Hi! It's been awhile. The holidays got in the way of updating but here you go. :) BTW, just a clarification there are some minor GoT spoilers in this story, I just chose not to acknowledge the Jon/Daenerys moments. Haha, I'm sure they'd be lovely together but there were too few episodes to convince me in the series. Maybe the books will change my mind. No Daenerys loving history here. Again, I do not own the characters or any parts of the realms of the series. Enjoy! :)
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As Jon stared at the large map of Westeros in front of him, he heard two soft knocks on his door. He heard the sound of approaching footsteps and saw his steward standing before him.
"M'lord. Ser Davos has arrived."
Jon gave him a slight nod to acknowledge him. "Let him in."
He heard his steward open the door to let his advisor in. Soft and hesitant footsteps were then replaced by heavier but surer ones.
"Your Grace."
"Ser Davos. How far along are our arrangements for the winter?"
"Your Grace, Lady Sansa has ensured the food stores of Winterfell to last as long as the Long Night and even longer. Gendry is still working on more weapons out of dragonglass each day. The number of weapons are still far from enough."
Jon felt gratfeul that he had people to rely on. Sansa is supporting Winterfell and had taken on the role of Lady of Winterfell quite well. Ser Davos did well in finding Gendry, a strong fighter and a blacksmith.
"Are there any news from the Wall on the White Walkers?"
Ser Davos hesitated for a second. Jon felt that the news to follow would be far less reassuring than the former.
"The Night's Watch has stopped sending rangers to scout the area. The ones they did send out, have yet to return. They refuse to lose more men to the dead. They say the snow is falling more than before and the winds have gotten stronger."
Jon gave a sigh once again. The Night's Watch is but a shadow of what it was before. They needed more men, but the houses refused to aid them. The wall won't hold at this rate. Frustration was overcoming him. Despite the ravens they had sent out, no reply ever came to aid their need for men.
"They need help. They need more men understandably. I have to-"
"Your Grace, I'm sorry to interrupt but you going to the Wall again won't do any good. The northern houses are proud people, as their King you need to stay here. You're no longer a brother of the Night's Watch. Once was enough for you to leave them, they won't tolerate more."
He knew Ser Davos was right. Sansa had told him how restless they were when he went North of the Wall to catch a wight to convince Cersei for a truce.
"Alright, I'll ask again the Northern houses to spare some men to aid the Night's Watch." That's all I can do for them now. Sorry, brothers.
"Any other news?"
"From the Eastwatch, Your Grace. They need more supplies."
"I'll write Edd to see if they have supplies to spare them."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Jon looked down at the map in front of him, focusing on the North. There were millions in the Army of the Dead and only thousands of them. He was glad that he had Daenerys' support, but he thought back to that day when he saw one of her dragons killed. The dead belonged to the White Walkers, he knows that, he saw it for himself. The Night King raised the dead to join his army. A dragon in the army of the dead. He shuddered at the thought. They needed Daenerys' two other dragons more than ever.
"The army of the dead are in the millions. We don't have the numbers to face them head on. We need to find a way to clear a path to the White Walkers, the generals. If they go down, the ones they turned go down with them," he thought out loud. "Our best chances of clearing a path through would be with the Dothraki and the dragons."
"Don't forget the Knights of the Vale, Your Grace," Ser Davos reminded him.
He nodded in response. The Knights of the Vale were strong in numbers and were like the Dothraki in that matter. They use their numbers to their advantage. There was a problem though.
"The Knights are a proud bunch that look down on those without ranks. We need them to cooperate with the Dothraki for this to work."
He knew though that he wouldn't be the one to convince them. Technically, it's Sansa that they serve. I need to talk to Sansa about this.
"The Unsullied could attack from the periphery with the aid of the rest of the Northern houses. We'll need the best archers high up. Tell Gendry to make dragonglass arrows as well. I'll ask the lords to send for their blacksmiths to aid us in Winterfell. Gendry will have to teach em to handle the dragonglass well. We need all those dragonglass to become weapons, it's too much to ask of one man."
"Of course, Your Grace." Ser Davos was about to leave until he heard Jon call him.
"Ser Davos?"
"Yes, Your Grace?"
Jon stared at King's Landing on the map and frowned at it's image. Our plan revolves around men that aren't of the North.
"I know that Cersei agreed to a truce, but how likely is it that she'll break it?"
Ser Davos approached the table and looked at King's Landing. He searched Ser Davos' expression and any hope of reassurance was gone.
"Very likely, Your Grace," he said grimly.
"Our entire plan relies on the men of Daenerys' army. If the truce is broken..." They'll retreat from the North, he finished the sentence in his head refusing to say the words out loud.
"Your Grace. I can't speak on behalf of the Dragon Queen, I don't know how she thinks. I do know that she saw the army of the dead. She knows and understands how crucial this war is. She may not retreat her forces, Your Grace."
"But if she does?"
Ser Davos hesitated in thought, and said, "Then we fight with what we have."
"We'll need another plan. How many men do we have without Daenerys' army?"
"Around 20,000 men, Your Grace."
"These are only the men and knights trained in fighting am I right? What of the women and children old enough to fight?"
"Your Grace, I don't have the numbers for them but their numbers will not count for much if they remain untrained. The knights are unwilling to train them." Jon knew it was a risky proposal to ask the lords of the different houses to train their women and children. He knew the Northerners took their traditions seriously. Men and women have always been treated differently and have been trained in different trades. I need to find a way to train them, there's no need for these rules in times of war.
Jon nodded and dismissed Ser Davos.
He was left to his silence and his thoughts. We need all the living people in the North to fight, lest they become more of the dead to fight against. He willed himself to think of another plan.
By the time Jon stepped out for some fresh air, the sun had already set giving way to the darkness. The snow fell gently against the stark contrast of the black sky. The cold air entered his lungs and he saw the smoke form with every exhale. It was colder on the Wall, he thought. He remembered when he left the Wall, handing his position over to the one man he trusted the most, Edd.
"Don't let it fall. Hold the wall." he told him and Edd nodded and watched as he rode away. He hoped that the wall that was said to be made of magic could hold off the Army of the Dead. His gut told him though that it wouldn't. Even with the 2,000 wildlings he sent to aid the Watch, it won't be enough.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of swords clanging. Who could be practicing this late?
He followed the sound to the courtyard and saw two figures. He couldn't see their faces well, but he continued to watch them practice from a distance. The smaller of the two figures appeared to be more experienced and faster than the larger one. The smaller one would dance around in circles but with no wasted movements. He saw the larger one stumble around at an attempt to dodge the attacks but failing. Time after time, with each spar, the larger figure would end up on the ground. The smaller figure was far more better at fighting. Whether it was minutes or hours, Jon couldn't say, the larger figure fell to the ground and didn't stand up right away. He could see the figure's chest heaving in an attempt to catch his breath. He heard a distinctly male voice say breathlessly, "I yield."
Jon stepped closer to see the faces of the practicing figures. The one on the ground he remembered to be Lady Brienne's squire. Podrick something, he thought. Then he heard the other figure's voice ring out with small laughter, and was surprised that it was female. The woman held out her hand to help Podrick up to a standing position.
"You've gotten better, you know? You just have to be more confident and sure in your strikes."
Jon would know that voice anywhere. It's Arya, he thought with a mixture of bewilderment and awe. He couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips.
"Doesn't feel like I've gotten any better, my lady. You're too kind," he heard Podrick say shyly.
"I'm many things, but I don't think I'm kind," she said with amusement in her voice. "You're better, but you're far from being good enough. Go ahead and get some rest, we'll train again in the morrow."
He saw Podrick bow his head in reply then turn around and leave. He was unsure of whether it be wise to make his presence known, but his feet brought him forward, closer to Arya.
Her back was turned to him. When he was about a foot away, she spun around with the training sword in her hand and aimed for his throat. Everything happened so fast. Jon didn't know when his instincts kicked in, and he dodged the sword by leaning back.
"Woah.. Arya, I yield." He said with his hands in the air in a joking manner.
"Oh, Jon. Sorry bout that," she said as she relaxed the wooden sword in her hand. She continued to put away the swords.
"You're strong, Arya. You've gotten good at fighting."
The swords were securely in place and she bent to pick up her hilt with Needle in it. She faced him as she replied, "I had to." Her eyes looked haunted in the moonlight for a second but was gone with a single gust of the winter wind.
"We all had to change, but I'm glad it brought you back here to Winterfell alive." He said as he messed up her hair, and he saw the ghost of a smile.
"How long you've been training the Podrick lad?"
"For a while now. Around the time I met him and Lady Brienne."
Jon couldn't think of the proper way to bring up what he had to say at the right time. He had an idea when he watched their two figures practicing moments ago. So he just said it. "I need you to train people to fight."
He saw her face with an amused smile. "What? I think you've gone mad. You need some rest, Jon," she said jokingly.
Jon insisted though. "I need you to help train the women and children and the other men who can fight to fight. We need more people for the Great War, you know this much is true. I've told you what I've seen."
Arya noticed how serious Jon was and her eyes turned a steely grey. "You have the knights of your bannermen, the leaders of the houses of the North. You don't need me."
She turned to walk away but Jon grabbed onto her wrist to stop her. "Let me ask you this at least, then why are you training Podrick? He's squire to Lady Brienne, she's one of the most talented fighters in the realm. Why you and not her?"
She brushed his hand aside and faced him. She had a questioning look on her face but at least he got her attention again.
"He asked me to train him is all."
"But why?" There must be a reason, and if Jon's thinking is right, it'll prove his point on why it has to be her. She hesitated a moment but then replied.
"He saw me fight with Lady Brienne and he said he was amazed. Lady Brienne is taller and has a stronger built than I do, any person could see that she's powerful. He said Lady Brienne has tried to teach him during their journey. But he had never seen someone as fast as I am or more precise with the sword. He knew he could never be as powerful as Lady Brienne so he wanted me to teach him to overcome his own lack of strength."
A silence followed as Arya heard the words she recalled Podrick say. Jon knew at that moment that she'd agree.
"We need more people to fight in this war, we can't just rely on the knights and trained men. We need the women and children and the men the knights might have scared away from ever fighting. We need you, Arya. You can show them how to fight. You're strong, they'll see that. We need everyone to aid us for the Great War."
She thought for a moment, mulling around Jon's words in her head. She touched the handle of Needle in her hilt and came to a decision. She smiled and raised her hands in mock defeat, "I yield," she said jokingly. "I always knew I was never meant to be a lady. You win, Your Grace."
Jon smiled and laughed at her mock surrender. "You'll always be a lady. You're just a lady with a sword."
"Thank you, Arya. I mean it, I need your help more than ever." Jon hugged her and felt her small arms hug him back.
"You'll always have my help, Jon."
They walked back through the halls of Winterfell towards their respective quarters. Jon felt the urge to ask the question that was on his mind since he saw her in the courtyard. The words slipped out into the silence before he had the conscious thought to stop it.
"Who trained you to fight?"
Jon had never expected Arya to become as good a fighter as she was right now. When he gave her Needle as a parting gift, he had never thought that it would come as both a curse and blessing. The silence that followed was deafenening and heavy. I shouldn't have asked that, he thought. He was about to speak up to take back the question but then he heard her voice.
"The First Sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel." She said the name quietly, though the name reverberated around the entire hallway.
"He must be an amazing swordsman."
"He was," she said with a sad smile and a distant look in her eyes. Before he knew it, they had arrived in front of her quarters.
"Good night, Jon." She said as she opened the wooden doors to her quarters.
"Good night, Arya." Jon ruffled her hair and kissed her forehead. "Rest well. You'll need it to train well in the morrow."
He turned and headed for his quarters. Arya was his best bet right now, he could only hope that things will go well tomorrow.
The die has been cast, there's no turning back. Forward is the only way I can go.