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Bran turned thoughtful as he stared down into the contents of his cup. "In truth, I do not know. What they've done with the Force is…unlike anything I've ever seen before. With enough 'energy', a few could be practically immortal to age, especially now that they've encased themselves in their power. The Wall will hold for a long time, both physically and through the Force. But nothing is immune to the mistress of time. Eventually, whatever protections we place on the Wall will fade. If I was them, I would sit back and consolidate my power and wait for time to ravage what defenses have been put in place. Wait for history to forget about me. That way when I came forth once more, I would be able to catch my enemies by surprise that I even exist. At least that is what I would do if I were them."
Azor nodded as if he'd been expecting the answer. "My thoughts are the same as yours, my friend. So, we need to do what we can to build up our people, and make sure they don't forget the true enemy of man."
"Easier said than done, Azor," Bran sighed. "You haven't seen what I have. Nor read the histories that I have read. Over time, no matter the race, if an enemy does not present themselves, they are forgotten about in favor of new enemies. The best we can do is leave behind what evidence we can, make sure legends will stick around, and leave our descendants the keys to defeating them when they come again. I can only hope that when they come again, whoever faces off against them won't falter like I did."
Azor nodded and raised his cup. "Then it sounds like we both have our work cut out for us in the future. Let us just hope that our descendants will be able to complete that which we failed to do."
The world around Robb pulsed, and in an instant, he found himself gone from the tent and once again in the tunnels beneath the Nightfort. Only this time, the tunnels did not look like the ones he'd been in previously. This time, the walls of the tunnels were covered in what looked like branches. 'No, not branches,' Robb thought, stepping towards the wall and running a hand along its wooden surface. 'Roots. Weirwood roots. I'm no longer just in tunnels beneath the Nightfort…I'm walking within the root system of the weirwood tree!'
Pressing onwards, Robb felt a wave of the Force wash over him. Warmth, hope…but at the same time cold and despair raged within him as the Force pulsed once. Twice. Then a third time before ceasing. And when the sensations ceased, Robb found himself standing before three beings that he knew. Three that he had just seen. The King Who Knelt, Torrhen Stark. The Hungry Wolf, Theon Stark. And the one who founded his House and created some of the greatest structures that still existed today, The Builder, Bran Stark. Each of them was now staring at him. And he felt like an insect standing before them, both in stature and importance.
"So…this is our descendant," the Hungry Wolf said, or rather spat, making Robb take a step back in surprise. "He's nothing but a pathetic boy that was squeezed out of an Andal cunt…How pathetic it is that our House has fallen to have one such as him as the future of House Stark."
The words struck Robb like a spear through the chest. Not just in their meaning, but physically. It felt like he'd been pierced as his knees quivered and he had to fight to even remain standing. "He is pathetic," the King Who Knelt scoffed. "I knelt for the good of our people. But this pathetic boy will kneel simply because he is a weak pup unable and unwilling to lead his people. Unbelievably pathetic. Our line would be simply better without him having ever been born."
"Without a doubt," the Builder nodded. "The Wall was built to protect the North and her people. And this boy has full heartedly brought those who are our enemies across it and greeted them with open arms. To think my line has fallen to this point. A foolish boy who's unable and unwilling to see what is before him and do what—"
"Shut up!" Robb shouted, or screamed, as he shot back to his feet, his breathing labored as he stood, shaking in rage and anger before three of the most prominent of his House. "I have not betrayed the North! I am not weak! You!" he screamed, pointing a finger first at Bran. "By your own admission, you failed to destroy the White Walkers and their army! So, you built the Wall. Not to save the North, but all people. The Wildlings, the Free Folk, they are living breathing people who are no more savage than some of our own nobles! They deserved the chance to live! And if you curse me for trying to save as many people as possible, no matter their birth or creed, from an enemy you failed to end…then you can go and fuck yourself!"
"And you!" he continued screaming, moving to the Hungry Wolf. "You did what you did to try and protect the North. But you are remembered as nothing more than a bloodthirsty butcherer! Yes, my mother was an Andal. But I am a Stark! A son of the North! My gods are the Old Gods and the mystery that is the Force. The cold of winter and the blood of the First Men runs through my veins! I am no more an Andal than you!"
"And as for you, King Torrhen," By this point, Robb was near panting in rage. "I would be lying if I said I was not afraid of leading the people of the North in the future. Only a fool would say they were not even the littlest bit afraid of taking on the responsibilities for hundreds of thousands of people. But unlike you…I will not kneel to the dragons who forgot their oaths! But I would and will kneel to my brother, my pack-brother, Jon Stark! A son of the North. And I would do so without hesitation because I know that he would never ask it of me!"
Taking several deep breaths to try and reign in his anger, Robb glared at the three apparitions, who were just staring back at him silently after his tirade. "Each of you," Robb continued in a calmer voice as the worst of his anger finally subsided. "Each of you did something unheard of to protect the North. Bran the Builder, you helped to fight back against the White Walkers and once they were pushed back to the Lands of Always Winter, you built the Wall across the North. And you did so not just to protect the people of the North, but all those who still draw breath. Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf…Most view you as a barbarian tyrant who slaughtered innocents and left a trail of blood wherever you walked. And while the stories are true, your motives were to protect the North from those who were seeking to conquer us by making it known that any action taken against the North would be repaid tenfold.
"And you, Torrhen Stark. The King Who Knelt. You bent the knee to the dragons to save the lives of your people. Each of you left legacies that continue even now. And while I have learned of each of you…I am not beholden to you or the ways you led the North. Times have changed. And the North must change with them. We cannot stay isolated and on our own any longer. The North has seen more advancement in my short lifetime than in centuries…Hells, perhaps longer. I am a Stark, the next Warden of the North. I will lead the North and her people in the way I deem fit. Not the way you three would have. I am my own person…I will learn from each of you…but I am not you. Nor do I intend too ever be any of you. I am Robb Stark. Son of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark. Not you. And if you three don't like that, then you can rot in the hells for all I care."
The three ancient Kings of Winter stared at him in silence. Their faces completely devoid of any emotion. Slowly, almost excruciatingly slowly, a small grin formed on Bran the Builder's face as the apparition raised his hands and began clapping. "Words easily spoken, Robb Stark, son of Eddard Stark and blood of my blood. But I can see that you indeed truly mean them. You are all I could've asked for in my descendant. And you are indeed the future of House Stark." The founder of House Stark then snapped his fingers, making both the King Who Knelt and the Hungry Wolf disappear in a cloud of mist, leaving just Robb and the ancient Stark standing face to face.
Robb spun in place, trying to figure out just what was going on. 'He…Bran hasn't disappeared…but he made the others disappear. I – Didn't Jon tell me about something exactly like this in Valyria? How – How he and Master Nox spoke to the dead Archons who were…well…ghosts? Force ghosts. Is that – Is that what is going on now? Is – Am I actually talking to Bran the Builder and not just an illusion?' "Are – Are you really here?" Robb found himself asking before he could stop himself. "I – I mean, it's obvious you are – but well, I mean…Are you a Force ghost? Is that how you're still here after eight thousand years?"
Bran's grin blossomed into a full-fledged smile as he nodded. "That I am, lad. I'm slightly surprised that you know that term. But then again, perhaps I shouldn't be considering how well trained in the Force you are. It gladdens this old heart, if I even had one that is, to see that my teachings have lasted even after eight thousand years."
"Your teachings?" Robb found himself asking, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the slightly glowing figure belonging to the founder of his House.
Bran's grin faltered. "I see…So, that is how it is," he said, sorrow creeping into his voice. "It is so hard to see beyond the Wall and my final resting place. The technique I used to keep the enemy at bay was unfortunately a double-edged sword. And seeing as how I died here at the Wall, I haven't been able to leave it, so I haven't been able to see much of what has been going on since my death. But still, the fact that my family is still going strong even after all these years, and that they've managed to produce one so powerful in the Force more than makes up for the fact that my teachings were lost. I'm sure that my friend is heartened to know that he finally got his wish in combining our bloodlines. Even if it did take eight thousand years to do so. But that is neither here nor there. I would love nothing more than to stay before you and impart all my knowledge and have you catch me up on what has happened over the ages, but I fear your Trial has drained me of what little power I had left. See?"
Bran held up his hand, and a lump formed in Robb's throat as he noticed his Founder's hand was starting to fade. "Are – Are you dying?"
Bran shook his head as his hand fell back to his side. "Kind of hard to die when you're already dead, lad. No, it's more along the lines of I've finally run out of strength to hold me to this plane. And soon I will become one with the Force, like I should have the moment I perished. But despite knowing what I should do and knowing the consequences of not doing it, I forced myself to stay behind. To resist becoming one with the Force to pass it on to one who was worthy of completing it."
"Pass what on?" Robb asked.
"My last creation." Bran answered with a smile. "Or rather, my last re-creation. I can't take credit for its original design, but I do like to think that I made improvements on it, especially given the lack of technology on this world. I built it but could never get it to work. For years I tried and failed until I eventually gave up and went home. Then, as I felt the Force calling to me, I came to the Wall and meditated. And it was here that I learned of the last piece of the puzzle that was needed. It needed a runic cluster…an obvious answer but one that eluded me. Unfortunately, just as I put the finishing touches on the cluster, my body gave out and death came for me. And – And I'm rambling. Forgive an old man, lad…It's been Force only knows how long since I've last been able to have a conversation with someone other than myself. It would figure that I would get the opportunity just as I am running out of time. Come, lad, I need to stop rambling and say and show what needs to be seen and said before I become one with the Force."
Robb was so overwhelmed with, well, everything that he could do little more than follow as the apparition of Bran the Builder turned and walked, or floated or…well moved, deeper into the tangle of roots that made up the base of the weirwood. "Where are we going?" he asked as he weaved his way through the roots, while Bran simply walked through them.
Bran suddenly stopped; bringing Robb up short as the two of them stood before a stone box nestled into the roots of the weirwood tree. 'Not a box,' Robb realized, 'Bran the Builder's final resting place.' "I – You're not in the crypts below Winterfell?" Robb found himself asking. The crypts below Winterfell were a maze of corridors that housed every Stark Lord and even some of their family members since the creation of Winterfell. And while the tomb of Bran the Builder had never been found, it was always assumed that the founder of House Stark was resting somewhere beneath the great fortress he'd created.
"That had been my wish," Bran nodded sadly. "To be resting beside my beloved for all time. But unfortunately, we rarely get what we want in the end. I ended up dying here and was buried with the key needed for my last creation as well as something else that I think you will need. Open it."
Robb nearly spit. "But – This is your final resting place! It offends the gods to disturb one's resting place!"
Bran merely waved off his concern. "Trust me, lad. The gods, if they exist, don't give two shits about corpses. And besides all that I am here and about to join the Force. What is in there is nothing more than dust and what you'll need to help you in the future. But if it makes you feel better, lad, then I give you full permission to open it and dig through my remains to your heart's content. Now hurry, lad. I can already feel the pull getting stronger and stronger…We don't have much time left and there is still much that needs to be said."
Still more than slightly uneasy with what he was about to do, Robb reached out through the Force and roughly pulled the stone tomb out from the roots of the weirwood and brought it out into the open. Not giving himself a chance to think about it, Robb immediately used the Force once more to pry the top off the stone tomb before throwing it aside. Inside the tomb lay the remains of Bran the Builder. His bones had mostly turned to dust over the ages, but parts of him remained despite the passing of ages. And within the tomb, laid out perfectly as if they still held his body, was a suit of armor that was oddly reminiscent of the armor that Lord Nox wore only…older. And laying near where one of his hands should've been, was a stone or metal tablet with intricate designs carved into its surface. But there was one thing above all else that drew his eye. And that was a small gem the size of his thumb that was embedded into the center of the chest piece of the armor. The gem was…glowing a soft blue light. And it almost seemed to be calling out to him.
"I wish that I had more to give you, lad," Bran said, breaking Robb out of his stupor. "But the best I can do is offer you this: my armor. It might be ancient by quite a few standards but judging by your look and the few glimpses I am able to get from beyond the Wall, it should still be ages ahead of anything this world can offer you. And there is one last thing I must tell you; and that is to be wary of the enemy that comes from the Far North and the Lands of Always Winter. While the foot soldiers are about as dumb as a bag of rocks, those who stand at the top are far more devious, powerful, and crafty than you can imagine. But hold true to that which binds you the strongest, the reason you fight. For only that will give you the power you need to end the threat that I failed to."
"And one last thing," Bran continued, his visage fading to the point where Robb could barely make him out in the darkened tomb. "The tablet; make sure you bring it back as well. It is the key to my last creation. Something I spent my entire lifetime trying to recreate. However, my creation is not at Winterfell. And I don't know what you call the place now. But find what should've been my tomb in the crypts of Winterfell, blood of my blood, and you will learn my story and the location of my last creation. Go with the Force, blood of my blood. And may you find the strength to end that –"
Bran's words faded into nothingness as his apparition disappeared, both from sight and from Robb's senses through the Force. Now alone, Robb squinted down into the darkness at the armor, skeleton, and tablet that was laying in the tomb. "Well…he did say that I could take them. But, by the gods…Does this feel weird. I need something to carry it all in…and I can't just leave his bones here. Bran deserves to rest in the crypts of Winterfell with all his line. Not here, forgotten beneath the Wall."
Reaching over his shoulder, Robb unclasped his cloak and laid it out on the ground next to the tomb. Taking a steadying breath, Robb reached into the tomb and began the slow process of carefully removing the armor, skeleton and tablet from the tomb, doing his best not to damage anything as he did so.
Robert may have 'turned over a new leaf', as Jon liked to say when it came to being the King his foster father wanted him to be. But it was no great secret that Robert still loathed the Small Council meetings. But in the interest of continuing on his path to improvement, and on the off chance there might be word of the Targaryens or some skirmish or other, Robert forced himself to at least attend every meeting of the Small Council. Even if he didn't stay for the entirety of the copper counting. Which was why he was currently tapping his foot impatiently as he, and the rest of the Small Council, waited for the arrival of the new appointed Grand Maester Jorge. The man was decent enough, knowledgeable, and prudent with his advice. But most importantly, the fool wasn't another Pycelle, though he did move almost as slowly as the former Grand Maester. Though unlike Pycelle, who moved slow because of his age, this new Grand Maester moved slowly because of his girth. Which, shamefully enough, rivaled Robert's own previous girth. Which he was slowly working on getting rid of. But by the gods…was it easy to put on.
The doors to the Small Council Chambers opened, accompanied by the sounds of rattling chains as the fat Maester waddled his way into the room. "A thousand apologies, your grace, my lords," the Grand Maester apologized, bowing or at least bending over his gut slightly as he shuffled his feet towards his place at the table. "I was just about to head down when I received a peculiar raven from the Wall. A raven carrying the sigil of House Stark."
Robert immediately sat up straighter in his seat. It was no great secret that he was incredibly interested in any news from the North. Specifically, from House Stark and his brother in all but blood. But ever since he'd learned that Ned and Nox had gone north of the Wall with several heirs and lords of the land, he had become hungrier than usual for any news coming from the North. "Well, don't just stand there like a pile of horse shit, man. What does Ned have to say?" Robert demanded impatiently as the Grand Maester unfurled the small raven's scroll.
The Grand Maester took a moment to read over its contents before speaking. "Lord Stark reports that he was successful in his endeavor to have peace talks with the King Beyond the Wall, Mance Rayder. An accord was struck between the North and the wildlings…and as such Lord Stark has brought five thousand wildlings south of the Wall after they swore oaths of fealty to the North. And he intends to name one of their chieftains…a woman named Val, as the new Lady of the Dreadfort."
Robert was more than slightly shocked by the news. As was the rest of the Small Council. The North and the wildlings hated each other. Hells, the wildlings were the main reason there was even still a Night's Watch in the first place! And now Ned was making peace with those people? And not only making peace, but bringing them into the fold as well? From his spot down the table, his youngest brother Renly scoffed. "Lord Stark is trying to civilize those animals? Maybe he needs some time in the south as the cold has clearly addled his brain."
"Watch your tone, Renly," Robert growled, glaring at his brother, and shutting him up immediately. "That is our Warden of the North you are talking about. And if there is any man in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms capable of taming the wildlings, it's Ned Stark."
Swallowing, Renly shrank in on himself and kept his mouth shut.
"This could have unfortunate side effects, your grace," Stannis said flatly. "The Watch has long served as an alternative to punishment for crimes committed. But with the North making peace with the wildlings, what purpose does the Watch still serve? If they serve no purpose, then what is the point in even keeping the Order around?"
"We'll cross the bridge if the issue is raised," Robert grumbled, not wanting to spend too much time on that headache of an issue. "What else does Ned have to say?"
Clearing his throat, Jorge continued with the letter. "There is…unfortunately more, your grace. The talks between the North and the wildlings…It was ambushed by an apparent rogue group of wildlings that aimed to kill Mance Rayder as well as Lord Stark and his sons."
Robert froze. "Ned and his boys?"
"All fine, your grace," Jorge added quickly. "Lord Stark reports that they received only minimal casualties…and none of them of real note. The rogue wildlings however were almost completely wiped out thanks to the quick alliance between the North and the King Beyond the Wall and his men. "
Robert felt a wave of relief, and envy rush through him. "So, Ned goes north of the Wall, makes friends with the so-called 'King Beyond the Wall'. Fucks another group of wildlings up the ass and waltzes back to the North with over five thousand new heads to add to the North. And what have any of you done recently?"
The question was made in jest, but as he thought about it, it actually had merit. Who here in this room had done anything even remotely close to what Ned had just accomplished recently? And that unfortunately included himself as well. 'Fucking hells…If Ned and Nox leave me any further behind, I'll never get close enough to even see them again.'
"We–Well, I, at least, have been cultivating relations with the people and our vassals and trying to smooth over grudges left behind in the wake of the dethroning of the dragons," Renly said lamely, trying to boost his own importance but failing miserably at it. "But I do want to get back to the wildlings. More specifically, why did Lord Stark decide to give them such a valuable plot of land as the one belonging to the former House Bolton?"
Stannis was the one who answered, his eyes narrowed as he glared at their younger brother. "If you would look at a map for a moment or take an interest in military tactics you would understand the answer to that question immediately, brother. The lands belonging to the former House Bolton are indeed valuable and maybe should have gone to another worthy vassal. But by placing the wildlings there, Lord Stark is keeping them close to Winterfell so that he can keep an eye on them. And not only that, but those lands lay between House Stark, House Manderly, House Karstark, and House Umber. Three Houses whose loyalty to House Stark is without question. Should the wildlings raise any issue, they will be immediately surrounded by House Stark and three of its most powerful vassals. And it keeps them far enough away from the Wall so that they will not be tempted to try and overthrow the Nights Watch. It was a good and logical place to put the wildlings."
Robert looked at his brother in mild astonishment. Even he hadn't reached that conclusion yet. But it made sense. And it sounded like a cautionary move that Ned would make. "Did Ned have anything else to say?"
"There…Lord Stark does have more to say," the Grand Maester said, his skin turning slightly pale for some reason. "Lord Stark…gives the reason as to why he made this truce with the wildlings and took a number under his House's protection. He…He says that the reason he took this action was…was because…"
"Spit it out, man," Robert grumbled, getting more than slightly frustrated as the man's hesitation and stuttering started reminding him of that fool Pycelle.
Swallowing, the Grand Maester read what was in the letter. "Lord Stark states that…the reason why he made this truce with the wildlings was because he has reason to believe that…that the White Walkers and their army of the dead have awoken north of the Wall."
The chamber went silent as the weight of the words settled on them. Silence that was broken quickly by the outright laughter of Renly, the snickering of Baelish and a sigh of defeat from Jon. "The White Walkers? Really?" Renly laughed. "What is next? Grumpkin's appearing and granting wishes? Or perhaps snarks trying to sneak into nurseries to steal all the children?"
"Renly. Keep your tongue behind your teeth or I'll break them all," Robert said, shooting a glare towards Renly that immediately silenced him. "Ned would not write such words in jest, nor would he make such a statement unless he knew it to be true."
"There has been discussion as of late in the Citadel between those who have forged their Valyrian steel links about the White Walkers and whether they are true or mere legends," the Grand Maester said slowly, clearly measuring each word he said. "Unfortunately, there is very little that has survived over the millennia since the White Walkers were first mentioned. But more to Lord Stark's point…Apparently, he is not alone in his thoughts. In the letter Prince Oberyn, Ser Garlen Tyrell, and Lord Nox state that they all faced and defeated a White Walker together. But before they could take it captive…it froze and shattered. Making bringing back even its corpse impossible."
Slapping his hand on the table, Robert felt a rush of excitement run through him. He may have not done much of anything since overthrowing the dragons…but even the chance to face such creatures of legend and kill them was more than enough to get him moving. "Jon, call the banners. We're heading for the Wall."
"No, we're not."
Robert froze as he stared across the table at Jon, who was sitting calmly with his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest. Granted, it wasn't unusual for Jon to deny his requests. But most of those times he didn't really mean it as Robert was able to do what he wanted too anyway. But there were a few times, like now, when Robert knew that his foster father was deadly serious in his denial.
"And why not?" Robert asked, crushing the boy within him that still cowered slightly at the thought of going against Jon. "The North – no, the realm—is in danger from these creatures a—"
"Creatures that are little more than legends right now, Robert," Jon cut back, his eyes cracking open slightly. "While the words of Lord Stark, Prince Oberyn, Lord Nox, and Ser Garlan does indeed carry weight. Words alone are not cause enough to call up the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms and march them across Westeros to the Wall. And besides, Ned did not send this letter requesting aid. He sent it to us to inform us of the issue because, even he understands that calling the banners to the Wall right now is not feasible."
Gritting his teeth, Robert pressed his knuckles against the table. The greatest threat since the damn dragons…and he was being denied his chance to face them. "We must—"
"And what happens if we do summon the banners and march to the Wall, Robert?" Jon continued over Robert's protest. "Say that the Lords of the land decided to send even half of their forces to the Wall. The Watch has decayed to the point where only three of the castles along the Wall are even habitable. Where would we post our army? How would we feed so many? And what happens when we get there and there is no enemy to face? How long do we wait? A fortnight? A moon's turn? How long do you think the men and Lords will allow themselves to freeze at the Wall, wallowing in hunger and the elements with no enemy to face before they decide to turn and leave? And after that happens, how do you expect to get them back to the Wall if these White Walkers truly do show themselves? No, Robert. We will not be calling the banners now. Nor anytime soon."
Robert wasn't willing to give up. This was a fight he wanted. No. This was the fight he needed. "I am their King! If I call the banners, they will answer!"
"Not necessarily, your grace," Stannis, law-abiding stick in the mud Stannis, countered. "The Lords followed you during the overthrowing of the dragons because your cause was just, and you had managed to turn the tide against the Mad King. They followed you again against the Greyjoys because they were raiding the shorelines from the North down to Dorne. Calling them now, to fight against an enemy that has existed only in legend for as long as there has been written word, and without evidence of their existence? The lords will either respectfully deny the call or send only a token force. We must wait, your grace, until the enemy shows his face."
Seeing he was outnumbered left him little choice but to sit back down. He hated it, but Jon and Stannis had a point. He knew that his hold on the Seven Kingdoms was not entirely secure. Hells, it was well known that there were many in the land who still referred to him as 'The Usurper'. And if he were to bring the armies of the realm to the Wall to face an enemy only heard about in legends, and then have that enemy not appear? He knew that his hold on the realm would slip even further. While he honestly would like nothing more than to hand the responsibility of ruling off to someone else, he knew that Joffrey was nowhere near ready to rule. 'And gods only know if that boy ever will be ready to rule.'
"Fine," he grumbled. "But the moment Ned sends word and proof of these creatures attacking the Wall, I will be calling the banners and bringing every able-bodied man with me to the Wall. Reputation be damned. Until then, Baelish, work your magic and find some fucking coin to send to the Wall. The Watch has been neglected by the dragons for fucking centuries. I intend to change that."
His Master of Coin frowned as he looked over the book in front of him, no doubt full of numbers and shit Robert didn't honestly care about. "That will be difficult, your grace. The crown's budget is already stretched thin enough that a stiff breeze could break it."
Twitching his finger over his shoulder, his golden shit of a squire hurried and gave him a cup of his favorite wine. "Do what you have to. But find the coin and send it to the Wall. I want at least two more of those castles habitable by the end of the year. Renly, you're Master of Law. Time to get off your fucking ass and do something. Find us men to man those castles or, brother or not, I will find someone who can."
Renly paled but nodded while Baelish merely hummed and began scratching notes in his book. "Now," he pressed on, taking a drink and glancing around the table. "What else is going on in my kingdom?"
Varys was the first to speak. "My birds have been singing a number of songs as of late, your grace. All revolving around the same topic. The arcane. It appears that it is not limited to just Lord Nox and those he has taken an interest in. There are several stories from Essos about the re-emergence of magic. And there are even a few here in Westeros who are claiming to have the capability for magic as well."
Scoffing, Renly waved the thought off. "Those men and women are mostly just charlatans. Little better than court fools who rely on sleight of hand tricks to fool their audience. Or vague words as they try to pass themselves off as some sort of greenseer."
Varys nodded. "Yes, there are a fair number of those. However, the re-emergence of magic cannot be ignored. On the less savory side of the issue, there are a few of the more devote Lords, Ladies and religious folk who have taken afront to those who claim to use magic. There have even been stories of torturing and even witch burnings of those who have announced their ability to use magic."
Slamming his cup down, Robert felt a fire burning within him as he shot Renly a very pointed look. "I want execution by burning to be outlawed. Now." The method reminded him far too much of the fucking dragons and the Mad fucker who got off on it. "And send out reminders that anyone who takes the law into their own hands without a proper trial will face the king's justice. And just being able to use magic or being from a specific land is not enough to find a person guilty. Jorge, write up the decree by the end of the day and I'll sign it. I want the decree sent out immediately."
"It will be as you say, your grace," Varys nodded before folding his hands in front of him. "There has been another song sung that I have heard a number of times. A man whose power is not just tricks. I have no less than five accreditable accounts of his powers in action. It seems this man can see past events. And events that have not yet come to pass. The first song I heard was when he went to a small keep and exposed the Lady of the keep of adultery. The Lord didn't believe him of course, but the man was able to lead the Lord to a secret meeting between the Lady and her lover. The man was then able to tell the Lord of several past instances of their meeting up, and even showed proof that her children were by her lover, not the Lord of the keep. The next time he appeared, it was at a village that was experiencing a severe drought. The man was able to show them exactly where to dig a well to bring water to the village. Another time he arrived at a village just in time to warn them to evacuate and hide in the hills. That night a group of bandits descended on the village. The homes were burned, but thanks to the warning, no lives were lost. And the man was able to help the local Lord hunt the bandits back to their hideaway and bring them all to justice."
Robert's interest was piqued by this point. "And who is this man?"
"He has given up his name," Varys replied. "But before he started wandering, he was a Septon from somewhere in the crownlands. Though I haven't been able to track down his origins exactly. He has also started to garner quite the following. Those that follow him refer to him as the 'High Sparrow', the messenger of the Seven."
Standing vigil on one of the few remaining walkways of Castle Black, Ned Stark kept his eyes firmly trained on the west as he waited for any sign of his eldest son returning. It'd already been four days and nights since he'd departed, and yet still there was no sign of him. The only reason he hadn't gone after his son was a combination of keeping the peace between the Free Folk and the Night's Watch, and the words Nox had laid upon him when he'd first heard that Robb had taken off on his own. This was Robb's trial. Something he had to do on his own. A passage to manhood of a sorts. By now, he really understood what Alim had meant. As much as this trial was for Robb, it was also for him. It was his trial to see if he could trust in his son's ability enough to let him do this on his own.
Feeling a familiar presence approaching him, along with the light crunching of snow, Ned turned his head just enough to watch as Jon walked up beside him before staring out towards the west. "Father. Has there been any sign?"
"No." Ned replied, again fighting the urge to grab the nearest horse and ride west to find his son.
"He's fine, father…I can feel it," Jon muttered softly, his eyes closing for a brief moment before opening once more. "But with the Wall so close…I can't tell how far away he is. It's so…odd."
"It's enough to know his heart still beats." It was a lie. But he wasn't about to say that. "And where is your spearwife? She normally does not let you stray far from her side."
Jon's face turned slightly red, and not from the cold. "She – umm. Well, she's around. She said that she gets bored when I go and talk with Maester Aemon. So, when I told her that I was going to speak with him, she said that she would find something more interesting to do."
"And did you speak with the Maester?" Ned knew exactly who Maester Aemon was. He knew that his son enjoyed talking with the aged man. It was something that Ned wanted to encourage. It was good for Jon to realize that part of his family, part of who he was, wasn't all monsters.
"No. Well, yes." Jon quickly retracted. "I went to his quarters, but he was asleep. And I didn't want to wake him. So, so, I thought you might like some company considering most of the others have left."
Appreciating the gesture, Ned turned away from his son and back out west as his mind wandered. After all the Free Folk had sworn their oaths, the other lords and ladies of the North began departing back for their lands. It started with Lady Maege Mormont heading west along the northern side of the Wall with the giants and newly knighted Ser Daemon Sand. Their destination the Bridge of Skulls to lead the giants across and then onwards to Bear Island. His other lords began departing one after another soon after until the only family to stay behind was Lord Forrester and his sons. And that was only because Asher Forrester, who had proved himself a true man of the North, were going to head to Winterfell anyway so that the lad could be married by Ned himself to Gwyn Whitehill.
"And what will you do when we return to Winterfell, and you are once again in the presence of Princess Arianne?"
Ned wasn't blind. He knew his sons perhaps better than they knew themselves. He knew that Jon was incredibly attracted to the Dornish Princess, just as Robb was smitten with the Lady Maegyr. In a way, it was refreshing for his sons to have such a…normal problem all things considered. While he knew that it wasn't uncommon for Dornish to take paramours, or for the Free Folk to apparently have group partnering. He hoped that he'd taught Jon well enough to not expect such a thing to happen. If it did…he wouldn't stand in its way. But he just hoped Jon wasn't expecting it to happen.
"I – I haven't thought – well, I have been thinking of Arianne but…gods…I don't know what to do, father," Jon sighed, clearly defeated. "I–I think I love Arianne. When I think of her, my heart races and I feel like I can do anything if it would please her. And it's not just because she's beautiful. She's wicked smart. Smarter than most would probably think. And Ygritte…It's only been a short time…but I'm starting to feel the same about her. I just – father…I just don't know what to do and – wait…what's that? Over there?"
Squinting off into the distance, Ned quickly saw what Jon was pointing towards. A small dark shape on the western horizon that was slowly moving towards them. And beside the dark shape was a second…grey shape that was bounding in and out of the snow.
Ned did not remember his descent from where he was standing, nor did he remember the path they took through Castle Black. All he knew was one moment he and Jon were standing next to one another upon one of the walkways, and the next they were both standing outside the limits of Castle Black, rushing towards the hunched over figure of Robb on his horse. "Robb!" Ned called out urgently, making his son raise his head.
Robb lifted his head and managed a single word, "Father." Before falling forward and rolling off his horse.
Ned barely managed to catch him. With Jon's help, the two managed to get Robb to his feet with one arm slung over each of their shoulders. Beside them, Grey Wind, Ghost, and Winter began their own little reunion. "Are you injured, son?" Ned asked, fighting to keep any panic from showing.
"No," Robb replied, shaking his head. "Just…tired…I – I haven't slept since I left and – and I was doing everything I could to keep my horse and Grey Wind going despite not – not resting."
"That was a foolish thing to do, Robb," Ned chastised his son, though he was unable to put any heat into his voice as he held onto him. "Even the strongest amongst us have limits and need to rest."
While he and Jon helped Robb towards Castle Black, their presence was starting to be noticed as several Black Brothers and men of House Stark started coming out from within the fortress with Benjen and Nox leading them. "Gods, lad!" Benjen exclaimed, giving Robb a once over. "Get him to the Maester, Ned. He's got warm beds and probably knows what to do with him better than any of us. We'll take care of his horse."
"Wait! Th – the bundles…on my horse—!"
"They'll be taken care of, Robb," Ned said, cutting him off. "We need to get you to the Maest—"
"No!" Robb said with more urgency. "One – One of the bundles…It contains the bones of Bran the Builder. The founder of House Stark."
Despite the situation, Ned found himself going still. As did many of the Black Brothers and all of the men of House Stark. "What did you say?"
Standing up straighter, Robb looked around with a tired, yet proud look on his face. "They contain the bones of Bran the Builder. He – A tomb was built for him in Winterfell…yet he perished at the Nightfort and they buried him there at the base of the weirwood. I – He deserved to be with his House, so I – I brought his bones back with me. And the–the other bundle…Lord Nox. Y–You will want to look at it. I–I think Bran the Builder might…might have been like you."
There was a hidden meaning in his son's words. But now Ned was too exhausted with worry and relief that Robb had returned to ponder the meaning behind them. "We can discuss this in the morning. After you have rested, Robb."
"Aye," Robb agreed, his body slumping more between himself and Jon. "A nice…A nice rest sounds good ri–right about…" He was asleep before he could finish his thought. His body going completely limp and forcing Ned and Jon to outright carry him the rest of the way to the Maester so that he could lay down and rest.
'You did it, Robb,' Ned thought as they brought him into the Maester's quarters and maneuvered Robb's sleeping form onto the bed. 'You passed your trials, my son. Rest now… And when you wake, I feel like we will be having a long, long discussion about what you experienced.'