Chapter 38

As it turned out, Jon was not the only one headed for the Wall. Steffon had dispatched a dozen prisoners there as well, accompanied by at least twenty soldiers. The trick was getting through Lannister-held territory without actually raising the alarm. Thankfully, none of the patrls they had seen were too intent on taking their job too seriously, and they'd either managed to skirt around them or avoid them completely.

Of course, some of the prisoners entertained the idea of escaping. Some wanted to take advantage of the night and slip past or overpower the four or five sentries that were posted before heading onto King's Landing. Some of the others had approached him with the idea to simply rush a couple of the guards, steal their weapons, and make a break for it before anyone realised what was happening. Jon rejected both ideas. Apart from the fact he knew he'd just be taken prisoner again, it was rare for all the off-duty guards to be asleep at the same time, and the daylight break made it easy for the bowmen to hunt them down.

Not to mention he'd be violating his word to his King.

He knew why Steffon had done what he'd done. Oh yes, the Conningtons may just have been a minor house, but having an enemy so close to Storm's End made it strategically critical they remained on his side. Not that he regretted what he'd done; the man had been a rapist. He just hoped Steffon didn't judge himself too harshly over the whole affair. He had an unfortunate tendency to blame himself first, whether justly or not. Not a good trait to have for a king.

He also hoped that Arya wouldn't stay angry with him. Maybe she'd realise that being King meant that Steffon had a metaphorical sword hanging over his head the entire time, ready to fall if he made one wrong decision. One thing Jon had picked up is that Steffon was always making someone unhappy, always had someone who had suffered a slight, real or imagined, that needed to be smoothed over. Like most, Jon had thought that being King meant that no one would actually question Steffon. Oh how wrong he had been.

He glanced around at his fellow prisoners. Most were Tyrell soldiers who had committed some grave crime, or repeatedly tried to escape. Steffon after all was reluctant to punish people too harshly, whether such punishment was warranted or not. As such, of the other prisoners, six were rapists, three murderers, and the remaining four were repeat last group were the only ones Jon made any attempt to ingratiate himself with. There was no chance he would speak to the others. Thankfully, they seemed a welcoming enough bunch.

The guards were passing out basic food rations; bread, hard cheese and water. One of them handed the food and water to Jon, who gulped it down quickly. Turned out that walking every day for so many miles made a person hungry. At least with the army he'd had the luxury of using a horse. Not so much any more.

That was one of the other escape plans that had been proposed; killing the commander of the guards with them and stealing his horse to ride off before they could be caught. The problem was that someone was guarding the horse whenever the commander was away; and of course, that even if by some miracle they didn't give themselves away during the escape, then they'd be discovered in minutes.

"Alright, you sorry lot, let's move!" The commander shouted. The guards prodded the prisoners along and they began walking. It was still a distance to the Wall, and they had to make good time if they wanted to make their overnight halt before the sun set. Or if they wanted to avoid the patrols.

It had started the day after the battle. Soldiers from the other Reach houses had been slowly leaving Renly's camp and heading back to their strongholds. The magnitude of the defeat at Tarth couldn't be overstated, and with thousands of men now at the bottom of the sea, many had lost their confidence in him. Few bothered to even send a regretful look his way; they blamed him for the disaster there.

It wasn't just men from the Reach though. A number of Stormlanders had also left his side, no doubt to defect to Steffon. Truth be told, that had already been happening for quite some time. The problem, it turned out, was convincing them to stay. He and Steffon had always had something of a war going on for the hearts and minds of the Stormlands people, and Tarth had seen his nephew win that battle hands down. Even now, only a handful stayed with him, and even they didn't have a good time of it. They openly disparaged his leadership, his inability to win battles.

Even the Tyrells themselves had abandoned him. Mace had approached him hours ago and informed him that without any victories, there was no alternative for him but to pull his support and march his soldiers home. Loras was unable to look him in the eye when his father told Renly the news; and even he had gone with them. All that was left of his mighty original army was a few thousand dispirited, tired, war-weary soldiers who only really stayed because their lords did. Even now, as they marched to The Weeping Town, where Renly hoped to consolidate, there was no cheering or singing.

The Gods have abandoned me. He thought. Of course, he knew that the Tarth disaster had been almost entirely his fault. Tarly, Garlan and Hightower had all warned him not to attack the island, and he'd ignored them. Thinking about it properly now, he'd never really listened to Tarly at all. If he had, things might not have turned out the way they did. If he had just one more chance…

But he knew he wouldn't have one more. It was unlikely Steffon would ever grant him the level of influence he'd had before the war. Master of Laws? No chance of that happening now. His nephew was more likely to appoint Robb Stark to the post instead. Coin? No, that was unlikely as well; Steffon likely had very different ideas for what came after the war. He'd be far more hands-on than Robert ever was.

He supposed that was a good thing. Having a king that actually sat on Small Council meetings and took an active role in governing the realm would no doubt be good, but Steffon's ideas were… unnatural, unheard of, revolutionary. The stability of the entire realm rested on the existing classes. Steffon would create an unstable nation where everyone was itching to go to war. How is that any different from now? A voice in his head said. He knew that was true as well.

The sound of armoured men entering his camp tent broke his thoughts. "Sers, it is good to see I still have some followers."

"Yeah, but not for you anymore." One of them said. The three men drew their swords. Renly made a move for his own, resting against the table, but the soldiers were quicker. One of them brought his sword down on Renly's arm in a savage cut. Renly screamed; the blade had cut deep into his forearm.

"King Steffon better give us fuckin' titles for this." Another said, kicking Renly in the stomach and signaling for a chair to be brought over. Violently, his head was forced down onto the chair. He struggled, knowing what was coming, but it was no use. Seconds later, the axe fell, and Renly Baratheon was no more.

Shireen never had the chance to visit Storm's End before. Her mother had insisted she remained locked away for all her life, unable to visit King's Landing or make trips anywhere. Not that she'd minded; Steffon was always coming to visit her at Dragonstone. Although, being at her family's ancestral home instantly made her feel happier than Dragonstone.

While Storm's End was by no means an inviting place to the naked eye, she saw a contrast. Rather than the eternal sense of gloom that seemed to hang over Dragonstone, this castle was bustling with life. Soldiers standing guard arop the walls, traders doing business below. It was a marked change from her home, where it was always dark and foreboding, not to mention she swore she could hear her father's teeth grinding at night.

As she disembarked from the ship, she was greeted by a bald man with a scarlet red beard and a serious look in his eye that reminded her all too much of her father. The man approached her before bowing his head. "My lady." He said, greeting her politely.

"Ser Cortnay Penrose, I presume?" Shireen asked.

"Yes, my lady." Penrose nodded. "We have been expecting you. There is much to do, and less time to do it in."

"Before that, can I see my cousin? I want to see how he has been handling everything."

Penrose went silent, before turning to his men who were in the middle of exchanging weary glances. "Have the Princess's mother escorted to her room, and see to it all supplies and men brought with her are accounted for." He then turned back to Shireen. "My lady. Walk with me, if you would."

Shireen stuck close to Penrose as the castellan led her through the halls of Storm's End. "I am afraid you have arrived along with the tidings of sad news, my lady." He finally said. "During the Battle for Tarth, our King was struck down in battle. He is not dead. Not yet. But is currently being looked after at Evenfall Hall with his betrothed. Unfortunately, we need a leader now, and the only person he entrusted with such responsibility is you. You are to lead us now, my lady."

Shireen placed a hand against a wall to steady herself. Steffon was, well, not dead, but still could die at any moment. She felt sick. Extremely sick. She didn't feel like she was going to vomit, but… Steffon may only have been her cousin, but he was as good as a brother to her. He never forgot her nameday, made sure to visit her regularly…

Now he could be on death's door.

There was no point in even trying to deny it. She knew that Penrose wouldn't lie to her. Especially not about something like this. "What… what do you mean I am to lead?" She managed to say.

"His Grace named you his heir, as the only other Baratheon of his generation." Penrose said. "Your father is more than ready to act in your name, if you would let him."

"Steffon's not dead yet. Until he is, I am not leading us." She said resolutely.

Arya sat in a chair outside the maester's chamber, anxiously twiddling her thumbs, while Edric kept watchful guard over her. Steffon was still unconscious in the room, clinging to life. She knew the Maester was doing all he could, but a small part of her mind couldn't help but ponder the probability of Steffon's survival.

Then what would happen to me?

Oh, she knew that the nobles were loyal to Steffon, but if he were to die, then she had her doubts any of them would follow Shireen. And what was to stop them from turning her over to the Lannisters? She was almost certain that there was a price on her head, courtesy of Tywin Lannister. Connington certainly wasn't that fond of her. What if-

"Are you alright, my lady?" Edric asked her, approaching with caution.

"Yes, Edric. I'm… I'm fine." She managed to say.

"No, you're not." He said, sitting down next to her. "You have that same look that Steffon has when he lies."

Arya sighed, before dropping her guard. "I'm worried what will happen to Steffon." "And-"

"And what will happen to you if he does die." He finished. "Nothing will happen to you. I'll get you home safely to your brother, then we fight to put Shireen on the Iron Throne."

"But what if one of these lords decides to sell me to the Lannisters? Might be more profitable for them."

"Lord Tarth and Lord Selma have given their men orders to protect you with their life, and to kill any man who tries to betray you. Uncle Stannis has given similar orders." Edric replied. Arya did feel slightly comforted by that. She may not have the support of every Lord in the Stormlands, but took comfort in knowing that the ones who did would risk everything to defend her. "You have my word, nothing will happen to you."

"Thank you, Edric." She said.

"Hey, I'll be calling you my goodsister soon enough." He said, offering a a grin. "Plus I'm almost certain Steffon would find a way to kill me if something did happen to you?"

"Even if he . . ." She couldn't even bring herself to say the words now.

"Even if he died?" He asked rhetorically. "This is Steffon Baratheon we're talking about. The boy-king who crushed armies ten times his size. If he's nothing else Arya, he's bloody determined."

"But what if the Maester can't save him what if he-"

"It won't happen. Until the Maester says his heart's stopped, then he's alive." Edric said. "It's easy to give into despair; it's harder to hope that things will work out."

"What are you saying, Edirc?"

"What I said before. Until the Maester says his heart's stopped beating, he's alive. Even then, Steffon's too blood stubborn to die."

Arya smiled. "You're probably right. He is very stubborn." No sooner had she finished her sentence, the doors to the chamber opened and the maester appeared with a sullen look on his face. Arya rose from her seat immediately to approach him. "Well?" She asked.

"I managed to stitch up the king's wound, but he is asleep." The maester replied. "It is uncertain when he will wake up. But he'll be kept on a mixture of water and honey to sustain him for as long as we are able to. His fate now lies in the hands of the gods."

Arya gasped, covering her mouth as Edric rose from his seat in disbelief. He went forward to confront the maester, asking for more specific details, but Arya couldn't hear him. She rushed past the maester until she found the bed where Steffon's unconscious form slept. He was still pale, but at least he was breathing.

"Please wake up." She whispered, leaning on top of his chest and listening to the steady, but faint beat of his heart. "Please come back to me."

Steffon would be furious. The Freys would likely head back to the Twins. His mother would be disappointed and Arya would likely be angry as well. None of that mattered. He had taken Jeyne's maidenhead, and honor demanded their marriage as a result. Tellingly, his mother refused to even meet his eye as they made their way to the ceremony.

Not a word was spoken between them. Not that it would have made a difference. His heart was with Jeyne, and their marriage was needed to prevent her dishonour.

"Your king will never forgive you for this." She said quietly.

"It doesn't matter." He replied. "I slept with Jeyne. I cannot dishonor her."

His mother didn't say another word.

The ceremony was a short one, and they embraced when it was done. The Westerlings themselves looked proud of them. The Northerners and Riverlanders, namely Edmure and Brynden Tully, Rickard Karstark and the Greatjon, looked more impassive, as if they knew that something was coming.

The Freys were nowhere to be seen of course. They'd bolted as soon as word had gotten out about the wedding. So be it. He'd repair things by having one of Walder Frey's daughters marry Edmure. A man like Walder Frey could scarcely afford to turn down a marriage to a Great House. After all, he wouldn't try anything.

What he failed to notice was that Roose Bolton wasn't present at the ceremony as well.

But he wouldn't try anything either. Could he? He'd likely not know.

He, Edd and Grenn had been trudging through the snow around the first of the First men for hours now, trying in vain to dig some sort of fortification around the base of the hill. Of course, Grenn and Edd were grumbling about going beyond the Wall to fight Wildlings. Sam wasn't paying attention however.

"If you step back and think about it, the thing about Gilly that's so interesting is-" he started, only for Edd to cut him off.

"Just bloody kill me." He heard him say. Sam could almost hear the eye roll as well.

"No, trule." Sam insisted. "The thing I find so interesting is that after all Craster's done to her, she still hopes that things will get better."

"The thing you find so interesting about Gilly is that she said six words to you." Edd replied dismissively.

"And the thing about you that I find so interesting is absolutely nothing." He said. Not that Edd was listening to him anymore. The horn had blown.

"Gendry and the Halfhand. They're back." Sam said, just in time for the second blast of the horn.

"Two blasts is Wildings." Grenn said, drawing his sword.

"You're not fighting them alone. Come on." Edd ordered. He was essentially the informal commander of the other two, considering he'd been in the Watch longest.

As the three began walking back to the main camp, they heard a third blast.

Sam had read enough books to know what the third blast of the horn meant, and he went white with fear.

"Three blasts." Grenn said, as if to confirm it to himself.

"RUN!" Edd shouted. He and Grenn took off quickly, but Sam was looking around for their unseen enemy. By the time he turned around, the other two were in the distance. He tripped ver the basket that Edd had dropped. He called after them, but they couldn't hear him. It was no real use, and he crawled behind a large boulder.

Suddenly, he got the feeling he was being watched. Turning around, he came face-to-face with a monster that had haunted his dreams as a child. The villain of many stories his mother had told him at night. The beast most thought had been dead for thousands of years.

A White Walker.

He couldn't help but sob quietly.

The White Walker shrieked and raised a spear made of ice, signalling thousands of Wights forward.

And Season 2 is finally completed.