Chapter 8: The Long Road
The wheelhouse returned to King's Landing to let the royal family prepare clothes for the north before departing while Tywin continued to Casterly Rock, though Tyrion had opted to join them north. The king told them Barristan would be joining Jaime, Meryn Trant and Boros Blount who had been escorting the wheelhouse. His smile to Jon as he said it made it clear it had been for the squire's sake, likely to make sure Ned could meet the man who had looked after his son for near three years. Thankfully Domeric and Sam would be joining him, though Loras had decided to stay behind with Renly.
While packing warmer clothes, Jon made sure to tuck Arya's sword into his bag as well. He wasn't a knight and didn't even have one of his own yet, but he could gift her one.
It wasn't long after they left that Samwell turned fifteen, but they'd given him his gifts early since Jon's quiver of arrows went with the bow Loras gifted him, while Domeric got him a fine dagger with an arrowhead pommel.
When they gave it to Sam in King's Landing the boy blinked at the bow Loras presented him. "This is for me?"
"I know you hate hunting," Loras said with a smile, "but we thought you should at least have a way to defend yourself if the need arises."
"We'll help you train. We considered a longbow like the Tarly sigil but decided on a recurve," Jon explained, "the kind they use in Dorne."
"Doesn't it make sense that you should learn to wield a bow?" Domeric asked with a smirk. "The weapon of your family sigil, but one of your own."
Sam blinked at him before noticing all three shared similar smirks. They'd done this to help him get back at his father. Make Sam learn to use a bow like the Tarly huntsman and prove his father wrong about him. His father had failed because he never considered Sam, but they had and found a way to include him even in their martial progress.
Samwell blinked back tears as he looked over the bow. "Thank you."
Once they began traveling north whenever the procession stopped for a long time Sam found himself using the bow. Most often it was just Domeric teaching him, though Jon occasionally joined when Jaime had no use of him or he wasn't sparring with the kingsguard.
Sam was surprised by how hard it was to use. It took more strength than he expected to draw the string properly and how he held the string or arrow seemed to alter everything about the arrow's trajectory. Domeric explained it was a proper warbow rather than a lighter hunting or target one and was meant to fire heavier arrows so required more strength. To help his ability to draw easier Sam found himself training his arms and hands as much as he could while they rode.
They were past the twins when some of the men saw him shooting and the next day called for him to join in a hunt. Sam had frozen until Domeric smacked his shoulder and agreed to it.
"I'm sorry Sam," Domeric told him as they rode behind the others, "but this will help us stand out less."
Sam looked at Domeric and nodded, understanding his thinking. They weren't guards or part of the royal retinue. They were out of place and stood out enough without him giving the men more reason to treat them differently.
Sam had been terrified of the Bolton when he first arrived, having heard stories of them being heartless people who flayed others living. He'd even heard people say they likely ate human flesh and drank or bathed in their blood. Even knowing it was the men-at-arms teasing him he wondered what kind of people could make them think such lies believable. Of course Domeric would teasingly say he did all of those things, but it was clear he was mild-mannered and thoughtful, too level headed and kindhearted to do such awful things. Though there were moments where Sam wondered if that were the case.
"Go here and slit his throat," he'd say as he showed Sam a move with the dagger after they finished with the bow outside an inn. "They'll bleed out from here, or here even." He pointed out the arteries of a person on himself. "Stick them once and leave, they'll die by the time anyone finds them."
"Won't they suffer?" Sam had asked.
Domeric shrugged. "If they try to hurt you then they deserve it."
Still, Domeric was kind as well. While they went hunting Domeric borrowed one of the men's bows and stayed near Sam. When they spotted a pair of hares he said quietly, "Close your eyes, Sam," before loosing his arrow, giving Sam time to snap them shut as he heard the hare screech.
While they road they spoke of books they read. When Sam mentioned a third book Myrcella had recommended to him, Domeric arched his brow. "Don't tell me you've taken a liking to her as well."
"I'm fat and craven," Sam said with a laugh, "not a fool.." They looked to Jon riding next to Jaime and Tyrion, who was speaking as his brother chuckled and Jon smiled, shaking his head at the likely crude story. "If he knows, why doesn't he do anything?"
Domeric looked to Sam. "He has his reasons, I'm sure."
Sam frowned. "Perhaps he thinks himself Aemon the Dragonknight."
"He's sullen," Domeric chuckled, "not weepy."
Sam snickered. "I could lend him some tears."
Their trip north took long enough that Jon's service to Jaime came to an end well before they reached Winterfell.
"Lord Commander," Jaime said as he walked to Barristan with Jon at his side one morning, "I return your squire to your service. Though I may call upon him again should I find myself bored."
Barristan offered a smile to Jon. "Has he been treating you fairly?"
"As fairly as can be expected."
Jaime scoffed, elbowing the boy's side before he gave Barristan a nod and went to mount his horse. Jon glanced back at the Lannister before turning to Barristan. "Is there anything you need done, Ser Barristan?"
The kingsguard shook his head. "Just another day's trek north."
"Do you dislike it?" Jon asked as they mounted their horses.
"The travel perhaps," Barristan admitted, "but not the lands."
Jon wore a smile as he looked to the hints of snow around them. "It's hard to think it's been years since I've seen snow. It felt like something that was almost always around when I was growing up and now it feels odd."
Barristan looked to his squire solemnly. "Do you miss it?"
"Winterfell?" Jon asked while they started to ride, giving a nod to Domeric and Sam as they took a place behind them. "At times. It's all balanced to where I'm not sure which I prefer anymore. I miss the snow but not the cold, I miss a nice heavy cloak and warm clothes but not the burden that would come with wearing them. I miss my family, but it's not as if I'm alone here either."
Barristan had spent the past month thinking and watching. Part of him had always hated the politics of court, it was why Robert barring him from the Small Council hadn't bothered him much. Now he'd spent a month going over it all as he pondered what might come from Jon knowing the truth he suspected.
Robert had taken the throne for his own, but being a Baratheon meant he also had Targaryen blood tying them to the Iron Throne. However if Jon was Rhaegar's son than his claim could surpass Robert's. Even ignoring that, Jon could still muster allies to his side and attempt to retake the throne. There were some loyal to the Targaryen name, those like the Dornish who felt wronged by events during Robert Rebellion.
The Reach and Tyrells had ties to the Targaryens as well, and with Loras as Jon's friend there was little doubt they would aide him. The North was the same, the Starks no doubt willing to back the boy raised as their son and brother. With the Starks would come the Tullys and the Riverlands, possibly even the Vale now that Lysa Arryn was in charge with her son.
The Crownlands would be a mess of those loyal to the Targaryens and those loyal to whoever sat on the Iron Throne. The Iron Islands were hard to gauge, though Barristan imagined they would more likely use the fighting to try raiding their shores than choose a side. The Stormlands would surely go for Robert, as would the Westerlands to defend their queen and her children.
But then there was Myrcella. Born to Baratheon and Lannister, she could be used to assure alliances within the Westerlands and Stormlands. Jon could take her as a wife as he likely wished and find not only happiness but that he had nearly every kingdom on his side. There were surely houses unhappy with the state of things or would be happy to settle for her at Jon's side.
Jon could win. He could try to stay close to the king and send letters to have those he knows would be loyal or work against Robert gather their forces before he makes a move. He could leave Barristan's service and ride through the kingdoms gathering banners before conquering the Westerlands, Stormlands and Crownlands. But if they dismissed him as a Blackfyre or Daemon come again, how could he convince them? His lack of evident Targaryen traits would leave most to think him a mummer at best, and more likely a fool given to avarice after seeing those better than himself.
If he had proof of some kind, then it could be done. He could convince them that the throne should have been his but was stolen by Robert, stolen by a lie forced upon, a veil to save his life. Jon could gather an army and wear a crown as rightful king.
If it was possible, if Jon should have been king the moment he was born, then was Barristan's place at his side? Jon wasn't king, not yet. Even if he was Rhaegar's son, Jon may well deny it or reject it, he might not want the crown. He could flee to Essos and take up the life of a sellsword or a pirate.
So much could go wrong as well. Anyone could kill him out of some grudge against Targaryens, the Stark, even bastards. They could deny him and tell Robert, one Robert's spies or someone loyal could find out and warn him. If it came to war many could still die, including some of the royal family. Would Myrcella still care for Jon then? He would never marry her against her will. Even if others would tell him to, as king it would be his right to do as he thought best.
The only thing Barristan knew for certain was that he would find the truth in Winterfell.
Seeing it break the horizon Jon found himself smiling in anticipation, wanting to ride ahead on his own but stayed with the procession.
"Will he be with them?" Arya asked as she took her place with the others to await their visitors.
"I don't know," Ned offered with a solemn smile. "If Ser Barristan rides with the king then I imagine his squire would be at his side." Seeing his youngest daughter's hopeful smile Ned found himself hoping the same.
"If he is," Catelyn said looking to her children, "you must all remember not to do anything improper. You can greet him after we've had our introductions." The others nodded while Arya frowned. "I mean it, Arya."
The girl glanced at her mother and looked down with a quiet huff, digging her fingers into her skirt.
The visitors poured through the castle fates and Ned found himself knowing many of the riders. Jaime was easily spotted by his golden hair, Sandor Clegane by his burnt face trailing a tall boy who could only be the crown prince while the stunted man behind them was no doubt the Imp, Tyrion Lannister. It was Robert himself who Ned barely recognized, flanked by two knights in snow-white cloaks before he vaulted off his warhorse and wrapped Ned in a bone-crushing hug.
Arya looked around, doing her best to keep herself from bouncing in place too much as she tried to find Jon while the King said her father he hadn't changed. Their wheelhouse too large to fit through the gate, the queen and her children came through on foot and with them an older white cloaked knight.
She gasped, her eyes widening as behind them, keeping their distance from the queen, was a boy she knew to be Jon. He was taller than she remembered, near a man, but retained his lean build. He still had the Stark long face and dark grey eyes that looked almost black framed by wavy dark brown hair that didn't go past his neck. He wore almost entirely black, or grays dark enough they seemed to be black, as if he had truly gone north and joined the Night's Watch.
Trailing him was an average looking man with pale brown eyes wearing a pink and red doublet beneath a black jerkin and a pink woolen cloak with crimson lines throughout held by a brooch bearing a flayed man. Beside the Bolton was a rotund man wearing a black doublet, dark green surcoat and dark crimson cloak fastened by a brooch with a Tarly huntsmen. She recognized them right away from Jon's letters.
Holding the reins for his horse as well as Barristan's, Jon looked to his family lined up before the king and queen, exchanging introductions.
Robb had always been stocky compared to Jon and that hadn't changed with age, his red-brown hair freshly trimmed for the royal visitors. Sansa had grown into her Tully looks, seeming a true lady in the making. Arya had grown some but was still small and skinny, making Jon sure he'd picked out the right kind of sword. Bran had changed from the toddler he had been when Jon last saw him, wearing a sweet smile as he examined all the knights. Rickon had even grown from a babe in his mother's arms to a boy stood beside her clutching her skirts.
Ned had somehow remained as Jon pictured him, long haired and bearded, though perhaps with a few more grays than he had before. At his side stood Catelyn Stark, beautiful surely, but that lessened when her gaze briefly met Jon's and a flicker of anger painted her face. Jon quickly shifted his own, finding Ned flashing him a small smile and nod before the king called for him to take him to the crypts.
While their mother showed the royal family to their quarters the Stark children lingered in the yard. Arya grinned as she watched Jon and his friends hand their horses off to a stable hand before turning back and smiling. The moment he did Arya took off running, squealing as she leapt up and wrapped her arms around him.
Once she released him and sank back to the ground. "I missed you brother," she said with a sniff.
"And I you," he assured, patting her cheek and smiling.
"Seems I was wrong," Robb said as he came up behind her. "Here I thought you'd come back looking a pompous southron, yet you return looking as if you've joined the Night's Watch."
"Black is my color," Jon said with a laugh, stepping forward to exchange a quick hug and pat Robb's back.
When Robb stepped back he did so into Rickon, who tried to peek around his legs at Jon. Laughing and picking their youngest brother up, Robb pointed to Jon. "That's our brother Jon. You were still little when he left to go train to be a knight." The boy nodded, smiling as Jon reached over to ruffle his hair.
Bran looked up at Jon from beside Robb. "You're not a knight yet?"
"Not yet," Jon nodded, "but there's still time before you're old enough to be a page or squire. If I'm not knighted by then I'm sure I could convince Ser Loras or even Ser Domeric here to take you in my stead." Jon motioned to Dom as he mentioned him, who bowed his head.
"You've been missed," Sansa offered sweetly.
Arya scoffed. "You haven't missed him."
Sansa glared at her sister. "I have."
"And I've missed you too, Sansa," Jon said before they could say more. "I've appreciated your letters."
"I as well," she said turning to him with a nod. "King's Landing sounds so interesting."
"It has it's moments," Jon said with a shrug before stepping back and motioning to his companions. "These are my friends, Ser Domeric Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort, and Samwell Tarly." Jon nearly said of Horn Hill, but he's been all but disowned. He still had the Tarly name but that was all.
They all exchanged greetings before Arya grabbed Jon's hand. "Come, we can show you the direwolves."
"Direwolves?" Jon asked as he was dragged along.
"We found them when we went with father to execute a Night's Watch deserter," Robb explained.
"Three boys and two girls," Bran said with a grin. "Robb said they matched us so must have been meant for Stark children." Suddenly Bran saw Arya, Robb and even Sansa shoot him quick glares as he winced, realizing what he'd said.
With a frown he looked to Jon, who wore a solemn smile and seeing Bran's concern shook his head. "I'm no Stark."
Though only weeks old the direwolf pups were already a third the size of some dogs. Sam and even Domeric looked a bit wary of them, but Jon happily knelt and rubbed Nymeria's head before joining Rickon in rubbing Shaggydog's belly, chuckling when the pup nipped at his hand. Still, a part of him felt oddly hollow, but what did he expect, he was a bastard. In time he may well follow Barristan and end up wearing a cloak and sigil to match his name. Surely that was the best he could hope for.
In the crypts King Robert looked to Ned after offering to make him Hand of the King. "If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it's not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done."
The offer surprised Ned. "Sansa is only eleven."
Robert waved a hand impatiently. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait. Now stand and say yes, curse you."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, You Grace," Ned answered, then hesitated. "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife…"
"Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn. Sleep on it if you must," Robert said pulling Ned to his feet, "just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men." They started to leave when Robert looked to Ned with a laugh. "If not for her mother I'd considered raising your bastard and having him marry Myrcella as she no doubt wants."
Eddard turned to the king. "What?"
"She fancies the lad," he explained with a shrug. "Don't worry. The boy's as honorable as your ever were. He cares for her no doubt, but if he thinks more of her than he doesn't act on it."
Ned nodded. "Do you know how he's been coming along?"
"Gods, Ned," Robert laughed. "I was ready to knight the boy before Old Jon died."
That surprised Ned. "What for?"
"On Joff's nameday I held a tourney and the boy entered as the Knight of White Crows," Robert snickered. "Rode down some bumbling knight, but then rode against Jaime Lannister."
Ned's eyes widened, his shock seeming to grow the more Robert spoke.
"Boy broke two lances against him, but the third unhorsed him and he took off his helm. I just about pissed myself when I saw it was him. I was ready to knight the lad, but Barristan asked me to wait, Others' know why." Robert shook his head. "He said the boy still has things to learn but hells, I've seen him in the yard with the Tyrell boy. Watching them makes me want to grab a hammer and join them, but I've settled for earning coin whatever your boy wins."
"He's doing well then?"
"Jon seemed proud of him," Robert nodded. "Said the boy was a smart as he was honorable, his mind as sharp as a sword. Every time I see him he's either in the yard, walking around with some book from the keep's library, or sat with his friends playing his harp."
All the pride that had started to swell in Ned vanished with the air in his lungs as his chest seized and he looked to Robert. "Harp?"
"The other one," Robert said with a wave of his hand, "the Bolton boy, he's teaching your bastard. They usually keep it to their rooms but have played a time or two in the yard."
Seeing Robert's smirk as he spoke eased some of Ned's fears. As far as he could tell no one knew. He'd told himself that it would be impossible for anyone to find out, but this felt like Jon was unknowingly tempting fate.
He also wondered why he was just finding out about this now. Jon's letters had mirrored his own, with little detail beyond what seemed necessary, but he'd always had others sources on news about Jon thanks to his letters to the children. It was one thing to not know of the tournament and Jon's brief stint as a mystery knight since it had only just happened, but it seemed he'd been playing the harp for some time. Perhaps the boy was simply embarrassed and didn't want to tell the others, but it made Ned question how much Jon had changed if he'd suddenly become studious and taken up an instrument.
His concerns only grew after he showed the king to his chamber and turned to find Ser Barristan Selmy stood at the end of the corridor with his arms crossed, eyeing Ned cautiously before he said. "Lord Stark."
"Ser Barristan," Ned nodded.
"If possible I'd like to speak with you," he said meeting Ned's gaze. "In private."
With a nod, Ned led him toward his solar, yet couldn't help feel a sense of foreboding, as if a specter were reaching for his neck.
AN:
Sam's dark clothing I imagine as a thing where big dudes typically where darker colors but also it's his Tarly colors fading. Their sigil went from embroidered on his surcoat to just on his brooch. He's basically distancing himself from the family that disowned him. I'd actually considered having Randyll Tarly draw up documents to make him Samwell Flowers, but don't know if that's possible and figured on the off chance Samwell doesn't fuck up or die Randyll wants the chance to claim him and any glory Sam might stumble upon.
I considered sticking in a scene of Jon, Jaime and Tyrion talking but couldn't find anything that I liked. At least not that wasn't clearly filler, and I want to try and cut down on that to keep the story from swelling more than it already has.
I think next chapter should include some theory stuff I want to play with. Not R+L=J but other theories. I have a bunch I want to play with actually. Just be thankful I'm not going R+L=J&M, because I considered it for a moment or two!
Next Chapter: Barristan speaks with Ned before Jon attends the welcoming feast.
