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Chapter Text

cold....so cold.....

The meadow around the mountain spring was strewn with the crumpled bodies of soldiers and the wreckage of horse carcasses. On this icy autumn morn, the sun had not quite cleared the thick forest, yet an audience of ravens and their lesser brethren, the crows, eyed the feast laid before them.

The farmer stood in the deep shadows at the tree line and inwardly cursed the 30 or so dead men before him. If they had to fight and die, must it be in the only grazing meadow with clean water? A hard life in these unforgiving crags, caused the farmer to view the deceased men and their horses as just another obstacle to overcome in a lifetime of hardships, and now winter was nearly here.

The horse meat would be welcomed, much of it would be salvaged, and at least the cold would keep the corpses from rotting and spoiling the sweet-water springs. The farmer's sheep flock, his livelihood, was penned up near the homestead to keep them safe; both two-legged, and four-legged animals roamed these mountains and food had become scarce. This slaughter would attract both scavengers and predators if not cleaned up quickly.

The field before him was blanketed in almost a foot of snow. The tale of the battle was writ boldly upon the pristine white in loops and flourishes of dark red. All tracks came from the same edge of the forest and they must have met near the banks of the spring. It was clear that the larger force had tracked and overcome a smaller group of riders, probably when they had dismounted to drink and water their mounts.

Said melee must have happened sometime yesterday, because the clash had trodden down the snow, eventually churning it into mud slickened by life-blood. The temperature had been well below freezing for almost three days and the entire bloody morass had frozen into this grim tableau before him. Orland watched the carnage for signs of life, but all was still in dawn’s weak light. The severe cold was making the trees in the surrounding forest crack and pop loudly, he could see his breath and that of both his sons as they stood tight beside him.

"Who are they Da'?" asked his middle (now eldest) son Caleb after gazing at the broken corpses. The lad was no stranger to death, having lost his big brother and watching nature take her toll from the farm herds.

"I don't know son, perhaps one group fleeing another, soldiers chasing ruffians mayhap."

Orland sighed deeply and made his way towards the bodies. His two sons, aged eight and eleven, remained in place.

"Come along and stay close, this blood smell will draw in all manner of creature," Orland warned. He paused as those words caused both boys to rapidly crunch through the icy snow to him.

The farmer knew the carnage was not easy for his sons to see, but better to have them close at hand than standing alone near the dark forest. He had already lost the one son this year. As they got closer the dead men still looked like toy soldiers crushed and abandoned by a careless hand; or would have if not for all the blood. Toy soldiers didn't bleed or suffer as these men had. Most of the men died in small groups, tangled and frozen together in death. A few had left wide, bloody trails as they drug themselves away a yard or two to perish alone, slowly bleeding out and freezing at the same time. A flicker of movement caught Orland's eye; a dozen or so neighbors had come out of the tree line and were cautiously, carefully making their way towards him. He waited and let them catch up.

"A fine fuckin' mess this is!" groused Dru. He was a tall man wide of shoulders with a barrel chest and a head covered with thick black ringlets and a fine curly beard to match. Dru was a talented crafter at the forge and a good friend to have, but brash and a bit ill of temper at times. He was as hard as the iron and steel he hammered at on the anvil.

"Aye, but plenty of good horse meat for the taking" Orland replied.

A lean, older woman with a single thick braid of iron gray hair trudged down to them and stopped. She studied the contorted body closest to them for a moment, "We need to burn them all as soon as possible, certainly before the sun sets."

"Gevena is right" agreed Orland, "Those buried and not burned, or left for the crows, tend to come back these days. The last thing we need is a horde of witched soldiers turning up at our doors in the dark of night."

"Besides, the bastards will muck up the spring," noted Dru dryly.

Orland turned towards his friends and neighbors; "Listen, If a couple of people can start scavenging dry wood from the forest my boys will help, and we can build a big funeral pyre."

A couple of the women had already started skinning the nearest dead horse, peeling back the frozen hide to reveal the pale fat and dark red flesh beneath. Some of the meat would serve as dinner tonight, but none of it would be wasted. The rest would be fire cured to help them survive the dark days of winter.

Caleb, Alex, and a few adults headed to the closest patch of trees to gather dry wood to fuel a hot fire, snapping off dead branches from tree trunks and choosing seasoned downed limbs. As soon as they were out of sight, Orland walked to the closest body where it lay face down in the snow.

His friends followed, and Dru bent down and grabbed the corpse's arm. "He's frozen to the ground!" He exclaimed as he pulled, and with a nauseating crack, the stiff body broke free, then Dru flipped the dead man on his back.

Curious, Orland used his gloved hands to brush snow and ice from the corpse "Well- worn mail shirt and leather armor, nothing expensive, average height and weight, no sigil. This man could be a hedge knight or even a sell sword."

Dru frowned "Belly's been split open, this one died slow, not a good way to go, face down in the snow in agony."

Orland perused the battlefield before him once again. "Not a lot of color other than blood red, no pennants or banners, I see a lot of brown, gray, and other earth hued colors....no flashy armor or fanfare like a regular army. It seems that everyone here was travelling fast and light. It still looks like a small group fleeing with the larger force in pursuit."

More neighbors had gradually drifted in, and nearly two dozen men, women, and children stood and shivered in the chill. The sun had finally risen above the tree line and sunlight crept into the meadow inch by inch. It was still bloody cold though.

Since no one was moving, Orland suggested a strategy "We'll search the bodies and strip them of anything useful before burning them. Look for anything that might help us figure out who they are or what happened."

By now a fire was briskly burning on the slight, rocky rise in the meadow. More wood was being continually added by Orland's sons and the other neighbors. A routine soon developed, break a body free from the grip of the ice, drag it near the fire and remove the swords, knives, capes, cotes, gloves and boots. Anything useable was kept, and could mean the difference between life and death for some isolated family. Then the body was tossed on the blazing fire and even more tinder dry wood was placed atop the body. Most of the dead were frozen solid, their faces masked behind cloudy ice and bloodied snow.

Orland came upon eight or so men and a gray horse woven together in icy death. Dru soon joined him in prizing free the outermost bodies from the pile. A crossbow and several swords were pulled loose and set aside.

"This un's a lion," stated Dru, as he pointed out the leonine sigil embroidered on the corpse's frosted over doublet. "Big fellow, but skewered through the neck just the same, better dressed too than most of the others. I'll be keeping that bearskin cloak he’s wearing."

Orland paused as Dru struggled to free the heavy, dark fur cloak from the frozen dead man.

They cracked free another body from the pile and rolled it face up, the head was frozen at an unnatural angle and Orland knew his neck had been broken. "This one wears a direwolf clasp on his cloak" Orland tapped the cast pewter with a gloved finger even as he spoke. "Wearing a lot of gray too." More men appeared and started dragging the rigid body away.

Dru spat into the snow muttering, "Damn wolves and lions always at each other’s throats......killing and destroying....and for what...for nothing, nothing good anyways'. Slaughtering one another down in the lowlands is one thing, but when it moves up here to the high country...well, that's another thing!"

The farmer simply shook his head at his friend’s ramblings.

They were finally down to the last three or four bodies at the bottom of the pile. Dru took a moment to stretch his aching back and look at the fallen horse where it lay on its side. "Nice gray gelding, and this is a fine bridle and saddle too, not such as a lord would own, but quality nonetheless, well- oiled and cared for." He stooped again to slip the black bridle free of the head, then started trying to remove the saddle from the downed horse.

Orland picked up a heavy bronze mace that been pressed into the muck by the crush of bodies. "Dru, look at this." Orland lifted the short-handled weapon and immediately noticed that it was iced with blood.

The big man reached for the mace and Orland needed both hands to pass him the hefty weapon. Dru easily held and examined the weighty bronze cudgel in his large hands. "Well cast, simple, and deadly. Do you mind if I keep this, or did you want it?" He was already sliding the handle of the mace through his belt.

"I don't want it, keep it Dru. It's probably too heavy for anyone else anyway. It believe it must of belonged to the big man wearing the Lannister sigil."

Finally, the only three bodies left were nearest the dead horse, actually, one man had been nearly shoved against the horse's back during the fighting.

Dru rolled over the furthest body and saw that the man was more muddy and bloody than actually frozen. The face was gripped in an eternal grimace of pain, and the reason was obvious. A sword had been thrust cleanly into the chest at an upward angle and the leather and chain mail had trapped it there.

Dru placed his huge, booted foot on the corpse's shoulder and pulled the bloodied long blade free, then held the reddened weapon up to the fragile dawn light to admire it. "Beautiful thing, lovely balance, double fullers, light, and deadly fast, the grip is well used and nary a speck of rust...not a fancy sword, but quality steel and perfect workmanship."

He carefully set the sword to one side and made a mental note to find the matching scabbard. They were down to the bottom two corpses and the horse carcass. The nearer body was face up and the young man's glazed dark eyes stared at the blue sky in apparent amazement. A crossbow bolt had taken him near the center of his chest, and remained there, buried to the white goose feather fletchings. A longsword lay nearby in the muck.

"Just a lad, that one, and wearing Stark colors, probably some poor squire along for the ride. At least he went quick, that bolt in his chest is the only mark on him" mused Orland, as Dru tossed aside the abandoned sword. Two waiting men grabbed the body by the arms "This one's not frozen solid like the rest," one commented as they began dragging him towards the now brightly raging and popping funeral pyre.

It's because he was at the bottom of the pile, beneath all the other bodies, thought Orland. "The direwolves were the ones being hunted and this is where they died, in this lonely meadow, but why?"

The last body was sprawled on his left side facing and nearly touching the back and neck of the dead horse. The corpse had a bloodied left leg, bent awkwardly below the knee, and dark blood stained the heavy gray, woolen cloak he was tangled in. The back of his head had bled heavily into the mud and snow beneath him, and his thick dark hair was saturated with black, congealed blood.

"That mace did for him." Dru remarked "Bashed the back of his head in."

Orland stepped closer and placed a hand on the corpse's shoulder and rolled the dark-haired man onto his back. "This one's hardly frozen, and...."Orland's words caught in his throat.

Dru nudged the dead man's black boot with his foot "Well-made boots, but I doubt they'd fit me." He suddenly noticed his neighbor staring at the corpse's face and Dru looked at the dead man's features.

"Looks a bit like your Derek, same height and build too," Dru said quietly.

Orland couldn't seem to quit staring at the face of this man who looked so much like his recently-  dead son, "Perhaps a bit about the jawline and nose, the set of the ears, but his features are too bloodied and battered to tell. Anyway, we know he's not Derek."

Orland knelt next to the corpse, mindless of the mud and blood. Another white fletched crossbow bolt had pinned the heavy gray cloak permanently to the man's upper left chest, just below the collarbone. He was looking at the corpse's heavy brown leather cote and the silver wolf's head clasp fastening the covering cloak when Gevena walked up.

"He's bleeding", she said in a soft voice.

"Aye, he's a bloody, muddy mess", absently quipped Dru.

"No," Gevena said as she knelt beside Orland. "If he's bleeding it means he's alive." She touched the little rill of blood that trickled from his right ear. Her fingers came away tipped in lukewarm blood. She pressed those same fingers firmly against the man's neck, then pressed more firmly still. "His heart is barely beating."

She quickly scanned the supine man, took in the twisted leg and protruding crossbow bolt.

"His head is the worst of it, the back of it's a shattered ruin," said Orland as he continued staring at the man's face, still seeing his lost son.

At his words Gevena gently slid her fingers to the back of the downed man's head and carefully probed the back of his skull. Her sensitive fingers found only blood and swelling. "I don't feel any obvious breaks, but the damage could be inside the skull." Her fingers probed just a bit deeper and the man flinched just a bit and groaned softly.

Dru stepped close and towered over all three of them. "We don't know who this man is, but he doesn't belong here. Turn away for five breaths and I can quickly snap his neck and end his misery, and this shall be done." Dru dropped to one knee and moved to grasp the dying man.

Gevena touched his shoulder and Dru stopped.

"Dru, this man is a fighter," she argued, "Not only has he survived a crossbow bolt to the chest, and a blow to the head, but he has lain outside for almost full a day and night in the freezing cold. He may very well die tonight, but not by your hand." She stared full into his face meeting his dark gaze with her calm blue one.

Dru stood up and backed off a couple of steps. He had no reply.

Orland gently touched the still man's brow with the back of his hand, Gods but he was cold to the touch. “I will take him in, Gevena can you help us take care of him for a bit?"

cold, so cold....

Out of black nothingness came the agony, it crushed him and he could barely breathe, but the cold was worse, it consumed him more purely than fire.

From far away he was vaguely aware of someone touching his head, his face........Where am I?

Who am I?

Then the pain reclaimed him, and Jory was swept away again.

Chapter Text

The little wolf slept, curled up tightly in the fragrant dry leaves beneath the root ball of the huge fallen maple. The cave-like depression had kept her warm through yet another frigid night. A soft noise made her eyes instantly open, though the rest of her lay dead still. The stamp of a hoof and the rustle of leaves reached her ears. Slowly, she uncurled her lean frame and stretched. Silently she crept up the steep bank of her shelter and peered through the twisted roots that hid her. It was dawn and barely light, but Arya could still see her black mare tied to a nearby tree. Arya stayed still, listening for a long minute more before exiting her cozy den and walking over to the horse. She carried a short length of rope that she deftly twisted into makeshift hobbles for Shadow's front legs. Enough tender brush and meadow grass grew in their thicket of brush and trees for her mare to graze unseen.

It had been almost three days since Jory had flung her atop her horse, shouted "Run!" and slapped the mare hard on her rump causing her to bolt. Arya could ride tho' and clung like a burr to Shadow, even mercilessly hammering at the mare's sides with booted heels urging her to run even faster through the trees and thick brush. The fleet footed little horse could eel through boulders, brush and trees where a bigger horse would break a leg.

Arya perched atop a gray granite rock and drew her knees up to her chin. She shivered and pulled her heavy cloak tightly about her. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, too much turmoil even for her. Things had quickly gone wrong in the little over a month they had spent at King's Landing. There was still much she didn't know, but her father and King Robert had an argument that ended with her father quitting his post as Hand of The King. The Stark household had packed and left the castle to return home. Enroute to Winterfell, news reached them that King Robert had been killed while hunting. Arya would never forget the deep grief etched hard into her father's face at the news of his beloved friend's death. He blamed himself, even a child could see that.

Newly crowned King Joffrey now sat the Iron Throne, his mother close by his side, and the patriarch of the Lannister's, Tywin Lannister, was appointed as Hand of The King.

The Starks had pushed hard towards home after overhearing more news; that Eddard Stark and his household guard were wanted for dereliction of duty and treason towards the king. They had all been branded traitors. Her sister, Sansa, had ridden in stony silence, all the while glaring daggers at their father. Sometimes at night, in the short hours of sleep allowed them, Arya would hear Sansa sobbing softly into her pillow.

Arrival at Winterfell had been a joyous reunion, tinged with anxiety. Time was short, as the Lannister's would surely be sending forces to take Ned Stark and as many of his men as possible before King Joffrey for justice.

Arya had also heard whispered talk of a secret her father had discovered about the new king and the Lannister's. Arya didn't know what that secret was, for those whispers died whenever Arya entered the room.

At home it had seemed that none walked, everyone ran. Essentials packed, horses shod, swords sharpened, and stone masons hired to fortify the walls of Winterfell. Extra food arrived daily and was trundled into storage. Through it all her father seemed not to sleep at all, and paced throughout the castle most nights.

Sansa spent much time alone, quietly sewing, or simply staring at the fire laid in her hearth. Arya bounced from one brother to another and often brought Bran gifts from her jaunts. One day she snuck in a small, moss colored snake she found in the Godswood. Bran kept it in his pocket for nearly a week before Septa Mordane saw it and had Arya return it to the forest.

One afternoon her mother and father drew her into the library and closed the door. Her mother pulled Arya down onto the lounge next to her as father stood before them, he seemed too restless to even sit for a moment. Ned Stark looked down at his youngest daughter and the deep worry lines in his face seemed to soften just a little. What he said next surprised Arya and she listened as if from afar. Indeed, she listened to every word he spoke, all the while studying that much loved face, yet even now she could not recall his exact words, only the intent, to send her away.

The new king was sending his troops towards Winterfell with Jaime Lannister in command. Her parents had decided to send away three of their children to safety. Sansa, Rickon, and Arya, would each be sent to a different refuge to stay until it was safe to return home.

Her brothers Robb and Brandon were staying at Winterfell with her mother and father....

That was the jist of it, and after those words Arya had pretty much quit listening and became aware only of the warmth of her mother next to her and the sight of her father's face.

They had left quietly that evening, under the dark of a moonless night with no fanfare. The dark and quiet kept unwanted eyes from finding them in their journey. Arya was not told where her siblings were being sheltered and they knew not where she was bound. She sat her mare as her father and Jory stood close and talked, every now and then one or the other would glance at Arya as if to be certain she was still there. Jory would listen to her father and once in a while nod or appear to ask a question. Finally, he looked directly into Ned Stark's face and spoke; at the end it was her father who nodded and placed his hand upon Jory's shoulder.

Their route had not been an easy one, they stayed off the main roads and usually travelled well worn horse and foot paths that climbed and wound through the rough mountains far north and east of Winterfell. Arya missed her family, but even that loss could not completely subdue her delight at such a grand adventure. Jory refused to let Arya stray more than a few feet from his side, and her smaller horse was forced to jog to keep up with the longer strides of Jory's dapple gray gelding Sabre.

In retaliation for not allowing her free rein to explore, Arya peppered Jory with an almost non-stop barrage of questions as they rode. Jory stubbornly refused to tell her where they were going. He skillfully deflected her queries into talk of handling swords, knives, and other weapons, all of which Arya greedily drank in. She had lost her teacher, Syrio, when they fled King's Landing and she sorely missed her lessons. Where Syrio was a master of the graceful Bravosi style of fighting, Jory was a born swordsman in the style of slash-parry-thrust. This was her family's style of fighting and she would know all she could of it as well.

Her brother Robb had given her one of his first chain mail hauberks to wear on the trip. It fit nicely when worn over her undershirt and beneath her tunic, cote, and cloak. Her mother had given her a supple pair of kid skin over-breeches and matching black kid boots.

About a week ago one of their scouts had checked their back trail and found they were being tracked by a group of twenty or so men, a motley group of sell swords led by a tawny haired giant of a man wearing the Lannister sigil. After that, Jory picked up their pace and tried to stay to rocky areas and ledges where tracks did not show. Their group counted ten men and Arya, and since they had Ned's daughter, Jory was bound to outrun them if he could and fight only as a last resort.

As they rode on that last morning Arya looked up at Jory and confessed, "I've known we are going towards Karhold for a long time Jory; You can tell me."

Jory studied her with his dark eyes and nodded, "I knew you'd figure it out, but now that we're being hunted, I need to talk to you." He had always been honest with Arya, knowing she needed the truth.

"Our horses are wearing out, climbing these mountains is hard on them, and it's only gotten worse without a break to rest and water them. There is little feed left. We rode through last night to gain space from those behind us. I know a meadow up ahead where the horses can rest a bit, graze and drink their fill. It'll do us good to rest as well."

Jory reached down and touched her shoulder with gloved fingertips, "Arya, this is important, if we get separated, or if I tell you to 'run' ride as hard and fast as you can northwest to the river, then make your way downstream, to the bridge, hide, and wait for us."

Arya stared at him with her dark gray eyes "What if you don't come?"

Jory's brown eyes met hers and she watched them light up, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a hint of a reassuring smile, "No worries there lass, I may be a bit late, but I'll catch up." Jory let go her shoulder and brought both hands to his reins again.

"If we're not there in two days Arya, cross the bridge and make for Karhold. Travel by night, hide during the day. Keep heading west and keep your hair tucked under your cap. We'll be fine, but you must promise me, just in case. Your mother and father need you at Karhold and safe."

They rode side by side in silence for a while. For once, Arya was at a loss for words. The only sound was the soft cadence of hoof beats.

Jory reached inside his cote and fished something from one of his pockets. "I almost forgot."

Arya looked at him, her slender, dark wings of eyebrows lifted in silent question. Jory held something within his black gloved fist, but she could not see what it was.

"I've been working on this for awhile now and I know how much you like Sabre, so I carved this for you." Jory reached his right fist down to her. Arya held out her palm and Jory gently set the tiny carving there. Arya curled her fingers round it and examined it. The carving was small, perhaps the length of Arya's ring finger. The wooden horse stood on three legs with one foreleg pawing impatiently at the air. The figure did capture the spirit of Jory's horse with his graceful arched neck and delicate head. Arya held the carving to her dirt smudged nose and could smell the forest the carving was born of.

She looked up to find Jory's watchful gaze upon her,"It's beautiful Jory. It looks just like Sabre. Thank You."

"It's carved from a bit of red cedar, that's why it smells good, been here in my cote pocket for awhile...." Jory broke off whatever he had been about to say, and scanned the distant ridge.

Arya held the little horse for a good while, smoothing her thumb along the intricately carved mane and sweeping tail. Jory sometimes carved little figures for her siblings, and the children of the keep, usually the northern forest animals from bears to birds and even fierce miniature direwolves. Arya finally tucked the figurine safely away in an inner pocket.

A few hours later they found the spring and meadow. After the horses cooled they were allowed to eat and drink, still saddled and bridled. The spring water was pure, icy cold and sweet upon the tongue as Arya drank her fill. They had been there almost an hour when a large group of riders burst from the treeline at the far end of the meadow and raced towards them.

"Mount up! and hold here!" Jory ordered his men, even as he grabbed Arya by the upper arm and in one swift, smooth motion tossed her atop Shadow. "Go Arya!" Jory commanded.

Arya pulled back on her reins as Shadow pranced and shivered beneath her. "No, Jory..."

Jory had been striding away to take his horse, at her words he spun and looked at her. This was not the Jory she knew, all manner of softness had left his face, and his eyes were dark and fierce as he took two long paces towards her.

"Arya, Run!"  Jory slapped Shadow hard on the hindquarters causing the panicked horse to bolt and Arya to hold on for dear life. Arya refused to look back.

Now she sat here, huddled on her granite rock, days later, shivering in the cold as Shadow grazed nearby. Arya dug a hand under her robe and into the pocket inside her cote. She pulled out the soft white fabric of her mother's kerchief. It was one that Sansa had carefully embroidered tiny blue flowers on. Her numbed fingers fumbled at the loose knot she had tied in the leather thong securing the package. Arya had borrowed the leather lacing from one of her father's well worn tunics. She had a memento from each family member tucked away safely or worn somewhere on her person. She carefully unwrapped the carved horse Jory had given her as she wound the soft leather strip about her fingers. Arya never noticed the silent tears running down her cheeks.

She was alone.

Chapter Text

Orland sat on a bench near the fire and studied the man on the pallet. It had been two days and he still had not opened his eyes. They had managed to get him home and onto the floor in front of the fire by nightfall. Mother hen that she was, his wife Violet had been working non-stop to save his life.

The first sight of such a familiar face and form caused her to drop a pitcher of water that shattered on the hard packed dirt at her feet. She had caught the resemblance to their son too. Caleb and Alex had stoked the fire, oven hot, in an attempt to warm the injured man. Gevena and Violet had to cut away his robe and the clothing pinned to his chest by the crossbow bolt. They stripped him to his hauberk and decided that the bolt needed to have the fletchings cut away so they could free the chain mail.

There was no maester to summon, the only medicine they knew had been passed down over the centuries in this wild mountain area. Violet grasped the bloodied shaft of the bolt where it rose from the chest and tried to steady it as Orland used his sharp knife to pare away the fletchings. Violet felt the man shudder at the pain, but he made no sound. Then they were able to carefully work free the chain mail and cut away the bloody undershirt beneath it. Meanwhile the boys worked loose his heavy boots.

"He probably has dirt and bits of clothing pushed into his chest. That bolt needs to come out now," Gevena noted. "I've removed arrows before from both man and beast, but I don't know what kind of point this bolt has on it, he's not dead yet and I'd hate to finish the job."

"There's no way around it, if it stays in any longer he dies anyway 'Vena," Violet replied. "Pulling it out while he's still asleep and half frozen might keep him from bleeding to death." She placed a hand upon his icy chest and looked at his pale, bloodless face. Then she stood and set a couple of sharp knives to heat in the coals, moved a kettle of water to boil over the flames.

Gevena, checked the injured man's pulse at his neck, it yet beat but faintly, "I'll try, there's naught else to do and I can't just sit here and watch him go."

Orland watched his wife with pride, there was no one more determined or stubborn than his Violet and he loved her all the more for it. She strode into their bedroom and returned with a pile of folded linens. Gently, she placed a couple of folded tunics beneath the man's head.

Using a bit of the now hot water, Gevena cleaned around the protruding bolt. She noticed that his chest bore three or four healed scars across it. Violet was cutting a couple of the linen nightshirts into long strips that she then dumped into the kettle of now boiling water. She sent her sons to feed the sheep and pen them for the evening. As the door closed behind them she pulled the kettle of water from the heat and lifted out a tangle of clean cloth to cool.

She stooped to choose the narrowest blade from the coals and held it as it cooled from glowing orange to normal color. As she waited for the knife to cool, Violet spoke to Orland and Gevena "Hold down his shoulders and arms, kneel on him if you have to, for once I start I'm not stopping until I get it out. Get him ready."

Gevena and Orland pinned the wounded man's shoulders and arms against the floor. Violet bent over the left side of his chest and wrapped her fingers around the crossbow shaft and firmly pulled upward. The man tensed and moaned in pain, but that was all. Vi' eased the knife blade into the wound, widening it on either side of the entry point and pressing down until she felt the tip of the blade hit either arrowhead or bone. Dark blood welled up beneath her blade and rolled down his chest. Once more Violet grasped the bolt and pulled, it slid free and blood continued to slowly well up and flow. The man lay completely still, only the slightest movement of his chest and the flowing blood showed he yet lived. She allowed the wound to bleed for another minute to help clean the injury. Then Violet wrung a cloth out and pressed it firmly against the wound.

Orland examined the bolt and point. "Looks like it came out cleanly, all in one piece."

Violet's face and hair were wet with sweat from anxiety and the stress of removing the arrow. "Gevena, can you and Orland take care of his leg while I finish tending this wound? I need a minute or two." She'd not admit it, but she felt a bit dizzy and sick at what she had just done.

Gevena and Orland worked to remove his over-breeches and breeches, finally the man lay bare upon the floor. Orland gathered up all of the man's clothing and arms full, walked outside to find his sons.

"Caleb! Alex!" He called. The boys came running from the barn and skidded to a stop in front of him.

"Can you boys take all this clothing and anything else the man brought and hide it at the very back of the shed beneath the hay?"

Caleb's curiosity got the better of him, "Da' is he still alive?"

"So far Caleb, and not a word of this man to anyone. His being here means danger for all of us. Hide every sign that he was here and throw a bit of dirt on any blood you find. The only item Orland held back was the empty sword scabbard. He planned to walk it over to Dru's house later and explain his plan, a somewhat shaky plan, but a plan nonetheless.

When Orland walked back in the house he found his wife cleaning the dried blood and muck off the man's face with a warm cloth. His face, and most of his body was badly bruised and battered. Both eyes were blackened. Orland also noticed scars around his right eye. "Why is his face so battered?"

"A hard blow to the head will do that, but it will heal I think. I just hope his mind still works," Gevena was working to clean the jagged looking wound that went completely through his left calf at the widest part.

"I think his skin feels a bit warmer too, and that's a good thing as long as it doesn't flame into a fever. I don't know what went through his leg, but it tore instead of being a clean cut. I believe his knee is fine, but this leg is cleanly broken just a bit above his ankle." Gevena continued, "Orland, if you could find a few pieces of wood that would serve as a splint, and we need more water drawn from the well. Vi's decided she must get that clotted blood out of his hair."

Violet looked at her lifelong friend; "Vena' you know the warm water is helping him, poor lad was mostly frozen. The man needs a name until he rouses enough to tell us his true one. He looks like Derek, but he's not Derek. He happens to also resemble my cousin Grant, so unless you have better- It'll do for now."

Orland paused at the door and turned to look at her, "Aye Vi', Grant is as good a name as any until he wakes up. It fits well with an idea I'm working on."

"You and your ideas Orland," Violet met his eyes and favored him with a wide smile.

That smile surprised him, he hadn't seen it since before their eldest had died.

Now Orland sat before his hearth, watching "Grant" as he slept. His skin was flushed and glistened with sweat. He had run a fever, but Violet kept it under control by dribbling honeyed willow bark tea between his lips as Orland supported his head and shoulders. They had set the broken leg and splinted it securely in place. It should heal without any problems. Vi had patiently wiped the blood from his hair over the last two days, and it hung straight and thick to his shoulders. She had looked at the back of his head and found that all of that blood came from a single gash smaller than her littlest finger. The wound had sealed itself with clotted blood and she left that in place.

The bruises and swelling were another thing, and the blood from the ear was worrisome. The boys were fascinated by Grant and his silence. They eyed his scars and made-up stories about each of them. Caleb thought him a knight, a good night, while Alex seemed to think he was a pirate. The only pirates little Alex knew of came from the stories Dru sometimes told them.

The swelling around Grant's eyes was going down, but the bruising was just as dark. Violet had managed to check each eye and they seemed to work normally. His eyes were brown and not the green their son Derek's had been. Still the family felt very protective of this hapless man and also very curious. If he truly was a Stark, or of their household, by rights they were obliged to care for him.

Orland knew he should send word to Winterfell, but something was making him wait.

Vi' stayed up all that night again with Grant and fought his fever with the willow bark tea. She washed his face and neck with cool water, until finally the fever broke and he seemed to breathe easier and was able to keep down a bit of broth.

The next morning, Orland created a makeshift back rest to prop the man up a bit. A weary Violet had slipped into their bedroom to sleep for a few hours. As Orland propped Grant back against the washed sheepskin, he mused that it might be a good day to visit Dru and his family. Gevena had left yesterday, finally feeling that the boy was out of the woods and starting to mend despite the fever. With a shudder, Orland thought about how close they had come to tossing the lad atop the funeral pyre. He decided to stop at the heart-tree and send thanks for avoiding that horror.

Grant had a sheet and woolen blanket covering his lower body, but he was still shirtless. Orland mused that Caleb must be close to the truth when he called the man a knight. While wide shouldered, his waist and legs were lean but still substantial. Those shoulders, chest, and arms were all well-muscled. This ordeal had cost him, there was no fat on his frame and his ribs were visible. Orland also knew that the pale scars on his torso were not the only ones he bore. He was actually scarred from head to foot, mostly with the clean lines of sword wounds.

The farmer sat there, enjoying the hearth fire and listening to the sounds of his sons sending the sheep out for the day. He realized that Grant had opened his eyes and was blinking, finally he raised a hand to his eyes. Orland knelt by his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. The injured man blinked a few more times and winced in pain. In a puzzled, hoarse voice he asked, "Why does my head hurt? and why can't I see?"

Chapter Text

Arya had followed her trail back to the trees near the meadow, and after tying Shadow in the brush, hidden from sight, she made her way to the spring where she had last seen Jory. It had not snowed since, and the cold mountain night had frozen everything in place.

From the evergreens near the spring she took it all in by harshly bright daylight, gallons of blood poured and splashed over the meadow, now frozen into crimson ice. All was gone, save this story in red. She also noted the large burned area and had an idea of what had happened there, but her mind refused to accept that they were all dead and gone.

Arya sat concealed in the shadows until the moon rose full and silver in the sky and turning the whorls of blood black in its light. She stood and walked to the spot where Jory had thrown her into the saddle. She bent down and touched her mare's tracks in the snow. Next she found her small foot prints and was able to find Jory's boot prints. Sabre's hoof prints were large, rounded, and pressed deep into the snow. She saw the place where Jory had swung into his saddle and where Sabre had leapt forward with long, ground eating strides. She kept following his tracks and realized that Sabre had danced in place where Jory had held him back here.

Continuing on she found where Jory and a few of his men had met the enemy. Blood was spattered in sweeping arcs here and Arya could only hope Jory had shed it. Several people had fallen here and bled into the snow around Sabre. It had been a slow moving battle with Jory and Sabre and his men pushing back their foes. Suddenly she stopped and knelt on the ice. Her fingers found an ink black splotch within Sabre's tracks.

With one last jump forward the horse had collapsed, and the undiluted blood was heaviest here. The rest was a great churned mess of bloody snow and mud. She could see where the horse had lain, but she couldn't find Jory's tracks. Once, she stepped on something that felt odd underfoot and bent to free a bloody crossbow bolt from the ice. Even the feather fletchings were slippery with frozen blood, and she let it fall from her fingers.

Arya circled outward in wider and wider spirals, but Jory's tracks were gone. He hadn't walked away from the battle. She wandered to the burned area, but saw nothing in the ashes. Eventually she realized that she was back at the spring where she'd started.

The moon was high in the sky when she dropped to her knees there and began tearing at the snow and ice with bare hands. The frozen ground did not yield easily, and she had clawed her fingers bloody by the time she had dug down a mere hands-breadth. It was enough. She pulled the thong tied handkerchief from her pocket. Her fingers left smudges of blood and mud marring the pristine cloth as she untied and opened it.

The overhead moon silvered the carved horse in the palm of her hand, and it seemed almost alive and moving. Arya stared at it and traced it's graceful yet powerful lines with her finger.

She sat there a long time. The moon had dropped low towards the trees when Arya gently lay the tiny figure in the grave and spilled the black dirt over it.

Chapter Text

As Orland approached Dru’s cabin he could hear the rhythm of hammer against anvil and veered towards the forge area. He watched his neighbor hammer at the spear point until it lost heat and he set it back within the glowing coals.

Dru turned to face his friend, wiping the sweat from an eye with the back of a grimy hand, “What’s the news Orland? How is soldier boy?”

“The man is starting to heal so we won’t be burning any more bodies. He is weak though, and half of what he drinks comes right back up again. When he first woke up he was blind, but that passed by the next day. He still has blurry vision, and his head aches, his balance is gone too. The oddest thing is he doesn’t remember anything from before. He just stares at the fire when he’s not sleeping. Won’t say much either.”

“No other news Dru, and I’m glad of that. I’ve been worried that another bunch of Lannister’s might show up at any time looking for their men and his. I hope that searchers from Winterfell will come looking for him eventually. Lannister soldiers mean trouble and we don’t need that up here, so I’ve come up with a plan to protect the boy and the rest of us. But I did want to bring this belt and scabbard to you. I think that good sword you found will fit it perfectly.”

Orland handed over the scabbard and Dru examined the finely tooled leather of the equipment. He walked to a high shelf across the room and pulled the sword down from it and looked it over one more time.

“Plain, and yet a thing of beauty. I’ve cleaned it and rehoned it to a keen edge.”

The long sword slid perfectly into place. Dru looked at it for a long moment then walked back to Orland with it.

“If he had died, I’d keep the sword and feel no guilt about it, but I’ll not steal from an injured man. Give it back to him because he’ll have need of it soon I think.”

Orland didn't reach to take the weapon. “I understand my friend, but could you keep it here at the forge where weapons are commonplace?  If searchers found Grant and this sword in my house they would reason out who he is.”

“I’ll keep it here for him then. Now, what's this grand plan of yours?”

Orland explained that of the twenty or so dead Lannister men in the meadow, only three had worn a sigil or the red and gold colors of that house. The rest had been a coarse looking lot and obviously were hired swords. The people sent to hunt Grant would not come marching in dressed all in red and gold and flying the lion sigil. They would be common sell swords that would blend into their surroundings and not draw attention from the Starks or anyone else. For enough gold, most would not have a problem slaying an entire family to get their quarry.

While their neighbors were good, decent people, most of them struggled to survive day to day. In these mountains gardens didn’t grow well and food was scarce, when winter did arrive many would die, entire families. When offered a couple of golden dragons or even a handful of silver some of his needy friends would betray an outsider. What was an unknown man if your children were starving right in front of your eyes.   

In a small settlement people loved to talk about anything and everything. Gevena had an ear and tongue for gossip and during her rounds had heard no talk yet of Orland and Violet’s new boarder. By dressing the man in Grant’s old clothes and agreeing that he would be explained away as Violet’s cousin who had arrived before the slaughter, they might keep him safe until he healed. While he kept to his bed, they wouldn’t need to do any explaining at all unless someone stopped by for a friendly visit. The friends agreed that no one would mention the man at all unless someone else brought him up first.

“That’s my grand plan Dru, it may not work, but unless you can come up with something better it will have to do.”

Dru thought it over a bit and finally replied “It just might work.”

They talked a while about other things, until Orland realized it was late, but he had one last favor to ask.

“Do you have any of that red wine left Dru? The willow bark tea helps with the pain, but not enough, and he can’t keep it down long enough to do much good. I think he might welcome wine, and Vi’ agrees.”

“I have a good supply set aside so I can give you a couple of skins of it, and if you need more just ask. Gevena had also asked me to make him a cane to use until the broken leg heals, so I’ll send that back with you too.”

Chapter Text

The old woman sat in her chair at the hearth, that crackling fire was the only light in the dark room as the night wind howled and shrieked outside and rattled the shutters. The low flames lit the faces of the two children sprawled on the hearth rug at the old lady's feet as she spoke.

"The castle keep was deathly quiet that night and the stars had all been wiped away. The stink of sulfur was thick in the air....."

"What does sulfur smell like?" interrupted the rosy cheeked little girl.

The dark haired boy spoke up "It's burn-stone, what Mikken lights to scare away the rats around the forge."

"Hush, children and listen to the story," scolded the woman. She continued, "All the windows in the keep had been shuttered and none dared to even light a candle, for It oft' came in the night."

The little girl quietly edged closer to the tousle haired little boy. Now they lay, side by side, leaning on one another as they listened wide eyed to the tale.

"Even the bravest guards had rubbed sooted mud over their shiny helms and spear points lest the monster see and be drawn to them."

The wee girl shivered and her tiny fingers found the boy's warm hand. He gently clasped their fingers together.

"One watchman alone in the main yard in front of the castle saw two bright sparks high in the sky. The man knew what was coming, diving at him, yet he could not move, could not look away."

A hard gust of wind pried at their shuttered window with a low moaning sound. The flames in the hearth swirled and danced and reflected in the children's eyes.

"The sparks were falling towards the guard, closer and closer, and he stared at them, unable to even blink. Those sparks became twin orbs, filled with golden fire. The smell of sulfur was strong and mixed now with bitter smoke and the reek of burning things." The storyteller's voice was oh so slowly increasing in volume and intensity, drawing in the fascinated children.

"There was no sound, no wind, only those horrible eyes speeding closer and closer. The guard was helpless, drawn into those awful eyes. Suddenly, wings darker than night unfurled and flapped, and The Dread was upon him, inky black with great flame filled yellow eyes....it was the dragon..."

"Balerion!" spoke the boy, managing to look frightened and delighted at the same time. The girl trembled against him and tightly squeezed his hand.

"Yes! It was the mighty and terrible Balerion, bigger than two houses, all ebony black and limned in red. His very presence heated the night air around him! The monster landed between the guard and his castle in the wide and dusty main yard. Silent as a shadow the huge demon crouched. The man was terrified, but knew his lord and lady and all their children slept inside those stone walls. The guard roused himself from his enchantment and drew his sword. The dragon was eyeing the castle proper and cared not at all about the mere man behind him trying to quietly edge closer. Balerion's sides heaved, and heat began to roll from the monster in waves. Steam spiraled up. The guard knew there was no time for stealth, no time left at all, and he ran up behind the dragon, skirting the thick serpentine tail and staying as close to the beast itself as he dared. He hoped it wouldn't see him."

"He no longer felt the heat, the dragon was drawing it inside to incinerate the castle and all those within it. The brave guard saw the tender space just behind the front leg, down low on the chest and raced towards it. Just as Balerion drew a mighty breath to send forth his torrent of fire the man turned and with both hands drove his long sword to the hilt in those soft-scales of the chest!"

At that moment the wind tore open the shutter with a crash and the girl screamed. The boy was suddenly on his feet with knife drawn, heart hammering against his chest. Then they were all laughing, with the old woman's cackle the loudest. The hearth fire blazed wildly, and the rushing wind blew the girl's long dark hair away from her face. The boy sheathed his knife and pulled the girl to her feet as the woman rose to secure the banging shutter.

"Nan, that's my favorite story! It scares me every time." The girl continued laughing as she brushed off her dress. "But dragons are not real."

Nan turned from the window and looked at her. "My sweet, sweet Lyanna, dragons are indeed real."

Tapping, on his shoulder, the dream swam away. The man opened his eyes to find a blue-eyed little boy poking him now on his upper arm. The boy's eyes widened when he saw Grant was awake. "Mum, wanted me to see if you needed wine or water before she goes outside to hang out the wash."

"No, I'm fine lad, but thank you." He replied as he tried to grasp the fragments of his dream.

"Can I ask you something Grant?" The boy shyly queried, he realized that this was the first time Alex had actually worked up the nerve to really talk to him.

"Aye, go ahead Alex."

Eyes wide, he softly breathed the words, "Are you a pirate?" and then took a step back as if Grant might draw a cutlass at any moment.

The man chuckled weakly, then coughed. "A pirate? Where did you get that notion?" He thought a moment then and said "Pirate? nae' I don't think so."

The boy could hold still no longer and scampered off to find his older brother as Grant tried to make sense of the shadows of his dream.

Chapter Text

Arya rode back to the bridge at the Last River just to make sure none of her guard were waiting there for her. She continued sleeping in her familiar den below the tree and kept Shadow hobbled in the thicket. She was low on food and growing hungry, but she couldn't go home and she didn't want to go to Karhold. What pulled at her and felt truly right, was to join her brother Jon Snow at The Wall.

Maester Luwin had taught the Stark Children well and Arya knew it was a closer journey to The Wall than back to Winterfell. She reached down and touched Needle at her side. It was the best gift she had ever received and just wearing it made her feel close to Jon.

That night, for the first time in weeks, she dreamed of Nymeria. Arya threw her arms around the big direwolf's neck and buried her face in Nymeria's thick fur.

The next morning she finished the last bit of dried auroch meat, then set out on her mare for The Wall. Arya knew she couldn't risk taking the Kingsroad, but she did need some road or trail that went north, it was not good to ride cross country. She traversed the bridge and followed the river upstream toward the northwest, trying to stay within the tree line as much as she could. Sometimes she rode by day and sometimes at night. In her dreams Nymeria guarded and comforted her, but by day she missed her family and Jory. Thoughts of Jon and seeing The Wall urged her on. Food became scarce, but Arya found just enough to survive.

Scavenging for food tended to be famine or feast. One day she came upon bright orange persimmons decorating the bare branches of a tree and carted off as many as she could carry, then went for days without finding anything else edible. She avoided people and always saw them before they noticed her. Luckily, the weather favored her and so far there had been no more hard freezes or snows.

One still, foggy morning she was standing on Shadow's wide back, balancing atop the saddle, and trying to reach the last few wizened apples high on a tree. Her horse pinned her ears back and shifted uneasily in place below her. Arya froze and listened. From far away came a song of wolves on the hunt. She slid down into her saddle and listened to their howls for a long minute until they drifted away. Most of the Winterfell horses, including Shadow, had grown used to the presence of direwolves. So her mare did not spook from their sound or scent as an ordinary horse might.

That night Arya found a small cave where she and her horse could shelter. She nibbled at one of the apples as she practiced her Needle work. When she finally curled up in the soft sand of the cave and drifted off to sleep, Nymeria quickly found her in her dreams.

Suddenly, she was awake. Arya froze and listened, her mare was shaking her shaggy head, but that wasn't what had awakened her.

From the moonlit night outside came a soft footstep on fallen leaves and a low growl. Arya slid Needle from the sheath. There was a good-sized spill of rocks between her and the mouth of the cave. Her eyes strained to see what was out there. What had the scent of horse and girl called?

Behind her, Shadow nervously pressed herself against the back of the cave. Those soft footfalls padded closer, and Arya could finally see a large silhouette materialize from the night. A big mountain lion was just beyond the mouth of the cave. The mighty cat lowered its head and screamed at Arya. She wished for a fire, for her trusty bow. Arya's mind spun, seeking the right action to take when cornered by a lion. The cat didn't come any closer, but screamed at Arya again.

Without warning, a bigger shadow came out of nowhere and crashed into the mountain lion at full speed, rolling the cat over. The fleet attacker seemed silver in the moonlight. Both animals snarled and growled as they fought beneath the stars. The cat realized it was outmatched and fled into the dark with a parting snarl. Her silvered guardian stood and shook off the dirt she had been rolling in during the battle. Arya would have known the animal anywhere, even though she had doubled in size since she had last seen her;"Nymeria!"

The direwolf cocked her head and whined as she stood there bathed in the moonlight, waiting. Arya sheathed Needle, stood, and slowly walked towards her pet. The two were bonded enough that Arya didn't need to say a word, her heart and mind were full of longing, love, and appreciation and the direwolf felt it all. When Arya reached Nymeria, she dropped down to her knees in front of her and wrapped both arms about that muscled neck and buried her face deep in the soft fur. She felt the direwolf's warm breath against her neck as Nymeria nuzzled her shoulder.

The soft patina of moonlight blessed the pair and Arya felt that a piece of herself missing had been restored. Nymeria tilted up her head and howled. From the surrounding forest many voices answered and finally Arya felt safe once more.

Chapter Text

Violet and Gevena had been conspiring together again, and had decided that the best thing for their depressed patient was fresh air. They could see that being so helpless was chafing at Grant. The obvious cure was to move him outside and into the afternoon sunshine and bracingly cold air. They had both noted that his bruises were fading, and the physical wounds were healing well, but Grant continued to have headaches and balance problems. His vision still varied from perfect to blurry without much warning.

It meant much to Violet and Orland that Grant, seemed to adore their sons almost as much as they were fascinated by him. Both Caleb and Alex's favorite pastime these days was spending time pestering their captive guest. It especially delighted Vi' that her youngest, Alex, seemed to forget his shyness around Grant. Both boys had been hit hard by the death of their beloved older brother and Alex had been hit the hardest.

Gevena had already padded the big oak stump in the yard with a folded sheepskin in preparation. Grant was wearing Orland's heaviest cote this afternoon and was anxious to be outside. Orland and Gevena helped him to his feet and supported him as he found his balance. With Vena' on one side and Orland on the other supporting most of his weight, Grant hobbled out to the yard. Petite Violet followed close behind, ready to catch him if he fell. The two boys followed, with Alex carrying the wine skin and Caleb a thick sheepskin throw.

With the sun overhead and a chill wind blowing, they talked about the surrounding mountains, the ongoing adventures of Caleb and Alex, and the lifelong friendship the three mountain folk had shared. Since he had little to contribute, Grant mostly just listened and enjoyed the sun. The two boys felt obliged to provide entertainment for everyone and chased each other around the cabin and yard.

The women eventually returned to the house to cook dinner and gossip.

Orland was sitting in one of the chairs brought out from the house, and he watched Grant gazing at the sheep and lambs in the nearby field. Orland was bemused by the idea that Grant sat there on a folded sheepskin wearing a cote made from same and yet a third woolly hide was carefully tucked about his legs. He realized that he was looking at a wolf in sheep's clothing. Then he noticed the clenched jaw and the lines of Grant's face cut deeper than normal.

"Are you comfortable?" Orland asked, he had very nearly added the word "son" to the end of his question, but caught it just in time.

"Aye, just liking the feel of the sun and wind on my face, I've been inside too long." He watched a pair of white lambs throw themselves in the air and kick, giddy with life and sunshine.

Orland smiled "Best enjoy it while we can winter is coming."

At those words, Grant turned and stared at Orland, "What did you say?" He had an odd, almost haunted look, and his face had paled.

Orland wondered what he'd said and remembered the Stark motto. "Winter is coming Grant. Do you remember?"

Grant looked away grimly, jaw muscles clenched. "Nae, I don't remember, not at all, it's always right there, but I can't quite touch it."

Orland smiled sadly "You're trying too hard son, it will all come back to you. Mind and body are still healing." Wordlessly he offered the wineskin, and Grant had a good swallow before handing it back to Orland.

He looked at Orland "I just wish I could at least remember my name, that bothers me the most, "Grant" doesn't feel right, but nothing else does either."

Orland thought a moment and sighed "I can tell you what I think I've figured out about you, if you'd like to hear it?"

"Aye, I need to know. I need to remember."

Orland took a deep breath and began;

"When we found you, you were dressed as a soldier in chain mail and travelling garb. You were wearing a bloodied gray cloak clasped with a silver direwolf head. I think you are a Stark of Winterfell or of that household at least. Does that much help?"

Grant stared Orland in the eyes, "I'd know more of how you found me."

"Dru and I found you in the meadow with a spring not far from here. There were thirty dead men in a field of blood, and you. There are no bodies, so don't ask, they've all been burned. There were dead horses, but they've been butchered for food and what was left burned as well. It was our grazing meadow for the sheep, and it had to all be cleaned up. Now all that's left is blood and torn ground."

Hard words, but in the telling, Orland's anger over the desecration of their meadow had returned and tinted his words. He had held Grant's stare as he talked, and watched the color slowly drain from the other man's face.

"I think, you had about ten men in your group. The larger group hunting you had twenty, one of them wore the sigil of the Lannister lion, but the rest were plainly dressed."

Now that his anger was done, Dru rued his strong choice of words. Why had it felt sickly satisfying to lash out at his guest.

Grant thought over what he had learned. "I thank you for that Orland.... the truth, but I don't remember any of it yet, and I am pressed to remember because failure and a sense of doom haunt my days and find me in my sleep, something urges me to make haste. I need to finish something as soon as I can, but I know not what it is. If we were being hunted, and a lot of men died, it had to be for an important reason."

Grant took a long pull of wine, stoppered the skin and handed it back to Orland and they sat in silence.

Chapter Text

He stood alone at the grave, the winter sun shone upon his face, but it held no warmth, no promise.

Today was one year since his beloved Kyla had died and he missed her as much today as he did when he first lost her. The babe buried with her was their third son and this wee boy hadn’t drawn a single breath. His wife, in her heartbreak, had begged to hold their son even as she lay there bleeding her life away into the linen sheets. Maester Luwin couldn't help her, no one could.

When it was done and over Martyn had buried them together, carefully folding his wife’s arms around their child and tenderly wrapping the soft woolen blanket close around his love and their bairn.

The day they put his family in the ground it had rained gently, water dripping through his thick, dark hair and beard mercifully hiding his tears. They later told him that all of Winterfell had attended the burial, but Martyn only remembered staring at the coffin and that awful final sound of earth on wood as they covered his reason for living. He had naught but three dead sons, and now even Kyla was gone. He and his wife had wanted children badly, but each babe had been born smaller, and weaker than the last. He could have found contentment with only his wife, but despite warnings Kyla never stopped trying for a child.

After the funeral, the only thing he had left was Winterfell and his service to House Stark. He loved his brother Rodrik and his family well, but being around their happiness and the sound of delighted children only sharpened the pain of his loss, made him realize what should have been.

Martyn Cassel became a haunted man, his hair and beard shot-thru with gray, his face and frame gaunter than ever. Yet, the biggest change was in his personality, the ready smile and laugh were gone, as if the candle of his spirit had been snuffed out by a cruel wind.

Now, on that awful anniversary, he knelt at their grave and carefully placed the bouquet of wild roses there. Kyla had loved the fragile pink flowers with their delicate whisper of scent, and he had picked a double handful, heedless of the myriad thorns. It had taken some time to find enough for a bouquet, it was too early in the spring for roses.

As he knelt, Martyn placed one hand on the cold, cold ground and wished he could just touch her face one last time, see her beautiful smile again.

Chapter Text

She stood in the early chill of dawn, deft fingers braiding her long, wavy auburn hair. Her empty stomach roiled and she prayed she wouldn’t spend another morning retching into her chamber pot. The last month had been misery as she tried to keep her meals down, any food down. She was worried her Uncle Mikken would figure out she was with child. Ameena was only supposed to be visiting her uncle and his family. She couldn’t stay here much longer, not in her condition, and now her parents would have a bastard grandchild. She was uncertain if she would be welcomed or turned away.

Her sweet manner and sense of adventure had made the young woman a favorite with the Stark children, and Lady Stark had asked if she could help care for them. Lady Lyarra Stark was expecting her fourth child and her three young sons were a handful. Ameena loved Brandon, Eddard, and little Benjen and readily agreed. She also loved Winterfell and the wild, beautiful land around it. She also thought Lord Stark quite wild, and handsome as well. Unbidden, she found herself sneaking glances at him. Soon Ameena and Old Nan cared for the children most of the time as Lyarra’s pregnancy had left her weary and abed most of the time. Everyone whispered that this one must be a girl, for the first three babes had not slowed the Lady at all.

Nan had caught her watching Lord Stark at various times and cautioned her. “I can read your eyes girl, and to go that path could be ruin for you, and hurt our Lady Stark badly. Keep those wide doe eyes on those you can have. There are many at Winterfell that covet your beauty and would wed you, look to those instead.”

Ameena tried to heed those wise words, but first lust is a powerful thing and difficult to deny, she yet caught herself watching the lord without meaning to, her eyes were drawn to him.

Rickard was a tall, wide-shouldered, stately man who had sired four children in a short span of time. He had always held true to his lovely lady wife, but her confinement left him restless. Of course he had noticed Mikken’s niece with her red-brown ringlets, and big brown eyes feathered with dark lashes. Her shapely, ripe lips drew the eyes and her strong, clean jawline and firm little chin only added to her beauty. After the girl started showing up in his night-dreams he asked Old Nan to find a different duty for her, one that kept her away from the immediate household, and him.

Ameena was set to helping tend the vast Winterfell stable, grooming and caring for the horses and cleaning the leather tack. She enjoyed the beautifully spirited animals and her new job. The stable boys gawked at her and oft' teased her, making her frequently laugh and blush.

Only adding to her happiness, the little pack of Stark boys now spent almost as much time underfoot in the stables as they did inside the castle. The three lads had become quite dear to her in a short period of time.

One night in mid-summer, Lord Stark’s favorite gray mare was showing signs of foaling. Her last colt had been large and the birthing difficult, requiring assistance. Ameena bedded down in the thick pile of sweet clover hay next to her stall to keep watch over her and soothe or help as needed.

Hours later, a restless Lord Stark made his way through the quiet, lonely night to the stable to check his best brood mare. It was a warm night as he slipped into the stables and made his way to her stall.

He stopped when he saw the girl sleeping amidst the fragrant clover in the next stall, staring at her lush mouth and the soft light glimmering along her fiery hair. Without thinking, he briskly walked to her, knelt, and gently pulled her into his arms, claiming those sensual lips. None of it seemed real. The sleepy girl responded automatically to his touch and shivered hard against his body, as her hands pulled him closer. The rest was a blur.

A short time later he stood and fastened his breeches, his parting words were, “My apologies, this never should have happened.”

It had not been at all what Ameena thought would happen and certainly not romantic, illusions of love shattered, she hid her head in her hands and wept silently in shame and pain. When her next monthly blood did not show, she knew she was with child, soon after came the retching spells. Ameena had been a virgin and thus knew nothing of moon tea.

Old Nan had watched her suddenly spatter her breakfast on the ground with rough heaves and suspected the cause. She led Ameena to a quiet corner and gently questioned her. Ameena admitted that she had been willingly taken by Lord Stark and was three weeks overdue for her flow. The girl’s beautiful face blushed hot and red in embarrassment as tears ran down her cheeks.

Nan knew she spoke the truth.

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As Nan left the library Rickard Stark mulled over all that she had spoken, the aging nursemaid had been mercilessly blunt and gone straight to the crux of the matter. Her loyalties were to the overall Stark household, but specifically to Lady Lyarra and the boys. He could not believe he had been so weak, now he had a bastard on the way and could not imagine how much his dear Lya' would be hurt if she ever found out. The girl had been an innocent too, despite her passion, but even as he had realized that fact, he had been unable to stop.

The clever old woman had just given him the answer as well, “The girl is kind and beautiful, quickly join her to someone you trust here at Winterfell. Choose a man worthy of her, and your babe will be raised safely within these walls. You can let the babe grow up alongside your own children, see him well cared for.”

As soon as he heard her words Lord Rickard knew it was the right, indeed, the only solution. He immediately knew the perfect man for the girl and this match would benefit everyone involved.

Early the next morning Rickard Stark and Martyn Cassel rode through the forest. They eventually dismounted at a small clearing and walked side by side, leading their horses. Rickard had watched his good friend mourning for over a year now and was about to put a stop to it. He knew how much Martyn loved children and had longed for a son. Losing three boys and then his wife had all but destroyed the man.

Rickard carefully framed his plan as a request, “Thank you for riding out with me today Martyn, I need to beg a favor from you, one that will effect many lives. If you accept, and I pray you do, I will be forever in your debt. and you shall be the richer for it.”

As his lord talked, Martyn listened until he had finished, then stood quietly for a long while. It was much to ask, but was it too much? It was far outside any sense of duty owed House Stark or even a close friend.

Finally, Martyn Cassel spoke “My Lord Stark, I don’t know what to say to this request. I don’t think I have it in me to love anyone else, everything in me died with Kyla and our son. I have seen the girl you speak of but have no feelings for her, have not really even looked at her.”

Rickard listened to these honest words then added, “Think on this matter for a while my friend, but not too long, for the girl is barely pregnant and the key is for this baby to be seen as yours. You would have a child Martyn, a family, and possibly more children in time. Otherwise, the girl and babe will be sent away to an uncertain fate.”

“Aye, My Lord, I will have an answer for you soon.”

The ride back side by side was silent, both men lost in their own thoughts and torments.

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Upon returning to the keep Martyn immediately sought his brother, finally finding him seated on a rough- hewn bench beneath a tree, carefully honing the edge of his greatsword.

“Rodrik, have you some time? I need your sage advice in a matter.”

“Always Martyn, have a seat.” He continued working the blunted weapon, stoically waiting for his sibling to continue.

Martyn sat on the bench next to Rodrik searching for just the words to explain his unusual dilemma without betraying his lord's trust. “I need your valued counsel on a matter; Lord Stark has asked a favor of me and I am inclined to accept, but I would value your opinion before I do. Mikken’s young niece is newly with child and rather than see the girl disgraced and alone somewhere with a bastard…..Well, my lord has proposed that I wed the girl and claim the babe as mine.”

Rodrik had already set aside his sword, now he stared at his broken brother, as his quick mind processed Martyn’s quiet words.

“Who fathered the child? I’ve seen the girl, her name is Ameena, and every unwed man and half the married ones are in love with her. She dotes on the Stark children and seems a happy, kind soul. This news surprises me, since she seems such an innocent.”

Martyn had carefully thought through the answer to that question. “The girl refuses to say who the father is, despite Old Nan’s best attempts to find out. This has greatly shamed her, less than a few people know of it, and I would keep it that way. If I agree to do this, the child shall be mine, and mine alone, and he will carry my last name; Our last name.”

Rodrik nodded, “You know I would never betray you. How many years have you dreamed of children, and a full family? I also know enough of Ameena, and of who you once were, to believe she is a good match for you Martyn. It grieves me to see the ghost you have become over the last year. Even if not for yourself, give this girl and her baby your protection and name and I think you will come to love them dearly. It is in you to do that.”

Martyn stood, “I had almost agreed yesterday on the spot, but wanted to speak to you first. Rodrik, this is the last time this matter is to be spoken of, to anyone.”

His brother smiled, “Agreed, and my congratulations brother.”

Martyn nodded and turned away to find Lord Stark.

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Life for Arya was much easier with the arrival of Nymeria and her pack. The big dire wolf was their leader and she quickly taught them that this girl and this horse were not food. Nymeria had already torn out the throat of a young male wolf who ventured too close to Arya. Then the dire wolf lifted her leg a bit as a male pack leader would and marked the bloody gray body with her pungent, steaming urine. The rest of the wolves watched this and understood.

It was a large, bold pack, numbering fifteen wolves, and the dire wolf. The shaggy beasts varied in color from pale, smoky gray to nearly black, and in age from older unruly pups to elders with white faces and eyes clouded by time. At night Arya slept within the safe curve of Nymeria’s warm body. By day the girl, mounted on sturdy Shadow, led the pack with her dire wolf pacing at her side. The remainder of the pack trailed behind, never out of sight. Food was no longer a problem either, for Nymeria with a long look from those golden eyes, backed her soldiers off after each kill and allowed the girl to choose the choicest parts of meat from each downed elk, deer, or boar.

With her army gathered about her, the girl felt safe enough to start a small fire with her flint and roast her dinner over the popping, snapping flames.

The dire wolf knew these woods well and sensed Arya’s need to reach The Wall. They had broken away from the river and now headed almost due north. The weather varied from rain to cold cloudless days and nights, twice snow swirled all about them but both times soon quit.

One afternoon when the game had been scarce, Nymeria dropped a limp rabbit in front of her, looked at Arya and whined softly. Then the dire wolf pushed the plump hare towards the girl using her nose. Even if the wolves went hungry, she would be fed, Arya understood this.

Sometimes Arya wondered if Nymeria would remember Jon’s white dire wolf Ghost, or if they would fight. She hoped brother and sister would get along and not rip each other to pieces. She couldn’t bear to lose her again.

Meanwhile she was content to let her oversized wolf guide them through the forest and across the hills.

One morning Nymeria and the wolves seemed restless as they travelled. They crested a bare ridge and looked down at a long, thin, gently down-sloped meadow that ran between the trees like a river of grass. Ankle deep snow blanketed everything below them and huge flakes of snow floated down. There was no sound or wind at all; even the frosted trees were silent.

The woodcutters were taking a break from their work. Their life was a dangerous one with long hard days filled with work sawing down trees, lopping off the branches, sawing the logs into rounds and then splitting the pine into pieces small enough to load stove and hearth. The job paid little, but the twelve or so men were glad for the work.

Their teams of ragged aurochs grazed on the buried meadow grass, dropping to their blocky knees and using their huge, shaggy heads to sweep away the snow, revealing the food beneath.

The men were uneasy in the unusual silence, and the large, lazy snowflakes kept them from seeing the ridge above them. They milled uneasily around the wagons or stood in pairs and groups speaking in low whispers.

A low, odd noise caught their attention, and they looked toward the ridge top to find the source, but the snowfall blocked their view. All of the men would remember what happened next for the rest of their lives.

From out of the gauzy curtain of snow rode a girl dressed all in black, her brown hair streaming behind her as she sat her rangy black horse. White plumes of steam blew from the horse’s flared nostrils as the mare seemed to float over the ground. Next to her, matching the ebony horse stride for stride was a giant tan-sable dire wolf, silky fur and corded muscles rippling along its frame as it ran.

A multitude of big wolves in every imaginable tone of gray followed at the heels of the girl. Neither group had seen the other because of the snow. For Arya the temptation of a wild run down a meadow with kisses of snow upon her smiling face was too much to resist. She had even pulled the cap from her head and shook out her hair to feel the wind blow it back as they ran.

Not until they were amidst the woodcutters did the pack realize they had been seen. Fortunately, the men had been so shocked by the vision that materialized in front of them that they simply stood and gaped until the pack was out of sight. None thought to reach for a weapon, nor to follow.

Arya let Nymeria take the lead and the dire wolf veered onto a hidden trail and into the trees.

When they were able to move, to breathe again the men moved towards the trail of broken snow not really believing what they had witnessed, that any of it had been real, but the tracks spoke the truth and for years afterward the story of the Wolf Queen and her pack floating over the snow would be good for a night of free beer or wine at any tavern in the realm. A popular variation would eventually have the girl wielding a short-sword as they glided past. The wolf count also varied and numbered from fifteen to fifty.

The story of the Wolf Queen sighting would soon spread from that clearing to both Karhold and then Winterfell as the woodcutters travelled and sold their wares. At every inn, whorehouse, and tavern the tale was told and retold then shared with everyone they met upon the roads. Anyone who heard it passed it to someone else.

The story had reached King’s Landing long before the woodcutters actually got there with their cumbersome wagons.

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Blackness again and hot, the acrid odor of burn-stone hung heavy around him and he mused that he had finally made it to the first of the Seven Hells. Gradually he became aware that he was flat on his back and lying on a bed of grit and sticks that prodded at him, sharp against his spine and flanks.

Nan, The Storyteller, cautioned him from somewhere in the dark. “The eye….to kill it you must go through the eye. Pay attention boy, for the soft spot will slow it, but death is through the eye.”

He heard a slithering sound, and realized that something huge was uncoiling only inches above his face. The slow, dry rasp was the sound of scales on scales. In the total blackness he could not see what was moving there, only that sense of perfectly controlled motion. Then silence again and a feeling of being trapped in place and the passage of time. He understood now what was beneath him, his bed was not sand and sticks, but the burnt remains of everyone he had ever known and loved, it was ash and bones, incinerated skulls and bare curved rib bones with the flesh melted off and the blood boiled away.

Rage filled him with a terrible resolve to destroy this noisome creature, whatever it might be. He glared into the thick dark above him and then the huge burning gold eye of the dragon opened and looked not at him, but into him.

He startled himself awake with a hoarse cry even as he reached for a sword that wasn’t there. As he tried to slow his heart he knew this was a warning of some type, evil was drawing closer and it was time to remember who he was and what he was supposed to do.

Dru had made him a simple cane to use when he walked. His left leg was still splinted, but seemed to be healing quickly. Now his main problem was his balance and he had been working at that by standing and hobbling about as often as possible.

His adopted family was now dear to his heart, but he had to be elsewhere. He also saw the burden he was to them and what little they had and yet how generously they shared. Long ago he had vowed that he would more than return their generosity as soon as he could.

He wondered why no one came looking for him or his party after they had disappeared. Perhaps Orland was wrong and he was not of Winterfell, but some common ruffian or thief, but that seemed wrong as well. As he sat there on his pallet he stretched his muscled arms and rolled his shoulders to loosen the knots there. He needed to touch a sword, feel the heft and balance of it in his hands. I think I am a swordsman, not a bow, spear, or mace,  but a sword seems right.

He was still sitting there stretching the kinks from his limber body when the littlest boy, Alex, came bounding through the door smiling in delight when he saw Grant was awake. He raced across the room and launched himself at the man on the floor. Grant deftly caught the red headed tot in mid-air and held him there.

It was nice to see that the boy was no longer as shy now around him, and this leaping attack was a common thing with him. The older son Caleb tried to be more dignified, but roughhousing came naturally to both children.

Grant grinned into Alex’s wide blue eyes and asked him “Now why do you think I’m a pirate laddie? I don’t have a parrot that I know of and I’ve no gold hoop in my ear nor gold at my teeth, he bared them at the boy for good measure and was rewarded with a fit of giggles from Alex, I’ve seemingly lost my ship and dinnae' have a peg leg either!”

Wordlessly, Alex merely pointed at Grant’s wood splinted leg and Grant burst into laughter “Aye, you got me on that one Alex.”

He set the boy on his feet in front of where he sat on the floor. “Out with it my boy what makes you think I’m a pirate?” Grant watched as Alex slowly reached out one finger to gently touch the scarred area around his eye.

“I’ve noticed that too, I think I must have cut myself shaving.” The boy hugged him tightly and giggled against his neck. With pleasure Grant held him until the lad eeled away mere seconds later and ran off to help his older brother with the sheep.

Grant tried to catch the fragments of his nightmare, but the child had chased them away.

Chapter Text

Eoghan stood stiffly at attention as his eyes followed the Captain of The Guard. Eoghan and those in the line next to him were the newest members of Winterfell’s castle guard.

Captain Cassel eyed the men for a moment, looking briefly into each face before starting.

“See that direwolf you wear? Now, you are House Stark, and I expect you to carry yourselves thusly….”

The Captain started to slowly walk along the line of men as he spoke.

“Honor and courage….Aye, always", the captain nodded, "courage unto death, but I’d not see you die for this house, but to send others to the Seven Hells for theirs, all men die, make yours count for something.”

“I’ll not hold you longer, but a last bit of advice that I hold to;“Be polite, manners cost nothing, represent our House well, keep your eyes open, and most importantly, have a plan to kill everyone you meet. Welcome to the Castle Guard my brother’s.”

That had not been so long ago, shortly after the ceremony Eoghan was one of the small party chosen to escort Lady Arya Stark to sanctuary. He had felt honored to be riding with the captain and Lady Stark. As he rode he mused about his training, Ser Rodrik Cassel had done most of it, but the captain liked sparring with the men too, teaching even as their training swords clashed, but he had actually learned the most by watching the Stark men and Captain Cassel practice against one another.

It seemed to come so naturally to all of them, in their blood, the challenge of defeating a foe who knew every move you tended to make as well as you knew his. Eoghan, and most of the guard, enjoyed watching them hone their skills in the yard. Later he would practice by copying their cuts and moves on the practice dummy, working on his balance, leverage, agility and to improve his stamina. He knew he was wiry and fast enough to time his movement to his opponent’s and slice a limb to the bone, he just hadn’t had the chance to do so yet.

Winterfell seemed like home already, the morale among the men was high and they had all bonded well. They indeed had mostly become brothers, drinking partners, and fast friends. Eoghan took a lot of good natured ribbing because he was only seven and ten years old and more than a bit naïve in the ways of the world. He had been introduced to the local whores and was happily working his way through them in his spare time.

His red gelding stumbled and missed a step and he was jolted back to their trek. They had been pushing the horses hard and had not stopped at all last night. They were being followed and needed to put miles between themselves and their pursuers. Word had passed down the line that they would be stopping for a break at a spring just up ahead, and less than an hour later they reached it. Both horses and men were grateful for the break and the animals were allowed to graze and drink.

Then, without warning, a group of riders burst from the trees at the far end of the meadow. “Riders, riders from the trees!” Eoghan yelled and pointed in their direction.

“Mount up and hold here!” the captain shouted.

Eoghan turned to look at the captain just in time to watch him sling Lady Stark atop her horse, “Go Arya!” he ordered and turned to walk away as the girl tried to control the jumpy mare, holding her in place. She must have said something to the captain for he turned on his heel and strode back to her, his face an angry mask.

“Arya, Go!” he roared and swatted the prancing mare hard on the rump causing her to bolt away with the girl. The captain made sure Lady Stark made it to the treeline before turning and shouting “Hold this line, no one passes!” Then he easily swung into the saddle of his gray.

Eoghan had been drinking from the spring when all hell broke loose so he was behind the line he was supposed to hold. His horse was sidling sideways, away from him, as he tried to mount with just one foot in his stirrup and he crashed gracelessly on his back into the snow as the horse ran to catch up with the others. He started running towards the line, and saw the two forces initial clash ahead of him. The captain quickly cut two men from their horses, and neatly sidestepped his gray to avoid a cut that would have taken his leg. Men hacked at one another in pairs and groups and slung blood from their swords in graceful arcs.

Captain Cassel bulled his way into the attacking riders, slowly driving them back across the meadow. He became a focal point for the main push of the enemy and the Winterfell guard rallied to his side.

As Eoghan ran through the snow he continued watching, none of the enemy had made it through the line yet as the fight raged. He saw a man on foot take careful aim at the captain with a crossbow and Eoghan started to scream a warning, but the man fired. At the same time the gray reared in place and the crossbow bolt caught the captain in the left calf, pinning his leg to his horse. A second crossbowman sent another bolt into the captain, catching him high in the chest.

The gray was mortally wounded, but bravely struggled forward for a few more steps even as blood sprayed from his nostrils, ran from his side.

His captain continued to slash at anyone within reach even as he tried to jerk his leg free of the horse. The mighty horse managed one more lunge forward, but he was done. His front legs folded 'neath him and he slowly collapsed onto his left side. In desperation Captain Cassel reached down to grasp the shaft of the bolt and yanked at it but the arrow had gone deep.

He was going to be pinned by his horse in a moment. With a roar he jerked his leg hard ripping the fletchings all the way through the wound, but he was only free for half a heartbeat. Then the momentum of the crashing horse flung him hard against the ground and he was trapped, lower leg beneath the animal. In the fall his sword had come loose and slid a foot beyond his reach.

Both the enemy, and his own men were moving towards the downed captain but Eoghan was finally there. He knelt at the captain’s back and caught him under the arms and heaved backwards, even as Cassel pushed hard with his good foot against the saddle. He slid free, and instantly rolled and grabbed his sword from the ground behind Eoghan. When the captain tried to regain his feet, his mangled leg bent at an odd angle and he fell again.

Eoghan spun and blocked a slash from a man on foot. Most of the horses had fallen, dead or dying, some screaming in fright and pain. The men hacked and slashed at each other afoot. He stayed on the offensive, making his opponent step backwards in retreat, as he had been taught, noting the man’s reach and the timing of his slashes. Eoghan waited for the man to take a sweeping slash at him and just as it missed, he stepped in and slashed his opponent's thigh deeply, causing him to fall, dark blood gouting into the snow. The metallic smell of copper filled the air.

The captain was fighting from an awkward kneeling position, next to his fallen horse, and was trying to hold off two men. He was tiring, gasping for breath. The taller man swung a mace with all his might at the captain’s head and Cassel threw himself down and sideways to avoid the blow that would have crushed his skull. The other man saw an easy kill and with a two handed grip on his great sword, raised it high for a killing blow, leaving himself wide open for attack.

The captain made the only move he could. He continued rolling onto his back and in a quick but awkward two handed thrust slid his blade upward through his attacker’s belly and into his chest cavity. The mortally skewered man crumpled backwards, trapping and tearing Cassel’s sword from his weakened grasp. The impaled man writhed on the ground in his death agonies.

Captain Cassel's movements were slower now; he turned over and started crawling towards his long sword, or any available weapon. He was using all of his strength and concentration to keep moving and did not see the blonde giant swinging the bronze mace down.

But the giant did not see Eoghan either; he was too focused on braining Cassel. Eoghan’s sword caught the enemy alongside his neck, cutting cleanly, but even now the mace yet swung down. Without the guidance and full strength of the enemy behind it tho' the club landed off square, glancing off of the captain’s hard head, bruising skin and tearing scalp, but not crushing bone. Yet even the mostly glancing force of it dropped him like a stone.

Stunned, Eoghan dropped to one knee and rolled his captain onto his side. He didn’t feel the giant’s lifeblood spattered across his face and neck, his eyes were focused on his commander’s lifeless body. Eoghan stood to find help, that’s when the crossbow bolt took him in the center of his chest and he fell backwards to stare at the sky as his world went dark and cold.

Chapter Text

It had taken almost two hours to travel the short distance cross country from Orland and Violet’s house to the spring meadow. They had to stop often for Grant to rest his leg as he hobbled over the uneven ground. The men enjoyed each other’s company and they talked as they walked, mostly about Alex and Caleb. By the time they reached the meadow Grant’s face was as pale as the fog that shrouded it and he shivered in both cold and exhaustion. The snow was still there in patches, but most of it had melted into the ground. It had rained hard several times since the battle and no blood remained; but a slight whiff of death clung stubbornly to the pasture.

Nothing looked familiar to Grant as they made their way around the field. Great scars marred the grass, but any tracks had long washed away. Even the ash was slowly seeping into the ground, and only a few crumbling bones remained. The spring was the last stop and Grant circled around the compacted dirt studying the ground. This place felt familiar, he realized he had been here before. He kept looking as he limped back and forth.

Then he saw a bit of pale, curved wood breaking the surface of the black soil and awkwardly knelt, staring at it. His head pounded as he gently brushed dirt from the item with trembling fingers until he had uncovered it. He freed the tiny horse from its tomb and could only stare at it.

Orland had remained back a bit and watched the man kneeling on the black ground….. watched his face change as Grant lifted the wooden animal, cradled the dirty toy in his hand and stared at it.

Nothing could have prepared him for what Grant did next. He threw back his head and hoarsely bellowed “Arryyyaa!! Oh Gods….Arr-yyy-aa!  

Chapter Text

After he found the wooden horse it had taken every bit of soothing Orland possessed to calm him down. Grant’s first thought was to find the girl, as the memories of his past crashed upon him. The frantic man looked about to bolt somewhere, splinted leg and all in search of this “Arya.”

“I need a horse, I need a horse now.” He rasped.

Orland spoke up “Grant, it’s been weeks since….” The other man cut him off in mid-sentence.

“Not Grant! I’m Jory Cassel, Captain of The Guard for Winterfell Castle. I serve Lord and Lady Stark and I have lost their daughter!”

Unable to manage more than that, Jory started limping quickly towards Orland’s cottage. Orland followed close behind thinking about what had happened in that foggy meadow.

Orland brought Jory his clothing and gear as he sat before the hearth fire. Then his host left him alone to dwell on his memories and thoughts. Now as Jory tried to force some warmth into his frozen frame, he picked up his sword and slid it free to check it. He could tell Dru had cleaned and sharpened the blade for him.

His chain mail was less than clean, but other than the hole the crossbow bolt had put in it, still useable. He picked up his muddy boots, and noted the thru-and-thru hole halfway up the shaft of the left one. This was where the first bolt had killed his good gelding after piercing his calf. His cloak was filthy as well, but he might be able to rinse some of the blood from it. He skipped over his gloves and breeches and picked up his heavy cote.

Aside from where they had cut it free of him, it was in good repair. The inside pockets carried his personal items and a secret. A hidden pocket backed most of them and his fingers pushed aside each bit of cloth and found the coin hidden there. His expense money for the journey was all there, as he knew it would be. Lord Stark had given him plenty of gold and silver to see them through to Karhold. He had more than enough to buy a horse and tack, but where to go. Orland had repeatedly reassured him that no children had been found among the dead.

Jory briefly thought about returning to Winterfell, but knew he could not face his Lord and Lady Stark without Arya. It might be desertion, and surely violated his oath to serve his lord, but Jory would rather hang or be beheaded than to……Gods’ how could he ever face them if she was dead somewhere.

He thought about the girl, tough little Arya, and how well she rode, the child felt no fear in the forest. She had her small sword, a flint, probably at least a couple of knives and most of all a calm and clever mind. Surely, she had followed his direction and already arrived at Karhold, but what if those bloody Lannisters had her, or a group of brigands. If he rode into Karhold and Arya was not there, he would be sent back to Winterfell. Even worse, he might run into the Starks or some of his own men at the holdfast. Right now Jory’s sole point of being was to find Arya Stark. He had lost her and now he would find her or die trying.

Yet he shuddered to think how he could ever face the Starks after such a failure, even after he found her; and the loss of ten of his men cut at him as well. He could see each of their faces before him. His thoughts dwelt on young Eoghan, who had saved Jory’s life several times over during the battle, and forfeited his own in the process. 

He needed to ride towards Karhold, stopping at the inns along the way and asking a few careful questions, sip a horn or two of ale and just listen as people talked. He was also wanted by King Joffrey for treason so wearing anything that connected him to the Starks was too risky. 

Still alone in the room, from one of his cote's hidden pockets, he found the leather pouch containing his personal store of coin and poured the contents into his hand. He looked at the modest handful of gold, silver and copper and knew it could never be enough to repay Orland and Violet, but for now it was all that he had. He knew they would never accept his money, but he would leave them no choice. He lurched to his feet and painfully limped into the kitchen area. He stashed the handful of coins behind Violet's neatly folded stack of cleaning cloths on a lower shelf. He knew he would be far away before she ever found it.

He realized that he was exhausted and his healing leg ached from overuse, he needed to sleep for just a few hours. Tomorrow he would find a horse. He limped to his pallet and sank wearily upon it and quickly slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Meanwhile, as Jory sorted through his memories and his personal effects, Orland had walked to Dru’s house to ask him about buying or borrowing a horse for his guest. By the time the captain woke up the next day a rawboned brown bay was tied to the rail outside.     

Chapter Text

Jory hobbled about the cabin ceaselessly, a caged wolf that couldn’t relax, couldn’t sleep. He was ready to find Arya, but a broken leg only healed so fast. He knew what he needed, one of the things anyway, to uncoil his taut body and relax his mind.

He wanted to swing a sword with all his might, feel it slice through the air with a hiss and bury itself deeply within something.  Yesterday Dru had brought him the heavy old tournament sword he’d asked to borrow. He wouldn’t damage his long sword on the burlap dummy Caleb and Alex had made for him.

He snugged his leather wrist bands down tightly, making sure both buckles were secure on each one. They supported his wrists and also helped protect them.

Normally he would wear his gloves for practice, as he did for actual fighting. Jory was a firm believer in the “fight as you train and train as you fight” school of battle.

Today was different, today was to burn off his restlessness and work his weakened body to exhaustion. He hadn’t touched a sword since the battle, not until yesterday. Now he wanted to feel the thrum of the grip beneath his hand as he cut the air and the shock of it as the blade bit deep into the target.

He sat and let the firelight warm his rugged face as he laid the thin, supple leather atop his hand and carefully wrapped it over the palm and about his thumb and fingers. It would lessen the impact of his blows and keep his hands from damage. After wrapping both hands he flexed the fingers a few times to check the tightness and was satisfied.

He removed the wooden splint from his left leg and pulled on one of Derek’s linen shirts and his own leather breeches. He carefully fit his boot over his injured leg, glad that the swelling had gone down enough to put the boot on. He tightly re-splinted over the supporting shaft of the boot and gingerly stood to check the result.

Surprisingly he could stand with little pain. He buckled on his scabbard and sword and limped to the door to peer outside. It was dawn and overcast. He grabbed the tourney sword and stepped into the morning.

Chuckling softly, he looked at the wrapped burlap dummy that the boys had made for him. They had used a bit of charcoal to draw an X where each eye should be and a big frown for a mouth.

Jory stood tall and stretched out his back, first arching it like a cat, them bending backward from the waist. The walk up the gentle slope had started the blood pumping and warming in his well-made body. He pushed his shoulders back and then shrugged them forward, rolling his shoulders and loosening their tightness.

He lazily swung his arms in wide arcs and circles, careful to start with easy, large motions. He limped in a circle as he moved. Roll the neck, stretch long the arms, flex the fingers, waking the man that he was.

A few lunges helped stretch his legs, but the motion was awkward enough for him to be careful there, a fall or twisted ankle was not part of the plan. After he was pleasantly warm he picked up the tourney sword and repeated the warm up, adjusting to the weight of the unfamiliar weapon, its rip through the air, his reach with it.

He loosened his knees and adopted a slight crouch as he widened his stance to a bit less than shoulder length to start. He reminded himself to watch the bad leg. Footwork was such a big part of his fighting. Wearing the splint was almost as crippling as having one hand tied behind his back.

His eyes bored into the training dummy’s face and he side stepped towards his foe, cut and caught him at a lethal angle across the chest, glorying at the impact. He kept it at easy drill of step up and slash and back step and block to start.

His shirt was just small enough to pull tight across the shoulders and bind the motion of his arms. It irritated him. Since he was already sweating he pulled it off and tossed it at a nearby tree branch. He then swung the sword in mighty wide arcs, letting it sing in the air; putting everything he had into it now, his muscles rippling across his shoulders and down his back.

He reversed the sword and drove the pommel hard into the head, a blow that would have driven teeth down a throat or nose into brain. He rolled his wrists again and thrust deep between the ribs of his enemy and then quickly twisted the blade and slid it free.

Parry left gingerly and then a fast downward thrust into the body. Step back to dodge a swing then lift and thrust deep in reply. A chop across the belly spilled intestines. He would have preferred a sparring partner, but this would do.

Sweat glistened in the dark hair of his chest, slickened his torso as he reached the point where the sword and he bonded, and he could just let go and become one with it, fighting on pure instinct and reflex, advance, retreat, moving with his opponent in this deadly dance. He didn’t make a sound although he felt like tipping back his head and roaring at the sky. Yet, except for those piercing dark eyes, his face was composed, set, betraying neither emotion nor intent.

The wristbands and hand wraps darkened, his dark hair dripped sweat and still he continued, muscles on fire until he could lift the blade no more.

This is who I am, he thought. This is right.

Chapter Text

Orland sighed, “Even after you leave tomorrow, feel free to come back here, we always have room. Violet and the boys are surely going to miss you.”

 Jory knew that his travels were just as like to take him far away from here for a while and even if not he wouldn't have trouble follow him here to the farm. They had seen enough tragedy already. The men were side by side, leaning on the pasture fence watching the sheep graze in the field.

“I’ll try to stop by here when I get the chance, but I don’t know where I’ll wind up from here. So, now there are three taverns between here and Karhold on the main road, right?”

 Orland nodded, “The farthest one is a decent enough inn as well. Dru said you paid him twice what that ugly gelding is worth, but he thanks’ you for the silver, we don’t see much coin up here.”

“I thought I probably owed the rest for all the wine I drank, but I owe each of you more than I can ever repay, I know the risk you took by taking me in, saving my life, but I do have two questions for you before I leave and now is as good a time as any to ask them, if you have the time?” Jory had turned to look at Orland with his request.

“You can ask Jory, but I’ll not promise to answer you.” Orland continued to watch his flock graze.

“What happened to your son, Derek?”

A minute passed, then another, and Jory assumed that Orland was not going to answer.

Never taking his eyes from the field, Orland started to speak slowly and deliberately;

“My son looked a lot like you in many ways, more than you will ever know, but he was only eight and ten years old last year when he died, younger than you are. Derek had a stubborn streak a mile wide just like his mother has; there was a lot of her in the boy. He was so determined to make a better life for all of us and had figured out a way to make this farm into more than it was. As a boy, he took every job he could find, working for a few pennies here and there. Shearing sheep, cutting wood, digging trenches, anything that needed doing, Derek did.

We raised a lot more sheep while he was alive, and with the profits he saved Derek eventually bought a pretty, fine bred, red mare to start a herd with. Ahh, she was a graceful thing, with four white socks and a star in the center of her forehead. Dru has a smart, agile, mountain-bred stallion my son had planned to cross with his mare. Derek had an eye for horses and wanted to raise them here, along with the sheep. I think he would have succeeded too; he just never got the chance.

One morning he rode his new mare to work shearing sheep at a farm two ridges over. He never came home that night. Dru and I rode his path and found my Derek hanging from a tree limb halfway there. His horse was gone. When we got him home, Gevena had to clean the boy up for burial, Violet went a bit mad for a few days, in our own way we all did.

There was no reason to kill the boy, they could have taken the horse and left him afoot in the middle of the forest. I know Derek must have fought them for the mare, his knuckles were scraped and someone had broken his nose. A group of brigands preys upon this area, there are probably a good dozen of the ruffians and they range from the river all the way to Karhold. I’ve not seen them, but have heard their leader is a greasy weasel of a man with dark oily hair and a gold tooth. He rides a chestnut mare with four white socks and a diamond on her face, he kept Derek’s horse.”

Jory hadn’t interrupted, and after his friend finished they stood in silence for a bit watching the cloud shadows glide across the meadow. “I am sorry about your son; no one deserves to die like that. Caleb and Alex must miss him a lot.”

Orland looked at Jory, “Caleb has handled Derek’s loss as well as anyone in the family, but Alex became very shy with everyone. He had been Derek’s little shadow, following him everywhere he went when he was here at the farm.  The last year has been especially hard on him, it was only when he started roughhousing with you that he really came alive again and started to laugh once more, and I owe you that Jory. You’ve given Alex back to us.”

For a long time they watched the sheep without a word.

“What was your other question Jory?” asked Orland.

 “Aye, just a little thing I’ve sometimes wondered about, in all the times we’ve sat and talked and every time I drank, tho’ I offered you the wine skin you’ve never taken a sip Orland, am I such a poor drinking partner that you’d not have a tipple with me?”

 Orland smiled sheepishly and shook his head, “Nae, it’s not your company at all lad; I just cannot stand the taste of wine.”

Chapter Text

Ameena’s long wail cut through even the crash of distant thunder. The sooty skies had been threatening all day, and the rain had come washing down on Winterfell just before dark, the first birth pains had hit the girl soon after.

Martyn paced, this is where his nightmare always began, all he knew of these birth pains had been death, never life.  

After Kyla and their son died he thought his life was over and that love was dead to him. Now he knew better, Ameena had been so full of life and such a gentle soul that he couldn’t help but fall in love with his new lady wife.

It never bothered him, as her belly swelled with the babe, that the child wasn’t his.

He had sent for Old Nan, and after his wife was in her experienced hands, had slipped away to the Godswood to pray for the safety of his wife and child beneath the bright shivering leaves of the weir wood.

Now hours had passed and still Ameena screamed into the storm. Surely the old gods would not take them again. Finally, Martyn could stand it no longer and bounded up the steps to check his wife. He pushed the door open and stepped inside their bedchamber to find his tiny wife propped up in bed with a mound of pillows and coverlets as Nan wiped her sweaty brow with a cloth.

‘Meena’s brown eyes met his immediately and she smiled, “Not long now and you’ll hold your child Martyn; Nan says within the hour.” The next contraction started to rip through her frame and her back arched with the power of it.

Nan turned to frown at Martyn Cassel, “This is not the place for you, men do not enter the birthing room.”

“This one does, I’ll stay with my wife, wipe her face and hold her, you take care of the rest. No argument woman.” He sat near ‘Meena’s head and her hands found his and squeezed tightly as she pushed with all her might. Her cry was more guttural this time.    

Nan moved down between Ameena’s raised knees and peered beneath the sheet draped over the sweaty girl, then folded it back to her waist as the contraction ebbed.

“That’s it girl, push harder next time, I can see the top of his head.”

Martyn looked into his wife’s face and smoothed away a sweaty strand of auburn hair from her cheek. “Just a bit more my love and you’ll be done.”

Ameena couldn’t answer, she was panting and trying to relax her exhausted body for a moment, but her big dark eyes refused to leave her husband’s face. He gently cupped her delicate jawline and watched her thick lashes flutter shut at the touch of his rough hand. Gods, but he loved this woman.

Her eyes snapped open as her next contraction gripped her in a wave of pain, a flash of lightning lit the room as the rain hissed down outside. Ameena arched hard with the roll of thunder and the noise escalated along with her cry. Her body pushed the child a bit closer to the world.

“One more push Ameena, I have the head and what a fine thatch of hair this wee one has.” Nan tried to encourage the tired girl.

Sweat rolled down her face, Martyn gently mopped her brow and then tenderly planted a kiss there. “Just once more my wife.” Meena could only smile weakly.

The next contraction surged through her and she felt a weight slip from her.

Then the sweet, angry squall of the baby drowned out the storm.

Nan’s eyes met Martyn’s and she grinned at him. “You have a very loud son Sir.”

In minutes Nan had the child washed and swaddled in a soft cloth. She handed the babe to a glowing Ameena and watched as the girl unwrapped her little one to touch his tiny toes and grasping fingers.

Martyn was at a loss for words, he could only stare at his son, the healthy pink color of him, his lusty cries.

‘Meena softly nuzzled his dark hair, inhaling the sweet scent of him as a tear rolled down her cheek. She rewrapped the boy to keep him warm, then offered the crying child to her husband.

“Would you like to hold your son?”

He reached for the boy with steady hands and cradled the babe against his wide chest, staring into that screaming little face. With a finger he lightly traced the curve of the bairn’s delicate ear.

The baby stopped screaming and blinked, then opened his eyes to stare at Martyn and he was forever lost. The child had his mother’s thickly fringed brown eyes. He smiled as he noted the babe also had a tiny version of her stubborn chin as well.

I have a son.

Chapter Text

The message from Karhold had been concise; "Lady Arya and party have not arrived. No sign found. Await your instruction."

Lord Stark had sent a return raven winging their way with a terse two-word reply, “Keep searching.”

That had been two weeks ago, with no further word from Karhold. Thankfully his son, Rickon, and daughter, Sansa, had arrived safely at their respective places of sanctuary.

Where were they?  Ned could only think of four reasonable possibilities and none of them were pleasant to consider. He was certain that if the Lannister’s had captured Arya and her guard that he would have heard something from them. If brigands had them no ransom message had been received.

Other ill-themed scenarios came to mind and were rejected. They couldn’t be lost; Jory and his men knew well the country between Winterfell and Karhold. Surely, they had not fallen to illness or injury. The party was too large for that, and they would have sent for help. It was as if they had vanished from the face of the earth.

Ned hoped that they were delayed somehow, or had faced a detour and were safe, but his agitated mind kept returning to the one answer he did not want to accept; they are all dead and lying unburied in the mountains somewhere. Even as the thought formed, he pushed it away, not Arya his little, forthright warrior-wolf of a daughter. The child who so closely resembled him had to be alive somewhere out there.

And where was Jory? He had set his Captain of the Guard to escort Arya for several reasons, not only could the girl be a handful, but Ned knew he could entrust the man with anything, and he would faithfully follow through. He remembered the night Arya left, when Jory had looked into his face and reassured him. “My lord, you know well that I love your family as my own. I vow on my life’s blood to see Arya safely to Karhold and to keep her protected once we are there.”

Ned rolled onto his back in the bed, trying not to wake his lady wife, but she rolled on her side to face him.

Catelyn spoke softly, “I can’t stop thinking about her either Ned. Where do you think she is?”

“I don’t know, but I sense they may have run into trouble and are detouring around it or away from it. Have faith that Jory and our men will keep our daughter safe.”

“They’ve been missing for weeks Ned, and not one word, not even a rumor of them. You must send another search party, this time all the way to Karhold, and they’re not to come back without Arya.”

Ned pulled Catelyn snug against his side, and she naturally pillowed her head upon his shoulder and laid her palm upon his deep chest.

“Tomorrow I’ll send Rodrik and a dozen men to look for them. He’s been worried about his nephew; I can see it in his face. Word from the south is that King Joffrey continues to add to his army. News of a bigger threat looming on the horizon has reached him. Rumors fly that the Dragon Queen and her trio of scaly children are on the move, amassing a rag tag army of slaves and misfits as they go.

Stranger still is the sea-talk of the sailors at port, of a mighty dark creature that flies by night in the skies around the distant smoking sea.”

“There are always rumors of dragons, foolish tales to frighten naughty children and amuse tavern patrons my husband.”

“Perhaps more than that this time, Catelyn. Several merchant ships sighted the beast and a few ships that have sailed into the area have disappeared.”

Ned pulled his lady wife atop him, “Enough talk of dragons, time to think of dire wolves.”

The next morning, Ned Stark found his Master-at-Arms, Rodrik Cassel in the armory and charged him with finding Arya and her escort. The stalwart man was glad for the chance to find the girl and his nephew, and the two men shared their concerns as they planned out the search.

“My lord you know Jory would never leave Arya willingly. He looks on the girl as a little sister or daughter.”

“Rodrik, I don’t doubt your nephew in the least. I sent him with my daughter knowing that she would be secure. My hope is that they are safe, and only delayed somewhere, but I need you to find them."

“Aye and when I do find them?”

“See them safely to Karhold then return to Winterfell. The Lannister’s may be preparing to battle dragons now, but Joffrey won’t forget about us and our slight to his ‘honor’ for long.”

“We will find them my lord but unwinding the tangle of their trail may take time, with your leave, I’ll want to stop often along the ride to listen at the taverns and inns and to visit farmers along the way.”

“A smart idea Ser Rodrik, do as you must, just find my daughter and our men.”

Chapter Text

Theon collapsed atop the girl panting. His first time with the newest whore only whetted his hunger for more. “We don’t see many of you southern girls this far north,” he finally managed.

“Why do you think I’m southern mi ’lord?” Nessa asked in a puzzled voice.

Theon lifted a long lock of her curly hair and allowed it to twine about his finger. “Because you have golden hair here- and everywhere,” he purred into her ear. “Those ice blue eyes, all marks of a southern girl.”

“No, I am of the north and share my mum’s pale colors. I arrived only yesterday, and you are my first visitor.”

Theon rolled off Nessa and eyed the girl’s small breasts. Then he started tracing slow circles around one pale pink nipple. Nessa knew if she kept him abed for another romp, she could earn an extra coin.

“I rode pillion behind a young sellsword on the journey here, warming his nights as payment for the trip. He told me the most amazing story and swore it was true.”

Theon met her eyes. “I like stories, what was his tale?”

Nessa smiled and began. “Only a few weeks ago a woods crew was in the forest north of the Last River cutting firewood to sell. They were working on both sides of a mountain meadow in a foot of snow, when an eerie silence settled over them and big flakes of snow started falling…”

Theon moved his lazily circling finger to her other nipple. “I can already tell it’s a lie but go ahead with your yarn.”

Nessa grinned and continued, “The quiet and the strange snowfall made the woodsmen uneasy, and they took a break to decide whether to stay or to go. After a few minutes they heard odd noises from the hillside above them, but the snow blocked their view. All they saw was white.”

“Ahh yes, and now comes the grand lie; was it a tribe of white walkers or a mighty mammoth?” Theon teased.

“Neither, from out of the white rode a girl on a black horse, her brown hair streaming behind her as she galloped, at her side, loped a huge dire wolf keeping pace with the child.”

Theon’s circling finger froze.

“………behind the girl came at least twenty wild wolves in every color and size.”

“Chasing the girl?” Theon asked a frown on his face.

Nessa continued, “No with the girl, following her, almost frolicking through the snow as they passed. The girl and her pack ran right through the men, bold as you please down the meadow until they disappeared into the falling snow again. It was real, not a lie, they all saw the tracks left behind in the snowy ground.”

Theon rolled out of bed and started throwing on his clothes, “Nessa did you really hear this story or are you making it up?”

“No, this is what was told to me, from a man who heard it straight from a woodcutter who was there. Further north most have heard of the Wolf Queen and her ride.”

Theon was trying to pull on his boots and at the title he snorted, “Wolf Queen, aye but don’t that fit.”

After tossing Nessa triple her asking price, he ran towards the castle to find Lord and Lady Stark.

The Wolf Queen

Theon grinned.

Chapter Text

Jory sat at a small table in a dimly lit corner of the tavern and listened to the conversations around him as he nursed the watered down swill that served as ale in this run-down place. He kept his head down and let his thick hair partially curtain his face. The soot and dirt he had rubbed over his features completed his disguise. He doubted anyone would recognize him, but with a price on his head it paid to be careful.

Thus far, the hours here had been a waste of time. Aye, he had learned the going price for turnips, cabbage and potatoes, and which Karhold serving wench was with child, but this was useless gossip. None of this would help him find Arya, and no mention of either the Starks or the Lannister's.

It was the same everywhere he went, no news of the girl. Jory was weary but pressed on, eager to find the one bit of information that would let him start actually searching for Arya. When he did try to sleep, he was haunted by visions of all the terrible things that could have happened to her, or even worse, Arya would be there, alone and in trouble, pleading for his help.

He pulled the hood of the borrowed cloak over his head as he sipped the foul ale. The tavern was starting to fill up. A brawny, dark-haired man walked in and bought a skin of wine. The men at the table next to Jory saw him and waved the newcomer to their table. “They’ll let anyone in this place, how’ve you been Fergus?”

“Well enough for a workin’ man, I’ve been cuttin’ firewood and sellin’ it for a fine profit.” Fergus sat down and continued his small talk and Jory soon tuned him out.

Time passed and Jory listened to those around him as they drank and talked, and drank some more. His broken leg ached, and he propped it up on the other stool at his table.

The banter at the table next to him grew louder. “Never heard of The Wolf Queen! Where have you been?” asked Fergus.

Jory took a sip of ale and tilted his head just the slightest bit towards them.

“It’s true! I heard it myself from my cousin, and he heard it from his wife’s brother’s friend. A group of woodcutters workin’ northwest of here were fallin’ trees at the edge of a meadow in the mountains when it got dead quiet and started to snow. They felt like they were being watched so they stopped working.

Then, from the mountain top, pretty as you please, canters a wee girl on a jet-black horse, dark hair streaming behind her, and at her side was a giant wolf matching her horse stride for stride as they floated through the snow without a sound.

She bewitched all the men, and they could only stare as she rode by, and trailing at her heels was a big pack of wolves!”

It had to be. Jory bit back a smile and took a long swallow of ale. By the old gods, it had to be Arya, but where did she find Nymeria? How did she have an entire pack of wolves with her?

 A ruddy faced drinking partner at the table with the storyteller spoke up. “Fergus, you’re full of shite, only a fool would believe a story like that!”

Another man at the table chimed in. “Nae, I heard the same thing a couple of days ago, a dark-haired girl leading a wolf pack, but ‘twas a direwolf at her side. She was heading north, between the Last River and The Wall.”

Belatedly, Jory realized that two more men had walked in, and he glanced at them and froze. His Uncle Rodrik and Desmond stood near the door eyeing the motley patrons. Jory slowly turned his head down and away, grateful for the concealing hood.

His uncle and Desmond bought tankards of ale and moved to sit at a table against the far wall. Jory slid his injured leg off the stool. Rodrik had taken the seat facing the front of the tavern so he could watch the door.

Jory had thought about what he would do if he happened to run across any Winterfell guardsmen, but he had not considered what to do if he met his uncle. His duty and concern was solely for Arya. He could not return to Winterfell without her, she was his responsibility. He pulled the heavy cloak close to hide his sword and belt.

Then he watched Desmond and his uncle from the corner of his eye, and when they were busy talking, Jory stood and casually walked out the front door, limping only slightly.

He had just made it to his rawboned bay gelding, when his uncle spoke up from behind him. “Did you think I wouldnae' recognize my own nephew?”

Jory turned to face the man, and saw that Rodrik’s eyes were ablaze with anger. “Where have you been Jory, and where is Arya?”

He knew his uncle wasn’t done yet. Jory squared his shoulders, lifted his head and looked Ser Rodrik in the eyes and let him continue.

“It’s been weeks and not a word, and now I find you drinking alone in a ramshackle roadside tavern. We thought you were all dead.”

Jory paused a moment to make sure his uncle was done, and then he tried to explain. “We were followed by a Lannister led group of sell swords. When they caught up with us, I sent Arya into the woods to wait for us. I thought she would be safer there than in the midst of a battle. My men were killed by the larger Lannister forces, but all or most of their men died as well. A farmer found me, and he and his family took me in and cared for me while I recovered. Now I’m looking for Arya.”

Puzzled, Ser Rodrik scowled. “Jory, why didn’t you return? And not to send word back to Winterfell……we could have been searching weeks ago.”

“Uncle, if I could have sent word back, I would have, and I’ll not return to Winterfell until I’ve found Arya. I made a promise to Lord Stark and I mean to keep it.”

“You’ll ride with us then. Come back inside……”

“No Uncle, we will find her faster if we split up. I lost her and I can find her. I just overheard a tale of a “Wolf Queen”, a girl with dark hair astride a black horse with a direwolf at her side, it must be Arya.”

“Boy, we knew that already, Lord Stark sent a rider after us with that news. We’ve been to Karhold already, now we’re turning north to find her. A raven was sent to The Wall, so they can look for her as well. You’ll come with us, and I’ll hear no more of your arguments. I know what that stubborn set to your jaw means, and I’ll not have it Jory.”

“I am not a boy, Uncle. I do not take orders from you, and I do not expect you to understand why I have to do this.” Jory reached into his cote and pulled out the pouch of gold. “This is Lord Stark’s gold; most of it is there, and I’ll replace any that is missing.” He held the gold out for Rodrik, and when the man made no move to accept it, Jory tossed the pouch at him, and his uncle deftly caught it.

Rodrik’s face softened. “Jory, this is madness.”

He nodded. “Perhaps, but it has to be this way. We’ll find her. Take care Uncle.” Jory turned back to his horse and tightened the saddle cinch.

Ser Rodrik watched his nephew. He could tell Jory was tormented, but still, he was not acting quite right. There was more to the story than what Jory had shared. He knew he had to trust that his nephew knew what he was doing in venturing off alone to search.

Jory swung into the saddle awkwardly, favoring his left leg. He noticed Ser Rodrik still standing there, and gave him a nod before riding off.

Rodrik watched him ride away. This aloof, guarded man was almost a stranger to him. Yet, Jory had grown up surrounded by Starks, and if possible, his loyalty to them ran deeper even than Rodrik’s devotion. Indeed, Jory had chosen to worship the old gods favored by the Starks, when the rest of the Cassels followed the Faith of The Seven.

His stubborn nephew almost took it as a matter of pride that he was not a knight. Those who followed the old gods could not be knighted, but it didn’t make them any less brave or honorable, Lord Stark himself was proof of that.

Rodrik finally decided that losing an entire company of men and the girl you were charged with protecting, had been a huge blow to his nephew. Perhaps the time alone would help heal his body and his spirit.

Finally, as the snow began to fall, Ser Rodrik, asked The Warrior to watch over Jory in his travels, and prayed to The Mother to continue to protect Arya. Then he turned and walked back into the warmth of the tavern.

Chapter Text

The stubborn bay gelding set his own pace as Jory rode west along the road towards the Last River. He thought about his uncle and was glad he’d understood that the search for Arya was something he needed to do alone.

A faint smile played upon his lips as he thought of the many hours Rodrik had spent teaching him to wield a sword, shoot a bow and become deadly with a wide range of weapons. His training had started as soon as he could hold and swing a stick.

Jory’s smile grew as he thought about how Lyanna always ran to find him after his training and demanded that he teach her everything he had learned. She often found excuses to watch from a distance when Jory and her brothers trained. Lyanna and Arya so much alike, all fire and feistiness.

When he was growing up he and Lyanna had been nearly of an age. She became his best friend and favorite sparring partner. Both children were fast and agile and Winterfell was a grand playground. The Stark brothers were a bit older than Jory, with Benjen nearly seven years his senior and Ned and Brandon older still. The age difference only made him more determined to hold his own with the brothers.

Lyanna and he had battled their way across nearly every inch of Winterfell, to the clacking cadence of their wooden swords. Even now he could hear the rhythmic sound accompanied by children’s laughter and shouts. Over time each had honed their weaponry skills to a keen edge against the other. With his father and uncle teaching him and the constant sparring with Lyanna, Jory grew to hold his own against the Stark brothers.

He rode until it was well dark, and then found a sheltered area deep in the nearby woods. He pulled off the bay’s saddle and blanket and groomed his horse after tethering him to a tree.

It was cold and a couple of inches of snow had fallen on the road, but here, deep in the trees, the snow did not reach the thick carpet of dry pine needles.

Jory’s leg ached and he knew he wouldn’t sleep. He curled up in his cloak and tried to get comfortable on his side with his sword close at hand. At some point he dozed off and sparred with Lyanna in his dreams.

Something woke him at sunrise, then a noisy step onto crunchy pine needles. Jory rolled to his feet, sword in hand, grimacing at the flare of protest in his mending leg. He looked to his horse and saw the animal staring into the trees. The bay shifted restlessly, and his ears flicked back and forth nervously. Jory could tell that more than one person was out there, and they were approaching from different directions through the dark forest.

It turned out that there were three of them. With just a glance at each, he knew they were common thieves, dirty and shabbily dressed. Just like me he thought with a wry grin. He said nothing, only watched them approach, with their swords in hand, noting their weapons, the way each moved. The biggest man had almost four inches in height and fifty pounds weight advantage over him, but he was slow, heedless of his feet and somewhat clumsy. The other two were more of a threat, lean and about his size. They moved well enough, but neither worried Jory.

They stopped about twelve feet away, one to each side and the third directly in front of him. The wiry man before him looked Jory up and down, from his muddy boots, to his grime smudged face, then spat at his feet. “We’ll need your horse and tack, and if you hand over that long sword we might let you walk away.”

Jory’s eyes narrowed as the man spoke. It was impossible to miss the gold upper tooth, and he did look like a weasel.

“Nae, the horse and tack are mine, and you’ll not want any part of this sword. I promise you that.” He spoke the words, waiting for their attack and knowing exactly what he was going to do. He did not have to wait long.

The man on his right lunged at him recklessly, swinging his bastard sword at Jory’s head. He stepped back and his own swing lay open his attackers upper arm to the bone, causing him to scream and stagger into the path of Gold Tooth. The big man on his left had hesitated just a heartbeat before attacking, but it was enough. Jory used his momentum to slash across his unarmored upper belly. The larger man dropped his sword and crumpled to the ground clutching his midsection and writhing in pain.

Instinctively, Jory stepped back and looked for Gold Tooth. The leader was yelling and swinging wildly as he charged. Jory neatly deflected the edge of his opponents sword with the flat of his blade, and sidestepped again as Gold Tooth’s rush carried him past.

Now safely behind the off balance bandit, it was but a single sure motion to slice deeply into his opponents thigh and watch him topple to the ground as blood poured from the gaping wound. Jory finished the other two men cleanly, as he kept an eye out for more brigands and watched Gold Tooth bleeding out.

He walked over to the dying man and tossed aside the man’s forgotten sword.

“I beg of you, have mercy. Help me please!” the man pleaded as he futilely tried to stop the gush of blood from his leg.  

He knelt and drew his dagger. He waited for the man to look at him before he spoke. “Did the boy beg too?” demanded Jory. “When you hanged him in the forest last year for his fine red mare- Did he beg for mercy?”  

Gold Tooth finally managed to focus on Jory’s face and his eyes widened in recognition. “Gods how? You’re dead! You’re dead!” He howled in pain and fear.

“Nae” snarled Jory as he touched the tip of his dagger to the bandit’s chest. “I’m Justice;
this is for Derek.” Smoothly he drove the blade home.

He slowly and carefully circled his way to where the bandits had tied their horses. He was not surprised to find that one was the pretty sorrel mare with white socks, and a star on her forehead. Both geldings were better bred mounts than his tired bay, and he soon had his saddle on the sturdy blue roan.

He was going northwest and Orland, Violet and the boys were in that direction. Before long he was riding that way on the fast walking roan, leading the other three horses alongside.

Chapter Text

Jory rode down the last bit of trail before Violet and Orland’s cabin and smiled. The fields were full of fat sheep. Violet had found the money he’d hidden. Just at that moment, the lazy bay he’d bought from Dru decided to balk again, nearly jerking his arm out of the socket for the hundredth time on this trip.

The boys saw him first and bolted from the shed to the cabin. Jory’s smile widened and he fondly shook his head when he heard them yelling in tandem, “Jory’s back! He’s come back!”

He had just slid from his horse and turned when both boys flung themselves at him. He hugged them both hard and felt Alex’s thin arms wrap about his shoulders. Caleb seemed to suddenly remember that he was older, and he stepped back to grin up at Jory.

“You’ve grown Caleb, have I been gone that long?”

“No Ser, only for ten and three days.”

His left arm was still securely around Alex; somehow the boy had managed to climb him like a tree and clung to his left side. “Jory, I have a sword now too!” He declared.

Violet half- heartedly scolded her youngest son. “Alex, you cannot just throw yourself at Captain Cassel. I’m sure he’s weary after his journey.”

Jory looked at her and raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. “I’ve never been a “Ser” and I’m not a “Captain” when I’m here Violet. I’m the same man who left here only a few weeks ago, so just plain “Jory” will do.”

The petite, auburn haired woman looked up innocently into his face, then broke into her most devilish smile, “As you wish ‘plain Jory’, ‘tis good to see your handsome face again.”

During this little reunion Orland had caught the red mare’s halter and had been gently stroking her elegant neck. “You found Derek’s mare,” he said quietly, not looking at Jory.

“I wanted to bring her home to you Orland, she belongs here.”

Orland continued looking at the horse and lightly scratched around the base of her ear. “What of the men who………….stole her?”

Jory simply replied, “He’ll not be bothering anyone else Orland.” He knew it was what a father needed to hear.

Orland nodded and motioned at Caleb, “Son help Jory put the horses in the big pen. Alex stay out of the way, don’t be underfoot, you don’t know these horses and they might kick.”

Jory took the prancing mare and his new gelding and let Caleb lead the two more sedate bays. It was nice being around the two boys and listening to them chatter about the horses. He discovered that Derek had been teaching Caleb to handle and care for horses before his death. Jory noted that the boy seemed to have a knack for working with them and even the high-strung mare calmed at his touch.

“You’ve a way with horses Caleb, a gift.”

The boy smiled at Jory, “No, Derek had the gift. I was just starting to learn when…..” He broke off, looked down, and focused on brushing her silky red coat.

They groomed and fed the horses before heading back to the cabin. Jory scooped up Alex as they walked and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, much to the boy’s delight. They stopped to wash up at the well and Jory rinsed the dirt from his face and neck in the icy water. He shivered in the cold breeze.

The cabin was as warm and welcoming as he remembered, and the rich aroma of lamb stew filled the air. The boys set the table with the proper rattle and clatter of bowls and spoons as Vi’ sliced a warm loaf of her good dark bread for dinner.

Orland came through the door with an armful of split cedar firewood for the hearth. He stacked the wood in a corner and dusted off his hands and shirt. The five of them laughed and talked their way through the simple, yet hearty meal.

Finally, Alex and Caleb went to bed, leaving just the adults ‘round the table. The two men were talking as Vi’ quietly slipped from the room. She returned a couple of minutes later with a pink fabric bundle in her hands.

She gently set her burden on the table in front of Jory, and he heard the ring of silver and the clink of coin, and knew what was within. Violet remained standing near his shoulder, with her hands upon her hips. “You knew I’d find this after you left, but we cannot keep it Jory. You must take it back.”

He remained sitting but rolled his brown eyes up to study her. “I wouldn’t be here today if not for all of you. I’d have died in the snow that day. I owe you all a debt I cannot repay, but this is a start.”

He moved his eyes to Orland and inclined his head that way, “I brought Derek’s mare back so you could continue his idea of raising good mountain horses. Caleb worked alongside me tonight, brushing down and feeding the horses I brought. He has a skill for handling them. I have no use for four horses. I’ll keep the blue roan and give you the two bay geldings, they’re quiet enough for the boys to ride, and can probably pull a cart or sledge to haul hay or firewood.”

Orland tried to interrupt, but Jory held up his hand and grinned at him. “Violet’s not the only one here with a stubborn streak. I feel like you’ve all become family, and it would truly bother me if you refuse my gratitude.”

Vi’ still stood next to him and he felt her hand on his shoulder, “I dinna’ know what to say to that, other than you have a nice way with words ‘plain Jory.”
Both men laughed at Violet’s gracious acceptance of the coin and horses.

Jory shared his glad news of Arya and her new role as the “Wolf Queen.” Orland knew of several travel routes he could take and likely areas to search for the girl and her pack. He offered to help him search, but Jory explained his need to find the girl on his own. Unlike his uncle, both Orland and Violet understood him and did not question it further.

“I have to leave on the ‘morrow at dusk, but if I might do anything to help here, I’d be glad of the work.”

The next morning Jory rode over to Dru’s forge and found the man hammering out spear points.

“Jory! I heard you were back! What can I do for you?” The big man slapped him hard across the back in greeting.

“I have a few items I’d like to trade you if possible. Last time I was here I saw a couple of small forest bows, do you still have them?”

Dru wiped a sooty hand across his face, “Good choice, not much call for your long bows up here. Recurves work best in the mountains.”

Jory had been carrying a rolled up blanket, now he unrolled it upon Dru’s work bench, revealing the swords, belts and scabbards hidden within. “It’s not much, but would you take these weapons and belts as trade for your two smallest bows? They’re for Orland’s sons.”

Dru picked up the scabbards and slid each sword and knife free to look at them. “These are decent enough weapons, worth more than two bows.”

“I have no use for them. I did not wish to leave good arms to rust in the woods. I thought you might want them.”

Dru looked at Jory, “Three belts, three scabbards, three swords. The red mare back at Orland’s, did these arms come from those who murdered Derek?”

“They did.”

Dru didn’t smile, “Bloody Good, I’m glad Gevena kept me from breaking your neck. For these I’ll trade you the two bows, quivers, and enough arrows to last the boys a bit.”

Jory was looking at him in puzzlement, thinking about the first part of Dru’s statement. “I will also need a couple of long strips of deerskin for armguards too…” He shook his head. “Did you really want to break my neck?”

Dru nodded, “That first day in the meadow. I didn’t know you, you didn’t belong here, and you were dying..... nearly dead. You were part of those who brought ruin, blood, and death here. What I almost did would have been no different than you ending any dying enemy.”

He looked at the swords and knives before him and continued. “I know you understand what I’m saying. I could have done it then and not thought twice about it. Now that I know you (he shrugged)…..I, well now…..I’d think twice about it Jory.”

Jory understood, if he lived here he would feel the same way. “I’m glad you think so highly of me Dru, perhaps, with a bit more time you’d even come to think thrice before wringing my neck.”

For a moment he thought he’d read the smithy wrongly and waited for his ire. Instead Dru sputtered, then caught his breath and roared with laughter, pounding his fist on the oaken bench, causing everything on it to rattle and dance.

The boy’s fingers were wrapped so tightly around the grip of the bow that they were white and bloodless. “Nae Caleb, don’t strangle the bow, relax your fingers, and just let the bow rest in your hand.”

Jory was kneeling behind the boy, so he reached around and carefully loosened that clenched left hand. “Gently curl your fingers around it, don’t kill it, and you need to breathe, don’t hold your breath.”

The boy exhaled noisily and relaxed his clenched hand a bit. “Much better, and remember never to dry-fire your bow. Don’t loose the string unless you’re shooting an arrow, you'll damage or break your bow.”

While Caleb had been at ease with the horses, Alex had been a natural with his recurve. Not that he was accurate with his aim yet, but he had the form down.

Jory heard his father’s voice, “Where form goes- accuracy follows.”

Last night it had been Orland and Violet’s idea to let Jory train both boys to shoot. They had wanted to start with a sword, but Jory explained to them that a bow was the better choice to begin with. He enjoyed working with the lads.

“Perfect Caleb! Always draw the string back to the exact same spot at the corner of your mouth.”

Jory asked for the fourth time, “What can you shoot?”

Both boys in unison, “The target!”

Jory watched Caleb send an arrow winging four feet over the target and into the hillside behind it to clatter amidst the rocks there. He winced; glad he was safely behind the boy.

“Very Good!” Now, a list of things we don’t shoot at.”

“The sheep!”

“The horses!”

“Buildings!”

“Each other!”

(silence)

Jory frowned, “And?”

“Mother and father!”

“The neighbors!”

“Strangers!”

(silence)

“And??”

Caleb shot him a grin, “You!”

Jory shook his head, “No…Aye, but not what I’m trying to teach you.”

Alex laughed, “We know Jory, Never aim or shoot at anything you don’t want to kill, and make sure of what is behind your target before you shoot- arrows fly a long ways.”

Jory just sighed and closed his eyes. “Correct! You cannot call back an arrow once it’s left your bow.”

He though back to last night and the conversation at the dinner table after the boys had gone to bed. Orland and Violet had happy news of their own to share, they were expecting another child in half a year’s time and wanted their children to be able to protect themselves. Jory had talked them into the bows, he didn’t want these boys within sword range of anyone. Better to strike from a distance and from cover. Also, when they became good enough, they could hunt rabbits and grouse and help provide food for the table or frighten away the coyotes and wildcats from the hapless sheep.

Jory enjoyed his time here with the family, it felt like a second home, but he had too leave in a few hours, he must find Arya.

Chapter Text

It took her breath away. The wall was even larger in real life than in her imagination, and it stretched in both directions as far as she could see. Its glazed face looked more like stone than ice and seemed to be mirroring the ashen hued clouds overhead.

So close now, but which way to find Jon. Arya didn’t know whether to turn left or right to find her brother. Uncle Benjen had talked of Castle Black, but not of how to reach it. Impatient beneath her, Shadow nodded her shaggy head and pawed at the snow. It gave her an idea and she looked at the big direwolf sitting next to them.

“Nymeria, find Jon. Nymeria find Ghost.”

The large wolf whined softly and tilted her head in one direction and listened for a few minutes then tipped her head the other way and listened for a bit, then she stood, lifted her head and daintily sniffed the air. At last, she walked in a small circle and stopped, facing westward.

Nymeria looked up at Arya, then looked west again and whined. Arya realized that going west felt right to her too and reined her mare in that direction.

When they broke through the forest the next afternoon, she could just see a castle at the foot of the wall far ahead of them. Arya grinned, she was almost there. When they had first come within sight of the wall, Nymeria had pushed her pack back, making them follow at a distance from within the cover of the forest. At times the pack and Nymeria called to each other, then message seemingly relayed, fell silent once again.

She had started moving toward the castle when a long blast from a horn sounded, then another. It made her pause and look around. A scant handful of riders broke from the castle and rode directly toward her. At her side Nymeria began to growl. The direwolf was looking at those distant riders fighting their way through the deeper snow of the large clearing.

Still growling, Nymeria turned and walked a couple of steps back towards the trees, then paused and looked at Arya. Puzzled, she looked at the growling direwolf then studied the far away riders.

Not right, something’s not right.

Her skin prickled and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Danger. Nymeria snarled now and moved a step closer to the trees.

Arya looked at the riders again and it struck her; Men of the Night’s Watch wore black. These riders were dressed in white or pale garments. She shivered and her mare caught that fear and trembled beneath her. Arya let the frightened mare head for the sheltering forest, following Nymeria’s trail. The big direwolf created a path through the snow for her horse to follow. Within the woods there was little snow and their speed increased.

After a while they paused to listen and catch their breath. Nymeria lifted her muzzle and called for her pack, howling into the icy air. From near and far they sang in answer and soon the closer ones were there with them as they began moving away from the wall.

What had happened at Castle Black, and where was Jon? She couldn’t go to Castle Black and now she was unsure of where Karhold was after all of this time and winding over and around the mountains. For a few minutes she allowed herself to feel lost and lonely. She loved her pack, but they could never replace her family. They couldn’t talk to her or laugh with her, hug her or even scold her. I should have listened to Jory and ridden to Karhold.

As she thought, she realized that for now she needed to trust Nymeria and decided to let her lead the way for a while. Then her thoughts drifted back to Jon and the silent tears flowed as she dwelt on him. Automatically, her hand drifted down to rest on Needle. Arya was only dimly aware when Nymeria started moving again and her horse automatically followed.

Chapter Text

Since fleeing the Wall, Arya had felt adrift in the forest. The days and nights had passed in a blur. She no longer led her pack so much as was borne along by them. Jory gone, and maybe Jon too. It was too much loss for the time being.

Nymeria and the wolves went where they would and game little Shadow followed. Sometimes at night, Arya would slide from her mare and curl up in a sheltered area to sleep as her horse grazed. She always woke with Nymeria wrapped around her. Her appetite was gone and she ate almost nothing, and remembered to drink only when thirst turned her mouth to a desert.

Once or twice, as she slept fitfully, the scent of wood smoke tickled her nose, but did not wake her. It seemed a part of whatever nightmare haunted her that night.

One night the smoke was strong enough to rouse her from her sleep, at first she thought it had been imagined, then realized someone must be camped somewhere nearby. Since none of her animals seemed concerned, her tired body drifted back into sleep.

Again, the next night, the campfire smoke woke Arya again and sparked her curiosity. Was Nymeria following them or were they tracking her? She decided that at daylight she would circle around and find their back trail, and see who shared their woods.

Shortly after daybreak she rode out on her horse with Nymeria following and circled back through the trees. She was surprised to stumble upon a good-sized road cutting through the trees and running north to south.

She found a single set of horse tracks, almost twice as large as her mare's and pressed deep into the snowy ground. Arya realized that Nymeria and the wolf pack had been travelling parallel to the road for a few days now. They had also been silent during that time.

She jumped on her horse and rode back into the timber, deciding to wait until nightfall and find out who rode along this southbound road. Maybe it’s Jon. Her spirits rose, Nymeria had brought her to Jon after all.

At dusk she smelled the sweet smell of smoke mingled with the tantalizing aroma of meat roasting and her stomach cramped and growled loudly. Arya realized it had been a while since she had eaten anything.

When full dark she began making her way towards the direction of the smoke, after making Nymeria stay near Shadow. The snow had frozen into an icy crust again, and she moved as slowly and quietly as possible, marking progress in inches rather than in feet.

When close enough to see fire glow playing on the trees and hear the pop of briskly burning wood, she slowed even further. Now flat on her belly, she crawled to a downed tree and peeked over it. Smoke burned her eyes and made them water, but she couldn't see anyone tending the fire itself.

Arya waited and watched, who would leave meat cooking at a fire? Then a soft noise behind her, Arya rolled aside, but it was far too late. Her hand grasped for Needle, but a much larger hand caught hers and held tightly. She couldn’t clearly see who had her, but he was big. She kicked out hard and connected solidly with a shin. He deftly slid Needle from the scabbard and tossed it aside somewhere. She kicked him again and with her free hand scooped up a handful of snow, dirt and leaves and flung it into his face.

He pulled her to her feet and held her at arm’s length until he snared her free hand.

“Stop it girl, I’m not hurting you. You’re the one who snuck up on me. Are there more of you?”

"Yes!” She shot back too quickly, my father and uncle and most of my brothers!”

The man glared at her, “You're lying through your teeth, I think you're a runaway.”

Arya eyed his arm as he held her hands behind her back.

“If you bite me girl, I’ll paddle your arse; that goes for the kicking too.”

He moved her closer to the light and warmth of the fire. She saw the greatsword at his side and hoped Nymeria had stayed with Shadow.

The man grasped her chin and tilted her face up to study it in the light. Arya looked at him and knew him by the scars.

“You’re the Hound.”

“Aye, girl, and I know you too, you’re a Stark. Why are you out here alone?”

She decided to only tell him a bit of her story, as he was the enemy. “I went to the Wall to find my brother, but the Night’s Watch was gone.”

“What did you find at the Wall? Why didn't you stay there?"

“They came after me when I got close to the Wall. I don’t know who they were, but they were evil, I could feel it and the animals too. They were dressed in white.”

“No, not dressed in white. They are white; White Walkers.”

He still studied her face, seeing the truth in her story.

“Will you take me back to Kings Landing?” Arya asked, returning his gaze.

He grinned or grimaced, Arya wasn’t sure which, before answering. “I’m done with Kings Landing, done with Lannister’s and Tyrell’s and all those ‘pretty’ people in that corrupting sty. It can sink into the sea for all I care. Seems I'm more suited to being a sellsword."

Arya slowly felt some of her tension and fear drain away. This was not the same Hound that had guarded Joffrey. Her mind had been busy as they talked.

She trusted her direwolf, and when lost had let Nymeria lead, for some reason her pet had brought her parallel to this road and downwind of the Hound’s camp for several days and nights, moving as they had moved. Am I meant to be here?

 “You can let me go. I promise I won’t run away. In fact, if you return me to Winterfell my family will reward you well.”

The Hound released her hands. “Even if you ran there's nowhere to go.”

Arya stepped closer to the fire and allowed it to warm her.

“I have a horse tied back in the trees, and you should know I’m travelling with friends.”

The Hound offered her half a roasted rabbit and Arya tore into it hungrily.

“Explain your friends’ girl.” demanded the Hound.

Arya swallowed and continued, “You remember my direwolf, the one you were hunting, the one that ran away?”

He nodded at her, “Go on girl.”

“Her name is Nymeria, and she is waiting back in the trees with my horse, and she has her pack of wolves with her. “They’re with me.” She tipped away another bite of meat, “If I call her in, do I have your word you won’t harm her?”

He was staring into the flames. “If she won’t attack, I’ll not bother her.”

It was enough; Arya nodded and called her wolf.

Silent as a shadow the direwolf came from the darkness to stand at her side. Arya gave her the mostly bare rabbit carcass.

Arya wiped off her hands on her breeches, "I need to get my horse.”

Clegane nodded, watching her as she moved into the trees soon returning leading the black horse at her heels.

Sandor reached down to rub his shin where the girl had kicked him and shook his head. Starks, wolves, wights, and Winterfell, what have I gotten myself into.”

Chapter Text

Orland had been right about where the pack of wolves hung out in the mountains. When he had finally hit their trail he made good time and it was nice to be back in the saddle after recuperating from his injuries, yet he still grew weary faster than he wanted to admit even to himself.

His gelding was a good deal bigger and stronger than Arya’s mare and the wide chested roan powered through what snow had managed to drift down through the thick canopy of trees in the forest. The rumors were right, she was heading for the Wall and Jon. Hopefully she was there already, keeping warm and safe from danger.

Then at one point in her trail he met with a puzzle, fresh edged tracks crossed the older ones that headed almost due north. Arya, Nymeria, and the wolf pack had recently come back over the old tracks and were moving at a fast pace as if fleeing someone or something. Why had she shied away from the Wall, safety and her family there, returning south where there was more danger and little in the way of food and shelter?

At this rate she could already be at the Kings Road and that was never safe for a girl, even for one with wolves and a sword. He hoped the road ahead of her was clear as he urged his mount to follow the fresh tracks to the south, and leaned forward in the saddle urging the gelding to move even faster. Jory kept up his pace. The fast walking horse covered the ground with little effort. He pushed on as much as he could the next couple of days as well, stopping only to care for his horse and grab only an hour or so of sleep at a time, choosing to eat in the saddle.

Then came the moment he had feared. He found the cold fire, and where Arya had crept up on the man warming himself before it, perhaps hoping to filch a bit to eat. There was clear evidence of the resulting struggle. One damn big horse, a huge man, and now they had Arya, her mare, and Nymeria too.

He felt rage and dread at all of the things that might be happening to her even now. ‘If they had touched her!’

Swinging back into the saddle he moved the horse to a jog; they were not far ahead, and he could ill afford to stumble upon them without a bit of scouting to see who he was up against and how well armed he was.

At their camp that night the Hound handed Needle back to Arya just before their meal was ready. It was clear that the girl wanted to be with him and posed no danger. 

Jory had tied his horse well back from their fire and downwind so Nymeria wouldn’t catch his scent. Luckily, the day had been a bit warmer than usual, and the snow had softened enough not to crunch underfoot yet muffled the crisp pine needles and twigs that might snap with his weight and alert the man he stalked.

He took his time, and was rewarded with the sight of Arya sitting at the fire; Jory couldn’t help but smile at seeing her again. Then with a jolt, he recognized the huge man sitting near her; Sandor Clegane, the Hound of the Lannister’s.

His hand curled around the grip of his sword automatically, ready to draw it in an instant. Keeping it sheathed at the moment kept the bright steel from catching and reflecting the glow from the campfire giving away his position and costing him the precious element of surprise.

In the end he abandoned surprise and chose a direct approach, emerging from the forest, sword yet sheathed. Clegane stood as soon as he saw Jory. The two locked eyes.

Then both Jory and the Hound heard Arya’s voice raised just above a whisper.

“Jory?......Jory!”

Neither man moved, they were frozen by the girl’s soft wondering voice as she stepped closer, seemingly afraid to trust her eyes. Then came the wordless howl of delight tinged with anguish as she threw herself against him, arms round his waist. Cassel automatically closed his arms around the girl.

He met the Hound’s eyes and their gaze locked, if I must kill him to free her, I shall, but there's a good chance I'll die as well in the battle.

The only thing that mattered was that she was safe. All of this time alone in the wild, but in truth Jory knew she was a Stark and born to the north and this land. He didn’t care if they were held by the Lannister’s retainer. Arya was alive and somehow he would get them both home.

He felt her grip around him ease a bit, then she stepped to stand next to him, gray eyes upon his face and a wry grin on her face. “It took you long enough, I thought you dead.”

He smiled down at the girl standing close at his side and her bluntness, “I decided to take the long path, but that is a story for another time. How fare you? You seem in one piece.”

She let go of him, but stayed close, glancing at Clegane and wondering what was next. Jory rested a hand on her shoulder, reluctant to let go of her now that he had her back.

“Where are you going with her Clegane?” He demanded.

The Hound smirked at him, and declined to answer.

Arya tugged at his sleeve. “Jory he was taking me home. Sandor quit the king and he was taking me to Winterfell.”

He looked at the Hound, “Is this true?”

The Hound just stood there staring at him disdainfully.

“My horse is tied up west of here, I’d not lose him to a shadow cat or wolf.”

Clegane shrugged, "You'd best bring him in closer then. 

After retrieving the gelding and tying him nearby, Jory took off his cloak and wrapped it around Arya’s shoulders. He sat on a large rock and pulled her down beside him.  Gradually, he relaxed, and the long days of little or no sleep caught up to him. He fought to stay awake there in the warmth of the fire. 

Arya rose, and after giving Jory another hug and smile moved to her blankets, quickly rolling into them, adding his cloak over the covers to guard against the chill. The girl was exhausted and once snugly settled drifted into sleep.

Jory noticed that Clegane stood nearby with a length of rope coiled in one hand and knew what was next. The Hound pointed at a pine a little way from the fire.

“Sit with your back against that tree.”

"No, ropes do naught for me. Why would you bind me? Arya could slip over and free me in a moment."

The guardsman thought quickly, he had a lethal little stiletto he kept concealed in his brigandine vest. When the Hound bent to tie him it would be an easy matter to drive it into his ear or through his neck. Yes, Arya had sought out the Hound and seemed to trust him, but he didn’t trust the man, last he'd seen him he wore Lannister colors.

"I'd tie you because I don't trust you."

"I don't trust you either, I don't even really know you, but if circumstance were opposite, I'd never tie you to a tree."

"Then you are a fool, more so than I thought even."

Jory sighed, "You truly would tie me up? It seems excessive."

Clegane shook his head, "I trust no one, least of all you in this moment."

Finally, a weary Jory sat with his back against the pine. The Hound tied the rope around the tree first, then pulled back his arms and tied them snugly. Then he warned, “You are close enough to the fire that you won’t freeze, but kick me and I’ll geld you.”

He moved away and Jory sighed. The threats were getting old, was he always this dramatic?

The Hound returned to the fire and sat watching him sullenly. Jory studied him in turn taking in his towering height and the broad width of shoulders. What if he had truly left behind Kings Landing and the Lannister’s? What an ally he would make. If he could be trusted perhaps there was a place for him at Winterfell, but it was a long journey yet to reach home. A lot could happen in that time and Jory would know more of the man by then.

I can kill him later if I need to.

Cassel woke before daybreak and sat there listening to the busy morn; wind soughed through the treetops causing the boughs to creak softly in protest and pine needles to shiver and hiss. As it slowly grew lighter, he realized that the Hound had remained sitting there watching him. Arya was still asleep, rolled in her blankets and his cloak.

The Hound stalked to him and knelt.

“Just a reminder before we start. Don’t talk to me, you are an irritant. You may speak with your Lady Stark, but that is all. Do you understand?”

“Aye, no talking to you.”

The Hound untied him, and Jory stood trying to stretch life and blood into his sore body. His healed leg, and nearly everything else ached from the cold. Clegane was saddling his horse so Jory grabbed Arya’s saddle and placed it on her mare.

“What are you doing? Snarled Clegane.

Jory ignored him and reached beneath the mare to catch the girth strap. When he straightened, Clegane was standing next to him wearing an irritated look.

“I asked you a question, what are you doing?”

Jory returned his glare in full measure, goading the big man.

“You’re the one who forbade me to speak.” He lifted his chin and continued to stare at Clegane.

The corner of the Hound’s mouth twitched once. The two men stared at one another, neither one would back down.

“One….. last… time. What were you doing?”  Clegane growled the words, pausing for effect after each one.

“You could see what I was doing; I was saddling Arya’s horse. It’s called helping. Then I’ll saddle my own gelding, unless you plan on saddling all of the horses yourself.”

“You’re pushing me boy. You won’t like what happens when I’m irritated. We’ll not reach Winterfell without blows between us.”

“I’m no boy, I’m Jory Cassel, and I look forward to that last part.” He couldn’t help it, his eyes lit up at the prospect of a good fist fight.

In response, Clegane’s eyes widened just a bit and he raised his eyebrows.

“Just go saddle the damn horses.” He turned away from Jory and resumed tacking up his own horse.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, their first day on the road was uneventful. Clegane rode silently in front, while Arya rode at Jory’s side. Nymeria would pace Arya’s mare for a bit then lope off into the trees. Finally she vanished for a long time.

“Where did your wolf make off to?” Jory asked.

“She’s hunting with the pack, they’re following an elk”

He looked down at her, “How do you know that Arya?”

She looked up at him and shrugged, “I don’t know how, I just know she is.”

Eventually a ghostly howl sounded from their left. A chorus of wolves replied from around them.

Clegane reined in his horse, “Bloody seven hells, surrounded by wolves.”

Jory and Arya both smiled at the wolf song. She turned Shadow towards the direwolf’s howl.

“Wait. Where are you going My Lady?”

“To get our dinner, come on Jory!”

“Arya, you cannot just ride off anymore, you must always ask first. One of us has to accompany you.”

“I know Jory, but I keep forgetting. Will you come with me?”

“Certainly, but wait here a moment.” He rode up to Sandor Clegane.

The wolves have made a kill, it's time to claim our share before they eat."

 Nymeria called again from the forest.

“We stay together Cassel.”

Jory nodded and wheeled his gelding towards Arya. She turned and entered the forest, heading unerringly towards her pet.

The dire wolf waited at the freshly killed elk, her muzzle and chest still wet with blood as she carefully cleaned her front paws.

Jory slid down from his horse drawing his knife as he walked towards the carcass, watching Nymeria as he moved, but she made no motion to defend her kill. He noticed Clegane had followed, but didn't move to help, only watched. He knelt at the back of the elk and carved free enough of the back strap to last them a couple of days, and no more. This was the wolves kill and they shouldn’t be too greedy.

That night as they feasted on the succulent meat, Jory decided he would not be tied again and was somewhat surprised when Clegane did not bring it up.

The next two days were tense; Clegane and Cassel kept their distance, while Arya rode alongside Jory and the two of them talked. She told the story of how Nymeria had saved her from the mountain lion, of the run through the meadow with the pack of wolves. She relayed all of it from apples to wights.

Finally, one afternoon Jory could stand it no longer and urged his horse forward alongside Clegane’s mount. As he approached the black stallion craned his neck around and snapped at his gelding’s neck.

“Mind Stranger doesn’t take a chunk from your roan, he doesn’t like other horses,” warned Sandor.

“Perhaps he favors his owner a bit in that,” observed Jory. He was watching the horses and missed the slight quirk of Sandor’s lips at those words.

“What will you do after we reach Winterfell?”

“Look for more work.”

“You could stay at Winterfell a bit. The news of white walkers taking the Wall is grave and with the threat from Kings Landing; well, we can always use an extra man. Of course Lord Stark always has the final say in matters.”

“I am dirtied by the foul deeds of King Joffrey; Lord Stark will not trust me. I was a fool to stay with the Lannister’s for as long as I did. Now I am forever associated with their brutality.”

Jory was surprised at the bitterness in the big man’s voice and looked up at him. “Lord Stark is a fair man Clegane, and a decent one as well. I believe you will be welcome at Winterfell.”

With that, he turned his horse and took position beside Arya again, letting Clegane consider his words.

That evening after a dinner of seared venison, Clegane excused himself to care for his stallion. Jory took this opportunity to call Arya to his side as he sat before the fire. He tilted his head to look into her face. “I have something of yours and it’s time to give it back.”

He could see the puzzlement in her eyes, so he reached into his pocket and retrieved the carved horse he had rescued from its muddy grave near the springs.

“He is only a bit dirtied and battered, but I found him in the meadow where you left him.” Jory smiled, “I think he wanted to be found.”

He offered the little horse to her upon the palm of his hand. Arya’s fingers curled gently around it as she accepted it.

“You yelled at me and sent me away, she accused.”

“Aye, to keep you safe, we had already talked of that possibility, most in that meadow died after you left.”

It was the first time he had spoken of it, but she had already figured as much after seeing the bloodied meadow.

“You said you would find me.”

“I looked for you as soon as I was able, and never stopped searching. I would never willingly leave you alone Arya.”

Arya sat at his side, stared at the fire, and was silent, the horse clasped in her hands.

Jory asked gently, “Arya why did you ride north and not to Karhold?” You can tell me; I'll not be mad at you.

She watched the dancing flames, and her fingers played over the carving even as she answered, “It was all I could think to do. With you gone I had to see Jon. I waited for you at the bridge for days. I thought you were dead.”

“Arya, if I could have been there, I would have.” It hurt to know she had waited for so long before moving on, but it was all he could offer.

They sat in silence before the fire until at last she sagged against his side in sleep, still holding the tiny horse in her hand.

The days passed and they met only a few people on the road, wisely none bothered them.

Sandor and Jory, while not friendly, did manage to talk at times, and Jory felt he could trust the man. He noted the extra respect and protectiveness he showed to Arya and was impressed.

They reached Winterfell in good time and with each mile they covered Jory’s dread grew. He had lost Arya and even though he had found her again, he had failed the Starks.

He also saw that excellent progress had been made in fortifying the walls and gates. The biggest change though was the people, the population of Winterfell had grown with people camped outside the keep and more sheltering within the walls. It had become a busy place.

He was glad that he and Arya were home at last.

Chapter Text

Jory led the way into Winterfell with Arya and Nymeria at his side. They had only just made the bailey when Robb Stark ran to pull Arya from her horse and enfold her in his strong arms, wide smile across his face. Jory halted his roan and with a smile watched the reunion. Finally, Robb looked up at Jory, and the delight on his face was plain to see. Still holding his sister, Robb stepped to where Jory sat his horse and Jory reached out his hand.

Ignoring the proffered hand, he firmly grasped Jory by the forearm instead, “We thought we had lost you both! Thank the gods you are safe.”

Jory’s fingers had clasped Robb’s arm in response. “It is good to see you as well Robb.”

He noticed Robb eyeing Clegane and spoke up when the boy finally met his eyes, “Tis a long story, but first let’s get Arya to her mother and father.”

He could see Lord and Lady Stark waiting ahead near the front of the castle. Robb strode ahead of them with Arya in tow. Jory slid from his horse and handed the reins to a waiting stable boy, who already had Arya’s mare.

He looked up at Sandor, “Wait here, I will be back soon.”

Clegane nodded, and Jory walked towards his lord and lady.

“Jory!”

He recognized the squeal of delight and knelt as Rickon charged him. The lad locked his arms about Jory’s neck.

“You wee scamp, I thought you went on an adventure. I’ve missed you and Shaggy.”

“Mother and father let me stay here. Come sword fight with me Jory!”

He ruffled the lad’s russet locks and stood, letting the boy take his hand. “Perhaps later Rickon, I need to greet your parents first.”

He let the child drag him to his parents.

Lord Stark saw him approach and set Arya down. He caught Jory by the shoulders, hands gripping firmly as his eyes read Jory’s face. Jory’s smile faltered. He sees my every mistake.

“Welcome home Jory, it is good to see you again. We were worried for you. Our thanks for seeing Arya home safely.”

Jory blinked at the words, and the sincerity behind them. He met his lord’s gray eyes and saw that Eddard spoke true.”

“My Lord, Arya nearly found her own way back.”

“Nonsense Jory, we shall talk later today, take Clegane and get something to eat. You have done well.”

Even Lady Stark hugged him briefly and with a smile thanked him for bringing her daughter home.

Jory walked back to where Sandor sat on Stranger.

“Lord Stark bids you welcome and asks me to invite you to eat.”

He motioned for a stable boy, but Clegane waved him back.

“Let me tend to Stranger and his ill temper. Then I will join you.”

Clegane and Cassel followed the stable lad, leading his big stallion.

As Sandor unsaddled Stranger, Jory spoke up, “After eating, I can arrange for a hot bath and change of clothing if you wish.”

Sandor shook his head, "Not this night, perhaps later."

A voice called out, “Jory!”

“Theon!”

The two men hugged, “About time you got home!” 

Jory spoke up, “Theon, you remember Sandor Clegane, he escorted Arya home and is our guest.”

“Sandor, this is Theon Greyjoy, a ward here at Winterfell.”

Clegane nodded, busy grooming his destrier.

Sandor watched the boy leave, “I am unsure if I am truly welcome here, it might be best if I just leave after I collect my money.”

“You are wrong about that Clegane, you brought Arya back and Winterfell knows that. You intimidate people a bit, that’s all.”

Sandor looked at Jory and grinned slightly, “We both know the lass would have seen herself safely home with that direwolf and the pack guarding her.”

Jory chuckled, “True, but don’t tell anyone, they’ll figure it out soon enough. Hurry up, let’s go eat.”

That afternoon Lord Stark sent for Jory, summoning him to his solar. The relaxation a hot bath and clean clothes provided was gone and his insides were in turmoil as he approached his lord’s chambers.

He needn’t have worried, Lord and Lady Stark were there to receive him, and he was hugged again by Catelyn.

“My Lady, Arya had already found the Hound and enlisted his services. I only found her afterwards.”

Lady Stark looked into his eyes, “Jory, you are both home safely, that is all that counts.”

Jory dropped his gaze from her blue eyes. “Thank You my Lady, your words mean much to me.”

Catelyn excused herself then, leaving the two men alone. Lord Stark motioned him to a chair before the fire. “Can I get you something to drink Jory?”

“No, My Lord, I am fine.”

Ned stood at the hearth with his back to the fire. “What happened after you left here Jory? I need you to fill me in.”

He took a deep breath and began, sharing everything, but not elaborating on his own injuries. He detailed his refusal to return to Winterfell and his choice to continue searching for Arya.

Jory talked until the tale ended at Winterfell with their arrival. 

Lord Stark had listened carefully without interrupting, and after he finished asked, “Where were you wounded?”

“The first crossbow bolt went through my calf and pinned my left leg to my horse. When the horse fell my leg broke and was trapped under my gelding. Eoghan helped free me and the bolt pulled through my leg. I also took a second bolt to my shoulder and was hit by something in the back of the head, but luckily my skull is hard.”

Ned frowned, “Do you need Maester Luwin to check you?”

“No, my Lord, I was well cared for by some mountain people. I am healed now.”

“You have done well Jory, I know you do not think so, but you have. In your place I would have made the same choices.”

Disbelief was plain on Jory’s face. “My Lord, I lost all of my men, and Arya. I also refused to return to Winterfell until I had found your daughter.”

Ned spoke quietly, “Jory, I made you Captain of the Guard for a reason; I trust your judgment and could never question your loyalty. You have made no errors in your actions that I can find. We value the men who serve under us and I feel their loss as keenly as you do. As for coming back to Winterfell, I knew you would not return without Arya, you told me as much the night you set out for Karhold with her.”

Jory was humbled by the praise, “Thank You my Lord.”

Ned smiled, “I was surprised to see you riding with Sandor Clegane, but Arya seems to like him well enough. She said Clegane has left the Lannister’s employ.”

“It seems so Sir. He is seeking work as a sell sword. I think he would be useful here.”

Lord Stark continued, “Clegane has a place here if he will stay. He can help your uncle teach our new men, and practicing against the rest of us will sharpen us all. It is a blow to the Lannister’s as well, to lose him to us. I will meet with him later to discuss terms. Could you see him settled into one of the cottages? I need to meet with the families that lost men and make my condolences, would you accompany me for this?”

“I would my Lord, it will not take long to show the Clegane to his quarters.”

With that Lord Stark excused him and Jory went to do as he was bid.

Chapter Text

Sandor was at a loss. It surprised him that he had been allowed to roam freely at Winterfell, and suspected Cassel had vouched for him. Lord Stark had rewarded him handsomely for his escort of Arya, and then offered him a position in his household.

He had even been set up in a small, but cozy cottage, I just arrived and have a home.

Clegane was given a couple of days to rest from their journey and was now pacing Winterfell restlessly, searching for something he couldn’t name and that he couldn’t seem to find. Now he was ready to drink, but decided to have a word with Cassel first. He finally found the man in the stable with the horses, leaning on a stall alone in the dim light.

“Last night you dined with your lord, and tonight you are banished to the stable,” Clegane observed wryly.

“I spent part of yesterday and most of today visiting the families of the men I lost. Now I can’t bear one more person telling me how happy they are to see me back. I knew I’d be left alone here, or thought I’d be left alone.”

“I’ll leave you then.” Sandor started to turn away, then paused. “I’m heading out the gate to spend some of your lord’s silver on drink at the tavern, seems you could use a drink or five as well.”

Jory looked up at him and nodded, “That will do for a start.”

At the tavern, out of habit, they took a table at the back, where they could watch the door. It was also darker back there. The few who strayed their way left after glimpsing Sandor’s scarred face and accompanying scowl.

As they entered, Jory had slapped his silver down at the bar and told the tender to keep the wine flowing for them. At first the two men matched one another drink for drink in near silence, but gradually the strong red loosened their tongues. War stories were shared and laughter from various follies.

“See you’re supposed to drink every time someone comes through the door Clegane, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Aye, a drink, not the whole tankard at once, you’re not a fish, you’ll drown,” Sandor didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed at the man.

“At least I’m not the one daintily sipping my red, like a wee girl Clegane. Ah, but we have run dry my friend!” Jory noted, spilling the last drops of wine into Sandor’s tankard. “I shall fetch more.”

He stood and wove his way across the room to the bar, bumping into a man who stood there drinking.

“My friend I am sorry,” Jory clapped him on the shoulder. “Let me buy you a drink!”

The man turned bright blue eyes upon him and smiled, “A man drinks alone.”

“Come drink with us then, we have plenty of room at our table, and enough to share.” Jory motioned for a jug of wine from the barkeep and a drink for the man at the bar.

The other man perused Jory through amused eyes, then nodded sagely. “A man needed to drink tonight, and laugh and play the jester to ease the pain- I see that now.”

Jory looked at the man and realized he had never met him before; took in the pale strands in the auburn hair, the slight smile. “If you change your mind, we are at the far table against the wall, join us.”

The mysterious smile remained on the other’s face, “Thank You, but a man drinks alone this night.”

Jory grabbed the full jug of wine and returned to where Clegane waited. Odd fellow, I wonder where he’s from.

 Back at the table Sandor snorted with laughter as an animated Jory loudly told the tale of his long slide and fall from the roof of the smithy into the mire of the adjoining pig sty last year when he had tried to catch Brandon Stark on Winterfell’s rooftops.

Three men entered the tavern and stopped short when they saw Jory laughing at something Sandor said. Clegane elbowed Jory, “Heads up Cassel, here comes trouble.”

“I see them, I was at their mother’s home today, their brother was one of those who died in my charge.” Jory sounded almost sober as he spoke.

The trio approached them, and Sandor saw the anger on their faces.

Jory stood up and offered his hand. “I am sorry about Ian; he was a good man, and one of my best guardsmen.” He looked them in the eyes as he spoke.

The eldest looked at Jory’s extended hand as if it were a viper, and made no move to take it. Finally Jory dropped his hand.

Sandor stood up.

The older man sneered and spoke, “We came here tonight for a drink and to mourn our brother, and here you are Captain Cassel drinking your fine wine and laughing. How is it out of all of those men, only you survived?”

Clegane spoke up, “That’s enough, leave the man be.”

The brother swung and Jory made no move to defend himself or avoid the blow. The fist caught him on the left eye and sent him into their table and crashing to the floor.

Then Sandor’s swing landed on the attacker’s chin, and he went down in a boneless heap. The remaining two men charged Clegane, but Jory was on his feet again pulling one man away and dragging him towards the door then shoving him outside.

“Ferlin, I’ll not fight with you or your kin tonight. We are leaving and you can drink in peace. I am sorry about your brother.”

The man didn’t reply but stood there staring.

He walked back inside and saw that Clegane had knocked the second man down near his fallen brother and now waited for him at the bar. Jory pulled out enough coin to pay for the damages and apologized to the barkeep for the mess. He bought another jug of red wine and walked out the door into the night.

Sandor followed him outside, wondering what trouble they would find next. Jory didn’t go far, he found a low rock wall and sat down on it to take a long drink from the jug, then offered it to Clegane.

Clegane took it and sat next to him, they shared the wine.

“Don’t you know any songs Clegane?”

Sandor frowned, “I’m not serenading you Cassel.”

“No, no……..do you know any drinking songs?” Jory had another hearty pull of wine.

“I don’t think you need any drinking songs, you’re doing just fine on your own. Share that a bit. Here!” Sandor drank deeply.

"We never did have our fight.”

“I’ve had my fight for the night, remember? Maybe tomorrow.”

Jory had been in the middle of guzzling the dark wine and sputtered in sudden laughter, “Tis a deal! I remember that fight; I blocked his fist with my eye.”

“Yes you did, and then you took out an entire table all by yourself Cassel!”

Both men roared with laughter at that and Jory clapped Sandor hard across the back.

“If you won’t sing, do you know how to dance then?” Jory downed the last of the wine.

“Bloody Hell! If I won’t sing for you why would I dance with you?”

“Nae, not with me, just to dance, all swordsmen can dance, my mother told me that once I think.” Jory dropped the empty wine jug and stood up. “Watch, you take two steps forward…….and then three steps back.”

Jory had forgotten the low wall, it caught him behind the knees and he fell backwards over it. Sandor doubled over in laughter and Jory joined in from where he lay on the ground.

Just as they caught their breath Jory asked in a puzzled voice, “When did this wall get here?”

Clegane pulled Cassel back over the wall and decided it was time to return to the castle. Jory was in no shape to walk so Sandor slung him over his wide shoulder. It didn’t seem to dampen Jory’s mood to be carried so.

“I remember a drinking song Clegane, it’s about a bear. A bear, a bear all lovely and fair.”

Sandor chuckled, “That doesn’t sound right, but go ahead Jory.”

“No, you’re right my friend…………..a maiden fair, all covered in hair. Sing it with me Sandor.”

Sandor was laughing again, “That’s not right either. Stop making me laugh before I drop you.” How long had it been since he had laughed this much?

 Jory suddenly slapped Clegane’s leg. “Put me down!”

Sandor tumbled him to the ground and Jory retched up most of a jug of wine. When he finally finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“No more upside down. I can walk from here.”

Clegane helped him to his feet and Jory reeled sideways before Sandor stopped him. Somehow, he kept him on his feet long enough to get him to his quarters and dump a fully clothed Jory onto his bed.

A maiden fair all covered in hair.

Sandor smiled.

Chapter Text

Ned had to grit his teeth to keep from laughing at his men the next morning. It gave him a grim facade, but it was better than humiliating the duo standing before him.

Sandor Clegane was in the better shape of the two, yet even so, the red of his bleary eyes matched the split in his fattened lower lip.

Jory was pale and tinged a sickly green, but what he’d noticed first was the purpled left eye and split in the eyebrow above it.

Both men winced in the bright morning sunlight that streamed into Ned Stark’s solar.

“I asked you here this morning because I have two important tasks for the both of you. I need you to travel to White Harbor and deliver paperwork and gold to our supply merchant there. With all of these people sheltering here at Winterfell, we need more food shipped in. The arrangements are done; you are only delivering payment and papers.”

Ned looked at his men for a moment before continuing.

“After you drop off the gold, I need you to go to the sept where Sansa has been staying and bring her home to Winterfell. She will not be happy, but there is no choice. She must pack lightly. Tell her we will send for her belongings. You shall carry a letter for the Septon there so he will allow her to leave.”

Lord Stark had planned to send them that afternoon, but seeing their sorry condition, changed his mind.

“Keep your mission and destination to yourselves for sake of my daughter. You will leave early tomorrow. Are there any questions?”

Jory glanced at Clegane. “No my Lord, but if I might speak to you alone for a few minutes?”

“Aye Jory; That will be all for today Clegane.”

“Yes My Lord.” The big man left the room.

“What can I do for you Jory?”

“My Lord, I have a concern to share with you.”

“About Clegane, did you two have a fight?”

“Oh no, he seems to be settling in here. My concern is more personal, and I will understand if it is not possible.”

Ned’s curiosity was piqued, “Go ahead Jory, tell me your thoughts.”

“The farm family in the mountains, the ones I owe my life to. I’m worried for them my lord. With the white walkers taking Castle Black and on our side of the Wall…..well I feel I owe them, to keep them safe if I can.”

“Jory, how many people are we talking about?”

“Six total, a family with two young boys and a babe on the way. A blacksmith, and a healer. The farmer has a good flock of sheep, and several horses as well.”

“We could use an extra blacksmith, and a healer might assist Maester Luwin. Both men have been very busy with our influx of new arrivals.”

“Lord Stark, I have enough to bring them here and feed them. They risked their lives by taking me in when the Lannister’s could have still been hunting me in the area.”

“Jory, I have known you your entire life, and I think this is the first time you have ever asked anything of me. I should have offered to bring them here in reward for caring for you. It shall be done gladly, and at my expense.”

The news brought a relieved smile to Jory’s wan face. “Thank You my Lord, it means much to me.”

“While we speak of white walkers, I did receive word that Jon is safe and only a few Nights Watch men were lost when Castle Black fell. Their force fell back to Eastwatch by the Sea, and they have held that stronghold so far, with help from those who live along the coast nearby. News of the white walkers has also reached Kings Landing. My sources tell me that Tywin Lannister has called back his men for now.”

Lord Stark urged Jory to rest and prepare for the trip, and dismissed him. He couldn’t resist a parting shot at his queasy looking captain though as the man turned to leave.

“You might stop by the kitchen on your way out Jory. I’m sure the cook has poached eggs and pickled fish left over from breakfast.”

This time Ned allowed himself to grin as Jory groaned and bolted for the door.

Chapter Text

Sandor and Jory sat on their horses at the edge of the river. Jory frowned at the rushing water, “This should not be here.”

“I’m wearing plate armor, so how do I cross something like this?” Sandor shook his head, “You’ve gotten us lost. We have to go around.”

“I don’t think its deep, let me see.” The water was dark blue and mirrored, but Jory thought he could see the bottom.

“If you fall in you shall drown alone,” warned Clegane, as he backed Stranger a few steps further from the edge.

Jory nudged his roan and gave the horse free rein. The animal lowered his head to smell the water and snorted, then pawed at the surface sending cold water splashing over horse and rider. Above them on the bank Sandor laughed.

“Aye, very funny, wait ‘til you cross on that beast of yours.” Jory wiped water from his face with a gloved hand, then urged his horse on with his heels. Carefully, the gelding waded into the swift water.

“I’m not crossing here, I’m going around. I told you…..”

“I know, you’re wearing plate and it’s heavy; just take it off.” Jory was midstream and the water barely brushed his horse’s belly. “Gods that’s cold!” He exclaimed as the water splashed his legs.

“I don’t take off my armor, I’ll go around.”

Jory made the far side of the river. “See, not bad at all, though the bottom at this bank is a bit soft. Clegane, you can’t ‘go around’ a river. You must cross it where you can.”

Sandor looked at the water, and then at Jory, “There could be a bridge.”

Jory shook his head, “There probably is a bridge somewhere, but we’d lose more time. This is for Sansa, remember?”

Clegane only stared at him, the expression on his face unreadable.

“Take off your armor, I’ll take it across, then it won’t weigh you down.”

“I can’t swim.”

“You won’t have to Clegane; your horse is taller than mine. The water won’t even reach your feet. Cross exactly where I did.”

Jory sat on his horse and waited, with the river between them.

Perhaps if he made the man mad. “Stop pouting over getting wet and make the crossing!”

The glare Clegane shot him made Jory glad the river separated them for the moment, but it worked. Sandor kicked Stranger’s sides and the horse plunged into the river without hesitation. Halfway across he felt the soft mud beneath the horse’s feet and angled him upstream to avoid it. Suddenly, the stallion’s hindquarters started to sink into the mud and they stopped.

Clegane kicked his horse again and the beast reared slightly in protest. They were two-thirds of the way across the river. “Fuck You Cassel! I knew this would happen!”

Jory slid from his horse and waded into the icy river. He stayed just downstream from the mired horse as he approached Clegane. The rushing water rose to his hips and made him gasp. So cold, but was it this deep before?

He reached Clegane, and Stranger pinned his ears back and struck at him like a snake. Jory elbowed him hard in the nose for his trouble. Sandor stared at the far bank. Jory slapped his armored leg. “Clegane, come on, you’re almost there.”

The water was calmer in the pocket just downstream from the horse. Without Clegane’s weight Stranger could free himself from the mud. They needed to hurry though because Jory’s legs were going numb from the cold river. “Hold onto your saddle and slide into the water. We’re almost across.”

Sandor looked down at Jory, and then carefully slid into the water next to him. He grabbed Jory’s upper arm in a death grip with one hand while clinging to his saddle with the other.

Then the stallion, freed of his rider’s weight, surged forward, pulling himself from the mud and knocking both men off their feet.

The current took them.

He is drowning me. Jory was fighting the powerful current and Sandor, and losing to both.

They were being swept across and into rocks. He had grabbed Sandor’s armor as they went under, and Clegane seemed to still have his arm, plus a fistful of Jory’s thick hair as well. Even worse, their legs were tangled.The big man was weighed down by his plate and sank like a stone. Jory’s chain mail and brigandine were not as heavy as plate, but still an added weight to fight against.

Finally he freed his legs and kicked off the bottom, taking Clegane with him. They broke the surface, gasping for air. Jory found the river bottom with his feet, but the river was merciless. Then his back was slammed into a big rock in the middle of the stream and they stopped. Clegane was coughing up water. Jory fumbled at the straps of Sandor’s breastplate with his gloved hands. “We have to get rid of the plate!”

Clegane seemed not to hear. Using his teeth, Jory pulled off his heavy gloves and let them drop, then returned to the buckles. “Help me get your armor off!” No response, the man stared blankly at the water, shivering violently.

At last the breastplate was free, and Jory let the greedy river have it. He tried to pry Sandor’s fingers from his hair and arm so he could remove the man’s heavy gauntlets and vambraces, but he may as well have tried to pry away stone.

It seemed like the water continued to slowly rise, and it now lapped at Jory’s chest. The current pulled and pried and threatened to rip them from the rock. They were running out of time.

He did the only thing he could think to do and hit Clegane in the mouth. There was just enough force in the blow to split Sandor’s lip, but it worked.

Clegane let go Jory's arm and hair to seize him by the throat with both hands, “If I drown, you’re going with me!”

“Wait! We have to get your armor off! You’ve not drowned yet,” he rasped out.

Sandor grabbed for a hold on the rock, but it was rounded and slick with ice. Together he and Jory removed all of the plate armor above Clegane’s waist. As Clegane worked to free himself from the cuisses that protected his thighs, Jory pulled off his heavy bishop’s mantle and let it drop.

The rock they were pressed against seemed to almost shift beneath them and they were in the grasp of the current again.

Both men fought to keep their heads above water. Jory had a fistful of Clegane’s quilted gambeson, and he had Jory’s arm again. They were dunked and rolled by the river, then bounced off hidden rocks. At last Jory snagged the edge of a large rock and they stopped again. Sandor’s head was above water and both men gulped the cold air. His fingers clung to the rock, but Clegane and the river had the rest of him, and it felt like he was being torn in two.

Then Jory became aware of the constant roar filling the air and raised his head enough to look downstream. Not far below them the river and the world fell away into fog and nothingness; a waterfall. He held on, he couldn’t and wouldn’t let go of Clegane. Even with his body numbed by the cold he felt the stress on his arms and shoulders. I am so tired. Jory felt his fingers lose the rock and they shot towards the falls.

The current spilled them over the edge and the battering fall of water broke the men apart as they dropped.

His eyes closed, Jory fell backwards weightlessly, then crashed into the water below. The impact stunned him, drove the air from his lungs, and his light armor was enough to sink him into the darkness of the depths below.

Chapter Text

Warmth, blessed warmth, and gentle lips upon his forehead. Hands stroked each side of his face, then a single finger softly traced his lips. Fingertips trailed down either side of his neck.

 Jory realized he was on his back, pillowed on something soft. His eyes were closed and he was warm and relaxed, or rather, most of him was relaxed.

Those hands touched his shoulders and slid to his chest, warm breath there and another kiss. The hands stroked down one arm and then the other, ending by briefly matching their smaller palm to his larger one.

Their touch smoothed along his left side and down the muscled length of leg to pause where the crossbow bolt had torn through his calf. The hands seemed warmer now and lingered on both scars, then lower to pause above his ankle, and then his foot was held and warmed in their grasp.

Up the inside of his leg, the smoothness of inner thigh caressed. If this be a dream do not wake me. Same warm hands upon all that made him male and the only thing he could do was groan softly at that exquisite touch.

Now down the right inner thigh and calf with maddening slowness, and hands warmed that foot as well. Long strokes up his outer calf and thigh and a slow slide to the flat of his belly to rest there palms down for a moment. The hands swept up his ribcage on either side to his shoulders again. Soft lips matched his own in a gentle, almost chaste kiss, and he opened his eyes.

Candle glow lit her heart shaped face. She smiled at him and tilted her head in question. Her fingers trailed lightly across his lower belly and stopped. Jory’s brown eyes found her blue ones. Wordlessly she had asked. He found his voice, “Yes” he breathed hoarsely.

The woman straddled him and he felt the soft wet warmth of her as she mounted him, slowly taking all of him. He wanted to touch her, feel those ivory breasts fill his hands, plunder her mouth with his, but he couldn’t move.

She rode him slowly at first, then faster and harder. He watched her mouth open slightly in her pleasure, but she made not a sound.

He shuddered for a long time as he finally filled her. She stilled for a long minute before easing herself off him with a smile, her close cropped golden hair in her eyes. Then her lips on his again at an angle, a kiss.

Jory slept again.

He opened his eyes and listened. Slowly, Jory realized that he was in a small room lying naked upon a thick, warm fur. He sat up and found his clothes at the foot of the pallet, and dressed quickly, then buckled on his sword belt and adjusted it to rest properly on his hips.

Walking to the heavy blanket that seemed to serve as a door, he stepped through it. A girl stood in the corridor, she wore a long blue gown of silk and her thick brown curls tumbled about her shoulders.

“My Lady, where am I?”

She smiled up at him, “Follow me please, Nicnevin will explain.”

The girl reached out and caught his hand to lead him down the passageway. The dry sand was soft underfoot and Jory realized they seemed to be in a cave. After many twists and turns, and several intersections, they entered a large underground room lit by sconces.

A petite young woman with sleek black hair sat on a high-backed chair of woven willow branches. Her gown was of shimmering violet gossamer and her tiny feet were bare.

When he approached she rose and took both his hands in hers and held them, then looked up at him with pale amber eyes and smiled. His hands warmed and tingled in her grasp.

“I am Nicnevin, of the Forest Fae. I am glad to see you on your feet again. How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, but what happened? Was the river but a dream?”

Nicnevin released his hands and motioned him to a woven willow chair that matched her own. “No, you and your companion were snared by the Springe River and taken. You are both lucky to be alive.”

“Where is Clegane, how badly is he hurt?”

“Your friend is healed, as you are. He is taking refreshment. What I have to speak of is for your ears only Jory. When we finish you shall be reunited with your friend.”

A dark-haired woman entered the chamber and offered him water. He declined and she set it on the table within his reach and left again. He looked at Nicnevin, “I don’t understand.”

She stopped smiling and spoke;

“No you wouldn’t understand. We are shy beings, and have only been seen by a handful of men over the span of years. This was once our world, but no longer, and only a few of us are left. We live only here in your forests now and were strongest before the First Men appeared.”

Jory watched the woman in amazement, not believing her story and thinking that he must still be asleep and dreaming.

Nicnevin continued, “Our duty is to mend the rends in this world; to attempt to counterbalance the chaos that evil causes. We normally don’t meddle in small disturbances, but help men with larger things like dragons, kraken, and white walkers.

I can see the flow of this world both as it is and as it should be. We are powerless to change things ourselves. I share with you what I can to correct the balance of this world.”

“My Lady I have never heard of Forest Fae before, and I know that river did not belong in that valley.  This does not seem real to me.”

The woman watched the candles on the table at her side gutter in a soft breeze and seemed to think carefully before speaking. “How do I explain it all and get you to understand and believe? The Springe River is an old and evil apparition, from time to time it appears in your world. It is a hungry thing, feeding on fear and pain, and those who enter it seldom survive. We shadow this river and try to save those it consumes. It rarely shows up in the same place twice and only exists for a matter of days, then it vanishes again. Water levels ebb and rise, currents swirl and strengthen, rocks move and shift like teeth beneath the surface. Terror is its sweetest honey. It ends always with the waterfall and either a quick or slow death by drowning or landing on the rocks below. You and your companion tumbled down the Springe’s throat and we fished you both out.

Jory, we are healers and with our touch take away pain, injury, and sickness. We healed Sandor and restored you. Check your injured leg, Triene’s hands are skilled, she left you only small scars, and finished mending the break. It won’t bother you anymore.”

He blinked, “Triene is the mute girl with short hair and blue eyes?”

“Yes, a lovely spirit, and words are not always needed to connect with another, don’t you agree?”

Jory had the grace to blush and Nicnevin laughed gently, “We fae are always female, we gave you back your life and in return you were kind enough to give us a new life as well.”

It took a minute for him to understand her words, then shock and anger flashed across his face. He stood up, “What trick is this? I have sired a child? How can you know? That is not possible to know.”

“No Jory, you did not father a child, you created a fae, and she will add to our family here. Please sit, there is more, much more.”

Agitated now, Jory stayed on his feet. The Fae Queen gave him a moment before continuing again.

“Your world faces two dire threats, one approaches quickly, and the other a bit later. You must remember and heed my words for they can save many lives.

Westeros is a land filled with quarrels and grievances, but this must stop. The houses need to stand together against the white walkers as they trek down from the north. Three things will kill these pale creatures, fire, dragon glass, and dragon steel.

You will need the wild fire that is stored beneath Kings Landing, it was not created to battle the pale ones, but that is what it shall be used for.

Dragon glass can be found and mined from the bases of the melted towers that stand sentinel at Harrenhal. Use it to make spear points, and arrowheads, as well as knives- all spell death for white walkers.

The last will be the most difficult task by far, the dragon steel, for a cruel king sits upon it in the red castle at Kings Landing. The iron throne was forged by Balerion and his fiery breath.

The throne of swords must be unmade and wielded by the most capable among you. Sandor Clegane shall have need of one. Those blades kept their edge and hunger for blood for a reason Jory, and it is up to you to make Lord Stark see that. He will listen to you.”

Jory sank into his chair again, mind spinning at it all, only half believing. “My Lady, why me? I am but a guardsman. Lord Stark will think me mad.”

“No he won’t, for you will have two secrets to share with him, and he shall listen.”

Nicnevin drew a deep breath before starting;

“Lyanna Stark, your childhood friend, birthed a son shortly before she died. Prince Rhaegar was the father of that babe, a son born of their love.

The child that Lord Stark brought home to Winterfell all those years ago was not his, but your dear Lyanna’s. Jon Snow is hers. The truth was hidden to protect the boy, so much blood around that little one. That is the first truth to share with Lord Stark when you meet with him.

The second truth you must tell Eddard Stark will shock you, but it can be proven. Jory, you are a Stark by blood, not a Cassel.”

Jory stood again. “I’ll hear no more of this, it cannot be true.”

The faierie smiled sadly at him, “When you search your heart you will feel the truth of it, and witnesses yet live who can confirm it.

You know that Martyn Cassel’s first four children all died as babes. Ameena was Mikken’s niece and only to spend a single summer at Winterfell. One night, one time, Rickard Stark yielded and took your sweet mother’s innocence, giving her you in return. She confided in Old Nan and that faithful servant told Rickard Stark of the baby.

A marriage was arranged between Martyn and Ameena, so the world would believe you theirs. Your father longed for a family Jory, and you and Ameena gave him that.

Your Uncle Rodrik knows you are not Martyn’s blood-son, but he never knew who your real father was, Martyn never revealed his Lord’s secret.

Do not be angry at your uncle and Nan, both were sworn to secrecy for everyone’s protection.”

She had watched the blood slowly drain from Jory’s face as she talked. Now he was almost as pale as snow. “You must tell Lord Stark those two truths upon your return to Winterfell, and then he will believe the rest. He will make it happen.”

“He is my brother,” breathed Jory.

Nicnevin’s smile was as glorious as the sun. “Yes, and Jon is your nephew, as are Robb, Bran, and Rickon. Lovely Sansa is your niece, and so is Arya.”

She rose gracefully and walked to where Jory stood in shock. She gently touched his cheek with her palm. “I have turned your world upside down Jory, but everything I have spoken is true and must be done. You will remember what we have spoken of.

She dropped her hand and Jory looked exhausted. “Would you like some time alone, before meeting up with your companion?”

“I would. Don’t expect me to thank you for this burden or your ‘truths’ Nicnevin.” I am also a bastard.

 She gently grasped his arm, “No Jory, you are a man.”

In his chamber he gave in to his growing dizziness and lay down on his pallet, his mind as turbulent and chaotic as the river that had nearly drowned him.

I need to close my eyes, just for a few moments.

 He slept.

With a start he awoke and rolled to his feet. He was inside the mouth of a shallow cave.

“About time you woke up,” growled a familiar voice.

Jory turned to see Clegane leaning against the wall of the cave with his arms crossed. From the waist up all of his plate armor was gone and he was clad in his dark brown gambeson.

“It wasn’t a dream then?” Jory walked to the mouth of the cave and stopped.

Their horses were tied outside, and there was no river in sight. He walked to the back wall of the cave and touched the wall there to be sure it was real.

“Part of it must have been a dream, the part with the willing, naked women,” replied Sandor.

Jory looked at him, “You had a woman too?”

Clegane shook his head, “Not woman, women, naked perfect women.”

Jory sat down and pulled his left boot off and pushed up his breeches to look at his calf. All that remained of the wound was a small, pale scar on either side of the leg, no divot, no pain or lingering soreness. He noticed Sandor was watching him.

“You’re taking this pretty well.”

Clegane shrugged his wide shoulders and grinned wolfishly. “I’m alive, I’m dry, my horse is outside, and I was well fucked by several comely women who didn’t cringe from my face; for me that’s a very good day.”

Jory pulled his boot back on.

I am a Stark.

Chapter Text

“Mother, do you think he will succeed?” Cameo brushed her brown curls away from her face and looked at Nicnevin.

“Child, so many variables come into play now, but I think Eddard Stark will believe him, then if they obtain all three weapons, well, there is a chance.”

“You did not tell him the entire truth of his parentage. He should know about Ameena’s contribution,” accused Cameo.”

“Didn’t you feel how he was reeling from what we had already shared with him?” ‘Cammy, switch to our way and you can better understand.’

 ‘Much better Mother, please continue.’ Cameo curled up at her mother’s feet and looked up at her.

‘Ameena’s mother was once one of us, but she glimpsed a man and fell in love with him. She would not remain here. She left us and wed her Love, giving up her immortality by choice. She bore one child, a daughter of course, lovely Ameena. The girl was only half fae, and her mother never taught her about her inheritance. Ameena had one child, Jory, so he is of our blood, yet not one of us.’

  ‘How is he different then, from an average man?'

 ‘My daughter, think of a normal man as this cup of water,’ she picked up the full cup from the table at her side. ‘This is his life.’

She slowly trickled the water onto the sandy floor of the cave, and when the cup was completely empty, set it upside down on the table. ‘He lives a life and dies.’

 'This is our Jory.’ Nicnevin lifted her goblet of red wine. ‘We shall pretend it is brim-full my sweet.’

 She slowly poured the wine into the sand until nearly all of it was gone and only a sip remained, then picked up the decanter and refilled the goblet to overflowing. ‘Do you understand the difference? He can be restored by us. In addition, his life force is strong, and he seems to heal a bit faster than a regular man.’

‘So, he is immortal then!’

  ‘Not at all, he can die; Jory just seems to be very ‘resilient’ shall we say.’

  ‘I think I understand, but what of his Stark heritage?’

 ‘In theory he should be capable of the same powers any of the other Starks have, but I don’t know how Fae and Wolf combine. I imagine we shall find out. He is quite the wild card, and it could get interesting.’ Nicnevin smiled.

'He did understand you though; he didn’t even realize that we are naturally mute Mother.’

  ‘Yes, but mouthing my ‘words,’ so as not to startle him further was tiresome. Before I forget, have you my river?’

 Cameo looked through the charms on her bracelet and chose a deep blue stone and unhooked it, handing it to her mother. ‘Was it truly necessary to use the Springe to entwine them?’

  ‘Lovely daughter, one day you will see that the adversities I use are done for a reason. They will need to be strong to survive what is coming.’

Cameo frowned and her eyes filled with unshed tears, ‘Yes, but Sandor hit the rocks below the falls, and Jory nearly drowned. It hurt me to see them like that. How were we able to restore Sandor?’

  ‘There are some mysteries that even I do not understand, Sandor Clegane’s role in this world is hidden from my eyes. As for your gentle heart, you are still young, a few more centuries and you will understand. He will be wise to the river now; I will use something else next time. We have made our move, I only hope it works.’

Chapter Text

Thankfully, the rest of the ride to White Harbor went smoothly. If it wasn’t for the fact that Clegane had gone through most of their misadventure with him, Jory would have believed it all a dream or nightmare.

He was quiet for most of the journey, lost in thought about what he had been told by the Fae. Do I just tell Lord Stark about this, or do I talk to my uncle and Nan first, and confirm what Nicnevin told me?

Some of it made sense, how he had learned reading, sums, and history alongside Lyanna.

Martyn was not my father. Oh, but he had been in every way that counted. He was the one who encouraged Jory’s early attempts at archery and swords, and the one who meted out punishment when it was warranted.

Lord Rickard Stark had been someone to be in awe of, a regal, imposing man who had seemed to belong on a throne.

So much to ponder, was it true he had sired a faierie? He looked at Clegane riding ahead of him, how many had Sandor fathered during their stay? He had a sudden fleeting image of a trio of tall, elegant muses and grinned slightly.

How would they accomplish all that had been set before him? The thought of Lord Stark, or any of them returning to Kings Landing chilled him to the bone. There lies death!

 Jory could think of only one possible ally in their quest to obtain the dragon fire and dragon steel. When King Robert and his retinue had visited Winterfell, Tyrion Lannister had frequented the tavern outside the gates and Jory had spent time drinking with the man on more than one occasion. Tyrion had seemed more reasonable and less haughty than the rest of his family, but how to approach the subject? Even thought of the conversation seemed mad; “Yes Lord Tyrion, the ale here is excellent, and by the way, in order to save Westeros from an impending white walker invasion we will need all of the dragon fire beneath your castle, and could you toss in the Iron Throne as well?”

It seemed an impossible task. Horses could not pry King Joffrey’s arse from his beloved throne.

The easiest of the three tasks was the mining of dragon stone from Harrenhal’s ruint towers and the ground beneath them, and even for that they needed permission, and manpower. To mine obsidian and create the needed weaponry, they needed additional workers and skilled craftsmen to knap the razor-edged arrowheads and spear points from the temperamental, brittle rock.

Jory decided to focus on this last task as they rode, but before he had completely figured it out, they arrived at the outskirts of White Harbor.

Their business with the supply merchant was a simple thing and they finished quickly. Then Jory took some time to buy a quantity of candy for the children at Winterfell, as well as gewgaws for many of them. He chose a pale blue handkerchief to give Sansa, then noticed Sandor eyeing the few knives and dirks on display and moved closer.

“You’ll find better arms up the street, and an armorer to replace your plate.”

"My plate wouldn't need replacing if it were not for your idea to cross that bloody river."

It took them a bit to find the side street where the sept that sheltered Sansa was located. Jory delivered the letter from Lord Stark as directed, and then waited for a word with Sansa. Finally, a septa came with the message that Lady Stark was preparing for the journey and was too busy to speak, but would be ready to depart in the morning.

He was puzzled when he went outside where Clegane waited with their horses. This aloofness was not like the girl he had watched grow up. Yet, since they had first left the Red Keep, and Kings Landing, Sansa had been brooding and solemn, and easily irritated by both family and friends.

If talk was true, she had fancied herself in love with Joffrey Baratheon, but that spoiled brat was not the man for Sansa. She deserved a better match, any match rather than the prince.

The two men rode back to their inn for the evening, keeping a low profile in the bustling port city, since both potentially had bounties on their heads.

The next morning both men waited at the front of the sept for Sansa. The day was clear and sunny with a brisk wind blowing in off the water.

The afternoon before Jory had stopped at the livery stable to buy a gentle gelding for the girl and a second horse to carry any belongings his lady might bring. Winterfell could always use the extra horses later.

The septon’s apprentices had brought down the few belongings Sansa was taking with her, and Jory had carefully balanced them between the spare horse’s panniers. Now all they needed was the lady herself.

At last, a septa escorted out Sansa.

“My Lady, It is good to see you again! Everyone at Winterfell has missed you,” he smiled warmly at her.

“Thank You Jory, I wish I was happy to be going home, but I am starting to like living here in White Harbor. Winterfell is such a small, slow place and now seems rather dull in comparison.”

He was caught off guard by her words and the sad sincerity of them. At that moment Clegane stepped forward and Sansa noticed him. Jory actually watched her face change as she gazed at Sandor, her cheeks pinked just slightly and she peered up at him through partially lowered lashes. She likes him.

He looked at Clegane, and found him lost somewhere in the depths of Sansa’s blue eyes. Again, he is drowning.

All Jory could do was shake his head.

Chapter Text

The trio’s journey home was slow. Sansa was not the skilled rider that Arya was, and the men travelled at a casual pace for her sake.

After their awkward reacquaintance, both Clegane and Sansa recovered their composure enough to pretend polite indifference around each other.

On their second day out, they came upon a lone traveler on foot heading north just as they were. Jory had Clegane and Sansa wait while he rode ahead to speak to the hooded figure. He noted that even as he approached the man on foot, Sandor watched the forest around them in case the man was not truly alone, wary of a trap.

As he walked his horse closer, the man turned to face him, hand on sword. He halted a short distance from the wary man and introduced himself, “Good Day, I am Jory Cassel of Winterfell, and we are on our way home.”

The traveler pushed back his hood and watched Jory with alert blue eyes. His hand still rested on the pommel of his weapon.

Jory’s brow furrowed as he took in those eyes and the dark hair. Why he’s just a lad, and I know him from somewhere. He rode a few steps closer.

The stranger spoke up, “I remember you too, you were with Lord Stark both times when he visited me in Kings Landing. He told me that I was to look him up if I ever left the smithy. I am Gendry Waters my lord.”

Jory quickly dismounted smiled, and offered his hand, “Now I remember. I’m no lord, so just plain ‘Jory’ will do.”

He knew they could not leave King Robert’s bastard son alone and afoot here on the road.  “We have an extra horse, and you may travel with us. My lord will be pleased that you remembered his offer.”

He motioned his companions forward and introduced Gendry to Sansa and Sandor. He caught the slight ripple of surprise that briefly crossed Clegane’s face. Jory asked Sandor to help him repack the horses, and left Sansa there talking to Gendry. They moved a few yards away so they could not be easily overheard.

“You know who this lad is don’t you?” It really wasn’t even a question as much as a statement of fact.

“I do; and he is part of the reason I left the Lannister’s and Kings landing. Joffrey was having his men hunt down and slay any who could possibly be King Robert’s bastards, including several babes in arms. Girls, boys, it didn’t matter. This is the boy they were seeking from the Street of Steel.”

Jory had watched Sandor’s face as he talked and knew he spoke the truth. “He has no idea whom his father is, and it is not our place to tell him. We will see him safely to Winterfell and Lord Stark. He has more right to the Iron Throne than Joffrey will ever have.”

The men soon had everything rearranged to allow Gendry to use the spare horse, and they resumed their journey. Jory took the lead, and Clegane rode just behind Sansa and Gendry.

That night Jory was fully aware that the stray he had found alongside the road was surely the rightful King of Westeros. He took guard duty and spent the time thinking about his upcoming meeting with Lord Stark.

It was a relief and a dread to finally see the gray towers of Winterfell in the distance two days later. Relief, because his two young charges’ were now safe, and also dread at explaining the fantastical tale the Fae Queen had shared.

What if he doesn’t believe me? What then?

Chapter Text

As they neared the gates of Winterfell, Jory motioned Sandor up to ride beside him. “Clegane, when we make the keep, stay close to the boy until I can speak with Lord Stark.”

“I will, we both know that Kings Landing has eyes everywhere.” Sandor circled around to take the back position again and called Gendry to his side.

When they reached the castle bailey, Jory saw that Lady Stark waited for her daughter. He dismounted and helped a weary Sansa down from her horse, then handed her into her mother’s care. Catelyn rewarded him with a warm smile, “Thank You for bringing her home safely Jory.”

“It was a pleasure, as always my lady, and your supplies should be arriving soon as well. Is Lord Stark out? I need a word with him.”

“He is still in the godswood if you need him.”

“Thank You my lady.” He walked towards the godswood, hating to bother Lord stark there, but he needed to let him know about Gendry. He found the man sitting on the rock near the black pool and waited until his lord motioned him over.

“Jory, you made good time getting home. How is my daughter?”

“She is well my lord, but tired. I needed to speak to you about someone else we brought back with us.”

“Who did you bring back?”

“Gendry Waters, we caught up to him walking alone on the road a day out of White Harbor. He was heading for Winterfell to take you up on the offer you made him when we were at Kings Landing.”

Jory could see Ned Stark thinking through all of the complications and responsibilities Gendry’s arrival brought. “Sandor Clegane told me that the Lannister’s had been seeking the boy as well.

“Gendry went to White Harbor to look for a distant relative of his mother’s before heading north to Winterfell; otherwise the Lannister’s might have caught him. I couldn’t leave King Robert’s son alone on the road my lord.”

“No Jory, you did the right thing. The boy disappeared before I got men to him, or he would have been here already. Does he know of his parentage yet?”

“He does not seem to, and neither Clegane nor I told him.”

Lord Stark lifted his head to look at the magnificent weirwood that towered over them. “I am in the right place to seek guidance, and my every instinct is to tell the lad of his heritage, all of it. I will need some more time here alone, and then will call a meeting.”

“I understand my lord.” Jory moved a far distance away, and then turned his back on Ned Stark to allow him privacy. He would see that no one disturbed the man. It was not the time to speak to him of their shared parentage nor Jon's, that would need wait.

After leaving the godswood with Lord Stark later that afternoon, Jory found Gendry and Clegane in the forge with Mikken. Sandor had chosen well, for there were few prying eyes in the smoky work area and the lad was in his element there.

“Did you two find something to eat?”

“We visited the kitchen shortly after you left us. Cook set us up with a hearty meal. I think she favors the boy.”

Jory managed a smile, “I think she favors you.”

They watched Mikken point at Gendry’s sword and ask if he had made it. With a smile Waters nodded and pulled it from the scabbard, handing it to Mikken pommel first.

The older man felt the weight and balance of the weapon then held it close to the lantern to examine the craftsmanship. “Why this is quality work. How long did you say you had been apprenticing?”

“Almost five years now.”

Jory stepped forward and looked to Gendry, “May I?”

“Of course my lor’……..Jory.”

Gendry watched as Mikken handed over the sword. Jory looked at it closely. It was a simple long sword without any frills, but in that simplicity was the beauty of the weapon.

“I like that you ran the fullers most of the way down the blade, it makes for a lighter, faster sword, very nice work.” It was just the type of weapon Jory preferred, simple, fast and deadly. He looked up to see Wyl at the doorway of the forge and handed Gendry back his sword.

He stopped on his way out to have a word with Sandor, “Clegane wait here with Gendry, I think he might be summoned soon.”

Sandor nodded, “I don’t think keeping him here will be a problem.”

Jory followed Wyl to Lord Stark’s solar.

When Jory entered, his uncle seized him in a bear hug, and then Robb Stark grabbed him next and pounded his back in greeting. Maester Luwin was the last to arrive, and then Lady Stark led them to the big table at the back of the room for their meeting. She took her customary place at the foot of the grand table.

When they were seated, Lord Stark settled into the chair at the head of the table and began; ‘You are all here because you are my family, my friends, and my confidants.” He looked around at each of them as he spoke.

“As you know, my daughter Sansa returned home today and during the journey here, Jory recognized a young man I know named Gendry Waters. When we were at Kings Landing, I met twice with Gendry and offered him a place here if he needed one.

“Waters was alone on the road and enroute to Winterfell when Jory found him, he and Sandor Clegane escorted the lad here for his safety.

“During our time at Kings Landing I found out that Gendry is King Robert Baratheon’s bastard son. The lad looks exactly like Robert did at that age.”

Ser Rodrik shifted in his seat and cleared his throat as if to speak, but Lord Stark held up his hand to ward off questions or interruptions.

“Wait, there is much more. Sandor Clegane also recognized Waters. Apparently, King Joffrey has been sending out men to find and murder all of King Robert’s bastard children.

“To complicate matters further, while in King Robert’s employ as Hand of the King, I found evidence that all of Queen Cersei’s three children were fathered by her brother, Jaime Lannister. When I confronted the woman she boldly confirmed my accusation.

“I then met in private with King Robert, but he became enraged at my words and dismissed me from his service.  We returned home and before we got to Winterfell, the news reached us that King Robert had died and we were all traitors by decree of newly crowned King Joffrey.

“I had planned on taking Gendry to Winterfell with us, but he was nowhere to be found, and Mott the armorer who apprenticed the lad had mysteriously disappeared.

“Gendry has no idea who his father is, and no inkling of his heritage. I believe him to be the rightful heir to the throne as King Joffrey has no Baratheon blood running through his veins.

“While I do not know Gendry Waters well at all, I think he needs to know his parentage and his right to the throne.

“Catelyn has believed for a while now, that our son Bran was thrown or pushed from that tower after seeing something he shouldn’t have. She found a long blonde hair that looked like Cersei’s. Jaime Lannister did not attend our hunt on the day that Bran fell. We both believe he must have seen the two of them together.”

Jory was speechless and there was a long moment of silence when Lord Stark finished.

Robb found his voice first. “They must pay for what they did to Bran! What type of monster does that to a child?”

Rodrik spoke then; “News north of here is dire as well. Rumor has it that Mance raider is on our side of the Wall with several thousand hungry followers. The white walkers still hold Castle Black as well. We are caught between several foes, one in the south, and two more in the north.”

Maester Luwin looked grim, “Winterfell has become a port in the storm that surrounds us. More people arrive each day, and most have little or no food or belongings. We can feed them for now, but if our supply line to White Harbor were cut, things could go bad very quickly.

“The game animals nearby have been wiped out or frightened away by hunters and the ranging wolf pack, and the newcomers’ livestock have depleted most of the grasslands we need for Winterfell’s stock and hay supply.

“The positive side of this is that there are more men training to protect us and most also work to fortify our defenses.”

“Jory, do you have anything to add?” Lady Stark was looking at him.

“No my lady, I was just listening and thinking on all that’s being said.” And soon I shall add a whole new set of complications, but not tonight. He looked at Ned Stark and saw the deep frown lines, and the worry upon the man’s face.

At last Lord Stark decided that he would tell Gendry in private about his father and would meet with him the next day.  Maester Luwin excused himself, and Rodrik stood to follow him out.

“Jory, are you coming lad?”

“Aye, Uncle, I’ll be along in a few minutes.” He found himself alone with Robb, and Lord and Lady Stark.

“Jory, did you need something?”

“Yes, my lord, at your earliest convenience I need a couple of hours of your time.”

Ned looked at his wife. “Catelyn, could you have Cook send up a bit of supper for Jory and me?”

“My lord, I didn’t mean tonight, the morrow would probably serve better.”

“It may as well be tonight Jory, I doubt I would sleep much anyway, and tomorrow may be a busy day.”

Chapter Text

Lord Stark had given up his customary position at the head of his table and chose instead to sit directly across from Jory so they could more easily talk.

So far the man had done no talking, but glumly studied his untouched plate of venison and potatoes.

“My lord, what do you know of forest fae?”

The question caught Ned by surprise, and he had to think a bit before answering. Forest fae were rumored to exist even before the First Men, but not much is known of them today. They are less familiar than the Children of The Forest and their histories seem to entwine. They were gradually being lost to the passage of time.

He tried to remember what he knew of the beings, “Always female, usually mute. I think they were immortal unless they chose to abandon that life. Old Nan once told me that fae were often found near water and that they could either inspire or control men.”

Jory nodded and finally looked up to meet his eyes. “I doubt that you will believe what I have to tell you, but I will start at the beginning and leave naught out."

“About halfway to White Harbor, Clegane and I came across a river flowing in an area where I was sure no river existed. I decided to ford the river there, and unfortunately Clegane’s war horse mired in the mud whilst crossing and we both wound up in the current and swept over a waterfall."

“I don’t remember much after that, until I was taken to a girl claiming to be of the forest fae. She had several things for me to pass along to you, but first I am supposed to share two ‘truths’ so you will believe what follows.”

Jory seemed at a loss for words again.

“What are the ‘two truths?’ Just share whatever she told you Jory.”

“My lord, what I am supposed to speak of will change our relationship, and it also sounds unbelievable, even to my ears. I dislike this burden I have been asked to bear.”

Ned smiled, “I well know the weight of unwanted burdens. I have carried the weight of Winterfell and the north upon my shoulders ever since the death of my father and Brandon. I didn’t want any of it, but it fell upon me as my duty and heritage. Perhaps you were chosen to bear this responsibility for a reason.”

At last Cassel seemed to find the right words and spoke. “Nicnevin believes the white walkers will take Westeros unless we unite and use three specific weapons to stop them.

“Beneath the red castle in Kings Landing is a vast store of dragon fire that must be used against them, there are other caches of it as well beneath Baelor's Great Sept, and the ruins of the Dragonpit. King Aery's hid vaults of it throughout the city, almost all of it sits untouched, undisturbed.

“The second weapon we need is dragon stone. She told me that Harrenhal was our source for this rock, the closest site we have. The melted towers and dragon-fused rock below them can be mined for dragon stone, then knives, arrows, and spear points crafted from the sharp obsidian.”

Jory took a deep breath and continued, “The last thing that must be done is to unmake the Iron Throne and restore the edges on those swords. The most able among us are to have the blades and use them against the white walkers. The Queen specified that Clegane must have one of those reclaimed swords.”

Ned saw the impossibility of it, indeed it sounded nearly insane, but he also knew by Jory’s manner, that this was not some jape or random tale the man had crafted. “She told you to do these things then?”

“No, I was sworn to tell you, because you have the power to get them done. She said that many lives depend on doing those three things. There is an urgency to what she demands of me, even in my dreams she is insisting I comply and providing more detail on task at hand.”

Eddard sighed and shook his head, “We have been on the brink of war with Kings Landing and the Lannister’s for months now. Gendry Waters’ arrival today could well be the spark that ignites that flame, and now I must ask them to hand over their dragon fire and the Iron Throne. It cannot be done.”

“My lord, I was told that the white walkers were a ‘dire’ threat to our world, and that all of the petty differences between the various houses needed to stop, and we must unite against the mightier threat.”

“Jory, I just don’t see how any of this can be done. I understand the reasoning behind the ideas, if the threat is that cataclysmic, but it is not possible to negotiate with the Lannister’s.”

Ned’s Captain of the Guard set his chin stubbornly and continued, “I would share the two ‘truths’ I was given and then I have fulfilled my obligation to Nicnevin. I only hope she will leave me in peace after.”

“Speak freely Jory.”

The man glanced about the solar quickly to ensure they were still alone before speaking, “I was told that your sister, Lyanna Stark, gave birth to a son just before she died at the Tower of Joy."

“The father of that babe was Rhaegar Targaryen, and the child was not born of rape, as some might claim, but of love. That child is Jon Snow. He is not your bastard, but Lyanna’s son. You hid the truth to protect Jon all this time.”

Jory smiled sadly, “I grew up with your sister, he looks so much like her, and shows naught of Prince Rhaegar. You’ve kept their secret well my lord, and I shall do the same, I swear upon my life.”

Ned had paled as Jory spoke. Those words tore open the scars he thought had long healed, and seemed to fill his solar with the smell of blood and roses, yet he would not confirm or deny this truth, “Now the second one.”

“This one will not be easy either, and I am torn by it. I was told that two people here in Winterfell can confirm the story, so you may want to speak with Old Nan and my Uncle Rodrik.

“You remember my mother, Ameena, and how she originally came to visit for only part of one summer here in Winterfell?”

Ned nodded, “She took care of my brothers and me, while my mother carried Lyanna. My mother was bedridden and not well during that time.”

Jory nodded and looked down before continuing, “The Queen told me that one night, one time, your father Lord Rikkard lay with my mother taking her innocence, and I was the result of that union.”

Ned stared at Jory, head shaking almost imperceptibly and tried to take in what he’d just been told.

“My lord, Old Nan learned Ameena was with child right away and told your father, and a marriage was hastily arranged between Martyn Cassel and my mother."

“Martyn knew Ameena was with Lord Rikkard’s child and wed her anyway. My uncle knows I am not Martyn’s, but he does not know who my sire really was, out of loyalty Martyn protected your father.”

Jory looked up at him again, and Ned studied his familiar face. So much of Ameena about the nose and lips, but all else about him, from the length and shape of his face to his coloring was of Stark bloodlines. He saw no trace of Martyn Cassel in those features.

He realized the man was waiting for some reaction from him.

“You have given me much to consider Jory. Jon is Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son. I will always protect him since my sister could not. I know you will keep her secret as well.

“I also believe your second ‘truth’, but it has caught me by surprise. I would speak with Nan and Rodrik to know more details, but you should know that I have always thought of you as family anyway.”

“My lord, I have a favor to ask of you. If it turns out that I am Rikkard Stark’s son, can we keep it between us? I would not sully either my mother’s or your father’s reputation. It does not change my loyalty or affection for you or your family, and for all intents and purposes Martyn Cassel was my father. In a way it feels unfaithful on my part, to think of anyone else as my sire."

“I also have had time to put together a few ideas that might help in carrying out the oracle’s tasks if you’d care to hear them later, my lord.”

Ned saw the weariness in Jory’s face and realized the man must be exhausted. “Enough for tonight, the hour grows late, and you are finished for this night and tomorrow as well.”

He walked Jory to the door of the salon and placed a hand upon his shoulder. “Thank you for seeing Sansa home safely. Will you dine with the family tomorrow at dinner?”

Jory smiled, “Aye my lord, it would be a pleasure, and between us, if it turns out to be true- I would be honored to be your and Benjen’s brother.”

Chapter Text

This is a terrible idea. The fact that his hands were tied behind his back was bad enough, but the rope around his neck chafed at his skin and temper. He urged his horse closer to Clegane, who was riding just in front of him.

“Is this normally how you would take someone back to Kings Landing?”

Sandor turned just enough for Jory to catch his smirk, “No, normally it’s as a bloodied body tied face down on a horse, but I didn’t think you’d go for that, and it doesn’t suit our needs.”

“Explain to me again how being thrown in a cell gives me an audience with Tyrion Lannister.”

“As Lord Stark’s captain, you will have information they shall want. Joffrey will see a new toy to torture, but Tyrion will remember you and want to talk to you; He will think to impress his father by getting the information without torture.”

“How do we get out of the castle when we are done?”

Clegane shrugged without turning around, “I’ve not thought that far ahead yet, and with Joffrey’s temper, there’s likely a one-in-five chance both our heads will be added to his collection upon our arrival.

“I did not leave the Red Keep on the best of terms with the Lannister’s, and by bringing you to them on a leash I’m hoping to be back in their good graces. We will see.”

“I don’t like the rope around my neck, what if I fall?”

“If anything happens, I’ll let go of the rope; and you ride well enough- you won’t fall. This has to look real for it to work and your neck rope makes it real. This is exactly how I would bring in a prisoner.”

Jory let his horse gradually fall back from Clegane. At least at night he wasn’t tied. They’d figured no one would notice in the dark.

This had all been Clegane’s plan, and it had sounded brilliant back in Winterfell when they’d presented it to Lord Stark.

Eddard Stark had been skeptical, “What if this doesn’t work Clegane? You’ve just delivered my Captain of the Guard to the lion’s den trussed up like a turkey ready for the oven.”

Clegane pulled no punches when he replied, “You know what happens if it doesn’t work, we both die, and likely not easy deaths either, but we all have agreed that Tyrion Lannister is the one to talk to about the wildfire and reclaiming the swords from the throne. This is the only way I see to reach him.”

Lord Stark had finally, grudgingly, allowed their quest, and then Sandor and he had turned to go. At the door Eddard had bade him to stay. “Jory, don’t do this, we can figure a different way to stop the white walkers. I find out I have another brother one day, only to possibly lose him on the next. Your uncle and Nan filled me in on the rest of your story, you should talk to them.

“I realize there is no way you could have known about Lyanna and Jon either, so the tasks Nicniven set before us ring true, and yet are just as impossible.

“Before you leave I want to give you something to think about; I’d like to acknowledge you as my brother. I’ve known you since you were born; all of your life, and it would be an honor to make you an official part of the Stark family. I haven’t told anyone yet out of respect for your wishes. Don’t turn me down now; consider it while you are away, and pray be careful.”

A tug at his leash pulled him from his thoughts; Clegane had paused in the roadway. Jory leaned back in his saddle just a bit and his horse stopped too.

It had been a cold, damp day and a heavy fog pressed down on them. Sandor was peering into the ghostly gray shroud that surrounded them. Thick forest on either side of the road added to the gloom. “I know you’re there, show yourselves!”

A man on a horse materialized from the fog and stopped on the road in front of Clegane.

Jory listened carefully and heard a branch snap within the trees on his left. Sandor heard it too, “All of you, show yourselves!” snarled Clegane.

A second rider appeared on the road in front of them and stopped near the first man. There are at least three of them, probably more. Jory listened keenly since he could not see far in the fog.

“State your business!” boomed one of the men blocking the road before them.

“King’s business and none of yours, so clear the road!”

“Who have you got?”

“A traitor to the King, returning for justice; clear the way!”

“There is the small matter of a price to pay first, 10 silver or the traitor if he's a reward on his head.”

Sandor laughed at them, “The price will be your lives if you don’t let me pass. I’m a castle guard on a King's errand.”

Jory knew his weapons belt and sword were tied securely behind Sandor’s saddle. He might be able to reach them provided that black devil of a horse didn’t kick him into next week. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to try.

Things happened quickly then. The two men pulled swords and Clegane dropped the end of Jory’s leash to draw his own sword. He also freed the line that secured Jory’s horse, letting it fall.

Jory kicked both feet free of the stirrups and leaned forward onto the pommel of his saddle to swing his right leg over and dismount, but his horse jumped at the sounds of someone crashing through the forest towards them.

With his hands bound behind his back, and thrown off balance by his side-stepping horse, his awkward dismount turned into a hard tumble to the muddy ground.

As his frightened mount shied into the woods, he slid his tied hands down and over his legs and boots, so they were in front of him. The ring of steel on steel filled the air, Clegane was engaged in battle. Jory realized a horse was almost on top of him and rolled to avoid it.

Instead of standing and putting himself within sword’s reach of the rider, he stayed in the mud to fight the noose around his neck. Seven Hells, what knot was this.

His attacker had wheeled his horse around and was bearing down on him again. From his low vantage point, he noticed that the animal was slipping and sliding on the slick clay of the roadway. Again, he rolled, and used the momentum to gain his feet, yet trailing his leash.

Clegane was still mounted and fighting two men on horseback. A third man lay face down in the mud. Four, there were four attackers. He watched Stranger tear a bloody chunk from the nearest horse’s neck.

The downed man’s sword lay near his outstretched arm and Jory ran for it. He’d only gone a few feet when a hard yank on the rope around his neck caused him to lose his footing and fall backwards.

“Not so fast, where do you think you’re going?” It was almost more of a purr than a growl.

Jory rolled even as he was falling, landing hard on his shoulder. He pushed himself to his knees, then his feet, and caught a fist in the nose for his effort. He fell again and from the ground kicked out hard with both feet, hoping to take out a knee. A boot connected hard, and his opponent’s leg buckled and collapsed, dumping him atop Jory.

The man immediately grabbed fistfuls of Jory’s hair and pounded the back of his head into the ground; it might have hurt if it were anything other than mud.

He slid his stiletto from the concealed sheath sewn into his brigandine vest, and with both hands still tied, drove it into the man’s torso. He heaved his attacker off him and added a second thrust deep into his mid chest, and felt the sharp tip hit the heart true. He held it there until the body went limp.

Jory rose to his feet, then bent and retrieved the downed man’s sword. He stepped on his leash and severed it below the knot.

Sandor was still battling the last two riders. Neither of their horses wanted within biting or striking range of the huge black stallion, so a lot of circling and maneuvering was going on and not much fighting.

“Let’s even this out a bit!” challenged Jory.

Seeing an easier target, one of the attackers reined their horse at him. He waited until the horse and rider were almost upon him before sidestepping away and dodging the blade swung at him. In reply, he brought his borrowed blade up and into the man’s thigh, letting it slice deep into the leg.

With a yell, the injured rider turned his horse and made a third pass at him, with a wild swing meant to remove his head. Jory neatly deflected the desperate blow, and let his blade catch the man below the armpit, dragging along and biting into his side.

This time his foe toppled from his horse into a heap in the mire. He made sure the man stayed down, then sought Clegane, and found him sitting on his horse, patiently waiting for Jory to finish.

After dropping the borrowed sword, Jory held his tied hands up and shrugged. Then he realized that he was a muddy mess from the top of his head to the soles of his boots and grinned.

Sandor walked his horse over to Jory, pulled his knife and sawed through the ropes that bound his hands. In relief he rolled his wrists and flexed his fingers, then gingerly felt his nose. He found the bleeding had stopped and it didn’t feel broken.

“Let me see the knife.”

Clegane offered it handle first and Jory carefully cut the rope collar from his neck before handing it back. They dragged the bodies into the forest after searching them. Nothing indicated that they were anything more than common thieves.

Jory looked at the blood that spattered Sandor. “I take it none of that is yours.”

“Not mine, all theirs.”

The next stream they crossed was icy cold, but it served to wash the mud and blood from his body and hair.

Clegane perched warily on the bank splashing water on his face and arms.

“The rope burn and the busted nose are a good touch, makes the prisoner part seem real.”

Jory sat on his horse and let Sandor retie his hands behind his back. The hated leash encircled his neck again, as well. “I don’t think my nose is broken. How far away are we now?”

“We’ll be there in just a couple more days, hopefully this works.”

Chapter Text

He and Clegane had almost made it to the main gate of the Red Keep before being stopped. To his surprise both of them had been dragged roughly from their horses. Sandor had been relieved of his weapons immediately.

Soon afterwards he was pushed and pulled along by his leash down the stairs into the darkness and shoved into a dank cell still bound, he had lost track of Clegane.

Jory paced his small cell in a circle, stretching his legs and trying to burn off nervous energy. So quiet and dark here; it was damp, but neither too hot nor too cold. He paced and waited.

Sandor was escorted to the Great Hall by a large complement of guards. Initially, an unfamiliar young whelp of a guard threatened him with a spear brandished near his face.

“Wave that spear at me again boy, and we’ll see how well it fits up your arse.”

After that everyone gave him a bit of room as he strode to the hall. King Joffrey lounged upon the throne and his Grandfather Tywin Lannister sat to his right and the slightest bit behind the throne.

Sandor took a knee, bowed his head and waited.

“My dog has come home after running away! What say you Dog?”

Clegane started to rise.

“No! Stay upon your knees, for I have not decided what to do with you yet!”

“Your Grace, I have brought you a gift. The charade was necessary for in this castle there are ears everywhere, and not all are friendly to you. The Starks are even more foolish than we had believed, they trusted me almost immediately, even welcomed me."

“The man I brought with me is Lord Stark’s Captain of the Guard, Jory Cassel, and he will provide you with everything you could ever wish to know about fortification plans and the size of their forces.”

He noted Lord Tywin’s keen interest in his words and the grin on Joffrey’s face.

Clegane paused and studied the stone floor he knelt on, "There is more Your Grace.”

“Out with it then, I haven’t all day,” snapped the king.

“The Captain thinks I befriended him, it was the only way I could gain their trust enough to get him here, and he came voluntarily. I also had free run of Winterfell, so I can lay out some of its design.”

Joffrey laughed, “Really? He came with you willingly? Is he a fool to think you were friends?”

“A bit, and much too trusting, this will come as a complete shock to him and the Stark’s.” Sandor smiled grimly.

Another laugh from the king, “You have done well; perhaps I will let you wield the lash the first time.”

“As you wish my Grace, but I know how you might get more information by playing on Cassel’s trust first.”

“How is that Dog?”

“He has shared drinks with your Uncle Tyrion before and hopes to have an audience with him. I think he trusts Tyrion.”

Lord Tywin spoke up, “Why would he allow you to bring him here as a captive for an audience with my son?”

“He has convinced himself that spirits have tasked him with several grand quests that only he can complete. It was all too easy to convince him to take the role of prisoner and be brought here.”

Tywin frowned, “If he is slipping into madness, how reliable will his information be, and why would Lord Stark let him go with you?”

Clegane shook his head, “He didn’t tell Eddard Stark, as he was afraid he would be stopped, we left under pretense of a hunting trip. No one knew we were riding for Kings Landing until it was far too late to stop us.”

King Joffrey was amused by his double cross, “What did his spirits tell him to do?”

“Your Grace he has kept that a secret from me, I am as curious as you are about his tasks.”

“I would visit him myself and see if he is sane, and you will accompany me so he will know your betrayal. You may stand Dog, you have done well.”

“As you bid, my Grace.”

Tywin mused aloud, “Find my son; it will be interesting to hear what Cassel has to tell him.”

Sandor trailed behind Ser Barristan Selmy and three other of the Kingsguard who accompanied King Joffrey to Jory’s cell. It had been several hours, but Jory’s hands were still bound behind his back, and he trailed his leash.

He was obviously surprised to see the king, but respectfully stepped to the back of the cell and dropped to one knee before Joffrey, “Your Grace.”

The King sneered at him, “I don’t remember you at all. You are Winterfell’s captain?”

“Aye, my Grace, Captain of Lord Stark’s guardsmen, Jory Cassel.”

“I have had a raven sent to Winterfell informing Lord Stark that I have his Captain, and thanking him for his cooperation with Sandor Clegane’s plan.”

Jory was still kneeling with his head respectfully tilted down. At Joffrey’s words he looked at Sandor where he stood to one side, and his eyes widened.

The King continued, “Did you really think the phony prisoner routine would work?” He scoffed, “Sent on a task ordered by spirits, and wanting to confide in my Uncle Tyrion. It would be sad if it wasn’t so funny.”

Jory’s wide eyes had narrowed and his face was flushed with rage. Clegane noted that he was shivering, and spoke up, “Did you really think we were friends? You were just another day’s work, and thanks to your hospitality, I can map out Winterfell’s layout and defenses for my King.”

With a wordless cry of rage, Jory sprang at Clegane, throwing himself into the larger man and driving him backwards.

Sandor clouted him alongside the head, stunning him and Jory fell to the floor. King Joffrey was laughing as he moved to exit the cell.

Clegane had one last comment as he left, “Shackle him to the wall, he can slip those ropes, and get that leash off of him.”

Chapter Text

Alone in his cell, Jory slid his bound hands over his legs and feet so they were in front of him again, then pulled off the hated neck rope. Then he untied his wrists and rubbed life back into them.

He had been enraged by Clegane’s betrayal, but as time passed and he paced his cell he left behind his anger, perhaps Sandor had not double-crossed him, but why had he revealed their purpose?

As he circled, he thought it through and concluded that the betrayal and his own furious reaction to it had won over the Lannister’s and kept Clegane free and not in the cell next to him. He hoped, he couldn't bring himself to believe Clegane would betray his trust.

Sandor may have also delayed any torture he might be facing and had probably ensured a meeting with Tyrion. How does anyone believe me if I seem insane?

 He stopped and slid down to a seated position against the stone wall, as he nodded off to an uneasy sleep, his last thought was, all I have is the truth.

“Ahhh, Jory Cassel of Winterfell, I am truly sorry to see you here.”

He opened his eyes and could see Tyrion Lannister standing at the open door of his cell, with his tall brother Jaime just behind him.

Jory spoke up, “Before you come in, you should know I’ve untied myself and the ropes are still in the cell.”

Tyrion walked towards him, heedless of his warning, and picked up the two ropes from the floor where Jory had let them fall, then walked to the door and handed them to his brother. Jaime tossed the ropes down the corridor, and spoke to someone out of sight. A guard entered with a bright torch and placed it in the wall sconce of his cell.

Jory knew to remain sitting. Tyrion stopped in front of him and openly studied his face, “Funny, you don’t look mad. Are you?”

The corner of his mouth quirked; “What would ever give you that idea? I volunteered to come here, I have three very unreasonable requests to ask; Oh, and I trusted Sandor Clegane.”

“At least you’ve kept your sense of humor; if you survive my family perhaps a position as a fool somewhere would suit you.” Tyrion’s smile was small, sad, and did not reach his eyes.

“Since you’re here if you’ve got time for a long and strange tale, well, I have a spare hour or two to tell it.”

Tyrion held up a hand, “One moment Jory.” He turned and walked to the door and called out, “A skin of wine, three goblets and three chairs.”

Then he approached again, “We may be in a dungeon, but we can still converse as men, and I think a bit of refreshment is called for as well.”

Jory noted a couple of things, Jaime Lannister had not moved to draw a weapon at all, the cell door was still wide open, and although men were stationed in the hallway none were in the cell; but most encouraging was Tyrion’s ease around him. The man had even turned his back to Jory.

“Does your Lord Stark know you are here?”

“He does, and he knows what I am about to tell you as well.”

“Tyrion’s eyes never left his face and Jory met that gaze.

“What do you hope to gain from this quest of yours?”

“To help save lives; the Nights Watch, Winterfell, Karhold, Riverrun, Casterly Rock, Kings Landing and all in between, even the Wildings fleeing the White Walkers.”

“Oho! That is very ambitious indeed!”

“So the sarcasm begins already, but I speak the truth. What is my life in the face of all that might perish?”

A trio of guards brought in chairs and a servant held a tray with goblets and a wineskin.

Tyrion looked to his brother, “Jaime, a chair?”

His brother made a dismissive gesture and shook his head slightly.

“Wine then? You are not on duty.”

“No, I am fine, but go ahead by all means.”

The servant set the tray upon one of the chairs and the man left the cell.

Tyrion filled a goblet and handed it to Jory, “Have a seat.”

Then filling a second goblet he climbed into the last chair. Tyrion gazed at the red wine for a moment then raised his glass, “To red wine and friends.”

Jory smiled tightly and tipped his own goblet towards the dwarf, “Aye, to red wine and friends.” He sipped; the wine was like nectar to his parched throat but did little to slake his thirst.

Tyrion cocked his head slightly, “I would inquire as to your trip, and similar meaningless pleasantries, but the rope burn around your neck and your nose speaks louder than words.”

“Would you prefer the short version or the complete one?” 

“Oh, I’ve set aside my plans for the evening and have always favored a long story, and we've wine, so by all means leave nothing out.” Tyrion took a swallow of wine and settled back in his chair.

Jory took a deep breath and began, “It all started when Sandor Clegane and I were on a trip to White Harbor, part-way there we came across a river that was unfamiliar to me, a place where no river should be.”

“We were crossing and both wound up in the current and over a waterfall. I blacked out at the bottom and awoke being tended to in a cave. I was taken to a woman who claimed to be a Queen of the Forest Fae, and she knew things that were impossible to guess, personal things.”

“Then she explained that they had saved Clegane and I from the water and healed us both. I had a mending broken ankle and leg wound, and both were healed and made pain free with only small scars to show the injuries were ever there.”

“The Fae warned us of the impending invasion of White Walkers and claimed that many would die, and Westeros would be lost if we did not prevail.”

Tyrion broke in, “Pardon my interruption, but Clegane was with you?”

“Aye, but not in the same room, he was elsewhere receiving…..receiving refreshment.

“I was given three things to tell Lord Stark and told that we needed all three to defeat the White Walkers. That was my task.”

“I see, and the three things?”

Jory took another sip of wine, “She said the first weapon we needed was dragon glass, and that we would find an ample supply from the melted towers at Harrenhal, by mining the fused rock at the base of same towers. We were to fashion spear points, knives, and arrowheads from the obsidian.”

Tyrion lifted his eye brows a bit at his words, but said nothing.

“The second weapon she spoke of was the store of wildfire beneath the Red Keep and elsewhere within Kings Landing.”

Tyrion’s gaze was inscrutable as he listened.

“The third weapon was dragon steel, she said we needed to dismantle the Iron Throne and reclaim the fused swords, then distribute them among the finest swordsmen in Westeros.”

A sudden snort from Jaime Lannister drew their attention, “You would have the King to give up his throne, then tear it apart. May I be there when you ask?”

“My reaction was the same as yours Lannister. I am only repeating what I was told.’

Tyrion was trying not to smile and slowly losing the battle.

Jory was tired, “Yes; I pulled the phony prisoner routine and came all this way willingly to tell King Joffrey he needed to hand over his throne so we could tear it apart and give the pieces away. It is ridiculous, but there it is.”

It was Jaime Lannister who broke into laughter first, and then Tyrion joined him, with Jory chiming in. They laughed for a long time over the absurdity of it.”

When the laughter died out Jory continued, “When the fae finished, I was sent to rest and woke up in a shallow cave with Clegane standing guard, and our horses tied up just outside, no river anywhere to be seen.”

Tyrion continued to watch Jory’s face, “You believe her, I can tell, Ned Stark believed you. We do have word of White Walkers at Castle Black and on this side of the Wall. You have thought about this, I can tell. What else can you offer as proof?”

He thought a moment, “It may be chance, but things seem to be coming together to aid us. At least two armorers have come to Winterfell now with another on the way; this is in addition to Mikken. This is just since I encountered the Oracle.

“Our Maester Luwin has drawn up plans for a stable sling cushioned wagon to safely transport wild fire where needed.

“I also have an idea to create arrowheads and weapons from Harrenhal’s dragon stone.”

“Do share your idea, I am interested. Is the wine not to your liking?”

“The wine is excellent, but I would really prefer water right now. Wine does little to ease true thirst.”

Tyrion turned in his chair, but Jaime was already calling down the hall for water.

“Many wildlings are fleeing ahead of the White Walker horde, and Mance Rayder is rumored to be among them. If permitted, I would attempt to enlist the help of the wildlings to mine the dragon stone. They also have craftsmen with experience knapping arrowheads and spear points.

“We could have an armory at Harrenhal and make weapons there as the obsidian is mined, it would save time, then distribute them amongst the castles and towns. I was warned that Westeros must unify to defeat the common enemy.”

A servant brought in a pitcher of water and Jory gulped what wine remained in his goblet, then downed a glass of water.

“Jory, I’ve drank with you before, and well know your reputation. I know you believe in what you were told. In addition, few people know of the wildfire and where it is stored here, and I don’t think anyone knew of the dragon stone at Harrenhal."

“However, I have little actual power here, but rest assured I will convey all that you have told me to my father and King Joffrey. As to what will happen after that, well, your guess is as good as mine. I must go, but I will see that you are provided with blankets, water, and dinner, that much I can do for you. I just wish we were in a tavern somewhere drinking again, and not here, believe that, and I will do all I can.”

He slid from his chair and extended a hand; Jory leaned forward to clasp it. Men were already entering the cell to remove the chairs and other items as Tyrion turned to leave.

A few minutes later, as they walked along an upstairs hallway, Jaime stopped and turned to his younger brother, “You know it will never happen, he’s already dead.”

Chapter Text

The next morning Jaime and Tyrion met with their father to discuss Jory Cassel and his requests. Tyrion repeated the tale Cassel had told nearly word for word, with Jaime interjecting a comment here and there.

Lord Tywin leaned back in his chair at the head of the table and listened carefully until his sons were finished.

The old lion looked weary as he spoke, “Even if it were Eddard Stark personally asking for these things they could not be given, and certainly not to a mere captain of his household guard. You both know what Joffrey will do to him, and when he dies it will poke the hornet’s nest in the north yet again.”

Tyrion reached up and rubbed at his temple in irritation, “Can we try and reason this out a bit here first. We all know the White Walkers have breached the Wall and taken Castle Black. The wildlings flee before them stealing and looting what they can just to stay alive and move further south. Some action must be taken.”

Lord Tywin seemed to warm to the discussion. “Start with Harrenhal and the dragon stone, what if we could task the wildlings with mining obsidian and creating weapons. They would need to be fed and supervised; we can’t let them create their own armory, although, if they swore allegiance to the crown and fought for us they would be a great asset.”

Jaime lightly tapped his fingers upon the dark oaken table as he spoke, “The weapons would need to be distributed as they were made and not allowed to remain on site. They could also rebuild Harrenhal and fortify other keeps in return for food, shelter, and necessities. I agree that it is better to have them working for us than fighting against us.”

“Second issue, the wildfire” Tyrion looked to his father, “I showed you the vast stores beneath the Keep. It is a hazard and could be the downfall of Kings Landing if an enemy or an accident ignited it.”

“It almost was once.”

They both looked at Jaime, but it was Tyrion who asked the question, “Are the rumors true then, was Aerys going to incinerate the city with it?”

“I believe so, he had been talking about it off and on for days, alternately whispering and giggling mindlessly about it, or screaming ‘Burn them all’ as he laughed. That last day, his last day he beckoned me close and ordered me to ignite it all. I pleaded with him not to do it, when it did no good I ignored him. Then he sent for the Hand, and I knew he would set it all ablaze if ordered to do so.”

Jaime stared into the past, his eyes blank and glassy, “I couldn’t let him do it, he would have murdered everyone, so I killed him first.”

He seemed to remember where he was then and Jaime looked at his father, “We need to get rid of it, there is too much, and it is too unstable. The wildfire needs to go.”

Tywin nodded, but Tyrion was still staring at his brother.

This time Tywin spoke, “Last, and most difficult; dismantling the Iron Throne, my grandson will never give it up.”

Tyrion sat up straight, “What if we created a new throne just for him, and it could be his legacy for generations to come- an everlasting Lannister contribution to the history of Westeros. It would have to be suitably impressive and expensive ‘The Joffrey Throne.” He involuntarily winced and shuddered at the idea but forged ahead anyway.

“I see cast gold lions and stags, set with onyx, garnets and rubies. Yes, it could work!”

Even Tywin smiled at the image, “It might work, with Joffrey you never know. I will talk to him about it, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Later that morning, Sandor Clegane caught up with Tyrion as he was leaving the dining room. “I need a word with you.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Clegane, “I take it this concerns our friend from the north?”

“It does.”

“Well, meet me in an hour at the tourney grounds, fewer ears there.”

“That will do.”

A bit over an hour later Tyrion found Sandor sitting on one of the pavilion benches waiting for him.

“Ah, a lovely day for a walk, fancy meeting you here Clegane.”

“I’m not here to pass the time of day. I need you to listen,” he growled.

“I am all ears, please continue.” Tyrion took a seat on the same bench.

Suddenly the big man seemed at a loss for words.

Tyrion sighed, “Well, let me begin for you, and feel free to stop me if I get anything wrong; “You really did pull the phony prisoner routine, also you are not actually back to stay- because my family has, well, treated you like a dog."

“I know you were with Jory at least part of the time when the fae had you. I think you agree with what he is doing too. You think Joffrey is going to kill him, as do I, and you would like to help him- again as do I. Have I gotten most of it?”

After staring at the dwarf for a long moment the corner of Sandor’s mouth curved up slightly, “Aye, but I bear no ill will towards you or most of your family, your nephew was too much monster, even for me, so I left.”

Tyrion smiled, “Do you know how many times I’ve wished I could leave? What happened at the river that day?”

Sandor seemed to look through Tyrion as he thought back to that day, “I was wearing my plate armor and though the river was not deep, it was icy cold, and the current was treacherous. I had almost made it across when Stranger mired in the mud.

“Jory waded out to help, but my horse knocked us both over and we were swept away. I think I almost drowned him, I can’t swim. We were lucky and got pushed into a big rock in the river, and Jory pulled off most of my upper armor so I wouldn’t be as heavy.

“Strange thing though, the water kept rising and the river grew stronger while we were stranded there. Then it almost seemed as if the rock we were against shifted and dumped us back into the current. We were getting banged up by the rocks, but the water was so cold you couldn’t even feel it.

“Finally Jory snagged a good-sized rock with one hand, he had ahold of me with the other. He held on as long as he could against the cold and the current. We could see and hear the waterfall ahead; the river just fell away into fog.

“I was so cold and tired by then, that I just didn’t care anymore. Jory eventually lost his grip on the rock, but he didn’t let go of me. We went over the falls and the water crashing down tore me from his grasp, then pain and nothing.”

Tyrion saw the man was far away, reliving the mishap. “Then what happened?”

To his surprise, Clegane blinked and smiled.

“There were women.”

Tyrion grinned crookedly and raised his eyebrows, “Oh, do go on!”

“I gradually woke up realizing I was naked, and several women were gently touching me. I didn’t hurt anymore, and I was warm. It was amazing, but I couldn’t move my arms or legs or much else.”

Tyrion had a smirk on his face, “So you, um……”

Clegane grinned wolfishly, “Did I fuck them? That’s what you want to ask, and the answer is no.”

Tyrion’s disappointment was obvious.

“I couldn’t move, remember, all I could do was lay there flat on my back and let these beautiful women take turns at me.”

Clegane looked at Tyrion. “You can close your mouth now half-man.”

Tyrion snapped his mouth shut, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Then what?”

“I slept, and when I woke, my clean dry clothes were waiting next to my pallet. A little faierie named Cameo came to see me and seemed to know a lot about Jory and I. She told me that they had healed us both.”

Tyrion broke in, “Let me guess, she told you to protect Jory on this quest.”

“Not at all, she told me I had to talk to you when we got here, and then she told me exactly what I needed to say.”

Tyrion realized that he was gaping at the man again and shook his head. “Go ahead, I’m dying to know what the Queen wanted you to tell me.”

“No, Cameo is only a forest faierie, but she gave me three truths to tell you.” Clegane’s eye grew dark as he began, “Two bad truths and one good one.

“I was told you married a girl years ago, a girl you helped rescue and then kept safe, your Tysha. When your father found out you wed the girl, he was furious. He didn’t want any more dwarfs associated with the Lannister name.

“Tyrion, I know what your father did then, his men, and then you, a single gold coin amongst a handful of silver, and a broken girl sent away into the night. I wasn’t there, Cameo told me. The worst part of it is that your father lied to you. Tysha was an innocent when she met you, and she loved you. One of the things Lord Tywin did was to convince her that he would ruin you if she stayed. He threatened to disinherit you and send you far away from your family, your brother, you would have been alone and penniless. No, Tysha was not a whore, but she had to become one to survive after she left you.”

Out of respect for Tyrion, Sandor stared straight ahead at the tourney field as he talked. All he heard was Tyrion’s ragged breathing. He gave the man a minute to absorb all he had said.

Tyrion broke the strained silence with a flat voice, “Next please, and don’t stop again.”

“As you wish, but this one is no easier, you have been betrayed by your little whore, Shae. Within days of your father’s arrival, she was fucking him, sharing both your beds.

“Now the girl is with child, and you are not the father of this baby. She plans on leaving you for Tywin and his gold, in the process giving him another fair-haired son. She already plans an accident for you, one to cause your death. She sees her son taking your place one day, and eventually replacing Jaime too.”

Tyrion could take no more, “Lies! Stories and lies! All of it!” He steadily shook his head back and forth denying Clegane’s words.

Sandor continued more gently, “The faierie said that at the end of our talk if you knock at your father’s door or wait in the shadows near there, the truth will be revealed.”

“Let’s get this over with Clegane, reveal your last truth.”

“The last truth is the good one. You have a daughter, Tyrion, a fine beautiful girl with hair of Lannister gold.”

Sandor had rendered Tyrion speechless for the moment, so he continued, “What no one knew was that Tysha was several months pregnant with your child when she was sent away.

“She kept the baby as long as she could, until the money ran out, but her health started failing by then and a brothel was no place to take a wee girl. Tysha placed her with the women of a sept alongside the sea. The girl was sweet and mischievous; the septas grew to love her deeply. Your daughter is fourteen years old now and doing quite well.”

Sandor chanced a look at Tyrion and saw the glisten in his eyes.

“Tysha, is she?”

“I am sorry, but I was told she died several years ago from consumption.”

“How do I know this is my daughter?”

“Well, other than having her mother’s height, she is supposed to be the spitting image of you.”

They sat there in silence for a while as Tyrion tried to comprehend what he had been told. It could all be lies, but the dagger was in the details, and it had the painful ring of truth, every word of it.

“Did your fae tell you where by the sea, my daughter might be?”

“No, this was everything she gave me. With your resources you will find her.”

“What am I to do with in exchange for your truths?”

“She didn’t say. I think my purpose in telling them, may be to help you believe Jory and his information.”

“Tyrion nodded, “Can you leave me? This has been a lot to take in.”

Clegane simply nodded, then stood and left Tyrion sitting alone on the bench, lost in thought and memories.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Tywin Lannister wondered if the Iron Throne intentionally drove those who sat upon it insane.

To say his grandson was willful would be an understatement. Those who knew the boy king were careful to not make any suggestion sound too much like an order, because out of spite, he would do the exact opposite action- just to show he could.

“What are your plans for the northerner in the dungeon?”

“You mean the captain of traitor Ned Stark’s guard? Kill him after finding out all we can of Winterfell and its forces.”

“Joffrey, he is also a man who came to see his king with information and several requests he thinks could save and benefit your people. That which benefits your people, in turn, benefits you as well. It makes you look wise.”

Joffrey frowned, but finally looked at his grandfather, “What information and requests?”

“He knows firsthand of the impending invasion of the White Walkers and he has plans on how to battle them. Your uncles talked to him and shared his ideas with me. Some of them merit consideration Your Grace.” 

The king slumped back in his chair after rolling his eyes in boredom, “Oh, go ahead, it might even be amusing.”

Mindful of the boy’s short attention span, Tywin tried to make the information concise.

“The man in the dungeon is Jory Cassel; he has an excellent reputation for honesty and loyalty, yet he has left his position and willingly risked everything to help you.

“He presented three suggestions to your uncles. He wants to put the wildlings to work mining the dragon stone at Harrenhal and turning that obsidian into arrowheads, spear points, and knife blades. In return we give them shelter.”

“He also proposed using the wild fire stored under the castle against the ghouls. It would be distributed amongst the various parts of Westeros. I do recommend this. The stores beneath us are too large, and also deteriorating and unstable.”

He finally had the king’s attention, “So I am to give away our defenses to our enemies? I think not.”

“Wait, Your Grace there was one more idea. The three things that seem to actually destroy White Walkers are dragon stone, dragon fire, and dragon steel. Cassel has found a way to deploy the first two, and he knows the third weapon too."

“The Iron Throne was forged of knives and swords fused together by the fiery breath of the mighty dragon Balerion. Technically, it could be called dragon steel. Captain Cassel’s idea is to unmake the Iron Throne and reclaim all of those weapons, distributing them amongst our best swordsmen."

“Your Grace, over time the sword throne has lost its majesty. I think your reign is the start of a new era in history, and thus, I would propose the creation of a custom throne, created with your input. Cast gold lions and stags, perhaps, set with onyx eyes, and sparkling with rubies and other rare stones. A throne to last a thousand years, and your legacy.”

Tywin watched his grandson as he talked. At least the boy hadn’t burst into laughter yet, but his jaw was clenched, and that was never a good sign.

“Is that all?”

“That was all Your Grace.”

“I also got a raven from Winterfell with a three-word message, ‘Let Him Go.’ How dare they presume to give me an order?”

“Honestly? What do you expect when you gloat over imprisoning the man, ‘please and thank you?’ You are the King, and you need to use tact when dealing with people.”

Joffrey sat up straight and faced Tywin, “Question the Stark's man, we need his information, then I shall grant one of his requests. He can have the wildfire, in fact; I will give it to him myself.”

“At your age you need to stop pulling the wings off flies. The Hound can give you the information you want. Joffrey you should make some attempt at building alliances, and not creating more enemies. This cruelty serves no purpose.”

“So, I should give this nobody my weapons and my very throne? It makes me seem weak. I know how his death can serve a purpose. It will be an example of what happens to those who anger me, and I will stage it in the courtyard where the common rabble can watch.”

Tywin sighed, “Your Grace, at least take some time and think on this.”

Joffrey narrowed his eyes as he faced his grandfather, “I will put it off for a week, that will give ample time for preparation.”

Chapter Text

He had fallen asleep in the library; Tyrion realized this as he blinked his irritated eyes and tried to move his cramped muscles. The book he had been reading must have tumbled onto the floor during one of his nightmares.

Tyrion wanted to unhear Clegane’s ‘truths,’ and unsee Shae in his father’s arms as they lingered at Tywin’s door for a passionate last kiss before parting.

I am not a stupid man, yet I am a fool just the same.

He had lost himself in the castle library, within a refuge of books, a welcoming chair, and the comforting haze of wine. The heavy book had landed face up on the carpet.

“A Compendium of Westerosi Beings & Lore”

The compendium was a familiar book to Tyrion, and he had sought it out last night. In it he had learned a little more of the Forest Fae.

Apparently, they were somewhat capricious immortals that held some sway over the forces of nature and time. The fae could heal, and there was even suggestion that they could restore life under certain circumstances.

The demigoddesses in general seemed to view humans as chattel, and often treated them rather callously. Usually, they were associated with water and the other three natural elements.

They also acted as guiding forces in this world.  Occasionally, they took men as lovers, and to perpetuate their line.

Tyrion had puzzled over that last bit; if they are immortal, why do they need to procreate. They treat us as toys.

He was still sitting, now wondering what it would be like to have a daughter, when Jaime walked in.

“I should have known I would find you here.” He took a seat nearby, and then noticed the empty wine goblet, the dropped book, and his brother’s rumpled state.

“You slept here?” Jaime raised his eyebrows, “Lovers spat?”

Tyrion weakly shook his head, “No, not that.” He refused to share his betrayal.

Jaime picked up the book from the floor and grinned, “Studying dragons again, little brother?”

“Not this time, I was learning about fae and fairies.”

“What did you find out?”

“Enough to scare the seven hells out of me,” Tyrion explained to Jaime what he had read.

“Interesting, and they are always women?”

“Not women, demigoddesses.”

Jaime sobered, “Actually, I was looking for you because father gave me some bad news. Our King has decided to question Jory Cassel, and in less than a weeks’ time, burn him in the courtyard.”

Tyrion looked at his brother in disbelief, “Burn him publicly? Gods, this is a new level of cruelty, even for him.”

“He thinks it will quell the unrest amongst our peasants; show them what happens when he is angered.”

“Jaime, I won’t be there, I can’t be party to this.”

His brother studied the tome in his hands, “This time I think Ned Stark sealed his captain’s fate. Joffrey might have listened to our father’s advice, but a raven came from Winterfell earlier in the day with a terse message demanding that Cassel be released. Our King doesn’t take well to demands.”

“I am thinking of leaving Kings Landing for a while, maybe take Bronn if he’ll go, and just travel. I need to escape the foulness of this place.”

“When would you leave?”

“Probably, in a couple of weeks, maybe I’ll take Cassel’s remains to Winterfell. He deserves at least that much.”

“I doubt the Stark’s would welcome you.”

“No, but they do understand honor, and escorting Jory home is the honorable thing to do. You could even come with me.”

Jaime shook his head and stood, “My duty lies here, I have no choice. I must return to the Great Hall, I just wanted you to hear the bad news from me and not as idle gossip from another.”

Tyrion nodded, “Thank you for that.” He watched his brother leave and was soon lost in thought.

Perhaps I can’t stop his death, but there must be some way to prevent the torture. Clegane must be told of this today, and the sooner the better.

Why is my father so disgusted at the sight of me? I am but a monster on the outside, whereas his grandson is a monster to the core; a monster with a handsome mask.

Damn you Joffrey, damn you to the Seventh Hell!

Chapter Text

Kings Landing

He had claimed the little table in the back corner of the tavern, where the gloom surrounded him and matched his mood. There he sullenly stared into the blood red wine in his tankard.

Sandor must have sensed them approaching his table, but he didn’t bother to look up, “Bugger off.”

“I need to talk to you Clegane”

The big man looked at Tyrion and noted his seriousness, then he raised his eyes to take in Bronn.

Tyrion didn’t wait for an invitation, but took a chair, “I have news.”

Clegane mumbled, “I don’t think I want to hear it,” and took a long drink.

“I need your help, so you’ll listen regardless. Joffrey has made his decision. He plans to torture Cassel for information on Winterfell and the Starks.”

Clegane stared at Tyrion, “torture?”

“Yes, but that’s not the worst of it, in less than a week he is going to burn Jory in the courtyard here, as an example to others of what happens when he is displeased.”

As he held Clegane’s gaze, Tyrion realized that the color was draining from the man’s face, and Sandor was actually staring through him at some grim tableau only he could see. Now the only color in Clegane’s face were the angry red scars;……burn scars. 

“I brought him here, it was my damned idea! Fuck Joffrey!” The big man finally growled.

Tyrion glanced about nervously, “Keep those thoughts to yourself, as you can do no good from the inside of a cell.”

“What good can any of us do? Cassel came all of this way to try and save lives, now he’s to be tortured and burned for it. If it’s information on Winterfell the king needs, I can give him that, I was there.”

Tyrion considered Sandor’s words, “Lord Stark sent a message demanding his captain’s release and my nephew didn’t like the tone of it. We have five days to figure something out.”

“I need to talk to Cassel; can you get us in to see him?”

“Excellent idea, then we might be able to come up with a plan, or at least some answers for Joffrey’s questions. Sooner is better than later, are you sober enough to go now?”

Clegane was still very pale, “Aye, sober enough to manage.”

The three of them left the tavern.

Winterfell

‘Traitors pay the price,’ that’s what the message from Kings Landing had read.

Far to the north, Ned Stark alternated between anger and worry as he paced the bailey of his castle. The cold night air felt good upon his face. What game does this boy king play at?

He didn’t believe that Clegane had double crossed them.

Although his captain was an optimist, and entirely too trusting sometimes for his own good, the man was no fool. I could have stopped them, I shouldn’t have allowed it, but he had, even against his better judgment.

His terse message to the king had not helped matters either, he belatedly realized, but anger had gotten the better of him. His brother, Brandon would have known to negotiate, but Ned tended to say exactly what was on his mind, not always a wise thing in the game of politics.

At the thought of Brandon, he shook his head; his older brother had died at Kings Landing, and his father- actually their father, perished trying to save Brandon, now Jory seemed lost as well. I’ve just gained him as my brother only to lose him. How many of my kin will die at King’s Landing?

Even their sojourn to the capital city at King Robert’s behest had been ill fated, and probably had hastened the king’s demise.

Thoughts of the past were useless, what could he do now to save his men. There had to be someone closer he could turn to. Winterfell was too far away to save them now.

Then he thought of one person who might have resources near enough to help.

Below the Red Keep

He must have fallen from a tree again, for he hurt most' everywhere. There was no escape from the pain, but eventually Jory squirmed partially onto his left side and curled up as best as he could.

His back and shoulders were awash with agony, but the worst of it seemed to be his right side and lower back. It even hurt to breathe.

I am so thirsty. He swallowed dryly and realized his throat was raw. His doublet was stuck to his back in places and pulled at the skin there. His shoulder muscles cramped in protest and Jory groaned.

“Shhhh, Jory, relax and it won’t hurt as much. You must be more careful in the trees for you don’t bounce very well.” He could see the faint smile upon the girl’s lips, and the worry in her gray eyes as well.

“Do you remember what your Mum called us most of the time?”

“Aye, for most of the first ten years of our lives she called us ‘the puppies’ or more often ‘my puppies’, because of the wolf and direwolf sigils of our houses.”

Back then it had not been unusual for them to nap curled up together, entwined innocently together for warmth and comfort.

“Remember when, if things got too quiet, your mum would come looking for us, calling ‘What are my puppies up to now?”

He felt Lyanna’s cool hand upon his fevered brow, “More likely, she’d hear a ruckus outside and find us chasing her laying hens ‘round the yard, ‘If you puppies keep chasing my hens there will be no more eggs!”

Jory shuddered with pain again. “Help me sleep Ly’, I’m cold.”

The girl twined herself around him familiarly, gently cradling him within her strong, lean arms, her legs matching his. Jory finally pillowed his head upon her shoulder and relaxed into the sleep he so badly needed.

Karl, the gaoler, peered through the window in the cell door at the man curled up on the floor of the cell. He twitched and muttered in his sleep. As most of them do, this one had screamed hoarsely during the lashing until his voice was gone then eventually passed out.

This wretch must have made someone mad, because even after he had passed out, and been dumped into his cell, Gavin had booted him hard several times in the right side and lower back. The Head Torturer usually didn’t waste such time and effort on just anyone.

Now he could see that some of the wounds crisscrossing the man’s back had bled through the coarse doublet they had covered him with, and then dried, sticking the shirt to the oozing welts.

The prone figure muttered something else, and Karl looked at his face and was shocked that the tormented man actually appeared to be smiling ever so slightly.

Chapter Text

Tyrion looked at the man curled up at his feet and realized it was much too late to stop the torture, but they could at least help with the aftermath. He laid a hand on Jory’s arm and felt him flinch at the touch.

“We cannot summon Pycelle; Bronn, do you know anyone who could help?”

“I know a kitchen girl that might do. I’ll fetch her and any supplies we might need.” He left the cell.

Tyrion had the gaoler bring a couple of torches to light the cell, then demanded of the man, “When was this done?”

“This afternoon, my lord.”

“I see; no time to be wasted then.”

“T’was on the King’s orders it were.”

“Yes, that is all, leave us now.”

“But, my lord…..”

“He said ‘leave us!”, snarled Clegane, moving towards him.

The guard quickly exited the room and disappeared.

Tyrion plucked gingerly at Jory’s tunic, trying to loosen it from his back.

“Leave it be, or you’ll start him bleeding again,” cautioned Sandor, as he knelt down next to the unconscious man. “Cassel wake up, you need to sit up,” he urged.

Jory moved to push him away, then grimaced in pain.

Clegane persisted, “You need to sit up.”

Slowly, Cassel pushed himself to a seated position. Breath hissed through his clenched teeth with the effort.

“What did they ask you?” Clegane noted Jory’s bloodshot eyes.

“They didn’t ask me anything; they just started lashing me. No questions, no accusations,” he rasped.

Bronn and a young woman entered the cell. She carried a bucket and a basketful of supplies. Bronn had a wineskin, and several other items tucked under his arm.

The girl knelt at Jory’s back and touched the tunic lightly, “It’s stuck to his back.”

Bronn bent to look at the bloodied garment. “Wet it all down well and leave it for a few minutes. Hopefully, it will peel away without taking too much of his hide.” He offered the wine skin to Jory, “You’ll need this.”

He drank deeply as the woman sopped cool water over his shoulders and back, “Has a bite to it,” he noted hoarsely.

“I know where the potent stuff is kept, so I helped myself.” Bronn smiled at his cleverness.

Jory drank deeply again, before handing the wine back to Bronn. The girl was trying to carefully remove the wet and bloodied shirt, but Jory had trouble flexing his shoulders.

Tyrion finally handed the girl his knife and she slit the coarse garment midback from collar to hem, allowing her to easily peel away the halves of the shirt.

She gasped; “What happened here!”

The heady wine was already affecting him, “I was a very bad boy, no worries, it will all heal.”

“No, you’ve a huge bruise here,” she lightly traced the edges of the black- purple injury with her finger.”

“Aye, that’s what aches, all the rest just stings a bit.”

The woman started cleaning the welts across his back with water.

Clegane was looking at the vividly discolored area that angled across Cassel’s right side and into his lower back, “What happened there?”

He shook his head, “No idea, I don’t remember it.”

“It almost looks like someone kicked the hell out of you while you were on the ground,” commented Bronn. “You’ve swelling over your lowest ribs and your kidney.”

 Jory looked at the girl and grinned ever so slightly, “If you don’t mind, I could use a skin of water. My back can wait a bit.”

Shyly, she ducked her head and hurried from the cell.

Tyrion spoke first, “I take it you’ve heard what my nephew has planned.”

He smiled wryly, “Aye, now all I need is the dragon stone and dragon steel and my quest is complete.”

“Seven Hells!” Is everything a jape to you Cassel?” Clegane was furious. “Have you ever been burned before?”

Jory’s eyes widened, but wisely he kept his mouth shut.

Sandor continued, “The heat and pain hit at the same time, and you smell your hair burning. Your eyes close against the fire, yet you still see that awful orange glow through your eyelids, there is no escaping it. You start screaming and begging as your skin pulls taught and then splits from the heat. Next your flesh is actually on fire, bubbling and sizzling; even the air you try and breathe singes everything on its way to your insides. Someone is shrieking mindlessly and eventually you realize it’s you making that horrid noise, but you can’t stop.”

He happened to catch the stricken look on Jory’s face; “Fuck.”

Clegane’s eyes were haunted, and he stood and turned away, “I won’t watch them burn you, I can’t do that. I’m sorry I brought you here, but I thought it would work.”

“As did I, and I’m not dead yet, but I don’t expect you to watch- if it comes down to that.” Jory’s voice was still raspy.

Dark silence filled the cell until Tyrion broke it by clearing his throat as the woman returned with the water, after thanking her Jory drank greedily.

Tyrion frowned, “How long since you’ve had water?”

“Whenever you and Jaime were here last.”

“Night, before last, and food?”

“The same for both, time means little down here. I’ve not been hungry, but thirst is another thing.” Some of the huskiness had left his voice.

The woman finished cleaning his wounds and started gently daubing a thick green salve on the oozing stripes. Everyone was silent until she finished.

As she handed Jory a clean linen doublet he lightly caught her wrist and smiled up at her, “I thank you for your kindness and care, and the water too.”

She colored slightly at his sincere words, “You are welcome mi’ lord.”  He didn’t bother to correct her, afraid that he would embarrass her further. Tyrion also handed her a couple of silver coins as she made to leave them.

Clegane waited a long moment to ensure they were alone before speaking. “If they didn’t ask you questions this time, they probably will next time.”

“A plan, we need a plan.” You could see the wheels turning in Tyrion’s head as he thought. “What if we drugged you so they wouldn’t torture you? Questioning someone who’s out cold won’t work.”

Bronn scowled, “Bad things happen to helpless people in dark dungeon cells, and he’d be tortured anyway.”

Jory shuddered, “No potions, I’ll need whatever wits I’ve got left. I appreciate the help, but there’s not much choice.”

Chapter Text

Tyrion was irritated; I have to talk to my father. It was the only thing he could think of to do. Another night spent uncomfortably in the library had not improved his mood. He knew he had to deal with Shae and her betrayal soon, but trying to save Cassel’s life came first, since his immolation was set for the morrow.

At least Joffrey had finally tired of torturing the man, or more probably had found some new target for his sadism.

The unrest around the Red Keep had been growing day by day. Crowds jostled and yelled for food, but the only action their king took was to send out soldiers to brutally drive them back and disperse them.

Wearily he climbed the last few steps to his father’s private quarters. The guard escorted him in and Tyrion found his father poring over bills and paperwork at his table. He merely glanced at his youngest son and waved him towards a chair.

“I know why you’re here, and it won’t do you any good to ask.”

“Yes, but regardless, I shall ask anyway. If the king stages his garish spectacle tomorrow it shall not end well.”

Tywin laughed harshly, “Well it won’t end well for the captain. He was a fool to come here, and if Stark sent him he is an even bigger fool. I have nothing really against the man, he is a nobody in the grand scheme of things.”

Tyrion could only stare at his father and feel the waves of betrayal after betrayal washing over him.

Tywin wouldn’t even look at his son as he spoke. He was busy sorting through his papers, thus he didn’t see the coldness in Tyrion’s eyes.

Tywin continued, “I tried talking to Joffrey, but you know how stubborn your nephew is, once he’s seized upon a notion it is impossible to change his mind. Poor Cassel, better he’d never been born than to suffer this end.”

Those words, that cavalier attitude broke something inside Tyrion; it was the last straw.

“Is that what you think of me as well? Perhaps it would have been better if I had never been born? You know, It has taken me decades Father, but I finally understand at last. Nothing I can do or say will ever make a difference in how you feel about me. In your eyes if I had never been born my mother would still be alive, and most of your problems would be gone.

“You were so afraid that I might sire another dwarf and further sully the family line, that you had my lady wife, my beloved wife, raped, slandered and sent away; and the worst thing about it is that you got me to participate in it all.”

Tywin had frozen and was staring at his son in shock.

“Yes, I know it all Father, and don’t ask me how. You destroyed my marriage, my chance for a family, and with it the person I was, but even that was not enough for you.

“By your decree, I cannot have a woman, not even a whore, then against all odds I find a woman who accepts me, loves me, and you take her away. I know about you and Shae. Why? Why do you hate me?

The ice in Tywin’s eyes now matched that of his son’s, “You are mistaken, Shae is a whore, and you knew that from the beginning, she doesn’t love you, never has. She doesn’t love me either for that matter.

“The rest of it? You are right; you have no business fathering children. The Lannister name and bloodline is an old and revered one- I’ll let no one destroy our lineage. Think of it reasonably, in breeding horses, dogs, anything, you cull out the less desirable individuals. That’s just the way it is.”

Tyrion realized he had a death-grip on the arms of his chair. He let go and slid down to stand before his father. “Dearest Father,” he sneered menacingly, if you care so much about your pristine bloodlines, you should stop my brother and sister from fucking each other, because the result is the monstrosity that perches upon the Iron Throne.

“I am a man, not a horse, or a dog, and from now on I shall live as I please, perhaps I’ll start a family the next time I meet a woman who will have me.” He was shivering with rage by the time he finished.

Lord Lannister’s anger easily matched his son’s. “If that is how you feel, I will be glad to have done with you. Be ready to leave tomorrow after the ceremony, and you’ll go penniless because in my eyes you no longer exist. We are done; you shall leave my chambers now.”

Tyrion turned and left the room, he didn’t find solace within the soft embrace of wine or woman, instead he was trying to formulate a plan.

Things had changed already, when Tyrion went to visit Jory that night, he had to hand over his knife before entering the cell this time, but he was allowed to take in the wine skin.

He also found that Cassel had been chained to the wall by his right wrist, giving him just enough room to lie down on the filthy floor.

After leaving his father, Tyrion had made several stops within the keep. Then he had looked for Clegane, but the man was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t dared venture beyond the sturdy walls of the bailey, because the crowd outside had grown both in size and restiveness in anticipation of the next day’s event.

“Still here I see.”

“Aye, nothing better to do and the accommodations’ are excellent.” A normal reply from Cassel, but said quietly. He sat down with his back against the stone wall.

Tyrion was uneasy in the silence, “Have you seen Clegane?”

Jory stared at the floor, “No, not since you were here last. I wouldn’t blame him for leaving. I hope he has.”

Tyrion offered him the wineskin. Jory looked at it a long moment then shook his head slightly.

“I don’t want to be fuddled by wine.”

For long minutes neither had anything to say.

“I’m done here,” Tyrion hadn’t realized what he was going to say until the words left his mouth.

Cassel looked at him in puzzlement.

“After tomorrow I’m done with Kings Landing. I think the further I get from my father and our beneficent king, the better.”

“Where will you go?”

“I’m not sure, there are so many possibilities, but eventually I’d like to see more of our lovely coastline,” Tyrion looked at Jory, “But first I thought I would escort you back to Winterfell, after…., and speak to Lord Stark.”

Jory at last met his eyes, “Thank You my lord, knowing that puts me at peace. I want to go home.”

“Not ‘my lord’ just Tyrion, and right now I’m ashamed to claim the house name of Lannister. There is one other thing as well,” he reached into an inner pocket of his leather jerkin and pulled out a tiny vial stoppered with beeswax.

“I’ve had this awhile, its tincture of nightshade and there is enough here to kill three or four men. I don’t know if it is much preferable to burning, but at least you wouldn’t be in front of hundreds of people. I’ll just leave it with you.”

Immediately, Jory shook his head, “I won’t do that, and besides, they will know you gave it to me and come after you.”

“They would, but I no longer care, I could be out the gate and gone before anyone noticed. I don’t know what to do right now to stop this, so I only wanted to provide you with an option.”

At those words a hint of the old Jory returned, “I have never been one to take the easy way out of anything.”

They spent hours talking, Tyrion could tell Jory didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Eventually he made his way from the dankness of the dungeon and into the still night air of the keep. It was warm and the air itself seemed darkly charged with energy.

He became aware of a low hum and murmur, and realized it was the noise from the commoners outside the castle walls. It sounded like a huge, restive beehive, overflowing and just waiting to be kicked. Despite the mild night he shivered.  

Chapter Text

He awoke from blackness, nothingness, and shivered at the thought of it stretching on forever ahead of him. Jory closed his eyes again and sent a silent prayer to the old gods asking for strength to get through what was coming.

Slowly he sat up feeling the soreness and stiffness in his body. He wondered what time they would come for him. Part of the torment was not knowing when this would happen.

Tyrion Lannister had kept him company late into the night, and they had finished off the wine the dwarf had brought. It had been easy conversation of women and life in general.

Lannister had been surprised to learn that he still believed in the task that had brought him to a dungeon cell in Kings Landing and a cruel death. As best as he could, Jory explained that everything that mattered to him was at risk, his family, those he served, and his friends. It had felt right to journey here.

Tyrion had grown somber at his words, “But it's for nothing Jory; and at the loss of your life as well.”

He shook his head before replying, “No, because when the white walkers sweep down from the north, Lord Stark knows how to fight them, and now others do as well, the king, your father, Clegane, and you and your brother. All of you will know, and by then you shall believe."

“As for the other, I have no wife or children to leave behind. I am but a servant and a soldier, soon forgotten by most. At least my head won’t be decorating a wall here.”

When Tyrion finally left, Jory lay down and tried to relax, eventually slipping into sleep. Now that he was awake, he was restless. The short length of heavy chain between his wrist and the wall did not allow for much movement, let alone pacing to burn off excess energy. He stood up anyway and tried to stretch his back and shoulders.

How long do I have, minutes or hours? It was easy to lose track of time in a cell without windows where days and dark blended into one. Not for the first time in this dank dungeon he thought about how his sire died here in this castle in an almost identical manner.

Rickard Stark had died slowly by wildfire, roasted in his armor; by comparison his own death would be quick. Just give me the strength to keep my dignity

Time passed, and the cell grew warm and humid. He lost himself in remembrances of times past, battles fought, fish caught, women bedded, nights of drinking, and times with family and friends.

He heard the guards before he saw them and straightened from where he had been leaning against the wall. There were four of them, each taller and heavier than he was, with no weapons that he could see on any of them.

“Turn around,” snarled the lead gaoler.  As Jory turned to comply, the big man shoved him against the wall and leaned into him. “As long as you can stand, I don’t think the king cares if we have a bit of fun now,” the man rasped into his ear.

Jory’s response was immediate; he stomped down hard on the man’s instep, even as he pushed off the stone wall. He threw his head back and felt his hard skull connect with a face.

His right wrist was still shackled to the wall, but his left arm was free, and he drove that elbow back and into the man, causing him to fall backwards.

He turned and hit one man hard in the throat, sending him to his knees coughing and gagging, then smashed a knee into another attacker’s groin.

Yet in the end, there were too many of them and the ongoing dehydration and lack of food had taken a toll. A fist caught him in the belly and knocked the wind out of him and he was slammed against the rough wall once more. Someone caught his left arm and twisted it up behind his back as he was pressed face first into the wall again. He hissed in pain as his left arm was yanked upward between his shoulder blades.

The voice rasped into his ear once more, “You will pay for that, you little bastard.”

“Let. him. go,” the voice was not loud, but held unmistakable authority. Immediately, he was released, and Jory turned his back to the wall again.

Kingslayer. Jaime Lannister stood just inside the open door of his cell, with two of his gold cloaks.

“I despise rapists,” he turned to his men. “They no longer work here, see them outside the castle walls, and if they return, lock them up.”  He waved a hand dismissively and all of the men except for a lone gold cloak left.

Lannister tilted his head as he looked at Jory. “You are still clothed, so I assume you are unmolested.”

“Aye, and for once, glad to see a Lannister.”

Jaime smiled or smirked, Jory wasn’t sure which. “My brother likes you; I am starting to understand why. Have you seen him lately?”

“He was here last night, but I haven’t seen him in hours.”

The lion frowned, “If he stops by tell him I’m looking for him. Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll tell him Ser, and the only thing I could use is water.”

“I’ll see to it, and I’m leaving one of my men at your door, so you won’t be bothered again.”

“One more thing; how long do I have left, before…….”

“About three hours Cassel, it’s scheduled for right after sunset.”

Jory nodded, “Thank You, it helps to know.”

Jaime studied him for a moment, “I’ll be back in about three hours’ time.”

Jory merely nodded as the man turned and left.

A short time later a pretty young woman entered the cell with water and bread and cheese in a small basket.

“I was told to stay if you wished my company,” she smiled at him boldly and licked her full lower lip.

He wanted her, he realized suddenly, just to lose himself within her for a while. Then he regained control and decided he shouldn’t.

“You are truly lovely my lady, but right now I cannot. Thank You for the food and water.”

“As you wish.” She swayed gracefully away from him, and the guard let her into the hall.

The water was cold and fresh, but he found the thought of food turned his stomach, so he set the basket aside.

He lost himself in thought again, and in no time at all heard men outside his cell, three hours had passed quickly.

It was Jaime Lannister again, with four men. “It’s time Cassel.” He looked ill at ease. “The mood outside is ugly, it has been hot today, and the crowd has been drinking."

“Here is how it will go. We are going to shackle your hands behind your back and escort you outside. A stout pole has been set up in the courtyard and that’s where we are going. Once there you’ll be chained to it and the king takes over. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ser.”

“Are you going to give us any problems?”

Jory shook his head, “I’m a bit outnumbered here, so no, no trouble.”

“Face the wall, and don’t move.”

He complied, and a guard removed the iron cuff that secured him to the wall. Then both hands were manacled behind his back.

Lannister led the way as they left the cell and entered the corridor. The wall sconces played flickering orange light over everything in an eerie foreshadowing of what was to come.”

The guards on either side of Jory kept a firm grip on his arms.

At the door that opened into the courtyard half a dozen armed guards waited for them. They looked worried. The eldest among them spoke up as they approached, “Keep your eyes open out there, they’ve started throwing things.”

Jaime frowned, “What are they throwing?”

“Anything and everything they can get their hands on, rotted fruit and vegetables, spoilt eggs, even rocks. I took the precaution of bringing your helm Ser, along with our own.”

“Good work.” Lannister turned to address his men, “As soon as we clear the door, close ranks around the prisoner. The king will not be happy if he is injured before his execution.”

The heavy door was opened, and they moved outside.

The night air was uncomfortably warm and fetid, stinking of warm beer, sour wine, vomit, shite, and unwashed bodies. It was not yet full dark, so Jory could see the mass of people seething around them as they made their way through the crowd.

What fool king would let an angry mob like this one inside the walls of his keep?

The guard to his right was hit in the helm by half a rotted cabbage, sending flecks of slime spattering Jory and several other guards. Ahead of them a semi-circle of armed soldiers in full plate kept the crowd back from a slight rise. He could see a decent sized log had been set into the ground there.

The soldiers parted and let them through. The pole they led him to was probably ten foot tall and twenty inches in diameter. Shackles were already attached to a steel collar at roughly waist height around the restraining post.

The guards unfastened his wrist cuffs and pulled his arms back to secure him to the tree. Jory was a bit surprised when they left his legs free, but knew he couldn’t escape now.

Several blazing fire pits illuminated the raised area. Jory was sweating both from nerves and the warmth. The ruddy glow of the flames made the crowd look demonic and not human at all. Their noise and anger was rising, by the moment. Things were still being thrown at the guards and at him. A rock nearly the size of a hen’s egg ricocheted off the wood mere inches from his head. Jaime Lannister motioned two well armored guards with shields to stand between Jory and the crowd.

The rise he was standing on was almost against two intersecting walls of the castle, and a few people he recognized as staff were gathering near the shelter of the stout walls. He saw Grand Maester Pycelle, and noticed Tywin Lannister standing near Jaime as they surveyed the restless crowd.

A few minutes later, Cersei Lannister appeared, standing a bit away from her father and brother. Finally, he noticed Tyrion standing directly in his line of sight. He smiled wryly and nodded; it was good to see a friendly face. Tyrion returned the nod, but kept glancing at the crowd with a concerned look on his face.

Jory leaned back against the tree he was tied to. The feel of the rough bark against the palms of his hands was comforting. It was only a matter of minutes now.

Chapter Text

As soon as he’d stepped from the castle into the courtyard one word came to mind for Tyrion……….pandemonium.

 If there were seven hells, he had just walked into the first level, he knew that with certainty. He immediately saw Cassel chained to the sturdy post. Then he found the rest of his own family members one by one, except for Joffrey. Of course the king would insist on making as dramatic an entrance as possible.

He made his way across the rise with as much haste as he could coax from his short legs and still maintain some modicum of dignity. Bronn shadowed him closely as Tyrion took a position where Jory could see him. His choice of station also put some distance between the younger Lannister and the rest of his family, unfortunately it also placed him closer to the crowd than was comfortable.

A maggoty turnip sailed through the air to land almost at the toe of Bronn’s well-made boots, and he arched an eyebrow at the offering, “Dinner and a show, tho’ turnips were never a favorite of mine.”

Tyrion looked up at Bronn uneasily, “This is not my type of show.”

He realized that Jory had noticed him and it surprised Tyrion when the man nodded and grinned wryly.

Bronn caught the acknowledgement as well, “What is that about then?”

“I think he needed to see a friendly face in this bloodthirsty crowd.” Tyrion could manage no smile, but acknowledged Cassel with an incline of his head. He is either the most serene person I have ever met, or more likely actually is a bit mad.

The crowd behind him made Tyrion nervous for he could feel the hostility coming off of them in waves. He touched the long knife at his side, just to assure himself that it was still there.

Movement and commotion caught his eye and he saw his nephew and accompanying guards arriving on the ‘stage’. A wizened pyromancer followed behind bearing an ornate black box that must contain the precious wildfire.

As their king approached, those waiting atop the rise curtsied and bowed before him. However, few in the crowd showed such respect, and catcalls filled the air. Joffrey blinked in surprise but deigned to acknowledge the mockery. He stopped about fifteen feet in front of Cassel and looked him over contemptuously. Jory returned the boy-king’s stare unflinchingly.

Then the king turned to address his unruly subjects.

“My loyal subjects, you are here today to witness what happens to traitors under my rule.

The man before you was sworn into my service, yet he abandoned that post without permission. He also has designs upon property of the realm, including my throne.

I have sentenced him to death by wildfire, and I shall personally carry out the execution.”

The mob pressed forward eagerly, most had never even glimpsed the precious wildfire before, and the ring of guards pushed them back using shields and brutal force. The crowd openly jeered the king, but he was lost in the excitement of what he was about to do, his eyes glittered brightly, and a sneer crossed his face.

Tyrion was disgusted by Joffrey’s speech, his nephew had twisted words about and almost made it sound as if Cassel coveted both his crown and the throne, when such was not the case at all.

The pyromancer offered the black lacquered box to the king and he reverently lifted the lid and reached inside. The bottle he delicately lifted out was filled with a luminous, emerald-green liquid. The king smiled and raised the glowing jar aloft for the crowd and Cassel to admire.

The throng pushed forward again, and the ring of guards threatened them with poised spears just to hold them at bay.

Tyrion met Jory’s eyes one last time, then the condemned man leaned his head back against the stout pole and closed his eyes.

Joffrey drew his arm back in preparation to throw the wildfire.

Tyrion looked down. He realized he couldn’t watch this either, and closed his eyes. It did not help much. Hearing it happen then was bad enough. First came the slight ‘pop’ of the bottle breaking, instantly followed by a wash of brilliant light and warmth against his closed eyelids. The screams were immediate and chilling, Tyrion winced at the sound.

The heat of the wildfire upon his face increased and the screams became animalistic shrieks of pain. There was nothing human left to them at all. A woman nearby screamed along in odd accompaniment of horror or sympathy.

It was Bronn’s exclamation that made him open his eyes.

“By the Gods! There’s a bit of justice.”

Chapter Text

In the telling much later, no one could ever come to agree on exactly what had happened, many claimed King Joffrey merely dropped the bottle on his own boots. A few maester's theorized that the abrupt start into a throwing motion caused the unstable dragonfire to explode, some said a hurled rock caught it still in his hand as he wound up to toss it at the condemned’s feet. Yet a handful, those very close swore it looked as if the bottle had been almost gently batted down just as it left Joffrey’s hand.

Whatever the cause the outcome was the same. Searing heat and nearly blinding pale green light enveloped King Joffrey, he screamed and tried to run, to swipe at the flames. Cersei’s screams joined his in duet as the flames swirled and consumed the king. Unseeing he staggered about.

The crowd erupted, many surging towards the King and still shackled Jory and an equal number fleeing. The Kingsguard and City Watch fought to maintain control.

Jaime restrained his sister, prevented her from trying to reach her burning son.

No one noticed one of the fully armored guards carrying a battle axe turn and run for the restrained man, bulling his way through and over the crowd.

Jory’s eyes were yet closed against death, he could feel the heat against his face, but it was nowhere near as painful as he’d imagined.

“Are you sleeping!? Fucks’ sake Jory Wake up!” A huge hand shook his shoulder.

The guardsman’s eyes snapped open, he barely recognized Sandor beneath the City Guard helm. “What happened?”

“Who the fuck knows, but we need to go, now!

“I’m yet chained.”

“I have the axe, pull the chain tight across the metal collar, I can cut it, just hold as still as you can.”

Jory caught the chain in his hands and pressed it tight into the heavy steel collar that encircled the post he was affixed to. There was no slack in it and perhaps a four-inch target to hit with the great axe without taking one of Jory’s hands. Yet even then, minus a hand he would be free.

Sandor wrapped both hands around the haft of the heavy weapon, brought it back and swung as hard as he could. The crash of the blade parting chain rang out, but there was so much chaos that none noticed. The fire was spreading, patches of grass, shrubbery and a few people were ablaze. Thousands of people were in motion, yelling, screaming, crying, laughing.

“Don’t stand there staring, run!” Clegane caught Cassel’s wrist and ran, still carrying the axe. They fled away from the seething mass of the crowd, ran and ran until they were in darkness and alone.

Jaime Lannister cradled his sister as she cried into his chest, eventually the ruin that was their son disappeared, burnt to char and trampled beneath the crowd’s feet. He saw the towering City Guardsman free Jory with a cut of a great axe and watched them flee. He held his tongue and let them go.

Then it became an immediate concern to get to safety, the incited crowd was literally catching and tearing at people, trampling others. He managed to mostly shield Cersei with his own body and lead her away to safety, long sword in hand.

Tywin wasn’t so lucky, the riot, a beast with myriad arms, swarmed him, ripping away his cloak and then every bit of armor and clothing, at last rending him limb to limb in mindless rage.

Tyrion was no runner, luckily Bronn stayed at his side, and they cut their way through the crowd to eventual safety, moving in almost the same footsteps as Clegane and Cassel towards the stables.

Sandor had planned ahead, his black destrier and Cassel’s lighter horse were saddled and ready. They mounted and were about to flee when Bronn and Tyrion entered.

Jory was glad to see them both.

Tyrion grinned up at his friend, “You should change your sigil to a cat, for you’ve more lives than one. I am glad to see you alive. I did not think that possible.”

Clegane growled in frustration, “We need to go, now!”

Bronn shook his head, “That riot will rage until morn, they’ve bigger fish to fry than you two.” The surf-like roar of the crowd could faintly be heard even within the stables.”

Jory grinned at them both, “Tyrion if you’d still visit Winterfell, we would be glad of your company, both of you.”

Lannister looked at Bronn and both shrugged, “Yes, I was going to see you home, we can yet do that. Two hours from now down the Kingsroad is an old tavern called The Pig and Turnip, meet us just past there, we will catch up as soon as we grab a few essentials.”

“Jory let’s go!” He whirled Stranger and galloped into the night, Cassel spun his roan and raced to follow.

Both horses flat out ran to distance themselves from Kings Landing, for Jory the air had never felt cooler or sweeter, the stars never so bright. On and on they ran.

Sandor and Jory rode to the tavern, then backtracked half an hour to ensure no guards had followed. They waited side by side in the dark cover of an ancient apple orchard, talking quietly.

“I owe you my life Clegane, thank you for that.”

“I nearly left, to watch someone burn is more than I can do, I even started out the gates, but I couldn’t do it, everything about that debacle felt wrong.”

“What happened? Why did the king burn?”

Clegane shook his head, “I was standing right there, and I cannot say for sure, he was throwing the bottle and then was aflame himself. All went to shite from there.”

“Who becomes King now? Tommen?”

“Yes, it should go to the boy, even at his age he’ll be a better king than Joffrey ever could be. Of course, Tywin and Cersei will be the real power for a long while, until the child comes of age.”

“I think our next step is to get home to Winterfell and start working the only thing we have, dragon stone from the towers at Harrenhal. We’ve much to do before winter falls on us.”

Chapter Text

In the northern forest above the Lonely Hills and past the Last River, Roose Bolton and five of his men were hunting bear and stag to further supply their smoker and icehouse with meat. The hunting had been fruitless so far, there weren’t even tracks in the snow, it was as if all of the animals had just vanished.

This was the end of their third full day stalking the dark woods and pocket meadows, now weary they were heading back to camp in full dark, their only light that of the half-moon overhead.

Now they followed a narrow track through a stand of ancient forest, trees close on either side as the horses waded through snow halfway to their knees.

In the moonlight none noted the thin lines crisscrossing through the trees and across the trail ahead. It was only when the first horse blundered into it that they realized something was wrong.

The lines were sticky, soft, and the diameter of your smallest finger, there was not one or two lines across the trail but dozens. The horse was snared and panicked, rearing and dumping his rider in the snow, when the horse came down both front legs were ensnared too.

The rider jumped up and tried to calm his bay, he brushed against the webbing and was ensnared. He shed his cote and ran, but not far, he stumbled into another web set.

Not able to see exactly what was happening the men tried to scatter and all were caught up, horses and men both.

It was the noise and commotion, the frenzied tug at the spider lines that caused them to drop silently from the tree canopy overhead, to uncurl from the bases of lichen encrusted granite boulders, unfolding long legs fringed heavily with white hair. Every tone of white and pale gray they were perfect in their camouflage they fell upon the men before they knew it, death delivered in cold perfect silence.

There were at least a dozen of the spiders, females larger and heavier than their mates, each a little over three foot high and weighing close to a hundred pounds. They went for horses and men alike, no quarter given.

Roose managed to slice away two legs on one, but two more spiders rushed in fearlessly, releasing silk from their spinneret’s and casting the lines with jointed legs, ensnaring his limbs, working their way around him until he fell bound and wrapped. Then the female moved in and perched atop him using her mouth palps to find a likely place to envenomate him, she chose the bare skin at his neck, biting deep enough to deliver the poison.

The man screamed, but the venom was cold and numbing, taking away most of the pain. She scuttled back slightly letting the dose take effect, it didn’t take long.

Now all of the men and several horses were being completely enwrapped in webbing, light and unbelievably strong it soon shrouded each from head to toe wiping away their individual identities. They still shivered, writhed and moaned, but they couldn’t do much more than that. Not all had been envenomated, only the men that were most aggressive.

Those ensnared on the ground were left there, those caught standing in the set web snares remained upright while being cocooned.

The pack of spiders fed on the horses, it took several hours and left hide shells with skeleton intact inside.

After eating, the males topped the females, joining and fertilizing the eggs they carried inside. Then the gravid females moved to the men, some were climbed, others simply embraced on the ground as they lay. The sensitive feet determining position, looking for access to belly or lower back, gently touching.

Once exactly in place, belly to belly, or if extremely unfortunate belly to back, the female wrapped her legs around in a sinister hug. The sharp ivory tip of her ovipositor slid smoothly and slowly into her victim, just deep enough to pierce the body cavity, then she pushed a single egg inside and withdrew, the accompanying mucus helping seal and disinfect same wound. The invading eggs must have been cold, for the doomed men squirmed and writhed, one seemed to have gone mad and his muffled screams were constant until one of the spiders envenomated him again and he gradually fell into moans and shudders.

Then the spiders moved on, climbing into the tree canopy again, moving silently overhead leaving their eggs to hatch within their food source and slowly consume their prey. In about a week the new hatchlings would emerge from the cocooned ruins to repeat the cycle.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long before Tyrion and Bronn caught up with them. They rode through the night to put distance between themselves and Kings Landing. When the sun was above the horizon, they found a sheltered place near the river within the forest and took turns with one man keeping watch as the other three slept.

Jory found tho’ that sleep would not come despite his exhaustion. He still smelt the vileness of the dungeon cell, the grime of it and his own fear underlying it all. I need this off me first, before I can truly rest.

He padded down to the river, stripping away the dirty shirt and sitting in the river sand to pull off boots, then rising again to shed the breeches. The water was cold and clear, and he smiled at the feel of it rushing over his body. It took a long time to feel even a bit clean again. Twice he fully scrubbed his skin well with the coarse sand, then rinsed it away, determined to cleanse himself of every bit of the Red Keep dungeons. He couldn’t reach his back and the seeping scabs and dark bruises there, but the cool water eased the lingering heat and pain anyway.

After dressing again, he made his way to where Bronn kept watch over Tyrion and Sandor. Cassel eyed the sell sword, “I can take watch if you’d sleep.”

Bronn shook his head, “Can’t sleep, but you should, you need it more than I.” He frowned, “We need to get you a change of clothing, I am sure they will be looking for you. Wouldn’t hurt to get rid of half your hair, it’s too northern looking for here.”

Jory shook his head, “It’s the shortest now that it’s been since I was a squire, but I’ll think on it. Wake me if you get tired, I don’t mind taking watch.” With that he stretched out onto his left side and was soon asleep.

Hours later Bronn roused Tyrion for watch, then rolled himself into his blanket and slept. Tyrion sat on a low rock, where he could guard his friends and scan the surrounding area for potential danger. This trip north was not what he had planned, as the son of one of the great houses he’d never imagined he’d be fleeing Kings Landing in the dead of night. Now he was in the company of two men who were probably sought after by his sister. He found he couldn’t mourn his nephew the king. Joffrey’s death had been horrific, but there had been an ironic justice about it as well. It pleased Tyrion that they were actually escorting a man safely home and not just an urn of ashes.

He studied Clegane where he lay sleeping, recalling his words at the tourney grounds, “You have a daughter Tyrion, a fine beautiful girl with hair of Lannister gold.”

His heart knew that the words were true. He would find her, he knew that as well, but he would not bring her into a world being menaced by the threat of White Walkers. First, they would be destroyed, he wouldn’t bring her here just to die, instead he would help the northerners rally and fight them. Only after would he bring his daughter home.

With Joffrey dead, and Tommen as king, the chances of getting the needed dragon fire and dragon steel was much greater. Tyrion thought that after arriving at Winterfell he might send message with renewed request for the items. With much on his mind, Lannister sat watch a double shift, finally waking Clegane in the afternoon.

Sandor spent a good part of the time honing the edges of his knife and sword. He was just glad to be away from King’s Landing. Part of him didn’t trust Bronn, it would be easy enough to turn in the guardsman for reward.

Clegane roused the others around sundown. The men rode north, stopping after dark at a tavern where Bronn entered and bought food. He was the least conspicuous of the four, less likely to draw interest. Dark bread and cheese with ale, hearty and filling. Jory nearly wolfed his portion.

Later he urged his horse alongside Clegane. “I needs’ find an arming belt with at least a sword, longsword and dagger would be even better. I feel naked without a weapon Sandor.”

“But you’ve no coin.”

“I’ve none, and naught’ to trade, so I was thinking, mayhap you’d loan it to me, just until we get back to Winterfell.”

Clegane was amused but fought to not show it, “What terms Jory? To loan you enough for weapons belt and weaponry?”

It caught Cassel off guard, “Terms? We are friends. I…. what, what terms would you ask?”

“Borrowing coin now, on the road? I only have a limited amount with me. Would have to be worthwhile I think.”

“Sandor, I need a sword, name your price, when we are home, I’ll pay you double, nae’ triple. I cannae’ ride for weeks unarmed.”

Clegane chuckled at the desperation in his friend’s voice, “No Jory, consider it a gift. I have my place in Winterfell thanks to you, and you did manage to mostly keep me from drowning. A belt and sword is a small favor in return. I’ll have Bronn find one that will suit.”

It took them another week to realize that no one chased them. It was Tyrion that figured out why, with Joffrey dead no one cared about the guard or Clegane. Jaime must have convinced Cersei to drop the matter, at least for now. It was a relief.

Chapter Text

When they came over the last low rolling hill and Winterfell rose in the distance, Jory smiled as a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. His worry had not been as much for himself as for Clegane, and to a lesser extent for Bronn and Tyrion. Rumor had travelled as fast as they had, not only was King Joffrey dead, but Lord Tywin and near twenty others had been ripped apart by the rioting crowd before it was beaten back.

King Tommen now sat the throne, Cersei acting as regent, seated at his side. Petyr Baelish was Hand of The King. Martial law reigned in Kings Landing. But as they’d grown closer to home, darker rumors started to rise in the little inns and taverns they stopped at to eat or drink in. Fantastic tales of hunting packs of ice spiders, half the size of a man. The nearest tavern had a new twist, that Lord Bolton and a hunting party had fallen to them in the dark northern woods. Cassel had been dismissive, Nan had oft told such tales, and they terrified him as a child. He found little fear in them now.

They rode through the main gates at an easy walk. Alex and Rickon had been sparring with wooden swords, they spied Jory at about the same time and shouted his name in tandem, racing towards him. With an easy laugh Cassel swung from the saddle and let both boys’ barrel into him. A stable lad caught the reins of his horse and led him away.

“I see you’ve been practicing, Good Lads! Mebbe’ tomorrow you’ll let me spar with you a bit, right?” He laughed at their excited chatter and carried one boy under each arm as they walked towards the stables. Alex’s older brother Caleb was working a chestnut filly in a round pen and Jory veered over to set the two boys down and grasp his arm in greeting.

He saw that the grooms had taken his friend’s horses and moved to join them. Together they crossed the yard. Lord and Lady Stark were waiting to welcome them. After the customary greetings were exchanged, Lady Stark led the way into the Great Hall and seated their guests near the hearth, ordering wine and local beer to refresh them.

Eddard lay a hand on Jory’s arm holding him back. “I need to speak with you about several things before you join your friends.”

“Aye, my lord, everything went about as wrong as it could go.”

Stark shook his head, “Not here, upstairs.” He led the way, up the stone steps to his study. Cassel followed and closed the door behind him. Eddard turned and hugged Jory hard for a moment, the guardsman returning the embrace. Then Ned poured two tankards of ale, handing one to Cassel.

Jory smiled wryly, “That bad then?”

Ned motioned Jory to a seat, then claimed his usual chair behind the desk. “No, not bad, just glad to see you. I wasn’t sure if I would again. I have heard stories of what happened at the Red Keep, but would hear it from you now.”

Jory drank half the tankard down and eyed the pitcher, grinning when Eddard nodded. He refilled his mug and began, starting with the now comical false prisoner routine that went every bit astray, to the convoluted plan they put in place to be able to speak to Tyrion. Then it got more serious as Jory glossed over all that happened in the dungeons and made the execution escape seem a sure thing. “In the end I got nothing I asked for, no dragon steel and no wildfire, but we can still start mining dragon glass and crafting weapons at Harrenhal if you allow it.”

Ned nodded, “Yes, and we have enough wildlings and farm folk to get it organized. We have been getting reports of ice spiders in some areas of the forest above the Dreadfort and near The Wall. We should send someone to scout them out and see if it is truth or mere rumor.”

“That sounds like something Clegane and I could do, take just a few men and seek them out.”

“I am a bit curious as to why Tyrion Lannister and his sell sword are with you. Joffrey and Lord Tywin died at your execution. No hard feelings towards you, or us?”

“No, my lord, Tyrion has never been fond of Tywin, the man treats him cruelly, and he despised Joffrey. Tyrion is a good man, with an excellent mind. He will be of use in our fight against the White Walkers. I also believe with Tommen as king, we may yet get our dragon steel and wildfire, it depends on how troublesome Cersei wants to be. The other man, Bronn, is a sell sword, and mostly Tyrion’s friend and personal guard. Seems like a good man to have on our side in a fight.”

Eddard studied Jory, “You are unharmed then? Seems you’ve been through a lot.”

“Aye, nothing that won’t soon heal.”

Ned drank several swallows of his ale, “Jory you seem to have a habit of collecting strays and bringing them home to Winterfell with you. It’s a good thing, it is making us stronger. A couple of days ago two more drifted in. They are waiting in my solar, finish your ale and we’ll go meet them.”

Cassel tried to think who he’d invited to visit recently, but no one came to mind. He finished his tankard and rose, curious as to who it might be, and why they would be in the solar.

Eddard led the way, “Just to appease a worried brother, I’d like it if you’d stop and see Maester Luwin on the morrow. Have him check you over.

“It’s not necessary, but if you ask, I won’t refuse.”

They were at the solar, Ned opened the door and led the way in. Two older children sat before the fire, as they entered both stood and faced them. The girl took the boy’s hand in both hers.

Eddard had a slight smile on his face as he turned towards Jory. “I would like to introduce you to Jessy and Jory Snow, they arrived two days ago from White Harbor. Jessy, Jory, meet Jory Cassel, your father.”

Cassel’s mouth opened slightly, as if he meant to say something, then he closed it. He looked at Eddard, then at the children. “I……. I….. Jory and Jessy, children?”

It was all Ned could do not to laugh at his guardsman brother. For a man so at ease around children his own had him befuddled. Should have had him drink another tankard of ale first. Gently he caught Cassel’s arm and led him to the fire, urging him into a chair.

The boy was going over every feature in his father’s face, the girl’s wide brown eyes met Jory’s and she smiled. “You look like us, not just a bit, but almost exactly.” She dragged a chair next to Jory, perched at the edge of it and took his rough hand in both of her small soft ones. “I have our mother’s letter, it explains much. She grew up in Winter Town here and knew you long ago, her name was Kayla Elgin, her family owned a bakery and made bread. She was carrying us when her family moved to White Harbor and started a new business there. My brother and I are twelve. We are twins, but Jor is three minutes older. He is usually more talkative, I’m not sure why the cat has his tongue.”

Jory was lost in her face, her words, he cut away to steal looks at his son. Gods but they look like me. How did I not know?

Jessy had stopped talking and was studying his face, her lower lip trembled ever so slightly and this time her voice was soft and wistful, “I always wanted a father.”

Cassel was lost, he slid forward and put his arms out for the girl, and she threw herself into them, locking her arms around his neck. Jory reached out a hand to his son, met his eyes. The boy came forward and allowed Jory to hug him, but it was awkward. This is all new, and he’s a boy and used to having to be strong. “This shall be your home; you belong in Winterfell with me. Thank You for coming here, finding me.” Jory’s head and heart were full, he really was mostly at a loss for words.

Lord Stark stood back and watched, both children were outgoing and as amiable as their father. He’d always known Jory was meant to be a father and have a family of his own, now he was finally getting the chance.

“They are in the guest room beyond Sansa. It will do for now.

Eddard excused himself and left Cassel to get to know his children a bit.

Jory looked at his son, “Pull your chair over here and we’ll talk for a bit.”

The lad nodded and complied.

“Do you prefer to be called Jory then?”

“No Ser, I usually go by Jor.”

“Jor, I’m no ‘Ser’, if you don’t want to call me ‘father’ yet, you can call me Jory.”

“Are you really a Captain here Jory?”

“I am, I grew up here, and have been Captain of the Guard at Winterfell for nine years now. My Uncle, your Grand Uncle is Ser Rodrik Cassel, Master of the Guard. We shall teach you to fight, shoot a bow, ride horses.”

The boy finally smiled, “I would like that. Can I have a horse of my own?”

“You both can, and rooms of your own. I will look for a cottage for us. Have you seen much of Winterfell yet?”

Jessy spoke up, “Not yet, I think Lady Catelyn was waiting for you to show us.” She yawned behind her hand.

“You seem tired, would you like me to see you to your room? We have tomorrow and all the days after to talk.”

She smiled and shook her head, “No, this is nice, and we’ve waited a long time to be here.”

Jory looked to his son, “I would give you my last name, recognize you both as my heirs. I am not certain how it is done, but will find out. If you need anything just ask. I have never been a father before, so am just as likely to get things wrong as right.”

“How did you get here?”

Jor glanced and saw Jessy was nearly asleep, so he started, “Our mother worked for House Manderly in the New Castle. She was a cook’s assistant and mostly baked bread and sweets. Jessy was apprenticing under her. I worked in the stables grooming horses, cleaning and repairing tack. About nine months ago our mother took ill and passed away. The Manderly’s were kind and kept us on, paid us, saw we were fed and clothed, had a safe place to sleep. Jessy reads a lot; she found the letter our mother left us. It explained who you were and that you did not know you had children. You were never given the option to take us in. Our grandparents wouldn’t have it, it’s why they moved so suddenly.

We could have stayed in White Harbor, but Jessy is right, we both wanted to know you. New Castle never really felt like home. One day we collected our wages and bought passage on a wagon of fish that was shipping here to Winterfell.” He locked eyes with his father, “Jessy loves you already, she gave you her heart when she lay eyes on you. I want to do that too, but I have never had anyone to really rely upon. I have had to step into the role of adult too soon. I want to call you father, but it may take time. Thank you for taking us in Jory.”

Cassel couldn’t help it; his arm went round his son again and he hugged the lad once more. Jessy was fast asleep, still clutching his hand. “My first act as father is to get the two of you to bed.” Rising, he gently picked up his daughter, cradling her in his arms. “I’ll let you get the doors and lead the way Jor.”

Soon he had both children in their beds, and eased out, closing the door behind him. Stealthily he made his way back to the solar, Eddard stood before the fire, leaning on the mantlepiece, he turned at Jory’s approach a sly smile on his face. “Quite the surprise, right?”

Cassel was overflowing with happiness, emotion, love and tenderness. He bear hugged his older brother, laughing softly. “In a thousand years I’d never have guessed, nor thought I could feel this much…. Well, this much everything.”

“Thank You for taking them in, making them welcome.”

Ned started laughing, “In all the years I have known you, I have never seen you at such a complete loss for words, but things went well then?”

“Yes! I can hardly wait for tomorrow to spend time with them.”

“Good, you will make an excellent father, take a few days to settle them in, and make time to see Maester Luwin too.”

“Eddard, I was wondering if there might be an old cottage I could use, so the children could have space?”

He called me by my first name, about time. “I thought you could move into one of the suites of rooms here in the keep. There is plenty of room, and they are made to house family. You are family.”

The idea had never occurred to Jory, “I hadn’t thought of that, are you sure Lady Stark would not mind?”

“With winter approaching she might feel safer with you close. I know I would.”

“Thank You my lord, thank you for everything.”

“You are most welcome Jory.”

Cassel finally found his friends at the hearth table in the Guest House. They were well ahead of him in drinking and in fine mood. Tyrion watched him enter, studied his face. “You look like the cat who ate all of the canaries, out with it! You have news!”

Jory glanced at the table, beer and wine, neither seemed right, “Aye, wait? What cat and canaries?” He was a sudden flurry of activity, checking cupboards and cabinets. “I have news an’ tis not wine or beer news, tis……… AHA! Tis rum news!” He turned with not one but two bottles, one for each hand.

Sandor chuckled and shook his head, holding out his tankard for some. Jory poured the vessel full, and moved on to Tyrion, who looked equal parts worried and amused. “You must drink to my news.”

Tyrion gave a shrug and downed the wine from his goblet, holding it out for rum. Jory filled it brim-full.

He spun to Bronn, who eyed him appraisingly, “Why not, I’ll bite.” Jory upended the rum bottle, pouring the liquor into the red wine in the goblet.

There was an empty tankard on the table, Cassel filled it full of rum. Setting the bottle down he lifted the tankard. “To Jor and Jessy Snow, my children. I have a family!”

Goblets and tankards clinked, and his friends drank.

“How did you manage two? Tyrion was a bit puzzled.

“They are twins, a daughter and a son, and twelve years old.”

Clegane smiled; the man was made to be a father. “Are they here?”

“Aye, it’s where I’ve been, meeting them. They look just like me.”

Sandor had to tease him, “Scary thought.”

Jory sputtered rum and laughter, “Nae’ it’s actually wonderful.” His initial thought had been to drink and laugh, sing and fight, but suddenly he realized that he’d have to explain black eyes and bruises to his children, and he didn’t want to be hung over, he wanted to enjoy the morning with Jor and Jessy.

He sipped the rum, enjoyed conversation and laughter with his friends, then excused himself to rest. It was the best sleep he’d had in a very long time.

Chapter Text

It really was all he could do to keep from softly laughing at his half-brother. It wasn’t even dawn yet and Jory had shown up at the table in the Great Hall. No one else was awake other than the two of them. Eddard sipped his tea and watched Jory pace around the room. He tried to stand at the hearth but couldn’t manage more than a minute spent staring into the flames, then he was back to walking laps around the trestle tables, then to the doors, then to peer up the dark stone stairwell and listen there.

“Gods’ Jory come sit down and have some tea. Let them sleep, they will be here soon enough. You’re making me dizzy pacing about.”

With a soft sigh Cassel perched himself in a chair at the table next to Ned. ” I had no idea that it would be this way, I feel so much already and only met them-knew they existed last night.” He shook his head and smiled.

Eddard smiled, “This is only the beginning, that love only deepens, becomes stronger. You need to relax into it though, pacing isn’t needed, just relax and enjoy being a father. What have you planned for today?”

“Well breakfast first, then the grand tour of Winterfell. I think Jor loves horses and swords perhaps, but Jessy…..Gods’ I have a daughter….. what do girls like?”

“Show them the Godswood, and the Glass Garden with the flowers, I’ve talked with both of them. I think they will enjoy all that you show them, they mostly just want to get to know you, spend time with you.”

Jory’s next words were soft, “What if I’m terrible at it, being a father?”

“Ned placed his hand on his brother’s forearm, “Nae’ Jory, you are gifted with children. You were born to this, trust in that. If you have questions Catelyn and I are here. I’m sure Rodrik would offer advice too. Just be yourself.”

At last Cassel managed to sip his half cold tea, mostly because it was something to do, his impulse was to pace more.

Finally, most of the children came rushing down the stairs, a miniature pack of wolves. The only one missing was Robb, he had been down early and left to join Theon, grabbing a couple of apples and a piece of bread. Hugging his father in passing.

By now breakfast was laid out across the table, steaming platters of eggs, fish, sausages, bacon, baskets of bread and rolls, a pitcher of creamy cold milk, apple cider, fruit from the cellar. Jessy chose the seat next to her father and Jor just next to her.

Arya and Bran had most of the day planned, with a gentle laugh Lord Stark broke in and explained that Jor and Jessy were spending the day with their father.

Soon the three of them were out the door, Jor leading the way towards the stables, Jessy holding Jory’s hand as she walked alongside him. Inside, Jor was drawn to the horses, admiring one after the other.

“Is one of these yours?”

“Aye, just down here.” He stopped before the blue roan’s stall, scratching the beast behind a gracefully curved ear. “This one’s mine, want to ride him?” He looked at Jor, noting the smile across his face.

“Yes, please.”

Jory slipped the halter over the roan’s head and led him outside to the rail. He took one brush and handed Jor the other, each groomed a side of the gelding. Jessy gently petted his face and scratched him lightly under his chin. The horse half closed his eyes in pleasure.

Soon the roan glowed under the sun, Cassel set the saddle in place and eased the bridle on, then led the horse to the training pen. “All yours Jor, put him through his paces.”

Easily the boy swung onto the horse, Jory helped shorten the stirrup irons, then joined Jessy outside the pen, leaning on the rails to watch. She grinned up at Jory, “He’s really good with horses.”

“I’ve no doubt at all. I canna’ wait to watch him.”

He started off walking the horse around the pen in a circle first one way, then the other to loosen him up and get a feel for the animal. Then an easy collected trot each way, before breaking into a simple canter just by shifting his weight forward.

Jor had light hands, barely putting any pressure at all on the bit, using mostly his weight and legs to talk to the roan. Jory looked down at his daughter, “You are right, he has a gift. Do you ride too?”

“I like horses, but never had as much chance to ride. I was busy learning to bake and do kitchen chores.”

“If you’d like I can teach you? It’s good to have a horse here in the north.”

“I would love that! I still get a horse of my own?”

“Aye, when I find a gentle enough one, you do.”

Jor had stopped at the rail in front of them. “Can we take him someplace with more room?”

Jory considered for a moment, his son was a natural horseman, and the South Gate was just behind them. “We can take him outside the gate but stay close to us.”

Cassel opened the pen gate for his son, then they walked to the South Gate. In minutes they were on rolling grassland. The lad looked like a child in a candy shoppe. He set the gelding into a gentle canter, an orbit with Jory and Jessy at the center. Then he looped into a figure eight, sending the horse into a flying lead change mid stride. Then leaning forward he urged the roan into a full gallop and a wider circle, his hooves throwing divots.

Leaning back ever so slightly, he eased the animal into an extended trot, which he brought into a slow, rhythmic collected trot, the horse’s fine neck arched elegantly. He stopped the roan before side passing left then right, then backed him up a few paces. The smile never left Jor’s face.

Then he walked the gelding up to where his family stood watching. Jory shook his head, “That was incredible. You like him then?”

Jor gently stroked the roan’s neck. “Very much so.”

Jory met his son’s eyes then, “He’s yours Jor, you ride him better than I. He’s perfect for you. Keep him groomed and exercised, and for now no going outside the wall unless I’m with you.”

“Yes sir.”

Jory smiled softly and the boy caught himself, “Force of habit from being at New Castle. Thank you, father,”

Jory tousled his son’s hair, “We’ll get there Jor, in time.”

They led the horse back, brushed him again and stabled him. Jory led his children towards the Armory, where he’d normally find his uncle this time of morning. Probably should have come here first.

Rodrick was doing inventory of weaponry and was checking the array of edged weaponry along one stone wall. Jor’s eyes went wide at the display of power in the room. Rodrik glanced at Jory and his guests before turning back to counting, then he stopped and turned to really look at the children.

Jory couldn’t read his uncle, the man usually looked so stern. You had to know him well to catch and appreciate his sense of humor.

Rodrik looked at Jessy, who boldly stared back, then at Jor, then to Jory, an eyebrow quirked up.

“Aye uncle they are both mine, pretty obvious, and I am delighted by it. The boy is Jor, and the girl is Jessy.”

Rodrik strode towards them, “About time lad, fine looking bairns too.” He hugged Jory, then turned to Jessy, “I am your father’s uncle, you may call me Uncle, or Uncle Rodrik. At your service my lady.” He held out a hand, and Jessy took it, but then released Jory’s hand to hug him whole heartedly.

“Nice to meet you Uncle Rodrik.”

Rodrik rose and moved to stand before Jor, he chuckled softly, “You are the exact copy of your father when he was your age. I take it ‘Jor’ is short for ‘Jory’ then?”

“Yes sir, Uncle. It is. Are you in charge of all of these swords?”

“I am that lad, the swords, spears, hammers, maces, bows and arrows, all of it and in training the men to use them. I trust I’ll be working with you as well.”

“Please Uncle, I would like that.”

“It won’t be easy, but most of it you’ll like.”

Next, they went through the kennels, sept, smithy, and past the Maester’s Turret. They were passing the Guards Hall when Jory noticed Sandor sitting outside, enjoying the sun. He moved to introduce his offspring. Clegane noticed them and rose to his feet.

“Sandor these are my children Jor and Jessy. Jor and Jessy, this is my good friend Sandor Clegane.

Clegane shook his head and chuckled softly, “The acorns fell not far from the tree then. They do look exactly like you Jory. He held out a hand to Jessy, who took his great paw within both her small hands and beamed up at him.

He reached a hand to Jor, and the boy grinned and shook it. “You know stories of my father then?”

Jory laughed, “No, no he has none at all to tell.” He glanced sideways at Sandor and noted the smirk. “No stories Clegane, no.”

Sandor laughed, “Oh, I have so many stories, you’ll never truly know your father til’ you’ve heard them.”

“They’ve been here less than three days; I’d sooner not have their image of me tarnished this soon my friend.”

The children looked back and forth at the camaraderie between the two men, smiling at the easiness of it.

Soon they were on to the Godswood and sitting before the carved weirwood. “I know not what beliefs you have. Choose where your hearts lie in that matter, but I follow the Old Gods. This is the Heart Tree for Winterfell, this and the Godswood mean much to me. It’s why I saved here for last.”

Jor reached and gently touched the tree. “It almost feels warm, even in the cool shade it holds warmth.”

“I’ve noticed that before too, I don’t know why tho.’”

Jessy looked at the black reflecting pool then at the red leafed tree. “It’s beautiful here, peaceful. This feels like home.”

Jor looked at her, “You can’t live here Jess.”

“I know, but hopefully I can visit often.”

Jory lay his arm along her shoulder, “Anytime, I’ll bring you here anytime you like. There is one more thing to see before we go back to the Great Hall though.”

He led the way over to the Glass House, the sun sparkling off the panes.

Jessy had his hand again, “Oh! What is this place, it seems magical?”

Jory opened the door and the wave of humid warmth washed over them, redolent of roses and freesia. He closed the door behind them. “This is where Winterfell grows fruit and vegetables for winter, herbs for potions and food, and flowers. Even in winter there is a bit of summer trapped inside. A pale blue butterfly fitted down and landed in Jor’s hair making Jessy laugh.

They walked down the aisles, looking at rows of vegetables, a tree of glowing golden oranges, and pots of bright freesia and other flowers. All along the walls twined rose vines, and here and there blue roses glowed in the filtered sunlight.

Jory picked a couple of freesia stalks and tucked one behind Jessy’s ear, then handed her the other.

Afterwards they strolled to the Great Hall, and Jory arranged with the cook to bring his children a plate of bread and cheese and a pitcher of milk.

“I have a matter to take care of, it shouldn’t take too long, then I’ll come back. If you weary of waiting here, you can always go upstairs to your room and wait or rest” The twins agreed and hungrily dug into the food.

He had promised Lord Stark he’d check in with Maester Luwin. He intended to keep his word.

He climbed the steps to the Maester’s study. The man was reading over a weathered scroll of parchment. He looked up and saw Jory and smiled. “Good to see you home Jory. We were worried about you.”

“I am fine Maester Luwin, glad to be home. How have you been?”

Luwin shook his head with a smile, “You know you can’t distract me, and I know Lord Stark wants me to check you. I see you’re a bit underweight but am hoping that since you’re home now that you’ll put that weight back on. Go on now, tunic off.”

Jory frowned, “There’s naught’ to see really.”

“If so, then this will be quick, go ahead.”

He pulled the tunic off, letting the maester see his back.

The silence stretched on, Luwin gently touched several places, “They did this to you in Kings Landing?” The words were clipped, had a spark of anger behind them.

“Yes, most are healed.”

“But some are deep enough that they have not, they look like they are infected. Why would they do this?”

“I think only Joffrey did this. Do you have to tell Lord Stark?”

“You know the answer to that. He will be angry, best to get it over with now Jory. You’re going to be here a while; I need to clean those out. Come in here and lay down on the table, let me heat some boiled wine and linen.”

When the wine and fabric had boiled Luwin fished out several steaming strips, letting them cool to warm before setting them over the most inflamed scars. “Lay here and relax I’ll be back soon.”

Cassel crossed his arms and rested his head on them. He sighed, he didn’t appreciate being fussed over, all he wanted was to get back to his children and spend time with them. That thought made him smile.

He heard footfalls approaching on the stone steps and steeled himself. Someone lifted away the cooled linen strips. It was silent for an uncomfortably long time.

“Jory, why? Why would they do this to you?”

“Considering what they almost did, I feel lucky to get away with only this.” His voice lowered and roughened, “I have my bairns now, I almost didnae’ get to meet them. I’d ask to let this go, the only one to blame is Joffrey and I think fate will find him given enough time. They’re just scars, and I am knit of those.”

Maester Luwin set more warm, wine-soaked linen atop his back. The relief was bone deep.

Eddard slid a chair over, “Yes, and with those children comes the responsibility of not throwing yourself at every problem that crosses your path. You’ve many that love and need you, so a bit more caution is warranted.”

Luwin, looked at the raised welts, “Jory that was the easy part. Now I need to slide a blade in and open up the festering wounds so they drain and heal, some run deep. It will hurt. Would you like some milk of the poppy or wine?”

He shook his head, “No, just do what you need to Maester Luwin, and thank you.”

Turning to Lord Stark he met his eyes, “Jor and Jessy didnae’ expect me to be away this long. Will you let them know it will be a while? Hopefully they are with Arya, Sansa, Bran and Rickon.”

“I can do that Jory, and know no matter what, I will always watch over your children as if they were my own. You have my word on that.”

Cassel reached a hand and Stark clasped it. “Thank you, Ned.” He laughed softly. “And no, being so familiar doesnae’ come easily for me.”

Stark turned away, “We shall see you when you’re finished in the Great Hall.”

Luwin tried to slide the slender blade in as gently as possible, he opened the wounds so that they naturally drained with gravity when Cassel sat or stood. Jory set his teeth and bore the pain as best he could, his flesh was less accepting, shuddering and shivering, trying to avoid the torment. An even dozen of the lash wounds needed lancing, then gentle pressure to push the pus out, and finally more soaking and cleaning.

Afterwards Maester Luwin used a bit of honey on the wounds, then wrapped all in clean linen. “You need to come in daily and let me check and clean these. Today was the worst of it, but we want them to heal.”

Begrudgingly the guardsman agreed. He was just glad it was over. He pulled his tunic on and after thanking Luwin again walked to the Great Hall and his waiting family.

Chapter Text

Clegane was incredulous, “Ice spiders? When you recruited me there was no mention of fucken’ Ice Spiders. Are they even real?”

“Well, Old Nan says they are real, pets of the White Walkers is what she said. They use them somehow, control them.”

“But she’s not actually seen them then?”

“No, no one living has. It can’t hurt to just look; we won’t get that close to them.” Cassel was looking over the remount horses, trying to replace the roan he’d given Jor. None looked overly promising, but with all of the new workers crowding into Winterfell and being set to mining at Harrenhal, the best horses had all been claimed. He eased between the rails and caught the tall, leggy chestnut gelding that looked the best of the bunch. The animal looked fast, and Jory appreciated speed. He peered at his teeth, young too, perhaps a three-year-old.

He led the horse from the corral and to the stables to groom and fit tack to him. At last they were ready to go, their panniers held enough apples, hard biscuit and dried aurochs strips for a few days away. Each had a blanket tied behind the saddle.

As they were leaving, Caleb had a few words about Jory’s new horse, “Watch him, he’s not a bad horse, but he likes to tuck his head and buck sometimes. Nothing unrideable, but more of a nuisance. Do me a favor and ride it out of him will you?”

Jory laughed and thanked the boy, then he and Sandor rode away, heading towards the Northwest. They made for the Wolfswood, it was close and if the spiders were that far south, they had a serious problem. Eddard had talked to both of them the day before, and they decided that the best strategy was to reconnoiter the closest areas and gradually move further away from Winterfell.

It was beautiful, rolling hills thick with pines and mixed hardwoods, rafts and scrawls of berry brambles wove through the forest and meadows. Here and there small streams cut through the land providing water for both riders and horses.

For a while they rode in easy silence side by side. Then they came to a long easy rise, where the grass was pastern high and blonde from sun and wind. Jory looked at it and laughed, “Care to see if this colt can outpace your Stranger?”

Clegane scoffed at the thought, but the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “Your bag of bones hasn’t a chance. A wager on it?”

“Of course! Loser buys the rum when we get back. Deal?” Jory shifted his weight slightly forward.

“Deal Cassel and GO!” The black destrier tore away.

Jory swore softly even as he laughed and tightened his legs, asking the chestnut for speed. The animal shot forward, long legs eating up the distance between he and Clegane. Jory flattened out over his neck, giving him rein. The horse could run. They were gaining when suddenly the gelding pulled up, arched his back and started bucking. The abrupt change in pace nearly sent Cassel over his head.

The colt tucked his chin in tight against his neck, head down and all Cassel could do was try and pull him to one side. That only made him hop and kick in a half circle. Jory nudged him with his heels to no effect. “Stop that!” But the animal continued for a good five minutes until he was finally winded and wet with sweat.

Sandor came back in an easy rolling canter. “You’re buyin’ the rum Jory. What’s wrong with the nag?”

Cassel was on the ground checking the horse’s feet and legs. He pulled off the saddle, looking for sore or hot areas over his back, and found none. “I don’t care for this much. He wouldn’t listen, and I see no reason for him to act this way.”

Clegane shook his head, “The boy did warn you.”

“He did, and I was sure it was just a young horse acting out. I don’t know.”

He resaddled the horse and led him in a circle to the left, then one to the right, and swung up into the saddle. “Seems fine now, I’ll just have to be aware of him.”

They rode on, eventually coming to a small river. They veered north to look for an easy crossing.

Sandor groused, “Not fond of rivers in case you’ve forgotten our last crossing.” He raised the pitch of his voice slightly…. “Cross right here Sandor, it’s not deep…”

Jory looked at his friend, wounded, “I don’t sound like that. It turned out fine, it was a fake river anyway, an evil thing. I know this river.”

They came to an area where the river sprawled wide over pea gravel, Cassel rode his horse out into it, crossed and came back. “Look, not even halfway to his knees.”

“Famous last words.”

Jory rode back out to the middle of the river and stopped his mount, “This is the river I once took Robb, Jon and Bran to. We went fishing and stayed overnight. But it was further upstream than this, where the trees shade it more. That was a good trip, now we’re here looking for giant spiders. Doesn’t seem real.”

He looked at his friend, “You don’t have to cross, you can go back. I need to do this though. I will continue. It feels important to find out.”

Clegane muttered something low under his breath and urged Stranger into the water. The big horse easily splashed across. He didn’t say a word to Jory, the dirty look he shot him said it all.

They were silent again as they rode. The sun sank low in the sky, and they made camp in a grassy meadow sheltered by towering pine trees. A small stream cut between forest and meadow. Jory didn’t trust the chestnut much and using soft rope, wrapped a figure eight hobble around his front legs so he couldn’t run home. Stranger had no need of restraint; he wouldn’t leave Clegane.

They started a small fire. Jory brought in armfuls of dry wood to keep it stoked through the night. In the distance a low howl sang to the night sky and soon another answered it. The wolves made him smile. He found their song beautiful.

They sat before the fire, eating dried meat and apples. Jory tossed a scrap of apple core into the coals. Having his own children made him think of something he’d mostly forgotten until the river today. He stared into the flames and spoke, “Sandor remember earlier we were talking about the last river we tried to cross and all that happened there?”

“I remember, what of it?”

“Well, you said you had women lie with you, I had a woman atop me. Only a little later I was told I sired a faierie. Then later, that fae heal men sometimes and then use them to father daughters in payment. Did your fae mention any of that?”

Clegane tried to wrap his mind around what Jory had said. “How would they know you sired a child?”

“I think time and their bodies run differently than humans. I am not certain; I just wonder what became of my faierie daughter.”

Sandor looked at Jory, “You’re telling me I might have children?”

“Then they didn’t tell you. Not children, I think they are immortal, or magical, or both, a fae daughter.” He smiled, “Or in your case daughters. I had a mental image of three of them.”

“What am I supposed to do with this knowledge Jory?” Clegane sounded irritated.

“I was actually thinking of asking them for their help, or more information. I tried all they asked of me and didn’t manage to complete their tasks. The White Walkers, and now these spiders are still out there. If their goal was balance in this world, there is yet no balance, only more darkness. They have the bigger picture, and it wasnae’ all bad.” His mind went to lovely Triene.

“I am not drowning again, not even for that.”

“No, no, I am not asking that, but I think here, away from people in the wilds of the north that they are close. I swear I almost felt them at the river. Perhaps you did too, you brought up the last river crossing. I think there must be a way to reach out to them. “

“I think we need to sleep and get an early start on looking for the snow spiders. Wake me in a few hours.” Clegane rolled into his blanket, back to Jory.

Jory wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and fed a few small pieces of firewood to the flames. I believe they are right here and watching. I need to ask I think. I want to see if the spiders are real first, no use asking about things that don’t exist. I want to know as much as possible first, so I have the right questions and don’t waste their time.

In the middle of the night, he woke Sandor and curled up and into sleep. Somehow, he had come to the conclusion that magic was closer in the north. He hoped so for he wanted to reach out and touch it again.

“You spending all day abed?”

Cassel opened his eyes it was yet dark. He stretched. His back and shoulders were sore, but the wounds were healing. He rolled to his feet and shook out his blanket, folding, then rolling it tight before setting it next to his saddle.

Clegane had brought back both horses and Jory brushed his gelding down before saddling him and securing the blanket and panniers behind. He fished out a couple of dry biscuits, offering them to Sandor.

“No, not wasting my teeth on those, I’ll take an apple if you’ve got one.”

Cassel found a hard green apple from his pack and tossed it to Clegane, “Not much easier on the teeth, but at least has some sweetness.”

They were soon riding again, Jory studied the sky overhead, it was a pale blue, nearly white, full of ice crystals, along the horizon an unbroken line of white- gray clouds rolled towards them. “Looks like we’re in for some snow, should make tracking our Grumkins a bit easier.”

“Snow, lovely, just when I thought this trip couldn’t get any worse, and how did we go from ice spiders to Grumkins?” Clegane shook his head.

“Ice spiders sound formidable and terrible, Grumkins less so- something a child might see in a bad dream, scary but easily banished with the light of a single candle. I thought on it last night while I stood watch.

“Save us from pearls of wisdom that arrive during the midst of night watch, indeed more watching and less thought might be in order.”

Cassel grinned, “I can do both, I’ve been bless’d with multiple talents Sandor.”

“Aye, and they all lead to the exact same place with you, trouble.”

This made both of them laugh, for they saw the truth in it.

The snow caught up with them midday, at first fine ice flakes, dry and light that the wind swirled around them, the world gradually went white, ground, trees, sky. After the ice had been laid down the actual snow started, bigger flakes that cut visibility by half. Still they rode on, Jory knew the Wolfswood and was unconcerned. There was little noise other than the faint hiss of snow falling, the plod and crump of hooves in deepening snow, the occasional creak of a saddle. The men were mostly silent.

They made decent time and eventually Jory started looking for a suitable place to camp. They needed something that provided a bit of shelter, or at least a good windbreak for themselves and the horses. Snow and wind made the trees more likely to snap and fall, so he steered clear of camping in the dense forest.

Finally, he saw an almost perfect spot, a long ridge of porous black basalt thirty feet high that curved through the forest, like a giant sleeping serpent, it was weathered and softened by the passage of time but was more than solid enough to stop the wind and keep the worst of the snow off them.

The horses were glad of the shelter and stayed in tight against the curve of the rock, grazing on clumps of grass that grew there and nibbling at the tender ends of currants and buckbrush.

A noisy black stream tumbled and rushed a short distance below them. Both men trudged through the snow, gathering armfuls of dry wood for a fire. It was bound to be cold that night, so they gathered extra. Soon Clegane had a fire snapping and popping merrily against the cold.

Jory stood close to it for a moment, pulling off his gloves and laying them over a dry log they’d drug over for seating. Bare hands taking in the heat of the flames. He shed his heavy cloak. Sandor just sat back and watched, half heartedly eating a strip of dried aurochs.

It was yet light, the six inches of fresh snow actually reflected what light there was, even in the dead of night they would still be able to see easier. It snowed some still, but big, lazy flakes the size of coins now.

Jory stepped away from the fire and walked to the stream, studying it, then walked about twenty feet downstream. He stepped into the water, one foot then the other, it rose just above his knees.

Sandor sat up, “Have you lost your mind then Jory?”

Cassel looked up at him and brought a finger to his lips. The water wasn’t as cold as he’d feared, it actually felt warmer than the air. He pushed his tunic sleeves up, finally rolling them to hold them in place.

Clegane wasn’t sure if Jory intended to swim or drink, but the man was rarely dull. He slid closer to the fire to stay warm and watch.

Bending at the waist, Jory stared into the water, it was dark, but that was because the bed was of basalt, the water itself was pure and clear. He stayed close to the shore. Sliding both hands into the water he eased his way up stream just a step and used his hands to carefully feel under the cut bank. A soft brush of a fin against his hand, and he grazed fingers along the fish’s sides slowly, working solely by touch. He moved his hands into place and grasped the trout tight, in a single motion he rose, pulling it splashing from the water and flinging it half the distance to Clegane.

“Bloody Hell Jory, how did you manage that!” Clegane rose and grabbed a sturdy stick, walking to the flopping fish and dispatching it with a single blow. The fat trout was nearly the length of Sandor’s forearm.

Cassel grinned up at him and spoke softly, “Is that enough? I can probably get at least one more.”

“We’ve been eating rock biscuits and apples, fuck yes, catch another if you can.” Sandor started cleaning the fish.

Laughing softly, Jory took another step forward and studied the water, but the bank wasn’t shelter enough here. He slowly worked his way upstream, until he reached a good undercut bank, he bent and slowly slid his hands into the dark. Almost immediately his fingers touched a fish, his hands were colder though and less sensitive, he rushed just a bit and spooked his quarry.

The next one he grasped and threw far up the bank, scrambling out of the stream and after it. Drawing his knife, he killed it quickly and cleaned it. It was nearly the same size as the first trout and heavy.

He sat next to Sandor and leaned forward, taking in the fire’s warmth. His friend was already spitting the first fish to roast it at the edge of the fire. Clegane looked at him and shook his head, “What northern magic was that, conjuring fat fish from nowhere?”

“Twas’ no magic, my father taught me that as a wee lad, I think most in Winterfell know how to tickle salmon and trout.” Jory’s hands were bright pink from the water, and the crackling fire felt wonderful. “Dried meat and biscuits get old fast when ranging about. I always look for things to forage, it adds variety.”

Clegane took the other fish and soon had it slowly roasting as well. “You’ll rue being wet later tho’ when it gets dark.”

“By then I’ll be well fed and hopefully mostly dry. I’ve my cloak and the blanket, in a pinch I can use the horse blanket as well but shouldn’t need it.”

The trout was pink, hot and full of the juicy fat both needed for warmth and energy. They savored every bite of it. Dark had fallen and the snow provided extra light, anything moving would stand out against it.

A wolf nearby howled, crying into the night. Minutes passed, then with no answer it wailed again mournfully. Sated and happy, Jory tilted his head back and answered with a long true howl of his own, eerily mirroring the wolf.

Within’ a heartbeat at least a dozen howls replied.  Cassel blinked in surprise, then answered them, going slightly deeper in tone and drawing out the call. Even more wolves replied.

“Hells Jory, don’t call them down on us.”

Cassel seemed shocked by the wolves answering him, “They’ll keep their distance, it just seemed rude not to answer the first wolf when it called. It sounded lonely.”

“Hopefully you didn’t just invite them to eat our poor horses.” They could hear the animals shifting uneasily behind them.

Since Cassel had caught the fish, Sandor volunteered to take the first watch. Jory curled up in his cloak and blanket close to the fire and was soon asleep.

Since Cassel had planted the idea of offspring, Sandor’s mind couldn’t shed the idea. The longer he pondered the question the truer it seemed. With his scars and lifestyle, he had long ago discarded any hope of a wife and family and he’d been content with his life. Now, even tho’ they be fae, he rather liked the idea of leaving some legacy behind. He looked at the sleeping man near the fire and half thanked and half cursed him at once. He looks so innocent and guileless laying there sleeping, but in a way to give seeds of hope to the hopeless was a bit evil, those seeds probably would not grow in this barren field.

In the early hours he woke Jory, shaking his shoulder, “Your turn to watch, and no sing-alongs with the wolves please, they’ve been quiet.”

Cassel stood up and added wood to the fire before sitting down and brushing the remnants of sleep from his eyes with a yawn. Restless he walked to check on the horses as Clegane lay down to sleep. He found an apple in his pack and bit into it, savoring the crisp tartness.

He finally sat back down and studied the flames, lost in the dance and swirl of them. He reached far back, to a fragmented memory of a story Old Nan had told he and Lyanna more than once.

When True Winter begins, you must watch for the harbingers, there are signs my sweet summer children, and you should know them well. When the White Walkers enter our world, they bring with them a host of evil things unfamiliar to men. First come the pale spiders that feed upon men and every animal of the field and forest, catch them for the most dark of purposes. The White walkers use them, control them, bend them to their will.

With them come the snow vipers, long and thick as a grown man’s arm, white of scale and eye, invisible on ice or snow, coiled and delivering slow, icy death in a single bite. They make almost no sound, only the rough rasp of scale on scale as they writhe. There is no cure nor hope, only a slow and lingering death.

Even rarer are the frost bats, they stray not far from their northern caves thankfully, but are agile and silent, near impossible to bring down in flight. Small, just the size of my hand, they flit down upon sleeping man or beast, land light as a feather and feast upon warm blood. One alone will not kill, but a dozen can end a man and their bite is gentle, painless, like a cat they curl their delicate tongues and lap flowing blood.

When all these creatures have fully entered our world, the winter frostflies appear, delicate things that rise from their hiding places, having waited centuries for this moment. They are creamy white and small, only slightly larger than a single snowflake. First one rises, then by the thousands they emerge on silken wings, the butterflies of true winter, from a distance they seem like rising snow, especially if a beam of sunlight touches them. They are perfumed slightly, not of death as you would expect, nor rot or decay, but ever so sweetly of summer and some lovely nameless bloom. Only in the north would something so small and wondrous portend such chaos and death.

Jory blinked and stared into the flames, where had that come from? He could hear the old woman’s voice telling the story. Almost no time had passed, the fire yet burned brightly.

He was full of restless energy, standing he moved away from the fire and walked along the stream bank, never straying far from Clegane or the horses, keeping them in sight, but he paced and at times shivered, but not from the cold.

When the first brightness of dawn touched the snow Jory woke Sandor. He’d already saddled both horses, scolding Stranger for trying to tear a bite from his side, letting the beast bump his elbow instead.

They sat and enjoyed the fire for a few minutes before extinguishing it and riding on. The horses moved easily through the powdery snow as the sun rose bright in a blue sky.

From the cold ground neath the log that Jory and Sandor had sat upon, the tiny insect crawled, drab gray in color, it eventually found a perch atop the log, letting the pale sun warm its carapace and legs, soaking up the scant warmth, the shell at last split and carefully the insect emerged. As it dried the wings unfurled and spread, glowing white in the light, finally the frostfly took wing, rising a bit unsteadily, just learning her wings, the faint breeze moved it to the face of the basalt ridge and the rising air current there aided in it’s slow meandering ascent.

Up and up, more than thirty feet then higher, sparkling in the sun. It drifted over the top of the ridge, over the well churned snow there, and multitude of tracks, tracks where at least a dozen wolves had stood and milled about after running the length of the rocky arm. Some had lingered, even curling up to rest and wait before finally drifting on.

The frostfly cared not, she was drawn up into the light and towards the cold sun.

Chapter Text

The two men cantered along easily, side by side, now moving due north, the new snow halfway to the horse’s knees. The sky was busy, great rafts of clouds sailed by, borne by the wind, but at ground level there was only a desultory breeze.

Cassel scanned the snow constantly, “This is strange, there should be at least a few animal tracks, but there are none.”

“Smart animals, they don’t like snow.”

“No, there should be some, birds, squirrels, rabbits, fox, deer, odd to see nothing at all.” Jory frowned, “Makes me uneasy.”

They rode all day covering many miles, in all that distance they saw a scant handful of tracks, one deer, a squirrel and the rest small birds. When they stopped to make camp they noticed the abnormal quiet of the forest around them, no birds chirped, no squirrels fussed, even the wind had left.

Clegane felt spooked a bit, “This seems unnatural Jory.”

“It is, shouldnae’ be this silent, not out here. Something is wrong in these woods.”

Jory took first watch, they built a good fire, kept it going bright all night. The horses were uneasy as well and tried to stay close to each other. Stranger was never one to allow another horse too close, but even he senses danger.

Clegane was rolled into his blanket and slept little. Finally, several hours early he rose and sat beside the fire, “You can sleep if you’d like Jory, I can’t. It feels like we are being watched at the least, ready to be attacked at the worst.”

“I canna’ sleep either, it’s why I volunteered to take first watch. Sandor, I think we’re getting close to spiders or something else very bad.”

“Well, we haven’t lived this long by luck, if it can be killed, we’ll find a way to end it. Should be a good fight either way. It’s just this silence that bothers me, the waiting.”

“That makes two of us, I did wonder if we could kill one and bring it back with us. Maester Luwin might learn something from it. Old Nan’s stories had them the size of hounds, what’s that, fifty pounds? Much smaller than a deer. It would settle behind my saddle easy enough.” Cassel tried imagining what a dog-sized spider would look like.

“That nag you’re riding won’t take well to that.” He started chuckling softly, “I can see him tossing yer’ arse in the snow and racing all the way back to Winterfell with a spider behind the saddle.”

That got Jory to laughing as well, “You laugh, but it’s you that would have to suffer me riding pillion for three days back.”

“No, I don’t think so Cassel, you get thrown, you’ll be walking back to the keep.”

Jory laughed harder, “To make matters worse, I can see Desmond’s face at the gates when the horse shows up with only a giant spider for a rider.”

That got Clegane to laughing again. Jory retrieved apples, dried meat and biscuits from the packs. Their supplies were running low, he’d have to start aggressively foraging for them. The two men ate, keeping the stillness at bay with small talk.

When sunlight touched the tops of the trees, they started saddling the horses. The chestnut was skittish and kept sidling into Jory as he tightened the girth.

“You’ve no manners, that’s not the way to act.” Cassel made him step away.

They both mounted and walked north once more, letting the sun climb higher in the sky before moving into a smooth jog.

They crossed a huge meadow, it was at least a two miles wide and several miles long, perhaps created by a lightning fire from a lifetime ago. Ahead, the ancient forest was a dark wall of old growth pine and conifer. It continued as far as they could see, covering rolling hills and stretching away to the horizon. Here in the meadow, they were surprised to see a few deer trails cutting through the snow-covered low grass.

The ominous forest ahead was where they needed to go, something awaited them there, instinctively they knew that. They rode to within forty yards of the edge and stopped, just watching.

A flicker of gray caught Sandor’s eye, and he pointed, “Look there’s a deer, moving just outside the tree line.”

The men sat their horses and just watched the heavy buck move slowly, skirting the edge of the pines. He was cautious, peering into the forest, ears flicking back and forth, head up. He was so focused on the timber that he didn’t notice the two men on their horses.

“Canna’ believe he hasn’t noticed us, that or he’s more afraid of whatever is in the trees. I have an idea, if he goes in, we follow at a distance, that way he’s targeted instead of us. We have warning. What say you Clegane?”

The deer realized they were in the meadow behind him, now faced with two threats he chose the forest, slowly moving into the trees.

“Aye Jory, let’s follow him, but hang well back.”

The distracted buck had his attention divided between what was in front of him and the men behind him. He pushed deeper into the trees and Jory and Sandor followed, at last walking the horses into the first line of trees. It was immediately shaded and cooler inside, no birds sang, no squirrels scolded, other than the sound of their horses walking all was quiet.

The deer led, they followed, deeper and deeper they moved. The buck finally stopped, stamped a front foot in agitation and stood unmoving, head slowly turning as he looked ahead and to the sides.

Then he was moving again, head lower and extended, weaving through the trees, going a bit faster. Suddenly, in an instant everything went to hell.

A heavy-bodied white spider trailing a line dropped from overhead onto the deer’s back. Another unfolded from the base of a massive pine near the deer’s hindquarters, as a third skittered down an even larger tree fifteen foot from the hapless buck.

“Fucken’ Hells Jory, don’t sit there, run!” Even as he spoke Clegane was wheeling Stranger about and urging him back the way they’d come.

Cassel stared at the spiders and the deer, fascinated by the cold efficiency with which they rendered the animal helpless by deftly wrapping its kicking legs in thin silk lines. The spider atop the deer seemed to be eating the animal as it held it within multiple legs, a fatal embrace.

“JORY!! Get out!” Sandor yelled from a distance. This snapped Cassel out of his trance, he spun his horse and set heels to him.

A spider unfolded from the base of a tree a yard in front of them, powdery snow sliding from it as it uncurled its folded legs and rose on them. The chestnut threw itself to the right, jouking around the spider and tree, unbalancing Cassel with the abrupt move. He caught at the pommel with his free hand and righted himself. The horse was crashing through branches at a gallop, heedless of his rider. He lay as low to the saddle as he could, holding on for dear life as branches slapped and swept over them.

They cleared the forest, the horse took three long strides, then suddenly ducked his head and started bucking, “No, no, no!” Jory kicked him, slapped him with a hand on the rump, but the animal wouldn’t listen at all. Gracefully a silvery line of web arced and caught a back hoof in midair, the horse twisted, and same line snagged the other rear leg then, the horse started to fall.

Cassel threw himself free, rolling once in the snow and rising to his feet. The horse was down and thrashing, behind them was movement, white spiders on even whiter snow, difficult to tell how many in a glance, at least three, probably more.

He ran, fear driving his legs, heart hammering in terror. Don’t look back, don’t look back…His trapped horse was groaning in fear or pain.

Far ahead Sandor had turned his horse and was racing towards Jory, but to desperate eyes he seemed hopelessly far away. Don’t look back…. He had to, he couldn’t help himself, he risked a glance over his shoulder, two of the ice spiders had left the downed chestnut and were after him. Fuck me, NO. Cassel dug deep and found just a bit more to give, running even faster.

Clegane was coming for him full pounding gallop at an angle, right arm extended, Jory leapt and caught it, allowing the momentum to swing him around and behind Sandor. He hadn’t even settled when Stranger launched into a dead run.

Cassel looked back again; the spiders were close. Instinctively Jory brought a hand up and made an easy pushing motion with his palm, the spiders seemed to falter in stride. What was this? He pushed at them again, his mind actually envisioning pushing them back. The spiders stopped and stayed.

He couldn’t turn away, was afraid to tear his eyes from them, and watched until they were no longer visible.

On and on they rode, longer than they should have, Stranger was sweaty and tiring. At last Clegane brought the horse to a walk, then turned and glared at Jory, “What in Seven Hells were you doing!? Instead of fleeing you sat there gaping at them!

He had no excuse, “I froze, they are a lot bigger than I imagined them, and faster. If you hadn’t…. Thank you for coming back.”

Clegane shook his head, “Now I’m stuck with you yappin’ in my ear all the way back to Winterfell, shoulda’ let the spiders have you.”

Chapter Text

Clegane kept the powerful destrier moving home towards Winterfell. Stranger was easily able to carry the two men.

They had ridden several miles before Jory spoke again, “We barely entered the trees, what if the entire forest is full of those things?”

“If the forest is swarming with them, then they will soon run out of food. They need to eat, they’ll hunt, go where the food is. If they can take down a fucken’ horse that easily, they could wipe out a village almost overnight.”

“We need to get home, let Lord Stark know, then send riders to warn those in the north. Then we need to go back, figure out how to kill these spiders.”

“Burn that forest, that would be a good start.”

“We can’t do that, destroy something hundreds of years old and all the creatures within it that managed to survive those beasts. It wouldn’t kill them all anyway I think.” He was loathe to tell Clegane about how his odd push seemed to slow the creatures. It was probably just a coincidence. But I want to find out if there is more to it.

It was full dark before either wanted to stop and make camp. Jory built a fire while Sandor brushed down Stranger and set him to graze. There was no stream to catch fish from, only an icy seep of a spring that barely served enough water for the horse to drink his fill.

A search of Sandor’s panniers yielded exactly one apple and two thin strips of dried auroch’s meat. The chestnut had carried about half their remaining food, Cassel’s blanket and all the tack, gone with the horse.

Jory took first watch; he yet had enough scare coursing thru his veins that he couldn’t sleep anyway. He sat atop a lichen encrusted boulder and watched around him as his mind thought on things.

How do they hunt? Do they see their prey and pounce like an eagle, do they hear it like the shadowcats, or scent it as wolves do? Trees and forest canopy was their advantage, high ground rules yet again. They were faster than a man on foot. Gods, but they’d moved through the snow easily enough. Bigger than hounds tho- way bigger, prob’ly twice a dog’s size. Three of them stronger than a good-sized horse. I wouldnae’ mind fighting one on one, that would be a challenge, but more than that, a man hasnae’ a chance. He wondered how effective his sword would be against them. No, bow and arrows from a distance. Would dragon glass be even deadlier against them, like the white walkers? Now he saw the need for wild fire, not to burn the forest down, but to perhaps draw them out and burn them.

The nonstop flow of reasoning continued to flow as he sat there, more questions than answers. Then a chilling thought crossed his mind. What if even now they are tracking our trail? Following the horse like hounds. He shivered at that. Silently he rose from where he sat, standing tall on the rock he’d been seated upon. He studied his surroundings, was tempted to creep up their backtrail thru’ the snow making sure they were not being hunted even now. He couldn’t leave Sandor sleeping though. They might even trail us to Winterfell. That was the thought that stuck with him, filling him with dread for the next two hours as Clegane slept.

Finally, Cassel jumped down from his perch, fed a few pieces of wood to the fire then gently shook Sandor awake. When the big man sat up Jory explained what he wanted to do, “I am going to follow Stranger’s tracks back a bit, take it slow and be watchful. I am worried the spiders might follow the horse back to Winterfell.”

The flickering flames revealed Clegane’s look of disbelief, “Yer bleedin’ out of your mind Jory. To what end? If you find the spiders, they get to eat you, they are faster than you, it’s night, and they are white against the snow. They’ll see you before you even know they’re there.

“Think this through, you find them, they end you, then they eventually track to me, or you don’t see them, or they aren’t there. Third option, you see them, and make it back here and we ride on. Instead of you risking your life in this moment, let’s take a less direct route home, watch our back trail during the day. We could even circle around at some point and watch the snow for their tracks, they’ve no wings, they leave tracks like any other creature. You’ve two children waiting in Winterfell, you can’t throw yourself at every danger anymore.”

Jory sank down, sitting next to Sandor, “You are right, now I’m not quite sure why I thought it was such a good idea.” He grinned, “Still would like to fight just one, face to face, see how they fare against a sword.”

Clegane shook his head, “You are hopeless Jory, now get some sleep. You can have my blanket since you fed yours to the spiders.” He rose and moved to sit close to the fire as Cassel curled up to sleep.

Hours later it was yet dark, but Sandor rose and caught Stranger where he was grazing a short distance away, led him to water then brushed him by light of the fire. He went to pick up the saddle and blanket when he felt the sharp and sudden pain just above his left hand. In surprise he dropped the tack, pulling his hand free. A sinuous pale form came with it. Mid air the serpent agilely looped its body around Clegane’s arm, fangs still embedded in flesh.

He yelled, more in shock and disgust than pain. He grabbed the cream-colored snake and ripped it away, flinging it to the ground and then stomping on it. The commotion tore Cassel from sleep, and he rose, drawing his sword in nearly the same motion, eyes wide.

Sandor was leaning in close to the fire, using the light to look at his wrist.

Cassel was confused, “What happened?”

“Bitch bit me.”

Jory sheathed his sword and moved to the fire, “What are you on about?”

“Look out! Don’t step on it.”

The mortally injured serpent writhed in a ball, nearly invisible in the snow, scales rasping softly as it coiled. For good measure Cassel waited then stepped firmly down on the head when it appeared.

“It bit you?”

“Fuck yes it bit me, it was under the saddle when I picked it up.”

Jory’s blood ran cold as he recalled what he knew of these white adders, all of it courtesy of Old Nan’s stories. What was true and what of it false, he didn’t know. He’d seen a couple of men die of snakebite before, and he’d not wish it upon anyone, much less his friend.

“We need to get you home, to Maester Luwin and help. Let me saddle the horse and we’ll go.”

“It hurts a bit, but it feels so cold, like my hand is slowly freezing.”

“Sit down and try not to move.” Cassel lay the blanket on Stranger, for once the beast didnae’ snap at him, merely pinned his ears back and cocked a hind foot in warning. He saddled the horse and slipped the bridle over his head. He led the charger as close to Clegane as he could. “Come on Sandor, let’s go home.”

“I can ride, stop coddling me Cassel.” He swung up into the saddle, took the reins in his right hand.

“I am not, but the less you move and use your arm the better. You saved my life yesterday, the least I can do is help you now.” Jory settled in place behind Clegane. The horse stepped out, automatically wanting to head toward home, and Sandor allowed it. They moved at an easy jog.

“If you can sit it, a faster pace would be better, his canter is smooth enough and won’t overly tax his wind.” The guardsman knew they needed to find help as soon as possible if Clegane was to have any chance at all of surviving.

The horse slid into a rocking canter, his long stride covering the ground.

“Is your arm swelling much?”

“No but the cold that bled into my hand is slowly moving up my arm. It feels like the flesh is freezing.”

“The sooner we get home then the better.” It had taken him a minute to think of anything to say. The bite was bad, they were in the middle of nowhere, with no help to be found. Odds were that his friend was already slowly dying. He would not lie, nor offer false words of hope, but he was not giving up yet either.

The thought found him then, the fae healed both of you once before. It would be an easy thing for them, but how to find them?

He vaguely recalled a raised earthen circle, and atop it’s flattened apex a spiral of white quartz stones set into the red clay. Whatever it was, even now he could recall the heady vibrations he’d felt through the soles of his feet, that power had risen through him, blazing goosebumps over his skin and raising the hair at the back of his neck.

It seemed right that he would find the fae there, if not he would beg whatever entity controlled that power. The only problem was that circle was a full day’s ride from here, to the south and east along the western shore of Long Lake. He had only been there once, but the place was memorable enough that he’d never quite forgotten it. It feels right to try for that, it’s closest.

“Sandor, I have an idea.”

The reply was uncharacteristically soft, and prefaced with a sigh, “What Jory?”

“Turn Stranger to your left and keep heading that way. I know a closer place to seek help, over on the shore of Long Lake.”

The horse turned and they made for the lake.

Jory didn’t like not being able to see Sandor’s face, “Do you need to stop? Some water or food?”

“No, I don’t think I’d be able to get back atop the horse for certain.”

“Let’s just keep going then, the sooner there the better.”

A horse can only canter for so long, even one as mighty as Stranger, eventually he slowed to a jog, always moving to the southeast. The day wore on, Clegane was mostly quiet unless Jory prompted him with a question.

The sun set on them, and they kept going, now Clegane was swaying ever so slightly in the saddle occasionally.

Cassel managed to ease the water skin from the pannier, took a swig and then offered it to his friend, “Sandor, have some water?”

No response, no indication he’d even heard the offer. Jory tried again. “Water, Sandor?”

There was some mumble from him that Cassel didn’t understand. He reached and touched Clegane’s neck He was dismayed by the coolness beneath his fingers. This isn’t good. At least the contact roused the Hound.

“Fuck off Jory and leave me alone!” Not a great response, but Jory grinned wryly at the strength of the reply.

“Sorry Sandor, was trying to get you some water.”

“No, go away.”

Though Clegane still lightly held the horse’s reins, more and more Jory was using his legs to subtly cue the black horse to move. As the night deepened Sandor also started to slump forward. If he falls he could be injured, but more importantly, I doubt I could get him back on this horse alone. Finally, Jory leaned and carefully caught the reins, sliding them from Clegane’s hand. He didn’t move. Then to prevent him from falling, Jory eased his right arm around the ill man’s waist, half waiting for an angry rebuke. None was forthcoming. This is bad, I’d rather be shouted at than endure this stupor.

They reached the lake before dawn, in the darkness they almost rode right into it. Now Cassel had no idea which way to ride along the shore, and there was no time to waste. He closed his eyes and tried to decide. The pull was to the south, so he sent Stranger that way. The horse picking his way along the lake shore.

He watched the sky slowly lighten and at last the sun gradually rose above the mountains. Now he was having to really hang on to Clegane, the man was limp in the saddle. Then he saw it, the earthen mound, about fifty feet above the lake edge. Thank The Old Gods. He reined the horse up the slight incline of the bank towards it.

It looked exactly as he remembered it. For a moment he studied the slope. How to get Sandor to the top? It felt somewhat disrespectful to ride the horse up it. In the end it was all he could do; he couldn’t carry or drag Clegane to the top. Forgive me, I know no other way.

Once at the peak, he slid from Stranger’s back and carefully eased Clegane to the ground at the center of the white quartz spiral. Then he pulled off Stranger’s bridle and freed him to graze. The animal was glad to be away from the mound and trotted off it immediately.

Jory knelt at Sandor’s side and rolled him onto his back, at first he thought it was too late. The man was pale, ashen circles around his closed eyes, lips pale gray. He had to stare at his chest to catch the faint rise and fall of his breathing. He picked up the man’s left hand and slid the sleeve up as far as he could.

The puncture wounds were charcoal gray, but the area immediately around it was white and icy to the touch. Clegane’s left hand was mottled white and gray and cold, his arm above the bite was pale and marbled with more shades of gray, there too was cold to the touch. Jory pulled off his heavy cloak and placed it over the downed man, tucking it around his form. He slid off his brigandine and set it aside as well, then his chain mail, even though it was cool he shed clothing until he was down to gray tunic and trousers, boots and arming belt. Lastly, he rolled up the sleeves of the tunic to the elbow.

Cassel stood up, felt the power thrum beneath the soles of his boots. He had no idea what to do, he shouted at the sky in frustration, “HELP HIM!”

Nothing.

His mind searched every scrap of lore he could think of, how to summon or conjure. He came back to one word, sacrifice.

It seemed right, he drew his own dagger and walked to the outside of the spiral. He let the motions come to him. Ritual. He raised the simple knife in his right hand, letting the sun catch the blade. For an instant he let his eyes close and allowed the simmering power neath his feet surge through him, opened himself and welcomed it in. It flowed into him from the ground up, tingling warmth, he shivered and felt his heart pound. He was no longer weary, his mind cleared.

Smoothly he brought his left arm up and opened the back of his forearm almost from elbow to wrist, blood welled under the blade and dripped instantly. He sheathed the dagger after wiping it on his breeches.

He let the blood run down his arm, trail from his fingers, slowly and carefully he walked, letting the blood patter over the set white quartz stones of the spiral, he took time to leave drops on every rock in the simple pattern.

At last, he was at the center and Clegane, who thankfully yet breathed. This time he asked more respectfully, “Please help Sandor.”

Nothing.

Then, because it seemed right somehow, he went back to the start of the spiral and let more blood fall across the pale quartz until he was at the center again. Is it not enough? What would you take, what does it cost for his life? More blood? I am here, take it. He stood and allowed his lifeblood to rill onto the red clay near Clegane. I am stubborn, I am steadfast, I shall stand here as long as it takes, but you shall talk to me.

Jory waited.

Chapter Text

It was a helpless feeling, standing there atop the mound next to his friend, close enough to see his breathing gradually slowing. Blood ran down Cassel’s arm and fingers, the red clay of the site drank it in, seemed to want more. Thirsty bitches.

An hour passed, then two; The mist rose from the mirror’d lake first, a pale blanket of softest fleece, then tendrils of fog drifted up from the ground surrounding the hillock. The sweet scent of lilac wafted upon the air, tho’ no flowers bloomed nearby.  Soon Cassel was unable to see the grazing Stranger, the fog had thickened so.

Something winged by close overhead, he caught a glimpse of a dark, agile bird and heard a rough, mesmerizing call, a nighthawk, but twas’ not dark, not night. It shouldnae’ be here. He swayed slightly and set his feet just a fraction further apart to steady himself. He was no longer completely certain what was real and what was a product of his mind.

Now the fog was a shroud, encircling the top of the mound, all else was outside their existence. They dwelt in a world of a few square yards and no more.

The faintest floral scent yet lingered. Cassel wanted to speak, but he’d had time to reflect and realized he had been demanding in tone when they’d first arrived. I was afraid, not for myself, for Sandor. Let whoever this is understand. Riding the horse up the knoll, now seemed unacceptable as well. I should have dragged him up the slope, there is a cost for things, for favors.

She didn’t walk from the mist, she appeared before him, close enough to touch, to embrace if inclined. He remembered her face well, delicate features and wild rose petal lips, long sleek black hair. She wore the same violet gown as before.

This close he realized how petite she was, fine boned, barely reaching his shoulders, yet for one so tiny she radiated power, and in this case……. anger.

Her voice was caressing and controlled, soft and biting at once like a razor draped in thinnest silk. ‘Would you like it if I rode a great clumsy beast over your house and then dropped a dying creature atop it?! You are an ill-mannered lout.’ Her lips moved not at all, yet she spoke just the same. He blinked in puzzlement.

‘Yes, this is our language, how we talk. Give it a try, us ‘thirsty bitches’ understand thought perfectly.’ Cassel felt his face grow hot, but his blush made Nicnevin smile at last, ‘Fair enough, you didn’t know, and have yet the grace of shame, as you should.’

‘Is this working? Can she really…..’

The queen nodded, ‘That’s a start, and yes I understand you just fine, go ahead.’

‘I came to ask for help to heal Sandor Clegane. He was bitten yesterday morn by one of the white adders, known as snow serpents. He is dying. I know not what to do.’ It felt strange to simply think his request, to voice it without lips nor tongue. I can tell no lies, she would know.

The smile played upon the queen’s lips again, ‘Yes, no lies between us guardsman, none at all, only truth. You are laid bare before me, well your mind anyway. As for your friend. We cannot heal every human that gets ill or injured, there are far too many of you in the world anyway. I am sorry, you travelled all this way for nothing.’

He was caught between despair and anger. ‘Queen Nicnevin, I cannot accept that. I would beg for your help, drop to my knee if you had me not held in place. You asked me to journey far and request things from a king who promptly tortured me then nearly burned me alive. I failed your task, but Queen, I tried. I am still trying to fight these cold demons that have appeared from the north.’

He'd realized he could not move; he was frozen in place standing, he could not raise his arms, nor even turn his head. He could feel the warmth of his blood running yet from his wound. He couldn’t see Clegane and that worried him greatly.

She was gone, then he felt cool hands upon his back and shoulders, their touch unerringly finding the inflamed wounds from his lashings. ‘You did pay a price Jory, you are trying but it’s not enough, you must do more and push harder, bring in others to help.’

He was frustrated, ‘No, please stop healing me and mend Clegane.’

A blink and she was in front of him again, ‘Do not presume to tell me what to do, you’ll never earn that privilege. I have told you I will not heal him. Please do not bury him atop our fairy mound or I may end you too.’

‘If you want balance restored in this world you claim to care so much about, we shall need him. I need him to live Nicniven. The spiders would have killed me a few days ago, before that when I was nearly burnt, he saved me there as well. If you want your tasks completed, heal him.’

‘What offer you in exchange for his life?’

‘I haven’t much, what would you ask?’

He felt her touch inside his mind, his initial impulse was to resist the intrusion into the actual core of who he was, but then he relaxed and allowed her in, gave her full access to his brain. He tried very hard to think of nothing, of blackness, and odd things, the feel of sand against his palms, the fuzz of autumnal peaches.

He’d forgotten just one, well two things.

‘You have children.’

‘Yes, I do, two of them.’ He was afraid.

‘A deal then, a child for your friend’s life. You chose which bairn to give up.’

‘Please, I cannot make that trade. Take me, my life instead of theirs. Task Sandor with saving Westeros, and claim me’

‘I don’t want you.’

He looked deeper into her shimmering eyes, going beyond their color, he was able to just graze a bit of her.

‘What are you doing? Stop that.’

He continued, getting lost in her gaze, but still only able to caress the outer layers of who she was, what she was. Turnabout is fair play oh queen.

‘You lie’ Jory smiled softly.

He eased back, whatever that had been was far too intrusive and intimate for his liking. ‘Sandor sired a trio of powerful fae last you had him. He is willing to pay the cost of being healed yet again.’

‘You are closer to a bargain guardsman but try warging me again and there will be a price.’

‘Ahhh, so that is what that is, good to know. I am only trying to seek healing, not control or damage you.’

Nicnevin studied his face, no longer smiling, ‘I add an additional requirement before healing Clegane. You owe me an additional debt, payable on demand.’

‘As long as it does not involve my children.’

‘Agreed, we have a bargain. I restore your friend, he sows seed, as do you. Then at some future time you fulfill my request.’

‘I am also yet working to restore requested balance to this world we share.’

‘Noted, but the time for negotiating is over. We have our deal.’ She slid her hand up, catching his jaw, the thumb trailing over his cheek slowly, then pulled his face to meet hers, pressing those rosy lips against his, her other hand went round his back as she molded her soft form to fit his body.

He was falling backwards and didn’t care, wasn’t afraid. He was lost in her touch, the wild strawberry taste of her mouth. Her scent was of lilacs and cedar, of the softest moss along the stream.

He was on his back once more, her astride him in control. They lay atop a cushion of meadow grass, or perhaps warm sand, he no longer cared. He was immobile when he longed to touch. ‘Do you fear a mere mortal so, that you would bind me with spells before taking me?’

‘This is what is done.’

‘If you are a queen, dare to do something bold. Free me.’

In an instant he was freed, gently he slid his hands up the outside of her thighs reveling in the cool smoothness there. An arm around her and he rolled, bringing her beneath him. Her eyes bored into his. He claimed her mouth again, gently nipping the fuller lower lip, then cupped one of her small breasts in his hand. Gently he used a knee and urged her to part her thighs, she complied, raising her knees slightly.

Her breathing was faster, slightly deeper. He moved his hand, trailing the backs of his fingers along the flat of her belly and lower to where her warmth was, felt the softness, the wetness there. He teased her then, fingertips stroking from her shapely knee and up along one inner thigh then the other. Her hips shifted slightly, and she mewled softly.

He was fully risen and aching, he wanted her, to be buried completely inside her. Again, he kissed her, deeply, hungrily, and moved his finger, found her center and gently circled and stroked there. She arched up into his hand.

He was about to explode. He moved, positioning himself, gently guiding himself into her. Automatically her thighs gripped him, and he fought for control. Her hands reached, drawing him back down, he started to move, slowly at first, but she was having none of that. Nicnevin met his thrusts, and it was Jory’s turn to moan. He let go, moving hard and fast against her, long full strokes.

At last, she arched up into him hard, her body shuddering, nails raking along his back. It sent him tumbling after her and he cried out as he finished. He moved in close catching himself on his arms, kissing her gently once more.

In a blink he was standing on the fog curtained mound again, hopefully fully dressed. He was immobile once more. She was clothed in her lovely gossamer gown.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Nae’ sweet kisses, nor words, nae tenderness.

She leered at him, ‘You expect much for a trade, perhaps was not such a bargain after all.’

‘Dinnae’ make me warg you again, ach such cruel words. You cut my heart Nic’.’ He smiled wryly.

‘Don’t presume such familiarity….’

‘Aye, for you are a queen and I a mere mortal, barely higher than a common garden snail. Message received.’

She leaned in and kissed him then, placing him into a sleep.

He woke slowly, sprawled there on his back. He sat up and looked for Clegane. Thankfully the man was right next to him. His face held color, the gray bruises around his eyes were gone. His chest rose and fell normally.

Cassel glanced at his own arm, all that remained was a single, long, thin silvery scar. He could see no blood staining the red clay. He reached over Sandor to catch his left wrist, pushed up his tunic and looked for the bite. The awful gray mottling and icy whiteness was gone. All that was left to show it ever happened were two small charcoal spots where the fangs had initially bitten.

The arm was yanked away, “The fuck Cassel!”

“I was making sure you were healed. How do you feel?”

“I feel hungry, and sated…..you wouldn’t believe the dream I had.” He finally sat up, where are we? What is this place?” He took in the red clay, the white quartz spiral. “I remember, the snakebite.”

“Yes, and we were too far from Winterfell, so we rode here instead.”

Sandor looked at him sideways, “Fae then?” He grinned.

Jory returned the smile, “Aye Fae.”

Both laughed, albeit somewhat ruefully

Chapter Text

Clegane was healed but not fully recovered. He was tired and weak from the ordeal, and probably from the lingering aftereffects of the snow serpent bite as well. Cassel let him throw an arm over his shoulder and lean on him as they walked down from the top of the faierie mound. He got Sandor into the shelter of the rocks and trees a short distance from the lake, settling him down and leaving his cloak for the man.

As he stood, Jory glimpsed a bright patch of blue amongst the fern deeper in the forest. He walked closer and saw the spreading patch of bluebells peeking through the rust hued pine needles and patchy snow. He picked a handful and carried them to the top of the hillock. He walked to the center of the spiral and kneeling, left them. It seemed not enough. He searched thru the little hidden inside pockets of his brigandine and finally found a single gold coin. This will do. Carefully he went over the top of the knoll now mindful that it was the roof above their home. He neatened things up as best he could, working his way down the sides and filling in the depressions Strangers hooves had made.

Now on flat ground he looked around, they needed food direly. He thought they still had two strips of dried meat and the apple. The vast lake was right there but he couldn’t tickle fish in a lake. He started walking south along the shore, he thought there were a few streams that fed into Long Lake in that direction.

The first one he came to was too shallow, decent sized fish couldn’t enter it. He walked on and the second stream looked good, he could see the fish in it. The banks were grassy and undercut by the current. He rolled up his sleeves and started fishing.

He waded very slowly upstream, moving next to the nearest bank, while reaching underneath, using his touch to locate fish. He missed the first one and took a step forward trying once more. This time when his fingertips brushed tail and fins, he worked carefully, finally grasping the fish and throwing it upon the bank. He used a rock to dispatch it and then drew his knife and cleaned it.

He found a long, thin willow and left a section of cross-branch at the bottom and fed the slender end thru the fish’s gills. He set the fish in the shade of the willows where it would stay cool and continued on. He caught two more fish, winding up with two fat trout and a meaty winter salmon. Each fish was a couple of pounds in weight. He killed and cleaned them, sliding them onto his willow stringer. He cut back through the woods, stumbling upon a trove of chanterelles, and claiming a dozen or so. It was all he could manage to carry. He hadn’t the foresight to have grabbed a pannier to carry foraged items in.

He was winding his way through the trees, here between the faierie mound and the stream there were dozens of young conifers, mostly cedar and fir. All about five to eight foot tall. His mind was on starting a fire and setting the food to cooking, on figuring out what to do with the chantarelles and not on the trail in front of him.

The bear stood up almost directly in front of him, this was his home, his trail and he was unaccustomed to guests, but this one smelled temptingly of fish and mushrooms. The bear was a beautiful hickory brown, and on his back feet stood almost eight foot tall. More than anything he startled Cassel by popping up out of nowhere. He yelled at the top of his lungs, the chantarelles flew as he reached for his sword, drawing it cleanly. The bear bellowed back at him, spittle flying from its jaws. It rocked back and forth, not retreating, but not advancing either.

Cassel knew not to run, can’t outrun him, have to bluff him into leaving, or if he charges fight. He did not like the odds in a fight against this beast, it was as heavy as Clegane’s destrier. Could kill with teeth, or wicked tearing sweeps of claws.

It came to mind unbidden, the push against the spiders, the touch of Nicnevin’s mind. Warg him. It felt right to use his hand, so he brought it up, palm facing the bruin and mentally gave the bear a push. The animal roared again but dropped to all fours and took a step back.

Cassel stared him in the eyes, tried to touch whatever lay behind them. Nothing happened at first, but then he blinked and was looking at himself through the bear’s eyes. It was unsettling. The confused bear sat down, unsure what was happening. Jory made him look to the left, then the right, then back at him. He tried talking to the creature without words, as he had done to the fae.

‘I don’t speak bear, so I doubt you understand this, but we will be here for a couple of nights probably. We don’t want trouble, nor to hurt you. If you could move elsewhere for a few days, it would be better.’

He received no reply and no sign the bear had even heard. He nearly panicked for a moment when he thought he was trapped in its head, then managed to free himself from the animal. He tried just turning his palm towards it, and pushed hard at the bear, and at the same time told it to ‘GO!’

The beast spun and bolted away, he could hear it crashing through the forest for a long distance. It did seem to be leaving the area. He grinned and resheathed his sword. Then bent to try and pick up all the mushrooms he’d sent flying.

Soon he was back at Clegane and busy making a fire, carrying in armfuls of firewood. Sandor was wrapped in his cloak and sleeping. The yelling hadn’t roused him.

The first round of firewood burned down to hot coals, Cassel had cut several alder sticks and after filling the cleaned fish with sliced mushrooms, tied them shut with long supple stems of sweet grass, then set the fresh fish to slowly roasting on flat rocks, turning them at times with the sticks. He refilled the water skin from the lake after first drinking his fill of the icy water from his cupped hands.

The smell of the food made his mouth water, he realized he was hungry. When the fish was well roasted and the mushrooms tender and succulent from the fat, he knelt beside Clegane, gently shaking his shoulder. The man’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up. “Gods that smells good. I am starving.”

“Plenty of fish and mushrooms, and streams with more fish. We can take a day or two for you to gain strength. Eat our fill and laze about.”

Sandor accepted a fish, using the warm flat stone as his plate, and eating with his fingers. “This is good, but we can leave in the morning. We should get back to Winterfell.”

Cassel had already come up with a secondary excuse, “In truth, I think I could use an extra day to rest, the last few days have worn me down.”

Clegane glanced at him, mouth full of fish and mushrooms, then looked back at his plate, chewing hungrily for a bit before swallowing, “Took that much out of you then?”

Jory sputtered, and swallowed his fish a bit wrong, covering his mouth as he coughed, “No, it was just the one time. Dare I ask about what happened with you?”

“They talk without moving their mouth, not that there was much talking, just healing then fucking. They speak and I hear them in my head. Same for them, they hear me when I talk and when I think as well. I think there were four, or one went twice, I’m not sure. I’ve never even had dreams about women like this. Both times I’ve lain with them they seem not to notice my scars, and they don’t pretend either.”

“We just need to remember they are fae and not women.”

“One with long red hair, I think she was there last time, at the river. That one I would keep if I could.” Clegane smiled at the memory.

“I almost forgot, on the way back from fishing I ran into a great bear. I was careless, we need to keep an eye out while we’re here. This time of year, they are after the fish in the streams.” Sandor was still eating, Jory thought a moment then continued, “I think I warged him. I made him back up then sit down, then I was looking at myself through his eyes. It felt strange. Then I moved out of him and made him run away.”

Clegane was watching him, as he ate, “Is warging real, or just northern lore?”

Jory grinned, “Well you were just healed and taken by Fae, bitten by a snow adder, and I was nearly eaten by giant spiders. Truthfully, I am open to nearly every bit of lore and legend right now. I thought while I rested tomorrow, I might practice warging your horse some, if you don’t mind.”

“As long as Stranger comes to no harm, have at him.”

“Thank you, I will. As we were fleeing the snow spiders, I think I might have made them stop chasing us, but that was my first try, so not certain of it.”

“Is there more fish?”

“Aye, a whole one left, and I can catch more tomorrow, eat your fill. The water skin is full of fresh water too if you’re thirsty.”

“I guess we could take tomorrow and regain our strength, circle around and make sure the spiders aren’t on our backtrail, just to be safe.”

Jory grinned, “I think we need the day of rest. The fae queen is pushing us to do more against the beasties from the north. So when we return all I see is work waiting.”

Clegane laughed softly, “Only you would choose the difficult one. The rest make no demands at all.”

Cassel had no reply, merely smiled and shook his head, then added more wood to their fire.

Chapter Text

Cassel learned that almost anything with a brain could be warged. He quickly mastered controlling Stranger. Horses seemed to come natural to him, perhaps because of his bond with them.

Bored, he learned that the smarter the creature, the more he could do with it. Not all went smoothly. In short order he learned he could warg, deer, rabbits, fish, grouse, swallows, squirrels, mice, and mosquitoes. He’d tried the insects because, he was curious about controlling the ice spiders. He now believed he probably had made them stop chasing them, but potential for having them do anything truly useful like turning on the White Walkers seemed low.

He had practiced as he carried the saddle bags along the lake, and foraged food. Tickling was no longer needed, he could hold fish in place with his skill and catch them, same with the slow-witted grouse.

Deer he could maneuver almost as easily as the horse, controlling motion, direction and movement speed as well as looking through their keen eyes.

He found a patch of wild blueberries and added a generous portion of those to his collection. Mosquitoes buzzed around him, and he pushed at them, trying to direct them, finding he couldn’t do that. Then he tried making them leave the area and was able to at least do that.

Moving on through the forest he found an old burn scar, where limbless, bark- less snags reached towards the sky in a silent phalanx of tall spires. Here he found morels everywhere, almost a carpet, they were so thick. They were his favorite mushroom and he finished filling a pannier with them.

He wound up with two plump grouse, two good-sized trout, a lot of blue berries, a half dozen small wild onions, and the bounty of morels. He had just stood up from collecting the mushrooms when he noticed the bees.

Can I warg bees? Then a second thought followed at its heels, wild honey would be nice.

The bees were coming out of the top of a tall silvery hued snag. He didn’t pause to completely think things through; How would he claim honey from the top of a tree? Partly he was curious too about what would happen if he pushed at the bees. They were bigger and smarter than mosquitoes surely. Sending a swarm of mosquitoes at an enemy was just pitiful, but if I could send a cloud of bees. That might be useful.

He stared up at the hive tree, focused and pushed it hard. He was almost immediately rewarded by a swirling spiral of the insects rising like black smoke from the snag. Too much smoke, too many insects. The thread of the swarm curved lazily and made directly toward him. Oh fuck.

He ran, making for their camp, then he realized how bad that could be with Clegane and Stranger there waiting, he could not risk the swarm following him back, he turned and raced for the lake, the panniers bouncing jauntily on his shoulders. But again, reason caught him. Every time I rise to breathe, they will sting me. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The stream. He knew what to do now, bolting that way, but he yelped in painful surprise, the first of the swarm had caught him. It’s sting at the back of his neck was like a hot nail piercing his skin, the insect kept stinging. He brushed at it, and it came away on his hand, stinging as it clung there as well. It was a northern hornet, not a honeybee.  

It wouldnae’ sting once and die, they stung repeatedly. He tried to mentally push them away as he fled, but it didn’t work, either they were not smart enough or there were too many. He shrugged out from under the pack, letting it fall.

While his brigandine, mail and heavy breeches helped protect him, they also slowed him down, the swarm was in his hair and at his hands, face and neck, anywhere they could crawl into or sting. He ran, brushing at them and swearing. Thankfully, it wasnae’ far to the creek and he splashed in until he was mid-thigh deep then dove under, making his way to the far bank where the water was up to his waist and there located an area of undercut bank.

Finding an area with an air pocket Jory surfaced, gulping in air hungrily, fingers working to pull the hornets from his wet hair. It was cool and dark under the bank and the buzzing insects couldn’t see or get at him here. Stabbing pain along his collarbone, and he dug fingers under his brigandine and tunic to pluck free another angry hornet and let the cold water take it away. One guardsman against several hundred irate hornets, the insects won handily. He had to hide in his watery den for near an hour before it was safe to emerge. The cool water had eased the swelling of most of the stings, but the ones on his face and ears throbbed.

He knelt and mixed a bit of dark earth with stream water in his palm, then gingerly daubed the soothing mud on the injuries. He suddenly found the entire thing funny and bit back the urge to giggle, which only made the need stronger. Aye, soaking wet, stung about my face an’ ears, and now spotted with mud. Per-fect.

Rather than face Clegane’s amusement he briefly considered a couple of options, range north and join the Free Folk, or avoid camp altogether and walk back to Winterfell. As he considered he reclaimed his saddle bags and at streams edge plucked and cleaned his grouse and fish, then washed all else he had gathered.

Done at last, he set the saddle bags on his shoulder and returned to camp. Clegane was gathering firewood and already had a good bed of coals going. Cassel knelt by the fire, setting the panniers down and picking up the flat rocks he used to roast fish on.

He sliced the mushrooms and onions, using them to stuff the gamebirds and fish, setting all to slowly cook at fire’s edge. Clegane came back, dumped a large armful of wood atop the growing pile. Then sat down.

No help for it, he rose and sat in his usual spot atop the downed tree. Sandor studied his face, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Dinnae’ even.” Cassel set his teeth.

“The fuck did you do?”

“Warged a tree of hornets.”

“I see it went well.”

It was Jory that broke, the giggle escaped him, then he was lost to laughter. Clegane joining him.

Chapter Text

The journey home was uneventful, as they rode Cassel practiced warging on various creatures they crossed paths with. It was true though, the more intelligent the creature, the better the results. He mostly talked to Sandor, well to the big man’s back as they rode.

Food was no longer an issue, rabbit one night and grouse the next, and whatever odds and ends Cassel could forage to go with. They had circled around twice, to ensure no spiders tracked them. It had cost them an extra night in the wild but for peace of mind was well worth it.

It was a relief to at last ride through the main gates of Winterfell. Jory slid from Stranger’s back as soon as Clegane stopped him. He looked up at his friend and smiled, “A grand adventure, if we overlook the spiders, the snake and the hornets.”

Clegane smirked, “Not much left if those be taken out; Only the fae and the journey, the fish and the wolf song. Next time you decide to feed your horse to something though, you’ll walk, and for fucksakes go find a new horse today or tomorrow latest.” He glanced away and grinned, “I am going to stable Stranger and drink a bit before we speak to Lord Stark, your offspring and admirers are about to arrive.” He reined away towards the stables.

The little pack of children had him then, Jessy and Jor, Rickon, Alex, and Caleb, Arya, and a couple more of their friends. All chattered at him happily, he’d long ago learned that nodding in agreement and smiling went far with bairns. He embraced and was hugged back by his twins, then Alex and Rickon eeled in for hugs. Arya and Caleb were too dignified for hugs.

“What happened to the chestnut?” Caleb had noticed him riding pillion behind Clegane.

“He didn’t make it, the bucking was more of a problem than we thought.”

Jor had decided to name his roan gelding ‘Wolf’, it was a fine name for a lad whose family sigil was a pack of wolves. Jessy was content to just hold her father’s hand, stand close and listen. Alex claimed Jory’s other hand in both of his and launched into an excited telling of all the sword sparring he and Rickon had been at. Amazing adventures the two small boys found within the safe walls of the keep. Rickon pulled and pushed at Alex, vying for Jory’s attention. At last, he set Alex atop his shoulders and let Rickon claim his hand.

Arya had learned the key to deadly marksmanship from atop a horse. The secret was to time the release of the arrow for when all four of the horse’s feet were midair at a gallop, only in that instant was the aim true. The girl is a born warrior.

Unbeknownst to them, Lord Stark watched the little group from the covered bridge, smiling as his brother deftly managed the small flock of children, acknowledging and giving attention to each in turn, leaving none out. He wondered what he and Clegane had learned in the north.

Almost two hours later, Lord Stark, Robb Stark, Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Sandor and Jory were gathered around the table in Ned’s solar. There was red wine and dark beer to drink and most took advantage of one or the other.

Jory told the tale, how after an uneventful three plus day journey north they had finally come to the great unbroken forest of the north proper. “One thing we did notice is the scarcity of game and tracks, the quietness. Then at the wide meadow we ran into tracks again, mostly deer.

“We watched one deer, it skirted the deep forest, moving along the edge of it carefully. We moved in closer with our horses, enough to cause the deer to enter warily into the forest. We followed.

“It was fresh snow, mid-cannon bone deep on my horse. The deer didnae’ make it far into the woods. A great spider on a single line dropped down atop it. Others rose from the snow around the deer, one came down a tree at him.

Ser Rodrik interrupted his nephew, “What did they look like, and more importantly how big were they?”

Clegane spoke, “I’d guess around eighty to a hundred pounds each, all white, legs as thick as my wrists, not quite three foot tall.”

Jory nodded, “We’ve all heard Old nan’s tales, but these are twice the size of the average hound.” He realized what he’d said and grinned at Sandor, “Well, excepting this one thankfully.”

Jory took up the tale, “They are fast, came out of hiding in the snow, from the trees, ambushed the deer. It ran but didnae’ get far. The spiders throw lines, drop them on prey, like casting a loop for a horse, or throwing a net. The lines seem sticky, cling and hold. Then they grasp with their legs. It looked like they were eating the buck alive, or mebbe’ poisoning it. I am not sure.

“My horse was young, instead of running, decided to act up and buck. Three spiders webbed it, brought it down. I ran, Clegane turned and came back for me, or I’d not be here.

“In just minutes, perhaps five or six spiders brought down a full-grown deer and an adult horse. They seem to be stripping the area of anything edible. Sandor brought up an important point, when they eat all the food in their area they will be searching for more. They will move. We don’t want them anywhere close to Winterfell. It would be wise to alert the hamlets in the north, get them to move to safety.”

Jory contemplated telling them of his ability to perhaps stop the spider’s but realized he needed to be able to provide more information on what he could and couldn’t do with the skill. He looked at Sandor.

“There’s more as well, the lore about snow serpents is real, the white snow adders do exist. Sandor was bitten by one and took ill. Thankfully he is strong and hale and managed to recover, but if there are snakes, odds are the bloodthirsty bats exist too, and only the Old Gods know what else.”

He knew better than to bring the legendary Fae into the narrative at this point. He knew Maester Luwin well enough to see the doubt on his face already.

He should have cleared this with Clegane first. The big man looked at Jory, “If you’re going to tell it, tell all of it, hold nothing back, lay it all upon the table.”

Jory locked eyes with his friend, held the gaze, then nodded, “Go ahead, we were both there.” He drank deep of his beer then refilled the tankard.

Clegane pushed up his sleeve, showing the dark spots on his left wrist where the snake had bit him, “The snake was underneath my saddle, I didn’t see it. Their bite is cold, as is their skin. It bit and coiled around my arm. I ripped it away and stomped on it. I could feel coldness flow through my hand, seep along my arm as the venom spread.

“Jory lost his horse, so thankfully he was behind me on Stranger, or I’d have fallen. We tried for home, but closer along the shore of Long Lake sits a red clay knoll, a faerie mound. When I sank into stupor, Jory took us there, placed me atop a spiral at the very top.

“He used blood magic, summoned the Fae, made a deal to heal me and they did, or I’d have died. I am not that hale and hearty against snow serpent venom. I've seen the fae twice now, they are real.

“There is one more piece to this, and then you’ll have it all.” He looked at Cassel once more, but Jory wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Jory has magic, or the ability to tap into it somehow. This is twice we’ve dealt with the Fae, two times they have healed one or both of us. He has at least some ability to control and communicate with creatures. The skills will help us in the coming war against the darkness and should be believed. The Fae seem to realize it, urged me to speak of it in this meeting, asked that it go no further than this room.”

At his words Jory looked at him. He should have told me first, I trust all here, but secrets like this won’t stay secret for long, they always spill out and at the worst time.

It was awkwardly silent. Jory spoke, hating the reveal, “Any questions? I know almost naught about any of this. I am only learning as well.”

Maester Luwin spoke, “As one who studied the Higher Mysteries, I have a hard time believing this, but I know, and trust Jory so will not dismiss it out of hand. I remain a skeptic for now. I would ask to work with you soon and see your skill firsthand.”

Cassel nodded, “I will make time.” For a brief moment he toyed with summoning Jor’s roan from the stable, drawing it right up the steps and into the room, then dismissed it as showy and disrespectful on several levels.

His uncle spoke not, but Jory read irritation or perhaps disbelief in his gaze. He is grounded in the New Gods, and their beliefs. This shall be distasteful to him. I will need to speak with him soon.

Eddard and Robb had no questions, in following the Old Gods as Jory did, the idea of magic was always close and yet held power in the north.

The remainder of the meeting was more mundane, reports on the mining and weapons crafting at Harrenhal. The need for more guardsmen and soldiers and to train them. Horses were in short supply as well.

It was growing late when the meeting ended. Lord Stark bade Jory to sit a while with he and Robb. The three stayed at the table, enjoying the fire, all had drunk enough to be relaxed.

Robb filled Jory in on some of what he’d missed with his children, apparently Jessy was often found in the library keeping company amongst the books with Bran and Hodor. The two children were becoming fast friends, bonding over their love of stories and far off places. The girl also did her time in lessons with Arya and Sansa and practiced at needlework alongside them and her cousin Beth.

“Jor though, his real gift is with horses, but he is showing skill at weaponry too, he likes to shadow Ser Rodrik and watch the older boys and men spar. Not just the fight part either, but strategy.”

The words made Cassel smile, “I barely know my children, I need to spend time with each of them, I owe my daughter a palfrey and need a good charger myself. That needs become a priority.” He knew Lord Stark had something on his mind, waited for him to voice his thoughts.

After a few minutes of small talk between Robb and Jory, Ned finally spoke, “As Robb is my eldest son and heir, he needs know exactly who he can trust when needed.” He looked levelly at Cassel, “And why.”

Jory set his tankard down, it had become a night of revelations all round.

Eddard looked at his son, “Robb only a couple of people know what I am about to tell you, Ser Rodrik and Old Nan were there so they are aware. Other than those two Jory and I have kept this quiet, you should as well. Jory isn’t just as close as family, he is family.” Robb looked between the two, puzzled.

Ned continued, “Robb, Jory and I both claim the same sire, Rickard Stark. He is half-brother to Benjen and me, and your uncle. Martyn Cassel wed the girl early in the pregnancy and raised Jory as his own. I tell you this as heir, so if in need you know not only the power of loyalty but of kin.”

Robb did not look overly surprised, “It changes little for me, if I had need to trust it would go to Jory regardless, Jory, Rodrik, Luwin.” He reached across the table to clasp Cassel’s arm with a smile. “But always good to claim more kin.”

Eddard had one last point to make, “Your mother knows not. I think it would make her uneasy.”

Robb nodded slightly, “Agreed, she is protective of our birthright.”

Jory spoke at last, “I am content with my name and position here. I ask for nothing but to serve, you’ve always been my family, have been as far back as my memory runs. No need to change anything.”

Soon after Jory excused himself, it had been a long day.

Chapter Text

Winterfell needed horses, horses for guards and soldiers, horses for hauling supplies and pulling carts. Jory needed to replace the blue roan he’d gifted his son with and find a sweet natured palfrey for his daughter as well. Not having a good mount left him at a disadvantage in daily life.

He decided to take his son and daughter and perhaps Clegane, if the man wasnae’ too busy, and go towards Torrhen’s Square. He’d heard rumor of some decent horses to be had in that area. But first he wanted to visit someone dear to him, it was long overdue.

He visited the shops in Winter Town first, buying sweets for the children, a box of tea and a bottle of dark blackberry wine. He visited with the owner a bit; all of the new arrivals had been good for his business.

Soon he was back inside the bailey at the keep, moving to the little suite of ground floor rooms where Old Nan spent most of her time now. He knocked at her door and was bade to enter.

She sat in front of the hearth, upon seeing Cassel she smiled and opened her arms to him. Gently he hugged the fragile old woman.

She asked him to lay another piece of wood on the fire, “Ahh Jory, even in summer my old bones are cold now, tis’ all I can do to stay warm.” She waved him to the sturdy oaken chair across from hers.

He offered the gifts, “I’ve brought that tea you’re fond of, I could make you some, or there’s your blackberry wine.” He knew she had a love of the overly sweet drink.

“I think the wine today, pour some for us both.”

He rose and set the tea on the mantle, there were two heavy goblets resting on the shelf, Cassel poured a measure of wine into each, and handed her a glass. He sat down.

“What brings you to visit Jory?” She sipped the dark wine and smacked her lips at the syrupy sweetness.

“Need there be a reason? I have missed you Nan. I have two bairns here at Winterfell now, twins, a boy and a girl. I need to introduce them to you.”

She grinned at him, “There’s a reason for the visit, you forget I know you too well. I was there when you came into this world after all. What a set of lungs on ye’ lad.” She took another sip of her drink, “I’ve met the girl, she’s the image of you, sweet child and a gentle heart there. The lad I’ve seen, but only in passing, he is a copy of you as well at that age. Bring him by and introduce him, I’d like to meet him, but I know you’ve something on your mind besides just small talk, so out with it.”

“I think I am in over my head on things, magical things and I need help. I went to Maester Luwin, he told me I am having normal dreams and imagining other things, but I feel different.” He hadn’t meant for it all to come spilling out, but it did. “I am blundering about in the dark with it, worried I will do something wrong and make matters worse, hurt people. I thought you might be able to help.”

She settled her shawl closer around her shoulders, sipped her wine and leaned forward slightly, “Go on then tell me everything. I need it all.”

He sipped the wine trying not to grimace at the sweetness, “It all started about a year ago, Sandor Clegane…….”

“The big man? Fierce and scowly, with the scar?”

“Aye, my friend Sandor and I were going to pick up Sansa and bring her home. We came across a river where no river belonged, when we tried to cross it swept us away and over a waterfall, nearly drowning us both.

“We were saved by women who said they are Fae, they heal, speak without works, read thoughts, set tasks, speak of things to happen and of balance between good an’ evil.

“Just this last trip when Sandor was bitten by a snow serpent, I took him to Long Lake to the faerie mound there, placed him atop the white quartz spiral at the peak. He was dyin,’ I begged for help from any who would listen, used my knife to open my arm and offer that as well.

“The Fae Queen Nicnevin appeared, tried to trade for one of my children. I refused, she read my mind, then I hers, we made a deal….. I give her another faerie bairn and a favor to be named later, and she healed Clegane.”

Nan drained her goblet then held it out to him. “I need more of this and hang onto the bottle as well. Tell me you didn’t lay with this being Jory, tell me that.”

He rose and retrieved the bottle, sat down and refilled her glass, handing it back to her. “I did though, twice, different faeries. Each time they told me I sired a new life for them.”

She shivered, shook her head once and sipped the wine, “Go on with your tale lad.”

“They healed Sandor; he is fine.”

“Have they visited you outside of those two times, especially at night?”

“No, not at all, but there was one more thing I nearly forgot, after I let Nicnevin read my mind. I pushed at hers and was able to lightly graze it, feel some of what she felt, see scraps of her thoughts. She didnae’ care for it much.” He took a drink of the wine, it seemed less cloyingly sweet now.

Nan sighed, “Jory you’ve done every single thing the opposite of what you should’ve done. Don’t let them hear you call them faeries, they don’t like it, call them Fair Folk instead, it’s about respect.”

“No wonder Nicnevin was upset I rode the horse upon their knoll.”

“You what? You spilled your blood there, lay with them, gave them seed, now they have a hold on you. Why would you allow them into your mind? This binds you to them Jory. You put your children in danger as well.”

He drank again and shook his head, “No, she promised she would not harm my children. It was my only condition.”

“Nicnevin is the Queen of the Fae and of Witches, you cannot make bargains with her.”

“What do I do then? I won’t go back on my word.”

“Too late to close those doors, you’ve thrown them all open wide lad, best you can do is not make her angry, be respectful and don’t lay with her anymore.”

“When you were little, I taught you and Lyanna all these things, so you’d be wary, it did no good at all did it?”

He chuckled ruefully, “I listened, but was long ago and I was very young, and most think the Fae are just bedtime stories.”

“Yet they are not. Is there more?”

“Aye, I think I can warg things a bit.”

To his surprise the old woman laughed, drank, and held out her goblet for more wine. He refilled it for her, then she continued. “Well, that was to be expected, it runs strong in your blood Jory, and seems to be getting stronger. I think the approaching winter is adding power to the magic in our world, readying for the battle.

“Jon, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, all are able to warg to some extent. They may not even be aware of it yet. What have you done so far?”

Jory finished his berry wine and refilled the goblet, “Horses are easiest for me to warg, then deer. Rabbits, birds, fish, insects I can make do very simple things like stop or flee. Oh, and I stopped a bear, made him sit as I spoke to him, then made him run away and leave an area. I made mosquitos leave, then tried to warg a tree of hornets. All they did was attack me. I also saw a snow spider, I was able to stop its attack, I think. I can see through the eyes of horses, bear and deer, but haven’t even tried the rest.”

She nodded, “You have the basic Stark abilities then, but it’s not all called warging. The ability when used with wolves and dogs is called warging, all the rest is known as skinchanging, in fact you are a skinchanger Jory.

“Most can only use one familiar animal, a single companion like a horse, dog or wolf, some can skinchange with an entire type of creature, say bears, or owls. Few can inhabit different types of creatures; it does seem to be found in the Stark line.

“As to the pale spiders, the White Walkers control them, I don’t see why with practice you shouldn’t be able to as well. Another warning tho’ lad, there are evils you must not partake of; as a creature eat not of human flesh, do not lay with other animals, and the most important is not to take over another person’s mind. It causes damage to both involved.”

She studied him for a moment, “Have you seen these abilities in your children?”

The question surprised him; he hadn’t thought about it. “I don’t know, my son has a gift with horses, but unsure if it involves skinchanging.”

“You should watch for it, help them if they have the gift. It would be better for them if they have someone to talk to about it.” She met Jory’s eyes, “It becomes easier if you have a person to confide in. Maester Luwin is a kind soul and good man, but that Valyrian Steel link is wasted on him, he knows naught of Higher Mysteries.”

Cassel nodded, “Aye, it hasn’t been easy learning, and I should have come to you first Nan. I am sorry about that.”

“I have more to help you Jory, beware the spiders, wrapping and eating you is not the worst they can do. If they are fed, they will web you tight, so you cannot move yet are alive and breathing, then they will pierce your middle, lay a single icy egg there inside. As it warms it wakens and starts feeding upon its victim, devouring them alive for about a week as it grows and molts. When ready it tears free of its host and cocoon, killing them if they are not yet dead.” He shuddered at her words.

“There is little to be done for those bitten by the snow serpents, eventually they all die, your friend is the only survivor I have heard of. He was very lucky. The pale bats are rare, I doubt you’ll ever see one, but they dislike smoke. Lay green boughs over your coals at night when in their areas, the wafting smoke will help keep them away, and always set a watch over the men and horses. They have no venom but can claim enough blood to cause death.”

She looked at her empty goblet, then at Cassel. “I am glad you came to visit. I have missed talking with you. Most see me as an old woman full of faerie tales, but there is truth behind most of them. The north is filled with magic and lore, you would do well to learn as much as you can Jory, someone needs to pass it on and help the children remember it.”

He had gently hugged her once more before he left and thanked her, she had helped more than anyone else thus far, and he seemed to understand that he needed as much help and knowledge as possible.

Lord Stark was right; Winter is indeed coming.

Chapter Text

As far as Jory was concerned every journey should start early in the morn before dawn touched the sky, lighting it with brilliant color. He sat easily in the saddle atop the sturdy bay. He hadn’t felt this happy in a long time, he was atop a horse, with both of his children close, and his best friend, riding on a northern road into adventure.

He looked down again at the arms that encircled his waist, he’d offered Jessy a horse or pony to ride, but the girl wanted to ride pillion. She leaned into him now, arms around his middle. It was nice being a father, he only wished he had known of them from the beginning. He had missed so much.

Jor was probably having the most fun of any of them, he reveled in being freed from the confines of Winterfell on horseback. The roan, Wolf, suited him. The horse was agile and fast but kind, not a mean bone in his body.

Even now though, Jory had set boundaries, “Stay where we can see each other, ride all you want, but hold to that rule Jor.” The boy agreed and orbited around them happily. He already rode better than most men Cassel knew. Remembering Old Nan’s words, he wondered if the lad might have a touch of Skinchanger in him.

Sandor rode alongside Jory, he was enjoying the easy ride, even the children were not that bad, but the boy running circles around him was making him a bit dizzy. He needed no horses, but agreed to keep Cassel company, help guard the coin they carried to Torrhen’s Square and the herd of horses they’d be bringing back.

He’d given in to the idea that just as Cassel babysat the children, he watched over Jory, although it did work both ways, if he’d been alone when bitten by the adder, he would have died in the forest.

Jor brought Wolf alongside Jory, “Ride with me, just a run up the road and back. It will only take a minute.”

Jory looked into his son’s face. A run would be nice. “I cannot, I’ve Jessy behind me, and dinnae’ trust this bay yet.” He’d not put his daughter at risk. He remembered the chestnut colt bucking in front of the spiders.

The determined boy was not denied so easily, “Sandor could take her for a bit.” He looked at the big man, inclining his head slightly.

Jessy piped up, “I don’t mind riding behind Sandor.” With a smile she reached towards the Hound. Jory sidestepped the bay towards his friend, and Jess nimbly crossed over, her arms at once going around him.

Jory resettled himself in the saddle, slid his feet all the way into the irons. Out of the corner of his eye he noted Jor doing the same and grinned. He looked at his son, “Anytime Jor.”

The boy looked up, eyes alight, then ahead at the road, he leaned forward, and Wolf tore away. Jory loosened the reins and let the bay give chase. He leaned forward along the horse’s neck, letting his knees smooth out the ride. His son rode effortlessly, gradually Cassel brought his horse alongside his son’s roan, letting them gallop side by side on the dirt road.

Jor was laughing, poised atop nearly nine hundred pounds of speeding horse he laughed happily. Jory was more focused on his son, taking it all in, how he sat the animal, where his knees were, how balanced he rode, where his weight was, the child’s hands on the reins, the soft, easy give and take gentle on the roan’s sensitive mouth.

They ran for a long way, until Jory gradually slowed his gelding. The boy cantered a tight circle around him, still laughing. “That was fun! I don’t get to ride like that often stuck behind the walls at Winterfell.”

Jory made a mental note to ride more often with his son. They needed this, Jessy too when they chose her a horse. He smiled, “That was fun, speed always is, but what else can you do? We need to head back to Sandor and Jessy, but make a game of it, you lead and show me what you know. I will follow and do the same.”

The boy seemed to think, then sat deep in the saddle, gathering the reins and applying faint pressure. The roan arched his neck prettily, then Jor pivoted the animal around his right leg and sent him into a rocking, collected canter. Jory followed, again bringing the bay even with Wolf and Jor.

Next was a side pass left across the width of the road, then right, then a reaching extended trot at a diagonal, zig zagging back and forth as they rode to the others. The fun was keeping the horses in tandem, moving as matching figures.

Clegane had been nearly half-dozing in the morning sun when Jessy peered around him and laughed, “Dancing horses.”

He couldn’t help but smile as he nodded, “Not much practical about it, but yes they are dancing a bit.”

Jory grinned at Sandor, “Thank you for that.” He reclaimed his daughter, settling her behind him again.

They made good time, spending most of the day riding southeast at an easy jog, finally making camp at the edge of a meadow where a nearby stream provided fresh water. The men brushed the horses before setting Wolf and Stranger free to graze. Jory chose to hobble the bay, deftly winding a figure eight of light rope around his forelegs and knotting it.

Jor and Sandor brought in firewood, Jory grabbed his panniers and took Jessy foraging. “This might be dull to you, but tis’ a good skill to have, better than going hungry.” He led her along the edge of the forest where it was neither fully meadow nor forest. Here in the damp, cool shade fern stretched before them. Jory stepped into the knee-high fronds, bent and searched, then came up with a couple of tightly coiled fronds, handing them to her. “Those are fiddleheads, we’ll cook them for dinner tonight if we can find enough.”

Jess traced the spiral with a fingertip, “These are almost too pretty to eat, are they stems?”

Cassel nodded as he continued picking them, “New growth coiled tight and ready to unfurl, not good to eat raw, besides being bitter they can make you queasy, they need to be boiled in soup or a pot, or slowly roasted.”

Together they soon had plenty of the greens, and almost a dozen wild onions. Now they walked along the stream watching for fish. Here and there he paused and gathered watercress from the edges. They came to a pool where the stream flowed down the hill, cascading over mossy rocks and into a deeper pool. They could see the fish that filled the pool.

Rolling up his sleeves and wading right in, Jory showed his daughter how to tickle fish, unexpectedly it made her laugh. When they had plenty of trout, Cassel busied himself cleaning them while Jessy finished filling their saddlebags with wild strawberries.

On the way back to camp, his daughter took his hand and looked up at him, “Thank you for taking us in.”

He looked at her, “Nae, Jessy Thank You lass for finding me, letting me have a family. You always wanted a father. I always wanted a family, children, you and Jor have gifted me that. I love both of you.”

Jessy embraced him, “I love you too. I was afraid you wouldn’t want us, or would be cold, but you are all I’d hoped. His arms went around her, and he smiled, sighing softly in contentment.

“No, you’re home now in Winterfell, home and among family and friends. All I want is to give you and Jor the best life I can, see you happy.”

“Bran says you taught him to ride a horse. He loves you too, I can tell.”

“Aye, I am fond of all the Starks, protect them, love them. Known Lord Stark my entire life, his children all of theirs.”

By now they were back at the camp where Jor and Clegane had brought in enough wood to burn brightly all night, and a good fire was popping and snapping in a ring of stones. Soon food was cooking at the edge of the coals, and they were all talking, occasionally laughing.

That night Jory and Sandor split night watch, each sitting guard while the other slept. It was a cool, clear and quiet night. They were on their way early the next morning.

The herdsman had fifty horses on his land, most were now grouped in pole corrals where they milled about restlessly. Jory circled the pens, leaning against the rails and watching the animals interact. He thought there were nearly thirty of the horses that would be of use to Winterfell.

He looked at their owner, who stood next to Jory, “How did you get so many? Nice looking herd for the most part.”

“They are good animals. I can tell you know horses Cassel. People in need of cash sell me their animals. I also raise horses, fifteen of these are my good broodmares.”

“Really? You’ve a stallion too then? I’d like to look him over as well.”

The man smiled, “Glad to show him off, but he’s not for sale.” He led the way to a stone and timber barn, going to the double stall at the back of it.”

The horse heard them approaching and came to greet them. He was dark dapple gray, with black mane and forelock. His face seemed chiseled from granite, all delicate angles and lines, great dark gentle eyes. Cassel scratched him lightly neath his jaw. “He’s splendid, he doesn’t happen to have a bit of sand steed in him, does he?”

The man nodded, “He does, nearly half. His foals look just like him.” He opened the stall door for Cassel.

Jory walked slowly around the horse, admiring him. “Are any of his foals for sale?”

The man nodded, “I have three yearlings that I might part with.”

“Would you consider a contract with Winterfell? Let us have first chance at his foals?”

The herdsman smiled, “That would work to both our benefit and the horses would be well cared for at Winterfell.”

When the bargaining was finished Jory had bought thirty-three horses. It was more than they’d planned, but these were quality animals. Horses of any kind were difficult to find in the area.

They were readying to leave when Jory pulled Jess aside, “You don’t have to choose your horse right away, but on the way home watch them and if you see one you like let me know.”

She nodded happily but having so many to choose from was going to be difficult for her. She clung contentedly, riding pillion behind her father. Jory led two of the older mares that seemed to lead the herd. Sandor also had two lead horses; the rest of the animals were content to follow as they headed home.

Things went smoothly until the second day. They were in a lonely stretch of wild land, running parallel to the road was an elevated ridge along one side. Jory was busy continually counting their herd, making sure they yet had 33 horses.

Sandor drew attention to the beast, “The fu’ Hells is that?”

Jory turned and followed his gaze, ahead of them and atop the ridge was a horse, his heavy shoulders and neck showed it was a stallion. The tall horse was watching the herd intently. Oh no, this is bad.

“Jor, come here, I need you to take Jessy.” Jory dropped the ropes for the two mares he’d been leading. The boy caught the urgency in his father’s voice and sidestepped Wolf in close. Jessy moved behind her brother.

He looked at his son, “Stay close to Sandor and do as he says. Don’t follow me.”

Jor nodded, “Yes father.”

Jory cut his eyes to Sandor, “That brute means to take our herd, that’s not happening.”

Clegane shook his head, “No, don’t even think about it. You cannot run off and leave me with your children and the herd.”

Cassel wasn’t even looking at his friend, he was studying the distant horse, mostly just an outline at this distance. Suddenly he wheeled his bay, riding for a steep path up the ridge.

“Seven Hells Jory, No!” Sandor swore under his breath again and again. Fucken’ reckless fool!

Jory leaned far forward, putting his weight over the bay’s shoulders and neck as much as possible, freeing his hindquarters to drive and send them up the steep slope.

They reached the top and the stallion saw them. He didn’t back away, but stood his ground, shaking his head and squealing a challenge. Jory cantered to within nearly thirty yards before his horse balked, refusing to get any closer to the threatening stud.

Jory slid from the saddle, letting his horse flee back towards Clegane, the herd and safety. He stood tall, but relaxed, speaking quietly and gently. He let his hands fall to his sides, palms towards the stallion.

By the Old Gods’ he’d never seen an animal quite like this one, he managed to be both solid and elegant at once like a finely forged steel sword. His base color was a rich red brown, his legs, mane, tail and forelock black, but then he was striped, thin lines of black all over with a white star on his forehead. The color was common enough in hounds, it was called brindle.

Of course, he had heard legends of the ancient Forest Horses of the north, but none existed anymore. Well, or hadn’t until this beauty had turned up out of nowhere.

The horse reared, towering over Cassel, he kept eye contact with it, refused to back away. “Whoa son, easy now. Horses arenae’ made to live alone, we ken that, an’ you’ve been alone a verry long time haen’ ya?”

Closer yet, now only ten feet separated them. The beast reared tall again, ears pinned back, striking out with a front hoof, barely missing Jory’s head. He yet held his ground, “Nae you didnae’ mean that, your fraid’, that’s fine, fear keeps us alive for a bit, but yeah, better things in store, no more bein’ alone, you came here for a reason, you’ll not take the mares, trust me lad….”

Sandor swore under his breath again but was unable to look away. He knew the twins were watching as well, he hoped they weren’t about to see their father killed by this stallion. I swear if he survives this, I’ll kill him myself!

Jory had reached the horse, was near his crested neck, reached and lay a palm lightly atop the point of his shoulder. The animal’s skin flinched under his hand, but the animal didn’t move. “Brave boy, see it not hurts to be touched, I ken you feel me in your head, holdin’ you here, makin’ you stay, but I feel the weary in you, never fully sleepin’ because yer hunted, all over now, all done, trust in me and you’ll be home.

In Cassel’s mind there was only one thing to do from here, he sprang and swung a leg over the wide back in an easy motion, caught fistfuls of heavy dark mane in both hands, gripped lightly with his legs. The horse rose high on his powerful back legs again. Jory smiled and leaned forward, moving with the animal. He sent the thought gently, you’ve wanted to run, now go. He freed the stallion.

The horse coiled and leapt forward racing away along the length of the ridge and out of sight. Trying to outrun the man that clung to his back.

Clegane watched them race away, grinding his teeth in anger, what are you thinking Jory? I can’t even follow you.

Jor blinked and looked at Sandor, “What is he doing? He doesn’t even have a bridle or saddle.” Jessy looked to be on the verge of crying.

The herd was happily grazing, unaware of the unfolding drama. Sandor looked around trying to figure out what to do next. Finally, he led the children to the shade of a roadside maple tree, and they dismounted. Clegane searched through his packs, finding enough dried meat, biscuits and apples for all of them. The children weren’t hungry but managed a few bites. Clegane ate, all the while simmering with anger.

Jory had no time to think, all he was was focused on the running horse beneath him. He’d found the balance point where it felt like he was flying. The horse plunged through trees and brush, jumped downed trees. Jory looked through his eyes, gently guiding him, letting him get used to carrying a man, to submitting to control from another. He thought his soft words now, since he was partly melded with the beast.

On and on they ran, across meadows and along rolling hillsides. The horse’s sides now dark with sweat. Cassel ran out of words and quietly sang the lullabies he’d been sung as a child, trying to soothe the stallion, to gain his heart and trust. The horse slowly tired, realized Cassel wasn’t going to hurt him. He slowed to a canter, then after a few miles of that to a ground-eating trot.

Jory freed a hand and gently stroked his sweaty neck, hell’s but the horse had speed and heart, there was no quit in him. “See not so awful being ridden. Let’s go back to the others, go home.”

Jory used his mind along with his legs and weight to guide the horse, teaching him the entire trip back to yield and work with him. The problem was that Cassel lost track of time and well over two hours had passed before he rode back into Clegane’s view. He knew his friend well and could see the anger in him. He also knew he deserved every bit of it. He called for Sandor to bring him a halter and rope, had his children stay where they were.

Clegane walked up close, handing Jory the tack, voice low and controlled. “When we get back, you and I are going to have words. Not here, not now in front of your children. That’s all that’s keeping me from hauling you off that beast and beating you bloody.” He didn’t even wait for a reply, simply turned and walked away.

Jory slid down, then carefully haltered the horse, skinchanging a bit to teach him to go where led, stand when tied.

He owed his children an apology as well, he realized that now. He walked to where they sat on a rock and knelt in front of them. “Today you watched me do something risky and foolish. Until you both arrived, I did a lot of foolish and risky things, often without much thought. What I did today was a mistake, I didn’t think it through. I am not used to being a father yet, to having that responsibility. I am not making excuses for what I did, I am trusting you with the truth of who I am.

“I am going to struggle against acting first and thinking later. I won’t always succeed, but I am going to try to be more careful. I promise both of you, and I am sorry I frightened you both.”

Jor studied him, “What happens to us if you die?” At his words Jessy started to cry quietly. Jory pulled her to him, settling on the rock with her in his arms.

“If anything were to happen to me Lord and Lady Stark would take you in and raise you. You’d still be safe, have a home.” Jory cursed himself for causing this fear and pain. 

He sat there with his bairns for a long time, trying to fix the damage he’d done. He knew Jessy had forgiven him, but it had shaken his son a bit at how fragile his family was. The boy was just learning he had a father figure he could lean on, rely on to be there, now he’d seen that perhaps he shouldn’t trust that bond quite as much lest it be ripped away in a careless instant.

I’ve so much to learn, but most of all I need to do better. Lord Stark was right to warn me to be more cautious.

Chapter Text

It was an awkward ride home, Clegane stubbornly refused to talk to him. Jessy had to ride behind Jor on the blue roan Wolf. Jory was riding the new horse and teaching him at the same time, now under saddle and bridle. Half the time he was in the horse’s head he was so new to all of this and unpredictable.

Their final afternoon, Jory asked Sandor if he would watch his children for just a little while. Clegane looked at him and finally nodded.

“Thank you for that, this shouldn’t take long.”

He led the stallion, just a halter and a rope this time. Walking up a stream and away from camp and the grazing horses, he came to a small meadow and forest. Unbuckling the halter, he slid it gently from the horse’s head. He scratched the base of an ear, then his jaw as he spoke softly, “I realized that what I did was not fair, you wanted company, the mares. I held you in place and claimed that which I have no right to take. I wouldnae’ like it if someone did it to me, took my freedom away. I return it to you if you wish. You can leave or come with me. Tomorrow we’ll be home at Winterfell, an’ it’s a lot of time being confined, but food and exercise are regular, shelter from the winter. I doubt it compares to freedom though. You are free.” Jory stepped back, settling the halter and looped rope over his shoulder, then he turned and walked back towards camp. The horse did not follow.

Clegane saw him walk back into camp alone, Jory knew he wanted to ask but was still being stubborn. It was Jessy that asked, “What did you do with the horse?”

“I took him out and set him free, seems I am making a lot of selfish decisions of late. The horse wasnae’ really mine to claim.”

She smiled, “I like that, but he was so pretty. I wish he’d have decided to stay.”

Jory nodded, “Aye, me too, but it had to be his choice Jessy.” He started pulling together a simple dinner from items in the packs.

The sun had just dipped into the forest, and shadows were long across the meadow where their horse herd grazed. The horses became suddenly restless, they stopped grazing and lifted their heads, ears forward, watching the trees.

Jor noticed it first, “Father something is going on with the horses I think.”

Cassel stopped and turned towards them, eyes watching the edge of the trees, here it was likely a bear, or perhaps wolves. He suddenly wished for a long bow.

Then he saw them break from the dark trees. The brindle stallion and a small herd of mares and foals. The horse cantered up within a few feet of Jory and stopped, tossing his head restlessly. Cassel gently scratched his jaw, then walked around him to see what he’d brought. They were all Forest Horses, in varying shades of brindle, four pretty mares with large dark eyes and two foals, the other two looked ready to deliver their foals within’ a few weeks.

Jessy was delighted, especially with the foals, but she was smart enough to keep her distance for now.

That night Jory took the first watch, he was restless and chose to walk, checking on the children and Clegane often, then wandering out in the meadow among the horses.

He let Clegane sleep a few extra hours. The children sleeping soundly close to the fire. Jory bent and lightly touched Sandor on the shoulder. “Let me sleep a while?”

The big man nodded and sat up. There was nothing more from him and Cassel walked away, Sandor would need time to forgive him, he hoped it was soon, he missed his friend. Stretching out near his bairns he soon relaxed into sleep.

Nicnevin visited him, whisking him away, he was standing in a pocket meadow, surrounded by pine forest on three sides, powdery snow up to his knees. He looked around and laughed softly, there were no tracks at all, it was as if she’d flown them here.

She smiled and studied his face, ‘Why do you laugh?’

He grinned, ‘Because look at this,’ he gestured at the lovely meadow in the center of the forest, ‘We are here, no tracks, it’s as if we appeared here from the air, or you flew us here, placing us just so. It makes me love magic a bit. Why are we here?’ So easily he had switched to communicating by mere thought with her.

‘We are here so I can explain about the horses, you are right, they are the long-lost ancient Forest Horses. I gifted the stallion to you, sent him. I thought you liked him, yet then you set Bròin free. I did listen to your words, they touched me, and I understood why you did it. So, Bròin is entrusting you with his family. They are of the North, as are the Starks, you need them, and they need you. Grow their numbers, gift them to those who are deserving.’

Jory considered what she had said, ‘Bròin is his name? Did you name him?’

She laughed, ‘No, he came with the name, it means….’

He liked her laugh, ‘means brindle, aye.’

She met his eyes, ‘Your voice when you were soothing him, you could ensorcel one with that, it’s a magic all your own.’

‘I have no magic Nicnevin, only the skinwalking and I know little enough of it.’

She seemed to be considering something, ‘You have more magic than you know, I don’t even understand all of it. You are a puzzle.’

‘Tell me then; how can I use what I don’t know about?’

‘Your grandmother, Ameena’s mother was one of us, a Fair Folk, she fell in love with a man, a mortal and chose to leave us, give up her immortality. She wed the man and your mother was their only child. By blood you are one quarter ‘Fae.’

‘How can I be one of the Fair Folk? I am a man, I thought all were women?’

‘All purebred are, you are but one quarter Fae.’

‘So, I have more magic than I know?’ Jory had never felt magical in any way, he’d thought he was ordinary.

‘I Hesitate to tell you for I fear it may make you more reckless than you already are, and there is a reason for your boldness, you sense the power you have in part already. You have a lifeforce stronger than most men, heal faster than average, and in addition the Fair Folk can heal you or restore your life. Now I ask you not to take this lightly or abuse it, this is strong magic and when it is used exacts a steep cost.’

Jory nodded, ‘I hope not to use it ever. I am trying to be more careful.’

His words made her laugh again, “Careful? Is that why you leapt atop Bròin without bridle or saddle?”

He reddened, ‘Well more careful since then Nic, I promise.’ He knew what she wanted, he wanted her too, but he’d not lay with her with his children sleeping nearby.

He couldn’t hide what he wanted in its place tho’ since she was loathe to allow him any control, and spare measure of tenderness. Boldly he stared into her amber eyes daring her.

 ‘Kiss me or take me back’

Then he imagined it, knowing full well she was watching, closing his eyes now and fully coloring in every detail from touch, to taste.

He had all but given up, when he felt her delicate fingers on his face, he left his eyes closed and let her explore the planes and angles of his face, trace his lips, the the arch of each eyebrow. He sighed softly at the simple pleasure of being gently touched.

He found he could move, slowly he slid his arms around her, she wanted to bolt from him, he felt that. He bent his head down and nuzzled the top of her head enjoying her subtle wildflower scent. She raised her face to meet his, their lips just grazing, then he kissed her gently, not hurrying at all, just this was enough.

‘Let me just hold you for a moment, stay in my arms.’ He lifted his lips from hers and she stayed, finally relaxing enough to rest her head against his chest.

‘Thank you Nicnevin’

It was snowing, big lazy flakes that slowly drifted down.

I might learn to love magic.

He woke rolled in his blanket next to Jor and Jessy. He smiled at last night, all of it from the meadow, to the talking and the gifts, to the kiss and the snow, especially the kiss.

Today they’d be home to Winterfell, so he took out all the leftovers from the saddlebags for breaking their fast. They were soon on the road home.

Chapter Text

The horses were separated, the thirty-three animals from the herdsman in the largest paddock, the brindle stallion and his herd of six in a smaller one. The animals drew a small crowd of onlookers. Lord Stark, Robb, and Theon came to lean on the paddock fence and admire them.

“I cannot believe the Forest Horses yet exist. I thought they had all vanished centuries ago. Yet you have seven of them Jory,” Eddard shook his head as he watched them.

“I’d like to keep them here, try and keep breeding more of them.” He turned to look at Ned, “That leggy colt there, with the white stripe down his face is yours. It will be a few years before you can ride him, but I’ll train him until then. In time I hope to be able to have one for each of your children.”

Eddard looked at Jory, “No, that’s too much, but they are welcome here. Splendid horses every one,”

Cassel smiled, “I am supposed to gift them to those who are deserving, mostly those of the north, I think. If any are deserving, it is the Starks’. These are not for sale, would be wrong to take gold for them. They were gifted to me, thus are only in my care.”

“I am guessing the Fae met with you again then, for these seven have magic writ all over them in those swirling stripes.”

“Aye, she did, Old Nan scolded me for calling them Fae. She said they prefer ‘Fair Folk.’” He chuckled softly. “I’ve unintentionally insulted her so many times it’s a wonder I’m alive, or not a garter snake somewhere by now.”

“Her?” Now it was Lord Stark’s turn to raise an eyebrow and smile for he’d seen his half-brother’s eyes light up as he spoke of the faerie, “Tell me more about this Fair Folk ‘her’ then.”

“I have only met her a few times. Her name is Nicnevin, and she seems to be the leader of the Fair Folk in the North. That red clay faerie mound near Long Lake is her home, I think. She saved my life once, and Clegane’s life twice.”

“If she’s that powerful I am glad she is on our side.”

“As am I, I wouldn’t knowingly make her mad.” Cassel grinned at the thought.

It was hours later, in the early evening when Sandor caught up to Cassel in the stables where he was cleaning tack and talking to Caleb. He was carrying a rum bottle in one hand, “A word Jory?”

Cassel set the bridle down and stood, “Of course.”

They walked to a bench that leaned against the inner wall and sat down.

Clegane took a long swig of the heady rum then passed the bottle to Cassel who drank long, liking the burn down his throat.

“Talk to me Sandor, I dinnae’ like your anger.”

Clegane shook his head, “You are a lucky man Jory, to have those two children, Lord Stark, people that care about you, a home here in Winterfell. Not many people get all of that. You have it and you still throw yourself at every risk that comes along.”

Jory took another long drink of rum, Sandor, I..”

“No. I am not done yet, just shut up and listen.”

Jory nodded and drank again.

Clegane continued, “You went after a wild stallion, shoved your children and all of those horses on me. You didn’t see Jor and Jessy’s faces when you went galloping up that ridge, when that fucking horse almost caved your skull in right in front of them. You turned your back on us and in that moment, we ceased to exist, only that horse mattered. What if you’d have fallen somewhere? I couldn’t go after you. Though you think you’re immortal you are not. If you get hurt, if you die, you will break that girl’s heart, the boy will just go cold. I see it in him to do that. They already lost their mother, and they just found you. You need to be more careful.”

Jory drank again and handed Clegane the bottle, looking his friend in the eyes, “I am trying, it goes against all that’s in me and my nature to hold back. It happens as fast as a lightning strike, to go at things, been that way since I was a lad. A bully would hit a friend and I would be at them before I even realized it.

“You know, here in Winterfell you have a home too Sandor, people who care about you, look up to you. My children look at you as their uncle already. In time I see you with a wife and children here.”

Clegane laughed, “You’ve already drunk too much this night. Women don’t want me unless I pay them well.”

“You dinnae’ give them a chance, women in the north are different. They see the man inside, and scars are a mark of courage here. Give it some time my friend.”

“Why haven’t you a wife then?” Clegane drank then passed the bottle to Cassel.

Jory’s smile was sad, he looked at the bottle in his hand, his voice much quieter, “There was one once, so long ago now, we grew up together. I would have wed her.  She climbed trees, rode horses, could swing a sword with the best of us, we got in all kinds of trouble together, but she was not for me, she was promised to another, part of me loves her still, probably always will. I would have wed my children’s mother, but was never given the chance, didnae’ know about them, one day she was just gone, along with her family.” He took a swig of the rum, then handed over the bottle.

They finished the rum, Jory stood and looked at Clegane, “I will try and rein things in, I know I have to think things thru.”

Clegane smiled, “Next time I even think you're going to jump into something I am hauling you back by the collar.”

That night he lay in bed unable to sleep, watching the orange flicker of flames from his hearth. At last, he got up and padded across the cool stone floor on bare feet to look out the window. He really couldn’t see much through the thick glass, but the cool air that seeped in around the edge of the window felt good against his face.

‘No way to treat a guest, gazing out the window wishing you were elsewhere.’

He grinned and looked toward his bed, at Nicnevin, ‘A bit bold showing up here within the Keep Nicnevin.’ He walked back and sat down on the edge of his bed. He fell into their soundless conversations effortlessly now.

She smiled back at him, ‘Not at all, this was our home first, long before a single stone of Winterfell was set in place. The hot springs here drew in magic, still do I think.’

‘So, what brings you to my bed’

‘Your bargain, the one made to save Sandor. I am here to collect on that debt, what you owe has come due Jory.’

‘What am I doing,’ He had an idea already.

She laughed aloud, ‘I see where your mind lays’ and that is not the favor, as much as you wish it were. Listen well, across the narrow sea is a flaxen-haired woman with three young dragons. I need you to find her and talk her into bringing her Dothraki army and dragons to Winterfell. Even with all that is being done, it is yet not enough to stop the Others and the evil ones that appear with them.’

‘Dragons,’ He hadn’t thought them real; they’d haunted his nightmares when he was a child. He had watched them melt Winterfell in the dark of night in a repeating dream, hearing the screams even now. In those dreams he was powerless to do anything to stop the carnage. ‘Perhaps we might use the kraken from the sea as well? I hate dragons, the very idea of them even. What am I to tell her to get her and her dragons and army here?’

‘They frighten you. I see why, tell her that after they help us here in the North, in return the North shall help her conquer Essos and be queen there.’

‘I am not sure what Lord Stark shall say to that. Starks and dragons have a history an’ it’s not a good one.’

‘It needs be done. I trust in you to make it happen.’

‘I havenae’ even managed two of the three things you first gave me to complete, still no wild fire, nor throne swords.’ His head ached at the thought of dragons.

‘That is why Lord Stark needs to send a raven to King Tommen asking again, and you must speak to Tyrion Lannister as well. He saw the wisdom to your words in King’s Landing.’

‘Do I have to go alone?’

‘No, take who you need, at least Clegane I’d think, or a company of guards, the sooner you leave the better.’ She sprawled out a bit on his bed, Cassel could smell her faint wildflower scent.

‘A bargain was struck, you saved Sandor. I shall do my best to bring the woman, her dragons, and her army here. What is her name?’

‘Daenerys Targaryen, use caution, King Robert sent spies and assassins against her, she will be wary of strangers.’

He laughed, ‘Well, that just makes it perfect then, I needed a challenge this trip, the last one went so easily.’ He turned to look at her, saw her smile and growled softly. He moved closer, studying her face, her long onyx hair spread over his pillow. He leaned in to kiss her and an instant before their lips touched, she vanished. He swore softly, and almost thought he heard her gentle laughter in reply.

Chapter Text

The next day shortly after breakfast, Jory met with Lord Stark in his solar, he didn’t want to speak where many ears might be listening. As he lay abed Jory had realized that the Crown wouldn’t take kindly to the North importing a Targaryen and her trio of dragons.

At times he wondered if the fickle Nicnevin was trying to destroy him with her quests. Old Nan did warn you. Bringing in a Targaryen heir and her deadly dragons was asking to be drawn and quartered for treason in his mind. Yet his sense of honor knew he owed the favor. I had to do it to save Clegane, there was no choice.

Tho’ it was far to early for ale, Jory wished for a tankard of it. He took the seat offered and started by shaking his head ruefully, he looked at Ned and sighed softly, “I had Nicnevin give me a task last night, I owed her a favor for her healing Sandor and last night she set me with the most difficult quest yet.”

Stark looked amused, “Last night? How did this come about then?”

“She showed up in my chambers last night, the first time she’s done that.”

“To give you a quest?”

“Yes, that was all, then she left. I was reminded that we need to request the swords from the Iron Throne, and the wild fire from King’s Landing, that King Tommen should be more amenable to the request than Joffrey was.

“I think I shall also meet with Tyrion at Harrenhal and request both from him. He has helped make the mining and weapons crafting go faster under his supervision. I also need to bring him up to date on the spiders and snow serpents. He has ways of thinking through problems that is different from us Northerners.”

Lord Stark nodded, “I will find time this morn to send a raven to King’s Landing asking for the items we need. More Free Folk are coming south and staying every day. We could use food from King’s Landing and our bannermen to help keep them fed. Winterfell cannot raise and feed an army alone. So there is a new task as well as the wild fire and swords?”

“Yes, this one is more difficult and will cause problems. I was told I needed to cross the Narrow Sea and find Daenerys Targaryen and her Dothraki army. She has three young dragons. I need to recruit her, her army, and dragons and bring them here to war against the White Walkers.”

Ned’s brow furrowed, “We can’t do that. That goes against King Tommen, to bring over a Targaryen Princess is to start a war, and that’s without her army and dragons. I have heard rumors she managed to acquire dragons, but believed it only that, a rumor. No, House Stark won’t allow this.”

“Nicnevin warned we won’t win against the White Walkers without her and all she brings.”

Eddard shook his head one time, “To bring them will tip us into war. No, must be my only and final answer.” He met Jory’s eyes, “Do you understand me Jory? Tell your Fae the same. The Targaryen woman stays across the Narrow Sea.”

Cassel nodded, “I hear you and will tell Nicnevin my lord. Have I permission to travel to Harrenhal and meet with Tyrion?”

“Yes, and see if they need any additional supplies, or tools. Take a few of the new horses with you, I know they have dire need of them.”

“I will, last time I came back with a list of things, I’m sure this trip will be the same.”

Soon he was on his way out of the Great Hall, moving towards the Godswood. He needed the Heart Tree there, to look into the reflecting pool. He was in turmoil, he would never go against Lord Stark, but he had made a promise to Nicnevin as well, and he did owe for Sandor’s life.

He sat beneath the bright canopy of the weirwood, closing his eyes for a few minutes, focusing on the soft sound of the breeze rustling through the leaves overhead. He asked for clarity and help in how to resolve the problem before him.

Mentally he ran through every benefit and downfall he could think of both for and against contacting the Targaryen woman. He couldn’t defy his lord and brother, that was what it all came down to.

He suddenly felt like he was being watched, he didn’t even bother to open his eyes, ‘Is that you come to give me more impossible tasks?’

‘Not impossible, it must be done, or all here and many more die.’

“I cannot defy Lord Stark.’

‘Then I will take back the life I saved. You have broken our bargain.’

Jory felt ill, ‘No, you can’t kill Sandor, if you need to end a life take mine. This is my failure, not Clegane’s.’

‘No Jory, that was not the bargain. I shall be fair though, there is ample time for a decision. I grant you a two-week reprieve, consider well your choice.’

He was close enough to her that he felt her leave him, he hadn’t opened his eyes to look at Nicnevin once. The choice is kill my friend or defy my lord brother, it is an impossible decision. There was no solace for him even in the Godswood.

He caught up with his children at the paddock of Forest Horses, they leaned on the rail watching them. He’d forbade them to actually enter the enclosure with the yet feral animals, but they could lean on the fence and watch them to their heart’s content.

Jessy had finally chosen her horse, falling in love with a little red bay mare with black striping and not a dash of white on her. She seemed to watch the girl too. It seemed they had picked one another. The mare had a spirited little filly at her side.

Jory looked down at his daughter, “Very good choice, when I get back from Harrenhal I’ll start to train her for you. Have you a name for her yet?”

Jessy smiled up at him, “Of course, her name is Willow.”

“You chose a fine name for her; she looks like a graceful willow tree.”

The girl beamed at his praise. Jory studied Jor, who was uncharacteristically quiet, “How goes your training of Wolf?”

“It goes well, he is a good horse. Caleb said you taught him and Alex to use a bow, I was hoping you’d teach me as well. Uncle Rodrik said he would, but I wanted to ask you first.”

Jory smiled at the memory of schooling both Caleb and Alex to target shoot so long ago, teaching them not just to aim and release, but to do so with safety. “Of course! I can teach you, the basics are easy and fun as well. I need to take care of some business at Harrenhal first though Jor.”

His son looked disappointed, “You are away far more than you are home.”

Cassel felt those words in his heart, “I know, but there is much to do in very little time, as the Starks’ say, Winter is Coming.” Even as he said the words Jory knew they were not enough and rang hollow to the boy.

While he was trying to maintain a clear head and make his all-important choice, Jory decided to make the trip to and from Harrenhal alone. He could manage the horses fine by himself, plus he was bound to be poor company. He went to break the news in person. He found Clegane practicing at the pell with his sword.

Jory watched him punish the straw man until it fell into pieces. He was glad they were on the same side and friends. When Sandor stopped to set up another dummy he spoke, “Just wanted to let you know I’m taking some horses to Harrenhal early tomorrow morning, should be gone about a week, or a bit more.”

Clegane nodded, “I’ll be ready.”

Cassel shook his head, “Not this trip, I am going alone this time. It’s just to take some horses over and speak to Tyrion Lannister. I’ll be home before you know it.”

Clegane knew him too well, he could read Jory’s tone and face, something was wrong, “Suit yourself, there’s plenty to do around here.”

Cassel caught the coldness, it was unmistakable, he wanted to explain more, but knew it wouldn’t help right now. Instead, he sighed and walked away. He needed to get everything ready to leave in the early morn.

Chapter Text

He studied the dark half-melted towers of Harrenhal as he approached the gates. This is what dragons do, what I saw them do to Winterfell in my dream.

The time spent travelling had given him time alone to think, but he was still no closer to resolving his decision. Either way would cause deep loss.

He handed over the seven horses he’d brought with him to the stablemaster. He’d chosen to leave his brindle stallion at Winterfell, opting to ride another sturdy gelding for Harrenhal’s use. He thought that he might try buying another herd of horses to take home with him to Winterfell on the return trip.

He needed to find Tyrion, but as he stood there in the muddy yard the musical ring of hammer on steel sang to him from the forge and he smiled, moving that way.

Harrenhal bustled with activity, it was good to see. He paused to admire an entire push cart of obsidian tipped spears being wheeled past. All going to Winterfell and then portioned out to the other houses there in the north. They were preparing for battle on a grand scale.

He was close enough to the forge now to make out silhouettes, his eyes found the one he sought, a great bear of a man Clegane’s height, and near fifty pounds heavier, most of it but not all, muscle built by years of swinging a heavy hammer.

He grinned as he watched a sword being born before his eyes, orange-hot steel giving way beneath a steady hammer then quenched in a pail at the armorer's feet.

“So, Dru would ye’ think thrice yet about snapping my neck?”

The man’s bellowing laugh was contagious, Cassel joined in then winced slightly as the man turned and caught him up in a bear hug, lifting him easily from the ground.

“Bloody Hell Jory, it’s been forever since you stopped by! And ‘Aye’ I would now. Would you believe I’m a wed man? Found a pretty widow who fancied herself a great brawn of a blacksmith for a husband.” He set Cassel back on the ground.

“You’ve a wife? Congratulations my friend! We should have a toast or three to that a bit later I think.”

“Sounds like a sound plan, what brings you here?”

“I brought some horses, heard they were needed, and I must speak to a few people. How are things going here?”

Dru wiped the sweat from his forehead, “Going well, under Lannister we have the weapons crafting working in shifts both day and night. The wee man knows much about mining too, the dragon glass is coming out at a pace to more than keep up with demand.

“The wildlings are tough, hard workers too, and the stories they tell Jory, many of them have seen things you wouldnae’ believe at all. I’d not believe it either, but almost all tell the same stories, have seen the same things, too many for it to be tales and lies.”

Cassel met his eyes, “Stories of great ice spiders, snow adders, white bats that drink blood and ice men with glowing blue eyes?”

The giant armorer shuddered, “Aye, exactly that.”

Jory nodded, “I’ve seen the spiders and snakes with my own eyes, what they can do. It’s why you are here, to get us ready to fight them, kill as many as we can and drive the rest away. I am in truth glad you are here and safe for now, where you lived before has become shadowed by the darkness already.”

Dru nodded, “Changed my life for the better being here, I’d not have my Nora now. I was happy before, but naught like this. I’ll fight for this life, for Westeros, for those I love.”

Cassel nodded at his words, “We all will fight, we have to, too much is at stake. We have to use every weapon and advantage we have Dru.”

They continued talking for a good while, catching up on all that had happened. Eventually Jory excused himself needing to find Tyrion.

He was surprised to find Tyrion sitting at the table in the Great Hall drinking alone. Lannister bade him sit, motioning to a chair. “Good of you to visit Jory and bring the horses, a long journey you could have delegated to others, I think. So, sit, drink with me and I hope to find out the real reason you’re visiting.”

Cassel blinked and laughed, Gods but this man was clever, in just a few words he had shown how easily he saw through a simple façade. “You know me too well Lannister, I do seek your counsel, but forming it into words is more difficult than I thought.”

Tyrion laughed into his goblet as he drank, “We have the cure for that before us Jory, well-aged in oaken cask and proven to loosen tongues, help yourself and drink deep. The words will form.”

Cassel poured a goblet of the red wine, sipped it. He preferred beer or ale, even the sweet mead over it, but this was what sat before him. “Where is Bronn this night? Usually, he is at your side.”

“Bronn has been gone for weeks now, I set him to searching for something I lost. I have every faith that he will find it, return it to me.”

Jory nodded, “Is it something I might help with somehow?”

Tyrion shook his head slightly, and tapped fingers lightly on the dark table, “No, this must be managed delicately and quietly, but I thank you for the offer.” He’d witnessed first-hand that delicacy and subtleness were not part of Cassel’s normal operations, he seemed to draw fire, ire and chaos along in his wake.

After Cassel finished the first goblet of wine the second went down faster and more easily, especially on his empty stomach. This is actually good once you get used to the sweetness of it.

Lannister studied him before speaking, “The Free Folk that have come to help us here speak of things they have seen in the North. Have you noticed anything there, or is all of our mining and weapons forging all for nothing?”

Fucking spiders, spiders and snakes. Jory drained his goblet then refilled it before starting, he looked at Tyrion, “Aye, we were sent north from Winterfell to see what might be there. All my life I’ve heard tales about the evil things that come with the Long Winter but seeing them made me a believer in those stories.

"Just about four days ride north of Winterfell they wait in the old forest eating and growing strong. The spiders look at men the same as deer and rabbits, we are just food.”

Tyrion cocked his head, fascinated by his friend’s words, “Indeed, you saw them, what did they look like?”

“I did see them, closer than I intended, they ate my horse and two of them chased me as I ran, they are faster than a man on foot, I’ll swear to that before you Tyrion.” He drank more, wanting to dull the memory.

“How big are they, and are they white?”

“Each was about half my weight, they are larger than hounds, that part was a lie. Aye, and white, with shadings of palest gray, legs thicker than my wrists, they drop down on silken lines from the trees above, uncurl from under the snow. My horse had one rise directly in front of it. Fuck, they cast white webbing like ropes, caught my gelding’s back legs and fell him, then ate him. If it weren’t for Sandor, I’d be dead.” He poured the last of the pitcher of red into his glass and silently a woman replaced it with a full pitcher, removing the empty one.

He shook his head, “More than the spiders tho’, Clegane was bitten by a snow serpent that was coiled neath’ his saddle as we camped. Loathsome thing, it’s bite was cold, sending icy venom into Sandor, slow death that, but the Fae saved him again, healed him when he was all but dead. I had to strike a deal with their queen, made a promise that now comes due.” Cassel moved to drink more, but Lannister wanted him exactly this drunk, not passed out.

“Hold off on drinking Jory, tell me of this promise made, what was the bargain you struck?” He instinctively knew that this was why Jory had sought him out, he needed advice and probably help with his dilemma.

The stubborn guardsman took a long drink of his wine then before continuing, “Nicnevin tasked me with sailing across the Narrow Sea and finding the Targaryen woman. I am meant to convince her, her Dothraki army, and her three dragons to travel to the North and help defeat the white walkers, spiders an’ beasties, jus’ a simple task, aye.

“I told it to Lord Stark, and he flatly refused it all. I see his point, tis’ treason to bring over a Targaryen heir to the Iron Throne and join forces with her, but the other side of the coin is if I refuse, I hae’ broken my word to a Fae Queen and she will kill Clegane, an’ says all of Westeros will fall to the darkness that rises from the north. This be my fucken’ choice.” He sipped his wine now, trying to slow down.

Tyrion mused over what he had said, “Which choice are you leaning toward Jory?”

Cassel turned dark eyes full of torment to Lannister, “Neither, or both, I have no idea what to do. There is no way to have a good decision here I think, there are layers of things to consider. I doubt the dragon queen would listen to me anyway. I am just a simple guard, was told as a bargaining chip that the north would help her seize and rule Essos.

“I want none of this on my plate, I just want to be home with my children and guarding Winterfell.”

Tyrion had forgotten Jory’s new role as parent, certainly that was making his decision even more difficult, for to choose wrong could endanger their lives as well.

Lannister was thinking through all Cassel had relayed, coming up with various ideas then discarding them, or if decent enough, setting them aside as possible solutions. He had a risky idea, but it might work. “What if you and I crossed the Narrow Sea, found this Targ woman and spoke to her, see her mindset and personality. My father and hers had a connection, that might carry some weight.”

Jory considered, “Aye, but there’s another thing too, your brother killed her father.”

Tyrion grimaced, “Yes, that as well, but House Lannister and House Targaryen have a long history. Together we would at least know if she might help. If she opposes the idea, then that would settle it.”

“Then the white walkers win it all?”

“We don’t know that Jory, I cannot fathom them overrunning all of Westeros.”

Cassel was nodding at the table, “I canna’ either Tyrion, but I believe Nic too. Plus, the spiders an’ snakes, they’ve seen white walkers at the wall. Tired a bit.”

Lannister smiled at the drunken man, “We can speak more of this when you wake. Let me find you a room.”

“Nae, tis fine here, just need a bit to close my eyes.” Jory lay his head on the table.

Tyrion sighed and shook his head, “Fine, rest a bit and I shall as well, see you here in a few hours my friend.” He slid down from his chair and made his way to his bedchamber, still pondering over all Cassel had relayed.

Nicnevin gently took Jory’s hand in hers and he lifted his head from the table. Her purple gown seemed darker here, less luminous than usual in Harrenhal’s dim light.

‘Come with me Jory, we have something to do.’

‘Are you truly here Nic? I am drunk an’ tired, let me rest, stay with me.’

‘Nae’ Jory you will follow.’

He rose and followed her as she led him outside, it was full dark and a cold white moon shone brightly, lighting their path.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Shhhhh, be patient and wait.’

Later he wasnae’ sure how they wound up outside Harrenhal’s mighty wall and at the shore of the Gods Eye. The two of them stood hand in hand on the pebbled shore, the inky water still before them, flickers of moonlight dancing over the surface.

Nicnevin turned to him, caught his face gently within’ her hands and kissed him full on the mouth, but with tenderness, not her normal hunger. She broke the kiss and studied his face in the moonlight, the familiar lines of it, the curve of his lips.

She led him almost knee-deep into the lake, ‘kneel Jory, kneel and accept what must be done.’

His mind tried to make sense of this, ‘I don’t understand.’

‘No, but I have decided, you made a bargain. I am holding you to it now, the stakes are much too great for you to refuse. You shall find Daenerys and convince her, will bring her here to help.’

He was kneeling in the tepid water, his legs doing her bidding not his. She tilted his face up to where she stood, letting the pale moonlight illuminate his features. One delicate finger traced around the base of his neck, her touch strangely cold against his skin there. Then they trailed up the center of his throat. ‘What are you…’

‘Shhhh, no words for now, let me do this Jory, then we shall talk.’

He tried to argue, but no words came, he was helpless inside his body.

Her thumb and forefinger on either side of his nose, sliding gently along the bridge, he felt something there shift under her touch and his eyes widened. It was not entirely painless.

Now her thumbs just below his cheekbones, here she pressed upwards slightly and this time the ache there was marrow deep and he felt actual bone structure shift slightly. ‘I know it hurts, but this is the hardest part of it.’

She took her hands away, gazing at his face, then reshaped his cheekbones just a bit more. She moved on to his eyes, subtlest pressure along the top of each eye socket, a stroke along his brows.

His jawline was strong, but she wanted it just a bit different, then she smiled and set her smallest finger on his chin adding a cleft there.

‘I cannot bring myself to change your lips, not even a little bit.’

She ran fingers through his hair as a final touch, Jory felt it shorten by half. Then she surveyed her work, finally nodding in approval.

‘I am doing this for good reason Jory, this way when you return with Daenerys none will recognize you and connect you to the Starks and Winterfell. It protects you and the Starks from the ire of Cersei Lannister. That is my main reason.

‘Around your neck is a steel collar with three moonstones, you cannot remove it, so don’t try. It holds in place this deep glamouring I’ve created.’

‘Why would you do this to me? I don’t want it, put me back the way I was.’

‘I cannot do that yet, first complete your part of the bargain.’

He felt lost, defeated. She seemed to sense his despair. ‘I didn’t make you a monster, many would find you even more handsome.’

That only hurt more, he struggled to stand and after an instant she allowed it but placed her hands on his shoulders immediately. He felt the pain run through his body, the bones creaking slightly as his frame elongated. He groaned softly in pain despite his drunkenness.

‘There three inches taller as well.’

‘No more, just stop.’

‘I am finished, none would recognize you now. You should think of a new name to use across the Narrow Sea as well.’

He had nothing left in this moment, he was weary, drunk and lost. He let Nicnevin take his hand and lead him back to the table. When she blithely tried to kiss him once more Jory turned his head away, and then lay it upon the cool dark table, gratefully slipping into sleep.

Nicnevin stood watching over him for a few more minutes, she hated what she’d had to do to him, in truth she much preferred his own face, the one that she had grown so fond of.

There was a second reason she had glamoured him. Daenerys would be drawn to his new face, be more inclined to listen to him, to follow him.

Someone was nudging his shoulder, Jory groaned and shifted slightly, realizing he was still in his chair, yet at the table. His mouth was full of the sour taste of wine and his head ached. Fuck me that was a nightmare.

He sat up and blinked at the morning light. Tyrion was sitting in his chair again, but his expression was wary this morn.

Jory smiled ruefully, “Seems sleeping at the table was a mistake.” His voice sounded different, slightly deeper, rougher. Must be all that wine.

He realized someone was standing just behind him and turned to look, it was an armed guard, undoubtedly the person that had so rudely jostled him awake. Another guard yet, stood a step behind the first. “What is this then?” He looked at Lannister for help, but his friend's gaze was still cold.

“Last I was in this room a friend was in that chair, well in his cups and asleep. Thus I ask, Who the hells are you, and where is Jory?”

“No.”  His hands went to his face, it was difficult to really tell, but he could feel a difference, he ran a hand thru’ his hair, it was much shorter, then he remembered and touched a cold circle at his neck. Both hands went there, and he pulled at it, when it wouldn’t yield, he ran fingers around it. There was no clasp, it was a heavy, smooth, continuous circlet of silky polished metal, with stones set at the front.

I am no longer wolf, but a collared dog.

Tyrion watched him, “No' is not an answer. I need to know where my friend is.”

Cassel was stunned, it really happened, I am changed.

Lannister was losing patience, “Last chance, then a cell below awaits you. Where is Jory Cassel?”

Jory looked at his friend, “You’re looking at him. We talked last night of choices and the Dragon Queen, of crossing the Narrow Sea, of Ice Spiders and Snow Serpents, then of Fair Folk. After you left Nicnevin took matters into her hands and took my choices away, made the decision for me, then led me to the Gods Eye and remade me. I am different on the outside, but still the same man inside this skin.”

Tyrion still needed convincing, “Tell me something only Jory would know then.”

Cassel sighed, “The night before I was to be executed you came alone to visit me in my cell to keep me company, I refused your wine, you told me you were leaving King’s Landing but would make sure my remains got home to Winterfell. You offered me a vial of poison, to spare me from burning alive. I refused it.  Do you need more than that?” He had watched realization dawn across Tyrion’s face, he believed now. “Have you a mirror, or anything that reflects? I would see what I look like.”

Tyrion called over the serving girl and asked her to bring a silver serving platter.

Soon she returned and handed it to Cassel. He thanked her. Suddenly he was reluctant to look, didn’t want to search and find nothing of him left. At last, he steeled himself and tilted up the reflective surface and peered into it.

His hair was not only much shorter, it was so black that it held blue highlights, his brows were black as well.

Tyrion watched him, “What did she do, has it a name? I can read about it if I know.”

“This is glamouring, and that collar at my neck holds it in place.”

“If we remove the circlet, we free you?”

“Nicnevin warned against that.”

His eyes were dark blue, his nose narrowed and perfectly straight, all the breaks erased by her touch. The scar ‘neath his eye gone as well. I well earned my scars, bumps, and breaks. The cleft in his chin and high cheekbones, gave him a touch of arrogance in his eyes. I do not like it. I want my own face, not some pretty stranger’s. It hit him that Jor and Jessy looked nothing like this man, would not recognize him at all.

Chapter Text

Cassel felt like he’d lost his sense of self. He and Tyrion were yet at the table. The platter was still in front of Jory, absurdly he kept questioning if the entire thing had happened and had to occasionally pick up the mirrored silver and glance at his reflection. Nope, still not me.

He looked at Tyrion, “I need a new name to go with this face. Something I can remember. You should be good at names.”

At least the choice had been taken from him, in a way it was a kindness. He had made a bargain, agreed fully to it. Now it was time to make the best of things.

He started setting out a plan, he and Tyrion would sail the Narrow Sea, find the queen and her dragons and the Dothraki. Then ask her if she could please bring all her entourage to Westeros and the North and battle the White Walkers, the snakes, spiders, bats and snow beasties. Then he would help her conquer Essos.

Aye, that should get me roasted by a dragon at about the second part, asking her to cross the Narrow Sea.

He put a hand to his head trying to ease the ache there, he swore his bones hurt, but it could just be the wine adding to the glamouring effects.

“I need a back story too, we have time to work on that. I think I need to be from the north, I’m not good enough to fake being southron.”

Tyrion had been studying him, “I think we should give you a first name that starts with a ‘J’, you might remember it better. How about Jason?”

Cassel made a face, “No, it’s a strange name.”

“Fine, I will throw out several, see if any work, Jerold, Jock, Joseph, Jaydan, Johnson, Jaxon, Janneth, Jorah, Jeorh.” He stopped, “That’s all I have for now, and Jamie, but it would be strange for me if you chose to be named after my brother.”

One had seemed right, “I’ll take Jaxon, it’s short and a bit close to Jory. The last name can be Snow, it fits if I am to be from the North, and being fatherless leaves one less loose end to tie up, Jaxon Snow…. and at times Jax, that might work.”

Tyrion tilted his head and studied the face, put it to the name, “You actually look like a man who could be called Jaxon Snow, at least you have a name again. Nice to meet you Jaxon.”

“Thank You Tyrion, I need all the help I can get with this.” He noticed that Nicnevin had changed him into black leathers, breeches and tunic, with a fitted doublet, with the new face it felt too fancy, but he guessed it was to make a good impression on the queen.

He thought about sending a letter to Lord Stark trying to explain, but he had no explanation for outright defiance. Yet it seemed wrong to just sail away without any notice at all. “Could I get a pen and paper? I need to write Lord Stark and tell him I am going to Essos. I won’t mention the glamouring or name change, but I cannot just run away in disobedience. I won’t mention you either Tyrion.”

“Well, when he finds out you are gone and I’m missing he will probably figure it out, but I trust your judgement Jaxon. He’s going to be angry with you though, if I were him, I would be.”

Jaxon nodded, “I hope in time he will forgive me.”

“We need to destroy the white walkers, and then worry about the rest. When should we leave? I think perhaps travelling to Saltpans is the best idea, take passage with a cargo of salt sailing for Essos.”

Jaxon nodded, “The sooner the better, all around. Can we leave in the morning?”

Tyrion thought a moment, “It's a bit rushed, but I just need to take care of a few things here, leave word for Bronn.”

“That still gives me time to write my letter and send it. I should try and work on that now, is there a room I could use?”

One of Tyrion’s guards led him down several dark corridors then up a flight of steps, the first room they came to was furnished sparsely, a simple bed, a table and two chairs. It was more than enough. He sat down at the table, setting down the parchment, pen and ink pot. The question was what to say to someone you are going to completely disobey and perhaps place in danger by your actions?

This is my brother and my lord, caretaker of my children. In time I hope he forgives me this.

He kept picking up the pen then setting it down again, his mind composing then rejecting every line.

My Lord Stark,

I know when you hear of my actions you will be disappointed in and angry with me and rightfully so. I have disobeyed you and gone to find Daenerys Targaryen to bring her back to Westeros. I make no excuses. I made a deal and choose to honor it. In time I hope you will forgive me.

Your brother and devoted servant, Jory

It wasn’t ideal but it was the truth and all he could manage. He decided not to leave his room unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t want this new face to be familiar to those here at Harrenhal. As a result, he paced back and forth in his room trying to work of his excess energy. He wished he had thought to bring more coin with him, but he hadn’t planned on taking such rash action.

He wasn’t overly worried about coin, he had some coin he always carried in his pockets and the pouch at his belt, and for emergencies had gold dragons and silver stags set into his brigandine neath the individual scales. He figured it an extra layer to his usual armor.

Then it occurred to him that he owed Clegane a letter as well. Nothing like having a talk about risk and responsibility with my best friend an’ then throwing it all on the rubbish heap. With a sigh he sat down once more, if anything this letter was even harder to write. He was not telling Clegane that part of the reason he was going was to uphold the bargain he’d made to save his life.

Sandor,

Aye it is me being reckless once again. I know we just spoke of being selfish and pushing responsibility on others, but I have to do this. I am going to find Daenerys Targaryen and try and bring her back. This wolf begs a hound’s forgiveness my friend.

Jory

He had no official sigil to press into the melted candle wax but sealed both letters anyway, hoping to keep them from prying eyes.

Tired of pacing the room he stepped outside into the corridor. There was still a guard there. “Am I allowed to leave my room?” He wanted no trouble, just to stretch his legs where there were fewer people.

The man nodded, “You may go where you wish.”

“Is there somewhere I can walk, a set of steps to climb? Somewhere with few prying eyes to watch?”

Again, he nodded, “Follow me Ser, just down the way here there is a tower with plenty of steps.” He moved away and Snow followed. I am no Ser, never will be, but it is time to stop correcting those who say it. The less known of me the better.

At the tower, the guard stationed himself at the base of the steps, having stood watch before Jaxon spied a sturdy chair down the hall and dragged it back for the guardsman. “Here, I well know how hard it is to stand on stone all day, feel free to sit while I work off energy and think.”

“I…. can’t.”

“Jaxon laughed, “Ay..Yes, you can and should, if you have a chance to sit always take it.” He was trying to cut away his normal speech pattern and be a bit more formal when he talked. He turned and walked up the dark steps that circled around the inside of the tower in a rising spiral. Far above him he could see the sky. Long ago the Targaryen dragons had melted the top third of this stone tower.

He walked up that first time, just to make sure the steps were yet sturdy, they were. Then he jogged down them, turned at the base and jogged back up. He did this for at least an hour, then walked up and down them another hour.

At about the halfway point of his exercise the guard had decided with no one else around, it was permitted to sit in the provided chair. Jaxon grinned at him, “Good man,” and continued walking.

That evening Tyrion had dinner sent up and joined him to dine. Jaxon had ale and Lannister his customary red wine.

Jory-Jax took a bite of his chicken, it was good, and he realized how hungry he was, walking had given him an appetite. “Are you ready then Tyrion? I have my change of clothing to wear on the morrow, I won’t wear these black leathers, those are for the queen. I have humbler garb for travelling.”

Lannister nodded and sipped his wine, “All is taken care of. I’ll have the guard wake you before dawn. I think we should be away before most of the keep wakes and is about.”

Jaxon stopped eating to share what he’d come up with as a back story so far, he wanted Tyrion’s input on it. “I think for my back story I should go with bastard-born north man who was raised near White Harbor. I have a gift for working with horses so am in Essos to find some sand steeds to import to Westeros. I think that should be the general narrative until we get close to Daenerys Targaryen. After we gain audience, I think being truthful is the best option.”

Lannister forked a bite of the poultry into his mouth and thought as he chewed, “Your story works, but why am I with you? Also, how are we to offer her anything in return for her help? We have nothing, Lord Stark doesn’t want her here, the Crown certainly opposes her travelling here. No one is going to sail to Essos and help her gain power.”

“I thought of that as well. I can’t believe Nicnevin would send me there if it was hopeless. There has to be a way to convince her to help.”

Tyrion thought of another angle to this, “How much do you trust this Fae Queen? I ask because what if this all goes wrong, if it brings to Westeros a Targaryen with an army and dragons, then she decides to take it for herself? It was her birthright, if she decides to wage war that will be on us, or to be brutally honest on you.”

It made Jory pause, he had thought of that, and even after her forced glamouring he wanted to trust Nicnevin. “I have thought of that, but my instinct tells me to trust her in this. She wants the White Walkers defeated.”

Tyrion pushed his plate away, “We need to be careful in this though Jory. I may dislike Cersei, but I don’t want her or my niece and nephew injured or killed in a war with dragons.”

“We shall be careful, and I trust your opinion in this, so shall seek frequent counsel. Were arrangements made to deliver my letters to Winterfell?”

“Yes, the messenger rides that way late tomorrow, it gives us time to catch a ship and be away before they arrive to your lord.”

Eventually the servant took away the dishes and Tyrion left. Jory paced again, ill at ease. He added a piece of firewood to the coals in his hearth, more for light than warmth. When he turned around Nicnevin was in his bed, violet gown draped alluringly over her curves. Jory was both irritated and drawn to her at once, but continued pacing. ‘What are your plans for me tonight? I am afraid to dwell on what else you think needs ‘improvement’

The corner of her mouth turned up at that, ‘If it were my preference, I’d change not one thing about you in truth. I was well satisfied with all that was there. What I did was to try and protect you Jory, you and your family.’

He remembered something he and Tyrion had discussed earlier, ‘Since my lord is against her, and none in Westeros want Daenerys here with dragons, how can I even offer up assistance in her quest to rule Essos? I won’t mislead or lie to her.’

Nicnevin held his gaze, neither could look away, ‘I have an even better bargaining chip, when she meets with you and asks what you offer her tell her you have power to break the curse that swirls about her, if she helps Westeros destroy the White Walkers and other beasts, and drive back the Darkness, then she shall be able to bear children with the man she loves.

"She needs to know that part of her destiny waits for her in Westeros, her Love and in time a family, but without her journey here, without her help, none of it happens for the Long Winter claims her beloved.’

Jory shook his head, ‘I’ll not lie to her.’

‘That, exactly that, is the truth, her acts of bravery and heroism performed here in the future break a curse laid upon her, allow me to overcome the other witch’s dark spell and right that wrong. It is one of the greatest gifts I can give, the ability to have children and a family with one so loved.’

Immediately her words brought to mind questions. He set his teeth, not thinking about what he wanted to ask, what he wanted to know. He was yet bothered and angry about what she’d done to him. ‘Will you be able to meet with me in Essos, or is it too far?’

‘Distance and time mean little to us; I can visit you as easily there as here.’ Despite his try at hiding his thoughts, she’d caught a scrap of what he was curious about and was unwilling to share that with him yet. She had much to tell him, but all in good time.

‘I have Tyrion to plan and negotiate, but I am going to need your help in this, I am a guard, this is beyond what I do.’ He had the window shutters thrown open to allow in the cool evening air. Now he stood leaning against the wooden sill feeling the chill air on his face.

Suddenly she was behind him, lightly pressing into his back, leaning into him. He closed his eyes and breathed in her meadow-like fragrance, spring grass, moonflower, lilac, just a bare touch of scent.

‘Tho’ you do not realize it, I am with you much of the time, so of course I will be there and help you.’

‘Since the river? When Sandor and I both nearly drowned?’

‘No before that, so much earlier, I remember a boy and a girl walking outside the walls of Winterfell, cutting through a farm field, busy talking and laughing…’

‘Aye, the bull came from nowhere and was faster than we could run…’

Her head was resting lightly between his shoulder blades as they shared the thoughts, ‘You told her to run and she hesitated, then you yelled at her, and she ran for the fence. You…. You drew your sword and shouted at the bull, waved your arms and drew its attention, he charged, and you fought him tho’ he was ten times your weight.’

Jory chuckled at the memory, ‘I held my own for a while, until he hooked me in the leg and knocked me down. I was around fifteen years old and no idea how to fight a bull, Uncle Rodrik doesnae’ teach that.’

‘It was one of the braver things I’d witnessed a boy do, you made a stand, never tried to run away, so I stepped in and pushed him away, it wasn’t easy, he wanted to kill you, probably would have.’

‘Since then? That was near twenty years ago Nic.’

‘Since then Jory.’

‘I should sleep, we leave early.’ He wanted her, even after all she’d done, but he pushed the need back.

‘I could stay.’

‘I don’t want to lay with you with this face, it’s not mine.’

‘Your face matters little to me, it’s you I want.’

‘It matters to me though.’ The next thought was difficult since he wanted her to stay, “Good Night Nicnevin.’ He waited for her to vanish, but she didn’t.

Her reply was soft and almost vulnerable, ‘I would be content just to be close to you.’

He turned and caught her up in his arms, carrying her the few steps to the bed before gently laying her atop it. He had removed his arming belt and boots earlier, now he pulled off his tunic and joined her on the bed. He lay on his back and let her conform to his side, head on his shoulder, her hand resting lightly on his chest.

He didn’t think he’d ever sleep but he was so relaxed that he soon fell into repose. She stayed with him, feeling his steady heartbeat neath the palm of her hand, the warmth of him where their skin touched. It surprised her how much she enjoyed just this.

She was still there in the morning when his eyes opened.

Chapter Text

Nicnevin stayed to watch him get dressed and ready to leave. It made Cassel wary it was so unlike her. He dressed in his spare set of travel clothes. Mostly shades of brown and gray, he pulled on his brigandine over it and settled his arming belt around his hips. He kept eyeing Nicnevin, finally pausing to address her directly, “You never stay this long, it was nice having you so close all night and here now, but it makes me wonder if you ken' something I don’t. It is a bit spooky Nic’.”

She smiled up at him from where she was stretched out on his bed, “Fickle human, you want more than being ridden, then complain when I am tender, tis’ why we mostly stay away from men.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, “Complain? Nae’ not at all, I’ve been trying a long time to spend time with you like that and you refused. It was only after you changed my face that you decided to show a bit of tenderness, in a way it felt like throwing a dog a bone after you kicked him, thus my wariness.”

She sat up as well, her eyes bright with fire, “You have no idea what is going to happen, of the trials that lay ahead, I am trying to keep you alive through all of this so that when it is over you may come back to Winterfell and live in peace amongst those you love. All that I do is to give you the best chance possible.

“You are an ungrateful wretch Jory Cassel, I think for a bit you should go without my help, it may give you a new appreciation for the Fair Folk and our gifts.” With those parting words she was gone.

Jory blinked, wishing he’d better controlled his tongue, the two of them were fire on fire. He couldn’t seem to help himself.

Soon after there was a knock at his door, it was full dark outside but Tyrion was already at the table in the Main Hall.

Jory sat down, “It’s been years since I’ve been to Saltpans, but I don’t remember there being much of interest except for the saltworks. The port itself was small, the town as well.”

The server brought their breakfasts, plates piled high with eggs, bacon, roast potatoes and small fish grilled crisp, a loaf of good bread and a crock of butter were set on the table as well.

Tyrion shook his head, “It’s mostly the same, one brothel and one sept, difficult to tell one from the other the whores are so old. I visited there a month ago to survey the place for myself.”

Cassel grinned, “Visited which?”

“Both of course, I think in fact that the same group of grim harpies’ staff both, merely changing garb as I was distracted elsewhere. I also toured the salt works and the stores and port. I am trying to get a greater variety of goods imported to feed and satisfy the growing population at Harrenhal. It hasn’t been easy, but the merchants are finally learning that the more they stock, the more they sell.”

Jory inclined his head, “You are a natural at running things, you’ve a quick mind. I am glad you are coming along with me on this trip.”

Tyrion finished his food and pushed his plate away, “It seems important, and I have always wanted to the lands beyond the Narrow Sea. I like your company and humor Cassel. If you are finished we should go soon, the keep will be up and about shortly.”

With a nod Jory finished the last bit of bacon. “I keep forgetting I wear an unfamiliar face now, and my voice sounds like I drink rum with sand. I dislike the sound of it.”

Tyrion rose and slid from his chair, “I think your Fae Queen is trying to protect you Jory. I’d not complain if it were me. I have no protective façade to hide behind and I am quite distinctive, memorable even. Those who see me will not forget the golden-haired dwarf with the sharp tongue and keen wit. If were offered a change of form temporarily, I’d accept it.”

Cassel nodded, “I’d give you this form and voice if I could have my own back.”

They were in the bailey now and Tyrion used the mounting blocks to slide into the saddle of his horse. Soon they were riding out the main gate of Harrenhal. Cassel had pulled up the woolen hood of his cloak to hide most of his face.

The road cut through rolling meadows and rounded hills and was wide enough for the two of them to ride side by side and talk. It was soon apparent that Tyrion had ears in many places. He was not shy either at asking questions, they weren’t twenty minutes outside the gates when he asked the first one.

“I heard a most interesting rumor about you Jory, and I have heard it from more than one person. I have been told that you are actually Eddard Stark’s half-brother, that Rickard Stark sired you from a governess.”

Cassel sighed softly, the story was getting out, spreading as prime gossip, he and Lord Stark had known it would over time. “It is true, exactly that, but I have asked to keep it quiet. My mother was tasked with helping Lady Stark while she was carrying Lyanna. She watched over Brandon and Eddard, was beloved by most of the children at King’s Landing, climbing trees with them and joining in every childrens game. She was also young and infatuated with Lord Stark. In a moment of weakness on their part I was conceived.”

He looked at Tyrion, “I am guessing you’d have the entire story rather than this short version?”

 Lannister nodded, “You know me well, I always prefer the longer story.”

Cassel half smiled and went on, “Of course, well, being with child made my mother quite ill immediately, Old Nan noticed and had watched Ameena mooning over Rickard. She figured things out quickly and confronted my mother who, having an honest soul confessed amid many tears.

“Nan is loyal to the Starks and wanted to protect them and the girl as well, she went to Lord Rickard and gently explained all of it. Rickard was devoted to his lovely Lyarra and family, but he had honor and also compassion for the girl. If he had banished my mother whilst she carried me, my life would be far different than it is now if I had managed to survive at all.

“Old Nan and Rickard came up with an idea, one of Rickard’s closest friends was Martyn Cassel. Martyn was also loyal and sworn to the Stark’s. He was a man broken back then, he had lost child after child with his first wife, until he lost both wife and stillborn son at once. He’d sworn never to love or marry again.

“Rickard spoke long with Martyn, phrasing it as a favor, asking if he would wed Ameena and claim me as his own to spare the girl from being sent away into the world alone with a bastard in her belly.

“At first Martyn was reluctant, he’d lost a large part of himself when his sons and first wife died, loving meant pain and sorrow and he wanted no part of it. Yet as a favor to his lord he wed Ameena. My mother radiated love, happiness and laughter, quicker than he realized it Martyn started falling in love with her. By the time I came into the world he was smitten with my mother and had no qualms in claiming me as his own son. I have his name yet, for all intents and purposes Martyn Cassel is my father tho’ Rickard Stark sired me.

“It has taken me time to learn all of the specifics of my story, I’ve talked with several people and Nicnevin told me the basics of it after the river. I had benefits at Winterfell I didn’t understand like taking lessons from Maester Luwin alongside Lyanna Stark.

“Once in a great while I remember Rickard coming home from some trip and dropping down on one knee to offer me a toy. I’d be mostly focused on the tiny knight or carved horse, but Rickard was studying my face. Then he would stand and ruffle my hair before walking away.

“I look a lot like Rickard, Eddard and Benjen Stark, but much like my mother as well. I am thankful for what was done for me, I’ve grown up cared for and loved because of all that Ameena, Old Nan, Rickard and Martyn did long ago. It was a deception, but a tender one if such a thing exists.”

Tyrion had been silent, taking it all in. Unexpectedly it caused turmoil for him as Cassel told his story, here was a bastard who since the beginning had been wanted and cherished by those around him and treated gently.

Lannister had received no such tender treatment, although he was well pedigreed and legitimate. From birth he had been mostly rejected, cruelly treated and isolated. He remembered most days passing and he had no one to spend time around or play with, only when Jaime managed to steal away from Cersei for a few hours did he have company.

Then, after learning to read at an early age, his friends and companions became the books from the Casterly Rock library. He had travelled the world and held court with commoners, kings and queens all from his bedchamber. Perhaps that was his purpose on this trip, to bring his book knowledge, brains and diplomacy to their team. Cassel could be the pretty face and the muscle.

Still, he could not begrudge the man his good fortune at Winterfell, but it did hurt that he held so little value in his own family.

“You do not want to take the Stark name then?”

“No, I seek no inheritance or position. I am happy where I am. In truth I think Lady Catelyn might be uneasy if I claimed the name. She must look out for her children’s birthright. I’d never challenge that or make her uncomfortable.”

Tyrion shook his head, “For a simple guard you get caught up in the strangest of situations my friend. Have you any thought yet of what to tell Daenerys Targaryen to sway her to our side and cross a sea to fight the White Walkers?”

“Aye, Nicnevin provided an even better bargaining chip than the offer of Westerosi armies. It seems our Dragon Queen is cursed; she is unable to bear children. If she helps us it gives the Fair Folk Queen the way to remove the curse of barrenness and allow Daenerys to have children. Her mate is in Westeros as well and if she does not help he will die and be lost to her. We are meant to persuade her that her Love, and heirs are waiting in the North. A curse can be broken by Nicnevin.”

Tyrion frowned, “For all of our sakes your Fae hopefully has the means to make good her promise. This won’t end well if she cannot remove that curse.”

“I yet have faith in Nicnevin, she has helped when asked and stepped in to save me even without my asking. We don’t always see eye to eye, but she is with us in this.”

Lannister chuckled and shook his head, “Same entity that remade your face, frame and voice against your will, and you now wear her collar? I’d think you’ve shared her bed if I didn’t know better.” He glanced at Cassel and noted the odd expression on his face, the set of his jaw, “By the Seven, you have shared her bed, haven’t you?! The books I’ve read all warn against doing that, it rarely ends well for the man. Tell me we are not heading into a desert and peril just to please your bedmate?”

“It’s not like that Tyrion. She has kept an eye on me for about twenty years, in that time we have lain together only a few times.”

Lannister shook his head, “Even worse, that means you have feelings for her. This makes me question your judgement Jory. It’s one thing to bed a pretty Fae, and another to let her get too close.”

Cassel shook his head, “No, I don’t deny it or regret it. I do have feelings for her Tyrion. I know tis’ foolhardy and a bit dangerous to fall for a woman who could on a whim turn me into a frog, but I canna’ help it.”

Unexpectedly Tyrion started laughing, “This is actually why I enjoy your company Jory, much of what you do dances right on the edge of utter madness, you’re not at all afraid to make a bold move. You do enjoy a good adventure, and I’ll gladly ride at your side through it all, and I must admit I am looking forward to seeing the dragons. I always wanted one, since I was a boy.”

Cassel grimaced, “Not me, I could go a lifetime and not see one. One of my nightmares involves a dragon destroying Winterfell with fire, and me helpless and knowing those I love are dying. I don’t even like lizards, much less dragons.”

Lannister thought a moment as they rode along, “So, you have had dreams of a dragon destroying your home and people you care about, and even now we journey to try and bring same dragons to Westeros.?”

“Aye, makes not a bit of sense, I know, but we need to destroy the White Walkers, and this is our best hope, we both know that.”

“So, if any of this is wrong feel free to jump in and correct me, but we are travelling across a sea in defiance of The Warden of The North and in probable treason to The Crown to recruit a Dragon Queen, her Dothraki horde, her three dragons and probably a host of Essos wizards and warlocks and only the Seven know what else, that comes along in her entourage. Then we convince her that we can cure her barrenness and give her the love of her life if she comes to Westeros and kills the creatures from the Long Winter, and it’s all done at the direction of a Faerie Queen. Is this correct?”

Cassel laughed, “Every bit of it exactly correct my friend.”

“Fuck me Jory we are both truly mad to do this but in for a penny, in for a pound.”

Chapter Text

At Saltpans Jory talked to several ship owners, he was trying to read the captains, wary of being robbed, knifed and thrown overboard or forced into slavery. Both happened with distressing frequency to the unwary.

They settled on an older man with a well-worn ship, his name had seemed familiar to Jory. They booked passage with a cabin to share, but in reality, Cassel knew he’d spend almost the entire time at the rail and seasick.

They spent that night in shabby rooms at an inn, Jory would have preferred sleeping in the stable in the hay than in a musty tiny room, but he was compelled to stay close to Tyrion since they were travelling together.

Wisely, they both decided not to visit either the sept or the brothel with their possible shared cast of women. They split a roast hare and a broiled redfish with a plate of local vegetables at the inn. The food was decent and filling. They talked as they ate; Tyrion estimated it would take from three to five days at sea to reach Pentos. At that Jory groaned then laughed.

Their ship was leaving at almost midnight, going out with the tide. Although he was tired Jory couldn’t sleep. He wound up pacing back and forth in the tiny room, thinking about all he was leaving behind here in Westeros, everyone and everything he cared about was here and he was walking away from it.

The time to leave finally came and they boarded the busy ship. They were escorted to their cabin and decided to stay there and out of the way. Their ship was full of coarse salt heading for the port at Pentos. This vessel had made the journey probably at least a hundred times.

Needing a distraction Jory quietly asked, “If I may ask, what of yours is Bronn going to get?”

Tyrion sat on his berth, he seemed to be considering the question, then he looked up and met Jory’s eyes. A single candle lit the tiny room, but it was enough to see the pain etched across his face, “Not tonight Jory, perhaps some other time. I would ask you a question though, tell me about your children and their mother if you would.”

He smiled sadly, thinking back on all of it, “I may as well start at the very beginning since we have time. I was raised alongside Eddard Stark’s sister Lyanna; we were very close in age. We studied together, played games and rode horses around the keep, then we discovered fighting and were constantly sparring with first sticks then wasters all over the bailey and keep, any time we could sneak outside the walls we did to climb trees or wade in puddles and the shallow creeks. We had so much fun together.”

Tyrion shook his head, “You fell in love with her.”

“Aye, and I knew she was off limits, above my station, my father cautioned me for it was plain to see. I didn’t tell her, not ever, was just there enjoying being close to her, spending time in her company, all of thirteen years old and completely smitten with her, having her jump onto my back laughing, or spin me around in dance so close. I was her beloved brother even when she didn’t know it, before I knew it.

“I went to the tourney at Harrenhal, squiring for Eddard, and helping Brandon, Benjen was there too. I watched her and Prince Rhaegar fall in love. It hurt, but she was happy, that’s what matters, all that matters it turns out. I watched the prince gently set the crown of winter roses in her lap at the end and felt I’d lost her. Truth being she was never mine to lose and was already betrothed to Robert Baratheon. But after Harrenhal things were never again the same between us, she was a woman and ready to be with her prince. Tis’ normal to set aside childhood friends.”

Tyrion had found a wineskin in his belongings and had started drinking near the middle of the story, now he handed it to Cassel who drank and handed it back. Lannister noted that there was no anger nor bitterness to the story just a sweet, recalled memory tinged through with deep sadness. “I think Lyanna must have been special, Robert never forgot her and neither have you.”

Jory smiled, “No, I’ll never forget her, I think of her every day. It took me time to get close to a girl again. I was close to seventeen years old when I met Avalyn, or Ava at the little bakery that used to be in Winter Town. There’s actually a couple of bakeries, but none like theirs. Her parents were from the south and they followed The Faith of The Seven. Ava was a pretty thing, tall and slender, with long blonde curls and light blue eyes. She was funny and sweet and all that Lyanna wasn’t. She baked and sang, told silly stories and sewed. She didn’t care for horses, climbing trees, or swords.” Jory laughed, “Her parents hated me at first sight, I guess they knew trouble when it walked into their shop. I was smitten with Avalyn, brought her wildflowers and common field weeds all mixed together as gifts it was a poor token of love. It took me almost two months before she would even leave their store to take a walk with me along the road.

“Her father told me to stay away, that no ‘Northerner’ was going to spend time with his daughter. I didn’t follow their faith and was only a simple guard. I didn’t give up, and over a summer we would sneak away at night and spend time together. The mild nights and holding her in my arms, I fell in love with her, and I thought she loved me as well.

“I knew I had a life at Winterfell and wanted her to share it with me, I saved every penny to give her a future, provide for her. We had a trip to The Wall, I think it was to escort Benjen there, we were gone about ten days. When I got back the bakery was closed, and they were gone.

“First, I was told they went south to King’s landing, then to White Harbor. I did look for her in White Harbor in my spare time for a couple of years, but they seemed to have vanished. Then twelve years later my children show up. It shook me that I had children, that she was gone. She never told me. I wanted to wed her, have a family with her.

“Tyrion I don’t trust women anymore, not really. I prefer to pay coin and walk away now.” He took the offered wine and drank again. The boat lurched under them, moving slowly.

“My children are a gift, I wish I could see more of Ava in them, they are her legacy. All I see are my features, hair and eyes. Except the curls, they do have her pretty curls. The boat rolled then, and Jory stood up suddenly and walked quickly towards the door.

Tyrion drank, musing over his friend’s story, Jory had fallen in love with his ill-fated half-sister, then with a girl who should have become his wife except for a family who saw him as unworthy.

He slid to the floor and walked up to the deck, he heard Cassel retching before he saw him, using the rough sounds to track him. The man was bent over the rail.

“Is it always this bad for you?” It was many minutes before Jory answered.

“Aye, every time, my uncle is the same. We were not made to sail.” He chuckled weakly then leaned over the side again.

Tyrion decided to keep him company, the air was cooler and fresher out here, their cabin had an underlying stench of mold and rot that bothered him.

The boat rode heavy in the sea, she was heavily built and carried a full hold of salt, she wallowed more than sailed, it even made Tyrion queasy, and he had sailed before and never had issue. He tried to distract Cassel, “Have you ever heard anything about Daenerys Targaryen?”

“No.”

“I have, I listen a lot and people tend to dismiss me or forget I am there. I have heard that she is beautiful, with typical Targaryen coloring, white-silver hair and violet eyes. She is slightly taller than most women, slender and graceful. She grew up close to her brother Viserys, who often bullied her and treated her cruelly. It was he who married her off to one of the Dothraki leaders to gain an army. She is young and brave, able to lead well, to get people to follow her. She seems to inspire loyalty in her followers.

“At her wedding she was gifted with three dragon eggs, they seemed to be of stone. When her husband was very ill, she was tricked by a witch into trading a life to save him. She took the trade, but the life she traded was her own unborn child, the witch had tricked her. Her husband did not recover and soon died.

“At his funeral she left the three eggs alongside him and bound the witch to his pyre for her deception. Then she walked into the flames I am told, and when the flames became ash, she was there with the three newly hatched dragons. She may not be fond of your Fae Queen and her bargains.”

“The only thing I know to do is tell her the truth of everything.”

Tyrion drank and offered Jory the wine, he quickly shook his head, speaking softly, “No, none of that.”

“The Dothraki are excellent riders and have a love of horses, at least you should have that in common, I think they like their fighting and drinking as well, you may inspire them to sail the Narrow Sea to Westeros before their queen agrees to come.”

“I know little of Essos other than I think it is hot, and magic is stronger there than in Westeros.”

Tyrion could barely hear Jory, his words were slow and mumbled, he was falling into much needed sleep, at least for the moment he wasn’t sick. Lannister took a pull of wine and settled into the curve of the hull.

The winds were favorable, the weather warm and dry, the salt scow made good time tho’ she yet wallowed like a hog in the waves. Cassel rarely left the rail during the trip, and never slept a moment in their cabin. Tyrion tried to sleep inside but was more comfortable outside.

It was a long four days, all Jory managed to keep down was water and precious little of that stayed, all else came right back up. He did hold onto most of his humor, at times chuckling ruefully and vowing to never set foot on a ship again.

When they finally entered the sheltered Bay of Pentos the sailing became smoother, and they could see the walled city shimmering in the sun. Their dock was at the far edge of the city, though salt was important it didn’t merit a nearer pier as rare silks and gemstones did.

Tyrion led the way across the gangway to the dock, Jory followed carefully, his legs as wobbly as a colt’s. Setting foot on solid ground was no better at first, but soon enough he remembered how to walk.

***

The messenger from Harrenhal delivered two sealed notes to Winterfell. Heward thanked the rider and tipped him a coin. He noted that each was addressed to a different person, but automatically took both missives to Lord Stark.

Eddard was in the Great Hall, he took the letters from his guard and thanked him, only glancing at the notes. Slowly he made his way up to his solar, taking a seat at the table there. He recognized the writing. For several minutes he simply stared at the parchment where it sat on the table, unwilling to open his letter. He set Clegane’s note aside.

Finally he opened his note, carefully unfolding it and reading the familiar writing inside. He read it again, then with a sigh, set it on the table and dropped his head into his hands trying to work through all of the problems this was going to cause.

My Lord Stark,

I know when you hear of my actions you will be disappointed in and angry with me and rightfully so. I have disobeyed you and gone to find Daenerys Targaryen to bring her back to Westeros. I make no excuses. I made a deal and choose to honor it. In time I hope you will forgive me.

Your brother and devoted servant, Jory

Jory had labelled himself a traitor to the Crown by going after the Targaryen woman, in trying to bring her here. Even if the reason was sound, it was beyond foolish. He had defied his lord, by rights he should be hunted down and executed for all of this.

Eddard read the note one last time slowly, burning every word into his mind, then rose, slowly walking to the fire in the hearth and fed the note to the flames, watched it darken, curl and burn.

Damn the man, he had just become part of a family and was doing all in his power to run from it, destroy it, leaving not only the Stark’s but his own twins behind. For once Ned was at a loss, there was no way to win the outcome. If he wanted to send sell swords after Jory, he needed to hire them now, but he flinched from that, it was kinslaying even if in the interest of Winterfell and the realm.

Eddard stayed by the fire, needing the warmth yet not feeling it. I can’t kill him, even if he brings ruin down on us, but I might be able to stop him and bring him back. To let him go seemed like folly as well, it was an impossible task to bring a queen and her retinue to Westeros.

Then he realized that if he sent a party to capture and return his wayward brother it showed he knew of the plan and hadn’t told King Tommen about the danger, that would be seen as treason as well in Cersei’s eyes. Jory would fight those sent after him too, of this there was no doubt, they would be forced to defend themselves. It might not end well for his brother.

Let him go.

He wasn’t sure if it was his own thought or spoken gently to him. It was easiest, and perhaps even the least painful of all of the choices. Letting this play out to an unforeseen conclusion was risky, but choosing it meant he had at least some faith in Jory and the Old Gods of the North. In the end, faced with an array of bad choices, he chose this one, to let it all play out as fate or the Old Gods wished. He wasn’t at peace with it, cared naught for it, but he chose it.

Well aware that the letter to Clegane probably held incriminating words Ned carried it to Sandor, finally finding him at the forge talking to an armorer there. He waited until the big man was done with his visit then approached Clegane as he walked away.

They moved to the lee of the bailey wall where fewer ears could hear their talk. Ned held out the sealed note, “Jory sent you this, it arrived today by messenger.”

Sandor glanced at it in Eddard’s hand, taking in the unbroken seal, he shook his head, “No, I don’t want it.”

Ned frowned, “If Jory sent it and it’s sealed it must be important.”

Another stubborn shake of the head, “If it was fucking important let him come tell me in person. I refuse it.”

What had happened between these two friends? “Are you and Jory fighting? What happened?” Ned was puzzled.

“Fighting isn’t the right word, I am fucking pissed at him; he acts before thinking every time, pushes off his responsibilities on others and selfishly does as he wants…” Clegane gave words to the anger he’d been holding for a while now.

 Eddard interrupted, “I would not call him selfish.”

“He is though, he has done reckless things in front of his children, could have been killed, and shrugs it off. I tried talking with him and he agreed, and now probably has done something beyond foolish, Aye, to send me a bloody note it must be epically stupid.”

Ned actually smiled wryly at that, “He has outdone himself; you are correct.”

Clegane shook his head again, “I’m not reading that.”

Lord Stark studied the ground at his feet a minute before continuing, “I have known Jory since he was born, from the beginning, he was raised alongside my brothers and sister and I, with Ser Rodrik and his father at him to be a fighter and to be brave, continually training him. Jory fights, he laughs, and he fights, it’s all he does. He isn’t tall, nor heavy, he is fast and agile, and his mind is the same. He will see a man walking or ahorse and in a moment has sized up his demeanor, size, speed, intent and figured out a way to befriend him or kill him as needed, then in the second instant he acts. He has a plan formed by the time the average guard first notices the man in the distance. It’s exactly why he is Captain of The Guard here. I trust his judgement. Sandor, Jory has always been this way. If you ask him to change overly much now, to slow down and think through each action you risk taking away his advantage. That extra few seconds might give his foe the jump on him. Give him your trust instead of doubting him, he fights differently than you do, that’s all Clegane.

“I do agree on being more careful in front of Jor and Jessy though, and I think he will. He hasn’t been a father for long, he’s yet learning the role.”

Sandor had listened intently, finally nodding, “You are right my lord, he is different than those I’ve fought with in the past who rely on size and brawn to win battles. I just, fuck, but I would hate to see him get killed over the things he does, that’s all.”

Eddard met Clegane’s eyes and nodded, “As would I, but put some faith in him and be there for him, and for his children. It’s what Jory would want.”

Sandor looked at the note in Eddard’s hand, “I should read that.”

Ned handed it over and watched Sandor break the seal, unfold it and read.

Sandor,

Aye it is me being reckless once again. I know we just spoke of being selfish and pushing responsibility on others, but I have to do this. This wolf begs a hound’s forgiveness my friend.

Jory

He handed the note to Lord Stark and let him read it. Ned finally spoke, “This isn’t selfish, he feels driven to bring help, to fight the White Walkers. He believes he is doing it for us, and Winterfell, for Westeros. He feels so strongly about it that he is willing to risk everything.

“He’d rather be here, with his children and us, only a matter of life or death would get the man on a ship, Cassel’s do not sail well.”

Clegane looked grim, “I am not happy with what he is doing, but more bothered that he would not ask for help, I would have gone with him.”

Ned was rereading the note, “But he feels like he was disappointing you so he would not have asked. He knew you would disapprove.”

Sandor refused to take the note back, “I am not angry, you helped me understand Jory a bit better. I will admit that I am worried, if this goes right things will be bad, and worse if things go wrong.”

Eddard nodded, “Same here, and waiting, waiting is the worst thing of all. This may take many months to play out.”

Clegane thought of something, “Jor and Jessy?”

“Safe with my own children and already at home in the Keep, any time you can spare them, they seem fond of you.”

Sandor nodded, “Aye, they are good children, will do my best my lord” The last line would not leave him, he could almost hear Jory saying it, “This wolf begs a hound’s forgiveness my friend.”

“Good Man,” Eddard clapped him on the shoulder and turned to walk away. He stopped at the forge and fed the last note to the flames watched it burn before returning to his solar.

What a mess.

Chapter Text

Pentos was more interesting than King’s landing had ever been, that was Jax’s thought after two hours in the bustling port city. At least it stank less than Westeros’s capital did. They had eaten skewers of grilled meat and vegetables washed down with good pale wine, Cassel had thought his appetite gone after the voyage, but the aroma of roasting meat had brought it roaring back.

Tyrion finished his wine and looked at Jory, no Jax, I must use the right name here, “I know a merchant here in Pentos who may be inclined to help us find Daenerys, he is a friend as well. I think we should visit Magister Illyrio Mopatis at his estate here. If anyone knows what is happening in Essos, he would.”

Jax nodded, “That sounds like a sound plan. I know naught of Pentos or anything across the Narrow Sea. Before we visit this Magister, should we take rooms and at least bathe? The ship was not kind to me, I’d wash that from me before trying to make a good impression.”

Lannister waved the serving woman over and asked her about lodging in the city, she named several places and recommended one in particular, the Noorsand Inn. Fortunately, it was only two streets over and only a short walk.

They took adjoining rooms with a bath set in between. Jory took the first bath, using the sweet, scented soap provided to wash with, when he was done even his hair smelled of flowers. At the desk they had taken advantage of the laundry service offered, and each paid coin to have their clothes washed.

Naked and barefoot in the warmth, the tiles were pleasantly cool underfoot as Jax padded to the bed laying down on the clean sheets. He hadn’t meant to actually sleep, just to enjoy stretching out on a bed that wasn’t wallowing with the motion of the sea. He was weary though and sleep found him.

Tyrion took his time in the bath, letting it soak away all of the little aches and pains from their trip. He ran through what he wanted to tell Illyrio, though Tyrion considered him an ally and near friend, he also knew better than to trust the Magister fully. The man was a known Targaryen supporter as many in Pentos were. It was rumored that it was Illyrio himself who had gifted Daenerys the three dragon eggs.

He wondered if having a husband and children would be enough to entice the Dragon Queen to Westeros and help them. He was curious as to who her destined mate was in Westeros but couldn’t settle on a likely match.

It was the Dothraki army that gave him more worry than either the dragons or the queen herself. With their fondness for horses, drinking and fighting it made him wish they had the Jory version of Jaxon to interact with them. Tyrion thought the new blue-eyed, raven-haired man with the aristocratic features would not play well with the brutal desert warrior clan.

His bath had gone cold, and Tyrion left it, toweling off and then wrapping the damp towel around himself. He had an extra set of clothing and changed into it before dragging a chair over to the window and sitting, watching the street below and the people passing by.

There was a tap at his door, when he answered it the wash woman was there with their clean clothes and tidbits of information. Tyrion pressed silver into her palm and thanked her for the laundry and alluded to further coin for word of the Dragon Queen and any with her.

She smiled and told Lannister all she knew, in the end it earned her a gold dragon. Tyrion closed the door after her and locked it. He placed his clean clothes on the bed and crossed through their bath room to tap lightly on Cassel’s door.

No answer, so he eased it open and saw his friend sprawled asleep on his bed. He was yet recovering from their voyage. Tyrion left the man's clothes on a chair and silently left, closing the door behind him. They could talk whenever Jory woke, he obviously needed the sleep.

The next morn Jory was awake shortly after dawn, dressed in his clean clothes, and ready for a long day. The light streaming into the room was heavy with the scent of the sea, and golden, the sun seemed closer here, had more color and warmth than in Westeros, it found and brought out rare and subtle tones of lemon and apricot in this world, from the stone walls, to where it caressed bare flesh on the women in the street.

He crossed over to Lannister’s room and knocked at his door. There was no sound, he rapped again lightly and heard Tyrion’s groaned reply, “Give me a few minutes, you woke me.”

Cassel smiled and returned to his room, sitting at the table with the sun warm across him, watching the passing traffic below. They were dressed very differently than in Westeros, lighter garb, silks and gauzy linens, brighter colors too, the parade of people looked like a stream of vivid and slightly tattered butterflies.

He in his heavy earthen and dark colors would stand out, but that was useful, he wanted to stay as close to who he was as possible. He was already forced to wear this pretty face as a disguise and thus felt like he presented himself first as a lie. I don’t like leading with a deception; it undermines any trust I seek to forge.

He’d left the door open to the bath and soon Tyrion came through it, “Jax, must everything be done at dawn? This is a city and any of influence are not awake yet and have in truth probably just gone to bed. In cities the day begins closer to mid-day than dawn, even moreso in hot climes like Pentos and most of Essos.”

Jax nodded, “I am trying, this was my fault for falling asleep so early. I didna….. didn’t mean to.”

Tyrion drug a chair over to also sit in the open window close to Jax. “I have some information that may help us. Blind luck seems to favor our quest, only two weeks ago Daenerys Targaryen returned here to Pentos, she is at her estate with her key advisors and dragons. The majority of her army and followers are camped outside the city walls waiting to follow their queen.

“There is a Northman with her, held high in Daenerys’s esteem. He has a name you probably know, Jorah Mormont.”

Jax looked away from the street, meeting Tyrion’s eyes, “Aye, I know the name well, the man and I have history. When he was selling to slavers, I was sent to capture him and unexpectedly came upon him in travel. There was a chase and a fight, to shorten the story a bit, he escaped and fled Westeros. He would know my face if Nicnevin hadn’t changed it, and from now on we must stay with the false name. We have to be careful around him, he could be our undoing.”

Tyrion nodded, “If Mormont wanted revenge, this would be his chance at it.”

Jax frowned, “Slavery cost him his title and Keep, his legacy in Westeros.”

Lannister nodded, “We knew this wouldn’t be easy, we should expect more unforeseen problems all along the way. We should have an ally here to help us, he is a Magester and merchant mainly, but he has myriad other interests, sees and knows both Essos and Westeros, controls more than is apparent. He is a powerful ally and an even worse enemy if he feels wronged. Be aware that his core motivation is ever himself, but he also supports the Targaryen’s in any bid for power they may make.”

“What is in this for him then?”

Tyrion thought about it, “White Walkers don’t buy cheese and wine, they spend no coin, if they overrun half the known world it takes half of his trade away. Plus, if he brokers this deal, he curry’s favor with Westeros and Daenerys, and his own power greatly increases, for Illyrio power is everything, with gold a close second.”

Jax nodded, “In this case greed is good for us. “Are we using the excuse yet of me wanting to purchase sand steeds for export to Westeros to gain an audience with the queen?” He did want to at least see the horses, so that was no lie.

Lannister sighed, “Buying horses would earn us an audience with the Dothraki and even Mormont perhaps, but a queen usually cares little for horses, and we need to speak to Daenerys. What if we led with asking to share a secret and a way to break a curse?”

Jaxon winced at the word ‘secret’, “Talk of secrets makes me think torture for some reason, if they think we hold one secret they may think we have more waiting to be told.”

Tyrion nodded, “Perhaps just mentioning a curse then? Few enough would know of that; it could get us an audience with her.”

Jax chuckled softly, “Now with actual discussion, it seems more and more I crossed the Narrow Sea only to be fed to dragons.” His fingers went to the circlet of steel around the base of his throat, sliding over the trio of moonstones set there, it brought Nicnevin to mind.

Tyrion smiled and shook his head, “Jax you must have faith, faith in me, your fae queen and in yourself. I think Daenerys will listen; she has not amassed the followers she has with being an unreasonable tyrant. We will see Illyrio soon, but first let us find food, the scent of grilling has whet my appetite.”

Soon they were at a streetside table, and dining on crisp flatbread, with what seemed to be grilled lamb or goat, served pink and with a peppery, biting spiciness. There were grilled vegetables and fruit as well. A pale golden wine came to wash it all down.

It was nearing the middle of the day, but Tyrion had them take their time eating, knowing the cheesemonger was likely only just waking at this hour. Then he thought of something, “We have time, why don’t we stop at one of the tailors and get you a couple of changes of clothes, one in a lighter and cooler material and another suitable for grander occasions.”

It only took Jax a moment to realize it made sense, the dark and heavy northern clothing was impractical here. After paying the bill and asking for a good tailor they made their way to the next street over where to their surprise a tall, elegant woman greeted them. She was of an undeterminable age, but certainly much older than they, probably older than both their ages combined. They soon learned this was her shop and she was the third in her line to own it and run it, her name was Shalleen and she explained she was often known in Pentos as Shalleen of The Silk.

She ran her yellow eyes over each of the men, appraising their built and size, then up to each face, lingering there momentarily, before purring in her sultry voice, “So fortunate, I have clothes on hand that will suit both of you.” She stalked completely around them then, before snapping her fingers and summoning a young girl with similar build and coloring. Bending low and whispering in the girl’s ear, she sent her to the back of the shop.

Then the stately woman walked to a curtain of pale rose silk, parting it to reveal a set of wooden shelves, she chose a decanter of green liquid, and then three heavy crystal goblets. Watching the men from the corner of her eye she poured each glass perhaps a third of the way full. Picking up two of the goblets she gave one to Jax and another to Tyrion.

Wary, Jax swirled the drink and sniffed it, it was slightly viscous and fragrant as a woodland garden, notes of grass, fennel, mint, and other subtle things he could not name. He glanced down, Tyrion had already sampled his glass. Jax sipped, the spirit was smooth, held a faint taste of honey, but a deep lingering bitterness as well, it was strong, fumes from it stung his eyes. He’d never tasted the like of it before and said so. “My lady we have nothing like this in Westeros that I know of, and it is very green. I can taste the meadow in it.”

Shalleen smiled enigmatically, “I make this myself, it has green anise seed, much wormwood, hyssop, fennel, melissa, a scant handful of Spring meadow grass and a couple of blue foot mushrooms, all decanted, then mixed with a little wild honey for sweetness. It is stronger than the ale and wine you are used to, my advice is to sip it slowly.”

The girl was back with a wide shouldered servant in tow, he carried a double armful of clothing, setting it down on a table before returning to the back of the shop and vanishing behind a curtained door there, the girl on his heels.

The owner sipped her drink as she sorted the clothing into two piles, one obviously for Tyrion and the other for Jax. She handed Tyrion a long-sleeved linen tunic in muted gold, with rust color breeches and vest to match.

Lannister looked about for a room or alcove where he could change into the new clothes. “Where might I try these on?”

Shalleen shrugged, “Here; there is no need for modesty, I have seen thousands of men in my lifetime, they hold no secrets for me.”

She might have seen many men, but Tyrion was uncomfortable taking off clothing in the middle of the shop. “All of these will fit me?”

She nodded, they will, the sleeves are loose and full, and the breeches can be rolled or cuffed as needed, but all else fits as though made for you, my lord.”

Tyrion nodded at her explanation, “I shall take them and kindly choose another light shirt and trousers for me if you would.”

She smiled slyly at him as she moved to do his bidding, “I’d not have thought shyness from you.”

Tyrion smiled, “A man would keep a few secrets good lady, including my modesty.” She had laughed softly at that.

Jax had finished most of his liqueur, it left him with a glowing warmth that he found relaxing and pleasant. He mused he’d like to have a few bottles to take back to Westeros.

Shalleen focused on Jory, seeing his goblet nearly empty, she brought the decanter and poured more for him. She sorted through the garments on the table, pulling forward some items and pushing aside others.

 She held a pair of pale gray linen breeches, “Try these on then to start. They will fit, but I want you to like them.”

Jax had no problem shedding first boots then clothing. He was glad to be out of the wool and leather garments and feel the air on his skin. Tyrion snickered at his friend’s boldness and sipped his own drink.

Snow slid on the light breeches, then the loose-sleeved, cloud-color linen tunic, and a closer fitting dove-color vest with pewter buttons. Shalleen set the collar on the shirt and vest, pausing at one point to look into his eyes. “Grays are a good color on you, brings out the purple in your indigo eyes.”

He liked gray, it was one of the colors of his house, of House Stark as well, it had always suited him, but he hadn’t noticed the purple in his eyes in Westeros in the reflective platter, that had been a murky image. Belatedly he realized the tailor had spoken to him and he was yet silent, “Thank you my lady, I have been partial to grays and darker colors, I am more crow than peacock at heart.”

She nodded, smiling, “That is good, crows are much cleverer than peacocks, quieter as well. I have one other set of clothing I’d like you to try on next, but you shall take this outfit I think.”

Jax nodded, “Yes, it is cooler. I would wear it when I leave here.” He removed the clothing, handing it to her piece by piece. She next chose a more formal set of clothes, breeches of soft, black leather, an ivory tunic with the same loose sleeves, a black tapestry vest with a faint pattern of dark charcoal swords, the blades highlighted with silver threads. Then a simple long-sleeved black leather doublet to go over it.

Tyrion had taken a seat and had been half watching, “You should wear that to the brothel, you’d have your choice of women Jo- Jax.” He brought the goblet to his lips and drained the last of his drink. Jax stared at his companion, uncertain if it were just the Pentos sun or not, but his friend had a slight golden glow around him. It persisted even when he blinked his eyes. That is odd.

He looked at the tailor, she had one as well, but hers was a pale springtime green. He reached for and took a drink from his goblet, then decided to finish it, only an inch or so was left. I think gold and green are omens, they seem like good colors.

Jax took off the formal clothing and donned the simpler gray outfit and then his boots, brigandine and arming belt. Soon they had paid and were out the door. Jax noted that everyone seemed to have their own glow that clung to them as they moved, most were simple colors of the rainbow, but all varied slightly in hue and brightness. He was caught up in the river of color that flowed along the street with them as they returned to the inn to drop off their new clothes.  

Jax sat, content to stare out the window at the parade of colors below. Tyrion excused himself and changed into his lighter garb. It was now midafternoon, and surely Illyrio would be awake by now.

They decided to walk to the Magister’s estate, taking their time, when they at last arrived, Tyrion gave their names at the closed ornate gates. They had not long to wait, soon a servant girl arrived and led them inside the gates and across a short expanse of pale stone yard. The inside of the estate was cool and comfortable due to the thick stone walls. Their steps seemed loud in the quiet.

Magister Illyrio was lounging in his courtyard garden near a fountain, the space was lush with leafy plants, fragrant flowers, and gilded cages of both colorful and drabber birds that sang sweetly.

Tyrion smiled widely, “Illyrio, it is a pleasure to see you again my old friend, it must be at least five years since your trip to Westeros!”

The man was big, only perhaps four inches taller than Jory, but wide, and on his frame was packed the results of decades of rich food, he was fat, heavier even than King Baratheon had been at the end. He moved to take Tyrion’s proffered hand in his big paw and bowed slightly. “Indeed! I believe you are right Tyrion; I am delighted you have chosen to visit me this time. Tell me, where are you staying?”

“We are at the Noorsand Inn, it was recommended on the street.”

Illyrio looked horrified, “No, that won’t do. I must insist that that you stay here with me, your friend as well.”

Tyrion, motioned to him, “Illyrio this is my friend and travelling companion Jaxon Snow of Westeros. Jax, this is Magister and Merchant Extraordinaire Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos”

Jax had been watching their host closely, his glow was a bright orange and lay close against his skin, like a peel on an apple, in a way it was unsettling on a man so large. Now he stepped forward with a smile and offered his hand, “Tyrion has been singing your praises since we boarded ship. It is nice to put a face to the name. A pleasure to meet you Magister Mopatis.”

Illyrio stared into Jax’s eyes uncomfortably long, before taking in the rest of his features then a pass over his form. “What brings you to Essos, Jaxon?”

“I am looking to improve my line of Northern horses with a decent sand steed or two. I had hoped to find them here in Pentos.”

“Oh, but you are in luck! I know several breeders with fine animals, and for true desert bred sand steeds the Dothraki have excellent stock. Please stay here at my humble home and I shall make the arrangements, and please call me Illyrio, anything with ‘Magister’ in it is far too formal.”

They spent time in the courtyard, and as the afternoon shadows grew long servants lit sconces among the plants and flowers and candles flickered around the edge of the fountain. Jax let Tyrion and Illyrio do most of the talking, he was content to sip wine and listen, laughing or nodding at the right time. He still saw the glow around people, and the one cage of drab brown birds that sang so sweetly, seemed to merit swirls of palest pink that whirled away with their songs. He knew this had to have come from the liqueur at the tailor’s shop and he didn’t mind, but he was glad he didn’t have to go into battle impaired thus.

The evening grew late, and Illyrio sent for their belongings from the inn, setting them up with adjacent rooms. It had been dark for hours when the servant’s lay dinner across the table in the dining room. There was a wide array of food, from rich cheeses and salty olives to crispy duck, and fresh fish, grilled vegetables, and a bowl of beautiful fruit rounded out their dinner. They filled plates and went back outside to dine in the coolness of the courtyard garden.

It was the small hours of the morning when things wound down and they retired to their rooms. Jax wanted to speak to Tyrion, but then thought better of it, in most keeps and estates the walls tended to have ears. He would find time later to speak with his friend.

Chapter Text

Jaxon managed to sleep until mid-morning, the day was bright and already warm when he awoke. He groaned softly and stretched, then sat up. He dressed in the lightweight gray clothing the tailor had chosen, adding his brigandine over it and his arming belt and weaponry. He forgo the heavier bishop’s cape and mail. If there is trouble let me be fast enough to handle it.

As late as he’d slept, he found that Tyrion and Illyrio were still abed. He decided to spend time in the cool, lush courtyard, and a servant brought him cool water after he refused wine. He closed his eyes finding he could almost imagine himself home at Winterfell if it weren’t for the heat, the plants rustled softly in the faint breeze, and the birds sang, tho’ their song was different here. He missed home and all that lay there.

He spent the hours until a sleepy Tyrion found him, lost in thoughts of those he loved and random memories of Winterfell. Lannister climbed onto a luxurious lounge and accepted the servant’s offer of red wine gratefully. “Up with the dawn again I see Jaxon.”

Jax shook his head with a smile, “No, you’d be wrong Lannister. A man can change given time and incentive. I slept late this day.”

Tyrion returned his grin, and raised his glass slightly in Jax’s direction, “Hope for you after all my friend.” Then in a lower voice, “Are you ready for this afternoon then?”

Jaxon nodded, “No matter what happens I will do my best, you were right to seek out Illyrio, I’d never have gotten this far so fast on my own.”

Tyrion sipped his wine, “Don’t thank me yet, we must win favor with the horselords, I doubt that shall come easily or without blood on the sand. Just be careful Jaxon.”

“If careful means trying to choose the better of two bad choices, I excel at exactly that, a lifetime of practice there.”

Illyrio joined them then, dressed from head to foot in brightly colored silks, he put even the gaudiest caged birds in the courtyard to shame. While the servants set out their breakfast he shared that he had set up a meeting in two hours’ time outside the city gates, where several of the Dothraki would display a few of their horses in consideration for trade. Illyrio would be the go-between, as the horselords did not directly exchange their treasured steeds for gold.

They dined on fruit, honeyed pastries, boiled eggs, olives, and rich cheese. Jaxon ate little, the heat took his appetite.

They took Illyrio’s palanquin to meet the Dothraki outside the gates. Jaxon disliked that it was carried by men in this heat, and asked if he might ride a horse instead. Illyrio set a hand on his shoulder and explained that this was how it was done in Pentos. The Dothraki would expect them to travel this way.

In the end he climbed inside the ornate litter with Tyrion and the magister and was borne along, when he’d sooner have walked. It took nearly an hour to get to the Dothraki camp.

They heard and smelled the encampment well before arriving, noise of men yelling and barking orders, women singing, children’s’ laughter, horses whinnying, in the distance the unmistakable ring of steel on steel. Cooking aromas, smoke from low-burning dung fires, unwashed bodies, a waft of exotic perfume, tho’ that might have been Illyrio, human shite, traces of mint and other unnamed herbs, and horses, the main smell was that of horses.

The palanquin was carefully set down and the door opened for them. Illyrio was first out, followed by Jaxon and then Tyrion. Jax realized that whatever shade and shadows that cooled Pentos were not found here, no shade from walls or tall buildings, only a few trees around a nearby seep of water. He blinked against the white brilliance of the light, little color found in the unrelenting glare here, between unfiltered sun and its reflection from the pale sand, it was swelteringly hot. For a Northman who loved the ice and cold, it was a glimpse of hell.

He had expected much from the Dothraki, he had heard so much about them, and given they did look fierce, but in the end were just men, some tall, others his size, a few shorter still. Many wore body and or face paint in various colors and patterns.

Jax’s eyes were drawn to their weapons, the curved arakh most of the men wore at their side. Not near the reach of a longsword, but fearsome looking.

A tall, powerful man with a braid down to his mid-back strode forward and nodded at Illyrio. They spoke for few minutes in a rough sounding language that grated a bit on Jaxon’s ears. At one point he saw Illyrio cut his eyes and look in his direction. The horselord looked Jaxon from boots to eyes and then snickered. The Northman hidden inside growled at that slight, hackles up. Jax merely ignored him. Tyrion caught the exchange and shook his head ever so slightly at Jaxon in warning.

Illyrio continued talking, at times the Dothraki nodded, a time or two he shook his head vehemently. Finally he spoke a terse sentence and turned and walked away.

Near twenty minutes passed and a dozen or so men came towards them, some rode horses, others led several horses on long rope leads. Jaxon’s eyes took in the men first then skipped over them to the horses. A couple were decent, but most were old, worn out, lame or otherwise unfit to sell. This is a test.

He enjoyed a good game as much as any, he walked around the horses, looking at this one’s teeth, running a hand over that one’s low withers, picking up a hoof to check the sole. He walked to their delegate and met the man’s eyes. His voice wasn’t his smooth one, but he softened the tone all the same. “I had heard much about the horses of the Dothraki, I expected much, crossed a sea to see them.”

He shook his head, and managed to look disappointed, “These are not horses, where I am from our goats are finer animals than these.” He held the larger man’s black gaze.

Illyrio and Tyrion both blanched at his words, Illyrio stumbled over his tongue trying to smooth over the situation, “No, no, these are good animals…. sand steeds are simply well, built differently than normal horses…”

Jaxon shook his head, the two men yet locked stares, he cocked his head slightly. “I ken you understand me, and you know I speak the truth. You have better than this. Did I pass your test?” Only now he grinned.

The coldness was on the horselord’s face a heartbeat longer, then his face twisted, and he started laughing, slapping Jax heartily on the back. He half turned towards the rest of his men and spoke several lines, causing them to laugh as well.

The Dothraki touched the base of his throat, looking at Jaxon again, “I am Aggo.”

Jax did the same at his own throat, “Jaxon.”

Aggo launched into a long string of unknown words, Illyrio and Tyrion moved closer. Mopatis translated, “He says you are the first to call them out on their trading, most do not know, or choose to remain silent, but you spoke all truth. Truth without fear.”

Jaxon nodded, “No lies Aggo, only truth.”

Aggo smiled slightly, “Jaxon and Aggo truth.”

It made Jaxon cringe deep inside, words of truth from a face that is a lie. It felt very wrong to him, but he played along with the façade.

Soon the Dothraki were back with proper sand steeds, fine animals that lived up to all Jaxon Snow and Jory Cassel had heard. He moved amongst the horses, openly admiring them, Aggo at his side.

Jax was drawn to a blood bay mare that was slightly taller than many of the other horses, and a lean stallion that was as golden as the sun. He knew they were beyond his means, all the gold he had was not enough for one, let alone both.

As Snow had gotten lost in horse trading, women brought Illyrio and Tyrion wine, and slaves held shade cloth over them. Illyrio had shaken his head, “Dangerous tactic your friend used with the Dothraki, thankfully it worked.”

Tyrion agreed, “I never know quite what he will say, he tends towards honesty. Perhaps that was appreciated.”

In the center of the group of men and horses, Aggo was at Jaxon about something. He kept pointing into the distance and asking, “Hrazef athdikar?”

Jax shook his head and Aggo asked again and mimicked riding as horse. “A race? You would race?”

Aggo nodded, Jax smiled, his eyes lighting up, “Yes, always!”

Aggo spoke a terse command to a nearby boy and he ran off. Jaxxon knew which horse he’d choose, the bright gold stallion. Soon enough the boy came back leading Aggo’s jet black war stallion, the animal was magnificent, wide of chest and deep through the heart girth. The saddle was light and small but worked here and there with bits of gleaming silver as was the bridle. The boy carried a second saddle and bridle on his hip.

 Jaxon refused the tack, he was unfamiliar with the style, and did not know where the balance point of the saddle was, also the bridle’s bit looked too harsh for his liking, instead he looped and knotted the length of thin rope around the horse’s neck and muzzle creating a simple halter and rein to control him with, then he easily swung himself on the animal’s back. The beast nodded his sculpted head and half reared under him. Jax reached and lay a hand on his neck, calming him.

Aggo swung up into the saddle, his black stallion pawed angrily at the sand under its feet. The horselord smiled widely and said something that sounded challenging to Jax. Snow laughed, no idea what had been said but nodded at it, “Aye!”

The way before them was cleared, they had a straight shot at the open desert. The same dark-haired boy stood ahead and a bit to one side, he held a scarlet pennant in his hand. He raised it to shoulder height, Jax and Aggo were side by side, barely holding their horses back. They wanted to run.

The boy’s hand opened, “Gwe!” the bright silk fluttered down, both horses leapt forward, riders bent low over their necks. They passed the lad before the silk touched the sand. Churning hooves throwing a cloud of dust behind them. A scant yard separated them as they raced, knee to knee. The crowd behind them yelled and cheered.

Illyrio and Tyrion had been chatting and sipping wine, they had been brought chairs to recline in and a boy fanned them slowly. The yells and commotion caught their attention in time to see the riders racing away. Tyrion looked concerned, “What is he doing now?”

Illyrio swore softly, “Would that I had known there was a race, there is coin to be made there.” Both men rose and moved to join the Dothraki, soon both had bet gold on the outcome, Illyrio on Aggo, Tyrion on Jaxon.

The men in the race cared nothing about gold, they were in it to beat the other, but most of all to ride, streaking through the flat desert as tho aflame. A jagged scar caused by a long-ago deluge appeared before them and both horses took it in stride, clearing it easily, riders moving with their mounts.

Far ahead was a single column of wind blasted buff stone, it was a perfect turning point. Both of them rode straight for it. Jaxxon knew his horse had better speed and wind, but the black steed was larger and had the advantage in brute strength.

Cleverly, Aggo put himself on the inside of the turn around the pillar and Jax lost a couple of strides there, but stayed next to him. They rode close to the landmark, leaning in as the sweaty horses made the cut. Then they were thundering towards Pentos and the waiting khalasar.

Far above them, the line of rising dust billowing across the table-flat desert drew the attention of both dragon and rider. Daenerys guided the dragon to fly behind them as they made for Pentos. She smiled at the race; it was a good way for her army to burn off their restlessness at being made to stay in the shadow of the city. Often, they preferred to fight, resulting in injuries and at times death. Horse races were usually, but not always less lethal.

She recognized Aggo and his dark horse, but on inspection she realized the other rider was not one of her men, his sleek black hair was too short and his garb wrong. It made her curious as to who would dare challenge a horselord to a race and do this well.

Drogon nearly glided, using the hot air rising from the sand to fly along silently on outstretched wings as they watched the riders. Below her they approached the narrow gully slashed in the earth and again they hurdled it easily, it was only then that the Dragon Queen realized the challenger on the gold horse rode without saddle or bridle, only a rope to control the stallion. She laughed at the boldness of it.

They were approaching the finish line as it were, nearing the small crowd waiting at the khalasar, the group parted in the middle creating space for the riders to pass through. Neither man was giving in, and the horses ran flat out, nostrils flared wide as they drank in the hot air, coats dark with sweat. The riders were low along their mount’s necks.

In the last split second Aggo edged into the lead, but it was only by a nose that he won. The crowd cheered as the riders flashed by. Jaxon sat up, turned and grinned at Aggo, both their faces were dusty, gradually they slowed, staying close, they took the horses in an easy wide circle, gallop to canter, then easing into a trot, before slowing more to a jog. Aggo was talking rapidly and happily, Jaxon had no clue what about, he only smiled and nodded at his new friend as they jogged and cooled their horses.

Tyrion shook his head, he had lost his gold, but if it had helped forge bonds between all of them it might have been well worth it.

Overhead the black dragon circled, gradually losing altitude. Daenerys circled the crowd and the men on horseback. It had been so close she didn’t know who had won from her vantage point above them.

The challenger looked up at her, no he stared. His stallion reared tall under him, rising on its back legs, and he rose easily with it, leaning forward, his weight over the beast’s shoulders, unruffled. He reined the gold horse around, now riding under her dragon as they circled.

She set Drogon down near her entourage and slid from his back. The horseman, was a distance away, facing her, staring boldly, she returned his gaze. Then Aggo cantered up to him and swung down from his horse and laughing pulled the stranger from the back of the gold horse, hugging him and lifting him from his feet. Now both men were laughing. Boys ran over and took their tired mounts, leading them away.

The crowd shifted and drifted in the direction of their queen. She walked towards the two riders who were yet celebrating the race. Jaxon turned and she was there, automatically he dropped to a knee, his head bowed slightly.

“I am Queen Daenerys Targaryen, I bid you rise before me. I would have your name.”

He rose to his feet, “A pleasure to meet you Queen Daenerys, I am Jaxon Snow of Westeros.” He lifted his eyes to look at her. She was beautiful, a delicate heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and full lips, eyes of violet, and long hair of silver. She was younger than he’d imagined, graceful in form and movement. All a queen should be.

She had studied him as well, not overly tall, but well made, wide of chest and shoulders, narrower at the hips, long legs. His hair was true black, his face dusty from the race, but his features spoke of noble blood in his lineage with the high cheekbones and straight nose. It was his eyes that drew her attention, dark and between blue and purple. “You ride well, did you win?”

He smiled, “No, Aggo was the better rider this race, he won it.”

“I watched from above, I couldn’t tell from there. What brings you to Pentos Jaxon Snow?”

“Several things Your Grace, horses being just one of them.” He was drawn to her, but any man would be.

“I have plans this night, but perhaps on the morrow you would dine with me and share the other reasons for your visit.”

“I would like that, do you dine under the night sky neath the glitter of stars?”

This made her smile for some reason, “My estate has a balcony, that might be arranged.”

I shall look forward to it, I am staying with Magister Mopatis at his home.”

“Indeed? He is a friend, I stayed there once as well. I shall send for you two hours after nightfall tomorrow. Will that suit you?”

“Yes Your Grace, that would be ideal.” Jaxon inclined his head once more in deference as she turned away, walking gracefully to and climbing upon her dragon. He watched until it had flown from sight. It had gone so well it worried him. Too easy, nothing falls into place that perfectly.

Aggo was back at his side as they walked to the nearby encampment. Illyrio cheered his riding, Tyrion’s eyes were full of questions he could not yet answer, but he met his friend’s eyes and nodded once hoping he understood. Many of the Dothraki cheered him and his ride, Jax was careful to smile and thank each one, always shifting the attention to Aggo who had won the race.

At the encampment Aggo motioned for him to follow and led him between the tents. He made his way to where a line of horses were tied. Jax recognized the blood bay mare he’d admired earlier. Untying her lead, Aggo led her forward and handed Jaxon the lead. He shook his head, “I cannot, she is beautiful, but I haven’t enough gold to buy her.”

Vehemently he shook his head, “No gold, gift. Gift for Jaxon, for race, good race, best race.”

“Ay… Yes, an excellent race, but this is too much Aggo.” He had nothing to give in return. “Thank You Aggo, you are most generous. I hope to race you again.” He smiled and set his hand on the horselord’s shoulder.

That made him smile, “Yes, more races, you are friend now.”

“Yes we are, hopefully for a long time. Thank you for the mare, she is beautiful.”

Aggo nodded, turned and walked towards a tent. Jaxon felt like he’d been dismissed, he turned to start back to Illyrio and Tyrion and nearly walked into her. His breath caught in his chest. She was reed slender and fully as tall as he was. She wore a long. flowing hooded robe in blue-black heavy silk. Her face was pale and flawless, devoid of lines and wrinkles, her eyes a pale green. They seemed to see into him rather than looking at him. He flinched.

‘The Dothraki do not say goodbye they feel it too final a parting. Do you hear me?’ Her lips did not move.

‘I do, who are you?’

‘I am many things, none of which you would understand. I had thought you might hear me.” Her delicate, pale hand reached and touched the steel choker at his throat and he felt a flash of heat run through it. ‘I know this simple magic, you hide who you truly are. Touch my face mortal.’

He did as bid, slowly reaching dusty fingers to graze her cheek, eyes widening as his fingertips sank neath the skin like it was pale smoke. He felt a pattern of interlocking scales, smooth to the touch and cold. ‘What are you?’

‘I wear a mask like you, layers of them actually. I am Xaylle, from nowhere and everywhere. Here I sell things, buy things, offer protections and curses too, bring love or lay waste to it, but that is as false as my masks. My true purpose is the only one, divine and more ancient than this world. I have seen you before, so foolish to play with blood magic Jory, you had no idea of the consequences, but they have caught up with you. I am the consequence.’

‘What do you want Xaylle? I am no one and have no power, am nothing of consequence. To save another’s life I spilled my own blood.’

‘You are a tool to be used as I wish, I will think on your purpose, explain more later, I just wanted to introduce myself, explain that you have a new master, the Fae are a weak and dying group. Their power wanes as ours waxes. Fare Well and I will see you soon Cassel.’

Before his eyes she vanished like a cloud of smoke in the breeze. He was in disbelief, it seemed more likely Xaylle was a mirage brought on by too much sun and heat. He stood for a few moments then returned to where Illyrio and Tyrion awaited him. Soon he was on the bay, following the palanquin back to Mopatis’s estate.

In the Fair Folk realm, Nicnevin felt a sudden chill and shivered, something had happened, and she wasn’t certain what. She ticked through her children and found them all fine and at peace. She reached, and noted each faerie sister was safe, but something was wrong. She reached for Jory then, and found nothing, she searched with her thoughts, sending them out. Nothing. In the blink of an eye, he had ceased to exist to her, that was impossible. Again, she searched, and once more after that, but he was gone.

Chapter Text

Jax had to speak with Tyrion about what had happened with Xaylle at the Dothraki camp. He had been unsettled by the encounter, knowing the witch could destroy him by revealing his identity, and end their chances at bringing the Dragon Queen to Westeros. It would certainly cost him his life and probably Tyrion’s as well.

By Pentos time it was yet early when they arrived back at the magister’s estate. The sun had dipped low in the sky, just now touching the horizon. The servants took Jax’s new bay mare to the empty stables. She would be the lone horse stabled there. Snow followed to make sure she was cared for properly. When all was settled, he walked back to the villa and his room. A servant met and escorted him, politely inquiring as to whether he would like his dusty clothing washed.

Jax nodded and changed into his worn travel clothes, handing his riding garb over for laundering. He didn’t don his brigandine but wore his arming belt and a tunic over the threadbare breeches. He tapped lightly on Tyrion’s door but there was no answer. His boots clicked against the tiles as he made his way to the familiar courtyard and found Tyrion already lounging in the cool shade next to the fountain. He took a seat next to his friend, Illyrio was nowhere in sight.

Tyrion was already sipping a goblet of red wine. A servant offered Jaxon a goblet of wine, and thanking the girl, he accepted gratefully. His throat and nose yet had half the desert’s dust coat coating them.

Tyrion studied him grinning wickedly, “I would say today went better than we thought. I didn’t think the Dothraki would take to you, and you’ve already met our Dragon Queen and a dragon.”

Jaxon took a drink of his wine and nodded, “Most men can become friends if they share an interest. Ours is horses, well and probably drinking and fighting. Glad it turned to horses, tho’ I still have the urge to put a few dents in this false face Nicnevin gave me. Next time perhaps.”

Tyrion shook his head, “Not wise to battle them, their fights with outsiders usually end when head parts from body. They rarely use fists, preferring weapons.”

Jaxon drained his glass, and the servant was there to refill it, Jaxon claimed the pitcher and dismissed the server, wanting privacy. “That is good to know, scars are one thing, but would rather keep my head where it is.” He looked at Tyrion, “Did you see the fucking size of that dragon though? They are larger than I imagined. Incredible to see Targaryen riding it. She is a pretty one, and younger than I thought, was picturing someone older than me for some reason.”

“What did she talk to you about? I was trying to watch but was too far away to tell.” Tyrion felt a touch of unease, he could see on Jaxon’s face and in his words that he was attracted to the queen.

“She was flying on her dragon, saw us racing in the desert, she was curious since she didnae’ recognize me. Stopped to introduce herself.” He smiled slightly as he remembered, “She asked me to dine with her tomorrow night at her estate.”

Tyrion blinked in surprise, staring at his friend, “Indeed? Have you thought of what you will say to her?”

“I have a much larger problem. When Aggo had me follow him into the camp and gave me the horse, there was a woman there. I think she was a witch, or whatever Esso’s version of a Fae is. She knew my name, the real one. She speaks by thought just as Nic’ does and understands me when I do the same. She bade me touch her face and my fingers sank thru’ and touched scales. Tyrion, she knows much of me, from my wearing a false face, to my true name, to my use of blood magic.”

Tyrion thought through this complication, it made what they were attempting many times more dangerous for both of them, he sighed in frustration, “What does she want?”

“I don’t know, this meeting was only an introduction. My blood magic has me in her debt she claims, and that she will figure out how best to use me. I think she battles the Fae too. Then she vanished in front of me, right there in the middle of the horse camp. She felt evil Tyrion, evil and uncaring, cold.” Jory looked grim and drank half his wine to chase away her thought.

Lannister was dismayed by news of the desert witch, he had not planned to counter such a threat. Now he would have to come up with a plan. They needed to look ahead for now and plan for the dinner tomorrow night. “How are you going to approach the queen tomorrow night?”

“I thought to enjoy her company and make small talk before and through the dinner. I doubt I shall be her only guest. I will probably be at a lesser table beyond the titled guests. After dinner I am hoping to have a few words with her, catch her mood and see what feels right to share.”

“Jax this might be your only audience with her, you have to get to the point, but with a bit of finesse. I wish I were invited, I would see the right tact to take.”

Jaxon felt the barb in the comment, “Have faith in me. I am a simple guard from an outpost in the north, but I can usually read people and gain their trust and friendship. I think I was chosen to this for a reason and to succeed, not to come this far with such a vital task and mess it all up. Tho’ I might accidentally do exactly that, I promise to do my best Tyrion.”

Tyrion shook his head, “No, no, I did not mean to belittle you. I just think there was a slyness to Nicnevin giving you the face she did, hair black as night, those eyes with so much purple. She knows Targaryen’s are drawn to one another. I think she set you up to draw Daenerys in, so she would want to bed you.”

It was Jax’s turn to look surprised, he sat up straighter, “What? Wait, you knew I was remade to look like a Targaryen and didn’t say anything until now?”

“I thought you knew. I am sorry about not mentioning it.”

“The dragon lords I heard of had silver hair and violet eyes. It hadn’t crossed my mind.” He was thinking about Nicnevin and starting to feel even more wronged by what she had done now. Did she expect the queen to fuck me at the sight of this face?

Tyrion hadn’t expected the conversation to veer in this direction, but realized that the only glimpse his friend had of himself was from a silver serving platter. He was just realizing fully what his faerie had done to him. “No Jax, there were lines of darker haired dragons, I know you’ve heard of Baelor Breakspear, he had black hair and dark eyes, Aegon the V had dark purple-blue eyes as well, but pale hair. She gave you the features and coloring hoping Daenerys would find you attractive, more than that I don’t know, perhaps your Fae thought it would be protection for you.”

Jaxon laughed softly shaking his head, “So she gives me a face the queen may be drawn to, and I find her attractive, bed her…. She finds out I am a mere guard and have lied to her. I can guess how the rest plays out.

“I am ill-used by Nicnevin, and she means much to me, but I am only her cats paw, Xaylle at least told me I am her tool to my face.” He put a hand to his head, ran fingers through his dark hair. “I will see this through, do my best, because I know Westeros is at risk and those we love as well.” He averted his eyes from Tyrion, not wanting his friend to see the betrayal he felt from those he had trusted. He sipped his wine and tried to listen to the sweet song the caged birds sang.

Illyrio made his appearance then, he was wearing a new set of bright silks and his hair and beard looked damp from the bath, a new flowery scent was borne along in his considerable wake. He took the other lounge and poured himself a goblet of wine. He toasted Jaxon for his race and for losing and earning him a pocket of gold. Jax raised a glass, chuckling ruefully, it seemed to fit right in with the tone of the evening.

Soon they were called in for the evening meal. Grilled chicken and fish, more fruit and grilled vegetables, warm flat bread, an array of rich cheeses, savory olives. They were all three hungry and filled plates to take to the courtyard.

Word had somehow gotten back to Illyrio that Queen Daenerys had invited Jaxon to dinner. He graciously offered to provide proper silks to wear to the event.

Jax politely declined, glancing a look at Tyrion next to him as he quietly laughed into his wine goblet. Both had envisioned a brightly clad duplicate of Illyrio as the end result.

Mostly Jaxon listened to Tyrion and Illyrio chat, only rarely adding a comment or insight. He was thinking about the day, the queen, the witch, Nicnevin and what he had to accomplish. He had Jor and Jessy on his mind as well, they were why he had to succeed, his children and the Starks, Rodrik and Beth and the people he cared for.

He found himself restless and needing to walk or ride, or better yet a good fight, but he doubted he’d find that here within’ the walled estate. Jax felt a bit like one of the caged birds kept as a pet. He rose and excused himself, explaining he wanted to check on the mare and see how she was settling in.

He walked to the stable, it was still warm even though fully dark now, but much cooler than during the day. The stables were pleasant, the wide doors open and allowing the breeze through. The horse was in the far stall, and he moved that way, stopping to light a candle lamp.

When he stood Xaylle was there, standing elegant and tall in her dark robes.

“Hello Xaylle, I did not expect a visit so soon.”

“You spoke of me.” Her words were cold. She also talked instead of using thought, her voice was beautiful, soft, melodious as a song.

“I did, Tyrion is my friend.” He was watching her pale face, it was impossible to read, devoid of the normal lines and wrinkles that show character, and emotion. Even her pale, tea-green eyes were just gemstones set within eye sockets.

“That was a mistake, from now on if you value your friend, you shall not speak of me to him, or to anyone. I will make him pay if you do.”

“I did not know, I swear I will not mention you again.”

The witch glid closer to him, the robe hid her feet, but the motion was smooth. She had his left arm then, delicate spidery hands pushed the sleeve up to his elbow revealing the long scar he had on the back of that forearm, she traced a cold finger over it, the skin neath her finger flinching involuntarily from her touch. “Eager fool to offer your lifeblood, this scar is more than it seems. It is a portal, a weakness in you, more than your Fae are drawn by blood sacrifice.

“You did not know that. More the fool you Jory. You spilled your blood for power and gained but a single copper’s worth.” She tilted her pallid face to his, they were inches apart. “I ended a world, entire rare and noble bloodlines gone, the mightiest dragons destroyed, burned to ash, I ripped apart ancient cities and the land that they stood upon, I ended All, let me ask you, what power do you think that has given me?”

Jory felt cold, this was more than a mere witch, he didn’t know exactly what she was, but it owned him now, or thought it did. “I know not, but I imagine it is devastating power if you sacrificed all of that.”

She continued as tho' his words were meaningless, “I feed on chaos, have mastered things you dare not dream of even in your darkest night terrors. The Doom is not an ending to all, for some it was a beginning, a birth. I am of The Doom, live in the shade of it, I was from the Shadowlands originally, now I control half a world.

“You would do wise to obey, you have much to endure, to accomplish, and I will be watching every word and step you make. Tonight, was a courtesy and a warning, the only warning, next time I hurt you, and someone you care for. Do you understand?”

“I do understand. Tonight, was a one-time mistake. I appreciate the warning Xaylle.”

She stood there frozen as if considering his words or perhaps reading something within’ him. She yet held his arm, fingers resting on the scar there. Then she let go of him. “Tomorrow night do your best to convince the Dragon Queen to trust and listen to you. It benefits her to go to Westeros, much depends on it.

“There is one who will oppose you, he would keep her in Essos and to himself, he won’t like you at all, he thinks he owns Daenerys and shall see your threat. I plan on watching, this shall be interesting.”

“Who is this man? A name would help, or his position. “

“No, more interesting to figure it out as you go. My warning was a gift, you have that much of an advantage now. Remember my warning Jory, heed it well.”

With that she slowly dissolved before him, leaving him standing alone in bewilderment, with a dozen unasked questions on his lips.

Chapter Text

Jory had bathed, forgoing the flowery soaps Illyrio favored for the simple bar of unscented soap a servant provided. Now he was dressing in the more ornate black clothing that Pentos tailor Shalleen had chosen for him. It suited him.

Tyrion sat at the table sipping wine and providing advice, “Wear the doublet, I know it’s hot, but you are meeting a queen, the queen, you have to look your best.”

Jaxon made a face, “I look like a prancing dandy in this, and foolish.”

Tyrion shook his head, “You don’t, it’s exactly right for this dinner.” He shrugged, “Hells, I’d take you to dinner Jax.” He snickered and prepared to duck, for his friend seemed about to throw the glass of wine he held.

“Not helping Tyrion, not at all.”

Lannister laughed, “Sorry, that was too tempting to let go.”

He wore it all. His own dark boots, the soft black leather breeches, ivory tunic, the heavy charcoal vest with the gray crossed swords and silver accents, the plain black leather doublet.

Now he settled his arming belt in place just above his hips. It would have to do. He planned on riding the sand steed tonight, no more palanquin for him. A saddle and bridle had appeared in the stable and he planned to make use of them.

He shook his head slightly, clearing his head, I may be false of face, but I am loyal, and true of heart. I will not lie to this woman, and that in truth is all she is, no matter the title she wears.

Tyrion studied his friend, much rested on his shoulders, idly he wondered if a Northern Wolf and an Eastern Dragon could find some way to work together and end the White Walkers. He hoped so.

Jory nodded at Tyrion, “I am going to the stables and saddle the bay. It will doubtless be late when this dinner finishes. I will hopefully have good news on the morrow.” He raised his goblet to Tyrion in a toast and finished the last swallow of wine.

Lannister raised his own glass in return, “I have faith in you Jaxon, go enjoy your dinner with the queen.”

He was mounted and ready to go when the palanquin arrived, the overseer nodded as Jaxon explained he was not riding in a litter borne by men, he would follow on the sand steed.

He enjoyed the ride through the city, the slight breeze that blew in off the sea was cooling, and he found himself relaxing and looking forward to time with the pretty queen. He wondered if Jorah Mormont would be at the dinner and who else would be attending.

He followed the palanquin through the wide gates and onto the Queen’s estate. Sliding from his saddle, he handed the reins to a stable lad who led away his horse. Jaxon’s eyes moved easily over his surroundings, force of habit in watching for trouble. He noted the figure of a man on the balcony above him on the second floor of the villa. The man was in the shadows and still, but definitely staring at him.

It was Jorah Mormont who met him at the heavy double doors of the main entry. He had changed only slightly, leaner, browner, auburn hair thinner, blue eyes harder, but it was still the Ser Jorah he knew from the north. He wore a longsword at his side. His gaze was cold as he moved to block Jaxon’s entry, “I’ll have your sword and weapons first. I am guessing you are Jaxon Snow here for dinner with the queen.”

Jaxon smiled, “I am, and why would you take my weapons?” He knew why of course, and if roles were reversed it was what he would have done.

Jorah moved a step closer, “I have no idea who you are and what true intent you hide. No one dines with the queen wearing a sword and dagger, you don’t need them here.”

“Fair enough,” Jaxon unbuckled his belt, “Who are you then?”

The taller man studied Jaxon now, “I am Ser Jorah Mormont, I am part of Queen Daenerys security and an advisor. Interesting accent you have Snow, it rings familiar. I am guessing there is no ‘Ser’ attached to your name is there?”

He handed Mormont his belt and weapons, “Keen ear you have, and I am no ‘Ser’, I am sure you recognize a bastard’s name, and the region I am from by the surname alone.” He was determined to give the man no more information than necessary at this point.

Jorah nodded, “I hear the north and home in your words, just as I am sure you have heard of House Mormont and know who I am. The queen awaits you.” He walked through the doors and led the way through one wide hall and down another, then they passed through a massive dining hall, and the small door there to a private garden well-lit by sconces. The queen had a guard detail posted discretely at the far edges of the light, each man held a long spear and wore at least an arakh, several had whips coiled at their waist as well.

The table was smaller and only set for two people. It was then that Jaxon realized theirs was a private dinner, and it would be only the two of them.  

Daenerys had been seated, she rose as they walked through the smaller door and approached. Jaxon took a knee and bowed his head. The queen extended a hand, “You may rise Jaxon Snow, it is good to see you again.”

He stood and smiled, taking her in, silver hair elaborately braided and falling down her back, a long, silken violet gown that matched her eyes. Silver sandals graced her tiny feet. “Your Grace the pleasure is mine.”

She bade him sit opposite her and he did, a servant was quick to fill his goblet with wine.

Daenerys smiled and sipped her wine, “You are new to Pentos and Essos then, is this your first visit?”

“It is, and warmer than I am used to. I am from the northern part of Westeros.”

Bowls of cold fruit soup were served then, it was light, refreshing and just right.

The queen sampled a spoonful and continued, “You mentioned you were looking for horses, did you find them?”

“Yes, the Dothraki had some fine horses, Aggo gifted me a pretty bay after the race, now I would gift him back something in return, but am unsure what would be appropriate.”

She smiled, “Aggo would most like more races, and next time I would be there for the start. You ride well.”

Jaxon laughed, “He is a man after my own heart, I look forward to more races. This time we will make sure you know when. Would a bottle of rare liqueur make a good gift for him?” The tailor’s bright green creation came to mind.

“Yes, Aggo would enjoy that.”

The next course was grilled fish with a sweet and spicy relish served alongside, and charred vegetables, a basket of warm flatbread was set on the table.

“Your dragon is impressive, what is it like to fly so easily? Does it make the world seem smaller when you are so high above it?”

She finished her bite of bread, “No, quite the opposite, you see how large things are, I see it all from up there astride Drogon, the world itself is large, but people are small. Maybe some time I could show you.”

Jaxon laughed, shaking his head, “In truth since I was a child, dragons were in my nightmares. There is a keep I have visited in Westeros, once tall towers, now melted down a third of the way, twisted and dark from dragon fire. Harrenhal still gives me chills. I respect dragons but prefer a horse any day.”

“I too have heard of Harrenhal, someday I would like to see it.” She took a bite of her fish.

“It was spectacular tho’ watching you ride your dragon the other day, I’ve never seen the like of it. I train most of my horses, did you train Drogon?”

She laughed lightly, “It was more than that, if this makes sense, we bonded. I can guide him with the lightest touch of leg or hand, a shift of weight, but at times Jaxon, it’s him responding to my very thoughts.”

Jax blinked, did she warg her dragon? “I do the same with horses, it’s why I rode without saddle or bridle the other day. I forge a bond with them by just thinking.”

Now a variety of fresh fruit was set at the table. Jaxon was full and was more focused to talking with Daenerys. The servers had kept his goblet filled and the wine had taken his edge off.

The queen pushed her plate aside, “How long are you staying in Pentos, and I think you mentioned something about several reasons for being here?”

Jaxon nodded and met her eyes, “I did partly come for the sand steeds, but mostly I was sent to meet you.”

She sat up straighter, “Really, why?”

“Because you are a queen, a queen who is known to care for her people, I know your kind heart has you free those enslaved, and fight for the small folk. I am here to ask for help because you are exactly that good and just queen, and you have dragons. Yes, I speak boldly, but would have my motives clear and not hidden.”

“Why do you need my help?”

“I am from Westeros, in the far north there is an evil emerging, one that is poised to destroy all. White walkers and their army of the dead, pale ice spiders, white bats, and snow serpents rise as well. They woke at about the time the Red Comet crossed the sky, near the time your dragons hatched.

“The northern half of Westeros is even now mounting a defense, crafting weapons, trying to acquire dragon steel and wild fire to use against these evil things. We need your help, your army, your dragons, if you refuse you condemn untold thousands to die Your Grace.”

She had been listening carefully, Jax was afraid he had been too bold, given her too much at once. “Does your king know of this? Of the threat and of you asking me and my army to fight for Westeros?”

“King Tommen and Regent Cersei have been told of the threat. They are in the south and away from immediate danger. They do not see the peril. They know not that I am here asking for you to cross The Narrow Sea and battle with us.”

“You know my crossing to Westeros, even if I stay in the north, could trigger a war. It was only a few years ago that Targaryen’s held the Iron Throne.”

Jaxon asked his key question, “Would you seek the throne in Westeros, or are you content with ruling here in Essos?” He went right at the heart of the matter. He saw his boldness caught her off guard. “I am direct, it may cost me my head, but it’s the only way I know to be.”

She smiled, “I like it, but you won’t always get the answers you want. Once I wanted the Iron Throne, when the dragons hatched I knew I had the means to win it. I am learning to let go of my brother’s dream, he wanted the Red Keep.

“I freed slaves here, earned an army, won respect. Now Essos is where I belong, where I am needed. I am queen here, I find I don’t want Westeros. This kingdom could be more powerful than Westeros ever thought of being. I reject the Iron Throne. Even so, my crossing the Narrow Sea will be seen as an attack on it, and King Tommen. You facilitating it makes you a traitor in their eyes.”

Jaxon nodded, “I know that, and am prepared to pay the price if needed, my goal is to save lives and end the White Walkers, all that I love are in harm’s way. We speak of magic, magic grows in the world now, I was sent by a Fae Queen to beg your help. She said if you refuse then most of Westeros will die.

“She gave me something to offer you.” He paused to sip his wine and make sure he had her attention, “She told me something only you would know. That a dark curse was lay upon you by a witch, and never shall you bear children. If you help us defeat the darkness falling upon Westeros, it opens the way for the Fae Queen Nicnevin to end the curse. You would be able to have children.”

“If there was a curse, a Fae queen could end it?”

“She is a dual entity, a queen of both Fae and Witches. There is more, your life-mate is in the north, if you help, it brings you together, if you refuse he dies in the war and is lost to you.”

Her expression was unreadable, “You realize you sound like a lunatic.”

Jax couldn’t help it, he smiled, “Not the first time I’ve been called that. I told you I wanted to lay all before you. Only then can you decide. Have you any questions, or anything I might clarify?”

She shook her head, “No, you have given me so much to think on. Will you be in Pentos long?”

“I will be here until you give me your answer Your Grace, however long that takes.”

She looked at him again, “Soon we travel towards Norvos, it will take nearly a month to get there. Would you join me for that? We are seeking a rogue Khalasar that burns and loots villages and takes the people within as slaves to sell. It would likely involve fighting.”

Jaxon nodded, “I will gladly help and serve you, you know nothing of me, so I would show you who I am and then let you decide. I do have a friend that travels with me. His name is Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister. You would recognize the name.”

She nodded, “I do know the name, it has both bad and good merits, but I would judge him by who he is rather than solely for his last name. He may come as well and join us.”

“Tyrion is a good man, I owe him my life, and he is a trusted friend. When do we leave?”

“I hope to start the trek a week from today and shall withhold making a decision on your request for help until we reach Norvos.”

“That is more than fair, my thanks for dinner, and for hearing my request.”

“I enjoy talking to someone as open as you, I think we shall have to share dinner again soon.”

Jaxon smiled, “I would like that Your Grace.”

Not twenty minutes later he was waiting outside for his horse to be brought around, and reflecting on the dinner. He was pleased with how it had gone. She hadn’t refused him out of hand and in his eyes that alone was a victory of sorts.

“Who the hell are you?”

It came from behind him, and he turned, hand going to the pommel of his sword. He was caught off guard, lost in his thought.

“Draw that and you’re dead.” The man was just a bit taller than he was, and emerging from the shadows at the side of the villa, now he stepped into the sconce light and Jaxon could see him.

His tone and manner irked Jaxon, “Is that how you address a guest here, has no one taught you any manners?”

The man stalked around Jax, coming to stand close in front of him. He wore an arakh on one hip and a wickedly long dagger on the other. Jaxon eyed him, sizing him up from head to toe. There was much to take in, he was so colorful he reminded Jaxon of a character he’d once seen in a mummer’s farce at a rich lord’s wedding.

His boots were of blue suede ornately worked with gold embroidery, his breeches loose silk of blue and white stripes, his tunic was flowing silver silk with an open vest of sapphire blue adorned with silver buttons and medallions.

His hair and beard were blue and he wore more silver jewelry than any woman Jaxon had ever seen.

“Courtesy is earned, you have earned nothing from me except perhaps the edge of my blades.”

He fought the impulse to openly laugh, that would be a bad thing. That made him want to laugh even more, but it was obvious this man took himself very seriously.

Jaxon reminded himself that there was more at stake than this peacock. “Have I done something to offend you?”

“She is mine, the queen is mine, you would do well to stay away from her.”

If this bright prideful fool is to her taste, I am in trouble. He yet wanted to laugh, or smirk, and fought it still.

The peacock moved a half step closer into Jax’s space, they were almost chest to chest, eye to eye.

Jaxon had enough, “Best get out of my face.”

The man smiled and a gold tooth gleamed, “Or what?”

Jax knew a bluff when he saw one, and stared into his foe’s eyes unblinking, he was set to fight, but this fool would have to move first. He had slowly shifted his weight and was ready for anything.

Jaxon’s voice was soft, his eyes cold, “Or I might just teach you some manners.” He wanted to fight, had been needing one for a while, but he knew this wasn’t the time or place. His only out would be if this gaudy pirate made the first move, so he waited.

It was Jorah that saw them nose to nose and moved to separate them. “This is not happening here on the front steps of our queen’s home. Daario go back upstairs and leave our guest alone.”

With a final smirk Daario turned on his heel and strode back around the villa into the darkness.

Jorah watched him leave, then turned to Jaxon, “What were you thinking?”

Jax laughed, “Me? Wasnae’ my idea, he came around and challenged me, I was waiting for my horse. He started this.”

Mormont shook his head, “You don’t want to tangle with Daario, he fights and kills for a living, he is very good at it.”

“He might be, but I’ll not back down from him. I don’t want the queen, and that was what he was really worried about.”

“The queen said you are to join us on the trip to Norvos, I can’t be between the two of you the entire way. Stay out of his way Jaxon.”

“I’ll not provoke him, but I won’t run from him either.” The stable boy was there with his horse, Jaxon took the reins and swung into the saddle. He looked down at Mormont and nodded before riding away.

Jorah watched him go, something about the man, it was almost as if he’d met him before somewhere.

Chapter Text

Jorah had dared risk a small fire, he waited restlessly for the boat to pick him up. On the morrow he and Lynesse would sail from Bear Island, his ancestral home. He had lost everything, including his honor. He wasn’t sure now why selling men into slavery had ever seemed like a way out. All it had done was made things worse and added scars upon his soul.

The sun set early this far north and with it came the cold. The snow was just above his ankles and powder fine, but overhead the stars shown bright. Now crouched before the fire he stretched his hands toward it and flexed his fingers.

His mind was on all that was to come, fleeing Mormont Keep and the voyage to Lys to please his beloved lady wife. He didn’t hear the careful steps of the man that stole up on him.

“Don’t move ser.”

Jorah froze where he crouched and swore mentally, he had been careless, he knew starting a fire was risky but he was in the middle of nowhere on the shore of the Sunset Sea. The voice had been soft but had yet held a note of command in that simple order. “I won’t move, who are you?”

“One of Lord Stark’s men, and you are Jorah Mormont.”

“I won’t deny it, you know what they plan on doing to me then?”

“I do, you sold slaves, you’ll lose your head for that.”

Jorah thought, His voice has no edge to it, even with the confidence behind it. This is a lad still, and alone I think. I have a chance.

“Stand up ser, slowly.”

Jorah did as told, standing slowly. He still hadn’t seen his captor.

A hand caught his left wrist where it hung at his side and brought it up behind his back in preparation to bind his wrists. This was Jorah’s chance, he spun to face his foe, and caught his captor's wrist.

In a moment several things happened almost at once. Jorah saw his captor, took in the lad’s age, size and wide eyes. The boy held his longsword and a length of rope in one hand and Mormont now had the other. In smooth motion Jorah drew the lad’s own dagger and drove it into his shoulder, then hit him hard in the jaw dropping him.

That should have been it, but the lad was not quitting, he reached and ripped free the blade in his shoulder, had rolled and was trying to gain his feet. With a curse Jorah hit him again, and this time he stayed down, sprawled in the snow near the fire.

For good measure Jorah rolled him onto his back, pried the knife from his hand and tossed it away into the snow, then did the same with his sword. The boy was bleeding though, not from the initial wound but from his own carelessness in ripping the blade free.

Mormont shook his head, brave, foolish, and polite tho’ not even fully grown yet. He’d had six inches and near four stone on the boy and twenty more years’ experience.

Jorah heard the soft whistle from the shore and returned it, soon there were soft footsteps in the snow and his oarsman Hamish was there. “One more to sell then?”

Mormont was busy opening up the fallen man’s brigandine and pulling it away, pressing a strip of the lad’s tunic against the wound. “No, not this one, he’s no poacher. He is from House Stark.” Now he tore a strip of his own tunic and wrapped it, the bleeding was slowing.

Hamish looked at the boy, “This one would bring a good price across the Narrow Sea, he’s young.”

“I said no,” Jorah snarled the reply. “If he is here there will be others close, we leave tonight as soon as we get back to the island.”

Mormont looked at the stripling, the bleeding had all but stopped. He would live. For good measure he moved the lad a bit closer to the fire and added the rest of the wood to the blaze.

Chapter Text

Instead of going back to Illyrio’s estate Jaxon decided to ride in the cool dark of the night. The confrontation with Daario had his blood up and he knew he’d merely pace if he returned to his room.

For some reason Nicnevin was on his mind, he had angered her the last time they were together. Now she seemed to have forgotten him. He hated what she’d done with his face, the glamouring done against his will, and yet still he defended her, cared about her, wanted her. That she cared so little for him stung, giving him this face to draw in the Dragon Queen. Did Nic’ think he would fuck Daenerys and be fine with that?

He swore softly, the queen was beyond beautiful, but she was a queen and he a guard. What he wanted was a dark haired, amber eyed Fae queen. He rode through the city now, Pentos was still busy even at this late hour. He rode past several brothels and women called to him, bared full breasts and smiled, he shook his head and rode on tonight. Fuck me for falling in love with a Fae.

He rode out the city gate and into the desert, more breeze out here, and the stars close enough to touch if he dared, a smile crossed his face for he felt free. He leaned forward, and the mare responded, breaking into a rocking chair smooth canter. Jory laughed aloud at the simple pleasure, but all too soon he reined his horse back to the gates and walked her towards home.

At the stables he took his time brushing the bay, and then left her with an armful of hay. It was nearly dawn by the time he got to his room and pulled his clothes off. At least he was adapting to life in Pentos. The ride had eased his restlessness and he fell asleep easily.

He dreamed of Daenerys. Though he’d just finally admitted to himself he loved Nicnevin, his body wanted the Dragon Queen. He was in a heated pool, the water steaming around him. She appeared out of the steam, gleaming and pale pink, the lilac hued gown she wore clung to her like a sheer second skin.

As she stalked towards him barefoot, she untied, then slowly peeled away her gown, letting it spill to the floor in a puddle of silk. He stared, she was all graceful curves, her breasts, rounded with risen pale pink nipples would fill his hands easily, even the vee at the juncture of her supple thighs was palest silver.

She slid into the scalding water opposite where he sat and waded towards him, her violet eyes filled with hunger. She was on his lap, leaning into him, his arousal pressed between them. She arched her back, breasts pressing into his chest, throat an ivory column before him, he kissed along her neck slowly, tasting the salt of her skin, letting his lips linger against the throb of her pulse.

His hands slid down her sides, then lower, cupping her round ass, lifting her, she moved her hips, reached down and guided him. She was hotter than the water.

Daenerys took her time sinking onto him, Jory moaned at the feel of her around him. She claimed his mouth as his hands went to her breasts. Daeny started to move, setting the rhythm. The water around them was getting hotter, uncomfortably so.

Movements more urgent. Needing release, their speed quickened. Hands grasped and stroked, mouths pressed, Jory closed his eyes, Daeny leaned back, breasts bouncing as she rode him. She tightened around him sending him over the edge with her. His hands rested on either side of her slender waist as he finished, her skin felt like silk beneath them. No, it was silk neath his palms, he opened his eyes to meet the tea-green ones of Xaylle. It was she that had ridden him, never even bothering to remove her midnight blue robes or pallid mask.

Her heat yet held him and he shuddered in revulsion. Xaylle lightly touched his chest with her forefinger and that held him in place as she sat astride him.

‘It has been a while, my last lover had wings.’

Jory just wanted her off of him and gone, ‘Why not visit him then?’

‘Not even the winged men last long, all wear out eventually.’

‘I don’t want this, get off me.’ He met her pale gaze, refusing to look away.

She leaned in closer to his face, “What you want matters little to me, or did you miss the part when I explained you were mine now?’

“I won’t do this, stay away from me Xaylle.”

“It was you who invited me in with your blood magic, you chained yourself to me. If you refuse me I can take from those you care for, the man in the next bed, from Sandor, or your brother, in a few years your son.”

She knew his weak spots and how to use them. ‘No, leave them be, I made the bargain, I will do my part.’

She left him then, vanishing as she always had, as though she were made of smoke. Immediately he rose and made for the bath, filling it with cool water before sliding in. He scrubbed with the plain soap. When done he wrapped a towel around himself and returned to his room and dressed in his riding clothes.

He wasn’t hungry but poured himself a goblet of wine and found Tyrion was already in the courtyard and had finished his breakfast. The dwarf smiled, “You sleep a bit later every day Jax. I am dying to hear what happened last night.”

Jaxon sat down, “I was wrong about the dinner, it was just the queen and I dining in her garden.  I was able to tell her everything, from why we needed her help, to the lifting of the curse. We also talked of consequences should your sister and King Tommen think she is invading and trying to seize power. She told me would rather rule Essos, while admitting that at one time she did hold designs on the Iron Throne.”

Tyrion frowned slightly, “You lay everything out at once? That is much to take in.”

Jax nodded, “It was, but she is a smart woman, and I told her I would not hide anything from her, so I set it all upon the table.”

Tyrion studied him, “What else happened, you were gone for many hours.”

“We talked about her dragons a bit. She didn’t give me an answer last night. Instead, she asked us to go with her to Norvos. She is mounting a campaign against a rival khalasar that is destroying homes and taking slaves. She thinks it will take about a month to get there and take care of them and another month to return to Pentos. Nothing important happens in a hurry. This way you can spend time with her and talk to her Tyrion. I think you’ll like her.”

Tyrion nodded, “Gods, another two months and probably three weeks to get back to Westeros, and her cooperation isn’t guaranteed. “

Jaxon smiled, “I have faith in us, well in you.”

Tyrion laughed, “Good thing she’s fond of you.”

Jax took a drink of wine, “I came face to face with Jorah Mormont last night, he shouldn’t be a problem and he didn’t recognize me. There’s also another man that will be a problem, he was watching me from the shadows of an upper balcony when I arrived, and when I left came from the shadows at the side of her villa to confront me. I think he’s bedding Daenerys. He told me she was his.

“We nearly came to blows or blades right there. Mormont stepped in and broke us up.” Jaxon laughed, “Tyrion I wanted to hit him. He has an ego the size of an aurochs, and dresses like a fool, but I didn’t want to cause problems in front of the queen.”

Tyrion winced, “If he is bedding her this will become an issue, she has eyes for you, and he knows it.”

“It won’t be a problem unless he makes it one. I already told Jorah that I am not starting trouble, but I’ll not run from it either. Is there any way we can visit the tailor again? I would like to buy a bottle or two of her green liqueur.”

Tyrion nodded, “If we are to be gone for several months, it would be nice to have a couple of sets of lighter clothing to wear in the heat. We can go there today after Illyrio wakes.”

An hour later Mopatis was awake and dressed in his normal silken splendor, he ate heartily from the food still laid out for breakfast, piling his plate high with all manner of fruit and cheeses and salty olives, before joining them in the courtyard.

His eyes were on Jory, “So, dinner with the queen, I would have every detail of it my boy, and leave not one thing out!”

Jaxon related all he could, leaving out anything regarding Westeros and their quest. He elaborated on the small talk, on dragons, on the food, and the garden. He had to describe what she wore down to her sandals and how she styled her hair. Jax described meeting Ser Jorah and then Daario’s appearance at the end.

“Ahhhh, I know of him, blue hair and beard, gold tooth, wears a matched set of weapons with golden women as grips. He is rumored to be the queen’s latest lover. He is a sellsword and brigand. Dangerous man, beware him Jaxon, he fights dirty.”

Jaxon smiled, “I did nothing to him, and I won’t start trouble, but I am not one to back away either Illyrio. I do thank you for the warning tho.”

The magester decided to accompany them to Shalleen’s shop, she was an old friend of his. Tyrion and Illyrio took the palanquin and Jax rode the bay behind them. At the shop he paid a boy a coin to hold his horse and went inside.

Shalleen was happy to see them again. She and the magester shared a hug and kiss on each cheek. Both Jax and Tyrion bought two new lighter weight sets of clothing, linen breeches in lighter colors and flowy linen shirts. Each took a vest as well.

Jory managed to buy not one but three bottles of the syrupy green liqueur Shalleen specialized in. He now had a proper gift for Aggo and a bottle for himself.

They spent some time visiting with Shalleen and sipping glasses of her liqueur. Jax thought to ask if it had a name and the tailor shrugged, I have no name for it, it is a spirit of wormwood.

It was afternoon by the time they were back at the estate.

Chapter Text

They were getting ready to leave Pentos, their host Illyrio was more than generous, he gifted them several trunks of things he deemed vital, from bedding to a linen tent. Jaxon would have been content with a simple blanket under the stars, but the mere thought horrified Mopatis.

Now they were in the Dothraki camp, and Jax sought Aggo. He had the bottles of wormwood liqueur with his belongings to gift him with and wanted to introduce him to Tyrion. Mindful that he was a guest, he also wanted to follow the horselord camp rules and not overstep his place.

A large shadow passed over the ground in front of him, Jaxon quickly stopped to avoid stepping on it, another useless remnant of lore from Old Nan, to step onto, or be crossed by a passing shadow was an ill omen. He laughed softly and shook his head as he looked up. It was the queen on her great dark dragon, circling around her troops and landing in an open area to their east.

Riding to meet her on a copper color horse was ser Jorah, his bright auburn hair caught the sun and made him easily identifiable. Unable to find Aggo, he turned and moved towards them.

He carried his weapons yet so stayed near Ser Jorah and did not approach Daenerys too closely. He started to take a knee, but the queen stopped him, “No need for that every time you see me, the first time was enough. I am glad you are joining us.” She smiled at him warmly. “I have decided you and Tyrion should have your tent near Ser Jorah’s and you may ride near us in the khalasar. If you are being judged and acting as one of my swords, you need to be close to my side.”

“Yes Your Grace, as you wish. What may I do to help get ready for the trip?”

“The Dothraki are nomadic by nature, they have torn down and set up camp since birth, leave this to them. Just stay out of their way. You may keep Ser Jorah and I company.”

He stole a look at Mormont and the impatient look that crossed his face made Jax smile, the man was less than thrilled at the prospect of Jaxon Snow tagging along today. He has feelings for her as well.

“May I find Tyrion and introduce him? He is not far.”

Daenerys nodded, “Of course, I look forward to it.”

Jaxon made his way through the busy camp, finding Tyrion lounging on the folded tent under the shade of a graceful palm tree. He was sipping wine from a tankard.

“The queen would like to meet you, we are to be in her retinue as we travel and camp, next to Ser Jorah.”

Tyrion eyed him, “You have managed to make a good impression then Jax.” He finished his wine and hopped down from the folded tent. “Now my turn.”

The two men walked side by side back to where Daenerys and Jorah stood. It was Tyrion’s first good look at the dragon and he stared, unable to look away from the majestic beast. He had always wanted to see one, there had been times in his childhood he had dreamed of dragons, both as a protector and of even becoming one.

Lannister tore his eyes from the dragon as they approached the queen. He was stricken all over again upon looking at her, Daenerys was breathtaking, and all a Targaryen should be, with her fair skin, pale hair, and unusual violet eyes. He took a knee and bowed his head, “My Queen.”

She bid him rise, “You must be Tyrion Lannister, Jaxon has spoken highly of you. I am sure you know our houses have much history, both good and bad. I reserve judgement on you until I get to know you better.”

Tyrion nodded, “I am different than most of my family, I am glad you judge me on my own merits and not those of my father or sister, for their values are not mine.”

The queen raised an eyebrow, “What are your values then Tyrion?”

The dwarf smiled, “Ah, directly from the pan into the fire then, I like it. I prefer the truth over lies, honor over power, wine over ale, character over class, and find what dwells in a person’s heart to be the most important thing of all.”

He had made all three of his companions smile with his words.

Daenerys nodded, “Proper sentiment, but time will show the truth of it. I think we shall get along well Tyrion; you are a welcome addition to our company.” She looked to the horizon then, a puzzled look on her face. The others turned to see what had drawn her attention. At first they only saw what seemed to be two birds at a distance.

As the ‘birds’ came closer Jaxon saw they were two more dragons, flying at them. His heart beat faster, he would never fully care for the creatures after his nightmares, and seeing Harrenhal, listening to Old Nan’s stories. At heart he was a guard and protector, and there was little he could do against a dragon.

Where the dragon Daenerys rode was black, these were different, one was mostly green, the other primarily white. They landed near the black dragon, settling their wide wings and watching the queen. The white dragon seemed restless or bothered, it swung its head on the long sinuous neck as if watching or scenting something interesting.

It moved towards them then slowly. Jaxon glanced at Daenerys, she was not concerned at all, neither was Jorah. Next to him Tyrion was staring, an odd look on his face as the creature approached them. This dragon was slightly smaller than the black one, but still a monstrous thing.

Closer yet the pallid dragon crept, its head was lifted, and it towered over them. Jory stared at it now, uncertain what to do, but knowing to draw steel was folly, to run was cowardice tho’ in truth it fleetingly crossed his mind.

Then the massive head gracefully lowered, coming right for them, and paused directly in front of Tyrion. The golden eyes fixed on the dwarf, nothing else existed for the creature as it stared.

Daenerys spoke softly, “This is Viserion, one of my children. I think he is curious about you Tyrion.”

Tyrion was lost in the dragon’s eyes, he was living a moment he had read and dreamed of, “As I am curious about her.” He took a risk, remembering the words writ in the ancient tomes about dragons. He outstretched a hand to the dragon, speaking so softly that not even Jax standing next to him heard clearly, “I am Tyrion of House Lannister, it is my utmost delight to meet you Viserion.”

The dragon moved her muzzle to touch Tyrion’s hand and inhaled, taking in his scent, a moment later he smiled as the beast nuzzled his outstretched hand. She was warm, in skin and breath both.

He set his hand on her, at last remembering to breathe. “You exquisite thing.” Tyrion looked at the queen, “Does your dragon do this often?”

She shook her head, “No, never before.” She wondered if her dragon had chosen Tyrion as its rider. It was an interesting choice and one she had no influence over.

Tyrion now had both hands on the dragon’s snout, he dared to believe they were bonding, and that he’d been chosen as Viserion’s rider. He knew he’d need a saddle of some type, perhaps combined with barding worked into a harness.

Jaxon hadn’t moved, then decided that if Tyrion could touch the beast he might try it, he reached and the golden eye moved, focusing on him now. Still, he reached fingers, and the pale dragon moved its head slightly, nostrils widening, then it hissed low and long, a warning. Jax dropped his hand back at his side. Viserion turned back to Lannister, accepting his touch again. Tyrion looked up at Jaxon and shrugged, “No accounting for a dragon’s taste my friend, sorry.”

Jax smiled, in a way relieved he knew where he stood, horses he knew and they understood him, Tyrion and the others could claim the dragons.

Jaxon decided he’d had enough of the creatures, he backed away and looked at Daenerys, “Beg pardon Your Grace, but I should try and find Aggo, I have something for him.”

She nodded, “You may go, but I expect both you and Tyrion to dine with me tonight.”

Jax nodded and smiled, “I would like that.” He turned and moved away, planning on returning to their personal belongings. He only made it about halfway there, when he heard the horse bearing down on him and turned, the animal was almost on him and moving fast. He instantly recognized the rider and pushed hard at the horse with his skinchanging ability, away.

The horse shied to one side, nearly sending Daario into the dirt. Jaxon couldn’t quite keep the smirk from his face tho’ he tried. He stood, waiting to see what came next.

The man slid off his horse and immediately was in front of him, uncomfortably close, gold tooth gleaming in the sun. Today he was in brightly patterned scarlet and yellow that clashed with his blue hair and beard. In the sun Jaxon saw that even his fingernails were lacquered a bright blue.

Naharis stared into his eyes, “No Mormont to save you this time.”

“You mean to save you; I have no need of saving. You may want to practice your riding a bit, you seem to be lacking in that area.”

“I heard you and your friend are to travel with us to Norvos. That is a very bad idea for you. You would do better in Pentos I think pretty boy.”

Jax held his tongue at the obvious insult that begged to be said, instead he returned Daario’s stare, “You have been spoiling for a fight since we met, I’ll fight you, fists only, no weapons, are you capable enough to do that?”

In answer Daario swung at Jaxon’s head, Jax blocked the swing with his left arm and drove his right fist into Daario’s belly, then stepped back. His foe launched himself as Jax sidestepped and shoved him hard, the sudden momentum sent Naharis into the dirt and he swore, rolling to his feet and circling Jaxon.

Jax noticed the heavy gold rings on the sellsword’s hands, those would do damage, several had edges that would cut, all would add impact to a punch. Watch those.

He threw another hook at Jaxon, and when Jax blocked it, Daario grabbed his arm. Jaxon used his foot and hooked the man’s ankle and tripped him, shoving him at the same time. In return, from the ground, Naharis kicked his legs out from under him and Snow laughed, this was getting better. He rolled and came to his feet.

Jaxon was watching carefully now, twice the man’s hands had half reached for his gold handled blades. Brawling with fists wasn’t Naharis’s skill, but Jax bet that those blades were deadly in his hands. Jaxon kept his left side towards Daario, knees bent slightly, hands loose and ready to grasp or strike as needed.

Daario stepped in and threw a strike at Jaxon’s face, he deflected with his left arm again, and driving from his feet punched Naharis in the nose, feeling it pop under his fist. The sellsword caught the front of his shirt pulling Jax in, Snow used that momentum and headbutted Daario hard, both went down.

Jaxon found his feet an instant before Naharis and hooked his right fist around catching him in the jaw, then a follow up left that caught Daario’s brow ridge, pain shot through Jax’s hand at that, and he swore. Daario was on a knee seeming inclined to stay there as tho’ stunned.

“Do ye’ yield then?”

“Yes,” Naharis didn’t look up.

Jax stepped in and reached a hand to help him up, watch him.

Daario grasped his hand. A flash of steel and Jaxon threw himself sideways, twisting his body away from the stiletto as it rose towards his belly.  

It just missed him, grazing his brigandine, but now he was angry, he hit the ground and rolled watching Naharis, bringing his legs in, and when he had enough distance moving back into a crouch, then his fighting stance again. He knew a stiletto was mostly a thrust weapon with a pointed tip that had a good chance of going between the steel squares of brigandine and piercing even chainmail if used with enough force.

He wanted to make the other man eat the weapon, or better yet grind his face into the desert dirt.  Naharis came at him and with his open left hand caught Jaxon’s brigandine holding him, the right hand with the stiletto was in motion coming at the left side of his chest in an arc, Jax chopped his left forearm down hoping to deflect or block, and hit as the blade caught his side, he throat punched Daario with his right fist, but his feet were not positioned right and the blow was weaker than he’d hoped. He drew his arm back and hit him in the left eye.

Jax felt the tip of the dagger slip through his brigandine and caught that wrist, pulling Naharis’s arm up and twisting it. The blade fell from his hand, Daario hit him hard in the eye. Now they stood toe to toe trading blows, but Jax had dealt enough damage early in the fight that his opponent was hurt and tiring. Jaxon kept his left hand up blocking, and found his opportunity, bringing up his right fist and catching Daario on the jaw, the man fell and this time Jax didn’t offer a hand. Instead, his words came low and soft, “I am ridden by one witch, an’ love another, I dinnae’ want your queen.”

It was only then that Jaxon realize nearly a dozen Dothraki were around them watching their fight. He stood for a minute wondering if he’d broken some camp rule, but none came after him, in fact many nodded in what seemed like approval.

He walked away leaving Naharis in the dust.  

Chapter Text

Jaxon washed and cleaned up for dinner as best he could, taking a bit of satisfaction in his black eye, one of Daario’s rings had caught his eyebrow there, tho’ superficial it had bled generously. At least the bruise at his hairline was hardly noticeable, he bet Naharis looked much the worse for wear from their fight and smiled at that. The tip of the stiletto had etched a short, deep scratch on his ribcage, luckily it didnae’ require sewing. He’d needed that brawl, but knew that now he’d have to watch his back, the sellsword seemed one who would hold a grudge until it was repaid.

He chose one of the new lighter weight outfits to wear to dinner with the queen, and ran fingers through his damp hair, brushing it away from his face. He flexed his left hand and winced, but all the fingers worked and that was what counted.

Tyrion came in, to ready himself for dinner. He couldn’t miss the black eye, “I don’t even have to guess, do I? Not smart to pick a fight with him Jax.” He lay out a new shirt and a dark red vest to change into.

Jaxon turned to his friend, “I picked naught, he tried to run me down on horseback. I challenged him to a fight, no weapons, only fists and as soon as his arse hit the dust, he was drawing steel on me. I hate dirty fighters. Now I know him better, and what to expect of him. How the queen chose him to bed is beyond me.”

Tyrion sat on the folded tent, “I think Viserion bonded with me, she is incredible.”

Jaxon shook his head, “Better you than me, stay friends with it, we need all the allies we can get.” He grinned, “She looks at me like I’m supper.”

Lannister laughed, “No, you don’t understand, when I was a child where others played knights and kings, I was always a mighty dragonlord, ruling in Valyria before The Doom, complete with a great castle and a stable of dragons. Jax, I dreamt of dragons knowing I’d never see one, that they died long ago. Yet today I touched a dragon, she chose me.” 

Jaxon hadn’t realized how much today had meant to his friend, “The queen was surprised to see them fly in, your dragon came for you, from wherever it had been staying, it came to find you, went right to you. You’re right, she did choose you. Will you ride it?”

Tyrion smiled, “The queen said I may try, she will allow it. The idea of flying, controlling a creature that large. My size would no longer matter, on a dragon I am the equal of kings, no better, for I shall fly.”

“Just tell it I am not for burning or eating, lie if you must, Cassels’ stick in the teeth, or cause a bellyache, we taste bad.”

Lannister laughed at his friend, “You are not a very brave knight.”

Jax shook his head, “I am no knight at all, just a guardsman who doesnae’ like dragons.”

In the port city of Pentos with its simmering heat, the city only truly comes to life after the sun sets, and the breeze blows in from the sea. Once they started travelling towards Norvos they would ride from dawn until around dusk, and then set up camp letting the horses graze and rest while they slept. Tonight, was an earlier dinner with the queen in the spirit of how they would start travelling on the morrow.

When they arrived at the queen's pavilion Daenerys raised her eyebrows as she greeted them, seeing Jaxon’s bruised eye. He grinned at her, “Its nothing Your Grace.”

The queen called for wine for all, and there was fruit, cheese and olives already on a long table in the shade of the tent. Jax sipped his wine, in truth he’d have preferred to be among the Dothraki with their love of fighting and horses, where ceremony and royal protocols were unheard of.

Ser Jorah was always there, never far from the queen's side, silently watchful.

The final member of their dinner party arrived then. Ever the peacock, Daario chose varying shades of purple, from light lavender to nearly a black-purple vest. Jaxon sipped at his wine to hide his smile, at least the purple matches much of his face. He glanced at Mormont, Jorah was staring at Naharis and then his head turned, and he looked at Jax, uh oh, he’s going to have something to say about that.

When dinner was actually served, Daenerys sat at the head of the table, Daario to her right, and Tyrion to her left, Jorah sat on Naharis’s side of the table, and Jory alongside Tyrion. They were served roast capon and the standard grilled vegetables, chewy flatbread, ripe figs and fragrant oranges. At first the dinner started off awkwardly silent, but Tyrion stepped in and started talking to the queen about dragons, and gradually the tension in the room lessened as they started eating.

“Is there a craftsman among the Dothraki who could create a custom saddle for Viserion?”

Daenerys nodded, “There are several excellent tanners and saddlers. I can arrange for them to meet with you, and they can create what you need.”

Daario tended to act as though the queen was the only other person at the table. It was interesting Daenerys had not introduced him. Naharis had not made eyes contact with any of the men other than a curt nod at Mormont when he initially arrived.

Jaxon finished a bite of the tender capon, and sipped his wine before thinking of a question, “When we travel do you usually ride your dragon, or will you be horseback?”

She smiled, “I have a beautiful gray mare, she was a wedding gift from Khal Drogo. I ride her most of the time when we travel. I like being close to my khalasar instead of flying above it.”

Despite the initial tension dinner was uneventful, afterwards Daario stayed close the queen’s side as she talked to Tyrion about dragons. Jorah took the opportunity to invite Jaxon outside the pavilion to talk.

They stepped a dozen paces away from the tent before Mormont stopped and turned to him, “I am guessing you and Naharis got into a fight today.”

“Aye, he tried to run over me with his horse. Since it was bound to happen, I challenged him to a fist fight. Halfway through when he was losing, he drew his blade and tried to gut me. I never touched my weapons and fought on.”

Jorah shook his head, “I don’t care who started this. It needs to stop, I can’t have you fighting over the Khaleesi, she’ll wind up in the middle of it, and I won’t have that. Neither one of you are suited to her.”

Jax nodded, “I agree, and I told Daario today, I have one I love, I don’t want the queen. I am here to help her, and hopefully win her trust so she helps us in Westeros.”

“Snow, I know what you seek, I am not only her guard, I am one of her advisors as well, we have few secrets. You might have won today against Naharis, but you’ve made an enemy. He will get his revenge for this, watch your back. He is the leader of a group of sellswords I would truthfully call brigands, and it probably won’t be just Daario alone next time. We are riding into a desert as large as all of the North in Westeros, it’s an easy thing to make a person just disappear in it.”

“Call me Jaxon or Jax, after all we’ll be spending a lot of time together. I will try not to provoke Daario and have no designs on the queen.”

“Of course Jaxon, where did you say you were from in the North?”

“I was born and raised in White Harbor, why?” Jaxon was glad most of his false story held hints of truth.

“I was trying to place your accent, that’s all. The part about you knowing horses I believe, but you showing up barely touched and Naharis coming to dinner with a broken nose and battered face makes me think you know more of fighting than you let on.”

Jax laughed, “Try growing up a poor, skinny bastard in a city, I was small and an easy target. I had to learn to fight to survive, first with fists, feet and slinging rocks, later with blades.”

That seemed to satisfy Mormont, he nodded, “That would explain much, but watch out, my warning on Daario is serious.” He looked up at the stars for a moment and sighed, “I keep hoping she will tire of him, or outgrow him and move on. He is nowhere near good enough for her, but she is still a child, and he is all color, silk and drama.”

Jaxon thought a moment, “Have faith in her, in time she will see what you already do.”

Jorah nodded, “I do have faith, completely, it’s why I’m here, I believe in her.”

It was as they walked back inside that Jax realized he was starting to like Mormont. He wondered what would happen when the man found out who he really was, and if he would cross the Narrow Sea with them and return to the North. He suspected Jorah would, and wondered how it would all play out. Perhaps Lord Stark would pardon him if he fought against the White Walkers or let him return to Essos with the queen when the time came.

Soon he and Tyrion were walking back to their site. It was pleasantly cool and there were still a few Dothraki about running errands getting ready for the move in a few hours. Tyrion curled up in a blanket atop the folded tent. Jory lay upon a blanket on the ground and stared up at the moon.

Tyrion’s voice was quiet, “Be careful tomorrow. I don’t like or trust Daario, he has attached himself to the queen and sees her as his possession. He watches you Jax, he’s good at hiding it, but he watches what you do. I don’t like it.”

“Jorah told me almost the same thing. I will be watchful, and tomorrow there will be many eyes as we move. I doubt he will try anything, but I will be ready if he does. When will you try riding your dragon?”

“Only after she is fitted with a saddle that will hold me safely on her back. Tho’ I wish to fly I am not over fond of falling. I still don’t know how to control her, but Daenerys says that the dragon and I will figure it out. She said she is one with Drogon and guides him with her weight shifts, her legs, touches of her hands and almost by thought. I hope I can manage that.”

“That’s how I ride a horse, subtle things most wouldn’t notice, and aye, with my mind. I know you Tyrion, you will do well.

Lannister’s mind was on the dinner, or more aptly the queen, “She’s a beautiful thing though, and charming, when she looks at you with those violet eyes it makes you want to follow her, make her happy. The people here, the Dothraki, Ser Jorah, Daario, they all love her. She inspires loyalty, and I think she’ll need it, the rival khalasar we are going after, she mentioned that they are a good deal larger than her group. Thankfully we have the dragons.”

Jaxon stretched, “I don’t mind fighting, it’s what I know, what I was made and trained to do. Don’t mind dying, I’ll only have to do it the once, but if something does happen you’ve got to get the queen to the North. It’s all I ask Tyrion.”

“I will do my best, I have people I love in Westeros too, and we need the queen and her army’s help.” There was no response and Tyrion peered at Jax, realizing he’d fallen asleep. It took Lannister a bit longer, his thoughts were full of a pale dragon and a silver queen.

Chapter Text

The encampment was on the move, it stretched for miles, from the Dragon Queen at the head of it, to the herds of sheep and goats that straggled along at the rear eating the desert dust. Jaxon rode the bay sand steed and was at the head of the caravan near Daenerys, but from time to time did a ride back along the length of their group, down one side and back up the other watching for stragglers and any dangers that might come up behind them.

He saw he was going to need to learn at least some Dothraki in order to talk to people, Aggo was trying to help, giving him a word or two to practice each round of the caravan. He’d been most appreciative of the bottles of green spirits Jory had provided.

As they moved east and away from the sea and its cooling breeze, it became much hotter, the desert shimmered in the distance, and the breeze died. Outside Pentos, gulls and graceful swallows had filled the air, here the skies were mostly empty, only occasionally were one of the dragons glimpsed. Daenerys explained that the beasts hunted often as they were young and growing rapidly.

The queen rode her graceful gray mare, Silver was exactly that color, pale and shimmering as though she were wrought of the precious metal she was named for. Tyrion rode alongside her on his palfrey, stirrups set high to accommodate his shorter legs. Daario was always at the queen’s side on his black sand steed. Jorah rode just behind the queen, eyes never still, always alert for danger.

Jax reined his mare back in alongside Jorah, satisfied that for the moment they were safe. Morning passed into afternoon, and it grew hotter still, Jorah pointed out a line of towering clouds far to the northeast, “Glad we’re not close to that beast.”

Jaxon had never seen a storm like it, the lower part of the clouds and sky had turned dark, almost black, and lines of lightning played between clouds and horizon. “What is that?”

‘It’s a dry storm, wind and lightning, the clouds hold the heat in close to the ground. No rain falls, and sometimes the lightning sparks raging fires. We lose people and horses every time one hits us. There is little shelter to be had in the open desert. Sometimes black columns of swirling wind drop and take away horses, people, entire herds of sheep, or spirit away carts full of food or belongings. We watch for the storms and try and move away from them or outrun them. That one is far away and moving to the north, we are spared from it.”

“Does it ever rain out here? In our race there was a gully cut by water, but it didn’t look fresh.”

Jorah shook his head, “I have crossed the deserts here several times, in all those years I have seen it rain once. Pentos and the cities along the sea get rain from time to time, but out here the desert steals the moisture from the air.

“The one rain I saw was a beast as well, nothing here is gentle or kind, the water rose quickly, sweeping away men and horses, dark water and angry. Rain poured down, drowning out screams and cries for help. A gray curtain of water from black clouds. Whatever faith you follow, best start praying to them when the rain starts falling Jaxon.”

Jax nodded, “Good to know, and protect the queen.”

“Always, and your friend Tyrion too, he’ll need help.” Jorah still kept an eye on the roiling clouds in the distance, ensuring they kept moving away.

When they stopped to make camp that afternoon Jaxon helped set up their linen tent, the women that normally pitched camp smiled and whispered to one another, sometimes laughing. Aggo had told him it was the women’s job to run the camp, but Jax wasn’t about to let the women do all of the work without at least helping.

He then brushed down both his bay and Tyrion’s palfrey before settling down in a chair alongside Tyrion in the shade. Lannister passed him the wineskin and Jaxon drank, the tart wine cutting the dust he’d eaten all day riding guard over the caravan. He tried to stay busy, keep his mind and body occupied for idle time sent his thoughts to home and Winterfell.

Jaxon didn’t care for the barren desert and the stifling heat. He was made for the north with its snow, rain and storms, for cold nights and early mornings of mist waiting for the sun to burn it away. The sun here reddened his and Tyrion’s skin, raised blisters in places. Mormont had told him in time he would get used to it and his skin would toughen and darken.

They had a standing invitation to dine with the queen and made their way to her pavilion. As usual Daario and Ser Jorah were already there keeping Daenerys company. The sellsword took in Tyrion and Jaxon’s sunburnt faces and he snickered, “Westerosi men are weak and do not hold up well to the desert sun.”

Jax set his teeth, “I think we do about as well as you would do on one of our winter days in the North.” This made Mormont smile before he caught himself.

If Naharis wished to engage in a battle of wits, he was certain he held the upper hand, but Daario merely glowered at his words and made no reply.

Dinner was filling and simple, grilled skewers of lamb, flatbread and grilled vegetables with fresh fruit to finish. Tonight, Daenerys provided a sweet apricot wine the warm orange color of the sunset. It was a bit too sweet for Jaxon’s taste, but it was cool on the tongue, and went well with the salty, spicy rare meat.

Jaxon was willing to let the other three men spend time with Daenerys, he was content to sit back and relax, watch the last colors of the sunset fade from the sky, and enjoy the evening coolness after a day of unrelenting sun and heat.

A hand on his shoulder, and the queen was there, taking the empty chair next to him, smiling at him. “I liked the way you kept watch over the khalasar today, you were not just concerned with me, but with all of my people. I appreciate that Jaxon.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, I think more of it was me being restless than anything else.”

She lay her small hand over his, “No, I noticed, and others did as well, I thank you.”

He nodded, “I will continue it then, I like getting to know your people, and it helps me practice my Dothraki. Aggo is trying to teach me.”

She laughed, “Really, What have you learned so far?”

He thought a moment, “Zhavorsa’ means ‘dragon’, I can remember that because it sounds a bit like ‘horse’, but ‘Hrazef’ actually means ‘horse’, ‘Addrivat’ is to kill, and ‘Yer zheanae’ means ‘thank you.”

Her laughter was unexpected, and made him automatically join in, “No? How much of that is wrong?”

“Only the last one, ‘Yer zheanae,’ means ‘You’re beautiful.’

Jax chuckled, “Not ‘thank you’ then, explains why several of the grandmothers now flirt with me and why Aggo was laughing earlier, good thing I didn’t say it too often.”

Daenerys laughed again, “If you want to learn Dothraki I can help you as well.”

He smiled, “I would like that, might we start on the morrow? I think I’ve shamed myself enough for this day.”

Her eyes danced with humor, “If you insist; we can wait.”

“Aye, it’s been a long day and I’ve no ear for languages to start with.”

It wasn’t long after that when he and Tyrion had said good night to their dinner companions and were back at their tent. Tyrion hopped onto his bed and pulled his boots off leaving them at the foot of his bed. Jaxon had lit the candles and been about to sit down when he thought the blanket atop his bed moved slightly. He pulled it back and froze, there under the blanket was a sand-toned viper, it coiled in upon itself and hissed, triangular head raised and following his every movement.

He drew his longsword and used it to carefully pick up the snake, and carry it outside the tent, there he dropped it to the ground and swiftly beheaded it. It was a small snake, only as long as his forearm, but he’d no doubt it would have been deadly. He placed a large rock over the still snapping head and quickly went back in their tent. Tyrion had jumped down and checked his bed. Jax checked the rest of the tent. No more snakes were found.

He and Tyrion locked eyes, Lannister spoke first, “I doubt that was coincidence, it’s too small to crawl into your bed by itself.”

“Aye, and little enough to easily hide and not be noticed, but I’ll not jump to conclusion on who put it there. We just need to be careful. Shake out boots and clothes before wearing them, it’s a good habit anyway, scorpions and manticore like dark hiding places.”

Tyrion was on his bed again, “The queen’s fondness for you is obvious, it annoys Daario.”

Jax nodded, “I tried distancing myself from her tonight, it didnae’ help much. We want her to like us, we need her help in the north. I also don’t want the entanglement of bedding her, she is beautiful, but I see no good from it, only more problems.”

“You care for your Fae Queen still. I would gladly take the queen off your hands, but she does not see me that way. I think Mormont cares for her as well, he tries to hide his feelings, but they are there.”

“Two good men have eyes for her, and she chooses a fool. It won’t last, she is cleverer than that.

The small talk eased into silence and then sleep as the day caught up with them.

Chapter Text

The next day the saddle maker sent word that he had finished the saddle and harness for Viserion. Since they were on the move it wouldn’t be until early evening until they could fit it to the pale dragon.

Jaxon continued riding occasional patrols up and down the column on his bay mare. In between rounds Daenerys would give him words in Dothraki to practice.

When they stopped to make camp late that afternoon, after the horses were brushed down and set to graze, Daenerys called in Viserion and Drogon. The great dragons winged in and settled just outside camp. Jaxon had the new saddle and folded the neck collar over the seat before handing it to Tyrion. “Approach her neck first, then move towards her head, and let Viserion smell the saddle before you put it on.”

The dragon nudged the saddle as Tyrion held it, breathing in the scent of the fine- grained horsehide of the tack. Lannister tried to climb the dragon with the saddle, but it was too awkward. He required his hands free to climb and couldn’t carry the saddle at the same time. He needed help.

Jaxon sighed quietly and knew he had to help. Reaching out, he used his skinchanging skill and spoke to Viserion, ‘I am only going to set the saddle in place, I am not a threat.’

He asked Tyrion to go back to the dragon’s neck and soothe her while he tried to tack her up. After the dwarf did so and placed a hand on her neck, Jaxon moved in slowly, hands at his sides and picked up the saddle and collar. The dragon watched his every move with a bright golden eye but didn’t move.

Viserion watched as Jax settled the saddle on the base of the neck where it met the beginning of the shoulder. Then the thick collar went around the dragon’s neck, and lastly a set of four cinch straps were looped over various pointed scutes and were pulled tight. It took nearly an hour as Jaxon walked wide around the beast to move from side to side.

Several times he had to step on the dragon to set the straps and it growled softly beneath him. ‘No, no Viserion, not hurting you. This is for Tyrion, stay still.’

When he thought he had it all fastened tight he caught the back of the saddle and tried to move it, but it was secure in its placement. He undid the safety straps and stepped down and then backed away. ‘Good girl.’

Tyrion looked at him, “Is it ready?”

Jaxon noticed the sun was setting, “It’s ready, are you sure you want to try and ride this late?”

Daenerys came from her pavilion, wanting to ride Drogon and be close in case help was needed. She easily climbed up the dark dragon’s back and settled herself in place. Tyrion carefully climbed up on Viserion, catching hold of the scutes and using them to pull himself up and finally sat in the saddle. He crossed the straps over his chest and tightened them, then fastened the one across his lap.

Jaxon was worried for his friend, he’s much braver than I am to do this.

The queen shouted to Tyrion, “Are you ready?”

Lannister caught a spiked scute in each hand and nodded, “I am, let’s go.”

Drogon rose slowly into the air, his wide wings raising dust. Viserion followed, pale wings tinted orange in the sunset light. Jax could see the smile on his friend’s face from where he stood and grinned, shaking his head in admiration.

Daenerys and Drogon led the way, Viserion and Tyrion followed gradually climbing higher and higher, moving towards the east, then a slow, wide circle to the right keeping far outside the edges of the camp. They spiraled higher and higher as they circled until they were the size of eagles far overhead in the evening sky.

Then Jax lost them, and the sun sank below the horizon. He searched the sky looking for a black shadow against the darkness of night, listening for wings. The diamond bright stars appeared, and he stood and watched.

“They will be back, you needn’t worry,” Jorah had walked up to him and stood at his side.

“I am not used to dragons and tend to keep watch over my friend. This is his first-time riding one. I canna’ help but worry.”

“Between the Khaleesi and Viserion, they will take care of him. Dragons are smarter than most animals, you’ll learn that quickly. I can tell you aren’t a fan of them, you are overly careful.” Mormont had been watching as he’d saddled the dragon.

“I am not fond of them. I have no experience with the beasts either, and only know dragons by reputation. Seems wise to be careful with a creature many times larger than I, that has teeth longer than daggers and breathes fire.”

Jorah laughed, “When you say it that way, I see your point Jaxon. I’ve been around these since they were small, so I am used to them. It’s good you have respect; they easily kill men when asked to or if provoked.”

Then they heard the soft flap of mighty wings and looked to the east, but it was too dark to see the dragons, they could only hear them. A few minutes later they felt the warm wind swirl around them as well, and carefully Viserion set down a ways away, then Drogon landed beyond that. Jorah and Jaxon walked closer as Tyrion unbuckled his safety harness and started to climb down from the dragon.

Jax moved to meet his friend, “How did it go?”

Tyrion was close, but Jax couldn’t read his face in the darkness easily, “It was incredible. I was born to do this, to fly.” Reaching the ground, he moved to pat Viserion on the neck gently.

Speaking softly to the dragon as he would a skittish horse, Jax unbuckled the harness around the creature’s neck, then carefully climbed on the dragon and uncinched the straps before lifting off the saddle and stepping down with it.

Daeny dismounted and walked to them. “Jaxon, next time you should come with us, Drogon can easily carry two people.”

Jax nodded, though in truth he had no intention of flying on a dragon. “One day perhaps, let them get to know me a bit better first.”

Tyrion had been walking at his side, “You would enjoy it, this is a hundred-fold better than riding a horse.”

Jax shook his head, “Not for a while, you know how I feel about them. I am glad you get to fly tho’ it seems to suit you.”

Daenerys sent the dragons away and they supped in the queen’s pavilion tent, dining on grilled lamb and vegetables, an array of olives and rich cheeses, with the customary warm flatbread and fresh fruit. A pale, sweet wine was served as well.

Daario was absent, and no mention was made of him. The conversation flowed easily between Daenerys and Tyrion, with Jorah and Jaxon commenting as well. Of course, it was mostly of dragons, the desert and flying.

It turned out that the saddle had worked well and needed no adjustment made for Tyrion. At least Jax needn’t worry as much about him falling, only of him being eaten. He grinned wryly at that. Every man had their fears, things to face and overcome, Jory/Jaxon needed to fight his mistrust of dragons.

Daenerys was already planning to make nightly flights with Tyrion so he could learn to fully control Viserion before they engaged in battle with the rival khalasar. She could control all three dragons in battle if needed, but a dragonrider flew and fought with much better precision.

It was later than normal when their group broke up to turn in for the night. In their tent Tyrion was still reliving his ride, unable to sleep yet. He couldn’t wait to ride the dragon into battle. He also shared that he and Daenerys were of different minds about whether Viserion was a male or female dragon.

Lannister explained that in several of the scrolls he’d read in Kings Landing that three different maesters disagreed on a dragon’s ability to change sexes as needed. The maester Tyrion agreed with thought that if there were a group of male dragons that one or more would change to female to keep the species going. The queen believed all three of her children were male, Tyrion believed that at least one would change sex. He thought Viserion was changing or had changed perhaps.

It was the early morning hours before Tyrion finally slept.

Xaylle visited Jaxon at least every other night, waiting until both men were asleep and using a simple spell to push Tyrion deeper into a dreamless slumber as she mounted Jax. The same blood magic that bound Jaxon to her gave her a link to Sandor Clegane as well.

While the Anogrion had been rendered nearly useless by its highly structured and severe rules that applied to blood magic it had also served a purpose. The order had given her the basic tools to build upon and grow her own power. Now she reached all the way to Westeros, to the north and Winterfell.

It was a simple thing to read Clegane, he was very straightforward in thought and deed. She pushed past his fears and moved to look closely at what was most hated, no at who was most hated. Yes, this would work. She treated that hatred as a spark, a single glowing ember, now she touched it, inflaming the smolder of hate, nightmares, let there be memories unbidden, and nightmares. She would gently and slowly bring it to a simple flame that needed only a touch to send it to conflagration.

Xaylle had been human once, she was nearly certain of it, but that had been long ago, and that woman was gone, dead. She was naught but a shell in human form after trading all piece by piece to gain her abilities, now she was pure power given a thin veneer of human form and even then, without a face.

She served The Shadow, and that force fed on chaos, angst, blood, tears, and pain, relishing turmoil of every scope. To that end, The Shadow and Xaylle needed Daenerys Targaryen to travel to Westeros and the north with her army and dragons, but not to fight the White Walkers. No, The Long Night, that darkness and all it bore on its tide of death were welcome.

The real feast would begin when Westeros was pitched headlong into war after the dragon Queen was goaded into realizing her birthright, urged to reclaim the throne her family had long held. This would allow the Night King to win a continent, swarming down from the north to even Dorne. Daenerys would claim the Iron Throne but would not hold it for long.

In the End Days the storm of risen dead and the Night King would roll over even the Dragon Queen and her pets. Whilst in Essos the absence of a strong ruler would fracture tenuous alliances and in time divide that continent into first small wars then larger ones.  

The ghost grass would spread, moving from the Shadowlands, and as was its due cover Essos and Westeros completely.  

Chapter Text

For Tyrion the evening ride on Viserion had provided him with more questions than answers. How am I a dragonrider? He was well-read, had studied tomes on dragons, and Targaryen bloodlines. He knew that in the official records Targaryen had never wed a Lannister. Dragonrider’s outside of Valyria were of Targaryen stock, that much had been recorded into history.

Were Daenerys’s dragons different, or was he of Targaryen blood somehow?

It seemed that his questions must wait, for there were no answers here in the desert, only ample time to puzzle over the matter.

He was interrupted from his musing by Jaxon reining his bay mare in alongside his palfrey. “I have a question Tyrion, since you can fly atop a dragon, why are you and the queen riding horses?”

“I would prefer to fly, but Daenerys has two reasons we don’t use them during the day. First, she enjoys riding a horse and being near her khalasar, and two, the dragons are young and growing. During the day they need to hunt and feed often, she wants them rested and growing constantly. If we are riding them, they cannot kill, and feed as needed. I’ll take a dragon over a horse any day, I hadn’t realized what I was missing until we came here.”

Snow’s horse tossed her head and snorted, her delicate ears flicking to and fro.’ Jax held the reins lightly, and ran a hand along her arched neck, “She’s a nervous thing today, and I can’t see why. She wants to stay on the move. I am going to do a round of the column and perhaps out a bit farther, see if I can run this restlessness out of her, or see what has her on edge.” After Lannister nodded absently, Jaxon spun her around and cantered off easily. He loosened the reins and let her run, she lengthened her stride, ears pinned back against her head, mane and tail streaming ebony as Jax leaned forward slightly.

It was sweltering already though only mid-morning, the sky a pale blue as though the sun had leeched the very color from it. A few ship-sized white clouds sailed over the flat desert, rising and billowing in the simmering heat.

The horizon shimmered mirror bright in every direction, the promise of a false sea and he on an island. He realized that the desert was full of lies, and thoughts of home, of the North and Winterfell suddenly hit him hard. He didn’t belong here, he had an instant of longing so deep he thought of reining the bay towards Pentos and a ship home. Then he caught himself just as quickly, laughed and shook his head. A wink of light caught his eye, off to the right in a low line of worn hills, he watched there, and the flash was repeated, was someone signaling? He veered his horse in that direction tho’ the flash did not reappear.

Distances in the desert are deceptive, the hills were further away that he thought, he rode at full gallop for nearly twenty minutes and was no closer to them, finally he sat up and slowed the mare into an easy canter and continued, leaving a rising trail of dust from his horse’s hooves.

From the caravan Jorah saw the line of dust and followed it to the blood red horse and knew who it was, he shook his head, foolish to ride off without taking someone with him. He wondered what had caught Jaxon’s eye, then Mormont glanced up at the clouds. He didn’t like the looks of them today, they seemed to be building earlier and faster than normal. The only high ground anywhere within reasonable distance were the low hills Jaxon had ridden towards, all else was flat save a dark line far to the north beyond the shimmering mirage, but if indeed those were the mountains, they were days away and useless for immediate shelter.

He urged his horse forward to ride alongside Daenerys, “It may be nothing Khaleesi, but I don’t like the way the clouds are building this morning, they are forming just to our west, rising faster than normal, and now they are slower to move away. I think we may be in for a storm this afternoon. The only shelter I’ve seen are those hills off to the east. Jaxon has ridden that way. Just for today I wonder if it might be wise to head that way and take shelter.

“With this many people and animals, it will take two hours, maybe three to reach them, longer if the wind starts and kicks up dust and grit.”

The queen studied the clouds for a minute then considered the hills before looking at Jorah again, “I trust your judgement Ser Jorah, have the Dothraki turn and head that way as soon as possible. We will camp there tonight.”

Mormont wheeled his horse around and rode down the line, letting the bloodrider’s know of the change in plan. Aggo looked up at the sky, nodded and agreed that the clouds portended something dangerous might be coming. Then he made for the back of the column where the herds of goats and sheep and extra horses plodded along. He shouted at the herders, pointing at the sanctuary of the hills. They ran to do his bidding, grabbing horses, saddling them, and pushing the horse herd and flocks towards safety.

The clouds were forming out of thin air a distance to their west now and rising tall, gliding over slowly, providing momentary shade and a breeze that served to blow the dust along the flat, crack-webbed desert floor.

Jax was already inside the hills by the time the caravan turned toward them. He noticed that there were actually two ridges of hills and a canyon in between. The right-side ridge was steep but broken, and climbable by horse or on foot, the left side was smoother stone and a gentler slope.

He chose to ride up the canyon, curious to see what it held, it curved to the right, a gradual curve that didn’t let you see far ahead. The sides of the canyon were sheer, with few footholds and no way to easily climb the walls. From twenty-foot-tall sides at the beginning it jumped to forty-foot-tall walls, then even higher. The hair rose along his neck, it felt like a trap. He rode on.

The floor of the ravine was not hard baked and flat, it was soft sand his mare sank ankle deep into. Debris was tossed up against the base of the walls, this canyon had seen floods before. At least here within the arms of rock, the canyon itself was noticeably cooler than the desert outside. Jax only had a narrow slice of sky overhead, he didn’t see most of the drifting clouds, and the sheer canyon walls made him uneasy, he was watching, alert for an attack from above.

He wondered what had made the bright light that had caught his eye and drawn him in. Whatever it was probably came from the outer rock ledges or above him.

He rode on, the walls of the canyon narrowed to only about fifteen foot wide, a mere slot between jagged walls that soared far overhead. He shivered, it would be easy to rain rocks or arrows down from above. The chute lasted for only about forty feet of canyon before widening out again. The ground now sloped downward slightly, and he rode on. One last turn and the gully became a wide bowl, a rough circle with formidable cliff walls nearly fifty-foot-high ringing it.

The bowl was carpeted with debris, enough shattered wood for a month’s worth of fires for their entire khalasar. Along one wall was a drift of dead rolling weed, blown in by the wind and trapped. He urged his bay forward carefully, letting her put her head down and pick her way amongst the driftwood and sand. Looking around he saw sun bleached bones strewn amongst the wood. A hiss and his mare reared under him, Jax watched the viper slither under the silvered log in front of them. The jumbled mess had drawn in vermin seeking shelter and water here deep in the canyon and the snakes had followed to feed on them. This was far enough.

He spun the horse and started out, there were no signs that people had been here recently. He rode back the way he’d come in, it was the only exit he could see. He quickly moved through the narrow slit and was glad to be back in the wider canyon. A shadow fell over him and he heard Old Nan’s voice, ‘bad omen lad to be caught by a shadow.’ He looked up into the dark underbelly of a towering cloud. Where had that come from?

He had been sweat damp, now he felt a chill for he knew a raincloud when he saw one. He leaned forward asking the bay to hurry. It seemed to take forever to escape the canyon, once out he saw the line of towering black clouds far to the southwest and knew they were heading his way, beneath them lightning danced and flickered.

In the same instant he found the caravan, they were moving his way, but they needed to stay out of the canyon and choose higher ground, climb the ridges and find safety there. They were still far away and seemed to travel at a snail’s pace, the storm was moving right at them. Jaxon leaned forward and squeezed with his legs, the bay mare leapt forward into a full run towards the khalasar. Jax soon realized that they were farther away than he had realized, which meant that most of the column would not make it to the hills before the storm hit them.

He tried to find solutions as he rode, he doubted dragons could fly in this type of storm the lightning alone made it deadly. He noted the sheep and goats, and wrote them off, most would be swept away. There were horses unused and people on foot, including children. Everyone needed to be on horseback to have a chance at reaching safety.

The clouds hid the sun, shadowed the desert floor, the temperature instantly cooled, and a breeze picked up. As fast as his sand steed was running, it was ten more minutes before he reached Daenerys, Tyrion and Jorah at the head of the group. Jax reined her to a sliding stop.

Jorah was angry, “Where have you been? we needed your help here Jaxon.”

“I saw flashes of light at those hills so went to check it. I’m glad I did. There are two ridges of rock with a canyon between them, avoid the canyon at all cost, it dead ends in a basin with sheer rock sides and no way out. Any who go in there will be drowned in the flood. The better side of the rocks to choose is the right side, but either left or right gets access to high ground almost immediately and will work. How can I help?”

 Daenerys spoke up, “Just keep people moving as fast as we can.”

Jax shook his head, “You’ve people on foot, children too. They’ll never make it. Best to abandon the carts and livestock, get all that can ride on horses and make a run for the higher ground. Spread the word to stay out of the canyon. I am guessing this is too dangerous for dragons to fly?”

She nodded, “Strong as they are they cannot fly in this, and even if they could we cannot ride them. If we lose the carts and sheep, we lose our food and fresh water.”

“They’ll never make it in time. I am going to help get as many as possible on horses, unless you have other orders. We need to run, not trot, it’s farther away than it seems to safety.” The wind was picking up and Jax was forced to narrow his eyes against blowing sand.

The queen reined in Silver, “I will help you.”

Jaxon shook his head, “You, Jorah, and Tyrion should gallop to the ridge, lead the way to safety, let your people follow, then keep as many as possible out of that canyon.”

Jorah and Tyrion had ridden in close as Jax started talking, Joran caught one of Silver’s reins, “He’s right Khaleesi, you’ll save the most by leading the way.” Mormont caught Jax’s eyes and nodded, he would keep Tyrion and the queen safe.

They galloped away and Jax rode back along the column urging the bloodrider’s to grab a child or anyone on foot and carry them to safety, he tried to explain about the canyon and the Dothraki seemed to understand, nodding before finding a child or woman to ride behind them in pillion.

Jaxon paused at the first cart he came to, hesitating only a moment before removing his brigandine and mail and tossing it in the cart. The lighter his gear the better chance he had if he must swim. He remembered the Springe River and nearly drowning in it while weighed down by his armor.

He noticed a couple of tightly wrapped lengths of rope in the cart and took them both. They looked like picket lines for tying up the horses. He tied them behind his saddle. He found three boys and a woman with the horse herd, he was able to convince them to swing atop horses and ride for the hills. Two girls on foot tried in vain to push the sheep herd towards the ridges, Jaxon caught a horse for them and led it over. The girls were reluctant to leave, but after he put the first girl on the gray’s wide back the second girl swung up behind her and they raced for safety.

For a moment he thought he had everyone mounted and fleeing for safety, then he did a second glance around and noticed her. The elder had been riding in one of the carts. Jax knew he couldn’t leave her, he rode to her and reached out a hand to pull her behind him. The old woman shook her head and with a smile refused.

“No, I am not leaving you here. You have to ride with me Grandmother.”

Again, she waved him away.

The first raindrop hit him, warm and big as a bean, thunder crashed overhead. He sidestepped the bay over against the cart. His horse seemed about to jump out of her satiny red hide in fear, so he touched her with his thoughts, calming her as best he could. Taking one rein he stepped into the back of the cart and helped the elder to her feet, realizing the woman could barely walk. He led her to the horse and placed her into the saddle before easily settling in just behind her. It was far from ideal, but it was all he could think of. If behind him she would likely fall, here he could keep her in the saddle.

He put the mare into a gallop, slower now with two of them, and he was sitting farther back, slowing the horse even more, but she had heart and wouldn’t give up. She stretched out and ran as the rain started pelting down. Jaxon looked for the hills and found them, aimed the bay at them and then the curtain of rain swept over all, gray sheets of rain hid the ridge, wiped it from view, all that existed was the rain.

The grandmother seated in front of him said something, and reached up a hand to gently pat his cheek. He couldn’t hear her words well enough to make them out, but it seemed like both a chiding and a thank you at once. He managed a wry smile. She seemed unfazed by the storm, as if she rode through them daily.

He tried to hold the line towards where he’d last glimpsed the ridge and galloped as fast as he dared. They rode through a gray and black world, eerily stripped of every bit of color. The underbelly of the roiling clouds directly above them was black, all else was gray. It felt like buckets of warm water were being continually poured over them.

Soon he felt the mare starting to slip and slide slightly and realized she was running through water deeper than her hooves. It slowed them even more. Then they were somehow in a current and deeper water, he wasn’t sure how it happened, one moment they were running, the next swimming. He tried to angle his horse just a bit upstream and soon her front feet found purchase and she was pulling herself from the stream, but the water was at her knees now. Soon they would be swimming. Jax searched for the hills, but the rain hid all.

The lightning forked all around them and the crash of thunder was continual, the bay was wearing down, tho’ still gamely trying to canter. Jax wondered if the stream they had swam through had been feeding into the canyon, he tried to parallel it, the rain was still pounding down, and the water up to the mare’s belly now. Then a wave of water hit them, and the horse was swimming, but they were being pushed along by the current. I would bet all I had we are being swept towards the canyon.

In a way it was a relief, it gave him a direction, as long as they stayed close enough to the edge to catch one arm of the other of the ridge. To enter the canyon itself was death either by drowning or being smashed into the rocks.

He let his tired bay swim with the current, thus far he hadn’t seen another person or animal, the storm made them seem the only living things caught in its gray grasp. He hoped Daenerys, Jorah, Tyrion and Aggo had made it to safety.

He stared into the rain, watching for anything resembling the canyon edges and safety. Then the fragile elder in front of him extended an arm, pointing. Jax saw it then, the outline of the steeper side of the canyon edge, they were being swept into the canyon, Jax reined the mare, urging her with his legs, she turned and swam with all she had, low in the water, exhausted.

She caught the rocky slope with her front hooves and pulled, then her hind legs touched bottom, and she rose from the current, climbing the steep ledge. Immediately Jaxon slid from the saddle, reins in hand. He wanted to help the bone-weary bay. He patted grandmother’s arm gently where she yet sat in the saddle and thanked her for getting them to shore.

He led the horse up the steep, rocky hill and finally started seeing people. A woman about his age cried out and threw her arms around him, now crying, then turned to the elder astride the horse. Jax reached up and lifted the woman down, accepting both mother and daughter’s hugs.

He moved on, climbing ever higher. A bolt of lightning hit an outcropping of dark rock downslope, the explosion of thunder almost instantaneous. He blinked several times trying to restore his vision, the brilliant white flash of lightning had momentarily blinded him. His horse was too tired to care, she shivered and pinned her ears back, but nothing more.

He was relieved to see so many khalasar members had made it to safety, but was starting to worry about his friends. He stopped and tried asking a familiar face, and the man nodded and pointed further up the trail. So Jax slogged on through the deluge, slipping and stumbling at times over rocks or slippery places in the trail.

He finally found them, they were in a crowd of people, perhaps fifty altogether, who milled along the edge of the cliff. Many of the women were weeping, most were looking over the edge. Jaxon knew where they were, they were on the sheer cliff above the dead-end canyon. He handed off his bay to a boy to hold and made his way to the edge. It was raining and difficult to see, but about thirty feet below them muddy water seethed and seemed to boil, tossed about in the great cauldron, was a mélange of broken pieces of wood, sheep, goats, swimming horses, and people. It was almost too much, his knees shook and he braced them by locking them. At least twenty people he could see being spun and dunked, popped up by the current, everything in constant motion as if being stirred by an unseen spoon.

He tore his gaze away, staring did no good, helped no one, he drew a deep breath and strode to his horse, untied the two sets of rope and eased through the crowd to reach Daenerys, Tyrion and Jorah, Aggo was there as well.

He touched the queen's arm and she looked at him, her face bleak.

“My Queen I have enough rope to reach, I swim well, I can tie the rope around people, and those here can pull them up. We cannot save them all, but we will save some.”

Jorah cut in, “You can’t swim in that, you’ll just die with them. One man dove in for his son and never resurfaced, the wood is crushing people, the animals try and climb up, and push others down. It’s hopeless.”

“I have rope, I can save some. I won’t just stand here until all are dead. Help me, or I’ll find some who will.” Jax’s eyes blazed with resolve, he cut his eyes to Daenerys, and she nodded.

Jax wasted no time, he unbuckled his arming belt and folded it, handing it to Tyrion, “Good to see you my friend. I was worried.”

The dwarf accepted the belt and weaponry, and placed a hand on Jax’s forearm, “I know better than to try and talk you out of this, but for fuck’s sake be careful.”

Jaxon grinned, “Always, patience was never my strong suit, you know that.” He found the two ends of the sections of rope and knotted them securely. Earlier he had guessed these cliffs to be about fifty foot high, now thirty foot rose above the water, so the cauldron held perhaps twenty feet of roiling water.

He handed Jorah one end of the rope and played out the rest, then loosely coiled it and tossed it down into the water. Now Aggo and a half dozen more men grasped the rope, ready to pull as needed. Tyrion moved near the edge so he could watch what was happening.

He wished for the gloves he’d forgotten in his brigandine, but those were lost to the storm. Jorah must have noticed his hesitation or read his mind. “Jaxon, take my gloves.”

Jax walked quickly, grabbing them with a ‘thank you’, and sliding them on. He caught the rope, rid it of slack and with a nod, dropped over the cliff edge, as he slid down, he watched for his first rescue. He saw a girl of perhaps ten years old clinging to the cliff face nearby and splashed into the water, holding the rope he worked his way toward her.

The current flowing in was strong and it immediately started battering him with rafts of wood, it hit the cliff wall and the force either boiled water to the surface or pushed down powerfully. He reached the girl and spoke to her softly, she was frozen in fear and shivering. He looped the end of the rope twice around her waist and knotted it, then placed her hands around it, curling her small fingers to grasp the rough rope.

He tugged twice hard on the rope, and thought he heard Tyrion shout, then the rope started rising. Slowly they eased the child from the water and up the cliff face. Jax looked around and didn’t see any more children, but noticed a woman half swimming, half grasping at a raft of flotsam maybe thirty feet away. She seemed to be weakening.

I can reach her. He was ready to push off from the rock wall and swim for her when a rock splashed down to his side. He glanced up into the rain and saw Tyrion shake his head and hold a palm to him, motioning for him to stay. With a sigh he stayed put and less than a minute later had the rope once more, this time he wrapped it around his waist and loosely knotted it. He pushed away from the wall and swam towards the frightened woman. He hadn’t gone ten feet when the current abruptly sucked him underwater. He swam for the surface, feet kicking.

Just as his hand broke the surface, he was drawn down again. The second time he made it, pushing through a layer of debris. The woman was close and helped him secure the rope after he untied it from his own waist. Two hard pulls and she was pulled towards the shore and then free of the water and rising.

He glanced about as he caught his breath and saw a man holding a small boy above the water. They would be next, when he had the rope back. The horse came up just behind him then, with the noise from the current, the rain and the thunder he didn’t hear it, the first he knew of it was when a front hoof clipped him in the back of the head as it tried to climb atop him in its drowning panic.

The other front hoof landed on his shoulder, pushing him under, he drew half a breath, as pain exploded through his skull, and he saw white. He pushed at the animal, trying to gain even a little distance, it was pitch black ‘neath the surface, and he couldn’t see the four churning hooves, but he knew they were there. His feet came up against something and he pushed away from it, arms sweeping wildly.

He lost track of which way was up, swimming blindly. At last he came up, coughing even as he tried to draw in air. The rope landed atop him, and he wrapped it around one wrist and held on. He reached back to where his head hurt, and his fingers came away wet with blood. He spit water and just breathed for a minute, everything seemed to work, he looked up and found Tyrion and nodded, letting him know he was fine.

The man and boy were waiting, he swam to them and wrapped the rope around the boy’s waist and pulled twice. Soon the boy was hauled to safety, and the rope was thrown back down. Jax looped it twice around the man’s middle and knotted it, he smiled and set a hand on his shoulder as the rope was pulled taut.

Immediately he started looking for the next person to help. He clung to the raft of flotsam as he searched the water. He was so focused on watching for someone to help that it took him a while to realize that in the eddy where his raft of debris had collected, other things shared the flotsam with him. A movement near his hand drew his eye, and he slowly slid his hand back. A viper as long as his arm was draped over the weathered gray wood, fighting to stay alive. It blended in almost perfectly. He studied the debris and found two more adders, each trying to stay above the floodwaters. All were at the same level as his head and shoulders. Reluctantly he let go of the flotsam and eased away. He wasnae’ about to risk being bitten in the face.

The rope splashed down next to him, startling him badly. He needed to watch, to be careful, he hadn’t been thinking of snakes, but now he was wary. He saw his next rescue, a young woman holding tightly to the cliff wall. To get to her he had to go around or under the area where the snakes had found refuge. There isnae’ time. He could read the exhaustion on her face, in her half-closed eyes. He reached and caught a long slender branch. He would go right for her and use the stick to keep the serpents at a distance. He knotted the rope around his middle and swam toward her. He used the stick to move the first snake, and it slithered away, crawling off the wood and curving through the water, swimming easily.

The next one moved away and he was at the woman’s side, untying his rope and knotting it around her. He held on as well, letting them pull him through the water, branch at the ready to push away any serpents, but he saw none.

Soon she was on her way up the rock face, he looked up into Tyrion’s face, “Tell them I am swimming that way along the bank when I get the rope back. I think I’ve got everyone here; I need to move.” He yelled the words, hoping Lannister could hear them.

Soon he was secured to the rope and swimming, this time avoiding the flotsam. A silvered section of log slammed into the cliff face, driven by the current. He swam on, watchful of what was around him. He heard Tyrion shout, and turned, his friend was pointing to the right and ahead. There was a sheltered area tight against the wall and huddled there were two men, a woman and a child.

Already his fingers were at his waist deftly untying the knot there, but no sooner had he gotten it free than one of the men caught the rope and pulled it in, wrapping it around his own waist and knotting it. Jax let him, if he wanted to go first at least he was out of the way, it wasnae’ worth a fight in the water over who went first.  

Tyrion looked at him, and Jaxon motioned for them to lift, and the man rose into the air. He had the rope back quickly, and this time tied it around the little girl, it wasn’t long before she was safe too. Then the woman was tied and hoisted up. The man was last and there were no problems.

He had the rope back and retied it, swimming towards an older man, noticing that his arms and legs felt heavier, moved slower, he was tiring. He was almost at the man when his hands slipped from the rocks, and he slid under the water.

No, no, no…. Jaxon dove, swimming hard, and the current was pulling them both down here as well. Down deeper and deeper, then his fingers grazed skin and he reached and caught the man’s wrist, now he swam towards the surface. As soon as his head rose above the water, he pulled the elder up as well, and to his relief the man coughed, sputtered, and breathed. Jax laughed softly, relieved, one arm around the man as they both caught their breath. He soon had the man securely attached to the rope, then waved at Tyrion and steadied the grandfather as he rose into the air.

The dwarf was right overhead, he shouted to be heard over the rain, “If you’re tired, you can rest, someone else can take over.”

Jaxon didn’t have to think twice, he shook his head vehemently, “No, I am fine. I can stay, I know all the dangers down here, another could get hurt.” He also doubted any could swim as well. He saw two women further along, trying to use a raft of debris as sanctuary. They were on the far side of it against the cliff face. Instead of crossing the flotsam Jax decided to ease along the rock wall to them.

 He noticed a broken spear haft floating and claimed it, at nearly four foot in length and crafted of seasoned ash, it was a handy weapon if needed or could be used to keep logs and animals at a distance. He let it float nearby as he readied the first woman for rescue. As she rose into the air, the second woman cried out and he reached for the staff. He turned and saw where she pointed, another adder, this one swimming right for her. He caught the wall with one hand and slid the end of the pole under the snake flinging it as far away as he could.

He realized that the rain was easing, and falling in smaller drops, the storm seemed to be wearing itself out. Thank the Old Gods for that. The rope was tossed back down, and he secured the second woman, then she was lifted from the water and away to safety.

He wondered if he was halfway around the cauldron yet, it seemed like he should be by now. He’d lost track of rescues; all was starting to blend together. Then from the mouth of the canyon came a low rumble and sharp cracking and snapping sounds, a wave of debris and water entered the cauldron, sweeping across it and heading toward him. Apparently scrap from the ruined wagons had blocked the narrowest area of the canyon, the unrelenting inflow of water had built up behind the makeshift dam, steadily applying pressure until something gave way, from that deep rumble it might have been a section of earth that caved, but boards and hafts and tent poles had snapped and been swept along in the resulting wave. More animals, most drowned tumbled along, a few human bodies as well, and clinging desperately to the larger bits of wagon a handful of people. He tread water. Then he was suddenly he was being pulled towards shore, it made him angry, there were people alive in that mess, riding a wave of flotsam. He heard Tyrion shout, “Swim!”

For an instant more he stared at the wave bearing down on him, then realized if it hit him, he would be crushed and no one else would be saved, he turned and swam as fast as he could, the rope being pulled in hard and fast; upon reaching the cliff, he was pulled quickly up it and the wave smashed into the rock wall just below him.

His eyes were on the carnage below him, in the newly roiling water the remainder of their sheep, goats and horses rose and sank. He heard a scream, three people were still alive and fighting to stay above water, two men and a woman.

He turned to Tyrion, “Let me down, I can save them.”

Lannister met his eyes, “No you’d never make it Jax.”

Jaxon reached to his waist and the rope knotted there, “Let me go back or I’ll untie it.”

“Fucking fool,” Tyrion was shaking his head even as he turned to the men behind him who held the rope, “Let him down again, a few are yet alive.”

Jax caught the rope in his hand, holding on lightly, “This won’t take long.” He slid into the water and swam towards the woman. She was closest to him anyway, things he couldn’t see brushed against and bumped his legs, and he shuddered at each touch imagining dead men trying to drag him under to join them. When he reached the woman, he untied his rope and retied it at her waist, pulling at it twice.

It took longer to get her to shore with all of the debris between her and the cliff wall. Once there she was quickly rescued, and the rope came sailing back to Jax a minute later. He secured it, setting it just above his hips. He went for the man barely keeping his head above water, as soon as Jaxon got close the frightened man grabbed him in a bear hug, and they both sank, something large crashed into them and the men broke apart, Jax reached and found him, catching an arm. The Dothraki was still, probably stunned by whatever had hit them. Jaxon pulled him along to the surface, gasping for breath as his head broke the surface, the still man let Jax pull him up. This time Jaxon stayed behind him as he untied the rope and reknotted it at the larger man’s middle. Since the man was doing little to help himself, Jaxon held onto the rope as they both were towed across the flotsam, moving aside what he could. When they reached the sheer rock wall, he wrapped the man’s hands around the rope before signaling for him to be pulled up.

One more. The rope came spilling down atop him, dutifully he knotted it at his waist. One man at the far edge of the debris field that rose and fell with the waves, swirling in the restless current. The water was roaring in once more since the makeshift dam had broken. Jax glanced up, at least the rain had stopped.

He swam from one large piece of wood to the next, working his way to the waiting man. Once there he eyed him carefully for a moment and spoke to him, making sure he wasn’t panicked like his last rescue. Then Jax secured him and held the line, letting those above pull him to the sheer rock wall. He nodded at the sodden man and steadied him as the rope lifted him, then reached for the wall and a handhold, the rock here was fractured, crumbling away in his hand, but at last he found a hold.

The rope came spilling down once more, and Jax knotted it at his waist. I am going to sleep for at least a day. He grinned up at Tyrion. But then, the fractured and crumbling sandstone that had been taking in water for hours had reached its limit, a goodly section above Jaxon crumbled and slid down, Jax had time to raise one arm above his head and then he and the falling section were gone, leaving a cut-away section of bank and the top of the cliff hanging over the water, bubbles rose where all had spilled into the water.

“No!” Tyrion had stumbled back quickly, blinking at what had happened, behind him the rope pulled through the men’s hands. “Pull him up, he’s drowning!”

Hands grabbed at the rope and they pulled, but nothing budged, more men caught the rope, and they pulled harder and there was movement. They pulled and moved to the side over darker, more solid rock.

Tyrion was watching the water, and breathed a sigh of relief when Jaxon surfaced, but his friend was motionless and face down, many hands at the rope lifted him quickly. Jax was bent at the waist and Jorah and Aggo both reached out and caught him, dragging Jaxon away from the edge. Jorah rolled him face down and pounded his back between his shoulder blades with a fist. Nothing. He rolled him onto his back and swept the mud from his mouth with his fingers then quickly rolled him face down again pounding his back harder this time.

On the fourth blow Jax vomited up muddy water and started coughing roughly. Jorah sighed softly and set a hand between Jaxon’s shoulder blades, “Cough it all up lad, you’ll be fine.”

Tyrion sat down hard on the ground, only now daring to breathe again. “That was too close.” He looked at Jorah, “Thank You for that.”

Mormont only nodded.

Jax was a mess, he was caught in a pattern of drawing in deep breaths that set him into racking coughs, then he vomited noisily. The last rounds seemed mostly mud instead of water coming up. Finally, he lay there exhausted, still mostly face down, panting softly.   

Daenerys was there, kneeling next to Tyrion, “Will he live?” She touched the back of Jaxon's head, feeling the large lump there, blood on her fingers. “He’s still bleeding a bit.”

Jorah nodded again, “I think so, as long as he coughs and vomits up all of the mud and water he breathed in and swallowed. Lucky the rope held, or he’d still be buried underwater. Leave him like this on his belly for a while.”

Tyrion was surprised Jaxon hadn’t said anything, he peered at the pale face, then watched his back rise and fall slowly. “I almost think he’s asleep.”

Jorah raised an eyebrow, “He was swimming for hours, he might be. Let him sleep and heal, just watch him and make sure he keeps breathing. I am going to look for some shelter, this type of ridgeline normally has caves and ledges that offer at least some shade, and a place to stay warm and dry.” He stood and started to walk away then paused, “Keep an eye out for snakes, the flood will drive them to seek higher ground alongside us, watch where you put your hands and feet and sit down.” Then he walked away.

Chapter Text

It turned out that the outside of the ridges was riddled with caves, some were shallow depressions carved by the wind, while others were massive and reached far back into the rock, the floors a flour-fine red dust. Some were low and barely large enough for a child to crawl into, a couple had floors carpeted with crawling and writhing sand vipers, their scales whispering as they slithered over one another and moved back from the torches.

By full on nightfall, they had chosen two large caverns that provided ample shelter and room. At their entrances were wide, flat solid rock ledges where fires could be built, and horses left close at hand. The rest of the horses were free to graze.

Overhead the crescent moon and stars shown brighter than ever. From the unseen desert far below odd and eerie cries echoed from time to time. None were certain what made them, but a few of the elders made the sign of protection and whispered that it was evil on the hunt, unleashed by the flood, or wakened by the lightning strikes.

Fires were lit to provide warmth and keep the darkness at bay. Aggo had carried Jaxon from the edge of the cauldron into the cave. Daenerys had arranged for a folded saddle blanket to be placed near the fire and Aggo lay the unconscious man on his side there. He didn’t stir and seemed to be asleep.

Tyrion added more wood to their fire, so they could see better. He wished Jax would wake up. He watched as the queen and one of her attendants fussed over the man, finally covering him with a blanket.

A couple of hours later after getting the khalasar settled within the caves Jorah and Aggo returned, taking a seat near the fire. As he stared into the flames Mormont looked older than his years, “For tonight most are within’ shelter and have fire, but on the morrow things are going to start getting rough. We have very little water left and almost no food.”

Daenerys looked at him, “All of this rain and none of it drinkable?”

Jorah shook his head, “Not here, all the dead animals and drowned people, the water near here will be contaminated. We have to move away from these rocks to find clean water. If careful we could kill and eat the vipers, there are plenty of them, but water decides if we live or die.”

The queen stared at the fire, “Where is the closest well or oasis?”

Jorah looked at Aggo, “About a week away on foot.”

Tyrion was listening, “So here within these caves we have shelter for now and a food source in the snakes, we only need water.”

Mormont nodded, “Water is not a simple thing.”

Lannister had a thought, “Could we use the dragons? Bring water here from elsewhere?”

There was silence for a couple of minutes as Tyrion’s idea was considered. Jorah saw an immediate problem, “What would we carry the water in?”

“How did you store the water before?”

“In animal hides sewn and sealed well with pitch.” Mormont snapped off small bits of a branch and tossed them into the fire, “If we could find a couple of those skins swept away in the flood, or perhaps we might even make a few new ones of horse hide. Use the meat to feed people.”

Lannister’s stomach turned at the thought of eating drowned animals. “They can’t be safe to eat after drowning.”

Jorah shook his head, “No, it would have to be a couple of the horses that survived, we’d kill those and use them.”

Daenerys spoke up, “We don’t have enough horses now. We cannot afford to lose a one of those left to us.”

“Khaleesi without water your people will soon start dying, we may need to sacrifice one or two of the horses.”

The voice that spoke was raspy and quiet, then Jaxon pushed himself up into a sitting position and coughed several times into his hand before trying again. “I might know of another way to find water. Before the bank fell on me, I noticed that the rock was different, it was crumbly and wet, water seeped into it easily.” He started coughing and when he was done, took the water skin Aggo offered and took a swallow before handing it back. “These ridges are made of different types of rock; the yellowish stone takes in water. I think some of these caves might hold pools of drinkable water, if it’s above the level of the water in the cauldron it should be safe to drink.”

Tyrion grinned, “That’s a good idea, we can look in the daylight tomorrow.”

Jaxon looked at Jorah, “How many people did we lose to the flood?”

Jorah looked grim, “Nearly a quarter of the khalasar altogether, mostly women, children and the elderly, but several dozen good fighters as well. Almost all the sheep and goats are gone, and many of the extra horses were drowned in the canyon.”

Tyrion looked to the queen, “Are we still going after the other khalasar?”

Daenerys seemed almost in shock upon hearing of the scope of the loss, “I have not decided. I must think on it and consult with my bloodrider’s. It would be even worse to go into battle and lose. Losing the battle means death, rape, and being sold into slavery for those that survive. My dragons left dead or riderless. This is not an easy decision, or one to be made lightly.”

Jaxon looked at Mormont, “Where is the rope I used today, we’ll need it tomorrow to check the caves for water.”

Jorah inclined his head towards the back of their cave, “Back there with the saddles and tack. Your belt and sword are there as well, no idea where your mail and armoring has gone to tho.”

Jax shook his head, “It’s gone, too heavy to wear when swimming.”

All of them were weary, it had been a long day full of running, climbing and rescue, shot through with terror and loss. It wasn’t long after that Aggo made his way out of the cave to watch over his Dothraki and the remaining horses. The rest of them stretched out around the fire. The queen’s guards stood watch at the front and back of the cavern. Soon they were all sleeping soundly, glad to put the day behind them.

The next morning, they woke early, the sun hadn’t risen above the horizon yet, but people and horses stirred outside on the cave’s wide ledge. Jaxon sat up and stretched his arms, and then his shoulders and back. He felt like he’d been beaten up, but it was just sore muscles and nothing dire. He stood and walked to the back of the cave, found and buckled on his belt and weapons. He bent again and retrieved the coiled lengths of rope.

By the time he’d finished and walked back to the fire, Tyrion was sitting up, eyes yet bleary with sleep. Jax found Jorah on the ledge checking over their horses. His bay mare was there, she lifted her head and whickered softly at him. He walked over and let her press her forehead into his chest. Jax stroked her arched neck, glad to see she was fine and seemed recovered from her harrowing ride and swim yesterday. He’d never in his life pushed a horse so hard, he had more respect for animals than that.

Jorah straightened up from where he’d been checking a sturdy chestnut gelding’s hooves. “Later today we’ll have to turn them out to graze on the desert, set a couple of men to watch over them. No point in tempting thieves to make off with our horses.”

 Jaxon nodded in agreement, “What plans do we have today? Is this a good time to start checking the caves for water?”

“The sooner the better Jaxon, water is our most important need right now, and not just for us. The horses need water too. Take a few men to help you. The empty waterskins are at the back of the other cave.”

Jaxon made his way along the ledge to the other cavern that held most of the Dothraki. It took him a while to get to the back of the cave. Many people stopped him and thanked him for his help at the cauldron. He nodded and accepted their words graciously. He had not done that much, out of all those in the water he had saved only a few out of many. It made him feel like he should have done better, or rescued more, been faster.

Aggo chose four men to help him, and they carried a dozen or so empty water skins. He worked his way out of that cave and back to his own. Tyrion was waiting to help him. Jax was grateful for that.

Their group climbed around to the top of the ridge, and made their way around to the cliffs overlooking the cauldron. Much of the water had already been claimed by the ever-thirsty desert. There was perhaps twelve foot of water left in the basin, the surface of the wide cauldron was covered with debris, wood of every type, dead animals, and drowned people. What water they could see was nasty looking, a murky brownish-green and opaque. There wasn’t much smell wafting up yet. Jaxon glanced up at the deep blue, cloudless sky and felt the growing heat, by tonight this lake of death would stink.

He looked around them, and saw a section of the yellowish stone nearby, walking to it he knelt and broke away several pieces with his fingers. He walked to the outside edge of the ridge and saw the tawny sandstone continued down towards the desert floor, a trail cut under them.

Soon they had made it down and onto the trail, it circled around the outside of the hills. There were so many caves to check. They went from one to the next, so far the caves were shallow, and each only took a few minutes to check.

Hours passed with no sign of useable water, but in some places the walls of yellow stone were cool and wet to the touch. Finally, they came to a steeper area of trail, and above them a shadowed opening. It was perhaps twenty feet over their heads, but the rock was rough, and there were hand and footholds.

Jory set the rope just above his hips, knotting it securely. He wasn’t worried about falling, but wanted to make sure he had the rope so he could bring the water skins up easily. The climb itself was simple, even with the softer rock. Only one hand or foot moved at a time, and only after the other three had a good set point on the rock face. Inside the cave he could stand, but just barely.

The cave sloped downward, the floor smooth rock underfoot. Jax needed a torch. He returned to the opening and called down, soon they tossed a brightly burning one up to him. He kept the flame in front of him, wary of snakes, manticore and bats. The down slope was fairly steep, and the cave narrowed, then a left turn, and he squeezed around a rock outcropping.

 There the cave opened up, but it was pitch black, no light entered from outside. Still the same smooth rock underfoot, and for just a moment he thought he heard something echoing in the chamber ahead of him, but when he raised the torch, he saw nothing moving.

He realized his torch was reflecting ahead of him and he lowered it, moving carefully. Water. Jax knelt at the edge of the pool and caught some in cupped hand, it was wonderfully cold and looked clear. He sipped it, it seemed clean. He studied the pool; it was perhaps ten feet wide here at this edge and stretched away as far as he could see into the darkness. Nothing floated on it and there was no odor except the dryness of dust and earth. He was certain this water was well above the level of the cauldron and was not poisoned.

The cave itself merited further exploration, but for now it would do to fill the water skins and get those back to camp. Jax drank deeply, needing water. Soon he was at the cave entrance shouting down to Tyrion about the cave. Soon the rest of them had made the climb, aided by the rope.

When all of the skins were filled, they carried them back to camp, it took two trips, but none complained, the water was a gift, and a bit of climbing and walking was nothing.

After setting the horses free to graze below, their dinner was fresh water and well-charred viper. Surprisingly, the snake wasn’t that bad, but truly needed some salt. The queen still refused to give an answer on whether or not they would still battle the rival khalasar, and she didn’t seem open to discussing it tonight either.

Chapter Text

Hauling enough water to provide for the entire khalasar and all its horses was an almost nonstop chore. The men worked in shifts filling the waterskins and carrying them to the caves. The women were in charge of killing and skinning enough of the vipers to feed everyone each day. It was hazardous work, and while they were at the caverns two women were bitten, and eventually died as a result of handling the snakes.

The water in the massive cauldron continued to slowly be claimed by the surrounding desert, the rotting bodies left behind stank in the sun and hatched clouds of black flies, enough of them that when staring down and across the earthen bowl it seemed a haze of dark smoke swirled and hovered over the flotsam and death there. Vultures flocked to the cauldron feeding on the carrion.

Mid-morning on the third day, Daenerys, Tyrion and Jaxon stood on the flat desert outside the hills as the queen called in her dragons, this time all three of them showed up, winging in from far to the southeast. Small specks on the horizon that quickly grew larger as they approached.

Drogon and Viserion landed somewhat close, Rhaegal a little further away. Jax saddled Viserion for Tyrion, double checking every strap before easing away. This time the great pale creature barely seemed to notice him. Daenerys watched him move around the dragon as he adjusted the tack.

Smiling, the queen shook her head as he walked back to her. “This time you ride with me.”

“Me? No, no, no. I have no desire to ride dragons.”

Daeny started laughing, “I am queen, you don’t get to refuse me. You would like it Jax if you only gave it a try. I am judging you, trying to find out if I trust you enough to follow you across a sea and to an unknown place, yet you won’t trust me. It says much.”

She had him and knew it, he had no argument and in fact saw her point. He laughed ruefully, “Clever argument and true, I will go for a ride.

She smiled up at him, “Just listen and follow my lead, don’t make any sudden moves, and in truth all you need to do is sit behind me and hold on. I’ve seen you ride, you’ll be fine.”

As they talked Tyrion had walked over to Viserion and gently ran a hand along her from her head to her shoulder, feeling the silky smoothness of her scales. It was almost as though each had been hand smoothed and polished. She was beautiful. He carefully climbed up, settled himself in the saddle and strapped himself in.

He watched Daenerys and Jax interact, the two had chemistry, but though Jaxon found her attractive he was too loyal to Nicnevin to bed the queen. He also knew she was beyond his station, she was above Tyrion’s station as well, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her.

He watched as laughing, the queen turned and walked towards Drogon, Jax at her heels.

Daenerys relaxed her body and walked casually towards the great black dragon’s shoulder. He turned his head following them. The queen lay a palm against his neck and inclined her head, urging Jaxon to do the same. He hesitated just a second before his hand touched Drogon, he couldn’t help it, he reached out to the dragon as he would to a dog, or horse. ‘Easy Drogon, easy now.’

The dragon suddenly stood, making Jaxon and the queen step back quickly, and brought its head around in graceful sinuous motion, it gently nudged Daenerys aside with its head to move past her, stopping with its nose only inches from Jax.

The guardsman held still, I knew this was a bad idea.

Daenerys tried to move between them, but Drogon gently pushed her away each time with his head before returning to study Jax closely.

“He’s never done this before. Try not to move.” She sounded worried.

Jaxon’s voice was silky smooth and soft, “Move? I am not even breathin.” He wasnae’ sure what one said to a dragon an’ “please dinnae’ eat me” sounded weak an’ like something prey might beg. Treat it like a giant fuckin’ horse when you talk to it.

‘Easy Drogon, I do this, talk, I canna’ help it or stop it. I am Jory and a friend to you, your queen and all. Daenerys wants me to ride with her.’ He stood very still as the dragon nudged him and took in his scent. Its breath was like standing before a fire. He lay a hand on the beast’s muzzle gently, warmth there as well against the palm of his hand. Satisfied, the dragon lifted his head, shook it, and then stretched out on the sand again.

Jax looked at Daeny, “You might have warned me he did that.” He chuckled wanly, relieved.

“He’s never done that before, did you do something?”

“I have a habit of talking to animals, I’ve always done it. I thought it better to try it now than wait until we were flying.”

She studied his face, “Glad you did, startling him in the air is a bad thing, it’s hard enough to hold onto him.”

She patted her dragon’s neck and behind her Jax trailed fingers along the black scales. The queen settled into her usual place.

“Where do I sit?”

“Right behind me, we’ll be close, but there is room.”

He easily climbed up, and then settled in right behind the queen, riding pillion, his legs just behind hers, making contact along their entire length. It wound up being closer than on a horse, there was no saddle that separated them. Jax caught hold of two spiked scutes, holding them tightly. “I am ready. I think.”

She laughed at him, gradually realizing how close they were. Jorah and Daario had both ridden with her and she didn’t remember feeling this close to them.

Drogon’s wings spread, and he flapped them slowly, the desert updraft caught them, and they rose into the air effortlessly. They climbed quickly; Jaxon watched the ground fall away beneath them. Then the dragon changed the angle of his wings, and they were flying forward, it was faster than even the swiftest horse could run, and the wind whipped through Jaxon’s hair. He realized he was laughing at the feeling.

“See, I knew you’d like this.” The satisfaction in the queen’s voice was evident.

Jax sighed, “I admit it, you were right. This is better than riding a horse, just wish dragons weren’t involved is all.” Immediately he started laughing at the ridiculousness of his own words and Daenerys joined in.

Soon he was caught up in watching the desert sweep by beneath them and managed to slightly relax his white-knuckled grip on the scutes. Then he was aware of how tightly he was snuggled against the curves of the queen's ass. He tried to push back and away from her even a bit, but there was nowhere to go, and he quickly realized that rubbing against her was even worse.

He tried to relax and got caught up in watching the scenery again, suddenly Drogon sped up and climbed sharply. He glanced back and saw that Tyrion and Viserion were following. Far behind them Rhaegel trailed almost lazily. Lannister had taken to dragons like he’d been born for them.

Then he looked down and was amazed at how far below them the desert lay. Looking around he found their hills far in the distance. Then saw a shining ribbon of light wending its way across the flatland along the horizon. He pointed and Daenerys nodded, “That’s a river, there are several of them. We probably won’t need to cross that one, it’s too far east.”

“It’s beautiful up here.”

“It always is, hold on.” She leaned forward slightly and Jax knew what that meant, he gripped with his legs and leaned with her, catching hold of the scutes again. Like an eagle, the dragon folded his wings partially and dove at a steep angle towards the earth. It felt more like falling than flying. He was laughing again he realized, and felt half drunk, the desert floor was rising up to meet them and easily Drogon levelled out, speed gradually slowing. He glanced back, checking on Tyrion. They had fallen behind but were now catching up.

“How do you find your way home?” Jaxon was completely lost, most of the desert looked the same to him.

The queen shrugged, “If in doubt, the dragons know where we are, they will carry us back to where we mounted them.”

To the northeast Jax noticed a line of rising dust that drew his eye to a dark dot moving across the desert floor. He pointed it out to Daenerys, and she turned the dragon towards it. As they came closer the queen recognized both horse and rider, “It’s Daario, he must be on his way back. We need to stop and tell him where we’re camped.”

Drogon circled and landed ahead and to one side of the sellsword. She turned to Jaxon, “You need to dismount when I do, dragons won’t tolerate others if their rider isn’t there. This will only take a few minutes.”

Jax had hoped that Naharis had left for good. From the frown on the peacock’s face, it was obvious he felt the same way about Jaxon. He eased himself from Daeny and climbed down from Drogon. The queen followed behind. Jax stayed back and let Daenerys walk over to talk to Daario. He had no interest in anything the man might say.

Tyrion and Viserion were flying wide graceful circles overhead in a pale blue sky. Jax grinned just watching him. The sound of raised voices behind him made Jaxon shift slightly so he could watch Daenerys and Daario from the corner of his eye. The man hadn’t bothered to step down from his dark stallion, he leaned down towards the queen, arguing about something, but she was not backing down, she held her head high.

To Jax, it felt disrespectful for Naharis to stay mounted and towering over a queen on foot. Not my call, she seems fine with it. Then Daario pointed at him and said something that made the queen shake her head. He set his teeth, fighting the urge to make their private argument his business.

He was about to be drawn in though, abruptly Naharis dug his heels into his charger’s sides and came galloping towards him. Jax turned towards him and set his feet. This again. At the last moment Daario reined his horse in roughly, the animal shook its head and reared at the treatment. Daenerys stayed where she was, watching.

The gaudy sellsword pointed a finger at Jaxon, instantly irritating him. “You were warned to stay away from the queen, yet here you are flying with her. This will not happen again, do you understand?”

Jax gave himself an instant to think on his next words, he wanted them to be sharp and cut Naharis to the bone, make him jealous, but to do so would be disrespectful of the queen and he couldn’t do that. Instead, he spoke the truth, “I couldn’t refuse, she ordered me to fly with her. I’d offer to fight you again, but last time you cheated, the next time won’t be fists only.”

Daario’s reply was a snarl, “Next time you won’t walk away. I promise that.”

Jax fought a smile, mostly keeping it from his face, “You’re welcome to try, better men than you have said the same thing.”

Naharis had no retort; he kicked his horse and rode off towards their encampment. Jax sighed and shook his head. The queen joined him, stopping just in front of him, peering up at him, a concerned look on her face, “What did he say?”

“He expressed admiration over me overcoming my fear of dragons and flying, that’s all.”

It made her laugh, wiped the concern from her face and she made a fist and punched him lightly in the chest, he caught her hand, but then managed to stop himself, for he’d been about to lean in and kiss her. “We should get back.”

She stayed there close, staring into his eyes, “Yes, we should.” There was another pause before she turned and started towards Drogon, Jax sighed and waited a moment more before following her. Soon they were on their way back to the ridge and camp.

Chapter Text

That evening at what passed for supper, grilled viper and water, the queen announced her decision. She and Tyrion would take to the skies on their dragons and search from high in the sky until they found the rival khalasar.

If their foe’s caravan was less than two days ride away, they would attack if numbers were favorable. There was a good chance that the same storm that had hit them had also decimated the enemy’s numbers as well.

Daenerys looked at Jaxon, “You will fly with me, help me plan out the attack.”

Daario shook his head, “No, it should be me. I am the fighter; I know how to wage war in the desert. He has no battle experience.”

Tyrion sat up a bit straighter, watching the interplay between the three of them.

Jax spoke up, “I will do as the queen asks, whatever her decision.”

The Dragon Queen lifted her chin slightly, her tone cold, “I have made my decision, Jaxon shall accompany me this time.”

She’d barely gotten the words out when Daario walked out of the cave and across the wide rock ledge, disappearing into the darkness. Without a word to any, or a queen’s dismissal.

Those left in the cave discussed the specifics, they would wait until late morn or midday to take flight, hoping to find a cloud of dust to more easily see the enemy. If they stayed high enough, they hoped that none would notice them, or if they did believe them to be birds of prey.

Later after the strategy and planning, Daenerys excused herself to spend time with her attendants, Jorah went to check in over at the other cavern and Jaxon stepped out onto the ledge to look at his bay mare.

Tyrion followed him, feeling the need to caution his friend, “You need to be careful, your flying with the queen does not sit well with Daario.”

“I know, he warned me not to ride with her again, but I can’t very well refuse the queen’s request, and besides I really do enjoy flying. I would like to get this done one way or the other, either battle our rivals, or return to Pentos. I cannot prove myself without battle, and we need Daenerys’s help to win against the White Walkers. I’m starting to feel like we are running out of time in everything. Here our food grows scarce, we do have enough water for now, but it won’t last forever. Any travel we do will be dangerous and cost lives, be it to Pentos or further into the desert. We won’t have adequate food or water, and not enough horses to carry all, no carts to carry children or the infirm and elderly. No tents to provide shade against the sun or weather.

“Did I save a few people in the flood, or just delay their death and make it a crueler one? I think we’ll be eating our horses to stay alive before this is over.” He glanced down at Tyrion, “I am sorry, I shouldnae’ be thinking out loud, but I can’t help trying to look ahead at things and try and plan.”

Tyrion nodded stepping in close to Jax’s side, “I’ve had much the same thoughts, these are real worries. The problem with Naharis is a real one as well. As jealous as he is you might as well have bedded the queen and gotten it over with. Both of you want the other.”

Jaxon shook his head even as he smiled, “I am fighting it, don’t intend for it to happen. It seems Nicnevin has deserted me, she ignores me when I reach for her, and call for her, tho’ she told me she could see and visit me here as easily as in Westeros.”

“By the Seven, why would you fight it then?” I would have given in long ago; she is something special that one. Seriously, you need to reconsider your decision Jax.”

Jaxon sighed softly, “There are layers to my refusal, first of all I do not wear my true face, this one seems a lie, and I’ll not lie to her, especially in that way. Second, I am so far below her station as to be invisible. I may be half Stark, but yet a bastard and own nothing, have no title nor wealth to offer.”

Tyrion broke in, “I am not talking betrothal, just a bedding, or ten perhaps, you don’t need a title for that.”

Jax nodded, “I well know my own heart, with her I would want more than that. It’s not just her that would be hurt. It’s why I try and stay safe and pay for my pleasure, things don’t end well for me. I have another reason for keeping a rein on my want. Nicnevin said that Daenerys’s true love is in Westeros, and she will meet him if she crosses the sea and helps us.

“I have thought on this, I think that since the battle will start in the North and we all fight there, it is meant to be a Northman or another who joins the war. Commoners, soldiers, smallfolk, the average merchant are not of proper station. I think it must be someone from a Great House, I don’t see many that she might meet that are suitable, I’d include you, your brother Jaime, and my nephew Robb. Jon Snow would be included, but he is in the Nights Watch and not available. I keep coming back to those same three. There are likely more, but if so, I haven’t thought of them.

“If I bed the queen, and later she weds one of the three it becomes awkward. If she chooses you, it will hurt our friendship, you can’t deny that. Also, as mentioned before, it would bother me seeing her wed to a friend or family member. Mostly tho’, I love Nicnevin even if she seems to have forsaken me, until I can get an explanation from her, I won’t move on.”

Tyrion had looked down, hiding his feelings as Jaxon explained how he’d narrowed down the probable field of likely suitors for Daenerys to three or four people. He was afraid to hope it was possible, but the guardsman’s reasoning made sense and had Tyrion doing his own calculations. He couldn’t eliminate Jaxon as easily tho’, and in fact by not fucking the queen he had made their chemistry even stronger and increased the likelihood of being her choice. “We will have to wait and see how it all plays out; she’s not even agreed to cross the Narrow Sea yet.”

Cassel scratched the bay sand steed at the high point of her withers before stepping away from her, “I am doing all I can. If we can find them tomorrow, I can create a plan when we see how many there are. Thankfully my uncle taught me most of what he knows about battle strategy. With three dragons this should not be difficult to win. I think the challenge is not to also kill their women and children in the battle.”

The two of them finally walked back into the cave.

Cameo found her mother atop the earthen mound that covered their home, she was sitting at the center of the spiral of white quartz surrounded by various smooth river stones that caught the moonlight and glimmered brightly.

The full moon seemed to hang low enough in the velvet sky to touch, and the nearby lake reflected both it and the countless brilliant stars overhead.

“Still nothing?” The girl had never worried for her mother before, it was a new and unsettling feeling to the young Fae.

Nicnevin was gazing at the moon dappled water, seemingly mesmerized by it, “Nothing at all, it is impossible for him to completely disappear from me, it leaves me with just one explanation.” Her voice trailed off. Breaking the uneasy silence, a loon wailed in sad song from the lake, the sorrowful lament fitting the mood.

Cameo finished what was left unsaid, “You think him dead.”

“I do.”

Cammy folded her slender legs and sat next to her mother, sliding an arm around her gently. “There must be a way to search, if you knew where he was you could travel to him. Can you go to a city and search for him?”

“I need a point to travel toward, he was my polestar, the reference point to go to.”

Cameo had a thought, “We cannot search, but might others be sent? Birds or other winged creatures? Have we not the power to see through other eyes?”

At this Nicnevin inclined her head slightly, thinking, “I doubt it would work, but it might be worth a try. You are a clever one Cammy. Would you do the honors as well?”

“Of course, I want to find Father almost as much as you do, but in return, if we find him you must tell him of me and the others, it is wrong to keep it a secret.”

“There was a reason I haven’t shared more, tho’ he has thought of it and wondered over the matter. I didn’t need him any more involved than he already was. Sharing our children would only bring him ever closer.”

Cameo shook her head, curls bouncing, “You didn’t tell him, and he’s gone, perhaps for good, and never knew. You denied him his family, and more, kept us from a father we both know would have loved us no matter if we were mortal or Fae.”

“Cammy this is not what we do, this closeness between the Fair Folk and humans is not allowed. I’ve already broken the rules repeatedly with Jory. I cannot put you at risk.”

Cameo was stubborn, “What risk? From our father? He is no danger. Yes, you’ve broken rules, but you are the queen. You are the one who makes the rules. I think they need to be changed. We share this world, part of it anyway. You know Jory, and if he is alive I will as well.”

Her words made Nicnevin smile, despite her sorrow, for she sounded much like her father with her stubborn and defiant tone. “I do not like it, but if you wish him to know of you and meet with him, I will arrange it. As I said, chances are he is no longer alive.”

Cammy stood and reaching down caught her mother’s hand pulling her to her feet as well, they knew that two Fae held at least twice the power of one alone. They faced the brightly shining moon, its light gentle on their lovely faces, both stretched their graceful arms out to the side, palms up, hands cupped slightly.

Nicnevin stayed silent, letting her daughter choose, listening to the sweet, soft song she sang, it rose and fell, accented by the continuing lament of the lake loon. Only the Fae knew these words, nothing of it was of the darkness, it was no blood magic. This was of both nature and love, Cameo asked for, not demanded help in her song.

The very earth of the faerie mound neath them began to glow, softly at first, then a brighter green, at last the sparks of light rose from the ground and began to swirl around them. More and more rose, summoned from the ground, the two Fae were enclosed within a column of rising, swirling green light made of thousands of the tiny, winged insects. Even then Cammy would not stop until she doubled the number of glowing beetles that orbited them.

She tilted her face back, and in her mind brought forward her father’s face, the image was not still, she gave it life, movement, true color, sharing this with the fireflies knowing her mother was doing the same. Then Cameo finished her lyrical song completing the search spell, and in that moment brought both hands around to point towards the southeast and pushed the insects that way.

 A distant pack of wolves took up song then, serenading the gravid moon. The insects flew towards the southeast, at first in a bright column of green, then they separated and became a cloud of paler light, then a mist of sparks that were soon lost in the night sky as they moved away.

Cameo sighed and watched them until all were gone, “I think this will work. In the morn I will send another cloud, daytime beings tho’, ladybugs will work and seem the proper touch.”

She didn’t see the sad smile her mother managed, “I hope you are right.” Her arms went around her eldest daughter, and she held her close. At least if Jory was gone, he’d left something of himself behind in his daughters.

Chapter Text

The next morning Jaxon woke just at dawn to take his turn fetching water from the pool. He didn’t mind, he enjoyed the companionship and the work, it was satisfying. He made the climb, one of the Dothraki had set hand and footholds into the rock and it was an easier ascent now, but the rock still was soft and broke away easily, so caution was yet needed.

Torches had also been set in the walls of the cave; he was early today, one of the first at the pool. He had always been too busy to explore further than the water source. Today he lit a fresh torch and carefully walked around the pool and into the darkness at the back of the cave. He watched every step, wary of serpent, scorpion, and the rare and deadly manticore found in the desert.

The pool stretched further back than he’d thought, the cave narrowed, finally the pool ended at a slab of solid rock, but when he held the flame close to the surface of the water, he saw the narrow gap at the bottom of the pool it hadn’t ended, the rock just kept them from the rest of it. Just to the right was a wide crack between cave wall and rock slab, rubble had fallen on the solid stone floor, but the way was just passable for an average sized man.

Jax held the sconce before him, and gingerly stepped onto the jumble of rocks, his hand went to the cave wall for balance, and he eased into the crack, curious as to what lay on the other side of it. He took his time and made his way into dark coolness, but then the way narrowed even more, and he turned sideways to progress. The rock pressed in close, and he had to work to get through.

 A large spiderweb blocked the way, either the spider was a fast worker, or this way had lain undisturbed for a long time. Jax bet on the latter, he let the torch burn away the webbing, seeing no spider he continued. If I had eaten anything at all this morn I’d not fit thru’ this.

Curiosity drove him, at any moment he expected to come against a rockfall blocking the way, but narrow as it was the crack continued. Then a good-sized rock blocked the way, it came from the outer-wall side. It wasnae’ a huge rock, but in narrow confines a head-sized stone was enough. Jax was determined to get through, he set the torch upright in the rubble, and with both hands grasped the rock and gently rocked it, finding a scant inch of give in one direction. He worked the stone back and forth, further loosening it, eventually he was able to pull it free. He set it on the debris at his feet and picked up his torch again, he looked into the area, it seemed that just ahead the cave widened once more. Stepping over the rock he’d just set down, he pushed deeper into the cave. He nearly got stuck, but with a final push his tunic ripped in back where it had snagged on a rock, and he was thru’. The path widened.

Jax lowered the torch and looked closely at the floor, it was mostly smooth rock again, but here a thick layer of fine dust lay undisturbed, he reached down and ran a finger through the light-colored powder. He easily left lines in the inch deep layer. Glancing around he saw the wavy series of lines where a serpent had slithered across the floor.

He stepped forward, looking around him, the ceiling was close, perhaps a foot over his head. The path now was over five feet wide, he made good progress. The walls here were a different stone, dark gray and seemed to almost absorb the flicker of torchlight. The paler sand on the floor must be drift dust from the desert outside, borne in by the wind and time.

The cave widened again, becoming what Jaxon would call a cavern. The ceiling rose too, disappearing above him. It was large enough that he didn’t know which way to go, and no light made its way in that he could see. He decided to go to the right for no reason at all. He could move faster now, always keeping the torch in front and down. More adder tracks disturbed the dust, thankfully he saw no snakes.

Then he stopped and knelt, brought the flame right to the dust, nearly into it and saw the footprints. They were old and mostly filled in with dust, but they were there. He drew a bead on where they were going, with the sconce held this low they were a bit easier to see. Two sets, both bigger than his own print and walking side by side at times, single file others.

He followed the footprints around the cavern and to a wall. Something had happened here. They had knelt and as he looked carefully, he saw that the cavern floor here was not solid rock but packed dirt. They’d dug down near this area of wall.

His curiosity piqued, he searched for something to dig with, but the best he could manage was a flat piece of rock that had fallen from the ceiling. It would have to do, he knelt at the disturbed area setting the sconce against the wall. The digging wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, he had dug out almost a foot of dirt and sand in less than an hour’s time. Then he hit something that sounded almost hollow. He grabbed the torch and looked. He brushed away the dirt and saw the edge of a wooden box or chest. Setting the sconce back in place he continued digging, scooping up handfuls of dry sand and tossing it aside. The chest was about a foot long and maybe eight inches wide. The wood seemed in decent shape and not rotted. It still wouldn’t come free; the cave was reluctant to give up her secrets so easily. He finally drew his dagger and used it to work around the edges of the box to loosen it, then gently pried it free of its tomb. It was around eight inches deep, a beautiful rich red brown in color. There was no lock only simple latches and hinges.

He set the small chest in front of the torch, clicked the latch releases, laughing quietly as he realized his hands were shaking slightly, and lifted the lid. He felt disappointment, the chest was full of dust and dull stones. Of course, he had hoped for treasure, gold, pearls, rare gems. He picked up the torch and held it close to the cavity where the box had been, then ran fingers over the void, nothing there.

He sighed and held the sconce nearer the open box. Picked up four small stones and rolled them in his hand. Most of the dust came away, it was fine as powder and had seeped into the box over decades of time. He licked the tip of a finger and chose a round stone the size of his fingernail, the shape was so perfect. He ran the fingertip over the top of it, cleaning away the dust, and blinked in surprise.

In the light of the flame the stone’s polished surface looked like a perfect drop of blood, a red deep and flawless. He realized he was looking at a ruby large enough to be the main stone in a queen's ring. He set it back in the box, and this time chose a square stone that was slightly larger in size, he blew away the dust, and again cleaned the face of the gem. It shone as tho’ lit from within’, a brilliant green that reminded him of summer leaves in the Godswood at Winterfell, an emerald.

Carefully, he set all of the stones back in the box and closed the lid, engaging the latches and then rechecking that they had caught properly. He sat for a few minutes thinking about what to do. He wanted to show Tyrion, Daenerys, and Jorah. He didn’t really consider the gems his, tho’ a few would be nice. His remaining gold had been sewn into his brigandine, and a few coins kept in a pocket of his breeches. Now, except for a single gold dragon hidden on his belt, he was penniless. The armor had been set aside without a thought and the coins in his pocket had somehow been lost when he was swimming or caught in the mudslide.

Several minutes later he stood, picking up both torch and box, carefully making his way from the cavern to the narrow crack he had to eel his way thru, and out past the pool. Climbing down the slope while carrying the box was challenging, and he scraped both knees, but he made it. He crossed the ledge and entered their cave, sauntering over to his bed and setting the box down. He noticed his clothes and shook his head, he was filthy.

He realized he was too late to show the others; he’d been gone longer than he realized. The queen and Tyrion were probably in the midst of searching for the enemy. He was a child with a secret he just had to share with someone. He tucked the box under his arm and went in search of Mormont.

The man was elusive, he wasn’t in the larger cavern next door, not with the horses, but his gelding was there yet so the man hadn’t gone far. He finally found him coming up from the desert proper, he’d been seeing Daenerys and Tyrion off.

It took a moment for Jorah to notice Jax standing on the trail a distance above him. He stopped in his tracks and laughed softly at the disheveled, dusty man with the wide smile across his dirty face. “I hesitate to ask.”

The smile grew wider, bright in his dusty face, “Ask anyway. Better yet hurry up and I’ll show you.” He turned and made his way up the trail toward their cave.

“You are wearing half the mountain, at least half. We have no water, you’ll never get clean.” He followed Jaxon.

Jaxon grabbed one of the smaller skins of water that only had a small amount left sloshing at the bottom. He moved to an area of cave near the fire and added wood until it blazed brightly.

“Your shirt is torn in back and you’ve a decent scratch….” He saw the box under Jaxon’s arm, “What’s that?”

“Sit down at the fire,” Jax waited patiently until he did, facing both the fire and the cavern opening. Jax eased down next to him and brought the box out, he clicked the latches and lifted the lid. He randomly chose a dozen or so stones and handed the dusty pebbles to Jorah. “Those are yours, let’s see what they are.”

Mormont was curious, he rolled the stones in his hand then held them within the palm, studying them. “You found these?” Jax only nodded. Jorah blew away as much dust as he could, then untucked his tunic and chose a stone to polish clean. He held it between thumb and fore finger when done, it was tear shaped and a deep cobalt blue. “This is a sapphire, I’m certain of it. You found these?”

“I did, I found a narrow passage and followed footprints to this buried box. I think it's been there at least a lifetime, probably more. Those are yours to keep. I am gifting most of the rest to the queen. Keeping out a few for myself and some for Tyrion.”

“Is there more hidden?” Mormont was working on cleaning the next gem.

 “There could be, I thought that when the queen and Lannister got back, we could search.”

Jorah now held a blood hued ruby as large as his thumbnail. The stone looked perfect in the firelight. He shook his head, “There is a fortune in these two stones alone, are you sure you want to give these to me?”

“I am, I have no need of jewels. As long as I’ve enough to buy a bottle of ale or rum once in a while, or a comely woman, I am content. I think I owe you for saving my life at the cauldron. I don’t think I ever did give thanks for that, Thank You by the way, even if tis’ a bit late.”

Jorah nodded, busy cleaning the gems he’d been given. He wound up with a nice assortment of well cut, quality gems, each a precious stone worth a small fortune. One seemed to be a small diamond, it had caught the firelight and held it, sparkling brilliantly. He stared at them as they filled his cupped palm, enough to buy a future of ease, some land somewhere or maybe reclaim Bear Island.

Mormont opened his vest and unfastened the hidden pocket inside, placing his gems in and then sealing it once more before buttoning his vest. He stood and retrieved the Khaleesi’s wash basin and a soft linen towel, then added some water. Jaxon noticed what he was doing and opened the lid. So much dust. He blew a breath over the contents then coughed as the dust rose in a cloud.

Jorah laughed, “Here, a couple of handfuls in the basin at a time, we’ll rinse and dry them. Then when all are done, we can clean the box and return them to it. I am guessing you want them cleaned up for the queen.”

“Yes, not much of a gift presenting her with a big box of dirt.”

Mormont nodded, “Not just dirt, rocks too, she might just throw it off the ledge.”

They both laughed at the mental image of the gemstones going flying and the resulting scramble to find them again.

It took them both almost two hours to get the gems fairly clean and the box presentable. Jax looked at the stones glowing in the firelight, he had seen at least two that he really was fond of and picked through the emeralds, diamonds, and rubies until he found the two odd colored stones. Each was a nearly perfect oval and seemed to hold the dawn inside, hues of pink and orange, touches of violet when the light hit it just right.

Then with a slight grin he closed his eyes and reached in the chest a final time, catching a small palmful of gems and after clearing the box, closed the lid and latched it. He studied what he’d blind picked and nodded in satisfaction. These were for Tyrion.

Jaxon craved at least two things right now, a bath, and a drink of something stronger than water. He wished he had a change of clothing. He mentioned all to Jorah and the man excused himself soon after, and a while later returned with a set of clean and folded Dothraki garb that should be a near fit.

When Snow offered to pay, Mormont spoke up, “The Dothraki don’t take payment like that. They already feel they owe you for your help in the storm, let them gift you the clothes, it’s an inexpensive way for them to repay you.”

Jax nodded, “I will not change yet, I think we should check the cavern I found after the queen returns. Seems foolish to ruin a second set of clothes.”

Jorah had also managed to find a small skin of fermented mare’s milk and offered it to Jaxon. The men shared the drink. At the first sip Jax made a wry face at the smooth and almost creamy texture, the sourness, but later after sampling more decided it wasn’t half bad. That, and it was all they had.

Jax wasn’t completely foolish, he had known that telling only Jorah of the gems, and showing the treasure carried risk. They were alone in the cavern most of the time, occasionally one of Daeny’s attendants came in briefly, but never stayed long before leaving. It would have been a simple matter for Mormont to kill him when his guard was down and claim the entire box of jewels. A risk and a test at once. If Jorah could be trusted, Jaxon would speak for him before Lord Stark and ask for a pardon for the slavery charges from so long ago.

Alone together in the cavern they waited for the queen to return.

Chapter Text

It was many hours before the two dragons returned with their riders. By the time they’d landed at the hills, Jaxon had managed to wash the dust from his face and wet his hair, combing fingers thru’ it until it fell somewhat into place.

When the dragons landed, they made their way downslope to them. Jaxon handed the box of gemstones to Mormont and then unsaddled Viserion. There was no place in their cavern to hide the gems, and neither trusted Daario, who seemed to disappear and reappear at will.

Lannister’s dark blonde curls were wind-tangled, his tanned face a bit sunburnt from the hours of flight, but he was smiling as he noted his friend’s dusty and torn clothing. “Did you tumble down the hill then?”

Jax shook his head as he carried the dragon tack back to the cavern, “No, was fetching water earlier. What did you see, did you find them?”

“It took a while but yes, they are in a canyon two day’s journey from here on horseback. It seems an established camp. I thought to sketch a charcoal map of it later in the cavern, then we can plan an attack.”

“How many are they? Did you get an idea of their strength?”

“I think they have a third more people than we do, but with them in the canyonlands it’s hard to be certain, but it’s my best guess. As to how many are warriors, from our height it was impossible to tell, they seemed more as ants than men.”

Soon they were back in the cave, Tyrion was at the fire looking for a likely bit of charcoal to draw with. Mormont handed Jaxon back the chest. It was only the four of them there in the cavern for the moment. Naharis was still away, as were the queen's attendants.

Daenerys was at the back of the cave washing the dust from her face, she came to join them near the fire when she was finished. Mormont looked at Jaxon and inclined his head towards the queen.

Jax nodded, standing up, keeping the chest at his side. “This morn at dawn I went to do my share in fetching water for the camp. Since I was so early, I decided to explore the cave a bit, satisfy my curiosity. It goes back much further than I thought and nothing grand to see, just more sand and rock. I found something tho’, well hidden, and long undisturbed. I wasn’t certain what to do with it at first, but now I know it should go to you, my queen. This is yours.”

He presented the closed box, held it as Daenerys fingers went to the latches and released them, she glanced up at Jax for a moment, smiling.

He returned the smile, “Don’t make everyone wait, open it.”

She slowly lifted the lid, firelight set the jewels within glowing softly, multicolored banked coals, the queen’s lips parted in surprise. She stared, mesmerized by the richly colored stones. “These, you found these?”

“I did, Jorah and I think we should go back and see if anything else is hidden within the cave.”

The queen only half heard his words, she reached towards the gems then stopped, “May I touch them?”

Jax laughed softly, “They’re yours, of course you can.”

She took several, holding each in turn within delicate fingers, first towards the fire and then, turning slightly, towards the mouth of the cave and the sunlight there. She raised her eyes to Jaxon’s face, “You gift me these, why? Are you trying to sway my decision to help you? To buy me?”

Jax looked confused, “No, it only seemed like the right thing to do. I am your guest and travelling on your hospitality. This is your camp within your realm, it does not feel like it was mine to keep, tho’ in full confession I have taken a fair handful of the stones. I thought of it as a finder’s fee.”

There was a momentary awkward silence, the queen spilled her stones back into the chest then stirred her fingers through the gems inside. “I misspoke.” She raised her gaze once more to his, “I should have said ‘Thank You.’ It is a most generous gift Jaxon. Now, I think we should see what else waits to be found inside your cave.”

Tyrion had watched the exchange from where he knelt at fire’s edge collecting charcoal. He wondered if Jax understood it seemed as a wooing, his presentation of gemstones. Their exchange had not reached the level of courtship yet, but neared it. The dwarf almost chuckled at the ongoing dance between queen and guard, two steps forward, a graced fall, then a rise with a step back.

Soon they were climbing up to the cave, the queen was as agile as any of them. When Ser Jorah saw the narrowness of the crack, he argued against the queen going further. “All it would take is the smallest shift of rock and it could crush you or trap you within.”

She was having none of it. If there was treasure to be found, she wanted to search with them. After Jory and Tyrion eased around the rock, Daenerys slipped almost easily through the opening. Mormont had a time of it with his wide and deep chest, but with willpower and much effort he bulled his way through.

Once inside the large cavern, Jory knelt and showed them how to hold the torch at floor level and see even faint disturbances in the deep layer of dust. Then he led them to the outer wall where he’d found the jewels. Jory thought to pick up the flat piece of rock he’d dug with and shook his head, wishing they had brought something better to dig with.

Tyrion suggested they stay together and move slowly around the outer edge of the cavern looking for tracks. If they split up and wandered all about, they might erase any tracks left by others.

Tyrion found the set of tracks leading further into the cavern, they appeared very old, so they followed them. The path led over a spill of rubble that had fallen from an unseen ceiling far above them and to another area of hard-packed sand.

Jorah drew his dagger and pushed it into the dirt, he did this in several areas until the tip hit something about a foot down. Both Cassel and Mormont started digging, finally revealing the top of a wooden chest about two foot long and a little over a foot wide.

They started digging down along the sides to free it. Tyrion took his torch and started looking for more footprints, wandering into the dark recesses of the cavern.  Daenerys stayed with Jaxon and Jorah, holding the torch for them as they worked at freeing the buried chest.

They disturbed a yellow centipede the length of a woman’s hand and it wriggled rapidly over the top of the wooden box. Jax drew his dagger and deftly flipped it far away against the cave wall. This chest had heavy rope handles at each end, the box was stout, crude, and crafted of heavy, unfinished oak.

In the end it took both men to free it from its grave, Jax at one end and Jorah the other. The weight alone gave them an idea of what might be within’, two things had this weight lead or gold. Lead was common enough that none would go to the trouble of burying it in a hiding place.

Setting it on the cavern floor, Jax took the torch from the queen's hand. There were three heavy leather straps that secured the chest and two latches as well.

Mormont looked at Daenerys, “Would you do the honors then my queen?”

Smiling, Daeny knelt her fingers shaking slightly as she unfastened the straps one after the other. She paused, taking a deep breath, then slowly unlatched one side then the other.

The queen lifted the lid, sighing softly at what the torchlight revealed, the chest was three quarters of the way full of dusty gold coins. For a few moments none had words. Mormont reached in and picked up a coin then held it to the sconce flame, studying the image there.

On one side was a lion, rendered in great detail with flowing mane and fierce eyes, the other side was a palace or castle with soaring twisted spires. The coin was unfamiliar to Jorah. Cleaned of dust, the gold gleamed in the light of the flame. Mormont smiled, “The Khaleesi just became a very rich woman.”

“Indeed she has.” Tyrion came within the sconce’s circle of light from the back of the cavern where he’d been working. Dusty from head to toe, he stepped forward and handed the queen a small box, this one also crafted of smooth, rich red brown wood, and small, eight inches by eight inches and the same in depth. It had two simple latches.

Inside was a deep blue silk pouch, held closed by a drawstring. She set the chest atop the gold and her fingers opened the rotting silk. She reached inside and pulled out a half dozen or so pearls, most were white and of similar size, but one was black, the other a pale pink in color. “You found pearls.”

Tyrion smiled, “I did, and you gold. It has been a profitable afternoon.”

They finished searching the depths of the cave but found nothing else. It took them many trips, and until nightfall to move the treasure to their cavern.

While the others celebrated, Jaxon grabbed an empty water skin and his change of clean Dothraki clothing and made his way to the water pool, filling the empty skin. Then he descended to the desert floor and found a shallow nook where clean, windblown sand had drifted to several foot in depth.

He peeled off his torn and dirty clothes, took off his boots and caught up handfuls of pleasantly warm sand, using it to scrub his body until the worst of the grime was gone. Then he used the water to rinse the sand away and wash his hair. He felt almost human again, and took time to let the gentle breeze dry him as he admired the bright stars and sliver of a moon in the dark sky.

He slid into the soft, sueded leather breeches and slid on his boots. There was a light linen tunic and a beige color vest painted with several images of horses. He retrieved his gloves and buckled on his weapons belt, adjusting it exactly so.

Jax ran fingers through his tousled hair until all of the tangles were gone. He felt alive again, and best of all clean. He climbed back up to the cavern and joined his friends. There was leftover supper, but Jaxon was tired of serpent and not hungry.

He sat near the fire and watched the others admiring the treasures they had found. The riches meant little to him, but he smiled watching the others sifting through the pearls and gems and letting gold coins slip through their fingers.

The next morning the sun had barely cleared the flat horizon when Daenerys was shaking Jaxon awake. “Get up, I have plans for us this morn.”

He sat up, this was early for the queen to rise since they’d been camped. “Plans? Dare I ask?”

“We are about to battle, and you have no armor, I know where to buy some. If we take Drogon it is only a few hours away. This woman is a trader and has some of everything imaginable, I am certain she is well-stocked with armor.”

Soon they were winging over the desert, Jax enjoying the ride and more relaxed on this trip. “You and Tyrion were both right, I enjoy flying tho’ I never believed I would, and I am not as worried about the dragons either, but I do respect their power. I always will.” He was against her close again, there was nowhere else to sit, and his words were spoken against Daenerys’s ear.

The queen smiled, “Shows that you should trust your friends, and your Queen. Hold on, it’s time to climb and make better time.”

Hours later they circled the jagged red pinnacles that rose from a flat desert floor. It was a landmark and easily seen from many miles away. The perfect place for a trading post. Drogon landed and Jaxon and Daenerys climbed down. Several horses sheltered in the shade of the towering peak, as the dragon set down they spooked and raced away in terror.

The trading post itself was made of odds and ends of wood and metal tacked on over decades and snug against the rocks. If this outcropping of rock were at all like theirs at the canyon there would be caves, ample storage space for trade goods.

The woman behind the counter was petite and seemed as old as time. Her hair was a half dozen shades of white and gray, long and pulled back into a single fall that reached her hips. She eyed the couple standing before her, “What might I get for you?”

Daenerys had been glancing about the shop, items of every purpose and scope hung on the rustic walls, dangled from the ceiling, were stacked upon tables and chairs. “He needs armor, but I’ll let him explain further.”

Jaxon nodded, “Aye, brigandine or scale if you have it, and mail to go beneath, also if possible, a couple of sets of tunics and breeches to go beneath.” He studied the wizened old woman’s face and met her dark eyes as he explained what he was seeking.

Instead of moving right away the trader studied his face, “You are not of this land.” She reached and caught Jax’s hand before he could reply, turning it over and examining his palm, her fingers tracing lines there. “You have travelled far, and yet have further to go, and much to do. She released that hand and took the other, noting the creases there. Jax had been startled at first and then thought perhaps she did this to most clients that visited, so he allowed her this bit of showmanship.

She spoke again, “Even now the menace in the north is rising, growing stronger. I see endless battle and blood, innumerable dead on both sides. The outcome is not clear, the mist is capricious, hiding it from my eyes. I think it is not written in stone but changeable, the final victor changing almost daily. You must keep going no matter the odds.”

Jaxon nodded, stunned by her words and trying to commit them to memory. “Thank you my lady, I will truly keep all you’ve said in mind and try to heed your words.”

“I have several items of armor to show you, you may choose as you like. Let me fetch it for you.” She disappeared through the curtains at the back of the shop and beyond.

Daeny took the time to look up at him, “What did her words mean? Was she speaking of the White Walkers you’re to battle?”

“Most likely it was just words, but aye she did seem to be speaking of them, and that we may lose in the end.”

Soon the shop owner returned carrying several items, and following her a tall, wizened man carrying more armor. They lay the items along the counter.

The mail shirt caught his eye right away, it was a darker metal than he’d ever seen before, charcoal gray, nearly black and the rings were small and tightly knit. He picked it up and was amazed by its lightness. He looked at the owner, “This is something rare, I’ve never seen its like before.”

“You’ve a good eye, this is the only mail I’ve ever seen of this material. It's sat in storage a long time, waiting for just the right customer. Try it on.”

Jax slipped it over his head, it was half the weight of most mail and far less bulky. He knew he’d take it. Now he looked over the rest of the offerings. There was a standard scale mail jacket, it would fit him, but it seemed unwieldy, and he couldn’t risk slowing his combat speed.

Then he picked up a black brigandine coat, guessing it would reach near to his knees or a bit longer even. It was supple and buttery soft to the touch, well-worn, very old and fine grained. The standup collar was reinforced and would help protect his neck almost as well as his bishop's cape did.  He eased into it, then buckled his arming belt in place over it. With the mail underneath it felt right. He stepped back, rolled his shoulders, turned side to side from the waist then drew his sword. Nothing pulled or bound him, all fit well, and he could move freely.

“I will take this, it suits perfectly, name your price.”

 The owner smiled, “I trust you to pay fair price.”

Jaxon nodded, but the queen’s hand lay a half dozen precious gems on the counter between them, “Will this suffice?" Then Daenerys thought of something else and described for the shopkeeper what she sought. 

The old woman nodded and inclined her head towards her husband who left to seek the items. Soon returning with them.

The shopkeeper smiled, “More than enough.” She gathered them and they disappeared into a pocket.

Jax knew better, the armoring meant more to him, it required a payment from him, and not just a queen’s gems. He reached into his front pocket and withdrew the two sapphires he’d chosen, glancing at them he chose one and tucked the other back into his pocket again.

In mountains yet blanketed in snow, on rare days at sunrise, for just a few minutes, dawn paints all in an elusive color exactly between pink and orange. The beautiful hue there is found in only one other place, rare and valuable sapphires that kings covet, and queens yearn for.  Most people know not of their existence and will never see one. Jaxon placed the single dusty oval gemstone on the counter as his contribution.

The woman raised an eyebrow at the dusty stone, “What is this?”

“A gift, this armor will save my life. I appreciate it. My thanks for parting with it.”

She shook her head and placed fingers on the stone to slide it back to him. In an instant his hand rested lightly atop her fingers, stopping her.

The shopkeeper protested, “I need no gift, a ‘thank you’ is enough.” As she spoke, she met Jax’s eyes, saw the sincerity there.

Jaxon continued, “Take it, I want you to have it, words usually suffice, but this armor rises to more than just words. The mail alone does, and we both know that. One gemstone is naught compared to what you’ve given me.” His fingers were yet atop hers.

Nodding, she accepted the stone, sliding it into her pocket with the others. At a glance she had known the value of the gem, its rarity. Seven, seven stones was a good omen as well. She wondered how the man knew of the magic crafted within the mail, if he had felt it at a touch. Valyrian steel was not easy to come by, not now, and not ever. The craftsmen making it chanted spells to add to its protection and keep the wearer safe.

The brigandine was nearly as rare and fit him almost perfectly. This gives him a chance. “Remember my words, and my thanks for your generosity.” She watched the two leave her shop, the man carrying a bundle beneath one arm. She had seen them arrive on their dragon. Of course, she knew the queen, but this visit the woman had almost seemed to want anonymity.

Her husband came from the back, standing at her side. “I trust they paid well. You’ve held onto that armor for decades Malya, since before you wed me even.”

“I have, none deserved it or needed it until today. It was meant for that one.”

“You saw something then, what was it?” He turned, studying his wife’s beloved face.

“I saw a darkness coming, that is what I saw.”

In the distance the ebony dragon winged away, destination unknown.

Chapter Text

That evening the khalasar’s fighters were preparing to ride into battle, readying their horses and sharpening arakhs. Some would stay behind to protect the women and children, but nearly all of the rest would make the two-day journey and fight.

Even as Daenerys and Jaxon had travelled to find armor, Tyrion and Ser Jorah had made their own flight, they had left earlier in the day to reach their destination. Tyrion could have made the trip alone, but dwarves are valuable in Essos, and sought for dark purpose by some, while dragons are a prize dearer than gold. Jorah would provide both protection and valuable advice.

They had taken a portion of the gold and gems, and flown back to Pentos. There Jorah had led the way, contacting trusted vendors, and arranging for simple carts, horses, and much needed supplies and food to be sent to the queen’s khalasar. It would take weeks to arrive, and might even be encountered on the way back, but it was on its way. Mormont also made arrangements for the rest of the gold and treasure to be stored in a secure location until Daenerys had need of it.

That night, after dining, the queen presented Tyrion with the mail shirt and breastplate she’d bought at the trading post. In presenting it Daeny explained that although he was mostly safe atop Viserion she wouldn’t chance a stray arrow hitting him.

It was late when they all went to their sleep areas, Daario stalked in quietly and went directly to the queen’s curtained bed area. Jaxon wondered if he was going with them on the morrow. He knew they needed every able-bodied fighter, and he would never trust Daario, but believed him loyal to Daenerys.

This was the first time he’d been fully alone with Lannister since he’d found the gems. His friend was stretched out on his blankets staring at the battle map he'd sketched on the wall nearby. Jaxon reached into his pocket and pulled out the gemstones he’d saved for Tyrion. He knew his friend didn’t need the money, he came from wealth, but as a friend, and one who had travelled far and given up much to accompany him, Jaxon felt he owed him and wanted to share his part of the fortune.

“I’ve been meaning to give you these. I’ve had them a couple of days now and haven’t had a chance.” He held out his hand.

Lannister sat up, curious, and held out his hands, accepting the spill of precious stones. Tho’ the fire and sconces burned low they still caught and held the light, creating banked coals within his cupped hands.

Tyrion looked from the gems to Jaxon, “I have no need of these, you should keep them.”

Jax shook his head, “I have my share. Those are yours, you may not need them, but I want you to have them Tyrion. You risked much coming here with me. I do appreciate it.”

Tyrion studied the jewels in his hands, when he spoke his voice was soft and low, only for Jaxon’s ears, “No one chooses me as a companion, no one, but you did. I’ve never really gone anywhere or done much, other than helping at Harrenhal. I have read much of adventuring, thinking that was as close as I could get to exploring, but this has been an adventure; I have met a queen, crossed a desert, escaped a flood, flown on a dragon. None of it would have happened if not for you Jory. I should be paying you for this, it’s something I shall remember for the rest of my life. Thank You.”

Jaxon met Tyrion’s eyes, “Don’t thank me yet, might be best to wait until we are both safely home.” He grinned.

Lannister shook his head, “No, I mean it, no matter how things turn out, for me it was worth it.”

Before they slept, Tyrion and Jax went over the battle plan one more time. It was their plan, but there was no room for error. When they had all committed to memory at last, they slept.

The next day found the fighters on horseback, crossing the simmering desert. Jorah and Jaxon riding side by side in easy silence. That morning the queen and Tyrion had taken off on their dragons to check on the enemy from far above, do a final check of their location and numbers.

When the dragonriders returned in the late afternoon, they switched to horses and allowed Drogon and Viserion to fly free. Tomorrow they would stay on the dragons in case their foes sent an attacking party to intercept them. They needed the dragon power to win, if caught flat-footed in the desert they would surely lose.

That night they sent the horses out to graze with a couple of watchful lads shepherding them. There was little for them to eat, but even the sparse desert grass was better than nothing at all. In being camped at the ridge for so long, the surrounding grass had been eaten, and the horses had all lost weight, they had less speed, a loss of energy. They were not suffering, and could quickly regain condition, but it would affect their battle worthiness.

There were no fires that night, and there would be none until after the battle. A single torch in these sandflats would draw the eye as easily as a bonfire. It was not worth the risk. Their supper was dried strips of snake, unsalted, chewy and bland. Jaxon forgo it and instead sat honing the blade on his long sword after sharpening his dagger to a keen edge.

Tyrion sat nearby on his folded blanket, it seemed he’d been chewing the same bite of sundried adder for at least a day now. “I would give a year of life for a morsel of rare beef and a tankard of cheap ale. Two years for just one bite of roast capon and a sip of good wine.”

Jaxon laughed softly, “Enough, tis’ a bit cruel to tease about food when we’ve naught but snake and water. I’d settle for a bowl of pottage with ‘neeps an’ leeks and watered-down swill beer.”

Lannister made a face, “I think I prefer snake to pottage.”

“You may have my share tonight then.”

Lannister took a swallow of tepid water to wash his food down, “Speaking of snakes, be careful around Daario during the battle. I don’t trust him, and he seems the type to stab a foe in the back if given a chance.”

Jaxon nodded, “I feel the same, and in the confusion of battle it would be an easy thing to do, but I will be watching for it.”

Tyrion frowned, “I just have a feeling that though you and Daario may both leave for the fight tomorrow, only one of you will come back.”

Jax shrugged, “More likely we’ll both be busy in skirmishes and far apart the entire time, after all we planned this out for a reason.”

“Most of our plan relies on the dragons and our fastest horses. I hope the queen is right and she can control Rhaegar. It will be difficult enough for Daenerys and me to avoid burning the wrong people, a riderless dragon seems risky at best.”

Jaxon knew that just before the battle they had planned to hand out long strips of red cloth to tie around every Dothraki’s left arm, with extra ribbons going to the rest like Daario and Jax. One of Daenerys’s attendants had sacrificed her scarlet dress for the cause and then helped tear and cut it into strips, trading it for more comfortable Dothraki silk breeches and tunic.

Hopefully it would aid the two dragonriders in telling family from foe while in the air, like arrows, once dragon fire was loosed it could not be recalled. There were drawbacks of course, the enemy could strip away the crimson ribbons from the fallen and use them, adding to the confusion.

Gradually their conversation quieted, by now each man had spent enough time with the other to feel at ease, and not need to prattle on to fill the comfortable silences. Each thought of their offspring, Tyrion imagining a tall, slender girl with flowing golden hair the color of the sun. He wondered if Bronn had found Lanna yet. He hoped so, in a fair world she would be waiting for him at Harrenhal when he finally returned.

Smiling wryly, he shook out his blanket and lay down on it, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the glowing stars. He was soon envisioning her face, the life he would provide for her in Westeros. It was a pleasant way to drift into sleep.

Nearby, Jaxon’s name and fairer face might hide and overshadow Jory, but deep neath’ it all was the northern guardsman in both head and heart. He knew it a bit unwise to dwell on loved ones just before a battle, but he couldnae’ help himself. In truth, most nights at some point he cursed himself and swore that he would do better by Jessy and Jor.

He stretched out atop his rough blanket, using his saddle as a pillow, closing his eyes, he recalled every soft line and curve of his pretty daughter’s face, her curling hair so like his own. He could hear her voice, feel her arms around his neck. On that first night when he’d met them, the girl had freely given her heart.

Then he did the same for Jor, seeing his face, the strong structure and planes of it, the familiar stubborn lines betwixt the lad’s dark eyes. Jor is more cautious and thoughtful than I will ever be, he has a wisdom beyond his thirteen years. He is worthy of his Stark blood.

Then as he did many nights when he was drifting into sleep, before he was taken fully by the darkness, he thought of Nicnevin, wondering where she was and why she had forsaken him. He knew he’d been an arse, especially since she’d stayed at his side that last night. I am sorry, I miss you Nic.’

***

Far away in Winterfell, Eddard Stark would rather be anywhere than where he was. He and Bran were the only two people in the library. Ned had made certain of that. Now he and Brandon sat before the hearth.

It had been Robb who’d come to him, had noticed it first and realized something had to be done, “You need to talk to Bran, he and Jessy have become very close. They spend hours together every day, when Bran walks to the library, usually Jessy is already there waiting for him. Both are young, I know, but the way they look at one another, it’s slowly becoming more than fondness father. Out of kindness you need to talk to Bran and put an end to their hope.”

That had been only yesterday, now he and Brandon sat sharing the awkward silence within a darkened library as light snow salted the ground outside. Jessy was in with Septa Mordane and the other girls, doing her daily sewing and stitchwork.

Ned looked at his son, by the way his head hung slightly, and his shoulders slumped he believed he was in trouble. “Bran, I need a word with you, you’ve done no wrong, are not in trouble.” His words trailed off, now he’d have to speak with Catelyn and probably his other children as well. He realized his son was looking up at him in expectation.

Ned continued, “I know you are fond of Jory’s daughter Jessy.” At her name the boy smiled, and he saw Bran’s eyes light up. Robb had been right. “I think we’ve all fallen a bit in love with her.”

His son’s feelings spilled out as he smiled, “Father she is so clever, and funny like Jory, I can talk to her for hours and never be bored. She is good, and kind, can draw and sing as well. Jessy makes up the best stories too.”

Ned smiled, almost sadly, “I see you think highly of her. I am glad Jessy has become such a good friend to you in her time here, but Bran, that is all she can be to you, your friend….”

Brandon’s face reddened, “I know we are young, but I care for her.”

Eddard shook his head, “You are too young, but that’s not why.” He barely got the words out when his middle son broke in.

“I know she is not of my station, and mother will say that as well, but I don’t care. Station doesn’t matter.” Bran was hurting, Ned could feel it suddenly rolling off him in waves.

Ned, reached up, rubbed an eyebrow, head and heart aching for his son, “No, you misunderstand me. Age matters, station does not, not to me. There is something else. Jessy can never be more than your friend because she is your family. Jessy and Jor are your cousins.”

Bran just stared at him uncomprehendingly for a long moment, “That cannot be right.”

“It is though, Jory is my half-brother, your grandfather Rickard fathered both of us, and is Jessy’s grandfather as well. It is not age or station that separates the two of you. It is the very blood in your veins.”

“Does Jessy know?” Now Bran was looking beyond him, staring out the window at the snow falling.

“No, only a few people know, Jory, Robb, Old Nan and Ser Rodrik. Now I must tell Jessy and Jor, your mother as well, your sisters too I think.” Eddard sighed softly.

“She cares for me too; this will hurt her. She has a tender heart.” Bran was seemingly lost in the snowfall outside. He seemed stoic, but Ned saw the slight glisten in his eyes and looked away at the fire in the hearth.

Eddard had a sudden thought, “Bran, you and Jessy didn’t?” He had difficulty saying the words.

Bran shook his head and now there was anger in his eyes, “No, I’ve too much respect for her to do that. We were waiting.”

“I would expect nothing less of you, but I had to ask. I should speak to Jessy soon.”

Bran held his father’s gaze, “You should hurry, she is due here any moment, she always comes here after finishing her needlework.”

“Will you be alright if I leave?” Ned wanted to stay with his son, but it would be worse to tell the girl in front of him.

Bran looked down, “I am far from alright, but in time I shall be. Just be kind with Jess. I think it would help her if you also told Jor at the same time, then they have one another.”

Eddard stood, placing a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder.  “I am sorry to wound you this way Bran, but you had to know.”

His son nodded, then set his own hand over his father’s, “Yes, still it hurts though.”

Soon after Ned was outside, walking towards the Great Hall, his mind replaying what had just happened, admiring the quiet grace his son had shown in the face of heart-wrenching news.

He saw Jessy ahead, making her way across the muddy yard toward him, leaving footprints in the skiff of snow. She had lifted her skirts just enough to keep them from the mire neath her boots. Already she had spied him and smiled widely. He stopped and waited for her, managing a smile he wasn’t feeling.

Jessy stopped in front of him and caught one of his hands within’ her small ones, the smile yet on her face as she looked up at him. Snowflakes melted in her brown hair. “Good day Lord Stark, how fare you?”

“I am well Jessy, and you?”

“I am on my way to see Brandon in the library. The snow is beautiful, is it not?”

This time Ned did smile at her joy at such a simple thing. “I see it so often I barely notice it now. I would speak to you and your brother first. Do you know where he is?”

Her face went pale, “It’s not father is it, has something happened?”

Eddard heard the fear in her voice, saw her pallor, “No, no, as far as I know Jory is fine Jessy. I just need a few words. I did not mean to scare you, I am sorry for that.”

She was still fighting tears, and barely managing to hold them back. “Jor is likely either with the horses or in the stables.” Her hands yet grasped one of his and she held on as they started walking towards the stable.

They found Jor there gently brushing one of the brindle mares, she stood dozing, eyes half closed under the pampering. The lad nodded at Eddard, “Good Day Lord Stark, can I help you with one of the horses?”

Ned nodded back, “Hello Jor, good to see you, actually I was looking for you. I’d speak to you and Jessy for a few minutes.”

The boy looked puzzled, “Of course. There’s no one else here. The others are inside and out of the snow. We could sit in the back.” He led the way there to the benches the stable lads sat at while cleaning and oiling tack.

Eddard nodded, “This will do.” He took a seat and motioned for the twins to sit across from him on another bench, and they did, sitting there nearly leaning into one another. He studied them, realizing that some part of them still felt like they needed to stay side by side to face the world. Jor especially, for the lad almost never let his guard completely down. At thirteen he was more adult than child, and had been for some time now, steadfastly protecting his sister.

Ned looked from one to the other before starting, “I had hoped your father would be here for this, but he is yet away in Essos trying to gain us allies for the coming war. I won’t stay the matter any longer, you both have a right to know this now.

“You both know that no matter what happens, the two of you have a home here at Winterfell, now and always. I promise that, but there is more, you are family, Robb, Jon, Sansa, Bran, Arya and Rickon are your cousins by blood. Jory’s and my father is Rickard Stark. You both are of this house and bloodline.”

The siblings stared at him; Eddard waited for them to think through things. He thought Jor looked somewhat relieved, as if a bit of the weight of Westeros were lifted from his back. The boy met his eyes, “You are our uncle then.”

“I am, as is my other brother Benjen, who is in the Nights Watch at the Wall. Please give me a few days to tell all of my own children and my lady wife. I chose to tell both of you. Very few in Winterfell know your father’s parentage.”

Jessy sat frozen, her face almost blank. Jor found more questions, “What of Ser Rodrik? He is no blood kin?” the boy looked slightly sad at the realization.

“Rodrik Cassel is yet Jory’s Uncle, and thus yours. Your father considers himself a part of both families, he proudly keeps their name. The Cassel’s took him in before he was born, sight unseen. It is good to be part of such a family, Beth is your cousin too. Jor, you and Jessy aren’t alone, not anymore.”

Eddard reached and gently touched fingers to Jessy’s hand, “You’ve gone very quiet Jessy, are you upset? Have you questions?”  

Jor slid an arm around his sister’s back, he’d been slow to realize what was hurting her. Of course, he’d known she had been falling for Bran, but this put him out of reach as anything other than a friend and cousin. At his touch Jess turned toward her twin, and closing her eyes leaned full into him. No tears fell, there were no sobs, she bore the loss with dignity, as much as a thirteen-year-old could manage.

Ned moved to sit on his niece’s other side and slid an arm behind both her and Jor. He could only hope that Jory’s children felt this was their home, and that they were loved.

Family, his was meant to be here at Winterfell in their pack and safe, yet both his brothers were away, Jon too. He knew each was fulfilling their duty, Benjen and Jon at the Wall, ready to defend against the white walkers, and Jory an ocean away, trying to gather an army. We each have our part to play, and mine right now seems to be to watch over the den and the wolf pups within.

Outside it was still snowing, but the ground held the sun’s lingering warmth, so the snow melted quickly, barely covering the earth. It was a clear reminder of the truth. Winter is coming.

Chapter Text

The rival khalasar had camped deep within the canyon. It could have been an easy battle. If the queen had only wanted to destroy a foe, to end their raids and slavery all she had to do was fly her dragons along the canyon and heat all to glowing rock. She might not kill all, but most within would die, men, women, and children alike. That’s why they had a plan to try and draw the fighters away and out into the open desert.

Aggo and Jaxon, and two more Dothraki on their fast sand steeds, took their time riding in close and entering the wide mouth of the gully at an easy walk, as if unwary common travelers or scouts. The rest of Daenerys warriors hid two sand dunes away from the canyon, they’d moved into position in the dark of night. Far overhead the dragons soared, Tyrion and the Khaleesi watching closely.

There were lookouts atop the canyon walls, they noticed the four riders as soon as they cleared the nearest sand dune. Hidden, they watched and let them come closer, one watcher made his way to the main camp and warned them, putting the entire camp on notice. Men saddled war horses, strung their dragonbone bows, readied arakhs and other weaponry.

Their canyon held caves and shaded ledges set well above the canyon’s sandy floor. The women and children climbed up narrow, winding trails and hid within them. Armed, even the women and elders would fight if attacked, willing to protect their children even if it meant the loss of their own lives.

The rival khalasar waited, wanting the four wandering horsemen further inside the canyon, hoping to trap them there and kill them, if they escaped and fled back to their camp they’d follow, then kill or enslave all men and women there, loot their supplies, hopefully the strangers carried gold or valuables.

If they could kill them in the canyon, it was an easy matter to trace their tracks through the desert and catch their camp unawares, over the last decade they’d done it countless times, their khalasar had grown rich and powerful that way.

The sentry was careful to stay just below the edge of the canyon so he wouldn’t be silhouetted against the sky. Several large rocks provided cover. Knocking an arrow, he drew back the dark dragonbone bow and sighted along the arrow shaft, aiming for Aggo’s wide chest. He paused, knowing he held the man’s life between two fingers, but then carefully relaxed his draw, knowing it was not for him to take the man’s life.

Jaxon knew they were being watched, he could feel the eyes on him and fought the impulse to look up. They had to look at ease to make this work. If they tensed up and made eye contact with the sentries, odds were they’d be rewarded with an arrow from the canyon rim.

For the plan to work, their fighters had to leave the canyon and be drawn over that first tall sand dune and down into the next where the Khaleesi’s warriors would meet them. The dragons would keep them from returning to the canyon where they held the advantage.

It would have been easiest just to let the dragons cut the enemy off from the refuge of the canyon and then burn them and their horses, but that was not how Dothraki fought. Not how Jaxon would fight either. Battle was meant to be warrior against warrior, and not by dragon fire burning them a dozen or a hundred at a pass.

The Dothraki men would not follow a leader who didn’t allow them to fight. They needed battle as much as they needed air to breathe. The Dothraki Screamers could only earn prestige and glory in battle and raids. Like the Ironborn, they didn’t plant or farm, what they had they took with blood and battle.

They were well within the canyon now, anytime the trap would be sprung. Jax gently stroked his bay mare’s arched neck. She’d have to be sure footed and swift, his life depended on her. For a while now the gully had run straight, but just ahead was a curve to the right. They were there, more than he’d thought, the canyon full of them.

“Away! Away!” Jax shouted the warning even as he was turning his horse. She spun so fast he was nearly left behind. Then they were galloping, trying to put distance between themselves and the screamers. Jaxon bent low, trying to lay as close to the bay’s neck and withers as possible. It made him a smaller target and let her run faster.

Aggo’s stallion was the fastest and led the way out of the canyon, the other three close on his heels. Just behind them came the horde of enemy khalasar, eager to draw blood, for the fight.

The enemy lookouts posted atop the canyon let their arrows fly. The first round missed, but the second volley dropped one of their younger riders, leaving three to draw the enemy to Khaleesi’s waiting ambush.

Soon enough they were out of the canyon with its rock-strewn bed, and running across hard-packed, flat desert under a merciless sun. Their horses took the first sand dune at an angle, trying to hold their speed. It slowed them down, but would do the same to the Dothraki chasing them.

The twists and turns of the gully had limited the use of the lethal dragonbone bows, but now in the open the queen’s trio of riders were vulnerable. An arrow just missed Aggo, and another hit their third and youngest rider, it was not a fatal strike and he managed to stay on his horse.

They topped the first dune and raced down the other side, the enemy following, they started up the far side needing to draw all of their foe into the valley. Jax and Aggo reached the summit, horses lathered in sweat. Their rivals were all within the slack between the two dunes. Aggo roared out a single command and the queen’s army spilled over the rise of the dune, filling the air with ululations and war cries as they attacked.

Jaxon and Aggo spun their horses and joined the charge. Although Jaxon’s longsword had a greater reach, the shorter, curved arakhs were better suited to fighting on horseback.

Now Daenerys and Tyrion swooped in closer on their dragons, watching from above as the battle unfolded beneath them, ready to incinerate any of the enemy that fled. It was a brutal tact to take, but all in the desert was brutal and unforgiving. They couldn’t have rogue fighters coming around to harass them and their women and families later.

If the queen lost and her army was defeated, it ended in death for many and enslavement for the rest. Dothraki made poor slaves, the only hope of domesticating them enough to be useful was to geld them. It was either that or sell them for fodder in the fighting pits.

Weapons clashed and the dust rose, the Dothraki were intimidating fighters, and loud, shouts, bellows, and roars of rage accompanied the song of steel and flow of blood. Jax fought quietly, saving his energy for the man in front of him. One man then the next, fighting until they fell. He’d put a simple overhand knot in his reins and let them fall loose on the bay’s neck, guiding her with his legs and weight. He was fighting one warrior, both of them on horseback, when an Dothraki screamer on a huge gray stallion slammed into his bay mare. All three horses went down, taking their riders with them. Jaxon got his foot out of the stirrup, but his leg was pinned between two struggling horses, and he’d dropped his sword. Fortunately, the other two men were in much the same situation. The one who freed himself first and found a weapon would likely be the winner.

The man he’d initially been fighting had caught the worst of it, he had weight from at least two horses atop his leg and it had shattered, yet still he writhed and kicked with his good leg, attempting to get out. Jaxon twisted around and caught the pinned man’s arm with one hand, then ripped away his arakh in desperation. He had no idea where his longsword had gone, and other than his dagger, this was the only weapon within reach.

Fighting raged all around them, but Jaxon and his opponent may as well have been alone. The screamer on the gray was after Jax, he was limping badly, injured in the collision or fall, but still out for blood. He swung his arakh and Jaxon brought his own arakh up in a two-handed grip and blocked it on the downswing.

The gray got to its feet and moved away, Jaxon put a boot on his bay’s saddle and pushed to help her, and she rose to her feet uninjured. In doing so she pushed the screamer back, came between them for a moment and that was all Jax needed. He gained his feet, and could put weight on both legs. His horse leapt away and Jax pushed her to go and get away from the fighting.

That was all he had time to do because the lamed Dothraki was at him again. Jaxon wasn’t limping, but the strange weapon he wielded put him at a disadvantage. The other man was nearly the same size as he was, but his braid was cut short, and he seemed to need to prove himself. He swung his arakh, trying to take off or badly injure Jaxon’s leg, but Jax blocked it and brought the locked blades up, using them to try and push the man back.

A line of fire from the sky in the distance, one of the dragons destroying the enemy. The battle still swirled around them. Jaxon drove his foe back one step, and then a hard-earned second. His mail stopped a slice that would have cut an arm to the bone, but it would be a colorful bruise on the morrow.

He found his sword, laying on the ground a half dozen paces away, where it had been knocked or kicked away in the crash. He needed it. He could just manage to fight with the exotic arakh, but had no skill or training with it.

Jax started circling toward his fallen long sword, a half-step at a time, blocking and countering, the curved blade made it easier to trap an enemy’s weapon and hold it. He did so once more, then set his feet and pushed hard, sending his enemy off balance, and stepping back to find it again.

In an instant Jaxon threw himself back and sideways, hit the sand and rolled. His hand caught his sword’s grip and his fingers curled around it, he let momentum carry him a bit further and rose to his feet, bringing his sword up and to the ready as he did.

His foe had charged him, thinking that he now held the advantage over a downed man, the screamer ended himself, with too much momentum and fire. As the fallen man retrieved his weapon and brought it up, the charging Dothraki impaled himself unexpectedly, the blade sinking deep into his torso.

Jax stood, sliding the sword deeper and up, causing as much damage as he could to bring a quicker death. Blood dripped from the sword as he withdrew it from the still body. For a moment Jaxon stood, the battle’s center had shifted as tho’ it were a living thing, leaving a swath of dead in its wake. His bay was nowhere to be seen, but the sturdy and fearless gray stallion his slain enemy had ridden stood nearby. Jax claimed him, a hand eased along a powerful necks and catching up the reins. Then he was into the saddle and galloping towards the fray.

Fighting from a horse was a different battle, it was faster, a slash here, a block there. Mostly Jackson looked for those wearing the fluttering red armbands, then rode in and tried to help where he could. The gray stallion was strong and fearless, often bulling his way into and over those in his path.

From time to time now, one of the dragons would fly overhead, their shadow catching the combatants below. Tyrion and Daenerys keeping track of the battle. They still flamed any enemy that tried to flee. The Khaleesi’s khalasar was winning, it was taking the entire day to do so, but slowly the slavers were being defeated.

Jax was spattered with blood and gore, little of it his own, but in the fighting he’d been blindsided once as he fought another mounted warrior. A passing horseman had caught him along the side of his calf, between knee and boot. After slaying his opponent he’d been forced to ride away and wrap it tight with strips of his tunic. He doubted anything important had been damaged, just flesh, and flesh would heal.

He rode back into battle and the hours passed. He wound up fighting near Aggo and his eldest son, The three of them on their horses were deadly. Over time the battle had continued slowly moving down the slack between dunes. Out of the corner of his eye Jaxon saw a horse and rider top a nearby dune escaping. He killed his opponent a few minutes later and after ensuring Aggo and his son were safe, rode after the ascending trail in the sand. The battle proper was all but over now, and the sun sinking low on the horizon. He didn’t see the dragons anywhere.

He topped the dune and looked for the fleeing rider, but neither man or horse were in sight, they’d left a single trail tho,’ and Jaxon was compelled to follow. It led back towards the rocks and canyon. Jax squeezed lightly with his legs and the gray cantered easily along the trail.

He was tiring, his horse too. Jaxon rolled his shoulders trying to keep them loose. He hoped he caught up with his quarry before sunset, he didn’t want to be hunting the man in full dark in an area he barely knew.

The tracks led to the outside of the canyon and into an area where large spires of rock jutted from the sand. It was a good place to hide. On and on Jaxon rode, just following the tracks as they wound just around the towering rocks.

The voice rang out from above and behind him. “Halt!”

Jaxon turned his horse to face whoever had called out. It wasn’t his quarry, the tracks led on, this was someone new.

The man was on a slanted ledge nearly five foot off the ground and holding a drawn dragonbone bow, the arrow aimed at his chest. “Get off the horse, I won’t ask twice.”

Daario stepped out from behind a closer pillar of rock, inclined his head as he smirked, “Best do as he says. He won’t miss from there, and even your pretty armor won’t save you this time.”

Jaxon felt nothing but contempt for the sell sword, “You rode with us into battle, but you’re not bloodied. You must have fled early on, hidden here.” He slid from his horse, and slapped him on his hindquarters sending him away. “Always knew you were a coward at heart.” He noticed the Naharis had a sand-colored cloak that covered his usual armor and probably hid him from above, he hadn’t been wearing it earlier. He didn’t want the dragons to see him.

Motion caught Jaxon’s eyes, it was the rider he’d chased, now coming back. Three of them. He turned his attention back to Daario, the corner of his mouth turned up in a slight smile, “You couldn’t beat me alone, now you wait until I’ve spent a full day fighting and it still takes three of you.” Naharis didn’t reply but visibly bristled at his words.

The rider dismounted, a wide smile across his face. The archer climbed down from his perch, bow still in hand. Jaxon wondered if a couple of well-placed arrows were part of the plan too. He’d fight no matter what. They’d chosen a good spot, here in the rocky area it would be easier to hide a body.

The three of them circled him slowly, the rider freed a long whip from his belt and cracked it once, it gave him about eight foot of reach, well beyond Jax’s long sword, but whips aren’t immediately deadly.

The bowman might just be there in case he decided to try and run away, but that wasn’t a part of him. He’d stand and fight. No, Daario was his main adversary, so Jaxon made sure he was facing Naharis as the three slowly orbited him. Naharis drew his sword, and Jaxon drew his own blade.

His injured leg was sore, it hadn’t affected his gait yet that he could tell, nor had it opened up again. Moving was good for it, working away the stiffness from being horseback most of the day.

Daario moved in then, and Jax stepped back into fight stance, letting the enemy come to him. Their blades clashed in a ring of steel that echoed off the rocks. He’d automatically rolled his wrists, catching his opponents initial swing on the flat of his blade, trying to keep what edge was left on his sword after a day of fighting.

His ego was at him, Jaxon drove at Daario, his sword a blur of motion, Naharis caught each but was forced to step back once and then again under the unrelenting onslaught. Daario’s sword crossed with his and this time Naharis pushed him back, then stepped in quickly and thrust at Jax’s torso. The blade would have caught him in the upper belly, but Jaxon’s armor stopped it.

Jaxon stepped aside to gain distance and drove his own blade in even as Naharis spun away. The blade slid off his foe’s brigandine doing no damage. The two came together again, neither able to gain an advantage. Their swords rang out, the music of the fight.

It was only when the dragon was upon them that they noticed it. Tyrion had seen the two lines of tracks crossing the dunes, leading away from the main battle, and had followed them, to this. Now he hovered on Viserion, watching, unable to unleash the dragon’s fire.

The whip man struck, the braided leather thong snaking out and wrapping several times around Jaxon’s throat, then the wielder stepping back and taking all slack from it, pulling Jax backwards, and off balance slightly.

Daario laughed, Jaxon off balance and leashed took the challenge from the fight. The archer pulled an arrow from his quiver and deftly nocked it, never taking his eyes from the dragon and its rider. He drew the bow and carefully took aim.

Tyrion stared, he hadn’t expected this to be at the end of the trail, but it didn’t surprise him much. He tried to find a strategy to make things right, to free Jax and fry the others, but his friend was in their midst.

The archer was about to release his arrow, Jax had no choice. He dropped his sword and bending his knees half crouched enough to grab a goodly-sized rock from the ground, judging its weight and size even as he drew his arm back and let the stone fly with as much force as he had left. He roared a single word meant for Lannister, “Go!, Go!”

The hurled rock struck the bowman in the shoulder, enough to sting and leave a bruise. With a snarl the man turned, bow yet drawn, and aiming by instinct at this close range, he released the arrow.

The dragon’s wings shifted angle and flapped faster as the beast rose. Tyrion could do nothing to help his friend, he needed riders on horseback to take care of this.

The arrow hit Jax in the chest, a handsbreadth to the right and above the heart. The best brigandine, along with the rare mail that had been saved for years did their job and mostly stopped the arrow. But the steel chisel point had penetrated both layers of armor, and sat firmly within’ his chest.

The whip wielder pulled back hard and from behind, off balance, Jaxon’s knees buckled, and he fell, and hitting the ground, reaching for his long sword where it lay, fingers just grazing the pommel. Then he remembered his dagger, drew it, and sliced through the whip encircling his neck, then rolled on his side to claim his sword.

Daario’s boot caught him hard in the ribs, and Jaxon coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. The archer stepped on Jax’s wrist, pinning it and the sword he held, bending he caught the shaft of the arrow still protruding from Jaxon’s chest and snapped it off near the skin.

Now all three of them were at him, kicking and hitting him. He waited for the blade, but it never came. He coughed, it hurt to breathe. A vicious kick to the head and everything went dark.

The attackers left him lying there. The dragonrider had ruint their plans. To kill Jaxon now would have the Dothraki hunting them as they fled, but leave him alive and their energy would be spent on caring for an injured man, and getting him to safety.

They rode away, through the rocks and around the hills. Jaxon sprawled in the dust where they left him, the gray stallion patiently waiting nearby. The sun was setting. It was full dark when they found him. Tyrion and Daenerys flew in first, the pale gray horse stood out, drew their attention. After a circling pass to make sure the attackers had fled, they set their dragons down nearby.

Aggo and a dozen or so Dothraki arrived half an hour later. By then Jax was awake, but confused over what had happened. They needed to get him back to the others and the healers. Camp had been set up near the battlefield, fires burned, and their army was there.

Jax was adamant, “I can ride, just need a bit of help getting on the gray.”

Daenerys argued, “Not alone, you can ride behind someone.”

“I don’t need to ride pillion. I am fine.” He coughed again, wincing at the pain.

Tyrion spoke up, “A dragon would be faster, jostle him about less.”

The queen volunteered, “He’s ridden behind me before. I can take him.”

Lannister thought a moment, “Could you hold him if he passed out? Keep him from falling?”

 Daeny took a moment to consider her answer, “Perhaps.”

“My dragon has a saddle, we can use it to tie him in place behind me, then he cannot fall.”

It was the better option, tho’ it tried Viserion’s patience to have ropes wound about and over her. In the end Tyrion was in his saddle with Jaxon roped in place behind him. He’d passed out again and had to be carried to Viserion and set in place. The pale dragon rose slowly and turned towards camp, Balerion followed with Aggo and his riders cantering that way too.