AUTHOR'S NOTES: Before anything else, I'm sorry for the delay. Unfortunately, my father passed away a month ago and my life changed overnight. This chapter is dedicated to him. I did my best. I'm also changing jobs, and that will be exciting, but well… I guess life can really change when you least expect.
On a more positive note, thanks for all the reviews for the previous chapter. On this one, we'll follow Jon and his struggle to get some solid ground on Bhorash. At least a surprise or two will wait for you in the next paragraphs. Some of you have mentioned this is a grim story, and I agree, but A Song of Ice and Fire is grim in general. I'll try in the future to insert more comic relief in the story.
Also, I'm seriously thinking of dividing this fanfiction in parts. Part I would end somewhere between the 35th and 40th chapter. I would start Part II with new POVs and some of the ones I worked up until now. What do you think is the best option?
PREVIOUSLY: After reaching the city of Bhorash, Jon found out through a dwarf girl called Penny that Daenerys Targaryen had left the city on the back of her dragon. Lost in the city, Jon is attacked by a group of starving children and beaten, warging into Ghost to resume the fight. In the end, observing in the shadows, is a man called Ralso and, by his side, Penny.
JON III
"A westerosi in a faraway land." Ralso said, keeping his golden eyes on him. The mysterious man seemed amused, pacing around the room with a mug of beer in his hands. "I confess I'm curious to hear how you ended up in this shithole."
Whoever he was, Ralso was trying to be what he would never be.
A friend.
Yes, he had pulled him out of the street after the incident with the cannibal children, but Jon knew better than to trust a stranger. Observing silently from his chair, Jon was gathering any bit of information about the guest.
Ralso – or Master Ralso, as Penny had called him on her visit the previous night – exuded an excess of confidence. There might be reasons for it. He was a handsome man, yes, even if his face was dirty and his brown curly hair in disarray. Even wearing clothes suitable for a sellsword and with the shadow of a beard covering his face, Ralso upheld his good looks. But there was something more about him. A sense of power, as if he had the city under his thumb.
He is for sure an arrogant pretty man.
The extent of his power was yet to be known. Penny and her brother, at least, had to work for the man somehow. She had been the one telling him about the westerosi with a direwolf and a bag of gold. Could he be some sort of King of the Slums of Bhorash? It was not impossible. With the city divided into religions factions, and a menace approaching by sea, any man capable of using a longsword could be king.
"Two westerosi in a faraway land." Jon corrected, displeased with the sellsword's accurate guess. Another thing he noticed was that the man used the Common Tongue perfectly, as if he had been born into a noble House. "Penny tells me you've as much westerosi blood as I do."
By that time, dawn entered the room, bathing it with a cold light. Outside, Bhorash was waking up to the sound of vendors yelling to anyone who passed by, in their desperate struggle to sell the roasted vermin they had hunted during the night.
However, that morning more sounds joined those of the vendors and hungry beggars. Just minutes before Ralso had knocked on his door, Jon had seen a battalion of fifty Unsullied and Dothraki warriors marching down to the docks. The city was getting ready.
"Penny talks too much sometimes." Ralso said, pushing a chair to sit right in front of Jon. The mug of beer was still dancing between his hands. "But she is a good friend."
"Just a friend?" Jon replied quickly.
"You're not suggesting the little devil is my lover, are you? I don't think that is even legal in this hell."
Oh, he also believes he is quite the seducer.
"No." He said, noticing how dry the word sounded leaving his mouth. "I was suggesting she could be a protégé, or a ward—"
"Oh, that. Yes, yes… A protégé may be a better term for it." Ralso said, flashing a white smile. "She and her brother suffered enough. I look after them, and they look after my interests. Back in Westeros, there are a few who call this sort of friends their little birds."
Jon scoffed, feeling the pain as the muscles on his face contorted. Father had never spoken much about his time in King's Landing, but he had joked once, with old Maester Aemon, about how the Master of Whispers referred to his spies as little birds.
"If you are here to enlist me as one of your little creatures, I'm afraid I'll have to pass."
Once again, Ralso laughed. The man loved to laugh.
"Oh, don't look so grim. I'm not here to enlist you. You're far too big for a job like that." His eyes settled on Ghost, resting by Jon's feet. "And your reputation in the city already precedes you. Do you know what they are calling you? The Wolfsword. I like the sound of it, don't you? Songs are being composed in your honor. Your victory over the Bloodteeth devils is the stuff of legends", he joked.
And there goes my discretion.
"Well, you're not one for smiles, are you?" Ralso insisted, after a few seconds staring at each other.
"I don't have reason to smile." Jon said somberly, slightly impatient. "Honestly, why don't you save us some time? Tell me what you want. I've businesses to attend down in the city."
Ralso arched an eyebrow in surprise.
"A bit of gratitude would suit you well."
I'm not your friend, Jon wanted to say. I don't want to be your friend.
"You're not here for my gratitude." Jon cut, his voice as cold as steel. "Let's not pretend otherwise. You don't strike me as one who is willing to do favors free of charge. I can pay you gold and then we can part ways."
Ralso's smile kept spreading at the sound of those words, the smugness gleaming in his white teeth.
"You offend me, ser. If it was gold I wanted, I would've looted it from your body and let the children drag you down to the sewers." Ralso said, promptly.
Jon closed his fist. The way Ralso had spoken made him feel like a child. You know nothing, Jon Snow.
"Then what do you want from me?"
Ralso smiled.
"I just want answers."
Up until that moment, Jon was sure the man wasn't a threat. A mere vulture looking for some prey. A lazy sellsword hunting for a treasure. A greedy charlatan not letting go a good opportunity. That was why he had agreed to meet him, sure it would be nothing more than a business meeting. Now, though, it was clear the man wanted more than what he had bargained for.
As if sensing danger, Ghost woke up and sat on his hind legs, looking intently to Ralso. Jon stretched his hand and scratched the direwolf behind the ears.
"Answers about what?"
"Well, for starters… Why is a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch after the Mother of Dragons?"
You've walked into a trap.
Instantly, Jon's hand moved to his waist where his sword usually was fastened. But the sword was not there, but instead lay on the floor, resting a few feet away from the bed. Ghost, however, prepared to attack. The direwolf was already snarling, baring his fangs in a clear threat.
"Oh, no need for that." Ralso said, not so smug as he had been. He raised a hand to calm down Ghost as if he was just a dog, but pulled it back quickly when the direwolf bit the air, missing his fingers for a few inches. "Really, there is no need for that!"
"How do you know where I come from?" Jon asked calmly.
"I scavenged your pockets!" The man confessed, quickly. "You would've done the same thing. And then I saw the letter sealed with the Night's Watch stamp and I guessed who you were."
While Jon simply watched the man squirm in his chair, Ghost kept snarling.
"Who I am it's none of your business."
"Actually… I was hoping it could be my business." Ralso answered just as quick, gulping. He would not take his eyes of Ghost. He blurted the next few words quickly. "I could get you an audience with Ser Barristan Selmy in less than an hour. Is that what you want, isn't it?"
For a moment, even Ghost paused, turning his head to Jon, curious to see his reaction. Had he heard right? An audience with Ser Barristan Selmy The Bold, the man commanding the Queensguard and ruling the city in the Queen's absence? Jon smiled, caressing Ghost's pelt to calm the creature. His ears hadn't betrayed him. Such a proposal would solve all his matters in a blink of an eye.
"You are lying." He said, bluntly. "How would a sellsword manage that?"
Ralso shrugged, the smug smile back on his face.
"I'm much more than a sellsword." He stood up, shielding himself behind the chair. "Ser Barristan Selmy welcomes any westerosi at the Queen's service if the man in question has something of value to offer. And as you may know, the Dragon Queen won't stay in this shithole forever. She is preparing to sail to Westeros. Alas, before doing that, she needs to tame her dragons and to make alliances back in the Seven Kingdoms." Ralso stopped for a few seconds, as if preparing to say something dramatic. "That's why I can get you an audience. I'm Ser Loras Tyrell of Highgarden. You may know me as the Knight of Flowers, even though there are a few now calling me the Knight of Fouls."
Loras Tyrell.
Yes, of course he had heard that name. When they were children, Sansa wouldn't shut up about the young knight of the Reach who was rumored to be just as handsome as the most beautiful rose in Highgarden. Ralso was nothing more than a riddle hiding his true name.
Jon stared blankly at him, not at all impressed.
"I thought House Tyrell supported the Baratheons."
"They do. In fact, that's why I left." Loras said, pacing around the room. He was getting his confidence back. "But when the sun has set, no candle can replace it. When the only king I accepted and respected was murdered with blood magic, I turned my back to my family. I still believe it was my sister the one coining my new nickname. But I just couldn't bend the knee to the Illborn King and join my father in his adulation for the Lannisters. Instead, I decided to avenge Renly Baratheon with fire and blood."
There is love in his words, Jon noticed, looking now toward Loras Tyrell with a little bit more respect. But foolish blindness as well.
"And that's what we have in common, right?" Ser Loras said, convinced he had won Jon over his side. Ghost had stopped snarling. "I know who you are. I know Robb Stark has a half-brother on the Wall and that the Stark children have direwolves as pets, just as the Young Wolf had his during his battles against the Lannisters on the Riverlands."
"Careful now." Jon threatened. Ghost could rip is throat in less than a second, and the man knew it.
"You're not used to have friends, are you, Snow?" Loras asked, sighing. The arrogance was back. "I'm throwing you a line here. You can join me and we'll be meeting Ser Barristan in less than an hour. Or you can stay here, and get murdered when the Greyjoy fleet arrives and those smelly ironborn burn half of this city to the ground. The other half will perish under those religious fanatics anyway." He finished his beer in one last gulp and placed the empty mug on a table. "It's your decision to make. I'll wait downstairs for half an hour and then I will be gone."
"What do you want, Ser Loras?" Jon repeated for the third time, before the man could leave. "What do you truly want from me?"
"I told you I wanted answers."
"But what will you do with those answers?"
"Oh, I just want to make the right friends… And I got the impression the Bastard of Winterfell is exactly the friend I could use."
With those enigmatic words, the Knight of Fouls left Jon alone with his own thoughts.
"Seven Hells." He said, standing up. He was not expecting that.
He had always known his cover up wouldn't last long. With a direwolf at his side, he would be easily spotted among a crowd. However, he had hoped that by the time his identity was revealed, he would have at least presented himself to the Dragon Queen.
You have to do whatever needs to be done.
Those words had come from Father, just a few days before he had departed Castle Black to fake his own death. But was the honorable Eddard Stark asking him to get involved in political intrigue? After all, as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch was his duty to keep out of any game of power between the Great Houses.
But that was what Ser Loras was asking of him. He could read the secret meaning hidden between those flowery words. An alliance. He believed Jon was there to swear his allegiance to the Dragon Queen, as if the Night's Watch could interfere throwing support for her claim to the Iron Throne.
"No." Jon whispered, softly, thinking out loud. "He wants the North."
Of course it was not the Night's Watch Ser Loras wanted. He could be stupid, but he had to know the Watch had its limits. No, Loras believed Jon had been sent to Bhorash as a Stark envoy to strike a deal with the Dragon Queen. Had the Tyrell forgotten that Sansa was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? House Stark would never raise arms against the Iron Throne, not unless they had a good motive to do it. He shook his head, feeling his head heavy. The headaches from the attack were painful with all those thoughts roaming inside his head.
Bring us fire, Jon.
Yes, that was it. He was there for one purpose only: to convince Daenerys Targaryen to turn her ships toward the Wall and fly her dragons, or at least one, to help their cause. Even now, closing his eyes in a smelly warm room on the far east, he could still sense the cold in his bones and the fear instigated by the blue eyes of the walkers marching toward the Wall. The sense of urgency screamed inside him, telling him to run downstairs and accept the proposal. It was the easy way to get to the palace, even if he had to deal with a bit of political intrigue.
Twenty minutes later, after shaving and changing clothes, he had made a decision.
"You have seen what Ghost can do." Jon said, when he joined Ser Loras in the main room downstairs. He was limping slowly, relying on his sword as a crutch. "Lie to me, and you are dead. Led me into a trap, and you are dead. Do you understand?"
"Are all the crows up on the Wall just as grim as you?" Loras asked, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I guess they are... All those nights in the cold must have left you with the sensibility of an ice cube."
Jon placed a hand on Loras' shoulder.
"Oh, thanks for reminding me." For once, he smiled. "Cut the bloody jokes, or you are…"
"Dead." Finished Loras, pulling back from Jon's grip. "Yes, I got the idea."
Two cloaked figures left the inn minutes after. With their heads bent low, they moved through the filthy streets of Bhorash which, fortunately, were not yet so crowded. Following them in silence was Ghost, checking every corner and alley to make sure there were no children with red teeth lurking in the shadows. However, the odds of finding Bloodteeth Children were very low that morning.
Dozens of Unsullied soldiers patrolled the streets, their spears ready to strike anyone who dared threat the Queen's peace. It seemed the number of soldiers had bed reinforced in the previous days, as the city prepared to deal with an enemy called Victarion Greyjoy. Rumors had started spreading in the city just the day before. It seemed a fleet hoisting the Kraken had been seen passing by Volantis, travelling swiftly toward Dragon's Bay to bring fire and pillage to Bhorash, just as had happened five years before in Meereen. Then, the Queen was also missing. History seemed to be repeating itself.
"And there are rumors the fire maniacs are preparing something." Ser Loras told him, when five Unsullied guards passed by them. The reek of smoke filled the air of Bhorash, as if bonfires had been lit all through the city. "Guards from the Faith Militant have gone missing."
The city was falling to pieces.
Daenerys Targaryen could have dragons, an army, and free people under her rule… but she was failing. The religious freedom had led to the emergence of religious leaders with influence over their followers and, soon enough, to a war between faiths. Poverty, hunger, sickness and violence were just another set of chains that dragons or armies couldn't break. The Dragon Queen had been ambitious, dreaming of a utopia that could never be built. At least, not in a hundred years.
"What kind of work do you do for Ser Barristan?" Jon asked, as they approached the castle gates. Even at that early hour, there were already people gathering to beg for the queen's help.
Ser Loras shrugged.
"Recruitment." He simply said, before pushing something from his pocket. It was a square of white cloth, with a dragon of three heads embroidered on it with a red thread. He showed the bit of cloth to one of the guards.
Quickly, the Unsullied nodded, but his eyes looked worriedly toward Ghost.
"The wolf cannot enter."
"The wolf is with me." Loras replied quickly. "I vouch for him."
"No."
"For Gods' sake, there are dragons roaming the skies." Loras said, slightly irritated. "A direwolf should be the least of your worries."
The Unsullied grew tense.
"Do we have a problem here?"
A knight with a golden armor and a white cloak crossed the courtyard just behind the gates. A group of ten boys with practice swords followed him. By the looks of it, the boys seemed to come from different places. Two of them had skin as dark as copper, and seemed to have the Dothraki features in them, even if they were wearing westerosi armor. There was also another boy, very tall, that had a tattoo on his face, one of the symbols that marked him as a Volantene slave. And surprisingly there was also a girl, just as skinny as his sister Arya, looking curiously to the direwolf.
"Ser Ergolith, finally someone with good sense!" Said Loras, turning again to the Unsullied guard. "Will you now let the wolf pass or must I fight you?"
Ser Ergolith sniffed, and told his squires to return to the practice courtyard. Only after that did he stepped forward. He was Volantene, Jon realized as the man started giving instructions to the Unsullied guard. His accent didn't lie about his background. After exchanging a few remarks, the guard finally consented in letting them pass.
"Do you bring good news?" Ser Ergolith asked, as they crossed the gates. He looked suspiciously to Jon, curious to know who the stranger was. Hastening their pace, they started climbing a set of stairs that led to the great, ruined castle on the top of the cliff.
"News the council won't expect." Loras replied, smiling arrogantly. "But yes, good and hopeful news."
"Ser Loras, Ser Barristan is counting they will be here by tomorrow. If you fail, the city will fall and you will be held accountable for—"
"I won't fail." Loras said, suddenly angry. "We'll talk about that soon enough. First, another business requires our attention."
Ser Ergolith scoffed, and they continued their climb.
The ruined palace was indeed fit for a Queen. As white as snow, it seemed to be built with bones and not stones. In the background, a stunning tower made of glass and steel glinted in the morning light, like the most precious jewel in the world. It had to be the work of architects of the time of Old Valyria. There were no palaces like that anymore. It was safe to say that more than half of the city could fit inside the palace such was his dimension.
After teaching the front doors a few minutes later, Ser Ergolith led Jon and Loras down a corridor and then through a beautiful garden with scented flowers. It was strange to see such an oasis when the city was rotting a few miles below.
Oh, the glory of the mighty, Jon thought, feeling sick. The image of the Bloodteeth Children approaching, hungry to kill and meet him passed his mind and made him feel angry. It was unfair.
From the garden they reached another doorstep, the one conducting to the insides of the Broken Tower. As if he was the master of the castle, Loras took the lead ahead of Ser Ergolith, climbing yet another set of stairs, reaching at last a circular room with a round table made of glass and a few chairs. A council room, it seemed. A window, with a balcony that looked over the sea, allowed a fresh breeze to enter the room. The view didn't face the ugly city, but the wide sea ahead.
"I'll let Ser Barristan know you are here." Ser Ergolith said, before leaving the two of them in the room.
While Ghost started sniffing the room to make himself familiar with it, Jon turned to Loras once more.
"Why did you say that?" He asked.
"What?" Loras asked, pouring himself a glass of wine from a tray on the corner.
"About good and hopeful news." Jon reminded him. "You don't know why I'm here."
"Oh, that." Loras bit his lip. "One can always guess."
Pretty head full of stupid guesses.
They waited for a while in utter silence. Loras seemed amused with something, taking a seat on the table and tapping his fingers on its glassy top. Jon, in the meanwhile, felt more annoyed than nervous. The tapping resonated inside his head like a drum. He was slightly nervous, yes. Who wouldn't be nervous in his place? After all, the details of his mission were delicate and it wouldn't be easy to explain to one of the most seasoned knights of the Seven Kingdoms that the dead men were arising beyond the Wall. Even more, if that man had known the man who had fathered him.
But the tapping, and Ser Loras slurping wine, was getting under his nerves. More than ever, he wished he had never left that cave with Ygritte. Are you a coward now? He could almost imagine her voice in the back of his mind, daring him to say the words that would change his life forever. Are you a coward crow?
"Is that a bloody direwolf?" Someone asked, interrupting his line of thought and, thankfully, Ser Loras' tapping.
Just as he turned toward the door, expecting to see the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, he realized the man standing there was not Barristan The Bold. Instead, it was a man with long blonde hair, and a smile just as smug and arrogant as Ser Loras. He looked curiously at Ghost.
"You were not supposed to be here, Drinkwater." Loras said, annoyed.
"Neither were you, Knight of Fouls." The Drinkwater man said, turning his eyes to evaluate Jon. "Who is this?"
"None of your business." Loras said.
It was more than clear the Drinkwater man and Ser Loras Tyrells were not friends.
"Ser Loras, I hope you are here for a good reason."
Just as quickly, another voice filled the room as another man entered after Drinkwater. This time, Jon was sure it was Ser Barristan Selmy the Bold, the very same man he had heard so many tales about during his childhood. He was older than he imagined, with blue eyes glinting something sad in them. However, despite his advanced age, he looked strong and graceful when he entered the room all clad in his golden armor. Two other men followed him, one of them bald and tall, wearing the golden armor of the Queensguard and the other one wearing the Unsullied armor.
"Ser Barristan, it's good to see you again."
"I would like to say the same." Ser Barristan said, pushing a chair. He had noticed Jon and Ghost, of course, but he had not directed a word to them. "But it seems you returned again without the Golden Company behind you…" Annoyed, Ser Barristan looked toward Jon and Ghost. "And you have come bringing us what this time? Peasants? Wolves trainers?"
Jon gulped and prepared himself. Ghost rubbed against his legs, trying to give him some courage.
It was time.
"I'm Eddard Stark's bastard son."
A lie.
By that time, each one of the other men had taken their seats around the glass table. One by one, from Ser Barristan to the Drinkwater jerk, they turned their heads to look at him with a renovated curiosity. The Commander of the Queensguard watched him intently, and nodded, as if looking at him was confirmation enough to confirm what he had just said.
My father is Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon. That was the truth he had kept under his tongue. Was he prepared to share it? Well, it might have provoked a more interesting reaction than the one that followed.
"Ned Stark's son is not the Golden Company, Ser Loras." Ser Barristan said after a few seconds, turning to Ser Loras. "You said you could get us the Golden Company before the Greyjoy is here, but you have returned bringing me a single man. What can I do with a man?"
"Ser, if you please, I bring an important message from—" Jon started, but he was cut short. Ser Barristan raised a hand to stop him. He was not finished with Ser Loras.
"I start wondering if you are as loyal as you say, Ser Loras. Will you tell me now why you have ignored the mission you received? Our victory can depend on it."
Arrogant as always, Loras Tyrell smiled and answered in the very same tone he had addressed Jon earlier. The one that made the others feel just as stupid as a child.
"The Bastard of Winterfell travelled to this shithole, ser." Ser Loras replied. "I've found brought you the North."
The North.
"Are you telling me Lord Stark is sailing to Bhorash to help us defend the city from the men he couldn't stop in his own land?" Ser Barristan asked bluntly, with obvious sarcasm.
"Ser, this is not a jest. You already have the bloody dornish on your side." Ser Loras said, pointing toward Gerris Drinkwater and the bald man wearing the golden armor. "With the South and the North strength on her side, it will be easier for the Queen to take back her Throne. I'm sure I can get the Reach on the Queen's side as soon as we land in Westeros. The city will fall in a few days and we are just fools to ignore that. Why waste good men defending people that are already set to destroy each other? Even if you manage to defeat the Greyjoy, Bhorash will fall in the hands of the fire priests or the septons. So, I must repeat what I said a month ago: let's leave this city while we can. We can take our homeland."
"Do you suggest we leave without the queen?" The bald man asked, grunting.
"Ser Archibald, don't twist my words." Ser Loras protested, angrily. "The queen has a dragon. She will find us once she realizes we've left."
"The queen will never leave without her children." The Unsullied added, in a very heated tone.
"Her children are untamable beasts."
Ser Barristan turned to Jon once again, and his face was red with anger, even though he had control over his voice.
"What's your name?"
Jaehaerys Targaryen. No, the name would never leave his mouth.
"My father named me Jon, ser."
"Well, Jon, I'm afraid I don't have much time… Even so, out of respect for your father, I'll hear what you have to say. Is this true? Is Lord Stark interested in aligning the North with the Queen?"
Jon looked directly to Ser Loras.
"No, ser." He said, solemnly. "My brother is not even aware I'm here."
Ser Loras gasped in surprise, while Ser Gerris Drinkwater laughed out loud, before starting to applaud.
"Behave like men or I swear I will cut both your heads gladly." Ser Barristan said, on the verge of his patience. Ser Gerris managed to muffle the laughter, but Ser Loras, feeling betrayed, seemed ready to pull his sword and fight Jon right there.
"Why are you here then?"
Before providing an answer, Jon retrieved the letter Cotter Pyke had given to him. He passed it to Ser Barristan.
"As a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch, I've travelled from the Wall to request an audience with your Queen." Jon said. The Commander of the Queensguard nodded, as if he already knew that. "But I heard Her Grace is not—"
Jon's words were cut short by the sound of wax breaking. With his wrinkled fingers, Ser Barristan was opening the letter. After clearing his throat, he started reading its contents out loud.
To Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen Beyond the Narrow Sea…
"The Queen Beyond the Narrow Sea?" The Unsullied man asked, uncomfortably.
"Grey Worm, we would be here tomorrow if they had addressed Her Grace by all her titles—"
Ser Barristan resumed after a few seconds.
The cold winds are rising and the dead are rising with them. Thousands of wildlings died unnecessarily at our gates by the decision of Lord Commander Bowen Marsh, and there is fear that they will soon rise to fight the living. The stories of old are to be believed. If the Dragons are back to the world of the living, you have to trust us when we say the Others are back with the dead as an army.
The Night's Watch fought the dead in the Fist of the First Men, losing their Lord Commander and many sworn brothers bound to the Night's Watch. It is a matter of time now until an attack comes to the Wall, bringing to us a war we can't fight alone. We've not enough men, or provisions, to hold our posts during Winter. When we fail, the Seven Kingdoms will be engulfed in a nightmare just as dark as the Long Night.
Don't let us fail. We need your support in the Great War to come, Your Grace. We need fire.
For the Realm,
The Night Rebels
With the letter was an old page, ripped from a book Jon had read a few times over the last few months. The only copy that existed was back on Castle Black, in the office of the Maester. On its black cover was the title The Heroes and Foes of Old, a chronicle by Maester Samwell, compiling all the research he had gathered on the Citadael about the Others.
"The Others?" Asked the man called Gerris, reading the page scribbled with Sam's calligraphy. "Are we really losing time with this?"
"This is not a ludicrous story." Jon said. He caught a glimpse of Ser Loras, who seemed astounded. He was not surprised with the news of dead marching on the Wall, but with the fact that Jon had shared a fairytale with a war council. "The dead are rising beyond the Wall and already marching south. An army of thousands, led by the Others…" He lifted his left hand, showing them the scar ruining his skin. A scar made by fire. "This scar reminds me every day the night I saved Lord Commander Mormont from being killed by the dead body of one of our sworn brothers. I grabbed a torch with my own hands, feeling the fire devouring my skin, and I threw it to the dead man. He died in front of me, consumed by fire. No steel or arrow or anything else stopped him."
Ser Barristan placed the letter on the table.
"These are grave news you brought us." He said, seriously. "We've our own informants in the North who feed us the rumors about what is happening on the Wall and how your brother is lending his army to the Night's Watch, but I heard nothing about the dead or the Others or anything like that. In fact, the rumors that came to our attention were about the wildlings…"
"The Night's Watch is not united regarding that matter, ser." Jon said, pointing to the word. "You saw how the letter was signed. The Night Rebels." He said, proudly. "Many of my sworn brothers are against Lord Commander Marsh's decisions. We are doing our best to get the Night's Watch on the right path."
"The Queen disapproves of what has happened to the wildlings." Ser Barristan said. "To her, the carnage the Night's Watch provoked by closing their gates to thousands of wildlings seeking refuge is no better than what the slave masters did for centuries. It was unnecessary."
"Ser Barristan, the Night's Watch guards the Realm from menaces from beyond the Wall since the Age of Heroes. Many of my sworn brothers are fighting to open the gates, or even smuggling wildlings to save their lives… But the ones commanding the Watch won't wield from their conservative policy."
"Well, ser, I have no time to discuss the Wall's problems with you. Even if this tale you tell us about is true, our Queen can't give you what you ask."
"We need to even the odds against the dead." Jon replied just as quickly. "The Queen can give us fire."
Gerris Drinkwater laughed, but it was not he the one who spoke.
"You want dragons." This time, it was Ser Archibald who spoke.
Dragons.
"The last man who attempted to get his hands on a dragon was my friend." Ser Gerris said. "And a prince." He continued. "And he died screaming."
"I don't want a dragon for myself." Jon said quickly. "We call the Queen to the Wall to help us fight with her dragon. The Night's Watch cannot depend on the forces of Lord Stark forever. We have sent word to all the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, but none of them came to our aid. The Dragon Queen is our last hope."
"And would the Night's Watch accept Daenerys Targaryen as their Queen?" Asked Gerris, promptly.
"No." Jon replied instantly. Ser Loras moved uncomfortably in his seat. "The Night's Watch does not partake in politics, ser."
"But your brother does." Loras pressed. "If Robb Stark were to swear his fealty to Her Grace, then—"
"I don't speak for my brother, Ser Loras." Interrupted Jon, raising his voice. "It's not my fault if you insist believing otherwise."
"And Ser Loras…" Ser Barristan added. "You have no power to propose deals in the name of the Queen." He said with finality. With the same tone, he faced Jon one last time to put an end to the audience. "I sympathize with your cause, ser, but I'm afraid the Queen can't do anything for you. Not in the near future. Even if she hadn't left on a diplomatic mission, I'm sure she would have declined your call to arms. The Night's Watch has a Wall separating them from the dead, but we don't have a Wall separating us from the living. The city is on the verge of war." He turned toward Ser Loras. "We won't turn our back and flee like cowards to join another fight. We've too many battles to fight here before we can turn our eyes to Westeros."
"By the time Her Grace turns her forces to Westeros it may be too late." Jon urged, already feeling the taste of defeat in his mouth.
Ser Barristan sighed and exchanged a glance with Ser Loras, as if accusing him of bringing another problem to his doorstep.
"I'm sure the Queen will do anything that is in her grasp when the right time comes, ser. But first she must defend Bhorash and—"
"Ser Loras is right about Bhorash." Jon intervened, using his lost ammunition. "The city will fall, Ser Barristan. Just like Meereen did. And then what will your Queen be? A joke? Back at Westeros, people laugh at the mention of her name." Jon interrupted. "In the first years, when he heard about the dragons and the slave cities, she instigated fear in the people's hearts. But now they laugh, they call her the Mad Queen, the Failed Targaryen, the Mother of Dragging…" The man, who Jon presumed to be the captain of the Unsullied, looked at him as if he had been personally wounded. "She will lose Bhorash, and then she will lose Westeros, and then she will be nothing."
"Beware your tongue, ser!" Ser Archibald threatened.
"There is no need for that, Ser Yronwood. He is just heated because he turned him down." Ser Barristan intervened, standing from his chair. "We all know the queen doesn't care about rumors—"
"She could prove her worth by coming to our aid, ser." Jon interrupted.
"I'm afraid this audience has come to an end."
Tell him, his father's voice whispered in his mind. Tell him who you are.
The truth could change everything, but the words wouldn't convince any of those men. Not even Ser Barristan.
"Ser, as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, you are most welcome at the court of Bhorash." The Lord Commander of the Queensguard said, hastily.
No, there was no point in telling them the truth.
He would just be the mad man claiming the Others existed and that his father was Rhaegar Targaryen. And why would they believe him? After all, at the moment he couldn't look less like a Targaryen. His face was swollen from all the punches he had suffered, one of his eyes was black and an ugly cut scared his forehead. Besides, he suspected Ser Barristan or one of the other men would not take the news well. He would do no good for the Watch locked in a cell for telling lies.
Or losing my head.
"Ser Loras, you are excused from your mission." Ser Barristan added, before leaving the room. "Someone more trustful will be sent to negotiate with the Golden Company."
"I can get them!"
"You had your chance." Ser Barristan said, nodding. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"
He left, followed by the others, leaving Jon behind with Ghost and Ser Loras.
"You tricked me." Ser Loras said, furious, without looking at him. "You knew I thought your brother had sent you and that the Starks were ready to side with the queen, and you didn't say a word."
"I'm not your pawn, Ser Loras." Jon said, standing up. "If House Stark wants to align with your Queen, Robb can travel himself to strike an alliance. I'm a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Nothing more. It was your mistake to believe otherwise."
Ser Loras scoffed.
"Go fuck yourself, bastard. You wasted a good opportunity for your House and made a fool of yourself." Loras said, viciously. "I should've let you rot on that street." Before Ghost could snarl, he stormed out of the room.
So much for making the right friends.
Alone in the room, Jon stood up and paced to the balcony. The wind caressed his face, disheveling his hair. But it was good to feel cold again.
He had lost the battle, but the war was not lost. He had travelled too far to return home empty handed. The queen could be gone, the Lord Commander could not believe him, and the city could be on the verge of doom… But there was still an option, one he didn't like, one that could cost him his life, but that could save the Wall if he was victorious.
"Maybe." He whispered, softly, scratching Ghost behind the ears.
Maybe it was time to prove he had the blood of the dragon.