Jon Snow watched as a light blinked from one of the stone towers of Winterfell, as bright as burning lime and mirror could make it, blinking on the news of his coming to the city below. The news had been carried southward from the Wall via a series of towers just like it, just a few weeks ago, but with each tower passed an update had been sent back up and down the route to the Wall and Winterfell. They had been a strange sight, one of many since his return from the ill-fated Ranging, along with the number of small block and wood farmsteads that had popped up along the King's Road towards the capital of the North. The dwellers had turned out from their snow-topped homes and barns with spear and crossbow, and then visibly relaxed when they saw the black cloak, remaining to stare and comment at the size of the party as they passed.
He was being accompanied by five other brothers of the Night's Watch, both as an escort to protect against ever-increasing wildling attacks and to make sure "Lord Snow" returned. Their weapons, sword and bow, swayed slightly as the horses walked, shifting their weight from hoof to hoof. The steel of their points and blades glittered in the pale sun of a winter's noon. It was one of the rare clear January days, with only a few high tendrils of cloud in a sky pale blue atop an endless field of white snow. It had snowed just days ago, and would again soon, but until then it was a beautiful sight. The air was crisp, colder than he remembered but still warmer than at the Wall, cold enough that the breath of men and beast steamed. A three horse-team brought up the rear with their supplies, with his friend Samwell Tarly walking beside it while a girl he rescued, Gilly, road atop with a child sucking at a breast.
He wished his return home had more glad tidings, but considering all that had happened this past year he supposed he should be thankful he was still alive. He had slayed a wright, an animated corpse, which he had only heard of the stories of Old Nan. Then came the ranging beyond the wall, where he was forced to kill a fellow brother of the Watch so he could join the wildings and learn their plans to invade. Breaking his vows of celibacy, falling in love with Ygritte and nearly becoming a true wilding had been the hardest he thought. But maybe coming home again was the hardest thing he had to do.
A familiar shadow brought his attention up to a red-tailed hawk floated there, its feathers spread and wings sculpting the air. He wondered for a moment if it was its own mind controlling it or not, before the predator suddenly dived towards the ground and pounced upon an unlucky rabbit.
Drawing closer to Winterfell a part came down from the Capital, four mounted figures, the metal of their armor glinting brightly. Jon reconized the one who led them, a medium-tall man with black hair and a cocky grin. He couldn't help but smile.
"Theon," he said.
"Jon," the other man replied casually. He was nearly the same age as him, but where Jon had the height, deep-chest and broad shoulders of his father, Theon Greyjoy was as slim and flexible as a snake. He was a ward of Lord Stark, King Eddard he corrected, taken from Balon Greyjoy as insurance against another rebellion and had been raised as one of his own children since.
Theon nodded, Jon returned the gesture, turning in his saddle to look a little closer at the banner one of the Winterfell men carried, its pole resting in a ring on his right stirrup. The flag was mostly white, with a strip of red at the top and blue at the bottom, with the sigil of a snarling grey Direwolf blazoned across the center. Jon glanced back over his shoulder at Ghost, his own snow-white Direwolf as it crested a small powder-covered hill, and smiled. This was the North, a here people were devoted to symbols of power. He couldn't think of anything more powerful than a pack of Direwolves.
"Welcome, brothers of the Night's Watch, in the name of King Eddard Stark." Theon said formally. He then leaned forward in his saddle, stripped off a gauntlet and shook hands with Jon. "Good to see you again, Snow. Thought you would turn into a icicle at the Wall."
Jon smirked. Normally he would jab the Islander back, but right now he was just happy to see someone he grew up calling brother. Instead he pointed at the signal tower and asked, "When did we get these?"
"Not long after your father became King in the North. You remember Rogers? Tall guy, strong, wears a white star on his chest? Anyway, he recommended building them. Can send a message faster than a raven. They run from Castle Black, White Harbor and Moat Cailin back to Winterfell right now, but once Winter is over we will build more. Riverlands are supposed to have their own network built by then, but Lord Tully is always griping about how much it costs. King Eddard always has to remind him that its cheaper than rebuilding a whole hamlet." Theon smiled wide, and turned his horse so the party could ride into the city together.
Jon nodded, "Tell me," he said and touched the rein to the neck of his horse, making it fall in beside him. "What else is new?"
Theon smiled wide, and proudly, "There is so much to tell, I can hardly know where to begin."
Ranks of armored troops stood at attention around the Great Hall, their cool grey steel armor nearly blending into the stone walls behind them while their steel-tipped pikes and crossbows were held close. All around the Hall, hanging from the ceiling and above the wide oak and iron entrance doors, banners displaying the red, blue and grey colors of the Kingdom of the North were proudly displayed. Inside, the eight long rows of tables, four to each side of the Hall's central aisle, remained and were occupied by a few hundred warriors. Here and there Jon could see the black lizard-lion on grey-green of House Reed or the roaring giant on flame-red sigil of House Umber.
Having seen real giants, he thought the sigil was a poor representation.
Winterfell proper had about a thousand people living inside its walls during the Summer years, but when the Long Winters begin that number swells as people from the surrounding countryside swarm into the usually deserted Winter Town. He had gotten a good look at it as we on the way in, its market square filled with wooden stalls and hundreds of merchants selling wears. Signs hung from the stalls that listed services, and the sheer number of them surprised Jon; cobblers, tailors, bakers, saddlers, lanterns, swords and knives, crossbows and repair, candles and vegetables, eggs and jams and hams. There were even taverns with lively and raucous singing flowing out into the streets along with the smells of fried onions, meats, wine and beer. Further from the square, the towns dirt and mud streets had been replaced with cobblestone and lined with row after row of log and undressed stone long-houses that could hold dozens of families each. It hadn't been until he was inside the Great Hall that he realized how many of those signs there were, and how many people must know how to read to make them worth the effort.
Normally less than one in five would have anyone inside those long-houses, but now they were packed. There was even some overflow, and many of the families who usually lived inside the safety of Winterfells massive walls were asked to open their homes to those who had nowhere else to go. Here in the hall, he could see many of the common man seated among Lords and warriors, eating their noon-meal before returning to work.
Growing up, Jon thought the walls of Winterfell were the largest things in the world. He had been told that those at Harrenhal were taller, and those at Storm's End were thicker, yet he could always feel the great strength of those stones. He had felt that anyone behind them would feel safe. Even after seeing the Wall, he felt safer here. In years past, the walls of Winterfell had fended off large wilding raids, bouncing them off it like a pebble off armor, but part of him wondered if the people here overestimated the security it gave them.
Sam, his closest friend, guessed what he was thinking and drew up beside him to cheerily say, "The Wall's still bigger."
"The Wall is dead, Sam." Jon said softly so only he could hear. "It's a labor camp for the dead, led by fools. Winterfell is alive."
Sam hesitantly nodded, then cast off his gloom by saying, "Looks like your father is doing well as King."
Jon looked down at the other end of the Great Hall, at the raised platform that served as a seating area of nobility. He only ever saw Eddard Stark sit up there a handful of times in his life, normally only when he was acting as a judge between farmers or when he was throwing on a feast for nobility. He once told him how he disliked standing up there, looking down on others as if he was somehow better than them just because his name was Stark. He stood there now as he spoke to Lord Umber, a circlet of hammered bronze and surmounted by nine black iron spikes in the shape of long swords atop his head.
"Welcome home, Jon." Maester Luwin called out, marching out of the crowd of people and opening his arms wide. He was a small, grey man with grey eyes and hair. His robe was grey as well, wool with voluminous sleeves, with his maester's chain pulled tight at the neck into a choker. He had lived most of his live at Winterfell, serving Eddard and his brother and father before him, and as delivered all of the Stark children. As the old man enveloped him in a large hug, Jon couldn't help but smile.
After a minute Luwin softly said, "Your father is a little busy as the moment, but he greatly wishes to speak with you. If you will follow me, you can wait for him in the gallery while your friends get some food and relax after their long journey."
@ @ @
Bathed and fed, Jon sat around the dimly-lit gallery's table, relaxing as he nibbled on nuts, cheese and wine. A low blaze in the small fireplace made the room comfortable, but after two years on the Wall it felt like he was being baked.
Jon grinned, "Thank you for the great meal. Haven't eaten anything like that since I left. Smoked salmon is hard to get at Castle Black, normally we just eat stews."
"Why do you think I asked the kitchen to bring it to you?" The old man said, smiling wide.
"So, what's really happening around here?" He asked, a little more sharply than he had planned.
Luwin smiled to himself, and took a seat in the chair across from Jon, "Everyone thinks I'm just some harmless old man, talking around me like I was little more than a painting on the wall."
He shook his head and continued, "King Eddard is rallying a force to aid the Night's Watch, as the letters asked. But what no one is talking about very loudly is the need for the Night's Watch to evolve. Or the fact that your father wants to let the wildings cross."
Jon raised an eyebrow, "We already let wildlings cross, a few families at a time, since Maester Amon made that deal with father last year. I can tell you, a lot of the Brothers are not happy about it either. If the Lord Commander hadn't been ranging at the time, I doubt it would have happened."
"And?" Luwin answered.
"And," Jon argued, "a lot of men have been killed by wildlings over the years. It makes a mockery of the Night's Watch to let our enemies just walk past the Wall without a fight. Mance is bringing a massive army with him, and we need to make sure he and the others stay on their side of the Wall. We need help doing that."
Luwin grunted, and turned an eye past Jon. When Jon followed and turned in his seat to see his father standing in the doorway. A look somewhere between pride and worry written across his face. He hesitated for a moment, "What exactly did you want to talk to me about, Jon?"
As the King entered the room, Luwin rose from his chair and unobtrusively left the room, leaving the two to speak in private. Eddard took the chair, reached out over the able and picked a nut out of the bowl and popped it in his mouth. Jon said, "The acting commander sent me here to ask for your aid, thinking that a personal appeal from your son would encourage you to help us defend the Wall." He left out how they all quietly hoped he would try to desert, and how there are things worse than the Wildlings coming.
Eddard looked away for a moment, then said into the growing silence, "You've got how many men? Five thousand total, stretched across three castles. Of those five, only three are trained warriors. You used to have twenty castles. Each of which is in disrepair as well. Twice, the Watch has been given a gift to help it grow, and twice the gift was squandered." He looked Jon in the eyes, his face intense, "The Watch is over. It needs to end."
Jon's eyes went wide, and all comprehension seemed to fail him. His picked his jaw up and nearly shouted, "You want to abandon the wall?!"
"That's not what I'm saying." Eddard shook his head. "What I want to do is fix it. My advisors and I have been speaking, and we want to replace the current Night's Watch setup with something more reliable. A trained militia, paid to serve my realm, will take over the Watch's combat roles. The traditional Night's Watch will take over all non-combat roles, freeing up more men to farm the gift, repair the castles, and maintain the Wall."
He continued, "Additionally, to build the North's numbers I am going to open the Wall to any wildlings who are willing to bend the knee to me and take up our laws. If not, they can stay on the other side of the Wall."
Jon felt his voice leave him, but then finally managed to say, "What exactly are you going to do when you ride North?"
King Eddard leaned back and sighed, "We will offer the Night's Watch our aid, as they requested. And once the threat is dealt with, we will formally make the Wall part of the Kingdom of the North."
"For years, the wildlings have been needling and probing and pushing the Watchers and the Wall, while the North bleeds for it. The Night's Watch no long keeps the realm safe for men, they keep the Wall safe for themselves." His eyes softened, and Jon could see some of the man who raised him peek out behind the hard mask of a ruler. "I would love to not do this, but I don't see any other options. You know as well as I do that the Watch died a long time ago. What is left is little more than a useful prison. The South will no longer be sending their unwanted here out of fear of helping us."
Jon winced, "There are lots of places for wildlings to hide, and there aren't enough Brothers to catch them all. I agree. And having met them, I know that many wildings are the same as you or I; they just want to live quiet lives, watch their children grow up and have kids of their own.
His father nodded, "The only reason they are called wildings is because they had the bad luck of being born on the wrong side of the Wall. And the Wall wasn't built to keep them out. Besides, we have other problems to deal with."
When Jon raised his eyebrow, Eddard explained, "There have been sightings of ships along our eastern coast, and bandit raids not long after. I can't prove it, but I'm sure that King Stannis or someone in league with him is hiring bandits, even supplying gear, and turning them loose on the North. They run back to their ships when chased, so we haven't been able to capture any of them. I want to secure our North so I can focus on the East and South."
"And once the snows have melted and Summer returns, I have plans for new order." The King grinned slightly, "Actually, like a lot of recent ideas credit should go to Lord Rogers. I want to organize a Kingdom-wide police force like the Night's Watch. People who are trained to keep the peace and take care of criminals all across our lands. A Wolfpack to guard the realm against rats and other pests. " He hesitated for a moment and then said, "And I want you to act as its Lord Commander."
Jon was taken aback, "I swore an oath. I'm a Brother of the Nights Watch."
"And if you so wish, I can release you of your oath." His father said at once.
Silence descended on the gallery like a heavy cloud, broken only by the crackling and popping of the nearby fire. "Well," Eddard finally said, "maybe I should let you sleep on the idea. Your room is still available, should you want it." He rose, "I will talk to you again tomorrow."
Jon could only stare into the fires, his mind fighting desperately to see what he should do. He didn't know why he did it, but before King Eddard could leave the young man said, "You once said, that the next time we saw one another you would tell me about my mother." He lifted his eyes and saw his father, his King, standing as still as the a statue. Like his body had turned into one of the massive stones that support Winterfell.
Eddard turned and returned to his chair, picking up the bottle of wine as he did and poured the dark liquid into the two glasses resting atop the table. He brought the glass to his lips and upturned it in a single swift motion of his wrist, before swallowing and pouring another. Jon watched closely as his father leaned back in the chair, sighed, and said, "What would you like to know?"
"That is a good…" Jon started to say over his shoulder, before stumbling over the foreign word.
Bran smiled up at his big half-brother and offered, "Bacon Cheeseburger."
The young crow looked back down at his plate and shrugged, "I hate to admit it, but this is a lot better than roast venison." He leaned over and whispered, "Don't tell Cook I said that."
They both laughed and took another bite of the fried potato chips that littered around the burgers remains. Deer was abundant in the forests along the King's Road, and could be caught near the Wall often, but cow was harder to come by further north. He had almost forgotten what the large stupid animals tasted like, and had been disappointed that his first taste of it in years hadn't been a steak. But it was well worth it.
"Last time Steve was here, he mentioned how tired he was getting of eating steak and stew." Bran offered while absently dipping the chip in some of the fresh grease where his burger once sat and popping the salty item in his mouth. Once he finished chewing, he swallowed and continued, "He spent a whole day in the kitchens, showing the cooks how to prepare foods from his homeland. They argued with him about tomatoes and a few other plants, and it took some trial and error to get the bread right, but now the kitchens turn them out frequently. Winter Town even makes them too, and the common people seem to love it."
"Hodor!" Bran's friend and protector said in agreement with a mouth full of bread, meat and onion.
The hour was still early, the sun only just rising over the horizon a few minutes ago, but the Great Hall was already a thunderstorm of activity as people ran in and out of the kitchens and brought food to the hundreds of bannermen who lined both sides of the long tables. A few women carried mugs of cider or beer out, ignoring the friendly gropes of the half-drunk and the getting drink to those who called. Their plates were filled high with fired eggs, ham and sausage, with chunks of fresh brown bread on the side. Jon had grown up eating that food every day of his life, even something like it was on the wall, but when he looked back at his own plate part of him thought his present meal was far better.
He, Bran and Hordor were sitting at one of the tables atop the Hall's raised platform, alone for the most part. There were also four men in full gear; conical helmets with nasal bars that splayed out to cover their mouth, knee-length short-sleeved hauberks with mail skirts, plate protection on shins and forearms, with whatever protected their shoulders and back hidden behind a wolf-fur cloak. Swords hung at their side, and Jon noticed they were the only people who had a weapon in the Hall. Two sat and ate their breakfast while the other two stood at either end of the platform, their eyes constantly scanning the room.
When Jon asked, Bran shrugged and said, "Some kind of King's Guard I suppose. They all dress alike, and are always near father and the rest of the family. I think there are five of them, but I don't know were the last one it. Maybe with father?"
Jon looked down again. So many things had changed in the two years since he left for the wall. His father had gone from Hand of the King to King in the North and ruling half of Westeros, Winterfell was now a capital and growing metropolis with Winter Town four times larger than when he last saw it, Royal Guards protected the Stark family, strange food from an unheard of land filled his belly, the southern Kingdom had seen three Kings rise, Winter had arrived, and his mother…
He pushed the plate away and let his head hang, exhaustion taking him. He had spent hours speaking with his father last night, and many more laying awake in his bed unable to sleep. Duty to the Wall, his oaths, the faith of those who trusted him, fought against his desire to make his father proud and lead his new wolfpack, his Northern Rangers, as Lord Commander. It was an incredible opportunity. Regardless of who is mother and father were, what life had been laid out for him was gone and he had the chance to build a new one.
Jon just didn't know if he could, or should.
Bran suddenly smiled and made a beckoning gesture with his hand. Jon looked over his shoulder to see the King and Queen coming towards them, and raised an eyebrow; Eddard wore a strong smile, Catelyn did not. When they sat at the table with them, Jon was more than a little shocked with the Queen sat beside him. He was wondering if he should excuse himself when the mother of his brothers leaned over and softly said without looking at him, "I'm so sorry, for how I have treated you all these years. I know I don't deserve it, but I ask your forgiveness."
Years of memories flooded back to him; hearing her call him a bastard, seeing her beg Eddard to send him away, the barely controlled anger that surfaced anytime she could see his face. Despite it all, he loved her. "I forgive you." Jon whispered back, and watched as she gave a sharp nod of understanding.
He looked past her to King Eddard, and the soft knowing smile that crossed the man's face. Determination fought against duty, he said aloud, "I accept your offer."