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Chapter Twenty-One: Hypothetically Speaking

It took Sam three days and four nights to find his sea legs. In all that time he cowered below decks, clutching a bucket like a lifeline and heaving. But by the fourth day, amidst the still raging seas, his stomach settled as though numbed to the effects of the foam-capped, roiling waves that battered Alysane's ship. Now, on the dawn of their fifth day at sea, he ventured up above for the first time, just as they skirted the Stony Shore. If he squinted through the dawn mists he could make out the yawning mouth of Blazewater Bay, empty at this hour.

As he walked, gripping the railings for support, he gazed over the north western coast rising from the iron grey seas like jagged teeth. An awe-inspiring sight, or so he thought, and one he never thought he'd see. When he reached the prow, he found Alysane wrapped in bearskins with her back to him, watching over the far horizon. Her hair was loose, blowing out behind her in scores of tawny tendrils as she faced whatever was coming towards them. Most likely deafened by the howling winds, she did not hear his approach.

"Alysane," he greeted her, not wanting to startle her with a sudden appearance. She'd wrestle him overboard in the blink of an eye.

She turned her face towards him, cheeks reddened by the bracing sea air. "Samwell. It seems you've recovered."

He managed a dry laugh. "About time, too."

The thought of even more of these sea voyages filled him with dread. Although he had recovered, he still felt drained and lethargic. As though the storms had blown away his life force.

"If it please you, my lady, I thought we might talk some more," he said. "Would you care to join me below deck?"

She nodded, to his relief. She walked across the rolling deck nimbly, as only an islander could. Sam was left stumbling after her like an afternoon drunk. But she did not seem to notice. Although they had talked while at Bear Island, they left most of their planning for the long voyage to save time. Alysane's daughter, Lyanna, had been left in charge of Bear Island, despite her tender age. Sam could recall the parting now: mother had left daughter with a new 'toy' to play with in her absence, a glittering new forged morning star and instructions to have her mother a new bear pelt for when she returned. The sight of it alone made Sam shiver. Lyanna and Alsyane Mormont were exactly the kind of sons Randyll Tarly wanted.

"First, we make for Riverrun," said Alysane, once they reached Sam's bunk below decks. "My mother and sister, Dacey, are there with King Robb and his host. They might know something of where Jorah is. If they don't, then we make for the Hightowers. It could be that Lynesse Hightower keeps in touch with her kin. If so, they can send us to her and she can lead us to Jorah."

Sam nodded. The seat of the Hightowers was far to the south, near Old Town and the Citadel of the Maesters. Although Horn Hill was nearby, it was still too far away for Sam to be familiar with the local area. Something he had already explained to Alysane.

"I don't even know why our Uncle was so desperate for Jorah to join the Night's Watch," she said, bitterly. Her face registered her disgust. "He brought dishonour to our house and to the north. It'll take more than a black cloak to shroud that shame."

Sam sighed, sadly. "We need men to defend the Wall, my lady. It matters not what they did in their past lives, if they're fit and able they're welcome in the Watch."

Silence fell between them, during which Alysane weighed him up carefully. Their gaze met and he could see something else was troubling her. Something besides her disgraced uncle currently in hiding across the narrow sea. There was a flicker of something almost like fear in her steely grey eyes.

"You've been north of the Wall, Sam," she began, softly now. "Tell me true, what did you see? What else have you heard about what's up there?"

A solemnity came over him, then. Memories of the Fist of the First Men and the Skirling Pass closed over him like dark shadows gathering. A deep breath shuddered between his ribs as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"Dead men rise," he began, cringing against the foolishness of his words. Blushing crimson to the roots of his hair, he pressed on regardless. "I know how daft that sounds, Alysane. I saw what I saw with my own two eyes; I'm fat and I'm craven, but I am not stupid my lady. Dead men rose, with eyes as cold and blue as stars. Undead. Demonic. Call it what you like, but white walkers are real. I saw them. Your uncle saw them and was attacked by two at Castle Black itself. The Wildlings we captured spoke of dreadful things."

He paused there, ushering in a silence broken only by the creaking decks of their storm tossed ship. Meanwhile, he could see the lady was deep in thought. She wasn't laughing, much to his relief.

"You say our Old Bear was attacked inside Castle Black?" she asked. "Tell me more."

Sam recounted the story, missing out no detail at all. He told her of the one he had slain north of the wall, for good measure. An obsidian dagger was in his hand, then it was in the heart of the wight. He had expected to die, but even now he could recall the moment the thing shattered at the touch of his blade. They had called him Sam the Slayer after that. But the memory of that moment was like an ice fist gripping his guts. To his relief, Alysane remained unamused.

"When we get to Riverrun we will have an audience with King Robb," she replied. "You tell him all you told me. You'll have my voice to back you up, seeing as we've been hearing all sorts from Wildlings washing up on Bear Island, too. Now remember, Robb Stark is our King. So bend the knee when you see him and address him as 'your grace'."

Sam nodded. "I know his brother, Jon. He came to visit Castle Black. I do hope he's there, at Riverrun, when we arrive."

That was one thing he had to look forward to: seeing Jon again. It had been Jon who had given him a germ of confidence when he was new to the Night's Watch.

"What was Jon doing at Castle Black?" she asked, frowning. "Hell of a long way to go for the sake of visiting an uncle. Especially for a boy as sullen and broody as that one."

"He's very fond of Benjen," he replied, quickly. "And Jon's not like that at all. Not when you get to know him."

Alysane shrugged and reached into her pocket, pulling out a bottle of amber liquor. Although the hour was young, Sam still accepted a swallow to fortify himself. His long period of seasickness had left him weak and shaky and a stiff drink would perk him up no end. He thanked her, before she led him back on deck. "The sea air will do you good," she called over her shoulder as she went.

And so it did. The winds were in their favour now and they were skimming gracefully across Blazewater Bay, towards Cape Kraken by the time they reached the prow again. The morning had risen, full of golden sunshine lighting up the grey waves. It was almost beautiful and a vast improvement on festering below decks in cabins that stank of salt and sick. In the far distance, Sam could even make out the small, indistinct shapes of approaching ships. Only one or two at first, but the number grew steadily as they drew closer. He recalled the old geography lessons the old Maester at Horn Hill had given him as a boy, trying to guess where this fleet could be from.

"Iron Islanders?" he suggested to Alysane, pointing to them. Up close, he could see how huge the long ships were. "I don't see any sigils."

Alysane had stiffened, her brow knitted in concern. "Aye. They're Ironborn right enough. Where in seven hells are they going? That's the question you should be asking."

There was no mistaking the worry in her tone. It caused Sam to turn from the distant fleet and study her expression. Her jaw was clenched, teeth grinding as she watched the Iron fleet glide past them, heading farther north.

"If they attack Bear Island I'll have their fucking hides," she whispered under her breath. "If they set so much as a foot on our shores, I'll nail them to their own masts."

Her tension proved contagious as Sam felt himself grow rigid. He too was watching the ships now, full of wonder and dread mixed together. The reputation of the Ironborn was the stuff of nightmares. "We'll inform the King of the North of this, too. King Robb will know what to do." At least, that was what Sam hoped.

Castle Ashford had risen on the horizon like an oasis of stone and timber in a desert of seemingly endless dusty roads. Still riding with the Tyrell litter, Catelyn had been among the first admitted through the portcullis and found herself being quickly led to a private chamber. Her guards all had antechambers that led off her own, so they wouldn't be far away while she still had her privacy. The first thing she did was plunge naked into a steaming hot bath, sighing audibly as the cleansing waters closed over her bare skin. Something so simple that, after weeks in a travelling war camp, made her feel like she'd died, gone to heaven and come back alive.

Handmaidens appeared, bearings buckets of fresh steaming water, and to help her sluice off the dirt that had accumulated during her months on the road. They even helped clean under her nails and massaged her scalp as they soaped and rinsed her hair. The water was so bad that the girls had had to change it completely, to her eternal embarrassment. She found herself yammering excuses to them, making sure they knew she was not entirely a stranger to soap and water. They smiled and made soothing, reassuring noises in response.

When she was done, she towelled herself dry on the softest of terry towels. There was even a clean gown waiting for her, with a note attached bearing the compliments of Lady Alerie Hightower, Mace Tyrell's lady wife. Catelyn looked at the note again, taking it as a hopeful gesture of friendship. Normally, she shunned the ostentatious gowns of courtly ladies but she gladly set aside her scruples on this occasion. The skirts and bodices were silk, the kirtle of fine muslin. All pale blue with ivory linings, to compliment her own natural colourings. Even the dagged sleeves were decorated with the finest Myrish lace. As Catelyn studied her reflection in the mirror, she had to admit to feeling much more a part of the Tyrell set. Someone her hosts would take more seriously, now she was out of her drab grey woollens.

As soon as she was dressed and groomed, there was no more time to waste before the formal dinner began. The thought of having to impress these southron lords made her stomach flutter with nerves. After so long among the no-nonsense, salt of the earth northern lords, she had almost forgotten how to flatter and cajole the altogether more delicate south into action. But, Lord Ashford himself was waiting in the gallery outside her chamber door, come to escort her to his Great Hall in person. He glanced at her, looking at her as though he barely recognised her. She found herself blushing like a maiden.

"Lady Stark!" he exclaimed. "Forgive my being so forward, my lady, but you do look lovely."

She thanked him for his courtesy. He was older than her by ten years at most. Five at least. But he was still strong, and broad shouldered; commanding forces a thousand strong. Sworn to House Tyrell, he had been an unflinching supporter since time immemorial and he was one of the men she knew she must win over. As such, she allowed him to lead her into the Hall where everyone already seemed to be gathered. Expecting a place at the lower table, she was surprised as he led her to the high table with the Tyrells. Before she sat down, she went to Lady Alerie to thank her for the dress.

Seated between Lady Olenna Tyrell and Lord Ashford, she leaned to the left to allow the serving girl to pour her wine. While that was happening, she glanced over the Great Hall, stuffed to the rafters with High Lords and their retinues, all sworn to House Tyrell. Among them, they could amass hosts of thousands all potentially for the benefit of House Stark. Her stomach churned against the weight of opportunity.

"I see they've turned you into a fluttering southern butterfly for the night, Lady Stark," Ollenna remarked as she sipped her wine.

"For one night only," Catelyn assured the old matriarch. "And courtesy of your dear daughter in law, no less. For which I give many thanks."

As she spoke, the first of the courses appeared. A starter of fresh river trout roasted in herbs and a white wine sauce. As custom dictated, they all tried a little before passing the course down to the lower tables. Olenna sent sugar roasted almonds down to Randyll Tarly, remarking the dish may yet make him a little sweeter to deal with and laughed drily. Once the food was distributed and the hungry lords and retainers were filling their bellies, the talk at the top table grew serious.

"Your son's cause is, no doubt, just Lady Stark," said Mace Tyrell. "I've always thought the north a very unique and spirited place-"

"Says he who has never in his life ventured farther north than the Trident," Olenna cut in, laughing.

But Mace continued as if nothing had been said. "What worries me is that the realm is, essentially, being lopped off at the shoulders. Westeros will be broken in two and our Margaery will be Queen to a rebel King."

"You're assuming I would have Lady Margaery wed to King Robb?" she asked, setting down a forkful of venison.

Mace looked askance. "Surely you would offer no less? Anything else would be an insult."

He was reddening, but Olenna remained calm. "Hear the woman out, Mace."

Catelyn smiled and thanked her. "Maybe I can make you a better offer?"

"We're all ears," Lady Alerie put in.

Before continuing, Catelyn affected an air of casualness as she took a small bite of venison and washed it down with some Arbour wine. In reality, she was marshalling her thoughts and deciding what to say next. If she laid it all out on the table there was every chance the Tyrells would have her seized, locked up and handed over to the Lannisters. Should that happen, she would have handed Joffrey victory on a plate, she would be executed for a traitor and Robb's army crushed like a gnat. However, if the Tyrells were still loyal to the Targaryens, she would have them for a certainty.

She had to tread carefully, testing the waters as she slowly unfolded the truth behind their campaign. But it was still a risk and a risk she had to take.

"Speaking hypothetically," she began. "What if Prince Aegon was somehow smuggled out of King's Landing before the city was sacked. He would be what? Sixteen or seventeen by now, I would imagine. What would you do if he revealed himself?"

Lords Ashford and Tyrell, along with the three ladies Tyrell all looked at her with an equal degree of calculation. At least she had their attention.

"In that rather unlikely scenario," Mace replied. "He would be our rightful King. The son of Rhaegar Targaryen, no less. The gods were cruel to take him before his time … no offense to you or your late lord, Lady Stark."

Catelyn nodded, disregarding the implied slight on Ned. "True. Aegon would be the rightful King, but he would need to re-take the Kingdom before he could stake a claim-"

"Forgive my interruption, Lady Stark, but was has this to do with the Northern Campaign?" asked Olenna. "Aegon is dead. He's not coming back, so this is meaningless. If he did return, I daresay he would give your son short shrift."

"But I'm asking you hypothetically. What if he was alive," she persisted. "Would you rally to him?"

"Of course!" Ashford and Mace said together. Mace continued alone: "For the sake of his father. You know, before the Rebellion broke out, we were already planning on replacing Aerys anyway. Rhaegar promised us change was coming and things would be very different once he was king."

Olenna sighed heavily. "But Varys, of course, discovered the true meaning of the Tourney of Harrenhal and made sure Aerys attended. That rather threw a dampener on proceedings. Now, they are all dead save for a little girl wandering the Free Cities."

They were finally going down the path of Catelyn's choosing. "Now, what would have happened had Rhaegar met another woman and spirited her away, wedding her on the Isle of Faces before a weirwood tree?"

Silence. 'Lyanna Stark' was a name on all their lips, but none of them dared to speak it. They all knew it and Catelyn knew they knew it. She almost smiled, but for the severity of the situation. Her heartbeat fluttered whenever she imagined the possible consequences of what she was saying.

"You know where I'm going," she said, keeping her voice low. So low she was almost drowned out by the retinues still feasting and drinking at the lower tables. "What if she gave him a son?"

No one answered immediately. Not until Olenna cleared her throat and started playing along. "Assuming that the childbirth killed the mother; the safest course of action would be for the girl's family to take the infant and pass him off as a motherless bastard, begotten by her brother while out warring. Then pray that the babe takes after his mother and not his silver haired, purple eyed father. As for the mother, you could just say she died of an unspecified fever. It happens to the best of us!"

"Lady Stark," said Mace, once his mother finished speaking. "Are we really still speaking hypothetically here? What exactly are you telling us?"

Lord Ashford was as taut as a bowstring. "Do you have a son of Rhaegar Targaryen hidden in Winterfell?"

She misliked how direct he was, so ignored him for the moment. "I'm positing one course of action. For all I know, you could be about to go running down to King's Landing with what I'm trying to tell you."

Ashford almost choked. "Now let me answer you direct, my lady, any son of Rhaegar's has my sword. I don't care if he was raised in a castle or a ditch, he would be my king."

"Hear! Hear!" Mace exclaimed, banging his tankard on the table. But he gathered himself quickly. "But we must speak in private about this. Here we can only hint and imply things and, I must say, I find it maddening – meaning no offence to you, Lady Stark. If I have the right of it, this is a rather delicate matter."

"You could say that," Catelyn agreed.

"Lady Lyanna Stark," Olenna finally spoke her name. "Well, let's face it, we all wondered about that. We all just assumed that any child she did deliver died along with her in that tower. And it was rather convenient that Lord Eddard suddenly discovered he'd gotten a wench with child at that precise moment in time."

"There was that business with Roose Bolton and Barbrey Dustin a few years ago; it was the talk of the court-"

"Not now, Mace," Olenna cut him off. "I suggest we meet after the feast and, please Lady Stark, no more speaking hypothetically. Tell us straight and tell us true, what or who it is of Rhaegar's you've had concealed in the north for all these years."

That was all she needed. It also bought her more time.

"This promises to be very interesting," Ashford observed. "But be assured, Lady Stark, any son of Rhaegar's has me and mine among his friends."

But Olenna wasn't quite finished. "I am sensing that the young wolf is nothing more than a front for your noble cause. Meanwhile, the perhaps son of Rhaegar whose existence you haven't even confirmed yet, is the iron battering ram with which you mean to take the rest of the realm."

"You're close," Catelyn confirmed, smiling slightly. "You're very close."

"My Margaery, married to the son of the dragon," Mace mumbled, dreamily. His eyes had become unfocused as he gazed into the middle distance.

Olenna shot him a scathing look. "Not now, Mace!"

Even Catelyn had to admit he was racing way ahead of himself. "Please, let us plan and discuss in private first. Secrecy and discretion is paramount here."

"Agreed," they all chorused in response.

Even with that out of the way, and the reaction favourable, Catelyn was still fraught with nerves.

"That's a find blade if ever I saw one." The sound of Brynden Tully's voice caused Jon to leap out of the chair he'd been sitting in as if it'd bitten him on the arse. Not seeming to have noticed the young lad's discomfiture, the Blackfish picked up Dark Sister and tilted the Valyrian steel blade against the firelight. He watched as the weapon seemed to absorb the flame's reflection, causing the steel to ripple darkly. "Now either that's Valyrian or I'm a blushing maid."

Jon managed a nervous smile. "You're certainly no blushing maid, ser."

Still enraptured by Dark Sister, Brynden tested the blades balance for a moment. "I won't ask where you got it from," he jested. "I'll just be grateful that you got it; it'll be put to good use before these wars are done. Have you named her?"

Jon almost said it, but gulped instead. "Not yet, ser."

Ghost sniffed at the other man's boots, but Blackfish had been around Robb and Grey Wind enough to no longer be wary of the direwolves. He handed back the sword and scratched Ghost's ears, leisurely.

"You must be Cat's step-son," he said, extending a hand towards him. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced."

Jon shook his hand, but before he could answer the door slammed shut and a familiar voice called out: "Forgive me, Uncle, it's most remiss of me. This is my brother, Jon. Jon, this is Blackfish."

"Robb!" he called out, delighted to see his brother again.

Robb strode down the hall, beaming brightly. "Brother!"

The two gripped each other in a brief bear hug. They hadn't seen each other in months. When they parted, Robb greeted his uncle with a more restrained hand shake. The three of them exchanged pleasantries while a serving girl brought wine up from the cellars and poured them all a glass each. Once she was gone, they caught up on the news from Renly and Stannis Baratheon and raiders sent to harry their lands by Tywin Lannister. Renly dead; the raiders sent packing and Stannis was somewhere only the gods knew now. It was the best they could do before summoning their full host on the morrow.

"My lady mother is hammering out an alliance with the Tyrells," Robb explained. "With some luck and gentle persuading, she'll win them over. Uncle, has there been any word from Theon Greyjoy?"

Brynden looked blank. "None at all. It shouldn't be taking him this long to convince his father, not with the terms you're offering him. A crown in exchange for a few ships. Not much to bloody ask, is it. It's not like the Ironborn are known for their pride and high standards."

Jon began to feel queasy as he remembered backing Robb in his decision to send Theon back to Pyke with terms for Balon Greyjoy. Lady Stark was so opposed to it she had seemed ready to box both their ears until they saw stars. Silently, he sent up prayers to the old gods that she wasn't about to be proved right. Meanwhile, Robb looked troubled. But he soon brightened up again.

"You should see the bride we have lined up for you, Jon. She's a true beauty," he said. "I'd have wed her there and then, had it not been for you."

Jon almost choked on his wine. "When was I going to be told of this?"

"Now," said Robb. "We couldn't very well put in a letter for a raven. Surely you know an alliance with the Tyrells would cost you your hand in marriage to their only daughter."

"Personally, I thought you would have been more suited, dear brother," he retorted.

"No offence to you, Jon. But I have to agree with you," Brynden chipped in. "You're only recently legitimised, aren't you?"

Jon flushed red, an unpleasant memory rearing at the back of his mind. Even after four years the ignominy of being a bastard stung. However, Robb's realisation of what he'd said made him crimson to the roots of his hair.

"Well, we'll see," he said, by way of covering his tracks. "What about yourself uncle? Have you managed to charm Lysa Arryn out of the Eyrie?"

If that wasn't a blatant attempt at changing the subject, Jon thought, then he too was a blushing maid. But Brynden was spared the effort of an answer by the arrival of one of Riverrun's stewards announcing the arrival of Lady Alysane Mormont and one Samwell Tarly. Jon jarred at the last name. The fat boy he'd become firm friends with during his stint at Castle Black. Intrigued, he got to his feet and followed the steward outside.

And there he was. Still dressed in the customary black of the Night's Watch, still large and now smiling. Next to him was a woman who was unmistakably a Mormont. He failed to see the connection.

"Sam!" he said. "What are you doing here?"

Alysane side stepped them both as she went in to speak with Robb. Meanwhile, Jon drew Sam farther down the gallery, to where they could speak privately. But the full, sorry tale started tumbling from Sam's lips before they even found a small anteroom to sit in. Jon was genuinely sorry to hear of the death of the lord commander. Sorrier still to hear of the horrors unfolding north of the wall.

"So, you're to travel the Free Cities in search of Jorah Mormont?" asked Jon.

Sam nodded, managing a rueful smile. "It's shaping up to be quite an adventure already."

It was the sort of thing he had dreamt of as a small boy. Jon had to admit, there was more than a slight pang of jealousy curling at his gut. "He could be anywhere, Sam. You'll have to travel through the whole of Essos. Penthos, Braavos, even Asshai if you're really determined. It'll be amazing. Just think of all the amazing things you'll see!"

Sam's eyes glittered, as though he'd only just realised how big an adventure he could be about to have. Fear, anxiety and excitement – Jon would have thought.

"I really want to avoid Asshai by the Shadow, though," Sam confessed. "Just reading about that place gives me sleepless nights."

It was almost reassuring to find the other boy still as nervous as ever. "Write a book about it and I'll be sure to read it when it's all done."

Jon wasn't joking. He almost wished he could go too. But he could see that Sam also had something else on his mind. He drew a deep breath, before opening the door of the anteroom they were in. Jon thought he was about to leave, but Sam only glanced outside, making sure no one was listening in. When he sat back down again, he explained himself.

"After you left Castle Black, I found out about you," he said. "Maester Aemon made sure I found out."

Jon was confused. "Y-you know?"

"Who your parents really are," Sam confirmed his suspicions. "The Prince and the late Lord Stark's sister."

For a long moment, Jon didn't know how to react. But already he could see that word was leaking out. More and more were discovering his secret. Lady Stark was right: this veil of secrecy was never going to last forever. But still, he erred on the side of caution.

"Sam, you can't tell anyone," he said. "If I play this wrong, it could mean my life."

"I'll not tell a soul, I promise," he swore.

They fell into silence, with Jon struggling to think of a way to move the subject matter on. But as he did so, he heard the distant sound of voices raised in anger. Suddenly alert to what was going on in the great hall he'd just vacated, he looked at Sam with a finger pressed to his lips for silence. Sam too listened intently. Footsteps were marching swiftly and heavily, boots against oak flooring that echoed.

"He was a brother to me!" Robb's voice boomed out. Angry and hurt. "What in seven hells is he playing at? Mother warned me not to send him. Where did Jon get to? Jon! Jon, I need you!"

He was about to rush out, but Sam grabbed his sleeve. "We saw the Iron Born sailing north towards Bear Island. Alysane thinks they're likely to start raiding the north shores."

Anger came hot and heavy. Without another word, he wrenched the door open and strode out to meet Robb in the outer gallery. His brother turned to face him, equally furious now. His jaw was set firm, lips compressed to an angry white line.

"Where were you?" he demanded, angrily. "I was looking for you. We have a problem, brother."

"So I hear," he replied, taking the rebuke and casting it aside as words spoken in anger. "Don't panic. It's nothing we cannot handle."

But even he had never imagined that their first proper battle would be against someone they regarded as a brother.

And there's still a lot more to come from Cat's discussions with the Tyrells. So much to squeeze in and short spaces to do it. It may well be that the whole of the next chapter must be dedicated to them discussion the Jon situation. I try to fit in a PoV from as many characters as possible to keep things interesting. So I hope I have your indulgence if this has to happen.

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