Chapter 42 A deep breath
Jon Targaryen
The gloom of Jojen's death was still strong as they entered Castle Black. Lord Reed's mood hadn't had time to improve as they arrived, his somberness infected them all...but deep down Jon felt a thrill go through him at finally being at Castle Black. For all the bad that had happened here, for being murdered here- he'd still made good loyal friends here.
He'd lost too many of them over the years and today was a chance to find them again. It was also a chance to speak to Maester Aemon- not as a good and trusted adviser...but as the uncle he hadn't know he was.
The army that was with them, was disbursing around the walls of Castle Black, setting up camp, the lords that had accompanied him, would join him in Castle Black. Other Lords of the North were already waiting for him in the castle. The leaders of the Hill tribes were here and he knew that Lady Mormont was here as well, possibly Lord Gregor Forrester as well as others would have come here.
He guessed that a large number of those that died in the War of five Kings and the Red Wedding would be here to see if he was as mad as his Targaryen grandfather or not.
He didn't blame them, but he hoped that whatever doubts they would have, he could assure them easily. The North was united behind his uncle. He needed them to be just as united behind him. The Reeds, Umbers and Manderlys were completely behind him now. Karstark was a different issue- but he was too cowed at the moment to do anything. He hoped that meeting with them here would cement their loyalty to him.
He'd need it, to make peace between them and the Free Folk. The Watch already had a good start, if they were already cooperating without his guidance.
They galloped through the gates of Castle Black. The scene inside the courtyard was as Jon expected. The Lord Command and others were waiting to welcome them.
His heart soared as he saw Lord Commander Jeor Mormont alive and standing next to him was his uncle Benjen, alive and well. Dolorous Edd stood with them and behind him were other members of the Night's Watch. Faces he hadn't seen in years, others that he only seemed familiar, those that had died so very early on, before the Winter truly came. It was weight off his shoulders to see them all there waiting for him. Though his other Uncle was noticeably absent, not that he had expected the frail old Maester to come out to greet them in the cold courtyard.
The more surprising thing that he saw, were the Free Folk that seemed to be lounging around the courtyard as well, side by side with the men of the Night's Watch. They seemed out of place in his mind even though he knew that Mormont was already cooperating with them in preparation for the coming winter.
It was a pleasant and good surprise, helping to off set recent happenings.
He brought his horse to a stop and dismounted quickly, as a man of the Night's Watch stepped forward to take his reins. Jon didn't recognise him, but he'd never known all of the men in the Night's Watch. After Mormont's disastrous and final ranging, there had been fewer men- those men, Jon knew them all by face, to the very last man. And he knew just when and how each one had fallen.
He cast that aside as he approached Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. The Old Bear patiently waiting for him, the beginning of smile tugging at the edge of his lips. Next to him, Uncle Benjen was staring at Jon with more joy than he had ever seen in his uncle's eyes. Edd stood slightly past him, with a smile and a look of relief on his face as Jon approached.
"Welcome to Castle Black...your Grace," the Old Bear greeted him, the smile stopped tugging at his lips and took over. A large toothy smile telling Jon just how welcoming the Lord Commander truly was.
"Lord Commander Mormont," Jon nodded back, returning the smile, "It's good to see you alive."
The Old Bear snorted, "Aye, it's good to be alive," he replied dryly.
Jon turned to face his uncle, but before he could say anything Benjen had embraced him, squeezing him tight in a bear hug, "Gods Jon..." he muttered softly.
"Uncle," Jon managed to squeeze out from under his uncle's crushing hug. Just as breathing was becoming an issue for Jon, Benjen broke the embrace.
He pulled back from Jon, placing his arms on Jon's shoulders. He looked at Jon's face, "You do look like Lya...it's there for everyone to see...and I was too damn blind to see it before," he lamented with a sorrowful smile.
Jon was taken aback at Benjen's sudden sorrow. Even after everything, it was still jarring to have anyone talk about his mother.
"It's alright, Uncle," Jon said, squeezing his Uncle's shoulder reassuringly.
Benjen smiled back, tears in his eyes, "I'm damn glad to be back here Jon, thank you for that."
Jon shook his head, and smiled hopefully, "Not half as glad as I am to be back here."
Benjen nodded happily, finally letting go of Jon.
Jon turned to the last person waiting for him. Edd Tollett, his brother from the Night's Watch. Edd stood there younger than he remembered and most shocking of all with a genuine wide jolly smile. Something very much at odds with Dolorous Edd's normal character.
Jon didn't say a word, instead he looked pointedly up the Wall. Then he looked down at Edd. He smiled a big wide toothy smile. Their old joke coming to mind.
Edd's smiled faltered as he glanced up at the Wall and then quickly at Jon's toothy smile. His face darkened and he pointed a finger at Jon, as he realised what Jon was thinking.
"One word. One. Fucking. Word. And, king or not, I will fucking knock you on your ass!" Edd threatened angrily, shaking his finger repeatedly in Jon's face.
"Tollett!" reprimanded the Old Bear, his smile gone and replaced with a stricken look of shock at Edd's foul greeting.
Jon just laughed and pulled Edd into an embrace, "I missed you too old friend."
Edd huffed and returned the hug, "It's good you're here finally," he returned in a friendly tone. They broke apart and looked down on the Targaryen dragon on Jon's clothes, and raised an eyebrow at Jon, "That's new. Guess you really are king now...you got a crown yet?"
Jon shook his head, "Not yet, but I'm sure Sansa is having one made for me as we speak."
The two old friends turned back to see the rest of the people staring at them in shock. Mormont's stricken look had transformed into stunned shock, while Uncle Benjen had a nonplussed look on his face. Father and Robb had dismounted, they were standing there staring at him and Edd with stunned looks on their faces. The Greatjon was still mounted and he was staring down at them with a taken aback confused look that Jon had never seen on the boisterous Lord's face. Bran was still mounted and as usual not an emotion could be discerned on his face.
Jon gave them a chagrined look, he cast a look at Edd, who shrugged equally chagrined in response. Jon turned back to the others.
"This is Edd Tollett, former Lord Commander and my friend- my brother....and it's a long story..." Jon stated dryly, waving off any questions.
Robb had overcome his initial shock and was smirking at Jon. Father's shock had transformed into a disturbed and confused glances that he kept casting at him as he greeted Mormont. Though that was short lived as Uncle Benjen grabbed him in strong hug next, that brought a thankful smile to his face.
It was good to see Father smiling again.
Robb was Uncle Benjen's next victim, both smiling and laughing as they greeted each other warmly.
The family greetings were over and Jon was smiling happy to be at Castle Black despite the reasons behind it all.
Mormont cleared his throat cutting into Jon's introspection.
Jon turned to him, "Yes, Lord Commander?"
The Old Bear , "Many of the Lords of the North are already here, as are some of the Wildling leaders," he paused and gave Jon a knowing nod, "I told 'em to wait, and let us speak first."
Jon nodded, understanding all that had happened at the Wall since their return was essential, "Aye, I want to know all that has been happening."
The Old Bear nodded back, "There is just one thing we'd best deal with first," he stated cryptically before turned to the side and gestured someone forward.
Jon frowned, off the top of his head he couldn't think of anything that Mormont would need to tell him urgently, unless some part of the Wall had fallen...though he'd have expected them to be more strident and tense in their greetings if that had happened.
He looked towards where Mormont had gestured and saw an armored knight approaching. As the knight approached, surprise blossomed in his gut as he recognized the armour of a Kingsguard.
He heard his father gasp in surprise as the Kingsguard drew close.
The man held a solemn look on his face as he approached. He was old, yet unbowed by age. Resplendent in his armour and looked every way the picture of a true knight.
"Ser Barristan?" father exclaimed in surprise.
Jon's head jerked to him and then back to the legendary Ser Barristan Selmy in stunned disbelief. What was Dany's Queensguard doing here?!
"Lord Stark," Ser Barristan nodded gravely. He turned to Jon, his eyes going up and down as if searching for something.
Ser Barristan, resplendent in his brilliant white armour of the Kingsguard, his face unreadable, slowly drew his sword and then stepped forward. Slowly, he went down to his knees and then laid his sword at Jon's feet, "Your Grace. I beg of you to allow me renew my fealty to the rightful King of Westeros and take a place in your Kingsguard," Ser Barristan finished with a deep bow of his head."I failed your father at the Trident...I beg the chance to make right my failure," Ser Barristan begged, as he knelt at Jon's feet.
Jon stared down at the kneeling knight, the living legend of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan the Bold. His mind was reeling and he blurted out the first thing that came into his head.
"Aren't you already sworn to Dany?"
Ser Barristan coloured, "My oath was to the head of House Targaryen...and you are the rightful head," he squirmed as he explained, "I'm sure her grace will understand," he finished somewhat unsure.
Sure...Dany will understand...Jon thought in a deadpan. Daenerys was many things, kind, thoughtful and different...but she wasn't strong on sharing things.
It was just one more thing that he'd have to discuss with Daenerys...but for now Ser Barristan was still kneeing, waiting obediently for his answer.
"I accept your oath Ser Barristan," Jon said regally.
Ser Barristan nodded gratefully, he took his sword and resheathed it as he rose. Jon turned back to Mormont, who had been waiting patiently.
"This way your Grace...I believe you know the way to my solar," suggested Mormont gruffly, with an amused smile.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxxoxox
Shireen Baratheon
Life in Winterfell was...good. The threat of the Others notwithstanding, it had been a while since she'd felt safe and the warmth of the castle made all the problems seem so far away. And there was little that she could do to help prepare, but she still manged to keep busy.
For one, she loved the library! Dragonstone had had an exceptional library, and Winterfell had one that was just as expansive. She'd made fast friends with Winterfell's maester within a day of arriving.
Maester Luwin was a pleasure to speak with. He was younger than Cressen, and lessons with him were much more detailed after their first lesson together. He was delighted to find such an earnest pupil in her. The Stark children may have been diligent in their lessons but no where near as enthusiastic as she was. Shireen found out that Lord and Lady Stark had always been firm in enforcing lessons times, but none of the Stark children had had a purely scholarly bend. And after their return, they'd become adults. And even less interested in their lessons, which in most cases were rather redundant after everything that had happened as they grew up before their return.
Except for Rickon.
The youngest Stark had been alone with a Wildling for years after Ramsay Bolton had first sacked Winterfell. He was friendly enough to her after a while, but he was more...well feral was the best word to describe him. Mischievous at time, but mostly feral- more than would be expected of the youngest son of the Warden of the North. And it was even more readily seen in his direwolf's behavior.
Shaggydog- she mentally shook her head at the childish name, was very much a wolf and not a trained pet. Lady Sansa's direwolf came and sat and obeyed commands like a well trained hound. Arya's Nymeria less so, but was no where near as wild as Shaggydog. Even the loyalest of Winterfell's people stayed away from the black direwolf.
And both were extremely wary of strangers...Rickon still hadn't warmed up to Ser Davos, no matter what his sisters said to him. Also, Rickon was always glaring at her bastard cousin Gendry.
After a lot of cajoling and prying from Arya, they'd found that it stemmed from his resemblance to Uncle Robert. Uncle Robert had come to Winterfell once and then everything had fallen apart after that. Put that way, she truly couldn't blame him for his suspicions. She agreed with him, though Gendry didn't deserve the suspicion.
Male Baratheons were not a welcome sight for Rickon. Though apparently female Baratheons didn't count. He'd been one of the few people that had eventually come to accept her without reservations.
She'd seen the servants looking at her warily, their eyes always straying to her scarred face. Maester Luwin hid his reservations well, despite their new found friendship, he knew the dangers of Greyscale and always kept a wary eye on her. Arya hadn't so much as twitched and a strange friendship was forming there...even after Shireen found out the truth of what the girl had become. Meera Reed was just as accepting and friendly, the older girl usually rounded out their group- the fact that her brother was a Greenseer was something that excited Shireen greatly, much to Meera's bemused annoyance.
Lady Catelyn Stark on the other hand, always seemed strained and pinched. At times the pinched look she had even seemed to remind Shireen of her own mother. The sheer discomfort that was apparent on her face most days was taking away from her beauty. She barely paid any attention to Shireen, Sansa played the role of host and Lady of Winterfell. Ser Davos was Jon's Hand, though it seemed at times that Sansa was ruling more than him.
Osha and the Wildlings had been scared of her at first, but after a lengthy talk from maester Luwin, the fear had subsided though they were still unsure of how to react to her. The Greyscale signs on the girl's face told them to be very afraid...and yet they were told she wasn't dangerous. They'd been astounded to find out that a cure was possible. North of the Wall, all who contracted Greyscale died alone or were killed quickly.
For them she was a walking impossibility.
Her friendly manner didn't help their perceptions. Southerners should have avoided them and been afraid, not incessantly ask them questions about life beyond the Wall. She hadn't let their confusion keep her away, and she was finding that they were different than Gilly. Lot's a of different customs that Gilly hadn't had or spoken of- whenever Shireen had managed to sit and talk with her when her mother wasn't looking.
Today, she was again in the training yard watching as Arya and Meera were again competing against each other with bows. Shireen and Rickon were sitting on a bale of hay, behind the two girls watching. Osha with them, a keeping an eye out...though for what Shireen didn't know.
The straw target at the edge of the yard already had one arrow embedded there, not at the center but at the edge of the innermost ring. It was Arya's turn now, she was standing, bow in hand and arrow nocked.
She let out a breath and loosed.
...
Rickon cheered loudly as the arrow hit dead center, and Shireen clapped. Arya turned to a now scowling Meera, giving her a smug smile, "Best of three?" she asked sweetly.
Meera's scowl deepened, "I'm older than you. I should be better than this! Better than you!" she growled unhappily.
Arya's smugness grew, "I was always this good. Even the first time I was this age."
Meera just huffed in response as Rickon laughed again.
"I remember, Bran couldn't even hit the target!" he roared mirthfully.
Arya looked at him and her eyes turned inward, "I remember too...that was a good day. Bran chased after me even as Jon and Robb were laughing." She nodded, then turned back to Meera, "So best of three?" she asked sweetly.
"Fine...it's not like we have anything better to do..." Meera lamented unhappily.
"Hey, can't I get a turn?" Rickon asked as Meera and Arya were turning back towards the target.
Without turning around, Arya replied, "You're too little to hold the bow."
Rickon huffed and frowned sullenly as Shireen watched in amusement, "We've all got some growing to do," she started consolingly, "Well regrowing. It is annoying to be so small again," she admitting in a reassuring manner.
"Not that Arya grew that much in the end," Meera jested with a mocking smile.
Arya glared at Meera in response as she effortlessly nocked an arrow and loosed, hitting just next to her previous arrow. She didn't say anything and just stepped back from the loosing line.
Shireen giggled as Meera's smile disappeared, transformed into an annoyed glare as she looked back and forth between the target and Arya.
"Your turn," Arya stated evenly in response.
Meera growled and took her place, to take her next try. She raised her bow and knocking the arrow into place, with a deep breath pulled the string back and aimed carefully down at the target. She took her time aiming...
Which was when Rickon suddenly reached out and ran his hand across Shireen's scarred cheek.
She froze in shock, what was he doing?!
He had a thoughtful look on his face as without a care to the sheer familiarity of the act, he continued to rub her scarred cheek.
"Hey!" Arya scolded as she stepped towards them and slapped Rickon's hand away. The boy gave his sister a betrayed look. Even as Osha chuckled, for some reason, next to him.
She scowled at her brother, "No touching! It's not polite to do that."
"I just wanted to see what it felt like!" he declared, still casting a betrayed look at his sister, as he rubbed his struck hand.
"You still can't do that, it's not polite" Arya declared with a glare, "Say you're sorry!" she ordered.
Shireen wasn't really paying attention, her face very felt hot at the moment.
"Fine. Sorry," Rickon said in a huff.
Arya's glare persisted, "Say it like you mean it," she ordered her baby brother.
Rickon's frown deepened, and he huffed in a more contrite tone, "I'm sorry...I won't do it again," he added at the end.
Her face still felt hot, "It-it's...alright," she managed to say as she raised her hand to her scarred cheek in surprise and confusion.
Nobody ever touched her like that. Ser Davos would ruffle her hair, give her the occasional hug, so had Jon a time or two...the ruffling not the hugs. Father and Mother...had never touched her like that. The only people that had touched her cheek like that had been Cressen and Luwin when they were examining her.
Osha was giving her a toothy grin now, her eyes were looking between the two but she didn't say anything. If anything, it sounded like her chuckles had become quiet snickering.
Shireen cast her a perplexed look, before looking to Arya and Meera, who were looking at her with unreadable expressions, before Arya said with a mischievous smile and dancing eyes, "Your face is very red."
Shireen squirmed uncomfortably as she sat and then the other girls starting giggling. Giggling. Arya and Meera giggling was not something she'd imagined that those two martially inclined woman were capable of. Who knew Faceless Men could giggle? a corner of her mind pondered idly.
Rickon wasn't paying attention to the others, his frown disappeared quickly and was replaced with a smile, "Good- can you tell me another story...please?" The please was a welcome addition, they had been working at his politeness. Wildlings weren't big on the little pleasantries.
Shireen cast away the odd behaviors of the girls. Life was strange enough already. She didn't want to know what was going on with Arya and Meera.
She turned back to Rickon, another of his quirks was asking for stories. It had started out easily enough, she'd been speaking to Arya and Meera about the Wall and had mentioned an old tale she'd read. Rickon had listened and loved it. Ever since he'd been asking for more tales whenever they sat together.
She thought hard before asking, "Have you ever heard the story of Visenya Targaryen and Ronnel Arryn, the last king of the Mountain and the Vale?"
Rickon shook his head, a wide innocent smile on his face now.
"Alright then," she took a deep breath and then started the story, "When Aegon the Conqueror first came to Westeros, he sent his sister-wife, Visenya Targaryen to the Vale..."
She continued on with her tale, willfully ignoring the amused looks Arya and Meera were still giving her, their archery competition seemingly forgotten.