6.1 Broken Realm (Patreon)

I’ve always considered myself a calm and composed kind of guy. As far as I could remember, there was never a situation that left me frozen in shock. And doubly so when Ghost was by my side.

But then again, I have never seen a girl thrusting a linen cloth deep into the throat of a jaw braced man.

“Ggghhh, grrrhg.”

When I heard Petyr Baelish had come to our camp, I was ready to give him the Amory treatment and be done with him. Lady Stark filled me in on what Tywin claimed about the man. And well, after I finally entered the tent he was in, I still had the compulsion to break into his mind. It’s just that…

“Maester Qyburn, we need more vinegar. The corruption could settle.” Jeyne chirped. I hadn’t heard her this cheerful since King’s Landing.

“Ggghhg, grrrhk,” protested the man who I presumed was Baelish. Strapped to the chair, he had little say on whatever Jeyne or the old maester would do next.

“It is important to stop the corruption, my lady,” the maester said with a kind and encouraging tone. “But a healer needs restraint and patience. Besides…” he bowed in my direction. “We have company.”

Jeyne turned and yelped when she saw me, letting go of the linen cloth still lodged in Baelish’s throat. He would’ve suffocated, but Qyburn grabbed the cloth as if expecting the reaction.

“M-my lord,” Jeyne stammered. “I… I…”

And the young girl who woke up crying in the middle of the night returned. Her eyes dropped as she clutched the hem of her dress.

“You did do nothing wrong, Jeyne,” I said, in what I hoped was a calming voice. “In fact… I believe learning the healing arts is commendable.”

“Truly?” Jeyne said shyly, her gaze rising from the ground.

From the looks her guards gave me when I said ‘healing arts’, I would’ve said no. But Jeyne seemed like she really enjoyed her time… tending to Baelish. And I could think of a couple reasons as to why that was.

I wasn’t going to say that, of course.

“Aye.” I bent down to be eye level with her. “If it’s something you want to pursue, you have mine and Sansa’s full support.”

I would leave the questionable “more vinegar” out of my recount, but I was certain Sansa would back Jeyne.

“Thank you, my lord.” She curtsied.

I couldn’t get used to her calling me ‘my lord’. Back home, it was either ‘Jon’ or ‘Snow’. But that felt like a lifetime ago at this point.

“Sansa was looking for you,” I said. “Those lemon cakes aren’t going to eat themselves.”

“Aye, my lord,” she said, understanding the meaning behind my sudden change of topics. “It’s been a pleasure maester Qyburn.”

And with a final curtsy, Jeyne and her guards left the tent. Leaving me with a man I wanted to lobotomize, and his suspicious companion who had a perfect grandfatherly smile on him.

“My lord Stark, your deeds are known far and wide,” he said, with a deep bow.

Ah, a lickspittle. Joy.

For all his faults, Qyburn quickly understood how little his initial strategy would work with me.

From the way Jeyne and her guards reactions to the sorry state Baelish was in, he realized how little the camp valued the disgraced lord’s well-being. After a quick search between his belongings, he gave me parchment detailing most of Baelish’s misdeeds.

He was smart, I would give him that. Smart enough to imply that the parchment was not all of Baelish’s sins.

I could respect that. I couldn’t trust him, but I could respect him.

Qyburn promised to reveal where the gold Baelish stole had gone after securing a place in Robb’s household. I counter offered with a place in my household, and a good word on his behalf once we reached my brother. He accepted.

There was something in his smile that I found irritating. It was not the smile of someone who knew a joke they weren’t sharing, no, it was something else. I just couldn’t understand what that was.

Perhaps he thought he got the better end of the deal? That would’ve been true if I didn’t plan on ripping all of Baelish’s secrets out of him myself.

“Well then, maester Qyburn,” I said, after sealing the deal. “Now that we settled, I’ll need time alone with Lord Baelish.”

He gave me a pensive look. “I can keep him alive for as long as you need to… confirm my claims, my lord,” he said, his hands fiddling with his tools.

From the state of Baelish, that would be a long and frustrating process of questioning, with him nodding or shaking his head. No, I had a better way, and a deserving subject of said way.

“No, that won’t be necessary, just muzzle him before you go,” I said.

I sat in front of one of the probable conspirators in the murder of my father. It took me all the will I had not to snap the fucker in two with my bare hands. And another serious breathing exercises not to leave him a vegetal by doing my best at breaking whatever remained of his mind.

“Well met, Littlefinger.” The broken man in front of me squirmed at my tone. Or perhaps at Ghost’s growl. “You don’t know me, but after this… I’ll most certainly know you.”

I stopped in frustration after about twenty minutes or so. My head pounded like it was about to split in two, and my only consolation was that Baelish had it worse. It wasn’t like this with Amory. I suspected it was due to the amount of fragmented memories I tried to find in such a short amount of time.

I had hoped that my skinchanging had improved enough to find everything I needed from Baelish’s mind. Alas, I was still lacking.

Be that as it may, I could only find fragments of what I was searching for. And even like that, it was enough to confirm most of Qyburn’s claims. Two Hands, his actions led to two good men dying. Sadly I wasn’t able to find out his exact motives, other than some vague desire for power.

I sagged in my chair, exhausted, and breathing deep and slow to calm the burning rage that threatened to consume me.

“Fucking hell,” I sighed.

It had been an unlucky day. Well, lucky for Baelish, I guessed. His mind was still there, after all. Damaged and half a step from madness, but still there.

I waited a few more minutes until my headache receded, and set to find the other person who needed to know the depths of Baelish’s treacherous actions against Father.

For all her faults, Lady Stark fiercely loved Father and my siblings. Other than her, I had to tell Lord Andar Royce of Baelish poisoning Lord Arryn. And that, I suspected, would go better if Lady Stark was the one to tell him.

I thought the only discussion we would have would be on how to execute Baelish. So I informed her of Qyburn’s claims and brought her to the tent. She quickly went to assess the extent of the injuries and after a few minutes she turned to me.

“We shouldn’t execute him.”

I had to do a double take.

“We can’t execute him,” she repeated.

What the hell do you mean woman!? Tywin’s claims were right, Baelish betrayed Father. There’s no other way of dealing with this wretch.

“I knew Petyr since we were children…” she said with a faraway look in her eyes.

My chest burned at her every word.

“He’s always wanted to be someone important, to have a legacy…” She turned to me with a wolfish smile. “I say we let him have this legacy.”

Before I could recover, she continued.

“His mind is still there, he clearly understands every word I say. And look at him, I recognize those eyes. Afraid. Desperate. We should keep him that way.”

“What?” I managed to say.

It was then that I saw her, properly saw her. Her otherwise vibrant red hair was frizzled and dull. Her shoulders were curling in on themselves. And her eyes… they were cold, but not tired. Those eyes looked like a winter storm.

“It was my fault, Jon,” she whispered, looking at the ground. “I told Ned to trust him… I told him that Petyr was a friend, that he would help him.”

She looked away, stifling bitter tears before continuing.

“I might as well have put the dagger in his back myself.” She steeled herself, and turned to me. “Ned confessed crimes he did not commit, and was beheaded for it. Petyr… Petyr did commit crimes, and he should pay for them, until his last dying breath.”

I pulled a chair to sit in front of her.

I sighed. “That’s not what… that’s not how my father would have conducted justice.”

“Aye, your father was a kind man, much kinder than me. Keeping what remains of Petyr alive… he would’ve called it unnecessary cruelty.”

I mulled over her words for a little while. The tent was silent, except for Baelish’s labored breathing.

“Robb wouldn’t like it either,” I said, and Lady Stark nodded in response.

Yes, Father and Robb were kind… Perhaps too kind.

“What are you planning?”

“I believe we need Lord Andar to discuss this in detail,” she said, her expression controlled once again. “I believe we can deal with two problems at once.”

I was a little confused by that statement. Baelish poisoned Lord Arryn, while I could see some Vale lords following along with Lady Stark’s wishes, I doubted they would all comply.

The doubt must have been clear on my face, because she continued:

“Fear not, Jon. Lord Andar will be on our side.”

Well, if she was that confident.

Lady Stark gave a final meaningful look at Baelish and stood up and left the tent. It was hard to believe how cordial we could be to each other. And to think it only took a kingdom breaking war and heartbreaking loss to move past grievances. On her side of things, I mean.

“Come on Ghost. Let’s see if we can find you some chicken.” I left the tent with my direwolf friend on my heels.

I couldn’t begin to guess what Lady Stark had in store for Baelish, but somehow I knew it would be awful for him.

By the time we reached Maidenpool, we had to set out again. My brother wanted to see Lady Stark and our sisters before they left for Winterfell, and asked us to meet him at Harrenhal.

So, after dealing with some things, picking some-ones, and leaving some others behind, we left Maidenpool with half our total army. There were some fears of an invasion attempt from the Crownlands, so the army we left was to address those worries.

After all was said and done, I was still uncertain of keeping Baelish’s crimes a secret, but the man was now a piece in Andar Royce and Lady Stark’s board, and from what I gathered from Baelish, he would prefer death a thousand times over what his fate would be.

It also helped that Baelish was Jeyne’s live test subject, or as she called him, her ‘tool for learning’.

I was a little worried that leaving him in Maidenpool would quench Jeyne’s drive for the healing arts, but I was pleasantly mistaken. The young noble kept her drive burning, and didn’t stop.

According to Qyburn, Jeyne drank every bit of knowledge he imparted and made it her own. Bit by bit, she got better. I even saw her smiling a couple of times.

After King’s Landing, I thought Jeyne would never smile again. I could barely imagine the horrors she was subjected to. So seeing enthusiastic over something was a marked improvement.

Even then, she barely spoke compared to the girl I remembered from Winterfell. Her nightmares kept harrowing her nights and from time to time her gaze was lost in the horizon.

Almost a week after leaving Maidenpool, when we stopped to camp for the night, the telltale sign of losing herself in her thoughts appeared. Her eyes were glassy as she wandered away from the camp, so I joined.

It was getting dark, the clouds were painted orange and blue. There was something about sunsets that she liked. There were times when she would become entranced and drift away from the group. Sometimes Sansa accompanied her. Other times, Dacey or Lady Stark followed. That afternoon, I got up from my seat by the campfire with my halberd in hand to join her.

Slowly, and always in her line of sight to not startle her, I went after her. And when she sat, I did the same a couple feet to her side.

We just were there in silence. Waiting for the sun to surrender to the night. I wanted to tell her something, that we failed her, that the world failed her, that nothing was her fault. But doing so, would only serve to remind her of the worst times in her life. Or perhaps I just couldn’t find the right words.

When the sun finally fell, I turned to see her. She was crying in silence. Her tears staining her knees.

“It was my fault,” she said before a sob tore through her.

I almost broke.

“No!” I said, and she flinched. “No, Jeyne,” I repeated, softly this time. “It wasn’t your fault, none of it was.”

“But it was,” she said, curling into herself. “If I wasn’t there, Ser Perwyn wouldn’t have died.”

That wasn’t true.

I stood up to kneel in front of Jeyne. I searched her eyes, but she kept her gaze locked on the ground.

“You know that’s not true,” I told her. “Everyone knows it was no your fault.”

She kept silent. I could recognize when someone didn’t believe me.

“Even if you can’t trust my words, I’m certain Dacey told you the same.”

“She did.” She’s too kind to tell the truth.

I could hear her unspoken words, but I couldn’t call her on them.

I swallowed a sigh. “It’s getting cold, we should go back to camp.”

Silence.

“…Or we can stay for a little while,” I said, wrapping my cloak on her shoulders. “Gods know we all need a little while.”

I returned to my previous seat with my halberd balancing on my legs, counting the stars appearing in the night sky.

I could somewhat understand what Jeyne was going through. Facing Ser Ronel Rivers and telling him of his brother’s passing was hard enough. When I approached him, he thanked me for returning Perwyn’s armor and belongings.

He accepted his brother’s death with a silent prayer, and shared stories of their exploits in their time as squires as we drank the night away. Tears were shed, wine was spilled, and promises were made. Not once did he blame or curse me.

That was why I could understand Jeyne. But she was wrong, Perwyn’s death wasn’t her fault.

It was mine.

One of the things I’ll forever fail to understand, is how Lord Edmure won over Lord Rykker back at Duskendale.

The final day before leaving the siege, Lord Edmure called for a treat with Lord Renfred Rykker. Both lords sat in a table outside of arrow range and, like old friends, shared a cup of wine and a modest meal. They japed and laughed as if they were part of the same army.

That friendship was the reason for Sansa having lemon cakes in the camp. We had food tasters of course, but it was all unnecessary in the end.

Honestly, Lord Tully keeping the relations cordial with the city he was laying siege to, should be study material for generations to come. While one of our objectives was to avoid antagonizing the Crownlanders unnecessarily, the end result was beyond my wildest dreams.

Robb seriously has an eye for talent, because I don’t think anyone ever in the history of the world—two worlds even—was able to accomplish what Edmure could with seamless ease.

“Jon! Jon!” Arya interrupted my musings, running from the back of the line with her friends. “Jon! Look!”

I turned to see Arya accompanied by Dacey’s squire and cupbearer. They looked better than they did weeks ago. They ran and played and listened to stories. They were a little more childish, and that was great to see.

“Look at what we found,” Arya said, with her hands cupped.

I crouched a little to see what got her this cheerful, and she opened her hands to reveal a four-leaf clover.

“Oh?” I said, raising an eyebrow to be as dramatic as I suspected the girls wanted. “Now all you have to do is catch a rainbow. But be careful young ladies, gnomes are well known for being sly negotiators.”

“We’ll find two more four-leaf clovers, m’lord,” Mya, the youngest of the girls, said.

“Aye,” Arya chirped. “With three four-leaf clovers, no gnome will dare to trick us.”

Melissa simply nodded and the three girls ran back to their games. Ser Wendel and I exchanged a nod and an amused smile before the knight went back to his charges.

“Wait for me, my ladies. This old knight needs some luck too.”

My sisters still loved hearing my stories, and adding fae-like gnomes and rainbows with my tales made the girls happy. Bedtime stories around the campfire became a tradition by now. That they all joined together at once and without complaints was just a bonus.

While Arya and her friends latched to gnomes and catching rainbows. Sansa and her frien-sorry, court liked the stories of intrigue better, and latched to the story of a talented low-born healer surviving, and thriving, in Yi Ti’s royal court.

I started telling them that story once I gave the approval for Jeyne’s apprenticeship under Qyburn. I couldn’t trust the affable old man just yet, but he really was one of the best healers around. Case in point, I doubt anyone else could have kept Baelish from dying after the extensive wounds he suffered, that Qyburn was the one who inflicted them notwithstanding.

And well, Jeyne seemed to like her new teacher. Especially when said teacher taught her all the little, and extensive ways the human body could be wounded and still function. For academic purposes, of course.

Worrying? Yes. Healthy? Probably not. But Jeyne really looked better these days. From what her guards told me, she could clean and stitch small wounds with ease. And never once balked at the sight of blood.

I resumed my walk. Jeyne worries aside, there was something I was looking forward to. Ghost and Cerati had been scouting forests nearby, and I suspected, today they would find what I was searching for.

It was almost midday when I felt Ghost giving me a pull. Finally, after so long something unquestionably good happened south of the Neck.

I went straight to find my sisters and stole them to join me on a ride. When Sansa asked why I was so insistent, I simply answered with a knowing smile. That was enough for Arya to realize what I wasn’t saying and raced past me, giggling all the way, her friends and guards not far behind.

Sansa rolled her eyes and muttered something about ‘childish un-lady-like behavior’, and kept her pace with a huff.

Heh, let’s see if she can keep her ‘dignified lady’ act with a few more hints.

“Did you know? Hunters are having hard times finding game around this parts…”

Sansa tilted her head.

“Also, completely unrelated, some common folk believe the old gods sent them protection ever since our dear brother became king.”

Understanding hit her almost immediately. I knew her maids kept her informed of the rumours and stories of the villages we passed. A reminder was all it took for her to understand what I meant.

A smile bloomed into her face. “Is it true?” she asked, knowing the answer already.

“It is.”

Even before the words left my mouth, Sansa abandoned any pretense and broke into a sprint. It was nice to see some things would always bring her joy.

It was not long after, that Ghost’s silhouette appeared in the horizon, and behind him…

“Nymeria!” “Lady!”

The guards stood down at my command. No one should put themselves between a girl and her direwolf.

My sisters jumped off their horses like the experienced riders they were, and ran the field to meet their lost friends. They were slower than the direwolves of course. For a second I worried for the inevitable crash, but the direwolves perfectly paced themselves to meet their humans.

Well, almost.

“Oof.” Nymeria knocked Arya down and licked her face while my sister shrieked in laughter.

On the other hand, Lady trotted up to Sansa, licked her hand in greeting and calmly melted into her arms.

I got off my horse and just stood there, drinking in their laughter. It was great seeing them like this. After King’s Landing and everything that followed… this was nice.

Ghost soon caught up with me, all smug and ready to extort all the chicken I had in my backpack. And for once, my snow-white friend absolutely deserved it.

“Here,” I said, giving him the chicken legs he loved. “Don’t get used to it, this was a one time only deal.”

He gave me the wolf equivalent of a scoff, and kept devouring his hard earned prize.

Cerati landed on my shoulder next, this greedy bird learned from Ghost and also demanded treats for his work. Of course, I obliged. He took the strips of liver I offered and wolfed them down like there was no tomorrow.

Gluttons, the both of them.

Arya was the first to get her friends to caress her direwolf. Melissa and Mya approached Nymeria with the courage only children have, and the three girls soon started playing and racing on the field.

On the other side, Sansa brought Lady closer to the party and reintroduced Jeyne to her direwolf. After her, Myrcella and Tommen got the courage to pet Lady. And finally, after multiple reassurances, Sansa’s maids, Annara and Arra, got the courage to gently pet the most courteous direwolf that ever existed.

For a couple of hours, the world was perfect.

We saw Harrenhal’s towers in the distance long before we reached Black Harren’s folly. It would take us the whole of tomorrow and a few hours of the day after to reach the castle, and my brother.

The battle in the fields of Wayfarer’s Rest put to rest the Westerlands’ potential for aggression. It was the battle that settled Robb as the undisputed king of the North and the Trident. And, in my opinion, it was the battle that ended cavalry supremacy in Westeros.

Cavalry would still have a place in Westerosi armies, but it wouldn’t have the importance it had before. The Northern army proved that pike squares could not only stop cavalry charges, but hold the line against trained knights for as long as needed.

The campfire crackled and pulled me from my thoughts. Night had fallen and most were already asleep. However for me, sleep had become difficult lately.

I closed my eyes and I felt Ghost stalking a hapless deer, meanwhile Cerati was peacefully sleeping in his cage.

“Others take me,” I muttered, as I pushed from my seat.

I needed to clear my head, mayhaps tiring myself would knock me out cold. Or it could give enough manic energy to last till morning. It was a gamble, but sitting and doing nothing would just agitate me.

So, instead of thinking of Theon’s passing, or how close the Stranger had grazed Robb, I would walk around the camp until I found a nice and quiet place where I could practice with my halberd to exhaustion.

That was a hundred times better than just lying in my tent for hours on end trying and failing, to fall asleep. It was that, or drink myself senseless. Out of those two, I knew which one was the healthier choice.

With halberd in hand I strode my way to a clearing nearby to just go at it until my arms felt like lead. Hopefully, the gods would be good and wouldn’t pour rain over me.

Arriving at the clearing, I remembered why I hadn’t considered this as an option the previous nights. Perhaps, I should’ve just drank that wine.

Dacey sat on a log, alone in the dark, brooding while sharpening her daggers. Dressed in her riding leathers, the silver strands of moonlight framed her like a valkyrie before her next battle.

A couple steps further, and she would have sensed my footsteps. Small mercies. I could just turn back and go and find that wine.

Alas, my luck had run short.

Dacey sighed loudly. “Sit, you fool. I can tell you want to turn back, but I won’t let you.”

And there goes my plan to just ignore my problems until they got away.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” I asked, as I approached.

She turned her face to me, from the distance I couldn’t really see, but I knew she had raised an eyebrow. Yeah, fair point.

“Is this your new brooding place?” I said, sitting by her side.

“Yeah, I’m the one who’s brooding.” She returned to sharpening her blade. “Jon, you’re brooding all day everyday. Ever since—”

“Yeah, I know,” I interrupted. “I’m sorry, it’s just… sorry.”

Dacey sighed. “And there he goes again.” She put a hand on my shoulder and shook me gently.

We sat in silence for a little while. My nervous energy lowering with each breath.

The clearing was at the foot of a hill, a breeze gently caressed the meadow before us. The trees in the distance waved, their shadows flickering in the moonlight.

“Others take me,” Dacey said frustrated, and I tilted my head in confusion. “Arrrggh, I’m the worst at this.”

Worst at what? I didn’t know. Couldn’t. The past weeks I spent away from her, Hatten, Ronel… away from everyone but my sisters. I didn’t know what was going through Dacey’s head. I didn’t know what I could do to help her. I had failed, once again.

She stood up and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Stop it, Jon. Just stop.”

“Sorry. What?”

“This,” she said, gesturing my entire being. “Stop mopping around, stop apologizing for every little thing. The only difference between Perwyn and us, is that he saw the crossbows first.”

I sighed. “I saw Lady Stark first, If I had understood what she was screaming about-”

“And I saw her too, you fool,” Dacey cut. “It was just bad luck.”

Where I anyone else, it would have been just bad luck. “I could have kept Cerati looking out for the walls…”

Dacey rolled her eyes and sat right next to me, her shoulder gently grazing mine. “You were tired Jon. Everyone was, but it was you who found Sansa, it was you who found Jeyne, it was you who found us a way out of King’s Landing. I saw what skinchanging does to you, I was actually surprised you were able to keep on standing by the end.”

After King’s Landing I bled through my nose for a while, and then slept for almost sixteen hours straight. Not even the jolting of being ahorse woke me.

I sighed, because apparently that was all I could do. “Yeah, I know.”

And I did know. In an intellectual level I knew Perwyn’s death wasn’t my fault. The problem was, that it didn’t feel that way.

“I know,” I repeated.

Dacey gave me a smile at that, but it dimmed once she saw my face.

“I’m really bad at this,” she said, slouching.

“Aye, you’re really bad at this,” I said, a small grin curved my lips.

She huffed, and gently—by her standards at least—tapped my shoulder. I would’ve fallen face-first if it hadn’t been for my trusty halberd holding my weight from the front.

I knew I would someday get over losing Perwyn in the last leg of our escape. There would be a day in the future when I could just think of my friend fondly, and not feel the guilt gnawing my insides. It’s just that today, wasn’t that day.

Silence befell once again. This time was a bit calmer. The breeze felt nice.

I thought that was all, until I saw Dacey bouncing her leg.

“Others take you, Wolfboy,” Dacey said, locking her gaze on mine. “Spit it out, what else is troubling you?”

Of course she realized. I was sure she knew what else was troubling me.

“I thought you were bad at this?” I tried to joke, but her worried face stopped me cold. “…You know what it is.” I turned my gaze to the sky.

“Yeah, I know.”

The breeze stopped as we sat there. The night was cold, but for some reason, our shoulders touching made it bearable.

“You know what? I’ll just say it.” She turned to face me, silently demanding I do the same. “You are a fool, Jon. Not just any fool, but the greatest of them all.”

That was enough to make me chuckle. “I know.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Because only a fool would believe that stupid letter means anything. The Lannister woman,” she sneered, “was spewing shit through her mouth. Who the fuck cares about what she says?”

“I know,” I said.

“And yet, here you are.”

“And yet, here I am.”

She sighed loudly. “Fool.”

The breeze resumed caressing the grass in the meadow and we stayed for a while after that. It was getting late, and while I was used to sleeping little, Dacey was not. So I forced a yawn to get us back to camp. She eyed me suspiciously, but let the matter rest after I promised I would spar with her come morning.

“Thank you, Dacey,” I said before we went our separate ways.

“You better,” she said, as she turned away. It was enough to make me huff.

I got to my tent in a hurry. Lying in my bed, I closed my eyes and hoped not to have nightmares.

A brittle woman offering me a brilliant smile. Steel clashing on steel in the distance. And blood, so much blood.

Who the fuck cares, indeed.

A/N: Catelyn did say “Bring me Cersei and I’ll show you what a woman’s mercy is!” So, with one of the architects of Ned’s demise in her hands…

In unrelated news, Twitter found out about fanfiction, lmao. fem!Draco as a tsundere was enough for twitter to lose their collective minds. It’s kinda funny, and at the same time… well it’s fucking twitter, so I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop any moment now.