Chapter Thirty Four: Ice And Fire

Before he had enlisted in the Night's Watch, Ser Waymar Royce and his father Lord Yohn had been hosted at Winterfell by Lord Eddard Stark. They had been guests of the Starks for under a turn of the moon. That was more than enough time for the occupants to get to know the Valemen.

Waymar Royce was every bit as brilliant, upright, and skillful as his sire. However, he was notably lacking of the gallantry and humility Bronze Yohn Royce was known for. Unlike the Lord of Runestone, Ser Waymar did not exhibit common courtesy towards those he considered lesser to him. His cocky grin and pretentious attitude routinely conveyed an air of arrogance and smugness.

Jon Snow doubted he would ever see Ser Waymar again after the latter headed north to the Wall. But he did. And how he's changed.

The man being brought forth by Desmond and Alyn was a shadow of his former self. There was no trace of haughtiness or conceit anywhere in his countenance. A crazed look was in his eyes. His gait was uneven, his posture was sloppy, his appearance was disheveled, his clothing was ragged and greasy.

Sansa had thought him handsome. If she could see him now, I wonder what she'd say.

Most of all, when he first came to the North, Waymar Royce claimed to fear nothing.

At a glance, Jon could tell he was scared now. Not only was he afraid; he was making no effort to hide his fear.

Desmond and Alyn led Ser Waymar to the ironwood stump and stopped there. Even though Waymar's hands were tied tightly behind his back, they continued to hold on to his arms to ensure he would not try to flee. Standing on the other side of the stump was Lord Eddard Stark, or Uncle Ned, as Jon was accustomed to calling him.

Waymar Royce and Uncle Ned made eye contact, and for a few seconds, neither spoke. Then the young Valeman said softly and unsteadily "I know why we're here, Lord Eddard. I am sorry it had to come to this."

"I am sorry, as well, my boy," Eddard Stark muttered in a genuinely apologetic tone, "But you know what must happen now."

"I do," Waymar Royce spoke candidly, "And I am ready. But before I die, there is something I must tell you."

"What would that be?" Lord Eddard inquired.

Ser Waymar did not reply straightaway. He stared blankly at the ground for a few seconds. Then he tried to talk. Jon saw his mouth move, but he could not hear the words that came out of them. Apparently, neither could Uncle Ned.

"Speak up, if you please," the Lord of Winterfell requested.

Waymar Royce seemed to have lost his voice. Despite his best efforts, all he could manage was an inaudible whisper. Lord Eddard had to bring his ear over to the young knight's mouth to coherently discern what he was saying.

Jon watched this exchange from several feet away. He stood with his cousins and his friends in silence. Or at least he was silent.

"He seems wrought with apprehension," Rick perceived.

"You would be, too, if you were on the brink of death," Robb contended.

"I don't believe it is death that bothers him," Sam noted, ever the observant one.

A few minutes later, Eddard Stark moved his head away from Waymar Royce's. Jon noticed he seemed a little perturbed.

"You are certain of all this?" Uncle Ned asked.

Ser Waymar meekly nodded his head. Jon could faintly hear him say: "I saw them. Soon enough, you'll all see them, too. You must prepare, my lord. It is not too late for you and yours."

Now it was Lord Eddard's turn to nod his head. "Have you anything more to say?"

"No," Waymar Royce declared, "Only that I should have died with my companions. Instead I ran like a coward."

"Perhaps you did," Eddard Stark debated, "Even so, you may have redeemed your actions and given their deaths meaning just now."

Waymar could only shrug. It was a skeptical type of shrug, as though he did not know whether he agreed with that statement or not.

A moment later, he beckoned Uncle Ned "Be on with it, my lord. While part of me still desires not to die at all, this is a far preferable fate to the one that claimed my companions."

"As you wish," Lord Eddard said in acknowledgment.

Waymar Royce got to his knees and placed his head over the stump. Although he showed no signs of resistance, Desmond and Alyn kept their hands pressed against his back in case Ser Waymar decided he actually wished to live.

He proceeded to remove his gloves and given them to Jory Cassel, the captain of the household guard. Theon brought forth the greatsword Ice. The ringing of Valyrian steel could be heard all over the square as the blade was drawn from its scabbard.

As Eddard Stark placed the tip of the, Waymar Royce turned his head and uttered quietly "I ask of you a simple favor, my lord. When you send my bones back to Runestone, please do not tell my lord father that I died a deserter."

"Your father will hear no word of your disgrace from me," Eddard Stark asserted the young knight.

Meaning Lord Royce might hear of it from someone else.

That thought did not seem to cross Ser Waymar's mind, as he appeared strangely content at receiving that assurance.

Bran was at Jon's side. As Eddard Stark sentenced Waymar Royce to die in the name of King Robert, the bastard of Winterfell whispered to his cousin "Don't look away. Your father will know if you do."

Sure enough, the younger boy did not attempt to avert his eyes from Uncle Ned and Ser Waymar. Samwell was tempted to look away. A year ago, he would have. Somehow, he willed himself not to.

Once Lord Eddard finished passing the sentence, he carried it out. With one swift movement, he lifted Ice high into the air and brought it down. In one motion, Waymar Royce's head was severed from his body. Blood spouted from the stump of his neck for a few seconds, but it slowly reduced to a smooth trickle. His head rolled on the ground a bit and came to a halt near Theon's feet. What do you know? Sam didn't even vomit.

After sheathing Ice and returning it to Martyn Cassel, Jory's father and the master-at-arms of Winterfell, Theon picked up Waymar's head by the hair and gazed into his still-open eyes. Then he smirked and muttered "I find him more agreeable this way."

Jasper scowled. "Have you no respect for the dead?"

"Certainly," Theon cheekily murmured, dropping the head, "The same respect they showed others when they lived."

"Ass," Jon mumbled under his breath.

It took a minute to wrap up Ser Waymar's body in a length of cloth. After it was loaded onto the back of a horse, the company set out.

"Ser Waymar died bravely," Robb proclaimed at the beginning of the ride.

Bravely? Jon countered with "No, it was not courage. You could see it in his eyes. He did not accept his fate simply because he was not afraid of dying. He accepted it because he was afraid of living."

"'Afraid of living?'" Theon muttered, seemingly amused, "Whoever heard of such a thing?"

"Such is possible," Rick debated.

"Indeed," Sam agreed.

Robb paid those remarks no mind.

"Father?" Jon heard Bran call out to Lord Eddard. The Lord of Winterfell had been riding at the head of the party. Bran was a little further back with the Cassels. Uncle Ned reined his horse back a few paces so that it trotted alongside his second son's pony.

While Eddard Stark conversed with Bran, Jon Snow was at the head of the company with the older boys. Including him, there were six of them.

Theon Greyjoy was the oldest, and something of an oddball. He had seen his twentieth nameday, and he was the only one of the group who had lain with a woman. But that could change soon.

Theon had come to Winterfell at age ten as a hostage. He was one of many children who had to pay for their fathers' crimes. In the aftermath of Greyjoy's Rebellion, Theon was being held on the mainland to guarantee the Ironborn's good behavior. Too bad this condition of 'good behavior' did not apply to Theon, as well.

Much had changed in the ten years since then. As of now, Theon was no longer a prisoner. Even so, he had remained a resident of Winterfell. He was being fostered there at the request of Theon's uncle, Lord Victarion Greyjoy, the Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands.

The next oldest in the group was Samwell Tarly. Sam was the elder son and heir to Randyll Tarly of Horn Horn. Of course, there was still some debate as to whether he would remain Lord Randyll's heir. If ever there was a man who was not his father's son…

Unlike his stern and ruthless father, Samwell Tarly was a timid, plump, and cowardly person. Lord Randyll had attempted many times – often through excessive or outlandish means – to toughen up his son. Despite his best efforts, all of them had failed miserably.

Eventually, Lord Randyll's patience reached its end. He considered sending Samwell to the Wall so that his second son, Dickon, could be his heir instead. Fortunately, Lord Gregor Clegane had approached him at the tourney at Lannisport. After some discussion, Lord Randyll agreed to send his son to Moat Cailin when he was older. However, before Samwell rode north, his father rigidly told him that the Legion without Banners would be his very last chance. If he let Lord Gregor down, the Wall would be the only place left for him.

So far, the Legion had worked out well for Samwell Tarly. While he was poor as a swordsman and warrior, no one could deny his intelligence. He was an invaluable source of information to men twice or thrice his age. He had been a personal notary to Lord Gregor Clegane for the last four years.

For the last five, Jon had been Lord Gregor's personal squire, so he and Samwell saw a lot of each other. Jon saw Sam as his best friend. Under his direction and Lord Gregor's patient guidance, Sam had overcome his reluctance to wield a sword. While his skills still left much to be desired, he could at least defend himself when the situation called for it. He had also lost at least thirty pounds. He was still fatter than most boys his age, but at least his fat was balanced with some muscle now.

Mounted on the destrier beside Jon was Rickard Clegane, the heir to Moat Cailin. They liked to call him "Rick." At twelve namedays, Rickard was the youngest of the six. Nevertheless, he was also the largest and the strongest of them, as well. Obviously that was the direct result of the fact that his parents were the tallest man and the tallest woman in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. Excluding the giants, of course. It happened that Rickard was also the only one among them that had been born in the North.

Although his father was the commander of the Legion without Banners, and his mother was one of their captains, Rickard was not a recognized Legionnaire. He was still too young to even be a squire. Even so, in addition to teaching him in the ways of running a holdfast, Lord Gregor was training him in the ways of leading an army, as well. Someday, he intended for Rickard to succeed him as the Legion's commanding officer. In spite of his youth, Rickard was shaping out to be a very promising ruler. All the same, he was hoping he would not have to inherit the responsibilities of Moat Cailin and the Legion for many more years. If I were him, I'd feel proud. After all, he'll have much more to inherit than any of us. Excluding His Grace, of course.

Jasper Baratheon, the Crown Prince of Westeros, was the next youngest. Two years back, the King had decided to educate his son on the ways of war and diplomacy. He could have done this through lecture and references to the past, but one could only learn so much through history. King Robert wished Jasper to learn these matters through direct experiences.

Of course, the Royal Army had not been mobilized since Greyjoy's Rebellion. The Legion without Banners, however, was active every day of the year, and Lord Gregor Clegane was perhaps the best military leader in the country.

Like Rick, Jasper was not old enough to be a full-fledged Legionnaire. However, he was tempted to enlist in the organization when he reached his sixteenth nameday. For the present, he was squiring for his uncle Renly, who had joined the Legion a couple years earlier. Allard Seaworth was currently preoccupied with business across the Narrow Sea, so Renly had replaced Allard as the Stormlands' representative on Lord Gregor's secret council. Whether Renly would remain on the council would depend on Allard's willingness to fully relinquish the position when he returned from Essos.

Lastly, there was Robb Stark, Jon's cousin and the heir to Winterfell and the North. Robb was only a few months older than Jon, but he stood to gain very much when his lord father passed on. He took after his mother, Lady Catelyn, in appearance, but he took after Lord Eddard in everything else. He was the future of the North. He's the future… and what am I?

Jon was the product of a free union between Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne. Since they had not been wed during his conception or his birth, he was stuck with the unfortunate label of "Snow," the name of bastards of the North.

There were times when Jon rued being baseborn. After all, Brandon Stark had been the elder brother of Lord Eddard. Had Brandon married Lady Ashara before he died, Jon would have been the rightful lord of Winterfell when he was born.

Despite these occasional feelings of envy, Jon was usually fairly content with his baseborn status. Since he stood to gain no titles or lands, he had liberty to do as he pleased with his life. Furthermore, his Uncle Ned and Aunt Cat had always done right by him. They had loved him and raised him as one of their own children. He thought of his cousins more as siblings, just as they did of him.

Although he was a bastard, he had made plenty of trueborn acquaintances at both Winterfell and Moat Cailin. He and the five young men around him composed a very tight circle of friends.

There was only one thing about this circle that bothered Jon Snow. Each of the others had distinguished himself in some way. Theon was the best archer. Samwell was the best reader. Robb was the best lancer. Jasper was the best rider. Rickard was the best leader.

Jon was more than fair in all five of those fields, but he was never the best at anything. Except being a bastard. And maybe the sword, were it not for Rick.

He was determined to stand out in a similar way. Someday, he would indeed stand out. Even he did not know how just yet. And even if he did know… he likely would not have believed it.

By now, Lord Eddard had finished talking with Bran. After riding in silence for a while, Robb gazed over his shoulder and queried "Father, what did Ser Waymar tell you?"

Uncle Ned slowly turned his head towards his firstborn. Then he uttered stiffly "You heard what he said."

"Not all of it," Jon Snow debated, "There was something he said which only you heard."

"If I was to tell you it was simply the ravings of a madman?" Eddard presumed.

"With all due respect, we would not believe you, my lord," Samwell stated, "If it was mere ravings, you would not have looked so astonished when you moved away from Ser Waymar."

Jon smiled. I can always rely on Sam to back me up.

"Sam has a point," Jasper conceded. He then scoffed and muttered jokingly "I could order you to tell us, my lord."

But he won't. He wouldn't abuse his authority so blatantly.

Uncle Ned must have known that. Even so, a rare grin came to his normally grim face. It faded after a few seconds, and he let out a slow sigh. Looks like we've convinced him to share his words. As their horses continued along the trail, Lord Eddard looked around at Jon and the other boys, and he pronounced "As some of you may know, it is nearly that time of the year when a number of the wildlings immigrate to the Seven Kingdoms."

"Yes, I recall my lord father mentioned that shortly before I left Moat Cailin," Rickard Clegane affirmed.

Eddard Stark nodded at that, and he continued with "Just before he fled the Wall, Ser Waymar went north of it. He was leading the escort group that was meant to bring the wildlings south."

"'Meant to?'" Samwell noted, "They didn't succeed?"

"No," Eddard disclosed, "His party was ambushed. Ser Waymar was the only survivor."

Jon and the other boys were alarmed to discover this. Rickard Clegane looked over at the Lord of Winterfell and stated anxiously "One of the Legionnaires was in that party, my lord. Ser Myles Manwoody."

Eddard Stark lightly shook his head and revealed "He fought valiantly. Alas, he did not make it. From Ser Waymar's description, he and the rest of their group were all slaughtered."

Rickard seemed dismayed. Jon could understand why; Ser Myles Manwoody had been at Moat Cailin longer than either of them. He was a great man.

"By whom, my lord?" Jasper inquired.

For a moment, Uncle Ned hesitated. He tentatively resumed with "It was not the wildlings that were supposed to relocate to the North; they were. Nor was it any of the other Free Folk."

"Then who was it?" Robb queried curiously.

Again, Eddard did not reply right away. His silence spoke volumes, however.

"My lord," Samwell uttered uneasily, "Was it… the Others?"

Jon and his friends collectively looked to the Warden of the North, eagerly awaiting an answer to that question. Ultimately, Eddard Stark gazed around at the younger men and muttered plainly "It was."

The color drained from Sam's face. Jasper and Rickard's eyes widened in shock. Theon tried to look cocky, but Jon could tell he was as startled as any of them. Robb merely grimaced edgily.

"The Others… are here now?" Theon asked rhetorically.

It would appear so.

"But it's still summer," Jasper pointed out.

"Winter is coming," Robb reminded the prince.

Lord Eddard nodded in approval and repeated "Winter is coming."

An atmosphere of restlessness passed over the group. That was not the result of discovering that the Long Night was soon to occur. Truthfully, they had known for a while that the Long Night's arrival was imminent. As it happened, all of Westeros had known that for the last five years. But no one would have expected the Others to return in summertime.

But they're here now. And how long will the rest of us be?

"My father must be told immediately," Jasper firmly proclaimed.

"Perhaps we should inform my father first," Rickard suggested.

Jasper seemed bemused by that idea. "The person with the most power should always be given dire news first before anyone else. Your father does not have Seven Kingdoms to manage."

"Have you forgotten what my father does for this country?" Rickard snapped, a little irate, "If not for him, we would never have been prepared for the Others in the first place."

"There is no need to argue, lads," Eddard told the massive boy and the prince to assure them, "When get back to Winterfell, I will write both Lord Gregor and the King. That way, they will both be told of this matter at the same time."

But the raven would reach Moat Cailin first, wouldn't it?

Jon did not give voice to that thought. He did not wish to incite another disagreement between Rick and Jasper. Fortunately, both of this friends appeared satisfied with Lord Stark's proposal, and they dropped the subject.

That's damn good. With the Long Night approaching, we'll soon have enough conflict to worry about without causing any amongst ourselves.

Jory Cassel had ridden ahead a bit to scout the way. When Jon turned to his front, he noticed Jory had halted near the bridge. His horse was whinnying and threatning to vault him from the saddle. With great difficulty, Jory managed to calm her.

"Trouble, Jory?" Uncle Ned asked the captain of his guard when the rest of the group reached him.

"Can't say, my lord," Jory responded, looking to Lord Eddard. He gestured to the space in front of them and beckoned them "Look at that."

On the path was the body of a stag. Part of one at least. Its entire lower body was missing. The head, the front legs, and the upper half of its torso were all that remained, and they had been mangled viciously. Uncle Ned chose to investigate.

"A mountain lion?" Theon conjectured.

"There are no mountain lions in these woods," Eddard proclaimed.

"Where's the rest of it?" Robb wondered aloud.

"Looks as though it's been dragged off," Martyn Cassel perceived, pointing out the trail of blood that was smeared across the ground. It led off into the woods.

"Whatever took it may come back for the rest," Samwell muttered worriedly, "Maybe we should move on."

"We could," Jasper contended, "Or… we could take a closer look."

In the end, they chose the latter course of action. Eddard, the Cassels, and the boys dismounted and followed the trail of blood into the woods.

The trail ended by a small brook. There they found the lower half of the deer. They also found the creature that had dragged it off.

A massive wolf was lying by the stream. It was gnawing on the remnants of one of the legs.

At the sight of the huge wolf, Rickard and Theon promptly drew their swords. Jon, Robb, and Jasper placed their hands on the hilt of theirs, but they did not draw them just yet. Samwell backed away a bit. As for Bran… the youngest boy eyed the beast inquisitively.

Before long, the wolf noticed them. Other than a menacing snarl and hostile glare, it made no move towards them. It was too engrossed with feasting on its kill.

"It's a freak!" Theon exclaimed.

"No," Robb countered, "It's a direwolf."

"There are no direwolves south of the Wall," Jory murmured.

"A few years ago, there were no giants or wargs south of the Wall, either," Rickard Clegane professed, "Now we have the likes of Mag the Mighty and Varamyr Sixskins living along the White Knife."

Next thing we know, there will be mountain lions in these woods.

"But we control the influx of beings from the lands beyond the Wall," Jasper Baratheon contended, "I doubt anyone would have allowed a direwolf to cross over."

"He could have slipped through," Martyn Cassel theorized.

"She," Samwell Tarly corrected.

"Hmm?" the master-at-arms uttered in puzzlement.

"That's a female," Sam announced, pointing towards the wolf.

Jon and a few of the others followed his finger, and their eyes fell across the direwolf's underside. Sure enough, the beast's lower belly was protruding conspicuously. She's pregnant.

"Not only is there a direwolf on this side of the Wall," Samwell observed, "There will soon be several."

"Or maybe not," Jory countered. He drew his sword and began to walk towards the direwolf.

"Wait!" Bran interceded, stepping in front of his father's captain of the guards. Jory paused long enough for the small boy to turn to Lord Eddard and say "Father, must we kill her?"

"It would be best, Bran," Uncle Ned proclaimed, "We cannot allow a direwolf to roam free in our domain."

"Then we could take her back with us," Bran proposed.

Theon and Jasper chuckled at the absurdity of that statement. Samwell seemed very averse to it. Robb raised an eyebrow, as though he thought it intriguing. Jon found it worth some consideration.

"You saw what she did to that stag," Samwell recalled, "She'd do it to a man just as easily."

"We could find a warg to tame her," Rickard proposed.

"Unless the warg is ready to devote the remainder of the direwolf's life to this endeavor, I would not place too much faith in that idea," Theon muttered.

"That aside, what would we do once she gives birth?" Jasper enquired.

"The pups could be domesticated," Robb suggested.

Now that's a thought.

"No one has ever trained direwolves," Martyn Cassel commented.

"Probably because no one has ever tried," Jon Snow contended. He turned to his uncle and told him "My lord, your house's sigil is the direwolf. Could it be possible we were meant to find this beast?"

"That could indeed be possible," Samwell coincided, "The Tullys have plenty of trout, the Tyrells grow the greatest roses, the Arryns have gyrfalcons, the Lannisters used to hold caged lions, the Baratheons catch many stags, the Martells keep their vipers, and Targaryens had their dragons. Why can't the Starks have their direwolves?"

"Now that you mention it, I'm still waiting for my uncle to snag us a pet kraken," Theon japed cockily.

Jon rolled his eyes and muttered "Mantén la boca cerrada, tonto." (Keep your mouth closed, fool.)

Samwell and Jasper scoffed at that remark. Although Theon could not understand what had been said, he could tell some slight was being made at his expense. He glared at Jon and mumbled "I do not take insult from a bastard."

Jon smirked and retorted with "No, ma tuo padre prende ordini da uno." (No, but your father takes orders from one.)

Rickard chortled at that. Theon fumed angrily, but he did not lose his temper. He just looked away. It appears I've won this round.

During Greyjoy's Rebellion, Lord Gregor Clegane had found records of two long-gone civilizations among the bounty of Euron Greyjoy's Silence. He had taken steps to revive the languages of those civilizations. He did so by using them as codes. Every member of the Legion without Banners was taught Spanish, and each of the Mountain's friends and allies was taught Italian.

Samwell was Gregor's notary and Jasper was Renly Baratheon's squire. As such, both of them knew Spanish. As Lord Gregor's eldest son and heir, Rickard knew Italian.

Jon had the distinct privilege of knowing both dialects, as he was both Gregor's squire and his ward.

On a few occasions, he had taught Robb a bit of each language, but never more than the basics. Theon, however, did not know a word of either. Jon was more than happy to take advantage of that.

"With the proper rearing, the direwolf pups can be brought to heel," Samwell contended.

"I will train and feed them myself," Bran swore to his father.

"So will I," Robb promised.

Lord Eddard stood thinking for a minute. Then he folded his arms and declared "If you can bring the mother to me without harming her or yourselves, I will consent to taking her back to Winterfell."

Clearly, Uncle Ned expected them to give up straightaway. But the boys were more determined than he gave them credit for.

When Jory and Martyn started to approach the direwolf, she snapped her fangs violently at the two men.

Strangely, when Jon and his cousins approached her, she did not so much as grunt. When they were within ten feet of her, she switched her focus from her pretty to them. She eyed them not in suspicion, but in perplexity.

Bran was the first to reach her. He slowly reached his hand out and stroked her behind the ears. Her muzzle was covered with chucks of fur and fresh blood, but when she opened her mouth, she did not move to bite Bran's arm off. Instead, she licked at his face playfully, causing the young boy to laugh.

"Incredible," Jasper murmured in amazement.

Five minutes later, they were all back on their horses, and they were following the road back to Winterfell once more. The direwolf padded alongside Robb and Bran's mounts. Jon found his gaze wandering to her every now and then.

At one point, Jon Snow told his uncle appreciatively "Thank you, my lord."

Eddard smiled at his nephew and stated "Consider it my gift to you,"

"Since it's today of all days, I suppose that'd be appropriate," Jon muttered slyly.

Although Jon and his five friends were close, they were not usually all in the same place at once. Most of the time, Robb and Theon were at Winterfell, and Rickard and Samwell were at Moat Cailin. Jon and Prince Jasper were the only ones who alternated between the two fortresses frequently.

Still, on special occasions, the six of them came together. Today was one such occasion. It happened to be Jon's nameday.

Most bastards were not afforded nameday celebrations. Jon did not have that misfortune. Then again, he did not wholly regard it as a misfortune. As anyone who knew him could tell, he was not one for pomp and ceremony. Every year before, he had chosen to celebrate his nameday quietly with only his family and his dearest friends. However, Aunt Catelyn had insisted on throwing him a celebration this year. Since it was his sixteenth nameday, Jon had given in to his aunt's wishes.

The other lads had jested that since Jon would be a man grown today, perhaps he would become a man in the more "physical" sense of the word.

Theon and Robb had been surprised when Jon confessed to them that he had yet to lay with a woman. They claimed that they had always assumed he may have slept with Myrna.

Just the thought of that was appalling to Jon. Myrna was old enough to be his mother. As it happened, she acted like his mother, as well.

Ever since Jon came to Moat Cailin, Myrna had been his maid. His own maid; she served him and no one else. For the duration of his stay at the moat, she had waited on him night and day, tending to his every need. She was perhaps the closest thing he ever had to a mother.

For some reason, Myrna never accompanied him to Winterfell. Jon never thought to ask why. He just assumed it was because she was a retainer of Lord Gregor Clegane.

Myrna was one of three people outside of his family that Jon felt he could trust with anything. Samwell were another. The third was Ser Marvyn.

Ser Marvyn had been in the employ of Uncle Ned ever since the end of Robert's Rebellion. Jon did not know very much about him, only that he was from the Reach. Since Sam was a native of the Reach, Jon had asked him if he could tell where the old knight had originated from. The most Samwell could discern was that Marvyn was an Oldtown man. He may have even been a distant relative of Lord Leyton Hightower.

Ever since he came north, Ser Marvyn's primary duty had been as Jon's bodyguard. For the last fifteen years, the old knight had loyally followed and protected the baseborn boy. Whenever Jon travelled to Moat Cailin, Ser Maryn went with him, even though he had sworn his sword to Winterfell. In fact, he went everywhere with Jon. He had even attended Ser Waymar Royce's execution. But he had given Jon some space so that he could mingle with his friends.

Despite his age, Marvyn's experience had not faded with time. That much Jon knew; he had seen him in combat firsthand. There were maybe three or four men in the Seven Kingdoms who could match his skills with a blade. Just having the old knight nearby made him feel safe.

There were times when Jon felt Ser Marvyn's services were wasted on him. After all, why would anyone task such a fantastic swordsman with a chore as menial as watching over a bastard?

On the other hand, Jon supposed he should not question his good fortune. What matters is that I have people who actually care for me. Some bastards don't even have people.

When they got back to Winterfell, Lord Eddard went to find Maester Luwin so he could write King Robert and Lord Gregor. Jory went with him. Robb, Bran, and Martyn Cassel led the pregnant direwolf to the kennels. Jasper helped Harwin and Hullen stable the horses. Rickard assisted Alyn and Desmond with moving Waymar Royce's body.

Jon, Sam, and Theon were left on their own.

Jon had been eager to get back, but not because of his nameday celebration. That would not be for a few more hours, anyway.

"Well, I have business to do," he announced to no one in particular.

"Oh, is that her name now?" Theon wryly uttered.

Jon glared at the Ironborn and muttered "Vete a la mierda." (Fuck off).

Samwell chuckled as Theon sneered. Jon just smiled and sauntered away from the scene. As he left, he called over his shoulder "Oh, and while you're at it… vai a inferni." (Go to the hells)

A few minutes later, Jon arrived at the broken tower. Ser Marvyn had accompanied him, but he bade the old knight to remain at the base of the foundation. Once Marvyn agreed, Jon made his way to the entrance of the building, forced it open, and climbed up the ancient stairs.

Jon knew that the broken tower was an ideal meeting place. Especially for those who wished to be left alone. And gods know, I want to be left alone. With her.

When he got to the top room, it appeared to be deserted. Then he heard her voice. "You're late."

He spotted her laying on a makeshift bed of furs in the corner. He grinned and recalled "You said you'd wait for me."

"So I did," she conceded. She beckoned him over, and once he reached her, she asked expectantly "Well?"

Jon shrugged and said "Well… Theon and Robb think we should go ahead with it."

"They have good sense," she perceived, "Tell me; what do you think?"

Jon stood thinking for about a minute. Finally, he smirked and "You're right. They do have sense."

At that, he dropped down beside her on the pile of furs. Then he took her in his arms and pulled her into a passionate kiss. From her touch, he could tell she was quite pleased with his choice.

When they came apart, she told him "It's about time. Where I come from, boys younger than you have done the deed."

Jon grinned at her and held her close. He ran one of his hands through her flowing red hair. He said to her "Well, I will not keep you yearning any longer. Still, I know that in most affairs, good things come to those who wait."

She scoffed, kissed him again, and declared "You know nothing, Jon Snow."

…

As far back as she could reminisce, Daenerys Targaryen had spent most of her life running.

When she was fresh from the womb, she and Viserys had been forced to run away from their homeland. Their entire family had been massacred by the Usurper. The two of them were the only survivors.

Since arriving in Essos, they had run from one Free City to another. Braavos. Norvos. Lys. Myr. They tried to seek refuge in each place they visited, but every time they tried to settle down, the Usurper's hired knives managed to track them down.

Once that happened, they had to pack up and run. Sometimes they had not even enough time to pack up. As such, they often had to leave behind some precious objects that could have been sold for a bit of gold. So every time they ran, they ended up a little poorer than before.

They had run from sellswords. They had run from bounty hunters. They had run from slavers. They had run from all manner of thieves and cutthroats.

There were times when Dany wished she could have run from Viserys, as well. But he was her only true ally in the world. Apart from that, even if she tried to run from him, he would have found her eventually. And once he did… the thought did not bear reflection. Never wake the dragon. Do not ever wake the dragon.

A couple years ago, they had come to Pentos. There they had sought asylum with Magister Illyrio Mopatis. Unlike most of their prior "hosts," the cheesemonger did not charge them for their lodgings. He provided them food, shelter, and clothing out of his own pocket. Fortunately for the Targaryens, he had a very large pocket. Almost as large as his actual pockets. So, unless he chose to throw them out (which was not pleasant to mediate on, but always possible), Illyrio would be able to keep Dany and her brother as his guests indefinitely.

For a time, it seemed as though they had finally found a haven from their worries.

Then one morning, Dany awoke to find an army at Illyrio's gates. There were thousands of soldiers. The colors, types, and designs of their banners, armor, and weapons varied, but none of them had the look of an Essosi. Indeed, they had all hailed from the same land as her and Viserys.

Magister Illyrio let the army in voluntarily. At first, she assumed he did this because his household guard was hopelessly outnumbered or because he was worried that they would destroy his manse.

She later found out that Magister Illyrio had actually been expecting the Westerosi. But he had not double-crossed her or her brother. From what Dany could gather, he was on no one's side and everyone's side at the same time.

To Daenerys' relief, the Usurper had lifted the price on the Targaryens' heads. He still had people searching for them, but for a different reason.

When Dany learned this reason, she realized that the things she had been running from were trivial compared to the true greatest threat to the Known World.

Growing up, Dany's knowledge on the history of Westeros was shabby at best. Most of what she knew of it was what she heard from her brother. Although it was at least eight thousand years old, Viserys only considered everything from the time of Aegon's Landing – meaning the past three hundred years – to be of any interest. Before then, the country had been a land of lawless savages who murdered, raped, and stole from each other as they pleased. Or so Viserys had claimed.

Dany had sometimes questioned the validity of the things her brother told her, but recently, she had come to wonder if he had ever made a single completely truthful statement in his life.

When the Westerosi forces arrived in Illyrio's estate, Daenerys, Viserys, and the magister had sat down with their commanders. One of them was Ser Davos Seaworth, a former smuggler who had been knighted by Lord Stannis Baratheon. Daenerys was aware that Stannis was the Usurper's brother, and that he was the current Lord of Dragonstone, which was the Targaryen ancestral home. Viserys had angrily claimed that the Onion Knight insulted them with his very presence.

The other commander was Monford Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark. Dany knew the Velaryons were distant relations of the Targaryens, and they had been their loyal vassals all the way up until the very end of the Rebellion. After that, they – along with every other house in the Seven Kingdoms – had bent the knee to Robert.

Luckily, Viserys harbored no ill will towards Lord Monford for bowing to the Usurper. He had acted in the best interests of his hose, after all. Viserys must have thought that Lord Monford, Ser Davos, and all their men meant to turn their cloaks and support the Targaryens instead.

Dany did not dare to hope for so much. Thus, she was less disappointed than her brother when she found out why the Westerosi forces had come for them.

Lord Monford and Ser Davos revealed that they were not there to help restore the Targaryens to the Iron Throne. They were not preparing to bring them back to Westeros, either. Not yet, they claimed. Why not yet?

They discovered that the Usurper did not want them dead. Instead, he had been advised to seek an alliance with the Targaryens. Both Viserys and his sister thought that queer.

What could we possibly offer him? There is literally nothing more we could give than the clothes off our backs.

They learned this alliance had initially been the suggestion of one Gregor Clegane. That name came up many times throughout the conversation.

Viserys had once told her of Gregor Clegane. He was known as the Mountain That Rides. He was an enormous monster in human skin who butchered women and children for his own amusement. It had been he who murdered their niece and nephew Rhaenys and Aegon, as well as their goodsister Elia Martell.

According to Lord Monford and Ser Davos, that was by no means true. Well, it was more half-true. Gregor Clegane was a massive man, but he was benevolent by nature. In actuality, he had saved Princess Elia, and Rhaenys and Aegon had been butchered by another knight named Amory Lorch. Furthermore, the Mountain had killed Lorch on the spot for committing that atrocity.

By the end of that conversation, Dany had an entirely different view of Gregor Clegane from the one her brother had put in her head. He was originally a vassal to Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, who had caused the Sack of King's Landing. Now he was a vassal to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Stark had been made the Mountain the lord of Moat Cailin, an ancient fortress which separated the North from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

The Mountain also had a seat on the Usurper's Small Council. A new title had been created just for him. He was Robert's Master of Order. By occupying that position, he was charged with maintaining stability and diplomatic ties all throughout the realm. So far, he had done a commendable job fulfilling this duty.

He had not done it alone, however. A decade and a-half ago, he had formed an organization known as the Legion without Banners. Dany had heard talk of the Legion throughout her lifetime. However, the extent of her knowledge was the gossip she and her brother had picked up in the marketplace and taverns (as well as the occasional brothel).

Davos Seaworth and Monford Velaryon were able to provide a much more elaborate description of the Legion without Banners. They depicted it as the most diverse, most cooperative, and most prestigious organization that anyone of modern day had ever seen. It had achieved a level of unity and brotherhood that the sellsword companies of Essos could only dream of attaining. In fact, quite a few natives of Essos had travelled across the Narrow Sea to enlist in the Legion's ranks.

Ser Davos revealed that his second son, Allard, was one of the Legion's top officers. Allard was among the soldiers that had accompanied his father and Lord Monford to Pentos. When Daenerys and Viserys asked (more demanded in his case) to know more about the Legion without Banners, Allard was summoned to the table.

He only had good things to say about the Legion and its commander. In his mind, there were very few men alive as honorable as Lord Gregor Clegane. The man had established order and peace all throughout the nine regions of Westeros. He had even succeeded in forming a pact between the Free Folk and the inhabitants of the Seven Kingdoms. Because of his great deeds, Westeros now flourished in a way that it had never done under the reign of the Targaryens.

Viserys was not pleased with that observation. Dany, on the other hand, was intrigued. Even without her brother's influencing words, she had been convinced that Westeros would suffer, decline, and ultimately collapse without a Targaryen ruler. In that regard, it appeared she was as wrong as her brother. From all accounts, Robert Baratheon was a just ruler with a wise council backing him. I dare not say that near Viserys, though.

Despite all these positive change Gregor Clegane had inflicted upon Westeros, there was one major issue that had yet to be resolved. Interestingly, this issue had not yet struck the land. Even so, it had been made aware publicly four years earlier.

Allard Seaworth claimed that this issue was the very reason he, his father, Lord Monford, and the Westerosi units had sought out Viserys and his sister.

That was when they addressed Lord Gregor's revelation of the Long Night.

At first, Viserys had laughed dismissively at the concept that the Others would soon return to the world. Dany had been tempted to laugh, too. But the more she listened to Allard, the less inclined she felt to scoff at his words. After enough time elapsed, even Viserys was beginning to believe in the credibility of Allard's testimony.

The whole of Westeros had already accepted the truth that the Long Night would occur sometime in the next few years. Now Viserys and Daenerys shared their conviction. Still, the thought was rather disquieting.

I miss the days when our biggest concern was finding safety from the Usurper.

Dany and her brother was still perplexed as to what Gregor Clegane wanted with them. Allard Seaworth confessed that even he and the other top Legionnaires did not know. Allard was one of a privileged few who knew that Lord Gregor claimed the Targaryens had a certain "advantage" that no one else in the Known World possessed. For whatever reason, the Mountain was currently withholding the specifics of this "advantage" from everyone else. He had claimed that the Targaryens were not aware of this advantage, and they did not even possess it just yet.

I'd be surprised if we had an advantage over anyone.

Still, Dany felt a little comforted. Even if it turned out that this advantage did not truly exist, it had saved her and her brother from being murdered in their sleep. For that, she was grateful to Gregor Clegane.

After the explanation was finished, Allard, Ser Davos, and Lord Monford asked the Targaryens if they were willing to work in conjunction with King Robert. Fortunately for everyone there, Viserys had one of his rare rational moments of coherent thought, and he agreed to collaborate with the Westerosi envoys.

Dany was certain he was secretly plotting to overthrow Robert Baratheon. But naturally, she did not mention that to anyone else.

Shortly after this agreement was struck, Ser Davos, Lord Monford, and the majority of the Westerosi forces had departed from Pentos and sailed back across the Narrow Sea. Dany longed to go with them, but for the present, it appeared as though her place was still in the east.

One hundred of the soldiers had stayed behind in Pentos to guard Viserys and Daenerys (and to keep a close eye on them, doubtlessly). They had ample coin to pay Illyrio Mopatis for lodgings, and they had brought their own provisions. Since they were essentially fending for themselves, the magister was more than willing to accommodate the Westerosi.

Nearly one full year had passed since then. She and Viserys were still no closer to finding out what Robert Baratheon planned to do with them, no closer to returning home, and no closer to learning what this supposed "advantage" of theirs was.

Viserys and Daenerys were not confined to Illyrio's manse. So long as they were accompanied by the hundred Westerosi soldiers, they were free to go anywhere they pleased. Still, they had chosen to remain with the magister, as they had no true friends anywhere else on this side of the Narrow Sea.

Daenerys was content to stand by and wait until their advantage made itself known. Be that as it may, Viserys was determined to have something to show for their stay in Essos before they returned to the Seven Kingdoms. Dany knew he was scheming to amass an army of his own.

He was hoping to assemble this army quietly and without notice. Of course, since Robert's soldiers had them under tight scrutiny, his options were quite limited. Every time he tried to contact a group of soldiers that may have fought for him, his efforts were intruded upon by their guards.

The guards were actually willing to aid Viserys in this endeavor, as they debated that Westeros would need every warrior it could find in the hardships to come. Viserys was reluctant to accept that type of help from them, but even he was not such a fool as to turn away such an offer.

Viserys could expect none of the Westerosi to give him their swords, either. Less than half of the hundred had fought on the side of the Targaryens during the Rebellion, and the majority of those were loyal to the stags now. They were not likely to turn their cloaks a second time.

While Viserys busied himself with searching for his own forces, Dany passed her time by learning more about their homeland. Several of the soldiers were rather accommodating in that regard, as well.

Of the hundred soldiers that had stayed behind with Dany and her brother, twenty of them were members of the Legion without Banners. While most of their guards at least tried to be chivalrous, Dany found she preferred the company of the Legionnaires.

On a late morning in the middle of 299 A.C., Dany stood on the balcony of her bedroom. She stared off into the west, off into the direction of her homeland. She did this at least once every day. She paid especial attention to the Narrow Sea. She liked to imagine sailing across that vast expanse of water until she found land again.

Unlike her power-hungry brother, Dany did not desire the crown. She would have settled for a small holdfast and a handful of servants. Perhaps once we return, the Usurper could grant us Dragonstone. She doubted King Robert would do so willingly, but maybe Gregor Clegane could convince him to allow the Targaryens their ancestral home. If the Mountain was able to persuade him to allow wildlings to come south of the Wall, it should be relatively simple for him to speak on our behalf.

Daenerys was brought out of her reverie by voices. They came from the courtyard beneath her window. She leaned out, peered downward, and spotted six of the Westerosi conversing with each other on the ground below. She had taken the time to learn the names and faces of each of her guards. After a few seconds, she recognized these six as Ser Bonifer Hasty, Ser Malcolm Branfield, Eddison Tollett, Alysane Mormont, Ser Perwyn Frey, and Chiswyck.

Legionnaires, all.

Daenerys decided to call upon them. She swiftly left her bedchamber and made her way down to the courtyard. She walked hurriedly yet elegantly, as she was accustomed to moving.

Malcolm Branfield was the first one to notice her. He smiled politely, gave a small nod, and said in acknowledgement "Good morning to you, my lady."

"Good morning, Ser Malcolm," Dany returned with a grin.

One-by-one, the other five Legionnaires turned to the Targaryen girl and bade her a fine morning, which she returned cordially.

The six of them were crowded around a stone bench. Perwyn Frey and Eddison Tollett were seated on the ground by the base of the bench, Ser Bonifer Hasty and Chiswyck sat on the surface of the bench, Alysane Mormont was standing with one foot resting on the bench, and Ser Malcolm Branfield was leaning against the back of the bench.

When Dany reached them, Alysane removed her foot, and Ser Bonifer and Chiswyck scooted off to the sides to make room for her. Dany happily accepted the spot in the center of the bench.

"I hope I did not interrupt anything," she stated humbly.

"Not at all," Ser Perwyn assured her, "We were merely chatting."

"'Chatting?'" Dany uttered, unfamiliar with that expression.

"A term coined by our commander," Ser Bonifer enlightened her, "It refers to speaking casually on various subjects."

"Oh, alright," Dany avowed. I should add that to list of the Mountain's accomplishments. She decided to address that topic. "Construction materials, weapons, languages, songs, alliances… and now speech. Is there anything Lord Gregor has not tried his hand at?"

"These must be something," Perwyn Frey contended, "But I could not venture to guess it."

"Maybe because he's already contributed to every area that's worth contributing to," Chiswyck hypothesized.

"At any rate, Lord Gregor has all but revolutionized the modern world as we know it," Eddison Tollett murmured, "He's done more than any of us could ever hope to do. Or at least what I could do."

Dany chuckled at that. Eddison Tollett had been daubed Dolorous Edd by his colleagues. That was a direct result of his very dour and pessimistic sense of humor. Although he seemed to possess very low self-esteem, Dany appreciated the remarks he made. Like as not, they often made her grin.

"This past year, I've heard very much about Gregor Clegane," Daenerys thought aloud, "I know of him as a lord, as a general, as an inventor, and as a diplomat. However, I've yet to know of him as a man. Tell me; what is he like as a man?"

"For starters, he's a giant among men," Dolorous Edd expounded, "The rest of us are mere dwarves next to him."

"So he really is as tall as I've heard?" Dany presumed.

"Oh, yes," Perwyn Frey muttered with a smile, "My lady, he is as tall as Magister Illyrio is wide."

Dany and the others burst out laughing at that observation. After a few seconds, Malcolm commented jokingly "I'm not certain he is that tall, Perwyn."

More chuckles were produced. Still, he must be tall. Anyone with eyes could clearly see how morbidly obese Magister Illyrio Mopatis was. If he stopped eating, Westeros might have enough food to get through the next winter.

Then she remembered what the next winter would be like. She quickly purged the thought of it from her mind, and she elected to return to the original subject of the conversation. She gazed around at the Legionnaires and said inquisitively "How well do you know the Mountain? Personally, I mean."

"First and foremost, he's committed to his cause," Bonifer Hasty perceived.

"Which is?" Dany enquired.

"The endurance and prosperity of Westeros," Ser Malcolm clarified.

"Far as I know, that's been a lifelong goal of his," Chiswyck proclaimed. He would know; he's been a retainer of the Mountain longer than most others. Dany was aware that Chiswyck had been a man-at-arms to Gregor Clegane since before the Legion without Banners was formed.

"And he has already accomplished very much in the way of his goal," Dolorous Edd claimed.

"Under his direction, the realm has thrived like never before," Alysane Mormont professed, "Pardon me for saying this, my lady, but I believe the Mountain has done more for Westeros than any of the Targaryen kings ever did."

"So I've heard," Dany uttered candidly. Viserys would have raged at that statement. Daenerys was a little more openminded and objective than her brother. At the very least, the Mountain did a fine job cleaning up the mess my father made. Just then, another thought occurred to her. She mentioned it to the Legionnaires: "If the Mountain is so good for the realm and so beloved by its people, could it be possibly that he might someday come to rule the Seven Kingdoms on his own?"

"Gods, no," refuted Ser Malcolm, "Lord Gregor may have the love of the smallfolk and many knights and lords, but love does not equal support."

"Aside from that, Lord Gregor has made it quite clear he has no desire to sit the Iron Throne himself," Perwyn Frey disclosed, "He is content to be a noble lord of the North."

"Yet already, he is lauded as a hero out of the legend," Dany noted, "And he is not even dead."

"There are some heroes who needn't die before the world praises their names," Alysane contended.

"Doubt anyone will praise mine even after I'm gone," Edd mumbled grimly.

"I'll praise it, Edd," Dany kindly assured the Valeman.

Eddison Tollett gave her a coy grin and remarked "I thank you for that, my lady."

She smiled back and patted him on the back gently. After sitting back up, she stated "Since Gregor Clegane is a lord, I assume he must have heirs. Does he?"

"Yes," Alysane Mormont affirmed, "It happens he has five. His oldest son Rickard is twelve. His second son Alyver is nine. His daughter Vallory is seven. His third son Larys is three. His fourth son Torrhen was born just a few turns of the moon ago."

Daenerys was impressed that Alysane knew all that. "You took the time to learn all their names and ages?"

The She-Bear snickered and pronounced "I would not be a very good aunt if I did not."

That caught Dany's interest. "'Aunt?'"

"His daughter is my niece and his sons are my nephews," Alysane apprised her, "My elder sister Dacey is Lord Gregor's lady wife."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow in astonishment. One really does learn something knew each day.

"I'm surprise you didn't know that, my lady," Perwyn Frey commented.

"I knew the Mountain was wed to some Northwoman," Dany declared, "But I was never told her name or what house she was from."

"Now you know both," Edd bluntly remarked.

Dany lightly nodded her head. She gazed around at the others and inquired "Do any of you have children?"

"I have a son and a daughter," Alysane proudly declared, "They're at Bear Island with the rest of my family. My mother and younger sisters are caring for them in my absence."

"And your husband?" Dany said curiously.

The She-Bear gave a smirk and muttered slyly "When did I ever say anything about a husband?"

"Then your children are baseborn?" Daenerys assumed.

"Oh, no," Alysane replied. She donned a very wicked grin and pronounced "There is a custom on Bear Island. When unwed women wish to have children, they go hunting for bears. But not to kill them."

Dany quickly realized what the female Legionnaire was implying. She muttered in bewilderment "You… mated with a bear?"

"Bears, most likely," Alysane expounded cheekily, "I can't say for certain that the same one fathered both my son and my daughter."

"And… all the Mormont women do this?" Dany queried.

"Not all," Alysane claimed, "My mother did, though. My father was a bear. So was Dacey's. And Lyra's. And Jorelle's. And even Lyanna's. Five daughters my mother Lady Maege whelped, and all our sires are skulking about in some cave."

For a minute, Dany stared blankly at the She-Bear. She could not tell whether Alysane was being truthful or feeding her an elaborate hoax. She asked no one in particular "Is she serious?"

"I find it best not to ask that question, my lady," Dolorous Edd Tollett advised her.

Yes. Now that I think on it, I would rather not know.

"Oh, well; I can think of plenty unions worse than a woman and a bear," Malcolm Branfield remarked.

So can I. Namely one between brother and sister, if my family is any indication.

"So Alysane is a mother," Dany acknowledged, looking around at the men, "What of the rest of you? Are there any fathers here?"

"I may have a bastard or two somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms," Chiswyck suggested, "And maybe one in Pentos, if we're here long enough."

"Most of my elder half-brothers have children," Perwyn Frey illuminated, "And even one of my younger full ones, Benfrey. As of yet, I do not. That mightn't change. If you ask me, my lady, there are enough Freys in the world."

"Not enough good ones," Edd drearily uttered. He quickly turned to Perwyn and added "If you mind my saying."

"I do not mind," Perwyn asserted, scoffing, "Because you're correct, Edd. For every three or four Freys that are born into the world, there is maybe one good one."

Just like that old saying about how the gods would flip a coin at the birth of each Targaryen.

"With my father's brood, the odds are even worse," Perwyn heatedly went on, "Lord Walder spent nearly all his time fathering children and almost no time being a father. Because of that, there was always discord and strive in our house. Luckily, my father had the decency to die a couple years ago. Before that, he was in a coma. Since then, my half-brother Stevron took over lordship of the Crossing, and he is running the Twins far better than the Late Lord Frey ever did."

Daenerys was stunned. By the expressions on their faces, so were the other Legionnaires. She had never seen a man talk with such disdain about his own sire. Certainly, she had rarely heard anyone say a kind thing about King Aerys II, but Viserys had never spoken ill of their father.

Perywn soon noted the startled looks the others were giving him, particularly Dany. He told her "I've made you uncomfortable. I apologize, my lady."

"You needn't apologize, ser," she reassured him, "It is not always pleasant to speak one's mind, but at times, it must be done."

"True," Eddison Tollett concurred. He leaned back against the sold leg of the bench and stated "I suppose it's my turn."

"Go on, Edd," Dany beckoned him.

"Very well," the Valeman conceded, "No sons. No daughters. No bastards. No wife. No prospective matches. My love life couldn't be any more pitiful if I took the black."

Chiswyck, Ser Perwyn, and Alysane snickered a bit. Dany patted Edd on the back sympathetically. Maybe a family is what can finally make him happy. It would certainly bring happiness into my life.

"You next, Ser Malcolm," Dany requested.

Malcolm Branfield nodded and professed "Like Ser Perwyn, I've become an uncle several times. My sister Elissa has six children. Whereas I have never married, and I do not intend to. The Branfield line will die with me."

"And that does not bother you?" Dany asked rhetorically.

"No," Ser Malcolm proclaimed, "My house was sworn to the Crownlands, so it fought for your father during the Rebellion. My father and siblings died for their devotion to the Mad King. Elissa lived because she had married into the North a few years beforehand. The only reason I too was spared was because I bent the knee before it was too late."

"I am deeply sorry for all you've lost," Dany sincerely told him, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You and your family were loyal vassals of my family, and you were rewarded for that loyalty with death and destruction. I know what it is like to lose almost everyone close to you."

Malcolm smiled thankfully, placed his hand atop hers, and stated "You have done nothing that requires my forgiveness, my lady. The blame for my family lies with them, as it was their decision to follow King Aerys to the bitter end. And while you may feel my pain, I cannot claim to feel yours. Yours is worse, I am certain. I was never banished from Westeros, nor did my sister ever vent her anger on me."

"I suppose not," was all Daenerys said in response, remembering how Viserys had been less than brotherly to her several times in the past. Those are the types of wounds that never fully heal.

She turned to the man seated next to her and stated "That leaves you, Ser Bonifer."

The middle-aged knight from the Stormlands nodded and muttered "Indeed, my lady."

Daenerys could detect a trace amount of reluctance in his voice. She told him "If the subject unsettles you so, you do not have to discuss it."

"It does not unsettle me, I promise you," Ser Bonifer proclaimed, "It may, however, unsettle you."

"Why is that?" Dany inquired in interest.

"Because it concerns a member of your family," Bonifer Hasty informed her.

Dany was equally parts perplexed and captivated by that revelation "Go on, please."

"As you wish," Ser Bonifer conceded. After a pause, he disclosed "I never wed nor had children. But not because I could not find an ideal woman. It happens that I did. I loved her, and she loved me. Although her status was far higher than my own, I considered arranging a betrothal between her and myself. Alas, I was unable to wed her."

"Why?" Dany inquired.

"Because she wed the king," Bonifer Hasty notified her.

Dany's eyes widened in alarm. "So you mean…?"

The middle-aged knight nodded again and confirmed "The woman was your mother, Queen Rhaella."

Daenerys was flabbergasted. Nevertheless, she was eager to hear more.

Ser Bonifer indulged her with "Your great-grandfather Aegon V tried to break the Targaryen tradition of marrying brother to sister by taking Betha Blackwood of Raventree as his bride. He intended for his son, your grandfather Jaehaerys II, to do the same by marrying to Celia Tully of the Riverlands. Unfortunately, Jaehaerys and his sister Shaera were smitten with each other. Against their father's wishes, they wed. I had hoped the cycle would end with them, but it did not. When King Jaehaerys announced the betrothal between his son Aerys and his daughter Rhaella, your mother and I were deeply dismayed. But her father was still the king; there was nothing we could do to protest his decree. So we agreed to stop seeing one another."

Again, Bonifer Hasty paused for a few seconds. Then he continued with "I've hardly even looked at another woman since then. After your mother and father's wedding, I decided to devote my life to the Seven instead. I formed my own company known as the Holy Hundred."

"Yes, I know of the Holy Hundred," Daenerys pronounced, "They fight in the name of the Father, the Mother, the Crone, the Warrior, the Smith, the Maiden, and the Stranger."

"Just so," Ser Bonifer affirmed, "We were an independent company for many years. After Greyjoy's Rebellion, I realized that Lord Gregor Clegane was fighting for an even greater cause. So I elected to augment his forces with my own. For the last decade, the Hold Hundred have also been Legionnaires."

"And the realm is all the better for it, I'm certain," Dany debated.

Bonifer smiled gently at that. "Your royal mother meant much to me, my lady. Though I never held her as a man holds a woman, I felt strongly for her. I see her in you. You are more her daughter than Aerys'. For that alone, you have my word; long as I live, no harm will come to you."

Daenerys was touched. She leaned over, lightly kissed the Stormlander on the cheek, and told her gratefully "Thank you, ser."

I can see it in his eyes. He's speaking truly. It was details like that which gave Dany hope.

An interval of quietness passed over the vicinity. Dany found her eyes drifting back to the eastern horizon. By now, the Sun was nearly overhead. Like most people, she enjoyed the sunlight. However, she found a certain unique pleasure in it. The heat made her feel warm both inside and out, and no matter how long she was exposed to it, it never burned her skin.

For a brief moment, she wondered what she would do without sunlight. Then it occurred to her… in the not too distant future, everyone in Westeros would be faced with that very predicament.

Somehow, my mind keeps wandering back to that dreaded event. That is either realism… or paranoia. She hoped it was not the latter. Paranoia was an offshoot of madness.

Ser Perwyn was the first to see the anxious frown on her face. He inquired "Are you well, my lady?"

Although Dany kept her gaze on the distance, she was able to nod her head in response and ask "How long will it be before the next winter?"

"According to the Citadel and Lord Gregor, this will be our last year of summer," Malcolm Branfield disclosed.

"Then we shall have autumn for about two years," Alysane stated.

"Maybe three, if we are fortunate," Chiswyck offered.

"Then we have at most four years until the Long Night comes?" Dany assumed.

"That sounds an accurate estimation," Bonifer Hasty contended.

"Will we be ready?" Daenerys said enquiringly.

No one answered at first. Ultimately, Ser Malcolm sighed and observed "We will have to be."

"Don't lose faith," Bonifer Hasty bade the others, "Westeros survived the Long Night once. Now it is stronger than it's ever been in history."

"But so is the Night's King," Chiswyck pointed out.

Perwyn Frey rested his chin on his arm and stared in same direction as Dany. He muttered "I suppose we should count ourselves lucky we're on this side of the Narrow Sea."

"We could for now," Dolorous Edd conceded, "In the end, though, it won't matter."

"That's true," Alysane agreed, "Once the Others have taken over all of Westeros, they'll set their eyes on Essos next. Then Slaver's Bay. Then Ulthos, Sothoryos, and all the rest of the Known World."

The She-Bear is right. Leagues upon leagues of water will not stop the undead.

"I wish there was more we could do to prepare for it," Dany muttered under her breath.

"Well, Lord Gregor still believes you and your brother will play a pivotal role in the Long Night," Malcolm Branfield reminded her.

"I have not forgotten, Ser Malcolm," Daenerys commented, "I only wish I knew what this role requires of me. Whatever this 'advantage' Lord Gregor claims my brother and I possess is, it must be extraordinary."

"In time, it will make itself known, my lady," Alysane Mormont reassured her.

Dany nodded at that. I only hope 'in time' will not be too long.

Just then, Allard Seaworth entered the vicinity. His eyes dared around the courtyard, as though he was searching for someone. When he spotted Daenerys, he rushed over to where she and the six other Legionnaires were seated.

He stopped before her, dipped his head, and stated "My lady, I must ask that you accompany me to the gate."

"May I ask why?" the dragon girl said inquiringly.

"A woman just turned up there," Allard informed her, "She claims she is here to see you and your brother."

A woman? Viserys had "known" quite a few women in their travels of the Free Cities, but Daenerys had not been very well acquainted with any of them.

"What does she look like?" Ser Perwyn queried.

"She has long hair," Allard disclosed, "It is fair in some parts and dark in others. She is also clad from head to heel in red attire."

"A priestess of R'hllor?" Malcolm Branfield conjectured.

"That is my guess," Allard Seawroth confirmed, "She mumbled something about the Lord of Light when I talked to her."

"Then she is a red priestess," Bonifer Hasty declared.

"What possible business would she have with Viserys and myself?" Dany said in bafflement.

"I asked her that myself," Allard responded, "She refused to supply an answer."

"I say turn her away," Chiswyck suggested.

"I agree," Edd Tollett proclaimed, "You can't trust red priests; they'll burn you soon as aid you."

"I will see her," Daenerys firmly decided. Perhaps this is the advantage.

The blonde girl got up from the bench and stood beside the second son of Davos Seaworth. Allard gestured for his six colleagues to join them. Due to his status in the Legion without Banners, Allard had been given command of the Legionnaires that had remained in Pentos. The other eighty Westerosi soldiers had their own officers.

As the eight of them made their way to the gate, Dany walked alongside Allard Seaworth and asked him "Did this woman tell you anything else? Where she is from? Who she is? Why she is in Pentos?"

"She did say her name," Allard enlightened her, "She calls herself 'Melisandre.'"