AEMON THE DRAGONWOLF
Part 2 - The Son's Song
Sansa IV
Sansa felt like she'd swallowed a pit of snakes. Two hours ago, she'd been utterly convinced that the northern lords would take Jon as he was, and accept him as king even with Rhaegar Targaryen for a father. Now, as she sat on Jon's right and waited for the council meeting to begin, her stomach was twisting into knots inside her. Jaime Lannister had voiced the fears she'd tried to bury, and she was fighting the urge to take Jon and run for their lives. In a moment of awful clarity, Sansa realized that her poor father had lived with this fear since he'd found Aunt Lyanna and Jon, and her heart broke for him.
She tried to return greetings with her usual polite smile, but it was difficult. A few lords spared her the effort by not paying attention, busy chatting amongst themselves. Lord Royce, who had joined the council as the Vale's representative, was deep in conversation with Lord Manderly about the soldiers' training, while Lady Mormont and Lord Glover discussed defenses against Ironborn raids on the western shore. Lord Reed took his seat quietly, giving Sansa a small, encouraging smile. He looked childlike next to the much taller Hugo Wull.
Jon was even more painfully quiet than usual, nodding to his lords but saying nothing. From her seat beside him, Sansa could see him flexing his burned hand, covered by his usual black gloves. His other hand tapped absently against the tabletop, and the direwolf glory box lay on the floor beside his chair.
Lady Brienne came last, closing the door behind her. At the last moment, Sansa had remembered that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard belonged on the Small Council, and had mentioned this to Jon. Since Brienne had served Sansa before Jon's coronation, and had volunteered for the Wintersguard before anyone else, it had seemed only right to name her Lady Commander. Jon had invited her to join the council, and Sansa was delighted to have another lady in the room. Lyanna Mormont barely counted as one at her age, and Lady Tallhart was not talkative.
The Hand of the King stood.
"Be welcome to the Council of the North," began Lord Davos, consulting the notes he'd written in his own clumsy, unpracticed hand. "Our first order of business is the division of Northmen and Free Folk marching north this very day, under the command of Lord Harwyn Wull. What news, my lord?"
Harwyn Wull, son of Big Bucket Wull, stood immediately, lacing his hands behind his broad back. He was the image of his father, but with a smaller belly and fewer wrinkles. "Twelve hundred men march with me after the midday meal, your grace, with provision for six moons and a wagon of ravens. We'll march northwest to the Bay of Ice in a fortnight, and sail north to the Wall from there."
"Once we reach the Wall, I will send two hundred men to Sentinel Stand, two hundred to Greyguard, two hundred to Stonedoor, two hundred to Hoarfrost Hill, two hundred to Icemark, and the last two hundred to Deep Lake. A quarter of these men have the tools and knowledge to repair the ruined castles, and we bring a dozen clan and wildling healers as well, two for each fort."
Sansa saw a light appear in Jon's dark gray eyes. She knew he'd dreamed of manning the abandoned castles as Lord Commander, and had begun the work before the mutiny. It was heartening to see some hope return to her cousin's face.
"We'll all sleep sounder with so many hardy Northmen and Free Folk on the Wall," Jon said, satisfied, "and Lord Commander Tollett will be glad to have you and your supplies."
"Aye," chorused the council.
"Very well, thank you, my lord," said Lord Davos, making a small note on his list.
The meeting went on, discussing provisions at each of the keeps, a message sent to the Iron Bank, and a betrothal between Lynara Locke of Oldcastle and Rodwell Flint, heir to Widow's Watch. Though Sansa was usually attentive, she was too nervous to pay proper attention to each item discussed. Then, Ser Davos brought her wandering mind back to the council with an unpleasant jolt.
"Lord Reed, have you any news for the council on your first visit?"
The crannogman stood, though it made little difference with his small stature. It was surprising to see the respect the other lords gave Lord Reed; the North had regarded crannogmen with suspicion and even disdain for most of their history, but Eddard Stark had done much to change that. Though Sansa's father had not spoken much of the war, it was well known that Howland Reed had once saved his liege lord's life in battle against the Kingsguard, and had brought Lady Lyanna Stark's remains home. For the council, that was proof enough of the crannogman's worth.
"I have two items to bring to the council's attention, your grace, my lords," said Lord Reed, bowing slightly. "The first is that news have reached my scouts south of our lands; Lord Walder Frey and several of his sons are dead. An assassin slit the old man's throat as he ate, and the rumors say that his sons were baked into the pies he was eating for his last meal."
The reaction to this piece of news was mixed. Lady Brienne looked disgusted, while others cried loudly that it was what the old turncloak deserved, for breaking guest right and betraying both his liege lord and his king. Even the wildlings had not believed the Freys' gross breach in human decency at first, sure that even ignorant southrons would not dare disrespect the gods in such a way. Hatred of the Freys was one of the few things the Northmen and the Free Folk had bonded over.
Sansa herself was torn between revulsion and a fierce, icy sense of justice. The three men most responsible for the Red Wedding—Tywin Lannister, Roose Bolton, and Walder Frey—had died undignified, cruel deaths worthy of their crimes, she thought. Tywin Lannister, shot on the privy; Roose Bolton, betrayed by his own son, and now Walder Frey, served his sons in a pie and his throat slit.
Lord Manderly surprised them all by laughing heartily, clutching his enormous belly as though he feared it would escape.
"Serves him right, the old weasel!" he said, wiping eyes that were streaming with mirth. "Tonight, let the bards sing of the Rat Cook, and let the wolves howl accompaniment! The North remembers!"
"It seems that the North been avenged, your grace," said Lord Glover, looking deeply satisfied. "My brother Galbart was lost at the Twins. I'm glad he and all of the others will rest in peace now."
"Ah," said Lord Reed, glancing at Robett Glover uncertainly. "That brings me to my second piece of news, my lords. As I informed His Grace earlier today, King Robb sent Lady Maege and Lord Galbart into the Neck to find me, carrying a copy of the king's will. They managed to deliver it, before they fell into Bolton hands. I'm sorry to say that Lady Mormont and Lord Glover were ambushed not by Freys, but by Bolton bannermen. My people slew the murderers, but it was too late to save Maege and Galbart."
"Your grace!" cried Lady Mormont, standing abruptly. "What is to be done with the Dreadfort?"
Sansa saw Jon start in surprise, and then understanding flooded his features. They both recognized the sudden rage of a child wishing to avenge a murdered parent.
"The Dreadfort belongs to the last Lady Bolton, to do with as she pleases," he said, gesturing toward Sansa with his left hand. Sansa tried not to flinch at the title. "That said, if Princess Sansa decides to tear it apart stone by stone, and send the materials to each house betrayed by the Boltons, I have no objection. Let the whole of the North see what happens to traitors, and let Bolton stonework repair the castles their treachery destroyed."
There were some angry murmurs of approval at this.
"Rest assured, Lady Mormont," Sansa spoke up, keeping her voice strong and queenly, "that there will be no trace left of House Bolton or their home. It won't bring your mother back, or mine, but they'll rest easier knowing their murderers are no more."
"Well said," answered Lord Glover, saddened but not entirely surprised at the news of his brother. Sansa supposed his initial rejection of the Stark cause must sting more than ever.
"My lords, I would share King Robb's will with you," Jon said, reaching into his mother's direwolf box and pulling out the will. "Lord Reed has shared something I did not know before today, and I will not proceed until you are all aware of it."
He stood and read the will, unflinching even as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Jon had confessed to Sansa, one sleepless night, that he'd almost deserted the Night's Watch when he'd heard of Robb's campaign. Loyal friends had brought him back, but he'd always wondered if riding south to Robb might have saved him. Sansa knew it wouldn't have, but it was hard to convince oneself of such things in the late watches of the night, when their demons came to haunt them.
When Jon had finished, a few lords looked at each other in what Sansa hoped was confusion.
"We've chosen well then, your grace," said Lord Manderly finally. "And I will be proud to honor King Robb's wishes and call you Jon Stark, our King in the North!"
"Hear, hear!" said the others.
"I am grateful for that, my lords, truly," said Jon, pacing slightly between his chair and the table. "I loved Robb dearly, and I am humbled by the trust he placed in me. However, there was something that both he and I did not know when he wrote this will."
Sansa's hands were shaking. She clutched them together on her lap, wishing Jon would shut his mouth. Everyone was so happy about Walder Frey's death and Robb's will that it seemed a terrible shame to ruin it all.
"You all know that Eddard Stark brought me to Winterfell as a babe and raised me as his bastard, risking the wrath of the Tullys and besmirching his own reputation as a man of honor. I'd never known the man to lie, but there was one thing he would not say, and that was my mother's name."
Lord Cerwyn frowned. "Your grace, surely you don't think that matters to us? We chose you for a king knowing you were Lord Eddard's natural son."
"There's the rub, Lord Cerwyn," said Jon, wearing a very sad smile. "I am Rickard Stark's grandson, true enough, and I loved Eddard Stark as much as a son could love a father, but he was not my father." He paused briefly, as though he were gathering his courage.
"Eddard Stark was my uncle."
Some lords frowned. Others looked blankly at Jon. Then, Lord Flint laughed heartily.
"That boy was a sly one!" he cried. "I knew the Ned was too honorable to sire a bastard on any man's daughter! He brought home Brandon's son!"
That brought on a round of chatter, as several lords admitted that they'd always found that fishy, and of course Ned would have raised his beloved brother's bastard as his own. At first, no one heard poor Jon, who was trying to shut down this line of reasoning.
Let them think it, Jon, Sansa pleaded wordlessly. You'd still be a Stark, still Father's nephew, without throwing Targaryens into the mix! Please!
But Jon did not look her way.
"My lords!" he shouted finally. "I'm glad to restore Eddard Stark's honor, but you mistake me. Brandon Stark was also my uncle." Before anyone could claim he was Uncle Benjen's, Jon went on. "I am Lyanna Stark's son."
The silence that followed this announcement was absolute. Sansa's hands had gone clammy and cold. Jon's stoic expression, the same she'd seen on her father's face as he waited to be executed, was not helping her nerves.
"I accepted the crown believing myself to be Eddard Stark's son, albeit a bastard," Jon continued, finally breaking the stillness in the room. "I never wished to usurp any of my siblings, and I only agreed because Sansa encouraged it. But now I know that I'm not even that. Should you wish it, I will step down immediately and serve Queen Sansa in any capacity she sees fit."
"Lady Lyanna's son, you say," Lord Norrey said shrewdly. "But who was your sire, your grace?"
"My mother married on the Isle of Faces," Jon replied, then reached into the box and pulled out the two wedding cloaks, placing them on the table. "She wed Rhaegar Targaryen, my father."
Sansa watched the council carefully, knowing that at any moment, someone could lose their temper and attack. She was sure that Tormund, Brienne, and Lord Reed would protect Jon, but the others were all unpredictable. There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the northern council looked at Lyanna's direwolf cloak, and her husband's jewelled dragon cloak beside it.
"You may have a small member, King Crow," said Tormund Giantsbane admiringly, breaking the silence, "but you have balls the size of mountains! Targaryens were those mad southrons everyone wanted to kill, yes? And you admit you're one of them, just like that? Har!"
Lord Royce had been silent throughout the meeting, except when the news of Walder Frey had come. He stood now, surprising everyone.
"Your grace, this man is right," he said, clearly not knowing Tormund's name after weeks of sitting together on the council. "You could have hidden this forever. You might have claimed Eddard, Brandon, or Benjen Stark as a father, and none of us but Lord Reed would have known. Yet you chose the truth, no matter how difficult. He did not sire you, but Eddard Stark raised you with honor, and it shows." He took a breath. "The Vale will not break faith now. Targaryen or Stark, my men and I will follow you against the threat in the North."
He sat, shaming the Northmen into action.
"You have the Stark face, the Stark honor, and a symbol of House Stark that follows your every move," Lord Manderly said, nodding at the silent Ghost in the corner. "There is no trace of the dragons' madness in you, your grace. White Harbor will follow you to the end, Jon Stark."
The bundle of nerves in Sansa's belly loosened, and she nearly sank into her chair in relief. Something must have shown on her face, because Lady Mormont called to her.
"What say you, Princess Sansa? Do you not wish to be queen?"
"I do not," Sansa replied. "In the years I've spent away from Winterfell, I've learned to play at southron politics that are no use here. What the North needs is a man of honor we can trust, and a warrior who can lead the fight against the Others. I agree with Robb; there is no one better than our cousin Jon for this task, and I'm sure Arya and Bran would support him if they were here."
"Your grace," said Lady Brienne hesitantly. "If you're the last trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen, does that not give you a claim over the Iron Throne?"
Jon snorted. "I want nothing to do with it," he said immediately. "Let Cersei Lannister cut herself to ribbons on it; we have better things to worry about, and I'll not send any more Northmen to die south of the Neck. Winterfell is the only home I ever wanted, throne or no, and it is Winterfell and the North that I mean to defend."
Sansa watched several council members, most notably Ser Davos and Lady Tallhart, sigh in relief.
"Then there is nothing more to discuss," said Harwyn Wull simply. "Targaryen or Snow, it doesn't matter; King Robb has made you a Stark, your grace, and we find it most fitting. You are your mother's son."
Sansa smiled. "Thank you, my lord. My cousin was convinced that once you all knew, you would call for his head, and yet, he insisted on telling you."
"They deserved to know," Jon said firmly. "If Daenerys Targaryen takes the southron throne from Cersei Lannister, she may turn north next. Before the dragons come, you all deserved to know that you chose a half-dragon, half-wolf for a king."
Davos Seaworth's jaw dropped. "But your grace, if you're Rhaegar's son, that makes you the last Targaryen of the male line, and you have a better claim than her own!"
"It does," said Jon. "But if she kills me for it, she'll be a kinslayer in the eyes of gods and men. It would be a terrible beginning to her reign over the south."
"She's more likely to ask for a marriage alliance," Lord Glover said, raising his brows. "The Targaryens loved to marry brothers and nephews, and you're both young, unmarried, and handsome by all accounts."
Sansa watched Jon turn pink.
"I'm sure it won't come to that. What is a Northman raised as a bastard to her? She has richer prey in the south, perfumed summer knights with nothing to do but win tourneys and play at romance."
Oh, the irony, thought Sansa. Jon had just described his father in the most unflattering way possible, short of calling him a mad rapist.
Just as the chuckles were dying, an urgent knock on the door disturbed the jovial atmosphere.
"Come," said Jon.
In came the Glover maester, who was at Winterfell on loan while they waited for the Citadel to send a new one. The Boltons' maester had been brutally killed some time after Sansa's escape, and had he lived, none would have trusted him anyway.
"Your grace, there's a raven from Castle Black," said the old man in his usual raspy voice. "The raven brought two messages—one has the Night's Watch seal, and one has a direwolf in the same black wax."
Sansa was closer to the door than Jon or Davos. A proper princess did not snatch things out of people's hands, but that is what she did. She ripped open the direwolf-sealed note and devoured its contents like the sigil of her house would devour a fresh kill.
Dear Jon and Sansa, she read aloud,
Congratulations to the new King in the North! I heard you took back Winterfell from the Boltons. Well done, both of you!
Travel is slow and difficult since we lost Hodor, but Lady Meera Reed has taken care of me as well as anyone could, and brought me to Castle Black. The Black Brothers told me much of what happened since I went north, and I can't wait to come home. I'm glad Jon is free of the Watch and Sansa is free of the Boltons, and I have much to tell you both.
Bran
Jon—I saw Uncle Benjen. He can't come south, but he's doing what he can to help against the Others.
Sansa—Do NOT let Jon abdicate for my sake. I have another part to play, and he will be a King in the North that Father would be proud of.
"He's alive!" cried Jon, looking well and truly stunned. "First Arya, now Bran and Benjen!"
Sansa hugged him tightly. "We have to bring him home, Jon. Send out riders, and a sled. I don't think his special riding saddle survived the sacking."
"I agree. I'll send an escort to meet them and bring them home. Lord Reed, we owe you many thanks for your daughter's help," Jon said, turning to Lord Reed.
"My Jojen went with them, too," the man responded, very subdued. "He did not survive the journey, it seems."
"I am sorry," Jon replied. Sansa knew he was feeling bad for celebrating while his bannerman grieved.
The Lord of Greywater Watch stood wearily, and placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. He was so short that it was an awkward position for him.
"Jojen knew when he would die. He was a greenseer, you see. He knew he must come to Winterfell to help Prince Bran, and so he did, knowing what it would cost him. We must all play our part. After all, the Others are coming."
"Indeed," said Lord Wull. "Well, your grace, at least Prince Bran saved you the trouble this time. We'll hear no more of you stepping aside. The last son of the Ned agrees with King Robb and this council: you are our King in the North until your last day."
Even Jon couldn't hold back a chuckle. "It's not that I was eager to desert my post, my lords. I just couldn't bear to think that I'd stolen the title from the siblings I love, especially when a small, selfish part of me always wished to be Lord of Winterfell. That, I will not take from Bran."
"May I speak, your grace?" said Davos gently. "My lords, I rode to Castle Black with King Stannis Baratheon, where we met a young boy named Jon Snow. Stannis offered to legitimize him and make him Lord of Winterfell, the two things he wanted most in the world. But given the choice, he said Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa. He refused to break his Night's Watch oath, no matter how tempting. Now, I'm not a Northman, and a bit of an outsider in this council, but I will say that you've chosen well. Jon Sno—Jon Stark is the worthiest king I've met, and I've met more kings than most Fleabottom men do in a lifetime."
"That's going to take some getting used to," Tormund grumbled. "Jon Stark. Do you have flowery southron names and titles too, now that you're the son of a dead prince?"
"Lady Lyanna named him Prince Aemon Targaryen," replied Lord Howland Reed, amused. "Brother to Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen. Had his father and brother lived, His Grace might have become Prince of a rebuilt Summerhall."
Tormund swore.
"Just call me Jon Snow, Tormund," Jon said, to laughter from the northern lords. "If you call for Aemon Targaryen, I'll look around for old Maester Aemon. And I can't think of myself as Jon Stark, not yet; I've been a Snow for too long."
"Your grace, the other letter?" interjected the maester, giving Jon the letter with the Night's Watch seal. Sansa watched her cousin rip it open and read it quickly.
"There's nothing new," Jon said, and the whole room sighed in relief. "Edd just says that they found Bran and Lady Meera, that they're well, and that he approves of our plan to garrison the abandoned forts. And he curses me to the seven hells for leaving him with such a thankless job."
"Well, then," said Sansa. "I suppose the men bound for the Wall are free to go. But we still need to send a group to Castle Black to get Bran."
"Would fifty be enough?" asked Jon, looking at Sansa in doubt. "They'll move slowly, and the weather may turn treacherous. And I don't want Bran anywhere near the Ironborn again. Perhaps we should send them the long way 'round, through White Harbor."
"The sea is even more treacherous in winter, your grace," Davos objected.
"He's right," said Lady Mormont. "Prince Bran will be safer coming down the Kingsroad, now that the Boltons are gone. I will gladly volunteer ten of my men to bring him home."
"I will send half of the Wintersguard, as well," Jon decided.
"Your grace, if you wish it I will select a dozen Vale knights to escort Prince Bran on his journey home," Lord Royce offered.
"Thank you, my lord," replied the king. "Commander Brienne, Lady Mormont, Lord Royce, have your chosen men ready to depart tomorrow morning. Princess Sansa will see them outfitted and provisioned for the journey."
Sansa nodded in agreement. Jon was good at managing supplies, especially the ever-diminishing foodstuffs at Castle Black, but this was one of the responsibilities she'd taken on for herself. It was the least she could do for Bran, and for Jon, who had more duties now than ever.
"Let's take a break," the King in the North suggested. "I'm sure I'm not the only one with a growling belly by now, and we've had a few surprises today."
Slowly, the council dispersed, leaving Sansa alone in the solar with Jon and his mother's box. She watched him fold his Targaryen and Stark cloaks reverently, and place them back into the chest along with Robb's will and Jon's new crown. Once the lid was shut, the King in the North had vanished, leaving only Jon Snow.
"I'm sorry I ever called you craven," Sansa told her cousin, approaching him slowly and wrapping her arms around his waist. "I've never been so scared in my life. Even when Father confessed to treason, or when Stannis was at the gates of King's Landing, I still had hope that things would turn out alright, because surely there were more decent people in the world than evil ones. Now? I was waiting for someone to draw a weapon and stab you, but you didn't even flinch. You reminded me so much of Father."
Jon wrapped his own arms around her.
"I'm sorry I worried you," he murmured. "But it needed to be done. I've never been good at pretending; playing turncloak north of the Wall took more effort than I'm willing to put in for the rest of my life, however long that may be. And I meant what I said to Ser Jaime; if they can't even consider a Targaryen, even a Targaryen born after the Mad King's death, then we're doomed. I don't have the weapons to fight the Others by myself, and it sounds like my aunt Daenerys does."
"Mayhaps your friend will discover a new weapon at the Citadel," Sansa replied, slightly muffled because she was speaking into his thick winter doublet, one she'd embroidered herself. "There has to be something."
"I hope so, Sansa," he replied, pulling back from their embrace. A gloved hand traced the tear falling down her right cheek. "What's this? Bran is alive and coming home, remember? This is no time to weep. At least, you can wait until we're all together, and then cry from happiness."
Sansa chuckled. She supposed she'd known, deep down, that Jon had a sense of humor, but she had not seen much of it as a girl; she'd avoided him too often since her mother and septa had explained what bastards were, and she had missed many of her siblings' adventures and games with Jon. Although he'd forgiven her, it still pained her to know how much of her childhood she'd wasted dreaming of the south, instead of appreciating her wild, loving, northern family.
"Come, you're the King in the North," said Sansa, releasing her cousin. "You must eat something, or you'll faint in front of your men and shame House Stark."
"We can't have that," Jon sighed, opening the door to exit the solar.
One step later, he'd nearly crashed into an anxious Jaime Lannister.