Author's Note:
Boo! Surprise second chapter, baby!
[The North, Winterfell, 12th moon, 298AC]
Snow had fallen again during the night.
Jon Snow knew it before he even opened his eyes.
The cold had a particular stillness to it when fresh snow lay upon the ground, a quiet that crept through the stone of Winterfell and into a man's bones even beneath thick furs and blankets. When he finally stirred beneath the covers of his narrow bed in the tower chamber he shared with several other young commanders of the Stark host, the faint grey light filtering through the shuttered window told him dawn had not yet fully broken.
And yet the castle was already awake.
He could hear it.
Boots thudding in corridors. Voices echoing through stone halls. The distant braying of horns drifting up from the yard below.
Jon exhaled slowly and sat up, running a hand through his dark hair as the cold air bit at his bare arms.
"So it begins," he murmured to himself.
Across the chamber, Robb Stark was already awake.
His half-brother stood near the narrow window slit, pulling on his mail shirt while Grey Wind lay sprawled across the floor beside him like some enormous pale shadow. The direwolf lifted his great head when Jon stirred, golden eyes glinting in the dim light.
"You're late," Robb said without turning.
Jon snorted softly as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Ghost started to stir by his side as he did
"It's not even dawn."
"Tell that to the entire castle."
Jon rose and crossed the chamber, pulling on his own padded gambeson before reaching for the mail shirt hanging from a wooden peg, patting Ghost on the head as he went.
The steel was cold when it touched his skin.
Outside, the horns sounded again.
Long.
Low.
Calling the host to movement.
Grey Wind rose to his feet with a slow stretch, claws scraping softly across the stone floor. The great wolf padded toward the door as if he already knew where the morning would lead, Ghost soon following after his brother.
Jon finished fastening the buckles of his armor and grabbed his cloak.
"Let's see the chaos then."
Robb grinned faintly.
"Aye."
They stepped out into the corridor together.
The castle was alive.
Men rushed up and down the halls carrying bundles of gear and armfuls of spears while servants darted between them hauling baskets of bread and smoked meat toward the waiting soldiers below. The sound of the horns echoed through every tower and courtyard as Winterfell prepared for the departure of the greatest army the North had assembled in a generation.
By the time Jon and Robb reached the yard, the sky was beginning to pale.
What they saw there made Jon stop in his tracks.
Gods.
Winterfell had become a war camp.
The entire courtyard seethed with movement as thousands of soldiers prepared to march. Lines of Stark levies stood assembled near the gatehouse while smiths hammered the last rivets into armor beneath hastily erected wooden shelters.
The Greycloaks drilled near the inner wall.
Jon watched as a line of them stepped forward in perfect unison and hurled their heavy javelins toward a row of straw targets set across the yard.
The pilum struck with brutal force.
Several punched clean through the wooden shields mounted before the dummies.
Jon grinned slightly.
Alaric's idea.
The old Ghiscari and later, Valyrian weapons had become a staple of the Stark host over the past week or two, and the results were already evident.
Nearby, the Winter Guard formed ranks beneath the direwolf banner while captains barked orders over the din.
And then there were the Umbers.
Gods, the Umbers.
The shock infantry from Last Hearth gathered near the outer wall like a small army unto themselves. Great slabs of men in heavy mail and bear pelts stood sharpening axes that looked large enough to split a horse in half.
Jon saw Smalljon Umber among them, laughing loudly as he hefted a massive iron maul over one shoulder.
"You're staring," Robb said beside him.
Jon shook his head slightly.
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
Jon looked across the courtyard again.
About how many of these men will die before this war is done.
But he didn't say that aloud.
Instead, he gestured toward the far end of the yard.
"Look."
The wolves had come out.
Grey Wind moved down the steps first, his enormous form slipping through the crowd of soldiers like a pale ghost.
Ghost followed close behind Jon, silent as ever.
Then came Nymeria at Arya's side, her lean grey body weaving easily through the press of men.
Another direwolf emerged from the tower steps behind them.
Tundra.
Ned Stark's she-wolf was larger than the others, save for Alaric's two great beasts. Her silver coat gleamed faintly beneath the falling snow as she padded calmly across the courtyard beside her master.
The soldiers stepped aside instinctively as the wolves passed.
Jon caught snippets of whispered conversation as they moved through the yard.
"Seven save us…"
"They're real…"
"Gods be good, look at the size of them…"
The old tales had returned to the North.
And at the far end of the yard, two figures stood waiting.
Tempest and Cinder.
Even among direwolves, they were monstrous.
Tempest's storm-grey fur blended almost perfectly with the snow drifting across the courtyard while Cinder's reddish coat burned like embers beneath the pale sky.
Between them stood Alaric Stark.
Jon watched as the Lord of Winterfell mounted his horse.
Ice rested across his back.
The entire yard seemed to quiet slightly as he rode forward.
Robb exhaled slowly beside him.
"He's going to inspect the host."
Jon nodded.
"And we should probably join the others before someone starts shouting."
They crossed the yard together.
Near the gatehouse, the rest of the young commanders had gathered.
Osric Stark of High Hill leaned against a supply wagon, tightening the straps of his armor while Harlon Stark of White Harbor adjusted the straps on his sword belt.
Lucion Lannister stood nearby, speaking quietly with Roddy Dustin.
Dorren Snow crouched beside Shadow, the dark direwolf's blue eyes watching the bustling courtyard with quiet intensity.
Smalljon and Derrick Umber arrived a moment later, both still laughing about something Jon hadn't heard.
"Well, look who finally woke up," Smalljon said when he spotted them.
Robb rolled his eyes.
"We've been awake longer than you."
"Aye, but you weren't drinking last night."
Jon smirked faintly.
"That was your mistake."
The group gathered loosely together as they finished preparing their gear.
For a moment, the conversation turned quiet.
It struck Jon then how much they had changed.
They had grown up together in these same yards.
Running with wooden swords.
Climbing the walls.
Stealing food from the kitchens.
Now they stood in armor.
Preparing for war.
Harlon broke the silence.
"You think we'll reach Moat Cailin before the next moon?"
"Depends on how fast the wagons move," Osric said.
Smalljon grinned.
"I say we leave the wagons behind and run."
Derrick snorted.
"Aye, and eat what exactly?"
"Lions."
That earned laughter.
But Jon noticed Dorren watching the yard quietly.
"You're quiet," Jon said.
Dorren shrugged slightly.
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
Dorren glanced toward Alaric riding across the courtyard.
"About how the entire North is about to march because of one man."
Jon followed his gaze.
Alaric had begun inspecting the assembled soldiers now, riding slowly between the ranks of Stark levies, Umber shock infantry, Cerwyn footmen, Tallhart longspears, and Hornwood archers.
Wherever he passed, men straightened.
Jon understood why.
The Lord of Winterfell carried himself with the calm certainty of someone who already knew the path ahead.
And perhaps he did.
A sudden stir rippled through the courtyard.
Jon turned.
Oswald had arrived.
The young skinchanger stepped through the gate accompanied by one of his falcons perched upon his arm.
The bird's wings rustled softly as it settled.
Alaric rode toward him immediately.
Jon saw the moment Oswald began speaking.
The falcon lifted its head slightly.
Whatever the young Greenman said caused several nearby captains to stiffen.
Robb frowned.
"Something's happened."
They moved closer.
By the time they reached the gathering, Alaric had already dismounted.
"What did you see?" the Stark lord asked.
Oswald's voice carried clearly through the cold air.
"My falcons reached the hills beneath the Golden Tooth yesterday."
A hush settled over the nearby soldiers.
Jon felt his stomach tighten.
The war had begun in the south weeks ago.
Now they were about to hear the first true result.
"The Riverlords met Jaime Lannister there," Oswald continued.
Greatjon Umber pushed through the crowd.
"And?"
Oswald's eyes darkened slightly.
"They were defeated."
Murmurs spread quickly through the assembled men.
"How badly?" Alaric asked.
"Badly enough."
Oswald stroked the falcon's feathers absently as he continued.
"Lord Vance and Lord Piper brought nearly nine thousand men."
Jon remembered the numbers from the previous report.
"And Jaime?" Robb asked.
"Fifteen thousand, a large contingent of heavy horse included."
Greatjon grunted.
"That'll do it."
Oswald nodded.
"The Riverlords formed their lines along the hills near the pass. They hoped the terrain would blunt the Westermen's charge."
Jon could picture it easily enough.
"And did it?" Robb asked quietly.
"No."
The falcon shifted its wings again.
"Jaime sent his heavy cavalry through a narrow defile while his infantry fixed the Riverlords in place."
Osric swore softly.
"Classic hammer and anvil."
Oswald continued.
"The Riverlords broke before sunset."
"Casualties?" Alaric asked.
"Thousands, Lord Vance and several minor Riverlords under him were slain in the melee."
The courtyard fell silent again.
"And Jaime?"
"He marches east now."
Jon felt the weight of that statement settle across the assembled men.
Toward the Riverlands.
Toward Riverrun.
Alaric remained still for a long moment.
Then he turned toward the assembled captains.
"That settles it."
Greatjon grinned.
"Aye, it does."
The Stark lord raised his voice.
"We march today."
The horns sounded again moments later.
This time not as a summons.
But as a signal.
The great gates of Winterfell began to open.
Jon stood beside Robb as the first columns of soldiers began forming ranks.
Wagon trains creaked into motion.
Banners unfurled in the cold wind.
The Stark vanguard moved first.
Grey Cloaks marched in disciplined rows with their pilum strapped across their backs.
Behind them came the Winter Guard.
Then the Umbers.
Jon felt the ground tremble slightly as the shock infantry began marching through the gate.
Thousands of boots striking frozen earth.
The North was moving.
Jon turned once more before joining the column.
Across the courtyard, he saw Alys Stark standing near the godswood entrance.
Her hand rested lightly against her growing belly as she spoke quietly with Alaric.
Jon could not hear their words.
But the look between them needed none.
The war was beginning.
Soon, Alaric mounted his horse again.
Tempest and Cinder trotted at his sides.
Jon fell into line beside Robb as the vanguard began moving through the gate.
Behind them, the banners of the North rose into the pale winter sky.
The road to Moat Cailin stretched southward beyond the walls.
And far away in the Riverlands, the lions were already hunting.
But now the wolves were coming.
And with them… came Winter itself.