Why? He wanted to ask them.
How? He wanted to ask the Gods. How did it get to this point?
Where did he go so wrong?
His whole life all he had ever wanted to do what was right. Day in and day our he had tried. By the Gods how he had tried. He had tried to stop his fathers insane schemes. Had tried to do right by Kyle and the Broflovski family. Had tried to do right by Wendy. Had tried to do right by the watch. By the Free Folk. By the realm.
He had spent his whole life trying as hard as he could to do what was right, and every time he had failed.
Life at the Wall had been his penance for failure. At first he had gone to investigate how things were really doing on behalf of Ike. After his father betrayed and helped murder Ike and Sheila, he said his vows and took the black.
Men were needed at the Wall, with the army of the dead growing each and every day, he was of more use at Castle Black than anywhere else. It wasn't as if Kyle needed him anymore.
Like Gerald, and Sheila, and Ike, Kyle was dead and gone.
And he was about to join them.
Lord Commander Marsh, murdered by his own men. How poetic.
At least Clyde is safe.
It was his only consolation, the fact he had sent his friend south to the Citadel to become a maester. Deep down, he knew that if Clyde had still been at the Wall he would have been as good as dead. Being Stan's friend seemed to be a curse. All of them dying one by one living horrible, tragic, short lives.
Hopefully the Free Folk would be safe south of the Wall. If he was dying, he hoped it was not in vein. That the Free Folk would remain south of the Wall, safe from the horrors that was coming from everyone.
The God's knew Tweek wasn't going to return north without putting up one hell of a fight.
At least I won't have to face the White Walkers again. He thought, feeling a knife cut through him.
As the seconds ticked by, he felt himself grow weaker. His life draining from him as yet another knife entered his body.
How many times? He had to wonder. How many knives? Just the one would have done the job.
How many people truly want me dead?
Was it the Gods punishment for staying behind while Kyle went south? Would things have gone differently if he had taken Kyle up on the offer and rode south with him?
Firkle stood before him, face emotionless.
Stan could feel each, painfully slow, heartbeat. The pulse in his neck slowing.
Firkle's knife slide between his ribs, piercing his heart.
As his body slid backwards he heard the young boy speak.
For the Watch.
A loud howl cut through the air, Sparky's mourning sending the world black.
Where had he gone so wrong?
The wind suddenly changed, a howl in the air that made his hands pause. It was almost familiar, but he pushed the feeling away. It was his imagination, the spark of lightening that flashed across the sky was nothing more than the sign of a storm.
Nostalgia bubbled in his chest, bright blue eyes flashed through his mind and he struggled to push the thought down.
Ever since Red had told him that Ike Broflovski's murderer's son had become Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, he had been struggling. While it had never been easy pretending to be someone else, it had become habit. A habit he was struggling to cling to at the thought of Stan being alive. Of Stan being out there and reachable.
One Raven. He had thought desperately to himself one night. One Raven and I could be free.
But Stan was a man of honour and he would never abandon the Watch for Kyle.
And he wasn't Kyle. Not anymore.
More than likely, he wasn't ever going to be Kyle again.
Herbert had told him that it was safer for him to be the bastard son of a lowly lord, than the heir to the north and the wanted murderer of the King. Not that Kyle had killed anybody.
So he was to live out his days hidden away as Connor Garrison. Recently found, and newly legitimised son of Herbert Garrison. His hair was a muddy brown, and he spent more time doing next to nothing than anything else. Herbert wasn't exactly his biggest fan, but he had apparently made some kind of profitable deal to keep him safe. He also needed an heir – something he was apparently not working on achieving – and so Connor's existence had become doubly beneficial.
Except Kyle didn't want to spend his life as Connor.
Connor didn't want to live out his life as a lonely fugitive.
Being two people confused him and sometimes he wished, more than anything, that he could forget all about Kyle Broflovski. That he could spend his days as Connor. Get married. Inherit everything from Herbert. Live in relative peace and pretend he wasn't running from the newly crowned King Eric.
Staring at the sky, he waited for the howl to pass. The howl that sounded so like Sparky it hurt.
He had to stop.
Had to stop thinking about Sparky. Had to stop thinking about the Wall.
About Stan.
He wasn't Kyle. He was Connor.
"Son, I have marvellous news."
Looking away from the window, he met his fathers eyes.
"I found you a wife. All the way up in Winterfell."
His stomach dropped as his heart froze.
"Winterfell?"
"Beautiful, aren't they?"
Each step was purposeful as he watched the man's face. A mix of awe and terror danced in his brown eyes, and his own lips twitched upwards.
"I spent my whole life wishing they were real."
The dragons flew above them, the three of them circling the sky. His babies. His pride and joy. Oh, how he loved them so. Perhaps the only children he was ever likely to have.
"Sometimes stories are not just stories. There is always truth in everything." He said, quoting his sister.
Karen was and always would be his heir. Everything he did was for her. The marriage. The dragons. The travelling. Each freed slave, and every new ally was for her. One day they would return to Westeros, and they would return to Kings Landing. Karen would get to see their home. Her future would be secured, and he would protect her. Always.
"While I'm sure most people find that reassuring, all I can think of are the rumours of White Walkers beyond the Wall."
Kenny's lips tugged into a frown. "Rumours? They were defeated over a thousand years ago. Surely-"
"Dragons disappeared generations ago, and yet you have three." Brown eyes met his own blue. "Before I left the Nights Watch were claiming that they had seen the White Walkers."
He wanted to vehemently deny their existence, but turned to look up at his dragons. There was truth in every story, and if he was to rule the Seven Kingdoms he had to listen to his people. Token had proven on numerous occasions to provide worthy council.
While Kenny had not known the man long, he was almost certain that he would make a fantastic Hand of the King. He had yet to meet a better person for the position. Token had told him everything he could about current Westerosi history. The events that were taken place. Rumours. Murders. War.
It made him feel sick.
Children being punished for the crimes of their parents.
That would not happen when he was on the throne. Children were not their parents; he of all people should know that.
"Would the Wall hold against a- an army of the dead?" He sounded sceptical, but who wouldn't? Three Dragons or not, sometimes things truly were unbelievable until they were seen.
"Who knows?" Token shrugged lightly. "There has never been an army of the dead marching on the Wall before."
"Do you think three Dragons, and my two armies could help?"
Token eyed him carefully. "They would either win the war, or they would lose it completely. Undead Dragons. Can you imagine?"
No.
Unfortunately Kenny's imagination would not allow him to see something so unthinkable. His Dragons were his children and he could not imagine losing them to any fate. Far less a fate worse than death.
"I think if you sail to Westeros you deal with Eric first. There is no telling if there really is dead marching on the Wall, and if there is then all seven Kingdoms would have to work together to defeat the threat. That will never happen with Eric in charge. He would let the Kingdoms die and rule over the ashes if it meant he would still be sat on the throne."
"Be honest with me, Token. Do you truly believe that the people of Westeros would want me on the throne?"
"Right now, all the common people will care about is surviving winter. The Lords either want to be on Eric's good side, or want him dead. They will not care about who it is that kills and replaces him. Most people that support him are only doing so because he is bribing them. Will they want you specifically? No. Your family was ousted. You need to win the right to rule through conquest. Once you have won the throne, people will start supporting you. You are not your parents, Kenny. And out of all the Kings we have had in the passed few years, you are by far the best option."
No pressure.
A strained smile tugged at his lips. "Is there no chance of winning anyone's favour before I arrive?"
Two foreign armies are not likely to inspire support, Kenny. Karen's voice bounced around his head.
If he had learned anything from Kevin, it was that he had to listen to people. Doing whatever he wanted would get him killed. Doing whatever they wanted and ignoring everyone else was what had killed his parents and his brother. Their footsteps is not what he wanted to follow in.
"Most of those who would have supported you are rumoured to be dead."
"Rumoured?" Though it was more a statement than a question. "Not confirmed?"
"No." Token agreed. "Not confirmed."
The wings of his Dragons beating in sync sounded almost like a howl, and his lips twitched ever so slightly. One day, his children would help win him his home.
Looking down into the gardens, he watched Karen talk animatedly with Bebe.
Soon. He thought to himself. Soon she will be happy and safe.