Jaeron Targaryen

Castle Black, 299AC

Something didn't sit right with Jon at Jeor's words. It was rare he ever felt uncomfortable as he'd been spurned for most of his life. He knew what it felt like to be looked down on for something that was out his own control. Even whenever he fell and hurt himself he didn't feel uncomfortable. But there was no denying it. Something about these bodies wasn't right, and it tied his stomach in knots as he looked down upon them. Sam's words ringing in his ears. The older knew what he was talking about, and this surprised Jon that no one else had said the words he'd spoken. Immediately, he walked over to Ghost to check him over for any injuries, only scratching his ear fondly when he realised there seemed to be none.

All bodies stink of rot, but the only scent there was in the courtyard was smoke, mould, sweat, and something else he couldn't put his finger on. He'd never experienced the stench of rot before on a person, but from words spoken in Winterfell, he knew it was horrendous. Still, a few brothers stepped forward to grab the bodies to take them to a spare room. This thought calmed him down somewhat, as he didn't want to leave Aemon alone in a room with two bodies. The man has probably seen hundreds of them, but the terrible sense of foreboding just would not go away no matter how hard he tried.

"You'd best get to sleep, Jaeron. You're going to need a lot of that considering we will be leaving for Eastwatch in three days."

This caused the younger to close his eyes and nod in acceptance. He wanted to stay until they had concrete news on Benjen, but that would hinder their plan. No misstep can be carried out at all. They've already stalled long enough. He followed Aemon upon hearing Howland's words, his elderly uncle giving him a curious stare. Despite him being blind for almost three decades now, somehow he just seemed to know everything that was going on around him. He left the door open just enough for Rhaegon and Lyrax to fly in, the blue one immediately to land on Aemon's shoulder and the silver one on Jon's. They'd only started flying a few days beforehand, and they couldn't do so for long periods of time. Them now being about the size of dogs. For creatures that had been barely the size of kittens a month prior, their growth rate was shocking to him. If they continued growing this quickly, he suspected they would be rivalling hunting dogs in the next month.

"Aemon, how long does it take for a dragon to be large enough to mount?"

The question echoed throughout the room, reminding the pair of just how cut off they were from everyone else in the castle. Aemon's quarters were in the opposite tower from Jeor's, and most rooms nearby him were practically a ruin now. Much of the Nights Watch was a ruin now, only three of nineteen castles were manned and occupied, and they weren't occupied by many. Castle Black had approximately five hundred, Eastwatch three hundred, and the Shadowtower had a little over one hundred.

"It's difficult to say, because all dragons grow at different rates."

Jon's eyebrow quirked at this before sitting down at the desk as Aemon stood up to grab a small book from one of the shelves. He placed it down in front of them and the younger realised it was written in High Valyrian, the language of their ancestors and most Targaryen's mother tongue.

"I had Samwell transcribe this just before you arrived. It documents all dragons our family had, who their rider was, their colouring, when they were hatched, and when their rider mounted them. I know you're still learning the language, but it may be useful for you. There isn't a ridden date for Balerion for obvious reasons considering he was hatched in Valyria unlike the others."

He took the small book carefully and opened it to read into it.

Balerion. Kipagon ondoso se Aegon, Aerea, Maegor, se Viserys. Mele se zōbrie. Āzma isse Valyrio 114BC. Ēlī jēdar kipagon daor bardutan. Morghūltan 94AC isse se zaldrīzes ripo hen uēpa gūena. (Balerion. Ridden by Aegon, Aerea, Maegor, and Viserys. Red and black. Hatched in Valyria approximately 114BC. First ridden date unknown. Died 94 AC in the Dragon Pit from old age.)

Meraxes. Kipagon ondoso Rhaenys. Timpa, gēlenka, se aēksion. Āzma va zaldrīzesdōron isse se gār hen ānogar. Ēlī kipagon mirri jēda iemny tōma jēdri hen āzma. Morghūltan 10AC hen nykeā hīlagon isse se laes ry Hellholt.

(Meraxes. Ridden by Rhaenys. White, silver, and gold. Hatched on Dragonstone during the century of blood. First ridden some time the first five years of hatching. Died 10AC from a scorpion bolt to the eye.)

As he went further down the line, his eyes widened as he realised they were being ridden earlier as time went on. Moondancer and Morning both being ridden within two years of hatching. Aemon handed over a second book now, this one being completely tattered and would probably fall apart if it were dropped on the ground to open it. This one clearly being the original book before Samwell had transcribed it. This one had paintings beside each dragon's description of what they had looked like. And considering how old it was and the faded text, the people who had painted them may have seen them in real life.

"It seems to be within a couple of years that they can be ridden."

Aemon chuckled softly at these words before quirking an eyebrow at the younger.

"Not necessarily, that's the obvious answer. Just because that was when they were first ridden doesn't mean it was the first time they could be ridden."

Jon's face contorted in on itself at these words, trying to make sense of them. It took a few moments but they eventually did, and his eyes widened in understanding.

"Do you think they could've been mounted sooner?"

"It's very possible. I don't know for certain because they all died out around fifty years before I was even born. The only person who was alive in the family who had seen them was Daeron. But I was a few years old at the time and cannot remember him. I can remember his booming voice, but that is about it. Even to Targaryen's, dragons are a mystery. Why did they only ever allow one person to ride them until said person was dead? Why once mounted did their flames change to the colour of their scales as opposed to orange? Why did they never stop growing? They're questions that even the most experienced Maester's cannot answer nephew, and we must make do with the thought that there will not be answers for everything. Simply assumptions that can be made."

The silence that followed was almost deafening, the elderly man's words soaking into him the way syrup soaks into a freshly baked cake. If the assumption he was making were true and either Rhaegon or Lyrax could be mounted earlier than a couple of years, how long would he be able to keep it a secret for? The best thing he can do is to be the one to leak the information himself, because then it isn't simply rumour. But he could also play the rumour card well as most people would brush it off and ignore him until it was too late. Gods, he wished he had Robb with him to discuss this with. The older boy could weave through war tactics as well as Sansa could sew a dress.

"You lived in Kings Landing didn't you?"

Aemon looked outside for a few moments, Lyrax carefully climbing up his front to perch on his shoulder and tuck herself into his neck. The sight made him smile deeply, it being clear she was incredibly protective over him.

"Aye, I did. Not for long though and I don't remember it very much I must say. The only thing I can really remember is the gardens inside the walls as I used to race my sister Daella through them when we were babes ourselves. Something our mother despised and our father found hilarious. But I spent much of my life on Dragonstone. I was the Maester there after I completed training before being relocated to here. I'd sometimes take a ship across the Blackwater and surprised my brother, but it was rare I did so."

From the way his voice trailed off at the end, it was obvious that he missed his siblings deeply. All were dead, and it was probably a bitter pill to swallow that his little brother had started the dreadful fire in Summerhall which took most of their lives away. His father was born during that, Rhaella being rescued as it blazed on and the stress of everything starting her labour. And it all happened because dragon eggs were in the castle that he was trying desperately to hatch. And his brother Aerion died drinking wildfire thinking it would turn him into a dragon. It was said his screams could still be heard in the ruins of the castle they called their vacation spot to this day. Well, according to Old Nan anyway.

"Uncle, I'm going to press on my claim. I'm not going to do so until Rhaegon and Lyrax can cause damage though so it won't be for some time yet. But when I do, what advice would you give? And who could I trust?"

He watched intently as the elderly man's face contorted in on itself at the thought. He probably knew he was planning on doing so, but hearing it spoken aloud only brought it to light. They've gotten close to one another over the last few months, sending ravens to one another every other day with updates. It was nice to have that again, especially because he'd heard that Viserys had sold Daenerys to a Dothraki Khal. A stupid move in most people's eyes, a move that wouldn't do anything because Dothraki would not cross the Narrow Sea as they believed it to be poisoned as their horses could not drink the water. Clearly someone was spying on them, but there was no way to say who it was exactly. He wasn't going to try and send a raven so far east because it may be considered an act of rebellion.

"Everyone in Kings Landing is a liar, Jaeron. That is the first thing to keep in your head. The place is filled with people scheming from all corners trying to better their families and their own names. People who will stop at nothing to do so. Whilst I didn't spend a lot of time in Kings Landing, I did know it rather well. I'm going to tell you what I told my brother when he became King. Don't trust anyone. Keep those closest to you who are the least likely to betray you and keep those who are most likely to far away. But not too far that it is obvious that you distrust them. You'll need to learn the art of subtlety."

If what Aemon was saying was true, how was he going to go about making alliances? Alliances are all about getting to a point that you trust one another not to turn on the other. But if this were the case, there would never be any wars, the realm would be at peace, there would be no need to remain subtle or to keep extra eyes for any conspiracies.

"Who would be the most likely to fall behind me when it happens? My aunt believes we have a fair chance of getting the reach through the Tyrell's, and naturally I'll have the North and the Riverlands through family bonds. But the others?"

"Isn't your aunt's sister an Arryn? Should you not get the Vale through her if Robb declares for you alongside Eddard?"

His lips tightened as he remembered the words Catelyn had said to him.

"It's a possibility, and it is what honour demands, but my aunt doubts it. She knows her sister, and how much she despises bloodshed. If she can stay out of a war, she will do all she can to stay out of it. Apparently her son is sickly and if my aunt is correct, is still suckling at his mother's teat despite being ten name-days."

The thought sent a shiver through Jon, the idea disgusting him greatly. It was obvious that Lysa was not going to let anyone near her boy who may potentially cause him harm. Understandable considering her husband was potentially murdered by the Lannister's. There's no concrete evidence that he was poisoned, but like Catelyn said, it was one hell of a coincidence. One too big to be overlooked. Hopefully, his father doesn't go poking around too much because if he is caught out or says something, it's instant death for him and possibly for Sansa and Arya too.

"Like you said, you'll have the North and the Riverlands backing you due to familial ties. But you need to take into consideration that not all houses will heed the call, a risk that would end in them being labelled as traitors for refusing their liege Lord's command. I'll admit, I don't know the Northern houses much. It isn't in my area of expertise. But there are two houses that will without question declare for you who aren't in either of these Kingdoms. The Celtigar's of Claw Isle and the Velaryon's of Driftmark."

This piqued his interest as he looked at the Maester intently. He'd heard the names before, but they were minor houses. And if he remembered correctly they were in the Crownlands and were close to Dragonstone.

"They're the only two other families that we know for certain survived the doom of Valyria. The Celtigar's came out here first due to some issue with one Dragonlord family, about a decade later the Velaryon's arrived. A few months after this Aenar arrived on Dragonstone. Granted, Lord Ardrian Celtigar is elderly and has no legitimate sons, but the man is loyal. The other house though, they are bound in numerous ways. Multiple intermarriages going back hundreds of years, multiple heirs, and their loyalty is something you want to keep on hand. Especially because of their fleet. Only the Manderly's, Lannister's, the Ironborn, and the Arryn's of Gulltown can rival."

"Two fleets would certainly be useful. One could be used to defend and one could be used to attack."

Aemon hummed a little at these words, eyeing Jon inquisitively with his milky white iris'.

"It's a good strategy. The Ironborn's ships are made for war, the Lannister's are made for defence and trade considering Lannisport is a port city. The Manderly's are built for long distance as they regularly travel to Essos for trade with the Free Cities. The Velaryon's however don't divide their fleet like the Lannister's do. They build their ships for everything. War, trade, long distance travel, one of their ships will do all of that."

He made a mental note at this, needing to look up the two houses that had been spoken now.

"Let me give you some extra advice before you go to sleep. Eventually, you will need to understand that it's better to have an honourable enemy than a dishonourable friend. That's where most people fail. Aerys did that by trusting Tywin was coming to save him but he instead sacked the city and killed Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys. At least an honourable enemy is less likely to stab you in the back. Assume that everyone wants you dead because honestly, they will. When the truth comes out. It's not going to be taken lightly by anyone. If you constantly think that everyone will assassinate you, you'll never be caught off guard."

With these words spoken, Aemon took the books and placed them back on the shelf he'd gotten them from before heading to his own room. Jon's head felt like it was about to explode at the realisations that had just been bestowed upon him. Now he knew why his father trusted him so much and why he sought out counsel from him often. It wasn't solely because it would be unbiased, it was because he wasn't afraid to say it as it is. Not many people are like that, and it was a breath of fresh air for him. There were a few more months until it was the next year. If Aemon's suspicion was correct and dragons could be mounted earlier, this meant there was a distinct possibility that by the end of the coming year the secret will be out. He would have to learn quickly. With that, he made his way to the makeshift bed he had been sleeping on but sleep did not come. His mind was alight with everything that had been said,

It was a few hours later that he was woken by Ghost pressing his wet nose against his cheek and making a whimpering sound. Confusion ran through him at this as he petted the wolf trying to calm him down, but it didn't do anything. Looking around the room for anything that was out of the ordinary but everything was as it was. It was also pitch black outside confirming the early hour. Ghost never woke him up at this time. In fact, he never woke him up unless it was time for everyone in Winterfell to be awake. Removing the thin blanket caused him to shiver at just how cold it was up here. With everything that had been going on, it was easy to ignore the temperature but right now he couldn't do just that. The wolf beginning to stamp his paws almost in fear.

Hesitantly, Jon got up from the bed and listened carefully, nothing catching his attention as odd. Unless the few squawking ravens were anything to go by. He paused at this, because the ravens had never made a sound like that the times he had been around them. Clearly something was setting them on edge much like Ghost was. He bent down to grab his sword, strapping it to his waist, not bothering to attach the hilt cover Mikken had made. No one would be awake apart from perhaps a cook or two. The wolf began padding down the tower into the courtyard, his steps timid and cautious, confirming something was happening. Once outside, the biting wind made his teeth clench together and start chattering. He thought he knew cold in Winterfell considering his room was one of few that wasn't situated close to a hot spring, but this was a new cold. One that burned the skin almost.

The courtyard was completely deserted, only making this place seem even lonelier than it already was. The Night's Watch was so cut off from everything else in Westeros considering everyone here is sworn to neutrality when it comes to politics and war. Confusion spurned in him as Ghost headed towards the Lord Commander's tower. Dread seeped in deep at this, the wolf was a smart animal. An incredibly smart animal. Clearly he sensed something was off, but what exactly was off? His hand curling around the hilt of the sword and pulling it from its sheath quietly, barely making a sound. Slowly, he made his way up, looking around every corner for any sign of whatever Ghost was sensing. Eventually, he opened the door to Jeor's quarters and sighed deeply at the fact it was empty. Still, he walked inside and looked around a few times in case he was missing something.

A door slamming shut behind him caught his attention, almost causing him to drop his sword in surprise. Nothing was behind him, and he cursed lowly at realising he had made the stupid mistake of not covering his back. He turned around and at first he didn't see it due to how dark it was. But then he saw bright blue eyes, brighter than the blue of the winter roses that grew in Winterfell's glass gardens. Burning deep into him and practically glowing in the dark. A few heavy footsteps later brought the person into his line of vision, and his mouth dropped in shock. It was one of the bodies that Ghost had brought back.

How?

He didn't have time to think as it launched for him, quickly dodging out of the way but landing a powerful punch to his gut, but this didn't seem to stop the wight. He remembered Old Nan's tales now, of walking dead men coming in the dead of night. That's what this was. A rustling from behind didn't break his attention as he thrust the sword at it, but it seemed to know what he was doing and was dodging every swing with ease. Swearing lightly under his breath, he grabbed a spare knife on a desk and used their proximity to try and land a wound on the wight. He thrust the blade hard into its stomach, and nothing happened. His eyes widened in complete fear now and from the corner of his eye he spotted Jeor staring with a slack jaw. Then he swung the blade up and managed to slice its arm off, but even this didn't stop it.

It was too close to him now to use the sword, and he cursed himself for not being on high alert the second Ghost woke him up whimpering. He'd commanded the wolf to stay outside in the corridor, and it was clear he was distressed as he was clawing at the door and howling deeply. He had to create space between them to land a hit. His eyes darted around the room for something to use to do just that. Grabbing hold of the desk, and throwing it over, ignoring the strewn paperwork. But it had the desired effect, creating about a metre distance between them. As it came for him, he had enough time to prepare and he swung the sword at the wight. It dodged the first few swings, but then one cut below the ribcage, and with a strong thrust, it was protruding out of its back. The wight gave a loud screech before falling limp to the ground.

His breath coming short and fast and his eyes probably wider than Arya's had been when he gifted her Needle, he pulled the sword free, grimacing at the blackened blood covering the dark steel and blue ripples. He cleaned it off on a piece of cloth as Jeor shakily walked towards him, eyeing the wight himself with a look he'd never saw on him. Complete fear, and he was sure his face was showing a similar expression.

"Burn the bodies now. This cannot wait until morning."

Jon nodded at his words and grabbed the creature, dragging it out into the courtyard before doing the same with the other body. He wasn't going to take chances with that one coming back either. A few brothers had woken up, clearly sensing the commotion that was happening but none were saying anything. Rhaegon flew over to him and with a single word, the bodies were alight. The smell was horrible, and it burned in his nostrils and lungs, but it had to be done. Samwell walked over and with a look at the opposite end of the courtyard, saw Aemon with a worried look.

"What happened?"

By now, Jon was shaking in fear but Jeor cut in for him.

"We found out why they weren't smelling of anything. They were wights- "

"Wights have been gone for eight thousand years Lord Commander- "

Jeor shot a look at the brother who had said that.

"I thought so too. But if it weren't for Jaeron, that thing would've got me. How did you know anyway?"

He simply looked to his wolf and that was all the explanation needed. It was only now that Samwell and Jeor noticed the sword Jon was carrying, their eyes widening in surprise. But he left no room to question as he sheathed it quickly, staring at the flames to make sure the bodies were completely gone. Only then would he feel safer.

By now, most brothers were awake. Clearly hearing the commotion and from the smell and the fire, standing around the courtyard and on the raised areas. Just looking down, watching the scene play out in front of them. A few minutes later, the pyre had burned out and there were only blackened marks on the ground that was previously covered in snow. It wasn't long until Howland appeared, walking over slowly as if he feared they would come back again. Normally his greensight gave him some preparation for big events, the most recent being a wolf inside a cage with lions watching. He hadn't told anyone about that one other than Jojen as he'd had similar visions. Not wanting to know what it may potentially mean.

"They're dead, there's nothing left."

An audible breath left the older man as he looked at the charred stone. Of course, he'd heard the stories. Of how the Children and the First Men signed a pact to end their animosity to work together to defeat the others. That someone who was coined Azor Ahai with a flaming sword that was forged specially and how he was only able to do it by sacrificing his wife. But they were supposedly killed off. But that didn't make sense. Bran the Builder built the Wall around that time, and something of this size was surely not built to keep Wildling's out of Westeros. A couple of hundred feet perhaps, but the structure was seven hundred feet, and was said to be reinforced with a spell from the Children to prevent it from ever melting.

"Ser Alliser, Jaeron cut the arm off one. Check and see if it is still in my room."

The Master-at-arms nodded at the command and disappeared into his tower to search. Emerging a minute later with a wriggling arm. Those who hadn't seen the commotion staring at it in complete horror. Jeor took it and examined it, there was no way to deny what this was. The bones, the blackened blood, the veins, and arteries hanging out. A gruesome sight, there was no denying that.

"Find something to put this in, we will need it as evidence. You will ride to Eastwatch with Howland and Jaeron Ser Alliser and take a ship down to Kings Landing to present this to King Robert. I'll write the ravens and will have Aemon send them in the next couple of days."

Despite there being no audible dismissal, it was clear he was doing so. Brothers went to change clothes to start their days as there was no way anyone was getting back to sleep with what had just happened. Shakily, Jon made his way towards Aemon who was giving him a concerned look. Namely the mark across his face that was bleeding. It was only when he touched it that he realised he'd been hurt. Knowing there was no way to avoid it, he followed him into his own quarters with Samwell trailing behind so he could examine the cut. It didn't look deep, as there wasn't a lot of blood, but he had to make sure.

Jon watched as the older boy grabbed a few things and reassuring Aemon he wasn't badly hurt, it just looked like a surface wound. It didn't do much to calm the elderly man, but how quickly he was mixing things together confirmed he had knowledge of this. Jon quirked an eyebrow at this.

"My mother Melessa is more than used to dealing with surface wounds from my brother Dickon and sister Talla as they're always getting into trouble. Instead of waiting for Maester's to come, she would tend to us herself with small cuts. She's good at it, and she showed me how to do so in case she had to be away from Horn Hill for any reason."

That answered the question. Samwell grabbed a thin cloth, dipping it in warm water and wrapping it tightly around one of his fingers before beginning to dab away at the gash to clean away the blood. Luckily, it was already beginning to scab over, confirming it wasn't anything serious. Peering closer, it was obvious the wound in question was only a few millimetres deep, therefore did not need stitches. Then he took a fresh cloth and dipped it in whatever he had mixed up and ran it along, the sting it brought causing the younger to wince slightly at how uncomfortable it was. Finally, a small bandage was placed over and stuck in place with something and being told to keep it on for at least two days to ensure it scabs over.

"Your father is Randyll, isn't he?"

The older nodded in confirmation as he told Aemon what he had done, the elderly man smiling deeply and gripping his hand softly in thanks.

"He was the only person who beat Robert Baratheon in battle during it, correct? He was a staunch supporter of my father."

"He still is. He talks very highly of your father even now. He wanted me to turn around like he did and make a man of myself, but instead all I seem to do is shame him. Hence why I came here. My brother is now the heir of Horn Hill."

A small pit of fury ebbed deep inside of him. He knew what it was like to feel shamed constantly for being what he was. Yes, he and Catelyn were on much better terms than he'd ever hoped for, but he knew he would never see her as a mother figure because she never was to him. She'd treated him horribly for most of his life, and he was understandably wary of her. But then the last line came into perspective. His brother is now the heir, which could only mean Sam was the firstborn son. Why would a high Lord stand for his firstborn being sent to the Wall?

"Why are you here, Sam? If you're the firstborn?"

The older froze momentarily before looking down at the gaze being directed at him. It was silent for a few moments before he finally opened his mouth.

"I shamed my father by not being able to use a sword or shoot a bow or throw a knife like what was expected of me as a Tarly. He wanted to take me hunting and hawking, whereas I wanted to study and travel. He's always resented me. Well, on the morning of my eighteenth name-day, he took me aside one morning and basically told me he would never allow a fat craven to take over as Lord of Horn Hill whilst he was around. And if I didn't leave for the Wall immediately he would take me on a hunt and make sure I didn't come back."

Both Jon and Aemon recoiled back in horror at these words. The younger had intended to use his new friend's familial link to get an ally for when the time comes, but now he did not want the Tarly man. He had threatened to kill his son if he didn't come here?

"Have you already spoken your vows? If you want to study you could always go to the Citadel- "

"No, I cannot. It's too risky. The Maester's take note of all the acolyte's and do background checks on them all. If they saw someone with the Tarly name, they would report to the Hightower's as they're in control of Oldtown where the Citadel is. My father would find out and never allow it. Plus, I have now spoken my vows. If I leave, I'd imagine it would be your uncle who would take my head- "

"Cousin actually, Robb is acting Lord of Winterfell whilst my uncle is in Kings Landing serving as Robert Baratheon's hand."

Pity filled him as he looked at the older boy. He knew then, he was going to do all he could to ensure his father would not get him. However, he could use the next couple of days to take note of the Reach.

"Tell me about the Houses of the Reach, and which ones I would be able to rely on. I'd imagine you knew who was loyal to my father from your own father."

Sam once again, nodded in agreement before asking Aemon for some parchment so he could write them all down.

"Naturally, the obvious one is the Tyrell's as they are Lord and Lady Paramount's. However, other loyalist Houses may take offense to that- my father certainly did- over the fact they didn't participate other than set up a siege with their entire army. Hightower is probably your next best bet, but it would be risky considering the history between them and your house."

Jon tightened his lips at this.

"Alicent wanting her son Aegon to be King and crowning him despite her husband naming his daughter Rhaenyra as his heir, with Otto working in their favour. Thus, essentially causing the Dance of Dragons."

Sam was writing furiously on the parchment, trying to figure out who was the most likely.

"If things go sour with them, I'd say the best bet would probably be the Florent's, Beesbury's, or the Redwyne's. But I doubt you'd get the Florent's as Selyse is married to Stannis Baratheon with a daughter."

"A daughter who had greyscale as a baby- "

"A daughter, nonetheless. Through familial bonds they would be bound to support their own blood. Samwell makes a good point. I'd say Tyrell's, Redwyne's, Hightower's, and Beesbury's are your best bet. There are other Houses in said Kingdom, but they aren't as big a name as these ones. Samwell, on my shelf you'll find a volume of all heirs along with Lords and Ladies of said Houses. Take a note of them for him please before he leaves so he has somewhere to start."

This stunned Jon now; his uncle was bound by oath to remain neutral. Yet by telling his steward to take a note of all members of said Houses, he was essentially breaking that. Beforehand they weren't, as they were simply answering his question. A few minutes later and Sam handed over the parchment with the Houses and stated he would have the other one ready by tomorrow for him. He thanked him for this, knowing it would be a good step to start from.

The next three days didn't change much to the other days. Unfortunately, there had still not been any word or sightings regarding Benjen, and it hurt massively when Jeor marked in one of his books that he was presumed dead. Howland took it upon himself to begin training him how to warg, him still not fully knowing what that meant other than he could see through Ghost's eyes like he was the wolf. It hadn't happened since that night he woke up with the taste of blood and raw meat in his mouth. Every time he tried though; he couldn't make the connection needed with his wolf.

"That's common. It happens randomly the first few times. I'd say within a few months you'll be able to control it to the point you do so without even thinking."

He doubted that, but he didn't want to say so to Howland's face. The man has risked so much for him, had helped his uncle commit high treason against the King to make sure he survived.

"Do your children know about me? And how old are they?"

They were walking around one of the many wooden balconies that made up Castle Black, making use of the time they had to themselves as there were a few ranging parties sent out and the builders were temporarily sent to the Shadowtower to help rebuild some parts.

"Jyana told them after she got back to Greywater Watch so they wouldn't be surprised. My son is named Jojen, and he is nearing his fourteenth name-day. My daughter Meera is seventeen, a little under a year older than you and Robb are."

From their numerous conversations, he knew that Meera was skilled with weaponry, which meant he would have a sparring partner at least. Well, until this Torghen Hill can make it there which will probably be a couple of months. The man was living in exile, if it got out he was back in Westeros- he would be executed. And Jojen was something called a greenseer, which Howland was as well. He thought this was much the same as warging but the older man put it into perspective easily. All greenseer's are wargs, but not all wargs are greenseer's. Apparently less than a thousand existed in the North, but he did suspect there would be a few Wildling's who had this strange gift too.

"Jaeron, meet me in my solar after breaking your fast."

Jeor said the words with a commanding tone which confirmed he was not taking no for an answer. What did he want? There was no use in questioning it though as clearly he wanted it to be a private discussion. He was still getting a few strange looks by the brothers, but it was nowhere near as bad as it was when he'd blurted it out in anger. Jon wished he hadn't done that; it was a stupid thing to do. But he'd done it, and he couldn't turn back time. Both he and Howland broke their fast on pork sausages that had almost no fat in them and didn't have much flavour as a result, a couple of eggs, and a slice of slightly stale bread. But it was food, not many people would argue with what they were being given.

"You asked to speak to me, Lord Commander?"

"Aye, sit down lad."

Jon did just that, not bothering to remove Rhaegon's claws from his shoulders. It wasn't hurting him, but it was uncomfortable. A bit like a prolonged cat scratch. A feeling he knew well as there was a runaway stray in the servant's quarters near his old bedroom in Winterfell that hated everyone it passed and made it known. It was only Arya who seemed to be able to tame it somewhat. The desk was filled with multiple pieces of paperwork alongside a few trinkets. But what caught his eye was the sword leaning against the wood. Jeor unsheathed it and his eyes widened at seeing the dark steel and the pale blue ripples confirming it was Valyrian steel.

"Longclaw. It's been in my family for hundreds of years. Passed down from Lord to son the entire time like most families do who own one. It was Bear Island's glory. We don't have much there, only a lot of trees and rare fish that you only get in the far north. I was supposed to give this to my son Jorah, but he dishonoured himself, me, and our House by selling poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. He escaped in the middle of the night for somewhere in Essos with his wife Lynesse Hightower before your uncle made it to our home."

Mentally, Jon was deflated at this. He was going to try and get the Hightower's, yet one of their own was in exile due to his uncle. That may be a blow that will prevent them coming into the fold on his side. He would need to send a raven to Catelyn to get her insight on it as she is well versed in southern politics.

"I'm an elderly man, seventy name-days. I cannot use the sword anymore, and I'm not giving it to someone here. I cannot give it to my son due to the shame he brought on our family. Take it with you when you ride for Eastwatch this afternoon."

His head snapped around at this, looking at the older man as if he were expecting him to say he was joking. But from his stern expression, he knew he was telling the truth.

"It's Valyrian steel, and it's been in your family for generations- "

"My sister Maege refuses to go near it, she believes only a male should wield such a sword even though she and her own daughters are trained fighters. Bear Island is known for its warrior women, my family being no exception to this except little Lyanna as she is only nine. We don't train our females until they are twelve. They've all sworn the times they've visited they will not take Longclaw and it should be handed over to someone worthy of it. You saved my life three days ago, Jaeron. If your wolf didn't alert you, who knows what would've happened. That thing would likely have gone on a rampage, but you stopped it even though you struggled for a couple of minutes. I had the pommel changed to a wolf, for your wolf. Take it."

Hesitantly, he took the hilt and tested the weight of the weapon. Examining it further confirmed it was a bastard sword and not a longsword like Dark Sister. Meant for closer range swings which would probably come in useful. It was also light in his palm; the lost material being known for how lightweight it was.

"Thank you. If you ever need anything in return- "

"All I ask is if you win, to ensure we are manned enough and that we have enough food to get through winter."

It was a simple request, and he shook hands with him to solidify said agreement before meeting Howland outside at the horses were already tacked up and ready to leave, and with great difficulty he had managed to get Rhaegon and Lyrax into the boxes again, something which made Aemon laugh merrily and Sam to snort in laughter. This might be the last time they were ever in captivity, a thought that terrified him massively. But there was no turning back now. The initial moves had been made, now he must learn as he goes and he must learn quickly. Ser Alliser made his way over and took a horse himself, the box he had containing the still wriggling hand of the wight as they could hear it moving around inside the wood. With that, he said goodbye to those he'd gotten somewhat close to in the past fortnight before mounting his horse and riding out. If the weather were good, they would be at Eastwatch in three days.