On the south bank of the Blackwater Rush, hundreds upon hundreds of tents had been raised.
Golden quartered banners streamed in the wind, flying proudly above the camp as if staring down King's Landing across the river. Alongside them flew the banners of the great houses: the black stag on gold, the golden rose on green, the running direwolf of the icy plains, the pink flayed man, the blue-and-white crescent falcon, the orange pebble runes, and the giant of House Crabb riding a wild bull while waving a pine tree.
There were knights of the Stormlands and the Vale in gleaming armor, tall warhorses decked in gold and silver, newly assigned slave soldiers, and the Unsullied from Astapor. A portion of the prisoners defeated at the Battle of the Blackwater Rush had been confined in a small wooden enclosure by the riverside, watched over by the round-headed Shavepates.
For Eddard Stark's "resurrection," Gendry had prepared a feast along the Blackwater. Eddard himself had little love for delicacies, but hospitality was still a matter of proper courtesy.
The court officials had gathered by the riverbank. Kitchen boys from the Stormlands hurried back and forth. Goats turned slowly on iron spits, basted with butter and herbs until the meat was crisp, fragrant, and dripping with fat. Nearby, a long banquet table had been set with beets, strawberries, and freshly baked bread.
Gendry sat at the head of the high table, with the chief lords arranged on either side. Stannis Baratheon, Mace Tyrell, and Selwyn Tarth sat to the left, while Eddard Stark, Roose Bolton, and Yohn Royce sat to the right. There were also younger men, sons of great houses and favored companions: Loras and Garlan, Anguy and Robar.
Jon Snow felt somewhat ashamed to be counted among them. Yet aside from being Eddard's bastard, he was also a squire to the Storm, and that made him worthy of a place at the feast.
A splendid feast. The scent of food. Having walked once through the gates of death, Eddard truly felt as if a lifetime had passed.
His gaze swept over the crowd, and he remembered the grand feast at Winterfell, when laughter had rung so warmly through the hall, and Robert and the others had arranged Sansa's marriage to Joffrey. The world was a fickle thing.
"Lord Eddard, are you truly set on resigning as Regent and Protector of the Realm?" Gendry asked him. Today he wore a velvet tunic woven in black, gold, and red, embroidered with rows of stags and raging dragons. Around his brow rested a black steel circlet set with gold and rubies, shaped in the style of Aegon the Conqueror's crown.
When Eddard Stark looked at Gendry, he thought of Robert in his youth. Tall, handsome, black-haired and blue-eyed, laughing wildly on horseback. But Robert was feeding worms in the earth now, and Eddard himself had nearly lost his head.
Eddard quickly shook his head. "I can command the Winter Wolves, whether against the Westerlands or the Iron Islands. But King's Landing, Prince Gendry, Lord Stannis, my lords, forgive me. I lack the ability, and I am not suited to court life in King's Landing. I would rather return to the warmth of my family, back to Winterfell."
The Old Wolf had been thoroughly worn down by the journey south. Two generations in a row had come south and met misfortune. It seemed the Starks of the future would be even less willing to travel that way. The power of the Old Gods was not enough to protect them in King's Landing.
Gendry nodded. "Since Lord Eddard is firm in his wish, I will say no more."
Stannis's throat moved, but he said nothing. With or without Eddard, the dish that was King's Landing tasted much the same. In that case, Eddard truly ought to take charge of the far more urgent matter of winter in The North.
"Lord Eddard's safety is a blessing to the Seven Kingdoms, and an even greater blessing to The North," Roose Bolton said with a slight bow. As for Eddard's return and his command of the Winter Wolves, Roose showed not the slightest trace of resentment.
"The situation in The North seems, seems worse than in the south. Aside from the stinking fish along the coast, The Wall is not peaceful either," Yohn Royce said. His armor was bronze, engraved with magical runes said to protect him from harm.
The Lord of Runestone was a little shorter than Gendry, but still a tall and imposing man. Though his hair had gone gray and his face was weathered, he had an indescribable force about him. Those huge, gnarled hands looked as if they could snap a young man's neck with ease. At that moment, his stern expression was filled with bitterness.
"My youngest son is missing. Most likely dead," Yohn said. Under ordinary circumstances, Yohn might not have learned the news until much later, but with the Storm's army ranging north and south and the Vale forces joining the war, the Night's Watch, desperate for aid, had naturally not forgotten to contact this great lord of the Vale.
"Waymar Royce?" Eddard was startled. He remembered the youth. When Yohn had sent his youngest son to join the Night's Watch, Eddard had received them at Winterfell. Waymar had been a likable young man, graceful, slender, gray-eyed, and dressed with care.
Gendry said nothing. In truth, the boy had suffered the worst fate of all. Waymar had died right at the beginning.
"And Uncle Benjen is missing too," Jon Snow added.
"Ben?" Eddard froze. Benjen was his youngest brother, the youngest Stark of their generation.
"The Lord Commander's letter explained it clearly. Less than half a year after Waymar swore his vows, he was ordered to lead two rangers, Will and Gared, beyond The Wall to track a band of wildling raiders. Later, one man fled, while my son and another companion vanished without a trace. Lord Mormont sent Benjen Stark to search for the missing rangers, but Benjen disappeared as well," Yohn Royce said.
"When I rode south, I had already executed several deserters," Eddard said heavily. "Four deserters in a single year. At the time, my brother Benjen wrote that the Night's Watch had fewer than a thousand men left. Not only because of deserters. Their patrols had suffered terrible losses as well. I believed it was because of Mance, the King-Beyond-the-Wall, and his invasion."
"In that case, I must take up my responsibility. Aside from the Ironborn, perhaps I should also prepare to face the King-Beyond-the-Wall."
"It may be an enemy far more terrible than wildlings," Gendry said. "Lord Commander Mormont wrote to us that he believes an age of darkness unlike anything before is coming. All kinds of monsters now roam the forests, including direwolves, mammoths, and snow bears the size of aurochs. Fishermen on the east coast have even seen White Walkers walking along the shore. Denys Mallister, commander of the Shadow Tower and uncle to Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard, wrote that the mountain clans are moving south, slipping past the Shadow Tower in droves. There has never been a migration on such a scale. What are they fleeing?"
"There is another matter," Great Lord Stannis said. "When Tyrion served as acting Hand, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch sent Ser Alliser to King's Landing to request aid. It is said he brought the hand of a 'wight' with him. The hand later rotted, but Ser Alliser confirmed that they had seen the corpses of black brothers rise again."
"Could that coward be lying?" Mace uneasily rubbed his own hand. "For thousands of years, I have thought the tales of the Children of the Forest, White Walkers, and wights nothing but nonsense."
This was the difference between northerners and southerners, and also the reason for the decline of the Night's Watch. Those who held more closely to the ways of the First Men, such as the Starks and the Royces, would still send younger sons to The Wall even as great lords. But it was hard to imagine the Lannisters or Tyrells doing the same.
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