I am terribly sorry for the delay, wedding planning has escalated. Please enjoy.

Ashes

To be honest he hadn't known what to expect when he returned to the mainland.

He hadn't officially gone against the rulings of the King - the King had ruled that no army of Westeros would invade the Iron Islands. But Jon had crossed the sea with a knightly order whose numbers were low enough that they couldn't very well be considered an army in size or name any longer. When it came to Kings however, the laws of the land and the records of what decisions had been made previously were… fluid.

If the King wanted to say one day that there would be no invasion and the next day curse out his Lords for not invading then it was his prerogative. The Royal Prerogative as it was known - the right to change your mind at the drop of a fucking hat and have everyone in the Seven Kingdoms rush to change their position on that particular issue. In the case of the Fat King, Jon wouldn't be surprised if he changed his mind about things because he wanted to watch the proud Lords struggle to turn themselves around until they were following his new wishes.

A part of him had banked on the idea that the Fat King, notorious for his warmongering attitude, would approve of his actions. That the King would do that big, boisterous, laugh of his and declare that Jon had acted exactly as he would have done when he was younger. Though Jon knew he had acted with far more forethought than the Fat King had likely ever used in his entire life.

But, alas, it was not to be.

Their ship had been intercepted by some ships from Seaguard and escorted to the port city with all haste. The armies of the North and the Fat King's host had moved to Seaguard during their absence - allowing Jon a chance to return Harrion's bones to his father, Lord Karstark, before the King's men arrived to take him away.

Seeing such a proud man brought low, wailing for his lost son, had made Jon question, once again, what he had done. Was it really worth it? There would be more fathers like Lord Karstark, mothers and siblings too. He hadn't lost as many men as he had first thought but still. There were beyond dozens of young men who would never again feel the touch of Westeros beneath their feet, would never be brought back to rest with their ancestors.

He very much doubted the Ironborn would be respectful with their bones.

He hadn't had chance to stay and face either the wrath or gratitude of Lord Karstark - the King's men had arrived pretty quickly and taken him into their custody. Jon had already given Red Rain to Lancel to take care of so they didn't have to confiscate any weapons from him, though Jon did have to remind his men to stand down as many had reached for weapons upon seeing their commander being detained.

That he inspired such loyalty in his men touched Jon.

But all of that had been hours ago now.

For the past few hours he had been here, on his knees, in the centre of the Mallister's great hall, facing the empty head table. Along the walls the Baratheon and Lannister guardsmen stood ready, two of them stood directly behind him as well. Not as if he could have escaped without those two behind him of course, his hands were locked together in manacles and they, in turn, were connected to a metal ring set in the stone of the floor. He was chained to the floor, incapable to doing anything more than standing.

Not that he'd be able to of course.

The purpose of the two guards behind him seemed to be to keep him knelt there on the cold stone, to keep him showing the proper deference to those who would judge him no doubt. It wasn't comfortable that was for certain - he was still in the bloodied armour of Victarion Greyjoy after all, only the helm missing from the ensemble. He honestly had expected a servant to be made to clean his armour enough to not offend the noses of those who would judge him.

He was, after all, hot, sweaty and covered in the stinking blood and viscera of many different men.

Or, could be, that the judges wanted him to remain as he had been when they'd arrested him at the docks? To remind any of those who would have been inclined to be lenient, just what kind of a man he was - a man who had spilt more than his fair share of blood. Wrongfully, depending who you asked. Or maybe he was just over thinking this whole thing? He could hardly do anything else after all.

They couldn't be taking this long to actually get here now could they? Whomever was judging him would have to be higher in station than him. As a knight that was quite a lot of people but as the commander of a knightly order, that list was narrowed down to higher Lords and royalty. At the end of the day the only people he actually had to answer to were the Lord Paramount of the region he operated within and the royal family. So that left his father, Prince Stannis, Prince Renly, Prince Joffrey, Prince Tommen, Princess Marcella, Queen Cersei or King Robert.

The youngest prince and the princess were out, neither had any kind of training in matters such as these and were currently back in King's Landing. Same with the Queen as far as Jon was aware. Prince Stannis was off somewhere with the Royal Fleet, as part of his role as Master of Ships. Prince Renly was… actually he had no idea where Renly Baratheon was, though the jokes around the camp had been that he was 'improving relations' with Highgarden.

Somehow Jon didn't see Margery being interested in the rather inoffensive Prince.

So that left King Robert himself, Prince Joffrey and Lord Eddard Stark. He would like to say that he doubted that his own father would be called upon to judge him but he honestly didn't. While some men might choose their family over their honour and duty, he was less certain that his father would be one of those men. He was honourable, almost to a fault, and had expressed disappointment with Jon's plan from the start. Likely he would be even more disappointed now that Jon had gone behind the backs of his Lord and father to do as he willed regardless of his opinion.

One of the side doors behind the main table opened and Jon's immediately didn't feel quite so carefree about this whole thing. Rather than one of the remaining three people he had believed could judge him, all three of them were present. King Robert, wearing a thunderous expression, took the centre of the table with a vaguely amused-looking Prince Joffrey taking the seat immediately to his right. Jon was struck, for a moment, by the similarities between Joffrey and his uncle, the Kingslayer, but he supposed it made sense, with the Queen being the twin of the Kingslayer.

And there was his own father, sitting to the left of the King with perhaps the sternest expression Jon had ever seen on his face before.

Looked like his father had not revised his opinion about Jon's plan to safeguard the coast of the North with the slaughter of the Ironborn threat. Not that he honestly expected his father to have changed his opinion on the subject - to Eddard Stark, Jon's choice was without honour because it was largely indiscriminate in who died. Jon wasn't naive or hopeful enough to say that no babes in swaddling had died in the fires his men had started. He had weighed up the sacrifice of such lives with the continued safety of his family and their people and had decided that their lives were an acceptable cost for such a goal.

He remained secure in that decision even while staring across the hall at the disappointed gaze of his honourable father, even if it did make him feel almost unclean. Remembering himself, however he bowed his head to the King and the Prince. One of the guards made an almost silent sound of disappointment - perhaps he had been hoping he'd be able to hit Jon to remind him of his manners? Such brutes the Baratheon's kept in their guard.

The Fat King was finally sat, surprisingly without a scrap of food on the table. Of course his squire immediately raced forwards with a bottle of wine, filling the massive goblet of the King and the small glass of the Prince. Lord Stark took a glass of watered down wine rather than the full strength of the drink. Seemed his father was taking this very seriously - he never drank full wine when he was going to pass judgement after all.

Hopefully today wouldn't end with an ironwood stump and a flash of a Valyrian steel sword.

There was silence as the King glared down at him, the Prince looked oh-so-amused and his father looked to be disappointed. If they were hoping to cow him with such looks they would be incredibly disappointed - he was here because he chose to be after all. It would have been rather easy to escape Westeros with the Iron Victory, to escape and become a sell-sword or a pirate or just go live with the natives in the far off lands across the sunset sea. Whatever he wanted.

But instead he had come back to Westeros, because he truly believed that what he had done had been for the best. Not best for the Iron Islanders, of course, but best for the Seven Kingdoms to be sure. He would argue that point for as long as they stood against him in this matter. The King, as was proper, was the one to actually start the proceedings,

"Ser Jon Whitewolf… you stand accused of treason and murder." he declared in a loud bellow of a shout, "How do you plead?"

Really? So they were going down the route where he was some kind of rogue who had attacked some innocents while acting against the clear instructions of the King? He straightened slightly but remained on his knees, lest the guards behind him feel the need to get a few hits in to make him more likely to stay knelt,

"Not guilty your Grace." he declared clearly, "I would reason that the Ironborn were the ones committing treason, flaunting your own laws against slavery and piracy. As such actions were aimed at the North, my order acted against treasonous lords and warriors to defend the North, as is our charge."

No one looked surprised that he had denied the charge of treason. Not even the two members of the Kingsguard who had arrived. One of them was the Kingslayer but the other Jon didn't recognise with his helm on - Jaime Lannister never seemed to wear his own helm so he was easily recognised. Jon returned his attention to his judges, not the men who had taken up positions behind the King to protect him.

"You took this action without the blessing of the King or the Lord Paramount of the region your order operates within."

That was Jon's father, cutting to the meat of the issue as he was want to do.

"Do you deny that you undertook these actions without permission from a higher lord, Ser?"

And, as he was also want to do, he asked the better questions. Because Jon had no real defence against that. He had indeed acted without the permission of either of the two parties that he answered directly to. Not enough to be treasonous on its own but enough to be damning to be certain and, if the King wanted to, that could be considered treason in itself. No one ever said the King's rulings had to be fair.

Or even logical.

"I do not deny this." he admitted, trying to remain calm, "I acted in what I believed to be the best interests of the Kingdoms as a whole and for the North. Though I did not receive instructions to attack the Ironborn, I received no orders to avoid battle with them. It was my understanding that the King had ruled that the King's own host, and the Northern armies, were not to invade the Iron Islands."

There was an explosion of movement from the King and Jon had to move slightly to the left to avoid the large goblet that had been swept from the table in the King's rage. He received an armoured kick to the side from one of the guards behind him for the sudden movement but managed to focus himself on the King himself. Idly, he noted the squire appeared to be rather used to these outbursts because another goblet was quietly placed in front of the King even as he thundered down the hall at Jon,

"You stupid cunt! I said no invasion of the Iron Islands - that includes fucking everybody!"

Ah the Fat King was as eloquent in his speech as ever it would seem. But it seemed that burst of anger was enough for now because he was now sat back down, taking huge mouthfuls of his wine. No doubt he thought the alcohol would calm him down… or he simply didn't care that it would make him into an even bigger fool than he had been before. Jon moved to kneel properly again, ignoring the kick the guard had given him,

"With all respect your Grace, I made no invasion." he argued back, "I made a raid against those who had attacked the North. There was no attempt to hold territory or to ensure their obedience - it was an attack undertaken in revenge for their failed invasion, done in line with the charge of my order."

The anger was more contained from the King but it was still palpable. Why was he doing this? Because he couldn't afford to just fold on an issue like this. The attack had been him upholding the very principle his order was founded on, if the King wanted to complain when that principle didn't suit him then it was his responsibility, his duty, to stand for that principle against any form of opposition. The King turned to discuss something in quieter tones with Jon's father and Prince Joffrey took the chance to speak for the first time,

"And what did you do when you arrived at Pyke, Ser Whitewolf?" he asked, his voice a drawling Southern accent that made Jon think of something slimy, "What did you do in retaliation for the Ironborn's attack of the North?"

Despite the Prince seemingly taking the reins of the judgement, both the King and Jon's father seemed to be rather interested in the answer. Strange… it seemed that news of his actions had yet to reach the mainland in its entirety. He paused for a moment. If the news so far said only that he had attacked, he could use that as a way to get leniency for his 'crimes' for he was sure to be more harshly punished for his actual actions. But if the lie was found, and it would be, then it would just mean a far worse future punishment.

"I judged that the main threat to the North was invasion and raiding by the Ironborn. With only a limited number of men and material, I needed to do as much damage as possible before escaping. To that end, I targeted House Greyjoy. They held the Ironborn together; without them the infighting would mean there would be no united Ironborn threat to any of the Kingdoms." he explained before taking a deep breath and ploughing onwards, "With that in mind I infiltrated the castle of Pyke during a council of the Ironborn lords… I put the Lords of the Ironborn to the sword."

At this point his father was making noises of disgust and protest but Jon wasn't finished,

"Baelon Greyjoy was already dead, Victarion Greyjoy I killed myself and the heirs to the 'sea stone throne' are held by your Grace. Euron Greyjoy took his 'throne'." that seemed to silence the Lord Stark for a moment before Jon continued, "I executed the man who styled himself a king, your Grace. I then proceeded to burn both the castle and port town of Pyke to the ground."

Jon's father looked… well it was a combination actually. But he was definitely seeing some strong emotions on his usually stoic face. Including disappointment, fear, disgust and sadness. It was… it was sobering, honestly. His father thought him some kind of monster because of the actions he had taken to protect their family and the people his family watched over as Lords of the North. The way his father looked at him, it was as if he was his worst, most sickening, enemy. It was not the way a father looked at a son.

The King seemed both annoyed and somehow pleased with the actions taken - and why wouldn't he? Jon had done something 'terrible' which had secured the man's rule in the area, weakened the islands in the event of any future rebellions and none of it would have any backlash against him because everyone would know that Ser Jon Whitewolf and his order had committed the 'crimes'. While he had ignored the spirit of the King's commands, it would work out for the King regardless.

As for the Prince… well, Jon didn't like the way his eyes seemed to be sparkling at the mention of all the death Jon had brought down onto the Ironborn for their transgressions. The King and Lord Stark moved closer together again to discuss what had been presented but Jon didn't pay much attention - he already had some idea about how this trial was going. His father would rule to punish him, the Prince was likely here to observe only and the King would push for a punishment due to the fact that Jon had earned his anger.

So it would come down to what Jon had been dreading.

The King waved his father away before standing. Jon remained knelt on the floor, head bowed as he waited for the judgement. There was a pause before the King began the declaration - this was Jon's last chance so he seized it,

"I demand trial by combat."

There was utter silence at his declaration. Jon looked up at the head table to see that the King looked mildly intrigued, the Prince excited and his father looked to still be feeling exactly the same as before. Well that stung but Jon wasn't about to let himself be taken off at the neck for actions taken to defend their family,

"I have the right to demand trial by combat before any verdict is given. As no verdict is given, I demand trial by combat."

The repetition seemed to be enough for the King to decide what to do in this situation. Not that he really had much choice. Trial by combat was an institution older than the Iron Throne by centuries, it was such an ingrained part of the culture of Westeros that no King, save the Mad King, had ever ignored a man's right to do battle in the sight of the Gods to be absolved of his crimes.

Why the skill to end another human being's life really meant the defendant was innocent he didn't know but Jon wasn't above using it for his own ends.

"You have the right." the King acknowledged with a grin, "Who will stand as champion for the Iron Throne?"

Jon had honestly expected the Fat King to attempt to challenge him himself but it seemed that some form of sense had prevailed. Jon knew the man had been a fearsome warrior in his heyday but that was about fifteen years in the past. The Kingsguard that Jon had not recognised stepped forwards,

"I, Ser Meryn Trant, will stand as champion for the Iron Throne!"

There was a pause where both the King and the Prince tried their damndest to 'subtly' look to the Kingslayer, who looked amused but did not offer to be the champion of the Iron Throne. Ser Meryn noticed this, no doubt, but didn't visibly react. Of course he was wearing his helm so he could be fuming and Jon wouldn't be any the wiser. With no one else volunteering to be champion of the Iron Throne, the King nodded to Ser Meryn, who moved to stand in front of the head table, hand resting on his sword.

Really?

They were going to have a trial by combat right here in the great hall of House Mallister? He wasn't going to back down but he did find it strange. He stood in place, the manacles still attached to the ground making it impossible to move any further than this,

"I will be my own champion." he declared, as literally everyone in the hall expected, no doubt. "I ask only that I be allowed to arm myself."

The two guards behind him began to unlock his manacles as the King nodded to the Kingslayer. Jon was freed just as the Lannister approached him with his sheathed longsword and dagger offered. Accepting it, Jon began to attach the weapons to his person while the Kingslayer took the opportunity to speak to him,

"Be careful there Ser Jon, that's a blade forged in Casterly Rock." he teased in his usual, amused, tone, "I doubt you've seen a blade it's like but do try to fight the urge to run off with it."

Jon was actually grateful for the distraction from both his father's feelings towards him and his trial by combat. Usually he would have been annoyed at the Kingslayer's flippant attitude but not today,

"Aye, shame they won't let me use the sword I managed to recover from Pyke." he admitted as he drew the longsword and swung it a few times to test the weight, "Red Rain would make this a tad unfair though. I suppose it's a good thing I left it with your cousin Lancel - I wouldn't want to have such an unfair advantage over Ser Meryn."

To his credit the Kingslayer appeared surprised for only a second or two before his amused expression returned. This time it was much more pronounced however as he stepped aside, now that both Jon and his fellow Kingsguard were armed and ready for battle. Ignoring the departure of the blonde man, Jon held the longsword in his right hand and the dagger in a reversed grip in his left. Ser Meryn held his own longsword in both hands in a surprisingly sloppy ready stance.

Was the Kingsguard not taking this seriously? Did he honestly think that Jon wouldn't be able to find the faults in his ready stance? They were numerous.

The King stood behind the table and waited for a moment. Jon chanced a look at the great table. His father was looking away - either not wanting to see his son in a battle to the death or too disgusted or disillusioned to actually look him in the eye. Either way, it had the same effect. The Prince seemed to be on the edge of his seat but he didn't blame him - this was more exciting than a trial of words after all. The King raised his hand,

"In the sight of the Old Gods and the New… let this trial by combat begin!"

Jon had returned his attention to Meryn Trant when the King had first begun speaking and it was a good thing too - the honourless little cur had started charging forwards before the King had even finished speaking. Catching the strong overhead swing on his own longsword, Jon deflected the blow away from himself while lashing out with the dagger in his off hand. The edge of the dagger glanced off the front of Ser Meryn's helmet, leaving a silver scar across the gold of the man's armour.

Showing his aggressive style of combat, Ser Meryn lashed out with a forward kick aimed as Jon's knee. Moving to the side in time, Jon jumped backwards slightly, bringing the dagger down at the exposed knee of the Kingsguard. He was quicker than he looked it seemed because he was able to avoid having his kneecap broken by the dagger's downward stab. The two of them took steps back from each other, disengaging after Ser Meryn's rather lack-lustre attack had failed utterly.

Jon didn't betray any emotion as Ser Meryn took the opportunity to tear his helmet from his head and throw it to the side. Trant seemed like the kind of fighter who would blame his poor performance on how his helmet 'blocked his sight' or some such rot. It did allow Jon to see the knight's face and he looked, honestly, like a slightly boiled pig squeezed into his golden armour.

After less than a minute or so of circling each other, Ser Meryn attacked once again, a wild but powerful slash of his sword… that Jon recognised coming at him before the sword was even swinging, allowing him to side step with ease, his own sword sweeping up to cut through the fingers of Ser Meryn's lead hand. Almost immediately the Kingsguard dropped his sword, his uninjured hand clamping over the bleeding stumps on instinct. Jon went in for the kill, spinning past Ser Meryn's attempt to grab him while cutting his right leg's tendon with a precise swing of the tip of the longsword. As Ser Meryn pitched to his side, Jon's borrowed dagger flashed out, finding itself at home stabbed through the other man's temple.

The Kingsguard member stilled in death and Jon withdrew the dagger, wiping it clean on Ser Meryn's cape before sheathing it. Done with his posturing, Jon looked up at the head table at the other end of the hall. The Prince was grinning like a loon and the King was currently taking a drink from his goblet but seemed to be in decent enough spirits. Of course the only person Jon had eyes for was his father, who was staring back at him with his best 'blank' expression, which somehow still managed to convey just how disgusted he was with Jon.

The King finished his giant mouthful of wine relatively quickly and slammed the goblet down with a resounding clang. Watching the King climb to his feet again, Jon was once again struck by just how sickeningly fat the King was - this was the man who's peace every man in this room was sworn to uphold. This was the man that his father would swear was like a brother to him? In the end, it didn't matter to Jon any more. He barely heard the Fat King declare that he was considered innocent before he handed the Kingslayer his weapons back and stormed out the great hall.

He didn't know for certain but he knew enough to draw some strong conclusions. His father would have let him be executed for treason by his friend because Jon had gone a step further than his father ever had in order to protect their family. Honour wouldn't protect their family from Ironborn raiders. Honour and duty wouldn't protect the innocence of Sansa and Arya, nor would they shield Bran and Rickon from harm. He had done what he had to do to protect his family and his father was ready to condemn him for the actions he had taken in the pursuit of keeping his promise.

Maybe his father had forgotten the vow he had made but Jon had not - could not - forget it.

And now, he realised, as he stepped out into the cold, sea air of Seaguard… it didn't matter that he had won the trial by combat. His father's perception of him was tainted now - he saw a murderer, a monster of some kind. He made a vow, long ago, to protect his family and had, more recently, charged himself and his order with the defence of the North from foes and threat. But his father would likely banish him. It didn't matter that he was innocent in the eyes of the Gods, Eddard Stark would never suffer a 'dishonourable' man to be commander of an honourable order of knights.

So where did that leave him, the son of Eddard Stark that had forsaken honour in the name of protecting his family and people?