Off in the distance, Jon saw the castle emerge around a bend in the Green Fork. He knew he would have to return to the barge's hold soon, but he wanted to look at the ugly fortress first.
Pitched towers poked out from behind curtain walls. An arched bridge, made of the same flat-grey rock as the walls, joined the castles across the river. Moats around each made them look like islands all their own. Other ships rowed to docks on the far banks, north of the bridge. No doubt placed there so that any boat heading up the river would need pass under the bridge, opening itself to arrow fire from both castles and the Water Tower in the middle of the crossing, before landing on those docks.
On the western bank, a host set camp. Are those the same pavilions I saw at the siege of Riverrun?
"Go below, ser. We're too close now," said one of the men on deck.
Jon nodded. He took one last glance at the castles and descended into the cargo hold. He returned to Viserion. They had the hold to themselves. Once the men had learned that he'd brought a dragon on-board, all but the brave few currently on-deck chose to station themselves on the other barges.
While Jon felt like pacing across the hold, his body abuzz with a mix of anxiousness, anger, and excitement, she crouched motionlessly.
Jon saw the dragon's saddle on the floor. Inspecting it, he touched the straps that would curve above each of her shoulders, holding tight to her body, then crossing her chest and connecting to the triple stitching at the rear corners of the high-backed saddle. Under the straps, Jon intended her to wear a thin layer of interwoven ringmail. It was made of the same silvery steel as Jon's sword and his own armor, each forged in Viserion's flame. The dragon, however, had no desire to put on a saddle or ringmail. Jon tried once more to coax her into acquiescing, but, just as she had on all his earlier attempts, Viserion refused.
Giving up on the dragon's gear, Ser Jon glanced down at his own. He prodded at the joints and fittings. This new plate was stronger than the set Mikken had made for him back in Winterfell. Several lifetimes ago. The armor he wore was thinner as well, this new steel resilient enough to not require the bulk of the standard metal. Over his sterling armor, he threw on his black surcoat, which Sansa had mended.
Jon pulled his sword free and peered down the length of it. It is a good sword. May the gods help it to strike true. Before donning his gauntlets, Jon brushed his thumb along the thin layer of stone encasing the hilt. In his hands, it was the second finest sword he'd ever held.
Jon and Robb had only seen eight name days when they first got it into their heads to test out their father's greatsword. Eddard Stark did not wear steel often about Winterfell. Most days, his blade remained sheathed and in his chambers. That morning, Jon had the idea to go find it, though he would have refrained if Robb hadn't agreed. So, they stole up to the top level of the Great Keep. Glancing around every corridor, the brothers saw no one in their path. When they pushed in their father's door, they found Ice leaning against the wall beside the bed. Robb and Jon carried it to the center of the chamber together.
They both wanted to be the first to hold the sword.
"My idea, my turn!" Jon insisted. Thus, he held the hilt and Robb took the scabbard, and they pulled the greatsword free. It clanged to the floor, far too heavy for Jon.
Together, both boys gripped the hilt, their hands alternating up it.
"One, two, three," they counted off together.
In the moment that the boys held it aloft, they stared in awe at the Valyrian steel. The dark ripples of a hundred folds shimmered in the dim room.
But, the weight of it threw them off balance. Jon stumbled back, and Robb with him. Ice fell onto them and clamored loudly.
Before they could get up and try to lift it again, their father came running in.
"What are you two- Oh. Are you boys alright?"
They looked at each other, then saw blood on their hands. Jon's thumb and Robb's palm were opened with thin cuts. The edge was so sharp, neither had even noticed.
Ned Stark shook his head and a wry grin crossed his face. Robb and Jon disentangled their legs and elbows. Jon dragged the sword to his lord father, by the pommel.
"One day," he told them, "both of you will be strong enough to wield swords of your own. I look forward to seeing you then. But until that day, you are not to touch this sword again. Understood?"
He gave his sons playful shoves toward the door, and Jon looked back to see his father hold up his greatsword to have a look down its length.
Still staring down the length of his own sword, Jon was satisfied with the look of its edge. Forged in a dragon's fire, like some legends claim the Valyrians once did, and just like the other swords Viserion and Allyn the smith made.
In the weeks between when the blacksmith and the dragon crafted his blade and when the knights and soldiers left for Gulltown, they created Jon's armor as well as weapons that Jon gave to Ser Brynden, Bronze Yohn, and Ser Albar Royce. Lord Yohn was gracious. He named it Lamentation, after the Valyrian steel sword his ancestor lost in the Dance of the Dragons. Ser Albar chose Portcullis and promised to use it to guard the Gates of the Moon and Lady Sansa.
The Blackfish was impressed with the feel of his sword, which Jon had hoped for. He didn't choose a formal name, it was simply his. The grey-haired knight preferred to balance his blade with more weight in the crossguard and a relatively light pommel. The sword Jon presented to him fit his taste from hilt to tip. I tended your longsword near on every day for two years, ser. I could've instructed Allyn to craft it from memory, even if I hadn't stolen off with your sword to model.
The armor was an indulgence, Ser Jon admitted to himself. His dragon allowed for the crafting of exceptional works from the unique metal his fire created out of ordinary steel. That ability might have been put to better use in the short time they had before departing the Gates of the Moon. I did need to do something about my set of plate and mail. The fittings of his armor were worn and battered, more from travel and the elements, than from battle. Though, mending mine would've been swifter than forging it anew. But, Jon had wanted a full guard made from dragon-forged steel and Allyn the smith had been all too eager to make the attempt.
He struck the flat of his blade against the solid steel vambrace on his forearm. The ring of metal against metal sounded quiet and clean. Jon then sheathed his longsword on his hip for the nonce. He put on his helm and gauntlets and listened for any noises from on deck.
Ser Jon heard nothing for what seemed like hours.
In a flurry, panicked footsteps raced down the stair to Jon's hold. "Ser! We've trouble ahead!"
On deck, Jon saw the threat. Rather than allowing the ships to land, men of the Crossing rowed out to meet them.
No doubt Bronze Yohn won't be mistaken for salted beef.
Ser Jon had been ordered to keep his dragon hidden until Lord Yohn's men were off the boats. On the river, they were vulnerable. If the Freys suspected a deception, they could easily launch a volley of fire-arrows and hefty stones, down at the boats. Heavily armored, most men would drown before they could swim half way to shore. Nonetheless, their deception was about to be uncovered and so would begin the Freys' response.
"Help me with the cargo hatch," Jon told the crewman. Once it was open, he could look straight down into the hold.
Viserion, they need us sooner than we thought.
He asked, "Ready, dragon?"
The she-dragon pulled herself up by the claws protruding from the fore-edge of her wings. Viserion didn't give the deckhand a second thought. She leapt off the side of the barge, leaving Jon behind.
The dragon beat her wings and in seconds she was climbing into the wind.
Jon looked down through Viserion's eyes and tried to shout to the patrol ships below. Freys! I have come for vengeance!
Viserion followed his thoughts with a shriek loud enough to reverberate through the bowels of the twin castles.
Sharing one skin, they flew over the bridge. Jon saw the men on the crenels of the Water Tower duck for cover, while those who'd been inside clamored up to see what was happening. Jon hoped the Frey guards rowing to Bronze Yohn's boats were turning around to flee back to the fortress.
Viserion circled around the western keep.
Let them feel your fire, dragon.
She swooped low and her golden fire scorched a path through the adjacent encampment. Viserion and Jon heard the screams as men below felt their flame.
Jon saw the clouded sky as they hung in the air for a moment's pause. Then, they dropped. Viserion banked and descended upon the army again. The dragon could see the charred streak from her first pass. She blew her second breath faster, and the flames spread farther this time, rather than scorching a narrow lane. Viserion flew in a circle, tracing the outer edge of the encampment with her fire. This flame will catch and reach out to engulf the entire camp. Turn back to the castle.
The sound of a bell drew the she-dragon's attention. Viserion turned and saw a guard hammering at one on the wallwalk of the western twin.
An alarm. He's raised the alarm.
Viserion burnt him alive and didn't even need catch her breath. Continuing her glide, she set her fire on a row of watchmen along the top of the wall.
She laughed at the sound of their agony below. Following her instinct, Viserion chased the wall around a corner, setting ablaze anyone on it.
A dragon's sense of smell was useless except for sniffing at things right in front of its nostrils. But, the sight of the burnt bodies made Viserion's mouth salivate. The dragon remembered that she hadn't eaten all morning. She landed on the wall and bit into the leg of the man lying close by. She dug her claws into his torso and yanked the limb free with her teeth. Viserion then tore into the thigh-meat.
The dragon was disturbed from her meal by a pain in her back. She crooked her neck and swung her head around.
An archer.
The arrow had pricked her, but didn't pierce fully through the scales enwrapping her body. Viserion roared at him, but didn't move from her perch until she was finished with her meal. She wolfed down the rest of the gamey meat.
Two more arrows flew by her head. Jon felt the sharp ridges on Viserion's neck stand up. He could sense her anger at their gall.
For Robb. These men are brazen and despicable. They should not be spared. Not a one.
The entwined pair fed each other's fury. Together, Jon and Viserion cast a stream of fire into the faces of the two bowmen. Once those men were burning, Viserion didn't give them or their cries another thought. Perched on the battlements, she looked across the castle, then down to the courtyard. They roared at the scurrying rodents. The dragon and the knight rained fire. The ground was too far for any prey to burn, but the bright stream of flame was enough to scare all.
The dragon jumped off the guard-walk and took to the air. Jon angled her wings and flew across the river. He burned his enemies atop the curtain wall of the untouched, eastern castle. He completed a pass, killing any too foolish or frightened to take cover.
While flying back to the western shore, Jon saw that the inner walls framed the road through the castle, and to the enjoining bridge. The stone barriers cordoned off the keep and towers from admitted travelers just crossing to the opposite side of the river. But in the face of dragonsbreath, those same, inner walls impeded escape.
But, to where would they go? Who is arrogant enough to think he can outrun a dragon?
Viserion flew in a circle around the castle keep of the western side of the Twins. She spewed fire and watched it wash over its roof and down its rounded sides. Soon, smoke billowed from the uppermost windows. Cries rang out from inside.
You did this, House Frey. You brought this down upon yourselves. You deserve to die for you crimes. For Robb.
To the dragon, all of the voices sounded alike, but not to Jon. Using her hearing, Jon could distinguish between the wails of men grown and those of others.
Children, he realized. You are burning children in their home, in their bedrooms.
Jon forcefully closed the dragon's mouth.
We had a plan. Bronze. . . Bronze Yohn's plan. Lord Yohn and his knights. He corralled the dragon and they flew to the docks on the opposite side of the river. The boats. Check on the boats.
Lord Royce's barges were on the docks. The Frey guards had, instead, rowed under the bridge to seek refuge. A dirt path lead from the sparse harbor around to the main entrance of the eastern castle. That entrance was a stand-alone guard house on the other side of the narrow moat. When Jon looked down at it through Viserion's eyes, the drawbridge connecting it was already withdrawn.
Bronze Yohn's men had yet to leave their boats.
You need not fear this beast, my lord.
Viserion fluttered her wings as she descended, facing the castle wall closest to the docks. The white dragon blew a dense flame as she slowly drifted to the ground. She caught her breath and looked up at the crevasse she'd made in the stone. The pale rock was melted most of the way through. The edges of the concave curve bore droplets, which looked like a hundred trickles of water all frozen in place.
From the ground, they blew golden fire at the wall. The heat and flame licked upward, and they continued to melt their way through. When Jon and Viserion were done, they had burned a twenty-foot high archway into the castle wall.
Jon opened his eyes.
"Ser! You fainted."
"Aye," he said, "but best you keep that to yourself,"
"The dragon- your dragon," the man stammered. "It-it set fire to the castle. It'll burn us too! I know it."
Jon needed help getting to his feet. "You need not fear," he said, balancing himself on his suddenly unfamiliar legs. "My dragon knows us from Freys."
Carefully, he climbed off the boat and onto the docks. Jon waved for the soldiers in all five barges to follow.
Viserion crouched next to the hole in the curtain wall, picking at a dead man. The sight of the dragon eating a corpse abruptly turned Jon's stomach. If you must, dragon, then do it atop the high tower at the midpoint of the bridge. She took flight, clutching her prey in her claws.
Once she was gone, Bronze Yohn ran to Jon. "Gods, Ser Jon! When I saw that beast spread its wings, I thought it escaped, that we were done for."
"Not in the least, my lord."
After his soldiers laid boards from the barges as planks across the narrow moat, Yohn Royce led the charge through the breech in the walls. Though the towers on this side of the river were intact, all of the defenses were meant to keep besiegers out of this section of the castle layout. Because of Viserion, poorly barred doors were all that held the Valemen out of the main keep. Two soldiers alternated the swings of their axes until they were through the doors.
Men-at-arms met them with swords. Jon joined the first line of attackers and added his shield to theirs. Together, they pushed into the keep.
A grand audience chamber provided the venue of their first combat. Jon and two others slashed at a Frey guard. All three swords found purchase and the enemy collapsed before any of them landed a second strike.
Within seconds, Yohn Royce and all three hundred of his knights and soldiers flooded into the hall and threw back the Frey guard. Jon took that moment to look about the room. It was a drab audience hall. House Frey appeared to have no imagination beyond their own castle. Every tapestry, even the gaudy ones that ran from ceiling to floor, depicted The Crossing. Two castles and a bridge between was the exclusive focus of every decoration.
Ser Jon caught sight of Lord Yohn in his engraved, bronze armor swatting a man-at-arms across the face with a mailed fist. "How many?!" He raised his hand again.
"No! Please m'lord! Ser Ryman was 'posed to return with twelve 'undred, but he ne'er did. I heard the Kingslayer ordered him from Riverrun and he left with his men, one 'undred and a 'alf again. They's all dead."
Jon walked over. "That part, at the least, is true, my lord. The remaining Freys followed Lannister to Raventree." He looked down at the bloody man. "How many are inside the Twins? Forget about the soldiers in the encampment."
Through the opened visor of his helm, the burly lord's eyes met Jon's. "Forget about them, Ser Jon?"
"The dragon burned most and scattered the rest, Lord Royce."
Mention of Viserion was the push the guard needed. He told them about the three hundred in the eastern side, and the five hundred housed in the western.
"No more than forty killed on the walls of this castle, my lord," Jon said. "The dragon burned much of the upper floors of the keep and towers on the far side, though. I don't know how many will have died."
Trembling, the guardsman said, "Less than a 'undred would be in this keep, m'lords. The rest are 'oled up in the barracks, most like."
Viserion, the barracks. They're soldiers, not innocent childs. Burn it to the ground.
Jon knew he couldn't mention his connection to the dragon, lest Yohn think him mad or a sorcerer. "If they are there, my lord, the dragon will smell them and root them out."
Bronze Yohn nodded and asked no further questions.
The fight in the audience hall had died down, but additional combat awaited them higher in the keep.
Up the stairs, the men sworn to Runestone encountered resistance. At the end of the hallway on the second story, guards had overturned tables as a makeshift barricade. Some of them fired arrows at the approaching mass of shields and steel. One man suffered an arrow to his ankle, but the others pushed on with their shields raised. The width of the passageway offered no chance to maneuver around the Frey guards. It was barely wide enough for three armored Valemen to stand abreast, even with their shields overlapping.
When the Vale soldiers reached them, the Frey swords slashed out. Each of them sprang up just long enough for a thrust or cut, before ducking back behind the upturned table. One of the three in front took a wound to his sword arm. Ser Jon quickly stepped to fill his place. His right shoulder was up against the wall, and Jon didn't have room to attack. With his shield raised, he couldn't see his enemies. The man to Jon's left turned his shield to the side and lunged out with his sword. Jon lowered his own shield for a moment, needing a glimpse of his foes. He saw men armed with swords just beyond the edge of the overturned table and bowmen behind them.
The crash of steel boomed in Jon's ears. My helm, he realized. Jon had neither felt nor seen the sword that struck him, he only heard it ring inside his helm. Jon tapped on the rounded crown of his helmet and the sides of the wedge-shaped faceplate. My skull's still intact.
Ser Jon glanced at the armor of the knight next to him. Steel engraved with ancient runes. Realizing who the man was, Jon said, "Andar!"
From behind his shield, Andar Royce said back, "Jon, we have to break through!"
Over the bedlam of clanging metal and yelling, Jon shouted to Ser Andar, "Kick the table! On three, kick the table!" He nodded thrice and then they put their armor-banded boots to the barricade. The Frey guardsmen had been ducking behind the table, but not leaning into it. The wood slid two feet.
"Again!" said Royce.
This time the third man in Jon and Andar's front line kicked with them. The table slid again. With their next push, the guards and bowmen tripped over each other, and the table legs pinned them in.
The men tried to yield.
Did you give my brother the chance to yield?
"Death to the Freys!" Jon hollered. "Traitors and kingslayers all!" Bronze Yohn's men followed the command, and together they dispatched their foes.
They cleared every room on the second level and each story after it. Every man who resisted them with steel was killed. They instructed everyone else to go to the audience chamber to await their fates.
Lord Yohn, Ser Andar, and Ser Jon walked to the top of the blackened ramparts, and they surveyed the Twins. Most of the crenellations had melted into obscured mounds. Smoke billowed from the identical castle on the opposite shore. Jon could smell it from where he stood. After scorching the barracks on both sides of the river, Viserion had returned to her perch above the bridge.
More than one hundred figures huddled on the far side of the stone bridge.
"They flee the fire," stated Andar Royce.
"That they do, son. But they'll not cross with the dragon staring down at them. Will we be safe if we cross, Ser Jon?"
"Aye, my lord," Jon said. "I can yell for the dragon to wait elsewhere if your men don't want to cross beneath her."
At least she's no longer eating the remains of dead Freys, he thought. To me, dragon. You've done well today.
For Yohn and Andar's benefit, Jon whistled to Viserion. Once she landed, he instructed her to watch from the far entrance of the burned, western castle. He said it as one might tell a hound to follow a scent, and Jon could see the bemused look in her eyes. Still, the dragon complied. Jon doubted that anyone in the far castle would dare attempt to escape through the main gate with Viserion staring down.
Children, unarmed women, and old men from the torched castle were sent over to the intact keep on the eastern side of the river. Men of fighting age who survived the fires and the assault were kept in the audience chamber of the western keep.
The upper floors of the west keep were left scorched, but the audience hall on the ground level was untouched. The same, drab Frey tapestries hung in this hall, but so did others. Jon examined the banners hanging along the walls: the Mormont bear, the Umbers' unchained giant, the waves and eyes of the Flints of Widow's Watch and the grey hand of their cadet branch, and the Manderly merman. The Freys kept these banners as trophies, as if their murders and broken guest-right were sources of pride. Jon also recognized the dancing maiden of House Piper and the Tully trout on a striped background. He saw a number of others that he couldn't place, and. . . the Stark direwolf.
Jon ordered a soldier he did not know to bring down the banners that didn't belong. Most like, the man had no idea how to take them down, but he only nodded to Jon.
Andar then approached. "Ser, the dungeons sit below this keep. Would you wish to follow? I expect that you will recognize more of the Northmen than I, should any be found."
"Aye, ser. And, I saw many a knight and lord of the Riverlands as a squire."
Jon and Andar descended the stairs, each with a torch in hand. The ten guards following after them shared two of their own.
The dungeon was cold and dank. Moisture clung to the walls. It smelled like a pond of stale, murky water.
A row of doors extended into the darkness. The first one, however, looked different than the rest. It was made of studded oak and reinforced with bands of rusted iron. Jon walked to it and looked through the window barred by latticed steel in the thick, moldy door. The only light came from his party's torches, so he could not see inside.
"The Freys are defeated and the Twins taken," Jon told any prisoners in the first cell. "Is anyone in there?"
The only response was a pained groan.
Ser Andar and his guards drew their swords, and Jon unlatched the cell door. He forced it open and heard it squeal on its rusty hinges. Jon lifted his torch through the threshold. He saw no one.
Waiting, Jon spotted a pile of rotted blankets in the corner.
It moved and Jon jumped back half a step.
He heard a hoarse, low voice, "No, can't be. . . Am I dead?"
Jon looked to Ser Andar, who replied, "No, my good man. You seem to be very much alive. We ask again for your name."
The captive held his silence, but sat up. Jon could see the man's eyes reflecting the light of his fire.
"How? How is it. . . Ned?"
Ned.
"No," Jon responded. "I am not him, but I have his look. I am Lord Stark's son, Ser Jon. I've-"
"The bastard!" roared the captive. He then clutched the wall and struggled to his feet. The man was a head taller than Jon, but so thin he probably weighed a stone less. His smile shone through the dark. He crashed into Jon's arms, whose torch fell to the floor and the fire sizzled out in a puddle.
Ser Andar pointed his sword; the ragged man ignored him.
"You're Ned's bastard boy, come to rescue us!"
No. . . This cannot be. . .
In disbelief, Jon asked, "My lord? Lord Jon? Greatjon Umber?"
"Aye, boy. I am him." He laughed wildly and shook Jon by the shoulders. The man's excitement brought back some of his famous strength. "I'll need a sword, Snow." Lord Umber clumsily pulled at the one on Jon's hip. "Let's get after them Freys! For Ned and for King Robb!"
Seeing the unkempt happiness of Lord Umber, Jon couldn't have been prouder to be a bastard, so long as it made him Ned Stark's son. "No need for that, my lord. The castle is ours. Let one of these men help you upstairs and find you some food. You'll need your strength for other battles ahead of us."
The Greatjon playfully clubbed the side of Jon's head with the bearclaw he called a hand.
While he limped away, Jon could hear him laughing. "Ned's bastard boy, come to rescue me. . ."