Author's Notes: Welcome to TDR in 2024! Now that TDR has a total chapter count (!), I'm pleased to inform you all that I've returned to the posting schedule of one chapter every two weeks!
I'm pleased to inform you all that TDR should be all finished and posted in its entirety at years end of 2024. Whoo! Still plenty of story between now and then. Thank you, lovely readers, so much for your dedication and enthusiasm in supporting this fic! You have all been so patient and I can't thank you enough.
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Chapter 138
Dear Aemon,
News from Moat Cailin: since work started, the ground floor is entirely passable and the men are sheltered from the cold. The masons are able to begin the stonework to repair the walls. In the meantime, the soldiers have begun clearing out the rubble from the upper floors. My friend, Ser Addam Marbrand, will be taking his leave with the soldiers that he and I have provided. Given the lack of urgency of war, I cannot insist my soldiers stay and do simple labor. I have assurances from your cousin, Lord Robb, that he will be sending a contingent of men to keep improvements steady. I am prepared to supply funds and supplies as needed.
You informed me some months ago about David and the Valyrian smith Tobho Mott working on recreating Valyrian steel. I am keen to hear if there has been any more news on that front.
Lady Brienne and I are once more expecting! The child will arrive in six months' time.
How fares your family? Give them my best.
Jaime
Dear Jaime,
That's good news! I will reach out to House Manderly, Cerwyn, and Dustin to see if they have men to spare. We have no way of knowing if the Long Night will come sooner or later, so it's best done sooner. Even if not entirely complete, it should be battle-ready in 5 years.
I have informed David of your interest in his Valyrian steel project and he will be writing to you personally. As of yet, no real progress has been made. If Valyrian steel is created with the use of magical blood, neither mine nor the queen's blood is potent enough. It was deemed ineffective. They are currently working on a smithy closer to the Dragonpit so that they may attempt the use of dragonfire.
Still no word on the Blackfyre, though David suspects Varys will have made landfall by now.
There has been word from the Wall. It seems a large portion of the wildlings have decided to take us up on our offer. A few thenns broke from the main host—most notably the Lord of Bones. As I understand it, you gave him a terrible beating. Not undeserved, I'm sure. They will be passing through the Wall in a week's time. There may be trouble and I will keep you abreast of the situation.
Expecting so soon? It's been barely nine months since little Tydus was born, has it not? Congratulations! I wish you and your growing family well. How do they fare?
Aemma is an eager and bright child. I fear the day she starts walking for her personality has the force of a hurricane. She can't even speak and already commands the loyalty of the entire guard.
Dany and I are well. Just as you recommended, I gave her time and space. We rule together on every front now, trading off the throne with every court session. I have designs to expand the throne so that we may both sit atop it, but Lady Olenna cautions making the change. Just as well, it is a low priority in light of all of the preparations we're undertaking for the Long Night. Dany and I have agreed that focusing on the kingdom is our first priority.
What of your progress in preparing the Westerlands?
Aemon
Dear Aemon,
While I understand the urgency, given the last time I looked upon Moat Cailin, I suspect 5 years to be an ambitious goal. Though, if your Northern houses are able to spare several hundred more men, they may just make it.
I spend my days writing and reading letters and you insist on adding another to my list? I'm sure David's letters will be illuminating at the least.
The Lannisters have long-standing contacts in Essos, but I'm afraid that given the distance the news has to travel to me, I'm apt to get news half a year after you. Write to me the moment you hear anything.
The Lord of Bones should consider himself fortunate that he left with his head on his shoulders. So you didn't see the fight? Ghost and Greywind savaged his dogs at a most opportune moment and gave me the opening I needed to end the duel. I had suspected you were behind that.
Glad to hear that there will be far fewer people to join the Army of the Dead beyond the Wall. I do not envy Stannis his task to bring them to heel.
I am pleased to hear Princess Aemma already commands legions. We may have need of her for the Long Night. Tydus is a happy babe that the ladies are oft found gushing over. It seems he will have Brienne's blue eyes. I am sure the princess is a wonderful child, but there is no finer boy in all of Westeros. Only potentially my next son will be his equal.
The Lady Brienne wished to get her childbearing out of the way so that she may condition herself and be ready for the Long Night. I shan't stand in her way for fear she may remove my cock if I do.
I think it admirable that you wish to have a second throne for both you and Her Grace. You are trying to separate yourself from past Targaryen rulers and I can think of no worthier goal. Don't let the naysayers keep you from your wishes.
I have been purchasing large amounts of grain and preserved fruits from the Reach. Though it is not as cold here as in the North, I've seen to it that the soldiers do all of their drills in the fields, regardless if it's a storm or shine. They may curse me now, but it will toughen them up. I have also commissioned the local mountaineers to teach the men how to stay warm and spare their limbs from frostbite. It's a bit late for shearing, but I am seeking wool and animal pelts to fashion into warmer uniforms for the new recruits when they receive their commission.
I have more plans yet to bear fruit, but I assure you, the Westerlands will be ready.
Send the Queen and the princess my greetings.
Jaime
To my Lord Jaime Lannister, warden of the Westerlands, and master of war,
The king has informed me of your interest in the project to create Valyrian steel. As of yet, we have merely a plan. We tried already with Valyrian blood graciously bestowed to us by Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Targaryen. Unfortunately, it proved to be not the ingredient.
Our next attempt will simply be to forge a sword with dragonfire. First, we will initially melt the steel and quench it into a rough form. Second, Master Mott will attempt to make adjustments to the sword using regular fire to see if the melting of the steel is what imbues it with its special characteristics.
Should that fail, Master Mott will attempt to complete the entire process of sword creation with the steady use of dragonfire. We hope this is not a necessary component since working with dragons is uncertain at best. His Grace and Her Grace will be on hand for both of these attempts to keep the dragons well in hand.
Failing that, we will attempt to use the blood of a dragon to mix it with the melted steel. Given that dragons are creatures of fire, it could mean we are unable to stoke a fire hot enough to melt the steel once it's set, which may mean the use of more dragonfire. Master Mott doesn't believe this as he's long been able to work with Valyrian steel without dragonfire, so it may yet be possible.
Should we succeed, you will be the first to know, my lord. But you will have to discuss pricing with Master Mott.
Formal greetings,
David
Joffrey III
At the time, he had never felt more frightened than when they had split from his uncle's party and headed deeper into the woods. Although Lady Meera had her bow, he was the only other one capable of fighting. Should they have been attacked at any point, they were all to have likely perished. While he had little experience in the woods, the utter silence left him on edge and his eyes were constantly roaming the barren trees, though he wasn't entirely sure what he expected to see.
His uncle had told him about the wights they were sure to face. The dead. He might have laughed had he not seen the equally serious faces of the other lords around them.
He remembered pulling out the dragonglass dagger his uncle gave him and studying it. Unlike a regular sword or dagger, it reflected the light and shadows of the forest around it, showing the sun barely peeking through the interweaving branches above. When they broke camp and made a fire, it became easier to see the smoky, glass quality of the dagger. He was tempted to stab it into the log to see how strong it truly was, but didn't for fear it would be the end of that weapon. It seemed so strange that something which looked so delicate was capable of ending the undead.
"Do you know how much further?" Meera had asked her brother one night.
"It's close," Jojen had said, giving his sister an encouraging smile.
This cheered Joffrey and he'd slapped Jojen on the back in camaraderie. As soon as the weirwood tree loomed over them, he thought that all of their fears would be left behind them.
The very next day, Joffrey had watched in paralyzed horror as Jojen's horse was toppled.
"Jojen, no!" Meera had leaped off of her horse to aid him.
But then skeletons began popping up all around them. The horses spooked. Joffrey's horse reared and he'd flailed for the reins but was dumped unceremoniously onto his back. Bran had screamed, falling to his back. He gasped for air a few times and then was still as his eyes rolled back into his head.
Meera fought and slashed, but more skeletons were rising.
Joffrey had watched frozen and horrified as skeletons rushed up to Bran, only to be barreled into by Storm, Bran's direwolf. This thawed him and he stumbled to his feet, pulling out the dragonglass dagger. He rushed over to Bran and slashed at another skeleton. Still, more and more were crawling out of the ground.
No, no, it can't end here when we're so close, Joffrey thought. He had looked back at Meera, his fingers twitching as yet more and more skeletons swarmed her and Jojen. Bran was still snapping at skeletons through Storm, but they were quickly becoming outnumbered. Just as he pulled up Bran by his armpits and began dragging him, a voice shouted.
"Come! Come here, to safety!"
He'd had to do a doubletake as a young woman waved him on, but her skin was green and her hair appeared to be made of moss and wood.
Joffrey was once more pulled back as Meera let loose an agonized scream. But then he saw her kneeling over her brother, crying into his chest as he lay unmoving on the snow.
"He is lost! Leave him or you will be lost too!"
When she didn't seem to want to move, Joffrey yelled across the field, "Meera!" He shook his head and kept pulling Bran along. He started when he heard an abrupt bang, nearly dropping Bran. He looked up and saw a skeleton disintegrate before his eyes with fire.
"Get him in!" The person said, pointing to a pathway under the weirwood.
Once Meera dove through and the skeletons disintegrated before their eyes, Joffrey had slumped out of breath, certain that their fears were over with. However, it didn't take long for him to believe the last bit of normalcy he would feel was from the campfire the night before Jojen died.
At first, he was merely bored and temperamental. He was not allowed into the chamber where the Three-Eyed Raven stayed, which was guarded at all times by one of the Children of the Forest. Despite their aid against the skeletons, they regarded him coldly and he returned their ire.
The only one he felt any kinship with was Meera, as she was similarly locked out of the place where the Three-Eyed Raven dwelled. At first, she'd kept to herself, stifling a quiet sob here or there. He'd never had to comfort a single person in his life, but he sidled up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. When she'd turned to him, he gave her a weak smile and nod. She'd stared for a moment, then grasped his hand and squeezed it back. It took him aback, but then he settled himself next to her and she leaned into his shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He leaned into her, but was afraid his voice would sound weak and pitiful, so he said nothing.
The children ate greens and tree sap, which he, Bran, and Meera found deeply unsatisfying.
"We cannot eat this alone," Joffrey grumped, feeling the clawing hunger of his stomach.
"Allow me," Meera said, with a small smile.
He watched as she approached the one who saved them, the one they called Leaf.
"We thank you for your hospitality. You have been generous by saving our lives, however, we're in need of more food. Would it be possible for us to forage outside?" She asked.
"If you insist on eating meat, you do so at your own peril," Leaf had merely said, shaking her head as if she couldn't understand.
Joffrey wasn't terribly eager to venture outside the safety under the weirwood tree, but he thought he might go mad otherwise. During one of Bran's daily lessons, he, Meera, and Storm ventured forth. At first, Joffrey was on high alert, his hands shaking simultaneously from the cold and fear, as he held his dragonglass dagger at the ready.
However, Meera was cool and calm. He admired the way she so carefully set her feet as she began her hunt. He tried to imitate her, but it felt like he had a talent for finding every single stick hidden in the snow. Instead of snapping at him, though, Meera had decided to hang back and asked if she could set him straight. Since Roose Bolton had tortured him with training, he had been determined to be useful and swiftly agreed to learn more about hunting. Though he still had a tendency to step on sticks and snag branches and bushes, he soon began moving lighter on his feet.
They took a pair of rabbits back to the tree. It was dangerous to make a fire beneath the weirwood, so they made one within sight of the tree. Though they had been quiet, they were soon grinning and gnawing the meat off of the bones. It was a challenge not to wolf it down, but they saved the rest for Bran.
When he'd been released from his lessons, he'd gladly dug into the rabbit meat himself. Even Joffrey could see his fingers trembled with hunger.
"What is he teaching you?"
"There's more to greensight than just warging," Bran mumbled between bites. "There's … a history within the trees. I can … see things."
"What kind of things?"
"Old things," Bran replied cryptically. Even with his unseeing eyes, Joffrey thought they looked far off and troubled. "I get the sense that he's hiding something."
Like you're doing with us, Joffrey wanted to snap, but he bit his tongue. Lord Bolton had taught him it was best to not speak every thought that entered his head. He and Meera did exchange looks.
"How do you mean?" she asked Bran.
"He became … restless … when I asked him about the Old Gods. Asked if they were real. He just said 'never mind that now!' It sounded like … he was afraid."
A silence lay over them for a moment at the words. "Perhaps because they don't exist," Joffrey muttered bitterly.
"Shh," Meera said, glancing around cagily.
Bran shook his head as if in disagreement, but didn't elaborate further. When he slept at night, he settled down apart from them. This seemed to vex Meera, so Joffrey sidled up to her and said, "Leave him be. He's too good for us."
"Now don't you start." Meera glared at him. "We need to stick together if we all want to leave alive."
"Hard to feel we matter when he won't tell us what he's doing," Joffrey hissed.
"I'm not allowed to, Joffrey. I thought you knew that," Bran said, his back still to them, but there was real heartache in his voice.
"And what about before?" Joffrey asked. "You were hardly this shy when you were using birds to spy on everyone."
"We had to survive together then, but I must do this alone," Bran replied. "You wouldn't understand."
Joffrey growled but Meera took hold of his hand.
"You're frustrated because you're idle. We've been lax for the past few weeks, but no more."
So Meera began putting him through his paces while hunting. She actually taught him to use her bow and she was a relentless taskmaster. He had to make sure the string was oiled and she made him count the arrows in her sheath every morning and every evening. At one point, she taught him how to make new arrows, filing sticks down to a point. That occupied them for days at a time.
She also used her staff to hone his sword fighting. Given that there was little else to do, he threw himself into it, and after a month of daily training, from dawn to dusk, he started to feel like he was more on an even keel with her. They even deliberately stepped out in front of the weirwood and stirred up the wights that had ambushed them so many weeks ago.
Joffrey's fear had threatened to seize him, but his immense frustration at the situation he found himself in had won out. He used his sword to sever limbs, cutting the wights to pieces. They writhed upon the ground and crawled at him, trying to sink their daggers into his ankles like puppies trying to be ferocious. Once they were dismembered, he'd stab into their chest cavities or caved their skulls in with the dragonglass dagger.
When the wights became too many, they'd duck back under the weirwood tree and watch the skeletons disintegrate before their eyes, much to their enjoyment.
"You learn quickly, my young apprentice," Meera grinned at Joffrey, throwing an arm around his shoulder.
He puffed his chest up in response. "I can think of no better teacher."
Though Leaf and her kind had mellowed since the first day, they still looked at them askance, especially when she found them sitting against the wall, giggling to themselves as the wights threw themselves at the impenetrable magical wall.
"You play a dangerous game," Leaf said.
Joffrey scowled at her. "We've learned how to manage against the wights. When the time comes, we'll be ready."
"I regret I didn't ask Lord Lannister for my own dragonglass dagger," Meera said, holding up the dagger and inspecting it in the glaring midday light that filtered through the door.
"You can get one when you go back to the Wall. You'll at least know how to use it," Joffrey said.
"Be careful," Leaf cautioned them. "It won't always be so safe."
"Is the magic weak?" Meera asked.
"The magic has stood for a thousand years," Leaf replied stiffly. "But the Night King seeks to find a way in. And he will. You'll see."
That punctured Joffrey's mirth and he glared at Leaf. There was little enough cheer as they whiled away their time underneath the weirwood tree, so he resented stomping it out.
Once Leaf disappeared into the cave, Meera whispered, "Don't mind her. There's little enough to distract. Just enjoy this moment with me." She leaned her head against his shoulder.
Joffrey regarded her with something akin to shock. They'd been growing closer over the weeks, but even he hadn't anticipated this. "I'm just a bastard," he blurted aloud. He wanted to curse himself the moment he said it, turning from her.
"And I'm apparently a highborn lady, but that means nothing out here. My brother had the gift of greensight; he knew he would die here. But he came here anyway. The rest of us don't know how long we're going to live so we might as well live while we can."
From that moment forward, Meera did not hesitate to seek him out for warmth. She was a pretty lady, and he appreciated the way she was able to hunt and fight. He was especially itching to fuck her. With little else to do while they whiled away their time waiting for Bran, the option was becoming more enticing by the day. His mother had always encouraged him to whet his male appetites with anyone willing, but to take care the woman didn't try to manipulate her way into a crown.
That was then and this was now. There was no crown for a woman to lust over. He had no lands, no claims, and no future. He'd jumped at the opportunity to go with Bran because he thought it meant paving a path for himself. He had been secretly pleased upon seeing the look of surprise on his uncle's face when he'd declared he would be escorting Bran beyond the Wall. No one had expected it of him, and it felt good to prove he'd grown beyond how his mother had originally raised him.
When Meera and Bran had already drifted off to sleep, he'd stay awake and wonder. What would he do once they returned to the Wall? Though he had paid little attention to what his uncle was doing, he wasn't so ignorant that he hadn't heard about the oncoming fight. The problem of the wights was only going to get worse. He looked forward to showing his uncle his prowess in defeating them. Perhaps he'd even be able to captain his own soldiers.
After a few more weeks of hunting for food and fighting wights, Meera discovered more paths under the weirwood tree. They began exploring them, running into a few more children of the forest. They were largely treated like an inconvenience and ignored.
One child of the forest seemed to find amusement in their odd visitors. He had brown skin, dappled like a fawn's pelt, large ears, and eyes like a cat. Meera called him Scales, and they learned that the paths underneath the weirwood stretched for some length, but they now terminated into mostly empty burrows. That didn't stop Joffrey and Meera from wandering a bit further afield, but they'd decided to stop when they got lost after misremembering one turn or another.
When Bran had heard about their latest foray under the weirwood tree, he begged to be shown.
"Please. I don't get to go outside. They say it's too dangerous," he said, kicking at the ground like a petulant child.
Joffrey felt his back go up and he opened his mouth to rebuke him, but Meera stepped in.
"Of course! Of course, we'll take you into the tunnels," she replied, with a dazzling smile that made Joffrey want to snarl at Bran.
So one evening after Bran's lessons were completed, they ventured back into the lower tunnels. It took every fiber of Joffrey's being not to simply abandon them and return to the surface, uncaring whether they made it back or not. He knew his uncle would be appalled, but Joffrey was having a difficult time taking it into consideration when he was leagues away, if not already back below the Wall. But he knew that Meera would never forgive him and he could think of no greater hell than being stuck here, existing alone.
Her words from days—or was it weeks?—earlier played in his mind. She didn't care that he was a bastard and she liked him. They were living in the moment, but perhaps it didn't have to be only a moment. He knew that bastards could be elevated or given a name. Perhaps Meera would be amenable to marriage? When she'd initially told him about her ever-roving home in the swamp, Joffrey had thought the isolation and its location in a swamp wretched. But after spending some time as a bastard, with many considering it perfectly just reason for punishment, secluding away to a place where no one could find him sounded more appealing with each day Meera cozied up to him more and more.