Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It means a lot, so thank you.
Thanks to Marvelmyra for the clarification on comments. I can't message you privately as the site automatically redacts all email/web addresses. Although I am aware of the distances involved in Westeros, conveying it properly often ends up in plot derailment with important characters spending several chapters just riding a horse down a road. I'll try my best to work in the times, but I can't do that at the expense of story pacing. I hope you understand and thanks again for clarifying.
Chapter Twenty: Once More Unto the Reach
There was never any question of the Storm Lords declaring for Robb, Catelyn knew that. They were sworn to House Baratheon and now their liege lord was, undoubtedly, Stannis Baratheon. They would flock to him on Dragonstone and bend the knee in hope of a pardon Stannis himself had no other choice than to give. Not if he wanted a realistic chance of taking King's Landing. Already, all that remained of them at Renly's camp were patches of scorched earth where their fires had been; their horses hoof prints fading into the dawn mists. There was no use in loyalty to a dead man. The real problem posed by this was that they were now a rebel army on enemy territory.
As such, she too was on the move by the time the sun rose. Farther south, trailing after the Tyrell army along with her Stark guard. Robb, she had despatched back North, to join his own men at Riverrun, leaving these negotiations once more in her own hands. Another outrider had been despatched with all haste to the Neck to prevent Jon from leaving Greywater Watch. It had been her idea to present him as a Targaryen heir with Reed as witness to his birth. Now it felt like just another false start.
It wasn't until their second day on the road that she was summoned to a closed litter at the head of their procession. She, Rodrick Cassel and her other guards all came to a halt and fell silent as the messenger spoke. He was dressed in the Tyrell livery and his appearance among their number wasn't exactly shocking, given that they were in the Tyrell retinue. But what happened to Renly had affected them all deeply and everyone got a long second look before any decision was made. After a nod from Catelyn, her guards stood aside, allowing her space to ride ahead with the messenger. She had to break her tired horse into a gallop to reach the head of the procession in good time. As soon as she arrived, the litter was set down and the door opened immediately, cutting off the herald who had been about to announce Lady Stark's presence. All Cat could see was one silver sleeved arm, the cuff embroidered with Tyrell roses linked by a vivid green stems picked out in fine threads. But the arm was soon followed by a stern-featured elderly lady. The passing of time had not dimmed the woman's piercing eyes and she fixed them on Catelyn unflinchingly. There was no mistaking Lady Olenna Tyrell.
All Catelyn had on was a dusty, travel stained cloak that covered an equally sorry gown of grey and white wool. Undoubtedly, she smelled of horse and her face wore the distance she had travelled in every line. Under the gaze of the great lady, she felt her face flush deeply and felt like a roadside beggar. However, she pushed all that aside and dismounted her palfrey and dipped a curtsey.
"Lady Tyrell, it's an honour to meet you," she said. "We met many years ago, when I first came to court but I don't expect you to remember."
"It's as well you don't, Lady Stark," the older woman replied, not unkindly. "But I know you well by reputation. The same of your late husband. Please, accept our condolences and come join us."
Although still painfully self-conscious of her own woeful appearance, Catelyn complied and stepped inside the litter. The herald who had been cut off by the opening door lent her his arm as she went, for which she nodded her thanks. As soon as the door was closed behind her, the litter was once more picked up and they were moving again. There was a free place on a bench facing her companions, cushioned in silk and duck feather pillows – for what she sent up silent prayer of thanks.
Meanwhile, Catelyn found herself face to face with not just Lady Tyrell, but her son Lord Mace and her granddaughter, Lady Margaery. Lady Margaery smiled brightly in recognition. In contrast, her father fixed Catelyn with a look torn between a sneer and a smile. It made the heavyset man look like an aurochs licking piss off a nettle. Still, Catelyn smiled and greeted each in turn in the formal manner.
Margaery was all charm and smiles. "I'm so glad you could join us, Lady Stark. I've been telling father and grandmother all about you and your brave son."
"Yes, I was rather hoping to meet this strapping young thing," Lady Tyrell interjected. Catelyn could not decide whether there really was a mocking undertone to her voice, but even if there was she would let it go. "He's been sent home early, it seems."
There was no mistaking that rebuke. "His Grace, the King of the North, sends his apologies to you and Lady Margaery. But you must understand, he has command of an army two thousand strong now, with thousands more waiting to join him in the Riverlands. He has returned to resume his duties."
Lady Tyrell smiled approvingly. "As it should be, Lady Stark. Speaking of the Riverlands: word reaches me that there has already been skirmishes along the boundary line between your father's lands and Casterly Rock. So far, it seems, successfully fought off by a stray Northern army and you own dear brother."
More her uncle than her brother, she thought. She had let them ride ahead as she left Winterfell for the final time and now thanked the gods that she had. But, they were supposed to be raising their banners for Robb instead of getting distracted by skirmishes. But that could not be helped.
"I daresay that would have something to do with my late husband attempting to bring the Mountain to heel," she stated, sadness in her voice. She didn't even hear about this until after Eddard had been put to death.
Lord Tyrell nodded, bringing a hand to his chin in a ponderous rub. "When the late Lord Stark sent out men under the banner of the King's justice, he saw fit to overlook my son, Loras, who so gallantly put himself forward-"
"Rightly so!" It was Lady Olenna herself who cut him off, acid in her tone. She turned to her son with a withering look. "Loras wanted revenge for what happened at the Hand's Tourney and nothing more. If Lord Stark had indulged the foolish boy all we'd have left of him would be that ridiculous bluebell cloak of his."
"Forget-me-nots," Lord Mace cut in, petulantly.
Catelyn frowned, her confusion shared by both Margaery and Olenna.
"What?"
"The cloak," Mace explained. "It was sewn with forget-me-nots, not bluebells. Anyway, I daresay you're right, mother. But there's no pushing aside the fact that the late Lord Stark humiliated Loras in front of the entire court."
"A little humility will do the boy a world good," Olenna countered. "And I think us to be a bit beyond basing our policy on the wounded pride of a prancing boy!"
Even Margaery smiled, but it was only a fleeting thing. "There are some at court who would deliberately have sent Loras to deal with the Mountain knowing full well what would happen, and what we would have to do in response."
Catelyn thought on it: Loras Tyrell dead at the Mountain's hands would bring that house into direct conflict with the Lannisters. Direct conflict with the Lannisters equated to direct conflict with the crown itself – something the Tyrells had bitter experience of. Yet, here was Catelyn asking them to do just that.
"I believe my late lord husband sent those men out to apprehend Clegane before he learned of Joffrey's true parentage," Catelyn pointed out. "Things are very different now, my lord. We know what we know and now we must do what we must do. You and I both know that's war and when this war comes it will spare none of our houses. Young and old alike will be taking to the field to die for their lords. All we can do is lessen the pain of prolonged fighting."
As she spoke, the litter moved farther along the southern road. Catelyn could hear the heavy footfalls of the litter bearers crunching over loose rocks and gravel. Inside, it was silent as they all considered their positions.
"You know, don't you, that Stannis Baratheon already knew of Joffrey's birth," Margaery stated, quietly. "Renly spoke of it to one of his guards and I overheard. It would seem our esteemed Lord of Dragonstone figured it out alongside the late Hand, Jon Arryn. Stannis fled King's Landing at the same time Lord Arryn was murdered."
All three of the others were surprised.
"Is this for certain? Or merely a rumour?" asked Olenna, glancing sidelong at her granddaughter.
"Surely he would have acted sooner?" Catelyn put in, brow knitted into a frown. But she could not deny that it fit. The timing fit and it fit with the details in Lysa's letter; only now she knew Lysa was not alone in suspecting murder. Then she remembered something, adding: "Ned summoned Stannis to Court on a number of occasions. All summonses were completely ignored; Stannis is not a man to ignore his duty lightly."
"I wondered the same thing myself: why did Stannis hide away on Dragonstone armed with such a host of low truths," Margaery continued, her golden gaze flitting round her companions. "Personally, I think he was content to retreat back to Dragonstone and bide his time, at least until he could prove Arryn was murdered. Robert was undoubtedly the rightful king and, being hale and hearty as he was, there was no reason to suspect he would die any time soon. While Robert lived Stannis had the luxury of time to plan what he would do about Joffrey. Now, like the rest of us, he's been caught off guard by Robert's rather convenient death."
Time was a luxury none of them could afford now, not even among the plush pastures of the Reach. Time may have passed since the Tyrells were humiliatingly defeated by Stannis at the siege of Storm's End, but it was still the reason why none of that House wold even support Stannis in so much as helping him to stand upright. Catelyn was now only too acutely aware of Eddard's own role in bringing that siege to an end. She looked into the eyes of Mace Tyrell and his mother, wondering if they were remembering that now. Would it benefit her cause to bring it up in person, or hold her peace and hope they had conveniently forgotten about it?
"My Lord husband was ever an honourable man, always serving his King," she said, tactfully. "I pray you understand, Stannis was never a friend to him nor to House Stark."
Seeing Mace's confusion, Olenna elaborated for him. "I think Lady Stark is making discreet reference to that silly siege of yours, Mace." She then turned to Catelyn and added: "Have no fear, my lady. We bear you and your house no ill-will on that front. The Targaryens had been defeated. The Prince was dead. The Mad King had a golden sword between his shoulder blades. Well, if you're going to be skewered may as well be skewed on a spit of gold. But I digress: the siege was folly and I said as much at the time."
Mace looked abashed and Catelyn suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for him. As right as Olenna was, she hoped she would never make Robb feel so small. Suddenly, Mace met her gaze as if he had sensed her looking at him.
"We weren't fighting for Aerys, Lady Stark," he said, tone sombre. "We fought for Rhaegar's sake. If you can stomach that fact, we can stomach negotiations for alliance with House Stark."
A flicker of a smile crossed Catelyn's lips. "Are you perchance making discreet reference to Rhaegar's abduction and rape of a certain lady of our house-"
She was cut off by Olenna's hastily stifled mocking laughter. So, it is true, Catelyn thought to herself, very few believed that story. It was a long way from proving Jon as a Targaryen heir, but it was a start. She continued as if she had not been interrupted: "I am certain we can all set aside the quarrels of the past for the sake of a better future."
The litter bearers picked up speed as the road became smoother. Finally, Catelyn dared let herself believe she was getting somewhere.
"Why do you think Lady Stark sent you this letter, with these instructions?" Howland Reed was accompanying Jon on a walk along the edge of Greywater Watch. Meera had already spoken to him about what had happened, while Jon was left to ponder the matter overnight.
"It's obvious, really, isn't it?" he replied, rhetorically. "She wants to parade me in front of Mace Tyrell and the High Lords of the Reach, while you explain about how you found me in my dying mother's arms at the Tower of Joy. You and I are the only survivors but you're the only credible witness."
Howland smiled, but was gazing off into the distance where the sunset was reflected on the surface of a great lake. "And then she would reawaken the old Tyrell-Targaryen allegiance and all will be well in the world. But it's not that simple and that's why I couldn't help her even if I wanted to. And I do want to help, by the way. Don't for one moment think I will abandon House Stark in its hour of need. But I do feel your step-mother is clutching at reeds here, in more ways than one."
Jon shrugged. "It hasn't come to that, anyway. Robb sent another message: Lady Stark and the Tyrell camp had to get off Storm's End as soon as word got out about Renly's death. I'm to leave for Riverrun on the morrow, while you raise the Neck."
It had taken almost a month, but the northern host had finally forded the Green Fork by avoiding it altogether and passing through Howland Reed's lands. No tolls; no dealing with garrulous lords no one trusted anyway. While the Lannisters were raiding Hoster Tully's lands, it felt like it had been a dire and foolish waste of time. But Greatjon and Lord Karstark reached the Riverlands in time to fight the raiders off, just before Renly's death. Now, all Lannister forces were descending on King's Landing in anticipation of Stannis Baratheon's invasion.
"How could Renly have died like that?" Jon asked, glancing over at Lord Reed. "Lady Stark and Robb are not the sorts to make up silly stories about murderous shadows. So what could it mean? How can that be possible?"
Howland Reed was quiet for a moment, contemplating Jon's question. Jon tried to read his expression, to see if there was some great revelation coming his way. But the older man's expression was clouded. When he did speak again, it was hesitant and uncertain.
"I won't pretend to be an expert," he began, unpromisingly. "But there's shadowbinders from Asshai who can work that kind of magic. Although, where Stannis Baratheon could possibly have come across such tricks, I cannot guess. But I hear talk of him escorting a Red Priestess about. I passed it off as rumour. But who knows?"
The question repeated in Jon's mind: who knows? What he did know was that if one king could be killed with this kind of magic, so could another. He feared for Robb now. He was fearing for Robb as he never had before. Renly was deliberately targeted, it would seem, and he could guess why. He turned back towards Greywater Watch, the ever drifting keep built on an artificial island. There was magic keeping this place afloat, too. An ancient magic he could almost feel pulsing through the bogs and waters. It felt like the last safe haven before he stepped into the southern fray.
"It's headed south," Howland said, as though he'd read Jon's mind. "You won't have far to travel on the morrow. But it'll still take a while to reach Riverrun. You'll be safe enough now that Tywin Lannister is focusing all his efforts on King's Landing. Where you go from there is entirely up to yourself, Jon."
Jon snapped around to look at him again. Although he was only fifteen, Jon was already taller than Howland who was not much taller than Bran. He tried not to look down at the man, but it was difficult as they walked side by side. He wondered what Reed meant by that last sentence.
"I go wherever Robb goes, willingly."
"That's not what I meant, Lord Stark and last of the Targaryen princes-"
Jon cut him off. "I really would rather people didn't call me that." He drew a deep breath, regretting talking over Lord Reed so sharply. "Forgive me, I spoke out of turn; especially after all you have done for my brother and myself."
Howland smiled. "There's nothing to forgive. Even after all these years of your knowing, it's a lot to take in. From thinking yourself the baseborn son of a whore your father refused to even name, to being the only surviving son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen himself. Under normal circumstances, you would have been heaped with honour. But one fateful blow of an axe meant you narrowly escaped being hunted down and put to the sword for the blood in your veins. Now, there are those who would look to you to restore an ancient House regardless of your own personal feelings."
They had left Greywater Watch by now and come to a small godswood located off the banks of one of the many streams that dissected the bogs. The air was thick with the smell of the wetlands, earthy and rich and pure. Seating was provided by a tree whose roots had come loose of the soggy earth and toppled over under its own weight. There, the two of them sat while Jon mulled over what Howland had said. About how that one blow of an axe had completely changed the course of his life, besides taking the life of his real father.
"I think about how it would have been had my father lived," he said. "How he would have been king. They all say his wife was dying and that's why he took my mother away. Keeping her in the wings until the day came. Then I would have been raised at King's Landing and dressed in silks, with all the Maesters and the rich foods, all in the lap of luxury. But then I would never have known Robb, or Arya, Bran, Rickon or even Sansa; I wouldn't even have known uncle Eddard. I would never know Winterfell, or the north. I wouldn't know the Old Gods, or the godswood, or the summer snow. My family wouldn't be my family; my friends wouldn't be my friends. I would have given everything to know my mother, but I that was before I knew I would have to give up the rest of my family and the Starks are my family."
His words trailed off as he feared he was sounding foolish. People would kill for a life of luxury in a palace, but he would not. He wouldn't have swapped Winterfell for the world. Colour rose in his face, but Howland was smiling appreciatively at him.
"There's nothing wrong with having had a happy life at Winterfell, Jon," he pointed out. "And your family are still your family. It's just that the relationships are a little different. Your siblings are your cousins and so on and so forth. They're still your blood, but Rhaegar is also your blood and the man who killed your real siblings enjoys immunity from the family who usurped yours."
Jon shrugged as he met his reflection in the surface of the pool. His dark hair and dark grey eyes were there, and his long pale face. There was nothing of Rhaegar Targaryen in him. Was that why he never felt like a Targaryen?
"I will never be King," he said, quietly. He could feel the sap-eyed trees watching him now; the old gods were listening. "I couldn't do it. I cannot imagine it."
"Neither could Robert Baratheon," Howland put in. "But he did and he was a good king who brought peace to the realm after the capricious insanity of Aerys."
Jon did not reply immediately. He thought of the task itself, the title and the burden that came with it. He couldn't see the golden crown on his head; only a millstone round his neck. A millstone he would be expected to drag around for the rest of his days. He was glad that Lady Stark had been hauled farther south before he could set off to find her at Storm's End.
"It's too much," he admitted, tremulously. "I mean, it's too big. All of this…" he gestured around the godswood, but meant the realm as a whole. "One moment, I'm full of big ideas: of what I'd do if I were king. I would grant independence to the North. Then I'd restore my father's bloodline and clear the stain from his name. But that's not what being king is about. It's about taking care of all the realm's people, making things better and fairer. It's about creating prosperity and diplomacy. Dealing with foreign nations, while keeping peace among my own lords. How can I do that?"
Even the act of giving his fears and confusion a voice made him feel a little lighter. It didn't light his path any farther, but it lanced a boil somewhere in his soul.
"I see so much of Eddard in you, Jon, it's staggering," Howland replied, sounding almost wistful. After a brief pause, he continued: "When I first met your father, at the tourney of Harrenhal, his older brother was like a second shadow constantly looming over him. So shy, he could barely pluck up the courage to ask a girl to dance. Then the shadow fell and Eddard had no choice but to rise in Brandon's place. I may be biased, but I think Ned was one of the best Wardens of the North we ever had and I think that might have been because he was forced to rise to the challenge. He never thought he'd do it, so he had to go that extra mile, he had to put the extra effort in. Sometimes, people just don't know what they're capable of until they have no choice but to do it. But, as I said, I may be biased."
Jon managed a weak laugh. "Just a little biased, I'd wager. I understand what you're saying though. People who're born to rule expect it by right of birth. It's different when you must fight for what you have." His time as the bastard of Winterfell had taught him that much.
"Just think on it. You just don't know what you're capable of until you're put to the test. As yet, you're untested. Don't limit yourself so soon."
Feeling a lot calmer, Jon replied: "I will, and thank you Lord Reed."
With that, Howland signalled the end of the discussion by rising to his feet and stretching himself out. Even then, he was still smaller than Jon. By the time they left the small godswood night had come down around them. This deep in the Neck he could not see the stars; only a dripping canopy of leaves and twisted vines spread out overhead. Nevertheless, he could still sense the presence of the heavens.
Several hours later, when dawn lifted the gloom of the Neck, Jon was dressed and ready to go. He kissed Lady Reed's hand, shook Lord Reed's and joined Meera on the nearby jetty. She would go with him to the border of the Riverlands, but then he would be on his own for the rest of the way to Riverrun. But he wouldn't be alone for long.
A wash of memories swept over Sansa as she stepped inside the godswood. The last time she came here was with her father and sister, the night a raven came from Winterfell to inform them of Bran's awakening. The three of them sat beneath the broad oak heart tree, giving thanks for their brother's recovery. Would that she could feel his broad arm holding her close as she drifted off to sleep with her head resting against his shoulder. If only Arya could be there with them, dozing on father's other side.
Gently, she lowered herself down in the same spot she had occupied on that last occasion. Even though it was not a proper weirwood tree, they had still felt the presence of their gods that night. Now, all she felt was the ghost of her father. But instead of his embrace, she only had her cloak to warm her which she did so by wrapping the wool tight around her. She didn't notice her tears until they chilled her face. Renly was dead now, which meant that Stannis would invade. If he took the city he would lock her away to use her to defeat Robb. If he lost, the Lannisters would force her to marry Joffrey now that her moon blood had arrived, and he would torment her for the rest of his days. Either option felt like a deathless death to her. She was trapped, with no hope of escape. Sometimes, she thought of stepping off the battlements. It would be over in a second. She would feel nothing and it would be her choice.
"Are you little bird today? Or are you wolf girl?"
The rasp of Sandor Clegane's voice startled her from her reverie. Suddenly in a panic, she clambered to her feet in a manner ungainly, holding on the trunk of the heart tree for support. He was standing by one of the dark, old trees with the visor of his helm pushed up to reveal his scarred face.
"I'm not doing anything," she protested. "I was just praying."
He looked at her curiously. "And crying."
Embarrassed, she hastily swiped at her damp face and pulled herself together. "The wind was blowing in my face and making my eyes water. That was all. If my Prince requires my presence, I will come with you now." There was not a breath of wind in the place. Just like Baelish said, she was a truly hopeless liar.
"That's not why I'm here, little bird," he replied, calmly. "Just making sure you're not thinking of flying away."
"Of course not and the Queen knows I'm here," she pointed out. "I love Prince Joffrey and I'm going to be a dutiful and loving wife to him one day."
The Hound smiled a twisted smile that made the burns ripple in the dying light. She was so used to seeing it now that it had no effect on her. Her fear was gone.
"Aye, right you are little bird. Don't let me interrupt."
With that, he turned and left. She watched him leaving, wondering what he would tell Joffrey. Her mouth had said all the right things, but it didn't reflect what was in her heart. The only way she could love Joffrey now was if his head was skewered on a pike above the walls of Winterfell. And she is a hopeless liar. Shame crept up on her.
Lies or no, that night she slept. She slipped into a deep sleep and awoke somewhere far away. It was dark, but her keen eyes cut through the night like a sharp axe through ripe cheese. Nymeria's scent was thick on the air, her wild sister running ahead while she hung back. Under Nymeria's scent lay the tang of smoke from nearby fires. Men had been there not long before and she feared them. She could smell horse and the fetid decay of human flesh. Nymeria's howl emboldened her and she loped across the field in which she found herself, towards the woods. The howls grew in pitch and she joined in. A flash of pure white fur, turned silver in the moonlight, darted from between the trees and red eyes found her own. Their brother had heard their calls. Then another, a fourth wolf, joined the cacophony. Now, all her fears evaporated like a summer snow, even though she could not yet see him.
"Grey Wind!" Sansa gasped, waking with a start. She sat bolt upright in bed, panting as the wolf dream faded. It's going to be all right, she thought to herself. And she knew it was true.
Thanks again for reading. There was so much more that I wanted to cover in this chapter, but it was going on too long already. So there's more to come in the next.
Reviews would be lovely, if you have a moment. Thank you!