A/N: Thanks for the continued support and patience. We've got about 7-8 chapters left.
Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign
By Spectre4hire
25: Jon IV & Eddard IV
Jon:
Let's not do that again.
He looked around the private cove Theon had led them into. He had thought Greyjoy had gone mad when he told the captain to steer right towards the rocks beneath his family's castle.
"GO!" Greyjoy had barked out the order. His voice was harsh and raw, and when the captain hesitated, he pushed him aside and did it himself.
The crew erupted in protests and panic as they all watched helplessly their ship sail dangerously close to the rocks. Jon braced himself for the inevitable crash. His reprimand, his curse was on his lips when it happened. Or when it didn't happen. There was no crash against the rocks. The ship sailed smoothly into a cove which seemed to appear in front of them in an instant.
"The rocks?" Someone mumbled in disbelief still processing what had just happened.
Greyjoy shook his head. "It's the angle," he explained, "it looks like you're sailing right towards them, but then you don't," he shrugged.
"A mirage," another one said.
"It's a damned miracle!" Someone added. Their ship now was anchored in this cove that only bore some signs of use from previous Greyjoys.
"Any guards?" Jon asked, noting the winding upwards staircase that led to a closed door.
"Only family knows this," He gave a bitter smile, "and my kin aren't expecting me."
By the time they were off the ship, the second ship had joined them. Jon was relieved to see them. He could only imagine how they looked sailing into the rocks, and then disappearing in a blink. Two ships and less than fifty men, he reasoned, but the numbers didn't matter to him. He would've rowed here if he had to or swim. What he was concerned about were that many of them were ironborn sworn to Lord Blacktyde. They had made an alliance with the ironborn lord to get here, and though he had gotten to get to know him during the journey on Nightflyer, he wasn't about to put his trust with Arya's life on the line in his or any of his men's hands.
He took comfort in Ser Wendel Manderly's presence along with his White Harbor men. The knight had been adamant about joining them when Jon informed the others, nor would he forget Ser Wendel's words. " Lord Stark's daughter is in danger, and we do not forget our vows."
The men of White Harbor held true to the Starks and to Winterfell. Jon had thought much on those words, on his own vows, and ignoring them to bring Greyjoy here. He was a hostage who was to be detained in a cell, but Jon couldn't allow that. He needed Theon to save Arya. He hated that feeling, especially towards someone as insufferable as Greyjoy, but Jon loved Arya too much to let his great dislike ruin any chance he'd have of bringing Arya back.
And he's delivered, Jon was begrudgingly impressed by Greyjoy's information that had brought them safely inside Pyke without any ironborn guard in the castle aware of their presence. He had pressed him countless times across the journey about what to expect, the castle's layout, the guards, the patrols, but each question only darkened Greyjoy's mood. Until he finally cracked: "I don't know, bastard!" and he had angrily stormed off, Jon hadn't failed to note that Nymeria had gone with him.
He knew it had been years since Greyjoy had seen his family's castle, but he had hoped he could remember something, anything, because they would need every advantage, they could get with the odds they were facing. With the odds I'm leading them into. His eyes found Dacey among the Manderly men, she looked every bit the warrior, and ready to spill ironborn blood for what they did to her sister.
Again, it was Blacktyde they had to turn to. He had visited the castle several times, and most recently a few months ago when Balon Greyjoy had named himself a king. And a kinslayer. His own son was a hostage, a warning if the Lord of the Iron Islands rebelled. And he still rebelled, and without hesitation for his son's life. Jon knew nothing of Lord Greyjoy, but that alone was enough for Jon to think him an ill man, and a worse father.
His thoughts dispersed because of Nymeria, who was acting strangely.
Jon saw her aggressively paw at the sand, shooting up bursts of it into the air. A few men grumbled, having to move away to avoid getting hit, but they were wise enough not to voice their displeasure too loudly to the very large and very angry direwolf.
"Nymeria?" It was Theon who went over to try to soothe her.
She had spent most of her time with him on the journey both on deck and below. Despite it becoming a familiar sight, Jon still didn't like it. He wasn't sure what was worse: Theon's usual arrogance or that he actually cared about Arya. Ever since Greyjoy came to Winterfell all Jon knew of the heir of the Iron Islands was his arrogance, his crude jokes, and his insufferable smirks. When he stumbled upon Jon's camp all those weeks ago, he was someone else, someone different, but Jon still had a hard time liking it or him.
Greyjoy's concern for Arya rankled him. How many times had he bragged about the whores he slept with? How many times did he tell crude stories? He was a man who seemed entirely too pleased with himself, and his conquests. Ghost let out a silent snarl, feeding on Jon's own growing irritation. His direwolf was quiet as a shadow by his side, reminding him, and he didn't dispel an angry breath until he felt his fingers in Ghost's wet fur.
Nymeria. She was the reason that stayed Jon's hand and his temper. She was all but bonded to Greyjoy. He understood the wolves and what they meant. Arya's a warg, he knew, like him, like Sansa, but they never talked about it. Looking back on it with regret when they were all together at Riverrun. Him, Robb, Sansa, Arya, I should've said something. Did she know she was one? Or was she confused about it like Sansa had been.
Pushing it aside because he knew such doubts weren't needed, especially with what they were about to do. Jon went over to his sister's agitated direwolf without fear. The others didn't know and couldn't know. He crouched down to be in front of Nymeria, hearing a few of Manderly's men stir and gasp, but Jon ignored them.
"Arya," he said so softly that the receding water in the cove would drown out his voice. "We're here."
Greyjoy looked down at him with a queer expression.
Her amber eyes met his, and for a fluttering instant, he felt he was looking at Arya, and he smiled. Little sister. Jon reached out to the direwolf, who accepted his touch, but only for a second, before she shied away from him. "Nymeria?" He frowned, not understanding, and then she bolted. Greyjoy shot up after her, the two running up the stairs, before disappearing with the door closing behind them.
Jon swallowed his curse, pushing down the spike of anger at Greyjoy abandoning them. He turned back to the others, knowing they were waiting for him. He gave quick orders, wanting a few to stay behind to man the ships, a couple ironborn, who he let Blacktyde pick. The rest were to follow him.
No one objected.
Once more, Jon put his trust in Baelor Blacktyde, the ironborn who turned cloak against his liege lord in order to serve the heir. Greyjoy had been right, when they opened the door, the corridor was deserted. There was no sign of any guards or even a servant. This part of the castle looked abandoned. The walls were coated in grime and mold had eaten away the tapestries that were still hanging.
They had stopped at the first window they found so Blacktyde could get his bearing of the castle. With Greyjoy abandoning them, they had no idea where they actually were. Pyke sprawled out across multiple islands, and they were under one. Blacktyde had said the rope bridges were patrolled and guarded that connected the various parts of the castle together.
If we have to cross, he thought, if we're spotted. All of the castle could be alerted to their presence. If they're not already, irritated at the reminder of the mess Theon had left them in.
"Silver, men," Wendel Manderly encouraged his men. They were a few dozen, in an enemy castle that was garrisoned with a lot more men. "You and your families will get all the silver you can carry for following us into the belly of the kraken."
"Winterfell too," Jon said, knowing he had no authority to give such gifts or promises, but he saw the men's faces starting to rally. "Lord Stark will see to it." He promised them. I'll see to it. "You and your families will want for nothing."
Wendel's smile was proud beneath his bushy mustache, and he gave Jon a nod. Their words seemed to improve their moods as they carried themselves with more confidence and appeared ready at a moment's notice to fight and die for Lord Stark's daughter if need be. He prayed it wouldn't come to that. He wasn't trying to lead them into a battle. It was to be a rescue, quick and quiet. Until Greyjoy ran off.
He knew he shouldn't forget about the ironborn, who were likely listening intently to such promises. "You all as well." Their faces didn't shine with the same loyalty like the men from White Harbor, but in opportunity. "More from Winterfell than Pyke can give you." Jon didn't even know what price he was promising them, or how he was to pay it, but for Arya, he'd give everything including himself if it meant she'd be free. To his surprise, a few of the men flashed him grateful looks, and nods, looking relieved at his promise, like they believed him. The ironborn matched their northern men-at-arms in determination and they made for a motley bunch. An ironborn lord, and reavers, northern soldiers and knight, a noble lady, he nearly smiled at Dacey's reaction at his choice of description of her, and me, he thought, a bastard turned knight turned lord. Sansa would love this story, he realized.
"What?" Dacey asked, seeing him smile.
"This," Jon gestured to them, "This assorted band of men and woman," he amended at Dacey's look, "united to rescue a damsel," He saw her smile too, a smaller one, but he savored it. "I'll be telling this story to Sansa for the end of time." He chuckled, knowing Sansa's love for certain stories had faded over the years, but he was sure she'd enjoy this one.
"I want to be there when Arya hears you call her a damsel," that brilliant teasing twinkle was in Dacey's lush green eyes.
He had not seen it since before she learned of her sister's murder. Acting before thinking, he kissed her. She didn't protest his choice.
"This way," Blacktyde had found the direction they needed to go in.
"That was better than the promised silver."
"Should I offer the others kisses as well?" Jon asked dryly.
Dacey snickered. "No, Jon," she said, "You're all mine."
He had to carefully split his attention between himself and Ghost, who was at Blacktyde's side. The ironborn lord didn't look too keen on it, but wisely stayed silent when protesting the presence of a direwolf near the size of a horse. Blacktyde ended up keeping one eye on where they were going and the other on making sure he didn't get in the direwolf's way.
He didn't have to worry about that. Jon had slipped into Ghost, a discreet dip that helped him pick up on the direwolf's superior senses, alerts for sounds and scents they'd never notice. "Wait!" Jon called them to stop, thankfully Ghost reacted just before him, giving him the excuse he needed.
"What?" Blacktyde hissed, but a look from Ghost softened the lord's next words. "What is it?"
"Guards," Jon said quietly, just after the sound of armored footfalls could be heard, echoing towards them.
"Do you think they've been alerted?" Wendel asked.
Jon shook his head. "No, I don't think so."
It was only after he finished speaking did, he see what Dacey was up to. She stalked up the corridor, and just as the two guards came into view, she attacked with all the ferociousness of a shadowcat. With a dirk, she slit the first guard's throat before he could look down the corridor to spy them, and with the second, Dacey shoved him hard into the wall, where he let out a yelp that was smothered by her hand covering his mouth. She took the guard's own sword from his scabbard and thrust it deep into his chest, killing him in an instant. With a cool gaze, she guided the body onto the floor so it wouldn't make too much of a clatter.
"I'd not think to piss her off, Lord Snow," Ser Wendel said wryly before he ordered a pair of his men to get the guard's bodies and to hide them in an empty room that looked like it hadn't been used in over fifty years.
They traveled a bit further before Blacktyde cautioned them that these corridors looked more familiar, and Jon understood what he meant: Expect more men.
"What of the thralls?" He asked after the ironborn servants. He knew those of Winterfell served the Starks faithfully, but those were free men. The Greyjoys like other ironborn houses kept thralls as servants, and he didn't think it foolish to consider such loyalty may not be as fierce as those of Winterfell.
"Docile," Blacktyde answered, with a frown, hinting at how they became docile.
Jon nodded, thinking they could use that to their advantage.
It didn't take long to prove his point. With Ghost's help, the next few they came across were thralls, who looked more ready to flee upon seeing Ghost than to fight and die for their masters.
The others all had huddled behind one girl, and though she was young, younger than them, she seemed to be their leader. Her hair was brown and limp, and he noticed fresh bruises along her neck. His stomach turned, and he tried not to think about Arya being at their mercy…
"You're a Stark of Winterfell?" With a bruised finger, she pointed to the white wolf enameled on his red scaled armor.
"Lord Stark is my father." He knew the truth, and believed he spoke it. And would've said the same words even if they were alone, and he could speak freely of what he learned of his parentage. Prince Rhaegar's seed, but Lord Eddard's son.
She gave a fragile smile. "North," she pointed to herself, and then the others, who scurried a bit closer upon hearing who he was. All of them bobbing their heads in agreement.
"Truly?"
She nodded. "During the first raids," she shivered, "we expected to die here."
Jon's heart sank at her answer. Lord Stark had given warning to the coasts of possible ironborn activity, but it seemed they still found some gaps, enough to take some northerners and to turn them into thralls.
"The only ones dying here today are the ironborn," Dacey comforted the poor thrall. "What's your name?"
"Dara," Her eyes were wet with tears. "He's in the hall." She said, "two dozen guards or so," when patiently pressed, she couldn't give him an exact number, so she carried on. "They're all eating and drinking."
"That's this island," Blacktyde sounded pleased that they wouldn't have to cross any of the rope bridges.
Jon was too, but he was still thinking about her. "What about Arya?" He asked the thralls. "Have you seen her?"
Dara blinked owlishly. "Arya?"
"Lord Stark's youngest daughter?" Jon said, "She was taken prisoner by them."
"We don't know any noble prisoners," she answered shyly, "we don't tend to them."
Gods, Jon felt sick at what went unsaid, at what these men did to her and the others. They had started only to rescue Arya, but now he'd help any and all they came across.
Dara gestured for one of the thralls to come to her. A mousy woman with an ashen face stepped forward. "This is Marna. She works in the kitchens." Marna gave a clumsy curtsey, murmuring, 'm'lords, m'lady.' "The thralls have an entrance into the hall from there." Dara revealed, "They'll never know."
Jon smiled. "Tell us how."
In the end, they couldn't all sneak through the thrall's entrance, so they divided into two groups. Jon, and Dacey would lead a handful of White Harbor men through while Blacktyde, Ser Manderly and the rest would attack from the entrance, trapping the unexpected Greyjoy's men between them. They'd also post men to cover them to make sure they weren't attacked from behind.
Longclaw, felt to be humming in Jon's hand, his heart pounding, as he looked back at Dacey, and the others who all nodded. Without waiting, he kicked the door open, running into the great hall with the others charging behind him, yelling and shouting:
"STARK!" "WINTERFELL!" "MANDERLY!" "WHITE HARBOR!"
The ironborn guards who had just been drinking and eating, now turned in disbelief at the armed intruders, stumbling to get up from their benches and reach for their swords. Those closest never had a chance, being cut down and shoved onto the floor with Jon leading them through.
More northmen came pouring into the hall led by Ser Wendel Manderly. The room erupted into violent chaos as ironborn and northmen attacked and killed one another.
"Look it here," It was a woman who taunted Dacey, who looked vaguely familiar. "The Mormont bear has come for her cub." She had a pair of axes and had deftly already cut down a pair of men, who thought her easy prey.
Dacey snarled and charged her.
Jon trusted her skill, and Ghost, who had bound onto the table, leaping off it to tackle one guard, who had stood between Dacey and her target. The guard was dead before his body and the direwolf hit the floor. He went for Balon Greyjoy, who sat upon an ugly, shiny seat, with a pathetic crown atop his head. He's looking for an escape, he suspected. He wasn't expecting the war that he started to come to his castle. Jon took savage satisfaction in that.
Longclaw removed any who got in his way. Two, three, four, he lost track, cutting them down as he approached Greyjoy. He was careful with each step, making sure not to trip over strewn bodies or slip on the innards and pools of blood that slicked the floor. Greyjoy had gotten a sword from a dead guardsman, and with a look at Jon's direwolf armor, he snarled and attacked.
He was more of a warrior than Jon expected, but he was able to parry the first couple strikes. He heard the clatter of steel, and screaming men, but his focus was only on the opponent in front of him. Their duel ended after a few seconds. Jon saw his opening. He didn't strike to kill because he needed answers. He disarmed Greyjoy, and then backhanded him, sending the crown clattering to the floor, and the king tumbling backwards, tripping and then falling onto the ground.
Longclaw was at his throat, a starving beast needing to feed. "It's over, Greyjoy." he heard the din of battle fading, but he didn't turn to see.
Greyjoy looked ready to keep fighting, refusing to surrender, until a yelp pulled his eyes from Jon, and to something to Jon's right. "Asha!"
Mindful of his prisoner, Jon looked to see what had caused his reaction. Dacey had stuck her morningstar into Asha's belly. She had collapsed onto the floor, dead. Her face was slack, and she was still smiling with her limp fingers still gripping one of her axes.
"His daughter," Blacktyde stepped forward, answering Jon's unasked question, "And his heir." The Lord of Blacktyde's sable cloak had a touch of blood, but other than that he looked to have strolled through his sept instead of a battle.
"Traitor!" Balon howled, nearly jumping up at spotting Blacktyde, only Longclaw's thirsty steel tip stopped him.
Baelor Blacktyde looked at his liege lord like one does their boots after stepping in horseshit. "You're the traitor, Greyjoy," he said stiffly, "You'd ruin all of us for your cursed vanity."
Jon didn't have patience for ironborn politics. He pulled a surprised Greyjoy to his feet, and then lifted him off them like he was a doll. "Where is she?" His demand was an angry snarl, "Where is my sister?"
Balon's defiant sneer, and loathing look was lost by Jon's angry throttling. His dark eyes widened, "Your sister?" He repeated dumbly.
"WHERE IS ARYA?" Jon demanded, slamming Greyjoy's back into the oily black throne, ignoring the soft crack he heard. The ironborn lord grunted and groaned, sagging in his grip, which was the only thing keeping him up right.
"She's not here." Theon stepped into the hall. "She's at my uncle's castle."
Jon didn't take his eyes off Balon Greyjoy. "Are you certain?"
"Yes," Theon answered, with an odd note in his voice. "They thought she was a Mormont."
"Clever girl," Balon coughed out the words since Jon's hands were around his throat.
He tossed him to the ground in disgust. The self-proclaimed King of the Iron Isles fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Ghost was there to greet him silently snapping his red muzzle sending a terrified Greyjoy, scurrying backwards like a startled sandcrab.
"Where's your uncle's castle?" Jon felt his anger drain away.
"It's Ten Towers," Theon had stepped deeper into the room, seemingly noticing Asha's body for the first time.
His own sister, remembering what Blacktyde had said. For a brief heartbeat he saw himself, approaching a dead Arya, before Jon forced it away.
"It's on Harlaw isle," Theon crouched down, wiping away the black hair that had fallen over his sister's face, quietly regarding her final smile. "And I'm going with you, Snow."
For years, all Greyjoy had ever talked about was the Iron Islands, that he was the heir, that it was his right, his to rule, and he was finally here. And now he's leaving? It didn't make sense until he saw the intensity in Theon's gaze. Enough to even stop Jon's initial refusal. He begrudgingly nodded. "Very well."
The next few minutes seemed to pass as a blur as Blacktyde and Manderly made sure to secure the rest of the castle with their men. Most were giving up without a fight. It was decided Blacktyde and Manderly would stay behind, with the former sending ravens to the rest of the Islands informing them that the war was over and inviting them to Pyke to swear fealty to King Stannis Baratheon and their expected new Lord Reaper of Iron Islands, Theon Greyjoy. But that was not certain. Still, Jon figured they'd be back before most of the ironlords would reach Pyke.
There was no triumphant smirk when Greyjoy was told of their plans. He merely nodded, speaking with Blacktyde for a quiet moment of counsel. Jon saw no elation in Greyjoy's features, nor any confidence at savoring what was finally his. He seemed unattached to it all. Jon supposed it was in part to mourning his sister, who had died in the battle. Greyjoy instructed a pair of unarmed guardsmen to take his sister's body, and to prepare her for his people's funerary rights. A few of the older ironborn thralls who worked in the castle followed them out of the room.
"BOY!" Balon's shout went out like the snapping of a barbed whip. Greyjoy was about to leave the hall without even addressing his father, let alone speak to him. "ANSWER ME, BOY!" He demanded, "I'm your father!"
Jon watched as Greyjoy turned to finally face him. Theon regarded the beaten man with cool indifference, "You're nothing," he said, "And I was a fool to ever think you were anything other than that." A hundred different words and expressions seemed to pass over his features in the flickering heartbeats that followed, and in one, he thought, Greyjoy might approach his father, but he didn't. "He's all yours, Snow." Their eyes barely met, and then he was gone, leaving the hall with his sister's body.
"Are you going to kill me for my treason?" Balon's attention went back to Jon. There was a mocking tinge in his question. "I swore no vows to Stannis Baratheon."
Jon ignored his excuse, thinking it not even worthy of a response. He turned to a pair of frowning White Harbor men who had been hovering at his left waiting to take the former king. He nodded, and they came over, but before they did, Jon stepped closer. "I'm sending you to my father."
He watched the words have their desired effect on Greyjoy, relaxing him, convincing him he was safe for another day, and then Jon gave the signal, the one he told them before they ever entered the great hall. The orders he knew he had to carry out when they came to Pyke, and the men carried it out within seconds. Jon unsheathed Longclaw, while a suitable block was found, and when it was, the guards forced the twice crowned king to his knees.
"In the name of Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord Protector of the Realm, by the word of Jon of the House Seastark, Lord of Sea Dragon Point, I do sentence you to die." He looked down at the deposed King of the Iron Islands, "If you have any last words, now is the time to say them."
"What is dead may never-"
Longclaw silenced him with a single stroke.
Eddard:
Baelish's head hit the ground with a soft thud painting the stone tiles as it rolled a wet red.
"Is there anything you need, Lord Stark?"
Once again, Ned Stark resided in the Tower of the Hand. However, this time it was under different circumstances, and a different king, the last thought, still carried a tinge of melancholy to his fallen friend. He blinked away his memory of executing Baelish to see Davos Seaworth had been the one to seek him out. The former smuggler was acting as a common messenger instead of what he really was. Ned's eyes went to the golden hand pin on Davos' well-worn tunic.
"I think I should be asking you that, Lord Hand," he said wryly, upon getting to know Ser Davos these past few months, Ned thought the king couldn't have made a better choice.
"Davos," he said, looking a bit awkward at being addressed in such a way.
Ned politely shook his head. "That title is power, Lord Davos." He knew the court was against Davos' promotion which he thought was further proof that it was the right choice. "Power you'll need to rely on in future dealings. They won't like it, but they'll need the reminder." Ned didn't envy him or the King the task ahead of them.
Davos considered his words but didn't show which way he was leaning. A slow smile appeared when he finally said, "I suppose you're right, Lord Stark, but after spending time in that fish warehouse together, I would like it if we stayed how we were before I got this." He tapped his pin.
Ned chuckled at the memory of that foul smelling place they hid in to avoid Littlefinger's spies. He nodded to Davos' suggestion. "Very well, but only if you address me as Ned," He countered, not thinking it right that he continues to call him Lord Stark especially after all they've been through.
Davos smiled and agreed. He was about to say more when a servant wearing the royal livery appeared and brought something to Davos, who had to bend down to hear it. His face sobered and he nodded, sending the messenger away. "The King has requested our presence."
"What is it?" Ned didn't partake in Stannis' councils. He was likely the only person in the Red Keep, who didn't want to join them. While countless other lords and knights descended on the capital in the past fortnight since Stannis took the Iron Throne, after defeating his brother in a battle that was already being called: Battle of the Antlers, given its location and its contestants. All Ned wanted to do was leave. He wanted to see Cat, to hold her, to be with her in the final months of her pregnancy. She had already made clear in her letters, she intended to have their babe at Winterfell. It's our home, Ned.
Soon, he thought, he hoped, since he already accomplished everything, he sought out to do. He helped put Stannis on the Iron Throne and then personally saw to Baelish's execution. When Renly fell in battle, Littlefinger had tried to leave the city, and flee from justice, but he was betrayed by former allies, who realized being friends with the former Master of Coin was no longer profitable.
It was duty, not revenge that made him bring the sword down on Baelish's neck. The need to see justice done to a man, who betrayed the realm and their king out of his own ambition and greed. It wasn't satisfaction that flickered through him when he watched the headless body collapse to the ground, reeking of shit and piss. It was, but relief that the schemes of Littlefinger were finally put to an end.
A slight twinge in his leg, had his thoughts melt away to the dull pain. The reminder of Littlefinger's treachery. The thoughts and memories passed before him in the few seconds it took for Davos to answer his question.
"We've received a raven."
"From Robb?" Ned knew his eldest had been sent to Highgarden to accept the castle's surrender or to besiege it in the unlikely scenario that the remaining Tyrells decided to hold out. Highgarden, he didn't want to think about the castle and the mess that would come from the war's aftermath on who it would fall to. Another reminder of why he was grateful to be a king's guest instead of his councilor.
"No," Davos answered, "It's from Winterfell."
A/N: A very long chapter for Jon and a very short chapter for Ned. If you're disappointed in the latter, we'll get some more glimpses of the war's aftermath, but I always intended Ned's to be short and sweet. I also don't think I'll have Robb's next POV be at Highgarden. It was more letting you all know what he was up to and why he wasn't at the capital with Ned.
Everything went conveniently right for Jon, didn't it? I was just copying Mr. Martin when he had everything go absurdly right for Theon for him to take Winterfell in the books. ;)
Even though Jon acknowledges Eddard Stark as his father in this AU, I couldn't help but have him be like: Yeah, I'll 'send' you to my 'father,' *WINK* In which Balon thought he was referring to Lord Stark, but in that one instant, Jon actually meant Rhaegar. It was just a gag inspired by the: "what I said was true, from a certain POV."
Originally, I didn't have Jon mirroring Ned's sentencing from the beginning of the series. It was just gonna be quick. I'll be honest, I was waffling at which version to include, so here we are. With this one, we do get Jon finally declaring his new name and his new lordship, even if it's been clumsily done.
Hopefully, that scene between Balon and Theon wasn't too disappointing. I went with the less is more approach in their quick conversation. Theon knew Balon was going to die. So, he won't be surprised by that. Originally, there was a scene between him and Jon that made this clear, but I cut it, b/c it wasn't coming along as well as I would've liked.
Ironborn aren't supposed to kill other ironborn, so we're going with Blacktyde and his men trying to detain/disarm the guards they came across.
Thanks for all the support and patience you've given me and this story. It means a lot.
Until next time,
-Spectre4hire
P.S: I know I ended the chapter with another character receives a raven. I did warn you I liked to do that. That being said, I'm sorry if it's being poorly done, but time is passing for our characters. Sansa's raven which she talked about last chapter isn't arriving the very next day at the capital.