Jaime slew the last Poor Fellow with dismissive ease. The man, like most commoners, wore wool clothing and carried a wooden cudgel as a weapon. Against the castle-forged steel in Jaime's hand, he was cut down like wheat before a scythe. He was the last man of the hundred fanatics that Ser Balon's company had encountered.
The company had found a group of Warrior's Sons rallying villagers around Sow's Horn. The plan was simple and the battle itself was fairly one-sided. The Warrior's Sons had accounted well for themselves as they were anointed knights after all, but the villagers had been routed almost instantly. Ser Balon looked to have lost a few men in the battle, but it was clearly a one-sided contest.
Jaime had done what he did best. Two knights and another five villagers littered the ground around him, proof that he was still one of the deadliest swordsmen in Westeros. There wasn't even a nick on Jaime's body, even though his armor had splashes of claret across it.
Tommen had accounted well for himself. He had managed to take down a knight in single combat, trading blows with a man almost twice his age before spilling the man's guts all over the road. Jaime had seen the fight and knew that Tommen would eventually come out the victor. The knight had poor technique and was clearly over-confident as they fought. Tommen wore a hood of chainmail instead of a helm, and that allowed his opponent to see that he was fighting a boy. Nevertheless, that boy had been trained by Jaime, and that had been the deciding factor. Now the young lordling was being congratulated by those around him for his first kill.
"Jaime." Ser Balon said, walking up to the ex-knight. "I would have your opinion."
Jaime raised an eyebrow. "What about?"
"Lord Tarly has reached the God's Eye," the knight said, "as has Ser Rolland. They are currently sweeping around the edges of the lake. Seeing as you are the only man present who has ever been given command, I would like to know what you would do in this situation."
Jaime nodded slowly, thinking over what the knight had said. "The High Sparrow is unaccounted for?"
Ser Balon nodded. "As are thirteen of his knights."
Before the three companies had departed on their missions, the Master of Whispers had given each company leader rough estimates on how many Sparrows and Warrior's Sons were still on the loose. They had been the ones that needed to be killed. They were some of the High Sparrow's most ardent supporters and rallying points for any fanatic villagers who remained after the battle at the Isle of Faces.
"I doubt he's anywhere near Antlers," Jaime grunted. "He must have gone further north."
"And the thirteen knights are likely his best warriors." Ser Balon said.
"Indeed," Jaime said, thinking carefully. "Send riders to Ser Rolland and Tarly. The first shall sweep west towards High Heart while the second covers the distance between there and Lord Harroway's Town. If we pick up the pace, we can sweep up towards the town and keep in line with the others."
It then struck Jaime that he was not in command of the company and made an apologetic gesture to the kingsguard knight.
"Forgive me," he apologized.
Ser Balon shook his head. "Do not apologize for giving me council, especially when I asked for it," he responded before marching off, barking at a nearby soldier to get him a scout.
Jaime cleaned his blade with a piece of cloth he ripped from a villager's corpse before sheathing the weapon. Not for the first time, he was surprised with how much he liked his armor. For years, he had fought in golden plate armor before switching to white when he became a kingsguard. Now, he just wore a simple studded leather breastplate over light leathers. It was light, effective, and a far cry from the usually ornamented armor he was accustomed to using.
"I see your skill hasn't declined at all, Uncle." Tommen japed as he walked up to his uncle.
The young man wore golden chainmail under a dark breastplate that bore a golden raging lion. He too had taken a spare piece of cloth and was using it to clean his blade. Thankfully, he didn't seem to have any injuries. Despite the death that surrounded him, he looked to be in remarkable spirits. Jaime was worried that the mental and physical filth of combat would dirty Tommen and his sweet soul.
Jaime smiled slightly. "No, they haven't. Yours, on the other hand, were quite impressive."
"I have you to thank for that," Tommen said, nodding to Jaime. "I used everything you taught me over the past year. Ser Brynden did say that I have the makings of a great warrior."
"High praise from him," Jaime said. "The man's been through four wars and has seen many great warriors. If he says that, then I doubt many would disagree."
"What were you and Ser Balon talking about?" Tommen asked curiously.
"He wanted my opinion about what our next course of action should be," Jaime said easily. "Ser Rolland and Lord Tarly have reached the Isle of Faces, and so far, we're just missing thirteen knights and the septon himself."
"Where's he gone?" Tommen asked. "He just abandoned his men?"
Jaime shook his head, gazing across the battlefield as bodies were stripped and men collected loot. There were some things about war that just didn't change. Men who died, no matter how bravely. Still had their corpses looted by survivors. That was just the way things were. Only truly special and recognizable men, such as Ser Barristan or the king himself, would have been left alone.
"He's gone after the king," Jaime said seriously. "Left the rest of his followers here to regather their force. According to the spymaster, the bulk of the High Sparrow's force scattered after their defeat at the Isle of Faces."
Tommen nodded, now understanding. "They went home."
"Probably," Jaime said, nudging a body with the toe of his boot. "Look at them, Tommen. They're not fighters. No armor, poor weapons. Having faith is one thing. Believing that it can keep you safe on a battlefield is a foolish fantasy."
Tommen nodded again. "Then why did they fight?"
"Because stupid men do stupid things," Jaime grunted. "And because the High Sparrow knows how to wield his authority, or to make himself look like he has authority. Do you understand?"
"Not really," Tommen admitted.
"Men like the king and your Uncle Tyrion, they have real authority, they know it and others recognize it. That's why they can give a command and have it carried out without question." Jaime explained. "Their reputations also help. The same with your grandfather, but his reputation was built on fear. The High Sparrow has set himself up to look like he knows the will of the gods, and men like this," Jaime said, nudging the body again, "believe that he does."
"Why does the High Sparrow want the king dead?" Tommen asked, changing the subject as their horses were brought to them by a squire. "The king has done nothing but good."
"Think through it," Jaime said, feeling like Tyrion for a moment.
"Does it have to do with who he is?" Tommen asked.
"It does," Jaime answered as they mounted. "Where is he from? The origins of a man mean much."
"The king is from the North," Tommen said after a while. "Maester Creylen says that most of the North still worships the Old Gods. If the High Sparrow has revived the Faith Militant, he is doing so because he believes the king to be a non-believer of the Faith of the Seven."
Jaime clapped his nephew on the shoulder. "As I said, Tommen, faith makes men do stupid things."
Eddard Stark
"A message, Lord Stark," Byron said, handing the lord of Winterfell a small raven scroll.
Ned was in the middle of dinner with his family, so the message had to be urgent for the maester to interrupt the northern lord while he's eating. The scroll itself was sealed with black wax, marking it as a message from the Night's Watch.
"Thank you," Ned said with a slight nod before cracking open the tiny scroll and holding it up to his face. Cat, sitting next to him, stopped eating and waited for her husband to tell her what had happened. If the maester was interrupting them during dinner, then the message had to be important. When Ned finished reading, he set the message down and tapped the table thoughtfully.
"What's happened?" Cat asked.
"I've been asked to meet with the King-Beyond-the-Wall," he answered quietly. "His request, according to Smalljon Umber. He also mentions that the Lord Commander won't let them through unless I'm there."
"Anything about Jon?" Cat asked.
Ned was still surprised by the turnaround that his wife had made in such a short amount of time. For so long, she held a hatred for Jon because of what she believed he stood for. However, now that she knew who Jon was and why Ned was so adamant about keeping him around as he grew up, she has come to care for him as one of the family. Ned wasn't sure if she loved him like she loved any of her children, but she saw him as a Stark, which relieved an enormous amount of stress from Ned's shoulders.
He shook his head. "Nothing, but Smalljon did confirm the size of the free folk host. A hundred thousand."
Cat's face lit up in surprise. "So many?"
Ned nodded. "We should count ourselves lucky then that their leader is taking a peaceful approach."
"It won't be peaceful so long as they remain beyond the Wall," Osha said, walking up behind the nobles. "Sorry to interrupt, my lord, my lady, but I saw the old man hand Lord Stark the message."
"Your thoughts would be most helpful, Osha," Ned said. "Mance Rayder has asked for my presence."
Osha nodded. "Sounds like Mance," she grunted. "He's a thinker."
"What did you mean that the free folk won't be peaceful?" Cat asked.
"I heard a phrase from Luwin that a cornered rat will show fight," Osha said, crossing her arms. "There's still a lot of hate between those south and north of the Wall. If the Watch won't let my people through freely, they'll force their way through. That's more bodies that aren't guarding the Wall against the Others."
"You must go, Father," Bran said, rolling up to the group. "You must be the one to smooth friction at the Wall."
Ned gazed at Bran for a moment before looking at Cat and Osha. They all looked to agree with one another. At the same time, Ned had no intention of turning down the King-Beyond-the-Wall. The man had a hundred thousand wildlings at his back. That was not a man Ned felt comfortable making angry. Not when he could barely call upon ten thousand men spread out across the vast region that is the North.
"Osha, tell Eddard that I wish to see him," Ned said before turning towards Bran. "What will you be doing?"
"I will remain here," Bran said. "I have a lot of work to do."
Ned raised an eyebrow but dropped the subject. After speaking with his son when he returned, he had given up trying to understand him and his strange way of speaking in riddles. All he knew for sure was that his son was on the side of the living and was very powerful. Much more powerful than his outward appearance showed.
"Very well. I leave the day after tomorrow for the Wall." Ned promised. "I have ravens to send and Eddard needs to rally a guard."
"Many things are in motion father, and you, Jon, and Robb all have important parts to play," Bran said, gazing steadily at Ned. "If any one of you fails, then the world will fall."
Line Break
"My lord." Eddard Karstark said respectfully as Ned emerged from the main keep.
The courtyard was bustling with activity. Guards were preparing their horses while servants ran around, loading carts with food for the long journey north. As always, Ned's wife was in the center of the activity, directing servants like a proper ruler of the household. Along with the two dozen guards that would be accompanying the lord of Winterfell, ten servants would go with them to the Wall, including a smith, three cooks, two stablehands, and a few other necessary personnel.
Ned was dressed in northern leathers with a heavy cloak protecting him from the cold. Ice was slung in a sheath across his back, its handle poking out next to his head. Thick gloves protected his hands from the cold.
"Eddard," Ned said with a smile, clapping the young man on the shoulder. "How are we looking?"
"Just about ready, my lord," Eddard answered. He gave the Lord of Winterfell a knowing look. "Lady Stark would like to see you."
"Of course," Ned said, turning to find his wife. Before he could find her, he spotted a slight figure atop a horse. They wore riding clothes and a heavy winter cloak. Under the cloak was an unusually thin sword.
"You can't come," Ned said, looking up at his daughter.
"I want to," Arya replied stubbornly.
"Arya, I don't know what I'll be facing at the Wall," Ned answered with a firmer tone. "I can't keep one eye on you while I try to keep the wildlings and the Night's Watch from killing each other."
"I don't want to stay here," Arya complained. "I want to….explore," she said after some hesitation.
"There won't be any exploring on this journey," Ned said. "There won't be anything for you to do up at the Wall. You will stay here and continue to train with Syrio and Ser Mychel."
Arya scowled and reluctantly slid out of the saddle. Ned placed a hand on her shoulder and knelt so that he was at her eye level. As always, she reminded him so much of his late sister. His father would say that she has the 'wolf blood' racing through her veins.
"Stay here. Watch over your brothers and mother." Ned ordered softly. "Can you do that for me?"
Arya nodded but didn't look happy doing it. "I heard that the Long Night is coming….is that true?"
Ned didn't want to answer her question, but he knew that if he didn't, she would go and find the answer herself. Once she had her mind set on something, she would stop at nothing to do it.
"It may be," he answered slowly. "That's what Jon and I are trying to find out."
"And Robb?" Arya asked.
"He knows as well," Ned promised. "If it is coming, Arya, we are doing everything we can to be ready for it."
"And if it does come?"
"Then I will feel a lot better knowing I have a brave, fearless daughter defending our home while I'm at the Wall," Ned said.
Arya's shoulders rose a little. "Ok," she said quietly.
"Go on now, before your mother sees you," Ned said, standing up.
Ned watched her run off into the keep. He loved that Arya wanted to help. She was fiercely protective of the people she cared about, but she didn't always think through what would be required of her and the situation she was running into. She was impulsive, and always for the right reasons, but Ned couldn't wait for the day that her impulsivity was tempered by patience and good sense.
"Ned," Cat said quietly, appearing at Ned's side.
The Lord of Winterfell instantly put an arm around his wife, drawing her in closer to him. Neither of them was happy that he was leaving again, especially since it felt like they had just found each other again, but there was a responsibility that came with Ned's status and it could not be ignored. Especially now.
"Be safe," Cat ordered, trying hard to keep her voice from breaking.
Ned smiled softly and leaned down to kiss his wife, wrapping her more in his embrace. They held each other for a long moment before Ned let go. There were unshed tears in Cat's eyes. As always, she worked hard to keep herself composed in front of others.
"I will return," Ned promised.
"You better," Cat said, quickly wiping her eyes. "I won't lose you again."
Ned smiled again, the smile he only saved for Cat, and kissed his wife again before grabbing the reins of his horse and hauling himself into the saddle. He glanced at Eddard, who gave him a slight nod.
"Ride!" Ned bellowed, snapping the reins and riding through the gate and out of Winterfell.
Jon Stark
Jon was beginning to sense some deja vu as he was led along the cliffside, his hands bound in front of him. Ygritte and Tormund strode easily past the cave-covered cliff, talking quietly with the wildlings that escorted them. Occasionally, Ygritte would look behind her at Jon, but it was only for a moment. There had come a turning point in their relationship where it had switched from enemies to uneasy allies. It was a few nights ago when the three of them were sitting around a fire.
Flashback
"Why are you truly here, White Wolf?" Tormund grunted. The old raider was staring at Jon from across the fire, his arms crossed. It was the first time either he or Ygritte, the red-headed archer, had asked him anything other than to 'move faster' or 'shut up'.
"To make peace with the free folk," Jon responded bluntly, warming his hands by the flames.
Ygritte scoffed. "Why?"
Jon frowned. "Why what? You're not our enemy. The Others are. We're fucked if we kept you north of the Wall."
"What do you get out of it?" Tormund pressed.
"More swords to guard the Wall when the Long Night hits and less of the undead to fight," Jon replied. "Seems like a pretty good deal for both factions."
"We ain't kneelers," Ygritta said. "We won't bow to your southern king."
Jon's frown deepened. "Is that what you're afraid of? That you'll have to swear loyalty to my brother?"
"Is he king?" Tormund asked.
"He is," Jon said, "and he won't make you swear fealty to him. At least not until after the Long Night passes."
Ygritte scoffed again, clearly not believing what Jon said. Tormund looked apprehensive as well. Jon stared at them both, trying his best to remember what Maester Luwin had said about them. He knew that they had few laws and no real sense of government, essentially as free as wild beasts, free to choose their own rules and leaders. Given their argument, they must believe that Robb will force them to pledge fealty to them if they manage to get south of the Wall.
"If you don't want to kneel before my brother, you don't have to," Jon said gently. "He won't make you. Rules like that can be pushed to the side during a war, but if you're people remain south of the Wall afterward, you will have to follow some rules set by him."
"What if we don't want to?" Tormund challenged.
Jon shrugged. "Fine, but you can't stay in my brother's kingdom," he replied simply. "You have to understand that you can't bring your customs south of the Wall and expect nothing to change. You wouldn't like it if my brother brought his armies into your lands and tried to change the way you live, would you?"
"I'd put an arrow through his eye," Ygritte said seriously.
"I'm sure you'd try," Jon conceded. "There has to be some respect from both sides."
"I've never met him!" Tormund growled. "Why the fuck should I respect him?"
Jon's mouth twitched with a smile. The old raider was reminding him more and more of the Greatjon.
"Do you have land, Tormund?" Jon asked.
"Aye!" Tormund exclaimed. "I'm the Mead-king of Ruddy Hall!"
"You expect others to respect you on your land? In your house?" Jon asked.
Tormund nodded. "I'll spill their guts if they don't."
"Aye, you would take respect if it was not given. My brother will do the same if he must. He was not given his crown," Jon explained, "he won it through battle and blood. That's why he deserves respect. He's letting you south of the Wall even though you've always been his enemy. He's letting you south because he has to, not because he wants to. He can easily let you and all your friends and family be consumed by the Long Night, but that's not the man he is. He cares for people. His own and strangers. He'd help you even if you didn't fight for him. Keep that in mind when you finally pass under the Wall. You're on my brother's land, and you damn well better give him his respect."
Tormund raised an eyebrow and stared at Jon, sizing him up. After a while, he nodded slowly.
"Well said, White Wolf," he grunted. "I'll show your brother some respect, but you better be right about him."
"If I'm not, then we'll all die anyway," Jon said grimly. "We couldn't wish for a better leader."
"Why do you say that?" Ygritte asked.
"Because my brother has faced down death before, and he's emerged victorious," Jon said. "He won't hesitate to do so again."
Flashback
Since that conversation, Jon could feel his relationship with the two raiders thaw to the point where it almost seemed friendly at times. Unfortunately, that was a short time. As soon as the trio came into view of the sentries protecting Hardhome, he had almost been killed on sight for being dressed as a man of the Night's Watch. It was only because of Tormund and Ygritte that he wasn't. The two had managed to convince the others that Jon was actually a southern lord and not a Crow and that he was there to speak with Mother Mole. The wildlings almost didn't believe Tormund or Ygritte until they saw Ghost. For whatever reason, he changed their minds.
"Do I need to be bound?" Jon grumbled.
"Yes," Tormund grunted, looking over his shoulder at Jon. "For the safety of Mother Mole."
Jon huffed. "I'm here to talk to her for fucks sake!"
"Don't need your hands to talk." Ygritte tossed over her shoulder. "What? Are your delicate wrists hurting?"
Jon shook his head and focused his attention on the massive cave that was getting closer. There was a large crowd spilling out of the entrance and Jon could hear some sort of chanting or preaching coming from the inside. He nodded towards the cave now.
"Mother Mole?" he guessed.
"Aye," Tormund answered. "She's a woods wit…." the old raider seemed to catch himself before continuing. "She believes that she can see the future and has convinced the buggers here that they'll find protection here in the caves."
"We will." one of their wildling guards growled.
"You should be trying to get south of the Wall with Mance," Ygritte argued. "Your fucking rabbits sitting here!"
"We do what Mother Mole tells us to do." the guard spat back, glaring at Jon. "you better hope you're the one, Crow."
"I'm not a Crow." Jon sighed.
The wildling grunted as the small group finally reached the crowd and the guards began to push their way through. There was a lot of cursing and shoving, a few knives and daggers were almost pulled, but Jon, Tormund, and Ygritte finally found themselves at the front of the group.
A great fire burned cheerfully in front of Jon, and sitting on a rotting stump on the other side was one of the oldest women Jon had ever laid eyes on. Olenna Tyrell and Old Nan were certainly old, but the woman on the stump looked ancient. Her white hair was covered with dirt and branches and was so long that it nearly covered the length of her back. Her face looked to be hundreds of years old, and Jon could just barely make out two tiny black orbs that were her eyes. She had only a few teeth to speak of, each yellow and cracked, and they helped pull together her image of a crazy old woman.
"Mother Mole." the wildling guard said reverently. "We have brought you the White Wolf."
"What do you want with Ghost?" Jon said, tensing slightly.
"Ghost maybe a white wolf, Jon of Long Lake, but he is not the White Wolf." Mother Mole responded, smacking her lips happily and leaving a trail of saliva down the corner of her mouth. She raised her gaze and looked out over the crowd.
"Just as I have said. The White Wolf has arrived and soon so will the ships that will save us from the great darkness."
"Mother, how do you know he's the one?" one raider asked, glaring distrustfully at Jon. "He's dressed like a Crow."
"I'm not a fucking Crow," Jon growled. "I am a lord of the North and I am here to make sure that you get south of the Wall before the Others get you."
"Now why would you do that?" another raider snapped. "All you southern fuckers do is kill us!"
There was a chorus of agreement from the others in the cave. They had no love for anyone who guarded the Wall or those who hid behind it. Jon represented both those factions since he was a southern lord and dressed like a man of the Night's Watch. At this point, Jon was just waiting for the blade of a dagger to slide between his ribs.
Mother Mole staggered to her feet and raised her hands to the crowd.
"I have told you that the White Wolf will lead us south! To safety! Here he is now and you are ready to kill him?" she said, scolding her followers. She turned towards Jon. "You, Jon, son of Lyanna and Rhaegar, Protector of the Free Folk, will see us safely south."
"How do you know about my par….how do you know about them?" Jon demanded.
Mother Mole smiled, showing off her three teeth in all their yellow, slimy glory. "I have seen much, Jon Stark. I know of the sword you and your cousin carry, forged in dragon fire and magic. I know of the dragons on the island of black smoke. I know even of the Tiger that will be born today that will later bring death and chaos on the Seven Kingdoms."
Jon narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? What tiger?"
Mother Mole shook her head. "It is only what I have been shown, White Wolf. Only time will show the gods will."
"And if you're wrong?" Jon challenged.
"I wasn't wrong about you." Mother Mole said almost smugly. "Nor was I wrong about the ironman that now approaches our shores."
"Ironman?" Jon muttered, turning to look over his shoulder. Out in the ocean, he could just make out the masts of a ship. Then another two came into view. Soon, there were six in total. The sails were pitch black, meaning that they could have only come from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. "Smalljon got a raven to Eastwatch."
"Yes, the young giant did well." Mother Mole said. "We have been waiting for you, White Wolf, to lead us to safety. Now that you are here, we can now leave."
"This all could have been saved if you joined Mance in the first place," Ygritte argued.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Mother Mole said, looking a little smug. "But what's done is done."
Ygritte went to argue again, but Tormund laid a large hand on her arm. "Let it go, lass. They're leaving and that's what Mance wanted."
The fiery redhead shook her arm out of the old raider's grasp. "Still, it was fucking foolish that they needed the permission of a southern lord to get to safety."
Tormund shrugged. It was obvious that the old man wasn't all that troubled by Mother Mole waiting until Jon showed up to direct her followers to go south. So long as they were waiting around to add to the ranks of the undead, he didn't care what they wanted.
"Come on," Jon ordered, beginning to shoulder his way through the crowd. "Let's go greet this 'ironman'."
Line Break
Jon was beginning to become a believer in Mother Mole's predictions. Cotter Pyke, a bastard from the Iron Islands, reminded Jon of Ser Alliser Thorne. He was hard and rough, with a bold tongue that gave voice to his every opinion, good and bad. He looked like a man who had spent years on the Wall and Jon could tell that he was a veteran of dozens of battles just by the way he commanded his men.
"Just row to the bloody ships and get your arses back here." Cotter barked as the rowboats set off. "We ain't got time to fuck around."
"Did you have any trouble getting here?" Jon asked.
He and the commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea stood off to the side as wildlings, laden with weapons, armor, and food lined up to be ferried to the six ships. According to Cotter, they would have just enough space to get the thousand or so wildlings, along with the giant living with them, on the ships and south of the Wall.
"There's always trouble on these waters." Cotter spat. "Nearly hit one of those damn Ibbenese whalers on the way, but the fleet made it in one piece, thank fuck."
"Have you heard anything from Castle Black?" Jon asked. "Anything about my father or uncle?"
"There are rumors that Ned Stark will be heading towards the Wall soon and Benjen heading south," Cotter grunted. "Rumor is that the King-Beyond-the-Wall wants to speak with Lord Stark."
Jon nodded. "He does."
"About what?"
"Getting the wildlings south," Jon said. "We need them to get through the Wall."
"I'll take your word for it," Cotter said before turning his attention briefly to the rowboats returning. "Took you lot long enough! Did you take a break to fuck each other before coming back?"
Wisely, the sailors decided not to answer and instead worked with the wildlings trying to get in the boats.
"It seems you didn't need much convincing," Jon noted.
"We trade with these lot from time to time," Cotter said gruffly. "They ain't bad if they ain't trying to kill ya."
"Fair." Jon conceded, glancing towards Tormund and Ygritte. Both warriors were deep in conversation with a giant by the name of Wun Wun.
Wun Wun, the shortened version of his name, was at least fourteen feet tall and said to possess the strength of twelve men. Tormund vouches that the giant is passive, but Jon still wants to keep an eye on the thing. Anything that can rip a man in half using strength alone is not something Jon wants to turn his back on.
"Do you have any idea how we'll get the giant on board?" Jon asked curiously.
Cotter glared at the giant. "Fuck no," he grumbled, spitting into the water. "Should've brought the Ibbenese fuckers with me. They know how to deal with big things."
"It'll be a tight fit," Jon chuckled.
"Hope you got friendly with the girl and the old fucker," Cotter grunted. "You're about to get a lot closer."