9.4 (Patreon)

The rivers and black earth left the air clean and scentless. For Ghost this meant his nostrils could pick up the scent of a prey from many miles away, and the smoke of a fire from a twice as far.

It allowed him to stay on the trail of a small herd of deer that had escaped him twice before, evading his attempts to down one of their bucks. Alone, he had always relied on hunting singular prey, but shadowcats and bears were much scarcer in the Riverlands than in the Mountains of the Moon. Here, only bucks had enough meat to satiate him.

And there the herd was again. Through the mist, he saw them lying among a field of trumpet flowers that swayed like ringing bells in the breeze. The moon hid in the sky, but fireflies buzzed around them and their glow softly shined off the deers' fur.

 Half were asleep, the other half vigilant. All of them unaware, until a white blur emerged from the blossoms and crashed into a buck, sending the two of them tumbling through the stalks.

Ghost was larger and stronger. His claws dug into the buck’s flesh and dragged his prey beneath him. It whined and managed to land a kick on him, but the force of it was lost in his fur. His teeth were inches from its neck.

But then, in the corner of his eyes, a pair of antlers from among the trumpet flowers. He leapt from the path of the charging stag before it trampled him, then from another coming from a different angle.

By the time his feet were steady under him, the antlers were locked together like a shield wall, joined by a third pair, those of the buck he was moments from butchering. The rest of the herd were fleeing now behind them, while the bucks almost surrounded him.

He growled and bared his teeth, and it was enough for all three stags to freeze in place as his mind raced. The direwolf’s instincts had been sharpened by more dangerous hunts than this. His body tensed, ready to pounce.

But then there came a howl from the distance. At first, he thought it a pack of rival wolves, taking the opportunity to prey on the fleeing does and fawns. But these howls were different. He’d never heard their like before, but still his very bones recognized them. Relief and excitement filled him in equal measure.

The bucks turned their heads to the noise, but before they could turn back, Ghost was already behind their horns. With one bite, he tore out one of the throats. Warm blood watered the earth. One of the stags darted away before it then charged him.

But then a direwolf with silver fur, only a shade darker than Ghost’s clamped down on the buck’s back hoof and stopped his charge with one brutal pull, even dragging the hart back a foot. Another direwolf, this one with still darker grey fur burst from among the flowers and wrestled to the ground the immobilized stag. Its whines died a breath later.

Only one buck remained, surrounded by red and golden eyes that glowed in the darkness. In the dim light of the fireflies, only the red on their snouts and whisps of their fur were visible. It turned for a second to run, before a final direwolf with the darkest fur among them leapt from the darkness and landed on its back. His weight forced even the great hart to its knees, and one twist of its jaw snapped its neck from above.

For a moment after the last stag died, there was tension. Gold yellow eyes met blood red eyes and lingered in uncertainty. Ghost’s only recollection of his siblings were from when they were weeks old, before Jon had departed White Harbor, back when the direwolf was still small enough to fit in his hand.

But then Summer wandered closer and brushed against him. Greywind nibbled on his ear and Lady bumped her head into his chest. Ghost was overwhelmed then but only could only cackle. Howls not heard in the Riverlands since millennia passed spread through the stalks. The direwolves chased each other like pups and played at wrestling, before they feasted on their bounty and fell asleep among the blossoms.

Jon awoke in his own body with it still dark outside. An echo of his direwolf’s bliss still lingered in him. Bran was near. Robb was near.

If they dream of their wolves as I do, then they will also know of me, even if word of our host has not reached them.

It was too early in the day to do much of anything, and so Jon wandered out of his rooms and down the stairs with a spring in his step. The hall of the Inn was still at this hour, save for a small fire crackling in the firepit. Hardyng sat staring into it in his armor.

“Good morning.”

Hardyng was startled. Jon expected him to calm down when he saw him, but there remained a stiffness about him and his friend was quick to avert his eyes.

“Good morning.” Hardyng mumbled back.

“Did you sleep well?” Jon asked. He moved to stand beside him.

“I did not sleep at all.”

Ten different remarks came to mind, but they all died in his throat. This was not Lord Regent Hardyng before him, it was not even Ser Harold Hardyng, it was Hardyng as he’d known him before. The weight of the Vale and the lives of eleven thousand men are on his shoulders. He has dreamt of it all his life, but dreams never take the shapes we imagine for them.

And so Jon simply started into the leaping flames with his friend for a time, before he opened his mouth to speak.

“We’ll see these days through.” Jon said finally. Hardyng turned to him curiously. “No matter what comes our way.”

“Aye.” Hardyng said. He laughed in a small breath. “It was just yesterday we were kidnapping a Frey to throw in a river.”

“Hopefully we do not find him in Robb’s company.” Jon said.

“I hope we do.” Hardyng said, laughing once more. “I never did thank you. For neither setting me straight when I was young and foolish, nor for securing me this title.”

“You’re worthy of both.” Jon told him, but was a little curious. “But this sentimentality is unlike you.”

“Can a man not bare his heart?” Hardyng said. He rose to his feet and patted Jon on the arm as he passed him. “But you’re right. We’ll see to whatever comes. I’ll catch whatever sleep I can.”

With Hardyng gone, Jon extinguished the fire then left the inn to wander the wider camp. Few were awake. Those that were bowed to him as he passed, but his set face scared off any from approaching him. His brothers were on his mind. As was their host, the Vale and the wider kingdoms, Stannis and Renly, the Ironborn and Lannisters, even Nymeria and Domeric’s strange behavior.

It began when we left the Vale. What could it be they're up to?

Plotting his downfall crossed his mind, but it was more of a jape than a serious consideration. He’d given them no cause, and they’d not do it out of unmotivated malice.

But then why the stares and the whispers?

Eventually the sun did rise over the horizon and Jon returned to his rooms to don his armor. A task he’d do by his lonesome as both Edmund and Donnel had been knighted by his hand at the Dammed River. They were on the younger side of knights, but their skill and experience surpassed many grown men already. Donnel had remained in the Vale to help rebuild the Hunter lands, and Edmund had joined the host to reunite with his family and defend his own homelands, though Jon had seen little of him recently.

Already he was drowning in letters offering replacements, their number matched only by the letters asking for his hand, but nothing had been decided yet. A fact he regretted every time he had to clean anything or armor himself.

The host was on the march soon after, heading southwest with their scouts ahead of them. For Jon this meant fresh company. Every day a new noble rushed at the opportunity to ride beside him, motivated to either make his acquaintance, gain his friendship and favor or to simply be seen beside him. Nymeria’s words from the night before echoed in his head.

Ser Wylas and Lord Mortimer joined him today, and they proved to be among the more unpleasant company he’d ridden with. Ser Wylas spoke little, though his snickers were like gravel in Jon’s ears and he snickered at a lot of things. Lord Mortimer by contrast seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice and spent the hours preaching the virtues of the Seven to Jon.

“I follow both the Old and New Gods, my lord.” Jon told him finally, if only to silence him. His faith in the Old Gods was unshakable, but he’d also seen much that could be attributed to the Seven. To say nothing of how long he’d been surrounded by Their followers.

We’ll meet an army of nonbelievers soon enough.

“Truly, ser?” the man said. A smile wide enough to reach his eyes crossed his face and would not leave it. “Wonderful news! Simply wonderful, the septons will rejoice, I rejoice!”

“Of course.” Jon said, but then quickly continued before the man could. “Excuse me, I’ve a meeting with the Lord Regent.”

Ser Wylas snickered one last time as Jon rode away from them. Hardyng proved difficult to find, as did Nymeria and Domeric. He did find Ysilla Royce and Lord Lynderly, but the two seemed lost in conversation and he deigned not to intrude, settling instead to ride at the head of the common levies.

They all looked towards him with a familiar gleam in their eyes, but most were too afraid to approach him. For a short time at least, as soon one of the levies worked up the courage to hail him.

“Excuse a humble pikeman’s foolishness, milord.” The man said earnestly. He was an older man, with creases on his forehead and few hairs on his head, though still strong enough to carry a spear and don armor. He took a small thing of wood from his pockets and held it up to Jon in his saddle. “In the Wickendon, our spinsters give us boys a handcarved piece of wax to carry before we march off into war. They say it wards away the Stranger so long as we look after it. Three wars and twenty-two I’ve kept it from bending or breaking or melting and three wars it has protected me through. Three wars, milord, and I would beg you to take it. Nothing can repay the debts my homelands owe you, but I beg you, milord, take it, so no blade may ever find you.”

Inside the small box was a small wax figure of the Maiden wrapped in cloth. The decades years had worn away some of her features; her nose was missing, her arm had a groove from where it was shoddily reattached, and one of her feet was reduced to nub, but for its age, it was remarkably well kept.

“Thank you.” Jon said, gently rewrapping it in cloth then closing the lid on it. “I will carry it until I’ve a son to pass it onto. If you think you owe me any debt, then consider it paid and forgiven.”

The whole column of men burst into cheer behind them and Jon stowed away the box in a saddle bag. The older man smiled and wandered back. The affection of the levies was easier to attain than an apple from a tree. Sharing a drink or accepting a gift was all it took to gain loyalty, something he would have done either way.

In the hours of the afternoon, a general murmur spread across the host, and Ser Oswald told him that a Lannister knight had been captured by their scouts. Apparently, the armies Lannisters and Tyrells had met. The Lannister knight had no end of praise to heap onto the redcloaks’ prowess during the battle, but in the end he did confess that it had ended in a Lannister route and a Tyrell triumph.

The rest of the day however passed by with little taking place. That night, the meeting was attended by many of the lords and each of them had something to say or an opinion to give, but by the end of it all, their course of action remained unchanged. They would reach Harrenhal, then find Robb and unite their hosts. Only then could they decide whether to march on King’s Landing or remain in the Riverlands until the Ironborn were dealt with.

Domeric did invite to his tent to discuss a letter a letter the Bolton had received from his father. According to it, Arya and Lady Catelyn had safely reached Winterfell; Lord Stark had personally travelled with a band of retainers to Hornwood to escort the. The dead men however were proving harder to deal with.

‘They terrorize the roads, leave entire hamlets lifeless with not a body left behind. Twice the hosts of the North have found them, twice we crushed them under hoof, and twice we were routed. Lord Stark has ordered one these creatures captured. They must have a weakness. I will find it.’

"Fire." Jon told him. "The Children told us that the dead only fell to fire."

"I've already written to tell him."

Jon's eyes fell back on the letter. The bad news continued. There was also a huge host of wildlings numbering in the tens of thousand that would reach the abandoned Wall with a King Beyond the Wall at their head. Jon gripped onto the parchment so tightly that he nearly tore it in half. Stannis and Renly’s conflict and even the Ironborn rampage through the Riverlands seemed annoyances in comparison.

“We must march North.” Jon told him.

“I agree.” Domeric said. “But, not yet.”

“What?”

“We’ve eleven thousand behind us, with Robb’s forces perhaps we reach fifteen or twenty thousand all together. The North has forty thousand to defend it, with my father and y—Lord Stark at their head.” Domeric said. “We’d make a difference, but if there is more beyond the Wall than just these undead, Others like the Children told us about and then also Euron plotting his magics somewhere beyond the waves, then the realms must be united, with a powerful King at their head.”

“What of the Wildlings?”

“If there are demons at their tail, then there is neither the men nor time to fight wildlings.” Domeric said with a shrug. “Lord Stark and my father are pragmatic enough to see it as I do. The Umbers, Karstarks and Mormonts will need convincing, but they'll not oppose Lord Stark.”

Jon considered his words in silence for a time, until the Bolton spoke again.

“Do you know what might be very useful against demons of ice?” Domeric asked, and Jon looked towards him in confusion. “A dragon, even a half dragon, so long as it could fly and breath fire.”

“Aye.” Jon said wistfully, remembering the great beast. They'd stood so close that Jon could have reached out a hand and touched its scales. What terror he had felt in his heart.

“How close were you to claiming it?” Domeric asked. “What caused you to fail?”

“It did seem tame for moment.” Jon said honestly. “It had lowered its gaze and began to move almost as Ghost does even at its size, until something caused it panic. I think its eyes landed on my hand grasped around my hilt.”

“And you did not attempt it again with your steel sheathed>”

“That seemed foolish at the time.” Jon said honestly, then turned to Bolton with a strange look. "You were against me even approaching the beast in the first place, now you wanted me to do it again?”

“You’re right.” Domeric said with a good natured smile. One Jon easily saw through.

He left to find his own tent soon after that. He asleep with dark thoughts on his mind, but his dreams, he was among his siblings once more and there was no room for worry.

Edit: I've corrected 2 mistakes since first publishing.

Firstly, the Children of the Forest told them how to defeat the wights, so Domeric now tells Jon he'll tell his dad about it.

Secondly, Jon tells Domeric that the halfdragon saw his 'naked steel' and freaked. in reality it was just jon's hand on his sheathed sword

Sorry if these chapters came off as boring, maybe they were better told from someone else’s POV, but as is being strongly hinted there are discussions about Domeric and Nymeria’s revelation taking place where Jon can’t see or hear.