Chapter 45: The Autumn Plague

302 AC

Yunkai fell quickly. Jon was a part of the small group that infiltrated the city through a side door and fought through a whole host of slave soldiers before opening the gates and letting the Unsullied through. It had been over in a few hours, and Jon had the privilege of taking the banner of the Yunkish masters and laying it at the feet of Daenerys, who had simply grinned and ordered the rest of the tent to leave them before she truly showed her appreciation to Jon in every way that he was comfortable with. After she had pushed him in a bathtub and washed the blood and gore off of him intimately, and then what seemed like hours of lust filled action, they were laying together under the covers, both as naked as their name days.

"Do you think the slaves will accept you?" Jon asked, pulling her closer to him.

Dany nodded. "They did last time. Once they realise the new reality of the world they will accept their new freedom and take it. Yunkai will be a peaceful, slave free city for the first time."

So the next morning Jon found himself standing on a large rock, with Daenerys and the rest of her court at his side and the three dragons walking around the base of it, waiting for the Yunkish gates to open. Things were tense as Jon and Jorah shared an uneasy look, not sure as to whether the former slaves would appear or not.

"They will come." Dany said positively. "I know it." Jon however remained unconvinced as the minutes ticked by, until finally the gates creaked open and thousands of collared men and women streamed out of the gates towards them, only stopping when the Unsullied lowered their spears. Missandei went to step forwards, but Dany stopped her. "It has to be me." She said quietly, before stepping forwards herself to address the crowds. "Some of you will be wondering why I came to Yunkai. Was it to conquer? Was it to enslave you as the Masters once did? It was neither of those things." She shouted towards the gathered slaves. "I came here to rid the world of slavery, but I can only do so much. The choice now is yours, if you wish to take your freedom you must take it for yourselves. The Masters cannot tell you no, and I cannot force you to do so."

Jon smiled as Dany passionately shouted at the crowd, and he turned his attention to the gathered Ghiscari, waiting for a reaction.

"Mhysa!" One shouted, followed by another, followed by half a dozen more at once, until soon almost the entire crowd were shouting the same thing. "Mhysa! Mhysa! Mhysa!"

"What does it mean?" Jon asked.

He saw Dany turn around and smile. "It's old Ghiscari, it means Mother." She said calmly. Jon's eyes widened in delightful surprise, as the front rows of the former slaves stepped forwards again. The Unsullied lowered themselves, ready to slaughter if the Ghiscari men and women got to close, but Dany put a stop to that. "They mean me no harm, put up your spears." She ordered, and the Unsullied did as commanded. Then, with a smile on her lips, she held out a hand for Jon to take to help her down the rocks onto the ground, kneeling by the dragons as she went. "Fly." She whispered to Drogon as she stroked his neck, and the black dragon did as instructed and took off, closely followed by his siblings. Rhaegal however flew quickly around the rock before perching on Jon's shoulder, flapping his wings, and screeching loudly. Jon raised his hand to stroke Rhaegal's nose fondly as he watched Dany pass the line of Unsullied and head into the crowd all crying out for her. She touched hands and allowed the former slaves to crowd and surround her until she was out of sight. Jon shifted nervously, his hand shooting down to his sword hilt when suddenly Dany was lifted into the air gracefully by the Ghiscari, and Jon could only watch on, simply enamoured by the woman that could inspire the scene in front of him.

Torrhen and his men could see the abandoned Westwatch-by-the-Bridge long before they had even reached the Bridge of Skulls that crossed the cavernous Gorge that had claimed the lives of thousands over history. It stood alone, in between a pair of mountains that had once been a direct route into the North, defended by long extinct Mountain Clansmen 8,000 years earlier. The tops of the taller towers of Westwatch were crumbling, although the Northern walls seemed strong enough from Torrhen's view. The fact that it was relatively abandoned made Torrhen breathe easier, although the single plume of smoke coming from the walls as well as the fact that the ever treacherous Bridge of Skulls still needed to be traversed The bridge had no barriers, and was just a thin stretch of rock that was the only crossing of the Gorge for hundreds of miles. They took their time, ensuring to fly their banners as high as they could.

When they reached the other side as the sun began to set, they were met by a thin, old, heavily bearded man of the Night's Watch who had a pair of nasty looking hand axes on his belt. "You're all very brave or very stupid crossing the Bridge of Skulls." He said in a gravelly voice.

Torrhen didn't know the man, although he recognised the grey eyes and prominent nose, as well as the sigil moulded on the blades of the axes, a white knife in a blue pile on a field of white. "You are of Clan Burley." He stated. "I am Torrhen, of House Stark. We seek a shelter for the night before we travel on to the Shadow Tower at dawn."

The old man looked at Torrhen curiously. "Willam Burley, son of Rodrik. What the fuck is a boy of Stark doing North of the Wall?" He asked unashamedly. Torrhen recognised the name of the Father from his histories, he had been one of the Mountain Clansmen to fight against Raymun Redbeard at the tender age of 13 and had gone on to lead Clan Burley for decades, until he had died on the Stepstones fighting the last Blackfyre.

"Trying to save us all." Domeric input while Torrhen was remembering the man's family history. "I am Domeric of House Bolton."

That caught the Burley's attention. "I know of you, you wed Ned's girl."

"I did." Domeric confirmed. "House Stark and House Bolton truly united so that we can face the true threat together."

Willam Burley gulped. "Aye, that would do it. Come on in, there is plenty of space by the fire."

They entered through the gate of Westwatch and Torrhen grimaced. From the Northern side it had looked strong, but all Torrhen saw here was a single wall jetting between the two mountains. Above the gate was the strongest of the towers, although it still had a few holes in towards the southern side of it, and the other towers were almost completely crumbled this side of the wall. There was a small courtyard bordered by a small host of buildings, but there were no southern defences. Off in the distance a single-track road weaved away up the eastern of the two mountains, presumably towards the Shadow Tower.

"It's a shithole of a castle." Willam Burley said gruffly, opening the door to the main tower for Torrhen to follow him while another man in black took the rest of Torrhen's party to a different tower to set up camp. "But it's easily defendable with less than ten men and it's close enough to the Shadow Tower that you can get there in half a day, if the weather is good."

Torrhen nodded. "I just thought it would be more impressive, being such an important location."

Burley grinned, and Torrhen noticed a couple of teeth were missing. "It's as impressive as it needs to be, boy. The Wildlings ain't got passed us yet, not without us letting them through anyway."

Torrhen grimaced again. "That's the problem I am facing, we need to let them through now."

Willam Burley's face betrayed no emotion as they entered what must have been his personal chambers and he lowered himself into a tattered armchair by the fire. "I've been on the Wall for over 4 decades now, and I've been here for 2 of them." He admitted. "I've seen my friends die at the hands of those bastards, I've seen them die at my own hands. We won't forgive easily."

"I'm not asking you to forgive, I'm simply asking you to accept that to leave them North of the Wall will make everything a lot more difficult when the Long Night comes again." Torrhen said calmly.

Willam nodded. "You are a Stark of Winterfell, long before I was a man of the Night's Watch, I was a Northman. If you say this is the way, then I will help you."

"This is the way." Torrhen said without hesitation. "We have lands they can settle, we can even have them open up the few remaining castles to give ourselves more of a presence on the Wall if the Lord Commander agrees."

"He won't." Willam admitted. "The bitterness runs too thick for Mormont to invite them to share the Wall."

Torrhen nodded. "Aye you might be right."

"I've known Jeor for many years, since we were boys." Willam explained. "He'll do the sensible thing aye, but he won't like it."

"It's convincing the rest that will be an issue." Torrhen sighed. "Starting with Ser Denys tomorrow."

The worst part about Ned being away from Winterfell for Robb was having to take court. He enjoyed helping the smallfolk where he could, but the constant debates about who owned what land, who owed somebody else a certain amount of money and the minor things like that bored him. Which is why he was surprised when one of his final petitioners came to him with a guard wielding the shield of House Dustin, a sigil that hadn't been seen properly for almost two decades.

"Lord Stark." The petitioner bowed. He was a balding man with a thick, bushy brown beard.

"Welcome to Winterfell." Robb said formally. "How can I help you?"

The man wrung his hands nervously. "My Lord, I am Callor, I have served as a steward for Barrowton since the days of Lord Willam's Father."

Robb smiled warmly. "What brings you to Winterfell, Callor?"

"Squabbles over inheritance, My Lord. I am afraid to report that Lady Dustin has passed."

Robb gripped his chair tightly as he leant back, digesting the information. "I am sorry to hear that." He said honestly.

"It has led to questions over the fate of Barrowton." Callor responded. "Lady Dustin's family as well as distant cousins of Lord Willam both claim the Barrowlands. Lord Stout has taken some form of control, but he fears that House Ryswell will likely bring a host to seize control."

Robb nodded. "And I assume the people of Barrowton do not wish for a Ryswell Lord."

Callor shook his head. "We loved and respected Lady Dustin My Lord, but she only ruled as she was Lord Willam's widow. While there are still Dustin's out there, we would rather not seat a Ryswell in Barrow Hall."

"How did the good Lady die?" Luwin asked from beside Robb.

"Our own Maester has confirmed it is Winter Fever, Maester." Callor explained.

Luwin leaned into Robb and whispered. "I have had no reports that the season has changed so quickly."

"You suspect foul play?" Robb whispered back.

"Perhaps." Luwin breathed quietly, before he turned to Callor again. "Who else has been infected?"

Callor looked confused. "Nobody had when I departed, Maester. Lord Stout and Roderick Dustin, Lord Willam's cousin, had the entire wing of the castle sealed off when Lady Barbrey's fate was determined.

Luwin gave Robb an odd look, but Robb couldn't sense any trace of dishonesty in the man from Grey Wind, and so he came to the conclusion that if there was foul play, then Callor didn't know about it. "Very well. The Barrowlands is one of our biggest regions and cannot go without a Lord for long. Ser Rodrik."

"Yes, My Lord?" Ser Rodrik Cassel answered.

"Gather 500 men that will travel with me to Barrow Hall tomorrow." Robb commanded. "I shall see to it personally that the correct Lord of the Barrowlands is picked.

Rodrik bowed. "At once My Lord." He said firmly before departing to see that it was done.

"Vayon, see to it that Callor here has chambers here in the Great Keep for tonight. We shall depart after breakfast tomorrow, Callor. You shall dine with me and my family tonight and explain more about the challengers for Barrow Hall."

Callor had a surprised smile on his face. "I would be honoured My Lord. Thank you."

"Rest up and bathe beforehand." Robb smiled. Callor bowed and was led away by Vayon Poole, and the final couple of petitioners were paraded before Robb quickly before he could end court for the week. Once that was done the Great Hall filtered out, and Robb was left alone with Luwin. "Winter Fever, what do you know of it?"

"It is a fast-acting illness, My Lord." Luwin explained. "A red flush appears in the face before a fever kicks in, and it kills people between two and four days."

"Could you diagnose it after death?" Robb asked.

Luwin shook his head. "It would be difficult having not been there to see the symptoms. But My Lord, Winter Fever is highly contagious. If nobody else has shown symptoms…"

"Then somebody is likely lying." Robb grimaced as the realisation set in. "I suspect poison."

Luwin nodded. "As do I."

Sighing, Robb got to his feet, Grey Wind close beside him. "If I could spare you from Winterfell I would have you travel with me, but I need you here. You will act as my regent for the meantime, aiding Rickon and Mother while I am gone."

Luwin bowed. "I am here to serve Winterfell. I will lend you a book on poisons, as well as a history of the worst outbreak of Winter Fever. Perhaps they will come of some use."

Robb nodded. "Thank you Maester. Get a raven to Howland Reed as well."

"My Lord?" Luwin asked.

"He is the only man I know I can trust with an extensive knowledge of poisons. I shall need his help." Robb explained. "Send it to Moat Cailin, along with a message for Cley Cerwyn to tell him to find Lord Howland."

"It will be done, My Lord." Luwin bowed. As he got back to full height he had a proud smile on his face. "You are being very decisive, your Father would be proud."

Robb appreciated that, but he knew it was premature. "He can be proud if I catch a murderer and can settle this debate as bloodlessly as possible, Maester. See that the ravens are sent today, I want this over with quickly."

"My Lord." Luwin bowed again before he left Robb alone in the Great Hall, hoping that this was just a rare case of illness and not a malicious plot within the North.

The weather at the Wall was relatively calm so Willam Burley managed to get Torrhen's group over to the Shadow Tower before high noon. It was as it was named, a large tower built from a dark black stone that loomed forebodingly off of a mountains edge. Behind the tower was the start of the Wall, also seemingly coming out of the mountain to its west. It couldn't have been more than 300 feet high here, but Torrhen presumed that the gorge to the North meant that it was rare a Wildling could truly threaten the hulking tower.

They heard a single horn blast as they approached the gates, and soon they creaked open, allowing Torrhen and his men entrance to the courtyard. It was bigger than the one at Westwatch but not by much, perhaps big enough for a dozen or so people to spar together. Those that were out all began to stare at Torrhen's party, while one older man came up towards them, he had the blackened sigil of House Tarth sewn on his leathers. "Burley, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Ser Endrew." The Northern brother bowed his head. "I found Lord Torrhen and his group crossing the Bridge of Skulls, they need to get to Castle Black."

Torrhen ignored the whispers and the stares that came from the Night's Watch brothers listening in, instead stepping forward. "First I must speak to Ser Denys." He said firmly. "He must be aware of all that is going on."

Ser Endrew eyed Torrhen curiously, but Balerion took a single step forward and growled lightly, causing Ser Endrew to nod. "Very well, follow me."

Torrhen nodded and turned to his group. "Dom, with me. Harwin, Cregan, see to it that the horses and yourselves are fed."

"Aye My Lord." Came the consenting replies, and both Torrhen and Domeric followed the Tarth knight into the Shadow Tower. They entered the centre of the tower and were met with a small cage.

"Step in. This will take you to the Commander's chambers quicker than the stairs." Ser Endrew explained as he stepped inside the cage himself. Torrhen and Domeric followed, shutting the cage gate behind him before a lever was pulled and the mechanism sprang to life, slowly lifting them upwards.

"You are from House Tarth?" Domeric asked, making conversation. "I recognise the sigil."

"Lord Selwyn's Father was my own Father's cousin." Ser Endrew explained. "Tarth is only a small island, so rather than stay under the thumb of Lord Selwyn and his… his daughter, I chose the Watch."

Torrhen didn't like the way the man had stammered as he thought of Brienne. "I have heard of the Heir of Tarth. She sounds like a formidable warrior."

"She's as ugly and ferocious as the Hound." Ser Endrew snorted. "But Lord Selwyn loves her and accepts her for who she is. I hear she performed well at both the siege of King's Landing and in the Iron Islands. I'm sure the future of my House will be strong in her hands."

Torrhen was pleased to hear that, knowing how much Brienne had meant to both his twin and his Mother. He let Domeric and Endrew converse more, knowing that the Bolton was better for that task having spent more time in the South and with their customs. Instead Torrhen focused on what he was about to say to encourage the Commander of the Shadow Tower to believe his words.

The lift stopped slowly, and Ser Endrew opened up the gate once more and directed them down a dimly lit corridor. They came to a thick oak door, whereas on the right of them was a staircase. "Through the door is the route to the Wall." Ser Endrew explained. "The staircase leads to Ser Denys' personal chambers." He began walking up the stairs, and although the lure of seeing the top of the Wall was great, Torrhen followed him. It was only a single flight of stairs and they soon reached a better decorated corridor, and Ser Endrew led them towards yet another door, knocking four times. "Ser Denys, I have Lord Torrhen Stark and Ser Domeric Bolton here to see you."

An old voice, yet strong in its conviction, called out. "Send them in." Ser Endrew opened up the doors and allowed Torrhen and Domeric in. It was a spacious chamber, and Ser Denys was sat at a desk by the roaring fire scribbling away on some parchment. He looked up as Torrhen and Domeric entered and gestured to the seats the other side of the desk. "Wine?" Torrhen shook his head, but Domeric accepted the beverage as he sat down. "I knew your grandfathers, the both of you. I fought with them in the War of the Ninepenny Kings"

"You did?" Domeric asked, surprised. "I haven't heard much about him from my Father."

Denys scratched his shaved chin in thought. "No, I suppose your Father was very young when Royce died on the Stepstones." He turned to Torrhen. "I didn't know Lord Royce Bolton very well, but I knew Lord Rickard a little better, and Lord Hoster even better than that. How is he?"

"Ailing." Torrhen said sadly. "His age catches up with him I fear."

Ser Denys sighed sadly. "A pity, he was a good Lord. My nephew still speaks highly of him."

"Lord Jason is kind. I shall let my Grandfather know how respected he is if I get another chance to meet him." Torrhen said honestly. "Until then though, we have a lot of work to do."

"I have heard of your families talks with Lord Commander Mormont." Ser Denys said cautiously. "Though I scarcely believe that, nor the talk of your powers, young Stark."

"The dead are coming, Ser." Domeric said solemnly. "I don't want to believe it either, but it is true."

"One conversation with Mance Rayder made me believe that the danger is real, my visions confirm it." Torrhen explained. "The dead march on us, and over 100,000 wildlings stand between us and them. I have no wish to give the Night King that army, and nor does my Father."

"Mance." Denys scoffed. "A traitor."

Torrhen nodded. "Aye he is, but he's a traitor that has united all the clans. Not even Raymun Redbeard did that."

"No King-Beyond-the-Wall has ever done that." Domeric added. "Until Mance."

"The Night's Watch will have a hard time with this." Denys admitted. "I have a hard time with this. I've been on the wall for almost 40 years. All that time we've been killing wildlings."

"The Wall is an impressive bit of architecture." Torrhen nodded. "But do you seriously think such a thing was built to keep out men? That's all they are, Commander. They are men born on the wrong side of the Wall. The things it was meant to keep out… they are coming again."

"We aren't asking permission." Domeric explained. "Plans are in motion, but it would be easier if the Night's Watch accept this."

"Unless we want the current generation of the Night's Watch to be the first to see the Wall fall, we must band together. The Seven Kingdom's, the Night's Watch, the wildlings. All of us side by side facing a danger of the like we haven't seen in 8,000 years." Torrhen explained.

Denys nodded. "As much as I want to ignore this, Lord Commander Mormont believes you, and your argument is a good one." He sighed. "This is truly coming?"

"I swear it, on the Old Gods and the New." Torrhen said firmly. "Winter is Coming, and it is bringing the dead."

Denys smirked at the house words. "Very well. You will find no resistance from me. Those at Castle Black currently however… that will be a different story."

Robert Baratheon was troubled. A week earlier whilst he had been out sparring with his Kingsguard a common woman had flung herself at the gates to the Red Keep crying about how the Spring Sickness had returned with a vengeance. An hour after that when Grand Maester Gormon himself had confirmed that it was a different plague, but a plague nonetheless, Robert had had the entire city locked down as if it were a siege. He was grateful, not for the first time, that he had pushed to choose Stannis as his Hand, for the Lord of Dragonstone was efficient in closing the docks, burning all the ships that had come into the city in the last fortnight, as well as ensuring that the City Guard were firm in their treatment of the commoners. A curfew had also been introduced, much to the annoyance of the population.

That was Robert's biggest issue, the morale of the people. He sat down in his chair at the small council chamber and sighed. He loved to be loved, but that mentality had made him weak and uncaring about his duties. He was a different man now however, and although he wanted nothing more than to relax his decrees, his people's safety was more important.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, and Grand Maester Gormon entered. "Any news?" Stannis asked, the only other person in the room.

Gormon nodded, all the while keeping his distance, a recommendation from the Citadel for anyone who could have come into contact with the disease. "The greatest healing minds in the Citadel have gathered at Appleton Lord Hand, it is as far as they are willing to come whilst the plague has yet to peak."

"Yet to peak?" Robert grimaced. "Fleabottom is already decimated with disease."

Gormon nodded unhappily. "We have performed good initial steps, Your Grace, by putting the city into quarantine and warning the major port cities, but there is still a long way to go. We are unsure if the dead old man I saw was the first case, or if more people carried the disease in its earliest stages and left. Until we know more, we must say that this could spread far and wide."

"How many are dead so far?" Stannis asked.

"3,000." Gormon answered. "But this is still very early stages, I would expect that number to vastly increase."

Robert shook his head angrily. "There must be something we can do."

Stannis shifted uneasily. "It has been limited to Fleabottom and the docks thus far, has it not?"

"It has." Gormon confirmed.

Stannis turned to Robert. "The last outbreak of this scale killed almost half of this city. Burn the disease out early by burning Fleabottom to the ground. The houses can be rebuilt into a safer, cleaner environment."

Robert looked horrified. "Burn Fleabottom? Have you lost your senses?"

Stannis glared at his brother. "I'm trying to protect the realm."

Robert shook his head. "I will not leave my people homeless in the faint hope that this plan works. No, homelessness will spread the disease quicker."

"We should use fire to burn the bodies however." Gormon suggested. "The Hand of the King Brynden Rivers had the right idea of burning the bodies."

Robert nodded. "Ask the smallfolk for volunteers to collect the dead and have them brought to the Dragonpit. Pay them handsomely, it is a dangerous task we are asking of them. Then go to the Pyromancers, if we are to do this, we are doing it safely."

"Your Grace." Gormon bowed before he departed the room, leaving Robert to drop his head into his hands as he tried to work out any possible way to get through this.