"How was it?" Robb asked curiously.
The king was sitting alone in Jon's room, the two brothers sharing a pitcher of ale after they had returned from the dragon's lair. Jon's hair, which he had begun wearing back in a queue since the war, was now hanging loose around his shoulders, giving him a disheveled look. His clothes also looked rumbled and messy after nearly being torn from his body by the wind.
"It was…." Jon said with a smile before shaking his head and chuckling. "Bloody amazing."
Robb laughed. "You look like a man who just laid with his first woman."
Jon rolled his eyes and took a deep drink from his tankard. "It was exhilarating, Robb, truly."
"I'm sure," Robb replied. "Has Daenerys told you what she plans to teach you?"
Jon nodded. "First, we need to establish a close bond between myself and Rhaegal. During that time, I'll have to learn some of the commands she uses. They're all in High Valyrian."
"Is she having a saddle made for you?" Robb asked.
"She'll put in the request first thing in the morning," Jon answered before glancing out the window. "Or in our case, in a few hours." he shook his head. "It'll be different, I reckon, having a dragon fight for me instead of swinging a sword myself."
Robb gave a slight shrug. "I'm sure you'll get used to it. I'll certainly feel better when fighting off a horde of the undead knowing that I have someone I trust on the back of a dragon able to consume our enemy is dragon fire."
Jon became silent, obviously thinking about something. Robb noticed the look and took a drink from his own tankard, waiting for his brother to say what was on his mind. After a long moment, Robb frowned and nudged his brother under the table with his boot.
"What's on your mind? You look like an ice sculpture."
Jon gave his brother a thin smile. "Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan tried to convince me to change my name to Jon Targaryen. To come out as Rhaegar's son."
Robb raised an eyebrow. "I imagine you gave them quite the tongue thrashing."
"Ser Barristan took it better than Ser Jorah did." Jon nodded. "Hopefully they'll understand that just because I've accepted Daenerys's offer does not mean I have any desire to become a Targaryen."
"Sometimes it's better to leave a horse behind," Robb grunted, half quoting a proverb. "Whether they accept it or not, Jon, I trust you'll do what must be done."
"Aye, that's it. I'm here to do my duty to the realm and that's all." Jon said, taking another deep draft. "Besides, as soon as people see me atop a dragon, they'll start asking questions and we won't be able to keep it a secret for very long."
"No, we won't," Robb sighed. "I told Ser Barristan this as we were on our way to see Father. I told him that once Daenerys does this, there's no going back. The entire realm will know your secret."
Jon smiled sadly. "I told Arya that, if anyone tried to take me, we would meet them at the gates of Winterfell with our swords drawn."
"Aye, and I'll be there too. As will father and everyone else who cares about you," Robb agreed.
Jon nodded to his brother. "Thank you, Robb," he said. "How was your tour of the Wall….beside the time you were almost assassinated."
"Not bad," Robb grunted. "I think I know how to conduct this war."
"How?"
"You remember how the Unsullied fought, don't you?"
"I was at King's Landing."
"I think that their fighting style is the key," Robb explained. "Spears, shields, packed formations where each man relies on the other. Lots of arrows and artillery."
"No cavalry charges? No surprise attacks?" Jon wondered.
Their father had instructed both Jon and Robb on how to conduct war and how to strategize against an enemy. Robb has already proven that he is a master strategist, but what he was suggesting was war reduced to its most basic strategies that even a child could come up with. Jon was expecting an elaborate plan that would involve traps and careful maneuvering of troops.
"No," Robb said firmly. "Just hold our ground and weather the storm that is about to hit us."
Jon thought about Robb's plan for a moment before pursing his lips and nodding. "Not a bad plan. Not sure how your knights will like that, but I'm sure you've learned some flowery language that will calm them down."
"Ser Garth had the same thought, as did Missandei," Robb said. "I'll say it again. This is a war of survival, not glory. Hopefully, I can get that through their skulls."
"I'm sure they'll love the fact that years of practice will mean nothing." Jon chuckled.
Robb smiled and finished off his drink. "We'll see. Every blade counts."
Jon looked down at his drink for a moment. "When do you return to King's Landing?"
"Tomorrow," Robb answered, already experiencing the anxiousness that he had felt settle in his stomach the further south he sailed. He was so close to Margaery and Torhenn that he felt ready to swim the entire Blackwater just to be with them again. It had been months since he had held either in his arms and he missed them with all his heart and soul.
"Is there anything you need me to watch for while I'm here?"
Robb shook his head. "No. I will summon you and Daenerys when Benjen is close. Neither of you has seen the wight, have you?"
"I was helping the wildlings at Hardhome make it south of the Wall, I believe," Jon said thoughtfully. "I missed seeing Uncle, but Father met him on the road and saw it."
Robb grimaced slightly. "So much of this war depends on timing, Jon. We have only the general direction of the enemy and no idea the size of the force or when they may strike."
"Don't forget the civil unrest when you order the realm to defend the Wall," Jon grunted. "The Others won't have to deal with that."
Robb groaned and poured himself more of the drink before sending half of it down his throat in one motion. After he swallowed, he flicked a few droplets from his beard.
"Gods, I hope I don't have to deal with another delusional fool who believes that he's doing the will of the Seven." he sighed tiredly. "I might throw myself on my sword."
"You could feed them to Greywind." Jon offered somewhat sarcastically.
"Not helping," Robb said, sending a glare at his brother, "but it's not a bad idea."
"Just remember who you have by your side, brother," Jon advised, pouring the last of the ale for himself. "If anyone can convince the lords of Westeros that the Wall must be defended, it's that wife of yours. And if she can't do it, then her grandmother most certainly can."
Robb looked at Jon. "I liked you better when you said nothing at all."
Jon rolled his eyes and took a drink. "I don't believe you."
Robb took a moment before nodding. "Neither do I," he admitted.
Eddard Stark
Dozens of fur tents spread out around multiple cook fires made up the encampment of the clansmen of the Vale. Ned could make out several fur-clad warriors walking around, bearing a wild assortment of weapons and gear. The Lord of Winterfell remembered the few skirmishes he had with the clansmen. Although not as well-armed as the knights they battled against, they made up the difference with their ferocity and knowledge of the terrain.
"Who 'r you?" a gruff-voiced sentry asked as Ned and his two soldiers approached. Eddard Karstark and the rest of Ned's guard had traveled back to Winterfell at Ned's request. The older man no longer had any fear of attack from the wildlings.
"The Ned of Winterfell." Ned responded, using his ancient title that he knew they would understand. "Who leads you?"
"Ulf, son of Shagga." The man replied. "You're Stark?"
Ned glared at the man. "I am."
The man, noticing Ned's tone of voice, dropped the subject and led Ned and his men through the camp. They received many unwelcome looks, but no threats or attacks. It was clear that their animosity for men like Ned was still alive and well, but it was also clear that they were here for another reason than to cause trouble. It was the only thing keeping them from tearing Ned limb from limb.
"Here is Ulf." the sentry said, pointing at a tent before trudging away.
Ned dismounted, handing the reins to one of his guards before entering the tent. Inside, a large man sat among other hairy warriors, drinking and eating. They all wore mix-matched armor and looked the very image of savages. There was an assortment of furs spread out across the inside of the tent, but besides the few wooden platters that held food, there was nothing else inside the tent.
The large man slowly got to his feet, ripping off a portion of what looked to be a chicken leg. As he chewed, he regarded Ned with a mixture of distrust, but also some relief. When he finished eating, he dropped the leg back onto the platter.
"You're the Ned," he said, stating it rather than asking it.
"I am," Ned answered. "You're Ulf."
The large man nodded. "Aye."
"Why are you here?" Ned asked, getting right to the point. This was his last point of business around the Wall. All he wanted now was to return to Winterfell and spend time with his family before Robb summoned them.
"Fight." one of Ulf's companions grunted, not looking up from his food. "They return."
"The Others, you mean," Ned said.
"The signs have been seen," Ulf said. "We have come. We held our oath."
"Oath to who?"
"With Stark!" Ulf said, striking his chest.
Ned crossed his arms. "You're First Men."
There was a happy growl from the group. Ulf was nodding enthusiastically. Ned didn't need much more than that.
"Will you follow me?" Ned asked.
Doubt crossed Ulf's eyes before nodding. "Aye."
Ned thought for a moment before speaking. "You'll want to return to the Vale after the war, won't you."
"We will return home," Ulf said immediately. "Fight for our land."
Ned wasn't stupid. He knew all about the blood-soaked history between the Mountain Tribes of the Vale and the Andal-descendants who had taken over the region from the First Men. There were a few remaining houses, most notably the Royces of Runestone, but the majority of them were of Andal descent.
"I cannot stay here and lead you." Ned sighed. "But continue north and find Castle Black. Speak with Halfhand. Tell him that I've said to give you lot a castle to defend."
"Castle Black, Halfhand." Ulf muttered himself. "I will."
"Good," Ned said. "The king, The Robb of King's Landing, will call the land to war. More will come north to fight. You must be ready."
Ulf hit his chest again. "We will!"
"Good," Ned said again. "I will see you all when they come. Don't cause trouble while I'm away."
The group still sitting chuckled and laughed, but that quickly went away when they glanced at Ned and saw that he wasn't kidding. They all nodded obediently and went back to their food without comment.
"Castle Black and Halfhand," Ulf promised.
"Castle Black and Halfhand," Ned repeated before exiting the tent, back into the night and snow.
Tyrion Lannister
Tyrion found Jaime on the training grounds, observing a few of the household guards as they practiced. Occasionally, he would call instructions or offer a piece of advice to one of the fighters, but for the most part, he was silent. His sword was out and point-down in the first, leaning against his belt buckle while his hands were folded behind his back. After some time, when the fighters were soaked with sweat and their movements were slowly becoming sloppier, Jaime began to bark whenever he deemed that something was being done wrong.
"Enough!" Jaime said, his voice ringing across the grounds. "Weapons down."
The four warriors stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the former knight, their chests heaving. Jaime waited a moment, his eyes roaming over them before he spoke.
"When you're tired, that is when you must rely on the basics and your technique," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You all know the basics, but they become shit when you're tired."
The four fighters hung their heads as Jaime delivered his lecture. Tyrion found the interaction very interesting. Jaime has been stripped of his knighthood and his name has been tarnished by the sin of incest, yet the four warriors hung onto his every word as if he was Arthur Dayne or Barristan Selmy.
Unbeknownst to Tyrion, Jaime's latest actions, as well as his minor personality change, had gone a long way in the hearts of those in the capital. Not only had he helped save the king and the queen from assassins and killers, but he had also tracked down the Green Man and saved him from captors as well. Those actions combined with his more humble, reserved manners made him much more likable.
"We'll continue to work more tomorrow," Jaime said finally. "I suggest you get a good night's rest because tomorrow will be more of this."
The four warriors all nodded and left. As they went towards the armory, Jaime glanced over his shoulder and spotted his brother watching him. He grabbed his sword and slid it into its scabbard before striding towards Tyrion.
"Come to spar, brother?" Jaime asked with a slight smile.
Tyrion laughed. "I do enjoy your jokes, Jaime, but that is not why I'm here." he gestured to the training grounds. "Last I remember, Ser Brynden is in charge of training the king's household guard, or at least that was the queen's request."
"The Blackfish is currently indisposed," Jaime answered. "He's taken the Baratheon boys, Edric and the former smith, Gendry, hunting so that they could earn a pair of antlers for their helms."
"Have they reached that age yet?" Tyrion asked curiously. He knew of the tradition. Jaime has told him all about Robert's outrage when Joffrey had killed his elk with a crossbow instead of a spear like a "real Baratheon".
"Gendry has passed it and Edric has a few years still, but if they are leading the men of Storm's End, then they want to look like real Baratheons," Jaime explained. "They asked the Blackfish to accompany them and bear witness to the event."
"So you've taken over the role of training the guard." Tyrion mused.
Jaime's former self flashed as he smirked and opened his arms wide. "Is there a better warrior currently in the Red Keep?" he asked before the smirk and arrogance disappeared as quickly as they had shown up. "I have been doing nothing ever since I have returned from the Reach. This is a welcome change."
"How have the guards been treating you?" Tyrion asked curiously.
"Well enough," Jaime grunted, leading his brother over to a shady spot in the corner of the yard. "Not sure how they feel about me as a person, but they are certainly aware of my skill," he shrugged. "All I need really."
"There's word that the king has reached Dragonstone," Tyrion said, changing the topic. "Lord Mallister believes he'll be back in the city in the next day or so."
"Where's the other Stark? The ranger?" Jaime asked.
"Benjen." Tyrion helped. "He's approaching Highgarden. I suspect he'll be here in another week or two."
"He still has to ride to Dorne." Jaime pointed out. "He's done a stellar job, I'll give him that, but we're still months away from being prepared for war."
"He won't have to make the journey to Dorne because I'm bringing the dornish here," Tyrion said. "Tarly said that it would be easier for the remaining lords―stormlords, valemen, and the dornish―as well as Benjen Stark if we all met here in the city. However, you're still right. Only half the realm is preparing for war."
"Has Tarly made any comments about that?" Jaime asked.
"Our Master of War has recommended sending individual armies, a few thousand riverlanders, westermen, northerners, to reinforce the Wall while the southern kingdoms gather their men."
Jaime nodded. "It may come to that."
"You know that you'll be needed in the Westerlands if it comes to that," Tyrion said. "Tommen will need to go with you."
"He's not going to the Wall," Jaime said immediately.
Tyrion bowed to Jaime's decision. He knew the lad's skill, and although it was above that of other noble boys his age, it was nowhere close to where it needed to be for what was waiting for them at the Wall. It was all well and good for the boy to fight poorly-armed and untrained peasants, but he was at least fighting a living being with fears as well as an opponent that could be taken out of a fight with a simple cut across the chest. An undead creature that is out of nightmares is a whole other beast entirely.
"He's not," Tyrion said reassuringly. "I want him in Casterly Rock because if the Wall falls, someone needs to be there to rally and lead our people to safety further south."
"You've told Creylen this?" Jaime asked.
"I'll have a letter ready for when you ride out," Tyrion promised.
Tyrion's face was overtaken by a thoughtful expression as he considered something. Few people could read him, and Jaime was one of those people. He wasted no time in pointing it out now.
"You're thinking about something," Jaime said, pointing it out now.
"I am," Tyrion answered. "The queen told me that you turned down a knighthood."
Jaime nodded. "I was a shit knight, Tyrion."
"That's not entirely…." Tyrion was about to say, but Jaime cut him off with a shake of the head.
"I was," Jaime said firmly. "There's so much more to being a knight than just fighting. You are put on a pedestal, Tyrion, as a symbol of all that is good and honorable in the land. You are charged to be brave and chivalrous and are looked at as leaders and defenders of the innocent."
"You saved half a million people!" Tyrion spluttered.
"And I put my sword through the back of the king I had sworn to protect at the same time," Jaime said softly. "I can fight, Tyrion. It's the only gift the gods have ever given me besides you. But being honorable, chivalrous….I don't want to be on that pedestal anymore."
Tyrion's mouth formed a hard, thin line as he gazed at his brother with sadness and curiosity. It wasn't often that he was put in his place verbally, but he knew better than most that when Jaime put his mind to something, he was as stubborn as a mule.
"You've decided then," Tyrion said finally.
"I like being Jaime Lannister," Jaime responded. "Ser Jaime Lannister is dead and gone."
Willas Tyrell
The Lord of Highgarden watched as the black-cloaked figure road through the gates of Highgarden, his black horse looking extremely tired. Willas didn't blame the poor creature. It was one thing to travel the length of Westeros; from the Wall to Winterfell to Riverrun and Casterly Rock more recently. It was another to do so while carrying a crate on its back.
"Perhaps he is here to check the cells," Willas's seneschal, his great uncle Garth, joked.
Garth, or Garth the Gross as he was called behind his back, had served both Willas's grandfather and father as Lord Senechal of Highgarden. An impressive name for a less-than-impressive man who had sired two bastards and was known more for his constant flatulence and prowess at the dinner table than anything else. Yet, he was family and not terrible at his job, so Willas kept him around and put up with his terrible excuse for humor.
"He's not here for that," Willas replied quietly. "Go greet him and make sure that he has rooms befitting his station as First Ranger of the Night's Watch."
Garth's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Your father would never have given a black brother such a room."
"I'm not my father," Willas countered swiftly, giving his uncle a hard look. "Do not forget that this is Benjen Stark, the king's beloved uncle. You will show him respect and others will as well."
There was no mistaking the iron in Willas's voice, and Garth heard it loud and clear. He bowed deeply and departed, leaving Willas to his thoughts and the smell of the roses.
Willas sighed and shook his head before limping back into solar and over to his desk, which was neatly organized with letters, documents, forms, books, and all manner of materials he needed as Lord Paramount of the Reach. His brother Garlan acted as its warden, leading the armies of the Reach in times of war due to Willas's injury, but the management of the region still fell on Willas's shoulders.
The crippled lord picked up his grandmother's letter, reading it for what seemed like the tenth time in the past few days. Her words sent a chill down his spine as she described what Benjen Stark carried and what it meant. The Queen of Thorns knew that her eldest grandson was no fool, and did not treat him as such. She told him exactly what she and his sister thought was happening, keeping her words blunt and to the point.
He reread the last line over and over again, still trying to comprehend what it said.
"The Long Night comes again, and may the gods help us all."