Chapitre 556: 41
Eddard Stark
More men were coming now, the Greatjon was striding up to him, weapon at the ready, looking for an enemy to fight.
"What the fuck happened, Ned?" he roared in alarm. He stared about him for a moment more, before sheathing his sword.
"We were attacked Jon," Ned stated gravely. Letting go of Bran, he rose to his feet, "Secure the camp, and send out out scouts, make sure there's nothing else lurking and waiting for us!"
The Greatjon looked about to argue, but his eyes went to the mourning and broken Howland Reed, clutching the corpse of his dead son. He nodded once and then strode off shouting orders at his men.
Ned stared at Howland...and he knew it was his fault. He'd seen Jojen struggling, but he'd also seen the wight going after Bran. He left Howland's son to his fate and to save his own son.
Jon and Robb came up to him. Jon still held Ice in his hands. The grimness in him had deepened even further, his eyes as hard as stone chips now. Robb was pale and trembling, stunned at the scene. Not that Ned wasn't just as stunned. Jon and Sansa had spoken at length about wights and the Others, but the reality of it was something else.
The direwolves had gathered together and grooming each other, licking away the decaying blood of the wights in their fur, at ease now and relaxed after the attack.
Jon was still frozen in place as Jory approached them. Jon handed off Ice to him, before slowly walking up to the grieving Howland. He placed his hand on Howland's shoulder and said gravely, "I'm sorry, my lord."
"Thank you, your Grace," Howland replied softly.
They fell silent, after that, the sober mood silencing everyone. The Wildlings and Northmen around them started to disburse, to return to their duties and their posts. After a short while only a few guards remained along with Jon, Robb and Jory.
And still Howland remained kneeling and cradling Jojen's corpse.
Ned mastered his shame and came to stand at Howland's other shoulder. He found he couldn't find the right words to speak to his old friend. What could he say that would not come off as trite and meaningless? Bran was alive and safe, Jojen was dead. Ned's guilt threatened to overwhelm him, their complacency had cost Howland greatly.
Howland looked up at him, his face streaked with tears, downcast and shattered. Their eyes locked and still they both remained silent. Ned nodded gravely at him, and Howland returned the gesture miserably.
"He kept telling me that he would never be Lord of Greywater Watch..." he trailed off lost, and stared down at Jojen's expressionless face, "...I assumed that he meant that Meera would inherit, that he would refuse his inheritance..." he took a shuddering breath, "He told me but I didn't want to listen!"
Ned looked at him, the bleakness of Howland's words cut into his gut, "I'm sorry..." It was all he could say.
In the end, they stood silent, joined with Howland as he mourned.
They remained like this, silent and unmoving till the Greatjon returned to them. The Greatjon's face was guarded and grave as he approached them uncertainly. It was a departure from his normal expression and bombastic manner.
Ned cast him a questioning look and Greatjon shook his head.
"So far, no Wights or White Walkers or snarks and grumkins to be found, Ned," he reported with an disgruntled grunt.
Ned nodded in acknowledgment, as the Greatjon cast a speculative look at Howland.
Greatjon rolled his shoulders unhappily and started gravely, "We'll need to bury him-"
"NO!" shouted Howland, twisting around to stare at the Greatjon.
The Greatjon's jaw closed with an audible click.
"...I won't let my son rise as a wight!" continued Howland in anguish, "A pyre. We'll build a pyre. He's dead. He'll stay dead."
Ned's guilt swelled, threatening to overwhelm him again.
Jon cleared his throat, "You heard Lord Reed. Gather firewood. We have a pyre to build," he commanded unwavering in the face of Howland's grief.
The guards obeyed with mutterings of 'your Grace', Jon and Robb joined them, so did the Greatjon, leaving Ned to stand by his friend's side silence. In no time at all they had a pyre ready for Jojen.
Howland finally rose from his knees, Jojen in his arms. He placed the body gingerly amid the gathered wood. Jojen had been a slim and small boy in life...in death he seemed even smaller.
Howland stood over him, as the Greatjon passed him a torch. Night had fallen without them noticing much, the torch illuminated and cast shadows on Howland's face making seem even more anguished. He started weeping again.
Suddenly, he cast the torch into the pyre. The flames spread, engulfing Jojen quickly. Howland's face became stonier and stonier with each passing moment...and all Ned could think of was his relief that Bran was whole and unharmed from the attack.
Ned became lost in dark thoughts as the flames continued to burn.
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Jon Targaryen
This was a nightmare. This couldn't be happening. All they'd done to avoid this. For what? How had the wights crossed the Wall?! Had it already fallen?! Jon thought in despair.
He grabbed a hold of himself, no that was was impossible, the Wildlings would have said something if that had happened. They were talking regularly with the Watch at Castle Black. The flow of people from the Lands beyond the Wall were continuous, at least according to the local Wildling leader. He wasn't someone Jon had known from before, the more important leaders seemed to be staying at Castle Black or where spread across the few castles still manned by the Night's Watch.
He was numb, they weren't ready to fight the Night King yet. The Seven Kingdoms were fractured, Robert was sitting the Iron Throne and Daenerys was still across the Narrow Sea and the dragons were still young and small.
But still they'd been attacked and Jojen was dead...again. He'd barely known the boy but he was Meera's brother and Lord Reed's son. He'd also been one of the few people that Bran seemed to talk to on a regular basis. He'd been important, and a part of the North...and now he was gone, killed by Wights, south of the Wall.
And now they were watching him burn, gathering firewood for the pyre had helped calm him down, and it was a necessary act, but painful act...he knew the certainty of that. A flicker of flames and red hair haunted him for a moment-but he pushed it aside, there where somethings he'd been avoiding thinking about. Though the nearer they came to the Wall, old emotions started to resurface.
He shook his head, focusing back on the here and now, father and Lord Reed were standing in front of the pyre, both equally lost in thought. Robb and Jory stood with them somberly waiting for some command, not that Jon had anything to really to command now that the pyre was finished.
Bran on the other hand was standing silently watching everything around him. He had blatantly said nothing since the attack.
Jon's eyes narrowed as Bran turned to meet his gaze. Jon cast a quick look at others and then jerked his head away from them, gesturing Bran away from the burning pyre.
Bran understood and nodded. Without a word they walked away and left the mourning men. They moved far enough away from them to be out of earshot. They came to stand partially behind a tree, not just out of earshot, but out of sight of Ned and the others.
Jon glared at the Three eyed Raven, "What happened, Bran? You should have kept an eye on our surroundings," he accused Bran unhappily, "The safety of all of us is paramount."
"I was. I have been since we left Winterfell," Bran retorted, just as emotionless as ever.
Jon frowned, "Then what happened? And how did Wights get past the Wall?" There was a number very disturbing possibilities that were in Jon's head that didn't bear thinking about.
Bran's face flickered with emotion for less than a second, "I don't know...the Night King. Since we came back, he's veiling my sight," he stated maddeningly calm, "Jojen and I were attempting to counteract whatever he is doing. We have been trying for a while now."
Jon's scalp tried to climb off of his head, as a hideously disturbing possibility jumped to the front of the queue of very bad possibilities. He choked his panic down, "He came back with us?" Jon was proud of how his voice didn't quiver as he whispered the possibility.
Bran looked at him unblinking and said, "I don't know."
Jon's resolve shattered and as fear filled his core.
"I wasn't sure about Roose and he didn't remember," Bran commented, "I'm sure now that Euron doesn't remember, what happened to him confirmed that for me. There are others that I thought wouldn't remember who do...but they don't really matter. He-the Night King, I couldn't get too near to him to be sure and I still cannot."
The surprise good news about Euron aside, it didn't make Jon feel any better, "Why? Why can't you get to close to him?"
Bran looked at Jon for a moment before pushing his sleeve up and exposing his forearm. He passed his other hand over the skin, pulling it tight. What looked like the outline of a hand appeared.
"The Night King grabbed me the last time I came too close to him," Bran stated evenly.
Jon gaped at the faint outline of the hand. At the Night King's hand print on Bran's forearm.
Bran let go, the skin relaxed and the hand print disappeared. He then scrunched up the sleeve of his other arm and exposed his elbow, pulling the skin above the elbow back, Jon saw a pale brand appear. A brand in the shape of a roaring dragon head.
"The Valyrians did this when I got too close," Bran finished.
Jon clenched his jaw and let out a breath nosily, Bran hadn't told him of all the details that little escapade. And it was yet another thing that Bran was keeping from him...and probably everyone else. Bran always kept his own counsel now, unless something directly affected his plans.
"There are limits of what I can do when watching, especially when watching Sorcerers and Magical creatures," Bran admitted with a thoughtful twist of his lips.
Jon's mouth was dry, none of this was what he wanted to hear. He rubbed his temples feeling his headache getting worse. A stray thought struck him, "What about Bloodraven? Haven't you been talking with him?"
Bran didn't miss a beat, he shook his head, "He has been silent for a while now."
Jon grimaced, "Why haven't you been telling me these things?" he demanded angrily, he knew getting made with Bran now didn't work now. Nothing seemed to phase him since his change, "You should have told me these things!"
Bran cocked his head at Jon quizzically, "Why? Would you have done anything differently? You had to secure the North first before anything else."
Jon grit his teeth, "It's not the point!...And yes I could have done things differently, we could have moved faster for one!"
Bran blinked at him and stared, "No, we couldn't have."
Jon looked away from Bran in disgust, he knew Bran was right and Bran knew Jon knew he was right...but it didn't make it any better. He got a handle on his anger and quelled it. Pushing it down and away from him. Anger at Bran was an exercise in futility.
"Is there anything else you're not telling me?" he asked with forced calmness.
Bran looked introspective for a moment before answering, "Before he died, Jojen and I were pretty certain that the days are getting shorter."
Jon frowned, "Of course they're getting shorter, Winter is coming." Summer was ending, it was only natural that the days got shorter.
"No, I mean it's happening faster than before," Bran clarified.
Jon felt the blood draining from his face as the full implications were readily apparent to him, "That's not possible."
Bran just blinked at him in the same maddening way that he always did now.
Jon took a deep breath, calming himself, Bran wouldn't have said anything if he wasn't sure...
They needed to get to the Wall, now. They didn't have any time left to lose.
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Brynden Tully
Brynden always knew his brother could be an utter bastard, but even he knew that Hoster was taking things too far these days. And Stevron Frey was showing the strain of it.
The new Lord of the Crossing had come to Riverrun to swear fealty to Lord Tully...and for Edmure's wedding to Stevron's much younger half-sister. It hadn't been an extravagant wedding. To be honest, it had been a down right strange and bewildering one.
The few Freys attending had been unarmed. The rest of guests had been armed and armored to various degrees. The bards providing music for the wedding had had Tully guards standing behind them with crossbows. Even Edmure had had his sword belt belted on. And there had been no bedding ceremony...and no one had been willing to even give the Freys any sort of knives all during the event. Not even to cut up their own meat.
Brynden shook his head, he'd never seen a party with such somber and suspicious guests...even though Edmure had been smiling and happy during it all. In fact, Brynden couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Edmure so happy. Even Hoster had found Lady Roslin acceptable after meeting her, despite her being a Frey.
The future Lady of Riverrun was being accepted by the people of Riverrun, that was a good thing considering all the recent upheavals. Being at odds with her future subjects would not have helped Edmure in the long run...once Hoster was gone.
Of all the things that disturbed Brynden these days, that disturbed him most of all. Hoster's time was limited and his brother was determined to make the most of what little time he had left. Rage over everything that had happened before drove him night and day. A need to protect his family before the Stranger came for him. Family, Duty, Honor, had always driven him before and it still did now. To a much more powerful degree.
It had spawned a number of agreements between them, despite their rocky relationship- it helped that Brynden agreed with most what Hoster wanted to do. At least in most things.
They were gathered in Hoster's solar now, dealing with the demands of duty, and looking over maps of the Riverlands and messages from Hoster's bannermen.
Brynden cleared his throat and Hoster looked up at him, "Perhaps brother, you should ease up on your torment of Stevron," he stated evenly.
Hoster blinked nonplussed, "Why?"
"Maybe because we don't want him to break. It's too soon to have another new Lord of the Twins," he paused for a moment, "Plus if he keels over, who exactly are we going to trust to become the new Lord?" he finished pointedly.
Hoster stroked his chin thoughtfully before looking slyly towards Brynden, "Well if you feel that strongly about having a trustworthy lord as lord of the Twins, perhaps you could marry a Frey girl and I could name you the new Lord- we could call you, the Blackfish of the Twins or rename the bridge; the Blackfish's bridge. It does have a nice ring to it," finished Hoster with a sly and gleeful flourish.
Brynden growled and glared at his brother, "No."
Hoster chuckled, "I'm sure there's still one good looking Frey girl left after Edmure's claimed his."
Brynden glowed for a moment at his brother before Hoster relented and chuckled at Brynden's intractability. Edmure chuckled at their good natured bickering.
Hoster turned to look at his son and gave him a sharp look, "Hmm...well I could always give the Twins to one of your children."
Edmure guffawed , "Please father, let's not get too greedy...and I've been barely married a sevenday, give me a little time to build up our dynasty."
Hoster chuckled, "It's still a thought...if Brynden doesn't want it."
Brynden glared at his brother again, which only made Hoster chuckle harder. After a moment, he relented and let out a deep suffering sigh. Hoster chuckled again before turning back to reading the message in his hand.
Brynden sat back in his chair and thought back to when he first came back to Riverrun after joining up with Edmure at the Twins.
Hoster was much frailer than he remembered. The bright red of his hair had gone to white, and sitting in his chair in his solar, he seemed a much smaller man.
The weakness did not extend to his eyes, his blue eyes blazed with anger and strength, his face was stern even as his lips curved into a cruel smile.
"Welcome home, Brynden, Edmure," he welcomed them, his voice strong yet filled with warmth at odds with his expression.
Edmure nodded at him, "Thank you, father," he said warmly.
Brynden's tone was more guarded, "Hoster."
The brothers eyed each other warily before Hoster looked away and sighed heavily, "I understand you don't remember like us, brother?"
"That's right," Brynden replied just as neutrally.
Hoster looked back at him again, his expression softening as he nodded sadly, "The Stranger is coming for me, Brynden. Soon enough this illness if mine will rob me of my senses. I will lose my mind again...but before that happens I would have peace between us."
Brynden reeled with shock, Hoster had always been headstrong and rigid, never relenting from his own opinion. He'd never expected this from him. Not even with the madness engulfing the world, some things he'd expected to never change, no matter what madness was in the air.
Hoster slowly and carefully rose from his chair, and beckoned Brynden closer. Carefully he approached his brother, Hoster laid his hands on Brynden's shoulders and looked into his eyes.
"I am sorry Brynden...sorry for all the arguments we had. Family, Duty, Honor," Hoster admitted gravely, "After all this time, our arguments seem trivial and unimportant," his eyes flashed angrily, "They murdered my Cat, Brynden. They murdered Robb and his brothers. My grandchildren. I won't let this pass. I don't care if you ever get married Brynden, but we need to be united."
Brynden gaped and closed his mouth with a click, "Aye, brother we will stand united."
Hoster smiled and pulled Brynden closer, hugging him. He hugged him back, this meeting was far beyond his imagination. It had been a very long time since they'd so close. The hug ended and they separated.
Still holding his shoulders, Hoster looked at him with a wry smile and said, "That doesn't mean I won't occasionally chide you about getting married."
Brynden snorted-
A knocking on the door interrupted Brynden's remembrance, the door opened without an invitation. Maester Vyman walked in looking harried and concerned. He walked up to Hoster hurriedly, and held out an elaborate envelope.
"A message...a warning from...the Spider," Maester Vyman stated gravely, "King Robert moves against Harrenhal."
Hoster snatched the letter away from Vyman and read it quickly. His eyes narrowed, "Well then it would be best if we prepared for Robert's coming," he said with an evil smile, leaving out no question of just what he had planned.
Brynden's stomach churned, they'd fought for Robert once...for good reason...and now they were going to fight him. The world had changed and it was for the better for him and his family. Robert's excesses had killed Brynden and his family once...if he had anything to say about it, not again. Robert had squandered their loyalty, he wouldn't get a second chance to do it again.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone