Hello dear readers!
As I expected there were some mixed reactions to the last chapter, so I guess I won't do a full length chapter where he dreams of the show version of events but I might use some key parts in let's say a regular sized dream.
Anyway, for today we get to see some of the last preparations of Daeron's campaign and a few characters we have not seen in a long time. Next chapter will be more action-packed ;).
A huge thank you to those who favourited, followed and reviewed this story!
Enjoy!
Chapter LII: The Winds of Winter
The guards at the gate of Castle Black announced House Glover. With the Mormonts, some of the Umbers, the Northern Hill clans, the Cerwyns and the Baratheons who already arrived in the last two weeks, it brought their numbers to over six thousand men, more than the Boltons had. Not to mention the two dragons.
The heavy wooden gates opened slowly, revealing Lord Glover leading his army. They were the last of the Northern Houses to have sent back a raven in answer to Daeron's. It pained him to realize that some of the Houses that served his uncle so faithfully did not answer despite the message:
Houses of the North,
The time for truth has come. Many of you knew me as Jon Snow, natural son of your late liege lord Eddard Stark. My uncle protected me to the best of his ability and I will forever be grateful for it but the time for me to hide behind Jon Snow has come to an end. The time for lies stops now. My name is not Jon Snow, it is Daeron Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife, Lyanna Targaryen of House Stark, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.
I ask you today, to join me and my cousins, Robb and Sansa Stark, as we free the North and Rickon Stark from the clutches of the Bolton. May every loyal House in the North rally to Castle Black. May every loyal House in the North help in the destruction of Houses Bolton and Lannisters.
Dragons are back in the world, come and see.
Daeron Targaryen the Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm.
He had no news of the ravens he sent further South which only revealed him as the heir to House Targaryen and the true King. He mentioned the support of Stannis Baratheon and condemned Joffrey Waters whom he called a tyrant.
Lord Glover was not looking at him, he was looking to the left of Castle Black, where the two dragons Daeron had for companions rested. They were very calm, silent, and lazily lying on the ground, barely turning their heads to scrutinize the human activity. Yet, the Northern leader looked frightened and wary. He was frowning so deeply that Daeron could see it from where he stood dozens of feet away.
"Lord Glover!" He walked toward the man to greet him. Lord Glover did not answer but he did focus his gaze back on Daeron. The King knew the kind of look the Lord was giving him, it was the same kind of hard stare Lord Cerwyn had had two days prior. The kind of stare that meant the man did not entirely believe Daeron but was starting to fear him for the dragons. Daeron knew exactly what to do. He gave the Lord a wide smile. "Allow me to introduce my son and my wife. Prince Aemon and Queen Arianne." The older man's eyes widened when they landed on Aemon.
"Your Grace, your Grace." He gave the King and Queen courteous nods. "House Glover is yours to command."
"Thank you, Lord Glover." Daeron replied seriously. "Follow us inside where it is warmer. Lord Stannis will show your men where to settle."
Daeron took a time to observe Lord Glover. He was one of the few true lords left in the North, he had not been present at the Red Wedding and when his brother was killed, the Freys had no Glover hostage. He was an old man already, with an oval face graced with a beard, large shoulders and grey hair that he wore short. He had signed a treaty of peace with the Boltons to avoid a war. Daeron would never hold that against him, he had done what needed to be done to protect his House and people from the madness of House Bolton. But, judging by the nervousness hidden in his eyes, Daeron was not sure the man knew that.
Lord Commander Thorne's study had become Daeron's study in the last weeks. A place where a map of the North was always unrolled and pawns where moved every night, as Daeron discussed his plan with his commanders.
"Your Grace?" Lord Glover seemed eager to ask questions once the door was closed. "Is it true that… Lord… Robb is alive?" He hesitated on the title. His face displayed a mix of emotions, as if he was not sure what he wanted the answer to be.
"He is." Daeron nodded. "He should be on his way from Dorne in a few days. And Lady Sansa will land at Eastwatch in a matter of days as well." He explained.
There was a silence. "How does that make you feel, Lord Glover?" Arianne, who was always very tactful when it came to feelings, intervened.
The lord was surprised by the Queen's question, his eyebrows shot to his hairline and he turned to her, really looking at her for the first time. It did not bother Daeron, his look was only curious. "You're a Southerner, your Grace. I don't think you could understand the link that binds Northern Lords and people in general to the Starks." He started. "But…" He seemed to consider what he was about to say. "May I be blunt?" Both Daeron and Arianne nodded. "My family served House Stark for centuries. We wept when we heard of Ned Starks death. When he was Lord of Deepwood Motte my brother answered Robb Stark's call. He followed him to war and hailed him King in the North. But where was King Robb when the Ironborn attacked Deepwood Motte? When they threw my wife and children in prison? And brutalized and killed our subjects? Taken up with a foreign whore… Getting himself and those who followed him, including my brother, killed. I serve House Stark. Now that I know it still exists, I will serve House Stark until my dying breath… But I don't think I can serve Robb Stark anymore." He declared, giving worried looks to Daeron.
"We understand." Daeron reassured him and the man visibly relaxed. "We cannot ask you to trust him again right away. Once the Boltons have been defeated and the Starks are all back in Winterfell, we'll all work together to find a solution that can be satisfactory for everyone." He explained before he remembered something else. "If it can somehow ease your mind, Robb Stark wanted to take the black for what he has done. I forbade him. I told him that to make amends, he had to serve the North again, truly."
Lord Glover stared at him intensely. "Thank you, for telling me, your Grace."
...
"Winterfell can burn to the ground as far as I'm concerned. What matters is that House Bolton disappears." Lord Glover's words kept echoing in his mind. It was harder than he thought for him to justify not wanting to use the dragons in real battle. Winterfell was still his childhood home and he dared hope that some of the servants he knew as a child were still there even if there was not much hope. Besides, he wanted the smallfolks to regain their trust in the Starks. How could they if a man they always believed to be a bastard of Stark burnt their husbands and sons.
Speaking of Winterfell, it seemed the dream he was about to have that night happened right outside of the fortress. There was a huge army outside of it. A real one, with thousands of men holding spears, wearing iron helms and boiled leather and bearing the Stark sigil on their banners.
Right under the walls of Winterfell, stood the commander. At their head, a man with dark black hair, a small beard and a bronze and iron crown. It was one of those dreams, like the one he had of the Wall, with a Stark King. In front of the King in the North, a prisoner knelt. He was bald with a long red beard and hung his head low, in shame.
"Lord Bolton!" Only when the Stark King spoke did Daeron notice the flayed man sigil on the prisoner's chest. "You rebelled against the Crown of Winter. I, Eyrion Stark, King in the North and Lord of Winterfell sentence you to die. Any last words?" Daeron remembered his name from one of the statues in the crypts of Winterfell. He had loved to play in the crypts with Arya.
"Not for the likes of you. As long as you do not slaughter my children as you slaughtered Greystark's." The accused replied bitterly and presented his neck.
A squire or servant brought the King his weapon. It was not Ice, Daeron would have recognized it. This one was normal steel, but it was very similar to Ice in shape. It was to be expected, Daeron was not even sure the Andal invasion had happened yet, it probably had, if Bolton was a lord, the Red Kings had renounced their crowns as the Andals landed in Westeros. As tradition demanded, Eyrion Stark swung the sword himself.
When Bolton's head rolled on the frozen ground, the army cheered. Thankfully, Daeron was close enough to his ancestor to hear one of his advisors: "Your Grace, what do we do with the Bolton sons? I can have them poisoned if you wish."
"I gave my word, Lord Karstark. They are but boys… The two of them will be educated in Winterfell. When the time comes, the older will become Lord of the Dreadfort and the other will stay here as an honoured guest…" The King of Winter stared at his dead enemy's head.
"Who will hold the Dreadfort in the meantime, your Grace?" The Karstark lord asked.
"You will." The King replied. The man seemed shocked. "You are my kin, and your keep is one of the closest. You will hold the Dreadfort until Royce Bolton's sixteenth nameday."
"I'm honoured, your Grace." The man bowed.
Eyrion Stark… Daeron reflected. This was the man who made a mistake. Well, one of the men. It was certainly not the only time the Boltons rebelled against the Stark, but each time, they were allowed to stay alive and remain lords of the Dreadfort. Daeron wondered if it was because each time, the heir had been a child. He knew he would not have wanted to execute an innocent child only to destroy a House either. But sometimes, drastic measures had to be taken. If not killing the boys, then he should at least have stripped them of all land and titles. Or he could have sent them to the Citadel to become Maesters, or to the Wall once they were older. House Bolton should not have been allowed to continue. He would remedy the situation; House Bolton would know fire and blood.
Daeron woke from his ancient Stark dream to discover that Arianne was not laying by his side. Yet, he heard hushed tones. He guessed Aemon had woken up and she was trying to get the little prince back to sleep. It was weird, usually Aemon's cries did wake him up.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized it was not to Aemon that Arianne was talking, but to Shireen Baratheon. The crying girl was being rocked on the Queen's lap. "It was only a nightmare, darling. It's alright. It's alright." Arianne whispered several times while petting her hair.
Daeron moved to sit up. He tried to be careful and avoid alarming them. He failed. Arianne turned to look at him and Shireen lifted her scarred face. "Your Grace…" She started wiping the tears away frantically.
"Shh, don't worry Shireen. I'm not mad at you." He joined them on the edge of the bed. "Did you dream of your mother?" She nodded. "I cannot imagine how hard it is for you. Have you talked to your Father?" He wondered.
She shook her head. "I don't want to bother him. Mother always said I should not bother Father." She repeated the words as she had probably been trained to do her whole life.
"Shireen… If there is one thing I know about Lord Stannis, it is that he loves you very much, and I don't think he can ever be bothered by you." Daeron told the little girl. She looked at Arianne who nodded her approval.
Shireen nuzzled back into Arianne's chest and kept crying. "I just wish the Onion Knight was there." She said in a muffled voice.
The royal couple frowned at each other. "The Onion Knight?" Arianne repeated interrogatively.
"Ser Davos Seaworth." Shireen answered. "He was Father's Hand before he bent the knee to you. Father sent him on a mission right before we left for the Wall… I have not seen him since." She said and kept going. "I used to teach him how to read and he gave me a wooden stag as a gift. I like him very much." Stannis had not mentioned his former hand, nor the mission he was sent to.
...
By the time they were ready to depart for war, Daeron had understood what had happened with the 'Onion knight'. Stannis had indeed sent his Hand on a mission as he had left Dragonstone. The terms of the mission were to go to White Harbour and rally the second most powerful House of the North to their cause. The Manderlys had answered that they were loyal to the Warden of the North and that Ser Davos was now their prisoner. Stannis simply did not have the courage to tell his daughter. She adored the knight apparently.
Daeron did not have his head at the Onion Knight right now. He was about to leave, and just as Stannis kissed his daughter's forehead a few feet away, he gave Aemon one last hug. Then, it was Arianne's turn. He held her in his arms. "You know what to do? If you sense danger, you mount Weirion and you flee. If I should die, you mount Weirion and you go back to Meereen. Daenerys might be unreliable, but she is less dangerous than your Father. You have the scroll that makes you regent? I'll send for you as soon as Winterfell is safe." His words flew from his mouth, his wife did not have time to answer.
She chuckled sadly. "We went over this a thousand times, Daeron, I know what to do. And you," she pressed her finger to his chest, "are not dying."
"I promise." He kissed her on her soft lips.
"Don't make me wait too long."
"As my Queen commands." They exchanged a longer kiss before it was time for Daeron to mount his horse, Stannis by his side. Arianne looked at them go through the gate holding Shireen's hand on one side and her son on the other.
Daeron, Stannis, Lord Cerwyn, Lady Lyanna Mormont and Lord Glover rode past the column of their army to join the front. It was not the best prepared army in the world, but it would do. Rhoynax and Weirion flew in circle above the men. They enjoyed their last moments together before a long time most likely.
To the lords' surprise, they had visitors waiting for them at the vanguard. Tormund Giantsbane and Mance Rayder along with what looked like a little over a thousand men and three giants faced them.
"Rayder!" Daeron greeted. "What is the meaning of this?" He asked, frowning at the small army in front of his own.
"Don't ask me. It was Tormund's idea." The former King-beyond-the-Wall replied.
Daeron turned to the red-haired man. "If it were not for you, none of us would be here. All of us would be meat in the Night King's army, or soon to be anyway. Or we would be a pile of charred bones…" The man snorted looking briefly up at the dragons. "We don't know what will happen to us if you lose against those southerners. All of them know we're here. They'll come for us next." He observed. "This is not my fight. I don't have to come with you. And I'm still not kneeling!" He added quickly. "But it is a fight… One for a good man! And I am in need of a good fight with good men." This time, it was Stannis' turn to snort. "These good people," he turned to the other Free Folks who were with him "think the same." Tormund seemed pretty happy with his little speech, and his men agreed. They cheered for him.
"You want to fight for me?" Daeron asked as he was not sure he had really understood. Tormund Giantsbane nodded. "Why?"
"Why not?" The wildling laughed. "We need a good fight." He repeated.
"Why not fight among yourselves or use my absence against the Night's Watch." Daeron pressed on.
"We can't do that! We owe you dragon man." Tormund replied.
It seemed Free Folks had more honour than Daeron had anticipated. He considered the proposition for a minute before shrugging. "Well then, welcome!" Some of the man laughed and cheered again at the King's words. Following Tormund, they joined the rest of Daeron's army. Mance on the other hand stayed. "You're not coming?" Daeron guessed.
"You don't need me to win, but the remaining Free Folks need me to keep the peace with the crows." Rayder replied. Daeron nodded and pressed his horse forward.
At the beginning of the march, Daeron felt powerful and somewhat epic, leading an army of seven thousand men atop his black horse with a dragon above his head. He had always liked stories of legendary knights as a child and the songs that told their exploits. In the first few miles from the Wall, he thought this could be the start of a song, as silly as that might be.
By the time they passed the Mole's Town, he had grown out of this feeling. Not only was the march even slower than when they had come from Queenscrown to Castle Black, but he also saw the fear in the eyes of the small folks. People did not like armies in general, and though the people of this village had had the time to grow accustomed to the new army at the Wall, they were wary. There usually were never that many armed men this far North and they had probably heard the stories of rapes and pillage and looting coming from the South and the War of the Five Kings.
South of the Mole's Town, the old and gloomy forest that had been Lady Selyse's grave let the way to long steppes swept by the winds. The frozen strands of long grass shone in the pale sunlight. Daeron knew it would be the same landscape all the way to the Long Lake, he had flown over the region before.
They had not even marched half a mile through the steppes when Daeron heard shooting behind him. He and his commanders stopped. Soon enough, the cries became audible. "Your Grace! Your Grace!" Daeron started to worry until he saw Ser Alliser Thorne riding as fast as he could toward them. Then, he started to panic. The Lord Commander had no reason to chase after them unless something grave had happened. He started imagining all sorts of catastrophes, most of which including his wife and son.
"Your Grace!" The Lord stopped at their level and tried to catch his breath. "You have to come back to Castle Black!" He said and paused again heaving.
"What? Why? What happened? Speak!" Daeron could not see he was trying to but could not because of the effort. He was fully panicked.
"Your cousin…" The Commander stuttered. "Lord Bran arrived at Castle Black." Bran? The information took a minute to register in Daeron's mind. He had not seen Brandon Stark for almost three years. We'll see each other soon, was the last thing he told him. There had been a few letters since then, maybe three in total, but then, they had thought him dead for a very long time. Now he was back, and Daeron had just missed him by a few hours.
The young King hesitated but not for long. He turned to his commanders. "Lord Stannis, you're in charge until I come back. Keep going down the King's Road. I'll be back before the morrow." He declared before following Ser Alliser back North.
...
Bran was seated in a cart and dressed in what looked like rabbit skins patched together, it was similar to what the free folks could have worn. He had a serene expression on his face. He looked at his surroundings very calmly despite the very excited Arianne and Shireen around him. That is how Daeron found his cousin.
The Targaryen King jumped off his horse and ran to the young Stark. Careful not to hurt him, he embraced him and planted a big kiss on his forehead. "Look at you!" He said, his voice full of emotions. "You're a man!" It was undeniably Bran, but he had lost the chubby features of childhood. He looked taller also, even though he could not stand.
"Almost." The young man replied. Daeron was surprised by the flatness of his tone.
"What happened to you? Why were you beyond the Wall?" Daeron asked his questions.
"I became the three-eyed raven." Daeron's heart dropped when he realized what Brynden Rivers had told him in his dream was true. If such was the case, then the real Brandon Stark was dead and lost forever, replaced by a cold legend.
"Brynden Rivers warned me…" He murmured, more to himself than for the others.
"So you saw him? I was not sure." Bran commented.
"What do you mean?"
"I can see everything. Everything that's ever happened. Everything that happens right now. But your Targaryen dreams are closed to me. I cannot see what you see at night." Thank the Gods for that! Daeron did not like the idea of someone coming into his head.
"How do you know I have dreams?" Daeron asked unsure.
"You told your wife about them, at the inn where your dragons hatched." He replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It gave me ideas." Daeron was not sure what his cousin meant. "Dreams where you can learn of the past are a precious skill for a King. Even more for Azor Ahai."
"Azor Ahai?" Daeron repeated. "I'm not Azor Ahai."
"Maybe not." Bran conceded. "But still it was important you saw how the Wall was built, how the Starks of the past kept forgiving the Boltons, and what could have happened to you."
"Those dreams…" Daeron started. "The dreams without my Targaryen ancestors, you sent them to me?!" To say he was astonished would have been an understatement. Bran nodded. "You went into my head?" Another nod. "I don't know how that makes me feel." Daeron observed.
"It does not matter how you feel. What matters is that you are ready." The three-eyed raven replied. Daeron could not argue with that, but at the same time, the Red Woman and her similar arguments about knowing better than the others because of some magic were still fresh in his mind.
"Can you… avoid doing that in the future?"
"I won't need to if I can talk to you." He replied very logically.
"You will remain here, with Arianne until Winterfell is secure." Daeron announced. The boy he once knew as a little brother nodded. "Sansa should be on her way too."
"She is." It was disturbing, the way he knew things he should not. "Her ship will land at Eastwatch tomorrow." The three-eyed raven developed. Daeron nodded.
He was about to kiss his family goodbye again and leave when he noticed for the first time a young woman standing close to Bran's cart. He frowned. "Who are you?" He had seen her in the visions Bloodraven had shown him.
"I'm Meera Reed, daughter of Howland Reed." His mother's friend. "I accompanied Bran beyond the Wall." Daeron could only guess it had not been easy for her.
"Thank you, for keeping him safe." He said with sincerity. Only then did he go back to Arianne and Aemon and say his – hopefully – final goodbyes.
He kissed Bran's crown of the head again. "Don't leave a stone of the Dreadfort standing." His cousin said in an even tone. How does he know?
So, I guess by now you knew where the action will be on Wednesday ;). And Bran is back! How do you feel about him sending Daeron weird dreams? I thought it would have a nice touch to the story and create grounds for Daeron and Bran's future relationship.
Next chapter: A very short siege followed by shocking discoveries.
Guest reviews:
- I wanted to test something out, I wrote this dream as if it was Daeron watching the show on TV but from inside Jon Snow's body if that makes sense. Anyway, it was a nice exercise for me and one I thought some readers might enjoy. I'm sorry if that was not the case for you.
- Thanks! He will have learnt what he need at least. Haha, don't worry Margeary is coming back before long.