—At the docks—
Three days had passed since the meeting of the Great Council had come to an end; by then, each of the gathering lords and ladies will soon return to their strongholds across Westeros – with the exception of a few who offered to stay a bit longer. Jon carried some of his belongings on a cart and had a few servants help him carry it with him to the docks. His escort to start his new life in lands north of the Neck, ones of his own choosing. Together, they walk along the battlements.
"Come on, boys! Move that plank over here! King's orders!" the harbormaster shouted.
Jon takes a moment to look down on Blackwater Bay, far beneath him. His breath catches involuntarily in his throat. From this vantage point, he sees numerous dock workers already on task with rebuilding the city's main ports; no doubt to get foreign goods imported so that trade would start flowing again. Of course, there would have to be a new Royal Fleet too. Nothing's ever simple in life at King's Landing.
Before his departure to the North, Jon had a moment to glance at the new armor he was wearing. He still retained the use of the Northmen's long linen cloak with a luxurious faux fur collar around his shoulders with faux leather straps buckling it together; hidden beneath the cloak, were two glorious sets of armor – ridged scales, tapering to points, with solid plate over key areas. The armor was matte black, accented in dark red. Curved back of the shoulders, the pauldrons were shaped to resemble stylized dragon wings. The red three-headed dragon sigil on his chest was picked out in red enamel with three gemstones inlaid, one for each dragon's eye.
But Jon's selection for a personal sigil, however, was a red dragon on black and a white wolf on grey field facing opposite of each other—giving equal standing to his father's and mother's respective heraldries, a mixture of the elements ice and fire.
"Liking the new armor?" asked one of the smiths.
Jon nodded. "It's… You're a very good blacksmith. Where did you get the money for this?" he asked.
"Queen Sansa commissioned the armor. She even paid for the rubies herself and gave them to us. As for the cloak, however, she said she knitted it herself."
"Haha. Yes, Septa Mordane always commented to Ned Stark and Lady Catelyn that her needlework and embroidering were always meticulous as it was delicate. Second to none. Always perfect. I should probably thank her for the gift when I see her next."
"Seems you might be getting a chance sooner than you think," he points off with his smiths' hammer.
The White Wolf glances over to see the gathered members of House Stark waiting for him down at the docks. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Catelyn, Talisa, Little Eddard… all of them in tow. Even Sansa had her little ones, Lyonel, Cassana and baby Torrhen with her. Jon nods and walks down the nearest flight of steps to greet them; the family who took him in and raised him as one of their own. The people he grew up with. Where his home truly laid. At sea level now, Jon passes by a couple dock workers carrying necessary supplies for their assignment and walks across the small beach, followed by his escort.
When he finally reaches them, each of the Stark siblings stood before Jon on the distant dock. Jon stands there in front of them. Robb wasn't too particularly pleased with the outcome, neither were Sansa and Arya – Bran appeared indifferent; his demeanor was difficult to read ever since he became the Three-Eyed Raven. Rickon kept his head lowered.
"Hard to imagine it's come down to this," Robb said grimly. "We argued about it for three days, but Daveth wouldn't relent. 'Right or wrong, there are too many people in the south who want him dead,' was what he told us. Said the only way to keep you safe was to bring you back to lands north of Moat Cailin via a ship to White Harbor."
"No one's happy with the results, but given the current state of affairs it's probably better this way. Trust me. I've had to make some difficult choices as well myself. Sometimes to achieve peace we must make whatever compromises necessary. Doing nothing would have further stoked the flames of animosity – which would have benefitted no one," Jon said calmly. "The only thing we can do is live with ourselves until a sense of calm washes over. Maybe then things will change."
Robb stares at Jon, not quite sure he understands.
"You're more than welcome to stay with us at Winterfell," Talisa offered. "Robb still sees you as a brother. His best friend. A confidant."
"It's an enticing offer. I'll take it into consideration, but there's going to be some loose ends I'll need to tie up with the Free Folk."
"The wildlings?"
"Free Folk," he corrected. "The North was hit rather hard by the White Walkers, but it was them who had it much worse. Mance Rayder once told me that he spent 20 years uniting the Free Folk clans and tribes against the White Walkers – not to fight them, but to get his people south of the Wall to protect them, so their numbers had been rapidly declining as such. There's only a select handful left of them after the Battle at Winterfell. Much of their homes have been lost and need to be reclaimed. They'll need to rebuild too."
"We can offer them assistance," Sansa suggested. "They helped us stop the Long Night before it could truly begin again."
"True, but they're just as stubborn as we— I mean, as the Northmen. Loyal to no one but themselves. They don't bend the knee for anyone beyond the Wall. They don't like kneelers. Let the Free Folk keep their pride, and they will love you all better for it."
"I understand."
"You know… it's strange how all this turned out."
"What do you mean?"
"Since the beginning, I believed myself a bastard. Raised to believe I would not inherit lands or titles, but none of it mattered the more time I spent in the Night's Watch. But I realize now that it's not just noble houses or bloodlines, but what mattered is how I lived my life—a specter for one to look at. What does blood mean? What do names mean? These philosophies are easily misinterpreted, turn into blind obsession and can cause many to stray too far from the right path… as it did Daenerys," Jon explained. "The same goes for us all. It's a curse that needs to be broken by us all so we can move forward. I believe that was what Daveth was trying to tell us all. You see… I am Jon Snow and Aegon Targaryen. Not because I am forced to be, but because I never had to choose between two separate identities. Wolf or dragon, it didn't matter what I was." He allowed himself a small smile. "But to my friends, my family—to you—I will always be just Jon Snow."
Then it seems we know which side your coin landed on. Perhaps it was the North's ice that needed to temper the South's fire. The Wolf Queen pauses for a moment. "I'm sorry," she apologizes.
"Sorry for what?" he asks confused.
"For letting this get out of hand. That it had to be you to take the fall. Can you forgive me?"
Jon looked at his cousin. He knows she loves him. He knows she only wants what was best, but even then, he knows by the exhaustive look in her eyes that she advocated fiercely for clemency.
"There's nothing to forgive," Jon says reassuringly. "What matters more is that you and your children are safe and sound. That everyone from Sunspear to Winterfell now have what we can now deliver: there will be a new tomorrow." He turns to Robb. "Ned Stark's son will guard the North and rule it well. Just like his father did."
Robb accepts the compliment.
Jon turns to Sansa. "And Ned Stark's daughter will speak for the North here in the south. She's the best advocate they could ask for." He looks at Lyonel, Cassana and Torrhen. "And if the Gods are good, her children will grow up to be great Kings and Queens—kind and gentle. Just like the mother who raised them."
Sansa felt choked up.
"Ga ga," Torrhen babbled, stretching a small hand out to Jon.
"His first words," Talisa noticed.
Sansa smiled and bounced Torrhen on her hip. "Yes, he's your cousin. Cou-sin." She turns to Jon. "Once he's old enough, he'll straighten a few words out to get your name right."
The White Wolf rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "You think any of them will remember me?" he asked.
"Of course, they will," the Wolf Queen says indefinitely. She turns to her twins who were seen playing with their cousin Little Eddard on the docks not too far from where they stood. "Children, come say goodbye to your cousin please."
"You too, Eddard. It's time," Talisa echoed.
Lyonel, Cassana and Little Eddard stopped what they were doing and lifted their heads. It took them a moment before they stood up and ran over. Jon knelt down to meet them at eye level.
"You promise to be good to your parents, listen to what they tell you and… try not to get up to too much mischief. Alright?" Jon asked half-heartedly.
Each of the children nodded their heads.
"Jon?" Lyonel piped up.
"Yes?"
Taking a cue from the elder twin, Cassana reached her small arms out to join her brother in embracing Jon. The White Wolf was a bit taken aback by this act but reciprocated the affection just as much.
"Fhank you for saving us," they said simultaneously.
"Pwomise you'll see us again?" Little Eddard asked.
Jon nodded. "When I have the time, yes I will. I promise," he said. He looks to see Arya crying; she hadn't cried in years but she does now, for the brother she always loved most. Rickon was particularly upset too. He lets go of the children to embrace them. He wipes away Arya's tears first before doing the same for Rickon. "Now, now. Don't be like that," he tells them. "I'll always come and see you, you know, at Winterfell. It'll be just like old times… even if things are different for a while."
Rickon sadly nods, but Arya shakes her head.
"I can't," she says.
Misunderstanding what she possibly might have meant, Jon manages a slight smile for the cousin he always thought of as a little sister. "What? You think anyone will dare tell you family isn't allowed to visit one another?" he jokes.
Arya is slightly cheered up at his attempt at humor. "That, but… I'm not going back north," she elaborates.
"What?" Catelyn exclaims in surprise.
Even Jon was surprised. He had misinterpreted her. Sansa, Robb and Rickon were all as equally taken aback by this sudden announcement; this was news to them.
"Not going… Arya, what are you talking about?" Robb asks.
"I've got my own path to follow; a journey in which I have to take."
"Arya, you can't do this! I forbid it!" their mother protested.
Sansa wanted to agree but knew her sister was of majority age… and too strong willed and independent. She has a wildness in her. "The wolf blood," our father and grandfather called it. He said our aunt Lyanna had a touch of it, and our uncle Brandon more than a touch. "Where are you going?" she asks.
"I've arranged for a ship in the Westerlands for a sea voyage. What's west of Westeros?"
Each of the Starks look at each other.
"I don't know," Jon answers.
"None of us knows," Robb replies.
Arya shakes her head. "Nobody does. It's where the maps stop. That's where I'm going," she looks at them. "At least you'll know where I'll be this time. No more mistakes."
Jon was not prepared for this. This might perhaps be the last time he will ever see his favorite Stark.
"Arya—" Catelyn tried desperately to convince her to change her mind again.
"My mind's made up," she replies. "The war is over. We're all at peace. And I'm not a little girl anymore."
The White Wolf sighed. "You at least have your Needle with you?" he asks.
Arya nods yes and displays her thin sword tied to her hip.
"Then know that wherever you go, I'll always be right there beside you."
Arya tries not to choke up and hugs Jon tightly for what felt like an eternity. She didn't want to let go, but eventually she does… slowly. Once the two depart, the White Wolf turns to Rickon.
"It's not fair!" the youngest Stark complains quite vocally. "It's not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair! IT'S NOT FAIR!"
"Hey, hey, hey. Easy," Jon calms him down. "Just because we're all going our own separate ways, doesn't mean it's the end of the world now, right?"
"Just promise you'll stop by Winterfell once you're done doing what you're doing!"
"I will, Rickon. I promise."
Jon rubs his head and looks at Robb.
"Well, I guess this is it then. Our ship leaves for White Harbor soon," Robb motions to one vessel at anchor. "Remember what I said last time we saw each other? I said, 'Next time I see you, you'll be all in black.' Felt like it was a lifetime ago."
"In a way it kind of was," Jon chuckled. "But at least this way it's not permanent."
"No, it won't. But at least the White Walkers are gone… for good this time. We no longer have to worry about them. It seemed an impossible task, yet here we stand. Once you're doing helping the wildl— ahem, I mean, the Free Folk… know that there will always be a place for you at Winterfell. Home won't be the same without you there."
"Think anyone will give you a hard time?"
"I imagine so, but I say bring it on. I am Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and its Lord Paramount, so my decision is final. We'll be busy rebuilding, so I doubt anyone will start any fuss for now. They're tired of fighting as are we all. We yearn to see an ever-lasting peace."
Jon blinked. "The south is helping us to rebuild?"
Robb nodded in confirmation. "I had just spoken with Lord Tyrion. We're being given a large convoy of supplies necessary: food, clothes, medicine, and other material needed to rebuild our holdfasts – more than enough to make it through the winter. They're being sent along the kingsroad. Despite our differences, no southern army has ever ventured that far north to help us. Yet they did. It will take time, but we can start over from scratch."
"No doubt. You Starks are difficult to kill."
"As are you." Robb said before his face turned serious. "We'll be waiting for you at Winterfell, cousin."
"And I'll be there soon… cousin."
Robb and Jon embrace each other as they did years ago; pulling away, Jon approaches Bran in his wheelchair, who places a hand on his shoulder.
"Bran," he pauses for a moment. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me."
The Three-Eyed Raven gives his cousin a small smile. "You were exactly where you were supposed to be," he says coolly.
Hard to argue with omniscience, Jon leans back up and accompanies his Stark relatives. Together with Robb, Bran, Rickon, Catelyn, Talisa and Little Eddard, he follows them towards the skiff waiting for them at the end of the pier. Two sailors of House Manderly greet them at the end. Once boarded, the sails were lowered, and the ship begins to sail away destined for White Harbor.
Together, Sansa, Lyonel, Cassana and Torrhen watch as their relatives recede in the distance. The twins wave their little arms in the air, shouting their goodbyes and insistence on another visit from their grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins someday. Still holding Torrhen on her hip, Sansa glances down at her twins and motions them over closer towards her. Lyonel and Cassana link hands before taking their mother's in theirs.
"Will tey see us again?" Lyonel asks.
"Yes, my sweet," Sansa said softly. "If not, then we can always go see them."
"Fhink so?" asks Cassana.
"I know so, yes. Come now. Let's go see your father."
"Okie!"
"Ga ga!"
—In the Red Keep—
The interior of the Red Keep remained under reconstruction; the workers had been often instilling more bricks, stones and wood to keep structures steady and intact, repaired damaged areas – but surprisingly the majority of the massive castle remained standing. Daveth surveyed the room; extensive work is being done, overseen by the Young Stag and the Imp themselves.
"They've been going at it around the clock," Daveth mused.
Tyrion hummed. "All in a day's work, nephew. Connington did inflict some degree of damage to the Red Keep, but nothing with a little bit of wet paint here and there and some elbowroom. It'll take months, but we'll have it up and running again in no time."
"And the rest of King's Landing?"
"It's a very large city; meaning it will take even longer. A lot of people have been either buried, displaced or are still missing. The City Watch is doing all they can, but even they are stretched a bit thin."
"We could have had our armies come down here immediately after we killed the Night King. That's the advantage of a counterinsurgency strategy – to destroy a bunch of upstarts with overwhelming force while it is still in a manageable state. War forced boys to grow into men, each battle we fought made us soldiers. The Stag Sedition, Second Greyjoy Rebellion, War for Westeros, the Long Night… we knew what we had to do." He sighed and shook his head, "Now it's just… not so simple. A lot of people died when we came back, but how many didn't have to? I'm so tired, uncle. So very tired."
Tyrion comforted him. "Hey, don't talk that way, nephew. What happened down there was not your fault. Connington and Euron, they caught us all off-guard. There was nothing you could have done. You did all you could. That's the burden of being a King. Not everyone who wears the crown is expected to know everything at all times."
"A lesson I've yet to learn – even if it's the hard way," Daveth sighed. "What do we have for the day?"
"I'll keep it short so you can take a moment to collect your thoughts. I'll deal with the rest," Tyrion unveils a small list. "For now, we've got to two sessions. First, we will be needing a new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard left vacant by the death of Ser Barristan Selmy, so I've called all of them here so you can select which suitable candidate suits your needs. Secondly, several archmaesters came all the way here from the Citadel to petition the… ahem, 'punishment' of Samwell Tarly – accusing him of stealing parts of the archives' collection of lore, some of which were entirely forbidden."
"Stealing… books?" the Young Stag now was already irritated at such a minor dispute.
Samwell, having entered into the Red Keep, cleared his throat. "I know what I did was wrong, but… But I had to find a way to help us stop the Night King and his armies. I didn't mean to, but were running out of time. I warned them of the danger, but they just dismissed my concerns. If I'm found guilty, Your Grace, I'll not only be thrown out of the Citadel – I'll be put in chains for the rest of my life and I'll never get to be a maester."
Daveth looked him up and down. "You're a Tarly, aren't you? Lord Randyll's son," he pressed. Ser Barristan told me about him. Hard to believe he is a Tarly at all – given his… overweightness. But Jon assured me that what he sorely lacks in physicality and bravery in battle, he makes up for it with vast intellect. These traits will no doubt prove to be useful to me. "I'm told books weren't the only things you stole. You took your family's ancestral sword Heartsbane without their knowledge or consent."
"Y-Yes, Your Grace."
"Just stand over there," he points to a section in the hall. "And don't touch anything. Understand?"
Samwell nods and immediately stands away. Not wanting to bother anyone, he has Gilly stand next to him. Gods be good, his anxiety levels were rising fast. His fate was riding high on this sovereign. Daveth folded his arms; there was no throne to sit upon since Rhaegal melted down the Iron Throne, so he just stood where it once stood with Tyrion at his side as his Hand. Soon enough, all seven knights of the Kingsguard arrived from the White Sword Tower.
Ser Lucius Blackmyre, Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Olyvar Frey, Ariyana Dayne, Ser Brienne of Tarth, Ser Podrick Payne, and Ser Jullon Qorgyle stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the throne room.
"Would the senior member of the Kingsguard please step forward?" Tyrion motions.
Lucius approaches. "Your Grace, I am yours to command," he acknowledges.
"Ser Lucius Blackmyre," Tyrion began, his face serious as he flipped over page after page of court documents. "We have gathered to review your service to the Kingsguard. You should exceptional talent in devising key military strategies that brought down Maelys the Monstrous and ended the War of the Ninepenny Kings, you helped break a siege of rebels at Ashford. You displayed intellectual prowess again at Tumbleton and again displayed the same courage and valor at the Battle of the Trident during Robert's Rebellion despite losing the war. You routed rebel forces again near the Grassy Vale in the Stag Sedition and kept our Queen safe from harm during the Bolton Uprising. What's more, you led the civilian populace of King's Landing under direct fire from Jon Connington to safety… without raising a sword."
Daveth nods. "In thanks for your history of service, ensuring the safety of the royal family, and for your help in ending the War for Westeros, the crown endorses your promotion to Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," he announces.
Lucius was taken aback. He knew he could never replace his departed friend Barristan; even if he did, the Old Bull knew his tenure would be a short one due to his age – but until then, he would continue to fulfill his lifelong duty.
"Your Grace, I… am not worthy," Lucius kneels. He groans as he bent down. Bah! Gods curse these blasted knees of mine!
"You have shown fierce loyalty, rigorous determination, honor… as all Kingsguard should." He snapped his fingers. The servants ushered in the Valyrian steel sword Bastion. "This sword once belonged to your predecessor, Ser Barristan the Bold. May it serve you well in the months and years to come."
Lucius grasped the handle. It felt odd, but hesitantly accepted it. "I will honor your faith in me and pray to the Seven that I serve for as long as these old bones will carry me," he stated.
"Kingsguard! Will you take Ser Lucius as your Lord Commander?"
"HA-OOH!" was their response.
Rising to his feet, Ser Lucius returned to join his brothers and sisters-in-arms – now standing at the front of the sworn order as their new Lord Commander. Each one conveyed their congratulations; even as the Citadel's highest-ranking members—led by Archmaester Ebrose—arrived in the throne room to convey their grievances.
"Next up, Archmaester Ebrose will speak against Samwell Tarly for the theft of classified documents from the Citadel. Those in attendance will now state their case," Tyrion cleared his throat.
Ebrose approached. "Your Grace, when Samwell arrived asking to learn how to be a maester, we took him under our care. We provided him with every opportunity most young lads might not receive in their lifetime. Yes, Samwell proved a promising student despite his impatience. But what did we get in return for our generosity?" he sighed wearily. "Aside from blatantly disregarding my warning against treating greyscale, but committed an act of theft, right from under our noses! When I arrived to hand him his next assignment, I find him not only missing from the Citadel – but the restricted section broken into with several dozens of books stolen! No one in history had ever dared committed such a heart wrenching betrayal. Had it been someone else, they would have been stripped of their chains and expelled from the Citadel immediately." He turns to Samwell. "We ask that you not only punish him, but to have our books properly returned to us for safekeeping."
Daveth stood in silence. "Does the accused have anything to say in his defense?"
Samwell nervously approaches. He avoids Archmaester Ebrose's disappointing glances at him as he did the other members of the Conclave. "I… I admit I did what I did. Ser Jorah Mormont had contracted greyscale when he came to us, but no one was willing to at least try to treat his illness. I did the procedure myself as a personal favor to his father, the 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch – Jeor Mormont. I know it was risky, but the surgery was a success. Yes, I did… steal the books in question, one of which was High Septon Maynard's private diary. But the White Walkers were quickly approaching, and we were running out of time. Jon and I knew it. We saw them for ourselves at the Fist of the First Men and Hardhome beyond the Wall. I was studying each page night and day trying to find a way to defeat the Night King. It gave us clues—dragonglass, Valyrian steel… whatever was needed to provide us an edge. Y-You've seen them yourself at Winterfell, Your Grace. You must know what it was like for the rest of us who served in the Night's Watch. I was planning on returning them eventually and turn myself in once the war was over, but… But I guess that's up to them now."
Tyrion turns to his nephew. "Both sides have presented their arguments. But the final decision on what is to be done with Samwell Tarly rests with you. It may seem trivial, but such a decision can affect the opinion of others. The choice is yours."
Daveth nodded as he listened to each side's arguments. He knew stealing classified documents from the Citadel was a very serious crime and were grounds for immediate expulsion, but at the same time the memory of fighting the White Walkers were forever burned in his memory. Logic or reason? Logic was the systematic study of inference and demonstration whereas reason is a capacity of consciously making sense of things. But the constant pestering regarding trivial matters was annoying him rather quickly. He had neither the time nor the patience for it.
Fucking useless old cunts. "Although I do not condone such theft of classified documents, I have seen the White Walkers firsthand with my own eyes. I fought their leader—the Night King—on the battlefield," Daveth stated. "And I assure you, Archmaester, the White Walkers were not merely myths or tales of pure fabrication. They were a real and terrifying threat to this country. As such, I am afraid the crown cannot grant you your request."
"What?!" exclaimed Marwyn, another high-ranking Archmaester. "Your Grace, this is highly an act of gross misconduct—"
Daveth sharply descended the steps, catching them all by surprise. "'Gross misconduct'? Is that what I'm hearing from you, Archmaester?" his face was inches from Marwyn's. "Every man, woman and child ages 16 to 60 from all corners of Westeros took up arms against such undead beasts. Half of 600,000 of them! Some of us have lost friends, family, loved ones! Those who lived through it to tell the tale are still haunted by those things! Ser Barristan Selmy—the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard—my mentor and the most honorable knight who ever existed DIED giving us the chance to defeat the Night King! What were the rest of you doing to contribute to the war effort? Did you fight them? No, you did not! Instead of seeking to punish Samwell Tarly for doing what needed to be done to end the White Walker menace, you should be thanking him! The Seven Kingdoms would have been plunged into an endless winter, its people would have been walking corpses and no one would have been able to stop them!"
All in the room were silenced, even the workers who stopped what they were doing to watch the Young Stag angrily berating the Archmaesters.
"Your Grace!—"
Daveth raised a firm hand up, demanding silence. "I pardon Samwell Tarly of all crimes he stands accused and release him from his vows to the Night's Watch." He paused for a moment. No… it's not enough. That is all in the past. I have other uses for you, Tarly. You'll see that you have a much bigger role to play in the grand scheme of things. "In fact, it's come to my attention that the Seven Kingdoms has a place for one with such talent. I may have use for him. Given his level of education, insightfulness and intelligence, I recommend that the Citadel send Samwell Tarly to King's Landing… to serve on my Small Council as our new Grand Maester."
An audible gasp echoes throughout the Red Keep's throne room; none were more surprised than Samwell himself. Not only did he get a royal pardon as he once asked for, but to be nominated as Grand Maester? His head spun at the possibilities. The Archmaesters gritted their teeth and abruptly turned to leave – not saying a word. Daveth felt himself enjoying this moment, however risky the move he made was. The Order of Maesters and position of Grand Maester predated the creation of the Small Council by thousands of years and can only be voted on by the Conclave – Kings may still try to influence as to who gets elected as Grand Maester similar to how they could influence who gets elected as High Septon of the Faith of the Seven, but even so this is difficult to achieve. It'll take time to get a response. But it didn't matter to him.
"Y-Your Grace, I-I…" Samwell stuttered.
"Best find yourself a suitable room, Tarly," Daveth said abruptly. "And bring your wildling lover of yours and her son with you," he referred to Gilly and Sam. "Just try not to do anything stupid that'll make me regret it… because I won't be bailing you out of trouble again. Understood?"
Samwell nodded without hesitation.
"Oh, thank you, kind ser! We won't stand out too much," Gilly said.
"You already do," the Young Stag replied. "This session of court is hereby concluded. Any other further grievances subjected to hearing will deferred to Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King. Dismissed."
With that, the workers immediately returned to construction. Tyrion cleared his throat and continued about his business as Hand of the King; Samwell, Gilly and Sam eagerly went to pick out a room to settle in. But Daveth, as he walked away, placed a hand on his head. His head felt… odd. Like waking up from a deep sleep, only he did in a certain kind of way. But that's not what bothered him the most.
I… can feel it. Like it's clawing at me. Bits and pieces of you get chipped away with each resurrection. Isn't that what you said it felt like at Winterfell, Lord Beric Dondarrion? Daveth reflected. The thought of losing myself… is a fate I consider worse than death. Sansa, uncle Tyrion… you're right. It seems I really will need help going forward.
Chapter End
Author's Note: Another chapter and we're almost reaching the conclusion. Arya still plans on going west for a sea voyage, Jon has unsettled business to take care of but hints that he will return to Winterfell at some point in his life – no more spending the rest of his days back at the Wall again. Reconstruction progress is still underway, a new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Daveth getting up close and personal with Archmaesters seeking to punish Samwell Tarly. But was the move bold or riskily aggressive? Life at court is never over. But what was the interpretation of the Young Stag's thoughts as he retires for the day? I'll leave that up for your interpretation. Stay tuned for more updates!
hateme101: I love how Sam isnt punished but awarded still feel so bad for Jon
noobie53: Nice! I literally laughed out loud for the Citadel bits.
And don't take this the wrong way but... the last of the Starks. My. Ass. There's plenty of them left! Lol
fiend89: Should the Citadel be scolded for being essentially useless in light of the Long Night? What's the point of knowledge of not applied. Samwell was the one maester that truly played a pivotal role against the Walkers.
Randa1: It is assumed that the masters of the citadel are responsible for the collection, custody and transmission. of knowledge, they failed in their mission to kidnap him in the citadel, they frankly disobeyed their duties, but if crows were sent asking for information and these were discarded as stories despite the fact that crows came from the protective lords and the house real, in fact, the one in trouble there should not be sam if not the archimaestres in disregarding and ignoring a request for information from the king ... even if it were to tell him that according to searches made in the archives, white walkers are a legend ... not even that I did
Guest #1: Good chapter how many more chapters will their be
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
Bvj: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of the oathkeeper, so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please
cleopatra12345: all I'm thinking is about jon. can you do Jon's journey and everyone's thoughts about jon
—I'll see what I can do.
Bio RL: there was a woman who had gone around the world before, she did it by stealing dragon eggs from the Targaryen house and used them to buy a ship.
Those eggs were the ones that gave Dany in his marriage to Drogo