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Riverrun's towers rose from the river mists like pale sentinels when Jon finally saw them again.
The journey north from the Blackwater had been swift and tense, hugging the riverbanks, avoiding patrols, moving mostly at night. Sansa had barely spoken the first two days. She sat wrapped in a gray cloak beside him on the deck of the galley, watching the southern horizon as if it might still reach for her.
Only when the Red Keep was far behind them did she begin to breathe like herself again. When Riverrun's banners, direwolf and trout came into view, Jon felt something inside him unclench. They had made it. But the quiet relief lasted only moments. The castle was not celebrating. It was bracing after impact.
Men lined the battlements in heavier numbers than before. Courtyards churned with movement; smiths hammering, stableboys running horses ragged, riders coming and going in constant relay. The mood was sharp, urgent, strained. War had changed shape again.
By the time Jon and Sansa were escorted through the gates and into the yard, word had already run ahead of them. Robb Stark stood waiting. For a heartbeat, he simply stared at them. Then he crossed the yard in long strides and crushed Sansa in his arms.
She broke then, truly broke; months of forced courtesy and silent endurance dissolving as she clung to him. Robb's jaw trembled, but he held steady. "You're safe," he murmured. "You're home."
Jon stood a pace back, watching, feeling both present and apart. When Robb finally turned to him, there was pride in his eyes. "You did it."
"For one," Jon replied quietly.
Robb clasped his shoulder hard. "For one," he agreed. "That is no small thing."
They did not have long. "Come," Robb said, his expression tightening. "There is more you must hear."
The solar was crowded. Jon expected Edmure Tully, or other lords. He did not expect to see Lady Catelyn Stark to rise slowly from her chair when Jon entered, Rickon clinging to her skirts.
Rickon tore free first. "Jon!" the boy shouted, barreling into him with all the force his small frame could muster.
Jon caught him, laughing despite everything. "You've grown," he said.
"I'm almost ten," Rickon declared fiercely, as if that were a title of command.
Catelyn watched them with unreadable eyes. There was tension there, yes, but something softer now too. Months of war had stripped many certainties bare. "You have brought Sansa back," she said at last.
"Yes."
"For that," she inclined her head slightly, "you have my thanks." It was the closest thing to blessing she had ever given him. Jon accepted it without comment.
Robb gestured for them to sit. "I have sent for Mother and Rickon after you left," he explained. "When you suggested the Ironborn might move."
Jon's eyes sharpened. "They have."
Silence fell. Robb's hand tightened on the map table. "Three weeks ago, the first ravens came."
He turned the parchment so Jon could see. Black krakens marked the western coast. Everywhere.
"The Ironborn are at it once more and now they are focused upon us," Robb said, voice hard. "They struck not only one place but many."
He tapped the western shores. "The Flints report raids. The Rills are burning. The Stony Shore has lost three villages. Sea Dragon Point is under constant assault. Even Bear Island sends word of longships sighted offshore."
Jon studied the marks. "Moat Cailin?" he asked.
Robb's eyes darkened. "It held."
Relief flickered briefly. "But barely," Robb continued. "Victarion Greyjoy himself led the assault." The name hung heavy. The man was the second in command of the Ironborn.
"He met Roose Bolton in battle."
That surprised Jon. "And?"
Robb exhaled slowly. "Roose fell."
A stillness entered the room. Not shock. Nor quite grief. Roose Bolton had never been loved. But he stood his ground until the end for their homeland.
"Victarion broke through the outer defenses," Robb said. "But not before Bolton inflicted ruin upon him and his host. Flaming pitch. Collapsing causeways. The swamps themselves turned against the Ironborn."
Jon could almost see it, Moat Cailin choking with smoke, arrows raining from half-sunken towers, men drowning in mud.
"The Ironborn could not take the Moat," Robb finished, "and they bled dearly for the assault."
"That is at least something, now they do not have access to the heart of the North or to the East," Jon remarked which was better outcome in his last life.
"Yes," Robb agreed. "The Neck remains a barrier. The mountain clans sally forth but they can not be everywhere."
"Though that has not stopped them," Catelyn said quietly.
Robb nodded grimly. "Yes, they still sail up our rivers."
Robb showed him marks on the map of longships striking and vanished along the western coast. They burned fishing villages, seized livestock, carried off captives. And now, more dangerously, they were sailing upriver.
"Barrowton reports sails upon the Blue Fork," Robb said.
"Torrhen's Square along the White Knife," added Edmure grimly.
"Deepwood Motte is believed to be under threat soon," Catelyn Tully said from the corner.
Jon felt the pattern. "They are trying to give us a thousands cuts since they could not cut us down once for good."
"Yes," Robb agreed. "If they cannot march through the Neck, they will strike every artery of the North."
The room simmered with contained fury. "Worse," Robb said, "Northern lords had gathered at Riverrun in recent days; Glovers, Tallharts, Mormonts' envoys, men of the Rills and Flint's Finger. They did not speak of southern crowns anymore. They spoke of home."
"They demand you return north," Catelyn nodded. to Robb.
"No, they demand blood," Jon corrected bluntly, knowing these men and women.
Robb did not deny it. "They see their lands burning while we sit in the Riverlands."
"And the Riverlands still burn," Edmure muttered.
It was true. Tywin Lannister's host remained dangerous in the west. And to the south, Stannis Baratheon marched on King's Landing. They were fighting two wars. Now perhaps three.
Jon looked at Robb. "What strength remains in the North?"
"Garrisons," Robb replied. "White Harbor is secure. The mountain clans are helping out as much as they can. But most fighting men marched south with me."
"And now their homes are under attack," Jon said.
"Yes."
"They burned villages in the Riverlands too," Catelyn said quietly. "They take what they can. They frighten what they cannot hold. More than anything the Greyjoy want the North to turn inward," she continued. "If you leave the Riverlands, the Lannisters regain strength. If you stay, your bannermen grow resentful."
Rickon tugged at Robb's sleeve. "Will they burn Winterfell?" The question cut deeper than any blade.
Robb knelt before him. "No," he said firmly. "They will not touch Winterfell." But Jon saw the doubt flicker behind his brother's eyes.
"Where is Theon?" Jon asked, looking at the gathering.
"I have him locked up in the dungeon for now," Robb sighed. "I can believe the old bastard does not care for his son."
"He is dead to him," Jon shook his head. "The fool has sacrificed many sons for his ambitions, what is one more."
"We still must send a message," Catelyn's eyes hardened. "There must be a price to be paid for this attack."
Robb looked hesitant, he had grown up with Theon and for him to now put him to death. It was a very tough decision. One that many would be soon calling for.
"We need allies more than anything," Jon said to bring this topic to what mattered. Stannis was not coming to help them since he was besieging the capital now with Blackfish. That left them with really only 3 options since the Lannisters and Greyjoy were their foes now.
Everyone seemed to turn to Catelyn at once, "My sister," she muttered under her breath.
"That is really the only person we can count on, Mother," Robb brushed his hair from his eyes. "My lords wish to return as soon as possible. Someone else needs to hold Riverland while I am gone."
"You understand her best, dear sister. I have written to her plenty but no response from her," Edmure pleaded since he knew his countrymen depended on him if the Northman left. That would only leave him against the hungry jaws of the lion.
"I will go to her," Catelyn nodded finally, knowing everything hinged on her shoulders now. "I will make sure to have her see reason."
"I can also join you, my lady," Jon said. He did not say this out of the goodness of his heart but due to the informations he learned from Littlefinger. The man and the woman were close so close he believed they might have been lovers.
So what better way to have her join them if he blamed his death on the Lannister. No one besides the Spider knew he killed the man and the woman must be angry with grief looking for a outlet for her wrath.
"Good," Robb said, trying to make sure arguments did not come up. "I will send some knights as well. Ride out as soon as possible. I will try to have the Northern Lords stay here for a couple more months before we need to leave."
Catelyn turned to Jon and asked him, "Tell me before we leave, what happened to my other children."
"Bran lives," Jon said firmly. "Of that I am certain. Selmy would not harm him."
"And Arya?" the woman asked.
Jon's jaw tightened. "Confined in Maegor's Holdfast. After she tried to pushed Joffrey from a parapet."
Rickon's eyes widened with fierce admiration.
Sansa closed hers briefly before she shivered, "He showed us Father's severed head."
Robb let out a slow breath. "When I get that little bastard."
"You brought one back," Catelyn spoke quietly. "That is no small feat."
"Arya remains in danger," Jon replied.
"Yes," Robb agreed. "But you did what you could. We won't forget her. Brynden is besieging the capital. I will write to him. If opportunity presents itself, he will attempt extraction."
Jon nodded.
"And Bran?" Catelyn asked.
Robb's eyes shifted briefly to his mother. "If Bran has sailed east, then he is beyond our immediate reach. We must trust in the gods and in the knight who guards him."
Silence lingered.
Then Robb straightened. "Right now, what matters is the war before us."
-
The road to the Vale was not a simple thing. Catelyn Stark rode at the head of the column with the quiet dignity. Her cloak was river-blue lined in gray wolf fur, her posture straight despite the weeks of strain that had etched faint lines at the corners of her eyes. Behind her rode a modest escort; fifty hand picked knights, Riverlords and Northmen alike.
Jon rode slightly behind and to her right. Shadowing her, as agreed.
The Riverlands slowly gave way to stony rises and narrow passes. Villages thinned. The land grew harsher. By the time the Mountains of the Moon loomed before them, jagged and severe, the air itself felt different colder, sharper.
The Bloody Gate stood as it always had: austere, implacable. Knights in falcon-crested cloaks waited beneath its shadow. Their commander stepped forward as Catelyn approached.
Ser Vardis Egen. "Lady Catelyn," he said with formal courtesy, though his eyes flicked over the escort carefully. "We were told you might come."
"Then I am expected," she replied evenly.
"Expected," he confirmed. "Not necessarily welcomed."
Jon kept his face neutral. This was not good news. Catelyn inclined her head. "The Vale is my sister's home. I trust I may still pass its gates."
Ser Vardis hesitated only a fraction too long. "Yes, you may."
…
The ascent toward the Eyrie was as perilous. Narrow paths clung to cliffsides. The wind howled through stone like a living thing. One misstep meant death in the abyss below. Mules carried them partway.
The final climb was on foot. Jon noted the defenses carefully. Gates at each waycastle. Archers positioned with clear lines of fire. Supplies hauled upward in disciplined rotation.
The Eyrie itself gleamed white against the mountain sky. As they entered the High Hall, Jon saw it was a court on edge.
Lysa Arryn awaited them on the high seat beneath the crescent moon and falcon. Her eyes were sharp, restless, rimmed faintly red as if from too many sleepless nights. Beside her stood her son, Robert Arryn; pale, slight, clinging to her hand.
"Cat," Lysa greeted. "What brings you here?"
"Lysa," Catelyn answered softly. "You know why I came here. You knights must bring you news daily of what is going on in the realms."
"I do not intervene in such things. The lords and knights of this realm do their duty in guarding their liege." She looked to her child who was curiously watching everything. Jon watched her closely. She was afraid. Protective of the only thing she had left, her son.
"You are of House Tully," Catelyn continued, voice steady. "Your father's lands burn."
"My father is dead," Lysa snapped. "As is yours. As is my husband. And where did loyalty bring them?"
The words struck harder than any blade. Catelyn did not flinch. "It brought them honor."
"It brought them graves," Lysa hissed.
"Sister," Catelyn spoke more icily. "You believe your mountains protect you."
"They do," Lysa replied with a harrumph.
"For now, yes."
Lysa's eyes narrowed but said nothing.
"The Ironborn raid coasts," Catelyn continued. "The Lannisters seek dominance. Stannis seeks a throne. When one rises victorious, do you believe they will ignore the Vale?"
"They would be fools to try and take it."
"Perhaps," Catelyn agreed. "But who will stand with you when everyone has fallen and you are all alone. They will demand fealty. Levies. Coin. And if you refuse…you will fall just as we have."
Lysa's fingers tightened around her son's. "I will not send Robert men to die in some southern field. Their duty is to stay here and protect him."
Seeing that the woman was remaining stubborn, Jon stepped forward to tip her off her balance. "My lady if I may speak."
Lysa's gaze shifted past her sister to Jon. "And who is this?"
"My son," Catelyn replied calmly. "Jon Snow."
Lysa's lips curved faintly into a grin. "Ned's."
"Yes."
Lysa studied him with unsettling intensity. "You may speak."
Jon drew a steady breath.
"I learned much in the capital, my lady. Not only from my father."
Her gaze flickered. "From whom?"
He met her eyes directly. "From Lord Petyr Baelish."
The name hung in the air like the first crack of thunder before a storm. Lysa went very still. "You presume to speak his name here?" she asked, voice gone dangerously soft.
"I do."
"And what would you know of him?"
Jon did not hesitate. "He took an interest in me when I first came south. Said a man who does not inherit must learn other tools."
A faint tremor passed through her expression. "He always valued… clever boys."
Jon nodded once. "He taught me how coin moves the machinery of kingdoms. How whispers topple even the greatest of lords. How chaos is a ladder."
That phrase piqued her interest, "You truly were his student then. So tell me then," she asked, her expression turning down right terrifyingly. "Why would you let him DIE!"
Jon knew the role he was to play even though it was a dangerous one. One wrong move and it was over for him. He just needed to look at the moon gate below where there was tale of many dropped down from it.
"I thought he was indispensable. I thought he would never be betrayed like that," Jon put on a saddened expression.
Bronze Yohn Royce grumbled under his breath, "He was a traitor to the Crown my lady."
"My Petyr was no traitor," Lysa shrieked.
"Yes," Jon agreed with her. "He was the one looking into the debt the crown was in and what he found… cost him everything."
"What do you mean," Lysa spun around to face him.
"The Lannisters," he shouted. "They were behind everything. Why would they stop at passing off bastards as the King's children. They were also stealing from the crown and any more vile deads that Lord Baelish was only starting to find out."
"I never knew," Catelyn whispered.
"My poor Petyr," Lysa started shedding tears
"Why would the Lannisters steal gold when they shit it," one lords asked.
"Does greed know no end. The Lannisters are lions whose stomach never fills," Jon answered back. "Just as they wish to take Riverland and the North do you think they will stop there?! NO!" he said turning to look at each lord in turn.
"They will turn their greedy paws here on to the Vale."
"Our mountains are impregnable," spoke old lady Anya Waynwood.
"Yes, I know that but don't see this as a burden but see this as a opportunity. The Lannisters have killed poor Lord Petyr whose family is from here. They have killed my lord father who has grown up here, and they most likely killed Lord Arryn who must have been onto their wicked deeds."
Jon was really laying it on thick with throwing everything at the Lannisters feet but they weren't here to defend themselves and couldn't stop him from setting a mob against them. "Would you Valemen lie down and take this all. Where is your vaunted honor has it gone to the wind were every one of your people can be put down like dogs by vile monsters."
Jon could see he riled up the crowd and they were eager to jump on their horse and cut down any westerland.
Lysa rose abruptly from her seat. The movement startled her son, who nearly stumbled. "Lord Yohn Royce you wanted to ride out this whole time correct?"
"Yes my lady," the man bowed.
"Good, this is your chance now." Her eyes flared.
"They took him from me." The words were raw. Unguarded.
Lysa's lips trembled. Her gaze flicked to Royce, to Egen, to the assembled lords. "How many men can the Vale raise?" she asked sharply.
"Forty thousand, in full levy," Royce answered cautiously. "Though not without cost."
"And cavalry?"
"More than any southern host."
Lysa turned back to Jon, he said nothing. "I will not sit idle while lions feast."
Her voice had risen, ringing through the hall. "They think my mountains make me weak? They think I tremble behind stone?"
No one answered. She looked almost feverish now. "They took him from me," she repeated. "They think the Vale irrelevant."
Her hand slammed against the arm of the high seat. "I will show them otherwise."
Robert Arryn began to whimper softly at the intensity in her voice. She ignored it. "I can not give you all as they must guard my son and against those savages in the mountains but I can send 15,000 soldiers made up mostly of our cavalry!"
Royce blinked. "My lady—"
"Fifteen thousand," she repeated, eyes blazing. "Nearly a third of the Vale's army. Knights, mounted lancers, heavy cavalry."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. "That is no token force," Royce said carefully.
"No," Lysa snapped. "It is not. I want you to run down every last Lannister dog."
The declaration hung in the air like a warhorn.
Catelyn stepped forward finally. "You honor your blood," she said quietly.
Lysa's eyes flicked to her sister. "I honor what was taken from me."
Jon bowed slightly. "The North and Riverlands will not forget this."
"See that they do not," she replied.
She ascended the dais once more, but she did not sit. "Send ravens," she commanded. "To Runestone. To Gulltown. To Heart's Home. Muster the knights."
Royce inclined his head. The hall began to move. Orders. Scribes. Armorers. The Vale was waking.
As Jon stepped back beside Catelyn, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Petyr always did stir her passions," she said quietly. "Is it true what you said?"
"Why does it matter? They have already killed one Lord Paramount and that is one to many."
When they descended the mountain weeks later, falcon banners accompanied them. The Bloody Gate opened once more. Behind them, horns sounded across the Vale as levies were called.
Jon did not look back. The scapegoat had been accepted. The lions had gained another enemy. And the wolves were no longer alone.