Chapter 155: Pride and Blood
Jon Snow, May we have a talk. " Said the unexpected man.
"Of course. I hadn't expected the great Magnar of Thenn to come looking for me. To talk, at least."
Harl remained beside him, watching Styr's hands.
The Magnar ignored the jape.
"You spoke of the Magnars on Skagos. Said one was your cousin."
"Aye. My uncle had a son with the present chief's sister." Jon rested one hand upon his saddle. "The chief fought beside my father and uncle. Especially my uncle. He rode beneath his banners during the war."
"And the son?"
"Bjorn. My cousin, though I call him brother often enough."
Styr studied him.
"So the Starks have put their blood among them."
"Our families fought together. They became kin. It happens."
Styr gave him an ugly smile.
Harl looked between them, plainly wondering whether the guest right would survive much longer.
Jon glanced toward the tent they had left.
"But the Skagosi aren't why you came."
"And How do you know that?"
"I don't. I can sense it."
"Sense," Styr scoffed. "You trust yourself greatly."
"I've given myself reason to."
The Magnar shifted his axe.
"It may not be my main purpose. That does not mean I have no interest. Weak men carrying a name their ancestors once understood."
"They are not weak."
"They kneel."
"So you keep saying." Jon's voice hardened. "You've fought the men standing behind me. Do you consider them weak?"
Styr's eyes moved toward the Winterguards.
He did not answer.
"My uncle raised those men," Jon continued. "Trained them, armed them and taught them how to fight together. Do you imagine he raised his own son to be weaker?"
"Steel does not make a man strong."
"No. But you've seen what his men do with it."
Styr muttered something Jon did not catch.
For a while, neither spoke.
Around them, the camp continued its work. A woman dragged a sledge past with a sleeping child wrapped beneath its furs. Two boys struggled with a bundle of firewood.
Somewhere nearby, a man coughed until another voice told him to drink.
Styr watched the sledge disappear between the tents.
Then he lowered his axe from his shoulder.
"Do you think there could be another way?"
Jon's smile faded.
"Another way to what?"
"To end this without more fighting."
Jon looked at him carefully.
Inside the tent, Styr had spoken of breaking the Wall and repaying his dead. Now he stood apart from the other chiefs, asking about peace.
"You?"
The Magnar's expression darkened.
"Must I repeat myself?"
"No." Jon straightened. "But you must give me a reason."
"A reason?"
"Why are you leaving your homes?"
Styr's face closed.
"There is no particular reason."
Jon laughed once.
"Find a better lie."
Harl glanced toward the nearest wildlings. None stood close enough to hear clearly.
"The Thenns have settled lands," Jon continued. "You work metal. You farm. Your men follow orders instead of arguing over who gets the largest piece of meat. You are not wandering hunters who can move a camp whenever the wind changes."
Styr said nothing.
"You have something worth keeping. Yet you've left it behind and brought your people here. Don't tell me you did that for no reason."
The Magnar looked north.
"I cannot tell you."
"Cannot, or will not?"
"You would not believe me even if I tell you."
"That is not yours to decide."
Styr turned back sharply.
Jon held his gaze.
"You asked whether there could be peace. I can speak for it. I can ask men who matter to listen. But I need something more than a frightened warning ."
"You heard Mance."
"I heard him avoid my questions."
"Perhaps you ask questions you are not ready to hear answered."
"Then answer one and find out."
Styr's jaw tightened.
For several moments, Jon thought he might finally speak.
Instead, the Magnar lifted his axe again.
"Then we will meet beneath your Wall."
"We might."
"And settle it there."
"You know better than most how that ends. Your people have taken some of the worst losses."
Styr stopped.
Jon did not soften his voice.
"You cannot replace every man you lose. We can send for more."
"Aye," Styr said at last. "Perhaps you will kill us."
His eyes moved north again, scared to his core frightened as if death is there.
"It is still better than what comes for us."
Jon watched him.
There was no anger in the words. No attempt to frighten him into an agreement.
For the first time, the Magnar looked tired.
And beneath that tiredness was fear.
Jon let out a slow breath.
"How much time can you give me?"
Styr looked back.
"For what?"
"To make room for another conversation. A useful one."
"You would speak to your lords?"
"To the Lord Commander. To my father if need be, if there is something worth sending him."
"And until then?"
"You stop attacking. I would need a ceasefire a long one. We need to build a trust."
Styr's expression hardened.
"All of us?"
"You cannot ask me to argue for peace while your men are climbing our Wall."
"I command the Thenns."
"Then begin with them. Speak to Mance about the others. I need a long ceasefire, not three quiet days while you gather more arrows."
Styr considered him.
"And you?"
"I will report what we've discussed. I will ask them to hear you. Nothing more."
The Magnar gave a small nod.
"You have my thanks, Jon Snow."
"Keep them. I haven't promised you anything yet."
Jon stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"And when we speak again, I need a true reason. Something I can put before men who have spent their lives fighting your people."
"You need proof."
"Aye. Something hard enough."
Styr's mouth tightened.
Then he nodded again.
"And afterward, we need somewhere to stay."
Jon stared at him.
"Across the Wall?"
"Where else?"
A short, disbelieving laugh escaped Jon.
"You think I can open the gates and hand you northern land?"
"You said you would speak for peace."
"I said I would ask for another conversation."
"Our people cannot remain here."
"Then your people will have to accept what crossing means and we both know that you won't do."
Styr's eyes narrowed.
Jon did not look away.
"You bend to House Stark."
The Magnar shook his head immediately.
"No.We are free folk."
"Then you remain on this side. And the men south of the Wall are not waiting for you to take their farms because you dislike kneeling. There are armies that says otherwise."
Styr stepped toward him.
The Winterguards shifted.
Jon raised one hand without looking behind him.
"I know you're afraid," he said. "I don't know of what. But pride is a sin we are both happy to live with, and it will not change who rules the North."
"We have our own rulers."
"Then keep them. Your chiefs can lead their people. Your Magnar can remain their Magnar. But there is one house they answer to if they settle on northern land."
"The Starks."
"Aye."
"And the king your Starks kneel before?"
Jon smirked.
"Doesn't matter here. A king's order reaches the North through Winterfell. We fought for Robert. Helped make him king. You think he rules us the way your chiefs imagine?"
"That is what kneelers tell themselves."
Jon shrugged.
"Tell yourself whatever pleases you, Magnar. It changes nothing. Starks is the only name that matters in North. Believe or not. Trust you will see if you come meet on the Wall."
Styr stared at him with familiar dislike.
That, at least, was easier to understand than the fear.
"Bring your reason," Jon said. "Bring proof. Stop sending men to die against the Wall.Give me something worth saying."
No hands were clasped. No oaths were sworn.
When Jon turned toward the waiting escort, the Magnar stepped aside.
Harl brought his horse alongside Jon's.
"Did we just agree to let the Thenns through?"
"No." Jon horricfied.
"Good." Harl sighed in relief.
Jon looked back once.
---
Braavos
The Bloody Street.
The street did not look bloody.
That was Bjorn's first thought.
Water glistened between uneven stones. A fish seller was closing his shutters, and two women argued beside a narrow doorway. Lamps hung above the shops, throwing weak light across old walls and a small bridge at the far end.
Bjorn looked at Aldric.
"This is it?"
"This is it."
"I don't why but I expected something more."
"What? Bodies?"
"Perhaps a plaque. But atleast some blood."
Aldric gave him a flat look.
"Yea , it doesn't work that way. You can't expect a blood from incident a decade ago."
Waymar walked behind them with four Northern guards. He had insisted upon coming when he learned where the brothers intended to spend their evening.
So far, he had said very little.
Bjorn glanced along the street again.
"Vex made it sound grander."
"Vex enjoys an audience but it is the story that is interesting not the place."
"And you enjoy making me wait. Tell me."
Aldric stopped near the corner of a narrow passage.
"People tell it differently. Some say it began over trade. Others say the men who ruled parts of this city wanted Grandfather ruined before he became too powerful."
"And Father?"
"Was already making himself a problem but still a good mercenary or the best one but nothing else at that point."
Bjorn smiled.
Aldric did not return the smile.
"I think They went after my Mother."
Bjorn turned fully toward him.
"Lady Seraphine?"
Aldric nodded.
"Grandfather had enemies and Father and Mother togetherness angered them.There were men who believed hurting her would make Grandfather surrender. There were lot of things rumours, attacks , assassination and a whole lot politics."
The noise from the shops seemed quieter now.
"What did they do?"
"That depends on who tells it. Some say they meant to take her. Others say they meant to kill her and leave Father blamed for the fighting afterward."
"And what actually happened?"
"I know she was in danger. I know Father came here to get her out. And the result it become a bloody street, his enemies bleeding through in the streets and people calling it that ."
Bjorn looked down the street.
It was narrow. Men standing across it could block the way easily. The passages between the houses were smaller still.
He found himself looking at windows, doors and the turn beyond the bridge.
Places where armed men could wait.
Aldric glanced toward Waymar.
Waymar was studying the upper windows of a building across the street.
"The fighting spread through here. By the time it ended, some of Grandfather's strongest enemies were dead."
Aldric lowered his voice as a passerby moved around them.
"From thier we rise to power , to the center of Bravosi politics. Before we were mostly in shadows that's what I have learnt."
Aldric's expression softened briefly.
"She never told me about the story. So I don't think she enjoyed hearing it."
Bjorn said nothing.
A pair of children ran past them toward the bridge, shoving each other and laughing. One nearly slipped on the wet stones before his companion caught him.
Life had gone on here.
Shops had opened again. Families had returned to their work. Yet years later, everyone still used a name born from whatever Artos had done that night.
Bjorn turned toward Waymar.
He stood with his hands resting loosely behind his back.
"You've been quiet."
"I was listening."
Waymar's gaze moved along the street.
He looked at the passage where Aldric stood, then toward the bridge.
Bjorn watched his face.
"You were here," he said. "Not afterward. You were here when it happened."
Waymar looked back at the brothers.
A small smirk appeared.
"Aye," he said. "I was."