Jaehaerys

One moment he was asleep; the next, awake.

It was the black of night. The bedchamber was dark and still.

What is it? Did I hear something? Someone?

Wind sighed faintly against the shutters. Somewhere, far off, he heard the hoot of an owl in the dark. Nothing else. Sleep, he told himself. The castle is quiet, and you have guards posted. At your door, at the gates, on the armory.

He might have put it down to a bad dream, but he did not remember dreaming. The day had worn him out. He ought to be back at King's Landing for his brother's marriage, leaving this cold place for good. But this new found trouble of outlaws in the wolfswood has kept him here. He would not go back to his father as a failure. It is time he proved himself to his father, to prove that he is capable of ruling a kingdom. Jaehaerys had sent Ser Derek hunting after them but there has been no more words from him. Nothing from Waterspring too, other than some stupid talk of the common folk. To speak of ghosts and grumkins, Jaehaerys had already heard them in the stories of his wetnurses. He had never been afraid of them then, why should he fear them now?

He slid out from his bed and got to his feet. A few embers still smoldered in the hearth. Nothing moved. Jaehaerys crossed to the window and threw open the shutters. Night touched him with cold fingers, and gooseprickles rose on his bare skin. He leaned against the stone sill and looked out on dark towers, empty yards, black sky, and more stars than a man could ever count if he lived to be a hundred. A half-moon floated above the Bell Tower and cast its reflection on the roof of the glass gardens. He heard no alarums, no voices, not so much as a footfall.

All's well, Jae. Hear the quiet? You ought to be drunk with joy. You are the Lord of Winterfell. The boy who took the castle from the King in the North, a feat to sing of. He started back to bed. But something about the quiet unnerved him.

He stopped. He had grown so used to the different sounds in Winterfell that he scarcely heard it anymore... but some part of him, some hunter's instinct, heard its absence.

Kent stood outside his door, a tall and lean man with a round shield slung over his back. "The castle is so quiet," Jaehaerys told him. "Go to the Walls and see if anything is wrong, and come straight back." The thought of the outlaws inside his walls gave him a queasy feeling. It was a tricksy thought of ruling Winterfell and at the same time of being in enemy territory. The northerners could easily overpower him and his men here and Jaehaerys had no doubt that they would if it was not for Viserion.

Quade was sleeping on the floor, huddled up in his cloak. When Jaehaerys prodded him with the toe of his boot, Quade sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Make certain Walys Flowers and Ser Rodrik are in their beds, and be quick about it."

Of all the people in Winterfell, Jaehaerys distrusted the maester and the knight more than anyone. He had stripped the old knight's post as the master-at-arms of Winterfell and replaced him with Quade, a loyal man of his. If only Jaehaerys had the possibility of changing the maester, he would've done it at once.

Jaehaerys poured himself a cup of wine and drank it down as he waited. All the time he was listening, hoping to hear a sound. Too few men, he thought sourly. I have too few men if the north chooses to rise up for a ghost. His only thought was on Viserion. He might need him now.

Quade returned the quickest, shaking his head side to side. Cursing, Jaehaerys found his tunic and breeches on the floor where he had dropped them in his haste to get to his sleep. Over the tunic he donned a jerkin of iron-studded leather, and he belted a longsword and dagger at his waist. His hair was wild as the wood, but he had larger concerns.

By then Kent was back. "The men at the outer walls are gone."

Jaehaerys told himself he must be as brave and feared as a dragon. "Rouse the castle," he said. "Herd them out into the yard, everyone, we'll see who's missing. And have Jyke make a round of the gates. Quade, with me."

He wondered if Ser Derek had dealt with the outlaws yet. The man was the best fighter he had to offer — and the one people feared the most. For a moment he wondered if he made a mistake by sending Darkfang away. He might have been so useful right now. Moreover Darkfang took most of his men from Waterspring in his pursuit of the Lightning Lord and the Brotherhood.

Maester Walys's turret was empty, as was Rodrik Cassel's bedchamber near the armoury. Jaehaerys cursed himself. He should have kept a guard on them, but he'd trusted the men enough to keep quiet and go on with their life.

Outside he heard sobbing as the castle folk were pulled from their beds and driven into the yard. I'll give them reason to sob. I've used them gently, and this is how they repay me. He'd even had kept some of Eddard Stark's loyal men alive only to show them he meant to be good to them. He never allowed his men to even touch the handmaid Lynora, to mean that they were safe in his rule. They still blame me for the deaths, though. Deaths that were caused even before he arrived here. He deemed that unfair. Hullen, the old master of horse, Vayon Poole who was Stark's steward and others who got themselves killed because they stood up for their dead king and his lost cause, just as the old man Stark had. He wondered how many of them were part of this new plot against him.

Kent returned with Jyke. "The Hunter's Gate," Jyke said. "Best come see."

The Hunter's Gate was conveniently sited close to the kennels and kitchens. It opened directly on fields and forests, allowing riders to come and go without first passing through the winter town, and so was favored by hunting parties. "Who had the guard here?" Jaehaerys demanded.

"Vaith and Tris."

"If they've let anyone inside the walls in their want for rest, I'll have their eyelids off so that they won't find the need to sleep again, I swear it."

"No need for that," Jyke said curtly.

Nor was there. They found Tris floating facedown in the moat, along with three other men. Jaehaerys found one to be Jofer and the others to be Grent and Selth. Vaith lay near the gatehouse, in the snug room where the drawbridge was worked. Half of his face had been bloodied and bashed. A ragged tunic concealed his torso, but his breeches was unlaced. His sword and dagger were hanging from his belt lying near the door. Blades still in their sheath, Jaehaerys observed.

"Tris was up on the wallwalk, no?"

"Aye," said Jyke.

"The other three were up on the outer walls," Jaehaerys picked up Vaith's belt from the ground. "I'd say someone climbed inside the castle and threw them down. Someone find a pike and fish the other fools out of the moat."

The other fools were in a deal worse shape than Vaith. When Jyke drew them out of the water, they saw that all were killed by the use of blades unlike Vaith.

"The outlaws," Jaehaerys said. "Walys and Rodrik helped them into the castle, at a guess." Disgusted, he walked back to the drawbridge. Winterfell was encircled by two massive granite walls, with a wide moat between them. The outer wall stood eighty feet high, the inner more than a hundred. When Ser Derek took men in his pursuit after the brotherhood, Jaehaerys had only put four men to hold the outer walls and and post most of his guards along the higher inner walls. He dared not risk having them on the wrong side of the moat should the castle rise against him.

There had to be someone who lent help from the inside, he decided.

Jaehaerys called for a torch and led them up the steps to the wallwalk. He swept the flame low before him, looking for... there. On the inside of the rampart and in the wide crenel between two upthrust merlons. "Blood," he announced, "At a guess, someone killed the first one and pushed him into the moat. The others heard the splash of water, came to have a look, and followed him into the moat. They threw the corpses into the moat so they wouldn't be found by another sentry."

Kent peered along the walls. "The other watch turrets are not far. I see torches burning—"

"Torches, but no guards," Jaehaerys said testily. "Winterfell has more turrets than I have men."

"Four guards walked the outer walls," said Kent, "The others, the best number of them occupied the inner walls."

Hogan said, "If someone had sounded his horn—"

I am served by fools. "Try and imagine it was you up here, Hogan. It's dark and cold. You have been walking sentry for hours, looking forward to the end of your watch. Then you hear a noise and move up the wall, and suddenly someone fall upon you. Or men you thought to be as friends suddenly turn upon you. What would you do?" He gave Hogan a hard shove. "Tell me, at what moment during all of this do you stop to blow your fucking horn?"

"Whom do you think to have climbed into the castle?" Kent asked.

"Who else," Jaehaerys told him. "The brotherhood, of course."

He could see that Kent did not believe him. The statement was written well upon his face.

"Don't you think it was the outlaws then?" Jaehaerys asked him.

Kent looked straight at him. "We have always had a small defense in the outer walls, my prince but in all our years here we've never had an outsider infiltrating the castle."

"Who do you think did this then?" Jaehaerys asked. "The maester or the old knight?"

"Neither," Kent said. "There's been talks from Waterspring, my prince."

Not this thing again, thought Jaehaerys. He has important things to do other that to worry about ghosts. "So you think my uncle's ghost killed them all?"

"There's been talks of people seeing him, my prince."

"That is exactly what it is," Jaehaerys told him. "Some stupid talk of the smallfolk. If Eddard Stark's ghost is really here, I'll be the first one he'll try to kill. I sit in his throne, I eat from his plate, drink from his cup, sleep in his bed where he fucked his queen Ashara. He has no reason to kill the guards. Now, are you stupid to believe these stupid talks?"

"Have you called in the household?"

"They are herded in the yard," Quade said.

"Good," said Jaehaerys. "I had best go speak with my loyal subjects."

Down in the yard, an uneasy crowd of men, women, and children had been pushed up against the wall. Most of them covered themselves with woolen blankets, or huddled under cloaks or bedrobes. Two dozen guards hemmed them in, torches in one hand and weapons in the other. The wind was gusting, and the flickering orange light reflected dully off steel helms, thick beards, and unsmiling eyes.

Jaehaerys walked up and down before the prisoners, studying the faces. They all looked guilty to him. "How many are missing?"

"Eight." Quade stepped up behind him, his long hair moving in the wind. "Both the maester and Rodrik Cassel, the armourer and Farlen and the other guards of Stark."

I should have put them to death so they can serve their king from their graves.

"Has anyone had a look at the stables?"

"Aggar says no horses are missing."

So they are either in the castle or they're afoot, then. That was the best news he'd heard since he woke. He would need to sort out the traitors from this lot first. Or maybe investigate as to if they were still inside. "Someone has killed my men in my castle," he told the castle folk, watching their eyes. "Who knows about the murderers?" No one answered. "They could not have done this without help," Jaehaerys went on. He had locked away every sword and axe in Winterfell, but no doubt some had been hidden from him. "I'll have the names of all those who aided them. All those who turned a blind eye." The only sound was the wind. "Come first light, I mean to bring them to justice." He hooked his thumbs through his swordbelt. "I need huntsmen. And a loyal man to say who did this?" None had anything to say now. Jaehaerys walked back the way he had come, searching their faces for the least sign of guilty knowledge. "I might have killed every man of you and given your women to my soldiers for their pleasure, but instead I protected you. Is this the thanks you offer?" Joseth who'd groomed the horses, Murch, Garris — not one of them would meet his eyes. They hate me, he realized.

Quade stepped close. "Take captives of them, my prince," he urged. "If sweet words won't loose their tongue, a pair of hot pincers ought too."

His grandfather might have done that for sure or bathe all of them in his precious wildfire.

"There will be no means of such punishment in the north so long as I rule in Winterfell," Jaehaerys said loudly. I am your only protection against the likes of him, he wanted to scream. He could not be that blatant, but perhaps some were clever enough to take the lesson.

The sky was greying over the castle walls. Dawn could not be far off. "I'll give you this one last chance to show your loyalty." He looked at them silently.

"Very well-," Jaehaerys was saying when a couple of shadows came out from the broken tower in the the early morning gloom. They were followed by a few more men, all with steel in hand except for the maester of course.

"Good," Jaehaerys told them. "Now that all of you are here, we might talk about the penalty for your treason and murders."

"Murder," Desmond spat from Ser Rodrik's side.

Maester Walys walked to him. "My lord prince," he said, "you must yield."

Jaehaerys stared at him with wide eyes. How dare he? If the old man thinks he might frighten me with a little resistance he is mistaken. "There will be no yielding. Now tell me, did you help any outlaws in? Where are they hiding?"

"Funny how your father called His Grace as an Outlaw," Ser Rodrik said. "And now you should call him by the same name."

"Enough," Jaehaerys snapped. He was done with these sly talks. "I will have order."

"We will never get that in your father's rule."

"So this is it," Jaehaerys said. "You would rather die than live in some dead man's name." When no one moved he continued. "If it is war you want then so be it." Jaehaerys turned to Quade. "Bring me my mail and armour, Quade."

He looked at all the people in the yard, outnumbering him and his men by a good number. All of them looking at him with blank, accusing faces, the people who were his own people once. He knew that they would turn on him as soon as the fight began. Murch, Garris and Poxy Tyn had already joined the resistance. The others would do that as well, he knew. But the prince of Winterfell had other ideas. "Men," he shouted to his own guards. "Prepare for battle."

As his shout echoed through the morning wind, Jaehaerys heard a faint flap of wings in the distance. A faint smile graced his lips as he saw the fear and doubts in the faces of the small folk.

That's good. Mercy was for this morning, thought Jaehaerys. It is better to be feared than laughed at. Mercy was before they made me angry.