AN: Any recognisable dialogue belongs exclusively to the HBO Tv Show; Game of Thrones and George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire
Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things
We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark
Chapter XIV – Jon
Jon eyes the scroll Maester Luwin's handed Robb with veiled trepidation. It's in Sansa's hand, just as the last letter they received from the capital, but it's addressed to Robb, against Sansa's norm of addressing her few letters home to him.
"Treason?" Robb asks, disbelief colouring his tone. "Sansa wrote this?"
Maester Luwin sighs, and Jon doesn't think he's seen the old Maester look so grim. "It is your sister's hand yes, but the Queen's words. You're summoned to Kings Landing to swear fealty to the new King."
"Joffrey puts my Father in chains. Now he wants his ass kissed?" Robb growls.
Catelyn looks stricken and Jon cannot blame her, the very thought of Arya and Sansa, alone in the Lion's Den makes his heart clench. Even with Sansa's foreknowledge, Kings Landing is a dangerous place to reside, and it would be more so again, should Joffrey follow the path of their last life, and their Lord Father lose his head.
"Robb..." She speaks softly, as though the words hurt and Jon suspects they do. "You cannot ignore this, you must go."
"My Lady is right." Maester Luwin agrees. "This is a royal command My Lord, if you should refuse to obey..."
"I won't refuse." Robb says darkly, crumpling the scroll in his hand. "His Grace summons me to Kings Landing and, I'll go to Kings Landing... but not alone." Robb looks up, and Jon catches his eye, he knows what's coming, he's been waiting for it since he woke beneath the Heart Tree. "Call the Banners."
"All of them My Lord?"
"They've all sworn to defend my Father have they not?"
"They have." Maester Luwin nods.
"Now we see what their words are worth." Robb speaks, and Jon watches him closely.
His brother's hands are shaking, and Jon shifts uneasily, in this moment he's forcibly reminded just how young Robb truly is, he's a boy of seven and ten, too young to step into his Lord Father's shoes, too young to begin a war, too young to have died fighting a war. Jon crosses his arms, lest his own hands begin to shake. The stakes are higher here, he'd lived and died and lived again in his last life, and now in this one he's heaved a new burden upon his own shoulders, and he's frightened, for all he sees are children, playing at war.
Theon breaks the silence that fell upon Maester Luwin's exit. "You're afraid."
"I must be." Robb whispers, as he stares at his shaking hands.
"Good." Theon replies. "It means you're not stupid."
Catelyn glares. "What do you know of war? What do any of you know of War? You are children!"
Robb matches her glare with a fierce one of his own, and speaks loudly. "I know that my Lord Father is at the Mercy of a child, because you chose to take Tyrion Lannister as payment for his siblings crimes!"
Catelyn though chagrined, holds his stare. "I will not have anyone attack a child of mine without consequence!"
"Tyrion Lannister did not attack your child!" Robb yells. His fists clench, but Jon's proud when he calms. "I understand why you did it Mother, but now we're facing the consequences of your actions."
Catelyn, her anger visibly fading, nods. "You made the right choice calling the Banners." She says, "Were you to step into Kings Landing with anything less than an Army at your back, you would never be allowed to leave."
"I know what happened to the Targaryen children when the Mad King fell Mother." Robb answers quietly and Jon can feel his brother's eyes upon him. "I know what my fate would be."
Jon knows, had the truth of his birth been revealed, so many years earlier, that he would have shared the fates of his siblings. Rhaenys, the little tot, stabbed until there was more holes than body, and the babe Aegon, his tiny head dashed upon the wall by Gregor Clegane, the monster honoured with a Knighthood for his service. He can't even imagine them- would they have taken after their Lady Mother Elia, all coffee skin and dark eyes, maybe after their Lord Father, or perhaps a mixture of the two? Perhaps they'd change, after touching an open flame, and wake to find their eyes turn violet when the light of an open flame catches them right and their hair turning silver, one strand at a time.
"Then you know that Tywin Lannister is not to be trifled with, you know the atrocities committed on his orders, in his name. Understand this my son, the years have not made him kinder."
"Our best hope, our only hope, is to meet them on the Battlefield, and strike them hard, like the Kings of old." Robb answers.
Jon sees Theon nod and he looks to the youngest Greyjoy, at the boy raised alongside them; conflicted. He remembers all too well the boy Theon is now, the boy who craves the glory of a fight, who wants, desperately, to blood his blade and put heads on spikes. He remembers it was this Theon who put Winterfell to the torch, beheaded Ser Rodrik and murdered two innocent children, blackening the bodies with fire when he could not find the true targets of his ire; Bran and Rickon. He remembers the devastation he felt when he'd heard, the truth only revealed when Sansa arrived at gates of Castle Black, her life only her own, because of Theon's redemption. He remembers Eddard returning to Winterfell with Theon at his side, the frightened boy taken from his Lord Father as collateral to keep the Iron Islands in line and how quickly he learnt his place as a ward of House Stark. It strikes Jon then, just why Theon forcibly reminded him of his place so often as children... because Theon, could never forget his. For all Theon's talk of the Iron Islands, he'd never known any Father but Eddard Stark; he knows nothing of the Iron Price, of the Drowned God or his Lord Father, Jon realises.
Theon, is as much Eddard Stark's son, as he is.
"The full force of the North cannot be raised at such short notice." Catelyn says, and Robb nods. "You'll have twenty thousand men at most."
"Theon, fetch Father's map from his Solar." Robb orders, and Theon nods. Jon's almost surprised by the respect Theon shows to Robb, but he supposes, Theon's always been loyal to Robb... until he wasn't.
Robb waits until Theon is out of sight, and earshot, before he speaks again. "I'm sorry." He says softly, "About-"
Jon shakes his head. "I didn't know them." He answers, his own voice sounds off to his ears, rougher, emotive, wrong. "I'll never know any of them."
A hand grasps his own, and he's taken aback to find it's Catelyn offering him the little comfort. He nods, and she lets him go, just as Theon returns, map in hand. He spreads it across the High Table, and Westeros is laid bare before them.
"The Westerlands and the Crownlands can raise seventy thousand men between them," Catelyn begins, pointing to the aforementioned areas of the Map. "The Stormlands can field thirty thousand men, and the Reach seventy thousand. My Father can raise perhaps forty thousand, and my sister the same."
"What of Dorne?" Robb asks.
"Perhaps fifty thousand, perhaps more, only the House Martell knows the true number of men they can raise."
Jon eyes the map, and remembers the declaration Stannis Baratheon sent from the Wall to Sunspear, the truth of Joffrey Waters' birth. "Are we certain that Joffrey is Robert Baratheon's son?" Catelyn stops. Robb and Theon look up from the map, and Jon feels vaguely uncomfortable with all their eyes on him, unused to it now, back in this body. "Bran was thrown from the top of the Broken Tower for what he witnessed there and whilst he may not remember what he saw, I can remember what I heard, and who I saw leave."
"The Queen and her brother." Catelyn growls.
"Aye." Jon nods. "We've all seen the little prick, he looks more Lannister than even the Imp."
She looks again to the map, lingering on the Stormlands. "If Joffrey is not Robert's son, then the younger two aren't either. If that is the case, the crown would fall to Stannis Baratheon, the King's eldest Brother."
"But," Catelyn continues, "The Storm Lords aren't likely to follow him, not after the Siege of Storms End, they haven't forgotten the loss of their Heirs under Stannis's command. Renly was a boy when we last met, but the Storm Lords will raise him to the Iron Throne before they bend the knee to Stannis."
Robb nods. "So the force of the Stormlands will be split."
"Not evenly," Catleyn agrees, "but split nonetheless."
Theon looks between them. "Forgive me My Lady, but we're only marching on the Westerlands and the Crownlands, what does the Reach and the Southlands mean to us. What does Dorne mean to us?"
"Allies, Theon." Jon answers. "They mean allies."
"If we need allies, my Father-"
"No." Catelyn scowls. "Your Lord Father gave you to House Stark, hostage by his marker, and ward by ours. He bent the knee to Robert Baratheon only when he realised it was his head if he didn't, he would no more ally with House Stark than House Lannister would."
Theon, shamed, looks away. "I could go to him, speak-"
"No Theon." Catelyn growls. "Your place is here, beside your Lord."
"House Stark is not my House." He whispers.
"It is as much your House as Jon's." Robb growls, putting an end to Theon's protests. "You may not have our name, but you are our brother."
Jon nods his agreement, to the clear surprise of Theon, who hides his tearful eyes with all the grace he can muster. Jon speaks, and draws the attention back to himself, offering Theon a moment of reprieve. "Winter is Coming, we have years at best and months at worst and the North isn't ready for a long winter... and when we go to War..."
"The supply lines from the South will be cut off." Robb finishes. "How will we feed our people, when we can't even protect our Lord?" He asks, leaning on his fists as he lingers over the map. Jon sees the visible weight on his shoulders, the entirety of the North, resting on Robb's back. "White Harbour!" He suddenly exclaims, just as the silence was beginning to tarry and twists the map about until they're looking at the North instead of the South.
Jon looks beyond the straight line that marks the Wall, and thinks he could fill in the blanks; mark where Mance Rayder's Free Folk army is gathering, and where Tormund will lead his men to Climb the Wall, he could mark Hardhome and Craster's Keep and the cave where he bedded Ygritte... he remembers the sound of Olly's arrow punching through her chest, the wet thwack, and the blood that spewed from her lips as she fell.
"We should have stayed in that cave."
"We'll go back there."
"You know nothing… Jon… Snow…"
He looks to Robb, and remembers Rickon, felled in much the same way as Ygritte, a brutal death, for one so young, and recalls the horrific tales he heard of Robb's last breaths, how he'd taken arrow after arrow, until finally, Roose Bolton thrust a dagger in his heart.
"White Harbour is the only Port in the North and the fifth biggest city in Westeros. The defences are crumbling, but if we repair and strengthen them, we can open more Trade routes along the White Knife."
"That's all well and good Robb," Catelyn starts, "But how do you expect this to be done, when you take every Northern Son to War?"
Robb shakes his head. "No, not every Northern Son Mother. You said so yourself, with such a short time frame I can raise but twenty thousand. The full strength of the North is forty-five thousand, more if we count the Mountain Clans, the Sons that remain, the Daughters that remain, can strengthen the North for the coming Winter. We need to open supply lines between White Harbor and the Free Cities, we need to strengthen every holdfast from the Gift to The Neck-"
Theon raises his head. "We need ships. The North doesn't have a Navel Power." He says, looking to the blue seas surrounding Westeros. "We haven't had strength at sea since the Northern Kings of Old, when Brandon the Burner set fire to the remaining fleet of Brandon the Shipwright."
Robb raises an eyebrow. "You did pay attention when Maester Luwin spoke, I always wondered."
Theon rolls his eyes. "Prick." He mutters, but there's no real heat in his retort Jon notices. "You'll need ships to trade with the Free Cities, and War Ships, if you want to sail on Kings Landing. The Royal Fleet is docked at Dragonstone, and if you're right about Stannis Baratheon declaring himself King, that fleet is his. The Lannister Fleet was burned by my eldest brother during the Rebellion, and as far as Maester Luwin has taught us, they haven't built another, which means aside from the Iron Islands, only House Redwyne hold a fleet and they will go wherever House Tyrell does."
Catelyn nods, and Jon sees Theon's barely concealed pride at her agreement. "Trade ships first. Perhaps we'll find more allies in the Free Cities." She says, and Jon feels her eyes upon him. He knows what she's implying, who, Catelyn's implying to aid them from across the Narrow Sea, but she is so far away, with so little resources, and there's allies much closer to home, with far more to gain, and far more to lose.
"What about Beyond the Wall?" He asks, and is greeted with silence.
"Wildlings?" Theon baulks.
"Free Folk." Jon corrects absently, eyes still lingering on the section of the map he knows Mance's army gathers. They'll soon be fighting a war on all fronts, in the South against House Lannister, in the North itself should House Bolton prove to be as traitorous in this life as his last, and finally in the far North... he knows the White Walkers are rising again, he remembers the face of the Night King, as he stared at him from the Dock at Hardhome, he can vividly recall its eyes, as blue as ice, staring into his soul as the dead were raised to fight again. "Ninety clans gathering under one banner for the first time since in centuries. Not only would we remove a threat from the North, but we could bolster our host with willing bodies."
"You want to ally with savages?" Theon asks disbelievingly.
"They're the same as you or I." Jon snaps, "They just had the misfortune of being on the wrong side of the North when the Wall went up. I've seen you eying Bran's Spearwife teacher, which side of the Wall exactly did you believe she hailed from Theon?"
Theon, dumbfounded doesn't answer. Robb however, laughs, and claps him on the shoulder. "You are far more idealistic than I believed brother."
"Free Folk have been leading raids against the Watchers on the Wall for centuries, and for the first time in centuries they're succeeding." Jon states grimly. "Of the nineteen holdfasts along the Wall, only three are manned; Castle Black, Shadow Tower and East Watch beside the Sea- The Night's Watch was ten thousand strong during Aegon's Conquest, now they number less than a thousand; they can barely protect the Wall let alone the settlers in the Gift."
"We hardly have the manpower to march against the Lannister's Jon, we cannot possibly bolster the Watch." Robb says and shakes his head. "I hardly see the need."
Jon stares at him, and repeats the words just spoken to him. "Then you are far more idealistic than I believed brother."
"You don't honestly believe Old Nan's tales Jon?" Robb scoffs.
"Winter is Coming brother... it would be foolish not to."
"The White Walkers sleep beneath the ice for thousands of years. And when they wake up... I hope the Wall is high enough."
Winterfell fills by the hour, the ravens flying swift and true to every sworn House in the North, the Bannermen of House Stark sending their fittest Sons, their most able fighters, and oft the Lords themselves, to answer the call. Jon watches from Robb's side as the Great Main Gates open wide, spilling men from every house into Wintertown, filling it to the brim, men from the Houses who come slower erecting tents outside the Great Gates, jovial as they sharpen swords and drink mead by the tankard, telling war stories over the open flames.
It's odd, to be seated at the Lord's table, at Robb's side and for none to protest, Jon thinks, as a server fills his cup with ale, the drink far smoother here than at the Wall. He eyes the men around the table, his Lord Father's friends, men who've fought at his side and answered his call, just as they've answered his eldest son's. He recognises one of the men a table below, Robett Glover, Galbart Glover's brother and successor, who refused the call when he and Sansa requested their aid in ousting the Bastard Bolton from Winterfell, but crowned him King when Lady Lyanna Mormont demanded it. He knows better than most that loyalty is fickle, and self preservation reigns.
Jon sees Dacey Mormont as she takes her seat aside Smalljon Umber, the mountain of a man blushing as he offers her a cup, and when she notices his gaze, she greets him with a nod. Jon recalls the first time they met, many years ago by his marker, few by hers, and Robb's instant infatuation... until he called her Lady, as is her title, and she trounced him in the Tiltyard for the unintentional slight. She'd proved her worth as a Warrior and gained Robb's respect as such, and none had named her Lady Dacey since. Jon returns her nod, and spots her Lady Mother Maege Mormont across the room; with a spear strapped across her back and her towering height he's reminded of the Spearwives he met at Mance Rayder's camp in his last life. It's not uncommon for a woman to fight in the North, but it's still rarer here than Beyond the Wall.
"For thirty years I've been making corpses out of men boy!" Greatjon Umber growls. "I'm the man you'll want leading the Vanguard."
"Galbert Glover will lead the Vanguard." Robb answers, his voice as hard as the stones of Winterfell.
"The bloody Wall will melt, before an Umber marches behind a Glover!" Greatjon postures, leaning forward. "I will lead the Van. Or I will take my men, and march them home."
The Great Hall quiets, every man of every House hearing the Greatjon's threat, Jon sees Catelyn's expression turn to stone, and Bran's to ice, he see Theon's thunder and Robb... his eyes darken to black, his anger cold and his gaze calculated as he locks the Greatjon with a stare that could melt steel.
"And you would be welcome to do so Lord Umber." Robb rumbles, pushing back from the table, and standing. "And when I am done with the Lannister's, I will march back North, root you out of your Keep, and hang you for an Oathbreaker."
Jon hears Grey Wind growl, as the Greatjon roars. "Oathbreaker is it!" The screech of wood against stone sounds over and over as every Lord in the North stands, the Greatjon's plate clattering as it hits the wall. Jon's hand moves to his sword, though he remains sitting, and uses his other to stop Ghost and Lady from rising to join Grey Wind and Nymeria at Robb's back. "I'll not sit here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass!" The Greatjon goes for his sword, and Jon rises, Theon an instant behind him, but Grey Wind is quicker, leaping onto the table and at Greatjon, taking two fingers as reparation for the slight.
"My Lord Father taught me it was death to bare steel against your Liege Lord." Robb speaks strongly as the Greatjon stands. "Doubtless," He continues, "The Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me."
"Your meat!" The Greatjon growls, kicking his chair aside. Jon whistles lowly, calling Grey Wind back, and quieting Nymeria, still snarling at Robb's side. "Is bloody tough." The Greatjon laughs, and Robb joins, the entirety of the Great Hall joining. Jon offers Grey Wind a cut of steak as he pads back to Robb's side, the DireWolf's littermates' nosing him softly as he lays again at Robb's feet.
Bran smiles, leaning into his side. "And the first battle is won."
"Let us pray to the Gods, he wins the next." Jon replies, and tries to shake the dread marching South produces in the pit of his stomach, when he knows that deep in the Lands of Always Winter, the true enemy rises unimpeded.
AN: The Banners have been called, and the War Council has begun.
Fun fact, this is the longest chapter yet! Thank you to everyone again who's favourited (all 404 of you), followed (all 518 of you) and reviewed (all 171 of you) I can't tell you how much I appreciate every one of you!