Disclaimer: GRRM owns all.
Chapter 54
James
"Do you think Father would approve?" Bran asked them both. Jon's torch sent orange-red light flickering over Lord Eddard's likeness made of stone. Whomever chiseled it certainly knew him well, James noticed. It was cold in the crypts, wet as well. "I wonder what he would say if breath still filled his lungs."
"You're Starks damn you," Jon tried his best impression. James could have laughed but his back was throbbing with pain. Bran laughed for him sitting in his chair, starring at the tomb of their father. It had been difficult carrying Bran down the stairs that were narrow enough only to go single file, but they had managed after some time.
Lord Eddard's face was chiseled in a solemn nature, as it had been in life, with a proud fist on his chest and a sword in the other. Ice, James liked to think of it as. But the sword they chose to lay there was nowhere near the size of the valyrian steel Lord Eddard had wielded. James could remember being a boy of four-and-ten out with his brother's to see a man beheaded for deserting the Night's Watch.
He sighed and missed Lord Eddard. "I think he would remind us of what he always said," James said now.
"And what did he say?" asked Jon.
"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives." How many times James heard those words in his life when he did not take being the eldest son of Ned Stark seriously. "That's what he would say."
His brothers chuckled and it echoed in the wet gloom. "Aye, he would," said Bran somewhat sadly. "And he would be right to say them. Our pack grows smaller by the day."
James grunted at his words. "Has Jaime decided what to do with Lyanna?"
"Yes," Bran told him, "but we have yet to speak with Arya and Gendry on the matter."
"Why?" Jon asked. "We know why they've come to Winterfell leaving the majority of their army with Robert marching south. It's not to say hello, Bran. They won't leave without Lyanna and her children."
"They can try and take them," James couldn't help but seethe. His back burned, and he remembered Daenerys crying into his arms the night after Arya and Gendry had arrived in Winterfell. Don't let them take my grandbabies away, James, she had begged him with tears running down her face. They're all I have left of Ned. How James had to soak her tears while his back burned from the whipping Jaime had given him. Dany likes to wear a mask made of stone before others, but takes it off in-front of me. James was grateful of that much. After that night he swore to try and keep his grandchildren in Winterfell, although it tore him to have to part them with Lyanna.
"Would you part Lya from her children?" Bran's voice was hard like the stone which made Lord Eddard's face.
"I would see them safe, Bran. It's winter and cold; how can Arya and Gendry protect them when Storm's End is so far away…"
"They're not going to Storm's End, James," Jon reminded him and the torch flickered light upon his face to reveal a black beard. "They'll be in King's Landing with Robert and Lyanna. He's been made Hand now."
"Officially?"
"Officially."
James sighed. "The thought of parting with my grandchildren is painful enough. For it to actually happen…I'll need a lot of cotton to wipe Dany's tears. It's all she has left to remind her of Ned."
"Which is why we are here." Bran turned his chair of wheels around to face them with a solemn look that could have passed him for their father. Save the auburn hair and eyes of Lady Catelyn. "This is the only place I feel safe in my own castle to speak about such things."
"I felt like a stranger here like in my youth," Jon said. "Is there no one we can trust?"
"No one," Bran warned. "This castle is crawling with gods know who…from the king's spies to Gendry's now that he's here." He sighed. "Gods, this is too much. Stannis must be watching our every move." Bran eyes gave them a warning words did not have to convey, but he said them anyway, "We cannot tell Arya or Gendry of what we want to do. It must stay between us three."
James nodded and so did Jon. His brother-cousin put the torch in a sconce on the wall making shadows dance along the tombs of old dead kings and lords. They laid their backs against the damp stone to speak to Bran who just sat before them in his chair. "What is it you would have of me?" he asked of them.
Jon gave James a hesitant stare. This plan is so dangerous, so flawed, but what choice do we have? I'd gladly give my life to see Ned home again. "We would have you let us go to Braavos," Jon found the courage to say.
Bran's shock was apparent in the torch light. "You cannot be serious."
"We are," James said sternly. "Jon and I wish to go to Braavos to rescue Ned and Jeyne."
"Did you not hear my son?!" Bran flared. "Stannis will have your head, James, should he learn we attempted in saving Ned and Jeyne. He will cut off all trade and we shall starve. He isn't the man to make an idle threat."
"This threat is idle," Jon dared to say. "Stannis cannot cut off half of his kingdom and expect trade once spring has come. Only northmen rule the North—can withstand its cold and snows. Southrons don't fare well up here."
"Trade is tough as it is, Jon. We cannot risk further punishment." His blue eyes were brighter in the gloom. "James, you must think of others besides both of your selfish gains. You both would leave your families after just returning?"
"We would save Jeyne and Ned." James shared a glance with Jon. "With Stannis sending all he has to find them, we must help. Who knows what these men will do to bring them back? Kill them, maybe, just for a promise of land, gold, and titles."
Bran seemed unconvinced. "How would you find them, anyway?"
"Jaime's spies bring words," said Jon. "He's sent them moons ago back when Robert came with his tidings. Only now do they bring us—"
"—Moons old news," Bran said truthfully. "Gods know if it's even accurate, Jon."
"Whispers say Ned can be seen on the docks each morning unloading cargo with a clean shaven face."
"Smart." Bran raised a hand to his chin. "Shave the beard he's known to sport. But, have you thought of how they'll come home safe?"
"On a passage bound to White Harbor, Bran. We can smuggle them below deck with the crates and stores—pass them off as common folk if need be. Stannis's reports will be slow from the North as winter worsens and we can keep them safe long enough until Shireen is queen."
"That could be many years, James."
"Which is why we must act now," Jon insisted. "If we bring Ned and Jeyne back before the snows worsen, by the time Stannis will get word there is nothing he can do about it."
"You cannot waltz into Braavos as you are now." Bran shook his head. "No, no, it is far too dangerous. I cannot allow you to go."
"Please, Bran," James implored and leaned closer to his brother. "This is our only chance to bring them home safe. We won't get another opportunity."
Bran looked to Jon. "Are you sure of this, Jon? You always preach caution."
"Bugger caution," he cursed. "My daughter is in Braavos in-danger with Ned. Bugger Stannis for there is nothing he can do."
"He can march north," Bran reminded them.
"When spring comes," said James. "Yes, yes, that'll be a long time away. By then…who knows what can happen."
"And he needs our trade." Jon leaned forward with James and the look on Bran's face was purely a man who was wrestling with his conscience. "Bran, talk with Jaime about this. The time to act is now while the weather is on our side. If we take too long, the snows will worsen, and we may never be able to go. I-I cannot sleep at night leaving Jeyne to her fate."
"Nor my son, Bran."
Bran sighed and the cold seeped through the stones. "It's not so simple, Jon and James. The whole point is for you both not to get seen or noticed by men loyal to Stannis."
James sniggered. "Stannis does not stir loyalty in the breast so easily."
"He's still a king, James." Bran's blue eyes pierced through him like a sword does breastplate. "He's made many promises for information regarding Ned and Jeyne." He sighed again. "If I am to consent to this, I'll need time to plan. We cannot go at this brazenly without a moment's thought."
"Does this mean you consent?"
"It means we will speak of this again." Bran turned to face the tomb of Lord Eddard. "Father, forgive me for what foolishness we do." I wonder if he can hear our voices. "It seems the situation is dire. If I do not let you go, Ned and Jeyne will be caught before we know it. They'll be too afraid to leave the city for parts unknown. It's just a matter of time before Stannis will find them, and then it'll be too late." He turned back to face them. "But, we must pray that he does not find out and Shireen is queen before we know it. I'll have to speak of this with Jaime and plan."
James was excited at the prospect and shared a look of approval with Jon. "But don't get ahead of yourselves," Bran warned. "This does not mean it'll happen. I will inquire, prepare, and summon you when I think of something. You cannot just go onto a ship and think none will recognize you. This calls for drastic planning and change."
"That's good enough," Jon said and they decided to leave the crypts. James grabbed the torch off the sconce and the flames danced upon the faces of the dead. The chair of wheels screeched under the wet stone and Jon pushed Bran further down the hall of stone faces. Lord Rickard Stark, James's grandsire, stood there with his beard and long face. His sword is missing, James noticed. Next came his uncle Brandon—tall, lean, and handsome, as most said he was. All say I looked like him and in my youth acted like him, too. That was until the Wall, Val, and Daenerys changed him. Flames flickered off their faces and James could feel their eyes giving looks of disapproval. Even when he came here as a child with his siblings the stone stares would send shivers down his spine.
The wind cried from above and the cold billowed down below. It was as if a giant blew a gust of cold breath into the crypts. James huddled his furs and the torch light made him warm, but it was the tomb beside them which caused his breast to stir. Her face was sad and solemn, much as his father said it was in life, and there was a beauty there only reflected in Arya and her daughter.
James paused to lay the torch light upon it. "Why do you stop?" Bran asked him.
"Aunt Lyanna," Jon muttered and both came to his side, "my mother." Flames flickered off her face and James thought her beautiful. "It's a shame we never got to meet her—that she died giving birth to me." James could hear the longing in his voice. "But she lives through Arya."
"And her daughter," Bran added. "Lyanna is much like her namesake, most say."
"Lyanna…" James said sadly. He could feel the name escape his lips like a curse and the cold made it so. "Father loved her so."
"He never spoke of her," Bran reminded them, "because it pained him."
"As I never speak of my niece because it pains me." James sighed and held the torch higher to get a better look at her face.
"Lyanna did what she did because…" Bran could not finish.
"It still pains me, Bran," said James, "Lyanna's actions. I-I feel for her, at times, and I cannot bear to look her in the face when I think of how she wrote Stannis about Ned." The feeling of anguish in his breast was too much to bear. "And for some reason, I still love her. It's odd. First it began with anger, hate, suffering—and now that Davos is dead and Ned in-danger…I feel only pity."
Crying wind filled the silence between them and the cold only made the torch light flicker. James noticed Jon staring at the statue of his mother with a look that could only be called a mix of longing, sadness, and regret. He felt for his brother-cousin and looked to her likeness only to find thoughts of his former good-daughter. Pity, all I feel is pity. Daenerys had enough anger between them to fill a room, but James's was all but snuffed like a candle flame. The whip Jaime put to his back lent perspective on the fragility of things, and Davos's untimely death made him think on how impermanent it all was…How it can all change in a second.
"Why do you feel pity, James?" Jon asked him solemnly.
"Because I am tired of anger and hate," James replied honestly. "It won't bring me my son back, and…Lyanna has suffered enough. She's paid for what she's done."
"Has she?" Jon looked to him. "We may have to endure things, you and I, because of her actions. How can you feel pity?"
"I feel the same as you, James," Bran came to his defense. "Lyanna has suffered, still is, and did not deserve any of this. It seems to me you have arrived at the conclusion I did long ago."
"Being whipped like a dog made me rethink things," James told him. "Lyanna…this pity I feel is odd and I've shared it with no one—not even Daenerys. She wouldn't understand."
"I do, James," his younger brother sympathized. "I do feel what you do. It sounds as if you have something to tell her."
"I feel as if I should apologize." James sighed. "For who, I am not sure, but I think it's for my son. Ned has caused her much heart ache, and…I know it's complicated but he found love with Jeyne."
Jon huffed. "Do you now resent that after all we spoke about at the Neck? Did the lash make you hate my daughter?"
"No, Jon, of course not. Jeyne is lovely, sweet, kind, and she'll make a perfect wife for my son. I just feel as if I should close this chapter with Lyanna. She's still my niece, a part of this family, and she'll go nowhere. I think us Starks have spent too much time hating her and not enough on a way to rescue Ned and Jeyne."
"Well said," Bran applauded him for. "If you need to speak with Lyanna, atone for what pity you feel, then I shall let you see her. I know you'll do her no harm."
James liked the sound of that. "Aye, Bran, it would do me some good."
He nodded. "Good. It's time we begin to heal, James. Baratheon and Stark cannot be against each other now more than ever. I think with you forgiving her, the first stone will tumble, and others will follow suit. Our hatred of her won't bring back Ned and Jeyne."
"But we can," Jon echoed. "I may not be ready to forgive, but I will soon. One thing you cannot ask me is to forget. I am a northman, and I remember."
"As do I," said James, "but I am ready to forgive Lyanna."
"I am glad, James." I can hear how happy he Bran is. "I'll give you a letter to see her when you wish, and I will think on how we can smuggle you both into Braavos." He sighed. "Once I speak to Jaime, that is…no matter, let us go to the Great Hall."
The kings of winter gave them stares and the torch was snuffed out by the wind. Jon and James led Bran up the stairs, winding and winding it went, until they reached the large iron door of the crypts. Snow fell from the sky in giant flakes and a sheet of grey covered it. James shoved the door closed with help from Jon and it gave a giant screech. It reminded him of a ghost's howl, along with the memory of scaring Sansa down there with Jon drenched in flour. He smiled at the thought and drudged through the courtyard pushing Bran in the snow. It reached up to his knee, soft underfoot, and the wind was cold enough to shake your bones. James felt his teeth chatter, his back throbbing from the pain, and the furs did little to warm his face.
Around them stood guards wrapped in furs huddled about the braziers erected to keep them warm. They would rub their hands, clap them together, and wrap themselves in whatever wool they could find. James thought of them like walking snowmen with only their breaths to give proof that they were alive. "Damn cold," Jon seethed. "Imagine three years from now."
"Imagine five moons from now," Bran said and James tried to. He imagined snows as tall as the Broken Tower covering all in a white blanket. Little Dany will try to make the biggest snow man and Rhaenys will make snow angels until her dress is all but soaked. "My chair grows cold," his brother commented, "so we must move quickly."
James gave Jon a nod and they both lifted his chair on each side to move through the snow. His back made him feel as if a man were stabbing him there repeatedly, as his kingsguard tried to do when he was a king, but he shoved the memory into the abyss of his mind. All James could try and focus on was the cold because it would not allow him to think of other things.
The Great Hall was warm and smoky when they entered. They hung their drenched woolen cloaks on pegs against the wall, and rolled Bran down to sit beside their family. The hall smelled of soup, fresh bread, and the lit braziers made it warm and muggy. Benches and tables were filled to capacity with castlefolk hunched over bowls and idle conversation. James pushed the chair to notice their family arguing over gods knew what.
"It seems they argue," he told his brothers.
"Aye, it does," Bran said ruefully. James saw Arya pointing at Daenerys with a spoon, and Sansa trying to calm the two. Gods be good, James could only think. Those two women were dangerous enough as it is, and when angered…it was something he didn't want to think about.
"Mayhaps they're arguing over soup," Jon japed and James wished it was so. "We've had soup almost everyday this week."
"Winter is upon us and we must prepare." Bran's rolling chair creaked. "Sansa is doing what she can—rationing and cooking the finer things towards the end of the week."
"All I think about is soup," Jon went on. "All I smell is soup, all I eat is soup. Soup, soup, soup."
I feel your pain, Jon, and his back throbbed. "By the looks of it, Jon, I don't think they're arguing over bowls of soup."
Daenerys threw her arms out in-despair and they neared the table. "Look, it's father!" Rhaenys shouted, pointing at him with her spoon. All turned their heads to greet them, and James sat beside his wife to find an empty bowl with a wooden spoon beside it. Servants came to fill his bowl, his tankard with ale, and he winced when his back throbbed.
Daenerys took notice. "Does your back still pain you, James?"
"I can have Maester Willem bring you some ointment," Jaime offered sitting at the head of the table.
James nodded. "Aye, that'll do me some good."
"What were you arguing about?" Bran asked after rolling his chair beside Myrcella. Her golden hair went down her shoulders and James for a moment saw Cersei. Be gone, woman, he cursed and coiled his spoon.
Arya glared at his wife. "It's nothing, really. Daenerys is just being selfish."
Gods, here we go. "I am not," Dany defended. "Arya is just thinking of herself over the children."
"Have we not gone over this?" asked Gendry. "The children need to be with their mother."
The soup was warm so James blew on the spoon; he didn't feel like arguing over this, as his back was in-pain, but he could feel Dany's eyes upon him like sun rays. She wants me to defend her, and I'll have to. "The children need to be where they are safest," James had to say. If I don't I'm sleeping alone tonight. He finished eating the soup and swallowed to say, "It's winter, Arya and Gendry. How can you want them to be on the kingsroad for a moons turn in this weather?"
"They'll perish!" yelled Sansa. James was glad to see her come to their aide. "It's winter, Arya! How can you be so careless?"
"How can you be so cruel?!" Arya spat. She shared glanced with both James and Daenerys. "To take Lya away from them after Ned?"
"To take them away from their family!" flared Dany. "Arya, we've taken care of them since Ned left for King's Landing—Lyanna…" She sighed. "I cannot say this without angering you, but—"
Arya shook her head. "It makes no matter, that's the past. What we are left with now is three children whose mother is leaving the castle walls."
"It's best they stay," declared Jon. James could have smiled but continued eating his spoon to distract him from the burning back. "It's cold, snowing, and they're too young for this. It's warm in Winterfell and they have everything here: a maester to teach lessons, women to show the girls to be ladies, men to teach Brandon to be a man, and family. They have that, too."
"And we can be raise them!" Dany clenched his hand firmly and James had to drop his spoon. "We will raise them as Ned and Lya would!" She looked to James. "Won't we, my sweet?"
Her eyes burn with pain and desire. "Of course." He looked to Arya and Gendry. "We will raise them as if they were our own."
"That should be done by their mother." Gendry shook his head. "James, Dany, we admire your love for our grandchildren—the ones we both share. Although Ned and Lya are no longer the children are innocent and we're a family, Baratheon and Stark. But…Lyanna is their mother, not you, Dany."
James would have picked up his spoon but needed to clench his wife's hand. I can sense her distress. "Fine," Dany said sadly, "take them away from me as your daughter already has Ned. Just do it quickly and end my suffering."
Without so much as another word, Daenerys left the table with clanking footsteps. She's going off to cry, no doubt. His wife would not do so in-front of their family, for that was not her. The blood of the dragon never cries. James sighed to himself and grabbed his spoon to eat his soup. Daenerys liked to be left alone when distressed and sad, much like Rhaella, so it was best to give her space until later.
"You shouldn't be so aggressive, Arya," Sansa admonished after Dany had gone. "Dany loves them just as much as you, and so do they. It was her bed they slept in each night and not Lya's. They won't go so willingly."
"They don't have a choice," Arya reminded them. "Winter is coming and the time is now; they belong with their mother."
"They belong with family," Jon said.
"Are we not?" Arya asked firmly and James kept eating his soup. "They're also Baratheon and you've had them for many moons. Now it's time they come with their mother to King's Landing."
Not there. "To that land of traitors and snakes?!" James flared and set down his spoon. His bowl was more than half empty. "Why would you open them to such a cesspool?"
"Because they'll be the royals, James, and treated like royalty. For Little Dany it'll be like one of her songs, and Brandon can make friends with more than just his older cousins. Even Val will have more opportunity. They won't be stuck in Winterfell with nothing to offer."
Sansa gasped. "We are their family, not some strangers. We have everything to offer." She looked to Jaime. "And what do you say, Jaime?"
Jaime sighed. "What more can I say that hasn't already been said? On one hand it's winter and the other is their mother. We cannot part them from Lyanna for so many years…"
"But you said yourself that they'd stay."
"That was before Aunt Arya and Lord Gendry arrived," Jaime reminded them. "Now they'll have an army of servants, warm braziers, food, and a carriage their trip down south. It'll be the best accommodations. Now I feel more secure than a ship on the sea."
James knew his words rang true but the loss of his grandchildren hurt him. A sigh filled his chest, his back burned, and he said sadly, "But then we won't see them for gods know how long…"
"Until Rhaella is wed to Ser Criston," said Rhaegar, "unless we are having the wedding here…?"
Rhaella shook her head. "It will more than likely be down in the Stormlands once the weather becomes permitting—the North is harsh even when winter is becoming spring. At least I've had the chance to see him over these past few days…" She sighed and James felt her pain. Ser Criston had come with Arya and Gendry seeing as he was a knight sworn to the Baratheons. But it was short lived and had to begin moving down south earlier than expected to prepare the way for Arya and Gendry.
"And Lyanna's wedding," Gendry reminded them. "You're all invited, of course, when it happens in King's Landing."
Great, I'll have to go to King's Landing. The prospect filled him with dread. "Of course," Sansa said solemnly. "Let us hope Jeyne and Ned are returned to us by then."
Arya shook her head. "Sansa, let's hope they are safe and sound when the time comes."
"And let us see them wed in the godswood before then." Sansa rose from her seat angrily and stomped off with thunderous feet. She was still angry over Ned and Jeyne, James noticed, although she had cooled her embers with Lyanna. I think she resents Arya more so now that she's being so firm about taking Ned's children. Sansa always held a soft spot for Ned, so she loved his children just the same as the rest.
"So it's settled, then?" Gendry looked to James and then Jaime. "We will take the children south with Lyanna as soon as possible?"
James swallowed his soup and sighed. "Yes, that would be best. We cannot tear Lyanna from her children—we are not that cruel. Now that I know they'll have the best accommodations moving south I feel more secure."
Gendry nodded. "And what say you, Jaime?"
"I consent," the Lord of Winterfell said, "as long as you leave before the end of the week for their sakes. The weather grows with each day, Lord Gendry."
"Agreed." James sighed again and went over to his chambers to see Dany. She was laying on the bed with red eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks and sniffles tickling her nose. In her hands was Little Dany's doll she slept with every night. Daenerys was holding it gently in her hands sitting on the side of the bed when he entered.
She looked up at him. "James?" she said and wiped a tear. "How did your midday meal go?"
"Fine," he lied and sat down beside her slowly. His back burned like hot coals and he sighed. "This damn pain," he cursed.
Dany wiped a tear. "Your back still burns?"
"Like the sun." James clenched his jaw. "Maester Willem will come with balm, I know it. If not some milk of the poppy—just something to ease the pain."
She nodded. "Good. I'll have a servant send for him."
Dany sniffed and James sighed. "Why do you torment yourself by holding her doll?"
"Ned gave it to her," she told him, "for her name day last year. She sleeps with it every night so he can be close to her. 'I feel like he's still with me,' she'd say before drifting off to sleep each night. Makes tears quell in my eyes every time, James."
He put an arm around his wife slowly and pain shot through his back. James swallowed the sigh for Dany's sake. She needed his comfort and snuggled her head into his embrace. "I need to tell you what's been decided, Dany."
"They're going with them, I know." She sighed sadly. "I'm no dullard, James—I knew they would be leaving us since Arya arrived into the castle. They'll have a retinue of servants to tend to their every need moving south, an army to protect them, and they'll be with family."
James kissed her head. "I know, Dany. They're gone and Ned is, too. We lose a piece of him with them."
"Don't remind me." Dany's sigh filled their chamber and one filled his own chest. It was if they sighed in unison. The hearth crackled and the wind cried, and Daenerys stood from the bed to look out the window. James could feel her pain in the way her steps echoed angrily. They both said nothing in this moment for he had nothing to share. Ned's departure had left a void in them, one filled by his children; and to lose them would be the final straw to break their backs.
"Sansa told me of your plan," his wife said sternly without much emotion. James knew she was thinking of Ned. "It's foolish, James."
He sighed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Look at me," she spat but it wasn't angrily. James looked to his wife who was holding the doll gently in her hands. The violet dress clung to her shape after all this time, her silver hair braided down her back, and her face clung to youth as a pig does to shite. She still makes my breath hitch. "Why did you keep this from me?"
"Keep what, Dany?"
"James," she said firmly and her hands clutched the doll. James saw their fingers coil around it as Jaime's did the whip. "You never keep secrets from me, so why did you this one?"
"You still haven't told me what you're referring to?"
She cocked her head at him. "You know I despise lying, James—especially from my beloved husband. First it was the tavern wench and now this."
I can't believe she hasn't let that go, James thought. But then she wouldn't be Daenerys. "I can't tell you even if I wanted to," he told her and stood up from the bed. His back burned but he did his best to mask the pain only to find another in Dany's eyes. They're clouded like a fog but I see a pain from Ned. He braced her by the shoulders and said, "I'm sure Sansa told you what I'm sure our daughter said to Marissa."
"How did you know it was Rhaenys?"
"Since when is it not?" James sighed. "It's gotten her into trouble before—when will she learn?"
"I've tried, but I can't chop off her ears and legs, James." She chuckled. "Rhaenys has her uses, I suppose."
"Are you using our daughter."
Dany laughed sweetly and it was music to his ears. "It's horrible, isn't it?" She laughed again. "Yes, Sansa told me what Marissa told her and what Rhaenys overheard you speaking of with Jon. What I want to know is, is it true?"
"I can't say yet," James told her truthfully. "All I can say—" he eyed the chamber nervously "—is the walls have eyes and ears, Dany. Even if I did have all the information, I wouldn't tell you anyway out of fear someone was listening."
Dany's face grew stern. "Lyanna is in a cell, James."
"I don't fear her, Dany. I fear others whose loyalty I question."
"Then tell me tonight before we go to sleep. You think you'll keep this from me."
He smiled. "I couldn't keep anything from you, my sweet." James pushed loose strands away from her forehead. "I've never been good at lying to you."
"Says the tavern wench."
"Dany," he said softly, "when will you let that ago."
She shrugged. "Whenever I feel like it, or when you're dead."
"Even then I fear you'll come to my crypt just to scold me about her."
"Don't say that, James." She held the doll to her breast. "It's why I don't want you to indulge in this foolish endeavor. I can't stand the thought of— "As quick as a dragon consuming its prey, Daenerys turned to look out the window. James could sense her sadness and he knew the words caught in her throat like a cats' fur ball. "I can't in good conscience let you go, James. I-I can't."
James closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms about her waist. He clutched the doll with hers and his hands, together as one. The straw hair was ragged and the cloth soft. "I do it for the man who gave this doll to his daughter," James whispered into her ear. "If we don't act now, he'll be lost to us forever." He felt her tense and continued, "Stannis will find them if we do not do this—you know it, Dany—it's just a matter of time. If we act now, though, with the weather with us still, then we have this final chance to bring him back while winter is not so heavy and Stannis not able to act."
"You're a fool," she replied as quiet as he and her breath caught against the window like a morning fog upon the glass. "How can you think to find him?"
"Jaime's spies said he can be seen upon the docks with a clean shaven face and cargo in his hands." He sighed. "It's moons old news, but still news. We have hope, Dany; hope that our son is still alive and well. If Stannis has not noticed him yet than we still have a chance."
"I cannot allow this," she said, "because I fear losing you and him both. How will you leave the castle and go across the sea as you? Spies will know who you both are."
"I leave that to Bran."
She sighed. "I can't stop you, can I?" Dany sounded defeated. "You will do as you must, as you have always done. Fine. Just go and come back with our son, James. Go as soon as you can."
"Dany…" he said softly and tried to hold her. She tensed in his grasp, his back burned, and a knock came on the door. James kissed her cheek to show that he loved her and Daenerys just sighed again, but he knew she just loved him too much. "I'll go see who that is."
Maester Willem came bobbing through with his brown-grey hair and robes with the links of the Citadel around his neck. Milk of the poppy and some ointment were the choices presented to James today. He sat him on the bed and tended to his wounds. Daenerys stood by the window to watch the maester pulling off the bloodied bandages. "Your wounds are healing," he said and James could smell the crusted blood. "They're healing slowly, mind you, but they're healing nicely. I'd rather them heal than them fester no matter how quick or slow they do."
"He'll be fine, then?" asked Daenerys.
"Yes, although he will have scars all over his back." The maester sighed. "You were a fool to think you'd save Lord Davos, James."
James answered his sigh with his own. "You're not the first to tell me. I think I've learned my lesson, Maester Willem."
"You've said that many times before, James," Dany admonished, "but do you ever learn? If there's glory to be had you'll always follow." James knew she was speaking of his plan with Jon.
"And apparently there is some to be had across the Narrow Sea." Willem raised his arms and wiped the ointment along his back.
It stung lightly but not terribly. The ointment was cool. "It's not glory I think of, but my son." He looked to the maester who was busy tending his back. "And speak quietly, Willem. Have you not learned to stay as silent as a crypt?"
"Apologies," he acknowledged, "I forget that in Winterfell we are not safe, even. It's a shame, wouldn't you agree?"
"Always," said Daenerys Targaryen still with the doll in her hands. It even made James frown looking at it because of the reminder that Ned's children will leave them. "And speaking of said glory, I advise against it."
"As would I," agreed Willem, "if we aren't in such dire circumstances."
Dany walked furiously to stand before them. "What are you saying, Maester?"
"I am saying," he went on, "that I see the circumstances we are in, and…it is dire, Lady Daenerys."
"Yes, of course they are, but that doesn't mean James needs to go off as he wants."
"Raise your arms, James," ordered the maester and he did as bid. The new bandages felt cool against his skin and stuck against the ointment. "There is no other time but now," Willem said, "and it will be lost to us should we not act. How long will it be, I say, until the king gets what he wants?"
Dany gave James a passing look filled with dragon fire and her eyes were vassals for the flames. "Fools talk. How can you consent to this, Maester? You've always been a man of caution and reason."
The maester gave a chuckle. "My lady, if I may, I think after all we've been through the time for reason died long ago…"
James couldn't help but chuckle himself and the look on Dany's face was none the pleased. "So what say you, then, Willem?"
"I say with good planning we can make this work." He wrapped the bandages tightly and they were snug. Willem pulled out a pair of sheers and cut the excess trimmings, handing James a cup of milk of the poppy to ease his pain. "If we move quickly that is," he continued. "We cannot wait and not for too long. Plans are already in-motion, and time is of the essence." He collected his belongs. "My lord and lady, I bid you both a good day. I must go tend to the Lady Minisa and see her along the pregnancy."
James gave a small smile, Dany too, at the recent news of Minisa's pregnancy with Jaime. They told each other the first day Arya arrived with Gendry after they had argued a good amount over the fate of Ned's children. It was Jaime who ended the argument by saying his wife was with child and all the anger left everyone's eyes.
Willem looked to James. "We will send for you when we're ready, James."
After he left Daenerys huffed and went for the window. No words need be shared, none need be expressed, and James could sense her displeasure as a dog does fear. She looked serene staring out the window, like an angel with the doll clutched in her hands. "Well," she said after some time, "it seems I lose more of my family with every passing day."
"Dany…" James said softly and there was nothing more said. She left the door with angry footsteps and soiled words. I will be sleeping alone tonight, he knew, maybe. With their grandchildren leaving time with them was scarce, so Dany wouldn't be so cruel as to deny him their touch. His sigh filled the chamber and was the only sound to besides the weather outside. The winds cries reminded him of Dany's after news of Arya and Gendry's arrival. Now, as then, it seems in her heart, Dany Stormborn knew what they had come here for. How James felt the world for her in sorrow.
After supper he was summoned to see Jaime. Usually at this time James would sit in a grand chamber, those usually reserved for guests, and stare out a grand window to watch the sunset with Dany. Before that they'd go out to the ramparts with weather permitting. Usually…he thought ruefully, when she doesn't hate me. Dany didn't say much at supper, didn't look his way, only sat beside him for propriety sake and that was that.
Jaime was in the courtyard in heavy furs and linens with snow in his auburn hair. Robb, James thought and was thinking of his brother. I see Robb in him. Even in his lordly demeanor, Jaime acted as Robb did when the lordship of Winterfell was bestowed upon him. His nephew stood there with crossed arms overlooking the preparations for Arya and Gendry's departure. Servants wrapped in furs of their own littered the courtyard in droves to fix the wheelhouse, pack the belongings, and ready the horses and food. Wagons were filled to the brim with food.
James came beside his nephew. "Jaime, you've sent for me."
"I did." He gave a smile. "I see you're doing better. I-I apologize…"
"Not before your men," said James and the wind cried. Stark guards huddled closely around them as they always did with their liege lord. On the ramparts James could see faint visages of guards on patrol but the snowflakes made it difficult.
Jaime gave a curt nod. "Yes. A lord doesn't apologize for his decisions, but you aren't just another bannerman."
"I know." The cold seeped into his furs and made his back cold. How I will love these new scars which grace my body. "I've come here for leave to see Lyanna."
"So my father has told me." Jaime put his hands behind his back. "You are free to see her, should you wish, without a letter from me. I've told the guards you are going and know you're allowed to see her."
James nodded. "Good enough. How fairs Minisa?"
"Good," he replied, "but nervous about what's to come. My mother has been there for her where Lady Roslin cannot."
"There are many leagues between here and King's Landing."
"And winter puts even more." He sighed. "I've written them to come be here with her, after moons permit, but I doubt Stannis will give them leave. Without them he wouldn't have anyone to keep the Tully's in heel."
"If only Robert was king," James cursed, "and not that insipid man."
"Agreed." Jaime crossed his arms. "I know of your plan," he leaned over to whisper, "and with a heavy heart I'll give my blessing. It's mad, mind you, but what choice do we have? Just know that if the weight of the world rests on your shoulders, James. Should you fail…only the weather will by our ally against the king."
"Unless something should happen," he wished quietly so that only the wind and Jaime were witness to his words. "That, I think, would be the greatest gift of all."
"I doubt it." He turned to James and smiled. "You have a good day, Uncle. I have to go finish helping Lord Gendry with his provisions."
James could only nod and feel the pain of his grandchildren leaving the castle. That reminder hurt worse than any sword wound. He walked the halls and decided to find Lyanna. The Great Hall was filled with smoky haze and warmth from lit braziers; the Keep was warm from the hot springs which ran through it like blood and servants were busy tending to everyone's needs. James Stark walked through feeling like an old wolf, an old man, and the stone walls seemed to reflect the memories running through his mind.
I feel as old as a king of winter, he thought. He walked slowly with a burning back and thought on simpler times in Winterfell. James liked to remember the happy ones; the sad ones he could forget like a bad dream. He remembered playing at knights with Robb and Jon, but not Theon; he didn't care to play with children, even though him and James were close in age. As he walked the halls James could see the ghosts of their younger selves come before him fighting, laughing, jesting and hitting one another with sticks as swords, proclaiming themselves the most gallant and brave of knights.
The smile that crept his face was small and foreign; he truly did feel old. Winterfell's halls stretched out before him and the sounds of the commotion around him were drowned out by his memories. James remembered scaring Sansa and Arya in the crypts with Jon drenched in flour, remembered his tumblings in the godswood with Ros. He even thought about sitting before a roaring hearth with his siblings, Sansa in his lap, to listen to Lord Eddard tell stories about the age of heroes. He recalled his mother's sullen face at finding Jon Snow (Taragaryen, now) playing at swords with Ned Stark's trueborn sons. He thought of Septa Mordane and Arya's crooked stitches, of Uncle Benjen taking him to the Wall, and the look on his father's face after he realized James dressed all in black.
He even remembered the time he, Robb, and Jon put a dead rabbit in Sansa's bed, hiding under the bed, whilst her and young Jeyne Poole found the carcass only to scream as if they had seen a ghost. James remembered laughing until his eyes wept with tears, his face red and hard, and how Sansa and Jeyne chased them in the halls. The daughter of Vayon Poole had no interest in the other boys, only in James (he was even her first kiss), and he had let her catch up so she could pin him to the ground. Jeyne had stared into his eyes with her hands on his chest, planting hundreds of kisses on his face, and the smile on hers was one he carried with himself until this day. Sweet Jeyne, lovely Jeyne, he thought sweetly and bitterly. The bile in his mouth arose when thinking about her fate—James was there to see it.
James stayed by her bedside with her hand in his, soft and warm from the brazier. He had kissed her on the lips to fulfill her wish, ease her pain, but it was also for himself. The last chance at expression of feelings he had repressed. When Jeyne had closed her eyes in death, James Stark cried a thousand tears to fill up the empty banks of a river. Ros was his first love, so he'd say, but the years had made him wise and sane. It was Jeyne he loved, Jeyne who loved him back. It was an odd feeling when first he realized that, and it was after her death. If I had taken her for my wife, Father would have approved, maybe, but Arianne Martell stood in the way.
The memory made him sad and he wished to think of it no more. Jeyne's face loomed in his mind, sporting that smile she bore only for him, and in her hand were clutched a dozen blue roses James would give her from the godswood. "You love her attention, James," Lady Catleyn would say, "but I think there's something more." How James had chuckled then because of Ros. Fool, you fool, thrice-blinded fool, James Stark. Why can't you have just married Jeyne?
At least Ned will get to, he realized and smiled wide. "Life is full of little ironies," Tyrion used to say. James knew his words and wisdom rang. Where James had failed, his son would succeed, and he'd get to marry the Jeyne of his dreams. I hope Dany doesn't hear my thoughts, for she'll have my head for thinking of such things.
One of life's ironies presented themselves upon finding Lyanna's "cell." His sister Sansa had just walked out the door startled to find him there. "James, why are you here?" she asked and closed the distance between them. "Have you come to see Lyanna?"
"Yes," he replied and she was surprised. Sansa bore a dress of white with a bodice of pink and a belt of grey runes. Her auburn hair was pushed back a band and she hadn't changed. "But I come in peace," he assured her, "not to harm or berate her."
"Why the chance of heart?"
"Because my own is heavy with loss." He shook his head. "I-I don't hate her anymore, Sansa. I can't. I'm done and tired, and…I want Ned home."
"And I, Jeyne." She sighed. "I've been visiting her, James—seeing her as much as I can. I know I made that outburst before storming off when we decided Arya was to take Ned's children, but that was only for show."
"I know." He sighed with her. "Will we ever be able to recover? This doesn't seem real."
"I know what you mean, James. If something were to happen to either of our children…"
The thought churned his stomach. "I can't fathom it, Sansa."
Her face hardened. "But with you and Jon…" She shook her head. "I can't, I know, just know that I think you both fools and lunatics. I see the reasoning, but…no matter."
James looked to the stone walls and the faces of the guards, both looking alike. "I was thinking of the past," he told her to change the subject. "I was thinking about our childhood."
She smiled. "Good. It's what keeps me happy, too."
He told her everything and finished, "I haven't thought about Jeyne in years but Rhaegar and Brandon became curious about her at the Neck. Since then she's been in my mind."
"That's because she's been in your heart." Sansa sounded poetic. "Oh, James, how she loved you and how I thought it disgusting." She laughed. "Gods, I miss her sometimes. I-I regret how I treated her in King's Landing."
James braced her shoulders. "We regret many things, Sansa. I, for one, have too many to count. Not enough fingers and toes." He smiled.
She did, too. "What lives we've lived, what sorrows we faced. One after another, the Starks of Winterfell seem to attract them. Why?"
James shrugged. "Not sure. Ask the gods, I suppose. From father to my kingship, to Mance Rayder and now this…when will it end?"
"When we make Winterfell an island that moves from this world."
He laughed. "How I wish to make it so. Jeyne…" he said with longing. "…If I could see her again I'd say so many things."
"I'm sure you'd say how much you loved her." Sansa hugged him; they'd always been close. "I know you did, James, much as Ned always has my own Jeyne but never admitted it."
"The irony is he will get to do what I didn't."
"What is that?"
"Marry Jeyne."
She chuckled and pulled away. "I'm happy you accept."
"I'd be insane not to—not that my approval means anything to them."
Sansa laughed and they spoke for a while longer. He and her hadn't had moments like these in a long while, so it felt nice to share them with Sansa. James supposed he might as well with Arya, too, unless he wanted to make her jealous, but he figured she didn't want his company. He loved Arya, but she was spiteful when anger. Sansa left him to resume her steward duties and he was left alone to face Lyanna.
The guards dipped their heads and unlocked the door. James Stark found the cell suitable for highborns with everything one needed: a feather bed in the left hand corner pushed against the wall, a nightstand beside it, a table, chamber pot and heart crackling with flame. The shutters were fully opened setting grey light into the cell and half melted candles were placed all over the chamber. Lyanna herself was pacing back-in-forth, humming a tune, and was dressed in light blue with white trimmings on her sleeves. Her brown hair was let down to flow, and James thought her beautiful. It was an odd thought, indeed.
"Uncle James?" she said, surprised and startled with her hands bound by fetters. Her silver eyes were wide. "I didn't expect you here."
I didn't expect many things, either. "Yet here I am."
Lyanna eyed him with suspicion. "Why are you here?"
"To speak with you. You're still my niece, after all."
"I see." Lyanna closed the distance between them. "I would offer wine or a seat, but I cannot do either." She raised her fetters to show him. "Jaime insists, I'm afraid, to remind me of what I really am. My mother and father may be here to rescue me, but I'm still a prisoner. It seems my mother being a Stark does not sway him."
James had no words and only thought, if you being a Stark crossed your mind when writing…He shook his head of it. "I could order wine," he offered instead, "if that is your wish. I'm sure you've gone some time without it."
She smiled. "Sure. Can we have some Arbor Gold? Although…will they let us?"
James raised an eyebrow. "I could have once ruled this castle; I think they'll listen." He went outside to order wine and cups brought, and the guards went without hesitation. James sat down on Lyanna's bed, her sitting across and facing him, and he could feel she was happy. Happy to leave us, I suppose.
"You never did say why you're here," she reminded him.
James saw Little Dany in her face. "Daenerys looks like you," is all he said. "I see it."
She smiled half-heartedly, as if the compliment didn't suit her. "I know, so I've been told, but that doesn't answer my question…"
"Why are you so skeptical of my intentions?"
Lya shrugged. "Can you blame me? After everything—I'm surprised Lady Daenerys hasn't tried something."
"Lyanna…" James felt his own head shake. "I don't think Daenerys, no matter her anger, would dare strike down the mother of her son's children."
"But she would his first love?"
"Killing Casella was not her intent," he explained, "you know this. Casella means nothing to her—you, Lya, mean something still."
The words seemed to catch her by surprise. "I see…" Her voice was soft and tranquil, telling him she liked the notion of earning their love again. "But you still haven't answered my question…"
James sighed. "Lyanna, I wanted to come…" His pride made the words catch in his throat. "…I suppose; I've had a change of heart."
"Is this some sort of trick?" She raised an eyebrow.
James was surprised. "What trick?" A guard came through the door with two cups and a flagon of wine. James poured them each a drink and handed her a cup. He took a sip and said, "See? This wine is not poisoned. I come with no tricks. I'm no wizard, Lya."
Lyanna understood his words and drank in small sips. "What change of heart do you speak of?"
"The one which makes me eat at my pride." The Arbor Gold was sweet in his mouth and he laid the cup against the ground. With a touch so hesitant, James Stark placed his hand on her forearm. Lyanna didn't understand, eyed it bizarrely, and then met his gaze.
"Why do you do this, Lord James?"
He huffed. "I do this because I suppose, in my heart, I've wanted to say I forgive you. I am tired of the anger, the hate, the suffering…"
"Has Rhaella gotten to you?"
"If Rhaella could influence me she'd be queen of the North." James patted her forearm. "Another thing," he said and the words were like tough, over-cooked meat. "I wanted to—gods, how do I say this—I wanted to…" Just say it, you fool.
"To…?"
"Apologized," he finished, "for my son's sins. Ned, he's a good lad, always has been, but he isn't perfect. For years I knew of his infidelity for Casella—hate me for that, should you wish, but I won't apologize for holding my son's secrets and trust." James sighed. "Regardless, I wanted to ask your forgiveness and offer my own. For Ned and Jeyne, too. Jeyne…she's a good person, a great lady, this you know, and I give them my blessing. Ned won't find a better lady." He gave her forearm one last squeeze and stared into her wide silver eyes. "Forgive me, Lyanna, before you go to King's Landing with my grandchildren."
Her mouth was open like a gaping fish, her hands coiled around the cup, and her face could not be read. James didn't know what to think or say, so he just removed his hand from her forearm. Lyanna's brown hair gave a tussle after she let go of a sigh and shook her head. "I should curse you," she finally said, "and your son. I should curse you both, relish that I am taking your grandchildren away, but I care not, anymore." She gave James a smile. "I forgive you, I suppose, and accept your own forgiveness and apology. Being in this cell has given me time to reflect and cherish that which is lost to me. In King's Landing I will remarry, this you know, but I cannot help Ned, if that is what you seek."
"I didn't expect it," James said truthfully, "nor want it. Robert is Hand now. He has the power but Stannis won't let him. Ned is in the hands of the gods now." Or my own, should Bran let me.
"I am sorry," Lyanna told him, "for all that I've done. Lord Davos, Ned, Jeyne…she just loves him, I suppose, but I cannot accept that. I cannot…she was with Ned before they left."
"I know." He sighed. "Ned, I've heard the stories…"
"So have I." James filled her cup and she said, "Uncle Bran came and told me of their story. Heart Tree's and visions…if only the gods could have prevented me from marrying him seeing as they wanted Ned and Jeyne together. Perfect for one another, apparently." She shook her brown head. "I don't know what to make of it. What do you?"
"I can't answer for the gods. An answer full of void. If you mean to ask what I think of Ned being unfaithful with Jeyne, well…" James knew he had to tread carefully. "I can't say I agree of what he did." The news gave a shimmer in her silver eyes. "But, I can sympathize with gods and visions. Daenerys, she has this odd ability. I've known about it since I've known her and it's never failed. When she dreams something, it comes to pass."
Lyanna nodded. "Aye, I guess. Know that I can forgive you, but not Ned. Mayhaps Jeyne, with time, but not him. I don't ever want to see him again."
"You would deny him to see his children?"
"No," she said, "that he can do. I know Ned, he would let me see them, so I'll grant that same courtesy to him. But that doesn't mean I have to be there with them should they reunite."
James understood. "Aye, that choice is yours."
He stayed in the cell for some time after until the sun went down. Candles provided light when James decided to leave, and the conversation with Lyanna did him good. They spoke of happier times, her thoughts while in the cell, Casella, and even her worries about King's Landing. Lyanna was worried about her new husband, if she would like the capital, and even about whether or not her children would ever grow accustomed to it. James could only say they'd come to visit when the time was right. Mayhaps when Rhaella was wed to her betrothed or Lya to her own. Before he left she gave him an embrace and it felt queer to hold her in such a way again. It did him good to forgive her.
With a clear conscience, James Stark returned to his chambers. Daenerys was already in-bed with their grandchildren and James decided to let them have the bed. Instead he slept on a cot that had been placed in the corner of the chamber, which made him smile. It seems Daenerys has already seen to punishing me in some way. James slept on his belly this night, his back burning in pain, but the milk of the poppy made him sleep right away.
Morning came and his stomach churned.
They stood in the courtyard to see Arya and Gendry off with Ned's children. He was with his family, the Starks, and Baratheon bannermen slipped out the main gate in droves. James stood there in his finest and furs, as did they others, and Dany's arm was slipped in his. Sniffles and soft cries could be heard from the ladies and girls. Cat held Rhaenys, and Rhaella was solemn where once she'd be bawling with the rest. I suppose she has no more tears to spend after seeing Ser Criston off again. Saying farewell to his grandchildren was as difficult as being flogged in the courtyard, and how they shed tears for their departure. It was hard for them all, truth be told, and harder still when those three children got into the wheelhouse with Lyanna and Arya.
Before she had left, Val ripped free from Arya's embrace and ran to James. He kneeled down to hold her, although it pained him, and he held her tight in his arms. "I want to stay," she whispered into his ear and kissed him lightly on the cheek. How James wished she could, but had to let her go when Arya came over to collect. He gave her a look of sorrow, one she shared, and it was nice to know Arya took no joy in this. Daenerys's whimpered into his arms as they watched the wheelhouse creak its way through the main gate and into the grey fog. James Stark felt like he had lost Ned again.
A few days passed since their departure and it grew easier with time. The first were difficult, James had to admit. Dany's tears filled their chamber every night, his bare chest dampened by them, and his arms held her tenderly. Even though his thoughts were consumed by Jeyne Poole, as of late, Daenerys Targaryen always held his heart. My Dany, he thought with glee and remembered when he first met her. Her beauty was intimidating to say the least, but she had helped by treating him like just another man, by getting to know him. At times James liked to wish back for those times, the three moons they spent courting, because they were much simpler than what was to come after.
James had spent time with his children, too. He shared some tea with Rhaella, although his was laced with something to numb the pain. She told him some gossip about how Sansa had come to her with a request to find Brandon a lady. James chuckled at that, proclaiming that Rhaegar and Alyssandra filled him with jealousy. Speaking of his second son, Rhaegar spent more time with his beloved than James. Sure, they would both share tales or mayhaps spar, but he chose her over him most of the time. James understood how powerful love could be. With Cat, James decided it was best to do something she liked. They couldn't ride, he knew, so instead they walked the godswood and spoke. Rhaenys he tended to the most, dear little bird, and collected her tears as he did Dany's. She was taking the loss of Ned's children the hardest—she had grown close with Little Dany. Rhaenys thought it unfair, hated them all for it, but James explained and she understood. "I just want to see them again," she admitted. "Please, can we, Papa?" James smiled and said they would, but he didn't know when. He just held her and admonished her lightly for being a little bird, to which she promised to come with Dany and James first after hearing important things.
Bran summoned them to Jaime's solar after the midday meal.
He was seating there in his rolling chair looking out the great window. Grey light shone through making shadows upon the table of the sill. Jon was already there, standing by their brother's side, both seeming to just enjoy the moment.
Jon turned to face him. "We were wondering when you would show."
"I thought to come after you to arouse les suspicion." Jon gave a reassuring nod; James walked over to them to look out the window. Snow covered Winterfell in a blanket of snow. "The snow rises with each day."
"Winter is coming," Jon said.
"Winter is coming," they echoed.
"Word is Gendry and Arya are making good time," Bran told them. "Weather is on their side as they move farther south."
"They picked a good time to leave, then," said Jon.
"Aye, they did." Bran reeled his chair to look upon them both with sullen blue eyes. "You both know why you're here, so let's get to it."
"Here, in the solar?"
He shook his head. "No, of course not. Here, follow me." They followed him to a book case with a sconce on the wall. An unlit torch was there and Bran gave it a tug. The book shelf opened to reveal a giant tunnel, big enough for a man to walk through.
James was shocked by it. "How long has this been here?"
"Since Winterfell has been built," Bran told him.
"And what is within?" asked Jon.
"Follow me and see." Bran led them through and the stone walls were damp and cold. You could hear the wind outside billowing and screeching, sending gusts of cold through the walls. James shivered and the tunnel did not last long. It gave way to a small room lit by torches on the wall. A small desk was at the end of it, two chairs before it, and one could see parchment, quills, and ink on the table.
"What is this place?" James asked.
"I would come to read here or just when I want to be alone." Bran wheeled himself behind the desk. "Here, take a seat. No one will hear us in here, trust me on that."
Good thing Jon closed it after we entered. Both took their seats and Jon wasted no time. "Have you discussed it with Jaime and Willem?"
"We have," he replied, "and decided you will visit Tormund Giantsbane."
James looked to Jon, surprised. "Tormund Giantsbane?!" Jon bellowed. "Bran, why waste our time with this?"
"Yes, why?!" insisted James. "The wildlings are to be left alone, for the most part, unless it's the continual trade we have with them."
"Yes," Bran said, "which is why I'm sending you both to treat with them. Seems the wildlings have been doing a bit too much of killing traders and taking their loot instead of actually trading."
"Are they?" James was shocked. "Dale wouldn't allow that, Bran."
"Seems he can't control them all. Some are more loyal to Tormund than him, which is why I'm sending you both."
"Then let Dale deal with him!" James pleaded. "Not us! Let Dale deal with trade!"
Bran sighed. "Tormund deals with the trade," he reminded them, "you know this. He has the charisma for it, which is why Dale taught him to read and write. Apparently it led to some scuffles between them."
"This is madness!" Jon barked. "We are going to Braavos, not the Gift!"
"Yes!" James agreed. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because they trust and like you," Bran told them. "You both know them, their customs, and Tormund respects you. He doesn't care for Jaime or me—normally, we wouldn't care, but the free folk are different."
James shook his head. "This is folly."
"It is," Jon said, too. "This isn't what we want."
"No, but it's what I'll have them believe." Bran smiled.
The realization hit James and he smiled, too. "You don't mean to send us…"
"A cover." Jon realized it now. "That's what you'll have Winterfell talking about and Stannis's spies."
"Yes," Bran told them, "that is what all we speak about, which means I must send you in truth."
James was surprised. "What do you mean?"
"I'll send you both to treat with Tormund along with a retinue of soldiers. This is to make the lie real, you see. Stannis will hear about it, think nothing of it, and you'll bring Tormund with you to Winterfell."
"And then what, Bran?"
"And then you'll go to Braavos under a guise, although we'll say it's to make sure the wildlings keep their end of the deal. At White Harbor you'll board a ship there but most of Winterfell will assume you've left the castle again to further relations with the free folk. Let's say that things won't go well when Tormund arrives, so you both must go back to see it through, but you'll really go to White Harbor. Wildlings trade there, you see. Their furs are better than seal skins."
James nodded. "Aye, I see. We go to the Gift, back to Winterfell, to White Harbor, and then we board a ship as ourselves…?"
"No," Bran smiled, "as someone else. You see, Stannis will have spies in White Harbor, too, where you must appear as yourselves. You'll leave the city but come back as someone else. It's as that other person you will board a ship to Braavos."
"As who…?" asked James even though he feared the answer.
"As Septons," said Bran. "All gods are revered in Braavos, and the High Septon has decided to send Septons and Septas there to spread the faith of the Seven, as they always have done."
James laughed. "As Septons? How can I find Ned as a Septon? Who will we know there?"
"Know this," Bran explained, "that this will be awfully dangerous for the both of you. When you step into this city you'll be in great danger."
Dread filled Jon's heart as he said, "Why would we be in-danger?"
"The red priests and priestesses seem to hold more influence in that city now more than ever." Bran sighed. "Whispers say that they don't like how Westerosi culture and its king is holding sway over the masses. Some speak of King Stannis trying to use that to his advantage by…seizing political power through the religion of the Seven."
"Is this true?"
Bran shrugged. "Who knows? Now that winter is coming, Braavosi trade is needed and to hold influence over the people in some way would benefit him. He won't invade the city, mind you, that would be suicide, but you don't have to rule literally but in other ways. The red priests see that, mind you, which is why they're speaking out against the Faith. They speak of its ill and malice, of its poisons and contradictions. If they don't sway the people through words, then they do through violence: apostatizing is becoming the norm through torture. Public spectacles are being made of those faithful to the Seven being tortured through horrible ways, and they are relieved of it when they promise to stamp on the image of the Father or Mother or any of the idols."
"And what has become of those who serve the Seven?"
"Septons and Septas are being persecuted. Red priests offer pieces of silver for one of the faithful, more for a local priest, and even more for a Westerosi one. Those who openly worshipped in Septs have gone underground. As two Septons in Braavos you'll have to go into hiding, which means you'll have to play the part, and at night mayhaps you can go to the docks in guise."
"Then why make us go as such?" Jon asked. "Wouldn't it be easier to go as traders?"
"Stannis will look for that," Bran said. "He will expect us, if he does at all, to go for the obvious in terms of hiding ourselves in Braavos. Ned, he's a smuggler, which means for the most part is out of sight, but a trader is on the docks all day and the market place, as well. How obvious would it be to mask you both as Westerosi traders?" He tsked. "Too obvious. But as a Septon…? Stannis won't dream of it not even in his sleep."
"This is all well and good," said Jon, "but how will you prevent from Stannis hearing about our extended absence."
Bran smiled again. "Winter is coming, you said, which means information will be harder to come by. Jaime will order ravens to be sent less and less during winter, to prevent Winterfell from losing them all to the weather. Only Maester Willem will be allowed to send them, and the ones who can are those with a seal of approval from Jaime. Which means that a spy of Stannis will not be able to send word to him during your extended absence, and riders can't be sent without proper vetting. Stannis will never hear about you again until you're back in Winterfell with Ned and Jeyne…let's hope by then their brands are lifted."
James could see the reasoning in that, but Bran did not let him reply, "Which is why I must ask if you really want to do this?" In the gloom he pierced them with blue eyes. "Is this in your hearts, then, the both of you?"
James didn't know. "Yes," he said, "for Ned. If I don't, then I am lost."
"As am I," Jon agreed.
Bran sighed and the torch light flickered. "Then I must trust the gods have put it there," he said solemnly and began to write a letter to Tormund Giantsbane.
A/N: Yeah I know I'm twisting some lore a bit in regards to Braavos and the Red priests, but this is AU and post ASOIAF, so who knows what changes could come after so much time.
