TSOTWR - Chapter II

Rickard

“Good, Brandon,” Jon praised as the Heir of Winterfell landed a combination on one of the guards that sent the man sprawling. “Take a break. Ned, get in there.”

Brandon nodded gratefully as the eager Ned took his place, and Rickard watched as his second son faced off with another of the guards.

Jon had been with them for three moons now, and the Warden of the North had not regretted a single moment of his presence. All of the children had grown close to the young man, as had all within the keep who had made his acquaintance.

Brandon, Ned, and Benjen had all improved considerably in their abilities with a sword under Jon’s tuition, and Lyanna had become all but inseparable from him.

At first, Rickard had been concerned that Rodrik would feel put-out by Jon’s inclusion, but the man had been accepting and even keen to work with him. Often they could be seen facing off with one another, and though Rodrik had not even come close to beating Jon, his own already impressive swordsmanship was getting better.

Jon too only seemed to thrive here. When he’d arrived and first fought against the guards, he had evidently not been at his best. Now that he was healthy after enjoying a roof over his head and several square meals a day, his talent had only become exceptionally more obvious.

He truly was a sight to behold with a blade in hand.

“Come on, Lyanna, get yourself in there,” Jon instructed as Ned dispatched of his foe.

Rickard shook his head amusedly as his daughter did as she was bid.

It had taken some time for her to accept that she wouldn’t be able to fight the way Jon or her brothers did. She simply did not have the strength to compete with the guards, but she was learning to use her speed, footwork, and cunning to great effect.

Lyanna was yet to beat any of the guards, but her determination and dedication would one day prevail.

Rickard grimaced as the guard rammed his shoulder into her, sending her to the ground.

As uncomfortable as it was for him to witness, Jon had been right when he’d said that anyone wishing her harm would not take it easy on her.

Lyanna seemed to just take it in her stride, and even grinned as she was helped out of the mud by her opponent who offered her praise for the skill she’d demonstrated.

“I still can’t beat you,” she huffed.

“Aye, and it will be some time before you manage it, Little Wolf,” the guard chuckled.

Rickard clapped politely and offered his daughter a nod.

Lyanna was doing well, and the encouragement from Jon she received after each bout brought a smile to her lips.

Shifting his attention back to the man, Rickard followed suit.

Jon simply belonged here, a true Northerner to the very core. He was diligent in his duty to Lyanna, even helping her in the stables with the horses. When he would leave Ghost with his charge, he could be found in the Godswood, the forge, or helping out around the keep where needed, and yet, he remained something of a mystery.

Rickard still had many questions he wished for answers to, but he was not inclined to push for them. He hoped that Jon would one day be able to open up of his own accord, though for now, he truly was most welcome.

Lyarra too had grown fond of the young man, still little more than a boy in her eyes, though one who had undoubtedly experienced more hardship than he’d speak of.

Jon was a hard man; hewn by the whatever life he had lived prior to coming to Winterfell. Still, he was gentle in nature for the most part, softly spoken, observant, but as mischievous as any of his own at times.

Those within the keep spoke highly of him and Rickard had come to think so.

Jon was a man he was pleased who have come into the lives of the Starks, and better yet, he kept Lyanna out of trouble.

A part of the agreement he’d made with the often-wayward girl was that she would attend her lessons and duties if she wished to be trained in combat; one that she was sticking to thus far.

Rickard had always been proud of all of his children, but since Jon had arrived, they had all become more diligent, more eager to learn, and dedicated to bettering themselves.

They looked up to Jon, and the man was proving to be an excellent example set for the Stark brood.

“Come on, Jon, you haven’t let us try to beat you for ages,” Benjen whined challengingly.

“Do you think you’re up for it?” Jon returned with a smirk.

“I am!” Brandon declared, charging forward.

Rickard could only shake his head as he did so, swinging his fist and missing as expected. Brandon cursed as Jon seized him by the gambeson he wore and hurled him a dozen feet into a pile of hay that had recently been mucked out with seemingly little effort.

Jon’s wiry build truly belied the strength of the man, something else that had become quite the talking point when he was discussed amongst the workers here.

Rickard had heard that he was an able lad, more than happy to help with the heavy lifting around the forge and moving the laden carts of supplies around when they arrived.

It wasn’t until he had been present for a delivery of ale from the Umbers that he had witnessed it for himself.

A cart that would usually take three strong men to move… Jon had moved it alone without bother. Rickard had not commented on the feat of strength but having tried to move the cart himself when the yard had cleared, he found it to be impossible.

Where such strength come from, he did not know. Perhaps it was simply a gift from the Gods?

He had watched Jon since, and him throwing Brandon such a distance, despite his son being of a bigger build should not be so easy, though it wasn’t so surprising now.

Jon simply seemed to possess an otherworldly strength. Just another thing to add to the mystery of the man.

Perhaps he should mention it?

“Ahh, now I’m covered in shit!” Brandon cursed as he emerged from the hay pile.

The others laughed and Rickard joined in.

It was good for his heir to be humbled from time to time, and it helped that there was no malice in it from ither Jon or his son. As such, Brandon chuckled amusedly as he was helped from the hay by Ned.

“GET HIM!” Benjen yelled.

Jon stood his ground as all three brothers attempted to seize a perceived advantage, to no avail. He simply manhandled all three at once, and in only a moment, Brandon, Ned, and Benjen were scrambling to free themselves from the hay and horse manure, much to the delight of Lyanna.

“You’ll never learn,” she mocked.

“He’s a bloody freak,” Brandon declared, levelling a finger at Jon. “I bet even Big Jon Umber wouldn’t be able to take him.”

Rickard nodded thoughtfully. That would be an interesting fight.

Jon Snow would undoubtedly win a contest with the sword, but a traditional, Northern wrestling match? That would be quite the contest.

“Riders are approaching, my lord,” Lyarra murmured in his ear, pulling Rickard from his thoughts.

The Warden of the North nodded.

Today was the day that Robert Baratheon would be arriving with his entourage, and Ned would soon be returning to the Vale for his final stint of fostering with Jon Arryn.

The Lord of Storm’s End had written a little over a week ago declaring his intention to meet Ned here so that they might arrive at the Vale together. Being a gracious host, Rickard had accepted this, curious to meet the southerner Ned thought so highly of.

“Aye,” Rickard acknowledged. “We’d best get this lot cleaned up then.”

Lyarra’s nostrils flared at the sight of the boys, though she could not hide her amusement.

“I’ll take them to the spring,” she sighed. “You can have a bath drawn up for Lyanna. Make sure she wears a dress, my lord, and don’t delegate informing her of it to Jon,” she added with a knowing smirk.

Rickard cursed under his breath.

If nothing else, Jon had been great to hand the responsibility of breaking unwelcome news to his daughter, but it seemed his wife had not been as ignorant to it as he’d believed.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll tell her myself.”

Lyarra patted his cheek affectionately before taking her leave and Rickard looked towards his filthy sons.

Maybe he should have just volunteered to ensure they were presentable for their guest?

Jon

He had yet to tire from what most would consider to be a monotonous way of life in Winterfell. Jon did not take the peace, however temporary, for granted nor the ability to sleep somewhat peacefully in a warm bed or sitting at a table to eat meals with people.

It had taken time for him to recover physically from what he had endured before his meeting with Bloodraven, yet the mental scars remained. His sleep was often disturbed by the memories of the world he’d left behind. Some pleasant and others less so.

Still, he truly felt blessed by the Gods to be here now with the opportunity to change the fate of man, and that would begin imminently with the arrival of Robert Baratheon.

His memories of the man were among the unpleasant. A fat, whoremongering drunkard who had never been able to let go of the past which had led the seven kingdoms to ruin.

Jon snorted to himself.

Wasn’t he clinging to the past in his own way?

“Jon, can you help me?” the voice of Lyanna huffed, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Are you decent?”

“Yes,” the girl sighed.

Jon entered the girl’s room to find her wearing a woollen grey dress with her damp hair in disarray.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Lyanna warned.

“I wasn’t,” Jon replied with a smirk. “What do you need me to do?”

“Can you fix my hair?”

Jon nodded and took the offered brush from the girl. Leading her to a chair in front of a vanity table, he went through the motions of brushing it.

He remembered how those in Winterfell during his youth had spoken of the Lady Lyanna. Most compared Arya to her aunt, and though there were similarities between them, they were fewer than Jon had anticipated.

Arya tended to be difficult for no other reason than to annoy her southern mother and Sansa who was very much a southerner herself in all she did. Yes, Lyanna was rebellious and her mouth and impulsiveness could get her into trouble, but she was not difficult simply because she could be the way Arya had been.

Nonetheless, Jon still missed her and would never forget the vision of the young woman’s disembowelled corpse slung over the mutilated Gendry Baratheon.

Jon shook his head in attempt to rid himself of the image.

“There,” he declared having finished working through Lyanna’s tresses.

“Where did you learn how to plait hair?” she asked curiously as she took in her reflection in a hand mirror.

Jon had unwittingly followed the same routine he used to complete for Daenerys.

“My…someone I knew liked having their hair that way,” he answered.

Lyanna offered him a sad smile.

“What was she like, the woman you…?”

Jon didn’t know what to say. How could he summarise the woman that had been Daenerys Targaryen?

“She was caring,” he said thoughtfully. “So much so that she often lost her way when trying to protect those she loved. She could be stubborn, but she was equally as beautiful.”

“You still miss her.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact and Jon nodded.

“I do,” he answered honestly.

Lyanna gave him a brief hug and cupped his cheek, a gesture that Jon could not put into words just how much it meant.

“You’ll be okay here with us,” she said reassuringly. “It’s okay to feel sad, but you shouldn’t forget that you can be happy too.”

“That’s quite the pearl of wisdom. Where did you hear that?”

“Old Nan said it when she told us a story. I can’t remember which one, but I remember that.”

Jon chuckled as he stood.

“Come on. I bet your mother won’t be happy if we’re late to meet our guests.”

Lyanna scowled as she was ushered from the room but perked up when she realised Ghost was waiting for her.

“Come on, boy,” she cooed, skipping along the corridor of the keep as the direwolf bounded after her.

“Have you got your…” Jon called after her.

Lyanna lifted up her dress in a most unladylike fashion showing the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh. It wasn’t as though she was ever without him or Ghost, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

With an amused shake of his head, Jon followed and caught up to her before she stepped into the courtyard, those gathered making room for the direwolf to pass.

Those within Winterfell had grown used to Ghost’s presence, but they remained rightfully cautious of him.

“Just on time,” Rickard commented.

Jon remained behind Lyanna as was expected and smirked at the sight of Brandon, Ned, and Benjen dressed in their finery with their hair tied up.

“Shut up, Snow,” Brandon grumbled.

Lyarra shot him a look of warning as the gates opened and a sizable entourage entered led by a man who could only be Robert Baratheon, though he was a far cry from the fat, red-faced, slovenly king Jon remembered.

Robert was tall, well over six and a half feet, and with the hulking frame of a man who could swing the hammer he carried on his back. His short black hair and beard were trimmed neatly, and Jon could not help but be reminded of Gendry.

The resemblance was almost uncanny save for the near-black eyes of the Baratheon that approached Rickard, beaming brightly.

“Lord Stark,” he greeted in a booming voice. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Ned speaks very highly of you and I value his opinion more than any other.”

Rickard offered a respectful bow.

“And you, Lord Baratheon,” he replied. “Please, accept Guest Right and be welcome amongst us. The rooms for you and your men are ready.”

Robert and the rest of his entourage accepted the bread and salt whilst Jon looked amongst them for any familiar faces. Much to his surprise, he recognised a young Stannis and he rested his hand on his chest, where the litany of scars remained.

He remembered vividly the man Stannis had become, his devotion to Melisandre and the Lord of Light. Stannis had burned his own daughter at the stake to please the god he followed so devoutly, only to die on the battlefield shortly after.

Jon would be watching both Stannis and Robert closely.

“Ned!” Robert greeted the middle Stark son enthusiastically when he’d consumed his bread.

Ned beamed, grunting as Robert pulled him into a tight embrace.

“It’s good to see you, Robert,” Ned murmured.

“And you, and you. Now, introduce me to the rest of your family. You’ve told me plenty about them.”

Ned chuckled as he gestured to his brothers.

“The older one is Brandon and the smaller one is Benjen.”

Robert greeted both boys with a firm handshake and a slap on the shoulder that almost sent Benjen sprawling.

“And this is my sister, Lyanna.”

Robert paused as he took in the sight of the girl who was smiling politely as she offered her hand. He took it and pressed his lips against her knuckles, his gaze boring into hers.

“By the Gods, what the fuck is that?” he choked, stepping back as Ghost pushed his way between them, his red eyes fixed on Robert.

The Baratheon men drew their weapons cautiously and Jon stepped forward drawing his own.

“Apologies, Lord Baratheon,” Rickard intervened. “You should have been warned about Ghost,” he added, shooting a look of disapproval towards Ned. “I can assure you he will not harm you.”

The pale Robert nodded and gestured for his men to put their weapons away.

“I thought it would be funny,” Ned murmured.

Robert unleashed a bellow of laughter as he nodded.

“Now that I know the beast isn’t going to rip my throat out, it is funny!”

The Baratheon men laughed less enthusiastically than their Lord, but it served to ease the tension and Jon put his sword away.

“Come, allow me to show you to your rooms,” Rickard offered. “You can get yourselves settled in before dinner.”

Robert and his men followed with Ned in tow, and Jon watched them until they disappeared into the keep.

“He smells like wine and the whorehouse in Wintertown,” Brandon muttered.

“And what would you know of it?” Lyarra asked.

“Nothing,” Brandon said dismissively as he joined the entourage.

Lyarra hummed before turning to Jon.

“I want both of you guarding Lyanna tonight,” she instructed. “I do not know these men. I’m not expecting trouble, but I’d rather there wasn’t any.”

“She will sleep in my chambers with Ghost. I will guard the door,” Jon assured the woman who smiled gratefully.

“You’re a good boy, Jon.”

With that, she entered the keep, taking Benjen with her.

“I don’t think I like him much,” an unusually subdued Lyanna whispered as she led Jon and Ghost to the Godswood.

“Robert?”

Lyanna nodded.

“He makes me…uncomfortable.”

“Aye, I don’t like him much either, but he is a Lord of a prominent house. We have to be polite until he leaves.”

“I know,” Lyanna sighed. “I’ll be respectful.”

“Good,” Jon said with a smile. “You know I won’t let him close, don’t you?”

“Jon, if you do anything to him… he’s the Lord of Storm’s End.”

Jon rested a hand on Lyanna’s shoulder and shook his head.

“King Aerys himself could come here, and if he attempted to harm you, I’d gut the cunt like a fish. My life for yours if needed, that was my vow to you.”

Lyanna smiled as she nodded.

“I know, but I wouldn’t want you to die.”

“I’m your Sworn Sword,” Jon snorted. “It’s my job to die for you. If that happens, you’d have Ghost to yourself.”

Lyanna tutted at him but grinned as the wolf waged his tail.

“You’d better watch yourself, Jon Snow. I think Ghost likes that idea more than I do.”

Ned

“I don’t know how you live up here,” Robert grumbled as he warmed his hands on the fire. “It’s bloody freezing.”

Ned chuckled amusedly.

“This is summer,” he pointed out.

“Summer? How cold does it get?”

“Cold enough that you can’t go outside without furs,” Ned explained. “The weather will kill you quickly if you don’t prepare for it.”

Robert shook his head as he cursed under his breath.

“You could have warned me about the wolf. You never mentioned your family had one.”

“I should have,” Ned said apologetically. “He’s not ours, he belongs to Jon.”

“Jon?” Robert pressed with a frown. “I’ve not heard of a Jon Stark.”

“He’s a Snow not a Stark. He came here a few moons ago with Ghost.”

Robert frowned.

“How is it that a bastard has a direwolf when you don’t?”

Ned shrugged indifferently.

“He said he’s had him since he was a pup.”

Robert snorted.

“You can’t let a bastard have what represents your family. I’m surprised your father didn’t take it from him.”

“I’d like to see someone try,” Ned chuckled. “I don’t know what death would be worse, being mauled by Ghost or slaughtered by Jon.”

“The bastard?”

Ned winced at the harshness of the tone his friend used.

“Jon is the best swordsman I’ve ever met,” he explained honestly. “He’s the best fighter I’ve met.”

“Better than everyone you’ve seen in the Vale?” Robert asked disbelievingly.

Ned nodded.

“None of them even come close, not even Corbray.”

“Ha, I’d cave his bastard skull in with my hammer,” Robert declared.

Ned had his doubts, though he didn’t voice them. Robert was frightening in combat, and his ability with the hammer that was his pride and joy, likely unmatched in all of Westeros.

One hit from it was enough to kill. Ned had seen it for himself when Robert had insisted on demonstrating on a pig. The beast’s head looked as though it had been put through a grinder.

“What about your sister?” Robert probed. “Lyanna?”

“What about her?”

“Is she married?”

Ned laughed; the very thought of Lyanna being married to any poor fool who would have her amusing him greatly.

“No, she’s not,” he replied. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone could handle her, not even a Northerner.”

“Why not?”

Ned shrugged.

“She’s got the wolf’s blood in her. She’s wild and won’t be tamed by anyone,” he explained. “Lyanna would be a terrible wife for anyone who was expecting a traditional lady. Besides, she’s got Jon and Ghost. She won’t ever have need of a husband.”

“She’s fucking the bastard?” Robert asked angrily.

“No, he’s her Sworn Sword,” Ned sighed. “Wherever Lyanna goes, Ghost and Jon follow. They look after her.”

Robert frowned and grumbled irritably under his breath; the word ‘bastard’ being used quite liberally.

“Robert don’t try to make trouble with him,” Ned pleaded. “Jon is loved by my family and everyone in Winterfell. It will end badly for you, even if you are Lord in your own right. Us Northerners take care of our own, and Jon is one of us.”

“I won’t harm a hair on his head,” Robert assured Ned, though he found it difficult to believe.

“What if I wanted to marry her?”

“Lyanna?”

Robert nodded and Ned frowned.

“Did you not hear what I said?”

“Come on, Ned. She just needs to find the right man, a strong man who will let her be herself. Would it be so bad having me as a brother?”

The thought brought a smile to Ned’s faced.

He had long thought of Robert as such since they’d met a few years prior. The two had spent almost every day together, and Ned felt as though he and Robert knew one another better than even their own siblings knew them.

“No, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Robert beamed as he clapped him on the shoulder.

Perhaps marriage would be good for his friend? It would stop him whoring at the very least.

Maybe Lyanna would be good for Robert, and him for her. The Lord of Storm’s End was unlike most others Ned had met. Robert was rather liberal in his ways, and if Lyanna was to marry, why not his best friend?

Maybe he would mention it to his father if that proved to be Robert’s true intentions.

Robert, however, was rather whimsical and changed his mind often enough. Chances are, he would have forgotten the idea by morning anyway.

“Did you hear about Whent and his tourney?” Robert asked excitedly.

“What tourney?”

“He’s hosting a tourney at Harrenhal to celebrate his daughter’s coming of age. Apparently, it’s going to be the biggest the land has ever seen.”

“Really?” Ned asked interestedly.

“From what I heard; he’s offering purses three times bigger than Lannister did for the tourney held for Prince Viserys.”

“By the Gods, that will set someone up for life,” Ned exclaimed. “How can he afford that?”

Robert shrugged.

“No idea, but he’s sending invites to every lord in Westeros to attend.”

“That’ll be huge and cause a lot of problems.”

“It will,” Robert chuckled amusedly. “What do you think?”

“I don’t think my father will attend. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

Robert frowned.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t go,” he pointed out. “I bet most of the Northerners will send their best.”

“Maybe,” Ned conceded.

The idea of such festivities sounded fun, but he was already convinced his father would not attend. Rickard Stark had spoken of his dislike for such frivolities over the years, but Robert was right.

It wasn’t as though he had to deprive his children of the experience.

(Break)

“Why did I have to have another bath?” Lyanna grumbled as Jon led her towards the Great Hall of Winterfell.

“Because you were filthy and you have guests.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes petulantly before pausing.

“Am I going to have to dance with them?”

Jon shrugged as a smirk tugged at his lips.

“Probably.”

“Jon, I don’t want to dance!”

Jon huffed amusedly.

“Lean on me,” he urged.

“Why?”

“Because I can say that you’ve injured yourself. We won’t be able to train for a few days, but you won’t have to dance.”

Lyanna beamed at him and put an arm around his shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were smart,” she whispered.

“I didn’t know you’d be such a pain in the arse.”

“How dare you to talk to a lady in such a way!”

Jon laughed heartily as they entered the hall and made their way towards to the main table.

“I could always tell your father you’re faking.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me,” Lyanna said confidently.

“Don’t push it.”

“Is everything okay?” Rickard asked with a frown.

“I’m afraid she over-exerted herself, my lord,” Jon explained. “It’s probably best if she rests her foot. It’s nothing permanent, just a strain.”

Rickard nodded and helped the girl into her seat.

“Ghost, stay by her side,” Jon instructed before heading to the table where the staff of Winterfell sat during mealtimes.

“Is the lady okay?” Luwin asked him. “She didn’t come to me.”

“She’s fine, maester,” Jon assured the man, catching sight of the scowl marring Robert Baratheon’s features from his place next to the Lord of Winterfell. “She’s just fine.”

Rickard

“I hope the food is to your liking, Lord Baratheon,” Lyarra enquired.

Robert nodded as he cut into another piece of venison. The man’s appetite was rather veracious.

“It is even better than Ned led me to believe,” he replied with a grin. “How is your foot, my lady?”

“It will be fine, my lord,” Lyanna said dismissively. “Jon knows what he’s doing.”

Rickard did not miss the scowl Robert levelled at the man. Why he felt such a way towards Jon was not clear, but he probably did not appreciate that a bastard was so well thought of.

Being one in the North was difficult enough, but the southerners were much less accommodating of those born on the wrong side of the sheets.

“Ned says he’s quite the warrior,” Robert commented. “How did he become your Sworn Sword?”

“I found him half-dead in the Godswood from the cold. I saved his life and he offered me his sword. He proved himself worthy enough.”

Rickard snorted amusedly.

Jon had more than proven himself capable, and even more so since his display in the training yard. The young man had found his place amongst them at Winterfell, and Rickard had grown fond of him.

He was quietly confident in his ways, and the many conversations they’d shared had always been enlightening. Jon was much more intelligent than he let on, though he never tried to belittle anyone, regardless of what their role within the keep was.

He was even known to help the cleaning staff in the kitchen after mealtimes when Lyanna had retired for the night with Ghost at her side.

“The wolf is an impressive creature,” a thoughtful voice broke into Rickard’s thoughts.

Stannis Baratheon had said little since he’d arrived with the rest of the Baratheon entourage. Robert was brash and self-assured, and Stannis was quiet and observant.

“He is magnificent,” Rickard declared, throwing an entire leg of venison to the wolf who bit it in half with little effort. “He makes for an excellent guard for my daughter.”

“I can see,” Stannis replied amusedly, watching Ghost devour the meat with fascination. “I do wonder how it was tamed.”

“He’s not,” Rickard warned. “Ghost is Jon’s companion. If anyone was to attempt to harm him, they would not live to tell the tale. He is friendly enough with us only because Jon is.”

“Do you think it wise to have it here?” Stannis asked.

“If I did not trust Jon, I would not,” Rickard answered, “but seeing as I trust him with Lyanna’s life, as I do Ghost, he is welcome within these walls,” he added, scratching the enormous wolf behind the ear.

Stannis shook his head in disbelief.

“I will warn the men not to upset Jon Snow,” he said dryly.

“It would be for the best,” Rickard replied with a smile. “Ah, it seems as though we are going to be treated to some music. Please, feel free to dance and share in the ale.”

Stannis did not dance, though he did help himself to a horn of the strong brew, grimacing as he took his first sip. Robert looked pointedly towards Lyanna and she boldly ignored him, continuing to eat her meal and drink ale as she spoke with Brandon and her mother.

Robert was evidently interested in the girl, but the feeling did not seem to be mutual.

The apparent admiration only served to remind him of the latest letter he’d received from Hoster Tully, asking for Rickard to reconsider his proposal for a match between Brandon and his eldest daughter.

He’d made the mistake of mentioning it to his son, only for Brandon to scoff at the very thought. Brandon had no interest in marrying a southerner, and Rickard refused to fallout with his heir over something he himself was not keen on.

Tully had even had the temerity to offer his second daughter for Ned, and it only raised more questions.

Why did the man desire a match with House Stark so strongly?

There was much more to it than simply building a stronger relationship between the neighbouring kingdoms, but what?

With a frown, Rickard stood.

“If you will excuse me, I have something I must attend to,” he explained to his guests before making his way towards the maester filling in for Walys. “Luwin, would you come with me?”

“Of course, my lord,” the maester complied.

“You too, Jon,” Rickard added. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on something.”

Perhaps Jon would have an insight that Rickard had not yet considered. Regardless, it would cause no harm to hear his opinion on the matter.

At the very least, he would have another he could confide in when it came to such matters. Jon was close to all of the Stark children and would always consider their thoughts and feelings. Rickard would admit that he did not always follow that example.

As the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he needed to think of his land at large in all decisions he made.

Yes, Jon’s opinion would be a welcome one, and would perhaps offer a new perspective on what Tully was up to.

Jon

He frowned at the letter Rickard has presented to him, his memories of Catelyn Tully coming to the forefront of his mind. Jon had long let go of the treatment he had endured because of her, but that did not mean he’d ever forgiven the woman.

Ned, of course, had been partly to blame. The man had evidently never trusted his wife enough to share the truth with her, as he never had Jon before he’d been executed in King’s Landing. Nonetheless, it was no excuse for Catelyn to treat an innocent child so callously.

“What are your thoughts, Jon?” Rickard pressed gently.

“I’m assuming you’re not asking me to weigh up the pros and cons of accepting such an offer. You would have considered those for both the North and the Riverlands.”

“I have,” Rickard answered with a smile.

“Have you thought of the implications on a much larger scale?”

“Larger scale?” Luwin asked with a frown.

Jon nodded, considering how best to word his knowledge without his tone becoming accusatory. It was difficult to say the least, not when he thought so little of those he had met from the Riverlands.

“Well, the benefits would be negligible on a personal basis for Houses Stark and Tully, for the most part. The Riverlanders would likely be offended that their Lord Paramount has sent his eldest daughter North instead of strengthening ties with his own people, as would the Northerners who would expect the same of you.”

“It is something I have considered,” Rickard assured him.

“So, what becomes more troubling is the potential bigger picture,” Jon continued thoughtfully. “What could Tully possibly gain from this? Have you thought of the seven kingdoms at large? What are the relationships like between each?”

Rickard frowned deeply as he nodded.

“Tywin Lannister recently resigned as Hand of the King, so his relationship with the crown is not so good. The Reach is on excellent terms with the crown, as is Dorne. The future queen is Dornish, although without a male heir. The Riverlands are largely ignored by the crown, and we choose to isolate ourselves. That leaves the Vale, and they are much like us in that regard. I do not understand what Tully’s motivation could be.”

“If the Westerlands and the crown are at odds, it could potentially create problems elsewhere,” Luwin broke in once more. “The Reach is the second richest kingdom, but considerably less so than the Lannisters. If Tywin decides to be petty and imports his food and other trade from overseas, it could truly upset the balance amongst the kingdoms. The Reach won’t like that, and the crown will be forced to choose a side. It could become troublesome.”

“He’s looking to create ties with another land in case of war,” Rickard deduced. “Why us and not the Vale?”

“Because the Knights of the Vale are an excellent supporting force for their cavalry, but little else,” Luwin answered. “Besides, Jon Arryn would not go to war unless he truly felt he need to. He would simply sit it out in the Eyrie. I expect Tully would expect you to come to the aide of the Riverlands in such an event. If war was to occur, it would play host to much of the fighting.”

Rickard cursed under his breath as he stood and began pacing back and forth.

“Is it likely?”

“One can never say, my lord,” Luwin answered uncertainly. “Wars come and go and over the most foolish of things. Tully knows this and he is looking to secure his lands. The Northern army is considerable, and it appears he is trying to bring it to his side in anticipation. At worst, he would have to be content with a grandson as the future Lord of Winterfell where they would already be compelled to assist if war were to breakout.”

“It would be the same through marriage,” Jon interjected. “If you tied your hoses together, you would be beholden to one another. When was the last time the North went to war?”

“We deal with raids from the Iron Islands, the occasional Skagosi uprising, and Wildlings,” Rickard explained as he shook his head. “It seems a stretch to have such a foresight when there are no signs of war on the horizon.”

“We do not see the bigger picture in the smallest of details, my lord,” Luwin returned. “We keep out of the affairs of what is occurring in the south. Perhaps we should be paying more attention to it? When was the last time you received a report from one of your own men on the happenings below the Neck?”

Rickard hummed to himself.

“You have both given me much to consider. Thank you Luwin, and you, Jon, for broadening my vision on the matter. I cannot say for certain that you are right or wrong, but it makes little difference. Perhaps it would be beneficial for the North to have ties to other kingdoms, but I would like it to be for the right reasons. I am, however, of a mind to send some trusted men below the neck, and even to King’s Landing. I would like to know for myself the mood of the kingdom’s at large. Again, thank you both. I believe I have much to attend to,” Rickard finished with a tired sigh.

Jon offered the man a bow and took his leave with Luwin.

“That was quite the insight you had to offer, Jon,” the maester said appraisingly. “I admit, I had not considered it myself.”

“Maybe I’m just paranoid,” Jon chuckled.

Luwin followed suit and nodded.

“Maybe, but I do not think so. The whims of powerful men can change with the wind. It takes only a mood for the most unpleasant of shifts in the tide. History teaches us that war is a necessity from time to time. Let us just hope that it is not ours.”

Luwin patted him gently on the shoulder before heading towards his rooms and Jon towards the Great Hall, almost colliding with a figure in one of the corridors.

“Apologies,” he offered, not having been paying attention.

“It’s quite alright,” the familiar voice returned. “You are the bastard with the wolf.”

Jon met the calculating, icy eyes of Stannis Baratheon and nodded.

“I am, my lord.”

“Quite the interesting creature,” Stannis replied. “Most Lords would not tolerate its presence, nor that of a bastard. Lord Stark thinks highly of you.”

“I have proven my worth to him.”

“That I do not doubt,” Stannis said with a bow. “I would watch out for my brother. He seems to have taken a disliking to you.”

Jon shrugged.

“People often do, but I am still alive.”

Stannis’s gaze swept over him before he nodded.

“Good night, bastard.”

“And you, my lord.”

With that, the man who Jon now believed had never felt an ounce of warmth left his presence, and Jon could not deny he was pleased by it. He had nothing against Stannis, not really, but he could not forget the fanatic he became.

He’d died believing he was the Prince that was Promised.

The moniker sent a chill through Jon.

Melisandre believed he had been such a fabled hero from the stories of old, though he had always been dismissive of such foolishness.

No, Azor Ahai was one of those mythical beings, as were the others…

Choosing not to dwell on the truth of the latter part of his thoughts, Jon continued on his way to the Great Hall, his mood becoming rather maudlin as he was reminded of what was to come.

The war between men was one things, but what lie ahead of them all was another thing entirely.

Soon, he would have to begin making pathways towards a united Westeros. Where he would even begin, Jon did not know, but he had little choice. Unless the realms of men could stand shoulder to shoulder, they would not survive the coming storm.