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They departed at dawn. The wagon bearing Ned Stark's remains rolled at the center of the column. Direwolf banners lifted in the cool morning wind. Northern men rode with quiet resolve. The rest of the Northern host were finally returning home with him. To finally put down the rabid Ironborn dogs and to deal with the Wildings if they crossed the wall.
As they crossed the bridge out of Riverrun, horns sounded from the southern road. Jon turned in the saddle. A dust cloud rose in the distance. The first banners appeared by midday. Green fields sewn with golden roses. Orange suns pierced by spears. The host of the Reach and Dorne had arrived.
It was a sight to behold. Thirty thousand from the Reach, disciplined ranks stretching across the horizon. Heavy infantry in polished mail. Knights in brilliant armor. Supply trains long and well-ordered.
Ten thousand from Dorne rode leaner and lighter, spears upright, sand-colored cloaks fluttering.
At their head rode Garlan Tyrell, broad-shouldered and calm, and Oberyn Martell, sharp-eyed and dangerous even at distance. They did not halt. They did not linger. Their path bent west. Toward the lion.
Jon watched only a moment before turning his horse north again. It was no longer his war. Behind him, the Riverlands braced for one final clash that would likely end the Lannister rebellion.
Ahead of him lay home.
…
The road north felt longer than it had in years. Villages they passed bore scars from earlier campaigns. Fields trampled. Homes rebuilt hastily. Yet as they crossed into the Neck and the air turned cooler, something in Jon eased.
He had been away too long. The men rode differently now. More upright. More alert. They were nearing their own soil. At night, around the fires, talk was not of southern politics but of hearths and harvests and children left behind.
The wagon bearing Eddard Stark's remains rolled steadily at the center of the column. Northern guards flanked it with renewed vigilance. No man would dare touch it.
Soon, the occupants of the Neck greeted them. Jon saw the crannogmen or they let themselves be seen. There were ripples in reeds announcing them. A heron lifting suddenly from still water. A glimpse of green-brown leather where there had been only swamp.
Then, as if conjured from the mist itself, a small party stepped onto the narrow causeway ahead. Shorter men. Lightly armored. Faces painted faintly in earth tones. Spears tipped with frog-spears and barbed heads. At their center stood a man Jon could have sworn he had seen before.
Lean. Weathered. Eyes sharp as a hawk's despite his quiet posture. "Howland Reed," Jon said softly.
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The Lord of Greywater Watch inclined his head. "Jon Snow," he replied. His voice was softer than Jon expected.
The column slowed. No tension flared. The crannogmen were allies and brethren, bound by ancient oaths and pacts.
Jon rode forward alone, raising a hand for the army to hold position. "How fares Greywater?" Jon asked.
"As it always has," Howland answered. "Hidden. Watching."
His gaze flicked briefly to the wagon. "I see you bring Lord Stark home."
"Yes." Howland's eyes lingered on Jon longer than was comfortable. There was something in them. As if the man wanted to say something but help himself back. "You have grown," the crannog lord said.
"Yes, I am sure you heard but I am a lord now."
"I heard and it is well deserved." Then Howland added quietly, "I see however you carry more than years."
Jon felt a faint tightening in his chest. "War ages men," he replied carefully.
"It does," Howland agreed. "And truth does more." The words hung strangely between them.
Jon studied him. "What can I do for you my lord. You crannogmen are known not to step out of your swamps."
"That is true, however now I will join you."
That surprised him. "The Wall," Howland continued. "I hear you ride there."
"I do."
"My children went north years ago," he said quietly. "They chased whispers of old powers stirring. Of ancient things waking."
Jon's expression hardened slightly. "Beyond the Wall?"
"Yes."
"Why?" he asked, knowing what lied there was never good.
Howland's gaze drifted briefly to the distant treeline. "Because the world is shifting," he said simply. "And my blood has always followed the old currents."
Jon studied him carefully. "You wish to search for them."
"I do."
A silence stretched between them. Behind Jon, thousands of northern soldiers waited. Ahead, the swamps murmured softly. "You understand what lies beyond the Wall?" Jon asked.
"I understand more than most," Howland replied. Again that look. That knowing. As if he weighed Jon against something unseen.
"Is there anything else you wish to tell me, my lord?" Jon asked.
"No, maybe another time in other circumstances," the hooded lord said.
Jon held his gaze a moment longer. Then he nodded once. "You may ride with us."
Howland inclined his head. "And your crannogmen?"
"A thousand will join. The rest remain."
"Good," Jon said. The Wall would need every scout and quiet blade it could find.
As the column began moving again, Howland fell in beside Jon. After a time, he spoke again, voice low. "Your father trusted me."
"I know."
"He kept certain truths close."
Jon's jaw tightened faintly. "I imagine he did." He remembered how many times he asked who his mother was and the man refused to give an answer.
…
Moat Cailin rose from the marsh like a broken crown. Its three towers still stood, though battered. Smoke rose from cooking fires. Northern banners fluttered defiantly atop the causeway ruins.
The sight filled the men with quiet pride. The Ironborn had failed here.
Jon rode at the head of the column as the gates opened. He did not expect to see his brother waiting personally in the yard.
Robb Stark stood tall, harder, leaner. His cloak hung heavier with the weight of command. When their eyes met, Robb broke into a grin. "You made it," he called.
Jon dismounted before the wagon halted fully. They clasped forearms fiercely. "You held," Jon said.
"We did," Robb replied. "Barely."
Jon's eyes scanned the yard. There were Ironborn prisoners under guard who must have been captured in their raids. And among them…He froze slightly. A woman stood bound but unbowed. Dark hair whipped by the wind. Chin lifted defiantly.
Asha Greyjoy.
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She met his gaze without flinching. Jon looked back at Robb slowly. "You've been busy."
Robb's grin sharpened. "Come," he said. "There is much to tell." They walked toward the central tower. Inside, maps littered the table. Tokens marked positions along the western coast.
"We pushed them back," Robb said, tapping markers. "The Glovers and Mormonts rallied hard. Flint's Finger stands. Torrhen's Square secured."
"And the coast?"
"Still harried," Robb admitted. "But their strength wanes."
"And Victarion?"
"Retreated to the sea."
Jon nodded. "And her?" he asked.
Robb's smile flicked toward the doorway. "She led a raid too boldly. We baited her with false reports of weak garrisons near the Fever River."
Jon blinked once. His brother had a devious side to him "You set a trap."
"She walked into it," Robb said simply.
"She fought well," he added. "Better than most men."
Jon did not doubt it.
"She was nearly cut down before I ordered her taken alive."
"So what do you plan to do with her? Balon has proven not to care for his children. So I won't be surprised if he continues pushing for more raids."
"Yes, his heartlessness for his children has proven to be the opening we need." Robb gestured and in walked Asha and another person. Theon Greyjoy.
Jon studied him. Theon looked thinner. Harder. Something broken in his pride, but not in his spine. "You kept him alive," Jon said.
Robb's voice cooled slightly. "He was always my brother."
Theon met Jon's gaze. "I did not know," he said quietly. "I never wanted it to come to this."
Jon studied him. Balon Greyjoy had gambled and lost once again. "What is the plan?" Jon asked.
Robb leaned over the map. "We invade the Iron Islands."
Jon blinked once. "With what fleet?"
Robb's grin returned. "King Stannis provides. He wants this issue resolved. The realm needs to heal and he can not have pirates attacking everyone. The royal fleet sails north. The Redwyne fleet joins them. Manderly ships from White Harbor. The Sisters. Velaryon ships."
Jon absorbed the scale. A great combined armada. This is what they needed. Now with one figurehead leading Westores, the Ironborn stood no chance and could not carry about doing what they always did.
"They will crush the Ironborn at sea," Robb said. "And we strike their shores."
"So you wish to hold the islands?" Jon asked.
Robb's eyes shifted toward Theon. "Yes."
The room stilled slightly. Robb turned fully to Theon. "You will be Lord of the Iron Islands."
Silence. Asha barked a sharp laugh. "I hate to say it but it is a good plan. Many lords are unhappy with all this. The North has poor pickings and we really got bloodied. Many would turn their backs on my father."
"Yes, already House Harlaw sends word to me," Theon said. "My mother's kin. Other lords are eager to put a ends to my father pointless reavings."
Asha did not deny it.
"The Ironborn bleed for nothing," Robb said. "We offer stability."
Jon watched carefully. This was bold. Risky. But clever. A friendly Lord Paramount on Pyke would end generations of raiding. Or at least temper them.
Jon looked at Theon. "And you?" he asked quietly. "Are you prepared to overthrow your father?"
Theon's expression hardened. "He sacrificed me long ago," he said. "He knew what would happen if he invaded."
Jon studied him. "He wanted glory," Theon continued bitterly. "He found ruin."
"And you would rule differently?" Jon pressed.
"Yes, for one we can trade as far out to the Narrow Sea, the Summer Sea, the Shivering Sea even bring many goods to Westeros. Also to Essos are slavers and degenerates with plenty of wealth which we can take for our own or be privateers for them. Plus as my sister mentioned there are plenty of ores on the Iron island we can mine."
"There are better ways then pointless risking our lives against a united Westeros," Asha agreed.
Jon held their gaze a moment longer. Then he nodded slightly. "It is better than endless blood."
Asha shifted her weight. "Also I can sweeten the deal in more ways than one," she smiled at Robb.
Robb's gaze softened slightly despite himself. Jon noticed. "There is no need for that," he awkwardly coughed. He noticed too the way Asha's eyes lingered on Robb longer than simple hostility required. And the way Robb did not entirely look away.
Jon suppressed a faint sigh. What was it with his brother and captured women?
He cleared his throat. "There is the other issue," he said. "The wildlings."
"Yes, the other savages," Robb said.
"You like savages don't you," Asha ribbed him.
Robb cheeks reddened and Theon could only helplessly sigh.
"If you would allow me brother I can make peace with them," Jon said. Wanting to get as far away from here as possible.
"Make peace?" Robb asked in surprise. "They are Free Folk, brother. They know no other way."
"Really now," Jon asked, looking between Asha and Robb. "I see you made peace with the Greyjoy why not the wildling. I can get myself a wife and it can be done and over with."
Robb coughed into his hand, "I don't think you would need to do that," he said. Unable to help himself from looking at the ironborn woman.
"Let me handled this, brother. If they do not see reason I can cut them short with the Night Watch and some men."
"Fine, I already sent Greatjon and the mountain clans with him to the Wall. They should have 2,000 stations there all over amongst the Night Watch and I gave Greatjon 3,000. You can take 5,000 men with you but I will need the rest of the Host to invade the iron islands."
Jon nodded, he would have to do with 10,000 men that was a lot equal to how many made up the Night Watch in their prime but he knew the number of wildings coming to the wall were in there tens of thousands.
His estimate was this was their greatest host ever since the Others were hot on their heel. They should be over 100,000 thousand. He hoped they could really come to an accord.
-
The Wall rose from the earth like the edge of the world. Even after everything, the southern courts, the shifting banners, the wars in the riverland, the ironborn invasion, Jon felt something inside him steady as Castle Black came into view. The ice shimmered blue-white beneath a pale northern sun. Frost clung to the timber palisades. Black banners snapped in the wind. It felt like home, in that sort of way that never left him.
The column of northern soldiers stretched long behind him; five thousand men granted by Robb, hardened by war and ready for another. Crannogmen padded silently along the flanks. Howland Reed rode hooded and watchful.
As they approached the gate tunnel, the horn sounded once. Then twice. Men in black lined the yard as Jon emerged from beneath the Wall's shadow. They looked thinner than he remembered. Fewer in number and much harder.
And at their head stood a man Jon knew too well. Alliser Thorne. Now clad in the heavier cloak and authority of Lord Commander.
Jon dismounted slowly. "Lord Snow," Thorne said coolly.
"Lord Commander," Jon replied evenly, seeing the badge mounted on his clock. The old bear must have died. There was no warmth in the exchange. The man hated his family guts and any who rebelled.
Behind Thorne, Jon saw familiar old faces of brothers in his past lives; some welcoming, some wary. "Jeor Mormont?" Jon asked quietly, wondering how the old bear fell.
Thorne's jaw tightened. "Fell in defense of the Wall," he said. "When the first wildling host tested us months ago." Jon felt the words like a blow.
"And Benjen Stark?" Jon asked.
Thorne's expression darkened further. "Still missing." Of course he was.
Before Jon could reply, a booming laugh split the tension. "Jon!"
The Greatjon.
He strode forward like a bear emerging from hibernation, his massive frame dwarfing the men beside him. "You took your time," he growled, gripping Jon's forearm.
"You look well for a man surrounded by ice and crows," Jon replied faintly.
"Aye," the Greatjon said. "But we've bigger concerns than pleasantries."
His eyes shifted toward the Wall. "More of them gather every day."
Jon nodded once. "I know."
They moved inside the Lord Commander's Tower. The chamber felt colder than the yard. Maps of the Gift and lands beyond the Wall covered the table. Wooden markers dotted the Frostfangs and Haunted Forest.
Thorne remained standing. "You've brought an army," he said sharply.
"Five thousand men," Jon replied. "With supplies."
"Keep in mind we are not a northern garrison," the man sneered. "The Night's Watch does not answer to Winterfell."
Jon met his gaze evenly but Greatjon spoke up for him. "Ha. You better keep in mind crow if us Northerners did not always stand by your order it would have been dead a long time ago. Who comes here today to aid you except for us?!"
Thorne's eyes flashed in anger since he knew it was the truth. Before he could respond, the door creaked open. Samwell Tarly shuffled in, breathing heavily as he pushed a wheeled chair. In it sat Maester Aemon.
The old man looked smaller than Jon remembered. Frailer. But his sightless eyes still held a terrible clarity. "Thorne, mind your manners. They have come to relieve us."
"Maester," the new Lord Commander at least had the decency to respect the old man and his gaze held deep respect.
Jon straightened. "Tell me everything."