A/N Hey guys so this is my first Game of Thrones fanfic and I'm not sure how it'll go so leave me a review and tell me how you like it! The story takes place during the middle of the first book.
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones or any of the characters
Enjoy!
"Snow, snow, snow." Lord Commandor Mormont's raven quorked as Jon Snow, son of Eddard Stark and recent brother of the Night's Watch, lit a fire in the Lord Commander's cold and dim apartments.
"Quiet bird," Mormont hissed between his teeth, "I'm trying to think."
"If I may ask," Jon started hesitantly, rising from his crouch upon the stoney floor, "what have you been trying to think about, my lord?"
Lord Mormont looked at him curiously from where he sat on the other side of the room. He hmmm-ed and hah-ed, as if he was a specimen of sorts; like a maester studying a deceased human body at the Citadel in Old Town, attempting to forge another link onto his chain.
"Who was your mother, Snow?" The question was so abrupt and blunt, Jon dropped the burning poker in his hand onto his foot. Stiffling a cry of pain, Jon shook his head.
"I presume you have a mother? Or am I mistaken?" the Old Bear shook his head intolerably as Jon regained his composure.
"You aren't mistaken my lord, I do have a mother, but a mother with a name I cannot say nor a face I can distinguish." Jon looked down, small beads of sweat appearing on his brow. Whether it was from the heat of the fire, or the intensity in Mormonts glare, Jon couldn't say.
"Lord Eddard," the Lord Commander said after an exchange of silence, "he was your father." It was more of a statement than a question. Jon narrowed his eyes minutely. He had already known that he was Jon's father, so why did he need confirmation?
"Yes, my lord." The Lord Commander picked up a piece of weathered parchment and held it up to a flickering candle. He seemed dazed, entranced, and Jon Snow stood by the fire in the hushed room, while the winds of winter stormed outside. "Would you be needing anything further, my lord?"
The Lord Commander seemed startled to find Jon still in his presence. He watched him again, though this time Jon felt as if he was looking at him less like a specimen in the Citadel and more like a statue of the Warrior, whom men bowed before and lit candles of prayer for. Jon felt uncomfortable.
"Nothing." Lord Mormont said suddenly, loud enough to send his raven squawking across the room. He stood up with a squeak of his chair, and moved to pick up what looked like an old Targaryen history book of sorts, the sigil of their House gleaming on the leather cover. "I have no further need of you, Snow." It was a moment's hesitation, but Jon caught it. The way he said Snow as if it pained him. Jon took it as his cue to exit.
As Jon exited the Lord Commander's tower into the chill winds of the North, Samwell Tarly came bustling towards him, panting heavily.
"Jon." He called through an exhale of breath. "Jon!" He began to wave his hands wildly, trying to capture Jon's attention.
"Sam." Jon greeted, only partially annoyed. He needed time to think. The Old Bear had been assigning Jon more and more tasks each and every day. He had been asking Jon to do things for him much more than usual. It almost seemed as if he couldn't bear to have Jon out of his sight, and had been eyeing him when he was without. It gave Jon an uneasy feeling: an uneasy feeling that he was guarding something from him.
His thoughts immediately jumped to his family. Could one of them be hurt? Dead? Could his whole family line have been eradicated, like a candle snuffed out for the last time? Surely the Old Bear would have told him sooner, instead of acting wistful and watching Jon as he went about his business. Jon knew that that wasn't it.
So then what was it?
"If I have to use a bow and arrow one more time, I think I may very well vomit." Jon snapped out of his reverie and looked at his friend Sam humorously.
"Well, if you have to, don't do it near me." Sam made a face.
"I can't take it anymore, Jon, I can't do anything right. I thought the bow and arrow would be easy, but I have no aim." Jon sighed.
"Sam, you say the same thing everyday. You'll learn to face your fears one day, but for now, you move on and endure." Sam looked at him.
"Why has Mormont been calling for you as of late? You aren't his paramour, are you Jon Snow?" Jon let out a chuckle.
"I'm not sure what he wants, to be honest. He keeps looking at me oddly. Sometimes he looks as though he knows some dark secret that will reign terror down on me and everyone I love, other times he looks as though I'm one of the Seven." Jon looked down at his gloved hands in puzzlement, then sighed. "We better not be late for supper. Three-Fingered Hobb will spit in our soup."
The boys made their way to the kitchens, while Lord Mormont stared down from the tower overhead.
(Meanwhile in the Lord Commander's Tower)
"Corn," the old raven screeched. "Corn, corn, corn" Lord Mormont shut the raven's beak with his index and middle finger, momentarily silencing the bird.
"Shut up. I'm still thinking." Mormont stared down at the aged parchment that rested in his hands. He had read the messy scrawl over and over again, yet the words still didn't seem real to Lord Mormont.
The origins of this boy shall remain unknown, until there comes a time in which he can fully come into his birthright; protected, and out of harm.
He kept reread that sentence again and again. He couldn't simply tell the boy, that could land him in a great deal of danger. Yet he couldn't not tell him. So many choices, and all of them had consequences.
"I should tell him." The Old Bear said grudgingly, clutching at the parchment like a lover. "Yet...it could mean his death."
"Death, death, death." The raven quorked from his shoulder. The Lord Commander sat numbly, hands in fists at his sides. What to do, what to do?
The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch stood up stiffly and walked to the window. Outside the wind blew relentlessly, and down in the yard stood the boy in question.
A thought came to the Lord Commander, and in an instant he was walking at a brisk pace to Maester Aemon's quarters.
"In what manner should I approach this?" The old maester sat in his old rickety chair, humming softly to himself. At the Old Bear's words he clicked his tonue.
"Isn't that a decision the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch should be making?"
"Believe me when I say that I have spent a fortnight pondering this letter, and I still am at a loss."
Maester Aemon continued to hum to himself lightly, signalling he was in a good mood. In fact, he had been humming ever since the Lord Commander had given him the news.
"Do you know what I dreamt about last night, Lord Commander?" Mormont was taken aback.
"What has this got to do with-"
"I dreamt red."
"...red?" Lord Mormont started to regret his decision of asking Maester Aemon. He was too old and frail, and surely lacking his wits.
"Yes. Red. I saw a red star. A red star that bled in the sky. And dragons. Dragons with papery wings and fiery breath. They are coming, Lord Commander. Believe it when I tell you that they are coming."
"So what would you have me do?" Maester Aemon coughed once, and blinked tears out of his blind eyes.
"I would have you tell him." Aemon smiled, and leaned back in his wooden chair. " It's here, Lord Commander. It's finally here. The day when my family once again comes into power.
The day when the name Targaryen is finally restored."
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