Part XII: Jon
When he saw the castle great castle walls in the distance, Jon could not suppress a smile. It had been several years since he had last seen Winterfell, and it was here he would begin his latest assignment; since the death of the old recruiter Yoren, Jon had been assigned to take his place, at least for a time. A small price to pay, Jon thought, for a chance to journey throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and most importantly, to attend the wedding of his sister Arya.
A horn blasted to announce his arrival, and he was met at the gate by a young girl, about his age, with a bow and spear strapped to her back. She bowed slightly.
“Greetings, Jon Snow; I am Meera of House Reed, Commander of the Guard and Advisor to the Lord of King’s Landing; Winterfell has been eager for your return. Lord Brandon will join us shortly.”
Jon nodded. “Thank you, my lady. I am honored to be here.” Then he laughed. “Good. Now that we have finished all the formal pleasantries, may I come in?”
Lady Reed smiled. “Of course, my lord.”
“I am no lord.” She giggled; half-heartedly, though, as if something was bothering her.
“As you say, Jon.” As they walked through the gates, she said. “I am surprised that you were able to attend. Did you not originally say that the Watch was choosing its new Lord Commander, and that because of that, you were unable to attend the wedding?”
“Aye. Although by accepting the duty of recruiter temporarily and having my friend Sam cast my vote for me, I was able to clear my schedule enough to attend. And,” he added with a smile, “I am sure that Allister Thorne and Janos Slynt were more extremely happy to be rid of me.”
Before Meera could ask him to elaborate, a horse turned the corner and approached them, flanked by a guard of seven, with Hodor – good old Hodor – standing directly to the right of the lead horse. “Welcome home, brother.” He looked stiff and formal, very solemn…no, not solemn. Troubled.
Jon dismounted his horse and bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace. I have been eagerly awaiting this day for many months, ever since I received the royal invitation.”
Bran nodded grimly. “I know, Jon. Which is why I regret that we must receive you today in such times of despair.”
Jon looked at Bran with a blank stare. “Despair? When I left the Wall barely a moon ago to journey here to Winterfell, I had received word that Robb had captured Lord Tyrell in battle and subdued the armies of the Reach, that the Queen was with child, and that we were to celebrate Arya’s wedding to a Dornish prince. I do not know of anything to despair about.”
Bran sighed. “As you said, a moon’s turn has passed since then. Stannis’s army overran everything south of the Twins while Arya and her betrothed were passing through the Riverlands. We have not heard from her, and I fear that she may be dead.”
After delivering the news, Bran insisted they go inside and escape the brisk autumn air, and discuss the matter over dinner.
Dead. There was no way his sister was dead, not Arya. He did not believe; he could not believe it.
After he was settled in the room provided to him – his old room, surely not a coincidence – Jon went to the godswood; he wanted a place to sit and think. To his surprise, it was not empty.
When he saw Meera, he turned to leave, but she saw him. “Come and sit.” So he stayed and sat next to her, on a log just beside the pool of water.
“I know this is not the homecoming you expected. Aye, I know how close the two of you were.” Jon said nothing, merely staring into the depths of the pool. “She still carried the sword, you know. The one you gave her.
Needle.”
Jon nodded. “She never was like her sister Sansa, always wanting to train with a sword than learn to be a ‘proper lady’ like most highborn girls.” He laughed softly. “She was a better shot with a bow than all her brothers.”
Meera laughed again. Jon looked at her as she gazed into the pool. She had a pretty face – pretty enough, at least – but what was really striking were her eyes. Aesthetically, there was nothing all that unique about them. No, they were nothing special, but they contained a certain toughness, a certain wildness, a certain strength, unmatched not only among most women, but amongst many men as well. In a way, she reminded him of Ygritte – strong-willed, tough, and most importantly, willing to do whatever was necessary.
And then Jon knew what must be done.
Later that night, after dinner, Jon announced his plan.
“Why is everybody sitting here feeling sorry for yourselves? Aye, she may be dead, but we do not know – she may still live.”
“Jon, I know how strongly you feel about this,” Maester Luwin said, “but surely she is dead, as is her betrothed. Lord Walder’s men searched the area for days, and found only Queen Roslin, barely clinging to life, covered in blood, and is still too weak to leave the Twins – and she did not fight in the battle. Give up your false hope; she is gone.”
Angrily, Jon rose from his seat. “Truly, she may be dead, but we are not. If she is dead, she must be avenged.”
“King Robb can take care of that with his armies, Jon,” Luwin interrupted.
“Aye. And if she still lives, in Stannis’s custody, Stannis will not let her live if he looks to be defeated. If Arya still breathes, and is to be saved, only a small raid can do it.”
“But you are a brother of the Night’s Watch and cannot interfere,” Bran pointed out.
Jon nodded. “Yes, I may not interfere – but as a recruiter, I may journey to their camp, and ask for recruits. And I can provide counsel, if such instances require. And I will…especially if the Night’s Watch are granted the smallfolk prisoners of Stannis’s army.”
The room hung in tense silence, before Meera stood. “If Your Grace permits, I will lead this expedition.”
Bran nodded his assent. “We must keep the mission small in size. Jon will accompany. Meera will lead…take Ramsay Snow, Ser Payne…and myself, Hodor, and Summer.”
The room erupted in protest, but Bran raised his hand to silence them. “For the moment, I am the Lord of Winterfell, and I speak and act in my brother’s stead. Arya is my blood; I will accompany the expedition; I may not be the most help in a fight, but I have learned to shoot a bow, and Summer will be of the highest value.” Nobody dared to argue.
“Speaking of Summer,” Jojen added, “Jon, where is Ghost?”
“He left me yesterday to hunt, and should join us on the morrow.”
Meera smiled. “Perfect; two direwolves are better than one.”
“Then it is settled,” Bran announced solemnly. “Be prepared to leave at dusk tomorrow.”