Daenerys's funeral had been a small, quiet affair close to the edge of the forest, away from the prying eyes of the sentries, with only a few people in attendance. Her pyre had been put together by Ser Jorah alone as the northern knight was too lost in his own grief to accept anyone else's help, including Ser Barristan's. It had taken him an entire day to do it, but Ser Jorah had been adamant about doing it himself. Neither Jon nor Ser Barristan desired to fight with the man as he mourned.
Even hours after her death, the northern knight's eyes were rimmed with red from his tears. Jon knew that the northman was devoted to his mistress, but it had been Ser Barristan who had explained that Ser Jorah had always felt a love for Daenerys that went beyond protector and mistress. Daenerys had never reciprocated his feelings, and Ser Jorah's never died.
"Ser Barristan, do you have any final words for her?" Jon asked quietly as the three men stood a little distance from the pyre. Robb, Father, and Prince Oberyn stood a little further behind them, present, but allowing the three men to grieve together.
"She had much more to give," the old knight replied sadly. "It's a terrible loss that such a good soul has been lost."
"Aye, it is," Jon agreed. "Ser Jorah?"
The former lord of Bear Island shook his head. "I've already said what I've wanted to say. It's time for her to be put to rest."
"Do you have anything you'd wish to say, Jon?" Ser Barristan asked.
Jon folded his hands in front of him and gazed at the corpse of his cousin. Despite his initial feelings for the girl and House Targaryen as a whole, Jon found himself admiring the person she had been. She had been brave and courageous in the face of danger, kind and caring when speaking with anyone who crossed her path, and showed great fortitude and wisdom when dealing with adversity. She may not have been the perfect person, showing signs of stubbornness, naivety, and brashness, but her intentions had always been true.
Jon still viewed himself as a Stark, he always would, but Daenerys had shown him that being a Targaryen did not mean that you were mad or intent on conquering. She showed him that being a Targaryen came with its own kind of honor and prestige as descendants of Valyria.
"She did what Robb believed that she could," Jon said finally. "She helped ease the stain that her father and others had left on the realm. All that anyone can hope to do is follow her example. Help those who need it, show kindness and generosity whenever possible, and try to leave this world a better place than before."
"Well said," Ser Barristan said with approval.
Jon looked at Rhaegal. The green and bronze dragon had spent the majority of the time comforting his brother as Drogon dealt with his wound. The two had been inseparable. It had taken all of Jon's efforts to bring the dragon to the funeral so that he could light the pyre.
"Dracarys," Jon ordered.
Rhaegal whimpered, but did as Jon said. Soon, the stack of wood and the Lady of Dragonstone was consumed in dragon fire. Neither Jon, nor Ser Barristan or Ser Jorah, could look away from the fire, despite the uncomfortable heat that came from it. This would be their final view of the woman each of them admired, and in Ser Jorah's case, loved.
"Will she be the last?" Ser Jorah asked quietly after nearly half an hour. He looked at Jon. "Will she be the last Targaryen?"
Jon looked away from the fire and at the northern knight. There was a note of challenge in the man's voice that Jon certainly noticed. Ser Jorah didn't want the house of the woman he loved to be gone. He probably believed that if House Targaryen could go on, then so could Daenerys's legacy.
Jon hated shattering that belief.
"Yes, she was," Jon said quietly. "I mean to stay as Jon Stark, legitimized son of Eddard Stark."
"Then Daenerys died for nothing, and you disrespect her even now," Ser Jorah spat. "She welcomed you as family, damn it!"
"Ser Jorah, we can not tell Jon who he should or should not be," Ser Barristan said, trying to calm his fellow knight, but to no avail.
"He will let a great and noble house crumble to dust just because he was raised in the North," Ser Jorah growled. "Rhaegar Targaryen was your father, boy. You are Jon Targaryen."
"Are you saying that to honor Daenerys or to replace her?" Jon asked evenly, stopping Ser Jorah's rant in its tracks. The northern knight glared at Jon for a second, too furious to speak, before taking one final look at the burning embers of the pyre and storming off.
"I am sorry, Jon," Ser Barristan sighed. "Ser Jorah truly did love the girl."
"I know," Jon said as Robb and Prince Oberyn approached. "I do not blame him for his anger. He is confused and grieving. I take nothing that he says to heart."
"Thank you," Ser Barristan said. "I will try to calm him down. I know it hasn't been said yet, but thank you for saving her. She deserved a proper farewell."
"Of course," Jon said easily.
The old knight looked at Jon for a second, as if contemplating something, before turning towards Robb and Prince Oberyn, bowing to them, and trudging back towards the castle. Rhaegal was the next to leave, gliding back to where his brother was huddled in their shelter. The spear had been taken from his side and the team of maesters had attempted to bandage the wound to the best of their abilities.
"What was Ser Jorah angry about?" Robb asked curiously.
"They were the words of a man who did not know what he was speaking about," Jon said simply, waving aside Robb's question. "Prince Oberyn, I know that Daenerys is related to you through her brother. I am sorry if her loss has caused you any sorrow."
The dornishman looked at the embers before shaking his head. "Truth be told, White Wolf, I did not know her as well as perhaps my brother did. From what I understood, she was a good person, and for that reason alone she will be missed," he said. "However, the king has told me that you are related to Daenerys just as much as I was, if not more so."
Jon looked at Robb, who merely shook his head. "Prince Oberyn had figured it out by the time he confronted me. There was no point lying."
Jon nodded slowly and looked at Prince Oberyn. "Then you must hate me."
"I should," Prince Oberyn agreed, "but I haven't made up my mind yet."
Jon shared a look with his brother, who merely shook his head, telling Jon to wait for the prince's explanation.
"For a long time, I was under the delusion that Lyanna Stark somehow seduced Rhaegar away from my sweet sister," Oberyn explained. "I was angry at both Rhaegar for staining Elia's honor and with Lyanna for going off with a married man. However, my anger had met its match when the king told me of the actions taken by Rhaegar against the Stark girl." the dornishman shook his head in disgust. "I am disappointed that Lyanna Stark was so easily persuaded by the Bard Prince, but rape is inexcusable in the eyes of the dornish. I remember seeing Lyanna Stark at Harrenhal. She was pretty for a northerner, but I still believed her to be a child. We do not condone hurting children in Dorne."
"Our father didn't condone the murders of Elia or her children," Jon said. "He felt, like you, that Tywin and the Mountain needed to be punished."
"You do not need to justify the actions of Ned Stark," Prince Oberyn said with a wave of his hand. "Unlike Aegon, I knew that the North had a just reason for going to war against the Mad King. The death of family must always be avenged, no matter what. Ned Stark's reactions to the murders were also well known in Sunspear, and we respected that he was man enough to speak out against them, unlike his bullish friend."
"The Mad King did call for Robert's head as well," Robb grunted. "Robert had some reason to fight. Lyanna was also his betrothed."
Oberyn looked at the king. "The Stag King called my niece and nephew dragonspawn and allowed murderers to walk free. I also believe that if a man cannot keep his betrothed from running off with another man, what does that say about him?"
Robb nodded slightly. "Fair point."
"Now to you, Jon," Prince Oberyn said, turning back to him. "Are you a Stark or are you a Targaryen?"
"Does it matter?" Jon asked curiously, although he had already made up his mind.
"To me, no," Oberyn said with a shrug. "I have no fear of you taking the Iron Throne. You clearly love your brother and family. Only a fool would believe that you want the throne and intend on rebuilding the Targaryen Dynasty. Unfortunately, there are many fools in the world."
"All I have ever wanted to do is serve my brother and help my family," Jon said. "I know who my parents are, and I'm sure after the Long Night, many others will know as well. But I consider my parents to be the ones who raised me, fed me, and sheltered me. Who protected me."
"Then you are Jon Stark," Oberyn said.
"Legitimized son of Eddard Stark, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North," Jon replied.
"You may also be the Prince that was Promised if the legends are true," Robb said with a slight grin.
Jon rolled his eyes and gave his brother an annoyed look. "Rhaegar misinterpreted the prophecy."
"Perhaps not," Oberyn mused. "I read that when I was at the Citadel, and my uncle also wrote to me about it. Heralded by a bleeding star, born amidst salt and smoke, and he would have a Song of Ice and Fire."
"A savior that would save the world from a great darkness," Robb added before pointing towards the Wall. "If the enemy on the other side of that wall isn't great, I'm not sure what is."
"Ned Stark did manage to defeat Arthur Dayne when he went after his sister," Oberyn said thoughtfully. "A bleeding star, perhaps."
"Ice and fire. Stark and Targaryen," Robb said.
"A fine argument, but I was not born amidst salt or smoke," Jon pointed out defensively. "And if nothing else, you, Robb, are saving the realm from the great darkness. You rallied the Seven Kingdoms to defend the Wall. I've done nothing but play my part, as are many others."
"Perhaps not literal smoke or salt, Jon Stark, but do not forget what was happening when you were born," Prince Oberyn countered. "The realm was in tatters. Villages were nothing but smoking ruins and tears were cried by all the mothers, sisters, daughters, and wives who lost their menfolk in the war."
"There, you see!" Robb said.
Jon frowned. "It's a coincidence."
Robb shook his head. "I told you that you were destined for greatness, Jon, but if you're too stubborn to see it then I have nothing to say. Your birth aligns with a great prophecy, you ride a bloody dragon, and you still stand there in defiance."
"Yes," Jon said simply.
"I give up," Robb sighed.
Oberyn had been watching the conversation between brothers with some amusement before he glanced towards the castle.
"We have company," he said, changing the topic.
Jon looked over at the Nightfort. A small army was approaching the fortress, and while the men were bundled from head to toe in furs, the banners they carried were unmistakable. The majority of the men were on foot, carrying banners of a prancing black stag on a field of gold. The group of horsemen leading the army carried a banner that made Jon grin.
It was a leaping black trout.
"It's the Blackfish," Jon said. "It seems help has finally come."
"And none too soon," Robb said, his tone unmistakably grim. "Come, let's go see our new guests and welcome them to our frozen hell and the demons that lay beyond."
Ser Brynden Tully
Brynden knew that he was not walking into a particularly happy environment. These men were fighting the living dead and legends were just on the other side of the giant wall of ice. Combined with the cold weather and the near-constant darkness, it was enough to keep any man in a foul mood.
But the mood around the Nightfort made it seem like the war was over and the men were just waiting to die.
"Ser Brynden," Ned said, walking up to the aging knight.
"Ned," Brynden greeted, dismounting and clasping arms with the lord of Winterfell before the two friends embraced.
Even though they had seen each other almost two years ago at the Battle of King's Landing, there had still been plenty of years where they had not seen each other or exchanged letters. Ned had been busy raising his family and ruling the North while Ser Brynden had been active as the Knight of the Gate, protecting the Vale and clashing with the Mountain Tribes.
"Your men are welcome," Ned said kindly. "You have brought the men of the Stormlands. There's no tougher bunch."
"I thought you'd want the best," Ser Brynden said with a grim smile. "Is the king in a meeting? Forgive me, but I was expecting him to greet me."
"Normally, he would," Ned nodded. "However, he and Jon are currently occupied with something. Come, I'll tell you over a tankard."
The two men made their way off to one side of the castle, where Ned ushered the old knight into a single room that held a few chairs, a desk, and some other wooden furniture. A large round table was set on the other side of the room, and a large map of the Wall was pinned to the table with daggers.
As Ser Brynden took a seat, Ned grabbed them both tankards of ale before sitting across from him.
"This is Robb's office as well as the meeting chambers for his commanders," Ned explained.
"How has the war been going?" Ser Brynden asked. "Your wife tells me that he sent for wildfyre."
Ned nodded. "Yes, but it is fruitless now. The war started off rather well. It took three months for the wights to finally break through the first gate. They charged the Wall every night for three months, and for three months, hundreds of the buggers were destroyed and we never lost a single man."
"When did the shit happen?" Brynden asked, knowing full well that no one ever goes through a war without losing a single soldier.
"After they breached the first gate, we found out that the magic that had helped build the Wall kept the Others and their minions from crossing it," Ned explained, cradling his tankard in his hands. "Of course, we knew that they wanted to break the enchantment."
"So they came from the south," Brynden said. It was only logical.
"Aye, they did, and the men here got their first taste of battling wights," Ned said grimly. "We won, but it came at a cost. The wights came in constant waves and were much deadlier than even the wildest animal. I wouldn't doubt that many of the men who survived still have nightmares about that day."
"I assume that a White Walker was leading this southern force," Brynden said, taking a drink.
"Two. Lord Tarly and Robb killed the first one while the second was killed by the Green Man, but only after it had broken the magic that protected the Wall," Ned answered. "Ser Garth of the Kingsguard was lost, as was the Green Man, and Ser Robar and hundreds of others were wounded. We were reeling, and that night, the enemy came again in full force, free to enter the tunnel and continue their siege of the Wall."
"How many wights have you destroyed so far?" Brynden asked curiously.
"Hundreds of thousands, millions perhaps," Ned answered. "But the Others not only have more than enough of their servants to throw at us, but they have no care about how many they lose. They will unleash their hordes on us, and no matter how many die to arrows, oil, and dragon fire, they continue. It's enough to make any man doubt his courage."
"Dragon fire," Brynden nodded. "How has that experiment worked out?"
"It was excellent," Ned sighed. "The dragons killed hundreds a night, usually destroying the worst of the enemy, such as giants and spiders and others. That was until Daenerys Targaryen was killed and that black dragon of hers was injured."
"Killed?" Brynden said, leaning forward. "When?"
"Just last night," Ned said sadly. "Jon and his dragon, Rhaegal, managed to pull the girl and her dragon from the battlefield, but it was too late. The black dragon is grounded for some time and you passed the small funeral that was held for the girl."
Brynden nodded slowly. "How bad are things, Ned?"
"Could be worse," Ned shrugged. "The second gate is still holding, but it will only last for another week or so. The ground in front of our third and final gate is littered with traps, but it won't do much but save us a couple of arrows. We still have Jon and his dragon, thankfully, but one dragon is not the same as two."
"Does Robb have a plan?" Brynden asked.
"He's working on one," Ned said vaguely. "While he does that, the castle is preparing for the final battle."
"The enemy will take another three months to get through this last gate, I assume," Brynden said.
"That's the hope," Ned replied. "Once that last gate is down, that's it. We'll have no way to plug the gap and there's no other place in Westeros where we can hold them back. We can't fall back, Brynden. The Wall is our best, and only, hope."
Brynden looked at Ned for a long moment before tipping his head back and finishing his drink in a single action. When he finished, he rose to his feet and moved towards the pitcher of ale.
"We're going to need more ale," he grunted.