JEYNE
Life at the Wall was cold.
Jeyne had experienced cold on her way North, but that was nothing like what she experienced constantly at the foot of this incredible structure against which Castle Black had been built. The only window in her room allowed her an undisturbed view of the massive blocks of ice that had been used to lay down the foundations of the Wall, and quite frankly, the size of those left her in stunned silence. She remembered how the Maester at the Crag had told her of the regions that made up the Seven Kingdoms, and of course he had explained to her the significance of the Wall and the Night's Watch. Her old Maester's words paled, though, in comparison to what she saw with her very own eyes right here and now, and the literal enormity of her situation made her question the metaphorical one a little less.
Being with child had not really agreed with Jeyne so far, as she had resorted to spending most of her time abed, constantly feeling the sickness that came with her condition – the dizziness and vomiting, and it felt as if a slight fever had gotten hold of her. It was the Blackfish who took care of her mostly, telling her stories of his long life and the wars and Kings he'd served, providing her with a most wonderful diversion. He brought her food and wine, the latter spiced in such a way that it almost settled her stomach, and he slept in the room next to her with a dagger under his pillow, he'd told her. She couldn't leave her own room without passing through his first, and instead of feeling cramped or trapped, it made her feel safe. Because apart from being able to see the Wall, the view from her only window also gave her a good indication as to what kind of men guarded this place, and even though Jeyne knew that they had all sworn an oath to protect the Wall and to not take wives or father children, the hulky, moody men all dressed in their gloomy garb milling in the courtyard down below gave her the chills nonetheless.
With the exception of Jon Snow, of course. The young Commander had made it a point to visit her chambers at least once a day, usually briefly and only to inquire after her health, but he called her Jeyne and offered her tentative smiles and squeezed her hand as a token of support. Earlier that day he had looked at her, all bundled up in her bed, shivering with fever and cold despite her blankets and furs, and he decided a visit from the Maester was warranted. It hadn't occurred to Jeyne that Castle Black even had a Maester, but when he arrived with his steward not half an hour later, she couldn't have been more surprised. She suspected Maester Aemon to be over a hundred years old and blind as a bat, his eyes the colour of milk; his skin all wrinkled and yellow. He spoke so softly Jeyne had to lean in to be able to hear him, but his voice was kind and his words wise. With him he brought his steward, his 'eyes' as he called the young man that trailed into her room behind the old man. He'd introduced himself as Sam and on looking at him, taking in his rotund face and body, Jeyne immediately understood why he was a Steward and not a Ranger.
"Oh," the ancient Maester had smiled, "Samwell here may strike you as a bit of an odd example of a Brother," and she had immediately felt caught, lowering her face to stare at the hands in her lap, wondering how in the world the blind Maester could tell, "but it was he who mixed your wine with spices in order to settle your stomach." She looked up, nodding at both men. "Samwell would make a fine Maester," the old man went on, "if only someone could convince him to travel to the Citadel."
"It is only about the farthest removed from the Wall, Maester," Samwell objected, and from the tone of their voices Jeyne could tell it had been a topic of their continued arguing for a long time. "My place is here, especially now." He smiled at her when he said the words and Jeyne felt an odd kind of warmth on hearing them. She knew immediately that this particular Brother of the Night's Watch wasn't the most likely candidate to protect her from the possible evils lurking beyond the Wall, but he was definitely the first one to give her and her unborn child a sense of peace.
Maester Aemon left after making sure Sam had mixed the right herbs into Jeyne's tea, and then it was just the two of them; him watching her sip the hot concoction, his face ruddy from the high fire in her room. "We will make sure you'll have the best fire in the Castle, Your Grace," he remarked. "Jon – I mean the Lord Commander ordered for plenty of wood to be stored just outside your quarters." She could hear him wonder why she still felt so cold then, but he never voiced the words, never once made her feel bad about the fact she wasn't made of sterner stuff.
"The Wall is no place for women," he quietly repeated Jon Snow's earlier words, his smile a permanent fixture on his face. "And it is certainly no place for those who are with child." She blushed, fussing with her furs to give her hands something to do. "Your secret is safe with Maester Aemon and myself, Your Grace," Sam said, nodding mostly to himself as she watched his surprisingly clever fingers collect what was left of the herbs on the table and putting them in a small silk pouch he produced from underneath his heavy, black cloak.
"I never knew your late husband," he added without looking up, "but he must have been a good man if the Lord Commander's grief is any indication."
"Are you aware then of – his grief?" she asked in disbelief, remembering just in time not to call the Commander by his first name in front of one of his men. Sam nodded solemnly, finally dragging his eyes up to look at her.
"He may be the Lord Commander now, Your Grace," Sam said, "but when we arrived here together, when I proved to be a terrible fighter, a craven even, he protected me and treated me like an equal. I'd like to think that somewhere underneath the ranks and titles we are friends." Sam swallowed and a deep frown marked his forehead. "It was me who brought him the raven, Your Grace."
Jeyne couldn't help but gasp, clapping a hand over her mouth as if to catch the sound.
"It's probably not my place to tell you this," Sam continued, "but when news of his father's death reached him, he was ready to forsake his oath and leave Castle Black and ride south to fight by his brother's side. If it hadn't been for me and Grenn and Pyp, who knows what would have become of him – your husband may have had to take his life, as it is custom for the Warden of the North to end any Night's Watch deserter's life. I always wondered if Jon had even thought of that when he took one of the horses and left the Castle that night." Sam's voice trailed off then and both seemed lost in their own thoughts.
"Anyway," he said then, clearing his throat. "Is the tea doing its work, Your Grace?"
"Please," Jeyne answered and took one of Sam's hands into her own. "Will you call me Jeyne – at least here, within the confines of these rooms? I know I am still the Queen in the North, and I know I carry a Prince or Princess inside of me, but for as long as I am in hiding, I would like it so much better if you would call me Jeyne, or my Lady if you feel too uncomfortable with my name." When Sam nodded she gave him a reassuring smile. "And I do feel a little better," she hastened to add for it was true.
"Then I will take my leave," Sam said, getting up. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Your – my Lady?" He seemed to be having an idea suddenly, for his eyes lit up and he walked back into the room to stand at the foot of her bed. "Would you like something to read maybe?" He was practically skipping from one foot to the other and Jeyne thought it was quite amusing. "We have an enormous collection of books, you know," Sam continued unfazed, "but most of the Brothers are no readers, and Maester Aemon is no longer able to, of course. The library had been quite forgotten until I came along to create some order in the chaos. I am sure there will be something to your liking down there; it might help you pass the time." Sam's enthusiasm was contagious, Jeyne found, and then she was struck by a thought.
"Is there a book about the North, you think?" Jeyne asked. "About the houses and the banners and the maps and customs and history? I need to learn about the land I am now a Queen of, even if the King who extended the title is no longer here." She faltered suddenly. Her exchange with Sam had been so comfortable and reassuring and the things he had told her about Jon and, indirectly about Robb, had been so heart-warming, that it had made her forget, even if only for a few seconds, that her husband was dead. Now the harsh reality hit her over the head with such force that she could barely stop her tears, but Sam had seemed to notice and he stepped even closer, grabbing her hand in a rather unexpected display of affection, squeezing it reassuringly.
"I think I may have just the book… Jeyne," he smiled, drawing out her name. "About everything you would ever have liked to know about the North."
"Thank you," she said and watched Sam retreat from the room once more. "Oh, Sam?" she asked as she thought of something, and he turned around. "Will you ask the Lord Commander if he can come and sit with me one evening?" She felt a blush rising and decided to ignore it. "I know his duties keep him rather busy, but I think there are things that he and I can tell each other."
Sam nodded, the understanding clear in his full-moon face, and Jeyne knew that her request was in the best of hands.
DACEY
He was picking at his food, Dacey noticed, but at least he was sitting at table, eating something, trying to carry on a decent, if somewhat clipped conversation with Gerad and his wife. She knew he was weary of saying too much and usually he only asked about their life, their family, how they had survived the time when the war had come so close to their doorstep. It was a good thing he didn't speak too much, Dacey thought, because even though she knew him well and could see he was trying very hard not to, his words were too formal, too well-spoken, too informed to come from a mere captain. Whether it had something to do with the fact she knew Robb so well, even better since she had become one of his thirty, which caused her to no longer be able to regard him objectively, she didn't know, but with every word he spoke she could only hear her King. When Gerad told them of the battles that had raged just down the hill, of the many bodies washing up on the riverbanks and the bands of raiders that threatened the roads and pillaged the towns, Robb had nodded solemnly, explaining how he understood their pain in the simplest of words, but in his eyes she could only see her King.
They never addressed the horrors the three of them had survived at the Twins, only the odd mention of a Frey search party here or there, as apparently Walder Frey was still trying to hunt down possible survivors. Dacey suspected he was planning to spin a different tale of what had happened at his Keep, and naturally he needed to make sure there was no one left to contradict him when he did. She often wondered if the Freys had realised the true nature of the broken windows in their great hall.
Robb's progress had been remarkable, Dacey had to admit, even though it was only his physical situation that seemed to be improving. Mentally, he still brooded too much to her liking, could still allow himself to lose his focus more hours than not, and the few ravens she had been able to send, stealthily inquiring about Jeyne Westerling's whereabouts, had been returned unanswered, causing him to retreat into himself with only Smalljon as a means of ultimately coaxing him back from wherever his mind wandered off to.
"We'll be leaving soon, Master Gerad," she said during a silent spell, cleaning her plate with a bit of bread. "We can all ride now and if we stay off the roads we can take plenty of rest. Also, we have outstayed your hospitality for long enough; you could well do without three extra mouths to fill."
Gerad smiled and nodded. "I do not mind the mouths I have to fill," he said, squeezing his wife's hand where it rested beside her empty plate. "But we understand you would rather leave this place. It holds nothing but horrors for you." He paused, looking at his wife. "We turned another search party away yesterday, making me wonder why they keep calling. We do not want to you to go, but you are right in assuming it is still dangerous for you here. I suspect Walder Frey means to find and silence every last possible survivor."
"We'll start preparing our departure on the morrow," Robb spoke up suddenly and Gerad's eyes widened fractionally at the unexpected finality in the words. Robb had never decided on anything before in front of her and Smalljon or his host. For a long time she had thought it was a deliberate action on Robb's behalf because whenever he spoke there was always an air of authority surrounding him, but as time went by she realised he just felt too defeated to take command. "We will leave the day after," Robb added, swallowing the last of his wine, putting the cup down with a thump. Dacey wanted to smile but managed to keep her face passive, just nodding her agreement.
"Well then, I will tell kitchen to pack the provisions I promisedthe three of you, Rodrik," Gerad offered right away, regarding Robb with new interest. "And I shall ask Maester Ellard to collect all the medicine he deems necessary for you to bring on your journey." He glanced at Robb but his face betrayed nothing, Dacey noticed. Robb's progress had been amazing in the last few weeks, but everyone knew he was nowhere near free of pain yet. He never complained, though, never once asked for a reprieve, and she guessed his pain must be awful whenever he retreated to his chamber. She suspected it wasn't dedication to their cause so much as it was a means of punishing himself for living where others were dead; and the one time she had addressed the issue had caused him to look at her with such hurt in his eyes that she knew she'd guessed right and that he didn't like the way she was reading him so well. She had never brought it up again, but was left wondering what it would possibly take to lift this guilt that seemed to be crushing him.
They left the table shortly after and when Dacey returned to her room, to her surprise she found Robb already there. He was standing at the window, staring across the green valley, the mighty Trident just visible to the right. She closed the door, stood in front of it with her arms crossed and waited for him to speak. Somehow, she sensed something of the old Robb had returned tonight and she knew better than to force whatever he wanted to say out of him.
"We have to leave, it's no longer safe here," he said quietly, still staring out of the window, his shoulders tense. She nodded even though he wasn't looking at her. She thought how Ayla had finally managed to make Robb accept a new set of leather breeches and a linen and leather shirt that he had worn to table for the first time tonight. Dacey knew he was still secretly hanging on to his damaged clothes as she had not seen them leave the room after he'd tried on the new additions, and she remembered how he had tried to smile at Ayla when she mentioned she had guessed his size correctly. Dacey also remembered how at that very moment she herself had understood the woman's efforts all too well. He was still so young, her King; so young and damaged and never happy or smiling, and it made her heart ache. She had no gifts to give him, only her company and her memories to share, but she understood perfectly how the lady of the Keep went out of her way to try and conjure a smile onto Robb's face. Lately, it was all she ever wanted to do herself.
He slowly started to fill his new leathers out again, she noticed; not quite like he used to do, all ridged muscles and hard planes, but at least the painful thinness that had followed the blood loss and lack of food was slowly disappearing from his frame. "Don't ask me how I know," Robb's voice cut through the silence suddenly, "but we have outstayed our time here." He turned around and she was stunned by the emotion in his blue eyes, something he'd rarely shown since the rescue.
"Did you dream again?" she asked carefully but Robb just looked at her, his piercing eyes unsettling her, especially after they had seemed almost empty for so many weeks.
They were of equal height, she and Robb; something she had always liked about him. He didn't have to look up at her, like quite some men were forced to do and didn't like; nor did he have to look down on her, something a she-bear of House Mormont wasn't all too fond of.
She stepped away from the door and moved closer to him; so close they could touch. "Did you dream again?" she repeated softly, her hand lifting of its own volition to brush a lone finger along the ugly scar that ran from his cheekbone to his temple, barely missing his left eye. When she reached the tip of it she drew her hand back, left it hanging in mid-air and dropped her gaze, biting her lip. "Sorry," she muttered, frowning at the thought of what had possessed her again to touch him just like that. Before she could start to kick herself for it, though, his hand closed around her wrist, causing her head to snap back up, his blue eyes still trained on hers.
"Yes," he said, quietly, "or at least I think I did." Then his eyes cut to the fingers still closed around her hand, looking at it as if he saw it for the very first time, and he rubbed his thumb along her wrist once before letting go. She hated the fact she felt a blush form in her collar that slowly started travelling up her cheeks, thinking that no man should have the power to make her react in such a way, and she wished she could force the heat away before making a complete fool of herself in front of her King.
"Is it very ugly?" he asked and Dacey blinked, trying to understand what his question was about, realising then that he was referring to the scar she had just touched.
"At least you still have your eye," she chuckled, hoping he wouldn't take her innocent attempt at humour the wrong way. He nodded slowly, not really returning the smile. "Does it bother you very much?" she added softly.
He shook his head at that, shrugging. "It's just," he started, swallowing hard, "I have scars everywhere." He looked down at his clothed form before continuing. "Some of them are really disgusting and horrible and I was hoping the one you just touched was a little less gruesome."
"It looks fine," she hastened to tell him. "And the others I'm sure just need time." She shrugged slightly, offering him her kindest smile, dropping her voice to the barest whisper. "I am certain the Queen will not mind them at all, Your Grace."
"I doubt my Queen is still alive," Robb answered, his eyes empty again. "I was supposed to die, remember? They will not allow Jeyne to remain alive just so she can maintain even a figment of the memory of the King in the North."
Dacey looked at him, thinking of something suitable to say, but the words wouldn't come. Thoughts of how neither of them should give up on the Queen until they had solid proof of her death fought for prominence with her far more inappropriate thoughts of how Robb Stark was still devilishly handsome despite the scars and cuts and bruises that marred his face and body. She looked at his mane of curls and his fiery beard and scolded herself for thinking back to the moment the Maester was done redressing Robb's wounds and she had secretly allowed her eyes to travel the length of his body until she was utterly disgusted with herself. "No raven has returned with any news," she ended up saying, shaking her head briefly as if to chase out every wrong thought inside of it. "Nothing is certain."
When Robb opened his mouth to answer, a loud cry came from the corridor and before they could say or do anything, Smalljon flung the door open, sword in hand, eyes wide in terror. "We're betrayed!" he shouted and Dacey and Robb simultaneously drew their swords, following Smalljon as they thundered down the stairs to where Gerad's men were trying to make sure the main doors weren't breached.
"Freys!" Gerad called sharply, motioning for the three of them to follow him to the other side of the room, pulling a door open, ushering them into a corridor. "Far too many of them this time. I told you I didn't understand why they kept calling here." Gerad grabbed a torch from the wall as Smalljon slammed the door firmly shut, the four of them hurrying along the dark passage. Dacey checked to see if Robb was keeping up but he ran alongside Smalljon as if he had not been brought back from the brink of death a mere four months ago.
"Where are you taking us?" Dacey asked, a tiny voice in the back of her head nagging about how trustworthy their host truly was. She knew her suspicions were probably ridiculous, but every fibre of her being was attuned to betrayal and destruction now, and it felt as if those were everywhere.
"To the other side of the keep," Gerad answered, pointing ahead of him where a heavy oak door came into sight. "To the stables." They came to a halt in front of the door and Gerad fumbled with a huge set of keys on a copper ring, handing the torch to Robb. "There," he muttered, slamming the right key into the lock and turning it, going for the bolt but being stopped by Smalljon's large hand closing over his.
"Let me," Jon grunted, and instinctively Dacey pulled Robb behind her, who was just returning the torch to Gerad. Smalljon opened the door but a fraction and peered outside, the four of them listening for any sounds of alarm, footsteps or shouting – anything. "Let's go," he grumbled again, opening the door wider, allowing for Gerad to step outside first, a small courtyard coming into view.
"The stables are–" the Master started but Dacey shook her head, releasing a hissed ssst so sternly that Gerad involuntarily clapped a hand over his mouth. "We'll follow you," she added, "just go." Robb was the last one to appear from the corridor, closing the door as quietly as he could, the metal hinges creaking nonetheless. When they were halfway across the yard and Dacey could actually see the stable doors they were headed for, a sound came from the left and she knew it would come to fighting in that moment. She spun around while still running, watching Robb and Smalljon do the same, calling out to Gerad to open the stable gates as the first of the Freys emerged from the darkness, swords glinting. "We'll be fine," she threw over her shoulder, watching Gerad to run for the door. "Just get us those horses!"
"Behind me!" Smalljon cried, pulling Robb unceremoniously, and they watched as the Frey men come up to them, swords in hand, the torches some of them carried throwing an eerie light across their faces. Then they were face to face and without thinking Dacey attacked, calculating their numbers and realising that between her and Jon they would be able to get Robb out of there. The sword still felt strange in her hand, but the memory of combat returned to her instantly and she hacked and slashed away at her opponents, showing them her wrath for what they had done to her and her people and her King; her fury providing the strength she had lacked ever since she'd escaped from the massacre.
"That's him!" a voice called out, a voice she knew she had heard before, and she spun around, another group of Frey soldiers coming from behind the keep on the other side of the courtyard. From the corner of her eyes she could tell Gerad had finally managed to unbolt the stable doors, watched him run inside, and then she turned back and was in the thick of it again. Before she could even lift her arm a blade that wasn't her own crossed the one coming towards her face with a loud clang, and she blinked at Robb as he withdrew from the clash only to stab her surprised opponent in the chest. "Behind you!" she yelled, barely registering how he had just saved her life, "one more!" Robb spun on his heels, ducked and slashed the knees of the man running at him, causing him to crash to the ground with a terrified scream.
"We have to kill them all!" Smalljon boomed, kicking his opponent in the chest, simultaneously pulling his sword from deep within the man's blood red belly. "No survivors! No one can know!"
Dacey shouted something, then a sword missed her right ear by a hair's breadth, and she stumbled backwards, trying desperately to remain on her feet. She fell against Robb's back, who grabbed her with one hand so she could find her footing, and then she fought again, driving the tall, ugly man in front of her back to where two others stood, hesitation in their eyes. The man whose voice had sounded so familiar was also there and Dacey recognised him instantly.
"Maaric!" she gasped, and the look in his eyes upon hearing his name told her she had guessed correctly. Meerya's brother had his sword in hand but before they could engage she had to move and slash at another man who was running towards her, giving Maaric just enough time to run.
Dacey!" Robb called out behind her and a quick look told her Gerad had led three horses out. Maaric was making for the stables as well, but there was little she could do when she still had two more Freys to fight off. Robb and Smalljon were with her then, fighting beside her; lunging and stabbing and slicing even though she could tell they were both exhausted, not to mention the blood coming from Smalljon's arm. It almost felt as if they were together on the battlefield again as they slowly but steadily killed off every last Frey in the search party, leaving not a single man alive to tell Walder Frey the three of them had escaped.
They ran and climbed the horses Gerad had brought out while the Master of the keep ran for the only gate, the one that led straight into the woods alongside the river, struggling to throw the oak doors open so the three Northern soldiers could pass. Then Maaric stormed out of the stables on horseback as well, crossing the yard to follow them – sword in hand.
"That's their king!" he screamed at Gerad, clearly aiming to turn the man into an ally. "Close your gates, man! That's Robb Stark!"