Jon
I should make you my heir." The King said two months ago.
Jon was overwhelmed and taken aback, Your Grace, I am a man of the Nights Watch."
"Don't call me that," Robb said.
"Sorry, Robb, I'm a man of the Night's Watch. Sworn to defend the Wall from its enemies."
"And at the moment, I'm the King in the North," Robb snorted, and touched the sword at his side, "Sansa and Arya are either missing or dead. Bran and Rickon are dead." Jon thought of Theon Greyjoy. He knew Robb killed him, there was no way he'd linger at Castle Black unless the enemies of their House were dead, "If I die, who inherits the North?"
Jon thought about it. The last he remembered about Stark succession was simply that he was out of it. He knew his brother Robb would inherit Winterfell, Bran after him, then Rickon, Sansa, and Arya. After that…
"Succession passes to the Vale of Arryn. Lord Yohn Royce is the head of Runestone, and my successor unless there is a notice in a book I missed. Otherwise Winterfell and the North, will pass to the Vale. The Bronze Yohn is a good and honorable man, the blood of the First Men, and a friend to the Watch. But he's not a Stark."
"Neither am I." Jon replied.
"You would be. If Roslin does not give me a child, then you will be Lord of Winterfell." Robb handed Jon the letter, "and King in the North."
Not a day went by that Jon did not think about that letter. He prayed to the Old Gods that he would never have to use it. Yohn Royce would make a fine King in the North, finer than Jon ever would. But the presence of Northern troops pushed Sam's conspiracy into place and Jon was all of a sudden forced to learn very fast how to rule.
He woke up every morning as Lord Commander, and immediately checked the rookery for news of his brother. He did not hope to become King any more than he wanted to become Lord Commander. But if. If a raven came with its dark words and said that Robb was dead or dying, would Jon pull out that letter and march to Winterfell? Or would he let the Bronze Yohn take his seat, as Lord and King?
Several weeks into Jon's tenure at Castle Black, repairs were still being made when a raven announced the results of the Kingsmoot: not Robb. Jon breathed a sigh of relief. He would not have to sit the Iron Throne, or the Winter Chair. And his Frey wife was obviously fertile. She was the seed of Lord Walder. Jon hoped to meet her. He wished Robb could have met Ygritte. He had the wolfsblood, and she was kissed by fire. They would have made fast friends.
Jon always met first with Sam, Maester Aemon, and Bowen Marsh. They were – for now – his trusted advisors until he could confirm and fill new positions at Castle Black. Helman Tallhart, General of the Northern Army, stood some mornings for all of Robb's forces on the Wall. He was glad to be working with a Tallhart, and not the Glovers, who all converted to Stannis' fire god.
"What's first?" Jon asked.
Sam read off a list, "Repairs."
"How are we doing?"
Bowen Marsh spoke up, "We've buried or burned all of the dead. Beyond th Wall were actually some wildling women that helped with that. Said it wasn't right to leave 'em like that. Now that that giant isn't stuck in the tunnel, we can move freely again, though the gates will require some work."
"I want the gates fixed by nightfall," Jon ordered, "We can't defend a wall with a gaping hole in it." He took a sip of mulled wine, "Next."
"Tormund Giantsbane." Sam said the name like he was reading off a menu. The Free Folk was all out of Mance Rayder, would you like to try the Tormund Giantsbane? But the name hung in the air and inspired a modicum of fear. They'd captured so many Free Folk: Rattleshirt, Sigorn the Magnar of Thenn, Val, Mance Rayder and his infant son. But Tormund Giantsbane represented dangerous, unfinished work.
They may have defeated thousands of wildlings in the field, but there were thousands more out there. Based on Sam's and the others' reports, there was a different enemy out there, on that had a decidedly inhuman face and who would gladly welcome thousands of wildlings into their mindless control.
"Tormund will have to be dealt with." Jon said.
"We'll fix the gates and lock them," Marsh said, "The wildlings won't come through after that. Then we'll double our patrols along the Wall, make sure they don't come over it as before."
Jon knew what Marsh meant, as you and the Thenns did before. His election was a disappointment to many, "We'll need to better defend the Wall, yes, but we'll also need to reach out to Tormund."
"Reach out to the wildlings?" Marsh said, "Last time…"
"Lord Commander Mormont's ranging accomplished most of its objectives. It found Mance Rayder and the missing Free Folk. Yet the cost was regrettable. Any further rangings will have to be better thought out."
"Why bother with rangings at all?" Marsh asked defiantly.
"Because the enemy is still out there. And the last thing we need is to fight a thousand more wights than they already have. Tormund is a great warrior. No one, especially a black brother, can dispute that. If we can ally with him against the real enemy, we'll be that much stronger."
"So you intend to lose half our rangers on the possibility of an alliance with a wildling?"
"No. But I was hoping for some other ideas," Jon was getting angry. As foolish as Bowen Marsh was, Jon knew his opinion was prevalent – if not the majority – among his brothers, "I'll continue to think on Tormund Giantsbane. For now, Marsh, Sam, I'd like to speak to Maester Aemon alone."
Bowen Marsh left with a disgruntled look in his eyes. Jon wasn't sure why. They were doing just what he wanted: fixing the Wall and leaving Tormund well enough alone. Sam left and waited just outside the door to help Maester Aemon to the rookery after they were done.
"Maester, do you have any thoughts about Tormund Giantsbane?"
"Well, Lord Snow, if he's as dangerous as you say and Bowen Marsh thinks, he would be a valuable ally."
"How do you think we might reach out to him?"
"A ranging is too difficult. But it's early enough in autumn that we might send rangers with ships from Eastwatch and make a shorter journey. Provided he's closer to the sea than the Wall."
"And if he's not?"
"You know the wildlings better than I, Lord Snow. I believe Bowen Marsh is right, however. Our numbers are too few to continue ordinary operations, never mind whacking through the Haunted Forest to find a wildling King."
"He's not a King yet. We need to make sure that doesn't happen."
"If your goal is to ally with the wildlings, then perhaps begin with the ones we have captive. Earn their trust, and then maybe send one of them to parley with Tormund. They will speak a common language and custom better than any black brother could."
Jon thought about what the Maester said before thanking him and moving on to the next item of business, "Research on the Others?"
"Sam has so far only been able to locate a few scant texts on any stories or histories that may prove useful to combating them. Thankfully, we already know they are susceptible to dragonglass, and there are some scattered indications that Valyrian Steel works against them."
At least I'll be well protected, Jon thought with Longclaw slung around his back, "I don't think we'll be able to convince the Lords of Westeros to hand over their ancestral weapons to the Watch, however. So I think dragonglass is our best bet."
"Shall I send a raven to Dragonstone?"
"What for?"
"Dragonstone is not just a name, Lord Snow. It is the largest cache of dragonglass in the Seven Kingdoms. Lord Stannis knows what troubles we face, he will not begrudge us necessary weaponry that is otherwise useless to him."
"No, but he will likely demand a price."
"The Watch has little but our castles, or the Gift. Lord Stannis will soon be unlanded, to make way for King Petyr's chosen heir. It may become not just wise, but necessary to grant land to Lord Stannis if he will grant us dragonglass while he is still the High Lord of Dragonstone."
"'Lord of the Gift' isn't an inspiring name," Jon said, "Not compared to High Lord of Dragonstone."
"No it isn't. But Queenscrown is a castle. And his is a banner men will follow. Stannis Baratheon is a hard man, just the sort of man wildlings would follow, if your descriptions of them are correct."
"You're proposing we sell Stannis Baratheon the Gift in exchange for dragonglass. And when Stannis arrives to restore Queenscrown, that we grant him wildling subjects as well?"
"Why not? It takes the pressure of so many wildling prisoners away from us, and onto Stannis' rule."
Maester Aemon was wise beyond anything Jon could fathom. He did not want to see him go, "Then send a raven to Lord Stannis. How are our men getting along with Helman Tallhart's?"
"Lord Tallhart jests that he's losing all of his men to us, but he is a friend no less."
"Are we gaining men?"
"Two or three of the Northmen join per week. To hear the brothers talk of the Watch is inspiring. They make friends among the Northmen and soon enough, they convince them to join their honorable service. The shield hall may be quite colorful again before Lord Tallhart takes his men home."
"That is inspiring," Jon had to remember that he now had over ten thousand men to do with as he pleased, at least until Robb said their duty was done, "But there is an issue I think we need to discuss."
Maester Aemon, from behind tired white eyes, laughed, "You can say it just fine, Jon Snow, I am old. And soon I will turn from old to dead."
"Too soon. You are leaving a hole that is not easily filled."
"Yet I must. You and I both know that Samwell Tarly has more potential than I ever showed."
"I don't know that." Jon sighed, "I did not know you when you were Sam's age."
That made the old man laugh with glee, "Very well, Lord Snow. You must take my word for it. Sam is a brilliant boy. No good with a sword, but as you said, the Watch needs all kinds of brothers. Oldtown will suit him well."
Sam always did like old things, and he liked books. Sam would probably fall in love with the Citadel and all of its old books. The only problem Jon foresaw was trying to get Sam back from the south. "How do you suppose this would happen?"
"We'll take the Kingsroad to Winterfell. If there are any books about the Others still left, we'll find them. After that, we'll follow the White Knife to White Harbor and take a ship to Oldtown. If need be, we could simply take one to King's Landing and follow the Roseroad to Oldtown."
"I'll assemble you a protection detail. Until I can gather the necessary logistics, tell only Sam."
"Of course, Lord Snow." Jon helped Maester Aemon out of the seat and out of his chambers where Sam was waiting. Outside, there was a woman standing next to Sam. She had the hardened features of the Free Folk, and long, blonde, braided hair. She was accompanied by a black brother and a Northman farther back. Jon motioned for her to walk into his solar and told the guards he could handle her if need be.
"You never told us you were King Crow." Val said after Jon shut the door, "Mance would have made friends with you if he knew that were the case."
Jon pulled out a chair for Mance's good-sister, "I wasn't made Lord Commander until after Jeor Mormont's death. And after Mance was defeated at the Wall."
"So why didn't Jeor Mormont's son succeed him? Isn't that the way you southerners do things?"
"The Watch isn't a kingdom. We elect out Lord Commander in a vote…" she stared back at him and held back an explosive laughter, "You know, you're a lot dumber than you look."
"It's not so much fun explaining the same thing over and over again, is it?"
"No," Jon allowed himself to smile, "But I can't imagine I've explained the Lord Commandership half as many times as you've had to explain being a 'wildling princess.'"
"One time I went along with it. And this boy. He had a… a gray fist on his shirt."
"House Glover."
"Yes, he bowed and made to kiss my hand!"
"Keep playing along. You might become an actual Queen when some King marries you to 'ensure rule over the wildlings.'" What a title that would make: Fool, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, the First Men, and the Wildlings.
"Any of your men comes near me with boyish intentions, will not leave a boy."
"I fully support you in this, Val." But he needed to talk to her about something else, "I was hoping you might be able to help us, however."
Val straightened in her chair and narrowed her eyes, "What kind of help?"
"The Night's Watch is the shield that guards the Realms of Men. I once thought that was just a poetic phrase. To me, the 'Realms of Men' were the Seven Kingdoms and we guarded it against the wildlings. Everything else was just stories. But after the battle, after meeting with Mance and learning from the Free Folk, I learned that there's no difference in biology on either side of the Wall. Man is man. And that makes the Free Folk part of the Realm of Men. So the Watch is ultimately made for another purpose. If not to fight wildlings, then who or what? And my brothers discovered that answer at the Fist: the very same enemy Mance was running from."
"The white walkers." Val whispered their name like a curse.
"This goes beyond a common enemy. This is what the Watch was made for, what our purpose was. And somewhere along the way, we forgot our brothers and sisters on the other side. But now we know."
"Say what you want to say, King Crow." She mocked.
Jon sighed. The words wouldn't come. Not today, "If the Free Folk want to be safe on this side of the Wall, I will welcome them. But they must maintain the peace, and help defend the Wall."
"We tried coming peacefully. I can't say Tormund Giantsbane will listen to your offer and rejoice."
"Yes, but this time, your peaceful coming is on our terms. I regret that last time, I was not in control of the situation."
"The Free Folk will never kneel. You will never make them." Val insisted.
"I'm not asking them to," Jon responded, "As long as the Free Folk stay in the Gift," he pointed to the map and showed her the exact border, "I will not ask them to kneel. Everything north of that line is Night's Watch territory, the Realm has no say. If the Free Folk raid or settle farther south, I cannot help them." Jon pointed to the mountains just north of the Wolfswood, "Here are what we call the 'Mountain Clans.' They have no great castles, no mighty cities. They live in, at most, wooden forts, much of their culture is First Men before the influence of the Andals."
"So what are you saying? I should move the Free Folk there and they will welcome us?"
"Not at all. But you go there. Take Sigorn, and any Free Folk you might think have influence over others. Build a new life in the Gift, specifically, a new culture. You will see that living south of the Wall under our terms does not mean kneeling, nor automatically giving up your ways."
Val was silent for a long while before she said, "All right. How will I get there?"
"I'll make an escort. If you go alone, they'll think you're there to raid them."
"Escort? Not guards?"
"Absolutely not. You'll be treated as honored guests in the Mountains. Trust me on that."
"If you say so, King Crow. I'll play your game." Val made to leave, but stopped at the door, "I just have one question:" she turned her head ever so slightly in Jon's direction, "Did you kill Jarl?"
Her lover was with Jon, Ygritte, and the Thenns when they first vaulted over the Wall at Greyguard, "No," Jon answered honestly, "He was killed by the Wall."
"That's what I heard." Val opened the door to leave. As it swung open, Jon heard a series of trumpet blasts. They weren't horns like at the top of the Wall. It didn't follow the standard one-two (or dreaded three) pattern of the Watch. It was more of a royal trumpet.
Jon joined Val at the doorway and looked down into the yard. All manner of knight bearing the yellow-and-red sigil of the burning Baratheon stag were entering the yard at Castle Black. At the very front was a man in battered iron-gray armor with a coal-black beard and a long sword gleaming at his side. At least five thousand men stood behind him as he shouted, "Lord Commander Jon Snow. I am Stannis Baratheon," well, Jon thought, I guess we can save a raven. But what he heard next was even more shocking than Stannis' sudden appearance, "I've come to take the black."