GOT : Chapter 87

( Daeron )

Jon watched as an eerie silence swept over Moat Cailin. Dawn had barely broken, and one could still make out the numerous fires all around the ruined fortress.

He had come here once, a very long time ago. The towers were still in the same state of disrepair, and the marshes surrounding the fortress were still as imposing and impenetrable as ever, towering into the clouds of fog that surrounded the place.

He'd come here with Robb, and they had played at war, with them recreating the battles that had taken place here, under these walls, where a hundred Andal armies had been crushed time and time again. Sansa and Arya were too young to travel, and as such, it was only them two.

And from playing at war, both of them found themselves fighting one. Both of them kings, both of them only for a moment.

Still, Robb was dead, and Jon was not. The Stark line was far from extinct. Rickon was alive and safe in Winterfell. Without the Ironborn or Free folk as a threat, Rickon should be safe. He had left five thousand men with him to be sure.

With the threat north of the Wall, and the Stony Shore which still needed to be protected despite the Ironborn decrease in raiding activity, all Jon was able to bring south was fifteen thousand men.

He hoped that it would be enough. Scattered across the plains and marshes around Moat Cailin were Northmen hailing from every corner of the North: White Harbor, Karhold, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square…

And they were a mess to deal with. Jon almost regretted the quarrels of the Night's Watch, but still. He made sure to separate the most annoying elements. Dustin, Ryswell, Liddle, Wull, Manderly…so many rivalries to deal with and to properly manage. Not to mention the small contingent of free folk who were eager to follow Jon south.

It had taken all the politicking and persuasion to convince the northern lords to allow the free folk to gather three hundred men and women who would fight under the Stark banner. Jon knew he was playing a dangerous game. 

The northern lords had not welcomed the free folk with open arms, and he knew there was still bad blood between many of the clans that had submitted to him, at least in theory.

He sighed deeply, smoke coming out of his breath as the cold started to set in, the snow cracking under his feet while he continued his slow walk around camp.

The free folk issue was dealt with, for now. To his greatest chagrin.

He remembered Val, her silken blonde braids falling on her back. Her full lips and wide hips. The face she made when he made love to her, pressing her onto the walls of Winterfell's keep…a great prize…a king's prize to be sure. The princess of the wildlings, as some would have called her…right there.

Were he a free man, he would have taken her, stolen her just like the free folk custom wanted. He would have married her in the Winterfell godswood. 

He would have loved her, more than he would have Ygritte. They would have had children that could have been raised alongside Rickon's, or perhaps they would have found a cadet branch of the Starks. The Dreadfort and Moat Cailin would have made good keeps and Rickon would have been eager to reward him.

But Jon wasn't a free man. He was Lord Regent of the North, a man who needed, now more than ever, to lead by example. And such a man could not marry a wildling.

He could have…perhaps…just maybe have argued that Val brought with her the allegiance of all wildlings, but even that was just a fickle fantasy. Val brought Mance's tribe and its allies, and not much else. 

Mance's feat of uniting all the tribes was tremendous, but even now many are those who have criticized his decision to take Jon's offer, and Mance's power was not as strong as it once was. When this was all over, the free folk would scatter back north of the Wall, and everything would start again.

No. Jon could not have wed a wildling. The northern lords would have had his head, or at least forced him to step down from the regency. At least, that's what a few of them told him.

Would they have followed through with it, considering he was now their greatest asset? Perhaps not. But many could just as well have turned tail and stayed home. And he needed their help to relieve Riverrun and essentially plunder the Reach. 

A dragon could win a battle, but the men needed to win the peace. His ancestors, Jon still had difficulties even thinking of that, did not magically solve all their problems with dragons, after all.

He thought about Arya in Riverrun. How scared she must be, not knowing what has been going on in the North. Several times he thought about writing a quick raven and sending it south to let her know that Rickon was alive and that he was coming to have her and her mother brought home.

But he needed the secrecy. No one could know about Winter.

This was the greatest game of all. One that he needed to play to perfection. While news kept trickling in from the South, both good and bad, with news of Arya being rescued but the Lannisters receiving important reinforcements likely aimed to isolate Riverrun thanks to assistance from the Tyrells, he could not let slip that the North was united, rid of the Ironborn and had a dragon to boot.

He had to keep the facade of a realm on the brink of collapse, flooded with wildlings and whose holds were all under a state of siege.

As such, he kept Winter out of sight of the eastern coast, where trade vessels kept coming into White Harbor. He hunted with him on the western shore, around Sea Dragon Point and Bear Island, hunting deer, bears, and shadowcat alike. Sometimes, they would fly over the ocean and encounter an Ironborn ship.

Jon didn't like it, but he needed to burn them. Kill them to the last. There could be no survivors. Could be no one to tell the tale.

He got used to the smell of burnt flesh and ash, to the glacial winds freezing every bone in his body as Winter dove towards the poor ships. It had taken less time for him to get accustomed to that than flying it, ironically.

But men talked, and as such, Jon had to close the North. Do not let anyone leave, and let few enter. White Harbor had been closed to any non-northern traffic, at least for the time needed for Winter to make his appearance south. Lord Manderly was not happy, and to be fair, neither was he. Trade was essential to the North in these times, but he could not take chances.

For now, the story held. The wildlings had crossed the Wall and Jon was gathering an army to relieve Winterfell, and the wildling bands were raiding the countryside, making the North a very undesirable place to be.

His only hope was that it would all end soon. That he could drop the charade and reveal his asset to the world.

A scream came from above him. Jon looked above and saw Winter, circling over Moat Cailin like a hawk looking for a mouse on the ground below. He had grown massively, and Jon didn't know who or what to thank for that. Even Samwell's careful examination of all the books in the Winterfell library had failed to find an explanation for it.

Which is why they needed to strike soon. Strike hard and fast at the forces threatening Riverrun, and then move on the Reach while they have their breeches down. Surely they would not expect Jon to turn there, instead of either going to the capital or the Westerlands to finish what Robb had started.

He knew a lot of lords liked the second option. Grab gold and silver and riches for themselves with Winter's help. Good, Jon thought, but what good were silver and gold if you could not buy anything useful? And who would trade with them? 

The only option would be Braavos, and he doubted their surplus could come in time to feed his people and army. He needed the Reach. And if he had to burn every holdfast and castle to get that grain, he would.

"Lord Regent." A tall man clad in Hornwood colours approached. "The council is waiting for you."

"I'll be there in a moment, Ser Daryn." Jon nodded back.

He sighed again, looking at the old towers once more. Had these towers seen their fair share of dragons? He knew Alysanne Targaryen and Jacaerys Velaryon both went North, so there was a chance at that. His ancestors had flown here before him.

His ancestors...it all just felt unreal. But did Winter not land on his shoulder? Did Lord Reed not tell him the truth his fat...uncle concealed him all these years? The blood of the dragon…Daeron Targaryen. Surely, he should not need this name to exert the toll he was going to ask of the southron kingdoms. 

He was nothing more than a bastard, dragon, or no dragon. The Stark name was the only one he would carry south. He would carry the vengeance of Ned Stark and that of Robb. That of Bran too, wherever he is. That of Sansa, still held hostage by the Lannisters who would no doubt try to negotiate with him over her.

These thoughts troubled him. Would he accept peace if Sansa was returned to him? Surely, she would have suffered enough. Two years at the hands of these monsters…but he knew his opinion mattered little here too. The North would not bend the knee again, that much was clear when talking with his lords.

So many problems, so few solutions… he trailed as he entered the large tent hosting the war council. 

Inside were his main battle commanders: Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, Benfred Tallhart, Dacey Mormont, Wendel Manderly, Rodrik Ryswell, Hugo Wull, and finally, his squire, young Gawen Glover, the heir to Deepwood Motte, who looked out of place with his small stature amidst these towering giants.

"Lord Regent." Wendel Manderly nodded when Jon entered.

"My lords and ladies." Jon nodded back.

"We were waiting for you in order to discuss the plans from here on out." Benfred Tallhart cut in.

"The plan is quite simple." Jon walked towards the large table in the middle of the tent. "Our fifteen thousand men shall march at night, hiding during the day, straight towards Riverrun. 

This means through the Twins and Seagard. Once you have reached Seagard, you will send a raven to me, at Greywater Watch, using one of the ravens Lord Reed has given you care of. It will know how to find the moving keep.

I will then fly with Winter to join you south of Seagard, under the cover of night, still. We shall then be able to strike hard and fast at any forces attempting to cut off or isolate Riverrun, and thus free the Riverlands thanks to our quick strike on our enemies."

Jon looked at them, trying to get a sense of the general atmosphere.

"Any questions?" he asked. "Lord Ryswell, perhaps?"

He could see that the Lord of the Rills had been sulking and looking particularly weary during the short moments spent in the room.

"I do not doubt that with your dragon, our victory is assured, Lord Regent." Lord Ryswell winced. "But what do we do after?"

"We free our men from the Riverlands and add them to our numbers. The Riverlands should free themselves. We can then move on the Reach…"

"Pardon me, Lord Regent." Rodrik Ryswell cut in again. "But how would the Reach be useful? Better plunder the Westerlands for all their worth and carry out our weight in gold."

"Grain is more valuable than gold at this moment, my lord." Jon winced, cannot believing he is going to have this conversation again. 

"Our stocks are good, but the Ironborn have done damage to them. They have burnt down the last harvests and some of our stocks. Not to mention that we now have a hundred thousand extra mouths to feed, and possibly more.

At the current rate, and with this winter promising to be the harshest in recent memory, I have no doubt that we will run short of food by spring. We, therefore, need the Reacher grain to replenish our stocks and make sure that every Northman can eat at will during the winter."

Jon made sure not to mention the Others. Just like the free folk, they were a touchy subject, if not more! Thus, he just dangled the threat of a harsh winter in front of Rodrik Ryswell and was content to leave it at that. 

The true reason he needed the grain was to keep his armies and the people as well-fed as possible. He didn't want walking corpses to fight actual ones.

"And how will we do that?" asked Dacey Mormont. "Getting the grain, I mean."

"Well, if they do not wish to get their castles torched, I believe they'll even put the transportation means at our disposal!" Jon replied simply, earning a few chuckles. 

"But bear in mind, my lords, this will not be pretty. The war we are about to engage on the Reach is not one worthy of any songs. It is a war where we come to take. 

We are here not to rape or slaughter, but we are here to raid that breadbasket for all that it is worth. Not until every single crop that we can carry is brought to the North will we stop.

And it will not be pretty. We will raid, we will take and we will leave. And although we will not burn or slaughter, there is little doubt in my mind that this will not be like any war you have fought before. 

We are not here to take an enemy to battle and defeat him. We are here to avoid battle if possible, in order for us to take as much as we can in our path."

"In short we ain't goin' to be killin' no southrons." Hugo Wull frowned.

"We kill only those who stand in our path." Jon nodded. "Do not expect any great battle or to get great glory. The survival of the North depends on it."

Gawen brought him a plate with some bread and eggs, with Jon nodding in thanks, taking a bite out of the bread, while his audience was murmuring.

"You have made your plan clear, Lord Regent." Rickard Karstark nodded. "But once we have plundered the Reach, what will we do?"

"That remains to be seen." Jon simply replied. "I hope to be able to have secured our allies' flank for some time. If not, I shall burn as many armies as needed to stop them from setting foot in Riverlander territory. 

As for the crown… seven hells take it! They can have it as long as they give me back Sansa and recognize the North as an independent kingdom."

There were murmurs of agreement. Simple, really. These were the same terms Robb sent the Lannisters. However, this time…Jon had Winter. And he was about to give a whole new meaning to his house's words.

Jon had Gawen distribute some ale to everyone before they set off for the Neck. There were a few cheers and a toast given by one of the lords, but Jon only paid half attention. His mind was on Arya and Sansa. 

He still had a sacred duty to save them, to bring them back to Winterfell with Rickon, where he hoped they would be safe again, at least, until the Others came.

And if anyone stands in his way, well…Lannister, Tyrell, Martell or Baratheon…it doesn't matter. They will all burn before any more harm comes to his family. That, he can promise.

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