Jon II
A slim piece of cotton was a poor way to hide from an ice storm, Jon thought as he winced of pain. Waking up was the least fun part of his day, more so with this terrible cold weather. His body had not yet recovered fully from the stabs of treachery he had received from his brothers. The wounds had given him the privilege to sleeping on a straw mat. Perhaps sleeping outside would have been better; the tent smelled of horseshit, though the horses were no where to be seen. Reed must have taken them outside.
The storm had been so fierce that it would have been dangerous to make more than one shelter, so the rest of his company slept soundly on the right floor of the big tent. All but Melissandre, Jon suspected that the red priestess never slept. He groaned looking at Pypar, Grenn and Devan sleeping soundly at the wet mud floor of the tent. It was time to rise and his weak body would have to endure. Like every morning since the betrayal, a jolt of pain gripped him as he moved to rise. Jon closed his eyes hardly and shut his jaw tight as to not scream.
At his side, Ghost red eyes looked at him with concern. They had come a long way Jon thought as he sank his head into the direwolf's fur inhaling the familiar sent of the animal. Ghost was made for the north and Jon was glad for his warmth. The biggest mistake he had ever made was to be apart from it. Now he kept the wolf so close that it felt as if they were brothers of the same litter. He would never make the same mistake again, he swore once they began their journey south. The wolf is me and I am the wolf, everywhere I go so must he.
As he made to stand, a sharp pain spread through his shoulder. It was a reminder of Bowen Marsh loyalty. His true brothers had repaid that with gratitude, the sword price. Jon was glad for it, if it wasn't for Pypar and Grenn, the red priestess would not been able to save him. Yet he suspected her, he had been mistrustful by nature before, but now… With his hand rested on top of ghost's head, he stared at her as if to find fault. – 'I am glad you have awaken Lord Snow, for the night is dark and full of terrors'.
Melisandre stood at the left corner of the tent next to the fire they had lit for the heat. Jon could see that her back was turned to him, long red hair falling gracefully on her naked shoulders, speckles of flames reflecting on her loose summer gown. She probably had stood all night looking at the pit of fire, and still was unwilling to avert her eyes from it. Resigned the young man shook his head, he hated magic, but he had learned the value of the priestess predictions. If fire provided her visions, she could stare at it forever if he cared.
Jon took a big breath and said firmly – 'It is time to be on our way. Do the flames favor us?' The red priestess gracefully turned around smiling softly at him. Kissed by fire, she was a beauty and even he could not deny it. Her voice was soft and exotic -'R'hllor favors you, the God will guide us through darkness. We walk towards it though; blood, swords and fear lay in our path.' Jon nodded as he took longclaw. It would be a long journey until he could claim his real name, he thought as he exited the tent.
Outside a cold breeze blew little snow flakes into his hair, Howland Reed stood by the tent sharpening his spear. Jon was pleased to get some fresh air; the crannogman was old and not strong built, but seemed to be faring well on the snow. He was glad he had come along, more then once he had fished them food with that spear. The trip would have been much worse without him. They have made good time and now were only a few hours ride of Winterfell he was sure. –'My lord" he said nodding at Reed as he went to look at the horses.
As Jon checked and feed the horses, Ghost nudged his leg with his nose. Howland's words still hang in his head, Lady Lyanna is your mother. It had been hard for him to grasp the concept; he felt anger and gratitude towards Ned. However, his fake father had kept him safe and now there were other graver things to think about. He had made a decision to journey south and clear the Bolton's scum from Winterfell. His own quest for finding dragons would have to wait.
He knew as long as Ramsay was warden of the North the realm would not be safe. Besides, Melisandre had seen that Stannis was still alive, and that Jon would save him by killing Ramsay. If he was a Targaryen, why had he no wish to fight for the Iron Throne, he wondered. Maybe because Stannis was a harsh king, but one that had done well at aiding the wall and defending the Kingdom. With the Baratheon at reign, the lands would have justice and order, much needed things at the time.
Lost within thought, Jon does not hear as Howland approaches him. He jumps up a little when he feels a hand at his shoulder. The lord of Greywatch burst up in laughter at that. Then says in amusement – 'There are some men you can trust, Targaryen boy'. Jon frowns he had to find a way to quit being so skittish or man would laugh at him for the rest of his life. He remembered Tyrion and wondered how the little dwarf was doing. He sadly answered the Lord – 'Most of those trustful men are either at this company or dead, but there are loads of men in this world and Winter is here.'
Reed smiled at him with his crocked teeth, - 'Eddard would have been proud, son'. Jon could not help but to smile back and re-praise him – 'Lord Stark always spoke of your worth, so I can only thank you my Lord'. They are pulled out of their conversation by the sound of Pyp and Grenn bickering, something about taking the tent down and not being a woman's servant. Jon sighed, being a leader was a pain in the butt. He could not see how people wanted this.
He was about to go reprimand the squabbling pair, when Howland Reed pulled him by his arm; -'Respect the men who follow you, for they have given you their lives'. Jon looked deep at the Lord of the Neck, his father… Not his father, Ned, he too had once told him that men do not die for strangers. It had been Jon's mistake to pull away from his friends, when he should have pulled them closer. He knew that now and hung his head agreeing with Reed's council.
Amazingly, Jon found himself in a spree towards his friends, his heart felling slightly lighter. He smiled as he took the mummer boy Pyp by surprise and raised him up by his legs. Startled, Grenn took a pole to the back of his knee and both of them fell to the ice floor. In a second the young men were laughing together, clothes wet and dirty from deep snow as they rivaled about who was faster to disarm the tent. Just like that they joked around as they went at the job and before long they were on their mounts.
They rode fast making the chilly wind cut all the way through their damp furs. Soon after a few hours of riding, they spotted smoke from afar and Jon's heart fluttered with the memory of home. For an instant he pressed his horse harder, his body filling with energy. Nevertheless, he knew they should slow down and make tactic arrangements. Danger lied before them at Winterfell, and from this point on only few of them could ride forth. Melisandre for instance would have to stay behind.
Jon raised his hand signaling his party to a sudden halt. Ghost who was running a bit farther to his left stopped just in clue and howled in longing. They were finally here. He could barely feel the cold as blood pumped wildly through his veins. The late commander dismounted and began to utter orders, -'Unload your horses, we take only but weapons. War lies ahead, Lady Melisandre is to stay behind. Devan will stay to guard her'. The young Seaworth lad was left with his mouth open. He was thankfull that Melissandre had stayed quiet during his orders.
Jon knew the kid was willing and excited with the prospect of slicing a couple heads to save King Stannis, but heart would not save him in a fight. The priest had pleaded to keep Davos son safe, she had clearly seen some use of him in her fires and Jon would abide. Promptly, Devan whined in complain – 'I am a young man grown, I would do better in a fight than that old wiry man. The king needs me'. Jon scowled him, –'A king has no need for whiners'. His companions laughed at that, but the kid did have a point, Howland would be at risk in this fight.
Lord Reed knowledge of his birth was too valuable; he too would have to stay behind. Jon remounted his horse while saying –'The old wiry man will also stay to guard both of you, I hope you learn his name and some manners prior to my return'. Howland chuckled, while he bowed his head to Jon – 'Send the wolf back if there is any trouble and I will scout for you. Be quick to kill Roose Bolton. Morning cames, we will head back to the wall'. Jon nodded as he spurred his horse forth.
As they rode hard in Winterfell direction, the late commander told Pyp to fall behind, –'If anything happens to us, disengage and follow Melisandre to safeness'. The mummer boy slowed his pace down and snickered, -'She does not need protection, she has R'hllor'. Grenn looked sideways to his friend worried. Jon could not blame him, two men riding fast towards tick battle, their scenario could be better. They had left the crannogmen back at the wall to defend it and keep traitors in check, but now Jon craved badly for their forces.
They pressed on hard. The dark smoke was coming from the keep, Jon saw. Hundred men were mashed together near the castle's left stone wall. Liquid acid came up his throat, he made himself swallow it and signaled Grenn to flank to the right. As they approached the fight from the side, the shouting grew louder and so did the smell of death. Jon's heart pumped wildly on its cage as he and his fellow pulled put their arches and stroke down their first Bolton men.
As more and more men fell down to the arrows, attention was soon drawn to their positions. After that it all became a blur of carnage, he could not distinguish a sound from another as he slashed his way with long claw. Running through the lines of enemies, he was almost inside the castle. As he sat on his horse shooting arrows, he had seen a hole on the wall and so he now aimed straight for the path with Ghost close behind biting off anyone near.
He could not see if Grenn was behind him, yet he hoped so. While Stannis men pressed on outside to take the small passage, Jon squeezed his way in. The surge of happiness that filled him was short ended as his horse took an arrow to the chest. Jon stumbled forward onto the stoned floor of the courtyard, still in fours he looked up towards the south gate. Anger burned him as he spotted Roose Bolton up at it, he wasn't paying attention as Ramsay's sword came at swiftly at his own head
He closed hi eyes for a second whilst slightly dodging sideways. He opened them as a metallic sound echoed in his head. Grenn had caught the blow with his sword. But Ramsay was forcing his sword frustrated, Jon saw as the bastard sunk a dagger into his brother torso. In a haze, he felt fire at his blood and came hard with longclaw at the Bolton's feet. The boy screamed bloody murder as he fell to the floor footless, hacking of his sword from side to side.
Grenn was on his feet, cleaning up his own coughed blood and snarling at Ramsay. Jon stood next to him with his sword extended in a defensive position, but looking up at Roose as he said: - 'Do not kill him, use him as a shield until Stannis breaks in'. He hoped Grenn was smart enough to follow his orders, but would not look back as he dodged inside the broken smith house. What had happened to his ancestor's castle? What of its people? What of his family? The Boltons would pay.
Quickly he ran towards the two soldiers who stood guard, his Valyrian steel broke the sword of one and slashed the middle of the other as if it was slicing through butter. Running he made his way up the logs upwards, while Ghost bite the Knight that was left standing. He looked down at the wolf, again he was leaving it behind, but Roose had to die and this was the only way.
He could hear the sound of the Baratheon forces inside Winterfell, when he reached Lord Bolton. The man was surrounded by guards and knights, a few of them broke off at the sight of Jon and Longclaw. Jon walked forward slowly staring at his objective, his sword ready for attack. Roose Bolton's eyes looked impassive as he said: - 'My fight is not with you Jon Snow. Who commands the wall? I remember well what your father did to deserters'.
Jon growled, the hairs of his arms rose up and he hissed thinking he was becoming more and more like a wolf each day. Roose had taken a step back. The wolf boy snickered at him and declared: -' I remember well what Eddard did to traitors' . The lord gave a discomforted laugh: - 'I still serve House Stark'. Walking back and forth on the narrow gate, Jon snorted: - 'Then call back your men and you will serve us at our graves.'
One of the knights pushed the Bolton forward, some shouted 'Give the boy a go!', others joked 'Let's see if he has milk or Stark blood at his veins!'. As the men laughed, Jon made his leap of faith, pushing forward he swung his sword sideways at Roose Bolton. The man blocked the blow, took a step back and began circling him saying: - We do not need to resort to that lad, go back to the wall and your insolence will be forgotten. I have no wish harm a Stark.
Jon's blood boiled and he roared as he struck once again, his sword sparkled as it scraped the stones of the gate. The Bolton had dodged to the side and was stroking him one, two, three, four times. All blows were stopped by longclaw, all but the fifth that him sharply bellow his elbow. Pain shot immediately, however before gasping of pain Jon sank his sword deep into the traitor side. Roose fell to the floor as Stannis Baratheon walked towards them.
The war had been won, the castle breached. Holding his wounded arm, Jon gazed down at the courtyard covered with snow, blood, dirt and bodies of men. The battle was over. The knights' who stood by Dreadfort were throwing their swords down as Jon drew near Lord Bolton and hacked his head off. After that his knees crumbled and he sat down at the floor his hands raised as to cover his face.