Jon IV

"Tommen is still shivering," the king declared worriedly, not Joff anymore, but the king.

I am the king's man. Jon Snow could hardly believe it.

Ser Jaime sighed. "Your Grace, I would advise against risking a fire. Smoke might be spotted by our pursuers."

"Your counsel is noted, Lord Commander," His Grace replied. There were many new titles to be heard in their small party. He turned to the queen, the queen. My sister Sansa is the queen, Jon thought in wonder. "Honey, do the wolves think we're being followed closely?"

Her Grace shook her head. "I think not, my love. If any approach, you shall be the first to know."

Ghost agreed. The wolf could feel the beats of hooves afar off through the very ground, smell before he could hear, and hear before he saw. They would not be taken by surprise, not again. Allowing his king to be taken in the great hall of Storm's End shamed Jon, and Ser Jaime took it even harder. Their time in the dungeons brooding on their failures had been most unpleasant.

"Well and good. We shall build a fire and strip off our clothes to dry."

The command proved hard to obey, for finding wood dry enough to burn took much searching the hill country north of Storm's End. After much effort, Ghost found a cave with some dry sticks strewn about within, but the fire they managed was a pitiful thing that produced more smoke than heat.

Food was no issue, for Ghost and Lady both were excellent hunters, and could sniff out roots and mushrooms good to eat for men. Still, Prince Tommen kept shivering. The next morning, he had a fever.

"It's so cold, Joff," the boy complained in the night. At the king's orders, they all huddled together closely the next night when they bedded down, with no regard for rank or sex. They all shivered, but Tommen and Myrcella had it worst of all, even pressed between the bodies of the king and queen.

"Tommen needs a maester," King Joffrey stated plainly when they rose again. If anything, the prince's fever was worse.

"Felwood is the closest holdfast, Your Grace," Jaime informed him, "but their loyalty is doubtful. I spotted their banner at the tourney, a crescent moon over a line of trees. They may answer to Lord Renly."

Joffrey choked down a scream of rage, turning his back so his brother and sister couldn't see. "We must risk it. If Tommen's fever breaks, I'll pardon them." He turned to Sansa. "When we approach the castle, keep the wolves back and out of sight. It's a damned good trump card."

Trump card? Jon wasn't familiar with cards. Sansa seemed to take his meaning, though.

They needn't have worried. One look at Joffrey and Lord Harwood Fell almost broke his leg, so fast did he bend the knee. The lord's own bedchamber and solar were given over unto King Joffrey and Queen Sansa, while choice rooms in the principal tower of the keep were found for the rest. They spent nearly a week within Felwood's wooden palisade while the maester fought to bring Tommen's fever down. On the seventh day, it broke at last, much to their relief.

When the maester wasn't fussing over the prince, he was taking dictation from the king, sending numerous ravens across the realm.

Joffrey briefly summarized all that happened during the tourney, his imprisonment, and escape. "You will command Lord Paxter Redwyne to sail his fleet to Lannisport. He will transport my grandfather's troops to the Iron Islands. Henceforth, the paramountcy of Pyke is dissolved. The Greyjoys, and every vassal sworn to them, are henceforth declared attainted traitors. Death or the wall shall be the choice given to every man and boy of gentle birth. Any who resists is to be slain outright. Each island is to be broken up into diverse lordships, individually sworn to Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin may select the lords himself from among his followers."

He paced the room in silence, thinking of what to say next.

"Ah, and worship of the Drowned God is expressly forbidden in my realm, on pain of death. Any found engaging in such or related rituals and practices is to be slain at once. Septs will be built on all the islands, and any who refuse to pray therein will likewise be slain. Strong garrisons of loyal men are to be left behind to hold the islands, and any fresh treasons punished harshly."

They also sent word to King's Landing, which had been oddly quiet. Plainly, it worried Jon. "To Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King, send word to every noble house in the Stormlands, demanding they present themselves to the Iron Throne in person to swear fealty. Any who refuse shall be declared attainted traitors. Hostages must also be provided by every house that participated in my imprisonment, however indirectly."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A few days later, the maester declared Tommen healthy enough to travel. Lord Fell supplied them with a strong escort of ten knights, ten squires, and fifty mounted archers. Their passage through the Kingswood went largely unmolested, and, mercifully, the rains had not returned during their journey back to King's Landing.

Jon got the shock of his life when they approached the Blackwater Rush.

"Longship in the river!" he cried. In fact, as soon as the longship spotted them, arrows started raining down around Jon, and one nearly hit his horse.

"Withdraw to the treeline! Out of bowshot!" the king ordered. They held a brief council of war while the reaver ship crossed the water and started unloading men-at-arms. "Tommen and Myrcella are to be kept well back. Archers shall divide into two even portions on our left and right to deliver enfilade fire. Sansa, Jon, hold the wolves back until the last possible moment."

It cheered Jon to witness how quickly King Joffrey took charge of the situation. There was a brief conversation with Ser Jaime over the disposition of their knights, and soon enough, the Ironborn were upon them. Their archers and the king's exchanged volleys while the shield wall crept from the shore to the trees like an iron-banded worm. Most enemy shafts spent themselves uselessly in the branches at the edge of the wood, but here and there they found their mark and men fell screaming.

The Ironborn had no fear as they approached, accelerating to the quick step while maintaining their shield wall. The Felwood archers did their best to feather the formation at the edges, but few arrows found their mark, for Ironborn armor was thick, and their shields broad. Jon took one last deep breath.

One of the Felwood squires blew on a trumpet, and their mounted force galloped free of the forest. Everyone marked Ser Jaime, who handled the formation. They wheeled left and formed a wedge, forcing the Ironborn to face them head-on while taking a few arrows in their unprotected flank. When they lowered their lances, the wolves sprang up out of cover.

It worked just as intended. The terror of the direwolves broke up the formation half a heartbeat before they smashed their armored fist into the chaos. Jon's black stallion was an ill-tempered beast who liked to bite and kick. When the impact of driving his lance through an Ironman's breastplate wrenched the weapon from his hand, Jon drew his sword, slashing wildly at any convenient foe. Soon, the battle degraded to a hunt as their knights and wolves made a game of riding down individuals fleeing in terror.

One Ironborn stood his ground, however, and took a swipe at him with a huge greatsword, faster than Jon could blink. It only just missed him. Ser Jaime was right behind and cut the lout down before he could take another swing. "I thank you, Ser."

Ser Jaime merely nodded.

King Joffrey split a few skulls with his black axe, helmet and all, and soon enough, not a man of the Ironborn was left standing. Their archers moved about the dead and dying, delivering mercy kills with their long daggers. One called out to the king. "Your Grace, look what I found!"

He lifted the very same greatsword that nearly took Jon's head off. Gods be good, he knew that sword!

"Ice!" Jon cried. His heart near stopped beating in fear for his father.

"I recognize it too," Sansa said grimly. She galloped through the killing field on her palfrey, quite unbothered by the carnage. "I like this not, Jon."

King Joffrey was silent for a time. He swallowed once and nodded. "There's no time to worry. We need to get back to King's Landing. Come on, we can use their longship to get across the river."

They allowed Jon to carry Ice all the way back, an honor he always dreamed of, but now he found he could not take any gladness in. If carrying Ice meant losing Father, he found he didn't want it. When they reached the capital, Jon allowed himself to release the breath he'd been holding since the skirmish at the river. The crowned stag banner still flew over the Red Keep.

Lord Stark's expression when he received the ancestral weapon of his house from Jon's hands could scarcely be described. They hugged and cried and shared ill news: the king's uncle, Stannis, had fallen, and Dragonstone as well. This rebellion would not be easily dealt with, as King Joffrey had few ships in the Narrow Sea. Reavers menaced the coasts and sailed up rivers to pillage. The single longship they dealt with was one of hundreds. Setting the realm to rights would be no easy thing.