Chapter 33; Retreat!;
Characters of the chapter
Davos Seaworth Knight of Westeros, Advisor to King Jon
Edmond Brahms, Knight of Nevarra
Jon Snow, also known as Aegon Targaryen and Jon Stark, King of the North Kingdom of the Twin Kingdoms
Kieran, Agent of the Inquisition, mage advisor to the court of King Jon
Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and the Eyrie, Wardeness of the North
"Move it! Keep going!" Jon bellowed, standing at the side of a road winding through dense woods as northern soldiers were walking or running past him. Since the defeat at the battle against the Orlesian forces he had been leading a force of survivors on the retreat, perhaps two thousand strong. There were other groups of survivors out there, but his group had lost contact with them. The last messages from some of these other groups had reported Orlesian pursuit. Those news did make him worry, but for now he had to concentrate on the dire straits of the soldiers directly under his charge.
He had ordered most of his available cavalry to ride on to Winterfell to ensure their survival, so his available forces consisted mostly of infantry. He had refused to leave his infantry behind to be slaughtered, so he had stayed with them, despite protests from a few of the lords he had had with his group who didn't want him to put himself at risk. Later on his horse had died, succumbing to exhaustion and wounds that Jon had not noticed in his haste.
His forces were a motley group belonging to several different houses, only a few to his own. All of them were exhausted, dirty and hungry. A splinter force of the Orlesian army was hot on their heels, so they had had no chance to stop to rest since the battle, and they were all tiring out. Many wounded and those too exhausted to go on had had to be left on the wayside. With the blood of the Orlesians up from their victory, Jon doubted that any of those they had abandoned would be seen alive again.
"My King! Your Grace, this isn't going to work." Edmond said, huffing and puffing as he walked to him. "We've been running for day and a night nonstop, our boys are exhausted. We don't have food, we have almost no water and we don't even have bandages to help the wounded."
Jon looked around himself, seeing the tired faces of his men, and knew the truth of Edmond's words. If they kept running, tiredness would claim each of them one by one. After that the Orlesian blades would put an end to them.
"Fuck this." He muttered. "Call for a halt!" He yelled aloud, and the column of retreating men halted, many of them slumping to the ground, grateful that they had at last been allowed to stop.
"What are you doing?" Edmond asked, confused.
"You are right. We can't outrun these guys, so I'm done trying to. These Orlesian fucks won't expect us to turn and fight them, and they are bound to be as tired as we are. That might give us a chance." Jon said.
"Still might not be enough." Edmond commented.
"Not if we try to take them head on. But if we can manage to surprise them…" Jon said.
"You there!" He said to one of the few cavalrymen they had with them. "Gather half dozen riders and do a scouting mission to our rear. Find out where the Orlesians are and how many they number."
As the rider left with half dozen of his fellows Jon turned back to his military advisor. "Ser Brahms, take half our men and bring them to this side of the road. I'll be on the other side with the rest. We're going to ambush the Orlesians so make damn sure none of our side is seen. We will start the fight with archers, so both groups have to have them. When the Orlesians come, wait for my group to fire on them. When they finish forming up to attack us, you fire on them from behind, throwing them into disarray. Then we charge into their midst and take our chances."
"And tell our lads to leave unneeded things on the road! It'll look like we had to abandon stuff in our hurry. Maybe it'll help convince the Orlesians that we are still running." Jon shouted after him before moving on to organize his half of the troops. After they were finally in position a long while of tense waiting followed. Then Jon noticed the scouts he had sent out. In the middle of the road the scouts halted and looked around themselves, confused.
"Good. It seems that we are reasonably well hidden." He thought as he stood up and went to address the cavalryman.
"So?" He asked.
"The Orlesians are right behind us, they'll be here in a few minutes." The soldier said.
"Did they spot you?" Jon asked.
"No, I don't think so." The soldier said, shaking his head.
"How many are there?" Jon asked next.
"A thousand or so." The soldier said.
"So less than us?" Jon said, mildly surprised.
"Less, yeah, but every one of them is on horseback. Chevaliers by the look of their kit. They seemed to be in a rush. Probably thinking to run down soldiers who won't fight back." The soldier said.
"Propably. Their mistake." Jon said. "Very good. You and the rest of the cavalry are to ride on, get yourself out of sight. Ride far enough away that the Orlesians won't see you when they come here." He told the soldier then.
"You don't want us in the fight?" The soldier asked.
"There aren't enough of you to make a difference, and horses can't hide. You have done your part, well take it from here. Get going." Jon said.
The soldier nodded and rode on, his fellows on his heels. Jon meanwhile returned to his men.
"Your weapon, give it to me, I have need of it." He told one of the archers.
"Wait for me to attack. Relay order down the line." He whispered an order as the archer handed him his bow and some arrows.
"Wait for the King to attack. Relay order down the line." The archer told the man next to him.
And then they waited.
They heard them before they saw them, the thunder of hooves on the packed dirt of the road. Then the Imperials came into view, riding along the road in a long column of three riders abreast, an Orlesian banner at the head of the column.
Jon waited until the majority of the column was between his forces. Thankfully discipline held among his troops and no one fired prematurely. Then he picked one of the enemy cavalrymen as his target, aimed quickly and fired his arrow. The enemy soldier fell from his saddle, an arrow puncturing his throat. An alarm was sounded among the Orlesian ranks and their column fragmented into several confused clusters as some heard the shout and stopped, while others rode on.
"Loose, loose, loose!" Jon shouted, handing his bow back to the archer he had taken it from. A flurry of arrows struck the Orlesian ranks, killing many soldiers and horses. The Imperials were confused for a good lengthy while, but eventually they managed to form themselves into something resembling battle formations. Swords left their sheaths as the Orlesians prepared to charge…
…and then arrows began to rain on them from behind, puncturing their backs. This new attack left the Imperials completely disordered, the soldiers uncertain which direction to focus on. It was all the distraction that Jon needed.
He drew his sword. "For the kingdoms, attack! Winter comes for them!" He shouted and charged. Shouting their war cries the northmen swooped down on the Orlesian column from both sides. Sandwiched between two forces, the imperials were unable to charge, leaving them at a disadvantage. The Orlesians nonetheless fought on as best as they were able, stabbing and slashing at any enemy that came near them, killing some. But the tide of battle was against the Imperials, and one by one they were getting dragged down and killed by the attacking northmen.
Jon grabbed a cavalryman by his belt, pulling him to the ground, then promptly ran him through with his sword. Then, seeing movement in the corner of his eye, he turned quickly and came face to face with a dismounted Orlesian soldier. They exchanged a few blows until he managed to cut her down as well. Then he had to hastily parry a blow from an Orlesian galloping past. Jon turned his parry into an attack, slicing open the horse's flank. Screaming, the horse fell, trapping its rider under it. Jon approached the trapped rider, his sword at the ready. Just before Jon opened his throat the soldier tried to plead with him in his language, but he did not care. Standing back up, he spotted a man quite different from the others on the battlefield; a man in ornate robes carrying a wooden staff. From the tip of that staff a large dark stone was ejected, impacting amidst a cluster of northmen, where it exploded violently, killing the lot of them.
"A mage." Jon concluded in startled realization. Brandishing Longclaw he charged, knowing that this threat needed to be extinguished with haste. Just as Jon was about to land a blow the mage spotted him and raised an arm, coated from fingers to shoulder in interlocking pieces of rock. Metal struck stone, chips of rock flying from the point of impact, making Jon grunt surprise. Twice more he had time to strike at the mage, but both times more stone grew out of nowhere, blocking his attack. Then a blast of energy struck him on his chest, knocking him off his feet and driving the air out of his lungs.
As Jon lay there, coughing and gasping for breath, the mage's stone armor crumbled to dust, no longer needed. The mage began to motion with this free hand neat the tip of his staff, where a new lump of rock began to grow. Just as he was about to launch the said rock the mage suddenly stopped, a knife puncturing his throat. Edmond walked to the mage, wrapping his fingers around the hilt and yanking the blade out. Like a puppet with its strings cut the mage collapsed, a gush of red pouring from the hole in his throat, making Edmond retreat several steps backward at the sight of the blood.
"Your Grace? Are you alright?" He asked as he helped him up.
"Yeah, fine. Nice throw." Jon said.
"Thanks." Edmond said, breathless.
Around them the battle was coming to a close as the Orlesians who had not fled were getting finished off. A few of the enemy tried to surrender, but the northmen were in no mood to show mercy to people who had been intending to ride them down and slaughter them like animals.
It was then that Jon spotted a lone Orlesian rider on the road, some distance from the edge of the battlefield. He noticed the sword in her hand, shining with golden light, and in that moment he recognized her. The two locked eyes, staring each other with hostility across the battlefield. She bowed her head, apparently conceding that she had lost this round. Then she turned her horse around and galloped away with haste.
"We won… now what?" Edmond asked, surveying the battlefield.
"Search the dead. We are going to need supplies. Then we ought to leave this place as soon as we are able. The Orlesians might send another force here soon. We need to get to Winterfell before that. There we can rest, treat our wounded and plan our next step." Jon said.
Edmond nodded and began to shout orders at the men. Jon could not miss how pale the Nevarran had seemed when they conversed. At least he had fought reasonably well…
Later on, as his soldiers were looting the dead for things they needed, Jon happened upon the Orlesian banner, lying trampled in the dirt. He picked it up in and tore it up in his hands before dropping it and walking away.
"Open the gate!" Bellowed a guard at Winterfell. The gates swung open, and a stream of northmen poured in. A week had now passed after Jon had ambushed the Orlesian forces. Fortunately the enemy had not pursued them further after that incident. He had travelled as fast as he could to make sure he got to Winterfell before the armies of the Empire, only allowing his troops enough rest to avoid killing them from exhaustion. They were all tired and dirty from travelling in less than ideal conditions, but now they were finally here. For a time at least they would be safe.
"Jon!" Sansa shouted, running across the yard, and the two embraced.
"Thank goodness you're alive. Some of the reports we heard insisted you had been killed. Even your riders that made it here before you didn't know any better. I didn't know what to believe." She said.
"So few…" She said, surveying the yard and the soldiers that had arrived here. There were far fewer of them here than had left for war. "Where are the rest?"
"Dead. Captured. Scattered. It's hard to say for certain. There are perhaps two thousand of us here. I have no idea where the rest of them might be." Jon said quietly. Then his expression became confused. He had expected his son to be here to greet him. "Where's Robb? Where's my boy?" He demanded, concern in his voice.
"Daenerys came by, took him back to King's Landing, some time ago. He's safe." Sansa explained quickly.
"She… did?" He said, looking even more surprised than moments before. "But why didn't you tell me?"
"It didn't seem important at the time, and everything happened so fast I wasn't sure what to think of it myself. It seemed like the kind of news that can wait until you are home. I'm sorry if I've upset you."
"No, I think I understand. Father used to say that good news can wait, but bad news will refuse to leave." He closed his eyes and breathed. "At least he's out of harm's way. Winterfell isn't safe, not with the Orlesian army bearing down on us. And with what you told me about the Orlesians assassins attacking Winterfell I can see why she would want to bring him to King's Landing. Most of the spies Tyrion has are from there, and there are more guards there, including her Queensguard."
"That was more or less what she told me. But Jon, it wasn't just here." She said.
"What?" What do you mean?" He asked.
"A lot has happened while you were gone. I was meaning to write to you about it, but between rebuilding from the attack and the news about what happened to your army, things have simply been so hectic… but now that you're home again I can tell you in person. But not here. We should go talk somewhere private, and I'll explain everything, and then we have to decide what to do, together."
Sansa led him to his rooms, where she began to explain the full extent of the events that had taken place in Jon's absence:
"It wasn't just us that were hit like this. I checked, and it seems these attacks happened all over Westeros. Holdfasts assaulted, lords and ladies killed, all sorts of disruption, with help from the Upstart Houses that betrayed us. Robin Arryn is dead, killed at the Eyrie. The guards at the Eyrie managed to repel the attackers, but the Orlesians still hold some of the waycastles to get down from the mountain. The Bloody gate was seized, and now there is a force of some two hundred riders belonging to house Blackstar rampaging all over the Vale. It may be some time before the knights of the Vale can join the fight."
"Riverrun… we have lost contact with the castle. Uncle Edmure might be dead as well. Maybe his family also." She said, bowing her head.
"Gods…" Jon said, sitting down on a nearby chair, covering his mouth with his hand, utterly stunned. "Why?" He asked.
"That seems obvious. They wanted us paralyzed, so Westeros would be helpless to respond when their army comes. Every noble they kill is one more that won't be rallying our people to fight. Every keep seized is one we will have to take back from them, one more place we can't assemble at. Every act of harassment one more distraction to keep us form dealing with the Orlesian main force. We can thank the gods they were only partially successful. And that you had already formed your army and left before the attacks started." She said.
"Indeed. If not for that we might have even greater problems today. But now we must prepare for what comes next." Edmond said as he entered the room, with Davos following him. "I suggest…"
"I don't think you are in any position to advise me. Not until you give me some damned answers." Jon cut the Nevarran knight off, standing up, a glint of anger flashing in his eyes. "What in the hells happened out there during the battle? Why didn't you warn me that they could do a magical attack that could sunder my whole army?" He demanded.
"I didn't know! I had no idea they could use magic on that scale. I don't think anyone has seen anything remotely like this since Andraste's day." Edmond retorted.
"I gave you command of my army, thinking that you could help me win that fight. Instead…!" He accused.
"I did everything I possibly could… Your Grace! And when it became obvious that we would not win I did what had to be done and ordered the retreat. To save as much of our army as I was able." Edmond replied, getting angry himself.
"Oh is that the reason you did it? Because I suspect a rather different motivation. I have seen you hesitate in battle, don't think that I have not. And you didn't want us to battle the Orlesians at all. I'm starting to wonder if you just don't have the courage for this war." Jon said, with anger rather uncharacteristic of him.
The Nevarran knight bristled at the kings words. "I'll let no man call me a craven, not even a king! I have been fighting the Orlesians almost all my life. And if you want to start casting blame, maybe you should start with yourself. I warned you not to engage a force that large. When you ignored that advice I did what I could in a situation that was already bad."
"Now you listen here Nevarran…" Jon began to say, fully enraged.
"Enough! Both of you! This doesn't help anything!" Sansa interrupted, loud enough to shut both men up.
"Listen to yourselves. This is exactly what the Orlesians want us to do. The want us distracted and at each other's throats. If were bickering amongst ourselves were not fighting them." She scolded them both as they were looking at the ground, embarrassed, realizing that they had let their emotions over their shocking defeat get the better of them.
"What happened, happened. It's already done. I believe that you both did everything you could to win. It wasn't enough, but that's in the past. It doesn't matter now. What does matter is what we do next." She said.
"…You're right. That's what's important. The rest can wait." Jon admitted quietly, sitting down again. "But what can we do? We'll have the whole Grand Army bearing down on us in no time, and our own forces are dead and gone. How am I supposed to do with two thousand men what I could not do with twenty thousand? There's no way we can win, not against that many."
"With respect Your Grace… I think we need to redefine our conditions of victory." Edmond said.
"Explain." Jon said, frowning.
"We can't win against the Orlesians on our own, but we can help others do so. Winterfell is a very defensible location, well suited for our needs. I suggest we entrench ourselves here as best we are able in the time we have. If they want this castle, they'll have to dig us out inch by bloody inch, and every inch gained they will pay for in lives lost." Edmond said.
"That won't work." Jon said, shaking his head. "The Imperial army bristles with siege weapons. They'd reduce Winterfell to rubble within a day."
"I don't think they will do so, not yet anyway. Winterfell has strategic and symbolic value. This is the heart of the north, and the key to ruling it. For that reason I believe the Marshal will want Winterfell intact, so it can be used by the Empire. His recent victories will likely make him believe that he has the situation under control and that he has the luxury to try this. That overconfidence will be his undoing."
"Surely that won't last forever?" Davos said.
"No." Edmond agreed. "Eventually the Orlesian losses will begin to outweigh their potential gains, and then they'll cut the game short. But until that happens we will have time."
"Time to do what?" Davos asked.
"To hold our ground, and buy time for other armies to arrive to aid us." Edmond said.
"And if they do not?" Sansa asked.
"Even then we can fight to aid the Twin Kingdoms. Every Orlesian soldier we kill is one more other defenders in Westeros won't have to worry about."
"So you would make a sacrifice of us?" She asked, shocked.
"That's the only mode of resistance that makes sense in this situation. If we want to keep on fighting that's the way I believe we should go on about it. The other option is to surrender." Edmond said.
"Surely you are not suggesting that?" Sansa said.
"I'm not suggesting anything at the moment. It's not my call to make. That decision belongs to the King, and you My Lady. I'm simply laying out our choices as best I'm able to see them." He said.
"If we surrender they'll imprison us for life. If we fight and lose… they'll probably kill us." Davos said gravely.
"They probably will at that." Jon spoke out finally. "Winterfell is our home. But if this were just us, surrender might be an option to consider. But it's not just us. All the people in the North and many more in the South are counting on us. We cannot forsake them. For the sake of everyone in Westeros we must fight to the end, even if it means our deaths."
"I agree. We have a responsibility toward the people that we cannot turn away from. This is where we will make our stand." Sansa said. Edmond and Davos nodded their agreement as well.
"How ready is Winterfell to resist a siege?" Jon asked.
"We have been preparing for that possibility since you left for war, as a precaution. We have amassed food and supplies behind our walls, so starvation is not something we need to worry about. At your order we will empty out our armory, arm all of our people willing to fight. The rest I think we should send away." Sansa said.
"You would send them away? From safety? Why would you do that?" Jon asked, surprised.
"If Winterfell falls under attack it won't be safe here for anyone, and we don't need useless mouths. But I do not intend to just toss them out of the gates to die. I would send them to one of the Inquisition safe zones. Once there they will be safe, and they will be cared for until the war is over." Sansa explained.
"What if the Orlesian army attacks them on the road?" Jon countered.
"I don't think that too likely. By all the reports their army has not been actively attacking civilians, even if some of their allies have. And Winterfell is the target they are aiming for. They will be too preoccupied with us to pay mind to refugees." Sansa said.
Jon was quiet for a lengthy while, wrestling with his decision. "All right. You have a point." He said finally. "Perhaps… perhaps you should join them, get yourself to safety."
"Jon, don't' even think about it. I'm not abandoning my people." Sansa said at once.
"You said it yourself. It won't be safe here when the Imperials come. It would be a huge weight off my heart to know you were safe from them." Jon argued softly.
"I won't be. I'm someone who could lead the North in your stead. I'm too important for them to ever let me be. They know it, and I know their kind all too well. One way or another they will hunt me down no matter where I run from them. If I am to die somewhere then I want it to be here, where I belong, where all my hopes and dreams are rooted. I'm not going anywhere." Sansa said sternly.
Jon sighed. "I know better than to argue with you when you are in a mood like that. I hope you'll reconsider, but I won't try to force you to do so."
"Good. Then perhaps we can get back to our battle preparations?" She said. "The trench from the Battle of Nightfall still remains, and at the suggestion of the captain of my guard it is being dug wider and deeper, with steeper edges. With some fortune it will slow down attackers."
"It very likely will. It should also make it harder for the Orlesians to bring up rams, ladders or siege towers." Edmond commented.
Sansa nodded before continuing. "Meanwhile Davos has managed to acquire some interesting new allies."
"What allies?" Jon asked.
"Mage healers. Courtesy of King Markus of Nevarra, although officially he will say that he has no knowledge of them being here. Not all are Nevarran mind you. Some are, but others hail from elsewhere. They will help treat our wounded." Davos explained.
Edmond smiled. "Good to see some of my countrymen here lending a helping hand. But where did they come from? How come the Orlesians didn't stop them from coming here?"
"An old acquaintances of mine helped smuggle them here, in exchange for compensation of course." Davos answered.
"And what do the mages ask in return? I imagine they must want something." Jon asked.
"They do indeed, but interestingly enough gold is not what they want. Instead they have asked that after the war they will be made citizens of the realm and given a remote location for their own." Davos said.
"It's not an impossible request. We certainly have empty lands to give, and I always wanted to have more people in the North. But I'm curious as to why they have asked such a thing?" Jon said.
"The way they explained it to me was that they were mistrustful of the magical institutions in Thedas, whether the Circles or the College. They wanted to live on their own terms and came here, as far away as possible from both groups." Davos said.
"Will they stay with us when they realize that Winterfell is about to be surrounded by an overwhelmingly large Orlesian army?" Jon asked.
"I think so. They seem to consider aiding the sick and wounded their calling, something they should do whatever the conditions. By their own words that is one more reason they came here and something they intend to keep on doing even after the war is over." Davos said.
Jon nodded. "We will certainly have injured and sick people in need of treatment all too soon. If these mages do as they have promised, then they have earned their place in the North."
"I'm sure they'll appreciate that." Davos said.
"It seems we are off to a good start, such as it is. Now we should get to work. Let's make Winterfell as secure as we possibly can. Win or lose, the Orlesians will know the meaning of a fight. If any concerns or problems arise alert me, and we will do our best to resolve them." Jon said.
"Jon, before you go... there's something else I need to tell you. " Sansa said as the others left."It concerns Lyanna Mormont and why she never answered our summons."
"You know what happened?" Jon asked.
"Yes... for a while in fact..." She admitted with some embarrassment. "I... suppose I should have told you sooner, but I felt you needed to focus on the Orlesians. It's not an immediate issue for us right now, particularly under these circumstances. But in the long run this is big, and so you should know regardless. "
Jon was surprised. Then he sighed. "Sansa, that desicion should have been mine to make. You should have told me as soon as you knew."
"You're right, I'm sorry." She said, bowing her head.
Jon was quiet for a minute. "Well, at least you told me now. Apology accepted." He said then, his voice calm. "But in the future don't withold information from me, okay?"
"Okay." Sansa said, glad that he wasn't angry.
"Now then, what's going on at Bear Island?" He asked.
It was later that day as he was overseeing the preparations when Jon spotted Kieran crouched near the gate. The mage's finger moved over the stone, tracing a complex looking mark made of blue light. The mark glowed on the stone briefly, then faded away.
"What in the hells are you doing?" Jon asked, walking over.
"Wards." Kieran said in explanation, not turning his head from his work. "I heard what the Orlesians managed to do to your army. I'm concerned that they might try something similar when they come here. Magic is the one thing that could clear this castle of defenders without doing significant damage to the castle itself." After he had said this, Kieran moved to another section of wall and began to draw another symbol there, identical to the first one.
"And this will help prevent them from doing so?" Jon asked, pointing at the symbol.
"Yes. These wards are based around Templar techniques to protect sensitive areas from intruding spellcasters. They will dissipate any hostile magics before it can reach the walls or the defenders on them, as well as prevent any spells from being cast within their perimeter." Kieran said.
Jon nodded, seeing the wisdom in Kieran's plan. Magic had torn his army asunder, almost claiming his life as well. Unless steps were made to counter it magic would steal his family's ancestral home also.
"Will you be putting these across the outer wall?" Jon asked.
"And as many other surfaces as I can manage." Kieran confirmed. "Some areas will need to be left unprotected out of necessity. Lord Brandon's room for one, so that he can assist us during the battle. Also since I heard that we have mage healers here, I will also leave the infirmary areas unwarded."
"Then one has to hope that the Orlesians don't find and exploit these openings." Jon said.
"That and other complications. My spells are less permanent than the workings of the Templars, less robust against direct attacks. For now they will hold, but once the fighting starts I will have to redraw these daily to keep them from dissipating. But I will obviously not have the time or the energy to do so for the entire castle. I will have to focus my attention on critical areas and hope the rest hold on their own." Kieran said.
"What if I sent some of the mage allies we have acquired to assist you in this?" Jon offered.
Kieran shook his head. "If they wish to aid me in making the initial wards then I'll teach them how to make them, of course. But once the fighting starts I'd prefer if you had them helping the wounded. I suspect their needs will be greater than mine could ever be. I should be able to keep your castle adequately protected even without the aid of other mages. Should that change and the need become pressing I'll of course alert you of the fact."
"Understood… but are you sure you should be doing this?" Jon asked. "The Inquisition has declared itself to be neutral in this conflict. Aren't you in violation of your orders in helping us?" He added when Kieran gave him a surprised look.
Kieran chuckled. "I have not actually received any orders that expressly forbid me from offering you my aid. And my affiliation with the Inquisition has always been a loose one. I choose what kind of work I do for them. Beyond that I don't have to follow their commands if I don't wish to, and they well know it."
"Aren't you worried what it will do for the reputation of the Inquisition if their agent is caught fighting for our side when they have said that they're taking no part?" Jon asked.
"There will be no link. I don't have an Inquisition uniform, nor do I possess materials or documents that would connect me with them." Kieran assured. "And honestly when the Orlesians come over those walls the wont be asking questions about who any of us are working for. They'll be out for blood. Probably revenge as well, since we will have doubtless caused much grief to them for coming so far."
"That's the other thing. If you stay here I cannot guarantee your safety. I would not put anyone who doesn't have to be here in such danger. But that is not a risk you need to take. There are other options." Jon said.
"Oh aye." Kieran agreed. "I could leave if I wished to. I could probably even make it to one of the Inquisition safe areas before the Orlesians arrive. But I won't be doing that." He said, turning his eyes from his work to look directly into Jon's eyes.
"Your Grace, I have been here on assignment for many years now. In that time I have become very fond of the people of the North. The only reason I did not follow you to the field was because I believed that it would exceed my authority as an agent of the Inquisition. But now you are in imminent danger in your own home. If I left now I would feel like I was abandoning you. And without my efforts I'm rather certain that the risk of this going very badly for you is greatly increased. And so I'd much rather stay here, and help you in whatever way I can." He then explained.
"That is of course unless you order me to leave?" He said, framing his last statement as a question.
Jon slowly shook his head. "I would be utterly foolish to send you away now. We are in no position to turn away help, particularly of the kind as willingly given as yours. I just needed to be certain that you are doing this for the right reasons. But very well. If you are truly certain of sharing this peril with us then I welcome you, gladly. In fact I cannot thank you enough. Our friends are few and far between. It's good to know you are one of them."
Kieran gave him a look of meaningful understanding, then resumed his work once more.
"I'll see what can be done about having the other mages assist you." Jon said. "Tell me, do you know where Bran is? What is he doing?" He asked then.
"I believe he is in the Godswood, scouting for the progression of the Orlesian army. And once the battle begins he believes there might be something else he might be able to do to help our defenses, though he did not tell me exactly what had in mind." Kieran said.
Jon nodded and left towards the Godswood. He walked through the yards of his home, past soldiers and residents of Winterfell, each of whom gave him a quick bow as he passed before returning to their errands. On many faces Jon spotted concern, even fear, but also determination. His people knew how dire their situation was, but they trusted him enough to continue the fight regardless. Privately he hoped he would prove worthy of their trust. The people of the North deserved nothing less.
Jon entered through the small gate that led to the Godswood, the musty scent of the place welcoming him. He walked among the trees until he came to a large blackened spot in the grass before the weirwood tree. This spot marked the place where the Night King had met his demise during the Battle of Nightfall. Although many years had passed nothing would grow where he had been undone, no animal of any kind would come near the spot, and even people felt uneasy when in too close proximity. Jon felt no differently, but even so he had found that he could not come into the Godswood without stopping in front of this spot. The Night King had been his deadliest enemy by far, one that had occupied his thoughts for many years. Although he had not struck the killing blow, the Night King's passing had been a significant turning point for him, alongside everyone else, whether they knew it or not. This spot marked the place where history had been made, where the destiny of the world had been forever altered.
Feeling a sudden sense of revulsion he gave the spot a wide berth and walked to the far side of the weirwood tree where he found Bran, sitting in his wheelchair, facing the tree, his eyes rolled over in his head. When Jon approached Bran's eyes returned to normal and he turned his head to look at Jon, regarding the King with his ever-calm, almost serene look.
"Jon. I know what you have come to ask me." Bran said, his voice even as always. "Why did I not warn you that Winterfell was about to be attacked by assassins. Why did I not tell you that the Upstart Houses intended to betray us? Why didn't I tell you that a magical attack would break your army? And you are right of course, that should have been something I could see."
"And why didn't you?" Jon asked, his voice calm but firm.
To Jon's surprise Bran looked almost puzzled. "I don't know."