Hey, Hi, Hello! Notes at the bottom. CRAP I HAD NO IDEA I POSTED CHAPTER 3 TWICE ITS FIXED! SORRY! Also i did the same for chapter 1 and replaced it with 3 for a hot second there. A HUGE thank you Reikson for letting me know. you saved my bacon lol. Sorry for the confusion everyone, its fixed now.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the raven took to the skies, and an old and gravelly voice spoke from behind Jon.
"You have changed everything."
Jon's lips curled into a snarl and he slowly turned around to stare at the old man standing on the riverbank before him. "Brynden Rivers; bastard son of Aegon the Unworthy." He greeted in a tone that was all ice and anger.
Jon remembered when he heard the story of how Bran became the Three-Eyed-Raven from Meera Reed. It was after the Night King's First Retreat. Arya had already assassinated Cersei and Euron Greyjoy claimed the Iron Throne for himself. The Vale had fallen and the Golden Company was marching through the Neck. At any other time, the army would have fallen to the very nature of the Neck itself. The endless morass of suckholes and quicksands of the swampy marshland were enough to slow any army from crossing. Not to mention the cranogmen that knew the land like the back of their hands and could make the lives of invaders an absolute hell. However, the Golden Company had a method to cross it never used before; wildfire. Green flames engulfed the Neck and burned a path north, along with everyone who could not escape the blaze. When Greywater Watch, the seat of House Reed, fell, the remaining cranogmen forces retreated north. Jon met with Meera Reed and eventually learned of her and Bran's quest beyond the Wall to find the Three-Eyed Raven, along with everyone they'd lost on the journey. When Jon asked Bran, he confirmed the story to be true. After he'd returned through time, Jon decided to research the bastard son of Aegon IV.
The man known as Bloodraven had quite an interesting history; his role in the Blackfyre rebellions, his tenor as Hand of the King and Master of Whispers, his imprisonment and opting to take the black, his election to Lord Commander, and finally, disappearing while ranging beyond the Wall in 252 AC. What was most interesting, however, was the claims that he was a sorcerer. "How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have?" The riddle ran, "A thousand eyes and one." Given what Jon knew now, it was a very apt description.
"Aegon Targaryen; son of Lyanna Stark and Rheagar Targaryen." The albino replied. A nigh imperceptible tilt of the head, and then, "Or would you prefer Jon Snow?"
Jon's eyes narrowed. "You claim to know me, then?"
"As you claim to know me." Brynden's lone red eye never moved from Jon's blazing blue, "I know only what I see, and I have seen much."
"I know enough, greenseer!" Jon hissed, "And do you know what I see? Nothing but an old man in a tree who has done nothing but watch the world go to the seven hells for the last fifteen years!"
The Raven stared at Jon for a long moment. Brynden's tattered clothes billowed in an invisible wind, and for a moment, Jon Could see anger in his eye, but then, Brynden tilted his head and said to Jon, "I am as you say; an old man in a tree. Would you like to know what I see when I look at you, Night Prince?" A moment passed before the name registered, and then a sheet of ice crackled over the river's surface as Jon's fury flared. Despite the fact Jon knew he could not do any harm, Jon took a step towards the Three-Eyed-Raven with eyes blazing with rage. He stopped just as quickly when the implications of the title caught up to him as well.
Night Prince.
Not King.
Even though he no longer felt any cold, Jon felt a chill slide down his spine. "He's still alive, isn't he?" His voice sounded bleak, even to his own ears. A long moment passed where Bloodraven just stared at him, before he gave a slow, grave nod to acknowledge Jon's fear. It felt like a pit had opened beneath his feet to swallow him, and Jon stumbled back into the cold water with his thoughts reeling. Somehow, he'd known. Despite his hopes and denials, he'd always known ever since he'd returned that the Night King still lived.
"The king of the Others lives, yes." Bloodraven's voice pulled him back to reality, "As do his White-Walkers and Army of the Dead. I see them beginning to march south again at this very moment."
Jon blinked, "Again?" He asked.
"Half a year ago, they stopped marching. It was only for a moment, but every single one of them stopped and stared South. For once, it was not at the Wall, but towards Winterfell, where a boy was killed and a man was born. A man with blue eyes." Brynden paused for a long moment. "I am the Three-Eyed-Raven; I see all that is and has been. I see his power in you, Jon Snow. Power no mortal was ever meant to possess. I can see the day you were born and every one of your days up to now, and yet, I do not see you; the one who took the place of the boy in Winterfell. I cannot see your story. The trees do not know you, Jon Snow. You are an anomaly, and your very presence here has undone the fabric of fate."
Jon swallowed thickly, "I am from the future." He answered. It was the only thing he could think to say.
Brynden went very still. "Oh." Was all he said after a long pause. Then, "How?"
"What do you want?" Jon asked in turn.
"To know who you are. Now, more than ever." Bloodraven said honestly.
"And why should I tell you?" Jon shot back. His anger had returned now. Anger against the Three-Eyed-Raven for what he had done to Bran in the life he had lived, and anger against Bloodraven for not doing more to stop the Others. What good where a thousand eyes and one when all you could do was watch? Underneath his anger was concern. If the Three-Eyed-Raven could not see Jon's story, that begged the question of how would he react to the future Jon came from? What would he think of the Deal? No matter what resentment Jon held, he had no desire to make an enemy of Three-Eyed-Raven.
"I can be a powerful ally."
Jon laughed a contemptuous sound that rang hollow and was rich with bitterness. "What use would I have of you?" He said scornfully, "I know the future of this world, Bloodraven, and it is a ruined world of ice and fire! Half of the country will be scorched by wildfire while the other will be frozen, and all that is after the wars that take place! Countless follies by ambitious fools tore the kingdoms apart while you sat in your tree! I even know your future, Brynden Rivers!" Jon stared straight into the eye of the Three-Eyed-Raven and said "I know your fate, Three-Eyed-Raven, and I know who you seek!"
Bloodraven's eye went wide.
Jon stepped forward again, "Stay away from Bran Stark." He intoned lowly, "Stay out of his dreams and keep to your tree! Try to stop me and I'll climb the Wall and kill you myself!" He turned to walk away from the Three-Eyed-Raven. It did not work. When he turned around, he found the apparition of Bloodraven standing on the opposite riverbank.
"You do not understand." Bloodraven said, "I am not the only one watching you."
"The Night King? Or perhaps the Children? I know what few remain are with you." Jon guessed through gritted teeth. To his surprise, the thoughts of the Children of the Forest sent faint echoes of rage coursing through him. Most of it seeped from the Night King's memories, but also due to his thoughts of the one known as Leaf. Bran had made mention of her as well, eventually. She and her group had been responsible for creating the Night King, and by proxy, the Others. All of this was their fault.
Brynden blinked in what Jon could tell was surprise. After a minute, he spoke. "True, they watch as well, but no. Your arrival was like a star falling from the heavens; unexpected, powerful, and witnessed by many. As I said, man was never meant to wield such power. I merely wish to learn who you are, but there are those who wish to destroy you."
The chill returned. "Who?" Jon asked.
"Both the Others and myself could see the light of your magic from beyond the Wall. Your arrival upon this world has made magic stir for the first time in centuries. Because of you, old things are waking. You have drawn the attention of many eyes, Jon Snow, and some of those eyes have seen you in the flames."
"The Red Priests." Jon hissed with no small amount of venom.
"Yes." Brynden said after taking in Jon's anger, "The servants of the Red God have seen you, and they see you as a threat."
"They see everything that doesn't belong to their Red God as a threat! Something to be burned away! I know their zealotry well." Jon growled.
"Yet, you have not met any of R'hllor's followers in your life thus far."
Jon's following sneer was all teeth. "This life, Bloodraven."
Brynden stared at him, long and hard. "You died?"
Jon swallowed hard, "I don't know. I was...sent."
"I sense my own power in you alongside the Night King's." Brynden told him with a quirk of the head and narrowing of the eye. The old man was good at asking questions through statements, Jon would give him that. When Jon stayed silent, Bloodraven said, "I mean you no harm, Jon Snow. I wish you to know that."
"I do not trust you." Jon responded firmly.
"Why?"
"I have no reason to trust you. You said that you sensed your own power with the Night King's. You're not wrong." Jon stared Bloodraven dead in the eye as he walked towards him. "I met the Three-Eyed-Raven, Brynden Rivers, but it was not you. It was your replacement!" Jon hissed through clenched teeth.
The ice on the river thickened to the point where sheets if it trailed behind him as he waded towards Bloodraven. Cold wind lashed the tree tops, frost coated the ground, and a light flurry of snow began to fall. "But it wasn't Bran! No, It was the thing he had become! A soulless shell of my little brother; the Three-Eyed-Raven! I will not have him die for you, Bloodraven! I won't have it! Do you hear me? I won't have it!" Jon was trembling as he rose from the water and glared at the last greenseer beyond the Wall. No matter what came, he would protect his family from the fates that would befall them, even if it meant opposing the Three-Eyed-Raven and the Children of the Forest.
"I won't have it!" He hissed once more.
A whole minute passed before Bloodraven spoke again. When he did, his low and raspy voice was tinged with what Jon could tell was naked concern. "What happens to young Bran?"
"What do you care?" Jon demanded.
Brynden's lone eye bore into his, "If what you said is true, than something went terribly wrong in the transition of power. I have worn many names, but the name my mother gave me at her breast was Brynden. Throughout all these years, I have kept my identity and not lost myself to the darkness I dwell in. Every time I open my third eye and slip my skin to enter the trees, I risk losing myself to the darkness there. It is easy for one as practiced as I, but an untrained greenseer? Without a guiding hand, they may become lost in the roots of the weirwood trees with only their third eye to guide them through the dark. If so, a part of them will never return. Something must have happened; I must have not been able to fully complete his training."
"How do I know you're not lying?"
Brynden sighed and fixed him with an annoyed glare, "You are a paranoid man, Jon Snow. You look for deception within every spoken word, but I have no need for doublespeak or hidden motives. This is not King's Landing, where lies come as easy as breathing, nor am I the Hand of the King or Master of Whispers." The shrewdness in his gaze intensified "And you are not some common Noble I must deceive. I left those days behind when I took the black, and were all but forgotten when I became the Three-Eyed-Raven, so, please do not insult me by thinking me craven."
Jon glared at Bloodraven even as the fight drained out of him. Here was a man that Jon, despite his misgivings, could genuinely respect, even admire. Brynden Rivers had been a man forced to make hard choices, but the right ones. Even though he had been branded a kinslayer after slaying his half-brother, Daemon Blackfyre I in the first Blackfyre Rebellion, and later a sorcerer during the reign of Aerys I, Brynden had remained loyal and dutiful to king and country. He had been a competent Hand and spymaster from what Jon had read, and he had asked to join the Night's Watch after his imprisonment during the Great Council of 233 AC.
Mayhaps it was foolish, but a part of Jon trusted a fellow black brother. However, another part of him that existed within the scars on his belly screamed otherwise. Where did Brynden's loyalties truly lie? Was he of the Watch, or did his heart reside with the roots of the weirwood he lived in? Jon could trust man, but he did not want to trust magic. So, who was Brynden Rivers, now? Magic or man? Greenseer, or black brother? Jon had to know if he were to trust him.
"Who are you?" Jon suddenly demanded. Brynden eyed him carefully. Calculation and consideration lay within that blood red orb as it bored into Jon's eyes. Jon asked him again, "Who are you, Brynden Rivers?"
Brynden's faced worked for a moment, and then it relaxed. The old greenseer stood straight and proud, and said to Jon "I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men."
"...For this night, and all nights to come." Jon muttered. He quashed the power inside him and felt the freezing cold around them fade away as well as the blue drain from his eyes. He and Brynden stared at each other for a long moment, him with solemn acceptance and Brynden with honest curiosity. Then, Jon stretched out his hand. The greenseer looked at it, and then to Jon.
Then, he took it.
Jon let him see everything; his life as the Bastard of Winterfell, him joining of the Watch, his encounters with the Others, meeting the Free-Folk, the battle for Castle Black, Stannis' arrival, Hardhome, his death and resurrection, the Battle of the Bastards, meeting Daenerys, his quest beyond the Wall.
Then came the second War for the Dawn, the Night King's first retreat, the Golden Company attacking, Cersei's assassination at Arya's hands, Euron Greyjoy taking the throne, Melisandre and the wildfire, the invasion of the Red Priests, and the war of ice and fire that followed.
Then, finally...the Deal.
The memories of that life flew by in a whirlwind of sensation; sound, smell, touch, sight, taste, and it was over in an instant. Even though Jon knew this was merely a projection of Brynden Rivers that he could only see through magic, Brynden's grip felt solid and real. When he finally let go and the memories ended, Jon gasped a lungful of air and stared at the greenseer who was staring right back with open-mouthed shock. It was here, Jon realized, that Brynden had expressed more emotion in than Bran as the Raven ever did. It seemed, perhaps, that Brynden was right when he said something had gone wrong with Bran. It allowed Jon to believe that he was doing the right thing in showing Brynden the truth.
"I have my own ghosts, Jon." Brynden croaked, "A brother that I loved, a brother that I hated, a woman I desired. Through the trees, I see them still, but no word of mine has ever reached them. The past remains the past. We can learn from it, but we cannot change it." He stared deep into Jon's eyes, and said two words, "Until now."
Roose Bolton stalked through the halls of the Dreadfort towards his maester's room. The guards all but jumped out of his way when he approached the door. "Cowards." he thought with narrowed eyes, he should have them flogged for showing such weakness. Roose opened the door and swept inside to greet the sight upon the maester's table.
There, lying beaten and bloody, was his bastard.
He stared at the boy's mashed face and swollen skin for a long moment, before he turned to the two men who had brought the body and asked, "What happened?"
One of his men, he could not remember his name, stepped forward and cleared his throat to speak "We were patrolling Weeping Water, milord, when we came upon a girl who had run out of the woods. She was naked and didn't speak a word, just pointed into the trees. Us and a couple 'a smallfolk went to see what happened and, well..." Here, the man swallowed and glanced at his bastard's body.
A fission of annoyance ran through Roose and he said "Speak lest I have your tongue removed. What happened?"
"Milord..." Came the voice of the second guard, " When we found 'im," He nodded to Ramsay "There blood everywhere. Dead dogs and a horse, and there was a man atop 'im, just...hittin' him, milord. Over and over. I called for 'im to stop, but when he turned..." Here, the man's words stuttered and he stared at Ramsay's body with a look of remembered fear, "'E' was cloaked in black, milord. Hair was white as snow, and his eyes...they were blue! Completely blue, like...like...like blue stars in his face, and they glowed! I swear it, milord! Swear on me mother's grave! And there was a sword stuck in the horse. It didn't look like steel or iron-make. It looked like it was made of ice! Pure ice! He grabbed it and ran. By the gods, 'e was fast! By the time we started to move...'e was gone!"
Roose remained silent for a long moment. These men were not lying. The smallfolk had been questioned as well and said just about the same thing. Blue eyes, white hair, black cloak, and the deep cold that left when the stranger ran into the trees at an incredible speed. It was bizarre. It was frustrating. Above all, it made him desire a leeching so he may be able to think straight. He knew of his bastard's vices, and while Roose did not stop him, he had warned Ramsay to be careful. A peaceful land, a quiet people; that was his motto. He did not need the likes of Lord Stark to hear of what his son did. The consequences would be...vexing.
Speaking of Lord Stark, this...occurrence coincided with the rumors that spoke of a similar man hunting criminals around the Wolfswood and Winterfell, and all of that seemed to correspond with tales of Stark's bastard going mad and running off into the night.
This, however, demanded his immediate attention.
"Leave." He said to the guardsmen. They nodded and scurried out the door like rats. Roose stared at the body of his bastard and allowed himself the luxury of a calming breath. He was surrounded by incompetent fools, it seems. "Maester Wolkan, your report." Roose addressed his maester, who had been silently watching off to the side, waiting to be called upon. Good, at least someone was competent.
Wolkan dipped his head with a respectful, "Lord Bolton. Your, erm, son is in critical condition. While alive, he is hanging on by a thread. His nose is crushed and his one eye is ruptured. Two of the fingers on his left hand are broken and appear to have been bitten most hard by human teeth. As your guardsmen have reported, he has been beaten very badly, milord, by someone very strong." The maester paused and glanced at Ramsay's body, "There is something else, milord. Something odd." At Roose's nod to continue, Wolkan walked over and parted Ramsay's tunic, which had been cut open to reveal the blotchy red marks on his son's body. Roose ran a finger over them and frowned when he felt how cold his son was.
"Frostbite?" He asked.
"Yes, milord. It is still summer, milord, and the temperature around Weeping Water is still rather fair, but its as if your son had been dropped into the far north with little protection. He was so cold that his body had gone into shock." That explained why the room was so warm, Roose mused as he stared at the braziers and raging hearth.
"He was so cold..."
Roose and Wolkan both turned to face Ramsay. The boy stirred slightly and let out wet coughs that racked his whole body. Roose loomed over his son's body and stared at his ruined face. "Ramsay?" He called softly, "Can you hear me?"
Ramsay's voice came rasping again, "His hands were like ice...cold. Cold hands..."
"Who did this, Ramsay? Tell me." Roose asked again. Ramsay's good eye slowly opened and stared at him. Wolkan was moving around in the background, muttering about a poultice, and Roose leaned in closer. The sooner Ramsay identified his attacker, the better.
"He was cold...cold hands."
"Ramsay?"
"Cold hands..."
And then, Ramsay went still. A long, gurgling breath left his lungs a minute later, and Roose knew instantly that he was dead. Wolkan flew to Ramsay's side and would have begun performing a number of maesterly things in order to try and save his son, but Roose stopped him, "Don't bother. See to it that his body is buried below the Dreadfort. After that, have my captain of the guard post a bounty on this...Coldhands. A stag for any information in regards to him for a start. To the man that captures him, ten gold dragons dead and twenty if he's alive." With that, he left the room and made straight for his solar. He was in need of a leeching indeed. Too much excitement was bad for his blood; made it too hot for his liking.
"Lord Bolton! Please, Lord Bolton!"
His fingers twitched for want of a knife when the woman's voice grated his ears. Slowly, he turned and saw the kennel master's daughter, Miranda, along with a few of his son's men, the Bastards Boys, standing in the corridor outside the door. He said nothing and regarded her coolly.
"Ramsay, is he...is he-?" His son's whore blubbered.
"He is dead." He cut her off before striding off towards his solar. As she wailed in misery behind him, he allowed himself another calming breath. He'd deal with the woman later, but right now, he had no time for this nonsense. He was going to write a few missive to his vassals, asking for assistance in the hunt for this Coldhands.
Behind him, Miranda collapsed while weeping loudly. Luton caught her before she hit the stone floor, but she shoved him off with an angry scream of "DON'T TOUCH ME!" As she wailed, Sour Alyn grunted and asked "Ramsay's dead?"
"Didn't you just hear Lord Bolton?" Damon Dance-for-me asked snidely.
"Who killed him?" Skinner asked.
"Whoever it is, I'm gonna cut his cock off." Yellow Dick growled. Behind him, Grunt grunted in agreement.
"They say that the Blue-Eyes killed him." Luton said.
"The Blue-Eyes? You believe that horse-piss?" Damon scoffed.
"Some shite about some demon killing men left and right across the north? Maybe not a demon, but some cunt who thinks himself a hero." Skinner shrugged "I say we go out and hunt him down."
"With what?" asked Yellow Dick, "The Girls are all dead, and Ben Bones says none are proper trained to hunt yet."
"I heard that Starks bastard is Blue Eyes." Damon chipped in "They say he died with a hundred wounds from invisible knives and woke up a day later. Then, he runs off and disappears."
Grunt, well, grunted in agreement.
Miranda suddenly snarled. She turned to glare at them all with eyes wide as their deceased hounds "Starks bastard did this!" She howled.
Sour Alyn rolled his eyes, "Miranda, its just a rumor-"
"No! I know he did! He had to have done it! The Starks have always hated the Bolton's! The little cunt probably did it to impress his father! I'll flay him alive!"
"Miranda-"
"Saddle the horses! We're finding this little fuck if its the last thing we do!" Her eyes were wide and glassy as she looked around at all of them. The Bastard's Boys, as they were called, had feared their now dead leader. It was unsaid among them, however, that they feared his lover just as much. Miranda was as cruel and sadistic as Ramsay, and just as fearless. And now, it seemed, she was twice as mad.
"Lord Bolton-" Sour Alyn began.
"Will reward us! Even if we have to burn Winterfell itself to the ground, we'll find Ramsay's killer!"
"Burn Winterfell?" Damon scoffed. He sounded careless, but there was a gleam in his eyes that said otherwise, "Not that I'm opposed to the idea, but we'd need an army for that shit, Miranda."
"We don't need an army." Miranda hissed, "Ramsay always told me that all you'll ever need is twenty good men."
Whew, I did not have a lot of time to get this puppy done so its a little late in my mental time-frame of weekly chapters. Meh, still got out. Not much to say for this one besides me having a hard time writing the interactions between Bloodraven and Jon. One who knows the future and one who knows the past made for a weird dynamic. Bloodraven being mysterious and vague with Jon's blunt facts smashing his mysterious air. I just hope it sounds good, everybody.
Ah, Roose, you creepy mother fucker. Also, the Bastards boys! Jon murdered the Bastards Girls (His dogs in the books). Aaand Miranda. I have plans for her as well. You haven't seen the last of the Flayed Man, boys and girls! Except for Ramsay. I kept him alive and killed him all in a few paragraphs! Yes, I gave Jon Coldhands as a moniker. I don't think the half-wight will be in this story to be honest, but we'll see.
Next up we're gonna see what's going on back in Winterfell. See you then!
