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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 287,744Chapter 54
Aemon
Castle Black was well astir by the time that he had finished feeding his ravens with the help of a young man. It was good to be back at his quarters. But there was a difference to the Castle Black that he had returned to. It felt... well, alive. He remembered what it had been like when he had first joined the Night's Watch. It had been a different place to the one that he had left weeks ago for Winterfell. All those decades ago there had still been a sense of… vigour about the place. That had ebbed away over the long years.
Until now.
As he had approached Castle Black he had heard the sounds of hammering and the clink of trowels on stone. The noise of barrels being rolled over cobblestones. The clash of metal on metal, accompanied by the bellowed shouts from Alliser Thorne that he had seen small children fight harder. But there had been something in his voice that spoke of a grudging satisfaction. And there had been something else, in the background. Laughter.
Castle Black felt alive again. More voices, more work on its upkeep, more energy pounding through it. It made him feel years younger. Well… some years younger. He quirked his lips into a slight smile and then wiped it from his face. He needed to see the Lord Commander.
The young man assisted him to the quarters occupied by Jeor Mormont, who was talking to someone not too far away. Something about repairing the next castle down more. It made him feel… more than a bit stunned. The Night's Watch itself seemed to be coming alive again.
Footsteps and then the scrape of a chair. "Maester Aemon."
"Lord Commander."
"I wish that the First Ranger had stopped for longer before he left. He seemed… determined."
Aemon nodded thoughtfully. "He seemed very determined at Winterfell as well. Lord Stark tasked him with an important mission."
"Aye," the Lord Commander sighed. "Benjen Stark discussed it with me. The hand of a wight. If it wasn't for hearing the Call, I would have told him not to be a fool."
"How strongly was the Call heard here? I was in Winterfell when it was issued. I heard it all too well myself – my mother was a Dayne, you see, of the First Men."
There was a pause and then a rasping noise as Jeor ran a hand over his beard. "It came during the evening meal. And everyone heard it, clear as a bell. Everyone within Castle Black. Same with the other two castles on the Wall. Everyone, no matter what their lineage, heard it." Hmmm. Interesting. Some magic from the Wall perhaps?
"I was on the privy at the time and I damn near shat meself," rumbled a new voice and Aemon realised with a start that he had been so intent on Jeor's answer that he had failed to notice the arrival of Alliser Thorne. "I would never have believed it if I had not heard it." The door closed and the other man took a seat. "What news from Winterfell then, Maester Aemon?"
"As you know, the Others come. There was more proof. Lord Stark was given a vision by the Old Gods. A most worrying sign indeed. And a room within Winterfell was discovered. A room containing objects known to past Starks. Records as well. Lord Stark did not know anything about them. His father did – but that knowledge died with him and Brandon Stark in King's Landing, thanks to my fool of a Great-Nephew." He found himself snarling the last five words and then caught himself as the other two coughed and probably looked embarrassed. Thorne had been a Targaryen loyalist.
"What kind of records?" Jeor asked after a moment.
"Copies of records to and from Castle Black, amongst other things. Which disturbs me greatly as no such records exist now, or none that I know of."
"I thought that everything was in your offices?" Thorne asked. "How could Winterfell have such copies but we lack them?"
"I know not, but I would like to have the older part of Castle Black searched for any blocked off rooms. I have had the time to think much on this matter, and I cannot believe that the records were lost entirely. Some must still remain, somewhere."
"A good point," rumbled Jeor. "I shall order it so. We have more than enough men here now."
"So I heard. When did they arrive?"
"Not long after the Call was heard," Thorne said reluctantly. "Men wanting to help. Women too. They had heard the Call as well. They offered services, brought food, offered to repair the walls, cook. Food's a damn sight better than it used to be."
"How many then have taken the Black?"
"Of the men, one in three," Jeor said quietly. "The rest wish to volunteer to help fight the Others. I've never heard of the like of it, but they insist. They want to help. Volunteers on the wall? Bloody odd. But they've changed this place. We've gone from quiet despair – do not pull that damn face, Thorne, you know it to be true! – to quiet hope.
"We have parties out now working on the next three castles, assessing what needs to be done and making repairs. Might be able to start sending out garrisons in a month or two, on a temporary basis at least. The same is happening with the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Of the latter, Cotter Pyke sends word that ships have been docking with more and volunteers there."
Aemon nodded at this. "I think that a party must also be sent to the Nightfort. That place was the first to be built along the Wall and the greatest as well. It might well have records, or at least artefacts. And if the Others are indeed moving Southwards then the Black Gate must be secured."
There was a silence. And then from both of the other men: "What Black Gate?"
He did his best not to roll his eyes in disgust. "Do you mean to say," he barked, "That the Lord Commander and the Master-of-Arms have not consulted the Histories of the Wall?" The other two harrumphed and he waved a hand in apology. "Your pardon. I read of it long ago. There is a gate beneath the Nightfort that is sealed so that only a member of the Night's Watch who speaks the words of the Vow can open it. The Others should not be able to access it. Nevertheless it must be secured."
There was a creaking noise from the chair that Jeor Mormont was sitting in. "I did not know that. Very well. Who should lead that party?"
He thought deeply for a long moment. "I am not sure. Given the import of what might be found there – as well as the terrible legends that surround the place – we must choose wisely. In the meantime we must await the return of Benjen Stark. We must have proof of the Others and their wights."
"Proof would be good," Thorne said wryly. Then he seemed, from his next words, to sober a little. "The thought of fighting the dead terrifies me."
"Aye, me too." There was a different kind of creaking from Jeor Mormont's chair, as if he was leaning forwards perhaps. "But we are of the Night's Watch. And we do what must be done."
"Aye," Thorne said, before pushing his own chair back and standing. "Well said. I have much to think on. And some men to train that aren't as bad as some of the scum we've had in the past." And then he stamped out.
"Lord Commander," Aemon said after a moment. "I understand that the Wildling raids have diminished?"
"More than diminished – ceased. It's all most odd. But if indeed the Others have returned… well then they must be more informed than we are. Word came that Mance Rayder has been seen near the Wall. I'm not sure what worries me more – the Wildlings ceasing their raids or that Rayder has been sighted."
Aemon nodded. "It might be that a common cause might be made between us?"
A rasp of hand over beard again. "Mayhaps. Mayhaps. Ned Stark has sent a raven saying that he need to talk to me face to face about matter regarding the Wildlings. That might be it. I also wonder how far the Call went." That last sentence was said bleakly.
"To your son perhaps?" Aemon said the words gently. "Such a call would have gone far. And the…" He paused, thought about it and then went on. "Forgive me, but the crimes of our families cannot be forgotten. I should know. How we deal with those crimes defines us."
There was another moment of silence. And then Jeor Mormont cleared his throat. "I know. I know. I just wish-" But he was interrupted by the sound of a horn being blown in the distance. "That's from North of the Wall."
There was a long pause and then shouting outside, before a rumble of feet on the corridor outside and then a knock on the door, before it creaked open after Jeor Mormont's growled command to enter.
"Lord Commander! The two men that the First Ranger went beyond the Wall with have returned. One seems to be injured."
"Is the First Ranger not with them?" Jeor growled.
"No, Lord Commander. One of the men shouted up that the First Ranger sent them back whilst he went on with his mission."
Jeor sighed heavily. "Very well." The door creaked closed again. "Bugger. Now I'm worried."
"He knows the Haunted Forest well," Aemon pointed out. "In fact far better than most."
"Aye. But I'm still worried."
Jaime
Janos Slynt did not die well. He was in a bad enough way after just a day in a Black Cell – Robert Baratheon did at least look at the evidence against him and then immediately proclaimed that he and his three main lieutenants should be put to death – but when the moment came he rapidly fell to pieces.
When Jaime first caught sight of him the man was being half-dragged and half-carried by two guards in Baratheon liveries who did not look happy. As they approached Jaime realised why. Slynt was burbling a constant stream of piteous whimperings about how this was not justice, how he was innocent, about how unfair this all was, about how he had been betrayed.
When he saw the baying crowd, the headsman's block and the motionless figure of Robert Baratheo holding Stormbreaker flat against his chest, point down, then… well, Slynt didn't just lose control of his legs, but also his bladder and his bowels, given the curses from the guards and the revolting trail that the wretched man left.
He was finally deposited at the feet of the Fat King, who looked down at the former commander of the Goldcloaks with considerable disgust. "Gods, man, can't you even die in a clean fashion?"
"Your Grace, blubbered Slynt wetly, with his neck on the block, "Mercy, please, I shall take the Black, I will go to the Wall, I confess it all, but spare me."
The King laughed. "Send you to the Wall? Never – the Night's Watch would think I scorned them for send such a man like you there." Then he sobered and there might even have been a flash of sympathy. "Chin up. I'll make it quick."
Looking at the crowd Baratheon set his shoulders and then spoke. "I, Robert Baratheon, the First of my name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do here and serve sentence of death on this man Janos Slynt. For the crime of corruption! Of taking bribes! Of malfeasance! And of murder! I have found him guilty – and I will swing the sword, as in the old days!"
Slynt screwed his eyes closed and therefore never saw the great blade come up and then flash down. His head bounced once, twice and then stopped. As the crowd cheered Jaime frowned a little. He thought he could hear thunder rumbling somewhere. He wasn't the only one – Seaworth, who had been standing grim-faced at the head of a large group of pale-faced Goldcloaks, turned his head to seawards. "Odd," Jaime heard him mutter. "I smell no storm coming."
Jaime turned back to the spot where the Fat King was standing. Men in Baratheon livery ran out to pull the body away, take up the head to place it on a spike and (thank the gods on this warm day) to wash down the flagstones with buckets of water.
But as the next man was dragged out for execution Jaime was more fascinated by the sword. Stormbreaker was starting to puzzle him. It was the sword of the Durrandons – but the Durrandons had been of the First Men. The sword of Durran Godsgrief should have been bronze. But this was not. It reminded him of Dawn a little, by the sheen. Which might explain why Durran had been king. Then he frowned a little. The sword should have been bloody. It was not. Had Baratheon cleaned it quickly?
The next man did not disgrace himself as badly as Slynt. Instead he went to his death in silence, spitting at the ground in front of the crowd as they booed at him. His Fatness didn't even bother with last words. He simply took his head from his shoulders with a single savage swipe that looked contemptuous. Jaime stared at the King of Westeros. Yes, the man looked alive again in some terrible way. But – there was no blood on the sword. Had he shaken it?
The third man was as bad as Slynt – a cowardly wreck who wailed at the sight of the block, and the sword, and everything about Robert Baratheon. Jaime averted his eyes for much of it, because it was frankly embarrassing.
And then the fourth man came forwards. He was a dark-haired man who strode to the block with a straight back and a face that showed deep shame. The crowd seemed to sense it and they booed him less than the others.
Baratheon looked him over and then nodded at him sombrely. "Kneel, lad." And then, as the shame-faced man did so Baratheon said something that surprised Jaime. "I know why you took the coin," he rumbled in a low voice. "Your wife and your son took sick. But even after they were better you kept taking it. That was not right."
"I know, Your Grace, and I am ashamed of it," the man replied, tears in his eyes. "My family-"
"Will have a pension. My word on that. But there's a price."
The Goldcloak nodded and then braced himself. "I will pay it."
"Good lad." The sword came up and then slashed down. The head thudded to the ground and the crowd cheered again. But Jaime's eyes were on the sword. This time there was blood. How odd.
His Fatness stepped over the body and then looked at the assembled crowd – and the Goldcloaks who had watched the whole thing with such pale faces. "People of King's Landing! These men did you most grievous wrong! These men betrayed your trust in taking bribes! And I will not have that! I will have justice in this city and not corruption! And trust instead of betrayal! You have my word on that!"
"Long live King Robert the Just!" The call came from a squinting little man not too far from Jaime and he peered languidly around as the crowd of smallfolk threw their sweaty caps in the air and about stank the place out with their stinking breath.
His Fatness beamed a little grimly at them, hefted Stormbreaker with one hand as if he was a little surprised about something and then sheathed it, before slinging it onto his back and then stomping towards his horse.
It was only then that Jaime caught sight of Joffrey, who was staring at the heads of the three Goldcloaks as they were being placed onto the pikes on the nearest gateway. There was an odd look on his face, like a combination of uncertainty, fascination and… excitement? And then he seemed to catch himself as the hulking and grim-faced form of Sandor Clegane brushed past him, before darting after His Fatness.
"Father," he heard Joffrey smirk at Baratheon, "Can I practise with Stormbreaker?"
"Of course you can lad, but not just yet – you need to get some muscles on you first. 'Tis a heavy sword. Lighter with use, but too heavy for you just yet. You need to practise with your own more first to build yourself up. Clegane!"
"Your Grace?" The scarred man stepped forwards.
"Train my son a bit harder will you?"
Clegane eyed Joffrey. "He's lazy."
"I am not!" Joffrey protested.
"Yes he is Your Grace."
Baratheon stopped and turned on Joffrey, who blanched a bit. "Always train lad. There's a war coming. There always is. There will be when you're king eventually. So always train." He pulled a face as if he was reminded of something. "And I must train now. I'm too damn fat, still. No longer." He eyed the horse nearby. "Ser Barristan?"
"Your Grace?" The Lord Commander called from one side.
"I need to train. I also need to talk to someone with knowledge of sword making."
Ser Barristan Selmy pursed his lips with thought for a moment. "For the former I think the Red Keep Your Grace. For the latter – I know of at least one place you can find experts on the Street of Steel."
Baratheon nodded and then mounted. "Ser Barristan and I have some questions to ask then, on the Street of Steel. Kingslayer, Clegane, get my son back to the Red Keep." He nodded at them and then rode off with the Lord Commander in a great clattering of hooves.
Jaime watched them go with a sardonic eye. And then, very far away, he seemed to hear the boom of distant thunder.
Melisandre
The servants built the fire quickly. She knew that they were deathly afraid of her, but she did not care. They were sworn to her service. Their lives were hers to do with as the red God commanded. Today they would build her a great fire, the greatest that they could. She needed to see the flames, to look into them and see the visions of the path she now had to tread.
She had to admit that she was getting impatient. Her visions had become clouded of late, for the first time that she could remember. Clouded by what though? She could not say. It was as if the eye of her mind was suddenly unfocussed, as if R'hllor had lifted his gaze from her. Which was, of course, impossible.
So much had happened to lead her to this place, this point. An island just to the West of Tyrosh. She had had her servants take her there by ship, with all the wood that they bring without sinking the ship. And now the great fire was complete.
"Go," she said coldly to them. "Leave this place. What is to happened here is not for the likes of you. Go. Return in the morning for me." They bowed and then they all but fled. They lacked her faith. Well – what did they know? What could they know? Nothing. Poor fools.
A walk around the fire revealed that even though they were fools they had done their job well. Wood piled upon wood, soaked in lamp oil. She nodded and then picked up a burning brand and thrust it into the kindling, before stepping back as it started to take.
The flames crackled at first and then started to roar. As the main section of the fire caught and the wood started to blacken the roar increased to almost a shriek. Yes, they had built it well. The heat roared off the great blaze and she felt her lips peel back in a smile of joy. R'hllor was with her, the Lord of Light was here. She undid her robes until they fell to the ground and stepped as close to the fire as she could, revelling in the heat on her naked body. The grass started to brown and curl between her toes. She minded it not.
The flames danced and sang to her and she stared into them. Yes, something was appearing. Visions of Tyrosh. Faces of men and women, young and old. Did they matter? It was a start at least. The vision was crisp and clear.
Where to turn her gaze next? Dragonstone? That had been where her feet had been taking her before this odd mist had descended. Not yet. East perhaps? She frowned a little Yes. Eastwards. The Five Forts appeared in the flames, a chain against the forces of the Great Other. Were they manned yet? They should be. Where were the Fortsmen? Coming? She frowned harder. Her Brother should have it in hand. She'd have his heart in a brazier if he did not.
Where next? South? She smiled a little – and then she frowned. Eyes flashed from bronze panels and she would tell that something had changed there, that something had awoken. What though? She had long suspected that something was hidden to the South. She did not know what.
She did not look to the South-East. That way madness still lay.
North now. Animals seemed to crowd the streets of Pentos, whilst… something seemed to be growing there. She stared into the flames. A… girl? There was too much confusion there. A horseman flickered in and out and then vanished. And then something – no, somethings – seemed to flash across the sky for a moment. And then, as she tried to look further North, there was something else. Something moving Westwards. She blinked and shook her head a moment. No. Nothing had wings of ice.
And now she took a deep breath and turned to look Westwards again. She had to see where he was, the Azor Ahai. Where had he been born, how was he to be forged by his trials anew into a weapon for the Lord of Light?
Dragonstone appeared in the flames… but there was some odd about it, something she had not seen before. Tendrils of light flowed North from it. What could they be? An old man's face appeared, as he talked with a fond smile with a young girl with a shadow on her face that seemed to seethe and flex and then vanish.
Westwards again… and then the mist descended again. She wanted to scream in frustration. What was this? She sharpened her focus and stared more intently. For a moment a number of flashing images appeared. A man with a sword on his back and lightning bolts flashing around him, sloughing off old layers of himself. A… child? A child who commanded fire? Snakes that found purpose. A garden blooming mightily. A one-eyed lion with a sword of light. An empty man finding a purpose again. A man with the blood of a wolf and a sword that shone like a star. And men and women with the heads of wolves.
And then the mist slammed down and she could see nothing. Wait…. There was something appearing. A face. A white face of wood. A tree? Yes – a Weirwood tree. A… Hearts Tree? Was that the name? And then the eyes carved into the tree opened to reveal orbs of red fire. We are stronger now, she heard a great voice boom in her ear. We were weaker before. No longer. You are wrong about so many things, Red Priestess. Cast your eyes Eastwards. Your brother is not as strong as you are.
"Who are you?" She barked the question at the terrible face. "Are you a servant of the Great Other?"
The red orbs blazed harder. Foolish child! The enemy has many faces. Ours is not one of them. Your Red God was always a fool to think that only he could fight them. This is a greater fight than you think. Things have changed here. We are stronger. Things that were sleeping have awoken. Things that you cannot understand. Do not come here. You will only do harm. Events are in motion that must not be disturbed. The Others are awake. And old friends who thought each other dead are meeting again. Cast your eyes not again to the West. Now – go!
The face roiled and rippled and suddenly she found herself flying backwards, landing in a breathless and astonished heap. She looked at the roaring fire and then shook her head in confusion. As she looked part of the fire collapsed inwards as the wood was consumed and a great blaze of sparks flew upwards. And those sparks briefly formed the shape of a tree.
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