[302 AC]

"After you have decided on your message, young King, Jaehaerys will deliver it to the leader of the wildlings.", Kinvara declared with quiet confidence, as she gracefully rose from her seat, "At least that way we will not have to worry about them killing the messenger."

Not waiting for an answer after having said her piece, Kinvara directly turned around and left the command tent, the bearded High Priest and Mera, the female leader of the Feathers, following right behind, their senses on high alert, ready to defend her at a moment's notice, even though she did not really need their protection.

Jaehaerys on the other hand stayed behind, bowing lightly in respect as Kinvara moved past him. A barely noticeable wry smile on his face, as he knew that his teacher was still angry with him for his recklessness when trying to save Talisa a few weeks back.

Seeing Kinvara depart and Jaehaerys stay behind, the Young Wolf looked over the surrounding Lords and Ladies and ordered in a low voice: “Leave us.”

Rising up from his own seat after the command tent has been emptied except for himself and Jaehaerys, Robb approached the young dragonrider.

"I am glad that you are here brother, and I apologize that I haven't managed to find the time to thank you for saving Talisa. I don't know how I can ever repay this debt.", the young King voiced out sincerely, as he gave Jaehaerys a brotherly hug.

Sighing inaudibly, the young dragonrider answered: “There is nothing to repay, Robb. The Lord saved her, not me.”

“The Red God might have healed her, but I am not any less grateful to you, for what you did.”, the Young Wolf said with a deep look, “I heard how you risked your life to save my wife, Jaehaerys.”

Sighing again, this time audibly, Jaehaerys nodded in acknowledgment, knowing that he would not be able to change his brother's mind no matter his words.

Taking a step back, the smile retreated from Robb's face, as something dangerous appeared in his steely blue eyes, something predatory: “I also heard about you and Sansa.”

“I love her.”, Jaehaerys stated without hesitation, not backing down as he locked eyes with the young King, standing his ground.

“Will you take her as your wife?”, the Young Wolf questioned darkly.

“I will after this war is won.”, the young dragonrider replied with unshakable confidence.

“Good, I did not want to have to hunt you down and drag you before a priest.”, Robb stated, the dark expression on his face fading, as he continued seriously, “Take good care of her, she deserves all the joy in the world, after what the Lannisters put her through.”

"I will.", Jaehaerys proclaimed with conviction, his eyes flickering with molten gold for a moment as he suppressed the draconic rage welling up inside him at the thought of what Sansa had to endure while in King's Landing.

Robb didn't say any more on the matter, nor did he have any thoughts of interfering in Sansa's choice.

He knew that it wasn't his place to interfere, even though he was the Lord of House Stark, as this would only drive a wedge between him and them.

And even though Sansa and Jaehaerys were cousins by blood, such things were not too uncommon amongst nobles, not to mention that the Targaryens had traditions of marrying brothers and sisters.

The Young Wolf also knew that his brother was a good man, and while the thought of his sister being someone's lover was not a pleasant one in any case, he knew that Jaehaerys would take good care of Sansa.

After talking about his subjugation of the Karstarks and the annexation of the Bolton lands for a short while, Robb discussed with Jaehaerys how he should approach the wildlings and propose a meeting between Robb and their leader to discuss a possible alliance.

…

Staring into the flickering flames of the bonfire, snow and bitter cold his steady companions, while wolfing down some of his rations and feeling his advanced age with every aching joint, the white-haired elderly knight had a stoic expression on his face.

He was no stranger to pain, nor to the dull military rations, having experienced more than enough battles and wars in his long life. In fact, he preferred this to the polished lifestyle most Southern knights pursued, feeling at home when surrounded by other soldiers, anticipation and anxiety thick in the air.

The old knight knew that this might be his last battle, and to be honest, he liked it this way.

Too long had he wielded his blade for the wrong cause and under the wrong leaders. In this last war he would just fight to defend and protect the common people as he had sworn to do so many years ago. In a way, he hoped that this would maybe lift some of the burdens on his conscience.

He didn't talk to the other men around him, as he just reminisced in memories of the past, of times were knights were still made out of true steel and deserved their title, like his former sworn brother Arthur Dayne.

So absorbed in his own memories, the old knight didn't notice the dark-haired woman taking a seat next to him on the stripped log, her dark fur cloak hiding her figure but not her beauty, though the edges of her blood-red gown were still visible.

“The past always seems to look brighter than the future, especially as we get older, don't you think so too, Ser Barristan?”, the woman's melodious voice sounded out, waking the elderly knight from his recollections of the past.

Throwing the crystal-eyed woman a deep look from under his hood, his eyes expertly scanning her figure for any threats to his person. The old knight noticed the color of her gown flashing through the gaps in her cloak, before his gaze fell on the two figures standing behind the woman.

He recognized both of them with ease as the High Priest Thoros of Myr and the Feather, who had acted as the personal guard for the High Priestess Melisandre, which made him realize that the woman was most likely the rumored Red Queen, High Priestess Kinvara.

"Is there something you need from me, High Priestess?", Barristan Selmy, former Commander of the Kingsguard, asked curtly, knowing that it was pointless to try and hide his identity when he had already been recognized.

Still, while the tone of his voice was respectful, his mood was complex at this moment.

The old knight's impression of the Red Temple was somewhat tainted as he had seen Melisandre ensnare others at court with her actions, creating pitfalls and traps with the simplest words, deceit and manipulation being her trade.

He had never liked the scheming and trickery that the Southern nobles displayed with such ease, but the elderly knight had also seen the overwhelming good the temple had done for the people, despite their unsavory and bloody methods.

“No.”, the dark-haired priestess smiled, her beauty simply a weapon in itself, crystal eyes shimmering with light, “I am just surprised that you haven't pledged yourself to the King of the North and instead entered this army as a common soldier. After all, you knew his father and even held him in high regard from what I have heard. Robb Stark himself is a loyal and trustworthy man, he is definitely deserving of your service.”

"Should you not try to draw me to the temple's side instead of pushing me into the service of the Young Wolf?", Barristan stated somewhat confused, a questioning look in his eyes.

A peal of soft laughter echoed out, as the dark-haired woman replied with a smile: “I never waste my time with the impossible, Ser Barristan. And I just asked out of curiosity.”

Finding it difficult to keep his guard up as the priestess wore such an enchanting and disarming smile, the older knight simply sighed and stated: “All the kings I have served are dead, and even the one that insulted me and forced me to break my oath has died. I will not serve another king in this life.”

"Hmm.", the beautiful priestess slowly nodded in understanding, before she pulled something from her wide sleeves and placed it in the space between them on the frozen log, "Thank you for indulging me, Ser Barristan. Maybe this will be useful to you in the coming battle, its name is Reminiscence."

Rising gracefully from her seat after leaving these words, shaking off the snow on her cloak with a quick twist of her wrist, the Red Queen left without looking back, the bearded High Priest and the silent Feather following a step behind.

Turning his gaze to the object she had placed down, the elderly knight realized with a frown that it was a sheathed dagger. Pulling the beautifully crafted blade from its sheath with his gloved hands, shock appeared in his pale blue eyes.

With the flickering bonfire as a light source, the blade had a dark blue luster to it, though it was the pattern in the metal that made him aware of what he was holding was in fact a dagger made out of Valyrian steel.