Chapter 8: Advice, Amends and Action

As it turned out, ascending the Wall wasn't a matter of stairs, but rather of clambering into a cage, and being hauled up by it.

My uncle got in, and beckoned for me to follow. Naturally, not being a lunatic, I refused his offer, and vehemently so, expressing my desire to find the nearest set of steps by which I could ascend the Wall. There was some reluctance from the men at the prospect of the prince climbing so many steps, supposedly in the tens of thousands. In the face of my unrelenting campaign, however, they had little choice but to accede to my demands. The resulting climb was a bloody affair, and required me to stop to rest several times along the way, but I found that I arrived only a little while after my uncle, my legs, in spite of the burning pain they were experiencing as a result, having served me well on my way up, the work I had done to improve myself under Barristan paying dividends.

Making my way across the top, I found Tyrion some ways down the Wall, patrolling a portion of it with Jon, the two sharing their final goodbyes and Jon making his last requests of Tyrion. I felt the need to cut in, but ultimately decided against it. In many ways, the two needed each other, and the presence of their prince would only serve to spoil the moment between them.

Still, their conversation eventually drew to a close, and they turned around, only to see me standing behind them. There was some awkwardness once they realised that I had heard at least some of their words, though I went out of my way to assure that I caught naught but the final moments. Tyrion went to piss off the edge, as he had originally come here to do, and I was left behind to share my final goodbyes with Jon, "So, how are you finding the Watch?"

Jon kept his answer diplomatic, "It's not quite what I expected, my prince."

I offered him a smile, "No, reality often finds a way to disappoint. I expect you had some notion of a noble calling when you came here, only to find a bunch of common boys, thieves, rapists, and scoundrels, the lot of them. Still, I expect you'll come to love it, given time, and to call it home in a way you never could Winterfell."

He appeared unamused, "How so, my prince?"

"In Winterfell, you were bound by the circumstances of your birth. As a bastard, if you'll forgive my usage of such a vile term, you would never have been eligible to take command, nor to make something of yourself. Subject to the derision of your peers, I can't imagine it must have been an easy life, even with your father's love shielding you from the worst of it. Here, you'll have none of that, you're just another boy, and your position will be determined only by your actions. You are finally free, Jon Snow, your future is only what you choose to make of it." I offered him a warm smile, "And if I have judged you correctly, you will choose to be Lord Commander."

"You're too kind, my prince."

I waved my hand dismissively, "Nonsense. You're a good lad, with a good head on your shoulders, and you'll learn the ways of the Watch soon enough, I should expect. Mormont would be a damn fool not to make you his successor for when he inevitably dies." I turned away from the view of the land beyond the wall to face Jon, "May I offer you some advice, Jon Snow?"

Jon nodded, "Of course, my prince."

"When you join the Nights Watch, you leave your old self behind, that offers freedom, yes, but it also means starting from nothing. Do not make the mistake of thinking yourself above anyone, solely because you were gifted with an upbringing most could scarcely dream of, nor make the mistake of thinking yourself below anyone who has not earned your respect. If you are to survive at the Wall, Jon Snow, you must learn the art of politics. You must learn how to make friends with those you may consider to be your enemies."

Jon looked at me with a curious glint in his eyes, "My prince?"

I directed my gaze back into the icy expanse before me, "I noticed you were quarrelling with Ser Thorne. I would advise against that. You may not like the man, but you will need him and many more like him if you are to survive. You will need every single one of them. The Nights Watch is a brotherhood, Jon Snow. It's ranks are closed tight, and the men here depend on each other as if they were family. All may be welcome without judgement, so they may cleanse the stain of their sins through their service, but they are still a family. And no family will let you join their ranks without testing you to see if you are worthy. Their insults are their test, remember that, adapt to it and you will thrive, don't and you will merely survive. Make peace whilst you still can, and learn under Mormont the art of leadership. Make yourself worthy for the title you covet."

Jon's gaze was focused upon my face, a contemplative look upon his own, "Did anyone ever tell you just how strange you are, my prince?"

I allowed myself a laugh, "If only. Alas, it wouldn't do to criticise the prince to his face, and so I must suffer the endless whisperings of fools behind my back who seem to believe that I am possessed by some well-mannered demon." I sobered from the brief moment of levity, "I'll give Bran and all the rest your love when I get to Winterfell, and I'll try my best to help him. Take care of yourself, Jon Snow."

I looked out one last time into the vast snowy expanse, "Who knows what lurks beyond the Wall, eh? When one looks out, the image forms in your mind, and you can practically see them."

"Who, my prince?"

"The White Walkers, Jon Snow, who else?" I looked back at him, "Do remember that raven if ever you see one."

With our goodbyes over, Tyrion and I descended the Wall. Similar to my ascension, it was a tiring affair, and I felt as though my legs were about to drop off by the end, even though I could at least say that much of the work had been done by gravity. At the bottom, my Uncle was waiting for me, and we made for Castle Black, to collect our things and depart for Winterfell. The Lord Commander had been kind enough to gift us three of his men to see us safely down to Winterfell, and we left on the morrow. Like before, the journey was a long one, more arduous than the journey to the Wall, the men more than happy to accept my offer of help in making camp every night. Like before, the weeks rolled by till, eventually, Winterfell came into view.

When we made our way to the gates, we were escorted inside to greet Robb Stark, who appeared entirely unamused by our presence. Surprisingly, his outlook on Lannister's did not appear to be tempered in the slightest by my presence, and he was just as discourteous as I remembered him being, likely on account of his mother having poisoned his view of me. In any case, I retained my manners, and requested to meet with his mother.

Just as I had feared, she was nowhere to be found. All other things being equal, she was likely making her way back from King's Landing. In her absence, we called for the presence of Bran, who came in, just as I remembered, carried in the wide arms of Hodor. Unlike how I remembered, however, Bran did not appear to be crippled. A closer inspection revealed that his legs were wrapped in bandages with a splint running from his knee to his ankle keeping his shins in place so the healing could take place. His thighs appeared bandaged, but i could see no sign of a splint, and so the likelihood was that they had not been damaged enough to warrant their usage. Though the sight of his shifting hips was a relief, the rest of him looked terrible.

Having not suffered a spinal injury, I suspected that he was capable of feeling his legs, and more importantly, he was capable of feeling pain in them. His eyes were puffy and red, fresh from crying, and there were dark circles under them, indicating that the pain had likely kept him from having much in the way of sleep. And obviously, he was far too young for Milk of the Poppy, poor boy.

Even when faced with his state of dishevelment, Tyrion ploughed forwards with his questioning, "I am told you were quite the climber, Bran. Tell me, how is it you happened to fall that day?"

In spite of his evident exhaustion, Bran was vehement, "I never."

Maester Luwin spoke up, "The child does not remember anything of the fall, or the climb that came before it."

Tyrion had a strange look in his eyes, "Curious. You remember nothing at all?" He pointed at me, "You didn't see or... hear, anything?"

Robb looked annoyed, his tine curt, "My brother is not here to answer questions, Lannister. Do your business and be on your way."

"My nephew has a gift for you." He reached out, and I handed him the sheaf of parchment with the design on it, "Do you like to ride, boy?"

Maester Luwin felt the need to cut in, "My lord, the child has broken both his legs. He cannot sit a horse."

"Nonsense!", my uncle responded. "With the right horse and the right saddle, even a cripple can ride."

Tears began welling up in Bran's eyes, "I'm not a cripple!"

I felt the need to soften the blow, before my uncle sullied our relations with the Starks any further with his japes, "Forgive my uncle. A lifetime of japes has made him forget his manners." I turned to Bran, "And Bran, you do know that my uncle wasn't calling you a cripple, yes? He was simply stating the fact that if a cripple can ride, then surely, a boy with the use of his legs can as well, no matter how broken they may be."

Bran sniffed and nodded, being somewhat calmed by my words. Robb once again had a strange expression on his face as he looked at me, and Maester Luwin felt it fit to speak, "What sort of horse and saddle are you suggesting?"

Tyrion looked at me, and I bid him to speak, "A smart horse. The boy cannot use his legs to command the animal, so you must shape the horse to the rider, teach it to respond to the reins, to the voice. I would begin with an unbroken yearling, with no old training to be unlearned." Tyrion handed the roll of parchment to the Maester, "Give this to the saddler. He will provide the rest."

Maester Luwin unrolled and studied the design, "I see. You draw nicely, my lord. Yes, this ought to work. I should have thought of this myself."

Tyrion shook his head, "I didn't think of it, Maester, my nephew did. It was his idea, his drawing, I simply helped him finish it off, as the design is not terribly unlike my own saddles."

The Maester looked up from the parchment with a look of surprise, one he shared with Robb, "Well, my thanks to you, my prince. This is very well done for one of your age."

I nodded and smiled as gracefully as I could, but before I could speak, Bran interrupted with hope lacing his tone, "Will I truly be able to ride?"

"You will," Tyrion told him. "And I swear to you, boy, on horseback you will be as tall as any man."

Robb looked confused by this point, "Is this some trap, Lannister? What's Bran to you? Why should you want to help him?"

I allowed a touch of frustration to seep into my tone, answering before Tyrion could, "Aside from being a pair of decent people looking to help a young boy in pain? Your brother, Jon, asked it of us, to do anything in our power to help him."

Tyrion placed a hand over his heart and grinned, "And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things."

Before Robb could respond, the doors to the chamber burst open, and little Rickon came running in alongside two direwolves, Summer and Shaggydog if my memory hadn't failed me, who's eyes found mine. They bounded across the room, even though Rickon had frozen by the doorway, landing a few yards away from me, a growl building in their throats as they padded ever closer. Theon Greyjoy felt it appropriate to comment, "The wolves do not like your smell, my prince."

Tyrion looked nervous, "Perhaps it is time we took our leave..."

I, on the other hand, was transfixed by the sight of the approaching wolves, so majestic they appeared. I forced myself to relax a little, and then raised my upturned palm at an angle, granting the wolves an opportunity to become accustomed to my scent whilst hopefully appearing to them to be non-threatening. My uncle had a look of panic on his face as the wolf's maw got closer and closer, it's teeth bared. Even Robb, who I imagined would be glad to see us gone, seemed transfixed, a mix of curiosity and horror on his face as he watched a young prince inch ever closer to being mauled. There was a moment of lingering tension, the wolves snouts practically touching my palm, and then I felt a wet sensation that made me look back down.

They were licking it!

The wolves had smelled me, and seemingly, they liked what they smelled. The two dragged their rough tongues across the surface of my palm and the rest of my hand in a manner best described as affectionate. Looking around, I could see that all the onlookers were just as shocked by this turn of events as I was. I didn't have long to look, however, as the two wolves tackled me to the ground, and began to lick my face in earnest, in much the same manner in which an affectionate dog would. The tension broken, there was a small round of giggling at my expense, before the wolves were called back to their masters. I stood back up, "How interesting."

One of the men who had accompanied us from the Wall spoke, "Are you well, my prince?"

"My back is bruised and my face uncomfortably wet and sticky, but nothing save my dignity suffered any serious harm."

Robb looked intensely curious, "The wolves... I don't know why they did that..."

Tyrion felt it necessary to make light of the situation with a grin on his face, "No doubt they mistook you for dinner, or maybe even a bitch, dear nephew."

I shot him a sardonic look, sighed and shook my head, "I promise you, they would have found me quite indigestible, and just as frigid." I turned to look at Robb, "And now we will be leaving, truly."

Maester Luwin interrupted Robb before he could speak, "A moment, my lord."

The two huddled together, and shared some whispers. When their discussion came to a close, Robb turned back to us, looking contrite as he spoke, "I... I may have been hasty with you. You've done Bran a kindness, and, well..." Robb paused and spoke when he was more composed, "The hospitality of Winterfell is yours, if you wish it, Lannister."

Tyrion confidently rejected his offer, repeating his decision to find an inn for the night, and he turned, spared me a look, and left. I stayed behind for a moment, and turned back to look at Robb, "I'll not impose on your hospitality, my lord, but if you would be so kind, would you grant me the honour of assenting to a request of mine?"

Robb's eyes narrowed, "Within reason. What is your request, my prince?"

"You see, when I was at the Wall, I promised the Lord Commander my aid in helping to defend the Wall. If you could spare it, I would like to borrow a raven from you, to send a message down south ahead of me. Shortly after, some ships may make their way over to White Harbour or to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, carrying the supplies I promised the Watch and your brother, Jon. Come rain or shine, peace or war, I will see to it to the best of my abilities that those shipments may keep flowing. Can you promise the same? For the sake of my honour, and the security of the realm?"

Robb looked surprised, but still gestured to Maester Luwin to carry out the request, the man walking out of the room to fetch the aforementioned Raven. Once he had left, Robb turned his gaze back on me, and appraised me. After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke, "Did anyone tell you just how strange you are, my prince?"

I allowed myself to laugh, "Only one, Robb Stark, only one." I tilted my head to the side, "Though, I suppose it's two now, isn't it?"

Maester Luwin returned shortly with the raven, and I tied to it a message I had taken the time to write on the journey down from the Wall, "There. Now, Maester, this raven needs to make it's way to Dragonstone, and to my other uncle, Stannis." I turned back to Robb with a soft smile, "Do let your mother know I was here, my lord, and what I did. Tell her, that at the very least, I tried to make amends, and that my uncle helped me make them. I don't want her to think me a monster any longer. " I brightened my expression, "Well, I'm off! I've an inn to get to!"

Robb was silent as I left, but I could tell he felt guilty about his attitude and the way in which he had first treated us. Of course, I didn't really know what that would mean. The hope, of course, was that the small changes I made in this conversation would be sufficient to avert the entire war, but I knew better than to succumb to mindless optimism. In canon, at least as far as I could remember, Catelyn knew about the saddle of Tyrion's design, and accosted him at the inn regardless. She would likely still believe him, if not me, guilty of attempting to have Bran killed, on account of Baelish. Even if she did believe us innocent, then events at the capital would compel her to hold us hostage in much the same way anyway, for the sake of her husband and daughters.

Stannis, on the other hand, was a much more reliable bet. I had spent the past few years laying the groundwork for exactly this kind of thing, and I could be reasonably sure that, even if he didn't like me, he would heed my request to have the dragonglass within Dragonstone mined and shipped to the Wall. I had specified the port of choice to be Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, and yet felt the need to secure White Harbour, in any case. Even when war would first break out, the way I had written the request, I remained reasonably sure that his honour would compel him to keep the shipments going.

Or, at least, that was the hope.

I had spoken of dangers at the Wall, and of these visions glimpsed in flames, and how it was the duty of the royal family and the king to see to the defence of the realm at large. The idea was to appeal to his sense of duty through his ambition to be king, and to his faith by mentioning the flames. If I was lucky, then Melisandre would even confirm my claims to him. In any case, I had taken action, and the matter was, at least for now, out of my hands.

And finally, there was the question of the wolves. They had been friendly, which was unexpected, but the extent of their friendless was almost suspicious. In canon, they had almost assaulted Tyrion, and yet they couldn't get enough of me, even when he was standing just a few feet away. Of course, I could have been wrong, but I suspected the Three-Eyed-Crow was warging into the wolves, for some reason. Even more worryingly, there was a possibility that someone else entirely had warged into them instead, and the only possibility that came to mind was Euron Greyjoy. Though, if it was him, then would he not just have killed me? And if it was someone else entirely, who? And why?

Alternatively, something about my scent was just... different. Direwolves were said to be magical, after all. Perhaps they somehow sensed my intent, or the fact that I did not intend to be a direct threat to their masters? It was hard to tell, in truth.

I could only hope.

And so Tommen cements his ties, and prepares for the future!
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