Jon
Moat Cailin was a welcome, dismal sight, standing there in the frozen swamps of the Neck; dark brown and black and white. The old fortress looked liked burnt bread someone had dropped a bag of flour on top of. Its bricks were held together by crumbling mortar. Jon & Brienne pushed their mounts through the high snow – heading south down the causeway – shivering in the intense cold that the afternoon had brought upon them. What I would do to be back at Winterfell, huddled in front of the fire, sharing a cup of mulled wine with Sansa while Ghost lies at our feet. The thought was a warming one – and the gods knew he needed warmth – but he had left both Sansa and Ghost back at Winterfell. He smiled recalling the conversation he had with Sansa before leaving home for Moat Cailin:
"He's staying here with you," Jon told her as they stood in the southern courtyard. "He'll keep you safe while I'm down south."
"No," Sansa protested. "Ghost belongs with you."
"I'm taking one of your sworn swords, the least I can do is give you someone to fill her place." The white direwolf in question sat watching the two of them argue, his blood-red eyes flicking between the two of them as they talked.
"Fine," Sasna accepted.
"Keep him by your side, day & night. He'll look after you so long as you look after him."
"On that account, you have no need of concern," Sansa replied with a weightless voice.
The pair of them hugged tightly. "Stay safe, look after Bran and keep this place running smoothly. If any important messages arrive in the next week and a half, send them to Moat Cailin for me to see when I get there. After that the chances of me catching the message will be too small to be worth the effort."
"Of course, Your Grace."
Jon gave a nod before kneeling to pet Ghost. "Look after Sansa. I'll be home before you know it." The direwolf nuzzled into Jon's chest and was repaid with a kiss on the top of his head. Jon stood, giving Sansa one last hug and a kiss on the cheek before mounting the garron he'd prepared for the journey, the saddle bags stuffed full with rations to last the journey to Moat Cailin. Looking down at Sansa, "Until I return."
"I pray it's a quick one."
After she'd said that, Jon had brought his horse around to face the gate. The last memory he had of his sister was her standing in the courtyrard in a grey cloak and tunic, her fiery hair flowing down her back. I could do with a fire right now. It was good he'd get the chance to sit in front of one once he got inside Moat Cailin.
The journey south was simple enough. He and Brienne spent nights in holdfasts and tower houses when they could, camping out in the wilderness when they couldn't. They were lucky enough to encounter only one major storm, besides the one assaulting them as they reached Moat Cailin.
Throughout it all, Jon found Brienne a worthy travelling companion. She didn't complain or whine at any point, though it was necessary for Jon to tell her to simply refer to him by name instead of 'Your Grace.' "I'll likely go mad if all I'm called for the next few weeks is 'Your Grace,'" he said to try and add a bit of humour, keeping the mood light. Before settling into bed each night they would spar to keep each other's swordplay sharp, being sure to not make contact as all they had was Longclaw & Oathkeeper. Jon kept hold of the dagger that had been Littlefinger's, wearing it on the right side of his belt.
Winterfell to Moat Cailin wasn't every eventful. The most that happened was meeting various types of people as they made their way along the Kingsroad. There were groups of soldiers, smallfolk and travelling merchants. They came across a farmer taking livestock and horses south. Pleasant words were shared with the people that Jon and Brienne met on the road, speaking to them as they would any person of high birth. They deserve more repsect than highborn lords considering they are the people who grow our crops and fight our battles.
One thing that Jon would not soon forget was a particularly strange dream he had one night. He was lying in bed with Sansa and for some reason his senses were heightened: he could smell the ash in the hearth, the wood of the floor floor, the woolen bedclothes and the sweat coating Sansa's brow. She was in complete distress, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. Without a moments hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Jon's neck.
"Jon," she said. "Please be careful. I can't lose you."
He woke up immediately – baffled. At first he thought that maybe it was another dream revealing an unheathly attraction to Sansa, but he remembered the talks he had with Bran about being a warg. "You should expect dreams wherein you see the world through Ghost's eyes," Bran said. "I had them with Summer."
She's keeping Ghost by her side even at night, Jon thought, but what could of possibly gotten her so distressed.
Not wanting to dwell on the matter, Jon distracted himself by starting a new fire and cooking a few pieces of bacon. Brienne woke to the sound of crakling. Jon handed her a wooden plate, ready for when the bacon was finished. Light grey clouds covered the sky but dropped no snow. A soft wind picked up loose flakes from the ground. Jon ate watching the trees dance in the wind.
Jon didn't have anymore dreams where he saw the world through Ghost's eyes.
A hundred meters north of the fortress, Jon saw the gate opening. A pair of horsemen rode out, pushing their mounts hard through the snow. One bore a bannerpole bearing the direwolf of Stark. He was dressed in leather & wool and armoured by a shirt of chainmail & plates covering his collar and his shoulders. The other horseman dressed in full plate, except for his helm; it hung on the right side of his saddle. His surcoat bore a running direwolf and a two handed longsword sat on his hip. The man's jaw was coated in a thin bristle, his hair & eyes were brown, he had a reasonably large forehead underneath a widow's peak and Jon could not help but think that the horsemen had the look of a man anyone would be pleased to have as a friend.
"King Jon, Lady Brienne," the man in full plate greeted, after the four of them had met in the road. He was soft soften, but lying underneath Jon could detect the potential for a tone of unquestionable command that the man would use when dealing with disobedient men. Jon smiled. "We've been expecting you."
"I would expect so," Jon replied. "I assume you are Ser Donald of the Rills."
"Correct, Your Grace," he confirmed. "I fought for your brother in the War of the Five Kings and have commanded this garrison since the Boltons retook it from the Ironborn, though I've had no love for them since the Red Wedding. I would have brought my men North to help you retake Winterfell but my place was here, looking after the Moat."
"You can tell me of your history as a soldier later, Ser, for now let's get out of this storm."
"Very well. Moat Cailin is now yours, Your Grace."
Ser Donald & the banner bearer turned their horses and the four riders pushed through the snow to the Moat's northern gate, Jon riding alongside Ser Donald.
"Has Ser Jaime arrived yet?" Jon asked.
"Yes, and we've had other visitors arrive as well."
"Who?"
"Lord Robin Arryn and a company of Vale Knights. I told them you would be arriving and suggested they wait to continue North with you."
"Thank you. It is about time I met my most powerful bannerman."
The gates were already opened so all they had to do was ride through them and into Moat Cailin's courtyard, dismounting before stable hands took their horses. The courtyard was buried beneath snow. Guards wrapped themselves tightly in wool, spears standing tall beside them. The three towers were three black pillars bearings Stark banners that fought with the wind. Jon looked upon it all thinking, It can only get worse going further into winter.
"Who do you want to see first?" Ser Donald asked. "I kept Ser Jaime away from the Vale knights for fear of confrontation between them."
"That was good of you. I best see Ser Jaime first."
"Very well. I'll have some men take your and Lady Brienne's things to the chambers we had prepared."
It was a cold journey through the corridors and staircases of the Gatehouse Tower. Torches and braziers did their best to keep the air warm. The hard soles of their boots rang against the stone floor with each step they took. The only other people walking the corridors were the guards on duty, otherwise no one moved around the tower. They're all keeping warm in their rooms or in the main hall. When they finally reached the room Jaime Lannister was occupying, Ser Donald stopped Jon & Brienne before they entered.
"Ser Jaime did bring a man with him," he said. "His name is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater."
Brienne huffed.
"Do you know him?" Jon asked.
"He's a vulgar man, Podrick has told me. He was once Tyrion Lannister's hired sword and is now Ser Jaime's right hand man. The man has no respect and speaks without thinking."
"He hasn't been much a problem since arriving," Ser Donald stated. "In fact he went several rounds with my men in the training yard and it helped them improve."
"Well, it sounds as if he has his advantages and disadvantages," Jon said.
Ser Donald opened the door so Jon & Brienne could step inside. The sight they were greeted to was one of Ser Jaime staring at the snow outside his window, his arms folded, and a black haired man – who must have been Ser Bronn – cleaning dirt from underneath his nails with the tip of his dagger. Both looked at the sound of the door opening. "Ser Jaime," Jon said at once. "Ser Bronn."
"Jon Stark," Ser Jaime immediately followed.
"Jaime Lannister" Jon walked to the table and sat down. "Let's not delay and instead talk about what I summoned you for."
Jaime chuckled. "Straight to business, is it?" His tone was admiring. "Very well." The knight of Lannister sat himself opposite Jon on the table and Brienne took a place by the door. Bronn simply continued cleaning his nails. "So what enemy is it that you my help in fighting?"
Jon looked Jaime up and down. He wore a red tunic embroidered with gold lions and his posture was relaxed, his body leaning backwards against the chair; but there was nothing about Jaime told Jon that he wasn't taking the situation seriously, so Jon showed no hesitation in simply telling the truth: "The enemy the realm faces is that of the White Walkers and their of army of the dead."
Jaime smirked and Ser Bronn let out a brief chuckle.
"You can't be serious," the black-haired knight said.
"Would I have wasted your time in bringing you here if I wasn't being serious?" Jon replied. "I have a kingdom to look after and have better things to do than speak to two people who I should consider my enemies."
"But you don't consider us your enemies," Jaime said. "And why is that? No one would blame you if you did. My family directly contributed to the downfall of your own and Bronn served under my family."
"I don't consider you my enemy because I do not have the time to. The White Walkers pose a much greater threat to me, my family and the North than you, your armies or the dragons flying with Daenerys Targaryen ever could. Instead of being stubborn and refusing to make peace with you, I have decided to do the opposite. Ser Jaime Lannister, I am formally asking you to convince your sister to come to a truce with myself and the North for the benefit of the people we rule over. If we do not band together then we will not stand a chance against the White Walkers. They will turn all of Westeros into a frozen hell."
Jaime studied Jon for a few moments. His relaxed expression hardened, looking as if he were trying to hide fear. He turned to look at Brienne, so Jon did the same. "Do you believe him, Lady Brienne?"
"That is hardly a good way of discerning the truth, Ser Jaime," Brienne replied. "I am sworn to King Jon's service and would be expected to believe him on that fact alone."
"But do you believe him?"
Brienne hesitated a moment before saying firmly and confidently, "Yes."
"Then I will trust your word that the White Walkers are real, Stark."
Jon returned his attention to Jaime. "How difficult will it be convincing your sister to make a truce with the North."
"She won't need convincing. When I arrive in King's Landing, I will be removing her from the throne. Cersei has proven herself a terrible ruler in the eyes of many of the lords of the south and all of them know she was the one to destroy the Great Sept of Baelor. All those who live close to the city haven't come to the swear her fealty."
Jon smiled. "Then I look forward to receiving a raven from you regarding the results of your efforts." I can't tell him I know where Arya is. "I also expect one telling me if you find my sister."
"Arya? She hasn't come to you."
"No."
Jaime sighed. "Then she didn't do what she should have. Without me in the Riverlands commanding my soldiers, they will most likely take her to the Twins if she's been found or soon to be found. I was planning to have her brought here upon finding her."
That took Jon aback. "Why?"
"Because I promised her mother to return her to safety."
"And you would do that that even despite the fact she slaughtered the gathering of Freys."
"The innocents that died as a result of her poison won't make me lose any sleep at night, though your letter told me you aren't happy with her."
"I'm not."
Jaime frowned. "If I find her, I'll bring her with me when I next come to see you."
"Thank you. And if you reach King's Landing before Daenerys Targaryen attacks the city, I need you to make a truce with her and convince her to join with me as well. The Wall is the only thing that stands with between the Walkers and the rest of Westeros and I fear it may fall at any moment."
"I will do my best to make a truce with the Dragon Queen but I should warn you that Euron Greyjoy has a horn he claims can bind dragons to his will and he's promised to burn the North to a cinder should it work."
Jon let a silence breathe before telling Jaime, "Don't let him blow that horn."
"I will do my best."
Standing up, Jon said, "If you would excuse, I must now go meet with one of my bannermen."
Jaime stood. "Please allow me to join you. I would like to meet someone I will be potentially fighting beside."
The four of them made their way to the main way of the tower, escorted by Ser Donald. On the way, Jaime told Jon of the men that he would be able to bring north, taking into account the need for men being left behind to defend cities and towns. All in all, the King in the North found himself quite pleased in the result of his meeting with Jaime Lannister.
They entered the main hall to the sound of Vale Knights laughing at some jape. Jon counted twenty men sitting at the lower tables with two men and a young boy talking to each other on the high table. Ser Donald didn't remain, reasoning that he had neglected his other duties for too long.
The hall itsetlf was much like the rest of Moat Cailin. The years had crumbled the mortar holding its walls together; mismatched bricks sat here & there where the originals had fallen out of place. A few tattered banners hung from the walls, faded & frayed, bearing proud grey direwolves running across icy fields. Many braziers sat around the edges of the chamber and they were doing their job – thankfully. The chairs & tables were made of old wood that the years had had their way with; the only thing to differentiate the high table from the lower tables was that it sat sideways across the hall rather than longways. Their enterance didn't go unnoticed by those already occupying the hall since every one of them turned to see who had entered.
"As you were," Jon told them, but they continued to stare as he, Brienne, Jaime & Bronn made their way to the high table. It's Jaime.
Reaching the high table, it was clear to see that the young boy was Robin Arryn; his hair was black, reaching his shoulders, and his nose was pointed. He wore light grey, complimented by light blue, with a pin in the shape of a falcon holding up his cloak. One of the men accompanying him was thin and handsome, with shoulder-length brown hair. The other was small with a square jaw, squashed nose and wooly grey hair. Both of the men were armed with swords.
"Lord Robin," Jon began, "It is good to finally meet you in person. I am Jon Stark, half brother to your cousin Sansa and King in the North. May I ask who these men with you are?"
"And may I ask why you invited a Lannister north without having him hanged the moment he arrived?" the handsome man replied.
"Because he is my guest and I will not stoop so low as to violate guestright. What is you name, my lord?"
"Ser Lyn Corbray," he answered, folding his arms. "I'm not a lord, that title goes to my brother Lyonel. The other man is Ser Lothor Brune. Why is a Lannister your guest? Especially the one who crippled your father?"
"It wasn't actually me who crippled Lord Eddard," Jaime put in. "That was done by one of my men."
"But that wouldn't of happened if you hadn't moved against Lord Eddard."
"My lords," Jon cut in. "I understand that there is unease between the Lannisters and the Vale, but you are both guests of the North, so I must ask that you refrain from being confrontational."
"By all means," Jaime accepted. Ser Lyn pressed his lips together and gave a nod.
"Now, if the five of you could excuse me, I wish to talk to Lord Robin alone." The request was followed, begrudgingly by Ser Lyn & Ser Lothor, unbegrudgingly by Brienne, Jaime & Bronn. The five of them found different places to sit in the hall. Jon sat himself down next to his half-siblings' cousin. "I've something to tell you about Lord Baelish, my lord."
"What about him?" Robin asked.
"Shortly before I departed Winterfell, Lord Baelish was put on trial for treason and murder and was executed after being found guilty," Jon told him. Robin's face immediately dropped.
"Uncle Petyr's dead?" the young lord managed.
Jon smiled somberly. "He is. Though you should know the murder he was charged with was your mother's."
Robin blinked once. Twice. "Uncle Petyr killed my mother. I thought she threw herself out the Moon Door."
"That was a lie Sansa told because she was afraid of what might happen to her if Lord Baelish was executed," Jon said.
"Oh."
Jon did not say anything else, letting the young lord grapple with what he'd just been told. The room was filled with the chatter of the Vale knights and the howling wind could be heard from outside.
"Is Sansa safe?" Robin asked, genuinely.
"She is," Jon replied. "I've left her in charge of Winterfell while I'm here. She has proven herself very competent." An idea came to Jon in that moment, one that he thought was probably best to act upon. "I understand that Lord Baelish was clearly close to you, given you didn't know of his crimes. Since I am half-brother to your Stark cousins, might I suggest we refer to each other as cousins as well? I will treat you like I would any proper cousin and it will help foster the best relationship between the North and the Vale possible, as well as the best relationship between you and me, considering you are my bannerman."
Robin managed a small smile. "Yes, I wouldn't mind that."
"Wonderful," Jon commented. "Is there anything–"
"King Jon!" yelled a guardsman running into the hall, interrupting.
Jon stood immediately. "What is it?"
Through heavy breaths, the guardsman managed, "It will be easier if you follow me to the south gate, Your Grace."
Jon squinted, and glanced briefly at Jaime, fearing for a moment that the Lannister knight had betrayed his trust and brought an army with him.
"Very well. Lead the way."
Brienne joined Jon from the hall to the courtyard to the south gate, and throughout the journey his stomach knotted tightly in both fear and anticipation. The wind was bitter cold outside and the snow had not relented, so it was difficult to see a long way in front. Any approaching army would be covered from both sound and sight until they were very close to the fortress, and that would make up for slow progress through the piled snow.
Needless to say, the sight greeting Jon once he reached the battlements above the southern gate was an intimidating one. Not only that, it was a sight that he would never of expected to see in all the years of his life.