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Chapter Twenty-Four: The Gates of the North

From the Twins to the southernmost point of the Neck, the ground grew softer and marshier. In the Neck properly, it was all bogs, swamps and sucking sands that could swallow a destrier in a matter of seconds. A distressing event Margaery saw happen with her own two eyes on more than one occasion. What was worse, the owners of the horses who tried to rescue their distressed animals, only to be sucked down with them. Hidden danger surrounded them, keeping them subdued as they worked all night and day to traverse the notorious wetlands.

She could see the causeway Robb had built when he came south, wending its way over the black muds and stagnant swamp waters. But melting snow, aided by heavy rainfalls, had swollen the water levels and swallowed great swathes of the Northman's causeway since it was built. By necessity, they stopped every few yards to rebuild it and allow their own vast army safe passage.

This was, by far, the most difficult and arduous part of the journey. On bad days, they advanced only a few yards and had to set up camp again only meters from where they had last set up camp. The land itself was grim, with withered black trees louring over their path and blotting out what little sunlight reached the home of the Crannogmen. They themselves were small, about the size of children, and they darted through the darkened undergrowth as swift and dextrous as cats. However, they were rarely seen and if they were seen, it was usually too late and they were already melting back into their terrain. Had she been foe and not flying the banners of House Stark, she was sure she'd have half a hundred poison darts sticking inside her by now.

"It will get easier," Robb promised her, one night. "The land will start to even out, soon the road will open up and we can all spread out again."

Wary of sounding like a southern pansy, she wore her brave face. "I know, but I can handle it. It's really not so bad here."

"But you look so pale, and Jeyne mentioned that you had been unwell," he replied. "Why did you not tell me?"

"Because I had no desire to worry you over nothing."

The next day, when they were on the move again, she proved her point by falling into a dead faint. She didn't know what came over her, and Jon caught her before she hit the ground. But she spent the rest of the day being carried in a sedan chair normally used by her grandmother, whom they had left at the Twins as a guest of Tytos Blackwood. She would follow them only once the causeway had been made safe. It was embarrassing, but Robb insisted.

As they progressed, she found herself in the company of Theon Greyjoy. He'd been set to work hammering new planks into the causeway in places where they had rotted away. While Jon was unhappy with the decision, she saw Robb's reasoning. Set the Ironborn's mind to a task, keep him busy and start encouraging him to assert himself more, as once he would have done naturally. Make him feel part of a team again.

"This is your one shot at redemption. You know that, don't you?" she said. She was back on her own feet again, slowly walking the length of the causeway and inspecting the repairs.

"I'll never be redeemed."

"You won't if you don't try for it. If you do this for Robb, if you deliver him Moat Cailin, you could win back all you lost." Margaery paused, remembering the sight of his gelded, flayed body and quickly clarified her statement: "In the material sense, at least. Some things cannot be returned, of course."

As far as confidence boosting went, she thought she was doing a poor job of it by reminding him of his unfortunate state. She quickly changed tack: "We contacted your sister before leaving the Twins and she's agreed to meet with us when she comes for the Ironborn inside Moat Cailin."

A spark of hope briefly flashed in his dull, grey eyes. "She can do it. Asha can get the castle."

"Yes, she could," Margaery replied. "But we would have to pay her, we would have to give her a deal and land and titles and the blood of our firstborn son. Whereas you are going to do this thing out of the kindness of what's left of your heart. Understood?"

Hope died as soon as it arrived. "But if I fail, if they kill me…"

"In that case, I suppose we'll have no choice but to strike a deal with your sister instead," Margaery ceded. "But let's hope it doesn't come to that … for your sake, as well as ours."

She hadn't meant to be snippy with him, but nor was she willing to be so indulgent of his defeatist babble. Unless people were willing to help themselves, there was little others could do to help them. Before they parted company so he could get back to work, Margaery looked him up and down, just one question played on her mind. "Theon, why did you do it? Did you hate the Starks?"

He answered so plainly it was almost disarming. "I did it because I wanted to be the Starks."

Not long after that, Robb's promise made good. The ground grew a little firmer, the causeway opened onto a dirt road that gradually widened. The trees spaced out, allowing natural light back into their world. And, in the distance, the black basalt towers of Moat Cailin rose on the horizon. Ringed by snow-capped hills ringing the Rills, flattening out to the east where the land sloped downwards into White Harbour and evenly dotted with freshwater lakes. From atop a chestnut courser, Margaery savoured her first sight of the North and committed every detail to memory.

"Welcome home, your grace."

At the sound of Ser Jaime's voice, she sighed inwardly. She turned in the saddle to find him right behind her, mounted on a white charger. Still clad in his familiar golden armour, he looked like something from a story book, even with the obviously fake hand.

"Does Robb know you're on the loose?" she asked. "He paid good money to get you back, and I doubt he wishes to lose you again."

"Ask him yourself, he's only down the causeway." He nodded toward the point he meant, where Robb and Jon were deep in conversation with a Crannogman. Meanwhile, he nudged his horse forwards so they were level with each other. "Don't worry about Tommen, by the way, he's just fine."

"Someone needs to worry about him," she mused. "It's not like you ever have."

"I won't contradict you."

"Are my cousins still prisoners of the Faith?" Sometimes, it felt like everyone else had forgotten Elinor and Megga. But she hadn't and thought of them daily.

"There's nothing I can do- "

"That's not what I'm asking," she cut in. "Anyway, never mind that. Cersei brought this upon herself, surely you can see that. She pushed us out of the capital and then locked up our kin thinking she could get to the rest of us. Well, that's not how alliances work; we aren't supposed to knife each other the second our backs are turned."

When she got no reply, she looked at him and met his gaze. Going by the look on his face, he understood all too well what she was saying.

Robb may have been home, but he knew he wasn't safe. He could see Moat Cailin, the ruins of its twenty towers jutting from the surface of the water, and the kraken banners still hanging from its ramparts. They all wanted him dead. The Bolton men that had already been seen across the Rills all wanted him dead. To the west lay Barrowton, where the Dustins and the Ryswells all wanted him dead. Dead for real, this time. Should it come to a retreat, the only viable escape route he had was south again and hope they made through the Neck. He could chance White Harbour, hoping the Manderlys held true and Lord Wyman could get him on a ship bound for somewhere safe … wherever safety was, these days.

But, before the retreat, he had to advance. A strip of white cloth had been tied to a pole and was now clutched in the hands of Theon Greyjoy. Several of his fingers had been cut off at the second knuckle, one or two were gone entirely, making his grip on the peace banner tenuous at best.

"Take my horse," he said to the Ironborn. "Remember: Ramsay lied to them. He would have massacred them all had they yielded to him. House Stark honours its promises and they will be allowed to leave in peace."

Theon stammered some reply, only to be cut off by Margaery. "I say we send him in with fresh food and clean water. I've seen the dead outside the castle, it seems those inside are starving to death."

Every supply cart and reinforcement the Iron Islands sent was being attacked by the Crannogmen, assisted by the remnants of the Northern Army led by Hallis Mollen and Maege Mormont. Small wonder they were trapped inside, unable to get out and left starving. Hopefully, it would make life easier for him.

"Of course," he replied. "Just be quick about it, I want that castle taken by the end of today."

Leaving others to deal with the relief effort, Robb returned to the front line. Jon was there waiting for him, looking worried and pale. "If Theon fails, he dies, right?"

Robb's hand found the pommel of his sword, gripping it for surety. "A hundred times, yes."

Close behind, the armies of the Vale and the Reach were still making their way up through the Neck. Robb wanted to be inside Moat Cailin long before most of them got here, to avoid a pile up of men being densely packed into what was still dangerous ground. Inside the ruins, there would be room for them all and a good vantage point to patrol the hills.

Meanwhile, Jon was about to say something but seemingly changed his mind. "Lannister's coming. I think I'll leave you to it."

"No, don't!" he cried. But Jon was already going, looking back over his shoulder only to smirk and leaving his brother in the shit.

Reluctantly, Robb turned to face their esteemed guest.

"You paid all that money to buy me back off the Brotherhood, and spent every hour of every day since avoiding me," said Jaime, coming to a rest at Robb's side.

"It's easy to be open handed with someone else's gold," replied Robb. "Especially when it once belonged to Walder Frey."

Lannister didn't seriously think Robb had paid with his own coin? He didn't have any, for a start. Not far away, Theon took up his peace banner again and was starting the ride to Moat Cailin. Just for a second, Robb wished him well.

"And I thought I had a hard time since leaving the North," said Jaime, also watching the Ironborn twitching on a destrier. He raised his golden hand, showing it to Robb. It looked clunky, heavy and utterly useless. "It's nothing compared to what happened to him."

Robb felt strangely defensive, although he knew he wasn't being accused. "I had no knowledge of what was being done to him."

"I wouldn't have blamed you, even if you did."

"All the same, Ser Jaime, I would rather not have Ramsay Bolton at liberty to do the same to anyone else," he replied, still tracking Theon's progress. The promised carts containing food were close behind him now, another had a barrel of clean water onboard.

"I had no part in that wedding- "

"If I had a gold coin for every time I heard those words, I'd be able to sink the Iron Bank," Robb interjected. "You know, that's how people greet me these days: 'I had no part in that wedding'. I know you didn't and I know they didn't. I know who did and most of them are swinging by the neck from the ramparts of the Twins. Why are you here, Ser Jaime? Why are you talking to me?"

There was a moment of silence between them in which Jaime leaned against the wooden balustrade, his green eyes still on Moat Cailin. Surely, he knew by now the southern forces – what was left of them – would not be able to reach the north soon. Theon was already crossing the drawbridge, those in charge of the food supplies going in after him. Even now, they were almost out of sight. If all went to plan, it would be minutes before Robb had the gateway to the north back in his hands.

"Cersei sent me away," he said, sombrely. "She sent me to the Riverlands to try and drag the Tyrells back to the capital. At Harrenhal, I got a letter from her begging me to come back because the Faith had locked her up."

"Why didn't you?"

Silence again, Jaime was deep in thought. "Because I hate her. So, I burned the letter and continued trying to put right the chaos her madness has caused."

"They know what she did to King Robert, your own cousin confirmed it. They know she's been fucking you, they know about the children. Are you afraid you'll be arrested too?"

"No!" Jaime snapped the answer, affronted at the thinly veiled accusation of cowardice. He drew a deep breath and soon regained his composure. "While she's locked up she's unable to do any more damage to this realm. It gives me time to try and make peace with whoever's left. And, if I am honest, when I found out you were alive I was somewhat … deterred."

"And then you were captured by the Brotherhood at Harrenhal," said Robb, allowing himself a smile. "The Freys are gone, Ser Jaime. My uncle, Lord Edmure, is Lord of the Riverlands now. Your uncle, Emmon Frey, is dead. Your aunt, Genna, has been given safe passage to Casterly Rock. Brienne said Cleos is dead, too. What happens to your other Frey cousins is up to you, but I don't think Edmure will be in any mood to restore the Twins to them."

Jaime sighed in defeat. "I wouldn't have expected him to. And House Lannister is in no position to launch an attack on the Riverlands, not now Cersei has ruined our alliance with House Tyrell. And the Vale, they've declared for House Stark too?"

Robb nodded. "I don't want to involve the North in another assault on the south. But if I hear my uncle is under siege from House Lannister, or his lands are being raided along the western borders, I will."

"So, if you take back the North, you'll leave your forces here and not come south?" he asked. "This will be an end to it?"

"If you stay away from the Riverlands, we'll stay out of the south," Robb confirmed. "I can't offer you more than that."

"You're still calling yourself King in the North?"

"I doubt any Northern Lord will bend the knee to Cersei," said Robb. "Or Tommen. Nor any other Lannister. If, as you say, you want hostilities to end, you will leave us be. There's another war coming, one that threatens this whole realm: The North as well as the south. While I've been fighting over the North and you've been fighting over that ugly iron chair, an army's been marching on the Wall. Once I have Winterfell back, that's where I'm going."

Over Jaime's shoulder, Robb watched as the kraken banners fell from the towers of Moat Cailin. Seconds later, another appeared: the snarling direwolf of House Stark. A cheer rose from the crowds amassed at the mouth of the Neck, turning to jeers as the defeated Ironborn began trailing out of the gates. Some were so weakened with illness and hunger they had to be carried out.

Jaime hadn't noticed. His attention was all on Robb. "What army?"

Robb hardly cared whether Jaime believed him or not, so he just came out with it. "White Walkers, raising an army of the dead to march on the wall. Even if the wall holds, the Night's Watch informs me they'll soon find a way around it. If that happens, we're all royally fucked."

"You're madder than my sister if you believe that."

"You've met my brother, he's Lord Commander. He's seen it and he wouldn't lie about it. The Night's Watch let him go, on condition he return with an army of the living at his back. The Maester wrote to me about it ages ago. Another watchman came south to King's Landing with the arm of a wight to show the King. It was Tyrion who dealt with it, didn't he say anything?"

Jaime said nothing, but he wasn't quite so dismissive now. Crowds of soldiers were swarming past them, advancing on Moat Cailin led by the Lords of the Vale and the Reach. All the while, Robb and Jaime remained where they were, staring each other down as if the knight was waiting for the punchline.

When he did speak again, he changed the subject entirely. "It seems you have your castle back."

Robb allowed himself a smile. "It seems I do."

Next stop would be Winterfell, he realised with a thrill of apprehension. And the gods old and new help Roose Bolton.

There was only one usable tower in Moat Cailin, so they weren't exactly spoiled for choice when it came down to where they hosted their guests. However, the common hall was large enough to seat two hundred and hadn't suffered unduly at the hands of the recently evicted Ironborn. The walls were good and solid, standing firm and keeping out the draughts. Besides, Jon knew Lord Manderly would know what to expect long before he saw the place. And he was there now, clapping Robb on the back so hard he almost knocked him over.

Although it had been two days since they'd taken Moat Cailin, Jon was still surprised by the speed at which Manderly had arrived from White Harbour – it was as if the wily old Lord knew they were coming long in advance. Then, the day after Manderly, Asha Greyjoy arrived and Jon's heart sank just a little. Her arrival meant it was almost time for him to leave, if all went to plan. Part of him hoped it wouldn't, that he would have to stay and fight for Winterfell alongside his brother.

With utmost curiosity, he watched as Asha was presented to Robb, then Sansa and Arya. Only Margaery was absent, in with the maester that had come to treat her illness. Greetings were exchanged and even Jon shook her hand when Robb gestured for him to join their group. Finally, Theon was brought out amidst hasty explanations as to how he came to be in the state she found him now.

Just for a moment, the reunited siblings just looked at each other. Asha's expression hardened, registering something Jon took for disgust. He and Robb exchanged a worried look and he knew they were thinking the same thing. What would they do with Theon if Asha rejected him? But, even as that thought crossed Jon's mind, she touched Theon's face with a gentleness that took him by surprise. Although the touch lasted for just a fleeting moment, Asha soon remembered where she was and what was happening.

"Our uncle, Euron, has been named King of the Iron Islands," she said, looking around each of them. "If either of us show our faces there, he'll kill us both."

"But you still have your own ships," said Robb. "They were spotted sailing into Ironman's Bay."

"Euron will be building more as we speak."

Robb shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What are his plans?"

Jon could see from the look in his eye that he feared what Euron would mean for the North. And Jon well understood it. Any raiding along the Stony Shore was bad news for the them and now they'd released several captives into Euron's care, if he had guessed it right. He listened to Asha's answer carefully.

"He says he wants to sail to Mereen and wed the Dragon Queen."

"Daenerys?" said Sansa. "Why would she marry him, unless he's bringing his new fleet so she can land in Westeros and they can rule together."

"We need to reach her first." It was Theon who spoke, to Jon's mild surprise. Winning back Moat Cailin for the Starks seemed to have restored some old confidence back to him. Whether that was a good or bad thing, Jon was still undecided. "If we get to her first, we can bring her back. We need her, don't we Robb? That's what you said."

There was a moment of silence in which Robb weighed up the options. Euron was a factor none of them had anticipated. "Our plan was to have you, in return for Theon, sail my brother and sister to Mereen to win an alliance with Queen Daenerys- "

"I'm going there anyway," Asha stated, perking up. "I'll be glad to take your brother and sister."

Sansa looked to Jon, giving him a nod of encouragement.

"We need to get moving soon," said Jon. "If Euron's rebuilding his fleet, then we have no time to lose. It'll take us months to sail around the southern coast."

Another moment of silence fell, during which Lord Manderly rose from his seat and moved to Robb's side. He was looking at Asha intently, as if wondering how best to skewer her. "I have twenty ships in port, built for his grace, the King in the North. If he so commands it, I will lend my fleet. But first, I beg leave to state my terms."

Robb nodded. "Name your terms, my lord. We had not expected this act of generosity."

"In return for the Ironborn completely withdrawing from the North and then never troubling our shores again, nor setting foot on our lands, I agree to let you use my ships and sail for Mereen from White Harbour."

"Seabitch is docked on the west coast," said Asha. "But I can have my second in command sail her, so long as we wait in Mereen and don't leave without her."

Jon nodded. "I can live with that. Gives us more time to work on Daenerys."

"Theon can go with you," said Robb. "But he's in the custody of Jon and Sansa until you fulfil your promise and bring Daenerys back to Westeros."

The agreement reached, Jon let himself slip away from the meeting and gestured for Sansa to follow him. Outside the tower, they stood on the hilltop overlooking the Neck. Dusk was settling and they already knew a company of soldiers had been seen approaching from the North. Whether they were expecting to find Ironmen or Starks, they were not sure. All the same, they took down the direwolf banners just to give them a surprise.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, taking a seat on an old basalt stone.

Sansa hesitated before replying. "I think so. Brienne seems sad about leaving Ser Jaime behind, but I think it'll be all right."

"I truly hope she hasn't told Jaime where she's going and why."

"No," Sansa assured him. "She wouldn't do that. Anyway, aren't you in the least bit curious to see the dragons?"

Jon grinned and stifled a laugh. "Poor Daenerys. The last Targaryen and all people are interested in is her dragons."

He had to admit it, though. He was more than a little curious.

The Maester's hands were cold and callused. Rough skin scraping against Margaery's belly, prodding here and there. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but she endured in silence for the sake of the answer she was hoping to get. "When did you last bleed?"

"The week before my wedding," she said, struggling to be more precise. "It must be three or four months by now."

"Yes," the man agreed as if he already knew. "And any changes with your breasts?"

She misliked the line of questioning, but knew it had to be done. "Swollen and tender. That's a sign, isn't it?"

Seemingly satisfied now, the Maester withdrew his hands and replaced the linen shift she wore. "I think it's a certainty," he concluded. "Your grace is with child. Congratulations."

Relief washed over her, carried on a tide of sheer exhilaration. "How long?"

"If you haven't bled since before the wedding day, I'd say the wedding night is a good indicator for the moment of conception," the Maester replied, smiling kindly. "Another five months, but your sickness and fainting fits should pass long before then."

"That's a relief," she laughed, easing herself up off the bed. She nodded for him to leave. "Thank you, Maester."

Alone in the room, she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders to ward off the chills. One hand pressed into her belly, still flat for now although it wouldn't be long. This child, she was determined, would be born in Winterfell, where they belonged.

Thanks again for reading; reviews would be welcome if you have a minute.

I know this was a bit of a slow chapter, but the next sees the start of the campaign to take back Winterfell. So, until next week…