A/N: Thanks for the support.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

34: Jon

"You'll be back at Winterfell soon enough, Master Snow."

Jon looked to Harwin who followed up his promise with an encouraging nod.

But what sort of welcome will I get? Jon wondered quietly. If Lady Stark returned to the ancestral seat of the Starks before him he'd find a chillier reception then even he was used to.

The group of soldiers and nobles who were dispatched by the Hand of the King to bring Gregor Clegane justice for his crimes in the Riverlands had taken a respite half a day's ride from Duskendale. They had also made camp off the main road not wanting to draw any notice from passing travelers as well as riders who Lannisters may have sent out in an effort to return Jon to the capital.

The detour to Duskendale Jon knew was his father's doing. His plan with Lord Beric to get Jon home without having to fight in the Riverlands.

Not your father, your uncle, Jon sighed at the reminder, still trying to grapple with the truth of the revelations of his birth and his true parentage.

Ser Beric had dispatched a few select men to discreetly go to the large port town to gather information and see if it was possible to hire a captain to see Jon safely to White Harbor.

I'm going the wrong way, Jon's frustration stewed in his gut. I shouldn't have abandoned him. Jon continued in his pacing as they waited for news from the scouts that Ser Beric had set out the day before. His duties as squire for the lightning lord done for now, it gave him plenty of time to think and vent of the situation he left behind in King's Landing. Two things that only seemed to make his mood worse.

Too many Stark men, Jon observed, looking around to see the House Stark sigil, a running direwolf on a grey field from banners and shields that were brought by the Stark household guard who had been recruited for this task. There was Harwin, and Alyn, and more than dozen more who Lord Stark had entrusted to ride with Ser Beric.

Too many, Jon found himself repeating, knowing the household guard had been diminished with their ranks thinning, but Lord Stark remained confident he'd be safe in the capital.

Why father? Jon ignored the grating voice that tried to correct his words. He was my father growing up, Jon defended, The only one I'll ever know, Jon added in an effort to silence that gnawing instinct to now address Lord Stark not as father, but as uncle. He raised me.

And I abandoned him, Jon felt a cold touch of melancholy bloom in his chest.

His gloomy thoughts interrupted when he felt a cold press to his hand, he looked down to see his direwolf, Ghost looking up at him with concerned red eyes. He couldn't help but smile at his silent and loyal companion, gently scrubbing the top of his head.

"That's some creature you have there," Thoros of Myr approached them. His eyes were on Ghost. He looked flushed and Jon knew the reason seeing the wineskin the foreign priest was carrying.

"He's my friend," Jon kept his hand on Ghost's head, looking to see his direwolf was staring at Thoros intently.

Thoros laughed, "A good friend, he'd be!"

"They were a gift," Harwin put in, from where he stood. "All of Lord Stark's children have them."

That had been Jon's reasoning, his way of convincing Lord Stark to keep the direwolf pups when they found them. It seemed that it had stuck with Harwin and the others, who learned to embrace it since Jon knew they had wanted to kill the pups when they had first been discovered.

That seemed like a lifetime ago, he thought, looking back on the day, before the news of the king's arrival. When the only thing they had to endure was Sansa's endless talk of her pending wedding, Jon smiled at the memory.

It was simpler then, he found himself thinking, and better.

We were together. We were happy. Jon never should have left for the Wall with his delusions or his misguided need of learning the truth of his parentage. I could've been happy not knowing, he tried to reason with himself. I could've learned to live with not knowing.

You can live with knowing, a soft voice penetrated through his hazy wistfulness.

"A gift?" Thoros' deep voice broke Jon out of his reverie to see the red priest was looking at Ghost with new interest. "What a marvelous gift! Mayhaps, I should seek this person out and hope he gives me one too."

Harwin frowned. "It wasn't given to them by a person, but by the gods," he answered solemnly, "The old gods."

"Is that so?" Thoros let out a deep and loud laugh at that, "Looks like I've been serving the wrong god all this time." he looked down at his red robes with a feigning pout. "To think I was happy with a flaming sword," he shook his head, while smiling. "When I could've been given a direwolf!"

Harwin was scowling at Thoros, not amused by the jovial casualness the red priest seemed to treat their gods with. He wasn't the only one, Alyn, and the other northerners were grumbling their unhappiness too. A few were shooting dark looks at the foreigner who didn't seem to notice or care at the attention he was getting.

"You shouldn't joke about the gods in such a way," warned Alyn, in a quiet and cautious tone.

"This isn't the north," pointed out one of the southerners. He was one of the men-at-arms in Lord Mallery's retinue. He had the family sigil stitched to the front of his leathers, six white mullets on a violet field.

"No ugly trees here!" His derision brought out some laughter from his fellow soldiers that only seemed to embolden him. "Who'd worship something where animals take their piss on?"

"You dare," Harwin growled, taking a step towards the offender. He wasn't the only one as several of Lord Stark's guards were moving behind him, none of them amused by the antics or words that were being directed to either their home or their gods.

"That is enough," Ser Beric didn't need to raise his voice to grab the attention of his men. The Lightning Lord stepped forward behind him were the Riverlands nobles who had come to King's Landing to make their plea on the behalf of their people and homes. Sers Marq Piper, Karyl Vance, and Raymun Darry. As well as Lord Mallery and Ser Gladden Wilde, who had also been tasked to raise men-at-arms by Lord Stark in their pursuit against Clegane.

"We have enemies to face," Ser Beric told them, "And they are not each other," he reminded them, a hint of disappointment and anger colored his tone. "We must fight together, no matter our differences."

"Of course, my lord," the main instigator was quick to bow his head, "I meant no offense," he kept his head low, "Just a jape."

"Be careful with your japes," Ser Beric regarded him coolly, "It is not wise to mock a man's beliefs."

"I will, my lord," he sounded honest in his apologies.

"Will that be all?" Beric turned his attention towards Harwin.

"Yes, my lord," Harwin bowed his head before gesturing to his fellow Stark guards to return to their part of the camp.

"Ser Beric!" A new voice joined, a scout dressed in disguise as a commoner hastily made his way to the Lightning lord with two other scouts on his heels. When they reached him, they bowed their heads simultaneously.

"What news of Duskendale?" Ser Beric asked, looking relieved at not only their safe return but at a chance to change the subject.

"It isn't good, my lord," the scout admitted, a young man with short messy brown hair and brown eyes, "Lannister men patrol the harbors and have been asking about him," The scout turned to Jon. "They've been looking for him and making promises or threats or even bribes about his whereabouts."

Ser Beric sighed. "The lions are thorough," he shook his head in disappointment, "Very well, we'll ride north and hope to find better luck in lands that aren't loyal to the Lannisters." His eyes moved towards Jon. "A promise is still a promise, Snow. I'll have you on your way to Winterfell."

"My father couldn't have selected a better man, my lord." Jon meant every word.

"There's more," the scout looked hesitant to interrupt. "News from the capital."

"What news?" Ser Beric turned back to address the scout.

"The King is dead," the scout bowed his head in respect to deliver the solemn news. The air filled with grumbling and whispering as the men reacted to the unexpected news.

"There is more," The scout's voice was uncertain, as he looked around to gage the reaction his startling news had brought. "Lord Stark has been arrested for treason."

Jon crept quietly along their camp that night, making sure most were asleep and the fires were dim or dying before he made his move.

The news from Duskendale had been disheartening to all. To hear of the death of the king had not been taken lightly by the men. They mourned him. The king may have had his faults but the people still loved him for his past prowess in the wars against the Targaryens and the Greyjoys.

Jon found himself feeling a small sliver of pity nestle in his gut towards the man who had killed his real father, the crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen. In his limited interactions with the king while at Winterfell and then in King's Landing, Jon saw a man who struggled with a crown he never wanted and suffered for the injustices he couldn't rectify. It was an ill suit for the warrior who ended up drowning his problems in wine and whores languishing in the past instead of trying to confront the present to better his future.

It's because of him I'll never know my true father, A disquieting revelation, but he felt no anger burn within him upon reflecting on this truth. After all, Robert fought for his very life since Jon' grandfather, Kind Aerys the Second demanded Jon Arryn, Jon's namesake to hand over the Lord of the Storm's End and Jon's uncle, Ned Stark with the intention of killing them both. After having already killed Jon's other grandfather Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Jon's Uncle, Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell.

How can I condemn a man who fought to survive? Jon found himself wondering. Even if It meant that he had to grow up in the cold north of Winterfell as a bastard instead of a prince in King's Landing. The idea of growing up in King's Landing wasn't an appealing one. Jon had had his fill of the capital within a few days from the heat to the stench to the vipers that surrounded the king's court, it was too much for Jon.

What of your siblings? A soft voice broke through his reflection. Aegon and Rhaenys, the names came to him quickly enough, the brother and sister he would never know because of Robert's Rebellion. It was said Robert smiled when he saw the children's bloodied corpses. He would smile over your body too, a chill went through him at that disquieting thought. That had been why Lord Stark spared him and called him his own.

He is my father, Jon thought, Uncle, the insistent voice tried to worm its way back into Jon's consciousness. No, Jon crushed the voice as if it was an annoying insect. He was tired of its ever need to remind him of who he now was. I know who I am.

Jon was pulled out of his thoughts when he thought he heard a noise behind him. He stopped at once, and peered out into the darkness of the surrounding woods, still, but alert. He knew it couldn't be Ghost, his direwolf was out hunting, Jon didn't fret about leaving him knowing that Ghost would find his way back to Jon's side.

He stood for a few heartbeats until he was certain it was safe again. Then he continued his hastily but quiet retreat to where they kept their horses tied.

Jon moved slowly around the last campfire, one eye on the resting men, who snored and stirred in their sleep, and the other eye on the horses in front of him. Satisfied, that the men would not wake, he quickened his pace, one hand on the bag he slung over his shoulder which contained his rations.

He took as little as possible not liking the idea of stealing from Ser Beric and the others. So, he had just taken two pieces of dry jerky, three apples, and a piece of bread, believing that would be enough for the short ride back to King's Landing. Jon only hoped the men wouldn't be angry with him but that they'd understand.

Jon knew he'd get that from Harwin, Alyn, and the other Stark guards who had not taken kindly to the news of their liege lord not just being arrested, but the slander and dishonor that came with the charge of treason. They protested loudly and angrily amongst themselves and seemed keen on leaving right there to defend their liege lord before Ser Beric reminded them of their duties and carrying out the last orders of Lord Stark.

They can stay, Jon thought, but I'm not leaving my father to rot in some cell.

"Going somewhere?"

Jon froze in the dark at the familiar, unexpected voice.

"It is improper for a squire to leave without getting permission from his master," Beric's tone brought with it a gentle scolding.

"That was a farce," Jon found himself defending his honor, "A ruse," he insisted, "To get me safely from the city." He found his tone more bitter then he had ever intended.

"Mayhaps," Beric stepped into view, his face half hooded in shadows. "However, the vow I made to your father was not."

"It doesn't matter," Jon argued, "My father is in a cell and I plan on doing something about it!" He took his newfound courage and stalked over to his horse.

"And what's that?" Beric called after him.

"What?" Jon looked over his shoulder to see Lord Beric had taken another cautionary step closer to him.

"What do you plan on doing?"

"Freeing him!" Jon knew it sounded childish as soon as he said it, but in his pride, he wouldn't admit it.

"Ah," no hint of condescending within his tone. "You will fight the city watch?" He took a step closer, "The Lannister men in the Red Keep?" Another step, "The Kingsguard itself?"

"I'll do what I have to free him."

"You'll end up in a cell with your father," Ser Beric said gently, "and that is if you're not killed first."

At least he won't be alone, Jon wanted to respond, but he stopped himself.

"Your father already has a task for you," Beric reminded him, "One he insisted we see through."

"To run and hide?" Jon shot back, surprising himself with the anger in his voice.

"To live," Beric corrected him, "Your father knew what was coming and did everything he could to shield you and the others from it."

Jon felt tears swell in his eyes, he scrubbed them away with the back of his hand. Don't cry, he chided himself, feeling himself being pulled in two different directions. While the cold tendrils of guilt remained tightly wrapped around his heart. Forcing him to see the same image in his mind's eye, his father in some deep, dark cell, alone and forgotten. He bit his lip to stop himself from letting out a shout of frustration at the circumstances in front of him.

"Don't you see," his voice strained, "I'm failing him!"

"No, Jon, you're not," Beric was close enough to put a calming hand on his shoulder, "You're honoring him and his wishes."

It doesn't feel like an honor, Jon wanted to spit back, but he found his will wavering. His plans to return to the capital crumbling.

"I am sorry," Jon's shoulders sagged in defeat, at accepting the current fate of the man who raised him as a father would a son.

"It's alright," Beric assured him kindly, "No harm was done that cannot be undone," he gestured back to their camp, "Come, let us rest. We have a long day of riding ahead of us."

While Ser Beric moved back towards the camp, Jon remained where he stood. He looked towards the horses one more time, before sighing, and realizing the hopelessness of his plan.

Forgive me, father.

"Lions are prowling the roads, Lord Beric," a scout with the livery of House Wylde informed him, the blueish green maelstrom on a gold field on his shield. "They stalk Maidenpool."

"How is this possible?" demanded the scout's master, Ser Gladden Wylde.

"It seems they had already been there trying to follow a lead when they believed Lord Domeric and his betrothed would be leaving from the port and had come to stop that from happening."

At that, Jon couldn't help but smile upon hearing that his friend had so fully duped the Queen and her forces by planting those false leads which had them believe he'd be leaving from either Duskendale or Maidenpool. Jon had to make sure to inform Domeric of this the next they meet, knowing the heir to the Dreadfort would find it very amusing.

"And were told to stay when they got word from the capital of his departure," the scout's words brought Jon to pay attention once more only to notice the scout was looking at him. "The Lord of Maidenpool has done nothing to deter them."

"They want you bad," Thoros observed with a wry grin, "To think these important people spending so much time for a bastard."

Jon stiffened at the moniker but he was careful not to show that the word upset him. When his annoyance faded, he was left to ponder what was next for him. If he could not secure passage on a boat to White Harbor did that mean he'd have to continue to travel with Ser Beric, and see through their mission against Gregor Clegane?

The thought of fighting the Mountain and his raiding parties brought a cold feeling of trepidation to settle in his gut. Jon had heard of the knight's brutality and unseen strength and size. Who's skills as a warrior were only surpassed by his cruelty. His hesitance aside, Jon also knew that such a man should not be allowed to prowl the countryside, raping and murdering unchecked.

"Greedy Lannisters," mumbled Harwin, "Their ambition knows no limit." He scoffed, "For them to keep such a force near the Riverlands they insult House Tully."

"House Tully had enough problems to worry about," reminded Ser Gladden Wylde, a short man with thinning dark hair, but a bushy beard, his family's sigil proudly emblazoned on his armor. "If the rumors coming out of the Golden Tooth turn out to be true."

The news had been disquieting when it had reached their party two days ago. A host amassing just outside the Riverland borders. It had been enough to cause Sers Piper, Vance, and Darry to leave with their men when it was reported of a devastating Tully loss against the Lannister forces on the hills below Golden Tooth.

"My lord," Lord Mallery injected politely, "Mayhaps, we should return to the capital?" The crownlands lord suggested, "We have a new king. We may have new orders." The men-at-arms he brought with him were murmuring in agreement.

"No," Ser Beric declined that suggestion at once, "Our orders do not change," he turned to regard Lord Mallery, a tall, weedy looking man with a wispy moustache and darting blue eyes. "Gregor Clegane is still raiding and killing innocence. He must be stopped."

"Here, here," Alyn voiced his support, the young, comely man with hopes of knighthood, looked eager at the idea of a pending battle and the chance to prove his valor.

"Of course," Lord Mallery bowed his head.

"I appreciate your counsel," Ser Beric assured him, "But we must see this through. We must carry out the king's justice." His words earned a hearty cheer from the men including several from House Mallery.

"Another scout!" Thoros called out, pointing to their western position, to spot a speck that resembled the rider that Beric had tasked to ride west into the Riverlands to try to scout and locate Gregor Clegane and his men.

Jon wondered if the news out of the Riverlands could get worse. Since they left the capital for their mission, they had yet to receive any information worth celebrating. Whether it was from Duskendale with the news of King Robert's death and Lord Stark's arrest. To the Tully defeat and the Lannister army advancing unchecked deeper into the Riverlands with their sights on Riverrun, the seat of House Tully, Lady Stark's childhood home.

"My lord," The rider looked haggard as he approached, his horse worked to a lather, "News of Clegane!"

That brought loud buzzing from the surrounding men, who no doubt was anxious and ready to face the men they were tasked to defeating. The last few days of riding with nothing to show for it had made the men bored and restless.

"What is it?" Beric asked calmly.

"He's been reported Northwest of our position, a few days ride from us," he said in between deep breaths as he tried to regain his composure, "Near the Red Fork," the rider's face paled, "His men are raping girls of six and seven, and cutting babes from the breasts or wombs of the women." He nearly gagged at that last report, "I've seen the bodies," he shuddered.

A burst of shouts of dismay and anger clamored to be heard as the men showed their indignation at the cruelty that Gregor Clegane was unleashing on the countryside.

"Then our path is clear," Ser Beric said, bringing the other voices to a hush. His eyes found Jon, and he was sure he saw a look of regret on his face upon realizing he couldn't see Jon safely to the north as planned. "We ride to the Red Fork."

The wind carried the scent of man, but that didn't deter him. He could smell his prey, taste its fear while he prowled through the darkness, steps careful and measured not wanting to alert its chase of its pending death.

Noises pulled at his senses, forcing him to turn away from his prey to see men marching through. Carefully, he slipped away from sight, hackles raised, ready to strike if needed, but in his position they could not see him, so he watched and waited. There he saw them carrying banners, talking loudly amongst themselves uncaring or unafraid of the dangers that lurked in the night.

On the cloth and shields, he saw many images illuminated by the torch light: A black hooded man on a grey field, surrounded by fire, three blue beetles on a golden field, a purple unicorn on a field of silver, a black and white boar on a brown field and there was more, as they passed, each one with dozens of men walking beneath it.

Enemies, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, and the realization caused him to growl, but not wanting to be caught or surrounded he backed away, shying from the sound that the advancing soldiers made.

Sticking to the bushes and the thick trees that grew close together, he slid quietly as a shadow until he saw the reflection of the river before him. The smell of blood and death drifted towards him, as did large orange glows, creeping closer he saw it was a town, smoldering in ruins, and even in the darkness he saw outlines of bodies that littered the ground, birds having already begun to claim their prizes.

In the glow of the unchecked fires, he saw a man, taller and bigger than any he'd ever seen, a towering silhouette who stood, silent watching the flames burn the town. Men were laughing and cheering as screams of woman and cries of children could be heard, but the large man did nothing, watching the death and destruction with disinterest.

A name came to him from the back of his mind, Gregor Clegane. Causing a swell of anger to burn inside of him, teeth bared and he let out a low snarl. The temptation to stalk in the darkness to bring down this monster was great, but he temped his anger with caution, aware of what the man was capable of. Instead, he stood in the darkness and saw more and more men marching along the river- it was an army.

Jon gasped in the darkness, feeling sweat dribbling down his face, as the intense images of his dreams were slow to fade. He could smell the scents of the people nearby before seeing them approach, but it was fleeting sensation, retreating away as Jon was left confused in the darkness trying to understand what he had just seen.

Ghost, he murmured in realization. I was him, he declared with clear clarity.

"Jon?" That was Harwin, his face showed concern as it was illuminated by the dimming embers of a nearby fire.

"Beric," Jon found himself saying, his throat suddenly parched, "I need to see him."

If Harwin was confused or insulted by being given these instructions, he didn't show it. He gave Jon a quick nod before retreating out of sight to get Ser Beric.

"Who was the lucky girl?" Thoros joked, coming from his left, a waterskin in his hand. He seemed to sense his confusion, "What you weren't having a good dream?" He smiled.

"No," Jon answered stiffly, not even sure what he experienced could be considered a dream.

"Pity," Thoros handed him the waterskin.

"Thanks," Jon took it and drank from it greedily, the cool water soothing his dry throat.

"What's this about, Jon?" Ser Beric was approaching them with Harwin right behind him. Ser Gladden Wylde and Lord Lothar Mallery had also joined, the former looking at him curiously, while the latter didn't bother to show his disdain, not liking the idea of being summoned by a bastard.

The images he had seen remained faintly imprinted to his mind, that was when a name came to him. "Mummer's Ford," Jon told them, "The Mountain is there."

"The Mountain? Gregor Clegane?" Beric repeated.

"Yes," Jon ignored the looks he was getting from the others. "With an army," he could still see the banners, countless ones, he wasn't familiar with all of them, but he knew what they represented-The Westerlands.

"It's a trap."

"How can you know all this?" demanded Lothar Mallery.

"A vision," Thoros murmured solemnly.

"No," Jon shook his head, "Ghost."

Harwin was the first to understand. "Warg," he said, looking at Jon as if he had never seen him before. A hush settled over the northerners at that solemn revelation.

I'm a warg, Jon knew it to be true, and it left him feeling numb. He was unable to shake the stories that Old Nan use to tell them when they were children of the scary and dangerous wargs who sowed mischief and wreaked havoc on the innocence with their dark magic throughout the lands.

Jon swallowed thickly at the reminder. Yet, he couldn't refute it. It had been too vivid. What he saw, what he smelled, they were real. They were things he experienced. I am Ghost and Ghost is me Jon understood it now, why he felt such a connection to his direwolf, such a closeness that he couldn't quite figure out.

Am I the only one who has it? He wondered, thinking back on his siblings and their respected direwolves. Did they have it as well? A question he'd have to ask whenever he saw them again.

"Impossible," Lord Mallery dismissed, "Northern nonsense," he ignored the glares he got from Harwin and the others. "They're just dreams," he waved his hand as if he could swat Jon's words away. "Nothing more, but a child afraid of a nightmare."

"They're not dreams," Jon blurted out, uncaring in that moment of his social standing as he couldn't keep in check the hot anger he felt churning in his gut at Mallery's disrespect.

"Calm yourself," Beric intervened before Lord Lothar could reply with some insult or dismissal, or both.

"You have to believe me," Jon focused his attention back on Lord Beric. "What I saw. It's real."

Beric didn't speak right away. He crouched down, quietly taking in Jon's appearance, inspecting him, looking for something, but he didn't say what it was. As he silently studied Jon, his face was pensive, unyielding in what it was he was searching for.

The seconds and the silence stretched on, the men muttering behind them, confused and curious at what it was Ser Beric was doing until finally, Ser Beric stood, but his eyes remained on Jon. "I believe him."

His words brought out a cacophony of complaints and cheers from the men such as Lord Mallery protesting his opinion.

"Now what do we do?" Ser Gladden was the first to ask the inevitable question.

"This doesn't change anything," Ser Beric told the assembled men.

"We're still going after him?" Lord Mallery gaped.

"Yes," Beric answered, "We will bring the man to justice."

"He has an army waiting for us," Lord Mallery pointed out.

"He does," Beric didn't seem bothered by that, "But we know of the pending trap."

"How does that help us?" Lord Mallery demanded.

"We have an advantage that they won't be expecting," It was clear Beric already had a beginning of a plan forming in his head, "A means to meet Clegane not his army on our terms." Beric's eyes returned to Jon. "We ride at first light."

A.N: Chapters twelve and seventeen have been rewritten, new scenes have been added, while a plot point has been removed. Hope you don't mind the changes and like them.

I will be working on chapters fourteen and eighteen next. Then I should be done.

Thanks for reading,

-Spectre4hire