The Raven's Plan
Author's Notes: So we've reached Chapter 50, wow, that's a first for me! :) As always, Read and Enjoy! And Don't forget to Review! :D
Rating: M; it's Game of Thrones, anything less is not Game of thrones :D
Summary: The Second War for the Dawn is over, the Others have won. All that is left is one insane plan.
Chapter 50 Judgement
Jon Targaryen
Jon was in awe of his father, he had been on the campaign trail before, Wights running on their heels as they fled down South the first time around, but they'd been much fewer and still hadn't moved with the speed that father had moved them from the Wall to Winterfell.
A few plans and ravens were released from Castle Black, leading them back to Winterfell in record time. Jon was still younger, younger still after their return, and he was still exhausted after their trip.
The discussion to see who would stay at the Wall and who would accompany them down south had taken more time than the time it had taken for father to make their preparations.
So now here they were, dismounting in the main courtyard of Winterfell. Grooms and servants were spread out around them, waiting to help them.
He smiled as he saw Ser Davos and Sansa were waiting for them. He was glad to finally see Ser Davos, the old smuggler was a stabilising presence. He was level headed and practical, and he had kept Jon from making some dumb mistakes along the way.
In addition, he might be able to speak to father and reassure him about some of the changes. Father had always respected Davos despite his low born origins, unlike so many others.
Jon dismounted and handed his reins off to one of the waiting grooms. He walked towards them and greeted them.
"Sansa. Ser Davos, it's good to see you," he started happily.
"You as well your grace, it is good to be here," Davos responded with a nod, "Especially without the army of the dead snapping at our heels," he finished pointedly.
Jon snorted, "I don't think you'll find anyone to disagree about that."
Davos smiled ruefully back.
"We have a lot to talk about," Sansa stated ominously.
Jon gave her a look before sighing, "Really? More bad news?"
Sansa wasn't fazed, "Some bad news, some more interesting…and some good news," she finished lightly.
Jon frowned, "Allllright…that's surprising."
Footsteps came from behind him, he turned and found father and Robb walking up to them.
As they approached, Father stared at Davos's Hand of the King pin, "My Lord Hand," he greeted evenly.
Davos waved the honorific away, "It's not necessary Lord Stark. We don't need to stand on ceremony, Davos is fine," he assured him. He turned to Robb and nodded in greeting, "Lord Robb."
"Ser Davos," Robb returned the greeting respectfully.
"So what news?" Jon asked for clarification.
"Among other things, Uncle Edmure's gift arrived. He sent us Lothar and Olyvar Frey," Sansa explained smugly.
Jon started and looked back at Robb, who was suddenly very pale now, "That's interesting," he stated even as he winced at the number of headaches judging them would probably bring him. He pushed it aside, there were much more important things he had to deal with first.
"That's one way to interpret it," Sansa stated with a raised eyebrow.
He turned to the others, "Let's get inside, apparently Sansa has more news for us," Jon stated, "and more importantly, I think we all would like a warm hearth, soft chairs and something warm to drink."
"That can be arranged," Sansa gestured for the servants and waved them towards the door, "please follow me, we can discuss everything inside." She turned and led the way.
Jon followed in her wake, wondering what else she was going to spring on him.
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Robb Stark
Jon was moving inside along with the others, but Robb's feet seemed to have become nailed to the ground.
He felt numb all over.
Lothar Frey was in Winterfell. He was a prisoner here. Under their control.
Robb's mind wasn't working. It had focused on one memory. The most painful of all his memories. The Rains of Castamere and then Lothar coming at Talisa. The blade glinting in the candle lit hall. Talisa'a scream of shock…and then…and then…blood and pain.
He took a deep agonising breath trying to shake the memory from his head, but it was engraved…carved in blood and burned permanently into his mind's eye in the most painful manner possible.
He knew that he was safe now. That Talisa was safe as well now-wherever she was. Probably far away from him and probably as far away from Westeros as it was possible to get.
He felt Grey Wind nuzzling at his feet and legs in concern. He reached down and scratched the direwolf's head, trying to reassure him, no matter the unsettled nature of his own mind now.
He felt his feet moving, he was still sore from their rough traveling from the Wall. But everything was numb now. The soreness existed, but it didn't bother him any more now.
He reached the threshold of Winterfell and entered. Jon and the others had hurried ahead of him, he could hear their voices further ahead, and getting fainter as Robb hesitated at the threshold of the inner halls of Winterfell.
It was hard to think. What did he want to do?
It took him a moment, but he realised he needed to lay eyes on the traitors. No…on Lothar.
The dungeon. Yes, the dungeon. That is where he would find Lothar, he may have been a noble, but no one in the north would ever give them the liberties that a highborn prisoner should be accorded.
He quickened his pace and made his way to the dungeons. During his father's time as Lord of Winterfell, there hadn't been much use for them. Neither he nor his siblings had visited them extensively, except to play on occasion.
He reached the doorway down to the dungeons and entered with little hesitation. The dungeons were colder than the rest of Winterfell. A quirk of Winterfell, built by Bran the Builder, the main castle was renowned for the warmth in the walls that came from the hot springs under the castle. The dungeons on the other hand were cold and damp, simply stepping past the doors down to the dungeons found Robb accosted by a bitter cold.
Today of all days he paid it no heed. His emotions kept him warm. Boiling even. With each step down into the dungeons proper, he could feel his anger and rage rising.
"My Lord!" a voice called out to him in surprise from ahead.
Robb looked to the voice, it was one of the guards
"Where are the Freys? Where is Lothar Frey?" his tone held no room for arguing.
The guard nodded and jumped to obey, "This way, my Lord, those filthy traitors are here," he stated with derision.
The dungeons were better lit than Robb remembered. Nearly all of the cells were empty as they passed. Robb frowned as he noticed an old man wearing what seemed to be a maester's robe in one of the cells. The man seemed maddingly familiar. Robb paid it no heed. It would come to him later.
The man saw him and smiled, rising to his feet and bowing deeply. He looked every bit the part of a maester. Or a kindly grandfather. Not that Robb had much experience with grandparents. He'd never met any of his, from either side of his family.
Why was he here in the dungeons? He didn't look that dangerous…
Robb shook his head and cast this new mystery to the side.
Nothing mattered now, nothing but seeing the Freys now. But seeing Lothar Frey.
He walked past the man's cell, without another thought.
"They're over there my lord," the guard pointed to another cell a couple more cells down.
His eye sight narrowed and the world seemed to dim around him. His blood was roaring in his ears again. A constant rush, like the noise from a fast river was all he could hear in this moment.
There was a rotten smell here. The guards and servants hadn't been taking good care of this part of the dungeons. A couple more steps and he could see dark figures, each one in a separate cell.
The figures inside turned towards them as they approached. Robb and the guard passed the first cell and the low light illuminated the prisoner's face.
"Olyvar," Robb spat in disgust.
Olyvar's eyes widened, "Your Grace…" he whispered in trepidation. He had been sitting in a corner of his cell, now he jumped up in a panic, "Please! I didn't betray you! They didn't tell me what they had planned! They locked me up and kept me from warning you! I was loyal!" he shouted, begging, and declaring his loyalty. His face was contorted with emotion; regret and grief were the foremost apparent.
Robb clenched his fists and ignored Olyvar and his words, he'd deal with him later, Lothar was who he wanted now. He walked past his disloyal squire.
In the other cell, Robb could see Lothar now. His eyes were wide, Robb could see so much white, it almost appeared that Lothar's eyes were all white. He trembled in fear- it wasn't because of the cold of the dungeons, Robb knew it. He could practically smell the fear.
By his side, Grey Wind started to growl loudly.
Lothar actually whimpered in response.
"Open the cell," he commanded firmly, his eyes not even leaving Lothar.
"My lord?" the guard asked unsure.
"Open it!" he roared.
The guard yelped and practically jumped to obey. The keys clinked in his hands as he fumbled to open the cell.
The guard darted back out of Robb's way after he opened the door. Robb paid him no more attention and stepped into the cell. He had eyes only for Lothar Frey.
Closer, Lothar looked even more pathetic and helpless.
"You," Robb growled angrily. "You murdered my wife. You murdered my son."
"Mercy, my Lord, I was just doing what my father commanded me to do!" Lothar begged miserably, his eyes wild with terror. He was shaking now.
Rage flooded into Robb, mercy? This murdering piece of shit gave him excuses, wanted mercy? Lothar had always been a coward. His father's position had protected him before, his lameness kept him from battles…but now there would be a reckoning.
"You murder my son, my wife, and expect mercy?!" Robb roared furiously. He stepped forward and kicked Lothar in the face with all his strength, laying the bastard out flat on his back.
Robb felt a very satisfying crunch under his foot.
He could taste Lothar's fear now. The Frey dragged himself back away from Robb, blood was streaming from his nose now. It looked like Robb had broken his nose.
Grey Wind was growling loudly now, stalking towards the captive traitorous Frey.
Lothar yelped as the direwolf approached him. Scrambling further back, panic in his eyes and every movement.
Grey Wind began barking menacingly at Lothar, getting closer and closer. His ears were down and his lips pulled back showing off all of his teeth to the panicking Frey.
And then with a suddenness, Grey Wind pounced.
Lothar screamed, fear and pain filled his voice, and Robb could practically feel the blood on his lips. The warm fluid felt sweet.
Grey Wind showed no mercy. Lothar deserved no mercy.
Robb stood there and watched as Grey Wind ripped Lothar apart, the screams turning into gurgles far quicker than Robb expected or wanted.
The gurgling disappeared quickly leaving behind only silence.
Grey Wind stepped away from what was left of Lothar, licking at his chops, blood was smeared along his muzzle. He came to sit at Robb's feet looking up at him with expectant eyes.
There was a lightness in Robb now, he couldn't understand it. He frowned and tried to understand. He looked down at the remains. The old memories seemed lighter now. His Uncle had already punished all the others involved.
He didn't know how long he stood there lost in thought…
"Robb!" came his father's shocked voice from behind him.
Robb turned and at the end of the hall, his father stood staring in disbelief and shock at the bloody remains of Lothar Frey and Grey Wind sitting next to him with a bloody muzzle.
Jon, Ser Davos, Sansa and Arya stood with their father. Each had very different expressions on their faces.
Sansa and Arya seemed gleeful. Jon's face was resigned, and Ser Davos was grimacing unhappily.
Inside, Robb didn't care. He looked back at Lothar's remains and felt at peace with what he'd done.
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Ned Stark
The scene was bloody and brutal, far beyond anything he had ever expected from Robb. The barbarity of it all was not something he'd taught him. Or anyone in Winterfell had taught him.
"What have you done?!" he demanded of Robb.
Robb blinked at him, almost like he was confused by the words.
"I asked you a question, Robb!" he thundered in anger.
Robb blinked at him again and then looked between Lothar's remains and Ned, "I killed him," he finally answered.
Arya came up to Robb with a proud look on her face as she patted his shoulder, "See killing Freys is fun," she stated with an innocent smile.
Father glared at her disapprovingly.
"And they deserve it!" she retorted, glaring back at him and not backing down.
Ned's nose flared in anger, he ignored her for now, turning abc to Robb, "And you think this was just? You are not a king anymore, he was not yours to judge. You had no right to kill him," he waved an angry hand at the remains, "Especially not in such a manner!"
Ned was surprised when Robb's eyes narrowed in anger
"No right? NO Right?!" Robb roared back at him. "He murdered Talisa! He murdered my son! He was mine to deal with as I please!"
Ned was taken aback, nonplussed, Robb had never argued with him like this, had never screamed back at him in such a manner.
A hand grabbed Ned's shoulder and pulled him back a step, he looked and was surprised to see it was Jon, "Jon-"
"It's done. It's finished," commanded Jon firmly. His lips were thin and he looked unhappy.
Ned clamped down on an angry retort, remembering in time that Jon just wasn't his son anymore, he was his sworn King now, "Your Grace…"
Jon stopped him with a gesture and turned to speak with Robb, "Get out of the dungeon," he commanded with his full authority.
Robb blinked at him and made to speak, but Jon's face darkened.
"Now."
Robb must have seen something in Jon's face. His mouth snapped close with a click. He nodded and without another word walked out with Grey Wind closely on his heels.
Ned stared as his son walked away, he looked to Jon, after a moment and he spoke, "Jon this is-"
"-Finished," stated Jon interrupting him, he turned to the nearest guard, "burn the body. Come along father, we still have much to discuss-but not this. Lothar Frey is dead and gone. No one will care how he died. Or who killed him."
Ned tried to argue, "I did not raise him in this manner!"
Jon sighed mournfully, "No you didn't. Fate has changed us all."
Ned looked away, hearing Howland's words from back on the trail thrown back at him. They were true then, and even truer now.
He felt another part of him crumble and die, "As you say, your Grace," he acquiesced grimly.
Everything had changed, and every day he hated it more and more.
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Jon Targaryen
Jon frowned, it was a mess…just not as big a mess as father imagined it to be. Technically, Lothar Frey didn't matter. Everyone in the North and Riverlands would gladly dance on his grave. Robb would face no punishment for this. Jon mentally snorted, he could name a number of people who would congratulate Robb on it. Hells, Arya already had.
Sansa was smiling gleefully. He knew she would not see this situation as a mess or even an issue that needs to be dealt with.
Robb getting a reputation for brutality was one of her first suggestions for overcoming Robb's mistakes; perceived and real, in the War of Five Kings.
Arya's opinion of the matter was clear to everyone with eyes. More dead Freys was a thing to be celebrated. Not that he could blame her. A part of him agreed with her. Even if Robb's manner of execution did not.
Ser Davos had a pinched look on his face but Jon doubted he'd make much of an issue of this either.
He let out a long suffering sigh, "We will speak more in the Solar. Not now. Not here," Jon commanded, rubbing at his temple. They didn't need any more problems. There was more than enough already.
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Father's solar was not as crowded as expected, between him, his siblings, his father, Ser Davos and Lady Stark. Surprisingly, maester Luwin was conspicuous with his absence.
"Lady Stark," Jon said gravely, greeting her.
Lady Catelyn swallowed, "You Grace," she curtsied.
A thousand things crossed Jon's mind to say to her, but he left it at that. What was past, was past. It was better for everyone if they had a new start.
He cast a look at her. She was pinched and held herself very stiff.
So a new start…if she allowed it, he thought idly.
He didn't take the chair behind father's desk. He turned and leant against the end of the desk and looked at the rest of his family and Ser Davos as they took places in the solar.
"It seems that we have a great deal to discuss," Jon stated evenly.
Father's face was dark, Sansa and Arya were still gleeful, Bran was there as well, his expression blank and unchanged as usual. Ser Davos was unhappy, but seemed accepting.
Lady Stark was looking at them, confusion on her face, that turned into concern at the look on father's face, but she remained silent.
Father looked like he wanted to speak, and Jon knew about what.
Jon held up his hand, "But I will begin," he declared.
He didn't say anything, he just unbelted his sword and held it up, he eased the blade out of the scabbard enough for them to see the smoky pattern on the metal that was characteristic of Valyrian steel.
Arya's eyes widened in surprise as she stared at the dragon hilt. Sansa stared as well for a moment before breaking out into a gleeful wolfish smile. He could practically read her mind. Blackfyre...the ultimate symbol of Targaryen power and here he was wielding it. She could use it to help secure their position politically. Symbols were powerful and none more so than the blade of Aegon the Conqueror.
"...and I have given Robb Dark Sister."
Arya was biting her lip now in excitement. He could practically see old memories of games played as children come to her mind, pretending to be the Dragon Knight or the Rogue Prince or Visenya came to his mind.
"Maester Aemon had both the blades for a very long time," Jon explained, "And now they are returned to me."
Sansa licked her lips, her eyes not leaving the glinting blade in his hands, "And you will put it to good use," she said confidently, she couldn't keep the glee from her voice.
"Well," began Ser Davos, "A King with a Valyrian steel blade is…helpful to our cause."
The others nodded. Jon resheathed the blade and lay it across the desk behind him.
"...but there is at least one issue we must speak of immediately," Davos took a deep breath, "We felt it best to speak face to face about it."
Jon frowned, "And this issue is?" he asked, disquieted.
Davos and Sansa shared a look, adding to Jon's disquiet.
"We received a messenger from Lord Hightower. A warning about a conspiracy against House Targaryen," Davos explained, "A very complicated and long standing Conspiracy."
And now Jon was concerned. He motioned for him to continue.
Fairly quickly, Davos began laying out the maester's long standing conspiracy against both House Targaryen and everything even remotely related to Magic.
Jon listened and stared at them. He looked between them seeking any sign that they were lying or japing.
"...the good news is that maester Luwin has never been a part of the conspiracy," Davos continued reassuring Jon, "and Lord Hightower has taken steps to round up all the traitors spread across the kingdoms. He has put a lot of heads on spikes in Oldtown."
Jon couldn't imagine maester Luwin betraying him, especially not after he died to save Bran and Rickon the first time around. He was very glad to hear that Luwin had no hand in this betrayal.
He turned to Bran, "You didn't see this?" he asked in disbelief.
Bran looked thoughtful, "I will look into it." He didn't say anything more, just stared back at Jon.
Jon sighed mentally and moved on, "So for the most part this has been dealt with?"
Davos nodded, "For the most part- yes."
"Good," Jon said, "let us continue…"
They continued to speak on matters both here and at the Wall. As expected, Sansa was unhappy with him when he explained about Ser Barristan and where he had sent him. Here in Westeros, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard at his side would have been such a strong symbol, almost as much as him having Blackfyre.
The matter of Qyburn came up.
"It kills me to say it, but he's actually been helpful," Davos remarked in disgust.
Jon frowned, "Truly?"
Sansa nodded, "Maester Luwin has spoken with him a number of times. He's commented on a number of things in the Citadel that confirms Lord Hightower's words against the maesters…and he's shared much of his knowledge as a healer with Luwin."
Jon looked doubtful, Qyburn had been Cersei's hand until the end.
"I realise all he's done, but for now, let us keep him close," Sansa recommended, "We can kill him at any time-if he tries to betray us."
Davos grimaced, "I want to disagree, your Grace…" he sighed, "But she's right."
Jon nodded dubiously, "So be it then. He lives…for now."
They continued speaking more, but nothing else was as unexpected as the maester conspiracy, and if all went to plan tomorrow they would be on the road again to claim the Iron Throne from Robert Baratheon. Hopefully with as little bloodshed as was possible. A part of wished for a bloodless campaign, but even he wasn't that naive.
The issue of what Robb had done was squashed by him completely. Father continued to show his displeasure, but controlled himself.
Jon wasn't going to do anything about Robb. Considering what Lothar had taken from Robb, Jon- and everyone else, would understand his reaction. Jon didn't expect anyone to raise any complaints. Though maybe a few would complain that Lothar died too quickly…but that wasn't really an issue.
Well, apart from father. Jon could see it now, the rigidity of thought in father that so many had complained about. But Jon wasn't about to let it affect anything.
The meeting began winding down and Jon could feel the tiredness seeping out of his bones and into the rest of him. Rest or food? Rest first and then food, he decided after a moment's thought.
Arya and Sansa were whispering together, they finished and both gave him a look. The look did not put him at ease.
"Just one last thing, we saw Ygritte in the courtyard- haven't met her yet though," Arya calmly stated.
Jon frowned at the non-sequitur, he didn't like the glint in her eye. He'd seen it in her eyes before, usually right before she sprang some prank on him or Robb.
"And?"
Sansa looked pensive, her lips pursed as she idly tapped her lips, "Having seen her, I have to ask Jon...you have noticed how much we look alike?"
Jon paused and frowned. He looked up at Sansa and stared at her for a long moment before his face reddened.
Father was frowning now, he looked between them in confusion.
"The red hair, the blue eyes?" Arya pointedly stated baiting him.
"...is there anything you care to share with me concerning this?" Sansa asked pointedly, daring him not to answer.
Jon squirmed uncomfortably, "No there isn't," he said through clenched teeth. He'd never actually noticed the resemblance…
Arya and Sansa exchanged another look before giggling, more like little girls than the grown women they actually were.
He glared at them, "It doesn't mean anything!"
That just set them off giggling again.
Father looked even more confused, before his eyes widened and he suddenly looked at Sansa concerned, like he was seeing her for the first time.
"I'm your King, you're not supposed to laugh at your king!" Jon declared.
It didn't help the situation with his sisters, who had apparently decided that now was a good time to regress back to childhood.
"Go…do something- anything," he commanded as he rose from his chair, "I'm going to get some rest before dinner."
Ser Davos was hiding a smile in his hand, doing his best not to laugh at his king.
Jon walked out without a backwards glance.
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Sansa Stark
It had been fun teasing Jon, growing up she'd never really done that after her mother had explained what a bastard was to her. Conspiring with Arya was still new for her, they'd been at odds with one another more than anything growing up. It made her feel good now, just two sisters teasing their big brother.
In all the madness, and the threats on the horizon, it felt good to do something so simple. And truth be told, Sansa couldn't remember the last time she'd giggled so.
But now, she was in the Great Hall and it was filled with Lords and their retainers enjoying one last meal before setting out South on the morrow. There was also a lot of Free Folk. Ones who would be accompanying Jon down South as well.
Father and Ser Davos sat to either side of Jon at the head of the Hall, the Greatjon and Lord Manderly were there as well. And so was Tormund. He and the Greatjon were spending most of the night growling at each other and exchanging insults. In a mock friendly manner. Jon and father kept glaring at them to keep them in line.
Lord Reed and Meera sat off to the side, they sat there away from everyone, by their own choice, mournfully sharing their meal together and remembering- mourning Jojen in their own way.
Sansa was walking around the Great Hall speaking and welcoming all. Gauging the reactions and temperaments of all assembled. Free Folk and Northern Lords all in one place- an impossibility once upon a time.
Which was just one of the main reasons that she was taking the time to walk and speak with so many, gauging their opinions and expectations.
For the most part, she hadn't discovered any issues or insulted Lords.
But now she was coming to the most problematic of the lords. She came to the lord's table.
"Lady Sansa," Lord Karstark rose and bowed with respect to her.
"Lord Karstark," she curtsied back, she gave him a warm smile, "It is good to see you here and with us, my lord. Lady Alys, good to see you again. Lord Harrion, good to meet you."
Lord Karstark's smile turned pained, as Harrion and Alys looked with wide eyes between them, "Of course we stand with you, my lady."
"Of course I did not doubt that, House Karstark is loyal," she paused pointedly and stressed the last word, "Unlike the Freys," she continued with disdain as she took a seat opposite Lord Karstark, "thankfully my uncle has since dealt with them. He was even considerate enough to send us a couple to judge. Lothar and Olyvar Frey."
"Is that so? Well, fuck the Freys. You don't break Guest Rites- not for anything!" Lord Karstark snorted in disgust, "So when is Ned executing these fuckers?"
"Lothar is already dead," Sansa revealed with a doubly satisfied smile.
"Ha, good riddance," he chuckled happily, taking a gulp from his mug of ale.
"...my brother Robb had Grey Wind tear him apart," Sansa added sweetly.
Lord Karstark choked on his ale and his face contorted into a variety of shapes and turned a number of different colours at her admission. He opened his mouth and closed it a number of times, before clearing his throat loudly.
Harrion and Alys were wide eyed and looking between their father and Sansa.
"In..indeed my Lady?" he swallowed noisily and cast a look towards Robb, and Sansa was gratified to see fear replacing the hate that was usually in them when he looked at Robb.
"So how are you enjoying Winterfell's hospitality?" she asked him, changing the subject guilelessly.
He turned back to her, still a little bewildered, "Uh…Lord Stark is generous…as always."
Sansa gave him a beatific smile, "Thank you, my lord."
She was enjoying his discomfort, Lord Karstark had been Robb's greatest critic- after Lord Bolton, but Bolton didn't matter any more. She would see to it that Robb's position as heir and future Lord of Winterfell would be secure. She'd make sure of it.
She reached forward and poured more ale into Lord Karstark's cup, "Please drink and eat my lord, tomorrow will be the start of a long journey," she said sweetly.
Lord Karstark smiled politely, and drank, before casting another concerned look towards the high table and Robb.
Yes indeed, all was progressing well. She smiled and began planning her next step.
Author's Notes: So back with a bang ;D :D Hope you all enjoyed this! :) Don't forget to comment! :D