JON

With a sigh Jon adjusted the collar of his black leather armour as he stared despondently at his reflection in the looking glass.

Feeling more like a child playing at being a high lord, Jon wondered if Robb had felt the same way when he had stayed in the very same room here at Riverrun during his stay.

It was a strange feeling, staying in a room that Robb had once inhabited. A room where his mother´s father had picked out for his own grandson. A son of the woman who had spent her days hating Jon with as much dedication as she could.

Jon had expected lord Edmure to have treated him in a similar way as lady Stark had once did.

Much to his surprise, the lord of Riverrun did not treat him with any hate or dislike at all, rather lord Edmure seemed determined to get Jon to like him as much as possible.

A part of Jon would have preferred hate and dislike. At least he knew how to handle that.

Shaking his head of the thought, he turned his eyes from the looking glass and strode over to the desk and gabbed Longclaw, who had been resting against the heavy oak table and fastened the sword to his belt.

It would do him no good, wallowing in the past. He had a duty which needed to be performed, a duty to make peace if possible, so they could head North again and fight against the Others and the dead.

"Your grace." Satin muffled voice carried through the thick wooden door, before the younger man slid into the room. "It is time, the lords are gathered in the hall."

Resigning himself to his fate with as much dignity as he could muster, Jon nodded and turned on his heel. Ghost, who had been lying by the hearth while gnawing at a bone, followed his lead; looking almost as displeased as Jon.

Striding out of the room, Jon gave a nod to Ser Brynden, who had been standing guard outside of the door.

As the Blackfish fell into step with them, Jon found himself thinking that they needed to start looking for more volunteers for the Kingsguard. If only to give the older man some reprieve.

With the workload Ser Brynden was taking on as the sole whitecloak, the man was likely to kill himself from sheer exhaustion if he did not have more men to share the burden with.

"Ser Brynden, have you noticed any potential recruits for the Kingsguard?"

At the question, the knight's brushy eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "I have indeed, your grace. Ser Edric Strong is loyal and a capable fighter. I think that he would be an excellent choice."

Nodding, Jon found himself agreeing with Ser Brynden. Ser Edric was a good choice and the young knight had followed him from the Wall and had done an excellent job with the fortifications and the manning of Winterfell. Even if Ser Edric was not a renowned fighter, the man was very capable and Jon much preferred the men guarding his back to be loyal rather than legends.

He had learned his lesson after all.

"We should speak with him at the earliest opportunity, make the offer at least."

"I will send word that you want to speak with him." Satin offered.

Jon only managed a quick thank you to his steward, before they arrived at the entrance of the great hall of Riverrun.

The loud cheering and celebrating could be heard through the thick oak doors, then as soon as the doors were opened and Jon made his way into the hall, it fell abruptly silent for a moment, before the lords of the North and the Vale erupted into louder cheers.

Feeling Ghost lean his bulk against his side, Jon buried his hand into the white wolf´s fur, as they made their way to the high table.

Glancing at where the lords of the West had chosen to sit, Jon noticed that most of them clapped politely, much to his surprise.

Taking his seat, next to Arya and lord Edmure, the lord of Riverrun greeted him cheerfully. "Your grace, I have gotten news, the lords of the Riverlands have all sent word that they are heading our way to throw their strength to ours."

As soon as he had spoken, Jon became aware of movement behind him. Turning his head to see what was happening, Jon spotted the serving woman with curly brown hair tumbling around her shoulders being spoken to softly by Ser Brynden. "There is no need, the King´s steward will see to the King´s cup."

The woman was pale with fear and nodded and hurried away, as to put as much distance between her and the knight.

Turning his attentions back to the lord of Riverrun, Jon nodded at the good news.

The more lords who joined Jon and his lords, the men of the Westerlands would be dissuaded from rebelling and to try and help Cersei Lannister keep the Iron throne.

Jon glanced at the lords of the West again, who were looking rather subdued, most of them looked rather glad to have avoided battle. A sentiment that Jon wholeheartedly agreed with them on.

Glancing to the end of the high table, Jon spotted Ser Jaime, sitting by his aunt´s side as they spoke in low voices.

Jon found himself surprised how much Ser Jaime had changed since they met in Winterfell three years ago. His once golden hair was now streaked with silver and had been chopped close to his head, and his once taunting green eyes now weary and tired.

However, the greatest difference was of course the loss of his sword hand.

Jon remembered meeting Ser Jaime at the forge at Winterfell like it was happening now. How the knight had rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, while smirking at him and trying to get a rise out of him.

At Winterfell, Jon noticed the surprise in the man´s eyes when he failed to do so, and Jon was sure that there was detected a slight shift in the other man´s stance when Jon had only stood there, silent and observing him, waiting to see what he would do when Jon refused to respond.

The golden lion of house Lannister had looked almost…insecure when no indignant burst of outrage came from Jon, who had long since grown used to the mockery of being called bastard and the one stain of lord Eddard Stark´s honour.

It was difficult to reconcile that this man, who was sitting beside lady Genna was the same man, who had acted more like Theon Greyjoy than a man grown.

Not wanting to ignore his wife´s uncle seated next to him, Jon pushed the pondering over the change in character of the lion of Lannister and turned his attention to lord Tully.

Noticing that lady Tully was not among them, Jon asked lord Edmure. "How are your wife and son fairing?"

The red headed man stared at Jon with wide eyes, before a huge smile broke out on his face. "Oh, they are doing very well, but my wife is still rather exhausted after travelling as she has never left the Twins before, so she chose to stay in her rooms to rest."

"Of course, I hope she will better soon."

"Thank you, your grace."

Feeling the awkward silence creeping in as the conversation seemed to lull. Jon decided to speak again. "Have you chosen a name for your son?"

"Indeed, we have, your grace." Lord Edmure seemed to fidget in his chair as he grew even more excited. "Roslin and I are going to announce it to the Riverlords when they arrive that we are naming our son, Jon Tully."

If Jon had been drinking anything, he knew that it would have gone down wrong and he was thankful that the embarrassment of coughing all over the table had been avoided.

"I do not remember any member of house Tully named Jon. Is it perhaps after Jon Arryn?" Hoping that the man would declare that he was naming his son after the late lord of the Eyre, Jon stared at the lord of Riverrun, while trying to tune out Arya´s sniggering.

"No, your grace." The man did not seem to hear either Arya´s giggling or Jon´s discomfort and continued to speak with a large smile on his face. "We named him after you."

Hearing Ser Brynden sigh quietly behind him, Jon forced a small smile on his face. "I am honoured, my lord." Listening to lord Edmure continue to speak about his son, Jon gave Arya a slight kick under the table, hoping that it would make her stop but her soft giggling only continued.

"We had thought to name him Robb, Hoster or Brynden however in the end Roslin and I wanted to show our gratitude to you, your grace. Without you, little Jon might have been dead."

"Again, I am honoured." Jon fought to keep still in his chair. "But I have to ask, as lady Mormont was the one to rescue your son, why not name the lad after her?"

This question made Arya stop her sniggering and turn her eyes on her uncle, waiting for an answer.

"We also thought about that but we felt that every name we came up with was too close to Maegor…" The man now looked uncomfortable and took a sip of the wine in front of him.

"Yes, naming one´s son Maegor might be a bit awkward." Arya leaned forward as she spoke, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable Jon was feeling. "Maybe if you ever have a girl, you can name her Maege."

Her uncle brightened immediately and nodded, a bright smile stretching across his face. "Yes, that is our plan."

Thankfully the conversation turned away from the naming of children as Arya asked lord Edmure when the lords of the Riverlands were arriving.

"Hopefully they will arrive any day now." Lord Edmure declared, turning his eyes to where Jaime Lannister was sitting not far from them. "They will be glad to hear that there will be less Lannisters in the Riverlands."

Ser Jaime, taking notice that the lord of Riverrun was glaring at him, lifted his cup and sent him a derisive smile.

"I look forward to meeting them." Jon spoke, wanting to distract lord Edmure from Ser Jaime. Before the man could try and pick a fight with the blond-haired man, Jon leaned forward and spoke to lord Royce, who was sitting on lord Edmure´s other side.

"Lord Yohn, have you heard from lady Waynwood?"

"No, your grace. Not since we left the Vale." Shaking his head, the older man frowned deeply as a servant came to fill the man´s cup. "Should I send her word?"

"Perhaps that would be wise." Jon frowned and nodded. "I am sure we would all like to know how lord Arryn is coping."

"Then I shall send a letter to her tonight, your grace. But may be that her son is having a difficult time travelling through the Vale. The autumn snow and the hill tribes make it hard for the most experienced warriors to travel this time of year." Lord Royce said, making Ser Brynden hummed in agreement.

Feeling a soft hit on his shoulder, Jon turned and looked at Arya, who was trying to get his attention. "I have to go and meet with a colleague; I will talk to you later."

Bidding his sister good night, Jon watched her go while thinking that he did not envy the person she was planning to find, as she stalked out of the room, with Darksister at her waist and Nymeria trailing her steps before turning his attention to the conversation back to the lords around him.

For the next few hours Jon felt like he had talked more now than in his first sixteen years of life. It appeared like all the lords wanted to speak to him about one thing or another, even the lords of the West.

The Westerlanders had been led by lord Sebaston Farman, lord of Fair Isle, who was concerned about the raids on the coast by the Ironborn.

While staying in the Riverlands, they had been hounded by letters from any and all settlements close to the Sunset Sea that belonged to the West, their worry was growing by the day and from what they could gather. The Ironfleet was travelling south and taking as many people captive as they could.

The thought of the Ironborn using the lack of fighting men populating the West as an opportunity to raid and enslave all they could, much like they had done when Robb had taken the able-bodied men south from the North, brought forth a white-hot rage, which burned in his veins.

Something needed to be done about Euron Greyjoy and his reavers.

After listening to their concerns, Jon could feel the weariness seep through him and decided to retire to his room, as the information swam through his mind.

Taking his leave, Ghost and Ser Brynden followed his steps, out of the hall as Satin spoke quietly. "Your grace, I received word from Ser Edric, he is ready to meet you now if it please you."

Nodding, Jon felt grateful that he had not imbibed a lot during the feast. "Aye the sooner we talk to him, the better."

Jon entered the room he had been assigned to, gesturing for Ser Brynden to follow. They did not have to wait for long, as Satin returned promptly with Ser Edric Strong in tow.

"You wanted to see me, your grace."

"Aye, thank you for coming Ser." Jon watched as the Stormlander glanced from Jon to Ser Brynden and then back again, worry filled his eyes. "I was hoping to speak with you about a position that I wanted to offer you."

"Me? your grace." The man´s eyes doubled in size as his jaw went slack with surprise.

"Aye, I want to offer you a place on the Kingsguard."

The silence that fell over the room was only broken by the fire in the hearth and Ghost having returned to gnawing at the bone.

"I understand that this is a big decision for you." Jon continued as Ser Edric stared at him as if he were about to faint. "You do not have to make it right now, if you want to take a few days or a week or two to consider your options then I completely understand."

More silence filled the room, before Satin leaned forward. "Ser? Are you well?"

Ser Edric jumped when the steward addressed him and knocking him out of his shock. "I want it." The man almost yelled before collecting himself. "I do not need any time, your grace. I want to be a member of your Kingsguard." The smile that broke out on his face was almost blinding.

"Are you sure?" Jon asked, taken aback. "This is a very important decision and I completely understand if you want to take some time to think."

"I do not need it, your grace. Please, it would be the honour of my life to guard you and your family."

"In that case, Ser Edric." Jon rose from his chair, stepped around the desk and asked the man to kneel.

As the knight swore his vow, Jon thought that the man looked like all his dreams had come true at once. Turning to Satin, who had somehow procured a new white cloak while they had not been looking, Jon took it from his steward´s hands and fasted it around Ser Edric´s shoulders. "Rise now, Ser Edric Strong of the Kingsguard."

Ser Edric rose to his feet. The grin on his face as wide as could be and his eyes shining with happiness.

After congratulating the young knight, Satin led the new kingsguard out of the room, to take his measurements for the armour he would need.

"Five more to go, your grace." Ser Brynden grinned happily at Jon before striding out of the chamber, leaving Jon and Ghost alone.

Taking his seat again, Jon allowed his thoughts drift to the concerns of the lords of the West. Jon knew that the Ironborn needed to be stopped.

From what he had learned, the Ironborn were traveling south but to where? Were they planning to enslave as many people as they could and sell them on the markets of Essos, now that the cities of Slaver´s bay were not producing any free labour?

A sneaking suspicion lingered in his mind, that Euron Greyjoy was taking an advantage of the fact that the price of slaves would have tripled after the fall of Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen.

A soft knock interrupted Jon for what felt like the hundredth time this night as his steward´s voice broke through his thoughts. "Your grace, lady Arya is here to see you."

"Send her in."

His sister entered the room, her face emotionless but there was a slight skip to her step as Nymeria and a servant woman followed her. Recognizing the woman from the start of the feast and from the meeting with the lords of the West, Jon frowned. Why was Arya dragging the woman to talk to him. "Is there something wrong?"

Arya grinned at his words and gestured for the woman to walk forward and stand before his desk. "King Jon of house Targaryen." Her words were confident and almost playful and there was a glint in her eyes that Jon had seen when she had played a successful prank on Sansa when they had been children. "May I introduce, lord Varys, the spider."

SAM

The armour he had hastily thrown on before being sent out into the city, chafed at the joints. Even the black leathers of the Night´s watch would have been preferred, despite that the superior quality of what he was currently wearing.

While the armour was not necessary down in this dark and damp cellar, he did not dare to take it off, just in case the need arose for them to make a run for it and dash into the war-torn streets of Oldtown.

Sam had not imagined that he would have any need for his leathers, opting to leave them at Castle Black, thinking that no battles needed to be fought in the city.

How wrong he had been.

Another crash shook the dark cellar, making his heart skip a beat. Everyone stilled and held their breath until the walls stopped shuddering from the assault of the Greyjoy´s.

It took a few moments for Sam to risk moving, his muscles straining from the tension that had seeped into his body as terror gripped him once again.

Taking a deep shaky breath, hoping to calm himself; Sam forced his attention back to the patient that was lying on the ground.

The young boy´s skin had turned grey and the screams of pain had died down. Pressing the blood-soaked rag against the wound on his chest, Sam desperately tried to stop the child from bleeding out.

Sam watched with dread as the boy´s eyes turned glassy as they stared up at the ceiling.

Putting his hand, wet and stained red, from the boy´s lifeblood under the child´s nose, Sam felt his heart contract.

No breath could be felt.

Knowing that nothing more could be done for him, Sam forced himself to stand up and make his way to the washing bowl by the wall, to clean the blood from his hands. As he scrubbed his fingers and listened to the distant thunder of boulders being hurled into the city, Sam felt like the strength in his body was being drained.

Watching as the body was carried away, Sam´s thoughts drifted to all those he had failed to save ever since the Iron born had attacked. How many men had lost their lives fighting against the Iron born? How many women and children had been slaughtered when they had tried to run for shelter?

"Maester, hurry." A guard in the colours of house Hightower, half carried another man into the dark cellar and placed him on the floor, close to where the boy had died. "He has taken an arrow to the shoulder."

Nodding, Sam dried his hands, before walking over to the injured man, side stepping another novice from the citadel, who was binding a wound on a guard's arm. A guard that would be sent back out into the city, to continue fighting.

Kneeling by the injured man who had just been brought in, Sam gestured for the innkeeper´s daughter, Myrna to come over. "Could you get me more wine?" As the girl scurried away, Sam turned to inspect the wound.

Relief washed over him, seeing that the arrowhead had not been pulled out. Sam had grown to hate it when the guards tried to rip out the object that had been lodged into their bodies.

"What is your name?"

"Garret." The pain in his voice cut at Sam.

"Good, now Garret, I am going to remove the arrowhead so that I can clean and close the wound." Grabbing a wooden ladle, Sam continued. "It is going to be very painful but it is necessary, so I need you to bite down on this."

Placing the wood between the man´s teeth; Sam took up the tools necessary to remove the arrow as Myrna came back. As Sam thanked her, she knelt by the guard and placed her small hands on Garret´s chest, to help keep him down during the ordeal he was about to suffer.

As soon as Sam started, Garret began to scream and Sam was sure the wood between the guard´s teeth cracked from the pressure. Myrna was trying to assure Garret that everything would be alright, her words probably going unheard by the guard.

It cut at the soul, listening to the man scream in agony. Agony that Sam was causing.

However, without any milk of the poppy or anything else to dull the pain, it was a sound that Sam knew that he had to suffer through.

When the arrowhead was finally withdrawn from the man´s shoulder, Sam grabbed a piece of cloth and held it against the wound, thankful that his screaming died down. "Myrna, could you hold it here."

Moving to hold pressure on the injury, her blond braid swung over her shoulder. "Maester Sam." Her words were quiet, so he barely heard her. "Thank you for allowing me to help."

Sam offered her a tight smile as he readied the wine and rags. "I should be thanking you. You have been of great help in these last few days."

After cleaning and sewing the wound shut, Sam gestured for the man to be moved to the corner, so that he could rest, before he was sent back into the city to fight.

Rushing to his next patient, Sam worked alongside the other novices for hours until his eyes were burning. His young helper had crawled into one of the empty corners of the cellar and passed out from exhaustion.

"Sam." Armen, a young man with a pointy nose and four links in his chain around his throat, spoke in a low voice. "You should go and sleep, you have been awake and working for almost two days."

A part of Sam, wanted to protest however the acolyte had the right of it. The longer he held out on sleep, the more likely he was to make errors.

Errors neither he nor his patients could afford.

Lumbering over to the other side of the dark cellar. Sam sat down on the stone floor and leaned against the wall. Closing his eyes; Sam felt the exhaustion pull him into a slumber as the sounds of pained moans and the crashing of massive rocks being hurled into buildings.

It felt like he had just fallen asleep, when he was awoken by a guard, slamming the cellar door open.

"EVERYONE WE HAVE TO FALL BACK, THE IRONBORN ARE GAINING GROUND."

Despite the disorientation and his muddled brain, Sam staggered to his feet. Rushing to gather up as many supplies into a leather satchel.

Myrna stumbled to his side; her terrified brown eyes wide as they scrambled to snatch as many supplies as they could carry. After securing the satchel, Sam grabbed the short sword that he had taken from the armoury and fastened it to his belt.

Turning on his heel, Sam grabbed the nearest wounded man, slung his arm around his shoulders, before rushing up the stairs slowly as the man´s injured leg would not allow them to go any faster than a slow steady pace.

Sam felt his stomach contract in worry as cold sweat started to breakout all over his body. Would everyone have enough time to escape the cellar?

Climbing the stairs almost sluggishly, Sam watched as more Hightower guards appeared in his field of vision, clutching their weapons as they yelled over the screams of pain and fear that could be heard from outside the walls of the dilapidated inn.

While the continuous bombardment was rained down on the city, by the Greyjoy catapults which had been mounted on the ships of the invading fleet, caused his stomach and heart to clench with fear.

A deafening crash was heard close by, making the earth shudder. Sam lost his footing and fell to the floor with the man who he had been helping, tumble down alongside him.

As the pain throbbed in his hip and elbow, Sam did not even bother to try and stand up before most of the shaking had died down; knowing that he would end up on the ground again.

With the world quaking around him and the man sobbing from pain and fear almost on top of him, Sam wondered if they would die on that dusty floor.

Finally, when the earth had stilled again Sam forced himself to stand up and dragged the other man back to his feet.

Looking around for Myrna, Sam let out a breath of relief seeing her clutching a bag of supplies to her chest while leaning against the wall. Her eyes were bright and large with fear but at least she was alive and whole.

"Maester, hurry." One of the Hightower men spoke in a rushed whisper as more people made their way out of the cellar. "We are going to move further from the river, the Ironborn are pushing us back."

Sam threw the injured man´s arm around his shoulders again and started to tug him out of the dilapidated inn.

Stepping onto the stone paved street, Sam felt his already irritated eyes water and he had to swallow a series of coughs from breathing in the smoke and dust that hung over the city.

"Maester Sam, over here." Myrna whispered and gestured for Sam to follow as he dragged the injured man along; who groaned and huffed in pain. "We will take the alleys; it will be easier to lose the Ironborn there."

As Sam and Myrna made their way into the back passageways, the others who had been in the cellar of the inn followed them, looking pale with terror as they fought to keep as quiet as humanly possible.

The strain of the additional weight of hauling the guard along with him, made more sweat break out on his body.

The dust and ash settled on his perspiring face, Sam was helpless to wipe or scratch at his skin. Gritting his teeth against the irritation, Sam tried to ignore the feeling and listen to any sound of danger that could come their way.

Sam could hear people´s screams as the Ironborn continued their attack on the city and he urged his feet to walked faster. However, the man he was trying to lead to safety, was having a hard time keeping up with him.

Swallowing hard as the cries of terror and pain filled his ears, Sam focused on the leather clad feet landing on the paved streets following them and the weight of the man he was lugging around.

"THERE, MORE BODIES FOR THE CROWEYE!"

As one, they all turned to look, feeling the horror spread to every fibre of his being, Sam could only stare, rooted to the ground as a dozen men clad in boiled, salt-stained leathers, wearing cruel grins on their faces as their cold eyes were locked on them.

Staring at the Ironborn reavers, Sam felt the sweat on his body freeze on his skin, and he was sure that the blood had stopped flowing through his body.

"RUN." One of the guards yelled in a hoarse voice, being one of the few that managed to keep some of his composure. "GET OUT OF HERE."

Before Sam could urge his feet to move, the novices and the patients who could run, bolted past him so fast that he could hardly see them.

Sam tried to grab the arm around his shoulder tighter, but the appendage was ripped out of his grasp before the short sword was drawn from its sheath.

The guard shoved Sam forward, toward the others who was rapidly disappearing between the tight pact buildings. "Go maester Sam, save yourself."

Turning on his heels as fast as possible for his size, Sam stumbled after the retreating figures, hoping to get as far away from the reavers as he could. Sam tried to block out the screams of the guards as they fought the Ironborn while he ran away, letting the other men do the fighting on his behalf.

Feeling his throat burn from the dust, smoke and his own harsh breathing as he fled from the attackers. Sam ran as fast as his feet could carry him, sure he could hear his father´s voice in his head, snarling at him that he was nothing more than a fat, useless coward and a waste of space.

He wanted nothing more than to lay down on the ground and give up but the sounds behind him egged him on, filling him with terror that was enough to push through the pain and keep going forward.

With every step he took, breathing came harder and it did not take long for him to lose Myrna´s fleeing form in the maze of buildings, leaving Sam alone and lost.

Yet as he pressed his feet to continue running, the memory of his father´s berating came louder as more boulders smashed into the city from the Greyjoy war machines.

The city shook once again, throwing Sam to the side, into a brick wall. Gritting his teeth as a sharp pain clenched through his shoulder, he slid down the wall as a sob tried to crawl from his throat.

A familiar feeling crept into his soul, a feeling that had been more prevalent in his childhood; until he had arrived at Castle Black and made his first real friend.

Leaning his bulk against the wall, his thoughts travelled to Jon and he wondered if the raven had gotten to him.

Had Jon even arrived at Riverrun? Had the raven gotten lost or shot down?

Having to trust something so important as a plea for aid to a raven made Sam´s stomach turn. It was all too often that a raven got lost or injured during their travels and if Jon did not get the message, Sam was not sure if they could survive the assault.

There was no doubt in his mind that Jon would come if the letter was delivered into his hands.

Jon would come, with his large dragon that he had been warging into for months. Even if said dragon had been on the other side of the Narrow Sea.

He just prayed that Jon would get the letter and it would be in time.

Pushing himself off the wall, Sam knew that he had to move.

He had only made it a few tentative steps before a deafening crash. It seemed to come from beside him and the shock felt like it was ripping through him.

Sam felt his body take flight, his body slamming into a brick wall on the other side of the alley. The breath was knocked out of his lungs as he slammed onto the paved street, his head colliding against the stone, turning the world dark.