40

Chapter 40 One step forward, two steps back

Robert Baratheon

Of all the places that Robert expected to find himself again so soon, having to go to the Black Cells and see Stannis was not one of them. Being dependent on his little brother for anything after his horrific admission did not sit well with him.

But here they were, Cressen, Renly and Robert walking down the corridors of the Black Cells to talk to Stannis. The only reason they were here was for Stannis. And only because an offhand remark from Meryn Trant had placed Stannis at the Wall at the same time as Jon Snow in that undone and dark future.

Or rather Jon Targaryen.

Robert's fury hadn't dimmed since Cressen and Renly's revelation...but his anger had turned cold and hard as steel. The world had turned against him, but it didn't matter it nothing that his warhammer could fix with repeated hits.

This time he'd make sure personally that there were no more Dragonspawn left. First, the one in the North then the ones across the Narrow Sea.

He continued down the darkened hallway following the goaler with a lighter step. Thinking of his plans for their destruction always made him feel better.

They reached the cell and the goaler unlocked the cell as Robert cast glances at Renly and Cressen. Renly was notably nervous, he was still afraid of Stannis despite everything. Cressen had a grim and unhappy look on his face as they waited to enter and confront Stannis.

The door opened and the goaler entered lighting the way with his torch. Robert followed quickly behind.

The scene in the cell was much as he expected it, Stannis was sitting with back to the wall of the cell, blinking at the sudden light that the goaler torch brought to the cell.

Stannis looked the worse for wear now, he noticeably gaunter than usual, thinner and his clothes were dirty from the months he'd spent in the Black Cells- as was expected. He stopped blinking and the hardness Robert had always seen in Stannis's eyes was still there as always. The new gauntness of Stannis only added to his normal implacability.

Stannis stared at him and Robert stared back. Both brothers unflinching in each other's gaze. Stannis's eyes flickered from Robert to the others as the entered behind him. They remained unchanged as he turned back to look at Robert.

"What do you want, Robert?" Stannis spat, his tone as hard as ever but with an insolent and uncaring tone that was new.

The goaler growled and stepped forward, striking Stannis, inflamed by Stannis's rudeness, "This is the King-"

"Enough," growled Robert interrupting the goaler, "Give the torch to Renly and get out," he commanded gruffly.

The goaler froze and then left without another word, handing off his torch to Renly as he left.

"So come to stare at the prisoner have you?" Stannis taunted as he ground his teeth. His eyes flickered between the three of them darkly.

"We have questions-" began Renly.

"Questions?!" Stannis growled cutting him off. "And what of my questions?"

Renly was taken aback by Stannis's outburst. He exchanged a stumped look with Robert before turning back to Stannis.

"What questions?" Renly asked in confusion.

"What did you do Renly, to earn her loyalty?" Stannis spat angrily, "You and Robert make it so easy to bind men and women to you with just words. I was fair and just with everyone and no one ever flocked to my banner as they did to you or Robert," he angrily finished, grinding his teeth, more like himself in that moment than he had been in any time before.

Robert frowned, loyalty? Why was Stannis asking about loyalty? He thought in confusion.

Renly blinked more confused at the strange subject of Stannis's question, "Her who?"

"Brienne of Tarth. That creature of yours," Stannis stated his eyes aflame with what looked like...envy?

Renly frowned, "I...don't know," he shrugged, "I was just kind to her. Didn't really do anything special for her," he explained, he shook himself, "What does this have to do with anything?"

Stannis snorted, "It was her. She executed me. In your name. You were dead for years, and she was still loyal to you," he finished in disgust.

Renly was at a loss for words as he stared in disbelief at Stannis.

Brienne of Tarth killed Stannis?! Robert was surprised and looked between his brothers, Selwyn Tarth was a good man and apparently his daughter was cut from the same cloth. I'll have to meet this woman some day, he thought idly.

"That doesn't matter now," Robert cut in gruffly.

Stannis turned to stare at him balefully.

"We would like you you tell us what you know of Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell," Cressen said in an even tone, putting himself between Robert and Stannis.

Stannis frowned, "Jon Snow?" he asked in surprise, "What does he have to do with anything?" he paused, "and why should I tell you anything?"

"You will tell us for the sake of House Baratheon," Cressen began gravely, "and for Shireen's protection."

Stannis's eyes narrowed as he turned to stare at the old maester.

Cressen took a deep breath and continued, "Jon Snow is...um, acting in concert with House...Targaryen." he stated blandly.

Stannis frowned in confusion, "Jon Snow and the Targaryens?" he huffed, "He didn't seem the type to betray the memory of his grandfather. Far too grim and stiff as his father. His honor is as stiff as Ned's."

Robert ground his teeth but kept his mouth shut, as the mention of Ned stabbed the dagger of betrayal deeper into his back.

Cressen shuffled uncertainly, his chain rattling, "That is the crux of the matter...the truth of the matter is much more complicated." He began haltingly.

Stannis turned to look at him with a hard intensity, but didn't say anything.

"Jon Snow is not Ned Stark's son," Cressen stated simply with a sigh.

Stannis frowned, "And yet he's a Stark," he retorted with certainty, "so he is Brandon's son. He has even less reason to stand with the Targaryens then."

Cressen shook his head mournfully, "No...he is Lady Lyanna's son."

Stannis was faster on the uptake, more than Robert himself had been, his eyes widening as he understood just who's son the boy truly was, much to Robert's disgust and anger.

Stannis looked to Cressen with a surprised look.

"...he is pressing his claim to the Iron Throne, as Jon Targaryen, lawful heir of house Targaryen."

It was a lie of course, Robert thought to himself, no matter what Cressen said or others claimed, the bastard was a bastard dragon, but he was still a Dragonspawn and nevertheless one he would crush just like his despicable father.

Stannis looked back and forth between Cressen and Robert for several moments.

And then he threw back his head and started laughing.

Not a simple laugh, a loud mirthful laugh that echoed against the walls of the Black cell. A belly laugh that spoke of humour that Robert didn't know Stannis possessed.

Robert stared in confusion at the reaction.

Stannis's laughter went on and on as the three of them stood there in confusion. Renly was staring aghast and stunned at Stannis reaction, nit that Rober could blame him. A mirthful Stannis was just as unexpected as a drunk Stannis.

After what seemed like a long time, the laughter started to subside, but then Stannis looked at Robert and then started laughing all over again.

Robert clenched his fists and took a step forward. Renly suddenly clamped a hand on his shoulder to stop him from doing anything drastic. He shook it off but didn't do anything more than cast a momentary glare at Renly, causing him to shrink back, before turning back to glare at the laughing Stannis.

"Perhaps there really are gods!" Stannis managed to say between bouts of laughter.

Robert stared angrily at him, his rage growing.

"A son of Rhaegar Targaryen come to bedevil you!" Stannis exclaimed, "Ha ha, perhaps the Gods do occasionally bring justice to the world!"

Robert's rage peaked and swelled, his face darkening at Stannis's mocking words.

"Please Robert!" Cressen said beseechingly, suddenly putting himself between Robert and Stannis, before Robert could anything drastic.

Robert growled, but didn't do anything of the violent options that were running through his head. He jerked his head towards Stannis and Cressen nodded, understanding the gesture.

Cressen turned back to Stannis, "Please Stannis,, he begged, "think of House Baratheon, think of Shireen. Wherever she is, she is in danger, any Baratheon will be sought out by the Targaryens."

The laughter subsided a little as his brother began speaking again, shaking his head, "No. No, I won't tell you a thing...wherever Shireen is, she's safe with Davos, and I won't tell you a thing, she's safe out of everyone's reach. That's all that matters to me now," Stannis paused and then...smiled. It looked more like a deathly rictus than a smile on Stannis's gaunt face. He gave Robert a long and glaring stare, "Long live House Targaryen. Long live King Jon Targaryen." He started laughing again.

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Stannis's laughter and denial still echoed in Robert's ears. It haunted him every time he remembered the look of glee on his brother's face. His fist clenched in anger at all of Stannis's barbs, the joy humorless Stannis had taken from his discomfort.

"Robert..." Renly whispered to him.

Robert jerked from his revere and looked towards his baby brother, who was gesturing subtly back towards the court. Robert shifted carefully as he sat forward on the Iron Throne looked at the newest of the Royal Court's petitioners.

A handsome man was approaching foot of the Iron Throne. He wore a rich tunic with the man's house sigil stitched across his chest. A purple lightening bolt on a black background, the sigil of House Dondarrion. He followed by a young squire in a purple tunic with a sigil Robert hadn't seen in a long time; a falling star and a sword.

Finally! Beric Dondarrion was here in King's Landing, he was the last of the Lords of the Dornish Marches to arrive. Now they could start marching to deal with the cursed Dragonspawn!

"Ah welcome, Lord Dondarrion, you were expected quite a while back," Robert stated both welcoming and accusing as he sat the Iron Throne.

"Forgive me your Grace," began Lord Dondarrion chagrined, he bowed deeply at the foot of the throne and then continued, "I was delayed...my betrothed refused to let me leave till I married her."

Robert stared at the man before throwing his head back and laughing, "Not even married and she's already ordering you about?"

Beric Dondarrion shrugged helplessly, "As she explained it, the last time I left for King's Landing...I never returned. She was quite insistent that I at least attempt to leave behind an heir this time," he explained gravely.

Robert gave him a sharp look, amused at the new Lady Dondarrion's boldness but greatly disquieted by the Beric's admission of his death in the last life. Instead he just nodded.

Beric wasn't finished, "There was also this other matter," he turned and gestured his squire forward.

The slight boy had light hair and purple eyes. He wore his house's colours proudly, purple and white, "Your grace, I am Edric Dayne of Starfall. My father apologizes for not answering your summons, he is not a well man...but he has sent with us as many men as he could spare...considering the turmoil in Dorne now. He sends a thousand Dornish Spears and their mounts."

There were murmurs of approval through the court as Robert nodded and smiled at the unexpected news, any good news was welcome these days, "Aye, it's good that your father remembers his oaths in these dark days. What news do you have of Dorne?"

The boy grimaced and nervously spoke, "The Red Viper is siegeing Yronwood...it is said he is not taking hostages," he finished gravely.

Well fuck, Dorne wasn't going to be sending help to anyone, at least apart from what men had come from Starfall. All the forces he was going to get were already here in King's Landing and arrayed in preparation for war.

War against the Dragonspawn.

War against the Lannisters.

...and against Ned.

His blood boiled with rage. He clamped down on it choked it down. There would be time enough to release it all when battle would be joined.

"Join your men to the rest, soon enough we will be leaving," Robert commanded grimly.

Knight and squire bowed with muttered, your Graces and moved off after the dismissal. Robert received the other petitioners with little attention depending on Renly and Cressen to respond, he mind was much too occupied to focus on these little things.

Soon. Soon. The army would march on the Riverlands. On the place were so much had changed once.

Harrenhal.

With the army and House Wode already there and preparing the trap, soon Harrenhal would fall and after that the rest of the Riverlands.

The remembered sound of Stannis's laughter dimmed and was replaced with the coming drums of war.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Eddard Stark

They could see the Wall now, each day it grew nearer and nearer. At the rate they were moving it would just be a couple more days and they'd finally be at Castle Black.

Moving through the Gift and New Gift helped nail down just how much the North was starting to change. For days they'd been riding through new settlements. Tents and new homes...all settled by Wildlings.

The Lords of the North kept marching through the Gift, the Wall was calling to the them. For Ned, it what he had been expected from all that Jon had told him they had been planning for, but being told and seeing Wildlings setting down roots in the North was something else.

Much to his surprise, other than a few growls, the Greatjon hadn't had much to say. Historically speaking, the Umbers had always suffered the most from Wildling raids and yet he was holding his tongue.

Rickard Karstark huffed a lot these days, but he was still cowed and intimidated, trembling every time Ned glared at him.

It was a strange and sobering situation for Ned, that a simple glare could terrify a man to silence. He had never been one of those lords that was feared by his bannermen. Respected and obeyed yes, but not feared...at least not before.

Ned mentally grimaced, his outburst at the Karhold and then his antics at the Last Hearth had created a new reputation for him. The quiet wolf had sharp teeth now.

And he wasn't that quiet any more.

Brandon would have laughed at the situation, at seeing Ned feared...

Ned paused at that, he'd been thinking about Brandon more these days. And Lyanna. And Father. Years and years of him not wanting to talk about them and these days they kept coming up in conversations. The old wounds still hurt- and they always would; but now the pain was less. The talking, whether with Jon or Robb or Howland or another of his lords was getting easier.

Ned was dragged from his revere as a large group of Wildlings was gathering ahead in their path. The Wildlings were gazing at the approaching Lords with suspicion, many of them were reaching for weapons and had suspicious and wary expressions on their faces. He slowed his horse and shared concerned glances with Robb and Greatjon as they approached the group.

Jon reared his horse, urged him forward into a fast trot, speeding forward ahead of their group and ahead of the guards. Ned grimaced, Jon was the King now and yet he had the bad habit of moving forward ahead of the Winterfell guards that accompanied them.

The Wildlings got a good look at Jon, and Ned watched as the tension seemed to leech out of them. Jon exchanged some words with them and then turned around and gestured Ned and the other forwards the Wildling mob disbursed back to whatever they had been doing before.

Ned shared a look with Greatjon, in response the big man just shrugged.

Jon gestured them forwards and the Northern Lords continued onwards on their journey. The Wall beckoned them all forward.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Night was falling. The northern camp had been set up, a distance away from the new Wildling settlements. All things considered it was for the best. The best to avoid any accidental misunderstandings between the Northmen and the Wildlings in the night. This new found peace was still new and it was best not strained unnecessarily. Not yet at least. It would be put to the test soon enough.

Ned walked through the camp, idly watching everyone around him. The Northmen were wary, and there were many things for them to be wary of. The natural distrust of the Wildlings was at the forefront of most the men's thinking. The mental preparation for their arrival at the Wall was another.

Jon was elsewhere in the camp, doing his own rounds, Jory and Robb were with him, leaving Ned to walk alone; the Greatjon had been with him for a while, but he'd left to settle his own men.

Now Ned found himself lost in thought, unknowingly he found himself a distance away from the main camp and in front of a weirwood. Bran was there sitting in the dirt with Jojen, his back pressed up against the heart tree. Summer lay resting at his feet. Bran's giant shadow, Hodor was nowhere to be seen.

Ned stopped and looked at them. The two had been nigh inseparable since Winterfell. They sat and spoke and seemed to scheme together all the time. His son and Howland's son. Under different circumstances he would have been happy that there was a friendship blossoming there between them but the Three eyed Raven was something that disturbed him greatly.

He walked up to them, a part of hesitant and unsure, he was never sure where conversations with Bran were going to go these days.

They looked up as he approached and Jojen rose from where he was sitting, he bowed, "Lord Stark," he said gravely, sounding like a man grown and not the boy he was.

"Father," Bran said without getting up, his eyes just as empty and unreadable as they always were these days.

He nodded at them and stared at them unsure of what he was going to say.

They stayed silent as well, looking at him patiently, unhurried and waiting for him speak.

Finally Ned asked them, "We will be at the Wall soon. What happens then?"

Bran blinked once and answered, "Preparations."

Ned frowned, "Preparations?"

Bran nodded.

They had been doing nothing but prepare since the that first night. Winter was coming...but it was not here yet. Not for a while yet. There was still time to prepare for the Long Night.

He cast another look at them, his mind was blank of questions. He'd come to them by accident. They were staring at him, nearly identical blank expressions watching him and waiting for him to speak.

Summer who had been resting, raised his head and sniffed the air, he got up and began looking around.

Bran turned to stare at his direwolf, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Summer suddenly tensed and looking about in alarm. He was growling and snarling, baring his teeth now. Abruptly, he reared back and howled. The sound was echoing and bone rattlingly loud.

Ned's hackles rose, he stared about wondering what had spooked the direwolf. It took him a moment to realised that the forest was silent. He could hear the distant noise of the northern camp, but otherwise the forest was silent.

There was a rustling in the bushes behind Ned, he turned towards the sound as a form burst from the bushes and rushed him.

For the first time in a long time, Ned hesitated in battle as a nightmarish figure came at him, something out of Old Nan's dark stories. It was a dead creature, a single pale blue eye in a rotting skull glared balefully at him as it charged him.

A wight.

His heart thudded in his chest.

It was a Wight!

Jon's lessons on fighting wights echoed in his mind as he drew his sword. It wasn't Ice. The ancestral sword of House Stark was large awkward to carry around all the time.

And here and now it might be the death of him. Valyrian steel could put down a wight or White Walker easily. Good castle forged steel could not.

He drew his sword uncertainly, screaming at Bran and Jojen, "Stay behind me!"

A second and third monstrosity came out of the bushes and Ned balked at the rotten carcasses that were racing at him.

He didn't have much time to think as the first wight reached him, clawed hands outstretched and reaching for his throat. Instinct took over for Ned he slashed with blade severing the rotten hands reaching for him.

The handless wight didn't even hesitate as it threw itself at him, opening it's jaw wide and screeching and screaming at him. When it was closed enough Ned punched it in the face with the pommel of his sword.

The wight's head snapped back and with a single stroke Ned separated the wight's head from it's body. The headless body fell bonelessly to the ground, the head rolling away from him.

A snarling Summer came bounding past him, bowling over one of the remaining wights, gnawing and ripping with his jaws at the dead abomination.

The second one came at him unabated, unlike the first wight, this one was armed with a rusty sword. It came at him and he blocked the first blow, he blocked the second blow and the third. The wight was unskilled, but it was strong. Every blow straining his arms to block. He went on the offensive with a flurry of blows.

He strained and fought, hacking at the wight. Deadly blows that would have killed a mortal foe, didn't even trouble it. Dismemberment was the only way he would be able to kill it. Or rather make it unable to threaten him.

It felt like an eternity for Ned fighting the Wight,but eventually he managed to disarm it and then decapitate it.

The pieces of the wight wriggled at his feet still alive, he took a step back out of their reach and leaned on his sword panting for breath and trying to calm his thundering heart.

A scream came from behind him as he panted in shock, whirling around he saw Jojen on the ground wrestling with a wight.

Ned's heart jumped into his throat as he saw three more wights. Summer had already pounced on one, and was dealing with it. Jojen was wrestling with one and the third...

His heart froze in fright as he saw it reaching for Bran, as his son scrambled up the heart tree with alacrity, trying to get out of it's reach.

He ran faster than he imagined he was capable of, reaching the wight as it was a foot off the ground. He grabbed it by it's torn, dirty clothes, tearing it off the tree and throwing it down on the ground. He fell on it raining down blow after blow with his sword, cutting it up into pieces.

He raised his sword up for another blow, when something barreled into him and threw him to the ground, his sword flew out of his grip as he started to wrestle the thing that had jumped him...another wight.

He landed an elbow in the wight's face and managed to squirm around onto his back to face the wight. The smell hit him then. The rancid odor of rotten flesh mixed in with the smell of death.

He struggled to keep the hands of the wight off of his neck...and somehow he succeeded. The head stared at him with rage in it's shining blue eyes, it opened it's mouth and screamed at him, it's rank breath adding to the nightmare he found himself in. It started chomping at him, trying to bite his face off.

The teeth came closer and closer to his face, the smell of it's breath growing stronger and stronger as the face inched closer and closer. He was holding it at bay for the moment but he couldn't last forever, and he couldn't reach his sword without letting it strike him. Possibility fatally.

Was this it? Had he been saved from Joffrey, only to die even earlier this time?

A scream of rage echoed in Ned's ears as grey rippled metal ripped through the wight's head. The wight spasmed once then went limp atop of him.

A white blur passed by him and barreled into another wight, one he hadn't seen till then.

He looked up and saw Jon standing over him, Ice in his hands. His face grimmer than Ned had ever seen before.

Ned threw the corpse of the wight and clawed to his feet in a frenzy, "Bran! Brandon!"

Jon was moving forward and stabbed a piece of wight, several wriggling pieces spasmed and then stopped moving- truly dead now, even as Ned ran to the Heart tree and continued calling for Bran.

He looked up and saw Bran climbing down, his son jumped down when he was only a few hand spans above the ground and Ned knelt, grabbed him, pulling him into a hug, reassuring himself that his son was alive and whole.

After a long moment, he relaxed pulling away from Bran and looking him in the eye, putting his hand on his son's face, trying to reassure himself that the boy truly was intact.

"I am unharmed, father," Bran said in the same maddeningly calm tone he always used these days.

Ned took a deep breath and cast a look around, Jon was standing and staring about looking for more enemies, Ice held at the ready. Robb stood with him his own weapon out, eyes wide and dismayed at the carnage and the pieces of wights scattered around.

Jory knelt by Jojen, his face stony and pinched. They surrounded and his sight of them was partially obscured by wary guards and Wildlings...

"NO! NO!" Howland Reed cried out, shocking Ned. Howland's face was pale and ashen as he ran forward.

Ned watched as his friend ran to where Jojen lay. The men moved out of Howland's way and Ned saw Jojen was still on the ground, his eyes were open...and sightless.

Howland fell to his knees crying and pulling his son's fallen form to him, cradling him. Ned's heart fell, the battle hadn't been without a price.

Ned looked away aware of just how much the roles could have be reversed here.

On the other side of him was a body...the wight's body-for it could only be a wight was a grotesque thing, decaying limbs and rotten flesh. It's skull was cracked open and Ned could see the remains of it's rotting brain. It had been so close to killing him before Jon had slain it.

Ned stared around at the carnage, at the a small monstrous group of wights and shuddered. This was no story. No tale to scare children. This was the Long Night.

And it wasn't just coming...

It was already here.