Notes at the bottom.
It was the singing that woke him up.
He should have known something was off the second he'd woken up from another dreamless sleep. He still did not need sleep, but there were times he slept merely to remember what it was like. Food, water, rest? Such things were now a luxury for him.
The direwolves had been dead silent. That immediately set him on edge because the pups, who were now as big as they were when Robert came to Winterfell, made constant noise in the morning, either gamboling about, growling at one another, or whining at their mother. Then Jon had felt the presence of another in his tower; a presence that radiated pure magic.
Then came the singing.
"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,
Jenny would dance with her ghosts,
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,
And the ones who had loved her the most~"
"The ones who'd been gone for so very long,
She couldn't remember their names,
They spun her around on the damp old stone,
Spun away all her sorrow and pain~"
"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave~"
"They danced through the day,
And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall,
From winter to summer and winter again,
'Til the walls did crumble and fall~"
"And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave,
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave~"
Jon peered over the lip of the upper landing to see a sight that was unbelievable. There was a man, down at the base of Tumbledown; a huge man in a forest-green cloak, and he was petting the mother direwolf. The she-wolf was practically curling into the strangers lap while he rubbed her thick fur. Even her pups scampered around him, yipping in excitement. For a moment, Jon stared, utterly shocked into a stupor at the sight before him.
Then, the man looked straight up at him, and Jon flinched.
Eyes that were the purest shade of green, like an entire forest had been condensed into this man's gaze, stared into his frigid blue without a single trace of fear. If anything, his eyes were friendly; welcoming, even. A dark, bushy beard, one any northerner could respect and one that rivaled even Tormund's, hid a majority of the man's face, but Jon saw how it shifted when the stranger smiled at him.
"Hello, there!" Came the booming greeting followed by a wave of a green glove.
Jon stared hard at the green-clad stranger while his grip tightened around his ice blade. "Who are you?" He called. The stranger just let loose a burst of jolly laughter that filled the whole tower. The sound unnerved him just as much as the sight of the she-wolf leaning into his touch.
"I have gone by many names." The man said while Shaggydog tugged at the hem of his cloak. The big man scooped up the rowdy pup and tickled behind his ears even while the pup nipped at his green gloves. "Greenhand, Greenhair, The Green...many unimaginative titles, though it is a color that suits me." Those sharp, green eyes flicked up and down his cloaked frame, "Just as black suits you, my young friend."
Jon jumped from the ledge and landed before the stranger with a loud thud. The pups all jumped and their mother barked angrily at him. He ignored the clamor and glared straight into the green eyes of the green man, who, in turned, raised an eyebrow at his actions. It was here Jon faltered because up close, he saw that this man's beard was actually a dark shade of green. The same went for his locks of hair; green as the pines in the wolfswood. What was more, Jon saw that the man was not wearing gloves at all, but it was the color of his hands that were green!
"That looks terrible for your knees." Came the dry observation
The tip of Jon's sword pointed directly at the man's face. If he was anxious of having the icy weapon, it did not show. The smile did not abate from his face either, and that ratcheted Jon's unease up a notch.
"What are you?" Jon demanded.
"Someone who has not tread foot in this land for a very long time, and someone who has traveled very far to see you!"
A loud caw, the fluttering of wings, and the presence of ancient and familiar magic filling the tower let Jon know that Bloodraven was now here. The greenseer was warged into a raven that watched them from a hole in the ceiling.
"Ho, there, Old Raven! Is that you? The last time we spoke was when I planted the Oakenseat!" The green man called up to the greenseer.
Jon stared in utter shock, "You can see him?"
"Oh, yes! I see many things, hear many things, and know many things. Take her for example!" A green finger was pointed at the she-wolf, who was currently huddling her pups away from him towards the back of the tower, "She both loves and hates you! She loves you enough to stay with hope you will change, but hates and fears the darkness growing in your soul. Simply put; your wolfsblood is turning to ice in your veins."
Jon blinked, "What?"
The green man sighed "I forget how you northerners prefer things straightforward. Where's the fun in that, I say? A little riddlespeak never hurt anyone! Well, mostly anyone. Now, look here!" Suddenly, there was a small bag in the man's hands. Jon flinched, for it had not been there a second ago. It was, by all means, a normal canvas bag tied with a simple cord, but Jon knew otherwise. This simple bag was imbued with pure magic. Magic that was of the green man. Said man slowly reached into the pouch and pulled out something small and brown the size of his fingernail; a seed.
"What do you see here?"
"A-a seed." Was all Jon could say.
"To you, it may be just a simple seed, but to me?" He rolled the seed between his thumb and forefinger, "It is a symbol of life, of growth, of hope! What is more, is that it is a symbol of progression! A simple seed may sprout and become the tallest tree or bear the ripest fruit! And if it is cultivated, than it may become greater!"
The green man slowly began to rise, and Jon's sword arm twitched "Don't move!" He warned.
"But a seed can not sprout and grow on its own. Seeds need care, you see! They need earth, rain, and sun! A seed must need all three to grow to its full potential. The same goes for the races of men! And you are no exception, young dragonwolf."
Jon went very, very still. There was a sense of anticipation filling the air, an electric charge that Jon knew would lead to conflict, for behind the green man's friendly and jovial smile lay a sharpened edge, like a tangled mess of briars just waiting to ensnare him, and Jon had noticed the great battle-axe laying within reach of his green hands.
"Look further!"
Jon did.
And Jon gasped.
Lush landscapes, rolling hills, deep forests, great gardens and fields of grain and wheat grew under his tender hands.
Men and women from all over the world were taught to plant, reap and sow; guided by his gentle hands.
Where he walked, farms, villages, and orchards sprouted like stalks of grass. Barren women became fruitful with merely a touch of green fingers, even crones who no longer got their moon blood. Maidens ripened at his presence, mother's brought forth twins or even triplets when he blessed them, and young girls flowered at his smiled.
Lords and common men alike offering up their virgin daughters to him wherever he went so that their crops may ripen and their trees grow heavy with fruit. Any maiden he deflowered delivered strong sons or fair daughters.
And When summer ended and autumn came, he would sleep until the next spring.
Then there were the olden times, where a blood sacrifice was demanded of his worshippers to ensure a bountiful harvest.
Entire fields withered and died with but a wave of his terrible hands.
Mortals who displeased him were transformed into trees, bushes, or animals under the power of his wrathful hands.
Famine and plague blighted Lords who offended him and were struck dead in their castles. Highborn ladies were cursed with barren wombs.
Any who gained his ire birthed deformed and stillborn children.
For as easily as The Green could give, The Green could take.
On and on it went; a cycle of growth and birth, life and love, death and destruction. This was a being who had walked the earth for so long, he'd forgotten when and where he took his first step. What Jon had seen was old and ancient in a way that made the stones of Winterfell seem freshly mortared by comparison.
The green man stared at him, "So, you see now, what I am?" He asked.
The temperature plummeted when Jon took a step back with his blade held ready. Frost crackled under his boots and made the green man's breath billowed out in steam. For the first time in since he returned, Jon felt fear.
"What are you?" He demanded once more.
The green man...no, this was no man. This was something primal; a force of nature. The only thing he could compare to was the Night King. Not even the Three-Eyed-Raven held the same amount of ancient magical power!
The being before him straightened. When he did, his hood fell back to reveal a crown of vines and flowers encircling his green locks. What was more, a pair of antlers, like those of a stag, began to sprouting out from either side of his head. He took a step forward, and as if to match Jon, winter roses sprouted beneath his feet through cracks in the stone floor. A green hand extended towards Jon, who gaped at the sight of the color spreading through the man's skin until he truly was a green man.
"I am Garth Greenhand!" Came the booming declaration. Eyes of the purest green bore into his once more, "And I am here to see what kind of seed you are, Night Prince!"
Jon lunged.
The green hand that still held the seed from earlier came down, and the earth under Jon's feet exploded.
Jon went flying in a shower of dirt and hit the ground outside Tumbledown Tower with a jarring thud and rolled to his feet just in time to dodge the enormous axe head that chopped a furrow in the earth. The green dragonglass ripped a gash in his frost-covered cloak, but Jon spun with inhuman speed and lashed out with his ice-blade. Even though Jon's opponent was twice his size, he was surprisingly nimble. He all but twirled away from the frosty point and used the momentum to swing his axe in an arc that forced Jon on the back-foot.
Jon dodged three more swings from the huge axe before he stabbed forward at an opening in Garth's guard. It was a feint; the haft of the axe twisted and knocked the point aside. Then, the butt swung up to smash into Jon's face. Jon leaned away from the swing and smacked the axe head away it came down again. The ice and dragonglass skittered off each other with a loud scraping sound that grated ones ears; a sound Jon was all too familiar with.
Quick as a flash, Garth's hand dove into the canvas bag tied at his waist and scattered a handful of seeds at Jon's feet. All Jon saw was a flare of green magic before they burst into fully-grown beech trees in the blink of an eye. Their thick, snaking branches caught him about the chest and arms and knocked him to the hard dirt once more. Jon snarled and rose to his feet to see Garth watching him through the branches with an eerie light glinting in his eye. Then, the branches parted to let him through.
Jon snarled and swept out his hand. Sheer cold blanketed the area and a frigid gust of wind blew forth into Garth's face, bringing with it flecks of ice and dirt. Snow began to fall and a white mist coalesced around Jon's body. Garth swung his axe, and Jon stepped back into the mist, vanishing from sight. Garth began to laugh as the freezing mist rolled over him.
"Impressive, Night Prince, most impressive! I haven't had a bout like this in ages! Come! Show me more of what you can do!"
"If you insist." Jon thought darkly. Then, he attacked.
He came at Garth from the side, fast as lightning. Garth's head turned towards the sound of his approaching feet and chucked another cluster of seeds at the ground. Jon cursed and leapt out of the way as a few hawthorn trees, accompanied by a smattering of laurel bushes erupted from the ground to block his path. Garth began tossing out more seeds, laughing all the while, and greenery violently came into existence wherever they landed. By the time Greenhand was finished, it was like they were fighting in an area of the wolfswood.
Garth moved through the greenery as easily as a fish through water. Jon had to hack and slash his way through the thick brush and bramble. The freezing mist Jon generated kept Garth relatively blind to his movements, but the legendary High King of the Reach kept pursuit like the finest of bloodhounds. Garth laughed through every swing and parry, each block and thrust. He acted like the fight was some grand tourney put on for his benefit. What was worse, was that Jon felt he was losing. Every time he tried to escape Garth's self-made forest, the green god would throw out more seeds to increase the size of the greenery. The only thing acting in Jon's advantage was his white mist, and that only obscured the green god's vision. His skill with that battle-axe was inhuman, and Jon knew Garth most likely had countless centuries of combat experience under his belt. He was incredibly strong and fast, and Jon relied on every lick of skill to survive when they faced off. Garth was like a mighty oak, and he was just a harsh wind succeeding only in rattling his branches.
Jon slunk behind the trunk of a thick ash tree and watching the blazing green flame, to his eyes anyway, of Garth Greenhand tromp through the trees while calling after him. "Why do you hide, Night Prince?" Garth's voice echoed "Come! Face me!"
Jon's sword slashed through the trunk of the ash tree like butter and he kicked with all his might. Garth might not be able to see it, but he heard the tree falling and dove out of the way, cackling like a madman. Jon was moving before the tree crashed to the ground. Garth was still getting up. He stabbed down with his sword, but Garth rolled out of the way. Then, Jon's world went sideways. Sharp points dug into his body and he was picked up and rammed into a tree. Garth had charged him like a bull and cast him atop his antlers. All he could Jon kicked and punched, and slashed with his sword, but Garth merely tossed his head and Jon was sent sprawling. He rolled onto his back just in time to have Garth's boot slam onto his chest and the tip of his axe descended for his face.
Jon moved his head out of the way at the very last moment.
Pain!
Bran was excited. The king should be arriving today from what he'd heard! He had climbed to a point on the walls that had a good view of the road to Winterfell in hopes he saw the procession coming. Down below him lay the hustle and bustle of hundreds of servants preparing for the royal party. It was a much more welcome change to the tense air that had been hanging over the castle for the past year. Father hand been strained, Mother had been silent, and his siblings had been a mixture of sad and angry. The searches for Jon had been put on hold and everyone had been explicitly told not to mention what had happened with his half-brother.
As for him, well, Jon's absence was like a hole nothing seemed to be able to fill. He missed him fiercely. The dreams didn't help either. They occurred nightly, now; always the same one. Jon kneeling in the snow as a blizzard raged around him. His hair turns white, then his skin becomes blue. Jon's eyes would be blue, too; all the way blue with the black of his pupils the only other color. Tears would roll down Jon's cheeks, but it was so cold that they froze to ice. He tries to speak, but his words sound like crackling ice. Ice and frost crept over Jon until he turned to solid ice; trapped and frozen in the snow. Bran was starting to think the dreams meant something important, and whatever they meant, it wasn't good.
Movement from beyond the trees drew his attention. A quartet of horses were galloping out of the woods. Bran's eyebrows went up when he saw the yellow and black crowned stag upon one of the banners. The royal party! Outriders perhaps? Wait, why would outriders be needed if they knew Winterfell was expecting them? Bran's brow furrowed. Something was...off. He could feel it. They were moving at a hard pace, straight for Winterfell. Behind them, just emerging from the tree line a column of yellow, black, red and gold were hurrying to keep up. It had to be the king's party, but why the rush?
And why did he suddenly feel so uneasy?
Fiery cold pain erupted along his right cheek. He'd had worse, but it had been so long since he had been properly injured. It was merely a cut, but the shock of it...when was the last time he had felt anything properly? It was like a shock to his system. Jon suddenly felt like a layer of ice he had not known existed was melting off him. His mind had cleared as well. Something wet trickled down his cheek, and steam rose into the air while the mist around them began to dissipate.
"Ah." Rumbled Garth Greenhand from above him. Jon looked and saw a pleased expression on the big man's face "It is as I hoped."
Jon found himself gasping for breath. "Wh-what?"
Green hands reached for him, and Jon flinched, wanting to move, react, anything, but his body was still reeling from whatever had just happened. Those great and terrible hands brushed a section of his cheek, and came away red.
"The blood of Old Valyria flows through you; it wards off the chill spreading through you, but not forever." Garth looked at him "You are a dragonwolf through and through, Night Prince."
Jon glared, "Don't call me that!"
Garth cocked an eyebrow at him "Night Prince or dragonwolf?"
"Neither." Jon shook his head angrily, "Both."
Garth stepped off him and leaned against his axe, "Ah, but that is precisely what you are! It is what drew me to you! Old things are waking and walking the earth once more because of you! You are a sign that things will change. Some see you as a curiosity, while some see you as a threat. Mortals have not wielded such power in an age. You know it as the Age of Heroes. I remember it as a time where I was worshiped."
The cold was settling back into his system and he felt like he could move again. Slowly, so very slowly, Jon rose to his feet. Garth watched him with a curious eye. Jon eyed the green god right back. Neither made any move to attack the other.
"What was the point of all that?" Jon asked.
Garth shrugged, "For fun, mostly."
Jon's eyes narrowed. I don't believe you." He said.
Garth chuckled, "Very well. I wanted to take the measure of you. When you're as old as I am, you become easily bored. I wished to see what you were; a man or a monster, I was very curious, you see." He openly smiled, "I am very glad that you seem to be a man. I do not have to kill you, now!"
Jon stared at him, hard. Garth's smile widened.
"Hey, hey! What are you doing with that on?" Father scolded Arya. After he removed her helmet and handed it to Rodrick Cassel, and shoved him out of the way with a "Move!", Winterfell was finally ready to receive the king. The thunder of hooves was the first thing they all heard, then through the gate came a small group of horses. The riders were the same ones he saw ahead of the column. One of them was a fat man dressed in dark furs and very red about the face. He was either flushed with anger, exertion, or both judging by his expression.
Father went to one knee, and everyone followed. Bran blinked. Was that the king? He was struggling to get off his horse. Bran spared a glance at him and saw that he was staring at father with a look of absolute fury.
"STARK!" He roared once he was fully off his horse.
Father's head shot up from his place on bended knee. "Your Grace?" He asked, shock and a little worry in his tone. The king all but ran forward and grabbed father by his shirt and hauled him up to eye level. Bran's eyes went wide and a shocked gasp echoed through the crowd. Some of the Stark guards drew steel. Father, on the other hand, looked absolutely bewildered.
"Robert-!"
"WHERE IS HE?" The king roared in father's face "WHERE'S THE DRAGONSPAWN!"
And father's face went white.
More hooves cantered into Winterfell as more people arrived. Five men dressed all in red galloped into the courtyard. They wore ornate armor over their orange robes and held spears with points shaped as writhing flames, and there were flames tattooed across their cheeks. Behind them cantered in a group of twenty men led by a woman with a bow clutched in her hand. She looked about with a savage grin and lifted her bow into the air.
"KILL THEM ALL!" She howled.
The men in red and orange yelled out "THE NIGHT IS DARK AND FULL OF TERRORS!"
More steel was drawn, and the newcomers attacked.
...Work has kicked my ass up and down the block all month. I went to Lancaster for a 4 day vacation and Easter was a fun time, but work...sucks. Yes! Garth Greenhand confirmed. Same for the Grey King. Kinda obvious since I used the words green and grey in every sentence...
Squeezed this out by midnight! Im going to go back and edit this but for now, sleep calls...
