Jon

The sun was barely visible through the shrouds of fog blanketing the hills and plains ahead. Lhazar was a vast land, not unlike the North, though of a more pleasant climate. It hardly rained, though when it finally did, it poured down on them as if he gods decided drown them. Yet it was this thick fog that never failed to fascinate Jon.

Every week, Tito, Jon and the other men rode out to scout the lands for potential enemies and every morning they encountered the same thick fog. Tito was unbothered, but Jon was always relieved when fog dispersed. Jon preferred to see his enemies.

"Don' fret about it, friend," Tito remarked and pointed at the sky. "The sun will soon banish away the fog."

Jon nodded his head and followed after the column of riders. All of them were older than Jon, warriors who had seen countless battles. Tito's oldest brother Mallar, the chief of the city of Lhazosh, was their leader. He was a stern man of ten and three, but Jon was thankful that he allowed him and Dany to remain in the city. Jon didn't know how, but Tito's mother was somehow able to convince her son.

Jon suited this task just fine. He certainly preferred using his sword than being a sheep farmer.

"The next town should be the last one before we reach the border to Kosrak," one of his companions explained. He was one of Tito's many cousins. After three moons Jon was beginning to understand bits and pieces of their language, though he still had much to learn. Dany learned quicker and was already able to hold conversations with Tito's relatives. Especially, his older sister Larsha seemed taken by Dany and dedicated much of her time to educate her in traditions of the Lhazraeen culture.

Jon was more than surprised when the young woman appeared on their doorstep, armed with a bow and spear to take Dany for a hunting trip. It seems hunting small animals was some of sport among the women of this city.

Dany was fascinated and now she often returned home with a dead hare, a peacock and once she even killed a squirrel.

"Finally," Tito muttered and straightened himself on his horse. Jon nodded and took in the town they had passed at least a dozen of times. Unlike most Lhazareen town the walls were made of brown clay and there were even several watchtowers rising above the outer walls. Outside the city they were greeted by the sight of corn and barely fields. The dying sun light gave the fields the appearance of a sea of gold. "First we rest and then we ride back."

The other men smiled, sharing his relief. They had ridden for days and most of them longed for home. Jon shared their relief, but he couldn't help but to feel uneasy as they continued ride through the town. Something was different.

The people were far more guarded than usual and the streets were almost deserted.

"What is going on here? Where are your people?" Tito asked an elderly woman, perched on her doorstep and working a spindle. Beneath her feet sat a young girl, who tried to hide behind her grandmother's back when Ghost's ruby eyes fell upon her.

"Stay away, boy!" he told his wolf and touched his head. "You are frightening the little girl."

Ghost yawned and trailed back to his side.

"The women and children left to seek shelter behind the walls of Kosrak," the elderly woman explained."And the men went to join the warriors. A Dothraki horde was seen and the chief of the city asked for their assistance."

"Dothraki?" Tito asked, his voice laced with displeasure. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," the woman replied and patted the girl's cheek. "We will leave soon, but we have to wait for my son's return. He is still out on the plains with our herd of sheep."

"I see," Tito replied and led his horse along the dusty road. At the end of the city they found a well, where they were able to water their horses. Once they were finished they settled down a green patch of grass, Ghost curling down beside him.

"Shall we ride for Kosrak?" one of their companions asked Tito. He was the youngest of the warriors, though still a handful of years older than Tito. He was asking for Tito's decision as his brother put him in charge of this scouting troop.

"Not all of us," Tito explained. "My brother awaits our report. We have to return."

Then he let his gaze sweep over the group of men, coming to rest on a scar-faced man of middle high. He was his good-brother, though his name escaped Jon. His friend had so many relatives, trying to recall all their names made his head squirm. "Would you go, brother?"

"Of course," the man replied and rose to his feet. "I will go and return as swiftly as possible. You should leave soon or you won't be able to make it back before sunset."

Then he freed his horse and mounted it in one quick motion.

"True," Tito agreed and winked. It was the way of the Lhazareen warriors to show respect to show respect to each other. "We shall see each other in Lhazosh. Take good care and may the Great Shepard protect you."

"And the Great Shepard protect you!" the man replied and left a cloud of dust in his wake.

Jon and the others left moments later. It was as if Tito was possessed by a demon. It was strange to see him like this. He was always quick to jape, but now he carried an almost gloomy expression.

"Is it uncommon for the Dothraki to come here at this time of the year?" Jon asked his friend as they passed yet another sheep herd. This was a particularly big one, guarded by at least a dozen of men and women. It felt as if the sheep were slowly swallowing up the landscape. That they blocked the way ahead didn't fail to worsen Tito's ill mood.

"It is," his friend replied almost sourly. "They usually attack during the dry season. Whatever reason compelled them to attack earlier…it is not good for us. The harvest has yet to be brought in and knowing the Dothraki they will burn our fields to ash."

Jon swallowed hard, trying to lift his spirit. Usually, it was the other way around.

"You still have the sheep," Jon countered. "They will feed your people."

"The sheep are not enough," Tito replied bitterly. "And the Dothraki will take them too. They take everything from us. It has always been like this. First they burn our corn, then they steal our cattle and at last they enslave our people."

Jon had never heard him spew such hatred, but it seems the recent news had brought forth another aspect of his personality.

The rest of the way was breached in silence, the whispering of the wind their only companion.

Relieve washed over Jon when he spotted the familiar white walls.

It was dusk, the sky streaked in stripes of orange and red. The sun was a fat ball of light, soon to be swallowed by the approaching night.

Dany and Larsha greeted them as they led their horses towards the main gate. They were dressed in hunting gear; knee-length tunics, fastened with a leather belt and rough-spun pants of wool. Around their shoulders they carried their bows and their game. Jon counted two small hares on Dany's shoulder.

"We didn't expect your quick return," Dany remarked and brushed a loose strand out of hair out of her face. It was braided, but the sharp wind never failed to dishevel it. "Why this haste?"

"We bring dark tidings," Tito explained for Jon and winked at his men."I need to report to my brother. We will speak later, Jon. Please excuse me," he added quickly and led the man away.

"I see," Dany said and looked slightly disappointed. Then she shifted her attention back to Jon.

"It seems we will have," she declared proudly and pointed at the dead animal.

"Why tomorrow?" Jon asked.

"Larsha invited us to eat with her family," she explained happily and winked at the departing friend. "I could hardly refuse after they showed us so much kindness."

"True," Jon agreed."How are the dragons? Did they give you problems?" he asked, his eyes darting to the sky. There he spotted Rhaegon and Viserion circling over the city gates. They were now the size of a small horse, but their hot breath could easily kill a man. First they kept them inside the city, but they have grown unruly and wild.

"None," she confirmed. "Though I think Sonarys missed your presence."

Jon nodded his head in understanding.

"I will see to him tomorrow," he assured her and led the way towards the city gate. "I am tired and we shouldn't let our hosts wait."

Like always, the children were fascinated by Ghost. At first they were terribly afraid, but what Tito told him about his people turned out to be true. The Lhazareen are quite adaptive.

"True," Dany confirmed. Their way to the chief's home was not far, though it made Jon uneasy to reside with Tito's family. He repeatedly offered to move to another house, but Tito was always able to convince him otherwise.

It is better for Aemon to be around other children, he had explained, though Jon doubted that was the real reason. Jon had the feeling that Tito felt out of place among his people. The Lhazareen were good people, but very mistrustful towards strangers. Tito was the complete opposite. He held a great curiosity for foreign customs.

"There you are," Dany greeted Aemon, who sat perched on the colourful carpet. Not far Jon spotted one of Tito's many half- sisters and his father's second wife, Lilra. Unlike Tito's mother she was a full-blooded Lhazareen woman that hailed from the city of Hesh. She was at least ten years younger than Tito's mother, but no great beauty. Yet she had a kind smile and adored Aemon. As always, she worked her spindle. Several other girls sat beside her and worked their spindles in tandem. Some of them had children of their own, though most of them were younger than Dany.

Aemon gurgled happily as she picked him up. He counted seven moons and spent most of his time trying to crawl around. Jon never failed to marvel at every change. Aemon's blue eyes had changed to a light grey, though Dany believed to see specks of purple. His silver hair also darkened a little, though Jon doubted it will ever resemble his dark hair.

"Did he give you problems?" Dany inquired from Lirla.

"No…he liked the sheep milk," the woman explained and smiled at his son. She said more, but Jon was unable to understand it. Dany did and thanked her for her effort, before they returned to theirquarters. Their chamber was bigger than the one they occupied in Braavos, but Jon missed the red door he painted for Dany.

"I will take care of him while you change," he offered to her as she pulled off her cloak.

"Thank you," she replied and started to unfasten her belt. Then she pulled off her tunic and started to wash herself with the water kept near the bed. Jon looked away, though no longer out of embarrassment, but because he wanted to avoid the effect her naked form had on him.

Finished with her wash she pulled on a pale wool dress and fastened it with a belt. On her breast he found the stitching of a wolf and a dragon.

"A new dress?" he asked curiously as he hoisted Aemon back into her arms.

"Yes," she answered and smiled proudly. "I made it myself. Do you like it?"

"I like the wolf and the dragon," he remarked and pointed at the stitching.

She smiled.

"I made the wolf and Larsha made the dragon," she informed him quickly and jerked her head at the pot of water. "You should also get a proper wash. You stink."

Jon frowned. It wasn't like he was averse to bathing, but Dany had some sort of obsession with cleanness. In Volantis, so she had informed him, all nobles and even the common men frequent the bath house almost daily.

"I will do as you say," he assured her and got a proper wash. Then he put on a fresh tunic, his old black breeches and his riding boots.

Tito's family had already begun with their meal when they joined them. As honoured guests they were allowed to sit next to Tito and Larsha, though chief Mallar and his family eyed them with mistrust. Jon tried to ignore it and focused on his meal. It was a simple stew made of sheep meat and wild vegetables, but tasted heavenly. Even Old Nan wouldn't have been able to make it better. The pastry that followed was even better. It was a cake glazed with honey and filled with nuts. The children went crazy over it and stuffed one piece after another in their greedy little mouths. Ghost was happy to receive leftover meat and was soon peacefully snoring next to him.

Finished with their hearty meal, the children started to assemble around Tito's mother like a horde of worshippers.

"Time for a story," Dany explained and patted Aemon's head. He was gnawing on his toy, a small wooden horse gifted to him by one of Tito's nephews.

Jon finally understood. The horde of children assembled to hear a story.

The sight made him smile. Every day Old Nan would gather them around the hearth to spin her tales.

Jon couldn't help but to imagine Bran and Arya among the excited children as they demanded their favourite stories.

"Tell us about the dragonlords!" one of Tito's nieces demanded.

"Or about Sage Kings of Ghis!" a boy demanded eagerly.

"I want a happy story…like the one about the lovers Zaal and Rudaba," a girl chirped dreamily.

"Yesterday was my nameday!" Rostam, chief Mallar's son declared proudly. Jon couldn't help but to be reminded of Theon. "It should fall to me to choose the next story."

His grandmother seemed less pleased by his demand, but gave in.

"Very well," she said and smiled at her proud grandson. "What story do you want to hear, grandson?"

"A scary story," the boy declared loudly. "I want the story about the Bloodstone Emperor."

Tito's mother winced as if the name invoked some long forgotten fear.

"Very well, but for the sake of our guests I will recount the story in Bastard Valyrian...I hope you paid attention in our last lessons, grandson," she said and cleared her throat. "But I demand silence from everyone."

Instantly, silence fell over the group of children as Tito's mother began to spin her tale.

"Not long before the fall of the Empire of Dawn the Amethyst Empress ruled over the known world. Begotten by the Opal Emperor she was said to be of unsurpassed beauty. They say the gods fashioned her eyes out of the falling stars and that the finest flowers were ashamed to bloom in her presence of her crimson lips. Despite her many admirers she chose no consort to rule at her side. Some say she took a lover, a simple shepherd, but those are merely tales. For hundreds of years she ruled over the known world, but there was someone who begrudged her for her power. It was her younger brother, later known as the Bloodstone Emperor, who hated and desired his beautiful sister. Some say he was born evil, begotten on a mermaid while others say his descend to madness began after he found a fallen star, the bloodstone. Yet even before this fateful day, the Prince was known to dabble in the dark arts. Hungry for power, he fashioned himself an army of demons and beasts yet unknown to the world. Some say he was even able to overcome death itself. Thus a dark shadow was cast over the Empire of Dawn and soon after the Prince took murdered his sister. They say he dismembered her body and gathered her blood to fashion himself a new consort, the Tiger Queen. His usurpation became known as the Blood Betrayal and some say it was this vile deed that ushered in the Great Darkness..."

"But that surely wasn't the end of it, grandmother?" one of the younger girls asked and shuddered. She couldn't be older than Bran and probably heard the tale for the first time.

"No," her grandmother replied and graced the girl with a warm smile. "I just need to catch my breath. Now be still and I will tell you the rest of the story."

Then she exhaled deeply and continued with her tale.

"After the murder of the Empress the Bloodstone Emperor ascended to the throne and ushered in a century of darkness and terror. They say he enslaved his own people, feasted on human flesh and dared to cast down the true gods of Yi Ti to worship the bloodstone. Everywhere in the Empire he built temples and filled them with his dark priests. Yearly he sacrificed thousands of infantsto increase his ever growing army of demons, but eventually, a hero emerged to put an end to his reign of terror. Some say he was the son of the Amethysts Empress, begotten on her by her secret lover and others say he was nothing more than a common man who lost his son to the Emperor's yearly rituals. Commoner or Prince, it was said that he forged the legendary blade that slew the Bloodstone Emperor. How he was able to forge such a powerful weapon is shrouded in mystery, but there are many stories, one bloodier than the next. Some say he tamed a dragon and forged the blade in dragon fire while others claim that he plunged the blade in his wife's heart. I doubt we will ever know the truth, but even the fall of the Bloodstone Emperor wasn't able to stop the breaking of the Empire of Dawn."

A long moment of silence passed, before one of the children dared break the silence. Even Jon had been captivated by the tale. There was something very familiar about it. The Great Darkness seemed to refer to the Long Night, though a few aspects of the tale left him confused. Old Nan's mentioned a similar hero, but this was the first time he heard about this Bloodstone Emperor.

"What happened to hero after the Bloodstone Emperor was defeated, grandmother?" one of the children asked.

Tito's mother shrugged.

"Nobody knows for sure, but some say he travelled over the sea because he believed that the Bloodstone Emperor wasn't vanquished after all. Some even say the Bloodstone Emperor still lingers in the world, vying for his revenge. As for the hero…the people in my homeland believe he will return when the need arises."

Disappointment showed on the girl's face and she opened her mouth to voice her protest, but chief Mallar decided to put an end to the gathering.

"I think it is time to for our dire rest," he declared and soon the great assembly dispersed, leaving only Dany, Aemon, Jon and Tito.

"I told you," Tito remarked and sipped bowl of milk. "My mother is a great storyteller."

"She is," Jon agreed, but was more interested to hear about Tito's report. "What did your brother say about the Dothraki threat?

Tito frowned and gritted his teeth.

"He intends to call for an assembly of the tribes."

"Does that mean there will be war?" Jon asked, fear washing over him.

Tito laughed.

"Don't make me laugh," Tito said and balled his fists. "The tribes won't go to war. They will ask him to close off the city gates and wait out until the enemy leaves. The last time our people dared to take arms again the Dothraki they butchered our armies and built a heap of corpses. This bloody memory never fails to install fear into my people's hearts. There will be no war. We will sit behind high walls while the rest of our people are enslaved."

Arya

Drops of sweat rolled down her temples as she continued to practice her water dancing. Her Master Syrio was no longer here to train her, but she tried her best to continue her practice. Every few days she rode out to the Wolfswood hide away from her mother's watchful eyes. She may have lost her sword, but Bran and his new friends, the Reed siblings, were kind enough to steal a practice sword from Ser Roderik's stocks.

Again she slipped back into the first stance and hit the trunk an ironwood tree. It helped to imagine Joff's smug smile, but it wasn't enough to still her rage. Her Lord Father was still alive, but far away. For her it felt as if he died. Even her Lady Mother chose to wear black, though her Lord Father was still breathing.

When Arya was imprisoned in the King's Landing she wanted to nothing more than to go home, but now even her home felt foreign. Nothing was the same. Her Lady Mother grieved for her lost husband, Robb played the Lord, Bran spent most of his time with the Reed siblings and Rickon spent his time in company of the Frey boys. Yet Jon's disappearance hurt the most. Everything would be better if he was here.

"There you are little pest!" a familiar voice snapped her out of her practice.

It was Theon Greyjoy. The very sight of him darkened her mood only more.

"What do you want, stupid?" she asked him and turned around to look for Nymeria. Relief washed over her when she spotted her rolling in the mud not far from a crooked oak tree.

"Come here, Nym!" she called. Instantly, her wolf hopped to his feet and joined her side.

"Lady Stark wants you to join her and Lady Roslin," he informed her promptly.

Arya sighed. She could hardly refuse if her Lady Mother and Lady Roslin demanded her presence.

"I see," she replied and gave Theon a sharp look."Tell my Lady Mother about my training and I will inform her about you and Lady Roslin's handmaid. Is that understood, stupid?"

Theon frowned, obviously unhappy that she knew about his secret.

"Very well, little pest," he grumbled his agreement. "We have a deal…though I didn't think you could be this sneaky. You are worse than the bastard."

Arya didn't hesitate to kick him between the legs for his stupid remark.

"Call Jon a bastard and Nym will eat you!" she threatened.

"I meant it as a compliment," Theon countered quickly. "The sneaky bastard ran off with the prettiest whore I have ever laid eyes one. I didn't think he had it in him. Robb even sent men to bring him back, but I doubt he will agree. Why would anyone trade the Free Cities to a frozen place like the North?"

"Shut your bloody mouth!" Arya shouted. "Jon will come back! I know it!"

Angry, she left Theon and hid away her practice blade, before returning back to the castle. Back in her chambers she washed herself and put on a proper dress, before making her way to her Lady Mother's solar. There she found Lady Roslin in company of her Lady Mother and her two handmaids. One was called Amerei and the other Arwyn. Not long ago she saw Amerei coming out of Theon's chambers, her dress in disorder. Arwyn was the complete opposite. She was incredibly shy and barely able to speak to a man. Arya avoided both their presence. They never failed to remark upon her betrothal to Elmar the Nosepicker.

Lady Roslin was different. She was her brother's Lady and the future Lady of Winterfell. She was also very kind to Arya and often asked for her presence, though Arya held little interest in the girl's hobbies.

She was like Sansa. She liked stitching and singing, a fact that never failed to delight her Lady Mother. Her Lady Mother even asked Lady Roslin to teach Arya the harp. Arya agreed only, because she didn't want to displease her Lady Mother, though she showed little promise.

"There you are, Arya," her Lady Mother greeted as she entered the solar. She smiled when she saw her dress.

"Here I am, Lady Mother," she confirmed and dropped a quick curtsy. "Why did you call for me?"

"To share the happy news," Lady Roslin explained from her seat, placed near the warm hearth and flanked by her two ladies. "You are the only who doesn't know. I am expecting the heir to Winterfell."

Heir to Winterfell, Arya repeated to herself, realization washing over her.

It was quite the surprise, but then even Robb was born barely a year into her parents' marriage.

Arya stood frozen and took in Lady Roslin's slender form. She barely recalled her Lady mother's pregnancies, but looking at Lady Roslin it was hard to believe the she was expecting.

"Are you not happy?" Her Lady Mother asked gently. "Both Bran and Rickon were delighted."

"Of course," Arya confirmed and smiled. She meant it, though she didn't know what it meant to be an Aunt. "I am just surprised."

"Of course you are," her Lady Mother added gently and beckoned her to sit down next to her. For Arya it felt strange, because this place used to belong to Sansa. Stranger was even that her Lady Mother stopped to force the stitching lessons on her and allowed her to pursue other interests, like bow practice and the harp, though Arya only pretended to like it for Lady Roslin's sake. "It is a small piece of happiness in face of our loss."

With loss she meant their Lord Father and Sansa, but her Lady Mother always refrained from speaking their names as if it hurt her too much. Suddenly, all her anger was forgotten and she wanted to nothing more than to wash away her Lady Mother's sadness.

"Do you want to hear what I learned to play?" she asked her Lady Mother.

Happiness lightened up her features and she brushed Arya's hair out of her face.

"That would be lovely."

Lady Roslin seemed equally delighted and asked Lady Arwyn to fetch her high harp.

Moments later she returned and Arya took position. She exhaled deeply, trying to quell her excitement, before she started to play.

It was a simple song, but it proved harder than expected to hit the right notes. Now and then she missed the right sound, but it was better than expected.

"Very good!" Lady Roslin complimented her. "I can see…you practiced."

She did not, but neither Lady Roslin nor her Lady Mother did know that.

What counted were their smiles.

"That was very good," her Lady Mother complimented and kissed her cheek. "You are very talented. You have barely practiced for more than three moons…it took Sansa much longer to learn this song."

Arya's heart swelled with happiness, though she wished her Lady Mother would say the same about her bow practice.

"I thank you, Lady Mother," she replied and returned to her seat. The rest of the evening was spent inside. Her Lady Mother worked through the accounts and showed Lady Roslin everything she needed to know. Arya was kept company by Arywn Frey who helped her comb Nymeria's dirty hair. All in all, it was a pleasant evening, until she went to see Bran.

He looked pale and the smile he gave her barely reached his face. That she found him in company of the Reed siblings didn't surprise her. She quite liked Meera Reed, for she showed Arya how to use a frog spear, but her younger brother Jojen was simply weird. The way he behaved was reminiscent of an old man. She also didn't like that Bran spent so much time in the boy's company. Before his fall Arya, Bran and Jon were inseparable, but now she not only lost Jon, but also Bran.

"Arya," Bran said upon her entrance, a weak smile tugging on his lips. Summer lay next to him, his head resting on Bran's lap. "Your visit is a pleasant surprise."

"Theon found out about the sword," she replied quickly. "Don't tell our Lady Mother that it was my idea."

"My lips are sealed," Bran promised her and patted on the place next to him. "Is this the only reason you came to see me?"

"Of course not," she snapped and sat down. "I wanted to see you. Master Luwin told me that you have strange dreams that keep you awake."

"I have no common dreams…I have green dreams," Bran told her and smoothed his hand through Summers' soft fur.

"Green dreams," Arya repeated and tried ignore the staring of Jojen Reed."What does that mean?"

"It means I can see things…I can see the future," Bran whispered. "I tried to explain it to Maester Luwin, but he doesn't believe me."

Arya was stunned, but she was also sure that Bran wouldn't lie about something like that. He truly believed this, even if it sounded mad.

"What did you see?"

"Many things," he replied vaguely and paled. "I saw Jon."

"Truly?" Arya asked and tried to contain her anxiety. "Did you see where he went?"

Bran swallowed hard.

"He was on a battlefield…there were dead corpses everywhere. They were burned and rotten. Then I saw a city full of blood….and another city with red walls. I also saw father…he went beyond the Wall," he recounted his dreams, though it was hard for Arya to make sense of them.

"Maybe it was only a nightmare," she offered as a possible explanation, but Bran shook his head in disagreement.

"It was no nightmare, "Bran insisted stubbornly. "I can prove it…Master Luwin thinks that Lady Roslin will have a son, but I know that it will be a girl. I saw her in a bed of blood."