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Chapter Thirty-Four: Mistaken Identity

Meereen felt like a dream. A strange and esoteric dream of some other world that Jon could not have imagined prior to going there. The heat, the languages, the smell of spices on the dry and arid air. But after so long away, waking up to the snow and ice had never felt so sweet as it did that morning. Barely dressed and still half-asleep, he opened the shutters onto a cold northern morning, feeling like he had finally come home. Savouring the familiarity, looked down onto the castle only just stirring into life.

Restive horses whinnied, the chains creaked as the portcullis rose to admit the suppliers. Early morning curses broke the silence in between. Bursts of reluctant activity that he didn't realise he'd missed until that morning. It brought a rare and brief smile to his face as he watched the day break. It was there that he remembered the night before. He and Daenerys in the godswood, the kiss they both wanted. Premeditated, but still impulsive. He knew what he was doing when he did it and it had made him happy. A happiness now constrained by the cold light of day and the vows he spoke a lifetime ago. Vows like fetters, he could feel them biting into his flesh whenever he thought of her, whenever her skin brushed against his. 'It's only for life,' Jaime Lannister once taunted him, long ago. Damn that man.

Turning away from the window, he made himself decent with a clean shirt and the nearest pair of breeches he could reach. He didn't have much by way of clothes, and it was all the customary black of the Night's Watch, but it would have to do. It was back to reality, but when a knock sounded at his door, he still hoped it was her. His heart still lifted, his pulse quickening at the prospect of her as he bid the caller enter.

"Oh good, you're up."

"Morning, Sansa." He greeted his sister with a kiss on the cheek. It was hard to be disappointed when she looked so happy.

"As soon as we've eaten, we're leaving for Winterfell," she said. "We're going home, Jon. Isn't it wonderful?"

Months had passed since Robb took back the Stark's ancestral seat, but neither he nor Sansa had seen it since they left with their father, all those years ago. When they were both children, full of delusions of the world's grandeur. He had dreamed of a glorious band of brothers winning honour against the wilding raiders and found only a ragtag band of rapers and thieves clinging to a dilapidated castle. She had dreamed of princes, and found only a tyrant. Now they reflected their disillusionment back at each other, with just a pallid little ray of hope that was now carrying them home. At last.

"Robb's already gone north," he said. "But the Queen is there, and Arya."

"And Cregan," she added, beaming. "I want to hold him and squeeze him, our own little prince."

Cregan. Amidst the frenetic buzz of activity, Jon had barely had time to process the existence of this new Stark. His own nephew. He himself was an uncle for the first time and he felt absurdly proud of that fact. It made him feel a few feet taller. "You'll be a good aunt. But I think if I'm only half the uncle Benjen was to me, I'll be doing well."

Sansa's expression softened as she linked her arm through his. "I suppose there is no news?"

"No. Nothing. Not an inkling."

Despite everything that had happened between then and now, Jon still thought of Benjen every day. In the quiet hours, when sleep evaded him and his mind began drifting backwards into the past. The fate of his uncle was a mystery that taunted him; hope of his survival mocked him as much as it helped. In a silent show of understanding, Sansa's grip on his arm tightened. Little more needed to be said.

Meanwhile, Jon couldn't escape the feeling that there was more to this early morning visit. She should have been breaking her fast with Lord Manderly by now. He turned to her, their gaze meeting and locking for just a little too long. 'Out with it,' he thought to himself.

"What?" she said.

He recalled the little stunt she had played to ensure he ended up sharing a cabin with Dany on the return journey. All in aid of him having 'good company' for long sea voyage home. "Don't 'what' me," he replied. "You know what."

"How can I possibly know what?"

"You look all innocent now, sister, but you played your game well when we left Meereen."

"You wound me, brother."

"For what it's worth, I did find Daenerys very good company," he confessed. "But you won't needle me for any more now."

She smiled and she knew. He knew she knew. "That pleases me."

He couldn't quite bring himself to point out that he was still Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Two Kings had freed him from his vows, but he hadn't yet agreed to either one of them. And now came a Queen…

"Come, Lord Manderly will be expecting us," he said, resigned.

Sansa raised no objection and, to his relief, didn't press the subject of Daenerys either. Still arm in arm, he escorted her to the common hall where Lord Manderly had already no doubt started breaking fast without them. But it certainly wasn't Lord Manderly he was so eager to see, that morning. It seemed, even when Dany wasn't in his line of sight, she increasingly took residence in his thoughts. And the real Daenerys was so much better than anything he could dream up.

A servant let them through the weirwood doors of the common hall. He found her right away, up on the dais in deep conversation with Wyman Manderly. Platters had been laid out, but the food was untouched. Daenerys broke off the conversation and looked up, meeting Jon's gaze across the room with a face as sombre as the graveside. Her mouth a thin, downturned line. Slowly, she rose to her feet. Jon could feel the temperature dropping.

"Something's wrong," Sansa murmured.

He could feel her stiffening at his side.

It was Lord Manderly who spoke. "A raven came from Winterfell, a message from the King."

"The news is grave, Lord Commander," Daenerys continued.

Lord Commander. The title resonated, pushing the distance between them again. Jon's resolve solidified for whatever was coming next.

Before anything could be done, there was one more problem to solve. Ser Alliser Thorne. For Robb, it was a pain in the arse. A pointless diversion when they all should have been focussing on the real enemy, the Others and the wights amassed around Castle Black, for now on the right side of the wall. And that was where he should have been. Out there, dealing with them. Instead, the grim necessity of duty was pulling him eastwards, toward the Shadow Tower where Thorne and his fellow mutineers had taken up residence. Weeks spent trudging through the featureless landscape that separated each of the nineteen castles that lined the wall. Today, only three remained manned and only the Shadow Tower had been renovated.

The horse's breath steamed in the frigid air as they snorted derisively. It seemed even they were thoroughly pissed off by this trivial pursuit of unity within the Night's Watch. Robb sympathised, but still urged them onwards. Beyond the men of the watch, no one lived this far north. Consequently, their nights were spent all huddled together under the stars, sharing body heat with man and beast alike. Meals consisted of salt beef strips which they gnawed on throughout the day, preserving rations as best they could for when they went beyond the wall.

All in all, it was miserable and they hadn't even left the realms of men yet. And by the time they did reach the Shadow Tower, more than ten horses had died as morale among the men sunk to a low. No matter that the place was full of rats and turncoats, Robb was pleased to see the fortress all the same. Tall and dark, clinging to the wall like a monstrous barnacle, it would have been intimidating under any other circumstances.

A single long horn blast carried on the skirling winds, alerting the watch to the arrival of Robb's host. An army thousands strong, come to bolster the watch as much as deal with Ser Alliser Thorne. Even now, Robb had just enough youthful optimism to believe this could be done without bloodshed. But he was in no mood to tolerate any back-stabbing and machinations from anyone.

He dismounted his horse and sought out the nearest squire. "Send for Ser Jason Mallister."

It was supposed to be Lord Mallister's uncle who had command of the Shadow Tower. As far as Robb was concerned, he was willingly hosting mutineers who'd risen up against their elected Lord Commander. However, despite his foul mood, he knew he couldn't go charging in there throwing about accusations.

Meanwhile, the Mallister banners were moving through the crowds. Robb watched them drawing closer until Lord Jason himself appeared, red in the face and crack lipped from the bitter cold. The look in his eye was steely, uncompromising. "Your grace," he said. "I'll deal with it."

Relieved that they understood each other, the River lord set about his task. In the end, it required nothing more than a word in the ear of a sentry guard posted by the barbican. He ran to find to his superior, he went to his find his superior until Ser Denys Mallister himself could be located and give word for their formal admittance. But, like Castle Black, the Shadow Tower had no outer walls facing south. There was no need for it, since the realm never troubled itself with the Watch.

Nor did it take long to find Ser Denys. Before long, Robb was being led into the courtyard, where his horse was taken to be stabled and he himself was led into the forbidding fortress. Although Stannis Baratheon's renovations were evident, it was still down at heel and freezing cold. Even in the common hall, where Robb was brought, the fires guttered in the draughts that permeated the whole place.

Above him, on a dais, a row of unfamiliar and hostile faces glowered down at him. Occupying the benches below the dais, a sorry looking group of watchmen dressed in black rags covered with thick black cloaks.

After what seemed an age, the maester spoke. "Be welcome, King in the North- "

The old man was broken off by a ripple of laughter travelling through the men in the benches. Robb looked to them, a frisson of irritation adding itself to the bad feelings percolating inside him.

"You'll have to excuse them, your grace, but you're not the first King to come here and promise to solve all our problems," said another. "It's something of a recurring event around these parts."

"With all due respect, ser, Stannis was a southern king who came here to use the Shadow Tower as a base to invade my kingdom. Perhaps I should charge you with harbouring usurpers as well as mutineers?"

"And whom might you be calling a mutineer?" the speaker shot to his feet, the sound of his chair legs scraping against stone carrying through the common hall. His face reddened, jowls aquiver as he glared at Robb.

"You must be Ser Alliser," said Robb, looking the angry man in the eye. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last, but I insist you rescind the sentence of death you have passed against my brother- "

"Your brother is a deserter," the man cut over him. But he cooled down, his expression slackening as he added: "Your father was a traitor, your brother was a traitor and you are a fucking- "

"Ser Alliser sit down!" It was the second speaker, now on his feet and glaring Thorne down. "You forget that it is I who has command of this keep, ser."

Robb was almost disappointed. He would have liked to know what Ser Alliser thought he was. But that fight would have to wait and Ser Denys continued: "Lord Commander Snow left to raise the realm. And from what I saw outside, that's exactly what he has done."

"Then where is he?" Thorne demanded. "It's been more than a year and barely a word."

Robb stepped closer. "I sent him to Meereen to bring the Dragon Queen to Westeros. Last I heard they had docked in White Harbour. Jon hasn't deserted you; he's saved your hides and now Daenerys Targaryen will come with her dragons to burn off the dead in less times it takes to hurl a few insults around, Ser Alliser."

Having said his piece, Robb backed down. But his statement was met with mute disbelief. All eyes had now turned to him, some silent and bewildered, others scornful. Every one of them probably thinking he was mad.

Ser Alliser was definitely among the latter. "And you've seen these dragons yourself, I trust?"

"No," he answered, faltering slightly. "But I trust the word of those who have. Jon himself, by sister Princess Sansa and others."

It sounded desperate, but Mallister barely cared. He rose again and addressed the room at large. "I don't know about dragons. I haven't seen them any more than his grace has. But what I can see is thousands upon thousands of men marching on the wall. A host drawn up from the Reach, the Vale, the Riverlands and the North. Enough men to garrison all sixteen of the abandoned castles. Think what that means. For now, that's good enough for me. And, Ser Alliser, be mindful of your conduct from now on. You no longer seem quite so indisposable as you once did."

Robb breathed a sigh of relief as he turned to look back. Behind him, Brynden, Garlan and Ser Loras had all come filing in. Bronze Yohn Royce of the Vale was deep in conversation with Lord Mallister of the Riverlands. The others caught his eye and gave him a nod of approval. But when he looked to the dais again, Thorne was already gone, his enmity lingering in the air like cheap perfume.

In search of sealing wax, Margaery upended the contents of the drawer of the desk onto the table. Among the detritus that had built up in there was scraps of parchment, an oddly shaped pine cone and a miniature portrait of a pretty girl with dark brown hair and grey eyes. At first, she thought it was Arya, but age ruled it out. Setting it carefully aside, her search continued until she found a letter addressed to Jon. It looked new, the envelope unblemished. Making a note to give it to him as soon as he arrived, she placed it on the shelf behind the desk.

She was in Robb's solar, writing once more to the Lords of the realm who might have missed Jon's first attempt to contact them. Old rivalries had been set aside now and most of her letters were heading to the Westerlands and Crownlands. Those who might still be clinging to the Lannisters and their increasingly unstable Queen Mother. When she found what she was looking for, she swept the detritus back into the draw and struggled to get it back in place.

"Here, let me."

It was Arya, in from the courtyard. She stepped through the open door and took over the desk drawer.

"Thank you," said Margaery as the younger girl slid the drawer back into place. "In case I forget, there's a letter for Jon there. We must make sure he gets it."

Arya looked at her for a moment, her brow creasing into a frown as her eyes scanned the shelf until she located it. Taking it in her hands, she turned it over a couple of times. "It's from Robb," she said. "He told me about it. Only if he dies is it to be given to Jon."

"Oh." No matter how often she told herself such preparations for death were sensible, it still made her skin prickle. "Did he say what was in it?"

"I thought he might have told you."

"No," she shook her head. "He said nothing to me."

Not so long ago, that letter would have been opened already. The wax seal melted off and the contents of the letter memorised for use at a later date. Even now, the temptation was there. The urge to know for the sake of knowing. But that was then and things had changed. There was no need to go sneaking around behind Robb's back, there was no chance of him trying to betray her family and throw her to the wolves, unlike Joffrey. And even Renly, to a degree. As such, she took the letter back and dropped it in the drawer again. It felt strange that there was a message for Jon so urgent he needed to know, even if Robb perished.

Arya, however, was not so concerned. She shrugged her skinny shoulders and pulled a face. "It's probably just Robb confessing where he hid Jon's favourite toy soldiers when they were five years old. He used to get really angry when Jon beat him at swords, you see."

Margaery laughed, but she knew whatever it was, it was more important than that. Nevertheless, she left it there and they left the solar together. She locked the room and replaced the iron key on its ring, fixed to her belt. Outside, Maester Wolkan awaited, hovering nervously and shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"A visitor to the castle, your grace."

She had been expecting either outriders from White Harbour, alerting her of Jon's imminent arrival, or suppliers from Winter Town. "Excellent. Show them into the common hall, if it please you."

"It's Jaime Lannister," he said, bluntly.

"He should be with Robb," said Arya. "If he's deserted, we should spike his head on the castle ramparts."

"I think we should hear what he has to say first," Margaery opined. With lopsided half-smile, she added: "Perhaps then we can spike his head on the ramparts."

He was already in the common hall by the time she got there. Absent-mindedly stirring a bowl of stew with a spoon, his golden hand resting on the table-top. She looked at it for a moment, thinking how much the damn thing must weigh. He glanced up at her approach, watching as she sat opposite him at the lower table he'd been seated at. There was no place at the high table for this most esteemed of Lannister guests.

"I'm sure our kitchen staff haven't poisoned you, Ser Lannister," she said, nodding toward the bowl.

"You can never be too careful," he answered. "Speaking of which, I know it was you. Joffrey, I mean."

"You mistake me for Petyr Baelish." Times may have changed, but he still didn't need the whole truth.

"Easy to blame a dead man."

"Why do you think Sansa poisoned him? Using the same poison he used on Joffrey, no less."

Jaime laughed drily. "Because Sansa loved Joff so much she just had to get revenge."

"Because he framed her," Margaery pointed out, indignantly. "He deliberately set up Tyrion knowing Sansa, as his wife, would be dragged down with him. Only, he arranged her escape from the capital, it's no coincidence she ended up at the Vale, Jaime. Now you go back to Cersei, as I presume you're doing, and you tell her to call off the dogs on Sansa and Tyrion. Petyr is your man and Sansa has taken care of him."

There was a moment of silence between them. But he at least trusted her word enough to spoon a little stew into his mouth. Tentative, at first, as if he might start frothing at the mouth at any moment. However, he remained calm and completely unpoisoned. Pale sunlight slanted through the oriel windows, lighting up his lined and tired looking face. For the first time, he was showing his age.

"I can tell Cersei what you told me, but I don't know if it will make her more inclined to help," he answered, honestly. "But I can find out what's happened to your cousins. Megga and Elinor, isn't it?"

Margaery nodded. They were arrested by the faith, the act that finally broke the union between their houses. After all this time, Margaery suspected they were dead already. But until she had proof, a sliver of hope remained open to her. She would dearly love to have them back in her life, here in Winterfell and far from the court as they could get.

"Robb did send you, didn't he?" she asked.

"Of course," he retorted. "I haven't run away. Although, he did tell me to sail from Eastwatch. But then I heard the dragon queen was on her way to Winterfell. I thought I might wait for her here, if you don't mind."

At first, she thought he just wanted to see the dragons. Everyone had been talking about them, speculating on the reports and gossip that had been filtering through the north from White Harbour. But then she remembered: Tyrion. He was in her entourage. "Of course," she agreed readily. "I'll let the King know you're here, I'm sure he won't mind. But, Jaime, how bad is it up there?"

In the pallid light, she could make out his eyes narrowing, his pallor whitening. His answer was blunt. "Worse beyond human imagining."

She refused to let her fears show. "Well, we'll just have to make sure we're ready to face it."

"If you've any sense, you'll have an evacuation plan, my lady," he said.

"I am not leaving Winterfell, I am Queen of the North now-"

"For your prince," Jaime cut in. "If I were you, I'd get that babe down to your brother in the Reach and pray even that's safe enough."

Margaery's skin crawled with apprehension as she met his gaze. All of his bravado had left him now, he spoke in earnest. A small twinge of pain snaked through her belly, already ripening with her second child. Without thinking, she ran her hand over her bodice, where the spark of life in there held fast. "Thank you, for your advice. But for now, Cregan stays. We are the Starks of Winterfell."

Bridges. Sometimes Robb thought securing the use of bridges was the bane of his life. But at least he didn't have to marry a man of the watch to secure the use of the Bridge of Skulls. Come dawn, he would lead his host out of the Shadow Tower, over the stone bridge that traversed the Gorge, and out into the frozen wilderness beyond the wall. Unlike at Castle Black, the wights had not gathered this far east, despite it being the place where the wall couldn't reach. He would have thought it was a natural weak spot.

Lodged in rooms facing the courtyard, he could look out over the wall as he undressed for bed. Darkness hadn't yet fully settled, but he had had his first proper meal since leaving Castle Black and they were set for an early start in the morning. However, before he could slide between the sheets, a knock sounded at his door. Reluctantly, he pulled his shirt back on, leaving it unbuttoned as he answered the call, expecting it to just be one of the Night's Watchmen. But he opened the door to a woman.

So unexpected, the sight of her almost startled him. And there was no mistaking her gender. She was shorter than him, dressed in a long flowing gown of red silk. Even her hair was red and a deep red ruby pulsed at her throat, as if it kept time with her heartbeat. Without waiting for an invitation, she stepped passed Robb and entered his lodgings.

"Come on in, why don't you," he said, turning to watch her progress.

The red woman said nothing until she had found a spot in the middle of the room. From there, she fixed him with her unnerving red eyes. "Show me your sword."

"Pardon me?" he retorted, brow raised.

Her face remained serenely immobile. "I wish to see your sword."

On the off-chance that satisfying the woman's curiosity got rid of her quicker, Robb went along with her request. He found Ice, or rather what was left of Ice, and withdrew a few inches of blade from the scabbard. She wrapped her hands around the hilt, drawing the blade fully and held it to the fading light, watching the ripples in the steel change colour. For a long time, she seemed mesmerised by the patterns and swirls, scarlet red mixing with the smoky greys.

"Red," she murmured under her breath.

"The blade was reforged by Tywin Lannister," Robb explained. "I suppose he wanted his own house colours in there."

As soon as he had the second half, Robb vowed he would have it reforged and the odious Lannister scarlet removed. Even now, it felt tainted. But while he spoke, the woman's eyes travelled the length of the blade up and down several times. Eventually, she handed it back to him, a strange and unreadable expression on her face. "Did you die?"

"Evidently not," he answered, sheathing Ice.

"Balon Greyjoy died. Just as Renly and Joffrey," she said, closing in on him. "They all died, but you survived. How did you do that?"

"I almost died, a septon healed me."

She was an inconvenience, at first. Now she was an unsettling inconvenience and Robb wished she would just go.

"How?"

"I don't know, I was out for days," he said, sounding defensive now. "I woke up and I think there were poultices on me."

She was weighing him up again. The silence between them seemed to crackle, but the room was strangely warm with her in it. She made her own heat. Eventually, she spoke. "No Septon healed you. R'hllor sent you back."

Robb made no immediate reply and waited for her to elaborate. But she didn't.

"R'hllor has my gratitude. Now I must bid you goodnight."

"You don't understand, Robb Stark. All the false kings died, but you did not. I cursed you just as I cursed the others, but Stannis died in your place."

"Had I known that I wouldn't have let you touch my sword-"

"I don't need swords to kill, your grace, I need only R'hllor."

All of those men were doomed to die. But Robb knew the futility of arguing with a fanatic, especially at night when all he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep. His last chance to do so in a proper bed before leaving for the wilderness on the morrow. He didn't want to hear about her god, her faith, her curses and her absurd talk of death and rebirth.

"Forgive me, I need my bed. We can speak again in the morning, if we must."

"Take me with you," she said.

Robb stifled a laugh. "I have made many mistakes in my reign. None so big as to take someone who has already tried to kill me once out into a dangerous unknown."

Admittedly, she had tried to kill him in the most hokum way possible. But that didn't matter, the intent was there and she clearly believed the horseshit she talked. He found himself wondering why she was even still here at the wall. Stannis was killed months ago, before he had even taken back Winterfell. The Boltons did for him.

Still, the red woman was not deterred. "If you go without me, you will fail and die."

"I didn't die even when you tried to kill me," he pointed out. "I think I'll manage to scrape by without your 'help'."

Was there some part of human nature she did not understand? Could she not see how her admission of cursing him might have damaged her chances of his ever trusting her? Robb almost admired her for her effort. But he remembered the stories he'd heard about this red witch burning Stannis' daughter. A sacrifice to her fiery god. Assuming it was the same woman before him now, she made his stomach turn. When she stepped closer and brought her hand to his face, he wanted to recoil. Alas, he was too surprised by the heat that exuded from her flesh. She almost burned to the touch.

"You are Azor Ahai," she said, looking deep inside him. "The Prince that was Promised."

"And you are mad," he retorted, finally pulling himself together. "Goodnight."

He nudged her toward the door, feeling he would throw her out if need be. But she took the hint and left. As she went, she looked back over her shoulder and met his gaze one more time.

The next morning, he awoke long after sunrise. Outside, the ranging party was gathering, getting ready for the journey to the Bridge of Skulls. Robb hastily broke his fast while his horse was made ready. The red woman was there again, watching him closely but she did not approach. Doing his best to ignore her, he pushed his way out of the door only for her to block his exit. In her long, white fingers she held a roll of parchment out to him.

"I mean you no harm, your grace," she said. "Take this as a token of my loyalty."

"What is it?" he asked.

"Not here," she instructed. "Open it later."

She stood aside and made no attempt to follow him as he sought his horse. Before leaving the Shadow Tower, he looked back to see if she was still there, watching as she had the night before. But she was gone now, and he took her advice. Hours passed, before they made it to the Bridge of Skulls that crossed the deep Gorge where the wall's end tapered away. He looked down, but the wildling bones that gave the bridge its grisly name were out of sight now. It was then he broke the seal on the scroll she had given him. A sentence of death passed against Jon, signed by Ser Alliser Thorne, Bowen Marsh and a Maester whose name Robb couldn't quite make out.

Robb smiled, folding it away into his pocket. So, it was true. They had been planning a full mutiny.

Thanks again for reading, reviews would be awesome if you have a minute.

Apologies again for the long wait and thank you for being patient with these updates. I'm already working on the next chapter, so it definitely won't be months on end before you see that one. Anyway, thanks again.