Wolf in the Old World

by keller.blair1

By some odd happenstance, Jon Snow finds himself in a land not his own, surrounded by all manner of queer happenings tis a land filled with magic and mosnters sfter a chance meeting the young wolf is thrust into an adventure unlike the ones he had before, filled with danger, daring villains beyond count and heroes that seem from the stories of his childhood tis the Old World.

13. Jewel of the South

On the road to Nuln

They departed the village for Nuln three days later, once the patrols Schribber sent out failed to find any trace of the goblin raiders. It appeared that, at least for now, the threat had been dealt with. Jon was pleased to be on the road again. It looked as if the weather would turn sour, and he hoped to reach their destination before they were caught in it. To his surprise, their company had grown, as they were now accompanied by two lasses who had worked at the inn and one woman heavy with child. Margaery had seen it and had been quick to explain.

"The children's parents died in the raid, as did the poor woman's husband, and the village does not have the resources to care for them. So, they will be coming with us to Nuln."

"And what will happen to them when we reach the city?" Jon asked.

"There is a large temple to Shallya there, which will take the children in. They will raise them till adolescence when the children will either become initiates in the temple, or the temple will aid them in finding places for them."

"What of the woman?" Margaery smiled.

"Well, it seems that she was the inn's cook, and as I anticipate that I shall be entertaining much in my travels, I doubt that I shall ever be not in need of good cooks." She smiled again.

"Besides, I could never refuse to help a woman about to deliver."

Jon nodded and smiled in turn. "Very gracious of you, La… Margaery."

Fortunately, the remainder of the journey to Nuln was without incident, though they were wary to let their guard down. Jon and the pistoleers frequently rode out on patrol, and the soldiers erected defences. However, these measures proved to be unnecessary. The goblins made no attacks upon them, and if there were any bandits or brigands in the area, they chose to give them a wide berth. Still, not all was well, as the weather had turned ill.

Winter still clutched the land tightly, but its icy grasp was beginning to loosen as the promise of spring lingered in the air. Ingfried had elucidated to Jon that unlike in his homeland where seasons endured for years, here they cycled through mere months, following a somewhat predictable pattern. It struck Jon as strange, though he reckoned it might bring solace to the common folk toiling the fields. Alas, the advent of spring was accompanied by relentless rain. Day after day, it poured, drenching them all and impeding their progress as the road transformed into a quagmire, ensnaring their carts in the muck.

Tempers flared, and though they took pains to shield Margaery from their discontent, murmurs among the men grew louder. While Jon dismissed it as mere venting of frustrations, memories of mutiny beyond the Wall lingered in his mind, and he made sure to keep an eye on them. The morale of the group received several unexpected boosts. The first was from Berta, the woman Margaery had taken on as her new cook. It seemed that her time cooking at the inn had left her skilled in the art of feeding large numbers of people at once. With Margaery's approval, Berta took over from the soldier who had been assigned the duties of cook, duties which he happily gave up, much to the happiness of the men, as the poor fellow hadn't an inkling of culinary arts.

The two girls Margaery had brought along were Franka, age nine, and Carla, age eight. While they had been quiet and withdrawn at first due to the death of their parents, with the resilience of childhood, the two girls had regained much of their spirits after the funerals of their parents. By the second day, they had succumbed to the thrill of travelling into, to them at least, the unknown. Whenever the weather permitted, they would run about laughing and quite immune to the scoldings Berta gave them when they came back with muddy clothes, which she would have to wash. The soldiers were amused by the antics, and the loud scoldings provoked laughter from many of them. They also struck up an unexpected friendship with Ghost.

As with Sam at the Wall, the Direwolf seemed to sense their grief and had gone up to them. The girls had been frightened at first, but Ghost had licked both of them and Carla, the bolder of the two, had hugged Ghost, her arms too short to fully encircle the wolf's neck. After that, Ghost went everywhere with them, and it was not long before the girls overcame the reverential fear that the village's adults held for Ghost. As with Jon, Ghost liked to take the girls' hands in his mouth and tug on them, though he was careful not to pull too hard on them. Moral was raised eight days after leaving the village; the rain finally stopped, and the road gradually dried. At last, they reached the city of Nuln.

Long before they saw the city itself, Jon saw the dark clouds of smoke hanging over it. Margaery had told him that the smoke came from the vast and numerous foundries for which the city was famous and was the source of its great wealth. They also made the town strategically crucial as, from what Jon understood, many of the black powder weapons used throughout the Empire came from the city. Jon could understand why Margaery would wish to begin her goodwill tour here. If Princess Belladonna wanted to strengthen her principality, then gain the friendship of the most significant source of weaponry in the known world. If the city was impressive at a distance, the sight of it as they drew closer was less so.

As they entered the city, everywhere he looked, Jon saw buildings blackened by soot; even the remaining patches of snow were little more than dirty slush. The people were equally filthy for the most part, and they looked worn. Jon guessed their days were even longer than those of the smallfolk back home and in worse conditions. Nevertheless, there was something about them, a sense of pride. They knew the value of their work and took pride in it. For some reason that Jon could not understand, the thought of that pleased him. They made their way through the poorer part of the city and then halted at the large temple of Shallya, where they bid farewell to Franka and Clara. They both hugged Ghost and looked to be on the brink of tears. Jon, too, felt a swell of emotion, which he forced down. They then made their way to the wealthier part of the city.

The differences between the city's two parts were as different as night and day. The streets were broader and far cleaner. There were parks and trees and large homes surrounded by walls. They arrived at a large mansion; the gate being opened by a soldier wearing a uniform identical to the one worn by the escort soldiers. These marched away after Schribber bowed to Margaery and saluted Jon. Margaery's servants, including Berda and her maid, began unloading the luggage and putting things away. Jon and Gunther, carrying Jon's luggage, made their way up the stairs to a suite of rooms. Margaery had told Jon that, due to their delay, they had missed their audience with the countess. It may be some time before they can get another appointment. Jon was unsure what they would do in the meantime, but he would deal with that when it came. After having bathed and shaved that evening, Jon joined Margaery for dinner. The meal, while nothing compared to the feasts that he had had in Bretonnia and Altdorf, was still delicious. Margaery spoke of her efforts to gain a new audience as they ate.

"I sent a message to the countess explaining what happened and begging her forgiveness and requesting an audience."

"Do you think that she will grant your request?"

"I am sure that she will. …we are a bit of a novelty, and she will want to meet us. Also, though many in the Empire look down slightly on the southern realms, Princess Belladonna is still a sovereign, and it is considered rude to snub her ambassador. Finally, my mission has the emperor's permission, and to refuse to see me might be seen as a slight against him." She paused and leaned forward, lowering her voice and making Jon lean forward.

"They say that the countess's claim to her title was not strong, and she only secured it with his aid." Jon nodded. It seemed that succession was as complicated and byzantine here as it was back in Westeros. Margaery continued speaking.

"I hope that she responds soon. I would dearly like to see her palace.

"They say that it contains one of the greatest art collections in the Empire."

"You are fond of art, Margaery?" Jon asked. She smiled, and her eyes told Jon he had opened the door to a subject she knew and was fond of.

"Oh, indeed I do.

"The Tyrells have always been great patrons of the arts. Even in times of war and strife, Highgarden has always provided a haven for those who produce art. My family has patronised various painters and sculptors; we usually have at least a score of singers. The palace of the Princess in Pavona was similar to the High Garden. Many of the aristocrats were patrons of the arts, and there seemed to be a kind of competition between individual nobles and even between some of the cities to see who could produce superior artworks. The Empire, by contrast, seems more reserved. Much of its artwork, at least what I have seen displayed in public, appears religious or martial. I am hoping to see more diverse examples of Empire artwork." Jon nodded. He personally never had much interest in art, just like his father. However, he hoped that the countess's art collection matched her expectations for Margaery's sake.

They did not have to wait long to find out.

On the morning of the second day after their arrival, a liveried messenger received an invitation from the countess to join her at court. Margaery politely accepted, and Jon hurried to bathe and don their best clothes. With this done, they boarded the gilded carriage that had been for them, and they set off. The carriage took them through the city until it began climbing a steep hill lined on both sides by impressive homes, temples and other buildings whose function Jon did not know but knew they had to be necessary. At last, they reached the top of the hill and the palace itself. It was massive, and Jon thought it looked more like a castle than a place. It had tall walls, turrets, and crenulated balconies. Jon saw only a single gate, which was as massive as the rest of the palace. The solid oak bound with bronze doors swung open as they approached. Passing through them, the carriage made its way through a massive garden dotted with fountains and statues and halted before a set of stairs leading up to another set of doors. No sooner had they halted than more servants appeared, opened the carriage door, and ushered them inside. If the outside of the palace had more in common with a fortress, then the interior was the exact opposite.

It was luxurious, bordering on decadence. Numerous golden chandeliers hung from the floors decorated with tile mosaics to thick carpets to the ceiling. On the walls were hangings and paintings, many of the latter of a beautiful woman wearing several elaborate dresses; at least, Jon thought it was the same woman. For some reason, some paintings had her with black hair, while others had blond hair. In addition to the paintings and wall hangings, there were numerous statues, ranging from small ones on plinths to some larger than many men. Many of these were of men in armour striking heroic poses, while others were of beautiful women and a few whom Jon recognised as the gods of the land. Margaery stopped at several to exclaim her admiration and declare several to be the work of great artists Jon had never heard of but which she had clearly learned of during her time with Princess Belladonna.

"The countess certainly has a refined taste in art." The man leading them, his dress to Jon, seemed to indicate his status as a steward or something similar, and he seemed pleased at her words.

"Indeed, Her Excellency has a sharp eye for such things. Doubtless, she will be pleased to have a fellow connoisseur." While Margaery seemed delighted with each new sight, it began to wear on Jon. The palace seemed endless, and he had never been one who cared much for luxury, not that there had been much in the way of luxury at the Wall. That was one thing that could be said for King Stannis. For all of his irascibility, the King was not one to waste time and coin on fripperies.

He forced the thoughts away.

It was unworthy of him to judge someone without meeting them. Sana would have loved this place, and Jon still loved her. Tyrion would have liked this place as well, he was sure, and Jon considered the dwarf a friend. Ingfried also had a taste for high living, and No, he would refrain from judging the Countess simply because she had expensive tastes, and Jon…was still unsure how he felt about her. Regardless, he would withhold judgment on the countess simply because of her love of high living. At last, they seemed to reach their destination, a tall pair of elaborately carved and gilded doors flanked by four guards. At a gesture from the steward, two of them opened the doors, and they preceded in.

Beyond was a vast room which put Jon in mind of the Great Hall at Winterfell. There was even a high seat on a dais at the back of the hall, from which a carpet of scarlet thread trimmed with gold went all the way to the doors, but there the similarities ended. The hall was, if anything, even more ostentatiously appointed than the rest of the palace, and the chair was more a throne than anything else. The hall was full of men and women who were all clearly attending to the woman sitting on the throne; Jon could not think of it as anything else to call it. It was a woman; more than that, it was the woman from the paintings.

Unlike the paintings, her hair was dark and elaborately made with combs and jewels. She seemed to be conducting court and receiving petitioners, just like his father had done, but her dress appeared too elaborate for daily business. It looked more like something one would wear to a feast or ball. An impression enhanced by the relatively large amount of jewellery she wore. She was…the only word to describe it was lounging on the throne. Beside the throne was a youth who looked to be a few years younger than the Countess. He was dressed well, though in a reserved manner. Though Jon did not know who the man was, from where he stood, he had to be someone of importance. Looking closer, Jon could see a familial resemblance between him and the Countess. He also held himself in the manner of a trained swordsman.

A man whose dress indicated a well-to-do merchant stood at the base of the dais and spoke in what appeared to be an animated manner, punctuated by several hand gestures. Despite this, the countess did not seem to be terribly interested. It even looked as if she stifled a yawn once. Just then, an elaborately dressed man stood by the door holding a staff. At a gesture from the steward, the man took the staff and stuck it on the tiles until all the heads in the room turned to look at them, and the man at the foot of the dais stopped speaking. Once it was clear that he had everyone's attention, the man bellowed loudly.

"Announcing the Lady Margaery Tyrell! Ambassador from the Princess Lucrezzia Belladonna of the Perfidious Principality of Pavona!" The reaction to this announcement was a mixed one. It ranged from polite interest to slight derision; the Countess, by contrast, appeared to be delighted, and she motioned them to come forward. Jon and Margaery walked down the carpet until they came to a point indicated by one of the guards. At a sign from the guard, Margaery curtsied deeply while Jon bowed low. The Countess was now sitting up straight on her throne and was regarding them with interest. Her expression made Jon think of a child receiving a new toy.

"My dear Lady Margaery! It is so wonderful to meet you at last! It is so wonderful to have someone knowledgeable of Tilean art!" Margaery put on a friendly smile.

"I thank you for your kind greeting, Your Grace, we are very grateful. Please forgive us for our tardiness." She might have said more, but the countess interrupted her.

"Oh, think nothing of it! It is rather embarrassing to admit, but Wissenland, outside of Nuln, of course, is a bit of a backwater, and its roads leave much to be desired." Her words surprised Jon.

He could not think of any lord disparaging his holding in Westeros, at least not out loud and to people they had just met. He wanted to look back and see how the people, who had to be landed nobility, were reacting to their holdings being insulted and themselves by extension, but at the moment, he could not do so without appearing rude. As if compelled by his thoughts, the countess finally seemed to notice him.

"Forgive me, Lady Tyrell. I have not yet asked the name of your companion." At a gesture from the countess, the two rose to their feet. Once this was done, Margaery gestured towards Jon.

"This, Your Grace, is Sir Jon il Cuor di Lupo. I met him while I was in Tilea, and he agreed to accompany me on my journeys." The countess looked him up and down in a speculative manner. From her expression, Jon was unsure if she was pleased with what she saw.

"Indeed.

"Though, if you will forgive me, you look more like a man of the Empire than Tilea." It seemed that she was more intelligent than Jon had first assumed. He hastily scrambled for an answer. Then it came to him.

"I was not born in Tilea, it is true, Your Grace, but I spent time there and was knighted there."

"My, that does sound interesting; you shall have to tell me all about it sometime. But now it is time for dancing!" With that, she raised a hand, and music began.

The countess moved to join a tall, handsome-looking man, stopping briefly to speak to the youth standing by her throne. He moved forward to Margaery. As he moved, Jon instantly felt himself becoming slightly wary. He looked to Jon to be not much older than himself, twenty at the most. The man moved with the smooth grace of a skilled swordsman; it was more than that; however, there was something about him. Jon was unsure what it was, but something about him put him on edge. Something about those watery blue eyes which should have seemed weak but were not. The man halted his advance before Margaery and executed a courtly bow.

"My Lady. I am Viscount Leos von Liebwitz, brother of the countess. Would you do me the honour of sharing this dance with me?" Though he was the very picture of chivalry, there was something…false about it.

To Jon, it seemed that Leos was simply going through the motions. Jon doubted that Leos cared if Margaery agreed to dance with him; custom and tradition dictated that he offer to dance with her, and those same customs and traditions dictated that she accept; that was all there was to it. Jon found that he did not like the countess's brother, though he could not say why. His thoughts were interrupted by a slight cough behind him. Turning, he found himself facing a young woman who smiled shyly at him. It appeared that she was waiting for him to say something, and after a moment, it came to him. He offered a bow and his hand.

"Might I have the pleasure of a dance?" She blushed slightly and accepted his hand. He soon saw that she was not as good a dancer as Ingfried or Margaery, but he made no comment. She was slightly plump with large brown eyes and a friendly face. Her name, she told him, was Livina von Glas, a distant cousin of the countess. Jon soon learned something else about her as the dance continued; she loved to gossip. She seemed to know everyone present and all their secrets. Their rivalries, their affairs, and who was an open or secret enemy to everyone else. She reminded Jon of Sansa, and he was sure that if they met, they would be the best of friends. This thought was interrupted by something Lady Livina said.

"Forgive me, Sir, but are you courting the Lady Tyrell?" The question surprised him, and he could feel his face reddening, which she clearly found amusing.

"Well, if you are, you have nothing to fear from the Viscount." Jon had not thought so if the man's actions had been any indication, but he had to admit that he was curious.

"And why is that?" Livina giggled, which sounded more like a snort.

"Everyone knows that he has no interest in women, even after half the ladies of the court have practically thrown themselves at him." She leaned in and pitched her tone low yet theatrical.

"In fact, some have even said…well, let us say he might prefer to dance with you rather than her if he had the choice." A hearty chortle almost drowned out the latter half of her statement. Jon, for his part, did not know how to react.

He knew that some of his brothers in the Watch sometimes "roosted" together, but none had ever approached him. Jon himself had never been interested in such things and thus had no idea how to handle the situation. Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face as Lady Lavinia laughed aloud and slapped his shoulder playfully. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, and Jon was spared further embarrassment. Still, he felt some relief when he switched partners. Several hours passed in a series of dances with pauses for the dancers to take refreshments and catch their breath. Jon found himself in much demand as a dance partner, and he did not have a chance to converse with Margaery. He even shared a dance with the countess, though she seemed as bored as her brother, and Jon suspected that she only danced with him out of politeness. It was a relief when the dancing finally ended, and dinner was announced.

They made their way to a vast hall with numerous tables laden with food and cutlery. The food seemed to consist of every form of delicacy, along with a wide selection of wines. As the guests of honour, Jon rejoined Margaery at the high table with the countess and her brother. Jon was seated to the left of the countess, with Leos between them. On the other hand, Margaery was sitting directly at the countess's right hand. At a sign from the countess, a seemingly endless wave of food was presented. Jon found much of it too rich, but he ate both out of politeness and because he knew that food might not always be available. He was, however, moderate with his drinking. He remembered times when he overindulged and did not wish to repeat that. As he took a careful sip, he looked to where the Countess and Margaery were discussing the tribe of Goblins that had attacked them on the way here. Surprisingly, the Countess was laughing. She turned to regard her brother.

"Leos, the Lady Tyrell was telling me the most amusing story.

"She is saying they were attacked by a whole army of goblins! Is that not the funniest thing you have ever heard?! Imagine! Goblins this far in the Empire!" Jon was shocked. It seemed that the countess not only believed that her realm was not threatened, but she seemed to think that what had happened to them was a joke. He was further surprised to see that Leos appeared more inclined to give credence to what was being said.

"Perhaps it should be investigated, Sister" It appeared that she was not used to her brother disagreeing with her. A stubborn look came into her eyes, and her mouth hardened.

"Leos, you know what? That would be a mistake. I have need of you here, and you know it is likely nothing.

"Peasants have very active imaginations, and if it looks as if we are indulging in their fantasies, we will be besieged by an endless horde of them, each with a tale wilder than the last." Internally, Jon groaned.

In a way, she reminded him of King Stannis; both were clearly stubborn and did not react well to hearing news that they found unpleasant. No, after a moment, Jon decided that the countess was worse. For all of his unpleasantness, the King at least cared about those he claimed to rule, or, at least, took his duty to protect them seriously. The countess was clearly one of those nobles who wanted all the power and privileges of rulership but loathed the responsibilities and shirked them whenever possible. Lord Eddard had spoken to Robb about such lords, and there had been no doubt about how his father had felt about them. Not wanting to risk his hostess seeing how he felt, he quickly looked away. As he did so, he felt eyes looking at him.

Looking about for the source, he found his eyes locking with those of a man sitting some little way from them. He was tall and thin, and the men sitting on either side of him were portly. His dress was also different. Where the others at the table were clearly wearing their best, the man's clothing was plain black and, in a way, reminded Jon of a septons robes. His hair was just as black and formed a widow's peak. What stood out most, however, were his eyes. They blazed with intensity and were fixed unwaveringly on Jon. The man's face was locked in an expression of loathing bordering on hatred.

Jon was taken aback; as far as he knew, he had done nothing to earn the man's ire. Seven Hells, he had not spoken to the man or seen him until now! As he thought this, he felt his own ire rising to match the man's, and for a moment, he stopped hearing the conversation being carried out next to him. A slight cough brought him back, and he found the others were all looking at him expectantly. Feeling his face grow warm, Jon took a hasty drink to cover his lack of what was clearly an expected answer. Margaery must have sensed this as she quickly spoke again.

"I am sure, Sir di Lupo, that you would agree that it might be wise to send a force to search the surrounding forests for any further signs of the wretched creatures." Jon silently blessed both Margaery and the fact that they were now discussing something he was familiar with and could speak of confidently.

"I believe that to be a sage idea, Your Grace." The countess made a disgusted noise.

"My Lady, good Sir, I do not believe you understand how simple-minded peasants are. They are always complaining about one thing or another. If it were to appear that I was actually giving credence to their fantasies, it would only encourage them. I would be constantly besieged by peasants with ever more fanciful imaginings, and I would never be able to get anything done." Personally, Jon doubted that she did as much work as it was. He found it much more likely that she left the business of ruling to her councillors and officials. Margaery, however, was nodding judiciously as if she agreed with the countess.

"I can certainly see the problem, Your Grace, but there is another way to look at it.

"As the philosopher Philip Corbo once wrote ', A problem is often an opportunity if it is regarded from a different angle." At Margaery's words, the countess's eyes lit up, and her expression became one of eagerness.

"You have read Corbo? I love his works, and so few people here, even among the educated, have read him." Margaery smiled modestly.

"I have read a little, Your Grace, though I find his work most enlightening, and he is right.

"If I may, Your Grace, it might be well to look at this not as an invitation for your smallfolk to be encouraged to come up with such things but as an opportunity to discourage them from doing so." She seemed to take the countess's question look as an invitation to continue.

"Consider this. If you were to send a force and they were to find nothing, then the smallfolk would see that there was nothing to their fears. Thus, the next time they think that they see something, they will remember that the last time they were fearful, there was nothing to their fears, and they will not wish to shame themselves again by bothering their lords. It would also earn the favour of the nobles by granting them an opportunity to lead troops and thus earn prestige by doing so." As she said the last part, she waved her hands about the guests, seeming to stop at random. The countess followed the path of Margaery's hand, and she broke into a malicious grin. A grin which she turned to Margaery, who gave the countess a conspiratorial grin.

"My dear Lady Tyrell, we will get along splendidly." She paused and looked as if she was attempting to remember something.

"What did you call the peasants?"

"Smallfolk, Your Grace."

"Smallfolk, I like that. It seems appropriate. They always have seemed so…so…small." She made a gesture with her left hand, and an officer in an elaborate uniform appeared at her side and leaned in to hear her orders.

"Inform the Baron von Hermal that it is my will that he led a patrol from the city to search for goblin raiders." She paused and looked that Jon did not like came to her eyes, and when she spoke again, there was malicious spite in her voice.

"Inform him that it may be a long patrol, and he should prepare accordingly." The man bowed and moved to carry out his orders. That done, the countess turned back to face Margaery, and when she spoke, all malice was gone from her voice, and she sounded excited.

"Now that the dreary business of governing, we can turn our minds to more pleasant matters.

"Since you have read Corbo, you must also have read his contemporary, Pietro Bascio. I always found his writings to be so insightful." She continued to talk, but Jon was not listening.

He had little interest in philosophy, and the names and theories they were speaking of all jumbled together, and he would have been hard-pressed to follow the conversation, even if he had wanted to. He glanced over to where the man who had been glaring at him earlier. The man was still there, but now he was speaking to someone and was no longer looking at Jon. Jon, however, had not forgotten, and though he did not know the source of the man's hostility, he was not prepared to ignore it. He wished that either Ezio or any of the guards were present so he would have someone familiar with whom he could talk, but neither was. Ezio had been wounded during the battle with the goblins, and some had taken ill on the road to Nuln, and while both would recover, neither of them could attend the night's events. That left only Viscount Leos. The other young man was eating some of his food, though ignoring most of it, and appeared rather bored with the whole event.

"It appears that your sister will be sending a patrol out after all," Jon said to start a conversation. At his words, the Viscount seemed to become more interested.

"Indeed, though, I would have preferred to have my sister grant me leave to accompany them." Jon could sympathise with him. The situation made him think of when he had first joined the Watch and had asked his uncle to be allowed to accompany him on his range. He remembered how wounded he had been when his uncle had angrily refused him permission. He sought some words to attempt to bring the Viscount out of his mood, but he had never had a gift for words. He was saved from having to make an attempt to change the topic.

"You fought the goblins at that village." Jon was unsure if that was meant as a question or a statement and simply nodded.

"Was that the first time that you fought them?"

"No, Your Grace."

"That must have been thrilling." The Viscount said, and there was no mistaking the excitement and envy in his voice.

"When I was a child, I dreamed of fighting goblins, but I have not had the opportunity.

"My sister often needs me to stay at her side, and the lands around Nuln are quite civilised, and I have not yet had the opportunity to cross blades with them. All I have here are training partners and…other activities." Jon was unsure what activities Viscount Leos was discussing, and something inside him prevented him from asking.

For a moment, he found his dinner companion's hunger for battle disturbing, but after a moment, it passed. It reminded him of when he had been young and dreamed of being Aemon the Dragon knight or Sir Ryam Redwyne. When he and Robb had played at being those heroes and others, they had fought innumerable battles against endless hordes of imaginary foes; it seemed that the Viscount was no different. From how he had walked, Jon guessed that he was already a trained swordsman and was eager to demonstrate his skill. Jon supposed that the Viscount was proud of his abilities and keen to prove his worth in battle like many young men. Jon supposed that he had been like that at one point, and he wondered how the man would react when he inevitably learned what battle and war were truly like. Jon had to suppress a chuckle as he realised, he was thinking as an old veteran regarding a young recruit, even though he was the younger of the two.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, with Jon engaged in conversations which did not interest him with people whom he did not remember while eating from the endless array of rich foods, and by the end, Jon felt that his stomach would burst, even though he had done his best not to overeat. He was, however, pleased to note that, though he was a little tipsy from the wine, his mind was still clear, and he was able to move to the carriage when the evening, at last, came to an end without drunkenly staggering there, unlike more than a few of the other guests. Once he had helped Margaery into the carriage and entered himself, he felt his whole body unwinding and let out a deep sigh. Looked up, embarrassed, to see Margaery politely ignoring it. After a moment, she turned to him and smiled.

"Well, I am pleased that the night went so well." Jon was momentarily unsure what she was talking about, but then he remembered.

"Congratulations on getting the countess to agree to send a patrol." Margaery smiled again.

"I have had a great deal of experience dealing with stubborn nobles and monarchs. If you try to force them to do something which they do not wish to do, they will only dig their heels in and become even more obstinate. You have to get them to do what you want by showing them how doing so will benefit them." As she said this, Jon remembered something else.

"Who were you pointing at, and why did the countess seem so pleased?" Margaery gave him a conspiratorial smile.

"The man I was pointing at was the Baron Herman von Hermal of the von Hermal family.

"I learned from one of my dancing partners that the Baron has become unbearably dull, and the countess has tired of him. A fact which I am sure was not helped by the fact that the Baron's family was one of those who oppressed the countess's elevation to the title of Elector Countess, and I fear that she is a woman who holds a grudge. Thus, by endorsing the expedition, she not only silences the complaints of her people, at least that is what she thinks, but she also gets rid of a man who both bores her and is a political enemy." She paused, and a thoughtful look came to her face.

"Also, though I am not sure if the countess has thought of this, there is another potential gain route for her." Jon gave her a questioning look, and she continued.

"If he does find goblins, or any other foe for that matter and successfully defeats them, then he will return to Nuln a hero, boosting his prestige and his family's standing. That may not be her intent, but if that were to occur, then the countess would swiftly remind him that it was on her orders that he obtained this new-found glory. Thus, she could turn an old enemy into a new ally, strengthening her position." Jon had doubts about whether or not the countess had thought of that; she did not strike him as such a thorough woman, but he silently acknowledged that he could be wrong and held his piece.

The days passed, seeming to blur together. Margaery called upon the countess and various nobles and guild leaders on her mission from Princess Belladonna. Often, the nobles were at court, so she and Jon were often there, and she did indeed get to see all the art that she wanted as she and Jon became acquainted with the workings of the Nuln court. Though Jon had never had much interest in politics, having known his whole life that it would be Robb, not he, who would inherit the title of Warden of the North, now he found that he had to learn and quickly. He separated the nobles and guild members into several groups as time passed.

The first of these groups were those he considered little more than sycophants. Men and women were only interested in their power and wealth and would support any cause that would line their pockets and just as willingly desert any cause which failed to give them what they wanted. Jon found that he disliked the many in this group. They made him think too much of the Boltons and Frey's and how they had betrayed Robb.

The second group consisted of those who were willing and, in a few cases, even eager to do business with the Princess and the other rulers of Tilea and Estalia if they had the money to pay for the weapons they wished to purchase. This feeling of generosity was not motivated by any sympathy or support for the Princess but merely a desire for greater profits. Many of those within this group were merchants and guild members who were wealthy enough that even the countess, whom Jon soon learned had little time for those not of noble birth, at least tolerated them, which only left many of them hungry for more. They were willing to sell to anyone and did not care what their motives were. Jon found it hard to feel any gratitude for them, but at least they were mostly consistent and were more reliable for the first group.

The third group contained those against selling large quantities of arms to the Princess or any other foreign power. Some even seemed reluctant to sell to other parts of the Empire. There were several reasons for them taking this stance. Some were reluctant to do so out of concern that, at some point, Wissenland and Pavona may come into conflict, though even the proponents of concern seemed to believe such a conflict was unlikely. A more common concern involved the threat of the North. While the danger was still nebulous, some at the countess's court believed that the threat necessitated them keeping their arms for themselves or at the least keeping them within the Empire. Jon found that, while they opposed Margaery's mission, he had more respect for this group. They had, or at least professed to have, the good of their realm at heart.

Despite his dislike of many of them, Jon found himself frequently interacting with them. It was clear that the countess found Margaery amusing, and they spent a great deal of time together, either viewing the palace's extensive collection of artwork or discussing various Estalian and Tilean poets, artists and philosophers. All at the court saw this and attempted to use it to their advantage. Members of the first group made cautious approaches to her in an attempt to learn her intentions and manoeuvre to gain her favour. Several bolder ones hinted that should Margaery assist them in their various political schemes, they would be willing to help her obtain the arms she had been sent to get.

The second group behaved in much the same way, except that they were more assertive. Also, in lieu of political favours, some merely offered large sums of money. Some of the subtler members of the group tried to secure Margaery's favour by offering to aid her and offering her various pieces of artwork. These offended and annoyed Jon; while Margaery found them amusing, they were at least more tolerable than the isolationist faction.

While being outwardly polite at court, it was clear that they saw Margaery as a threat and sought to remove her. While they abstained from actual violence, though both Ezio and Sbaraglia, who had both recovered, assured Jon that that would be a distinct possibility back in their homeland, and it might become the case here if their opponents became desperate enough, they moved against her in other ways. Some spoke openly against selling arms abroad, while others tried different approaches. They lashed out with barbed comments and subtle insults to make her lose the countess's favour. One of them, an elderly matron of the von Steuben family, brought her young nephew to court to use him to distract the Countess from Margaery. Jon was unsure whether to be annoyed or amused by the attempt, though he did feel sorry for the young man when his efforts failed, and he was subjected to the full mockery by the whole court. Margaery informed Jon that the countess knew of all the groups and their efforts and found their antics amusing. Indeed, one of the reasons that Margaery retained the countess's favours was that her mere presence provided the countess with amusement. The countess herself was a source of contradiction and confusion to Jon.

Often, she reminded Jon of Queen Cersi when he first saw her here at Winterfell. The Queen had struck him as beautiful but fake, and the countess seemed the same way. She liked clothes, jewels, parties, and all the pleasures of being one of the most powerful nobles in the Empire. Jon had never seen her wear the same clothing twice, and she seemed to go through lovers with a speed Jon was sure Tyrion would have envied. The countess seemed to have no interest in ruling, leaving all affairs of state she could to court officials. Margaery had informed him that she had nearly not gotten the title and had only gotten it with the aid of the emperor. To Jon, it seemed that, having won it, she had lost interest in it, save for the power and pleasures that it provided her. Jon was sure Stannis would have held her in contempt, seeing her only as a vain and foolish woman, and Jon himself felt a great deal of dislike for her as well. Yet, she was also more than that.

Though some tried to involve Jon in their games, as they did with Margaery, most dismissed Jon as a mere bodyguard who would do as Margaery told him. This allowed Jon to act as an outside observer and witness everything happening. Though he could not see everything nor understand everything he saw, he could see the countess. While he was sure much went on which she did not know of, what she did know of, she was always quick to turn it to her advantage. Jon could not decide if she was a foolish woman with flashes of insight or was more intelligent than she let people see. Nor was that the only aspect of the countess which confused Jon, the way the people of the court, whatever their faction, were seemingly all loyal to the countess. Not merely the fealty all bannermen gave their liege-lord, but a seeming personal devotion. Since his arrival, Jon had seen more than a few nobles at the countess's court who would happily stab one another in the back in the name of advancement; yet, as far as he could see, none would lift a finger against the countess.

Jon could not understand why, no matter how hard he tried, the cause eluded him. His father's bannermen had been just as loyal, and it had also seemed the same for Robb.

"Until they were not." Jon thought bitterly, imagining the Frey's and the Boltons.

But getting back to the Countess, Jon did not see how that could apply to her. Unlike Eddard and Robb, the Countess had not, as far as Jon could see, done anything to earn that loyalty. While her father had been the count before her, Jon had not heard of the man doing anything that the people should be loyal to her in honour of her father's memory. As he considered it, a horrible thought occurred to him.

He remembered how Carmilla had been able to control the minds of the men; could the countess be doing so as well?

Jon had seen the countess in the daylight several times, so he knew that she was not a vampire, but that did not mean that she was not using the magic of some sort to gain the same result. He wished that Ingfried was here so he could speak with her on the topic. He tried to dismiss the idea as absurd and mostly managed to convince himself of that. Yet he could not quite shake the thought, and it made him uneasy.

Then there was her brother.

It had not taken Jon long to learn of the Viscount's fearsome reputation. It seemed that he had killed several people in duels over insults directed at the countess, real or perceived. So menacing was he that Jon had seen more than one courtier move out of the young man's way when he passed, their expressions suggesting more fear than respect. Leos clearly noticed this, and it seemed to amuse him, though he was rarely anything but courteous when he spoke to people. Jon found that he was both wary of the Viscount and, like his sister, experiencing feelings of dislike. The strange thing was that Jon could not even explain why that was the case. There was just something…wrong with the man, which set Jon on edge whenever the two were near each other. The Viscount did not help the situation with his behaviour.

He had invited Jon to spare with him, and Jon soon saw that the man's reputation was well-earned. He was fast and surprisingly strong despite his slight build. The only reason Jon could hold his own was due to his greater experience; for a while, the Viscount had trained to duel; Jon had trained to fight and had done so outside of a duelling hall. He also had the advantage that the Viscount had graciously agreed to spare with longswords when it was clear that he favoured the rapier. Had they actually been fighting, Jon could have won using underhanded tactics; as it was, he held back because they were only sparing and not fighting to the death. In the end, Jon had been bested when the Viscount feigned a thrust at Jon's chest and then swept his right leg out from under him, dropping Jon on the floor. Surprisingly, the other man had been magnanimous in victory, extending a hand to help Jon up.

"You fought well, Sir." Jon smiled back.

"Not as well as you, Your Grace."

"Though better than goblins, I would wager." The Viscount said, holding on to Jon's hand slightly longer than necessary and that it made Jon somewhat uncomfortable.

"You must tell me of that battle sometime." Jon had later obliged him, though as he had spoken, it made him uneasy. The Viscount had gotten a disturbing expression on his face when Jon described the killing. He had looked excited, almost aroused by Jon's description of the blood and bodies.

Had the Viscount been younger, Jon would have believed it to be merely a boy's lack of understanding of the horrors of war. However, knowing that the Viscount had fought and won several duels, Jon came to believe that the other man was of the sort who enjoyed blood and death. There were some like that in the Watch, and Jon would have preferred most of them to be hanging from a tree than fighting beside him. It had been then that Jon began to be wary of the Viscount. It was not helped by the fact that several times, Jon saw the Viscount giving him speculative looks that he had only seen men give to women before, and he found himself trying to avoid the countess's brother.

Margaery provided him with several pleasurable escapes. One of the courtiers, to win her support, had presented her with a matched pair of hunting hawks, and she and Jon often rode out to the lands surrounding the city to fly them. Hawking had never been Jon's favourite pastime, but Margaery enjoyed it, and Jon was grateful for an occasional excuse to get away from the court, though it proved to be another reason to be wary of the Viscount. When Jon had politely declined to spare with the other man after already agreeing to hawk with Margaery, an ugly look had passed over the noble's face, a look of anger and what could only be jealousy. It had only been there briefly, but Jon had seen it. When they hawked, Margaery seemed to undergo a change.

Jon's father had never cared much for the politics and intrigues of the southern courts, and that dislike had passed on to his sons, and it was a dislike which Jon still harboured. However, he had seen from his father and brother's fate that neglecting them was tantamount to ignoring an enemy during a sword fight. Margaery clearly understood this as well and conducted herself accordingly. Jon had observed her at court to learn how to handle them, and he had been amazed and impressed by what he had seen. Margaery not only survived there, but she thrived. While he doubted that she had ever held a weapon, Margaery moved amongst the various courtiers like a skilled swordsman surrounded by foes. She flattered one to gain their cooperation and then gained the support of the first's rival as well by making vague statements while rarely actually promising anything of substance. She took hidden insults directed at her, which would have angered Jon had they been directed at him, and deftly parried them back towards the person who had aimed the insult at her to begin with. A smile won an ally, and a flirtatious comment split up alliances. Alone, however, she was different.

She was more open, and her friendliness seemed genuine. To Jon, it was like she was a warrior who had left the battlefield and could relax. She also seemed able to show a side of her that she could not show to the court. The kinder side of her. Jon escorted her when she went to the temple of Shallya to see the girls from the village, taking with her some treats which her new cook had made. If he were being honest, Jon had had to suppress slight feelings of suspicion and unease when they arrived at the abbey due to memories of the last time he had met or thought he had met, a priestess of the goddess. The girls had been doing well and were quite happy. Jon would not be surprised if, in the future, they decided to remain at the abbey and become priestesses themselves.

Watching the way Margaery interacted with the girls and with others, Jon found himself growing more and more fond of her, and he greatly enjoyed the time he spent with her. At times, when he slept, she appeared in his dreams, as Ingfried had done in the past. He began to find this disturbing. Not only was he a man of the Watch, but she was a married woman. He also felt that to have feelings for her would be a betrayal, not only of his vows but also of Ygritte. The breaking of his vows with the Wildling woman had been part of a ruse; at least, he told himself that at times.

Nevertheless, he had loved her; he could confess that in the privacy of his own mind if nowhere else, and he felt that having feelings for another woman would be a betrayal of her. Conversely, he also felt that he was betraying Ingfried as well. He was unsure if he loved her, but he knew he did not wish to hurt her. Despite these feelings, he could not help but enjoy Margaery's company.

Not all the people with whom he interacted were so pleasant.

On several occasions while at court, Jon saw the tall, thin man he had seen glaring at him when they first came to court. The man was not always looking at him, but when he was, it was always a mixture of suspicion and dislike. Jon also noticed that many of the other people seemed to be afraid of him. Where he walked, people went out of their way to get out of his. His sharp look would cause laughter to end and people to nervously fall silent. Whoever he was, he was a man who clearly wielded considerable power. Jon had learned from his brother's fate and was determined not to leave himself vulnerable to a potential attack. He acted. It did not take him long to know who the man was, and what he learned was not encouraging.

The man's name was Fritz von Halstadt, and he was the head of the countess's secret police. Jon had thought that the head of a group of secret enforcers would also be secret, but it seemed that some things came out despite efforts to hide them. Of greater concern was the man himself. It was said that he was ruthless, cruel and driven by an intense devotion to the countess. Strangely, for a Sigmarite, he also had a strong alliance with the Knights of the White Wolf, an order of knights dedicated to Ulric, and they provided him with a strong bodyguard. Jon was greatly disturbed, both by the fact that such an organisation would exist and by the fact that it appeared that he and Margaery had earned the enmity of its leader, though, for the life of him, Jon could not think of what they had done to earn that ire. Then, one day, everything changed.

They were again at court, and all appeared to be the same as usual, but something was different. Jon was unsure what was different but was convinced that something was. As he walked about, he noted that many people seemed happier than usual. No, that was not right; they were not pleased; they were relieved, as if some threat had passed and spared them. As he tried to determine what caused this, someone laughed behind him, and an all-too-familiar word was spoken, which cut through all the conversations around him and sent a spike of ice down his back.

"Skaven!"

Jon turned around and found the source of the commotion. There was a group of two men and three women, all of them appearing to be slightly the worse for drink, though it was still relatively early in the day. One of the men seemed to be the centre of attention and was retelling a story the others found amusing. Forcing a calm look on his face, Jon approached them. After waiting for an opening, he gave a polite cough.

"Pardon me, but could you tell me what you find so amusing." Some might have considered his interruption rude, but the drink had lowered their sensitivity to such things, and the man clearly enjoyed letting people know that he knew something that others did not.

"Have you not heard, my lad? The old bastard von Halstadt is dead!" Jon did not like being referred to as 'lad'; the man could not be more than a few years older than him, but he ignored that at the shocking news of von Halstadt's death. He had not cared for the man, but it was surprising that such a powerful man should be suddenly killed.

"But, what of the White Wolves guarding him?" That was the right thing to say as the man grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially.

"That is the thing. They were on guard, and they all swore that none saw anything. Yet somehow, someone, or something, got through and not only killed von Halstadt but also burned down his house right under the Wolves' noses. One of the women, who appeared to be slightly more intoxicated than the others, gave a too-loud giggle and playfully struck the man's arm.

"Tell him about the Skaven Hans!" This was apparently another cause for humour for the group because they all broke into chuckles. After a moment, Hans recovered himself and began to speak.

"I have a cousin who knows an officer in the City Watch.

"He told my cousin two men, well I think that one of them was a Dwarf actually; anyway, the two accomplished the truly impressive feat getting thrown out of the sewerjacks. It seems that they were ranting about Skaven in the sewers." He gave another laugh.

"Who knows, maybe the Skaven got von Halstadt and good riddance if they did!" The others laughed, and several cheered. Jon politely thanked them and withdrew, his mind whirling.

Were the Skaven here, and if they were, what were they planning? Looking around him, he saw no one seemed to share his concern. Indeed, many acted as if they had no concern at all. At that moment, he saw Margaery talking with a group of women. So anxious was he to speak to her that he barely noticed the look one of them was giving him. He hastily made excuses and moved Margaery to a spot where they could talk without being overheard. Once there, he informed her of what he had heard. She paled at the news, and her breath seemed to Catch in her throat.

"By the Lady, is nowhere safe?!"

"I fear not, though I am somewhat confused by the people here. They treat it all as if they were a mere jest." Margaery nodded grimly.

"I fear that many here in the Empire do not fear the Ratmen. Indeed, many here do not even believe that they exist, or if they did exist, then they do so no longer." Jon suppressed a groan of frustration. The whole thing made him think back to the Wall and his and Lord Mormont's seemingly endless and unsuccessful efforts to warn the rest of Westeros of the threat in the Far North. He shook his head to chase away the thoughts. He had sufficient troubles in the here and now.

"So, what do we do?" She thought for a moment and seemed to come to a decision.

"If they are up to something, we must warn people." Jon opened his mouth to state that they would not be believed. He certainly doubted the countess would be moved from her pleasures by vague warnings. Before he could say anything, however, Margaery cut him off.

"I know. Unless we have proof, we shall accomplish nothing but make ourselves appear to be fools and lose all the standing we have gained." She looked like she would start thinking again, but now Jon spoke.

"We cannot wait for proof to come to us. I will go myself and see if I can find proof." As he spoke, a feeling of pleasure came over him. After his time at court, he found that simply acting appealed to him greatly.

"How will you do that?" Margaery asked.

"I will go to the Watch House and see if I can lean where these to sewerjacks went after being discharged. If they have seen the Skaven, they may have proof of what they were speaking of, and then we can present them to the countess."

Later that day, Jon left the palace and entered the city. The countess was attending a play, and Margaery was accompanying her. She had made excuses to the Countess for Jon, claiming that he was feeling unwell and could not accompany them. Jon would learn what he could, be back by morning, and claim to have recovered. Jon had replaced his court clothing with simpler attire, which he hoped would cause him to go unnoticed. The only thing which might give him away was his sword, which anyone could see was far finer than a common man could afford. He had considered leaving it behind, but ultimately, he had chosen to bring it with him.

He had a vague idea of where the Watch House was, but he had trouble locating it. The task was made more difficult because it appeared to be a market day or something like that, and the streets were crowded, and he had a hard time making his way through. Jon made his way through the crowds for some time, at times having to backtrack, when he suddenly went stiff. He had not been ranging for some time, but the instincts which he had developed had not deserted him.

He was being followed.

He did not look back to see who it was; it was unlikely that he could spot his followers, and it would only warn them. Instead, he took another approach. He continued along as if he were unaware of his pursuer, and then he stopped and made it seem as if he saw something. He then dashed ahead, giving the impression that he was pursuing someone. He ran through the crowd, pushing several people out of the way, ignoring the shouts and curses which followed him. Once he rounded a corner, he ducked into an alleyway, hid behind some barrels, and waited. He did not have to wait long.

A figure soon came around the corner at a run. He paused near the mouth of the alley and looked about, clearly looking for something or someone, and Jon guessed that he was what the man was looking for. Moving swiftly, Jon came up behind the man. The man must have heard him coming because he began to turn towards him. Before he could, Jon was on him. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and pulled him into the alley. As he did so, he twisted the man and threw him, so his back hit the Wall facing Jon. Before the man could recover, Jon grabbed the man's collar with one hand while he drew his knife with the other and held it to the man's throat.

"Who are you, and why are you following me?!" Jon demanded.

The man did not reply, but Jon felt something press into his stomach and heard a clicking sound. Looking down, Jon saw that the man had cocked a pistol and was pressing it into his stomach. At last, the man spoke.

"I am Karl Buchman, ordained Witch Hunter of Sigmar, and if you value your life, boy, then you will unhand me and answer my questions."