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"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 156: The King of the North
The Great Hall of Winterfell was cold.
It was always cold now, it seemed. The fires burned day and night, and the thick tapestries that lined the walls kept out some of the wind, but the chill had seeped into the very stones, into the bones of the ancient keep. The maesters said it was going to be the longest and coldest winter in living memory. The smallfolk said it was the end of the world.
Ned Stark sat at the head of the long table, his hands clasped before him, his eyes fixed on the map that covered its surface. It was a map of the North, covering every river, every mountain, every holdfast and keep.
Small markers had been placed upon it, representing the forces that had been mustered, the supplies that had been gathered, the scouts that had been sent.
'King of the North,' he thought, the title still strange on his tongue. 'I never wanted this. I never asked for this.'
But the lords had demanded it. When he had declared the North's independence from the Iron Throne, they had knelt before him, had sworn their swords to his cause. They had called him King in the North, the first since Torrhen Stark had knelt to Aegon the Conqueror three centuries ago.
He had not wanted the crown. He had wanted only to protect his people, to prepare them for the darkness that was coming. But the crown had been thrust upon him all the same, and he had accepted it because refusing would have fractured the fragile alliance he had built.
'A king without a kingdom,' he thought bitterly. 'A crown of ice and snow.' Ned now understood his old friend Robert a lot better.
He looked around the table at the men and women gathered there. His council. His advisors. The people who would help him lead the North through the darkest winter it had ever known.
Catelyn sat at his right hand. Her auburn hair was starting to become streaked with grey, but her blue eyes were still sharp. She had aged in the past years… they all had, but she remained his strongest support, his wisest counsel.
Robb sat beside her, his son, his heir. He was a man now, or nearly so. The boyish softness had faded from his face, replaced by a hard edge that spoke of battles fought and lives lost. He had grown into a leader, a warrior, a true Stark.
Across the table sat Maester Wolkan, the new maester who had been sent from the Citadel to replace the fallen Maester Luwin. He was younger than Luwin had been, quieter, more cautious. But he was competent, and he had proven himself loyal.
Next to him sat Wylis Manderly, the eldest son of Lord Wyman of White Harbor. He was a large man, though not as large as his father, with a thick beard and shrewd eyes. White Harbor was the North's only true city, its only port of significance. The Manderlys controlled the sea, and so they deserved a seat at his council.
Lord Rickard Karstark sat at the far end of the table, his face hard and weathered. He had never forgiven the Lannisters for the way they had treated the Starks, and he had been one of the loudest voices demanding independence.
And beside him sat a small, quiet man in robes of green and brown. Howland Reed. The Lord of Greywater Watch. The man who controlled the Neck.
'The most important man in the North right now,' Ned thought.
After the North declared independence from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms (six now), the Neck had become a frontier, and Greywater Watch was the first line of defense, along with Moat Cailin.
Howland Reed rarely left his ancestral home, rarely spoke to anyone outside his own family. But he had come to Winterfell when Ned had called, had knelt when the others had knelt, had sworn his loyalty. And he had brought with him the knowledge of the Neck…every secret path, every hidden passage, every place where an army could be ambushed and destroyed.
"Your Grace," Maester Wolkan said, pulling Ned from his thoughts. "If I may begin with the reports from the south?"
Ned nodded. "Proceed."
The maester cleared his throat and unrolled a scroll. "We have received word from our scouts in the Riverlands. The Lannisters have consolidated their forces at Harrenhal. There are reports of a large army being mustered, perhaps twenty thousand men, perhaps more. They appear to be preparing for a campaign."
"A campaign against whom?" Robb asked.
"It is not clear, my lord. Some say they mean to march north, to crush our rebellion. Others say they are preparing to defend against an attack from the east…from the Targaryen queen and her dragons."
"Let them prepare," Rickard Karstark growled. "If they march north, they will break against the Neck like waves against a cliff. The crannogmen will see to that."
He glanced at Howland Reed, who nodded slowly but did not speak.
"Lord Reed," Ned said. "What is your assessment of the Neck's defenses?"
Howland Reed looked up, his eyes dark and unreadable. "The Neck is as it has always been, Your Grace. A maze of swamps and bogs, of hidden paths and shifting ground. No army can cross it without our permission. We have reinforced Moat Cailin. Now the towers are manned, the walls repaired. The causeway is the only safe passage, and we control it."
"How many men do you have?" Robb asked.
"Enough," Howland Reed said. "The crannogmen know every inch of the Neck. We can strike from the shadows, vanish into the mists, bleed an army dry before it ever reaches the North."
"Good," Ned said. "We will need every advantage we can get. If they actually decided to come here." But the South was his only concern.
The conversation turned to other matters.
"The harvest was poor again, as expected," Maester Wolkan said, his voice heavy. "The cold has killed much of the grain. We have enough to last the winter, as long as it doesnt go for far too long. But if we are forced to feed an army as well..."
"We will manage," Catelyn said. "We have stored what we could. The Mountain clans have sent what they can spare. White Harbor has opened its granaries."
"For now," Wylis Manderly said, his voice rumbling. "But my father warns that the supply will not last forever. If this winter is as long as the maesters fear, we will need to find other sources of food. Trade with the East is becoming more difficult thanks to the Dragon Queen's reckless conquests."
"We can fish," Robb suggested. "The rivers and lakes are not yet frozen solid. We can hunt. We can-"
"We can do many things," Ned interrupted. "But we must prioritize. Until the war is over, the army comes first. The people second. We will find a way."
He looked at the map, at the markers representing the food stores, the armories, the forges. "What of our weapons? Our armor?"
"We have been forging day and night," Maester Wolkan said. "The smiths of Winterfell, of White Harbor, of every holdfast in the North have been conscripted. We have enough swords and spears to arm every man who can fight. But the dragonglass you requested..." He hesitated. "That's more difficult. Most of the supply of that mineral is on Dragonstone Island, and the Crown controls it now."
"Dragonglass is useless against anything but the dead. What do we need so much of that stuff for?" Rickard Karstark said dismissively. "The dead are not our concern. The Lannisters are."
"The dead are also our concern," Ned said, his voice sharp. "The Lannisters are a distraction. The true enemy lies beyond the Wall. I have seen it with my own eyes, and so have you."
Karstark's jaw tightened, but he did not argue. He had seen the wight, had watched it move and kill and die. He knew the truth, even if he did not want to accept it.
"We have sent word to the Citadel," Maester Wolkan continued. "We have requested more dragonglass, more information about the Others. But the Citadel has not responded."
"They will not respond," Howland Reed said quietly. "The maesters do not believe in the Others. They think it is a fairy tale, a legend from the Age of Heroes."
"Then they are fools," Ned said. "And their foolishness will cost them their lives."
"The Iron Islands," Robb said, changing the subject. "What news from the Iron Islands?"
Maester Wolkan consulted another scroll. "Strange movements, my Prince. The Iron Fleet has been seen sailing back and forth between the islands and the west coast. Dozens of ships, perhaps more. But they have not attacked any of the coastal towns as they used to do."
"They have not attacked?" Ned repeated. "That is unlike them."
"The Ironborn have not raided our shores in months," Wylis Manderly said. "Not since before the harvest. We thought they were preparing for winter, like everyone else. But now..."
"They are preserving their forces," Howland Reed said. "They are preparing for something."
"For what?" Robb asked. "An invasion?"
"Perhaps…," Ned said. "Euron Greyjoy is not a man who sits idle. He is planning something. Something big. I wouldn't be surprised if he had allied with the Lannisters."
"We should send scouts," Robb said. "We should find out what he is doing."
"We have sent scouts," Maester Wolkan said. "None have returned."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"There is one more matter," Ned said, his voice quieter now. "Bran and Jon. Is there any word?"
The room fell silent. Everyone looked at the maester.
Maester Wolkan shook his head slowly. "No, Your Grace. No ravens, no riders, no word of any kind. They left Winterfell three months ago, heading south. Since then... nothing."
Ned felt his heart clench. His sons. His boys. Out there somewhere, in a world that had gone mad.
"They could be dead," Rickard Karstark said bluntly. "The roads are dangerous. The Lannisters have spies everywhere. If they were captured-"
"They were not captured," Catelyn said, her voice sharp. "If they had been captured, we would have heard. Cersei would have made sure of that. She would have sent us their heads, or demanded a ransom, or..." She trailed off, unable to finish.
"My wife is right," Ned said. "If Cersei had them, we would know. The fact that we have heard nothing means they are still free. Still alive."
Or still hiding," Robb said. "Bran would not tell us where they were going. He said only that it was important. That the fate of the world depended on it." He shook his head. "He would not even tell us what he was looking for."
"He said he had to find someone," Catelyn said quietly. "Someone who could help. But he would not say who."
Ned frowned while thinking about his son. He had been acting so strange after returning from his journey beyond the wall.
Whatever happened to him there had changed him, turned him into a completely different person.
He was at least relieved to know that Jon was accompanying him in his journey south.
Ned looked at the map again. At the markers representing the North, the Riverlands, the Iron Islands. And beyond them, far to the south, the capital. King's Landing.
'Bran…what are you trying to accomplish now?. What happened to you?
<><>
The meeting continued for another hour.
They discussed the fortifications at Moat Cailin, the repairs to the Northern fortresses that had been abandoned for generations, the training of new recruits. They discussed the Mountain clans, who had pledged their swords to the Northern cause. They discussed the Umbers, the Boltons, the Hornwoods…all the houses that had answered Ned's call.
But through it all, Ned's mind kept drifting back to his sons.
'They are out there,' Ned thought. 'Fighting a war that no one else understands. And I am here, sitting in a hall, arguing about grain stores and sword counts.'
He felt useless. He felt helpless. He felt like a king without a kingdom, a lord without a purpose.
But he could not show it. He could not show weakness. His people needed him to be strong.
"Your Grace?"
Ned looked up. Maester Wolkan was watching him, his expression concerned.
"Are you well?"
"I am fine," Ned said. "Continue."
The maester nodded and resumed his report.
And Ned listened, and nodded, and made decisions, and tried not to think about his sons.
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