Breath. Pull. Release.
Thwack!
Breathe. Pull. Release.
Thwa-!
"So, is it true you know how to play music, Jon?" An excitable voice interrupted Jon's archery practice, the teen's shoulder's going tense as Bran suddenly spoke up, "Sansa keeps saying you can, but I've never seen you pick up a lute." His younger half sibling looked up at him with wide eyes and a cheery grin, and getting a quick bark of laughter from Robb on his other side.
"Hah! I'm pretty sure Sansa and Arya got into a spat over Arya calling her a liar!" He said with a sharp grin, giving a sly look over at Jon, "Though she has been oddly insistent about it. Don't think I've seen her take any interest in any of us the last couple years, so it's a bit surprisingly." Especially since it's about you, was that Robb didn't say, his eyes doing it well enough for him.
Frowning, Jon pulled back the string of his bow and took aim once more as he awkwardly replied. "I...only know a little bit. Just a bit of practice here and there." At his feet, Ghost, the tiny pup with snow white fur, gave a small whine as his master lied. The direwolf had become Jon's just a day or two before the dreams had started, along with the pup's siblings. Once for each of the Stark children, plus the bastard.
Summer and Grey Wind, the direwolves of Bran and Robb respectively, were laying on the ground and panting at their masters' feet.
Honestly, Jon didn't feel any more comfortable lying about it to his siblings than Ghost seemed to. If Jon were in any state to really contemplate things, he'd probably find it odd that Ghost even seemed to know when jon was lying, or that the direwolf cared at all. Most likely, Jon was imagining things and simply assigning his own feelings on the matter to his new companion and pet, but it made Jon feel like he wasn't completely alone so he did what he'd been doing for the past few days.
Ignore it.
Now, if only the dreams and visions he'd been plagued with would be so kind.
Scowling, Jon took another shot and was more than a little reassured when his arrow hit the target, but was nowhere close to a bullseye. That may be an odd thing to take comfort in, but that's what it did. In fact, Jon was coming to find archery practice to be rather peaceful. The monotonous, often tedious act of drawing back the bow with a knocked arrow, patiently taking aim and trying to get better.
Mainly, the appeal was in the fact that there was no sudden sense of vertigo, no feeling like he was momentarily in another place entirely, or that he was someone else entirely. Nor did he suddenly gain some prodigious skill with the bow, his shots always as decent but far from masterful as always. Normally that annoyed him, especially when Theon would take to rubbing in his superior skill with the bow, but now?
Now Jon was rather fine with only being average with the weapon.
"Really? What kind of songs do you know? Oh, oh! Do you know any about The Dragonknight?!" Bran asked, barely paying attention as he practiced with his own bow.
"Ah… Only a couple, and no." Jon said, trying to keep how uncomfortable he felt off his face. "Just a couple old things I found in a book. Don't even remember which one." He said, having come up with the lie after Sansa had questioned him a couple nights ago. The first part was true, though. Jon really did only know a couple different songs, and none he recognized.
Still, he somehow knew them by heart. It really was rather frustrating, and more than a little concerning.
His knowledge when it came to music was… Fragmentary. Disjointed and out of context. For the few songs he did know, it was more like he had the motions memorized by rote rather than actually understanding how they were played. Granted, Jon acknowledge that with a little bit of work, he could probably take apart what he did know to figure out the rest and he may very well have to.
Sansa had been unusually fervent in trying to get him to play again. Thus far he'd managed to wave her off, but at some point he'd probably have to give in. By now it was pretty common knowledge among Winterfell that he could play, so his refusals to do so would be seen as odd. Maybe something like Flowers of Spring or The Maiden of the Tree. Those seemed like they'd be to his half sister's liking.
Much better than something like The Ballad of Red Jenny or the Knight of Silver Tears. Jon wasn't even sure how we'd make the second one make any kind of sense. It's not like he knew who the Dalish were, and he was pretty sure there was no such thing as elves. Despite whatever those occasional glimpses of his dreams seemed to depict.
"Aww…" Bran groaned in disappointment at Jon's answer, all the while Robb chuckled.
"First that fancy trick in the practice yard last week, now music?" He raised a brow at his sullen half brother, "You've been holding out on me! When did you learn any of that?" Robb asked curiously, before his grin fell and he shook his head. The look he gave Jon then was inscrutable.
"...Sansa also said you were reconsidering taking the Black. That true too?"
Going still at Robb's question, Jon held his bow after having finished yet another shot. Of course Sansa would spread that around too.
"Yeah." Jon replied after a moment, face carefully blank as he began to line up another shot. He didn't know how he felt about that spreading. When he'd told Sansa that, he hadn't been lying, but he also hadn't been entirely thinking then. The dreams, visions, whatever they were, they were messing with his head. Even when they weren't plaguing him, they had him off balance.
Giving a stiff nod, Robb exhaled and grunted. "Good," he said gruffly, drawing his bow, "You know I've never liked the thought of you going off to the Wall."
"It's my decision to make, one way or the other." Jon returned a bit tersely. This was an old argument between the two of them, one that had started from the moment Jon hadn't gotten the idea in his head to join the Night's Watch like Uncle Benjen.
Robb wanted him to stick around. To help him manage and rule Winterfell, the Brandon Snow to Robb's Torrhen Stark. And while Robb would still support him joining the watch, he'd always made his own preference clear.
Touching as it was, Jon had never felt comfortable with the idea.
"After everything with the King is done," Jon said as he loosed another arrow, "I'm going to head South." He announced, causing both of his half siblings to stop what they were doing and look at him.
"What?" Robb asked flatly.
"Really?" Bran looked to him with excitement and curiosity.
Letting out a breathe, Jon lowered his bow and nodded, "I'm… Thinking about travelling for a bit." He told them, "I plan to go and see Oldtown, first, then maybe head towards Essos." Part of Jon was even tentatively excited for it all. It was the kind of thing he'd never really even let himself dream of, he could admit. For the longest time, he'd let himself be absorbed in the fact he was a Bastard, he'd never even really considered just how large the world was.
Any time he'd even come close to thinking of something like that, he'd always been resigned to the fact that his status as a bastard would follow him anywhere. That thought had preoccupied all else.
With the dreams, however, he couldn't afford to let that stop him. Oldtown was the home of the Maesters and the foremost collection of knowledge in the world. Jon knew one thing about his dreams, and that was the fact they were not normal.
At this point he could admit it, if only to himself. He was dreaming of someone else's life, one that took place in what seemed to be a world different to the one he knew. One of magic, and demons and of war and death. Some of those elements were familiar to him, but others? Others he would find no answer for here.
So, Oldtown would be his first stop. Jon was done hiding from the dreams. For days now he had been ignoring them, trying to go on and live as if they did not happen, but that had done nothing for him. No, if he could not ignore them, then he would confront them. There was no use hiding his head in the sand.
"I have questions I want answered," Jon continued with a shake of his head, "And if I can't find them in Oldtown, then I will simply have to find them elsewhere." His lips quirked upwards in a bit of dry humor, "Besides. I'll be getting to see the world. Meet new people. Maybe impress some of your Southron cousins."
"From what Mother's said of everything South of the Neck, I'm sure you would," Robb's lips couldn't help but twitch as well, "Who knows, maybe you'll become the new talk of all those Reach tourneys!" He said with faux enthusiasm.
"If you do, you'll tell us all about it, right?" Bran asked him eagerly, "And about your travels, too?"
"Of course." Jon smiled at his younger brother. "But it won't be for awhile yet. As I said, I don't plan to leave until after the King departs."
"Why's he coming all the way up here, anyway?" Bran asks the two of them, before flushing and turning his attention away, "Uh, not that I'm not excited! I mean, he has to be bringing his Kingsguard with him, right? Do you think we'll get to meet Barristan?" Bran added on, blabbering with renewed enthusiasm and getting chuckles from his elder brothers.
Their younger brother's fascination with knights and tales of glory and valor were well known to the two. Though, it's not as if they hadn't been similar when they were his age.
"Not sure," Robb shrugged with a lackadaisical air, before frowning, "Though they say Jon Arryn is dead."
"Father fostered with the King under him," Jon speculated, "Could be the King just wants to reminisce and commiserate with Father over old times." He'd heard tell that the king was rather absorbed with past glories. To hear their father tell it, Robert Baratheon had been a formidable warrior back in his day, and they'd fought many battles together. Between the King's skill at arms and battle fervor and father's more cautious nature to reign him in, the two had mounted several victories in the Rebellion.
The thought of his father like that was always odd. Barely older than him or Robb, riding into battle and leading his men to war. He'd helped to overthrow and depose a king, the only reason his father hadn't taken The Mad King's head being Lord Lannister's last minute switch of allegiance. By the time Eddard Stark had rode into King's Landing, it had been sacked by Tywin Lannisters own men.
"I'm not sure," Robb said, looking troubled as he sat down his bow, rubbing his chin with worry, "Jon Arryn didn't just foster the two. He was the King's Hand. I…" He paused for a moment, before frowning, "I overheard mother and father talking. They think he comes to ask father to be his new Hand."
"Oh! Do you think he's accept?"
"...I don't know." Robb said, answering Bran's question as Jon shared a look with them.
Unsaid between them, was that nothing good ever came when a Stark rode south of the Neck.
Jon was once more in the library, pouring over a dusty old tome about First men and the Greenseers, when he heard a commotion in the hall.
"Ahh!" A feminine voice let out a sharp hiss of pain, as feet stomped along the stone halls of Winterfell. It was followed by a curse, and the sound of quick shuffling.
"Sansa! I thought I told you to keep off that leg!" Robb's voice drifted through the halls, and Jon was up and heading towards the door before he was even finished speaking. Clapping the book closed, he stalked out with a worried look, arriving just in time to see Sansa flinch at Robb's rebuke.
The Heir of Winterfell had one arm slung around Sansa's waist, the other reaching over to help prop her up as she leaned into him. Her dress was torn a little around the knee, one side dark with blood and the entire area covered with a bit of dirt. Sansa's eyes were scrunched up in pain, and she was quite clearly trying to keep off one of her legs.
Before he knew it, Jon was rushing forward with worry written clearly on his face.
"What happened?" He asked Robb, sweeping in to help prop Sansa up on the other side.
"She tripped."
"I fell."
Robb and Sansa spoke at once, one with barely hidden worry and the other with a small wince of pain. As Sansa spoke, Robb frowned eyes, and continued, "Her and Arya were having another spat and the pups got underfoot. She tripped over Lady, but the pup's unharmed. Sansa not so much." He glanced down at her knee.
"Lady had nothing to do with it!" Sansa protested, face red "It was all Arya's fault! Just because she doesn't care about her dreadful appearance doesn't mean she has to get mud all over my dresses!"
Her brother's shared a roll of the eyes, even as they kept a tight grip on her to make sure she did not fall. Both knew well how their sisters did not have the best rapport, and this wasn't even the first argument this week. Barely a day went by without the two arguing about something.
"Right, we need to get her off that leg. Quickly, in the library," Jon spoke pulling them to the room full of books and shelves and dusty decorations.
"I was bringing her to Maester Luwin," Robb said as they helped her into the chair Jon had just been sitting in moments prior, "But you're right, she shouldn't be walking. One of us will have to go get him."
"First, let me see the wound," Jon said, barely paying his siblings any mind as he reached to his side, and into a pack he had started wearing recently. As he did, his siblings frowned and shared a glance, even as Sansa shuffled a bit, her leg propped out and the scrape visible through the torn holes in her dress.
Pulling out several glass vials, Jon glanced at it and nodded. "Seems tender, but a minor scrape. There'll probably be some bruising for a few days as it heals." He told her, missing the complicated expression she made as he uncorked one of the vials and dabbing two of his fingers into it. A moment later, he reached out and began to spread a paste over the wound.
"Ahh!" Sansa hissed, flinching forward, while Robb quickly quickly grabbed hold of her to keep her still, looking at his brother quizzically.
"This should make sure infection doesn't take hold," He explained, dabbing a couple more brushes of the ointment on her wound, "It'll sting for a moment, but then should help with the pain." Corking the vial, he put it bag in his bag and pulled out a roll of bandages.
Shifting a bit awkwardly, he said, "I'm going to need to bandage your leg. It'll be a moment," He told her, as he moved the leg of her dress carefully aside so he could begin bandaging it. "The maester will still need to take a look, and the wound will need to be cleaned, but that should help for now."
"Nghn...A-ah? O-oh…. It… it's actually starting to feel a bit better." Sansa said with wonder as he pulled her dress back into place.
Robb gave him an unreadable look.
"When did you learn medicine?" He asked, and Jon turned away as he stood.
"Ah… Just something I picked up. I've been reading more, you know." He replied, trying stop the conversation then and there.
Lips turning down into a frown, Robb didn't look too happy with that answer. "This isn't the sort of thing you just pick up, Jon! I'd like to think I'd know my own brother was learning to heal people or how to play music!" He pressed heatedly, and to the side, Sansa shrunk.
"Ah… How did you learn music, anyway?" She asked, shuffling nervously, "You said you'd been practicing for awhile but no one's ever seen you doing it, and I've never heard any music in the keep before."
"I practiced in the woods." Jon answered quickly, feeling a bit contrite. Had Sansa really asked around that much about it?
"When?" Robb asked with narrow eyes, and Jon took a step back, "We almost never go into the Godswood alone, let alone the Wolfswood, Jon! So when did you go out to practice? Hells, when did you even make all of that?" He gestured angrily toward Jon's pouch.
Frowning, Jon glared back at his brother. "Well, we're not always together are we?" He said with a measure of scorn, "Just because I'm not glued to your hip, I must be up to something? The moment the bastard is out of sight he must be doing something unsavory?!"
"You know I've never thought of you like that!" Robb shouted back, and Sansa flinched.
"Well what do you want me to say? That I learned it in a dream?" Jon asked with a roll of his eyes, knowing how that would go.
"The truth would be a good start!" Robb rebuked and jon nearly snarled, the last thread of his patience finally snapping.
"THAT IS THE TRUTH!" He roared back at his brother, his voice beating back his brother and making him flinch as Jon finally gave. Face red and fists clenched, he threw his arm to the side as he went on, "That's the truth, Robb! I learned it all in dreams and visions, and I'm half convinced I'm going mad!" He told him, oblivious to how the candlesticks around him, once unlit in the noonday light, began to smolder and burn.
"Believe me or not, that's what's going on! And it's been tearing me apart because half the time I don't even know who I am anymore!" Jon yelled, throwing his hands to the side as his siblings looked on with wide eyes.
"Dreams?" Robb asked with disbelief and concern written on his face, "What are you talking about, Jon? You sound mad right now!"
"Maybe I am!" He shouted.
"Then why not say something?!" Robb bit back, stepping forward with his teeth bared, "You're my brother, Jon! I won't even pretend to know what you're going on about, but maybe I would if you would've told me!"
"Tell you what?" Jon replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, "That sometimes I lose time? That I dream of another life?! Of not being me? Of Not being a Bastard?!" He yelled, "Who would believe any of that? Who would I dream of beasts and magic and know them like I know the back of my own hand! That I learned to tune a lute in dreams, or that I know enough about medicine to make a Maester jealous!" He continued angrily, everything spilling out as the walls broke down. Everything he had been holding in these past few weeks, everything he had been trying to ignore.
"Do you know what it's been like?" He pressed on, "Sometimes I forget my own damn name, Robb! There are moments where I feel like I'm somewhere else entirely, and that I'm not even me anymore!" As he yelled, a couple of the candles flickered to life.
"But...But you do know how to play." Sansa interrupted, having leaned back away as the two began to raise their voices. Nearly shrinking into herself as the two turned to her, she said, "A-and now you know medicine. So there has to be something to them, right?" She said quietly, as her brother's said nothing, both of them just huffing, their face's red with anger and frustration.
Slowly, they began to calm down, and Jon steadfastly looked away from his siblings.
"...You should have told me, Jon." Robb said with exhaustion, the short argument already having him look haggard and unkempt, his voice lined with distress. "I'm your brother! Even if I didn't believe you, I'd still stand by you, just as you would do the same!"
Slumping down into another chair, Jon let out a long breath. "What would I say, Robb?" He said, sounding just as tired, if not more so, "And even knowing you'd stand by me, what could you do? I've been trying to deal with it for weeks."
"Then stop trying to deal with it alone." Robb reached up and rubbed at his face, letting out a sigh of his own.
For several long moments, they all just stood and sat there, two too tired to say much more and the last looking between the others awkwardly. Finally, Sansa, shuffling in her seat and sitting up, turned to Jon, to ask, "So… What do you dream about?"
Swiping his dark hair out of the way of his eyes, Jon gave a lacklustre shrug. "A lot of things. Sometimes they're simple, like sitting down in front of a book and reading to pass the time. Others, they more complicated." Face going through a complicated series of expressions, he said, "More… mad."
"Mad how?" Robb asked, voice quiet, and his brother simply gave another shrug.
"It's…" He struggled with the words, "It's hard to explain. But sometimes it feels as if they take place in a completely different world," He shook his head and leaned forward as he rustled his hair. "In my dreams, I'm not… not me. I'm someone else. Some living a completely different life in a different place. And that's the simple part.
Jon rubbed at his temples. "Then there's the magic." He told them, shoulders sagging with resignation. After all, he'd told them this much. May as well tell them everything.
Sansa, despite her wary expression, perked up a bit. "Magic?"
With a nod, he continued, "Yeah. But it's nothing like the stories." He frowned, brow furrowing as he began to explain the things he had internalized from his dreams, but had never really put into order. "I guess some of it is, but in others it's just too… Structured. There, in my dreams, magic comes from this…" He struggled to find the right words, "Spiritual realm, or something. I'm not entirely sure. They call it The Fade, and it's where people go when they sleep and dream."
"And you just happen to be dreaming about it?" Robb asked with a quirked brow, and a disbelieving expression.
In response, Jon shook his head. "It's not the same," He told them, "I find it just as mad as you two probably do. I've never heard of such a place, not even in any of tales and stories Old Nan used to tell us."
"Then, if you learned how to play music in your dreams, does that mean you can do magic too?" Sansa asked, curiously, "Is that why some of the candles just lit by themselves?" She said, and both Robb and Jon blinked, and turned towards the candles. And indeed, just as Sansa said, several of them were lit, while the others smoldered.
Jon was stunned. "I… That's…. That's never happened before." He said, looking at the candles with wide eyes.
"But, no one touched those candles!" Robb said with a frown, staring at the candles intently, "And they definitely weren't lit when we came in here!"
"It happened while the two of you were arguing," Sansa said with a frown of her own, "I thought It was just a trick of my mind at first, but it can't be."
Going over everything he knew from his dreams, Jon felt a pit form in his stomach. "I-it's technically, possible," He said, still unable to draw his gaze away, "In my dreams, magic responds to understanding and perception, and emotions can make it stronger." He explained, "And fire always responds to things like anger or frustration. But if I'd really lost control, it definitely should have done more than light a couple candles."
Like scorch the entire room. Though it would explain why Jon felt so tired, even outside of having just had a very emotional argument. Magic took energy and willpower, and Jon certainly felt drained of both.
"That can't really be magic," Robb said, eyes wide as he turned to focus once more on his brother. "Magics gone from the world." Maybe a few centuries ago, this could be plausible, but now? Magic was gone from the world.
"Maybe it's coming back?" Sansa posited, seeming curious. "There are always some who keep to the old traditions and proclaim being able to see the future and such."
"But it doesn't even line up with any of the tales!" Robb insisted, "Magic is a sword without hilt! Jon's right, it definitely doesn't sound like any magic I've ever heard of!"
"Then how could they use magic at all?" Sansa pushed with a frown, "How did anyone?" She looked towards Jon, but he had no answers.
"I don't know." He told them, "Like I said, most magic in my dreams makes use of The Fade."
"Most?"
He frowned. "I… That's all I've seen. Right?" He muttered to himself, thinking on it, "Mages make use of their connection of The Fade to affect the world around them. So doesn't all magic come from The Fade?" He blinked, feeling a bit dizzy, "But, no… What? But that doesn't make sense? There has to be…"
Blinking a couple more time, Jon lurched forward and gave a groan as he clutched his head.
"Nnngh!"
"I don't like this one bit." Alistair said with a frown, nervously tapping his fingers against the hilt of his sword as he sat across from his friend around the fire. A scoff, as their other companion turned their head. "Pah! Such predictable words, from the detestable fool." She said imperiously, golden eyes narrowed in distaste, "And such hypocrisy!" She crooned, her eyes glimmering against the firelight, her black hair seeming to shimmer in the night, "Was it not your order's policy to bring anything and everything to bare, to fight the Blight?" The third figure sighed, glancing around the camp. At the moment, it was just the three, the rest having gone to bed for the night. "Morrigan," He said with exhaustion, "Stop provoking Alistair." "I will," The woman said, crossing her arms beneath her rather ample and more than visible bust, "When the fool stops being a blithering imbecile." "Hey!" The blonde protested in affront, "I am not a blithering idiot! At most I'm an insipid dullard." "Ah, at least the monkey knows his place," Morrigan said with a roll of her eyes. Daylen groaned. "If I didn't know the two of you couldn't stand one another, I'd tell the two of you to just fuck and get it over with already," He said tiredly, prompting expressions of disgust and further affron from the both of them as they rushed to dissuade him, "So instead I'll just tell the two of you to knock it off! This is important." "Hmph," Morrigan sniffed, turning her head up and away, "Have it your way, oh courageous leader." She said mockingly, leaning back and arching in a way that had Daylen cursing her for he He swore, she was just as bad as Leliana or Zevran sometimes. Alistair glowered at Morrigan for another moment, before sighing and turning back to Daylen. "Look, I'm just worried. After all we saw in Redcliffe, is this really the sort of thing you want to be playing around with?" "This sort of thing is the only reason we even got out of Redcliffe," Daylen shot back with a frown, "And to be quite honest? I just don't trust Avernus as far as I can throw him, and I don't need to tell you that's not far." "That's fair enough and all well and good," Alistair said, shaking head head he brought a hand up to ruffle his hair, "But I don't see why that means you need to dabble in Blood Magic!" "Must everything be explained to you?" Morrigan interrupted with a frown, "How else would one make sure he is not up to something or slipping something by, if one does not understand his work? It is not as if we can be there at all times looking over his shoulder." She said scornfully. "Crass as Morrigan is," Daylen spoke up before yet another argument could get going, "She's not wrong. We're letting him live because -distasteful as it all is- his research works. And that's big. If you haven't looked around lately, we're a bit undermanned and the odds are against us. We need every advantage we can get." "I'm still not happy about that either, but I can't deny your points," Alistair allowed, "I'm just wary. Even if it's you, most mages who use Blood Magic just can't help themselves." "Then it's a good thing we have you on hand to put me down if it goes that way, isn't it?" "What?!" Frowning even further, Daylen stared into the fire. "Jowan showed me."
Daylen said bluntly, causing his friend to flinch, "But either way, it's too late. I already know the basics."
"Ngh!" Falling to the ground, Jon could barely hear the cries of his siblings as they rushed to his side. No, he was more preoccupied with trying not to cry out as pain erupted in his head, the flame of the candle nearby beginning to flicker wildly.
"Grah!" As the flame flashed and erupted to twice its size, Jon lost himself once more.
A woman stood before him, but in truth, she was no woman at all. Her eyes were the light of the moon, pouring through the canopy of leaves and branches hanging high above their heads. Her hair the deep and earthen soil of the forest floor, leaves and twigs arrayed beautifully within. And her skin was the leaves and the grass the thin stalks of the blooming flowers. Bark and root were her fangs and her claws, but they went unbared as she stood there exposed to the elements in the ruins of this old keep. Behind her stalked two dangerous, slavering beasts. Fur dark and mottled, drool dripped from their maws, legs bent and angled as they stood on two legs. Claws as sharp as knives flexed as the bore into him, their forms like that of a man mixed the sigil of his family's house. "You… What are you?" He asked, looking at the woman who was not a woman, "You are no demon, of that I'm certain, but you feel like no Spirit I have ever met." "I would not," She spoke with the wind, "For I am no Spirit. I am dirt and the soil, nourishing the life of the land. The trees and the leaves, keeping the rain from washing away my children. The wind and the moon and the sun." Eyes like no other stared at him, into him, "I am The Lady of the Forest." The Forest spoke to him.