TSOTWR - Chapter III

Chapter III

Robert

He would never get used to the cold.

He had only been in Winterfell for three days, and Robert was convinced he would never feel his toes or fingers again. Ned had provided him with some gloves lined with fur, but they didn’t stave off the icy chill that permeated the North.

If this was summer, he dreaded to think what winter was like. Robert had heard that the North were a hardy lot, toughened by the harsh conditions, and he had come to readily believe it, even if he did not like all of those he had met.

He hadn’t spoken much to the bastard, but everywhere he turned, the young man was there with his wolf, escorting Lyanna Stark wherever she wished to go.

The girl was never without one or the other, preventing Robert from having the opportunity to speak with her alone.

He was intrigued by her.

Her dark hair, pale skin, and grey eyes… Robert had become enamoured with her almost immediately, and yet, he would seemingly not be able to pursue it, not unless he was able to get the bastard out of the way.

In truth, Robert had nothing against the man other than he had become an obstacle to his desires. Ned and the other Starks liked him well enough, and if nothing else, Robert had learned that Ned, although naïve, was an excellent judge of character.

He just wished Jon Snow wasn’t so steadfast in his duty.

“What do you think, brother?” Stannis asked.

It was the first day since arriving in Winterfell that Robert had risen early enough to see how the Northerners trained here. Ned had been good with a sword when he arrived in the Vale, and under Lord Corbray and Yohn Royce, he had only gotten better.

In the last several moons that he had seen his friend, Ned had improved even more.

“These Northerners know how to fight,” he answered thoughtfully.

“You are yet to see what the bastard can do,” Stannis said with an unusual air of excitement in his voice.

Robert looked on curiously as Snow took to the yard himself after having spent the time thus far instructing the Starks and much of the guard in Winterfell. Why Lord Rickard would trust a man so young to train those responsible for the protection of his family, Robert didn’t know, but he was certainly about to find out.

His eyebrows rose in surprise as the bastard gestured to three of the guards to attack him at once.

“Now remember, if you are facing more than one opponent, you have to time your attacks. Do not be foolish and try to stand your ground. Move your feet or you won’t last very long.”

He spoke so casually as the guards swung their swords with all their might, doing their utmost to land blow after blow on the man, to no avail.

Was this a rehearsed routine?

If it was, it looked more authentic than many of the fights Robert had seen in the various mummer’s shows he’d witnessed throughout his life.

He watched as Snow demonstrated what he’d been preaching, his footwork almost cat-like in speed and sureness. When the opportunity, all but a split-second, arose, he struck back, his blade a blur as he dispatched of the three men in a matter of seconds.

Robert stood in surprise at the feat, at the speed and power of what he had witnessed. Ned had not been joking when he’d said the bastard was gifted with a sword, and yet, to see it for himself was something else.

He nodded appreciatively, his own hand clenching as though he was gripping his hammer.

Snow could well prove to be a challenge to him if he wasn’t so much smaller.

Robert applauded politely with the rest of the onlookers. He could not deny that what he’d witnessed was impressive, and he would always give credit where it was due, particularly in martial merit.

He prided himself in his own ability.

It had been so long since he had been bested in the yard, his dedication and hard work to his craft paying dividends.

Snow seemed to be of a similar mind and had undoubtedly spent years honing his skills.

“Impressed?” Stannis asked.

“It’s nothing I have never seen before,” Robert replied dismissively, though even he was not convinced by his own tone.

During his youth, he’d visited King’s Landing, and even attended the tourney Tywin Lannister had held in honour of Prince Viserys’ birth. Robert had seen the very best in the realm, the Kingsguard amongst them, and yet, none had fought the way he had seen Jon Snow wield a blade so briefly.

With a hammer in hand, Robert felt all but invincible to any who would dare stand before him, but he had always lacked the finesse required for swordplay.

It hadn’t been until his father suggested his weapon of choice that Robert ever felt he truly would become a warrior, but since he’d first held it, he’d never picked up another sword since.

He was born to wield the hammer, to use his enormous frame to swing it with such force that no man would rise from the blow they were struck with.

So, why did he feel a sense of insecurity having witnessed what Snow was capable of?

Robert didn’t know, but he reminded himself of his own prowess, and as his gaze shifted towards Lyanna Stark, his resolve to bed the girl, through marriage, of course, only grew stronger.

Jon Snow may be the man in her life, whether he had shared her bed or not, but Robert Baratheon would be the one to possess her truly in all the ways that mattered.

No bastard could compete with him, not even one as talented as Jon Snow, the sword of the girl he had quickly become infatuated with.

(Break)

Ned

He stood before his mother and father whilst the latter scratched away with a quill. It was several moments later that he finished and looked towards Ned speculatively.

“Jon Arryn is pleased with the progress you have made during your time in the Vale. From the report I received, you have been diligent in your studies, your training, and have comported yourself well as a son of the Warden of the North. I am pleased and proud of you, Eddard.”

“Thank you, Father.”

The man offered him a smile.

“You are to spend another year of fostering, and then you will return North. What do you see in your future, son?”

Ned frowned thoughtfully at the question.

He had considered it, but he knew what would become of his life relied on the need of him from his father, and then Brandon when his brother became the Lord of Winterfell.

“What would you suggest?”

“I am asking what you would like, Ned,” his father pressed gently. “You will always have a place at Winterfell if that is your wish. I had thought that you would perhaps like a holdfast of your own.”

“A holdfast?”

Ned had not even thought of such a possibility.

His father nodded.

“What I am to say will remain between us,” he said firmly. “Recently, I have been pondering the idea of rebuilding Moat Calin so that it is habitable once more. I am assured that much of the stone is salvageable.”

“Why rebuild it?” Ned asked curiously.

“Along with the Neck, it is the gateway into the North,” his father answered. “A force of one hundred can keep any army at bay, and I would see our lands secure once more.”

“But we aren’t at war,” Ned pointed out confusedly.

“We are not,” his father agreed. “But that an always change on the whims of fools who seek such glory.”

Ned nodded his understanding.

“You would want me to live there?”

“With your own force, your own people, and your own family,” Rickard said with a smile. “It is not so far from Winterfell that you cannot visit at your leisure, and it would be a position of the utmost importance and prestige for you.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Ned replied.

“Say nothing for now,” his father urged. “Not a word to no one.”

“Of course, Father,” Ned complied with a respectful bow.

“Do you believe it will be something that would suit you? I would have honesty, Ned. If you feel that is not the life for you, then I will propose the idea to Benjen when he is older.”

“I will do it,” Ned declared. “I will be the gatekeeper of the North.”

Rickard beamed at him, and Ned could feel the pride of his father.

“What about Benjen?” Ned asked curiously. “Brandon will be the Lord of Winterfell one day, but Benjen…”

“Will also be giving a holdfast of his own,” Rickard assured him. “I have been blessed with three able and honourable sons. I would have each of you serve the people of the North and live full and prosperous lives.”

“And Lyanna?”

His father frowned at the question.

“Your mother and I have not decided.”

“Robert has expressed an interest in her,” Ned returned quietly.

“I am aware,” his father responded. “He has presented himself well here, and I will take it under consideration. I expect he would treat Lyanna well, but I do not like the thought of her being so far from home. She is of the North, Ned. It would be much better for relations with my own people if she was to marry a Northerner.”

“Should I relay that to Robert?”

His father shook his head.

“I will allow him to prove himself. If I deem him worthy and Lyanna is receptive enough, I will not dismiss his interest. You can relay that to him if you wish.”

“I will,” Ned replied with a smile before taking his leave of the solar.

Robert would be pleased.

His somewhat proposal had not been outright rejected, so there was a chance the two of them truly would be brothers. In the morning, they would be returning to the Vale where Ned would spend a final year.

Although he did not feel ready to bid farewell to the North once more, he was looking forward to seeing Jon Arryn and many of the others he had grown close to throughout his time there.

Rickard

“Are you seriously considering a match between Lyanna and Robert Baratheon?” Lyarra asked.

Rickard frowned before shaking his head.

“I do not know,” he murmured thoughtfully. “If Lyanna is receptive, I may be amiable to it, but I do not think it likely.”

“Then why not outright refuse it?”

“It is a matter of respect,” Rickard answered. “If I was to refuse him without due consideration, it could be taken in offense. I would rather not offend anyone. Besides, Robert will be leaving on the morrow with Ned. He will likely forget all about Lyanna.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Lyarra sighed. “I have seen the way he looks at her. He is quite besotted.”

“Then we will cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, we have other things to focus on.”

“Are you sure about rebuilding Moat Calin? The crown may see it as an affront or an attempt to declare ourselves as our own kingdom.”

“The crown has not shown any damned interest in us for more than a hundred years!” Rickard snapped. “Whenever we have called for aide against the Wildlings or the Ironborn, have they sent anything? No! They care only for our taxes, and I would see us safe from their politicking and war if it comes to it. I will not send our people to die for any that would not do the same for us!”

Rickard deflated as Lyarra rubbed his shoulders soothingly.

“You know, it’s not often the wolfish side of yours is seen.”

“I’m sorry,” Rickard sighed.

Lyarra cupped his cheek as she turned him towards her.

“Never apologise for caring about your people, my lord,” she whispered firmly. “You will always have my support.”

“Aye, I know,” he replied gratefully. “I know what I am doing with the Moat, but what about Baratheon?”

“Do you not think you should see what Lyanna thinks of him before you make a decision? You know she is not so forthcoming in such things.”

Rickard nodded.

“Alec?” he called.

Only a few seconds later the head of his page peered around the door.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Could you fetch Jon Snow for me?”

“Of course, my lord.”

The door closed and Rickard took his seat behind his desk.

“Jon?” Lyarra pressed.

“If anyone knows her thoughts on Robert, it will be Jon.”

Lyarra giggled as she nodded her agreement.

“She’d be more likely to want to marry him, I think.”

Rickard shook his head.

“You know that could never be. The Northern Lords would despise that more than if I offered her to Baratheon. No, Jon will find a wife of his own one day, I expect. If he wishes too.”

Lyarra remained silent on the matter and a moment later, a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in, Jon,” Rickard bade.

The man entered the room, and as ever, the Lord of Winterfell was quite taken aback by just how much he resembled his own kin though in the flickering firelight of his office, he would swear he caught glimpses of a deep purple within the grey of his eyes.

“You asked to see me, Lord Stark?”

“I did,” Rickard confirmed, withdrawing from his thoughts. “Please, take seat.”

Jon did so with a curious frown and Rickard help up a hand.

“I assure you; I only wish to hear your opinion on a matter that was brought to me. It appears that Robert Baratheon has become rather enamoured with Lyanna.” 

Rickard did not miss the slight narrowing of Jon’s eyes.

“I take it you do not approve.”

“It is not my place to say, my lord,” Jon replied diplomatically.

“But if it was?”

Jon released a deep breath.

“If I was in a position to speak my mind, I would say it is more likely that you would see Lyanna stand beneath the weirwood with Ghost. I would say he has presented himself well enough to you and to Lady Stark, but Lyanna shows no fondness for him. According to her, he reeks of wine and whores, and is a lech with a pretty title.”

“That sounds exactly the kind of thing she would say,” Rickard snorted humourlessly. “So, I can expect that any attempt to make a match would be met with resistance.”

“It would,” Jon confirmed. “If you wish for me to be frank, my lord, I cannot say I would disagree with her. In the three days Lord Baratheon has been here, there has not been one where he hasn’t visited the whorehouse in Wintertown. I do not think he would treat Lyanna cruelly, but he would not honour her nor any wedding vows he made.”

“That is a rather honest assessment,” Rickard chuckled.

“I have also overheard his men talking of a child born to Robert in the Vale, as well as another in the Stormlands. It is not my place to judge given my own status, but I do not believe he is the right match for Lyanna. As a final point, if you were to consider the match and I ever felt he had dishonoured her, it would be my duty to ensure that it did not happen again. I do not think it would reflect well on any if I was forced to kill the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands for a slight that could easily be avoided.”

Rickard felt the corner of his lips tug into a grin and he nodded, ignoring the tittering laughter of his wife.

“Well, I think it would be rather detrimental to even consider the match, but I would see Robert leave here under the impression that he has not been refused so readily,” Rickard decided. “As ever, Jon, your counsel has been most valuable.”

Jon offered both Rickard and Lyarra a bow before accepting the dismissal and taking his leave of the room.

“Do you think he would kill Robert?” Lyarra asked interestedly.

“I think Jon will kill anyone he felt necessary to kill, to keep her safe” Rickard said sincerely. “Somehow, I sleep better at night knowing she has him to look after her.”

“And the boys,” Lyarra added. “He looks out for them too.”

“That he does,” Rickard agreed, his thoughts drifting back to what he was certain he had seen in Jon more than once now.

There was no doubt he was a Northerner, but Rickard was convinced there was much more to the young man than perhaps even Jon knew.

Jon

“Thank the Gods he’s leaving today?”

“Ned?”

Lyanna scowled at him.

“Baratheon!” she said irritably.

Jon chuckled as he held up his hands placatingly. He wasn’t threatened by the girl, but she was just as easy as Arya had been to annoy.

“Ned is leaving too,” he reminded her.

“I know,” Lyanna sighed. “I will miss him, but he’s an ass when he’s with Robert.”

“Well, if all goes well, you won’t have to see him again.”

Jon knew that wasn’t the truth, but he had to try to cheer Lyanna up. She’d been moping since Robert had arrived and she’d been unable to train.

“Will you take me to the Godswood when they’re gone?” she asked hopefully.

“I will,” Jon confirmed.

Lyanna smiled brightly, though it vanished as they stepped into the courtyard where the Baratheon entourage was readying themselves to leave. Lord Rickard had decided that a dozen Stark men would be sufficient to escort Ned to the Vale.

With the Baratheon men with them, it was unlikely they would be attacked by bandits. On the return trip, they would make their way to Gulltown and get a boat to White Harbour.

From there, Lord Manderly would provide a suitable escort back to Winterfell.

“I was pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Stark,” Robert offered with what he likely thought was a charming smile.

Lyanna hid her revulsion well as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

“Have a safe journey, Lord Baratheon,” she offered politely.

The man beamed, his gaze not leaving her until he’d mounted his horse and led his men out of Winterfell.

“Pig,” Lyanna muttered.

Jon shook his head amusedly as the girl flung herself into Ned’s arms.

“I’ll only be gone a year,” he assured her with a chuckle.

“You’d better be,” Lyanna warned.

Ned embraced tightly once more before shifting his attention to Jon and offered his hand.

“Thank you, Jon, for everything,” he said gratefully. “I might have spent most of the last few moons getting my arse kicked, but I learned a lot from you. Will you still be here when I come back?”

“Of course he will be,” Lyanna huffed. “He’s my Sworn Sword. He doesn’t get to leave unless I release him from his vow.”

“Aye, and I bet he’s regretting that decision now.”

Lyanna shrugged.

“It’s not like he can do anything about it.”

“Lya, Jon isn’t a tool for your amusement,” Ned chided.

“He is if I say he is!”

“Oh, someone has changed their mind about training today then?” Jon questioned.

“I have not,” Lyanna denied.

“Then you’d better be nice or you might find I come done rather unwell for the next weeks or so.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try me,” Jon returned with a glare.

Lyanna narrowed her eyes at him at Ned laughed.

“Nice one, Jon. You’re learning how to handle her.”

“There’s not a single person here who could handle me,” Lyanna denied.

“If you say so,” Ned chuckled. “Good luck, Jon. I think you’re going to need it.”

“I think you’re right,” Jon replied.

Ned too mounted his horse after bidding another farewell to his parents. In only a matter of moments, the courtyard was empty once more and Jon was pulled from his musings by a sniffle from his charge.

“You’re not missing Robert already?” he quipped.

Lyanna growled and aimed a kick at him, only to find her laying in the dirt as Jon caught her leg.

“Come on. Let’s get some of the pent-up aggression out of you,” he suggested, making his way towards the Godswood.

Lyanna followed, cursing him under her breath, and Jon snickered to himself.

As different as she was to Arya, both had much of the wolf’s blood in them and were rather easy to irk. It had become something of a hobby of Jon’s during his time here, though with the arrival of Robert Baratheon, a sense of restlessness had set in.

The man’s presence reminded him of what was to come, and how soon it would be upon them. With so much to do, Jon knew there were things he would ned to change, and despite forging a good relationship with his family here, he’d never felt so alone at the thought of the scourge on the horizon.

Eventually, he knew he would need help.

Perhaps when Rickard came to trust him implicitly and would not deem him quite insane, he would be able to broach the topic of how he’d arrived here.

Until then, Jon was very much alone in the world where it mattered, and that feeling only became more of a burden the longer he spent here.

Rickard

It was never easy saying goodbye to one of his sons when he sent them off to live in the home and under the rules of another. Rickard had done so five times now, three with Brandon and twice with Ned.

Benjen would be next when he decided where he wished for his youngest son to go.

He had been considering the Karstarks of Karhold or perhaps with the Manderlys.

It was a decision he would need to make soon. Benjen was of an age that he should be fostered.

He’d even pondered sending Lyanna to the Mormonts on Bear Island for a time, though he had decided against it. He could only imagine what she would have learned from the she-bears.

The thought alone made him shudder.

“Are you still moping?” Lyarra asked.

“I’m not moping,” Rickard denied. “I already miss the lad.”

“Aye, me too,” Lyarra sighed. “He will be back before you know it.”

Rickard nodded as he climbed into bed.

Already Ned had changed so much. He had left Winterfell more than two years ago a boy and had returned a man. It made him feel old beyond his years, and only more so when he remembered that his other children were on the cusp of man and womanhood.

It was a frantic knock at the door that pulled him from his thoughts.

“Who is it?” he called irritably, immediately on edge.

The staff knew he and Lyarra were not to be bothered once they’d turned in unless it was of paramount importance.

“My lord,” Alec greeted him apologetically as he pushed the door open. “Rodrik asked me to send for you. Someone has arrived at the gates in quite a state. He mentioned something about reavers.”

Rickard cursed under his breath as he stood and hurriedly dressed.

“Lead the way, Alec,” he instructed.

When they reached the gate, it was to find a score of guards surrounding a pale and wide-eyed man. His clothing was torn and he had a mild wound on his shoulder.

“What is it?” Rickard asked.

“Ironborn,” the man croaked. “They attacked the fishing village was from here. My wife…my son!”

Rickard placed a calming hand on the man’s shoulder, though he felt anything but.

“How many?”

The man shook his head.

“Dozens, my lord,” he answered. “Two ships came and they headed inland when they were done.”

“Inland?” Rodrik snapped. “Are you certain?”

“I am, sir!”

Rickard cursed loudly, his anger boiling beneath the surface.

“Rodrik, fetch me one hundred of our best men.”

“Aye, my lord.”

The man hurried off to carry out his instructions and Rickard turned towards the arrival.

“You are welcome to remain here,” he said softly. “You will be fed and healed. I assure you; the bastards will pay for what they have done. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Not much, my lord,” the man murmured sadly. “One of the Reavers carried a strange sword. It was red and cut them down like…”

“Drumm,” one of the guards said knowingly. “Drumm is with them.”

“That means a Greyjoy or two won’t be far behind,” Rickard growled. “Drumm wouldn’t come without them. Any idea where they were heading?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, they didn’t say.”

“It’s alright, lad,” Rickard comforted. “We will find them. Take him to the hall and send for Luwin to clean him up. Feed him and find him a bed before he damn collapses.”

“Aye, my lord,” one of the guards complied, leading the man away.

“They’ll be ready soon enough, my lord,” Rodrik informed him as he returned.

“They will need to be,” Rickard muttered irritably as he gestured for the man to follow him into the keep so he could make his own preparations. “Drumm is with them.”

“Drumm? He wouldn’t come alone.”

“Exactly,” Rickard returned simply.

“My lord, should I rouse Jon Snow? I think I’d rather he was with us if Drumm is here. There’s no telling who else will be with him.”

“Jon is not a guard, Rodrik,” Rickard pointed out. “He is here to protect Lyanna.”

“The wolf can do that well enough.”

Rickard paused his steps and pondered the idea.

“If Lyanna allows it, I would have him join us,” he decided aloud.

Rodrik said nothing else as he turned and headed in the opposite direction whilst Rickard made his way to his own quarters where he would need to break the news to his wife that he would be leaving imminently.

Jon

It was a knock at the door that disturbed the little rest Jon had been granted over the past few days. With Robert Baratheon being here, he’d spent much of his time on guard, even when Ghost had returned from hunting in the Godswood.

“What’s happened?” he asked the grave Rodrik that greeted him.

“Ironborn have raided one of the fishing villages to the west. The witness who brought the news said they came inland. We’re not sure on numbers, but Lord Stark would have you with us, with Lady Lyanna’s permission.”

Jon nodded and put on a tunic before leading Rodrik the short walk to Lyanna’s room.

Knocking, he waited for her to answer.

“Who is it?” a voice demanded to know, just as Jon had taught her.

“Jon and Rodrik.”

The door opened and Lyanna looked questioningly at the two men.

“What’s happened?” she asked immediately.

“My lady, Ironborn have been raiding and your father has asked if Jon can accompany us and the other men to find them.”

Lyanna seemed apprehensive but she nodded.

“Of course he can go,” she said worriedly.

Jon offered the girl a reassuring smile.

“Ghost will stay with you until I’m back.”

Lyanna bit her lip nervously before wrapping her arms around him.

“Be careful, Jon,” she whispered.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Jon assured her. “Stay with Ghost and keep your dagger with you. You will be fine.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not going to be killed by a bunch of squids,” Jon chuckled.

“Aye, you won’t,” Lyanna sighed, relaxing somewhat. “You should still be careful.”

Jon offered her a nod before turning back towards his own room.

“We are meeting in the courtyard in one hour,” Rodrik informed him before leaving to prepare.

Jon entered his chambers and opened the small closet where he stored his clothes. Amongst them was his black boiled leathers, gloves, gauntlets and boots he had been wearing when he’d arrived.

Releasing a deep breath, he dressed before tying his hair back with a strip of leather and putting on his sword belt. It was an all too familiar feeling that washed over him upon doing so, battle.

He had spent months in these leathers, fruitlessly fighting for his life. From the battle of Winterfell until he’d arrived on the Isle of Faces, he had worn these leathers.

Now, he was donning them again, and it would not be the last time.

What the Ironborn were doing, Jon could only guess, but they could not be under any illusion that they would be allowed to plunder the north unhindered.

With Ned having left only this morning, Rickard would only be more eager to catch up with the invaders before the came across Ned, though they would more than likely avoid the entourage of Stark and Baratheon men.

No, it would be those who could scarcely defend themselves that the Ironborn would attack.

Taking his leave of his room, he made his way towards the courtyard where the Stark men were gathering.

“Snow, this way,” Rodrik called from the head of the column.

Rickard was with him and the duo were poring over a map.

“If they attacked here, it’s likely this village will be next,” Rickard murmured, tracing the route of the river further inland from where the Ironborn had struck first.

“We won’t make it on time, my lord,” Rodrik muttered irritably. “From there, they will either turn around and head back, or they will move on to this village on the riverbank. Can we get a message to Glover?”

“I’ll have Luwin send a raven,” Rickard decided. “What about the people there? We can’t abandon them, Rodrik,” he added, tracing his finger back to the village the Ironborn would reach next.

“If we don’t make it, my lord, we won’t be able to reach the next on time either,” Rodrik pointed out.

“Then we split the force,” Jon suggested. “If you get a message to Lord Glover, I can get ten men to the next village in less than a day if we ride hard. The Ironborn will be slowed down by where the river narrows here,” he added pointing to the map. “That way, both are covered and if when we make it there the Iron born haven’t made it, we can get through the forest to where you are in a few hours. At worst, your group will miss them and they will be stuck between the two forces.”

“That could work,” Rodrik murmured thoughtfully. “Only ten men?”

“I can work with ten men,” Jon assured the man.

“My Lord?”

Rickard frowned before his gaze came to rest on Jon.

“There could be dozens of them, lad.”

“Aye, and they will have to come through this pass on the river,” Jon explained pointing to the map once more. If we can block it, it won’t matter how many of them there are.”

“He’s right,” Rodrik confirmed. “They’ll have to come through one ship at a time. If they make it past the first village. What’s your plan, Snow?”

“We board them,” Jon answered simply. “One of their smaller ships will carry twenty fighting men at most. The bigger ones won’t even make it up the river. They won’t expect any force to board them.”

Rodrik chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You’re a mad cunt, Snow. I think that’s why I like you.”

“It is mad,” Rickard agreed.

“What choice do we have?” Jon questioned.

Rickard pondered it for only a moment before nodding.

“Aye, I’ll give you ten of our best,” he decided. “You’d best get moving, lad. It’s a long ride to make in such a short time.”

Jon nodded and turned to head towards the stables, pausing as Brandon approached them.

“I’m coming,” he declared.

Rickard eyed him critically.

“Is he ready?”

“I’m ready,” Brandon answered. “One day, it will be my responsibility to do this. Don’t you think I should be doing it now?”

“Rodrik?” Rickard pressed.

“Aye, the lad is ready.”

“Jon?”

“Better for him to get experience with you now than without you later.”

Rickard smiled as he nodded.

“Aye, you’re with me then. Rodrik, you go with Jon,” he instructed. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re together.”

Rodrik grinned as he wrapped an arm around Jon’s shoulder.

“Come on then, Snow,” Rodrik urged. “If I miss out on killing some Ironborn because of your idea, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Like you could,” Jon quipped, pleased to have the man at his side.

Rodrik quirked an eyebrow at him before turning his attention to the gathered Stark men.

“You ten, you’re with us,” he informed a group of them. “Leave the banners. We ride hard, and you can thank Snow if we all die.”

The men complied without question and they made their way to the stable.

“Why do I have a feeling we are in for it?” Rodrik asked gravely.

“Because we probably are,” Jon chuckled as he untied a stallion he had grown fond of since he’d arrived. “You’re not scared are you, Rodrik?”

“Of some squids?”

The man laughed uproariously as they led their group through the gates of Winterfell, waving farewell to the watching Rickard.