Robb sat back on the bench, staring at his brother. Currently, it was just he, his father, and Bran alone in the mess hall of Castle Black. The northern king and the majority of his kingsguard had finished the journey to Castle Black while Brienne had taken the men of the Crownlands to the Nightfort where the King's Company were hard at work helping finish the repairs.
Robb hated parting with his commander. He had come to always expect Brienne to be by his side, protecting his back, but he also knew that Brienne was the least superstitious of the group and would be the best person for keeping the men in line as they settled down in the Nightfort, a place that was riddled with ghost stories.
"Repeat that. I think I misunderstood." Robb asked. "You want to use me as BAIT!"
Father gave Bran an 'I told you so' look, but the younger man ignored it as he kept his gaze on Robb.
"You're not bait," Bran sighed. "You're a beacon."
"I'm a worm on a lure." Robb corrected. "Let's stick to the truth."
Bran rolled his eyes at his brother's metaphor. "Robb, you are what holds this army together."
"So I'm the glue now?"
"If that's the way you see it," Bran said, throwing out trying to reason with Robb. "Whatever you wish to call yourself is irrelevant. You are the linchpin of our entire defense and the enemy knows this. They will try to cut the head off the snake."
"Phenomenal," Robb muttered, running a hand through his hair. He looked at his father. "You approved of this, father?"
"Robb, I understand how you feel. I was similarly angered, but he made a convincing argument." Father explained. "You are the light that rivals the darkness of the Others. They will try to snuff you out. They're scared of you, Robb."
Robb raised his eyebrow and looked at Bran, who was reluctantly nodding.
"That's nice….I think." Robb said uncertainly.
"Robb, you're a manifestation of hope." Bran continued. "The Others want to extinguish all hope, and they will start with you."
"This works in our favor," Father said, leaning forward. "If the Others want to cut the head off the snake, then we can do the same to them."
Robb nodded, seeing the reasoning. If the Others want him dead, then they'll send their best warriors after him, including their leader. If Robb could surround himself with the best he had, he could end the war before it ever really begins.
"Who's their leader again?" Robb asked.
"A being called the Night King," Bran answered. "He's the last of the original Others created before the Age of Heroes. He's the one who has infected all of Craster's sons."
"Craster's sons?" Robb asked.
"Long story," Bran replied, waving aside the question. "The Night King's power flows through the other White Walkers, and such, the entire undead army."
"If he's gone, then so is the entire enemy army," Robb said, nodding. "You should have started with that."
Bran raised an eyebrow. "I would have gotten there sooner if you hadn't kept interrupting."
Robb snorted. "Point taken."
"Robb, there's also a problem with the Nightfort." his father said grimly.
The northern king shook his head. "Of course there is," he said ruefully. "What's wrong, besides the fact that it is infested with horror stories?"
"The stories are the problem, Robb." Father sighed. "Just as the Others will be attracted to you because you radiate hope, they will also be drawn to the Nightfort because it radiates…."
"Evil, I take it," Robb said, finishing the sentence. "Is that why I was assigned there?"
"You cancel out the darkness," Bran said simply.
Robb crossed his arms. "Well, all this sounds just great."
"Robb, if there was any other way we could do this, we would, but we can save the most lives this way," Father said.
"Aye, I know." Robb nodded. "I ride for the Nightfort in the morning. I'll give you a list of names. Can you ensure that they're sent to the Nightfort?"
"I can use the donkey system. It'll be quicker." Father replied, nodding. "Who do you need?"
Robb took a small moment to collect his thoughts before answering. He knew many people who would love to have by his side in a fight, but given his current predicament, he needed certain individuals.
"Yourself, Randyll Tarly, Lyonel Corbray, Jon, Brienne, and anyone who wields a valyrian steel weapon." Robb started.
"Alysanne Mormont carries Longclaw, her uncle's valyrian sword," Father suggested. "I believe Ser Harras, Lord Harlaw's nephew, carries a valyrian steel weapon as well."
"Them as well," Robb replied.
"What about Edric Dayne?" Bran offered. "He wields Dawn."
"He does!" Father said, shocked.
Robb looked at his father curiously. He knew that he fought Ser Arthur Dayne at the Tower of Joy, but his father looked pale when Bran mentioned the famous white sword. The young king marked it down as something to talk to his father about later.
"The blade is no stranger to the Others," Bran said. "The Green Man has already charged Edric Dayne with carrying it into battle."
"He's in the south," Robb said before nodding. "We will need to get a message to him and others."
"Like who?" Father asked.
"I need Oberyn Martell, Gendry Baratheon and that ancient axe he carries, Garlan, Ser Baelor, and their best warriors," Robb said. "As for those who are already here, I need Jaime Lannister and all of our best warriors from the North, the Riverlands, the Westerlands, and the Vale. Any that can be spared."
"Don't forget about the wildlings," Father said. "If you need every man you can get, then you need to use all your options."
"If Mance has warriors he can spare, I'll gladly take them," Robb answered.
Robb knew that he would be stripping many of the castles of their best commanders and warriors, but he refused to face the best the enemy could field without having the best of his own by his side.
"I will also need Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons," Robb added.
Father nodded. "She and Jon will return tonight. They've been scouting beyond the Wall for days now."
"Have we sent any other scouts?" Robb asked.
"The skinchangers among the wildlings have dispersed themselves along the Wall," Father explained. "Their abilities have helped us keep watch for the enemy."
"What about the giants?" Robb asked. "Didn't Mance bring them south?"
"He did," Father answered. "They've helped mainly with repairing the walls. We've also been using them to test the strength of the gates under the Wall."
The older man spread his hands wide. "We receive bushels of arrows and weapons of dragonglass daily. For hours, the men train and prepare. Daenerys brought five hundred Unsullied soldiers north and they have been training our men to fight like them. We're ready to fight now, and that's because of you."
"Being ready to fight and fighting are two different things, father." Robb countered. "But I see your point."
"You've done all you can, for now, Robb," Bran said impassively.
"Have I?"
"I hear the whispers of the Old Gods, Robb," Bran said with the ghost of a smile. "Trust me. You have."
Robb couldn't help but grin. "You have me there."
Line Break
Robb found his father atop the Wall later that night. He was wrapped in his cloak and staring out over the lands beyond the Wall, which looked to be nothing but a land covered with snow and shadow. There were no signs of any other color.
His father seemed to sense Robb's presence.
"You should be asleep," he said. "You have a long ride in the morning."
"I'll sleep soon," Robb promised, coming to stand beside his father. Ser Robar kept a respectful distance so that the father and son could speak in privacy.
"Have you noticed how Asha Greyjoy keeps her distance?" Father asked, trying to avoid the topic Robb wanted to talk about.
"I've spoken with her uncle about it," Robb grunted softly. "She's fine. Just knows her place."
"And the skagosi?"
"I've spoken with them and the hill tribes of the Vale," Robb said, cutting off the other topic he knew that his father wanted to go into. "What's your history with Dawn? When Bran mentioned it in the mess hall, you looked as if you had seen a ghost."
Father sighed and seemed to age ten years. Stress from years ago reappeared as his eyes took on a far-off look.
"After the battle at the tower, I returned the sword to Starfall," Father explained. "That was the last time I ever saw it again."
"But….?" Robb prompted.
Father shook his head. "That blade holds many bad memories for me, Robb. I can't think of it without smelling the blood and the roses. Without remembering the faint life in my sister's dying hand when she asked me to name her son." his head dipped until his chin touched his chest. "Ashara Dayne was the only other woman I have ever loved, and she threw herself from the tallest tower in Starfall when I delivered the news of her brother's death."
Robb laid a hand on his father's shoulder. He sympathized with the older man. Like Robb, he had entered manhood surrounded by death and war. He had lost two of his siblings, his father, and countless friends in that fateful year, and he had barely been twenty years of age when he had been forced to face off against one of the deadliest swordsmen of the century.
"I am sorry, father," Robb said quietly.
Father shook his head again and looked at his son. "It's alright Robb," he replied. "I don't have many good memories from that time in my life. There is nothing I can do about that but shoulder them and move on."
Father and son shared a long embrace before Robb eventually pulled back. The young king shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulder, burying his hands in the heavy fabric.
"I'll see at the Nightfort in a few days," Robb said.
"Aye, I'll be there," Father replied.
Robb nodded and began to head back towards the lift when a call from his father stopped him.
"Robb!"
The king of Westeros looked back over his shoulder. His father was smiling and had a proud look in his eye.
"Thank you, son."
Margaery Stark
Margaery laid still on her bed as Sam and his fellow maester, Amos, poked and prodded her stomach.
Amos was the archmaester of healing, as shown by the large silver ring he wore on his right hand. He was an older man, easily thrice the age of Sam, who was a little older than twenty. His head was bald with a few stray wisps of white hair. His face was heavy and full of age lines, and his eyes were usually squinting, probably a product of years reading books combined with the effects of age. However, the man was remarkably kind and gentle as well as sharp. Age might have wilted his body, but the same could not be said for his mind.
After an hour of Amos working and Sam taking notes, the older man straightened up and grabbed his walking staff, leaning on it.
"You were right to seek guidance, your grace," Amos said, nodding slowly as he spoke. "I am pleased to say that you are indeed with child."
Margaery's grandmother, who was sitting on the other side of the bed, leaned forward in her chair.
"Archmaester, my granddaughter deals with quite a bit of stress. She is running a kingdom unassisted by her husband," she commented. "What would you recommend?"
"Stress is usually not good for any pregnancy," Amos replied with the confidence of a man who knew what he was talking about. "I cannot order the queen to step away completely, but I would suggest that she lean more on her council and the Lord Hand in the coming months."
"Grandmaester, would you summon Lord Tyrion?" Margaery's grandmother asked although it came out more like an order rather than a request.
Samwell bowed slightly before exiting the room.
"Archmaester," Grandmother continued. "I assume that you will be staying here in the capitol, and assisting the queen through her pregnancy."
Amos nodded. "I plan to, my lady. Maester Samwell is very bright, a rising star if there ever was one, but there is still much he must learn, and helping a lady through a pregnancy is a matter better learned through experience rather than trial and error." the older man explained. "The queen is thankfully a very healthy young lady, but with such an important individual, a more experienced hand is often preferred."
"As it is here," Grandmother agreed. "If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask."
Amos bowed. "Thank you, my lady."
The door opening stopped the conversation as Tyrion entered, followed by the grand maester. The Hand looked as if he already knew what was happening, which wasn't a surprise to Margaery since the stunted lord had a knack for asking questions and a low tolerance when it came to waiting for answers.
"My lady, archmaester," Tyrion said, addressing Amos and Lady Olenna before addressing the queen. "Your Grace, I believe congratulations are in order."
Margaery smiled. "Thank you, Lord Tyrion."
"Lord Tyrion, we have asked you here to inform you that the queen will slowly be detaching herself from ruling the realm." the Queen of Thorns explained, getting right to the point. "Archmaester Amos here says that stress is not good for a pregnant woman. I do not need to tell you that the crown comes with stress."
"Of course," Tyrion said. "If you wish, your grace, the council can meet in the morning and you can share the news. We can also begin preparing for the future so that, regardless of who rules in your place, you and your husband's plans continue on schedule."
"That is a fine idea, Tyrion," Margaery said with a smile. "As always, your ability to see three steps ahead is amazing."
Tyrion returned the smile. "I have good ideas every once and a while." the stunted man turned to leave before stopping and turning on his heel. "Oh, and your grace. It seems as if some of Thoros's captains have come to the city, leading some of the men of the company."
Margaery raised an eyebrow. She had thought that the entire company would have accompanied Robb north to fight the White Walkers. Nevertheless, she nodded.
"Do they wish to see me?"
Tyrion shook his head. "No, your grace. They asked for permission for their men to camp outside the city walls."
"Of course," Margaery said with a wave of her hand. "Give the captains rooms inside the Red Keep, please. If they have been left here in the south, then they will have months of hard work ahead of them as they stave off the bandits and thieves."
Tyrion bowed his head. "As you say, your grace."
Jon Stark
The land beyond the Wall was trapped in a constant blizzard. Harsh northern winds rushed south, snapping branches and sending swirls of snow up into the air, adding yet another layer of thick white dust. It was impossible to see more than three or four feet in any direction. The ground was a thick layer of snow as far as the eye could see, and the sky was nothing but a blanket of clouds that were a varying shade of grey. There was little color except for white and grey. Even trees had lost their color and were just dead husks of grey wood burdened by snow.
Jon leaned over Rhaegal's green neck. It served two purposes. The first was to keep himself warm. Icy winds whipped around him, feeling as if ice was forming on his bones, and his thick furs and leathers did little to help him on the back of a dragon hovering through the air. Jon had quickly learned that dragons radiated heat, which was helpful in many scenarios such as this.
But Jon was also leaning down to get a better look at the ground. He and Daenerys weren't far from the Wall. A horse could make it in a few days of hard riding and a man could make it in a week if he walked. Atop the dragons, they had made it in a few hours and still had plenty of time to get back to the Wall.
Through the snow and dead trees, Jon could make out a horde of undead shambling forward. Their old bones, torn garments, and fiery blue eyes made it easy for Jon to see them against the snowy ground. Just as his uncle had predicted, there were thousands of them if not hundreds of thousands. Like an unending sea of wights.
There weren't just men, women, or children either. He also caught sight of undead bears, wolves, shadowcats, and giant ice spiders. All were in varying states of decay, like the humans, former humans, they marched beside. What worried Jon even more was the giant wight that wadded through the ranks. A massive skeleton with a blue fire burning in its eye sockets wearing rotting furs from the neck down.
What gave Jon at least a little bit of hope was that the snow the wights were trying to get through was giving them problems. For a normal-sized man or woman, the snow came up to their waists, and the undead children were forced to crawl to get over it.
"Come, Rhaegal," Jon said, pulling the reins and turning the green and bronze dragon back towards the Wall, which loomed in the distance, looking as if it were touching the clouds.
After an hour of flying, Daenerys and Drogon joined them, flying just above Jon and Rhaegal. They flew in forced silence for the remainder of the flight. Because of how fast they were moving and the howling wind, there was no chance any of their words could breakthrough.
Jon and Daenerys had been flying over the lands beyond the Wall for nearly two weeks now, searching for any signs of the enemy. Although today was the first day Jon had seen the enemy, he had learned something else long before today: The cold would be just as deadly as the army of undead.
Not only would it be a hindrance trying to get any sort of supplies overland, regardless of how many wildlings his father had on the King's Road, well over three feet was falling a day, but the men defending the Wall have not faced the worst of the storm. It would be demoralizing and any sense of warmth would be a far-fetched illusion. Even the hardy northerners that had accompanied his father to the Wall would have a tough time handling the conditions.
Jon shuddered and prayed for those who came from south of the Neck. They were about to fight in the worst elements nature had to offer.
Eventually, the two dragonriders crossed over the top of the Wall, receiving a few waves from the men standing guard at the top, and flying about a few miles south to a hot spring that they had spotted as they flew north from Dragonstone. As soon as the dragons landed, Jon and Daenerys slid out of their saddles, shaking the snow from their furs.
"Did you see them?" Jon asked as they walked towards the steaming pool of water, pulling off their gloves so that they could warm their hands.
"I saw them," Daenerys replied grimly as they bent down and put their hands in the water, feeling warmth begin to spread to the rest of their bodies. "Thank the gods your brother managed to support the defenses here with men from the south."
"We should have more coming too. Men from the Stormlands, Dorne, and the Reach." Jon added. "But they won't be prepared to fight in these conditions."
Daenerys shrugged. "We don't have a choice. Even if there was a place south of the Neck we could form a defense, that storm will still hit us hard."
"There's no better defense than the Wall," Jon said with a shake of his head. "It's our best chance to protect the realm. Without it, we're just delaying the inevitable. Some castles will be able to hold out, but not for long."
"There's that northern optimism that I've grown used to." Daenerys joked. "Robb had it too. Ser Jorah still shows signs of it."
Jon sniffed and cupped the water in his hands, bringing up and dipping his face in it. His nose felt like an icicle and he could feel flakes of snow and ice in his beard and eyebrows.
"I leave optimism for Robb. That's a problem for a king to handle. I state the truth." Jon said finally, wiping the warm water from his face so that it didn't freeze. "The Wall was made for defending Westeros, no, the world from the Others."
"Will it hold?" Daenerys asked.
"The Wall?" Jon asked. "I'm not sure."
Daenerys frowned. "You just said that it was made for defending against the Others?"
"It is, but you must remember that it was created by Bran the Builder after the Long Night. It's never actually been used against them." Jon explained. "This will be its first true test."
Jon flicked the water from his hands before wiping them dry on the inside of his cloak. The last thing he needed was water droplets turning to ice and freezing into his skin inside his gloves. As he got back to his feet, he inadvertently looked north, wondering if he could see the oncoming storm.
He couldn't.
"Let's get back to Castle Black and tell my father what we know," Jon said. "War is on our doorstep."