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Robb Returns by The Dark Scribbler
 Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: K+, English, Fantasy & Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Robb S., Theon G., Domeric B., Words: 627k+, Favs: 6k+, Follows: 6k+, Published: Jul 16, 2015 Updated: Sep 287,742Chapter 24
Jon Arryn
He watched the sail on the horizon start to diminish and sighed, heavily. The day had been one of the most chaotic ones at King's Landing that he could ever remember. He'd woken to discover that Robert had, for some reason that he still did not understand, decided that he had to visit Storm's End at once.
He'd found the King standing in the main courtyard of the Red Keep, almost juddering with impatience as he bellowed orders at scurrying servants. "Ah. Jon," Robert had barked at him. "I need to talk to you. Need to visit Storm's End."
"Why your Grace? Is there trouble in the Stormlands?"
And this had resulted in Robert staring around the courtyard for a long moment, visibly considering his words. "Don't think I can explain it, Jon," the King finally admitted, almost shamefaced. "Feel like I'm needed there. There and… elsewhere. I'll be back as soon as I can. It's just… I need to be in Storm's End." Robert had then stared North grimly for another long moment.
"Keep everything in place here, Jon. I'm sorry to leave so suddenly, but…" He ran his hand over his beard thoughtfully. "I need to get this cut," he muttered before catching Jon's eye again. "I can't explain it Jon. I need to be there and not here and I know that this all makes no sense but…"
Robert held up his hands and clenched and unclenched them repeatedly. "I can't put it into words. There's something in the wind, Jon, something in the wind. There's fighting up ahead. There's a war coming. I don't who we'll be fighting or where or when, but I can feel it. It's in my blood Jon. And I feel more alive now that I have since the Greyjoy revolt. Ah – Renly! Get your arse over here! We leave on the next tide!"
And so he had, with just a small retinue, including Renly and Ser Barristan Selmy. The former had had a word with Jon during one of the few moments of relative quiet. "I don't suppose you know why my royal brother has decided to on this visit at such short notice, do you Jon?"
"None whatsoever, Lord Baratheon. The King seems to have decided on this trip today."
Renly had scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Odd. Even odder, I found him sparring with the Master at Arms this morning, with his warhammer. It left him exhausted but happy." They had both looked over at a corner of the courtyard, where Robert was getting his beard severely trimmed.
All of this had left Jon with a feeling of great and very deep foreboding. Robert had perhaps picked up something about the Great Matter? But if he had then why not stay and fight it out? And why go to the Stormlands? Why not confront the Queen? No, he must not have any idea about it all, otherwise Cersei would be in a cell, or be dead, and Robert would have confronted that traitorous bastard the Kingslayer already. So why Storm's End? He'd thought about telling the King everything, but they needed more time to move their forces into King's Landing without any of the other players around them knowing. Varys had to know. Whose side was he on, really? And what of Baelish? The more he learnt of him the more he distrusted him. His web of financial affairs was wide and seemed to be a little too opaque in places.
But there had been one good element to Robert's departure. His talk with Renly had bourn some fruit. "Bring back a stronger entourage of guards from Storm's End," he'd advised the youngest Baratheon. "Men and lords you can trust." Renly had stared at him, stared at him intently, before nodding slowly and saying that he understood.
And now Jon stood at the docks and watched as the ship vanished off to the West. He was still amazed that Robert had taken a ship instead of riding out, but ships did not tire, nor they have to sleep at night. He wanted to get every mile out of every hour and that worried him as well.
Footsteps sounded to one side and he looked over to see Stannis approach. "Lord Baratheon."
"My Lord Hand." Stannis looked out at the Western horizon. "The King's trip puzzles me."
"And me. But he felt that he had his reasons. We must await his return – and plan how we must tell him about this Great Matter."
Stannis winced and then lowered his voice. "He will not take it well. We must be prepared for that. And we must strike hard when we announce it. The Lannisters in this city will not take this lightly. We must be careful."
Jon nodded tiredly. "Gods but I hate this city," he muttered. "A city full of liars and conspiracies."
The Master of Ships smiled thinly. "I have always hated this place my Lord Hand. 'Tis a place where men lie as easily as they breathe. But there are a few who can be depended on." He handed over a small roll of paper. "Your son is safe at White Harbour. Ser Davos Seaworth sends word from there by raven of their safe arrival. Lord Manderly has ordered that your son and his party be escorted to Winterfell by some fifty men."
Jon took the paper with a frown. "That's a strong escort. Why so many?"
"Seaworth does not say. The handwriting is not his, he does not have his letters well, but I recognise Lord Manderly's hand. But he does say that he returns at once to King's Landing 'with the utmost despatch', which means that he will risk everything to get back here quickly. I know Ser Davos Seaworth. He would not be returning with such despatch, risking his ship, unless something was the matter. Add that to the strong escort for your son and I fear that he has news of some plot or other."
Ice water seemed to flow through his veins for a moment, and then he shrugged it off. "We will see what Ser Davos has in the way of news," he said eventually. "Let me know the moment he arrives." He set his jaw. "We have much to prepare for. When Robert returns we must confront him with this Great Matter. Can you have his bastard son moved from the smithy to perhaps the docks? We will need to keep the lad safe to use him as proof of the Queen's infidelity."
"It can be arranged," Stannis said curtly. "Leave it to me." He nodded abruptly to Jon and then strode off.
As he returned his gaze to the Western horizon Jon sighed. He wished that his son was there so that he could hug the little boy. He suddenly had the strongest feeling that he might never see him again.
Jory
The further they went from White Harbour the easier his heart rested within him. It was easier to see danger on the road. Easier to see everything. And there was also the fact that with every day that passed the closer they got to Winterfell and home.
There were two other things. With every day that passed the little Lordling seemed to change right before his eyes. At the start of the voyage he had been a dull-eyed pale little wraith, afraid almost of everything and with a spiteful and slightly demented tone to his voice. Oh, and a little stupid.
And now… well, he was tanned from the Sun, he looked healthier, sounded cleverer and he was so curious about everything that there were times when Jory wished that he could shut up for five minutes. The 'medicine' was being reduced day by day and Annah had told him that it was almost all gone now, that the little boy would soon be free of whatever it was.
Which left the question of who had poisoned the boy and why. Annah, he knew, had her suspicions. "Everyone who ever asks about the medicine is dismissed by Lady Arryn," she had told him. "Everyone. I wonder why. The medicine makes him dependent on her. But I do not serve her. I serve Lord Arryn."
He stole a look at the woman from the Vale. The two of them had been dancing around each other for some time now and he wasn't sure where this dance would end. He was hopeful of getting a better look at that chest of here for a start.
And there was the other matter. The pull to the North. He felt it more strongly the closer they got to Winterfell and he had no idea why. Manderly's men felt it too. They were travelling in the right direction and they all knew it. He didn't want to think about what the feeling might have been like if they were moving in the other direction.
What intrigued him was the fact that Annah felt it too. She had told him that her family claimed descent from the First Men, apparently through one of the old hill clans. There was more of a story there. He was going to enjoy getting it out of her. Oh and young Robert Arryn felt it too, not as strong, but enough for the little lordling to talk about it. It must have been the Tully blood.
Jory squinted at the hills off to one side and then nodded to himself. Three more days until they'd see the towers of Winterfell on the far horizon. Just three more days until he could put down this burden of his. He looked over at the lordling, who was babbling a series of questions about the birds at one of Manderly's men, who was answering him with a tolerant smile.
Yes, the boy was different. And according to Annah he reminded her of Lord Arryn's dead nephew Elbert, whom she had seen when she was herself just a girl. He sobered slightly, recalling that Lord Arryn had had a number of heirs, all of whom had died. Well, not this one. By the gods, not this one.
Ned
Luwin knocked briskly at the door and then bustled in with yet another fist full of messages from the ravens in his tower. "From Bear Island and the Last Hearth, my Lord," he muttered deferentially as he handed them over. "And from the cawing I heard as I was bringing these to you more ravens are arriving."
"Thank you Luwin," Ned said as he received them and then watched the man leave quickly. A small smile played around his lips as soon as the Maester was gone. When he had seen the new records, and the objects, Luwin had been like a small child being given a honeyed spoon to lick clean. As had Maester Aemon, who had put off his return to Castle Black to help Luwin with the work of looking at everything. The old blind Maester had a deep knowledge of runes that had been a blessing.
He opened the first. Maege Mormont had written it herself: "The Long Night comes. House Mormont stands with the Stark in Winterfell. Command us."
The second had been written by an unfamiliar hand. "The Others come. Last Hearth stands ready." He handed that one over to the GreatJon, who read it with pleased grunt. "SmallJon's hand. Good, my son doesn't have cheese in his bloody ears." He looked up. "Lord Stark, House Umber stands ready." And then he leant back in his chair and took a gulp of ale, before looking intently at the little mound of stone arrowheads that they had taken from the rotted bag in the secret room.
"Why do those fascinate you so much?" Ned asked.
"Because they remind me of the Last Hearth. I used to pick up arrowheads like this as a lad when I was walking around the North walls – there's a rocky patch there. And the lower tunnels still have areas where you can mine these things as well. Most odd."
Ned went still as something that the GreatJon had said on his arrival suddenly returned to him. "GreatJon, you said that the Last Hearth was named by my ancestors and that it was built on a crag. Did that crag have a name?"
The big man frowned. "Aye," he said thoughtfully. "T'was the Glittering Crag. Why?"
Ned closed his eyes for a moment and suppressed the need to swear. "Because the records we found there mentioned the Glittering Crag and said that there had been a great siege there, that led to the Others being routed. Do you know anything of that?"
"Oh, aye," the GreatJon said with a sigh. "There was a great siege there and a lot of men died. There's a place to the South called The Burning where the dead were said to have been cremated. And there are still barrows to the West that we were told never to disturb, not least because nothing grows on them. After the siege was broken it was then that your ancestor gave the crag to my ancestor and told him to build a fortress there and then to guard it at all costs."
"Why?" Ned asked intently, "Why that place? At all costs?"
The GreatJon blinked at him. "I don't rightly know Ned," he replied. He then winced. "We've lost a lot, over the years. All I know was that every year we had to mine the lower crag for rocks to send to Winterfell. But we haven't done that for years – centuries even."
He nodded in reply and then frowned at the little mound of arrowheads. "Our forefathers must have thought those important. I wonder why?"
"I don't know. Stone can be brittle." The GreatJon shrugged again. "How are your children by the way? Robb and Jon were affected as badly as we were by that bloody stone."
"They all heard it. So did Cat. But whereas she was frightened by it, Arya is still excited at the thought of magic, Bran wants to know more about everything, Sansa is still thinking about it all and Rickon seems to have taken it all for granted." Ned shook his head. "The young adapt better than the old."
Knuckles rapped again at the door and then turned to see old Mikken standing there, twisting his cap in his hands. "Your pardon my Lords. You asked me to look at the mace you found?"
"Ah, Mikken. Yes, here." And Ned pulled out the huge mace and carried it over to the blacksmith. He had to admit that he liked the way that weapon felt in his hands. It was lighter than it looked somehow and was well balanced. Someone had crafted it most skilfully after much thought. He laid it on the table that had been brought in by the door. "What do you make of it?"
Mikken bent over and peered at it carefully – and then he blinked rapidly and took a longer look at it. "Interesting," he breathed quietly as he traced a finger over it. "Very interesting. Can I ask where you found this my Lord?"
"In a hidden room. It belonged to my ancestors. Yet it is no steel that I have seen before."
Mikken stroked his beard with one hand. "I think," he said cautiously, "That this is not steel. I think that it is sky-metal."
Ned looked at the GreatJon, who stared back in astonishment. "Sky-metal?"
"Aye, I've seen a few old pieces here and there. When stars fall from the sky as rocks then sometimes they contain metal. And sometimes that metal can be smelted and used. It… often looks different. This mace, as you can see my Lord, has no corrosion on it. Not a speck of rust." He paused, as if measure his words. "The make of it, the… way it has been worked? It is ancient my Lord. Most ancient. This is the work of the First Men. No modern mace looks like this. And… well, there were tales of magic being used on such weapons. Magic in the forging."
Mikken straightened up. He looked faintly ashamed. "We have lost the means to make a weapon like this my Lord. Aye, as I look at it the more I am convinced that magic was used to make it. I can think of no other way that it could be forged." And then he hesitated and seemed to be struggling with something.
"What is it Mikken?"
"My Lord – every smith in Winterfell has always had tales passed down to him from his predecessor. And there is a dim and distant tale of a great mace that was in the possession of your lord ancestors until they acquired Ice. My Lord – this… this might be the Fist of Winter."
Ned looked at the mace in some shock. "From the tales," he muttered. "There were references there to it." he paused. "Sky-metal? So this is like Dawn, the sword of the Daynes?"
Mikken shrugged. "I've never seen Dawn, my Lord. But sky-metal varies, depending on the colour and nature of the star. And what can be done with it also varies. Magic again. Or so the tales say."
"What of the stones embedded in them?"
Mikken scratched his beard thoughtfully. "They look like nothing I have even seen, my lord. But then I am not a Maester."
Ned nodded and then looked at Mikken. "Very well – my thanks Mikken."
"Happy to oblige, my Lord," the blacksmith rumbled and then strode out of the door.
"So that's the Fist of Winter," the GreatJon grunted. "Aye, I've heard the legends as well. That looks like it's got a lot of weight behind it. A weight of history as well."
"Aye," Ned muttered as he sat again. And then he looked up at the doorway again, having heard footsteps. Luwin then emerged at the doorway puffing as if he had been running.
"My Lord," the old Maester wheezed as he approached and held out two pieces of paper, "Messages."
Taking them Ned unrolled the first. "'Skagos stands with the Stark in Winterfell'. This is from Skagos?"
"It is, my Lord," Luwin said. "And such a thing is rare indeed. Ravens from Skagos are… like hen's teeth."
Ned nodded and then opened the second. "'House Reed stands with the Stark in Winterfell. Lord Reed rides to Winterfell with all despatch with news of-'" He paused and then continued: "'Dreams of Greenseers'? Surely that cannot be?"
Luwin coughed. "There was a third raven my Lord. It was from the Citadel. The glass candles are relit. Magic has indeed returned to these lands."
"Oh bugger," GreatJon Umber sighed and then he gulped down yet more ale.
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