Chapter 6 – First Blood

Brandon

The sun had already sunk low, barely hovering above the horizon, as they finally stopped for the day. If Brandon turned around he could still see the last stretch of the Long Lake behind them, the evening sun's last rays shimmering on the cold, dark water. On every other side of them, only seemingly endless dark woods could be seen.

As soon as they dismounted, the direwolves took off in what he gathered was an eager pursuit of their own dinner. Shadow had been his companion for a long time now, and Brandon had developed an uncanny ability to sense where his wolf was, as well as what he wanted.

A small party had ridden out of Winterfell, with only a dozen Stark men-at-arms and no servants. Brandon signaled to the men to raise their tents and get a fire started. While riding when the sun was up was comfortable enough, it was definitely quite chilly at night.

Even in the summer.

He spotted his nephew Prince Jaehaerys – by the Gods, his name was a mouthful – already seeing to Ser Jaime's and his own horses; leading them away to be rubbed down with straw, fed some oats and watered. The Prince took his duties as squire quite seriously, despite vastly outranking his knight.

There was honor in that; to serve even though you were born to rule. Not once did he learn of any complaints. While Robb was no squire, on this trip he too had been told to care for his own horse.

Word had been sent to the Wall ahead of them. While they had left before an answer could be sent, Brandon knew that they would be received well. It was after all hardly every day the Heir to Winterfell and the Heir to the Iron Throne together visited the Wall. He snorted at the thought, it had never happened to his knowledge. Change was in the air, for the north, and for his family.

They brought with them a pair of volunteers for the Night's Watch, and an unfortunate sod who had taken things too far when he had slain a fellow in a drunken brawl. He had pleaded for a lesser punishment due to their heavy intake of strong ale, but their northern sense of justice demanded satisfaction and Brandon would uphold the law like his forefathers before him; either swear the oaths of the Night's watch or forego his head.

If things were headed in the direction it seemed, the Night's Watch could make good use of both volunteers and those who had run afoul of the law. It had gnawed on him for the past few moons. Things had begun to stir in the far north, with an uncommon number of deserters from the Wall and wild tales of what lay beyond it. But what the future held in store, Brandon couldn't even begin to guess.

He adjusted the heavy wolf pelt around his neck and sat down on a blanket next to the fire. It was important to not sit directly on the cold ground if it could be avoided. The frostbitten grass would eventually soak through his breeches as it melted underneath. Drying your clothes on the road was not easily done.

With a nod of thanks to one of the men he gratefully accepted a mug of ale from a recently opened keg. It was their last remaining keg before Castle Black and they were going to have to endure some dry nights before reaching the Wall. In truth he was surprised that what few kegs they had, had lasted a whole fortnight.

As he savored the taste of the strong, dark and bitter brew, so cherished in the north, he remembered the good times when he in his youth had gone riding in the Rills. The main difference between then and now was that as a ward of House Dustin, he had been a carefree young man.

Too carefree, he remembered with some shame. Father had not been most pleased, but now Lord Stark had a dutiful good-daughter and acting Lady of Winterfell, and three beautiful granddaughters as a result.

Now he felt the weight of the whole north upon his shoulders. His Lord Father was regretfully not long for this world but while he wasn't yet the Warden of the North, he held the position in all but name. He had been groomed for it his entire life; endless lessons with Maesters and his Lord Father, a steady increase of his duties until there was little left for father to do.

Yet sometimes he felt that Ned would have made a better Lord of Winterfell. He always let his deep sense of honor guide him, whereas Brandon more often than not let his temper run unchecked. The wolf blood, as they called it.

He regretfully took his last sip of ale and stared longingly at the pair of chickens that were slowly cooked on the fire. The laws of man saw fit to make the firstborn heir, while the second often inherited nothing, without regards to the relative capabilities of the two. Such were the ways of the world.

In the far distance he could hear the wolves howl and he knew that they had already spotted prey. These woods were full of them.

"A penny for your thought, Uncle," Brandon heard Robb say. "Or are they perhaps worth a silver stag? Surely not a dragon." He hadn't even noticed his nephew sitting down on the other side of the fire. "It's unlike you to be this quiet and serious," Robb added as if in explanation.

His nephew had grown up quickly this past year and little of the boy he remembered remained. Spending time with Jae, and even with Jaime, had undoubtedly been good for him.

"Aye," he said, pausing as he considered for a moment how to share his growing ill ease with his heir, while not placing undue burden upon the youth. "I was just trying to make sense of the little we know," he finally said but upon seeing Robb's confused look, quickly continued. "The wildlings lad, and the desertions. These matters are concerning and I am most eager to find out more once we reach Castle Black."

Robb nodded in understanding. "Winter is not yet upon us, but we will be prepared. We always are," Robb stated with the full conviction of youth in his voice.

"Would that it was that simple, lad," Brandon answered quietly with a small smile on his lips. He stroked the long beard on his chin as he thought on how to best explain it to the boy.

"We do not say that winter is coming only in order to gather our harvests and prepare our castles and holdfasts for the coming change of the seasons."

"Yes," he forestalled the inevitable protest Robb looked to be gearing up for, "we mean all that too, but there is also recognition that we are never truly fully prepared. We also have to consider every eventuality, however remote it may seem, and plan ahead with eyes as open as possible."

"This is what your grandfather did when he ordered Moat Cailin rebuilt, this is what he meant when he decided that all Starks are to remain in the north for the coming winter."

He knew that Robb was listening to him carefully and decided to teach the same lesson he had already taught his daughter Lyarra.

"Perhaps you might think that your grandfather was wrong when he spent our hard-earned coin on rebuilding Moat Cailin; there has not been a war in the south for six decades and there is none on the horizon even now. The coin could have been better spent on a thousand other things."

He continued, "Perhaps we shall outlast this winter without anything unusual happening. It is said that the coming winter will be long and hard, but we have endured long and hard winters for thousands of years."

Robb nodded hesitantly at that. "And was grandfather wrong, uncle?" he asked uncertainly, as if the possibility had never occurred to him.

"Aye, he was," Brandon said without any hesitation of his own.

But at Robb's surprised look he added, "Yet at the same time he wasn't. He weighed the possibilities and decided not his course of action based solely on the likelihood of war breaking out that would spill over to the north."

"Lord Stark prepared for winter; for a perhaps remote but potentially calamitous possibility, when he rebuilt the Moat. And he prepares now, by trying to keep the pack together and strengthen our position in the north."

He paused for a moment to let the words sink in before he expanded the lesson.

"When your uncle Benjen swore the oaths of the Night's Watch, he did it to prepare for winter. A wall is only as strong as the men who stand behind it, thus we always try to send a Stark to man the Wall. Not because we run out of keeps and holdfasts, or honorable household positions, for second and third sons. Also when we make certain to always leave a Stark in Winterfell, we prepare for winter."

Although used to it by now, the sudden reappearance of the direwolves, with bloody maws and dragging the remains of a deer, never failed to spook the sentries. Neither Brandon's nor Robb's face revealed any hint of surprise however, and Brandon continued his lesson without missing a beat.

"When we uphold honor and justice, we prepare for winter. You could even say that the two of us – and Prince Jaehaerys as well for he has our blood – prepare for winter right now by traveling to the Wall, with only rumor and hearsay to go by. We ride north, when we really ought to ride for White Harbor to greet the queen and your other cousins. We do all of this because we have learned from our history and we know that winter is coming."

"In the end it's a simple lesson, but it means so very much," he finally concluded.

When he looked into Robb's eyes he saw that his words had been met with understanding. Brandon had naturally wanted a son of his own, like any man, but was nevertheless pleased with his heir and future good-son.

His younger brother's firstborn was a solid lad, with a good head on his shoulders, and Brandon had no doubt that he would one day make a good Lord of Winterfell.

If you scratched his Tully surface, there was no trout within, only a wolf.

Jaehaerys

"To me, Ghost!" Jae shouted happily as he spurred his black courser on once again. It had been a gift from Uncle Brandon on his last name day. As he urged Wanderer to run even faster he was glad to be rid of the gray palfrey that had barely kept up on the road to Moat Cailin a year earlier. "Come on!" he shouted back at the direwolf who seemed only mildly interested in this race.

Just ahead of him, Robb was urging his own horse on, closely followed by Grey Wind, but had only the advantage of about a dozen paces on Jae. Slowly but surely Jae was catching up to his cousin. He ignored the shouts from behind him, and knew that Ser Jaime would not be best pleased with the wild chase.

They had left the deep forest behind them and had arrived at the New Gift the day before. Here there was ample space to break the monotony of travel by letting the horses stretch out a little. Robb and Jae couldn't ride too far, as to not tire their horses needlessly, but a few races here and there wouldn't hurt.

A few moments later they reached the small grove that marked the end of their current race. Jae had gained on Robb, but still came up a few paces short. "You cheated!" he shouted at Robb, but still laughing in exhilaration which belied the seriousness of his accusation.

"How is it my fault that you weren't ready?" Robb laughed back, his short auburn hair a sharp and convenient contrast to Jae's long curls that were now annoyingly getting into his eyes after the headband had slipped out of place.

"How was I supposed to know there was something to be ready for?" he argued just for the sake of it, still catching his breath. Their rivalry was fun and playful, and not at all serious.

Jae turned around towards the sound of Ser Jaime still shouting behind them. What was the man's problem? He wondered. Then he saw Jaime spurring his horse on as he waved his hand as if to point to the other side of the grove. Jae would later recall that everything suddenly seemed to happen at once.

Turning around he spotted six or seven overly large men dressed in boiled leather and pelts, and armed with axes, spears and bows. They were rapidly descending upon them, only twenty or thirty paces away. Frozen in shock he first didn't seem to react at all; his limbs refused to move. In the corner of his eye he saw that Robb seemed as stunned as he was.

In the end it was Ghost and Grey Wind who brought them out of their stupor. With a low growl Grey Wind placed himself between Robb and the rapidly approaching men. Ghost on the other hand was as silent as always, but with bared fangs and red eyes he crouched down in front of Jae, ready to spring into action.

The sudden appearance of the direwolves caused the men to hesitate slightly, but they soon gathered their courage and closed the final paces between them. Ghost sprung first and jumped on one of the axe-wielding men in deadly ferociousness.

Ghost's jaws went for the man's throat, but failed to reach it as the man's companion stabbed at Ghost with his spear. Although he in turn failed to seriously hurt Ghost, he still managed to push the direwolf away.

Grey Wind's sharp claws tore at another man's face, and judging by the loud, painful cries, the man was likely one eye short.

In the meanwhile, both Jae and Robb had finally managed to draw their swords and swung them threateningly, as if to trying to keep the unexpected enemies at bay. When Ghost jumped again, and this time managed to bring the axe-wielding enemy down as he went for the throat once more, the other man came straight at Jae who found himself trying desperately to ward off a sharp spear.

He was unused to the swift spear attack and it took him a moment to find his balance on top of Wanderer. The shock at finding himself in a fight for his life didn't help and it was only due to quick reflexes that he avoided being skewered by the strange spear.

He received a cut to his left arm that drew blood and burned hotter than fire. Desperately he parried and warded off the sharp spearhead, but was unable to effectively launch a counter attack.

In the end Jae didn't know who was more surprised, his enemy or he, when suddenly he found his sword slicing through the enemy's spear and cutting it in two. The large, bearded man in front of him took one split second to stare dumbly at his broken spear, but that was all it took for Jae to open up his throat with one swift slash.

It seemed unreal to see his sword cut through the man's throat and watch as his lifeblood seeped out on the grassy ground in front of him. He was vaguely aware of Jaime and the Stark men-at-arms catching up with them and quickly putting down the remaining enemies.

He saw Robb staring stupidly at his own bloody sword, as he stood next to Grey Wind over another fallen enemy. Why was Robb not mounted? Where was his horse?

Wildlings, his mind finally caught up with what had just happened. It all made sense; the bronze spears, the crude axes and their paltry clothes.

They had just fought wildlings south of the Wall. He had heard of their raids, but never imagined he would see one, much less a whole group of them, on their journey north.

"What in the seven hells was that?!" Jaime shouted angrily with his sword in hand, dripping with newly spilt blood. "What possessed you to ride away like that without even a hint of warning?!" The knight was fuming. Jae couldn't recall a single time that Jaime had been even nearly this angry. "Why the fuck didn't you try to escape?!"

"We never imagined… We didn't think…" he fumbled for words in his attempt to explain, but was immediately cut off by his equally mad uncle.

"Are you daft, boys?" Brandon shouted. "Did you think we brought guards with us just to have something pretty to look at?!"

"I…" he tried once more. "- didn't fucking use your head!" Brandon burst out, spittle flying everywhere.

Even Shadow had come to stare Ghost and Grey Wind down, as if to make his disapproval abundantly clear. Grey Wind let out a small, whining sound, but Ghost's red eyes met green, disapproving eyes, as he stared back impassively, making no sign of backing down.

His wolf's lack of reaction strengthened his own resolve and he turned back towards the still fuming men.

"Aye, we made a stupid mistake. But both of you should remember who you're talking to. I will not be shouted at like that. I'm not a small boy, but the Prince of fucking Dragonstone!"

Ok, he was upset now, but mostly from the shock of the situation than anything else.

"Prince you may be, but I see only green boys before me," Brandon said angrily, but at least he wasn't shouting anymore.

"Remember your place, Lord Brandon!" Jae said firmly in a low and dangerous voice, having collected himself somewhat.

"We may be green, but it would seem we are somewhat less so now than we were even an hour ago. I admit we fucked up, but we pulled through and that's what matters." He pointed at his still bloody sword, and at Robb who seemed to have recovered a bit from his own shock.

"Thank the gods for the direwolves," he then added more softly.

Without them we would have been utterly fucked.

Lyanna

"Are we there yet?" came Shaena's small voice, repeating the very question that had begun to grate on Lyanna's nerves. Coupled with the rolling motion of the sea which made her nauseous, it was not easy to keep her composure.

She took a deep breath. "No, little cub, we still have a long ways to sail. If the gods are good, we will arrive at White Harbor within a fortnight."

They had left King's Landing a few days ago and were still sailing in Blackwater Bay, but for someone who had never traveled anywhere outside the city before, the distance was hard to comprehend.

Lyanna sat with her daughters in the spacious and comfortable royal cabin of Queen Rhaella, one of the three triple-decked war galleys of the Royal fleet. During the first day her daughters had been beyond excited to set sail for the north, but now excitement had turned to boredom and Lyanna struggled with finding ways to keep them entertained.

"Is Jae going to meet us there, mother?" Visenya asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not. I believe your brother will still be returning from the Wall when we reach White Harbor. But worry not, sweetheart; he will meet us in Winterfell with grandfather and your uncles."

"Where's the Wall? Is it far? Can we go?" Shaena had just turned seven years old and there was no end to her questions. But Lyanna did her best at being patient with her daughter's inquisitive nature.

"The Wall is too far away, sweetling. It would take weeks to get there and I'm afraid we must remain in Winterfell. Your grandfather is not well."

"Oh." Shaena chewed on a silvery lock of hair as she looked like she was pondering the new information. Sometimes Lyanna still had difficulty comprehending that these stunningly pretty Targaryen princesses were her own daughters.

She herself had been complimented for her beauty ever since her body grew enough to match her long face. But next to the Targaryens she often felt like something her wolf had dragged in.

"Can I have a direwolf, mother?" nine year old Visenya asked wistfully.

"Me too!" Shaena hurriedly shouted, probably trying to make sure that she wouldn't be overlooked in the upcoming distribution of direwolf pups.

"Daughters, you are princesses in King's Landing. The wolves are creatures of the north. The south is no true place for a wolf and even if you had one, it could not come with us back home."

Indeed, it had not surprised Lyanna that there were no wolf pups for her daughters. They did not have much of Lyanna or the north in them, in neither appearance nor behavior. Only their eyes were gray like hers, but with subtle hints of purple if you looked close enough.

"But I want one," pouted Shaena as she chewed once more on a lock of hair. Lyanna's fingers itched to go find a pin to hold Shaena's hair up and away from her face. She would ruin her hair like that.

"Why did Jae get one then? Isn't he coming home to King's Landing too?" Visenya asked suspiciously. She lately had an uncanny ability to point out logical flaws in her mother's reasoning.

Sometimes Lyanna felt wholly inadequate as a mother. What did she know about raising children, much less princesses? She had been but a child herself when her mother passed. The feeling of inadequacy had subsided somewhat when Jae had grown older. He was a boy and the heir, and much of his upbringing would be shaped by men, not the least by his father.

But she supposed that her daughters had not only herself, but also their grandmother who was a true lady, their sister Rhaenys, aunt Dany and last but not least, that bloody septa!

She almost cursed the last part in her mind. The bloody woman was more likely than not to ruin her daughters than to teach them anything useful. Lyanna did what she could to prevent too much nonsense from influencing her daughters. Rhaegar too did what he could, but he was often far too busy from really being involved in shaping their lives.

"Jae isn't coming home for at least another year, I think. But your father has not yet made his final decision on the matter." She deflected the first question by focusing on the second. But she should have realized it was a fool's hope that Visenya wouldn't notice.

"And will Ghost come with him when he does?" Visenya asked, frowning slightly.

"I think not, dearest. Even Winter remains behind at Winterfell, and I guess that Ghost will remain in the north as well." Probably not if Jae got his wish. He could be more stubborn and willful than even she was herself.

Yet he was all she could have hoped for in a son; a sharp mind, capable, a natural rider and a budging prodigy at sword fighting. He had a good heart too; always looking out for his sisters, always a warm smile and a kind word to Queen Elia. He was the pride of the royal family; everything anyone could wish for in a future king.

Growing up she had never dreamed of being the queen of the seven kingdoms. When her father had told her that the King desired her hand in marriage she had first been shocked, but then been convinced that it was a poor jest.

She had only met Rhaegar once, when he was still the Silver Prince and had stopped by Winterfell on his way from the Wall. She had been sure that her sharp tongue and unladylike behavior would be found off-putting by the handsome Prince. No, she had been meant for a northern lord. Jorah Mormont, perhaps.

A queen, she corrected herself. While she and Elia shared the title, in her mind the real queen was still the sweet Queen-Mother Rhaella. Her wonderful good-mother had taken a frightened and uncertain Lyanna under her wing, as well as done her best to smooth things over with poor Elia.

It had taken a while, but slowly Lyanna had formed a tentative bond of sorts with Elia. It was nearly dying in childbirth with Jae that had caused their friendship to blossom. Shared experiences had a strange way of doing that, she mused.

With Rhaella and Elia she could discuss her deepest fears, mourn in the losses of their miscarriages and the infants who died. The gods had truly been cruel to house Targaryen. Where Rhaella had lost far too many children, Elia had lost Aegon after almost a year.

Lyanna herself had lost her second child; a boy the Grand Maester had said, although the little prince was not yet fully formed, and dead in the womb. Daeron, she had named him in her heart.

She had been inconsolable and Rhaegar had been at a loss for how to handle it in his own grief, but Rhaella and Elia had held her as she cried and wiped her tears. They both knew exceedingly well what she had gone through. Far too well, she thought mournfully.

"Come, daughters," she said as she got up on her feet. "It will do us no good to just idly sit around in here. Let's go outside and see if we can spot some other ships. Then I want to see if you can tell me what banners they fly." They both followed her eagerly.

Robb

They had ridden mostly in subdued silence since the events a few days ago. It suited Robb well as he doubled up with Jae after his own horse had been grievously wounded in the fight and had to be put down.

He still wasn't sure how to feel about the life he had taken and the empty dead eyes that had looked at him accusingly. He had mostly come to terms with it, but sometimes the wildling's face still haunted him at night.

Uncle Brandon was still short with them although his anger had subsided. Their uncle had confessed that he had been afraid of suddenly losing both his own heir and the Crown Prince in one go, something for which he would never forgive himself.

Trees were sparse and the winds had picked up speed out here in the open. Robb did his best to stay warm, but wasn't nearly as bothered by the cold as Ser Jaime. The Southron knight had stopped shaving once they left for the Wall, to help keep his face warm he said, and now sported a fairly impressive beard.

Robb's own peach fuss, as Jaime had teasingly called it, was nothing much by comparison. He had never seen a peach, but instinctively understood that it wasn't a compliment and simply told the knight to bugger off.

Jae's darker hair was slightly more visible on his face, but neither had the Prince much to brag about. Certainly not here in the north where a full beard was more common than not.

The immense Wall still loomed large on the horizon. It was mind-boggling to see this great structure from so many leagues away. It seemed to stretch from one end of the earth to the other. Every step brought them closer; every step made the Wall look even more impossibly big.

His awe was shared by everyone, including by the earlier so disdainful Jaime, whom he often found gazing at the Wall in seeming disbelief.

A couple of days later finally saw them enter the courtyard of Castle Black. They had left Mole's Town behind them earlier in the day, but Robb was unsure if town was really the proper word for it.

It was a sad collection of wooden houses, with a smithy and stable clearly indicated by large signs. He pointed that out, but Brandon answered that much of the town was underground, perhaps up to three quarters of it.

Black brothers scurried around in the courtyard of Castle Black, each carrying out his duties. But they all stopped dead in their tracks when they spotted the Direwolf and Dragon banners. Or perhaps it was the direwolves that gave them pause, though Robb figured that they should be used to it by now given the long presence of Benjen's wolf.

Benjen's immense wolf had been part of Shadow's and Winter's pack. Some of the eldest members had already died, but these three were the youngest and remained to this day. No one was sure how long a direwolf lived, but the fully grown direwolves must be around seventeen by now.

Brandon was the first to dismount and a stable boy hurried to take care of his horse, while another went to Jae who politely declined. Robb joined Jae in seeing to his and Jaime's horses and with their combined efforts they were able to rejoin their group out in the courtyard.

The Lord Commander Jeor Mormont had come out and now stood and chatted with Uncle Brandon. "Ah the dutiful squires return!" the Old Bear bellowed warmly as he spotted them.

"Well met, my lord," was Jae's simple reply that Robb immediately mimicked.

"My prince, my lord," the Lord Commander remembered his manners. "Please, come join us. The midday meal will be served soon and you must be thirsty."

Sweeter words had rarely been spoken.

An hour later Robb decided that he was decidedly not thirsty anymore. The dark ale tasted like horse piss. They sat at the Lord Commander's private dining table, joined by the Lord Steward, Bowen Marsh, and the senior rangers Ser Jarman Buckwell and Qorin Halfhand.

Joining them too was Maester Aemon, whose unseeing eyes had teared up upon greeting his great-great nephew, or however many greats were in there. He was an exceedingly old man, but he seemed very kind and both Jae and Robb had immediately taken a liking to him.

Robb felt a little out of place as he was seated with older men, seasoned commanders and warriors every one of them.

"We are expecting your brother Benjen any day now," Lord Mormon told Brandon with a heavy sigh. "But then again, he might not reappear for yet another week or two. Most of the comings and goings of my rangers are hard to predict, and he most of all."

Brandon nodded at that. "I understand, but we were naturally hoping to see my brother. Especially Prince Jaehaerys who has yet to meet him." All eyes but Maester Aemon's turned around to face Jae who had thus far sat and listened quietly, just like Robb.

"I'm not troubled by my uncle's absence and I'm sure he will somehow sense our presence here and do what he can to come back," Jae said cryptically. At some of the men's questioning looks, he added smilingly, "Starks have a sixth sense for each other."

The men did not appear to want to contradict the prince, but Robb could tell that some were definitely skeptical of such outlandish claims, while others such as Maester Aemon seemed to be thinking otherwise.

Who really knew what these Starks were capable of, who bonded with wild direwolves, had built this incredibly wall thousands of years ago and yet were still around to rule the north?

"We can only hope for the best," said Brandon after a moment's silence. "Now on to other matters. These wildlings, is there any truth to the rumors that they are bandying together?"

"Aye," Qorin Halfhand answered gruffly. "Captured another wildling last week, we did. Sang us a fine song of a new King-Beyond-the-Wall, he did."

This was bad news Robb knew. He didn't need to look at Brandon's concerned face to understand the implications of this piece of news. Stark history had seen several attempts by self-styled Kings-Beyond-the-Wall to force their way south, but more often than not ending up trampled under the hooves of the combined might of the north. Still, the price in blood had been steep.

"It's another reason to we have been pleading with the lords of the seven kingdoms for new recruits and more supplies," Mormont said. "Please see what you can do to convince your good-brother the King to take up our cause."

The Lord Commander then turned to Jae with the same request, "And you, my prince. Please let your father know that we cannot expect to hold against a combined attack by wildlings for very long at all."

Brandon nodded thoughtfully as Jae said that he would do as asked.

Mormont then turned to Jaime who had listened to their conversation with a somewhat bored look. "And can you speak with your lord father, Ser Jaime?"

Jaime merely chuckled in response, but held up his hands to forestall any angry comments.

"I can, I assure you. But I'm afraid that it will do no good. My Lord Father does not listen to me, and neither is he inclined to believe that wildlings are any concern of his. His opinion of course, not one I necessarily share."

His uncle then seemed want to change track, but looked like he hesitated for a moment before he asked, "And what about the other… rumors? We've heard strange tales from captured wildlings and deserted former brothers. What can you tell us about it?"

"Little and less," the Lord Commander snorted. "We have heard the same tales, but have found nothing to confirm such unlikely claims." His eyes turned briefly towards the direwolves who had made themselves comfortable in one of the corners of the room.

"Doubtless they were spineless traitors who made up excuses to save their own skins," Ser Mallister spat.

Robb thought that he didn't seem to be a man with much patience for unfounded rumors, but preferred to believe in what was readily known. I wonder if that's a mistake, when winter is coming, he mused as he recalled Brandon's lesson from earlier in their travel.

Brandon sighed and finally said, "Perhaps Benjen will know more. Let's turn to lighter topics, our journey has been long and we could do with less troubled conversation tonight."

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed yet another chapter. If you thought that Jae didn't seem all that impressive in the fight, please remember that it was his first time in a fight for his life and he was attacked unawares in a situation he had no experience with, i.e. sitting on his horse and fighting off a spear.

Another thing is that I have really felt inspired these last few days, with three chapters up in a short amount of time. Don't count on it to last. Real life tends to come in between and soon we have holidays coming up again.

Lastly, while I really appreciate encouraging comments, I would also appreciate feedback on everything from writing style, pacing and formatting. If something bothers you, please let me know.