DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 2 - CLASH OF THE KINGS

Jon X

The White Knife River flowed past Castle Cerwyn and beneath a bridge on the Kingsroad, a half-mile south of Winterfell. There, a jetty served as a stop for riverboats heading to Winter Town, Winterfell and beyond. Boats bound for Winterfell would halt at Castle Cerwyn, who would send a raven to Winterfell, requesting horses and carts to transport the goods. It was an effective method.

The riverboat pulled up at the jetty. Jon and a shivering Oberyn stepped onto dry land. Jon wasn't one to revel in another man's suffering, but Oberyn, known for his flamboyance and danger, looked rather pitiful wrapped in a woollen blanket and trembling from the cold. Jon couldn't help but chuckle to himself. He wouldn't dare do it to Oberyn's face, but he was sure the Dornishman knew how much amusement his suffering provided.

The castle walls of Winterfell loomed within a mile of the jetty. Oberyn appeared surprised by the castle's size. To Jon, it was his childhood home. He had never appreciated its grandeur until now, having travelled south and seen more of Westeros.

The ground was cold and frostbitten as the cart trundled across the hardened terrain. The grey skies threatened sleet or snow; Jon couldn't be sure. In his previous life, he had been north of the Wall at this time. Snow would soon blanket the ground, and Jon hoped they could raise the army, march south to take the Iron Throne and return north to face the army of the dead before the weather made it almost impossible for armies to cross the Neck.

Winter Town came into view, its wooden and stone houses still standing. The brothel and inn were familiar sights, reminding him of Ros, whom Jon hoped had reached Queenscrown without trouble.

"Is that Winter Town?" Oberyn asked.

Jon nodded. "Just beyond that is the East Gate. There will be lookouts posted, waiting for us."

"Are you sure they won't mistake us for peasants peddling their wares?" Oberyn quipped, amused at his own expense.

The cloak Oberyn wore, wasn't the finest quality, but it should have been warm enough. The Dothraki had worn less and survived, albeit only just.

Jon pointed to one of the sturdiest-looking buildings in the town. "That is the whorehouse, if you feel the need," he said with a smile.

"Is it any good?" Oberyn asked. Upon seeing Jon's blank face, he rolled his eyes and laughed. "Let me guess, your wife is the only one."

"She's the only woman I will ever need to warm my bed," Jon replied, sidestepping the question.

"You are young and naïve. That will change," Oberyn said, sounding convinced. Of course, he couldn't know Jon was eight and twenty and already had some experience with women.

As they neared the East Gate, a horn sounded, announcing their arrival to the castle. Jon knew from experience that this would trigger a flurry of activity within. The Starks were expecting him, and he knew the proper reception for royalty. He had experienced it himself once before when he arrived with Daenerys.

This time, the Starks couldn't formally bow or curtsey, regardless of protocol. Jon's identity was unknown to most in the castle, and with a multitude of lords likely already in attendance, it would seem odd for them to bow to him. However, they could offer Prince Oberyn a respectful welcome.

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They entered the East Gate to find the Starks and the main household awaiting them. Lord Stark stood front and centre, with Lady Stark on his left and the only Stark child remaining in Winterfell, Rickon, on his right. Beside Rickon stood Maester Luwin, Vayon Poole, and Ser Rodrik Cassel.

Behind the Starks, Jon spotted Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark, Galbart Glover, Maege Mormont, Helman Tallhart, and a man dressed in black with salt-and-pepper hair, whom Jon suspected to be the Blackfish. A few others had arrived, but Jon didn't recognise their faces.