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Riverrun's banners snapped in the river wind as the falcons of the Vale rode through its gates beside the direwolves and trout.
Fifteen thousand. That number moved like a living presence behind Jon as the column wound across the drawbridge; knights in bright enameled plate, lances upright like a forest of steel, destriers stamping and tossing their heads. The Vale cavalry rode in disciplined ranks, sky-blue cloaks flowing behind them, falcon badges gleaming in the pale sun. They were untouched by the southern wars. Unbloodied. Rested. Dangerous.
Jon rode slightly behind Lady Catelyn, watching the courtyard swell with onlookers. Riverlords lined the walls. Northern men-at-arms stood in clusters, wary eyes studying their new allies.
The mood was not celebratory. Something was wrong. Edmure Tully waited at the base of the steps leading into the keep. He wore black beneath his mail. That was the first thing Jon noticed.
The second was the exhaustion etched into his uncle's face. "Edmure," Catelyn said softly as she dismounted.
He stepped forward and embraced her tightly.
"I am sadly now Lord Edmure, sister, Paramount of the Riverlands," he murmured.
Catelyn's eyes widened and her hand tightened on his sleeve as she knew what that meant. "When?"
Edmure pulled back, grief flickering openly across his features. "Father passed two weeks ago." The words seemed to hollow the air around them.
Jon watched Catelyn's face lose color. "Peacefully?" she asked, her voice thin.
"As peacefully as illness allows," Edmure answered. "He asked for you."
That struck harder than any blade. Catelyn closed her eyes briefly. "And he has been laid to rest?"
Edmure nodded. "We committed him to the river at dawn five nights ago when all the lord of the Riverlands gathered and swore allegiance to me."
Lord Hoster Tully was gone. Another pillar fallen. Another grave in a war already heavy with them. Catelyn straightened slowly. "I should have been here."
"You were where you needed to be," Edmure said gently, glancing at the Vale host filling the yard. "You have brought salvation with you."
Jon did not miss the weight of that word. Salvation. They would need it.
The courtyard eventually thinned as officers from the Vale were escorted to quarters and discussions began regarding encampments. Jon remained near Catelyn as they followed Edmure into the solar.
"Where is Robb?" Jon asked, seeing he was not here.
"He rode out a few days ago once he got word that the Vale will be giving its support. He has taken half of the Northern forces, 10,000 leaving us the rest."
"There is news," Edmure continued.
"Bad?" Jon asked quietly.
Edmure hesitated. "Not entirely."
He moved toward the map table, spreading a fresh parchment marked heavily with ink. "Stannis Baratheon has taken King's Landing." The words settled heavily. Jon absorbed them without visible reaction.
"The city fell after a prolonged siege," Edmure continued. "Brynden writes that the gates were opened from within; defections among the gold cloaks, unrest in the city. The Lannister forces inside collapsed once Stannis breached the outer defenses."
"And Joffrey?" Catelyn asked as he was surprised how bloodthirsty the woman sounded.
"Captured," Edmure replied. "Though his fate is yet uncertain."
"And the queen?"
"Dead." Catelyn's eyes sharpened. "Burned," Edmure clarified. "Publicly."
Jon felt a quiet chill. "And her children?" Catelyn pressed.
Edmure's gaze flicked briefly to Jon before returning to her. "Burned as well."
Silence filled the solar. "And Tyrion?" Jon asked.
"The same." There was no triumph in Edmure's voice. "Brynden says the executions were ordered by the red woman."
Jon knew the name without hearing it. Melisandre.
"The red witch has his ear?" Catelyn asked.
Edmure nodded grimly. "Brynden writes that she stands at his side constantly. That she speaks of prophecy and divine right. That she was the one who demanded the burnings."
Jon looked down at the map. Stannis had won. But at what cost? "The city recognizes him?" Jon asked.
"He has been crowned," Edmure replied. "In the Great Sept. Many bend the knee. Others… do so reluctantly."
"And the Tyrells?" Catelyn asked.
"They send representatives," Edmure said. "As do the Dornish. They seek concessions."
Jon could almost see it unfolding; the careful maneuvering had begin, the quiet bargaining. The Reach and Dorne measuring Stannis, calculating what price they might extract.
"The good news is that Stannis has sent word. He will release Lord Eddard Stark's remains."
The words struck like a hammer. Jon went utterly still. "He has ordered the bones gathered and prepared for return north," Edmure continued. "Along with the remains of your father's household slain in the capital."
Jon swallowed once. It had been years since he had seen Ned Stark alive, but the weight of his absence had never lessened. "You may take them home," Edmure said softly. "To Winterfell."
Jon nodded slowly. "I will."
"There is more," Edmure added. "Stannis offers positions on his small council. For the North and the Riverlands. For standing by him and getting him the throne. Since your brother is gone you may go and hold the position until he chooses someone else. For now Brynden will hold it for us."
Jon frowned slightly. He was really done with the capital. He did not want to step foot there ever really. "I'm fine. I'm sure my brother can find someone more suitable for such a position."
Edmure shrugged his shoulder, "He seemed to really want to see you. You are being hailed as the great defender of Riverland. Something Stannis has done during Robert's Rebellion, holding Storm's end."
"I thank his grace but to be honest I am done with Southern politics," Jon stated his true feelings.
"Yes, I believe it's better not to go there," Edmure's voice lowered. "Brynden writes privately that the red woman's influence grows. That she guides many of his decisions. That the burnings were only the beginning."
Jon's jaw tightened. "And the Faith?" Catelyn asked.
Edmure's mouth thinned.
"There are grumblings."
"Grumblings?"
"The High Septon has not openly challenged the king," Edmure said, "but there is unrest among the septons. The burnings. The rejection of the Seven. Foreign rites being practiced openly in the capital."
Jon thought of the Green Men at Riverrun. Of the wardens and watchers. Of the Riverlords already uneasy. "The realm has not seen open religious strife in generations," Edmure continued. "But it may yet."
Silence settled again. Then Catelyn asked the question she had been holding since they entered the castle. "Arya." The single name carried all her fear.
Edmure's eyes dimmed. "Brynden searched," he said gently. "He questioned guards. Servants. Prisoners."
"And?" Catelyn whispered.
"He did not find her." The words seemed to hollow her.
"No body," Edmure added quickly. "No corpse was discovered among the dead."
Catelyn's breathing grew shallow. "She was in Maegor's Holdfast," Jon said quietly. "When I left."
"Yes," Edmure replied. "But when the siege began, the castle was chaos. Cells were emptied. Doors broken. Prisoners moved."
"Or killed," Catelyn whispered.
Edmure stepped closer to her. "Brynden says it was as though she vanished."
Vanished. Jon felt the weight of that word settle heavily in his chest. "She could still be alive," Edmure said gently. "No remains were identified."
Edmure guided Catelyn to a chair as her composure finally gave way. Jon stood apart, silent. After a moment, Edmure turned to him. "There is something else."
Jon met his gaze. "The Northern lords are uneasy."
"Because Robb marched north?" Jon asked.
"It is more than that," Edmure said. Jon waited. "A king-beyond-the-Wall has been declared."
Jon felt a subtle tightening in his chest. "The wildlings have united," Edmure continued. "Reports from the Night's Watch say he gathers clans and raiders in numbers not seen in generations."
"How many?" Jon asked quietly.
"Thousands."
Jon closed his eyes briefly. "Let me guess, Mance Rayder." The name echoed from his memory. A deserter turned king.
"Yes, he intends to assault the Wall," Edmure said. "Soon."
Jon exhaled slowly. He knew this was coming still they had so many other problems to deal with.
Ironborn in the west. Lannisters cornered. Stannis enthroned but unstable. Faith restless. And now the Wall threatened.
Edmure studied him. "The rest of the Northern lords wish to leave to go defend their homes."
"However that would leave a opening for Tywin to attack," Jon finished for him.
"Yes, he is still in the west," Edmure replied. "With nothing left. As are the Greyjoy."
"The lion stands alone and has lost everything," Jon murmured. "When a beast is cornered that is when it acts the most savage."
"Yes," Edmure agreed.
"Can Brynden ride out with the ten thousand that rode out with him or what is left?"
"The King needs them to hold and reorganize the capital. He writes he will make overturns to the Dornish and Tyrell to support him and provide their armies to put down these threats until then it is just us."
"Let us hope so it is as soon as possible, the Northmen might slowly start abandoning the Riverlands with their homes at risk."
Edmure could only nod, Jon saw the stress was building up on him as he was slowly getting a couple grey hairs.
"I will have to ride out," Jon said. "I will see if I can come to a compromise with the wildings."
Edmure looked at him as if he said the most insane thing. "Are you sure about that? They are savages what do they understand of peace and diplomacy."
"More than you can imagine," Jon answered with a smile.
-
The rain began the morning the barge appeared on the Red Fork. It fell in a thin gray curtain, soft but unrelenting, turning Riverrun's courtyards slick and the river dark as forged steel. Jon stood on the battlements beside Edmure Tully and watched the vessel pole slowly upstream toward the castle's water gate.
No banners flew from its mast. It did not need them. Every man on the wall knew what it carried. The barge was plain, draped in Stark gray. A small honor guard accompanied it; soldiers in Baratheon colors, sent north with a solemn duty.
Jon did not move as it docked. He had imagined this moment many times. He had imagined rage. Grief. A hollowness that would swallow him whole. Instead there was only stillness.
The chest was borne off the boat by six men. Dark oak, iron-bound, carved with the direwolf of House Stark. The sigil had been cut recently, fresh grooves still pale against the wood. They carried it carefully, as the man inside still commanded respect even in death.
Behind Jon, the Riverlords and Northern captains and lords gathered in silence. No horns blew. No herald called. This was not triumph. This was return. Catelyn descended the steps slowly when the chest was brought into the yard. Sansa walked beside her, pale and composed, fingers tight around Rickon's smaller hand.
Catelyn did not weep. She placed her palm upon the lid and bowed her head. "My lord," she whispered. Jon stood back as his siblings also came up to the coffin to say their goodbyes.
The Stark who had walked into the south with honor had never returned.
For a long moment no one spoke. Then Edmure cleared his throat gently. "King Stannis has kept his word," he said. "The remains were gathered respectfully."
Jon nodded once. "I will take him home." There was no debate. No hesitation. Winterfell awaited its lord.
The chest was secured within a covered wagon reinforced for the long road north. Honor guards were chosen; men who had marched with Ned in life or had sworn to him before his death. Jon selected them personally.
As preparations were made, new riders arrived from the south bearing fresh news. Jon listened in the solar while armorers hammered outside and servants packed supplies. "Stannis has reached agreement," Edmure reported, reading from the parchment. "The Reach and Dorne will bend the knee."
Jon leaned forward slightly. "What terms?"
Edmure's lips twitched faintly. "A marriage alliance."
"Between whom?"
"Willas Tyrell and Shireen Baratheon."
Jon blinked once. The room was quiet. "Willas?" he repeated.
"Yes." The heir of Highgarden. Brilliant and lame from a tourney accident in youth. A man known more for intellect than swordplay.
"And Shireen…" Jon murmured. Marred by greyscale in infancy. Gentle. Isolated.
"A cripple and a scarred girl," Edmure said quietly.
Jon sat back slowly. He wondered about the future of the realm with a cripple and marred one to sit the throne in the future. Kings and Queens were reflections of the realm with them on it. The peasants and lords would mumble the realm was unhealthy and cursed.
"The Dornish demanded something else," Edmure continued. "They want Tywin Lannister's head."
Jon's gaze sharpened. "And Stannis?"
"He has not refused."
Jon considered that. Tywin Lannister, Lord of the West, cornered and alone. His allies burned or fled. His grandchildren dead. His son dead. His daughter dead. A lion that lost everything.
The martell must be reveling in it since he was the one that cut down their futures. Now they wanted to deal the last blow on the old lion. To put him out of his suffering.
"A host is forming," Edmure continued. "Thirty thousand from the Reach. Ten thousand from Dorne. They march under Garlan Tyrell and Oberyn Martell."
Jon absorbed the scale.
Forty thousand fresh soldiers descending upon the Riverlands.
"Brynden?" Jon asked.
"Still in King's Landing," Edmure said. "Stannis keeps him close."
"To balance the Tyrell presence," Jon nodded. Stannis obviously did not want a repeat of his older brother's court with Lannisters running around everywhere until they led to his end.
"Yes. The Red Keep is thick with Reachmen now. Stannis trusts few. He surrounds himself with those who stood by him early."
"And he sends the Reach and Dorne to bleed for him," Jon observed.
Edmure gave a thin smile. "Yes, to prove their loyalty and pay their share of lives and treasure."
Politics continued its quiet grinding. Jon felt detached from it already.
"This is good," Edmure said. "Tywin cannot stand against such numbers."
"No," Jon agreed. "He cannot."
"And once the West is subdued…"
"The realm may breathe," Jon finished.
-
The night before departure, Catelyn sought him in the courtyard where the wagons stood ready.
Rickon slept already. Sansa remained within, helping her mother sort belongings for their own journey. "You ride at dawn," she said.
"Yes."
"You will go straight to Winterfell?"
"Yes. Father will rest in the crypts. Then I ride for the Wall."
Her gaze lingered on him. "You truly mean to parley with the wildlings."
"I do."
"They are oathbreakers and raiders."
"They are also men," Jon replied.
She studied him carefully. "You sound like your father."
He did not know whether that was praise or warning. "You leave as well."
"Yes."
"To the Vale," he said.
She nodded. "It is safest there." It was true. The Eyrie perched beyond most dangers. And Lysa, volatile though she might be, would not deny her sister companionship.
"Also I have not been the best of sister. My younger sister's state has decayed. I should be with her and her son. He is a fragile boy who also needs steadiness. Perhaps which I and the children can provide."
Jon inclined his head. "The Vale is secure," he said. "You and Sansa and Rickon will be safe."
"And you?" she asked.
Jon looked northward. "I was never meant for safety."
A faint sadness touched her features. "Take care of him," she said, meaning Ned.
"I will."
She stepped closer then and surprised him by embracing him. "Take care of yourself as well. I see now I had the wrong outlook in life."
He did not answer.