A/N: Thanks to the select few who took the time to leave me a review for the last chapter. I was greatly appreciative of the gesture.

Our Blades Are Sharp

By Spectre4hire

47: Jon

Jon gasped. He tried to push himself up, but was greeted by immediate pain and then voices.

"Sit down, Master Snow."

"You have to rest."

He steadied himself, and was relieved when the pain eased away. He looked to see bandages on his side and abdomen.

His sword had broke right through my shield, Jon remembered, wincing when the pain began to crackle beneath his wounds.

"I have to fetch the Maester."

Jon pushed away his memories to see that even though his surroundings were unfamiliar, the voices he heard, were not. Harwin and Alyn were standing over him, both looking at him with varying levels of concern. A noise pulled his eyes from their faces to see Ghost pad over to him. The sight made him smile, "Ghost," he affectionately patted his direwolf, who licked his fingers before sitting on his haunches by Jon's bed.

"Get the maester, Alyn."

Alyn gave a hasty nod, and left the room without another word.

"Where are we?" Jon looked around the room for clue. It was small and bare. His bed, a hearth, a table, and chair, nothing else. He reasoned he had to be in a castle, but which one? There was no sigil or heraldry that he could spot that could help him.

"We're at Pinkmaiden Castle," Harwin informed him.

"Pinkmaiden?" Jon repeated. That would mean they were north of Hollow Hill, and the Mummer's Ford.

"Aye," Harwin confirmed, "Lord Clement Piper will want to know you're up."

"Why?"

Harwin looked at him as if Jon grew a second head. "You slayed the Mountain."

Jon's refusal was in his throat, but fractured images assaulted his mind's eye. Sights and sounds accompanied them, memories, Jon realized. They came so quickly and were so cluttered that it disoriented him. Before Jon could try to sift through what it was he was seeing, the door opened to show Alyn leading in who Jon presumed to be the maester. He was an older man, wrinkles lined his face. A hard man, who looked quicker to scowl than to smile.

"How long has he been up?" It came out more as a demand than a question.

"Not long, Maester Wendel," Harwin was unbothered by the maester's tone. He seemed use to it.

"How are you feeling, Ser Snow?" Wendel looked him over, the chains clanged against each other when he moved to get a closer look.

"Sore," Jon answered, "And confused," He looked at Harwin. "What happened? Where's Ser Beric? Thoros?"

"The Mountain must have hit you harder than we thought," Harwin frowned. "The battle happened days ago."

"Days?" Jon coughed.

Harwin gave a solemn nod. "Aye, days."

"And Ser Beric?"

"Lord Mallery sounded our retreat. We won the battle, but we feared more lions were coming, so we moved north." Harwin bowed his head, "Ser Beric was dying, Thoros too. They refused to let us carry them. We didn't have the time or the horses." His voice grew tight. "Ser Beric ordered we take you, so we did, but I didn't need his orders to do so," He met Jon's gaze. "I'm a man of Winterfell, and you're the son of Lord Stark. We were not going to abandon you."

"And I thank you for that." If only you knew, he thought wryly.

"We rode north and met with Lord Piper's forces," Alyn stepped back into Jon's sight. "When we told them what happened-"

"I invited you to my castle," A man stood in the doorway. He was short and fat. He had bright red hair, thick and untamed, resembling a single flame atop his head. His tunic was blue. Stitched over the breast was of his family's standard, a maiden in a swirl of white silk.

Everyone in the room straightened up at his arrival.

"Lord Piper." Harwin greeted him, ducking his head as he did.

"Thank you, Lord Piper," Jon moved to give the Riverlord his proper respect.

"No, Ser Snow," Wendel's hand pressed into his chest, "You mustn't undo my work." He gave him a warning look, "I'd be most upset if I had to redo it."

"It's alright," Lord Piper held his hand to assure Jon he didn't need to get up. "My castle and my people have you and yours to thank."

"My lord?"

"The Mountain," Lord Piper told him. "He and his forces were moving north to our castle before Ser Beric and you all ensnared him. Our land was saved from his savagery because of your bravery." He looked to Alyn and Harwin too when he spoke, "All of your men are welcomed here for as long as needed, and you may all consider House Piper a friend."

"My thanks, my lord," Jon was impressed at such generosity being shown to him and the others.

Lord Piper nodded before he turned to the Maester, "See to it that he is well rested and recovered, and then I'd like to see him in my solar."

"Of course, my lord," Wendel straightened up at the order. He then retrieved a vial from one of the hidden pockets in his robes, "He needs a bit more of Milk of the Poppy, though not fatal, your wounds are severe, and must be treated, Ser Snow," popping the cork of the vial, "You must drink this and allow the body to rest."

Jon hesitated. Hadn't he been resting enough? He was just told that the battle was days ago. He needed to know what was happening. He opened his mouth to protest but the maester's dour look silenced him. It appeared he'd have wait to get his answers. He took the vial from the maester, who's eyes didn't leave Jon as if expecting him not to drink it. Jon put his suspicions to rest by putting the vial to his lips and drinking its contents in one sip.

He laid his head back down, but not before emphasizing the empty vial when he handed it back to the maester. Jon was certain the maester had smirked.

That was the last thing Jon saw before sleep came to him.

Jon parried the sword thrust from the Lannister swordsman. Longclaw finished the short duel with an upward thrust when he saw an opening. The man was skewered and dead, his cheap armor unable to deter the valyrian steel sword. With a grunt, Jon pulled Longclaw out of the man, ignoring the squishy sound, and the thump the body made.

His stomach clenched, but he couldn't allow himself to let his thoughts dwell on the lives he was taking. It was the present that mattered. If he survived this battle then he could worry about his conscious and the men he sent to their graves.

The trap had worked perfectly just as Ser Beric had hoped. Thanks to Jon's warging with Ghost, they were able to find the Mountain's camp and deal with the sentries, giving them the element of surprise as they struck the unexpected Lannister camp. The Mountain had been injured in the skirmish, unarmored, at least two arrows pierced him, but the man seemed immune to pain, rallying his men into pursuing Ser Beric and the others deeper into the forest where their pits were concealed.

Ghost darted in and out of the fray, slashing and biting those he came across. His muzzle stained red, as well as a streak of red running along his side, but Jon knew it was from a kill and not a wound.

The copper taste of blood filled his mouth. When Jon closed his eyes he saw the wide eyed fright of a man before sharp teeth came down on the exposed throat. The man still lived, thrashing his arm wildly, trying to beat Jon back. So he bit deeper into the man's throat, the warm rush of blood filling his senses. He shook his head, with the man's neck still in his jaws, until he heard a crack, and the man stilled. Satisfied, he released his grip, but not before his tongue lapped up some of the blood that had pooled from the wound.

Ghost looked up, pricks of blood meeting Jon's gaze, but more importantly the man that was coming at him.

The tug was instant. Jon nearly stumbled at being pulled out of the sensation. Instinctively, he turned Longclaw poised to greet a surprised enemy soldier who was expecting to put a dagger in his back. The man's look stayed surprised when Longclaw took off his head, a spray of red erupting from the wound. The body collapsed to the ground, the head bouncing a way in a series of soft thuds.

Jon let loose a tired breath. And tried to get his bearings. He looked around to see the fighting continuing all around him. Men from both sides lay strewn dead and dying, blood mingled with the mud and leaves, and rallying shouts of fighting men and the last cries of the dying mingled in the air.

"Winterfell!

"Blackhaven!"

"For Lord Stark!"

"For King Joffrey!"

Jon was in one of the clearings where one of the pits had been placed. He recognized its spot by the placement of rocks. It told their forces to know where not to step, but would be overlooked by the enemy. He spotted the reason for such deception, Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain that Rides, who wore ringmail, but nothing else. He had been more determined to pursue their forces then to properly dress and prepare himself for the staked battle that Lord Beric had planned. However, he seemed unbothered by it, brushing off arrows and cuts as if they were the bites of some pest. He was currently engaged with Ser Beric and Thoros, unbothered by the latter's flaming sword.

Longclaw in hand, Jon moved to help them. He wasn't within reach when the Mountain shattered Thoros' sword with his greatsword as if it was made of glass. The fire was snuffed in an instant, as the remnants of steel flicked, piercing through Thoros' robes. The man fell with a shout.

"Stay back, Snow!"

Jon didn't listen. He looked to see the Mountain was close to the pit. Longclaw got the knight's attention when it bit deep into Clegane's side. That earned an angry howl, and the Mountain's full attention. He spun to face Jon with unexpected quickness. Face darkened with rage, and with a roar that sounded more akin coming from a bear than man, the Mountain's greatsword came rushing towards him.

Jon dodged the strike, spinning out of reach, and Longclaw struck again, piercing more flesh this time in the man's leg. Jon put more force in it, trying to get the sword to bite and cut deeper into the Mountain's leg, wanting to hamper his mobility. He slipped the sword out when he saw the Mountain's pan sized hand coming at him in the shape of a fist. Jon moved just enough to miss the full force, but a part still connected with him.

Stars fluttered across his vision. He bit his tongue, and grunted. He staggered backwards, Longclaw swinging rapidly to defend himself. He fell to one knee. His face began to swell, his head throbbing in pain.

In his vision he saw Beric and Ghost distracting the Mountain from finishing Jon. Silent and dangerous, Ghost lunged and slashed, avoiding the Mountain's wild swings, as claws and teeth, scratched and bit.

The Mountain was undeterred by the attacks. His massive arms and chest were covered with dozens of cuts, bleeding through the Mountain's boiled leather. When his sword met with Beric's, he pushed forward with unparalleled strength, before renewing his attack. Beric tried to deflect it, but he couldn't match Clegane's might. The tip of the greatsword sundered Beric's armor. The Lightning Lord collapsed to his knees.

Unable to reach Ser Beric in time, Jon did the only thing he could do. Slipping into Ghost's mind as easily as putting on his boots, Jon leapt on top the Mountain's back. The size and speed of the direwolf caused the Mountain to stagger forward, he grunted in pain. His large arms reaching back trying to pull the direwolf off, but he had already jumped off.

That was when he turned to Jon, greatsword in hand, he attacked. Jon came back to himself just in time to grab a shield, holding it up to block the attack. The blade splintered the shield, the might behind it brought a strum of pain to climb up his arm. The shield broke at the force, and Jon cried out, looking down to see he had been punctured by the freshly made splinters. Blackness began to creep into his sight.

Jon found himself staring at his wounded body and the Mountain. The urge to lash out grew hot in his chest like a raging fire, he darted forward, clawing at the exposed legs.

The Mountain growled at the direwolf, and Jon responded with a silent snarl. The Mountain lunged forward, bringing down his large greatsword, but he dodged it, sprinting out of reach. That was when he saw his chance, noticing where Clegane now stood, just on the precipice of the hidden pit.

Peeling himself out of Ghost, Jon rushed towards his back, Ghost distracted him with a forward charge. Two bodies, one mind, the two attacked. Ser Gregor saw Jon from the corner of his eye, but he wasn't fast enough as Longclaw cut deep into the Mountain's leg, not stopping until it reached bone.

The Mountain's shout of pain was loud. He wobbled, but just as he tried to swat Jon away, Ghost was there. The direwolf's charge carried by its momentum and the knight's off-balance caused Gregor to fall backward. His eyes widened when he felt the ground give way, and he fell backwards where a dozen spikes were waiting to catch him.

The sight of the Mountain's fall broke the Lannisters forces. In an instant, they broke from fighting, some were cut down where they stood, but the majority of them set off running in a sloppy retreat. It turned the tides, and Jon exulted in their victory.

He looked to see Ghost was standing at the edge of the pit. Crimson dots looking down into the pit, his body poised to strike. Jon moved closer, but the pain from the Mountain's attack slowed him. When he reached the edge, he looked down in disbelief to see Ser Gregor Clegane was still alive. Impaled throughout his body by more than five tall wooden, sharp spikes. He grunted in agony, writhing, trying to free himself from. The more he moved, the deeper they cut, sinking further into his flesh.

"Seven Hells."

Jon looked up to see one of Lord Mallery's man of arms was looking down at the scene with undisguised awe at seeing the brute still alive. Jon turned and was looking for something in particular, and was relieved when he found it. He moved in haste, grabbing a discarded pike. He spared a glance at one of his father's men-at-arms who lay near it, dead.

Pike in hand, Jon returned, looking down at the Mountain who continued to struggle and shout. He felt no pity for the monster, and believed he earned this pain and deserved even more misery, but Jon couldn't take the chance of him surviving. So he readied the pike, taking a breath as he did, but before he made the first thrust. He found his mind and heart dwelling on the family he never knew because of the man before him.

Rhaenys.

The pike punctured the chest.

Aegon.

The pike struck again, piercing the throat.

Elia.

Putting all his strength behind the strike, the pike punched through the man's skull.

The body stilled. Gregor Clegane was dead.

Jon left the pike where it was. He let out a haggard breath. His arms were sore and heavy. He heard the noises from the gathering men, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. He was looking for Ser Beric. He didn't see him where he saw the lord fall. He must have been moved, Jon realized. He didn't have to look long before finding him.

The Lightning Lord was leaning against the base of a tree. His face was pale, blood seeped on to his armor, the red drops blotting out the stars on House Dondarrion's sigil.

"Snow?" He coughed.

"Yes, Ser Beric?" Every step was agonizing, and when he reached the Lightning Lord, he collapsed onto his knees. His strength gave out.

"The Mountain?" Ser Beric grimaced.

"Dead," Jon looked over his shoulder and into the pit the Mountain had fallen into. The survivors were taking their turns spitting or in some cases pissing down into the pit, the final insult to the man.

"Good," Ser Beric breathed out, "We followed through," His voice sounded tired, and his eyes were drooping close.

"Ser Beric?" Jon called out to him.

His eyes fluttered open, "S-sorry, S-snow," his tone went soft as a whisper, "C-couldn't take you the r-rest-"

"It's fine, Lord Beric," Jon didn't want the man's last words and thoughts to be of regret. "My father would understand," He insisted, "He'd be proud to know you completed your task," He reminded him. "The Mountain is dead."

A smile came to Beric's pale face, "The Mountain is dead," he repeated, sounding to be in daze. He raised his head, sunlight shone down upon him, giving him an ethereal glow. He then straightened as if renewed by the beams of light. "My sword," His hand fumbling around for it.

"Here, Ser Beric," Jon put it in the knight's hand.

"Good," He mumbled. He then moved to raise his sword, "Jon Snow."

"Save your strength, my lord." Jon tried to get him to lower his arm, but Ser Beric fought him.

"No, Snow," he hissed.

Jon recoiled, surprised at the fierceness in his response. He looked around to see the men were gathering around them. Jon was getting dizzy. He tried to tell them to get someone to tend to Lord Beric's wounds, but no sound came out. The throbbing in his head returned. First it felt more an echo, a brush of pain, but with each heartbeat the pain increased.

That was when he felt something on his shoulder. Jon looked to see it was Ser Beric's sword. The Lightning Lord had righted himself so as to place his sword on Jon's shoulder.

"J-Jon Snow," He breathed.

Jon knew what was happening. He had dreamed of this since he was a boy, but in the moment of it, he found himself numb and tired.

"D-do you s-swear before the eyes of gods and men," A spasm of pain flickered over Beric's face, but he didn't stop, "To d-defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children." The sword trembled in his hand, "To obey your captains, your liege lord, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you," He grimaced, "However hard or humble or dangerous they may be."

"I swear it by the Old Gods and the New," Jon vowed.

A ghost of a smile came to Beric's face. He moved the sword off Jon's right shoulder and placed it on his left shoulder with surprising deftness. "Arise, Ser Jon of the Hollow Hill."

And he did, smiling down at Ser Beric. His legs trembled beneath him. He heard voices talking to him, congratulating him, but it was all just noise. He met Ser Beric's eyes, and the lord nodded to him, and that was when Jon lost his balance. He felt the arms that grabbed him, but they couldn't stop him from falling into the darkness that awaited him.

"Ser Snow?"

Ser, the title still seemed so strange to him. I'm a newly made knight. It felt like it still belonged in the dreams he had under the Milk of the Poppy. "Yes?"

"I will take you to Lord Piper," Maester Wendel informed him. "He is waiting for you in his solar."

"Very well," Jon acquiesced. Walking in step with the maester proved to be difficult. His legs were stiff, and his body still sore. His second dosage of Milk of the Poppy had him in bed for almost three days and before that more than a week.

"Besides some soreness, you should be ready to ride or fight soon," Maester Wendel seemed to have guessed his thoughts.

Jon nodded, pleased at the news. "Thank you, Maester, for healing me."

Wendel took his appreciation with a raised eyebrow. "You are welcome, Ser Snow. However, it was simply duty that compelled me to help you. Duty stemming from my Citadel vows, and duty to my lord, Lord Piper who instructed me to help you."

"Still, you have my thanks."

"What will you do now that you are a knight?" Wendel asked him, "Would your father give you land, and permit you a new name to show your new status."

Jon frowned. His father died at the Trident, but he wasn't about to share that, and the man that raised me, my true father rots in a cell courtesy of the Lannisters. "I haven't given it much thought."

He didn't want to dwell on it. What good was a knighthood when his family was scattered or imprisoned? It isn't land I care for, but to see them again, he thought, Arya, Robb, Sansa...

"Maester, would I be permitted to borrow a raven? I want to send a message."

"That would be fine," The maester agreed, "However, I should warn you that there is no way to contact your brother. He is on the march. It would have to be sent to Winterfell."

That gave Jon paused. As much as he wanted to write or to see Rickon and Bran, it was Arya who he truly yearned to contact, to assure her, he was fine and to see how she was faring. Then a plan came to him: I could send it to Winterfell and then have Maester Luwin send it to Bear Island, and have a message for Bran and Rickon too.

"Were there others?" Jon looked to see the maester didn't understand, "knights, I was not the only one worthy of it." He remembered how bravely the men fought. The courage they showed. Their valor against the forces that had been burning the Riverlands.

"Lord Mallery awarded the Knighthoods to a few, save for one man who refused."

"Who?"

"A northerner," he answered, "A man named Alyn."

"Alyn?" Jon didn't understand. He remembered that was all Alyn talked about. He dreamed of a knighthood, and said as much.

At that, a slow smile spread across Wendel's face. "It wasn't the knighthood, he refused, it was the one who was to knight him." He clarified, "He wants you to knight him."

"Me?" Jon couldn't keep the disbelief out of his tone.

"Are you surprised?" Wendel looked him over as if suspecting feigned humility. "The men do not stop talking about you. About what they saw you do in that battle. Soon by your allies or your enemies that story will spread throughout the Riverlands." He explained as if it was simple and expected logic, "You are now known as Ser Jon Snow, the Knight of Hollow Hill, Protector of the Red Fork, the Mountain Slayer, the White Wolf," he chuckled, "the names might go on, I cannot recall."

I'm just Jon, he wanted to say, to correct them. Jon Snow, the believed bastard of Lord Stark, he then frowned, even that was wrong now. But the names that the maester told him about made Jon wonder if this was some sort of jape. Was he being mocked by Maester Wendel? What else could explain it?

Protector of the Red Fork? Knight of Hollow Hill? White Wolf? They belong in the stories: The Young Dragon, The Dragonknight, Baelor Breakspear, he recounted the stories of his youth, White Wolf? Was his name worthy to join theirs? They're kin, the reminder was bluntly put. Before he could further reflect on his names and whether he was worthy of them, a sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

"I wasn't aware you got counsel from bastards, my lord."

Jon didn't flinch. That was the title he was use to, the Bastard of Winterfell. They had arrived at Lord Piper's solar, and saw the Lord of Pinkmaiden wasn't alone. Lord Mallery was already seated, but still was able to look down at Jon.

"Quiet," Lord Piper was quick in his scolding to his other guest. "The man before you, fought for my people, and killed the Mountain, the man responsible for pillaging and burning our fields, and slaughtering my men." He gestured to the empty seat to his right. "Bastard or not, Ser Snow is now a knight, and will always be welcomed to my castle whenever he so desires. House Piper does not forget those who help them." He turned to Lord Mallery with a challenging look. "That is why you are here."

"Apologies," Lord Mallery made it to Lord Piper, without sparing Jon a glance. "We were discussing matters of the Riverlands," Lord Mallery's tone was more curt then polite, "Lord Piper was just finishing informing me of the Golden Tooth."

"You were there?" Jon remembered when they got the news. That had been what led the riverlords and knights to leave their party, including Ser Piper.

"I was," Lord Piper admitted grimly. "Jaime Lannister shattered our forces and sent us scurrying like vermin," his mouth twisted, "I retreated back to our castle with half of my remaining forces and instructed my son, Ser Marq to rally the rest of our forces to Riverrun." He looked down at his hands, "We were too divided to fight the lions. Ser Edmure had us too spread out."

Robb's uncle, Jon recognized the name.

"I went to try to deal with Clegane, and defend my land from his pillaging," he looked at Jon and smiled, "However, I wasn't needed, you and your men took care of that monster." He spat the last word out, "Let him burn in the Seven Hells."

At great cost, Jon wanted to say at the losses of Ser Beric and Thoros, and countless others.

"We did," Lord Mallery made a point of injecting himself back into the conversation to remind them of his involvement.

It didn't matter to Jon who took the credit. To him all that mattered was that they accomplished what they set out to do: protect the Riverlands from the Mountain and his forces. And they did, the Mountain was dead.

"We then joined up," Lord Mallery took the initiative of continuing. "I sent a few riders back to see if Lord Beric and Thoros could be retrieved now that we knew the lions weren't a threat, except they couldn't be found, neither Lord Beric or Thoros were there," He didn't mark their disappearance as strange, "I fear their bodies may have been mutilated by any bitter lions."

Jon felt his stomach twist. The thought of their bodies being desecrated, have the Lannisters no honor? "What of the Mountain?"

"We have his skull." A grim smile flickered over Lord Piper's expression. "You could fill it with ale and be truly drunk before you saw the bottom of it."

Jon wasn't sure if the man was speaking out of experience or not. However, he thought they could get better use out of it then serving it as a tankard. He had heard how much Dorne had wanted justice, and it was no secret that the Martells had little love for the Lannisters. Still, he hesitated with his suggestion, knight or not, I'm a bastard at a lord's table.

He didn't want to overstep himself. This wasn't Winterfell where his words were always received and respected whether by Lord Stark, or Robb, or even Domeric. I sit at a stranger's table, he reminded himself, I mustn't overreach in fear of insulting him.

"You disapprove, Snow?" Lord Mallery misjudged Jon's silence.

"It isn't my place," Jon deferred.

Clement Piper's fiery eyebrows climbed, "Speak, Ser Snow,after all it is because of you that we have his skull."

Lord Mallery looked like he swallowed something particular sour at those words, but knew he could not speak up, so he sat in sullen silence.

"The Lannisters have other enemies besides us," Jon wasn't sure the war between the Westerlands and Riverlands would continue or not but he thought it prudent to be prepared if it did, "It could serve our purpose to use the skull to begin talks of a possible alliance."

"Dorne," Lord Mallery didn't hide his surprise. It wasn't the idea that earned the reaction but that a bastard was the one to think of it.

He'd be less surprised if a babe had told him, Jon realized, unbothered by that observation. It was not his reaction that he needed to gauge but Lord Piper's.

"I could dispatch a few knights to Maidenpool with it and have them take ship to Sunspear," Lord Piper opined, his tone not betraying his thoughts.
"It would take time, however."

"I," Jon paused, not sure if he should press his opinion or not, but the encouraging nod from Lord Piper had him finish his thought. "I think it is worth it, my lord."

"I do as well," Lord Piper revealed, "You killed the Mountain. It only seems right you decide the fate of his bones. I will see to the arrangements and implore that it is done with the utmost haste."

"Thank you, my lord," Jon wasn't sure if the words could properly convey his appreciation for Lord Piper at not just listening to his suggestion, but for following it.

The Riverlord put that to rest with a quick smile and a nod. It was as if he understood Jon's internal worry.

Lord Mallery didn't look nearly as pleased. "What of the Kingslayer and his army?"

Lord Piper frowned. "He besieges Riverrun as we speak. He's captured Ser Edmure."

Lady Stark's home, He put that aside to focus on the new and grim information they just received. He thought it clear what their next course should be. Emboldened by Lord Piper's earlier encouragement, made Jon quicker to give his opinion then he had been before. "We must ride to Riverrun and help them."

"We?" Lord Mallery sneered, "I owe the Tullys no fealty," he pointed out. "I'm taking my men and returning to my castle. I must pledge myself to our new king."

King Joffrey, Jon couldn't hide his annoyance upon the reminder that little shit was king. A spoiled, and cruel brat, Jon remembered him at Winterfell, and had been one of many who was thankful when Lord Stark refused the king's betrothal offer of Prince Joffrey and Sansa.

"The Lannisters hold the Iron Throne," Lord Piper said sourly.

"Regardless, my house is loyal to the Crown," Lord Mallery declared proudly, "I fought at the Trident for House Targaryen, and I follow the Iron Throne still."

Jon nearly smirked at that. Nearly, and he couldn't stop himself from thinking how the lord would react if he was told who Jon's father was. Would I have your loyalty and respect then? Jon didn't need to think long before realizing he wouldn't want it given in such a way. I must earn my keep.

"How do you think the Crown will react when they find out you were on the other side against the Lannister forces?" Jon was respectful in his observation. He noticed the smirk from Lord Piper, and Maester Wendel's usual stern gaze was clouded by his growing amusement.

Lord Mallery paled. Realizing at how he could possibly be treated by the Lannisters in King's Landing. "I c-could explain," he stammered.

"They'd see it as treason," Lord Piper put forward.

"No," Lord Mallery shook his head, vehemently, "I'm loyal to the crown. They'd see that."

"Very well," Lord Piper shrugged, before raising his hand to point to the door. "You may take leave with your forces and pray for the mercy of lions."

The lord of the crownlands made no move to leave. "If I leave I am damned, and if I stay I am damned," he muttered, "There is no fairness in this!"

"It isn't fair what the Lannisters are doing to the Riverlands," Lord Piper showed him no sympathy. "They broke the King's Peace, and should be held accountable for it," his clenched fist rested on the table, "Regardless of if the Crown will or not."

"What of my brother?" Jon asked, "Where are Robb's forces?"

"No one is sure," Maester Wendel answered, "Last anyone heard was the boy had gathered his strength at Moat Cailin and then went south, but no one knows where."

"He rides to Riverrun," Jon was certain of it. He knew Robb too well for him to do anything else. His brother would march to save his mother's family, and Jon needed to be there. I won't let Robb fight alone.

"Did your wolf tell you that?" Lord Mallery mocked.

Jon ignored him. "What forces can be mustered?"

"Several hundred," Lord Piper was solemn, "All survivors of the Golden Tooth, that my son didn't take with him."

"What about your son?" Jon asked, knowing they'd need as many men as possible.

"Rumors are he is harassing the Kingslayer's forces," Lord Piper said proudly.

"Then we should rally and ride to Riverrun," Jon insisted.

"You'd fight for Riverrun?" Lord Piper looked at him closely, "a northern bastard?"

"I would," Jon sat straighter in his chair, "Because it is the right thing to do. My father taught me that."

A look of approval flickered over the riverlord, "Bastard or not, Ser Snow, you seem like your father's son, a good and honorable man."

"Thank you, my lord." Jon's chest puffed slightly, proud of the praise. Lord Stark was his father, regardless of the truth he now knew. Rhaegar was a name that belonged in the history texts, dead and buried, but Lord Stark, the man who raised him, the man he thought of as his father all his life. The man he tried to emulate. He could still be saved and Jon would do all that he could to see it.

"You would have us ride into the lion's jaws?" Lord Mallery asked incredulously.

"No, I'd have us meet with my brother and his forces," Jon corrected him, but he was looking to Lord Piper, "And take revenge from the Golden Tooth, and rescue your liege lord,"

"Aye, we shall," Lord Piper smiled, "We ride at dawn."

A/N: I apologize for the writing, battle sequences and fighting are not my strength. I was trying to capture the confusion and disorientation that can happen during the chaos of the fight. I also wanted to try writing it from the perspective of the aftermath of the battle coming first, and then the actual battle before catching up to the present. I hope I didn't botch it too badly.

Regardless of my efforts, thanks for toughening it out.

I'm aware that ASOIAF is a gritty fantasy setting, but when it came to the Mountain, I always found him more on the fantasy side, based on his height, strength, speed. So that's why I leaned heavily towards the fantasy aesthetics when it came to his fight/death. I am aware of the many unrealistic aspects of it, but please don't be too upset by my indulgences.

Just to clarify in this story, the Mountain never raided and burned Pinkmaiden like in AGOT because they were chasing Lord Beric and his forces since they didn't slaughter them at Mummer's Ford like they did in the first book. I wasn't sure how to write Lord Piper, but I hope it was done in a believable way, the same goes for Jon.

All that being said, I hope you still enjoyed this chapter.

Please don't forget to let me know what you think by leaving a review. That would really mean a lot to me.

Thanks for reading,

-Spectre4hire