she dropped her head back on the pillow, “That wolf. Go then, go and see what your daughter wants. I swear to the Gods that Iss is fussier than Sansa.” She grumbled.

Ned dressed and opened the doors for Iss and her litter to come bounding inside. Nymeria and Shaggydog went straight for the bed and jumped up on it. Iss bowled Ned down on the ground and started to lick all over his face while the other pups, Lady and the unnamed one, sat quietly beside them. Nymeria shoved her cold nose against the warm skin of Catelyn’s neck, making her jump up with a shriek.

“Nymeria!” The pups jumped down from the bed and hid behind Ned, who was laughing at their acts, thinking how alike the wolves were with their humans. Nymeria surely showed the same mischievousness as Arya. “Ned, if you don’t get that brood out of my bedroom, I swear I will do something that you will regret.”

Chuckling, Ned ushered the wolves outside of the room. He thought of going to the Godswood, but Iss had something else on her mind. She caught hold of Ned’s cloak and dragged him towards the North Gates. Ned tried to free his cloak from the wolf, but she kept pulling and pushing him.

“What is the matter, girl? Do you want to go out of the keep?”

Iss bounded a few paces ahead and barked back at him. Ned turned to look at the stable and found that Old Nan’s grandson, Hodor standing in front of it. The giant of a man had a big smile on his face as usual. Ned smiled at him.

“Good morning, Hodor. Would you mind getting my horse ready and bringing him to me? It appears that I need to venture out of the keep this morning.”

“Hodor!” The gentle giant nodded his head enthusiastically and went to fetch Ned’s horse. Ned spent the time trying to stop Iss from dragging him from the place. Soon, Hodor brought his horse saddled and ready. Ned gave him a nod and got up on the horse, he patted at the neck of the animal to calm him as the animal was skittish of being close to a predator like the direwolves. He took off with a slow trot, Iss bounding ahead of him with her pups chasing after their mother.

Ned didn’t know where Iss was taking him, he followed her into the Wolfswood. After riding for about thirty minutes through the woods, they stopped before a Weirwood tree. Iss was sniffing at the roots and making whining noises. The pups sat around with their heads cocked looking curiously at their mother.

Ned got down from the horse and went to pacify his wolf daughter. “What is it, girl? What got you so agitated?”

A rustling of leaves alerted Ned that they weren’t alone, he swiftly stood up and unsheathed his sword. What he saw made his grip slacken and the sword drop from his hand. Children of the Forest materialized from the foliage and were looking curiously at him. He had heard about them from Jon and Robb, but he never expected to see one of them himself, let alone four.

“Peace, kind ór stark.  Vér erum hí sem khampioninn spyrjumk oss til koma.  Hrafnrinn sends hans regards” (Peace, child of Stark. We are here as the champion asked us to come. The Raven sends his regards.)

Ned cursed in his mind for his inability to understand or speak Old Tongue quite clearly. He knew a few words, but that was it. He had asked Nan to teach his children the language of the First men after he heard how it helped Jon to communicate with the Children, but he never partook in those lessons himself. He roughly understood that they were talking about coming to this side of the Wall because Jon somehow requested them. Also, someone, he didn’t catch it cleanly, had sent his regards. The Child who spoke to him seemed to be the leader of the small group. The other three were on the ground playing with the pups, Iss sat at a side with her tongue lolling out of her mouth, a proud mother watching over her pups. Their laughter rang as that of tinkling bells. Ned turned to the leader, thinking what he was to do now. He pointed at his chest and spoke in his broken Old Tongue –

“Mik Ned Stark.” (Me Ned Stark)

The leader smiled with an innocence of a babe, they pointed at their own chest, “Mik Willow.” (Me Willow)

Ned wondered what to do next, a thousand and one thoughts were running through his head. He thought it would be better to invite the Children to the castle, if they intend to come with him, that is, and think with a clearer head. He indicated to the horse and said –

“kommitr mér…er...home, I mean heima?” (Come with me, home)

Willow nodded their head, they spoke to the other Children and everyone got ready to leave with Ned. As he got up on his horse and offered a hand to Willow, they shook their head and indicated the smallest of their group to him.

“þú takvindrr mit þér.” (You take Wind with you)

The smallest being smiled at him and pointed at their chest, “Mik Wind.” (Me Wind)

Ned nodded his head in greeting, Willow helped Wind to get up on the horse. Ned secured the Child in front of him, he turned to see that the rest of the Children had climbed on the back of Iss, the she-wolf started to walk away with a slow gait, the pups yipping and running ahead of her. Ned shook his head at the thought of how bizarre their procession would be taken by onlookers. Jon had brought changes for all of them. He looked up in the sky and smiled imagining his sister. Lya, your boy is truly amazing – he thought.

[CotW]

Catelyn’s was not in a good mood that morning. She had hoped for a bit of morning romance when they decided to sleep in for the day, but her husband’s wolf had poured a bucket of snow on that plan. What was more, that damnable pup that Arya chose for her companion, shoved her nose into her neck. She still shivered thinking of the cold nose suddenly pressed against her skin. With a sigh, she started to get ready for the day and her duties as the Lady of the keep. No sooner than she stepped out of the rooms, her youngest son slammed into her sobbing. Worried, she got down to her knees and took hold of her son’s face in her hands.

“Rickon, what is the matter sweetling?”

“I can’t find Shaggy, mama. I have looked everywhere…” Rickon started to bawl again.

Catelyn picked up her son and placed him on her hip, “I am sure he is around somewhere, little pup. Have you checked the broken tower?”

“I did, mama, I did! He is not there!”

“Mother!”

Catelyn sighed and turned around as Sansa approached her with a worried look on her face. It seemed all of her children are very agitated this morning.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Lady is missing, Mother!”

“So is Nymeria!” Arya had joined them by now.

“But I saw them not an hour ago, Iss had come into our rooms to woke us up with the pups.”

She took her children to find the errant wolves. They checked every possible place of the keep but couldn’t find any of them. Catelyn was getting worried about the sudden disappearance, at first, she had taken it lightly, but as time passed, she too started to get restless with her children. She asked a few servants to continue the search for the wolves while she went to look into her husband’s solar to notify him of the wolves’ disappearance, but there was nobody in there. He wasn’t in the Godswood either, she had already looked there. She called for Jory Cassel and Vayon Poole.

“Have you seen Lord Stark?”

“I was just coming to you, My Lady, when I heard you were looking for the wolves. Lord Stark had gone out with the wolves, he asked Hodor to bring his horse and went out the North Gates. He probably has gone for a ride, milady” Jory answered.

Irritated at her husband now that he has gone for the joyride with the wolves and the children got panicked because of that, Catelyn dismissed the men and went out to find and console the little ones. She turned around a corner and almost collided with a running Rickon, whom she ordered Theon to keep an eye on.

“Mama, Shaggy is coming back! He’s gone with father!”

“Yes, little pup, your father took the wolves for a ride through the woods.” She smiled down at him.

A panting Theon skidded to a halt in front of her, “Pardon me, My Lady. Rickon escaped from me when he heard that Lord Stark is returning.”

“He is returning?”

“Yes, My Lady, we were talking with Jory when a guard informed us that they spotted him coming out of the Wolfswood.

Rickon again ran off yelling out Shaggydog’s name. Catelyn chased after her son. They came to a stop near the North Gates, the guards at the gatehouse were whispering among them confusedly. She heard one of the guards yelled for the gates to open but nobody rode through it. Curious, she walked out of the gates with Ser Rodrick and Jory flanking her, she had a tight hold on Rickon’s shoulder. She was surprised to see her husband standing a few yards away from the gates.

“Someone please send for Nan!” Ned shouted from where he stood, “My Lady,” he called for Catelyn, “will you please come forward? Bring the children with you, there is nothing to fear!”

She looked to her side to find Sansa keeping a tight hold on Bran and Arya’s shoulders. The eyes of her eldest daughter’s had gone as wide as her own, for she too was wondering what came upon her father, whereas the youngest three were vibrating with excitement. Jory wanted to come along with them with some guards but Ned put up a hand to stop him or any other men from joining their party. Hodor had come forward supporting his grandmother. The old woman smiled at her when they came to stop beside her. Cautiously, the seven of them approached where Ned stood. He gave her a reassuring smile before turning to Old Nan. He spoke softly to her so that none could hear his words beside them -

“Good morning, Nan. I am sorry to trouble you but we have some guests who don’t want to be surrounded by walls. I need you to help us as a speaker of sorts because I am afraid, my Old Tongue is quite rusty.”

“Of course, milord.” The old woman muttered not understanding what their lord was up to.

Ned indicated them to follow him, the children asked their father where they were going, but all he did was smiled at them and told them that it was a surprise for all of them. Catelyn didn’t like all these mysteries, she would have to have a word with her lord husband once they were back at the keep. She looked back over her shoulders to find Ser Rodrick and Jory standing at the gates with frowns on their faces. They didn’t like the fact that their lord’s entire family was going into the woods without any armed guard, but they couldn’t do anything as it was Lord Stark himself who had stopped them. Theon, Cley, Lady Ella – all were standing there with curious looks on their faces. She turned back to see Ned was leading them into the treelines. She was about to object to the dangers in there but he shook his head to her. Soon, they found themselves in a small clearing a few yards into the woods. All of them gasped at what they saw, four beings of short stature, skins like tree barks and the green of colour, stood among the wolves. Catelyn recognized them from Jon’s tale, she was standing before the Children of Forests herself. Everyone save Rickon was rooted to their spots, but her youngest let out a happy squeal seeing his wolf companion and rushed to Shaggydog. Catelyn tried to stop him but she found that she couldn’t utter a single word. Ned gave them all another reassuring smile.

“Everyone, I would like to introduce you to the Children of the Forest. Aye, I know you are thinking that it is quite impossible, but here they are, just as Jon and Robb said. The one in the middle is called Willow, they seemed to be the leader of this small group. Nan, please introduce them to my wife and children.”

Old Nan nodded her head as if in a trance.

“Heil ancient einn, ek em köllumk gamall nan.  Þessi eru minn lorð stark's kind.  Hans wife, ladyrinn katelyn.  Þeirdaughtersr, ladr sansokr arya, ok sons,inn lords brandon ok rickon.  Ok þessi poor kind með mik er minn grandson, walder.” (Greetings ancient one, I am called Old Nan. These are My Lord Stark's family. His wife, the Lady Catelyn. Their daughters, Ladies Sansa and Arya, and the sons, Lords Brandon and Rickon. And this poor child beside me is my grandson, Walder.)

One of the Children, whom Ned pointed out to be the leader, gave them all an innocent smile that of a small human babe. They nodded to them.

“Minn greetings, kinder ór menn.  Ek em köllumk willow.  Þessi hí eru minn kompanions - rose, birch ok vindr.  Vér vóro spyrjumk til komhír til stark's heimmeðr godsrinn' khosen, khampionrinn hvæn þú veit sem jon snow.” (My greetings, children of men. I am called Willow. These here are my companions - Rose, Birch and Wind. We were asked to come here to Stark's home by the Gods' chosen, the Champion whom you know as Jon Snow.)

“They are called Willow, Rose, Birch and Wind, milord. They are here because Jon Snow asked them to come.” Her voice shook, Catelyn could hear she was muttering to herself, “He is the Gods’ chosen?”

The Child continued, “Vér erum hí til fylgjagð þú tame soilrinn.  Kinder ór menn munu munu needing giftanórr earth,inn fyrir harðr tími er koming fyrir allr ór oss.  Vér munu sing okkarr songs til tréjar,inn grounð ok beastsrinn.  Hugseigir, kind ór stark.  Fylgjagð munu munu given til þau hverr spyrja.” (We are here to help you tame the soil. Children of men will be needing the gifts of the earth, for a hard time is coming for all of us. We will sing our songs to the trees, ground and beasts. Think not, child of Stark. Help will be given to those who ask.)

“They are here to help us farm, milord,” Old Nan’s eyes glinted, “they will help us grow food. They will weave their magic for all who need their help.”

Ned had a small smile on his face, “Ask them what they need from us? What can I do to help them?”

“Minn elders, hvat meglorðr stark til gertilr fylgjagð þú?” (My elders, what can Lord Stark do to help you?)

Willow shook their head, “Vér hafhvatvetnar vér þorfua.  Fyrir earthinn tekr kare ór oss.  Vér gereigir þorfuþinnr kages ór stone.  Vér munu munu living among tréjarrinn.  Er þú þorfuossr, spyrjwolvesrinnr.  Wolvesrinn munu veit hvernig til vitossr.” (We have everything we need. For the Earth takes care of us. We do not need your cages of stone. We will be living among the trees. When you need us, ask the wolves. The wolves will know how to find us.)

“They don’t need any help, milord. They say that they will be alright living in the woods. When we be needing them, we are to ask the wolves. They say that the wolves can always find them.”

Ned tried to say something but the Child cut him off, “Vér munu try til rit wrangerr at hafmuniðr done til þessi poor kind.  Annarr tími, at er enn til pass, en Mayneverr koma, hafleftr sinn kurse á hans minð.  Hrafnrinn's pupil munu munu needing hans strongest protector til keep hann safe.” (We will try to right a wrong that has been done to this poor child. Another time, which is yet to pass, but may never come, has left its curse on his mind. The Raven's pupil will be needing his strongest protector to keep him safe.)

The four Children approached Hodor, the gentle giant smiled down at them and said, “Hodor!” They took him by his hand and led him a few paces away from the others.

“What did they say?” Catelyn asked.

“They said they are going to right a wrong. Something about time has left its curse on me boy…but my Walder, he is like that since he was a wee lad.” The old woman started to fret.

Catelyn put her arm around the older woman’s shoulder. She became quite fond of her since she helped her in her earlier days as the Lady of Winterfell. Old Nan helped her to raise all of her children, with her stories and songs, she entertained them when they were little, took care of them as if they were her grandchildren. Even to this day, she knew that the kind old woman often smuggled lemon cakes to Sansa or meat pies to Arya, which she made herself, especially for the girls. She could feel the old woman’s agitation for her only living relative. She was shocked to know that his name was Walder. Like others, she too became used to the simple-minded giant of a man called Hodor.

The Children had Walder sitting on his knees, they were going in a circle around him while chanting in an unknown language. The rhythm and tone of the chant made all of them sway on their feet as if the world was dancing to the Children’s tune. They made Walder eat something that looked like a red paste. The man clasped his hands at his head and started to sway where he sat. As the chanting rose in pitch, Walder started to convulse. He let out a muffled scream and collapsed on the ground.

“Walder!” Nan screamed and tried to go to her grandson, but Catelyn held onto her.

Slowly, Walder got up from the ground and looked everywhere wildly. When his eyes fell upon Nan, he called out to her, “Nana!”

All of them were surprised to hear something else than the word “Hodor” coming out of the man’s mouth. Nan broke down crying, “Me boy, you are cured…my wee Walder…”

Walder came to her and wrapped his massive arms around the old woman, almost lifting her off the ground, “Aye, Nana. I am cured. I was in this haze, I could see and hear you all, but I was afraid to reach out to you. They cured me, Nana. They called me out with their song and the haze faded.” Both grandmother and grandson were crying in happiness.

The one called Willow approached the Starks. Sansa shifted closer to her father and Ned wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“Pack at veiðir sem einn, munu remain sterkr forever.  Kinder ór stark eru þorfumk til eltdarknesanar away.  Þeir eigfylgjagðr ljós leggja.” (Pack that hunts as one, will remain strong forever.  Children of stark are needed to chase the darkness away. They must help the Light Bringer.)

They brought out some things from inside of their clothing and handed them out to Sansa, Arya and Bran. They looked for Rickon but he was still wrestling with Shaggydog, so they handed whatever it was meant for him, to Catelyn. She looked down to her hands to see that there was something like an arrowhead, made out of obsidian and carved delicately to resemble that of a wolf’s head. Upon closer inspection, she found tiny runes of the First Men also carved in them. She looked up in wonder to the Child.

“Magic er sterkr með starksrinn.  Blooð ór gamall munu sing again inn þeirveinsr.” (Magic is strong with the Starks. Blood of old will sing again in their veins.)

They all looked at Nan questioningly, the old woman had calmed down somewhat. Stutteringly, she said –

“They said that the Starks are needed to fight against the darkness, they are to help the…Light Bringer? Those talismans will help them, for they have the blood of the First Men…”

“Vér bið þú farewell fyrir nú, kinder ór menn.  Spyrjwolveanar er þú þorfuossr, þeir munu leggjþúr til oss.” (We bid you farewell, for now, Children of Men. Ask the wolves when you need us, they will bring you to us.)

The Children nodded to them and appeared to be melted back within the greenery. Leaving behind the Stark family who was still struggling with what they had all experienced that morning.

“Ned, how are we to explain this?” Catelyn waved her hands.

“We saw the Children of the Forest!” Bran and Arya found their voices.

“Quiet down, children. You must not tell anyone that you have met them.” Ned said in a stern voice.

“But Father…” Bran whined.

“No son, you must promise me to keep this a secret, do you understand? I only brought you here so that you can meet with them, but they must remain a secret. People outside of the North fear magic, if they come to know of them, they will hunt them down. You don’t want them to die, do you?” Bran shook his head. “Then you must give me your words that you will keep this meeting a secret.”

Bran nodded reluctantly, but Arya had a scowl on her face.

“Hang on, Jon met with the Children but he didn’t tell me?”

“Arya,” Sansa sighed, “if he didn’t tell you then he probably didn’t want anybody to know besides Father and Mother.”

“But I am his little sister, he tells me everything!”

Sansa got down on her knees, “I understand, little wolf. He didn’t tell me either and he is my best friend. We will ask him why the next time we see him. But you must do as Father asks, this is the Pack Secret, do you understand, little wolf?” Arya nodded her head and hugged her sister.

The parents stood there amazed at the display, Catelyn had tears in her eyes, it reminded her of the time she spent with Lysa. She turned back to Ned.

“What about Rickon, Ned, he is but a babe, he will not understand the urgency to keep the Children a secret.”

“Aye, my love, he is but a babe, and that is why whatever he says, will be taken as a child’s fancy,” Ned smirked at her.

“And how are we to explain Hod…Walder?”

Old Nan had composed herself by then, she wiped her tears away and turned towards her lord and lady, “Milord Stark had met with a hedge-witch on his ride this morning, milady, she promised him that she has a cure for my Walder. She gave him a potion and he is now a man as he should be. She also gave the lord’s children talismans to keep them safe. Lord Stark first thought to humour her but when he saw the effect of the potion on Walder, he agreed to accept the talismans for the children.” She turned towards the children, “Give me those, my dears, I will fashion lockets for you to wear.”

Catelyn and Ned looked at each other, both amazed at the level of cunning the old woman showed. they handed over the arrowheads to Nan.

“Do Robb and Jon also have these talismans?” Sansa asked.

“No sweetling, they had different blessings.”

“Will you tell us about them, Mother?” Arya was very eager.

“Yes, I will, once we are back at the keep.”

Ned went to fetch Rickon who was still on the ground with Shaggydog.

“Come, little pup, we are returning home.”

“Father, I saw the Children! From Nan’s stories!”

“You did?”

“Aye, I did, Father, I did! Shaggy saw them too, didn’t you Shaggy?”

---

 

Jon was sitting under the Hearts Tree of Greywater Watch. Godswood always had a calming effect on him. He thought that he was done with emotional turmoil, but the meeting he had at Lord Reed’s solar with Ser Arthur Dayne had proved him wrong.

*Flashback*

They all had convened in Lord Reed’s solar after the morning meal. The Lord had promised to give lessons to Robb and Asher as he did to Jon to understand their gifts and take better care of their companions when they share their minds. Torrhen was a little miffed that he was the only one among the Pack without any animal companion. Jon assured him that if he possessed the gift, then his companion will reveal itself to him sooner or later.

As they sat around the desk, they were a little more composed than the previous night. Asher had gotten over the shock of finding he had a warg bond. Still, he was looking at Ser Arthur with worship in his eyes.

“I take it you have questions?” Lord Howland tried to break the ice.

Jon had a hard time not to snort out loud at the obvious question. “Aye, My Lord, you are right.” He turned towards the knight, “How are you alive? Where were you? Who else knows of you?”

Arthur grimaced before answering, “You must understand Your Grace -” Jon opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur pressed on, “Forgive me, Lord Howland told me about your arguments regarding the honorifics, but it is quite hard for a Kingsguard to address a royal without them. I will try to abide by your wishes…Jon.” He gave him a small smile.

“As I was saying, you must understand the situation after the Rebellion. Any Targaryen loyalists were put through scrutiny. Some who had partaken in the war was sent to the Wall, others were penalized. Velaryon, Celtiger, Darry – all the loyalist families were under constant watch, they still are. Any indication of them doing otherwise than what the Ruling power from Kings’ Landing dictated, would have thwarted with extreme prejudice. I spent the last fifteen years either sequestered here at Greywater Watch, out of everyone’s notice, or travelling through Essos, trying to find your uncle and aunt, but luck never seemed to be favourable for me. Whenever I was closing in on them, the stag king’s men crossed my path and I had to abandon my search lest I led them to the dragons myself.

As for how I am alive, that you can say thanks to Howland here. Northmen led by your Uncle Ned had reached the Tower of Joy in search of Princess Lyanna. There were none but us three to standing between what we thought the usurper’s men and the heir to the throne and Queen Regent. We had heard the news of Princess Elia. We didn’t know what happened to the pregnant and frail Queen Rhaella. All we knew was that we three were all that stood between the enemy and the last of the dragons. We fought, we fought with everything we had. Gerold was the first to fall, but not before taking three Northmen with him. Then Oswell. I was the last to face Ned Stark, Howland was already wounded, so I didn’t pay any attention to him. Lord Stark is a fine swordsman, he fought with a style that I have never seen before. The same style I encountered just this morning when I sparred with you. We locked blades and by the Gods’ graces, I had the upper hand on your uncle. But I paid the price of ignoring the crafty Crannogman. Howland jumped at my back with a dagger, I was on my knees with your uncle’s sword at my neck, I would have lost my head if not a piercing scream came from the tower. Lord Stark ran inside in search of his sister, Princess Lyanna. Howland came to me and apologized for stabbing me in the back. He treated my wounds and told me to stay put while he went after his lord. I don’t know for how long I sat with my back against a boulder, contemplating my options. Then Howland came back announcing the birth of an heir, also the death of the Queen Regent. He dug graves in the red sand. Giving his and my companions the burials. Not proper ones, yes, but that was all he could do at that moment. He urged me to hide. He convinced me about the honourable Ned Stark that he won’t let anything happen to his blood, the last of the dragons, but he couldn’t assure me that I would be left alive by the grief-stricken Lord of Winterfell. I hid, while Howland staged an empty grave with my marker. I had lost my King, my Prince, the Princesses, I lost my brothers that day – Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell, finest knights the kingdoms have ever seen. Thousands have died, all because of Rheager’s mistake.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, “Mistake?”

“Yes, My Prince, mistake. He was my best friend, the finest man that I had the privilege to know, but he wasn’t above his follies. ‘Tis true that he travelled the kingdoms in secret, acting a bard and giving away his earnings to the smallfolk. A brave warrior and a beautiful singer. All of these added to the legend of the Bard Prince. However, nobody sings about the madness he possessed. The Targaryen curse affected him too but in a different way. He was melancholic, he brooded for days. He often acted out in ways that defied any logic. How else do you explain his knighting of Gregor Clegane? He knighted the man just because he won a tourney with his brutality while possessing neither traits of a true knight. But there he was, he knighted Miles Mooton, Richard Lonmouth, his squires, and Gregor Clegane after a tourney at Lannisport. He didn’t care how his action was taken by the others. Whenever he became broody, he would shut himself off from the world. Not even his mother’s plight or his daughter’s tears would tear him away from his thoughts. He was obsessed with his prophecy, wouldn’t hear anything against it. He loved your mother, yes, but how he approached the already volatile situations? Did he make contact with Lord Rickard? Did he go along with the plan of deposing the Mad King as everyone planned? No, he became obsessed once again after Robert Baratheon claimed betrothal for Princess Lyanna. The tourney of Harrenhal was just a veil for the lords of the realms to gather together and plan on how to remove the tyrant. Only nobody expected the King to arrive there. Rheager forgot everything about deposing the Mad King. Princess Lyanna became his only goal. I tried to talk to him, but he was adamant. Your mother, a lady from a Great House, but was a naïve girl of fifteen namedays old. She was desperate to be free from the forced betrothal and marry her prince. She ran away and gave a letter for her father and brother to the hands of a passing noble whom she only knew about from her correspondence with another. I urged them to ride for the North after their marriage, but they went to Dorne instead. He didn’t even try to reach out for Doran or Oberyn, they hid in that cursed Tower of Joy till the news of the executions of Lords Rickard and Brandon came from the Capitol. So no, My Prince, for every greatness that the Bard Prince bore, his madness also played a part. He fell in love, twice over, and thousands paid the price for that with their lives.”

Jon was seething, he had created an image of his father in his mind from the legends that he read or heard. A Prince who fell in love and paid the ultimate price for it. He had heard about his gentle natures, his chivalry. But none had said anything about the madness. To hear about them from Ser Arthur Dayne, his father’s closest friend, was as if a physical blow.

“Forgive me, My Prince, I shouldn’t have spoken ill of your father. I have been playing all the incidents in my head over and over for the past fifteen years. What could have I done or said differently that would have saved all of them – the thought pricked my conscience every waking moment. Seeing you now, the exact image of your father but with your mother’s features and colouring, I couldn’t stop myself.”

Jon was scowling down at the table, he didn’t reply anything. He felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked up to see Robb staring at him with a concerned look on his face. He gave him a small nod.

“Tell me, Ser, this madness of Prince Rhaeger you are speaking of, would it be the prophecy of the prince that was promised?” Jon’s eyes appeared as if two small flames of purple fire. Ser Arthur squirmed in his seat and nodded his head reluctantly.

Jon nodded along, “I don’t know the man as you do. So I won’t claim that I understand his thoughts. Aye, he does sound to be affected by the Targaryen madness, a different kind but madness still, what with his melancholic nature. But the reason behind it, they were not baseless.”

Arthur tried to open his mouth but Jon raised a hand to stop him.

“I am sure that Lord Reed had told you about me when he returned home from Bear Island?” Howland bowed his head in affirmative, “Did he describe me to you? You talked about my mother’s colours, did he said that I had the Stark grey eyes?” Arthur nodded confusedly. “What do they appear to you now?”

“They are purple…?”

“Aye, they are purple, eyes don’t change their colours just like that. But here I am. I would tell you the reason, but you might say that I am afflicted with the madness of my forbearers.”

“My Prince, I…”

“No, Ser, I have heard you, now I believe it is your turn. What would you say if I tell you that I have met with Lord Bloodraven? Would you say that I have gone as insane as my grandfather if I tell you that I have met with the Children of Forest? Prince Rhaeger mayhaps had the Targaryen madness for he pursued a prophecy,” he had gotten up on his feet, “his ways may have been wrong, but my good Ser, I can assure you, the reason behind them was not. For I am the Prince that was promised.”

Jon thrusted his hands forward with palms up, red flames erupted from them. Lord Howland and Ser Arthur yelped and scrambled up on their feet. Jon collapsed back down on his seat as the fire died out. Robb and the others were sitting quietly back, with grim faces.

“What the fuck was that?” Arthur rasped.

Robb sighed and nodded at Asher, who got up and poured a cup of ale and held it out to Jon.

“That was the magic of the bloodlines that Jon has flowing in his veins – Blood of Winter Kings, Children of the Forest and Old Valyria.” He turned from Jon who was leaning back in his seat with half leaded eyes. “Please excuse my cousin, My Lord, Ser. We both have what my lord father calls the wolfblood, making us quite quick to anger, though Jon could control his emotions better, I fear hearing accusations about his parents had pushed him far. Add to that his dragonblood, and well…”

The three friends explained about their ranging beyond the Wall and meeting with Bloodraven and the Children while Jon sat quietly recovering from his outburst, he knew that he was being unfair to Ser Arthur, for the man was speaking the truth about his father. But his mind rebelled to accept his follies, he thirsted to know about his parents, and who could be better to tell than his father’s best friend. What he wasn’t ready to hear was the blame of madness. As his mind simmered down, he started to think about what he heard. It did sound that his father was afflicted with the curse of Targaryens. He wondered if he was affected by it as well. The only other Targaryen he met was Maester Aemon, but he didn’t see any hint of the madness in him. He wondered about Viserys and Daenerys – do they have the touch of madness as well? Only time will tell.

He looked up to see the sombre faces of everyone, Robb had finished telling them about Lady Minerva and the threat that was approaching mankind. He cleared his throat.

“My Lord Reed, please forgive my behaviour. I have no excuse for acting so rudely under your roof. I was out of my limit.” He turned towards Arthur, “Ser…Uncle Arthur,” the knight looked up at him with wide eyes, “that was how my mother wrote to me about you. I hope you don’t mind if I call you that?” Arthur shook his head, “I ask that you forgive me too, I shouldn’t have lost my temper that way. I have been eager to know about my father, but I was unprepared to learn about his shortcomings. I should have expected the bad along with the good. Please, Uncle Arthur, I beg you to forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, My Pr…Aemon.” Tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes. “The Princess wrote to you about me?”

“Aye, she wrote in her letter about how you said you would train me with a sword before I learnt to walk properly, and how she threatened to beat you with the biggest stick she could find if you had done so.”

Arthur chuckled, “Yes, she did do that.”

*Flashback End*

They talked some more after that. For someone like Ser Arthur, it was rather hard to believe about Children of Forest or a still alive man from legends. But on the other hand, he also witnessed Jon conjuring fire atop his palms. He had asked numerous questions about the visions he had. Jon was almost tempted to tell him about Theon’s treasure, but that was a Northern secret. Jon sighed and turned to go back to their room back at the keep, but he stopped short in his tracks when as he was staring into the unnerving gaze of Jojen Reed.

“Lord Jojen,” Jon nodded his head in greeting, “shouldn’t you be in bed at this hour of the night?”

“You are marked.” Came his emotionless reply.

“I am sorry?” Jon looked closer at the boy, his face appears as if carved from the Weirwood, pale and without any life in it.

“The Gods have chosen you, My Prince. You are the cog that will change the world as we come to know it. Like others before you.”

Jon took a quick look around the Godswood, at this hour of the night, the sacred place was devoid of any soul other than them.

“Did your lord father tell you about me?”

“It is I who tells my father about things that will come, things that may never be and the things that were, My Prince. It was I who convinced him to go along with you on your journey to the Bear Island. I knew you needed his talents. I saw it.”

“You are a Greenseer!” Jon sucked in a breath.

“Aye, My Prince, like you, the Gods also have blessed me. I am not as powerful as you though. I can see images of times and I can feel the calling of the others who share in our gifts.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, “Could you be one of the disciples of Bloodraven?”

“I am afraid not. I could become a follower for the Raven, but I am not the disciple. It is not in my destiny. Though my sight tells me that we will be crossing path quite soon. The rest of my sight is still obscured from me.”

Jon was deep in thought. Jojen appeared to be quite a powerful little Greenseer. Though his gifts were different from what he came to know. He could become an important part of the resistance to the struggles to come.

“I may have something with me that can help you with your sights, My Lord. But I am afraid that I will need to consult with your lord father before I can offer it to you. It is not to be taken in a lark.”

“Aye, I quite agree with you, My Prince. The Weirwood paste will wreak havoc with my mental fortitude, as it has done for you and your companions. If I am not quite mistaken, you are still struggling to get back the mental acuity you possessed before. Bear with it, you have been granted a boon, it demands some sacrifice, for magic is a sword without a hilt, it cuts both ways. However, I am sure you will once again reach your potential, My Prince.”

Jojen was eerily calm throughout their entire conversation. Jon decided he needed to talk with Lord Howland first thing in the morning.

Notes:

A.N. - I am sorry for this long delay and a filler chapter, I couldn't think of what to pen down and didn't want to just teleport Jon and company to Kings' Landing.

A.N. 2 - I have been receiving complaints that this story is deviating from the original. Really? You, people, do know that each and every story publish on this site is fanfiction? I do hope you have an idea what fanfiction really is. Do not expect to see line by line, exact words of what Mr Martin had written to appear on this site. Moronic reviews about how this story doesn't resemble the original will be ignored henceforth. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I agree that I have described this as a Gamer fic, but I wanted to go a different route than the general D&D gaming genre. I started this story as one of those, but as it progressed, I found it was quite dissimilar to what I envisioned. That is why I have changed the Gamer aspect of this story to the likes of Open-World Third Person adventure quest/mission-based games like AC or GTA adventures. I even explained that through the avatar of Lady Minerva.

The next complaint was the war of Bear Island. If you want to gripe about the believability of the Skagosi arc, I will once again remind you to look at the definition of Fanfiction. I agree with you if you said that I didn't do justice to that campaign, you are right. I tried to pay homage to LotR: Two Towers through the battle scenes. In doing so, I had forgone the logistics and likes for the dramatization, blame me for being a fan of that franchise.

Next, characters not behaving as they did in the books or the show. Again, it is a fanfiction.

Sorry for the long rant.

Chapter 18: Who Let the Wolves Out? Pt. 1

Who Let the Wolves Out? Pt. 1

Jason Todd was up on a tree looking out for any advancement of the enemy forces. He was one of the scouts the Lord of Greywater Watch deployed to keep a closer look at the troops, and if possible, create mayhems in their camps. As he leaned into the tree trunk, Vinr fluttered down on his shoulder. Jason smiled at the sparrow and caressed its chest with a finger.

“Where have you gone off to, Vinr?”

The bird chirped at him and shuffled its wings. Jason was about to say something when a sound of movements alerted him. He leaned down to watch a patrol was passing by the tree he was perched upon. It was clear from the soldiers’ movements that they were not used to traverse through dense forest. They were making as much noise as if a mad auroch was let loose inside of a home. Jason narrowed his eyes, why would the soldiers send out a patrol? They were supposed to establish camp just beyond the neck. Have they ventured into the forest already?

Ping!

Quest Alert!

Find the enemy camp, kill as many soldiers as you can.

Bonus Objective: Destroy the camp if the situation permits.

Jason smirked down at the men underneath him. Vinr had taken off from his shoulder. He slowly uncoiled a piece of rope from his waist, it had a long and sharp metal spike attached to an end. He was eyeing the last man in the column. As soon as the others were a few paces away, Jason hurled the spike aimed at the man. It flew with deadly accuracy and pierced the man in his neck. Jason jumped down from the tree branch he was perched on with rope gripped tightly in his hands. The man was hauled upwards by the rope, his legs were kicking in the air and his hands clawing at his neck trying to remove the spike. Jason brought out a dagger and shoved it at the man’s heart, making him hang limply in the air. He let go of the rope and caught the man before he hit the ground and make noise. He dragged the corpse into a nearby bush and removed and recoiled the rope-dart around his waist.

Jason got out of the bush and darted between trees, keeping the patrol within his sight. The shadows created by the overhead leafy canopy helped him to hide within his environment. Soon, they reached a makeshift camp in the woods of the Neck. Jason thought that his hunch was correct, Southrons indeed have ventured into the Marshlands. Well, if they were eager to meet their Stranger the hard way, who was he to complain. He made a round of the camp perimeter as quietly as he could. There were about one hundred to one hundred and twenty men in that camp. Jason’s orders were clear - locate enemy camps, and if possible, destroy enemy camps.

He again climbed a tree and hid between the branches. He warged into Vinr’s mind and flew over the camp, trying to find a point of attack. A sudden movement at the eastern side of the camp caught his eye, he flew there to find that a lizard lion was trying to maintain distance from the annoying two legs and catch its prey. He slipped out from Vinr’s skin, a plan was forming in his mind.

As quietly as he could, Jason made it to the other side of the camp, travelling from branches to branches. He perched on the tree underneath of which the lizard lion had shifted. It was almost concealed within the bushes, and from the right side of the tree, where there was a small watering hole, came the sound of some animal slurping up its after-meal drink. Jason brought out his blowpipe and aimed it at the head of the lizard lion, he had only moments to act, else the thick skin of the creature won’t be penetrated by the small dart. Soon, a fox scurried out from the side of the watering hole, the lizard lion tried to snap at it, but the wily beast was too quick for it, it dodged and ran for its life. It was all the time Jason needed, he had tagged the lizard lion with his dart the moment it opened its maw. He sat back on the branch he was perched upon and leaned into the tree trunk, waiting for the fun to begin.

The lizard lion tried to slink back into the foliage, but the concoction had started its work reaching its bloodstream. It shook its head as if trying to deter an annoying insect. It let out a sound that was between a growl and a hiss and charged at the two legs, the ones that had intruded into its hunting place.

The men at the camp weren’t ready to fight off an enraged lizard lion. They had heard about these ferocious creatures and kept a safe distance from them, but one had found its way into their camp and was attacking anybody it could get its teeth, claw or tail on. They had forgone their heavy plate armours in the humid environment of the marshland and favoured leather armours, but now it seemed detrimental to fend off the attack of the bloody creature. It also didn’t help when some of their men started to attack them in a blind rage. Could the creature be poisonous that its teeth or claws turned the men into unthinking, bloodthirsty monsters? The more they tried to fight for their lives, the more they cursed their lords for their ambition to invade these Godsforsaken lands. Everything in these lands, from the water to the animals were fucking death traps.

Jason had changed his position the moment the commotion brought all of the camp’s soldiers out of their tents. He went to the opposite end and fashioned a ball of dried reed, leaves and vines. He poured the sleeping potion on it and got ready for the perfect moment. As soon as he heard the noise of the small skirmish dying down, he lobbed the ball into the unattended main campfire and ran away from the place. By his calculation, it would take about an hour for the fume to act its magic. He chose a high branch from where he could keep the camp in his sight from a safe distance, and brought out his dagger and started to whittle the piece of wood he had in his pouch to a figurine of a dragon, his little brother demanded that he gave him a dragon.

After about an hour, Jason put his carving into his pouch and the dagger back in its sheath. He wrapped a piece of cloth around his nose and mouth and started to slowly advance towards the enemy camp by the ways of trees. He reached the camp border and as he had expected, most of the men who were still alive after the battle with the lizard lion, lying about on the ground as if drunk out of their gourds. He smirked behind his mask and switched his magical blades out, it was time to finish his lord’s order.

When Jason left the campsite and trudged back on his way to the keep to report on his mission, only a handful of Southrons left alive in that camp of hundred. The lucky bastards would get up in the morning and would find their fellow soldiers massacred all around the camp. Legends would be told of this night, how the entire world had come alive to protect the North from invasion. Even the shadows of the night were dangerous enough to slay over eighty soldiers in their beds.

Ping!

Quest Completed!

Find the enemy camp, kill as many soldiers as you can.

Bonus Objective Completed: Destroy the camp if the situation permits.

[CotW]

Jon woke with a start, he needed to have a moment to understand where he was, for just a few moments ago, he was traversing through the woods of the Neck. The constant motion under his back and the sound of waves crashing against wooden planks reminded him that they were on a ship onwards to Kings’ Landing. He shook his head to clear the fog of sleep. They had heard stories from Lord Howland about the legend that an unknown Crannogman scout had created among the invaders that they were afraid to even set a single foot into the marshlands. Who would’ve thought that the unknown scout was once a Champion?

Jon got up from his bed and nudged Torrhen to wake him up. Robb and Asher were sharing another cabin opposite of them. As he started to change his clothes for the day, he thought back on his dream, the rope-dart thing the scout used, it seemed a very useful weapon to have. He needed to put some thoughts into it. Ghost nipped at his heel as he went out of the cabin.

“Come on, boy.” He called for him to follow. The wolf got up and slowly made his way out of the cabin, the voyage didn’t agree with the wolves, Ghost and Grey Wind spent most of their times hiding inside of the cabins. He knocked at Robb’s cabin door to wake them up and made his way up to the deck. Ghost whined a little as they came into the chilly wind of the open sea, if the ground moved under his paws, his brave direwolf acted like a scared puppy. Jon scratched behind his ears and went to the railings. He was glad that this time around they didn’t suffer from sea-sickness. They could only take so much of Robb’s boastings.

Jon took a lungful of fresh sea air. He watched as their ship moved forward through the waves, thinking about the events from the past few days.

He had gone to Lord Reed with his proposal of administering the Weirwood paste to Jojen. He told them what to expect and how much a pain it was for them to later get their head on straight again. Lord Reed asked scores of questions before he allowed Jojen to eat the paste. As expected, he went into his sleep like trance for nearly a day. When he woke up, he wasn’t the same stony-faced lad Jon had come to expect, there were signs of life in his visage, Lord Reed too was pleasantly surprised to see his normally sullen son’s smiling face. Lady Jayna sobbed holding Jojen close to her breasts as her son was finally acting like a child that he should. Poor Maester Luwin didn’t have any inclination of the happenings, he prescribed some medicines for soothing stomachs of little children to a bemused Lord Reed, saying that the correct application of the medicines would help Jojen to become more lively.

They had departed from Greywater Watch after a couple of days to go to White Harbour. Ser Arthur, quite obviously, had joined their group. Now that he finally met with his prince, he won’t let anybody keeping him from the side of his royal charge. As they were leaving, Jojen told Jon to expect a raven from him sometimes during their stay at Kings’ Landing. Which will help them to decide on their journey. Jon had grumbled good-naturedly about seers and their vague instructions.

Their welcome at the White Harbour was marked with a feast. Although, if rumours were to be taken into consideration, Lord Wyman was heard to throw one feast per week, it could have coincided with their arrival. Still, Robb was greeted as if a son was returning home after a long time. Ser Wendel had praised the four to all who would listen after his return from Skagos. They were seated as guests of honour at the high table that night. Lord Wyman’s other granddaughter, Wylla Manderly, had planted herself at Robb’s side while the other three were mobbed by various ladies of the extended Manderly family. The wolves were greeted with much adoration. Stories had travelled to far and wide about the four carrying the she-wolf on their horses, and when they saw the fluffy wolf pups the size of small hounds, the ladies cooed at them, brushing their fingers in their soft furs. Ghost and Grey Wind didn’t leave their human’s sides much for the fears of the weird female two legs.

The next day, Robb and Jon had a meeting with Lord Wyman. The cousins presented the lord with a letter from Ned where the Lord of Winterfell had commissioned the Manderly lord to build two cargo ships and two galleys. Lord Wyman had listened with utmost interest as Robb describe the plans of establishing a trading port at Skagos and making deals with Essosi merchants. The fat lord was quite an adept economist, he had provided a few insights and small changes to the initial plan which would prove more profitable for the North. He accepted the commission to build the ships and promised Robb that he would contact Lord Stark with his additional ideas and would provide help with establishing business relation with the eastern lands.

They had boarded a ship bound for the Capitol three days later. They knew that they would arrive at Kings’ Landing quite early for the tourney, but they wanted to explore the most famous city of Westeros before it became too crowded to walk. Jon was worried that someone the likes of Ser Barristan or Ser Jaime might recognize Ser Arthur, but the knight assured him that the nobles at Kings’ Landing didn’t pay any attention to the staff on principle, thus, he would be quite well hidden among the men as a captain of the troop so long that he didn’t come to the throne room.

Jon was of two minds to tell the knight what they had concocted back at Winterfell to explain his purple eyes. But he had to tell him, as it would be quite insulting otherwise to the man’s deceased sister.

*Flashback*

Jon found the man standing at the prow of the ship watching the waves break against the ship’s hull. He went and stood beside him.

“Good morning, Uncle Eric.”

Arthur smiled down at him. He quite liked when Jon called him uncle.

“Good morning to you too, Jon.”

Jon was trying to think about how to broach the subject. Arthur noticed his restlessness and asked –

“Something is on your mind this morning, Jon?”

“Aye, Uncle. But I don’t know how to bring up the subject as it is quite sensitive.”

Arthur turned around to face Jon, “Just say it out loud, Jon. I think I can handle it.”

Jon took a glance around to ensure that they were by themselves at that part of the deck, then he told him about how there were rumours that people thought of him to be Brandon Stark’s son by Lady Ashara. Now that his eyes have turned purple, they had decided to discreetly encourage the rumour to keep his identity hidden for as long as they could. Arthur had turned back watching the sea as Jon was talking to him. His hands had turned white from the tight grip he had on the railings.

“I am sorry, Uncle. We had no idea about you…well, you know…”

“You didn’t know that I am alive and since there were people who have already speculated about the relationship between my sister and your uncles, you thought you could just confirm their assumptions with detachment, by neither confirming nor denying the rumours. Am I right in my way of thinking?”

“Aye. I am sorry.”

Arthur sighed and dropped his head on his chest, “What you don’t know Jon, that there was indeed a relationship formed between Ashara and your Uncle Brandon. They fell in love at Harrenhal and kept in contact through ravens. As far as I know, Brandon travelled quite early for Riverrun so that he could confess to Lord Hoster. The marriage between the Tullys and Starks were already discussed throughout the realms apart from the rightful reason of the union between two Great Houses, what with Lord Tully’s ward challenging Brandon to a duel to the death for Lady Catelyn’s hand. Ashara had told me that Brandon was even ready to denounce his claims as Heir of Winterfell for his younger brother Eddard’s favour. He had noticed how Eddard seemed to be quite keen to spend time with the then Lady Tully. Brandon wanted to cancel his betrothal, but then, the ill-advised charges against Prince Rhaeger by Brandon Stark happened and he was thrown into the Black Cells. Ashara visited him there in secret, quite frequently I might add, and inevitably, she became pregnant with Brandon’s child. The ever-thoughtful Princess Elia, sensing the volatile situation of the political climate as well as Ashara’s growing belly, staged a fight between the two of them and made Ashara leave Kings’ Landing so that she can be secured in her home at Starfall with the child in her womb.”

Arthur had a glazed and faraway look on his face. His voice shook the next he opened his mouth, “Afterwards, ravens were inspected or getting lost. I didn’t know anything till news reached us at the tower that war had broken out due to the Mad King’s deeds. Rhaeger left us to guard the princess, who had become heavy with you. I prayed to the Gods for my sister, my unborn niece or nephew, my friend, the princesses. I prayed to them for keeping them all safe. Then, one day, your Uncle Ned visited us.” He chuckled mirthlessly, “I was just a couple of days behind them travelling, you know? When I reached near the castle of Starfall, the place was buzzing with the rumours that the beautiful Lady Ashara had thrown herself off from the Palestone Tower to the sea. I didn’t want to bring the Capitol’s notice upon Ulric, my brother, so I sneaked into the keep, I wanted to know exactly what happened to my little sister. There, I found that Ash had given birth to a little girl, but she was stillborn. She went into premature labour when news of Brandon’s death had reached Starfall. Losing her love and her child not that long apart drove her into madness. When Ned Stark reached Starfall with Dawn and the news of my demise, that was the last thing for her already fragile mind.”

Jon stood there horrified, listening to the man as he lamented about his sister’s death.

“How many more?” He croaked.

“What?”

“How many more lives were destroyed? My parents - all three of them, my sister, Uncle Brandon, Lady Ashara, yourself. Viserys and Daenerys, Grandfather Rickard…all of these lives were scattered to the winds because of a few men playing the game of thrones. I can’t help but think that my birth was a cursed one.”

Arthur squeezed his shoulder, “Your parents loved you, Aemon. Never doubt that. But yes, it is true that however wrong steps were taken by them, it was others who had moved the pieces of the Cyvasse from the shadows and tore our families apart…”

“…and I intend to find them and tear their still-beating hearts from their breathing bodies.” Once again Jon’s eyes have taken to look like small purple flames.

“Calm down, Jon. You don’t want to have an outburst right here in the open, do you?”

Jon took a deep breath to calm himself down, “Aye, Uncle Eric, you are right.”

*Flashback End*

Jon found Arthur and Maester Luwin in deep conversation. The old Maester had taken a liking to the knight, although he didn’t know of his true identity, but he was glad to find another dual wielder and hounded him with questions to reflect upon his research. Arthur was amazed at the technique the Maester adapted into training Jon with his use of his offhand weapon. They smiled at Jon as he approached them.

“Ah, you are up early, as usual, Jon. Go and get your friends ready, we are not that far from the Capitol.”

“Really? How can you tell?” Jon saw nothing but water around him.

Arthur smirked, “’ Tis all about experience, lad. Don’t worry, you will know pretty soon, or better yet, your nose will inform you.”

Jon nodded and rushed back down below the deck, yelling at the others to get a move on. After about fifteen minutes, they gathered on the deck as the ship sailed by the Blackwater Rush to the docks. Maester Luwin pointed out the prominent buildings beside the Red Keep, such as the Great Sept of Baelor or the Dragonpit. As they neared the city, the air became heavy with an ungodly stench.

Asher coughed and covered his mouth and nose by hand, “Interesting places you drag us into, Jon. If we are not freezing our balls off, we are being choked with the stench of shit.” Everyone snorted at his remark.

Maester Luwin was but a cautious man, moreover, Lord Stark had entrusted him with the charges of his sons. He chided Asher, “I would refrain from making such japes within the hearing of the resident nobles, My Lord Asher. You never know who will take offence.”

“Aye, Maester. I will be careful in future.”

Luwin nodded and pointed at the dock, “It appears that we have a welcoming party awaiting us. If I am not mistaken, the man in the white cloak is Ser Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

It was true, as young heir and bastard son of Lord Stark, the Northerners didn’t rate anyone from the Royal family to welcome them, that was quite understandable, though Jon expected that Lord Arryn may come down to welcome his foster child’s sons. Arthur cleared his throat –

“I will see to the men and make sure that they are ready to disembark.” He gave a pointed stare at Jon, who nodded in understanding, Arthur didn’t want to face Ser Barristan.

As the party disembarked from the ship, Ser Barristan approached them, keen eyes assessed all of their faces, though he did a double-take when his eyes fell upon Jon. He controlled himself and unerringly addressed Robb.

“Lord Robb Stark, I presume?” Robb nodded his head, “I am Ser Barristan Selmy.”

“Of course, Ser. Who wouldn’t recognize Barristan the Bold? Kindly allow me to introduce my companions – These are Lord Torrhen Karstark of Karhold, Lord Asher Forrester of Ironwrath. This is Maester Luwin. The good Maester is here to act as a chaperon for us, as our lord father doesn’t trust, in his words ‘rambunctious boys’.” Ser Barristan chuckled at that, “and finally, my brother, Jon Snow.”

The knight peered closely at him, “The famous White Wolf, yes, lately the bards have been singing quite a few songs about you.”

Jon felt his cheeks warm under the scrutiny of a legendary knight like Ser Barristan. He ignored the snickering of Asher and Torrhen and bowed to the knight. “They exaggerate, Ser. I hope they are not spreading embarrassing tales about me.”

“The latest I heard was about the White Wolf prowling in the night so that the maidens can kip and dream of their saviour.”

Jon could only groan at that. It was quite hard for the other three to not burst out laughing at his expense.

“If you will allow me, My Lord Stark, I am here to escort you to the Red Keep. Lord Hand would have come to greet you in person, but he was held back to perform his duties. His Grace is waiting eagerly and asked me to present you to him at the earliest.”

Ghost and Grey Wind chose that moment to come down from the ship. The wolves ambled forward and came to stop beside their humans. Ser Barristan looked warily at them and cleared his throat.

“Pardon me, Lord Stark, but are those…?”

“Aye, Ser Barristan, they are direwolf pups, our companions.”  

Ser Barristan nodded. The pups were already as big as any hounds he had seen; he could only imagine the size they will grow into once they fully matured.

“While I do not doubt that you have perfect controls over them, I don’t think it will be prudent to bring them along as you present yourselves before His Grace.”

Robb opened his mouth to argue, but Jon gave him a slight jab to keep quiet. “Of course, Ser, we understand. If you will excuse me, I will leave them with our captain of guards.” He gave a short bow and turned on his heels. “Ghost, to me.”

The white pup turned away and followed Jon, reluctantly, Robb ordered his companion, “Go with them, Grey Wind.”

Jon took the direwolves to where Arthur was standing behind a few men. He tried to make himself as inconspicuous as he could with bent back and slumped shoulders. He watched with anxious eyes as Jon approached him.

“What is the matter?”

“Ser Barristan thinks its best if the wolves do not come with us. Would you keep an eye on them, Uncle Eric?”

“Of course, Jon.” He leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Watch out for any trouble, I will not rest till you come back.” Jon nodded and went back to join the others.

They got up on the horses that Ser Barristan had brought with them. Jon glanced back at where their men had gathered. Arthur gave him a discreet nod from within a knot of soldiers. Ser Barristan asked them to not worry about the troop as they would be taken care of. As they rode, the knight pointed out various places to them on their way, such as – the Fishmonger’s Square, Street of Steel, the far-away tops of the Sept of Baelor and the Dragonpit. Jon’s eyes were trained on the people on the road rather than the attractions. He had never seen these many people congregated at one place. People from all over Westeros, easily discerned by the clothes on their backs or the way they looked. Children stood by the roads looking at their procession with wide eyes, Northmen were not that common in these parts of the land. Some even pointed at him, whispering excitedly behind their hands, because he was quite distinguishable for his white wolf kerchief which he had always taken to proudly wear on his arm.

Soon, they neared the gates of the Red Keep. Massive doors made of bronze and adorned with iron spikes opened for them with the groaning sounds of metal. They had passed what was called the Traitor’s Walk on the way to the gates, Ser Barristan pointed the spikes jutting out of the ground and told them stories about how the previous Kings had displayed the heads of their enemies on those spikes. As they passed through the gates, they looked around the keep. It was made of pale red stone, thus the name of the castle. Though it was smaller in size than that of the castle of Winterfell, seven massive towers crowned by iron ramparts were erected around the castle. Massive curtain walls surrounded it, thick stone parapets, about four feet high at places protected the outer ramparts. The walls and the gates were manned by men wearing gold cloaks of the City Watch. The knight led them through cobbled inner yards to a set of the winding staircase which he called the serpentine steps. He pointed out to them the Tower of Hand, Maegor’s Holdfast, the Small Council chambers and other buildings of the likes. He had told them that they were the firsts among the guests to visit the Capitol for the tourney. Other nobles would arrive as the time nears for the festivities.

After strenuous climbing on the winding steps, they finally arrived before the gates to the Throne Room. A member of the Kingsguard stood vigilant beside the door, who offered a nod to Ser Barristan as they passed. “Ser Arys Oakheart.” The knight muttered to his charges. Quite a crowd was gathered inside of the Throne Room. The King was sitting on the Iron Throne, on his left, sat the Queen on an ornate chair. An old man who Jon guessed to be Lord Jon Arryn, Hand to the King, by the sigil of a falcon on his doublet, was standing at the right side of the throne. The nobles were whispering among themselves as the Northern party entered the Throne Room, some of them were standing on their tiptoes to get a good look at them.

Ser Barristan indicated them to follow and approached the throne which was situated atop an iron dais with high and narrow steps. He bowed from the waist to the King while the foursome and Maester Luwin got down on one knee with bowed heads.

“May I present, His Grace, King Robert of House Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoyner and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, defender of the faith.” He turned to the King, “Your Grace, allow me the pleasure to present to you Lord Robb Stark, eldest son and heir to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Lord Torrhen Karstark of Karhold, Lord Asher Forrester of Ironwrath, Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s natural son and acting as their chaperon, the good Maester Luwin.”

King Robert waved his hand dismissively, “Yes, yes, we all are aware of our titles. Come on, lads, up on your feet. Let me get a good look at Ned’s whelps.”

As Jon got up on his feet, he took a quick look at the faces before him. The King was looking at them with hungry eyes as if they were juicy morsels. Lord Arryn had a curious look on his face. The Queen looked down on them with a small frown. Jon couldn’t deny that Queen Cersei was indeed one of the most beautiful women he had seen in his life, if not the most beautiful. But He thought her beauty was marred by the subtle sneer that formed on her face when her eyes fell upon him. Another member of the White Cloak stood by the Queen’s side, his golden hair and features matching with the Queen told Jon that it was Ser Jaime Lannister, the White Lion…or the Kingslayer to some.

“Ah, yes, Robb Stark, my namesake. You favoured the looks of your mother, didn’t you, lad? The beautiful Lady Catelyn. How is she faring in that cold? And what about Ned, how is that dour fuck?”

Robb bowed his head, “They are quite happy and healthy, Your Grace. Our lord father had sent his regard and asked me to convey his apologies that he couldn’t come for a visit as the North needs its Lord at this moment.”

“Yes, we have heard about the Skagosi invasion.” Robert nodded and turned towards Jon, “and you’ve been at the thick of things since the beginning, haven’t you, lad? By the Gods! look at him, Jon! He is as if Ned and Brandon put together, only his…” he trailed off with a frown as he looked into Jon’s eyes.

Jon bowed his head, “Aye, Your Grace, Lord Stark tells us how I favoured the Stark colouring unlike my brother Robb here.”

Jon Arryn had a calculating gaze on his face, “But you also inherited some features of your mother, lad.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, My Lord, for I have never met her and Lord Stark is very reluctant to talk about her.”

“Yes, Ned would be like that, considering the history…”

“Yes, yes, we can all discuss Ned’s romps at a later time,” Robert cut him off, “what I want to know is about the lads’ adventures. Tell me, White Wolf, you have been into bloodbaths. How was it like?” A very eager and disturbing look formed on his face.

“It makes one very aware of his own mortality, Your Grace.” Came Jon’s solemn reply.

The gathered crowd collectively became very confused. They had expected boastings of their prowess in battle, telling tall tales to inflate their egos while expecting all to praise them to high heavens, but these four young Northern boys had very dark looks upon their visages as if the memories of the battles were not of glory, but nightmare-inducing and they couldn’t shake off the images from their minds any sooner.

“What?” Robert was unprepared for such a reply.

Jon had his head bowed and shoulders slumped, in a low but clear voice he started to speak –

“Pardon me for being blunt, Your Grace, as these words of mine mayhaps not suitable for some of the present lords and ladies, but I am from the North, I don’t know any other way of speaking than speaking my mind. I have heard some of the stories they were saying about the battle of Bear Island. I can assure you, My King, it was nothing as heroic or glorified as the songs made it to be. We were fighting, every man and woman there were fighting to protect their homes, and it was ugly, filled with blood and gore and screams from the dying souls. I, myself, was often trying my hardest to keep the man beside me alive. Sometimes, they were my brother, Lord Robb or my friends, Lords Asher and Torrhen, sometimes, the man beside me was a soldier who was just following my command. I do not want to dishonour the sacrifices they have made, but they expected us to protect them. As commanders of the troop, we felt liable for every life lost under our commands. I still remember Jared and Aaron – two otherwise unremarkable but brave Flint soldiers, who stood shoulder to shoulder with Asher and I and two others when we faced the Ironborn reavers who attacked the homes of innocents in the darkness of the night. They followed my lead to fight against immeasurable odds and lost their lives in the process. I can only pray to the Gods that they grant me the courage when I come face to face with their families and ask their forgiveness for leading their sons to death.”

The entirety of the Throne Room fell silent after Jon finished his speech. Maester Luwin was trying to glare at Jon amidst the incredulous stares that were aimed at him, exceptions were Lord Arryn, who had a proud look and small smile on his face; Sers Barristan and Jaime were giving him appreciative nods; the Queen was looking at him with a frown of clear disdain, but there was something else in her eyes, a glint of some kind as if she was seeing him in a new light while the King was opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

The silence was broken by the sudden, booming laughter of the King, “Ned’s boy through and through, eh, Jon? Your lord father was like that, lad. No matter how much skill or bravery he showed on the battlefield, at the end of the day, he would mourn for the lives lost. But if you heed my words, try to enjoy the praises that you have earned. Songs are being sung in your names. The White Wolf, steadfast in his duties and protector of the innocent, the sword of justice, stalks anyone who would cause harm – these are the legends that you created. I am sure Ned is very proud of you two. But I would advise you to not become like him, embrace your legacy, take pride in it. The womenfolk prefer their men with stories of bravery.” He winked at them and laughed at his japes.

The Queen shifted in her seat as if trying to put some distance from the vile man that sat on the Iron Throne. Lord Arryn cleared his throat and tried to steer the conversation on a different path –

“Ah, yes. You are quite early to arrive for the tourney. I am afraid you have to wait quite a while for the festivities to begin.”

“Aye, we know that, My Lord,” Robb gave the man a wicked smile, “we have heard so much of the Capitol that made us want to explore it to our heart’s content. Father indeed tried to stop us from leaving as soon as we did, but we wanted to see the sights of the known world, and couldn’t wait any longer.”

Robert sat forward, “Oh? And where do you plan to go from here?”

“Oldtown for sure, Your Grace. Maester Luwin wanted to present his findings at the Citadel. Afterwards, we plan to travel to Essos.”

“Bah, the stuffy Maesters won’t hold many excitements for lads like you. Go to Stormlands. Consult with Renly, he can tell you of the sights you can explore there.” His eyes took a faraway look, “You know, your father and I planned to travel just like you. We wanted to see the Free Cities, the Giant of Braavos. We badgered Lord Arryn here with our questions and begged him to arrange such a tour for us. Remember that, Jon?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Go on then, lads. This here is the boring parts of the ruling. You don’t need to remain here. Go and take loads off your feet. Jon, where are they staying?”

“I have arranged for a manse outside of the Red Keep for Lord Stark and companions, Your Grace.”

Robert frowned, “Why? We have perfectly good chambers here at the Maidenvault. Put them up there.”

Queen Cersei voiced her opinion, “My love, mayhaps we should hold those chambers for the guests who would be arriving in the coming days. Lord Hand has already made arrangements for our Northern guests, after all.”

“And who is this more important guest than the sons of my best friend? Do not speak about things that you don’t know of, woman.” He turned to Lord Arryn, “Jon, see to it immediately.”

Cersei seethed while Lord Arryn bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace.”

“Go on then. Go and explore the keep. When I was your age, I went to Eyrie for my fosterage. The first thing I did there was exploring the keep for any kind of secret that I could find. Remember that, Jon? You tanned my hide for hiding out in a faraway corner for an entire day trying to find a secret tunnel that never existed. Hah, those were the good times. Kingslayer! Go with them. You are young enough for them to not feel bored out of their gourds. Show them around.”

Ser Jaime gave an exaggerated bow, “Of course, Your Grace. By your leave.” He climbed down the steps towards the Wolfpack. “If you would follow me, My Lords.”

They bowed low to the King and went out of the Throne Room after the knight.

Jon, while walking beside the knight, tried to get a feel of the knight’s personality. “We are sorry that you are stuck with us boys, Ser.”

Jaime smirked at him. “Think nothing of it, Snow. We are, after all, servants to the throne.”

“I was wondering if you would permit us enough to grant a favour, Ser?”

The knight raised an eyebrow at him, “Already? Normally people stutter and dance around some more before asking us Lannisters for any favours.”

“We are from the North, Ser, we speak what is on our minds.”

“Very well, Bastard, ask away.” He watched as Robb and the others bristled at that, “Did I offend you? Didn’t you just say that Northerners preferred to speak what is on their minds? I thought I may as well try that.”

Jon shook his head subtly at the others. “Of course not, Ser. You speak the truth. We shouldn’t shy away from who we are, bastards or Kingslayer.”

Luwin coughed in warning, Jaime frowned at him, “Quite a sharp tongue you have there, Bastard. I would be careful which words they utter if I were you, especially in a place as dangerous as Kings’ Landing. Anyway, we have deviated from our topic. What is the favour you were speaking of?”

“Well, we were wondering if we could have a spar with you at some time in the future. It is not every day that we meet with a warrior of your skills.”

Jaime appeared thoughtful as they walked in silence for a few paces. Finally, he sighed and nodded his head, “Why not. All I have here is either Barristan the old or other idiots who feel they are entitled to the White Cloak. It will be interesting to lock blades with you, White Wolf…” he gave them all a smirk, “You have your favour, Bastard.”

As they continued down the serpentine steps, they came face to face with a man who hurried his way up the steps. He had a thin built and wore a pointy beard and thin moustache, a pin in the shape of a mockingbird was fastened on his breast. As his eyes fell upon them, a condescending smirk formed on his face. Jon had to stifle the sudden urge of sending the man down the steps with a kick at his middle.

“Ah, the news was indeed true then. Our Northern friends have finally graced us.”

Jaime frowned at the man, “Weren’t you suppose to already be in the Throne Room for today’s meeting, My Lord?”

The man turned towards Ser Jaime, “I was, Ser Jaime, but unfortunately some of us have to earn their living. I had to attend to a few things that ate away most of my morning today. I finished as soon as I could when I heard that Lord Robb has arrived, along with Lord Eddard’s…bastard.” A subtle sneer formed on his face.

Robb narrowed his eyes at the man while Jon bowed low, he understood the subtle verbal jab the man threw the knight’s way. He decided to play his tune back to him, “Pardon my ignorance, My Lord, but you are…?”

“Lord Petyr Baelish.”

“Ah, of course, Lord Baelish of…” he scratched his head as if trying very hard to remember where the lord hailed from.

“Lord Baelish of Baelish Keep.” Irritation was evident in the man’s voice.

Jon frowned and turned towards Robb, mouthing the words “Baelish Keep?”

Jaime stood back watching the interaction with a smirk on his face, Lord Baelish was very much irritated by then, he forgot his smile and spoke through greeted teeth, “It is a small keep situated in the Fingers…of Vale. You do know of Vale, I hope.”

“Of course, My Lord, I beg your forgiveness. But it is indeed shameful that the Heart of the North, Winterfell doesn’t have its library as updated as we all thought to keep a record of even the smallest homesteads. Why, just before you arrived, Ser Jaime was telling us about the vastness of the library at Casterly Rock, and we inadvertently went into a debate of which castle or family can boast of the most enriched history between Winterfell and the Rock.”

Lord Baelish decided to ignore Jon at that moment and turned towards Robb, “I had hoped that your lady mother has spoken about me. We are, after all, old friends.”

Robb had cottoned on what Jon was trying to do, he frowned at the man, “You were? I am sorry, My Lord, but I cannot, for the life of me, recall Mother ever mentioning your name.”

Baelish frowned at that, “She didn’t? We grew up together at Rivurrun…”

Jon chimed in from Robb’s side, “Ah, aye. You were the ward of Lord Hoster.” He gave an elbow jab to Robb, “Don’t you remember, brother, Lady Stark talked about the lad who challenged Uncle Brandon?”

Robb widened his eyes as if he suddenly remembered, “Aye, she did. You challenged Uncle Brandon for Mother’s hand in marriage and in the ensuing duel, Uncle Brandon gelded you. Mother was saying something about you working in a whorehouse now…”

Jaime had to turn away lest he laughed out loud at the horrified and incredulous face of Petyr Baelish. They could feel that Asher and Torrhen were trying very hard to keep straight faces behind them while Maester Luwin was spluttering. Baelish’ face and neck had turned red, but whether due to embarrassment or rage, that was up for debate. He chewed out his next words through his teeth –

“He didn’t geld me, and I own a few brothels but I don’t work in there. I am the current Master of Coin for His Grace.”

Robb gave him a deep bow, “I am truly ashamed, My Lord Baelish. But we had heard these stories so long ago, and then we went on our fosterage without any visits for a long time…stories from our childhood simply slipped out of our minds. Please, forgive us that our memories have failed us.”

“Aye, My Lord. We didn’t intend any slight towards you, we beg your forgiveness for any misunderstanding.”

Baelish gave them a stiff nod, “I am afraid that I have to cut our conversation short. I am already quite late for the meeting. We will again converse sometime soon.”

He walked around them and hurried his way towards the Throne Room. As he disappeared through the doors, Jon blurted out in a very innocent voice –

“I hope we didn’t offend him too much, did we?”

That was it for Jaime Lannister, the knight lost his composer and roared in laughter. He had to brace himself against the wall as he wheezed out his breaths with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“The Northmen speak what is on their minds, eh? You sure didn’t hold anything back there. Yes, life is going to be quite pleasant for the next few days with you lads here.”

“Please, good Ser, do not encourage them. This is exactly the kind of behaviour that I was charged to prevent by Lord Stark.”

“No harm done, Maester. Just some innocent queries by young lads that had bruised some ego. It would be quite funny if someone is to spread the tale. I, myself, would pay a few Gold Dragons to see Little Finger’s face if people are to discuss the tale - lord of the smallest homestead and gelded by Brandon Stark – heh.” A mischievous glint appeared in Jaime’s eyes, Maester Luwin could only shake his head in consternation, “Come, we have to finish the tour of the keep, don’t we?”

As the others continued to walk down the steps, Jaime held Jon back.

“Do not think that I didn’t understand what and why you did back there, Bastard. I didn’t need you to defend me, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.”

“I am quite sure that I don’t know what you are talking about, Ser Jaime. I just wanted to pay my respect to a skilled warrior and hoped that he would give me some lessons. Everything else was just happy coincidence.”

Jaime peered at Jon with narrowed eyes, “You are so much more than meet the eyes, Jon Snow. Alright, you have gotten yourself a deal. Instead of a single spar, I will train with you lads and give you pointers whenever time permits me. I am also thinking of introducing you to my brother, Tyrion. With your mind and tongue, I believe you will find him quite a kindred soul. Come, let us join the others.”

---

 

As the King commanded, the Wolfpack was housed at the Maidenvault. Maester Luwin was placed near the quarters of Grandmaester Pycelle as Luwin wanted to get an opinion of the Grandmaester on his research before he placed them in front of the Archmaesters at the Citadel. The old man was quite happy to have the chance to converse with the Grandmaester and largely sequestered himself within the Maester’s solar, surrounded by tomes and parchments, leaving the four alone for better parts of the day.

Jon and the others had made rounds of the city numerous times. They could now claim that they would find their way from anywhere within the city. They had visited the larger attractions but also paid visits to the slums of Flea Bottom. The people there looked at them with distrusting eyes, but little children always swarmed to them. They were starry-eyed to see the White Wolf in front of them. They had heard songs about him and to see him in person was like precious treats to them. Jon indulged the children with stories from the North, of the Wall, he talked with them about Ghost and promised that he would bring him around to meet all of them sometimes.

Jon and Robb had taken the wolves out of the city and to the forest of Kingswood. They were afraid that their companions would get sick if they are contained much longer in the hot and humid city full of shit-stench. They had gone out for a day for a ride to the site where the stands for the tourney was being erected while making a detour for the woods so that the wolves can roam free. They had kept a close watch on them through their warging each night, and found that the wolves were quite happy to finally allowed to run free after being cooped up on a ship and later, behind stone walls.

Gale had taken the raven chick whom Asher had named Munnin (Mind in Old Tongue), under her wings. Jon was surprised to see his fussy avian companion showing such maternal instincts. She had taught Munnin to fly and hunt for food during their stay at Greywater Watch and travel to White Harbour, and throughout their journey by ship, the birds had commandeered the masts for their nest. Granted, for such a young chick, Munnin shouldn’t have been able to follow Gale as he did, but Lord Reed was of the opinion that the magic of the lands, which helped Asher forming the bond with the bird, would also help Munnin to grow up rapidly, just as it did in the case of the direwolves. Ghost and Grey Wind had both grown quite larger than their littermates as the other Stark siblings had yet to form a bond with their wolves. Jon expressed his doubts that if they would ever form such bonds, Jojen had smiled mysteriously at him in reply. The growth was very evident in Ghost as he was once the runt of the litter. Now, both the wolves stood at the same height. Asher wanted to teach Munnin to speak, he was very impressed with Lord Commander Mormont’s raven, but Jon advised him to wait till they leave Kings’ Landing behind. It just won’t do if anybody learned about their abilities. Although, he helped his friend to fly under Munnin’s skin regularly.

Ser Jaime was true to his words as he came down to the yard when the four was warming up for their daily training. He had asked them about their warming ups as it was something he never saw before. Jon told him that he developed the routine and it helped him quite well to keep on his toes during the battles. He had invited the knight to take part in their warm-up routines, but Jaime declined, citing he was too old to learn new things. Their routine had garnered so much attention that every morning, men-women alike found excuses to be present at the yard when they come down to train. Jon had spotted the golden head of Princess Myrcella once or twice, looking down at them from a balcony. Even the Queen feigned disinterest to whatever the four was doing and said that she was just passing by the yard and stopped to talk with her brother, but apparently, she always made her presence known quite earlier than the knight himself had come down to train. They had yet to encounter with the Crown Prince Joffrey other than the lad sneering at them from afar whenever their paths crossed. But Prince Tommen had come down to the yard on the second day, and quite eagerly tried to follow in their steps. Jon and Robb found it quite endearing as the lad was of the age with Bran and like him, was always full of questions. Ser Jaime always had a smile for his young nephew and appeared quite indulgent towards the lad.

Jon had noticed that like Ser Arthur, Jaime too scratched a line with his sword in front of him before they start their bouts. When he had asked the knight about it, Jaime gave him a sad smile and answered that it was something he had picked up from his mentor, Ser Arthur. Jon had discussed this later with the man, Arthur though was of the mind that his once student was an oathbreaker as he slew the King whom he was sworn to protect and didn’t want to talk about the man. He was also quite cross with Ser Barristan because he had bent his knee and further taken the oath to protect the very man who had killed their prince.

That morning, Jon decided to visit the Royal Library. Ser Jaime couldn’t join their training that day for his Kingsguard obligations. After washing off the sweat and grimes, he changed his outfit for a fresh one and went to peruse the tomes they had in their archive.

Jon was lost in the pages when a deep voice woke him out of history induced trance –

“I thought I was the only one who was eager to pursue knowledge this morning.”

Jon turned towards the voice to see a small, blond man with mismatched eyes peering at him interestedly. Even without the golden lion motif on his clothing, it wasn’t hard to tell that this was the second son of Lord Tywin, the dwarf Tyrion Lannister.

“Nay, My Lord, I believe knowledge should be pursued by everyone who sought to learn from their predecessor any time they could manage to find.”

Tyrion nodded his head and climbed onto the chair from across Jon, “And what does the Bastard of Winterfell sought to learn this morning?”

Jon smirked inwardly, “I was reading Septon Eustace’s account on The Dance of Dragons, My Lord, just to see where the good Septon went a different way than the dwarf’s tales.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow at him, “Jaime warned me about the edge of your tongue, Bastard, but I wanted to see it for myself.” Jon opened his mouth to reply but Tyrion had his hand up to stop him, “He also told me about your nature. You have stood against the defamation of my brother and protested in a very unique way. No matter how small you think your effort was, you have earned the respect of Jaime and thus, you have also earned mine, for my brother is the dearest to me. I want to extend my hand of friendship to you.” He extended his small arm over the table towards Jon, “Greetings, my name is Tyrion Lannister, otherwise known as the Imp of Casterly Rock.”

Jon grasped his forearm, “Pleasure to meet you, My Lord. My name is Jon Snow, otherwise known as the Bastard of Winterfell.”

“Do not forget about the moniker of White Wolf, Bastard.”

“As long as you don’t forget about your own, My Lord.” Jon’s eyes travelled the entirety of Tyrion’s physique.

Tyrion paused for a moment before laughing out loud, “You are indeed something else, Jon Snow. Jaime was right, the times will be very interesting for the duration of your staying at Kings’ Landing. Now, please sate my curiosity, how are you able to decide that the Septon’s account deviated from the dwarf’s? As far as I remember, Baelor the Blessed have ordered every copy of that book to be burned. There might be a copy or two remain at the Citadel, but I’ve also known for the fact that you’ve never been to the Old Town.”

Jon smirked at the man, “One copy of the Testimony had found its way to the Library of Winterfell, My Lord.”

Tyrion’s eyes glazed over at the mere thought of reading said book. He shook himself out of the daydreams to concentrate on their conversation, “And you’ve read that tome. Pardon me for saying so but I thought that the White Wolf knew nothing other than swinging his sword all day long.”

“I would reply to that as it is all thanks to Maester Luwin. He had drilled it in my head quite early that besides a fit body, a warrior needs a sound mind to complement it. And as one can keep fit by physical exertions, the mind needs books to stay sharp. He has always encouraged my quest for knowledge. Later, Maester Darryl at Karhold only helped to stoke the fire even hotter.”

They spent the day discussing and debating various subjects. Both were impressed by the depth of knowledge of the others. Though Jon was quite young to properly understand the nuances of court politics or politics in general, Tyrion found him to be a bright mind and was quite happy to have the chance to finally converse with someone who could carry their weight against him in a debate. They departed from each other with a promise to continue their discussion at a later date.

---

 

Days passed at a steady pace as the time for the tourney drew nearer. Meanwhile, the four had found themselves in the presence of the King. Robert had heard from Tommen about their training in the mornings and wanted to talk with the boys himself. The evening was spent by Robert boasting about the battles he had been in himself. Jon had to clamp down hard on his emotions to control himself when the fat king boasted about how he had caved in the ‘rapist bastard’ Rhaegar’s chest with a single hammer blow. That night, Jon drank like he never did in his life before. His friends were quite worried about him as he kept staring out of the window with a stormy look on his face while he guzzled down bottles after bottles of wine. It took Gale to visit him to bring him out of his melancholy. Gale had landed on the back of the chair Jon was sitting upon and rubbed her head to his cheek, making Jon crack a smile and stroke the plumage of the bird’s chest. Robb later told the others that he felt Grey Wind’s anxiety as the wolf tried to restrain an unrestful Ghost.

The next morning, Jon was still feeling rather down and tried to shake it off in the yard. As it was a day when Ser Jaime was occupied performing his Kingsguard duties, only Robb dared to cross blades with his cousin. The two of them exchanged blows after blows with no hold barred. The onlookers were amazed at the ferocity the Stark boys showed that morning. Prince Tommen was awestruck, his reverence to the boys had bordered on worship, which climbed a few notches at that morning’s display.

As they were returning to their chambers to wash and change, Jon was surprised by a quest alert –

Ping!

Quest Alert!

Lead a team to excavate under the rubbles of Dragonpit!

Jon frowned at this new quest. What was he to find there - he wondered. Sighing, he turned to the others –

“Lads, what say you about going out for another treasure hunt?” He asked them in a low voice.

Their eyes widened at the question, Asher drew near him and asked, “Did you have another dream?”

“You could say that. So? Do you?”

“Of course, we do. You had to ask?” Robb was buzzing with excitements. The Prospect of unearthing some more forgotten secrets had also chased away Jon’s melancholy.

They hurried to their rooms to change and went down to the barracks. The Stark men were loafing about after a gruelling training session under the watchful eyes of Ser Arthur. The knight frowned to see the four rushing into the barrack with flushed faces.

“What are you up to now, Jon?”

“Uncle Eric, we are about to go for some digging. Would you mind getting a few gents together and gather tools such as spades and pickaxes?”

“I might just do that if you tell me what you are up to.”

“We are going to dig under the rubble of the Dragonpit. I want to see if there is a dragon egg or two underneath it all.”

Arthur’s frown deepened, “Do you think the thought never occurred to anybody else after the Dance? Even if there was anything, that had been long removed.”

“I am quite sure that nobody wanted to dig up there after they burned the Shepherd on the stake. Maester Munkun, Septon Eustace, even the dwarf Mushroom never said anything about searching the Dragonpit, and I have researched quite extensively for later years, nobody did something like this.”

Arthur was in deep thought. After a while, he sighed and nodded, “You better ask permission from His Grace or mayhaps the Hand before you do anything else.”

Jon slapped his forehead, “Of course, I completely forgot about that. You are right, Uncle Eric, I will see you soon.” He yelled out before running out of the barracks with the others on his tow. Arthur could only chuckle at their antics.

They ran for the Tower of the Hand, guards and staff alike frowned as they rushed past them. Halfway there, Jon stopped and changed direction, when the others asked him where he was going, he told them that they would need Tyrion Lannister with them for this.

Jon almost ploughed Tyrion, who was returning perhaps after a night spent at some brothel, down on the ground in his hurry to reach the dwarf’s quarters.

“Jon? Where is the fire, lad?”

“Lord Tyrion! I cannot express how glad I am to find you here and not knocking down your door to trying to wake you up from your slumber!”

“Oh? And why is that, pray tell?”

“We are going for a quest to excavate under the rubbles of Dragonpit!” He retorted excitedly.

Tyrion also frowned at that statement and raised the same questions that Arthur did. But Jon had an easier time in convincing the dwarf as they both had perused the pages and argued quite extensively on the subject amongst themselves.

“Alright,” Tyrion raised a hand to stop Jon’s ramblings, “I have a few questions. First, why come to me? Second, I am but a dwarf, so again, why come to me?”

Jon looked at the man incredulously as if he was trying to be dense on purpose.

“First, you are a Lannister of Casterly Rock above all else, also being Her Grace’s brother would lend quite a weight to the request than that of a mere bastard of Lord Stark, even with the presence of heir to Winterfell. For your second question, pardon me for saying so, My Lord, but depending on the circumstances, even the smallest man casts quite a large shadow.”

Tyrion’s eyebrows had disappeared under his blond hair at Jon’s answer. Never in his life had anybody given him importance for being a Lannister beside his brother. For the first time, pride swelled in his chest for his heritage. Also, Jon’s total disregard of his stature had struck a chord within his being. He nodded his head –

“Very well, allow me a few moments to wash and change, and I shall join you.” He started to walk fast towards his chambers.

“I don’t mean to rush you, My Lord, but we need to hurry, lest Lord Hand leave for the Small Council meeting.”

Tyrion looked over his shoulders with a smirk, “As you have said just a while ago, Snow, I am the Queen’s brother, you need not worry.”

[CotW]

Jon Arryn was getting ready for another dreary day of endless meetings. He cursed inwards for the unnecessary headaches all these tourneys and festivities brought for him. What was more, Petyr had arrived just a while ago with what seemed to him a rim of parchments for him to read through and give his stamp of approval. I am getting too old for this shit. – He thought to himself. He quite eagerly welcomed the break that appeared with a knock on the doors of his solar.

“Enter” He called out.

One of his guards poked his head in and said, “Pardon me, milord, but Lord Tyrion is here to see you. Lord Stark and his companions are also with him.”

Jon frowned at that, Tyrion Lannister had never visited him before, and now he had come to him with Ned’s sons. What in the name of Seven Hells were they up to? He looked questioningly at Petyr who shook his head indicating that he too had no idea what this was about.

Tyrion Lannister waddled into the room followed by Robb Stark, Jon Snow, Asher Forrester and Torrhen Karstark. Lord Arryn bade them take seats and offered drinks, only Tyrion took up on his offer and grabbed a goblet of Arbour Gold.

“Well, My Lord Tyrion, I have to say that I am quite surprised that you have decided to pay me a visit. And what are the lads doing with you?”

Tyrion gulped the wine and put down the goblet. He adjusted himself in his seat and leaned forward, “My Lord Hand, we are here to ask a very odd permission from you.”

“Oh?” A frown formed on his face, “And what is this odd thing that I ought to permit?”

“We want to dig under the rubbles of Dragonpit.”

Silence reigned inside of the room. Lord Arryn’s jaw seemed to be unhinged and fell on his chest.

Lord Baelish coughed and leaned towards Tyrion, “I am sorry, My Lord Tyrion, I think I heard it quite wrong. It sounded as if you wanted to dig under the rubbles of Dragonpit.”

“Do not worry, My Lord Baelish, your ears didn’t fail you like your other appendage, you heard it quite alright.”

 Baelish’ back stiffened and the smirk disappeared from his face. The rumour of his missing cock had made its round around the keep. Baelish gave a venomous glare to Jon and Robb and turned away from them.

Lord Arryn cleared his throat to cover the snort that inadvertently came out of his mouth.

“Yes, we have indeed heard you quite clearly, My Lord. But my question is, why? Why you want to dig up the rubbles?”

Tyrion picked up the goblet and poured himself some more wine, “It turned out that young master Snow here is quite a scholar. He and I have been perusing the tomes describing the Dance, and both of us are quite sure that there may be some hidden treasure buried under there. If nothing else, mayhaps one or two dragon eggs. I am sure that I do not have to tell you how much coins a dragon egg could fetch for the Royal treasury.”

Baelish once again tried to insert himself into the conversation, “That may be so, My Lord Tyrion, but this close to the tourney…I do not think that it can be possible to spare any money or labour for your treasure hunt.”

It was Tyrion’s turn to smirk at the man, “The Lannisters will take up the expenditures, and as for the labours, a small company of Lannister men along with the Stark men…?” He looked at Robb, who nodded his head in assurance, “…and Stark men will take up the job. The throne doesn’t need to pay a single Copper Star yet it stands the chance to fill its coffer if we are successful.”

Lord Arryn had leaned back in his seat and was scratching his chin as Tyrion made his offer. After a few moments he nodded and sat back up, “Very well, Lord Tyrion, if you are sure that you are ready to carry the cost and provide the labour, I have no problem with this little venture of yours. You have my permission to dig up under the rubbles of the Dragonpit.” He pulled a blank parchment towards him and jotted down the permit along with his stamp of approval. He pushed the finished document towards Tyrion who took it up and read it carefully. “If you require nothing else, My Lord, I am afraid that I need to get back to my work. A hand’s job is neverending as you can see.”

“Of course, My Lord Hand, I will let you get back to it. By your leave, My Lord. Lord Baelish, always a pleasure.”

The lads also bade their farewell and went out of the room.

“Well, Snow, let’s go and find out if our assumptions are correct or not.”

Notes:

I had to stop there because I very much wanted to post this chapter before the month was over. I am afraid so much more are still to come before the tourney commences, and then there is the tourney itself. The next chapter may take a while.

Chapter 19: Who Let the Wolves Out? Pt. 2

Who Let the Wolves Out? Pt. 2

It took them the rest of the day to gather the tools and giving instructions to the men. Tyrion told the boys that they would need to ride out early the next morning if they wanted to get a good start. He forced the boys to retire earlier than they wanted to. Jon felt that given the proper motivation, Tyrion could be quite a fearsome personality.

At the dawn of the next day, the mixed troop of Stark and Lannister men rode out of the Red Keep. The guards and staff were quite puzzled at seeing the procession. Some hurried inside of the keep to various directions, no doubt that they were getting the information to their respective masters. Arthur was leading the Stark men as their captain. He had worn a half helm which had covered the upper portion of his face, while his beard covered the lower part. They were convinced that as long as he didn’t look anybody in the eyes and thus exposed his own purple eyes, nobody would connect him with the legendary Sword of the Morning.

Robb and the others rode beside Tyrion and Jon and amusedly listened as the two debated among themselves the possible way Prince Joffrey Velaryon flew on the back of Syrax on his way to the Dragonpit. Each pointing out one place of significance or other just the egg their debating opponent on about who was the better versed with history. They dismounted as they reached the Hill of Rhaenys. The Dragonpit laid in ruins, most of the rubbles were caused when Dreamfyre crashed into the dome-like roof of the building. For the past hundred and fifty years, the place was left the same dilapidated state as it was afterwards of the Dance.

“Do you think we could find the heads of the dragons, My Lord?”

“No Jon, those were removed to the Red Keep. After the Rebellion, His Grace had them removed from the Throne Room to under the passages of the keep.”

Jon smirked, “You know, Lord Tyrion, that is next on my list to explore – the passages under the keep.”

Tyrion laughed hearing that “You took His Grace’s suggestions literally, didn’t you? Now you want to poke around for hidden passages.”

Robb conspiratorially said, “We are anything but very obedient to our elders – our father expects us to act this way as we are rambunctious boys…and His Grace has told us that he was just like us. We cannot do otherwise of what is expected from us now, can we?”

“How right you are, Lord Robb.”

Tyrion divided the men into groups and directed them to various parts of the pit to break down the bigger parts of the rubbles and carry them out of the building. Many hands made short works as most of the rubbles were cleared as the sun reached the mid sky. They had dug out stones that were melted, which made them all wonder about the heat generated by dragon flame. It was said that Dreamfyre alone had slain most of the men that stormed the pit before she was brought down. The charred human remains were evident of the ferocity a dragon could bring down on an army of men. There were also charred and broken human remains in front of one of the lairs. Jon and Tyrion – the scholar duo, had pointed out that to be Tyraxes’ lair as the dragon was said to be entombed within his lair as the front door was covered in corpses of the men he had slain. Then the back door was broken by men who were directed there by the Shepherd. The dragon was entangled by his chains and couldn’t protect himself from being stabbed to death by the mob. The rusty remains of huge iron chains were proofs of the enormity of the beasts that were once housed in the pit.

Jon had asked his friends to inspect the rubbles that were being cleared as if there were indeed any dragon eggs, they would’ve become stone-like after all these years, thus, the men might throw them away thinking of them as mere stones. There was indeed a clutch of eggs found in a lair. The Wolfpack discreetly brought the eggs first to Jon, they knew what to expect as they had seen what a dragon egg looked like beyond the pictures in the tomes as each of them had held Jon’s dragon egg in their hands. Jon took hold of the bronze and green eggs in his hands expecting them to be alive, but to his dismay, none of the four eggs they had found was alive. He felt nothing other than a feeling of death and decay that emitted from the eggs. He shook his head sadly at his friends, the eggs were nothing more than coloured stones now.

Tyrion was beyond happy when he was presented with the eggs. He felt vindicated after years of ridicule from his father and sister and mocking glances from others since the day he became aware of his stature. As he stood there holding the heavy sack containing dragon eggs, he tried to stem the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. He had shown to the world that he was something more than an ‘imp’, or in his sister’s words – a demon monkey. He carefully laid the sack down on the ground and looked up seriously at Jon, who was standing before him.

“Jon Snow, I thank you for the honour you have brought to me this day. Whatever you may need in life, you have only but to ask. You have a Lannister’s words.” He extended his arm to Jon who grabbed it with his own.

“I didn’t do anything with the expectations of any kind of reward, My Lord.”

“I know, young Snow. You are noblest of all us bastards.”

“You are not a bastard, My Lord, you are a trueborn son of Lord Tywin.” Jon frowned.

“Every dwarf is a bastard in their sire’s eyes, Jon.” Tyrion let out a sad chuckle.

Jon tried to lead the conversation to another way, “How much do you think these eggs will fetch.”

Tyrion crouched down and brushed his hands on the eggs, “To my knowledge, and not to be boastful, but I am more knowledgeable than most – I believe that each of these eggs can fetch near about hundred thousand Gold Dragons, if not more than that.”

The boys had their mouths wide open at the number Tyrion gave them. Jon was first to shake off the shock. He shouted for his men.

“You lot! Come here! Quick!” Tyrion frowned as half a dozen men came rushing towards them, “Form a circle around Lord Tyrion, nobody is to come near him! Protect him with your lives if you have to!” Jon barked out his orders.

“My Lord Tyrion, I am sorry but you are to stay behind these men till we reach within the walls of the Red Keep. I have faith in my men but for your satisfaction, you may order some Lannister men to guard you and the sack as well. In fact, I insist that you do.”

Tyrion was taken aback at the sudden change in Jon. Gone was the lively lad with whom he had spent countless hours spiritedly debating on their favourite books, in his stead, the man who stood before him was a battle-hardened war commander. His eyes had lost the laughter that sparkled within them. The other boys too had shed off their seemingly careless attitudes and stood with their brothers-in-arms battle-ready.

Tyrion sighed, “Jon, I am sure there is no need - ”

Jon cut him off in mid-sentence, “There are scores of people who know we are coming here in search of dragon eggs, My Lord. As I have trust in our men, I cannot ensure you of your safety from the greed of others. If some of them have any inclination of our success and reached the same conclusion as you of the worth of these eggs, I don’t need to tell you of the risks that may befall us.”

Tyrion looked at the determined faces of the four in front of him and nodded his head in agreement. He called for a few Lannister men and ordered them to stand with the men who already were guarding him.

“M’lords, you need to see this!” Arthur called out to the Northerners.

Jon looked towards where the man was overseeing the diggings, there were some excitements among them. He turned his head to Tyrion and back towards the men, he nodded as he made up his mind.

“Stay here, lads, I will go and see what Captain Eric has found. Do not let anybody come near Lord Tyrion.” Robb, Asher and Torrhen reflected the steely determination of Jon’s face as they unsheathed their swords and stood with straight backs. Jon gave a nod to Tyrion and went over to Arthur.

“What is it, Uncle Eric?” Jon asked as he reached beside the man.

In reply, Arthur showed him a sword. It was made of Valyrian steel and still retained its sharpness even being buried under the rubbles for over a hundred years. The leather grip had rotted away and the pommel and the crossguards were badly bent and crusted with rust, but as Jon brought it closer to his eyes, he could discern the still eligible runes of First Men etched just above the crossguard which made his eyes went wide.

“It is the Lamentation! The ancestral sword of House Royce.”

[CotW]

Jaime had expected to have a spar with the lads when he woke up that morning. He was puzzled when he found that the yard was empty of the now-familiar training exercises of the Northerners. He was busy with his Kingsguard duties the previous day and stood beside the chambers of the King, and thus, was out of the hearing range of any gossip that could have reached his ears. He saw Tommen walking around the empty yard along with his guards with a sad pout on his face. He approached the boy and asked –

“What is causing the frown, My Prince?”

“Uncle Jaime!” The lad shouted in excitement at seeing him and jumped at him. Jaime chuckled as he lifted the boy in his arms and held him close to his chest.

“It’s Ser Jon, Uncle Jaime, they are saying that he, Lord Robb and the others went with Uncle Tyrion to some expi…espidite…to dig up stuff from the Dragonpit.” Tommen mumbled sadly to his uncle.

Jaime chuckled at Tommen’s honorific for Jon. He didn’t want to delve further into the topic of Jon exactly not being a knight.

“They went out for an expedition to the Dragonpit you say?” He looked askance at the Royal guard in Baratheon livery.

The man bowed his head, “Yes, Ser Jaime. Lord Tyrion went out with the Northerners to the Dragonpit. They spent the entirety of yesterday preparing for it. The keep is abuzz with rumours that they had found information of some secret treasure buried underneath all those rubbles from the tomes at the library.”

Jaime put the young boy down on the ground.

“A treasure, eh? Very well. Why don’t you go and spend the day with your cat, My Prince, while I go and check out this secret treasure your Uncle Tyrion and Ser Jon have dug out from the Dragonpit? I will also convey to the errant knight how he disappointed the Royal Prince by his absence.” He ruffled Tommen’s hair.

“Please, Uncle Jaime, don’t be hard on Ser Jon. I am sure that he forgot to inform me as Uncle Tyrion dragged him off with him.”

“As you say, My Prince. Now, run along.”

Jaime turned to go back to his rooms at the White Sword Tower to change his clothes after Tommen went back inside of the keep in search of his cat. He smirked at the thought of an eager Tyrion dragging the lads with him if he unearthed some forgotten clues from one of those dusty tomes.

It had taken him quite a while at the Tower as Ser Barristan wanted to discuss the schedule of men during the tourney for the umpteenth time. When he finally got out of the keep, it was almost noon, he rode towards the Dragonpit and thought about his little brother. It was quite amusing to watch Tyrion blather on about some book he had read, and with Jon Snow being a like-minded bookworm as his brother, he had never seen a wider smile on Tyrion’s face. He got down from his horse as he reached the Pit and went inside. Lannister and Stark men were scattered about digging through the rubbles. He smirked as he strode onwards.

“Greetings, little brother, I have come to see what treasure you have -” He stopped short seeing his brother sitting on a piece of a broken slab of stone with men from both companies standing guard around him. Robb Stark and his companions were standing in front of him with their weapons in hand. He narrowed his eyes and gripped the pommel of his sword tightly, ready to take out the sword in a blink.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He thundered as he quickened his pace.

Tyrion looked up at him with a wide smile, “Jaime! Welcome, brother.”

Jaime stood before Robb Stark, who didn’t move from his place to let him pass, rather, he stared back at him with a stony expression.

“You want to step aside, My Lord?” Jaime growled low in his throat.

Robb didn’t move a single muscle but stared defiantly at him.

“My Lord Robb,” Tyrion spoke from where he sat, “I can assure you that I am not in any kind of danger from my brother. If you would please let him pass?” 

Robb looked back at him and gave a single nod, “Of course, My Lord.” He turned towards Jaime and bowed his head, “My apologies, Ser Jaime.” He stepped aside to let him pass but Jaime noticed that he didn’t lower his guard.

He came beside his brother and crouched down, “What the fuck is going on, brother?”

In reply, Tyrion nudged a sack beside his feet with the toe of his boot. “This is the reason, brother.”

Jaime carefully opened the sack to find colourful stones lay within.

“Are those…?”

“Yes, brother. Those are the dragon eggs that we found here.”

He indicated the men that stood around them with their weapons in hand, “And the men…?”

“You can thank young Snow for them. As soon he heard the worth of these eggs, he insisted that the men stood guard around me to protect me from any kind of danger. He also asked his brother and friends to stand guard while he went to see what else the men had dug up.”

Jaime nodded his head in appreciation, “Clever lad.”

“Yes, he is also quite intimidating when he becomes White Wolf, the warrior.”

As they were speaking, Jon made his way towards them, he held an old sword in his hands, the rippling patterns on the dark steel screamed of its origin.

“The day proved quite fortunate for us, My Lord.” He bowed his head to Jaime, “Good day, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime bowed back to him, “Good day to you too, Snow. What have you got there?”

Jon offered the sword to them, Jaime held the sword in his hands and examined it for sharpness, it was indeed amazing the way Valyrians made their weapons. Even after the Gods knew how many years the sword was lost beneath the rubbles, it still retained its sharpness of the day it was forged. Jaime handed it to his brother for inspection. Tyrion looked closely at the bent guards and pommel and frowned at the inscriptions. His eyes widened in recognition.

“Jon, this is…” he spluttered.

“Aye, My Lord. This is Lamentation, the ancestral sword of House Royce.”

“It means that Gyldayn…”

“Aye, Archmaester Gyldayn was wrong in his account. Ser Warrick Wheaton didn’t strike at Syrax with Lamentation, it was buried underneath the rubble. Mayhaps the Seven Who Rode came to the pit after rescuing the body of Prince Joffrey Velaryon, and tried to confront the mob, but were slain instead. I think if we search any further, we may find remains of Ser Willam Royce’s armours here somewhere. Though I have doubts of it being recognizable, they were not, after all, made of Valyrian steel.”

Jaime cleared his throat, “I don’t think that will be quite prudent to do today, Snow. If my brother is correct, and I have no doubt that he is, and as you have already taken the precautions, we will need to move the eggs inside the walls of the Red Keep. Don’t you think so?”

“Aye, Ser Jaime, you are right. Would you mind standing guard over Lord Tyrion with my brother and friends while I go and get the men ready to leave?”

“You can trust me with the safety of my little brother, Jon. Go see to your business.”

Soon, afterwards, the men left the Dragonpit. The sack of eggs was securely tied to the saddle of Tyrion’s horse. Jaime and Jon rode either side of him. While his brother and friends flanking the trio, keeping a watchful eye on the road and the people on them. Tyrion was excitedly telling his brother how he and Jon concluded the possibility of a clutch of eggs could be found in the Pit. Jaime, though most of the facts that his brother told him went over his head, nodded along with him. He was glad to see his brother in his element. It was something for which he was grateful to Jon Snow, none else have shown the appreciation for his brother’s intellect. As Tyrion’s rambling was winding down, he let out a chuckle –

“Be glad that you didn’t find any green piss under those rubbles, brother.”

Tyrion frowned at that, “Green piss? What do you mean by that, Jaime?”

Jaime sighed and ran a hand through his hair, he didn’t want to tell this story to others, but this was his brother, the brother he had never seen so happy due to the treatment of their father and sister. Jaime always thought that Tyrion got the brains of the family, more than his fair share of it to compensate for the other members of the family. He felt an urge to tell him of his troubles, mayhaps Tyrion would understand him. A fierce scowl formed on his face as he spoke -

“Aerys completely went over the edge in his last days. He had appointed Rossart, the head of Pyromancer’s Guild as the Hand of the King. The two of them had stashed caches of wildfire throughout the city.” He looked up towards his brother, who had a concerned look on his face. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that Jon Snow had gone rigid on top of his horse.

After few minutes of riding in silence, absorbing the shocking news, Tyrion opened his mouth to speak –

“Those wildfire caches that you mentioned, when did they get to clear them?”

“They never did. I was the only one who knows about them and I thought if I left them where they are, it would just stay there and lose their effectiveness.”

“What?!” Tyrion screamed as he and Jon halted their horses.

“What is the matter?” Jaime frowned at his brother’s reaction.

“Do you mean to tell me that there are still caches of wildfire strewn about the city?”

“Yes?” Jaime didn’t understand why his brother appeared so agitated, he waved his hand negligently at him, “But you don’t need to worry about them brother, I am sure that they have lost their power over the years…”

“And I am the venerated god of teats and wine!” Tyrion roared in frustration, “By the Gods! Are you an absolute idiot, Jaime?”

Jaime frowned at his brother, never did he spoke to him in such a way.

“Ser Jaime,” Jon Snow spoke with a deadly serious voice, “wildfire is an alchemical component that never loses its potency, no matter how much time have passed since its creation.”

Jaime’s eyes widened in realisation, “You mean…?”

“Aye, Ser, if your information is correct, then the city is literally sitting atop a pyre waiting to be lit.”

---

 

Treading through knee-deep muck and shit was indeed very hard – Jon thought as he had his left hand stretched out to have the support of the wall while walking forward through the sewer tunnel. Arthur was right behind him gripping his shoulder tightly, helping him to stay upright. Jon had warged into one of the thousands of sewer rats to navigate the tunnels and reach the wildfire caches. They had ridden hard for the Red Keep and almost broken through the doors of Lord Arryn’s solar. Lordlings or not, that was very inappropriate behaviour and as such, the Lord Hand was a moment away to order his men to apprehend them and throw them into the gaol when they told them why they had forced their way in. The old man had gone pale as a ghost and crashed down on his chair. An emergency meeting was called in the Throne Room, Lord Arryn himself went and got King Robert to attend the meeting. When the King and the members of the Small Council heard what Tyrion and Jon found out, chaos ensued as everybody started to yell different things all at once. It took Lord Hand’s every bit of patience to retain any semblance of decorum so that he can question Ser Jaime over and over to squeeze every bit of information out of the man.

While the lords debated and blustered about what to do with the dangerous situation, Jon and Tyrion had sequestered themselves into the Royal library to search for the sewer plans. Tyrion had said before that he had the experience of how the sewer system worked as his father, Lord Tywin made him responsible for the maintenance of the sewers at Casterly Rock. Though the lord had planned that as a punishment for his lecherous son, it proved to be a blessing in disguise as Tyrion’s previous experience was immensely helpful for them to come up with a workable plan to deploy the men at strategic places from where they would venture down the sewage tunnels and explore every inch below ground to find the caches. They had presented the plan to the Small Council to the relief of Lord Arryn, who was fed up with the posturing lords that spent the time in useless debates but yet to find a solution. King Robert didn’t help the situation with his raving and rantings of the Targaryens. The tourney itself was postponed for an indefinite amount of time till the danger passed, which was another reason for the King to show his displeasure. He had insisted to carry out the tourney on schedule but Lord Arryn had put his foot down, making the King sulk and drink some more.  

A smaller council was convened under the aegis of the Lord Hand. He had chosen men who believed that action spoke louder than words. Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord Yohn Royce, who had come to the Capitol for the tourney, Lord Tyrion Lannister, Ser Barristan Selmy were invited to this council headed by Lord Jon Arryn himself. The council had poured over the plans that Tyrion and Jon had come up with and arranged for the necessary actions to be taken. Lords Stannis and Yohn were in charge of forming parties from the men available while Lord Tyrion would direct them where to access the sewers. Smaller parties were formed with no more than five men in each group, as too many men would be detrimental if they needed to run from a hopeless situation. The acolytes of the Grandmaester were ordered to create copies of the sewage plans in lots. Valemen, Riverlanders, Stormlanders, Westlanders – all were drafted to search for the wildfire caches, captains were chosen to lead the parties from the lords who volunteered to go down in the muck. Jon had volunteered himself to lead a party consisting of the Northmen. Robb and the others were reluctant to let him go alone again in a dangerous situation. Jon assured them that he would be in a relatively safer state due to his warging abilities. Furthermore, Arthur would be with him to keep him safe. He had asked the others to help Tyrion with his charges.

Jon signalled his men to stop as the rat had sent images of some barrels just a few paces ahead. They had carried torches with so they were quite literally inching their way forward so that they didn’t inadvertently set off the wildfires.

“There is something just ahead, Uncle Eric. Tell the men to stay here with the torch.” Arthur relayed the order to the men as the two of them moved forward almost blindly. If it wasn’t for Jon’s ability, they wouldn’t be able to move ahead at all, Jon watched his surrounding through the rat’s eyes while directing Arthur where to go and the knight kept him upright so he wouldn’t tumble down.

Slowly, they crept forward till they reached the spot the rat had indicated. Jon brushed his hands on the barrels.

“How much farther are we from the nearest grate?”

“That is quite hard to tell from down here, Jon.”

“Ask the men to spread out, tell them to try and find the nearest grate. And the man with the torch should stay as far from us as possible.

Arthur yelled down the tunnel, an idea that quickly proved to be a folly as the sound reverberated within the enclosed space and sounded like an inhuman roar. The horde of rats got spooked and scurried away in fear, running all over the humans in their bid to flee. Jon and Arthur crouched down covering their faces with their arms. They could hear the startled yells of the men amidst the screeches and squeaks as the rats ran all over them, clawing and biting to get free of any obstacles. Jon had to yell again for the man to cover their faces so they didn’t get injured. They had their leather armours on so their bodies were protected.

When they were cleared of the waves of rats, Jon chuckled, “That was quite an experience, eh Uncle Eric?”

The knight whispered back, “Yes, you get to learn new things every day.”

Slowly they got up to their feet. Jon had lost his concentration and the rat he had warged into, had fled with its brethren. They didn’t want to cause another avalanche of rats so they kept their voices low and instructed the men to spread out and look for the nearest grate. They had spent so much time down there in the sewers that the ungodly stench seemed to have lost their strength to them. Jon had previously instructed their men to have a length of rope coiled around their waists so that they didn’t stray far from their companions. Soon, they had found the nearest grate and pried it open. One of the men climbed up to flag down a patrolling group of men. Tyrion had stayed back at the Fishmongers Square where they had erected a temporary command post. Patrols were sent out in short intervals on command from lords Stannis and Yohn by the routes of the sewer system, so that any of the parties that went down, could call for help. After a while, more men climbed down and stood in a row as they carefully carried out the barrels above ground.

It took them over two weeks to finally clear out the ‘green piss’ as Ser Jaime had called them. Many had fallen ill from the stench and rat’s bites as they too encountered hordes of rats fleeing from the loud noises. The Maesters and their acolytes ran ragged to provide cures for them all. A scare of plague had made its round among the men that were bitten by the rats, but the Maesters assured them that they had nothing to worry about as the antidotes had been applied on time. Still, they were kept under observation for a while so if their health showed any sign of deterioration, they would have been immediately taken care of. Thankfully, none had contacted the disease.

---

 

Jaime Lannister was absent throughout the entire debacle of wildfire. Jon had thought that the knight might have been busy with his Kingsguard duties. But even after when the furore died down and once again preparations for the tourney commenced anew, the knight was yet to come out in public. He was even absent in their morning training sessions. He learned from Prince Tommen that the knight had caught the fever and thus, was confined within his chambers at the White Sword Tower. Jon decided to visit him.

A feeling of awe washed over him as Jon stepped into the Round Room, which was used as the common room for the White brothers. Jon took in the décor of the circular room made of whitewashed stone walls – the white woollen draperies hung over the large windows overlooking the Blackwater Bay. A giant Weirwood table carved in the shape of a shield situated at one side of the room, with three chairs on each side and a black oaken chair covered with bleached hide spaced at the head of the table. A white shield with two crossed longswords hung over the hearth. Jon’s eyes were drawn to the pedestal right beside the hearth, on which was placed the legendary White Book. Any knight who had pledged to serve in the order of the Kingsguard had their names and deeds written in the said book. Knights from the likes of Prince Aemon, Duncan the Tall, to his Uncle Arthur – each had his name recorded in the book by the then Lord Commander of the order. Jon tentatively reached out with his right hand to touch the pages of the Book with reverence.

“Snow? What are you doing here, lad?”

Jon almost jumped at the sound of the voice. He was so enamoured with the Book that he didn’t hear when the owner of the voice entered the room. He turned around to see Lord Commander Ser Barristan standing at the foot of the stairs, looking at him questioningly.

“Er…I have come to check up on Ser Jaime. I heard that he is unwell?” He awkwardly bowed his head to the knight.

Ser Barristan frowned at that, “Yes, he is rather taken ill at the moment. But I am sure that he will be glad to receive you.” He approached Jon and the Book. “Were you interested in looking at the White Book?”

“Aye, Ser, I wanted to look at the names of Aemon the Dragonkinght, Ser Duncan the Tall…Ser Arthur.”

“Ah, Arthur,” Ser Barristan gave him a sad smile, “all the young lads wanted to know about him.”

“Er, I meant no offence, Ser…”

“None taken, my dear lad, none taken. He was truly a knight out of the tales. Come, let me show you where Ser Gerold recorded his name when he joined our order…” Ser Barristan waved his hand to the Book. He first showed Arthur’s name and deeds to him. One by one, he showed him all the names he had imagined in their plays with Robb and Sansa, the most famous of knights in history. The wide smile almost split Jon’s face in half, he couldn’t utter the words of the exact feeling of his heart.

“What do you plan to do later with your life, Snow?”

Jon was taken aback at the sudden question, his mind was still full of amazement. It took him a couple of moments to come back to reality, “I am still undecided, Ser. I will do whatever life places in front of me. Personally, I believe that the Gods have something planned for me.”

Barristan chuckled at his answer, “Yes, they have plans for all of us.” His face took a serious mien, “I want to offer a place in our order to you.”

Jon’s eyes widened, “Do you mean to say that you want me to join the order of the Kingsguard?”

“Yes, I have heard of your deeds, lad. You have done more at your young age than most of the men spent their entire lives in dreams to attain. Do not mind me for saying so, but as a natural born son of a lord, you do not have many options ahead of you. You have earned a name for yourself, our order would only help you to grow that fame. You will start as a squire, of course. You will have your choice from our brothers whom you want to mentor you. You already have quite a good understanding with Ser Jaime, he is one of the best swords of his generation. You have Ser Arys Oakheart, while it is true that he cannot hold a candle against the likes of Ser Jaime, but he is tenacious and a very fair-minded man. And of course, there is I, if you want, you can squire for me.”

Jon didn’t know what to think, Ser Barristan Selmy, who himself was a legend by his own right, was offering him a place to stand beside him as an equal. He was tempted to accept the offer, he would have done so if the offer was made to him before he met with Lady Minerva, before he had found the bracers, but now, his destiny awaited him elsewhere.

“You honour me, Ser. Truly, even to imagine that you deemed me able enough to call you brother, is something I have never thought of in my wildest dreams. But I am afraid that I have to decline the offer at present, Ser. This is something that I want to discuss with my lord father. Besides that, I am to accompany my brother Lord Robb as he plans to travel the eastern lands…”

Ser Barristan chuckled and raised a hand to stop Jon’s rantings, “Easy there, lad. I did not expect you to join right at the moment. You are right that this is something that you need to discuss with your lord father. I just wanted to make my offer to you. As you have seen this now,” he indicated the White Book, “you can understand the kind of men once roamed this tower. Regretfully, I admit that the standard has fallen quite low. Men who don’t even have the right to call themselves knights now strut about bedecked in the once prestigious White Cloak. The order needs warriors like you, lad. I implore you to put some thought into my request. For now, go and travel the world, earn more experience, but once, when you feel that you have reached the end of your road, do remember my offer, would you do that for me, lad?”

“Aye, of course, Ser. You have given me much to think about.”

“That is all I ask, think about it, Jon Snow. I will be waiting for your answer, even if it reaches me a decade later.”

[CotW]

Ser Barristan had pointed Jon towards Jaime’s rooms. When he knocked on the doors, at first, there was no reply. After the second round of knocking, a muffled voice told him to enter. Jon opened the doors to find a sparsely decorated room, save for a set of armours that screamed the Lannister effluence in its gold plated finery beside another set of armours in white. A single cot under the windows and table with a few chairs were all that furnished the room. Jon was surprised to see Jaime sitting in one of the chairs looking forlornly out of the window while nursing a goblet of wine. Tyrion sat opposite of him and strangely, he was the sober Lannister brother present in the room.

“Ah, Jon, welcome. What made you traverse to this side of the keep?”

“Greetings, My Lord, I just wanted to see if Ser Jaime is feeling well.”

Jaime turned his head towards Jon, his eyes were bloodshot. It appeared that the knight was really under the weather, or rather, into a bottle. His usually shiny golden hair looked stringy and he sported unshaven cheeks. His clothes were rumpled and dirty. It was truly quite a pathetic sight.

“Why?” He growled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why have you come here, bastard? Have you come to look down on me? Wanted to mock me?”

“Why would I want to do that, Ser?”

“Your lord father did…then why wouldn’t you?” Jaime slurred out the words.

“Jaime…” Tyrion tried to calm his brother down.

“You don’t know these Northerners, brother. They think that they are the most honourable. To them, everyone down the neck is the scum of the earth. Do you know what the honourable Ned Stark did when he reached the Thorne Room? He took a glance of Aerys’ still bleeding corpse at my feet and dubbed me Kingslayer. Me, Jaime Lannister, the last ever pupil of Ser Arthur Dayne, had been named an oathbreaker by the most honourable man in all of Westeros.”

Jon frowned as the knight continued to curse the name of his uncle, but the man was not finished, he just stopped to gulp down the rest of the wine in his goblet.

“You, bastard, do you know why I killed Aerys? Did your honourable lord father deign to ask why I have slain the man I was sworn to protect? Let me tell you a secret, bastard, he did not. Not a fucking soul asked why I wetted my blade with the Mad King’s blood!” He yelled as he threw the goblet at the wall.

Nobody would have recognized the broken man that was sitting before them, Jaime Lannister appeared to be completely devoid of any will to live. He continued his tirade in a hollow voice –

“When I earned my cloak, I was so happy, I had achieved what I wanted. I had earned the rights to call Barristan Selmy, Arthur Dayne, Jonothor Darry, Oswell Whent and Gerold Hightower my brothers. They told me that I earned the Whites because Aerys wanted to punish Father. But it didn’t matter to me, because I was living in my dreams. Let me tell you, bastard, when your master teaches you in arms, he always forgets to tell you what to do when one of your oaths hinders you from performing your duties. You know, as a knight I was sworn to protect the children, women and the innocent? Then, when I took my oath as a Kingsguard, I was sworn to protect the Royal family. But nobody told me what to do when one of those whom I am sworn to protect tortures another. I stood outside of the King’s bedchambers as he daily raped Queen Rhaella. I heard her cries for help, I wanted to burst into the room and kill that fucker right in his own bed. I had asked time and again - what am I supposed to do, tell me, Arthur? My teacher had no answer to give. Darry told me that it was our duty to protect the Royal family, but not from each other. Fucking hypocrites. We were all fucking hypocrites!” He slammed his fist on the table, making his listeners jump.

Jaime’s face had contorted in pain, pain that he had carried in his heart for all these years. Alone.

“When Aerys heard that Father was at the gates with his host, he had ordered Rossart to set off the wildfire. ‘Burn them all’- he had screamed. Rossart, the fucking rat had scurried off to carry out the mad man’s order. I ran after him, with only one thought running in my mind – If I don’t stop them, thousands of innocent lives will be lost. I had to kill him and any of his Guild minions before they had the chance to carry out that order. Aerys told me to bring Father’s head to him. I was more concerned about Princess Elia and the babes, as Rhaegar asked me to look after his family. When I returned to the Throne Room after dealing with the Guild, he was screaming at me that why I didn’t carry Father’s severed head in my arms, calling me a Lannister mongrel and how he would burn me alive in front of Father to show all of them what it was like to rise against a dragon. I lost my head when he was screaming about how he would rape Rhaenys before flaying her alive and feed her to the dogs…in front of her impaled but still alive mother. This was his own granddaughter, a mere babe of three namedays old. When I refused to bring the Princess and babes to him, he attacked me with a sword, I don’t know from where he got the weapon, but it was child’s play to disarm him. He looked at me with eyes that had long lost any kind of intelligence behind them. He tried to run off from there, yelling – burn them all. I had to end him then, lest he went out and ordered the still present Targaryen men to set off the wildfire and kill all who were in the city. I was about to go and find the Princess when news reached that Father was already inside of the city. I waited for him in the Throne Room. That was where Lord Stark found me.”

The room was filled with the sounds of heart-wrenching sobs from Jaime Lannister, Tyrion had tried to envelop his brother’s bigger frame within his arms. Jaime laid his head on his brother’s shoulders and kept talking in between sobs -

“I still think about that day; you know - what if I had not waited in the Throne Room? What if I had gone to stand guard in front of the Princess's chambers, fulfilling my promise to Rheagar? I still have nightmares where I see the bloodied corpses of Elia and her babes, asking me why I didn’t protect them, or the mad king dancing before me, yelling – burn them all, while Rhaegar, Elia, Rhaella, Rhaenys – all pointing their fingers at me, asking why didn’t I save them.”

Tyrion tried to get his brother moved from his seat, “Jaime, please brother, control yourself…”

Jaime paid him no mind, once again he turned his bloodshot eyes towards Jon, “You, Jon Snow, you are an honourable lad, you have already bloodied your hand and you carry the burden of the loss of lives. Tell me, Jon Snow, which of my oaths should have been taken precedent – the one where I swore to protect the innocents or the one where I swore to protect the Royals, even when they were raping, murdering bastards?”

Jon got up to his feet and put Jaime’s arm around his shoulder, heaved him off his seat and dragged him towards the cot.

“As a true knight, I would have honoured my oath to protect the innocents first and foremost.”

Jaime crashed down on his cot, he peered up into Jon’s eyes, “You are different from your father, aren’t you, bastard?”

“Aye, Ser, I am different from him.”

“I embraced the ridicule, you know? I have respect for your father, and from that respect, I had embraced the mark against my honour. Yes, I am an oathbreaker. I broke my oath to save others, no one needed to know that. We Lannisters are always looked down upon just for our names, then so be it. I broke other oaths; I broke them all…but I had the solace in knowing that I protected innocent lives. Then, I get to find out that I didn’t do shit. The people still lived in danger because I kept my mouth shut…I have truly become even lower than an oathbreaker.” He had once again got up on his feet and swayed dangerously.  

“Oh, just shut the fuck up!” Jon couldn’t take it anymore.

Tyrion looked at him in alarm and tried to warn him, “Jon, don’t…”

“No, My Lord Tyrion, I have heard enough. Drunk out of his gourd or not, he is going to listen to what I have to say now.” He turned towards Jaime, “Sit your arse down, now!”

Jaime blinked at him and crashed back on his cot. Jon was pacing around the room while Tyrion kept wary eyes on both his brother and his young friend.

Wolfsblood was roaring in Jon’s ear, he had known about his insane grandfather, but he had no idea of his depravity. Hearing how he tortured his grandmother, what he wanted to do to his sister, ordering to kill all those men by wildfire – he wanted to hit at something. Hard.

“Are you quite done feeling sorry for yourself, Ser, or is there more left?”

Jaime just blinked at him dumbly.

“For the past few days, I have been trekking through knee-deep muck and shit, I have been bitten and scratched by more rats than I can count, I have vile tasting potions poured down my throat, I had to carry heavy loads of component that could have killed me within a blink, I truly do not have any more patience left in my body. You killed the man you were sworn to protect? He was a raving, mad man, you did a favour to the people of the realms. You have broken your oaths in doing so? You have saved countless lives by your actions. You have continued to break your oaths? Well, now is your chance at redemption. What are you going to do about it? Do you want to sit at the corner of your room and bitch about life not being fair to you or do you make something out of this second chance? Remember who you are. You are Jaime fucking Lannister, one of the best swords of your generation. Ser Barristan told me so himself just a couple of hours ago while he was trying to recruit me to your order. I believed him. And I also believe in the warrior that is Jaime Lannister. Lady Stark had driven into our skulls what should be our goals in life, and she had explained it by the words of her house – Family. Duty. Honour. You do right by those, and you have a clear way ahead of you. People call you the Kingslayer? Aye, you are a Kingslayer, you have slain a tyrant. Be proud of your achievement, own the title given to you. A wiser man than I once told me to wear the scorns of others as armour so it won’t be used to hurt me. I have embraced my bastard status, as the man had embraced his dwarf status. Be the Kingslayer, be the finest sword the Westerlands had produced in the past century. And for the love of the Old Gods and the New, stop being a fucking pathetic prick!” 

Jon was panting at the end of his long rant. The knight just sat there looking at him with wide eyes and opened mouth. Tyrion was trying to understand if his brother would once again start bawling or beating the lad bloody with his bare hands. In the end, the man let out a long sigh and laid down on his cot.

“I would expect you at the yard if you are not otherwise busy with your duties at tomorrow morning. I plan to teach Prince Tommen how to deal with men who come to the training session with a hangover so they won’t dare to do the same again in their lives.” He turned to get out of the room, “Are you coming, My Lord?”

It was as if Tyrion had woken up from having a strange dream, stutteringly he replied –

“Ah…yes. Yes, I should be going now. Rest well, brother, hope you are not too sick in the morning.”

As they were walking down the stairs, Tyrion looked up at Jon, “You were quite harsh with my brother, Jon. You should feel lucky that he didn’t beat you bloody with his bare fists for daring to say those things to him.”

Jon smirked at him, “And I would have let him have a few licks before I started to pummel him. Do not worry, My Lord, Ser Jaime just needed a good kick up his arse to break him out of his mood. He will be fine in the morning.”

---

 

With the danger averted, the people of Capitol once again began to prepare for the tourney with renewed enthusiasm. They had more to be festive other than tending to the King’s whims – they had dodged certain death. The lords who hadn’t arrived during the Cleansing, were horrified when they learned what the Mad King had planned to do in his last days. Lord Jon Arryn was all praise of Tyrion and Jon for discovering a clutch of dragon eggs, and as Tyrion promised, he hadn’t demanded anything in return for the eggs. Lord Yohn Royce, who had met with the Wolfpack before when he visited Winterfell, had overcome with gratitude when he was presented with his ancestral sword. Lamentation was returned to House Royce after over a century.

On the eve before the tourney, a feast was held for all as the commencement of the festivities. The lads were dressed in their fineries, draped in their House colours, while Jon wore a black and white ensemble, a subtle indication for his own Houses. As always, the White Wolf kerchief adorned his arm. As they all met outside of their rooms, Asher took a glance at them and said –

“Don’t we all look quite sharp this evening?”

Jon smirked at him, “Keep saying things like this, Forrester, and people will take you for a pillow-biter.”

“In your dreams, Snow.”

“Why would I dream about you, Asher? Truly, we need to find a lass for you, the sooner the better.” They bantered their way to the Throne Room which was the venue for the feast.

As they entered the room, a man came to them and bowed to Robb, “My Lord Stark, kindly allow me to lead you and your companions to your seats.”

Robb gave the man a stiff nod, “Of course.” He gave a stern reply, for now, he was no mere lad but the Heir to Winterfell.

The man led them to a table just below the dais. As they had heard, it was a seat of prestige, marked for those of the close relations with the throne. They were quite surprised to find their seating arrangements. They took their seats and looked around the hall, tables were placed for the lords divided by the kingdoms they hailed from. All but the Dorne and the Reach had their lords representing their realms. They were the only ones to represent the North. A man with auburn hair and blue eyes same as Robb gave them a nod, Jon assumed that man to be Edmure Tully, son and heir to the Lord Paramount of Riverlands, Lord Hoster Tully, Aunt Cat’s brother and Robb’s uncle. He was surrounded by men who seemed to be his friends, the fellow Riverland lords. Lord Royce raised his goblet in their direction from his seat among the Valemen, the other Vale lords gave them appraising glances and nodded their heads. The Westlander lords kept to themselves, Jon had spotted Tyrion sitting among them and gave him a nod, while the most boisterous of the lots were the Stormlander lords. Soon, His Grace, King Robert Baratheon appeared with the Royal family in tow. Queen Cersei looked resplendent in a green gown that complemented her emerald eyes. The Crown Prince Joffrey appeared as if he was utterly bored and would have preferred to be anywhere else but there, while Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella were very excited. When Tommen spotted Jon and the others he waved at them and whispered to his sister. Princess Myrcella looked in their direction and blushed prettily. Lord John Arryn walked in after the Royal family with Lady Lysa Arryn on his arm, the lady of the Vale appeared to be quite anxious and kept whispering to her husband, Lord Arryn placed his free hand reassuringly over their joint hands and muttered something to her. Stannis and Renly Baratheon followed them, the lords of Dragonstone and the Storm’s End had kept their distances from each other as they entered the hall and reached their assigned seats.

Jon’s eyes had followed the Kingsguards that came along with the Royal family. He was glad to see Jaime Lannister back on his feet as he strode into the hall alongside Ser Barristan, his indomitable and arrogant smirk once again graced his face. He spotted Jon watching him with a hawk-like gaze and winked at him as he took his place behind the Royal family.

King Robert took his seat and indicated everyone to sit down. The feast had officially started, announcing the beginning of the festivities. Food platters were brought out for the King to have a taste and disburse them among the dignitaries. All the lords raised their goblets and wished a long and happy life for the monarch. The hall filled with the sounds of cutleries and chatter and laughter.

Robb poked at the meat dish that was sent to their table with a knife.

“What do you think it is?”

Jon was sitting beside him, he too took a knife and tried to turn the food over in the platter, “Looks like some kind of pheasant stuffed with grapes and cooked in honey and spices.”

Asher had taken a piece of the meat at his plate and took a bite of it, he chewed with his eyes closed and made a face, “Not too bad, but I will take a roasted wild boar over it any day.”

Torrhen snorted, “You and your wild boars. It’s a wonder that you haven’t developed a pig-snout like them after the number of boars you have put away over the years.”

A sound of a throat being cleared followed by “Greetings, nephew,” had stopped their conversation. They turned their heads to see that Lord Edmure had come to their table and smiling down at Robb. They got up to their feet and bowed to the lord.

“Greetings, Uncle Edmure.” Robb smiled back at the man, “Won’t you join us?”

“Of course, nephew, thank you for the offering.”

They sat back down, “Not at all, Uncle, it was my pleasure. Please, allow me to introduce you to my friends. Lads, this here is the son and Heir Apparent of Riverrun, Lord Edmure Tully, son of Lord Hoster Tully, my uncle. Uncle Edmure, these are Lord Torrhen Karstark of Karhold, son of Lord Rickard Karstark. Lord Asher Forrester of Ironwrath, son of Lord Gregor Forrester, and finally, my brother, Jon Snow.”

“Ah, of course, the famous Bastard of Winterfell, or as people are now calling him, the White Wolf. Isn’t that right?”

Jon bowed his head, “Aye, My Lord.”

Robb had gone rigid when he heard the term “Bastard of Winterfell”, he truly didn’t like those words, “Uncle…”

“Be at ease, Robb. I mean no disrespect. I have been in correspondence with Cat and let me tell you, your mother had been nothing but praises for your brother lately.” He put both of his elbows on the table and leaned forward, “I was wondering what is the reason for my sister’s change of heart?”

Jon cleared his throat, “I do not have any proper answer to that, My Lord. I have been away from Winterfell for a long time, what with my fosterage at Karhold and later, our campaign against the invaders. Mayhaps Lady Stark started to appreciate me once I was gone from her home?”  

Edmure nodded thoughtfully, “That could be it, Cat was always in favour of family. She would do anything to protect those whom she calls her own. But my question is, why now? After years of venting her anger, why would she start to accept you now?”

Jon looked straight at the man’s eyes, “Allow me to speak freely, My Lord?” Edmure nodded his head, “What I understood is that Lady Stark never resented me. Aye, she was resentful at first when my lord father brought me home, she thought that he had strayed from his marriage bed. The circumstances of their marriage and the whole mess of the Rebellion had played some part in that in my belief. I also believe that once I was away, she had visited her previous thoughts or mayhaps she and Father had finally talked among themselves and she realized that I was never a threat to Robb. I love my brother too much to betray him like that. I will be quite happy to be a leal bannerman or mayhaps even a commander of his men under his rule.” Robb discreetly rolled his eyes at that. If only you knew who you are talking with, Uncle. – He thought.

Edmure peered closely at Jon, at his eyes to be more precise, and asked in a low voice, “Lord Eddard never talked to you about your mother?”

Jon shook his head, “No, My Lord. Whenever I asked father, it appeared he was in pain, the thoughts are such to him. Now I understand, he had lost almost his entire family in those troubling days. He was especially close to his brother – our Uncle Brandon. I can certainly empathise with him, as I cannot even imagine not being with Robb. All those memories sadden him so that I have stopped asking. If he one day decides to tell me about her, I will listen. He mayhaps talked with Lady Stark, but I do not know anything about that.”

Edmure leaned back into his seat looking continuously at Jon’s eyes. He nodded once and got up to his feet, “Enough with the depressing matters. Come on, lads, my friends are eagerly waiting to meet the heroes of the Bear Island.” At their incredulous looks, he smirked down at them, “Yes, news has reached us at Riverrun. Also, there were a few bards singing songs about a certain White Wolf and his pack.” He strode away to his table as the boys got up.

“Beautifully done, Snow. Mentioning Lord Brandon that way was quite genius.” Asher spoke in a low voice.

“Aye, but keep it down for now.” Robb hissed at him.

“Robb is right, lads. If I have guessed correctly, we will be invited to visit the Vale table after the Riverlands table. Also, I want to pay a visit to Lord Tyrion.” Jon said to them.

“Why are we doing this?” Torrhen asked.

“As the future Lord of Winterfell, Robb needs to socialize with his peers. Do not forget, we may need all the help we can get in the coming days. Now is the time to establish the connections.”

Lord Edmure had introduced them to his friends - Patrek Mallister, Marq Piper and others. They had a lively discussion of their battles and campaigns. After a while, Jon excused himself from their table. The others also beg forgiveness and got up. They didn’t make a few steps when Lord Yohn Royce loudly called out for them, true to Jon’s prediction. The Bronze Lord once again thanked them profusely, especially Jon for discovering and returning his ancestral sword. He regaled the lords and knights of Vale of the story about how the four had rushed into the castle of Winterfell while carrying a pregnant direwolf in a makeshift stretcher. The men at the table were quite intrigued to hear about the legendary beast. When they heard that both Robb and Jon had direwolf pups as their companions, they eagerly asked the boys if they could see them. The boys promised that they would try to bring them to the wolves as otherwise, the wolves might get sick within the confines of the city.

Their conversation came to a halt as King Robert’s booming voice echoed inside of the hall –

“Jon Snow, where are you, lad?”

Jon got up to his feet, “I am here, Your Grace.”

“Well, come forward, lad.”

Jon looked at the high table and caught the eyes of Lord Arryn, the old man smiled down at him and nodded his head in assurance. He took stock of the expressions of the others that sat at that table. Queen Cersei looked on with a stony face, Prince Joffrey sneered at him in clear disdain. Prince Tommen was almost jumping in his seat and Princess Myrcella once again blushed as his eyes fell upon her.

Jon stopped before the high table and got down on one knee. Robert shook his head, “None of that, lad. Come on, get up on your feet.”

King Robert himself got up on his feet and swayed dangerously. The man had consumed enough wine for ten men during the feast.

“My Lords and Ladies of Westeros, the lad you see before you, is the son of my dear friend, Ned Stark of Winterfell. I am sure you have all heard how he was instrumental to avert the invasion of the bloody savages of Skagos. He with his brother and friends, have fought at the front line and came out the winner at such a young age. Where are ya, lads?”

Robb, Asher and Torrhen got up from their seats.

“Ah, there you are. Robb Stark, my namesake and the future lord of Winterfell, and…I am sorry, lads, I have forgotten your names, but no matter, you are all heroes in the eyes of people. But Jon Snow here, have done something for the crown which cannot be overlooked. I have discussed with Tyrion Lannister…” He looked around the hall, “Imp? Where are you?”

Tyrion shouted from the Westlander’s table, “Here, Your Grace!”

“Well, stand up on the table or something, I cannot see you from here.” Laughter rang throughout the hall at the comment. Jon watched as the Queen’s lips curved up in a subtle smirk and Joffrey was openly laughing. Jaime, Tommen and Myrcella – on the other hand, had frowns on their faces.

“Pardon me, Your Grace, I often forget that my short stature causes short-sightedness.” Tyrion quipped as he struggled to get up on the chair he was sitting on.

Jon had to stifle his snort at the jab Tyrion threw at all and sundry, but it appeared none had caught on to that.

“Ah…yes, as I was saying, I discussed with Tyrion Lannister here, and the man had told me how Jon Snow had pursued him to take on a venture that hadn’t been thought by any in over a hundred years. They went to Lord Arryn and argued with him to give them permission as Lord Hand to dig under the rubbles of the Dragonpit. They went and have discovered a clutch of priceless dragon eggs under all that rubbish. The eggs will be used to clear some of the debts the Crown had incurred in the past. For this, I thank you both. To Jon Snow and Tyrion Lannister!” He raised his goblet and took a long gulp. The lords also raised their own goblets and drank to their health.

Robert continued, “Not only that, but afterwards, they also discovered a heinous plot devised by that mad bastard Aerys. That man had stashed caches of wildfire all around the city in a bid to kill every living soul within its boundary. They had alerted Lord Arryn promptly when they learned about the danger, thus helping the Crown once again. Jon Snow here had led a group of men down in the sewers and carried out more than half of the caches himself. This brave and intelligent lad that stands before you have done more in his young age for the people of the realms and the Crown than most grown men can only dream of. Jon Snow,” Robert turned to look down at Jon, “now the Crown asks you, what do you desire from it? Ask and it shall be granted.”

Jon looked around the hall, every pair of eyes were trained on him, waiting in eager anticipation. He looked back at the high table but caught off guard at the smirk and mischievous glint in the eyes of a certain man. He narrowed his eyes at him, as the man knew of his aversion to being the centre of everybody’s attention. He smirked back at him, two can play the same game – he thought to himself.

Once again Jon went down on his knees, “Your Grace, I was only doing my duties as honourably as my Lord Father and my foster father, Lord Karstark had taught me. I didn’t do anything with the expectation of any kind of reward. But, if Your Grace is insistent that I ask for a reward nonetheless, then grant me this request, My King,” he looked up at Robert, who motioned for him to continue, “restore the honour of Ser Jaime Lannister.”

The hall broke into confused whispers, everybody thought that Jon would request to be legitimized to finally being able to call himself a Stark. But once again, he did something that was beyond the thoughts of all those who were present at the hall. Jaime himself was looking at him with a frown on his face.

“I am sure, Your Grace, that you have heard by now why and how he did all those years ago. He is a knight first and a Kingsguard second. He had carried his duties as a true knight and held on to his honour. Circumstances had led him to be accused falsely, but never did he raised his voice for the injustice and suffered alone like the true warrior he is. I implore you, My King, help me to remove the stain from his White Cloak.”

Once again Jon had rendered the King speechless and the Hand thoughtful. The knight himself was scowling down at him fiercely. Jon knew that everyone by now had heard why Ser Jaime killed King Aerys because it was him who had leaked the information. He had talked with Arthur first. The man was quite emotional when he learned that his pupil had held on to the ethics of a true knight. With his blessings, Jon had staged the situation where he was discussing the incident with his friends at a place where anybody can eavesdrop on their conversation. Ser Barristan was smirking - his expression was saying that he thought that he did the right thing by offering him a place with the order of Kingsguard. Queen Cersei had a calculating gaze on her face and Joffrey was confusedly looking at everywhere as if he couldn’t understand what was going on.

The silence was broken by the sound of clapping, the Westlanders led by Tyrion stood from their seats and started to clap and hoot, slowly, the entire crowd stood at their feet and started to clap. Robert took a moment to gather his thoughts, then he raised his hand to stop all the noises.

“Is this what you truly desire, lad?”

Jon bowed his head, “Aye, My King.”

Robert nodded, “Very Well.” He walked around the table to come and stand in front of it. “Ser Jaime, come forth.”

Ser Jaime came forward and bowed to the King.

“Kneel.”

The knight took a knee before the King.

“Ser Jaime Lannister, you have proved by your deeds that you have held onto your oaths that you took when you had earned your spurs. It was quite unfortunate that you were blamed for performing your duties. Therefore, I, King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, hereby absolve you of the accusation for killing a mad tyrant. You are Ser Jaime Lannister, no more a Kingslayer. Rise, Ser Jaime, the White Lion.”

Jaime stood back up amidst a round of thunderous applause. Chants of the ‘White Lion’ along with the ‘White Wolf’ had filled the hall. Tyrion rushed to his brother, Jaime laughed as he got down to his knees and embraced his brother tightly against his chest.

Jon slowly made his way back to his pack. Asher smirked at him, in a low voice he said –

“All hail the White Wolf. Who once again rendered everybody speechless by simply being himself.”

“Fuck you, Forrester!”

Ping!

Quest Completed!

Lead a team to excavate under the rubbles of Dragonpit!

Bonus Objectives: Try to find the lost sword of House Royce!

Try to restore the name of Jaime Lannister!

Jon shook his head at the notification, he would never understand the humour of Lady Minerva.

“Why did you do it?” A voice from behind roused him from his thoughts. Jon turned around to find the Lannister brothers standing before him, both had curious looks on their faces.

“Why did I do what?”

Jaime frowned at him, “You are not a lackwit, Snow, so don’t try to act that way. Why did you clear my name?”

Jon shrugged, “As I told His Grace, I was just doing my duties as honourably as I could.”

“And clearing my name was part of your honourable duties?”

“It was the result of a happy coincidence, aye.” Jon winked at Tyrion who snorted at his answer.

Jaime scowled at him at first, but then, his face morphed into a vicious smirk, “You realize, of course, that now I have to pay you back?”

It was Jon’s turn to frown.

“What do you mean, Ser Jaime?”

“Oh, you will find out when I put some more thoughts to it. After all, a Lannister always pays his debts.”

Tyrion had doubled over laughing at his brother’s smirk and the dumbfounded look on Jon’s face.

Notes:

A.N. 1- I am tired of answering back to the questions of the likes "Why isn't this piece of work sounds like other Gamer fics?" I had hoped that people would understand that there are other games than Dungeons and Dragons. Anyway, I have decided to just alter a single word so that people will stop asking me the questions of why my work is not like other gamer fics. I can only hope, can't I?

 

A.N. 2- I didn't mean to show any disrespect to anybody, neither am I a homophobe. I just thought that the scene where they all dressed up to attend the feast was quite akin to the scene from FRIENDS (The One Where Nana Died Twice), and Asher does make weird comments like Chandler.

Chapter 20: Who Let the Wolves Out? Pt. 3

Who Let the Wolves Out? Pt. 3

Finally, the day of the tourney arrived. Jon had decided to forgo the training for the day and the four went out of the keep to experience how the other residents of the Capitol were preparing for the festivities – namely, the smallfolk. The streets were crowded as ever, but there was an air of happiness that could be felt if one was to take a stroll down the roads. The buildings and shops were decorated with colourful pennants. Temporary stalls had been erected for the tourney where the vendors were hawking their wares. Food, trinkets, clothing – every kind of stuff were being examined and bought by the people that came to the capitol for the festivities.

The foursome tried to blend into the crowd and assimilate the experience that they never had before. As usual, Asher pointed out to various food vendors and dragged them on to have a bite or two at regular intervals. Robb and Torrhen bought a beautiful dagger each. They were surprised to see when the man showed them his collection – there were daggers with almost all of Westerosi noble house’s sigils etched on them. Jon himself had bought something for everyone. Blue Myrish silk ribbons for Sansa, wolf pendant for Arya, wooden knight figurines for Bran and Rickon, a wooden falcon figurine in the likeness of Gale for Alys and hand-carved combs for Aunt Cat and Lady Anya. He also bought for his uncles and Lord Rickard daggers with their house sigils.

Though they were having a good time, sharing his mind with Gale and Ghost had heightened Jon’s senses beyond any normal man’s ken. He frowned when he felt something odd in his immediate vicinity. He took a careful look around to see what had ticked his senses off. He spotted a man who was crouched down talking with a small child. He took out a small scroll from the folds of his clothes and handed it to the small girl and a piece of sweet. The girl nodded her head enthusiastically at whatever the man had said to her. Jon thought he had seen the man around the Red Keep. He couldn’t place him exactly, but his stature and build seemed very familiar to him.

The man disappeared between some stalls as the child made her way towards them, concentrating on the sweet and oblivious of her surroundings. Jon grabbed Asher by his elbow and hissed at him –

“Knock that lass down.”

Asher immediately became alert, he nodded his head once and moved forward as Jon called after him, “Try not to hurt her.”

Asher appeared to be taking in all the sights around him and munching on whatever he had bought from one of the food stalls. As the girl neared him, he subtly moved his foot in such a way that the girl tripped over his feet and fell hard on the ground. Jon rushed at her and picked her up from the ground, Robb was following him and discreetly picked up the scroll that the girl had dropped and hid it inside his pocket.

“Oh, dear. Are you alright, love?”

The child’s eyes were brimming with tears as she nodded her head.

“You have to forgive my friend here. He doesn’t know how to behave with people. You would think that at his age he will be a little careful, but it seems he needs his mother to hold his hands all the time.” He mock scowled at Asher. “Say sorry to the lady, you oaf.”

Asher kneeled beside them and tried to brush the dirt off the girl’s face, “Aye, I am truly sorry, my dear. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Tears started to roll down the girl’s cheeks, Jon held her tightly against his chest, “Hey, hey, what is wrong, love?”

The girl mumbled into his chest, “I dropped me sweet…”

Jon ran a hand through the girl’s hair, “That is not a problem, Asher will buy you another sweet since it was his fault that you dropped yours. Won’t you, Asher?”

“Of course, I will. I will buy you the best sweet I can find. Come on, let’s go. What is your name, dear?”

“Anna.” The girl muttered in a low voice.

“What a beautiful name. Well, come on, Anna, let us see about that sweet.”

The four took the child with them and brought her a few sweets. Jon asked her about her parents and got to know that her father worked at the docks while her mother worked as a cook at a nearby tavern. Her brother was supposed to watch over her but she wanted to see the sights so she gave him the slip. The girl had forgotten all about the scroll as she happily munched on the sweets and chatted incessantly with the funny men.

“Anna!” A cry came from the nearest alley as a boy about ten name-days old came rushing towards them.

“Anna, ya know that yer not supposed ta wander off. Ma would’ve killed me if ya got lost.” The boy frantically tried to get his sister to go with him, who had shrunk and hid behind Jon’s legs.

Robb put a hand on the boy’s shoulder to calm him down, “Easy there, lad, you are scaring your sister.”

The boy seemed to suddenly realize that his sister wasn’t alone, he looked up to the four and paled in fear, he knew that he wasn’t supposed to go near the lords, his ma had warned him about them, but worrying about his little sister had made him forget about all else. 

He took a few steps back and bowed to them, “Forgive me, m’lords. I dinnit see ya there. Me sister always runs off like that. Me ma an’ da would kill me if somthin’ happen ta her.”

“No harm done, lad. Your sister was telling us how much she was excited to see the tourney.”

The boy became even more horrified at the thought of his sister had dared to speak with the lords. He started to sweat in fear, he could only hope that the lords took pity on his little sister.

“She shouldna have done that, m’lords. I promise ye, ma will tan her hides. Please, don’ be angry with her.”

Jon sighed and approached the boy, he grimaced when the boy seemed to shrink in fear that he would hit him. He held his hands in front of him in a reassuring manner to put the lad at ease.

“What is your name, lad?”

“Kurtis Wagner, m’lord. Ma calls me Kurt.”

“Well, Kurt, you don’t need to be afraid of us. We know what it is like to fear for a sister. We too have a little one who always runs off to get into trouble. And for us brothers, we are all knights who are charged to make sure that our sisters are safe.”

The boy had somewhat forgotten about his fears by Jon’s soothing tone. He looked up at him with wide eyes, “I ain’t no knight, m’lord.”

“Let me tell you a secret, neither are we, but our sisters don’t know that, do they? To them, we are the brave knights, so that makes it our duty to look after our fair maiden sisters, don’t you agree?”

The boy nodded his head enthusiastically. Then his eyes fell on Jon’s armband and his jaws dropped in awe.

“Yer the White Wolf!”

A few little children who had been peeking from a distance, crept closer as they saw Jon talking calmly with their friend. They heard what Kurt excitedly blurted out and ran the few feet between them to see the man from the songs with their own eyes.

Anna was listening in to their conversation from behind Robb’s legs, now she ran past him and came to stand with her brother. “Yer the White Wolf?”

Jon smirked at them and showed them his kerchief armband, the children looked with awe at the snarling, white direwolf beautifully embroidered into the piece of cloth by Sansa.

“Is it true that ya killed a giant bear with yer bare hands?”

Jon laughed hearing that, “Not with my bare hands, I had a knife with me, but aye, I did kill a giant bear.” He beckoned them closer to himself, and conspiratorially asked them –

“Do you know why I killed the bear?”

The children shook their heads in unison.

“He threatened to take away my little sister, well, she is Lord Torrhen’s little sister, but she is also a sister of mine.” He looked at the fearful wide eyes of the children, “haven’t you heard the song of ‘the Bear and the Maiden Fair’?”

Again they shook their heads in unison.

“Well, let’s see if I can remember it correctly.”

Robb nudged him to make him turn towards him, “Do you think it is a good idea, Jon?” He gave him a pointed look.

“Don’t worry, brother. Lady Anya had tried to give us a few lessons in singing. But poor Torrhen is the one they call for when they need to scare the birds away from eating the crops. I think that I can do a little better than him.”

Jon sat down on the ground with the children surrounding him, he cleared his throat and started to sing in a low but soulful voice –

A bear there was
A bear, a bear
All black and brown
And covered in hair

Three boys, a goat
And a dancing bear
They danced and spun
Up to the fair

How sweet she was
And pure and fair
The maid with honey
Up in her hair

He smelled her all
On the summer air
The maid with honey
Up in her hair

From there to here
From here to there
All black and brown
And covered in hair

He smelled that girl
In summer air
The bear, the bear
And maiden fair

Oh, I'm a maid
And I'm pure and fair
I'll never dance
With a hairy bear

I called the knight
But you're a bear
All black and brown
And covered in hair

From there to here
From here to there
All black and brown
And covered in hair

He smelled that girl
In summer air
The bear, the bear
And maiden fair
The bear, the bear
And maiden fair
And the bear, the bear

Applauds rang out around them, people had crowded in when Jon started to sing, Jon gave them all a shy wave. Anna had slowly climbed into his lap as he sang the song. Now she tugged on his doublet to get his attention.

Jon smiled down at her, “What is it, love?”

“Please, Ser, one more song…? Me dinnit like the scary bear…”

Jon smiled sadly at her as he stroked her hair. He closed his eyes to think of the song he wanted to sing –

[CotW]

The Wolfpack stood at the docks looking over the waves as they lapped the bottoms of the ships that had moored there. Without uttering any word, Jon extended his hand towards Robb, who put the scroll in his hand just as quietly. The four came closer together as Jon unfurled the scroll to read –

The young pups are making a mess of everything. They got loose into the garden and dug up the seeds. Also, they are chasing the cats all over the house and barking up at the birds. The cattle are growing healthy, have to keep an eye out for vermin and snakes.

“What do they even mean?” Robb frowned thinking about what he just read. Jon crumpled the parchment into a ball as they finished reading it.

“It is quite clear if you think about it.” Jon glared down at the water of Blackwater Bay.

“Eh? It seemed to me as if someone sending a message to their relatives about small household problems.” Torrhen said confusedly.

“The message was meant to appear like that if it fell into wrong hands. Think about the wordings, Torrhen. ‘The young pups are making a mess of everything.’ That’s us. We call ourselves the Wolfpack.”

Asher’s eyes widened in realization, “Then getting loose into the garden and digging up seeds meant…”

“Aye, our excavation of Dragonpit and finding the dragon eggs.”

“What does the rest of it mean then?”

“The cats I think are Jaime and Tyrion Lannister. The bird is meant for Lord Arryn. I am not so sure about the cattle. It could either mean the rest of the Westeros or the Royal family. The vermin here could’ve meant any Targaryen loyalist.”

“And the snake?” Robb asked.

Jon turned his head towards him, “What do the people call Prince Oberyn Martell?”

“The Red Viper.” Robb nodded.

Asher let out a long breath, “Who do you think is sending the message…and to whom?”

Jon ran his hand through his hair, “The ‘who’ is very easy, it is the ‘whom’ which is making me worry.”

“Who is it then?”

Jon looked at his friend, “Come on, it is quite easy, you’ve all read the letters. Who was it that was mentioned in those pages using his ‘little birds’ for information?”

“Varys.” They all spoke in unison.

“Aye, he is known to use children as his lookouts or messengers or informants – whatever you ask. I also know it for a fact that his ‘little birds’ are rendered mute so that they don’t let his secrets out to another soul.”

“Rendered mute? How?”

Jon gritted his teeth, “From what Uncle Brynden told me in one of his visits, that the fucking eunuch cut off the tongues of his little birds.”

“Then Anna…?”

“I believe it was some sort of trial for her. If she succeeded, she would’ve soon lost her ability to speak. Mayhaps even Kurt would’ve bestowed with the gift.”

“And now?”

Jon’s face contorted as if he was feeling immense pain, “Now that I have intervened, their futures have taken a different turn. I think none of the siblings will be alive to see the end of the week.”

Jon took in the pale and horrified faces of his friends and let out a mirthless chuckle, “Welcome to the game of thrones, lads. You either win or you end up dead in this game.”

“He is going to kill them? Just like that?”

“Aye, he won’t be leaving any loose ends behind. As Anna failed to deliver the message, he will definitely know about that when he follows it up. He hadn’t met with her in his normal attire, he had taken up a guise. I am sure that I have seen the man, who gave Anna the scroll, lurking around the Throne room, he may change his face, but he cannot change his stature and figure.”

Robb too had a very disturbed look on his face, “Can’t we save them? Now that we know they are in danger, we can try to get them out of the city.”

“No, we can’t, brother. Either he already knows about our interactions with the siblings, or he is going to find out soon. We will be under his scrutiny. If we even take a step towards protecting them, he will end the whole family sooner rather than later. In addition, we will become his main source of interest than just being a passing annoyance. Do you want a man like that to look closely into our affairs? Think with a cooler head, Lord Stark’s excuse of my being his bastard is very fragile. Nobody looked closely at it after the entirety of Westeros went through an upheaval. If a child of ten name-days old can discern the truths from the accounts of a few tomes and few leaps of logic, how much time do you think these seasoned players of the game will take to know about everything. We cannot risk it…I cannot risk it.”

“Yet you sang in front of everyone, just like him.” Asher threw out the accusation, he couldn’t swallow the lump that was forming in his throat by the mere thought of knowing that those children they just spent some time with would be dead in a few days.

“Aye, I did sing. Just so it will get Varys to confirm from his sources that Lady Anya indeed made us take singing lessons. That would give the children a few more days to breathe I hope. Also, I wanted to do something for them, as it was because of me they are now facing certain death. I cannot give them money without just cause, so I thought a few songs could be a nice send-off.”

“Can’t Lord Bloodraven tell us who this person Varys is contacting? That way we could have something over his head and make him spare these children.”

Jon shook his head sadly, “The lack of Weiwood trees down the Neck limits his powers something fierce. The last time we talked was when we were staying at the Greywater Watch.”

“Promise me something, Jon,” Robb said after a while.

“What?”

“You will have revenge in the names of all these children.”

“Aye, brother.”

The four stood rooted at their place, looking out at the Bay. Each was lost in thoughts.

[CotW]

The tavern owner was very busy catering to the people who came to the Capitol for the King’s tourney. It was time for business owners like him to see a rise in profit than the usual earnings at the end of the month. He had seen all kinds of men coming through the doors of his tavern. Some just kept to themselves, some were of the rowdy bunch. He certainly didn’t think otherwise when four young lads came in and ordered for a cup of ale each.

Just as he handed them their order, the lads raised the cups and one of them said “To Anna and Kurt.”

The other three repeated the same and they emptied their cups in one go. He thought it was odd that young men such as them drinking to the memories of someone. Who could they possibly have lost at such a young age?

He didn’t have time to think some more on it as another patron demanded his attention.

---

 

Robb and Asher went to take their seats in the viewers’ gallery. They had found out that their seats had been reserved in the box just beside the Royal box. No doubt that the King or mayhaps Lord Hand had to do something about that. The two of them took their seats and waited for the first event of the tourney to commence. It was the archery competition, Jon and Torrhen had both enlisted their names for it.

“Why, greetings, My Lord Stark. I have been meaning to have a chat with you.”

A man stood beside them in excessively fine attire. He was tall, had black hair and blue eyes. He looked somewhat as a young Robert Baratheon might have appeared in his glory days. Robb and Asher stood up to greet the lord.

“Greetings, My Lord…Renly Baratheon, I presume?”

“You presume correctly, My Lord. May I?” He indicated the seat beside the duo.

“Of course, it would be our distinct pleasure to have a chance to talk with you. Kindly allow me to introduce my friend, Lord Asher Forrester, of Ironwrath.”

Renly gave a cursory nod to Asher, “Of course, another member of your famous Wolfpack. Where are the rest of the pack members, My Lord?”

“Lord Torrhen and my brother Jon are getting ready for the archery competition, My Lord. They both decided to take part in it.”

“Ah, the White Wolf is an accomplished archer then?”

Robb smirked at that, “He tries to do his best, but among all these other experienced competitors, I don’t know how he would fare.”

Renly was apparently waiting for the conversation to turn that way, he leaned forward in his seat eagerly, “Care to put some wagers in, My Lord? Let’s put some interesting spin on the tourney for us spectators.”

As if he was summoned by the mere mentions of money, Little Finger’s face loomed between them from the seat behind.

“Ah, it seems I arrived just at the right time. Greetings, My Lords, what is this I am hearing about wagers?”

“My Lord Baelish, just the man for the occasion. Lord Robb here has just agreed to put in a little wager for the archery competition.”

Little Finger’s eyes shone at the prospect, “I hope you do not mind if I put my little contribution to the pot then, My Lords?”

“Of course not. I will put in ten Dragons for Wallis, he is a captain of my retinue and quite the archer, the man is.”

“In that case, I will match your ten Dragons with mine, but I bet that Ser Hugh of House Pryor from Vale will emerge as the winner. I have heard quite a praise for the young knight’s abilities.”

Robb pulled out his pouch of money from his pocket, “I will put in two Dragons to the pot, My Lords, I will be, of course, betting on my brother to win.”

“Just two dragons, My Lord?” Baelish smirked mockingly at Robb.

“Aye, My Lord Baelish, our lord father had instilled into us that we shouldn’t spend what we didn’t earn. The money I just wagered is the money I had earned as the normal wages as any commander at the Northern army.”

“Ah yes, I should have known that Lord Eddard would be quite honourable and strict like that,” Baelish said that as if it was a mark of idiocy.

“Is not it, My Lord? After all, it is our honour that helps us to rise to the occasion.” Robb said with a straight face.

Asher couldn’t help but let out a snort as he turned his head away from the conversation and looked at the field. Little Finger narrowed his eyes and sat back in his seat. Renly seemed to be oblivious of everything else that didn’t concern him.

“You do not plan to enter any of these events yourself, Lord Robb?”

“We all will be taking part in the melee.” Robb saw from the corner of his eyes that Little Finger perked up hearing that bit of news, he stored it away to visit later, “How about you, My Lord Renly?”

“I am not much of a fighter on foot, I am afraid, but I do plan to take part in the jousting. We each have our strengths lie at different places, don’t we? Won’t you be taking part in the jousting?”

“Neither of us have decided yet on that. We do practice at the tilt back at home, but in the North, there is very little use of jousting.”

“Ah, yes, up there, all you have to deal with is either the savage wildlings or a few Ironborns. Is it true, My Lord, that the wildlings wear animal skins and fight with sticks?”

“Many of them do, aye, but even the stick-wielding savages can be very hard to beat when they come at you all at once, in countless numbers and from all directions.”

“Yes, I am sure they are quite hard to beat.” Renly smirked at him, Robb could hear Little Finger snorting from behind them.

Their conversation came to a stop when the Royal family entered the Royal box and took their seats. King Robert was already in his cups, he thrusted his hand out for his Lannister squire to put a cup of ale in it while he signalled the herald to start the competition.

[CotW]

Jon and Torrhen were waiting at the pavilion with the other competitors. They were provided with a longbow each and a quiver of arrows. Jon took a measure of their fellow competitors as he waited. Most of them were of the ranks of captains of the guards, only a handful of lords and knights seemed to be taking part in the event. Apparently, these Southerners do not put much stock into archery. Jon turned his head to see Torrhen was pacing a little ahead of him.

“Nerves getting to you, Torrhen?”

He nodded his head.

“What would Harrion and Eddard have said if they saw you like this in one of our hunting sessions?”

Torrhen frowned at that, “They would call me a little bitch and tell me to quit it.”

Jon smirked at him, “Do you want me to call you a little bitch then?”

“Do that and the Maesters will have to remove an arrow out of your arse.”

Jon laughed, “There you go. No need to be so agitated, brother. Just think as if we are back at the forest of Karhold, and your brothers have wagered about who will bring the biggest game back to the keep.”

Torrhen nodded and stood beside Jon with his back straight. The nervousness had gone from his body completely.

It was then the herald announced the commencement of the event with the King’s blessings. The crowd roared as the competitors took to the field. All were supposed to shoot at the target at fifty paces. Then, the distance would increase by ten paces per level as they eliminate those who had failed to get a bullseye.

“What do you think, Jon? Show off or just stick to the normal.”

Jon thought about showing off a little bit, but then, his uncle’s voice came to his mind ‘do not disrespect the skill of others and the labours they have put to hone those skills.’ He shook his head –

“Stick to the normal, it’s not worth showing off.”

Of sixty competitors, five were eliminated in the first round. Slowly, the rounds progressed and more followed suit. At the end of eighty paces, only five competitors remained – Jon, Torrhen, Wallis, the captain of the guards of Lord Renly’s retinue, Ser Hugh Pryor from the Vale and Ser Balon Swann from the Stormlands. Jon had no problem hitting the target at ninety paces. Torrhen too had hit his own with relative ease. Wallis hit the outer ring and Ser Hugh edged out Ser Balon by a hairbreadth margin. The three advanced to the final round of the competition.

A smattering of applause rang out as the three finalists were announced. Ser Hugh was the first to step up to take his shot. He took his time to line his shot but it was still out of the bull.

Next was Torrhen, his shot too landed outside of the bull but to the right, as oppose to Ser Hugh’s shot.

Jon cracked his neck before he took his stance. Inevitably, his arrow landed right in the middle of the bull. The herald was not needed to declare who the winner was of the archery competition, cheers and applause broke out throughout the viewers’ gallery. Jon turned around and sent a wink at Torrhen. He snorted in answer and shook his head. As Jon came near he leaned and said –

“Want to make it more interesting, Snow?”

“What do you have in mind, Karstark?”

“Ten stags say that you can’t land it at the same spot again.”

Jon raised his eyebrows in incredulity, “Really? You challenge me to that after our training sessions every day?”

“Humour me, then.”

Ser Hugh, the handsome, auburn-haired knight from the Vale, had heard their conversation, now he stepped up to the duo, “I would like to be a part of this wager too if you don’t mind me, My Lords.”

“My good Ser, my friend Lord Torrhen here seemed to has lost his mind. Please, do not get dragged into his idiocy.”

“Don’t tell me that you are afraid, Snow.” Torrhen egged him on.

Jon scowled at him, “Oh, I am going to enjoy spending your money, Karstark.”

They flagged down the herald who was about to announce the winner of the event and end it. When they told him of their wager, the herald looked at them as if they had lost their minds, but he shrugged and went to do his duty.

“Your Graces, My Lords and Ladies of Westeros, it seems our three finalist archers have made a wager between themselves. Lord Karstark and Ser Hugh have challenged the White Wolf to shoot at the bull once again, at which, young master Snow had accepted the challenge. With His Grace’s permission,” the herald turned towards the Royal box, King Robert waved his hand eagerly, he wanted to see what his friend’s son can do, “Jon snow will once again take his shot to the target.”

Jon took his stance once again, he readied the bow, took his aim and released the arrow. Just as he had done all those months ago at Winterfell, at another wager against Theon Greyjoy, his arrow had split the shaft of the previous arrow and drove the arrowhead further into the target and stuck right at the dead centre.

[CotW]

Lord Arryn had his eyes bulging out of their sockets, Ned’s boy was more than an impressive marksman, no, he was a gifted archer.

“Jon! Jon, did you see that? Hah, that was Ned’s boy, Jon! What the fuck did he feed that lad?” Robert guffawed loudly.

[CotW]

Renly Baratheon had his jaws dropped almost to the floor. Hitting the bull at hundred paces was the norm, many accomplished archers could perform the feat in their best days. But splitting the previous arrow in the half and landing the next arrow at the same spot? Jon Snow had created legend on this day.

The Forrester boy spoke up then, “I believe that makes you the winner of your little wager, My Lord Robb.”

“Aye, My Lord Asher, I believe you are correct.” Robb Stark turned towards them.

He and Little Finger handed over the coins to the lad. He bounced the pouches on the palm of his hand and smirked at them.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, My Lords. Now, if you will excuse us, we want to go down and congratulate my brother.”

Renly nodded his head woodenly.

Robb Stark turned back before leaving the box, “Oh, and My Lord Renly?” He turned to look at him, “My brother had pushed himself, as well as us, beyond our limits so that we could return home to our families after battling a few stick-wielding savages at our age.”

Renly grimaced as Robb Stark left the box. Little Finger’s head once again loomed beside his own, “What do you think, Lord Renly?”

“Just that the Bastard of Winterfell is truly something else.”

“Isn’t he? How very interesting.”

[CotW]

The herald shook himself off the shock, he cleared his throat and announced, “Your Graces, My Lords and Ladies of Westeros, may I present to you the winner of the archery competition of the King’s Tourney – Jon Snow of Winterfell!”

The crowd broke out in an even louder cheer than before. Jon approached Torrhen with a slight scowl on his face, “I thought we were not showing off, Torrhen?”

Torrhen replied to him petulantly, “But I wanted to show off my brother’s skills, Jon.”

Jon shook his head in consternation.

“My Lords,” they turned around to face the smiling Vale knight, “Lord Royce has told us all about the Wolfpack, but I wanted to see for myself. You were much more than his words, Lord Snow.” He extended his right arm to Jon.

Jon grabbed the knight’s forearm, “I thank you for your kind words, Ser, but I am no lord.”

The knight leaned forward and whispered to him, “My honorific was not for your birthright, Lord Snow, but your skills.”

Jon nodded his head in acceptance with a smile. They approached the Royal box together. King Robert was on his feet and clapping like an excited child. As they reached the box, he leaned over the railings and extended his hand for Jon to grab and shook his hand enthusiastically.

“Hah, Ned’s boy! You showed them all, didn’t you, lad? Jon!” He turned to speak to the Lord Hand, “Jon, you’ve got to send a raven to Ned immediately. You tell him that he has done great by his sprogs. What a display! What a display!”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Lord Arryn bowed to the King and gave an appreciative nod to Jon.

The herald announced the second place winner for the purse of five hundred Gold Dragons, Ser Hugh Pryor of the Vale, then the winner of the archery competition and the purse of a thousand Gold Dragons, Jon Snow of Winterfell. Chants of ‘White Wolf’ boomed from the galleries. Jon bowed first to the Royal family and then to the audience.

Robb and Asher had caught up to them by then, both were smiling from ear to ear.

“What made you take the second shot, brother?”

“Blame that on Torrhen. The idiot egged me in a wager.”

“Well, I won’t be blaming him anytime soon, for a little wager has fattened my coin purse quite a bit today.”

“Eh?”

Asher cackled like a mad man, “Robb here has lured the King’s brother and the gelded lord into a wager about the competition and won quite a bit from them.”

The four laughed their way out of the ground.

---

 

Jon had warned the others off of excessive indulgence of food and wine at that evening’s feast. As they all would be taking part in the melee the next day, he told them to stick to their usual meals. As was the previous day, the tables were set according to the kingdoms. But once the feast started, people began to mingle among themselves. Jon was called to join different tables, all wanted to know how he had managed the feat he showed earlier the day.

Soon, the feast ended and bards and musicians took their places. The floor was cleared for dancing. The four were standing by a corner watching the festivities and talking among themselves in low voices.

“My Lord Snow, I had hoped to find you here somewhere. We still have to settle our little wager.”

Jon turned to see Ser Hugh approaching them with a beautiful lady on his arm. She had a slender build, wavy red hair and expressive green eyes. Her features matched that of the knight, Jon guessed them to be related to each other. The lady seemed to be taking a measure of him in appreciative eyes.

“Ser Hugh.” Jon and the others bowed to the knight and his lady. The knight returned the gesture while the lady curtsied.

“Allow me to introduce the lady, My Lords, this is my younger sister, the lady Madelyne Pryor.”

Madelyne chuckled mischievously, “You do not need to introduce the Wolfpack, brother dear. Everybody is already quite familiar with the Northern wolves here.” She turned towards the four and unerringly addressed each of them with her hand extended, “My Lord Robb, the eldest son and heir of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell,” Robb took her hand in his and placed a kiss on the air above her knuckles, “My Lord Torrhen, son of Lord Rickard Karstark of Karhold, My Lord Asher, son of Lord Gregor Forrester of Ironwrath.” Each of them greeted the lady with a kiss above her knuckles. Then she turned her eyes towards Jon, “And finally, the White Wolf, Protector of innocent, the Sword of Justice – Jon Snow of Winterfell.”

Jon took her hand and placed a kiss, he looked up to her beautiful face hallowed by her auburn locks, “Do not believe in all those titles, My Lady, they exaggerate.”

Madelyne smirked at him, “There needs to be a base of truths for people to build up the exaggeration on them, don’t you think so, My Lord?”

“I cannot refute that argument, My Lady, but please, I am no lord.”

The lady raised one of her delicate brows, “You allow my brother to address you so, won’t you extend me the same courtesy?”

Jon sighed, “Ser Hugh is very generous, but you must call me Jon, for truly, I am not a lord.”

Madelyne’s lips curved upwards in a smile, “If only you call me Madelyne.”

Jon shook his head, “That won’t be proper, My Lady.”

“That remains to be seen, My Lord Jon. Will you kindly escort me to the dance floor? I am having a sudden urge to dance.” She didn’t give Jon a chance to form his reply and stirred him towards the dance floor where already various lords and ladies gathered and dancing to the tunes the musicians were playing.

Madelyne drew herself closer to Jon as they took up their position, “There are quite a few ladies who would kill to be in my place right now.”

Jon smiled down at her.

“Why do I have the feeling that you do not believe me, Lord Jon?”

“Because for a bastard like me, that is indeed quite unbelievable, My Lady.”

“Then I am afraid to say, you know nothing, Jon Snow.”

[CotW]

Jon’s friends stood with open mouths as Lady Madelyne almost forcefully dragged Jon off to the dance floor. Asher scowled at their retreating backs and said –

“You know, it is getting truly irritating the way the ladies seem to see only Jon. Against him, we all appear as if stale pieces of bread to them.”

Ser Hugh let out a rumbling laughter hearing that, “Kindly excuse my sister, My Lords. She has been quite insistent that I introduce her to the White Wolf once she saw us conversing at the tourney ground.”

Robb smirked, “It is not only your sister, Ser Hugh. The same thing happens everywhere we visit. Poor Asher here is heartbroken that the ladies don’t even give him a second glance.”

“Fuck you too, Stark. It is not as if you do any better.”

“Wylla Manderly, Sara Umber…”

“Will you two please grow up?” Torrhen said exasperatedly.

“Oh, look who is talking, do you remember Dacey Mormont and how she never looked beyond the White Wolf, Torrhen?”

The Vale knight was wheezing for his breath, never in his life had he laughed so hard. He couldn’t wait to tell the tales of the Wolfpack to the other Vale lords and knights.

---

 

The Wolfpack got up early in the morning as opposed to the other lords who had partaken in the feast the previous night. They got out of their chambers ready for the day and took to the yard for their training session. Jon led them through a relatively lighter workout session to get rid of the kinks and get themselves fit for the melee. After a lighter morning meal, they rode out of the city with a few men and went into the Kingswood. Even the previous evening, they were swarmed with requests from various lords to see the direwolves. Jon thought they could get the wolves early in the day and then leave them with the troop where they would be looked after while they were in the arena.

Ghost and Grey Wind had felt the presence of their companions, they came barrelling out of the woods as the four and Arthur got down from their horses. They knocked Jon and Robb down on the ground and started to lick them all over. Running free into the woods had been a blessing for the wolves as they appeared to have grown since the last time they saw them. Gale and Munnin had visited them discreetly at their rooms, but they were only able to maintain contact with the wolves through their warg bonds. Now, both cousins were delighted to sink their fingers into the soft fur of their four-legged companions.

“They have gone even bigger!” Arthur’s astonished voice made them stop rolling on the grounds with the pups.

Robb smirked at the man, “You haven’t seen their parents, Ser Eric. Grim, their father, is almost as tall as the horse you rode in, while Iss, their mother, mayhaps a little smaller than that, but still quite big.”

“Aye, and they will grow just as big as their parents.” Jon added to that. Arthur could only shake his head at the idea of the giant beasts.

After much pitiful whining and whimpering, accompanied by puppy eyes, they managed to put on the collars and leashes they had brought with them, Ghost and Grey Wind shot them looks of utter betrayal that they were now leashed. They had to do that lest any lords or ladies objected to them roaming free and caused unnecessary troubles for them.

[CotW]

They had come to meet with Tyrion as they were entering the tourney ground. The little lord of Casterly Rock was very impressed by seeing the direwolf pups. The wolves also had taken a special interest in Tyrion as they circled and sniffed at him.

“I hope they don’t think me of a very juicy piece of meat.” Tyrion had gone rigid and said through clenched teeth.

“No, My Lord, they are trying to decide if you are a friend or foe.” Jon tried to assure him.

True to his words, the wolves started to lick Tyrion from head to toe. Jon tried to stifle his laughter as he and Robb dragged the wolves off of Tyrion. The man was drenched in drools with his hair sticking out every odd way.

“Thanks for the bath, I reckon.” Tyrion said irritably as he wiped the slobber off his face and threw a nasty glare at the wolves, who just kept looking at him innocently with their tails wagging and tongues lolling out of their mouths.

A small congregation of the nobles had gathered around them by then, none of them had seen a direwolf, only had read about them. They were shocked to hear that the beasts in front of them were still pups, and yet, they are bigger than the biggest hounds they had seen. Lord Royce once again started to speak about their mother as to how the she-wolf was almost as big as a horse.

“Oh, my!” the feminine voice made Jon turn his head. He saw Lady Madelyne clutching her chest as she approached them along with her brother.

“Ser Hugh. My Lady.” Jon bowed to them.

“Lord Snow.” Both the siblings gave him a nod, their eyes were glued to the wolves.

“I have heard Lord Royce’s tales, but to see them with my own eyes is truly something else.” Ser Hugh said.

“Truly, brother. And you say they are still pups?” Lady Madelyne asked Jon.

“Aye, My Lady. They are but a few months old.”

Madelyne nodded her head, “Which one is yours, Lord Jon?”

“The white one, his name is Ghost. The other one is my brother’s companion, his name is Grey Wind.”

“I should have known, a white wolf for the White Wolf. You chose your pet wisely.”

“I didn’t choose him, rather, he chose me, and Ghost isn’t my pet, he is my friend.” Jon scratched the wolf behind his ears, earning him a tail-wagging, “Do you want to pet him, My Lady?”

Madelyne raised an eyebrow, “That depends, do you mean the four-legged wolf or the two-legged wolf?”

Jon’s ears had turned red, “Ah…”

Madelyne laughed seeing Jon squirm, “Forgive me, My Lord. That was a poor jest. I would be honoured to get acquainted with Ghost.”

Jon was oblivious of the triumphant look Madelyne sent to the other ladies who had gathered around to watch the wolves by then. The previous evening, many of them had approached Jon for a dance, while he didn’t refuse anyone, Madelyne still managed to keep Jon all to herself for most of the evening. She ran her fingers through Ghost’s fur and laughed in delight.

“He is so soft.”

“Aye, that he is.” Jon gave his friend a fond smile.

“You are taking part in the melee, aren’t you, Lord Jon?”

“Aye, My Lady, all four of us will be taking part in it.”

“And what about the joust?”

Jon ran a hand through his hair, “We haven’t decided yet.”

Madelyne nodded to herself, “In that case, would you accept my favour, Lord Jon?”

Again, Jon’s ears and neck had gone red. He sent a glance at his armband. He looked up to see at the sparkling green eyes of Madelyne and gave her a small smile, “I would be honoured to, My Lady.”

Madelyne gave him a dazzling smile and brought a green silk ribbon from the folds of her dress. She tied it at Jon’s wrist.

“I will be cheering for you, White Wolf.”

Jon looked on as Madelyne made her way back to the stands escorted by her brother. Ser Hugh had told them that he would come and join them in the participants’ pavilion after he got his sister seated.

Asher sighed and asked Robb, “Do you think we should ask Grey Wind and Ghost for their favours?”

Robb shook his head, “I am quite sure that they would choose Jon instead.”

[CotW]

Melee was the other most popular event of a tourney after the jousting. It was taken as mock fighting on a battlefield, where the losing party was expected to honour their losses and not attack his opponent again once his back was turned. Still, instances were there of personal grudges, where men had been hurt bad or maimed because their opponents didn’t adhere to the unwritten laws of engagement in a melee. Nobody got blamed for any unethical attacks, but many a time, feuds between families or houses have been escalated by the outcome of a melee.

Almost all of the visiting lords and knights took part in the King’s melee. The crowd cheered along as the herald named each of the participants. Three of the White Cloaks had also decided to take part in the melee – Ser Mandon Moore, Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Jaime Lannister.

The Northern troop had taken to stomp on the ground as each name of the Wolfpack was announced, when it was Jon’s turn, the always quiet Ghost had howled loudly along with the chants of ‘White Wolf’, making cold shivers ran down the spines of the other participants.

“Stick together,” Jon had told his friends, “watch each other’s backs. Do not engage in one to one combat at the beginning, let the herd thin somewhat, then choose your fights wisely. Keep in mind that these are some of the best warriors the kingdoms have to offer. Also, they are far more experienced than us. Keep your heads in the fight, do not unnecessarily put yourselves in danger.”

At first, the Wolfpack kept to the outer ring of the mayhem. They kept watch for any incoming attacks, some of the lords and knights had banded together just like them and fought in groups. They had gotten into some skirmishes and quickly dispatched their opponents. Slowly, the crowd began thinning and each had drifted apart. Jon had just won against a lordling, who he thought to be a Crakehall or some other lord’s relation when he was challenged by four individuals bearing the sigil of twin blue towers on a silver background. The four had the same features – watery eyes, weak chins on rather weasely faces.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Bastard of Winterfell.” One of them sneered at Jon.

“Aye, My Lord, may I know whom I am addressing?”

“Ser Rodric Frey, son of Lord Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing.” The man said pompously.

Jon nodded, “Very well, Ser Rodric, shall we fight?”

“Not so fast, bastard, you have made quite a nuisance of yourself. Many have exclaimed the desire of how they would like to teach you a lesson.” The one on the right said.

“Yes, how dare you put your bastard hands all over the Lady Pryor?” Another Frey chimed in.

“We will teach you the lesson of what happens when you reach above your station.”

Jon understood that their using of the name of Lady Madelyne was just an excuse, these four were itching to pick a fight with him – either they had some hidden motive or someone else had put them up to this. By their demeanour, it was clear that they didn’t want to fight fair and pit skill against skill, rather, they were not averse to the idea of causing him some serious wounds. Jon decided that if it was fighting they were seeking, then he would give them the fight to remember.

The one who called himself Rodric Frey had thrusted his sword at Jon’s chest, Jon ducked down and let the sword went over his head. Suddenly, he jumped up and kicked the knight in the chest with both feet, sending him reeling to his friends as Jon himself landed on his back a few paces away. He scrambled on his feet and got ready for any retaliatory attack, keeping his eyes peeled for a suitable weapon other than his blunted tourney sword that could discourage the four before him from doing what they were planning to do.

The Freys clumsily freed themselves from the entangled mess of limbs and got to their feet. They rushed towards Jon with their weapons raised. Jon ducked and weaved between their attacks, his blunt sword wouldn’t have made any impact against their plate mail armours, but he had to be careful as his leather armours wouldn’t protect him from receiving bruises. He snatched a buckler up from the ground which was left behind by some other participant and got into a defensive stance. He got ready to fight dirty if need be against the weasels.

Jon ducked the first swing of the sword, he parried the next one from the man on his right and let his buckler bore the brunt of the thrust from the one on his left. He quickly shuffled his feet and jumped up and sideways while swinging down his sword towards the man in the middle. The man barely met the attack by raising his sword. As Jon landed on the ground, He felt as if his back was torn open by something, the fourth man had sneaked behind him and took a swing at his unprotected back.

Wolfblood roared into Jon’s ears. He could hear Ghost once again howling in the stands, Gale was high up in the air somewhere above him, he could almost hear her screeching. His familiars were furious and urging him to tear his enemies apart. Time seemed to slow down all around him. His eyes could see everything around him to their minute details, he could hear the heartbeats of the men around him, could smell the stench of sweat and blood.

Jon whirled around on his heel and faced the man behind. The man faltered at seeing the wolfish smile stretched across Jon’s face, his eyes appeared as twin, small purple flames. The man gulped in fear and again swung his sword at Jon, but this time, Jon blocked it with the buckler and pushed the sword away. He jumped up and kneed the man at his chest, making him take a couple of steps back. Only his chest armour had protected him from receiving any damage. Jon took a step forward and swung his left arm at his face, the buckler clashed against the Frey’s helmet and made his ears ring. Jon didn’t let up and pivoted on his right heel, again swinging the buckler at the man with the full momentum of his turn, blood and spittle flew from his mouth along with a couple of teeth as the buckler once again impacted against his face. The man crashed down on the ground. Jon stomped on his wrist holding the sword with his left heel, making him release the sword, and heaved a kick at his elbow, breaking it if the snapping sound that came was to be any indicator, the Frey was already unconscious the moment Jon landed the kick, so he was blissfully unaware of breaking his arm as well as losing his teeth.

The entirety of the attack lasted only a few heartbeats. The rest of the Freys stopped in their tracks seeing their brother get brutalized by the Northern bastard, they had thought him to be an easy fight, in addition to that, they had crowded him and attacked him four to one. They had heard the songs about the prowess of the White Wolf, but like so many other Southerners, they had taken them to be just exaggerated songs.

Jon dropped his sword and took up a blunted mace from beside the broken form of the fallen Frey. The three were startled when Jon started running towards them. He hurled the buckler and it sailed through the air and struck the man on the right in his guts, making him double over. Rodric, who was in the middle, took a swing at his head, Jon bent his knees and pivoted on his toes while letting the sword sail over his head. He grabbed the mace with both hands and heaved a mighty swing at the man’s back, denting the armour inwards and making the man crumpled on the ground. The last one looked at him with fearful eyes, he couldn’t decide if it would be better for his health to surrender or should he pressed on the attack. Jon took advantage of his indecisive state and struck him in the face with the pommel of the mace and broke his nose. He landed a kick at his middle and sent him on the ground. He took a step forward and let the mace fall down head first on his chest, knocking the winds out of his lungs. He kicked at his head and sent him away in the peaceful land of blissful unconsciousness.

The man at whom Jon had hurled the buckler had gotten his wind back, he took a look around to see his companions on the ground lying unconscious, he dropped his sword and raised his hands in surrender. “Mercy, My Lord.” He yelled getting down on his knees. Jon sneered at him and levelled his mace at his face –

“If you want to fight someone, do it with honour. Do not stand there boasting about it or try to employ any sneaky tactics, who knows, mayhaps somewhere down the road some insane bastard like me may take pleasure at caving your faces in.” He spat as the man fervently nodded his head.

Jon took a deep breath to get the bloodlust under control. He glanced around to see how the other members of the pack were faring. Torrhen was already out of the fight, while Robb was exchanging blows with Lord Berric Dondarrion and Asher was engaged with Lord Royce. As he watched, Asher fell prey to the more experienced Lord of Runestone.

“Lord Jon.” Jon turned around to see Ser Hugh approaching him with a smile.

“Ser Hugh.” He greeted the knight with a nod.

“Having fun, My Lord?”

“Aye. What about you, Ser?”

“It was rather entertaining for me too, yes.” He gave Jon a smirk, “Shall we, My Lord?”

“Aye, of course, Ser. But would you grant me the chance to take up my favoured weapon or shall we dance as we are?”

“I want the chance to boast that I have faced the White Wolf at his best. By all means, My Lord, take up your weapon.”

Jon nodded his head in thanks and picked up a sword in exchange for the mace. Both fighters got into their stances and started to circle each other, trying to find an opening for attack.

Ser Hugh took a few quick steps and lunged his sword at Jon’s left, unprotected side. Jon turned to his side and let the sword pass him by, he brought down his sword to strike the knight’s shoulder, but Ser Hugh was also quick on his feet, he too turned and made the attack a glancing blow against his armour. Both once again got back to their defensive stances and readied themselves for the next exchange of blows.

Finally, Jon was having fun in the melee. The encounter with the Freys had left a bad taste in his mouth. Ser Hugh had made up for that, being an honourable warrior who pitted skill against skill. They kept on with attacks and counter-attacks, probing at each other’s defences. Jon decided to finish the fight, he laid a trap for Ser Hugh. The knight fell for it and thrust his sword aimed at his shoulder, Jon crouched down slightly and the sword glanced over his left shoulder, he snaked his left arm around the knight’s right one with lightning speed and put pressure on his shoulder, making the knight go down on a knee. Jon put his sword at his neck –

“Do you yield, Ser?”

Ser Hugh let out a pained chuckle, “Yes, My Lord, I yield.”

Jon let the man’s arm go and helped him get up on his feet.

“I thank you, Ser, for providing me an apt challenge.”

“Yet I lost to you, Lord Jon.”

They grabbed each other’s forearms in a show of respect. The knight gave him a nod and made his way out of the ground. Jon looked around for his next opponent. He was shocked to see only four combatants left on the field – Lord Yohn Royce, Thoros of Myr, Ser Jaime Lannister and himself. His bout with Ser Hugh had taken a longer time than he realized.

The Red Priest was fighting with an alight sword or swords. Jon saw him discarding the charred remains of the sword he was using and took up another one as he approached him.

“Jon Snow, I have heard that you are quite a fearsome fighter.”

“I have heard the same, Priest. My lord father had told me how you were one of the first to breach the defences of the Pyke.”

Thoros nodded, “Let’s see how a warrior like Lord Stark has trained his son then, Snow.” He muttered something under his breath and spread something on the blade of the sword and it caught fire. He advanced towards him while whipping the sword in front of him. Jon had caught on to his tactics, his opponents always fell prey to the fear of fire. This enabled the Priest to capitalize on their fears and pressing on his attacks. Jon gave him a smirk, much to the Priest’s astonishment and also advanced with a steady gait.

After exchanging a couple of blows, Jon understood that the Priest was an average swordsman at best, it was his flaming sword that made him a formidable opponent to everybody else. Against Jon, the Priest’s only advantageous weapon had lost its edge, as Jon had no fear of getting burned. He stepped up closer to the Priest and made him falter in his retaliatory attacks. Within a few strikes, Jon had disarmed him and had his sword placed on the Priest’s neck.

“Do you yield, Priest?”

Thoros was looking at him with wide eyes, he mumbled something under his breath. Jon strained his ears and thought the Priest muttered the words ‘Azor Ahai’. He was worried if the Priest started to speak aloud, he pressed hard against his throat and growled, “Yield!”

Thoros raised his arms in surrender and said, “Yes, Jon Snow, I yield to you.”

Jon nodded and removed his sword from the man’s neck. He watched as the Priest made his way out of the ground while staring back at him with a calculating look on his face. He decided that he would need to have a chat with him, soon.

Jon shook himself off those thoughts and looked to see that Ser Jaime had won against Lord Royce. The Bronze Lord graciously accepted his loss and bowed to the knight before making his way out of the field. Jaime looked at Jon and gave him a smirk.

“Well, Snow, I didn’t think that you will last this long.”

Jon returned the man’s smirk with one of his own, “I often tend to surprise everybody, Ser.”

Jaime barked out a laugh, “Shall we dance then, Snow?”

“Just a moment, Ser Jaime.”

Jon hurried off to the side and picked another sword and swung, he clanged both of his swords against each other and nodded his head. As he got back to his place, Jaime raised an eyebrow at him –

“Dual wielding?”

“Aye, Ser. I need every advantage I can get against an opponent such as you.”

They both got into their stances and almost in unison, they had scratched a line before them with the point of their swords. Jaime again laughed as Jon smirked at him. Quick as a flash they were on to each other. Their swords were a blur of motion, only the metallic sounds of the swords let the viewers knew that the strikes were finding their marks. Jon knew that strength-wise, he was no match to Ser Jaime, so he had to rely on his speed from the beginning. The only fault with that strategy was that Ser Jaime was equally fast as him. They were exchanging blows without holding back and were having a great time at it. Both were laughing heartily if one of them pulled off a difficult manoeuvre or an equally difficult block.

Everyone in the stands was watching with awe as two of the finest swords of the realms going against each other. They all knew of Ser Jaime’s prowess, they all had heard about the White Wolf’s mastery with blades, it was a treat to all to see those two putting their skills against each other. The lords were amazed at the ferocity the duo were showing, the ladies were swooning at how heroic the combatants looked. Ser Arthur had a happy and proud smile on his face seeing his former pupil testing his current pupil.

Soon, inevitably, Ser Jaime proved that experience was a necessary factor in any fight, he had made Jon drop one of his swords and had him on the backfoot. After a while, Jaime had his sword pointed at Jon’s throat, both of them had bright smiles on their faces. Both had immensely enjoyed their bout. Jon was glad that he didn’t make it an easy win for Jaime. Jaime was glad that he had to put his all out to earn his win against Jon. No underhanded tactics, no taunts or boasts were exchanged between the two. They simply pitted skill against skill.

It took them all a few moments to realize that the fight was over. It was as if the entire audience were drunk by the display the two had shown. Everybody stood on their feet and started applauding the duo. Jaime and Jon bowed to them all and approached the Royal box. King Robert had forgotten about his wine for the entirety of their bout, he was sitting at the edge of his seat with a look of utmost wonder on his face. When the fight was over, he had let out an explosive sigh and laid back in his seat. A beaming smile shone behind his beard.

“Your Graces, My Lords and Ladies of Westeros, may I present, the winner of the King’s melee – Ser Jaime Lannister, the White Lion.” The herald’s voice sounded to all and sundry. Everybody cheered and chants of ‘White Lion’ filled the stands. As the herald opened his mouth to announce Jon’s name, Jaime raised his hand to stop him.

“Jon Snow, come forth.”

Jon looked puzzled as he went to stand before Ser Jaime.

“Kneel.”

A hush fell over the ground, all present were looking at the two with widened eyes.

“What are you doing, Ser Jaime?” Jon narrowed his eyes at the knight.

“I am just doing one of my duties as honourably as I can.” Jaime winked at him as he threw Jon’s own words back at him, “Now, kneel.”

Jon slowly got down on one knee. Jaime pressed the flat of his blade on Jon’s right shoulder, “Jon Snow of House Stark, do you swear before the eyes of Gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord and your King, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?”

Jon felt as if his throat was constricting, it was becoming hard for him to breathe. One of the fondest fantasies of his childhood days was being dubbed as a knight. Since the day he had learnt the meaning of the word ‘bastard’, since the day he started to realize the scorns he used to receive, he used to think in the confines of his room that one day he would show everybody who scoffed at him that he was something other than a mere bastard, he would show them all by becoming the fiercest fighter, a brave knight from the stories of old. Since then, his situation had changed, he had come to know of his legacy, his true identity, the charges that the Gods had thrusted upon his young shoulders. But among all these, somewhere in the deep recess of his mind, his desire to become a knight still lived. The dream that his childhood mind had latched on to, still thrived. And now, all of it was coming to fruition.

“I do.” Jon spoke in a choked voice.

Jaime lifted the sword and again laid it upon his left shoulder, “Then, in the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave,” with each sentence he uttered, he touched the opposite shoulders of the lad kneeling before him with the flat of his sword –

“In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women. Rise, Ser Jon Snow, the White Wolf, a knight of the realms.”

Slowly, Jon got up to his feet. His eyes were brimming with tears. He looked at Jaime and found that instead of the usual smirk, the knight had a serene smile on his face. He turned towards the herald and said –

“Now you may speak your piece.”

The herald cleared his throat, “Your Graces, My Lords and Ladies of Westeros, in the second place of the King’s tourney, may I present to you all, for the first time, Ser Jon Snow, the White Wolf.”

The crowd broke into an even louder cheer.

Notes:

I thought that I could finish the tourney in a single chapter, but that part of the plot ran away from me and became something entirely on its own.

Chapter 21: Who Let the Wolves Out? Pt. 4

Who Let the Wolves Out Pt. 4

Pebble, the seat of House Pryor of Vale – A few months ago

Ser Huge Pryor rode as fast as he could on his horse. He had gone out with a couple of his friends to the tavern for a mug of ale or two when a guardsman had found him and told him that his father was awaiting his presence at his solar. Hugh knew that it would be folly to keep his father waiting, thus he ended up pushing his horse to gallop on the road to the keep. He didn’t even slow down as he approached the gates to the keep. He jumped down from his horse and shoved the reins to the stable boy who came rushing and strode fast towards his father’s solar.

He stopped before the doors and took a deep breath centre himself. He knocked on the doors and waited for the raspy voice to bid him entrance to the room. He opened the doors to find his father sat hunched over his desk. A huge tapestry hung on the wall behind the lord’s ornate seat, depicting the sigil of House Pryor – A dark moon eclipsing a radiant sun on the background of dusty pink. His father, Lord Erskine Pryor’s pale skin stood in contrast to the pink colour of the tapestry. The lord was reading a scroll with utmost concentration.

Hugh stood before his father with his back straight, “You have called for me, Father?”

Lord Erskine didn’t raise his head from the parchment he was reading. His white, tangled mess of hair had obscured his lowered face. Hugh was aware of his father’s behaviours, he let out a small sigh and stood there waiting for his father to acknowledge him. He didn’t have the memories of his mother, but from what he had gathered from his older siblings, his mother was the beautiful lady of House Pryor. He had heard that their father had loved their mother very much, but since her passing, while giving birth to their youngest sister Madelyne, Lord Erskine Pryor had started to lose his mind. One could even claim that the lord was hanging from the edge of sanity by a single, frayed thread. He had refused to acknowledge his youngest daughter, he had his heir Nathaniel Pryor, and spare – Ser Scott Pryor, he didn’t care for any of his other children. It had been their oldest sister, Aurora, who had brought up the then three name days old Hugh and the babe Madelyne. Their older brothers were never very attached to their younger siblings. It had been Aurora who was there for them till her own marriage the year before. Since then, Hugh had tried to be there for his little sister, but he understood that he could never fill the place for the elder sister for Madelyne.

“The fat stag has sent an invite for another tourney.” Lord Erskine’s raspy voice broke Hugh’s rumination. He looked down at his father’s face. The lord’s dull, green eyes peered at him from underneath his matted hair.

Lord Erskine Pryor was a staunch ally of the Targaryen dynasty. When the Rebellion broke out, he had sent the bare minimum help at his liege lord’s order. Citing poor health, he had stayed behind while sending a distant cousin, an expendable one, to lead the small troop. He never acknowledged Robert Baratheon as the ruler of the realms. Much like the Targaryen loyalists, he had sent men to find any sign of Viserys Targaryen.

“The realm’s population are starving, but the stag doesn’t see anything beyond his decadence.” The lord of Pebble continued to mutter, “I would have scoffed at the invitation like all others we have received, if not for very interesting news reaching my ears. Apparently, this tourney is a ruse to lure out the Northerners from their frozen hell. Oh, I remember the whispers. How the Quiet Wolf snarled when the fucking lions slew the dragonborns. How he howled at the stag. Rumour has it that the bond of friendship is not as strong as it once was.” He started chuckling.

Hugh frowned as his father continue to monologue. It was indeed clear to him that after their mother’s passing, Lord Erskine had truly lost sanity. Hugh himself had never seen the Dragon King, but he had heard the stories about him. How in his last days King Aerys had succumbed to the madness, in his imagination, he always pictured his father instead of the Mad King.

“Yes, a new wolf has now entered the game. Eddard Stark’s bastard is becoming quite the warrior. If the songs and stories are true, the bastard – the White Wolf has already commanded an army along with his true born brother.” A look of derision flashed on Lord Erskine’s face as he continued to stare at his youngest son. “Imagine that, a mere boy who is yet to see his fifteenth name-days, leading an army…and I am cursed with an oaf of a son who is satisfied to beat the straw dummies.”

Hugh’s ears went red at the insinuation. He had earned his spurs after he had saved a settlement of smallfolk who were attacked by the Mountain Clans. He single-handed drove the raiding party and stood guard while his brothers arrived with the reinforcements. His brother Scott – normally ignorant of his younger siblings, were impressed enough that he had dubbed him a knight of the realms when they returned to the keep for his valour. 

“Father, I -”

“Silence!” Lord Pryor slammed his fist on the desk. “You think I don’t know what is going on in my keep? Do you think I don’t know where you went before I summoned you? You think I don’t know how the whore opens her legs to all that catches her eyes?”

There it was again. Hugh bit on his tongue to prevent himself from speaking. The hatred for Madelyne raised its head again. Aurora had trained their younger sister how to run a household with a strict but caring hand, and Madelyne flourished under those lessons. She truly became the Lady Pryor after Aurora’s marriage, dealing with every problem of the keep with a radiant smile on her face. But to their father’s sick mind, since she countered every problem with apparent ease, she must have been sleeping with the entire household.

“You will go to the Capitol. At least then you can brag that you fought against men instead of straw dummies. And the slut will go with you. I doubt that she will catch the eyes of the heir to the North, but the bastard might like to dip his cock in whores. Don’t bother to return, either of you. If the whore comes back – I will send her to the Silent Sisters, or mayhaps sell her to one of the whorehouses of Lys. At least that way I will see some money return to the coffer that has been spent to fed and clothe her. You” The Lord narrowed his eyes, he was panting from the long rant. Spittle flew from his lips “will either join some sellsword company to the east or the Watch, I don’t care. You will be executed if you return. Consider yourselves banished from my lands from the day you leave.”

Hugh had gone pale. He never had thought about the extent of their father’s hatred for the two of them. Being summarily banished? It hadn’t even occurred to him in his worst nightmares. What was he to do now?

“Are you still standing there? Get the fuck out of my sight!”

Hugh fled from the rooms. His feet swayed as he tried to walk down the corridor. He needed air. He needed time to think. No, he needed to find his sister.

[CotW]

He somehow made his way to the sept of the keep. He knew that Madelyne would be there to offer her evening prayers to the Seven. Like a drunkard, he reached the doors to the sept on swaying feet.

“Hugh! Brother, are you alright?”

A set of strong but feminine arms steadied him. He looked up to see the beautiful green eyes of his sister, widened with worries. Madelyne helped her brother to sit before the alter, with his back against the stone.

“Madelyne…”

“What is the matter, Hugh?”

Hugh told his sister about his meeting with their father. He told her about the decree their lord father had decided upon. He expected her to scream and rage, but a continuous silence from her startled him. He looked up to see her burning eyes.

“You do not appear to be surprised, sister.”

Madelyne sighed and sat against the stone wall beside her brother.

“You are right, Hugh, this doesn’t surprise me. For I have known this would happen sooner or later.”

“How…”

“Aurora sent me a message not so long ago. It was something she had surmised. It is not only our father who has been caught the madness.”

Hugh immediately knew who she was talking about. “Nate?”

Madelyne nodded her head. Their oldest brother had always taken pleasure in the way their father had behaved with them. His subtle encouragements or feeding to his hatred didn’t escape their notice either. Hugh sighed and rested his head against the stone.

“I can almost find the logic behind father’s madness. Madness it is, but more of a structural kind, derived from the grief of losing our mother. Thus his hatred for you and by association, towards me. What would make Nate behave in such a way?”

Madelyne let out a mirthless laugh, “Come now, Hugh. You are more observant than that. Our brother dear suffers from jealousy, fear and greed. He is jealous of you for your prowess with arms. He is afraid of me by the way the household staff listen to my orders. He is greedy, he craves for the power that you or I could wield in this Godsdamned keep.”

Hugh nodded his head. “Is Scott involved in this as well?”

“I think not, no. He is inherently lazy. Do not think that I am denouncing your skills, brother, but I have always thought that Scott only knighted you so that he can shirk off his duties towards you. As long as there are wine and women for him, Scott doesn’t care a whit about who is the ruling power of this little stretch of lands.”

Hugh let out a shuddering sigh.

“Why go to all this trouble then? They could have married you off and afterwards, could’ve made me take the Black. Why do this?”

“That is where the madness raises its ugly head, brother. Father wants us to suffer for all the imaginary wrongs we have done to him. My marriage or your taking the Black just so would have been too mundane for his palette.”  

“Since I am already banished, would it be held against me if I become a kinslayer?”

Madelyne frowned at her brother, “If only you are aiming to be executed or send off to the Wall and leaving me alone to fend for myself. Do not forget who our liege lord is. Honour and honour alone will be praised.”

“So what are we to do now?”

“We do as we are commanded. We will visit Kings’ Landing. We will establish contact with the Northerners, and then we will see.”

“And if this Stark bastard appears that he isn’t what he is famed to be?”

“Then we appeal to the Lord of Runestones. I am quite sure that an unjustly displaced knight and his sister will find a place in his court.”

Hugh nodded his head. It appeared to him that his sister possessed far more cunning than he. He got up to his feet and helped Madelyne up.

“So it just leaves us to prepare for our departure.”

“Yes, brother. And we have to depart as quickly as we can.”

Hugh peered down at his sister, he was sure that her devious mind had hatched some plots of her own. Madelyne smirked at him.

“Come on, brother. Do you not think that it was quite unwise for them to give free rein of their coffer to the very person they were trying to get rid of?”

His eyes widened, “Do you mean…?”

The light of the torches glinted on Madelyne’s emerald eyes. “Let us see, from very far away from here, how long can the lord of Pebble run his little fiefdom with an empty treasury. You and I will of course depart with nothing more than the clothes on our backs. But we need to pay a visit to our loving eldest sister on our way to the Capitol.”

A peal of vindictive laughter burst forth from the depth of the Sept.

---

 

Kings’ Landing , present time

“Ser Jon! Ser Jon!”

Jon paid no heed as he continued on his way towards the barracks. The others had already gone there to check on the men. The acolyte who had been running after him and calling him came to a stop beside him panting his lungs out.

“Ser Jon…I have been calling your name…” The man managed to state in between large gulps of air.

Jon blushed fiercely in embarrassment, he was yet to acclimate himself to people calling him by his new title.

“Pardon me, I was quite engrossed in my thoughts. What can I help you with?”

“Grandmaester Pycelle and Maester Luwin send for you, you have a raven awaiting you, Ser.”

“Of course, I will see them shortly. I thank you for bringing their message to me.” He nodded at the man.

Jon thought about continuing on his way to the barracks but then he remembered that Jojen Reed had told him that he would send him a raven to direct him towards the next destination and persons of interest during his stay at the Capitol. Deciding it was better to read the message, Jon changed his direction towards the Grandmaester’s turret.

“Jon!”

He turned around to see his cousin and friends approaching him.

“I thought we are to meet with the men together. Where are you going?”

“I was just informed that I have a raven waiting.”

Robb frowned as he came closer, “Who do you think sent the message?”

“Lord Reed. Jojen Reed had said that he will inform me about our next destination.”

“Mind if we come along?” Asher asked eagerly.

Jon smirked at them, “I was actually going to ask you to come with me. With all of us there, it will somewhat distract the Grandmaester from delve too much into my affairs.”

The four went up the tower and Robb knocked on the doors to the Maester’s chambers.

“Enter.” An old and whizzy voice came from within.

They trooped inside of the room to find Maester Luwin sitting opposite at the desk of the Grandmaester. The older man looked closely at the four that entered his domain. Jon could feel his eyes lingered on him the longest.

“Ah, My Lord Robb. Please, do come in. Have you met with the Grandmaester?”

Robb gave the Maester a short bow. “Good morning, Maester Luwin. I am afraid to say that I am yet to have the pleasure to meet the Grandmaester.”

“Of course, of course. Grandmaester Pycelle, kindly allow me to introduce you to Lord Robb Stark, eldest son and heir of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. His friends, Lord Asher Forrester, son of Lord Gregor Forrester of Ironwrath. Lord Torrhen Karstark, son of Lord Rickard Karstark of Karhold. And Jon Snow – pardon me, Ser Jon Snow, the White Wolf.”

The old man looked at Robb with his biddy, watery blue eyes. In a whizzy voice, he spoke –

“It is my honour to meet the future Warden of the North, My Lord Robb, also your friends and future bannermen. Kindly pardon me for not getting up to greet you. As you understand, my old age has robbed me of the agility of a younger man.”

Jon almost snorted out loud. He would have fallen for the Grandmaester’s spiel if he hadn’t met with his Uncle Aemon. That man was nearing his centennial name-days and despite having lost his sight, still quite spry for his age. And here was this pretender, younger than his uncle and pretending to be a derelict of a man.

“Ser Jon, I am to say it is indeed an honour to meet a warrior of your talent. Mastering dual wielding and standing against an experienced warrior like Ser Jaime at such a young age. I must complement Lord Stark’s rearing abilities of such fine men.”

Jon appeared to be the embodiment of humility. He almost bowed from the waist down and spoke in a low voice –

“I thank you for your kind words, Grandmaester. But it is my instructors back at Winterfell and Karhold who deserve the praise, and of course, Maester Luwin. He was wise and kind enough to encourage me to participate in his experiment which made me quite adept at dual wielding.”

“Ah, yes. Luwin was quite inspiring with his study in martial prowess. I am quite sure he will be acclaimed at the Citadel by the Archmaesters. But you should also prepare yourself for a thorough demonstration there.”

“Of course, Grandmaester. I will heed your advice. I don’t appear to be rude, but I was told that there was a raven for me?”

Pycelle gave him an indulgent smile, “It is quite alright, young man. I can understand that young men such as yourselves want to spend their time looking at the sights of the Capitol during the celebration time, rather than spending it indoors with old men surrounded by dusty tomes. Luwin, if you please?”

Maester Luwin bowed his head and got up to retrieve the message.

“I was quite surprised to receive a message from Greywater Watch. The reclusive Lord Reed doesn’t correspond quite so frequently.” He looked at Jon askance.

Jon looked over his head with a fond smile as if reminiscing of old times, “Aye, Lord Howland was our mentor during our stay at Bear Island. He became quite fond of us. Why, on our way here we stopped by at his keep and his son also became quite attached to us. I am sure the little Lord Jojen has insisted that he jot down a few lines himself in his father’s missive.”

Pycelle chuckled at that, “How right you are, Ser Jon. There are indeed two scrolls await you – one from Lord Reed and the other from his son.”

By then Maester Luwin had returned with the scrolls. He handed them over to Jon. The four bid them goodbye and was about to leave the Grandmaester’s solar when the old man spoke once again –

“Ser Jon, do try to come back another time. I have heard that you are quite the scholar yourself to hold your own against Lord Tyrion. I will be quite interested in your views on various subjects.”

“Aye, of course, Grandmaester. With your leave?”

They climbed down the stairs and came to a rather secluded corner of the yard, a little apart from the jostling crowd roaming about. After taking a discreet glance around to make sure that nobody was in the hearing distance, Jon asked his friends in a low voice, “What did you think of the meeting?”

Torrhen rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “It is quite clear that the old man reads every parchment that passes his hands. Also, it is very easy for him to lose a scroll or two and none will be the wiser.”

“Precisely, and…?” Jon looked at the other two.

Asher frowned, “His comment about Lord Tyrion clearly indicates that he also has eyes and ears around the keep, of not the entire city. Also, he is another remnant of the Mad King’s council…”

Robb stopped him, “Aye, but it is also rumoured that he is affiliated with the old lion of the rock.” He looked back at Jon.

Jon nodded, “Aye, all of you are correct. It also proves that Father was right when he said that this place is a viper’s nest.”

Jon opened the scrolls as the others closed in to read over his shoulders.

My dear Lord Robb, Lord Asher, Lord Torrhen and Jon,

I hope you are all faring well down South. I am sure that you are enjoying the time of your lives by experiencing the King’s tourney. Kindly excuse me for this sudden missive, but Jojen has become quite troublesome in his wants to send a message to you, Jon, which is attached in a separate scroll. I will not take much of your time from the festivities.

Do take care of yourselves and each other.

Yours,

Lord Howland Reed

Lord of the Greywater Watch

Jon snorted at the subtlety Lord Reed showed in his message. Any outsider would think that an exasperated father had finally given in to his son’s demands. He opened the next scroll –

Jon,

You won’t believe how much further I have progressed with the techniques you have shown me. I am yet to reach your level, but I practise daily, and the next time I see you, I am sure you will be amazed. Meera is quite angry with you that she didn’t get a chance to cross arms with you, but she and I are practising daily in the hope of one day stand up with the White Wolf.

Jon, you won’t believe what I’ve found on one of my excursions. There was a nest of rats. It was so high that it was almost like a tower. The grey-furred vermin have already burrowed under a lot of houses. Some of them carry a disease that could bring down even the mightiest of the beasts. When I told Father about it, he didn’t believe me at first. Then I showed him their nests. I wanted to burn their nests to the ground so the rats won’t spread the disease but Father says that if we can keep the diseased ones apart, the rest are quite useful for the soil. It is quite easy to find out the diseased ones, you know. They are strangely attracted to the greeneries. Father showed me how to lure them into a trap and cull them so that they don’t cause much trouble.

Father is getting impatient. He warns me that the longer my message is, the better the chance of it being heavy and getting lost from the raven’s claws.

Please write back to me.

Lord Jojen Reed.

“Um…” That was all any of them could say.

“What did he wanted to say exactly?” Asher scrunched his brows.

“I haven’t got the faintest idea.” Jon scratched his head, “I need to think more on this.”

A commotion at the gates broke them out of their reverie. As they kept watching, a group of men rode through the gates. At the front of the group, astride on a palomino was the lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Tywin Lannister.

Robb narrowed his eyes at the procession, “Huh, the old lion came quite late if he wanted to attend the tourney. What do you think, Jon?”

“I think he came himself to verify that the news is indeed true that his son had unearthed dragon eggs, and probably chastise him for generously donating them for the King’s coffer.”

Even if Tyrion didn’t talk about his family in so many words, Jon could make an image of what the dwarf had to endure in his own home. Apart from his aunt and Lord Tywin’s sister, the Lady Genna, none looked favourably towards the Imp of Casterly Rock. If anybody else ever thought of him as a human being, it was his older brother, Ser Jaime, but that man was always far from home, performing his duties as a member of the White Cloaks.

Jon’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt when his eyes fell upon the next person that rode through the gates after the retinue of Lord Tywin. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides. It felt as if his blood started to boil at the sight of the monster who robbed him of a mother’s love.

“Jon!” Robb hissed from his side and shoved his right hand behind his body, hiding it from the view.

Asher had done the same at his other side. “Calm down, brother!” he said.

Torrhen took a step to the side and stood in front of them, trying to further obscure Jon from general view. He didn’t even realize that his clenched fists had started to smoke. Jon closed his eyes and started to take deep, calming breaths.

“Thank you, brothers. It is becoming harder and harder to maintain control over the blessings of Lady Minerva the longer we have to stay at this fucking place. I can’t wait to get out of this city.” Jon sounded very tired.

“So, that is the Mountain that Rides, eh?”

“Aye, and the bastard is thinking about entering the jousting event.” Jon hadn’t taken his eyes off the said man.

“How can you tell?”

“Do you see the man riding beside him? He is some lord from the Crownlands and is in charge of overseeing the events of the tourney. I am quite sure that Clegane is talking to him about the lists.”

Jon turned around and started to go in the opposite direction from the men getting off their horses, he didn’t want to further test his control over his emotions. His friends followed along without any words.

In their hurry to get away, they almost didn’t see the man who was coming their way.

“Ah, Lord Robb, Ser Jon. I was hoping to meet you today.” Lord Jon Arryn smiled at them.

“My Lord Hand.” They bowed to the elderly man.

“I hope you pardon an old man of his follies that he couldn’t sit down and had a proper conversation with you. The King’s tourney always comes with a cartload of parchment works to complete.”

Robb smiled at him, “We do understand, My Lord. Father always says that duties must always be performed before anything else. And you taught the man.”

Lord Arryn chuckled at that, “Indeed. Good old Ned, it warms my old heart to learn that my foster son still remembers his lessons. Now, I must ask, do you have anything planned for the day?”

Jon put a hand on Robb’s back to stop him from speaking, “None, My Lord. I was just telling my brother, Lord Robb here, that I finally have decided to take part in the jousting. We need to find a capable smith who can commission a set of armour in such a short time. Other than that, we have nothing planned for the day.”

A thoughtful look took upon the lord’s face, “So you will need a finely crafted set of armours then.” He nodded to himself. “I may know such a man to whom you can order your armour, lad. Tell you what, meet me at my solar in an hour and I will give you the necessary information. That will grant me enough time to greet Lord Tywin and precious few moments to properly talk with you.”

“We cannot impose on your already busy day, My Lord.”

“Nonsense, lad. You do realize that as Ned’s foster father, you both are quite like my grandsons? Now, I will be remiss in my duties as a doting grandfather if I fail to entertain you with a few embarrassing stories of your father’s youth.” He smirked at the boys’ chuckles. “Now, please excuse me while I go and handle myself an old lion.” Lord Arryn nodded at them and walked off towards the Throne Room.

“Jousting, Jon?” Robb asked as soon as Lord Arryn was out of hearing distance.

“Aye.” Jon turned to look at Asher and Torrhen, “The two of you go and find the man I pointed out earlier. Make sure that he enlists my name for the jousting event. While Robb and I will meet with Lord Arryn and get the address of the smith. We will meet back at the barracks and visit the smith later. Alright?”

Both of them nodded and took off to search for the man.

“Let us go and put the messages from Lord Reed back in our rooms, and then go see the man about some dirt on father,” Jon smirked at Robb.

Robb could only snort at Jon’s remark.

[CotW]

The brothers stood before the entrance to the Tower of the Hand and scrutinized each other to see if they were presentable enough to sit down and chat with the second most powerful man in all of Westeros. They nodded to each other in satisfaction and told the guard standing before the gates that Lord Arryn was expecting a visit from them. The guard bowed to them and sent a word to the Hand about his guests. Soon, a household staff of Lord Arryn, probably his steward, came down to escort the brothers to the lord’s solar.

The steward announced them to the lord and bade them entrance. Lord Arryn was sitting behind his desk. But unlike the other day when they visited his solar, his desk was not overflowing with parchments, but a few food platters and pitchers of wine and ale awaited the lord’s guests. Lord Arryn greeted them with a smile.

“Ah, come in, lads. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” He indicated at the chairs before the desk.

The three of them partook in a small meal and talked about things. Lord Arryn entertained the lads by telling them about the misadventures of their father and his best friend, the now King Robert. He had asked the boys about their own fosterage and the events of the Skagosi invasions. Jon couldn’t help but notice that as their meeting nearing an end, Lord Arryn was becoming more and more sombre and thoughtful. Suddenly, he nodded his head as if coming to a decision and pull out a draw to search for something, while continuing to talk about various things about the Vale and Eyrie. Lord Arryn pulled out a piece of parchment, a quill and an inkpot and paused his monologue to take a sip of the wine. He also put a finger to his lips, indicating them to not make any sound. He kept talking while writing a few words on the parchment before pushing it towards Jon and Robb. Both of them leaned close to read the parchment, it read –

Kindly excuse the ruse, but in this keep, even the walls have eyes and ears.

The brothers frowned at each other. Jon pulled the parchment towards himself and wrote a word of his own –

Tunnels?

The four of them had gone out discreetly in the darkness of the night to explore the infamous secret tunnels of the Red Keep. They had roamed about the intricate network of tunnels underneath the keep and discovered that the tunnels connect all of the buildings inside of the keep, a hidden panel or a false tapestry were often hid the entrances to the tunnels. They even had come across a chamber where they saw a huge skull of a dragon, a remnant from the decorations of the Targaryen dynasty. It wasn’t out of the possibility that a man such as Varys could post one of his ‘little birds’ behind a wall to eavesdrop in private conversation. The brothers understood that Lord Arryn wanted to tell them something without anybody else being privy to the knowledge. They kept the conversation going while the real one happened on the parchment.

 - Yes, I am sure that clever lads like yourselves do not need to be prodded to keep this among yourselves.

- Of course, My Lord.

- I want you to visit the smithy of the Qohoric Tobho Mott. It will serve dual purposes of obtaining your armour, while also make you aware of some facts if you keep your eyes open.

- We will, My Lord. What are we to do after we gain the knowledge?

- I trust your judgement. Ned and your foster fathers have done a fine job in raising both of you. You are brave, honourable and clever young men. You will understand the urgency of all these when you visit the shop. If you are agreeable, then I must ask of you a favour afterwards.

The brothers again looked at each other, steely determination gleamed in their eyes.

- You have our words, My Lord.

Jon Arryn gave them a satisfied smile, he bowed his head in acknowledgement and heartfelt gratitude.

“Ah, it seems we have spent quite a while reminiscing about the old days. You must forgive an old man.”

“Not at all, My Lord. We have urged our father to learn about his childhood, but he always sidestepped our requests and instead told us about the misdeeds of our uncles and aunt. Now, we have quite a dirt on him. We simply can’t wait to tease him the next we see each other.”

Lord Arryn laughed out loud hearing that, “How true, how true. Now, I believe that I have promised you about the address of a capable smith.”

Jon nodded, “Aye, My Lord.”

“You will want to visit the Street of Steel. There is a shop of a Qohoric smith, named Tobho Mott. He is skilled enough to meet your requirements in such a short time. I am sure you will be quite happy with his works.”

“Thank you, My Lord, it is indeed very useful information.”

“Think nothing of it, my boy. Now, please excuse me, but I have to return to my duties. A Hand’s job is never done.” Lord Arryn crumpled the parchment and threw it in the embers of the hearth.

[CotW]

The Wolfpack made their way towards the Street of Steel. Jon had warned his friends about maintaining discretion –

“Fran nú á, ef þú þorfutilr mælumr hvatvetnsecretr, nýtatt gamallinn tunga.  Hvile vér gerði eigi wish fyrir þat, vér erum munu draggeð inn í quagmirerinn at er politics.” (From now on, if you need to talk about anything secret, use the Old Tongue. While we didn't wish for it, we are being dragged into the quagmire that is politics.)

They had told the others about their discussion with Lord Arryn on the way. Which made both Asher and Torrhen think hard about all the happenings.

“Hvat gerþúr hugsvérr munu vitár smithyrinn?” (What do you think we will find at the smithy?) Torrhen asked.

Jon sighed, “Ek gereigir veit, en ef lorð hönd var at insistent, þá ek em munu þat er eittsvat at munu knock oss eigi á ór okkarr fótr.” (I don't know, but if Lord Hand was that insistent, then I am sure it is something that will knock us off of our feet.)

The smiths had their wares displayed in front of their shops, waving pieces of armours and hawking about the properties of their crafts. Many lords and knights had crowded the street, looking through the shops before the commencement of the jousting. Following the directions, they have gotten from Arthur, they soon stood before the shop of the Qohoric smith. The burly man stood up from his stool and put down the piece of armour he had been polishing.

“Greetings, My Lords. What can Tobho do for you?”

“Greetings, master Mott. We were told that you are the man to see if we need quality armour in a short amount of time.”

Mott gave them a very wide, toothy smile, “You have come to the right place, My Lords. Come, come. Let Tobho show you his wares.”

As they went inside of the shop, Tobho turned towards the forge and hollered, “Gendry? Gendry, where is ya, boy?”

A young voice came from within, “Comin’, Master Mott.”

As the young man came through the doors, the four immediately became alert. If Renly Baratheon was said to look like his elder brother, the lad in front of them was the exact version of a younger Robert Baratheon, when he was fighting fit. Take away his beard, his flabs and gut, and the greyed hair, Robert and Gendry would exactly be the same. They tried to shake off the shock as the young man approached them.

“Ya called fer me, Master Mott.”

“Take measurements, My Lords need their armours ready as quickly as possible.”

As Gendry went back inside to get the tools for measurements, Tobho asked, “What do you desire for the decorations on the armour, My Lords?”

“Do you know your sigils, Master Mott?” Robb asked.

“Oh yes, My Lord. Tobho has lords and knights coming to his shop from all over the lands.”

“Do you know the Stark sigil then?”

“Yes, grey direwolf on a white field.”

Robb indicated for Jon to describe the designs he wanted to be on the armour.

“Do you know who I am, Master Mott?”

Tobho looked sheepish and shifted from foot to foot, “Tobho doesn’t recognize you, My Lord.”

Asher smirked, “This is Ser Jon, the White Wolf.”

Tobho’s eyes went wide hearing that, “Yes! Tobho knows of you! You are the White Wolf who battles bears and Ironborns and saves women and children. You fight with the White Lion!”

Jon smiled at the man, “Aye, Master Mott, I am that White Wolf. Now, for the armour…” Tobho nodded his head eagerly. “I want it to be of dark grey, with a white direwolf prominent on the chest. There should be black stripes on the sides. For the cape, again, dark grey with a white direwolf in the middle, with black borders. On the shield, I want it completely black, a white, snarling direwolf in the middle, and blue winter roses surrounding the wolf in a circle. Can you do that?”

Tobho appeared to be very excited, “Yes, yes, Tobho can do all that, Ser.”

“Very well. I will be needing the armour before the jousting begins. Now, how much do you want for your work.”

Tobho scratched his head, “Too little time for Tobho to work. But Tobho can manage that. Oh yes, Tobho can do it. You pay Tobho fifty Gold Dragons.”

Jon’s eyebrows went up hearing the price, “That is too steep a price, Master Tobho.”

Tobho put his right hand on his heart and spoke solemnly –

“All of Tobho’s works are guaranteed, Ser. You will find no better armour than what Tobho will create for you. It will be an art, for Tobho is an artist. And - ” Tobho leaned forward and whispered so that only the four could hear him, “Tobho will not make the White Wolf’s armour the normal way. Tobho knows how to work with Valyrian steel. Tobho can make the steel sing in his hands. Ser will have the best armour in town” He nodded his head sincerely.

Jon narrowed his eyes and looked intently towards Tobho. The big and burly man started to squirm under Jon’s gaze.

Jon hissed at him, “You mean to tell me that since you know how to rework Valyrian steel, you can make your wares the like of that venerated metal, from the lost lands of old Valyria. Do you take me for a fool, Master Mott?”

Tobho looked back at him indignantly, “Tobho does not think you fool, Ser. You White Wolf, you fight for the little people. Tobho is a little people. Tobho will honour the man who fights for the little people.” He turned to look outside of his shop at the roaming crowd, many of the lords and knights could be seen out there. “These lords, they come to Tobho’s shop and think Tobho is no better than the dirt of their shoes. They look down at Tobho. Only know that Tobho can work with Valyrian steel. Pah, they are the fools. They do not know smiths who can make steel sing. Tobho’s work speaks for Tobho.”

Once again Tobho looked towards Jon with fierce intensity, “Tobho gives White Wolf Tobho’s words. Ser honours Tobho, calls Tobho, Master Mott. Not Tobho, not smith. Tobho’s word is Tobho’s head. But Tobho is poor, Tobho cannot give Ser complete Valyrian armour, but Tobho has enough scrap from Tobho’s old home to make a small weapon. Tobho will give it to Ser. What do Ser want it to be?”

Jon didn’t know what to think, it was quite unbelievable what the man before him was telling him. He looked at his friends, they too appeared to be shocked, they could only shrug their shoulders. Jon decided to take a leap of faith.

“Very well, Master Mott. You will get your fifty Gold dragons, and if you are indeed serious about the small weapon, then -” Jon took out Freedom from his belt, “do you think you can make it like this axe?”

Tobho took Freedom in his hand for a closer inspection. After a few moments, he nodded his head like an excited toddler, “Oh yes, Tobho can. This is a beautiful axe. Smith can almost make it sing, but not quite. Tobho will make Ser better axe.”

Gendry had reappeared from the depths of the shop with his tools by then. He was standing aside and watching the interaction. When Tobho sent Jon his way for his measurements, the young man bowed to him and spoke in a nervous voice –

“Please don’ mind Master Mott, Ser. He ain’t quite right in the head. His family was butchered back at his home. He jus’ escaped with his life and tools of his smithy. When other lords and knights come to this shop, they get angry by his blabbering. But I can assure you, m’lord, Master Mott’s work is the best.”

Jon smiled at him, “Fear not, my friend. I didn’t mind. Tell me, does he really know how to rework Valyrian steel?”

Gendry’s eyes sparkled at the question, “Yes, m’lord, he does. I’ve been learnin’ from him. I can’t quite make my stuff like him, but he says I only need the practice to be as good as him.”

Jon smiled at that, “Earning praise like that from a man who has spent his entire life around a forge is a very precious thing, Gendry. You must be very good with your crafts. Would you permit me to see anything you’ve made all by yourself?”

Gendry frowned hearing that, he looked at Jon with calculating eyes, then nodded his head and motioned for him to follow, “If you'll step this way, m’lord.”

“I am no lord, my friend. You can call me Jon, or if you are not willing to do that, Ser Jon will suffice.” He started to look through the pieces of armours and weapons Gendry showed him that he had made by himself. “Where are you from, Gendry?”

Gendry shuffled on his feet and bowed his head, “I’m from Flea Bottom, Ser. Been born an’ grew up here. Me ma used to work in a tavern before she died, never knew me da. They call me a bastard. Gendry Waters is the name.”

Jon clapped his hand on the shoulder of the burly youth. He is built like an auroch – he thought to himself.

“I am a bastard too, Gendry. I never knew my mother. We are both alike in that sense. The only difference I see is that the Gods have taken care of my fate, whereas you have been cursed with negligence. But now we both can make something for ourselves with our own two hands. Won’t you agree? Here I am, a bastard, but made a knight by a member of the Kingsguard. And you, my friend, an aspiring master smith.” Jon’s eyes caught on a particular piece of armour, “Oh!” He approached and taken the said piece in his hands for a closer look.

It was a helm, beautifully crafted one. It was shaped like a bull’s head, completed with a pair of horns. The detailing of the helm was truly awe-inspiring. Jon understood that Gendry had spent quite a few painstaking hours crafting the helm.

Gendry had gone rigid when he saw Jon picking up the helm, “Pardon me, Ser, but that ain’t for sale.”

Jon took notice of Gendry’s slight stance of hostility and tried to placate him, “Peace, my friend. I do not want to buy this beautiful piece of equipment. It simply won’t help the image and the name of the White Wolf, don’t you think so?” He smirked at him.

Gendry snorted and shook his head.

“I take it you have made this for yourself?”

Gendry gave him a bashful nod.

“Do you practice with any kind of weapon then?”

“I try to wield maces and war hammers, Figured those’ll help with me strength. But I only know how to use a hammer as a blacksmith.”

“Do not be ashamed, Gendry, you are trying to learn, that is commendable. If things change, mayhaps you will get your chance of proper training.” Jon already could take a gander at what Lord Arryn was talking about when he said he might ask them for a favour. “Now, tell me, do Master Mott has any other helpers beside you?”

Gendry nodded, “Master’s got two more to help with his forge. Why d’you ask, Ser?”

“You are going to find out. Come with me.” He dragged Gendry back to the front of the shop where his friends were still looking through various weapons and armours and chatting with Tobho Mott.

“Master Mott, I understand that you have another two apprentices besides Gendry here?”

Tobho looked at him puzzled and nodded his head.

“Wonderful, I want you to work on my armour with your two apprentices. But Gendry will be doing something special for me.” He turned to look at the young man, “Gendry, my friend, do you think you can make me a beautiful helm like yours? I know the time is rather short, but I am sure you can manage that. After all, you are Master Mott’s prized pupil.”

Bewildered, Gendry could only stutter.

“Wonderful. I will come back on the morning the tourney commences then. And I will also add another ten Dragons over the price of the armour for the troubles I may have caused you, Master Mott.” Jon bowed to the man.

“Uh…what design d’you want the helm ta be, Ser?” Gendry still looked very confused about the entire situation.

Jon gave him a wolfish smile, “Why, a snarling wolf, of course.”

[CotW]

They had left the smith’s shop a while back and wandering idly about the Street of Steel. Torrhen was the first to broke the silence of the four –

“What the fuck is going on?”

Jon shook his head, “Þat appears at okkarr konungr var mjök busy.” (It appears that our King was very busy.)

The others snorted hearing that.

Asher was next to raise a question, “Gerþúr hugslorðr hönd meant fyrir oss til vitladrinnr?” (Do you think Lord Hand meant for us to find the lad?)

Jon scratched his chin in thought, “Aye, ek em quite munu at lorð arryn villjumk oss til vitgendryr.” (Aye, I am quite sure that Lord Arryn wanted us to find Gendry.)

“En hví munu hann viljatr?” (But why would he want that?)

Jon stopped at a shop displaying various daggers.

“Hugsumr þat, lads.  Konungrrinn hafar bastarð hiding inn kapitolrinn.  Hverr veitir hvernig mang ór hans kinder eru um þessi borg.  Hvat gerþúr hugsdróttninginnr eðhanar kind munu gertilr þessi threats til hankinderr ef þeir komtilr veit um þau? fran hvat ek óderstand, besides munu bastardr, gendry er robert's eldest kind.” (Think about it, lads. The King has a bastard hiding in the Capitol. Who knows how many of his children are about this city. What do you think the Queen or her family would do to these threats to her children if they come to know about them? From what I understand, besides being a bastard, Gendry is Robert's eldest child.)

Robb shook his head, “Nei, ek hafhearðr aptr á hvítr harbour at konungr hafði dóttirr jafnvel before rebellionrinn.  Mystoner, ek hugserr hannafnr.  Ok, hann hafar sonr á stormlands, hans nafn er edric storm.” (No, I have heard back at White Harbour that King had a daughter even before the Rebellion. Mya Stone, I think is her name. Also, he has a son at Stormlands, his name is Edric Storm.)

Suddenly Robb stopped walking and grabbed Jon by the elbow, “Oh!” His eyes were wide as if he had seen an Other in front of him.

Jon frowned at him, “Hvat er matter, inn bróðir?” (What is the matter, brother?)

Robb started to speak very fast, “Hugsumkr réttr kroppeð upp inn minn kollr.  Ek hafhearðr rumoursrinn at konungrrinn's kinder, þessi myokr edric, eru spitting images ór maðrrinn.  Vér réttr sá gendry aptr á shoprinn, hann lítir samrinn sem ungrr Robert. (A thought just cropped up in my head. I have heard the rumours that the King's children, this Mya and Edric, are spitting images of the man. We just saw Gendry back at the shop, he looks the same as a young Robert.)

“Hvat eru þú trying til segða?” (What are you trying to say?)

Jon was glaring ahead at the road, “Hann er trying til segðatr royalinn fawns Mayeigir munu ór royalinn stag, eptir allr.  Hann mayhaps raising dróttningrinn's bastards óknowingly.  En vér megeigir munu munu um at.” (He is trying to say that the royal fawns may not be of the royal stag, after all. He mayhaps raising the Queen's bastards unknowingly. But we cannot be sure about that.)

Asher surmised what was on all of their minds, “Ek em really starting til hatþessir borg ok fólkinn hverr eru ruling þat.” (I am really starting to hate this city and the people who are ruling it.)

“Þú ok ek báð, bróðir.” (You and I both, brother.)

This time, it was Torrhen who stopped them from walking. They had come out of the Street of Steel and walking down the road full of food stalls and taverns.

“Jon!” Torrhen indicated with his chin towards the side of the road, at a darkened alcove between a tavern and a stall. Jon frowned as he turned to take a look. He was surprised to see the young boy they had met on their visit to this street, Kurt Wagner, was sitting in the alcove, hugging his knees to his chest. The last time they had seen him, he was wearing clothes of poor quality, but they were at least clean. But now, his clothes were caked in dirt. His face was smeared in dirt and soot. Dried tears had made lines down his cheeks among the dirt. Jon hurried towards the child.

“Kurt, what is the matter, lad?”

The boy looked up at him with a blank stare. Jon had never seen such a look in somebody so young. He got down on his knees on the road and gathered the boy in his arms. He looked up at his friends to see they were as puzzled as he himself was.

Robb nodded his head towards the tavern – do you think we should enquire about him in there?

Jon nodded – Aye, that will be for the best.

The four walked inside of the tavern with Jon carrying Kurt in his arms. He let Robb take the lead as they approached the counter where the probable owner was working. At this time of the day, the tavern was not as busy as it would later.

“Good day.”

The owner looked at them and greeted them with a wide smile, “Good day, m’lords. What can I get for ya?”

“Could you tell me what happened to this lad here? We have met him a few days ago, but then he didn’t appear as such.”

The owner’s eyes widened when they came upon Kurt.

“Oh, you have found the wee lad. A sad tale, m’lords, sad, sad tale. His ma used to work in me tavern and his da worked down at the docks.”

“Yes, yes, we are already aware of that. What we want to know is what happened to him?” Robb asked impatiently.

“Yes m’lord, I’m tellin’ it, innit? Their hovel in the Flea Bottom was crashed, killed all three of ‘em, ma, da an’ the wee lass. This un here went out for a piss an’ saved his neck. He’s been lurkin’ around me tavern since then.”

“What do you mean by their hovel crashed?”

“Well, there ain’t no more place there. All of ‘em folks come to the city. Some find the jobs, some gets a bowl o’ brown at the end o’ the day. But they needs a place to sleep at night. So they erect hovels, one top o’ another, an’ another. E’ery three moons, one or the other hovel crash. If it goes down in the day, well, all the luck ta ya. But if it goes down in the night, ya get crushed.”

“What will happen to the lad now?”

“If there be space in the orphanage, he’ll get a bowl o’ brown at the end o’ the day. If it ain’t, well, what’s one more begging lad on the street of Kings’ Landin’.”

“You are wrong,” Jon finally opened his mouth, “there is a life beyond Kings’ Landing for Kurt. I will see to it.”

They stormed out of the tavern and hurried on their way towards the Red Keep.

“Gerþúr hugsvarysr er responsible fyrir þessi?” (Do you think Varys is responsible for this?) Asher asked.

“Ek em almost kertain um at.” (I am almost certain about that.) Jon growled low in his voice.

Soon, they had reached the Red Keep. One of the guards opened his mouth to stop them by seeing Kurt in Jon’s arms, but the one in charge signalled him to let them pass, it was no secret that the Northerners were the favourite of the King. And after his amazing display so far in the tourney, the legend of the White Wolf had reached another height in the city.

Jon knew that Varys would become aware very soon that Jon had brought Kurt along with him. But he is beyond care at that point. He would leave him at the barrack, under the watchful eyes of Arthur and their men. Let Varys try his tricks there, he mentally issued a challenge to the man.

As they burst through the doors to where their men were staying, Arthur rose to his feet in alarm. Seeing the four hurrying inside with a child, he frowned.

“Jon? What is the matter?”

“I will tell you in a while, Uncle Eric.” Jon turned towards the men and called, “Wade, I need of you!”

“Coming, Wolf.”

A tall man with blond hair and a wide smile on his face came forward. If one looked closely, they would swear that there was a manic glint in his eyes.

Jon put Kurt down on the ground and got on his knees to be at the same level as the lad.

“Wade, this is Kurt. You are to look after him. And when we need you for something, you will leave him in the care of Ser Eric. Only Ser Eric, do you understand?”

“I understand it clearly, Wolf. This lad is my responsibility.” Wade thumped his chest with his fist.

“Good.” Jon turned to look Kurt in the eyes, “Kurt, this here is my good friend Wade Poole. He is a distant cousin of the steward of Winterfell. Some say that he is a bit mad. But who amongst us is completely sane anyway. Right, lad? He is a good man and he will take care of you. You must always listen to him, can you do that for me, Kurt?”

Kurt nodded his head timidly.

“There is a good lad.” Jon smiled and ruffled his dirty hair. His face turned serious as he looked intently into Kurt’s eyes, “Ek swear til þú, kurt wagner, sem lady minerverr minn witness, ek munu hafjusticer fyrir þinn kind.  Fólkrinn hverr stole þinn kind fran þú, winter munu komfyrirr þau, með fire ok blooð.” (I swear to you, Kurt Wagner, as Lady Minerva is my witness, I will have justice for your family. The people who stole your family from you, winter will come for them, with fire and blood.)

Jon nodded his head to Wade to take Kurt away. The man put his hand on the boy’s back and stirred him away, talking to him in an excited voice, “Come with me, lad. Let’s get you cleaned and into some proper clothes. Are you hungry? I will feed you till you become big and strong like me. And then I will train you how to fight with knives and swords in no time…”

Jon let out an explosive breath and crashed down on his arse. A lone tear trickled down his cheek. Only his friends and Ser Arthur could hear his whispered words –

“Forgive me, Anna.”

---

 

Two Lannister guards made their way into the busy tavern. They were in search of a mug of ale and mayhaps a woman to enjoy the night. As they entered the crowded room, they tried to look for an empty table to sit down at.

“Hail, friends from Westerlands. Come, come, share my table.” A blond man who was already into his cups hollered at them.

The two men looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. They approached the man’s table as the tavern owner bustled in with two chairs for them to sit.

“Join me for a cup o’ ale, won’t you?” the man slurred.

“You have our thanks, my friend.”

“Hah, no need o’ that. Tell me, what is the story in your land?”

A serving wench had brought tankards of ale for the guards to the table and glared playfully when one of the men slapped her arse.

“Not much to tell. As I understand, all the stories making the rounds came from this here city. What with the tourney and the Northerners digging up and finding dragon eggs…”

“Say, ain’t you a Northerner yourself?”

The blond laughed uproariously, “Ha, got a pair o’ good eyes on ya, friend. Good pair o’ eyes an’ a good head on the shoulders makes a great fuckin’ warrior, I always say.” He stopped his rambling to take a swig from his tankard. The one he was praising preened at his words.

“Aye, ya got it right, o’ course. I was from the North. Never liked all them snow. The moment I could, spat on the snow an’ made me way down south. Got me a patch o’ land in the Riverlands, a wife with huge teats an’ warm bed every night, ya know? Would’ve frozen me cock off if I stayed back up North. A few years o’ hard work an’ saved me some coins. When I heard about King’s tourney, packed me saddle an’ came down here for some fun.”

“You have a good head on your shoulders too, friend. I heard that the Northern savages eat their children in the winter, is it true?”

“Dunno, never got me any sprog back there.” He beckoned the other two to lean forward, “least that I know of.”

The three of them howled with laughter, they had gotten truly drunk by then.

“Oi, I saw the Mountain this mornin’. Is he goin’ to take part in the joustin’? I might place some bet on him.”

“Saw him, did ya? Yes, Ser Gregor tol’ us he’s goin’ to win the thing. Bet your coins on him, friend, if Ser Jaime ain’t takin’ part, Ser Gregor is sure winner.”

“The White Lion ain’t joustin’?”

“That’s what I heard…”

[CotW]

The Northerner and one of the Lannister guards walked out of the tavern, swaying heavily on their feet.

“Don’ ya worry. Ya are me bess frien’. Let that bastard fuck that wench…that cunt ain’t got no teats on her anyway. I’ll get ya the best whore ya want…”

As they reached the stable behind the tavern, the Lannister man stumbled and fell face-first on a bale of hay. He vomited all over on the ground and laid there unconscious.

The Northerner peered at him, he poked the man’s side with the point of his boot.

“Ya alrigh’ down there, friend?”

The man was motionless, only a sound of soft snoring came from him.

The Northerner straightened his posture, all signs of being drunk out of his gourd vanished from him in a moment. He looked around once to make sure they were alone in that almost darkened stable and let out a low whistle from between his teeth.

Four silhouettes detached themselves from the surrounding darkness and approached the duo.

“Quickly, get his clothes off.”

“And his small clothes too.”

“Why are we robbing the man’s small clothes?”

“It is highly unlikely that a whore will dress him back up after they fucked, isn’t it?”

“Kick him in the balls, not hard enough to leave a bruise, just with enough force that he will feel the pain when he wakes up. It will make him think that he had a fun night.”

“How do you know that? How does he know that?”

“When you have elder brothers such as mine, you tend to get all types of useless knowledge.”

“Then we should brush his cock with a horse’s brush. That will make it itch right and good. And we should also pour a little ale over his body, making it all sticky…what? Why are you looking at me?”

“I don’t even want to know what you get off to when you are on your own.”

“I am not touching his cock.”

“I will do it, it was my idea anyway. Hand me the brush over there.”

“There, it looks all nice and raw, doesn’t it?”

“I am not even looking at that…”

“It’s alright. He will wake up in pain and will be very happy. Mayhaps I should curve a few lines on his back with this knife.”

“No!”

“But I will use just the tip of the knife, it will look like nail marks…”

“I said no, let us just get the fuck out of here.”

“You make me wonder about you sometimes.”

“And you make us wonder about what kind of women you go to bed with…let’s just go.”

 Five silhouettes disappeared into the darkness of the night.

[CotW]

The man was working diligently hunched over his desk. Many would think that he had nothing special to do. But his works ensure that the crowd was entertained when they gather to see the jousting. He let out a frustrated sigh when he heard someone knocking on his doors.

“Enter.”

A cloaked man came inside, making the man behind the desk frown at him.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“Who am I isn’t very important, what I want is. Tell me, are you the one who is making the lists for the jousting?”

“Yes…” the man behind the desk narrowed his eyes.

“Excellent. Now, is it true that the Bastard of Winterfell entered his name in the list?”

The man nodded his head.

“Another good news then. Tell me, my good man, how do you like to earn twenty Gold Dragons?”

The man almost started to salivate at the sound of that, “I would like that very much.”

The cloaked man seemed to be very pleased with his answer.

“Very well then, to earn it, all you need to do is to shuffle your list just a bit, and after one or two rounds each, pit the Northern Bastard against Ser Gregor.”

The man behind the desk frowned at that, “I can’t do that. The list gets set on who bits whom on the previous round.”

The cloaked man’s hand disappeared inside of his cloak as he took out a pouch of coins. It was enough for the sitting man to get a glimpse of the golden lion stitched on a red jerkin.

“Are you sure? I can give you ten Dragons right now, and the rest after you have done your deed.”

The man behind the desk never took his eyes off of the small pouch of coins, “I-I will do what I can.”

The cloaked man dropped the pouch on the desk, the sitting man almost jumped to get his hands on the pouch. But he shrieked as a knife embedded itself just a hairsbreadth away from his hand.

“Of course, you realize that no one should come to know about our arrangement. It will not be very favourable for your health.”

“N-no one shall learn anything from me.”

The cloaked man nodded his head, “As long as we understand each other…” He ripped the knife off the desk and turned to leave.

“T-the rest of it?”

The cloaked man stopped and looked over his shoulder, “You will get it after when we see that you have done as you are told. Do not worry, we never forget our debts.” The man exited the room.

The man behind the desk poured himself a cup full of wine and took a large gulp to calm his fiercely beating heart. He leaned back in his seat and wiped his brow. He reached over and took the pouch in his hand and opened it to see the content inside. His face split into a widest green as he caught the gleam of gold. It was indeed quite easy for him to shuffle the list, nobody would care about who goes against whom as long as they are entertained. He put the gold inside of a draw and pulled the parchment he was working on back towards him.

“Heh, easiest money I have ever made.”

---

 

Robb and Torrhen made their way to the gallery. Jon had roped Asher in to act as his squire. After much grumbling and insults back and forth, Asher had agreed to be Jon’s squire. Although, it could have been because of Asher’s good mood at winning a spontaneous melee in hand-to-hand combat the previous day. Jon had said that since he was getting a new axe, he will put up Freedom as a reward for the one who would win in a competition of ‘Karhold’ amongst the three of them. Asher proved his mettle with fast movements and even faster reflexes as he landed the other two in the dirt. Jon sat with Prince Tommen and cheered and jeered them on as they fought three on three.

They all had gone out of the keep quite early in the morning to get Jon’s armour from Master Mott’s smithy. Gendry had done a beautiful job with Jon’s helm. He probably had heard about Ghost and made a helm with an uncanny likeness of the white direwolf, even down to his red eyes. Jon discreetly told them that he was glad to wear the colours of his houses without anyone noticing them at all.

The axe Master Mott had made for Jon was indeed a work of art. The same teardrop-shaped blade, metal handle with leather straps wrapped around the grip and riveted into the handle, but instead of castle-forged steel, this one was made of Valyrian steel and surprisingly, had a smoky blue colour. They had only heard of a differently coloured Valyrian steel weapon, and that was the family blade of House Drumm from the Iron Isles, the blade of that sword was red in colour and thus named Red Rain. Jon was enamoured with his new axe the moment he took it up in his hands. He had named it Winter Rose for its colour, Rose for short.

As they neared the gallery, they had spotted Lord Arryn was having a conversation with the slimy bastard, Baelish. Robb and Torrhen exchanged a short glance and a nod between the two of them and pretended to be talking excitedly about the jousting. Robb jostled into the old man and turned to face him with a horrified look on his face.

“Kindly pardon me, My Lord. I didn’t watch where I was going and ran into you. Are you hurt?”

Lord Arryn waved off Robb’s concern, “It is quite alright, my boy, I am not hurt. I take it you are excited about the jousting?”

“Aye, My Lord. My brother is taking part in it, we do not get the chance to joust much back in the North, but Jon is the best rider of us, we are quite eager to see how well he does in it.”

“How interesting. Would you be willing to place a few bets then, My Lord Stark?” Baelish asked with a smirk on his face.

“A little bit, surely. Will you be sitting with us again, My Lord Baelish?”

“Of course, My Lord. I have a few more things to discuss with Lord Hand, then I will be joining the two of you.”

“With your leave then, My Lords.” Robb and Torrhen bowed to them and went to find their seats.

[CotW]

Jon Arryn felt someone slammed into him and then shoved a bit of parchment in his left hand. He turned to see who would dare to do so and found that it was none other than Robb Stark. He immediately understood what the lad was trying to do. They chatted for a while after assuring him that he was not hurt by their collision. He bade goodbye to Petyr as quickly as he could and took a stroll towards the Royal box. At a discreet corner, he took out the parchment to read –

Water runs true to its colour, same as Stone and Storm. We await the next instruction.

He tore up the parchment into little bits and scattered them on his way up to the box. Clever lads, he thought, I will have to immediately see to the arrangements. He exchanged a few pleasantries with Robert as he took his seat, his mind was busy making plans to save the life of his foster son’s illegitimate child.

[CotW]

Jon was at the tent marked for him to prepare. He was standing at a corner being chastised by an irate Arthur Dayne.

“I would need to know why you have decided to enlist yourself in the joust, Jon?”

“I have my reasons, Uncle Eric.”

“Would that reason be a certain Mountain?”

Jon averted his eyes.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming breath.

“Jon, none better than you knows the oaths you have taken, the responsibilities you are under. And you are foolish enough to risk everything to quench your thirst for vengeance? What will your Uncle Ned say if he comes to know about this?”

“I also took an oath to my mother’s grave, Uncle Eric, I promised her that I will see the end of the men who took my mother and sister from me.”

Arthur sighed. He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

“I can understand your pain, Jon. Believe me, I do. But I can’t still agree with the steps you’ve taken. All I can say to you now is that please be very careful. And know that I won’t hesitate to throw away my cover if I see your life being in any danger.”

“I can’t promise you that I won’t receive a bruise or a scratch, but I can assure you that I will be alright out there, Uncle Eric. You don’t need to worry.”

“Easy for you to say, lad.”

Asher had entered the tent a few moments ago and stood aside as the two had their conversation. Now, he cleared his throat and said –

“They are announcing the lists, Jon. You need to get into your armours.”

“Aye, Asher, thank you.”

Asher and Arthur started to help him put on his armours.

[CotW]

Robb and Torrhen were talking among themselves as Little Finger came and occupied the seat on Robb’s other side.

“Well, my dear Lord Stark. I hope you have brought quite a few coins with you because I am feeling very lucky on this day.”

“I have brought my coin purse with me, aye, but to tell you the truth, My Lord, I don’t know how successful my brother will be down there. Even I don’t know about how much time he spent on the tilt.”

“Same as you didn’t know about his archery prowess, My Lord?

“Oh no, I am perfectly aware of what Jon can do with a bow or a sword in his hands. And if you remember correctly, My Lord, I never claimed otherwise when I placed that bet, I will always back my brother.”

“Such loyalty to your brother, My Lord, even when he is a bastard.” Baelish smirked at him.

“Some are in just name while some are in nature. My family and I are quite happy that Jon belongs in the first category, My Lord.” Robb smirked back at the man.

Baelish frowned at that and opened his mouth to speak, but Robb cut him off –

“Oh, look, I think they are starting.”

Indeed, they were. The herald had unfurled a long role of parchment and started to read the names of lords and knights who had entered their names in the event, when their names were called, they rode out on their horses, made a round of the arena, paid respect to the Royal family and then took to stand at the far corner of the arena.

When his name was called, Jon rode out on his white courser. They had gone from one horse breeder to another to find a suitable steed for Jon. Since none of them had a destrier in their stables, Jon had to settle for the white courser. The horse was bedecked with just a normal white cloth, unlike the other lords or knights who had favoured their house colours on their horses. But it was Jon’s armour that had garnered a round of excited whispers all around. Jon sat upon his white horse, in a masterfully created set of armours by Tobho Mott, the white direwolf on his chest was prominent against the grey of the entire armour. The gauntlets he wore on his hands were made to look like claws. The billowing cape at his back was from woven silk and the shield he held was coloured dark as night, with a snarling white wolf right in the middle which looked as if it would jump out of the shield at any moment, surrounded by blue winter roses. But the part that attracted attention the most was indeed the helm made by Gendry. The white helm made to look like an almost replica of Ghost’s head was sure to make even the hardiest of men skip a heartbeat.

Jon thumped his right fist over his heart when he passed beneath the box where Robb and Torrehn were seated. They both were on their feet and returned the gesture to him. As Jon made his round of the arena, Torrhen nudged Robb’s shoulder and indicated at a different part of the gallery. Robb followed his gaze to find the Pryor siblings were on their feet cheering for Jon. Even at the distance, it didn’t escape their notice that Madelyne Pryor had a dusting of red on her cheeks.

“It seems that the Lady Pryor is once again on her prowl after a certain White Wolf.” Robb whispered to Torrhen.

“Woe to us then, eh Robb?”

“Too true, brother, too true.”

Notable names of the jousting event who were proven to be crowd favourite by the cheering they received besides Jon were Lord Yohn Royce, Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Gregor Clegane, Lord Berric Dondarrion, Ser Patrek Mallister, Lord Renly Baratheon and Ser Arys Oakheart. Ser Jaime was the Kingsguard on duty, so he couldn’t participate in the event. He stood behind the King. Robb had caught his eyes and the knight nodded back at him with his usual arrogant smirk on his face.

With the King’s consent, the jousting began. The first few bouts were between some minor lords and a few hedge knights. After a while, it was Jon’s turn to bout, he was pitted against some hedge-knight from Vale. Jon only needed a single run of the tilt to unhorse the knight. Neither Little Finger nor Robb had placed a bet on that one. Soon, every participant had their first bouts out of the way and the next round began. After a couple of bouts, it was once again Jon’s turn. This time he was pitted against Lord Renly Baratheon.

“How about our little bet now, My Lord Stark?” Baelish’s sugary voice poured into Robb’s ears.

“Of course, My Lord, I would like to put five Dragons on my brother.”

“Only five, Lord Robb?”

“I had hoped that you remember about my spending nature, My Lord Baelish.”

“Ah yes, who can forget about Lord Eddard’s lessons.” A subtle sneer played on his face, it was too quick to spot for untrained eyes.

Lord Renly, set his horse on prance as he took his place. He waved to the audience which had earned him a few titters and giggles from the observing ladies. In contrast to the man, Jon and his ride appeared to be carved out of stone. The white direwolf helm was gleaming in the sunlight. The painted red eyes appeared to have come alive and sent shivers down to the spine of anybody who looked directly at it.

When the signal was given, both of them spurred their horses and charged at each other. As they neared each other, the tip of Renly’s lance glanced over Jon’s shield, leaving a scratch mark behind, whereas Jon’s lance landed squarely right at the middle of Renly’s chest.

Robb was watching it all so intently that he registered everything as if they were moving slowly through molasses. He would learn later from Jon that at that moment he was channelling his warg powers unknowingly which made his brain look at everything in their minute details.

Jon’s lance bent against Renly’s armour as he moved forward charging on his horse, a crack appeared in the wood as the tension grew from the pressure put to it. Jon didn’t loosen his grip on the lance and it exploded into splinters throwing Renly off the saddle. Jon thundered past him as Renly crashed on the ground in his heavy armour, leaving no doubt that the Lord of Storm’s End will have multiple bruises to remind him of his encounter with the White Wolf the next morning.

Little Finger grimaced beside Robb.

“I have not expected Lord Renly to be unhorsed in the first run.” The man grumbled.

“That is Jon, My Lord, he always does things which are unexpected of him.” Came Robb’s smug reply.

“Indeed.” Baelish narrowed his eyes as he handed a small pouch over to Robb.

By then, Jon had pulled the reins of his horse to make it stop running and jumped off his saddle to check up on Renly. He offered his hand to the downed man and pulled him up on his feet. Renly gave him an exaggerated bow and waved once to the audience before limping off towards the exit. The crowd once again chant the name of Ser Jon, the White Wolf.

As the second round came to end, the herald announced the third and last round of bouts for the day. Almost all of the minor lords and hedge knights were eliminated by then. In the third round, Lord Yohn was pitted against Ser Patrek, Lord Berric went against another Stormlander Knight, Ser Barristan rode against his White Cloak brother Ser Arys and finally, Jon was announced to face against the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane.

“What!?” Robb’s indignant shout broke through the escalating murmurs of the crowd.

[CotW]

Jon sat on the bench in his tent with his eyes closed while Arthur paced around agitatedly. Asher stood outside of the tent watching the bouts and kept coming inside to announce the winner –

“Lord Yohn Royce unhorsed Ser Patrek Mallister after four runs of the tilt.”

“Lord Berric unhorsed the Stormlander knights in two runs and one broken lance.”

“Ser Arys rode well but it was his bad luck to go against Ser Barristan. The old knight took five runs and three broken lances to unhorse his brother.”

Soon enough, it was Jon’s turn to go up against the Mountain. Arthur and Asher made careful inspections of his armours and tightened the straps. Arthur reluctantly handed the helm to Jon.

“Be careful out there, Jon.”

Jon nodded his head to him.

Asher was standing beside the horse. Jon clapped on his shoulder as he got up on the saddle, Asher handed him a lance without a word, concern for his brother was evident in his eyes. Jon gave him a single nod and lowered his visor. He gripped the lance tightly in his hand and rode out to the arena.

The Mountain sat on top of his black destrier at the other end of the tilt, bedecked in his black armour, looking as an omen of the Stranger to all. Jon took a deep breath to centre himself. As the signal was given, he spurred his horse and charged towards the oncoming giant of a man.

Both lances landed on the shields and broke at the impact. Jon felt as if the bones of his arm were shattered by the blow. As they rode past each other, Jon growled at the man – “Rapist!”

They returned to their starting points as their squires handed them another set of lances. Jon didn’t take off his eyes of the man. He couldn’t tell if he had heard his passing comment. Again they charged at each other. This time, Clegane’s lance landed at the upper portion of the shield to which Jon tilted his shield a little to make it a glancing but still jarring blow, whereas his own lance once again landed at the centre of Clegane’s shield and again broke one impact.

As they thundered past each other, once again Jon growled at the man – “Child killer!”

This time, Jon was sure that Clegane had heard his remark. As they returned to their places, he could see that the man had unnecessarily tightened his grip on his horse’s reins making the beast move in distress. As soon as Asher handed him another lance, the signal was given and off they went once again.

Jon’s lance landed squarely on Clegane’s shoulder and broke at the impact, though it seemed that the knight didn’t even feel the blow. Clegane’s lance once again landed at the centre of Jon’s shield and also broke at the impact. Jon felt his left arm going numb, he was almost thrown off from his horse but somehow he managed to cling on to his saddle even as his left foot had come loose from the stirrup and he was sitting lop sided on his horse. The crowd was watching the bout in silence and with bated breaths. Quite a few ladies had uttered a cry of despair when they saw Jon almost toppled off of his horse.

Gritting his teeth for the pain in his left arm, Jon still growled at the man as they passed each other – “False knight!”

As he returned to his place, he saw that Asher had gone pale as a bone. “Jon…” He tried to speak in a choked voice.

“I am alright, brother,” Jon snapped at him, “just give me the fucking lance!”

He adjusted his sitting on the saddle as Asher handed him another lance. He forced through the pain in his left arm and tried to move it, he was happy to see that he could still move his arm and hand even as they sent jolts of pain through his entire body from the smallest of movements. Jon knew that he couldn’t continue as he was in his current state. He had to put his everything in the next run or he had to forget about his revenge and had to face some dire consequences as the result of his actions.

Once again they charged at each other as the signal was given. Jon had gripped the lance tightly in his hand, he had braced it against his thigh for extra support. He took a deep breath to clear his mind from every other thought and looked ahead at the charging beast, not the man astride it. The horse’s mind resisted as Jon attacked it with his full force. It fought hard but came up short against the full assault of the mental intrusion of a gifted warg. Jon had taken control of the beast and made it veer off course just a little bit, not enough to raise any suspicion but just a bit that Clegane’s lance would miss him even if his gambit didn’t bear any result.

Clegane was alarmed at the sudden disobedience of his horse, he raised his head just a little in astonishment of the wild occurrence – it was enough for Jon to put the rest of his misbegotten plan to test. Time had started to run slow as Jon raised the tip of his lance, aiming at the small sliver of the skin that appeared to his keen eyes, the smallest opening between the man’s helm and his gorget. He watched on as the blunted but still thin enough tip of his lance impacted against the man’s throat and pierced the skin of the underside of his chin and went up a little towards his brain. The man had let go of the reins of his horse and reacted to the pain, he jerked backwards and was thrown off of his horse. Blood spurted in an arc as the huge man slammed down on the ground.

A shrill scream of some lady had pierced the silence of the crowd at the sight of blood. Jon, by then, had stopped his horse and jumped off the saddle. He clenched his teeth in pain as he unstrapped his shield and removed the gauntlet from his right arm, he needed his bracer to be free from its confinement for what he was about to do.

“Maester! We need a Maester here!” he skidded to a stop on his knees beside the fallen man and put his right hand on the gaping wound of Clegane’s throat.

Jon looked down to the man’s eyes to see he was looking up at him with wide eyes. Blood was pouring out of his throat and mouth, his massive hands and legs jerked from the death throes. In a low voice, Jon spoke to him –

“Remember Elia Martell! You raped her, you smashed her head to kill her! Did you think of yourself to be safe from your deeds, Gregor Clegane? I, Aemon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaeger and Princess Lyanna Targaryen, stepson of Princess Elia of Houses Targaryen and Martell, sentence you to die!”

*Snikt*

The hidden blade from Jon’s bracer went through the previous wound and made it even deeper, none could save his life now.

To the onlookers, it appeared that Jon was trying to ease the mind of the wounded man. When he raised his head to look around, he saw a Maester coming towards them in hurried steps. From the opposite sides, Clegane’s squire and Asher were running towards them at full pelt.

Jon snarled at the Maester, he had to maintain his pretence, “Hurry the fuck up! The man is dying here!” He yelled out.

The Maester broke into a run and crashed down near Clegane’s head. Jon removed his hand from the wound and stood back up to let the Maester do his job, knowing very well that nothing could be done now.

Jon marvelled at the resilience of the giant man. Even with such a lethal wound, he kept clinging to his life. The Maester tried everything to staunch the blood flow but appeared incapable of doing that. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, he turned towards the Royal box and shook his head, indicating that nothing could save the man’s life. But Jon needed to be sure, he asked the man –

“Is there nothing else you could do, Maester?”

“No Ser, the wound is too severe and nothing seems to stop the blood. I am afraid he won’t live.”

“But Ser is in horrible pain.” Chimed Clegane’s squire.

The Maester shook his head sadly, “I am sorry, lad, but he is sure to die.”

“Then let us grant him the mercy of death, it is better than suffering the pain he is in.” Jon cut in, he turned towards Asher and extended his hand, “Your blade please, Asher.”

Asher unsheathed his sword without a word and handed it to Jon.

Jon turned towards Clegane’s squire and asked –

“Can you please remove his gorget? It is impossible to turn over a man of his girth and remove the straps of his armours.”

The lad had tears flowing down his cheeks and nodded his head, he bent down to remove Clegane’s gorget.

Jon raised the sword and closed his eyes, he started to chant –

“Fyrir þinn sins til fólk, ek, sonr ór barðinn konungsson ok knitinn ór laughinginn tré, sentence þú til dey.  Mayþinnr soul never vitpeacer.  Ek kurse þú. (For your sins to people, I, son of the bard prince and the knight of the laughing tree, sentence you to die. May your soul never find peace. I curse you.)

“Ek kurse þú.” Asher chimed after him.

Jon opened his eyes and swung the blade down, removing Clegane’s head from his body. He handed the sword back to Asher and cradled his left arm in his right and started to walk towards the Royal box. Asher and the Maester following him closely, Clegane’s squire remained behind as men rushed in to remove the Mountain’s corpse.

Jon went down on his knees in front of the Royal box. A hush had fallen overall around the gallery. Jon spoke clearly with his head bowed –

“My King, I have just taken a life in front of you. Now I present myself to you for your judgement.”

Queen Cersei tried to speak but the King stopped her.

“Not now, woman!” Robert growled, he turned towards the Maester, “Maester?”

“Your Grace, as we all saw the incident, Ser Jon tried his best to help Ser Gregor. But the wound was lethal. There was nothing I could do to help the poor man. Ser Jon on granted him the mercy of death rather than prolonging his life of tremendous pain as Ser Gregor clung to it. Ser Jon even prayed for his soul before he granted him peace, Your Graces.” The Maester bowed and took a step back.

Robert turned towards Jon, “Get up, Lad. You haven’t done anything wrong. As everyone saw, it was an accident, you only tried to save his life and later, granted him the peace of death. You have performed your duties as a knight. What say you, Ser Jaime?”

Jaime nodded his head, “You are right, Your Grace, Ser Jon had done admirably.”

Jon got up to his feet and looked up to the faces present at the Royal box. Robert had a saddened smile on his face, probably thinking about the toll the death of Clegane was going to take on his friend’s son. Queen Cersei had a calculating look on his face. Prince Joffrey had a very disturbing eager look on him as he kept looking at the men removing Clegane’s body. Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella had fearful but awed looks on their little faces. Lord Arryn gave Jon an encouraging smile, but Tywin Lannister appeared as if all of it was an everyday event.

Jon bowed his head once again, “Your Graces.”

He stepped to the side and stood before the Lord Lannister, “My Lord Lannister, I offer you my condolences for the loss of your leal man.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed just a fraction, he took a moment but spoke in a measured tone –

“As Ser Jaime said, you have done your duties as a knight admirably and honourably, Ser Jon. You are indeed a credit to your father’s name.”

Robert spoke up once again, “Go take care of your arm, lad. You need to be fighting fit before tomorrow’s bouts.”

Jon bowed to them all, “With your leave then, Your Graces. My Lords.”

Jon walked towards his tent supported by Asher. His arm was still throbbing in pain. Arthur was waiting for them at the tent. The moment Jon stepped inside, he collapsed. Arthur hurried to catch him before he fell to the ground. A small trickle of blood flowed from his nostrils.

“Jon! What happened?” Asher asked worriedly.

“A blade without a hilt, Asher.” Jon replied weakly.

Asher stood there with a grim look on his face as Arthur carried Jon to sit on the bench. He understood the price his brother paid to get his revenge.

Notes:

A.N. - I am extremely sorry for the long gap in posting. I was on bed rest for a long time due to a migraine and just couldn't concentrate on my writing.

A few words concerning this chapter -

1) About Jon's bi-polar attitude, It was hard for all of them to retain their mental acuity after they were administered with the Weirwood paster, a blade without a hilt indeed. In addition to that, Robb had bonded with Grey Wind, and Asher had bonded with Munnin. One of them is an apex predator and ravens could be very vicious birds. Jon had the double jeopardy of bonding with Gale and Ghost - both of them are apex predators. Some feelings or instincts do bleed in both ways. So far, only Torrhen is the level headed one amongst the four since he is yet to bond with his animal companion.

2) About the way I portrayed Tobho Mott here, In the original source, Mott was a master smith with high foot traffic at his shop for his abilities with metallurgy. I think it was Varys who put Gendry in the shop in hope that some of the visiting nobles would recognize him and thus create chaos in the stag's ruling. But since I insinuated in my story that it was Jon Arryn who put Gendry at that shop, I had to change the behaviours of Mott. So, in my version, he is a brilliant but eccentric smith who drives away all of his customers by his weirdness save for a very few patrons who are in the know of his abilities, thus enabling Gendry a perfect spot to hide.

3) About Kurt Wagner, I have received quite a few complaints about the fate of the Wagner family. I hoped to make a point there. Which was, no matter how powerful Jon is or how much skilled he gets, he is not an all-knowing, omnipotent being. He cannot save everyone. Come on, I had a chance to kill off Asher even before he became a fan-favourite in this fic, way back in the battle of Bear Island. So far, Torrhen is nothing but a supporting character. Do remember that the original source novels are infamous for killing off many favourite and well-established characters. Anyways, I hope you are content with the way I dealt with Kurt, I do have a few plans for him in the future.

And now a question, as you already have guessed, the Wolfpack is getting a few new additions. Now, do I add Samwell Tarly to the group or leave him to go to the Wall?

Chapter 22: All Around Me are (Un)Familiar Faces

All Around Me Are (Un)Familiar Faces

The feast that night was a sombre event. The lords and ladies were talking about the bouts they had witnessed during the day, but the hushed conversations that were heard all around the hall were definitely about the bout between the Mountain and the White Wolf. If one was to listen closely at the words being spoken, they would have been assured that none had anything better to say about the infamous knight from the Westerland. But that was a conversation among the most trusted allies and friends, for none wanted to attract the ire of the Lord of the Rock.

Even the King was in a sombre mood that evening. He drank his fill, of course, but the bluster and the boisterous boastings that were the norm for the man were absent. He took his leave from the feast quite early and asked his foster father and Hand, Lord Jon Arryn to join him for a cup at his solar.

“Young Jon truly is his father’s son, eh Jon?”

“Yes, Robert. Ned has done well in his duties.”

“Come now, Jon. You and I both know our Ned very well. Do you still think he is Ned’s get?”

“Robert…” Lord Arryn’s voice was full of caution.

“His eyes speak of his parents, Jon. You and I both know who Ashara Dayne danced with at Harrenhal. Blood speaks true, Jon. Can you deny the fact that you don’t see Ned, Brandon and...” He let out a sigh, “Lyanna all put together when the lad stands before you?”

“Robert, mayhaps we shouldn’t speak of all these out in the open…”

“Damn you, Jon! And fuck all these Godsdamned vultures who circle to pick at our carcasses. I see those lads and envy Ned. His heir, a bright, young lad with his Stark features and mother’s colouring. Already led and won a battle in his own right. And then there is the famed ‘bastard’ of his. We both know why Ned claimed him as his bastard. But that is not the issue here, the lad is a damn fine warrior at this young age and a future rallying point for his men. A symbol of hope for all. I see them and I curse my damned luck that all I have to show for my legacy is a whiny piece of shit for a son who plans to rule the kingdoms by hiding behind his mother’s skirt.”

Lord Arryn sighed, he was thankful that Robert at least had the presence of mind to not raise his voice as he ranted. Even the King’s solar was not secured from Varys’ reach. He could only shake his head at his foster son’s despair – You do have a son who could have been the epitome of Baratheon legacy. Alas, you will probably never get to know him.

“Come now, Robert. It is not proper for the King to -”

Robert cut him off, “Fuck you Jon…and fuck all these protocols.” He slurred, “Bring me more wine!” He roared at the serving maid stationed outside of the doors, who jumped and ran to carry out the King’s order.

Jon Arryn could only sigh.

[CotW]

Inside of the Queen’s chambers was another conversation taking place, between Lord Tywin Lannister and his daughter, Queen Cersei.

“What do you know of these Northerners?” Lord Tywin asked in his no-nonsense voice as he sipped his wine.

Cersei frowned and took a moment to gather her thoughts –

“News has reached here about some savages attacking the other Northern savages, the Starks were at the forefront of that confrontation -”

“I know about all those,” Tywin stopped her, “I do have a source of information in the North. What I want to know is why they are here and what exactly they have been up to.”

Cersei had narrowed her eyes at the mild rebuke, she drank from her glass and again took a moment to think of what she was to say, “Robert was insistent that Eddard Stark comes out of his frozen hole to play with him after he heard about his whelps’ exploits. I had to endure his whining that the Quiet Wolf remained reclusive after the Greyjoy Rebellion. He was so sure that this time his friend would visit him, but once again, Stark proved to be quite wily in his decision to send his sons in his stead. Although, I heard that Jon Arryn gave him the choice in his wordings in the missive that he sent.”

Tywin nodded, “Continue.”

“When they first arrived here, they didn’t seem any different than any other of their age -  uncouth, blathering lordlings, but as you know Robert, he pressed them so they may start to boast about their experience. It was then the Bastard of Winterfell appeared as nothing that I had expected him to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I, along with everybody else thought that the bastard would start to boast about how he ended the conflict by his lonesome, but he didn’t. Rather, he explained the darker side of their conflicts that the bards forget in their songs. It was quite a beautiful verbal slap, father. I have never seen Robert flounder for his words quite so.” Cersei giggled behind her cup at the memory.

Tywin only raised an eyebrow in reply, Cersei composed her posture and continued –

“Jon Arryn looked as if he was quite ready to declare the bastard as his heir. I have watched that Selmy and Jaime both had quite an appraising look on their faces for the bastard then.”

Tywin leaned back in his chair, “Yes, that is another matter of concern. Both of your brothers are quite enamoured with the boy. What is your observation on that?”

“Well, the bastard seemed to be quite a scholar that he could hold his own against in any debate with Tyrion. And as you know father, no matter what, the dwarf is indeed quite clever. They have formed a sort of friendship and put enough clues together to dig up some dragon eggs from the pit. I don’t know what he actually told Jaime, but since the next day of their arrival, Jaime could be seen practising with them in the yard. And then, of course, as you know, he denounced any reward for his part of finding the eggs and clearing the city of the wildfire, instead he restored Jaime’s honour, and he, in turn, knighted the bastard.”

Tywin laid back in his seat and kept watching the flickering flames of the torches. When he turned his intense gaze upon the Queen, Cersei squirmed in her seat.

“You would do well if you get out of the habit to call the boy a bastard.”

Cersei gaped at him, “What…”

Tywin raised his hand to stop her, “If even half of the rumours about him are true, that boy is no mere bastard. News has reached my ears that the boy is not Ned Stark but Brandon Stark’s son.”

Tywin once again nodded his head at Cersei’s widened eyes, “Yes, imagine my surprise when I heard that there was a possibility that Brandon Stark had married Ashara Dayne in secret and that boy is the result of the union. It would certainly explain a lot about the sudden proof of decadence of the honourable Ned Stark and his vehement denial to name the boy’s mother. Brandon Stark was betrothed to Hoster Tully’s eldest daughter, the now Lady Stark, Catelyn. If he had said that the boy is Brandon’s son, old Hoster would have pressured him to kill the boy as a recompense of him dishonouring his daughter and making sure that his own blood inherits the North.”

Tywin got up from his seat and started to pace around the room, “Instead, Ned Stark made sure that his sibling’s blood remained safe and claimed him as his bastard. I don’t know what he plans for the boy, but news has reached me that his ruse is a poorly kept secret. It is said that many of the Northern lords have already figured out about the boy’s origin due to his nature. He is said to be as ferocious a fighter as was his father, and that is indeed true if Jaime saw it fit to knight him. He is sure honourable in his Stark upbringing as we all saw this afternoon in the jousting. I have doubts that anyone else would have tried to save Clegane’s life the way he did. If only to see the end of a despicable man.”

Tywin paused to pour himself some wine, “I know what you are thinking, why am I suddenly praising a man who has killed my attack dog? Believe you me, if he had done this in any other way, I would not have rested till I have everything he holds dear turn to ashes. But we cannot deny our own eyes that it was an accidental occurrence and the fact that the boy did try to save Clegane despite his own injuries. For what it’s worth, I cannot blame him.”

Tywin turned to see that Cersei had her head in his hands and massaging her temples.

“Son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne, and probably trueborn too…who would have thought…” Cersei muttered to herself.

“Indeed,” Tywin took a sip of his wine, “I am also quite sure that both Lord Arryn and Robert had an inclination of the boy’s birth the moment they laid their eyes upon him. What I truly want to know is what the boy’s plans are? Why did he insist upon clearing Jaime’s name? Why he helped Tyrion to further the Lannister legacy? What does he want from us?”

“Recognition?” Cersei offered.

Tywin turned an irritated look on his daughter, “I taught you better than that, Cersei. Do you know what his current titles are? Ser Jon the White Wolf, the Protector of People, the Sword of Justice. Every child of the realms knows his name. No, it is not recognition he is after. He is quite an anomaly to the rules of the game of thrones. Him and his group of friends, which includes his brother Robb Stark, the heir to the North. Is it wealth? While it is true that the Northern realm is a poor one, this boy alone had earned quite a bit of wealth for himself in just a single tourney. He won the archery event, lost to Jaime and secured second place and the reward for it, and if I was a betting man, I would have put my coins on him to win the jousts too. His win against Clegane proves him to be a strong contender for the title. All of these and he is yet to see his sixteenth name days.”

Lord Tywin sighed and sat back down, “I envy Eddard Stark in a way. His heir is a proven leader of men and his other son is becoming a legend.” He shook himself off the thought and turned his gaze towards his daughter, “Mark my words, Cersei, the future of the North is quite secured in the hands of the next generation of Starks. We need to be ready for anything they put up in our way.”

“What do you mean, father?”

“Relation with the North. They have already established relationships with the Riverlands through Eddard Stark’s marriage with Lord Tully’s daughter. The Vale is with them for being a foster son of Lord Arryn along with him being Stark’s goodbrother through marriage. The Stormlands through his friendship with the King. Granted the friendship had been chipped a little after the Rebellion, but it is still there. Now us Lannisters and the Westerlands need to establish a pact with the Northerners.”

Cersei had started to fume, “How do you propose we do that, father? I will not let any Stark bitch ensnare my Joffrey. I will not allow it!”

“If the situation demands so, you will.” Tywin’s voice had turned cold and cutting, reducing his daughter to cower in her seat. “I was not talking about Joffrey. He is the Crown Prince. Even if the North becomes prosperous, it will still take them quite a while to become so. No, I intend for the heir to marry Myrcella.”

“You want to send my only daughter to that frozen hell?!” Cersei looked incredulously at her father.

“Not for many years, no. She is but a child at present. But I expect you to prepare her for that eventuality. I would have sent an offer for Gerion’s bastard for the Stark’s son but it is not possible now. His movements are unpredictable right now and I don’t like it. I need to think deeply about the boy.”

Cersei was glaring at her goblet; her rage was bubbling under the surface of her skin at the injustice her father had just decreed. She was to send her daughter away to those barbarians. Granted that Robb Stark and Jon Snow were not what she had expected, but she was not so sure about the rest of the Stark brood.

“What do you plan to do with my Joffrey?”

“Is it not obvious? The Tyrells have a daughter.” Tywin smirked.

Cersei gasped, “Those grasping roses?”

Tywin leaned forward in his seat and placed his elbows on his knees and looked deep into Cersei’s eyes, “You need to release that boy from your shadows soon in the future. Remember that he is the Crown Prince, and is expected to marry in a Great house. While I agree with you at this moment that we need to reduce the Stark’s influence and thus won’t be nurturing the idea of marrying Joffrey to any of the Stark daughters, that situation may change in the future. Aside from the Starks, there are the Martell princess, the Tyrell girl and the Greyjoy girl. I hope you do not dream of marrying your son to one of those reavers? That left either the Tyrells or the Martells, and our position with the Martells are not favourable, which means…”

“The grasping roses.” Cersei sneered.

Tywin nodded, “I hope you have observed the alarming absence of the Tyrells at this tourney?” At his daughter’s acknowledgement, he continued, “They say that the Queen of Thorns was unwell and thus they couldn’t attend. But it has come to my knowledge that at this moment, they are preparing for a short visit with Mace Tyrell’s goodfather, Leyton Hightower. Of course, where Mace goes, a tourney is sure to be arranged. Do you think that is a coincidence while it is also a known fact that the Northerners are to leave for the Old Town for their Maester to present his theory at the Citadel? Do not think so little of Olenna Tyrell, daughter. It is my belief that she has it all planned out. While their ambition is to see that their blood inherits the Throne, she is not averse to the idea of weighing all the possibilities. I want to nip their scheming before it takes hold.”

“So we look for the Rose of Highgarden then?”

“Indeed.”

[CotW]

A man entered a small, undescriptive room and sat down noisily on the only chair present there. He leaned back for a few moments and closed his eyes, letting a tired sigh escaping his lips. After a few moments, he got up and went to the small privy and poured water in a large bowl from a bucket. He took a piece of cloth and wetted it, using the cloth to rub off the dirt and other materials from his arms, hands and face.

After cleansing himself of the muck, he went back to the room and opened the half-broken closet in the corner, retrieving a set of clothes from within. As he started to take garments off of his body he began to ruminate about the events from the last few days, at first he didn’t think it was anything special when he followed up with his sent message. Often, there were mistakes made when he tried to recruit a new chick to his little nest, he was always cautious whenever that happened and covered his tracks so that none can trace anything back to him. He went through his usual ways of tracking down his missing missive, and what did he find? The damned child had an encounter with the Northerners, and the bastard entertained the horde with his singings.

Now, while it was true that he was sorely lacking eyes and ears in the far lands of the North, he did have some form of information leaks. They mayhaps were just a trickle, but still better than nothing. He had heard of the Bastard of Winterfell earning himself a place for fosterage at the house of the Karstarks. The Lady of the house had taken quite a liking of the lad, as did the rest of the brood. It was heard that the youngest heir had filled the empty space left in the lad’s life while his trueborn brother was sent off to the Mermen for his fosterage. The lad flourished being away from the repression of the Trout – be it arms, strategy, lord’s lessons, or even music. But then everything had changed.

When he first heard the rumours of the Trout changing her songs for the boy, he thought his informants were needed to be replaced. Then he heard the most astonishing songs of all – not a stain in the robes of the Quiet Wolf, oh no, but a result of a union between the Wild Wolf and the beautiful Fallen Star. He had cursed himself for not looking more closely when the Quiet Wolf had brought the pup along with him.

Anyhow, he had them followed when he learned that his chick was lost to the wind. He listened in to their songs, dogged their tails. But nary a thought was spent on the lost chick. He would have laid it all to rest, but he couldn’t take the risk. This one was proving to be a cunning pup. He had already snared the Lions while the Stag and Falcon both are enamoured with him. No, he had to take preventive measures. One simple nod from him and the lost chick’s nest was brought to the ground. He had thought that he had his hands cleared, but what did he find? The other chick was firmly in the grasp of the pup. Oh, how he raged. The ones who were in charge of taking care of the matter were acquainting themselves beneath the waves of the Blackwater Bay.

He teetered himself silly when he heard the pup was to face the monster. But once again, his calculation proved him wrong. The man sighed as he finished putting on his perfumed garbs. He applied a generous amount of scented powder on his face, the image must be projected at all times. As he exited the room, he pondered his next steps, should he send a missive to watch over the Gardening Stewards, or should he send for Speared Sun and pave the way for the future? Decisions, decisions.

[CotW]

Another man entered his private rooms with a scowl on his face. Lord Petyr Baelish of Baelish Keep had excused himself from the lacklustre feast of the night and came back to his secret solar at the back of his brothel. He leaned into his chair and rubbed his eyes. The events of the day had taken their tolls on his mind. He still couldn’t believe that the wolf bastard came out as a winner against the Mountain. He snapped at the girl who came into his solar to pour him some wine –

“Send for Mortimer. Tell him I want him here right this instance.”

“O’course, m’lord.”

 Baelish took sips of his wine as he waited for his man to come. It didn’t take very long for the said man to knock on his doors.

“Enter.”

Mortimer Toynbee, for the lack of better words, was a vile looking man. His skin was pale with a waxy sheen, several warts could be seen on the uncovered parts of his body, long greasy hair, big and rounded eyes and a long stretched smile with yellow, uneven teeth. In short, his entire presence was repulsive. But Baelish had many uses for the man, if only for his ability to unearth every scrap of information that even his whores didn’t manage to get from drunk nobles in their lust-addled minds. Baelish was glad that he had found the man in his young days when he was still a ward at Riverrun.

“What do you have?”

“M’lord,” Mortimer bowed to him, “As you asked of me, I went to entice the man to fix the joustin’, but it appeared we dinnit need to worry ‘bout that.”

Baelish frowned and leaned forward, “Explain.”

“When I gone to this man abou’ the joustin’, he tol’ me that there was already summan who paid him to pit the bastard with the Mountain. I found it funny an’ got him good an’ drunk, he lets on to me that he was a Lannister.”

“So a Lannister man bribed to have the bastard go against the Mountain? How very interesting.” Baelish got up from his chair and went over to the small window, looking out at the busy streets of the Capitol, lost in his musings.

Mortimer awkwardly shuffled his feet, “M’lord?”

“Hmm?” Baelish turned away from the window, “Oh, right. Yes, yes, you may go, Mortimer. You have done well.”

“M’lord.” Mortimer bowed low and left the room.

Baelish turned back towards the window, his mind awhirl with thoughts – Someone else had the same idea as I. This person who is apparently someone from the Lannisters bribed to have the bastard killed. But who could it be? The Imp and the Kingslayer had all but adopted the bastard with them. He is yet to earn the Queen’s ire, apart from being born on the wrong side of the bed. Tywin could have planned this in such a short time, however, he doesn’t have any reason to do so. Was it really a Lannister, or someone else wants to put the bastard down?

Baelish let out a weary sigh, he poured himself another goblet of wine – What was more, are the rumours that came to my ears. The bastard is Brandon’s boy! Of all the fucking Starks, it had to be Brandon Stark. Baelish rubbed a hand on his chest, feeling for the bumps of his scar. He certainly has the luck to bring the Mountain down and coming out alive of that scuffle. None of his men set a foot in any brothel. Does he have such a tight leash or taking additional care to remain in the good graces of the King? Even the old fool Arryn can’t see past his precious Ned’s ‘sons’.

Baelish slammed the goblet down on his desk and called out for the maid who brought the wine, “Did the Lion came for the Lysene whore again?”

The frightened woman kept her eyes down towards the ground, “No, m’lord, he hasn’t been here for a month at least.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, “That is…curious. What did he do the last time he visited?”

“The same, m’lord. He came in drunk, asked for her, went to the room together, and then spent half the night saying sorry to her before falling asleep. He woke up the next morning, threw a coin purse at her and left without saying a thing.”

“Very well. Leave me now.”

The woman bowed and left the room.

If only I knew what he was sorry for and who he was saying sorry to? Is it a Targaryen or some Velaryon? So much information to cause so much chaos. Only if his lips loosen a bit.

---

 

The Pack had decided to skip the feast that night. They had the easy excuse of tending to Jon’s wounds. Though Maester Luwin had taken a look at Jon’s arm and assured them that a night’s rest was all he needed to become fit again, they didn’t want to leave their brother’s side.

They had just settled down with a cup of wine each when a sound of banging on the doors put a stop to their conversation. The four frowned at each other, wondering who could be their visitor at this time. They didn’t waste any time coming to a decision, Torrhen positioned himself near the window, where a bow and a quiver were hidden behind a chair. He was, after all, the best with the bow after Jon. Robb took a stance beside the hearth giving him an unobtrusive view of the entire room, his hands behind his back, lightly grasping the hidden daggers in his belt. Jon, with his left arm in a sling, was leaning back in a settee with his right hand lazily draped over a cushion, underneath of which Winter Rose was hidden. Asher took a look around the room and nodded his head, he adjusted his belt which had Freedom strapped at his waist within easy reach. He approached the doors and asked –

“Who is it?”

A slurred and gruff voice came from the outside, “I want to speak with the Wolf.”

Asher frowned and looked over his shoulder towards Jon, who nodded his head. Asher took a deep breath and opened the latch to the door with his left hand, his right hovering near his axe.

He was surprised by the man standing outside of the room. Sandor Clegane, the infamous Hound, brother to Gregor Clegane and sworn sword to Prince Joffrey stood there on unsteady feet. He reeked of the smell of ale. Asher frowned at the man.

“What do you want, Clegane?”

The tall man looked down at Asher with disdain, a sneer formed on his lips, which didn’t help his appearance with his burnt face.

“I want to speak with the Wolf.”

“Come back in the morning then, when you are sober.”

Sandor leaned down to level his eyes with Asher, Asher grimaced at the smell coming from the intoxicated man.

“You didn’t hear me well, I said I want to speak with the Wolf!” He growled.

“Asher…” Jon called from inside of the room, Asher looked over his shoulder to see him giving a nod. Asher stepped aside and leaned leisurely against the wall beside the doorway. Clegane entered the room and peered around, his eyes roamed over all the other occupants of the room. Torrhen stood in front of a window leaning over a chair; Robb stood leaning against the mantle over the fireplace with his arms crossed and Jon sat on the settee with an arm in a sling and the other picking lint off a cushion. To the untrained eyes, they would have appeared as young lads without a care of any danger the man who just entered the room could bring upon them. But in reality, each of them was coiled to jump and reflect any attack in a blink of an eye. Clegane snorted once in derision and walked to stand before Jon on his swaying feet.

“You killed my brother!” The man growled at the lad sitting before him.

Jon looked into his eyes unflinchingly, in a calm voice he replied –

“I did.”

“He was mine to kill!”

If Jon was surprised by that, he didn’t show it on his face. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Clegane spent the next few minutes looking at Jon without saying anything. Jon could feel the others were becoming restless, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the man.

“They say you fight to protect the people.” It wasn’t a question.

“I try to help where I can.”

Clegane gave him a short nod. Jon sat up straight.

“They say you are a loyal dog to the Lannisters.” It wasn’t a question either.

“Fuck the Lannisters!” Came the reply.

Neither looked away from the other’s gaze.

“We will meet again in the future, Wolf.”

“Aye, we will.”

Clegane left the room without saying another word.

Asher closed the door and leaned against them, relaxing a little now that the danger had left the room.

“What the fuck was that?”

“A wounded animal frustrated that I stole his kill.”

---

 

The tunnels beneath the Red Keep were amongst the most mysterious places of entire Westeros. Not because of their existence, no, but the feeling one would get while walking around the said tunnels. It seemed the weight of three hundred years of forgotten legacy stood before you as an almost solid obstacle. During his days as a member of the Kingsguard, Arthur did some security sweeps of the tunnels with his brothers, but they always walked in a chosen pattern, only checking for possible intrusions to the most important places, such as the Throne Room, the Royal chambers, the Hand’s Tower. He had heard from Rhaeger that he did try to venture on his own in the tunnels, but once his mother, the Queen came to know about it, she had forbidden him to set foot inside the tunnels ever again. Now, he was following his friend’s son through the same tunnels. He wondered what his grandmother would have said to her grandson’s shenanigans.

He had protested. He had raged, yelled, even thought about throwing a tantrum much like a toddler. But he couldn’t dissuade Jon from his idiocy. He knew that the lad was not completely healthy, the injuries he sustained from his bout with the Mountain still pains him, he was not moving his left arm much, and when he did, it always followed by a painful wince. But the mule-headed boy won’t listen to him. He was as stubborn as his parents, much to his consternation.

They had reached the exit hidden by a false section of the outer walls. It would allow them to reach the docks in the cover of darkness. Before opening the secret door, Arthur stopped Jon.

“Jon, I implore you once again to listen to me. Please, think this through.”

“I am telling you again, Uncle Eric, we have it under control. You need not worry.”

“At least allow me to come with you then.”

Jon sighed and turned back to embrace the older man, “I understand your worries, Uncle, believe me, I do. But this is important to me. And I need Wade to do something that only he can do. You are needed back at the barrack to keep an eye on Kurt. You know the danger he is still in. Trust in us, Uncle.” He clasped his forearm and gave him an assuring nod.

The five of them pulled up their hoods, only a small portion of their lower faces were visible from the shadows those hoods cast. The dark colours of their garbs would make it impossible for anybody to discern them from the surrounding darkness of the night.

Before going out, Jon again turned towards Arthur, he could see that infernal smirk on his face –

“Besides, it would have been quite hard for you to keep up with us in your old age.”

Arthur growled at him, “I will show you old the next time we spar, brat.”

But Jon had disappeared into the darkness by then, only a sound of cackling laughter drifted from it, sending a chill down Arthur’s spine.

[CotW]

Five shadows ran across the city with such a grace that was impossible to believe for someone if not seen by their own eyes. Nothing seemed to be too hard an obstacle for these shadows – walls, buildings, slanted roofs, they overcame all and continued their way running like gazelles, unhindered and uninterrupted.

They stopped once they had reached their destination. Quiet as cats, they had climbed up on top of the house and stepped carefully on the supports of the thatched roof. One of the shadows carefully removed the straws without making any noise, they leaned in to get a glimpse of the room underneath. They nodded to each other and again carefully and silently climbed down and gathered together at the darkened ally beside the house.

If one was awake and paid close attention to the seemingly invisible individuals, they would have heard the hushed voice of Ser Jon the White Wolf.

“Alright lads, we have eyes on our goal. I hope you all remember your parts.”

They all nodded back at him. But Wade Poole had something he needed to interject –

“Are you truly set on the idea of not using any jackass, Wolf? I even have a pineapple with me.” He brought out the said fruit from some folds of his clothes.

“Why did you carry that thing with you? On second thought, I don’t truly need to know. Just get rid of it and do what I asked you to do.”

Wade frowned back at him, “You seem to have a vendetta against having fun, Wolf.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, “Wade, first of all, you have messed up with your preparations. Since we are not about to enter any whorehouse, the pineapple and the jackass will be pointless. Secondly, we are trying to be discreet, so please, for the sake of the Old Gods and New, go and do what I have asked you to do.”

Wade tossed the fruit over his shoulder and almost stomped out of the alley grumbling as he went –

“Lad wouldn’t know what fun is even if it danced naked in front of him. But I swear to ya, ol’ Wade will make you laugh at his japes someday…”

Jon turned to see his friends wearing huge grins on their faces. He frowned and spoke –

“Kindly wipe those smiles off your faces, we have work to do.” He muttered along as he marched on, “That man truly scares me sometimes…”

[CotW]

Once again the four were up on the rooftop. This time, they had carefully and silently removed enough straws to make a rather large hole in the roof, large enough for a man to go through. Out of the four of them, Torrhen was the slightest, he had the end of a rope that they had brought along tied around his waist, while Jon and Robb, the strongest duo, gently lowered him inside of the room. It didn’t take long for Torrhen to reach the rafters, he got a strong grip on the wooden pole and waved his arm up to signal the others that he had secured himself. Jon and Robb eased their grips on the rope with Asher hovering near them. They looked down to watch as Torrhen got to work.

Torrhen sat on the beam such as a horserider, he carefully took a ball of sorts out of the folds of his clothes. They had prepared this before getting out that night, the ball was made out of dry straw and twigs and wrapped tightly with a piece of cloth. He took out a small vial of the sleeping potion and poured it all over the ball. He looked down to see if the men in the room were aware of his presence, to his relief, they seemed to be as keen in their drinking as they were when they first took a glance of the room. Putting the vial away, Torrhen lowered himself on the beam and laid upon it, he calculated the distance between himself and the gently crackling fire of the hearth. He swung his arm a couple of times before lobbing the ball at the hearth. He waited for a few moments to see if any of the occupants of the room noticed the slight movement, but he released a sigh to see that they were still blissfully unaware. He pulled up the cloth that was wrapped around his neck to cover his mouth and nose and signalled the others. Soon, he felt a tug at his waist and he gently let go of the rafters. Jon and Robb brought him up and out of the hole and onto the roof. All three of them also had their mouths and noses covered.

Without wasting any words, the four quickly put the straws back to cover the roof and laid back down on the roof, looking at the night sky. About half an hour later, they heard the sound of a whistle coming from the ally. Silently, they got up and made their way down from the roof. Wade was waiting for them, he gave them a silent nod and pulled up his own cover up to his face. The five made towards the door of the house in quietened steps. Before going inside, Jon hissed –

“Make sure that the squire isn’t among the men.”

They all nodded and gently opened the doors without making any sound. It was a sparsely furnished room, on the right-hand side, was placed a single cot upon which was laid the corpse of the late Gregor Clegane. On the opposite side of the main doors, was the entrance towards the inner chamber where the rest of Clegane’s men had gathered to hold a vigil for their passed master. But instead of standing beside his body, they had gathered at the inner chamber to have a small feast of their own, making the five’s work much easier. Jon signalled the others to secure the inner chamber while he and Robb approached the body of Clegane. Robb untied a leather bag from around his waist and opened it while Jon put the huge head of the giant of a man inside of the bag. They tied the bag and Jon had it secured on his back. With their job done, they approached the inner chamber to see if the others were done with their part.

Asher, Torrhen and Wade had carefully examined every man that was lying unconscious in the room to see if the young squire of Clegane was among them. Satisfied to not find the lad there, they went about with their works. First, they smashed and mulched the remaining of the food and scattered them all over the sleeping men. Then, they upended the casks of ale and doused them with it to make it appear that they were drunk out of their gourds. They met with Jon and Robb at the doors and nodded to convey that each had performed their assigned tasks. They gathered in the main room as Wade went outside once again. Jon put a small bit of balled up clothes at the doorframe and pushed the doors closed. The cloth lodged under the doors making it so that none would be able to open them without applying considerable strength.

This time, Asher brought out a wineskin full of blood, which Wade had pilfered from the Royal kitchens and poured the blood over Clegane’s remains. Meanwhile, Wade came back inside with a few emaciated dogs tied at the neck by a length of rope. The dogs had their tails between their legs and whined pitifully as Wade reached over to untie the knot of the rope. All of them quickly and quietly went out of the room leaving the dogs inside. They peered through the slightly ajar doors to see that the dogs sniffed the air and took fearful steps towards the corpse and started to lick the blood off of it. The five gave each other nods and disappeared into the darkness.

---

 

The Wolfpack had just emerged into the courtyard when they were greeted by the sight of Tyrion Lannister who was quickly waddling his way towards the Throne Room.

“My Lord Tyrion, why the hurry?”

Tyrion stopped at the call and turned towards them, “Ah Ser Jon, and My Lords, good day to you all. Come along with me, lads. There is something you need to see.”

“Oh?” The four fell into line beside the diminutive lion of the Rock.

“Yes, something happened the previous night, which has put the crease to my lord father’s forehead. And pity the fool who has caused that.” 

They chatted amongst themselves as they entered a hush filled Throne Room. Tyrion nodded at them to bid farewell and went to stand with the other lords from the Westerland. The four made their way towards where the Riverlanders had taken position and stood alongside Edmure Tully.

“Good day, Uncle Edmure.”

“Good day, My Lord.”

“Ah, good day, nephew, My Lords, Ser Jon.”

“What is going on, Uncle?”

“We are as confused, Robb. All we know is something happened last night.”

All of the attending nobles began to understand the gravity of the situation when King Robert himself entered the Throne Room and sat on the Iron Throne. The Queen sat on his left in an ornate seat and Lord Arryn had taken his place as the Hand at the right side of the King. Ser Jaime and Ser Mandon stood flanking the Royals. Jaime’s eyes roamed all around the hall and stopped for a brief moment when they landed on the Northerners, he winked at Jon but maintained his stony expression. Lord Tywin came a little behind the Royals and stood on a step lower of the Throne.

Lord Arryn’s raised voice rang throughout the hall, “Bring in the accused!”

Everybody turned towards the side doors to see the Gold Cloaks bringing in the Mountain’s men bound in chains. They were still bleary-eyed and were looking around in confusion.

A page rushed forward and handed a scroll to Lord Arryn. The lord cleared his throat and began to read from the scroll –

“Anthony Morris, also known as the Tickler; Rafford Swyft, also known as Raff the Sweetling; Polliver Kellegher; Dunsen Croes; Gordon Chiswyck. You have been accused by the Crown of gross negligence in your duties towards the house of your liege lord. Your negligence has resulted in the loss of property of the said lord’s house. Above all, you have caused the earthly remains of your lord’s being devoured by ravenous beasts and causing distress to the family members for the disrespect and negligence you have shown to sate your own greed. How do you plead?”

The five accused were still to retain their full awareness, the one named Polliver looked around himself with beady eyes and very articulately asked –

“Wha?”

Lord Arryn sighed and once again cleared his throat, “It is clear that these five men are still under the influence of their dalliance. We move forward to the accusations that have been brought against them and eyewitness accounts for the said accusations.”

Much to the chagrins and horror of the attending nobles, they heard about how the neighbours had woken up to a commotion outside of the house which the Mountain and his men have rented for the duration of the tourney, only to found that a few dogs fighting over a bloody piece of something. The main doors to the house stood ajar and bloody trails left from the house in different directions. Alarmed, the people then alerted the City Watch. They arrived at the place to find numerous dogs were fighting outside as well as inside of the house, over the dead body of the late Gregor Clegane. The body was found to be half-eaten as well as missing several body parts. After the guards chased the dogs away, they had investigated farther into the house to find the accused men passed out from over-indulgence of food and ale.

Sandor Clegane had come into the room following the guards and stood at a darkened corner behind rows of people. Jon hadn’t taken his eyes off of the man while listening to the happenings of the court.

It didn’t take long for Lord Hand to declare the judgement of the Crown – the men are to pay compensation to their liege lord’s house for the damage they have caused. But for their punishment, Lord Arryn had deferred to Lord Tywin Lannister, the Warden to the West.

The old lion had his narrowed and piercing eyes trained on the five men in chains, when he heard Lord Arryn’s verdict, he bowed his head just a bit and turned to face fully towards the men.

“Thank you, My Lord Hand. You have wisely counselled on behalf of the Crown and dispensed justice. Now, I appeal to the Crown that these men may be released under my command so that I can have them punished before the men of Westerland. For they are from the Westerland and have done crimes against men of Westerland.”

Robb leaned towards Jon and asked in a low voice, “Hví gerþúr hugshannr spyrjumk fyrir at?” (Why do you think he asked for that?)

Jon hissed back at him, still maintaining his gaze on the Hound, who had started to move slowly and quietly in front of the room as King Robert and Lord Arryn discussed over the request of Lord Lannister –

“Jafnvel though mountaininn er dauðr, gamallrinn lion gerir eigi viljtilr látrestinnr ór hans framgangdogsr.” (Even though the Mountain is dead, the old lion does not want to lose the rest of his attack dogs.)

Lord Arryn straightened and again spoke aloud, “After considering Lord Lannister’s request, the Crown has decided that the accused will be released under the command of the Warden to the West to dole out punishments as he deems fit. Guards, take these men to the Black Cells and keep them under watch till My Lord Lannister arranges for their removal.”

The guards once again hauled the chains and led the five men away from the Throne Room. Lord Arryn gave them a few moments to clear out, then he turned towards the gathering –

“If there is nothing else, I would declare this emergency session to an end.”

“I have something to say, My Lord.” A gruff voice sounded out.

Everybody turned to see Sandor Clegane making his way to the front of the room. The Wolfpack tensed a bit wondering what the Hound had in his mind.

Lord Arryn nodded, “The Crown recognises Sandor Clegane, current lord of Clegane’s keep. What issue do you bring before the Crown?”

Clegane gave a curt nod instead of a bow, his eyes drifted towards the side doors for a moment before he looked back, “As you have seen yourselves, those fucking cunts are not responsible enough to keep a hold of their own balls, let alone my late brother’s effects.”

The viewing audience was struck dumbfounded by the man’s crude demeanour. But it had earned him a guffaw from the King, while the Queen and her father narrowed their eyes in incandescent rage.

Lord Arryn too had an annoyed look upon his face, “Do remember your station, Clegane, and watch your tongue.”

Here, the King made a comment in a slurred voice, driving any doubts away that he was already deep in his cups, even if it was barely mid-morning, “Ah, let him be, Jon. He is a man after my own heart.”

Lord Arryn let out a frustrated sigh and closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself, “Continue, Clegane.”

Clegane sneered as a whisper broke out around the room by his behaviour, “As I was saying, my brother’s effects will be of no use in the hands of those…men. Keeping that in mind, I want to offer his ride, the warhorse of the finest breed, to the man who defeated him, the White Wolf.”

Everybody including Jon was shocked to hear that, none of them had expected that outcome.

Lord Arryn had to raise his voice over the murmurs to be heard, “Ser Jon, will you kindly step forward?”

Jon gave them a bow as he reached the steps to the Throne.

“Do you accept the offer given by Sandor Clegane?”

Jon looked over at the man to see him peering at him with a faked disinterest. He turned his head towards the Hand and nodded, “It was not necessary, My Lord, but aye, I will accept this generous gift.”

Lord Arryn nodded, “Very well. If no one has anything else to bring forth, I will now declare this emergency session to an end.”

[CotW]

The Wolfpack stood at the courtyard waiting for the stablehand to bring the horse to them. A few passing nobles greeted them on their hurried way towards the tourney ground. Jon was getting restless as he felt the time was running short for his own preparations for the day’s jousts. Soon, a young boy led the huge black steed that was the Mountain’s ride just the previous day.

As Jon approached to take the reins from the boy, the horse skittered around a bit. It seemed a bit skittish towards Jon. He frowned and looked deep into the horse’s coal-black eyes. As he came in contact with the beast’s mind, he understood why he seemed to be wary of him. The horse was trained to be a warhorse. He was groomed since his birth to obey commands which had shaped his mind. But when Jon forcefully invaded his mind, he fought back with animal instincts as well as with his command-oriented mind. But Jon forced his own will upon him which made him distrustful of the human. Jon coaxed further to gleam the knowledge that it was not only him who was injured by the forced warging, the horse was affected too. Jon had to draw on from his connections with Gale and Ghost to establish a rudimentary connection with the horse. It was not a warg bond per se, but much like a mutual understanding between two beings.

To the outside world, it appeared before the onlookers that Ser Jon had his forehead pressed against the magnificent beast and gently rubbing his hands on his neck and mane. All were amazed at the gentleness the boy showed towards the animal. They had heard about his direwolf companion, some even seen them together, but what they saw with their own eyes, proved to everybody that the young man had a special connection with animals.

“Magnificent beast!”

Jon broke his mental connection with the horse and looked up to see that Lord Arryn had come to join his friends and stared at the horse with an admiring look on his face.

Jon bowed, “My Lord.”

“It appears that Sandor Clegane offered you quite a gift, lad.”

“Aye, My Lord. Though we are wondering why he did such a thing.” Jon frowned.

Lord Arryn sighed, “Rumour has it that the brothers had quite a fierce enmity between the two of them. To the point that the younger had sworn to end the life of the elder. I think he granted you a boon because you have made his wish come true.”

Jon shook his head, “I will never understand how can a brother turns against his own blood.”

Lord Arryn looked intently into Jon’s eyes, “Vengeance can cause more than that, lad.” He shook his head and smiled back at him, “Let us not delve into the darkness that can roost inside of a man’s head. How are you feeling today, lad? Your injuries are not troubling you I hope?”

Jon smiled back at the man, “No, My Lord. Maester Luwin has looked to it and said that I only need to put on a salve and have a good night’s rest to be at my best.”

“Glad to see you are at your finest, my boy. Now, I don’t cater much to wagers but I have heard that quite a few men had put a bet on you to win the joust.” He took a step closer and spoke in a fake whisper, “I am not to say anything, but even His Grace wagered for you to win. You didn’t hear it from me, but I would hate it if you put His Grace in a bad temper with your loss.” He winked at him, causing the close-by listeners to chuckle at his jape. He clasped his hand with Jon’s before bidding him goodbye, “I will not take much of your time, Ser Jon. I will see you at the ground.” Lord Arryn strode away with a cheerful smile.

The four also started to make their way towards the ground, with Jon leading the horse by the rein.

“Do you plan to ride him in today’s bouts?” Asher asked.

“Aye, else it would be a waste of his talents.” Jon cast a discreet glance around and opened his fist in which Lord Arryn had pressed a small bit of parchment when he clasped hands with him. He read it and crumpled it again. He looked back to his brother and said, “Asher and I need to go and prepare. We will see the both of you after the event is over.” He clasped his hands with them and went towards the participant’s pavilion along with Asher.

Robb and Torrhen started to climb the steps to the gallery when they stopped at a turn and opened the parchment Jon had given to Robb. It read –

Meet me at the Godswood after the day’s functions are over.

---

 

Once again Robb found himself sitting beside the smarmy Petyr Baelish. He very much wanted to plunge his dagger at that man’s throat just as Jon did with the Mountain if only to see the smirk wiped off of his face.

“Ah, My Lord Robb, I heard it was quite an interesting morning inside of the Red Keep?”

“Do you want my confirmation or mayhaps you want to have a conversation about it, My Lord?”

Baelish’s smile faltered for a moment, “Oh, nothing of that sort, My Lord. I was just wondering why Clegane offered the horse to your brother?”

“Shouldn’t you ask Clegane that question, My Lord?”

The smirk was back on his face, “I would, but the man is rather abrasive for my taste.”

“So you have a taste for men? I am sorry to disappoint you, My Lord, but my own taste lies with the fairer gender.”

That wiped the smirk completely, “Uh…I do not have a taste for men…”

Torrhen faked a bout of cough to cover for the chortle that threatened to burst out of his throat.

Robb looked at Baelish confused, “But didn’t you just say that Clegane doesn’t suit your taste?”

Baelish’s neck slowly started to turn crimson, he bit out his words through his teeth very slowly as if he was trying to make a toddler understand something –

“What I meant by that is I find Clegane very crude for my…uh…to have a civil conversation with.”

Robb’s eyes were about to get out of his sockets, “And you thought I am the epitome of civility to suit your taste? Again, I am sorry to disappoint you, My Lord, but I truly desire for the company of women.” He turned towards Torrhen, “Even if I live for a hundred years, I will never understand the Southorn’s courting procedure.”

Torrhen had to bite hard on his tongue so that he didn’t burst out laughing.

 Baelish had apparently lost his interest in the conversation and turned his head towards the ground, “Ah, I see that they are starting.”

Robb would swear later that he had heard Baelish muttering “finally”.

[CotW]

Like the previous day, the final four participants – Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Yohn Royce, Lord Berric Dondadrrion and Ser Jon Snow, rode their horses once slowly along with the viewer’s gallery. Sitting on his new destrier and in his polished armours, Jon looked even more menacing than he did the previous day. He once again bumped his fist against his chest as he rode past the part of the gallery Robb and Torrhen were sitting in, they both were on their feet and returned the gesture once more. The ladies were throwing roses at the horses’ path and swooned as the four handsome warriors acknowledged them.

Because there were only three bouts left to decide for the winner of the jousting, singing of bards and other entertainments were arranged to be held first. As it had become the norm, there were a couple of songs about the White Wolf; a few new ones about the brave White Lion; dwarves presented the re-enactment of the fall of the Targaryen dynasty. Asher and Arthur, once again with Jon at his tent, were worried that Jon would lose his comportment about that, but all he did was gave them a smile and a wink. There was even a mummer’s troupe who presented a play depicting Ser Jaime’s life till date, including a part where his little brother Tyrion, with the help of the famed White Wolf, unearthed the dragon eggs which led to the revelation of the tragic tale of a lone man carrying the burden of a mad tyrant’s lunacy, culminating with removing the wildfire and Jaime reclaiming his honour. Arthur had a few choice words to mutter about Tywin Lannister not missing any opportunity to remind the people of the realms of his family’s legacy.

Finally, it was time for the jousts to take place, first to the tilt were Ser Barristan and Lord Beric. The riders took four runs of the tilt and two broken lances before Ser Barristan unhorsed the Lord of Blackhaven. Next, Jon was up against the Lord of Runestone.

Arthur had a few last minute’s pointers to give –

“Keep a cooler head. Lord Yohn is a very experienced rider, as he is very cunning. Do not lose your head, if you saw any opening, it is probably a trap.”

Jon nodded his head as he lowered his visor. Asher handed him his lance and he spurred Midnight, which he had decided to call the steed, onwards to the tilt.

Lord Yohn sat atop his brown charger and bronze plated armour, adorned with the runes of the First Men. His gleaming bronze armours had earned him the nickname Bronze Yohn. As Jon took his place, the lord raised his lance in salutation. Jon returned the gesture by raising his own. At the end of the counting, they both charged towards each other. Jon almost instantly spotted an opening in the lord’s posture, but then again, Arthur’s warning rang in his ears – ‘if you saw any opening, it is probably a trap.’ He tried to concentrate on anything else rather than the glaring fault in Lord Royce’s posture, not succeeding, he aimed for the shield.

Lord Yohn had not thought about the possibility that a young man such as Jon would forgo the opening he had laid out for him, so he had not had a proper grip on his shield as he should. His eyes went wide when Jon’s lance crashed and broke against his shield that he almost lost his sitting. His own had landed a glancing blow against Jon’s shield.

On the next run, Lord Royce didn’t let out any opening for Jon. He had covered himself with his shield as much as he could and charged out again. But Jon could see that there was a very small gap between the lord’s shield and his breastplate. He thought it could be another trap, but from the angle, Lord Royce was holding his shield, Jon realized that he had injured the lord on the previous run. Jon decided to take the gamble and aimed for the opening he found.

Lord Royce was shocked by the impact of Jon’s lance on his breastplate, even as his lance landed squarely on Jon’s shield, he had lost his balance and crashed on the ground. Jon pulled the reins of Midnight to stop him and jumped off the saddle to help the lord on his feet.

“How did you manage that?” the Lord asked him incredulously.

“Well, your first run was obviously a trap, My Lord. But on the next run, your shield was in an odd angle and left a small opening. I thought that I have hurt your shield hand and took the gamble.” Jon said bashfully.

Lord Royce roared in laughter, “You have keen eyes, my boy. I will be rooting for you to win now. But be careful of Barristan. He is a crafty old man.”

“Aye, My Lord, I will keep that in mind.”

They waved to the cheering crowd and left the ground together.

Arthur was waiting for him in the tent with a beaming smile on his face, whereas Asher appeared to be having a fit.

“The final, Jon! You have reached the final!”

“Aye, Asher, I am aware of that. Please calm down.”

“But you have reached the fucking final of the joust!”

Jon sighed, “Uncle Eric, would you do me a favour and knock him out?”

Arthur could only laugh at their banter.

[CotW]

“Did you see that, Jon? Ned’s boy has reached the final!”

“Yes, Your Grace, he is quite the rider.”

“He is one hell of a rider, Jon! Ned has done right by his sprogs.”

[CotW]

“How about a wager, My Lord Baelish?”

“Oh? You think your brother can unhorse Barristan the Bold?”

“We can never know until it is over, don’t we, My Lord?”

“Very well, what do you have in mind?”

[CotW]

“You have your toughest opponent facing against you now, Jon. Well, an opponent you are not aiming to kill that is. He is called Barristan the Bold for something indeed. He enlisted himself in a jousting event when he was only ten name days old.”

“Do not worry, Uncle Eric, I am not taking this lightly. I actually am quite excited to face Ser Barristan.”

The herald announced the final bout of King’s tourney, between Ser Barristan the Bold and Ser Jon the White Wolf. Both the riders got a standing ovation from the crowd. They nodded to each other as they went to take their places. Almost immediately after the herald finished the counting, they thundered off.

Ser Barristan’s lance landed right in the middle of Jon’s shield and broke on impact, Jon’s own had only given a glancing blow. He could feel that a new set of bruises were forming on his arm over the previous set he had collected. On the next run, Jon once again managed to land a glancing blow again, but Ser Barristan had aimed once again for his shield and broke another lance. Jon frowned as he went back to his place. It appeared to him that the old knight had planned to make his shield arm numb enough that he would make a mistake as Lord Royce and left an opening for him to exploit. For a moment, he thought about using his warging abilities, but he shook off the idea. He wanted to win against a legendary opponent as Ser Barristan on his skills, not by trickery he used against the loathsome excuse of a human, Gregor Clegane.

On that run, just as the riders were about to meet, Jon pulled the reins of Midnight just the slightest bit as he himself slid down from the saddle a little on the same side. He had once again his lance placed between his thigh and arm for the additional leverage. This sudden change of his posture resulted in Ser Barristan’s lance missing him by quite a distance, but his lance landed square on the old knight’s breastplate from an upward angle from the side, missing his shield. The lance broke with a resounding crack and Ser Barristan was thrown off of his horse.

The entire crowd was quiet. The stupor was broken when Jon once again jumped down from his saddle to help the old knight get back up. Chants of the White Wolf filled the entire ground.

“Are you alright, Ser?” Jon asked worriedly.

Barristan barked a burst of laughter and said, “Do not worry about me, young man. This is not my first time. I have taken quite a few tumbles in my life, some were even more dangerous and humiliating than this.” He clapped on Jon’s shoulder, “Go, enjoy your feat. You have earned it, Ser Jon.”

As Jon got back up on Midnight’s saddle, the herald spoke –

“Your Graces, My Lords and Ladies of Westeros, kindly allow me to present the winner of the King’s Jousting, Ser Jon the White Wolf!”

Cheers and applauds rang throughout the gallery as Jon slowly trotted towards the podium that held the crown made by flowers. All of the ladies present there sucked in their breaths, eagerly waiting to see who the knight would declare as his Queen of Love and Beauty. Many of the said ladies sent a furious glare towards the part of the gallery where Lady Madelyne Pryor was sitting beside her brother. They had all witnessed how the red-headed beauty hogged the young knight for the entirety of the opening ceremonial feast.

Asher had run to reach the podium with a new lance. He handed it over to Jon with the biggest smile on his face as well as a raised brow to question his choice. He had also indicated the part of the audience where Lady Pryor was sitting with a jerk of his head. Jon could only shake his head at his friend’s antics. He plucked a red rose from the crown before putting it around the tip of his lance.

Jon trotted on midnight towards the Royal box, much to the confusion of all the ladies. He reached the bottom of the box, and announced in a loud voice –

“Your Grace, My Queen Cersei, will you grant me the honour to declare you my Queen of Love and Beauty?”

Amongst thunderous cheers, Jon raised his lance for the Queen to pluck the crown from it, the ones who were seated close to the Royal box were quite surprised to see a dusting of red adorning the Queen’s cheeks along with a very pleasing smile. She delicately placed the crown on her head and looked down at the young man sitting on the horse below –

“I accept, my brave knight!”

Jon gave her a gracious bow, but the next thing he did, stopped all the hollering and hushed the crowd. He climbed atop the saddle and stood up straight, producing a single red rose, but this time he extended his arm towards Princess Myrcella –

“Princess Myrcella, you are the very image of your lady mother. May your beauty and charms grow each day as you grow up to become even more beautiful than her. Kindly allow me to declare you my Princess of Love and Beauty.”

The little Princess had turned red from head to toes, she accepted the offered rose and stutteringly thanked the knight.

“Hah! Blood always speaks true! Just like his father, eh Jon?” Robert’s voice boomed among the cheers.

Notes:

A.N.- I thank everybody for your opinions for and against on the matter of letting Sam Tarly in the Wolfpack. I have received quite a few enlightening pointers in both directions. But to those who have voted for Sam to be included, I am sorry to say that I have decided that he will be more useful at the Wall. He is quite intelligent despite his other shortcomings. He can become a true disciple to Maester Aemon.

I have experimented a bit with parts of this chapter. I wanted to explore the story from other perspectives rather than only seeing the world from the Wolfpack's PoV. Does it make the narrative boring? Because I am quite enjoying in creating this new-old world. I want to make it a well-rounded story.

Another question, does anybody have any idea about the displaced prince who was in KL during Ned's time there, who had come to ask for help from the Iron Throne to reclaim his lost country? I seemed to have forgotten his name.

Chapter 23: Interlude 3: Decisions, Deceptions and Detections

Interlude 3: Decisions, Deceptions and Detections

The Godswood of the Red Keep was a secluded part of the castle. It was created for those who followed the religion of the First Men, but with time, the Faith of the Seven became more prominent for the Royal family since King Baelor the Blessed became a devout follower of the faith and declared the Great Sept to be the seat for the High Septon. The Godswood remained as it was but it had lost its importance to the people, becoming a part of the Royal garden. Only people who visited the Godswood were those who seek a quiet place to sit and collect their thoughts away from the hubbub of the general populace.

The Wolfpack had quietly made their escape from the praising crowd, they had endured the admirations and accolades for as long as they could – what with Ser Jon becoming even more popular with his winnings. Every male wanted to shake the hands of the man who dominated King’s tourney, while every woman wanted to get close to the man who had won quite a bit of fame and fortune. As soon as they found an opening, they made a run for it. The older attendees of that little celebration could only stare at them with amusements as they ran past, laughing like madmen, but the womenfolk let out a collective huff of frustration seeing their ‘prey’ eluded them once again.

As they reached the Godswood, Asher and Torrhen peeled off from the group and entrenched themselves into the greenery, keeping a lookout for possible pursuer or eavesdroppers. Jon and Robb continued to venture further into the trees. They came to a stop before an ancient oak tree that was the Heartstree of this Godswood instead of a Weirwood tree. Jon placed a hand on the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes with a deep sigh and sadly shook his head, at Robb’s questioning look, he answered, “Just a faint tingle. As if they are welcoming me but cannot communicate with me further than that.”

The brothers made themselves comfortable on the roots of the tree. Soon, a loud caw of a raven sounded from somewhere in the leaves. Jon looked up at the branches overhead.

“It was Munnin. Asher must have seen Lord Arryn.”

True to his words, a couple of minutes later, the old lord of Eyrie came into their view. The brothers got up to their feet to greet him.

“Good evening, My Lord.”

“Good evening to you too, lads. Have you been waiting for long?”

“No, My Lord, a few minutes mayhaps. It was quite hard to evade all those people who wanted to have a chat with us.”

Lord Arryn chuckled hearing that, “That is quite understandable. One of you is the heir to a Great house, heir to inherit a wardenship, and the other is becoming a living legend. If I am not wrong, most of the people who crowded you were of the fairer gender?”

Both the brothers blushed at that, Lord Arryn was having fun at their expenses before turning sober.

“None of them followed you, I hope?”

Jon shook his head, “We can talk freely here, My Lord. Our other brothers are keeping a watch and will alert us of anyone else’s approach.”

Lord Arryn nodded as he sat down on the roots and leaned back to the trunk, giving a kind smile at the young men before him.

“By your note to me, I gather you have understood why I sent you to that shop?”

“Aye, My Lord. But what we don’t understand is what do you want us to do about it?” Robb asked.

“I am quite sure your brother has an inclination of my intention.” Lord Arryn peered at Jon.

Jon smirked at the older man, “You want to protect the young man, Gendry. Mayhaps you even want to send him away from this place which our father aptly calls the viper’s pit, for the other Baratheon bastards are relatively safer in other kingdoms, the ones who are in here are not quite so. And if I am not mistaken, Gendry is the eldest male child of King Robert. So he is the unofficial heir to the Stormlands because Lord Stannis only has a daughter and if the rumours are true, I don’t think the Lady Selys Baratheon of House Florent is capable of bearing anymore child for Lord Stannis.”

Lord Arryn had a pleased but surprised look on his face, he wasn’t expecting the young lads to be so insightful.

“Furthermore, I believe you are aware of Lord Renly’s proclivities?” Receiving a wide-eyed nod of acceptance from the lord, Jon continued, “Aye, even in far North, we heard tales about how Lord Renly is quite fond of his young squire, Lord Loras Tyrell, third son of the Lord of the Highgarden…and thus, we have reached the heart of the problem that is politics.”

Robb had been listening closely to his brother, he frowned then and asked, “How so?”

“Think about it, Robb, Stannis is the next oldest brother after Robert, yet he is not the Lord of Storm’s End, Renly is. I don’t know what is the relationship between the brothers, but the King has quite literally snubbed his brother when he skipped him and bestowed the lordship to their youngest brother. What do you think will happen in the King’s absence? There will be two factions, one supporting Lord Stannis, the other supporting Lord Renly. Add to that the relationships they had cultivated so far, House Florent from Reach in support of Stannis and House Tyrell in support of Renly. Not to mention that the Florents were spurned when the Tyrells were granted the wardenship, what with the Florents having a distinct connection with the family of the Gardener Kings and the Tyrells being the family of stewards. A civil war between two factions which will span across two kingdoms.”

Robb leaned back with a thoughtful look on his face. Lord Arryn had quite a proud and happy smile beaming at Jon.

“You are making me curse Ned’s name that he didn’t consider me to foster you, lad.” He turned to face Robb, “Your brother is absolutely right in his deductive reasoning. There will be a civil war in near future. Now, think what some opportunist individuals can do with the information that there is an elder male child of Robert, those who will back Edric Storm’s claim for him being Robert’s son will be challenged by this new faction who will back Gendry’s claim, and I am afraid all of these will result in ending of the House Baratheon, a Great House of the realms. Some may argue that Edric is a noble-born bastard whereas Gendry is a low-born, but both of them being the King’s get throws that argument in the fire.”

His gaze narrowed as he turned to look at Jon, “And don’t think I didn’t notice your action this evening, lad. That was quite a risk you have taken there.”

“Pardon me, My Lord, but what did he do?”

“Think about his actions after the jousting, think hard about his wordings.”

Robb did so, and after a couple of minutes, Jon smirked as he saw his brother’s eyes widening. Robb had sprung onto his feet.

“‘You are the very image of your lady mother.’ Oh, you cunning bastard.”

Jon’s smirk only widened more.

“We are the wolves, dear brother. We are meant to be cunning predators; did you forget that?”

“Fuck you, Snow!”

“Same to you, brother!”

“Language, boys!” Jon Arryn sighed as the brothers sheepishly apologized to him, “I can see why Ned had separated you two for a few years. Your antics can give grey hair even to the most patient of men.”

He clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them, “Be thankful that what you have said was taken as compliments by all and leaving even the ones in the know none the wiser. But now, you have come under the direct gaze of Her Grace and her lord father. Be wary of the lioness, Jon. She will take her chance to pounce on you.”

“Which is why I did what I did, My Lord. I want to have a conversation with her.”

“You are taking quite an interest in the Lannisters. May I ask your reasons?”

Jon ran his hand through his hair, he looked up to the leaves of the trees which were bathed in a warm glow from the light of a dying sun.

“Lord Tyrion once told me that he has a soft spot in his heart for bastards and broken things. I reckon I have the same feelings. Tyrion, being a dwarf, is a bastard to his father’s eyes. Those are his own words, not mine. And for Ser Jaime,” Jon sighed and looked down to the ground, “I don’t know what it is, but he is a broken man. Some of his behaviours rang true to my heart, from the time when I thought that I was a no-good leech to my lord father’s home.”

Robb opened his mouth to interject, but Jon stopped him, “Peace, brother. We both know that whatever issues were there, are resolved now. What I am talking about is that I could relate with the man. I tried to give him a chance, the same chance that I was given, to prove myself, to show the world that I was more than what they thought of me. I didn’t do anything in hope for rewards, I just wanted to help a few suffering souls.”

Lord Arryn placed a gentle hand on Jon’s shoulder, “You are a good lad, Jon Snow. You are a credit to your father’s name.”

“Thank you for your kind words, My Lord, will you permit me to ask something?”

“Go ahead, lad.”

“If I am not mistaken, your intention for us is to take Gendry along when we leave this place, to keep him safe and prepare him for any coming conflicts.” Jon waited for the lord to nod his head in consent, “What I want to ask is why us? Why didn’t you ghost him away to the care of one of your leal lord’s command?”

Lord Arryn sighed, he had a far-away look on his face.

“What do you know about the war of the Ninepenny Kings?”

Jon frowned at this question, “Surprisingly, not much, My Lord. The library of Winterfell is sorely lacking any decent account of those days, bar the general movements of men and the result. Even the Royal library is quite curiously bereft of the same.”

Lord Arryn nodded, “Not that surprising for some of us who have lived in those days, lad. What you don’t know is just before that conflict, there was a strange event that baffled the seven kingdoms. Nobles died of diseases, almost as in a routine. And then there were these strange occurrences, people turning up dead or disappearing into the nothingness. Even the Maesters weren’t spared.  Many had fallen to ill fate or downright killed by unknown persons. The Citadel were at their wit’s end. There weren’t many articulate or literary men left in the Maester’s Guild to record the tidings as previous Maesters did for other conflicts. But I digress, while all of these were going on, news came from across the sea during the end of King Agon V’s reign, that a group of nine had banded together to form a powerful cabal, each individual claimed one specific area as their kingdoms and proclaimed themselves as kings and with a pact that they would help each other to acquire their chosen kingdoms. Maelys I Blackfyre, the last of the Blackfyres in the male line, was one such individual, and he claimed the Seven Kingdoms as his own. When they had invaded the Stepstones and made it their primary base for their invasion of Westeros, King Jaehaerys II was pushed to call for banners by his then Lord Hand, Lord Ormund Baratheon.”

The boys were listening to the older man’s recounting with rapt attention.

“Many young knights and lords have made their fame during that campaign - Steffon Baratheon, Tywin and Kevan Lannister, Brynden Tully, Aerys Targaryen…most of all Barristan Selmy. The then young Barristan the Bold cut a bloody path among the ranks of the Golden Company and slew Maelys in a one-on-one confrontation, ending the conflict and the Blackfyre’s claim to the Iron Throne once and for all.”

Lord Arryn let out a long, shuddering sigh, “Everything was alright after the wars. But the older generation – Lord Rickard Stark, Lord Hoster Tully and myself, we felt an unease in our bones. Something was brewing in the winds. We had kept with corresponding among ourselves afterwards, only to ease each other’s mind that everything was indeed alright.”

“What you may not know, was the fact that Aerys Targaryen, Tywin Lannister and Steffon Baratheon were quite close since their childhood. They grew up together in this city. When Aerys ascended to the throne, he named Tywin as his Hand. As of now, the then young Tywin was quite adamant to restore the Lannister legacy that received quite a blow during his father, Lord Tytos’ time. He had rendered the Reynes and Tarbecks to extinction only to prove to the Seven Kingdoms that he is not like his father.”

Lord Arryn peered into Jon’s eyes, “You remember what I told you about the darkness that roosts in a man’s mind?” Jon nodded his head, “After the debacle of Duskendale, Aerys’ madness started to come to the front. He had started to see enemies all around himself. The first thing he did after recovering from his ordeal was to replace Tywin as the hand with his other friend Steffon. But he didn’t leave it at that, he wanted to snub Tywin further. He knew that the lion wanted his blood to seat on the throne. Because of that and to spurn his once friend, even more, Aerys ordered Steffon to visit the eastern lands in search of a bride of Valyrian descent for his heir, Prince Rhaeger.”

“By then, I had Robert fostering in Eyrie, learning that, Lord Rickard sent his second son, your father Eddard for fosterage under me as well. We were of the hope that whatever was coming, we would weather it together. Rickard and Hoster made an agreement of betrothing the Northern heir, your Uncle Brandon with the eldest Tully daughter, Catelyn.”

Lord Arryn looked tired and older than he actually was, the brothers understood that retelling the past was taking a toll on the old lord. They wanted him to stop, but he ploughed on –

“I do not know if you are aware of this or not, but I have been married three times in my life. My first wife had gifted me with a strong heir, but she died giving birth to my Jonnothor. My second wife, gave me a beautiful daughter, Joanna. But neither of them lived for long. Both her and my Joanna died of a fever while Jonnothor and I were busy at the Stepstones. Not only that, but I also lost my brave and strong son on the battlefield. I returned to a home which was empty of my dearest ones.”

Tears were flowing abundantly from the old man’s eyes. Jon and Robb looked at each other uncomfortably, for none of them knew how to console the man.

“That is why I bestowed all my affections to the little lads who came to my home – Robert and Ned. Robert was a bright-eyed boy, albeit mischievous. I can’t remember how many times I had to reprimand him for his misdeeds.” Lord Arryn chuckled at the memories, “Then there was Ned, a happy but sombre child. They were complete contrast of each other, yet, they had formed a bond strong as of brothers.”

“Even with all his happy demeanour, I glimpsed darkness in Robert. Which came to existence because of the birth of his brother, Stannis. As you know, every new mother tends to spend more time with their newborn babe. Lady Casanna wasn’t any different. She was a lovely lady with a heart full of love, but Robert felt that Stannis stole his dotting mother from him.” Lord Arryn sighed, “That resentment never went away, only grew with passing time. Then there was the ill-fated journey to the eastern lands. Lord Steffon had sent a letter to his home and heir that they were returning. They were unable to find a bride for the Crown Prince. But Steffon laughingly boasted that he found a fool who can even make his dour son, Stannis, to laugh, making Robert even more resentful of his brother.”

“For all his bravery and prowess in the battlefield, Robert never grew up as a man. He is still the same lad whose mind stopped maturing after he reached his sixteenth namedays. The age he was in when his parents died. Lord Steffon and Lady Casanna were returning back to their home when their ship was wrecked at Shipwreck Bay. Killing all hundred men and deckhands abroad, only the famed fool, Patchface, emerged alive from the wreckage, but he was not the same since. Robert started blaming everything on Gods’ earth on the Targaryens, the deep-seated hatred for his parents passing grew with each passing day, and it all culminated when Aerys killed your Lord Grandfather and uncle.”

Lord Arryn looked to be a truly old man who had spent all his lifeforce, he held his head in his hands as he continued to speak in a raspy voice, “I knew Robert wasn’t the best option to sit on the Throne. I, myself, pushed for your father to claim the seat, for he was the one who had lost the most. But you Northerners are stubborn to a fault. Ned didn’t agree with me and left to rescue his sister. Hoster and I, seeing no other option, put Robert on the Throne, because the blood of the dragons flows in his veins through his Lady Grandmother, who was a Targaryen. I forced myself to take up the position of the Hand to keep some control over Robert, for I knew he was not suitable to rule the kingdoms. Better it be I who holds the reins. But now I am getting old, I don’t know how long I will live. My own house faces extinction because I have no proper heir. Oh, I do have another son after so many years. But young Robert is a frail boy, and it doesn’t help the way his mother smothers him. The legacy of House Arryn will rest in the hands of my sister’s nephew, Harold Hardyng. Here I am, looking from the precipice to the destruction of my forefather’s house, and worrying for the future of my foster son’s legacy.” He chuckled ruefully.

The brothers looked at each other and had a silent conversation of their own. After a few frowns and shaking of heads, they nodded their heads as one. They both got up from where they were sitting and went to their knees in front of the mentally broken old lord.

“My Lord Arryn,” Jon spoke in a sombre voice, making Lord Arryn raise his head, he was surprised to see the boys kneeling before him, “You call our Lord Father your son, that, for all intents and purposes, makes you our grandfather.”

Robb spoke up from beside Jon, “You have taught our father, and he, in turn, taught us your lessons. So we are what we are now due to your teachings. As your grandsons, we are indebted to you for your valuable lessons and the familial love you have shown our father and to us since we arrived here.”

“Aye, My Lord, we, your grandsons, hereby give you our words, we will do your bidding to the best of our abilities. We also promise you to help your heir, be it young Robert or Harold Hardyng, we will not let the Arryn legacy disappear into an abyss.”

Robb took out a dagger from his belt and sliced open his left palm, then passed the dagger to Jon who proceeded to do the same. Lord Arryn opened his mouth in alarm, but the boys remained stoic, nary a flinch of pain shown in their faces. Together, they began to intone –

“This we swear to you – we swear it by earth and water, we swear it by bronze and iron, we swear it by ice and fire!”

A gentle wind blew through the leaves, it felt like that the very earth accepted the oath the boys had just given. The old lord sat there dumbfounded by what he just witnessed.

A cawing of a raven broke the quiet reverie. Jon looked up to the leaves and nodded.

“We do not have very long, My Lord. Someone is approaching this place. But some things remain to be discussed so I will be quick and brief.” He waited for the lord’s nod, “Gendry cannot be seen to be leaving along with us. He needs to leave ahead, and just so he is not spotted leaving this city, we will cause a diversion to turn all eyes and ears upon us. You, My Lord, need to make sure that the lad leaves quickly once we give you the word. Also, keep an eye on the other children of the King, do not use ravens to send such instructions to Vale directly. Send a raven to our father, I hope you have a secured way that only the two of you would be aware of the content of the message?”

Lord Arryn again nodded his head in confusion, “Great, kindly do so, and tell father to send a message to Lord Royce. He is your most leal lord from what we have heard from him and the rest of the Valemen. Tell him to take Mya Stone under his care and send some trusted man to keep watch on Edric at Storm’s End.” Jon sighed and lowered his head, “I do not think we will have any further chance to speak alone again. So, kindly tell Lord Royce to send messages for Ser Harry and any of his trusted friends to travel to Old Town with all haste, while you yourself prepare a missive for him, sealed with your personal sigil. A raven will soon come to you with our planned diversion, please give the missive to the raven so we will have it in hand to quench any question Hardyng may have.”

Voices could be heard a short distance away. The brothers got up to their feet at the sound. Lord Arryn took some time to get up on his feet. The three of them made their way out of the Godswood, passing a few nobles who had decided to venture into the King’s gardens. They bowed as the three passed and received generous greetings in turn. As they neared the keep, Lord Arryn stopped in his tracks and looked around, only to see the two friends of the lads following them at a distance, they gave an assuring nod to the lord.

“I have something for your lads here. I almost forgot to hand it over to you.” He took out a sealed scroll from the folds of his clothes, “This is a certificate addressed to the Iron Bank. You need to present it there to have a vault opened in your name, either of you, and a generous sum will be deposited in the said vault.” He raised his hand to stop any incoming argument, “Do not argue with me on this, boys, call it a grandfather’s prerogative. I need to be sure that the three of you – you two and Gendry, will be secured financially while your stay at Essos. Kindly let me do this for my grandsons.” He shoved the scroll in Jon’s hand.

“I will await your raven.” He gave them a nod and strode away, he looked quite happy by the outcome of their meeting, as if a great burden was lifted off of him.

---

 

The feast was, in one word, uncomfortable for Jon. Every noble-born woman, even the married ones, had surrounded the four friends. As much as they tried to portray their brave faces, Robb and Asher, the self-proclaimed ladies’ men of the group were quite worried by the behaviours of some of those women. Women as old as to the likes of being their grandmother had pressed their bodies to the young men in what they hoped to be a rather enticing manner, but to the four, it was a very awkward and uncomfortable situation for them, more so, for the White Wolf. Jon was literally only moments away from bolting from the place when he found Lady Madelyne within his arms as they swayed to the music.

“I thought you have forgotten about me, Ser Jon.” Madelyne said with a pout.

“Of course not, My Lady, I still carry your favour, after all.”

Madelyne’s eyes twinkled at that remark, “So, have I managed to make an impression upon the legendary White Wolf?”

Jon smiled back to her, “I don’t know about being a legend, but aye, My Lady, you have certainly made an impression upon me. ‘Tis not every day that I meet a woman who can interact fearlessly with my Ghost.”

“Is it what you look for? Measure a person’s worth by the way they react to your wolf?”

“Ah…no, My Lady, pardon me if I sound uncouth, but I have only met Northern women who are made of sterner stuff. Whereas Southorn lasses are generally…”

“Generally what, Ser Jon?” There was a challenging tone in Madelyne’s voice.

“More delicate.” Jon looked deep into her eyes, making her blush more prominent.

“Tell me, Ser Jon, how many of these brave Northern women have found their ways to your heart?”

“There are plenty, My Lady, it would take a while to name them all.” Jon smirked at Madelyne’s widened eyes. “Did that surprise you, My Lady?”

“I had thought that you were kind of shy, and your previous behaviours also supported that notion.”

“Oh, and what behaviours were those, if I may ask?”

“You are easily flustered, for a warrior of your fame, it was said that you were shy as a maid for that reason only.”

Jon let out a chuckle hearing that, he twirled Madelyne around the floor before once again securing her within his arms, “Tell me, My Lady, what do you see around us?” Jon indicated the room with his chin.

Madelyne frowned and cast a discreet glance around, “I see the nobles of the realms indulging themselves.”

“Aye, but look closely, look at their eyes, their postures and demeanours…” Madelyne tried to do so, “What do you see now?”

“I am not sure what you want me to see, Ser Jon.”

Jon sighed a bit, “While you are seeing the nobles of the realms indulging themselves, I see the lords taking measures of each other. I see the ladies casting about to ensnare a suitable betrothal for their children or themselves, I see the nobles trying their best to ask a few favours from the Crown. You may call me paranoid, you may say that I am as skittish as a mare in the densest of jungles, but do not forget, My Lady, that I was brought up as a bastard. A noble-born, aye, but bastard nonetheless. I had to train myself to notice such things so that I can avoid the very same and don’t bring more shame to my lord father’s name.”

Madelyne opened her mouth to speak, but Jon didn’t give her the chance, “We from the North, we laugh easy, we fight even easier. For we know that life could be stolen in the next moment. We fight with the last of our strength so that we can laugh the next day. Our trust is so very hard to earn, but once you earn that, ‘tis quite hard to break. And if you manage to break it, you run…you run like the Others are after you. The women here who made me blush and shy away from them, try to entice me with their perfumed bodies, their painted faces. They press their teats to my arms or rub their cores to my thighs in hope that I would fall under their thrall and spill my innermost desires to them. I shy away from these people.”

Once again Jon twirled Madelyne with the beats of the music before bringing her close to him, he leaned his head down closer to her, so close that their noses were almost touching.

“Then there is you, My Lady Pryor, you found your way to me that first night, accompanied by your brother, and in the subsequent nights, you have hunted me on your own. You have kept the other…vultures, for the lack of a better word, away from me. You even bestowed me with your favour even before I became a knight of the realms. As one warrior to another, I can understand your brother to a level, but you, My Lady, intrigue me. Why would a noble-born lady pursue a bastard? Why would she keep the others away in so fierce yet subtle way? What does the Lady Madelyne Pryor from Pebbles, Vale want from Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell?”

Madelyne didn’t take her eyes off of Jon’s face, emerald orbs kept looking into the glowing purple orbs. Slowly a mischievous smile, which Jon had associated very deeply with the Lady from Pebbles, formed on her lips.

“You are a very clever young man, Jon Snow, but still, you know nothing. You shouldn’t have said all these things to me if you have so much distrust about me in your heart. You should have maintained the mask of ‘young man shy as a maid’. But now, you have ripped it off and presented the real Jon Snow before me, the one who is quite cunning and observant, but still a bit green to the games of thrones.”

“And do you know why I did that, My dear lady?”

“Why?”

“So that we are on the same level of understanding with each other. I am from the North, and just as I said the day I arrived here, we do not shy away from saying what is in our hearts. I opened up so that we can stop dancing around each other. Oh no, I didn’t mean this dance.” Jon dipped Madelyne all of a sudden to make her gasp before bringing her up and snuggled to his chest once again, “I quite like the dance we are having, and who wouldn’t with such a beautiful lady in his arms. I meant the verbal spars we tend to have whenever we meet. You say I know nothing, I am a greenboy to the games of throne, mayhaps I am, would you be kind enough to teach me the rules of this game?”  

Twinkling green eyes looked deep into the intense purple eyes, “I might, once I know the names of the ladies who managed to have a place in your heart.”

Jon laughed heartily, “You may, once I get to know the Lady from Vale a little bit more.”

They stopped dancing as the music ended. Madelyne stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on Jon’s cheek, “Oh, you will, believe you me, you will, Jon Snow.”

Jon bowed down and placed a kiss of his own on the lady’s hand, “Till then, I fare you well, My Lady.”

[CotW]

A very flustered Madelyne Pryor searched every inch of the hall for her brother, she found him in hearty conversation with some Vale knights. She took a deep breath to centre herself and approached them.

“Pardon me, Sers, may I borrow my brother for a little bit?”

“Of course, My Lady.”

Madelyne almost dragged Ser Hugh towards a secluded corner of the hall.

“Madelyne, what is the matter, sweet sister?”

“Have you had any talk with Lord Royce?”

“Yes, I did. He will be quite pleased if we ask for a place in his court. Should I hurry?”

“No brother, not yet. We will be travelling to the Old Town with the Northerners.”

“The Northerners? Did they offer us such?”

“No, they didn’t. But they cannot shun travelling companions who are on their way to the same destination, can they?”

“Be careful, sweet sister, the Northerners are quite dangerous to have as enemies.”

“I know, brother, the wolves are truly quite fearsome.”

[CotW]

All the nobles in attendance at the feast were being entertained by the drunken four young Northerners. Well, the blame could not be placed upon their shoulders alone, Lord Edmure Tully and his friends had decided to get his nephew and friends drunk at the feast as a rite of passage. Afterwards, they cheered them on as they stumbled towards the stage where the bards were performing, the four young men got up there, stood on swaying feet and started to sing ‘The Bear and The Maiden’ – well, Jon Snow and Torrhen Karstark sang, as they were taught how to sing, the other two only joined in the chorus. Everybody present had a merry time, even King Robert was seen to be banging his goblet on the table in appreciation. Queen Cersei had an amused smirk on her face. But Lord Hand Jon Arryn shook his head in consternation at the idiocy of the four, reminding him of the times when he dragged his foster sons by the ears from the taverns of Eyrie.

After a few more songs, the foursome stumbled off the Hall and went to their rooms on unsteady feet. Instead of going into their designated rooms, the four entered and crashed in Ser Jon’s room wherever they could. They were unconscious to the world the moment their heads touched the soft surfaces of the bed or couches. The servants quietly entered the room and extinguished the lamps before closing the doors.

As soon as the doors were closed, four shadows stood up straight on their feet. They quickly divested off their garbs and changed into clothes of darker shades with hoods. One of the shadows secured the bolt of the door and stealthily, the four shadows got out of the windows and started to scale down the sheer stone walls of the keep. Their deft limbs finding hands and footholds between the stoneworks and the decorations which adorned the walls.

The shadows emerged outside of the Red Keep from a secret doorway that most had forgotten about. Almost wraith-like, the four shadows traversed on rooftops – running, jumping, sliding and avoiding every obstacle in their way with unbelievable grace.

The four shadows stopped running when they reached a dilapidated house near the port, the building was an old warehouse during the Targaryen dynasty. When the Lannister men came into the city, in their looting frenzy, they had burned it with everything and everybody inside. People avoided the building since, fearing the spirits of the dead haunting the building, trying to find a way out so they won’t be burned alive.

The four sat down comfortably on the broken roof, looking over as the gentle waves of the Blackwater Bay lapping at the bottom of the pier.

“What did Lord Arryn wanted to talk about?” Torrhen Karstark’s low voice sounded from one of the shadowy figures.

“Many things, some of them don’t matter much, some of them do.” Ser Jon’s voice answered.

“Oh?”

This time Robb Stark’s voice came from the darkness, he began to tell what they had heard from the old lord of Eyrie.

The four sat in contemplative silence after Robb’s tale. Once again, Torrhen broke the silence –

“So, which of it matters and which doesn’t?”

“The issue which doesn’t matter is how I feel about the fucking stag still. Lord Arryn tells us that Robert Baratheon stopped maturing beyond his sixteen namedays. Tell me, lads, we are about to enter the same age. Which of us here resent their young siblings so much that it turned into scornful hate just for the cause that they were born? Robb, do you hate Bran and Rickon because they take the entire attention of Aunt Cat?”

Robb laughed, “No, I fucking don’t. Moreover, I am thankful that they are there, they managed to somewhat get Mother’s attention off of us. Don’t you agree with that, Jon?”

“Aye, I do. What about you, Torrhen? You were the youngest before Little Alys was born, do either you or your brothers hate her?”

“You saw us with her, Jon. We will fucking kill anyone who even looks at her in the wrong way.”

“Asher? ‘Spare of the spare of the heir to the seat of Ironwrath’, that was how you introduced yourself to me when we first met, do you resent your brothers for being born before or the other siblings who came after you?”

Asher took a few moments to answer, “I am not resentful towards any of my brothers or sisters. Fucking hells, it was my brothers who took time to train me, making sure I was attending my lessons…if I am resentful to anyone, it is Father. But I cannot blame him for his ways, none of my elder brothers ever received any attention from him. If I haven’t met with you, Jon, and went along the madness you have dragged us to, I am not quite sure that he would have even acknowledged me as his son. He is a cunt, but also a dutiful lord. I know our house is not the wealthiest in the North, our people suffer almost as much as the Mountain Clans. But it was because of Father’s thoughts and rule that Ironwrath still stands tall. I cannot blame him for his absence because he is working hard so that our people can live. I heard that our Grandfather was the same way as our Father. I can only hope that Rodrik doesn’t turn the same way when he takes up the lordship.”

Asher sighed and looked back at his brothers, “As for my younger siblings, they were just toddlers when I left my home to go for my fosterage at Deepwood Motte. While I love them dearly, I actually didn’t get to know them. The only one who I was closer to, was my sister Mira. She left home about the same time I did, but she went to Highgarden to become a ward and lady in waiting for the Tyrell girl. I hope to see her again once we visit Old Town, only if the Tyrells deem to bring her along with them. So, no, I don’t have any resentment or hate lurking in my heart for my blood siblings, and have the truest respect and love for my chosen brothers.”

He extended his arm palm up towards the three and they, in turn, placed their own hands upon his, ensuring their mutual respect and solidarity without even uttering a single word.

A few minutes passed in silence, then Jon spoke once again –

“Lord Arryn says that the stag never grew up beyond his sixteenth namedays, due to the tragedies of his parent’s death. But wasn’t this…this madness already there before the incident? I grew up as a bastard, earning scorn for simply existing. I know what the darkness feels like, it would have been so easy to plunge into it. Then I thought about Robb, my brother; Sansa, my ‘bestest’ friend – her words; Arya, my little sister; Father. I never told any of you this, but I always used to spend my time before my mother’s statue in the Crypt whenever I became broodier. I didn’t know about her then, but sitting before her made me peaceful.”

He looked up to see his brothers, they were listening to him intently, “My Grandfather was the Mad King, he killed people who displeased him. He killed my other Grandfather and Uncle. My Father, people call him the beautiful prince, the bard prince. But if you listen to Uncle Arthur, you would know that even he wasn’t spared from the claws of this madness. He devoted his life chasing after a prophecy. I am not completely free from it either, I reckon. I disregard my own wellbeing and throw myself into immeasurable dangers. But Robert’s madness brought the Seven Kingdoms down in chaos. His jealousy, lust, petulance nearly wiped out both sides of my family. I seek revenge, for my Father, my Mothers, my sister – the people I never got to meet. The only issues that stay my hands from seeking open confrontations right now are two reasons – One, we are not prepared ourselves. Two, for the respect of Father and Lord Arryn. The old man did his best in what he could do to take care of his sons. I cannot disrespect that. But I also do not plan to let the travesty against my family go either. Winter will definitely come for them all, with Fire and Blood.”

Robb put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, “Peace, brother.” He indicated at his hands which had started to smoke once again.

Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. He nodded his head at Robb in appreciation.

Asher tried to bring some levity into their conversation after a few more minutes of tense silence, “I couldn’t help but notice that you were quite charming with a certain lady. But we all know that you suddenly become tongue-tied whenever a lady gives you the minutest attention. Care to explain this to us, Jon?”

Jon sighed and leaned back, “You all know how Lady Minerva sends me dreams of previous Champions. So far I dreamt about Theon Stark and a Reed bannerman. The Hungry Wolf gave me the location of the buried treasure and the Reed man gave me the idea to use the sleeping potion in a different way. Of late, I have been having dreams of Theon Stark, nothing too important, just he performing his duties as the King of the North and spending time with his family. I reckon his interaction with his lady wife somehow affected my behaviours? Who knows.” He shrugged his shoulder.

Torrhen, the ever pragmatic one among them, asked, “What were you talking with her, if you don’t mind me asking? Because I saw her quite flustered as she went in search of her brother after your dance ended?”

“I simply just asked about her motivation for hounding us, moreover, myself. I don’t know how much you have heard in the feast, but I have learned quite a bit. It’s a wonder what people reveal when they think you are too drunk to care.”

“And…? What did you learn?”

“Quite a bit. It appears that the Pryor siblings, for all intents and purposes, are banished from their lands. Also, their lord father has suddenly become destitute right after the siblings left their keep. As far as I understand Ser Hugh is a man who lives by his sword. He won’t be the one to scheme in such a way. Which leaves her sister, she does appear quite cunning, and the way she left her father after being banished from her home, also proves the ruthlessness of her character. Lady Madelyne has taken quite an interest in me. How much do you want to wager that they will come along with us on our way to Old Town?”

Asher had a thoughtful look on his face, “So we will be getting a few Valemen in our pack?”

Jon sighed, “It appears that way. Harrold Hardyng, the Heir Presumptive of Eyrie is sure to be one of them. I distinctly hope that Lord Royce uses his discretion in choosing a suitable ally for Hardyng – either with Ser Rober Royce, his son or Ser Lyn Corbray. What I have heard of those knights, they are steadfast and honourable, along with being the very image of a Vale Knight. So, there are the two of Valemen, besides the Pryor siblings, to join our little troop. Oh, and don’t forget that Lord Arryn had basically fostered Gendry with us.”

“Aye, that is another issue I wanted to discuss. How are we getting him out of the city without alerting the Lannisters or Varys?”

Jon smirked, “Very simple, Asher, distraction.”

Asher looked confused at that, “Pardon?”

Before Jon could say anything, Robb let out an explosive sneeze, startling them all. Torrhen and Asher muttered blessing to him and turned to face Jon once again. Asher’s eyes went wide as he saw Jon twirling Freedom in his hand. The axe, which was secured in his belt, had somehow found its way to Jon.

Jon winked at him, “Lord Reed will certainly be very disappointed in you, lads, that you have forgotten your lessons. Distraction or misdirection is how we are getting Gendry out of this viper’s pit.”

Asher grabbed for Freedom grumbling under his breath. Jon’s smirk widened at his friend’s antics, “What was that, Asher?”

“I said, fuck you, Snow!”

“The feeling is mutual, Forrester.”

---

 

The Wolfpack rose with the sun as were their norm and prepared themselves for a few hours of gruelling physical exertion. With the feast of the previous night which announced the ending of the King’s tourney, their act of drunkards to entertain all and then later their excursion into the darkened city had taken its toll by the way of fatigue. People, who saw them passing, gave way, not only because they were lordlings or the King’s favoured, but it was because of a certain Northern warrior. Ser Jon the White Wolf, who almost single-handed dominated the tourney had received his winnings from the King himself – a thousand Gold Dragons for winning the archery event; five thousand Dragons for securing the second place in the melee; and the biggest of the rewards, fifteen thousand Dragons for winning the jousts. In all, Ser Jon was now nearly as wealthy as a minor lord of the realms with his total earning of twenty-one thousand Dragons from the King’s tourney.

They had only started with their warm-ups when they saw Ser Jaime approaching them behind an exuberant Prince Tommen and his Royal guards, but he was not there to spar with them, as it was made clear by his complete garb of a Kingsguard.

“Good morning, My Prince, Ser Jaime.”

“Morning, lads. Please, do not stop your training on my account. As you can see, I am here on Kingsguard business. Ser Jon, if you kindly follow me, Her Grace has summoned you.”

Jon looked at the knight with shock. Though he had expected a conversation with Cersei Lannister, he didn’t think it would be this soon. He nodded at his friends and walked forward to join Ser Jaime. He tried to engage the knight in a conversation, but it appeared that the knight was tensed for some reason. When they turned around a corner and found themselves at a relatively deserted corridor, Jaime suddenly turned towards Jon, grabbed him by his jerkin and pressed him against the castle wall.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, Jon?” Jaime hissed at him.

“I do not understand, Ser Jaime! What are you talking about?” Jon was surprised by the knight’s manner.

“Do you have any idea how much of the fucking shit you are in?” He growled.

“Err…” was Jon’s intelligent reply.

“First, you approach my brother and me and formed a friendship with us. Then, you kill my father’s most loyal dog in front of everyone. Afterwards, you declare my sister and her daughter as your queen and princess of love and beauty. You are pulling on the tails of lions, Snow, do not think you will leave unscathed. I have grown fond of you, so have Tyrion. Trust me when I say that you are treading on very dangerous territory.”

Jon removed Jaime’s hand from his throat and straightened up, “Believe me, Ser Jaime, I do not have any device whatsoever concerning your family. I am grateful that Lord Tyrion and yourself have accepted me as you did. As for Ser Gregor, it was an accident. Why would have I surrendered myself for the King’s justice afterwards if I had done something wrong? I even asked Lord Tywin for his forgiveness which he granted me. And tell me, who could have been a better recipient of the crown other than Her Grace? I mayhaps became a knight due to your generosity, but I am a bastard. Noble-born, aye, but a bastard nonetheless. My crowning of any other ladies of the court wouldn’t have been received favourably.”

Jaime sighed and rubbed his gloved hand over his face, “Forgive me, Jon. The last few days were very stressful for me. But I was indeed very serious when I said that you need to watch your steps. You have come under the scrutiny of both my sister and lord father. That is a place you do not wish to belong, ever. Why do you think I have joined the Order of the White Cloaks as soon as I could? Be very wary of Cersei, my young friend. I do not wish to know that you have been ensnared in her traps. For she was one of the reasons why I left the Rock. It is only because of Tyrion that I didn’t take up the Black.”

Jon put a hand on the older knight’s armoured shoulder, “You have my thanks, Ser Jaime. I will heed to your words. But I truly do not think that there is a need. I do not plan to stay here for long now that the tourney is over. And quite soon, all of us will be on our way to Essos.”

Jaime sighed, “I hope for your sake and your family’s sake, Jon, that there is nothing to fear. You may call me unreasonable, but I feel that there is a change in the wind. Keep a very careful watch on your pack, White Wolf.”

[CotW]

Cersei sat in her chambers waiting for her guest. She had ordered the servers to provide platters of food and the finest bottles of Arbour Gold to her rooms. She was reclined on the settee, drinking her wine when the knocking on her doors alerted her of her guest’s arrival.

“Enter!” She called out.

Jaime opened the doors and took a step inside the room, Cersei’s eyes narrowed just a bit as she observed her brother’s stony façade.

“Ser Jon has arrived as per your request, Your Grace.” He intoned in a flat voice.

“Ah, do send him in, Ser Jaime.” She sent a smirk towards her brother. She would get him back one of these days. They were, after all, one soul in two bodies.

Ser Jon, the White Wolf entered her domain and went down on his knee, “My Queen.”

Cersei waited for Jaime to get out and close the doors behind him before she got up from the settee. She slowly walked towards the young knight as she kept observing his kneeling form. She had met Brandon Stark once or twice at Harrenhal. Later, she had met with a young Ned Stark. It was indeed true that the young man before her was a Stark by his features and colouring, but somehow, somewhere, the White Wolf ignited a long-forgotten feeling within her. She was not quite sure what the feeling was telling her, but her senses were screaming at her with pleasure. A shiver ran down her spine as she went closer to the young man, she bit the inside of her lower lip to that pleasant feeling.

“Do get up, Ser Jon, a warrior such as you look better standing tall and proud.”

“My Queen?” Ser Jon raised his head to look at her confused. She dug her nails in her hands to stop herself from doing anything foolish, those purple eyes of his were too alluring for her.

“I am your queen, aren’t I? Your queen of love and beauty?” She tilted her head to a side and let her unbound golden locks shimmer in the morning lights.

“Aye, My Queen.” His voice was unsure.

Cersei laughed, “Come, my brave knight, join me for the morning meal.” She turned on her heels and walked back towards the settee, her hip was undulating in a mesmerizing way through the rather sheer Myrish silk dress she had chosen to wear this morning.

“My thanks for this honour, My Queen.”

Cersei waved her hand dismissively as she sat down, “Think nothing about it, Ser Jon. I simply wanted to meet the brave knight who have won the precious crown for me. I felt that I just had to know more about you. Beyond what the tales a few drunks say or what the songs the bards sing.”

She leaned forward to prepare a small platter of cheese and fruits, giving the young man an unobstructed view of the valley between her ample chest. She smirked to herself as she offered the platter to him and saw his blushing cheeks.

“I am afraid there is not much to tell, My Queen, I lead a fairly normal life, I spend most of my times in the yard with my brothers, and the rest of the time, if I am not out hunting or merely riding, I spend reading in the library. I am afraid that I am quite uninteresting.”

Cersei laughed, “I am sure you are mistaken, Ser Jon. You have acquired many a title at such a young age, your lust for the battle surely shows in all the times you say that you spend in practice.”

“Pardon me, My Queen, but I do not have a lust for battle. I take lives out of necessity, not because I crave conflicts. I am capable of lending my help to those who cannot protect themselves. My talent with arms, as I believe, is a duty to the people of realms, not a privilege.”

The purple eyes appeared as if they were flames, burning with intensity, sending another jolt of painful pleasure throughout Cersei’s body. She crossed her legs to retain some control over herself.

“Hmm, that is quite an admirable look towards life, Ser Jon. Tell me something, why did you think it best to honour my daughter as the Princess of Love and Beauty?”

“Oh, Princess Myrcella is near the same age as my little sister, Arya. I just wanted to tease her a bit. If it was Arya, I would have received a blow to my head for my action. I do apologize if I have crossed my bounds. I had no other intention, My Queen.”

She let out a burst of joyous laughter, she felt quite elated and…relieved by his answer.

“Oh, she will be quite heartbroken if she comes to know about this. For long she had been eager to learn about the new adventures of the White Wolf. And she was beyond excited when she heard you are coming to King’s Landing for the tourney. Do you know, she never misses your sparring sessions? But unlike my son Tommen, she observes you from her balcony.”

The knight only blushed some more and smiled at her. She took a gulp of wine and assessed him once more with her eyes.

“This Arya you spoke of… I take it she is Lord Stark’s daughter?”

“Aye, My Queen, she is the youngest daughter of Lord Stark. She is quite free-spirited and very mischievous.”

“And what of the other daughter of Lord Stark?”

“Ah, Sansa. She is the perfect lady like her lady mother. A gentle soul.”

“You are very fond of your half-brothers and sisters.” She proclaimed her observation.

“Aye, they are all very dear to me.”

As the conversation continued, Cersei started to see glimpses of the man behind the legend of the White Wolf. A very gifted warrior who valued honour above all else, it was not hard to understand since he was raised by that fool Eddard Stark. But where Eddard Stark was dull as stalest bread, this young man was quite sharp. His baseborn status, which his uncle so foolishly tried to maintain, made the young man quite perceptive, but inexperienced still. It must be the Dayne blood in him which attracted her to him. Cersei tried to think about a still alive Arthur Dayne, but she never was attracted to the man. She always thought him nothing more than a brute. It was definitely his mother’s charm.

At the end of their meeting, Cersei allowed him to kiss her hand. That merest touch was enough to ignite a fire inside of her and her core to moisten. Her eyes fell onto her brother who was still standing beside her doors.

“Ser Jaime, will you kindly see if Ser Daven is free from his duties? I have some instructions for him to pass on from my lord father.”

Jaime’s eyes bore into her, but she only smiled sweetly back at him. She needed to plan carefully. She wanted the young warrior beside her – or any other position. That would show Jaime, she tittered to herself at the imagery of seeing Jaime’s widened eyes as he observed his newest pupil under her thrall. But for the time being, she needed to satiate herself. She would get back Jaime, after all, Lannisters never fail.

[CotW]

Jon ran straight to his room, he wanted to have a bath. He wanted to have some compassion for the fat stag, but then again, the stag reaped what he sowed.

---

 

“…We will have quite a restrictive timeframe to act. So, we must be all be prepared.”

“I do not approve of this plan.”

“I know, Uncle Eric. But trust me. We will see each other again, and very soon. And I promise to you that I will not be putting myself or others in any danger. You have my word.”

“Uh, Wolf? What am I to do again?”

“For the love of Gods, Wade, we have been through this over a hundred times now…”

“Oh, calm down, will you? I only wanted to see if you can laugh…”

“Wade, this is not a laughing matter. You will have a young life depends on you. Your act as a fool with us is appreciated, truly, but be careful that your levity doesn’t cause harm to the young lad.”

“Aye, Wolf. I know. And you have my word that the cargo and the lad will both be taken care of.”

“Jon, are you certain that it is wise to send this man along?”

“Aye, Uncle Eric. Wade mayhaps a tad insane, but he is very reliable.”

“I want you to know, Jon, that I will be performing my duties under protest.”

“Of course you would, you are one of the greatest knights in the last century, after all. Now, shall we depart?”

“Yes.”

“Aye.”

[CotW]

The entirety of the Red Keep was in a disarray. His Grace had thought that he would give the proper parting gift to his friend’s sons by inviting them to a hunting trip, and as it was known, a King’s hunting trip was always considered a Royal excursion, consisting of hundreds of men all bedecked in the best of their armours. It would take almost a week for every staff within the Keep working from sunrise to sunset just to be ready for the time the King would live for the hunt.

[CotW]

Lord Arryn sat in his solar going over the parchments before him, with the end of the tourney, the other troubles of the realms raised their ugly heads once again. The sound of a bird’s wings and a raven’s caw brought the lord out of his monotonous work. He looked at the window to see a raven on the windowsill, looking at him with its intelligent black, beady eyes. A roll of parchment was tied to one of its legs. Lord Arryn remembered his conversation with Ned’s boys in the Godswood. He hurriedly got up from his seat and took the scroll off the bird.

Time to let the black fawn run free. – it read.

Lord Arryn reached into the draw and brought out his own missive, he looked it over once more before rolling it up and sealing it with his personal sigil. He took the scroll and tied it to the raven’s leg.

“Take it to them, please…and be careful with it.”

The raven shook its feathers and let out a caw in reply before flying off.

I wonder who among them had a Maester’s training -  thought the Lord Hand.

[CotW]

Cersei was seething, she had planned to have a few more private conversations with the handsome White Wolf before they left the city. But her oaf of a husband put a stop to that with his moronic idea of a hunting trip. Moreover, her father had somehow learnt of her interactions and had reprimanded her, quite harshly. She stood at the balcony watching over the yard as the King’s party started to leave the keep. Her youngest children stood beside her. Tommen was sad to see his favourite knight leaving, but it was her daughter’s despondent sigh that made her frown.

[CotW]

A small group of riders peeled off the main group as they slowly progressed through the streets of King’s Landing. The smaller group quietly took a different route and reached the docks. Five men and one small boy dismounted and divided to go their separate ways. Four men and the lad went to find the captain of the ship who would set sails for White Harbour, while the last one disappeared within a tavern.

---

 

He spent the evening sitting at the back of the tavern, drunk men were always the font of useful information, but what he was after, none had yet to deliver. He took a gulp from his tankard of ale when the boisterous Northerner just a few tables away from him welcomed a couple of Lannister men in a loud voice. He frowned at the sight before him, Northerners, by value, were always derisive towards the Lannisters. Even more so after the Rebellion. It was indeed quite odd to see one such man invite the Lannister men to share his table. He concentrated hard on their conversation.

Nothing, they just talked about the most ridiculously mundane things. Was it a ploy to throw off any possible eavesdropper such as himself? His resolve strengthened as he decided to keep very close eyes on the men before him.

His back and legs were killing him, he sat there at the table watching those men for almost half the night. While those fucking bastards had not paid attention to anything, he didn’t dare to move or make any sound lest he missed anything amidst the cacophony of the crowded tavern.

His patience was almost at the end when finally, two of the drunks got up from the tables and made their way out of the tavern on swaying feet. The other one had gone up to one of the rooms with the giggling serving wench in his arms. He forgot about his aching back and legs and quickly stood up, threw a couple of stags on the table and swiftly followed the men outside.

He was confused when the Northerner led the Lannister man to the stable and let him pass out on some bales of hay. He wondered what was happening when the Northerner suddenly stopped pretending to be drunk out of his gourd, his mummer’s farce was so perfect that even he was fooled. He saw as he signalled and a few shadows detached themselves from the darkness around and proceeded to unclothe the unconscious man. What kind of depravity have I stumbled upon? – he thought to himself as he listened to their conversation from his quiet corner. He was so flabbergasted with their act with a horse’s brush that he couldn’t manage to follow the shadows or the Northerner. He cursed himself for his idiocy, he should have been prepared for anything.

The next day, he was among the crowd as everyone was watching the jousting. He had seen the White Wolf dominate the archery and melee event, he even cheered along with everybody as the Lannister knighted the lad. The young man was truly a warrior who came out of the history books. He had never seen anyone such as him. The most astonishing fact was that the lad was only fifteen namedays old, he was yet to reach his majority and his true potential. As he watched, he saw the lad decimate his opponents from atop his charger. He had to give accolade to the design he chose for his armours, it was something that would induce nightmares upon his opponents.

He almost couldn’t believe his ears when the herald announced the bout between the Mountain and the White Wolf. Surely they were aware that the brute of a man would kill the young lad? But to his and everybody’s surprise, it was the young lad who came out the winner of that bout. Furthermore, the Mountain was slain in that bout. He didn’t know if he should laugh or cry or deny what his own eyes have seen.

When he woke up the next morning, he heard the weirdest of tales - stray dogs had eaten the corpse of the Mountain. But it turned out to be a truth. There was even a trial for the men who were supposed to stand vigil over him. But the most interesting thing in the Throne Room was when the Hound had gifted the Mountain’s horse to the White Wolf. He snorted to himself, everybody knew how the dogs of Lannisters were always at each other’s throat. The Hound proved himself quite cunning by gifting the man who removed the bane of his existence in such a way.

He watched as the White Wolf proceeded to win the jousting, and afterwards crowned the queen and the princess. He frowned, what the fuck was going inside of his head? – he thought to himself. He had decided that he would wait around in the city till the Northerners leave. Something was going on and he wanted to know what.

After waiting for almost over a week, he heard that the fat stag had planned to send off the Northerners with a hunting trip at the Kingswood. He hid himself in the crowds as the procession left the Red Keep. He looked around and saw a few ‘little birds’ keeping a close watch on everything. He was about to make himself scarce from that place when suddenly his eyes fell upon one particular rider among King’s party. He almost swore to himself loudly, for he could never mistake in recognizing those eyes, even with his face concealed behind his half helm and beard. He discreetly followed the men while keeping his target in his sight. He kept a lookout for any ‘bird’ who might catch on to his activity, but all of them were quite intently following the stag and the wolves, thus making his job much easier.

It was very hard to keep up with horseriders on foot, but thankfully the streets were crowded and he knew a few shortcuts, which kept him just in the vicinity of the group that detached itself from King’s party. He watched from afar as they reached the docks and divided into two groups – four men and a young lad went one way while his target went inside a tavern. He followed him quietly. When he entered the tavern, he found his man to speak with someone, a ship’s captain by the looks of his garbs. He frowned but kept watching them as the captain tucked a pouch of coins in his belt.

He followed them out of the tavern and found that the man was about to board a ship. He threw caution at the winds and ran after the man. He managed to reach him before he neared the ship and grabbed his shoulder from behind.

“Arthur!?” he hissed at him in a low voice.

 

Notes:

A.N. - Sorry for the little late upload, and perhaps quite a boring chapter if you are seeking non-stop action. I am currently plagued by a plot-worm burrowing in my brain, torturing me to unleash itself upon the world. So far, it is in the planning stage, I will try to publish it on or around 19th September, the birthdate of one of my favourite literary characters, Hermione Jean Granger. Because it will be a genuine crossover between the HP universe and the MCU. I will be replacing Peter Parker with Harry Potter. Sacrilegious! I know, but blame it on the plot-worm.

Chapter 24: There and Back Again

There and Back Again

A Few Years Ago

She woke up from her night’s slumber with a smile on her face. As always, the carved heads of various animals on the wooden beams hung over her bed greeted her to the new day. Once, she thought of naming them, but she didn’t know many which she could bestow upon the friendly beasties. She had asked her Nuncle Will for names, but when the older man learned why she asked him for names, he laughed uproariously, making her huff in indignation.

Her brother was, however, had a very different response to her request. When he heard why she wanted to learn new names, he hit her, making her crash down on the ground. Her young mind whimpered in fear as she curled herself into a ball on the ground. Her brother continued pacing about the room snarling at her, saying that she should not bother him with such silly frivolities when he had an entire nation to think about.

She sighed into her pillow. Since that day, she never went to her brother with any of her dreams or thoughts. She had tried to build a world entirely by herself, and her animal friends who greet her every morning. She remembered the days when Nuncle Will used to take her to the docks. She loved the sea, the open air and the vast water made her giddy. She was always eager to sit on her uncle’s lap as he spent an hour or two in the taverns, he said he was trying to get some information, but she loved to hear the tales of those sailors. She loved the stories from the lands that she heard was her birthplace, yet she had never set a single foot there. The names of the places sounded so mysterious to her. She tried to discuss all of these with her brother, but he always had a sneer on his face whenever the distant lands were mentioned.

She got up from her bed went to stand in front of the window in her room. Just outside of the window, a small yard with a single lemon tree could be seen. She often used the leaves of the tree in her bathwater, the lemony scent was very soothing for her. Her brother although, scoffed at her when she told him about it. He also berated her quite loudly at times for her preference of using scalding hot water for her bath. She never understood why he was so wroth with her.

She shook her head to disperse all those depressing memories. She smiled brightly as she readied herself for the day. She went out of her room to break her fast. She gave a beaming smile to the man who was sitting at the table. The man was old, and for the past several months, had been getting steadily weaker for some reason, which made her worried about him.

“Good morning, Uncle Will!”

“Good morning, Princess.” The man returned her greeting with a smile of his own, “How are you this morning?”

“I am very happy, Uncle, but I must ask, how are you?”

“Oh, Princess, you do not need to worry about me.” Will smiled down at her, “Come, let us break our fasts together.” He helped her to sit down, even the mundane task of pulling the chair out for her had him wheezing for breath.

“You are not well, Uncle…”

“I am perfectly alright, Princess. Truly…” He waved her concerns away.

It was the moment that her brother deigned to grace them with his presence. He had a sneer permanently etched on his face. He barked his displeasure to the man who was serving food for being in his way. The man scurried away apologizing to him.

“Ser Willem. Dany.” He said his greeting as he took his seat at the table.

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

“Good morning, Viserys.” Dany replied to her brother but she kept an eye on the man that Viserys just insulted. She was worried by the looks on the man’s face – she had seen that much hatred and anger only on her brother’s visage whenever he was talking about Westeros and the usurper who stole their birthright.

As the man went out of the room, Dany hissed at her brother, “You shouldn’t have spoken to him that way, brother.”

Viserys stopped eating and looked up to her with narrowed eyes, “What care should I have for how I behave with him or how he perceives me for it. An ant has no quarrel with a boot. Do not forget, sweet sister, we are the dragons. We are born to rule these peasants.”

Ser Willem cleared his throat to make Viserys get his attention off of his sister.

“Princess Daenerys was right in her observation, Your Grace. We need to be careful how we behave with the people around us. On the smallest provocation, they may sell us to the usurper’s dogs.”

Viserys sneered but didn’t argue with the knight. He was the only one against whom he never argued. It could have been because he knew that their mother had entrusted this man with care for them. Daenerys didn’t raise her head again, her eyes watered but she refused to let her brother see her tears. For it would result in a further harsh rebuke from him. They are the dragons – that was Viserys’ only lesson to his sister. He never tolerated any sign of weakness from her.

[CotW]

Dany was getting worried for Ser Willem. The old knight’s health deteriorated further in the ensuing days. More often than not he was ensconced within his room, too weak to even get out of his bed. Dany tried to talk with Viserys about him, but she never found him to be in a listening mood. So long that man was capable of keeping his watch over them, Viserys listened to him. But since he fell ill, it appeared as if the young dragon was waiting for the opportunity. Every day, he left the house with the first light of dawn and returned only when Dany sent someone out to find him at Uncle Will’s suggestion. Even then, he had to be supported to get inside of the house because he was too drunk to stand on his own two feet, reeking of the smell of wine and cheap perfumes. He yelled at everyone around him that he would burn them alive for any perceived slight against his person. It was becoming harder and harder for Dany to convince the men to search for him at the end of each day.

Ser Willem’s health worsened by each day, the once tall and powerfully built man was but a mere shadow of his former self. The fever he had caught, had made things even worse. He was continuously wheezing for breath because of his bout of coughs. Dany was very fearful for his well-being. Although she was familiar with the concept of death, as she had heard how her mother had died while giving birth to her, it was the first time in her short life that she realized what it meant for watching someone close to her die…and she was adamant to do everything in her power to not let her Nuncle Will die. She spent almost all of her time sitting beside the bedridden man, reading him from her books or pressing wet clothes over his fevered brow to give him a small respite.

It appeared as if Ser Willem knew that his time was coming to a close. Every time he saw the Princess, he was saddened to think what would happen to her when he passed. For her brother was not fit to take care of her. If he wanted to be honest, he would say that Viserys Targaryen was very much his father’s son. Oh, how he wished for the Princess to know what a real Targaryen was – The Beautiful Prince, Rhaeger or their mother, the Queen Rhaella. But the lass was unfortunate enough to know only her brother, who had received the madness in all its glory. If it was possible, he would take her to the only other living dragon to let her see a Targaryen, wise and old. But even the Wall would not be a place for the white-haired Princess. He could do nought but mourn thinking about the life he was going to leave her in.

The said girl was right there, sitting in a chair beside his bed, reading him the story of Florian and Jonquil, wonder and amazement were evident in her voice.

“Princess…” His voice had become nothing more than a faint whisper. But it was enough for Dany to get out of her imagined world full of love.

“Uncle Will?”

“I have something to tell you…”

“Of course, Uncle. What do you need? I will just call for…”

He raised a frail hand and placed it on the lass’ arm, stopping her from going out of the room.

“Do not worry about my needs, Princess. But do take your seat, for you must understand what I have to tell you.”

Dany nodded her head in confusion and took her seat. Purple eyes boring into the pale blue eyes with burning curiosity.

“I am not for this world for very long, Princess. I am sorry that I have to leave you. I am sorry that I cannot fulfil the promise I gave to your mother…”

Dany’s eyes were flowing with tears, she may not be old enough to understand everything, but she was old enough to know that her Uncle was saying goodbye to her…forever.

“It is not true, Uncle, you just have a fever. You will be fit once again in no time.”

Ser Willem’s chuckle turned into another bout of painful coughs.

“How I wish for that to be true, Princess. But alas, it will not be so. I can feel it within myself, it is my time to go and stand before my forefathers. Be judged by them in hope that they deem me worthy to join them in the afterlife.”

Dany shook her head and furiously wiped her tears, she would not let her Uncle Will leave her.

“Do not cry for me, sweetling. You may call me uncle, but I am old enough to be your grandfather. If I had done my familial duties, I could have had a granddaughter such as you. And that is why it pains me to leave to fend for yourself in this cruel, unforgiving world.”

He wheezed after coughing yet again, Dany helped him to take a few sips of water from a cup.

“I wish we had more time, Princess, but it isn’t to be. I want you to remember something. Do you promise me that you will?”

Dany nodded her tiny head ardently, “I will, Uncle.”

Ser Willem smiled up at her, “You are so much like your mother, you know? She was so full of love and kindness, just as you. I wanted to tell you much about her when you grow up a little more. Nonetheless, you should always remember yourself as the daughter of Queen Rhaella of House Targaryen. Sister of the Bard Prince, Rhaeger. You are the blood of dragons, sweetling. There will be people who will want to take advantage of that. Be wary of them.”

Daenerys nodded again, she didn’t understand all that her uncle was trying to say to her, but she agreed with him all the same.

“I had hoped for you to meet a member of your family who is not your brother. Please, do not misunderstand me, I was and still am loyal to the Targaryens, but you will not understand everything at this moment. You need to grow up a little more for anything to make sense. I require your oath on something else also, sweetling.”

Dany’s head moved on its own accord, she was trying very hard to latch on to the words of her uncle, what did he mean by meeting another of her family? Didn’t Viserys tell her that they were the last of the dragons?

“I know of your love of tomes and stories since you have learned your letters. You will give me your oath that you won’t limit yourself with only stories. You will learn everything you can of your lands - history, treaties, trades. Learn about them and try to remember them. You will not let anyone deter you from your goals. Not even your brother…” Ser Willem looked pleadingly at the young lass.

“I promise, Uncle.”

A beatific smile spread into the old man’s face. He reached out with his frail hand for Dany to take hold of it, “If I was able, I would have seen to your arms training. You are much more than even your brother, Princess. Do not let him convince you otherwise. I know you are afraid of him, but you also love him. If you can, if you get the chance when he becomes unbearable, you need to look after yourself, and only yourself. Do not think about him. Can you do that for me, sweetling?”

Dany had by then, climbed onto the bed and wrapped her tiny hands around the old man’s neck. He could feel her sniffling into his shoulder. Ser Willem ran his hand on her back in a soothing manner, whispering into her ears –

“Your mother watches over you, Princess, as does your brother Rheager. I will watch over you too. Always remember, the ones who love us, never truly leave us. Be strong, Daenerys Stormborn, be strong.”

[CotW]

It was not long after their conversation that Ser Willem Darry, once a fierce knight of the realm and commander of the Gold Cloaks, released his last breath. Dany was devastated for losing her Uncle Will. She knew - heard from her brother that their father was killed by a Lannister. Their elder brother was slain by the usurper…and of course, Viserys always blamed her for their mother’s death. But this time, she felt the loss, she didn’t know any of her family members to feel the loss of them, but Uncle Will was a different matter altogether. He taught her the letters, encouraged her to read and learn. She thought that if her father was alive and with her, he would have been just like the old knight.

Viserys only seemed to be perturbed that his daily visit to the city was hindered. Uncle Will told her once that though they didn’t have a lot, he tried to provide all he could for both her and her brother as much as possible. After his death, Viserys ranted and raved, Dany was scared to even stand in front of her angered brother. She also didn’t like the way the household staff were looking at them both. She didn’t go out of her rooms much, a fear always seemed to hang about the house.

[CotW]

She couldn’t keep her eyes open. It had been days since they were on road. The fear that she felt after Uncle Will’s death, had come true. One day, the staff almost broke open the doors to her room and started to go through her meagre possessions. She cried and begged them to not destroy her books, but they were relentless, they ripped apart everything but her clothes in search of something. When they couldn’t find whatever it was that they were looking for, they yelled at her. Dany just kept sitting under the window with her knees tucked into her chest. She was trembling in fear of getting hit by them. She didn’t know how long they were yelling at her but the woman who used to brush her hair came into the room and spoke something to the men. She didn’t understand everything but she heard them speaking the usurper’s name. There was also some arguing amongst them about something called Lysian Pleasure Houses. They were talking about selling something. In the end, they all gave her filthy looks before going out of the room and barring the broken door so that she couldn’t leave. She didn’t want to leave her room either. She cried herself to sleep in the midst of her ruined possessions.

She didn’t know for how long she slept. But the sound of someone trying to open the doors of her room woke her up. Once again Dany crawled to her safe place below the window and sat there making herself as small as she could. She prayed to her mother, brother and Uncle Will that the men from before hadn’t come back to beat her.

She felt a little relieved when she saw that it was Viserys, her brother looked as if he had been rolling in the mud for the entirety of the day. Her generally well-groomed brother had dishevelled hair, torn and bloody clothing and a bruise was forming on his left cheek. Viserys came into the room and started to go through her things just the same as those men before him. But he also tore open her pillows and some metallic sounds made her look up to see why he was doing that.

A slender crown fell from her torn pillow. Someone had sewn that thing inside of her pillow along with a small pouch. She had thought it was none other than her Uncle Will. But what are those?

“Viserys? What…”

“Shut up!” Viserys hissed at her, making Dany cower even more.

Viserys looked around for some time before he stopped his search. He was muttering under his breath, Dany tried her best to catch what her brother was saying –

“I knew that old bastard had the money hidden…and he took my Mother’s crown? If he was not dead, I would have killed him. He wouldn’t have liked me when he woke the dragon…” 

“Viserys?” Dany’s pitiful voice stopped his ranting and he turned towards her as if he only became aware of her presence because she called him.

“Sweet sister.” A vicious smirk spread on his face as he approached her with a limp, “Do you see now? Do you see what happens when you put your trust in the usurper’s dogs? Ser Willem thought we were safe here, but I knew all along, they were just waiting for an opportunity. Kepa warned me about them. All those backstabbers hiding in the dark…” He spat a glob of spit to the side, scarlet spittle which proved that he had quite a welcome waiting for him.

“Do not worry, sweet sister, you have me. I will take care of you. I need to, you know? It is upon us now to keep the dragons alive. You will become my queen when I finally claim my birthright.” He grabbed Dany’s shoulder and forcefully pulled her up to her feet.

They had fled that very night, under the darkness. Dany kept looking back at the house with red doors and the lemon tree in its yard. So many fond memories crept up to the forefront of her mind that happened at that house. She didn’t complain when Viserys dragged her along the darkened streets and alleys. She didn’t complain when he made her put on a big cloak to hide her features. She certainly didn’t complain when her brother snapped at her for she was petting the horses he just bought for them. She couldn’t complain, for every time she thought about shedding her tears, a whispering voice rang in her ears – Be strong, Daenerys Stormborn.

---

 

The Land Beyond the Wall, about the same time the Wolfpack was at the Greywater Watch

Benjen Stark was used to receiving awed and revered looks from his Black Brothers. He took pride in those stares because he had worked hard to earn the rank of the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch. But since his return from his ranging mission beyond the Wall with his nephews, the looks had added a new emotion behind the eyes of the watchers – fear. Fear of the giant, black direwolf that had deemed him worthy enough to accept his companionship. Sometimes his mind rebelled, his thoughts raged against his own beliefs and experiences – his travel to the ancient lands, meeting a man long thought dead, the Children of the Forest…and above all, the blessing from a Goddess – did all of those truly happened? Then his hand, on its own accord, ran through the softest fur he had ever felt, and a giant snout would nudge his side, chasing away all the doubts from his mind. Grim was the living proof of what they had seen, and what would come true in the not so distant future.

After Robb and Jon departed from the Wall, Benjen had gone out for a couple of ranging beyond. He had travelled to all the known locations where wildlings were frequented, but he felt an unease in the air, something that sent a shiver down his spine, and it was not the coldness. His companions were all seasoned veterans of the Watch. Yet, they were all huddled together, just to reassure themselves that they were not alone, that there was a warm body beside them. Benjen was confused if he should laugh at them or chastise them – for grown men was behaving like little babes. He kept his thoughts to himself only because of the unease that he himself was feeling.

Grim was in his elements, he was born of these lands. The moment they got out of the tunnel underneath the Wall, the wolf would run off into the dense, dark forest. he was amazed that such a huge beast could move so silently. The wolf would appear as sudden as he would vanish within the shadows. His men had cursed under their breaths whenever the direwolf would jump out of the woods right into their path. Benjen had a sneaky feeling that Grim enjoyed making those men squirm. What with whenever he scolded the wolf and him standing there with his tongue lolling out and tail whipping about playfully, Benjen could only shake his head at his wolf’s antics. But Grim was free with his generosity too, he would sometimes drag a buck or a wild boar that he had hunted for his human and his friends. Benjen looked on with amusement as the men would make a fire to prepare their meals while muttering darkly and throwing filthy looks at the wolf for scaring the literal shit out of them.

The abandoned settlements of the wildlings made him tensed. His visits with Craster also proved nothing. The old lecher took a single look at Grim and hurried back to his keep, refusing to get out in the open. After much cajoling and a promise of casks of ale on their return visit, made him open the doors for mere inches to peer at them and talk through the gap. What he did say made no sense at all whatsoever. The wildling tribes had abandoned their homes in droves, they were moving, but to where, Craster had no idea. He never had a very favourable stand within the wildlings, most knew about him being a craven lecher who snitched to the Watch. Benjen was forced to return to Castle Black without any information about the wildling movements. They had about two years of time on their hands before everything went to hells, didn’t they?

[CotW]

Besides performing his duties as the First Ranger of the Watch, Benjen lent a hand to Ser Aliser Thorne to train in the new recruits. The Targaryen loyalist knight had still carried a grudge for his defeat against Jon, and it bled through with his interaction with the First Ranger, but he couldn’t pick a fight with him, knowing that the Stark was well-loved and respected amongst the men. He contented himself by giving baleful glares at the man whenever he thought that he was crossing into his territory and giving instructions to the new meats. He couldn’t even challenge him with a spar, what with that damned wolf of his.

Benjen smirked as he led the new recruits down the tunnel to the opposite side of the Wall. He could feel the glare of Ser Aliser bore into his back, he loved to wind up the cantankerous man. He knew it was petty, but he couldn’t just let him be after hearing what he said about Jon when he departed from the Wall. So he took whatever revenge he could in his own subtle ways.

He and three other Black Brothers led the six new recruits to the Haunted Forest to swear their oath in front of the Hearts Tree. To his immense surprise, the group of recruits consisted of one Waymar Royce, son of the Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone, a knight of the realms and a devout follower of the Seven. When he had asked the man why he chose to take his oath beneath the Hearts Tree instead of the small Sept at the Wall, he was regaled with the tale of how his nephews and their friends carried a pregnant direwolf with them so the beast can give birth in a safe place. He learned from him that the she-wolf had taken to follow his brother just as Grim had chosen him as his companion. Ned had apparently named her Iss and the she-wolf whelped six cubs - one for each Stark child. In his own words, Waymar Royce told Benjen his reasoning –

“I have heard from my lord father that the Northerners are sturdier folks than all other kingdoms. I had scoffed at that, being from Vale, the land that produced valiant knights. Then I saw four young men, younger than me, barely out of their childhoods…and these men were already veteran heroes of the people. They had led men to war and returned home with tales of their valour spoken in hushed whispers – the Bright Sun, Torrhen Karstark; the Iron Shield, Asher Forrester; the Young Wolf, Robb Stark…and above all, the White Wolf, Jon Snow.”

Benjen was not aware of the names the rest of the four were referred with, this was a piece of shocking news to him. But Waymar was not finished in his pondering, “I, obviously thought myself as their better. How could I not, I am older and stronger than them. I worked hard to earn my spurs. Also, I thought the rumours of them were just that, rumours. I tried to put the young upstarts to their places and challenged Snow in the yard. Never in my life have I seen someone so young move with such fluidity. But he has done it and had me staring at the point of his blade, while mine own laid on the ground far from my reach even before I understood what was going on.

I had heard stories of Sers Arthur and Barristan; I have seen Ser Jaime fight. I can say right now that Jon Snow will grow his legend to the likes of these men. I am to swear my oath to serve the Watch. I am deep in the heart of the North. Hence, I have decided that while I will not forsake my beliefs, I will swear my oaths before the Gods of North. I need to ask for their blessings so I can stand with my head hold high one day and say ‘I swore my oath before Jon Snow’s Gods.’”

While Benjen might not understand the young knight’s words or reasons, he certainly understood his conviction. He smiled while thinking about Lya’s boy.

“We are here.” A gruff voice brought Benjen out of his ruminating. He looked up to see that they were near the Hearts Tree.

“Come on, lads, we have to continue on foot from here.” He said as he got off from his horse.

One by one, the new recruits got off and looked around at the dense foliage with fear in their eyes. Benjen and Grim led the way towards the Weirwood tree. When they reached the tree, Waymar was first to kneel down and put a hand on the tree trunk, bowing his head for a short prayer. Probably something he had learned from Jon or Robb – thought Benjen. Waymar got up from his position and stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of his Brothers. All six of them went down on their knees facing the Hearts Tree. As one, they began to chant the oath of the Brotherhood of the Night’s Watch –

“Night gathers, and now my watch begins, it shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night’s Watch – for this night and all the nights to come.”

A solemn silence permitted in the air, the men who invoked the pledge had looks of utter reverence in their faces as they looked up to the carved frowning face on the Hearts Tree. It felt as if the very world had heard their words, and accepted their vow to welcome them in the once prestigious Band of Brothers to uphold their pledges of protecting the innocents of all kingdoms, people of all stages of life – for a Brother of the Night’s Watch never took part in the politics of men. They were to leave behind whatever title they once held before they set foot on the mysterious Wall of ice.

Benjen shook himself from the chilling thoughts and nodded his head to the Brothers who stood a little way apart from them. One of them opened the saddlebag he carried and brought out a bundle of furs from within and handed them over to Benjen. He walked over to the kneeling men and stood before them –

“Please get up, Brothers. From now on, you are one of us – a Brother of the Night’s Watch. I welcome you to our proud and noble mission.”

The men each took a piece of fur from his hand, which turned out to be black cloaks made out of furs, they divested their own - Waymar’s cloak had the sigil of his house – and donned the black cloaks. They had looks of uncertainty about them, but smiles of pride shone through the gloom which was cast by the dusk that was announcing of the night’s advance. The other two companions of Benjen’s approached the new Brothers and grasped their forearms in a sign of brotherhood, welcoming them to their ranks as well. Granted they are nought but new meats to don the cloaks, and they had a long way to go before they earn their names among the Black Brothers, but all of them had begun from this very start, pledging their oaths before the Gods.

As they got back to where the horses were tethered, Grim’s hackles were raised as he started to growl at the darkening shadows. Benjen’s practised eyes caught movements not too far from where they stood. He first thought about alerting the men to be on their guard, but a feeling deep inside of him told him that he needed to be alone for whatever it was to come forth.

“Get on your horses and go back to the Castle. I will be coming in a little while.”

All of them nodded their heads and got up their horses, but Waymar Royce stood beside Benjen, “Are you sure, Ranger Stark?” He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the direction at where Grim was still growling.

Benjen smiled back at the young man, he has good instincts. I hope the Lord Commander assigns him to the Rangers – he thought to himself.

“Aye, Brother Waymar, I am. Carry on with the others, I will be joining you shortly.”

Waymar nodded and got up on his horse, trudging along with the others through the snow-covered ground towards Castle Black. When they were but a speck in the distance, Benjen prepared himself for a confrontation he was sure to come. He strode over to where Grim was still standing, keeping a watch with bared teeth. He ran his gloved hand on the wolf’s back, feeling a nudge in his mind from him which was telling him to be wary of the shadows. He patted his head and strode forward, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Man and wolf walked in a steady gait towards the shadows of the Haunted Forest.

As soon as they reached the edge of the trees, the shadows moved once again. Benjen unsheathed his sword and stood ready, his left hand sank deep in the furs of Grim’s neck, keeping the wolf from darting forward.

“We come in peace, Crow.” A voice came from within the shadows.

“Show yourselves!” Benjen barked back.

Three shadows detached themselves and came forward slowly, their features became clear in the dying light of the sun. The one in the middle was a giant of a man who had a crudely made battle-axe hung on his back. His red hair and beard were braided and he had bright blue eyes. If Benjen didn’t know better, he would have said that the man was of some relation of his goodsister. The one on his left was a mousy youth with brown hair and eyes. His eyes shifted back and forth from Grim to Benjen, fear was evident on his pale face. But it was the lass on the giant’s other side that caught his eye, for she was not afraid or distrustful as the other two. She was cautious, but curiosity was etched on her face. The girl was nearly the same age as his nephews, she had a slender build, dark red hair was slung on a shoulder in a thick braid, on the other shoulder, hung a quiverful of arrows and a hunting bow. All three of them had their hands held before them in a show that they were not carrying any arms in their hands.

“Me name is Tormund,” the giant started to speak haltingly, “Tormund Giantsbane. I am the leader of me clan. This here is Aurick, lad’s our scout. An’ the lass is Ygritte, the best hunter of me clan.”

Benjen nodded, “My name is Benjen Stark, I am the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.”

The giant, Tormund as he said his name was, looked between Benjen and Grim and muttered, “A kin o’ the Starks. I shoulda known that.”

“What do you mean by that?” Benjen frowned, he patted Grim’s back as the wolf snarled.

The three wildlings had taken a step back seeing the direwolf baring his fangs, Tormund looked fearfully at the horse-sized wolf and said –

“Ye Starks are known beyond the Wall, Crow. Ye are the blood of the Winter Kings, known to have direwolves with ye. An’ you also have Free Folks blood in ye…Bael the Bard?” He and his companions snorted at that.

Benjen’s lips peeled back and he too bared his teeth just as his wolf friend, “Careful with what you speak of, wildling.”

Grim answered to his agitation by taking a few steps forward himself, making the three cower and hastily holding up their arms.

“Alrigh’, alrigh’! We won’t be japin’ abou’ yer forefathers, Crow! Calm yer beast down!”

Once again Benjen reached for the wolf’s back and sank his gloved hand into his warm fur. Grim cocked his head and sat on his haunches.

“Don’t you see direwolves in these forests? Why are you so afraid of him?”

“Besides the fact o’ them bein’ the fiercest beasts on this side o’ the Wall, ye mean?” Tormund snarked back at him. “We are always afraid o’ the wolves. More of me men lost their lives an’ limbs to the wolves than all o’ the shadowcats put together. An’ above all this here beast is supposed ta be a blessing of the Gods.”

Immediately Benjen became alert, Grim also got up on his feet and crouched low to pounce at a moment’s notice.

“What are you trying to say?” Benjen growled.

“As I said, innit? Aurick here is our scout. He was out scoutin’ one day an’ came back all scared ‘cause he saw a buncha Crows an’ lordlings traipsin’ in our forest. We followed ‘im to see a camp of the Southerners. Then, outta the air, ye an’ a wee lordling came ta talk ta them before vanishin’ again. Next mornin’, ye with four young uns came back an’ got ready ta leave when this here beast with his mate found ye. We were shittin’ in our breeches watchin’ all that an’ whaddya know, out came one o’ the fuckin’ Children an’ blessed one o’ ye.” Tormund shook his head in awe.

“We been tryin’ ta find ye since then. We even threatened that cunt Craster ta get yer name. All he said is that ye are a Ranger Crow.” He snorted, “Like we dinnit know that already. We been lookin’ fer ye Ranger Crows when this day we finally find ye.”

Benjen didn’t know what to say to that. He sheathed his sword but kept his hand on the pommel, showing them he was ready to strike at them given the minutest encouragement, not to disregard the huge fucking beast of a wolf beside him.

“Very well, you have found me. What do you need from me then?”

Tormund indicated at his raised hands with his chin, asking permission if he could lower them, to which, Benjen nodded his head. The wildling lowered his hands and jerked them a few times to get some soreness out after keeping them raised for so long.

“We dinnit know yet, Crow. All we know is that there’s a change in the wind in here lands. An’ we don’ like it. Many clans now movin’ away from their homes. I dunno ‘bout you Southerners, but in this side o’ the Wall, we still pray to the Old Gods an’ believe in the Children o’ the Forest.”

“You keep calling me a Southerner, but I am as much a Northerner as any of you.”

“All ye kneelers south o’ the wall are Southerners ta us.” The girl, Ygritte, muttered in a quiet voice, not taking her eyes off of Grim. She flinched back when the wolf cocked his head to look at her.

“Aye, we dinnit know who ye all are but Southerner, an’ more, the blacks are Crows.” Tormund snorted at his own jape.

Benjen rubbed his forehead, the conversation was not going anywhere, “Alright, let us say that I believe your words, but why come to me? Why not try to talk to the Lord Commander of the Watch? Or better yet, your lot have managed to cross the Wall and raid several of the villages, some others took advantage of that not too long ago. Why not try to seek an audience with my brother? He is the Lord Stark after all.”

Tormund frowned, “An’ I thought that I found a clever Crow. This Lord Commander of yer would listen ta us? Yer kneeler brother won’t have us killed where we stand? We ain’t have our heads frozen, ye know?”

“Aye, there is bad blood between your people and the men of Watch and also the Northern realm. I will give you that. But you didn’t answer my question, why seek me out?”

“Because o’ him.” Tormund gestured towards Grim, making Benjen frown, “Direwolves had left the Stark’s side fer centuries. Yet here they are again, once more walkin’ at the side o’ a Stark. Whatever it is stirrin’ in the snow, is callin’ out ta the bloods o’ Winter Kings. An’ we saw ye receive blessin’ from a Child. We needed ta know ye. I need ta know if ye can help me in keepin’ me folks safe.” He sighed deeply.

Benjen nodded, “While I cannot assure you of whatever dangers are brewing in the deep north, We, my nephews and I, were alerted of the danger. We still don’t know how or when they will come, but we were warned to not speak of them out in the open. You of all people should know of the danger of doing so.” He looked at the man pointedly.

Tormund had gone pale, his eyes wide and lips trembling.

“Fuck! Ye must be japin’, Crow!”

Benjen shook his head, “I wish that I were, but no, I don’t.”

“Fuck me blue balls! Now all of these make sense. The Children, the wolves. I reckon yer kin got the she-wolf ta follow him? Just as the tales o’ Winter Kings o’ old times?”

“No, as far as I know, she chose my brother, Lord Stark as her companion. But she has whelped six pups – one for each of my nieces and nephews. As of now, there are seven direwolves south of the Wall.”

Tormund became more agitated by the news, he pulled at his braided beard, “Fuckin’ hell! It’s worse than we thought. Stark bloods are bein’ called again. What are we ta do, Crow?”

“Stop panicking, man!” Benjen growled loudly, “You want to keep your people safe, that I can understand. I don’t know how much of a help I can be, but I can provide some information to you for the time being. Will you listen?” He spoke with authority in his voice, the commanding aura of the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch was shining through.

“Aye, We’ll listen ta ya.” The redheaded giant calmed somewhat.

“Good, first of all, find a place for your clan, move them to a safer place. Don’t tell me where but take them as fast as you can. I don’t know how much time we have, but I am also aware the other clans are already on the move, which means they are sensing the dangers too.” Tormund nodded in agreement. “I will try to talk to my brother. I truly don’t know how much of a success I will be, but others are already beginning the preparation for any inevitability. We Starks always say that ‘Winter is coming’, this time, it sure is. And Gods willing, we will weather it once more.”

Tormund kept his eyes trained on Benjen as he was speaking, after his rant, he nodded his head, “We jus’ wanted ta know ye, Crow. Wanted ta see if the Gods blessed the wrong uns. But ye ain’t that. I still don’ trust ye, ye bein’ a Crow an’ brother of a kneeler. But I’ll tell ye one thin’ an’ nothin’ more…” he slowly approached the Ranger, keeping a wary eye on the wolf and brought his mouth near his ear, “Ye need ta learn abou’ the ‘Horn o’ Joramun’.”

Benjen narrowed his eyes as the giant stepped back to his place, “Very well, I will keep that in mind. Now, if that is all, I will be taking my leave.”

“Aurick or Ygritte will find ye if we come ta know anythin’ more.” Tormund nodded back to him and turned to go back the way they came. The lad named Aurick, who kept his mouth close and his eyes unwaveringly on Grim, followed suit without uttering a single word. But the girl fidgeted.

“Something on your mind, lass?” Benjen asked curiously.

The girl looked up to him before averting her eyes quickly, she kept picking on the string of her bow.

“What is it?”

Benjen had to lean closer to hear what she muttered low under her breath, “The lordling, the one who got the bow, what’s his name?”

Benjen frowned, “You mean Jon?”

Tormund had stopped walking and was looking back in their direction, he caught what they were talking about and laughed uproariously –

“Har! Ygritte here is smitten with yer kin, Crow! She wanted ta steal him when she first saw him!”

The girl, Ygritte, glared back at his leader, “I dinnit want ta steal him, I…I just want ta know his name.”

Benjen couldn’t help but smirk at that, is she blushing? – he thought as he watched the girl’s crimson cheeks. She turned to look at him with hopeful eyes, “His name is Jon?”

“Aye, lass. And do not be ashamed if you like him. I heard that he has that effect on many a lass that came across him. He is my nephew.”

“He has a wolf his own? Where is he now?” Ygritte blurted out before slapping her hand over her mouth with wide eyes, mortified to let her emotion run free of her.

Benjen gave her a wide smile, “Aye, he does. One with fur as white as snow from what I heard. He named him Ghost. And right now, he is travelling to Kings’ Landing – far in the South.”

“Oh!” was all the girl could say before running after her still chuckling leader, much to Benjen’s amusement.

---

 

Sunspear, Dorne – the Old Palace

Five days after Ser Arthur had left Kings’ Landing

Prince Doran Martell of House Nymeros Martell sat in his solar looking out of the large window towards the bright blue water of the Summer Sea. The aged Prince was confined to his chair due to bouts of gout. His inflamed joints made it impossible for him to move on his own. He had to depend on his wheeled chair to move within his palace, or the palanquin to travel farther if need be. Prince Doran usually kept his legs and feet covered with a blanket, a feeble try to not appearing weak in the eyes of opponents.

He knew what people say about him – he was a coward to not take action. A preacher of peace. But in reality, Prince Doran was cautious and calculative. He weighed every possibility before he took a step in any direction. He had learned to think with his head, other than thinking with his cock or sword hand. Thus, he was labelled as the Cowardly Prince by the whispers amongst the Dornish.

His thoughts were broken by gentle knockings on the doors of his solar, “Enter.” He called out.

Areo Hotah, his faithful servant came in with his head bowed.

“He has returned, My Prince.”

Doran raised an eyebrow, amusement mixed with irritation flashed in his otherwise impassive face, “Did he now?”

Areo bowed low, “Yes, My Prince. Also, there is another man with him, I don’t know who he is, but from his garbs, he appears to be from North.”

North? Why would a Northerner come all this way from his home? – thought Doran.

“Very well. Send them in.”

“By your command, My Prince.” Areo went out of the room.

Doran trained his eyes towards the doors and kept waiting for the visitors. Soon enough, two men strode inside. One of them, a man with willowy built, was wearing a rather drab set of clothes, a threadbare headwear, and appeared to have unshaven facial hair for a couple of weeks. The other was garbed in the clothes of a Northern captain of guards, or more precisely, a Stark captain of guards, which was rather evident from the direwolf sigil that adorned his chest. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his face was hidden by his close-cropped beard and moustache and the half helm that he wore.

The first man’s demeanour changed the moment he crossed the threshold of the room. His posture straightened while arrogance and confidence bled through his gait. He had taken off his headwear and wiped his face with it, which had caused his face to become rather clean of the grimes he had collected on his travels, along with his unshaven beard – which was apparently false. He came to a stop in front of Doran and bowed his head with a flourish.

“Brother.”

Doran had to take his eyes off of the Northerner who was kneeling and looked up towards the man, “Oberyn.” He said with a sigh.

“No ‘welcome home’ for me, brother?”

Doran raised an eyebrow, “Oh? I was not aware that you had left Dorne.”

Oberyn threw his head back and laughed, a deep belly laugh that reverberated around the room.

“So true, brother, so true.”

Doran sighed again and rubbed his forehead, his brother always managed to incite headaches for him.

“I do remember to warn you that you are to stay put and not go to the Capitol. So tell me, Oberyn, where were you?”

Oberyn looked like a child who had been caught while stealing a sweet and sneaking back to his room.

“I had to go there, brother. You do understand that -”

He was cut off by his brother’s raised hand, “Save your excuses, Oberyn. I do not want to hear them.” His eyes went back to the kneeling man.

“Ah, yes. I have acquired quite an interesting companion on my return trip, brother.” Oberyn smirked at his brother’s questioning gaze. He frowned at the kneeling man while he took a seat beside his brother, “For the sake of our ancestors, do take your fucking helm off, man. Let him see your face.”

The kneeling man hesitated for a bit before taking off his helm. When he looked up to face the Martell brothers, Doran’s eyebrows had shot upwards.

“Arthur Dayne.” He whispered as he looked closely at the man’s face. He leaned back into his seat with his shoulders slumped, “It seems that the news of your death was greatly exaggerated.”

Arthur winced at the barb, “Forgive me, My Prince, the time and situations were not in my favour, I had to remain in the shadows, for I am a Kingsguard till the end of my days.”

Oberyn sat forward eagerly in his seat, “At least now tell us under which rock you have hidden yourself. You were infuriatingly quiet during our journey here.”

Doran stopped his impetuous brother, “I am sure that Arthur will indulge us with his thrilling tale of surviving. What I am more eager to learn is why now? Why reveal yourself to us now?”

“I have come bearing a gift, My Prince.”

“Oh?”

Arthur put the saddlebag he was carrying on his shoulder on the table in front of the Princes. He opened the bag and carefully brought out the thing and placed it upon the bag.

Both the brothers were shocked to see the gift that the apparently alive but claimed dead man had brought for them. On the table, sat the severed head of the man they despised the most in the world – one Gregor Clegane.

Doran was looking at the macabre thing in front of him while within his head, he was putting the torn pieces of parchments together to reveal the hidden message. Oberyn took one look at the severed head and burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard that he fell out of his seat and rolled on the floor.

“The Enormity that Rode! And here I was getting angry but also amused thinking that his fucking head ended up as dog shit! Oh, Arthur! You don’t know how happy you have made me today. If I weren’t faithful to my loving wife, I would have kissed you!”

What? Arthur was shocked, he could not believe his ears. Oberyn Martell, the famous lecher of the Seven Kingdoms, the man who was known to frequent every whorehouse of whatever realm he was present, who never differed from his lust – be it a man or a woman - claiming to be faithful to his wife? And when did he got married to Ellaria Sand, his known paramour?

Doran finally looked away from the severed head that was placed before him. He took a closer look at Arthur. A smile started to form on his face.

“So Eddard Stark finally told his nephew about his birth parents. That is great news indeed.”

Arthur’s jaw slackened hearing his words.

“My Prince…how…?”

“You are not the only one with secrets, old friend.” He looked down at the floor with a frown where Oberyn was still thumping on the ground laughing, “Oberyn, enough! Stop this childishness and calm down.”

At once, Oberyn Martell sobered up, he got up from the floor and brushed himself off the dirt, he gave his brother a nod before sitting back down. Doran turned his attention towards Arthur –

“Now, before we tell you anything further, we would like to know about how you survived. But first…”

He called out for Areo, asked him to send for some servants with food and drinks. The Norvosi didn’t even blink when Doran asked him to take the severed head and put it in a safe place.

[CotW]

Arthur had told the Princes about his life after the events at the Tower of Joy while they partook in their evening meal. The Martell brothers had listened to him with absolute attention, only stopping him to ask a question or two to get a clearer image. The three were now nursing a cup of wine each after finishing their meals.

“If you pardon my curiosity, My Prince, how do you come to know about Jon?”

Doran appeared weary and all of his fifty years of age, even without letting out the pains of gout he was suffering from, he leaned back in his chair and looked out the window to see the sea glinting in the light of the setting sun.

“I have always had an inkling. We knew about what Elia had concocted about the she-wolf.” He sighed sadly and shook his head. He turned to see the shocked look on Arthur’s face. “You seem surprised, Arthur. Do you think that I would not know what my own sister was thinking or doing? She always used to turn to me whenever she needed my advice on anything. She was a premature babe, born before her time. She was always sickly but the sweetest little thing. She told us about the complications she endured while birthing Rhaenys. The Mad King was always after her blood. He was getting antsy for an heir for Rhaeger to continue the dragon dynasty. But she was not able to become pregnant after her suffering with Rhaenys.

People think that it was Rhaeger who became enamoured with Lyanna. Yes, the girl was as beautiful as she was wild. She was the very woman that every Dornish man and woman would have given up their right hand to be with. But it was not your Prince who became besotted with her, it was my sister, Elia. She had heard about the fierce she-wolf from one of the Manderlys who visited during her coronation. The only lord to do so as the Northerners are a reclusive lot. Later, when she was heavy with Rhaenys, she was at the Riverlands with Queen Rhaella. I heard from her that Lyanna Stark was also there that time with her brother, Brandon, visiting Brandon Stark’s then betrothed, Catelyn Tully.”

Doran took a sip of his wine to relieve his parched throat, “She fascinated her because she was everything that Elia could not be – fierce, wild, good with arms. It was only the colour of her skin that differentiated her from a Dornish woman. After when Rhaenys was born and Elia came to know about her condition, she pushed Rhaeger to pursue the she-wolf. It was her who sent him on his travel to the Wall, under the guise of visiting his uncle. You went along with him; do you remember?” He asked Arthur.

“Yes, My Prince, Rhaeger made stops at Winter Town on his way to the Wall and back. We caught glimpses of the Princess during our stay there. We had disguised ourselves to not let anyone know of our travels. I didn’t even know that he approached her. He only disclosed it all to me when we were back at Kings’ Landing. They were already sending ravens to each other by then.”

“Yes, Elia had finally managed to make Rhaeger see her reasons. It was not uncommon for Targaryens to take two wives. Even the Faith wouldn’t have been opposed to that idea. Elia thought it was best for everybody. Lyanna would give birth to an heir to the throne, Elia would get to have her as her sister-wife, the Mad King would have been deposed by Great Council, Rhaeger on the throne and ruling with the help of Corrington and Rickard Stark, while Stark bringing in his friend Jon Arryn. An ambitious and quite dangerous undertaking for sure, but if it had been a success, the Seven Kingdoms would have prospered for days to come.”

Arthur sat there dumbfounded, “You agreed with this scheme?” He asked in a disbelieving tone. He knew of Doran’s nature to always be cautious and calculative. He couldn’t believe that he would have supported Princess Elia’s mad schemes.

“We didn’t.” Came Oberyn’s solemn reply, “At first we thought it was all Rhaeger’s doing. He planned to dishonour our sister and set her aside to satiate his lust. I was ready to do what Brandon Stark did – ride to the Red Keep and demand satisfaction. But Elia took us to the task. She made us see from her perspective. With Rhaeger marrying Lyanna, they would finally honour the Pact of Ice and Fire; a little differently, but still permissible. With that, the North was allied with the Throne despite their reclusive nature. Rickard Stark would have made his friend Jon Arryn come along to join the Small Council at his goodson’s request; renewing the relationships between the Crown and Vale.

Think about it, Arthur, the Mad King had turned every other kingdom the enemy of the Crown. It was quite an ingenious ploy to get all the realms band together once again. Granted, I am not that political-minded, but Doran thought upon it and gave his approval. Dorne was allied with marriage, as would the North have been. The Reach was always a Targaryen loyalist. North would have brought the Riverlands along through marriage between Brandon Stark and Catelyn Tully, and the Vale through the friendship between Stark and Arryn. Stormlands…” Oberyn grimaced in distaste, “Stormlands was already kin to the Throne. Six kingdoms standing together, only leaving out the Westerland and the fucking cunt, Tywin Lannister. Which was planned to be resolved by marrying Cersei Lannister off with Robert Baratheon.”

Oberyn refilled all of their cups, then he continued, “Everything was going according to the plan. The cursed tourney of Harrenhal was a ploy to get all the lords to come. Rhaeger planned to form his Great Council there, as well as proposing the betrothal between him and Lyanna to Lord Stark. But everything went wrong afterwards as you know. Varys caught wind that Rhaeger was planning something, and planted the seed of doubt in Aerys’ mind, making him attend the tourney. It all went to hell when the fucking stag started to boast that he was offered betrothal for Lyanna.

We tried to salvage it all, but Lyanna was inconsolable. Brandon Stark was apparently quite happy to go along with Robert’s proposal – being the like-minded fools that they were. And I always thought Ned Stark was a stag hiding in wolfskin for the way he followed Robert everywhere. Elia told us that Lord Rickard was trying to get everything under control, but Lyanna was still a young lass, she threatened Rhaeger with dire consequences if he left her alone for any longer, forcing him to take the drastic measure and they eloped.”

Oberyn sat there glaring at his cup. Arthur knew most of these, save for the politics that were happening behind the veils. He wondered why Rhaeger didn’t tell him any of these. Did he fear that the Kingsguard would have been alerted of the dethronement and sided with Aerys as per their oaths? Arthur didn’t know whom he would have supported if it all came to bear result – the King he had sworn his oath to or the Prince who was more than a brother to him? His heart or his mind - the contradicting emotions were making his head spin.

Oberyn continued to speak, “We tried our best when the Rebellion started. We had a plan to isolate Robert and Ned Stark and take them as captives. We didn’t think that Connington would fumble so badly. It was his unexpected defeat that threw all our options out. We planned to use the Rebellion to dethrone Aerys since our peaceful strategy failed even before starting. Did you know that Rhaeger was sick? He was suffering from a fever when he faced Robert. I would have liked to see the fucking stag stand before fighting fit Rhaeger. Uncle Llewyn lost his life in his bid to keep him safe, Barristan was drawn far from him in his battles. Lonmouth was with us till the end but suffered a nasty blow to the head and lost consciousness. Still, a weak Rhaeger kept fighting like a demon. I thought that victory was within our grasp. But fate was not favourable to us and Rhaeger fell before the stag, afterwards, everything turned into a fucking nightmare.” Oberyn leaned back in his chair like a broken man, tears spilt from his eyes unrestrained.

Doran was massaging his forehead, as his brother seemed to have spent all his energy, he started to continue the conversation, “We have always doubted that Ned Stark’s bastard was truly Lyanna’s boy by Rhaeger. We have kept an ear out for any news of the lad. Then, a few years ago, news of this Jon Snow started to come to us. We have kept a close watch as he progressed on his way. Any indication of his birth and we would have ghosted him away from the North, we would have kept him hidden here and prepared him. And now…now you have come us bearing a gift of the Enormity’s head – confirming that our doubt, after all, is true indeed. Because the alternative that is floating in the air is not conceivable at all.” He turned towards Oberyn, who had composed himself from his emotional upheaval, “Tell him, brother.”

Oberyn nodded and sat forward in his seat, he kept his face impassive as he stared deeply at Arthur, “Arthur, Ashara is not dead.”

“What?!” Arthur had shot up from his seat.

“Yes, my friend, your sister is still alive.”

Arthur covered the distance between the two of them in a single stride and grabbed Oberyn by the collar of his shirt. He yanked him up on his feet to bring him at his eye level, “Oberyn, I love you dearly, for we have grown up together as the best of friends. Do not jape with me about such matter.” He growled low in his throat.

Oberyn gently extricated himself from the enraged knight’s grasp. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and spoke unwaveringly –

“It is true, my friend. Ashara is alive. I am not japing with you.”

Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of Morning, the greatest knight of the century, stumbled back. Oberyn caught him so that he didn’t fall on his arse, he gently lowered the man back in his seat.

“What…how…”

“I am sure that you know about Elia planning a disagreement between them so that Ashara can escape the Capitol after she became pregnant with Brandon’s child?” Arthur nodded his head, “It was made possible because of my love, Ellaria.”

“Ellaria?”

Oberyn sighed, he walked up to the window and stared out at the by now the darkened sea.

“None of us were welcome at the Red Keep after Brandon’s imprisonment. Rhaeger was in hiding with Lyanna and you three Kingsguard. All communications in or out of the Capitol were closely observed either by Varys or by Pycelle. That old cunt is a Lannister’s man through and through.”

Oberyn turned back to look at Arthur, his eyes had taken to burn with intense hatred, “Elia was trapped within the keep, trying her best to keep Ashara’s pregnancy a secret and get her out of that hellhole. Ellaria took it upon herself to brave the situation. She went to the Red Keep in the guise of a servant, carrying gifts from Doran for Elia, Rhaenys and Elia’s supposed son. When she heard about Ashara’s condition, she exchanged their places, she stayed back there and sent Ashara to Dorne as the servant that went into the keep.

After our defeat at the Trident, I came back here at Sunspear. I was shocked to find Ashara here. She told me what Elia and Ellaria concocted together and sent her away. My heart fretted for them both, but I kept my mask on for the sake of Ashara. I assured her and sent her to Starfall. I kept wishing that now that the Stag has won, he would send Elia and her household back to us. We had heard about the sacking of Kings’ Landing by the Lannister cunts…still we kept hope. In the end, Jon Arryn came to us, bringing the bones of Elia and his sympathy. Ellaria was slain in the sack, along with every Dornish man and woman. We heard that the men were only slain, but the women were raped, had their throats slit and then they were burnt.”

Oberyn picked up the pitcher of the wine and drank from it directly. He threw it at a wall after emptying it and started to sway on his feet. His face was contorted in pain and rage. He took deep breaths to steady himself and sat down.

“When we heard that Ned Stark had come to Dorne. I left for Starfall immediately. I went there in disguise, planned to reveal myself only to Ashara and provide any support she might have required. When I reached there, Ned Stark had already found his way to the Tower of Joy, and came to Starfall before me, carrying his sister’s bones and your sword. Ashara had lost everything – her favourite brother, her love, her childhood friend. She even lost what was supposed to be Brandon’s memory to her when she went into early labour and birthed a stillborn girl. She was defeated by life itself.

When I snuck into the castle of Starfall, Ned Stark has already left with his retinue. I crept towards Ashara’s rooms when I heard noises of struggle. I rushed in to find that a hooded person was fighting with her. Even devastated, she was still a woman of Dorne. She kept fighting against the assassin. I ran forward and wrenched that fucker away from her. In our struggle, the unknown person slipped and fell from the balcony where we had ended up in our fight. They fell directly into the raging Torrentine. Fearing for her life, I grabbed her and a few of her possessions and ran from there. On our way out, I spread the rumour that Ashara Dayne had thrown herself off her balcony in her grief. Somebody had indeed seen a figure falling into the raging river and the rumour took hold as I whisked Ashara away to Helholt.”

Arthur had his head in his hands, tears of relief flooded his face.

“How did you manage to keep her hidden? She was well known to the entirety of Westeros.”

“Blood magic.”

“What?”

“I took her to Essos from Helholt, directly to Qarth. There, I did some investigation and lured a warlock from the House of Undying who was temporarily banished over some dispute with his guild. I got him to perform blood magic on Ashara before I disposed of him. She now looks just as Ellaria did. Well, not completely her, but she doesn’t look like the Ashara from past either – it is more as an amalgamation of the two.”

Arthur kept looking at Oberyn disbelievingly. He couldn’t get his head around this recent information.

“Yes, my friend. Your sister is alive, but she has taken the identity of Ellaria Sand. Only four know about her – Doran, myself, Ashara and Lord Herman Uller. Old Lord Uller had agreed with our scheme after making us promise that we will send the ones responsible for his daughter’s death to the depths of Seven Hells.”

Oberyn smiled at the hopeful visage of his friend. Then he snapped his fingers and said –

“Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you…we are now married.”

“What?”

Poor Arthur couldn’t handle any more shocks, he felt as if he was finished – physically and emotionally.

“Ah, yes. We spent some time together and in our shared griefs, we became quite close. After a few months, we were married.” He raised his hand to stop Arthur from speaking, “I know what you wanted to say. But rest assured, I am truly faithful to my loving wife. I had to maintain the ruse – so whenever I visit a whorehouse, I always make the person unconscious by the usage of potions. I maintain my appearance with my wife’s consent, but I never abused her trust, believe me on this. And you are an uncle, Arthur. I have four daughters with her who are as beautiful as their mother.”

“I…I have nieces?”

“Yes, my friend.”

Arthur got up from his seat and enveloped Oberyn within his arms. He started to sob on the man’s shoulder. The guilt of his sister’s untimely death, which he had been carrying for the past sixteen years, had finally left his soul.

“Thank you, Oberyn, thank you for everything you have done for her.”

“It’s just the things we do for love, Arthur.”

Arthur straightened and went on his knees before Doran, who remained silent and kept watching the scene unfold before him.

“Forgive my behaviour, My Princes, I erred when I manhandled Prince Oberyn.”

“We understand what your mind is going through as of now, Arthur. It is forgiven. But keep in mind, neither of us will take it lightly if it is to happen again.”

“Of course, My Prince.”

“Then please, get up, Ser Arthur.”

Arthur stood back up and looked at the Martell brothers.

“What are we to do now?”

“Now, my friend, we plan. We plan before I come along with you to meet His Grace. But there are still some things you need to know, Arthur.”

Notes:

A.N. - I beg forgiveness from everybody for the lateness of this chapter. A weeklong visit to a relative's place, a shock to the system due to Co-Vaccine made me unable to write as I thought. Additionally, writing about pre-canon Daenerys was much harder than pre-canon Jon. I deleted and rewrote parts of this chapter more than the rest of the story put together.

Finally, you had a glimpse of the Mother of Dragons. Did I do her justice? And to everybody who correctly guessed the identity of the mysterious man at the end of the last chapter, you get...my gratitude and the satisfaction of reading this chapter, for I am but a poor man with an overactive imagination. I can't give you anything more.

I planned for penning the reaction of Winterfell after the tourney, but since this chapter already reached my usual length and the lateness in publishing this chapter, I have skipped it for the time being and will include it in the next chapter. Along with it, be prepared for an AC-induced action and finally, THE LEAP OF FAITH - just a small teaser. Till then, adieu.

A. N. 2 - I have already published my other story which will be a crossover between HP universe and MCU, where Harry Potter will take up the mantle of Spider-Man.

Chapter 25: Dreams Sent Me A Sign

Dreams…Sent Me A Sign

Winterfell

Ned was sitting at the desk of his solar nursing a cup of ale. A map of the North was spread before him. He was rubbing his forehead with his free hand as he kept looking at the map. It had been two months since the boys had left for the tourney and Ned suddenly found himself in an unenviable position of being thrust into a world where myths were true. Since his meeting with the Children, Ned diligently took his lessons from Old Nan along with his wife and children so they could speak in the Old Tongue. Both him and Cat were having troubles with their dialect and retention because – for Cat, it was an entirely new language for her to learn, whereas Ned was ashamed that the little he had learnt from his father, he forgot due to neglect. He turned bright red whenever Arya and Bran started to giggle at his silly mistakes, they never dared to do the same for their mother, but they knew that their father was a different matter altogether. It was only Sansa that took pity on him and chided her siblings for their behaviour. Ned smiled fondly at the memories of his elder daughter patiently explaining what they got wrong to him and her mother.

He was broken out of his reverie at the sound of the doors to his solar opening. He smiled as he saw Cat entering the room. The Lady of Winterfell was done for the day looking after her house. She gave him a smile as she walked over to the hearth, before which, a giant direwolf slept. Iss opened her eyes as she felt Cat’s approach and thumped her tail.

“Hello, sweetling, are you keeping company to your father?” Cat bent down before the wolf. Iss raised her head and licked Cat’s hand. “Good girl.” The Lady Stark smiled at the she-wolf as she huffed.

Lady Stark stood back up and looked at her husband, she saw him smiling at seeing her interaction with the wolf. Cat approached the desk of her husband and went around it to the side of Ned. The Lord of Winterfell moved his chair and opened his arm for his wife. She gave him a smile as she slid down on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck to bring him down for a kiss.

Ned smiled and bent his head forward to capture his wife’s lips with his own. He felt her snuggle into his chest and deepening the kiss. He rested his forehead against hers and sighed contently.

“What troubles you so, my love?”

Ned opened one of his eyes to see the lovely blue eyes of Cat’s peering up at him with concern.

“What made you think that I have troubles, wife?”

Cat returned his smile with a smirk of her own, “Because I know you, Ned Stark. Now, will you tell me?”

Ned smiled as he placed a kiss on the crown of her head. He indicated towards the opened map on his desk with a chin, “I am pondering over which lands we should repurpose for farming fields. I don’t know if you are aware of this or not, but the persons we met a while back, haven’t been idle. I have farmers praising the Starks because there has been a sudden change to the existing fields around Winterfell resulting in bountiful crops. I have been assured by the farmers that they will harvest almost double than last year, if not triple.”

Catelyn had a beaming smile on her face, “That is wonderful news, Ned. But what seems to be the problem?”

Ned put his index finger on the map, pointing at various spots on it, “I have marked these here spots for probable fields. Quite nearer the woods so that our friends do not have any problem accessing them unseen. But it also raises the risk of the farmers staying there being ransacked by the bandits as they are a while away from the main keep. I may wait for the next harvest season so that we can provide the coins based on our granaries, but I want to make the most of the current season. If we can get the fields ready within time, we can produce five times more than last year by my estimation.

In that, lies the crux of my problem. Winterfell’s coffer doesn’t have the necessary gold to guard stations, provide their wages as well as creating the farming fields and residence for the farmers. We could do it the next year, because of our current bounty…but not this year.” Ned sighed and rubbed his forehead.

Catelyn frowned and got up from her husband’s lap. She shuffled towards the desk and started to look over the spots Ned had marked down on the map.

“Why don’t we use Jon’s Gift to get your plans in motion, Ned?”

They had started to call Theon Stark’s treasure as ‘Jon’s Gift’ so if anybody not in the know, was listening in to their conversation, wouldn’t have any clue to what they were talking about. Since it was Jon who had dreamt of the treasure and helped to unearth it, they were quite happy to term it so. Rickard Karstark and Gregor Forrester too gave their votes to the term.

“I would have if I could. But the gold in the Gift are in form of trinkets, small ingots and coins marked with the Seven Pointed Star. How do I explain those?”

Catelyn didn’t answer, she was thinking furiously. Something was nudging at the back of her head. She went towards the bookcase behind the lord’s desk and started to go over the spines of the leather-clad old tomes.

“What are you doing, Cat?”

“Hush now, let me think.” She shushed her husband, much to his amusement.

She took out quite a few of the tomes from the bookcase and heaved them over to the desk. She kept muttering to herself as she furiously riffling through the pages. Ned, very obediently, kept his mouse shut and watched on as his wife worked.

“Aha! I knew that I read about it somewhere in these!” Catelyn cried triumphantly.

“Am I allowed to speak now?” Ned tried to sound miffed but amusement was evident in his voice.

Cat glared at him, “Oh, quit your whining, Ned. It is quite unbecoming of a lord to behave childishly.”

Ned chuckled and got up from his seat, “Do forgive my transgression, dear wife. Now, would you please enlighten me to what you are up to?”

“I just remembered reading something when I first came here. I wanted to learn about my new household and my lord husband’s domains. So, while you were still busy down South, I, with the help of Benjen, tried to read through these tomes to learn about the North and Winterfell’s history. I had almost forgotten about it all.” She pushed the tome towards Ned, “Here, Ned, read these excerpts.”

Ned frowned and bent over to read the passages his wife pointed out to him, “These passages were recorded by Grandfather Edwyle.”

“Yes, Benjen also confirmed that. Keep reading, Ned.” She prodded him on impatiently.

It took him a few minutes to read the pages. He straightened up frowning.

“The records tell about the mint Winterfell once had.”

“Yes. There used to be a small gold mine not too far from the keep during Lord Edwyle’s reign.”

“Aye, but the veins ran dry and thus stopped the supply of gold ores. Grandfather searched for another mine, he even marked down a few possible locations where we may find another small mine.” Ned muttered as he read through the records once more, “Father must have known about this, but he never talked about it with me. Brandon might have been aware of this, but…” He sighed and looked up to Cat, “Still, this doesn’t solve my problem, love. If I cannot provide the coins to build a few guard stations, how do you expect me to fund an excursion team to search these locations?”

“Oh, do use your head, dear husband.” Catelyn snapped at him, “I was not talking about searching for possible gold mines, but the abandoned mint within Winterfell. Now that we have a limited amount of gold in forms of ingots, trinkets and coins, why don’t we use the old mint to produce some Gold Dragons from them? Lord Edwyle was meticulous in his record keeping, he had written down every little nuances of running the mint. We have a master smith in Mikken and a fine jeweller in Alastor. Both men are absolutely loyal to us. Granted that none of their current expertise are applicable to our needs, but if they put their heads together, those two master craftsmen could come up with an idea of how to go forward. Not to mention, this here tome will be of immense help for this undertaking, as the old Lord Stark also wrote down the procedures in his own impeccable way.” Catelyn took a deep breath as she stopped talking.

Ned kept alternating his gaze at his wife and the tome that lay opened on his desk. He shook his head with a chuckle and moved to his chair to sit down.

“What will I do without you, my love?”

“Whatever it is, I am sure you will do it quite poorly.” Replied a very smug Catelyn.

“…and I completely agree with you.” Ned sighed, “Truly, Cat, I am so very thankful that you are here to help me look after my family’s legacy. All of these were supposed to be Brandon’s duty. I am but a poor replacement of him.”

Cat leaned down and put her hand on her husband’s cheek, “Do not think that way, my love. You are not Brandon, and he certainly was not you. You both have different strengths. Would he have turned a better Lord of the North than you? We will never know. But one thing which I know for sure is you are one of the best to bear the Stark legacy. You have proven it time and again.” She lowered her head to kiss him gently.

“Now I believe that you are done with your troubles for the day. Come, let us get a good night’s rest and we will deal with the other troubles with renewed strength at the morning.”

As they were getting up from their position, Ned’s eyes once again fell on the tome Catelyn had been perusing, his eyes caught another map of the North marked with different markers than those of the possible sites of gold mines. He frowned as he took a closer look at the second map.

“What are these then?”

Catelyn looked over the map and consulted it with the recordings of a few pages further. She had a thoughtful look on her face, “According to Lord Edwyle, these are probable locations for Obsidian. Apparently, all Stark lords and heirs are needed to know about these locations – the main source being Skagos. But the small markers that dotted the North are said to have very limited amount of the ore if the current lord feels that he is in dire need and cannot commission Skagos.”

Ned rubbed his chin, “Why would we need Obsidian? They are not of the same value as gemstones. Neither are they fit to be used as stone blocks for walls or keeps.”

Catelyn hummed as she quickly skimmed about a few pages, not finding any references about the unusual ore, she frowned up at her husband, “I don’t think we will find any mentions of its uses in these tomes. They are probably stored at the library.”

“Great, that is exactly what I need, more studying.” Ned grumbled.

“Don’t you dare say things as such in front of the children, Ned Stark. Only the promise to the oldest three that they will once again get to meet with our friends keeps them from misbehaving. Even Sansa. My quiet and beautiful daughter has changed into a wildling.” She poked a finger at her husband’s chest, “I blame your wolfblood for that.” Any sting which could have been taken as a slight against the Starks by her words were dissuaded by the pleased smirk on her face. She had seen her bashful daughter slowly becoming a beautiful and confident young woman, hence her approval of her continuous training with arms.

Ned let her drag him off of his seat and towards the doors out of the solar, “If only it is so. I still have to go and meet with our friends and let them know of these plans…and with my brilliant grasp of the language of my forefathers, I am afraid if I end up insulting them unknowingly.”

Catelyn stopped dragging her husband out of the room and turned to look at him with frustration screaming from her expression.

“You daft man. You…” she took a deep breath and closed her eyes in a bid to calm herself down, “Alright, that can be a disaster, though it is quite easily solvable. While I loath to even mentioning this, but it is necessary.”

Ned looked at her questioningly.

“Cley has told me about the girls’ training. Sansa has become quite proficient with her bow – cannot believe that I am saying this – and she needs to get further experience than the practice yard. Whereas Arya, the competitive little beast that she is, while not as good as Sansa, but has also become quite adept with her bow. Both the girls need to go out hunting to put their skills to test. And who better to teach them the way than their loving father who can take the girls to a little hunting trip. Also making a detour on their way back to meet with certain individuals where our eldest daughter can put her other learned skill to use. I believe it is quite what Old Nan says killing two beasts with a single arrow.”

Ned felt a laughter started to bubble inside of his chest trying to get out, but it died as soon as he saw the expression on his wife’s face.

“Now, will you please come with me to our bedroom, dear husband, or do I need to spell it out for you why I need you there?”

Ned immediately shook his head and hastened his steps. Iss, when she saw that the humans were leaving, got up and started to padding after them. Ned gulped at that, fearing another rebuke from his wife, turned to the wolf, “Ah…sorry girl, but you need to sleep at your tower tonight.”

Iss whined at that stood there stubbornly.

Cat whispered something to her, which Ned couldn’t manage to catch, but to his astonishment, Iss gave a huff and turned to go towards the Broken Tower.

“How is it that you always manage to get her listen to you?”

“That is something between us girls, which, your poor male brain can never comprehend.” She replied coquettishly over her shoulder and sauntered off towards the lord’s bedroom. Ned hurried along after her.

[CotW]

The next day as the Stark family sat down to break their fast, the acolyte that Maester Luwin had left at the keep to carry the duties, came hurriedly inside of the Great Hall carrying a scroll in his hand.

“My Lord, there was a raven from Kings’ Landing.”

Ned gulped a little, his breathing quickened a little bit. Catelyn and the children looked on eagerly as he took the scroll from the man and broke the seal. He read it once, and sat there silently, contemplating the missive.

“Ned?” Catelyn’s voice quivered.

Ned cleared his throat before speaking, “This missive came from the Hand, Lord Jon Arryn. It says that the boys have established quite a close friendship with the Lannister brothers – Jaime and Tyrion. They are having regular spars with the older Lannister, and Jon, being the bookworm that he is, has engaged himself in continuous verbal spars with the younger brother, Tyrion. They spoke and debated about many things, amongst them was the Imp’s most favoured subject, the Dance of the Dragons.”

Sansa squealed in excitement, “Did Jon finally find mentions of Prince Jacaerys’ dragon Vermax laying eggs at Winterfell?”

Ned looked at his eldest daughter in shock, Catelyn too was frowning at her.

“You knew about Jon’s studies?”

Sansa blushed, “Er…sometimes, when I had fights with Arya -” She stammered, making her parents frowned at their youngest daughter, who looked back at them defiantly. Sansa was quick to come at her sister’s defence, “Oh, no Father! We do not fight now. I was talking about before Jon and Robb went away for their fosterages. Um…at that time, when Arya and I fought, I used to hide in the library, knowing that was one place where she couldn’t find me to annoy me more. There, I usually met Jon, who has been reading anything and everything he could find about the Dance. He used to tell me that he would one day find clues if Vermax indeed laid eggs here, and if yes, it would be him who is going to find the clutch.”

Ned kept looking at his daughters, who squirmed under his steely gaze.

“Please, Father, we do not fight any longer. Arya is my sister, we argue a lot, aye, but not as much as we did before. And for Jon, he is quite an orator. You should hear him talking about the Greens and the Blacks. He tells those stories as if he has been there himself, watched them all with his own eyes.”

Ned could not hold himself back anymore and chuckled, rendering his daughters very confused about their father’s behaviour.

“I wonder how much of confessions we would have gotten out of the two of them if I continued with my stare.” He said to his wife, making Arya scowl at him and Sansa giving out an indignant huff.

“That was unfair, Father!” Sansa gave him a pinched look.

“Aye, you never did this with Robb and Jon.” Arya chimed in.

“Oh no, sweetlings, those two used to receive even more, for their misbehaviours were worse yet.” Catelyn brushed the hair of her younger daughter with her fingers.

“Truly? What did they do?”

“I not going to give you ideas for certain, Arya Stark.” Catelyn narrowed her eyes at her before turning to look at her husband, “I believe you were telling us about Lord Arryn’s letter.”

Ned had been looking at his wife and daughter with amusement sparkling in his eyes, he was brought back to the subject of their discussion, he cleared his throat and continued to speak –

“Ah, aye. As I was saying, Jon said that our Jon has convinced Tyrion Lannister to arrange for an excursion at the Dragon Pit, believing that there might have been some hidden relics of the old time. They managed to get permission from Jon and dug under the rubbles there, recovering the ancestral sword of House Royce, the Lamentation.” He looked around the table to see all of his children save Rickon were devouring his words with absolute glee, the youngest Stark was concentrating more on feeding his wolf under the table. “Not only that, Jon has indeed found a clutch of dragon eggs along with the sword.”

As expected, cacophony erupted from the oldest Stark children at their father’s declaration.

“Truly, Father?”

“Jon found dragon eggs?!”

“Is he going to hatch them?”

“Calm down, children. Let me finish.” He waited for them to quiet down, “To answer your questions, aye, it is true that their excursion has borne fruit and they truly found dragon eggs at the Pit. But no, they are not going to be hatched. They have been buried under the rubbles for over a century, and I am sorry to say that time has turned them to stones. The Lannister Imp and our boys have decided to give the eggs to the Throne as gifts.” He rolled the scroll back up and tucked it away.

“Go on, children, it is time for your lessons with Lady Ella. We will talk more on this later.” Catelyn shooed them off of to their studies. Afterwards, she followed her husband back to the lord’s solar.

“I believe that was not all Lord Arryn has written in his missive, Ned.” She said without any preamble after shutting the doors behind her.

Ned sighed as he crashed down onto his chair behind the desk. He reached for the tumbler to pour two glasses of ale for his wife and himself.

“It was not only dragon eggs that Jon discovered.”

Catelyn waited for her husband to continue.

“It appears that the Mad King truly went over the edge in his last days. He had appointed the head of Pyromancers’ Guild as his hand and had him stash caches of wildfire throughout the city. He planned to burn it all to the ground if there was any indication of the apparent fall of the Targaryen dynasty. If it was not for Ser Jaime Lannister, all of us who partook in the Rebellion, would have had the weight of half a million souls on our conscience.”

Catelyn sat there, stunned and horrified about the absurdity of the entire history that would have been hidden forever if it was not for one boy who had taken it upon himself to reach out to two individuals whom he felt would benefit for a supportive shoulder to lean on. She decided to visit the Crypt and have a little conversation with her goodsister, she needed to thank Lyanna, the girl that she had befriended all those years ago just out of familial duties, but her son turned to be the very thing this continent needed to get back up again and heal from the past scars.

“I condemned an innocent man for all these years with false accusations, Cat. Was I really so blinded in my grief and vengeance? What else I have been wrong about? Robert and his obsessions with Lya; ignoring Rhaeger’s missive when he reached out to me; hiding everything from my wife so I can remain true to a friend whom I am started to doubt has never been a friend at all…and above all, how I raised Jon. Was Robb right, my love? Have I always been trying to shade my wolfskin to wear a false set of antlers? Who am I, Cat?”

Catelyn hurried out of her chair to go around the desk and kneeled down beside his chair, she caught the distraught man in her arms and laid his head on her shoulder as he sobbed. She wondered through her own tears what she could tell him to console the broken man.

[CotW]

It had been near about two weeks since the day Lord Stark had received the raven from Lord Arryn. He had sequestered himself within his solar for the two following days, it was upon the Lady of the House to make her husband come to his senses. It was only when she said that the children had started to get worried about their father’s sudden disappearance, that he managed to control his emotions a little and came out of his self-inflicted isolation, for the sake of his children.

On the second day after his return, he had taken his daughters out of the keep for a little hunting trip – that was what the lord and lady had told the household. Lady Catelyn was worried that people would think it otherwise that Lord Stark had suddenly took his daughters along with him without any guards save for their wolves, but it appeared that her fears were unnecessary. It was an open secret that the lord’s daughters were receiving lessons in arms. Thus, for the Northerners, who were used to strong women standing shoulder to shoulder with menfolk to face any and all adversity, the trip was nothing but negligible. Above all, most of the old staff were used to see the lord’s daughter riding out on hunting trips with her brothers. Lady Lyanna was still a fond memory kept alive in the hearts of the North.

Sansa had proven herself to be quite an adept pupil of her lessons. Ned would dare to say that his eldest daughter was even better at the lords’ lessons than his heir, Robb. She was quite curious when her parents had sent for her to come to the lord’s solar. She eagerly agreed with their propositions and gave her consent to act as sort of contact between the Children and her father. When they went for their pretend hunting trip, she appeared as poised and demure in her interaction with the mythical beings as she would with any other lords of the realms. Ned was proud of her daughter, his eldest children – Robb, Jon and Sansa, were the guides to bright future that the North had been waiting for.

Arya had peppered the being called Wind with her numerous, inane questions, making Ned quiver in fear that the Child would be affronted by his overeager daughter. But his fear was for nought, he couldn’t help himself but chuckle when he saw that Wind and Arya were wrestling with Nymeria, the sound of their laughter rang within the snow covered, leafy canopy of the Wolfswood. The girls were happier when on their way back, the both of them had hunted a few small games to show off their budding skills in weapons.

Ned’s contemplation of the past few days came to a stop when the acolyte again rushed into the Great Hall with another missive clutched in his hand, once again during the morning meal. Ned frowned at the seemingly repetitive pattern of the incidents. He accepted the scroll and broke the seal bearing the mark of House Arryn along with the Hand of the King. The unease started to grip his heart when he discovered that there were two pieces of parchment in the missive. With trembling hands, he opened the second one, only to fold it immediately and stowing it away. Jon had sent him a message in secrecy that he had taught them during their staying at Eyrie. He would need to go over the message when he was alone. Gritting his teeth, he opened the other missive, and sat their dumbfounded by the content of the parchment.

“Ned?!” Cat’s voice broke him out of his reverie.

He decided that he should read the message aloud rather than telling them of its content.

Dear Ned,

I am sure you will be quite curious and fearful because of the short duration of time of my missives to you. However, you do not have to worry, because this one carries nothing but joyous news for you and your family.

You will be happy to learn that your sons have earned quite a following in the Capitol. They were already famous for their heroics that the bards have been singing all around the realms. Now, the people have witnessed the truth of those rumours right before them.

Young Jon Snow and Torrhen Karstark were among the three contestants to reach the final stage of the Archery contest, the Karstark lad came in third while young Jon has beaten a knight from Vale, Ser Hugh Pryor and secured the first place of the contest.

Later, all for of the young men took part in the melee, while the other three couldn’t manage to advance the final stages only because of their inexperience, young Jon once again prevailed, and emerged as one of the final two fighters to remain standing – the other one was Ser Jaime Lannister.

After a brilliant display of swords, dual wielding at that, young Jon was finally bested by the more experienced Ser Jaime. He has impressed everyone present with his skill. I, also, am quite impressed by him, and I have seen the likes of Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Barristan Selmy in his prime…even Prince Rhaeger Targaryen.

You will be proud to know that your son’s valour and skills have earned him his spurs. Yes, Ned, Ser Jaime has knighted young Jon right after the conclusion of the melee. Jon Snow is now a knight of the realms, known to all as ‘Ser Jon, the White Wolf; Protector of Innocents; the Sword of Justice’, no more the Bastard of Winterfell.

On the ensuing day of rest, I had asked him if he was willing to participate in the joust, he was yet undecided till then. But on the day of the jousting, lo and behold, your son rode out wearing armours that would make even the sturdiest men cower before him. Once again, he had proved his blood, for he has won the melee, Ned. He has unhorsed the likes of Renly Baratheon, Yohn Royce, Barristan Selmy, he even rode against the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane and emerged victorious. Sadly, Ser Gregor succumbed to an accident during their bout.

You have raised fine lads, Ned. I envy you whenever I lay my eyes on your heir Robb Stark, or on Ser Jon. Even the King himself has confided to me that he was envious of you. I do not know about the rest, but I certainly feel myself fortunate that you have allowed your sons to visit us in the South, and thus allowing us a glimpse of the Northern might of the future.

I pray to the Seven that if I have been a true follower, then I want to become your father in blood in my next life, just so I can claim the bragging rights that I have grandsons such as these fine young men.

Take care of yourself and your family, Ned, and I hope you have fond memories of the time we have spent at Eyrie.

Yours truly,

Lord Jon Arryn

Lord Paramount of the Vale,

Hand of the King

Ned looked up from the parchment and cast his eyes about the table. As expected, everybody present had the biggest smiles he had ever seen on their faces, but it was his children that made him shiver, for they each had the widest wolfish grins etched on their faces.

[CotW]

“Ned?”

“Aye, love?”

“About Lord Arryn’s letter…what he wrote about the Mountain…”

“Aye, I have my doubt, and if I am correct in my assumptions, then He has avenged his family.”

“Always the reckless ones…both of them. I blame your stupid wolfblood, husband.”

“Sometimes, I also blame the wolfblood myself.”

“May I know about the second missive?”

“A rather sensitive series of information and instructions written in the secret way that I was taught in my fosterage. Two things stood out to be more concerning than the rest. The first one is – Lion cubs could be pretending to be fawns.”

“By the Gods! Is he certain?”

“Knowing him, I would say he has his doubts…but, if there is something to raise his doubts then that is an absolute fact. He is hunting for the proofs as we speak.”

“Do I even want to know about the second?”

“It is most puzzling one – Draw the Runes, it is time for the Falcon chick to leave the nest and fly with the Northern wind.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I need to send an immediate missive to Lord Royce…time is of the essence.”

---

 

White Harbour

On the Kingsroad

Kurt had never been away more than a few alleyways from his house back at Flea Bottom. Once, he could recall that his father had taken him and his little sister along to the docks to show them where he worked. He was amazed to see the big ships which were anchored there. His father had pointed out to him ships from different realms of the Seven Kingdoms. He even saw some vessels which had come from the far lands of the east. But it was all in the past. Now, he didn’t have a father or a mother. Even his little sister, Anna, had left him alone in this world. He was scared, he was hurt, he was hungry and tired. He had nowhere to go. He could only remain at the place where their home used to be, or he could be near the alley of the tavern in which his mother used to work. He tried to go to the docks, but he was afraid. Any loud noise made him flinch, it always reminded him of the sound he had heard while he was taking a piss at that night. One moment, he was asleep, snuggling close to his mother, and in the next few moments, he was turned into an orphan, with nowhere to go.

The tavern owner was a rather generous man, he never chased him away whenever he lingered beside the doors to his trade. He even offered him bits of food when there was a lull in the business, in exchange of a few small, odd chores. One day, after finishing one such chore, he sat down to think about his lost family, when he was picked up by someone. He was scared, of course, he had heard that there were folks who carried off children such as him and they were never heard from again. His mother used to warn him and his sister about such men, only Anna always wanted to explore the city and used to run off on her own.

Kurt thought that the man who picked him up in his arms was going to kill him and stuff him down in pieces to the pot that was boiling all day long and everyone from the Bottom got a bowl o’ brown at the end of the day. Nobody knew what was in the stew, but he had heard from his friends that their parents told them whenever a anyone went missing, they ended up in pot in pieces. It went without saying that Kurt was relieved to recognise the man, he was the White Wolf, the same man who had found Anna that day and told them stories and sang to them. When he asked him about his sister, he couldn’t stop himself from crying. He remembered how Anna was humming the tune of the lord’s song all the way to their home, then talking to their mother about how the handsome White Wolf had carried her in his arms and bought sweets for her.

He didn’t remember what happened afterwards, but later, he found himself in the company of a strange man. He said that his name was Wade, and he was brought in the barracks of the Northern men by the White Wolf. Wade told him that it was his duty to care for him since the White Wolf had entrusted him with his care. He was taken to wash and was given clean clothes to wear afterwards. Wade had told him stories from the North, about their battles. He told them how the White Wolf had taken them all to see the Wall. He even took them beyond that and into the forest which were almost half buried in snow. The place was colder than the North according to Wade.

Kurt kept his mouth shut and listened to everything Wade was telling him. It was true that he didn’t have anything of import to tell back to the man, but when Wade asked him what he thought about the tells he had told Kurt, only for him to laugh when he replied that he wanted to see the snow covered fields. Wade had patted his back and consoled him by telling him that it was not all too surprising for him to say seeing that he was a summer child (Kurt had asked him about being ‘summer child’ to know that since he was born during the summer season, he was considered that), as well as being from the South where none had seen snow in their entire life.

Wade had taken him along to see the King’s tourney. He had been to the tourneys before, but he always sat with the other children from the Bottom, far from the ground to see anything clearly and only clapped when everyone else clapped. This time, he sat with the Northerners just beside the tourney ground and saw the White Wolf as he was shooting arrows, fighting against men after men, and then rode on a horse to knock the others off of theirs. The bards that sang back at the Bottom about the ‘Prowling Wolf’ knew nothing, the man in person was more impressive than all the songs and stories told about him.

It was not always storytelling and fun for Kurt. While it was true that he didn’t need to work for meals anymore, because Ser Jon had sat down with him and talked to him about how he intended to become his patron, Wade told that meant the White Wolf would be responsible for his wellbeing and would ensure that Kurt would become a man that his parents would have been proud of. Thus, started the various lessons for the boy named Kurt Wagner. He was shaken awake every day at dawn by Wade. Afterwards, he was to take part in the training that the men went through. Wade had taught him how to do the exercises to get his body fighting fit. He had watched how Ser Jon and his brothers trained each morning, they would run, jump around, took tumbles on the ground only to shot back up. They would wield their swords and other weapons. He had eagerly followed how Ser Jon sparred with Ser Eric while both of them wielding two swords. Even Wade was fascinated by that and taken to practice with two swords.

Wade also started to teach him letters and numbers. Kurt found these lessons even more arduous than his physical training, but Wade had this manic gleam in his eyes whenever they sat down for their lessons in the evenings. Many had taken to call him Maester Wade, but to the man himself, it was as if they were finally using his proper honorific. Kurt, who was not aware that the others were only mocking, had taken to call the man, Maester just because it made him happy. Often times, Ser Jon would come down and sit with them during their lessons. He would encourage the lad to read and do the sums. He even brought a tome with him one time, Kurt was asked to read out from that and he was amazed at himself when he had haltingly started to read stories from the tome. Ser Jon had the proudest smile on his face, rivalling the smile that was etched on Maester Wade’s face. When he saw the effect of his efforts had on the men he respected, Kurt made an oath to himself that he would put forth his best efforts in everything for them to be proud of him.

There were talks around him that the time was approaching for them to leave Kings’ Landing since the tourney was over. Kurt had been waiting eagerly to leave the place where he had lost his entire family in a single night. Maester Wade had wanted to take him to the Bottom so he could say his farewell to his friends, but Kurt begged off. He didn’t want to go there because everywhere at Bottom reminded him of his parents and Anna. Then one day, Maester Wade woke him up even before the dawn and told him to prepare for their departure. He had also told him to be quite about it since they were planning for a prank. Kurt didn’t know on whom they were playing the prank, but he loved to have a good laugh.

Soon, they were leaving the barrack of the Red Keep, everyone was talking about the King with Ser Jon and his brothers were going for a hunt. Kurt kept his mouth shut and made himself small as he sat in front of Maester Wade on his horse. He kept looking around as they got out of the Red Keep along with the King’s men. Then suddenly, the people who were riding beside them, took to a different alleyway. Ser Eric rode ahead of them as they reached the docks. It was the first time Kurt came here since those times when he was even younger than Anna and came here with his father. They got down from their horses and Ser Eric warned Maester Wade to keep his head down before walking towards a different direction than them. Kurt looked back at the way they came from, if what the Maester had told him to be true, then it would be a long time before he was to set his foot again in this part of the world.

[CotW]

Kurt had only heard of the places from the men who visited the tavern back at the Bottom, places such as Dragonstone, Claw Isle, Gulltown. Maester Wade had pointed those out to him, since he had seen it all on his own way to the Capitol. Kurt was quite sick at first, he couldn’t keep his meals down and always had a headache. Maester Wade had told him stories to soothe his pains. He told him about Ser Jon’s first travel on a ship. The hilarious tales of how Ser Jon, Lords Torrhen and Asher had threatened Lord Robb when the later had bragged to them about his immunity to sea voyages.

The weather had turned colder than he was used to when their ship passed the mountain ranges of the Vale. Maester Wade laughed heartily when he saw Kurt shivering by the chill upon the deck. He ruffled his hair and claimed it would get much colder as they travel further north. Kurt didn’t think it was possible for the weather to get any colder but he was proven wrong as their ship entered the water of the Bite. He watched worriedly as the crew and the passengers became edgy as the neared the islands of the Three Sisters. According to Maester Wade, people from the Sisters were infamous for being raiders. The lords of North had complained time and again to Lord Stark about the raiding and pillaging, but the Lord Paramount was rebuffed every time he forwarded the plights of Northmen to the Capitol. In Wade’s opinion, the fucking Southerners had always taken advantages of the familial relationship between the Lords Paramount of Vale and North respectively.

When their ship finally docked at the port of White Harbour, Kurt started to understand what Maester Wade meant about experiencing the true cold. Shivering, he went with the Northmen to the court of Lord Manderly. He had his eyes bugged out of his head as he saw the girth of the Mermaid Lord. Kurt had seen fat men before, but none of them could ever reach this lord in the matter of wideness. The lord had asked them about their time down south at the Capitol and gleefully ordered his men to arrange for a feast in the name of the White Wolf. In his word, the son of North had shown the Southern cunts what it meant to be a true warrior.

They were on their way towards Winterfell early on the next day. The previous night, the four of them – Kurt, Wade, Martyn and Allen were thoroughly questioned by almost everybody present at the feast. Though none of them save Wade Poole was of noble born, they were all given seats right beneath the lord’s table, among the other vassals of the Manderly’s. Everyone wanted to hear about how Jon Snow slew the Mountain. Granted, it was an accident, but none had anything good to say about the Western knight for his deeds during the Rebellion, for a true Northerner never disrespects a woman…and for a man who raped and killed a mother after killing her son in front of her eyes, Gregor Clegane was hated throughout the Northern realm.

They were warned as they left New Castle about the recent rise in bandit activities around the port town of White Harbour. Lord Manderly provided them with a couple of guards that the three Stark men gratefully accepted. As before, Kurt was riding with Wade. They were about half a day away from White Harbour, when he tugged the reign of his horse to make it stop advancing. They had just left a small village behind them, the Kingsroad could be seen ahead from their position.

“Maester Wade…?” Kurt looked around, puzzled why the man suddenly stopped the horse.

“Men, I am having quite a funny feeling in my bones.” Wade said with a wide smile on his face.

[CotW]

He had almost missed the disturbance within the copse of trees just before the Kingsroad if it was not for the lad sitting in front of his saddle turned his head towards the same direction. Kurt mayhaps didn’t do that on purpose, or even understood why he had looked particularly at that direction, but Wade knew that the lad had good instincts and sharp reflexes. He would need to tell Wolf about this, they definitely needed to train Kurt to hone his inborn instincts. He didn’t waste time and stopped his horse just a way from where he was now sure the bandits were hiding behind.

“Maester Wade?”

Wade smirked hearing that. Wolf had japed with him being a Maester when he took it up on himself to teach the lad his letters and numbers, and the rest of the fucking shits had thought it was hilarious to call him Maester. But Wade knew better, he was teaching the lad after all, wasn’t he? Then why shouldn’t he be called Maester Wade. He was as wise as any of those grey robed old fuckers.

“Men, I am having quite a funny feeling in my bones.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the hiding spot of the bandits.

The four Manderly men looked at him with confusion, but Martyn and Allen knew him very well. Funny feeling in his bones surely meant someone else was going to lose their limbs.

“What is it, Maester Wade?” Martyn asked worriedly.

He fought hard to keep his laughter from bursting forth. He didn’t want the men in hiding to know that he was aware of their presence. They couldn’t see them because he had stopped their progress just behind the cover of some trees with thick trunks.

“Kurt, how is your training with the bow going, lad?”

Kurt was surprised to be asked the sudden question, “Oh, er…It is goin’ quite well, Maester. Ser Jon trained me a bit an’ I can now land me shots quite near the targets at fifteen paces.”

“Fifteen paces, eh? Well, that is better than nothing. Do you think you can climb this tree here?”

“Um…I reckon so, aye.” The poor boy was having trouble to keep at pace with Wade’s line of questions.

“Wonderful. Here, let me help you up. Try to reach for that branch there, the one that is covered by those leaves. I will toss up you a bow and a quiver once you are secured.”

Wade looked on as Kurt followed his instruction and secured himself up on the branch before he handed over a bow and a quiver with a few arrows up to him.

“Listen carefully, lad. There are some bandits hiding just ahead. No wonder, they are planning to attack us for anything they can get their filthy hands on. Fucking cowardly cunts!” He spat, “I want you to aim for them till we reach near those fuckers to rip their balls off. Think ya can do that?”

Kurt had gone white from hearing what Maester Wade wanted him to do. He stammered down at him –

“Um…Maester…I don’ think I can shoot them from here. I only practiced from fifteen paces an’…an’ me shots were never -”

Wade cut him off with a wave of his hand, “Don’t you worry about all of that, Kurt. Just remember to shoot at that direction. If you see ‘em riding horses, aim for the horses. Else, I want ya to shoot where they will be standing together.” He winked at him, “I reckon a couple of arrows are all ya going to need. Leave the rest to us.”

Allen looked worriedly at Wade, “Alright, Wade. What are you planning to do?”

“We don’t have our armours on, and only have two guards with us.” He indicated at the Manderly men with them, “Them fucking cunts think that we are unprepared. Let them think so. Keep your sword arms free and within reach of your swords. We will ride out slowly, with the guards riding in front of us.” He turned towards the Manderly men, “You two, you will leave a space between your horses for me to ride hard and fast. Let us hope that the lad up there manages to land a shot or two to disorient them.”

“Do you think it is wise, Wade? The lad is not that good with his bow after all.” Martyn frowned.

“I ain’t called Maester Wade for nothing, ya know? I trust the lad. Besides, an arrow wheezing past your head will make you piss in your breeches, even if he misses his shots.” Wade had a disturbing grin on his face, “Think nothing more on it. We are riding out now. Take your positions.”

The Manderly men positioned themselves on the flanks, keeping the plain clothed Stark men in between them, Wade was riding a little ahead of Martyn and Allen. He was humming loudly –

Sem kindr, þú munu bíð

r ok watch fran far away

en þú always veitumk at þú munu munu einninn

at vinnhviler þeir allr play

 

(As a child, you would wait

And watch from far away

But you always knew that you would be the one

That work while they all play)

 

They could hear Kurt humming the chorus of the song, as Wade had taught him the words of the Northern marching song in Common Tongue –

“Here we are, don’t turn away friend,

We are the warriors that bled for this land.

Here we are, don’t turn away friend,

We are the warriors that bled for this land…

From heart.”

 

Just as Wade predicted, the moment the party bound for Winterfell came out of their cover, a group of about ten bandits came out of their hiding place. Wade smirked at seeing the leader of the bandits was the only one on a horseback brandishing a sword, the rest were on their feet wielding assortments of weapons. The bandits were gleeful seeing the five men coming towards them – three travellers and only two guards. The bandit leader could be found almost salivating at the prospect of the fat purse they would find this day. After all, who but the wealthiest of merchants would warrant a couple of guards from a lord.

Wade bared his teeth in a vicious smile as he could hear the distant faint sound of the twang Kurt’s bowstring made as he let loose of his arrow. It wheezed over their heads and embedded itself at the rump of the leader’s horse. It neighed at the sudden pain and stood on its hind legs, throwing the startled man off of his saddle.

The rest of the bandits were in utter disarray, they were not expecting their leader to kiss the ground as they were just about to sink their greedy little claws in the flesh of the scrumptious prey, neither did the expect the said prey to break out of their trots and thundering down on them, brandishing spears in their hands. Even the seemingly safer ones in the middle had arms in their hands. Another arrow again flew out of nowhere and landed just in front of a cluster of men. They were looking at the still quivering shaft that jutted out from the ground, so disturbed by the sudden happenstance, as well as the absence of any command from their leader, caught them all unaware and the five horsemen broke into their ranks.

Wade had thrusted his spear and eviscerated a man wearing a worn-out leather armour. His next thrust of spear lodged it underneath its victim’s body because the man had turned in his death throes and had the spear locked between his body and the ground. Wade unsheathed his sword and freed his feet from the stirrups. He balanced himself as he climbed atop the saddle and jumped off of the running horse, right on top of one of the bandits. He didn’t waste any time as he put the sword through the man’s neck. Next to him, Martyn, Allen and the two Manderly men had finally arrived and got off from their horses too. The five battle hardened men, three of them were part of a Northern legends of current time – the Wolf Pack, had quite easily dispatched the bandits. Divesting the wounded and surrendered men of their arms, Wade had them all executed after a short discussion among them. They planned to take the still unconscious leader with them bound and gagged to Winterfell. He had asked Kurt if the lad wanted to be spared of the brutality of the execution. But the boy had amazed him by asking ‘what would Ser Jon do’, Wade told him that the Wolf had executed men himself when he was not that much older than Kurt was. Naturally, Kurt insisted that he wanted to follow the knight’s path. Wade had let him be but kept a close watch on the boy as they beheaded the bandits and burned their bodies.

As they resumed their journey, Wade couldn’t stop himself from smirking down at the boy sitting in front of his horse, “You are donning your Northern furs, aren’t ya, lad?”

“Um…”

“Oh, you will be a joy to teach, Kurt…aye, you sure would.”

---

 

Winterfell – A little over two weeks since Lord Arryn’s second missive

Arya was taking a little breather for herself from her studies. She didn’t skip her lessons any more since the annoying and stupid Septa Mordane had gone away from the North, but she still yearned for the moments that she used to have when she gave her the slip and hidden herself in places where she could be pondering the deeper mysteries of life – such as why her father’s beard felt so scratchy when he kissed her or what in the name of the Gods Theon was talking about with some of the guards when they were all idly chatting about someone called Ros.

Now, her lessons with Lady Ella and mother were more interesting than the stupid needlework she was forced to do. The ladies taught her and her siblings about the lands. Lady Ella taught them about the North and the Northern houses and cultures, whereas her mother taught them about the South. They also had very interesting lessons with Maester Luwin, but since the old man went away with her brothers, the acolyte wasn’t as interesting in their lessons. The man simply didn’t have the knowledge to answer all the questions Sansa, Bran or herself would ask. To him, all the questions seemed to have one single answer – it was all written in these here tomes, study them and you will get your answers. Even Sansa with all her patience got annoyed with the man for his lack of knowledge. So, in her mind, none could blame Arya if she had given the Not-Maester a slip and hid herself away in one of her preferred hiding spot from where she could observe the yard and the men who were practicing there. Nobody save Jon knew about this hiding spot of Arya.

Thinking about her brother made Arya frown. Jon had become even more stupid and much more unbearable than Robb since they went away for their fosterages. Before, Jon used to spend a lot of his time with her. But when he came back, he had become friendly with Sansa, he even let her carry his bird with her, but not Arya. Well, Sansa was not as stupid as she used to be, but still, Arya was Jon’s little sister. If anyone could claim to carry Jon’s bird, it should have been her, not Sansa.

Then, he went away again for longer than a year. This time, although he brought back Iss with him and the she-wolf gave birth to the wolf pups, and she would fight against anybody who dared to badmouth her Nymeria, but it still didn’t abate Arya’s disappointment in her brother. Jon had become a completely different person. Aye, he still mushed her hair whenever he saw her or call her ‘Little wolf’, but he had become more like their father. And above all, he spent his times with stupid Robb and their stupid friends. Arya’s only solace was that Sansa felt the same as her. Jon hadn’t told her about his travels or the fact that he had met with the Children at their home beyond the Wall. Arya would get his revenge on her stupid brother. She had already began to plan for the retribution with Sansa. Jon wouldn’t be so conceited once he came back.

Her rumination had come to a stop by a commotion at the East Gate. Arya frowned at that but perked up when she heard that there were riders approaching the keep. She jumped down from her perch atop the haystack and ran towards the gate. She was always fast, but she became an unimpeded runner rather than Arya Underfoot as she was known before. Jon and her had used to run after her cat to try and catch him. She had laughed in the beginning when it was her brother who tripped over people or knock them down. She was happy that it wasn’t her who became ‘Underfoot’, if only for a short while. But later, Jon had encouraged her, as well as himself, to run fast and never let any hurdle dither them from their goals. She came to know afterwards that Jon had trained himself to overcome all obstacles in his path to run fast, steady and uninterrupted. Another reason for her wanting to whack Jon with a club, because it was their secret. Jon had trained himself and his friends to practice and master this skill but didn’t help her.

Arya skidded to a halt as she reached the East Gate. From the conversation around, she understood that five men were coming in riding fast. Two of the men were wearing the Manderly livery and the rest were in normal garbs. She looked closely as the men rode through the gate, trying to find who they were. Suddenly, her eyes widened as she recognized one of the riders.

Wade had returned home.

[CotW]

A wide smile formed on his face as he got off the horse. He took a deep breath, trying to assimilate all the smells and noises around him. This was home. Granted, he was only away from here for a few months only, but the cold air, the gloomy, cloudy sky, the snow strewn lands – they all felt as a mother’s embrace to him. Wade smiled happily and turned to help Kurt off of the horse. He should have anticipated the small figure that slammed into him and almost tackled him to the ground.

“Lady Arya.” He smiled down at the small girl who had latched herself to his waist.

The said lady let go of him as if she was scalded with hot water. She scrunched her face and looked up to Wade, “Do not call me a lady!” She spat venomously.

“How can I not? You are a lady of the House Stark, My Lady.” Wade’s smile only got bigger as he spoke.

Arya became even more furious by that, she scowled at the grinning loon of front of her, “Want me to thump you? Because I will if you do not stop!” She threatened the big idiot.

Wade let out a deep, belly laugh. How he had missed all these.

“Forgive me, Little Wolf. But blame your brothers for it. They made me swear that I call you a lady the moment I see you.”

Arya’s eyes widened with disbelief and betrayal, “Jon and Robb told you to call me a lady?”

“Aye, they did. They said that since they can’t tease you themselves, they had to do their brotherly duties with me acting in their stead.”

Arya stomped her foot, “You are just as stupid as they are!”

“That I do not disagree with you.” Wade got down on his knees, “Now, would you not give your ‘in stead’ brother a hug to welcome him home, Little Wolf?” He held out his arms wide for Arya to once again slam into him.

“I have missed you, Wade.”

“Aye, Little Wolf, I have missed you too.”

She had let go of him but not before whacking him in his head, “That was for calling me a lady, stupid.”

Wade only chuckled at that. Arya looked over his shoulders and her eyes narrowed.

“Who is this?”

Wade turned around to follow her gaze and found Kurt who was fidgeting behind him. The lad hurriedly lowered his head as the two turned to see him.

“This is my acolyte, Kurt. Come here, lad.”

“What do you mean by your acolyte?”

Before he could answer her question, Wade had spotted the Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark was standing with his uncle, Vayon Poole, the steward of the keep at the far end of the yard, watching their interaction with interest. Lady Stark could be seen hurrying along with the eldest Stark daughter only steps behind her to join the lord. Wade looked back at Arya and ruffled her hair.

“Forgive me, Little Wolf, but I must go and greet your lord father.” Arya turned her head to see that her parents were looking expectantly towards them, she nodded her head glumly.

“Ah, don’t be sad, Little Wolf, I promise that I will find you to tell stories from my travels once I am done with the meeting with Lord Stark, aye?” He asked her for her to brighten up immediately. “Could you also do me a favour and keep a watch on my acolyte while I am busy? You have my thanks, Little Wolf.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply to that request and strode towards the Stark lord and lady.

“Good day, My Lord; My Ladies; Uncle.” He bowed to the people.

“Good day to you too, Wade. Welcome back.” Lord Stark gave him a nod while his uncle and the ladies Stark gave him a welcoming smile.

“I hope there was not any magnifying circumstances that brought you back home rather than keeping company to my sons, Wade?” Lord Stark raised an eyebrow.

“No, My Lord. The situations provided me with the time and chance to return home for a short while before I re-join my brothers of the Pack.”

“And these circumstances you speak of, do they concern the lad you brought along with you? Or the man bound and gagged there?”

Wade turned towards the men who were unloading the horses they rode in. A couple of Stark guards took custody of the bandit leader while a few servants gathered the saddlebags, travelling equipment and weaponry.

“The lad is part of the reasons, My Lord, aye, but the man is just an added benefit of our journey from White Harbour to here.” Wade’s manic smile would give anyone that never knew him a pause to approach.

Ned shook his head, there is the Wade Poole we all know – He thought to himself.

“Very well, we will meet with you to discuss these reasons after you have a chance to rest.”

“Um, My Lord, if it would please you, I think we should have our conversation first.” Wade signalled for the servant who was carrying his personal belongings to come forward, “For I have come bearing gifts, My Lord.”

[CotW]

“Who are you?”

“Um…my name is Kurt, m’lady. Kurt Wagner.”

“Don’t call me a lady!”

“Aye, m’lady.”

“Arrrgh! Did Jon told you to do this?”

“Erm…I don’ know what ya talkin’ about, m’lady. Ser Jon only teaches me to read and…and trains me in arms.”

“You mean to say that you are a page for Jon?”

“Aye, m’lady.”

“Uff…will you stop calling me my lady?!”

“Sure, m’lady.”

“What are you? Stupid?”

“No, m’lady. I am Kurt Wagner, page for Ser Jon, the White Wolf an’ a pupil of Maester Wade.”

“Wade is not a Maester, stupid.”

“Um…he teaches me my letters and numbers…”

“So?”

“An’ he teaches me about war an’ arms an’ how to ride an’ how to shoot…”

“Aye, so?”

“Ser Jon says that’s more than what a Maester does. Why wouldn’t I call him Maester Wade then?”

“Maesters also treat sick people and treat them with medicines.”

“Aye, m’lady, Maester Wade once patched up Ser Jon after he got a bruise in one o’ the spars.”

“Agh…because Wade is not a Maester. He does not have a Maester’s chain links.”

“Not true. Maester Wade wears a chain on his neck, not the big, clunky one as Maester Luwin, but a smaller one, m’lady.”

“Aye, he wears it to have his mother’s ring with him. But it is not a Maester’s chain.”

“No, but it is Maester Wade’s chain, m’lady.”

“You are stupid!”

“No, m’lady, I am Kurt…did you forget?”

“Forget it, I am not talking with you anymore…”

“Did I say something wrong, m’lady?”

“Arrrgghhh!”

[CotW]

Ned Stark leaned back into his chair, his shoulders had slumped as he continued to listen to Wade. Catelyn was sitting beside him and had the tightest grip on his wrist. Both were tensed and appeared to be quite fearful by what they were hearing. By the time Wade was finished with his tale, Ned had his eyes closed and was tiredly rubbing his forehead.

“So, you are saying that at first, Jon had not intended to take part in the jousting, but changed his mind when the Westlanders came along with Lord Tywin and the Mountain. Afterwards, he went through some elaborate plans with the help of you and the others to not only they ensure Jon had to face the Gragor Clegane, but to dispose of his corpse in such a way that your desecration of the said corpse went unnoticed?”

“Aye, My Lord, that is the gist of it.”

Ned jumped to his feet and slammed his fists on the desk, “Were all of you had lost your fucking sanity?” His roar made Wade flinch in his seat.

“Ned!” Catelyn too had clambered on her feet, “Please, calm down, my love.”

“Calm down?” Ned looked at her incredulously, “Have you not heard what this fucking idiot has been saying for the past hour? Do you expect me to calm down after knowing what our boys did at the Capitol? Is there truly some curse placed upon the Stark blood which makes any Stark who goes beyond the Neck to lose their sanity?”

Lady Catelyn was portraying the very image of Lady of the North, calm and collected, “Yes, I do expect you to calm down. Yes, I have heard what Wade had to say.” She gave a baleful glare towards the said man, “As for the curse, it is nonsense. Tales made up by Northerners after years of conflicts and struggles, I believe.”

Ned slumped back down on his chair, defeated, he asked, “I had expected that the lads will create some commotion down South. And I had my suspicions proven when Jon Arryn sent me those missives. But this is not what I was expecting.”

Catelyn had poured wine in a goblet and placed it before him. He grabbed for it as a drowning man trying to reach for a line and downed the entire content in one gulp.

“Thank you, my love.” He gave her a strained smile.

Lady Catelyn squeezed his shoulder before taking back her seat.

Wade couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore and blurted out, “I almost shat in me breeches!”

“Wade!” came Lady Catelyn’s sharp reprimand.

“Pardon my tongue, My Lady, but My Lord Stark is truly fearsome…and I have seen and done things in my life thanks to Wolf.” He shivered.

Resigned sighs escaped both the lord and the lady. They were very much aware of Wade’s nature.

Ned tiredly rubbed his face to only to do something with his hands. He looked up to the faithful Northern warrior sitting before him, whom everyone knew to be not quite right in the head.

“Who else is aware of all these scheming?”

“Beside the Wolf and his brothers, just myself and Ser Eric.”

Ned narrowed his eyes, “Aye, that is another thing I want to know very much. Who is this Dornishman? Why did he suddenly become an integral part of a Northern company? And what about the lad you brought along with you? Who is he? He doesn’t look a Northerner to me.”

“I knew that I have forgotten something.” Wade muttered to himself, “The lad is Kurt, My Lord. He is from the Flea Bottom of Kings’ Landing. Wolf has rescued him after he came to know that all of his family was killed in an accident at the Bottom. He told me in secret that I was to take care of him, and also that the accident was something caused deliberately by the Spider to bury his dealings with his little birds underneath all those rubbles.”

Wade smiled up to Ned, “He is quite a clever lad, My Lord. Wolf has made him his page. I teach him his lessons in letters and numbers and help Wolf with his training in the yard. He shot down the horse of the bandit leader after only a few weeks of archery training.” He looked very proud of his acolyte’s achievement.

“And for the Captain, I didn’t know him before we made our stop at Greywater Watch on our way to Capitol. We met the man there, well, the Wolf Brothers did that first. He was supposed to be an old, close friend of Lord Reed…”

“Howland?” Ned was surprised to hear that his old friend had trusted some unknown Dornishman enough to let him travel along with his boys as well as to call him his old friend, something that was quite dissimilar to the man that Ned knew.

“Aye, My Lord. We didn’t know what to expect of the man at the beginning, but he proved to be quite a gifted swordsman. He took over Wolf’s training with his dual wielding and started to take care of us lads in the yard. When we left the Neck for Kings’ Landing, he decided to travel with us and Wolf and Robb made him our captain.”

Ned had his eyes narrowed in suspicion, he started to form an idea about the man’s identity. A Dornishman with a penchant of dual wielding, and an old friend of Howland Reed. Someone who had been living within the man’s home, quite secretly from what he gathered from Wade’s tale. If he was a gambling man, Ned would have wagered about the mysterious man’s eye colour, for he knew Howland quite well.

He took a deep breath, “Please, continue Wade.” He reached for the hand of his wife to calm his quickened pulse.

“Ah, aye, My Lord. Not much left to tell… Ser Eric had organised our digging of the Pit and helped Wolf during the jousting. After the tourney was over, Wolf instructed us to leave quietly while they went with the King for a hunting trip. We came here with our gifts and Ser Eric went to Dorne bearing some other gifts.”

Ned pushed from his chair and started to pace around the room. Cat was quite worried, wondering what her husband was thinking about. He shook his head to her as he felt her worried gaze upon her. Ned’s mind was in turmoil. What else had been kept from him? Or was he truly that blind to never recognizing the men behind their masks? Lya, Rhaeger, Robert, Ser Eric, Ser Jaime Lannister, probable Lannister bastards pretending to be Robert’s children, Robert’s own bastards, Jon Arryn’s conspiracies with his sons – how many more of these surprises await him still? He stopped his pacing and loomed over the sitting man before his desk. He leaned over him and placed his hands on his shoulder. He would have found it amusing that a hardened war veteran such as Wade, who was also quite infamous for his acts of insanity among the Stark men, was trembling in fear of a peace-loving man such as Ned Stark. But his mind was far from such thoughts as he growled at the man –

“You give me your honest opinion, Wade. I do not want to hear anything that Jon or Robb may have told you. I want to hear your instincts.”

“Oh…aye, of course, My Lord. Umm…I think Captain Eric is an honest man, brave and skilful. He genuinely cares for the Wolf and his brothers. Why, if neither Wolf or I was present to look after Kurt, we leave the lad under Captain’s care. He sure is trustworthy…and…umm…”

“Spit it out, Wade…” Ned snapped at him impatiently.

“Aye, My Lord...” He hurriedly complied, “And if the rumours about Wolf are true, then it is sure understandable why the man was so drawn to him. He calls him Uncle Eric, My Lord, and Wolf has entrusted him with a special gift to carry for the Dornish princes.”

“Who else came to the same conclusion as you, Wade?”

“None, My Lord, our pack is as close as ever…loyal sons of the North, each of them. They love and care about our leaders, for the Wolf Brothers care dearly for them. When Ser Eric proved himself to be truly trustworthy and genuine about his intentions with Wolf by his deeds, our pack claimed him as one of our own. As for the man himself, Ser Eric is ever vigilant, he doesn’t even let his guards down within the barracks. And soon, they will be leaving behind the vipers’ nest…if they haven’t already. None is any wiser about any of these, My Lord, I can assure you of that.”

“If only I could be assured just as easily, Wade, but you don’t know the people of this realm, you don’t know what they are capable of.” Ned had resumed his pacing.

“Pardon me for saying so, My Lord, but you do not know what the Wolf and the Wolf Brothers are capable of. People call me insane, I know, but believe me when I tell you, those four are f…” Wade stopped himself as his eyes fell upon the stern Lady of the North, he shook himself and corrected his speech, “Fluffing insane. Not to mention the beasts they have with them – Grey Wind, Ghost, Gale, Munnin…I only wait for Torrhen to find his companion.”

Even agitated, Ned couldn’t stop himself from snorting at Wade’s choice of words. Catelyn had been sitting quietly and listening in their conversation, she decided to make her presence known other than a mere spectator.

“Will any of you deign to tell me what you are talking about?”

Ned sighed and went back to his seat, “Forgive me, my love, but it is surely one of the most disturbing information to receive.”

“Why?”

“If my instincts are correct, Cat, then this Ser Eric Sand is truly the so called fallen son of Starfall who has been living in obscurity deep within the Neck, at Howland’s home for all these years.”

Catelyn’s eyes widened as her mind caught up to the implications her husband had just indicated, “What!?” She shouted.

“Aye, My love.”

“My Lord Stark is correct, My Lady.”

Catelyn had to lean on the desk to stop herself from falling on the floor. She had her eyes closed and was muttering under her breath. Ned could have sworn that he heard her say things such as idiotic Starks, Wolfblood, and a good thrashing of stupid boys. He poured all them generous portions of wine and downed his own again in one gulp. Catelyn was not far from following her husband a couple of moments later. Both the lord and the lady fought hard to even their breathing before Ned spoke again –

“You have been talking about gifts, Wade. Would you care to show us what they are?”

“Aye, My Lord, right away.” Wade jumped to his feet and carried his saddlebags over to the desk and gently placed them on it. “Wolf and Robb have sent these gifts for the both of you and your children, My Lord.” He showed them the daggers with the direwolf sigil for Ned and Benjen as well as white silk kerchiefs with grey direwolf embroidered upon them; hand-carved ivory comb for Lady Catelyn along with a few silk ribbons; silken pieces of fabrics and laces for Sansa and a pair of long thin daggers that could be hidden within her clothes; a wolf pendant and a chain to go with it for Arya, with a promised note that her brothers would gift her with a weapon when she grew up some more which had caused Lady Catelyn to frown quite fiercely that promised retribution for the boys; and some wooden toys for Bran and Rickon. There were also quite a few gifts for the Karstarks and Forresters with a requesting missive for Ned to send them along to their recipients.

As the lord and lady were busy reading the messages that came with the gifts, Wade had opened the other bag and brought out a heavy sack from within it as well as a small and heavy locked chest.

“And this here, My Lord, contains almost the entirety of Wolf’s winnings from the tourney. Fifteen thousand Dragons for winning the joust and one thousand Dragons for winning the archery. He decided to keep his winning from the melee with them so they can deposit it all along with Lord Arryn’s generous contribution to the Iron Bank. They thought it to be prudent to have access to ready fund in foreign lands. Adding five thousand Dragons to Lord Arryn’s gift will sure help us when we reach Essos, My Lord.”

Ned nodded in assent, Jon Arryn indeed had said the same things in his missive to Winterfell, and it was further elaborated in Jon’s message. Ned’s eyes glistened with the thought of his foster father caring for his sons that he had taken to call them his grandsons. He was also thankful for his boys, who at such young age, could empathise with the loss of loved ones.

Lady Stark curiously reached for the closed chest, “And what treasure does this little chest contain?”

Her look of intrigue had changed into the one of fear and repulsion in a matter of moment. She scrambled back from the chest as far as could while another shrill scream escaped her lips within the duration of their meeting. Ned immediately became alert and had drawn Ice from its scabbard while standing protectively before his wife.

“What is it, Cat?”

Lady Stark could only point at the chest with a trembling hand. Ned frowned and carefully approached the chest. He spared a glance at Wade only to find the man’s bewildered face looking at them both. He reached with his sword and turned the chest to face him, him too almost lost his footing by the content of the chest.

“Why in the name of the Old Gods and New would my sons send home a pair of butchered hands?”

Indeed, there were a pair of human hands could be seen within the chest. They were stuffed in salt to keep them from the rot. Ned threw a questioning glare to the man who brought the disgusting things within his home as he tried to console his wife.

“I knew I was forgetting something.” Wade snapped his fingers, “Wolf has given me a secret note for this here gift…now where did I put that note?” He muttered to himself as he tried to find the same within the folds of his clothes, “Aha…here you are, My Lord.”

The note read –

Winter has come for the dogs that dared to spill our bloods, they will all burn and bleed in righteous fury one by one.

“Gregor Clegane.” It was not a question from Lord Eddard Stark, rather a confirmation of understanding.

“Aye, My Lord, and his head is on its way to Dorne with Ser Eric.”

The Lord and Lady of the North looked at each other, none could think of any word to utter. In unison, they turned to look at the lord’s desk which now housed the most bizarre of gifts anyone had ever seen.

---

 

The Water Garden, Dorne

The princes of Dorne had left Sunspear with their retinue. News had been sent to Water Garden for their arrival. It was quite common for Prince Doran Martell to spend most of his time at the lavish palace of Water Garden whose beauty was of the tales of legends. The pleasure palace of the Dornish princes and princesses stood resplendent in its glory even after a century of its completion. The late Prince Maron Martell had erected this palace for his Targaryen wife, Princess Daenerys, daughter of King Aegon IV and younger sister of King Daeron II. The Princess had started the tradition of fostering children to the pink palace so that her own children could have companions of their age to play with at the numerous pools and fountains of the palace. A tradition which still continued even to this day, but whereas it was limited to the children of highborn nobles, now, the palace hosted children from all over Dorne and from all stations.

Although the procession started the journey at the crack of dawn, it had taken an entire day for the party to reach the palace of pink stones because of the slow speed of Prince Doran’s palanquin. Prince Oberyn was riding at the front of the party with Ser Eric Sand. Areo Hota, the Norvosi Captain of Guards was riding alongside Prince Doran’s palanquin. Prince Oberyn had taken the opportunity of their long travel to make the stoic knight relax with his japes and jests, but Ser Eric was lost in thought. He had been given a lot to think about during his short stay at Sunspear.

On the next day, immediately after Ser Arthur’s arrival at Dorne, a man left for the North in the guise of Stark captain, on a ship bound for White Harbour. The man was handpicked by Oberyn and was instructed to remain inside of his cabin and in his guise always. It was done to throw off any of Varys’ little birds that mayhaps found their way to roost at Dorne. One Northern captain entered Sunspear, one Northern captain left Sunspear for the North the very next day. The purpose of this visit could be anything, and whatever it was, it was a matter between two of the Great Houses. Tongues could wag and rumination may run rampant, but none was to be privy of this visit except for the lords of these houses. Ser Arthur remained hidden in the plain sight amongst numerous Dornish knights, albeit a little secluded. The false captain was further instructed to dispose of his guise the moment he gets off the ship and board again in normal Dornish garbs. Oberyn hiccupped in his laughter thinking about Varys’ birds running about as headless chickens, while they were trying their best to find the missing captain.

Oberyn’s boisterous manner, while distracting, kept others from looking too closely at the man beside the Prince, and Arthur was thankful for that. Although he half-heartedly replied to some of Oberyn’s queries, his mind was busy going through all of the information that he gathered in his short stay at Sunspear.

Ashara was alive, not only that, she was married to Oberyn Martell and apparently had four daughters with the man. Oberyn had gone beyond the means to keep her hidden and employed a vile warlock to work his magic on Ashara to change her appearance. Oberyn said that was necessary for many reasons. Arthur wondered what other reasons could there be.

From what he heard between the Martell brothers, it appeared that there was dissent between Princess Arianne and Prince Quentyn. According the laws of land at Dorne, Princess Arianne was to become the ruler after Prince Doran. But the Prince had insinuated that he planned for Quentyn to take over after him. Arthur knew that Doran was a very calculating and cunning man whose plans had hidden plans within them. That was why he was thinking if there was any truth within the assumptions of Princess Arianne. Doran knew about Jon, was he planning to betroth her with the true heir to the Throne? Knowing that man, it was not completely out of consideration.

Then there were the political movements within Dorne. Factions formed between those who were loyal to House Nymeros Martell and those who thought that Doran was not suitable ruler of Dorne with his cautious approach. Heading the dissenters was the House Yronwood. Ever since Oberyn fought and defeated Edgar Yronwood and the Yronwood lord died of festered wound, the relation between the two houses deteriorated even further. Doran tried to grab hold of semblance of peace by offering Prince Quentyn’s fosterage to the Yronwoods. But that decision proved to be detrimental as the Yronwoods got their hooks into the self-doubting Quentyn Martell. Prince Quentyn became enamoured with Lord Yronwood’s daughter, Ysylla, but she was married off. Quentyn was insecure enough to not understand the subtle snub that was shown towards House Martell and the Yronwoods took further advantage of that as they knighted him and making him an integral part of their court.

Princess Arianne, on the other hand, had started to work from the shadows. She went to recruit personnel to her cause by the way of carnal desires. As any Dornish woman, she had her fair share of paramours. From what Arthur could muster, Ser Gerold Dayne of High Hermitage was one of the prominent lovers of Princess Arianne who had taken up her cause. Rumours had it that Ser Gerold, being a distant cousin of the Daynes of Starfall, was envious of the fame that Arthur garnered before his supposed death. Ser Gerold, being a credible swordsman on his own, had vested interest on the ancestral sword of the Daynes – Dawn. Although he had earned a name for himself as the folks called him the Darkstar, for his cruelty and all around unctuous personality, it was the title of the Sword of Morning that he craved. He even approached Lord Ulric Dayne, Arthur and Ashara’s elder brother and current lord of Starfall, for the hands of Allyria Dayne, their youngest sister, in marriage. Ulric thwarted Gerold’s plan by betrothing Allyria with Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven as well as sending his son and heir, Edric Dayne to be a squire for the lord.

Arthur sighed tiredly as all these thoughts buzzed around in his head. He had an intense hatred for all the politics. It was one of the reasons why he had taken up the White Cloak, just to be away from all these muck. His brother was angry at him when he first learnt of his desire. Glorified doormen, he had distastefully called the Kingsguard. He had just smiled back at him and rode away from their home, thinking of himself freed from all the burdens of the realms.

“You are getting tired, no?” Said a smirking Oberyn from beside him.

Arthur shook his head in reply.

“I can see it in your face, my friend. You have become old.” He further goaded him.

“As far as I can remember, my prince, we are of the same age.” Arthur turned to look at the smirking visage of Prince Oberyn.

“And in those days when it was us who used to frolic around the Water Garden, you were an old soul even then.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest but Oberyn cut him off, “If you are not too withered to spur your horse on, you would be quite far behind us. We are here, Ser Eric.” He winked at him before spurring his own horse onwards.

Arthur looked up in shock to find that they had indeed reached the pink palace, and he, lost in his thoughts as he was, had missed seeing the emergence of the palace in the horizon.

[CotW]

Arthur stood apart from the crowd as the residents of Water Garden came out to greet the Princes. Prince Doran, with the help of Areo, sat down on his wheel chair. Children from all over Dorne, who were fostered at Water Garden, came forward. Doran’s face split into a pleased smile. Arthur kept observing as four young girls, aged between ten namedays to three namedays, rushed forward to greet the Prince of Sunspear with a hug each. Following the young lasses, were four young women who, as from their appearances gaits were clear to the hidden knight, were the Sand Snakes, bastard daughters of Prince Oberyn. Behind those four, came a woman who first greeted Oberyn with a smile and bowed her head to Doran. Arthur’s breath caught in his heart as he closely watched this woman. People who had seen and known Ashara, could have problem in placing this woman as her. But Arthur could see the Daynes in her features, obscured as they were, but the woman was still there…more prominently in her eyes, which were as purple as Arthur’s own, which had been leaking tears since he laid his eyes upon the group of people.

Arthur saw as Oberyn bent a little and whispered something into Ashara…Ellaria’s ears. She, in turn, looked back at him in shock, Oberyn nodded at her solemnly. Ellaria started to walk away from the crowd that was greeting the princes of Dorne and was frantically gazing around the courtyard. Oberyn put a hand on her shoulder to stop her and softly spoke something to her. She nodded her head, still looking about the yard. Oberyn motioned for his older daughters who caught what their father was trying to say and herded their younger sisters inside. Doran had been taken to his rooms after finishing his greetings. Oberyn almost forced the lady to go inside with his arm around her shoulders. He looked over his shoulder at Arthur’s general direction and nodded his head for him to follow them.

Arthur discreetly shadowed Oberyn and his family. The Red Viper dismissed the guards before he entered the room, shortly followed in by Arthur. He stopped in his steps as he came to face the woman he had long thought dead – Ashara, his sister.

“Sweet sister!”

“You are truly here, brother!” Ashara broke down crying, Arthur rushed to catch her before she crashed onto her knees.

Ashara had mourned for her brother, thinking of him as dead. She had mourned for her husband, for her stillborn daughter, for her childhood friend. But when the news of her brother’s demise reached her ears, it broke her. She couldn’t believe that the brother with whom she had played with, fought with, left her to shoulder the burden of all the sorrows life had thrusted upon her. And now, here she was, pouring out her pains in the arm of her lost brother.

For Arthur, he was devastated when he heard that his Silver Prince was slain. He was further brought down to his knees when he couldn’t keep his words to his prince, and sat there wounded while watching Ned Stark mourning for his Princess, his charge. But nothing hurt him as the news of his sister’s death. His sister, his other charge whom their mother had entrusted to him to keep safe in her deathbed. He had thought himself as a failure, bereft his true family, his duties, his sworn oaths. He was living the past years for his King, his only chance to exact vengeance. When Oberyn told him about his sister, in his grief he threatened him. For he thought that the prince was mocking him. All the way from Sunspear, his heart had been beating erratically, thoughts both possible and outlandish had invaded his mind. But here he was, sure about the identity of the woman in his arms, for a brother would never forget a sister’s touch.

“Forgive me, sister, I have caused you so much pain.” They had managed to stop their tears.

Ashara gently cupped his cheeks within her hands, “Hush now, brother, none of us is to blame. We have both been victims of our circumstances.”

The sound of a gentle cough made them aware of the people who had been observing their reunion. They turned to look at Oberyn who had kept a hold of two of his daughters as he gave them a gentle smile.

“Pardon me for the intrusion, but there are impatient individuals who are wondering why their mother is crying.” He indicated towards his little daughters.

“Oh!” Ashara, or Ellaria, swiftly wiped off her tears and went to kneel before her daughters. Arthur looked closely at the little ones as they rushed forward to wrap their tiny arms around their mother in a bid to console her.

“I am alright, sweetlings. Mama is not sad or in pain.”

“Who is he, mama?” The oldest of her daughters asked her.

Ellaria looked over her shoulder and nodded to Arthur, he stepped forward and lowered himself on his knees, “I am a friend of your father’s, My Lady. Your mother thinks of me as her brother. We have been apart for a very long time and she longed to see me. Which was why she shed tears.”

“Truly?” Her eyes were wide with amazement, “You are father’s friend?”

“Yes, My Lady, my name is Ser Eric Sand. I have been travelling for a long time and just returned to these lands.”

Oberyn approached them and stood beside his daughters, “Ser Eric, kindly allow me to introduce you to my dear daughters, this is Elia,” he indicated the oldest one with whom Arthur was speaking, “and here are Obella, Dorea and Loreza.”

“My Ladies.” Arthur bowed to them from his kneeling positions, “As your mother calls me her brother, you could call me Uncle Eric. Forgive me for my impertinence but I had to travel so suddenly that I couldn’t find any time to bring you presents. Would you forgive an errant, old man and give him a hug?”

The girls looked at their parents askance, for which they nodded to them with smiles and the girl cautiously stepped forward to give the still kneeling man a hug. The said man swept them up in his embrace, a fresh wave of tears was flowing anew from his eyes.

“Go on, my loves,” Oberyn gently led his daughters from the room, “I am sure your Uncle Doran is waiting to hear more from you. We will meet with you again in a short while.”

The little girls ran out of the room clamouring about some stories they needed to tell their uncle. Arthur wiped his eyes and got up on his feet. Closing the doors of the room in their wake, Oberyn had gone back to stand beside the four young women who were watching the reunion with hawk like gazes.

“Ser, kindly allow me to introduce you to my other daughters – This is Obara, my eldest.”

The girl he indicated had appearance of a warrior. She wore breeches with her silken tunic. Her reddish brown hair, a rat’s nest, were tied in a braid. There was a whip coiled and strung on her left hip. Rumours had it that her mother was a whore from the Oldtown, the Prince had her when he was there studying at the Citadel.

“Nymeria.”

The next oldest girl was a vision of beauty. She had her black hair plaited, her skin was olive just as her father’s. Her pouty, red lips were tilted upwards in a semblance of a mischievous smile. A silken gown draped over her shapely body. Her mother was from Volantene nobles, whom the Prince had met when he was travelling the Eastern lands.

“Tyene.”

The girl was a petite, little thing with golden locks and blue eyes. Folks would overlook her for her seemingly innocence, but Arthur could see a dangerous glint in her eyes, the same that could be seen in her father’s. It was said that her mother was a Septa who was seduced by the infamous Red Viper.

“And this is my eldest daughter with Ellaria, Sarrela. But she prefers to be called Rhae.”

Arthur’s breath hitched as his eyes fell upon the last girl. She had the Dornish olive skin and her eyes were purple almost as the Daynes. But those were not what gave the knight a pause. Her entire presence screamed at him about something that tugged into his heartstrings, something very familiar.

“Oberyn…?” He rasped.

“What is it, Arthur?”

“Who is she?”

“I told you, she is my -”

Arthur cut him off, “Tell me the truth, Oberyn. Who is she?”

Oberyn smirked as he placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “Just as I told you before, Arthur. There was more than one reason why we had to pretend that Ashara is Ellaria. She didn’t escape the Capitol alone, she brought her friend’s daughter secretly along with her.” He went to stand beside the girl’s side. “Ser Arthur Dayne, meet the only daughter of Prince Rhaeger and Princess Elia, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

---

 

She woke from her sleep breathing hard. She looked around the room as if to see she was indeed in her own home. Hurriedly, she got up and changed from her sleeping garbs to her day wears. She quietly made her way out of the keep without alerting the guards. She needed to be discreet for what she hoped was not a mere dream.

The sky outside was showing the first signs of the approaching dawn. She pulled the hood up to conceal her face from the night guards and the few who had woken up to start their daily chores. With measured and quiet steps, she advanced towards the Godswood. Although, none would confront her about going to the Hearts Tree, she didn’t want anybody to know about her visit…just yet.

She knelt before the frowning face carved into the white trunk of the Weirwood tree. She raised a hand and brushed the tips of her fingers on the eyes that were leaking sap, giving the face an imagery of shedding blood tear. She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes.

“Did I really see what I saw? Was it all a dream or are you sending me a message? What am I to do? Please, I beg of you…give me a sign!”

A sudden gust of wind blew through the leaves overhead; the susurration of the leaves was almost like an amused chuckle. She frowned but kept her eyes closed, concentrating more on the fleeting feeling that somebody was trying to reach out to her.

She didn’t know how long she sat there with her palm pressed against the tree trunk. Her hair ruffled in another gust of wind, she shivered at the coldness it brought. Then, an unexpected hot wave enveloped her entire being. It almost felt just as when her mother used to hug her before her untimely passing. The leaves moved once again, and with that, whispers that she was hearing, became more prominent.

“Mary Anne of House Reed…”

She opened her eyes in shock and took a quick look around her to see if anybody had found her. But she was alone in the woods.

“Come closer, child…”

Mary stood up and started to walk deeper in the woods as if in a trance. She didn’t know where she was going, but her feet carried her and she couldn’t stop herself from moving forward. A couple of minutes of walking later, she stopped in front of another Weirwood tree. She had spent her entire childhood in this forest, playing and hunting small games. Never did she saw another tree just a small distance away from the Hearts Tree. She frowned and looked around to gauge her position in the woods, but couldn’t be certain. Her eyes fell upon the mound at the foot of the tree. It looked the same as any freshly made mud mound, but she couldn’t spot any footstep near the mound or going to and from the mound. Curiosity overtook her as she dropped on her knees and started to dig through the mound with her bare hands.

Mary looked on amazed at the small wooden chest that she dug out of the mound. She couldn’t find any latch or keyhole to open the chest. She put it on the ground and tried to pry it open. It shocked her to see that it didn’t take her much effort to open the chest. Inside of it, laid two ordinary looking bracers. Again, as if in trance, she took the bracers out and put them on her forearmes.

A sudden chiming sound broke through her trance, she screamed in a scare and landed on her arse. A translucent, bluish-green shadow appeared before her, ruby red texts glinting atop of it –

Welcome, Champion!

[CotW]

“I beg of you, sweetling, reconsider your decision…”

“Father, I told you, I need to leave as soon as possible. I have been given a duty to pursue, a duty that you will not understand.”

“Then help me understand. You are my youngest child, you are the last memory of your mother to me. I cannot just let you leave without a proper explanation. You are merely fourteen namedays old for mercy’s sake, child, what am I going to say to your lord uncle? Or your brother for that matter?”

Mary sighed and got up from where she was sorting through her meagre possessions, deciding on what she would take along with her for her yet to determined ways. She went over to seat beside her aged father, Lord Daniel Reed, brother of the Lord of Greywater Watch, Lord Charles Reed. The aged lord had worked all of his life in service to the North, diligently performing his duties as a scout and spy for the Starks, as had their ancestors during the Andal invasion. Their house mayhaps the poorest among the Northern realm, but they were loyal to the Winter Kings of old, and they hadn’t forgotten the oaths their predecessors had given to the Starks.

Mary laid her hand over her father’s wizened, pale hands, “Father, you of all people should know how us Reeds are connected to our lands. The Gods communicate with us, they give us purposes, causes to follow and fulfil our destinies. That is how you did it, that is how our ancestors did it and all the Reeds shall do when their time comes.

For my lord uncle and brother,” Mary smiled sadly, thinking about the times in their childhood that her and her brother used to get into all kinds of mischief and how their lord uncle overlooked everything his loving nephews and niece had done. “Tell them, I have gone on to a pilgrimage because I have received a dream from the Old Gods.”

She cut off her father’s reply, “You will not be telling them lies, Father, do not worry about it. I have indeed received a dream from the Gods, and before you ask, I cannot divulge it to you. For I am not allowed to.” She squeezed his hands in assurance.

Lord Daniel looked on in sadness as his only daughter resumed her packing, “Where will you even go?”

Mary turned back to look at him with a frown, she answered as if she was not sure of it herself, “Isle of Faces is my first destination. I truly didn’t lie, and neither will you when you tell people that I went for pilgrimage.”

“Why there precisely?”

“I do not know, Father. In my dreams, I was asked to retrieve something from the Godswood, and no, I can’t tell you what it was since it was the part that I cannot divulge. With the item in my possession, I am to travel to the island for my instructions and training. What they will consist of, I have no idea.”

She had finished packing her satchel and slung it over her shoulder.

“Do you have any need of provisions? What am I saying, of course you do. You are still but a wee lass, who has not met with the wider world yet. Oh Mary, oh my sweetheart, why must it be so?” Lord Daniel broke down once again.

Mary rushed over and gathered her father within her arms, “Father, please, I beg of you, do not make this any difficult than it already is. Please, send me off with a smile. I do not know how hard it is for you to let me go, but you have to. I am of Reed blood, Father. We are always entrusted with the duties to keep our lands safe from any outside threats and our liege lord safe. I give you my word, I will perform my duties to the best of my abilities.”

“But how? The world is a very cruel and dangerous place for a young woman, lass.”

“Do not worry about that, Father.” Mary smirked as she wiped off her father’s tears from his face, “I shall not be travelling as Mary Anne of House Reed.”

Lord Daniel looked at her daughter with confusion before his eyes widened with realisation, “You meant to say the trick you have pulled on Charles that one time…?”

“Aye Father, it is time for the Seven Kingdoms to meet Jon Rackham.” She straightened with her satchel slung over her shoulder, ready to leave. A fresh set of tears rolled down Lord Daniel’s cheeks, he truly didn’t want his only daughter to leave. Mary sighed and once again knelt before her father’s chair, taking the hands of her old and disabled father’s into her own, “Father, please let me go with your blessings.”

Lord Daniel gently freed his hands from her grasp and sat up in his seat with effort, he cupped her face and looked deep into her eyes, “Be it a year from now or a decade, that window will always remain opened, and a lamp will be lit in this room. I may or may not be here to greet you, but know this, Mary Anne of House Reed, you will always be welcomed within this roof.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Mary closed her eyes and willed the tears away. She looked at her father with a faint smile and whispered, “Farewell, Father.” She stood up and pulled her hood up. She climbed up on the windowsill and looked down, calculating the way she should go down and away. She looked over her shoulder at her father and gave him a nod before leaping into the darkness of the night.

[CotW]

The small villages that dotted around the Neck had seen all manners of travellers making their ways to and from their region, some went to find their niche in the South, some on their way back to their home after a long hiatus. They didn’t think it odd to see a no more than thirteen namedays old, quite short and scrawny lad meandering his way about the Neck to venture further in the South. Jon Rackham he said his name was, and he had left his home pursuant to a fortune away from the cold, hard North.

The lad had been somewhat closed off in his behaviours, but he was amicable enough that people thought he was running away from a painful past. He did some little chores for them in exchange of a little meal here, a piece of clothing there. The folks around this lands were not wealthy, but they appreciate hard workers, and men with their sights firm. Jon Rackham had both, so they didn’t mind lending him as much or little help they could lend.

Rackham had listened to the advices and stuck to the Hunter’s path in the swamplands of the Neck, rather than traipsing through the Kingsroad. The counsel he got was to avoid the Twins, both for his lack of coinage and anonymity that he preferred. Heeding the advices, he traversed through the marshlands of the Neck and by-passed the Twins on his way to Seagard. He had spent a few days in the port town to replenish his stocks of food and essentials before continuing his way towards Wendish Town on the banks of the Blue Fork. He had stuck to his habit of accepting aid in exchange of labour to ease the burdens of his travels.

It took him five months to travel to High Heart since he had left the Neck, because he didn’t venture out alone in fear of encountering bandits that frequented this lands. And travelling traders were not always on the road to his whims. He had just said his farewells to such a group of travellers and made his way on top of the hill. Besides the Isle, this spot also held importance to the followers of the Old Gods. Rackham had knelt before one of the thirty-one burnt stumps of Weirwoof tree when he first reached the summit of the hill to offer his prayers. Now, he was trying to get some sleep within his bedroll. He hadn’t dare to light a fire which could attract unnecessary attention towards himself.

He had almost dozed off when a sudden change in his vicinity alerted him awake. He got up from his bedding and looked around to find a campfire not too far from where he had settled down for the night. Unsheathing the lone dagger in his possession, he crept slowly towards the light. From the cover of a tree, he could see a small campsite, a short and very old woman was sitting beside the fire and tending it. Rackham frowned at that, what is old woman like her doing here of all places at this time of the night? – he thought to himself.

He was startled and almost stumbled out of his hiding place when he heard the woman spoke aloud –

“You can come out of there and warm yourself beside my fire.”

A shiver ran down his spine which had nothing to do with the chill of the night. He figured that since he was discovered, it wouldn’t do him any good to remain in the darkness any longer. He tightened his grip on the dagger and cautiously stepped forward.

The old woman peered up to him from her fire, she gave her a beatific smile, “Come child, have a seat. Are you hungry?”

Rackham couldn’t help but nod at the question. The woman fumbled with her satchel for a little and brought out two rabbit carcasses and threw them at his feet.

“Here, you can skin them while I try to see if I have any herbs with me.”

Bemused, Rackham sat down on the boulder opposite of the woman and started with his work of getting the rabbits skinned and cleaned. He looked up to see that the woman silently prepared two pokers to stick in to the meat and the dried herbs to rub over them. He took the stuff from her and started to roast the meat over the fire.

They started to eat their meal in silence, but Rackham couldn’t hold it in any longer, he blurted out, “Pardon me, My Lady, but who are you?”

An eerie cackle escaped her lips, “Oh, I am no lady, child, as you are neither a Jon nor a Rackham.”

Alarmed, Rackham jumped to his feet and was about to draw his dagger out when the old women chided him, “Do sit down, child. It is the folly of youth to misunderstand things and jump into the wrong conclusions. You have nothing to fear from a defenceless, frail, old woman.”

Rackham remained on his feet, he spoke through clenched teeth, “You will have to excuse me if I seem sceptical, but you are far from frail and defenceless. I ask you again, Who. Are. You?”

The old woman huffed indignantly, “I do not seem frail or defenceless but appear old? Do you not know that it is not polite to talk about a woman’s age?” Rackham kept glaring at her without any reply, “Oh, very well, do spoil my enjoyment. Sit down and we will talk properly.”

She waited till Rackham took his seat, “That was not too hard, was it? Now, for your answers, I do not remember what my name is. I had one a long time back, but haven’t used it in so long that I myself have forgotten that.” She poked the fire absentminded, “We were not even supposed to meet, but here we are, defying one possibility for the sake of the other.”

“What are you talking about?” Rackham asked, he was thoroughly confused.

“The truth, child, what else?”

“Eh? What truth?”

“The one that sets us all free, the very same that urged you to leave your home behind for the uncertainty of the road. The same truth that will push me to leave my lands for a short while to ensure that the next Champion graces us when his time is right, after you are done.”

Rackham’s eyes couldn’t be more widened even if he tried to, “Wha-what are you talking about?”

“I know who you are, child. I am not talking about your mortal identity, but your divine charge that you have received not very long ago. Aye, you are a Champion, like so many before you, and so many after you will be chosen thusly.”

“How could you possibly know about that? I didn’t even tell my father…” Rackham cried out.

The woman gave him a saddened smile, “I see everything, child, past, present, possible futures; for that is the curse I bear.” She struggled to get up on her feet. She was a small person, with age, her back made her bent and even smaller in appearance. Her long, white hair almost brushed along the ground as she walked, favouring on the knurled staff in her hands. She came to sit beside a stunned Rackham on the boulder and took one of his hands into her own shrivelled hands, “You have a hard path ahead of you, child, they will test you at every step you take. I implore you to learn everything you can in the coming days, for you will need to remain true to your teachings if you want to carry out your duties to its fullest.” She tugged the still shocked youth to his feet, “Come, lay down your weary head and rest for the night. Do not fight the inevitable. You will find peace once you are done.”

Almost as if a spell cast upon him, Rackham had suddenly become tired to his bones. He didn’t put up any objection when the old woman forced him to lay down on the ground beside the fire, his gears had appeared there somehow from where he left them. He rolled on to his side and tried to stifle a yawn, “At least tell me who you are.”

He felt the woman rubbing his back as he saw mothers doing the same thing to soothe an irate child to sleep. Through the haze of sleep, her voice invaded his mind –

“As I told you before, I forgot what my old name was. But you can call me by my new name – the Ghost of High Heart.”

Rackham sat up in alarm, he had heard about the famed Ghost of High Heart. He looked around him but found that he was alone, and the sky was bright with the morning light. Did I dream about it all? – he asked himself. But there was a remnant of a campfire and along with the bones of their meals. Rackham shivered once again for the absurdity of the situation. He didn’t waste any time and prepared to leave the place as soon as he could.

The folks from the fishing villages around the God’s Eye weren’t very helpful when Rackham went about to find a vessel that can take him across the water to the Isle. Most refused him the moment they heard his propositions, the rest demanded an exorbitant sum of money to deter him. After a long search, he managed to find an old man who agreed to him only after he promised to buy his small boat. Handing over ten Silver Stags – the entirety of his fund, over to the man, he climbed onto the rickety, old thing and paddled towards the Isle.

 Thick mist hung about the trees along the coast of the Isle. Rackham moored his small boat to the roots of one such tree that leaned over the water. He carefully made his way inwards the Isle. He didn’t know what he was looking for, just that he was supposed to come here for his lessons. He was by no means, an inexperienced individual when it came to finding way in a thick forest, for he grew up in the traitorous marshlands of Greywater Watch, but this here lands made him uncomfortable. Every inch of his being were screaming at him to turn back, but he kept true to his path.

No matter how carefully he was watching his steps, he was not prepared to be flung about in the air and landing painfully on his arse, bounded by vines. He groaned and tried to sit up but stilled when a pair of foot came into his view. He slowly looked up to the owner of those feet to find a tall man, clad in a green hood and green garbs peering down at him curiously.

“Who are you?” the man asked him in a gruff voice.

His side was throbbing in pain from landing hard on it, he greeted his teeth to ignore the pain, “My name is Jon Rackham…”

The man raised a hand to stop him, “Your hood is displaced and your hair has come undone. You may want to answer again, truthfully this time, if you please.”

“Oh! Um…I am Mary Anne…of House Reed…”

“Very well, Mary Anne of House Reed, what is the purpose of your visit here?”

Mary fidgetied within her binds, “I was told to come here for my training and lessons.”

The man sighed and knelt down beside her. He brought out a knife which made Mary cower away from him, but the man started to cutting off the vines that bound her.

“Tell me, did you, perchance, come into possession of a set of bracers?”

For the second time in two days, Mary was at a loss for words. Two different individuals were privy to her most guarded of secrets.

“How did you…nobody seemed to even notice the bracers…”

The man smirked at her, “Even I do not see the bracers, but I know about them and the blessings you Champions receive once you came into their possession. For we sometimes acted as teachers for the Champions of the Gods.”

Mary was scared out of her minds, she couldn’t understand how this man can know about something he couldn’t even see.

“Who are these ‘we’? Who are you?” she asked heatedly.

“Oh, forgive me. I forgot to introduce myself properly to you, Champion. My name is Edward Kenway, I am the last of the Green Men.”

[CotW]

It had been five years since Mary had left her home. In the ensuing years, she had come to the Isle of Faces to be trained by the last of the Green Men, Edward Kenway. The man in the green hood had taught her how to fight, how to wield her bow and shoot with accuracy. How to traverse through the most traitorous of lands unhindered. How to conceal herself and become one of the shadows. After two gruelling years of training from dawn to dusk, Edward had deemed her ready enough to venture out in the world to pursue her quests for the Gods.

She had tried to form a friendship with the hardened man, but the gruff behaviours of Edward had dissuaded her of that notion. The most she had pried from his lips were that he was once a normal man, a hunter by profession and had a family – wife with a daughter and a little son. But then the call that he felt since his childhood became stronger for him to ignore, and with his wife’s permission, he had set out to find its source. He ended up at the Isle without any knowledge of what awaited him here. Here, he met with the order of Green Men, an ancient order who acted as guardians to this sacred lands. When Edward arrived here, only a handful members of the fabled order remained. The call that he felt within his bones, was the invitation that was imbued with the ground of the very island. The Children of Forest had worked their magic before leaving the Isle behind so that the First Men and their descendants would always be called to tend the land of the sacred treaty and faith. But the old guardians had lamented that the greed of men had weakened the magic of the land, and in turn, drove the Children further from the contact of men and the magic to dissipate from the world. Edward was the last one after everyone else had perished due to old age. He waited in his lonesome in hope that there would be other to hear the call. He first thought Mary to be one who finally had heard the call, but he was disappointed as well as giddy when she turned out to be a Champion.

Mary didn’t want to leave the man, whom she had come to see as another father figure, behind on his lonesome once again. But the very next day after Edward had proclaimed her training to be complete, another instruction came for her. Once again the shadowy bluish-green haze, the glinting ruby red words that directed her to her next destination. With a heavy heart, she bade farewell to her mentor and had set out to the larger world.

Her instructions had made her travel almost all of the South. She had created three personas for herself to travel unnoticed and carry out her quests without drawing attention to herself. She had become proficient in her hunt so that none had made the connections between the killings that spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms with the server, maid, cook, guard, washwoman, farmer and so many more with the names of Mary Reed, Anne Bonney and Jon Rackham.

She had never taken a life indiscriminately. She was always asked to investigate individuals or happenings through the haze and after conducting the said investigations, she was to hand out judgement at her own discretion. Mary was horrified by the depravity that laid bare before her. The first time she had to take a life, she could not keep her meals down for the next three days. The glassy, lifeless eyes of her victim haunted her at every waking moment. But the proofs that led her to do such a deed were indisputable. The man she had killed, a Maester at the house of Pipers of Pinkmaiden, had whispered to the ears of the Piper lord who had condemned his wife, a daughter of house Smallwood from Acorn Hall, to the Silent Sisters.

Her crime was that she was adept at healing, which she had learned since her childhood from a hedge witch. That was an affront to the teachings of the Citadel. Hence, the Maester had staged a mummery for Lord Piper to walk in on. He had dosed the Lady Piper to make her unconscious and then raped her in the lord’s chamber itself. Lord Piper had found his lady wife bare as the day she was born and passed out on their marriage bed, her used cunt was leaking semen of her supposed lover. The man then had the gall to sombrely advise the lord to not take her life, instead managed to send her off to the Sisters for her crimes. He didn’t stop there, he had slow poisoned the lord’s little sons to make them weak and sickly as well as whispering to the lord to marry the naïve daughter off to a man who had been a known abuser of women.

Mary had found the Maester’s personal journal where he had gleefully recorded about his tryst with the lady of the house to its minutest detail. She didn’t even feel any remorse when she drove her hidden blade to that vile man’s throat. But after she had calm down and looked at the fear stricken face of the dead man, she bolted from the room and emptied her stomach. She had taken the journal with her when she finally left the castle of Pinkmaiden only to remind herself that if she had to kill someone, then they had truly deserved it.

Her quests and investigations had taken her almost all over the South. Wherever she went, she almost always left corpses of similarly despicable men at her wake. Men who were working from the shadows, moving one piece at a time on the board of cyvasse (a game that Mary had come to know about in her travels) and ensuring their hold onto the power to rule from beyond the veils. At first, she thought this conspiracy was from the Southorns against the worshippers of the Old Gods, but as she delved deep, she found out that their reach was further than that. All of her findings had pointed her towards the Citadel, the centre from where these Maesters had gotten their orders from and several lords who unwittingly became their mask for all to see.

Currently, Mary was sitting at a table at the inn called Quill and Tankard in Oldtown as Jon Rackham, she had come to the city about six months back. Her persona of Anne Bonney had acquired a job as the serving maid at the inn, while Rackham was the distant cousin of a minor house from the North who had been of two minds about whether to become an acolyte or not, and while he was taking his sweet time on the decision, he was not averse to enjoy the life Oldtown had to offer. Rackham had been seen to frequent every tavern and the rat pits of the town.

“I see you have not come to a decision yet.”

Rackham was broken out of his thoughts by the speaker who turned out be Connor, another acolyte prospective from the Riverlands who, same as Rackham, was yet to make his decision.

“I see you are still bitching about your own as well.” Rackham snarked back at him.

Connor sat down at the table and pushed a tankard of ale towards Rackham, “Truly, what is stopping you? Or is it true that you never had any inclination to join the Citadel, merely said so to your family so that you can enjoy your life here?”

Rackham took a swig of the offered ale, “No, I do crave knowledge, and what better place than the Citadel to sate such cravings? But it is conflicting with my desire to see the world. If I earn my links, I will be entombed to one of the houses of the realms and that will be the absolute end of any chance of travelling.”

“On the other hand, you can refuse to join a household and continue your studies here. That will leave your chance to travel open.”

“True,” Rackham agreed, “but tell me, which of the taverns will cater to a drunk Maester? Or a rat pit that will welcome one with open arms? Do you think the Citadel will let me be once I have sworn my vows? And if they catch me afterwards, they will take away my chain and banish me forever. Where will that leave me then?”

Connor nodded his head absent-minded, his eyes were roaming around the tavern in search of something or someone. Rackham poked him at the back of his head to bring him back to their conversation.

“What about you? Why have you not come to a decision yet? What is stopping you, or rather, should I say who is stopping you?”

Connor looked back at him sheepishly, “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“If you are sure.” Rackham drawled, “Now, if you will excuse me, I spotted Hother Umber there. I will go see if he wants to come along to the rat pit.” He stood up and threw a few Copper Stars on the table, “Enjoy the next drink these will buy you. That will keep you sated till Anne comes in for her shift.” He winked and left a spluttering Connor behind.

[CotW]

Anne sauntered at the table Connor was sitting, carrying a tankard of ale on her tray. She gave him a dazzling smile as she put the tankard on the table.

“Will you be needin’ anythin’ else, Ser?”

Connor looked up at her with a wide smile, “Your sweet company if you are offering, my dear lady.”

Anne giggled bashfully, “Oh, I told you before, Ser, I ain’t no lady.”

“As I have told you before, I am not a knight but a humble man who craves for your attention.”

Anne brushed her hand on Connor’s arm, “You say the sweetest things, Ser, but you don’ want me, you want a lady of your station, an’ I am only a maid.”

“And I do not care.” Connor grasped for her hand and placed a gentle kiss on her palm, “It is you that I prefer, not your birth or where you work.” He looked up at her imploringly, “Please, I beg of you, give me a chance.”

Anne shifted on her feet uncomfortably, “I am workin’ now, Ser.”

Connor was adamant, “I will wait for you, please allow me the chance to court you.”

Anne looked over her shoulder at the tavern owner, “Master will be angry if I don’ get to work soon.”

Connor frowned, “Fuck him! I will end his life if he even raises his voice at you.”

“Oh.” Anne bit her lips in thought, “I-I will go on a walk with you…as soon as I done tendin’ here tables.”

Connor relaxed back in his seat with a pleased smile, “That is all I ask of you, my lady. Go, do your duties, I will be right here.”

[CotW]

Mary was shocked at the turns her life had taken so far. She was a child when she had left her home. Through the years, after all of her training, all the unpleasantness she had experienced in her journey, she never expected to fall in love. She had started out to seduce Connor because he had advanced quite far in his studies as an acolyte. Much farther than the other acolytes who came to the taverns after daylong studies. It was rumoured that Connor was the favourite of more than one Archmaesters for his intelligence and diligence in his lessons.

Mary could have gone after the Maesters who had already forged their links. But the Citadel had always taken care of its security. No Maester ever ventured out without guards, even when they were visiting a whorehouse, with the Citadel’s blessing of course. Also, for some reasons, Jon Rackham was not very tolerable for the Maesters. Hence, Connor was the only way for her to lodge a foot inside of the impenetrable fortress. It also helped that the man was smitten by the serving maid, Anne Bonney.

While she had not been a maiden for a long time, seeing as how she had lost her innocence in pursuance of her goal, Connor had somehow wormed his way into her mind. She had lain with him as an act of seduction, but somehow, along the way, Mary had submitted her heart to Connor.

She shook her head to rid all of these thoughts from her head. She focused from her perch from atop a beam in the hall where the acolytes gather for their meals. She had snuck inside while donned the garb of a guard that she had stolen, but left the cumbersome armours at a secluded corner once she was inside and donned back her black outfit which helped her to become one with the shadows. She had climbed atop the beam and waited there for the men below her to finish partaking to their meals and clear out of the hall. As Anne, she had asked extensive questions to Connor after their coitus and had made a rudimentary map of the Citadel. She wanted to get inside the Grand Library and peruse through as many tomes as she could.

This was not the first time that she had snuck inside. The first time she came here, she made a mould of the key to library from the Archmaester who was in charge of it. It had taken Jon Rackham to pay a few discreet visit to the local smithy to get a key made from the mould. What she had found in the Library from the accounts of various Maesters, made her blood boil. The Citadel had worked for a long time to get the world rid of magic. They had abducted little children from North whose blood of the First Men flourished in their abilities of warging or green-seeing. Any indication of such children, and their men had invaded the Northern realm to abduct those poor babes. From Dorne, they had eradicated anyone with Rhoynish blood who claimed to have power over water. They even sent discreet parties beyond the Wall to search and find any signs of the Children. The detailed description of their depravation made Mary almost throw up the content of her stomach.

When the Targaryens came to this continent riding atop their huge magical beasts, they had retreated back into their shadows, for they were no match for the giant, fire-breathing dragons. They bided their time, and studied. They hounded after the physical aspects of those majestic creatures and learned from their observations. Slowly, they had started to poison the dragons, making the adult ones weak and any eggs they hatched, would give birth to deformed beings who hadn’t last the month after the hatching.

Mary had taken extensive notes on these records, she was now after the names of the individuals who are still performing such tasks. So far, she had found that very few were of the different mind about magic. These people believed that magic should be studied and protected for the betterment of the known world. But they were very few in number.

A sound of footsteps broke Mary out of her concentration as she was meticulously writing down her notes. She closed the tome she was perusing and shoved it back at the shelf. A few quiet moments later, when she was about to release the breath she was holding unknowingly, the doors to the Library opened with a resounding crash. Armoured and armed guards came marching inside of the Library along with a man who appeared to be an Archmaester.

“Search every corner. The room was unlocked, which means the intruder is still here somewhere. And send someone down to where you have found the abandoned armours, the intruder may go back the way they came inside.”

Mary cursed under her breath for her foolishness. She didn’t hide the armours properly. Her mind was distracted lately with thoughts about Connor. She looked around from her position for any route she could use for her escape. But there was none save the doors and two guards were standing before it, none could go past them without alerting the rest.

Her Champion’s mind helped her to keep calm and not to panic. She took a deep breath and once again looked for any possibility to take. Her eyes landed on the beams near the roof and she smirked. Quietly, she started to climb up the bookshelves. The shelves were as tall to almost touch the roof, thousands of years’ knowledge and record were kept in this room, hence, it was no surprise that the shelves would be gigantic to hold the volumes of the tomes. Mary reached up for a beam and heaved herself up on it. She sat astride the beam and looked down to see the Maester standing at a side and directing the guards to various places of the room with torches in their hands. Carefully, she stood up on the beam, and started to walk towards the doors. When she was just above the men who stood guard at the doors, she crouched down and took a deep breath. She flicked her wrists to get the hidden blades out and jumped down from her perch. Her aim was true as she landed right on top of the men and the Valyrian steel blades went through their necks. The guards dropped dead where they stood.

The men inside of the room were alerted by the sound of the bodies adorned in armours collapsed on the floor. They looked disbelievingly at the short, hooded, black clad figure who stood over their fallen brethren with blood dripping from their hands. They were brought back to reality when the Maester yelled shrilly –

“After them!”

The figure turned and ran away from the room, chased by dozens of armed guards. The ran after the individual through the corridors of the Citadel, but it seemed that the figure didn’t know the whereabouts of the fortress very well. Thus, even while the person in black was fast on their feet, the guards, cumbered down with the weight of their armours and arms, could keep up with the person.

Mary was breathing very hard, the sudden bout of faint made her stop and lean against the wall. She was confused at her weakness. She had overcome even harder obstacles than this, but never before had she felt this weak. Her moment of distraction proved to be detrimental as a guard caught up with her and swung his sword at her. At the last moment, Mary managed to bend away from the incoming blade, but still, it grazed the side of her body, making her yell out in pain. She brought her hand down to her side to feel the wound. Her hand came out red with the blood that started to flow abundantly. Rage filled her vision as the guard once again lunged at her with his sword. She caught the blade with her hidden blade and pivoted around the man, she thrusted her hand at the back of his neck and the other hidden blade went through the flesh without any deterrent.

She knew that she won’t last long at the rate she was losing blood. She looked around for any way that could help her escape. She could hear the footsteps of the other guards coming nearer with every passing moment. She needed to find a way out and sooner. Her eyes fell upon the small windows that were right near at the top of the celling. Since this corridor and the Library were under the ground level, the small windows could lead to the grounds outside. Mary took a deep breath and ran forward towards the wall. She jumped and grabbed hold of one of the scones that held the torches. She swung herself up and let go of the scone. She managed to find purchase with the tip of her fingers in the brickworks and started to climb up the sheer wall. She was about to reach the windows when the pursuing guards had reached her position and found the slain guard on the floor. They looked about in search for her and saw her climbing up the walls. Mary felt fortunate that the guards weren’t carrying bows and arrows. Amongst the shouts, she had reached the windows and pulled herself through the small opening. Soon, she was outside of the confining innards of the Citadel and disappeared within the darkness.

[CotW]

Hother Umber was sleeping peacefully in his bed at the tavern room he was renting. His father, Lord Hoarfrost Umber had send his son to the Citadel since he asked to be spared from the duties of the lords for his preference of learning. Lord Hoarfrost was quiet angry at his eldest son’s request, since his brother Mors, was a cad who was never seen without a tankard of ale in his hands or for the fact that he had yet to spend a night in his own bed since he had reached his majority and discovered the pleasures of whorehouses. Mors was not someone who would become a responsible lord. That left their youngest brother, Jon, the wee lad was yet to wean of their mother’s teats, let alone becoming the heir to Last Hearth. But Hother begged and pleaded at his father to no end, and much to his consternation, Lord Hoarfrost was finally convinced by Lord Rickard to let his son go and pursue his dreams. At the end, Jon was declared the heir with Mors to act as his regent if the unthinkable happened and Lord Hoarfrost died before Jon reached his majority. The Umber Lord had managed to get an oath out of Lord Stark that he would personally see to it that his house stood tall in case of his absence. So, it all resulted with Hother finally able to come to Oldtown to study, and he had been doing that along with pursuing pleasures at the bottom of wine barrels and within fleshes of nubile residents of the whorehouses.

His sleep was disturbed with an incessant knocking sound that came from the closed window. Irritated, he got up from his bed and thundered towards the window to wrench it open.

“Who the fuck are you to knock at my window at this Godsforsaken hour?”

A raspy voice replied from the darkness, “Dóttirr ór Norðriinn er requesting aið ok sanctuary fran sonrr ór Norðririnn.” (A daughter of the North is requesting aid and sanctuary from a son of the North.)

Immediately, any remnant of sleep disappeared from Hother’s visage and he became alert, “Hverr eru þú ok hví skulu ek gørþúr aið eðsanctuaryr?” (Who are you and why should I offer you aid or sanctuary?)

“Allow mik til kominnir ok ek munu explain.” (Allow me to come inside and I will explain.)

Hother needed a moment to decide, “Mjök vel, þú megkomar inni, en beware, ek em armeð ok ek munu eigi hesitate til nýtatt þat skulu þú prove til munu dangerr til minn maðr.” (Very well, you can come inside, but beware, I am armed and I will not hesitate to use it should you prove to be a danger to my person.)

Hother stood back from the window and soon enough, a black clad figure stumbled inside the room. He became alarmed when he saw that the person was bleeding profusely from a wound to their side. He hurried forward to keep the person steady and helped them to sit on his bed.

“You have my thanks, Lord Umber.”

“You were not japing about wanting my aid.” Hother stated warily.

“Aye, I didn’t.” The person lowered their hood to reveal their face to Hother, making him take a step back in shock.

“Anne from Quill and Tankard. What were you up to, lass?”

“I am afraid that I cannot tell you, Lord Umber, kindly forgive me for that. But I can assure you, whatever I am doing, it is for the benefit for the North as well as the Seven Kingdoms.”

“And I am supposed to believe that? By your words only?”

“Of course not, My Lord. Allow me to introduce myself properly. My true name is Mare Anne of House Reed. I am the daughter of Lord Daniel Reed, niece of Lord Charles Reed of the Greywater Watch.”

Hother’s eyes went wide hearing that, “You are the missing Reed daughter? Rumour has it that you had run away with some unknown lover and perished a long time ago.”

“While I did run away from my home, I did it so with my lord father’s knowledge and blessing. The reason for doing so, I cannot divulge. Suffice to say that I am acting on behalf of the Gods.”

Hother chuckled, “Of that, I have no doubt. You crannogmen, above all, a member of the House Reed can’t be anything other than the devout follower of the Old Gods and the true Northerner.”

Mary coughed and spat out a glob of blood, “I am happy to hear that from you, My Lord. Now, could you please help me with this thing?” She indicated to the wound at her side.

“Oh, of course, lass.” Hother knelt down to look closer at the wound, “It is a deep gash and need to be treated immediately lest it festers. Um…you need to remove your clothes, My Lady…”

“Please, Lord Umber, I have not been a lady for a long time. And I have also given away my modesty with my title along the way.”

She whimpered in pain as she tried to remove her garbs. Face alight in embarrassment, Hother gave a hand to the woman to help her divest of clothing from her torso. The giant of a man got up and rummaged through his possessions. He had earned his link on medicine during his stay at the Oldtown after all.

He treated and stitched the wound before wrapping it up in a bandage. He spoke while he was finishing the job –

“This here wound is all taken care of. Do you have any other ailment?”

“Aye, I did feel faint while I was running away from the guards of the Citadel.”

Hother looked up at her amusedly, “You were running away from the guards of the Citadel? This is another thing that you can’t tell me, I wager?”

“I am afraid so, My Lord.”

“Fair enough. Tell me, lass, when was the last time you have eaten?”

“During supper as usual.”

“And you do not have any fever or cold?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

Hother frowned in thought, “Do I have your permission to touch your body?”

Mary smirked at the man she had known to be a regular visitor to all the local whorehouses, “You are my healer at the moment, My Lord. You do have my permission.”

Hother blushed but nodded his head, he put his hands on Mary’s stomach and pressed at various spots. He looked closely at her eyes and then, after some thoughts, he cupped her breasts and handled them in such a way as if he was weighing them.

“You are with child, lass. There is a little one growing up in your womb.”

“What?!” She had gone white at his proclamation.

“Aye, that is what my knowledge in medicine tells me at a glance. There is a chance that mayhaps I am wrong, but I hardly doubt that.”

Mary had her face hidden in her hands. She was trembling, not from the chill in the air, but from the impact of Hother Umber’s words. The Umber lord could hear her mutterings –

“It cannot be true…I cannot be pregnant…not now…”

“Are you alright, lass?”

“No! I am not fucking alright! I am with child all of a sudden for fuck’s sake!” She snarled back at him.

Hother nodded his head, “The father…um…is he around?”

“Aye, he is. And I need to find him. Now.” She tried to get up but lost her balance and crashed down on the bed.

Hother put his hand on Mary’s shoulder, “Stay here. You have lost a lot of blood tonight. You are not going anywhere.”

“But…”

“Stay here, lass. This is your healer’s order.” Hother replied sternly, he moved over to his small wardrobe and rummaged inside and took out a shirt, “Here, change your clothes for the night. You can have the bed. I will kip under the window.”

A while later when the both of them were trying to fall asleep, Mary asked Hother, “Why did you trust me, Lord Umber?”

Hother sighed, “You spoke in the Old Tongue, lass. None but the true Northerners know the language of our ancestors nowadays. And I can see the Reeds in your face. It was not that hard for me to trust you after that.”

“You have my thanks for everything, Lord Umber.”

“Think nothing of it, lass.”

[CotW]

They woke up the next morning to the sound of someone pounding on the door.

Hother yelled from his place under the window, “Who the fuck are you and what do you want?”

“Open the door this instant!” Came the answer.

“Why?”

“Order from the Citadel! Open this door or I will break it down!”

Both the occupants of the room were awake now. Mary had positioned herself beside the doors while Hother got up from his makeshift bed, “Alright, alright. I am coming. Hold your horses.” He wrenched open the doors and yelled at the guard who was pounding on the doors. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Move out of the way, I need to inspect the room.”

“And why the fuck should I do that?”

The guard pushed at Hother to forcefully come inside the room, “That is enough out of you. Move you fucking savage.”

Hother had stumbled a few steps from the sudden push but he righted himself immediately, with a scream, he launched himself at the man. The guard had managed to free his sword from its sheath, but the Umber lord landed atop of him and pried the blade out of his hand. He didn’t give any chance to the guard and drove the sword at his chest, drenching Hother’s front with warm blood.

He took a step out of the room to look around. Seeing none of the other guards around, he came back inside and hissed at Mary, “Change back quickly and go out the way you came in last night. I will take care of this.”

“Lord Umber…”

“Are you still fucking here?”

Mary mutely changed her garbs and wrapped herself in a borrowed cloak from the lord to hide her bloodied clothes. She spared a glance to the man who had shown her a level of trust even beyond her expectations. She gave him a small nod and jumped out of the window.”

[CotW]

The owner of Quill and Tankard grumbled to himself about irresponsive helps as he busied himself wiping the tables when a timid voice from behind made him stop.

“Master…”

He spun around to face the whore he hired to serve at the tavern, “Now ye come to work? After alla morning I done everythin’ by meself, now ye show yer fuckin’ face?”

“I was sick, mastar. An’…an’ I come to tell ye that me brother an’ me are goin’ away. I can’t work here no more…”

“What?! Who the fuck do ye think ye are? I oughtta…no…nope, I ain’t touchin yer disease-riddled body. Get the fuck outta here before ye get me sick. An’ I ain’t pain’ ye for this month…ye dinnit work it fer the matter.”

“Sure, master…um…”

“Ye still here? What more do ye want? Me blood?”

“No, master…umm…was Connor here?”

“That fuckin’ cunt o’ lover o’ yer was got caught by them guards of Citadel. An’ if ye don’ leave this moment, me gonna call them guards an’ have ye thrown in the gaol too.”

“I am goin’, master…”

They had caught Connor! But how did they come to know of him. – the thought ran through her mind.

[CotW]

Mary once more was prowling inside of the Citadel after the dark. This time, she was not going for the Library, she was trying to find where they were keeping Connor imprisoned. Her blood had run cold when she heard from the tavern owner that the guards came and hauled him away. She had to free her at any cost.

She had gone to find Hother Umber so she could give him the journal containing her findings, just to make sure that it remained hidden from the Maesters of the Citadel. But she had found that the Umber lord was thrown out of the city. He was brought before the Hightowers for killing the guard at the morning. Hother had spun a tale that the guard forced his way in his room and in a drunken fit, attacked him with his sword, so Hother had to defend himself and in the ensuing struggle, slew the guard. The Hightower lord had apparently seen evidence of the guard’s drunkenness and didn’t take action against Hother. Furthermore, the guard had attacked a noble unprovoked, hence, Hother didn’t commit any crime for defending himself. But still, he had taken a life within the limit of the city so the lord was dutybound to take action for that and had banished Hother from the city forever.

So far, Mary’s search had proven to be fruitless. She looked almost everywhere but didn’t find anywhere that could be used as the gaol. She thought that the Maester could have handed over Connor to the Hightowers, but she had kept a close watch on the fortress for the entirety of the day and hadn’t seen any such movement. So, if they indeed had Connor in their clutches, then he was bound to be inside of the Citadel somewhere.

She had managed to make her way to the topmost floor of the Citadel which was used to house the Archmaesters. As she slowly walked along the corridors, keeping to the shadows, she could hear a faint sound of shifting shackles and painful groans of a man coming from a room. She took a chance and pushed open the doors of the said room, as fortune would have it, she had indeed found her man.

“Connor!” She whisper-shouted as she rushed into the room.

Connor looked at him with shocked eyes, “Anne?! What are you doing here?”

“I came to rescue you, of course.” She was so happy to find him.

“What are you wearing? And…your speech, why do you sound so different?”

“That is a long story, Connor, which I will tell you later. Now, let me see if I can free you from this shackles.” She turned around to block his view with her body and pushed her hidden blade through the locks to make a short work out of them. Soon, she had Connor freed and standing beside her, rubbing his wrists and ankles where the chains were.

“Do you think you can move?”

Connor chuckled, “They have roughened me a bit, but I can move on my own.”

“Wonderful, now come on, we need to get out of here. Quietly and quickly.”

“Of course, but you are going to tell me why the guards suddenly captured me, and why are you wearing whatever it is you are wearing…and a whole lot of other things, I reckon.”

“Sure, first let us get out of here and I will tell you everything.”

The two of them quietly came out of the room and crept the way she had come. After going for a bit and taking a turn, Connor stopped her, “That way will take us to the barracks. Did you come from that way? How is it that you were not caught?”

Mary frowned at the way laid ahead of them, “I am not sure I came this way, I could have taken a wrong turn.”

Connor put a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Then allow me to show the way.” Mary nodded her head in assent and they continued on a different path. After a while, they could hear loud footsteps approaching them, “The guards are coming, quickly, hide in here.” Connor hissed into her ears and shoved her through a set of doors nearby.

Mary had her ear pressed on the doors to listen to the footsteps. Once, she was sure that the guards were gone, she spoke, “We can go now, Connor, they are gone.” When she didn’t hear her reply, she turned around to see, and pressed herself flat against the doors in shock and fear.

The room was full of guards of the Citadel. That was not all, there was also a large table around which sat robed, old men who Mary had thought to be the Archmaesters, and among them all, stood Connor, a cruel smirk prominent on his face.

“Connor? What are you…”

A guard stepped forward and punched her in the face. His studded glove cut into her skin and her lips started to bleed. The guard hauled her up by her hair and shoved her forward towards the table. Another guard came along to stand beside them. The two man twisted her arms behind her back and held them there. Mary could do nothing but glare around at everybody. Connor is a traitor! – the only thought ran through her mind.

One of the Maesters waved his hand negligently, and Connor stepped forward, “I once knew a man. He was a smart and gentle man. He was appointed as the Maester at Pinkmaiden for House Piper.”

Mary’s eyes widened, that was the first man she had killed.

“To my immense shock when I went there for a visit, only to find that he was slain brutally within his own chambers. There was no trace of the killer. I couldn’t have laid it to rest, no, for I had much respect for the man. So, I asked around, trying to find if anything was amiss. Then I heard about a new maid who was hired not too long ago before the murder. She was said to be timid and hard worker, a good help for the household. But, she has quit not so long after the Maester’s death. I didn’t think about it much at that time. It could have been a shock to know that the Maester was brutally slain and too much to take for a gentle soul.”

Connor was pacing in front of her. Suddenly he stopped and peered into her face, “Then, a few months later, another respected Maester was killed, this time, at Ashemark. Again, the killer was not found. Years went by, again and again news came to us about our dear friends and teachers who were forcefully taken from us. Not only the Maesters, no, there were also some nobles who have lost their lives in the similar way, but nowhere, was the killer found.

I discreetly made a few investigations, what information I could gather were generally not that alarming, but when you compare them with others, they do paint a bloody image. There was always one individual who has recently joined the household and then suddenly left after the killing. The name of the person, why it is Anne Bonney. She was not always the maid, of course, sometimes, she was the cook, sometimes the washwoman. But every time, the same pattern appeared. She joined the household, the Maester or the lord was slain, she left the household in seemingly broken hearted. Now, imagine my surprise when I found the very same Anne Bonney has found herself a job at the foot of the Citadel.”

Mary was glaring hard at Connor. Once again, she was bleeding at this fucking place. “Who are you?” She growled at him.

The man whom she knew to be Connor, looked at her amusedly, “Oh, Did I not introduce myself? How rude of me. My true name is Haytham Kenway, trusted acolyte and soon to be a Maester.” He bowed to her with a flourish.

Mary looked at Connor…Haytham with wide eyes, “You are Edward’s son?”

Haytham reeled back at her question, “You know him? How…? Is he the one behind all these?”

Mary didn’t answer his questions, instead, she said, “He will be so disappointed in you to know what you have become.” She sneered at him.

Haytham’s shock had turned into blazing anger as he backhanded Mary, “What I have become? WHAT I HAVE BECOME? Do not speak about things that you know nothing about. I am what I am today through my own hard work. Do you think I care about what he thinks? I care the same as he cared for us…which is ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING!” He screamed at her.

Mary shook her head, “You are wrong. He did care for -”

She was cut off by an enraged Haytham who had started to yell at her, “If he cared, then he should have been there for us! He should have been there when my mother had fallen ill and we didn’t have enough money for her medicines! He should have been there when my sister was abducted by bandits and then raped and killed in the woods! No, all he cared for was some fucking myth for which he has dedicated his entire being!”

A Maester loudly cleared his throat and put a stop to Haytham’s rantings. He took a few deep, calming breaths and turned towards the table, “Forgive me, Maesters, for losing my composure. She did provoke some long forgotten feelings, but still, I have no excuse. It won’t happen again.” He gave them a deep bow.

He turned back to Mary and glared at her, “It was not only you who were connected to all these killings. Another name came in our investigation – Mary Reed. Which we imagine to be a false name that you were using at those times. But what we truly want to know is who is this Jon Rackham? Where did he come from? Is he your lover?”

Mary looked back at Haytham with incredulity. The absurdity of his questions had rendered her speechless. It started with a snort, but soon enough, she was cackling like a mad woman. She was laughing so hard that it was difficult for her to stand upright. Only her captors made her stay on her feet.

“What are you laughing about, you savage bitch?” Haytham snarled at her.

“Savage bitch…” Mary tried her best to control her laughter, “Aye, to you cowardly cunts, I mayhaps appear as a savage bitch. But you cannot even fathom who I am, what I truly am.”

“Oh? And what are you?” Haytham sneered at her.

Mary gave him a feral smile, with her bloodied teeth, it became even more vicious.

“I am a Champion!”

Mary flexed her wrists to bring out the blades, the Valyrian steel blades struck true and her captors went down screaming, holding the side the blades had pierced through their armours, leaving her free to move. She leaped forward and kneed Haytham into the chest, sending him to the ground. She straddled his chest and looked down on him with saddened eyes, “You know, I truly loved you.” But at the next moment, her visage changed from saddened to enraged. She raised her right hand above her head and spoke, “In the name of your father, I sentence you to die.” She brought her hand down with a yell and drove the hidden blade through Haytham’s heart.

She looked up from the convulsing man to see that the half of the guards in the room had drawn their weapons and were converging upon her, whereas the other half was guarding the retreating Maesters who were scrambling to get out of the room. Mary leapt back and picked up the sword from one of the fallen guards. She bent her knees and readied herself for a fight, a fight she was not sure if she would come out alive of it.

[CotW]

Mary didn’t know for how long she fought or ran. She simply went through the motions. Her mind was numb since she had to take the life of the man she truly loved, she killed the father of her unborn child. She had found herself standing at the top of a tower of the Citadel. There was no way out from where she had ended up. She could hear the incoming footsteps of the guards that were pursuing him, bent on getting revenge on her for killing their brethren. She truly didn’t know how many lives she had taken that night. Her only regret was that she was not able to kill one or two Archmaester in her killing spree.

Mary greeted her teeth as she pulled the bolt that was stuck to her right calf, making her entire right leg useless. The guards had learned from their mistakes. When they saw that in close combat, they couldn’t subdue her, they had sent for ranged attack. Archers and Crossbowmen surrounded her but still, she managed to evade almost all of them.

Mary sighed in tiredness as she looked down at herself. Her clothes were in tatters, there were numerous cuts and gashes littered her body. Her right leg was now useless; it was trembling just from her standing still. The sword in her hand seemed to have gained a sudden weight that made it difficult for her to lift it, let alone wield it to fight.

She knew that she won’t be getting out of here alive, after all these years of living alone, pushing herself forward just to finish the task which was entrusted to her by the Gods – everything came crashing down to this moment. She was so very tired. She wanted to stop. She wanted to finally sleep in peace. She wanted to be back in her own room at Greywater Watch., she wanted to see her father once more. She wanted to laugh with her brother. She wanted to prank her lord uncle. She wanted to be there for her babe. But she couldn’t. She was very, very tired.

Mary placed a hand on her abdomen, “I am sorry, my love.” She whispered, “I am sorry that I couldn’t live for you. I am sorry for I couldn’t bring you to life. I am so tired, love, I just want to sleep.”

Mary dropped the sword from her hand. The commotion was coming nearer and nearer. Soon, the guards will come on to the roof. She turned around and dragged her tired self onto the parapet. She stood on the precipice and looked below at the churning waves of the Honeywine river. It felt so welcoming to her. She smiled and looked up towards the sky. The darkness of the night was slowly dissipating. A new day, a new beginning. Or mayhaps, a different ending for a change.

Mary dove forward, wind whistled past her ears. She looked on curiously as the water below her approached her rapidly. She was plunged into cold darkness. Something inside of her urged him to flex her limbs, but her tired, leaden limbs remained unresponsive to her. Soon, the darkness was all she could feel…and then there was nothing.

[CotW]

Aemon Targaryen, who was also known as Jon Snow, woke from his sleep breathing hard, he looked wildly around himself to see if he was indeed in his own bed, inside of the same tent.

Notes:

A.N. - I am really sorry for not keeping my own word. To my excuse, I had lost another close family member. My maternal uncle has passed away on October 14. It felt like I have lost my father once again.

I hope that this long chapter, which is basically two chapters smashed into a single one, could compensate for my not posting when I said that I would. Although, fair warning, this chapter was not proofread. So there will be innumerable errors in it. Also, I didn't go through my usual editing process, which means that everything I thought while writing this chapter is here. Nothing was trimmed down or put aside to be included in later chapters.

A.N. 2 - There was a lot of flaks for the Ashara/Ellaria plot point. So much so that I have started second-guessing myself about it. While thinking on this, I finally sat down and saw WW84. Really? Granted it was a movie based on a graphic novel and the equipment used in it was a magical device in origin, but Hestia's lasso was able to latch onto clouds and freaking strands of lightning? If that was acceptable to the masses without giving any explanation, then my usage of blood magic to change the features of one woman to appear as another is more than justified on the very ground that I have worked within the realm of possibilities according to the world of ASOIAF on the same type of plot point that was used to describe different plots to move the story along. Thus, your argument on this shall be ignored henceforth.

A.N. 3 - About Oberyn's exuberance on the topic of the Rebellion and Rhaeger's prowess in battle. I had a very interesting discussion with a dear friend about the very same, and with his permission, I am posting part of my reply here to clear the air about the so-called 'Targ-wank'.

*I am really not waxing lyrical on Rhaeger. Oberyn was his comrade at the battles, along with being his brother-in-law. He has placed him high on a pedestal due to his thirst for revenge. Thinking, I would have done *this* if Rhaeger won. He also said that Brandon was similar to Robert and agreed with the betrothal declaration. Did Benjen say the same thing? No, Lyanna was trying her best to control her most temperamental brother. Because Brandon thought the declaration was a slight against his sister's honour.

These are all character flaws that I am trying to subtly portray. Nobody is above them, not Jon Arryn, not Ned Stark, Not Barristan Selmy - the most stable of characters in the whole franchise. Arthur became cynical because he stewed in his lament for sixteen years. He blamed it all on his friend Rhaeger. Now that he became aware that his family is intact, he may change his tune.

So far, the only neutral minded individuals in this fic are the wolfpack, and that was because of their experience beyond the Wall, and yet they too are not completely free from their faults.

Do I really have to be 'on the nose' for every little thing? Come on, man.*

...and for the umpteenth time, this is an AU story, Alternate Universe, where some character may appear OOC, out of character. I am fed up with saying this exact thing over and over in every AN so I have finally updated the damn summary, do give it a look before asking questions on these things again, thank you for your cooperation.

It is now about 8:30 in the morning and I have been up all night typing away like a mad man with a goal to finish this chapter and publish it within the next day (or today as it's a brand new day now). Know that all of your reviews are very appreciated, even the negative ones. Thank you all for showing continuous support for this story.

Chapter 26: The Evil in My Heart

The Evil in My Heart

Rose Road

The Northern Camp

It had been ten days since the Northern troop left the Capitol and was making their way towards the realm of Reach on horsebacks. The party was joined by two (un)expected Valemen – the Pryor siblings. Ser Hugh and Lady Madelyne had met with the Four once they had returned from the hunting trip with the King and asked to accompany them once they were to leave for the Oldtown.

The Four were aware of this proposition, mayhaps even before the Pryors knew themselves. Following Jon’s lead, they appeared surprised but welcoming nonetheless. It also allowed the others to have some amusements at Jon’s expense, much to his annoyance.

About four days away from the Capitol, they had come across two travellers who had stopped to rest. Unsurprisingly, one of them was Gendry Waters, the brilliant apprentice of blacksmith Tobho Mott, and unknown bastard, at least to the lad, of King Robert Baratheon. Gendry appeared to be quite aggravated that Master Mott, all of a sudden, had made him leave Kings’ Landing behind and go on an excursion to find his prospects in the broader world. Although Gendry was accustomed to Master Mott’s eccentricities, what he didn’t expect was to quite literally be chased away by the man. Granted the lad had no family to speak of, but he had to leave behind the city, the land he was born and grew up in, which made him quite resentful towards Master Mott. It was only Gendry’s immense respect for his master that he left without any argument, but he was disgruntled all the same.

The most surprising issue was Gendry’s companion. It appeared that Lord Arryn had chosen Thoros of Myr to escort the King’s bastard safely till they meet with the Northern party. Jon was wary of the red priest. Since the day of the melee, he had seen him lurking around the feasts, always in the shadows and always seemed to be watching him at every step that he took. There was also the fact that Jon was quite sure he heard the priest muttering about Azor Ahai when he lost his bout to him. Thus, he was most definitely on his guard when the priest approached him and asked for his permission to accompany them on their journey. Jon had heard from the others that the red priest normally didn’t like to venture too far from the Capitol, but here he was, willing to travel across kingdoms. The Wolfpack kept close eyes on the man after reluctantly agreeing to his request.

[CotW]

The Northern lords were concerned for their friend, nay, brother. They knew many could cause the White Wolf distress, but neither had been aware of such occurrences. The siblings from Vale, Ser Jon had welcomed to their party with opened arms, nary a frown marred his visage. The ever-lively Lady Madelyne, the young woman who had been trying her best to get close to their brother, for they had seen Jon enjoy her company as well as enduring the remarks from his brothers with a stride. The shy and grumpy bastard blacksmith of the King, the lad they were asked to take care of by the Lord Paramount of Vale. The Wolfpack had taken in the unaware fawn as one of their pack. His companion, the red priest… aye, Jon had told them about their first encounter during the melee. All of them were keeping watch over the man, it wasn’t him either to cause the White Wolf to brood.

The knight could have been worried about the fate of their missing companions – Ser Arthur had gone to Dorne with a missive that could endanger their very lives. But Jon was adamant that it was necessary. Still, he had not deviated from his way of thinking. Wade had gone back to the North with the lad, Kurt. Though none knew about their journey to White Harbour from Kings’ Landing, it didn’t make their way any safer. They were to cross the water of Three Sisters – known for their pirating scums, or the way to Winterfell from the port city of White Harbour – full of bandits who prey upon small groups of travellers. They were carrying quite a fortune with them. None of them wanted the lad to come to any harm in the hands of those fucking cunts. But Jon was quite sure in his trust of Wade – the somewhat insane Northern warrior.

Lords Robb Stark, Asher Forrester and Torrhen Karstark had talked among themselves. They were confused about the reason which caused their brother to change his demeanour quite suddenly. Robb had told the others that it was the Jon that had been missing since the day of their childhood. A lonely, brooding lad who skulked around Winterfell, bitter to the world. But that boy had vanished since they left their home for their fosterage. Torrhen and Asher had never even seen this side of Jon. Aye, he was prone to take the burdens of all their failures on his lone shoulders, but this was not it. Granted, they had no way to communicate with their missing packmates, but Jon was always of the opinion that no news was good news. As such, they truly were out of any notions whatsoever about their brother’s sudden bout of surliness.

[CotW]

Silent as the shadow, he made his way through the darkness of the small woods. He could hear the people he had been tracking. Foolish two legs who never understood the laws of the jungle. They thought of themselves as the predators, but in truth, it was them who were the prey tonight. And he couldn’t wait to tear them apart.

A fluttering sound in the wind alerted him about the presence of…her. He didn’t know how she found where he was, but she was here. He looked up to the trees from where he had heard the sound and let out a low growl. He had come out alone only because he thought she was back there with him…not out here. He didn’t like her because of her closeness with him but had accepted her presence, because of her closeness with him. Grudgingly, he had accepted her place as a packmate. But it never meant that he trusted her because she was there leaving him alone, without any protection.

A scream that came from the group of two legs made him turn his focus away from her. Through the dense bushes, he crept closer to where the screaming was still coming from. Soon enough, he came close to observe that one of the two legs was carrying another one on his back. He threw the screaming one to the ground, from where he was hiding, he could tell that the one on the ground was a female. He could smell her fear from the distance. He watched on as the male two legs pounced on the female one and ripped off the false skins that the two legs wear. The female was screaming more. Another growl escaped his throat. He could remember his words – we do not hurt the female packmates, we protect them. He wanted to run out of the bush and tear the two leg’s throat open. But he had forbidden him from attacking two legs when he was not around. He said something about him not being big enough yet. He had seen his mother, neither he nor his brother was as big as her. He would wait, there would be other two legs to hunt.

He huffed once again as the male two legs sank his long claw into the female two legs and she stopped moving or screaming. He slunk back further into the bush. He could feel him, he had seen everything. Quietly, he turned back and started to run towards him. He stopped for a moment to look over his shoulder, only to see that she had left her hiding spot as well. He once again looked where the group of two legs were before resuming his run.

Ghost and Gale were needed to get back to their agitated brother as fast as they could.

[CotW]

Jon Snow laid upon his bed. To the world, it would have appeared as if he was sleeping, but he was walking under Ghost’s skin, and sometimes – flying under Gale’s skin. He didn’t expect to find anything when he decided to warg into his companions that night, but it seemed that there was no rest for the wicked and thus, there was no rest for Ser Jon the White Wolf; Protector of Innocents, the Sword of Justice.

He sprang to his feet and strode over to the chest at the corner of the tent. He took out his hooded garb and started to change from his nightwear. The past few days had been very taxing for Jon’s emotional state. He had been dreaming about the Champions who had carried the mantle before him. So far, he had seen three such Champions and their quests – Theon Stark; the Hungry Wolf. One scout from the Neck and a daughter of House Reed. The first two he had seen, were already somewhat proficient with their Champion’s abilities or duties. But the Girl, Mary. She was young. A little bit older than when Jon himself had earned the title.

For the others, Jon saw them only when they were carrying out their duties – Theon throwing off the Andal invasions and the Scout putting the fear of the Old Gods into the hearts of those Southerners. They were grown men. Grown men with families. Theon had a wife and children. As for the scout, granted he was not married, but he was older than Jon was… older than Mary was. The girl was no more than thirteen name-days old when she became a Champion. She was not older than seventeen when she died. The same age as his mother – Lyanna Stark.

For as long as he could remember, Jon had craved a family. He used to see his cousins rush towards their parents and felt envious. In those days, he thought of himself as an unwanted child of Lord Eddard Stark. A bastard son who was nothing but a dark stain in his otherwise immaculate cloak. He craved for a mother’s touch, he craved for a father who would place a hand on his shoulder and would listen about his day…as he saw Lord Stark did with Robb. He used to hide behind the doors to the nursery when Lady Catelyn would sing to a fussing Arya or Bran. He loved to imagine that it was for him that Lady Stark was singing her lullabies. He wanted a mother to sit beside his bed when he was sickened with a fever, not the old Maester Luwin.

He still remembered the day when he was awakened by the roaring thunders and ran to find solace from Lady Catelyn. Her harsh rebuke changed Jon that day. The moment Lady Stark went back to her room, he had sneaked out of his own. His heart was hammering away in fear from the thunderclaps. He had made his way out of the keep and in a desperate bid, ventured down to the Crypts of Winterfell. He had curled up at the foot of a statue whom he later came to know was of the Lady Lyanna – his mother. Jon had taken an oath that day, he would make himself better. Better than everyone, even Robb, so that someday in the future, Lord Stark would pay the same amount of attention to him as he did to Robb, Lady stark won’t be looking down at him with contempt. Since then, the more he was ridiculed, the greater his resolve had become stronger. Childish follies – Jon snorted to himself.

When he found those bracers, and the incredibly incomprehensive abilities that came with them, Jon was ecstatic. He thought that at last the Gods had heard his prayer and gave him the tools to make his dreams come true. Then he came to know about his parents, his real mother. He knew that he should be scornful towards Lady Catelyn for all the abuse he had to endure. He knew that no child should experience what he did at their own home. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t look back at the Lady with the same hatred as she did to him once. For all his vaunted skills, for all the praises and accolades he had earned, Aemon Targaryen was still the scared little lad, Jon Snow deep within his heart, who had run to find safety in a mother’s arms when the sky seemed to break down on their heads. He still wanted a woman to caress his cheeks or place a soothing hand on his forehead with motherly affection, a mother of flesh and blood, not only memories. He didn’t know if he was showing disrespect towards his birth mother with these thoughts, but when Lady Catelyn came to know about the truth of his birth and apologized to him, he wanted to latch onto her and never let go.

Although he wanted a family, people to call his own, he had sworn to himself that he would never beget any bastards. For he didn’t want to give any child of his the fate of a bastard. He had lived the life, he never wanted his blood to lead a cursed life. So when Lord Karstark’s sons – Harrion and Eddard, would bait him and Torrhen to accompany them to the whorehouses, he adamantly refused each time. A small spark of hope ignited itself deep within Jon’s mind – someday, somewhere, he will meet a lady with whom he would bring the Targaryens back. But then, he went beyond the wall and met with the Bloodraven, and through him, with Lady Minerva. He came to know about his purpose in life, the burden of a Champion. For the first time in his life, he started to doubt that he would find peace in his own life.

The three Champions he had dreamt of so far, their quests had taken them far and away from their respective homes. Two of them always returned, back to their loved ones, except Mary. The young lass, not much older than him, had lost her life to fulfil her quest. She was on the cusp of motherhood when she died. There was a life that was growing inside of her. For all intents and purposes, she had sacrificed two lives to see through her duties. The burdens on Jon’s shoulder were much greater than her’s was. She was fighting against an institution, age-old arrogance that was eating away at their lives from the inside. Jon had to face the fucking Nightking and his armies – legends from which nightmares were made of. What would his sacrifice entail? Was he to see his brothers – Robb, Asher or Torrhen to die? What about Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Alys? Would he only meet people just to see them torn away from him brutally? People such as Uncle Arthur? What about Viserys and Daenerys? He was almost certain that he wouldn’t live for long to have a family to call his own. But to lose everyone else he held close to his heart? It was unacceptable. He would fight with the last breath in his body to protect them, to save them all.

He wanted to lash out in anger, wanted to scream at the injustice since he had those latest dreams. He knew his brothers and their men were worried about him. He knew they were concerned about the suddenness of his brooding. But he couldn’t help. Numbing helplessness had rendered him incapable to communicate with others. He wanted to strike out, unhindered. So when his companions came upon a group of bandits, men who had raped and killed, even earlier that very evening, in front of Ghost, Jon’s blood had begun to sing, a chance for him to let go of his anger, a chance for him to calm his turbulent mind.

Finished dressing up, he went out of his tent, a quick look around told him that he had emerged from his tent just in time for the change of guards. He could slip away from the camp without alerting anyone. Jon pulled the hood up to hide his features in the shadow of it and turned away from the tents, ready to blend in with the shadows.

“It is quite late for a leisure stroll, don’t you think?” A voice stopped him in his track.

Jon slowly turned around, his eyes found the owner of the voice who had been sitting on the ground, leaning against a boulder. In his hurry, Jon had not spotted Asher, he mentally cursed himself for the mistake.

“Evening, Asher. What are you doing out here?”

Asher shrugged as he got up to his feet, “I came out to take a piss when I heard movements inside of your tent. At first, I thought about calling out, but then I decided to wait and see what it was about. And what do you know, Ser Jon, the White Wolf is absconding from his own camp, in the darkness of the night.”

Asher slowly approached Jon as he kept talking, he stopped right in front of his friend and peered into his hood-covered face.

“Now, if you don’t mind, care to shed some light on your sudden urge of going out of the camp in the dead of night, dressed as you are?” He indicated at his garbs.

Jon sighed and lowered his hood, “I…I need to think of things, Asher…things I am not yet ready to share. I need to…” He helplessly waved his hands, not finding the words to put on his feelings.

Asher raised his eyebrows at that, he hummed as he scratched his chin.

“And you are quite sure that whatever it is that made you brood for days on end, you can’t share with us?”

“Forgive me, brother, but no, I can’t.”

Asher sighed, “Very well, Jon. I won’t pester you. But know this, if you want to talk, we are just a shout away.”

Jon gave him a wan smile and put a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you, Asher.”

He pulled his hood back up and gave a curt nod to Asher before turning away and melting into the shadow.

[CotW]

The difference between woods in North and the South was that, back in North, the ground was always covered in snow – even in the days of summer. Whereas, the Southern forest grounds were littered with dried leaves, fallen twigs and branches. In North, footsteps were muffled in the snow, only made a sound when and if a foot stepped on the odd ice crystals or two. But in the South, one had to be always aware of their surroundings if they intend to hunt in the silence, since a misstep could break a twig with a startlingly loud noise, making the prey aware of the hunter’s presence in their vicinity.

Jon hadn’t even contemplated these facts when he went into the forest for his hunt. By instinct, he had climbed atop a tree and started moving inwards by traversing through the branches or swinging from one to the next, rushing towards the bandit camp like the shadow of the Stranger – set on to spill blood on this moonlit night.

After running through the shadowy tree branches for a few minutes, Jon stopped to orient himself. Both his familiars were aware of his presence and were coming for him. Gale, for obvious reasons, was ahead of Ghost. Jon closed his eyes and concentrated on his link with the bird to set his course right. Opening his eyes, he started to climb upwards – scaling the branches with inhuman ease. Within moments, his head broke through the leafy ceiling of the wood. Crouching on the topmost branch, Jon looked around to spot the bandit camp. The orange glow of the campfire among the silvery shadows of the night was quite a glaring display.

A falcon’s cry made Jon aware that Gale had reached him. True to his prediction, the bird landed on his leather-clad shoulder and nudged to the side of his head. Both he and Asher had commissioned for the shoulder pads to be made the first day they stepped foot at Kings’ Landing. Back in the North, they always wore thick cloaks made of animal hides and furs. So whenever Gale landed on his shoulders, her talons didn’t cause any wound. But the Southorn climate was not suitable for such thick cloaks, hence, with Lord Howland’s insightful instruction, Jon had designed the partial armour from leather to protect himself from unwanted injuries. Asher too had opted to have a set of armour made for himself once he had adopted Munin. None had ever seen either of the birds in their company, and almost everyone was accustomed to the knowledge that folks who had taken up falconry, wore gauntlets made from thick hides. The armourer who had made the armours, mayhaps thought them to be some queer Northern style.

“Hello, love.” Jon smiled at his companion, “Now, where have you left Ghost?”

Gale ruffled her feathers at that and clicked her beaks in clear annoyance. Jon chuckled at her behaviour, since the day the pup Ghost had licked her to make acquaintance, there had been a mock rivalry between the two animals. At times, it was downright hilarious by the way they treated each other.

It didn’t take long for Jon’s other companion to find him. Ghost emerged from the dark undergrowth and sat down at the foot of the tree, silently looking upwards. His white fur appeared to be glowing in the moonlight. Jon stroked the feathers of Gale’s chest, “It is time for us to hunt, love.”

Jon dove down from his perch, aiming towards a pile of fallen leaves under the tree which he had spotted earlier. Arms spread wide, wind whipping about his ears, he heard Gale’s cry as the pile of leaf rushed in closer to his falling body.

[CotW]

Farlen had ambitions since his earlier days. Born in the gutters of Flea Bottom, he had spent his childhood sneaking looks at the noble lords and ladies. He wanted to live life as a noble. And when he grew up, he wanted to drown in wine and women. He had seen the whorehouses and the patrons that visited there, he wanted to become the same as them. But he lacked the coins. He lacked the name those nobles were born with. But what he didn’t lack was his ambition. It was the very same ambition that made him leave his tiny hovel at the Bottom behind and go out of the sprawling city where you either beg for food or work from dawn till dusk to earn a meagre living. Farlen didn’t want to work.

He had joined a group of bandits who roamed the roads around the Kingswood and prey upon the settlements scattered about the area or the small group of travellers, easy prey with small bounties. At times, they found an odd trader or two who would carry more valuables than any of their other victims. When they found such men, they found themselves to be in a festive mood.

That day they had found one such group of victims. By the wares in the small cart, it appeared to be a family of traders who had ventured to the Capitol for the King’s tourney. Five men on mules and three women in the small ox-drawn cart were returning to wherever they had come from. The scout of their bandit group, Lyman, had spotted a larger group passing by earlier. This smaller one was part of that group, but from their conversations, it appeared that they fell behind because of a broken wheel. The others didn’t wait for them to repair it and continued on their way, making the family work as quick as they could to resume their journey. The dwindling light of the day made them edgy as they meandered their way onwards.

Even with all the cautions the traders took, they were not warriors, as such, they were no match for the group of twenty men who descended upon them. The men on muleback fell down on the ground in shock while the womenfolk started to wail from within the cart. Farlen and his mates didn’t waste time to put the men to the swords, the women they would take with them, their night was seemingly bright with the promise of women flesh.

The three women were of the same trader’s family – two good-sisters and one young lass, no older than ten and three name-days. They decided to scratch their itches with one of the older women and kept the other two alive for later. Farlen was last to dip his cock in that abused cunt. The whore was unconscious from her ordeal, thus she didn’t put up any fight when Farlen pawed her. It wouldn’t do for the man, for he preferred his conquests with a bit more life in them. The more they screamed, the more they struggled and begged, the better he enjoyed himself. Pissed at the woman’s lifelessness, Farlen ripped the remains of her garb and turned her over. The woman woke up with a guttural scream from the sudden pain, making Farlen shiver in pleasure. As he reached his peak, he took out his dagger and sunk it to the hilt in the woman’s neck. Satisfied, he stood back up and shoved his cock back in his breeches and wiped the blade off of the blood with the torn clothing.

They spent the next few hours sorting through their loots while eating and drinking. Farlen chose to seat near their captives. He pawed at their teats between swigs from his bottle, waiting eagerly for their leader to signal the start of the rest of the festivities. When the leader got to his feet and dragged the older woman away by her hair, Farlen jumped up and divested of his own britches. He grabbed the mewling little whore by her hands and forced her down on her knees.

“If ya bite me, I’ll cut yer teats off.” Farlen growled down at the lass.

He was only started to feel the pleasure when a pain burst from his neck. Something pushed through from the back of his neck to the front and making it quite hard for him to breathe. Disoriented, he toppled over, clawing at his throat, but his hands came out bloody. Disbelievingly he looked up to the lass in front of him only to find her staring at him with fear. He tried to speak out to her, but that was when darkness took him.

[CotW]

Jon followed as Ghost led him towards the bandit camp. He had seen the spot where those reaving cunts ambushed their victims. Five corpses of the said victims laid bare, those bandits didn’t even leave a thread of cloth on their bodies. The familiar red haze was back in his vision. His blood was screaming for vengeance on behalf of these men. He had offered a short prayer to the Gods and left the spot in pursuit of their assailants.

Ghost led him further into the forest. They stopped behind a copse of trees to revaluate their position. From the sounds that escaped from the camp, Jon could understand that the bandits, quite assured of their hidden heaven, were indulging in leisure activities. He jumped up and started to climb up a tree as Ghost darted forward to a dense bush. Slowly and silently, Jon made his way to the camp. From his perch atop a tree, he could see the bandits, about twenty in the count, were sorting through their loots and drinking merrily. Two women lay bound a little aside under the guard of a bandit, who had been pawing at their bodies. A corpse of another woman laid bare a distance away. From the looks of it, Jon could understand the horror she must have endured before finally finding release in death. He gritted his teeth and started to form a plan of attack when suddenly a man, who seemed to be the leader of this group, stood up from where he sat and went over to their captives to drag the older woman away by her hair. The one who was guarding them stood up and dropped his breeches in front of the young lass. Whatever plan Jon started to form, had gone up in smoke right at that moment.

He nocked an arrow and aimed for the man who stood before the young lass and let it fly. It struck the man in his throat and he toppled over clawing at his throat. In his fall, he had trapped the girl beneath his body who had thought her death was imminent as she started to wail anew. Jon shot a few more arrows that fell bandits all around the camp. The leader became alarmed and struggled to get his breeches up while barking orders to his men to search for whoever was shooting the arrows.

Jon dropped down from the tree and crouched low, hidden in the shadowy bushes. A bandit passed him by to search for the assailant when Jon quietly got up to his feet and clamped his hands around the head of that man, cutting off his wind and preventing him from alerting the others by pressing a hand covering his mouth. He dragged him down within the bush and sunk his hidden blade into his heart. Jon slowly crept away from his hiding place.

He hid behind the trunk of a tree and took out Rose from his belt, the Valyrian steel weapon glinted ethereal blue in the moonlight. A sound of a muted thump came from behind him had Jon whipped about and raise his axe for an attack. He stopped himself when he saw another dark-clad, hooded figure crouched low before him, in his hand glinted an axe just the same as his own, but made of castle-forged steel. The arrival nodded his head at Jon and hurried away to hide behind another tree – a few feet away from where Jon had hidden himself. They peered from their cover and saw two of the bandits were quite close to them, searching around for the killer. Jon let out a low whistle, making them alert and confused, lured away from their searches. As the bandits neared their hiding spots, Winter Rose and Freedom flashed in the moonlight and sliced through their necks. The bandits crashed down on the ground making a gurgling noise. The two shadows gave another nod to each other before darting into different directions.

[CotW]

The bandit leader looked on horrified as one after another his companions fell dead on the ground. He couldn’t see who was killing them, nor he could discern how many were out there. More of his brethren bit the dirt before his unbelieving eyes. He snarled and unsheathed his sword.

“Come out from the shadows and face me, ye fucking cowards!” He yelled at the shadows. Only three remaining bandits besides himself out of a group of twenty stood by his sides, trembling in fear from the unknown death.

A dark-clad, hooded figure came out from behind a tree. Another jumped down from a tree in the opposite direction. Slowly but surely, they strode forward, blood dripped from the weapons clutched in their hands – a short axe for each. Their garbs were wet from blood, none of it was their own but their victim’s. The bandit on the leader’s left let out a whimper, for those two figures appeared as the Stranger himself had split into two and came for their souls. The one on the leader’s right broke rank and turned away to run. One of the hooded men’s weapon hand flashed and a blink later, his axe was buried into the skull of the one who tried to run. The leader looked back disbelievingly at the man. He had unsheathed his own sword by then and beckoned the leader with his other hand. Neither of the shadowy men had uttered a single word till now.

With a yell, the four remaining bandits rushed towards the two men. A feeling of dread rose from their guts as they clashed their weapons against the shadowy figures.

[CotW]

Even as the bandit leader was armed and armoured, he was nothing in terms of skill against Jon. After the first few strikes, he started to toy with the man, parrying his strikes and giving him nicks and cuts here and there. Nothing too painful or life-threatening, but they bled all the same. Jon wanted the man to feel despair as his strength and lifeforce slowly left him, the same despair that his victims felt in their last moments.

He watched from the corner of his eyes that Asher had already dispatched his opponents and was trying to calm the captive women. Jon decided it was enough and Frost sang in his hand as it cut through the leader’s gauntlet and severed his fingers. His armour couldn’t withstand the sharpness of the Valyrian steel sword.

The leader screamed in pain and doubled over clutching his bloodied stump of a hand. He looked up at Jon with fearful eyes.

“Who are you?”

“For you…I am death!”

He raised Frost over his head and brought it down with force, beheading the leader in a single swing. He put his sword back in its sheath and picked up the severed head. He hurled it upwards with all of his strength and quick as lightning, took out his Weirwood bow and nocked an arrow. He aimed for the head and let the arrow fly. It cut through the air and pierced one of the eyes and embedded into the trunk of a tree. Jon let out a strangled yell and crashed down on his knees, panting heavily.

The sound of footsteps alerted him of Asher’s presence before him.

“Do you feel better?”

“Aye…just a bit…”

Asher nodded, “Good. Now you need to make your presence as calm as you possibly can. The women back there are already scared out of their minds from their torments. They do not need to be alarmed any further.”

Jon nodded and slowly got back up. He took down his hood and shook his head tiredly. He looked up to see that Asher was observing him closely.

“What are you doing here, by the way?”

Asher snorted, “Did you truly think I was just to let you run off alone in the woods? In your current state?”

Jon gave him a look of gratitude; he didn’t need to say the words out loud for Asher to understand him.

Asher turned around and looked back at him over his shoulder, “Come on then, the ladies there need to see that the White Wolf has come to their rescue. They need the assurance that they are indeed, safe.”

Jon shook his head sadly, “If only I could save the others also…The bodies of their family are a distance away in that direction. We need to see that they receive their last rights properly.”

“Aye, and they will. We will also need to take care of these slain bandits. I am going to send Munnin back to our camp. We need help with these here tasks.” Asher stopped walking and turned back, “Oh, and Jon…” Jon looked up to see the serious visage of Asher, “Robb and Torrhen are going to expect some explanations, just as I.”

Jon nodded his head in resignation.

[CotW]

About an hour after Munnin flew off with Asher’s missive, Robb had found them with a dozen Northmen at his back. Torrhen had stayed behind at the camp because of the absence of Ser Arthur and Wade. The fifteen of them worked methodically and with honed precision which they had earned due to their experiences on the battlefield. In no time, they had gathered all the corpses of the bandits and piled them together to be burned. The head of the bandit leader that Jon had stuck to the tree was left there as a sort of macabre warning to the other bandits.

Afterwards, they escorted the two rescued women with them to the spot where they were attacked and gathered the bodies of their families. The Northmen arranged for pyres for them to send them off properly and escorted the broken women with them to their own camp. They would travel along with them till they reach their home in the Reach.

The three – Asher, Robb and Torrhen gathered together at Jon’s tent and just sat there looking expectantly at their brother’s face. Jon squirmed under their gazes and finally, with a sigh, he started to tell them about the reason he had secluded himself from the others.

They listened carefully as Jon told them about his dream of the Reed Champion. They didn’t ask any questions or voice their opinions when Jon told them about his fears of failure. They just let him talk, they let him divest all that had been sitting heavy in his chest. When he finished and looked up to them with a question in his eyes, Asher rose from his seat and went to the corner to pour them all a mug of ale each.

“Help me understand something, Jon. Who or what were you before you became the Champion?”

Jon looked at him with confusion, “I do not understand…”

“Don’t think too deeply, just answer whatever comes first to your mind, who were you before you became Champion?”

“I was Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell.”

“What were your prospects, if you had stayed the so-called Bastard of Winterfell?”

Jon looked at Robb for a moment, took a deep breath and said, “I would have stayed ignorant of my parentage. Probably would have grown up believing myself as a stain on Lord Stark’s honour. Would have resented Robb for his status but my sense of duty and justice would have made me spend my life as a captain of guards in the Stark household. Or mayhaps I would have joined the Black Brothers, trying to earn my niche there…” Jon trailed off uncertainly.

“Thank you for being honest to us, and to yourself.” Asher handed him a mug of ale, “A rather bleak look of a future that will never come, if you ask me. I rather like what we have here if you’d ask me.” Asher took a drink from his mug.

“What are you trying to say, Asher?” Robb frowned at him.

“Everything we have done, everything we have earned together, it turns out that all became possible just because Jon here has become a Champion of the Gods. Think closely, brothers. Think very carefully of all that we have experienced.”

Robb pondered on his words, “It was Jon who convinced Father to send us off for fosterage. Else, I don’t think we would have set foot outside of Winterfell other than lordly businesses.”

“Precisely,” Asher pounced on Robb’s answer, “every little detail, every decision that we took, could be found its way to the moment that Jon has become a Champion. Robb cementing the Stark ties with the Manderlys. Jon doing the same with the Karstarks. Robb became aware of the trade deals of the North, earned first-hand experience as the future Lord Paramount of the North. Jon and Torrhen formed a friendship, our meeting afterwards and bonding over shared battle scars. Everything came to be because of you, Jon.”

Jon looked on dumbfounded at Asher.

“Think about it. You made these all possible. Would the Skagosi have invaded our homes? Probably, or probably not. The North is a vast land, anything could have happened to the invaders. Or the Mormonts would have driven them out of their lands. We would never know. But some things would have never happened if it weren’t for you, Jon. We became aware of an ancient danger that still haunts us. We are preparing for such confrontations. That is our biggest concern. Correct?”

The three nodded their heads in assent.

“Then let us look at all the rather smaller concerns. We know how a bastard is looked upon in our society, you have escaped that life, Jon. Pardon me for saying so, but Lady Stark has accepted you in her home. We have saved Lord Umber’s daughter from a fate worse than death. We have stopped that cunt at Whispering Waters from hurting the smallfolk any further. Only Lady Minerva knows what he would have done in the future if we didn’t stop him when we did. Jon slew the monster, Gregor Clegane and cleared the White Lion’s name…and above all, we fucking brought magic back to this world! The proof is in front of us – in Ghost, Gale, Grey Wind and Munnin. In that egg that Jon carries with him. We all have felt its warmness to touch when it is in Jon’s hands. The fucking dragons could once again roam this sky. We made it possible.”

Asher stood in front of Jon and placed his hands on his shoulders, “Would these things have been possible if you have accepted your lot in life and lived as you were? Possibly. We all can agree that the Gods or fate work in mysterious ways. They would have found another road to take. But no, they have given you a chance, Jon. They have given all of us a chance to live life the way we are meant to live.

You say that you worry about what the future holds for you, for all of us. I say that it is brighter than what it would have been earlier. You are given these visions…these dreams for a reason. I don’t pretend to know what Lady Minerva had in her mind. But I think it is safe to assume that she wanted you to learn from your predecessors. Not only from their successes, but also from their failures. You have seen what this lady Champion had to do with her life. I say you are already better off than her, you are prepared, for you have learned from her mistakes and won’t do things the same way as her.

I am not trying to say that you are infallible, Jon. No, none of us can claim that to be. You will certainly make mistakes. But they will be your own. You will make them and then work harder to set things to the right. That is who you are, Jon. We are all mere humans who dance to the tunes of the Gods, but you, you have a direct link to them. In a way, you are the master of your own future. Only you can direct it to follow whatever way you choose for it to go.”

Silence descended upon the tent. Three of the four occupants sat there pondering Asher’s words.

“When did you become so wise, Asher?” Torrhen was the first to break the silence.

“Fuck if I know.” Asher’s reply made them all snort. “I only wanted to stop whatever the fuck Jon is thinking and get his head out from his arse. And to tell you the truth, the is a shitty experience for me too. I am a cocky fucker, not a wise Maester. Please, do not make me sound like one, I beg of you all. For your sanity and my own, let us all become normal and act the proper way that we should.”

As their chuckles died down, they all got up to get back to their tents for a little rest. Asher stopped before exiting, “Sleep on it, brother, and think on what I have said.”

Jon gave him a nod.

[CotW]

Jon spent the rest of the evening lying on his bed. They had decided to stay put for another day to acclimate the rescued women somewhat to their new surroundings. He kept thinking about what his brothers had told him and all the things that they accomplished, all the differences that they made. In the end, he decided that Asher was right. He would learn from his predecessor’s mistakes, and make a few of his own. But it would not mean that the White Wolf would stop his fight and lay his neck bare for others to strike him down. He was a warrior, the Gods’ chosen, he would fight back till there was a breath left in his body.

Decision made, he slept peacefully for the rest of the night, a first in a while. It broke from a series of loud caws. Jon hurriedly sat up on his bed to see that Munnin had found his way inside of his tent and perched himself atop the back of a chair. First rays of the rising sun could be seen through the flaps of the tent.

“Jon! Jon! Jon!”

Jon chuckled at the bird, “Aye, Munnin. I am Jon. I am glad to see that Asher is teaching you words.”

“Fuck you!”

Jon’s jaws dropped in disbelief, he looked on as the raven winged his way out of the tent. When his head caught up to him, he scrambled out of his bed.

“Forrester! I am going to fucking gut you!”

Notes:

A.N.- Sorry for a shorter chapter. Life is quite unbearable at the moment. My maternal grandmother followed her son to the beyond within the month. Everything is really shitty right now.

I planned to have the Dorne/North sequences squared out in this chapter, but my heart and mind weren't in it.

Chapter 27: Interlude 4: Girls Like You...

Notes:

This chapter is a tribute to all the women in my life. You women are the force that makes me move forward...that makes any mere male move forward. You in your personas as mothers, sisters, daughters, friends, significant others and many more, give us the strength that we need to even get out of bed on some days. Basically, if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't even be alive past our 12th birthday. Yes, we are that idiot.

Be as wonderful as you are (in your unique loving, irritating, frustrating, annoying, adoring and so many more adjectived ways) and keep rocking always.

Cheers!

 

Interlude 4 – Girls like you…

Dorne, Water Garden

Ser Arthur Dayne was not a man to be late at the yard for his daily training. Since he was a wee lad, it had been a point of boasting for him to say that he was at the yard with his training sword in hand with the first ray of the new sun. Even to this day, he always maintained that practice, given that he was not indisposed for reasons of health.

He was going through the stances but his mind was elsewhere. Events from the past few days weighed heavy on his head. He was so engrossed in his musings that he didn’t even notice that there was someone who had been observing him for quite a while. The sound of a cough broke him out of his musings. He turned to find a Dornish beauty standing before him – Rhaenys.

“My P…Lady.” Arthur bowed his head.

“Not quite a lady, Ser…Eric, was it?”

Arthur nodded.

“Hmm, Eric Sand. A ghost.”

“Pardon?” Arthur was confused. He was not sure what to expect from the suddenly alive Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. The previous evening, when Prince Oberyn dropped that particular jar of wildfire, Arthur was not in a position to question anything. Till now, his mind was awhirl with a score of thoughts and emotions. The Rhaenys he remembered was a tiny, little lass who used to run around the keep at Dragonstone or the Red Keep with her pet cat. She had named it Balerion. He was having trouble matching the woman of ten and eight name-days in front of him with the lass who couldn’t even speak clearly. Not only that, little Rhaenys always had a radiant smile on her face. This Rhaenys, however, seemed to take it as a personal affront with Arthur’s presence.

Rhaenys walked towards the weapon rack and started to inspect the spears. She spoke with her back still turned towards the knight, “There was a man, base born. He hailed from the house of Daynes, a distant cousin if you will. He was knighted by the then Crown Prince for his abilities with swords and spears. His name was Eric Sand. Ser Eric Sand.”

She turned to face Arthur, the spear in her hand was spinning so fast it appeared to be a blur.

“This man, Ser Eric Sand, was among the firsts to rally when the call to arms reached Dorne. He was among the firsts to stand beside his Prince, Rhaeger Targaryen. Rumour has it that he lost his life at the Trident, protecting his Prince. But that is all that remained of the man – rumours. Not even his body could be recovered.”

She turned to look at Arthur. The man almost took a step back from the fury and hatred in her purple eyes. Eyes that matched her father…her brother.

“Tell me, Ser Eric Sand,” Contempt was evident in her voice, “Did you think yourself clever when you decided to become this man? Satisfied? Mayhaps proud even? Did you ever think that this man, a cousin by blood, did the duty which you were supposed to do? Did you mourn for your cousin? Or your Princess? What about the man you claimed to be your best friend? I hope you do remember him, he was called the Silver Prince?”

Rhaenys was circling Arthur, the spear in her hands was always in motion, Arthur noticed, everything, from the way she was moving or her weapon moved in a dangerous arc, screamed the Red Viper. Arthur had heard about the deadly Sand Snakes of Dorne, that was what Oberyn’s daughters were called, they were said to be dangerous combinations of beauty and skill. Arthur didn’t know about the other daughters of Oberyn, but his niece had surely taken in his lessons to her heart.

“Come, Ser Eric, won’t you give me the chance of crossing arms with you? What say you about a little spar?” Rhaenys called out in a friendly manner, but the gleam in her eyes was anything but friendly.

Arthur bowed his head to the young woman and went over the weapon rack. He chose two swords and got back to his place, standing in his stance. Rhaenys nodded at him appreciatively.

For numerous times in the past, Arthur had sparred with Prince Oberyn Martell. They practically grew up together at this very palace. Arthur was aware of every little tick and trick his childhood friend would employ in his bouts, he even taught him a few. But whatever it was that his friend taught his ‘daughter’, was not something for which Arthur had mentally prepared himself for. Rhaenys came at him with her spear cutting the wind in deadliest arcs. He raised his sword to block the strike aimed for his head. He pushed her away and stood facing her sideways, the sword in his left hand was in constant motion while the right one held high, with nary a wobble.

Rhaenys charged again, this time, she aimed the spear at a lower angle, Arthur turned on his toes and let the spear miss him and hit the ground. He wasn’t prepared for the girl’s retaliatory attack though. Rhaenys, while the tip of the spear planted into the ground, jumped up balancing on the spear and kicked Arthur in the chest, making the knight stumble back a few steps. Though he was wearing leather armour, fitted for sparring with tourney weapons, Arthur felt that kick. He was sure that it would become a bruise in a short while. Rhaenys didn’t give him a respite to catch his breath though. She landed on the ground and quick as their namesake, a sand snake, struck with her spear. Arthur hastily brought his swords up in a cross to block the downward slash of the spear. He moved his left foot forward and turned his body while keeping the spear locked with his swords. He made another turn on his left foot and closed in towards Rhaenys. The young woman was made to drop her spear and Arthur’s right sword was moving towards her neck.

To an observer, it would have appeared as if the young woman had no other option but to yield. But Rhaenys threw herself backwards and on his hands. She made a complete circle and landed on her feet but also out of the range of Arthur’s sword. She turned and ran towards the weapon rack. She skidded to a halt in front of it and picked up a coiled whip from the rack. She turned around and let the whip unfurl beside her. Arthur, once again back in his defensive stance, kept a wary look at the whip.

Rhaenys advanced towards him with her right hand waving all around herself, making the whip in her hand snap out with cracking noises. Arthur paid close attention to the whip, and it proved to be a good decision because, in a blink, it lashed out towards his right hand, if he was even less than a heartbeat slower to move his arm, the end of the whip would have been wrapped around his wrist. He deftly backtracked from the advancing and pissed off young woman. The next time the whip came closer to him, he was just that much late in responding to it, thus it resulted in his foot being caught by the whip.

“Fuck!” Arthur swore to himself.

[CotW]

Oberyn steered as the gentle breeze lifted the lace curtains of the windows to let the sunlight fall onto the bed, awakening the occupants. He looked down on his naked chest to see lustrous curly, black hair draped over him, the head that the hair belonged to, was also laid upon his chest, forsaking the pillow. He smiled and placed a gentle kiss on the said head.

Ellaria, as she was known to everyone, moved from her position. She sleepily looked up and gave a beatific smile to the Prince of Dorne.

“Morning, love.”

“Good morning to you too, dearest wife.” He brushed a few strands of hair from her face behind the ear.

Ellaria reached up and pressed a fleeting kiss on his lips before getting up. Oberyn laid back and watched as his beautiful wife padded towards the privy in all her glory. Oberyn was a known lecher of the Seven Kingdoms, there wasn’t a brothel or a whore – be they a man or a woman, who hadn’t had the dubious honour of sating the younger Prince of Dorne’s lust. It was even his enormous appetite for carnal pleasure that drove him away in his short stint of exile. If anyone was to say that Oberyn Martell had changed his way, they were sure to be laughed out of the room. But that was the fact of the matter – Oberyn Martell was a changed man. He wasn’t the same since the day the cursed raven winged its way to Sunspear, carrying news of Elia’s death. Elia, his sweet sister, had once compared his rage with the wildfire. She said it to be forever burning till the reason for such wasn’t destroyed. Oberyn had waited. Waited for a long time to quench his thirst for revenge. As a Dornish Man, he was bound to be passionate – be it in the bedroom or on the battlefield. It was in his nature to be all-consuming.

With a sigh, he too got up from the bed. He shrugged on a silken robe before making his way towards the table at the corner of the room. He poured himself a generous amount of wine when he heard the sounds of clashing metals from somewhere down at the ground. He smirked to himself in the thought of how his nature reflected in his daughters’. They too share in his passion of lust and battle. He took a large gulp of wine and approached the window facing the inner courtyard with a smile on his face. But the image there had quickly wiped his smile off.

“My love…we need to get down to the yard, right now!” He yelled for Ellaria.

“Why?” she frowned as she entered the room with her dresses in her hands.

“We are needed to stop a certain daughter of mine from harming a fool of a Dornishman who doesn’t understand the difference between protecting himself from serious wounds to performing his oath sworn duties.”

[CotW]

The Prince of Dorne and his paramour were seen making their way towards the inner courtyard in a haste. When they reached there, they saw the yard was already crowded enough, servants and guards as well as the little ones who lived at the keep had gathered around to watch one of the Sand Snakes making a fool out of another knight.

Oberyn grimaced as he saw the state of the yard, several weapons were strewn about the ground, clearly indicating that they were picked up and discarded soon afterwards during the bout. Both of the combatants were breathing heavily. But Arthur, or rather, Eric Sand had numerous cuts upon his body but it was Sarella who looked to be ready to drop down from sheer exhaustion.

As he was watching, Sarella moved in closer to Eric with her short axe aimed to strike at his head. Eric caught the axe with his sword and by his other hand, he pushed her away from him. Sarella stumbled back a few steps and snarled back at the man. She grabbed the axe with both hands and heaved it towards the knight. Oberyn frowned as he watched the axe’s trajectory, it wasn’t aimed anywhere near the man but the ground in front of him. Soon, Sarella’s intention became clear – in their struggle, they had stepped away from the muddy ground towards the stone covered parts of the yard. Sarella had aimed at one such flagstone with all her might. The axe bounced from the stone and if Eric was a fraction slower than he was by bending backwards, the blunt axehead would have done some serious damages to him as it sailed past the place where his head was just a moment ago.

Sarella wasn’t idle after she had hurled her axe, she had picked up a dagger and with a growl, had leapt towards the knight.

“Sarella!” Oberyn called out to her, making her stop in her tracks, “I think it is enough for the day, no?”

The girl turned towards him and gave a curt nod, “Of course, Father.” She looked back at her sparring partner who was leaning on his sword and catching his breath, “That was…interesting, Ser Eric. I hope we get to cross our blades again in the future?”

Eric looked at her wearily, but nodded his head nonetheless, “Of course, My Lady.”

“Still not a lady, Ser.” Sarella sneered once again as she walked past the man.  

Oberyn looked at Ellaria and nodded his head towards the limping form of Sarella in the distance. She gave him a minute nod and hurried after the young woman. With a sigh, Oberyn turned back to look at the knight who was still breathing heavily and had his head lowered, looking at his feet intently.

“I am not even going to ask if you are okay. I will only point out the fact that it is your own fault for the injuries you have received.”

“She hates me…” Eric muttered.

Oberyn sighed and placed a hand on the knight’s shoulder to turn him away from the yard. He took the sword from his numb fingers and handed it over to a passing servant while he steered the worn man towards the pools. Now that the morning excitement was over, children of various ages had already thronged into the area and were having a grand time if their shrieks of laughter were of any indication. Oberyn steered Eric towards a relatively quiet and secluded spot.

“Would you mind telling me what was that about?”

Oberyn looked to find that Arthur still looked as if he had not recovered from his encounter. He shook his head and stared blankly at the pool.

“She asked me why I chose the name, Eric Sand. I truly didn’t know what became of my cousin. It was the first name that came to me when I was in the North and was asked for my name.”

Oberyn poured them both a goblet of wine. Arthur took his and downed it in a single gulp.

“She accused me of not performing my duties. She said that Cousin Eric was more of a Kingsguard than I ever was…and then she challenged me to a spar.”

Arthur looked at his friend with desperation, “Oberyn, this is not the little girl I remember. She was so full of laughter and joy. She loved to listen and tell stories. She made it her duty to talk to whoever of us was there to guard her doors till she had fallen asleep. She didn’t like it if we were quiet. Even Gerold admitted defeat before her. I…I can’t…”

“Just fucking stop it!” Oberyn threw his goblet on the floor, startling the troubled knight.

“She was three name days old the last time you have seen her. You do remember what transpired afterwards, do you not? She was smuggled out of her home, she was potioned to unconsciousness by her own mother. The mother she never saw again. The mother who, just a few days after, was brutally raped and murdered. She grew up as a bastard of mine despite being who she is. Neither she nor any of us have ever expected to see you alive. You, one of the greatest swords in a century, best friend to her father.”

He grabbed the knight’s collar and yanked him forward, “What did you think she will do? Welcome you with opened arms? She grew up with stories about her mother’s fate, stories about how her father had died. And then suddenly, you arrive after all these years, hale and hearty. You, one of the men who were charged to keep them from the very fate they succumbed to. What would any child have reacted to that? Fucking answer me that!” He roared as he pushed the man away from him.

Both men fell quiet. Each contemplating the events since the morning. Oberyn sighed and grabbed another goblet to pour himself another drink.

“You still plan to travel to Starfall, no?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. I only came here with you because of…”

“Yes, yes, I know. When would you be leaving?”

Arthur frowned at the man, “Are you asking me to leave, My Prince?”

Oberyn sneered down at his goblet, “I thought bringing you here would do some good for Ellaria. It would soothe her wounds, I thought. But I had no idea that I am bringing back not the man, but his pathetic shadow.”

Arthur straightened up, “If that is your wish, My Prince, then I will not overstay my welcome. I will take my leave by this afternoon.” He gave the Prince a nod and turned to leave.

“Wait…Eric…” Oberyn sighed.

“Yes, My Prince?”

“Delay your departure by a day…”

Arthur looked on confusedly, “Ah, of course, My Prince…”

“I will be accompanying you to Starfall. The Daynes of High Hermitage are keeping a closer watch on Starfall. A Prince of Dorne going for a sudden visit to one of his bannermen is acceptable to people who have known me, but a lone visitor wearing Martell colours would be under constant scrutiny.”

Arthur frowned as he mulled Oberyns words in his head, “I thought you would leave for Old Town. And what is this about the Daynes of High Hermitage? Is my brother in danger?”

“That…is for the Lord of Starfall to tell you. My paramour and older daughters will be leaving for Old Town in a short while. We will be joining them after our business is done at Starfall. Prepare yourself for an early departure tomorrow.”

“By your leave.” Arthur bowed and turned to leave but once again stopped by Oberyn –

“And one more thing…” Arthur looked back questioningly, “She is still unaware of…the White Wolf. I haven’t had the chance to speak with her yet. I can only hope Ellaria will be able to make her calm down and listen to her. You saw how she reacted to you, I can only imagine how she will react when she came to know about him.”

Arthur nodded and bowed to the Prince. He headed towards his rooms with a worried look upon his face.

---

 

The North - Winterfell

Lady Maege Mormont spurred her horse on as the Winterfell castle loomed in the distance. She had come to her liege lord for a visit with a small contingent, along with her young daughter Jorelle. The lass was yet to overcome her fears since she had been almost abducted by the Ironborns. For most days, she clung to her mother, her nights were still riddled with nightmares.

Lady Maege left the Bear Island because of the latest missive they had received from Lord Stark. The abandoned castle at Sea Dragon Point, which was left to rot since even before her birth, had attracted Ned’s attention. Although he didn’t ask the Mormonts for materials and such, he asked for men to repair and guard the castle till it was habitable. Men, she could spare, but it would be difficult for her to assign wages to them, let alone rations and other things. She wanted to discuss with Lord Stark before committing the number of men to the cause. A keep at Sea Dragon point was indeed a welcoming thought, anything to stop the Ironborns pillaging their lands.

“Riders, M’lady.” Her captain of guards pointed out another group further ahead of them. She squinted her eyes to see the banner they were flying.

“Stark?”

“No, M’lady, Umbers.”

Maege raised an eyebrow hearing that, It was quite a coincidence that Greatjon Umber chose the exact same time as her to pay a visit to Winterfell. She told her men to pick the pace up a bit. The other party had also spotted them approaching by then and slowed their advance, even when Maege’s party were not flying the banner of House Mormont, yet.

“Ho! Riders of Last Hearth!” One of her men harked as they neared them.

“Aye, Who might be calling?”

“Lady Maege of House Mormont!”

In an instant, a booming voice reached her ears –

“Maege!? Why is it your scrawny arse follows me everywhere I go?”

A smile blossomed on her face as she hollered back, “Your wife will have your balls if you keep staring at my arse, Jon!”

Uproarious laughter came from the Umber contingent. Soon, both parties were riding side by side towards Winterfell.

“It’s good to see you again, Jon.”

“Aye, it has been what? A year, since we fucked those Skagosi?”

“Near about, aye. What are you doing here?”

Northerners did not believe in beating around the bush if they wanted to say something.

Jon gave her a sideways glance before turning his head back, “We have been instructed to scout for lands. We are to mark suitable spots to establish farmlands and guardhouses bordering the Wolfswood. I want to clear some doubts before I commit my men to it. What about you?”

“Sea Dragon Point.” She grunted, also thinking the same as the Umber lord, why did Ned Stark take such sudden interests.

“What about it?”

“The abandoned keep is to be repaired, I am to provide labours and guards for that.”

“Indeed?” Jon Umber had a prominent scowl on his face.

“Aye,” Maege nodded her head, implying they were thinking the same thing, “What do you reckon about all of these?”

Greatjon brushed his hand on his greying beard, “I don’t know. It has also reached my ears that the Karstarks were asked to make a few smoking houses near their hunting woods, as well as scouting a favourable spot for a dock.”

“Truly? Galbert was saying that Gregor Forrester was asked to erect a few sawmills. What is going on, Jon? What is it that Ned is planning?”

“That, dear lady, only Ned can answer.” Jon Umber pointed towards the gate of Winterfell keep, which were being opened for their approaching parties.

[CotW]

Lord Umber and Lady Mormont were greeted by Lord Stark and his family. The visiting nobles asked about the missing, most prominent members of the Starks in recent times, namely – Jon Snow and Robb Stark. Both had seen with their own eyes how the boys – young men – carried themselves in the battle, their entire party, famously known as the Wolf Pack were just the stuff of legend. Lord Stark told them about how the King also came to know about their fame and personally invited them for a visit to the Capitol.

Retiring into the lord’s solar, the two Northerners fixed their gazes on their liege lord expectantly.

Ned poured them both mugs of ale, “Might I assume that my recent missives to you are the reason for this visit.”

“You got it right, Ned.” Jon Umber raised his mug to Ned before draining it.

“Aye,” Maege nodded her head, “I was indeed quite concerned about the venture you are planning.”

Ned leaned back into his chair, “Very well, let us hear about your concerns.”

Lord Umber and Lady Mormont looked at each other, deciding who to go first. Greatjon motioned her to go first.

Maege cleared her throat before delving into her concerns. She would be more than glad to provide help for the Lord of Winterfell, but the foremost problem was the fund. She needed to know who was going to provide for the wages and the rations and supplies for the men stationed at Sea Dragon Point. While it was true that theirs was the closest land to that abandoned castle, and they indeed had the manpower to provide for labours and guards, they did not have the coin for it. Lord Stark wanted the keep fixed, he could supply it with materials, but would he also provide for the men or it was to fall upon her house – she needed to be clear on that.

Likewise, Greatjon Umber raised his points. While not as underprivileged as House Mormont, they, by no means, were a rich house. They too could provide the men, and if the project took hold, it would be immensely helpful for them to protect their lands from the regular raiding of Wildling parties.

“You must understand, Ned,” Maege had her gaze fixed on the table before her, “the repaired keep of the Point will be helpful for us, but how do I convince my people to leave behind their families without any source of food or income. They work as guards and as farmers, hunters, bakers – what have you. They perform their duties in rotation. I cannot ask them to abandon their livelihood for years without any promise of wages…” She trailed off.

“Aye, what she said.” Greatjon poured himself another mug of ale.

“And what made the two of you think that I would ask you to drive our people into more hardships than they already encounter?”

Maege put her mug down, “Not to be disrespectful, My Lord, but you are a Stark, neither a Lannister nor a Tyrell.”

“I am well aware of that fact, My Lady Mormont.” Ned gave her a smirk.

“Then how do you propose we finance this venture? Did the King give you a grant or something?”

“In a way…” Ned was truly enjoying this.

“What are you trying to say, Ned?” Greatjon couldn’t help his curiosity.

“I am surprised that the news hasn’t reached your keeps yet. Although, given that the two of you have left your home the same time that the news reached the North, it is quite understandable.”

By then, both the Umber Lord and the Lady of Mormont were looking at their liege lord as if he had lost his mind.

Savouring his words, Ned started to speak to his bannermen –

“As you are aware, a personal missive came from the Capitol, by the Hand of the King, Lord Arryn. He was asked to send the missive to me so that my sons - Robb and Jon were to visit Kings’ Landing for the King’s Tourney. The boys and their men, the Wolfpack, went to the Capitol. Among other things, they dug up beneath the rubbles of Dragonpit and unearthed a clutch of dragon eggs as well as a plot by the Mad King to burn the damn town with wildfire.”

Ned stopped and took a gulp of his ale, “It appears that we were wrong about Ser Jaime Lannister. The man saved numerous lives that day by killing a mad dog who planned to turn everything to ash. Anyhow, the tourney commenced afterwards. All of the lads took part in it. But it was Jon who succeeded. He won the archery and jousting events and secured second place in the melee.

To tell you the truth, I was quite troubled to ask all of you my bannermen to take up the necessary projects for the betterment of the North. I know we are not of the wealth. I cannot ask you to do something that I myself am unable to do. I planned to do these, one by one and slowly when we can permit to take up the burden of excess expenses. But Jon – the beloved White Wolf, once again appeared as the man of the moment. He has sent his winnings to me so that I can put it to good use.”

Maege and Jon Umber were listening to him intently. They exchanged glances before speaking up.

“Pardon my curiosity, Ned,” Maege spoke, “but how much did he send back?”

“Sixteen thousand Gold Dragons. His winning purse from the joust and the second-place reward of the melee.”

Jon Umber choked on his ale.

“Fucking Hell!”

[CotW]

Kurt woke up early as usual and got ready for the day. Ser Jon and Maester Wade had beat it into his head that a warrior should always wake up early in the morning so that they can perform their duties in a timely manner. He wrapped the thick fur cloak around his shivering body as he got out to the yard that Maester Wade had shown him as the practice ground for the men. Kurt slowly started to warm himself up for his daily training in the crisp, Northern morning air.

Soon, he was seen running on the walls, he was hesitant at first, but Maester Wade took him on the run to introduce him as the page of Ser Jon to the Stark Men. As a result, the men posted on the walls never said anything when they saw Kurt rushing past them. He was told by some of them when he came to a stop to catch his breath that Ser Jon used to do that too. For them, it was as if they were watching an event from the past once again. Kurt was very happy to learn that he was exactly following Ser Jon’s footsteps. He was sure that he would definitely become a great warrior – just like Ser Jon.

In the days before, Kurt had followed Wade around the keep of Winterfell. But on that day, he was out on his own. As such, he ran into the backyard, a place he hadn’t seen before. He came to an abrupt stop as his ears picked up the distinct sound of a bowstring’s ‘twang’. Slowly, he walked around a pile of sacks, barrels and haystacks to come face to face with the pretty lady he had seen earlier, the younger red-headed one, daughter of Lord Stark. The lady was alerted of his presence by his footsteps he reckoned because as soon as he came around the barrels, the lady had her arrow pointed straight at his face.

“Oh!” The lady exclaimed.

Kurt gulped in fear, he went crosseyed keeping the arrowhead within his vision. He had his hands up in surrender in an instant.

“I ain’t doin’ anythin’!” He shrieked.

“You are the lad who came with Wade, aren’t you?” The lady lowered her bow, “What is your name again?”

“K-Kurt, M’lady! K-Kurtis Wagner!” His shiver now by no means caused by the Northern chill.

“Aye, Kurt. What are you doing sneaking about, Kurt? You are fortunate that I didn’t shoot you when you poked your head out.”

“I-I was runnin’, M’lady. I always run in the mornin’. Ser Jon insisted. The other days, Maester Wade was with me, but I came out earlier today and went running on my own.”

“Maester Wade?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Aye, he teaches me my letters an’ trains me in arms. Along with Ser Jon.”

“Of course he does,” The lady smirked, “Wade thinks he is the wisest of all.”

“Aye, M’lady.” Kurt nodded fervently.

“So, Kurtis Wagner, have you had your first lesson in archery yet?”

“O’ course, M’lady. I even helped Maester Wade on our way here to fight off the bandits.” His chest pumped up in pride.

“You did?” She scrutinized his stature, “Are you even able to hit your targets?”

“Er…” He scratched his head blushingly, “I practised every day before our journey and could land my shots near the bullseye at fifteen paces.”

“Fifteen paces? That is quite impressive, Kurt. Did you use training bows?” He nodded again, “How about hunters’ bow? Have you practised with it yet?”

“No, M’lady.”

It appeared that his answer had pleased the lady because she had the widest smile on her face and beckoned him forward. Haltingly, he went near her.

“It is a good thing you came to this yard then. Here,” She offered her bow to Kurt, “take this and show me what have you learned till now.”

With trembling hands, Kurt received the bow and quiver. He tied the quiver on his waist as usual, which earned him another pleased hum from the lady. He stood with his feet apart and aimed at the target.

His arrow landed quite near the centre of the target. The lady looked at it with a frown on her face. She asked him to once again go into his shooting stance and circled him.

“Move your feet a little more and straighten your back. Keep your bow arm steady and pull the bowstring towards your ear…as far as you can.”

Kurt followed through her instructions, he took a deep breath and held it for the command to shoot.

“Don’t hold your breath, you need to keep your mind focused on your target. If you hold your breath in, half your mind will be focused on that. Keep breathing normally.” Kurt huffed out and started to breathe as she told him.

“Good, do you have your eyes on the target?”

Kurt nodded.

“Keep breathing…forget everything else but the target. Relax your body but not your arms or back. It must feel natural to you. Don’t worry, it will take practice. Now, when you think you have the target and nothing but the target in your sight…let it fly.”

Kurt did so. He watched with amazement as his arrow flew true and landed into the very centre. He let out a loud whoop, joined by the excited clapping of the lady.

“Sansa!” A voice made them stop and turn around. Kurt saw the younger lady from before, the one near his age, was approaching them with a scowl fixed on her face.

“Good morning, Arya.” The lady spoke from behind him.

“What is he doing here? What are you doing with him?”

“Arya.” The lady, Sansa, as Kurt got to know her name, sighed.

“What?” The little lady scowled back.

“Kurt here has lost his way as he was practising his running. He stumbled upon in here as I was practising my archery lessons. Since neither you nor Cley arrived by then, I thought I would see how much I learned archery by giving Kurt a short lesson. After all, Maester Luwin always says that the best way of learning is to teach someone else.”

Arya frowned and looked at Kurt.

“He is Jon’s page, shouldn’t he get his lessons from him?”

“He should, but if you have missed it, Jon is rather far at this moment.” Lady Sansa explained patiently.

“Wade is here, he also teaches him.” Lady Arya wasn’t one to back down, Kurt noted.

“He woke up late this morning, M’lady, that’s why I am out on me own.” He mumbled.

“Don’t call me a lady!” came the expectant shriek.

Helplessly, Kurt looked at the gentle lady who had taken the trouble to give him a short archery lesson.

“Do call me a lady.” She said with a smirk and a glint in her eyes.

Confused, Kurt looked from one to the other. The little lady, Arya, moved to stand beside her sister, she also had a wicked smile on her face.

“As a lady, I ask you to call us properly.” Lady Sansa spoke.

“As a lady, I ask you to not call me a lady.” Lady Arya chimed.

“Umm…” was all Kurt could get out of his mouth.

“Yes?” Lady Sansa asked with an upturned brow, “Do you want to say something?” Lady Arya looked on eagerly.

“Uh…I think I can hear Maester Wade callin’ for me…” Kurt stammered out as he hastily backtracked. He turned to walk away as quickly as he could when he heard that both sisters were laughing uproariously. Kurt scowled at the thought of them making fun of him. But he was also Ser Jon’s pupil, and if anything he had learnt from the knight, was it that never admit defeat. He poked his head from around the barrels and saw the sisters were still laughing their heads off. He cleared his throat to catch their attention.

“I’ll see you both later…M’ladies…”

He ran away from there as fast as his legs could carry him, but he still could hear the indignant scream –

“Don’t call me a lady!”

Kurt had a big smile on his face when he reached the front yard where Maester Wade was waiting for him for their lessons.

[CotW]

Lady Maege Mormont was looking down at the yard as Stark men were conducting their daily training there when Lord Jon Umber ambled his way beside her on the balcony.

“Good morning, Maege.”

“Good morning to you too, Jon.”

“How was your sleep?”

“Quite well, thank you. How about yours?”

“Fitfully, if I am being honest.”

“Oh?” Maege turned her head towards the giant of a man. The said man had his eyes trained on the men below with a scowl on his face. “What is on your mind, Jon?”

Greatjon Umber sighed and turned around to face his fellow Northerner, a woman as fierce as their sigil – a great hulking bear. She and her eldest daughters were called the she-bears or bear maidens of the Bear Island. Famous for their ferocity with arms as well as their wild, flirtatious natures.

“That was quite an information Ned lumped us with, don’t you think?”

Maege scowled as she turned her head back towards the yard, “Aye, it is. A mere lad no older than five and ten name days, lording it over to seasoned warriors – quite unheard of if you ask me. I mean we have Barristan the Bold, famed for his balls as he took to the tilt when he was a wee lad of ten.” She turned her gaze towards the Umber lord, “Arthur Dayne, made a name for himself quite young. Even the Lannister lad, Jaime. Then we have our stories of Dunk and Egg; and the Dragonknight. Each famed warrior, who had risen quite early in their lives. Southrons, the lot of them, but you can’t deny that they had earned our respect too. Even the Kingslayer.”

“Aye, even the Kingslayer. But he was not the Kingslayer as we were led to believe, was he? He was performing as his duties demanded, following his oaths which he took before his gods. And who cleared it all up? The same lad - Jon Snow, Ned’s bastard.” Greatjon chuckled ruefully.

“I saw the lad before he became this…this Northern legend, you know?” He sighed.

“Oh?” Maege, once again, had her eyes fixed towards the yard.

“Aye, him and the Karstark lads, they followed the trail of the Skagosi fuckers and came to my keep. I didn’t take them seriously at first, humoured them, I did. Thought them playing warriors to impress their lord father. Or in the case of Snow, his foster father. Aye, I did hear how he fought against the invaders at Karhold, single-handed slew most of them. I was impressed. Gave him one of my precious axes as a gift.”

Lord Umber turned to face Lady Mormont fully, “Only it wasn’t a child’s fantasy at all. The lad was true to his blood. When we heard that the Glovers were hunting after a similar party, the lad was the first to jump on his feet, ready to head them off. I sent my son with them, along with a small contingent of men. I thought, if nothing else, they would gain a little experience of leading men. The elder Karstark lads and my Jon was about the same age, I am quite sure that they realized that I was merely indulging them. But the youngest one and Snow took it on as a challenge.

When they returned with their captive and a group of women that they rescued, that was the first time I was shocked. The lad wasn’t even fourteen then, yet, he forged ahead of the others and took down several of those Skagosi by himself before engaging their leader one on one, and what do you know, he came out a winner.”  Greatjon shook his head. “Mors was quite thrilled, you know, when he heard about those cunts’ plan of abducting his daughter, he was quite grateful to the lad. Not to mention the lass herself was quite smitten with him, thinking him of her saviour and all.”

“Aye, my Dacey was quite the same.” Maege let out a small laugh, “You should have seen her and Alysane, always sniffing about the lad.”

“Huh, ‘Wolfblood’ indeed.” Greatjon laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the rumours.” He raised his eyebrows.

“What rumours?”

“That the lad isn’t Ned’s, but Brandon’s pup?”

“But aren’t those just that, rumours?” Maege frowned.

“Could be,” He replied thoughtfully, “but on the other hand, it also could be the truth, you know, what with the lad’s prowess with a sword. Not to mention how he rides. ‘Half centaur’…just as Lady Lyanna was. He is more wolf than Ned’s children. He went beyond the Wall and came back with two direwolves. The she-wolf even bared half a dozen pups, one for each Stark child, and the elder two have chosen the two elder Starks – Ned got the she-wolf and news has it that Benjen was left with a black beast, the size of a horse. And this Jon Snow, his pup was the most interesting one – white fur as the snow but with red eyes, like a Weirwood. Folks call it the blessing of the Old Gods. That along with the other rumour about them meeting the Children…”

“Hmm, quite…” Maege had a thoughtful look on her face, “Come, Jon. I think it is time to break our fast.”

“Aye, I need to have my belly full before I head back on the road.”

“A lost cause as any, Jon, for nothing can full that belly.” Maege smirked at the Umber Lord.

He laughed in return.

[CotW]

Lady Maege Mormont sought out Lady Catelyn Stark before she went to her assigned chambers to prepare for their departure.

“Please, take a seat, My Lady, may I offer you some wine?” Catelyn Stark welcomed the visiting lady in her solar.

“Aye, please, My Lady.” Maege welcomed the chance to get her thoughts sorted before they start their conversation.

Lady Stark offered her a goblet of wine and sat before with a goblet of her own.

“You wanted to speak with me, My Lady?” She gently prodded.

“Aye, I did. But now that I think on it, I wonder if I should speak of it or not…” Lady Mormont trailed off.

“Oh?” Lady Stark’s curiosity was stroked. “You can speak to me, My Lady, I am sure it can’t be that offensive.” She assured her.

“It is about Jon Snow.” Maege blurted out.

“Jon!?” Lady Stark frowned at that, “What about him?”

“Oh…er…” Maege fidgeted in her seat.

Catelyn gave her a smile, “First of all, let me ease your mind, My Lady, I am not at all offended that you wanted to speak to me about Jon. While it is not unknown that I was quite horrible towards the boy at first, it is also true that I started to feel his absence once he was away from this keep for his fosterage. I felt the emptiness that surrounded me for both his and Robb’s absence. And once, when they came back, I truly didn’t see any difference between the boys. While it is true that I didn’t bore him and therefore, despised him for it, it was never his fault, was it? I cannot hold him responsible for something that was out of his control. Now, he is as dear to me as my own children.”

“Oh! That is…nice…I reckon…” Maege hid her smirk behind her goblet – Could it be that she came to know about the lad’s origin and started to care for the lad as an aunt should?

“In that case, My Lady, I want to propose a betrothal between our houses.” Maege decided to speak plainly.

“Oh? You mean between Jon and your daughter?” Lady Stark almost choked in her wine.

“Aye, Dacey, my oldest, was quite taken with him when he stayed at the Island.”

“Ah…” Lady Stark seemed lost for her words.

“Aye, and Alysane too, my second oldest. You should have seen the two of them and their scheming. Always fought against each other on who is to seat beside the lad or who is to dance with him.”

“Ah...amusing, I am sure…” Lady Stark still couldn’t find any suitable thing to say.

“If you are thinking about his station, then I would say you have nothing to worry about. He is of Stark blood, and that is that. It is enough for us. He could marry Dacey and become Lord Regent of Bear Island, or they could make something of their own if Ned decides to grant him some small keep elsewhere…” Maege spoke out loud while her mind was thinking – Lord of the Sea Dragon Point.

“Ah…yes, I am sure those are certainly acceptable terms, My Lady. But the thing is, Lord Stark is the one who decides on these matters. And above all, Jon was not here in the North right now. He and Robb plan to go and visit Essos after they were done in Old Town.”

“Oh, I will talk with Ned,” Maege waved her hand dismissively, “but we both know who it truly is to decide on their children’s marriage, don’t we?” She smiled at Lady Stark conspiratorially.

Lady Stark returned her smile which was more a grimace than a smile.

“And as for the lad not being present, I am not in hurry. Let him travel around and gain more experience. I just want to put forth my proposition for when he returns. When you finally sit down to discuss the lads’ futures, do keep my proposition in your mind, won’t you?”

Maege left a thoughtful Lady Catelyn in her solar as she sauntered towards her rooms, feeling very pleased with herself.

[CotW]

“Ned!” Catelyn burst into Ned’s solar as soon as the visiting nobles departed.

“Cat!? What is the matter, love?” Ned jumped to his feet in alarm.

“She proposed a betrothal, Ned!” She was quite frantic.

“Ah…who…?” Ned was lost.

“Lady Mormont, do keep up, Ned.” She huffed at him in annoyance.

“Oh.” Ned sat down.

“Oh? That is all you are going to say? Oh?” Cat looked at him incredulously.

“What did she say to you exactly?” Ned leaned back in his seat.

“She was talking about how her eldest daughter…Dacey, I think her name is, was smitten by Jon.”

“And…?”

“And she wants Jon to marry this daughter of hers. She said that she doesn’t care even if he is your bastard. She said that Jon could become Lord Regent of Bear Island or if you grant them a small keep elsewhere, they could start their own house there.”

“Hmm, and what did you say?”

“What could I say? She caught me completely unawares. All I managed to say was that Jon was not here in the North. That he and Robb planned to visit Essos and won’t return for a long while. Furthermore, it is you who has the final say in situations such as this.”

“And what did she reply to that?”

Cat scowled at the memory, “She told me that she is content to wait for the time being. And as for your decision, she insinuated that it is I who lead you to your decisions for our children’s marriages and such.”

“Well,” Ned took one of her hands within his own, “She wasn’t completely wrong in that now, was she? I certainly won’t take a step without your consent in matters such as this.”

“You are not aware of everything, Ned.” She cried desperately as she freed her hands from his grasp and got up to pace around the room. “Wynafryd Manderly was talking with Sansa, about how desirable she finds our sons – both Robb and Jon. What is more, I caught from the snippets of their conversation that the girl’s sister, Wylla, had sent her a letter stating the same. Both sisters are apparently corresponding with each other, and debating who is going to pursue whom.”

Ned nodded thoughtfully, “Jon Umber also made some such insinuations, for his niece, Lord Mors’ daughter.”

Cat turned towards him with a triumphant look on her face, “Now you see why I was so agitated? They are but babes, Ned. The boys don’t even have a semblance of idea what the world is about…and these…these women…” She spoke the word as if it was a vile thing to say, “these women want to have them married? I won’t stand for it, Ned….and…and if she was here with us, she would have agreed with me about Jon…” She said vehemently.

Ned too got up from his seat. He went to his wife and enveloped her within his arms.

“Peace, love. Calm down. None is getting married.”

“But…” She started to mumble in his chest.

“Hush, now. I promise you that none will come to take away your pups. They are secured. I won’t even raise the topic of their betrothal, or marriage till they are of age. Besides, the boys are out there, seeing the world. What do you want to wager that we will be hearing more rumours that many Southern ladies have found themselves smitten by our lads? Or they themselves would beg to us for us to take measures so they can court the ladies who have caught their eyes?” He chuckled. Catelyn shook her head.

Ned brushed his fingers through her crimson hair, “If you are behaving in this way for Robb and Jon, I could only wonder what you will do when the time comes for Sansa…or Arya.”

Cat whimpered pitifully.

---

 

The Sea of Myrth, onboard a ship sailing towards Tyrosh

She stood by the ship’s railings, eyes fixed upon the churning water below, watching intently as waves after waves broke against the ship’s prow. Yet another home they were leaving behind, another place that would become a distant memory in a short while, she sighed.

Dany remembered their times on the roads, the fear that the men from Braavos were after them, fear that the usurper's dogs were waiting just around the corner with their blades to slit their throats. Constant battles with hunger, with thirst. The struggles to make the body move despite the weariness. Sleeping under the stars, sometimes, not at all.

Viserys was…Dany actually had not thought about how to understand her brother’s behaviours. Sometimes, he would appear as the loving and caring brother, who doted upon her as any brother should. Then again, there were times when Dany couldn’t even match the monster before her with the image of the loving brother who was present just mere moments ago. He would scream at her, he would threaten her. He would grab her hands and shake her, making her apologize to him for any and all transgressions, be they real or perceived by the very man.

Their time in Myr was surprisingly pleasant for a while. For once, Viserys didn’t seek after the nobles of the Free City but decided to hide somewhere less prominent. Dany didn’t know what brought this on, but Viserys had gone and rented a medium-sized mansion and hired people with their remaining fund. Dany never asked him how much Uncle Will had hidden, or what heirlooms they managed to bring with them from Westeros, besides their mother’s crown. She didn’t even dare to ask her brother, lest he got angry with her.

Viserys was absent most of the time from the mansion. When asked, he always evaded Dany’s questions, stating that Dany would never understand the nuances of politics or the steps that Viserys took to ensure their return to the Seven Kingdoms. But it was evident with his wavering steps and clothes reeking of stale wine and faint perfumes that these supposed important meetings always took place in the whorehouses.

Dany was not a babe anymore. Far gone was the five name days old lass who would sit beside Uncle Will and badger him about stories of tourneys and fairs, of brave knights and beautiful ladies. At twelve, it all seemed distant dreams to the daughter of the dragons. She had heard that their mother, Queen Rhaella had proclaimed Viserys, the King. That made Dany the Princess of Dragonstone, being Viserys’ heir. Viserys always demanded from people to address him by his proper title – the King. But to be honest with herself, Dany never felt like a Princess. On days, she didn’t even think of herself as a noble lady. Because she wanted to go out of the boundaries of their home, out in the crowd, among the merchants and people who thronged the marketplace. She wanted to browse through the wares on display. She wanted to taste the delicacies on offer.

She wanted to be free.

One day, Viserys hurried back at the mansion and made the staff jump to work on a lavish feast. To her questions, Viserys gave her a smirk and only said that he had finally managed to secure allies, a chance for them to go back to their home and avenge their family.

She was well aware of Viserys’ schemes by then, so she had made herself scarce, but kept a watchful eye on the happenings from behind the covers of the doors. She didn’t want to appear before these ‘allies’ of Viserys. One of the servants – a former slave from Qohor, took pity on the orphan girl and taught her how a noble lady should carry herself. Her being a slave and serving noble ladies before she earned her freedom had made her a veritable font of such knowledge. She had instructed her on how to cover herself properly now that she was on the cusp of womanhood. She made her understand the gaze men gave her, taught her to understand the lust in their eyes. The lust that she had seen even in her brother’s eyes when he returned home too drunk to even sit up straight. But he always said that she was to become his bride once she came of age. Dany didn’t argue back even as she wanted to. She just removed herself from his presence.

Dany had watched as the men her brother invited to their home, came inside and sat imperiously, taking in the décor of their spars home. She could feel the disdain in their eyes at seeing their quaint home. They did walk around with a king’s ransom on their very self, what with the glimmering gold armbands that covered from their wrists to almost the entirety of their forearms. 

The man who appeared to be the leader of that group of men was a man called Gorys Edoryen. By their talks, he was the Paymaster of the Golden Company, a sellsword company primarily comprised of exiled nobles and knights of the Seven Kingdoms. It was said that Aegon Rivers or Aegon Bittersteel first formed the company to aid the Blackfyres. Along the way, they had earned a fierce reputation and goodwill around the free cities. After the last Blackfyre rebellion, that would be the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and after the death of Maelys the Monstrous, the Golden Company washed their hands off the notion of rebelling against Westeros.

Edoryen and his men partook in the festivities that Viserys had arranged for them with fervour. Wine flowed such as fountains. Dany kept a mental tally of the amount of food those five men inhaled, and by her calculation, she and Viserys could have spent half a year in relative luxury on the expenses of that one single evening alone. She wanted to lash out at them, or her brother, but she couldn’t. She didn’t feel that she was strong enough to do that.

By the end of the evening, the cadaverous man, Gorys Edoryen, had finally stopped stuffing his face with food and leaned into his seat with a goblet of summer wine. He started to ask Viserys what he planned to do, which kingdom, in his opinion, would aid their forces if they were to make their stand there. For all his bravado, Viserys never gave it any thought. He was one of those people who would order someone to do something and expected to have his orders carried out to the letter. All his boastings, all of his claims that people were eagerly waiting for the dragons to return – were shot apart by the man’s very precise questions. The eventual shot that brought the high flying dragon down was when Edoryen asked him how he planned to pay the Company. Viserys tried to evade that by giving some vague platitudes, but the man was relentless. He made him tell that Dany’s brother didn’t even have a working financial strategy.

The entire group of men had burst out laughing. Edoryen, with his black pointed beard and bloodred, curled hair smiled viciously and told Viserys to ‘fuck off’. He pointed at each one of them, to their garbs, their ornaments, and above all, the golden armbands that they each wore. He said that there was a saying about the Golden Company – Our word is gold. He asked Viserys why should they denounce their current contract with the city of Myr in order to sail with – in so many words which the repulsive man had taken pleasure in uttering – ‘the beggar king’ without any assurance whatsoever. The men hollered with laughter seeing Viserys trying to stammer out his reply.

The night was what Dany called in her mind the end of their peaceful life once more. Soon afterwards, Viserys became increasingly more vicious towards her and the few staff Dany had managed to keep at the mansion by begging and pleading. Once again, the servants revolted and chased them off of what was perceivably their own home.

Dany sighed and closed her eyes, the spray of seawater in the mild ray of the sun in the morning was very pleasing against her skin. She had to say goodbye to yet another home, to yet another small library – which she had scrounged after to create by her meagre fund, she was not happy. Dany tried to imagine what would her Uncle Will have said to her in this situation, but with time, Dany found that she was starting to forget the man’s features. She never knew her own parents, Ser Willem Darry was what she always imagined a father should be. She was saddened that she was slowly forgetting the man who was, for all intents and purposes, her father.

“Enjoying the view, are we, sweet sister?”

Dany suppressed a sigh and turned to give Viserys a wan smile, “Good morning, brother dear.”

Viserys nodded and came to stand beside her by the railings.

“What are you thinking?”

Dany looked up at his face with shock, he never asked me what I am thinking before…

“Do you truly want to know?” Hope was evident in her voice.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know, would I?” Viserys sneered.

“Well…” She didn’t know what she should say, so she started to say whatever came to her mind first, “I was thinking what if we somehow buy a ship and become merchants. We could travel from port to port, with winds in our sails and hair. We could travel the known world, meet new people and get to know their languages, cultures and what not. We don’t have to worry about the usurper and his men once they come to know that we have taken up sailing as our livelihood. We could spend what little we have now and secure a good enough ship with cargo and crew to -”

Dany was cut off by a sudden pain erupting in her head. Viserys had grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked so that she was facing upwards, looking at his enraged, purple face.

“You stupid cunt!” Viserys hissed at her through clenched teeth, “You would have us, have me wander about as a merchant? Me? I am Viserys Targaryen III, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. The true king to the Iron Throne. I am the last of the dragons. And you would have me roam about as a pauper?” He shoved her down.

Dany let out a low yelp as she crashed onto the deck. Her eyes were wide with fear, she had not expected her brother’s mood to change so suddenly.

“Listen to me, you fucking whore, and listen well. You belong to me. Your body belongs to me. I would sell you over and over if your cunt fetches me the horses and men to take my throne back. You are nothing more than means to my goal, do you understand? I will not hesitate to cut you down if you spew your garbage once more. You have only one thing to do, and that is, be quiet and be pretty. If you are not to be my wife, you will become someone else’s whore who would be useful to me. I don’t care what you do after you have served your purpose. But till then,” He loomed nearer, “You. Belong. To. Me.”

Viserys straightened up and spat at her, “Don’t wake the dragon, sweet sister.” before storming away.

Dany laid there for a while, the shock of her brother’s sudden attack had jarred her to her core. Slowly, she got up to her feet and steadied herself by grabbing onto the railings. She could almost hear the snickers of the sailors who had been watching their interaction. Tears flowed from her eyes and her cheeks burned red, but she didn’t turn her head from the sea.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew over her and gave her the chill. She could swear that she heard a distant roar of a huge, unknown beast. And with that…a howl? It was gone even before she could be sure. But it did leave a susurration that sounded to her as the words of her slowly fading past –

Be strong, Daenerys Stormborn!

 

Notes:

I am here once again with another chapter, sorry for the long absence. Also sorry if you feel that the story didn't advance from where it was. I had to flesh out the characters a bit more, and my other intention was explained in the AN above.

Please inform me if I was wrong in the Archery lesson scene, I only wrote what I have heard in movies or read in some other books.

I want to thank everyone for your encouraging words, they were very much appreciated.

I was also wondering how come nobody raised any objection about how Jon perceived Catelyn.

Til next time, and I promise the story will pick up the pace once again.

Chapter 28: Known...Yet Unknown

Known…Yet Unknown

The Rose Road, A couple of day’s travel away from Highgarden

The Northern party had camped near the bank of the Mander. They were at most two days away from reaching Highgarden, the seat of House Tyrell. It had been a long, tiring journey by the road which had taken the group nearly three weeks to reach Highgarden since their departure from Kings’ Landing. If it was only the Northern warriors who were travelling, the time would have taken much less, but since they had to pace with the mule-drawn carts carrying Maester Luwin and his belongings, they had to endure an arduously long journey.

Lady Madelyne Pryor had taken to ride with her brother, Ser Hugh during the trip. She did try her best to engage the White Wolf in conversation, but it proved difficult because the man had suddenly become a recluse, even from his own close friends and brothers. It was only in the previous day of their travel that the man she had seen in the Capitol had emerged from the brooding darkness manifested into the human being that was Ser Jon Snow.

Lady Madelyne had sensed that something big had happened the day she witnessed about a dozen men, along with Ser Jon and lords Stark and Forrester, returned to their night camp with two dishevelled women. Ser Jon and Lord Asher went straight for Ser Jon’s tent without sparing any glance to the others, but Lord Robb had approached her and asked for her help in settling the two women as she was the only woman in their midst. He only told her that they were rescued from a terrible fate before excusing himself and going to his brother’s tent.

Lady Madelyne had taken it upon herself to put the clearly deathly afraid women’s minds at ease. She started by asking them about their home. Slowly prodding, she got to know that they were goodsisters in relation. Both went to the Capitol with their trader husbands for the King’s Tourney. The women broke down once more recollecting the events of their cart breaking down in the middle of the forested road and being ambushed by bandits. They told her about their families’ death and their own impending fate of being brutally raped and then killed if it wasn’t for the timely intervention of the White Wolf and the Iron Shield. They amazed her with the horrific tales of being almost raped and then rescued by two seemingly shadowy figures, who, cleanly and ruthlessly brought down the entire group by themselves. At one point, Lady Madelyne didn’t know if it was the myth of the White Wolf and his friends that clouded the women’s memories or indeed it happened the way they described it. But she shivered by imagining the scene of a giant white direwolf standing guard over her with his muzzle red from his victims while his master cutting down enemies with apparent ease.

She had, of course, shared what she heard with her brother. Hugh listened carefully to what she had to say before sighing and leaning forward to stroke the fire they were sitting in front of. He glanced to make sure they were alone for the duration before starting to speak –

“You are right in your estimation that something was wrong. But no matter how much I tried to pry in, these Northerners are tightlipped even when they are drunk. I couldn’t get a single word out of them about what was going on. The most I could gather was it is between ‘the four’. And none are privy to anything that is between them, I assume even their parents couldn’t get anything out of them.”

He took a sip from his wineskin before continuing, “I am accepted by these Northerners because Ser Jon approved of me. And it may have swayed their opinion about you along with the fact that the White Wolf is sweet on you. But other than that, they would not hesitate to make us leave at swordpoints if we try to dig deeper.”

Lady Madelyne sighed in frustration, she leaned closer to her brother and whisper shouted at him –

“Aren’t you a little bit curious, Hugh? I can’t be the only one to sense something is not right the way the White Wolf suddenly removed himself even from his own men. Then there are the additions we are picking up. First, it was that auroch of a man with that red priest. A blacksmith leaving his birthplace behind in search of fortune. Yes, that could be believable, if you do not count the fact that it was the Capitol of the Seven Kingdoms the man was talking about. If it is only fortune he is after and if he is being truthful about his craft, why would he leave a place that was bound to see him live his life in reasonable wealth?”

Her brother could only offer her a shrug of a shoulder, making her frustration grow even more.

“Then there is the red priest. I don’t think I have ever heard about that man travelling anywhere without his band of zealots. What was it that he called his god? Ah, yes, R’hllor, Lord of the light. And do you see the way he kept staring at Ser Jon? It seems to me that he expects him to turn into this lord of light or something.”

“What is the matter, sister dear? Are you afraid that you need to compete against an aged, bearded priest for the affection of the White Wolf?” Hugh snorted. This earned him a swat at his shoulder by his very irate sister.

“Oh, do be serious, Hugh. I am talking about something that can affect us both in the future.” She raised her hand to stop her brother from speaking, “Fine, I am shelving discussion about the priest for the time being. But then, what about those women Ser Jon and Lord Forrester rescued? By their account, the family didn’t even have the chance to alert anyone before the males were slaughtered and the women were abducted. How in the Seven Hells did those two know where to find them? And the two of them were truly able to subdue a group of bandits by their lonesome? How did they manage to do that?”

Hugh freed his hand from his sister’s grasp and held her hands in his in turn, “Madelyne, listen to me carefully. Yes, I conquer that everything truly doesn’t add up, but do you want to confront a man and his friend who stood against a horde of unknown numbers of wildling savages? You did hear about the tale these Northerners speak of about how Ser Jon and Lord Forrester, along with only four men foiled an Ironborn raiding? There were about twenty of those reavers and those two were much younger than they are now. It is insane the way they train, I have seen it myself and still can’t believe it. No one can move as they do. And above all, Ser Jon is the most gifted swordsman of this generation. Don’t you remember his bout with Ser Jaime? Only once in every generation do we get to see such a warrior and they all become living legends. Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Jaime Lannister, and now we have Ser Jon, the White Wolf to be counted among those figures.”

Ser Hugh Pryor stood up from the boulder he was sitting upon and dusted his clothes. He peered down at his still thoughtful sister.

“Please, sister, heed to my words. I know your natural inquisitive mind won’t rest till you reach the end of what you conceive is a mystery. But for your own sake, do leave everything alone. Do not make it so that we have no option left for us to but go and seek refuge from Lord Royce. No matter what we think or what our beloved Lord Royce says, living in Vale will not be very comfortable for us given our past.”

He gave her a pointed stare before going away. Lady Madelyne put her chin upon her knees as she kept watching the flames dance in their mesmerizing way.

“I will know what you are keeping from me, Jon Snow.”

[CotW]

It was the day after the Northern lords returned to their temporary camp with the rescued women. Since it took them and the men with them almost the entire night to dispose of the bodies of the bandits and had seen that the last rights were performed for the slain trader family, Lord Robb had told all that they would remain in the camp for an extra day.

Lady Madelyne Pryor woke up as was her usual time with the breaking of dawn. She changed out of her nightly wears and went out to the tent which housed the poor women. She wouldn’t admit it to anybody, but she slept fitfully the previous night. Images of faceless men dragging her off or killing Hugh in front of her had plagued her dreams. When she woke up in the morning, it was when she was experiencing what the women had told her, and it was Madelyne herself who had been saved by a giant white beast whose muzzle was dripping with blood and stood guard over her growling at the approaching darkness. She was about to reach out and sink her fingers into the seemingly soft fur of the beast that she woke up.

After she made sure that the women were as safe as they could be, she asked the men who were tending the fire for plates of food for the two. Since she was the lone woman in the entire contingent, she took it upon herself to become the unannounced hostess for the time being. Although, ulterior motive played the part where her efforts would be seen by the suddenly reclusive Ser Jon and they would resume their sparring with words once more. The whole thing reeked of hidden schemes, wheels inside of wheels and she was truly determined to unravel the mystery.

She had just gotten out of the tent after making sure the women ate something, she found herself to be standing before one of the men who had seemingly done the miraculous rescue last night – Lord Asher Forrester. She smiled to herself as she prepared to try and pry some answer out of him – at least she hoped for so.

“Good morning, My Lord.”

Asher was startled by the greeting, he looked as if he was walking in his sleep. He jerked and looked up to see Madelyne’s approaching figure towards himself. He put on a winning smile on his face –

“Good morning to you too, My Lady.”

“Are you feeling alright, My Lord? You don’t seem quite yourself this morning.” She asked with concern.

Asher futilely tried to stifle a yawn, “Pardon me, My Lady. Aye, I have been up the entire night for obvious reasons and haven’t had the time to wake myself up properly. Were you with them just now?” He indicated towards the tent of the victims.

Madelyne threw a glance over her shoulder in the same direction and shook her head morosely, “Yes, since I am the only woman around, I thought it prudent that they feel at least somewhat normalcy after their ordeal and taken it up to myself to do just that.”

Asher gritted his teeth, “I wish I could resurrect those fuckers just so I could kill them once again.”

He blushed when he noticed a delicate eyebrow had risen in response to his reply, “Forgive my tongue, My Lady.”

Madelyne waved his concerns away, “Tell me something, My Lord, do this happen to you all the time?”

“What do you mean?”

“This…” She indicated towards the tent once again, “You go out for a stroll in the night and come back with rescued women in tow?”

Asher couldn’t help but snort, “I think you are not that aware of the legend of the White Wolf, My Lady?”

This time, it was Madelyne who said, “What do you mean?”

“The first time I met Jon, he just finished his one-on-one bout with the leader of a raiding party, who were running off with their stolen loot and would be captives.”

“Oh?”

“Aye. After that, when we were travelling to Winterfell from Karhold, on our journey through the lands of the Boltons, there was this prick who enjoyed hunting women down as he chased them along with his hunting dogs. We saved a young lass who had been running for her life from dogs and dogs in human skin, naked as the day she was born and bearing cuts all over her body. Jon relieved that bastard of his hand and I, of his head. The Ironborns who we stopped from pillaging Bear Island, and them too had just abducted Jonelle Mormont, Lady Mormont’s young daughter. How do you think Jon acquired the title of ‘Protector of Innocent’? If he goes out on his lonesome, chances are that he will find someone in need of his help.”

Madelyne hummed in reply, “Does Ser Jon do it often? Going out in the middle of the night on his lonesome, I mean.”

Asher ran a hand through his hair in thought, “Only when his mind is in turmoil over one thing or other. Years ago, when we were at Moat Cailin, he went out by himself and returned the next morning looking quite worse for wear. Asking him, we found out that he stumbled upon a lizard lion and had to put it down.”

“Lizard lion?”

“You Southerners probably never heard of them, four-legged critters, as long as a mule, twice the length with the tail and horribly vicious. Quite tough to kill given its armour-like skin.”

Madelyne contemplated said creature in her mind and wondered what went through a younger Jon Snow’s mind when he came in front of such a creature.

“Forgive me if I seem presumptuous, My Lord, but from your words, it appears as if Ser Jon broods quite frequently.”

Asher snorted, “Robb says that he has improved. He swears that in their childhood, it would have been a day of note if Jon Snow smiled.”

“What is the reason for his brooding now? He has been secluded himself for almost half of our journey.”

“Forgive me, My Lady, but that is for Jon to disclose.” Asher said guardedly.

“Can’t you tell me?” Madelyne gave him her best pout.

The seemingly jovial Lord Forrester disappeared in an instant and in his stead, stood a veteran warrior who had earned his own accolades along with the White Wolf.

“Divulging that would mean I am betraying the trust of my brother in all but blood. Even for such a trivial matter as this, I will not do so.” Within a blink, just as he became grave, he had changed his persona once more and became jovial again, “Besides, we are quite sure that Jon is insane. Who knows why he does the things that he does?” He gave her a wink.

Just as he finished speaking, a yell came from the tents ahead of them –

“Forrester! I will fucking gut you!”

Moments later, an enraged Jon Snow appeared at the opening of his tent. When his searching eyes landed on them, his frown deepened as he strode fast towards them.

“See, what did I tell you, My Lady, who but the most insane of people would blame someone absolutely innocent just waking up…”

Madelyne had no idea how she should respond, she kept looking from the raging knight to the clearly amused lord standing beside her. Ser Jon’s yell seemed to have brought the others from their tents or whatever chores they were busy tending to. Lords Stark and Karstark made appearances along with her brother who all came with a bewildered look on their faces.

“Jon? What is the matter?” Robb Stark asked his enraged brother.

“Ask him!” Jon Snow yelled while pointing at Asher Forrester.

“What did you do now, Asher?” Torrhen Karstark sighed resignedly.

“I have no idea what he is talking about.” Asher Forrester appeared as the epitome of innocence.

“I believe that as much as I believe in a mummer’s farce.” Robb snorted before turning to Jon, “What did he do?”

“He taught Munnin how to curse and then sent him to my tent this morning to wake me up.” Ser Jon, the White Wolf, the celebrated warrior of recent times, replied like a petulant child.

There was a silence before the gathered men around them burst out laughing and turned away to resume whatever work they were doing. Robb Stark exchanged a triumphant grin with an equally pleased Asher Forrester while Torrhen Karstark had the bridge of his nose pinched and muttering to himself about how it was too early for their shits. The Pryor siblings stood to a side, both were quite confused about the happenings.

“So why are you so angry, Jon? It was expected of him, he is Asher after all.” Torrhen asked.

“Because he is an annoying little shit…” Jon Snow yelled before mumbling something under his breath.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite catch it.”

“I said that I was planning on doing the same but he beat me to it.” Jon said through gritted teeth.

“In times like this, I truly regret leaving my mother and sister behind and coming with you lot.” Torrhen stormed off with a huff.

“What is wrong with him?” Jon looked at the remaining two, both shrugged as they kept watching the distant figure of a fuming Torrhen Karstark. “Let’s go, lads. I want to start Gendry’s training after our morning meal.” The three of them walked away in the same direction of the Karstark lord talking and laughing among themselves. The Pryor siblings stood rooted at their spots looking at each other confusedly.

“What just happened?” Ser Hugh Pryor was still feeling quite sleepy.

“Oh! Now you are interested!” His sister snarled at him before storming off.

“What did I do?”

---

 

Highgarden, the Reach

“My Lord.”

The knock on the door and the accompanying call startled Willas Tyrell, eldest son and heir of Lord Mace and Lady Allerie Tyrell, from his works. Since his lord father had taken the family along to Old Town, it fell upon Lord Willas Tyrell to see to the urgent matters handled before he too was to join his family.

“Enter.” Willas called out, putting the quill down and leaning back in his seat.

Gorman Graves, minor lord and bannerman to the Tyrells, steward of Highgarden came inside the lords’ solar and bowed to the heir apparent Lord Willas Tyrell.

“A riding party is spotted, My Lord. They are about an hour away.”

“Oh? And whom do we expect of receiving?”

“They are coming beneath the direwolf of the Starks, My Lord.”

Willas nodded at the expectant news, “Then let us prepare to welcome our Northern friends befitting the house of Tyrell, Lord Graves. I will be joining you shortly.”

“Of course, My Lord. I will see to it immediately.” Lord Graves bowed once again and left the room.

Willas spent the following few minutes in silent musings. It was a known fact that the Northern contingent would arrive at Highgarden because of their travel itinerary. News of the Northerners exploits had reached their ears through rumours and as every other person in the realm, through the accounts of what the bards sang. Willas’ grandmother, the Lady Olenna Tyrell had kept a keen ear out for all such information from all the kingdoms. So when Maester Gormon, Lord Mace’s uncle and late Lord Luthor’s brother came back to Highgarden with news of how and why Maester Luwin of Winterfell was set to travel to Old Town regarding his theories and the possibility of the heir to the Lord Paramount of North and his bastard brother accompanying him, Lady Olenna practically did jump on the chance of implying one of her intrigues. She only needed to make a few comments here and there, and Willas’ rather malleable father was up on the saddle, preparing for a tourney that in many ways would rival the King’s Tourney. Sometimes he thought that Lord Mace was indeed, as his grandmother often referred to him being, an oaf.

Willas slowly got up and leaning on his cane, went over to the corner of the solar where his father kept his wine. He poured himself a goblet and drank in a go. He needed to appear lively in front of the visiting nobles. It was already quite a sore point for Hose Tyrell that their heir apparent was being mocked for his injuries. Although Willas himself was not very vengeful, per se, towards Prince Oberyn for his injuries, the same couldn’t be said for the rest of his family. Willas blamed none besides his own self, and on particularly dark days – his father, for his hardships. If Mace hadn’t forced him to take part in the joust and if Willas wasn’t shaky about the event, things could have gone a different way. He rubbed his face and tried to get rid of thoughts regarding what-ifs and could haves. He straightened up and limped out of the solar to go down to the front courtyard.

Lord Graves was waiting for him in the courtyard. As he approached, the steward hurried to walk alongside him.

“I have sent Ser Oakney with a dozen men to receive our guests, My Lord.”

“Good. Are the rooms prepared for our guests, Lord Graves?”

“Yes, My Lord, I have personally overseen it.”

Willas nodded as he turned his gaze towards the party coming through the gates. The Starks were rather prominent among the group, even if it wasn’t for their sigil stitched on their garments, it would have been for the direwolves trotting beside their horses. Yes, they have heard about how the Stark sons had gone beyond the Wall only to come back with direwolf familiars, one for each Stark – if the news were to be believed.

The young man, a few years younger than Willas, on the left was of lean and strong built, had wavy red hair and blue eyes, his long face and features were typical Stark, astride on a chestnut horse. A grey-furred direwolf was walking beside him.

The man on the right, on the other hand, was quite intriguing. He was riding on a destrier as black as the night and a pure white direwolf with bloodred eyes trotting beside him. His hair was long and curly and had features screaming not quite Stark, but one could find the similarities. He had purple eyes? – Willas was startled to find that, even if he was not assured by the white wolf beside him, Willas wouldn’t have a problem with recognizing Ser Jon, the White Wolf. If only because of his apparent habit of wearing a kerchief on his arm – prominently displaying a white direwolf stitched on a grey field.

The Stark brothers came inside the keep of Highgarden flanking a mule-drawn cart between them. Ser Oakney jumped off his horse and hurriedly made his way towards the lord of the castle before the guests could approach them.

“My Lord Tyrell, kindly allow me to introduce you to Lord Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, eldest son and heir apparent of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North.”

The redheaded man gave him a courteous bow which he returned. Ser Oakney continued his introductory speech –

“My Lord Stark, you are in presence of Lord Willas Tyrell, eldest son and heir apparent of Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and the Warden of the South”

Willas could tell that he was being judged by the man before him. Not only as one future Lord Paramount with another but a warrior, a man of action was judging if the man before him could be a worthy ally – or fates forbid, an adversary. He was not unaware of such stare, but unlike before, it was not a stare from the liege lords or their heirs – for there were neither schemes forming behind those blue eyes to curry favours, nor were they calculating to step forward to use their acquaintance to their betterments. It was of a man who had seen hardships of life and came out of it alive. For it was not a pampered lordling who stood before him, but a warrior.

Willas cleared his throat before speaking, “My Lord Stark, I am very pleased that you have come for a visit. We do not get to meet our Northern friends quite so often. Please, kindly accept the hospitality of House Tyrell and Highgarden castle.”

“You have my thanks, My Lord Tyrell,” Northern accent was quite prominent in his tongue, “We do not get the chance to venture out of our lands and visit the rest of the kingdoms. We certainly appreciate you welcoming us to your beautiful country and home.”

Willas gave him a nod. Robb Stark turned sideways and raised his hand, “Kindly allow me to introduce you to my companions, My Lord.”

The other members of the party had climbed off of their horses or had gotten off the cart. Willas was a little startled to see a strikingly beautiful young woman with red hair and brilliant green eyes among his guests. He wasn’t aware of any woman travelling with the Northern party.

“With me are my friends and brothers in all but blood, may I present you – Lord Torrhen Karstark, son and heir of Lord Ricard Karstark of Karhold. Lord Asher Forrester, son and heir of Lord Gregor Forrester of Ironrath.”

An old man wearing Maester’s garb had gotten off the cart and came shuffling forward to stand beside the lords. The still-unnamed lady had stayed behind and was speaking with some of the men who had come to unload the cart. Willas’ eyes were drawn towards the cart once more when two more women disembarked from the cart. Although, from their visage and general behaviours, they appeared to be not of noble blood. There must be a story there – He thought to himself.

Robb Stark continued, “This is Maester Luwin, the reason why we had come to your kingdom, My Lord. His studies have generated quite an interest at the Citadel and he was invited there to submit his findings.” He then indicated to the other redheaded male in their company, “This is Ser Hugh Pryor, of Pebble, the Vale and his lady sister, the Lady Madelyne Pryor.” The siblings curtsied to Willas. “…and of course, my brother, Ser Jon, the White Wolf.” Ser Jon was having a conversation with the stable boy who had come forth to take the horses away. Willas looked on as the man clasped a hand on the shoulder of the boy in a genial manner and came to stand by his brother.

“My Lord Tyrell.” Jon Snow bowed to the man, “Forgive me for imposing, but those two women behind us have fallen victims of a bandit raid. We took care of the bandits, but I am sorry to say that these two are the only remaining members of their group. We thought of bringing them along with us so you could hear about their pleas and do what is required.”

Willas hurriedly called Lord Graves to come forward. The Steward of Highgarden had heard what Ser Jon said and immediately took to the job. He indicated for two servants to come and get the women away from there towards the Maester’s turret. Lord Graves assured Willas that he would take care of the situation.

Willas waved his hand for the servant who was standing with plates of bread and salt. He knew that the Northerners were staunch believers of guest rights, and he planned beforehand for the same.

“Please, My Lords and Lady, do partake in the guest right and allow me the chance to offer you the hospitality of Highgarden and House Tyrell.”

The men and woman ate the bread and salt before following Lord Tyrell inside of the keep.

“I have arranged rooms for you and your companions, My Lord Stark. My men were instructed to prepare the barracks for your men. You may wish to wash off before we adjourn to the Hall for a small feast in your honour.”

“Aye, we do, My Lord, so very kind of you.”

“Ah…I am not quite sure how to prepare for your wolves. Do they need any special diet?”

“No, My Lord, if you can arrange for a couple of bowls of cooked or raw meat, that would suffice for them. Else, we have half of a cow with the men for the wolves, seeing how there is very little wildlife in the vicinity.” Robb offered.

“In that situation, My Lord, I would like to offer them the same meal as my hounds. I can assure you that would be quite filling for them.” Willas had yet to see any beast of this magnitude. “Such marvellous creatures, I am eagerly waiting to hear how you came by them.”

[CotW]

Although the feast in honour of their guests was not in any way near enough what it would have been if Lord Mace was present at the castle, Willas thought the fares on the table was almost as lavish for the King to dine on. The Northern Maester was busy in a conversation with Maester Marlow when Willas had entered the Hall. He didn’t have to wait long for the lords to appear as his Northerner guests had arrived all together, guided by the men posted to serve them. The wolves were not very far from them.

“Please, My Lords, kindly excuse the small fare I was able to arrange for you.”

Robb Stark snorted at that, “What you are saying a ‘small fare’, My Lord Tyrell, is worth a king’s ransom back in the North. We would have accepted even if you served us gruels. It is the soft beds we crave after our long journey.”

Willas smiled, “I take it you are satisfied with your living arrangement then, My Lord?”

“More than satisfactory, My Lord, I thank you.”

“Please, have a seat.”

Their conversation continued along with the meal. Willas gave the ready excuses about his family’s absence. Lady Olenna had devised the ruse of Lady Alerie’s apparent desire to visit her home and the rest accompanying her, and subsequently Lady Olenna’s poor health as well as Lady Alerie’s impending name day keeping them from travelling to Kings’ Landing for the King’s Tourney. And the generous Lord Mace Tyrell’s decision of hosting a tourney himself to appease his forlorn family for missing a visit to the Capitol. Willas got to know how the four friends had gone beyond the Wall and adopted a pregnant direwolf and her mate. Later the she-wolf whelped six pups which the Stark children had adopted as their familiars. He also got to know that the Pryor siblings had accompanied them as they became aware of Lord Tyrell’s tourney at Old Town.

“We have just received Lord Stark’s order of grains for the next quarter, My Lord Robb.” Willas wanted to poke for information. His grandmother had drilled one lesson into all of his siblings and him – information is power. There were some discrepancies in the latest order from the North and Willas was determined to know the cause of that.

“Ah, aye, I expect my lord father to be quite busy with our absence as well as Maester Luwin’s. Mayhaps he even quilled the letter on his own. But I am glad to hear that he is not behind in his parchment works. I hope everything is satisfactory with his order, My Lord?” Robb Stark enquired gently. Willas didn’t fail to notice that Ser Jon also seemed eager for his reply even if he didn’t show any outwards reaction. But Willas could tell by how his body shifted just a tad. Lady Olenna was a strict teacher after all.

“Yes, My Lord Robb, quite satisfactory, if not for the reason that it is much lower in quantity than what we normally receive from your land.” The North was one of their primary buyer of grains and quite essentially, a large source of coin.

Robb nodded thoughtfully, “Aye, it was as expected. I did go through the numbers before my travels and made sure that the ledgers were correct.”

“But shouldn’t the order be quite a bit larger than the previous ones, My Lord? Given the recent unrest in your lands, I would have thought that food would have been scarcer afterwards a war campaign.” He looked at the Northern lord askance.

Ser Jon relaxed once again and concentrated on his plate. Willas noticed that the knight never talked much. Is he normally this quiet or is he pretending to be? He is quite a mystery. And those purple eyes of his seem to bare one’s soul to leave everything in the open – Willas suppressed an involuntary shudder.

Robb Stark had a gleam in his eyes which stoked Willas’ curiosity further, “You would be right in that regard, My Lord. Aye, a land and its people should suffer if they are just coming out of a state of war. But you are not aware of something. We had an ally on our side.” Now Willas was more eager, he never knew of an ally who helped the North in their fight with those wildling savages. “Time, My Lord, time was our ally.” Robb said with a smirk.

“I am afraid I don’t understand, Lord Robb.” Willas frowned.

“We had time on our side, Lord Willas.” Robb took up his goblet as he leaned back in his seat to explain, “We had a year to prepare for the conflicts. Thus, the war didn’t surprise us. My brother and friends here -” He indicated towards Ser Jon and the other Northern lords, “ – became aware of the coming strife for more than a year ahead. My Lord Father, himself being a war veteran, took steps to ensure that there was enough food in storage for both the army and our people. A year was quite a great timeframe for our people who know how the bite of winter feels. They prepared for the aftermath of the war as if they were preparing for a long winter and managed to plant and harvest twice as much. It is as simple as that.”

Willas nodded, but he was deep in thought still. Could it be as simple? Or is there something else that the Northerners are not telling?

Granted that he hadn’t seen long winter in his life, but there should be an account of that. He needed to peruse the ledgers of previous lords to be certain. He was broken out of his reverie when Ser Jon started to speak for the first time since he sat down at the table –

“In addition to that, we Northerners are a hardy bunch of people, My Lord. We could do without the luxury and could get by with the bare minimum. My brother wasn’t exaggerating when he said that mere gruel was enough to sate our hunger. From noble lords to the smallfolk, all of us Northerners try to lead as simple a life as we can.”

Willas didn’t fail to notice the subtle jab in those words. Once again he was reminded of his father’s beliefs in excess and extravagance. So the White Wolf has a bite too, grandmother will be interested in knowing that.

“My Lord, if you permit me to ask of you something,” Ser Jon started.

Willas gave him an indulgent smile and nod, “Of course, Ser. I will be happy to answer if I can.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I have heard that in your leisure, you train horses, hawks and hounds?” Willas gave a nod, he was truly gifted when it came to animals. Ser Jon continued, “Our schedule is quite strict, but if it is at all possible, then I would like to ask your permission to see the beasts you have trained yourself. I am sure you can tell that I have quite an interest in that subject.” He indicated towards the ground beside his chair where lay a giant, white direwolf, currently enamoured with a leg bone of a sheep which was the remnant of his meal. Robb Stark’s wolf, Grey Wind, was snoozing beside his master’s seat.

“It will be my pleasure, Ser Jon. I will personally show you the kennel, stable and aviary. Do you have any experience in hawking?”

“Can’t say that I have. But our friend, Lord Asher here, has a pet raven.” The men exchanged a smirk as if they were privy to some secret no one else knew about.

“Oh? You are adept at Ravenry, My Lord?” Maester Marlow was intrigued, so was Willas. It was quite unheard of that someone besides the Maesters took any interest in training birds, other than hunting purposes, which was how Willas trained the birds under his care.

“Not an adept, per se, Maester. But I used to spend most of my childhood days within the Maester’s turret back at Ironrath and helped him with his chores. I became fascinated with the ravens and tried to learn what I could about them. The Maesters at my home and foster homes had helped me with my curiosity and the rest I have learned by trials and errors. I only acquired Munnin a few months ago, and it suffices to say, I am still learning about how to tend him properly.” Asher Forrester looked quite pleased with his accomplishments.

The conversation pattered off afterwards and the lords bade good night to each other.

[CotW]

“Hvat gerþúr hugsa, jon?” (What do you think, Jon?)

“Brokenrinn flower er meiri klever þan hann let á.  Hann var trying til dig út fyrir meiri information þan þeir eru available til hann.  Þú hafminnr thanks, bróðir, fyrir taking helminn ór konversationinn ok letting mik form einn ráð ór hvat vér munu munu facing.” (The broken flower is cleverer than he lets on. He was trying to dig out for more information than they are available to him. You have my thanks, brother, for taking the helm of the conversation and letting me form an idea of what we will be facing.)

“Aye, ek tökumk hans subtle insistence.  Ek vættfaðirr tökumk inn okkarr ráð ok playeð með volumesrinn ór different grains til let þau appear réttr smárr minni þan þeir truly eru.” (Aye, I caught his subtle insistence. I hope father took in our advice and played with the volumes of different grains to let them appear just a little less than they truly are.)

“Gerþúr hugslorðr stark hafmetr með kinderrinn enn?” (Do you think Lord Stark has met with the Children yet?)

“At er distinctr possibility.  Fǫðurbróðir brynden promiseð mik at hann munu mælmitr þeim um sending fárr ór þeirbrethrenr niðr Suðri til fylgjagð með kropsrinn.  Ek einghafar fearr um hvernig vel þeir kommunicate.  Fǫðurbróðir ned's gamall tungerr quite vile.” (That is a distinct possibility. Uncle Brynden promised me that he would talk with them about sending a few of their brethren down south to help with the crops. I only have a fear about how well they communicate. Uncle Ned's Old Tongue is quite vile.)

“Ór at, ek hafneir worry.  Sansmunur setjhannr réttr.” (Of that, I have no worry. Sansa will set him straight.)

“Hvat gerþúr mean, bróðir?” (What do you mean, brother?)

“Haldár, gerþúr mean til tell at ek veit eittrvat um sansatr þú gereigir? oh, hvernig tableinn hafturneðr.  Let mik relish þessi moment, minn vinar.  Finally, munu bróðirr haldir meiri vatn þan munu the 'bestest' vinr.” (Hold on, do you mean to tell that I know something about Sansa that you don't? Oh, how the table has turned. Let me relish this moment, my friends. Finally, being a brother holds more water than being the 'bestest' friend.)

“Œrinn með þinn gloating, robb.  Þat er quite óbecoming ór þú.” (Enough with your gloating, Robb. It is quite unbecoming of you.)

“Spoil minn fun, hví gereigir þú? alright, þat er réttr at sanshafar become quite masterinn ór gamall tunga.  Gamall nan var quite prouð ór hanprogressr.” (Spoil my fun, why don't you? Alright, it is just that Sansa has become quite the master of Old Tongue. Old Nan was quite proud of her progress.)

“Hon er?” (She is?)

“Aye, arytolðr mik svá.” (Aye, Arya told me so.)

“Nú bíðréttrr minuter.  Eigi einggerar þú veit eittrvat um sansatr var ókunnigr til mik, en aryerr giving þú secrets nú insteað ór mik? at er absolutely óacceptable, stark.” (Now wait just a minute. Not only do you know something about Sansa that was unknown to me, but Arya is giving you secrets now instead of me? That is absolutely unacceptable, Stark.)

“Ha, at munu teach þú fyrir keeping hanawayr fran hanfamiliarr, snow.  Hon var mjök pisseð á þú.” (Ha, that will teach you for keeping her away from her familiar, Snow. She was very pissed at you.)

“Speaking ór familiars, hví gerði þú tell flowerinn um munnin? ek hugsumk vér erum keeping okkarr wingeð vinar secretr.” (Speaking of familiars, why did you tell the flower about Munnin? I thought we are keeping our winged friends a secret.)

“Aye, vér kept þau secret því at southronangerar eigi takþatr líkligr fyrir einnhverr maðr til munu skinchangerr.  Fate favoureð mik at ek hafmanageðr til keep gale secretr still.  En þat er eingar matter ór tími before einnhverr maðr komur til veit um hana.  Hvat með additionsrinn vér seem til sjá within okkarr sveit.  Með enquiring um hawking fran flower, inn þat munu fylgjagð mik inn future til establish ruseinn ór taming gale með tipsrinn ok tricks ek em going til learn fran okkarr host.  Additionally, asher munu munu quiter rikkir fylgjagð með hans experience ór 'ravenry'.” (Aye, we kept them secret because the Southrons do not take it likely for someone to be a skinchanger. Fate favoured me that I have managed to keep Gale a secret still. But it is only a matter of time before someone comes to know about her. What with the additions we seem to see within our group. By enquiring about hawking from the flower, it will help me in future to establish the ruse of taming Gale with the tips and tricks I am going to learn from our host. Additionally, Asher will be quite a great help with his experience of 'ravenry'.)

“Ah, ek fá þat.  Plan within planr.” (Ah, I get it. Plan within a plan.)

“Aye.”

“Faðir munu munu furious ef hann komur til veit um allr ór þessi.  Þú veit hvernig hann feels um trickery.” (Father will be furious if he comes to know about all of these. You know how he feels about trickery.)

“Enn, hann var einninn til konstruct einn ór biggestinn luggirr ór kenturyrinn.  Jafn starks hafemployeðr tricks inn past, inn bróðir.  Hvernig else gerþúr hugsþeirr became winterinn kings ór gamall? munu honourable er kertainly virtuousr maðr skulu elttilr munu, en eigi á kostrinn ór einn's kind.  Remember lady katelyn's words - kind.  Duty.  Honour.  Ek munu gerar smár addition til at - winter munu komfyrirr einnhverr maðr með fire ok blood, hverr dares til threaten minn kind, duty ok honour.” (Yet, he was the one to construct one of the biggest lies of the century. Even Starks have employed tricks in the past, brother. How else do you think they became the Winter Kings of old? Being honourable is certainly a virtuous man should pursue to be, but not at the cost of one's family. Remember Lady Catelyn's words - Family. Duty. Honour. I will make a little addition to that - Winter will come for anyone with fire and blood, who dares to threaten my family, duty and honour.)

---

 

Water Garden, Dorne

Prince Oberyn Martell knocked on the door of his brother, Prince Doran’s solar.

“Enter.” Doran’s voice came from within the room.

“Good morning, brother.” Oberyn entered the room and went directly towards the table to pour himself a goblet of wine.

“Good morning, Oberyn. What did you want to tell me?” Doran turned his gaze from the window with a view of the Summer Sea beyond to look at his younger brother. Oberyn held up a hand as he downed his wine.

“I came here to tell you that I will be leaving for Starfall with Ser Eric. While Ellaria will be travelling to Old Town with the girls.”

At first, Doran didn’t do anything but kept staring at his brother, Oberyn tried not to squirm under his brother’s gaze as a snot-nosed brat who had been caught stealing sweets from the kitchen.

“I hear that your ‘daughter’ had quite an adverse reaction with our visiting knight.” It wasn’t a question. As the lord of the keep, Prince Doran made it a habit to try and get all the information about the events within his walls. Even though he didn’t appear to dine with the others, he’d let Oberyn know that he was still knowledgeable about everything that happens under his roof.

“Ah, yes. Young Sarella is quite the hot-headed one, no?” Oberyn smirked, “Ser Eric is now counting his bruises from the last day’s encounter.”

Doran didn’t acknowledge that he had heard his brother, “Yes, young Sarella could very much burn it all down around us if she is not careful, brother. Will she be joining you in your travel to Old Town?”

Oberyn shuffled his feet uncomfortably, “Ah, yes. I believe Ellaria is already making them prepare for it.” He frowned and looked up to meet Doran’s eyes, “Do you rather wish for her to stay?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want at this point since you, as usual, planned everything on your own.”

“What?”

Doran kept looking at his brother before sighing and averting his gaze, “Are you or are you not quite set in your decision to visit the half-wolf, Oberyn?”

Oberyn frowned to hear the question, “Yes, I am, brother. I thought you wanted it too…?”

“I do. But…”

“But what, brother?”

“Nothing, Oberyn. Forget I said anything.”

Oberyn’s eyes fell on a few parchments scattered on his brother’s desk. From his view, he could gather that they came from the East – namely Tyrosh, Pentos and Norvos.

“Did you receive a letter from my goodsister, then? Arianne will be happy to know -”

He was cut off by Prince Doran, “Oberyn!” He thundered, “Whether or not I am in correspondence with my lady wife is none of your concern. Neither will you say anything to Arianne. Do you understand?”

“Brother, I just -”

“Do you understand?”

Oberyn replied through gritted teeth, “Very well, brother. I will not say anything to Arianne. Forgive me for prying into your private affairs.”

Doran nodded and swept the parchments that were strewn about on his desk into a draw.

“When do you plan to leave?”

“With the high sun. My men are already preparing for the journey.”

“Very well.” Doran once again turned to gaze out of the open window.

“Doran…” Oberyn hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I hope you are not planning something else than what we have already decided upon. Our house cannot withstand anymore, with the current state as it is.”

Oberyn never in his wildest dreams had thought he would hear his proper brother snort in amusement.

“That is quite something, coming from you, Oberyn. You, who has never thought about our house or its members, and did whatever your mind has grasped on.”

Neither was the younger Prince of Dorne was ready to hear the rebuke from his brother, and it hurt him, a lot.

“Doran, whatever I did as youthful folly -”

“Yes,” He was cut off once more, “Your youthful folly, and House Martell is still paying the prices for your follies and those of our sister’s. Do not concern yourself with something you have never put much thought in, brother dear.”

Oberyn was almost knocked off his feet hearing those words, “Our sister’s…Elia?! What are you talking about, Doran?”

“Nothing, Oberyn. You may leave now.” Prince Doran sighed and leaned forward on his chair.

“As you wish, brother.” Oberyn got out of the room and closed the doors lightly behind him.

“Good morning, My Prince.” He was broken out of his thoughts by the greeting of Maester Janus.

“Maester. Why are you here at this time?”

“Oh, I just brought Prince Doran’s medicine, My Prince.”

“His medicine?” Doran frowned and took a glance at the closed door, “Is his gout troubling him this morning? He didn’t say anything about it to me.”

“Oh, no, no. This medicine acts as a precaution, for and when his pain becomes unbearable for him. I prepare this for him on a regular basis.” Maester Janus gave him a bow and entered the room.

Oberyn stood there rooted for a few moments before sighing and striding away from there.

[CotW]

Onboard a ship named Sun’s Spear, A galley of House Martell – A week later

Arthur stood at the prow of the ship bound towards his old home. It had been a long time since he had lain eyes on those walls. Memories – both happy and mournful, rushed forward and overwhelmed him. His grip tightened on the railings as he averted his eyes from the distance where they would see the looming towers of Starfall castle in the light of a dying sun into the churning water of the Torrentine. Worry bore heavy on his mind - how would Ulric receive the news of him being still alive.

“Something on your mind, my friend?” A voice came from behind him.

Without turning his head, Arthur could discern that the younger Prince of Dorne had come to stand by the railing beside him.

“A lot of somethings, My Prince.” He muttered.

Oberyn came to stand beside him, his eyes kept looking at the water of the river as he spoke –

“Would you care to share? I have been told a number of times that it helps.”

Arthur couldn’t hide his smirk. He very well knew who had told the Prince that, “I will, if you will, My Prince.”

“Whatever you meant by that?”

Arthur turned sideways to get a better look at the Dornish Prince, “I am saying that it is quite unlikely for one to sail with Prince Oberyne Martell, and never seeing him cause delay because he is busy in some whorehouse at every port they pass.”

“But I told you before, my good Ser…” Oberyn leaned closer to whisper into Arthur’s ear, “I am faithful to my wife.” He finished with a wink.

“Yes, you did. But that still doesn’t explain your seeming reclusiveness throughout the whole journey of ours.” This time it was Arthur who leaned closer, “Oberyn, I am asking you as a friend. We grew up together, we played and bled together. We were friends even before we were Prince or Kingsguard. I can tell when something troubles you. You are troubled now, my friend, and it is eating at your conscience. Please, if talking about it eases your burden even just a little, I am here to lend an ear.”

Oberyn gave a wan smile to the knight, “You have my thanks.” Once more he sighed and turned around to lean against the railing while keeping a look about the deck. “I don’t know if talking about it will help at all, but at this point, I am willing to try anything.”

Arthur nodded in encouragement.

“Doran worries me. For the last few years, there have been changes in him. Subtle changes that won’t hold up to scrutiny, but ones who are closer to him, would surely manage to tell.”

“If you are talking about his health -”

“No, it is not about his health. More, his behaviours. This is my brother we are talking about, Arthur. I grew up knowing him. Granted he was already grown when both Elia and I were mere babes. But I know my brother. Or at least, I used to know. This man that he has become, is completely unknown to me. He is keeping secrets from me, from his own children. He had created distance between himself and Arianne. Quentin is all but lost to the Yronwoods. I admit that was my fault mostly, but Doran did nothing to keep an eye on him. Trysten is only spared because of his age. I don’t know how long will it take for him to entangle within whatever it is Doran is planning.”

Arthur frowned, “Have you tried to talk to him?”

“I did. On more than one occasion, I tried to get him to tell me what was in his mind. Each time he rebuffed me. The brother who I had known to put family before everything, now don’t shy away from insulting me, or his daughter with our mistakes thrown at our faces. Why do you think Arianne tries to spend time away from her father? She has been to Norvos to try and make Mellario consider returning to Dorne. She tried for reconciliation between her parents. But my goodsister is too stubborn to heed to her daughter’s pleas.

You can imagine Arianne’s rage when she came back unsuccessful of her quest, only to hear whispers about how her father was working within the shadows to make her younger brother the heir to the seat of Sunspear. Once, he used to dote on Sarella, now he appears as if he was thinking of how to dispose of her. I know you will not believe me, but I cannot deny my eyes. He is having secret correspondences with someone at Essos, and no, it is not Mellario. For his messages bear marks from almost all of the Free Cities of East.”

“When did you start to see these changes?”

Oberyn thought for a moment before answering, “About three years back. I had just returned from the East myself. There was something else I thought I saw in his eyes. But I didn’t put much weight on it. A few days later, Arianne comes back and raises hell about her scheming, old, meddlesome fool of a father. She was fortunate that Daemon Sand got her away before Hotah did something to her, and Doran wouldn’t have stopped his dog, I am quite sure of that. Arianne never set a foot in a keep she knows her father is currently residing since then. And since then, she is gathering allies, allies who will string her up by her own intestines once she stops being useful. I don’t know what to do about it all. Everything is seemingly slipping out of grasp.”

The men stood silent for a few moments.

“I believe it is your turn now. What is troubling you?”

Arthur sighed, “The same things from before. Coming back from the dead after more than a decade and hoping it wouldn’t cause my loved one’s distress. When I came back, I only thought that I would be seeing my older, frail brother. Afraid that the shock of seeing me alive would cause harm to his health. Then I myself received shocks of finding out people who I thought were lost forever, but still remain in the realm of the living. One accepted me, for she has travelled the same path that I have trodden on, but the other holds me responsible for everything bad in her life.”

Arthur wiped the tears off of his eyes, “When I first held her, when Rhaeger laid her in my arms and told me that my responsibilities become ten times greater than they were, I listened to him with only half an ear. My mind, my entire self, came to halt and I kept looking at the sleeping babe in my arms. I loved her as my own since the moment I saw her. I have lived in a hell of my own making for all these years because I thought her dead. I cursed myself that I couldn’t be there for her, that she was taken from me so soon. You gave me a reason to live anew when you told me that she still breathes. I desperately wanted to hold her against my chest, just to make my mind believe that it was not all a fool’s dream. That she is real. She is here. But she hates me, Oberyn. She hates the very air I breathe. She…my dau -” He stopped abruptly and turned away to look at the water again.

Oberyn stood there with his head bowed. He didn’t know what to say or do.  

Once more, Arthur started to speak. So low was his voice that Oberyn had to strain his ears to listen to him - “And now I am going towards the place where I was born, where they have an empty grave marked for me. I am going back to a family who had made peace with the fact that I will never return. That and all of the things you have just said to me. My land is looking from the precipice towards an unavoidable war. And when it will erupt, my duty will demand that I stay away from helping my brethren. I have hurt everyone and everything I knew for this duty and I will continue to do so till my last breath…my fucking duty.” He spat disdainfully.

Oberyn contemplated a few moments before asking –

“Why did you become a glorified sentry? You could have done anything, become anyone with skills you possessed. Why a Kingsguard?”

Arthur gave a short laugh, “The same reason that changed Prince Oberyn Martell from being a known lecher. The love for a woman…”

Oberyn’s eyes became wide, “Elia?!” He stammered.

Arthur nodded while rubbing his eyes, “The heart wants what it wants, my friend. I knew nothing would come of it, because of who she was. Yet, I couldn’t stay away from her. In a moment of desperation, I took the oath of the White Cloaks, in a bid to remain closer to her.”

“Did she know?”

“I think so. But she had her hands full with taming a dragon, and later, trying to tame a wild direwolf.”

Once again, both men fell into silence, each lost in thoughts of days that were and never could be.

“What would have you done if she had married Jaime Lannister?” Oberyn asked a while later.

“Would have become her sworn shield, mayhaps.” Arthur shrugged, then took a sideways glance at his friend and smirked as he continued, “Don’t forget, if that was to happen, a certain lioness would have had your cock in her firm grips.”

“Somehow I find that even more repulsive than having Tywin Lannister as a goodfather.” Oberyn shuddered. Both men broke into a burst of hearty laughter.

“Is it worth all of that?” Oberyn asked once the laughter died. Arthur looked at him askance, “Your supposed death…or should I say…exile? Your absence from everything, your duty… was it worthy of the sacrifices you have made? Is he worthy of it?”

Arthur gave him a genuine smile in return, “In more ways than I can say, my friend. The first time I saw him, I truly saw all three of them. Rhaeger’s built, Lyanna’s colouring and Elia’s inquisitive gleam in the eyes. We didn’t talk about him much, Oberyn, but believe you me when I tell you this -” He turned to face the man, “He is unburnt. Truly.”

Oberyn, at first frowned hearing that, then when his mind caught up to the meaning behind those words, his eyes widened, “He is?!” Arthur nodded. “But…but…it is fucking unbelievable! I only heard about it in tales.”

“Do you know what his last words to the Mountain were?” Oberyn shook his head, “His friend acted as his squire in the jousting event. He was there beside him when he called for the Maester to tend the filth. When the Maester said that he was beyond help, he executed him, pretending to show him mercy by killing him. But in truth, he executed him in front of everyone, including the fat stag. In Old Tongue, he delivered his judgement. His friend told us later when he heard his account afterwards that he revealed who he was to that cunt. His words were something like these – Remember Elia Martell. You raped her, you smashed her head to kill her. Did you think yourself safe from your deeds, Gregor Clegane? I, Aemon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaeger and Princess Lyanna Targaryen, stepson of Princess Elia of Houses Targaryen and Martell, sentence you to die.

When he took off his head, he chanted along with his friend, everyone thought he was praying for him. But in reality, he cursed him. Almost the entirety of the viewers chanted with the two of them. Gregor Clegane went to the Seven Hells with the curses of all the kingdoms after him. And he did these in front of the old lion, Tywin Lannister, and he was none the wiser.”

Oberyn almost fell off the ship in his uncontrollable laughter. Wheezing for his breath, he asked, “What were the words?”

“Ek kurse þú. ‘I curse you’ in Old Tongue.”

“Ek kurse þú. I will remember these words. Now I truly can’t wait to meet him.”

“And I can wait for another lifetime for what awaits me up there.” Arthur sighed, nodding ahead of them.

Oberyn turned to find the white towers of the Starfall castle gleaming in the dying light of the day.

 

Notes:

A.N. - I have no excuse. I am an absolute lazy fucker who had procrastinated for an inhumanly possible amount of time. To myself, I say - Ek kurse þú.

Chapter 29: Fire and Ice, Pt. 1

Fire and Ice, Pt. 1

Kings’ Landing (a week after the departure of the Northmen)

Lord Arryn offered a smile at Ser Arys Oakheart who stood guard beside the Small Council’s chamber. King Robert Baratheon could or could not attend the meeting, as usual, but the Kingsguard remained alert all the same. The white-clad knight gave the Lord Hand a respectful bow and opened the doors for him.

Lord Arryn took a glance of the present members of the Council as he sat down at the table himself. Lords Stannis and Renly were both in attendance, although, they were sitting at the opposite ends of the long table. Stannis, ever the stern one, was grinding his teeth at his youngest brother, Renly who was draped over his chair and quietly chuckling about something or other with the Master of Coins, Petyr Baelish. The eunuch, Varys was smiling in a way that could mean anything and nothing at the same time. He gave Lord Arryn a bow which the older man didn’t know was respectful or not at all. Grandmaester Pycelle was wiping his brow with a small piece of cloth and was letting out whizzing coughs at a regular interval. This is the King’s advisors to help him run the country – Lord Arryn thought derisively.

As soon as his bottom touched the chair, he had to stand up once again, as, with a loud crash, the doors to the chamber were opened and in strode the King of the Seven Kingdoms – King Robert Baratheon, first of his name. From his stagger, it was evident that the King is already drunk. Ser Barristan walked behind the King. Lord Arryn assumed that it was the old knight’s turn to guard the King, and he somehow managed to make the man agree to attend the meeting along with him. He nodded his head at the Lord Commander minutely, every little effort was appreciated.

King Robert slumped down in his seat at the head of the table and as usual, groped for the nearby container of wine and a goblet.

“I do hope you don’t have much to blather on today. I am quite busy as it is.” Robert spoke with a slur.

Jon Arryn had to fight to not let the frustrated sigh escape his mouth. Yes, Robert, you have quite a busy schedule of whoring and drinking – His thoughts never betrayed the warm smile that adorned his visage.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Arryn replied genially, “We have the regular issues about the kingdoms to discuss, but the most urgent ones are the recent missives that reached us.”

“What of it?” Robert spoke in between his gulps of wine.

“The last rites of Lord Gyles Penrose.” Lord Arryn said somberly.

Nobody had ever seen the King spit his wine as he did at that moment. Eyes wide, beard drenched in the spat wine, he spluttered for a few moments.

“Lord Gyles is dead?”

“Yes, Your Grace. We have received a raven late last night about his passing. His son, Ser Courtney Penrose, at present, is taking care of his father’s duties as well as preparing for the rites. He said in his missive that he and his family would very much appreciate it if someone from the Royal family attends the ceremonies. Also, the handing over the charges of the stewardship must be taken care of.”

King Robert had set his goblet down and stared blankly in front of him, “How did he die?”

“Old age, Your Grace.”

After a few moments of silence, the King spoke again –

“He was there to take care of everything. H-he gave me the courage so I was able to lay Father and Mother to rest. I had to return to Eyrie to my fosterage. He…Uncle Gyles gave me his words that he would take care of my brothers. Stannis was just a lad and Renly a babe. Do you remember, Stannis?”

The corners of the Lord of Dragonstone’s eyes had softened minutely. He gave a short nod, “Yes, I do, Robert.”

“Will you come with me, brother? Will you stand by my side as they lay Uncle Gyles to rest?”

“Of course, brother.”

Robert gave a nod, “Then it is settled. Stannis, Renly and I will visit Storm’s End to attend Lord Gyle’s last rites.”

“But I was about to leave for Old Town to attend the tourney myself.” Renly Baratheon said in an almost whiney tone, “I was never that close with the old man and -”

Before he could end his thoughts, he had to hurriedly duck down to avoid a goblet hurtling for his head. It sailed over the lord’s head and crashed against the stone wall of the chamber before falling on the ground with a loud clatter. Renly, cautiously and slowly lifted his head to see his eldest brother, the King standing at the head of the table. His face was purple with rage as his eyes were almost bulging out.

“That old man is the reason you are sitting here today. He is the reason you are alive to see your youth, you fucking ingrate. When Storm’s End was besieged and Stannis had nowhere to turn for help, it was Lord Gyles’ advice that helped him keep his head. You will be coming with us, Renly. You and that little shit son of mine, Joffrey. It is time he visits the lands of his forefathers.” Robert sat down heavily back in his seat once more.

Lord Arryn was silently watching the interactions between the Baratheon brothers. While it warmed his heart to see the two estranged brothers – Robert and Stannis, to set their differences aside even for a short while, it was the youngest brother’s behaviour that alarmed him. That and the compliments laced with veiled insults Robert gave to Stannis. Everyone present was aware that Lord Gyles was injured at the beginning of the siege and spent almost the entirety of it infirmed, while it was the young Stannis Baratheon who had kept the men alive through that harrowing time. Granted, mayhaps there was a chance of Lord Gyles advising the then young man, but the moral victory of the situation could always be placed at the feet of Stannis Baratheon and his unshakable power of will. But Robert always overlooked his brother’s achievements, and it was indeed a slap on his face when he was declared to be lord of Dragonstone when Renly was given the lordship of Storm’s End. A punishment – in Robert’s words – for being unable to capture the last two Targaryens. Lord Arryn watched on as Stannis Baratheon’s features hardened once more from the softness they had acquired in the moments of reminiscing old times.

“What is this about a tourney?” Robert growled as he reached for another goblet.

Grandmaester Pycelle coughed some more before replying, “Ah, yes, Your Grace. A raven arrived from Old Town bearing Lord Tyrell’s missive. He has profusely asked for forgiveness for their absence during the King’s Tourney. It appears that Lady Olenna, had fallen quite ill and the family thought it better to stay and tend to her. Lord Mace Tyrell, afterwards, arranged for a tourney to compensate and hopes that a representative from the Royal family would deign to grace the tourney with their presence.” He was out of his breath with that long a speech.

Robert nodded and thought for a few minutes while he drank.

At much annoyance of Lord Arryn, Petyr Baelish spoke up –

“If Your Grace permits, I am willing to make the journey to Old Town as a representative of the Capital.”

It was not only the Hand of the King who had a frown of disgruntlement on their face, but Lord Stannis Baratheon also gritted out, “If you were paying attention to what the Grandmaester was speaking about the missive, Lord Baelish, you would have heard that the Tyrells invited the Royal family. Or do you fancy yourself into thinking that you belong to the Royal family?”

Baelish backtracked, “I, of course, meant no offence, My Lord. I just thought -”

“Well, you thought wrong. My advice to you is to kindly do not get involved with issues that do not concern you. Remember your station.”

Suitably cowed, Petyr bowed low, “Forgive me for my assumptions, Your Grace, My Lords. I meant no disrespect.”

“Enough!” Barked Robert, “Ask Cersei if she wants to make the journey to Old Town. She can be the representative of the Royal family. It would stop her bitching about her precious Joffrey leaving her side. Stannis, Renly, prepare for our own, I want to leave as soon as it is possible.” He heaved himself off of the seat and took stumbling steps towards the exit. Lord Arryn hurried after him.

“Your Grace, may I have a quick word?”

“What is it now, Jon? I am truly not in the state of mind to hear anything more. Let me mourn for Uncle Gyles in peace.” Robert looked quite sad to the old man.

“Of course, Robert, I understand. I only want to talk to you about your decision about taking the Crown Prince along with you? Are you sure it is wise?”

Robert frowned, “And why shouldn’t it be? He ought to know about the lands of his forefathers, does he not? If you are worried about his bitch of a mother, well, she can’t do anything against the King’s command, can she? Stop worrying so much, Jon, it’s not good for your health. I already lost Uncle Gyles. I do not want to lose you too.” He swept up the older man in a massive hug.

I only want to stop you because that boy is not yours, Robert – Jon Arryn thought to himself as he awkwardly patted the back of his foster son.

Robert strode away as steadily as he could in his drunken state. Ser Barristan stopped just short of the door. He appeared to have something he wished to say, but instead, he only gave a curt nod, “My Lord Hand.”

“Lord Commander.”

“As soon as I am relieved, I will seek you for a discussion of the upcoming travel arrangements, My Lord.”

“I will be waiting for you then, Lord Commander.”

The others made their way out of the room as well, but Lord Arryn indicated for Lord Baelish to stay back. He was waiting for the Grandmaester to leave, however, the old man was painstakingly slow in his steps. Finally, when it was just the two of them, Lord Arryn rounded to stare down his fellow Vale lord. Petyr Baelish almost squirmed under his glare as a disobedient child.

“What were you thinking, Petyr?” He snarled.

“My Lord, I -” He stuttered.

Lord Arryn raised a hand, “Save it, I do not want to hear your excuses. You are only here because I thought you had a good head on your shoulders. Rumours are reaching to my ears about what you get up to in your brothels, Petyr. I only tolerate you because you are good with numbers. But that doesn’t mean that you are indispensable. It won’t be even an hour for me to kick you out of this city. Lysa’s fondness of you be damned. Watch your steps, and do watch that mouth of yours.”

As he stormed out of the Council room, Lord Arryn failed to notice the flash of rage that appeared on Lord Baelish’s face before he schooled his features once more.

[CotW]

Cersei was incensed. She was beyond raging and shouting at that point since she realized that it won’t help her. Thus, she was seething in cold fury. How dare that fat oaf to declare to take my son away from me? My precious Joffrey, my dearest son. She knew she was alone, none would come to say a word on her behalf. As long as Robert was alive, he would make decisions for Joffrey and her other children and she could do nothing about it. Even her father, Lord Tywin Lannister wouldn’t lift a finger for her. Nursing a goblet of wine, she tried to calm her enraged mind. She could only wait and bid her time.

A gentle breeze came through the opened windows, and along with it, wafted in the stench of the city. It renewed her anger. She was destined to be the Queen of Seven Kingdoms. Her fate had demanded so since long. A shiver ran down her spine unknowingly as images of the past flashed through her mind –

A young Cersei Lannister and two of her ladies in waiting – Jeyne Ferman and Melara Heatherspoon, had given their guards the slip and sneaked out of The Rock. The port town of Lannisport was a hive of activities. A tourney sponsored by the Lord of the Casterly Rock, the Warden of West, Lord Tywin Lannister had always attracted people from all over the Seven Kingdoms, and Cersei was determined to see some of the excitements with her own eyes. Her aunt, the Lady Genna had only told her about the attractions, but she wanted to see them all for herself. It had taken her quite a while to convince her companions and afterwards, it was mere child’s play to sneak away from the keep. A couple of Gold Dragons had exchanged hands earlier, and there were three mares saddled and ready at a pre-arranged spot. It was only a short ride from The Rock to Lannisport.

“We shouldn’t be here.” Whispered Jeyne, she kept looking over her shoulder.

“Will you keep it quiet?” Snarled Cersei, Jeyne was getting more irritating with each passing moment.

“Yes, do be quiet, Jeyne. We won’t be long here. We just want to see for a bit.” Melara whispered from her other side, excitement was evident in her flushed face.

Jeyne sighed in resignation, “Very well. Where to then?”

“Why don’t we go and see the tourney ground?” Suggested Cersei.

The three made their way through the darkened alleyways and stumbled through without attracting attention from the roaming guards. But the tourney ground proved to be a rather waste of their time. Apart from the labours digging holes in the ground and erecting poles for the gallery, there was nothing that could be of interest to the young ladies. Disheartened, they slunk away from the grounds and went the same way they came. Cersei didn’t want to return to the confines of The Rock just yet. This was the first time she had ever breathed the air of freedom, free from her guards, free from the gaze of her aunt. She wanted to relish it a little bit more.

“Why don’t we go towards the port? Just for a while?” She suggested. Though her companions knew the suggestion was the veiled command from the Lady Cersei Lannister. Without any protest, the three slowly advanced towards the ever awake portion of the port town. The inns and brothels there were overflowing with patrons who had come for Lord Lannister’s tourney. It was quite hard for the three young ladies to navigate amidst the rowdy crowd. They ambled on aimlessly for a time before once again Jeyne raised the topic of returning to the safety of The Rock. The other two reluctantly agreed this time. They tried to hurry to the place where they had left their horses. But the night was such a traitorous time that even the well-known paths of the day appeared to be unknown. They took a few unwise turns and found themselves in a rather secluded part of the city. Before them, stood a quaint mansion. Although it looked abandoned, it was apparent that the manse was frequented by people.  

“It is the mansion of House Spicer, from Castamere,” Melara said, indicating the weather-worn banner that hung in front of the manse – it showed three black pepperpots on a saffron bend, across a field of green and silver stripes.

Jeyne spoke in a trembling voice, “I know where we are. We are at the home of Maggi the Frog!” She whisper-shouted.

“Maggi the Frog?” Cersei never heard of a person named as such.

“Yes,” Jeyne nodded frantically, “they say that old lord Spicer had fallen in the thrall of her, because of a love potion. He brought her back with him from Essos. When his family came to know about her, they made the lord abandon her. But by then, the old man had truly been ensnared in her traps. He couldn’t just leave her, he made a home for her and made sure she would not want for anything for the rest of her life. People visit her to have their fates read, or to commission potions.”

“And you truly believe in that old wives’ tale?” Cersei laughed.

“It’s not a tale, Cersei, it’s true. Mother once told me that she heard from a very close friend of hers that someone she knew had fallen ill because they mocked the witch. We should go from here.” She tugged her friends’ hands.

Cersei wrenched her hand free, “Come now, Jeyne. I am quite sure there is nothing to be afraid of. We can at least have our fates read. I can pay for us all.” She strode forward and opened the rusted gate. Melara was right beside her and Jeyne closely following the two of them while chanting ‘we shouldn’t be here’ under her breath.

Cersei would be lying if she said that she wasn’t afraid. But she was a daughter of House Lannister, the first born of Lord Tywin Lannister. She often exchanged places with her twin, Jaime, garbed in his clothes and attended the training yard. None could tell them apart. Her father never put any worth into such nonsenses and she was his able daughter. Stilling her traitorously fast-beating heart, she reached out and knocked on the old, broken door.

There was a shuffling sound, and with a keening wail, the door opened. There stood Maggi the Frog, her skin bore the marks of age, they hung loosely from her body. Her hair was white as bone and her face riddled with warts. But it was her eyes that scared them the most, for none of them ever seen eyes as yellow as them. Jeyne let out a shriek and ran away while Melara gasped and grabbed hold of Cersei’s hand in a very painful grip. In a crooning voice, the old woman spoke –

“Are you lost, my sweets?”

Cersei gulped down the fear and raised her head defiantly, “No, we have come here to have our fates read.”

“You are young, sweetling. Go back to your home. You will find no knowledge here.”

Cersei frowned, did she just refuse her? Nobody refused the daughter of Lord Tywin.

“You will read our fates or I will have my father deal with you, witch. Do you know  with whom you are speaking to?”

The witch cackled, “Blood of Lan, there is no doubt about that. It is in your eyes. Very well, come inside, child, and let us see what befalls you in your fate.”

Cersei pushed past the old crone, dragging Melara along with her. She took a disdainful glance of the room they were in, none seemed fit as a seat for a lady of her standing.

“Do seat down, child.” The old witch slowly put down her lantern and turned to face them.

“You don’t have any proper seat for us. We will stand.” Cersei sniffed, “Be quick and do whatever it is you need to do.”

“As my lady wishes.” The witch cackled again.

Is she mocking me? – Cersei frowned at the thought. But soon her mind diverted from her thoughts by the witch’s action, in a sweep of her hand, Maggi had unfurled something over the floor that looked like an animal pelt. It surely smelt like one. Chanting in a foreign tongue, the witch threw a handful of something in the air. When they landed, they appeared to be small bones, some were charred, others glinted in a reddish glow. Cersei wasn’t sure if it was blood or not.

“I will be needing a drop of your blood, child.” Maggi extended a crooked hand, Cersei ignored Melara’s trembling protest and grabbed her right hand and extended it along with her own right hand. Maggi grasped both and with unbelievable swiftness, she ran a rusted iron dagger over their thumbs and drew blood from them. Without giving them a chance to protest, the old witch put the thumbs in her mouth and sucked hard. Cersei snatched her hand away in disgust.

“What are you -”

Her indignant yell cut short as the witch started to sway on her feet. When she opened her eyes, they seemed to have become even brighter yellow. In an eerie voice, she began to speak –

“Ask, child of Lan, your fate lays bare for the One, the Many and the Seven…”

Standing straight, Cersei asked, “When will I wed the Prince?”

“Never. You will wed the King.”

“I will be the Queen, though?”

“Aye, Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”

Cersei didn’t like to hear such fate. She was the most beautiful in all of Westerlands. Her aunt said she was sure to gain the attention of the Silver Prince. But the witch also said she would be marrying the King. Rhaeger was bound to claim the throne quite sooner then, she happily thought to herself.

“Will the King and I have children?”

“Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds, and when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.”

Cersei was struck speechless, what kind of a stupid prophecy was that? She would marry the King, but then he would have six-and-ten children against her three? Would the King be disloyal to her? That didn’t sound like Rhaeger. And then her children, the witch talked about their golden shrouds. Was she to live longer than her children? Was she to watch them die? And another younger, more beautiful queen to take her place? A valonqar would become her killer?

“What is a valonqar?” She whispered.

“Younger brother, child, valonqar is High Valyrian for a younger brother.” The witch cackled once again.

Tyrion! Her mind screamed at her. That little beast not only killed their lady mother, but he would also be the reason for her death? Would he be the reason for her children’s deaths too? She won’t let it happen. Cersei would kill Tyrion before even he could think of harming her or her children.

In her inner turmoil, she almost missed Melara’s question –

“Will I marry Jaime?”

With another infernal cackle, the witch crooned, “Not Jaime, nor any other man, worms will have your maidenhead. Your death is here tonight, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close.”

Why was the witch looking at her that way, Cersei thought, she turned to speak with Melara but found her to be gone white in fear. They needed to get out of there, they needed to be away from all of this madness. Yes, all of these were nothing but the madness of an addled mind. But how could they get away from this mad witch? Casting her eyes about, she found a jar of potion just within her reach. She grabbed for it and flung it at the witch with all her might. With a crash, the jar broke open impacting against the witch’s forehead. She fell down on her pelt covered floor as Cersei once more grabbed Melara and ran out of the house. They could hear the witch’s curses as they ran to find their way back to their horses. When they reached there after losing their direction in their haste more than once, they found only two of the horses, which meant, Jeyne had already been there and had gone back to The Rock. Without wasting any more time, both the girls got up their horses and rode fast.

Handing over the reins of the horses to the stablehands were not a problem at all, for their silence was already bought, very generously in fact. Quietly, the two young women made their way towards their chambers.

“We shouldn’t tell anyone about the witch.” Melara broke the silence once they were in the inner courtyard.

“But won’t Jeyne tell otherwise?” Cersei was sceptical.

“She ran away before we asked for our prophecies. Even if she says anything, we could tell that we also ran away soon afterwards.” Melara continued, “We will give power to the prophecies if we let them dictate our lives. If we ignore them, they will lose their potency.”

Cersei was suffering from a terrible headache. She couldn’t think properly anymore. Her thoughts were running rampant – Rhaeger was to become the King. She would be the Queen. Rhaeger would be unfaithful to her. She would give birth to three children, but they would die before their time. She would be replaced by a younger, beautiful woman. Tyrion would be the cause of her death.

Melara didn’t stop speaking all the while, “What I meant to say is, my lord father is prepared to bring up the betrothal discussion with Lord Tywin. If it bears fruit, we could become sisters, Cersei. Won’t that be fun? I could come with you to the Capital as your Lady in waiting. And then, when Jaime ascends to become the Lord of The Rock, I will become the Lady Lannister.”

What is this bitch blathering about? – thought Cersei, Jaime is mine. We are one soul in two bodies. Even if I am to marry the Prince, nay, the King, Jaime will remain mine and mine only. None can have him save me.

Melara didn’t notice that Cersei had stopped walking. She was engrossed about thoughts of naming her future children, she was thinking out loud what would be the proper names for heirs-heiresses of Casterly Rock. She was just in front of the well… a single push, that would be all to make her stop –

“Your Grace.”

Cersei was brought out to her senses by the sudden call.

“What?” She almost yelled.

The cowering maid tried to make herself even smaller, “Pardon me, Your Grace, but Prince Joffrey demands your presence right away.”

“I’ll be there shortly.” She dismissed her with a negligent wave of a hand.

As soon as she was alone, she sauntered over to her vanity and brought out a small, ornate chest. Its key never left her person, she carried it always in a chain around her neck. Inside of it laid her most precious possessions. She fished out the key to open the chest. There was the emerald necklace of Lady Joanna, her mother. Underneath it, lay an old piece of parchment. She brought it out and very carefully opened the folds. It was a childish drawing. One that she had made when she was but a mere eight namedays old lass. It depicted a golden dragon with red wings, astride it was a man with silver hair – her Silver Prince. In front of the Prince, sat a beautiful golden-haired woman whose eyes were of bright emeralds. Cersei mournfully brushed her fingers over the drawing and let out a sigh. A lifetime of unfulfilled dreams and desires were imprisoned within that piece of parchment. Yes, she married the King, she indeed became the Queen. But true to the prediction, Robert truly had been unfaithful to her. She had three beautiful children, also true, but they were not the fat oaf’s. They were not Jaime’s either. She hated failures. But she still had time on her side. She was the most beautiful woman in the realm. She would win Jaime back. She set the parchment aside and brought out a single dried rose. She had stolen it from her daughter. Myrcella could never appreciate what this rose represented. It was meant for her and her alone

“Don’t worry, brother dearest, till I can have you on your knees before me, I will try to indulge myself with a direwolf instead. After all, dragons and direwolves – both are magical, aren’t they?” She giggled to herself.

She locked and put away her chest once again. She needed to prepare for the journey. Father had told her to cultivate the roses. For Joffrey’s future, she would suffer the separation. She was needed to test the Tyrells. And also, there was a certain White Wolf to tame.

---

 

Winterfell

Wade knocked on the doors to the lord’s solar, the guards who stood at the side only gave him a slight nod. He didn’t know why Lord Stark had sent for him this morning. Was it about him putting salt into the baker’s pie? That couldn’t be it, could it? He wasn’t so sure. It did sound like a very clever idea when he thought about it. Almost the same as the time he thought he could breed the most delicious animal by making a sheep mate with a chicken. But the fucking things didn’t listen to him no matter how much he coaxed them. Nobody ever listened to him, save for little Kurt. Now, that was a good lad.

His musings were cut short by Lord Stark’s bid to enter the room. Wade straightened up and strode forward. By the Old Gods, he would deny everything.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell sat behind the lord’s desk. Both gave a short nod as Wade entered the room.

“Good morning, Milord, Milady.”

“Morning, Wade,” began Lord Stark, “I asked you here because -”

“I didn’t do it.” He blurted out, cutting Lord Stark in mid-sentence.

“Very well, I -” Lord Stark frowned, “Wait a moment, what did you do?”

“I don’t know, Milord. I certainly didn’t put salt into the baker’s pie.” He nodded with assurance.

“It was you?” Lord Stark was looking at him incredulously, “The baker complained that someone ruined his pies. Sansa was most upset about not having her pie, and I punished Arya thinking it was her fault. Why did you do such a thing, Wade, at your age, no less?” Lady Stark put a hand over her mouth. It sounded to him as if the lady was trying to stifle a laugh.

Wade wanted to deny, but he was also very afraid of the lord, he decided that half-truth was the way to reply.

“I didn’t try to improve the ritual of bread and salt by offering a salty pie instead, Milord.”

Lady Stark leaned towards the lord and hid her face into his shoulder, while the lord had his head in his hands, massaging his brows. Wade could swear that he had heard the lord mutter something that sounded like ‘why me’ over and over again. And from the shaking back of the lady, Wade was quite sure that she was weeping at his sheer brilliance.

After a few moments, the lord cleared his throat and the lady was once again composed, there was a little tear at the corner of her eyes from her weeping, but Wade decided to not notice it.

“Forget about the pies. I have received a raven this morning from Greywater Watch. Lord Reed suggested that it would be better if you start your journey back to your party in three days’ time. You must reach White Harbour within two weeks. There will be a messenger waiting for you with a missive for the lads, and Lord Manderly was informed to have a ship ready for your journey to Old Town. Could you be ready to leave in three days’ time?”

Wade put his fist across his chest, “Of course, Milord. Me and the lads are always ready to depart at a moment’s notice.”

That earned him a pleased nod from the lord.

“What about the little lad who came with you? Kurt, I believe is his name?”

“Aye, Milord.”

“Will you be taking him with you, or will you prefer to leave him behind at Winterfell?”

Wade opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find suitable words to say. What was he to do about Kurt?

With his brows furrowed, he started to speak –

“Wolf intercepted a missive between some individuals. Now, we were not sure who they may be, but Wolf and the lords thought one of them is the eunuch. Underneath his powdery self, lies a vicious bastar…er…man.” He took a surreptitious glance at the frowning Lady of Winterfell, he needed to watch his words. “At first, they thought the wee lass they stumbled upon, would be dead with her entire family. But then they found out that by the Gods’ will, Kurt lived. Wolf took him in and handed him over to me. I am supposed to look after the lad. In writings, he is Wolf’s page, but we both look after his education. It wouldn’t have mattered if we stayed in one place, but we are to set off for an unknown amount of time. The roads aren’t fit to rear a lad. To be honest, I don’t know what I am to do with the lad, Milord.”

“He may find a home here in this castle…” Lady Catelyn commented.

Lord Stark shook his head, “It is not as easy, My Lady. You have never been to fosterage, but I have. To leave behind everything and everyone you know, only to go and stay with people you’ve never even met before, is quite hard for a young mind. This was the reason why I was against sending my children to fosterage. It was only Jon’s very compelling arguments that made me send him and Robb away. For a lad like Kurt, it will be even harder yet. Not only because of his age but also because of how he was brought up. He was not of noble birth, My Lady. He will always doubt himself and that would hinder him from flourishing. Not to mention, he is a young lad, hence, he is bound to make a mistake or two. And when we are to punish him for his misdeeds, it could become unconstructive for him. What with his probable thinking of him not being able to lead a life within a keep. He is a bright young lad, and from what I understood by his interaction with Wade, or with Arya, he will feel stifled here. His changes in life are quite enormous than what any of us could have experienced at that age.

He sees Jon and Wade as his elder brothers. He worships the two of them. If we are to keep him here apart from them, he may grow resentful towards us. It is not quite an easy decision to make.”

Wade felt his head was about to split open, it was not fit to think so much, “What am I to do then, Milord?”

Lord Stark let out a deep sigh before answering, “I think we should talk with the lad before making our decision.”

“And the opinion of a lad who is yet to see his thirteen namedays should matter?” Lady Stark asked with narrowed eyes.

“It shouldn’t, no, but it will definitely help with our decision.” Lord Stark called out for a guard to fetch young Kurt. Wade stood aside, patiently waiting, and trying to avoid the lord’s eyes. He was deathly afraid of the man.

Soon enough, there was a knock on the door, and after Lord Stark’s bid to enter, young Kurt shuffled inside.

“Y-you asked fer me, milord?” He mumbled, not taking his eyes off of the floor.

“Aye, lad. A situation has arisen concerning you, and we would like to hear your thoughts on it.”

“Erm…I know nothing, milord.” He pitifully looked towards Wade, hoping for some help for him. Wade wanted to help his acolyte, but he couldn’t.

“Your Maester Wade,” Wade looked up in a shock, only to see a smirk on the lord’s face. He wanted to dig up a hole in the ground and hide. He never wanted Lord Stark to call him a ‘Maester’. “was instructed to leave Winterfell in three days’ time and once more meet up with the Wolf Pack. But he is undecided about what to do with you.” Lord Stark leaned forward and put his chin on top of his closed hands.

Kurt was trembling, “Yer leavin’ me behind, Maester? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

Wade once more looked towards the Lord of Winterfell, pleading to him with his eyes. He couldn’t stand to see the boy he came to care for as a little brother in distress.

“No lad, you did nothing wrong.” Lord Stark tried to placate the young boy, “You are the proper ‘acolyte’ any ‘Maester’ could wish to have. But, Wade and the men will be leaving these lands for a long time. They plan to go to the far lands of Essos and travel around. This is, however, is not a proper way for a lad of your age to grow up. So, I proposed an alternative for you. You can stay here at Winterfell and train with the men. Ser Rodrik will be happy to take you under his wings, so to speak. And once Maester Luwin returns, he can help you with the lessons that you are learning now.” He stopped and looked at the boy expectantly.

Kurt raised his eyes to seek out Wade. He gave him an encouraging nod.

Taking a deep breath, Kurt spoke in a small voice, “If it’s all the same ta ya, milord, I want ta go with Maester Wade an’ Ser Jon.”

“Don’t you wish for a safe life, boy?” Lady Stark leaned forward with a frown.

“Pardons, milady, but I ain’t suppose ta live.” Kurt shuddered as he remembered that fateful day. “I jus’ turned me head, an’ it was all it took for them ta gone forever…me da…ma an’…an’ Anna…”

“She was your sister, lad? Anna?”

“Aye, milord, wee li’l thing, she was. Sometimes…I forget how she looked. An’ then Ser Jon sings, an’ I feel she’s standin’ next ta me…” Kurt wiped his eyes, “Nobody cared I lived, milord. I was same as a dog ta them. Bu’ Ser Jon took me in…fed me, gave me clean clothes…I wanna become like Ser Jon, milord.

Lord Stark got up from his seat and walked around his desk, he came to stand before Kurt, “He is our son, you know, your Ser Jon?” He indicated both himself and the Lady, “We can help you in becoming like him.”

“Aye, milord, but you ain’t Ser Jon…”

Wade had his eyes tightly shut, he wanted to strangle Kurt. Now both of them would face the wrath of Lord Stark. But the sound of booming laughter accompanied by a lady’s giggle was not something he was expecting to hear.

“Let us face the facts, My Lord,” Lady Stark said in between her giggles, “You have become old, and your son is now a more promising figure than you are.”

Lord Stark let out a suffering sigh, “I am not that old…” he mumbled to himself before once more looking down at Kurt, “Very well, lad, you may go with your ‘Maester’ Wade. But you must give me your word, you will become a man of whom Ser Jon and us can be truly proud of. Will you do that, lad?”

Kurt stood with a straight back, “O’ course, milord.”

There was a resounding crash along with a shriek of “What?” as the doors of the room burst open and Arya Stark stumbled upon the floor.

Lord and Lady Stark, with frowns on their faces, rounded towards their wayward daughter.

“Arya Stark! Were you listening in your lord father’s conversation?”

“Aye, Mother.” Arya was scuffing her booted toes on the floor.

“Why are you such a disobedient child? I never had such problems with your brothers or sister. Why do you try me so?” Lady Stark took a deep breath to calm herself, “You will go to your room and stay there. I will come along shortly and then we will decide on your punishment. You are to have no visitor to your room, neither are you permitted to leave till I am done with you. Do you understand?”

“Aye, Mother.”

“Go on, then.”

Arya looked up with rage, “It’s not fair. Why does he get to go and be with Jon? I can be a better page for Jon than him! Why can’t I go with Wade?”

“Now, Arya!”

As Arya stomped away from the room, Kurt timidly raised his head, “Erm...milord?”

“Aye, lad?”

“It’s not Lady Arya’s fault, milord. I kinda baited her when you called fer me…she din’t do it on her own.”

Lady Stark sniffed, “While I appreciate what you are trying to do, boy, I know my daughter better than you. Even if what you said are true, she knew better than to eavesdrop on her father’s conversation. Do not try to shift the blame away from her.”

“Aye, milady.” He lowered his head once more, but he didn’t keep his mouth shut, “Ser Jon once told me that we are ta be the knights fer our sisters. None of us was a knight then an’ Anna is dead before I coulda protect her. But now Ser Jon is a knight. I want ta grow up an’ be a knight like him, so this time, I ain’t be failin’ me sisters.” His eyes shone with determination as he looked meaningfully towards the door through which Arya Stark just left.

The Lord and Lady stood there speechless, looking down at the young boy. Wade shook up from the trance he found himself in and said, “Er, with your permission, Milord, Milady, I will go now. I have lots to pack for my journey. Come along, Kurt, you need to pack too, there’s a good lad.” He hurried the boy out of the room.

“What just happened, Ned?”

“I don’t know, love.” Lord Stark was still staring at the doors, “But somehow, our daughters have gained another fierce and protective brother.”

---

 

Old Town

The Northern party slowly rode their horses through the Rose Road. The city that lay ahead of them was one of the most populated cities of the Seven Kingdoms. The ambient was almost the same as Kings’ Landing, save for the shit stench. The same crowded roads and alleyways, bustling marketplace full of cacophonies of buyers and sellers, people from all the kingdoms and faraway lands, and amidst of all, the giant tower that gave the House Hightower its name, loomed over all.

Asher had his head craned as he took in the enormity of the tower. Shifting his head back, he shook it a little. Reaching over to Jon who was riding beside him, he nudged him to the said with a wink, “Well, the tower of the Hightowers is truly high. Do you think they are trying to tell us about something? Compensating for some lacking, mayhaps, for commissioning Bran the Builder to erect something so huge?”

Jon couldn’t help but snort hearing that. Robb and Torrhen looked at him askance, so he told them what Asher just said. Both of them roared with laughter. Even Lady Madelyne had her hand cover her mouth to stifle her giggle, her brother, on the other hand, was laughing along with the Northern lords. However, Asher’s snickering came to an abrupt halt by Maester Luwin’s rebuke, who had overheard what Jon had said to his brothers.

“Please, My Lord Asher, do think a little with your head before opening your mouth. Not only do we have a lady present among us for such crude languages, but we are also not in the North anymore. You are representing not only your houses but your realm. Be mindful about what you say, for feuds have been declared for far less than loose tongues.”

“Forgive me, Maester Luwin, I will be careful henceforth.” Replied a thoroughly chastised Asher, causing another round of snickering from his friends for the tongue-lashing he just received.

“And you, My Lords, shouldn’t laugh at your friend’s expense. All of you are equally at fault.”

The Stark boys had grown up under the strict discipline of Maester Luwin. They had immense respect for the wise, old man. They too wiped the smiles off their faces and apologized to the Maester. Only Asher now had a mile-wide smile on his face at his friends’ discomfort, which earned him fierce scowls from the three.

“Look alive, lads.” Robb called out to everyone, “It seems Lord Hightower has sent a welcoming party.”

Indeed, there was a group of men who were waiting for them. Their banner depicted the sigil of House Hightower – a white tower crowned with flames on a field of smoke grey. At the forefront of the group, stood a man in full armours.

Maester Luwin leaned forward on his garron, he had forgone his cart for the favour of the horse because he was suffering from the constant motion and bumps that the cart ride was prone to do.

“It seems Lord Baelor has sent one of his brothers to greet us, but I am afraid I cannot recognise which brother he is.”

“We will found soon enough, Maester, won’t we. Let us hurry.” Robb spurred his horse forward, the others followed his lead. Reaching the meeting point, they dismounted from their rides.

Ping!

Quest Alert!

Honour the Lost Daughter!

Find the Unsung Song of the Lady Mary Reed!

Find her earthly remains and give her a proper funeral!

Ping!

Quest Alert!

The Raven’s Chick!

Find the truth about one of the disciples of Bloodraven!

Jon wasn’t prepared for the seemingly slumbering system to come alive as soon as his foot touched the ground. His step faltered and he grabbed Midnight’s flank to steady himself.

“Jon? Are you alright?”

“Aye, Torrhen. I didn’t realise that my leg has become numb, that’s all.”

Torrhen nodded and went to join their companions. Jon rested his head against Midnight’s neck to gather himself. The horse turned his head and nudged Jon’s shoulder. A weight against his leg made him aware of Ghost’s presence.

“I am fine, boys. No need to be concerned.” He brushed his hands against the mane and the ruff of his familiars. The sound of fluttering wings made him look up and he saw Gale sitting at the roof of a nearby house with her head cocked at him. He could only send a sense of peace through their shared link. He truly couldn’t wait till the time he was able to show his first-ever familiar to all, but now was not the time.

As Jon neared his friends, he heard the Hightower knight’s greetings to Robb.

“Welcome to Old Town, My Lord Stark. I am Ser Gunthor Hightower, heir to Lord Leyton Hightower. My brother, the acting Lord, Lord Baelor Hightower, wished to convey his apologies for not greeting you in person. I am here to lead you towards the manse that has been prepared for you for the duration of your stay in Old Town.”

“Well met, Ser Gunthor. I thank you for your hospitality. Please give my gratitude to Lord Hightower.” Robb gave a bow back.

“Thank you for your words of understanding, My Lord. If you please follow me, we will reach your residence shortly.”

“Very well, lead the way, Ser.”

[CotW]

“After you have a chance to rest and unwind, My Lords, I was directed to lead you to the High Hall. The Lord Paramount of Reach, Lord Mace Tyrell is also present and he has arranged for a small feast to welcome your party, My Lord Stark.” Ser Gunthor had taken them first to the Citadel where Maester Luwin would be staying before guiding them to their residence.

“We will be glad to attend the feast, Ser Gunthor. Permit us an hour to freshen up and rest for a bit, then we will go with you. Please convey our thanks to Lord Tyrell.”

“I will, My Lord. With your permission, I will be taking my leave now. I will come after an hour to guide you myself.” Ser Gunthor bowed to them and left with his men.

The residence the Hightowers had arranged for the Northern party was a sprawling manse. The three-storied building had several lavish rooms for all of the nobles in the party to live comfortably, in addition to that, there was quite a sizeable barrack within the boundary of the manse for the men to stay. The Pryors wanted to find accommodation for themselves, but Robb invited them to stay with the Northerners as their guests.

As he promised, Gunthor Hightower was present at the manse after an hour to lead the Northerners towards the main keep of the Hightowers, the high tower itself. The tower was said to be even higher than the wall at its eight hundred feet of height – against the Wall’s seven hundred feet. It was the tallest manmade structure of Westeros. The square fortress, that was hewn from black stones laid as the foundation of the tower. Some legends claimed that the black stones were the same as the black wall of old Ghis and the stone path constructed by the dragon lords of Valyria. Ser Gunthor guided the Northmen through towards the main hall of the lord of Old Town, the High Hall. At the high table, sat a tall and muscular man in Hightower colours. On his left, sat a rather opulent man in Tyrell colours, easily identifiable as Lord Tyrell. An old lady with her head covered in clothes sat on the other side of Lord Tyrell along with a young man with broad shoulders and brown hair. On the other side of the Hightower Lord, sat an old lady clad in Hightower colours. On her other side sat a lady in Tyrell colours with a young man and woman around the age of the Four, also in Tyrell Colours. There were others present at the table also, from their appearance, they were the other sons and daughters of Lord Leyton.

“My Lord Stark,” Ser Gunthor started the introduction, “kindly allow me to present to you, Lord Baelor Hightower, eldest son and heir of Lord Leyton, and Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord Paramount of South and Lord of Highgarden. Beside My Lord Hightower, is our lady mother, the Lady Rhea. On Lord Tyrell’s other side, is his lady mother, the Lady Olenna and beside her is Lord Tyrell’s second-oldest son, Ser Garlan Tyrell. Beside Lady Hightower is Lady Allerie, eldest daughter of Lord Leyton and wife of Lord Mace. Beside her, is her daughter the Lady Margaery and the youngest Tyrell heir, Lord Loras.”

Ser Gunthor continued with his introduction, but Jon paid half an ear to that. His eyes were trained at the centre of the high table, evaluating the occupants. The Hightowers seemed to be in a rather festive state of mind. But it was the Tyrells who interested him. Lord Mace Tyrell, he had noticed, seemed to puff up a bit when introduced. He had heard many referring to him as the ‘Pompous Rose’ back at Kings’ Landing. A rather idiotic lord with an overblown sense of self-importance – was the consensus of the man.

It was the gaze of old Lady Olenna Tyrell that intrigued him the most. Even at her age, her eyes were as shrewd and calculating as that of Tywin Lannister. Jon mentally agreed with the assumptions of her being the mind behind the ‘Pompous Rose’. She was measuring the Northerners with an inscrutable face, weighing them to see if they were worthy of her attention.

Lady Allerie had the same expression as her Hightower kin, that of festive mood. She was basking in the attention of not only being the eldest daughter of the hosting lord but also being the Lady of Highgarden.

Of the Tyrell siblings, Jon was well acquainted with Ser Garlan’s expression. He was watching the Northerners with that of a warrior’s gaze, listing their strongest and weakest points in his mind. The Lady Margaery seemed to be taking lessons from her Grandmother as she too tried to put forth an unassuming visage, but her interest was evidently apparent on her face. The last one, Lord Loras, however, had the minutest sneer on his face. If Jon wasn’t aware of the young man, he could have mistaken him as a maid dressed in a man’s garb, so alike was he with his sister.

A squirming Asher beside him broke Jon out of his concentration. He looked at his friend to find him staring at one of the lower tables. Those were the seats of the lesser houses and the retinue of the lords of Hightower and Highgarden. Amongst them, sat a young woman who had the same facial features as his friend. That must be Meera Forrester, Asher’s sister – thought Jon. The Forrester daughter was fostered at Highgarden, as one of the Ladies in Waiting for the Lady Margaery. From Asher’s recount, Jon knew that the siblings had not seen each other for nearly half a decade. But neither he could go to her, nor she could get away from her place – such was the burden of noble’s proprietary rituals. Jon shook his head sadly, he could easily place himself in Asher’s place and thought about him being apart from Arya. He was sure if it was Arya instead of Meera Forrester, then the lass would have been running towards him the moment he entered High Hall – protocols be damned.

After the lengthy introduction, Robb, as the heir apparent of the Lord Paramount of North, was led to the high table and towards a seat between Ladies Allerie and Margaery. On his way, he turned his head towards Jon only to receive a wink from his brother. He couldn’t do anything but scowl back at him.

You know how I hate all these, Snow!

Better you than me, Stark!

With the minutest smirk on his face because of his brother’s apparent ill-fate, Jon followed Ser Gunthor’s direction towards their own seats. By luck, or mayhaps, by design, they were to be seated at the same table where Meera Forrester was situated. The said girl couldn’t keep it together anymore and sprang from her place towards the three.

“Sheree!” She flung her hands around Asher’s neck with a soft cry. Asher laughed as he caught his sister and twirled her about.

“I’ve missed you too, sweet sister.”

“I’ve been waiting to see you since I’ve received Mother’s raven. She told me you are coming here. It’s been so long, Sheree.”

Asher seemed to become flushed, he cleared his throat as he got out of his sister’s embrace, “Er…aye, Meera. Let me introduce you to my companions.” He half-turned to indicate Torrhen and Jon, “This is, as you’ve heard, Lord Torrhen Karstark of Karhold. And forget everything you’ve heard before, but this here lad is truly my squire, Jon Snow. He’s been learning how to properly hold a sword from me.”

Torrhen let out a snort while Meera slapped lightly on Asher’s arm. Jon just chuckled at Asher’s comment.

“If that was the truth, Forrester, then I would have been dead more than ten times over since the Gods cursed me with your presence.” He bowed to Meera and placed a kiss on the knuckles of her offered hand, “My Lady Meera, I am very happy to make your acquaintance. It is indeed the truth that you have inherited all of your lady mother’s beauty.” He stood back up and gave the blushing lady a conspiring wink, “Which also explains why Asher is so ugly. Did your parents ever tell you if he was adopted, mayhaps?”

Meera could only giggle in reply.

“Oh, fu…piss off, Snow! And hands off my sister.”

Meera scowled at her brother, “Don’t be rude, Sheree.”

Jon smiled viciously at Asher, “Aye Ser Sheree, don’t be rude to your supposed squire.”

Asher dropped his head and whined, “Could you lot not call me by that name? We are not small babes anymore, Meera!”

“Oh no, no. We can’t possibly do that, Ser Sheree.” Torrhen too was wearing the same smile as Jon, “My Lady Meera, you can’t possibly know how happy you’ve made us this evening.”

“Not you too, Torrhen!”

They were introduced to Margaery's other companions, they were daughters from the lesser branch of the Tyrell family. The girls were enamoured to have the White Wolf at their table. They became incoherent enough with their blushing and giggling to make Jon very uncomfortable about the situation. The meal was dwindling when the doors to the hall suddenly opened by a pair of guards.

All present stopped whatever they were doing to see who had decided to join the lord’s feast this late. Lord Baelor’s face had taken a very distinct frown at the audacity of the said unknown person.

However, none was prepared to see the man who slowly walked in. Lord Leyton Hightower was said to be confined within the upper parts of the tower, along with his youngest daughter, Mallora Hightower. She was named the ‘Mad Maid’ because rumour had it that she was suffering from mental illness. People said that Lord Leyton had sequestered himself with his daughter and spent his days pouring through old tomes for anything that could cure his daughter. To see the lord walking among them after more than a decade was quite a shock to his family as well as the present guests.

Lord Baelor and Lady Rhea were out of their seats and climbed down to meet the elderly lord halfway. The whole hall had gone quiet so even though they conversed in low voices, they heard each word they spoke.

“Father, what are you doing here?”

“I am still the lord of this keep, aren’t I, boy? I don’t require your permission.”

“Forgive me, Father, I was only -”

“Save it, I don’t want to hear it.”

“My love, Baelor only wanted to-”

“I said I don’t want to hear it, didn’t I, woman?”

The lady and her son stepped away to let the elderly lord pass. He stopped for a moment at the front of the high table and gave a courteous nod to Lord Tyrell, “My Lord Mace.”

Lord Mace Tyrell was clearly unprepared for the sudden presence of Lord Leyton, he was lost watching the drama unfolding before him. When his good father greeted him and the discreet elbow he received from his wife as he was the only one still sitting down, he bumped the table in his haste to get up on his feet.

“My Lord Leyton, I am relieved to see that you are feeling well enough to join us this evening.”

“Just about, My Lord.” Lord Leyton’s eyes roamed over each occupant of the high table. He gave small, pleasant smiles to his grandchildren and a bow to Robb.

“It is quite rare for our friends from the North to visit these lands. When one of them is an honoured guest under my roof, I just couldn’t stay behind. And he is not any Northerner, but a Stark himself.”

A low hum of muted conversation could be heard around the hall. A scowl formed on Lord Tyrell’s face. It wasn’t hard to understand what the man was thinking. His good father had just snubbed him. Lord Leyton didn’t bother to be present while Mace Tyrell, his liege lord and Lord Paramount of South had come in any time during the past decade, but he had chosen to make an appearance the moment he heard that Robb Stark, the heir, not the Lord Paramount of North, was a guest under his roof. The old lord was all but relishing the effect he had unleashed this evening if the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth was of any indication. Jon’s jaws tightened at the display. What are they trying to do here? – The thought ran through his head.

“I am a Stark by only name still, My Lord,” Robb was the personification of humility, “I have yet to etch a mark for myself to be called a true Stark.”

Lord Leyton gave him a wide-toothed smile, “A humble young man, eh? Another rare thing to find under this roof.”

This time, his comment made almost everyone in the room frown. But he paid no attention to that as he continued, “But aren’t you already known far and wide as the Young Wolf, My Lord?”

Robb could only lower his head in acceptance.

Lord Baelor once more approached his father, with an obvious frown that stated his displeasure of his lord father’s earlier comment, “Please, Father, won’t you take a seat?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I should sit down. These old bones of mine aren’t the same as they once were.” He slowly started to walk around the high table to reach the seats, Lord Baelor was walking alongside him with his hands out and ready to help his father if he stumbled. As he reached the centre of the table, he once more took a look at the people around him. “My Lady Olenna, would you grant us the honour of dining with Lord Stark and me? I am sure that both of us will enjoy your lovely and witty company.”

Old Lady Tyrell had been sitting quietly all along, Jon could see that she was thinking very fast, none of them had expected Lord Leyton Hightower’s rather unnatural behaviour. Jon didn’t believe the whispers of senility that arose from around the room any more than he believed the Others to be gone forever. He had seen the gleam in the old Hightower lord’s eyes, they were as sharp as he would imagine they had been in their youth.

While he was mulling all these, Lady Olenna had gotten up from her seat and approached Lord Hightower with the help of her attendant. The woman was another shock that Jon received in such a short time. He hadn’t spotted her before, probably because of her position amongst the servers, for which Jon chastised himself, for he knew better than to not acknowledge the seemingly invisible people. Jon couldn’t unsee the woman now.

As everybody had taken their seats once more, this time Lord Leyton having the seat of honour at the centre with Lady Olenna and Robb at his sides, everybody else started to go back to their meals, but stopped when Lord Leyton once more spoke in his booming voice, “Where are the friends of yours, Lord Stark? I have heard that you are all rather inseparable. Are they here as well?”

“Uh…aye, My Lord, they are here.” Robb took a glance in their direction.

“Do invite them over, lad, I would like for a chance to chat with you all.”

Another hum of whispered conversation ensued, but this time it had an angry tone to it. It was one thing for the lord of the house to claim his seat in the middle, and then almost chase away the liege lord from his seat in favour of his mother and his own heir for a visiting lord, but to invite heirs of other lesser lords and a bastard to the seats of honour and thus further snubbing the heir Hightower and the heirs Tyrell didn’t seat well with the crowd of nobles.

Fuck! – was all Jon could think to himself as Robb turned his gaze towards them, giving them a short nod. A subtle indication from Jon had Asher take the lead and the three approached the high table.

“My Lord.” Asher bowed to Lord Leyton.

“Ah, if I am not mistaken, Lord Asher Forrester, son and heir of Lord Gregor Forrester of Ironwrath, famed as the Iron Shield. Is it not?”

“Aye, My Lord, though I am not so sure of the famed bit.” Asher gave him a small smile.

“And you, My Lord, are Lord Torrhen Karstark, son and heir of Lord Rickard Karstark of Karhold, famed as the Bright Sun.”

“Aye, My Lord.” Torrhen bowed his head.

“And then we have Ser Jon, the White Wolf; Protector of the Innocents; the Sword of Justice; natural son of Lord Eddard Stark.”

“My Lord.” Jon could feel the familiar hateful gazes burning through to the back of his skull for his audacity to come forward and claim a seat of honour despite his station.

“Do sit down, lads. I invited you over to have a nice chat, didn’t I?”

“Aye, My Lord.”

The three friends took their seats opposite the likes of the Lord Paramount of South and his family, all of whom were trying to light them on fire by their mere gazes, save for the Lady Olenna and the heiress, the Golden Rose of Highgarden, Lady Margaery Tyrell.

“Barristan was built sturdier than you, a bit stockier. You are rather slender than him.”

“Pardon, My Lord?” Jon asked confusedly.

“Your frame, lad. You four are among the noteworthy warriors of the coming generation. And you, White Wolf, is the most prominent among them.” A sound of a derisive snort was heard from the direction where Loras Tyrell was sat but Lord Leyton paid no mind to that and continued with his speech. “How old are you, lad?”

“I reached my sixteenth nameday about a month back, My Lord.”

Lord Leyton nodded, “And you have earned your spurs before that, from someone who himself is a prodigious swordsman and had attained his knighthood quite early as well. It is very impressive, wouldn’t you say so, My Lady?” He turned his head towards the lady who had been watching the three with a calculating gaze since the moment they sat down.

“Indeed, My Lord,” Lady Olenna replied in a feeble voice, which sounded quite faked to Jon’s ears. It also proved his opinion about the Tyrells deliberately avoiding the King’s Tourney. “However, the most intriguing thing is how you managed to befriend the Lannisters.” Her eyes took up a severe look at that point.

Robb, after receiving a glance from his brother, spoke up, “That was indeed quite intriguing, My Lady. It would definitely not have been possible if Jon here was not so quite an inquisitive mind. He had scoured the library back at Winterfell for any subject that tickled his fancy. When we were at the Capital, he couldn’t stay away from the Royal Library and formed a sort of friendship with Lord Tyrion Lannister, based on the fact that the both of them being kindred souls, what with their love of dusty, old tomes.”

 “How did you manage to find the dragon eggs, Ser Jon?” Lady Margaery leaned forward, eager to hear his reply.

Jon kept his gaze down, “It was during one of our discussions between Lord Tyrion and I when we figured out the possibilities of there being some hidden treasures of old underneath the rubbles of Dragon Pit. Not necessarily dragon eggs, but just treasure of some sort. Neither Lord Tyrion, nor I ever expected to find anything, to tell the truth. We just wanted to sate our curiosity, but the Gods had chosen to bless us with good fortune instead and we found a clutch of eggs.” He shook his head ruefully, “But the sad thing is that the eggs had become inert for being buried for over a century. No dragon will hatch from those eggs.”

“Do you want the dragons to return?” Mace Tyrell asked with incredulity. Jon made a note that the Hightowers too had quite an eager look on their faces to know his answer.

“I have not honestly thought of that, My Lord, but as every child of Westeros, I too was fascinated with the tales of those majestic beasts, I reckon I still am. But do I want them to be back, I don’t know for certain.”

“That was not an answer one would hope to hear from the Northmen, someone of the Stark blood nonetheless.” Lord Leyton mused.

“Quite true, My Lord,” Lady Olenna pounced, “and then we have your knighting by Jaime Lannister. Just after you have cleared his name.”

“Aye, My Lady.”

“Wasn’t your father, Lord Eddard Stark, the man who dubbed him as the ‘Kingslayer’? What does he think about your honouring the same man?”

Jon took a deep breath to centre himself, he knew that they would come under scrutiny, but by no means, he was prepared for this inquisition. In a calm voice, he reiterated, “I didn’t honour Ser Jaime. I am but a nobody to honour the son of Lord Tywin Lannister.” He looked up and set his eyes straight into the old lady’s own biddy little ones, “But as people say, I am the protector of innocents. Ser Jaime was innocent of the blames he carried on his shoulders for the past decade and a half. What I did, was simply point out his deeds during those times and appealed to His Grace so he would receive the justice he deserved.

As for Lord Stark, did I dishonour him by proving him wrong? Mayhaps, or not, I won’t even presume to know what he thinks. But he had brought us up with the lesson of performing our duties and being honourable to it. I did what I was taught, if I am wrong, then I would accept the punishment from him.”

Robb latched onto Jon’s reply and added his own, “But as far as we know, Father will do no such thing. He has taught us brothers that we Northerners put the value of deeds before the value of mere words. Would he be wroth because of Jon’s supposed dishonouring him? I think not. Rather, he would be proud that his son has undone his wrongdoing. Because, after everything said and done, Ser Jaime did kill the very man who had burned alive my lord grandfather, the previous Lord of Winterfell, Lord Rickard Stark; and his heir, my uncle, Lord Brandon Stark. We Starks do know how to aid those who have proven to be our friends and allies.”

After a few moments of contemplation, Lord Leyton spoke again, “How did you manage to fell the Mountain? Even Barristan the Bold licked the dust when he entered the list in his youth.”

“It was an accident, My Lord. I did my best to try and save Ser Gregor, but his wound was fatal.”

Lord Leyton had a smirk on his face, showing to all that he was all in favour of Gregor Clegane’s death, “I am not talking about his death, I am talking about his loss against you. That man was enormous. It defies reason that you, with your stature, have managed to fell such a man.”

 Asher piped up from Jon’s side, “Pardon me for saying so, My Lord, but Jon is stronger than he looks. The first time I met him was when he was fighting against the leader of a wildling raiding party. That man was as huge as the Mountain, and our White Wolf here fell him with just a wooden cudgel. He was a lad of thirteen namedays then”

From his other side, Torrhen added, “And a few months before that, my brothers and I have taken Jon out to celebrate our sister’s nameday and returned home drunk out of our gourds. When we regained our senses, we have found out that our home was attacked by a horde and Jon, literally jumped from above and fought like a demon. He also killed the leader of the attackers with a hand axe.”

“Weren’t you afraid, Ser Jon?” Asked Lady Margaery.

 Asher cut him off before he could answer back, “My Lady, did you, perchance, have heard the song called ‘The Prowling Wolf’?”

Margaery nodded.

“That was based on true events, My Lady. I was one of the men who went along with him. We swam in frigid water, captured the Ironborn ships, crashed them aground burning and then stood against the raiding party, just us six against them. Jon doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘fear’.”

Asher bit down a yelp for having Jon’s foot stamped on his.

“Please don’t pay any mind to this idiot, My Lady. I was afraid each time, but I reckon my sense of duty has overwhelmed my sense of fear every time.”

“Will you be partaking in the tourney here, then?”

Jon sighed inwardly, he wondered for how long he had to endure the evening, “We have come here for Maester Luwin, My Lady. He has to submit his research and I am to aid him. I have not planned for partaking in the tourney.”

“But you must.” Lord Tyrell spoke up in indignation, “Both my sons – Garlan and Loras, will be partaking in it. And I have received words from Dorne.” His mouth curled in distaste, “Prince Oberyn Martell is coming for the tourney as well. Westerlanders, Vale knights as well as Riverlanders are on their way. You must represent the North in the tourney.”

Robb gave Jon a pained look, “Then we will partake in the tourney, My Lord, provided it doesn’t interfere with Maester Luwin’s presentation, of course.”

Jon swore inwards - What kind of hell will Uncle Arthur bring with him? Do I have to face another inquisition before the Red Viper?

[CotW]

The Four retired at Robb’s chamber when they came back to the manse after the feast.

“Hvat gerþúr hugsa, bróðir?” (What do you think, brother?) Jon asked as he kept watching the night sky out of the window.

Robb sighed as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, “Þat var sem tiresome sem þú hugsa.  Hightowersrinn vóro quite pleaseð til hafmajorityinnr ór kingdomanthrongr til þeirlandsr réttr eptir konungrrinn's tourney.  Ek gather fran þeirbehavioursr ok expressions, þat var smárr victory against baratheoninn rule.  Though þeir gerði eigi komútr til segðhvatvetnar til discriminate þau sjálf, en þat var evident til einnhverr maðr hverr var looking fyrir sumr sort ór sign.” (It was as tiresome as you think. The Hightowers were quite pleased to have the majority of the kingdoms throng to their lands just after the King's Tourney. I gather from their behaviours and expressions, it was a small victory against the Baratheon rule. Though they didn't come out to say anything to discriminate themselves, it was evident to someone who was looking for some sort of sign.)

“Þeir vóro einn ór ardentinn supporters ór dragonsrinn.  En ek gerði eigi hugsþarr munu munu þessi mjök posturing.  Ok til visþatr inn fyrir ór þú, sonrrinn ór konungrrinn's beztr vinr.  Nei, things eru eigi hvat þeir appear, bróðir.” (They were one of the ardent supporters of the dragons. But I didn't think there will be this much posturing. And to show it in front of you, the son of the King's best friend. No, things are not what they appear, brother.) Jon had a deep frown on his face.

“Hvat gerði þú hugsumr lordrinn's sudden appearance?” (What did you think about the Lord's sudden appearance?)

Jon sighed from his reclined position, “At er annarr ór mysterrinn at vér gerði eigi jafn hugsumr.  Hvat indeeð gerumk lorð leyton komniðrr fran hans self-isolation? sem far sem vér veit, hann hafði secludeð hann sjálfr með með handóttirr.  Þessi dóttir, mallorhightowerr, er segðumk til munu insane.  Lorðrinn supposedly spends hans tími pouring um tomes ór magic til try ok vitar leið til kure hana.” (That is another of the mysteries that we didn't even think about. What indeed made Lord Leyton come down from his self-isolation? As far as we know, he had secluded himself along with her daughter. This daughter, Mallora Hightower, is said to be insane. The Lord supposedly spends his time pouring through tomes of magic to try and find a way to cure her.)

He sat up with a deep frown on his face, “Ef at er truth,inn þá hví gerði hann komtilr feast?inn hvat gerði hann gain með seemingly slighting hans own sons ok bannermen, eigi eingþaur, en hans góð sonr hverr er ok hans liege lord? hvolerinn table kontradicteð þeirmjrök own opinions allr um út mealrinn.  Þeir vóro trying til trip oss með okkarr svara.  Ek var gerumk aware ór gamallinn lady tyrell, en þat seems gamall lorð hightower er kut fran samrinn kloth.” (If that is the truth, then why did he come to the feast? What did he gain by seemingly slighting his own sons and bannermen, not only them, but his good son who is also his liege lord? The whole table contradicted their very own opinions throughout the meal. They were trying to trip us with our answers. I was made aware of the Old Lady Tyrell, but it seems Old Lord Hightower is cut from the same cloth.)

Each was lost in their thoughts as they kept watching the flames performing their dance. Asher sat up and put his hands around his knees before putting his chin on them, “Hvat gerþúr feel um quite literally munu sterkr armeð til participate inn tourneyrinn?” (What do you feel about quite literally being strong armed to participate in the tourney?)

Jon chuckled at his friend’s question, “Gerði þú truly hugsatr floweranmunur gerhvatvetnar differently? andlit factr,inn bróðir, vér fjórir eru sourceinn ór every nýr rumours ór sjauinn kingdoms fyrir okkarr adventures.  Fatrinn flower var bounð til fá oss inn í hans tourney með einnhverr leið hann knátta, ok hann gerði svá.  Þat er eigi hann hverr worrr mik though, þat er hans gamall móðir. (Did you truly think that the flowers would do anything differently? Face the facts, brother, we four are the source of every new rumour of the Seven Kingdoms for our adventures. The fat flower was bound to get us into his tourney by any way he could, and he did so. It is not him who worries me though, it is his old mother.)

“Aye, gamallrinn lady var too hvass, vætki seems til fá með hana.” (Aye, the old lady was too sharp, nothing seems to get by her.)

Jon tore his eyes away from the fire and turned to look at his brothers, “Eigi eingatr, hon hafsumrr designs fyrir oss.  Gerði þú eigi notice hanattendantr?” (Not only that, she has some designs for us. Did you not notice her attendant?)

Both Asher and Torrhen frowned and exchanged a look, “Aye, vér gerði.  Hvat var svá important um at víf?” (Aye, we did. What was so important about that woman?)

This time Robb spoke up, “Ek gereigir blame þú fyrir eigi recognizing hana, eðhanar features á leastrinn.  Þú hafneverr seen einninn vér erum speaking um.  En oss tveir, kertainly gerði recognize hana… eðhanar features.” (I do not blame you for not recognizing her, or her features at the least. You have never seen the one we are speaking about. But us two, certainly did recognize her...or her features.)

“Munu þú minð telling oss um þessi mysterious víf þá?” (Would you mind telling us about this mysterious woman then?)

Robb scowled as he took out his dagger from its sheath and a small whetstone, as he worked to sharpen the dagger, he kept clenching his jaws. Asher and Torrhen didn’t know what suddenly came over him, they looked at Jon askance. Jon sighed and got up from his seat to go beside his brother and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He turned his gaze towards the other two and said –

“At víf bjarnar strickingr resemblance með vífrinn hverr hafði munið septarinn aptr á winterfell ok var inn kharge ór mrinnæar' lessons.” (That woman bears a striking resemblance with the woman who had been the Septa back at Winterfell and was in charge of the girls' lessons.)

Their eyes widened, “Einnrinn at lorð ok lady stark drove away fran winterfell því at hon var disrupting þeirlessonsr?” (The one that Lord and Lady Stark drove away from Winterfell because she was disrupting their lessons?)

“Eigi disrupting, nei.  Hon var training þau upp til munu proper wives, en eigi fyrir lords eðprincesr, en fyrir kommoners.  Þeir vóro eigi learning hvatvetnumr hvernig til manage lordr's household, hvernig treatr ok deals eru gerumk, politicsrinn - eðhvatvetnar truly useful.  Ef þat hafði hverfeinnhverrr longer, þeir munu hafbecomer vætki betri þan fishwifer, mayhaps. eigi lordr's daughters.” (Not disrupting, no. She was training them up to be proper wives, but not for lords or princes, but commoners. They were not learning anything about how to manage a lord's household, how treaties and deals are made, the politics - or anything truly useful. If it had gone any longer, they would have become nothing better than a fishwife, mayhaps...not a lord's daughters.)

Robb flung the dagger he had been sharpening. It embedded into the door with a loud thud.

“Jon let faðir ok móðir veit um hvat hon var doing.  Ef þat var ek, hon wouldn't hafhanar kollr á hanshouldersr fyrir trying til ruin minn systira' lives.” (Jon let Father and Mother know about what she was doing. If it was me in his place, she wouldn't have her head on her shoulders for trying to ruin my sisters' lives.)

Jon forcefully turned Robb around to face him, “Ok hvat munu at hafaccomplishedr, bróðir? gerþúr hugsatr minn hands hadn't itcheð til relieve hanórr hankollrr? nei, at munu hafgerumkr faðir andlit konsequencerrinn.  Hugsumr þat, ef vér hafði hankilledr, þá þat munu hafmuniðr klaimeð sem tréinn worshiping savages killeð einn ór sjaurinn's faith.  Þar munu hafmuniðr pititions til konungrinn fyrir okkarr punishments. 

 lords hverr viljtilr hafNorðriinnr til fall fran konungrrinn's grace munu hafgottenr leiðr til sjá okkarr ruins.  Ok þat wouldn't munu too harðr fyrir sumr ór flestrinn wily ones til leggjuppr false kharges - faðir, þú ok ek forceð til taksvartrrinnr.  Lady stark til silentinn systira.  Sansokr aryforceðr inn í marriages til sumr ór gamallinn lords at munu hafþaur shackeleð ok act sem broodmares hvile bran ok rickon höldumk sem hostages.”

(And what would that have accomplished, brother? Do you think that my hands hadn't itched to relieve her of her head? No, that would have made Father face the consequences. Think about it, if we had her killed, then it would have been claimed as the tree worshipping savages killed one of the Seven's faithful servants. There would have been petitions to the King for our punishments, colouring it as religious righteousness.

Lords who want to have the North fall from the King's grace would have gotten a fairly secured and safe way to see our ruins at none their expenses. And it wouldn't be too hard for some of the wiliest ones to bring up false charges - Father, you and I forced to take the Black. Lady Stark to the Silent Sisters. Sansa and Arya were forced into marriages to some of the old lords that would have them shackled and act as broodmares while Bran and Rickon held as hostages.)

Robb averted his gaze from Jon’s, a furious scowl still adorned his face.

“Þú eiggefar mik þinn words, bróðir, at þú won't gerhvatvetnar foolish ef með sumr miracle vér komtilr sjá septmordaner hí.” (You must give me your words, brother, that you won't do anything foolish if by some miracle we come to see Septa Mordane here.)

Robb hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Þinn word, robb!” (Your word, Robb!) Jon snarled.

Robb gave the minutest nod, but Jon sighed with relief. “Thank þú.  Vér megeigir afforð til let oss munu leiðumk með okkarr boiling blooð.  Sem þú eigheardr, konungsson oberyn er koming hí.  Lady minerveingar veitir hvat nýr shits eru inn okkarr future. (Thank you. We cannot afford to let us be led by our boiling blood. As you've heard, Prince Oberyn is coming here. Lady Minerva only knows what new shits are in our future.)

[CotW]

The next morning, the Four went down to the yard for their daily training. Asher and Torrhen were asked by Jon to look after Gendry’s training for the day because he would be busy with Robb. His brother had a lot of pent up frustration from last night’s conversation that he needed to get out of him. After a rigorous spar with blunted swords, the brothers engaged each other to practice their ‘Karhold’. This was where Maester Luwin found them. Seeing him approaching the yard, the brothers stopped their pounding of each other mercilessly.

Maester Luwin frowned as he looked over the two sons of Lord Stark standing before him. Both were exhausted and breathing hard. Mud was caked in hair both raven and crimson as well as their naked torso. Also, both brothers were sporting multiple bruises and small, bleeding cuts here and there.

“I do hope that you lads do not have plans for injuring each other too much. I simply have not the time to tend to you if you do so.” The older man let out an exasperated sigh.

Jon tried to give the Maester a winning smile, “These are just normal bruises, Maester. Nothing we never had before, and we still have the salve you’ve prepared for us. We will be right as the rain come next morning.”

“I sincerely hope so, Jon. I have just been informed that the Seneschal has accepted my petition and will convene the court quite soon. I need you to be present with me when I submit my studies. You are vital for my theories.”

Jon rubbed his neck sheepishly, “Do you have any idea when exactly the Court will convene, Maester?”

Maester Luwin frowned, “No lad, I have no idea about that. The Archmaesters do not share their thoughts with me. Why? What more pressing issues could you have?”

“Er, only participating in Lord Tyrell’s tourney,” Robb mumbled.

Maester Luwin gave them both a piercing look, “Do not mumble, Lord Robb. How many times do I have to tell you to speak clearly? And I thought you lads had no plan to participate in the tourney. I mentioned thusly at the Citadel.”

“We didn’t, Maester, but last evening Lords Hightower and Tyrell made all of us give our words that we would participate in the tourney.”

“Ah, I can see Lord Tyrell wanting his tourney to be a success, but I didn’t think Lord Baelor Hightower to force you as well.” Maester Luwin thought out loud.

“Um…not Baelor Hightower, but Leyton Hightower.”

The poor old man’s jaw slackened with that bit of information, “Lord Leyton Hightower descended from his rooms? Truly?”

“Aye, Maester.”

“Oh, that changes things quite drastically then, I am afraid.” Maester Luwin brushed the front of his robes, “I will need to ask for an audience with Archmaester Norren. The Court must convene either before or after the tourney. I hope the Archmaester will hear my plea since Lord Leyton is now involved.” He shook his head, “I must return to the Citadel with all haste. Do take care of yourselves, lads. And let me know if you need me. Ask any acolyte and he will give me the message. But try to not call for me if it was something truly mundane.”

“How did you travel, Maester?” Robb asked

“I came by a mule, Lord Robb. I try to avoid horses as much as I can. In my age, horses are quite the bother.”

“But your cart could be ready at a moment’s notice. In fact, I insist you take the cart back to the Citadel.” Robb turned and asked the nearby man to run to the stables and have Maester Luwin’s cart prepared. The old Maester tried to deny, saying that he was fine with travelling back the way he came. But the Stark lads didn’t listen to him. They cared for the old man as their own grandfather. If they could manage to lessen his stress even a bit, they would do everything in their powers for that.

Soon, the Four were standing at the gates, sending Maester Luwin back to the Citadel in a mule-drawn carriage and two guards. They all promised to try and not injure each other too much to pry the Maester from his already hectic schedules. They were about to return within the house when a retinue of men carrying the Martell banner rode past them. Jon could see that four young women rode at the front of the procession, flanking a very beautiful lady in between them. Jon thought the young women to be the daughters of Prince Oberyn, infamously known as the sand snakes, and that would make the lady in the middle be Ellaria Sand – the Prince’s paramour.

As the party rode past them, one of the Sand Snakes – the one who was riding closest to the four – turned her head towards them. She took in their muddy and dishevelled state and a slight sneer formed in her face. Jon was taken aback, the young woman seemed very familiar to him, yet he couldn’t think of anywhere he would have seen her. He prided himself on his memory, and it irked him very much to have that feeling inside of his head screaming at him that he should know her. Her wavy, almost curly long raven locks; her olive coloured skin; her high cheekbones, her eyes – They are purple?! – he thought with a start, who is she?

“The Martells are here.” Torrhen made his observation known.

“Aye, but I didn’t see the Prince there,” Asher replied.

“Aye, I didn’t see him either.”

“He could have stayed behind at the Tower to finish his conversation with Lords Hightower and Tyrell and send his retinue ahead of him.”

“True, the ladies wouldn’t have received a warm welcome because of their status. Prince Oberyn mayhaps wants to avoid the awkward situation by sending them ahead.”

“If that was the reason, then where is Ser Eric? Wasn’t he travelling with the Prince too? I don’t think he would’ve stayed behind with the Prince.”

“What do you think, Jon?”

Not receiving any reply, the two turned their heads towards the unresponsive duo. They found them both rooted to their spots, staring after the way the Martells had gone, speechless.

“Jon? Robb?” Asher moved forward.

“Are you two feeling alright?” Torrhen put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. That seemed to break him out of his trance.

“Hmm? Oh, aye, Torrhen. I am quite alright. I was just lost in thoughts.”

“Robb?” Asher spoke softly, also placing his hand on the unresponsive Stark’s shoulder, but Robb still didn’t move.

“Robb?” He called again, this time shaking him by his shoulder, “What is wrong, brother?”

“Wrong?” Robb shook his head and removed Asher’s hand from his shoulder, giving him a mile-wide smile, “Why, nothing is wrong, Asher, my brother. Everything is alright. Dare I say, more than alright.”

“Robb,” Jon had become quite concerned by his brother’s rather unnatural attitude, “what is the matter, brother?”

“Jon, I think I am in love!”  

Notes:

A.N. - Sorry for taking a month on this chapter, but I kept having trouble with it. I am still not satisfied with the way it turned out.

A.N. 2 - I know my skill in English is not top shelf, that is because of it not being my first language, as well as my not having any mastery-level ability with the language. I am trying the best I can, for example - I kept writing Capitol unknowingly for this long. It has recently been pointed out to me and I took extra care to not repeat that mistake. In addition to that, for me, it is quite hard to write in 'old-timey' English. Do you know I had to remove the word 'sabotage' because it was not a Latin based word at all, and a word that shouldn't appear in a world the same as middle age? I really have no idea how many such blunders I made in this story so far. Don't mind my ranting, I am quite sleep-deprived as I am posting this.

A.N. 3 - Yes, that was a tease of a Robb/Rhaenys pairing, hence the name of the chapter. The first pairing is hereby revealed. The rest will be revealed as the story progresses, hope to receive a lot of cussing for it.

Chapter 30: Boiling Blood

Boiling Blood

Old Town

The city was as populated as Kings' Landing, and thus, its residents did maintain quite the exact same daily routines. City guards, employed by the House Hightower, roamed the streets, they could be not as corrupted as those men in Gold Cloaks but corrupted nonetheless. People knew not to cross their path when they were out to quench their thirst for a mug of ale or sate their hunger for flesh. What little coins they had managed to hide from the lures of taverns and whorehouses, would find their way into the guards' purses, the beatings they would receive were a different matter entirely. After all, the city guards were employed to maintain the peace, and if they were a bit heavy-handed to deal with the drunkards and disobedient, who could blame them.

A shadow moved quickly and quietly through the darkness of the city's alleyways. Jon Snow came out alone that night. He needed to clear his head, and since the White Wolf couldn't go for a joyride on his horse without raising questions, he had to venture out in the darkness. He could have asked his brothers to accompany him, but he didn't. They had ridden hard for the last leg of their journey because it had taken them quite a long time to travel to Old Town. Even old Maester Luwin urged them to hurry. He didn't want to deprive Robb and the others of their well-earned rest.

Robb, thinking about his cousin brought a smirk to Jon's face. He was truly smitten by that Dornish woman. Jon was certain that she was one of Prince Oberyn's daughters, one of the infamous Sand Snakes. Asher and Torrhen, much to Robb's dismay, had taken this news with unholy glee. They almost managed to egg the poor sod to ride out and declare his undying love by shouting before the manse the Martells were residing in. Robb had left the room fuming and cursing his two friends when he realized they were simply making fun of him.

Jon had made his way towards the Citadel under the cover of the darkness by then. Since he was out for a nightly run, he thought he would see if he could find anything to advance the quests he was given. He had no real plan as to how he would find the corpse of the late Champion, Lady Mary Reed. He tried to match the city in its present state with the memories he had from the dream. But the city, like its inhabitants, seemed to have changed in the five decades when Lady Reed was here. The centuries-old structures were there, standing as sentinels of the time past, watching over their charges. But the other, smaller constructs, were like a living beings, always changing.

Jon came to stop near the island called Battle Island upon which the High Tower stood, the sentries on the wall of the black fortress at the foot of the tower were keeping a watch. But none was familiar with Jon's unique talent, the talent to scale the seemingly tall walls without ropes or other equipment. His strong fingers always found the smallest gaps in between the stone slabs to hang from, his feet were always finding enough space to brace against and push upwards. The sentries atop the wall never looked down, if they did, they would have found a human shadow scaling the steep wall with an ease of a lizard.

It was a game for Jon. As he kept climbing higher and higher, he came to understand Bran's elation whenever he climbed the walls of Winterfell. The thrill, the sense of accomplishment, and above all, the feeling of freedom, same as Gale, with nothing but the sky as his companion. He decided that he would try and scale the High Tower given the chance. But it would have to be done by his lonesome. None of his friends would risk it and they would most certainly stop him from doing so.

Jon found a small crevice only wide enough for a single man to stand. Carefully, he lowered himself and sat down, with his feet dangling in the air. Above his head was a structure that he reckoned to be a guardhouse, because nowhere in a noble's house would there be so many men sleeping together if the combined noise of their snoring was of any indication. Jon sighed as he leaned back and looked out towards the Whispering Sound, watching the waves breaking against the island.

Jon lowered his hood and ran a hand through his hair. His mind wandered back to the quests he received by literally taking the first step in this city. The 'unsung song' of Lady Mary? He wondered what it could be. And where should he look to find the mortal remains of the lady? It had been fifty years since the night she took the leap of death. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he began to reminisce about his dream. A girl, not even as old as he was, left her home, her family behind, only to fulfil the Gods' desires. She thought that she had found love and an end in her sight. But it turned out to be a trap set for her. The very man she thought to have a life, a family with, was the one to cause her demise. And she was carrying his child. Jon wondered where the man – Haytham – was now. Did he forge his chains and become a Maester as his reward to end the assassinations? Or mayhaps the Maesters of the Citadel thought him to be useless after they got rid of the assassin and discarded him. He would need to venture into the Citadel, and retrace the steps of Lady Reed if he wanted to find the answers to his questions.

Then there was the quest about the 'Raven's Chick'. Bloodraven talked about his disciples, as in more than one individual with the apparent amazing ability to assume control of an animal – Greenseer or warg. He never mentioned that Jon would have to find one of the said people. Where would he look for someone like that, he didn't even know what to think of that. With a grunt, he heaved himself up from his perch, he needed to return back to the manse before daybreak. It wouldn't be favourable for the guards or people of Old Town to see a man scaling the outer walls of the castle in bright daylight.

[CotW]

It was a couple of days later that the Stark men once more greeted with the presence of Maester Luwin. The old man had, once again, commandeered a mule and rode to the manse. The Wolf Pack had finished their morning training and were taking a breather. Lady Madelyne had pounced on the chance to corner Ser Jon once more and quite literally, dragged the man for a walk through the garden. Ser Hugh was having a conversation, rather a planning session, with the three about the ways they could incorporate Gendry's strength and experience as a blacksmith into his training with a Warhammer. Robb hurried towards the gates the moment his eyes fell upon the old Maester.

"Maester Luwin, good morning." He greeted.

"Good morning to you as well, My Lord," the Maester greeted the heir of the North as he got down from the mule's back. "Where is your brother, Lord Robb?"

Robb cast a glance at the back of the manse and stammered, "Uh…he is…um…taking a walk with Lady Pryor."

"Would you mind sending someone to fetch him? He will have plenty of chance to court later."

Robb almost gleefully sent for Jon. It had been hard for him to endure the japes from the Pack due to his declaration of love. He was salivating for the chance to pay Jon back for every barb and taunts that he received the moment Lady Madelyne asked him to join her for a walk. It would be priceless to rub Maester Luwin's comment about his courting on his face.

Robb led the Maester towards the seats they placed at the side of the yard as Jon came around the house in hurried steps.

"Good Morning, Maester." He didn't want to look at Robb's smug face.

"Morning, lad. Come, take a seat. We have much to discuss."

"Aye, Maester."

They all sat down to listen to the Maester. Lady Madelyne slowly made her way to the gathering, from her visage, it was quite clear that she was unamused to have her time with the White Wolf cut short due to the Maester's demand.

"The Seneschal has decided," Maester Luwin began, "the court will convene this afternoon. Normally, it wouldn't be as quick, but I have been informed that Lords Tyrell and Hightower have personally messaged the Archmaesters in this regard. They requested the Citadel to either prepone or postpone the Court, for they want to have the White Wolf free to participate in Lord Tyrell's tourney. Moreover, Lord Leyton Hightower has expressed his desire to be present at the Court. Naturally, the Citadel worked with haste to satisfy their patron lord's wishes, and thus, we are having the Court convene this afternoon.

The members of the Court will test you." He spoke directly to Jon, "They may ask you many questions, as well as asking for demonstrations of your skills in arms. I hope that you have heeded my requests and not injured yourself?" He asked with narrowed eyes, "Any of you?"

The stark boys cringed under the stare, they were very familiar with it.

"Aye, Maester, we have been careful," Jon replied with Robb nodding along. Asher tried to hide behind Torrhen as he was sporting a bruise on the side of his face which he acquired just that morning.

"I can still see your face, Lord Asher." Maester Luwin said exasperatedly, making Asher cringe and mumble an apology to the old man.

"I will treat that bruise before I depart. Now," He turned to face Jon once more, "do you need to ask me of anything before the Court convenes, lad? I will be busy preparing for it myself, so if you have any queries, now is the time to say it."

"What sort of questions should I expect to be asked, Maester?" Jon asked, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Questions regarding your lessons, mostly. Your study patterns with my method, any complications or difficulties you may have felt at that time. Weapons may be provided to you if you are to demonstrate your skills, but to be safe, you should bring your weapons along. Oh, and do take care to groom yourselves." He glared at the youths, "I do not want the North and your houses to be discriminated against because you don't think the occasion is important enough to not appear in your best. And most importantly, take care of how you speak and with whom you speak, I cannot stress enough on that subject." His glare was now directed at Jon and Asher, mainly. Both squirmed in their seats, not at all did they appreciate being chastised like insolent children.

Maester Luwin got up and from his ever-present satchel at his side, he brought forth a salve few other medicines and applied them on Asher's bruised skin with a lot of mutterings about foolish youth who never knew well enough to stay safe. After he patched the, in his eyes – rather childish, lord, he shoved everything back in his satchel to get back to the Citadel.

"Jon, take a walk with me, lad." He called for the young boy as he approached the gates. Lord Robb Stark had, just as before, called his men to prepare a cart for the Maester to take him back, along with two guards.

"Aye, Maester?"

"You are not feeling apprehensive, are you?"

Jon shook his head to let the Maester know.

"Good, good. You have nothing to worry about. Be at ease and be clear in your diction, you shouldn't feel fear to appear before a crowd. You have done so before, what with you being a renowned warrior and a knight of the realms."

Jon understood that the old man was trying to relieve some of his own fears by speaking the way he was. He stopped him and engulfed him with his arms. Maester Luwin, who had not expected his embrace, sputtered at first, but slowly, he raised his hand and patted the young man on the back.

"You have nothing to fear, Maester Luwin. You have taught me well. I promise to you that I will make you proud."

Maester Luwin gave him a watery smile, "You have already made me proud, lad."

[CotW]

"I am leaving Frost and Rose behind. I will be needing Freedom if the situation calls for it, Asher."

"Freedom is always with me, Jon. Just give me the signal."

"It is mayhaps the best, we do not want to let the other nobles know that the Starks have two more Valyrian Steel weapons."

"Aye, that is the main reason. Also, even with its pommel changed, Frost is well known amongst the Seven Kingdoms. Who is to say that a houseful of scholars won't have a hard time making the connection."

"What to do with your bow then?"

"I am leaving it behind. Just take a longbow along."

"Very well."

[CotW]

The square in front of the Citadel was built to serve quite a few purposes. When an acolyte finished forging his link, the Citadel, granted them their title in front of their friends, families and others. When an Archmaester gained ascended to his position, they were lauded by everyone in a joyous ceremony, held right at the square. During the years, acolytes and scholars used the square as a meeting point to have friendly debates or comparisons between their shared lessons. In the middle of the square, was a raised platform, or stage about fifty paces in length and width. Surrounding that, permanent tiers of seats, made of granite rose on the three sides, facing the stage. Sets of stairs intercepted the tiers for the people to reach their seats with the entrance to the square laid directly in front of the stage.

When the Wolf Pack entered the square, they were surprised for a moment to see the sheer number of people that had gathered in the square for Maester Luwin's presentation. It wasn't lost to them that news had leaked to all that the White Wolf would be present during the Maester's demonstration and also, would be helping the Maester. Thus, not only people from the Citadel were there, but all the nobles who had travelled to Old Town for Lord Tyrell's tourney were also there. Any merchant or trader, or similarly wealthy people who could afford to be seen amongst the nobles, didn't want to let the opportunity to see the White Wolf in action go. Although, they had to occupy the tallest and farthest seats from the stage, as the best seats were saved for the Seneschal; the Hightowers; the Tyrells; and other nobles.

"It appears that Prince Oberyn has arrived. He couldn't have chosen a better moment for his arrival." Torrhen stated his observation.

Jon too had seen the Martell Prince sitting beside Lord Leyton Hightower. He was lazily leaning in his seat and was having a deep conversation with Willas Tyrell. Lord Mace, from the other side of Lord Leyton, was sending poisonous glares at the Red Viper. It wasn't a secret that the Tyrell lord wanted to see the Red Viper dead because, in his mind, Prince Oberyn was the reason why his eldest son and heir, Lord Willas was forever reduced to favour a cane to walk.

In the next tier, sat the families of the lords and Prince Oberyn's paramour and daughters. There was a clear divide between the Tyrells and Martells, in form of the Hightower Family members. At the front most tier sat Archmaester Norren, the Seneschal of the Citadel, right at the centre. Archmaesters, whom Jon had no idea about their identities, sat at either side of the Seneschal. Each old man had the look of utmost curiosity on their face as the four young Northerners entered the square. The lords too straightened a bit. Jon frowned at the almost hungry gaze of Prince Oberyn. The man was looking down at him as if he possessed every answer to his problems. He wondered where Ser Eric might have gone to as half of the Northmen from their party were there and the rest remained back at the manse to serve as guards.

"Look Robb, there sits your paramour," Asher crowed, "but I don't think she noticed you. It seems she too, has eyes only for the White Wolf."

"Fuck you, Forrester!" Robb growled low in his throat.

"Hey, I am only stating the facts here. Be mad at Jon, it is because of him all the ladies ignore us."

"Please, Asher, not now. Maester Luwin looks agitated enough. We don't need you adding to that."

Truly, they could see the old Maester was sweating and fidgeting at where he stood. Jon made a final check for his weapons before he gave a nod to his friends and strode towards the stage.

"Maester Luwin." Jon gave him a bow.

"Welcome to the Seneschal Court, Jon." Luwin gave him a nervous smile.

"I didn't know that Prince Oberyn will be present."

"Ah, yes. The Prince has arrived just this morning, and as a former student of the Citadel, he expressed his desire to be present at the Court which the Seneschal accepted."

Jon nodded, "When will it start?"

"Any moment now." Maester Luwin's voice wavered a bit.

True to his words, Archmaester Norren stood up from his seat. All conversations came to a stop seeing the Seneschal standing.

"The Seneschal Court convenes in the twelfth month of the year 297 AC, by request of Maester Luwin, the Maester of House Stark, of Winterfell, in the realm of the North. Maester Luwin has claimed to discover a unique way of combining lessons in language and the art of swordplay. If his findings proved to be paving a new way for both the scholars and the warriors among men, Maester Luwin will earn the rare privilege to forge his second Iron Link, as a mark of his mastery over the study of Warcraft. Maester Luwin, you may proceed." Archmaester Norren sat down.

Maester Luwin visibly trembled a little before straightening up, a wave of calmness passed his features and he wiped off the sweat that had accumulated on his brow due to his frayed nerves. He walked forward with assured steps to reach the front of the stage, Jon only a step behind him.

"Seneschal," Maester Luwin spoke in a tremulous voice, "you have my gratitude for granting me the chance to present my findings before your venerated selves. I hope that through this finding of mine, generations after generations of warriors and scholars will benefit both in their lessons of language and prowess in the training yard."

As Maester Luwin started with his speech, Jon stood behind and to a side, dutifully and silent. He had his head slightly turned towards the Maester to portray that he was listening to him, but he was listening to the speech with half an ear. He was quite busy looking at the people in attendance. Most of the lordlings, lesser lords and knights he had seen back at Kings' Landing. They too, travelled just like the Northmen, but to attend the tourney of Lord Tyrell. Most of them, Jon had seen or met with at the Capital, but his eyes were trained at the relatively newer players of the Game of Thrones that he had come to know in Old Town.

Lord Leyton Hightower – the apparent reclusive lord of Hightower had chosen to not only come out of his self-imposed confinement when the Northerners were welcomed at his home, he then broke the social norms and had Jon, the bastard of Lord Stark also join him on the high table, something that didn't sit right with his liege lord, the lord of Highgarden, Lord Mace Tyrell. Then he had asked the Citadel for permission to attend the Seneschal Court during Maester Luwin's presentation. Jon wondered what was it that the old lord Hightower had been planning.

Then there was Lady Olenna Tyrell, who was known throughout the kingdoms for being the true power behind the lord of Reach. Lord Mace Tyrell was nothing but a pompous braggart, but Lady Olenna had the shrewdness to cover for her son's ineptitude. It was not Mace Tyrell, but Olenna Tyrell who was grooming the heir, Willas Tyrell to take after his father. The little time Jon had spent with the Tyrell heir, had helped him learn about the man. Willas Tyrell was ambitious, like every other member of his family. He was well learnt with politics and well versed with the inner workings of the noble houses. His grandmother had taught him well. Amongst his siblings, only the Golden Rose of Highgarden, Lady Margaery Tyrell stood out, only for her insightful comments during the memorable meal at Hightower keep. Lord Mace's other two sons – Garlan and Loras, didn't appear to be as much interested in the politics of the realms as their sister was. Both the brothers, if Jon had surmised them correctly, wanted to live by their swords. Whereas Garlan was of the opinion to judge a person by their mettle, Loras seemed to put too much import on the station one held.

Jon came back to reality when the Seneschal, Maester Norren asked him a question. In the time Jon had spent mulling things over, Maester Luwin had completed his speech.

"Ser Jon, from Maester Luwin's account, it appears that you were a mere child of eight or nine namedays when you approached the Maester in search for help with your dual-wielding." Jon nodded his head in assent, "however, have you already mastered the art of swordplay with your right hand by then that you went looking for help to dual wield?"

"No Seneschal, I was, as you have just said, only a mere child who was yet to become proficient with a wooden sword, much less mastering the art in its whole. I didn't go to Maester Luwin for help in dual wielding, I went to him for help with left-hand sword or weapon-wielding. Because I had hurt my sword arm in the yard during that week and it was painful for me to wield swords with my injured arm. I tried to do my stances and movements with the left hand, but it always felt off. I asked Maester Luwin if there was any method in his limitless collection of tomes that would help me with my problem.

That was when the wise Maester had the thought to have me practice my Valyrian letters with my left hand. If I recall correctly, he said to me that 'the letters are intricate enough that for an individual to write them in the proper way will need to have a sturdy yet comfortable grip of their quills.' Following the Maester's instruction, I found that my writing with my left hand, and a language as complex as the Old Valyrian, indeed helped me to gain limber wrist and fingers on my left hand."

After Jon's speech, the Archmaester who sat on the immediate left of the Seneschal leaned over and spoke something in the man's ear. To which the Seneschal nodded his head, indicating that he had agreed with whatever the Archmaester had proposed to him. Standing on his feet, the old man spoke directly to Jon –

"Aōha lessons dohaertan ao rūsīr aōha abilities isse se yard, ser jon, yn gōntan ziry dohaeragon ao isse learning se udrir?" (Your lessons helped you with your abilities in the yard, Ser Jon, but did it help you in learning the language?)

Jon smiled at the old man, "Iā student kostagon mērī prosper lo se teacher iksis able se wise. Naejot ñuha immense biarves, īlen blessed naejot emagon se wise Giēñatī luwin hae ñuha teacher. Ziry kustittan nyke naejot daor neglect mēre aspect hen ñuha lessons isse favour hen tolie. However, kesan henujagon se judgement hen ñuha achievement isse aōha gūrēntan se able ondos." (A student can only prosper if the teacher is able and wise. To my immense fortune, I was blessed to have the wise Maester Luwin as my teacher. He encouraged me to not neglect one aspect of my lessons in favour of the others. However, I will leave the judgement of my achievement in your learned and able hands.)

The Archmaester had a smile on his face, Jon took a sideways glance at Maester Luwin to see the old man was beaming at him, pride was evident in his features.

Afterwards, time passed at a fast pace. Jon was asked to demonstrate his prowess, and he did so by displaying in a unique way that he had planned with the Maester beforehand. He used a large block of wood to carve in his name – White Wolf – in Valyrian letters, using a sword in his left hand. It was such a powerful display that none present could deny the effectiveness of Maester Luwin's now highly acclaimed process. Jon didn't even have to perform any other manoeuvre with weapons as he previously thought that he would be asked to. The old Maester had tears rolling down his cheeks when he was presented with a second Iron Link for his studies in Warcraft. He reverently attached the link with the existing one in his chain which he had forged himself when he was an acolyte here at the Citadel.

The Seneschal ended the court by praising Maester Luwin once more and asked the Maester for his permission to have his studies to be added to the compendium of the lessons of Warcraft. Maester Luwin was speechless to learn that his studies would have their own separate chapter within the tome for generations of acolytes to learn from in the coming years.

Jon was trying to find his way towards his friends when the Archmaester who spoke earlier during the presentation, came to have a word with him.

"Good afternoon, Ser Jon."

"Good afternoon, Maester." Jon bowed to him, "Forgive me, but I haven't had the pleasure to know your name."

"Of course, Ser Jon, forgive an old man for his feeble mind. I am Merwin and am an Archmaester of the Citadel."

Jon, in turn, introduced his friends to the Archmaester. Merwin inquired about Jon's now-famous finding of dragon eggs underneath the rubbles of Dragon Pit. It seemed the Citadel was very curious to know what the duo of Jon and Lord Tyrion did to unearth such seemingly lost artefacts of the time long past. The old man seemed to be quite impressed with Jon's knowledge of history.

"I wish to have an in-depth discussion with some of the theories we have in our past histories, Ser Jon, but I am afraid we wouldn't be able to find the time during your visit."

Jon smiled at the eager old man, "I am sure we could make it work, Archmaester."

Archmaester Merwin chuckled and put a hand on Jon's shoulder, "Þat munu eigi munu sem easy sem þú eru thinking, ungr warrior. Fyrir þinn path munu leggjquiter distancer miðli oss, jafnvel inn þessi present. Vér munu meet again, en ek em hræddr, þat won't munu quite brátt." (It will not be as easy as you are thinking, young warrior. For your path will put quite a distance between us, even in this present. We will meet again, but I am afraid, it won't be quite soon.)

Merwin bade them all farewell and walked towards the exit, leaving the four stunned on their feet by his ability to speak the Old Tongue.

[CotW]

Jon was worried about Arthur Dayne. He hadn't seen him at the Court, yet Prince Oberyn was present. He walked out of the Court along with his friends with his head hung low, his brows creased in deep thought.

"Jon." Robb's call brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up with a question on his lips that died down as his eyes fell onto the approaching figure.

"Uncle Eric. I was getting worried about you when I didn't see you earlier."

The Dornish man in Stark livery smiled from behind his rather weak but still effective mask of the full beard and half helm.

"I couldn't just walk in beside the Prince now, could I?"

Jon pulled the man into an embrace, "It is good to see you again, Uncle."

"Yes, Jon, it is good to be back for me too. But now is not the time for exchanging travel stories. I am afraid you are needed to be elsewhere." Arthur gave a pointed look.

Jon nodded his head, "I have assumed as much. Does he have a place for us to meet?"

"The same manor that was granted to his family by the lord of Old Town."

Jon sighed, "The manor is a way ahead from where the Pack is settled. Fortunately, it will give me the chance to grab the chest."

Arthur knew of the chest Jon mentioned, he too gave his assent, "Then I will await your arrival."

"We will see you soon, Uncle," Jon gave the man a heartfelt embrace before turning to his friends, "let's go, lads. The Viper is not known for his patience."

[CotW]

They found the younger Prince of Dorne sitting with his paramour, Ellaria Sand. Well, the lady was sitting, the man, the known lecher to all of the Seven Kingdoms, was draped over the chair. The young women, whom the Northmen saw previously and assumed their identities as the daughters of Prince Oberyn Martell, were either standing or sitting around their parents. Jon felt Robb's apparent unease when his eyes fell upon the black-haired beauty from the day before – the one with the purple eyes.

"My Prince," Jon had almost forgotten Arthur's presence, "allow me to introduce you to the eldest son and heir of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North – Lord Robb Stark."

Robb gave a courteous bow, "My Prince." After the slightest pause, he repeated his action to the other occupants of the room, much to their surprise of being acknowledged thusly, "My Ladies."

Arthur continued to introduce Asher and Torrhen. Jon kept his eyes on the Martell Prince, and he was not surprised to see the man doing the same.

"… and of course, Ser Jon, the White Wolf." Arthur Dayne didn't elaborate any further, certainly not towards the well-worn lines about 'son of Lord Eddard Stark'. It was not needed.

Oberyn Martell rose from his seat with ease. He approached them with a smirk on his face.

"My lords, please, be seated and allow me to shower you with Dornish hospitality… far away from Dorne itself." He laughed at his own jape. The Northerners graced him with forced chuckles of their own. Oberyn, who hadn't taken his eyes off of Jon, finally stepped in front of him. "And then, there is you, Ser Jon, the White Wolf. You have made quite a name for yourself, no? At such a young age too." He nodded his head thoughtfully, "Blood will always tell the tale. He would've been much greater had he lived."

"My Prince?" Jon knew what the man, who was already drunk if the smell of strong wine wafting from him was of any indication, was saying. Still, he needed more confirmation before he wanted to come out and have the conversation he had come to the manse for. When did he get the time for the drinks, Jon wondered. He was present there at the Court. And Jon didn't take more than an hour to reach his manse to get the chest. Is Oberyn still drunk from the night before?

Oberyn waved his hand impatiently, "Piss on that, boy, let me have a look at your hands."

Jon looked at Arthur askance, similar to him, the Dornish knight too didn't understand Oberyn's thought process. Jon pushed the small chest he was holding towards Robb and reluctantly thrust his hands forward. Prince Oberyn latched onto them as a dying man would to his last hope. He lifted them up to his eyes and examined only Lady Minerva knew what.

"Huh!" He barked out a laugh, "They are not at all like a maid's hands. He had them, you know. You remember that too, Arthur, no?"

Arthur could only nod.

"He was very wroth with me because of them. I teased him mercilessly for having those hands, told him to stick with his harp, and let us worry about the swords." He shook his head in amusement, "Proved us wrong when he disarmed me in a spar. You are fortunate to have your mother's features, boy."

"Aye, My Prince," Jon smirked at the man, even while he was soaking up the nuance of information about his father. A drunk man's prattling was very amusing, something he had learned from having Lord Tyrion Lannister as a friend. Specifically, when they were trying to remember the fond memories of the cheerful days of the past.

Unlike Tyrion though, the levity didn't last for long. Oberyn's eyes took the features of cold, hard steel as he grabbed Jon's hands in a tight, quite painful grip.

"You avenged her." It was not a question.

"Aye. I have." Jon returned the stare.

However, Jon wasn't prepared for the man's following action. The Martell Prince literally pounced on Jon and had him in an embrace so tight it would put the elder Karstark brothers to shame, for even they couldn't hope to get out of that predicament.

Jon, while he had an overly emotional man sobbing on his shoulder, manoeuvred his arms with difficulty and awkwardly patted him in order to console the crying Prince of Dorne.

"You proved your blood, lad. You proved that you are a son of Dorne, for you were born on her soil. You quenched your thirst for vengeance with the blood of the one who wronged you. You have avenged your family… nephew."

None of the occupants present in the room had the heart to interrupt the moment, save for one.

"Is that all you are to say to him?" The accusing voice rang throughout the room.

Jon, released from the Dornish Prince's embrace, looked around to see who had spoken, with such venom dripping from the words.

It was the same young woman Robb had declared his eternal love for. The Dornish beauty with purple eyes the same as Jon's own was looking at him with hatred evident in her narrowed eyes.

"Rhae -" The lady who was sitting beside the Prince of Dorne, presumably his paramour – Ellaria Sand, tried to deter her from saying anything further, but the young woman was adamant. She forcefully got out of the restriction created by her sisters – Prince Oberyn's other daughters and came striding forward.

"Is that all there was for him to say that you take him in an embrace, Father? Is this the famed Dornish pride? Did you forget what his family has done to us? Did you forget how much pain his whore of a mother has caused to us?"

A raging inferno lit inside of Jon's head. Since childhood, it had been insinuated to him that his mother was nothing more than a whore who had warmed Lord Eddard's bed in a moment of his weakness. He had years of scorn to develop a confusing feeling towards his unnamed mother. On the one hand, he wanted to know about her, on the other, he wanted to blame her for his life. It had been further confusing for the then young lad when he found out that his mother was none other than Lady Lyanna Stark, and his father, the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Prince Rhaeger Targaryen. At first, he raged about his misfortune to be born of rape. But, when after everything was clear to him, when he read the missives between his parents – his father and two mothers, for Elia was his mother in all but blood, because she had accepted him as her own, and in turn, so did he. Thus, at the core of his being, he was finally at peace to know that he was not the result of a night of drunkenness and broken oaths. Or a consequence of rape as the entirety of Westeros believed – but a mark of love that bound his parents together. Finally, he took pride in his entire being. He was the blood of two ancient lines – Stark and Targaryen. And woe to them who would dare to disrespect his blood.

"My Lady," Jon growled, the Dornish part of the room's occupants could swear that they heard a snarling beast, "I do not know who you are, but where I come from, we are taught to respect every woman, from every part of our world – be they of noble birth or the lowliest whore. I would request you to kindly grant my still unnamed mother the same courtesy."

Even did the lady cower at first by the twin flaming purple orbs that were Jon's eyes, she soon composed herself and burst out in shrill laughter, quite a fake one.

"Oh, that is priceless, Bastard! You do not even know the womb that birthed you?"

Jon, in response, measured the woman in front of him before summarily dismissing him and turning his back on her to once again project his entire focus on the Dornish Prince. The said man, by then, seemed to sober up from whatever influence he was under and had a regretful look on his face. The lady Ellaria came forward to put a hand on her paramour's shoulder, while the other three, the still-unnamed eldest daughters of Prince Oberyn, seemed to be preparing themselves as their stances depicted their intentions. Jon knew not from whom or what they were expecting an attack, but his instinct screamed at him to take out Winter Rose from her resting place and deflect the preventative strike towards their direction. He felt his brothers also prepared themselves for the same – for they were not the members of the Wolf Pack just in name, each of them was a veteran of war. Jon didn't know what Arthur Dayne was doing without turning his head, but he was sure the loyal Kingsguard was also prepared to deflect any incoming strike on the person of his King.

"How dare you turn your back to me, Bastard? Do you know who I am?" The woman grabbed Jon's arm and forcefully turned him to face her.

Jon spoke through gritted teeth, "By your addressing of the Prince, I would think you are one of his daughters, one of the infamous Sand Snakes. Aye, tales of your exploits have reached the far ends of the Seven Kingdoms. She is the eldest of the Snakes," Jon pointed towards the one who stood the farthest in a corner of the room. "Obara Sand, eldest daughter of Prince Oberyn, fierce warrior who prefers to wield a spear just like her father and also has a fondness for wine just the same, as evident from the stains of her clothes.

Next to her, is the second oldest, Nymeria Sand. Tales of her beauty are as far-reaching as her prowess with blades, daggers mostly. She would deny but one can easily spot the daggers hidden within the folds of her clothes if they know where to look.

After her, is Tyene Sand. One would be a fool to discount her by her appearance. For she is as deadly as Lady Obara and with a penchant for poisons, again, the same as her father, the Prince.

That brings us to you," Jon took a step forward, daring the woman to take a step backwards lest she felt his breath on his face, "Sarella Sand. Tales of your intellect and thirst for knowledge are as far-reaching as your sister's battle prowess. But I am unable to find that vaunted intelligence. For the lack of better words, it leaves me dissatisfied to make your acquaintance. As to the answer to your previous question, you are a natural-born daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell. On the scale of the societal value, both of us stand at the same place, being the bastards of our fathers."

A ringing, mirthless laughter from the woman who was named Sarella Sand, cut off Jon's rambling.

"And you are as much of a fool as your forefathers, Bastard. I know who you are, I know of the deception your 'father' has enacted to save your life, son of Lyanna Stark."

Jon could feel the call of bloodlust, the red haze he was so familiar with was back, tinting everything and everyone in a scarlet hue. He was begging inside of his head to Lady Minerva for his Champion's Mind to take effect.

"Yes, I know about your mother, Bastard. Don't tell me you haven't found out about her earlier. I will lose what little respect I have for your intellect that I have after hearing about how you discovered the clutch of dragon eggs." Sarella smirked at him viciously before continuing, "And for us to be in the same societal place, Bastard, I think you are misinformed. My father granted me the same illusionary protection as your own. My proper name is Rhaenys Targaryen, true born daughter and heir of Prince Rhaeger and Princess Elia, unlike your bastard blood by your mongrel of a mother."

Jon almost reeled off his feet at that declaration. Two opposing emotions were warring inside of him. His blood was boiling, urging him to unleash his fury upon the one who dared disrespect his mother. The same blood was also singing in a melancholic tune in an inkling of hope of reuniting with one of the same blood. Jon turned his gaze towards Arthur, the man's stoic, stone-hewn features didn't betray what he was thinking, but a subtle nod of the head let Jon know about the truthfulness of the words the woman – his supposed sister just uttered. Prince Oberyn had donned the visage of an utterly defeated man as his paramour had him in her arms, soothingly rubbing her hands through the Prince's hair.

"I don't know about you being a hidden princess holds even a pinch of truth in it or not, but I must remind you that it is my beloved aunt you are disrespecting." Robb had moved past Jon and stood with his back straight, raring to rip into anyone who dared to disparage his family, even if the person haunted in his dreams just the night before.

"Robb -" Jon tried to pull him back but Robb shook his hand off of his shoulder.

"No, brother. Her Grace" he spat the words as if they were curses, "needs to learn what happens when one dares to play against a direwolf."

"And what can you do, you filthy savage?" Rhaenys' sneer was back on her face, "For all of your boasting, you are yet to be blooded against a trained warrior. All you have handled is some stick wildling savages like you yourself are."

Robb snarled as his hand flew towards the sheath at his waist, which hid his dagger.

Jon clamped hard on that hand, "Robb! Take a deep breath and stand down, brother." His cold voice didn't leave room for Robb to protest. "Asher, accompany him, Lord Robb is yearning for a stroll in the open air."

"Aye, My King." Asher's addressing him thus sent a clear indication of where the Pack stood. It made Rhaenys' sneer mar her beautiful face even further.

Jon waited till Asher and Torrhen dragged a clearly resisting Robb out of the room. But even with their departure, the heavy air within the room hadn't dissipated.

"Prove it." Jon hissed.

"What?"

"You claim to be a dragonborn. Prove it."

"And how do I do that, Bastard?"

"A true dragonborn is unburnt." Jon strode towards the wall and yanked down a burning torch from its bracket, by grabbing the burning end. He returned to his stunned audience and held his hand high with the burning torch in it, his hand remained unblemished.

"The blood of the dragons is magic. And as another dragonborn taught me – magic is balance, it requires a certain sacrifice to become potent. For a dragonborn to become truly unburnt, they have to forgo their false pride. You claim yourself as a true dragonborn, prove it. Grab the torch!" Jon almost yelled out the last sentence.

Rhaenys didn't dare to move from her place. Her eyes were glued to Jon's hand holding the burning end of a lit torch, she couldn't deny the cold, hard truth which stared back at her. Jon Snow was unburnt, just as it was said about the old dragon lords of Valyria. Just as it was said about the founders of their house – Aegon Targaryen.

"Dragonborns are charged by the Gods to be just. They are to be caregivers and lawmakers. They are to be the shield to protect those who cannot protect themselves. They are to become the sword to avenge the loss of innocent blood, the injustice. But with time, they have grown to overestimate their self-worth. They made magic become unbalanced and paid the price within the shape of the Doom of Valyria. The Targaryens were given a second chance. But they too become complacent. It resulted in magic disappearing from our lands, and with it, the greatest gifts the Gods gave them – the dragons. The histories of old warned us, but we interpreted them to fit with our views."

Jon sighed as he threw the torch into the unlit fireplace.

"I came here with no expectation, save for soothing the troubled mind of a brother who has lost his sister. I know how he feels, for I am a brother of an adorable little sister. If anything happens to her, I will not rest till I burn everyone who is responsible for her hurts to the very grounds of their forefathers.

I didn't even dream of finding another of my blood here. A blood relation that I thought I have lost even before I was able to protect her. I have slain a man in her memory, in our mother's memory. I don't know what I have done to earn your disdain, Princess, or what you have been told about the days past, but I am family. I have the same blood flowing through my veins that flows in yours. But you are not ready to accept that. So I will not force you. However, know this, Princess, if you crave to have a family, I am it. Just not myself, but I can give you information of two yet unknown blood relations, from whom I have learned what it means to be a Targaryen at their feet."

Jon shook his head to get rid of the overwhelming sense of loss. He could feel that the Princess, his sister, was not ready to accept his words. Yet, a small flame of hope burned in his chest.

"As for my being a bastard. I can show you the documents which prove the legality of the marriage of Prince Rhaeger and Princess Lyanna. A marriage instigated by Princess Elia herself. A man who stood witness to the marriage is present in this very room." Jon swallowed hard and stood tall once more, "I am Prince Aemon Targaryen, son and heir of Prince Rhaeger Targaryen and Princess Lyanna of Houses Targaryen and Stark. Adopted son of Princess Elia of Houses Targaryen and Martell. I am their Song of Ice and Fire, and I am charged with the duties to bring my house back to its former glory. If you want to belittle me or denigrate my birth, you are welcome to do so. But if you become an obstacle to hinder me from reaching my goals, I will not think twice to bring you down with extreme prejudice. You will only get one chance, Princess, now it is your decision what you will do with it."

"Obara," Prince Oberyn called out in a raspy voice, he had been led to a seat by Lady Ellaria, where he sat, depicting an image of a truly broken man. "Take her back to her rooms."

Obara nodded, "Yes, Father." She inclined her head and looked toward her sisters. Nymeria and Tyene also moved from their places and the three almost dragged the younger woman out of the room.

"Arthur…" Oberyn called the Kingsguard to him.

"My Prince."

"Do you now see the issues I have been fighting against for the past decade, my friend? With a few notable differences aside, this is exactly what I would expect Princess Arianne to appear. I have been trying to make her see the reasons. Curse my own idiotic temper, for it has been a hindrance to me. I don't know who poisoned her mind so, but she despises everything to do with her father. And in my quest to do what is right for her and my family, I have forgotten to properly look after Rhaenys. She is my daughter in all but blood, but I have failed her. I have failed Elia also, Arthur."

"Pardon me, My Prince, but may I say something?"

"Of course, Your Grace. Do forgive me for not greeting you as I should, but you saw it for yourself, the situation went out of my control."

"There is nothing to forgive you for, My Prince, as for the time being, I am a mere bastard. I do not expect pomp. But I must say, you haven't failed Mother Elia. You have taken her daughter and raised her as your own. You have shown her the love and care she deserved and let her flourish in the true Dornish way. However, you are not to be blamed for her opinions, for they are her own. You have given her the tools, how she uses them is solely upon her."

Oberyn could only give him a wan smile, "Thank you, Prince Aemon."

"No, My Prince, I am still Jon Snow. I am yet to earn that name." Jon smiled back at the older man. He looked down for a moment and let out a tired sigh before straightening his shoulders.

"Prince Oberyn, I cannot let her endanger my plans. I hope you understand that." Oberyn nodded, "I didn't lie when I said that I learned at the feet of Targaryens of old. I personally met with two long-forgotten Targaryen blood. I cannot tell you what I have been charged to do yet, for you will simply not believe me. If you want to know, you can ask Uncle Arthur in your leisure. But I need time to make my move for the throne. I need to be prepared. Your daughter… my sister, will become an obstacle if she carries on as she did just now. The game I am playing is much greater than the petty Game of Thrones, My Prince. I can only give her another chance before I utterly destroy her. I won't ask what are the issues about Princess Arianne you are concerned about, it is not my place to do so. But if it can affect the man who is famously known as the Red Viper, one of the most formidable men in the Seven Kingdoms to appear as a broken weakling, then it is indeed quite severe. I sincerely hope that you and Uncle Doran are able to overcome your troubles. If you need my help, you have only to command me so. But please be aware, if it affects the Targaryens, then I beg you, Uncle, do try your best to prevent another Dance of the Dragons."

Jon stood up and took the small chest from Arthur's hands, "This chest contains Mother Lyanna's share of the three's correspondence. It paints a picture of what they dreamt of together. What they wished for their families. I think you will find a little solace in those parchments. But I must get them back. Because you have seen them, you can recall their faces. But these are all I have of them." Jon turned towards Ellaria, "Forgive me, My Lady, for I shouldn't have ignored you as I did. But it couldn't be helped. I only wish we had met in a much better circumstance. I only hope for us to meet once again when cooler heads prevail."

"I must take my leave now, My Prince, My Lady. I need to check with my brother."

Jon strode out of the doors without a backward glance. Oberyn reached out and brushed a finger on the lid of the small chest he left behind.

"He…" He faltered to say anything more.

"I know, My Prince," Arthur tried to help his friend, "He has that effect on people."

Oberyn nodded as he dragged the chest near him.

"I didn't even have the chance to tell him about Ashara."

"Fucking dragonblood. And fuck those who riled them so."

Notes:

A.N. - Sorry for the late update. I was suffering from writer's block with the scene about the meeting between the two dragons. I tried quite a few avenues but kept deleting them. Ultimately, out of frustration, I went with what I felt was the best. Do let me know how it turned out.

Chapter 31: Chasing Memories

Chasing Memories

Winterfell

It wouldn’t have been a rare sight mere two years ago to see the youngest Stark daughter racing away atop her horse. People of the Winterfell castle and the surrounding town of Winter Town were used to seeing the Lady Arya Stark, who was said to be the reincarnation of the North’s beloved daughter, Lady Lyanna Stark, often venturing out of the keep without her guards, having a marvellous time riding around the nearby fields.

However, the image was quite different from the years prior when both the daughters of Lord Stark were seen to be riding without a care. The Lady Sansa had truly changed from her shy demeanour from the days when she was to be found beside her lady mother, or the Septa, immersed in her lessons of noble ladies.

That morning, the Stark sisters had given the slip to their foster brother, Lord Cley Cerwyn, and instead of their morning training session, they had decided to went for a hunt. Lady Arya was determined today to do her absolute best against her elder sister regarding the art of archery. Sansa Stark had shown an uncanny ability with bows and arrows that the resident best archer of Winterfell, Lord Theon Greyjoy, had to admit of her being better than him. Even the Lord and Lady of Winterfell - the honourable Lord Eddard Stark and his beautiful wife, Lady Catelyn Stark, wouldn’t have believed it if they hadn’t seen it with their own eyes.

The sisters came across a rare sight during their ride through the lighter and considerably safer part of the Wolfswood forest near the keep – an apple tree. Rarer still, a few fruits were hanging about the branches. Arya let out an excited squeal pointing ahead to the tree. Sansa, spotting where her sister was indicating, had taken out her bow off her shoulder and an arrow from the quiver slung onto her saddle, taken aim and shot. The arrow cut through the air and snagged the biggest of the semi-ripe fruit before stopping against the trunk of another tree. Sansa let out joyous laughter in reply to Arya’s indignant huff, all the while their horses were in a canter.

“You didn’t have to show off, Sansa!” Arya narrowed her eyes.

“I didn’t, sweet sister, I only plucked the juiciest fruit for you,” Sansa replied with a hint of smugness.

“I could’ve done that myself.” Arya refused to look at her sister.

“Why didn’t you then?”

Arya didn’t dignify the question with an answer, rather, she climbed off of her horse and went to free the arrow and the apple. With a deft slash of her dagger, she sliced the fruit in equal half. She bit into one and threw the other towards her approaching sister. Sansa caught the halved fruit and frowned a little after taking a tentative bite.

“Rather tart with only a hint of sweetness.”

“Because it is yet to ripen properly, stupid.” Arya had finished her portion in a few bites.

“I still prefer the lemon cakes over these.”

Arya once more ignored her sister’s comment. She was looking back at the apple tree.

“I didn’t know we have an apple tree here. We do ride past these parts fairly often.”

Sansa cleared her throat, “I think our friends have planted this tree.” She gave a pointed look at her younger sister. Arya nodded her head in understanding.

“But why don’t we see them on our rides now?”

Sansa sighed at the repetition. She had to explain this exact matter to Arya so many times that she has forgotten the number.

“Father has them helping around the Last Lake. Just as I told you before, Arya.”

Arya shook her head, brown locks had long become undone from their coif that was made under her mother’s gentle combing and ministrations.

“I forgot.”

“Arya, you need to remember these facts. You are a Stark, therefore, your lessons consist of these facts. Mother and Lady Ella will take you to the task if you keep forgetting your lessons.”

“Lessons are boring and stupid,” Arya replied mulishly.

Sansa spoke with a frown, “You’ve said the same thing about the Septa’s lessons. It was mainly because of your complaints that Jon had Father agree to let us be taught by Lady Ella. You will disappoint them all if you lack in your efforts.”

Arya didn’t reply, she was busy tending to her horse.

“Very well,” Sansa said with a sigh. She approached her sister and tried to turn her around to face her, but the younger girl stubbornly kept looking away.

“What is it, Arya?”

“Nothing.”

“It most surely is not. You can tell me, sister. What is it?”

Stony silence was all the elder Stark daughter received from her sister.

“Is it about Robb and Jon again?”

This time, Arya gave a hesitant nod.

“I was under the assumption that you have sent a letter to them.”

“I tried to,” Arya stamped her foot on the ground, “but that stupid acolyte, Meiner, stopped me. He said without knowing the raven’s destination, it would be futile to release the bird with a message.”

Sansa managed to stop herself from laughing out loud, otherwise, her sister would stop talking with her for making fun of her.

“Did you ask Father for their whereabouts? I mean, he must have an idea about where they can be.”

“No, I didn’t.” Once again, Arya Stark was scowling fiercely.

“Why is that?”

“I am not talking to him, he stopped me from going with Wade.” She nearly screamed.

 “Arya,” Sansa said with all the patience she could muster at her age, “you are not supposed to travel long distances without Mother and Father. You are still very young for that.”

“Wade took that stupid boy with him. He was my age.”

“So that is why you are mad still? Because of Kurt?” Arya nodded, “Sweet sister, you must understand that Kurt doesn’t have his parents. They have died and so did his sister. If Jon hasn’t taken him in, then he would’ve died too. Jon is responsible for him, and he asked Wade to take care of him when he couldn’t.”

Arya pounced on that, “Aye, that was why I wanted to go with them. If Jon can take care of that idiot, then he can do the same for me too.”

“And what about Mother and Father?” Sansa asked with a little heat in her voice, “Bran? Little Rickon? Myself? Would you be happy to be away from all of us? From Winterfell?”

“No,” Arya’s voice was low in comparison to her sister’s, but she still had her back straight and face defiant. “But I would’ve been with Jon and Robb. They would have taken care of me.”

“Arya, you are my little sister and I love you very much. But you are as hard-headed as Hodor used to be. Jon and Robb are not away on a journey of pleasure to only observe the wonders of the known world, they seek adventure. Cley speaks to me about their battles, do you know that? Because they told him about things they did when they spend the year at Bear Island. Things that they didn’t think are suitable for us to hear. Cley doesn’t speak clearly about those situations either, but from his expression, I can tell they are not appealing. They trained for this, both Robb and Jon did.

Cley had to fend off a few bandits when he was travelling back from Castle Cerwyn last month. You saw for yourself how different he was for those first few days because he had to kill. Do you think you can be yourself after taking a life? We train to become warrior women of the North, aye, but we do that under close observation. We mayhaps are better than Kurt in our skills, but Kurt has already been blooded according to Wade.”

Sansa could see the stubbornness that remained in her sister’s posture, her eyes were still set with determination, although dimmed. Sighing and cursing the wolfblood in their veins, Sansa enveloped the younger girl in her arms.

“Arya, I beg of you. You know the plans Father had to make the North stronger. You know how Mother and I are trying to help him with them. Please, find it in your heart to not stress us further with your stubbornness, sweet sister. We don’t enjoy seeing you unhappy. I promise you, we will go on our own travel once we are a few more years older. I will talk with Father. But I need your word now that you will drop whatever schemes you have running in that mulish head of yours about sneaking off and joining Jon and Robb.” She pinned her with her gaze.

Arya squirmed for a little bit before nodding, “I give you my word.”

Sansa smiled and kissed the brow of her sister. “Thank you, Arya.”

Arya shoved her off of her in return while giggling. Their shoving and pushing came to an end by the shuffling noise from a nearby bush. Both sisters immediately went alert and had their hands on their weapons. They relaxed their posture when two huge direwolves came out of the bush and approached the girls. The she-wolf with reddish-brown fur went towards Sansa while the one with brown, almost black fur pounced on Arya, licking her face.

“Ugh, Nymeria, gerroff! Your mouth is dripping with blood!” Arya shrieked at her wolf.

Sansa’s wolf Lady, on the other hand, sat on her haunches beside her mistress and was having her head and neck scratched by her.

“Hello, love. Did you have a good hunt?” Sansa asked her familiar. The way Lady moved her head, Sansa could swear that she was saying yes to her.

Arya was sitting on her knees with the arrowhead amulet clasped in her right hand. Her left hand was on Nymeria’s back and her eyes were closed in concentration.

“They were searching for a stag or a boar. But all they could manage to hunt a few hares before they came back. They are not hungry, but they are not satisfied with the hunt.” She opened her eyes and looked back at her sister. “Well, Nymeria isn’t, at least. What does Lady say?”

Sansa plucked out her own amulet. Nan had crafted them lockets with help from Alastor, the jeweller. All of the Stark children who received the tokens from their friends, now wore them as lockets on fine chains. They could warg into their companions with the help of these lockets. Bran was the best among them by far and was teaching them about it. Both the sisters could now look through their companion’s eyes when they concentrated hard with the tokens clasped in their hands. She delved into Lady’s mind and the world around her exploded with previously unseen colours and unheard noises. Lady sent a sense of affection for her through their shared link as well as fleeting images. Sansa smiled unknowingly as her fingers sunk into the soft fur of her familiar.

“Lady is of the same mind,” Sansa announced coming out of her trance.

The girls were busy spoiling the wolves with their pettings when the sound of hoofbeats alerted them of company. A short while later, Jory Cassel and two more castle guards came trotting into the clearing the Stark sisters were in.

“Miladies, you were supposed to stay with us. Lord Stark won’t be pleased.” Jory said with exasperation.

“He will be if you don’t tell him anything.” Arya helpfully provided his option with a cheeky smirk.

Jory looked down at her with a hint of frustration, “He always knows, Lady Arya.”

“He is a lord, Jory, not one of the Old Gods. He won’t know if you don’t tell him.” Sansa added her opinion.

“You know I can’t do that, Milady Sansa.”

“You are getting old, Jory. You used to be fun.” Arya pouted.

One of the guards following the Guard Captain of Winterfell snickered hearing that. Jory turned his head towards the culprit with a raised eyebrow.

“What was that Milner, did you just volunteer for a week of night shift?”

“No, Cap’n, I ain’t say anythin’.” The guard hastily replied.

“Thought so.” Jory turned his head towards the chuckling sisters, “Let us turn back, miladies. It has gotten quite late.”

The small party, after the ladies from Winterfell, had gotten up on their horses, slowly started to make their way back towards the castle. They had just crossed the treeline when both the direwolves stopped with their hackles raised. The she-wolves were looking a short distance away from where the Winterfell party emerged from the woods, they had their fangs bared and growling low in a threatening manner.

“Lady! Nymeria! What has gotten into you two?” Sansa tried to call the wolves back, but they didn’t move.

“Lads, prepare to ride hard and fast! Don’t stop for anything or anyone till the ladies are within the castle walls!” Jory barked out his order to his underlings.

“Aye, Cap’n!” Both the guards had their spears ready in hand. Jory had his sword unsheathed.

“Jory, I -”

Sansa was cut off by a sudden commotion in the direction where the wolves were looking, the underbrush rustled and a young woman came tumbling out of them. The wolves took a few steps forward, their growling had increased in volume.

“Wait! Don’ kill me! I ain’t doin’ nothin’! Don’ let those beasts eat me!” The woman screamed.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Jory pushed his horse a little forward.

“I came from Sheepshead Hill, m’lord. I had a small field there. All of me crops died. So I came here to find works.”

“You are a long way from your home, ain’t you, lass? Why didn’t you go to the Hornwoods?” Jory pressed on. The wolves helped him by raising their growling a notch.

The girl whimpered with her head covered by her hands, “I was, m’lord, I was goin’ to the Hornwoods! But I got lost in the woods! I was walking fer days!”

Sansa frowned hearing her answer, “That is quite a tale. You got so lost that you didn’t even look up to the sky? The sun would have been on your left if you were going to the Hornwoods.”

“Aye, m’lady!” The woman nodded her head fervently.

“Well, what is it?”

“What, m’lady? I don’ understand.” She looked about confusedly.

Sansa sighed and turned to look at Jory. The Captain of Guards was looking down at the kneeling woman with a deep frown on his face.

“What do you think, Jory?”

“She’s either lying or is so confused she doesn’t know what she is talking about. I don’t know what to do, milady.”

If it was two years ago, Sansa Stark would have begged to take the woman with them, and then employed her to work at Winterfell castle. But now, she had lessons in the politics of the North and the Seven Kingdoms. She wasn’t a naïve child with dreams of splendour. She was a proud daughter of House Stark.

“She doesn’t look to be a wildling. But we cannot be sure of that. She could’ve stolen that dress. But, we can’t just throw her in the gaol as well. This is indeed vexing, Jory.”

“Aye, milady.”

“What do you think we should do, Arya?” Sansa turned towards her sister, who had been looking intently at the woman with her hand clutching her amulet.

“She seems to be alone,” she gave a pointed look to Sansa, making her understand the wolves were not picking up any scent of other humans near them. “I think we should take her back with us.” She shook her head to stall the protests from her sister and Jory. “Not to the castle, no. The wolves won’t like that. But to Winter Town. We should place her under the watch of the innkeeper there with a guard to help while we go back and alert Father.”

Sansa gave her a proud smile, “That is a brilliant solution, sister. Jory, we should do as she suggested. A guard should remain with her at the inn. We will give him a few copper pennies for a drink or two. Not Milner, though, he needs to be with us, don’t you think?” She gave a mischievous smile towards the said guard’s crestfallen look.

Jory laughed a little, “Aye, milady, that is sound advice.”

Sansa spurred her horse forward to a walk and came to stand beside the wolves. She looked down at the still kneeling and cowering woman.

“Get up, slowly. You will be coming with us. Don’t try to escape or the wolves will hunt you down. We will place you at the Inn for the time being.”

The woman peeked from under her arms, slowly she got up to her feet, not taking her eyes off of the snarling beasts in front of her.

“Thank ye, m’lady, ye saved me life.”

“That remains to be seen.” Sansa replied sternly, “What is your name, by the way?”

A very wide and disturbing smile blossomed on the woman’s face, “Name’s Myranda, m’lady.”

---

 

Old Town

Despite the guards in employ of House Hightower posted in and around the Citadel, the Maesters, or rather, the Archmaesters – wise old scholars who were in charge of organisational duties of the Citadel, had employed personnel of their own, armed them and had them roam the darkened corridors of the centuries-old keep and its immediate surrounding. The guards roamed about in intervals timed in minutes with each other. Significant places such as the library or the Maesters’ living quarters were secured by doors with iron bars and humongous padlocks whose keys were entrusted to a different Maester each night after the business was done for the day. There was no discernible pattern of the person to be chosen as the keeper of the keys. The Archmaesters usually chose someone randomly from within their ranks. The keeper of keys then had the duties of roaming the locked down places with his group of guards throughout the night, in between indeterminate breaks. The security of the Citadel was rumoured to be almost as severe as that of the Iron Banks of Braavos. The reason for this was another rumour, however. It was said that the Citadel had been infiltrated by persons of unknown origins with intentions to rob the knowledge that countless Maesters had gathered over the ages, as well as causing irreparable damages to the keep itself. It was also said that thanks to some timely information and intervention of a then acolyte, who had managed to gain the trust of one of these individuals, the Citadel was saved that night.

Archmaester Theomalt was in charge of the keys for the night. The duties fell upon him about twice a month. He sighed as he rubbed his tired face and set down for a long night. Anticipating the sleepless night, he had taken out a few tomes of folklore and old maids’ tales, along with a few of those romantic tales. He had kept this a secret from his brothers in the order. However, it was an open secret as almost each of the Archmaesters had known about Archmaester Theomalt’s indulgence. They didn’t mention anything to him seeing the old man diligently spent his otherwise every waking moment in his studies of numbers.

It was only for a short while the old Maester could lose himself in between the pages of a tome when a knock sounded at the doors of his solar.

“Enter,” he sighed with a mild frustration in his voice.

“Apologies, Maester, but it is the time for our round of the library.”  Thornigold, the acolyte who was studying for his Iron Link and the man in charge of the guards of Citadel, stood at the doors.

“Is it time already?” Maester Theomalt asked as he closed the book he was reading.

“We try to give you as much time as we can, Archmaester, but we do need to keep our watch.”

“Very well, acolyte, lead the way.” Archmaester Theomalt walked behind the group of guards as they walked through the darkened corridors of the Citadel.

The contrast between the eerily silent corridors with the hustle and bustle of the daytime when they were filled with scholars of all ages making their ways in pursuit of knowledge was quite prominent. Archmaester Theomalt wrapped the thin cloak around his shoulders a little tighter. The night always brought a wind of chill from the seas, even on the warm summer nights, and Theomalt had bid farewell to the prime of his life a long time ago.

Quite soon, the group reached their destination and came to a stop before a set of thick wooden doors, locked down with a padlock as big as a human head. Archmaester Theomalt took out a ring of keys from within the folds of his robes and inserted a foot-long key into the keyhole. Two of the guards grabbed hold of the key and turned it around. With a muffled gonging sound, the padlock opened and the two guards heaved it down from the doors. The huge, almost floor-to-ceiling pair of doors opened without making any sound due to well-oiled hinges and all but two guards went inside of the library with the Archmaester at the head of the group. The two men outside of the library took their position on either side of the corridor and stood with their eyes peeled.

However, even as alert as the men were, they never noticed a shadow which was following them from a safe distance through the rafters. Once the doors to the library were opened and the pair of guards took their positions, the shadow seemed to melt out from the accumulated darkness near the top of the wall. As swiftly and easily as a lizard, the shadow seemed to find perches on the wall and came scaling down without making a noise. It reached the top portion of the doors and heaved itself over and through the open space to the inside of the room. Soft as a cat, it landed on the floor and scurried away from the approaching lights that emitted from the torches carried by the guards. None of the guards was aware that there was another soul beside themselves within the cavernous room of the library.

“Everything seems to be in order here, Thornigold.” Came the voice of Archmaester Theomalt.

“Yes, Maester. We should proceed towards the kitchen from here and then the living quarters on our way to your solar.” The captain of the acolyte guards replied.

“Very well. How many more times should we do this tonight, Thornigold?”

“I reckon once more should be sufficient for tonight, Maester.”

Theomalt shook his head, he was getting too old for sleepless nights.

“We will come by your solar after about two hours, Maester. It would give you enough time to finish the chapter you were reading?” Thornigold offered.

Theomalt gave him a beatific smile, “I would very much appreciate that, acolyte Thornigold.”

Thornigold returned a soft smile to the gentle, old man, “Would it be too much to hope that your appreciation would reflect on my coming lessons, Maester?” He whispered conspiratorially, to the snickering of his fellow acolyte guards.

Theomalt chuckled at the unabashed young man, “If your numbers reflect the diligence that you show in your duties, then you will receive no complaints from me, acolyte.”

“It never hurts to have the blessing of one’s favourite Maester.”

“On with you, you reprobate.” Theomalt led the group of young men out of the library amidst the sound of soft laughter.

[CotW]

Jon Snow was lying flat on the top of a bookshelf. He was in no way aware of the random patrols done by the Citadel guards. And to tell the truth, he didn’t even have a plan to infiltrate the keep that night when he went out of the Hightower-provided Northern manse for his nightly venture through the darkened city.

That night, when Jon leapt out of the open window of his room, at first, he didn’t recognize the faint white glow that seemed to surround everything in the vicinity. After a few tumbles, twists and leaps, Jon skidded to a halt when he realized that the night was not a full moon night. Hence, it was not possible for him to see the faint silvery light that he had overlooked thus far. Cautiously, he climbed up a nearby tree and secured himself in between branches. He had thought about returning to his room, but the strange phenomena had his sense of adventure tingling.

He almost called out to the hooded figure in front of him, thinking it was one of his brothers who had caught wind of Jon’s nightly adventure and followed suit. But he stopped himself at the last possible moment when he took in the figure in their entirety. None of his three brothers was that short or skinny. Yet, the figure showed the very remarkable skills that the four of them had practised to the point that they could perform them with their eyes closed. Quietly, Jon prepared himself to follow the hooded person.

He almost lost his footing and was about to fall from a height when another realization hit him… hard. There was a reason why he thought that he knew the figure that had been showing daring skills only known to Jon and his brothers, and possibly, to Wade. The hooded figure was none other than the previously thought lost Lady Mary Reed. Since he had the dreams about her, Jon was very intimately aware of Lady Reed’s behaviours, her tweaks and tricks – every nuance of her personality. The memories were still afresh with Jon. If she died, how is it that she is here? And shouldn’t she be older than she appears? – thought Jon.

The figure of apparent Lady Reed had gone even further away for the time it took to Jon’s musing. Shaking off his stupor the situation thrusted upon him, Jon too started to move – stealthily, with assured footing.

He was almost caught by the Hightower guards patrolling the roads and the surrounding areas of the Citadel. He was following Lady Reed taking the exact steps she had taken, but he stumbled off and almost fell from his perch on the rooftop he found himself to be sitting on when the running figure he was following ran straight to a group of patrolling guards and without stopping ran through them. The guards didn’t even show any outward expression that they had seen a masked individual running up to them, and going through their very bodies. Jon shifted back to immerse within the shadow and picked up a loosened bit of masonry, he dropped the rubble on top of one of the men when they crossed his position.

“Wha’ the fuck is that?”

“Wha’ are ya talkin’ ‘bout, Jer?”

“Tha’ bit o’ stone fell on me head.”

“Fuckin’ manse is crumblin’ down. We better tell tha’ to Ser Gunthor.”

“We gotta see if there’s sumfink up there, innit?”

“Wha’ for? Maesters are scared ‘cause some cunt stole inside some years ago. Wha’ do they have in there worth stealin’ save fer some books?”

“Tell that ta Lord Hightower then?”

“I like me bronze stars at the end o’ the week.”

Jon was leaning against the wall as the group of guards bantered their way. His eyes trekked on in search of the figure he was following. Was it an apparition? – he thought. He was raised with stories – stories of snarks and grumpkins; stories about the Others; stories about the Children of Forest and the Old Gods. Three out of those were proven to be true. Also, there were legends about apparitions – Ghost of High Heart; Lady Reed had a meeting with the witch by that name, was she an apparition too? His father’s birthplace – Summerhall, was said to be a haunted castle. Haunted by the souls who were burned alive. And didn’t the song ‘Jenny of Oldstone’ tell about ghosts?

Once more Jon forced himself out of his thoughts. He crawled to the edge of the roof and looked up at the wall of the Citadel. His eyes found the spectral figure once again, scaling the wall with ease. Suddenly, he felt a tingle in his wrists. There was a quiet humming noise coming out of his bracers – almost like they wanted him to follow the figure.

Ghost? Or Magic? Was there a difference?

His leg muscles became taught, he got up and pushed against the edge to throw himself into the air, like a bird of prey he soared towards the next rooftop. Strong, sinuous legs bore the weight of the body as the man dove in a forward roll, only to jump back up on his feet and continue running forward. Another jump later, vice-like grips found recess within the stonework, strong arms pulled the body up and on he went, with the apparent ease of a lizard, a black shadow scaled the wall following an apparition with a silvery glow.

Jon once again ascertained the figure’s status by her movements. She hid in spaces where there was no cover. It had been over five decades since Lady Reed was here, a lot could have changed in that time, a lot did change in that time. Places where she once sought cover were now open; things she vaulted over were non-existent. But her shadow, the man of the present, did have to mind his surrounding, he needed to remain in shadows whereas the spectre ran through patrolling acolytes. He needed to search for cover when the Lady remained crouched in an open corridor. The chase reminded him of his time at Winterfell. How he and Arya chased the cat. Only the place was a long way from home, and the adventure a lot more dangerous than a child’s mischief.

His run carried him towards the famed library of the Citadel. The Lady’s shadow didn’t have a problem as she strode right in. Jon heaved himself up on the rafters and hid in the shadows, thinking about his next step. He was quite certain that his hidden blades could cut through the wood around the padlock, if not the lock itself. But it would alert the Citadel of intruders, Jon didn’t want that to happen.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to search for an alternate way to break into the library, for the patrol of acolytes was back, with an Archmaester accompanying them. The old man unlocked the door and all save two men went inside, while the remaining men stood guard on each side of the door, their eyes trained on the empty corridor. Jon silently jumped from rafters to rafters and scaled down the wall, his fingers and booted toes finding perches for him to cling. A silent manoeuvre later, he too was inside of the library as the acolyte patrolling party looked around the darkened tomb of knowledge along with the Archmaester. He climbed atop a bookcase nearby the door and lay in wait.

When he was alone in the pitch-black library, Jon brought out a short stick not longer than his forearm and had one of its ends wrapped in oil-dipped cloth. A few shuffling with a pair of flints, he held a small torch in his hand. Carefully, he climbed down from his perch, which was now even more difficult to do since he had an open flame in his hand with flammable parchments all around him.

Hundreds and hundreds of years’ worth of knowledge was surrounding Jon. He felt himself to be quite an insignificant being standing amid the treasure trove of knowledge and wisdom. With a rueful smile on his face, he thought about what the Maesters could achieve if they were not so conservative in their preference of to whom to grant permission to all this knowledge. On one hand, they were to be commended for their diligent scholarly pursuance, but on the other hand, they were to be vilified for their practice of hoarding the said knowledge without using it for the betterment of their lands and its people.

Coming back to the present, Jon looked around for an alternative way to get out of the library. The little he had experienced the spectre that night, it was evident that the spirit of Lady Reed won’t wait for Jon to continue his chase. Quite a while had already been passed since the spectre had entered the library, Jon had no idea whatsoever about where she could be by then. He needed to find a way out of the darkened tomb of knowledge.

It appeared that Jon didn’t need to worry so, for small, circular windows, wide enough for a slender person to crawl through could be found near the roof. Using the bookcases and the rafters, a skilful man such as Jon could quite easily reach the windows. Jon decided to make a hasty exit, he would come back sometime later if he could mark the windows from the outside. 

[CotW]

Dawn was an hour or two away. It had taken Jon a long, long time after he exited the library. He didn’t know for how long he just ran around aimlessly while evading the guard patrols before he caught a glimpse of the silvery glow at a far corner. Now, he was scaling the black behemoth that was the Castle Hightower. He was suddenly out of the Citadel and near the castle after he took one of his running jumps. He would need to sit down and meditate quietly before he could form a mental map of the twists and turns that he took inside of the Citadel. He was quite certain that he would need that map in future.

Crawling through a gap on the wall, through which the spectre had vanished a little ago, Jon found himself to be what appeared to him as an abandoned part of the Hightower family residence. The thick layer of dust and the floor-to-roof curtain of cobwebs indicated that he was the first to step on these floors in over a decade or more. He didn’t want to leave behind any sign of intrusion, but he didn’t trust the rotting woods of the rafters above. Exhaling a sigh of helplessness, Jon trudged forward with featherlight footsteps. A door bent with the weight of its metalwork was half hanging off of its hinges, a slight touch could bring the whole damn thing down and wake the castle. Jon took a running leap and aimed his body through the narrow gap to land on the other side. Once more, the spectre was gone.

He pressed himself flat against the wall when suddenly a faint voice drifted from a little further away. Jon waited a short time thinking that whoever the voice belonged to, would move away. But it stayed where it was coming from. Listening carefully, although he couldn’t discern the words, it sounded to him like a song. A strange, haunting melody that seemed very familiar to him. Curious, despite knowing of the danger he would be putting himself in, Jon carefully approached the voice.

Let oss start yfir again

hví megeigir vér live okkarr lives again

please let oss live einn sinni again

vér hafmeirir joys til share

meiri tears til sheð

ef vér erum given khanceinn

vér munu live okkarr lives again

(Let us start over again

Why can not we live our lives again

Please let us live once again

We have more joys to share

More tears to shed

If we are given the chance

We will live our lives again)

Slowly, careful to not make any noise, Jon pushed the doors open. The mourning song of the North, sung only while performing the last rites of one’s close family, was drifting out of the room in front of him, sung in the original words of the Old Tongue, not the one that had been translated into the Common Tongue. Throwing caution to the winds, for this was too fantastic for him to even comprehend, Jon rushed inside of the room.

Even in its bareness, the room boasted of its inhabitant. The black stone walls were adorned with brightly coloured tapestries, depicting painted images of Hightower lords of age-old. Events came alive within the images at some of those wall decorations, but surprisingly enough, the events were not of the Hightowers, or of the South; but those of the North. Bael the Bard absconding with Lord Stark’s daughter. The Hungry Wolf with his sword raised and ready to disembark his ship and attack the Andals. Andal forces getting lost in the marshlands of the Neck. Lord Cregane Stark kneeling in front of the Dragons. And finally, a young woman’s image, half-obscured by another image of a man of the same height and features, again half obscured by the same woman but with different hair colour. It was quite a vivid imagery of Lady Mary Reed and her adopted identities – John Rackham and Anne displayed proudly and openly inside of the room.

The occupant of the room was sitting crosslegged on the floor. One half-finished drapery, which was showing the image of a young man with black hair and purple eyes, and a white wolf sitting at his feet. Its creator was a woman, a highborn woman. If he were to speculate, Jon would say she was near the age of Lady Jonelle Cerwyn. She didn’t appear to be sickly, yet her eyes were the sunken pools of dark blue, cheekbones protruding out and her skin was as pale as any who hadn’t ventured into the sun in a long time. Jon fingered a dart dipped in the sleeping concoction to render her unconscious if she started to yell because of his sudden appearance, but the woman, who would have been a beautiful lady if not for her unkempt appearance, gave him a bright smile.

“Ljós leggja!” (Light Bringer!)  

Startled, Jon took a step back, his left hand searched for the door while his right brought out the dart.

“Please, gereigir líða, ljós leggja.  Ek hafmuniðr waiting fyrir þinn arrival.” (Please, do not go, Light Bringer. I have been waiting for your arrival.)

Lowering his hand which was about to throw the potioned dart, Jon couldn’t help but frown at the plea in her voice.

“Hvernig gerþúr veit ór mik, minn lady?” (How do you know of me, My Lady?)

The lady had gotten up to her feet, but she was swaying dangerously. Jon would think of her as a drunk but her words were free of drunken slurs. Slowly pulling the bolts and locking the doors from the inside, Jon stepped away from the doors. He kept a distance between the two of them. The woman was looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, her wide smile was becoming a bit disconcerting.

“Ek hafdreamsr ór þú.  Ek sá þú, á burningr skip.  Ek sá þú, koming út ór grrinnœnn fire.  Ek sá þú, drinking blooðinn ór slainr beast.  Hvile hvítrr vargr howling ok prowling, protecting þú.  Birðr ór prey flying hár, watching yfir þú.  Ok rikkir fire seeking þú, til bond, til grow, til fjúka.” (I have dreams of you. I saw you, on a burning ship. I saw you, coming out of the green fire. I saw you, drinking the blood of a slain beast. While a white wolf howling and prowling, protecting you. A bird of prey flying high, watching over you. And a great fire seeking you, to bond, to grow, to fly.)

Shaking, weak hands grabbed hold of Jon’s stronger ones. He could see splattered colours all over those bony hands from the unfinished artwork. But it was not his hands that the lady wanted, but his wrists. She brought the wrists clad in the magical bracers near her eyes and observed them closely. Jon was shocked. She was the first to see his bracers. Not even Lord Bloodraven mentioned them.

“Ek vitumk einn, þat gefumk mik dreams.  ok bókr.  Bókr ór secrets.” (I found one, it gave me dreams... and a book. A book of secrets.)

Jon gently freed his hands from hers. “Sem bók eru þú talking um, minn lady? ok hvat gerði þú vita? Ok hvere gerði þú learn talainn ór gamall?” (Which book are you talking about, My Lady? And what did you find? And where did you learn the speech of old?)

“Koma, koma, ek munu visþúr.” (Come, come, I will show you.)

Once again grabbing his hand, the lady led Jon towards the lone dresser in a corner of the room. Apart from a few ladies’ garments, the dresser was full to the brim with old drawings, colours and what appeared to his eyes, laces of different colours. The lady rummaged around in that mess for a while before turning back to him with her still bright smile. Jon’s eyes almost escaped their sockets when they fell upon one of the objects in her hands.

It was a bracer just as his own. The difference between them was Jon’s bracers still retained their suppleness, whereas the old bracer in the lady’s hands appeared brittle, with chunks missing from places and the surface flaking off. Jon plucked it out of her hands with trembling but careful fingers. The bracer was indeed the same as his, albeit worn and weathered. Deft fingers found the sheath underneath and a few forceful applications later, a bent and semi-rusted blade came out of its resting place. It was indeed made of Valyrian Steel, but he had no idea that the steel could be bent like tin, or become rusted. Even Lamentation, the ancestral sword of House Royce, after its recovery of over a century, still retained its edge. But this hidden blade, the same as Jon’s, was about to break apart. A touch of a naked finger made Jon aware of the faint thrum, something that he was intimately familiar with, something that he felt when he found his own bracers, the same thing he felt when he neared the Wall.

Magic!

But the magic was faint… as if it only remained as an afterthought. Could it be the reason for the blade’s broken state? Is Valyrian Steel magical? – Jon wondered. 

“Hvere gerði þú vitþatr?” (Where did you find it?)

“Ek gerði eigi.  Þat vitumk mik.” (I didn't. It found me.) The lady cackled like a mad woman. “Þú eighafar þessi.  Þú eigprotectr þessi.” (You must have this. You must protect this.) She thrusted the other object in her hands to Jon’s chest with such a force that he almost stumbled a step back. Looking down, he found it to be a small rectangular object, tightly and carefully wrapped within a piece of silk.

“Hverr eru þú?” (Who are you?)

The woman threw her head back and started to cackle loudly, “Ek em látumkr birð eigi far fran hannestr.  Ek hafmuniðr waiting fyrir ljóanleggjar til komokr leggjmikr peace.” (I am a lost bird not far from her nest. I have been waiting for the Light Bringer to come and bring me peace.)

Jon was about to speak when the apparition of Lady Reed came through the locked doors. She stood in the middle of the room and took in her surroundings. Jon could have sworn that he heard her sigh before she lowered her hood. A young woman, with wavy, long brown hair, whose features were not unlike those of Meera Reed, and certainly not older than Jon, looked out of the opened window. Outside, the sun had just started to rise at the horizon. Its soft red light was reflecting on the surface of the sea.

Jon swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. Since he had the dream of her, he felt somewhat responsible for her. A young girl much like Arya, who left her home and family behind, to fight alone against the whole world, only to lose her life because of treacherous men and their betrayals.

“Annarr látumk bird, ljós leggja, hon er ok waiting fyrir þú til leggjhanar aptr til hannestr.” (Another lost bird, Light Bringer, she is also waiting for you to bring her back to her nest.)

Jon’s reply was once more disrupted, this time, by another voice that came from outside of the doors.

“Malora, sweetling, are you awake? Who are you talking to?”

“Ek em talking með látumkrinn birð ok ljóanleggjar, faðir.  Ek em talking með minn konungr, okkarr saviour.” (I am talking with the lost bird and the Light Bringer, Father. I am talking with My King, our saviour.)

Jon’s pulse quickened, not only there was someone at the doors, who, by his voice, Jon thought to be the lord of the house, Lord Leyton Hightower, but the lady, whom he now knew to be Lady Malora Hightower, Lord Leyton’s daughter, had just referred to him as ‘My King’. He needed to get out of there… quickly.

Even though Lady Reed’s apparition was an imprint of a time long past, her reaction seemed to be of one’s who also heard Lord Leyton’s voice. Her calm posture changed within a blink as she brought her hood back up. Jon mirrored her actions only a few steps away.

“You know I don’t understand a thing when you speak in that language, dear, please open these doors.”

In tandem, both the spectre and the human rushed towards the open window and dove through it. The shimmering black water with a reddish glow below was rapidly approaching the falling figure, for the apparition had vanished once again. Even though the whistling sound of the wind, Jon could hear the cackle of Lady Malora as she opened the doors to her room with a bang.

“Fjúka, smár birds, fjúka.  Fjúkár windsrinn til leggjar nýr ok betri dagr.  með fire ok blooð.  með íss ok steel.” (Fly, little birds, fly. Fly on the winds to bring a new and better day... with fire and blood... with ice and steel...)

Jon hoped the splash he made when he hit the water couldn’t be heard from Lady Malora’s room. 

---

 

Old Town

The foursome was surprised to find a rather bustling crowd thronging the docks and the pathway to Castle Hightower. A few whispered conversations and close observation let them know that it was due to the arrival of Queen Cersei, along with Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen. The Pack stayed at a far side and behind some partial covers, neither fully obstructed from view to garner doubt nor were they exposed to the individuals who could spot them from the royal procession.

A wheelhouse soon came into view, flanked by soldiers in Baratheon and Lannister livery. Two white-clad knights could also be seen on horses – one at the front of the party, the other acting as a vanguard.

“Hvítrrinn lion hafráðumkr til komþár.” (The white lion has decided to come then.) Torrhen observed. It was indeed quite easy to spot the Kingsguard at the front, what with his hair like spun gold as same as the Queen, and the rampant white lion etched on his breastplates.

“Aye, en hverr er fleiriinn einn?” (Aye, but who is the other one?)

“Ek kouldn't sjá hann quite klearly.  En hvat ek villjumk til veit er hví smárrinn fawns einga? hvere er eldestinn false fawn? ek gerði eigi hugslionesanar munu hafleftr hann aptr.” (I couldn't see him quite clearly. But what I wanted to know is why the little fawns only? Where is the eldest false fawn? I didn't think the lioness would have left him behind.)

Jon spurred Midnight on, the crowd had followed the royal procession towards the Hightower keep, leaving the path somewhat cleared.

“Ek em munu at vér munu fá til veit at quite brátt œrinn.  Hvat gerþúr viljtilr wager at fatinn flower munu announce welcomingr feast fyrir boasting hans wealth fyrir krownrinn?” (I am sure that we would get to know that quite soon enough. What do you want to wager that the fat flower will announce a welcoming feast for boasting his wealth for the crown?)

[CotW]

They had gone for a meal at the local inn rather than returning to their manse. Mainly, they wanted to get a feel about the way the air blew. Information wrapped within rumours was bountiful in the present state of the regular patrons of the tavern. The people of Old Town were excited for the upcoming tourney of Lord Tyrell. The presence of the Queen and her children only added to that fervour.

The serving maid had just brought their ordered food to the table, taking her sweet time when bending over to place the platters and displaying her ample teats for the White Wolf’s benefit, much to his chagrin.

“While the precious flower remained cold and distant, even she couldn't take her eyes off of you, Jon. Can you blame this one for her hope of a tumble in the hay with the White Wolf?” Asher’s crudeness led to a howling bout of laughter.

“I do hope, for your sake, that you are not taking lessons from Wade, Asher?” Jon smirked at him.

Asher shivered at the implication, “I admit to being a bit reckless, but even I am not insane enough to tangle with Wade.  Why did you let him take Kurt, I will never know?”

 “I wanted to give the lad a choice - A normal and safe life at Winterfell as opposed to travelling with us for an unknown amount of time. And Wade loves the wee thing. He won't let anything happen to him, train him up to be as irritating as him, mayhaps, but no danger will befall him.”

“Pardon me, My Lords,” a voice from a few tables away stopped their conversation, “if I am not mistaken, you are Lord Robb Stark, of Winterfell?” The speaker was a man of thin stature. His dark hair and sharp features made him a handsome man. It was also evident that the man was no stranger to hard work in the yard, as the rippling cords of muscles could be seen from under his well-worn tunic.

A gentle tap at his feet under the table from the opposite side where Jon was seated made Robb answer the question, “Aye, I am Robb Stark of Winterfell. But who might you be, My Lord.”

The man gave a satisfied smile, he ran a hand through his hair to make himself presentable as he stood up from his table. He came near the Northern table and gave a courteous bow directly to Robb.

“Ser Lyn Corbray, My Lord, heir to Lord Lyonel Corbrey of Heart’s Home.”

“Well met, Ser Lyn. Please, pull up a seat and join us, won’t you?”

Ser Lyn did just that. “Thank you, My Lord. We have just arrived this morning and the commotion due to the Queen’s arrival has thrown us a bit off-road, I am afraid.” He gave respectful nods to the other three at the table.

“Kindly allow me to introduce my companions, Ser. On your left is Lord Torrhen Karstark, son and heir of Lord Ricard Karstark of Karhold; beside him is Lord Asher Forrester, son and heir of Lord Gregor Forrester of Ironwrath. And on your right is my brother, Ser Jon, the White Wolf.”

“It is a pleasure, My Lords,” he peered at Jon with a smirk, “and of course you, Ser Jon. Quite a legend you have created for yourself if you allow me to say so.”

Jon returned the smirk, “As did you, Ser. Your Lady and yourself do come up in quite a few songs even back North.”

“Ah, yes, my precious Lady.” Ser Lyn sat back with a pleased smile on his face, “She loves to dance and has a thirst for a few drops of red.”

“I take it that you have come to Old Town for the tourney, Ser?” Robb prodded on.

“You can say that I am here because of lamentation, My Lord.” Ser Lyn gave a pointed look to the Northern lord. Robb’s eyes widened briefly before he exchanged glances with his friends.

“I reckon you have finished your meal, Ser? Would you, mayhaps, like to join us for a mug of ale back at our manse? We would love to hear your tales of battle from the Rebellion.”

“You honour me, My Lord. Please, lead the way.”

They untethered the horses from the posts outside of the inn when Jon asked, “You mentioned ‘us’, Ser Lyn, won’t your companion be worried about your whereabouts?”

Ser Lyn shook his head, “Young Harry knows where we are staying. The lad will be back once he finishes taking a gander of the Citadel.”

[CotW]

They sat comfortably inside of the lord’s solar at the manse granted to the Northern party. Each leaning back in their seats with a mug of Northern ale in hand. Ser Lyn took a sip from his mug and nodded his head appreciatively.

“It does one’s tongue good to taste something other than Arbor Gold or Dornish Red. And pardon me for saying so, My Lord, but Northern ale is the same as its people, strong and bitter enough to kick your guts in but always makes you come back for some more.”

Robb didn’t know if he was to be pleased or offended, he confusedly raised his own mug in reply. Jon, who had set his mug down after the first sip, didn’t take his eyes off of the Vale knight. He gave his brother a subtle nod to start the conversation.

“Ser Lyn? Could you elaborate on your comment back at the inn?”

The older man nodded and set his mug aside.

“What do you know of me, My Lord Stark?”

Robb shuffled in his seat, “Ser Lyn Corbray, second son of the late Lord Leland Corbray of Heart’s Home. The House Corbray was a staunch supporter of the Dragons and fought for them in the battle of Gulltown against the armies of Lord Jon Arryn. Admitting defeat and renewing the vow to the liege lord’s house, Arryn of Vale, they joined forces with those of Arryn, Stark and Baratheon. In the Battle of Trident, after Lord Leland fell, you, Ser, had taken up the Lady from his hands and charged. You fought bravely and very skillfully to break the Dornish front and slew a Kingsguard, Prince Lewyn Martell.

Your father, Lord Leland, gave you the ancestral sword of House Corbray – the Lady Forlorn, upon his death. You are the heir to your elder brother and current lord of Heart’s Home, Lord Lyonel Corbray alongside your younger brother, Ser Lucas Corbray.”

Ser Lyn smirked, “An apt and concise description of my life so far, My Lord. But there are quite a few gaps in your knowledge, I am afraid. Kindly allow me to explain –

I am, as you said, the spare of my father, Lord Leland. When my father granted me the right to wield the Lady on his deathbed, my brother, Lyonel took offence at that. He felt that he was cheated out of his birthright despite him inheriting the title and the lands. I am the heir for now, but Lyonel’s wife, the Lady Cama is currently with child.

I am rude, crude and never afraid to speak my mind. I won’t ever praise you if there is no full coinpurse for me to do that or if I am not actively pursuing you to get you into my bed. I am like the Dornish that way. I am a gambler and what little monies find their way into my purse, are soon spent in either whorehouses or some gambling dens. I am not your advisor, but if you can satiate my appetite, I am your blunt weapon.”

“That is well and good, Ser,” Robb spoke with impatience, “but it doesn’t say why you are here.”

“I am getting there.” Lyn took another sip from his mug and smirked at Robb’s impatience. He didn’t fail to see that the White Wolf was looking at him unblinkingly. Those purple eyes seemed to bore through his skull. He shivered and averted his gaze.

“As I am without my lord brother’s favour, I am always in need of coins to lead my life. I was under heavy debts and was only days away from taking up Lord Baelish on his offer to help me out of my debts, when suddenly one day, I was summoned by Lord Royce. I appeared at his court to find that I was selected to carry out a secret task by Lord Arryn. I am to escort young Harry Hardyng to Old Town and establish contact with the Northern party under Lord Robb Stark and Ser Jon, the White Wolf. In exchange, Lord Royce was authorised to clear my debts as well as offer me quite a fat coinpurse. After I carry out my duties, my next set of instructions is to come from Lord Stark at his discretion.” He nodded at Robb.

Robb leaned back in his seat, his eyes never left the visage of the older man sitting before him. Robb knew he was expected to answer the man’s unasked question. But he couldn’t think of a thing that he should say. He was broken out of his rumination by the sudden movements beside him. Jon noisily stood up from his seat.

“A word, brother?”

Robb nodded and followed him out of the room.

They stopped before a window looking over the yard. Below them, they could see the men gathered around watching a bout. Ser Hugh Pryor was fighting one of the Northerners with a stick. Lady Madelyne Pryor was also present, she was shouting encouragement to her brother.

“Your thoughts, Jon?”

Jon put his elbows on the windowsill and leaned down. His brows furrowed in thought.

“That man is either one of the most cunning, or the most idiotic man I have ever met.”

Robb snorted, “I don’t think he would have been alive this long if he was an idiot, Jon.”

“My thoughts precisely.” He turned his head to look at Robb, “Which is why we need time to think about what should we say to him.”

Robb nodded his head in assent, “I will go back and ask for a little time before I make my decision.”

Jon straightened up, “Also, give him about ten dragons as a reward for his completion of duties. Meanwhile, I will go down and get the Pryor siblings away from the front yard. We didn’t meet them on our way in, but I would prefer if they do not come across Ser Lyn anytime soon.”

“Very well.”

“Oh, and Robb?”

“Aye?”

“Ask him about his opinion on Hardyng, will you brother?”

[CotW]

“So what did you do?”

“Followed him from a distance, kept my face obscured so he didn’t recognize me.”

“Where did he go?”

“Where else? Straight to a whorehouse.”

“Aye, I thought he would, just to celebrate his recently received reward.”

“He spoke freely. He told us that if we are to avail of his services, we need to keep him well fed. Still, it doesn’t help one’s mind when you know that he will sell himself to the next man with a better offer.”

“It was a veiled threat if you failed to notice that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Lord Royce didn’t choose the right man. He said that he was about to go to the Mockingbird for help, but from his words, it seemed that he has already done the deed. Those words may come from his mouth, but they were written by someone else, his benevolent benefactor, mayhaps?”

“Fucking hells!”

“Aye, it seemed to me that the person behind the veil was trying to say that they were aware of our scheming with a clear understanding of our motive.”

“What about the heir?”

“Also watched him for a bit today. What I saw after what I heard about him, fits him perfectly.”

“You mean…”

“Aye, boastful, proud and with a lust for flesh…. Had a whore in each arm and was describing how he alone valiantly slew a clan of Mountain Tribes to earn his spurs.”

“No hope then?”

“I am afraid so. Still, we need to keep our oath to the old man.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“Somehow separate the true heir from his mother. I mean no offence, brother. But for that lad to become worthy of his family name, his mother has to go.”

“It won’t be easy…”

“…won’t be ethical either.”

“If you will listen to me…”

“Of course, brother.”

“Let things lie as they are for a couple of years more. The child is still but a babe on the teat. We will decide what to do about them once we are truly prepared. At the moment, I don’t think we can afford to do what you are proposing.”

“Aye, that is for the better, in my opinion.”

“What to do about the heir in the meantime? Should we drag him with us?”

“No. From the state of things, it seems that the Mockingbird has his fingers almost in every pie. We bring him with us and information about our movements would become common knowledge. I don’t trust any one of them.”

“Then…”

“Well, I do have an idea…”

“Miracles do happen…”

“Kindly keep your fucking mouth shut!”

“Easy lads! Let’s hear this idea then …”

“The Flowers tried to play their games with the Septa. Why don’t we return the favour?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. The heir has a lust for pretty things. The Golden Flower is quite soothing to the eyes. If we somehow manage to leave him here, who’s to say that eyes won’t meet at some corner. Additionally, the heir is a decent swordsman, at least. A few boastful shows in the yard and mayhaps a silken favour changes hands in one of their numerous tourneys.”

“Er…”

“I know that the Flowers are quite ambitious. It was said that the Old Thorn refused a betrothal with Daeron Targaryen because he preferred his friend Ser Jeremy Norridge. But rumour has it that it was the Thorn herself who nudged those two together by quite cunningly arranging a few drunken nights and the favourable situation just so she could ensnare the late Fat Flower instead of having him marrying Shaera Targaryen.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“The Royal Library has quite a few interesting tomes to read.”

“We are drifting…”

“Aye, so as I was saying, the Old Thorne always tries to do the best for herself and her family. The current Fat Flower is but a puppet whose strings are in the hands of the Old Thorn. He dances to her tunes. Think about it. During the rebellion, only Lord Tarly was fighting against the Rebel forces. The rest of the mighty Reach army was busy in the siege of Storms’ End? Did it truly take huge manpower to lay siege on a keep that was already depleted of fighting men and under the rules of a lad who was injured and couldn’t provide proper resistance? Then, after a year, the siege was suddenly lifted because Lord Stark asked them nicely? I don’t think so.

Lord Tarly is the most vocal of the lords who speak against the Flowers. With him fighting the war, anything could have happened on the battlefield. It was his good fortune that Lord Tarly survived, but his army was depleted. Whereas the main army sat pretty for a year, well away from any conflicts. And when the dust settled, they couldn’t move fast enough to declare their obedience. Truly? Marrying Selys Florent to Stannis Baratheon after starving him for over a year?

In my opinion, it was all concocted by the Old Thorne. She gambles small with every opportune moment and when it is favourable to her, she aims to kill. Sending the Septa to Winterfell was one of her follow-up gambits in my mind. She wanted the North’s position weakened only to make themselves appear a strong contender for the Iron Throne through heirs. I say we strike at the root. We use the heir to root out the Golden Flower. If he is unable, then there is no loss for us as we will be a long way apart. But there will be whispers of likely and unlikely stories about a handsome heir and a beautiful maiden. Meanwhile, while we are here, we will spread rumours about the False Fawn. Not the crucial one of course, but a few general ones and a few embellished ones. We will require our own insane story peddler to return for that, which I hope to happen within the next two days.”

“Quite a convoluted plan…”

“Aye, I am not sure I followed it in its entirety.”

“We will talk and clear whatever wrinkles we find. But it will have the added benefit of throwing off the hidden benefactor of our trails. They will be quite confused that we schemed to secret the heir away from his home only to leave him behind. If we manage to relieve his minder early, then it will muddy the water even more.”

“I am still not quite sure about it, but I move it to further planning. What say you?

“Aye…”

“Aye…”

There was a knock on the door.

[CotW]

(***)

To

Lord Robb Stark,

Heir to Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North

Dear Lord Stark,

With the arrival of Her Grace, Queen Cersei and the Royal Children - Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella for the upcoming tourney of Old Town to celebrate the nameday of Lady Allerie Tyrell, Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount and Warden of the Mander, would like to invite you and your party to a feast in honour of the Queen of Seven Kingdoms.

Your esteemed presence was requested by Lord Tyrell tomorrow evening at Castle Hightower.

I sincerely hope you will grace us with your presence.

Yours truly,

Lord Baelor Hightower

Heir to Lord Leyton Hightower, Lord of Old Town.

(***)

“What is in the second scroll?”

(***)

Dear Ser Jon,

Pardon me for this short message, but do you know the meaning of the phrase ‘Ljós leggja’? If you do, I will be awaiting you for a quiet discussion.

Once again, do forgive an old man for his lapse in cordiality.

Yours truly,

Lord Leyton Hightower

(***)

The three looked at Jon with wide eyes while the man himself had a deep frown on his face.

Notes:

A.N. - Sorry for my absence, bad health as well as internet troubles kept me away. An advance apology for a certain part of the chapter, if it is that hard a pill to swallow, remember that there are quite a few AC elements in this story. Think of the part as the 'Bleeding Effect from the Animus' as mentioned in that game.

Chapter 32: The Raven's Disciple

The Raven’s Disciple

Old Town

Robb had just taken up a quill to quickly jot down some of the thoughts he needed to convey in his message to Winterfell when a knock on the doors stopped him.

“Come!”

“Milord,” a guard poked his head in, “Wade Poole has returned.”

Robb stood up with a smile, “At last! I was getting worried.” He pushed past the man and strode with quickened steps towards the front yard. “Send for Jon, will you please, Mantel?”

“Wolf is already at the yard, Milord.” Replied the man.

Robb chuckled, all the men had taken to refer Jon as Wolf after Wade. It did irritate his brother in the beginning, but since he had been named Ser Jon, the White Wolf, the poor lad had to reluctantly accept the title.

Robb found half the men crowded with the returned men, all eagerly wanting to hear the news of their home. It had been too long since they had seen the North.

“Wade Poole!” Robb called out, and the men stood aside to let him through, “Never thought that I would say this, but you did brighten my day.”

“Milord Robb,” said a blushing Wade. Robb had to stifle his laugh seeing the man bashful. It was quite an odd sight to behold.

“Just in time too, brother.” Jon approached them with his hand resting on a young lad’s shoulder, “It seems Wade is very much on his way to make a warrior out of Kurt all on his own.” The lad, immensely pleased with himself for being praised by Ser Jon, hid himself a bit behind the man.

“Oh?”

“Aye. Apparently, Kurt here had his taste of battle on the way home. He shot down a bandit leader from his horse.”

Robb beamed at the lad, “Good lad. In no time, you will be a great warrior.”

Wade coughed a little to attract their attention, “Milord, he also carries a special treasure with him. For you and Wolf.”

Jon looked curiously down at the boy, “What is it, Kurt?”

The boy brought out a sheaf of parchments from within the fold of his clothes.

“Ladies Sansa and Arya sent you missives, Ser.” Kurt handed them over to the brothers, “Lord Bran had to help the Little Lord Rickon with his letters, but he was the first with his message to you.”

Truly, it was no less than a precious treasure to the Stark brothers. Both received the gift with misty eyes and soft smiles.

“You have our gratitude, lad.” Robb surreptitiously wiped his eyes.

“Aye, Kurt. Your gift is truly precious.” Jon frowned in thought, “Arya let you call her a lady?”

Kurt smirked, “She could only scream at me when I called her lady from afar.”

The brothers laughed uproariously at that.

[CotW]

The setting sun had sprinkled a few handfuls of red over the water and turned it into a fiery waterbody of the Whispering Sound. From afar, Castle Hightower appeared to be a black monolith rising out of the fiery depths of Seven Hells. The road to the castle was free of any mud it accumulated during the day. Servants had worked tirelessly to clean the path for the noble lords and ladies to ride through to partake in the feast in honour of Queen Cersei.

The four friends, brothers in all but blood, urged their horses in a slow trot. Lord Robb Stark at the front, he was flanked by Lord Karstark on the right, and Lord Forrester on the left. Ser Jon Snow was bringing up the rear on his black destrier – Midnight.

Lord Asher Forrester leaned a little towards Lord Robb to ask him a question, “Gerþúr hugsa -” (Do you think-)

A loud cough cut him off in mid-sentence and he turned to look back. He found Ser Jon was looking at him in a fierce glare, making the young lord grimace and a little red around the neck.

The four had gotten into the habit of conversing in the Old Tongue. Before, they felt safe in the knowledge that they could discuss the current affairs among themselves without alerting any of the eavesdroppers. Old Tongue was the language of the North, but hardly a few seemed to know it nowadays even there. However, their opinion was proven to be wrong when an Archmaester of the Citadel proved that he was proficient in the language, and afterwards, a seemingly innocent missive from the Hightower Lord had them on guard. Jon had cautioned his brothers about conversing in the apparent dead language for the rest of their stay in Old Town, but it was not easy to not fall prey to old habits.

They were greeted at the entrance of the Great Hall by Ser Gunthor Hightower, who ordered one of the Redwyn twins to direct the Northern lords to their assigned seats. Most of the hall was filled with the nobles of Reach. The four sat at their table with Robb at the centre, Jon kept his eyes about the vast room, he needed to take the smallest opportunity to slip out and meet with Lord Leyton, he needed to be aware of his surroundings.

His eyes fell upon a table on the opposite side of the room. Prince Oberyn occupied a seat in seemingly careless ease. One hand rested on the backrest of the seat, while the other clutched a goblet full of Arbor Gold. A smirk etched on his face, appearing quite mocking to the others, one might even call it challenging. It was not a secret that Lord Mace Tyrell hated the Prince since he was the reason for his heir requiring the aid of a walking stick to move about. A slight raise of the goblet and a subtle tilt of the head let Jon know that the Prince had acknowledged his presence, and he returned the gesture.

Beside the Prince, sat Lady Ashara – Ellaria Sand, Jon reminded himself once again. He was yet to make up his mind on what to think about the lady. She was married to his Uncle Brandon, but at present, was married to the Prince, pretending to be a bastard from Hellholt. She was the mother of his cousin – though stillborn, but now, she was the adoptive mother of his half-sister, Rhaenys. A woman who hated his very existence because to her, he was the reason for their parent's death. The ache in his heart was not helping the confusion that clouded his mind.

Lady Ellaria gave her a soft but sad smile when she felt his gaze on her. Jon tried to return the smile, but it came out as a grimace. The lady gave him a nod of understanding. None of their daughters could be seen in the hall. Probably because the Prince didn’t want to hurt the delicate feelings of the gathered nobles of the Reach by the presence of bastards. Lady Ellaria was overlooked because of her relationship with the Prince, and Jon was a knight of the realms.

A soft nudge to his side and a whisper alerted Jon of the new arrivals.

“The Heir is here.” Asher indicated toward the doors.

The handsome youth had sandy blond hair; a pair of deep blue eyes and lean physic. It was apparent that the man was no stranger to the yard.

“The lad is indeed quite easy on the eyes, isn’t he?” Torrhen murmured.

“Aye, and behaviours to go with that. I hope Wade succeeds in his mission.”

“Oh, he will. You know Wade.”

Ser Lyn followed the heir into the Hall. When his eyes fell on the Northerners he bowed his head, a tad more to it, and it would have appeared mocking. Robb’s jaws clenched as he gave him a curt nod back. The exchange wasn’t missed by the heir and he had a whispered conversation with his companion. Then he turned his head and graced the four with a calculating look while giving them – mainly Robb – a courteous bow.

Pretty soon, the Hall was filled with guests and the host arrived with the guest of honour holding onto his arm – Queen Cersei - following one of her Kingsguard, Ser Arys Oakheart. Her beautiful face seemed to be carved from stone as Lord Mace kept talking in her ear… almost kissing her cheek. They were followed by Loras Tyrell with Princess Myrcella; Margaery Tyrell with Prince Tommen; the Lord and Lady Hightower; Lady Alerie Tyrell holding the arm of Lord Baelor Hightower; Lord Willas escorting Lady Olenna; and finally Ser Garlan with his betrothed, Lady Leonette Fossway before the other Hightower sons and daughters ending with the White Lion. Ser Jaime and Ser Arys took places behind the seats of the Royal Family.

After everyone was seated, Lord Mace stood and started his speech, it began with thanking Her Grace but soon, it became nothing more than self-appraisal. Lady Olenna was seen to be rubbing her forehead as if she was trying to fend off a headache.

Robb leaned toward Jon and whispered, “The Heir is ready to fall into the trap. He is yet to take his eyes off of the high table.”

Jon nodded, “I know. The Golden Flower kept surreptitiously glancing in his direction in between her blatant flirting with an eight namedays old lad.”

Asher smirked, “On the other hand, Loras Tyrell keeps trying to engage the Princess in a conversation, but her eyes keep finding our table. I won’t be too surprised if she is found to be holding a certain rose in her hands.”

Jon grimaced, “I hope that I can make my escape before she corners me for a dance.” He narrowed his eyes when the Forrester lord started to snicker at his imagined predicament. “I do plan on asking Meera for a dance though, just so you know.”

That made Asher stop abruptly and Robb choke on a mouthful of wine he had just taken in.

“Fuck you, Snow!”

 

---

 

The air didn’t smell like shit.

That was the first thing she took notice of. That, and the lack of jostling crowd. She tried to feel offended at her husband for taking her precious son away from her. But once again, she reminded herself that it was for him she needed to come here. Her resolve was also strengthened by the message her father sent to her, reminding her of their discussion. It was all for Joffrey. She needed to be on that cursed vessel for days on water just so her son’s future could be secured. With a deep breath, Cersei prepared herself to step on the solid ground for the first time in a week.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the servants fussing over Myrcella and Tommen. Her youngest son didn’t want to come. He didn’t want to be away from his cats for so many days. But Cersei was adamant. Her golden children needed to be near her. It was bad enough that she had to let go of Joffrey, even for a little while, but she refused to be apart from her other children. Hence, Tommen stood at the deck sullenly, while his sister was looking at the dock and the people with excitement.

Sometimes, her daughter reminded Cersei of her younger self. Of the time when she used to sneak out of the Rock to visit Lannisport with her cousins. The excitement she felt, the independence. The sea-scented air on her face and the sun reflecting from her golden hair when she rode down the dirt road. But unfortunately, her daughter didn’t possess her intellect. She never had her mother’s ambition, nor her cunning. None of her children did save Joffrey.

Thinking about Joffrey revitalized her mind, she was on an important mission here. She would prove to her father that she could be as good as his chosen heir, if not better. She would ensnare the roses for her Joffrey’s future, for her family’s future.

She was brought out of her thoughts by Ser Arys, the Kingsguard informed her that her wheelhouse was ready for her to board. Glancing behind her, where Jaime stood silently, with Tommen clinging to his legs and Myrcella holding a handful of his cloak, she sent a smirk back to her brother and proceeded with her head held high. Why she did so, she wasn’t sure, but anything that could irritate her seemingly useless twin should be celebrated.

Out of the small windows of the wheelhouse, she kept looking out at the people who had come to welcome her. Her children were whispering with each other quite excitedly. They too were looking out of the windows and taking in the sights of Old Town. She would need to remind them that they shouldn’t behave like common street rats. They were the Royal Prince and Princess, after all.

Her eyes fell upon a group on horseback, standing detached from the crowd. At the front of the group, there was a big black destrier. Its rider wore non-descriptive clothing, but she was sure that there was an armband – of colour black, with a white direwolf stitched on it.

Within a moment, her smile widened with vigour. The White Wolf is here – that thought kept her from the tedium that was listening to the boastings of the fat oaf, Mace Tyrell. She didn’t even give a second glance towards the Golden Rose, as the Tyrell daughter escorted her to her chambers. The girl would have to wait. First, she needed to have another meeting with the young knight.

[CotW]

She couldn’t remember the last time she waited as anxiously for a feast as this one. Well, she could, but she didn’t want to think about Silver Prince now. She had carefully chosen her dress and made the maid cry with her words to style her hair exactly the way she wanted. She needed to be perfect that evening. Taking another glance at the looking glass, she dipped the bottle of Lysian perfume on the sides of her neck, filling the room with a spicy fragrance. Perfect. She was ready just in time, for not a moment later, Ser Arys called for her to let her know that Lord Tyrell was waiting to escort her to the Hall.

She met her children and judged their attire with a critical eye. Jaime stood obediently behind them as she fussed a little over Myrcella’s hair. But soon, they were on their way to grace the nobles of Reach with their presence. And she, on her way to hunt a particular wolf. A lioness was on the prowl that evening.

She arrived at the Hall resplendent. The gathered nobles all rose to their feet when she arrived. Her eyes made a quick search of the room and unerringly found her prey. He was present, sitting with his brother and friends. She smirked at the thought. Eddard Stark claimed him as his own, but he was Brandon’s get, and surprisingly more endearing than his oaf of a father had been. It was truly a wonder that someone born from that man’s loin could entice her so. It must be the Dornish blood in him, she thought. Looking at those purple eyes sent a very pleasurable shiver down her spine.

Speaking of Dornish blood, she frowned at the man sitting as if he had no care in the world. Her eyebrows rose a little when she spied the Prince making subtle gestures at him. When did they meet? – She tried to think. Then she remembered the rumours she heard of him helping the Maester before the Seneschal. The Dornish Prince was a known scholar. He could have been present at that time. She needed to know more. Nothing was beyond the capabilities of these Dornish cunts, she was sure of it.

She almost choked in her goblet when he gave her not so a quite subtle nod. Did he truly…? – Her mind screamed at her. But no, from the corner of her eyes, she caught Jaime returning quite the similar nod. And was that a faint smirk on the otherwise stoic face of the White Lion of Casterly Rock? In all these times, she never caught Jaime to be his old self, save for when he was in the presence of that monster, and now… him.

“Your Grace, may I have the honour of this dance?” Mace Tyrell’s voice broke her out of her reverie. She didn’t even notice when the bards came in and started to sing their songs. Nor was she aware of what she ate, indulging only in sipping her wine.

“Of course, My Lord,” she gave him a simpering smile. She would endure for a while before she could claim her prize for the night.

The fat oaf tried to twirl her about the floor, but his girth made it quite insufferable for her. She gritted her teeth whenever he almost stepped on her feet. She kept a vacant smile on her face as her eyes kept searching for the black-haired knight among the throng of noble lords and ladies. She caught a glimpse of him, dancing with that redheaded whore from Vale. She was also there at Kings’ Landing, she danced with him there too. Was she following their party? What was she after?

She managed to free herself from Mace Tyrell’s clutches, but she couldn’t escape Baelor Hightower. In a different world, she could have been married off to this man. But then again, his legend of flatulence was quite well known. It was said that Elia Martell couldn’t keep her face straight in his presence after he farted quite a few times when there were talks about their betrothal. She prayed to her ancestors that the man won’t fart while dancing with her. She needed to escape, she needed to catch his eyes.

But her fortune was not so good. He was free from that red witch but now was within the arms of another. Who was that whore? Her attire screamed Tyrell, but her features… Northern? What was a Northern girl doing with the Tyrells? She seethed some more when the girl indicated something and spoke softly at him. How dare she get close to him like that?

Thankfully for her mind, the song ended. Once more she was free to pursue her prey. But wait, Myrcella? When did her daughter come down to the floor from the high table? And what was she trying to do, approaching the knight? She hastened her steps, she needed to reach before her daughter.

“Ser Jon…” she breathed out his name.

The young man turned around to face her. Did he grow taller than the last time she saw him?

“My Queen!” He gave her a bow bending from the waist. When he straightened up, he had a polite smile on his face.

But it was his eyes… his purple eyes that sent her heart aflutter.

In the back of her mind, she could hear the music picking up again. But most of her senses were trained on the man before her. Ser Jon, the White Wolf, offered her his hand.

“May I have this dance, My Queen?”

She could hear a part of her mind screaming at her for wearing such a huge, idiotic smile, but she dismissed it.

“You may, my knight.”

Why in the name of her ancestors did she sound so childish? Why was she feeling so insecure in his presence? She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she was the Lioness of the Rock. She was in control.

Biting the inside of her cheeks, she pressed closer to Ser Jon. Some would say it was not proper. Some lips would flap in the winds and spread the rumours. But she didn’t care.

Words are wind, Cersei.

She pressed closer to him yet, thrusting her ample breasts into his chest. Each sway, each step, rubbed her stiffened nipples on his chest and sent pleasurable jolts through her body even through her garments. Would she dare to lay her head on his shoulder? The music sped up, her knight picked her up by the waist and spun. She put her arms around his neck and laughed. She had never felt so carefree since the day she and Jaime used to run around their home. She didn’t let go of him even when he put her back down on the ground. Her fingers interlocked behind his neck, her breast in their rightful place – rubbing in his chest, and one of his legs in between hers, pressing against her womanhood. She couldn’t moan, but she did laugh out loud in delight. She took extreme pleasure in that shocked look on his face. She wanted more.

But why was he pulling away? Why was he separating himself from her? What… the music! She didn’t pay attention to it all this while, it had ended. She wanted to scream.

“Thank you for the honour of the dance, My Queen.”

She wanted to kiss those lips.

But before she could utter any word, the bitch from before called for his attention. She whispered something in his ear for which he gave her a smile and nod.

“Pardon me, My Queen, but my friend seemed to have had one drink too many. I need to go see him.” He offered another bow.

And she stood there, feeling abandoned in the mass. Her eyes followed his quickly departing back. But soon, she lost him in the crowd. With a muttered curse, she turned away, only for her eyes to find that Northern bitch, again whispering, but this time to the Golden Flower. And she laughed? Was she behind this?

A cruel smirk came upon her face.

Prepare for the hunt, little girl!

 

---

 

“My Lord,” Jon called out. It was only because of their extensive planning that he was able to get away from people without anyone being any wiser. Asher had played his part perfectly acting like a drunk, and Meera, as they predicted, had come to ask help from him discreetly at Torrhen’s urging. He was indeed at the centre of everyone’s notice, what with him dancing with the Queen of Seven Kingdoms. And speaking of which, was it an accident for her to be pressing herself so lewdly against him at the end of their dance or was it deliberate?

“Ah, glad to finally have a chance to properly talk with you, Ser. Are you enjoying the evening so far?” Lord Leyton Hightower was standing in front of an open window, gazing serenely at the water reflecting the torchlights from the Castle Hightower. He turned around towards the entrance where stood the young knight.

“I am, My Lord, thank you.”

Lord Leyton nodded, “If I may, Ser, I would like to have a conversation about the message I sent you.”

Ser Jon’s expression immediately took a stony visage, “Aye, My Lord, may I speak freely?”

“Of course, Ser.”

He looked at him with narrowed eyes, “If I may so bold, My Lord, where exactly did you hear that phrase? Because even back at North it is not something to come up in everyday conversation. Let alone the way you wrote it – in the dialect of the First Men… in Old Tongue.”

Lord Leyton nodded before turning towards the window with a sigh, “What do you know of our family, Ser?”

“You hail from one of the oldest families of Westeros, My Lord.” Confusion was evident in his voice.

The Hightower lord gave him a wan smile, “Precisely. It is said that the first ever king of High Tower, Uthor, commissioned Bran the Builder to build this keep. Some say we, much like your family, also come from the First Men. However, you have kept your past and your faith alive, whereas my ancestors sought peace and clemency from the Seven.”

“Aye, My Lord.” The knight nodded agreeably.

The older man could understand that youth wouldn’t be interested in knowing about times past, “You do not have to be afraid, young man. I have no desire to make you fall asleep with the history of the Hightowers.”

Ser Jon shook his head in denial, “To be honest, My Lord, I prefer to learn the histories of our lands.”

The reply surprised the old lord, “Truly? Then I have to have another conversation with you regarding our shared histories. But not this evening.”

“Aye, My Lord.”

“As I was saying, despite being a believer of the Seven, we do have a connection with the First Men. Most of my family would deny it, mayhaps, but not I. What do you know of my children?”

The knight rubbed his chin in thought, “The same as every other man or woman, My Lord. We, my half-brothers and sisters, along with myself did learn of your house in our lessons. We learned about yourself, Lord Baelor, Lady Alerie, Ser Gunthor…”

“And my Malora?” The old man asked, almost dreading the answer.

 “Ah… aye, My Lord, I know of her,” Jon admitted.

“And let me speculate on what you know of her, that she is mad, a maid turned into an old crone because of her insanity, mayhaps?” Lord Leyton couldn’t keep the sneer off of his face.

With a solemn nod, Jon replied, “Those are the rumours, aye, but I have learned to not pay much attention to them, My Lord.”

The lord took a few moments to gaze at the young man before him, “Wise words, Ser. Now, if you will indulge an old man for a little while?”

“Of course, My Lord.”

Lord Leyton approached the sole fixture in the otherwise bare room – a wooden shelf containing a few wooden mugs and a small barrel of mead. He dipped two mugs in the barrel and returned to the window offering Jon one of the mugs.

“All of my children were very fond of my brother, the White Bull, Ser Gerold Hightower, but none more so than my Malora. Gerold also was very attached to her. Mayhaps because she was my youngest, or mayhaps because he was the first to have her in his arms right after her birth, I don’t truly know. But their love for each other was true. Malora was nearly nine namedays old when the Rebellion started and Gerold, as the Lord Commander of the White Cloaks, didn’t return home for over a year.

Not a day went by when Malora didn’t ask about him. We can only placate her so. Then, about a year later, when ravens were received by every lord of the lands that war has ended, brought another shocking missive. My brother was dead. Died because the Silver Prince ordered him to guard the Winter Rose of Winterfell, and was slain by Eddard Stark who went to rescue his sister.”

Jon didn’t know what to say, still, he tried, “My Lord, I-”

Lord Leyton cut him off, “Oh, I bear no ill will towards you or yours, Ser. It was a time of great unrest, and Gerold lost his life at his post, performing his duties. Neither your uncle, nor you, or even the Prince are to blame for that. I am old enough, and I think of myself to be wise enough to not hold onto meaningless grudges.”

Jon was truly lost for words. He knew of men who had declared feud for less, and here was a man who waved the death of his brother as if it was nothing.

“You are too kind, My Lord.”

“Am I? I don’t know about that, Ser Jon. All I know is that my brother died honourably in battle with his sword in his hand, not running or hiding like a craven. And above all, mayhaps I had a selfish reason to not think about his death.” He averted his eyes from the young man’s.

“As I was saying, the news of Gerold’s demise came and it came at a very unfortunate moment. It was a day right after Malora’s tenth nameday. We told her that her Nuncle Gerold will be a little late because he went to find her the most precious of gifts. But it was a black missive that came on the black wings.

Malora was devastated, as you can imagine. We let her be, to grieve for her Nuncle. We thought that she found peace within the colours Gerold brought her to draw. For a month or so, she kept to herself save for her meals and her lessons with the Septa. And then…” The lord’s breath hitched. He put the mug down and braced himself against a wall.

“My Lord?” Jon approached with concern.

In a whispering voice, the old man continued –

“She told the Septa that she was going to take a stroll down by the river bank. It was where Gerold always took her along. She always rode on his shoulder as he spent the time telling her stories. When she didn’t return even at nightfall, the Septa alerted us. We were not even aware that she was missing from the keep. I went out with my sons and guards. We found her, right at the edge of the water, with her feet still in it and her back resting against a boulder. To an onlooker, she would appear asleep, but she was not. She was unconscious and none of us could revive her. The Maesters fought hard to bring her about. They told us that her chance of survival was next to nothing. My motherless child was fighting for her life at the tender age of ten.” A sob escaped the lord.

Jon laid a hesitant hand on the man’s arm, “My Lord, you don’t have to-” But the man turned towards him and grabbed his hands within his.

“But I need to, Ser, I need to tell you these stories for you to understand. I need your help with my Malora. Won’t you help me? You are called the Protector of Innocent, won’t you help me protect my innocent daughter?”

Jon swallowed thickly before nodding, “I will do everything in my power to help Lady Malora, My Lord. You have my word. Please, continue your tale…”

His relief was prominent by his shagged shoulders. He gave the knight a smile of gratitude through his tear-streaked face, “Thank you, Ser, it warms an old father’s heart so. There is not much left to tell now. After we found her by the water, she was infirm for a moon’s turn. And when she woke up, my sweet daughter wasn’t the same.”

“What do you mean, My Lord?” Jon asked with genuine intrigue.

“I mean what I say, Ser. A girl who had never set a foot outside of Old Town was suddenly drawing images of the Wall. Of the burnt castle of Harrenhall. The Red Keep. She was learning her Valyrian letters, but after that day, she kept humming songs and saying things in a different language. It was Grandmaester Merwyn who told us that she was speaking in Old Tongue. I tried to learn bits and pieces of the language from him, just so I can understand what my daughter was talking about. But it was of no help. I can now understand a few phrases, but that is all.

And that brings us to why I asked to meet you in secret. Ser Jon, my daughter has never seen you, yet, she painted an image of you. Along with your direwolf. And from the moment I told her about your arrival, she kept smiling and talking about ljós leggja. Do you know what it means?”

Jon grimaced, “Aye, My Lord, I do.”

“Well?”

He sighed, “It is not a phrase, but a name. A name for a character from a myth. Ljós leggja means Light Bringer, My Lord. It is said to be the title of the Last Hero who fought in the Battle of Dawn and ended the Long Night. But do forgive me, because I don’t know how Lady Malora came to know of such an old Northern folktale.”

Lord Leyton considered the answer for a few minutes. Then he decided that it probably didn’t matter concerning his daughter’s cure.

“Can you help her to return to her old self? Do you know of anyone who can help her? If she is attracted to the North sing and draw about the lands, then mayhaps it is Northern aid she requires… I am prepared to offer anything in return, Ser…”

“I…” Jon hesitated.

“Please, Ser Jon, I beg of you, if you want my life in return, I will gladly slit my own throat. But please, help my daughter if you can.” Once more were the hands of the knight in a tight grip of the old Lord of Hightower.

Jon looked down at his hands clasped within a pair of weathered hands, he struggled to form an answer for some time before he finally spoke –

“Are you a pious man, My Lord? Are you a man of Faith?”

 

---

 

Five shadows tore through the moonlit darkness that claimed the city of scholars. Even though the city boasted almost as big a population as the Capital, it lacked the life that was present even in the hour of the wolf. None ventured out of their homes, not a drunkard singing songs at the top of his voice when the owner of the tavern finally kicked him off his premises. The whorehouses kept the noise of merrymaking to a minimum… but that was mainly because the acolytes didn’t want to announce their presence at such establishments, and the occasional Maesters, also liked to be discreet. Save the Hightower guards patrolling the alleyways and the Citadel guards roaming about the plaza, the city was truly asleep.

The five shadows sneaked around the Tower and its vigilant men. They skirted within the darkness and went towards the water. Even with the moon only in her halved self, the darkness remained strong, and to any onlookers, the five would appear as any other rocks strewn about the bank by their crouched and unmoving position.

“Well, we are here. But for what exactly, I don’t know.” One of the shadows whispered.

“Asher is right, brother. Why are we here?” asked a shadow in Robb Stark’s voice.

“I may have found a lead to Lady Reed’s remains.” Came a quiet voice of Ser Jon.

There was silence for a few moments.

“Jon…”

“I know brother, I know I am chasing after a shadow. And for what purpose, I do not know. But please, you have endured my madness so far, indulge it for one more occasion. I give you my word that if we are unsuccessful this night, I will put her memories to rest.”

“Very well.”

“Thank you, my brothers.” Relief was hard to miss in the man’s voice. “Now, I believe there is a hidden tunnel or a long forgotten cave-opening in this stretch of beach. It may look nothing bigger than a foxhole. I say we split into two groups while one of us remains on guard. Each group takes a side and looks for this cave while the guard remains alert for patrolling parties. What say you?”

“Sound plan. Who is to remain on guard and who shall be in the groups?”

“I nominate Torrhen for the guard, Robb and Wade take the right, while Jon and I take the left.” 

“Alright,” Robb gave a firm nod, “till dawn?”

Jon nodded, “Till dawn.”

The group of five split into three and went to their tasks. It was harder a task to perform than it sounded. Trying to find a tiny hole in the semi-darkness of the half-moon-clad night, was a near impossible task to do. After about an hour of fruitless searching, Wade and Robb took a knee behind a boulder to rest for a while.

“Milord?” Wade called.

Robb gave a small nod to let the man know that he had heard him.

“Who is this lady?”

Robb sighed as he sat down on his haunches and pulled down his hood to wipe his brow.

“She was a daughter of the North. A brave daughter who sacrificed her life and that of her unborn child for the realms of men even when the people didn’t even realize they needed to be saved from men wanting to cause them harm.”

“She… died?” Wade confirmed, “When was this, milord?”

Robb gave a frustrated huff, “About half a century ago.”

“Eh?” The man was confused, “If that is so, then we may never find her. Beasts could have gotten to her body.”

“I know that Wade,” Robb growled low in his throat, “but you know Jon. He has this thought in his head that he needs to rescue her remains and send her to the land of her forefathers to rest.”

Wade nodded, “Then we will find her for sure.”

Robb frowned, “How can you say so?”

Wade gave him a wide smile, “It’s the Wolf we are talking about, milord. He has some good ideas in that head of his. Ideas that I am most proud of.”

Robb snorted, “Aye, he has some ideas for true. And I hope you are right, Wade, I hope we find her. Right or wrong, I hate to see my brother in pain.”

They were about to resume their search when a loud call of a night bird tore through the darkness, halting them in their steps.

“Do you think they found it?” Robb asked.

Wade didn’t answer but turned his head toward the direction the call came from for the second call.

Another loud screech. It was confirmed.

“They found the cave, come on, Wade!”

They darted forward from one shadow to the next, only slowing down near Torrhen’s hiding spot to give him a clap on his shoulder. Soon enough, they reached a clump of dried bush. A shadow was kneeling before it, he waved at them as they neared the bush.

It was Asher who was waiting for them.

“Come, Jon went alone.”

The two crawled behind him into the small gap. It was barely wide enough for them to crawl through. If a man bigger than them should attempt to enter, they would’ve been stuck inside.

A whisper, which seemed to reverberate all around them, warned them, “Careful, there is water ahead of you. You will have to swim.”

Crawling on their hands and knees, the three slipped into the water.

“Follow the light.” The whisper said.

Getting out of the water, they found themselves to be in a wider cave. Although they had to hunch down, they could walk ahead. They followed the light and found themselves into a small opening, not bigger than the pigpens back at Winterfell. Jon was standing at the far end. A small flame danced on his open palm. If Wade found that odd, he didn’t mention it. His faith in Wolf was impossible to break.

The three went near him. They followed his gaze to find a small skeleton half laid in front of them. It was not bigger than a child’s. Once again they were reminded of how young the woman was when she died. Tattered remains of her clothing still clung to the bones.

“She must have crawled through that small cave. And I believe it was only because the deep water between here and the cave was the reason why foxes or dogs didn’t devour her body.” Jon murmured.

With a sad sigh, Jon turned toward the three, “Can you imagine? She was barely sixteen namedays old… and she was with child. She was wounded when she came out of the river and crawled inside this cave. All alone, in a dark cave, so far away from home… can you imagine how afraid she must have been in her last moments? All because of her duties to her countrymen, to the lands of her ancestors… to her Gods…”

Asher and Robb shared a glance while Wade remained quiet.

They almost didn’t catch Jon’s whisper –

“This could be in my future as well…”

Robb took a step forward, “We need to get her out of here. Wade, the sack, if you please?”

Wade fumbled with the folds of his clothes, “Aye, milord, right here.”

They gently transferred the bones into the sack.

“We will need to build her a pyre. The crannogmen burn their dead.”

 

---

 

The morning brought chaos to the daily life of the people of Old Town. It was the day of Lord Tyrell’s tourney to commence. People from near and far, smallfolk and nobles alike, thronged the tourney field. The Starry Sept, the grandest Sept save the Sept of Baelor at Kings’ Landing, had very few worshippers there than other days. Even men and women of Faith wanted to be a part of the entertainment. The handful of stragglers would also find their way towards the arena once they said their prayers to the Seven.

 Nobody paid any mind to the two hooded and cloaked figures who remained kneeling in front of the Mother, or the lone hooded and cloaked figure who joined them after a while.

A woman’s amused voice uttered a few ineligible words.

“Minn konungsson, hafþúr komtilr free mik?” (My King, have you come to free me?)

The new arrival answered in a low voice, “Aye, My Lady, I hope I can help you.” He spared a glance at her companion, “My Lord, we need to wait for a bit till the Sept is empty.”

The older man nodded his head in agreement. They remained unobtrusive to the scant few devotees and their process. When the Sept finally emptied save for a lone woman in her religious garbs, the young man rose and approached her.

“If you want to, Septa, you can leave. I know the tourney commences today.”

The woman kept looking between the young man’s half-hidden face and the two kneeling figures not too far from them.

“We are in mourning for a recently departed family member. The lady wanted to pray to the Mother to look after the departed soul. We shan’t be long, we too intend to follow you to the tourney ground.”

The stranger’s cultured words with a strange lilt seemed to assure the Septa. She took the man’s hand in her own and offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Take as long as you need. I will include you in my prayers this evening.” She patted his hand softly before turning towards the door. She gently closed it behind her as she left for the arena.

Jon let out the long breath he had been holding in, he didn’t know if the Septa would agree to leave them alone. When she closed the doors, he hurriedly turned towards his two companions. Lord Leyton had gotten up on his feet, but Lady Malora kept to her place before the statue of the Mother. She was humming a song under her voice and swaying side by side.

“Well, Ser, here we are. What do you need us to do now?”

Jon gave the man a tight smile. He went over towards the statue of the Crone and looked up at her stone-hewn face.

“The reason I asked for your religious views, My Lord, is because I need you to have faith and listen to what I am going to tell you.” He turned to face the man, “I need your word that you won’t discard what I am going to say to you without giving it a thought.”

Lord Leyton nodded his head eagerly, “Anything you need, Ser.”

Jon nodded appreciatively. He approached the kneeling lady and offered her his hand, “My Lady, please join us.”

Malora gave him a beatific smile as she grabbed his hand and got up.

“Minn konungr, minn konungr, vindrrinn und minn wings…” (My king, my king, the air under my wings…) She sang softly.

Jon led her towards the Crone and gestured for both the father and daughter to kneel.

“Even as our religious views are different, I believe them – the Gods - to be the same. Whom you call the Crone, we call her Lady Minerva… but her name is lost with the time, even to the Northerners and she became one of the many amongst the nameless Old Gods.”

He searched the folds of his clothes and brought out a small jar containing a reddish paste.

“She is the lady of knowledge and wit. She is the one who plans what our lives will become. She is in charge to guide us through her wisdom.”

Lord Leyton was leaning forward and almost drank in Jon’s words with a look of a thirsting man. Jon looked at the alter and picked up a small bowl. He opened the jar and upended it on the bowl. The red paste filled almost the entirety of the fist-sized bowl.

“As you know, back in the North, we prey in the Godswood before a weirwood tree. We believe that the seemingly immortal trees are our only source to commune with the Gods, for they were the ones to plant those trees when they made this world. I am not going to tell you every nuance of our religious beliefs, but I am going to tell you what I feel when I kneel to pray before a weirwood tree.”

Jon looked at the old lord straight in the eyes, “They give me the strength when I feel the weakest. They supply me with courage whenever I feel I am not able to fulfil my duties. They soothe my troubled mind. They may not talk to me directly as we are talking now, but I believe that they know of me. They know of my deeds.”

Lord Leyton nodded confusedly. Jon held up the bowl before the father.

“This, My Lord, is a paste made from weirwood seeds and sap. It helps in settling troubled minds. Consuming it, one would gain the clarity of mind they were denied before. I have taken it myself, and it helped me in realizing my identity and my purpose in this world. I have seen a young lad consuming it and becoming more at ease with the part he has to play in the Gods’ plans. I can assure you it would have no diverse effect on Lady Malora save for making her unconscious for a while.”

To alleviate the older man’s concern, Jon dipped a finger in the paste and scooped a little paste before putting it in his mouth. He shivered a little with his eyes closed. After a minute or so of sitting in a trance, he opened his eyes again and smiled at them.

“A little bitter that leaves a sweet aftertaste in your mouth. I truly think that this will be as beneficial to her as it was to me and the lad I spoke about earlier. With your permission, My Lord?”

Lord Leyton looked at the bowl of red paste and then at his daughter, who kept nodding her head.

“You have my permission, Ser.” Lord Leyton spoke slowly.

Jon bowed his head and turned to Lady Malora.

“My Lady, if you please…”

She beamed at Jon, “Hrafnrinn er hjá, ek megheyrr sinn wings.” (The raven is near, I can hear its wings.)

She tilted her head back and opened her mouth. Jon looked at Lord Leyton who gave him a curt nod. He scooped the paste out of the bowl and fed it to her like a small child.

As soon as the bowl was empty, Lady Malora went limp. She would have crashed on the alter and hurt her head if Jon hadn’t caught her. Together with Lord Leyton, he laid her limp body before the Crone.

“And now,” Jon spoke to Lord Leyton who was caressing his daughter’s forehead, “now we must wait.”

 

---

 

Robb climbed onto the saddle and led the Northern procession out of the manse. Torrhen was already at the tourney ground preparing himself for the archery competition. But it was Jon whose whereabouts he didn’t know. They returned to the manse at daybreak and after a couple of hours of rest, Jon had once again ventured out. This time to his previously agreed upon meeting with Lord Leyton Hightower.

Asher planned to make a spectacle of their arrival at the tourney ground. Since the White Wolf cut quite a prominent figure, his absence would surely draw attention. Asher called it a double blinder – They were to catch the eyes of people onto themselves, and they were sure that they would be questioned about Jon’s absence. Therefore, they would give the excuse of Jon being there to help Torrhen prepare. And since the competitors remain secluded before the tourney commenced, it would be easier for Jon to return afterwards without arousing additional questions. Also, Ser Arthur rode ahead with Torrhen to keep his preparations as secluded as they could make it. Their first set of enquiries came from the Pryor siblings, who remained their houseguest despite numerous other knights and nobles from the Vale arriving for the tourney. Other than a small pout of disappointment from Lady Madelyne, they didn’t think twice about Jon’s absence.

Robb knew that Wade wanted to have a conversation with him when he asked Asher to take Kurt along with him. To give the man a chance to speak, the two of them rode slightly ahead of their party.

“He is not the get of the Wild Wolf, but the She-Wolf, ain’t he?” Wade asked without any preamble.

“Aye,” Robb answered in the same manner.

“Lord and Lady Stark know about it?”

“Aye, they do.”

 “And he ain’t a…” Wade trailed off.

Robb turned to see a guilt-ridden look on the man’s face.

“A bastard, you mean?” He received a minute nod, “No, he isn’t.”

They rode on in silence for a while.

“You are not angry,” Robb stated.

“Why would I? He ain’t any different. Still the same lad who grew up with me. The same brave man who bled beside me. And above all, he is still a son of the North.”

“Do you wish we had told you sooner?” Robb prodded.

Wade shrugged in reply, “Why would you? It ain’t my place to know it. I know the history. If it wasn’t for rescuing the Lady, I wouldn’t have come to know. You are still my Lord Stark, the blood of the Winter Kings, and so is he, only with another name and station. For if he ain’t born the wrong side of the bed, then he is -”

“Don’t say it out loud in the open.” Robb hissed.

“Aye, milord.”

Robb gave a small smirk to the man, “You are a good man, Wade Poole.”

Wade gave him a satisfied smile, “I sure am, ain’t I? And Kurt thinks me as wise as any old Maester too.”

Robb snorted, “Aye, we need to listen to the lad more.”

They halted their horses before the tourney ground and waited for the others to reach. Ser Hugh escorted his sister to sit with the Vale nobles before going to the competitors’ tent. Asher deposited Kurt under Wade’s care to sit with the men as the two Northern lords made their way to the gallery.

“My Lord Stark!”

Robb turned towards the call to find Prince Oberyn waving at them. The two friends looked at each other before a silent agreement formed between them and they went to sit beside the Dornish prince and his paramour. The prince’s daughters sat behind the man. Robb spared a glance at Sarella Sand but the woman sneered at him, which he returned with equal disdain.

“My Prince, My Lady.” They greeted the pair as they took their seats.

“My Lord, you seemed to be missing a few numbers of your group.” Prince Oberyn observed.

Robb chuckled, “Aye, My Prince. Lord Torrhen is participating in archery and Jon is out there helping our friend.”

“Oh?” The Prince raised a questioning eyebrow, “Is your brother not taking part in archery? I hear he is quite an accomplished archer himself.”

Robb shook his head, “No, My Prince, Torrhen made a wager about winning the event and so Jon is giving him a chance to that. Their stake is the loser claiming the winner to be their better in that particular Warcraft.” He leaned towards the Prince and mock whispered to him, “Asher has the same wager running with Jon but in the joust.”

Lady Ellaria, who had heard the conversation, asked curiously, “That doesn’t sound like too high a stake, My Lord.”

Robb smiled charmingly at her, “It is when you are a part of our group, My Lady. With the wagers, comes an added benefit of bragging and taunting the loser for an indefinite amount of time. And all the pranks one could squeeze in between.”

Lady Ellaria tilted her head to a side confusedly, “Then shouldn’t Ser Jon have taken part in the events? To beat them fairly?”

Robb smirked, “The way we see it, as Jon has already a pair of wins under his belt, he is ahead of them. Now it is for them to either catch up to him or fall even behind.”

“Additionally, I have tricked Jon to act as my squire during the joust.” Asher ventured in, “Just as he did to me back at Kings’ Landing. So from where I stand, I am quite even with him till now.”

Lady Ellaria frowned and looked between the two Northern lords for a bit before shaking her head, “I am afraid that doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Prince Oberyn barked out a laugh, “Of course it doesn’t, my love. You are a lady of finer tastes. Whereas we are grunting, sweating beasts you endearingly call men. We do not care if our deeds make sense to others as long as we understand them. Isn’t that right, My Lords.”

Robb smiled widely, “You speak the truth, My Prince.” Asher nodded in assent.

“Oh, how I wish to be young and foolish once more.” The Prince let out another roaring laughter.

With a quirk at the corner of her lips, Lady Ellaria said, “You may not be young anymore, Oberyn, but you compensate that with the other by a hundredfold.”

Prince Oberyn stopped abruptly, “What do you mean? Am I foolish?”

“Your deeds suggest so.”

Prince Oberyn leaned towards Robb and clutched his shoulder, his other hand clasping his own chest, “How you wound me, my love. Take a lesson from me, My Lord Stark, you can love a woman, offer your life at her feet, but in the end, she will call you a fool and turn away from you.”

Lady Ellaria let out an exasperated sigh, “Let the poor lad be, Oberyn, lest you truly feel my wrath.”

With an exaggerated assent to her demand, the Prince sat straight but not before sending a lecherous wink in her way and a salacious smile, “Will you hurt me?”  

Robb and Asher were trying to cover their laughter at the rejoinder from the lady with an equal fervour which made the Prince become excited even more. The Sand Snakes seemed to be immune to their parents’ behaviour as they paid them no mind. Save for Sarella, who still had a frown etched on her face. Robb also noticed some members of the Tyrell family looking at the Martell Prince with disapproving glare while Wilas Tyrell tried to divert their attention. He seemed to be having quite a difficult time keeping his youngest brother, Loras, remain in his seat.

Lady Ellaria once more started the conversation with the young men, “What about you, My Lord? Won’t you be taking part in the tourney?”

Robb smiled at her, “Aye, I would. Both Jon and I plan to take part in the melee.”

Prince Oberyn became sombre, with a frown he asked, “Are you certain that the White Wolf will take part in the melee?”

“Aye, My Prince. Why do you ask if I may know?”

Oberyn took a discreet glance at his daughters, “My daughters also plan to take part in it. And to be honest with you, My Lord, I shiver to think about the confrontation between one of them and your brother.”

Robb understood what the man wanted to say. Rhaenys would pounce upon the chance of attacking Jon under the guise of the tourney. He too spared a look at the hidden Targaryen Princess. Turning back to the Dornish Prince, he gave him a resolute nod.

“Fear not, My Prince. I will be watching his flank.”

“And who would look after you, Young Wolf?”

 

---

 

Everything was white. The ground, the trees that surrounded her, the rocks – all were covered in white. She reached out and touched the powdery substance. The feeling of cold made her shiver. It was snow! She had never seen snow in her life before. With a squeal of excitement, she bounded ahead. She wanted to see more of it. She could hear soft crunching noise under her boots with each of her steps. The tree in front of her stood covered in snow. So much so that icicles had formed on its branches. She tentatively reached out and touched the sparkling, white glass-like icicles. It should be cold, she shouldn’t have been able to touch the ice without her gloves for fear of frostbite. Yet, she didn’t feel cold. It was quite comfortable – wherever she was.

Her head cocked to a side, she contemplated for a few moments before poking her tongue out and taking a lick of the icicle. She giggled at the tasteless cold feeling on her tongue.

A chuckling voice came from behind her, “I should advise you to not do that out in the North. The cold can very well freeze your tongue. It would be quite painful.”

She spun around to face the person but couldn’t keep her balance and toppled over on the soft snow-covered ground. Spitting the snow out of her mouth, she growled –

“Who’s there? Show yourself.”

A tall, old man came out of the shadows of the trees. He was wearing a blood red tunic with grey linings along with black breeches and black boots. On his shoulder lay a grey hooded cloak. Its hood was pulled down – showing the long white hair of the man. She couldn’t see his eyes but there was some red marking on the right side of his face. With a confident gait, he approached her.

“I have been waiting for you for a long time, Malora Hightower.”

Malora scrambled onto her feet, keeping a wary eye on the strange old man, she prepared herself to run if the man tried anything.

“Who are you? And where are we?”

The old man stroked his chin in thought, “Who I am is quite easy to answer, but it is the absolute opposite to tell where we are.”

Malora frowned, “And why is that?”

The old man gave her a mysterious smile, “Because we are between Here and There.”

“What does that even mean?”

The man chuckled, “Just as I told you, child, it is quite difficult to answer.”

Malora straightened indignantly, “I am not a child!”

The smile didn’t leave his face, “You are to me, child.”

“Who are you?” She yelled.

The man gave her a bow from his waist, “Ser Brynden Rivers. Lord Bloodraven, bastard son of King Aegon IV. Former Hand to Kings Aerys I and Maeker I. Former Lord Commander of the Nights’ Watch. I am happy to make your acquaintance, My Lady Malora Hightower.”

With her eyes widened in fear, Malora took a few steps backwards, away from the man. She could see the birthmark, the red raven in flight spread on the right side of his face and neck – a mark that made the man quite distinguished in the history of Westeros, the same mark which was the origin of his infamous name – Bloodraven.

She raised a trembling hand and pointed her finger at him, “B-but… you are dead!” She yelled shrilly.

Bloodraven frowned at that, “I can assure you, child, that I am quite alive.”

Still trembling in fear, Malora asked, “H-how can it be possible? You would be old… more than a century…”

Bloodraven gave the same mysterious smile, “I am alive because of my Targaryen blood, child. Do you know what our blood has?”

Malora shook her head.

“It has power in it. It has magic.”

“Magic?”

“Yes, child, magic.”

Malora shook her head in denial, “How can that be?”

Bloodraven started to walk forward but stopped when Malora let out a squeak of fear and backtracked. He held up his hands to calm her.

“You have nothing to fear from me, child. I give you my word that I will not let any harm befall you, neither will I ever cause them.”

Malora gave him a hesitant nod. Bloodraven slowly moved forward and came to stop before her.

“May I?” He asked her.

Startled, she looked where he was pointing and saw a snow-covered tree stump on the side, conveniently placed before it was a small boulder. Looking back at the man, she gave him a curt nod. Bloodraven smiled and sat down on the boulder. He gave out a satisfied sigh as he straightened his legs out.

“You can also sit down, you know.” He looked up at her amusedly.

Haltingly, Malora approached the stump and sat down. She tried to retain her poise, thinking what her old Septa would’ve said to her, seeing her sitting there with an unknown man.

“My Lord…?” She stuttered.

“Yes, child?”

Emboldened with his calm demeanour, she rattled out a series of questions at him –

“How are you still alive? Where did you go? Where are we? How did I come here? What do you want with me? What -” She cut herself off blushing when she realized that she was almost blabbering.

Bloodraven chuckled softly, “To answer your questions in order – I am alive because of magic. I went beyond the Wall in search of truth. We are in a place conjured by your mind and mine. You came here by following the call. I want you to learn your gifts.”

She was even more confused by the answers than she was before.

“How can I conjure this place? I have not seen snow before in my life.”

Bloodraven shrugged, “No, you haven’t, but I have. So with my help, you managed to conjure this place.”

“How?”

“Magic,” Bloodraven smirked at her venomous glare.

“Peace, child, I do not get to talk with others, so I tend to find my amusement whenever I entertain a visitor. Aemon was also quite wroth with me at first.”

“The Dragon Knight?” She asked confusedly, wasn’t he alive a long time before Bloodraven was even born? She tried to remember her history lessons.

 “There are other Aemons in our family than the famed Dragon Knight.”

“Oh?” She couldn’t think of any other Targaryen with the name Aemon.

“Yes,” Bloodraven nodded, “one became a wise, old Maester. And the other, why I believe it was him who helped you to reach here.”

Malora gave a frustrated huff, “Would you kindly tell me how I came here… wherever this is, My Lord?”

At last, the man before her took on a serious mien.

“I will. But first, tell me how you are feeling, child.”

Malora looked at the man with confusion, “What do you mean, My Lord?”

“Are you afraid? Saddened or enraged? What are you feeling at this moment?”

“I…” Malora frowned, she tried to decide what was it that she was feeling. “I feel peaceful… happy even.”

Bloodraven nodded, “What was the last thing you remember?”

Malora thought hard, what was it she was doing before she found herself in the snow?

“I… I was strolling on the small beach of Whispering Sound. I… I heard someone calling out to me… a woman, she was in pain… I went to look for her but couldn’t find her. Instead, I found a… a leather glove?”

She looked up at the old man to see him nodding at her encouragingly.

“Then it was as if I was trapped… I wanted to call out for my father… I wanted Nuncle Gerold to come and find me… but he was dead. Father didn’t come for me either. I kept calling for them, but none came for me. I saw people… they came and found a… someone. I can’t remember who it was those people found. Then I was dreaming… I dreamt of fire burning everything around me… there was blood everywhere… and snow… A man with purple eyes and a… a wolf?”

She started to tremble. It wasn’t coldness because of which she was trembling, but fear. She was afraid. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t see her father for a long time. Or her brothers and sisters. Her uncle was dead. She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know for how long she was trapped. She felt memories which seemed like they belonged to someone else flood in her mind. She saw herself, but not as she remembered. She had grown up into a young woman, not a little girl anymore. But she was still in her old room, only it didn’t look like the one she remembered. There were drawings and paintings… she didn’t remember making them but they were hers, she was sure of it. She remembered seeing her father, older than she last saw him. He seemed saddened every time he looked at her. She talked and sang, but not in a language she knew. Yet, she understood the wordings. There was a man in her room, dressed in all black. He removed his hood, it was the man with purple eyes. Another woman seemingly came out of nowhere and stood beside the man. Both of them looked at her and then ran towards the window. She screamed as she saw them jump out of the window…

“NO!” Malora yelled out. The man and woman… they jumped, they couldn’t survive the fall. She had to reach them. She had to…

She was not in her room anymore, yet again, she found herself in the snowy place, she was still sitting on the tree stump. She was shivering. Her limbs were not in her control. She felt hands on her shoulders. Raising her head, she saw Bloodraven had a hold on her to stop her from falling.

“What is happening to me?” She cried out.

“Your memories are returning. The time that you lost, the years that you spent trapped, are coming back to you.”

Her throat felt raw. Her tongue was heavy and dry. Bloodraven seemed to hear her thoughts and brought out a small bowl of water from somewhere. She took it and gulped down the cold water greedily.

“I was trapped?” She asked, “Who abducted me?”

“No one abducted you, child, you were trapped in your mind.”

She started to breathe heavily, “In my mind? How was I trapped in my mind? Am I still trapped? You said this place was created by my mind. It is my prison, isn’t it? How do I get out of here? Help me! Get me out of here!”

She sprang up to her feet and ran off. She needed to escape this place. But no matter how far she went, the snow-covered forest seemed never-ending. She ran for as long as she could and then fell onto her knees, exhausted.

“Are you finished?”

She looked up startled to find that she was kneeling in front of Bloodraven. She must have turned around somewhere in the forest and ended up right where she started from.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she pleadingly looked at the old man, “Please, help me!” She whispered, her voice had lost its strength.

“I am here to help you only, child. But I can’t do that if you won’t let me.” Bloodraven peered down at her, “Will you listen to me now?”

Malora nodded slowly. She was exhausted.

“Then please, child, come and take your seat.”

She obediently got up and went to sit down once more on the tree stump. She brushed the snow off of her dress but kept her head down.

“For how long was I lost? Trapped in my mind? And will I truly going to be free?”

“Sixteen years have passed since the day you were walking by the Sound. And yes, you will be free once you wake up.”

“Sixteen years? I have lost sixteen years of my life? I am over twenty-six namedays old now?” She asked horrified.

Bloodraven gave her a mournful smile, “Yes child, your innate ability dragged you into this game of cyvasse the Gods enjoy and you have paid the price for it.”

“Why?” came the faint murmur.

“Blood of old runs through your veins, child. It may be not as potent as those of Stark blood or Targaryen blood, but you are still connected to magic wielders of the past. You remember the calling you heard on that day by the Sound?” A nod. “That was powers of old calling out to you, leading you towards another just like you. Another who has lost her life in the service of the Gods. And you have stumbled upon their symbol of power.”

“Their symbol… the leather glove?”

“It appeared as a glove to you, yes,” Bloodraven agreed, “but it was so much more than that. Even I don’t know of its full power. It is said to appear in front of the Gods’ chosen when the situation arises that a Champion is needed to help mankind. You were not supposed to find it, but you were led to it so that you can wake the power sleeping in your blood.”

Malora became less hysterical, and more resigned as Bloodraven continued his explanations. And what could she have done by throwing tantrums? How would one go about defying the Gods?

“Why did I lose so many years of my life?”

Bloodraven grimaced, “Magic, child, it is said to be a sword without a hilt. It demands a hefty price from its wielder.” He removed the hair from his face that kept his eyes hidden till then. Malora gasped when she saw that one of the man’s eyes was blood red, while the other… the other was not there, instead of an eye, there was a gaping hole. Magic indeed claimed a hefty price from the old man.

“What am I to do now, My Lord?”

“Now, I train you. I will teach you how to navigate the tides of time. How to traipse through years in the past, present and future. I help you learn so that you can help the Chosen in turn.” He got up from his seat. “Come with me, child.” Malora too got up and followed the elderly man who, by no means, appeared as his age suggested.

The two walked in silence till they reached the edge of a cliff. Before them, a white snow-clad valley was spread in all directions. Bloodraven indicated the valley in its entirety.

“What do you see, child?”

Malora frowned, what was she supposed to look for in that vast white nothingness? But there was something… someone.

“Are those people?” She gasped in realisation.

“Look again, dear.”

She did. But she didn’t expect the gruesome imagery it conjured.

“They are dead!” She shrieked.

“Yes, they are dead.”

“B-but, how are they standing… walking even if they are dead?” For she could see the dried blood on their clothes. Some with severed limbs or mortal wounds on their body. But each of them was pale in colour and had blue eyes. And it was not only people but animals too. Animals which she only read about in stories – Shadowcats, ice spiders, wolves, bears, horses. There was even a dead giant stumbling along.

“An ancient power is steering yet again.” Bloodraven spoke in a grave voice, “The horrors of myth, are alive once more. The Long Night is approaching, more determined than ever to plunge the world into neverending darkness. The Champion is tasked with saving mankind from this evil. He is to fight against the darkness to bring the dawn anew.

You will be his eyes and ears, his voice from the dark. You will show him the ways and guide him through them. It may seem like a terrible burden to you now, but you are strong enough to shoulder it. I know that, child. And quite soon, you will have help. You won’t be alone.”

He turned to face the woman beside him, “You are already assimilating the lost years within your mind. When you wake up, you will be whole again. You may not remember everything of those forgotten days, but you will have a shadow of the memories, an afterthought.”

Malora remained thoughtful.

“Do you have any questions, child?”

She looked up into his eye with determination glinting in her eyes, “Will I remain a slave to the Gods’ whims?”

Bloodraven smirked, “Precisely the question I hoped you would ask.” He shook his head, “No child, you now have the power to forge your destiny despite the Gods’ plans for you, all thanks to the Champion. You were to suffer a few more years lost, but his mere presence hastened your awakening. Now, you can prepare yourself without a terrible urgency chasing after you.”

“The woman in my room, I didn’t dream of her, did I? It was her voice I heard on that day by the Sound, isn’t it?”

“Yes, she was the Chosen before now, it was her loss that enrages our Champion, it is what that drives him to alter the plans Gods laid before us all.”

Malora nodded, “Don’t I get to know of this Champion, my apparent saviour?”

Bloodraven smiled widely, “But you already know of him, dear.”

Malora looked startled, “I do?”

“Think, child, think hard and clear about the man you saw with the woman.”

She did.

“Jon Snow!” She breathed.

“Or, as his true name, Aemon Targaryen, the true heir to the Throne.”

“If he is the true claimant, then…” she gasped, “Rhaegar and Lyanna?”

“Yes. Your uncle, Gerold, didn’t sully his white cloak by keeping a woman imprisoned as the stories dictate. He died in his post by doing what he swore to do. He was guarding his future king.”

Malors was trembling, her fists were clenched. Her eyes were alight with furious fire.

“Teach me!” She growled.

[CotW]

The men were broken out of their thoughts when they heard a gasp. Hurriedly, they turned to see the woman who had been sleeping for the past hour at the feet of the Crone. They found her sitting upright looking around wildly.

“Malora, sweetling!” Lord Leyton almost ran to his daughter.

The lady herself was a little taken aback by suddenly being embraced by her father, a man she didn’t realise had aged so.

“F-father?” She asked in a trembling voice.

“Malora!? How are you feeling?” The lord held her face in his hands, peering closely at her eyes.

“I am back, father… I was trapped for so long. I saw you, I could hear you… but I couldn’t come to you. It was as if… as if I was hidden behind a fine veil, hidden from everything, but I can see and hear them all.”

Lord Leyton was sobbing while he was almost crushing his daughter into his chest. The daughter too had tears flowing freely from her eyes. Jon turned away and went to stand before the Smith. He wanted to give them a little privacy, but to his immense shock, his eyes fell upon a small metal charm hanging by a leather cord from the Smith’s hand. It seemed as if the deity had just finished hammering the small charm and now he was offering the same to the human before him. It was not the bizarre appearance of man and idol, but the shape of the metal charm that surprised Jon. It looked like his axe-head – on the top, it took the shape of a spearpoint, but at the bottom, it was rounded – altogether, it took a shape of a teardrop. Jon wasn’t even aware that he was reaching out towards it, but his trance was broken by a soft cough from behind.

“Ser Jon?” Lord Leyton called out to him.

“Aye, My Lord.” Jon forced himself to turn away from the charm. As soon as he did so, the Hightower lord grabbed his hands within his own.

“I cannot thank you enough, Ser. You have done the impossible. Maesters and healers from all over Westeros had failed to do what you managed to do today. I even sent men to search for a cure for my daughter in the farthest lands at the east. I am in your debt, Ser, even my life is yours take if it pleases you.”

Jon gently extricated his hands from the grip of the yet again sobbing man, “Forgive me, My Lord, but I do not hold you indebted to me. I helped Lady Malora because it was the right thing to do. I didn’t do it in the hope of any reward. I was able to help her and I did only that.”

The said lady had approached them after making herself presentable, in a lilting voice, she spoke –

“Nonetheless, my father and I are indeed grateful to you, Ser Jon.” She placed a gentle hand on her father’s shoulder. She gave Jon a bright smile before adding a few more words, “Ek em inn þinn debt, minn konungr.” (I am in your debt, my king.)

Both the man looked at her with surprise, and Malora smiled to alleviate their fear.

“I am truly cured, father, Ser Jon. You don’t need to fear. However, father, I have so much to tell you. It may seem impossible to you but after what you have seen here today, I am quite sure you won’t readily discard them.”

Lord Leyton nodded his head confusedly.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to offer my prayers to the Gods.”

Jon bowed to her, “Of course, My Lady, we will wait outside.” He grasped the bemused old lord by his arm and slowly guided him towards the doors. But he stopped walking when his eyes once again fell upon the small charm.

“What is it, Ser?” Malora asked.

“Uh… it’s the charm in the hand of the Smith… it’s intriguing.”

Malora smiled as she walked towards the Smith. “It is truly no wonder that you are attracted to it, Ser Jon. It is said to be the Mark of Smith. It is given to the deserving individual who is set out to forge their own path, as a token of blessing.” She plucked the charm from the idol’s hand.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, My Lady, it’s just… my axe-head looks the same.”

Malora smiled, “Then it is decided, Ser, none is more deserving of this token than you.”

Lord Leyton frowned, “How do you come to know about the Mark of Smith, Malora? Even I didn’t know about that.”

“I have learned a lot, father,” Lady Malora replied mysteriously, “and I am learning still. We will talk about it later, mayhaps.” She turned towards Jon, with her hands she indicated towards his neck, “May I?”

Jon could only nod.

Lady Malora wound her hands behind his neck to tie the leather cord, she whispered in his ear while she did so –

“Ek þorfutilr mæltilr þú too, minn konungr.  Ek munu vitþúr later.” (I need to talk to you too, My King. I will find you later.)

She left two confounded men at her wake as she went towards the Crone and knelt to pray.

 

 

 

Chapter 33: The Tales of Passion

The Tales of Passion

Old Town

The crowd’s attention was diverted when the herald started to speak. Almost no one noticed Ser Jon finally making an appearance. He calmly navigated through the throng of people and climbed the steps. He stood on his tiptoes to look over the heads and found his brothers, they were sitting with the Dornish. With a small grimace on his face, he strode towards them, for he had also spotted the woman sitting behind them among the Prince’s daughters.

“How was Torrhen?” Asher asked the moment Jon sat down beside him.

“Excited,” Jon took his time to answer, he was tired and it was evident to any who looked at him. “My Prince, My Lady.” He greeted Oberyn and Lady Ash – Ellaria.

“Greetings, Ser Jon. You seemed to be exhausted this morning.” Prince Oberyn observed. Lady Ellaria smiled and gave him a slight nod.

“Aye, My Prince. Keeping a man not to piss in his breeches due to excitement is quite harder than I thought.”

The Prince guffawed at the answer while the lady looked sternly at him. Jon had a look of abashment at that.

“What are you wearing?” Robb pointed at his chest.

Jon looked down at the small charm tied to a leather cord resting on his chest.

“This is called Mark of Smith. It is given to deserving people who set out to forge their own path, as a token of blessing. A lady of Faith gifted me this.”

“But it looks the same as -”

“Aye,” Jon didn’t wait for Asher to finish, “the same as Freedom and Rose. Makes you wonder what Freedom was doing with Lord Umber, does it not?”

Any further questioning was drowned within the excitement of the first archer stepping up to take his shot. Jon concentrated on the arena, cheering for his friend while his hand clasped the small charm. He could also feel a pair of eyes boring into his skull. Eyes as purple as his own.

[CotW]

The darkness of the night once more saw five shadows tearing through it. Only this time they didn’t venture out into the sprawling city by the Whispering Sound. Instead, they entered the small but dense forest outside of the city limits and traversed through it with expert ease.

The five men, after arriving at a small clearing deep within the forest, divested their loads and started hacking off dead branches of the surrounding trees. They didn’t need to make too big a pyre as the departed had her remains rendered into nothing but bones after so many years. Working silently and diligently, the five men had a pyre prepared within half an hour.

Ghost and Grey Wind were only moments away from the birds to greet the five men as they entered the forest. The fearsome beasts and wilful birds made no attempt to approach their humans but sat quietly and observed them. When the pyre was built, they padded beside their humans as the birds flapped their wings to land on their shoulders.

“Wolf?” Wade called out with a lit torch in his hand.

Jon nodded, “Aye, my friend.”

He took the torch in his hand and approached the pyre. But before setting it alight, he looked over his shoulder, “Does anyone want to say anything?”

Robb shook himself off the trance he felt himself to be under, “I would, but what does one say at someone’s funeral that has been delayed by several decades?”

Torrhen smiled and started to hum a song quite well known in the North. It was a song that mothers sang to their children, a song of hope and happiness. A song which was full of promises. A song both he and Jon had heard his mother, Lady Anya singing to little Alys on stormy nights, to alleviate her fears. Jon felt it was quite apt, Lady Reed was finally getting her long-due rest. He touched the dried kindling with the torch. In mere moments, flames leapt up and consumed the pyre. He could swear that he heard a satisfied sigh from a phantom presence.

Ping!

Quest Completed!

Honour the Lost Daughter!

Jon smiled as he went back to his brothers. They chose to sit down against the trees. Ghost had his head laying on his lap while Gale was on his shoulder with her head buried under her wing. Jon sunk his fingers into Ghost’s soft fur and watched the fire dance.

He didn’t know when he dozed off. Wade shook him awake when the fire was dying down. Jon looked around him to find all of them save Wade had nodded off. But the man had sat the whole night diligently looking at the pyre.

Jon nodded his head in gratitude and ushered Ghost off of his lap. The sun had just come out by the time the last flame blinked out of existence. They gathered the ash in an urn they had brought along and got ready to leave the forest. After a final round of petting and words of endearment to their familiars, the five men slowly trekked through the forest, they planned to have a short visit to the town proper to break their fast.

 [CotW]

The Reach boasted of the largest army in Westeros. Naturally, it meant every aspirant Reach knights and squires along with the invited nobles from other kingdoms had taken part in the tourney of Old Town. On top of that, Lord Mace Tyrell had arranged for entertainments such as satirical plays and enactment of historical events of Reach after the archery, it gave the warriors an additional day to prepare for the melee.

Battered and bruised, Ser Jon Snow returned to his chambers after a long day spent at the yard. Divesting the sweat-soaked clothes off his body, he lowered himself into the tub that was filled with cold water. Back in the North, they couldn’t even think about bathing in cold water even on the warmest days. In their childhood, they used the hot springs in Winterfell Godswood to learn swimming. But here in the south, the weather was warm enough to boil them in their breeches.

Jon sighed as he leaned against the side of the tub and closed his eyes. But his peace didn’t last for long as there was a knock on his door. Swallowing the curse that almost emerged from his mouth, he called out –

“Enter!”

He could hear the doors opening and soft, almost faint footsteps approaching the side room where he was submerged in the blissfully comfortable bathwater. He was concerned for a moment when the still unnamed person took their time to announce their presence. It couldn’t be any of the Pryor siblings, or more precisely, Lady Madelyne, since both of them had gone out to visit with some of the Vale nobles.

His breath caught when the doors to the side chambers finally opened and in came a woman, as naked as he was in the tub. For a brief moment, he thought that the Queen of Seven Kingdoms had invaded his rooms because the woman had long, wavy blond hair on her head. But then he realised that the colour was wrong. It wasn’t the bright golden tresses of Cersei Lannister, but more the softer gold, almost brown locks of Lady Malora Hightower.

“My Lady… What…?” Jon stuttered.

Lady Malora gave him a wide smile as she slowly and sensually came near him. He could see the difference in her appearance. Her eyes were not cloudy, but sparkling pools of blue. Her pale cheeks had colours returned to them. Her breasts jutted out proudly with their pink tips exposed. A deep naval adorning a soft belly on a narrow waist flared out to wider hips. At his eye level was a patch of hair of the same colour as on her head but of a darker shade hid her womanhood. She lifted one leg after another and got into the tub with him. She turned around and gave him a clear view of her round arse as she gently lowered herself onto his lap.

Jon pulled the reins to his mind hard and asked in a choked voice, “My Lady, what are you doing?”

Lady Malora leaned against his chest and let out a contented sigh, “I am taking a bath, My King.”

Jon tried again, “My Lady, this isn’t proper. People can find us in this state. My brothers… Please, you must-”

Somehow, the lady managed to turn within that small confinement and faced the perplexed knight. She raised a hand and placed it over his mouth to stop him from speaking.

“I mustn’t do nothing, My King. I mustn’t act as brazen as a wily whore of Old Town. I mustn’t sully my maiden cloak. I mustn’t act against my lord father or my house. But above all else, I mustn’t be a helpless puppet in the Gods’ play. You have the same goal, don’t you, My King?”

Jon could only nod.

Malora smiled at him. “As for your brothers and your men, they are all otherwise occupied and will remain so for the night, I have seen to it.” She nudged into his neck, “I felt your grief the other night, My King. You gave Lady Reed the rest she deserved, yet you mourned at the loss of her life, her youth and her innocence. It is eating at your heart still. I wish to relieve you of that pain. If you allow me?”

Jon shook his head, he had freed his mouth to speak at last. “But this is not proper, My Lady. Think of what your action will bore, think of how it will affect your lord father. The old man loves you so.”

Malora cocked her head to a side and smiled deviously at him, “You have a naked woman draped all over you, My King, yet you are speaking of things to push her away.” She moved a little on the suffering man’s lap, “It is only your reaction to me that I am feeling assures me of your desire. Else I would have thought you would prefer for me to have something dangling between my legs.”

Jon had his eyes closed when the woman started to wiggle on his lap. He bit his lips to stop him from groaning out loud. It was becoming harder and harder for him to keep his composure, in more than one sense.

“My Lady, I have taken an oath-” He stopped speaking and was forced to groan as the lady’s nails dug into the flesh of his chest. She had laid her head on his shoulder and was moaning as she rubbed herself against him while her nails were busy tracing the claw marks he had received from the bear back at Karhold.

“Oh, I know all about your oath, My King,” she purred, “you do not want to beget any child out of your marriage bed, for you do not wish to curse them with a bastard’s life.” She raised her head to look him in the eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were darkened with desire. “You have my words, My King, our children will not be Flowers, but Hightowers. For I am sure that Father will grant me my wishes.”

“C-children?” Jon almost squeaked.

“I see at least two in my future – the next White Bull for your Aegon, and a companion and later, a lady-in-waiting for your Aelya. I think Gerold would be a fitting name for the boy, and Nysa for the girl, don’t you think?”

“You and I… we don’t marry?”

“Oh no, My King,” Malora laughed melodiously, “you are to marry one of the greatest beauties of the Known World. Forgive me for I can’t tell you yet who she is. But know this, together, you will rebuild Westeros from the ruins of war and misery.” She laid her head on his chest again and murmured, “I will remain your faithful advisor and constant companion till the end of our days. Then, the cycle will continue with your Aegon and my Nysa. Will he bed her? That is for them to decide.”

“But they will be half-brother and sister…”

“And the world will need more dragonblood to tame the flame, My King. You have made it possible for magic to return, more potent than it was before. Bloods of the Winter Kings and Dragon Lords will be needed to rein in the magic, the more the better. The Song of Ice and Fire has begun, it will make everyone dance to its tune.”

“Besides,” she continued in between raining small kisses on his chest, “it also helps me to completely disrupt the Gods’ plans for us. I have seen different times for both of us. You die blanketed within freshly fallen snow, whereas I die without even a chance for me to regain my mind. Then there is the time where you roam about in a wasteland, bereft of love and companions, and I die in the hands of Ironborns. But since you have caused me to awake, earlier than even the Bloodraven thought possible, disrupting the tapestry of our future altogether, this is our rebellion against powers greater than us. Don’t you want the same, My King?”

Jon let out a long shuddering breath. He looked down to the woman lying on his naked chest, she was also looking up at him through her cascading tresses with a mischievous smile on her face, she hadn’t relented her movements all the while she spoke, testing his resolves to their utmost.

“Oh, come here, you insufferable woman!” Jon growled and finally took his hands off the sides of the tub to grab the lady on top of him. His lips found her softer ones as she moaned against his mouth.

Soon, the small room was filled with sounds of splashing water, woman’s giggles and loud grunts and moans of pleasure of the copulating pair.

[CotW]

Jon found himself to be very refreshed when he woke up the next morning. When his mind was awakened enough for him to remember last night’s encounter, he whipped his head to his side to find the bed empty. A faint flowery smell still lingered on the sheets and pillow, but the room was devoid of the presence of the smell’s wearer. His eyes found a folded piece of parchment on the empty pillow. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard. He reached to pick up the parchment but was startled by a silk ribbon tied to his wrist. He lightly touched the ribbon for a few moments before shaking himself out of the reverie and picking up the parchment once more.

(***)

My King,

I am forever in your debt for waking me up from my slumber. I heard from our mutual acquaintance that you have been to the land beyond time and hearth – in person and in a dream. I know you have felt what I felt there, you also have experienced the magic of the lands. Although, I could have done without that irritating man’s pranks.

Last night will remain alive in my mind forever. For a woman who suddenly woke up after her tenth namedays to find that the world has gone on for sixteen years without her presence, I had so few to know, so few memories to cherish. Then suddenly, I wasn’t the girl of ten, but a grown woman. I didn’t get to attend the dances or feasts. I didn’t get to be fawn over by lords and knights. But I did have a prince, nay, king come to my rescue -  A valiant, just and kind king. He took but a glance at me and strode fearlessly ahead to my rescue. A king from the tales I used to adore as a girl.

The above was from Malora, the little girl. But we need to put her to rest for trying days are ahead of us. As the Raven’s Disciple, it is my duty to make you aware of your destiny. Kindly allow me to do so –

1) Send your trusted man to Lyneas’ brothel. Ask him to look for a lad named Satin. He was born and brought up in that brothel and is being trained to become a bedmate for its patrons. His life is in danger for he has discovered the true identity of the youngest Sturdy Flower when he warmed his skin under a stormy sky. Save him before he is lost.

2) With Satin, you will find help to return the Little Bird to her home. But he must continue his journey further. The Lone Wolf up at North will be in need of him. Hidden behind the feathers of the Crows, the Gardeners won’t be able to see him.

3) Beware the Grey Rats. Something is obscuring them from us. We won’t know of their deeds beforehand, and afterwards, it may go beyond our reach to cause an effect. Be wary, My King.

You will soon find that your next destination has already been planned for you. For you are about to receive a proposal you can’t refuse. You will be rewarded greatly. But you will be away for a long time. The Storm’s child also awaits you, My King.

Neither Gerold nor Nysa graced us with their presence after last night. But there will be time for them to visit later. I will surely be waiting to hold them in my arms. Did I tell you that Nysa will have her grandfather – the Bard’s hair but the eyes of the wild one? And Gerold will truly be the White Bull reborn.

I left my favour for you to wear in the melee, My King. The Grey will look quite fetching under the snarling white wolf.

Forever yours,

The Raven’s Chick.

P.S. – You will be needing the sigil soon. One of them will be in use in the near future, the other, in a few more years yet.

(***)

In quite a daze, Jon picked up the second parchment. Unfolding it, he found two images drawn on it – the first one was of the Mark of Smith in white on a field of red.

The second one also had the Mark of Smith, but in black and again on a field of red. But this one also had a snarling white direwolf and a roaring white dragon facing the opposite sides from the other within the Mark.

---

 

Jon did question his brothers on why they didn’t seek him the previous night. He was amazed at their confused stares and admittance that it was him who had requested them to let him sleep and rest after a day of arduous training. Even the cook commented on how Wolf had asked for a platter of food sent to his rooms because he wouldn’t be joining the men for supper. The platter he found to be on the bedside table after he and the Lady managed to get out of the tub.

His mind warring on the feelings of confusion, elation and suspicion about the Raven’s Disciple and her abilities, Jon got himself prepared for the melee. The Stark brothers rode ahead at the front. People on the street openly pointed at the White Wolf as he rode by and whispered to each other excitedly. News travelled faster than them and before they were at the tourney ground, people had become aware that the White Wolf would be participating in the melee.

They gathered together before going into the pavilion made for the participants. Asher and Torrhen would climb up the gallery and Wade will join the men and Kurt at the front. But Jon asked them for a little conversation before they went. His brothers did make questioning glances at the silken ribbon tied beneath his usual kerchief on his arm but didn’t ask about it out loud.

“I have a task for you, Wade.” Said Jon.

“Aye, Wolf.” He stood straighter, ready to perform the yet-to-be-named task.

“When the melee starts, all eyes of Old Town will be upon us. When it ends, in the commotion I want you to slip out without notice. You are to hurry to the brothel of Lyneas. Ask for a boy named Satin. Then you are to discreetly take the boy back to the manse and keep him there. Beware that the boy must not venture out, for his life will be forfeited if he does so.”

“Am I to go alone?”

“Aye. You need to act as a drunk as well.”

Wade smiled his usual, insane and fear-inducing smile.

“Jon? What is this about?” asked Robb.

“According to the information I received, we need to act quickly if we are to save a life.”

Asher raised a brow, “And where did this information come from?”

“The Raven’s Disciple.” Jon looked straight into his eyes.

In a fraction of a moment, Asher’s eyes widened with realization. He exchanged hurried glances with Robb and Torrhen before all three turned their gazes on Jon. In reply, the White Wolf only shrugged and indicated towards the mysterious favour tied on his arm.

“We will talk about this later. Wade, be careful with the lad. Do not scare him more than necessary.”

“Aye, Wolf. You can trust me.”

“I do, my friend, I do.”

With a nod to the Heir of Winterfell, Wade left. The four friends looked at each other.

“Beware the Sand Snakes, lads. They are as vicious as their name suggests.” Torrhen warned them.

“Aye, we will,” Jon answered, Robb only nodded.

“We better get to our seats then.” Asher patted the Stark brothers’ shoulders. “Come, Torrhen.”

Torrhen gave a last nod to them before turning away.

“Well, brother,” Jon let out a long breath, “are you ready?”

[CotW]

Asher led Torrhen towards the place where they sat last. Lady Ellaria was also present, but only one of her daughters – Tyene, was there with her. The Prince of Dorne was nowhere to be seen.

“My Ladies, it is good to see you once again.” Asher gave the two women quite a winning smile.

“My Lords.” Lady Ellaria smiled at them softly, while Tyene, gave Asher quite an innocent smile. But her eyes belied that, for they were cold and calculating. Asher forced himself from shivering in an unknown fear.

As they took their seats, Torrhen glanced around to watch the people slowly trickling in to observe the melee. He leaned forward slightly to look beyond Asher who was seating between him and Lady Ellaria.

“Pardon me for asking, My Lady, but where is the Prince?”

Lady Ellaria grimaced a little, “My paramour decided to take part in the melee alongside his daughters. He hopes to keep them from causing serious harm to some of their opponents.” She looked pointedly at the two Northern lords.

Torrhen nodded and exchanged a glance with his friend. Both of them turned their gazes at the arena where the herald started to announce the names of the participants.

[CotW]

Jon and Robb strode forward together. They stopped before the weapons rack to choose from the tourney weapons displayed there. Robb went for a medium metal shield and a longsword. Jon, as usual, chose a bastard sword and a small axe. A foot-long dagger also found its place in his belt. He checked the straps of his leather armours and fastened them once more to his satisfaction. He was about to walk away when his eyes fell upon a small rounded throwing shield. There was a hammered rounded piece of metal riveted into the centre of the shield as strips of metal were wrapped around the edge to make it more durable. He cocked his head in thought, then he shrugged and turned away. Mayhaps one of the days he will try his hands with throwing shields. Looking at his side, he took in Robb’s preparation. He contemplated his brother’s weapons of choice for a moment before plucking another foot-long dagger from the racks.

“Here, strap it on.” He offered the dagger to Robb.

Robb tried to deny it, “I am more comfortable with a long blade and a shield, brother.”

“It is not about comfort, Robb. You need to be prepared for every situation. Take it.”

Reluctantly, Robb took the dagger and secured it at the small of his back. Jon chuckled at his petulance.

They straightened up when the herald started to call out the participants by name. They couldn’t see any familiar faces within the sea of seemingly never-ending Reach men. But they did hear the name of Ser Hugh Pryor. Of late, the siblings were spending more of their time with the Vale nobles. Jon was yet to concentrate on this new development. They heard the names of Ser Lyn Corbray and Harry Hardyng. Apart from them, there were a few knights from the Westerlands and Riverlands. A few known names like Lord Berric Dondarrion from Stormlands were also announced. It was the names of the infamous Sand Snakes and their equally infamous father that made them frown a little. Among the Reach nobles, the names of Ser Garlan Tyrell and Loras Tyrell were also called. There was a rumour in the winds that Lord Mace Tyrell had plans to knight his youngest son after the completion of the melee, much like how Jon earned his spurs. The brothers snorted at the name of the youngest Tyrell son as they looked at each other. They could still read each other’s expression and they both were thinking the same thing – Getting Loras Tyrell out of the count as early as possible.

As soon as they entered the arena, all the combatants divided themselves into small groups. Men outside from the Reach had banded together, and the Reach men seemingly huddled together. Jon could see Ser Hugh standing a little away from Ser Lyn and Hardyng, but he was with them nonetheless. Crownlanders, not eager to jump right in the middle of it, stayed around the boundary while the Stormlanders grouped behind Lord Berric. The Reach seemed to have entered into some sort of pact between houses as they sorted themselves, with the majority surrounding the Tyrell brothers. Prince Oberyn and his daughters kept a safe distance from the Tyrells.

“What do you reckon, Jon?” Robb asked.

Taking another look at the field ahead, Jon whispered to his brother, “I think the Crownlanders have the best strategy – remain on the fringes and take out any from the big groups who come for us.”

The brothers stood shoulder to shoulder. Robb hefted his shield and twirled his sword. Jon stood stock-still. His eyes never stopped moving. The herald had finished announcing the names of the combatants. Lord Mace stood from his seat, bowed to the Queen and raised a hand with a red kerchief. All men and women on the field tensed up, their grips tightened on their weapons.

Lord Mace dropped the kerchief.

All took a collective deep breath.

The kerchief touched the ground.

Everybody roared.

The Stark brothers bent their knees and took up a fighting stance. A group from the Riverlanders broke off and advanced towards them. Their armours bore the sigil of the Twin Towers. The Freys again.

“Winter has come for them, Robb.”

“With fire and blood, Jon.”

With a matching wolfish smile, the Stark brothers charged toward the Freys.

[CotW]

Margaery Tyrell had learned at the feet of her grandmother. It was Lady Olenna Tyrell who had instilled the ambition within her. She knew about Lady Olenna’s grief about her lord father. She too thought the man to be too ostentatious. Garlan and Loras had taken to their swords and seemed to have forgotten their grandmother’s lessons. It was only Willas and her who had retained what Lady Olenna had told them. Her eldest brother Willas was once a prodigious rider. But he had taken a tumble when he rode against the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn and had shattered his thigh bone. Now, he was known to the Seven Kingdoms as the Lame Heir of the Roses. Although, none could say anything against his intellect. It remained as sharp as ever.

Margaery had become intrigued about the group of Northern nobles. The main reason for that was her companion, Meera Forrester. Whenever a raven came bearing a missive from Ironwrath, Meera had gushed about her brother Asher and his friends. Through her, she got to know about the infamous bastard of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Her grandmother, the wily woman that she was, had eyes and ears even as far a land as Winterfell, deep within the heart of frozen North.

Through her grandmother, Margaery got another view of the so-called Wolf Pack. It was said that the lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark, couldn’t stand her husband’s bastard. Well, not to judge her too harshly, no woman could tolerate her husband’s indiscretion. When Lady Catelyn bore the Stark heir, Robb, Lord Eddard had returned home with another babe in his arms. If it was her, Margaery would have left her husband’s home within a week.

The news kept pouring out of the North, but all of them were mundane. The frozen savages had nothing in their lives to be excited about after all. Lord Stark’s sons spend their days in the yard swinging their swords, much like her own brothers. And the Stark daughters learned to sew with the Septa. Then suddenly, the news came that Lord Stark had sent his heir and bastard off to fosterage. Lady Olenna speculated that it was inevitable since Lord Stark himself had been in fosterage under Lord Jon Arryn. Also, when her lord father grumbled about how the Lord Paramount of North never considered other Great Houses for his son’s fosterage, Lady Olenna raised the point that Lord Eddard had grown up outside of North, had taken a bride, once again, outside of North. He had to send his heir off to one of his leal lords to strengthen the ties within the lands. While her father couldn’t, Margaery understood the political move Lord Eddard had made.

It was since that time the news from the North had changed from mundane to most amazing. Lord Stark’s bastard, Jon Snow, was said to slay a bear ten times his size when he was a little lad of twelve namedays. A few months later, Meera first stated about how her brother Asher, who had been in fosterage under another lord of North, had encountered the bastard while he was chasing after a group of wildlings and fought single-handed against them. Apparently, he had slain a man almost as big as the Mountain.

Margaery didn’t know what happened but her grandmother was most upset about something. It seemed that her plant in the North had been exposed and exiled from there. Still, news came trickling from the frozen wastelands. Jon Snow, with a handful of men, fought off an Ironborn raiding party. Jon Snow led the charge to decimate wildling savages. Jon Snow ventured beyond the Wall and came home carrying a pregnant direwolf in his arms. With each of the stories, the exaggeration reached the point of ridiculous. Surely a mere lad who hadn’t even reached his majority was capable of doing what those foolish bards were strumming about.

An invitation from the Capital reached their home, the King had arranged for a grand tourney and invited all the houses of the Seven Kingdoms. Her father was eager to travel the instant he had received the raven, but her grandmother, Lady Olenna raged at her son to finally dissuade him of the notion. For the past few years, Lord Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, had been subtly increasing the annual taxes. That was aside from their increasing request for loans. House Tyrell had already lent a large amount of gold to the Crown against false promises and in return, had received only a pittance, if any. Lady Olenna had thought that the Tourney was a ploy to squeeze more gold out of the largest contributors to the Crown – namely, the Lannisters and the Tyrells. Lord Tywin wouldn’t even blink to lend another cartload of gold to his goodson, the King, because the man apparently shat gold. But Lady Olenna refused to pay anymore. She ordered Lord Mace to send an apologetic message citing her bad health as a refusal to participate in the Tourney. Her father was truly upset, but he couldn’t act against his mother’s edict.

Then they received information that the Wolf Pack, which Meera said her brother’s group of friends were known, had arrived at the Capital to participate in the King’s Tourney. And the news afterwards became headache-inducing. Jon Snow, once again, was the centre of all the rumours. He, along with the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, had found dragon eggs from within the rubbles of the Dragon Pit. Surely that was a result of a drunken mind? Jon Snow recovered a cache of wildfire from underneath the Capital, a danger that none was aware of and saved countless lives. Apart from that, he was the reason that Jaime Lannister regained his honour. That man was not a traitor to his post, he was not a Kingslayer, but an honourable knight who remained true to his oath to protect the innocent. Boggled the mind, that did.

How her grandmother raged and ranted, within the confinement afforded by the ladies’ solar, of course. It wouldn’t have been proper for a lady of her station to appear anything but civil. But within the walls of the solar, Lady Olenna screamed. She raged about the lost opportunities of putting pressure on the Crown with the threat of withholding loans. Now that the Northern bastard and the Imp of Casterly Rock had gifted the Crown with a clutch of dragon eggs, all of their worries concerning funds had disappeared for the foreseeable future. Oh, they were certain that the Crown would beg once more, for it was well known all around the Seven Kingdoms about the King’s proclivities of spending the golds. The dragon kings had left the Royal coffer full to the brims if the whispered rumours were to be believed. But the Stag King had managed to dry that seemingly endless ocean in just a decade. Lady Olenna was sure that the need for a loan would raise its head once again in the future, but for the time being, her plans, and those of the entire Tyrell family were put on hold.

At the King’s Tourney, Jon Snow won the archery competition and earned second place in melee. Ser Jaime even knighted him on the spot. Margaery’s father had scoffed at that. He claimed that the Lannister did that only to pay off his debt to the Northern bastard. But the Reach men who had been to the capital for the Tourney had sworn that the lad earned his spurs purely on his own merit. They said he was capable of dual wielding. He fought against Ser Jaime with two swords and it was only the Lannister knight's experience that decided the winner among the two. Her lord father had raged. He denied believing those men. Yet, Margaery had seen a feeble plan forming behind her father’s eyes. She had exchanged glances with Willas and heard her grandmother groan about their father’s lack of cunning. But she too was disappointed when she learned that her father planned for a tourney himself and that was where he was going to knight her brother, Loras.

Oh, but that was not the end at the Capital for Ser Jon, the White Wolf, no. He came out a winner in the joust, by unhorsing the likes of Lord Royce, the Bronze Yohn; Ser Barristan the Bold and the infamous knight of Westerlands, Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. The Mountain died in the Tourney but Ser Jon came out unscathed without feeling the wrath of Lord Tywin Lannister. It was nothing sort of a miracle.

Once information trickled to their ears that the Northerners were planning to travel to Old Town, Lady Olenna began her scheming. She merely stroked the desire of her son to arrange a tourney for only to knight Loras once more. But she put forth a caveat, Lord Mace would have to hold the tourney at Old Town, and he would say that it was to celebrate his wife’s nameday. Lord Mace didn’t want to understand or care for the nuances of his mother’s plans. He was only so happy to do as he wished. Thus, the entire family save Willas travelled to Old Town, and preparation for a tourney grander than the King’s Tourney commenced.

Willas sent a missive to their grandmother instead of waiting to tell it in person. The message read that Jon Snow had once again donned his saviour’s garbs. He had rescued two women from bandits and escorted them to the Lord of Highgarden, or his heir. Willas had tried to engage the man in conversation, but he proved to be more interested in his hounds and hawks than talking politics. Lady Olenna frowned reading the missive, and Margaery herself was waiting eagerly to see the knight with her own eyes.

After the arrival of the Northern party, her father and Nuncle Baelor sent an invitation to them. When the three Northern lords and the infamous bastard knight appeared, Margaery wasn’t impressed by them. The Stark Lord had the typical Stark features that her grandmother and mother told her – sullen, long face and a powerfully built body, but instead of Stark black hair and grey eyes, he had Tully red hair and blue eyes. The two other lesser lordlings were slender but otherwise didn’t appear remarkable to her. That was when her eyes finally fell upon Ser Jon, the White Wolf. He was as tall as his half-brother and had the Stark raven locks. He wasn’t as powerfully built as the Stark lord, but none could deny that he exuded confidence and power. His face, although long as the Starks, had features that made him look more handsome than the rest of his broods. But the thing that sent Margaery’s heart aflutter was his eyes. She was drawn to those purple orbs, and if they had met alone for the first time, she would have latched herself to him and never let go.

They sat down to sup with the Stark lord at their table. Margaery tried to make small talk with the man but her eyes kept glancing at one of the lower tables where the other lords and the Northern knight sat with her companions and cousins. She frowned a little when she saw Meera smiling and laughing with the knight. She thought to have reprimanded her later, but then she remembered that one of the lords was Meera’s brother, Asher. She didn’t know where the irritation came from but she did grit her teeth a little.

The most surprising event of that night was her grandfather – Lord Leyton Hightower’s sudden appearance at the feast. Her mother lamented so that her lord father had secluded himself ever since her aunt Malora fell ill. She had cast a surreptitious look about to find that even her grandmother was taken aback by the situation. Lord Leyton had called for the Northern four to sup at the high table with him and Margaery thought that she finally could put her curiosities to rest. During the inquisition, the questions asked by her lord grandfather and her lady grandmother were either skilfully deflected or returned as such that only bore light on certain rumours. She and her grandmother were of the same mind – the Northerners were either cleverer than they look, or they were simple enough to not understand their queries. Then there was the presentation at the Citadel. Margaery understood very little about swordplay, but she was impressed nonetheless by Ser Jon’s display at the presentation. Loras, however, only scoffed, whereas both Willas and Garlan were thoughtful. Their father was also the same mind as Loras, loudly claiming later that day that his sons were better at swords than the Northern bastard.

When the Queen arrived for the tourney, Margaery tried to get close to her. But the woman was always distracted. She never answered any of her questions with more than a hum. She tried to befriend the young Prince and Princess, but they were mere children, they didn’t understand how to play the Game yet. During the feast in honour of the Queen, she was appalled if not a bit resentful by the way the Queen danced with the White Wolf. She was a married woman and a mother of three for the Seven’s sake. Margaery was sure that it wasn’t only her who had observed the unseemly behaviour of the Queen with the knight. When she saw Meera talking with the knight and afterwards the man hastily made his exit, she had laughed heartily at the irritated look that appeared on that woman’s face. She had to give the knight some praises, for he had the presence of mind to rush to his friend’s aid even when there was a beautiful woman almost draped all over him. It was not lost to her either that given chance, the Queen wouldn’t mind having the White Wolf ravish her in bed.

That brought to her at the present. She had invited the Lady Madelyne Pryor of Pebble to sit with her and her companions during the melee. Words were around that the lady and her brother, Ser Hugh, were banished from their spec of land. It was also heard that the lady had become quite close with the Northerners. The lady had danced with the knight at the Capital. They travelled together from Kings’ Landing to Old Town. Even more, they were currently staying with the Northerners at the same manse. Margaery’s grandmother insinuated that she should try to fathom the workings of the Vale lady. She did sit with the Queen the previous days of archery, but the Golden Queen wasn’t very fond of conversations it seemed. And she could flirt only so much with an eight namedays old boy.

The Princess, however, appeared to be rather vapid with what little time Margaery had spent with her. During the archery, the little girl spent her time looking forlornly at the arena with intermittent glances thrown towards the part of the gallery that seated the lords of North along with, to her distaste, the Dornish. Margaery was sure that the little Princess was harbouring some feelings for the Heir of Winterfell. And wasn’t that a juicy bit of information? The Princess of Seven Kingdoms aspired to become the Lady of Winterfell while her Queen mother was trying to bed the heir’s bastard brother, the knight. Her grandmother managed to get her permission to sit by herself from her lord father while her mother, the Lady of Highgarden was to spend the day with the Queen. But she couldn’t escape alone, because she was to entertain the little Princess during the event of melee. She was only thankful that she didn’t have to wipe the Prince’s nose too as his mother plain refused to let him seat anywhere but beside her. Thus, they were sitting a little apart from the Royal family. It could almost be said to be a private box within the Royal box, well away from the Queen’s ears. Thankfully, the Queen didn’t spot Lady Madelyne’s presence before they all took their seats.

“I do enjoy watching brave warriors displaying their skills. Don’t you, My Lady?” Margaery simpered as the herald started to speak about Lord Tyrell’s generosities.

“I do too, My Lady,” Madelyne agreed, “but I am afraid I have not seen many tourneys in my life.”

“Come now, Lady Madelyne, the Vale sure has hosted many tourneys over the years. They are, after all, the birthing ground of the famed Vale knights.”

Madelyne nodded, “They did. But I was unable to attend such. Since my mother died during childbirth, my elder sister was in charge of the Pryor household. But after her marriage, the duties fell upon me. I was just too busy with taking care of my father and his keep.”

“But you have been travelling for months, far away from home, aren’t you, My Lady?” Margaery would never ask directly, her grandmother taught her better than that. She would direct them towards the answer she wanted.

She wasn’t disappointed by the unease and the little squirming that escaped the poise of Lady Madelyne. There is surely some scandal there – she smirked inwardly.

“Father wanted to arrange for my marriage.” Lady Madelyne spoke through a smile that seemed a little strained to Margaery. “I begged him for leave to travel the lands before I become even more entangled with the responsibilities to maintain my lord husband’s household. I haven’t set foot outside of Pebble since my childhood, so my lord father lovingly granted me my wish and arranged for Hugh to escort me.”

Margaery gushed along with the Princess at her impending nuptials, but in her mind, she was crowing in glee. The Lady of Pebble had set her sight on either to become the Lady of Winterfell or to become ornamental in the arms of one of the most promising warriors of this generation. She had to praise her for her ambition. But did she become aware of the dealings within the Wolf Pack in her time spent with them?

“I am sure you have loved the sights of the Capital then?”

“Oh yes,” exclaimed Madelyne, “the Capital was breathtaking.”

“But I heard that the stench of the city was enough to choke one’s breath.” Margaery so loved to make them all flounder for their words. From the side of her eyes, she observed the Princess too had a tinge of red on her cheeks. She had almost forgotten in her eagerness to poke at the lady of Pebble. She needed to watch what she said lest the little girl blurted out her not-so-innocent comments to her Queen mother.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, I misspoke. It is only because of the way people always complain about the Capital.”

Myrcella had become a little uncomfortable with everyone’s attention turned towards her, blushed even more deeply and stuttered, “I-it is quite alright, My Lady. I-I also find the air too foul to breathe at times.”

“I reckon it is because of all those people there, is not that right, Princess?” Meera chimed in.

“It probably is,” Myrcella nodded thoughtfully, “Mother always complains about the unwashed people crowding whenever we venture out of the castle.”

“How do you find Old Town, Your Grace?” Margaery couldn’t help but ask.

“It is beautiful, My Lady. I have heard so many things about the Hightower castle and the Citadel from Nuncle Tyrion. But it was not the same as seeing them yourself.”

Margaery gave the little girl a pleased smile, “Yes, my lady mother’s family has been diligent in their care for the keep. It is their legacy and has been so for thousands of years. But you also must visit Highgarden someday. The view there from some of the balconies when the gardens are at full bloom will surely take your breath away.” She winked at both the Princess and Lady Madelyne, making the former perk up while generating a slight downturn of the lips from the latter.

“Aye, the castle of Highgarden is as old as any of the Seven Kingdoms. The likes of Winterfell, Casterly Rock, Hightower and Storm’s End.” Meera enthused. Even after spending so much time in the Reach, her tone still took on a Northern lilt from time to time.

“Yes, Father always speaks the same for the castle of Storm’s End. I so wish I could have visited there along with Joffrey. But Father said since they were going to attend a funeral, it wouldn’t have been much pleasant a visit.” Myrcella replied sorrowfully.

“Do you like the tourney so far, Your Grace? I am sure you must find it quite boring as you have seen so many of them.”

“Oh no, My Lady,” she brightened up, “I love tourneys. The archery is very boring, and the melee is quite violent for my taste, but I love jousts. I love the way the valiant knights look on horsebacks, their armours and shields.” Myrcella sighed happily.

“And it is more enjoyable when the knight wears your favour and gifts you with the crown when he wins, isn’t it, Your Grace?” Margaery said conspiratorially, adding a wink in the end.

“Yes!” The little girl almost squealed in delight. “At the last tourney, Ser Jon won the joust. His armour looked so good, and his helm so scary. Did you know, he commissioned to have the helm look like a snarling direwolf? The blacksmith even added red paint to it to make it look as if there was blood on the wolf’s fangs. And then, he gave Mother the crown, claiming her to be his Queen of Love and Beauty. And… and…” she blushed so fiercely that the others thought she would burst in flames.

“And what, Your Grace?” Margaery prodded.

“Then he stood atop his saddle and gave me a blood red rose…” Myrcella whispered, mortified to even utter the next few words, “He proclaimed me as his Princess of Love and Beauty.”

Outwards, Margaery gushed at the romanticism Ser Jon had displayed, but inwards, her mind was awhirl. So it wasn’t the Young Wolf the Princess was longing after, but the White Wolf. And her own mother was dancing in such a lustful manner with the same man. Oh, how scandalous. Grandmother would be so happy to hear this. And do I see a hint of irritation on Lady Madelyne’s face? Did she expect to be crowned? She must have, rumours have it that she gave the knight her favour.

The herald was announcing the name of the participants for the melee. Margaery applauded when her brothers’ names were read. As did Lady Madelyne when her brother, Ser Hugh’s name was read.

“So ladies, who are we all cheering for in this melee?” She asked with a mischievous smirk on her face.

Her cousins spoke of either their favoured Reach knights or of her brothers. Meera said that since her brother Asher was not in it, she would be cheering for the Stark brothers. Lady Madelyne took a moment to deliberate her answer before somewhat forcefully saying her brother’s name. When they turned their eyes towards the Princess, the girl blushed prettily.

“Since Nuncle Jaime isn’t in the melee, I will be cheering for Ser Jon.” She said in a hushed voice as if she was divulging an utmost secret.

Just then, Ser Jon, the White Wolf’s name was read amidst the loudest cheers from the crowd. Margaery frowned a little, even her brothers didn’t receive so loud a cheer when their names were called. But she shrugged off that thought. She watched closely as the knight raised his right fist above his head, mirrored by his brother and then both put their fists over their heart and bowed towards a part of the gallery. Margaery looked to find that lords Asher Forrester and Torrhen Karstark were on their feet, with their hands fisted over their hearts, bowing back to the brothers in the arena. She smirked at their quaint ritual. But then something else caught her eyes.

“Ser Jon is wearing a favour over his white wolf kerchief. I wonder who gave it to him.” She thought aloud, looking sideways at the two admirers of the knight. Truth be told, she wouldn’t have minded giving the man her favour, despite her brothers’ participation in the melee. But she was not to blurt that bit of information out loud. She wouldn’t have minded running her fingers over his strong muscles either.

She wasn’t disappointed with the way Lady Madelyne’s frown deepen, or the way Princess Myrcella pouted. She loved to spread chaos. Her grandmother had taught her well.

[CotW]

The Freys were not any challenge at all. The first overextended his reach and Jon ducked to let the attack sail way over his head. He straightened right after and grabbed the arm to slam the man into his nose with his left fist. The man quickly yielded when Jon’s sword point touched his exposed throat.

Robb had let his shield take the strike of his opponent before he slammed it into the man’s chest. His opponent crumpled on the ground unconscious before his disbelieving eyes. He couldn’t even endure one strike. Shaking his head, Robb turned towards the next one.

One of the Freys proved to be a little intelligent because he didn’t charge like his relatives. He stayed a little apart till the first few men engaged the two brothers. He discreetly padded towards a distracted Jon and raised his sword to strike at his unprotected back. But he didn’t count for the brother’s ferocity in dealing with their opponents, because Robb Stark was finished with his and just raised his head to see the man poised to strike his brother down. He jumped and raised his shield just in time to protect Jon. Hearing the metal clang from behind, Jon whirled about and in the same turn had the flat of his sword bash into the hapless Frey’s temple, making him embrace the ground. He looked to his brother to find him smirking at him.

“Fucking Freys!”

Jon barked out a laugh, “Aye, Fucking Freys!”

Next on their path were a few knights from Crownlands. This time Jon charged at them while Robb hung back a few paces and kept a watch on their flanks. Jon ducked under the swing from the first knight, raised his left hand with the axe to block the attack from the next one and kicked him at his armoured belly to send him toppling over. The first knight, who had regained his balance after missing his strike at Jon and stumbling, found his way was blocked by Robb’s shield. He tried to aim a few of his sword jabs at the sides, but he didn’t make any dent in Robb’s defence, so to speak. Suddenly, Robb swung his shield to parry an attack and jumped upwards, bringing the flat of his sword over the helm of his opponent. The clanging sound was as loud as a bell and Robb was sure that the man was dizzy as he dropped to his knees. He cautiously approached the man whose sword was gripped by a slackened hand as he was shaking his head from side to side to get rid of the dizziness. Robb pressed the point of his sword at his throat.

“Do you yield, Ser?”

“Yes, My Lord, I yield.” The man said with a sigh.

Robb helped the man to get back on his feet and looked around for his brother. Jon was fighting two against one, with a sword and an axe, and quite expertly matching the two knights strike for strike. While Robb watched, Jon had the sword of the knight on his left locked and pressed down towards the ground by the curve of the axe head. He feinted a jab with his sword at the right-sided man and then pivoted instantly on his left toes, he smacked the left-sided one into his nose by his right elbow. As the man took a few steps back and clutched his broken nose, Jon dove forward and rolled over to jump up and thrust his sword to the other man’s chest, the man deflected the strike, but Jon had the blade of his axe pressed against his throat.

“Yield, Ser?”

“Yes, Ser Jon, I yield.”

Jon nodded and removed his axe from the man’s neck and turned towards the other man. He was still just standing there clutching his bloody nose. As Jon took a step towards him, he dropped his sword and said, “I also yield, Ser. That fucking hurt.”

“Do forgive me, Ser. You should see a Maester about that.”

The man nodded, “Yes, I will do just that. Good fortune to you for the rest of the melee.”

Jon gave the man a short bow. “Thank you, Ser.”

“Should we take a little breath, brother?” Robb clapped on his shoulder as he reached his side.

“Aye, we should. But the Flower over there is looking a tad too smug for my liking.” Jon indicated with his chin towards Loras. The youngest Tyrell was flanked by two of his friends and appeared to have left his brother’s side.

The brothers marched towards the Reach trio. Robb gave a short nod of his head.

“Lord Loras.”

“Lord Robb. Ser Jon.” The mocking tone was quite evident in his voice.

“Shall we dance, My Lord?” Robb asked ignoring the slight to Jon.

“We shall, but I want to dance with him.” Loras raised his sword lazily towards Jon.

“But of course, My Lord.” Jon bowed from his waist.

They stepped back a little to prepare for the fight. Jon muttered to Robb, “Do you think you can take on those two at once?”

Robb smirked, “Please, brother. You wound me for even doubting.”

They bent their knees and stood ready. Jon gave his brother a small nod.

Robb clanged his sword against his shield, “For the North!”

Jon clanged his sword and axe overhead, “For the North!”

[CotW]

Margaery jumped in her seat a little bit. She had been keeping her eyes on exactly four warriors battling in the arena – Her brothers Garlan and Loras, Lord Hardyng, and Ser Jon. All four of them were terribly good with their sword arms and she had enjoyed watching them fight. She even joined the Princess in clapping loudly whenever Ser Jon won his fight. But now, she was biting her nails. It seemed to her that her brother Loras had just challenged Ser Jon.

[CotW]

Robb was running in circles around the two Reach warriors. The men were lumbering about in their heavy plate armours, whereas the Stark lord was quite nimble in his leather armour. Their strikes never reached their target since the said target had moved away quite early. Synchronized attacks also had yielded no result, for the man seemed to have an uncanny awareness of what they were going to do and was prepared to evade even before they were committed to their moves.

Pretty soon, the Reach men were drenched in sweat, heaving laborious breaths. Robb swiped one of them off his feet while holding the other with his sword pointing at his neck. The second man was so tired that he was wheezing, leaning on his sword for support, not even having it raised.

“Yield?” Robb asked.

They could only nod their heads, too tired to utter a thing.

[CotW]

Jon put the axe back in his belt. He gripped the sword tightly and waited for the young Tyrell lord to advance. Loras, so sure of his superiority, had a condescending smirk on his face and strode swiftly forward. On the first strike, Jon let it wash off to a side as he stood sideways. Every strike afterwards, Jon dodged or sidestepped. He could see that the Tyrell lord was getting frustrated.

“Stand still, bastard!” He snarled.

Jon only smiled insolently in reply.

He did notice the predictability of the Tyrell lord’s moves. They were big and flashy. Often with an unnecessary step or movement threw in. Also, there was a very distinctive pattern in the way he confronted his opponents – a swing from the right; a follow-through swing from the left; two short jabs at the middle; a decidedly too loud swing to the head from the right followed by a slash from the left shoulder to the right hip; and then the process would start anew.

Personally, Jon had nothing against the movements one felt comfortable with if they thought them to be their winning combination. Mayhaps he himself would have thrown in a few variations in between just so he wouldn’t become predictable. In Loras’ situation, he reckoned his previous opponents were either too intimidated by him or fearful of the prospect of his lord father’s wrath if they had beaten him too badly. He did wonder what the young lord’s brothers had said to him concerning his form. From what he saw, Garlan was a competent swordsman and he had heard about Willas’ prowess on the field before his accident. And then there was Loras’ tendency to perform for the crowd. It did halve his concentration to fully engage with his opponent.

“Stand still, damn you!” Loras almost shrieked.

Jon smirked and burst forward into action. On Loras’ next shoulder-to-hip slash, he suddenly lunged forward and pushed the Tyrell lord’s sword with his own towards the side. He then half turned and extended his left leg behind the man’s left one and rammed his shoulder to his armoured chest, making him stumble. Almost immediately, he again pushed a little with his left hand still keeping the sword away while hooking the man’s foot with his own and making him crash down on the ground. Loras was a little disoriented from the jarring impact against the ground. Jon calmly walked forward and put his left foot on the man’s wrist to slacken his grip on his sword. He almost negligently pressed his sword at Loras’ throat.

“Do you yield, My Lord?”

Loras looked up and met his eyes with a furious glare and gave a single nod. Jon bent down and picked up the sword. Even for a tourney sword, it was a work of art. The blade was decorated with golden vines and the pommel boasted a polished metal rose which Jon doubted to be made of gold. He could only shake his head ruefully at the pomp of these Grasping Roses.

[CotW]

Princess Myrcella was on her feet applauding heartily at Ser Jon’s win. Margaery was sitting with a grimace on her face. She looked at her father to find the man had his face purpled with rage. It would be very foolish if the Tyrell lord did bestow the knighthood on his youngest son after this glaring defeat. She turned her eyes to her grandmother to see the old lady’s stony visage. Margaery could only wonder what went on within the lady’s mind.

As she watched on, Lady Olenna looked behind her and gave a subtle nod at the back where stood her personal guards whom she laughingly addressed as Left and Right. One of the men quietly made his way over to her grandmother and knelt. Lady Olenna whispered some command in his ear and the man nodded obediently before getting up and hurrying away. Margaery’s eyes followed him to find the man stopping near her father and whispering something to the Tyrell lord. Lord Mace was scowling fiercely, it was evident that he was very much against what was being commanded to him by his lady mother, but he couldn’t go against her edict. He deigned to not give any reply but turn his face back at the arena.

Margaery was sure that her grandmother had just ordered her father to not grant knighthood to Loras under the current circumstances. She could feel the headache already forming about how loud and how long would both Loras and their father’s rantings would be. She looked toward the Northern lords sitting in the gallery to find them laughing their fool heads off. So much so that each had to keep the other steady lest they both fell down laughing. She could only scowl at their behaviour, and at those damned Dornish whores who had the smug looks of superiority on their faces.

[CotW]

Arthur Dayne was once again amazed at the Stark brother’s proficiency on the field. Even though he was in charge of their training for the past eight months or so, he was still astonished by their progress in weapon mastery. The four young men from the North were among some of the best warriors he had seen in his life. He did languish for their sense of over-confidence and thought one or two defeats would instil humbleness in them, but he hoped that it didn’t come at too large a cost.

He smiled indulgently at hearing Wade’s outlandish explanations of some of the skills being shown on the field to the young lad, Kurt. He only had to clear his throat loudly once or twice when the commentary turned too much for a young ear. Wade had the sense of looking abashed for being caught and smiled sheepishly at him. He nodded his head once at Kurt while holding Arthur’s gaze and then nodded towards the exit. Arthur returned with a nod of understanding of his own. He knew that Jon had charged Wade with a mission and the man needed to make himself scarce discreetly.

“Kurt, come here, lad.” He called for the boy. The boy happily skipped over to him.

“Tell me, what did you learn from this melee, and I don’t want to hear what your Maester Wade has been whispering in your ears, but your own opinion.”

Kurt frowned thoughtfully, “Ser Jon and Lord Robb are too fast for those other lords. An’ I think their leather armours help them move faster while the others are slowed with their heavy armours.”

Arthur nodded proudly, “Good observation, lad. Yes, the others preferred to wear their platemail or chainmail as opposed to Jon and Robb who opted for their leather armours only. It helps with their style of fighting since they prefer to move a lot on their feet. But always remember, it is permissible in a tourney only. For in real battle, one must wear suitable armour to protect himself. What else did you see?”

“Lord Robb likes to bash with his shield. An’ Ser Jon prefers to use his axe to distract and trap his opponents.”

“And which style would you like to adopt given the chance?”

Kurt scratched his head, “I think I’ll go with Lord Robb’s sword and shield style. I ain’t strong enough like Ser Jon to properly wield an axe against swords.”

Arthur chuckled, “Not yet, mayhaps. But you are young still. One day you may grow up to be as strong as Ser Jon. But you should always choose your weapons as you become familiar and comfortable with them. Take that lad for instance,” He pointed at Gendry who had been looking at the mayhem before him with a gleam in his eyes. “He is as strong as Jon, mayhaps stronger even. But a sword and an axe are the wrong weapons of choice for him. With his strength and hard training, he will be a true destructing force on the field of battle wielding a Warhammer.”

From the corner of his eyes, he watched Wade silently slip out and vanish from the tourney ground. He didn’t know what his mission was, but he wished him good fortune nonetheless.

“If it’s true, then I won’t mind learning how to wield a spear like the Prince. He is dangerous.” Kurt said excitedly.

That brought Arthur’s focus back into the arena. His old friend didn’t tell him about his plans of participating in the melee. But he would take a wager that he did so to keep Rhaenys from lashing out at the Stark brothers. Although he did hear from both Oberyn and Ashara that Rhaenys had locked herself in her rooms for most of the time with the chest Jon left for them. And both of them were hopeful that there was a little chance for the half-siblings to make amends, but all of them agreed on one point – dragonblood was too unpredictable. They couldn’t possibly ascertain the motives behind their actions till they come into play.

“Is the Prince’s daughter going to fight with Ser Jon now?”

Kurt’s question brought Arthur out of his musings. He watched on as his heart filled with dread. Indeed, Rhaenys was approaching the White Wolf with determination etched on her face. Arthur tightly clasped his hands together and sent a silent prayer to the Seven.

[CotW]

Robb stepped in front of the advancing Hidden Princess with his shield raised and his sword at the ready.

“Move!” Rhaenys growled.

Robb only shrugged his shoulders.

“I said move!” Rhaenys snarled as she viciously jabbed with her spear. Robb took it on his shield.

“If you want to reach Jon, Princess, you have to go through me beforehand,” Robb spoke without care.

“I only need to speak with him.”

“My answer remains the same.”

Rhaenys scowled fiercely, “I will not ask again, Stark.”

Robb smirked, “Great, then I won’t have to repeat myself.”

Rhaenys gritted her teeth, “So be it. I will make you learn the demerits of your arrogance.”

Robb barked out a laugh, “Coming from you, Princess, that is indeed a hilarious proposition.”

Rhaenys yelled as she charged forward. Robb once again deflected the spear jab with his shield and swung his sword at her, which Rhaenys too deflected by the other end of her spear. Robb was reminded of his spar against Mira Reed back at Greywater Watch. He had to employ even the last bit of his skill to gain an upper hand against the Northern lady. But Rhaenys was on a whole other level of skills. She was certainly faster than Lady Mira and more powerful than her, along with having a natural grace in her movements which made her a deadly opponent.

Robb had noticed a coiled whip at the woman’s hip while he exchanged blows after blows with her. He was also quite certain that she had at least a hidden dagger or two on her person. His mild distraction had cost him as the weighted end of Rhaenys’ spear slammed into his belly, making him double over in pain. It was blunted somewhat by his leather armour but it still hurt quite a lot. Rhaenys, taking this opportunity by the horns, didn’t waste any time divesting the young lord of his sword. Robb shook his head to get rid of the haziness of his mind and brought himself back to the fight. He only had his shield and he desperately tried to find a way to end the fight.

Robb knew that even if he managed to lock the spear with his shield and wrenched it away from the woman’s hands, the whip on her hip could be used to a devastating effect. His only chance to manage a win in this situation was some sort of surprise attack. He smirked which came out as a grimace due to the pain he was suffering from and readied himself for the execution of his plan. He loosened the straps of the shield on his left hand as he waited for Rhaenys’ next attack.

At Rhaenys’ next spear thrust, Robb deflected the weapon and pushed with his might to move the spear away from both their bodies. He grabbed the shaft with his right hand and twisted on his toes to throw the loosely held shield aiming for the young lady’s head. Surprised by this sudden and unorthodox attack, Rhaenys raised her left arm to protect her head from the hurled shield. She hissed at the pain flaring in her arm but before she could do anything else, Robb had moved in closer and a firm grip on her wrist and another just below her elbow, had her off her feet and sailing over his shoulder only to crash down on the ground painfully. Robb had her right hand locked with his left and his right had found the dagger strapped at the small of his back by Jon’s insistence. He had the dagger pressed against the soft flesh of the woman’s throat.

“You needed to do better than that, Princess. Count yourself fortunate that it was me you faced and not my brother.”

Rhaenys let out a groan before she looked at the young man who was almost laid on top of her with a venomous glare.

“Now that the pleasantries are done, do you yield, Princess?” Robb smirked.

Rhaenys growled.

“I only wanted to speak with him.”

“And I told you that you needed to get through me to reach him. Do you yield? I won’t be asking again.”

“I yield,” Rhaenys said through gritted teeth.

Robb gave her a patronizing smile, he knew that he was grating on her nerves, but he couldn’t help himself. After their disastrous first meeting, he did put a considerable amount of thought to understand her behaviours at Jon’s urgency, but he cannot completely forgive her after the insults she made to his family. But still, he was a hot-blooded Northerner who was very much attracted to this Dornish beauty.

“Now, was that so hard to admit, Princess?” He smiled toothily, Rhaenys was glaring up at him with a look of promised pain. “Even though I hate what you said to my brother and my family, I cannot deny the attraction I feel for you. So do forgive me for the liberty I am about to take.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against the surprised young woman’s own. He leapt off of her and ran away before the lady on the ground could form any coherent thoughts. It was only moments before she gathered herself and screamed bloody murder at him, but the Young Wolf was long gone by then.

[CotW]

Arthur could only splutter at what he had just seen. On one hand, he was protective of the young woman he saw as his own and same like all parental figures around the known world, would hunt down any despicable male who dared to even look at their daughter; on the other hand, he felt sorry for the young lord for what would be done to him when the young Dornish got her hands on him. But he did make a promise to himself that Robb Stark would face some terrible times the next they were in the training yard.

[CotW]

“Oh Seven Hells!” exclaimed Asher.

“Indeed. Do we write a letter to Lord and Lady Stark explaining their eldest son’s wounds?” Torrhen supplied.

“What wounds?”

Torrhen pointed, “Look at Ser Eric and tell me you don’t see the promise of retribution in his eyes.”

“I repeat, Seven Hells!” Asher shook his head in consternation.

“What was that?”

They turned their heads to see Tyene pointing at her sister who was standing with her fists shaking at the retreating back of the Stark heir.

“Uh… that was Karhold, My Lady, a close combat style developed-”

“I do not care about the fighting style. Why did he kiss her?” Tyene asked impatiently.

 “Oh,” Asher squirmed in his seat, “You see, My Lady, Robb was quite smitten when he first laid his eyes on Lady Sarella, and then, well…” He trailed off.

Lady Ellaria, who was rubbing her temples to fend off the headache that threatened to form, was heard muttering, “Idiotic and hot-headed fool of a Stark, never knew the value of subtlety, the lot of them.”

[CotW]

Margaery couldn’t believe her eyes. Robb Stark had just then quite brazenly kissed a Dornish bastard out in the open for everyone to see. Granted that the woman was a daughter of the Dornish Prince, but still, she was a bastard. She looked at her grandmother to see the old lady also sitting leaning forward with a calculating gleam in her eyes. Oh, the scandal! Margaery was almost salivating. It was enough for her to forget about her brother’s insulting defeat at the hands of the White Wolf.

[CotW]

Jon had lost track of his brother. The last he had seen him was when he stepped forward to stop Rhaenys’ advance. Afterwards, he didn’t know what had befallen his wayward brother. He couldn’t spare a glance to look for him either as he was set upon by first Ser Lyn Corbray and then Ser Garlan Tyrell. He had only moments to enjoy his hard-earned wins before he found himself to be standing near the Prince of Dorne, the last man beside himself to remain in the melee.

“Are you prepared for the last fight of the day, nephew?” Oberyn asked with a smirk on his face. They could speak somewhat freely as they were the only ones to remain on the ground. Still, Jon hoped the Dornish Prince would maintain his composure a little more.

“Aye, My Prince, and we do need to watch what we speak, lest our conversation is being heard by unwanted ears.”

“Pah, I don’t care what these Grasping Vines hear or not. I am Oberyn Martell, no?”

A weak argument at the best, but Jon understood that his advisement would not be taken seriously by the man brimming with battle lust. To stop the man from making any more discriminatory remarks, he prepared himself for the last fight of the day with a sigh.

“Shall we, My Prince?”

Oberyn gave him a toothy smile, “Of course, nephew. We shall see if the ice of North has cooled the Dornish sun in your blood, no?”

Jon only nodded as he prepared himself. In his left hand, he held the sword he had won from Loras Tyrell, and in his right, the sword he had chosen before the melee. He scratched a line on the ground with the point of his right sword, earning him an unseen smirk from the man from whom he had adopted the habit.

Oberyn was the first to make a move. He swung his spear in an overhead strike only to catch the shaft of the spear by his left hand on its return to place it over his shoulders and push it towards Jon by balancing it over his angled and extended right arm, directly into his chest. The first swing was a feint to disguise the later jab which was the actual attack. Jon hurriedly deflected the spear with his left sword and swung his right to the Prince’s torso, but the Dornish was nimble on his feet, he had no problem dancing out of his range.

It was another hard-fought battle for Jon when he finally managed to get the spear off of the Dornish Prince’s hands. He had lost the visibility of his right eye since a deep cut over his brow from the Prince’s spear had bled right into his eye. But in the end, the Northern endurance had proved better than the Dornish agility and Jon stood triumphant over a half-kneeling Prince of Dorne with his sword placed on the man’s neck.

“Do you yield, My Prince?”

Oberyn remained undeterred as he threw his head back and laughed, “Oh, you are indeed your sire’s son, nephew. I am proud to be lost against you. Yes, I yield to you.”

Thankfully, his words were drowned by the cheering crowd. Jon helped the Prince to his feet as the herald announced him the winner of the melee. The crowd watched on fascinated as the White Wolf, after exchanging compliments with the Dornish Prince, took a knee and raised his sword in salutation towards the Royal box. They were confused at first before they saw Ser Jaime Lannister, after receiving an affirmative nod from his fellow Kingsguard, Ser Arys Oakheart, stepped away from his charges – the Royal family. Then Ser Jaime Lannister, the White Lion, raised his own sword to acknowledge the greeting given to him by the winner of the melee, and his sometimes student – Ser Jon, the White Wolf.

Notes:

A.N. - I thought to have the tourney and Old Town act rounded up in this chapter, but once again, the words escaped my control and ran rampant on their own. I stipped it here before this chapter became any longer.

I won't be surprised if there are some comments about Jon recognizing Jaime as his teacher instead of Arthur, but since the man was declared dead and remains in hiding, it would be detrimental to attract attention at the Sword of Morning. I do plan to address this issue in the next chapter.

Chapter 34: Requiescat In Pace

Notes:

A.N. - Sorry for the long delay between chapters. First, the World Cup along with marriage within the family gobbled most of my time away. I couldn't just find the scope to sit down and think.

Secondmost, there has been a bizarre development. I was alerted by a reader that this story is being published on WebNovel. I tried to placate them by saying I was the one publishing this same story there. But that person was insistent. Naturally, I went there to verify. And I found that there indeed has been someone who was posting chapters of 'Champion of the Winter', under a different name, and a few jpegs inserted between the lines as their contribution. I reported it and confronted that individual. They tried to tell me that they wanted to ask for my permission but couldn't find me. How can that be possible if the one who objected to it the first can reach out to me and this person cannot? Although the posts were taken down later (or re-posted under yet another different name), it did some damage to my enthusiasm about this story. I will try to finish it, if not, the story arc before the canon at the least. As for the rest, I don't know. I also plan to revise the older chapters and revamp the hell out of them. I am getting tired of receiving comments about how this is not a gamer story and that I should burn in the fire of hell for deceiving poor, unsuspecting readers and luring them in to read my crap.

Enough of my rant, do tell me how this chapter turned out. Cheers!

Requiescat in Pace

Old Town

Lord Mace Tyrell’s tourney of Old Town had garnered the interest of almost every one of the Seven Kingdoms. People in the know, however, had shared an amused laugh among themselves over a cup of ale. Truly, to blatantly show off one’s wealth in such a way, only in defiance of the Crown was quite similar to arranging a parade for one’s bloody linen after the first night. Added to the fact that said Crown hadn’t even had the blessed notion that they were insulted, only proved how far the empire had fallen. The Dragonborns were cruel and cunning rulers, but the Stag King, even while dragonblood flowed through his veins, had allowed the fire to die with wine. Then, above all of that, he had a pacifist to act as his Hand.

He shook his head and let out a sigh of despair. At times, he wondered, if the Targaryens were truly so detrimental to the collective good of the kingdoms. The current situations surely sang in a different tune.

“We are here, Maester.” The guard called him out of his musings. On the long ride, he had let his mind wander.

“Thank you, Righel,” He gave the man a nod, “if you kindly ride ahead and inform the Citadel of our arrival?”

“O’ course, Maester.” Righel gave a return nod and spurred his horse to gallop away.

He smiled at the man’s departure, a good and loyal man. He would need to see about getting the man a raise, or a bottle of Arbor’s finest. Or mayhaps a bedmate from Muriel’s brothel, whatever tickled his fancy. If he took care of his men, his men, in turn, would gladly give their lives for him. It was a proven fact. And he would surely need trusted men around him if what he thought would happen turned out to be the truth.

He tried to begin his long journey from the Vale to Old Town as soon as he received information about Maester Luwin’s upcoming presentation at the Citadel. But all his planning was for nought since Lord Yohn had sent a treasure back to his home. And what a treasure it was. The ancestral sword of House Royce? Found after over a century by a mere boy and a drunken half-man? Stories had more fantasies in them, but reality seemed to throw a much greater shock of revelation. Runestone, or himself, was under strict order from the lord, all the history of House Royce must be dug up and rectified before the lord’s return from King’s Tourney. He only sighed as he combed through dusty tomes of centuries of House Royce history. A comprehensive report regarding the sword needed to be prepared as per Lord Royce’s instruction. He would have made the acolytes do the work, but he didn’t want to take the risk. Turmoil had come to his attention, after five long decades, he could feel the winds bringing a chill to shiver his bones. A feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time. He needed to prepare for the inevitability, he needed to gather more information, and for that, he needed to stay where he was.

“Maester Ken, welcome to the Citadel.” Once more he was brought out of his thoughts. He was truly getting older. A thought that made him grimace. He looked down from atop his pony, Acolyte Thornigold was standing in his garb of Citadel guard.

“Acolyte Thornigold, do you expect hostility from me?” Maester Ken asked.

Thornigold hurriedly shook his head. “No, Maester. Your man came and informed Archmaestar Theomalt of your arrival, and as I was just released from my shift, the Archmaester asked me if I could receive you and bring you to his solar.”

Maester Ken got off the saddle and arched his back. Several loud popping noises came from his old and stiff joints. “I am getting too old for these long travels. Even the ship from Gulltown wasn’t comfortable for me.”

Thornigold hastened to come to the side of the Maester with the intention to help him get steady on his feet. But the old Maester stopped him from doing so. He adjusted the satchel slung over his shoulder as he started to walk ahead.

“May I carry your satchel for you, Maester Ken?” Thornigold offered. The acolyte was well aware that the Maester of Runestone, despite not being an Archmaester himself, held enough sway within the walls of Citadel to accomplish almost anything he desired.

“My satchel stays with me, Thornigold,” Maester Ken replied in a cold voice. “I believe we were to go to the solar of Archmaester Theomalt?”

“Of course, Maester, I meant no offence, kindly forgive me.”

Maester Ken marched with his head held high despite the ache in his bones. He shouldn’t have been so aggressive to Thornigold, but he just couldn’t afford to be apart from his satchel. All of his findings, all of his studies were accumulated within the sheaf of parchment he carried in that satchel. If his doubts were proven right, the Secret Keepers would be in need of his information.

He stopped short before Theomalt’s solar and took a deep breath to calm himself. He knocked on the door.

“Archmaester Theomalt,” he called out to the older man sitting inside the room.

“Maester Ken, it is truly a pleasure to see you again.” Theomalt stood from his desk with a smile, “We had thought that you’d come earlier, Maester.”

Maester Ken entered the room and tried to rub the weariness off his face, “My thanks, Archmaester. Yes, I did plan to arrive quite early for Maester Luwin’s presentation. Much earlier than the Maester himself, in fact. But I had my duties to attend.”

“Ah, yes. I should have thought of that. The discovery of the Royce ancestral sword was sure to put some additional burden on your already quite full list.”

“Indeed,” Maester Ken agreed. He indicated to the chair at the front of Theomalt’s desk, “May I?”

“By all means. You must be starving. I will send for a platter of food.”

He called for the acolyte who had relieved Thornigold and asked him to fetch a food platter and some beverage.

“I had thought that the presentation would have been scheduled quite late. Imagine my shock when I heard about stories of the same on my way here.” Ken peered into the older man’s eyes.

“Ah, yes, the presentation.” Theomalt grimaced, “The Seneschal had to convene early because a request from Lord Hightower prodded him to.”

“Baelor? Since when did he start to interfere with the Citadel’s decisions?” Ken asked incredulously.

“Not Baelor, but Leyton Hightower.”

Ken sat silent for a long time, his disbelieving eyes never strayed from the wizened man’s face sitting opposite.

“Pardon me, Archmaester, but I thought you said Lord Leyton Hightower has come out of his self-inflicted isolation.”

“He did.” Theomalt nodded gravely, “It was quite surprising to hear that the old lord has suddenly made an appearance during the feast Lord Mace threw to honour the Northerners. I have heard tales that he then invited the Northern Bastard to sit with him at the High Table.” Theomalt shook his head at the absurdity of his tale. Ken was leaning in, trying to absorb each word coming out of the Archmaester’s mouth.

“And then?” Ken prompted.

With a sigh, the old Archmaester replied, “Then Lords Hightower and Tyrell together coaxed the Bastard to take part in the tourney. When they heard that the Northerners are solely here for Maester Luwin’s presentation, Lord Hightower quilled a request to the Seneschal, urging to move the date forward so that the Bastard can join the tourney.” He shook his head in disappointment, “It is truly a shame that the Citadel has to cater still to a lord’s whims.”

“All of a sudden, Lord Hightower came out of his isolation and integrated himself with the Northern Bastard? Didn’t anyone find that troubling?” Ken asked with a frown.

“That is not all, my friend.” Theomalt chuckled ruefully, “It appears that the Mad Maid of Hightower is cured. She has been out from her perch to roam about the town. I have seen her from afar, there hasn’t been even a shadow of her past delirium.”

Maester Ken leaned back in his seat, his face had taken an angry scowl.

“I am afraid the situation is much direr than I previously thought.”

“What situation? What are you talking about, old friend?”

Ken replied with his own question instead, “Have you heard any word of a Vale woman in recent times?”

Theomalt nodded slowly, “The only one of note would be the Pryor girl. I have heard that her brother and she have taken to travel with the Northerners. So much so, they are even living with the Northerners. What is the matter, Maester Ken?”

Ken shook his head, “I am afraid I cannot say more, Archmaester. How soon the Council of Keepers can be convened?

Theomalt, not taking his eyes off of the man sitting before him, waved a hand towards the open window, “Not until this farce of a tourney is over, I am afraid. Many have taken to reside at the Tower for the duration to save themselves the tedium of going back and forth. Lord Mace demanded the best of services, and his goodfather provided him with that. Can you give me a little indication?”

Ken shook his head, “I can’t, Maester, not now at least. But if you must know, then know this, history is repeating itself.” He looked at the older man pointedly.

Theomalt sighed, “Very well, I won’t ask you any further. But tell me, Maester Ken, if this time a proposal of becoming an Archmaester is placed before you, would you finally abide by our wishes?”

Ken smiled sadly, “I am afraid I must decline once again, Maester. You above all else know how much I wanted to become an Archmaester. It has been my dream for many years. But if my doubts are proven right, I am to stay where I am, for I will then need to account for the unforeseen difficulties.”

Theomalt reached out and patted Ken’s hand, “I understand, lad. I am well aware of the sacrifices you have made for your dream, for us. I pray to the Gods that you finally receive the reward for your hardships.”  He grabbed one of the still-ignored cups of ales and raised it. Ken copied his action.

“Tell me about acolyte Thornigold, Archmaester.”

Theomalt hummed in thought, “Loyal, hardworking. Cleaver but brutish when the situation calls for him to be. He does remind me of the younger you, Ken.”

Ken smirked, “Is it a wonder why I don’t like him much then? I cannot stand my past self.”

Theomalt laughed at his old pupil’s reply.

 

---

 

He didn’t know where he was being kept prisoner, or who it was that brought him here or on whose order. He was asked by the brothel master, Lyneas to attend to the man who came calling during the day. He, the patron, was quite into his cups if the slurring of his tongue and swaying feet were of any indication. He was a bit afraid of once more venturing out of the brothel’s safety after what had happened the last time he was asked to, but no one could say no to the brothel master’s orders if they were to retain their place and livelihood.

The creaking of the door broke him out of his musings and he turned towards the door of the room he was locked in. There stood a lad a little younger than him. He was truly confused, he had been expecting some grown men to come to either beat him, rape him or kill him. But now they had sent a little boy?

“Er… you want somethin’ to eat?” The boy asked.

Even though his clothes were of good quality, his tongue and manner of speech screamed his station, the same station he himself was born in, he had enough training in the brothel to discern the anomaly.

“Uh… yes, I could eat…” He replied carefully.

The younger boy nodded happily, he gave him a huge smile and opened the doors wider to come inside. He was carrying a small bundle in his other hand. He watched on silently as the boy padded towards the almost bare bed and put down the bundle. It turned out to contain a loaf of freshly baked bread, a wedge of cheese and a few strips of salted meat. There was water plenty in the pitcher at the corner of the room to quench his thirst.

The young boy looked at him expectantly, he was yet to move from his spot.

“Well… go on. Eat.”

He nodded and carefully reached for the bread. His hand stopped only an inch from it as he looked back at the boy, he received an encouraging smile to proceed. He tore a small chunk of the bread and stuffed it in his mouth. It was still pleasantly warm, he had to keep himself from moaning from its rich taste.

“My name is Kurt.”

He didn’t know when he had closed his eyes as he chewed on the fresh bread, which was quite a luxury for him. The boy had, in the meanwhile, poured a cup of water from the pitcher and handed it to him. He gave him a tiny nod of gratitude as he gulped the cold water.

“S-Satin, my name is Satin…” He stuttered a little. The boy, Kurt, only smiled at him. Satin concentrated on the food before him while keeping a wary eye on the boy. Once he was full and had a long chug of the cold water to wash the last of the cheese down, he thought to ask his next set of questions.

“Um… wh- where am I?”

“You are in our manse, innit?” Kurt cocked his head to a side, Satin knew that he asked the right question, but apparently to the wrong person. Still, he decided to test his fortune, well or ill – whatever it might be, a little more.

“An’ um… do ya know why I am here?” His nerves wiped the polish off of his speech.

Kurt nodded happily, “Milord an’ Ser wanted to speak with ya.”

However, Satin didn’t feel the assurance the reply Kurt thought would bring him. He was wanted by a lord, for a secret he never wanted to know or pass on. But who could make the nobles listen to the pleas of smallfolk? And wasn’t the lord’s brother a knight? The Lord himself was trying to earn the spurs if the rumours he had heard were true.

“T-truly?” He squeaked.

“Aye,” Kurt nodded happily, “I was tol’ to bring ya to them after ya finished yer meal.”

So the loaf of bread and the wedge of cheese were his last meal before his execution? He should count himself fortunate because he had heard about the gruel they serve at the Black Cells. His last meal was moderately better than that, or the bowl o’ brown from Flea Bottom. His meal at least consisted of meat.

Kurt jumped down from the bed, he was bouncing on his toes before the disbelieving eyes of Satin.

“Come on, then. They are waitin’ fer ya!”

Satin nodded reluctantly and slowly got to his feet. Kurt almost ran out of the room in excitement as he followed after the boy with stumbling feet.

The previous day, he hadn’t paid any mind to his surroundings. The man who got him out of the brothel had changed his behaviour that much abruptly that he had been scared witless since then. He was scared still, but there was a kind of calmness about his fear now. Did he accept his fate? Anyway, his eyes landed on the yard where a group of men were practising. There wasn’t any banner or colours of the house on display, but he was almost certain that he was among the Northerners. It didn’t make any sense to the youth. Why would the Northerners bring him into their midst?

Kurt led him to what seemed to him as the solar of the lord of the manse, and if his observation was correct, then it was the solar of Lord Robb Stark, the heir to the North. And his brother, the knight was none other than the White Wolf.

Kurt stopped before the closed doors and spoke quietly to one of the guards standing on either side. The man nodded and ducked inside the room. Kurt turned to face him.

“They’ll be seein’ ya now. I’m gonna go an’ find Maester Wade for me lessons now.”

Satin was even more confused; what lesson was the boy talking about? As far as he knew, no Maester ever went through the pains of teaching the smallfolk. He had learned his letters from the acolytes who frequented the brothel and if they were feeling generous.

The guard returned and held the door open for him. Satin took a deep breath and gave Kurt a grimacing smile.

“My thanks… for the meal…”

The near-empty solar had no other fixtures than the lord's desk and seat. Lord Robb was sitting behind the said desk with a few parchments on the desk along with a few quills and an inkpot. A single chair was placed before the desk which remained empty. The other occupant of the room, the White Wolf, was standing beside the window leaning lazily against the wall.

“Milords.” Satin bent from the waist as he was taught and greeted the lordlings.

“Your name is Satin?” Asked Lord Robb.

“Y-yes, milord.”

Lord Robb nodded. He turned his head to look at his brother, “Jon?”

Ser Jon straightened and walked forward to the desk. Satin could feel that his knees were trembling, he didn’t know for how long he would remain standing. Should he have relieved himself before following Kurt? He was sure that pissing inside of a lord’s solar would never be taken lightly. Would they exact the punishment before or after his beheading?

“You are afraid of us, Satin,” Ser Jon stated as he sat down on the desk. “I can assure you that neither I nor my brother wishes you harm. You have nothing to fear from us. We only wanted to have a few words with you. Go on,” he indicated with his head, “take the seat.”

Sitting down? In front of a noble-born? Not any noble-born but a future Lord Paramount? He was sure that his sweat would cause a flood inside of the room if he didn’t piss himself.

“Go on, lad, sit,” urged Lord Robb.

Gulping in fear, he tentatively reached out and touched the chair. When neither said a word, he sat down, painfully slow. The lordlings patiently waited for him.

“Excellent,” Ser Jon leaned forward rubbing his hands together. “I gather that you have recently acquired a very powerful enemy. We would like to hear about your account.”

His nails dug painfully into his palms to draw blood.

“I-I know nothin’, Ser… I tol’ no one. Please, don’ kill me…” he broke out in a sob.

Ser Jon reached out and grabbed his shoulder, making him flinch under the touch.

“Trust us, Satin, we don’t seek to harm you. We want to help you, and keep you alive. A very powerful individual, more powerful than any of us, asked us to help you. You are needed for the betterment of Seven Kingdoms, lad. The Realms of Men are in need of you.”

Satin didn’t know whether it was the knight’s gentle words or his unbelievable claims, but the boy did stop crying. Eyes bursting out of his sockets, he looked at the living legend sitting on the desk in front of him.

“I-I am jus’ Satin, Ser… jus’ a whore from Old Town… R-realms of Men…?”

Ser Jon removed his hand from his shoulder and sat back.

“Not long ago, I was just Jon. A bastard from the North. But fate made me Ser Jon, the White Wolf. Instead of being just a lowly bastard, albeit noble-born, now, I have become the Protector of Innocents, the Sword of Justice. We each have a role to play in fate’s game, my young friend.”

Satin still looked at the man with disbelieving eyes.

Ser Jon sighed, “Very well then, let me tell you a secret. Do you believe in the Gods?” Satin nodded, his look of incredulity had spoken in volume about what he thought of the man for asking him the question. “I do too. And I have met a woman of faith. She blessed me with this.” Ser Jon plucked a charm tied to a leather cord that hung around his neck. “It was her who asked us to lend a helping hand to you. She can speak with the Seven, lad. She is truly as powerful as I am saying. She said that you are an important cog in the Seven’s plans, and I would be damned if I don’t do my best to keep you alive. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Satin didn’t. Still, he nodded.

“Good, now, can you please tell us what you witnessed?”

Stutteringly, Satin told his story. He thought even if the Northerners were lying to him, he would abide by their ridiculous claims. They couldn’t kill him more than once, could they?

“I-I worked in Lyneas’ brothel from th’ day I could walk. Never knew me mum. Some say she was a whore, some say she was a lady. I never saw her. After me ten name-days, Lyneas trained me to become a bed-mate of visiting lords an’ ladies. He arranged for the acolytes to teach me letters. ‘Cause, he said, the lords an’ ladies like to fuck someone who can beg fer more in polished words. I… he was asked fer me more than any other boys or girls in the brothel. ‘Cause I speak sweetly, an’ can sing summat.

B-before the tourney, a young lord came ta me brothel, an’ asked fer me. He dinnit bed me there, but he took me inta the forest. He fucked me there sayin’ how much he liked me. He said he would visit me soon before leavin’ me to the brothel again.”

“You didn’t see this young lord before?” Ser Jon asked.

“No, Ser. Old Town has many travellers. An’ he dinnit wore his sigil or colours. I thought he was one of the passing traders or summat like that.”

Ser Jon nodded, “Go on…”

“I saw him again when you went ta Citadel with yer Maester, Ser. I saw him sittin’ beside Lord Tyrell. It was me day off an’ I wanted to see ya swing yer sword. I dinnit know his name so I asked. Summan tol’ me he was Lord Loras.”

Ser Jon and Lord Robb exchanged a look between them.

“He came fer me again the same day. An’ in the forest, when I called him by his name, he started to beat me. He was chockin’ me but there was noises in the forest. He left me on the ground and ran with his horse. I was hurtin’ to move so I lay there. I looked from between the branches. It was ye, milords. Ye went ta visit yer wolves, an’ that’s the noise chased the lord off. Ya saved me.” Satin was trembling. He had his head lowered and his arms wrapped around his torso.

“After you gone, I picked meself up an’ gone back. I thought ta leave by ship, but all o’ ‘em was under th’ command o’ Highgarden, I could tell by th’ colours they flew. I dinnit wanna run on foot. He will chase me down an’ kill me.”

A mug of cold water was placed under his nose.

“Drink this, lad, you will feel better.”

Satin grabbed the mug and drained it, nodding his head in thanks.

“Idiot!” Lord Robb growled, “What was he thinking? Nobody would recognize his face. He is the youngest son of the Lord Paramount!”

Ser Jon had gone back to the window and was looking outside. “Was he drunk, Satin?” He asked without turning.

“Yes, Ser… deep in his cups, he was… both days…”

“So,” Ser Jon turned around slowly, “when Loras Tyrell is drunk out of his gourd, he can’t contain his cock within his breeches, and afterwards when he is found, he tries to silence the voice.”

“Why would he want to kill Satin?”

Jon rubbed his face tiredly, “The lad now holds a threat over his head. If it comes out that the Lord of Reach’s youngest son prefers the company of men, he could be banished from the lands of his forefathers, if not summarily sent to the Wall to alleviate the shame he would bring to his family. On the other side, if the boy dies, it only would matter to his immediate acquaintances. For the rest of the crowd, he was just another whore who lost his life to one of his unsavoury patrons. Not a cause of concern, to the nobles of this city.”

Satin had gone white as bone. He had heard what the two lordlings before him were talking so carelessly about. He understood that his life meant nothing to these nobles, but… Ser Jon did swear that he wanted to help him, did he dare to hope for his mercy?  

“You do realize that your life is forfeit in this city, don’t you lad?” Satin was broken out of his thoughts by Ser Jon’s question.

“Y-yes, Ser.” He stammered.

“So, what do you want to do now?”

Satin grimaced, what could he do by staying? He would be dead, even if he swore to not reveal the lord’s secret, they would never let him be to become even more of a danger further down the road.

“I-I could leave…er… I don’ have any coin… but I can ask for a passage an’ pay my way by workin’ at the ship.” He offered.

“You want to leave the Seven Kingdoms?”

Satin shook his head, “I don’ wantin’ to, Ser… But them Tyrells won’t let me live…”

It was Lord Robb who spoke to him, “And if we are to give you another option, are you willing to trust us and abide by our plan?”

Again, Satin was rendered speechless, “Why would ya do that, milord? ‘M just a lowborn whore from Old Town.”

“As my brother told you, lad, we were asked by a woman of faith. Now, do you want to hear out our plan or not?” Receiving a nod, he continued, “You do know about our Maester who travels with us?” Another nod. “Well, his journey with us is at an end. He will be returning to Winterfell, and we, the Wolf Pack, will continue with our journey to the eastern continent. What I want you to consider is, travelling with our Maester. You will act as his acolyte on his way back to North. Do you think you can do that, Satin?”

“I-I know me letters an’ numbers summat, milord, but I ain’t good enough ta become an acolyte…” Satin stammered.

“We are not asking you to become an acolyte, lad,” Ser Jon spoke up this time, “we are merely asking you to act like one. A mummer’s farce, if you will.”

Satin nodded confusedly, “Um… I think I can…”

The lordlings nodded happily, “Good, we want you to act as our eyes and ears on the journey back. But the real purpose of your journey is to discreetly deliver a chest to Lord Howland Reed, the lord of Greywater Watch.”

“I’ve never been ta Greywater Watch, milords…”

“We are aware of that.” Lord Robb said as he pulled a piece of parchment back to him and started to write something on it, but he still spoke to the boy, “Chances are that Lord Reed will have his men there to receive you when you reach White Harbour. If not, you will then need to give this missive to Lord Manderly. He is to provide you with means to travel to the Moat and from there, to Greywater Watch.” The young lord rolled up the parchment he wrote and sealed with wax, making an impression of a direwolf sigil on the still soft material with a little bronze stamp.

Satin looked on as the young lords put together a small bundle that contained a small wooden chest, and what looked like an old and worn-out leather glove.

“Am I to stay at Greywater Watch, milord?” Satin wanted to know what they had thought about the rest of his life.

Ser Jon smiled at him, “That is a decision for you to make, lad. While House Reed may not be one of the wealthier houses, they will not turn you away if you decide to become a part of their household. But that will mean that you have to stay within the Marshland indefinitely. The rest of the North may not take kindly to you because you are from the south.

Or, you can travel further up north and visit the Wall. The Watch is always in need of capable men to serve. You can start your life there anew. It may not be an ideal life, but Northerners still think of it as a noble calling. There, if you take the black, you can become a brother of the Watch, and forever lose the blemish of being Satin, the whore of Old Town.”

Ser Jon sighed and looked down at his hands, “It may seem insincere if not cruel coming from me, for advising you of joining the watch… But if life had taken a different direction for me, mayhaps I would have donned the black cloak myself…”

Lord Robb reached over and patted the knight on his shoulder. The brothers looked into each other’s faces and seemingly had a silent conversation before they both nodded. Ser Jon turned to look at Satin once more.

“If you, however, decide to continue your journey to the wall, you should reach out for the First Ranger, Benjen Stark and the Maester of the Watch, Maester Aemon. Tell them that Robb Stark and Jon Snow sent you.”

Satin slowly nodded. He had a lot of things to mull over and to make certain decisions about the rest of his life.

[CotW]

“Hvat gerþúr hugshansr decision munu munu?” (What do you think his decision will be?)

“At er entirely inn hans hands, er þat eigi, bróðir? okkarr lady hugsr hon megdiscernr veileðinn images ór fate.  en fran hvat lorð bloodraven tolð oss, vér megeingar glimpse inn í futurerinn.  Þeir Mayeðar Mayeigir komtruer.  Fyrir hon sá sveinnrinn á á ór veggrinn mit mér.  Ok hí ek em, um til líðár sjaurinn kingdoms.  Okkarr paths Mayeigir kross inn þessi life again.” (That is entirely in his hands, is it not, brother? Our lady thinks she can discern the veiled images of fate... but from what Lord Bloodraven told us, we can only glimpse into the future. They may or may not come true. For she saw the boy on top of the Wall with me... And here I am, about to go beyond the Seven Kingdoms. Our paths may not cross in this life again.)

“Vér trieð til deter hann fran hans andlát, gerði eigi vér?” (We tried to deter him from his death, didn't we?)

“Mayhaps vér gerði, eðvérr eigeigir.  Vætki er setjinnr stone anymore, bróðir.” (Mayhaps we did, or we haven't. Nothing is set in stone anymore, brother.)

“Hvat eru vér til gernúr?” (What are we to do now?)

“Nú, vér þorfutilr ascertain at falconinn khick's frændagreesr til sail með okkarr missive, ok fyrir oss til ensconce khickinn hann sjálfr within hárinn tower.” (Now, we need to ascertain that the falcon chick's friend agrees to sail with our missive and for us to ensconce the chick himself within the high tower.)

 

---

 

The entirety of the city was enshrouded in a festive frame of mind, the grown men and women had a smile on their faces as they slowly made their way to the tourney ground. Running ahead of them were the children, waving sticks in their hands, pretending to be the knights they had seen fighting in the melee days prior. Only stopping their ever-busy feet to look at the passing noble on the horseback in reverence. For these men would participate in the joust on this day. Bedecked in their finery – from the armours they wore to the drapes on the back of their horses – the mounted men made quite intimidating figures.

But among them, rode in the group of four, trailed by a few of their men a little further, for whom the children broke their awed silence and cheered at the top of their lungs. For this group consisted of the famed White Wolf, the young knight who had made himself famous for his deeds at such a young age. And unlike the other nobles, this man never sneered at the unwashed masses but had a smile on his face when he looked at the cheering children and waved at them.

“They are going to be quite saddened when they learn that the White Wolf won’t be riding the tilt today.” Asher thought out loud.

Jon only shrugged, “I was never one to compete in jousting, we don’t see the need of doing that back at home. I only did it once for a certain reason.” He looked at his brothers pointedly.

“Nonetheless, you would need to take part in some of them. If not now, then in the future, for sure.” Torrhen, ever the voice of reason, returned the look.

“Aye, he does. And do not forget, quite a few ladies also expected to be crowned by Ser White Wolf. Instead, today they have to be content with Forrester.” Robb said with a smirk.

“Your faith in my abilities is astounding, Stark, but I could do without the veiled insults.” Asher snarked, making the others laugh.

“I wanted to speak with you about the joust, Asher…” Jon hesitated.

“What is it?”

With a sigh, he turned to look at the young man in his eyes, “If you go against the Chick, I want you to hold back…”

Asher frowned, “You want me to forfeit the bout to him?”

“Not deliberately, no, but you will need to make it look like he won after quite the struggle.”

“To entice the Rose even more, mayhaps?” Asher nodded understandingly.

“We can only hope. From what we heard, the elder brother is quite the rider himself, and the younger may be flashy with his swords, but still, was trained to ride the tilt since he could discern a horse’s head from its arse. I will have to look at the list and calculate your opponents. It is a possibility that you will be going up against one of them, if not today, then tomorrow or the day after. It seems that the Reach produces knights by dozens. Just take a look around us. We didn’t have this many participants in the melee as the men wanted a chance to get the purse for the joust and the bigger purse, along with the chance to be recognized by the Warden of the South, or moreover, his daughter.”

The observation was not wrong, for there were many mounted men on their way to the tourney ground. Noble lords of the Reach; knights and their squires; hedge knights; even one or two commoners from the ranks of the guards had come out for a chance to the winning purse. The Northerners were quite taken aback by the sheer number of men. They did come from a tourney at Kings’ Landing, but even the King’s Tourney didn’t boast this strong a number. If nothing else, it proved the strength of the Reach’s claim about being the host of one of the largest armies in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

“That would mean no wager this time.” Robb made a face.

“Father will tan your hide if he comes to know about your gambling, Robb,” Jon shook his head. “However, I don’t think you will have the chance to wager this time around. You are to convince the Forlorn Lady’s paramour to act as our little guard. Remember, you need to entice him enough so he could be persuaded to leave the Chick behind for a journey to White Harbour.”

Robb sobered up, “Aye, that should prove challenging enough.”

They stopped their conversation when a little girl ran forward to offer the flower in her hand to Jon. He leaned down from his saddle to accept the gift with a gentle smile on his face.

“Seeing them, I do feel guilty about leaving Kurt behind at the manse.” Robb looked down.

“And how else do you propose to keep an eye on our guest, brother? Kurt is a good lad, he knows his duties.”

“At his age, we would have snuck out of the manse to see the tourney at any cost.”

“That only proves the fact that Kurt is better than we ever were. If nothing else -” Jon suddenly stopped speaking. The others looked at him to find his gaze fixed on a small knot among the walking crowd, consisting of a few old men in Maester’s garbs. They failed to find any suspicious or threatening presence in their immediate vicinity for their brother to act in such a way.

“Jon?” Asher reached over and touched his shoulder, which seemed to jolt him back to his awareness.

“Forgive me, I was lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“What is it, Jon?”

“It was nothing, truly,” Jon smiled at his brothers, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We are finally here. Come, Asher, let us find our place.” He spurred Midnight from walking to a slow canter and pulled ahead of them, leaving the other three quite confused in his wake.

 

---

 

While the Lord of Highgarden could be called a pompous, vain man, his lady mother was nothing of that sort. The old lady from the houses Redwyne and Tyrell were one of the sharpest minds of Westeros, with an even sharper tongue. From her general appearances to her daily schedule, everything was planned to the utmost of her abilities to only make her family the strongest among all. And for that matter, she had invited the most sensible of her grandchildren – namely Wilas and Margaery, for a discussion of their observations and gleamed information, for she had neither the patience nor care of her son’s oafish behaviours, much like her late husband – Lord Luthor Tyrell, to her never-ending shame.

Margaery matched her gait to her brother’s as they approach their lady grandmother’s solar. Twin brothers Erryk and Arryk, the ever-faithful personal guards of Lady Olenna stood as still as stone-hewn statues on each side of the doors. Lady Olenna called them by Left and Right, she claimed that she could never distinguish between the twins, but Margaery thought differently. It could be yet another layer of the Queen of Thorn’s intrigue that she had layered upon her persona. For even she, as her loving granddaughter, doubted the frailness of her appearance. Nevertheless, she smiled brilliantly at the pair as they passed the doors. Wilas only gave them a nod.

“Grandmother!” She enthused as she almost bounded up to her seat and pecked her cheek. Wilas approached far more sedately as permitted by his lame leg and carefully bent down to place a small kiss of his own on the older lady’s other cheek.

“Yes, yes. My old shrivelled heart swells to see you this morning. Now, please close the door and take your seats. We have much to discuss.” Margaery dutifully obeyed and closed the doors, she was habituated to the rebukes. Harsh might her words be, her deeds were much harsher and it was all because the old lady had taken to heart the words of the house she married into – Growing Strong. Lady Olenna Tyrell would do anything she deemed worth to see her family’s ever-growing influence.

“Why don’t you start today, Wilas,” she looked pointedly at his eldest and the cleverest of her grandchildren. Sometimes she doubted Mace to be his and Margaery’s sire – for Garlan and Loras, she was certain of it.

“The most astonishing fact for me is still grandfather’s sudden appearance, and the subsequent miraculous recovery of Aunt Malora.” Wilas sighed in contentment as he leaned back in his seat, stretching his injured leg in front of him.

“I had a meeting with Gormon,” Olenna stopped to eat a small piece of cheese from the platter on the table. Her grandchildren were waiting eagerly for her to finish and continue the conversation. They knew asking her about it would prove nothing but their eagerness, and they were indeed eager. For Gormon was their granduncle, a brother to the late Lord Luthor, and a Maester of the Citadel. Anything he had to say in the matter of the ‘Miracle Maid’ as people had taken to call Malora Hightower, was to be intriguing for certain.

Olenna proceeded to sip a little wine after she finished her cheese. Wiping her mouth, she observed the pair of youths in front of her. Even though her face never showed it, she was quite amused to see their impatience.

“Gormon was baffled, obviously.” Olenna finally took pity on the pair, “It was not even two months since he and a few other Maesters went to check up on the Mad Maiden, and they didn’t see anything that could have indicated her recovery. However, now we are witness to a girl who, most shockingly, after spending more than a decade without any coherent thoughts of her own, appears to be the most learned individual outside of the Citadel. I heard from Gormon that Malora Hightower has engaged in a friendly debate with an acolyte on the verge of forging his bronze and red gold links as completion of his studies in history, money and accounts, believe it or not, the lass had the man loss for his words with her observation of some hard to agree with facts regarding the history of Westeros.”

“The Maesters can’t think of anything? Anything at all?” Margaery asked with a frown. It is rather strange and very much unbelievable, after all.

“Absolutely nothing.” Olenna said with a nod, “Appearance-wise, she was never neglected. Leyton had the oldest and most loyal of the household staff under his strict confidence and employ, solely to serve his daughter with utmost care. They were paid by the man himself and were ordered to cater solely for the two. They were to have no connection with the rest of the family.

So Malora, while insane, was never neglected. As for her speech and babblings. It was even stranger. Gormon said she spoke in a language which was unknown to most of the Maesters.”

“Most?” Asked Wilas.

“I wanted to see if you were paying attention.” Olenna gave an approving nod to her grandson. “Yes, I said most because only one of the men from Citadel apparently understood her babbles and tried to talk to her.”

“Who is this man, Grandmother?”

“Marwyn.” Olenna spat with disgust.

“Marwyn the Mage?!” Wilas said in a disbelieving tone, “He said he understood the madness?”

“Not the madness itself, no, but her babblings. He said she was speaking in Old Tongue-”

“Old Tongue? But that is the dead language from-” Margaery couldn’t help herself as she blurted it out.

“From the North. Yes, I know child. Now if you will stop interrupting me and let me continue?” Olenna snapped at the girl.

Suitably chastened, Margaery shrank back into her chair. “Forgive me, Grandmother.”

Olenna glared with narrowed eyes before she continued speaking. “According to Marwyn, Malora Hightower, who never set foot out of Old Town, suddenly developed a strange understanding of a dead language of another place. Well enough to carry out a conversation in the said language. Marwyn tried to convince the Maesters who regularly looked after the treatment of the girl, but they scoffed at the idea naturally. But the Mage made himself available to regularly attach himself to the Citadel contingent to check up on her. Leyton was said to learn some of it from the Mage to help his daughter, but at his age, he wasn’t able to take up a new language save for a few short phrases.

When asked, the Mage said that most of their conversation was about old lore, from all around the continent. Things about children’s tales and myths. Stories about kings of old and their legends. He said that these talks, while intriguing, were nothing of import to others. He tried to track down the acolyte who was teaching the girl her letters and numbers and supplied her with books to see if she took up those stories before she went mad, but I heard that search was for nought because the man was dead. He didn’t try for anything else.”

Wilas nodded thoughtfully, “Did Marwyn find some cure for her at his last visit?”

Olenna shook her head, “One would think so. But no, Marwyn didn’t visit her for over half a year. He was on another of his trips to Essos and didn’t return till the group already had their visit, which is once every three months. So, it wasn’t Marwyn who cured her.”

“Could the Northerners be responsible for this?” Margaery asked timidly, she didn’t want to be rebuked for a second time. But when she didn’t receive the scolding she expected, she jumped forth with her reasoning, “What I meant to say is, Grandfather broke his own rule and came out of his seclusion, only to dine and talk with the Northerners. He even ventured out of the keep for the first time in years only to watch the presentation of the Northerners. And the Maester of Winterfell is currently residing at the Citadel.”

Olenna nodded, “While possible, I can’t say it was the cause for certain. The Maester never came to the castle and while the lordlings did visit, none of them are trained in medicine. My source from North said that the Stark boys only attended for the basic lessons, well, the lord’s lessons for the heir and the more basic ones for the bastard. However, neither of them was inclined to medical learning. They were more interested in rolling around the mud as all boys do.”

Margaery had to put her hand up to her mouth to stop herself from snickering at the affronted look on Wilas’ face. While her eldest brother was more gentle and studious of the siblings, he too was quite fond of swordsmanship and jousting before his injury.

“The bastard was studious and was found often to be reading large tomes in their library,” Olenna continued, ignoring her granddaughter’s antics. “But they were all historical accounts that he read only to tell the stories to the Stark children later. But that was before they went away for their fosterage, and I don’t think that they became acclaimed healers or such while they were away.” 

“If it weren’t the Northerners, then what it could be?” Wilas asked.

With a heavy frown, Olenna replied, “That is a question I want the answer to more than anything. I don’t believe in miracles... or as Marwyn would have us believe, in magic.” She sighed and poured some more wine into her goblet. Sipping it, she observed the two over the rim. “Furthermore, a girl who never received any proper instruction after she was ten name-days old, now suddenly appears as a proper scholar, with all her behaviours apropos to her station? Her poise is perfect, manners impeccable. It is as if she had not spent the last decade and a half secluded in her rooms because of her mental instability. How is that possible? And her sudden religious urges? I hear she is a frequent visitor at the Starry Sept. Granted, I would become a devotee after recovering from a long illness. But not to the point of being second to a Septa? She herself has said to me that she doesn’t have any plan to join the Faith, then why does she spend most of her time with the Seven? What is she trying to hide?” Olenna said the last bits to herself before she shook her head to rid of those thoughts.

“That was my most concerning matter. What have you learned?”

From a silent discussion amongst them, Wilas was elected to present his information first.

“I have received credible information to complement the rumours we have been receiving that the Mountain was truly slain. It was not some drunken rumours as we are led to believe at first. Once again, the Bastard of Winterfell is at the centre of this story. He rode against the Mountain at one of the final bouts. After a few broken lances for the both of them, Ser Jon’s lance somehow found the gap between his helm and chest armour, the lancehead bypassed the gorget and pierced the soft area just under the man’s throat. It is also said that Ser Jon was the first to attend to the injured man. He was seen to try and staunch the bleeding till the Maester on duty arrived. But the Mountain was beyond anyone’s help. I believe it was only his physic that let the man cling to life and prolonged his suffering. Ser Jon, after getting the Maester’s confirmation, took a sword from his friend and granted him the mercy of death by beheading him.”

“So it wasn’t a planned assassination then?” Olenna asked.

“By the way the whole incident happened, I would say no to that. Helms are made to prevent this kind of accident. And even if somehow something gets lodged within the gap, the gorget is there to protect the part. I don’t think a man like the Mountain would be baring his throat to an opponent, and the said opponent would not have the time to aim his lance in that precise manner.

Furthermore, Ser Jon immediately after beheading the Mountain, surrendered himself to the King. I hear an impromptu council was convened with the King, the Hand and Lord Tywin where they asked the aiding Maester about his findings. The man corroborated what everyone saw and declared the whole thing as it was, an accident, so Ser Jon was deemed innocent and let go.”

“Very well, we shall move on from it then. What else?” Olenna urged.

“Once again, this next bit of information is regarding the Mountain.”

“What, don’t tell me that the man rose from his death?” Olenna snorted in her goblet.

“No, it was the fact that there was nothing of his corpse left to bury the man properly.”

It was fortunate that the older woman had already placed her goblet back on the table, else she would have choked on the wine. “What do you mean?” She spluttered, “I thought it was a simple beheading.”

“Oh, it was. But his corpse was vandalized while it was held in the vigil. And the biggest chunk they found was what remained of his left foot.”

Margaery had turned green hearing that gory description, but Olenna became short of breath.

“Targaryen loyalists?” She wheezed.

“No, hungry dogs.”

“Pardon?”

Wilas sighed as he put his empty goblet down on the table, he was thinking about pouring himself another one, but he too was afraid of his grandmother.

“The Mountain’s loyal men, who were holding his vigil, gorged themselves with food and wine in another room and left the body alone. They didn’t close the doors properly in their drunken revelry. It was the next day that some neighbour found a Gold Cloak petrol and complained to them about a quarrelling bunch of dogs making an unholy din. They came to the spot to find that the dogs were fighting over human body parts – the Mountain’s body parts.”

Margaery jumped to her feet and ran off to the privy. It didn’t shock Wilas as he was afraid that would be the result when his little sister heard the sorry tale right after the morning meal. But he was astounded by his grandmother’s reaction. The old lady had her head thrown back and was laughing a deep, belly laugh.

“It seems that fate has a great sense of humour. Eaten by dogs! House Clegane has the sigil of three dogs, is it not?”

“Yes, Grandmother.”

Lady Olenna was still chuckling when Margaery returned. “Forgive me, Grandmother, Wilas. I couldn’t control myself.” She was still looking a bit ill.

“Understandable, sweet girl. You are still much young. But you need to become better than that. You need to show the world that you are made of sterner stuff.”

Margaery nodded, “Yes, Grandmother, I promise that I will not let you down.”

“Anything else, Wilas?”

Wilas shook his head, “Further confirmation about the dragon eggs and the bandit activities on the Rose Road. I believe I have disclosed both of my findings before. Other than that, there was a spot of trouble in the city about a missing boy from a local brothel, I have nothing else.”

Olenna nodded, “Margaery, what have you, child?”

The girl took a deep breath to calm herself. It wouldn’t do for her to appear excited and say things out of sequence to her grandmother. The old lady wasn’t averse to tanning her hide if she had done so. Not even her father, the Lord Warden of South would have any say if that was to happen.

“As you wanted, Grandmother, I have tried to ingratiate myself with the Queen. But I am too young for her to confide in even by mistake. I tried to exchange places with Mother so she can get some information from the Queen, but I have my doubts about her success.”

Olenna impatiently waved her hand, “I already know that, girl. That is why I advised you to befriend the Princess. What have you learned from her?”

“Oh, I have heard the sweetest tales from her.” Margaery gushed, “Once more, the Northerners, or to be more precise, the Bastard paints a dominant figure in these tales. As you have heard, he won the jousting and declared the crown for the Queen. But what was lost in between the rumours was the fact that he apparently stood up on his saddle after declaring for the Queen and presented a blood rose from the said crown and hand it to the girl and declared her as his Princess of Love and Beauty. She appears to be quite smitten with the handsome knight.”

Olenna nodded thoughtfully, “Ned Stark’s bastard trying win favours with the King and his family. What is he after? Recognition, or legitimization? But after him earning the spurs, it is not recognition he would seek after, would he? Does he want to become a landed knight with the King’s blessing? A small lordship somewhere near the Crownsland, mayhaps. That would certainly be the more attractive reward for someone of his station.”

“Well, he may not be Ned Stark’s bastard, at all…” Margaery trailed off.

“You mean to say the other rumours about him being Brandon Stark’s get?”

Wilas cleared his throat for a way in the conversation, “That could be the truth, Grandmother. Granted, almost none of the people who were present at Harrenhal are alive now. But we have one such person within our household at Highgarden. The helper who assists my stablemaster was just a lad of thirteen name-days when he, along with his father who was a horsetrader, was there at the Tourney of Harrenhal. Neither Brandon Stark nor Ashara Dayne had forgettable personalities. The man swears in the name of his ancestors that he had seen the then heir of Winterfell in a quite compromising position with the lady of Starfall.”

“And the air was rife with various rumours and stories right after that accursed tourney. Rhaegar’s plan of naming a Grand Council or his plan to dethrone his father was prominent among them.” Olenna muttered.

“Prince Rhaeger planned to usurp his father’s crown?” Margaery asked excitedly.

Olenna waved her hand dismissively, “That was the talk within the shadows. And quite intriguing such talks were. After Duskendale, Aerys seemed to become madder by the day. The curse of the dragonblood afflicted him so that he himself became the cause of rifts between his relation and friendship with two other Great Houses. First, he insults Tywin Lannister by rejecting his offer of betrothal between Cersei and Rhaegar. Then he had the man removed from his position of the Hand of King.

Later, Aerys seemed to have employed the last of his cunning in removing Steffon Baratheon when he sent him and his wife to the eastern lands to find a proper wife for the Crown Prince. Their ship never returned to Stormfall. It is said that Stannis Baratheon saw his parents’ ship sinking from the castle when it came up against those traitorous rocks. None save a fool named Patchface made it alive to the shore.”

“It is of no wonder that King Roberts hates the Targaryens. His parents were killed off doing their bidding, then there was the whole affair about Lyanna Stark.” Margaery said sagely.

“Yes, quite.” Agreed Olenna, “As I was saying, the tourney at Harrenhal was supposed to be the secret convention of this so-called Grand Committee. But Aerys - through that eunuch Varys, no doubt – came to know about it and decided to visit the place himself. Then all seemed to fall apart from under everyone with the incident of that damned Knight of the Laughing Tree. And a couple of years later, the war broke out.

But it was the years in between leading to the year which should be our concern. Brandon Stark was called the Wild Wolf, for it was said that there was no maiden safe from his pounce. It’s a true wonder that there are no bastards by that man’s loin cropping up by the bunch. But in those years, he was said to be out of the North more than he stayed at his home. Visiting his betroth, they said, Hoster Tully’s eldest daughter. But was it true? Ashara Dayne also made quite a few journeys to and from Kings’ Landing and her home at Starfall during this time, with her being a handmaiden of Elia Martell.”

“So Jon Snow is truly Brandon Stark’s son?” Margaery wanted to know.

Olenna shook her head irritably, “For the lack of better proof, let us say he is. But why would Eddard Stark claim him as his bastard? To honour his dead brother? To spare his now wife but the then betrothed of Brandon Stark – Catelyn Tully of the heartbreak because of her betrothed’s dalliance? Or was it indeed true that Eddard was enamoured with the Lady of Starfall and tried to protect her name?”

“This White Wolf is as wild as the Brandon Stark if the rumours about him hold even a shadow of truth in them – Venturing over the Wall; racing down the Kingsroad with a direwolf on horseback; his battle prowess. And above all, he is the only warrior in recent history to proficiently wield dual swords – just the same as his apparent uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne. And all of these are apart from the very glaring fact, his purple eyes – eyes that the Daynes are famous to have been born with.” Wilas looked pointedly at his grandmother.

“Are you trying to say that the Dayne blood sings true within the wolf’s veins?”

Wilas only shrugged, “Mayhaps.”

Olenna hummed in thought, “It still doesn’t shed any light on the fact that Eddard Stark lied about the boy’s birth. Why did he do it? I want to see the man’s reaction by mentioning the bastard to him. Since the man is reluctant to leave his frozen hell, it will only be possible if we make the journey to him.”

Wilas smirked hearing the lady’s comment, “Mayhaps I can be of some help in that. I have recently received a missive from the North about increased orders of grains and fruits. Highgarden is quite within its rights to verify the talks of export taxes and other levies that may incur with this increased order.”

Margaery jumped in her seat, “Oh Grandmother, can I please accompany Wilas on his trip to the North? I am sure it will be a very enlightening journey.” She implored her grandmother with a wide-eyed look of innocence.

Olenna huffed at that, “Put those eyes away, girl. Don’t forget that it was I who taught you the trick. Wilas can make the journey, but you have to convince your father about accompanying him. I can’t make it because it will raise questions about the truthfulness of my ill health. But a visit to Winterfell is inevitable it seems.”

“Oh, thank you, Grandmother!” Margaery gushed. She was quite certain that her father wouldn’t be able to say no to her. It was her grandmother who would have raised an objection. As for her mother, neither her father nor grandmother paid any mind to her. So, Margaery was already planning the journey to the North in her mind. She was only broken out of her thoughts when her grandmother spoke directly to her.

“We have deviated quite far from what you were saying, child. Now, please continue.”

“Oh, of course.” She took a moment to rearrange her thoughts, “So, Ser Jon has declared the Queen and her daughter, the Princess as his Queen and Princess of Love and Beauty. Of course, that alone seems nothing out of the sort. But do you know that the Queen had the knight break his fast with her afterwards?”

Olella was startled hearing that, “Truly?”

“Truly, Grandmother. The Princess let it slip out during our talks. She has also seen her mother observing Ser Jon and his brothers practising in the yard quite regularly after the tourney. And then there was the dance here at Castle Hightower. None of you was at the floor so mayhaps you haven’t seen it as clearly as I, but I would put the dance of the Queen and the knight of one between lovers.”

Olenna was agog, she almost salivated hearing that, “Lovers, you say?”

Margaery nodded enthusiastically, “I can only wish that my future betroth deems to dance with me in such a way if Father doesn’t flog him for indecency. The Queen clung to him and won’t let go of him if it wasn’t for Meera informing Ser Jon about her brother’s overindulgence with the wine and throwing up. The knight left without a backward glance, but the Queen looked at his departing form with deep longing, and later, she would have set Meera on fire if she could for her daring to interrupt them. I saw the whole thing, Grandmother.”

Olenna leaned back with a devious smile on her face, “Imagine the stories that may make the rounds. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms chasing after a bastard - highborn yes, but a bastard nonetheless – a young man who is also the son of her husband, the King’s best friend. Now, the question is, shall we use this, or sit on it to reveal it at the right moment? What do you think?”

Margaery shrugged, “We should reveal it. It will cause a rift between the King and Eddard Stark, which could prove profitable for us.”

Olenna nodded, “Wilas?”

Wilas drummed his fingers on the table in deep thought, “If you ask me, I would say to hold on to that information.”

Both the grandmother and granddaughter frowned upon hearing that, “Explain yourself, Wilas!”

“Please, hear me out. Right at this moment, Ser Jon can do no wrong. The smallfolk love him. The lords from his lands sing praises of him. The King and the Hand both feel ingratiated with him because he helped uncover the Mad King’s scheme of wildfire. In addition, he contributed to the Royal Coffer by discovering dragon eggs. Yes, it did cause us some strife without our leverage of the increment of loans or taxes and thus stopping us from negotiating some favours. But in the end, if we remain patient, the tide will turn in our direction once again. I do have faith in the King’s frivolous nature. Who is to say that we won’t be seeing bigger tourneys with larger winners’ purses in immediate future?

On the other hand, we have Tywin Lannister. Queen Cersei is his daughter, so the Old Lion would come after anyone who would point a finger. And let us not forget that Ser Jon did quite a few good deeds for House Lannister in recent times. First, he made sure that the lion’s share of the praises finds their way towards Tyrion Lannister. Then he made it possible for Tywin’s other son, Jaime to absolve his sins from Robert’s Rebellion of killing the Mad King. You do remember their unspoken words, don’t you – A Lannister always pays his debt.”

Olenna sat quietly, pondering the words of her grandson. Wilas continued –

“At this moment, we are not in any favour with the Crown. If we dare to fling mud in any of these three directions, it would prove detrimental to us. Stannis Baratheon, moreover than Robert, is yet to forgive the Reach for the Siege of Storms’ End. Renly, truthfully speaking, is a pompous idiot without any substance in him. We may use him for our purposes, but we first needed to gain that position. After we make sure that we have all our defences covered, then we should let our arms bare.”

Olenna mulled it over in silence. Finally, she spoke her opinion, “Very well. We will abide by your suggestions, Wilas. We shall be patient for the time being. But you need to make the journey to Winterfell as early as you can.” She turned towards Margaery and held her hand up to stop the girl from speaking as she had just opened her mouth to do so, “And you… You are free to join your brother if you can convince your father of it.”

Margaery nearly jumped out of her seat, “Of course, Grandmother! I shall go right now to ask him for permission! May I be excused?”

“Yes, you may.”

Wilas watched as his sister quickly marched out of the room. He turned back to the Queen of Thorns.

“I should start preparing for her also, should I?”

Olenna scoffed, “Of course, you should. I do not doubt that your oaf of a father would be able to say no to her. Why couldn’t I have borne a son with a modicum of intelligence…”

Wilas chuckled as he left the old woman muttering angrily about the idiocy of her son, the lord of Highgarden.

 

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He cursed fate for the weariness that settled in his bones. He had spent a long day sitting under the sun, sweating and enduring the raucous around him. Never in a hundred years would he understand why others love experiencing this. Was it the feeling of rippling flesh between their legs that drove men to ride the horses as hard as they could? Was it the air in their faces? It certainly couldn’t be the long wooden sticks they were wielding about to maim each other, could they? And the fools all around him cheered those feckless brutes on. Was it any wonder that the entire continent was suffering as it had been?

He was broken out of his thoughts as a pair of drunkards jostled him out of the way. They were singing songs about some knight’s bravery. Truly, their idiocy knew no bounds. He was almost sure that such a brave and chivalrous knight had never even seen a proper battlefield, and these fools thought him to be the warrior reborn. He felt the need to quicken his pace lest he became infected with such foolishness himself.

An urgent need to relieve himself forced him to go inside the small cove of trees near the statue of Dearon I. He went behind a tree and hiked his robes up to squat and take a piss. He was in the middle of his business when he thought that he had heard something or someone come towards him. He thought to make his presence known.

“I will be done in a moment!”

The expected reply never came, however. Nor was there any indication that someone came after him with similar needs. He frowned slightly, could he have heard it wrong? He got up after finishing and adjusted his small clothes. He walked around the tree and started to get out on the main street, but something felt odd to him. Was there truly no one? He looked back over his shoulder but couldn’t see anything other than the shadows cast by the lights of the dying sun. Shrugging, he turned to continue on his way.

Suddenly, pain erupted in his chest. Looking down, he found something protruding out of the right side of his chest. Its metallic and pointy head was telling him that whatever this thing was, it had ruptured his lung. He coughed and felt the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He knew his lung was getting filled with blood. But, there was a tugging sensation and he felt his feet leaving the ground. The pain in his chest doubled as he almost lost his senses from the pain. His head was spinning, there was some strange buzzing noise in his ears and he was short of his breath, of course.

Even in his pain-filled delirium, he had not mistaken the sound of footfall this time. For certain, there was someone either behind him or just beyond his immediate visible area. He couldn’t turn around to see. This hook or somewhat of the like which was used to hang him from a tree is making him suffer like he never had before. He could feel the flesh in his chest tearing open from his own body weight as it made the shaft of that hook thing dig deeper.

“Wh-who…” He tried to say but couldn’t form the words. His hands struggled to feel up the side of his body. He wanted to be certain that he was attacked by some bandit.

He heard the footsteps again. But this time, the person did come into his view. If he wasn’t gasping from the pain in his chest, he would certainly have been yelling for help. For he knew the person… or rather, he knew the garb that the person wore. He had seen this garb almost half a century ago. The same hooded garb in a dark colour haunted his dreams. The same fear that drove him to travel to his haven with all the haste, to begin with. Even in his fear, he felt justified that his theories were correct.

“Haytham Kenway!” The person spoke in a raspy voice, not unlike the one he had heard before, a long time ago. But there was something wrong. It was a voice that belong to a male. How could that be?

“For the conspiracy against the Lady Mary of House Reed,” the man continued, “for your betrayal against her person, and ultimately, for being instrumental in her painful and lonely death, I sentence you to die!”

He feebly tried to move, to scream… to do anything to stay the hand of this madman, but the pain and the blood loss had stolen his strength away. He could feel his almost empty bowel losing whatever remained in them.

*Snikt!*

The unmistakable sound of a blade leaving its sheath seemed loud within the shadowy place.

He wanted to protest. He had so many questions to ask. He had so many things to say. But he couldn’t get the chance as another pain bloomed in his throat. He could feel something sharp tearing its way through right into his brain. His vision turned black.

In the end, Haytham Kenway, Maester Ken in his later years, knew nothing but pain in his last moments.

As the late Maester’s body was cut loose and dropped unceremoniously on the ground, a whispered phrase blew with the evening breeze –

“Mayþinnr soul vitpeacer!” (May your soul find peace.)