AN: Surprise! Here is another update!
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Also as a tag on, when I have the time I am going to be dipping into some of my older chapters cleaning up the grammar and typos that I missed in the past. Nothing major will change, just a bit of polished and minor editing.
But yeah, otherwise, please do enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson, Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire.
( - )
(Last Time)
"I brought urgent news from the Wall," Jon replied bluntly, his expression tightening. "News that Lord Stark had to hear, and yourself too, your grace."
"I see," Tytan said softly. "Is this news of the encroaching Long Night?"
Jon froze at the question, his mouth slightly agape.
Sansa and several of her ladies in waiting tittered slightly at what they all must have deemed were the king's jape.
Looking at the king's expression, though, Robb didn't think it was some kind of clever jape or a jab at the Night's Watch.
The king looked serious.
"Yes, your grace." Jon bowed his head.
Forcing a smile, Tytan turned his attention back to his host. "Now that proper greetings have taken place, I think my men need to freshen up."
"Of course, your grac-, I mean Tytan. Vayon, Jory, could you see to the horses and settle the king's men." Robb commanded. Both Jory and Vayon nodded. "There'll be a feast tonight to celebrate your arrival."
"Thank you, Robb." Tytan nodded, his expression was still serious as he approached him and pitched his voice lower. "If you have some time, I think there is much we need to discuss, and someone I need to meet…."
"Yes," Robb nodded, his expression also serious. "There is."
( - )
Chapter 33
( - )
(At Winterfell)
Life had never been easy for him.
Not since the day he realised why he was treated differently to his siblings.
Back then he hadn't noticed the sideways glances he had received, and the muted whispering and gossiping had often flown over his head.
He hadn't realised his origins and the true meaning behind it.
Not until he was explicitly told what he was, and what it meant.
Jon gritted his teeth at that memory.
Despite what many at Castle Black had thought and claimed. Growing up at Winterfell alongside his trueborn brothers and sisters had not always been pleasant. Sure it was better than living in poverty. But it wasn't as wonderful and joyous as others believed it to be.
There had always been a distance between him and his siblings. And an underlying tension.
For all that he loved his siblings, and he really did.
He had never felt like one of the Stark children, not truly.
Back when he was a young child he had gotten along well with all of his brothers and sisters. They had all played together and grown up together.
But in the end, like with everything. Time, duty and the realities of their very different lives had changed things.
Robb was the one he was closest to.
In part that had been because they were of a similar age and so had had similar interests growing up.
When they had been kids they had often played at war and had fought alongside one another against mighty make-believe armies.
They had been all but inseparable in their youth.
Much to Lady Stark's displeasure.
But as they got older their paths had started to diverge, and a chasm had formed between them.
The first time he had noticed this was when Theon Greyjoy had first arrived at Winterfell. It hadn't taken the Ironborn heir long to make fast friends with Robb, what with the both of them being heirs and of a similar age, and with many of the same interests. And initially, he too had tried to make nice with the Greyjoy. Only, unlike when Robb had tried to befriend him he had only ever received lukewarm responses and snide comments about his heritage in response.
None of which Robb had reacted to as he instead just ignored the tension between Jon and Theon, and instead pretended that all was well and that they were all getting along as friends.
He had played at being oblivious, because reacting to what was going on would have been uncomfortable, and would have put undue stress on his blossoming friendship with Theon.
Following Theon's arrival everything had started to change between the two of them as Robb's interests slowly but surely started to shift to match Theon's evolving tastes.
Noticeably, or at least to him. As Theon and Robb's budding friendship strengthened. His older brother had begun to spend less time with Jon and Bran. Instead, he had followed his older friend Theon's lead as they pursued girls, snuck out to the tavern to drink, and strutted about bragging about made-up feats to women of the night.
He'd changed quite quickly after the Greyjoy had started exerting his bad influence on him, and so too had the void between the two of them. The distance between them had then been further widened when the realities of their positions were made clear to them by Lady Stark.
He was a baseborn son.
A bastard.
A possible usurper of the trueborn Stark children's birthrights.
Robb meanwhile was their father's firstborn son and his Heir.
This only became more evident when their father had taken a direct hand in Robb's education and upbringing. While he had been shuffled off to the side without a second thought.
Admittedly Maester Luwin had tried to make a token effort with his education. But he had never insisted on it. Not like he had with Robb and Theon, and later with Bran and Rickon.
Instead of being made to focus and do the work like his brothers. When he dodged his boring and difficult lessons and fled to the sanctuary of the courtyard to train with the Master-of-Arms. Maester Luwin had raised no issue.
The same could not be said for Robb and Theon. Both of whom he knew had quickly become annoyed and jealous at his apparent lack of responsibilities.
This in turn had only caused their relationship to deteriorate further.
They still talked, and there was still an underlying warmth. But they were not as close as they had been, and that distance had only grown over the years.
His relationship with Sansa had likewise become tense.
After all when they had been kids they had regularly played together and had gotten along well. They had never been all as close as he had been to the others due to their differing personalities. But they had still rubbed along well enough. Much to Lady Stark's distaste and chagrin.
But like with Robb, as they had grown up things changed. As the years passed, Sansa had noticeably stopped thinking of him as a brother but instead as just a bastard. She was never cruel to him, or at least not directly. But she was never warm either. Nor did she ever stop her companions from making their sly comments within his hearing.
It had hurt at the time and still did.
Of his siblings, Arya and Bran were the only ones he still had a very close relationship too before he left for the Wall.
Before he had left, the both of them had still been a bit too young to truly understand the differences in their heritage. They just saw him as their broody and rebellious older brother. A brother who had decided to follow their Uncle Benjen's lead and run off to join the 'noble' Night's Watch.
Society hadn't yet poisoned them against him due to the nature of his birth.
Or at least they hadn't when he left for the Wall.
Whether they would still think of him fondly had been one of the things that had nagged at him while he was hurrying back to Winterfell to bring news.
Initially, he had been worried about the reception he would receive.
He'd had no contact with any of his siblings in the years that had passed since his departure.
The only news he had had of them had been brought by their father when he joined the Night's Watch, and even that had been limited as he had only managed to stop off at Winterfell for a short time during his journey to the Wall.
Thankfully, however, things were not as tense as he had thought they would be.
Lady Stark was still as cold and unfriendly as she had always been.
Sansa likewise, beyond an initial acknowledgement, had all but ignored his existence.
Bran too had been oddly… distant.
But not in the sense that he disapproved of him but more in the more disconcerting sense that he had seemed vacant and empty….
It had been… unnerving.
It almost felt like his younger brother hadn't been all there.
And then there had been Theon, who as expected had been as unpleasant as ever.
Still, Robb at least had been welcoming to him. More so than had expected considering he was now the Lord of Winterfell. After all, he had not only publicly greeted him and named him brother. But he had embraced him as his brother too.
Whether that was because he was more secure in his position as Lord of Winterfell. Or more content about Jon's own position in the Night's Watch. Far away from any temptation he might've had to take power that wasn't his. He wasn't sure. But either way, Robb had been warm and welcoming, and it had brightened his day and helped wash away his fatigue.
As for Arya, well, she at least hadn't changed at all. She was as wild and rambunctious as he remembered and had all but knocked him off his feet with her unladylike greeting.
The same could be said for Rickon. The youngest Stark child. The two of them had never been close due to the age gap between them and Lady Stark's interference. Despite that, however, he'd been almost as happy to see him as Arya. And like Arya, despite several years having passed, he had remained pretty much the same. Just a nice, good-natured kid.
It had been a nice reunion, even with the dark shadow of the grim tidings he brought with him hanging over his head. The tidings which he had been duty-bound to share with Robb almost straight away. After all, he was still needed at the Wall and hadn't thought his presence would be welcome. Not with Lady Stark present and whispering poison into her children's ears.
Only things had changed.
After all, Robb had quickly confided in him that the king was already on his way to Winterfell, to both meet with Robb as his Warden of the North and also to visit his secret bastard-born child.
Not that the king having a bastard had shocked him all that much. After all, he remembered meeting Tytan previously. When he was the Crown Prince. And back then he had been an arrogant sod, and whoremonger just like his father.
Suffice it to say, Tytan hadn't left a good impression on him the first time they had met.
Whis had made meeting him again now he was king all the less desirable.
But unfortunately, considering the direness of the news he brought, Robb had insisted that he remain in Winterfell to pass it on to the king in person.
Which did regrettably make sense, and was what led to him being here now, in Robb's private solar.
Looking sideways he could see that both Robb and Maester Luwin were at his side, and a large map of both the North and the Wall was splayed out on a large wooden table in front of them.
Noticeably Jojen and Meera Reed were also present and acting as both their father's proxies and Bran's companions. Despite Robb's initial dismissal, Bran had been strangely insistent on being involved.
On the other side of the table from them was the king's retinue; including Jamie Lannister, and several familiar hard-faced men in gleaming plate armour.
In addition to those men, there was also a plump, odd-looking Maester who seemed to be almost bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet with excitement. Maester Luwin had been sending him odd looks ever since he had first introduced himself.
Amidst all of those men was the king himself.
Shifting his gaze to Tytan, Jon felt his eyes narrow imperceptibly.
Like everyone else, the king had changed with time.
His face seemed harder and sterner. It was also more angular, as the last remnant of baby fat had been burned off leaving high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. His green eyes were likewise more intense.
He was a grown man in his prime now and looked far more regal than his father had.
In addition to that, his attitude had changed too.
He seemed less like a drunken whoremonger and more like a warrior king of old.
His gleaming armour, calm demeanour and confident stance only added to that image.
The figure Tytan cut made him feel insecure about his own boiled leather armour and ragged black cloak.
He looked like a pauper in comparison to the king.
Still, some things hadn't changed with time.
The king was still abrupt boarding on rude and was as blunt and straightforward as ever.
Which in many was refreshing, as southerners tended to have a certain reputation, especially those that played their games at Court.
That said, his casual attitude and bluntness were still as disarming as ever.
He said things how they were and didn't soften his words.
Considering the first thing he had said to him was to clarify that he was 'Ned Stark's bastard' had certainly gotten his back up straight away.
Robb too seemed less than comfortable around Tytan. Which was unusual, considering he was currently betrothed to the king's sisters.
Grimacing, Jon pushed his bitter thoughts away and instead focused on the matter at hand.
After all, they'd all gathered in Robb's solar for a reason.
"So, you bring news, Jon Snow," Tytan said into the tense silence. His piercing green eyes bored into him as he spoke.
It felt like he was looking past his physical body and at his very soul.
"Yes…," He replied curtly. Before adding the appropriate title. He'd become used to not using titles up at the Wall. "Your Grace"
"Just Tytan will do for now," Tytan waved him off dismissively, his gaze shifting to the map.
It was the same one he had used when explaining the situation to Robb and had on it all the charcoal scribblings and blocks of wood representing enemy forces that he had added previously.
"So what is this news?" Tytan continued, his sharp gaze scanning the map. "I'm already aware that things beyond the Wall are…. changing, and that stories of the Long Night have more basis in truth than firs-"
"How?" Jon asked, his gut twisting in fear at the memory of the stories Old Nan used to tell.
At the king's side, several of his guards twitched, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Maester Luwin take a sharp intake of breath and fix him with an irritated look.
"I mean, what I mean to say, is…. Well what do you know of the Long Night, Your Grac- I mean Tytan?" Jon asked, calming his racing heart down as he shared a look with Robb. "And of what is happening beyond the Wall?"
He had already shared the news with Robb about the wildlings gathering in mass and the dead coming back to life. That, and he'd shared the mad tales numerous captured wildlings and fellow brothers of the Night's Watch had told. All of the tales had been eerily similar. Despite the lack of connection and communication between the captives.
In fact were it not for their shared history and the missive signed by their father's hand, it was likely that Robb would have brushed his warnings aside as madness.
Both Lady Stark and Maester Luwin had seemed to be of that opinion, even with his father's signed missive backing up his warning. And he wasn't surprised either. After all, if he had not seen evidence for himself, Then he would have been just as sceptical. But after you saw a dead man rise again, it was difficult to deny that magic was real.
Then again, the same could be said for his views on Tytan. After all, before meeting him for the first time all those years ago. He had believed the rumours around his magic to be just that, rumours. And yet he'd been proven wrong after meeting him.
"I know more than you might think about the Long Night and what is occurring beyond the Wall, and I'm afraid things are a lot more complicated and dangerous than you already know," Tytan said with a half-smile.
The smile didn't make it to his eyes.
"But to lay my cards on the table," He continued.
Jon couldn't help but frown in confusion at the odd phrasing.
"The White Walkers spoken about in myths and legends do indeed exist. I have seen them in my dreams. And, from your lack of denial, I suspect you have already realised that they do indeed exist.…"
Jon shared a look with Robb. They'd already discussed the possibility and come to the same conclusion.
"I've not seen one," He said carefully. "But I have heard rumours from dozens of captured wildlings and fellow brothers that they are on the move. I have also seen the dead rise from the grave…."
Again those in the room shifted and looked at one another, even as Tytan gave him a steady look.
He didn't look at all surprised.
Tytan merely nodded. "That accords with what I've heard and seen."
The men behind him shifted about again, several of them sending him looks.
"The times are changing and the era of peace we have been living in for the last two decades is quickly coming to an end."
Silence followed the king's ominous words, and Jon once again shared a look with Robb.
"That is why I am more than willing to believe anything you say, no matter how supernatural it might sound." Tytan continued cryptically. "Once I've heard your news. I'll share with you what I know, and after that, we can discuss plans. But for now, I want to hear what brought you south. Once we have a better idea of the situation we can start coming up with more detailed plans. So yes, for now, please tell me all and describe the situation to me as best as you are able."
Jon nodded his head.
"I'm not sure if you're already aware. But several months ago Lord Commander Jeor Mormont went beyond the Wall with a thousand men of the watch. He wanted to investigate the rumours we have been hearing for the last few months. Rumours passed on by dozens of captured wildlings from all over the lands beyond the Wall and by our own Brothers. Rumours of White Walkers, giant white spiders, hordes of undead, and a gathering army of wildlings that are planning to force their way past the Wall to flee the oncoming night." Jon said bluntly.
"The stories had been building for a while. Initially, they were just dismissed as fantasy and as the ramblings of desperate mad men and women. But then more of our patrols started seeing things, impossible things. I personally saw dead men walking, and I heard similar stories from desperate wildlings who willingly gave themselves up in the hopes of getting past the Wall."
Tytan nodded his head and gestured for him to go on.
Jaime and the armoured men behind him once again shared looks. None of them looked particularly happy. But nor did they look like they disbelieved him. Apparently serving a king that had been Blessed by the gods had made believers of them.
"Then patrols started going missing, and our own dead started to rest… uneasily. Eventually, we were forced to burn the bodies." Jon pressed on. "Whatever was happening beyond the Wall, it has started spreading south. Most of the men still didn't believe it. They thought those of us that had seen these odd things were mad, or that the endless snow and ice were playing tricks on our minds."
"The Lord Commander believed the same. He thought that it was a ruse by the Wildings, or more particularly by Mance Raydor, a former Brother of the Watch who betrayed his vows and went North. There were rumours that he had started building himself an army and was looking to crown himself as the new King Beyond the Wall."
A murmur of discontent spread through the halls.
Robb meanwhile, just nodded his encouragement. It was heartening to see that his brother had his back.
He'd already told his brother everything.
"After hearing the stories and seeing the discontent they were spreading the Lord Commander wanted to investigate what was happening, and bloody the Wildling's noses too if he got the chance. So he left my father in charge and led a thousand men north. The largest ranging north in decades" Jon said, his voice turning hollow. "That was months ago."
His heart sank as he remembered Jeor and all the men that had accompanied him.
Some of them had been his friends.
Frowning, Tytan waved for him to go on.
"I saw it myself," Jon said, his heart growing heavy. "My father as acting Lord Commander ordered some men out to scout the land and to try and find any sign of the Lord Commander. As we ranged we came across a few survivors and after some... cajoling they eventually pointed us to the... massacre. And, well, after following their directions we found… the remains. They were all dead. The most damaged bodies and the many dismembered limbs that had been left behind. Those that couldn't be raised. They were all arranged in… patterns… hundreds of metres in size. As for the rest of the remains…., all we found were hundreds of footprints and the stench of death…."
A grim silence spread throughout the room.
"So you didn't actually see this undead horde?" Ser Jamie asked into the silence, his tone slightly odd. Like he was caught halfway between scepticism and concern.
Jon forced down his temper at the blonde knight's tone and just shook his head.
"No, but considering the very ground itself had been dyed a dark red from the spilt blood, and the presence of the familiar patterns, ones we had discovered in other massacre sites," Jon said helplessly. "They spanned over a hundred metres in width."
He knew the king had said he'd believe what he told him.
But even so, it was difficult to put what he had seen into words.
It was hard to impress on his audience the true horror of that battlefield and the all-encompassing stench of death and wrongness that had resided there and the sound of the crows and carrion birds circling overhead. It had been enough to make more than a few of them empty their stomachs.
Something terrible had happened there, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt.
It was the kind of thing he had only ever heard of before in Old Nan's stories.
"I see, and you have evidence that this Mance Raydor is still gathering his army?" Tytan asked, as he easily brushed past the existential horror he was trying to describe to him with a disarming amount of ease.
"Yes," Jon nodded, taking a breath. "We have seen their camp. It is near enough to the Wall that you can easily see their cooking fires from the top. There are well over ten thousand there, including giants, and mammoths."
Tytan hummed and turned his attention to Robb. "I take it you are already planning to send men north in response?"
"Yes," Robb nodded. "My father has already sent ravens to every hold and keep in the North warning of wildlings, and of the death of Jeor Mormont. And I've sent word out too. I've called in the Banners and told them to send soldiers to the Wall. But I've only mentioned the wildling threat, not the other… threat."
"Our father also hasn't given the order to attack and clear the wildlings either, nor has he given the command to let them through. Despite being the acting Lord Commander, he didn't believe he had the right to make that decision. Which is why they were preparing to hold an election for the next Lord Commander when I left. The new Lord Commander may have already been chosen..." Jon said, trailing off. They all knew what was being left unsaid.
If a new Lord Commander had been chosen, then things might have already changed. The wildlings could have been routed. Or they could have been let into Westeros. That or they could be attacking the Wall even as they stood around Robb's solar planning for something that might have already come to pass.
"Good," Tytan said after a few moments of thought. His gaze was once again on the map on the table. Focusing on the wooden block that represented the wildling forces. "I will send my own requests to the Houses in the northernmost parts of the Vale and Riverlands to send men to the North to support the Wall and the northern reinforcements. For now, I will say the same as you have, and only acknowledge the wildling threat."
Jon felt relief rise up within him.
"But men alone won't be enough," Tytan continued his attention shifting back to Jon. "With enough men, we can easily hold back the wildlings if needed. But the greater threat is the Long Night and the White Walkers."
Robb and Jon nodded their understanding.
"How much do you know about them?" Jon asked cautiously. He still didn't really know how to act around Tytan. The man was intimidating both in the level of political power he wielded and in his magic power too. For some reason being around him made his skin crawl.
"The White Walkers?" He clarified at the king's raised eyebrow.
At Tytan's side, the burly Maester, Marwyn, practically vibrated with excitement.
"I know that they bring with them the cold. That their mere presence can freeze water and chill a full-grown man to the bone." Tytan said softly, his hand raising as he started to gather water in the palm of his hand. The water lifted up into the air in little droplets and swirling around in an almost hypnotic way. "They are also far stronger and faster than a normal man. Normal steel will not cut them. The only kind that will, is Valyrian steel. Which as I'm sure you all know, is a rare resource…."
Automatically Jon's gaze shifted to the sword sheathed at the king's hip.
He didn't know if it had a name or where he had got it from. But it looked as deadly as it was beautiful.
"Then how can they be defeated?" Robb asked into the silence. His gaze was on Tytan. "Like you say Valyrian steel is not common."
Jon's brow furrowed as he nodded his head.
He didn't know the answer to the question himself.
He had never faced a White Walker, nor did he know of anyone who had.
"Luckily, Valyrian steel is not the only thing that can kill the dead," Tytan said. As he spoke, water droplets continued to swirl around his hand in mesmerising patterns. Before, with a flick of his hand, the king dispersed the water into vapour. "Fire can deal with the undead too, as can Dragonglass."
"Dragonglass?" Robb frowned in confusion.
"Also known as obsidian," Marwyn finally spoke up. "Not the most common of materials. But fortunately, through my research into the mystical and the unseen world, I do know where there is a lot of it."
"Dragonstone," Tytan clarified at their expectant looks.
He'd heard of the place before, but other than being the ancient seat of the Targaryen's, and the place they first landed. He didn't know much else about it.
"Fortunately, I've already had men at work mining the material. They've not been there long. But once enough has gathered I will have it sent to the North." Tytan continued. "The material will need to be carved and shaped, but with enough of it we should have a chance."
Robb nodded.
Jon however frowned. "Begging your pardon, but how do you know all this? How do you know the Dragonglass will even work?"
"It will work," Bran's soft, airy voice interrupted.
All attention shifted to the younger boy.
Seeing the attention was now on his charge, Jojen wheeled him up to the table.
Noticeably Maester Luwin looked to be on the verge of saying something about this, only for him to be waved down by Tytan.
"I have seen it in my dreams," Bran continued calmly, not at all perturbed that he was addressing the king. In fact, he barely even looked at Tytan when he spoke.
"In your dreams?" Tytan asked.
The words mirrored something Tytan had said previously. When he mentioned seeing things in his dreams.
"Yes," Bran said, his voice absent of emotion as he met Tytan's gaze steadily. "The three-eyed raven has been guiding me from afar. But without meeting him in person my sight is limited and without completing my journey I cannot truly fly."
Jon sent Robb a concerned look at how Bran speaking.
Only to see Robb wincing in response to their brother's words.
He didn't look at all comfortable.
And Jon could understand why. Bran wasn't acting like himself. The way he was talking, and the way he looked at them. It was like he couldn't even see them.
Tytan however, just looked interested in his words. Especially when he mentioned his dreams. "Who is this three-eyed raven?"
"No one Your Grace," Luwin interrupted. "Just an omen, and a fantasy. Just an old wives' tale about a Greenseer who became a prophet of the Old Gods. Nothing more than that. Bran has just been… troubled, for the last year or so now. I believe it might be a long-term result of a head injury he sustained in his fall. It has left him dazed and confused. His mind is muddled, and he often has difficulty separating the dreaming world from the waking one. Forgive him for what he says. He means no harm."
"He's not confused," Jojen shot back, his voice soft but firm. "He is a Greenseer and a Warg, and a very powerful one at that. He can see things that people cannot."
Jon once again looked to Robb for answers, only to get a headshake in response, as his brother mouthed 'later'.
"Being stuck south of the Wall has limited him though," Jojen continued to explain. "I've been trying to convince Lord Stark to let us venture further North so he can meet his destiny. But he will not allow it."
"No, I won't." Robb shot back sharply. There was a strength and an authority to his voice that Jon had never heard there before.
"Enough," Tytan cut off any further talk. His gaze was still on Bran. Only there was a speculative look in his eyes now. "Dreams sometimes hold more weight than you might believe. They can show us things that have happened in the past, or that are happening in the present…, or things that have yet to come to pass."
Luwin's expression soured.
"What else do you see?" Tytan asked, his gaze on Bran.
"A prophecy," Bran said softly, his vacant eyes moving first to Tytan, and then shifting past him to land on Jon.
"What prophecy?" Tytan asked, his voice suddenly strained. There was an odd emotion in his voice. One that was difficult to identify.
"Born amidst salt and smoke, and under a bleeding star,
They shall come when evil and darkness return to make their stand,
Through their might Lightbringer shall be reforged,
And through their will, the world will be delivered from darkness."
His voice had taken on an airy, distant quality.
It made his skin crawl.
Especially since Bran kept his gaze fixed on him as he spoke.
Tearing his gaze away from Bran's all too-knowing eyes, Jon instead looked at Tytan. Only to frown when he saw the pale expression on his face.
He looked like he had seen a ghost.
"Tytan?" Jaimie muttered after a few moments passed.
Nodding his head, Tytan bit his lip and turned away from Bran.
"I think we should take a break," He said into the silence that followed. "I think we all need to clear our heads and digest what we have all heard."
Jon frowned in consternation.
"Maester Luwin, if you could lend us your remaining Ravens I will draft up a missive. Once that's done if you could see it copied I will then sign each one with my sigil, and they can be sent off to as many holdfasts as we can reach." Tytan continued.
Luwin nodded his head in acknowledgement. "It will be done, Your Grace."
"Good," Tytan forced a smile.
His gaze returned to the rest of them.
"For now all we can do is send men north to secure the Wall, and hope that Lord Stark can hold until reinforcements arrive. In the meantime, I will see to it that Dragonglass is collected and mined on Dragonstone and sent on to Winterfell. The Long Night is coming, but as long as the Wall holds we have time to prepare." He continued colour once again returning to his face. "Robb we can speak more later. But I will also request some blacksmiths to help turn the Dragonglass into weaponry."
"Snow, send your father a message and advise him on what we've discussed," Tytan said, his gaze shifting to Jon. "The banners of the north will already be mustering, and others will soon follow. I will also contact the Reach and request that resources be sent north to support the effort. But otherwise, as is the right of the Night's Watch, what they choose to do next is in their hands. Whether that be to repulse the wildlings or speak with them."
Jon nodded curtly.
"Very well," Tytan repeated, clapping his hands together. "Once the missives have been sent out we can meet once again to plan a more coordinated response. After which I will have to head south once more to inform the Court what is happening, and bring others into know."
With every word he spoke the king's voice became more decisive and confident.
Whatever discomfort Bran's words had caused him had quickly faded as he instead focused on the matter at hand.
"I will see to it at once," Maester Luwin bowed, already turning to shuffle.
"Yes," Jon nodded. "So will I."
Looking over at Bran, Jon felt himself tense up as he saw he was still staring at him listlessly. His eyes had gone a foggy white, almost like those of a blind man.
"We'll take Bran to the godswood," Jojen said softly, as Meera started wheeling him away. "It is where he is at his strongest."
Robb frowned but didn't shut the idea down.
"Right," Tytan said, his gaze lingering on Bran for a moment before shifting to Robb. "Since we have some time. I think there is someone I need to meet."
Robb stiffened for a moment and nodded. "Yes, Your Gr-, Tytan, right this way."
Smiling stiffly, Tytan made to follow him his men falling into line behind him.
Watching him go, Jon was soon left alone in the room with only the map for company.
Looking down at the map of the North, he grimaced as he saw how close the wildling forces were to the Wall. He could only hope that the election had gone in his father's favour and that cooler heads would persevere.
( - )
(At the Wall)
A grim expression spread across Mance Raydor's weathered face as he gazed forlornly up at the distant wall of ice.
It was gigantic and loomed above everything around it in shadow.
The Wall had been his home once, and now it was just another thing in his way. Just another obstacle that he would have to get around one way or another to keep his people safe.
"Torrhen should be on the other side of the Wall by now," The Lord of Bones said from his side.
Glancing over at the foul-smelling man and his bone-clad regalia, Mance withheld a look of disgust as he instead nodded.
"We wait for the signal," He said gruffly, his dark eyes narrowing against the biting wind as he looked out at the rest of his camp.
There were close to fifteen thousand of them now.
They were all that remained of the First Men and the giants that resided behind the Wall.
A dozen tribes united as one.
They were all that remained of the hundreds of tribes both big and small that had once called this land home.
He took a deep breath and looked beyond the ramshackle camp and at the swirling and ever-encroaching wall of freezing mist in the distance.
They were running out of time.
The Others were almost upon them.
He took another deep breath and looked back at the Wall.
The time for diplomacy and niceties had come to an end.
All that was left was force.
"Come on Torrhen," Mance muttered under his breath, ignoring the rattle of bones beside him as the Lord of Bones looked his way. "Give us the signal."
"Look up there!" His distasteful companion shouted as he raised a hand and pointed a gnarled finger in the direction of a distant black shape winging its way towards the camp.
"Assemble the men," Mance growled, his eyes once more shifting over to the sea of icy death behind them, before returning to the Wall. Resting his hand on the head of his axe, he gritted his teeth. "We move now."
( - )
(With Percy)
His heart was beating faster in his chest as he followed Robb Stark through the cold, drab halls of Winterfell.
The meeting he'd just was… illuminating, and not necessarily in a good way.
Hearing of what had happened at the Wall and of the loss of over a thousand trained and seasoned Brothers, including the Lord Commander himself, had been galling, to say the least. Especially since the majority of the dead, from what he had intuited, had already been raised and added to the White Walker's undead legions.
His heart sank at the thought of all those needlessly wasted lives.
It would take decades for the Watch to recover from their losses.
Fortunately, Ned Stark had been there to take up the slack and had already started mitigating the shorter-term impacts by contacting his son, and warning the rest of the North about what had occurred and requesting aid. His quick thinking and the reputation he had cultivated amongst his former vassals might have saved the North.
But even with Ned doing some hasty damage control, what had happened was still concerning. Especially with an army of wildlings camping so close to the Wall – their greatest defence against the Long Night – plotting to break through it and into the lands to the south. And an ever-growing, horde of necromantic ice zombies getting closer and closer with every passing day.
Add into that Bran's doom-filled prophecy. One that was eerily similar to those that he had received while serving the gods. And things were not looking good.
His swinging hands clenched into fists at his sides.
The Seven Kingdoms was just too big for one person to rule. Especially with that person's seat of power being based so far to the south.
Considering just how vast his kingdom was and how many people there were that resided in it. And the never-ending issues those people caused. It was almost inevitable that things would be missed.
Not even Annabeth, with all her tactical acumen and strategic genius would have been able to fully govern Westeros. Not when there were multiple tiers of hierarchy and constant infighting and one-upmanship between the different lords, ladies, holdfasts and kingdoms.
So far the majority of his rule had been spent putting out fires and pre-emptively crushing threats before they had the chance to entrench themselves. And this issue at the Wall was just another of those threats. Though one that was perhaps more dangerous than the threat Oberyn Martel and Lysa Arryn had posed.
Even so, it was exhausting.
The Small Council helped alleviate some of the burden as did some of his competent Wardens and High Lords.
But it was still difficult.
He unclenched his hands.
Not for the first time a part of him lamented that he reborn as the Crown Prince.
Things would have been so much simpler if he'd just been born a fisherman or a farmer. Someone with no responsibilities beyond how he would feed himself and his family the next season.
He closed his eyes at that thought, his mind drifting to how much simpler his life would have been if he had lived such a life.
Unlike many of his fellow demigods, he'd never craved power or authority.
It had never really interested him. Instead, he had always been a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.
Unfortunately, he was also a loyal person by nature.
Loyal to both his loved ones and friends, and also loyal to his nation and people.
If he were to abdicate the Iron Throne and retire to a quiet life in the country. Who would replace him?
Joffrey was a twisted and selfish monster in human skin and would bring the Seven Kingdoms to ruin.
Tommen although sweet, was too soft, coddled and weak to rule. Both their mother and grandfather would easily run roughshod over him. And through them and their innate biases, the other Great Houses would rebel and civil war would once more come to the land.
Myrcella meanwhile, although young had a good head on her shoulders and a kind spirit. Unfortunately, though, the realm would never accept a female heir when there were still male ones in the wings.
Nor would the Tyrells accept him stepping down when they had finally clawed their way to the Iron Throne.
Besides which outside of his own siblings who else was there?
Renly was a vain, pompous idiot who would be no better than Robert, and Stannis was a religious fanatic who enjoyed burning people alive.
If he were to abdicate and step down the Seven Kingdoms would be doomed.
There was no viable replacement for him.
Which meant that he was stuck as king.
A half smile pulled at his lips at that thought.
Not that being king didn't have its benefits.
To do it properly required a lot of work, but along with that work came an awful lot of privilege, wealth and many other perks.
His smile turned into a grimace as he realised how egotistical and ignorant he was acting.
Westeros wasn't modern-day Earth and life as a simple everyday person in Westeros would never be easy.
Life was hard here, especially if you had the misfortune to be born at the bottom of the societal ladder. Though calling it a ladder was an error, as it would be more accurate to describe Westerosi society as a slippery slide than something as easy to climb as a ladder.
Taking a deep breath as he saw Robb come to a stop in front of an innocuous-looking door, Percy forced a smile.
In reality, he was full of shit.
He was a demigod. A peaceful life was never an option for him. His very existence attracted conflict, it was in his nature.
Besides which, a peaceful life wasn't the thing he craved, not really.
Meeting Robb's stoic blue eyes he nodded.
"Thanks," Percy said softly as he returned his attention to the door.
What he really wanted, was what all humans wanted.
He wanted someone to love and someone that would love him in turn.
Unconditionally.
He wanted a family of his own.
Taking another deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
"Your Grace!"
The first thing he heard was Ros's stutter.
The pretty redhead had changed a lot since he had last seen her. For one she was actually dressed and not lying naked and unconscious in post-coital bliss. But other than that, she also looked cleaner, happier and healthier than he last remembered her.
She looked less like a whore, and more like a young mother full of hope and optimism for a better future.
Her curly red hair was neatly groomed and tied back in a bun, and she was wearing a plain-looking dress.
Despite her drabber clothing and lack of make-up though, she was still very pretty. Probably more so than when she had been parading around in sexy regalia trying to sell her wares.
Motherhood suited her, more so than whoring ever had.
At that moment, however, she didn't look happy.
Instead, she looked shocked and also a little scared.
Smiling to ease her worries, Percy's gaze drifted to the other occupants of the room.
Sat across from Ros, wearing a light-blue dress and a silk shawl around her narrow shoulders, was Myrcella.
As his eyes took her in, he couldn't help but smile. Her golden blonde hair almost seemed to glow from the sunlight that was streaming through the nearby window. It gave her an angelic appearance. Her bright green eyes, far kinder than their mothers had ever been, widened as they saw him, even as warmth flooded them.
She'd grown up a lot since he had last seen her.
She wasn't the gawky child he remembered but was instead a young woman in her early teens.
From behind him, he heard a rustle of metal and cloth as Jamie not so subtly tried to peer over his shoulder.
Ignoring his uncle, he surged forward and swept Myrcella into a hug as she rose to meet him. His armoured arms gently wrapped around her shoulders. She felt so small and delicate in his arms.
"Myrcella," He said affectionately.
Although he had seen her when he first arrived.
He hadn't truly had a chance to greet her.
Not properly.
"It's good to see you again," He continued, uncaring of formality and propriety.
It could go hang for all he cared.
When it came to family he didn't give a shit about decorum or lofty titles.
Except perhaps when it came to Joffrey and Tywin, as those two were kind of assholes.
"Tytan!" Myrcella grinned, her hand raised as she gently cupped his cheek.
He had to hold back a wince at the name she used.
It just felt wrong coming out of the mouth of someone he loved.
"Are you growing a beard?" She continued, her smile turning mischievous.
A chuckle erupted forth from his lips at the question, even as he raised his hand and idly scratched at his bristly beard.
"More through laziness than anything," He replied dryly.
"Only a few weeks without servants and you've already turned into a hairy mountain man," Myrcella teased warmly.
He rolled his eyes at the good-natured jab.
"It's lovely to see you again," He said with a smile.
He genuinely meant it too.
He had missed her dearly.
"You too," Myrcella smiled back, stepping out of his arms and instead glancing down at the wooden cot that was sitting innocently beside the table she and Ros were sitting around. "But, I at least had something to remember you around…."
A flash of guilt shot through his gut, and his eyes widened.
"Don't worry. I already know," She replied softly.
There was no judgement in her eyes, only understanding and compassion.
"And I'm glad that you're willing to see her," She continued, a small smile on her face as she gazed fondly down at the wrapped-up bundle in the cot. "She's a lovely little child."
Looking down at his daughter, Percy smiled. The baby was far bigger than he had thought she would be. She even had a crown of black hair that had very similar shading to his own. As for what colour her eyes were…, well he didn't know yet as right now she was sleeping soundly, oblivious to all the goings-on around her
Smiling he walked up to the cot.
"Your Grace, I-" Ros surged to her feet, her eyes wide with alarm, only to cut herself off when he turned his attention to her.
"Don't worry, Ros," He said kindly. "I mean no harm to either you or to our daughter."
"Our daughter," Ros whispered disbelievingly.
"The law will not acknowledge her, and realm land will never truly recognise her as such. But in all the ways that matter she is my daughter." Percy said as he reached out and gently stroked his child's cheek. It was warm and soft to the touch.
"Careful," Ros whispered under her breath.
Glancing over at her and seeing how tense she looked, he withdrew his hand. A surge of disappointment and sadness shot through his gut.
He wanted to pick up his daughter and hold her in his arms.
But at the same time, he didn't want to disturb her rest.
"Ros," Percy said.
Almost at once the redheaded stiffened.
Seeing this, Myrcella crossed the room and took her hand in her own.
"You don't need to worry about anything. You'll be taken care of, as will our child," Percy continued as he pulled a spare chair closer to the table and took a seat.
Behind him Jamie shifted as he moved into the room, gently patting Myrcella on the shoulder, garnering a bright smile from her, even as he took a moment to peer into the crib, his green eyes drinking in the sight of his new niece.
"But first, tell me about her," Percy smiled as he once again looked over at his daughter.
He felt his heart skip a beat when he saw her eyes fluttering, and for a fleeting second caught sight of a hint of sea-green hiding beneath her delicate eyelids.
Letting out a relieved sigh, Ros retook her seat at the same time as Myrcella moved to take her own.
The day had started out grim and exhausting.
But right now he felt more refreshed than he had in a while.
The last time he had felt this at peace, had been during one of those few fleeting moments he had managed to steal for himself in the godswood with Leaf and Oz.
"Well," Ros began, nervously at first. "Where do you want me to begin?"
"Let's start with her name," Percy said simply.
"I, well, she doesn't have one yet, Your Grace," Ros said, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. "I didn't know what would happen, or whether-" Her voice choked in her throat, and her eyes turned a little shiny from unshed tears.
Reaching out, he gently took her small, slim hand in his own.
"What would you like to call her?" He asked gently.
Ros took a deep breath and shook her head. "I don't know. I never knew my mother, and most of the girls I know are…, well…" She took another breath to collect herself and forced a smile. "Do you have a name in mind, Your Grace?"
Percy smiled as he looked over at the crib again.
One name immediately jumped to mind.
"How about..."
( - )
AN: Trite enough for you? :D Haha yeah, I'm afraid I don't excel at fluff and emotional stuff. It's not really my forte. Still, I try!
But yeah, otherwise I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think. I'll admit it is a bit of a slow chapter, as it required some additional character development for Jon who will be having more screen time as the story moves into the final third. It also sets out the wider scene and does some building for later. After all, things will be escalating a lot as some of the threats start to hit home, and things become more and more chaotic both from external threats and from internal ones too.
So yeah the next chapter will be more action-packed, and from there the pacing will escalate.
Also, for those who bother to read my ANs, please do check out one of my newer stories 'A Matter of Life and Death' which is another PJO/GoT story. Only this one follows Nico's struggles as he arrives in a world of ice and fire. So yeah, if you like my stuff, please do check that one out too!
Either way, thanks for reading and if you have any suggestions or questions feel free to PM me or find me on Discord.
AN2: For those who noticed, I did indeed retcon the bastard child, as the child being a girl will work better going forward. For reasons that will come apparent as the story progresses.
I've also had a little pushback on the name I originally chose. Which was Annabeth, and which surprised me a little.
Some thought Sally would work better, or something more Greek. Which I do get. At the same time though, I think Annabeth also works as she was a big part of his life, and was a lost love, and the last person he had to cling onto in Tartarus before she passed. Which is a big thing.
I don't know, I thought it fit, and had a certain amount of closure and meaning to it considering the child's origins, Annabeth's history and his own relationship with her.
Don't know, food for thought. For now, I have left it blank, and I will make a decision based on the feedback and reviews I receive.
Catch you later.
Greed720.