"Well, he'll be relieved to know it wasn't his sword arm." Matthew looked down at Jaime, whose face was red with fever. For the past four days, he had done nothing but moan, too weak to even stand.
The bullet had shattered his left shoulder, forcing a maester to amputate it. Matthew had made the decision early, before the infection could spared. Milk of the Poppy kept the pain at bay, but beyond that, there was little to do but hope.
"I do not think it will be much comfort to him, Your Grace," the maester kneeled beside Jaime. He was a man in his forties, a beard decorating his chin, though it was much less prominent than Pycelle's had been. "I am accustomed to fixing broken bones, jousting injuries, even combat. But I did not dare remove whatever that was, not when it was lodged so deeply inside."
"So what are my Uncle's chances? I'm looking for a straight answer, not what you think I want to hear."
"I have seen men pull through what seemed certain doom. Maggots have removed the dead flesh and I use alcohol to clean his wound. Anything else will have to come from him."
Suppose I need to send a message to Casterly Rock. He'd been reluctant to send a raven, for fear of Cersei coming back and causing him more problems. However, both she and Kevan deserved to know what happened, as his sister and uncle. "Let me know if there is any chance, good or bad. I doubt it's going to be the last gunshot wound you'll have to treat."
Matthew left the room, giving a nod to the two guards he'd posted at the door. He trusted the standing army he built more than any gold cloaks. Several more rushed to his side, marching alongside him everywhere he went.
How the hell did they get their hands on muskets? Once Jaime had been transported to a maester, Matthew went into the armory and assembled every member of his army to get an accurate count of how many Flintlocks he possessed. He'd spent most of the past two days speaking to each men individually, making sure all of them still possessed their weapon. Next he checked the stockpile in the armory to see if there was anything missing.
With so few muskets to go around, Matthew had insisted on accurate records of how many he possessed. The rate of construction had improved to twenty-five a day, allowing one quarter of his men to wield them. None were missing, and those responsible for constructing them promised none had been sold or stolen. Matthew wasn't sure they told him the truth but had no proof otherwise.
Could this Aegon have managed to build these weapons? He suspected Varys got his hands on the blueprints until the secret entrance to his chambers had been sealed. If this Aegon had managed to build his own, Daenerys would have to wait. Let's see: worst possible scenario is, he's manage to mass produce them all, negating my technological advance. Knowing my luck, he's got more than I do.
"You're telling me you have no intelligence about this Aegon he mentioned?" Matthew scowled when meeting with his Master of Whisperers.
"Your Grace, I would not advise taking the Spider at his word," he did not dare to look Matthew in the eye. "Aegon was killed as a babe. The entire realm knows what happened to Rheagar's children. Your grandfather personally verified their identities."
"Varys is working for someone, else he wouldn't have moved when he did. He hoped to kill me and leave the city in chaos, a goal he failed at. Now I'm looking for answers. What other Targaryen loyalists do I have to worry about?"
"I do apologize, Your Grace, but none of my informants in either Westeros or Essos mentioned an Aegon. However, the Golden Company has broken their contract with Volantis, a first for them. Their current location is unknown."
Matthew vaguely remembered who they were, with his Master of Whisperers filling in the gaps. "I'd bet on the Golden Company being his army. Best sellsword company in Westeros, only army able to defeat the Unsullied. Well, our first priority is to find them and make sure they do not land. Intercept them at sea before they can." Much of his fleet had been wiped out by Daenerys and it would take years to build another one. "Send a warning to the Stormlands, order them to assemble any ships they have and prepare to repel an invasion."
"Your Grace, if that is their intention, they may travel directly to the Capital."
Damn. "They show up here, I'll use Trinity to destroy their fleet. If Renly couldn't do it when I was outnumber eight to one, Aegon certainly isn't going to manage it. In fact, I'd encourage him to try, end this fight before it begins." Matthew had his doubts about this being the real Aegon.
"Your Grace, I would advise you not to underestimate the Golden Company, if they have indeed joined Aegon in his invasion. The Dothraki and Unsullied have fearsome reputations, but even they have been beaten in the field by the Golden Company more often than not. Then there is the question of whether anyone in Westeros will join them."
"Well, I've got two Targaryen forces coming for me. I doubt holding hostages is going to do as much good as I hoped."
"There is one last thing, Your Grace. This pretender sent a raven, which arrived a few minutes ago." His Master of Whisperers handed him the parchment.
Usurper:
Storm's End fell to me in half a day, as have every nearby castle. All who refused to surrender to me have been executed. I have your cannons. I have your guns. I discovered your secret weapon.
Within two weeks, I will be feasting in King's Landing. Surrounding Stormlords have already bent the knee to me and joined my ranks. Dorne is marching to support my cause. Daenerys will be my consort and together, Targaryen rule will once again fall over Westeros.
Bend the knee and your family will remain as Warden of the West. Refuse and your bloodline will be exterminated.
Aegon Targaryen,
True King of the Seven Kingdoms
"Well, shit." Matthew crumpled up the parchment.
"He does seem confident of success, Your Grace. We have heard no news from Storm's End, though I suspect his boasts are true. With all respect, your new weapons, however you developed them, were not going to remain a secret indefinitely."
"Yes, I know." Matthew threw it in the fireplace. After pulling out a map of the Crownlands, he ran a finger north, calculating how fast the Golden Company and their followers would be able to travel. It's within the realm of possibility, assuming he stuck to the Kingsroad and without serious opposition. A good estimate would be 12-15,000 troops against what I have in King's Landing.
What concerned him was knowing Aegon's handlers would never attack unless there was at least a chance of success. Assaulting a fortress with numerical parity across a river was suicide, which even an amateur tactician would know. "Plus, I've got a dragon, though perhaps Aegon isn't aware of this."
That left two possibilities: either the Golden Company drastically underestimated their enemy or there were those waiting to strike within the city walls. I'm certain it's the second one. No one with the Golden Company's reputation would make such an amateur mistake.
He'd heard no word of Aegon possessing a navy, but he had to have possessed one, if he wished to take King's Landing. Most of the Lannister bannermen had returned to the Westerlands, with his personal troops the primary defense of the Capital.
"Is there a way Aegon can assault the city by land?"
"There are bridges that allow a land route to King's Landing, Your Grace, but they are more than twenty leagues west of the city. If he wishes to take the Capital quickly, this pretender would need a navy."
"That's where he'll be heading." Matthew wasn't a hundred percent sure, but with the lack of intelligence, it was the best he had. "Let me know if there is any new developments, even if they appear unimportant."
Whatever I do, I'm going to be on my own. Lannister bannermen would be reluctant to march south again with winter's arrival, and even if they did, a sufficient army would not be assembled in time to save the city. While taking King's Landing had limited strategic value, it would have massive psychological impact.
That evening, he requested a private meeting with Addam Marbrand, one of the few Lannister bannermen still in King's Landing. "I am at your service, Your Grace." He bowed upon entering the room.
"I don't intend to give Aegon the initiative. Varys is dead and with him, his best intelligence. We're going to tear his forces to pieces before he gets anywhere near King's Landing."
"Would it not be better to fight them from behind city walls, Your Grace?" Marband questioned. "Very few have beaten the Golden Company on the field and if they possess these cannons, a field battle would be suicide. Not only that, you possess a formidable dragon."
"Under other circumstances, I would agree with you. However, there's no guarantee Aegon doesn't have traitors waiting to open the gates or even start an uprising within the city. Ever since the nonsense with the High Sparrow, this city has been on the verge of explosion." Damn Cersei. Should have sent her back to the Westerlands a long time ago, make her Kevan's problem.
"Then I would recommend striking at them in the Kingswood, at least once we know their precise location. While he will have those who know the territory, the Golden Company does not." Marbrand placed his finger on the Kingsroad on the map. "Essosi warfare is designed for open plains, not dense forests. At least some of your men know how to survive out there."
"In the end, we may face a siege, but since he's marching on a city while only slightly outnumbering us, Aegon's extremely arrogant or has an ace up his sleeve." Marband turned his head at Matthew's phrasing but said nothing. "It might not even be necessary to assault them directly. We can fell trees along the road, force his troops to go around or remove them. Either way, it'll cost him precious time. I doubt he has the supplies for a long campaign."
"That will prevent food from entering King's Landing from the south."
"No way to avoid that right now. Once he's beaten, we can remove the obstacles and resume as normal." Matthew was done being soft. Any food riots throughout King's Landing would be crushed. "Have scouts watch the bridges and send notice the instant they approach."
"Your Grace, the Golden Company may not be your only enemy. Many tales have been told of your cruelty throughout the Stormlands. Some even believe you're bewitched by Melisandre and fear you mean to impose your religion by force. Nor can you dismiss his claim of Dorne's assistance. I suggest reminding Doran Martell you hold his brother and daughter."
"It's on my list of things to do." Matthew didn't intend to execute them, at least not without concrete proof of Dorne's involvement. Cutting off Arianne's hair and sending it to Sunspear, however, would still serve as a message. Killing them on a whim would send Dorne marching to the Capital. While Matthew had faith in his troops, he didn't intend to be weakened against Daenerys.
They argued strategy long into the night. Matthew's knowledge of the Kingswood was as minimal as Aegon's, but Marbrand knew hunters who could guide his troops through the forest.
Once his location was found, all he needed to do was allow Trinity to show her true power. Let's see how long the Golden Company lasts against a dragon.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Stay quiet, and be prepared for the worst." Jon tugged the grappling hook to make sure it was secure.
"I've climbed the Wall a dozen times, Crow," Tormund laughed. "I'll be up there well before you."
Should go well, long as no one sees us. Jon knew Winterfell enough to find his way around in the middle of the night, but none of the wildlings and mountain tribesmen who had agreed to assist him could do the same. He wrapped rope around his hands and began to climb, step by step.
Even in a thick coat, Jon shivered. Snow surrounding Winterfell was already two feet high and winter was only beginning. All he could do was pray Bolton had not flayed his father's servants alive.
Daenerys Targaryen was only a few leagues south of Winterfell, but Jon had heard many stories about the Dragon Queen, few of them good. At a minimum, she was determined to retake her father's throne, plunging Westeros into another spiral of death and deconstruction.
While a more dangerous enemy lurks beyond The Wall. Jon had done what he could to prepare for them, but the Night's Watch was horribly undermanned, and many wildlings were not inclined to obey orders.
His muscles strained from the effort of climbing, but it was minimal compared to his time with the Free Folk. Jon angled his ears upwards, though could not make out any sounds from guards on the walls. At least thus far, their assault had yet to be noticed.
Those beyond the Wall moved more silently than he did, having experience with worse climbs in the past. Jon took a deep breath, ignoring the frost and snow building on his small beard. Things were calm after days of storms, but no one could count on that lasting much longer.
Next to him, Tormund had almost reached the top, giving a mocking salute. To their left and right, no one had yet managed to duplicate his feat, though some had succeeded in climbing higher than Jon. Those beyond the Wall and the mountain tribes did not yet trust one another. Only his leadership kept them from each other's throats.
Above them, Tormund slit the throat of a guard before he even knew anyone was there, assisting those who struggled to make such a climb in the dark. Jon forced himself up, step by step, rope burning his hands despite the thick gloves he wore.
Still no one had noticed them. Jon prayed they had indeed taken Bolton by surprise. Rage grew in his heart the closer he was to his target. Bran and Rickon were dead, tortured by his bastard son. Keep yourself together. Anger will only lead to your destruction. Jon remembered his father's words.
With a strained grunt, he succeeded in climbing over the side, Tormund and a few others killing the guards before anyone could shout an alarm. To his relief, all wore the Bolton colors. "Where to now, crow?" Tormund questioned. "They'll know we're here sooner or later."
"They'll see us sooner or later, and we don't have the men to withstand them," Val warned, pulling an axe from her back. "Do you have any idea how many Bolton has?"
"It won't be enough and we still have loyalists in the castle." If everyone got over the walls without being detected, victory was theirs. If not. . . Jon had no intention of becoming a Bolton's captive.
Jon marched across the stone bridges between Winterfell's walls, ears perking at the occasional sounds of dead Bolton guards. He'd done everything possible to inform the wildlings what to avoid, but no plan survived contact with the enemy.
And I don't wish to enlist the Dragon Queen's help unless we have no other option. Jon didn't want his people to get dragged into another war, not during winter.
He and his comrades used the few torches still active to climb down the ladders, landing in the courtyard. Jon could hardly believe no warning had yet been shouted. Either the free folk were masters of stealth, or they were being lured into a trap.
"What would that accomplish, crow?" Tormund scoffed when Jon voiced his concerns. "They'd slaughter us outside the walls, so luring us in would be too dangerous for them."
"Point." Jon didn't wish to kill anyone save Roose unless it was necessary.
He listened to scattered footsteps, unsure if they were friend or foe. A few members of the mountain tribes had visited Ned Stark prior to his death, leading their less familiar companions through the castle.
I just hope I'm able to kill Bolton myself. Jon wouldn't risk the mission to do it, but the man had put his family through untold hell. Justice was long overdue.
He glanced toward the courtyard, remembering all the times he and Robb sparred, guiding along by Ser Rodrik Cassel. He'd shared the same scorn Lady Catelyn did, but never treated Jon differently while teasing the Starks the art of swordsmanship.
Never did like Arya watching in on us. Jon never said anything, knowing how much his sister hated needlework. More than once, his sister attempted to disguise herself, but no one was fooled by her.
They crept through the courtyard, the wildlings experienced enough to make no sound. Few were awake and those who heard anything were quickly silenced. Jon searched for movement in the darkness, his dagger ready to cut the throat of anyone who served Bolton.
A small figure moved in the shadows. Tormund and Val flanked him while Jon rushed forward with the dagger. "Wait, wait, My Lord! I'm on your side! Please don't kill me!" The man fell to his knees and wept.
"He'd say anything to save his neck," Val scoffed. "I know a liar when I hear one."
"Bolton would flay me alive if he knew I was speaking to you, My Lord!" The man folded his hands together. "Once he arrived in Winterfell, he killed most of your father's old servants. The lucky ones were merely hung. We swore to obey, or else be flayed."
"Then I suggest you obey me now," Jon warned. "If you wish to be free of Bolton, I suggest telling me everything. Where have his bannermen gone?"
"Many have fled, My Lord," he trembled. "They know what happened to Joffrey's fleet and don't wish to face dragons. More leave every night. They're flayed if caught, but it hasn't stopped them."
"Where is Bolton now?" Jon spoke with quiet fury. He still didn't like the idea of dragons in the North, but it worked to his advantage, at least at that moment.
"Lord Bolton is sleeping in your father's old room, My Lord, but he has guards at his door. You will not be able to sneak up on him."
"I won't have to. Prove your sincerity and lead the way. Should you prove us false, whether I live or die, you will not live to enjoy any reward for betraying me."
"Thought you crows had two walls inside here," Tormund remarked. Jon made sure to keep the man within a few feet. He continued to tremble, but did not call out to anyone else. Val moved toward similar groups, gathering them together for the final assault.
The inner gates were already open and unobstructed. Jon knew the way by heart, having done his best to avoid it wherever Lady Catelyn resided.
Those who noticed their presence did nothing to stop him or raise the alarm. Torches lit up the inner keep, allowing them to distinguish between friend and foe. Val moved without a sound, slitting the throat of a Bolton man who opened his mouth to scream. Others saw the hopelessness of their situation and surrendered.
"He's not in his room," a voice called out behind Jon. His party raised their swords before recognizing it was Arya behind them.
Along a dozen free folk stood his little sister pressing a knife against Bolton's throat. Hands and feet gagged, it took all his effort to stand up. Arya stood only at his shoulder, but the look in her eyes made him shudder.
"Your sister's more one of us than a kneeler," one of the wildlings commented. "Couldn't leave her behind; figured she deserved vengeance as much as you did."
"Arya, my instructions were clear. I don't wish to lose you the way I have Bran, Rickon, Father, and Sansa." Jon neglected to mention Catelyn. He didn't care for her and the feeling was definitely mutual, but did not wish to see her dead.
"I can take care of myself, in case you've forgotten. He would have gotten away if I didn't see him. Bolton was heading for the Dreadfort." Arya pressed the knife hard enough to blow blood.
"We're going to have a long conversation about this." Jon looked over the man who had done his damnedest to wipe the Starks out. "You swore an oath to my father, Bolton, one you chose to break."
"My Lord, I did only as the King commanded me when he chose me as Warden of the North." Roose kept his voice smooth, the darkness hiding his fear. "I do apologize for my bastard's behavior, however. He was always an unruly sort, and I believe he poisoned his trueborn brother, who wished to know his family."
"I'm not interested in excuses, Bolton." Jon traced his sword along the back of his neck. "Force him to his knees. Don't bother with a block." He knew the execution would likely be botched, but didn't care. Bolton didn't deserve a clean death.
I could flay him, the way he did to Bran and Rickon. Boltons were infamous for the practice. It would be fitting to have the last of them die the same way they inflicted on countless others. To hear Bolton scream and beg for mercy. . . No. No one deserves that, even Bolton.
"I, Jon Snow of House Stark, pronounce you guilty of treason. For this crime, I sentence you to die." Bolton said nothing, though he still attempted to break the grip of the men holding him. "If you keep struggling, this is going to be a lot more painful."
Bolton stopped fighting but still trembled. Jon took a deep breath and swung the sword down as he'd seen his father do in the past. Longclaw beheaded Bolton in a single stroke, the head rolling underneath his feet, dark eyes staring at nothing.
"Should have killed him where he stood, but you're my older brother, and Warden of the North," Arya remarked, kicking the head aside. "I'm just happy he won't be hurting anyone else."
"Yes." Bolton deserved to die, but Jon didn't feel the pleasure he'd anticipated. It's done. Now we have to prepare for the real war.
XXXXXXXXXX
What are we holding back for? Daenerys wondered, Drogon finally accepting her desire to take to the air. I could give them Winterfell within an hour.
Few of her allies were willing to have her destroy the castle doing so, however, so Tyrion convinced her to wait. Daenerys wondered why any of them would care for the lives of those following Bolton. Holding back in Meereen had caused her nothing but trouble. She refused to make that mistake a second time.
"So what should I do?" Daenerys asked Drogon. "I could risk the alliance, but a siege would cost too many lives." Manderly refused to give a definite reason why she shouldn't assault the castle. "Doing this now would save more in the long term." And the Iron Throne would be one step closer to its rightful owner.
No one was visible on the battlements, nor could movement be seen. Drogon looked back at her, waiting to see what Daenerys would ask of him. Viserion flew above them both, sending a message to any who thought of resisting her.
A single man departed Winterfell on horseback, carrying a banner. With the skies now clear, Daenerys made out a direwolf, not the flayed man Bolton was so fond of. Whoever it was, he did not so much at glance upward.
His horse traveled the road at a steady pace, trotting toward the forming siege lines to the south. Daenerys swooped down, Drogon roaring to gauge his reaction, but still the man did not respond. He is either brave, or foolish. Daenerys ignored the impulse to bathe him in dragonfire, not wishing to endanger an already fragile alliance.
She returned to the ground, trusting Viserys to interrupt any surprise attack Bolton might attempt. "Did you see anything, Your Grace?" Manderly bowed. "Their defenses?"
"I saw no one on the walls, only a single man carrying the Stark banner," Daenerys informed. Drogon helped himself to a horse that had perished from the cold.
The line stretched for close to a league, northerners, Unsullied, and Dothraki waiting for the order to attack. Not all were convinced relying on two dragons to breach Winterfell would be a wise ploy, but her children had never failed her.
Within an hour, the man carrying a Stark banner reached their lines of defense. He stopped without being told, raising a hand to show he meant no harm. Daenerys watched from a distance while a group of northerners marched to meet him.
Next thing she knew, all of them embraced the man, a couple slapping him on the back. Daenerys even made out laughter, a third man shaking his hand with enthusiasm. Well, at least we know he's not a Bolton. Given the hatred she'd observed, none of the northerners wished to do anything but stab in the heart anyone who served Roose.
"Well, well, if it isn't the bastard," Tyrion waddled over, an uncharacteristic smile on his face. "Should have known you'd find us first."
"Never thought I'd see you again, dwarf," the man chuckled. "How did you end up with a Targaryen?" Daenerys held her tongue at being disrespected. Drogon huffed, smoke coming from his nostrils.
"A story for another time, Jon Snow." Tyrion deferred. "For now, I would like to introduce you to the rightful Queen of Westeros." He led this "Jon Snow" toward Daenerys. Her bloodriders watched with a wary eye but did not consider him an imminent threat.
He was young, no more than a year older than her. Handsome as well. Jon removed his hood, allowing Daenerys to view him in full. Keen eyes bore into her, ones that spoke of dark experiences. "It is an honor to meet you, Mother of Dragons." Jon nodded, glancing at Drogon and Viserion.
"You should kneel before your rightful Queen."
"You haven't won the war yet, My Lady." Jon made eye contact with her. "I thank you for coming to our aid, even if it ultimately proved unnecessary. It can't have been an easy journey to get here."
"What happened to Roose Bolton?" Daenerys looked over at Tyrion.
"Your Grace, I had the honor of meeting him before he went to the Wall," Tyrion assured. "He would hold no love for the man who betrayed his family."
"Aye." Jon grimaced. "He betrayed Robb, killed my two younger brothers, tried to murder me and my sister, violating the Night's Watch neutrality to do so. Bolton and his bastard will never plague the North again." He noticed her beauty, but did not let it sway her, as other men had.
He isn't going to underestimate me, either. Despite the danger, Daenerys preferred men who misjudged her because of her gender. They were easier to defeat. Jon Snow was no such man. "I am sorry for the losses you endured. I have no memory of my family, save for my older brother. Once you bend the knee, we can finish liberating Westeros."
"That is something you will have to earn, My Lady." Jon observed his fellow northerners. "You have convinced many of my father's bannermen to fight for you, but to me, you remain a stranger. After the Mad King's actions, the North bears little love for Targaryens."
"I am not my father. I freed hundreds of thousands of slaves, destroyed the usurper's fleet, and I intend to rule the Seven Kingdoms."
"And. . . where is your third dragon? Tales of your dragons have reached even the Wall, yet I see only two."
"He will be here soon enough." Daenerys had heard nothing of Rheagal's fate and feared the wounds would kill him. "I risked my life and the lives of my men to return Winterfell to its rightful owners. Is that not enough proof for you?"
"I know it makes little sense for you. Nor do I judge you based on what your father committed. But what you're asking is for us to march south a second time, in the middle of winter, to claim the Iron Throne. Few wars are waged in winter years for good reason. Fathers have buried their sons. Son have buried their fathers. Women mourn for both. Still you would ask us to endure such hardship again on behalf of a woman we don't even know."
Your ancestor swore an oath to me! Daenerys grit her teeth but did not say the words. Nor would they do her any good, considering what her father had done. "I understand your hesitation, Lord Snow, though the fact many of your bannermen chose to follow me should help convince you. All I ask is that you give me a chance to prove myself, then hopefully follow me on your own merits."
"As I'm sure it has been a long journey for you, please allow me to show you the hospitality of Winterfell. . . Your Grace."