At Winterfell…
The Northern armies were mobilizing in force; upon receiving a raven from King's Landing, Robb Stark summoned his bannermen to Winterfell for the long march south to join the war. The Targaryens had returned to Westeros, the same family who brutally murdered his grandfather and uncle unjustly. The Young Wolf was among the first to heed the call to arms from his brother-in-law King Daveth and moved as quickly as he could.
"My decision is final, Maester Luwin. Daenerys Targaryen is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those seven kingdoms," he argued. "My father would never have sent men off to die while he huddled like a craven behind the walls of Winterfell. If His Grace summons me to go to war, then I'll go to war – but not alone. My sister is still in King's Landing along with her children, and if this message is to be believed, Dragonstone is not too far from the capital if the Targaryens choose to attack it now. Should the south fall, the North will be next."
"But what of the additional conscripts we've acquired as per the King's decree?" inquired Theon. "With the entire bloody Seven Kingdoms incorporating more than half a million troops, we have more men than the Targaryens and outnumber them greatly—"
"Do not get overconfident, Theon. Victory in battle is not always won through superior numbers. The Last Storm, Field of Fire, Tumbleton, the Trident, Blackwater Bay… remember them well."
"Lemme come with you," 12-year-old Rickon complained. "I'm your brother. I can ride as a squire, a bannerman—"
Robb cut him off. "No, Rickon, you're not going with me. You're too young," he firmly quieted his youngest brother from protesting again. Shaggydog was near as wild as Rickon was once he cried and screamed, throwing such a childish tantrum before the Lord of Winterfell brought him to bay before watching from afar as more of his troops—men and women alike—departing through the castle's courtyard.
In front, Dacey was leading the Mormont troops as well as tending to her sister Lyanna. "Now listen, Lyanna, the people of Bear Island are in your care while I'm gone," she told her. "And should any mainlander step outside their boundaries, particularly the men, remind them who exactly walks the walk—not talk the talk."
The Little Bear grumbled knowing she wasn't going with her sisters, but huffed proudly and stood tall with pride. "Oh I believe they'll learn one way or another, sister. You just wait. We'll show the men and the boys not to mess with us."
"Good," she nodded. "'Here we stand.'"
"'Here we stand.'"
Lyanna stood in the courtyard as she watched her sisters Dacey and Alysane riding off to battle, leaving her as the only Mormont in Winterfell. She brushed aside a scout's request to tend to Bear Island, always brazenly reminding them that she would be staying here as per her Lady's request. "We know no Warden but the Warden of the North, whose name is Stark," she told them. Greatjon Umber rode off with his marauders, leaving his grandson and heir Ned behind.
Talisa had her 3-year-old son Eddard by the hand. The young half-Northmen, half-Volantene heir to Winterfell and the entire North grew a few inches taller—still standing at 3 feet 4 inches tall. She had her guards help Robb ready for the long trek down south for war—having to remain behind to raise their child and help keep the peace in his absence. Robb and Talisa shared a brief kiss before he bent to one knee to speak to his son.
"I'll send letters whenever I can, Eddard, but if you don't hear from me, don't be scared," he told him. "Be good to your mother and wait until I return."
Eddard might be young, but the child was old enough to know something was amiss. Although somewhat scared at the prospect of not seeing his father again, he sheepishly coming up to Robb from behind his mother's silk dress.
"Daddy?" he squeaked.
Robb pated his son's dark brown hair, messing with it until it looked as if the boy still woke up with bedhead.
"Say goodbye to your father, Eddard," Talisa urged her son.
"Bye, daddy."
Robb hugged his son before standing back up to embrace his wife; the two shared a brief intimate moment before the Young Wolf pulled away. "I'll be thinking about you every step of the way. Remember that winter is here so I'll need you both to stay in the north. Stay warm and safe, all right?" he said.
"We know, Robb," she reminded him. "You're the one who needs to stay safe out there."
The Young Wolf nods and turns his head to his bastard half-brother. "Jon," he called out. "If what you're telling me is true, we'll need to get them ready. I'm leaving you in charge of Winterfell and our people. They're in your care now."
The White Wolf shook his head. "I'm not a Stark," he replied.
"You are to me. We… might not share the same mother, but we share the same father. That means Stark blood runs through your veins as it does mine. So until I return, the North is yours."
'I'll do what I can, Robb, but we'll still need more allies,' he thought as he promised to serve his liegelord. 'The Night King's army grows larger by the day, especially after the Fist of the First Men and Hardhome. Even with the draft coming into effect, we might not have enough numbers to confront them. More importantly we need allies, powerful allies. We need the entire south to come help us.'
Robb walks into the courtyard towards his horse; Greatjon and Ser Rodrik were both seated on their horses awaiting him along with Grey Wind. The young Lord of Winterfell mounted his horse, took a brief glance back at his family on the upper level before waving goodbye. All three and the rest of their guards ride out of the gate to rendezvous with the Northern army and exit the courtyard.
Above them, Catelyn observed her eldest son riding off to battle again… she silently prayed to the Seven Gods to keep her family safe from all harm—yet simultaneously noticed Jon still standing there… staring out to the gate with Rickon standing beside him visibly unsettled at not being able to go.
Jon noticed Catelyn staring at him, but said nothing and instead turned to walk back inside. He'd rather not be facing his 'stepmother'… his mind was too preoccupied with the looming threat on the other side of the Wall.
On Dragonstone…
*RUMBLE!*
*BOOM!*
Daenerys watched a thunderstorm raging outside the Chamber of the Painted Table; she hadn't seen rain before—none that she could remember. Rain fell on the beach and the fortress, lightning flashes across the sky as thunder bolts crackles overhead. The Dragon Queen stared out at the storm—witnessing her armada rocking against the waves while Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion shrieked and huddled towards a nearby volcano to remain warm.
"I remember hearing of a night like this," Connington mentioned referring to the circumstances of her birth. "Your mother Queen Rhaella died giving birth to you. All the dogs in King's Landing howled through the night."
"I wish I could remember it," Daenerys replied.
"You were too young."
"How soon can we depart?"
"Once this weather clears, child. Should we make a move now, we risk losing our fleet and will be unable to transport our troops to shore."
Daenerys looks at the figurines placed on the table. "So many stags, wolves, lions, falcons, roses and trout. Given how we encountered only 50 men here and not the 300 we assumed, could anyone explain to me how Daveth Baratheon caught wind of our arrival?" she asks.
Before Connington could answer, about four Unsullied brought someone into the chamber—wrists tied and bound together, yet he appeared more bloodied and bruised. Daenerys observed the man in question: he couldn't have appeared to be less than a year older than her if not by a few months, but there were certain distinguished traits that set him apart from the others. The man had Valyrian features of silver hair and purple eyes, yet there was a few tints of light blond in his hair.
"Īlon found bisy va se stables, ñuha dāria. Ēza daor issare ȳdragon. Skoros issi īlon naejot gaomagon lēda zirȳla? (We found this one near the stables, my Queen. He hasn't been rather talkative. What should we do with him?)" one of them asked.
Daenerys opened her mouth to speak, but the man in question regained enough consciousness to understand the language they were using.
"Konīr's daor jorrāelagon syt bona, Daenērys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor. (There's no need for that, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen)", he answered.
Daenerys was surprised. "Kostā shifang se ȳdragon Valyrīha? (You can understand and speak Valyrian?)" she asked.
He nodded yes. "Ñuha lentor iksis se ānogar hen Uēpa Valyria, sepār hae aōhon. Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa toil. (My house is the blood of Old Valyria, just like yours. Valyrian is my mother tongue too.)"
"Skoros iksis aōha brōzi, raqiros? (What is your name, friend?)"
"Jaehaegon hen Lentor Velaryon. Ñuha dubāzma iksis Monford Velaryon, Āeksio hen Tides se Āeksio hen Driftmark. (Jaehaegon of House Velaryon. My cousin is Monford Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark.)"
*RUMBLE!*
*BOOM!*
Daenerys was familiar with the Velaryons. Like the Targaryens, House Velaryon is an ancient and proud family with the blood of Old Valyria in its veins. As a result of such ancestry, members of House Velaryon frequently married into House Targaryen before and after Aegon's Conquest of Westeros. Though never considered equals, their links held a disproportionate amount of power.
"Nektogon zirȳla nābēmagon. (Untie him)," she ordered.
The Unsullied obeyed and removed the rope restraints, but neither had expected Jaehaegon to nearly stumble and collapse to the floor. He looked worn out and physically drained.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," he apologized wearily. "Stannis Baratheon's men… found me. Almost… did me in while they… evacuated the island. I would've been dead by now if they hadn't been… given the order to abandon Dragonstone."
"I see the Usurper's boy's cruelty knows no bounds. He sounds exactly like his grandfather, the traitor and butcher Tywin Lannister," Connington scoffed.
Jaehaegon shook his head. "No, it wasn't… the Oathkeeper himself never gave the order nor would he'd approve of it."
"You stand with the Young Stag who pollutes the Iron Throne? The throne which rightfully belongs to House Targaryen?" he said accusingly.
"I stand… with whoever is in possession of Dragonstone. What other choices were we left with after the War of the Usurper? Our allies were either killed or driven into exile. My cousin… was left no choice but to bend the knee to spare us our lives. Serving Stannis was torture; a living nightmarish hell we believed wouldn't end."
"Then why come to us now?"
"Because I believe you may have heard only one side of the story, never mind hearing of the other. Our rightful Queen has the right to know what's actually been going on while she was across the Narrow Sea—instead of only one-sided tales."
"Similar to how the lords of Westeros cry out for their true Queen? That they drink secret toasts to my health?" Daenerys pressed. "People used to tell my brother Viserys that sort of thing and he was stupid enough to believe them."
"People pray for rain, gold, health, bountiful crops and a warm summer that never ends all the time, Your Grace. They don't care exactly who sits on the Iron Throne or what games the nobility play. When times are good, the Seven Kingdoms basically rules itself. Years could pass and no one would know who sits on the Iron Throne nor would we care. But when there's famine, war or any kind of hell that shows up at our door, people look to their leaders for guidance and salvation."
The Dragon Queen heard this talk before; back when she was a young woman married to Khal Drogo as a Khaleesi. She heard this the first time from Ser Jorah Mormont. Oh how she longed to see her Great Bear again, but still harbored guilt and ache for having to banish him twice for betraying her trust before accepting him back into her service once again, only to send him away for him to find a cure for his greyscale affliction.
'If Viserys had three dragons and an army at his back, had he just waited, he would've invaded King's Landing already. Had he been more patient, my sun-and-stars would have gotten it for him,' she thought reminiscently. "Conquering Westeros would be rather easy, but I'm not here to be queen of the ashes. But the information I've been provided have been rather… scarce," she glanced at Connington before turning back to Jaehaegon. "What can you tell me about him? The son of the man who overthrew my father?"
"Daveth?"
"If I'm to reclaim the throne, I need to know everything about him. Don't leave even the smallest detail out."
"I can only speak to what was whispered in several courts…"
"Ser Jaehaegon," the Dragon Queen said sternly.
He sighed. "To begin with? A vastly significant improvement on his own father King Robert, even more so with… emmm, your father King Aerys. There have been few rulers in history as cruel as the Mad King. Robert might've been a usurper and an overweight drunk, but he was neither mad nor cruel—he just had no interest in being King. His son, on the other hand, is a bit of a mystery. All I know is he's the kind of person you want on your side or he'll end up being a dangerous adversary, a rival worthy of respect. And not because he's shrewd. Daveth is someone who just doesn't like sitting still on the sidelines when there's a crisis going on, and actually knows how to get results in days or weeks where it'd take others months or even years. When it comes to making promises… or a threat, you'd never know which one he's referring to until it actually happens—tends to keep us in the dark before he makes his move. At the same time, though, if the mood strikes him he'll offer a second chance to any of his adversaries he bested in battle—but only one more chance and that's it. There was never going to be a third. Only a few fallen combatants actually chose to bend the knee, and he made good on his word."
"So he has a code. Doesn't necessarily match the tales of what I've been told."
Connington scoffed. "Pay no attention to it, child. Most likely it's just propaganda to turn your rightful subjects against you, and for all we know the Velaryon boy might as well be another spy for the Young Stag just as the Spider was when he sent his little birds to observe you."
"If I was what you accuse me of, old man," Jaehaegon didn't take kindly to being accused of something he hadn't committed yet, "then Queen Daenerys would've just had me executed and be done with it. Instead, Stannis nearly did it himself with that foreign red priest accompanying him."
"Before I came to power, some of my benefactors favored my brother. Viserys was cruel, stupid and weak. Until I was sold to the Dothraki like a prized horse, someone gave the order to kill me. Who was it?"
"King Robert," he answered.
"And I assume his son has as well?" she pressed.
Jaehaegon shook his head again. "I don't know, Your Grace. My cousin sent me to Pentos to negotiate a trade deal with the merchant lords at that time."
"And where is your cousin Lord Mandon now?"
"Dead. Stannis had him and his young son put to the sword before setting his sights on me as I've already told you."
Daenerys eyed him up and down, glanced back at Connington who folded his arms before returning her gaze to Jaehaegon. "Then I suppose you can stay on Dragonstone by my leave until your… unjust injuries heal. From then on I'll need you to stay around so I can learn more of my enemies before dispatching my armies when the storm clears. Swear this to me Jaehaegon of House Velaryon. And if you ever think I'm failing the people, you won't conspire behind my back but rather you'll look me in the eye and you'll tell me how I'm failing."
Jaehaegon knelt. "I swear it, my Queen."
She cupped his chin beneath her fingers and lifted his head up to meet her violet eyes. "But know this: if you ever betray my trust, I'll burn you alive," Daenerys warned.
"I… As you wish."
'You are far too trusting of this one, Daenerys. One of these days it's going to get you in trouble,' Connington thought disappointingly.
Daenerys nodded understandingly and stood up, motioning for Jaehaegon to follow suit. Connington, meanwhile, observed the two closely with a suspicious scowl forming across his face as Missandei exchanged glanced between them. Until then, Grey Worm entered the room.
"Forgive me, my Queen," he apologized. "A red priestess from Asshai has come to see you."
In Oldtown…
Samwell continued his training at the Citadel to become a maester, but from the expression on his face the Tarly looked disappointed if not frustrated. Stocking books on shelves and serving soup annoyed him, removing and cleaning out bedpans filled with shit made him constantly retch; all part of Archmaester Ebrose's instructions. Samwell felt he could be doing more by researching old lore for hints on White Walkers and how to defeat the Night King, but the other maesters—including Ebrose—ignored his pleas.
"Everyone in the Citadel doubts everything. It's their job," the Archmaester told him. "But the tales of the Long Night can't be pure fabrication. Too many similarities from unconnected sources."
Worse of all, Samwell grew increasingly agitated with Archmaester Ebrose's outright refusal to treat their new guest in the quarantine cells. Jorah Mormont was covered in greyscale from his arm to his upper body and had arrived seeking medical treatment nearly a month ago—only to be refused.
ooOoo
"The infection has spread too far. You should have cut off your arm the moment you were touched," the Archmaester examined him closely.
"How long do I have?" asked Jorah.
"It will be years before it kills you. Could be 10, could be 20."
"But how long until…"
"Your mind? Six months, maybe fewer."
Samwell interjected. "Pardon, Archmaester. I met Stannis Baratheon's daughter Shireen at Castle Black. She had greyscale as a baby and was cured. Isn't there some way—"
"Does this look like a baby to you?" Ebrose interrupted.
"No."
"Have you studied the varying rates of greyscale progression in infants and fully grown men?"
"No."
"Maester Chrissen discovered Shireen Baratheon's affliction immediately," he turned to Jorah. "This is quite advanced and beyond our skills, Ser. Were you a commoner I'd have you shipped to Valyria at once to live out your life with the Stone Men. As an anointed knight, I'll allow you one more day. How you choose to spend that time is up to you."
ooOoo
Before leaving, Samwell learned that Jorah's family name was Mormont—the same as the late Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jeor Mormont. It didn't take long for the Tarly to connect the dots to determine Jorah is Jeor's son—having returned to Westeros from exile with Daenerys Targaryen. But Samwell still owed a debt of gratitude to Lord Commander Jeor; maybe it was the stubborn Tarly in him compelling him to defy authority figures again like he did his father Randyll.
A few hours passed and Samwell pushed open Jorah's door and moved in a cart filled with medical tools and containers. He was about to defy the Archmaester this time.
"Hello," he greeted.
Jorah looked up at him, putting aside a letter. "What are you going?" he asked.
"You're Jorah Mormont. You're the only son of Jeor Mormont."
'How does he know about me? How does he know my father?'
Samwell picks up a roll of leather and quietly sets it down on the table, unwrapping it to reveal an assortment of scalpels and knives used for surgery despite it being declared forbidden by the Archmaesters. "My name is Samwell Tarly. I'm a sworn brother of the Night's Watch training to serve as maester of Castle Black," he introduced himself. "I knew your father. I was with him when he died."
Jorah's face deadpanned and fell to the ground saddened. He still harbored shame and disappointment for what he did in the past that caused him to flee into exile. 'He's… what? Dead? I… Damn it, I'm sorry father…'
"You're not dying today, Ser Jorah," Samwell boldly declared. He picks up a large flask of rum and hands it to him. "Drink this."
"What is it?"
"Rum. Drink it all, please. I'm afraid this procedure is going to hurt. A lot."
Jorah reaches for the bottle, though Samwell grabs it back and drinks some himself before handing it back. Jorah drinks it and drains the entire flask, his head feeling slightly dizzy and his body numb—either from the heavy concentration of alcohol or the greyscale, he wasn't so sure. Beside him, Samwell picks up a thick book from the medical cart and sets it on the table.
"If you could take off your shirt."
Jorah complies and removes his shirt. The greyscale had spread throughout his body and was up to his collarbone.
"If you wouldn't mind, bite down hard," Samwell gave a strap made of leather. "I'm sorry but no one knows I'm here. If they hear you screaming then we're both finished."
"Have you ever done this before?" Jorah inquired.
"No. No one else will try, so I'm the best you've got. Have a seat. I'm going to remove the entire layer of infected tissue, then apply a medicinal ointment to the—"
'You literally have no training, no experience treating infections like mine and no one will even attempt to try such a feat? That doesn't sound reassuring, Tarly,' he thought doubtfully and looked at Samwell, stopping him from explaining.
Samwell picks up a pair of tweezers and a scalpel, grabbing a section of greyscale on Jorah's upper body—causing him to flinch and recoil in pain.
"Shh, shhh," he hushed. "Again, I'm sorry. Please try not to scream."
With that, Samwell begins cutting deep into the greyscale. Jorah bit down hard on the leather strap and writhes in agony, gripping the handle of his seat hard until his knuckles popped. Pus begins dripping from the wound as Samwell continues cutting and slicing a layer of greyscale off Jorah's skin. Once the outer layer plopped into a bowl, Jorah silently exhaled in a sense of relief—allowing him to momentarily catch his breath before seeing Samwell pressing the scalpel against another layer.
As Jorah felt the sharp cold metal sinking into his body, he shook and whimpered in pain. 'Oh fuck! It hurts! It hurts so much! Stop your whining. Get it together, Jorah. You're going to get through it. You can endure it. Remember, your Queen ordered you to find a cure. Just got to—FUUUUUCK!'
Chapter End
Author's Note: Robb Stark leads the Northern armies down south to war and leaves Jon Snow in charge of Winterfell in his absence; the White Wolf kept insisting he wasn't a Stark, but that didn't stop the Young Wolf from having full confidence in him. Jon still acknowledges the Army of the Dead and the Night King as a serious threat so I imagine he'll be making plans to prepare the North to face them when the Great War does come. On Dragonstone, we're introduced to another character—a Velayron, who'll likely cause some friction between Daenerys and her Hand Jon Connington. One advisor tells her one thing, but someone who's actually lived in Westeros says otherwise. As for Jorah, he endures the most painful experience of his life so he can return to Daenerys' service. Next chapter will begin the first phase of the war between Daveth and Daenerys. Thoughts? Let me know.
Chris the Metis: Daenerys should be careful of trusting because chances are those people were in fact spies that feeding false informations and sending back intelligence. Connington gonna make one mother of all SNAFU during the Westeros campaign which will resulted costing his life. Robb and Jon knows how big stakes really are; Night King will launch the attack at any moment and the fate of the North is the fate of the south which will be do or die.
TiTanFist9: Someone fire Connington. His crazy obsession with Rhaegar is gonna doom Dany. I mean he has no idea about the current King, then how're you gonna win?!
Wonder who the Red Priestess is, Kinvara, Mel or Valreah?
DarkFireCat5241999: Let's see daveth is comparing dany to her if we look at daveth parent they aren't much better a drunk who never got over the death of a woman who never wanted him who laughed at the death if children. And then there is his mother how to describe her. And let's not forget that he protecting his incest siblings if that gets out things won't be good
Hear My Fury: I hope Connington gets put in his place one day. Could there be something happening between Dany and this new Velaryon character? If so, it makes even more sense, the Velaryons had always been loyal to the Targaryens, a match between them would show Dany is trying to get allies, but as of what I read, it looks like the Velaryons chose to back Daenerys thus, Stannis exacted justice on them for turning their cloaks.
If Dany and Jon aren't getting together any time soon, then perhaps Jon could marry one of the others from the North? Alys Karstark, or hell maybe even Dacey Mormont? It's a bit symbolic as Dany had Jorah and Jon had his father, Jeor, maybe Jon could have Dacey as well? Just a thought. Looking forward to the battles between the Stag and the Dragon with the Kraken lurking in the depths and the Night King on his way. So it's a war of the Three kings and one queen?
Bad Ass Female Fighter: Connington you biased fucker, you're gonna lead Dany to her destruction with the lies you feed her about Daveth. Jorah is not having a good time, poor fellow.
P.S: When Arya comes back, will she assassinate Euron?
—You'll see in future chapters
RHatch89: Once again, this proves that Daenerys is vastly under-informed on what is going on in the world, and if there is one thing that is obvious about GoT, it's that lack of knowledge gets you killed. Connington is so gung-ho on revenge for a man who probably didn't give a damn about him, that he will not hear anything that contradicts his ideas (that are about twenty years outdated) on the Baratheon line. I wonder how Daenerys will deal with the facts when she finally gets actual reports detailing that Daveth is in fact a great king that all of Westeros (barring what remains of the Iron Islands) worships.
kira444: I swear, Connington's gonna fuck up one of these days.
Vch: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of the oathkeeper, so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please
Guest #1: This is what keeps me at GoT section of the website
Tohka123: Another live my chapter, looks like there sizing each other up, keep up the hard work
programa . web7: Daenerys thinks of daveth as his father a warmonger, show her how wrong she is