Chapter 4
Notes:
This is a note I added a little heated to the end of last chapter, not story related but something that has been bothering me within this fandom as of late. Here is a less heated and more fact based argument.
I am tired of people bashing Ned Stark for raising Jon Snow as his bastard. It was actually one of the smartest moves Ned did throughout the series. In regards to RL=J, it permitted Jon to be raised in plain sight, and not be hunted like his uncle and aunt had been since they fled to Essos. While the show canon is RL=J, the books have not made that definitive. In regard to any other pairing, well Jon is actually Ned's bastard in that case so the argument is mute.
Don't get me started on the issue of Ned sending Jon to the Wall, he did not send him there, Jon chose to go and Benjen was the one to suggest it Jon, then went behind Ned's back to Luwin, who in turn suggested it to Ned as being Jon's wish. Ned only agrees to Jon's choice when he exhausts all other options. Catelyn refused to allow Jon to stay in Winterfell with Ned leaving, and the south was less tolerant of bastards, than the North. Before you claim he could have sent him to a bannerman, that would be viewed as an insult. With the possible exception of Howland Reed, but the Neck is a very dangerous place if you've not grown up knowing how to survive there.
Chapter Text
(The Vale – A few days after Jon Arryn's death)
The gates of Runestone opened, expelling a group of twenty riders who flew forth from the ancient keep. At the head of the riders, a girl, more a young woman rode hard, her eyes focused only on the road ahead of her, knowing the knights at her heel would protect her with their lives. Secured at her side, was a leather pouch containing letters and missives she had been charged with delivering at the behest of Lord Bronze Yohn Royce.
Mya Stone had sat at her guardian's bedside for nearly a moon, tending to the man who in her eyes was a beacon of strength. Lord Royce had shielded her from more than a few attempts by cutthroats sent by the Queen. The one time she'd asked why he did not inform her father, the King about the attacks. Lord Royce smirked and said, "These dogs just keep an old man on his toes. Besides, you've faced worse from the Mountain Clans leading visitors to the Eyrie."
It had shocked everyone at Runestone when Lord Royce shot up from his sickbed, his son Waymar's name on his lips. Lord Royce had been abed with a horrible fever when word came from the Wall of Waymar going missing during a ranging in the frozen wastes beyond. Another missive came weeks after that a man who had been with Waymar was caught south of the wall, having been arrested and executed for desertion. It was now believed the man killed his two companions somewhere north of the Wall, before finding his way south.
According to Lord Royce though, this was not the case. Against the wishes of the maester and Mya, the Lord of Runestone sequestered himself within his solar, ignoring his sons and only admitting Mya when she delivered his meals. He'd removed her from her normal tasks of guiding people to the Eyrie, not letting her far from his sight. It was when word of Lord Arryn's death reached them that Lord Royce began to scare her. He'd talked of razing the Fingers and killing Balish. He calmed though once news of both Lord Balish and Lady Lysa Arryn's deaths had arrived.
For days Mya and her entourage road like minions from all seven hells were trailing them. It was the night after the second to last letter had been delivered that Mychel Redfort, chief among her protectors finally spoke up, "Mya, we have been riding hard, I doubt there is a keep or castle in the Vale we have not visited. Even my father was surprised, he barely had time to get us fresh horses before you had us moving. What did Lord Royce say to you?"
Mya clutched at the leather pouch containing the final letter, one addressed to her father, "All of our fates are riding with us Mychel. Lord Royce said the Old Gods gave him a vision; he saw what is to befall us if we do not move swiftly."
Mychel had long had feelings for Mya, and she had feelings for him. He knew he could not act upon them, his father would never permit the match, and if he even dared to touch her, well if Lord Royce didn't kill him, the king sure as anything would. It was no secret in the Vale that Robert Baratheon loved Mya, rumors had it he'd even wanted to call her to King's Landing but decided not to after a fight with the Queen.
Mya had known why Lord Royce had sent her, her father would be more willing to believe her, his daughter. She also knew Mychel was sent to protect her, as Lord Royce knew of the pair's feelings. She could only pray they intercepted the royal party before it was too late.
She should have known better; the gods are fickle and had never answered her prayers before. A few days after leaving the Vale and entering the Riverlands, their party had reached the edge of the Neck. One of Mychel's men looked up from where he was examining the tracks along the King's Road, "Large party moved through here, we're probably three days behind them."
"We need to press on," Mya moved to proceed into the neck, but Mychel's hand snapped out to catch the reins of her horse.
Shaking his head Mychel indicated the setting sun, "The Neck is too dangerous to ride at night. We should camp here; the King's Road is a narrow strip of land through there we could lose our way. Everything from the plants and animals to the land itself will try to kill us in The Neck."
Mya grimaced, "Fine, but we set out at first light."
(Pentos – Days before Robert arrives at Winterfell)
Jorah Mormont had been ill with a fever, just before Varys message arrived. He was about to toss the letter in the fire when he realized it was too soon for the orders to assassinate Daenerys. Ripping open the letter there was the scrawl he was familiar with since his exile from Westeros had begun, he got enough promises of eventual pardons and the freedom to return home.
Varys was peculiarly asking for Jorah to retrieve three objects in the possession of one Illyrio Mopatis, a merchant prince of Pentos. Jorah knew the man well, as he was often a contact of Lord Varys with whom many an order had come from. What Jorah did not expect was the scene he found upon arrival. The heads of Illyrio and Viserys on pikes and about a dozen Dothraki roaming about the manse. Jorah immediately recognized Khal Drogo who was conversing with two women, a young man, and a younger boy. The group wore clothing that was most definitely Dornish, both boys had the sun and spear of House Martell emblazoned upon their tunics. One woman had the look of a Norvoshi, she was speaking with Khal Drogo as though they were well acquainted.
Knowing the chances of being caught spying would lead to a quick death, Jorah walked around the corner like he was late for a meeting. The group spotted him, and Drogo motioned his men to stop his approach, Jorah obeyed the guards, and pretended to take in the severed heads for the first time, "Guess I'm not getting the money Mopatis owes me."
"You are Westrosi," the young man moved towards him, "from which kingdom?"
"North and your sigil mark you as Dornish, a Martell." Jorah frowned, "beg pardon but I've was never very familiar with people of import from below the Neck."
The young man sneered, "I am Prince Quentyn Martell, eldest son of Prince Doran. What has brought one of Lord Stark's underlings so far from home? You Northmen never stray far from your trees."
"Quentyn," the Norvoshi woman scolded, "manners, the man showed you courtesy, so show it in kind." The woman kept glaring at the young man as she spoke to Jorah, "I'm Mellario of Norvos, lady consort to Prince Doran of Dorne. You speak well, what House do you hail from, my lord?"
Jorah grimaced, "House Mormont of Bear Island, doubt you have heard of us. As the boy says, we don't normally stray far."
The other woman gave a knowing smirk, "Lord Jorah Mormont, oh, how Lord Stark would pay a handsome reward for your capture." A couple of Dothraki must have an understanding of common as they bristled with the thought of coin. The woman looked to her companions, "The man was driven to sell poachers he arrested into slavery to cover the debts incurred making his Hightower bride comfortable. As you know slavery is illegal in Westeros, and Lord Stark is a most honorable man. I am sure he'd enjoy executing you along with any other slavers he could catch." The Dothraki who could understand her suddenly leaned further away from the idea of seeking the reward.
Mellario frowned, "What debt did this merchant owe you?"
"Just a bit of coin," Jorah shrugged, "did a job for him, he was supposed to pay me when I got back to Pentos." Jorah kept glancing at the severed head of Viserys, "Figured your lot would be all for Viserys, kind of wondering why you went and did King Robert's work for him."
The woman who had yet to name herself sighed, "We came for the girl, not the mad prince."
Mellario glared at the woman before motioning to Drogo, "My friend here was in talks of claiming the girl as a bride in exchange for helping to reclaim the Iron Throne. I made a counteroffer, Prince Viserys did not like my proposal and instead drew his sword. Khal Drogo's family and mine have sworn blood oaths, he killed Viserys to protect me and my sons, Illyrio was an unfortunate casualty when he tried to intercede on the prince's behalf."
Wetting his lips Jorah pulled the message from his sleeve, "I wasn't fully truthful with you, I'm here under orders of the Spider. Lord Varys had sent me to secure a chest, Mopatis should have had the key on his person. The chest contains something valuable enough to garner me a king's pardon. You let me acquire it, I'll stay out of your way unless you'd be willing to see me to King's Landing to turn it over."
Mellario frowned as she snatched the message and read it, "Varys says here a plan is in the works to reunite House Targaryen and House Baratheon, to resolve the disputes of the past and prepare to stand united against a future threat. He calls all true sons and daughters of Westeros home."
"My liege lord's words are truly terrifying my lady," Jorah grimaced, "Winter is coming, and what is in that chest will see us all through the winter to come." He looked around, "Where is the princess?"
Within the manse, Daenerys sat locked within her chambers, she'd barricaded the door as best she and the servants could as Illyrio's guards fought the Dothraki. She'd tried to calm her brother when the party of Dornish nobles had revealed they'd received word to escort Daenerys back to Westeros. Viserys had commented that it was about time the people called him home to take the throne. It had been the younger Martell brother who'd rather coarsely said that they were leaving her brother to rot in Essos because nobody wanted him.
Viserys had threatened the boy, which had enranged the Dothraki Khal who went to shield the child who'd dared to wake the dragon. When her brother had been run through, she distinctly remembered screaming before a guard began ushering her to safety. Now she and the half dozen servants Illyrio had charged with attending her were barricaded within her guest chamber.
A knock at the door drew her attention, "Princess, are you all right?"
She did not recognize the voice, though it spoke in the common tongue, "Who are you? Are you with those Martells?"
"Not exactly Princess, I'm from the North," The voice sighed heavily, "I feel kind of silly talking through this door, and our friends out here are not exactly patient. Do you mind if we talk face to face? You have my word no harm will come to you."
She saw the servants shaking their heads in the negative, fearful of what would befall them, "What of the servants?"
"They'll be fine princess, the rest of the merchant prince's servants are alive and well, only the guards who attacked first were felled." The voice chuckled, "Princess, you have my word as a member of House Mormont of Bear Island that no harm will befall you or the servants under your care. If it makes you feel better, I'm wearing Westrosi armor, makes me a bit formidable against these Dothraki's swords."
The servants looked to Daenerys, the fear still evident, "We will remove the barricade, you are being honorable enough seeing as you could simply break your way in."
"I thank you, princess," It took the servants a few minutes to deconstruct the barricade, she had attempted to help, but one of the servants had made her sit on the raised bed, making her look down on whoever entered the room. Once the door was clear of obstructions one of the servants opened it. An older man she assumed was of an age with her elder brother Rhaegar entered, "See, that wasn't so hard." The man looked to the servants, "Khal Drogo is offering you all employ at his manse here in Pentos, otherwise his bloodriders have a pile of loot from which you can fill your pockets on your way out."
The servants all turned to her, she had no authority here but nodded to them, and they quickly fled. She bowed her head, "Lord Stark has sent you to take my head?"
"Lord Stark would take my head. If I laid a hand on yours princess. He hasn't spent the years since the Rebellion sheltering and hiding your nephew for nothing." At her confused look, the man chuckled, "Sorry, just wanted to see your face when you learned that fact. My liege lord's bastard, you may or may not have heard of him. In truth, he is the son of your eldest brother, and the Lady Lyanna Stark."
"Did you come here to tell Viserys and me this?" Daenerys frowned, "To use it to make Viserys release his claim to the throne?"
The Northman grimaced, "Anyone who tries putting Lyanna's boy on the throne is going to have to take him from the North. We aren't too keen on the south, and no way we'd be letting one of ours back into that viper's nest easily. Lord Stark knew what he was doing claiming Jon as his own bastard, hid the boy in plain sight, and prevented those with too much greed and ambition from even looking at him."
A smile came to Daenerys face, "Jon? That is not a very Targaryen name."
"No, but it is a strong northern name, for a strong northern lad," Jorah remembered watching the boy's somber look as his own brother and aunt abandoned him and the rest of the North to their fate, "A lad who from what I hear is close to those he has been raised to believe are his half-siblings. He doesn't know that he is your brother's son, he'll need support when that comes out because he's been raised with the truth. The truth that your father, his grandfather, murdered his other grandfather and uncle."
"Father," Daenerys bit her lip, "Viserys always claimed father was in his right to execute them."
Jorah sighed, "Your brother was a boy, he did not know everything that was occurring around him let alone understand it. I fought in the Rebellion, I marched beside my father to get justice for Lord Rickard Stark and Lord Brandon, and to see Lady Lyanna safely returned." Jorah noticed the girl frown at the last part, "There had been a misunderstanding, a couple of malcontents had made Lord Brandon believe your brother Rhaegar had abducted Lady Lyanna with impure intentions. That is what led to the events that caused the Rebellion. There is something I remember very clearly from the end of the Rebellion. The day Lord Lannister presented the bodies of Elia and her children, Robert's behavior very nearly saw the North turn on him. Had Lord Stark not ordered us to quit the city, and sent most of us home, I am not sure what would have happened."
Daenerys grimaced, "What am I to do? The Usurper will hunt me down."
"There is a chest I recovered from Illyrio's office, I'm to return it to a contact in King's Landing." Jorah grimaced, "The Martells have agreed to give me transport. They were hoping you would return with them; they could reunite you with your nephews."
"Nephews?" Daenerys looked confused, "There is more than Jon?"
"Aye," Jorah sighed, "though I do not currently know his location. Varys secreted Aegon from the capital before the sack. I am sure Lord Doran and Lord Stark can utilize their resources to find him."
"What of the Usurper?" Daenerys asked.
Jorah mused, "Leave that to Lord Stark, he is the one man in the Seven Kingdoms who can knock some sense into the stag king. If all else fails, I've heard rumors Lord Stark's Direwolf enjoys the taste of stag."
The next day, the Memory of Elia left the dock of Pentos with the four members of House Martell, Jorah Mormont, Daenerys Stormborn, and a chest carrying three dragon eggs.
(Shy Maid – Around the same time)
Young Griff/Aegon watched as Septa Lemore glared down at the quailing form of Griff. Lemore had taken to fever over a moon past, and Aegon had stayed at her bedside as Haldon had done all in his power to tend to the woman. Griff had wanted Aegon to be kept away from Lemore, but Haldon had swiftly told them the fever was not from any known illness. So, Griff had relented and allowed Aegon to help tend to the ailing woman.
That all changed an hour ago, both Aegon and Haldon had left her side for only a moment to tend to their own needs. Within that time the septa had risen from her bed and had made her way to Griff's cabin. The others aboard heard indistinguishable yelling, before Griff let out a scream that was higher pitched than any aboard had ever heard come from a man.
When Aegon entered the cabin, he found his two primary guardians glaring daggers at each other, but the fact Griff was on the floor clutching his manhood protectively made Lemore's glare far more poignant. She turned to him and those gathered at the doorway, "Yandry, bring us in to dock. Rolly, find us a ship that can make the journey to White Harbor."
It took only a glance at the floored man for the other two to scurry away to fulfill the septa's orders. Lemore then turned back to Griff, "Jon, you can return with us, or you can remain here to rot with your regrets."
"You think your lover will protect you? He abandoned you for that cold trout woman, he probably hasn't thought of you in years." Griff snarled, "I won't let you sacrifice Aegon, the Usurper will kill him."
"Ned will never let that happen, he has protected Aegon's brother for years, you know the North is the safest Kingdom, only a fool tries to invade without dragons." Lemore pulled a dagger from her dress, "You will remain in this cabin until we depart. For the love of Rhaegar and Elia we share, I do not want to kill another who remembers them fondly, but for the vileness you levy at Lyanna, I will not hesitate. Her memory does not need to be tainted by your jealousy."
Griff grumbled inaudibly but otherwise remained on the floor. Lemore turned to Haldon, "Take everything he could use to cause harm to himself or others, and all documents we may need. Leave him a book or something to keep him entertained."
Aegon frowned, "Septa?"
Lemore turned to him, "My prince, we must hurry, with any luck we can make it to Winterfell before it's too late."
"Too late?" Aegon looked to the others before looking at the septa seriously, "I thought we had to wait for an army to retake the throne."
Lemore shook her head, "There is something direr than reclaiming your family's throne. I must reach Winterfell before he leaves for the south. Before your bother chooses to take a path, you cannot follow."
Aegon's eyes narrowed, Griff had told him about the woman who'd lured his father away. A girl from the North who'd used feminine wiles to seduce his father. Any brother from that woman would only be a bastard out to take what was rightfully his. Lemore must have seen these thoughts through his expression as she began stroking his cheek as she'd done when he was very young, "Oh, my sweet child. If only I was stronger then. Jon is a spiteful wretch."
"Hey," Griff yelled indignantly from his place on the floor.
Lemore ignored the outburst as she continued to soothe Aegon, "It was your mother who selected Lyanna, she saw how the girl railed against the indignity of being betrothed to Robert Baratheon. She despised the man for his womanizing, for the fact he already had a bastard child. Would someone who had those thoughts truly lure another woman's husband to have a bastard of their own? There is much we do not know, Lyanna had sent a letter to her family, a letter that apparently never arrived."
Aegon frowned, "What do you mean? My mother selected Lady Lyanna."
"After you," Griff growled from the floor, "your mother could not have another child. She was one of the smartest people I knew, kind and loyal. Unfortunately, the gods cursed her with a frail body with a weak constitution. Rhaegar, the beautiful fool, believed he needed to have a third child. A Visenya to complete the set with your sister Rhaenys and you Aegon. The three heads of the dragon, or so he thought."
Lemore sighed, "Rhaegar was right to a point, the dragon needs three heads, three dragon riders. He was wrong that they needed to emulate the Conqueror and his sister wives. He thought you were the prince that is promised, Azor Ahai, the champion of the dawn. Many names that relate to the same prophecy. There is a problem with that theory, you stop being a prince the day you are crowned king."
Aegon looked to his feet, "Then my brother, he is the prince that is promised?"
"No one person is all those things, prophesy is what we make of it. Trying to make it happen or prevent it is only asking for suffering. Instead, we take destiny in hand, and make the world we desire." Lemore indicated her septa robes, "I am tired of pretending to be someone I'm not. I abandoned two people who mean more to me than my own life, both believe I killed myself, and I must face the fact they may never forgive me. You have family who believes you are dead; they plot and scheme in the shadows to avenge you. All that plotting will do is weaken us all for the trials to come. To borrow the words of others, winter is coming, and the night is dark and full of terrors."
(North – A few days before Robert arrives)
Jon Snow entered the crypt, a torch guiding him down into the cold earth. While his father had not specifically told him where to meet, it was not uncommon for Lord Stark to call Robb and Jon down here for history lessons on their ancestors. The girls were not included, and Bran and Rickon were too young yet to include, and while Lady Stark had been against Jon's inclusion, she had given up when his father used his "Jon is my blood" line. Jon had long ago learned that was his father's nice warning, the only other warning usually involved Ice and the redundant polishing rag.
What Lady Catelyn didn't know, was Lord Stark taught Robb and Jon other lessons down in the crypt. It was where he'd allowed them their first drink of ale, wine that had not been watered down, and mead. It was also where he had given them the talk, which he'd repeated in his solar a month later when Theon got caught sneaking down to Winter Town. It was also the place he took them for any serious talks, like when he had to explain to them why Jon had the surname Snow.
This was why Jon knew where to go within the crypts, if it was serious talk, there was only one place Lord Stark took them. Robb thought it was their father seeking strength from grandfather, Uncle Bandon, and Aunt Lyanna. That had sounded like a good enough reason to Jon for their serious talks to take place before their closest relatives within the crypt. So, it was no surprise to find Lord Stark before the statue of Aunt Lyanna, a fresh winter rose resting on the pedestal. Jon moved to stand beside his father and gave a silent prayer for his departed family.
Eddard waited for Jon to finish his prayer, there were times Jon reminded him so much of Lyanna. Then others he could only assume it was his father showing through. He knew he could not delay this conversation. Lord Tywin had been blunt in pointing out there were no doubt others who'd received the same amount of detail to the visions as they. Jon would need to be prepared, especially if for some reason Robert learned the truth before Eddard could be in a position to reason with his old friend.
The image of the fiend leading the Others driving a sword made of Ice through Jon's stomach played through his head. Jon had gone to protect Bran, arriving just after Theon had been cut down. He challenged the monster, it had sneered maliciously, it was aware the sword Jon wielded was Valarian steel, and had seen him cut down its followers in previous battles. When Jon went to strike, the fiend stepped closer, caught his wrist, and plunged its cursed blade into Jon's stomach. The creature's sneer had turned into a grin as it twisted the blade before pulling it out.
"Father," Jon looked to Eddard with mild concern and confusion.
It was only now he realized he'd been staring at the boy, "Sorry, Jon, just lost in thought." He looked to his sister's likeness, though the carver had not done her justice, "There is a part of me that would like to never have this conversation. A part that wished Catelyn had done as I asked and treated you with kindness. That she'd open that cold heart of hers to see you as I do."
This confused Jon, "What do you mean father?"
Eddard grimaced, "Jon, no matter what you are my blood, and I have loved you as one of my own since the day your mother placed you in my arms and made me promise to protect you." Jon remained silent as Eddard rallied the conviction to continue, "Jon, you have asked me the identity of your mother more times than I could count. Not to mention the number of times my lady wife has asked. There is a reason I have not been able to reveal who your mother truly was."
Jon swallowed hard, "But that's changed?"
"In a way yes," Eddard frowned, "originally the information was only known to a handful of people. Most of them had since taken the knowledge to their grave, leaving myself and Lord Howland Reed as the only ones who knew the truth. Something occurred recently, and now the information has spread to an unknown number of people."
"Does this have something to do with that fever you had?" Jon grimaced, "Lady Stark was worried, she even started one of those prayer wreath things like she does when the others get sick."
Eddard grimaced, "In a way, Lord Tywin had a similar fever as did his brother Lord Kevan. It is why Lord Lannister came for a visit, to arrive when he did, he set out from Casterly Rock before Lord Arryn passed and King Robert set out from King's Landing. He did so because while he had that fever, he received a vision of sort from the Old Gods."
Jon frowned, "Lord Tywin is from the south, doesn't he follow the Seven?"
The made Eddard chuckle, "Just because someone is from the south doesn't automatically mean they follow the faith, though what I know of Lord Tywin he isn't exactly a man to put his faith in anything other than himself. The fever does not seem to be regulated to people based on faith, considering the number of messages I've received from the Reach. It does appear to only affect people who share our blood, the blood of the First Men."
"So, why did it only affect you father, and not the rest of us?" Jon looked seriously at Eddard.
"That question gets complicated Jon, and there are parts of the answer I have not yet come to grips with myself," Eddard sighed, "You will be burdened enough in the coming days without the additional burdens that are mine to bare." Realizing he'd stalled for as long as he could he spoke calmly, "Jon, the reason I could not tell you who your mother was, was the truth would endanger not only you but all of us. You know the story of my sister Lyanna."
Jon's brows furrowed as he nodded, "She was abducted by Prince Rhaegar, and when Uncle Brandon went to rescue her, he was arrested by the Mad King. The Mad King then summoned grandfather to King's Landing. The King then murdered grandfather and Uncle Brandon. At the end of the war, you found Aunt Lyanna, but she died."
Eddard nodded his head, "That is the basic information, but what nobody knows is who else I found when I found my sister."
Shaking his head Jon disagreed, "You found the three missing King's Guard."
"Aye," Eddard sighed, "but why were three members of the King's Guard guarding a girl in the middle of the desert?" He could tell by the look in the boy's eyes he was starting to piece it together.
Jon bowed his head, "You aren't my father."
"No, I did not sire you Jon, but in every other way, you are my son," Eddard growled out, "I'd have legitimized you as a Stark if I did not have to deal with Cat's misbegotten fears either you or your children would endanger your siblings or their children's claim."
"My father was it," Jon seemed unable to finish his sentence though Eddard could sense why the boy had such troubling thoughts. While there were stories throughout the realm that Rhaegar and Lyanna eloped, no bard dared sing those stories in Robert's presence. The prevailing tales painted a much darker portrait with claims of rape and abuse. Unfortunately, those tales were also predominantly told in the North as the bards and minstrels feared Lord Stark had a similar view regarding the romantic tales as the Baratheon king.
Eddard had to think back on his final meeting with Ashara, her eldest brother had only just returned from the war and had refused to meet with him. Ashara had met him in her brother's stead, he'd feared the storm of rage within her eyes had been aimed at him, but it was the sole property of Ser Arthur. Arthur had accused Ned of abandoning Ashara and had sworn to make him pay. Howland's spear had kept the Sword of the Morning from making good on that threat.
Ashara had broken down in his arms, explaining everything. Rhaegar's obsession with prophecy, Elia's inability to conceive the third child Rhaegar was desperate for, and Lyanna's willingness to act in Elia's stead to bare another child. Rhaegar and Lyanna had wed first at the Isle of Faces, then again at the sept of Sunspear with Princes Doran and Oberyn as witnesses. It had been Oberyn who sent the note revealing the location of the Tower of Joy, and he was meant to meet Eddard's party before they arrived. Eddard never learned why Oberyn did not show up as he'd promised Ashara.
Eddard shook his head, "While I cannot say what feelings were between my sister and your father," even now he had difficulty naming Rhaegar as Jon's father, "you were not the product of anything untoward. Some truths will come forth in the coming days, but Jon, I need you to trust me and know I will let no harm come to you or our family."
"Yes Lord Stark," Jon said flatly, "may I have some time alone?"
With a nod, Eddard turned to leave, but paused, "Before I go, there is one thing. For their safety, do not tell Robb or the others what we have spoken of." A Jon's pained look Eddard shook his head, "I do not ask you to lie, just do not tell them the identity of your mother until after I have broached the subject with Robert. I am already summoning a few of my more steadfast banners to help me with that. It is best Robert hears it from me in person, I can gauge his moods easier, and if he hears it from someone else by chance." Eddard grimaced, "I'm trying to stop wars, not start them."
Jon watched Lord Stark disappear around the corner of the crypt before letting his eyes turn to the statue of his mother. He knew from the way Lord Stark's face had dropped whenever the subject of his mother came up, that she must be dead, there had always been a deep sadness in his uncle's eyes. The thought of Lord Stark being his uncle and not his father was more painful than the knowledge his mother's bones had been so close, that he'd paid respects at her grave so regularly with his brothers and sisters, who were actually his cousins.
A wave of sudden anger came over him when he thought of Rhaegar Targaryen. The man may have sired him, but he was no father. The memory of Maester Luwin teaching about the sack of King's Landing to Robb, Theon, Sansa, and himself were rather fresh. Jon realized the two bodies laid at the feet of King Robert had been his real sister and brother, that their father had failed them just as he'd failed to be there for his mother and him.
Jon did not know how long he'd been sitting in the crypt, but it was nearing the hour of the wolf when he exited to find the only living thing in the Litchfield was Ghost. His Direwolf, the Direwolf given to him by the pup's mother. He remembered Lord Stark's words he realized now where a slip on the man's part. He'd said the mother Direwolf had sensed Jon was as much his blood as any of his children. It was only knowing what he knew now that the wording made sense. Seeing his pup let out a yawn and stretch, Jon knelt and scooped him up, "I know it's late Ghost, but there is someone I must speak with."
With the Direwolf pup half running to keep up with Jon's stride, he headed in the direction of the old keep. Lord Tywin had taken up residence in one of the guest rooms there. As he approached a guard in a crimson cloak looked him over, "He's expecting you boy. Said we're to let you pass."
He sent a glare at the guard before pushing the door open. He found Lord Lannister combing over an old tome, most likely one from Winterfell's library. Tywin raised a brow, "You are later than I expected. How was your conversation with your father in the crypts, enlightening I would guess."
Jon growled out, "You sit there so smugly after what you did to my sister and brother?"
"I sit here smugly because you are acting exactly as I predicted you would," Tywin smirked, "as any young man would after finding out the man accused of the murders of his kin was within striking distance."
"What do you mean? You ordered your men to butcher them, everyone knows what happened during the sack of King's Landing."
Tywin snorted, "Everyone knows shit, the masses are easily swayed with tales of proud honorable knights and vile greedy men. I do admit I have garnered a reputation for vile and despicable acts. I was not the one to order the deaths of your birth father's first wife or your siblings. My orders had been to secure them so loyalists could not flee with them and prolong the war. There are nonlethal means of removing one from succession, the greatest example resides at the Wall to this very day. Your granduncle Aemon is the maester of castle black. Your brother Aegon could have been sent to join him when he came of age, and Rhaenys could have been sent to the faith. I know your father would burn the other kingdoms if anyone even suggested putting you on the throne, I suggested we tell Robert you'd be taking a holdfast in my lands and marrying a Westerland girl. I'm not sure whose snarl was more threatening, Lord Stark's or the mother of that beast at your feet."
Jon frowned, "Why do you keep calling Lord Stark my father? You know he is my uncle."
"Is he not? Who has it been that has put food in your belly and a roof over your head? Was Rhaegar the one who gave you those clothes? Who's living sigil is currently half-asleep leaning into your shin," Tywin scoffed, "I have seen the way Lord Stark is with you boy, he treats you no differently than Lord Robb or either the other two whelps that trout woman squirted out."
"My lord, you shouldn't speak about Lady Stark like that," Jon may not be on good terms with Lady Catelyn, but he would not stand here and listen to someone demean her in her own home, "She is the Lady of Winterfell."
Tywin sneered, "I know her type boy, and I applaud your loyalty to your kin. I also know she'd have no such loyalty to you if she felt you endangered her children in any way. She is emotional and short-sighted. She acts rashly without contemplating the consequences of her actions."
Jon's brows furrowed, "This has to do with the fever, your vision from the Old Gods?"
This surprised Tywin, but he was quick to mask it, "Yes, though I am surprised Lord Stark told you about that."
A shrug was Jon's physical response, "He was explaining to me why he was revealing the truth now, he said there are people out there who know the truth. He's worried King Robert might hear it before he arrives."
A smirk appeared on Tywin's face, "I have manufactured a distraction that should ensure that does not happen."
Jon could only frown in confusion.
(King's Landing – Day of Jon Arryn's funeral)
Sandor Clegane grumbled as he walked towards the smithy run by one Tobho Mott. Not exactly his first visit, the man was the best in the city, and working for the Lannisters you were never light on coin. Sandor was surprised to learn Mott had an apprentice, he had never seen the boy during any of his visits before. The letter from Lord Tywin though mentioned the boy by the name of Gendry Waters. Sandor was to take him as a squire and bring him North with him, as Tywin suspected Sandor would choose to escort his brother as far as Winterfell, he could pawn the boy off on another knight there if he so wished.
A snort came from the recently knighted man. He wondered when his liege lord had become clairvoyant. After getting knighted by his brother, Sandor returned to the Red Keep to inform the Queen about his summons by her father. He'd arrived just as the King went postal after learning Peter Balish had been stealing from the crown. After his death, the King's Guard searched Balish's private quarters and found two sets of accounting books. The first set were the books he showed the small council, the second was his personal accounts revealing the sums he'd skimmed from the royal coffers. Any threat to the crown was a threat to Lord Tywin, so now Sandor knew why Gregor was sent with Lord Kevan.
It did not surprise Clegane when Mott nervously met him at the door, "My good ser, how can I be of service today?"
"Cut the ser crap Mott, you know I hate that shite," Sandor crossed his arms, "heard a rumor there's a boy you got working here, big lad, strong too."
Mott worked his jaw, and Sandor knew the man was contemplating lying. He was pleasantly surprised when Tobho chose to be honest, "Aye, Gendry is a good lad, what business you have with him?"
"My piece of shit brother pissed off our liege lord," Sandor decided it was best to use what was soon to be public knowledge, "showed up yesterday and freaking knighted me so I can take over our damned estates. So, now I'm a damn Ser, and twats like us are expected to have little shites running around doing everything for us short of wiping our asses." Sandor indicated his armor, "Need to be decently strong little shite to help me in and out of this plate. Figure if the lad had some skill at metal work, might save a bit of coin on repair work."
Tobho frowned, "I have been entrusted with the boy's safety, and you know your and your brother's reputations precede you. I cannot simply turn him over to you without some form of guarantee he will not be harmed."
Sandor scoffed, "Words are shit," he tossed a pouch of dragons on the counter, "that should compensate you for any losses incurred until you can find another apprentice." He dropped a second pouch, "and this should be enough to see the lad appropriately kitted out. I'm no fucking tourney knight, the lad needs real armor, not the shiny shite those fops prance around in."
"Of course, Sandor," Tobho chuckled, "Gendry has been working on his own armor, hoping I'd let him enter a melee when he is a bit older. He finished his helm not too long ago."
"Good," Sandor waited as Mott went in the back to call Gendry. The moment he saw the boy he realized why Lord Tywin wanted him removed from the city. The boy was the spitting image of the King, and knowing what he did of Stannis and Renly, he was pretty sure the boy was one of the Kings. "So, your Gendry, Mott explain to you?"
"Aye, ser," Gendry held a bull-shaped helm under his arm, "Master Mott said you wanted me for a squire. Lord Stannis, before he left after the death of the Hand, seven keep him. He said he'd call on me to serve at Dragonstone's smithy."
"Did he, well, his loss," Sandor sneered, "you got the arm of a smith boy, but the look of a warrior about you."
It was some hours later, after finding Gendry a suitable horse, namely one that didn't shy away at the sight of the boy in his bull helm, they found themselves sitting at an eatery near the Great Sept. Sandor leaned forward and lowered his voice, "How much you know about your father lad?"
Gendry blinked in confusion, "Nothing, just that some man in a robe with a beard paid Master Mott to care for me. The Lord Hand and Lord Baratheon came by a couple of moons back asking similar questions." The boy shrugged, "Not that it matters knowing him, I'm a bastard, no one cares about people like me."
Sandor nodded at the boy, "The sooner you learn that lesson the better, but you should know it doesn't matter if you are born the lowest shite or the highest cunt. This world doesn't care about any of us, it's a meat grinder, and none of us is getting out alive in the end. So, the first rule, as long as you're my squire you watch my back and I'll watch yours. Somewhere out there, a wench or highborn girl has squirted out the cunt who's meant to kill you or me. The only way to stop them is if we kill them first."
"So, we're looking to start fights with anyone we think is aiming to kill us?" Gendry frowned, "Got to be more to this than just that."
"Aye," Sandor sneered, "we do what the guy paying for that food you are eating tells us to do."
Gendry's brows raised, "What are we supposed to do?"
"Relax today," Sandor smirked, "find you a wench who needs a good field tending and raise a pint to the Old Falcon." Sandor raised his mug toward a table of Valemen who joined him in the salute to their fallen lord. It had come to some shock when word of Lysa Arryn having poisoned her husband had begun spreading throughout the capital, no one had found the source of the rumor as of yet. Sandor downed his drink before looking back to Gendry, "Come tomorrow we tag along with the royal party heading North to convince Lord Stark to take up the posting of Hand, gods watch over him. My brother is being escorted by a number of my countrymen, but I'd feel better watching him being carted off to face Lord Stark like a common criminal."
"Why is your brother submitting himself to Lord Stark's judgment?" Gendry asked curiously, "Shouldn't the King or Lord Lannister judge him?"
Sandor shrugged, "My brother is dim, but he isn't a fool. Lord Stark has been wanting to see Gregor bound to the Wall since Elia's children were laid at Robert's feet. Those Starks don't think them soft; they know death is a quick and clean punishment. An instant of pain, then it's over. The Wall though, now there's a punishment to fear, spending the rest of your days freezing your balls off with the worst the kingdoms have to offer. If the cold doesn't get you the damn wildlings will."
(King's Landing – The next morning)
Robert Baratheon sat heavily in his saddle; his mood had soured over the past few days. Following Jon's sudden passing things had spiraled. Peter Balish had been found murdered on the streets of silks, and a search of his personal effects had revealed several crimes. The only crime publicly related to him was the theft of nearly half the crown's debt, he knew he was a spendthrift but wondered how Jon let things deteriorate that badly. Then there were rumors spreading throughout the city that Jon's death had been the result of poisoning by his wife Lysa. Not that she could defend against these accusations as she'd been killed by bandits at the Crossroads Inn, bandits that seemingly vanished into thin air and have not been seen since.
He rode along the column to were a late addition to their party was. Kevan Lannister had come to court after the funeral for Jon had been held, it had surprised Robert that the man had been in the city for several days dealing with business for his brother. One piece of business now sat in a prisoner cage usually used by the Night's Watch to transport those who have been sentenced to the take the black.
"Explain to me again Lord Kevan," Robert growled, "why are you taking Gregor to Ned like a common criminal?"
Kevan grimaced, "Unfortunately I was not privy to that information. My brother only tasked me with the apprehension and transport of the Mountain to Winterfell. Along with any of the Mountain's men who refused to return to the Westerlands or attempt to aid Gregor in escape."
Robert nodded, "I see, as long as he doesn't cause any trouble." He motioned to where Sandor rode at the back of Kevan's column, "What of his brother and the boy? Thought your brother summoned him back to Casterly Rock."
"Technically he summoned Sandor to return to him, and my brother is currently at Winterfell," This surprised Robert, "I believe Tywin was hoping to aid your grace in securing a betrothal between one of your children and one of Lord Starks. We understand that your friendship has been rather strained since the beginning of your reign, Tywin believes some of the faults of that lay at his feet."
Robert nodded, "So, who is the boy?"
"A blacksmith's apprentice I believe," Kevan mused, "some of the men in the keep had been praising the boy's skill. You know Sandor, your grace, he is not anything if not pragmatic. Tywin told him to start acting like a knight, so he needed a squire. I doubt the Hound has the patience for some second son of a lordling from the Westerlands."
A chuckle came from the king, "Indeed, that explains the hammer then, might need to see for myself if the lad knows how to swing it properly."
"I am sure the lad would be honored to gain instructions for your grace," Kevan commented.
Later after the camp had been set for the evening Gendry stood against Sandor as the older warrior instructed him on how best to use his size and strength. Gendry wore his helm at all times outside their tent, Sando explaining it as an intimidation tactic. Due to Gendry's size, unless they saw the youthfulness of his face, the other men would think him older.
As Gendry caught Sandor's downward strike and redirected to his left, a voice called out from the side, "Good form lad, now remember to follow through. Old Ned favors greatswords like that too, you got to take advantage of an opening like that."
Sandor and Gendry both bowed to Robert as he approached, "Your grace, my squire thanks you, don't you lad."
"Right," Gendry bowed lower, "I'm actually new to using hammers to fight, I'm more used to using them in the forge."
Robert laughed loudly, "New, boy that counter was perfectly executed, had you been facing a lesser man than the Hound, they'd been falling over themselves after having their greatsword redirected like that. Now, let's have a look at your stance." At Sandor's nod, Gendry took up his stance, his war hammer at the ready, both men saw the way Robert frowned, "That's good, but something's off. Lad go ahead and take a couple of overhead strikes, just hit the ground with the mallet."
Gendry did as the king commanded, but paused after the second strike, "The weight's off." Sandor's brow raised as he saw Robert nod in agreement.
The king requested the war hammer and examined it fully, "You make this one lad?"
Gendry shook his head, "Master Mott never let me do war hammers, said they are finicky weapons and would teach me when I was older how to craft them."
"You worked for Master Mott?" Robert frowned, "I know Master Mott, his only apprentice is a lad who cannot be more than four and ten," Robert motioned to Gendry's helm, "Remove the helm lad, and tell me your name."
Sandor was surprised Robert knew of the boy, seeing as how protective of him Tobho Mott was of him. At Gendry's look, Sandor nodded, aware only Barristan Selmy was present. He frowned at the King's Guard knowing look, the man had been acting strangely after being ill for several weeks.
Gendry pulled off his helm and held it under his arm, "My name is Gendry Waters, your grace."
"Thought as much," Robert eyed Sandor critically, but knew the man did not play the games of nobility, the man scorned most of what was considered social norms, "Barristan."
Selmy stepped closer, "Yes your grace."
"My old war hammers are on the baggage cart, correct?" Robert asked, eyes never leaving Gendry.
"Yes, your grace," Selmy smirked, "It took the Lannister boys a bit to load them, neither is blessed with your strength."
