Sup guys, back at it again with Jon's badassery. Have you prepared yourselves?
Black Sheep, White Wolf
Chapter 14: Direwolf In a Snake Pit
When Jon awoke, he was in only trousers, no boots or armor or shirt, his swords by his side but sheathed, and his spear in his arms with his dagger at his waist, and it was to the sound of birds chirping and horses neighing. Then, a laugh, and the sound of hooves near enough. Jon looked down, noticing his position behind the tree, shielded from whoever was near. He rose up, slowly, and peered around the trunk. Five men on horseback, dressed in mail and surcoats of brown and white. Crakehall men, far behind a much larger party ahead of them. All five had swords at their waists, and none looked to be knights. However, one could never tell the danger at hand by simply looking at it. Searching for his men, Jon looked over, noticing Lachtín and several other of the best archers behind their own trees farther down, in danger of being spotted, bows out and arrows notched. Lachtín looked at Jon, and Jon looked back at the slim, blonde, fair-skinned youth, in the blue eyes was a certain sense of determination only a true hunter could understand. Jon nodded at him, holding up five fingers on his left hand, his right clutching his spear. Lachtín turned, motioning with his free hand at the other archers, five fingers. When he looked back to Jon, Jon held up his index, middle, and thumb fingers in a the way one would hold an arrow on the bowstring. He released them and motioned at the ground, pointing at it and setting his foot on it before holding up a fist, meaning zero. He held his thumbs up, in line with each other, looking down them for aiming. Then, he motioned to his eyes and throat.
Five men, shoot on zero, and aim for the eyes or neck. Lachtín Sealgaire motioned to the other archers, all understanding perfectly well. Jon held up five fingers, putting them down one by one, timing it so that the archers would have a perfect view. 4, 3, 2, 1… 0 GO! Lachtín and the others stepped from behind their respective trees, arrows ready to loose. Lachtín's was the first to go, as always, and it found it's mark, as always, the right eye of the farthest man, leaving the easier shots for the still good, but not as great, other archers. They more or less found their marks, save for all but one who missed by a few inches, shooting the lead man through his cheek, and probably out the other side of his mouth. It knocked him off his horse, but failed to kill him. Jon ran out from behind his tree, his bare feet making not even a sound as he did so, sprinting past trees and jumping over leaves, being as careful as possible.
By the time Jon got there, the man was back on his feet and facing away from Jon, the five hunters following close behind their king. Jon leapt forward and thrust Icicle through the back of the lower of the man's skull, the tip sprouting out of his mouth and snapping the arrow like a twig. Jon pulled out the spear and caught the body, hurriedly undressing the corpse in his arms. He turned to the quickest of the archers as he did so.
"Go back and tell the others where we're going, rouse them and ready them, and make sure they grab my stuff. You four, put on those clothes, drag the bodies in to the ditch, grab the horses and let's go, I've got a plan. Tell them to wait in the treeline, far enough to hide but close enough to see. Give a signal when you're all ready. When the gates open and nobody comes out, I want them to charge Crakehall, understand?" The men all nodded at what they'd been told, and they hurried to do it.
When the five finally caught up to the larger party, they were on the bridge leading to the gates of Crakehall, and they stayed far enough back to keep from prying eyes, but close enough to not seem shady. Even though the helms and garb covered them, subtle nuances about them could give them away if anyone who was expecting and knew the men they killed saw Jon and his friends.
The gates opened wide, and the contingent of men entered the fortress, Jon and his men close behind, though stopping behind a tavern immediately inside the gates, rather than continuing on towards wherever the contingent was going. Lachtín went to the corner, and upon judging they had officially gone, came back and told Jon.
"Alright boys, get your arms loose and your fingers ready, we're heading up to the ramparts. When the signal comes, I'm heading down to the gates, and we're going to hold them, no matter the cost. Good to go?" The men nodded, and Jon led them in to the street, still covered but leisurely strolling. They strolled up the stairs, on to the battlements, and watched.
Finally, after half an hour of waiting and watching, Jon saw it, Lachtín as well. Ghost walked out of the treeline, a rolled up banner covered in blood in his mouth. So, Jon made his way down to the gates. Once at the gates, he spoke to the half a dozen men standing there.
"Open the gates, some little lordling wants in," Jon yelled, doing his best Westerlands accent. It seemed to have worked as the men opened the gates, only stopping when they were almost completely open and the head guard realized that the lordling was nowhere to be found.
He turned around, reaching for his sword, but Jon stabbed upwards with his spear, catching the man under the jaw and spearing him through the brain. His hand dropped, and Jon spun around while tearing the white spear out, swinging it like a sword and letting it scrape the jugulars of two oncoming guards. Three men were left, and all charged Jon at once. He ducked down at the last second, sticking his spear up, so that the man behind him and to the front of him impaled themselves on the spear. Then, he turned and pulled out his knife, holding it in the reverse knife grip with the edge in while kicking the third man in the chest. He hit one of the doors of the gate, the crash a resounding thud. When the man charged forward, Jon ducked and pulled man in, kneeing him in the ribs sideways. The man bent slightly, allowing Jon to stab Northwind through his neck from the side. When the hilt touched his neck, Jon placed his left hand on the chin of the man, pushing away from himself with it while pulling the opposite direction with the knife. The large, Valyrian steel blade tore out of his throat easily enough, and the blood sprayed Jon's body and face. He turned and had no time to grab his spear before the next man was upon him.
Jon leaned back avoid a swipe, surging forward and jabbing his knife just quick enough to catch the men in the throat before he could fully lean back. The next man came, a massive man in knight's armor, and Jon grabbed his spear and jumped up, kicking off the wall and stabbing Icicle in to the chink in the armor at the collar bone. He was dead before Jon pulled out his spear. Then, the next man was there, and attempted to tackle Jon, only managing to force Jon to bend over and allow the helm, mail, tunic and surcoat to slide off so that Jon was shirtless once more. He turned and noticed that men were being shot down constantly by his archer friends, but a heavily armored man with seemingly no chinks was moving to step up the stairs. Jon threw his spear, the Valyrian steel tip managing to get through the thick visor, penetrating the man's head. The Stark quickly ripped out Northwind and went back to work.
The man who had attempted to tackle Jon was charging him, and Jon ducked under his strike, holding his knife in a reverse grip with the edge out. He came up and swiped the blade across the man's throat, from the man's left to his right. Jon's body was outside but his arm was inside the man's guard to slice his throat, allowing Stark to grab his arm and spin him, taking the impact of the mace that had been meant for him. Jon leaned back from another swing, then another, finally ducking under a third. He switched the grip on his knife to a hammer grip, jumping forward and stabbing it in to the mace man's throat. When he ripped the blade out, blood shot on to Jon, joining the blood already all over him. He kicked the man in to the next foe, waiting for the next after him.
The more lightly armored man jumped over the bodies with a longsword in hand. He expertly flicked it out as Jon switched back to reverse grip with the edge out and leaned back. The swordsman slashed downward, and Jon waited until his slash was complete before jumping in, jumping and punching the man in the helm, knocking him back, though his foot came up to block Jon's next leap. When Jon stumbled back, another man ran at him from the side, and Jon stabbed Northwind in to his kidney before ripping it out, turning to look at the swordsman and barely having time at all to dodge the swipe coming for him. It wasn't quite enough, and Jon caught the slash with his body, gaining a slice from left shoulder to bottom right rib, not deep, but not entirely shallow.
Jon stepped back, growling, and looked at the oncoming line of men, all behind shields save for the swordsman. He held up his dagger, got in his stance, and yelled.
"Come on you cunts!" Just as Jon finished his challenge, a line of horses came from around him and smashed through the lines, followed by a stream of even more horses. It went on for a while, four horses at a time, and then it stopped, though the cries of battle continued.
When Jon stepped back in to the city, he was met by Skulgarth on the side of the tavern immediately inside. He had five horses behind him, and every one with his and his friends' gear. Jon was closely followed by the four archers, including Lachtín, only two of them injured, one with an arrow in the arm, the other in another's leg. They quickly slipped on their own clothing and armor, placing their weapons where they were meant to go. When they finished, Jon grabbed his spear from the man he had thrown it at earlier and jumped on Cadeyrn, rearing up and speeding down the street as fast as possible, the five men behind him.
By the time Jon had reached the actual keep, his men were already there, cutting down guards, men, and women alike, the children fleeing. The homes burned in the warm, white sun and the blood was spilled on the warm, grassy ground, the men from the cold Northern island putting an entire fortress to the sword. Westerland men died bravely, the women quickly, and Death ran rampant in the streets of Crakehall. The Lord Reaper sat in judgment on his dark steed, weighing down souls with steel and fire.
When Jon looked at the green, tree infested cliff across the bridge, he saw a man on horseback, watching, taking in the scene below him. A scout, surely. Jon held his free hand up, greeting him, letting him know he saw him. The man saw the bloody armor and the direwolf helm and turned, trotting off. Jon set out towards the bridge, followed by men covered in glory, stuffing gold and silver in their packs. Jon didn't mind, this was war, and his men were to be rich for their actions, so long as he had a say in it.
When the last of his men had rejoined him on the other side of the bridge, he told them that half would be coming with him, the other half with Lachtín. The group with Lachtín would cut through the forest, heading for the Red Lake. Jon and his would go around the forest, then head for the Red Lake, in an attempt to throw any spies or trackers off, at least momentarily. Then, they would all head North, up the offshoot of the Mander that came up these mountains, and from the mountains they would ride down on Cornfield. Double back afterwards, and continue their reign of terror with Silverhill. Then, while the Lannisters were most assuredly going back West for him, Jon would South and East, in between Bitterbridge and Tumbleton, so that Jon could get on to the Rose Road and head East and North.
-Linebreak-
Tyrion enters the Small Council Room, unknowing of the urgent matters that would call such a meeting. Baelish seemed calm, Varys as well, though they both were most likely knowledgeable of the matters at hand. Pycelle and Cersei were no more informed than Tyrion himself. When the smallest Lannister sat down, it began.
"So what is it that this meeting was called for, my lords? I have very urgent matters to attend to," Cersei began, impatient and arrogant as always. Tyrion was more curious than her, especially when Varys produced a scroll from his sleeve with the seal of House Lannister on it.
"It would seem that some ill fate has befallen the Westerlands, Your Grace. Here," Varys handed the scroll to Tyrion, who readily opened it, reading the contents and being stunned speechless.
"What is it?" Cersei rudely asked, expecting something trivial.
"It would appear that we underestimated the younger Stark king. It's from Father. He says that the Thirsty Wolf snuck his fleet, or some of it at least, in to the West, burned Lannisport, the ships and the city. He put Casterly Rock to the sword, and when he was finished, the Skagosi filled it with wildfire, decimating the castle. The ships left but Jon Stark and some cavalry stayed. They then put Clegane's Keep, Crakehall, and Cornfield to the sword as well. No word or reply has come back from Silverhill, and it's thought they've burnt it to the ground as well. Father heads back to the Westerlands, it's believed that Robb Stark has hit Ashemark."
Cersei was speechless, as was Tyrion and Pycelle, though both of the major spy owners, Baelish and Varys, were no more shocked than the other. When Cersei got up and left, she uttered no words, and wordlessly, the entire Small Council left as well. Tyrion got up, waddling out of the room and through the Red Keep, deep in thought. He thought of the time he talked with Jon Stark at Winterfell, how he had seemed bright, though self-blinding. It would seem he had stopped blinding himself. Stark men apparently had a gift for war, strategy and tactic both. When Tyrion was shaken from his thoughts, it was by almost running in to Sansa who was trying to enter her room. He stopped her.
"My lady Sansa, I must speak with you a moment."
"Yes, my lord?"
"I fear Joffrey will do something to punish you fro your brothers again, and I must warn you of it. It would appear that your brother Jon has been cutting a bloody and fiery sweep across the Westerlands, even destroying my childhood home of Casterly Rock. You will surely be punished, so, I ask you to be very quiet, and make not a movement in this Keep for the next few weeks, lest he attack you for your brothers," By the time Tyrion had stopped, Sansa looked surprised, but also had tears in her eyes.
"I thank you, my lord. Now I must go," She entered her room, closing the door behind her. MY mercy will be the death of me.
-Linebreak-
Jon was stern and straight-faced as the 600 men rode, hard set for the Rose Road. East of Renly, whose flowery friends had mostly gone back to the Reach to prepare to fight Jon's men on the Shields. South and East of Tywin and the Lannister forces. West of Stannis and his forces, or so Jon thinks. West of King's Landing. South of the Westerlands and the Riverlands, where word was that Lord Beric Dondarrion and the Lord of Light's servant Thoros hunted for his head.
Just as Jon was beginning to wonder whether they were going in the correct direction, Jon looked and found Bitterbridge to his right, fairly far West, though close enough to find him with scouts. Right when Jon was about to tell his men they would go further East to prevent being caught, they came across a group of forty people on horseback, half of them with different banners, the lead one wearing a blue jay. For the other half, though, many of them are men Jon recognizes, flying the direwolf of the Winterfell Starks. There, leading them, is one of Jon's mothers, Catelyn Stark.
Jon knows his men recognize their king's mother and do not attack, instead circling around the group of men until they come to an eventual stop, Jon lined up with the land in between the two party leaders, though fifteen feet away from either of them. Every Skagosi man waits with his hand on his weapon for one hostile move by some Southerner, untrusting of Southerners with the king's family, save for the Dornish.
"I believe that is my mother you have here, Ser. I would ask you back away," Jon said, gritting his teeth as he did so, attempting to sound proper and chivalrous.
"We are merely a welcoming party sent by King Renly at Bitterbridge," The knight speaks.
"Jon, it is alright. My son, Robb, King of the North and Lord of Winterfell, has sent me here to speak terms with King Renly," Catelyn answers the both of them.
"Renly is the one true king of all of the Seven Kingdoms," The knight replies, turning and trotting off with Catelyn, her twenty Winterfell men, a Manderly knight, and 600 murderous Skagosi riders.
When the party of almost 700 men, plus one woman, arrives at the camp of Bitterbridge, many of the men already there seem incredibly surprised to see them. Most glance at the gray direwolf on white, but glare and back away from the bloody black direwolf on gray. They work their way through the immense camp, until they reach a tourney melee beneath the walls of the castle. The lords there treat Catelyn as the men did the gray direwolf, but treat Jon the way they treat his own sigil. It's no wonder, considering Jon carries his swords and shield on his back, his spear in hand, knife at waist and helm under left arm, still being almost completely covered in the blood of men from the West. Jon needs not to care, for with over 600 hundred Skagosi and Northmen behind him, the lords can order nothing without being put to the sword.
A large knight in shining blue armor battles with a lone knight in golden rose armor, the blue with a mace and the gold with an axe. Fuckin' madness, Jon thinks. He and his brother have been spilling blood in three kingdoms, and they sit here playing at war? Eventually, the large, blue knight pulls a fancy little trick, tackling the smaller gold knight, placing his dagger underneath the other knight's chin. When he concedes, many of the men boo and complain, yelling at the "unfairness" and "dishonor" of the move. Fuckin' fools.
"The Knights of Summer," Jon's mother whispers beside him, and he grunts in agreement. When it turns out the knight is a woman, and asks to be in Renly's Fuckin' Rainbow Guard, Jon nearly loses his temper. Not at the woman, but at the idea of a Rainbow Guard. Then, the knight who led them here, Ser Colen of Greenpools, interrupted the festivities by yelling to a young, broad and tall man in green plate, with dark black hair and blue eyes, like a younger version of his eldest brother, Robert. Beside Renly was a beautiful girl with thick, softly curling brown hair and large, brown eyes.
"Your Grace, I present to you, Lady Catelyn Stark, mother of Robb Stark, and her son, Jon Stark."
"My son Robb is King in the North and Lord of Winterfell, my son Jon is King of Skagos and Lord of Kingshouse, Ser."
"It is customary to kneel and say Your Grace when speaking to the one true rightful king of all the Seven Kingdoms," Brienne states, almost glaring at them. Jon's not sure whether it's meant to be intimidating or not, either way, it has no effect on the Skagosi king.
"We do not kneel, not even to our own kings. And by what right is he king? He has no claim to the right of conquest as Robert did, nor does he have the claim of being the eldest in the line like Stannis. So, by what right?" Jon asks, and many seemed outraged, though they had no answer to it.
"Calm down, Brienne. The Thirsty Wolf is a temperamental beast, and one that enjoys killing and burning. What's left of the Rock can attest to that," Renly states, putting a hand on Brienne's shoulder.
"Robb Stark should have come to pay homage himself, my lady, like this one of yours has," Randyll Tarly spoke at Catelyn.
"My sons are busy fighting a war, my lord, not playing at one," Catelyn replies, cold as Jon.
"My Lord Tarly, it would seem you are outmatched," Renly laughed, along with several others. "Is Jaime Lannister still a prisoner at Riverrun?"
"As far as I know, he is still a prisoner," Catelyn said.
"The Direwolf is gentler than the Lion," Renly declared, before looking at Jon, "Well, some Direwolves, at least. I vow, I shall serve the Lannisters' heads on plates to you, my lady!"
"Justice will be enough," Catelyn responded.
"Walk with me, Lady Catelyn, King Jon, you may make use of my pavilion tonight after we talk," Renly stated, standing up and leaving the box he sat in, followed by the Brienne, Cat, and Jon. When they reached a certain ledge overlooking the river Mander, Renly turned to the three of them.
"Brienne, I think you can leave us," When Brienne went to protest, he held up his hand. "The only dangerous one of these two is Jon, and if he wanted me dead, he would have done it when his hundreds of men rode in to out tourney grounds. He is a smart man, and will not kill me now, not when over half a hundred thousand men wait here, his mother near them."
Brienne looked like she wanted to protest, but closed her mouth and nodded, stalking off.
"A nice girl," Catelyn stated.
"Yes, very loyal, though I fear she loves me," Renly replied.
"So Loras's dislike for her is merely jealousy I suppose?" Jon asked, not smirking or attempting to goad the young Baratheon, merely asking a question.
"Yes, I suppose so, though perhaps a little bit of wounded pride as well," Renly answered back. "Look at that," He gestured to his camp, "75,000 men, all marching to make me king. There would be 20,000 more, but they've returned home to deal with your little intrusion on their homes," Renly stated, looking at Jon.
"That won't be enough," Jon replied.
"What? The 20,000 after your fleet? Or the 95,000 to take Westeros?" Renly asked, smug.
"Both," Jon replied, wiping the smug smirk off of Renly's face. "I have thousands of men on the Shields. You know that, I know that. I have more men on those Islands than I used to take the Iron Islands. 20,000 men is nothing to them anymore. And 95,000 men won't beat all of Westeros."
"How so?" Renly asked, ignoring the Shields. "95,000 men is more than you have. With Skagos and the North, you have, what, half of that? I admire your ferocity, but we have the number."
"If war was based on numbers, businessmen would order kings and Robert would have been smashed at the Trident. Besides, the North and Skagos are not alone."
"What do you..." Renly trailed off, eyes going wide. "They say you married Arianne Martell. They did not lie, did they?"
Jon didn't answer, but looked out on the banners of the South.
"Pretty banners, Baratheon, but flowers, fruits and hunters do not scare the North. The first two cease to exist in the snows, and the third, well, he ceases to exist when he meets what is in the snows." Catelyn flicked Jon's ear, prompting him to turn to his mother in shock.
"We have come to speak peace, not spar with Renly, Jon."
"No, Lady Catelyn, your son has the right of it. I despise the sly-eyed and silver-tongued politicians, and I appreciate his candor. He has told me nothing I had not already theorized, and no offense has been taken. I would ask that your eldest son bend the knee to me, he can call himself King in the North even after it, as the Dornish keep their titles, but I must have his allegiance. Jon, I ask nothing of. Skagos has its freedom, guaranteed by Robert," Renly ranted calmly, not quite explaining why, but answering nonetheless. Suddenly, a messenger came to them.
"Your Grace," The man knelt, and Renly waved him to his feet.
"What is it, friend?" Renly answered, kind to even the men of the lowest birth.
"Storm's End is under siege, Your Grace, though Ser Cortnay Penrose defies the attackers even now."
"King Jon, I had thought you had lured the Old Lion back in to the West."
"It's not the Lannisters, Your Grace, it's your brother Stannis, calling himself King Stannis."
-Linebreak-
When Jon and his mother, with Ser Manderly, as well as Skulgarth and Lachtín, rode behind Renly and his men with Brienne and the rest of his Rainbow Guard to meet Stannis and his party, Jon expected better attitudes amongst brothers, bicker though they may. Instead, he saw two grown men who share the same blood fight and argue, looking angry enough to kill, on Stannis's part at least. Though, Stannis looked to be unsure whether he would kill Renly or Jon first.
"Brother, I do not recognize your banners," Renly stated.
"King Stannis has taken for his sigil the Flaming Heart of R'hllor, The Lord of Light," The Red Woman next to Stannis declared. Skulgarth snorted in derision, and when she looked at him, he merely looked back with an eyebrow raised in amusement.
"Starks, I had not expected to find you with my traitor brother, though viciousness and betrayal is never far from your sons, my lady," Stannis said to Cat. She was near furious, but Jon answered instead.
"Betrayal? I see no betrayal. Robert fought for freedom against the Targaryens, and he was a hero for it, not a traitor. Your claim in this war is to the Iron Throne by birth right, ours is to our own thrones and by conquest."
"Your father died for my cause, attempting to make me king, as is my right. You would dishonor him by fighting me?"
"No, I would honor him by fighting for what is right, and placing R'hllor to rule us is not right. The worshipers of the Seven condemn their enemies. The followers of R'hllor burn them. We who keep the true Gods, the Gods of tree and stone, the Gods of the Weirwoods, we kill our enemies. No matter how righteous they may be," Jon answered. When Stannis went to reply, his face red, Jon interrupted.
"I grow tired of childish banter, which is what you two have brought to me, no matter how good of men you may be. Come, Mother, let us return to the camp, gather our things. We will garner no help here, and we have wars to win," Jon turned Cadeyrn in the opposite direction and rode off with the four in his company close behind him.
-Linebreak-
It was dark when Renly returned, and Jon and Cat sat in his tent, waiting for him. When he entered, he looked at them moodily before going over to his armor, Brienne who was close behind him getting to work on putting it on him.
"I had thought you would have left by now, Starks," Renly said darkly.
"Aye, so did I, but my mother wished to speak with you once more over these matters," Jon told him.
"King Renly, you can not do this. He is your brother! We must all join together to eradicate the Lannisters from the realm!" Cat was worked up.
"No, that man is not my brother. And to think I loved him once. We shall fight at dawn. Perhaps you should stay, so that you can witness what happens to my enemies for your son." Brienne continued to put on his armor, tying on the gorget as Cat sighed. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow move in the tent, and she thought herself delusional. But Jon stiffened next to her, gently pushing her behind him and gripping his spear tighter, lifting it and placing his left foot out in his stance. When the shadow came nearer, they both saw it, the face of Stannis Baratheon. Brienne saw it, and attempted to warn Renly who looked up and at it directly.
The sword in the shadow's hands cut clean through the fine plate, opening his throat. When Brienne gasped and shrieked, attempting to cut open the shade, it dissipated, and Lord Bryce Caron, Ser Emmon Cuy, and Ser Robar Royce entered, alarmed. When they entered they saw Brienne with her sword out and Jon with his spear at the ready. They did not know who to blame, the known savage who single-handedly defeated Jaime Lannister, or the freakishly large woman who stood a few feet from him.
"All three of you are under arrest," Lord Caron stated, advancing with the two knights.
"You don't understand," Brienne started.
"It was a shade," Catelyn said next.
"Aye, they tell the truth of it Sers, don't attempt to apprehend us," Jon warned.
"You think us afraid of you, savage? Prepare to die," Ser Emmon Cuy declared, him and Royce charging Jon who pushed Cat further back, and Lord Caron charging Brienne.
Jon turned and smacked Robar Royce with the butt of Icicle, though he grabbed the shaft before it could be retracted and pulled it. Jon let it go and Royce let it drop to the ground. Jon ripped out Longclaw and Dawn, the two shorter and quicker weapons, much more suitable for the large tent than the spear. Cuy swiped at Jon who leaned back, dodging it before straightening up and lashing out at Emmon. Emmon caught the blow with his sword, and Jon kicked his stomach with moderate power to push him back so he could slash downward at Ser Robar. Robar let the blade glance off his own before Longclaw came crashing down, scraping against his red armor. Dawn came back scraped across it from side to side, stunning Royce that he came so close to death. Jon side kicked him and turned the kick in to a force to push him towards Cuy, stabbing Longclaw towards him. Cuy parried it, but Dawn came to his waist and he bent over, pushing his waist back. Jon brought Longclaw down on his collarbone, entering the body of the knight through his yellow armor. Jon stuck Dawn deep in to his right thigh, eliciting a scream before Jon spun and drove Longclaw behind his back in to the upper back of Ser Emmon Cuy. Cuy gasped a final breath before Jon spun and removed his head from his shoulders with Dawn.
When Jon looked up, Robar Royce was ready to fight again and Jon pulled out Longclaw. He shoved the body down and jumped off of it, sending a flying front kick at the unexpecting knight Royce. It caught him in the chest, sending him back to almost tip over a dresser that was against the tent. When he caught his balance and looked back, Jon had brought both his swords to Robar's helm, the flat sides of the blades clanging against it and deafening him. He dropped his sword and bent over, covering his ears, and Jon moved his hands to the back of the Vale knight's head, holding it down while sending a knee in to the area of the helm over his temple, knocking it in and knocking out Royce, though the force sent him back in to the dresser and the tent, knocking them both in to the canvas and bringing half the tent down.
Jon turned back to his mother and Brienne, looking at Jon with wide eyes.
"Come on, we have to leave. Come with us Brienne, you can't stay here," Catelyn ordered, dragging the numb girl behind her. They escaped from the tent as Jon sheathed his blades and grabbed Icicle, following them just in time to miss the men entering the tent as a lamp knocked over and caught it on fire. Once outside, Skulgarth rode up with Jon and Catelyn's horses as Brienne trotted over to hers. When she got on her steed, Jon yelled.
"Skagosi! With me!" And the over 600 Skagosi and Northmen followed him, trailing behind as he sped out of camp, North and West, a chaotic and confused camp of Southerners behind them.
-Linebreak-
Jon, Cat, and their group had been traveling through the Kingswood for a few days now, taking their time and moving slowly, so as not to be caught rushing head first in to a trap of some sorts. Finally, when they reach a road crossing a river, the Wendwater, Jon turned to his mother.
"Mother, I must send you back to Robb. You will travel under the protection of my men West and North. Avoid all cities and castles, just keep moving until you all get back to the Riverlands."
"What do you mean? You are coming with us, are you not?" Cat was worried.
"No, Mother, not yet. I will take twenty of my best men with me, that is it. Every day Sansa is in that damned city, she suffers because of this war. I will not stand for it any longer. My men and I will gather Father's bones, Ice, and most importantly, Sansa. We'll escape and make it North, I promise," Jon told her, hugging her and kissing her cheek. She prepared to leave with tears in her eyes, surrounded by 600 men.
"Skulgarth, Lachtín, each of you pick nine more men, I want there to be ten archers and ten swordsmen or axemen. Daimhín, you will pick three men and come with us to take care of the horses and equipment while we're inside the city."
"Aye," The three responded, choosing some of the best but leaving many of the good ones to travel with the king's mother.
While Cat left with 600 men, the twenty-five who had a job to do in the South prepared. They cut their hair to appear to be more Southern. They stored their armor and weapons in their packs on their saddles. Jon stored his armor, spear, shield, and swords, but kept Northwind and put on his disguise. Extremely light brown leather armor over his black clothes, nothing but a chest plate, pauldrons, and bracers. He then attached a regular steel longsword, in decent shape, to his belt, on his left hip whereas his knife was on his right, handle pointing forward, edge to the ground. They shaved their facial hair, all of them, dressing similar to Jon, and grabbed the Westerosi coin they had at hand, as well as some of the silver and gold trinkets they had at hand. They walked and walked, finding the edge of the forest closest to King's Landing, then they found the nearest cave. When Daimhín and his three men were settled in the cave, Jon and his twenty men said their goodbyes and set off.
-Linebreak-
The Stark King traveled with Skulgarth and Rumann through the underground, every other Skagosi in a pair, archer with archer, foot man with foot man. They all knew their plan. The foot men would find their way in to the city to sell the loot before moving back in to the underground network, moving to sneak in to the Red Keep as Jon, Skulgarth, and Rumann all did. The archers, normally the best of the hunters on Skagos, would find a way on the rooftops of buildings and maybe even the keep itself, as well as through the gardens. Whoever found Lord Eddard's bones or Ice would return it to the room they had decided upon at the grate entering the underground network where they had come in. They would all work their way to the front right corner of the Red Keep, and if there was no findings by nightfall, they would all return to the room.
Just as Jon finished mulling over the plan, going over every detail and possible outcome, he and the duo behind him finally found a ladder after the 100th winding turn they had come across. Jon climbed up the ladder, pressing around on the stone slab above him until it moved, sliding rather easily when Jon willed it to, quietly and smoothly. Some ashes and wood rained down on the three men on the ladder. Catching some of the heavier pieces, Jon raise his head in the opening, looking around and finding nobody. He set the wood down inside of the fireplace they were emerging from, and rose up out of the fireplace, dusting himself off and helping the other two men out. Just then when they were all up and in the room, two figures entered the room, not noticing the three strange men at first.
The first to enter was a young, slim and short girl, pretty, with black hair and slightly dark skin, probably from the Free Cities. The other was an extremely short man, with curly, dark blonde hair and two mismatched eyes, one green and one black. He was clean shaved, but appeared tired with a very small amount of stubble, unnoticeable really. Tyrion Lannister. The two seemed to be arguing, but stopped and looked at Jon when he took his first step. They turned and looked ready to shout when Jon whipped out the sword at his waist and jumped forward, kicking the door shut. He held the sword under Tyrion's chin for but a second before the girl jumped at him with a dagger. He dodged and rammed his shoulder in to her body, sending her flying back on to the bed. The dagger was ripped out of her hand by Skulgarth who then picked her up by her tunic with one massive hand. Jon returned the sword point to Tyrion who stared at him.
"You cut off my brother's hand, if I do recall the message correctly," Tyrion stated after a moment of studying his face. When the girl realized Jon was the Northerner they whispered about, she grew a bit paler, and looked nervous.
"Aye, gave me the best fight of my bloody life, your brother, a true warrior, and a true knight if I ever met one," Jon replied, noting the surprise in Tyrion's eyes before Jon spoke again. "They say you tried to have my brother, Bran, killed. Any truth to that?"
"The only evidence to support it is a dagger that your mother said Baelish said is mine, that was in the hands of the assassin. Baelish is a snake, and I'm no idiot to arm an assassin with my own dagger," Tyrion answered, and he sighed when Jon nodded.
"Now, I hope you'll forgive me, Lord Tyrion, but I can't let you or the girl leave after this. You'll be tied, and left with my man Rumann. When we return, we'll untie you. Deal?"
"Very well, Stark. Do as you will," Tyrion responded, holding his hands out.
After they had gotten the two tied, Jon and Skulgarth left, and began walking circles around the immense keep. Every time they thought they had found something interesting, they had not. There were so many rooms, and Jon understood why Maegor the Cruel was so cruel. He was driven mad by this damn castle.
Eventually, just when Jon thought to give up, as the sun was dipping low in the sky and they had made their way towards the front right corner of the Red Keep, near the room they had started in, he saw her. Jon saw Sansa walking by the wall, looking down, seemingly having come back from a stroll of some sort. She refused to raise her head and show her face, but Jon knew her anywhere, it was his sister.
"Sansa," Jon called out quietly. When she turned to look for the voice, he called for her again. "Sansa!" She finally turned and saw him, confused for only a split second at the freshly shaved and short haired duo of men staring at her, but then, when she looked in the eyes of the shorter, though still tall, one, she knew it was Jon. He seemed healthy enough, but urgent.
"Jon," She ran over to him, quickly hugging him, feeling like crying.
"Hey, little pup, come on, it's time to go," He turned with her hand in his, and saw Rumann walk around the corner. A sword sprouted from his chest, and a man in white and gold armor and cloak held on to the handle of the sword that was in Jon's man. He pulled the sword out and Rumann fell, dead, a corpse. Jon looked in the opposite direction and saw another two white knights of the Kingsguard walk around the corner. A group of Lannister guards from directly in front of the trio of Northerners, led by a man with a skeletal face and hair only on the sides of his head, though long. In his hands was Ice, his father's greatsword.
"Drop your weapons and you will be treated with respect fit for your station," One of the knights to their right announced, and Jon looked behind them. There was a ledge where the wall ended, and across the ledge was tall building. On the roof of that tall building, Jon's ten archers rushed to get in to position.
"Skulgarth, help the little bird fly to her perch," Jon declared, and as Jon ripped out his sword, Skulgarth grabbed Sansa, turning and flinging her as hard as possible across the gap in between the ledge and the lower rooftop, where she was caught by three of Jon's men. Jon turned back and noticed the group of Lannister pets rushing them.
Skulgarth met his axe with the sword of Ser Balon Swann, who had killed Rumann, and met it again, and again. Jon turned and cut down one Lannister guard, turning and meeting the blade of Ser Boros Blount. They danced back and forth, Meryn Trant joining the frey.
Skulgarth danced back and forth, eventually allowing the cocky Ser Balon to scrape his cheek, causing him to grin, before the giant Skagosi's foot shot out, kicking in the knight's kneecap, his axe swinging and taking off the white helm and the head of the Kingsguard as he was dropping to the ground. Just when he spun around, Ice swung down, entering his body on the inside of his right collar bone. He glared at Payne, unimpressed, and his hand shot out, grabbing the King's Justice's throat. His hand squeezed, his fingers and nails puncturing the skin, entering the windpipe. The skinny man died as Skulgarth died, and Jon growled, ducking under swipe from Meryn and sticking his sword through Boros's face and kicking Trant away from him. He grabbed Ice and tossed it at the other roof, the Valyrian steel greatsword of House Stark floating over to the building, hitting the floor of the roof and being picked up by Lachtín. Then, the archers and crossbowmen started firing at the roof, trying not to hit Sansa. They shot down nine of the archers, but Lachtín, swift of mind and feet, grabbed Ice and Sansa and ran, his hood on to prevent them from getting a good look at him.
When Jon was convinced that his sister and close friend had gotten safely away, Jon turned back around, barely dodging Ser Meryn's slash. His sword met Trant's seven times before he pretended to jab high, instead almost diving downward and stabbing it through the leg of the Kingsguard. He howled in pain, and Jon grabbed the sword, ripping it out and upward, splitting the face with no helm in two. When he assessed his situation, Joffrey, Cersei, and Tyrion all seemed to be behind the wall of guards with spears advancing at Jon, and right when he went to charge at the spearmen, a vicious blow to the back of the head knocked him to the ground, stunned and slipping in to unconsciousness.
"Good job, Sandor. Now, I want you to find the Stark girl and the man she went with, immediately!" Much rushing was heard, and above Jon's eyes he saw a half burned face, a beautiful, middle-aged blonde face, and a dwarf's face, peering down at him before his eyes closed.
-Linebreak-
When Jon awakes, it's to water being dumped over his head. His eyes open, then close due to the brightness of his surroundings.
"Wake up," Somebody kicks him in the side, prompting him to growl and open his eyes. His eyes first meet a wooden post which he quickly deduces his hands are tied around. The man with the burned face, Sandor Clegane, is in Kingsguard armor to his right, probably being the one who kicked him. On the other side of the post, several yards away, is Lord Tyrion, facing the post and Jon behind it. He sees nobody else, but he is sure there is more, especially when he hears the crowd. Tyrion walks up to him and whispers in his ear.
"I had your men's bodies burned, as is your people's fashion, I believe, just so you won't worry," He tells Jon, and when Jon whispers a thank you, he leaves back to his original position.
"Jon Stark, false King of Skagos, you are here to answer for the crimes you have committed against the crowd, how do you plead?" A woman's voice asked. Cersei Lannister. Jon looked to his right, noticing Northwind on the Hound's belt and feels a rush of energy, it's so close. Sandor backs away a few steps.
"What crimes? And which crown? There's half a dozen of the fuckers," Jon responds, laughing at his own statement. The crowd jeers and taunts him, and another voice picks up.
"My crown, you dolt, the one and only crown that matters!" Of course that was Joffrey, screeching like a girl as always. "I am the king!"
"I've killed women scarier than you," Jon responds, before deciding to add, "Your Grace." He could practically feel the heat coming off of Joffrey's head.
"Ser Preston! Teach this insolent heathen some manners!" Joffrey screeched, and Jon wondered what he meant until he felt the lash across his back, as well as hearing the crack of the whip when it moved. Jon grunted out loud before shutting his mouth, clenching his teeth and gritting them. He looked around, picking a spot on the wall behind Tyrion above his right shoulder, looking at it and staring. When the second lash hit, Jon was ready and grunted inwardly. It happened again, and again, until thirty lashes had been dealt out and Jon's vision was unsteady, feeling light-headed and dizzy. He felt arms untie him, and then two men, presumably Sandor and Preston, grab him and pick him up. They held his arms over their shoulders as they pulled him, his feet dragging across the ground, until everything got dark, and the dragging continued, and they propped him up against a wall, putting some shackle around his arms.
So. They left me in the Black Cells. Jon thought. Shouldn't they have killed him? Why hadn't they? Then, Jon thought, if they hadn't, it was because they couldn't afford to. They must not be able to find Sansa. Then, he laughed. He laughed, and he laughed, until he saw a torch approaching.
"Wha..."
-Linebreak-
When Jaime Lannister awoke inside his room/cell in the Crag, he looked up to find not his food, but Robb Stark, staring at him and glaring.
"Yes, Your Grace?" Jaime asked, mocking. Just because he liked the boys younger brother didn't mean he would like this one. To stern and stiff, like his father. The Skagosi were the wild, loose Northerners, ones you could learn to like.
"My brother snuck in to the capital to free my sister. I don't know if she's escaped, reports say she has, but they caught my brother. Your bastard son and your sister had him whipped on the platform above the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. They're going to hang him if they find Sansa, they'll have no other use for him," Robb spoke, anger and hatred lacing his tone. Jaime was shocked. The Stark boy Jon was the best fighter he'd ever fought, a warrior on par with Ser Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy, or himself. He wondered what could bring him to do such a thing. He didn't love his sister like Jaime loved Cersei, most likely, so Jaime thought. Would he have done what Jon did to save Tyrion? Most likely.
"Why, are you telling me this?" Jaime asked, looking up at the king from under his hair. The blue Tully eyes stared back at him violently.
"My brother's life and wishes to keep you alive and well are the only things keeping you alive and well. If he dies, I'll let the Boltons have you, and I'll send you back to your sister piece by piece," Robb snarled out before turning and storming out of the room, closing and locking it.
Robb thought long and hard on his brother, feeling frustrated and helpless. He was the elder brother, but in the war, Jon had acted more like the bigger brother, not just because he was two inches taller these days but because he had experienced everything war had to offer, and twice. Robb sighed, his shoulders slumping from exhaustion and his head slumping under the crown. It would be time to go and console his mother, distraught over what had happened in King's Landing.
-Linebreak-
"You could free me?" Jon asked, staring at the only face he'd seen for the past couple weeks, the person who had come to bring him food and water, as well as ointment and salves for his back.
"I could, but will I? No," Varys answered, shaking his head as Jon laughed. "I'm no hero, King Jon, I mustn't do anything so heroic as that."
"Aye," Jon replied, drinking from the flask of pisswater they called ale that Varys had given him.
"I had this same conversation with your father, when he was down here," Varys replied, and Jon turned to look at him, not laughing for a second before continuing. Varys spoke again, "I'm a spy, and couldn't help him. Spiders don't do heroics."
"Aye, you understand, so you won't mind if your head ends up with the Lannisters," Jon responded, laughing harder than before.
"Excuse me, Your Grace?" Varys asked, unsure as to what Jon meant.
"You are a Spider and a spy. Spiders and spies don't do heroics. I am a Wolf and a Skagosi warrior. Wolves and Skagosi Warriors do not forgive," Jon answered, laughing harder than he had yet, and Varys stood from his position crouching next to Jon.
"Pardon me, King Jon, but I hear men coming and I must be leaving," Varys apologized, bowing and exiting from the same place he came from, taking the torch with him. Before long, another lantern appeared around the corner, illuminating the faces of Sandor Clegane and the two guards of the City Watch who had come for him. When they got to him, Sandor unlocked his shackles from the wall, and the two guards yanked him up, pushing him along. They took several turns, and when they exited, it was out on to the area in front of the Sept of Baelor. Jon looked at the top, and, with little surprise, noticed the scaffold set up to hang him. However, Sansa wasn't there, which was strange.
The guards jostled him up and up, all the way to the top, past the stairs and farther along the platform, Sandor stopping in front of it. Jon inspected his clothes. Varys had been kind enough to provide him buckets to use, so he had not soiled his trousers or his boots, but his tunic and cloak had been torn off him before they whipped him. He would die shirtless, but somewhat decently, with the lacerations from the whipping almost completely healed. They jostled him up once more, on to the raised platform, where they tied the noose around his neck and he waited.
"Jon of House Stark, due to your crimes against the Crown, I sentence you to die. Any words?" Joffrey asked, gleeful.
"Where's my sister?"
"We're close to finding her, Mother says," Joffrey responded, oblivious.
Jon thought on that and started laughing, harder than he ever had before. Sansa was long gone by now, and this bastard product of incest was about to get his father killed by killing the only Stark he had because he stupidly misunderstood his mother's terms of placation. And so he laughed.
Joffrey, red faced, screamed, giving the signal to have the rope cut, releasing Jon to his strangulation.
Jon dropped, not enough to break his neck, but enough to make the rope extremely, painfully tight, squeezing the life from him.