Thanks to those who follow this story! I really appreciate it since this is my first GoT story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones. Wish I did though so I could recreate Season 8.
…
I woke up early, the sun already shining through the window. I woke up alone: Ygritte was gone. Only the indentation on the pillow and the light smell of her perfume told me that she had ever been there.
Tyrion came and picked me up at about ten-thirty. No one else was there to see me off. Apparently they'd all gone back to London already. I was quickly realizing that there was no sentimentality in this game. Ygritte hadn't even said goodbye, or left a note. What Tyrion had said about not getting too close to anybody, particularly other operatives, clearly held true. A note would have been considered as concrete evidence of closeness.
I would have to adjust my way of thinking.
As I threw my bag in the boot, I had a momentary flashback to the small hours of the night before.
I got into the car and Tyrion looked genuinely pleased to see me as we sat together in the back.
"How are you doing, boy?" he said, throwing an arm around my neck and pulling me down to him for a hug. "The boss said you did brilliantly." He squeezed tighter. "I'm quite chuffed, Snow."
"Yeah, it wasn't bad." My new name was beginning to sound normal to me already. "I could have put up with being near crippled by the red-bearded sadist. But being abducted, terrorized and dropped in the woods with my pants round my ankles in the middle of the night was pushing it a bit. I felt like I'd been raped."
Tyrion's face dropped. "Oh, they didn't, did they?" He looked pained.
"Well, not raped exactly…" I admitted.
"I thought they'd stopped that ridiculous initiation bullshit years ago. Boot polish and shaving cream all over, was it?"
I nodded. "Plus ketchup, beer, aftershave, gravy and possibly piss."
Tyrion shook his head, so did the driver who pulled away and started off along the drive. "Who was it?" Tyrion asked.
"I didn't really see," I said. "But if I had to guess, I suspect Ramsay was the one behind it. There was another… probably Tormund or Myranda?"
"Hmm. Could be. She has a sweet voice but she deepen it. Although it could have been any of them, to be honest. Possibly people you haven't even met."
"Right. So if it's just an initiation prank, why did they scare me shitless? I thought they were going to slice my head clean or something."
The driver pulled out on to the main road as Tyrion replied. "The charitable view is that they were just testing your cover under stress. Especially if you'd had a skinful."
"Nice of them to be so concerned," I muttered sarcastically.
"Well, you can't always choose when your story's going to be tested," Tyrion said. "It's quite likely to take you by surprise."
"So why did they keep going on about my brother?" I asked.
"Did they?"
"Yes, every other question. Trying to catch me out."
Tyrion sighed. "Well, the uncharitable view…"
"Yes?"
"…Is that Robb was not universally popular. And you might be taking a bit of stick for it."
"Great." Instinctively I felt protective of Robb. "Now you tell me. Why?"
"Everything I've told you so far has been true," Tyrion assured me. "He was a hero. But that's just it … the gong and everything, makes people jealous. Especially when they feel they've been working just as hard, or in equally dangerous conditions. And Robb went about stuff his own way. On his own. Which can make people resentful, like they're not being trusted or kept in the know."
"But he's got results, right?"
"Sure," Tyrion said evasively. "On his terms."
"I see."
"I just thought you should know." Tyrion looked across at me.
"Cheers," I said. "Better late than never."
"So you got back all right afterwards?" Tyrion asked, changing the subject back to me.
"Yeah, half naked and covered in shit, but alive."
"Good, and you got cleaned OK, and got some rest?" Tyrion threw me a sideways glance.
"Yeah, I was fine once I'd had a shower and got into bed," I replied, feeling myself blush. I was thinking about her. THAT could definitely get me and her into trouble out their in the field.
"Good." Tyrion indicated the driver to overtake a slow old lady.
I put my head back on the headrest and shut my eyes, smiling at the memory: remembering a faster, younger one.
…
We got back to Deptford around lunchtime. Tyrion had told the driver to push on into Greenwich and so we drove up the hill and parked outside a nice old pub in the middle of a row of Georgian houses. Well, Tyrion told me they were Georgian. I should take notice of that kind of detail, he said. It can come in handy at one point.
I still felt a bit wobbly from the night before, but I'd had a kip in the car and by the time Tyrion had forced a pint and a sausage baguette down me, I felt as right as rain.
"So, are you still all right about taking on this job?" Tyrion wiped a smear of ketchup and mustard from the corner of his mouth. I shielded my eyes from the sun, which beat down brightly into the beer garden. Tyrion was wearing mirrored sunglasses and it was hard to read his expression.
"Yeah, I guess."
"You don't sound too keen."
I paused for a second, picking my words. "It's been quite a week," I said. "I've had to change the way I think about one or two things."
Tyrion nodded.
"Learned to trust no one… and not to take anything or anyone on face value … even my own brother."
"Sure," Tyrion said, "that's spot on. So?"
"So, it's made me view the world as a pretty dark place."
Tyrion looked into his pint for a moment as if it were a crystal ball. "That much darker than before?" he asked. "Vagrant, alcoholic father, no money, dead brother?"
I looked up and stared at the bright blue sky. Something in me had always been able to make a blue sky look black. "No, not that much darker."
"Serious doubts I assume?" The shorter man peered at me over the top of his specs.
"It's a bit late to back out, though," I pointed out. "Now I know the nature of this game."
"Well, it's not too late yet. But I agree, it wouldn't look good for any of us to try and get you out now."
"So, I'm in."
"Good man," Tyrion smiled. "I can give you this then."
He put his hand out across the table and gave me a memory stick.
"What's this for?"
"Some of Robb's stuff," he said, catching me by surprise. "You don't have to use it, but it might give you a bit of insight, you know, into what he was up to." He walked over to me and squeezed my shoulder, then drained what was left of his Guinness and lifted up his sunglasses. "One thing you can be sure of, boy," he said. "You can trust me."
"Can I?"
"Yes," he sounded sincere. And I believed him.
…
Tyrion had the driver drop me off at the flat after lunch. He said I should spend the weekend relaxing, and get to know the apartment and the area. Get up to speed with my new computers and phone before starting the job on Monday.
A new term.
I reminded myself of the codes and let myself in. The apartment still smelt brand new. My stuff was all there and the bridge had been filled in my absence. There was a good-luck card from Tyrion and a bottle champagne. He really was looking out for me. He'd also left a handful of black notebooks on the table. Moleskine, the label read. Tyrion had written a note: Use them, then get them back to me. Store in a safe place. I supposed it was up to me to find my own safe place – even Tyrion didn't want to know where it was.
I wandered around the apartment aimlessly for a few minutes, stared out of the big windows across at Canary Wharf, then took a leak in the brand-new toilet, like a dog marking its territory.
I got a beer from the fridge, enjoying the fact that I could. Then I walked over to the bedroom and lay back on the big, white bed, which smelt fresh and clean. I pointed the remote at the widescreen and a black-and-white movie came on. I caught a shot of Piccadilly Circus, then a sign that said New Scotland Yard. A police officer was talking to a woman wearing a great big bow and one of those ugly hats they wore back then.
"You're quite right, madam," he said in a squeaky, old-film voice, "It's true that the air ministry has a new thing that quite a few people are interested in, but they're positive that no papers are missing that would be any use to a spy…"
I laughed.
The next scene was in the London Palladium, where a greasy-looking bloke with a pencil moustache asked the memory man on stage, "Look here! What are these Thirty-Nine Steps?"
And the memory man went into a kind of trance and said, "Thirty-Nine Steps is an organization of spies, collecting information on behalf of the foreign office…" Then he got shot by some villain in the balcony with a cap gun.
I sipped my beer and chuckled at the simplicity of it all. I didn't find out what happened in the end, because by the time the old jazz-band music kicked in, I felt myself nodding off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
…
One week later…
It didn't take long to spot Daenerys Targaryen.
She was surrounded by a group of girls. Good-looking girls like her usually hang around with a couple of rough-looking ones who won't draw attention away from the main attraction. But the girls surrounding Daenerys Targaryen weren't exactly dogs either: they were all well-dressed with good haircuts and a kind of polish you rarely see in my patch of South London. Taken individually, you would probably fancy any one of them, but together they all looked a bit ordinary compared with Daenerys. She was naturally icy white, while the rest of them had expensive highlights or shiny brown curls. She was small – she must have been five two or five three or probably in between, and not thin either. She had quite an old-fashioned figure. Curvy. The others came in various shapes and sizes. There was a bunch of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean beauties as well as a much taller mixed race beauty who could've been a model or even an athlete.
Daenerys on the other hand seemed to glow a bit brighter than the others. Her conversation looked animated and lively, and there were laughs whenever she said anything. It was as she had a natural aura of celebrity about her.
I didn't gawp, of course. I used some of my newly learnt field craft to observe from afar, to keep a distance and remain unobtrusive.
I had caught a DLR train from Deptford Bridge, then hopped on a bus at Lewisham Station that took me down towards Bromley, in the posher part of the suburbs. Even though the bus stopped directly outside Marlowe Sixth Form College, I got off a couple of stops early. I didn't want anyone to see me arrive at the gates. Inf fact I circled around the block and approached the college from the opposite direction. Quite a few of the students arrived in cars, and I was surprised by the number of Minies, Golfs and Beetle convertibles in the small car park. I didn't attract any attention: I was underdressed in jeans, a charcoal grey sweatshirt and black suede skate shoes, carrying a backpack that held my phone, laptop and some books. The idea was to blend in with the background. Seemed easy enough.
Everyone gathered in the large yard at the rear of the college building. It was the first day of term and students clustered in pairs and groups. The noise of their chatter was loud in the air, with that excitement that people have catching up after their holidays. I did a circuit around the yard but looking around vaguely, taking in all the groups, acting as if I was looking for someone. All the while I kept Daenerys and her gang, all leggings, hair and Ugg boots, firmly in my sights. I was a spy, but add an extra thirty years to me I would have been considered an undercover pedophile.
Another unusual thing about them was that there were no males hanging around. Boys circled and watched but didn't even attempt to join in. I felt as if I was watching some kind of wildlife documentary on National Geographic. The girls surrounding Daenerys knew the boys were circling and therefore made gestures: playing with their hair, checking their lipgloss, putting their hands behind their heads, world-weary, as if they were already bored by the day. The looks they flashed at nearby males did nothing to encourage an approach. They were all protecting their queen.
Getting to know Daenerys Targaryen was already looking more difficult than I had anticipated.
"Sorry…" I'd stepped back straight into someone's foot. I automatically apologized, but whoever was behind me must have been virtually been breathing down my neck. I turned to see a bloke pretty much my age.
"No worries," he said, grinning. "The Dany Gang."
He nodded towards the group of girls and I was instantly fuming with myself. So much for subtle surveillance – I had already been caught watching by someone watching me.
"You can look, but don't touch," he continued.
"Oh, right."
"You're new here, aren't you?" he asked. "My name's Grey. Grey Torgo." He held out his hand for me to shake. I did.
"Jon Snow," I replied. "Yes, I am new."
"You'll be needing a friend to show you around then," Grey continued, as if I had no choice in the matter. "What subjects are you doing?"
"IT, History and French."
"Interesting choices," he said. "You'll be doing IT with me."
"What are the chances."
Grey grinned, uncertain as to whether I was being sarcastic or not."
"Best move on in then," he said finally as the bell rang. "It's first session."
…
Grey Torgo had made sure he sat next to me during IT. Other lads pushed and jostled him on the way in, taking the piss at him just because they could. He was clearly in the butt of plenty of jokes but seemed to accept his position in life, good-naturedly telling the others to naff off. Wherever you go, it's always the needy freaks who run up and try to make friends first. They're either the ones that no one else likes, or they have worn out all their other friendships by being weird and demanding. They've tried everyone else, so you're next in line. Fresh meat.
I tend to think that people who are desperate to be your friend are honestly best if they're avoided, so although I felt a bit cruel, I tried to shake him off at the first break. But Grey wasn't having it and followed me to the canteen, stuck to me like glue. I worried that his presence was already cramping my style – but then no one else had so much as looked at me, let alone spoken to me, so I decided that Grey was a good enough place to start my enquiries. I grabbed a coffee and he sat himself down next to me, drinking from a bottle of water.
"So, first impressions," he said, glancing around the canteen. It looked pretty ordinary to me: a few vending machines, some tables, a sandwich bar. Daenerys and a couple of her girls were sitting over on the other side.
"Yeah, pretty good," I said, not wishing to offend.
"So how come you're starting this year?" Grey asked.
"I had a gap in my education," I said honestly. "A death in the family. Took some time out, then got a place here."
"Sorry about that," said Grey, looking at me sideways. He shut up for a moment, as if he was worried he might have upset me. I used his silence to take the initiative.
"So, what's the deal with Daenerys Targaryen then?" I asked, nodding in her general direction.
"Don't you know?" Grey almost squeaked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Her old man is supposed to be some major villain. Serious robberies, drugs, fraud … all of that. He even gets people sorted … you know, blown away. 'The Mad King' is his name around these parts."
I shrugged as if to say no, I didn't know. Of course, I had done some background reading on the Targaryen family, but it was best to act ignorant.
"Sweet," I said. "So does she have a boyfriend?"
Grey snorted. "Apparently there was one; pretty big guy, y'know. Buff as hell. Rumour has it he was suffocated in his bed for trying to get her bra off in bed."
Oh shit… I had to bite my lip.
"So basically, even if she was interested in having a relationship with bloke," Grey continued, "no man, and I mean NO man, would ever go near her for fear of her father."
I glanced up and saw that Daenerys was looking directly at me from across the room. My stomach lurched a little as I felt I'd been caught in the headlights. I attempted a light smile and she turned away again. I kept looking for a moment longer.
She really did have a fantastic figure. Like I said, curvy. Short but curvy. I could care less about her height, I just wondered whether it would be worth the risk of suffocating…
…
I got back to Deptford at around five. It had been my first day on the job and I thought I should start writing up my notes. I opened up a blank page in one of the new notebooks and stared at if for a while. Then fiddled with a pen and looked at the page a little longer. I didn't know where to start. I had worked out a hidey-hole in the floor of the closet in my bedroom by just levering up a plank that opened into a cable duct. There was a good space down there and once I had replaced the square of carpet over it, I reckoned it was pretty secure. I lifted the carpet and pulled up the blank. Underneath were spare SIM cards and memory cards, my false passport and ID, and the memory stick that Tyrion had given me. I plugged it into the laptop and double-clicked on the icon. There were several MP3 files, all labelled Classified and dated two or three years ago. I clicked on the first.
My brother's voice.
It was a verbal account, a bit monotonous, but Robb's voice. I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but all I could hear was the sound of him. I spooled the clip back to the start and listened again.
…
"Came back to Belfast a week before the start of term. Just to get into the swing of things, do some groundwork before the rest of the Frey mob gets back to Yorkshire on Friday. The chemical engineering course attracts all the nutters and misfits… The chemists spend more time in the pub than students on any other course, and the ones who aren't learning to make explosives seem to be intent on making stuff to blow their minds…"
…
I scrolled forwards a bit.
…
"They've bought my cover as a mature research student on secondment from Royal Holloway. It all fits with what they know about London: my flat in Kilburn; my sympathy for the cause. My accent is Scottish, but my 'parents' are English. I'm Robert Wolf to them. Jaime. It all adds up, and none of them seem to be the suspicious type … I hope."
…
He went on the describe how he had gone out for an evening with some girl named Talisa, a member of the chemist organization, how she had taken him up to a pub in the Falls Road area:
…
"Talisa ordered Guinnesses for the both of us and we sat at a formica-topped table at the back of the bar by the pool table. We played a game and I beat her. Afterwards, we got pretty close and she never took her eyes off me. I was getting pretty uncomfortable. I sipped Guinness I didn't even want, just to stop my mouth from being dry. I didn't trust her. I suspected Talisa was an informant for the Frey's. And this was all happening to soon. She finally spoke, told me that she had seen me hanging around the college during the holidays.
'Sniffing around,' she said.
I repeated my story that I had comeback early to revise for exams. Talisa nodded and didn't say anything else, which made me more nervous. She may have been a woman, but she had intimidating mannerisms like that of man. I needed a leak badly and went out to the toilets. I heard the toilet door swing open behind me and felt the thump of a fist on the back of my head. I dropped forwards and hit my nose on the low window sill above the urinal. Some training kicked in and I banged a leg out as I fell, catching Talisa in the shin and bringing her down with me. Did I mention she was strong for her size and could hit like a guy, too? We wrestled on the slippery tiled floor but because of her speed and agility she had the better of me. I was on my back and she held me by the collar and cracked my head against the floor.
'You fucking liar!' she spat into my face, and I could smell and taste the beer and aggression on her breath. She had quite a lot to drink that night. I tried to blink my mind clear through the drink and the throb from the back of my head. Talisa punched me in the mouth and my head went back against the tiles again. I tasted blood. I hadn't expected everything to happen so quickly. It was supposed to have taken me months to get this far into the organization. I had to think fast. I didn't want to fight back too hard and reveal my training but I had no time to spare. I would have to play my joker now, or…"
…
The sound clip finished. I clicked on the next one, my heart pounding. I felt sick just hearing about it. I sat on the edge of the bed listening to Robb getting it off his chest. How he had shown Talisa his membership to the Harp Club in London and finally convinced her he was on her side. I scrolled forward again.
…
"Talisa came round the following morning and apologized for her behaviour: said that taking me up to the pub was the only way to test me. To put me through the trial by fire with her animalistic side.
'What's with you?' I asked. Talisa said she's got IRA genes that stretch back to Ramsay's father, Roose Bolton, that he's spent years inside and on the run in Spain.. The authorities know, but Ramsay states that he has protection in some very high places. He wants me to work on helping me find him. He could be pivotal to cracking this one, he says.
I asked Talisa what she wanted – what she'd done. She said it was more a case of what she hadn't done. It was a very short list. I asked what might have happened if I hadn't belonged to The Harp.
She chuckled grimly. Said she'd probably drug me and rape me in my sleep, have my ears cut afterwards for fun, then kneecap me with a power drill, castrate me and cut my throat with a bread knife before burying bits of my dismembered body all over the county. It made me feel a bit sick, especially since we had sex a couple of hours later. She reassured me in bed that she was joking, but then said she would do it just in case there was any further doubt about whose side I was on.
And of course, I was on the wrong side."
…
Whatever side that was, Robb was a cool customer. I looked again at my blank page. A tear had rolled down my nose and onto the paper. Hearing my brother's voice again, I guess. What I was up to seemed so childish compared to all the things Robb was talking about, but you had to start somewhere I guess. I relived the moments of the day … arriving at Marlowe College, surveying the yard, meeting Grey and locating Daenerys Targaryen.
I began to write.
…
At the end of my first week at Marlowe I got off the bus at the stop just past the college so as not to fall into a routine. The bus stop was occupied by a big, navy-blue Mercedes and the bus had to pull alongside to let passengers off, blocking the car in. The car horn blared and the bus driver hooted back. The electric window of the car slid down and a massive bloke inside told the bus driver to piss off. I hopped off the bus while the altercation continued and almost bumped right into Daenerys Targaryen, who had just got out of the Mercedes. She saw me and looked embarrassed, turned and walked back towards the college. I followed a couple of steps behind her. She looked as good from behind as she did from the front.
I had a bout a hundred paces to make up my mind. If only she'd drop a hanky or a book or something naff like that, then I'd have an excuse. But she didn't, sod it.
And in one of those mad moments, I just dived in. I quickened my step and caught up with her. Here goes nothing.
"Your taxi driver looked a bit hairy," I said, jerking my thumb back to where she'd been dropped off.
She barely looked at me but smiled, reddening, which I liked. It was working.
"Yeah," she laughed awkwardly. "Really embarrassing."
I pressed on. "I'm new this term. I think we're in the same History class."
"Um… yeah, I think so." This was going quite well, if I'm honest.
The conversation would have ended there, but the gates were getting closer and any minute Daenerys would be swallowed by her gaggle of overprotective girlfriends.
So I took it.
"I was wondering if you'd like to go out some time?"
I couldn't believe it myself as the words tumbled out my mouth. Maybe it was easier to say because I was hiding behind a mask. It didn't feel like it was me who was saying it. A couple of months earlier I would never have dared. My words had an instant effect. Daenerys stopped dead in her tracks and looked at me.
"Are you asking me on a date?"
"Well, I don't really know anyone here," I began to explain. "And you look really nice."
She smiled. And I was encouraged to do better.
"Better than nice, actually," I said.
Daenerys burst into a laugh and put a hand over her mouth. "You are," she said. "You're asking me out!"
"Is that so bad?" I chuckled as I opened my arms so that she could look at me.
She laughed again and began to walk towards the gates. "I don't even know your name."
"Jon. Jon Snow." I caught her up and held my hand out to shake. She didn't take it but looked at it as if it was something strange, unknown. She smiled at me again and turned into the gates.
"I'm Daenerys," she replied. "And I'll think about your kind offer… Jon Snow."
…
Grey Torgo was straight on to me.
"Bruv," he said. "You were talking to Daenerys Targaryen." He put both hands to the sides of his head as if his head was about to explode.
"Talking's a bit of an exaggeration," I said cockily. "I just opened my mouth and words came out."
"Mate. You were walking alone with her and talking," he went on. "You sir, are one brave man."
"I asked her out as well."
Grey walked over to the wall and pretended to bang his head against it. "Nah, fam. I take that back," he said. "Not brave, just completely and downright mental."
"She hasn't said yes yet," I told him.
"Well, let's hope she doesn't. Or her father will be putting you in that fucking medieval stretcher thing. Steer well clear man."
"Thanks for the advice." I rolled my eyes.
…
Hope you guys enjoyed this one, especially the little sneak peak of Robb Stark talking about his undercover stuff and Talisa. Also, I had Grey Worm renamed to Grey TORGO. I know that 'Torgo' his first name in Valyrian but to me it sounds like a surname in the real world.
Stay tuned for more.
