Jon's hand drifted towards his sword as he saw a large, cloaked figure standing by his tent. The person was carrying a stout walking staff and had a bulging satchel slung over one shoulder. From a distance, they looked intimidating, but there was also something vaguely familiar. The person, a man most likely, seemed to be shuffling where he stood, as if he was uncomfortable or anxious.
When he turned around, Jon's hand fell from his sword and a smile spread across his face. Sam had changed slightly since the last time they saw each other. He was thinner, still big, but a lot of the fat had been lost. It was almost like a starved look. He still had stringy brown hair and had stubble covering his multiple chins. He had that same worried look on his face, like he was scared that he had done something wrong.
But when he saw Jon, he immediately grinned.
The two men embraced warmly. Jon was chuckling as he stepped back, holding Sam at arm's length.
"Sam!" he said happily. "What the blazes are you doing here?"
"Ser Jon Fossoway asked me to accompany him." Sam explained. "I helped defend the Citadel when the ironborn invaded and Ser Jon wanted me to be 'presented' before the king."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "Ser Jon arrived a week ago."
Sam nodded. "I stopped at Bitterbridge. Lady Caswell had fallen ill and the maester there didn't couldn't find the answer in his books."
"Is she well?" Jon asked.
Sam nodded again. "She had merely eaten some bad ham. I helped move the waste through her body and she was better in a few days."
Jon grinned. "Let's have a drink."
Jon and Sam ducked into Jon's tent, with Jon grabbing two tankards and pouring some watered ale into both. He handed one to Sam, who took it after setting aside his staff and satchel.
"Where's Ghost?" Sam asked.
"Hunting." Jon answered. "He'll return eventually."
"How big is he?" Sam asked. "I've heard rumors that the king's direwolf is as big as a pony."
"He's getting there." Jon agreed. "Direwolves are magnificent creatures. Tell me about the Citadel. It must feel like home to you with all those books."
Sam smiled. "It's amazing. But as an acolyte, I was more of a servant to the other maesters and archmaesters."
"How many links have you forged?"Jon asked.
Sam fished a small chain of three links from his satchel, handing it to Jon. all three links were iron, signifying warcraft. Jon raised an eyebrow, looking at his friend. Sam was the least violent person that Jon had ever met next to Sansa.
"How?"
"I earned them protecting the Citadel." Sam explained. "I was working on my silver and yellow gold links when the ironborn attacked."
Jon nodded slowly. "How'd you survive?"
Sam sighed and hesitated before taking a long draft of ale. When he regained his breath, he began.
"Archmaester Theobald was leading the defenses of the Citadel." Sam said. "Chairs, benches, and desks were being stacked at the doors. It was all we had. Every acolyte who wasn't doing that was helping the maesters grab books and scrolls. They were being stored in the vaults below the Citadel. The ironborn, led by Lord Sparr, tried breaking down the door. Theobald demanded that they stop and they put an arrow in his side."
"Is he dead?" Jon asked. It was clear that Sam had a lot of respect for the man just by the way he spoke.
Sam shook his head. "He's recovering at the Citadel, making sure that everything is put back to rights. I'm glad he's not dead. Being the Seneschal isn't a coveted job."
"Seneschal?" Jon asked.
"The governor of the Citadel." Sam explained. "It didn't help that he was the former archmaester of warcraft."
"So you lost your leader." Jon said. "Who stepped up?"
"I….I did." Sam said shyly. "Victarion Greyjoy approached the crack in the door and asked to speak with someone. No one else spoke so I did. After that, everyone looked to me."
Jon clapped Sam on the shoulder proudly. "You stood up to Victarion Greyjoy?"
Sam shrugged awkwardly. "It was nothing." he mumbled. "He said that he would give us one more chance in the morning to surrender than his men would attack. They did, but we managed to beat them back."
"How?" Jon asked, surprised.
"Using our wits." Sam answered. "That's all we had. Oh, a few of the acolytes could swing a hammer, but against raiders, we would have been carved to pieces. We held out for four days before Lord Mace arrived."
"And you led them." Jon said, sounding both proud and amazed. "It seems you're truly Randyll Tarly's son."
Sam smiled quietly. "Ironic, isn't it."
Jon laughed and took a drink of his ale. "Well, I am glad you're still alive. I'm sorry that you've had to go through that."
Sam nodded slowly. "Oldtown was hit hard, Jon. So many women were raped and beaten. Men were slaughtered. Every member of the Citadel, maester, archmaester, and acolyte, spent days with the injured and dying. The Citadel had changed from a place of learning to a battlefield then a hospital in a week." the large man hung his head. "It's not something I ever want to see again."
"I'm sorry." Jon said quietly. "I know you left to get away from the war."
"Westeros is at war." Sam grunted. "And I can't run."
Jon couldn't help but let out a bit of a chuckle at his friend's words. Even when sharing a scary and bloody memory, he was still making light of the situation. Jon had missed his optimism.
"I had heard that you had gone north after the ironborn attacked the North." Sam said, changing the subject. "You're alive, so it couldn't have been that bad."
Jon smiled grimly. "After taking Moat Cailin, I was preparing to split my army and attack both the western front, where the Dustins and Ryswells were, and the Dreadfort in the east."
"Divide and conquer." Sam summarized.
"Exactly." Jon said. "That changed when the Company of the Rose landed in the North."
"How did that come to be." Sam asked curiously. He still had an intense love of history.
"The Company was formed by Torrhen Stark, the King who Knelt." Jon explained. "He was afraid of the power held by the Targaryens with their dragons. So he formed a sellsword company with men and women from the noble houses in the North."
"A preservation plan." Sam said. "Amazing."
"There are even some extinct houses among them." Jon said. "Greystark, Redstark, Greenwood, Fisher, and many more."
"Archmaester Tollen will be deeply intrigued by this." Sam said. Jon gave him a confused look and maester-in-training further explained "Archmaester of History."
"It was certainly interesting to learn." Jon said. "They managed to save my father and Arya, bringing them to Braavos before returning them to the North. Helped the northern army reclaim Eagle's Roost and take the Dreadfort."
"Will they return to Essos?" Sam asked curiously.
Jon shrugged. "I'm not sure. I assume not. The only reason they did return was because of Robb."
"Why Robb?" Sam asked.
"When Torrhen Stark made the company, they had two missions. The first was to survive. The second was to return to Westeros when a Stark once again wore the Crown of Winter." Jon explained.
Sam nodded slowly. "Very interesting."
The two men fell into an awkward silence, neither sure what to say. They had spoken a lot on the road to Riverrun, growing closer as friends. Neither man seemed inclined to go into much detail about the battles that they fought in. Jon glanced at Sam and noticed for the first time that he had a scar going across the top of his head. It certainly hadn't been there before.
"Are you going to talk to them?" Sam asked suddenly.
"Sorry?" Jon asked, caught off guard by the question.
"The Targaryens." Sam clarified. "After all, they're kind of your family."
"They're not the family that I choose to recognize." Jon grunted. "I'm sure they want no part of me and I have already made up my mind that I want no part of them."
"Why?" Sam asked. He had accepted that Jon didn't want to be known as the son of Rhaegar, especially after the way he had been conceived, but now that he was so close to other members of his father's house, Sam was curious to see if Jon would interact with them.
Jon had no intention of doing such a thing.
"Robb said that Rhaegar's other son is there." Jon explaining, pointing in the direction of King's Landing. "What am I supposed to say? How am I to explain that I'm Rhaegar's other son that he had with another woman?" another thought occurred to Jon. "The dornish are over there as well! How will they take it if the product of Rhaegar's affair showed up? Bearing the sword of House Targaryen, no less."
"It could mean that you should sit on the Iron Throne." Sam mumbled.
"I'm not sitting on that blasted chair!" Jon barked.
Sam held his hands up. "Fine, fine. I just wanted to ask….who else knows? Besides Robb?"
"My father, Lady Stark, and Arya. Rickon will be told when he's older and I haven't seen Sansa much. She's usually with Lady Olenna, Margaery, or Harrold Arryn." Jon said. "I will tell the rest of my family eventually, but besides you and Lord Reed, no one else can know."
Sam nodded. "Of course."
Jon drained the last of his ale and cradled the tankard in his hands, looking out the entrance of the tent where men of the Company of the Rose were going about their business, sharpening weapons, repairing armor, playing games, or just resting. They were experienced soldiers, one and all, and knew that it was wise to rest when possible. Many of the men were westerosi born, probably because of the company's reputation. It was a safe, boring company where a man could expect a good fight and decent coin, but not too much of either. Most of the other companies, all of which were not that far away, was where the true adventurers and sellswords went to find money and a fight.
"Have you seen Robb yet?" Jon asked finally.
Sam shook his head. "I heard that Lord Stark had arrived from the North. I wasn't sure, so I asked around and found that you were here too."
"That's how you ended up at my tent." Jon guessed. "Well come one, it's still light out. Let's go see Robb."
Sam got up hesitantly. "Is right now a good time?"
Jon shrugged. "Now is probably better than later. Being king doesn't give him a lot of free moments."
Sam nodded and drained the last of his ale before grabbing his staff and satchel and following Jon out of the tent. The two men made their way though camp towards the large tent in the center that had two poles set on either side of the entrance, each bearing a crowned direwolf banner. Jon saw no guards outside and quickened his pace a bit, catching Sam off guard.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Where are Robb's guards?" Jon asked, talking more to himself than Sam as the two men burst into the tent, Jon half-drawing his sword as he did, scanning the main chamber where Robb met with his advisors.
"Come on." Jon growled, drawing his sword fully. "Robb?"
There was no reply from behind the sectioned off area where Robb and Margaery slept. Jon felt a sick feeling seeping into his gut. He knew instantly that something had happened.
Robb's body laid on the floor, almost as if he was dead. There was a pool of blood forming around him and a dagger that didn't look like it belonged to Robb was on the floor next to his hand. Margaery was asleep on the bed and didn't look at all disturbed. There was no sound or movement coming from the crib where Torrhen was.
"Help me get him on the bed." Sam ordered, his voice having new authority..
Jon dropped his sword and scooped up his brother, grunting slightly as he lifted the body onto the bed. Sam was immediately over him, ripping open his jerkin with Robb's dagger. On Robb's right breast, opposite of his head, was a jagged stab wound that had caused the skin around it to be tinged blue.
"What's happened to him?" Jon asked, watching as Sam began to pull vials from his satchel.
"Check the queen and the baby." Sam snapped. "Make sure they're breathing."
Jon ran over to Margaery, putting his ear next to her mouth. Thankfully, he felt her breath soft on his ear. She looked just as unconscious as the direwolf. Jon knew that she had to have been drugged, or else she would have woken up.
"Feel for a pulse." Sam ordered. "Find a vein near her wrist and press two fingers on it."
Jon did as he was instructed and was rewarded with a faint thump feeling that was slow, but constant.
"She has one." Jon confirmed.
"Do the same for the baby." Sam ordered.
As Jon went over to Torrhen's crib, he heard a crack as he stepped on something. Lifting up his boot, he found a smashed glass vial and a dark stain. Jon immediately checked Torrhen's breathing and found that he too was sleeping.
"He's alive." Jon said. "How's Robb?"
"I don't know." Sam said unhappily.
"I think he can help." a new voice said from the entrance. Tyrion Lannister, accompanied by two other men, had entered the room. The two men bore a fourth between them. He was dressed like a servant, with choppy brown hair and a feminine looking face.
"He's the assassin?" Jon asked.
"My friends and I were taking a stroll and found him sneaking out of the tent." Tyrion explained. "He was bleeding and was hiding this under his cloak." he said, holding up a bloody dagger that looked to be covered in some sort of clear liquid.
Jon marched over to the man, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at Jon. There was nothing but contempt in his eyes, obviously annoyed that he had been caught. He certainly wasn't from westeros.
"What did you put on the knife?" Jon demanded.
"Valar morghulis." the man growled.
"Jon, I think I know how to make this man talk." Tyrion said, still in that friendly, almost sarcastic manner.
Tyrion waved the knife in front of the assassin. "Whatever you put on this, I'm guessing it causes horrible death, hm? Jon."
"What."
"Rip his sleeve." Tyrion said.
Jon glared at the man as he ripped off one sleeve, exposing the man's pale forearm. Tyrion held up the knife again and slowly carved a line into the man's forearm, right where a long vein was. The man cried out in pain as Tyrion did this. When the Imp was done, he wiped the blade on the wound, ensuring that any remaining poison the blade made it into the arm.
"Now, if you don't want to die a horrible death, tell us what the hell you put on this knife." Tyrion said.
The assassin started to ramble off a bunch of words that Jon had never heard of, but by the face Sam made, they weren't good. When he was done, Sam went back to rummaging through his satchel, pulling out vials and herbs, putting them all together next to Robb's still body. Soon, he had a blueish-green liquid ready.
"Give it to him first." Tyrion instructed. "That way we make sure he isn't lying."
Sam did as he was told, pouring half of the mixture into the man's mouth, but keeping the vial far away enough so that it couldn't be knocked out of his hand. When the assassin drank it all, he nodded to Sam.
"Quickly, bind my arm!"
"Don't." Jon ordered. "The poison won't kill him, but the loss of blood will."
"Quite right." Tyrion said with an approving nod. "I believe we are done with you."
"What's happened!" Father bellowed, storming into the room. Derren and Lady Stark were at his back. Derren had his sword at the ready.
Jon held up a hand. "Sam?"
"I've got this." Sam replied, already busy at work administering the antidote to Robb. "But send for another maester. I need a bandage for the king and more supplies."
"I'll send for one." Lady Stark said, quickly leaving.
"Outside, all of you." Jon ordered.
The group spilled out into the main chamber, where Brienne was kneeling next to the still form of Patrek Mallister. Jon could just make out an angry red line around the man's throat. Jon wasn't sure if he was dead or not.
"What happened?" Father demanded.
"This man," Jon said, gesturing to the struggling assassin who was spilling blood on the floor. "Tried to kill Robb. Robb, I believe, fought back. When the man tried to escape, Tyrion and his companions caught him and brought him back."
"I thought he would be of some use." Tyrion said, taking up the story. "He was."
"What happened to his arm?" Derren asked.
"I cut it with his knife." Tyrion said matter-of-factly. "I knew he wouldn't tell us if his life wasn't in peril."
"He told Sam what he put on the knife he stabbed Robb with. Sam was able to make an antidote." Jon took over. "When he gave the man the liquid, he asked for his arm to be bandaged up. It was clear that the antidote was the right one. Robb's being given it now."
Father glanced at the man's arm. "He won't die quickly."
Before anyone else could speak, Derren whipped his sword across the man's neck. Blood sprayed on the floor and Derren's boots as the body was let go off. Immediately, a pool of blood was beginning to form. Father turned on his cousin.
"We needed his name!" he shouted.
"I know his name." Derren replied calmly. "Lysono Maar, the spymaster of the Golden Company."