"I want an explanation and I want one now," Margaery ordered as soon as Tyrion entered her study.
It was the morning after the failed takeover. The heads of Ser Osney Kettleblack, Hugh Blount, and Marit Trant decorated the entrance to the Red Keep. After Kettleblack's humiliating defeat to Ser Loras, Blount had been slain by Ser Hobber before the Hound practically slaughtered Trant with a single blow. Their men had been rounded up and disarmed with the captains being questioned by Reed. If the captains knew anything about the attack, then the spymaster would find out about it.
Tyrion waddled over to the chair across from her and took his seat, feeling almost like a boy who had been caught doing something he hadn't supposed to. He took a moment to compose his thoughts before finally replying to the enraged queen.
"Alec Reed discovered their plot around the time Benjen Stark revealed his wight to the court," Tyrion explained. "He had found that they, and others, were allies to the High Sparrow."
"How did they become acquainted?"
"Lynderly and Kettleblack were associated with Littlefinger while Trant and Blount were loyal to Cersei," Tyrion answered. "Somehow, the High Sparrow figured this out and convinced them to join him."
"What else?"
"Their plan was to disguise themselves as men from the King's Company to gain access to the Red Keep before going after you, your kingsguard, and the rest of your allies in the castle," Tyrion said. "Reed made myself and a few others aware of this and we have been planning for their arrival for months."
"Why was I not made aware of this?" Margaery demanded. "It has been months since Benjen Stark came to the city. Why am I learning about this now?"
Tyrion wanted to fall through the floor. The queen was genuinely angry and that made the small man very worried. When men like Robert Baratheon were angry, they would do something brash but predictable. When someone as cunning as the queen was angry, she was a hundred times more deadly because she wouldn't do anything brash or predictable.
"We did not want to worry you, your grace," Tyrion sighed. "All we had to go on was what Master Reed had overheard when he spied on them. Our plan of capturing them in the act was bold and the last thing we wanted was for your reputation to be tarnished by our underhanded tactics."
Margaery glared at him for a long moment before she leaned forward and pointed at him.
"Listen closely, Tyrion, because I will not repeat myself. This is the last time you or Reed or anyone does nonsense like this again," Margaery said, her tone slow, clear, and full of authority. "I am not some maiden in need of saving, nor do you have to protect my innocence. I am more than capable of defending myself and my family. Do not forget who my grandmother is."
Tyrion nodded. "Yes, your grace."
Margaery glared at him for a little while longer before continuing. "Is there anyone else I should know about who would like to harm me or my child? I've grown quite frustrated with all the attempts."
Tyrion shook his head. "Kettleblack and the others had a few other allies, but they're either dead or have given up. The few in the Reach were killed after they kidnapped the Green Man and those in the Riverlands seemed to have given up after the death of the High Sparrow."
"If there are some, there are bound to be others," Margaery said. "I want Reed to look into every lord that didn't go with the king. Start in the Crownlands and have him make his way north into the Riverlands and the Vale. I'll send a raven to my brother and ask him to do the same in the Reach."
"Yes, your grace," Tyrion said, "and for what it's worth, I am sorry that we never told you about Trant, Kettleblack, Blount, or Lynderly."
"When Sansa told me that you and Reed had discovered a plot on my life, I was furious," Margaery said. "It was only after the trial that I realized something."
"What would that be, your grace?"
"Reed is too good at what he does to not have known that Kettleblack and the others were fake, and the plan of capturing them in the act was exactly the sort of thing you would have learned from your father," Margaery explained with a knowing smile. "As I've said, do not forget who my grandmother is."
Jon Stark
Jon could feel it. The anxiety, the tension, the nervousness, but most of all, he could feel the fear. It was as thick as an oak tree and as just as palpable. There was no hiding it. The soldiers who were strewn across the courtyard, working on weapons or armor, kept glancing around, looking as frightened as rabbits. Even battle-hardened veterans looked ready to flee at a moment's notice.
Jon couldn't blame them. It was one thing to march north and feel courage knowing that you would be one of the saviors of the realm. It was truly a storybook scenario. However, now that these men were forced to face an ancient enemy that had once been used to scare them as children, their heroic dreams had abandoned them.
The storm that he and Daenerys had flown through had hit them the day after the Others had left their grisly message in the snow for Robb. The snow had been so bad that Robb had been forced to assign two groups, five men each, to constantly shovel the snow out of the courtyard. Otherwise, it would have been impossible to fight in three feet of snow. The wind was like an axe blade, shearing through whatever protection the men were wearing and chopping at their bones with its icy chill.
Jon felt for the knights who had accompanied Robb north. As with any war they fought in, they had brought with them heavy plate armor over chainmail and boiled leather. It had taken a week for most of them to dump most of that and garb themselves in thick furs, leathers, and chainmail. It was certainly far from knightly armor, but it was much more practical given the conditions.
"White Wolf." Jaime Lannister said, leaning against the banister next to Jon.
"Jaime," Jon replied.
The former knight, like most men, had begun to grow a beard and mustache since arriving at the Wall. Coarse, dark blonde hairs covered his jaw and mouth, running up the side of his face to connect with his shaggy blonde hair. The differences between Jaime Lannister now and when Jon had first seen him at Winterfell years ago, clean-shaven with a thick mane golden-blonde hair, was like night and day.
"Your brother is full of surprises." Jaime continued, making idle conversation. There was nothing any of the defenders could do but wait.
Robb had made it clear at the meeting that morning that it would take some time, hopefully, for the enemy to make it past the three gates under the Wall. That time can be used to destroy as many of the buggers as possible with arrows, oil, and boulders. However, Jaime wasn't referring to that.
Just as Jon had predicted back on Dragonstone, many of the knights had rejected the idea of fighting in a shield wall with a spear instead of their sword. To them, their swords were a symbol of their knighthood. Spears were the weapons of peasants, wielded by peasants doomed to die in the wars of their superiors. Robb had been able to persuade them to fight in a shield wall in the fashion of the Unsullied by explaining that, firstly, spears tipped with dragonglass were much more effective for killing wights and secondly, that Robb would be taking his place front and center in the battle line alongside them.
"Does he truly intend to fight on the front lines?" Jaime asked.
"It wouldn't be his first time," Jon grunted. "He did so at the Battle of High Heart."
Jaime nodded. "My father led his men with an iron fist. He commanded with fear, much of it coming from his reputation of ruthlessness and the fact that he commanded the loyalty of the Mountain," he explained. "If anyone had told him that the love of soldiers for their leader would one day best him in battle, he would have laughed and had the man hung."
"May I offer some advice?" Jon asked.
Jaime gestured for Jon to continue.
"I learned early in the war to stop wondering what Robb can and cannot do," Jon said. "Once he sets his mind to something, there's nothing that will keep him from accomplishing it."
Jaime nodded slowly. "In the south, no one ever who they say they are. I thought your father and brother were too naive, too simple in their approach, to survive in the south."
"You weren't exactly wrong about my father." Jon sighed.
"Old dog, new tricks," Jaime said with a shrug. "Your brother has proven that he doesn't have to fall into the pit of politics and back-stabbing to survive in the south. He's done a remarkable job of adapting while still retaining that infectious honor that you Starks are infatuated with."
"He has good people around him," Jon said. "Your brother being one of them."
"I will give Robb Stark credit for many things, but making Tyrion his Hand was the best decision he ever made." Jaime agreed. "People doubt my brother because of his appearance. With some, he's had to prove that he's more than his size using….less than kind tactics. But at his core, he's a good man."
"I believe you," Jon said. "He once said to me that he has a soft spot in his heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things."
"Did he also mention that all dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes?" Jaime asked.
Jon smiled slightly. "He did after I called after him, demanding to know if he knew what it meant to be a bastard."
"If you hadn't already learned by now, my brother always has an answer," Jaime chuckled. "It infuriated my father to no end."
"Do you miss him?"
"Miss who?"
"Your father? Tywin?"
Jaime scratched his beard. "I respected him, but I don't think I loved him. Tyrion once told me that you don't experience true loss until you lose something you love more than yourself. I've only experienced that once, and it wasn't because of my father."
Jon wisely let the conversation end there as the two men fell into a comfortable silence as they continued to watch the soldiers prepare for battle. Jon still found it odd that a man whom he had once hated, who once tried to kill both his brother and father, was now an ally to them all. He had thrown away his arrogance and pride, becoming a more humble, pleasant man, but no less deadly with a blade. He was a man Jon wouldn't mind fighting side-by-side with.
"You remind me of him," Jaime said.
Jon didn't need to ask whom Jaime was talking about. With every man he came across who knew his father, his true father, they all said the same thing. Jon had always cut them off before they spoke anymore. Now, since death was just outside the giant wall of ice, Jon wanted to know why.
"How so?" Jon replied.
"Rhaegar was noble, valiant, and honorable," Jaime said. "He was determined to do what was right and never thought to shirk his duty. He was a quiet man who wasn't fond of war or fighting, despite his great skill with both blade and lance. He preferred to read or play his harp. Ser Barristan once told me a story of how he had sneaked away from the Red Keep and played for hours in a tavern on Eel Alley."
"That sounds all well and good, Jaime, but it doesn't change the fact that he forced himself on my mother." Jon countered respectfully. "Surely you understand that one bad deed does not outweigh all the good you have done before."
Jon tried to lighten the blow, but even he could tell that it hit Jaime deep. The former knight took a long moment before finally replying. When he spoke, there was no anger nor threatening tone. He was composed and surprisingly understanding.
"Yes, I know," Jaime said. "To say that you remind me of Rhaegar is not the same as saying that you will do as he did. What Rhaegar did to Lyanna Stark was wrong, just as wrong as what his father did to her brother and father or what Connington tried to do to your brother and nephew."
Jon was about to respond when Daenerys appeared at his side. She did not wear armor, but instead wore thick furs of a snow bear, courtesy of Mance Rayder. She also did not need to wear any armor because Robb was adamant that she would not be taking any part in the actual close fighting. Her companions; Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, and Grey Worm would be fighting for her.
As would her dragons.
"Jon, they're here."
Robb Stark
Robb knelt on the icy wood of the platform, one hand gripping the hilt of Claw while the other kept the edges of his cloak pulled around his arms. The image in front of him was a nightmare. There was no other word for it. It wasn't an army or even a horde of undead. It was an endless sea of wights that stretched as far and wide as the eye could see.
Just as Jon had reported, undead animals and giants marched among their ranks, though the vast majority were the corpses of men, women, and children.
The young monarch had seen his fair share of battles. The Battle of King's Landing had consisted of nearly a hundred and fifty thousand soldiers, yet that number seemed like nothing compared to the sheer size of the enemy host. Robb had sixty thousand warriors defending the Wall, almost six times more men than the strength of the Wall during the time of Aegon's Landing. Another thirty thousand were still to reach the Wall, but after actually seeing the enemy, it didn't seem like it would be enough.
Jon knelt beside his brother, his face the same grim mask as Robb's.
"So this is it," Jon sighed quietly. "The Long Night has come."
Robb nodded. "Aye, it seems it has."
It was only the two brothers at the top of the Wall. The rest of Robb's war council was down below, marshaling the men for battle and sending messages to the rest of the castles via the donkey system, or the 'Ass Pass' as most called it.
Robb's council had been in a heated debate for days now about whether or not they should place archers at the top of the Wall. The logic of warfare dictated that archers take up positions at the top of any wall so that they could have an unimpeded view of the battlefield as they shoot. Archers take the high ground, that had always been the thinking.
But the Wall was several feet high and it just didn't make sense to some to put archers up there and send volley after volley of precious dragonglass arrows down to the ground if they weren't going to hit anything.
Eventually, Robb had been forced to make the final decision. Archers would be placed atop the Wall until the third and final gate was breached. Then, most of the archers would need to take up places on roofs and balconies so that they could assist with the fighting in the castle.
"Do you think it'll be enough?" Robb asked quietly. "All we've done. All that's happened? Do you think it'll be enough?"
"It'll have to be," Jon replied with a shrug. "We don't have a choice, Robb. Just like back in the Riverlands. You were the only option for our king, even though you were younger than those you fought against. The lords of the Riverlands and the North took a risk, and in the end, it worked out."
"So fighting is a risk?" Robb asked, confused.
Jon made a vague gesture with his hand. "What I'm saying is that all we've done―letting the wildlings through the Wall, seeking out the Green Man, having our uncle travel nearly the length of the continent carrying a piece of the living dead, listening to our brother who's not our brother…" Jon shook his head. "Robb, I learned how to ride a fucking dragon so that we can win. If we don't win, then no one can say that we didn't do everything we could."
"No one will say that," Robb nodded. "We'll all be dead."
The two brothers shared a look before cracking up into smiles. At the moment, neither cared that that was a massive army of undead below them or that they were severely undermanned. They were together and that's all that mattered to them.
Jon sighed and looked around. "I'll have to be getting back. Dany will give me one hell of a thrashing if I don't."
"How's that worked out?" Robb asked as the two brothers rose to their feet and began to make their way back to the cage.
Jon smiled slightly. "Not bad," he admitted. "I can't say she's like family…but you were right to spare her."
Robb nodded as they walked. "She's a good person. The world needs more people like that."
"Then we best keep your ass alive then," Jon joked as they reached the landing. Ten men were packed tightly into the cage, all armed with bows and arrows. As they got out, Jon got in, closing and locking the door. The two brothers gazed at each other through the bars.
"The next time I'll see you, you'll be atop a dragon," Robb said, waves of deja vu washing over him as he remembered the last time he said goodbye to his brother.
Jon smiled wryly. "You Starks are hard to kill."
Robb snorted. "That includes you now, so prove yourself right."
Their conversation was cut off as the winch began to lower the cage to the ground, leaving Robb alone with ten bowmen all waiting for orders. He looked at them, seeing the fear and anxiety in their eyes. They were scared, but none wanted to show it in front of the king.
Robb stepped forward and placed hands on the shoulders of the nearest man, looking directly at him.
"What's your name?"
"Kenneth, your grace," the man answered quickly, stuttering just a bit. "From Dadon's Mill in the Westerlands."
"Are you ready to put these buggers back to sleep, Kenneth?" Robb asked.
The man nodded quickly. "Ye…yes, your grace!"
"Come look at something, all of you," Robb said, throwing his arm around Kenneth and leading him over to a viewing platform where they could see the undead army in all of its frightening glory. Kenneth visibly grew paler as soon as he caught sight of them.
"Kenneth, are you a good shot?" Robb asked. The man struggled to find an answer before finally admitting:
"I guess."
Robb looked over his shoulder at the other men. "How 'bout the rest of you lot? Any dead shots?" He received a chorus of 'ehs' and 'umms' in response to his question. Robb smiled grimly at them.
"Look at them," he said, gesturing to the enemy. "I could drop a pebble of here and still hit one of them."
The men chuckled slightly, still afraid and nervous, but Robb's confident attitude and jokes were helping thaw the block of ice in their stomachs. There were farmers and laborers from the south, yet here they were, atop the wall while the king of Westeros spoke with them like they were all friends.
"Don't worry about aiming. Just pull back and let your arrows fly," Robb said, clapping Kenneth on the shoulder and turning his gaze back on the enemy. "Trust me, you'll hit something," he chuckled.
"And if we don't?" one man asked.
Robb turned around. He put his hands on his hips and grinned at the man.
"Then keep firing until you hit something," Robb said, patting the man on the shoulder as he walked away. "Oh, and try to avoid hitting the fire-breathing dragons. Believe it or not, they're on our side!"
The Green Man
While the defenders ran to their stations, there was one among them who strode out the south gate, his green cloak snapping in the wind. He trudged through the knee-high snow towards the little copse of trees about half a mile from the Nightfort. Waiting at it's edge was a giant man who carried another man on his back.
"Well met, Bran," Bryn said as he approached.
"Bryn Highsmith," the Three-Eyed Crow nodded back. "Our friends have been waiting."
"Well, they wait no longer," Bryn said as the trees came to life.
A hundred green men emerged from the shadows, carrying spears and daggers made from dragonglass and many had bows slung across their backs next to quivers filled with arrows tipped with dragonglass. They wore the same leather armor that they had worn at the Battle of the Gods Eye when they had faced down the High Sparrow.
Many of Bryn's men called greeting to him, happy to see their leader after months of travel and prayer. It had not been easy to assemble the rest of their force, but their perseverance had worked out in the end.
Instead of a dozen villagers, a hundred small, child-sized beings leaped from branch to branch on the trees above or rested on the shoulders of the green men as easily as birds. They wore cloaks made of leaves and carried the same weapons as Bryn's men. Their cat-like eyes blinked excitedly.
The Children of the Forest had come to fight alongside man once more.
"You have called us, Green Man of the Green Men," Leaf said, dropping onto a branch that was next to Bryn's head. "For too long, we have slept and dismissed the realms of men and their struggle for power. Now, we are needed once again to help man defeat the ancient enemy."
"Yes, you are," Bryn said, sweeping his gaze over his men and the Children. "You are all needed in this fight."
"Then it's time I met the Wolf King," Leaf said, leaping down from her branch onto Bryn's shoulder.
Horns sound from the fortress, and the echo of many more were carried on the wind from both the east and the west.
"It may take a moment," Bryn grunted. "It seems the enemy has reached him first."