Wolves of the North (ASOIAF FanFic)

[notbirdofprey]

That's a very Tywin plan.

 

[SSgtC]

Arya

Her uproarious laugh filled the canyon and echoed back at her off the steep granite walls of the ravine leading to the Bloody Gate. The Knight of the Bloody Gate had just told Sandor Clegane that her Aunt, Lady Lysa Arryn, was dead. He had intended to ransom her to her Aunt. Well, that wasn't happening now. And while it was very sad that yet another member of her family had died, albeit one that she didn't really know, she could not get over the sheer irony of it. Or the look on Sandor's stupid, burned face. It was more than enough to send her into paroxysms of laughter.

She just about had it under control when the Hound scowled at her and told her to shut up and that just served to set her laughter off anew. This time she was laughing so hard at Sandor's misfortune that she was doubled over and barely able to breath. Sandor had started to turn away from the gate when the Knight of the Gate said:

"Wait. If that really is Arya Stark, we've heard a rumor that her brother has been declared King in the North. You might try taking her there."

"You're a dumb cunt, aren't you?" Sandor asked. "Her brother is dead, killed at The Twins. We were there and just barely escaped with our lives."

"No, not that one you burned bastard. There's a new one."

What?! That brought her laughter to an abrupt end. Before Sandor could get another word out, she responded to the Knight, "What brother? Bran? Rickon?"

"No, neither of those. The Bastard of Winterfell. Least ways, that's what we've heard."

Jon was King? When? How? He was a bastard and a man of the Night's Watch. How could he be King?

"What else have you heard?" Sandor asked.

"Not much. Just more rumors. We've heard that he came down from Castle Black and took back Winterfell with an army of Wildlings at his back."

Grunting, Sandor told her to come on and they made their way out of the ravine. Arya was in shock. If the rumors were true, her brother was at Winterfell. Her brother was King. Her head was spinning wildly. Sandor was telling her something, but she couldn't understand what he was saying. That was when he grabbed her arm and shook her roughly, snapping her out of her stupor. She started to glance at Sandor out of the corner of her eye. Would he take her to Winterfell? Or would he say "fuck it" and leave her to fend for herself? Or even kill her himself as a burden? Could she kill him while he slept maybe?

Sandor read her look perfectly. In his gruff tone he told her:

"Don't even think about it girl. You could never kill me. Not even when I'm sleeping. I'll get you home to Winterfell. Surely someone there will pay for you. You and your bastard brother close?"

"His name is Jon, not bastard. And yes, we're close. He's the one who gave me Needle."

"Still can't believe you named your sword 'Needle'. Stupid fucking name."

"Not as stupid as 'Sandor' or 'Hound.'"

The rest of the day was spent largely in silence as the two fugitives rode away from the Bloody Gate. By the time evening came they had reached the crossroads where the High Road met the King's Road and the inn that was there. Riding up to the inn, they walked inside, paid for a room and then sat in the common room and ordered their dinner. While waiting for the innkeeper to bring them their roast chicken, Arya spied two faces she knew well at the far end of the room. They were two of the names on her list, the Tickler and Polliver. And Polliver had Needle on his belt. Along with them was a boy maybe a year or two older than herself with a face full of pimples.

They didn't notice them at first and Arya did her best to ignore them so she wouldn't draw their attention. But shortly after the innkeeper brought them their roast chicken and vegetables, she saw Polliver nudge his companion and say something to him before all three of them got up and made their way to the table she and the Hound were at. It was just her luck that they knew who the Hound was. But really, who wouldn't know who he was with his burned and ruined face? The two of them, along with the pimply faced squire they had with them, invited themselves to their table to talk. Arya did her best to keep her head down and concentrate on her food. But when Sandor said "Fuck the King," all hell broke loose.

Rolling her eyes at his monumental stupidity, Arya snatched up the knife that was by her hand that she had been using to carve up her chicken. Lunging at the pimply squire, she had the knife buried in his gut with his blood streaming over her hand before he could blink. Behind her, she could hear the clash of steel as Sandor fought the other two. Ripping the knife from the squire, who was only just now registering what had happened to him, she plunged the blade back into him over and over again. She looked in his eyes as the life faded from them and, remembering what her friend Jaqen H'ghar had said to her, she told the squire, "Valar morghulis."

Standing up from her grisly kill and with the squire's blood dripping from her knife, she turned to see Sandor still fighting the other two. With a scream, Arya launched herself at the unarmored back of the Tickler and plunged her knife into his back. As the blade went in, she felt it grate against something hard and the Tickler suddenly fell to the ground, unable to control his legs. Arya rode his body to the ground before pulling the knife out of his back. Tilting his head back with one hand on his forehead, Arya whispered the questions she heard him asking the smallfolk he tortured at Harrenhall. As his eyes grew wide at the realization that justice had come for him, Arya whispered one last thing in his ear: "My name is Arya Stark of Winterfell. And Winter has come for you." With that, she slowly dragged the bloody blade of her dagger across his throat and watched the life flow out of him.

Looking up, she saw the Hound standing over her, his sword dripping Polliver's blood onto the stone floor of the Inn. Looking at her, Sandor said, "And people say I'm scary. You try that shit with me girl, and I'll gut you like a fish."

Nodding, Arya looked down on the body of the Tickler. She thought about spitting in his face, but she just couldn't muster up enough will to care that much. Getting to her feet, she walked over to Polliver's body and pulled Needle from his belt and put it back in it's rightful place on her own. Staring down at the body, Arya realized that she felt nothing. No disgust at the fact that she had killed two men, no anger that she hadn't gotten to kill all three, no relief or happiness that two of the names on her list were dead. She didn't know how to feel about that. It didn't bother her, exactly. It was just unexpected. She'd fantasied about this moment so much, but when it came right down to it, the moment was over so fast that she had barely registered what had happened. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned away from the bodies and headed back to the table she had shared with Sandor. Obviously they wouldn't be staying at the inn now. Hells, they wouldn't even stay long enough to finish their meal. But it would be stupid to waste the food.

Grabbing the food from the table, she spied an empty haversack and pilled the food into it so they could take it with them. Sandor was already heading out the door towards the stables, having taken the liberty of removing the few stags and pennies from the bodies in the inn while she had taken care of their food. Once they were saddled up, the two of them quickly rode out of the yard and up the King's Road toward Moat Cailin.

That night at the cold camp they made in the woods off the road, she asked Sandor, "So how do you plan to get past Moat Cailin? It's held by the Ironborn. They're not going to just let us ride right through."

"There are trails and paths to the west that a small party can get through where an army would drown. The North isn't as safe behind those ruined towers as your wet nurse probably told you. A handful of men with the right skills could raise pure bloody hell if they wanted to."

That was information that Arya filed away. Sandor seemed to like her and would occasionally let something slip that he might not have if he was around someone he thought he might have to fight one day. And the fact that raiding parties could slip through the swamps surrounding Moat Cailin was one such piece of information. If they made it safe to Winterfell she would have to tell Jon about that. Maybe Jon could have the Reeds patrol that area better?

The journey through the Neck was not a journey that Arya cared to remember. It was wet, dirty, cold and it stank. She didn't mind getting wet and dirty so much, but the stink of the swamps clung to them for days after their passage through them. And if she concentrated, she was pretty sure she could still smell it on them, despite having bathed a few times since reaching the North.

It was strange for her though. This was her home, the land she grew up in where she should feel safest. Yet they still moved about the land like two poachers afraid of getting caught and sent to the Wall. Sandor insisted on moving this way because the Ironborn still prowled across the land and he had no clue which houses had declared for Jon and which had declared for the Boltons. And giving her to the Boltons was one sure way to make sure he never saw a single penny in ransom. Hells, it would probably see him losing his head instead. So they moved slowly and cautiously. Well, at least until they caught sight of the towers of Winterfell on the horizon. Arya felt her eyes widen and moisten. Home. She was home at last.

That was when she snapped out of her reverie. She heard something, off to her right. It sounded like a twig breaking when someone stepped on it. No animal would be so careless. Glancing at Sandor, she saw his shoulders had almost imperceptibly tensed, so he had heard it too. In that instant, Sandor wheeled his horse and charged the brush where she had heard the noise come from. His great sword cleared its scabbard even as his horse broke into a gallop. With a start, Arya realized that she was also charging the brush, with Needle in her hand and a wordless scream coming from her throat.

As their horses crashed into the brush, she saw two people struggling through the undergrowth toward a clearing by a heart tree. One was dressed in little more than rags while the other seemed to be in ill fitting clothes. Judging by the sounds coming from that one, it was a woman dressed in men's clothing, much as she was as well. When the girl turned to face her, Arya pulled up short. She knew her! Jeyne Poole? What in the name of the Old Gods was she doing here? Arya had thought she was dead, killed in King's Landing the day that bitch Cersei turned her men lose on them. Instead she was here, outside Winterfell.

Realizing that his companion was about to be captured, the man she was with finally ended his headlong flight and turned to face them with nothing but a dagger in his hands and terror in his eyes. She thought that he looked familiar, but she couldn't be sure. When the man saw who was attacking them though, his eyes widened and he dropped the knife and fell to his knees.

"Wait!" Arya screamed at Sandor, mere moments before his sword would have descended and sliced the head off the man on the ground. With a grunt of effort, Sandor managed to stop the blade inches from the man's neck.

"What now, girl?" Sandor growled. "I thought you weren't squeamish about seeing a little blood?"

"I know them. At least I think I do."

Looking at the girl, Arya asked, "Jeyne? Is that you? I thought you were dead?"

"It's me, Lady Arya. And I wish I was dead. That I'm not is surely some cruel jape by the Gods."

What the fucking hells was this? Arya wondered. Jeyne had never been this quiet, withdrawn or self-loathing.

"How do I know it's really you? You don't sound like the Jeyne I remember."

"Sansa and I used to make fun of you and call you Arya Horseface and insult your needlework with Septa Mordane," Jeyne said in a small, terrified voice. Did Jeyne really think she would hurt or kill her? She had hated her for calling her that, but that was years ago and she had changed dramatically in that time.

"Jeyne, I'm not going to hurt you. What are you doing here? And who is that you're traveling with?"

The man answered for Jeyne. "Lady Stark, my name is Theon Greyjoy. I was helping Lady Poole escape from the Boltons where she was forcibly married to Ramsay Bolton, with the Boltons claiming that she was you. We were running to Winterfell."

"TRAITIOR!" Arya screamed. "You betrayed Robb! You betrayed Father! You betrayed us all! You killed Bran and Rickon!"

Leaping down from her horse, Arya stalked up to Theon with murderous intent. She had heard all about how Theon had killed and burned Bran and Rickon from people that were traveling on the road. It was all some people in the North could talk about, how Theon had pissed all over the man that had raised him by killing his sons. She had happily added his name to her list after that. She was sure that she would enjoy this kill.

"Don't kill him! Please!" Jeyne shouted. "He saved me from the Boltons, he's protected me as we ran from them. He killed Ramsay Bolton to save me. Please don't kill him!"

That brought Arya to a pause. She still wanted the traitorous cunt dead. And he had still murdered her brothers, regardless of what he had done since. With that realization, she started to move back toward Theon.

"I didn't. I didn't. I didn't," Theon was blubbering. In between sobs, he said, "I didn't kill Bran...Didn't kill Rickon...Just two farm boys...Had to make people think I did...So I burned them after...Didn't kill them...Didn't kill them...Didn't kill them."

Bran and Rickon were alive?! Could she trust him to tell the truth? He could be lying. But he was shaking in terror and continually blubbering about how he didn't kill them. Coming to a decision, she put Needle under Theon's chin and told him in a voice that was as cold and full of ice as the Wall, "Get to your feet, traitor. You're coming with us to Winterfell. And once there, you will answer for your crimes. I wonder what your head will look like decorating a spike?"

 

[SSgtC]

Brynden

Gravel crunched under the keel as the long boat slid onto the Stoney Shore in the North. Fuck but it was cold up here. It was still summer but there was frost on the ground and he could see snow under some of the trees. They had been sailing only at night and holing up during the day to stay hidden from the Ironborn that were off the coast. It had been a long journey to get here. And though they were here now, they could not afford to let their guard down for one moment. The Ironborn still controlled this coast and he didn't know if any of the Northern Houses in the area had declared for the Boltons.

Brynden set about quickly organising his party. Though they had fled Riverrun quickly, he had evacuated the entire castle household and therefore had a very large party. And it had grown larger enroute with the addition of Tytos Blackwood's children and a guard force from Raventree Hall to protect them. In all, he had nearly three hundred people with him, though of those, only about one hundred and thirty were fighting men. The rest were children, maids, scullery wenches, cooks, blacksmiths, stable boys, garderners, washing girls and all the other people that were needed to run a household. He supposed he could count on some of the older boys to fight along with the blacksmiths, but truth be told, he wanted to avoid a fight if at all possible.

As a third of his fighting men began leaving the beach, with scouts flung out wide to give them a good warning in case anyone wanted to ambush him, Brynden and the rest of the men with him pushed the boat they had sailed onto the beach out into deeper water where the current would hopefully carry it away and it wouldn't immediately lead the Ironborn to him. Offshore, the ship that Tytos had given them was already drifting away, Brynden himself had cut the ship's anchor cable in the hope that the ship would ground far away from them and lead the Ironborn away them. Once the long boat was drifting away, the rest of the coloumn left the beach and shook out into order and began to make their way inland with the ultimate destination of Winterfell.

A week later they were still in sight of the shore. The Gods damn Ironborn patrolled this area far more heavily than he thought they would, or even could. His scouts had managed to capture a few less than alert Ironborn and following some...intensive...interogation, one of the scum had given up the information that one of thier longships had seen an abandoned ship washed up on shore just a few leagues from here so patrols had been stepped up. And they had heard rumours that the Starks had retaken Winterfell and were preparing a force to throw them back into the sea, which had raised their vigilance yet again.

Of all the God's damned luck. He had hoped that the fucking boat would have been carried further offshore to maybe wash up by the Wall. Instead the damn thing had landed only a few miles away. Only the Ironborn's incompetence on land had let his group survive as long as they had. He'd considered ordering everyone to split up and make their way to Winterfell on their own. But that just sounded like a real good way to get everyone killed in penny packets. So eventually, he'd decided on their current course of action. Since they couldn't reach Winterfell, they would head for Bear Island.

It was the wrong damn direction, but they couldn't get to the North's capital on their own. It was a risk, trusting another House, but neither Maege Mormont nor her daughters were the kind of person that would turn their cloak. Not like that cunt Theon. So they were making their way to Bear Island. Or rather, they were trying to get to Bear Island. But dealing with the Ironborn was proving to be more troublesome than he had planned.

After days of little progress and more close calls than he could count, Brynden was on the verge of ordering his group to split up anyway. That was when one of his scouts came up to him and told him that they had found a mounted column of Northmen making their way down the coast. And they were flying the rearing bear banners of House Mormont. Brynden almost sagged with relief. Almost instantly, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Now his people would be protected.

An hour latter, and Alysanne Mormont was in his camp. She had three hundred men with her and was moving along the Stony Shore burning every Ironborn longship she found. She had recieved a raven from Winterfell with orders from her King. She was putting every longship she found to the torch and cutting off the Ironborn in the North from the sea. She and her company of men were moving to attack a group of three ships that they had seen earlier that were making their way into the shore. Considering who Brynden was escorting, Alysanne agreed that, once those three ships and the Ironborn they were carrying were destroyed, she and her men would escort them safely to Winterfell.

Shortly afterwards, they were in a good ambush position and were observing the raping scum come ashore. Brynden let out a very quiet grunt of surprise. Their Captain was a woman. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at that considering who was crouching next to him, but it was odd for the Ironborn. That was when it clicked for him. That was Balon Greygoy's daughter. She would be an invaluable hostage to have. And judging by the number of men with her, they had her outnumbered over two-to-one. Looking at Alysane, he cocked an eyebrow at her and she just grinned and nodded. This couldn't have worked it out better for them if they'd planned it.

And then it did get better, and worse. Alysanne grunted and then cursed under her breath. Brynden gave her a questiong look and Alysanne leaned close and whispered to him:

"The Greyjoy girl has Sybelle Glover with her. Sybelle was forced to yeild Deepwood Motte to the Greyjoys when the Ironborn invaded and she's been a captive ever since. They were keeping her with her children in Deepwood Motte, but they must have used her as a shield on the seas to keep from being attacked and have someone risk killing her."

Damn, Brynden thought. If they could free her from the Ironborn, it would be sure to win and his people a great deal of grattitude in the North. But with her there, they couldn't use their archers they way they had planned to originally. The risk of a stray arrow killing her was just too high. Brynden quickly reevaluated their plans and suggested a few changes to Alysanne who, after a moments consideration, agreed. Each of them quickly sent off a runner to change the instructions their men had. All that was left to do now was settle in and wait until the right moment came to attack.

That moment came right after the bulk of the Ironborn force left the beach and began to head inland. Thier battle plan was straightforward and simple. They were going to take about half their forces and attack the ships on the beach. Hopefully, the Greygirl would take the bait, turn around and counterattack them on the beach. And while it was dangerous to let yourself get trapped between two different forces, they were really springing a trap of their own. With a little luck, the Greyjoys would think that the Northern commander made a mistake and rushed into an attack without waiting for her main force to clear the area. And after she had launched her own attack, the rest of the combined Northern and Riverlands force would fall on her main body and destroy them.

Brynden had volunteered to lead the attack on the beach. It was the most dangerous command and his men would be pressed and pressed hard in the fighting. They would need every experienced fighter they could get to keep them steady until the rest of the force could join the fight and relieve them.

Thats what saw him leading the charge down on the beach now. As he and his men emerged from the trees and began rushing down the beach to fall on the Ironborn, he saw flaming arrows soaring over his head. With a predatory grin, he watched as nearly half of them reached their targets and landed solidly on the longships pulled up on shore. On one of them, an arrow had landed in the furled sail. The flames from the oil soaked arrow found a ready fuel source in the canvas and tarred rope and that ship was soon burning hard and fast with a bright flame. It didn't take long before the flames had spread to the other two ships as well. The heat from the three flaming pyres that had one been ships blasted the beach with a ferocity that he hadn't thought possible.

With a roar, his men crashed into the few sailors left behind to protect the ships. Brynden swung his sword and felt its blade bite deep into flesh and bone. Its keen edge and strong castle forged steel sliced through the boiled leather armor of the sailor he had targeted as if was butter. Wrenching his blade free from the chest of the soon-to-be dead man, Brynden brought his sword up just in time to block a strike from a big man in chain mail. What the man lacked in style and technique, he more than made up for in savagery and strength. His contsant rain of blows keep Brynden on his heels. In a duel, the man with the better technique would win ninety-nine times out of a hundred. But in a mele brawl like this? His odds were no better than fifty-fifty. For the Blackfish, luck was on his side. The man he was fighting left himself over extended on a powerfull overhand strike, and Brynden took the opportunity to slip inside his guard and drive his sword into the man's gut and out his back before wrenching it free and watching the Ironborn's guts spill out on the ground between them.

All around him, men were screaming and dying. The sound of steel ringing against steel filled the air. The smell of the sea, of sweaty bodies pressed in close together, of dust and sand kicked into the air and of blood spilled on the ground filled Brynden's nostrils. The heat from the flaming ships was scorching his face and making the beach hotter than a blacksmith's forge. The Ironborn on the beach had contracted down to a knot of men in front of their burning ships. They were sailors and had instinctivly tried to retreat to the safety of the sea, the rush of battle making them react only on instinct instead of reason, thier burning ships never entered their minds. As his men closed in on the knot sailors, he heard the rest of the Greyjoy force returning to try and wipe him out. With the thick, oily smoke hanging heavily in the air giving all the proof they would need to know that their ships were burning, they would likely be out for blood. Brynden grinned. The fucking squids were about to get buggered up their arse.

With the Ironborn returning, Brynden ordered half his men to turn and face them. This was the moment he was here for. The moment that presented him the maximum amount of danager. If Alysanne didn't launch her own attack in time, or the Ironborn were able to hold her off, he and his men could be exterminated.

He need not have worried. Though the Ironborn fought as hard as they could, his lines never wavered. And as more and more of the sailors behind him fell, those men fighting them would turn and reinforce him against the Greyjoy girl. Alysanne attacked as promised and her two hundred men fell on the Ironborn like hungry wolves on lambs. As the Ironborn realized how badly they had been decieved and the size of the force facing them, more and more of them began to throw down their swords and surrender.

The last one to still hold a blade was the Greyjoy girl herself. Say what you will about the Ironborn as a whole, but that girl was a veritible she-devil the way she was whirling about herself with her throwing axes and her dirk. But she was surrounded now and all alone. Brynden had to admire her. She was in a hopeless situation, yet she still stood defiantly with a blade in her hand and a fierce snarl on her face. Her breastplate was stained red with the blood of those she had killed q and her own blood was flowing freely from cuts on her arms where blades had found gaps in her chainmail.

Shouldering his way to the inside of the circle around the girl, Brynden called out to her, "Lady Greyjoy! You've fought well here. No man could ever call you coward. Lay down your arms and you'll be treated in accordance with your station as a highborn lady and an honorable fighter."

The eyes that looked back at him from the Greyjoy girl were large, expressive and full of hate at that moment. And why shouldn't they be? She'd just gotten her arse handed to her on a platter and been forced to watch her men get cut down or surrender. Finally, she answered:

"And who are you Ser? Why should I put one ounce of faith in what you say?"

"My name is Ser Brynden Tully. I swear it on my honor that you will be treated as I say."

"Piss on your honor. I need something more real."

"Like what? A coffin? Because if you don't yield, that's the only way you're leaving this beach. Don't be foolish. You've fought harder than any man could expect. Yield now and spare your life and the lives of the rest of your men."

The girl gave him one last glare, before lowering her eyes and saying softly, "I yield."

As her dirk slipped from her fingers, several of the Northmen from Bear Island approached her and saw to it that her wrists were quickly bound and she was led away. Sighing to himself, the Blackfish walked over to where she had stood defiently and bent over and picked up her dirk. It was a fine blade. It would be a shame to see it be lost.

Making his way back to where Alysanne was standing on the beach, he saw her grinning. She had every reason to be pleased with the fight on the beach. They had crushed a force of Ironborn, captured several important highborn hostages including the daughter of the Lord of the Iron Islands and they had freed a Northern highborn hostage. Now they could head to Winterfell with their heads held high, justifiably proud in what they had acomplished.

Several weeks later and they were riding into the courtyard of Winterfell. Brynden was honestly taken aback not only by the sheer size of the castle, but it's surprising beauty. Cat had written him often of her life in the North. And while she had commented many times on just how vast the North was and how large her new home was, she had never mentioned the stunning and stark beauty of the castle. Though it was as different from Riverrun as it could be, the castle had a understated beauty that was almost perfectly in line with the family that called it home.

And standing in the courtyard to meet them was the King in the North. Jon Stark was the spitting image of his father. While Robb had taken after his mother and looked more Tully than Stark, whoever Jon's mother was had left almost nothing of herself in the lad. He looked almost exactly as Eddard had when he had married Cat in the Sept at Riverrun. As the rest of his party rode in, Jon stepped forward and waited for everyone to dismount. As they did and then dropped to one knee, Jon instead told them all to rise.

"Ser Brynden, be welcome to Winterfell. Lady Alysanne, you have my thanks for your devoted service."

"Thank you, Your Grace," they both answered.

"Ser Brynden, allow me to extend my condolences to you on the loss of your niece. Lady Cattleyn was always very kind to me."

Brynden could hear the lie in his voice. He knew Cat had hated Jon and had made no seceret of that fact. But he did appreciate the sentiment. And the fact that Jon was smart enough to act as is Cat had treated him as if he was her own son. He resonded:

"Thank you, Your Grace. She will be greatly missed."

"By everyone north or south of the Neck. Lady Cattleyn was much loved in the North. But come, let's get in out of this cold and allow me to offer you all bread and salt."

"Again, thank you, Your Grace." Saying that, Brynden ushered a young lady forward. He continued, "But first, may I present Lady Jeyne Westerling. She was King Robb's wife."

 

[Causeimboredrigh]

Oh snap, is Jeyne pregnant? If she is, then I can easily see Jon abdicating for his Brother's son once he's of age, and basically being a regent until the boy is old enough to rule by himself, and going back to the Watch.

Then again, I can't remember if she was pregnant, and if it's a girl then Jon will probably make Rickon his heir (since Bran is paralyzed and possibly possessed by the 3 eyed crow).

Anyway, I hope Brynden won't cause too much trouble for Jon.

 

[SSgtC]

Oh snap, is Jeyne pregnant? If she is, then I can easily see Jon abdicating for his Brother's son once he's of age, and basically being a regent until the boy is old enough to rule by himself, and going back to the Watch.

Then again, I can't remember if she was pregnant, and if it's a girl then Jon will probably make Rickon his heir (since Bran is paralyzed and possibly possessed by the 3 eyed crow).

Anyway, I hope Brynden won't cause too much trouble for Jon.

Click to shrink...

Brynden is honestly planning to offer as much help as he can. He wants Jon's help to take back the Riverlands and Riverrun in particular.

Jon isn't thinking that far ahead yet. He's also really young and has plenty of time to marry someone and have children. And he knows that he needs to marry relatively quickly as well.

Jeyne, well, you'll just have to wait and see😁

 

[SSgtC]

Davos

His ship had been plagued by foul weather the entire voyage to the North. Davos had spent nearly his entire life on the Narrow Sea, and rarely had he ever seen it so violent. They were just passing the Fingers when the lookout called out that there was a damaged and dismasted ship off their starboard bow. Racing up the shrouds almost as spry as a young topmen, Davos scrambled to the top of the mast and clapped his best Myrish spyglass to his eye and pointed it in the direction the lookout pointed. As he looked, the ship swam into view. It was wallowing heavily in the seas and listing hard to port with seawater pouring from the scuppers after every roll. He was surprised that it had lasted this long. Sliding down a stay, Davos began bellowing orders to his crew. While his mission for his King was urgent, the law of the sea would always come first. No Captain on the Narrow Sea in his right mind would ever leave another vessel in distress like that. Doing so would be a sin against the Mother Above.

As his ship eased closer to the stricken vessel, a wave of dread washed over Davos. It was the Mad Prendos, the ship that he had put Edric on just days ago. Gods, what had he done? He had tried to give the lad a good life by protecting the lad and sending him away from Dragonstone to keep him out of the Red Witch's hands, but it seems all he may have done was to postpone the boy's meeting with the Stranger. Looking to the heavens, Davos begged the Mother to show mercy and to spare the boy's life and asked the Smith for the strength he would need to save him if he was still alive.

Staring through the glass, Davos could see no movement on the slowly sinking ship beyond a few scraps of canvas blowing in the wind and some torn lines trailing down into the water and dragging along behind the derelict ship as it drifted on the tide. Instinctively he reached for the bag holding his knucklebones around his neck. But his hand closed only on empty air. Damn it. He'd forgotten that he had lost his bones in disaster on the Blackwater.

As the Oledo reached the stricken vessel, he put the dismasted ship under his lee. Having safely maneuvered the Oledo into position, Davos called away his boat and swiftly boarded it along with a handful of men. They were going over to the wreck to search for survivors. Gods, he prayed that Edric was still alive and well. He would never forgive himself if the lad had been taken by the sea.

Upon reaching the barely floating hulk, Davos looked at the battered hull with some trepidation. The planks were badly sprung and the entire ship seemed to groan every time its great bulk shifted in the seas. Gods, if he stood on the bench in the boat he could see straight onto the listing deck. It should have been some feet above his head. Right, best be on with this then.

Pointing to two men that he knew could be trusted and would be about their business quickly he said, "Right. Alyn, Garse you two come with me. Watch yourselves carefully on her, she's liable to go under at any minute. No stopping to loot or drink. Not unless you want it to be your last act before meeting the Stranger. Look for anyone alive, then get your arses back on this boat before she sinks on us."

With that, Davos timed the waves and leapt onto the pitching deck of the derelict Mad Prendos and scrambled along the steeply pitched deck towards the cabins at the stern. Behind him, Alyn and Garse nodded at each other and split up to search the fo'c'sle and the hold respectively. Calling out in a strong voice, Davos said, "Ahoy! Is there anyone aboard? Captain Drako? Ser Andrew? Edric? Answer me!"

Only silence answered his call. What had happened to everyone? Had the crew been swept overboard by a rouge wave? Could Ser Andrew and Edric have drowned down below when the ship started to flood? As he finally made it to the stern and the the cabins below the quarter deck, Davos wrenched one of the doors open and clawed his way into the cabin. In one corner of the cabin, he saw one of the Kinghts that had accompanied Ser Andrew. The man had been crushed under a deck beam that looked like it had collapsed into the cabin when the mizzen mast was torn out of the ship. The man's chest had been crushed by the heavy oak beam and his blood stained the oak decking. Looking up, most of the quarter deck was gone. The ship must have been slammed hard from astern by a large wave. Seeing no one else in the shattered cabin, Davos silently asked the Stranger to look out for the poor, dead man and pulled himself hand over hand toward the cabin door.

Staggering to the next cabin under the poop deck, he found that the door was blocked by debris piled behind it. He could open it an inch maybe, but no more. He could try to kick it down, but the deck had pitched even more to port in the time he had been onboard and he could not keep his balance long enough to deliver a kick strong enough to break the door down. Closing his eyes, he offered yet another prayer that this hadn't been Edric's cabin and moved to the last one. As he moved toward the cabin, Davos thought to himself that this was fast becoming a day of prayers.

Reaching the cabin, he pulled away a shredded piece of canvas and saw that the door had been completely torn from it's frame on this one. As Davos peered inside the cabin, he let out a sigh of relief. For there, tied to was left of the mizzen mast to keep themselves from being swept away were Ser Andrew and Edric. Above them, only fragments of oak timbers remained, the deck and most of the frames having been torn away by the fury of the storm. Scrambling towards them, Davos knew he had at best a scant few minutes to cut them free before the ship would take her final plunge beneath the waves. Shouting for Alyn and Garse, Davos reached the two men and checked to see if they were still breathing.

Gods be good, they were. It was shallow and both of them looked like they hadn't had a drink in days judging by their cracked lips and swollen tongues, but they were alive. Pulling his knife from his belt he sliced through the ropes binding Edric in place and began dragging him towards the hatch at the front of the cabin. By that time, Alyn was there and he passed Edric to him and told him to get the boy to the boat before going back for Ser Andrew. Struggling back to the Stormlander, the ship gave another hard lurch to port as the ropes holding back the cargo down below finally let go and let the cargo fall free to crash against the hull.

The suddenly increased list cause Davos to crash into the stump of the mizzen mast and he let out a curse as he bashed his arm into the splintered oak. Grunting as he forced himself to ignore his bruised arm, Davos reached Ser Andrew and cut him free from the ropes. The man let out a groan as he was manhandled towards the hatch. As he reached the hatch, he cast one last look into the cabin to make sure he hadn't missed anyone and out of the corner of his eye, he spied young Edric's warhammer. Muttering under his breath he said, "Sorry lad, I'll have to get you another one." Dragging the Knight onto the deck, Davos saw Garse limp from the cargo hold. His right foot was mangled and dragging along behind him at an odd angle. Gods, he must have been caught by the falling cargo. Even injured, Garse still started to head towards him to help. Already though, Davos could hear the sea rushing into the hold as the strained hull finally reached it's breaking point. Davos waved Garse off and shouted at him, "Get to the boat! She's going down!"

Giving up on hobbling across the slopped deck with the dead weight of the armored Knight draped over him, Davos let himself and Ser Andrew slide down the canted planks till they reached the edge of the deck, only to find it already awash. He breathed a sight of relief at seeing Garse clambering into the boat. Now if only he could reach it. Luckily for him, his men knew their business and they were already rowing the boat toward him and Ser Andrew. Heaving Ser Andrew over the remains of the railing, Davos passed the unconscious man to the waiting hands of his sailors. Scrambling into the boat behind them, he exhorted his men, "Pull lads! Pull like you'd pull an Ironborn off your mother! Get us clear before she rolls over on top of us!"

His lads grinned as he urged them to put their backs into it. The boat fairly leapt across the waves as his men pulled for all they were worth to get clear of the Mad Prendos before she rolled over on top of them. With a final groan from the ship and the sound everything movable within her hull crashing into her bulkheads, the Mad Prendos finally rolled over before raising her bow toward the sky one last time and sliding below the waves. The sea boiled and foamed over her watery grave as the air burst from the shattered hull. In minutes, there would be nothing left to mark the place but scattered bits of wreckage and flotsam.

"Alright lads, you can ease up now. Lets just get back to the Oledo in one piece and we'll be on our way."

Leaving one hand on the tiller, Davos reached down and placed his free hand on Edric's shoulder and squeezed. Muttering under his breath, he told the unconscious boy, "Rest easy lad. I'm sorry I put you through this. But I promise you, I'll make it right for you. You just pull through."

With the resilience of youth, Edric woke just a day later. His lips were cracked, his tongue was swollen and his voice was hoarse and little more than a whisper in volume. He told a tale that was harrowing enough to make even the most stouthearted sailor piss himself with terror. They had only been two days out of Dragonstone when a storm arose. The wind was howling and the waves were thundering as they crashed against the ship. The captain hadn't seemed to be overly worried about it. At least at first. But as the storm grew in intensity and showed no sign of breaking, the captain had started to grow concerned. Two days after the storm fell upon them, two days in which no sign of the sun had been seen and in which only the lucky ones were able to swallow a few mouthfuls of water and hard tack without immediately vomiting it back up from seasickness, Edric had heard the lookout shout the words no sea faring man ever wants to hear: rouge wave.

Edric hadn't quite understood the peril they were in until he was deafened by the roar of the rogue wave thundering against their frail wooden hull. In an instant, the masts had been torn away, leaving nothing but ragged stumps behind them. The entire upperworks of the Lysene galley had been shattered and everyone on deck had been swept away in an instant. The sea had roared into his cabin and it was only Ser Andrew's quick thinking and almost god like strength that had saved him from being swept into the sea along with the rest.

Things had only gotten worse after that. A few men were still alive on the shattered hulk, but none of the officers had made it, leaving the crew leaderless. Ser Andrew had tried to lead the men, to get them to jury rig something so that they could at least keep the ship pointing into the waves and hopefully ride out the storm. But the sailors had broken into the ship's spirit room and got drunk on the rum and wine kept there. As the men got drunker and drunker, they lost all reason. Some swore that they saw mermaids gathering around their ship and dove into the heaving seas to get a mermaid's kiss, never to be seen again. Others grew violent over perceived insults and drew knives on each other with sadly predictable results. More than a few of the men met their ends this way. The last of them passed out deep in the bowels of the ship, drunk.

Ser Andrew had barricaded them in his cabin and equipped himself with his armor and a poleaxe in case any of the drunken men tried to rob them. But they never came. A few had drowned as the water rose in the hold. Those men had gotten so drunk, they never awoke even as the water lapped at their faces. A few of the others had tried to build a raft to escape the ruined galley, but the storm took them as the ship rolled heavily in the waves. That had left only Ser Andrew and himself on the ship. The storm had ripped the door from its frame a few days prior and that was when Ser Andrew had bound them to the remains of the mizzen. Edric didn't know exactly how long ago that had been. But judging by their cracked lips and how parched their throats were, it must have been three days or more.

As the exhausted boy finished speaking, Davos told him, "You rest easy now Edric. You're safe now. Once you've recovered, I'll give you a proper apology. And I owe Ser Andrew a debt I can never repay. You rest, recover your strength. You'll need it where we're going, its quite cold up there."

Ser Andrew awoke two days after Edric. When he did, he largely corroborated young Edric's tale. Except to add that the lad himself had saved them when some of the drunken sailors had tried to rush their cabin and rob them. Edric had swept up his warhammer and turned into a whirling dervish, cracking skulls and driving the drunken fools back. Watching the lad twirl his warhammer about, it was like watching the Demon of the Trident reborn. He truly was his father's son. The lad had been somewhat ashamed that he had slaughtered men that were out of their minds with drink and didn't know what they were doing. That would explain why he hadn't mentioned it to him when he told his tale. Edric was still young and didn't yet realize that men driven mad with drink were among the most dangerous men in the whole world. He would learn in time.

Over the next week, both men were nursed back to health with plenty of weak ale, thin soup and rest. By the time the Oledo made it to White Harbor, both Edric and Ser Andrew were standing beside him on the quarter deck as he steered his ship into the North's largest city. It had been six years since he was last in White Harbor and it was every bit as beautiful as he remembered it. The white cliffs and the soaring towers of the New Castle always took his breath away. He had always enjoyed coming to the North. Even the air seemed fresher here. In King's Landing, you could smell the shit from ten miles away, but not here. Here, the air was fresh and clean. As his eyes drifted around the harbor they settled on the hulking form of the Wolf's Den. Once it had been a major castle and the seat of House Manderly and House Greystark before them. But that was before the Manderlys had built the New Castle, now it served as a prison. Looking at it, he felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about that slowly crumbling edifice that made his blood run cold. He also saw that Seal Rock had been fortified with several scorpions and spitfires. It would not be wise to try and attack this harbor.

As he brought the Oledo to anchor in the inner harbor, the harbor guard boat was already making its way towards them. Aboard it, he could see men in Manderly colors armed with the tridents preferred by House Manderly. Unlike the other times he had been to White Harbor when he was skulking about smuggling something or other into the city, this time he was going about his business openly and flying his personal sigil from his ship's masthead. He'd gone so far as to have taken the time to dress in respectable clothing as befitting his position as Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon. He'd even strapped his sword on.

As the Manderly guard boat bumped against the hull and the guards on board clambered up to the deck, an old man missing an eye and a leg slowly and carefully made his way up the side. Stumping up to him, the old man said, "Be welcome to White Harbor ser. My name is Ser Bartimus, I'm the castellan and chief gaoler of the Wolf's Den and Acting Commander of the City Guard. May I inquire as to your name and purpose in White Harbor?"

"My name is Ser Davos Seaworth, Lord of the Rainwood and Hand of the King to His Grace, Stannis Baratheon. I've been tasked to deliver a message to Jon Stark, the King in the North. The King is willing to offer his hand in friendship to the North and provide his army to fight the war that is coming. On the condition that the King in the North bends the knee and swears fealty to him."

"Thank you, Lord Seaworth. Such matters are far above a simple knight, so if you will accompany me to the New Castle, I will bring you before Lord Manderly. There you can more fully explain your King's offer and, if your sincere, my Lord can arrange an escort for you to Winterfell."

As Ser Bartimus turned away, he caught sight of Edric from his one good eye and sucked his breath in. Pointing at Edric he said, "You there! What is your name, boy?"

"He's no one," Davos quickly answered. "Just the ship's boy."

For a man with only leg and one eye, Ser Bartimus could still send chills down your back when he glared at you. Davos felt them now. Dropping a hand to his sword, Bartimus told him, "I wasn't asking you, Ser. Now kindly stand aside and allow the boy to answer." In a softer voice, pitched so only Davos could hear him, Ser Bartimus continued, "I fought at the Trident. I know what King Robert looked like as a young man. Did you really think I wouldn't recognize one of his get?"

Saying that, Ser Bartimus gave Davos a knowing look and tuned back to face Edric. Once he was facing him he asked again, "Well boy? Who are you? Tell me true and no lies."

Drawing himself up straight, Edric said, "My name is Edric Storm. I am the natural born son of His Grace, King Robert Baratheon and Lady Delena Florent."

"I thought so. And you ser? Who are you?"

This last was asked of Ser Andrew who had moved in front of Edric protectively.

"I am Ser Andrew Estermont. I'm the boy's cousin and guardian. And if you have designs on causing harm to the lad know this, you'll have to fight your way through me first. And I do not die easily, Ser."

A small smile quirked at the corners of Ser Bartimus's mouth. "Relax, all of you. I'll not harm the boy. Lord Stark and King Robert were as close as brothers, everyone knows that. No one in the North will harm a hair on his head. Lord Manderly will be wanting a word with you. I wager that this situation has become just a bit more complicated than you had planned on. Well, Lord Manderly may be fat, but his mind is as sharp as Valyrian Steel. All of you, come along with me and I'll escort you up to the New Castle where you can speak your piece."

 

[SSgtC]

Tyrion

Ever since his father had released him from the black cells Tyrion had been keeping a low profile in the Red Keep. His father had expressly ordered him to stay in the room that he led him to in the Tower of the Hand until he came and got him. Unless of course he wanted Cersei to kill him. Considering he'd been in this room for days now with little to do and was going more than a little stir crazy, letting Cersei kill him was starting to sound like a good idea.

He was down to writing down every joke involving whores that he knew just to try and keep himself occupied. Most were bloody awful, but a few could still genuinely make him laugh. While he was writing he heard a knock on his door. That caused him to look up with his brow furrowed. He hadn't had a single visitor besides the servants bringing him his food and emptying his chamber pot since his father put him in here. His father had placed two guards outside his door, men that were more afraid of Father than they were of Cersei, and would do what Father ordered them to. So the odds were that whoever was knocking was not a threat to him. On the other her hand, Cersei could be very persuasive when she wanted to be, that persuasion usually taking the form of a cart full of gold or a hint that she may let whoever she was "persuading" between her legs for a romp in the sheets. So maybe he was about to get his perverse wish and he would be dead the moment the door opened. That was when he heard the voice coming through the door:

"You gonna let me in, cunt? Or just leave me standing around out here like a great fuckin idiot?"

Bronn. The one man other than his brother that he actually wished he could see. The man was utterly amoral and loyal only to himself. And whoever offered him the biggest payday.

Walking over to the door, he threw it open and saw his old friend standing there with a mug of ale in his hand a grin on his face.

"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. Now yours is a face that I can say I'm truly glad to see," said Tyrion.

"Good to see you too. You gonna let me in?"

Standing to one side, Tyrion waved his arm into his small room and watch as Bronn strolled in. And behind him, was Pod.

"Pod!" Tyrion, exclaimed.

"My Lord," said Podderick. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you as well, Pod. What is that you're dragging behind you?" asked Tyrion while pointing at the large chest that Pod was struggling to drag with him.

"Your armor and weapons, My Lord. The Lord Hand ordered me to bring them to you and to help you equip yourself."

"Ah. I see. Thank you, Pod." Turning to Bronn, Tyrion asked, "Not just a social visit then, I take it?"

Looking around the room Tyrion was in Bronn said, "A bit of an improvement from your last place, I'd wager? And no, not just a social visit."

"A vast improvement. The food and drink are a markedly superior, as is having a real bed to sleep in. And being able to see the sunlight through a window every now and then is a blessed development compared to the all encompassing darkness that is the black cells."

The silence between dragged on for several minutes while Pod busied himself dragging the large chest into the room and getting it's contents set up.

"You're going to make me ask outright, aren't you?"

Grinning, Bronn replied to Tyrion, "Why not? And no, this time you can't double it. Your Lord Father is paying me now, and I don't think you could double what he's giving me to go on this little adventure with you and your brother."

"Fine. Why did my father send you here and how much is he paying you?"

"First, I'm here to get you ready to join your brother and to protect your skinny little arse on the way. You're leaving King's Landing tonight. Second, he gave me this letter for you. And finally, the reason you can't double what he's paying me is because he gave me Tarbeck Hall."

"Tarbeck Hall? Bronn, it's a ruin. Father destroyed the castle there when the Tarbecks rebelled against my grandfather. He's not giving you anything worth having."

"Well, that's where you're wrong little man. He's made me Lord Bronn Blackwater, Lord of Tarbeck Hall and granted me all its lands and attendant incomes. He's even sent men to begin repairing the walls and the keep. Smart man, your father. Knows how to reward those in his service."

"Well, as long as your happy, Lord Blackwater. But really? Lord Blackwater? Why not just take the name of the Tarbecks and become Lord Tarbeck? I'll grant you that the name has been a bit sullied, but still. It is an old name and would command respect."

"I'll build my own legacy, with my own name, thank you very much."

Raising his hands in surrender, Tyrion acknowledged defeat. "Can you hand me that letter, please?"

Sliding the sealed letter across the table that he and Tyrion were seated at, Bronn sat back and let Tyrion read.

Sliding his knife under the seal, Tyrion opened the letter and began to read.

"Tyrion,

This letter will, Gods willing, be among the last correspondence that you and I will ever have. Once you leave this city, while I live, you will never return here except at my express command. After you complete your assignment in the North, you will return to the Westerlands and once there, you will assume your new position as Lord of Castamere. Before you depart from King's Landing, you will swear an oath of fealty to me as your Lord. Just put it in a letter and leave it in your room. I have no desire to actually see you again.

While you are on your mission, I will send a contingent of men to drain the halls and tunnels and begin repairs on the buildings. You will be responsible for doing the majority of the repairs yourself out of your own pocket once your arrive at your seat. I will do no more than make the castle livable. You may avail yourself of the gold and silver in the mines on your lands. As Lord of Castamere you shall also be granted the overlordship of Tarbeck Hall and The Crag. As such, you are entitled to a share of the incomes from those lands. Use them wisely. I will also provide you with a small allowance to maintain yourself and your household until your mines begin producing again and you are capable of supporting yourself.

Enclosed within this letter is a letter addressed to Jon Snow. It will serve as proof of your bonafides to make the offer that you and I discussed previously. Be sure to prey upon his fear that a Lannister will one day rule Winterfell should he fail to accept your offer. You will have but one advantage in your negotiations with Snow, and that is the claim that his sister, and through your marriage to her, you have on Winterfell. Use it wisely.

Though I am sending you to Winterfell as my emissary, Jaime is in command of this expedition and you will obey his orders in all things. While you and Jaime are on your Northern adventure, I am sending Ser Loras Tyrell with an army from the Reach and the Crownlands to drive Stannis out of Dragonstone and end his rebellion once and for all. The Redwynes are sending their fleet to augment those ships that are left of the Royal Fleet to facilitate the assault. By the time you reach Winterfell, Stannis and his men should be dead. That leaves only the North and the Iron Islands to subdue and Balon Greyjoy will be dealt with after the North is subjugated. In fact, should Snow agree to our terms, you and your brother will offer our force to assist in driving the Ironborn out of the North after the destruction of the Boltons. Should he refuse, you will make the same offer to Lord Bolton.

Do not fail in this assignment and make me regret giving you this opportunity anymore than I already do.

Tywin Lannister

Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Hand of the King"

Typical Father. No hint of approval what-so-ever. Though he was still puzzled why he had even done this in the first place. Tyrion had assumed that his father would conduct a show trial, find him guilty, then "encourage" him to take the black as a means of disposing of him once and for all. This was out of character for Father. Though in a way, it did make a sick sort of sense. By giving him Castamere, and the overlordship of Tarbeck Hall and the Crag, he was giving Tyrion a constant reminder of the cost of betraying House Lannister. He was also putting him into a position of real power though. Castamere still had some very valuable mines and by giving him two other houses to rule over, Tyrion would find himself second only to his Father in the Westerlands in terms of wealth and power. Once he was able to fully establish himself there anyway. So he was still left with a conundrum.

Looking up a Bronn after reading the letter Tyrion said, "Well, it appears that we are to be the Lords of the Damned. You, Lord of Tarbeck Hall and me Lord of Castamere. Two of the three castles in recent history who's previous occupants rebelled against my father. Do you suppose this is an honor or an insult?"

"Probably a bit of both. But I'll be honest, I never do get tired of hearing people refer to me as 'My Lord.' So I'm going to see it as an honor. Now, all you have to do is settle this little matter in the North and then I can collect my reward."

"You do know, don't you, that as a Lord of the Westerlands, you'll be required to swear fealty to my father, don't you?"

"Already done that. Small price to pay for getting what I've always wanted. A castle and a title of my own."

"And did my father tell you who your immediate overlord would be?"

"I figured it would be him."

"Yes, well, my father has a habit of leaving bits and pieces out of rewards that he offers as a way to demonstrate his true power. An often unpleasant surprise for the recipient of said reward. It's how he keeps his power secure. By putting conditions on the reward that he doesn't tell you about until after you've accepted it. And now you can't back out of it as it would be seen as an insult to House Lannister."

"Fuck. Who, then?"

"Me."

Bronn was silent for a moment, then broke out laughing. "If you think for one second that I'm kissing your arse you can forget about it. I swore fealty to your father because he honestly scares the piss out of me. I'm not bowing to you."

"Spoken like the sellsword I know and love. See? That's why we get along so well. Your finest quality is that you only care about what's good for you. Please don't disappoint me now by changing."

In reply, Bronn raised his mug to Tyrion and drank deeply from it. That was likely the closest Bronn would ever get to acknowledging him as his Lord.

"My Lord?" Pod broke in. "Your armor is ready."

"Very well, Pod. Help me get it on. I must look the part when I leave the city now, mustn't I?"

After several curses, more than a few bruises and one set of aching balls when Pod accidently hit him squarely in his cock with the edge of his breastplate, Tyrion was dressed and ready. Before he left he wrote a brief letter for his father. He used the same gruff tones that his father used with him. Though he did at least thank him for giving him the Lordship of Castamere. And he did remember to give his oath of fealty to his father.

As Tyrion, Bronn and Pod made their way out of the Tower of the Hand and through the Red Keep, he took one last look at it. Whichever way his journey to the North went, he was very unlikely to return here and he wanted to remember it well. In a bit of a surprise to him, Bronn led him to a side gate and told him that they would meet up with Jaime after he had left the Red Keep. Cersei still wanted his head on a spike after all.

Once they had ridden through the city, they exited the city walls by the Gate of the Gods and joined the five thousand men that Jaime was taking North. Not long after, Jaime himself rode through the gate resplendent in his lion crested red armor and red cloak. Wait a moment, why wasn't he wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard? An icy ball of dread began to form in the pit of his stomach. Unless he was very wrong, he had just figured out why his father had been willing to make a deal with him.

Tyrion and Bronn nudged their horses forward and fell in beside Jaime and Ser Ilyn Payne while Pod fell in behind them beside Jaime's two squires. As they rode away from the city and met up with the men that Jaime would lead into battle in the North, Tyrion saw banners from the Westerlands, the Crownlands, the Reach and even one or two from the Stormlands. His father was sending a message to the North. And that message was, "Look at the power I wield. It is folly to resist me." Somehow, Tyrion didn't think that message would be very well received north of the Neck.

As they rode away from the city at the head of their men, Tyrion looked at Jaime and asked the question that was burning him alive:

"Jaime, please tell me you didn't do what I think you did to get Father to release me."

In his typical, haughty tone Jaime said, "Please, we both know it was only a matter of time before Father would have found some reason to have me dismissed from the Kingsguard. At least now I was able to get something out of what was inevitable. He gets what he wanted and I get to keep my brother's head from decorating a spike."

"It's too high a price, Jaime. You never wanted to be Lord of Casterly Rock."

"It's honestly for the best, brother. You can only take this city for so long before you begin to go a bit mad."

Tyrion was beginning to think that Jaime had already passed that point. He couldn't say that, of course. Instead he started, "Jaime..."

Holding up his gold hand to forestall Tyrion's reply Jaime replied, "It's done, brother. Ser Loras has been named the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. And once we're done in the North, I'll be returning to the Westerlands and taking my place in Casterly Rock while learning how to rule the Westerlands from Uncle Kevan. While you will take your place in Castamere."

"And what about Tommen? Are you really just going to leave your," and here Tyrion just barely caught himself. He had been about to call Tommen Jaime's son. He and Jaime had "discussed" Jaime's children while he was sitting in the black cells, but that was a carefully guarded secret, despite the rumors that were flying around the Seven Kingdoms. Continuing on he said, "Are you really going to trust anyone other than yourself to guard our nephew?"

Jaime let out a gruff, almost depressed, laugh. "My dear brother. Without my hand, I'm a bigger liability to his safety than I am an asset. I wager that you could beat me with a sword at this point."

"Ain't that the truth," Tyrion heard coming from behind him. Of course it was coming from Bronn.

"Bronn.." Jaime warned the former sellsword.

Bronn of course just scoffed at Jaime. "What are you gonna do, attack me? I'd win and you know it."

Looking at Tyrion, Bronn told him, "This mute fucker next to me and I have been training him ever since he got back to the capital. He's shite with his left hand. Keeps turning the wrong way. His instincts are off."

"Ah. Thank you, Bronn."

Turning in his saddle to look at his brother Tyrion asked him, "Jaime, why didn't you tell me? I could have come up with something to help you."

Waving him off Jaime told him, "It was better this way. Tommen needs more than I can give him as a protector. And I wasn't about to let you die because of Cersei's delusions."

Now that was a revelation. Since when did Jaime disparage their sister? He was, for one of the very few times in his life, shocked into silence. Jaime noticed.

"Pick your jaw up. I do have eyes and a brain. She's different. It hasn't been the same since I returned. Tell me, brother, did she wait while I was Robb Stark's prisoner? Or did she rush into another's arms for protection as soon as I was captured?"

The answer killed him to give, but he owed his brother this. "No. She took another before I had even reached King's Landing at Father's command."

He could see the pain etched plainly on Jaime's face at hearing his words. But he would not pain his brother more by lying to him. Not when it would do him no good. Jaime deserved at least that much from him.

"Thank you, Tyrion," Jaime said. "I suspected as much. You know, I've only ever been with her? She was my first and I've been faithful ever since."

Tyrion had no idea how to respond. How do you respond when your brother openly admits that he'd been fucking his sister for years? Instead he nudged his horse a bit closer to Jaime's and put his hand on Jaime's shoulder and gave him a grim smile and nod. They would talk more later. They had a long ride ahead of them.

 

[SSgtC]

Jon

It had been a long journey down from Castle Black to Winterfell. It was a journey that he'd never expected to make in his life, or at least not so soon after joining the Watch. They had travelled first to the Northern Mountain Clans to gain their support before heading south to Winterfell. The Clans had readily answered the call when told what the Boltons had done to Robb. They were eager to avenge the son of "The Ned," and had gone south with him in large numbers. They were camped in the castle now, manning the battlements and sending out mounted patrols throughout the lands surrounding Winterfell looking for Bolton scouts, Ironborn raiders and poachers.

After leaving the Northern Mountains, they had made for the Last Hearth. Along the way, they had seen more and more of the Free Folk settling in the Gift and New Gift. Most were still in tents or hastily constructed lean tos, but here and there, he could see more substantial buildings under construction. Alongside the various clans, the giants had spread out throughout the Gift to lend their strength and the strength of their mammoths to clear the land and fell the trees needed to build homes, barns, grain silos and forges. Here and there, one of the builders that had rode south with them from the Mountain Clans left their group to lend their experience to the various clans on how to build a proper home that would survive the winter south of the wall.

Jon had also been forced to settle more than one dispute along the way between the various clans. He and Mance had done their best to keep the clans next to ones they were friendly with, or at least didn't care about. But every now and then it had been unavoidable that two clans that didn't like each other would be settled next to one another. And in those cases, Jon had personally had to settle the dispute between them. And twice he had been forced to dispense the King's Justice, both times a Wildling had attempted to rape one of the smallfolk that lived in the Gift. Both times, the Clan Chieftan had sworn they had not known about it and offered their own life to spare the lives of their sons. Jon had expected a few instances of this, so had made sure that the Clan as a whole knew that the next such incident would result in the entire clan being put to the sword. The word had traveled swiftly and the Gift had been largely peaceful ever since.

Once they reached the Last Hearth, they had feasted the return of Rowan Umber to her father. Crowfood and Mance had one great fight in the courtyard with each man ending up with a black eye, bruised ribs and several missing teeth. And afterwards, the two men had sat by the fire and drunk ale until the sun came up, telling tales of the battles they had fought, the songs they had sung and the hunts they had led. And every exploit grow in the telling of it. By the time the sun rose in the east, the two men were drunker than either man had ever been and were firm friends. Jon and those travelling south with him left the Last Hearth the next morning with their heads pounding from the drinking the night before. It made that first day of travel almost murderous. They made only a scant few miles that first day. The days after they did better.

And now after their long journey south, they were here. He was back in his home. It didn't feel like home anymore though. As he looked around the partly burned castle, he realized that what had made Winterfell home was not the walls, towers, courtyards, stables and all the other bits that made up a castle. It had been the people that were in it. It had been his family. It was his father, his brothers, his sisters and even Lady Stark. It had been old Ser Rodrick and Maester Luwin. It had been Old Nan and Hodor. It had been Jory Cassel and Mikken, Jeyne and Vayon Poole. But they were all gone now and there was nothing left of them here but memories.

Over there, in that part of the yard he had drilled with sword, spear, axe, mace, morningstar and poleaxe with Robb, Theon and Bran under the tutelage of Ser Rodrik. In that corner there he and Robb had taught Bran how to use a bow and arrow, and it was where Arya would sometimes sneak up behind them and send an arrow into the bullseye herself just to annoy Bran. Up in that tower he and Robb had spent hours under the stern yet kind gaze of Maester Luwin learning their letters and their sums. In Father's solar, he and Robb had learned how to rule a holdfast and command the loyalty of their people. Over there in the kitchens is where he and Arya would sneak in to steal sweets when the cooks weren't looking. In that direction over there was the forge where he had commissioned Mikken to forge Needle for his baby sister. Through those gates over there was the dark and ancient Godswood where he would often slink off to whenever he could take no more of Lady Stark's barbs and he would brood over how unfair his lot in life was. Gods, he was a fucking idiot for ever thinking that. He had a family. He had a home. He had something that most people in Westeros would cut their own balls off for. And he had been so self absorbed in his own misery that he'd never even noticed it. Not until it was gone anyway.

When he had first seen the towers of Winterfell rising above the horizon as they rode south, he felt his stomach doing flips in his guts while his heart pounded in his chest. It was real now. He was Lord of Winterfell and King in the North. But his heart sank as he rode through the scorched gates and saw the state that his ancestral home was in. It looked like a ruin, and Winter was Coming. When he saw the smallfolk that had taken up residence in the castle, he felt true compassion and pity for them. There had been nowhere else for them to go. So he made them a deal. If they would devote themselves to repairing the castle and would swear an oath of fealty to him as King in the North and as Lord of Winterfell, he would take them in and give each and every one a roof over them and a place to lay down their heads. As an added bonus he would even grant them a position in his household staff should they prove themselves hard working and honest. They had readily agreed as it had meant security and a place where they could finally sink roots down and allow their families to prosper.

While the smallfolk had gotten busy repairing the worst of the damage, Jon took the time to inspect the rest of the castle and see for himself just how badly it had been damaged. Though the Smalljon and Dacey had protested, saying it was too dangerous for him to wander around the castle, that they didn't know what was lurking around in there or how badly it had been damaged by Theon, Jon knew Winterfell like the back of his hand. The only one who knew the castle any better was Bran, and Bran, well, Bran was dead. So with Ghost by his side, he moved throughout the entire castle along with a few men to take notes and to see what needed urgent repairs, what needed minor repairs and what was fine just the way it was.

As it turned out, the castle looked worse than it was. While the roof over the great hall had partially collapsed, and the kitchens, forge and stables had burned, the castle was otherwise intact. It smelled of smoke and there were parts that had been scorched, but the water from the hot springs that was pumped through the walls had prevented the castle from burning too badly. And the cellars were largely untouched. Bellow the kitchens, he had found large stores of grain, dried and smoked meat, root vegetables, ale, wine and other spirits. In the other cavernous store spaces, he had found large quantities of nails, hewn lumber, slate shingles, bricks, tiles, rope, canvas, glass, lead pipes and all other manner of goods that would be vital to surviving the coming winter. He had even found some old, disused furniture in one of the many caverns under Winterfell. In the courtyard, some of the glass houses had even survived, allowing them to continue to grow needed vegetables in the winter and fruits in the summer.

After completing his days long inspection of Winterfell, he had set about outlining what work was needed to bring the castle back to life. It was a long list and he referred back to the notes that had been taken during his inspection often. Several times, when he had begun to feel overwhelmed by the herculean task that lay ahead of him to restore his home to it's former glory, he had to stop and remind himself that it could have been so much worse. The fires could have spread into the cellars, leaving him with nothing but ash to rebuild with. At the top of his list of things to put right, was repairing the gates so they could defend themselves from behind the towering walls of Winterfell. He had no doubt that the Boltons were planning to attack the castle as quickly as they were able to. After that, there had been a thousand and one other items on the list, starting with the forge and the stables. They needed things that only the forge could provide and the horses needed the protection offered by the stables. No man who rode his horse into battle would ever neglect his horse, his life depended on the animal too much. So the horses would get adequate shelter before many of the people would.

After that, they would start repairing the servants quarters and barracks. He may be King, but he would be damned if he would ever allow himself to live in luxury while his own people were in homes without roofs and in some cases even without walls. Some were in little more than lean tos. And to him, that was completely and totally unacceptable. So the servants quarters and the barracks would be two of the first things repaired. It wasn't only the right thing to do, it would earn him his people's loyalty above and beyond what his family name earned him. That had been almost the first lesson Father had taught him and Robb: look out for the needs of your people, and your people would look out for you.

Before leaving Castle Black he had sent ravens and a messenger to Lord Manderly at White Harbor both thanking him for his support and requesting further aid from the North's largest city. Winterfell had been abandoned and its people put to the sword. He needed a Maester, blacksmiths, fieriers, cooks and all the other people that made a castle run smoothly. Shortly after arriving at Winterfell, he had received a raven in reply from the Lord of White Harbor promising him everything he had asked for and more. Unfortunately, they had yet to arrive.

Jon had spent most of his days planning his first moves to retake the North from the Ironborn and to secure the loyalty of the other Houses. The other part of his days had been spent working side by side with the smallfolk to rebuild Winterfell. He'd gotten a few strange looks at that, but he felt that he needed to be seen working alongside his people so that they learned that he would never ask them to do something he was unwilling to do himself. He knew he would need the kind of loyalty that this would inspire during the Long Night that was coming. So he bent his back to it and worked alongside baseborn bastards, crofters, carpenters, hunters and loggers. And as he did, he earned not only the loyalty of those around him, but their respect as well.

It was one such day when Garth Burley, the heir to Stonecrest, his family's seat in the Northern Mountains came up to him. He and the smallfolk had just hoisted a beam into place in the Great Hall and he was wetting his throat with some of the excellent ale that old Gaven, his father's brewer, had made before the castle fell to Theon. Rebuilding a castle was thirsty work. It was then that he heard Garth calling to him:

"Your Grace!" he called out as he approached.

Turning to face him, Jon raised his eyebrows and replied, "Yes, Garth? What can I help with you with?"

"Your Grace, there's a party approaching from the west. Our scouts just returned. They're flying the banners of House Mormont, House Glover and two others that they didn't recognize. One is a black fish jumping out of the water, the other has a flock of ravens surrounding a dead tree. They're about an hour or so away, Your Grace."

Jon furrowed his brow for a moment. The black fish jumping from the water was probably the leaping trout banner of House Tully, and Ser Brynden's personal standard. He had seen the banners of House Tully often enough, considering that Lady Catelyn was a Tully. He had to think on the other one though. He thought it might be the Blackwoods, but he wasn't sure. He hadn't really studied the houses in the south beyond the Lord's Paramount and Wardens. Honestly, he had never seen the need. He always figured that, at best, his father would give him some remote holdfast and allow him to found his own Masterly House. Queenscrown, maybe. But now that he was the King of the Riverlands, he had better brush up on the houses there. And the ones in the North too for that matter.

Replying to Garth, Jon said, "Thank you, Lord Garth. Are your men posted along the wall in case this is some trick to get us to lower our defenses?"

"They are, Your Grace. All the guard towers are manned with archers every fifty feet along the outer wall and the gates are shut and barred."

"Excellent work. Form up the rest of the people down here in the courtyard as a reserve in case they're needed. I'll be down shortly once I've changed and put on my sword."

"As you wish, Your Grace." With that, Garth ran off to see to his King's wishes.

Jon meanwhile made his way into the Great Keep and climbed the stairs to what had been his father's rooms, his rooms now. When he had first returned to Winterfell, he had felt almost like an intruder, sleeping in the Lord's Chamber. But he was slowly growing used to it. The hot springs below the castle kept his chambers warm and he rarely needed a fire to be built in the great hearth that was in them. Life at the Wall had hardened him to extremes of cold, apparently. Entering his chambers, he stripped out of his worn working clothes, ran a wash cloth soaked with scented water over his sweaty skin and pulled on a pair of clean breeches and a clean tunic, followed by a mail coat and a breastplate of boiled leather embossed with the sigil of his House. He then strapped Longclaw around his waist and threw his cloak over his shoulders. He wished his cloak was more like the one Father had worn. Well, maybe one day. Running a comb through his hair, he straightened it as much as possible and placed Robb's crown on his head. The crown reminded him of the sentence he had passed on Olyvar, Robb's former squire. He still felt a bit troubled about what he had to do there, but in truth he had no choice. No one in the North knew exactly what happened at the Red Wedding and he'd be a fool to trust a Frey after that. He'd done what he could for the man, and that was that.

Clearing his head of such thoughts, he left his chambers and made his way out to the courtyard then up the stairs along the inner wall to the battlements. There, he met up again with Garth Burley. Taking the offered Myrish spyglass from the man, he found the approaching column of men and estimated their strength at between seven and eight hundred. That was a fairly sizable force. But within the walls of Winterfell, he had more than four times that many.

Angling the glass towards the front of the column, he saw the portly, yet somehow imposing, form of Alysane Mormont. Lord Commander Mormont had several sketches of his family in his chambers at Castle Black and he recognized her from one of them. Beside her was a grizzled old man with windburned skin and grey hair. Jon recognized the standard that was flying before him. The black trout leaping out of the waters of the Trident could make him only one man, The Blackfish. Jon even faintly recognized him. He had come to Winterfell once or twice when he was younger. He had always been kind towards him, but there had been a measure of reserve there as well. Doubtless a result of Lady Catelyn's letters to the Vale.

While he was studying the approaching column, Dacey had joined them in the guard tower. Handing the glass to Dacey, Jon said, "Lady Mormont, your opinion? Is that your sister out there?"

She replied, "I don't need the glass to tell that, Your Grace. No one quite sits a horse like my sister does. Yes, that's her. But I thought that you ordered her to sweep the Stony Shore of the Ironborn and burn any of their longships that she found?"

"I did. But I imagine that in the course of doing that, she ran across the Blackfish and felt his safety required her to escort him here."

Tilting his head to the side that Garth was on, Jon told him, "Open the gates. It's Lady Alysane and the man beside her is Ser Brynden Tully. We have nothing to fear from them. Keep your men on the walls alert though in case someone else out there wants to try and use them as a distraction to get inside the walls."

Garth replied, "Aye, Your Grace. It'll be done."

So it was that Jon found himself standing in the courtyard receiving Lady Alysane and Ser Brynden Tully. As they kneeled before him, he looked over their people and saw several things that surprised him. One was a beautiful but worried looking woman wearing the mailed fist of House Glover. Beside him, Lord Galbert Glover gave a start. He must have recognized her. Jon would ask him about her later. The other thing he took note of was the bound captives wearing the kraken of the Greyjoys. In their midst was a very angry woman wearing chain main and boiled leather with a kraken carved into it, almost identical to the armor that Theon used to wear. Now that he thought about it, the girl had a bit of the look of Theon. While his curiosity was peaked, he also felt the faint stirrings of the Wolf's Blood stirring within him at the thought of the treason piece of shit that was Theon. Making an effort to remain calm, he promised himself that he'd get answers to all his questions soon enough.

He had just welcomed both Ser Brynden and Lady Alysane to Winterfell and offered them bread and salt when Ser Brynden presented his brother's wife to him. Jon felt the world freeze for a moment as Jeyne came forward. He could see why his brother had bedded her after being wounded. She was lovely. Clearing his head, he remembered his manners and stepped forward. Taking Lady Jeyne's hand in his own, he said:

"My Lady. Be welcome to Winterfell. Allow me to commiserate with you over your loss. My brother will be greatly missed. You and I must sit sometime so you can tell me all about my brother's last months."

Jeyne replied, "Thank you, Your Grace. You're too kind. I cherish the memory of Robb and would very much like to hear more about what he was like growing up."

"With pleasure, My Lady."

Waving one of the female servants forward, Jon asked, "Will you please escort Lady Stark into the Great Keep and see that she is provided hot water to bathe with and clean clothes as well. If she has any other requests, please see to them as well."

"Yes, Your Grace," the girl replied.

"You're too kind, Your Grace," Jeyne said.

"Think nothing of it, My Lady. It is the least I can do for you."

As Jeyne was led into the Great Keep, Jon looked over the leaders of the group as a whole and said, "Will you all please join me in my Solar within the Great Keep? We have much to discuss."

Turning again to Garth Burley, Jon said, "Lord Garth, will you please take custody of Ser Brynden's and Lady Alysane's prisoners? See that they they are well secured with no chance of causing mischief."

Replying to his King, he said, "It'll be my pleasure, Your Grace."

Calling his men to him, the heir to Stonecrest took the prisoners in hand and marched them off towards the kennels where they could be secured until such time as they could sort out the highborn from the low and decide what to do with them. While the dungeons would be more secure, the kennels were built more than strong enough to hold them and they were quite empty at the moment. They would serve their purpose for now. Particularly when the Clansmen were guarding them.

The highborn that were being escorted by Ser Brynden and Lady Alysane were collected by the servants and led into the Inner Castle to the guest rooms within. Lord Glover however made a beeline to the beautiful woman he had seen earlier and greeted her with a warm embrace and a great many tears.

Turning to Alysane, Jon asked, "I thought Lord Glover was unmarried?"

Replying to her King, Alysane said, "He is, Your Grace. That is Lady Sybelle Glover, his brother's wife. She was forced to yield Deepwood Motte to the Ironborn when they invaded. She was being held as a hostage by the Ironborn. Ser Brynden and I were able to rescue her prior to our arrival here."

Nodding his head in acknowledgment, Jon and his guests made polite conversation on the way to his solar. Once there, Jon offered everyone bread and salt before getting down to business. Opening the discussion, Jon said:

"So. I assume that you both have much to tell me about."

After Brynden and Alysane shared a look, Brynden replied, "We do, Your Grace. Prior to the wedding at the Twins, your brother charged me with the protection and safety of his wife. So we stayed behind at Riverrun. But my idiot nephew took nearly the entire garrison of Riverrun with him to the Twins for his wedding, leaving the castle woefully underdefended. When we saw a force from the Twins moving to attack us, I ordered the castle abandoned and we fled with the entire household. It was the only way I could think of to protect Lady Stark."

Here, Jon interrupted Brynden and said, "And for that, you have my thanks. I know it must have been one of the most difficult decisions of your life to abandon your home. And to then make another difficult decision to come here, to your nephew's bastard brother."

"Your Grace, you're the King now. By decree of your brother. But yes, I wasn't sure if this was the right decision. I know Cat wasn't exactly kind to you."

"Water under the bridge, Ser Brynden."

Nodding his thanks, Brynden continued, "We ran first to Raventree Hall. Lord Blackwood provided us with a ship that he had hidden away and asked that I take some of his children with me to protect them. I agreed. Lord Blackwood also wishes me to pass on his oath of fealty to you, Your Grace. He plans to publicly submit to the Iron Throne, while protesting that I'm holding his children hostage so he can't actually provide support. But he swears loyalty to your family and mine."

"So that was why your party was flying Blackwood banners. And I'll be sure to reward Lord Blackwood for his loyalty. And yours, My Lord."

"Thank you, Your Grace. Anyway, we reached the Stony Shore and were trapped there. The Ironborn were far more active there than I thought they would be capable of. It was only luck and Ironborn incompetence that allowed us to remain undetected. But we were still unable to leave the area without being discovered and attacked. It wasn't until Lady Alysane and her men came upon us that we were able to reach Winterfell. But perhaps she should continue the tale, Your Grace."

Alysane then took up the tale. She said, "Your Grace, My men and I were moving along the shore as commanded, burning any Ironborn ship we found and killing or capturing any of the fucking bastards we saw. We were moving to intercept a group of three longships that we had seen coming into shore that morning. While moving into position to launch our attack, my scouts came across the scouts from Ser Brynden and shortly after, we combined our forces to attack the longships and the Ironborn they carried. During our meeting, Ser Brynden requested that we escort him to Winterfell as he had been charged with the safety of King Robb's wife, who he believed may be with child."

Jon held up his hand and his head snapped up. He had an intense look on his face. Turning to Brynden he asked, "Ser Brynden, is she with child? Is my brother's wife carrying his son?"

"I'm no expert, Your Grace. I've never been married and wouldn't even know what signs to look for," Brynden replied.

"Your Grace, if I may?" Alysane asked.

Gesturing to her, Jon said, "Please."

"I don't believe she is, Your Grace. She's shown signs of having her moon's blood during our journey to Winterfell."

Jon felt a curious mix of emotions. He felt a renewed sense of loss that there truly was nothing left of his brother in this world with the exception of his bones. Yet he also felt relief. If Robb had a child, that child would have been the true heir to the Throne of Winter. And while Jon would have been more than willing to step aside in favor of that child, he was finding that he actually liked being King. He never wanted this, but he liked that he was the one that the North was turning too in its hour of need. And he was eager to extract vengeance against those that had betrayed his family.

Jon responded to her, "While I am saddened by the fact that my brother will leave no part of himself behind in this world, the North does not need the complication of a succession dispute such as the South is having right now. Not with the Long Night coming. We need the North united. Hells, we need all Seven Kingdoms united but that will never happen. Continue, Lady Alysane."

"Yes, Your Grace. I agreed to escort them to Winterfell after we completed our attack on the Ironborn that were approaching the shore. I was of the opinion that keeping more Ironborn out of the North was just as important as escorting Ser Brynden's party to Winterfell."

"And you were correct, My Lady," Jon told her.

"Thank you, Your Grace. We were preparing our attack when we saw that the Ironborn had a hostage with them, Lady Sybelle Glover. We hastily altered our attack plan so as to protect her, launched our attack and were victorious. In the process, we burned all three longships, freed Lady Glover and siezed several highborn hostages. Including Asha Greyjoy, the daughter of Balon Greyjoy and Theon's brother."

Jon briefly saw red at the mere mention of Theon's name. When he got his hands on the cunt...

Alysane, continuing without a pause said, "Lady Greyjoy did impart some intelligence to us, Your Grace. Her father is no long Lord of the Iron Islands. His brother Euron returned home and killed him. He then siezed the Salt Throne for himself and he is the one now leading the Ironborn. Most of the Houses on the Iron Islands will support Euron, but enough are willing to oppose him that we may be able to throw them into confusion, rout them on the field and throw them out of our country and back into the sea that they came from."

"A tempting possibility, My Lady. While I have no wish to add the Iron Islands to the North, having their support during the Long Night could prove invaluable. The Wall ends at Westwatch-by-the-Bridge. The mountains and the gorge there are, as far as we know, impassible. But we don't know everything that the Others are capable of. So I'm leery of leaving the coast undefended. Having the Iron Fleet there could prove invaluable."

Pausing for a moment, Jon continued, "Well, that's probably a discussion for another time."

Directing his next question at both Alysane and Brynden, Jon asked, "In your opinions, will Lady Greyjoy order the Ironborn in the North to surrender if we promise them good treatment and allow them to return to the Iron Islands?"

Holding up his hand to forestall the arguments that he could already see forming from Smalljon, Dacey, Alysane and Galbert, Jon said, "I'm not suggesting we let the murdering scum go free. I'm simply exploring all our options. The North needs all our strength for the Long Night. If getting our enemies to surrender saves that strength, it is my duty as King to offer it. If it won't, then I've lost nothing but the time it takes to ask and we can use our strength to cut them all down. Now, Lady Alysane, Ser Brynden. Your opinions, please?"

Alysane merely shrugged her shoulders and shook her head slightly. Brynden thought for a moment and then cautiously nodded. He said:

"She might. She surrendered herself and her men when she was clearly beaten to spare their lives. If she's given the same offer again, she just might be willing to accept it."

"Then that is something we will have to explore. In the meantime, My Lords, it is almost evening and time for our evening meal. I suggest we adjourn for the evening and we can resume our discussion in the morning."

As his Lords and Ladies began to head out of his Solar, Jon spoke up one last time, "Ser Brynden, a moment, if you please. I would like to speak to you for a moment."

"As you wish, Your Grace," came the gruff reply.

Once they were alone, Jon asked the grizzled Knight, "Ser Brynden, it pains me to ask this of you and your people, you've only just arrived in Winterfell and it makes me into a poor host, but I feel that I have no choice. When Theon took and burned this castle, he put the entire household to the sword. I have requested aide from White Harbor in sending skilled people to build a new household, but they have yet to arrive. Will your people be willing to serve here in Winterfell until such time as we can retake your home?"

Brynden had been nodding along as Jon laid out his problem, but his last question rocked him back in his chair. He said, "Your Grace, I haven't even asked if you would be willing to help me retake Riverrun. I was hoping that by showing loyalty to you, you might be willing to send some men back south with me."

"Brynden, may I call you Brynden?" At the Knight's nod, Jon continued, "Thank you. You and I may not be blood. And I know that this fact has caused some friction between our families in the past. But you are still family here. I would be a poor king and an even poorer excuse for a man if I was not willing to do all in my power to restore your family to its rightful place in the Riverlands."

"Your Grace, I..."

Jon briefly interrupted, "In here, in private, its Jon."

"Very well. Jon, I don't know what to say. So, thank you will have to do for now. And of course, my people are your people, Your Grace. House Tully is in your debt."

"No, Ser. It is my House that is in yours."

Author's Note: And with this update, we are caught up. From this point, the story will be updated as I write new chapters. And for some notes about this chapter, House Burley is a cannon Mountain Clan. However the only know member is a long dead First Ranger of the Night's Watch. So I created the character of Garth Burley. Likewise, we don't know the name of their seat in the Northern Mountains, so I've decided to call it Stonecrest. As a side note, this is the longest single chapter I've written. And comments are greatly appreciated!

 

[Causeimboredrigh]

I really do like that last exchange between Brynden and Jon, I think that you really captured both of their characters.

On the one hand, I'm a bit disappointed that Jeyne doesn't have a kid on the way, but I do see Jon's logic. I just hope he doesn't end up marrying her (it wouldn't be as bad a mistake as Robb marrying her, but it still wouldn't be a good decision)

Will lady stoneheart make an appearance? Looking forward to Jon and Arya's reunion.

 

[SSgtC]

I really do like that last exchange between Brynden and Jon, I think that you really captured both of their characters.

On the one hand, I'm a bit disappointed that Jeyne doesn't have a kid on the way, but I do see Jon's logic. I just hope he doesn't end up marrying her (it wouldn't be as bad a mistake as Robb marrying her, but it still wouldn't be a good decision)

Will lady stoneheart make an appearance? Looking forward to Jon and Arya's reunion.

Click to shrink...

Thank you. Writing dialog is probably the hardest part for me to write and get them to sound like individuals instead of just copies of me saying something.

I have plans on who Jon is marrying. I actually have the entire story outlined to the end, including marriages and potential offspring. But you'll just have to wait for the official reveal of each one to find out

At present, I'm not planning to include Lady Stoneheart in the story. I wasn't a big fan of that story line in the books. Not that it wasn't well written, but I just feel that I can make better use of the characters that she essentially replaced than I can of her. Plus, she wasn't immediately thrown in the Trident the way she was in the books, so Nymeria never pulls her from the river and Beric never gives her the last kiss.

 

[Modus_Tollens]

Which means we really owe Beric a hug. That poor son of a bitch is going to end up dying more than book and show combined.

 

[SSgtC]

Which means we really owe Beric a hug. That poor son of a bitch is going to end up dying more than book and show combined.

Click to shrink...

🤐🤐🤐

 

[SSgtC]

Asha

She was still seething. She had been a prisoner of the Blackfish for weeks already and they had just reached Winterfell a few days ago. The "King in the North" had met them in the courtyard and then almost as quickly confined her and her men to the kennels. Even empty they had smelled of dog, of shit and Gods know what else. She would rather have been in a dungeon. The day after they arrived, the Blackfish and a tall, slender girl in Mormont colors and an imposing man wearing the gauntleted fist of the Glovers had come into the kennels and started to sort everyone out. The Glover man, she assumed he was Lord Galbart Glover, was shooting daggers at them with his eyes. Judging by his demeaner, he'd kill them all where they stood if he could. Thank the Drowned God that he was likely ordered not to.

Once they had been properly sorted, a squire had been sent back to the Great Keep while they were kept waiting in the courtyard. She tried to keep her eyes open and discretely look for any chance to escape. An inattentive guard, a poorly repaired gate or wall, a horse left unattended. But she saw nothing no matter how much she studied the area. A commotion to her right drew her attention. For a brief moment she hoped that maybe one of her men had seen something she hadn't and had started a diversion that would let them attempt an escape. But her hopes were quickly dashed. It was only the King coming down to gawk at them.

She had to admit, he cut a dashing figure in his dark blue pants and shirt with a boiled leather breast piece covering a coat of chainmail. On top of that, he wore a grey tunic that had a white direwolf embroidered on it that he had draped over his shoulders and on his head was an understated crown of iron and beaten bronze inscribed with runes. His hair was long and curly while his beard was neatly trimmed. On his hip he wore a bastard sword with a wolf's head pommel. From a completely unbiased point of view, he was eminently beddable, the long face of the Starks not withstanding, and if she was here in any role other than as a prisoner she would definitely try and get him into her bed.

When he stopped in front of them, she got the shock of her life. Theon had told her of the Stark direwolves, but she had never seen one. Until now. Standing beside the King, was a snow white direwolf with deep red eyes who's head reached almost to the King's shoulder. How the fuck hadn't she seen that huge beast before?! When he moved, she got her answer. The direwolf moved on silent paws. Fuck, that thing would be death on the battlefield, you'd never know it was there until it was tearing your throat out. Her Ironmen were pulling back from the fearsome creature as they were visibly terrified of it. The king though simply reached over and scratched the wolf's massive head behind his ears. While scratching his wolf, the King spoke:

"My name is Jon Stark. For those of you who do not know, I'm the Lord of Winterfell and King in the North. You people have invaded our lands, killed our sons, raped our daughters and stolen anything of value that you could get your hands on. That ends now."

Asha spoke up, interrupting the King, "And who's going to stop us? You? You're a boy who thinks he's a king. You barely control the lands around your own castle."

The King looked at her with his cold, grey eyes and took her measure. As she stared back at him, she saw his eyes grow even colder. How was that even possible? Wait, where the fuck was the wolf? The answer to her question came when she felt a hot, wet breath on the back of her neck and, just on the edge of hearing, a low, deep rumble of a growl coming from deep inside the chest of the direwolf. It was standing directly behind her with it's jaws only inches from her neck. She felt her insides turn to jelly and her knees grew weak. She could face a hundred bowmen and feel no fear. The fiercest storm could rage and she would greet it with a smile upon her face. But the prospect of being torn to pieces by a wolf the size of a horse terrified her. It was only with the greatest effort of will that she managed to keep herself standing tall with her eyes fixed on the King.

But the King had her pegged now. Judging by the slight smile on his face, she wasn't fooling anyone with her performance. The King replied to her:

"You're right. I don't control all of the North yet. There are traitors that need to be dealt with and vermin that need to be exterminated before I can rightfully call the North mine. Now, the way I see it, I have two ways to free the North from you and your kind. I can call my banners, march through the Wolfswood and kill every last one of you we find as we go, or I can see if you're willing to make a deal. I can tell you right now which option I prefer. If I had it my way, none of you thieving scum would live to ever see those shit stained islands you call home again. But I have more important matters to consider than my lust for vengeance. So it's your call. We can either talk, or I can kill you all here and now."

Turning his head just slightly, the King said, "Ghost. Come."

As silently as the direwolf approached her, he disappeared only to reappear standing beside his master before dropping down to sit on his haunches. It did nothing to diminish how impressive the animal was. Asha took a minute to look at her men, both the highborn and the low, and they were all unnerved by the wolf. But it was only one animal and would die from a crossbow bolt as easily as any other. Then she looked up. All the walls of Winterfell were fully manned, the gates were all guarded, dozens of men were drilling in the open with pike, sword and spear, she could hear archers somewhere off to her left sending arrows into targets. The King in the North had a larger force here than she thought he would. Looking back at the King, she nodded her head in acquiescence. She would negotiate, for now anyway. It's not like their situation would get any worse by listening to what he had to say.

Stark nodded in reply, turned to one of her jailers and said, "Lord Garth, please have Lady Greyjoy escorted into the Great Hall, and if you could, please send runners to request that my other Lords and Ladies to join us." Pausing to redirect his words he continued, "Lord Glover, as your lands are currently occupied by the Ironborn, you'll have the right of speaking first. Before we do that however, we must finish our business here."

The last she heard as she was led away was the King saying, "Right, the rest of you, highborn and low, I have a proposition for you."

It took the King more than half an hour to join them in the Great Hall. Over that time, she watched as a trickle of men and women from many of the Great Houses of the North entered the Hall. She saw Mormonts, Manderlys, Umbers, Glovers, Cerwyns, Burleys and others who's sigil she didn't recognize. She even saw Tully and Blackwood men. If this was only part of the men that Stark had at his command, then she had definitely been wrong about how much force the North could bring to bear on them.

After the King entered the Great Hall and seated himself across the table from her he said, "Well, now that we're all here, lets get down to business. Lord Glover, as your lands are currently held by the Ironborn, what do you demand of them to have peace?"

The bearded Lord of Deepwood Motte rose from the table and said, "Thank you, Your Grace. As all here know, the bloody Ironborn attacked my lands and my castle while my brother, our men and myself were in the south fighting the Lannisters for King Robb. They compelled my sister-by-law to surrender the castle. She and her children along with my ward, Larence Snow, have been held captive ever since. I demand that the Ironborn holding my castle surrender, that any who have committed crimes against my people be turned over to face the King's Justice, that my brother's children and my ward be freed and that House Greyjoy compensate my House for the damage they've caused and the food they've eaten, the loss of which may jeopardize my family's survival this winter. On those terms, I am willing to accept peace."

Asha couldn't help but scoff.

She asked him, "Is that all? Why don't you demand the surrender of the Iron Islands while you're at it. Your men were defeated in the field and the castle was surrendered to us. That makes it ours. If you want it, come and take it."

With that, she leaned back in her chair, crossed one leg over the other and glared at the assembled Lords and Ladies as if daring anyone to challenge her. Inside though, she was shaking like a leaf. Every word she had just uttered was a massive bluff. She knew how lightly held Deepwood Motte was. Hells, the North as a whole was lightly held, despite the difficulty they'd had reaching Winterfell, and that was a situation that was unlikely to change. Euron had declared during the King's Moot that the war with the North was pointless. They gained nothing from it but a worthless piece of frozen shore. He had his eyes on bigger game. But if she told anyone here that, they'd throw her in a cell, call their banners and have themselves a merry old time killing every last Ironborn in the North. Her only chance of getting anything even remotely fair for her people was to convince these uptight greenlanders that they had more strength in the North than they did.

It was only when the King leaned forward and put his right arm on the table and looked at her with an eager glint in his eyes that she considered that she might have just erred. Stark said:

"Well, if that's the way you feel about it," turning towards Galbart Glover he continued, "Lord Glover. Since Lady Greyjoy has refused to negotiate for the return of your lands, you are free to take your men and take back your home, My Lord. You will have the honor of the command as is your right. I'll send an additional five hundred men with you to ensure your attack succeeds. Any Ironborn that manage to survive your attack, you may offer them the choice of the Wall or death."

With obvious relish, Lord Glover replied, "Yes, Your Grace! We'll leave at first light. Don't expect too many men to reach the Wall though. I've got no interest in being merciful."

"Nor should you, My Lord."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Asha shouted. "I never said I wouldn't negotiate. I said those terms were unacceptable!"

The King fixed her with a hard glare and in an iron voice told her, "Then why don't we cut the shit, My Lady? I've sent scouts all through the Wolfswood and along the Stoney Shore. You don't have more than a thousand or two men scattered across the North, and that's me being generous with the numbers, more likely you have between five and seven hundred. I have nearly five thousand men here at Winterfell alone and thousands more that I can call from White Harbor. How long do you think your men will last? When I order the attack, your men will be slaughtered. Maybe one in five will survive, if they're lucky. Ser Brynden has told me of your cunning. Don't prove him a liar now and act like the fool that gets her men butchered."

Asha glared at the King. She knew she was beaten Gods damn him. But did the man have to be so damn smug about it? She had to maintain the front though. If these greenlanders knew for a fact how weak they were, they wouldn't negotiate at all. She had a part to play here. And if she played it well, perhaps she could turn the tables on Euron. And wouldn't that be a grand way to fuck the bastard over? All right, time to play.

Leaning forward to match the King in the North's posture, she said, "All right, let's cut the shit. You've got all your Lords and Ladies here in some attempt to impress and intimidate me. If you really wanted my people dead, we wouldn't be here talking. You'd be leading your men west to throw us out of the North. But you can't do that because then you'd have the Boltons in your rear and from what I hear, Lord Bolton is very eager to fuck you up your arse. Now, I can make it easy for him to do that, or I can make it hard for him to do that. It's your call, really. My men and I are Ironborn. Dying isn't exactly a terrifying prospect for us. You know, the whole, 'What is dead may never die,' bit."

That simply brought another infuriating smile from the King in the North. He asked her:

"Did you already forget about those several thousand men I have in White Harbor? Lord Manderly has near ten thousand men in the city. One raven from Winterfell and those ten thousand men will keep the Boltons occupied for a very long time, if not outright crush them. That leaves me free to crush your men without a care in the world."

"Aye, but how long before King's Landing hears that you've been named King in the North and that the North still rises in rebellion? Do you really think Tywin Lannister is just going to look the other way? How long before a Lannister Army marches up the King's Road and joins with the Boltons? You Starks will lose this castle, again, and then who will be willing to follow the 'King in the North' then?"

"The Lannisters haven't sent army this far north since the Age of Heroes. They aren't going to start now. And even if they do, it'll take at least a month for them to march all the way up here, if not longer. How long will it take to burn your people out? Two weeks? Three? We don't even need to kill all of them. Just kill enough of them that the rest are no threat to us. If you want to prevent that, you need to agree to terms."

Asha opened her mouth to reply, but the King just shot her a withering glance and said:

"Shut up and listen. Your men are hopelessly outnumbered and the North is ready and willing to kill every last one of you. Seven hells, my bannermen would love nothing more than for me to release them to go on a rampage and slaughter you all. I would love nothing more than to do that. But I have more pressing concerns at the moment than killing a bunch of thieves. So here is my offer:

You will surrender all the Ironborn in the North to me. All highborn leaders will be treated in accord with their station and will be held as hostages to be exchanged for Northern hostages. The rest of your men will be sent to the Wall to join the Night's Watch. There is a war coming from beyond the Wall and all of Westeros will need every man we can spare on the Wall. Once hostages are exchanged, you will be free to go as you please. As I understand it, you're fleeing from your uncle. Hold true to your word, and I'll not send you back. But if you don't surrender to me here and now, a raven will fly for Pyke today. And we'll make an offer to your uncle that he won't refuse. You, returned to him in chains, his men allowed to leave the North and return to the Iron Islands in exchange for any hostages he holds. How long before you think he'll accept that?"

"You wouldn't dare make that offer. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows my uncle is a madman. Why would you try and make a deal with a madman? Especially when I can offer you a better one."

"Because even a madman will do the things that serve his own interests. Your head on a spike is in his interests. And how can you offer me a better deal. You couldn't even garner enough support to follow your father on the Salt Throne."

Now it was her turn to smile. Asha leaned back in her chair again and raised her eyebrows before saying:

"Because I know Euron. And I know the Ironborn. Allow us to return to the Iron Islands, and all the Ironborn in the North will join with me. That adds a large force of fierce fighters to your army. Send your raven to Pyke with your offer for Euron. As you say, Euron will accept it. He won't abide by the terms of it, but he will accept it in an attempt to fuck you over. Bring me and my men down to the beach on the Stony Shore, make it look like you intend to hand me over to him. But have your army hidden in the woods, waiting for him. When he attacks, and make no mistake he will attack you on the shore, you and your men can fall on him and crush him. I'll become Queen of the Iron Islands then. And we can make a peace between us.

"This war is as bad for us as it is for you. All we've gotten from you is a bit of frozen dirt and some trees. My father was an idiot for rejecting your brother's offer. He could have had all the wealth of Lannisport, instead he attacked fishing villages. I won't make that same mistake."

"So you're proposing that if we help you fuck your uncle over, you'll leave our lands. And all you want out of this is, what? For good Northmen to shed their blood for your freedom? Are you as mad as your uncle? Why in the name of the Old Gods would I agree to that?"

"I'm not asking you to shed blood for our freedom, I'm asking you to shed blood for your own. Do you really think you can win a war fighting the Ironborn, the Iron Throne and your own people? You help me kill my uncle, the Ironborn will leave your shores and never return. And you can be free to fight your other wars."

Judging by the muttering she heard coming from some of the Lords gathered with them, she had made at least a few points that they didn't completely disagree with.

Speaking again, she said, "I do have a question for you though, Your Grace."

"What is it?"

"What offer were you making my men after you had me led away?"

"The same one I was making in here. That any man who wished to be free today and be treated to a good hot meal and clean clothes could join the Night's Watch and leave for Castle Black as we were talking. Seven of your men agreed to take the Black. The rest are back in the kennels until we can figure out if any of them need to be tried for crimes they may have committed against my people."

"How dare you! You made that kind of offer to my men without me present?!"

Pointing his finger in her face, the King told her, "You are a prisoner here, Lady Greyjoy. You have no rights beyond what rights I give you. Your men made a choice. Just as you made a choice to negotiate. Now, if you're quite finished with the feigned anger? We will take a short break for us to discuss your proposal."

The King then leaned forward and to his left and said, "Ser Marlon? Will you please escort Lady Greyjoy to an interior chamber and post two of your men as guards on her door then join us back here?"

From down the table, a voice answered, "Yes, Your Grace."

As she was led away again, she saw a messenger run into the Great Hall and whisper something to the King who's face went white and his eyes grew wide. She saw the King grab the man's arm and ask him something before rushing out of the Hall and into the courtyard. She wondered what that was all about?

 

[Causeimboredrigh]

Well, it looks like Theon just arrived. Not sure what else could get that reaction from Jon.

I really like your characterization of Jon in this fic as well btw. No season 8 mooy to be seen here

 

[SSgtC]

Well, it looks like Theon just arrived. Not sure what else could get that reaction from Jon.

I really like your characterization of Jon in this fic as well btw. No season 8 mooy to be seen here

Click to shrink...

Thank you! There was soooo much wrong with Season 8. D&D really rushed the ending and it clearly suffered for it. Like, I get Jon not wanting the Iron Throne. That damn chair has killed almost everyone who's ever sat on it. But I don't see him giving up his own crown so easily.

 

[SSgtC]

Petyr

The Eyrie was getting colder, a sure sign that Winter was coming. Soon, it would be too cold to remain in the high, ancient fortress of the Arryn's and the entire Household would have to move to the Gates of the Moon for the winter. He had hoped to have considerably advanced his plans before the move, but it seemed as if the Gods were conspiring against him. In the last week, several ravens had reached him. One from his spy on the Wall, one from a source in the Westerlands and a third came from King's Landing.

The scroll from the Wall really only confirmed what he already knew, that the Wildlings were moving into the Gift and New Gift south of the Wall and that several of the Northern families weren't very happy about it, nor was the Night's Watch. The information was potentially useful should he need to foment additional unrest in the North if and when Ned Stark's bastard crushed Roose Bolton. Based solely on what he knew, the Stark boy outnumbered the Boltons more than three-to-one when all the forces in White Harbor were included. In real terms, he probably held a two-to-one advantage in men that he could actually put into the field. Not impossible odds for a seasoned commander like Roose Bolton, but not good either.

Frowning a little, perhaps he should stir up another crises in the North now. Pulling a blank raven scroll to him from the stack he kept on his desk, Petyr dipped his quill into his inkpot and penned a brief note. Lord Janos Slynt was on the Wall, and not very happy about it. The Imp had done his work well there, Petyr had to admit. His man at the Wall said that Donal Noye was serving as the Acting Lord Commander, but that a vote to confirm a new Lord Commander was to be held soon. Commit the proper amount of gold, gold that his man could access in Mole's Town, and Lord Janos would be the nine-hundredth-and-whatever Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The man despised Wildlings, and the Starks. The fact that Jon had gone from being a bastard and Man of the Watch to King in the North would not sit well with him. A few mild suggestions, and Lord Slynt would launch an attack on the Wildlings and shatter the peace that Ned's bastard had so far fostered in the North. The boy would be overwhelmed with attacks from all sides and his bannermen would desert him in droves as they saw his inability to cope. He would use the Chaos in the North to sideline them and keep them from getting involved in the South for the next hundred years.

The scroll from the Westerlands on the other hand was helpful, but not very useful. His source in Tywin Lannister's domain was a simple tavern girl. High Lords tended not to notice the girls that served them their food and drink or that warmed their beds. He could fill a book with the information his girls had told him when their customers talked without thinking. In this case, his girl had learned that Lord Lannister was reconstructing two castles that had lain empty and in ruins for nearly forty years. Castamere and Tarbeck Hall were being rebuilt and he had named two new Lords to hold them. The first was someone he knew very well, the second he knew only in association with the first. Tyrion Lannister and Bronn Blackwater had been elevated to the position of Lord and granted Castamere and Tarbeck Hall respectively. While he was tempted to dismiss the information as simply more of the mindless dross that was much of Westerosi politics, if he was being honest with himself, he was forced to admit that it was a minor setback.

He had planned to use Tyrion's resentment against his father, and his father's disdain for Tyrion, to drive a wedge between them. In the long term, he had hoped to turn Tyrion against his family and use him to rally the West to him. At least until he could be conveniently eliminated after his throne was secure. Bronn was nothing more than a sellsword, but he was a damn good one. And the reward Tywin Lannister had just given him was the same reward he had planned to offer to pry him away from Tyrion. He had only himself to blame there. He should have made the offer before leaving King's Landing, but he honestly didn't think Tywin would actually give a sellsword, even a Knighted one, a Lordship. Well, he would just have to hope that the man's sellsword instincts for preservation would make him see the light and turn his cloak when the time came. All in all, the two messages offered more possibilities than setbacks in the grand scheme of things. No, it was the final message he had received that was causing him sleepless nights.

It was a message that had been sent directly from King's Landing to the Eyrie. And it bore the seal of the Hand of the King. Tywin Lannister was ordering him to supply a thousand infantry from the Riverlands and a thousand heavy cavalry from the Vale to join with the infantry force being led north by Ser Jamie. This force of men would be in addition to the supplies of grain, cattle and sheep he was being ordered to send from the Riverlands as well. Supplies, he could send without too much worry. But if he sent an actual armed force into the North to fight the Starks, he could kiss their support goodbye when the time came to move on King's Landing. While the North would never fight alongside Lannisters, they could, and would, sit behind Moat Cailin and watch the rest of the country burn. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Without dragons, no one had ever breached Moat Cailin to attack the North.

But if he refused to send the men requested, he would be signing his own death warrant. His position was already precarious and Tywin Lannister would never let even the slightest sign of rebellion or disobedience stand. He supposed that he could send the men, and order them to turn on the Lannisters as soon as battle was joined. But that would only delay the inevitable. Neither the Riverlands nor the Vale were prepared to face the wrath of Tywin when he learned of that treason. Particularly not when he was backed by the Reach. The Riverlands were nearly bankrupt and broken after Robb's Rebellion and had no stomach for further war on their lands. The Vale was fresh and unblooded, but they didn't trust him. Lord Royce had already led a contingent of Lords seeking to remove him as Lord Protector of the Vale after Lysa's death. Could he trust them to follow his orders? In this case, perhaps. But what would happen after? He only held power here as long as young Robert Arryn lived. Once he was removed from the board, Harrold Hardyng would become Lord of the Vale, and he held no love for him. And that was assuming the other Lords of the Vale didn't immediately turn on him and bring him in chains to Tywin to save their own necks. Not that he could blame them for that, he would do the exact same thing in their position.

At every step, the Game of Thrones was becoming more complex and dangerous. His next moves would need to be exquisitely planned and perfectly executed. If they weren't, his head would end up on the same spike as Ned Stark's had. As he poured over all the information he had acquired looking for a way to massage things to his advantage, he slowly came to one inescapable conclusion. He needed to cut his losses in regard to the North and start putting other pieces into play in it's stead. Pulling a small scroll to him, he began to write:

"My Lord Hand,

As commanded I have given orders for my Lords to muster men for the force being led by Ser Jaime. However, I must caution you that I suspect the loyalty of some of my bannermen. Many in the Riverlands and the Vale believe they have an obligation to the Starks and Tullys and are not eager to fight either, despite their clear treason. I have taken hostages from some of these suspect Lords to ensure their loyalty and am sending these Lords to Ser Jaime so that he may keep them under observation and punish any treason they may wish to commit. I will send a loyal man with this force to warn Ser Jaime as well.

Petyr Baelish

Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, Lord Protector of the Vale"

Rolling the scroll and sealing it, he brought it and the scroll that would find its way to the Wall to the rookery personally and watched the Maester put the two scrolls on ravens and send them on their way. Petyr relaxed slightly once the two ravens were away. Baring the ravens getting injured or killed enroute no one save Tywin and his man on the Wall would know the contents of the scroll. It was just too bad that his loyal servant that was being sent to warn poor Ser Jaime would die enroute of a sudden fever and his warning would never make it to him. Was it a risk? Of course it was. But you didn't win a throne by avoiding risks. He assumed Lord Lannister would send his own warning to his son, Tywin was no fool after all, but with a little luck the battle would already be fought and the Westerlands force would be in tatters by the time any warning arrived.

He would send Ser Harrold Hardyng to lead the force from the Vale and when Ser Harrold turned his cloak and led his men against the Lannisters, he would declare those Lords to be traitors to the Iron Throne and strip them of their lands and titles. To turn the remaining Vale Lords against the "traitors", he would have young Lord Robert poisoned and the act would be laid at the feet of Harrold Hardyng, Robert's heir. He would be the perfect scape goat. An heir, unwilling to wait to inherit and deciding that the North offered a better option than King's Landing. It was the perfect set up. And to sink the hook, he would reveal Sansa's true heritage to the Young Lord, thus inducing him to accept the betrothal that Lady Waynwood had already agreed to. Once the betrothal was accepted, the two would be wed quickly and privately to bind the Vale and the North together, thus making Harrold's betrayal all the more believable. He of course would deny all knowledge of their wedding when questioned about it. He would claim that the betrothal between the two was the doing of the late Lysa Arryn and that he had been left unaware of it until after the Vale forces had joined up with Ser Jaime.

While this was a major change in his plans, he felt that he had no choice in the matter. Events had taken the decision out of his hands. If he could at least isolate the North while promising, and delivering, the Riverlands and the Vale a return to stability and prosperity, they would back him when the time came. And in the meantime, he would lull the Lannisters to sleep until they lowered their guard in regards to him. And when he launched his campaign after the Martells brought their Targaryen "Prince" back to Westeros, Tywin would think he was simply coming to the aid of King's Landing and answering his King's summons. By the time they knew differently, it would be too late. With the North sitting behind Moat Cailin, the Westerlands more concerned with the invasion in the South, the Iron Islands doing Gods know what, raping and reaving the rest of the country most likely, the Crownlands wanting mainly to be left alone but reluctantly backing the Iron Throne and the Reach dealing with divided loyalties (they were the last of the Seven Kingdoms to fly the Dragon Banners after all), he would sweep aside all the opposition before him and find himself on the Iron Throne. Let the Westerlands and Dorne kill each other, he would be there to pick up the pieces when they finished.

Here, he paused for moment. What if Ser Harrold survived the battles in the North and returned to rally the Vale against him? That would destroy all his plans before they could even begin. Perhaps he would have to send a man loyal to him with the Vale force after all. But not to warn Ser Jaime. Oh no, he would be needed to eliminate Harrold Hardyng after the battle. But which method of doing so would be best?

As the solution came to him, a sly grin slowly spread across his face. They say poison is a woman's weapon. By poisoning both Robert Arryn and Harrold Hardyng, he could claim that it was Sansa, trying to place herself into power over the Vale. Treason did run in her blood if the Grand Maester was to be believed. That would turn the Vale firmly against the North and finish off the Tully's as a legitimate ruling House as well. At the very least, the Vale would be thrown firmly behind him and he could claim the title of Warden of the East in his own right. While the Riverlands would, however reluctantly, accept him as their Overlord.

Rising and smoothing his clothes so as to maintain his trim and dapper appearance, he left his solar and made his way down to the Great Hall where several of his Lords were gathered, including Ser Harrold. Reaching the Hall, he saw Sansa standing by her cousin, young Robert, caring for him while Harrold appeared to be deep in conversation with Lord Royce.

Speaking to Harold, Petyr said, "Pardon me, My Lords, but Ser Harrold, if I may have a word with you in private. Would you please join me in my Solar?"

Replying to Petyr he said, "In regards to what, My Lord?"

"I've recently received a raven from King's Landing. The contents of the message are, well, quite important to the future of the Vale. Your counsel would be invaluable."

"As you wish, My Lord," he replied. Turning to Yohn Royce he said, "If you will excuse me, Lord Royce?"

Turning towards Sansa, Petyr called, just loudly enough to be heard, "Alayne, will you please bring Lord Arryn to my Solar? The Lord of the Vale should be present when matters concerning the Vale are discussed."

"Of course, Father," Sansa said.

She played the part of Petyr's bastard daughter perfectly. He had trained her well. A pity he would soon have to discard her. It would be painful for him, but if he wanted to sit on the Iron Throne, it was a sacrifice he would have to make, no matter how much it pained him to do it. His feelings for her were a weakness, and weaknesses got men killed when they played the Great Game.

Author's Note: Apologies for the delay in posting a new chapter. Work has been very busy and well, I DESPISE writing Littlefucker POVs. It is a cast iron bitch getting into his headspace and keeping track of his "wheels within wheels" plotting is, quite simply, a pain the ass. At any rate, I hope you enjoy the newest chapter.

 

[SSgtC]

Roose

Roose knelt over the body of his son and stared at the bloody ruin that was his throat before looking at the hole where his eye used to be. He had warned Ramsay not to play his games, that eventually he would push someone too far and they would turn on him. Well, Theon had turned on him. He had ripped his throat open, buried a knife in his skull, and then left his body to rot in his chamber. The bedding hanging from the window gave him a good idea of where the traitor went. His only consolation was that Theon had no friends in the North. Anyone loyal to Roose would bring Theon back to the Dreadfort for him to deal with personally. Anyone loyal to the Starks would bring his head to Winterfell to reap rewards from Jon.

Unlike most fathers, Roose felt nothing at the loss of his bastard. He knew the boy was twisted and unfit to follow him as Lord of the Dreadfort. And he knew that he would never allow any of the children he had with Lady Walda to survive. They were a threat to his own position. He had been left with a set of unsavory decisions to make before Ramsay's death. Boy Lords were as often as not a terror on their people. Yet Ramsay would be no less a terror. Now he supposed it really didn't matter. Lady Walda would give birth to his child, the Maester believed it would be a boy, and assuming the Maester was correct he would have his heir. But only if his House survived the war against the Starks.

He had received a raven from King's Landing before the wedding informing him that Ser Jaime Lannister was leading a force of some seven thousand men to join with him in the North. That would be a welcome addition to his army. His scouts reported that Lord Manderly had raised a large force at White Harbor, with estimates ranging between fifteen and twenty thousand men. Other Scouts had reported that the Stark boy had wasted no time in retaking Winterfell after Ramsay had left it empty. They reported that the gates had all been fully repaired and the walls were well maned. Some thought that there might be a force of two thousand or so inside the castle. If his scouts were to be believed he was facing at least seventeen thousand men against his six thousand or so. He would need those men from Ser Jaime to even the odds a bit.

Straightening up, Roose waved in three servants who were waiting outside the room. They collected Ramsay's body and would bring it down to the crypt to prepare it for burial. It felt wrong to bury Ramsay alongside Domeric, particularly given his suspicions that Ramsay had murdered his son and heir, but the boy was still a Bolton, and putting him in a grave alongside the smallfolk just wouldn't do. Motioning over one of the Captains of his household guard, he told the man to turn out the hounds and send scouting parties throughout the surrounding lands. In his opinion, Theon would likely head for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to join the Watch and put himself beyond the reach of everyone who wanted him dead.

Leaving Ramsay's rooms, Roose put his dead bastard out of his mind and sent runners in search of Lord Ryswell, Lady Dustin and Lord Stout to invite them to join him in his solar to begin planning their attack on Winterfell. They would need to draw the Stark forces out of the castle and into the open field to have any chance at success. When properly manned, Winterfell was for all intents and purposes impregnable to any attack on it. He and his Lords would have some planning to do to force Jon to leave the safety of the castle.

Roose took his time and availed himself of the chance to refocus his mind from his dead son to the problem of crushing the Starks. By the time he reached his solar Rodrick, Harwood and Barbrey were all waiting for him. Entering the room that he ruled his lands from, Roose poured himself a glass of hippocras from a bottle that had been placed near the fire to warm it. Having done that, he waved his Lords and Lady to the sideboard to help themselves to the wine he kept there. Settling into his chair he looked critically at the three nobles. Lord Rodrick Ryswell was his former father by law and he had been Domeric's grandfather. Lady Dustin was Rodrick's daughter and Lord Stout was sworn to House Dustin. Of all the houses in the North, they were the three that he should be able to rely on to support his claim as Warden of the North.

Looking up at a large, beautifully handpainted map of the North that was hanging on his wall, his eyes drifted to Karhold and the sunburst sigil of House Karstark. He should have been able to count on the Karstark's support as well, but Karhold had been strangely silent. He had sent a raven to the Karstarks with an invitation to attend the wedding between Ramsay and the girl given to him by Littlefinger that was posing as Arya Stark, but he had received no reply. Perhaps Arnolf really would declare for the Starks to ensure that Harion would be killed by Tywin? He wouldn't put it past the old bastard. He lusted after the Lordship of Karhold more than most men lusted after a wet cunt. Loudly and publicly declaring for the Starks would would almost assuredly result in the execution of Harion and the ascension of Harion's sister Alys to the Lordship. A simple forced wedding between Alys and Arnolf's son Cregan, and the lordship would move to Arnolf's line. He would need to be careful of any support he may receive from that quarter.

Turning his gaze back to the three Lords in front of him, Roose took a sip of his hippocras and then said:

"My Lords and Lady. Yesterday was a day that began in joy and ended in sorrow. Perhaps I was a fool to think that Lady Stark would meekly submit to marrying my son, but what was done to him was appalling. Though it pains me to do so, we must put the brutal death of Ramsay behind us and begin to plan our campaign against Ned Stark's bastard. My son is dead and soon to be buried, but the war must still be won.

"Stark's bastard has wasted no time in reclaiming his family's seat of Winterfell and my scouts tell me that his gates are fully repaired and the walls appear to be well manned. Based on the reports of my scouts, I estimate that the boy has no more than two thousand men in Winterfell, drawn mainly from some of the Mountain Clans. While we have some six thousand men that we can put into the field and thus should be able to easily defeat him, the men in Winterfell are not the only men Jon can call upon."

Gesturing to the map on the wall while he spoke, Roose continued, "White Harbor, the Last Hearth, Bear Island, Greywater Watch and other holdfasts all continue to fly the Stark's banners. Lord Manderly in particular has anywhere from between ten to twenty thousand men in White Harbor alone that he was preparing to send south to our campaign in the Riverlands before Robb lost the war. While that is by far the largest part of the Stark's forces, Jon can also call on several thousand other men from the remaining loyal houses if they are needed."

Pausing to take another sip of his hippocras, Roose laid out the problem they were facing:

"While we could easily place Winterfell under siege, no army has ever taken the castle when it was properly manned. When Theon took it from the Starks, no one in the North knew of his treason yet and he was welcomed into the castle by the few men that remained there. When Ramsay took it from Theon, he had only 20 men and his own men betrayed him before opening the gates. Should we attempt an attack ourselves, I do not believe our chances for success would be any greater than anyone who has come before.

"And if we do lay siege to the castle, Lord Manderly could simply march from White Harbor up the White Knife and take our entire force in the rear, trapping us against the walls of Winterfell while the Starks sally out from the gates and slaughter us all."

Roderick Ryswell, being one of the more experienced men in the North in matters of war replied:

"Lord Bolton, with those forces arrayed against us, the odds of victory are extremely low. The only way I can see for us to win is by meeting Ned's bastard in the open field and taking him out before the Manderly's can arrive to support him. The loss of their King, and any hostages we may take, may well be enough to convince Wyman to return to his city and acknowledge you as his Overlord. But that is a large gamble.

"And it is not guaranteed to work. If Jon has any brains at all, he'll know that we outnumber him and will stay safely behind the walls until he receives support from White Harbor. Or any of the other Houses loyal to him for that matter. How do you plan to get him to leave Winterfell? Because if you don't have a plan for that, My Lord, we might as well all take the Black right now."

Smiling at his former father by law, Roose answered:

"Quite simple, Roderick. We don't. At least, not yet."

Seeing the puzzled expressions on the faces opposite him, Roose reached over to his desk and picked up two raven scrolls from the top of a pile of them. Holding them up for his Lords to see, Roose told them:

"We defeat the Starks with these. I have here one scroll from Lord Tywin Lannister and another from a Donal Noye, apparently he is the Acting Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. In the message from Lord Lannister, he informs me that his son, Ser Jaime, is leading some seven thousand men north to join with us. That will allow us to meet the Starks on nearly equal terms. And I have more confidence in my own ability to lead an army than I do in the bastard's ability to do the same. The message from Lord Commander Noye is not meant for me specifically, but was sent to every keep and holdfast in the North. You will all likely have this same scroll waiting for you at your homes when you return there. The Lord Commander wishes to inform every House in the North that by order of the King in the North, the Wildlings are being allowed through the Wall to settle in the Gift and New Gift to, and I quote, 'face the threat of the Long Night together as one people and to defend the realms of men from the threat of the Others."

The looks on the faces of his Lords spoke volumes to him. They ranged from incredulous to furious.

"He did what, My Lord?" asked Lord Stout.

"The Stark boy allowed the wildlings south of the wall. Jon has made a major error in allowing this and shows every sign of following his half-brother's footsteps. By allowing the wildlings south of the Wall and allowing them to settle on the very lands that they have raped and raided for centuries, he will have turned many of the Northern Lords against him. But more than just allowing them south, he has also agreed to defend the wildlings should they be attacked by any of his Lords."

Understanding slowly dawned on their faces. Instead of threatening their fellow Northmen, they could launch a series of small attacks on the wildlings with only a portion of their forces, which would force Jon to come out to defend them. And when they did, they could fall on him with their full might, thus ending the Starks as the ruling House of the North.

Only old Lord Stout seemed somewhat doubtful. Turning slightly to face the one armed Lord, Roose asked him:

"Something troubles you, Lord Stout?"

Nodding slowly, Harwood said, "Yes, Lord Bolton, it does. If we attack the wildlings, won't they just throw their lot in with the Starks, making the odds against even worse? I'll grant you that they aren't the disciplined fighters we are, but numbers alone can make up for quite a lot. And what was that last bit in the message from the Lord Commander? Something about the Others?"

"An astute observation, Harwood. I'll answer your last question first. The Night's Watch believes that the Others of ancient legend have returned. For the last several years, they have suffered the unexplained loss of a great many of their brothers beyond the Wall. Most without even a hint of what happened to them. They have also recently sent a Great Ranging beyond the Wall, several hundred men strong. Out of all those hundreds, one man alone returned, claiming that the rest of his Brothers were slaughtered by the Others. You should all have received a raven scroll from Castle Black about it sent by Maester Aemon. Whether or not you believe such things, well, the Watch certainly seems to. And it will be something for us to investigate once the war with the Starks is won. As to your first question, you're entirely correct. If we attack the wildlings, they'll simply be pushed into siding with the Starks. But if the Umbers or the Mormonts attack them..."

Roose trailed off and let the silence fill the air. Either the three Lords in the room with him would reach the proper conclusion or they wouldn't. If they did, his faith in them would not have been misplaced. If they did not, then he would know that they were too stupid to be of much use to him.

Lady Dustin was the first to grasp his plan. She told him,

"A clever plan, Lord Bolton. Attack under the banners of the Mormonts and Umbers, the wildlings will believe that the Starks have broken their word and will attack them in retaliation. When they do, Ned's bastard will be forced to leave the safety of Winterfell and either defend his people or try to negotiate. Either way, he gets drawn out of his castle and into the open where we can get to him.

"Once the bastard is dealt with, the rest of the North will unite behind you as you throw the wildlings back beyond the Wall. Your plan to be seen as the savior of the North from the reckless rule of the Starks will be a resounding success and House Bolton will be firmly established as the North's ruling house."

With the respect plain in Barbery's eyes, she nodded her head to Roose and said to him:

"Well done, My Lord."

"Well thought, My Lady. There is still much to do before it can be considered done," Roose corrected her.

Roderick now said:

"Still, my daughter is correct. That plan, if successfully executed, will show the entire North that the Starks can no longer be trusted to rule. And it will show the sheer folly of allowing the wildlings past the Wall."

"But what about the Mormonts and Umbers?" asked Lord Stout. "They'll know they didn't attack the wildlings and will be quick to point that out. Both houses are also almost fanatically loyal to the Starks. There's a reason Dacey and Smalljon were chosen to carry Robb's will to Castle Black after all. How do you convince anyone in the North that they were the ones to disobey their King?"

"My dear Harwood," Roose replied. "We don't need to convince Northmen. We need to convince wildlings and savages from beyond the Wall. Once the peace is breached, will anyone care why it was breached? And will anyone really believe wildlings over their fellow Lords? Would you? Would I? The answer is no. There is not a single one of us who would believe the word of a wildling over the word of one of us. I wager even Jon would believe me over a wildling.

"For now, I will send raiding parties around Winterfell to keep the bastard's attention focused on his own lands. He'll be too busy dealing with them to pay much attention to what's happening in the Gift with the wildlings or to notice what we are doing. Once his attention is fully occupied, and the forces from the Lannisters join with us, we will launch our attack on the wildlings, drawing Jon out and destroying him.

"In the meantime, My Lords, return to your holdfasts, prepare your men. Lady Dustin, when Ser Jaime arrives at Barrowtown have your men join forces with him and march towards Winterfell. There are many in the North who will not be pleased to see the Lannister's banners on the King's Road. Seeing your own banners in the column will help ease those feelings.

"Once we are all gathered together in force, the Starks will fall and we can begin the process of rebuilding the North after the disastrous war that Robb led us into."

 

[Arimai]

I'm trying to contain my laughter. If anyone falls for Baelish's plan then they're too stupid to live. That entire string of thought was fucking incompetent, convoluted and amateurish to the extreme. He's really gone all in for the Chaotic Evil (self destructive, incompetent twit, lower case evil)

 

[SSgtC]

I'm trying to contain my laughter. If anyone falls for Baelish's plan then they're too stupid to live. That entire string of thought was fucking incompetent, convoluted and amateurish to the extreme. He's really gone all in for the Chaotic Evil (self destructive, incompetent twit, lower case evil)

Click to shrink...

Well, to be fair to Baelish, he's got a problem. His original plan was to unite the North with the Vale and the Riverlands behind Sansa. But the North already has Jon to unite behind. So he decided on a wait and see approach. Well, now Tywin is ordering him to send men to attack the North. So what does he do? If he does as he's told, the North will never back him in his quest to seize the Iron Throne. And Sansa will never forgive him or support him either. Which pretty much wrecks his entire plan. If he says "fuck it" and betrays the Lannisters in earnest, well then he's forced into fighting a war that he just isn't ready for. The Riverlands are tired of fighting and seeing their homes ruined. They would turn on him in a heartbeat. The Vale is fresh and unblooded, but the Vale cannot defeat the Reach, the Westerlands, the Crownlands and whatever parts of the Riverlands and Stormlands decide to support the Iron Throne.

Even if he still decided to go all in on supporting the North, the price for their support in his quest for the throne would be the independence of at least the Riverlands and North. And would probably also include the Vale. That's over half the Seven Kingdoms in land area and nearly half of the population. The North would be the real power on the continent, not him. His only real option is to go all in on the chaos and try to ride the wave all the way to King's Landing.

 

[SSgtC]

Stannis

Arrayed before Stannis in its room at the top of the Stone Drum Tower deep inside the heart of Dragonstone was the beautifully carved and painted table map of Westeros that had been constructed on the orders of Aegon the Conquerer. It was the very same map that the man had used to plan his invasion of the Seven Kingdoms. Stannis had used it to plan his failed assault on King's Landing, the assault Melisandre insisted would have succeeded had she been present. To anyone who saw him, Stannis would look like a statue as he stared at the map. Only the movement of his eyes and the faint sound of his teeth grinding gave away that he was in fact made of flesh and not stone.

Everywhere he looked, he was surrounded by enemies and traitors. To the far west in the Sunset Sea, the Ironborn were in open rebellion with no sign of submitting any time soon. And why should they? There were only two fleets in all the Seven Kingdoms that could threaten them. And one of them had been destroyed during the Battle of the Blackwater. The other had been in Shipbreaker Bay until recently, conducting a blockade of Storm's End. And while it was there, it was no threat to them at all.

To the north, the Starks and Boltons looked set to tear each other, and their Kingdom, apart. And neither House had any intention of recognizing him as King no matter who won their war. The Starks planned to keep their crown now that they had reclaimed it and the Boltons had already bent the knee to the Iron Throne. Ser Davos had sailed for the North weeks ago in an attempt to persuade Eddard Stark's bastard to set aside his crown and bend the knee in exchange for aid in fighting the Long Night, but he had heard nothing from him since. The Lady Melisandre had assured him that his Hand would reach the North alive, that she had seen it in the flames. But according to her, R'hllor had not shown her more than that. She had hinted heavily that a sacrifice of King's Blood would be needed to gain her God's favor and allow her to see more, but the only person in the castle other than him with King's Blood was his daughter. Stannis was no fool, and at hearing what she was suggesting, he had seized her by her throat and told her menacingly not to go near Shireen. The Red Woman hadn't seemed frightened in the least by his outburst, but she had acquiesced to his command nonetheless.

Putting his mind fully back on the map in front of him, he looked to the west, where the boy that claimed to be his nephew sat on the Throne that was his by right. And he was being protected by a pride of damn lions. With Robb Stark dead and his army scattered to the four winds in the Riverlands, Tywin Lannister was free to deploy his full strength towards defeating him. And that was exactly what the Old Lion had done.

Several messages had reached him from loyal men in King's Landing while a raven from Storm's End had also arrived. The messages from King's Landing were warning him that Tywin Lannister was sending a large force from the Westerlands and the Reach to stamp him out. While the Raven from Ser Gilbert Farring, his castellan at Storm's End, was warning him that the majority of the Redwyne war fleet had left Shipbreaker Bay and sailed towards King's Landing. So now the Lannisters had the ships and the men to root him out of his fortress. The only question remaining is whether they would assault him directly or try and starve him out with a siege. In the end, it really boiled down to how quickly Tywin wanted to end the war.

If Tywin felt he had time to spare, he'd put the Castle under seige and try to starve him out. Stannis thought that unlikely. First, Mace Tyrell had tried to do that to him at Storm's End during Robert's Rebellion. It hadn't ended well for the Fat Flower. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, Tommen was new to the Throne after the death of Joffery. It would do the boy's rule no good for his Uncle to be allowed to sit on Dragonstone for years proclaiming to all who would listen that he was the rightful King and that Tommen was a bastard born of incest and a usurper.

So it would be a direct assault then. Tywin would use the Redwyne fleet to land his troops on the small stretch of beach in the anchorage, which just so happened to be the only place on the entire island suitable for such a landing. With enough men, he could meet them on the beach and slaughter the treasonous curs as they came ashore. But with fewer than two thousand men on the whole island still loyal to him, he did not have enough men to do that, so he dismissed the idea from his mind. Wishing for something would not make it magically become so, previous experience with the Red Woman not withstanding. So how best to defend his castle?

The next several hours were spent deciding on how best to defend Dragonstone. Once he had decided, he called his principle commanders together into the plainly named Chamber of the Painted Table. Once they were all gathered, Stannis told them:

"I've received news from King's Landing and Storm's End. The Redwyne war fleet has left Shipbreaker Bay and sailed for the Capital. Once they arrive, they are to embark a force of several thousand men from the Westerlands and the Reach. Their target is Dragonstone. At the latest, they will be landing on our shores within a few days, and will most likely be landing even sooner. It is my opinion that they will attempt a direct assault on the castle instead of laying siege to it. Tywin Lannister cannot afford his grandson to look weak just as his reign begins, no matter how young the boy may be. Nor will he wish to commit a large enough force of men and ships for the years it would take to force our surrender through starvation."

Having laid out the problem they were facing, Stannis paused for a moment to allow his words to sink in. He wanted the men gathered around the table to process what he had told them before explaining the rest of his plan to them. Judging that he had given them enough time, Stannis continued while pointing at the beach adjacent to Dragonstone's anchorage:

"When the Redwyne fleet arrives, they will land their army here before moving up the road and attacking the gates. Had we more men and more time, I would fortify the exit from the beach and we would meet them there and throw them back into the sea from whence they came. But we have less than two thousand men in the castle and cannot afford the losses that kind of fight will inflict on us. Nor do we have the time to build fortifications.

"Instead, we shall fight them here. From behind our walls where we can rain down death and destruction on them. We must ensure that we have sufficient oil, arrows, even stones, placed along the walls at all likely points that the enemy may try to scale them in order to repel any attack."

Looking down the table towards the white haired Valyrian in the wine colored tunic at the end, Stannis continued, "Lord Saan will lead his fleet out prior to the attack and target the enemy transports, sinking as many of them as possible in order to reduce the numbers that we on the walls will have to throw back."

At hearing that, Saladohr Saan cried out, "What madness is this?! The Redwyne fleet numbers over two hundred war ships. Even if he sends only half his fleet, my men and I will be outnumbered five to one. We will be slaughtered before we ever sniff the enemy transports. I will not order my men to commit suicide."

Throughout Lord Saan's outburst, Stannis felt the fury growing within him. "Coward," he thought. Glaring at the insubordinate sell-sail, Stannis said:

"You'll do it because your King commands it. You'll do it because you're being paid a fortune in gold to do so."

Pausing and glancing to his right where the Lady Melisandre stood, Stannis said, with malice in his voice:

"You'll do it because if you don't, someone else will. And your end will not be a pleasant one should you refuse."

"Gold, he says? What gold? I have been paid only in promises. Little scraps of paper promising to pay poor Saladohr Saan eventually. What good are the promises of dead men? For that is what we shall all be if we stay and fight.

"Listen to me, leave this dreary place behind I say. Let us sail to Lys, to Braavos, to any of the free cities. Why die for a cause that is hopeless? A dead man spends no gold, eats no food, drinks no wine, lays with no woman. Live, instead. Board my ships, now. The wind and tides are favorable. Let us leave this place behind us, and live."

By the time the pirate from Lys had finished speaking, Stannis could feel the tendons in his neck standing straight out, a result of his tightly clenched jaw. While those around him could see a vein pulsing on his forehead. He was on the verge of ordering the arrest and execution of Saladohr for cowardice and treason when he heard the calm, cool voice of Melisandre come from beside him. The Red Priestest said:

"Have you no faith in our Lord? Have you forgotten what the Lord of Light has done for our King already? Did he not deliver Lord Renly's army to him? Did he not strike down the false kings that rose against our Lord's chosen? Do you doubt that he can deliver a victory now?"

Stannis watched Saladohr's face as the Lady Melisandre spoke. The man's eyes never once wavered from looking directly into hers. When he answered her, his voice was firm:

"No, My Lady. I do not doubt the power of R'hllor. He has proved his strength time and time again. But I would not be a faithful servant of the King of I did not advise him of all his options."

Before another word could be spoken, a runner entered the room, bowed to Stannis then hurried over before speaking quietly in his ear. The man said:

"Your Grace, our lookouts have just sent a report. Ships bearing the Royal Standard are sailing on a course towards us. They estimate that they will arrive off our shores at dawn or shortly after."

Nodding his head in thanks, Stannis spoke to the room, "This discussion about what we should do is pointless. Our lookouts have sighted the Redwyne fleet and estimate that they will be here by dawn. Lord Saan, take your fleet and attack immediately. Or you shall aid our defense in a different manner by providing a sacrifice to the Lord of Light."

"You're sending my men and I to our deaths. But if that's your command, then I shall make it a death worthy of a song."

With that, the Lysenne pirate swept out of the room in a swirl of wine colored fabric. The haste at which he moved belied his age. And the fact that he was going to his death. Yet, when Stannis looked to his right, he saw an expression on Melisandre's face that he couldn't quite read. It reminded him of the look she wore on her face when Maester Cressen tried to poison her. He had a thought tickling the back of his brain, but he would have to figure out what it was later. He had more important things to do at the moment. Looking at the men gathered around the Painted Table, he told them:

"Sers, My Lords. Prepare your defenses. See that your men get as much rest tonight as they can. Make sure they get a good, hot meal in them in the morning to strengthen them for the coming fight. May the Lord of Light protect us."

With that, the gathering broke apart with each man heading off to their men to prepare them for what was coming. Stannis himself made his way to the top of the tallest tower in Dragonstone where he met the lookout that had sent the warning to him. The man had not forgotten his duties and was continually checking the seas all around the island, instead of focusing solely on the approaching fleet. As he approached, the lookout muttered a greeting combined with a shallow bob of his head while he continued scanning the horizon.

Nodding his head in reply, Stannis asked the man, "Where's the fleet?"

Pointing to the southwest, the lookout said, "There, My King. Just visible on the horizon."

Having said that, the man offered him the Myrish spyglass he was using. Stannis took it and raised it to his eye. What he saw was nearly his worst nightmare. The fleet approaching him was larger than he had hoped it would be. It looked to be nearly every ship in the Redwyne war fleet, supported by every remaining ship in the Royal Fleet plus the transports needed to move an army to his shores. Having seen what was coming for them, Stannis handed the glass back to the lookout before looking down at his own anchorage. Salladhor's fleet was already sailing out to confront them. Good. The man may be an upjumped sell-sail, but once he was bought, he stayed bought.

For a long while, Stannis stayed there watching his pitifully few ships sailing to meet the oncoming armada. He watched as the ships under Salladhor's command reached the point where they should have tacked to come about and meet the enemy. To his growing horror, he could only stand and watch as the ships remained on their course, a course that would bring them into the Narrow Sea and eventually to Essos. Grabbing the Myrish glass from the startled lookout again, Stannis raised it to his eye as quickly as he could. Perhaps it was only a ruse to lull the enemy fleet into thinking he was fleeing and Saladohr would turn back under the cover of darkness to gain as much surprise as he could. But no, as he watched, all the ships struck their flaming heart banners and raised the banner that Saladohr sailed under before joining with him.

Searching out Saladohr's personal ship, Stannis saw the Lysenne pirate looking back at him with a glass raised to his own eye as well. As Stannis watched, he saw the old Valyrian's face break into a broad grin before the man began to shake with laughter. Knowing he was being watched, Saladohr lowered the glass from his eye and made an obscene gesture to the King before turning his back to Dragonstone. Stannis was being abandoned. With sudden clarity, he realized what the thought was that had sparked in his brain earlier. It was a warning that the man could not be trusted. Melisandre had known and said nothing. He was sure of it. He would deal with her later.

This was a hopeless battle that was coming. There would be no escaping it now. Before, he had held out some slight hope that maybe, just maybe, enough enemy ships could be destroyed that he would be able to win a victory, however temporary. But even that fleeting hope was gone now. He should have listened to Davos and sailed for the North when he had the chance. Now, he would die on this accursed spit of rock that his brother had "gifted" him after the Rebellion. Robert must be laughing his arse off at him from whichever one of the Seven Hells he was in.

Turning angrily away from the parapet in front of him, he walked heavily down to his daughter's rooms. Knocking on the door, he waited for her response, but he heard nothing. With worry creasing his forehead, he opened the door to find that Shireen's chambers were empty. There didn't seem to be any sign of a struggle, so he dismissed the first thought that flashed through his mind, namely that Saladohr had kidnapped her as a hostage before fleeing. Shireen liked the old pirate, but she wouldn't have gone with him willingly had he tried to take her. So that ruled that out. But if he hadn't taken her, where was she?

As he was leaving Shireen's rooms, he saw one of the servants hurrying through the corridor. Stopping the girl, he asked her:

"Where's my daughter?"

The girl replied, "The Queen came and collected her, Your Grace. She insisted that the Princess accompany her to offer prayers for your success and safety in battle."

"Shireen is at prayer? With her mother? Did I hear that correctly?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

Giving a noncommittal grunt, Stannis jerked his head to the side, dismissing the girl. Why would Selyse want Shireen at prayer? His wife usually did everything in her power to avoid their daughter. Why this sudden interest in her? Turning his steps towards his wife's chambers, he found both Selyse and Shireen kneeling the firey heart symbol that Selyse kept beside her hearth. It didn't take long for Shireen to notice him and her scarred face lit up when she saw him. With a grin, she exclaimed, "Father!" and rose to hug him.

Returning her embrace, he asked her:

"And what are the two of you praying for today?"

"For your safety in battle and victory over our enemies."

"You better pray extra hard then," Stannis said with a grin.

Returning her father's grin, Shireen whispered in his ear, "Mother has been praying to R'hllor, but I asked the Warrior to protect you."

Patting his daughter's hand Stannis just smiled at her. His daughter still didn't want to convert to the worship of the Red God. She took after him, they were both mainly ambivalent about religion, though he had to admit that R'hllor had proven himself real enough to him. Looking up from his daughter's face, he saw Selyse who had also risen, Stannis greeted her with a nod and said, "Wife."

For her part, Selyse returned his nod and responded, "Husband."

"Thank you for your prayers. During the battle, I want you and Shireen in the Citadel. It's the safest place in the castle. Should the worst happen, you'll be well protected there and your will be able to negotiate for your safety and the safety of our daughter."

"If that is your wish. Will the attack be soon?"

"Tomorrow or the day after. It depends on how long they take to land their men."

"Very well, we shall move there tonight."

"Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me I have much to do before nightfall."

With that, Stannis turned and left the room, closing the door behind him as he went. As soon as he was out of the room, he leaned back against the warm stone of the castle, closed his eyes and let out a long, low sigh. His wife had a strange light in her eyes, it was almost feverish. Something was wrong, but for the life of him, he couldn't put his finger on it. He had too many other things to worry about at the moment. Spying his squire, Devan Seaworth, he told the boy:

"Devan, I need you to keep a close eye on the Queen and Princess for me. My wife does not seem well. If something happens to them, or you just think something is wrong, come and tell me at once. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Good. You're in charge of their safety during the battle."

At hearing that, young Devan visibly swelled with pride. As well he should. He was putting a great deal of faith in his young squire. Stannis told the lad:

"Now be off with you. And go make your father even prouder of you than he already is."

While the boy went off to fulfill his duties, Stannis went off to fulfill his. The following hours were spent inspecting the walls and the preparations being made there. Several times he found cause to praise the work being done. At other times, he had to personally take charge and show the men what needed to be done. By the time his inspections were complete, the sun had long since set and the only light to see by came from the torches along the wall and from the Nightfire that Melisandre had built. As he collapsed into his bed that night, Stannis slept the sleep of the exhausted. Whatever happened tomorrow, he would be ready.

 

[Arimai]

@SSgtC the Stone Drum Tower is the central keep of Storm's End not Dragonstone

 

[SSgtC]

@SSgtC the Stone Drum Tower is the central keep of Storm's End not Dragonstone

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Not according to Storm of Swords in Chapter 36. According to that (and the ASOIAF wiki) the Stone Drum Tower is the central keep of Dragonstone.

Edit: though the central keep at Storm's End is also a drum tower, it doesn't appear to be officially called Stone Drum Tower.

 

[pbluekan]

@SSgtC the Stone Drum Tower is the central keep of Storm's End not Dragonstone

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The Stone Drum is the central keep of Drsgonstone. @SSgtC had the right of it. Storms End is named just that. It also happens to be a drum tower, but it isn't not the Stone Drum.

 

[SSgtC]

Arya

The ride up to Winterfell from where she and the Hound had captured Theon and found Jeyne was, for Arya, the most stressful part of her journey. She wasn't concerned at what Theon would do, Sandor had bound his wrists and ankles so tightly it was a fifty-fifty chance that the fucking traitor would lose his hands and feet from the ropes alone. No, she was worried about what she would find when she finally walked through those massive gates and saw her home again. Would it look the same as when she left? Would Winterfell still feel like home? Would she even know anyone inside the castle?

As they had emerged from the woods flanking the King's Road, they were met by a force of fifteen mounted men, all armed with lances. Each and every one of those lances were leveled at them. From three of the lances hung the banners of her house. A gruff looking man who appeared to be slightly older than her father would have been eyed the four of them before speaking. He said:

"State your names and your business here or breathe your last."

From the corner of her eye, she could see Sandor about to tell the man to go fuck himself. That would not do any good for their prospects of survival. Speaking up before he could, Arya said:

"I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell. This is Sandor Clegane, of House Clegane. He's been my escort since we met in the Riverlands. He was bringing me home when we found these other two people."

Gesturing to Jeyne, who had been walking beside her and was now standing next to her horse Arya continued:

"This is Lady Jeyne Poole, the daughter of the late Lord Vayon Poole, Steward to my father, Lord Eddard Stark. She was fleeing from a forced marriage to the Bastard of Bolton."

Pointing at Theon, who was tied across Sandor's horse behind his saddle looking for all the world like an oversized bedroll, she said with venom dripping from her voice:

"And that is the traitor and murderer Theon Greyjoy. He had been captured by the Boltons and escaped. We've captured him again and are bringing him to answer for his crimes before my brother."

Through her entire explanation, the lances never wavered, though she saw a few of the men glance at each other when they heard her name. And when she pointed out Theon, more than one lance shifted from pointing at Sandor to pointing at Theon. These men wanted him dead just as much as she did.

The man who had first spoken to them had a deep frown on his face. When he answered, he spoke slowly as if he was weighing the importance of each word. The man said:

"You say that you're Lady Arya Stark? We heard that she was dead, killed along with her father in King's landing. How do I know that's who you really are? I don't doubt your word on who the big fucker is. Only one man in all the Seven Kingdoms has a face like that. What the fuck is Joffery's dog doing 'escorting' you to Winterfell? And I have no clue about these other two. You say that sack of slobbering shit tied to the horse is Theon Greyjoy? Theon is a young man, no more than twenty. That fucker looks to be in his sixties."

Before she could reply, Sandor spoke up and said:

"Doesn't really matter if you believe her though does it, you dumb cunt? She's claimed to be Arya Stark, your Princess and the sister of your King. If she's lying, she'll get thrown back out of the castle pretty damn fast, probably after getting whipped bloody. But if she's not lying, and her brother finds out you sent her away, how long do you think it'll take the King in the North to run his sword up your arse?"

Speaking up again, Arya said:

"And who are you anyway? We've told you who we are, but you haven't returned the courtesy. If you're the best guards that the North can offer to House Stark, I think Jon should be looking askance at his bannermen. Not to mention getting some new guards to replace you once your heads are on spikes."

Grunting at their response, the guardsman nodded towards Sandor and said:

"You know Hound, most people figure you to be nothing more than a dumb lump of muscle. But you actually have a brain buried in that burned face of yours, don't you?" Pointing at Arya, the man continued saying, "And she's a right little spitfire, isn't she? Alright, you've told me your names and your business. I'll escort you up to Winterfell and let The Stark decide what to do with you. If you're lying, I expect I'll see your heads decorating spikes by the end of the day. Oh, and my name is Osric Wull. My father is The Wull of Black Pine."

With that, the mounted guard wheeled their horses and surrounded them. One of the men stretched his hand out and pulled Jeyne up into the saddle in front of him. At least the poor girl wouldn't have to walk any further. She hadn't realized when they first met in the forest, but Jeyne's arms and legs were torn by briars and her feet were swollen and ripped in places where her slippers had failed to protect her. When the man put his arms around her to hold her steady in the saddle and control his mount, she saw Jeyne flinch at the man's touch. That was something to talk to her about latter. Something very bad must have happened to her in the years since Arya last saw her in King's Landing to make her act like that.

As they began to ride at a canter towards the towering walls of Winterfell, Arya felt the tension within her increasing with every yard they traveled. Would Jon recognize her? Would she still recognize Jon? Would they still be as close as they once were? Would Jon let her be herself or would he try and force her to be someone she wasn't? Her nerves were starting to get the better of her and the idea of turning and running crossed her mind a time or two. She still had that Braavosi coin Jaqen H'ghar had given her. She could leave right now, ride hell for leather to White Harbor and take the first ship she spied that was sailing for Braavos. Each time the thought rose in her mind, she fought it off as the notion of a silly girl. Jon was her brother. Winterfell was her home. And she was going home.

Eventually, their party rode through the massive outer and inner gates of Winterfell. Arya felt a lump in her throat. Home. She was home at last. The courtyard was bustling with activity, almost exactly as she had remembered it from the last time she saw it before riding south with her Father and Sansa. As Arya entered the castle, another group was leaving. They looked like Ironborn, but they were under guard and manacled. That group was being led by a stern faced and foul smelling man dressed all in black. A Man of the Watch, maybe? Within the castle, she saw smallfolk going about their appointed duties while men-at-arms drilled with their weapons. She could smell the brewery making a batch of ale while on the wind was a faint hint of roasting meat, venison maybe. From one direction, her ears caught the sound of a hammer ringing on steel as something was being made at the forge. From the other, she could hear chisels chipping away at stones to repair one of the buildings. The Broken Tower or First Keep maybe? Both were in that direction.

In front of her, there was a man wearing a breastplate of boiled leather over a coat of ringmail. Osric Wull called out to the man as they entered and said:

"Derrock! Go get The Stark! Tell him there's a girl here claiming to be his sister, Arya. I'm sure he'll want to know right away."

The man replied, "Right away, My Lord."

While the guard ran towards the Great Hall, Osric turned back to face her and said:

"Well, now we'll learn the truth won't we, little lady? Last chance to come clean. If you're not who you say you are, you can go right back out through those gates and no harm will come to you. Because if you're not Arya Stark, I doubt the King will be in a forgiving mood."

Arya smiled icily at the man. "I'll wait here for my brother."

From her right, she heard Sandor mutter under his breath, "Dumb cunt," again. It was quite frankly amazing that the man was still alive. Of course, he was very good at killing, so that probably explained it.

After telling Osric that she would wait for her brother, Arya dismounted from her garron and stretched her limbs. She hated how stiff she got after riding for long periods of time. What if she needed to use her sword? She'd be too stiff to wield it properly. Not that she had ever been able to fully learn how, not after Syrio had been killed. Of course, the long rides never seemed to bother Sandor, but he had enough brute strength that it probably didn't really matter. Gods, she thought. Winterfell really was big. How long had it been since that runner had left to go get Jon? Twenty minutes? Thirty? How much longer would she have to wait to see her brother?

At last, she saw him. He was taller than the last time she had seen him and his frame had filled out considerably. He was that curious mix of being both well muscled while still retaining his lean and lithe appearance. He had also grown a beard. Most striking of all though, was seeing Jon wearing the Stark sigil beautifully embroidered on his doublet of grey wool trimmed in white satin. He had been denied that sigil all his life. Now, he wore it as his own. He was her brother in name now, as he had always been her brother by blood.

Arya called out to him, "Jon!" And took off running towards him. She practically tackled him when then reached each other. Jon was laughing and crying while he held her tight. She saw the tears running down into his beard. They matched her own, as she felt the tears running hot and wet down her cheeks.

Finally Jon stepped back, but kept his hands on her shoulders. Jon had such a smile on his face, she thought his head would split open. Judging by the way the muscles in her own face felt, she was pretty sure his grin was matched by her own.

Jon then said to her, "Look at you, little sister! I thought you were dead. No one had any idea what happened to you after Father died. But look at you! You look good. Are you healthy?"

Arya replied, "No, I'm not dead yet. Almost, a few times. I'm well, no complaints. Well, maybe one. I'm cold." she said with a grin. "I'm not used to the cold up here anymore."

"Aye, well, you'll get used to that again in no time. I have the opposite problem. Winterfell can feel a bit warm for me at times. After three years of ice at the Wall, the heated walls of home feel like a kiln. How did you ever make it all the way back to Winterfell without anyone knowing you were alive, little sister?"

"It's a long tale. Not one that can all be told here in the courtyard. Jon, The Hound brought me home."

Jon's face immediately clouded and his voice hardened. When he spoke, there was suspicion in his voice. He said "Joffery's dog? Why would he bring you here? Why not return you to King's Landing? Surely the Lannisters would have given him a massive reward for you."

Hearing the suspicion in her brother's voice cut Arya deeply. Didn't Jon believe her? Why would he suddenly doubt why she was home? The coin from Braavos called her name again. Again, she crushed the impulse. This was her brother. Of course he'd be suspicious of Sandor. The man had been Joffery's sworn shield. That was all the reason Jon needed to be suspicious of the man. However a small quiet voice from deep within told her, don't forget that Jon is a bastard. Having any of Father's other children show up could threaten his position. She roughly told that voice to shut up. Jon had been a bastard. He was a Stark now.

Grabbing both of Jon's hand tightly in her own, Arya said, "Jon, it's me. You're my brother. And my King. Will you trust what I tell you?"

Jon nodded and Arya continued, "The Hound brought me here because he ran from the Battle of the Blackwater. He told Lord Tyrion 'Fuck the King.' Jon, he betrayed the Lannisters. If he brought me to King's Landing, he would have lost his head."

Arya paused for a moment and when she continued, there was a hitch in her voice. She said:

"He tried bringing me to Robb. We...we tried to meet with him at the Twins. Jon, I saw what the Boltons and Freys did to Robb's body. They cut off his head, tied him into his saddle and sowed Grey Wind's head where Robb's used to be. They were parading him around the castle yard like some kind of sick trophy. We can't let them get away with that. We cant."

When Arya told Jon about what had been done to Robb, she saw the blood rise in Jon's face until he was almost beet red. When he spoke, the rage was plain his voice. Through clenched teeth Jon said:

"They won't, little sister. We will kill them all. When we are through with them there will be nothing left of their Houses but blood and bones. Anyone who hears their names will shudder in terror and remember what House Stark does to traitors and murderers."

With that, Jon made a visible effort to collect himself and not let his anger rule his head. He gave Arya a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and said:

"Well lets go talk to The Hound, shall we? I'm sure he's expecting a 'reward' for your safe return?"

"Ransom, more like. But yes, he is."

"He's got balls, I'll say that for him. He's got to know that I could have him cut down in an instant." Suddenly, Jon looked very chagrined and glanced down at Arya and continued, "Damn it, I'm sorry Arya. I shouldn't talk like that in front of you."

Grinning, Arya told him, "Fuck that. After months of riding with Sandor I've heard far worse than that and can probably curse more fluently than you. I'm not a little girl anymore."

"You're right. You're not. Come on. Let's get this business with The Hound over with and then you can tell me all about what's happened to you over the last three years. I'll wager that you've got just as many stories as I do. And probably not many that are very pleasant."

"No, not many. But we're both still here and our stories aren't over yet."

"They're not. So let's make them good ones from here on out, eh?"

By that time, they had reached Sandor. It was then that Arya had her "oh shit" moment. She had completely forgotten to tell Jon that they had captured Theon! But before she could say anything, Jon had already called out to Sandor. Jon said:

"Hound! I understand that I have you to thank for the safe return of my sister?"

"That's right," he replied. "And a right pain in the ass she was too. How the fuck did any of you deal with her growing up?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Arya and I got along just fine. You must be thinking of Sansa. I assume that you'll be wanting a reward for her safe return?"

"No, I wasn't thinking of the bloody Little Bird. That one right there standing next to you is the one I mean. And yes, it is what's customary after all. It wasn't exactly easy getting her all the way from the Crownlands to here without getting caught. We came damn close to getting caught up in the Red Wedding at the Twins, then we got spoted at the Crossroads Inn in the Riverlands. And we had to sneak through those fucking swamps down in the Neck. Shit, I still smell like rotting bog. Not to mention that we had to dodge the fucking Ironborn and the Boltons."

"From all that, it sounds like only a miracle could have brought you here safely. A miracle, or a deal with Tywin Lannister."

"Fuck the King. Fuck the Lannisters. We're standing here because we're good at killing. Very good at it, actually."

"We're good at killing?"

"Aye," Sandor replied. Pointing at Arya, he continued, "That one is a right little she-devil. She killed more than I did on our trip north. Scary little fucker too."

Jon was giving her a look. It was a mixture of surprised and appraising. She found it hilarious. She told him:

"What? You're the one who gave me the sword. Don't look so surprised that I've actually learned how to use it."

"Guess I'll have to star looking at you as a woman grown, won't I little sister?"

"For a start."

Jon grinned at that. This was the brother she remembered. Sandor cleared his throat and said:

"If we could get back to the subject at hand. It's fucking cold up here and I'd like to find a nice fire to warm up in front of instead of standing around outside like a great fucking idiot. I want a reward for the safe return of your sister."

Sandor then took a few steps back and grabbed Theon's hair and roughly yanked the bastard's head up before saying:

"And I want a reward for this fucker. I understand you've been wanting to see his head on a spike for quite awhile."

Jon walked over to the horse that Theon was tied over. He looked at Theon, then glanced at quizzically at Sandor. He said:

"Would you mind telling me who the fuck this is and why I should want him dead? Because I don't recognize him."

Before Sandor could reply, Arya quietly said, "Jon, that's Theon."

Jon's eyes grew wide in shock and anger. At the same time, his hands closed into fists. Before anyone could even blink, Jon spun around and slammed his gauntleted fist into the side of Theon's head, cruely snapping his head to the side. His head jerked so suddenly at the impact that Sandor actually ripped out a chunk of Theon's hair where his fist had been holding his head up. One of Jon's hands then closed around Theon's throat and started to squeeze. Jon put his mouth right next to Theon's ear and told him in the most menacing voice she had ever heard her brother use:

"I hope you're pleased with yourself you murderous piece of shit. The deaths of Robb, Bran, Rickon and everyone that lived here and raised your miserable squid ass are all laying at your feet. When you see him in hell, tell your father that by the time the North is done with those shit stained islands you call home, the Ironborn that are left will quake in fear at the mere mention of the North."

Theon's eye's were bugging out of his head and his mouth was opening and closing spastically as he struggled to breathe. It looked like he might have been trying to say something, but Jon had his throat crushed too tightly in his hand. Deciding she needed to say something, Arya said:

"Jon. Right after we caught him, he said that he didn't kill Bran or Rickon. He said it was 'only' two farm boys."

Looking at her in surprise, Jon exclaimed, "What?!" As quickly as he had started to throttle Theon, Jon released him. Arya could hear Theon desperately trying to breath between sobs. Much as he did in the Wolfswood when he was captured and she had her blade at his throat, Theon started blubbering:

"I didn't kill them...Didn't kill them...Didn't kill them..."

"Oh, shut up," Arya told him scornfully. "For fuck's sake, you cry more than a girl. Were you always such a craven piece of shit?"

Once again Sandor butted in. He said:

"Before you all get into who killed who here, there's still the matter of my reward. Cause if I don't get it, I'm liable to start killing. And I like killing."

Several of the guardsmen put their hands on their swords and took a step or two forward at hearing that. Jon waved them down. He told the Hound:

"You're right. We do have business to conduct. You deserve a reward for the safe return of my Sister and for the capture of Theon Greyjoy."

Sandor interrupted again. "Not just them." Pointing to Jeyne, who up to know had remained in the background, he said, "That's Jeyne Poole. As I understand it, she's the daughter of the Late Vayon Poole. He was your father's Steward, wasn't he? I figure I should get a reward for her as well."

Jon motioned Jeyne to come forward. He wasn't her brother now. In this moment, he looked for all the world like Father. He wore what she thought of as the "Lord's face" as Jeyne timidly approached him. When he spoke to her it was not unkindly, but it was also with a tone that would brook no argument or deceit. Jon asked her:

"What's your name, girl?"

"Jeyne Poole, Your Grace."

"You look a bit like I remember. But there are probably a thousand girls in King's Landing that would look like her. How'd you end up back in the North when the rest of my Father's Household was put to the sword?"

"I was captured by one of the Kingsguard, Your Grace. They kept me in a room with your sister, Sansa. At least at first. But then some men of the City Watch came and brought me to Lord Baelish. I was to be given over to his 'care.' He...he forced me to become a whore."

Jeyne started to cry. Arya's heart went out to her. This must be humiliating for her. She wanted to rush over and protect Jeyne and tell Jon to bugger off. But she couldn't. Jon had to ask, no matter how distasteful it was.

Jon spoke up and said, "I know this is hard for you. And I'm sorry for that. But I have to know. Can you continue, or do you need to take some time and tell me your tale in private?"

Still sniffing, Jeyne said, "I'll continue, Your Grace. If I stop now, I don't know if I'll be able to start again. While I was a prisoner in King's Landing, Lord Baelish had me beaten, whipped and raped. He would have men use my mouth and my arse. And if I refused or attempted to stop them, I would be whipped until I was bloody and then I would be raped anyway.

"When he felt that I was sufficiently 'trained,' he sold me to the Boltons and told them I was Lady Arya, Your Grace. Lord Bolton forced me to marry his son, Ramsay. He...he raped me that night. Ramsay forced Theon to help him. But Theon saved me, Your Grace. He buried a knife in Ramsay's neck and ripped his throat out. And he helped me flee from the Dreadfort and reach Winterfell. I would still be a captive of Ramsay if he hadn't done that, Your Grace."

During her tale, Jon's face had displayed a range of emotions. It showed everything from rage, to sadness, to shock to relief. When he spoke, Arya could hear the emotion in her brother's voice. He said:

"I am truly sorry to hear what happened to you, My Lady. Though I am glad that at least one of those who harmed you has paid for that. However, I do have just one more question. I need you to tell me some things that only someone who had lived in Winterfell would know. I need to know it's really you."

"I used to call Lady Arya, 'Arya Horseface' and the guards called her Arya Underfoot. The Master of Horse was Hullen, your father's brewer was Barth. The kennelmaster was Farlen. Lady Stark's septon was named Chayle and the cook was named Gage." Pointing to a set of windows in the lower levels of the Great Keep she said, "Those were the rooms where my father and I lived. And there is where we practiced our needlework," she finished pointing to another set higher up.

Jon gave the poor girl a warm smile, took her hands in his own and told her, "Welcome home, Lady Jeyne. We'll get you inside in just a moment." Redirecting his attention to Sandor, Jon said, "Hound, I'm satisfied with the identity of everyone here. I'll give you three hundred dragons for Lady Poole, five hundred for Theon and a thousand for my sister. That's eighteen-hundred dragons for your troubles and as a sign of my thanks."

"Piss on that. I want five hundred for the Steward's daughter, a thousand for the white-haired prick tied to my saddle and fifteen-hundred for your sister."

"I'll give you four hundred for Jeyne, seven hundred for Theon and twelve-hundred for my sister. That's more than fair. Hells, most knights and minor lords don't warrant a ransom that high. And Hound, I would advise you to think carefully on this. You're surrounded by my men and your odds of getting out of here alive are not very high should you demand too much."

"Fuck that, do you really think I'm afraid of dying, boy? But I'm not unreasonable. Throw another two hundred dragons in and we'll call it done."

"Done. I'll have your gold brought to you shortly." Jon turned to one of the servants in the yard and said, "Mychell, would you please bring some bread and salt from the kitchens?"

"At once, Your Grace," the man replied before running for the kitchens.

When the man returned with the ordered bread and salt, Jon offered it to Sandor who accepted it. It felt odd for Jon and Sandor to be haggling over how much to pay for her. She knew they would have to, but it still made her feel, well, almost dirty. She was broken out of her thoughts when Jon said:

"Lord Osric. Thank you for bringing my sister and Lady Poole safely into the castle. This will not go forgotten. Could you please have some of your men take that sniveling piece of shit tied to the Hound's horse and throw him into the deepest, darkest dungeon cell you can find? I need to finish my business with his sister before I deal with that.

"Aye, Your Grace. Lets go men. Aden, Anthor, grab that sack of shit and bring him with us."

Arya took one last look at Theon as he was carried away. She couldn't quite read his face, but he seemed strangely at peace. Once Theon was gone, Arya looked at Jon and asked:

"His sister?"

"Aye. Have I got a tale for you little sister." Looking over his shoulder at hearing foot steps approaching Jon said, "But perhaps you should hear it first hand from those that lived it." Jon paused again as a grizzled man with windburned skin and dark hair gone grey strode up to them. When Jon continued he said, "Arya, this is your Uncle, Ser Brynden Tully. He captured Asha and her men when he came North after the Red Wedding. He also brought Robb's wife with him."

The old man with the black fish sown on his surcoat looked her over with a critical eye before he said, "You've the look of your father. Though I can see a shadow of Cat in you as well. I'm pleased to meet you, niece. It brings me some small relief to see that not all of my niece's children have gone from this world."

Arya looked the Blackfish up and down as well. It was only when she realized that Jon was staring at her that she remembered her courtesies and gave her Uncle as shallow bow. But not before glaring at Jon with a look that screamed "we'll talk about this later," and said:

"I'm pleased to meet you, Uncle. My Lady Mother spoke to us often of your exploits."

"Yes, well, we'll have time to get better acquainted. I've promised to help your brother rid his land of the traitors and vermin that have overrun it and he's promised to help me take back Riverrun. So we'll have plenty of time together."

Turning to Jon, he said, "Your Grace, we should be getting back to the Great Hall to settle things with Lady Greyjoy."

"Aye, your right. Arya, why don't you come with me down to the vault? Thank the Gods father never showed Theon where that was. It went untouched when he took the castle. We'll get Sandor's gold and you can fill me in on what's happened to you since King's Landing and I'll tell you about the Wall and what happened beyond it."

"Beyond the Wall?!" Arya exclaimed.

"Aye, beyond the Wall. You won't believe half of it!"

 

[pbluekan]

She said:

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Don't do this. Why do you do this? You do it just fine right here. Colons are to be followed by a complete sentence or an example. Not dialogue.

Jon turned to one of the servants in the yard and said, "Mychell, would you please bring some bread and salt from the kitchens?"

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and sowed Grey Wind's head

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Sewed. Sowed is what you do with seeds. Or salt.

black fish sown

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Sewn