The cavalry host of northmen and rivermen rode west from Riverrun at dawn. The host was ten thousand strong, mostly composed of northern cavalry. Ser Marq Piper had been left behind with the remainder of the Riverlands cavalry to clear the northern Riverlands of any Lannister deserters and raiders. It would make the trip south easier whenever the northern army decided to face Tywin Lannister.
It was also an attempt to try and fool Tywin into thinking that the Northern army was preparing to march south, but that was only a hope. No one truly believed that the Old Lion would be so easily fooled.
Jon rode with Robb's battle guard, which now featured many new faces since the Battle of the Whispering Wood. Most notable among them was Lucas Blackwood, son of Lord Tytos, and Patrek Mallister, the heir to Seaguard. There were also no less than a dozen Freys as well. Jon rode next to Eddard Karstark at the head of the group, though Jon felt like it was only so the temporary commander could get to know Jon better. It was one thing to be able to swing a sword. It was a whole other thing to be a man worth fighting beside.
"Robb spoke highly of you, you know," Eddard said casually as they rode. "Before the Battle of the Whispering Wood, he said he wished that you had never gone to the Wall. He wanted you by his side more than anyone else."
Jon smiled slightly. "I may not be a Stark, but Robb always treated me as his brother. I wish I could've been by his side at the battle."
"I'm content to have you by mine for this one." Eddard laughed. "If anyone can beat that brute," he said, jerking his thumb at Brandon Hawker, "then I'm convinced they can deal with anyone."
Jon involuntarily shook his sword arm. Parrying the man's axe had left Jon nearly unable to raise his arm at all. It was like fighting a bear that wielded a bloody battle-axe.
"Nearly beat," Jon replied. "I got lucky on that one."
"Next time you won't." Brandon rumbled from behind Jon, causing the group to laugh at the big man's words.
Their fun was interrupted by one of Ser Brynden's scouts, identified by his dark leathers, light chainmail, and shortsword, rode up next to Jon.
"Ser Brynden requests your presence at the front of the column," he said. "He wants you to bring your wolf as well."
Jon nodded. "Thank you," he said. "Ghost," he called before spurring his horse forward, galloping past the others, the white wolf following.
It took only moments for Jon to reach Ser Brynden's position at the front of the column. He was surrounded by the rest of the war council, most of which didn't bother to acknowledge Jon. A few did, which was a small sign of acceptance that Jon was grateful to see.
"Ser Brynden," Jon said as he reined in his horse next to the aged knight. "You requested my presence."
The Blackfish nodded. "We're approaching the spot where we'll spend the night. We have three more days till we reach the Golden Tooth. Your wolf there might be of some help."
Jon nodded. "Of course."
"From now on you'll ride with me at the front of the column. Your beast will pick up any enemies far quicker than my scouts might." Ser Brynden grunted.
Jon nodded again. "Ghost is a born-and-bred hunter. There's not many who'll be able to get by him."
"You best be right, lad." The Greatjon rumbled. "We're all depending on him."
Line Break
Jon looked out at where the Golden Tooth rose between the mountains. The Blackfish had referred to it as the 'Gate to the West', and the metaphor made sense. The castle wasn't big or imposing, not compared to the likes of northern castles like Moat Cailin of Winterfell. Much like Riverrun, it was the geographical location that made the castle so important. It sat almost exactly on the Goldroad, meaning that if the northern host wanted to enter the Westerlands, they had to get past the Tooth. Lord Tywin wasn't a fool. The Golden Tooth would be well-stocked and manned to prevent any host from entering his lands.
Jon leaned against a tree, crossing his arms. According to Eddard Karstark, who was representing the king on the council, the Blackfish's scouts could not find any way past the Golden Tooth, which meant that the rest of the army would have to be brought forward to besiege the castle. The problem with that was that there was an army of unknown size sitting behind the Tooth that could easily reinforce the castle. It could take months to take the castle, even with the Norths and Riverlands advantage in number.
Ghost was laying at Jon's feet, tired after a day of riding. He was getting very big now. easily the size of a mastiff, if not bigger. Sam and Jon had talked idly about how big the direwolf might grow. Maester Luwin had read up on stories of direwolves, and apparently, they could grow to be larger than ponies. Jon would love to see how the enemy reacted when they saw a snarling wolf the size of a small horse charging them.
Ghost's head snapped up suddenly, his nose sniffing the wind as he looked towards the castle. Jon noticed the movement.
"Ghost?"
The wolf got to its feet and began to trot towards the castle, catching his master off-guard. Jon jogged to catch up with him, his eyes glancing around as they got further from the camp. He followed the wolf for more than a mile, all the while keeping an eye on the castle. He knew that the Blackfish had scouts surrounding the army, but who knows what they would think if they saw Jon sneaking through the forest.
That's if any Lannister scouts didn't catch him first.
Finally, they reached the edge of the treeline where the road began to ascend towards the castle. Ghost stopped a little ways back from the edge, sitting down. Jon took a knee next to his silent companion, rubbing his head as he looked at what had drawn Ghost.
A little ways away, a small pack of goats grazed quietly on the barren grassland in the shadow of the castle.
Jon frowned.
"You got hungry?" He asked in annoyance, glancing at his friend.
Ghost whined and shuffled forward, still sniffing the wind. Jon sighed and looked back at the goats, who had started heading towards the hills. Jon narrowed his eyes. The goats were ambling along a small track, barely noticeable among the low shrubs and rocks. Jon couldn't follow the track in its entirety, but from the looks of it, most of the track would be shrouded in shadow thanks to the castle.
Jon grinned. "Ghost you're brilliant," he said happily, standing up. "Come on."
Jon made his way back to the camp, walking with a purpose in his step. When he entered the camp, he walked straight to the command tent before being stopped by one of the guards outside.
"Hold there lad. The Blackfish is in a meeting," he said firmly.
Jon nodded. "I have news that the Blackfish needs to hear."
The men glanced at each other before one shrugged and entered the tent. After a few moments, the flap opened for Jon. Inside, the Blackfish and the other commanders were huddled around a table that had a map of the Westerlands and the Riverlands.
Ser Brynden straightened. "Jon, you said you had something."
Jon nodded. "Ghost has found a way past the Golden Tooth."
"How?" Roose Bolton asked quietly.
"Ghost caught the scent of a couple of goats near the edge of the tree line. I noticed that the animals were taking a small goat path through the mountains and past the castle." Jon explained.
Ser Brynden raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure of this?"
Jon nodded. "Send a couple of scouts and look towards the bottom right of the castle. It'll be there."
Ser Brynden thought for a moment before shaking his head. "No need. I'll take your word for it. You can find it again?"
"I can," Jon answered confidently.
Ser Brynden looked at the others, who were looking for him to give the order. The Blackfish grunted, rolling up the map. "Have the men prepared to ride by midnight," he ordered. "We're lucky, it's a new moon tonight."
The other commanders nodded and filed out, some giving Jon approving looks. One of the last men to leave was Greatjon Umber, who stopped to look over Jon. The younger man resisted the urge to take a step back.
"If this works, you and I will share an ale and you can tell me where a mad bastard can get one of those beasts," he said with a deep chuckle, glancing down at Ghost.
Jon smiled slightly. "You can have both the ales, my lord. I just want to do my part to help my brother win this war," he said. "And if you want a direwolf, I have a decent guess where you might find some, though there's a little wall in your way."
The Greatjon smiled fiercely, patting Jon on the shoulder heartily. "Spoken like a true man of the North," he said with a laugh.
"My name is 'Snow.'" Jon joked, earning another laugh from the big lord, as well as another round of back-patting before he left, leaving Jon and the Blackfish alone.
"You did well Jon. You and the wolf." the Blackfish said, putting his maps in their sheaths. "If this path is truly where you say it is, then you both might have just saved thousands of men."
"It was Ghost who found the path, ser," Jon said. "I just followed."
"Still." Ser Brynden pressed. "You brought us valuable information. Information not even my most experienced scouts would be able to get."
"It was luck," Jon said.
Ser Brynden grunted. "You'd be surprised with how closely related luck and success are when it comes to war. 'Fortune favors the Bold'."
"Daeron I." Jon said immediately.
Ser Brynden nodded. "Indeed. The Young Dragon coined the phrase during his conquest of Dorne. You know it?"
Daeron I Targaryen became king at a young age and, because of his ambition, vowed to finish the conquest his ancestor Aegon the Conqueror failed to do; conquer Dorne. Within a year, that's exactly what he did, as a young man not yet eighteen name days. Unfortunately, Dorne lived up to the Martell words 'Unbent, Unbowed, Unbroken'. The Dornish retook their homeland in a few months, betraying and killing the boy king under the guise of wanting to bring peace to both sides.
True peace would come later, when Daeron's younger brother Baelor, later known as 'Baelor the Blessed', married his nephew to the Dornish princess, effectively ending the war that the Young Dragon had started.
Jon shrugged. "Daeron's one of Robb's heroes," he explained. "That's all he talked about for a fortnight when we were boys."
"The Young Wolf fashions himself after the Young Dragon." Ser Brynden grunted. "It's ironic that one of our king's heroes belongs to a family that his father fought to bring down."
Jon shifted slightly. "Not all Targaryen's were bad," he said awkwardly. "A few rotten apples spoiled the bunch in the end."
Ser Brynden raised an eyebrow and looked at Jon, but for shrugging and nodding. "Aye, fair point. We all thought Rhaegar would be one of the great ones."
Jon froze. "I'm sorry?"
Ser Brynden made a vague gesture. "The Tournament at Harrenhal was supposed to be a secret meeting for some of the heads of the great families to meet with the Bard Prince to discuss ways to safely remove the Mad King from the throne and put his son on the damn thing. Of course, the unexpected arrival of the mad bastard destroyed that meeting before it ever had a chance to begin." Brynden sighed. "Perhaps for the best. None knew what Rhaegar was truly capable of. Running off with Lyanna Stark, I mean."
Jon nodded slowly. "Forgive me, Ser Brynden, but how do you know all this?"
Ser Brynden chuckled. "My brother Hoster was supposed to be a part of that meeting. I overheard him and the Queen of Thorns speaking about it one day at Harrenhal during the tournament."
"Did you believe that Rhaegar would have been a good king?" Jon asked curiously.
Ser Brynden stopped what he was doing and thought for a moment, looking back at Jon. "The realm was holding its breath lad. We all saw what Aerys was, and when Tywin stepped down as Hand to the King, we all knew it was a matter of time. Rhaegar was supposed to be a breath of fresh air, a savior if you will. He seemed to have the makings of a great Targaryen ruler. He was as skilled with a blade and lance as he was with a harp. He was respectful, honest, humble, and charming. There was no poison in the man, at least none that we could see. But we were wrong and the realm paid the price for the man's actions."
Jon was quiet as the knight spoke about the Bard Prince. Jon didn't think much about who his actual father really was, more of what he did to his mother. It was strange to hear that Rhaegar was a good man, or at least known as one. It gave Jon a little relief to know that the man wasn't fully bad.
Finally, when the silence seemed too awkward for either of them to deal with, Jon broke it.
"With you leave, Ser Brynden, I should go get ready for the ride tonight," he said.
Ser Brynden snapped out of thoughts. "Of course," he said. "Making sure to get some sleep. It'll be a long night."