Stark
"My answer is no," Ned said after Daenerys finished making her case.
The Lady of Dragonstone had made a compelling argument as to why Ned should give up the name of Lyanna's child. She needed them because her other dragon, Rhaegal, needed a rider. House Targaryen was, once again, dangerously low on members and the child was the only choice to ride the beast. She then explained that Samwell Tarly, the Grand Maester, and the Green Men had both told her that her dragons would play an instrumental role in the war against the Others.
"No?" Daenerys frowned.
Robb, who had been sitting quietly off to the side, crossed his arms, not getting involved in the argument. His demeanor made it perfectly clear that this was a conversation between Ned and Daenerys.
"No," Ned repeated. "My lady, this is not some secret that I can give away, even with everything that is happening."
"Why?" Daenerys asked, furious.
"Because consider what might happen if I reveal their name?" Ned said. "How many will try to kill them? How many will try to crown them and put them on the throne?"
"They have no claim to the Iron Throne because House Targaryen has renounced its claim." Daenerys scowled, glancing at Robb. Ned's son simply shrugged.
The last Targaryen sighed and gripped the table. "Lord Stark, the child is surely of an age now where it is their choice. I believe that I deserve the right to see my last living relative and hear it with my own ears whether they will accept or refuse my offer."
Ned frowned. She made a good point there. Jon was a grown man, he should be the one to decide whether or not he'll help Daenerys. Though the Lord of Winterfell still hesitated. Simply by giving up Jon's name, he gives up a secret that he had been holding onto for over two decades, a promise that he had given his sister as she lay dying in his arms.
"Robb?" Ned said, looking towards his son, curious to hear his thoughts.
"I will have no part in this," Robb said immediately. "This is your decision, father."
"Lord Stark, think of your people," Daenerys said, digging into the depths of her arguments and throwing them at the older man. "I cannot control two dragons at once, not by myself. I need help. I need Rhaegar and Lyanna's child. When the Others come, there can be no uncertainties."
That was a clincher.
"Fine." Ned sighed. "His name is….Jon."
"Jon?" Daenerys asked, looking over at Robb, whose gaze was on the ground beneath his feet. "The king's brother? Your bastard?"
"He was never my bastard," Ned said. "It was a cover to keep him safe from Robert and Tywin. He's Lyanna's son. My nephew."
Daenerys looked shocked. Her gaze switched between Robb and Ned for a long time as she tried to comprehend what she had just heard. Like all of Westeros, she thought that the honorable Lord Stark had sired a bastard. Now she was learning for the first time that he was instead guarding the most blood-soaked secret in all of Westeros. He defied his best friend and protected the child of his most hated enemy.
"Jon fought with my father at King's Landing," Robb said quietly. "Rhaegal, your dragon, probably got his scent during the battle. I don't know how, but it knew that Jon was a Targaryen."
"That must be why he came up to you in the Godswood." Daenerys breathed.
Robb only nodded.
"Jon is currently riding for Winterfell," Ned said, wanting to be done with the conversation so that he could go consult the gods. He needed to know if he had just done the right thing. "Speak with him yourself, get the answer you seek, but this conversation does not leave this tent."
Daenerys looked confused. Thankfully, Robb stepped in.
"Do you remember our conversation on the ship?" he asked. "I told you that the child, Jon, might refuse your offer based on the history of your House. He still might. Even after he learned of his true parentage, he still refers to Lord Stark as his father and me as his brother. He does not recognize his Targaryen half and does not want others to know about it."
Robb shifted in his seat, rubbing his bearded jaw as he continued. "It's more than not wanting to be associated with your house, my lady. Jon does not want power, he never did. He fears that if others learned who he is, then they would try to anoint him king. That will cause a war, and Jon would never allow it."
Daenerys nodded. "I will keep that in mind."
"I hope you will. My brother is a stubborn man." Robb said, turning to Ned. "Can you provide an escort for her to Winterfell?"
"No need, your grace. My two knights will be all I need." Daenerys said. "I'll leave for Winterfell in the morning."
"Travel safely, my lady. The North during winter is a terrible time to be out in the open" Ned said. "Robb, are you going with her?"
"No, my path leads me towards Castle Black," Robb answered. "It's time I meet Ser Alliser and see if I can try my hand at peace between the Night's Watch and the wildlings."
"I pray you have better luck than Jon and I." Ned sighed. "The man's as stubborn as a mule. Remember, that crown doesn't mean anything to them. They have independence from the Iron Throne."
"Yes, but are they willing to destroy their relationship who has provided them with their supply of resources and has the armies of Westeros at his call?" Robb countered.
Ned raised an eyebrow, surprised by Robb's answer. There had been a lot of southern politics in it. It was clear that his son had learned quite a lot from his time on the throne, none more than how to force others into a corner and get them to do what you want.
"Do what you can," Ned said, deciding not to comment on his son's politics. "I will remain here. There is still a lot of work to be done settling the free folk."
"Mance Rayder. Can he be trusted?" Robb asked.
"Jon and I believe he can," Ned answered. "He didn't want war with the Night's Watch or with Westeros. He simply wanted to get south of the Wall."
"How desperate did he get?" Robb asked.
"He found something called Joramun's Horn," Ned said grimly. "It's said to have the power to bring down the Wall. If Mance wasn't allowed through, and couldn't force his way through, he was going to tear down the Wall."
Robb's face showed his surprise. "You've seen this horn?"
"I have." Ned nodded. "I don't know if it would work or not, but I wasn't willing to try the man who rallied together a hundred thousand wildlings and giants."
Robb got up from his seat. "It seems we have a lot to talk about when I return from Castle Black."
"I was hoping we can talk about them before you leave," Ned said.
Robb raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Very well then. We'll talk tonight." he looked at Daenerys. "Whatever my brother says, I would like to know, my lady."
Daenerys nodded. "I will make sure to send word." she bowed slightly to Ned. "Thank you, my lord, for your help. I know that it couldn't have been easy."
"It wasn't," Ned said, "and if it weren't for the Long Night, I wouldn't have even listened to your argument. As my son said, this conversation cannot be spoken about outside this tent."
Ned stepped forward until he practically loomed over the young woman. To her credit, she didn't back down. She crossed her arms and glared back at Ned, matching his gaze.
"There are many people who would like to see Jon dead if he is revealed to be Rhaegar's son," Ned said, his voice deathly quiet. "If you threaten my son's life, there will be hell to pay, Lady Daenerys. I swear on the Old Gods and the New."
Asha Greyjoy
Riverrun didn't strike her as an impressive castle. There wasn't anything that stood out to her. Pyke had its towers and Casterly Rock sat atop a gold mine. Winterfell, as she saw it from a distance, simply dominated the land around it. All those castles were impressive and had a prosperous past. Riverrun didn't. It looked….normal if such a word could be used.
A group of riders rode out from the castle. They all wore tunics of scale armor over blue and red gambesons and carried swords at their sides. One carried a banner bearing a leaping trout.
"Ser Patrek." the lead rider said with a slight bow as they approached. "We've been told to expect you in strange company."
"Strange is certainly a word for it." Ser Patrek answered. "Am I the last one?"
"You are." the soldier confirmed. "When your party was spotted, the other lords were assembled. They're waiting in the main hall."
"We'll be there at once." Ser Patrek said.
The soldier turned towards Asha and the other ironborn. "Lady Greyjoy, I take it."
"I am," Asha answered.
"I have been told to warn you that you and your kind will be disarmed the moment you enter the courtyard." the man said before adding: "A courtesy warning from Lord Tully."
Asha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. All she and the other ironborn had been allowed to carry were their knives, but knives were seen as more of a utilitarian tool to the ironborn rather than an actual weapon. It was a tool to cut rope more than a weapon to cut a throat.
"Fine." she sighed.
The soldier nodded before turning his horse around and riding back towards the castle, the company of Mallister men and ironborn following right behind.
Asha had heard that the Young Wolf had surprised the Kingslayer's force in the beginning phases of the war while they laid siege to the castle. As the lady of Pyke drew closer, she began to realize what made Riverrun so defensible. With one move, it could be completely surrounded by water, cut off from all other pieces of land. Any army attacking the castle would have to place men on all sides, surrounding the castle. But such an act would also leave each force vulnerable to attack as there was no way for the rest of the besieging army to support them.
There was a small army of stablehands and soldiers waiting for the group in the courtyard. While their horses were taken away, the ironborn were stripped of anything that could be considered a weapon and practically marched inside the castle. Asha and her uncle Rodrik led the group, their heads held high.
Someone had to show that the ironborn still had some pride.
The Tully soldiers who guarded them kept firm grips on their weapons at all times, as if waiting for the unarmed band of sailors to attack them. They obviously had no lost love for the raiders, even though the ironborn hadn't technically attacked the Riverlands.
Just the homeland of their king and queen, one of whom was related to the lord of Riverrun.
Ser Patrek strode ahead of the others, looking rather impressive in his purple and silver tunic, his longsword at his side. The guards nodded respectfully to the knight as he entered the great hall, and gave Asha and her companions' cold glares as they passed. When they were all herded inside, the door closed with a thunderous BOOM.
The hall was packed with lords, ladies, and knights wearing all types of colorful clothing displaying wheelbarrows, trees, stallions, fish, and all manner of nonsense. They were a stark contrast to the ironborn, who mainly wore salt-stained leathers and wool of black and brown. The nobles of the Riverlands looked well-groomed and took obvious care of their appearance. The ironborn looked more rough and worn.
"Ser Patrek!" a happy voice called from the front of the hall.
A stocky man with a thick mane of hair and a fiery beard emerged from the crowd, a brilliant smile creasing his face. He wore a blue doublet decorated with a silver leaping trout and, like Ser Patrek, had a longsword strapped to his waist. By the way, others moved out of the way for him, Asha guessed that she was seeing the lord of Riverrun, Edmure Tully.
The two men embraced like brothers, smiling and clapping each other on the shoulder.
"I was beginning to wonder if your guests gutted you in the night." Lord Tully joked.
"No, they were well behaved, my lord." Ser Patrek responded before turning towards Asha and her uncle. "Lord Tully, this is Lady Greyjoy and her uncle, Lord Harlaw. They lead this motley group."
Lord Edmure smiled, something he seemed to do often. "Welcome to Riverrun, though I don't think many of my ancestors like your presence."
Asha shrugged. "That's a problem for the spirits, my lord, not mine."
Lord Tully's smile somehow grew. "Very true."
"Lord Tully." a voice called out. Soon, another man joined the small group. He was gaunt-looking with sharp features. He looked decidedly northern, especially since he was dressed in all black. There was only one man he could be.
Benjen Stark.
"The ironborn are here," he grunted, looking at Asha and the others. "I should make my announcement now."
Lord Tully nodded. "Very well."
The two men slipped back into the crowd. After a moment or two, Lord Edmure reappeared on a raised platform, where a beautiful woman sat on a throne next to him. The Lord of Riverrun raised his hands, waiting for silence to come over the hall. When there was no one else speaking, Edmure began.
"My lords and ladies, thank you for coming on such short notice," he said, no longer smiling. "As I am sure you all have questions, I ask that you hold them while First Ranger Benjen Stark presents what he has."
All eyes went from the dais to the black-clad man in the middle of the room. Instinctively, a circle was formed, giving the man ample room. A large, bound chest sat at his feet. Asha could see a key poking out from under one of his gloves.
"Lords and ladies of the Riverlands, of the Iron Islands, hear me now and listen well," Stark said. "What I have to show you is not for the faint of heart. I urge you not to attack. Draw your sword, gasp, shout, but do not attack."
Asha and her uncle, their curiosity burning, pushed their way into the crowd until they stood on the very edge of the ring with a clear vision of Benjen and his chest. The First Ranger knelt down, retrieved the key from his glove, and unlocked the thick iron lock holding the bindings on the chest. Soon, the chains rattled off and the man stepped back. He kicked the box over, allowing the top to slam open and the creature to leap forward.
Swords were drawn, shouts and cries came from the crowd, more than a few ladies fainted at the sight of the monster, but none attacked it. No one even took a step towards it. Instead, the group as a whole took two large steps backward, putting even more distance between themselves and whatever demon had been kept in the box.
"Benjen!" Lord Edmure demanded, his sword drawn while one hand was held protectively in front of his wife, one of the few women who hadn't fainted. "What in the seven hells is it?"
"A wight, my lord," Benjen answered, a voice loud and clear. "To you all, the Long Night may seem like a fairy tale. I wish with all my heart that it was, but I brought this thing here to show you that it is not only very real but also coming back."
Chatter began across the room as discussions were started and arguments erupted between followers of the Old Gods and the Seven. The lords of the Iron Islands behind Asha spoke amongst themselves in low, but heated tones. Her uncle hushed them with a look before addressing the First Ranger.
"How do we kill them?" he asked, crossing his arms.
Benjen pulled a black-bladed dagger from his belt. He raised it so that others could see. "This is dragonglass or obsidian as others know it. This, along with fire, kills wights effectively."
"Normal steel cannot?" Ser Patrek questioned, his sword partially drawn.
"It can," Benjen answered. "But as you see, this demon still lives despite losing his legs. You can cut off its arms and legs, and it will still try to kill it. Only chopping off its head will truly slow it down."
"This proves the existence of wights, but not Others." one lord said, a red stallion on his cloak. The man next to him, a black tree and birds on his chest, scowled.
"Don't be a fool!" he scolded. "The Others resurrected the damn thing!"
Once again, the room began to descend into chaos. Edmure tried to regain control of his bannermen, but it did little. Once again, the ironborn were the only ones who weren't adding to the hysteria.
"Silence!" Benjen Stark roared, instantly silencing the hall. "Silence, all of you! I show you the very image of death that is currently marching on us, and you squabble like children!"
Lord Edmure and all the others hung their heads in shame, knowing that the black brother was right. They had lost their heads and had indeed acted like children.
"What do you need from us?" Asha asked, bringing all eyes on her. Benjen nodded to her, recognizing her for asking the right question.
"Begin to prepare for winter and war," he answered. "Set aside food and supplies and begin to train your men. Death marches on the Wall, and we must all be ready for when they attack."
"Does the king know?" one lord challenged.
"He does," Benjen answered without hesitation. "He, his father, and his brother Jon have been working tirelessly to prepare our defenses."
There was a murmur of appreciation, though Asha still saw a few hesitant faces. It seems that Lord Edmure saw them as well because he quickly stepped in before anyone else could challenge or question the First Ranger.
"We'll answer with swords and spears when the king summons us to defend the Wall," he promised. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention, First Ranger Benjen."
"Can they swim?" a voice rang out over the hall as soon as Lord Edmure finished speaking.
Lord Gorold Goodbrother pushed his way to the center of the room, shoving his way past Asha and Rodrik as he did. He glared defiantly at Benjen and Lord Edmure, his hands crossed.
"Not that we know of," Benjen answered honestly.
"Then I'll be taking my men and staying on my island." Gorold spat. "Leave you Greenlanders to fight your war."
Benjen shook his head. "This fight will take all of us, my lord. No one can be left behind."
"Fuck you." Gorold snapped. "They can't swim, they can't touch me."
"Lord Goodbrother, we'll aid the Night's Watch." Rodrik barked. "None shall stay behind."
"Fuck you too!" Goodbrother growled. "You've always been soft, Harlaw. I refused to throw my men into a battle that means nothing."
"It means everything, you dolt!" Asha said, supporting her uncle.
"Your father would never stand for this," Goodbrother said, turning on Asha now.
"That's why he's dead," Asha argued, standing her ground against the older, larger man. "My uncle is Lord Paramount. His word is law."
"Not to me." Lord Goodbrother said, shaking his head.
Asha sighed, and before anyone else could react, seized a sword from the knight next to her, who was still in surprise after seeing the wight. She leaped forth and opened Lord Goodbrother's throat, blood spilling like a waterfall down his front. The man's body crumpled to the ground, his life pooling around him.
"Anyone else want to argue?" Asha demanded, turning to the other ironborn. They all shook their heads, their eyes more on the bloody sword in Asha's hand rather than on Asha herself.
"Good," Asha growled, throwing the sword to the ground. She turned to the dias, where Lord Tully was watching with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Lord Edmure, when the riverlords march north, the warriors of the Iron Islands will march with you!"
The Green Man
The track through the woods was not so much a road as it was a simple line of grass that had been walked by hunters one too many times. The trees on either side grew close together, hiding what lay within them. Like most days in the Reach, the sun showed high above, accompanied by a few fluffy clouds.
The green-cloaked rider brought his elk to a slow stop as he considered the man who blocked his way. The man wore battered steel armor and carried a lance, shield, and sword. All signs of knighthood, but the condition of his gear showed that he was lacking coin. There was no sigil on his armor, which was a little odd. Even knights who were in the service of lords usually had their own devices painted on their shields or on a tabard that covered their armor. If this man wasn't displaying anything, he either didn't have a sigil or didn't want to share who he was working for.
Bryn's elk, Eialdor, snorted and burbled, sensing danger. Bryn leaned down and patted his neck gently.
"I know," he whispered before raising his head and addressing the rider.
"Is all well, friend?"
"You go no further, pagan!" the man cried back, urging his mount a little closer.
Bryn sighed as his hand fell to the axe at his side. He was returning from the graves of Herndon and Harlon, the founders of House Tarly. The brothers were buried in a cave deep in the woods not far from their castle, residing on either side of the witch they had taken for a wife. He had also met an old friend there and had a chilling conversation that Bryn wished that he could forget, but knew he couldn't.
"You're one man," Bryn called back, "and I have no patience for this nonsense."
"You go no further." another man said, emerging onto the path behind Bryn. Like his friend, he too was dressed in steel plate and carried the weapons of a knight.
"You don't want to do this," Bryn said, trying to avoid bloodshed.
"Oh, I think we do," a high, nasally voice said from Bryn's right as the rest of his ambushers emerged, surrounding him. There were six knights in total, all without any sort of insignia on their shields or armor. The seventh man was a septon, dressed in snow-white robes and a look of smugness upon his face.
"We've been waiting for you, blasphemer," the septon continued. "You must answer for the deaths of faithful followers."
"You mean those who attacked my home?" Bryn asked, knowing that he was only delaying the inevitable. "I am guilty of nothing but defending myself."
"You are guilty of blasphemy!" one of the knights barked. "You've already seeped your poison into the king's ear."
"Yes, he will have to be corrected," the septon nodded. "The Seven Kingdoms are in disarray, Green Man, and your death, along with those of your followers, will be a step towards leading Westeros into a golden era."
Bryn resisted the urge to laugh in the man's face. It was clear that he had the same amount of ambition as the High Sparrow, but he lacked all the power the other man possessed. Josiah had been a true problem as the head of a large religious organization. He has devout followers and a strong foundation to build. Whoever this religious nobody was, he believed that the Father was whispering in his ear rather than his delusional thoughts.
"I know my fate, septon," Bryn replied calmly. "I do not die here, nor would it change anything. Robb Stark would crush you beneath the heel of his boot without a second thought."
"Robb Stark will soon see the errors of his way, as will his filthy wife," the septon snarled. "The old ways are dead, and the Old Gods will go with them. All that will remain are the Seven that is one."
"Peace and genocide do not go together," Bryn replied as the knights closed in on him. "Or are you as small-minded as the High Sparrow?"
"Do not dare insult the High Sparrow!" the septon screeched. "He was stronger than the fool that burned along with the Starry Sept. He was the warrior we needed! Our faith is under siege even now and we must defend ourselves!"
"Under siege?" Bryn scoffed. "If you truly believe that, then you're even more foolish than the High Sparrow, may he rot in the pits of the Seven Hells. You are a little speck of dust in the pond, little septon, and you will leave no mark at all in this life."
The man went red in the face before pointing at Bryn. "Take him! Now! And close that blasted mouth of his!"
Bryn allowed himself to be dragged from the saddle as his arms and armor were stripped from him. Ropes were then pulled tight around his shoulders before a gag was forced into his mouth. The septon watched all this happen in a matter of moments, the redness leaving the face as he recovered his mask of superiority.
"We will see who is dust at the end," he said before clapping his heels into the flank of his mount and riding off.