—Somewhere at sea—
Inside the cabin of her ship Lady Crane, Arya sheaths her sword Needle in the scabbard tied around her belt and a small dagger at her hip. Since leaving home and all of Westeros behind her, the She-Wolf decided to follow her own path – a new adventure, a new beginning afloat the Sunset Sea and traveling beyond the edge of the known world, fulfilling her promise to Lady Crane, her ship's namesake. What awaited her west of Westeros where all the maps stopped? No one knows, but Arya was determined to chart the possibly uncharted lands—the first Westerosi to do so. She had enough supplies for a six-month voyage but knew her crew would eventually have to acquire more or risk starvation at sea. After all, the last famous explorer of the Sunset Sea was her ancestor King Brandon the Shipwright – who sailed west with most of the Northern fleet to find new lands and was never seen again.
Laying a map on the table, Arya surveys the geological survey of Westeros and Essos before collapsing a spyglass. Placing it in her pocket, she turns to leave but takes one last glance back at the three painted portraits hanging on her desk: one entailed her family of House Stark—Eddard, Catelyn, Robb, Sansa, herself, Bran, Rickard, and Jon; the second depicted Robb, Talisa and her nephew young Eddard; and the last portrait showed Daveth, Sansa, Lyonel, Cassana, and Torrhen. Arya wasn't present for the birth of Rickard, something she regretted deep down. Giving a small smile, she turns to exit her quarters through a darkened passageway, then ascending the stairs leading to the deck and towards the light above.
"Full speed ahead!" exclaimed one of the sailors.
"Do another check on those rations! We were running low according to last night's count," mentioned another.
"Aye, captain!"
Arya calmly strolls through along the Lady Crane's deck as the crew around her works efficiently, tirelessly, occasionally trading glances with them and acknowledging their greetings. The ship sails at a steady clip, the mainmast, and riggings displaying the sigil of House Stark: a grey direwolf on a white field.
"Lady Stark," a sailor spoke.
"Greetings, my lady," another chimed.
I'm not a lady. That's not me. That's not who I am, Arya thought as she approaches the bow. The Arya who left for Braavos was still a girl, but this one is a different person altogether. She learned her lesson last time and informed her family where she was going. She has been no one, a girl with no identity. She has been Arya Stark of Winterfell. Who will she be next?
"Land ho!" shouted a sailor.
Arya tilted her head up to see a glimpse of an uncharted island before her. It took months, but she made it. The answer to one of many questions. There was an entire continent west of Westeros.
"Get the rowboats ready, captain," Arya commands. "The rest of you, take only what you can carry."
"Aye, aye, my lady! All right, lads – get the maps! Let's explore this land!"
Arya accompanies her survey team onto the rowboats as it lowers down onto the Sunset Sea. Once landing on the oceanic surface, each sailor began rowing with the oars—each stroke bringing them closer to the shores. Looking out at the rainforest as they approach, the rowboat lands on the beach – allowing everyone to get out. Arya walks on ahead, kneeling onto the sand and pressed a palm on the wet mineral, feeling the texture in between her fingers.
"Half of you head into the trees," she says. "The rest of you circle the island. I'd like us to take some things home with us."
—In the North—
Outside the gates of Winterfell, Jon was readying himself to leave home once more with only Ghost as his companion. He was soon taking a ride to the Wall to rendezvous with his wildling friend Tormund Giantsbane; Jon hadn't seen him in months since the Battle of Winterfell against the Night King's armies ended in the living's victory. True to his word, Robb Stark had forbidden any of his Northmen vassals to in any way shape or form harm Jon or risk facing the Young Wolf's wrath. Although thankful to his cousin, the White Wolf still felt he had one more journey to take. Upon gathering his things in a small bundle, Jon slung it over his horse until he heard Robb approach from behind.
"Leaving again?" he asked. He had snow in his hair, melting from the heat of his body.
"For a time," Jon answered him. "Winter may have come and gone, but that doesn't mean it won't come again." He was right. Spring is coming and it is slowly starting to warm up for the first time in many months.
"Winter is coming."
"Winter is coming."
Robb nodded, though he was still not content with his cousin leaving home again. "Talisa and I meant what we said in King's Landing. You're more than welcome to stay with us here in Winterfell. For as long as you'd like. Mother doesn't seem to mind, though. Ned would be quite upset to see his favorite uncle isn't present."
"I know, and I'm thankful for that. It'll always be a part of me as it is to you. Once this is all over, I'll return."
"It's funny. Last time we spoke like this, you were leaving for the Wall with uncle Benjen to join the Night's Watch. I said, 'The next time I see you, you'll be all in black.'"
Jon nodded, smiling at the reminisce. "And I remember saying, 'It was always my color,'" he replied.
"How long do you think it will be?"
"Difficult to say. The Free Folk never stay in one place for too long."
"I see," Robb looked unsure. He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely. "Farewell, cousin."
Jon hugged him back. "And you, cousin. Take care of Winterfell and the North. Rule well."
"I will."
They broke apart and Jon left him standing there in the snow, with the albino direwolf following close behind him. Robb watched him venture along the kingsroad until he was finally out of sight.
Many days had passed since then. Several days on horseback through the wolfswood, past Long Lake and the Last Hearth stronghold, now rebuilt to its former self under the leadership of the young 11-year-old Lord Ned Umber, the only grandson and successor of the Greatjon Umber himself. Jon stayed two nights as a guest of House Umber before he took his horse north to the New Gift and Queenscrown before riding through Mole's Town. Jon vaguely remembered reports of one of the few villages in the Gift was razed to the ground. Since then, Mole's Town remained abandoned.
And within a day—after two weeks on the road on horseback—Jon arrived at Castle Black, where his story began. The wind whistles on a grey day at the Wall; although most of it remains standing, the section where Eastwatch-by-the-Sea once stood was completely gone due to the Night King unleashing a reanimated Viserion on it. Since the breach, the Wall has been rendered ineffective and subsequently abandoned.
Is there still a Night's Watch? Jon wondered. He wasn't too sure. With the White Walkers extinct, the Night's Watch's purpose has been fulfilled. Many wondered if there was still any use for it now that the greatest threat was gone forever. It was still a matter of debate in the north and south.
With spring falling over the Seven Kingdoms, the Wall weeps as the temperature rises above freezing. Looking up at the Wall and down to Castle Black, Jon proceeded onwards. He arrives at the gates and pushes it open, revealing the former headquarters occupied by what remained of the Free Folk—all 4,000 men, women and children who survived the Battle of Winterfell turned and rose to their feet, remembering the man responsible for their survival. He rides forward into the sea of waiting faces. There is no suspicion in their eyes and no awe. Only trust and acceptance. As the gates close behind him, Jon dismounts from atop his horse and enters the courtyard where he recognizes the one wildling waiting for him on the balcony where Lord Commander Jeor Mormont used to stand: Tormund.
"Baby crow," the wildling chieftain greets happily. "Was wonderin' when you were gonna show up. Made me startin' to think you'd forgotten us."
Jon shakes his head. "Sorry for the delay. I had some unfinished business to take care of back home. But I'm here now, old friend." He walks down the last few steps with Tormund to the ground level, where the last of the Free Folk await him. "Is this all of you?"
"Pretty much sums it up, Snow. This is what's left of us," Tormund acknowledged. "It'll take time for us to recover, but with the Night King dead, the Free Folk no longer have to live in fear. We… We're finally free. And you were the only crow who stood up for us."
"It was the right thing to do."
"Aye, and that's why the Free Folk will follow you."
Ghost nuzzles Jon's hand, and he pets the scruff of his direwolf's neck.
"It's almost time. Are you ready?" Jon asks.
"Been waitin' for someone to say that," Tormund said mounting upon his horse. "Ahhh, I always did tell the other clans that you've got the North in you – the real North! I'm glad you once again chose to help us retake some of our old territories. We'll be needing room to expand out there beyond the Wall."
"Hopefully this will be the start of a new age for the Free Folk too. Even if we're no longer welcome in the south, I'm sure my cousin will grant you all full citizenship and equal rights as a reward for your contribution with—"
"Bah, we've had enough of the south. The women down there don't like me."
"I seem to recall you having 'fun' with two or three of them at Winterfell."
"Hehehe, I sure showed 'em how a Free Folk man fucks a woman!" Tormund laughed. "So, Baby crow… you plannin' on staying with us?"
Jon thought about Tormund's offer for a while as they rode along a covered snow walkway with the remaining Free Folk following them into the tunnel through the Wall leading to the gate. Slowly, the gate begins to rise. Even though the Night's Watch and Free Folk were bitter enemies for several millennia, the White Wolf had grown fond of them during his time with them—both as an infiltrator and as an ally. He still thought about his long-departed love Ygritte from time to time and doubted he'd find another like her in his lifetime for at least a while. But that was then. Now as a free man…
"You did tell me I'd be happier out there with you. And I did promise I'd help you take back your homes. So yes, I'll stay as long as I'm able," Jon confessed.
Tormund laughed loudly. "Perfect! See? I knew you'd fit right in with us. Ahhh, I think you'd make a good Free Folk. Mance Rayder would be proud of ya, little crow. I know I am. You did more for us than any southerner ever has. Besides, we'll be needing a new King-Beyond-the-Wall anyway to keep the Free Folk united. And we all chose you, Jon Snow."
"Me?"
"You. No one else wants the job," the chieftain replied seriously.
The White Wolf scratched the back of his head with embarrassment.
As the gate opens, Jon and Tormund emerge from the tunnel outside of Castle Black with Ghost and the Free Folk behind them through the snowy landscape. All the wildlings look happy to return to their homes after a long time with the threat of the White Walkers lifted from them, walking and chatting happily into the no longer haunted forest, finally free from what has haunted them for thousands of years. As the external gate closes, Jon glances at several wildling children running excitedly in front of them, causing the White Wolf to smile hopefully. Maybe perhaps this time things will be different. Better.
They all cross the No Man's Land into Whitetree between the Wall and the northern forest. Beneath their feet, patches of grass are seen emerging beneath what used to be the frozen tundra. As the first signs of spring extending its reach beyond the Wall. Ghost lopes out ahead of Jon, as Jon rides into the forest with Tormund beside him, crossing the tree line.
"The North, all of Westeros… Everyone can finally live the rest of their lives in peace," Jon said with a renewed sense of purpose.
—At King's Landing—
Sansa and Lucius were sitting across from each other playing another game of cyvasse, each competitor moving ten types of pieces across the board. It was a relatively close match between the Wolf Queen and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, pitting intellect against intellect. The first time they played was during their voyage to White Harbor and from then on they made time to better themselves, with the recent one taken place three weeks ago. It was fun, but Sansa noticed Lucius wasn't feeling well lately; the Old Bull looked rather pale and tired, lost much weight and his manner turned frail. Next to him was a cane, indicating the Lord Commander was having a hard time walking.
Lucius sighed with exhaustion until he noticed Sansa staring at him. "Huh. That face you make… do I look so frail in your eyes?" he inquired. His voice seems weaker.
Indeed, her look has been worrying. Caught, Sansa tries to hide it. "What? Oh no! No, of course not," she denies.
"Beh, heh heh… you bluff poorly, young one. Hah, I can see it as plain as day," the Old Bull closes his eyes briefly before glancing at his knees and cane. "My knees won't have failed me, I'm old… and now I'm come down with this wretched illness."
"Are you in pain? Do you wish to see the Grand Maester?"
"The lad means well and did all he could, but I'm too far along for any sort of treatment." Wanting to lighten the mood, Lucius points a crooked finger. "When you reach 69 years of age, you will not look as good as I, hmm?"
His attempt at humor did make Sansa smile… but only for a bit before the Old Bull clutched his chest as he coughed roughly as if his lungs were full of phlegm.
"*Cough!* *Cough!* *Cough!* *Cough!* Ack!"
Sansa rose from her seat and tended to Lucius, patting his back gently. The Old Bull was not feeling well and clutched his cane in one hand. He tried to get up, but his knees buckled beneath him and fell back down into his seat.
"Ser Lucius!" Sansa exclaimed.
"Argh! Dammit!" he groaned. "He… help me up, child. Take me to the bed."
Wrapping one arm around her neck, Sansa groaned as she helped Lucius to his feet—his cane acting as a support column before moving him to his bed. Setting him down, Sansa took the cane and placed it next to the closest drawer to him. Lucius groaned as he pulled the sheets above him with great effort.
"Ser Lucius," Sansa spoke again, "just take it easy for a while. I'll go get Samwell. Once you're well enough, we can play another round—"
"I… I don't think there will be a next game, child," Lucius slowly shook his head. "Hah… I'm afraid… my time here is done."
The Wolf Queen looked horror-stricken. Ser Lucius Blackmyre was like a grandfather figure to her, one who looked after her ever since she arrived in the capital city all those years ago and he, in turn, thought of her as a granddaughter figure. Since the ride to White Harbor, they've grown close. Done? No. "Ser Lucius, you can't die," she pleaded.
"Hah… I know I'm tough, but I'm not that tough to further delay the inevitability." He patted towards the edge of his bed. "Please, sit, child."
As if she was like a little girl once more, Sansa obediently sat near the edge of the bed and held Lucius's elderly, frail hand in hers, gripping it gently which the Old Bull reciprocates. Although she knew now that it was inevitable, Sansa maintained her composure as he continued talking to her.
"Now, now. It's all right," Lucius reassures her despite being in agony, his eyes are full of weariness and compassion. His voice was increasingly frail and took great effort for him to talk. "No need to be afraid. Death is… just another part of life. Something we're… we're all destined to do. *Cough!* *Cough!* We're born, we live a little while… and when our time comes, our… our bodies return to the earth. Old, young, rich, poor… it does not discriminate. But… don't be sad. Rather, take this moment to… reflect on the joy life had to offer. You have a family, four rambunctious children… A future to look forward to. Something Barristan and I had hoped that the… that the new generation could bring about. By helping you, perhaps… perhaps I was trying to keep my promise to your grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully. You— *Cough!* *Cough!* You and Daveth did well against the odds… for a bunch of youngsters. Heh heh…"
Ser Lucius, Sansa thought. "We couldn't have made it this far without people like you," she said. "Without your advice, we would have been stuck in the same old pattern that's gripped this nation for three centuries now. I haven't got your gift for advice, Lord Commander, but you saved us more times than I can count. And I would have given my life for you."
Touching sentimentality. She's just like her mother at her age. "I… I'm sure you would. I will miss you, child."
"Me too," Sansa replied sadly.
Before more could be said, the door to the Lord Commander's chamber opened—revealing Jaime, Brienne, Olyvar, Ariyana, Podrick, and Jullon.
"Lord Commander," Brienne said.
"Lord Commander," the others chimed. They all heard what had transpired, most likely from Grand Maester Samwell and had come to pay their respects.
"Ah… Late again," Lucius coughed. "Not… quite the summons I planned, but… time is short."
"Do you… do you want us to get you anything?" Podrick offered.
The Old Bull shook his head. "Get me… get me that sword, the Bastion," he pointed a crooked finger.
Podrick nodded and presented Lucius the Valyrian steel sword. Weakly gripping it in his hand, the Old Bull looked upon his subordinates and fellow comrades one-by-one before tossing it at one of them. Instinctively, Ser Jaime caught the handle and looked at Lucius in surprise.
"Ser Jaime Lannister," Lucius coughed, "when I'm gone— *Cough!* you will be all that's… left of us; the last of Aerys Targaryen's Kingsguard. *Cough!* *Cough!* Hence… *Cough!* your experience… will be needed…"
Jaime stared at the old man. He understood what he was referring to. "You've been plotting this from the beginning, weren't you?" he pressed. "You've been grooming me to be your replacement."
"Consider it— *Cough!* *Cough!* a promotion. Ack! Use it as you see fit, boy." Lucius begins to falter. He closes his eyes and struggles to gather his remaining strength.
"Ser Lucius," Sansa spoke.
The Old Bull turns to her. He catches his breath and smiles weakly. "I'm… *Cough!* *Cough!* thinking of… your life, Sansa Stark. Nothing… can… harm you… now…" A shiver runs through the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and his grip on Sansa's hand goes limp, sliding out of her grip and onto the sheet.
Sansa stares at him as the Old Bull expires before her eyes, her eyes watering with boundless grief. Ariyana, Olyvar and Brienne were shocked; Podrick and Jullon bowed their heads mournfully; Jaime, meanwhile, simply stared at him. Was this his doing all along? To prepare him for this? If so, then why didn't he mention it to him sooner? All he could simply do was tighten his grip on Bastion.
"You wanted me to lead the Kingsguard into the future, didn't you?" Jaime said under his breath.
Sansa's breath trembled, but she did not cry. The Wolf Queen intended to follow the Old Bull's instructions and tried not to be said for such a personal loss. Not looking at the other Kingsguard assembled, she gives the order. "Send word to the King. Inform him… inform him that Lord Commander Ser Lucius Blackmyre… has passed away."
"Yes, Your Grace," they answered.
Chapter End
Author's Note: We start with Arya Stark and Jon Snow/Aegon Targaryen venturing off on their own journeys in the new age, but tragedy strikes as Lord Commander Lucius Blackmyre has succumbed to advanced age and illness. What sort of legacy will the Old Bull leave behind and what are your guys' thoughts of Lucius recommending Jaime Lannister as his successor? What were his reasons? Anyway, I think we've got two or three chapters left before this series comes to an end. Also, I've promised that there will be an epilogue describing the events of what happened in each location and to other characters in the following years since the final battle. Thoughts? Stay tuned for more updates!
King Crow: And so the Old Bull is now resting forever
Black Magic99: you know what would be interesting... if arya discovered skyrim
Randa1: and so, Sir Yoda ... errr Sir Lucius ... dies ... don't tell me that there is another stark out there that we don't know or that Ned is going around around wearing black clothes ... and no I mean the black of the night watch
The Three Stoogies: All hail Set Lucius all hail the Honored Dead.
C.E.W: I suppose Daveth will have a funeral planned for Ser Lucius Blackmyre, Ser Lucius has served in the Kingsguard for over forty years since the end of the War of Ninepenny Kings. He and Ser Jaime were the only Kingsguard to survive from the start of Daveth's reign to the end of the wars that plagued Westeros since the death of King Robert after the last Battle of King's Landing. Ser Lucius served faithfully, loyalty and with dignity, and is perhaps the longest serving Kingsguard in the history of Westeros.
Of all of current Kingsguard, I suspect Jaime Lannister will mourn Ser Lucius the most, he knew him far longer than any of them, and choose him as his successor. Guess he saw Ser Jaime as a true knight, knowing why Ser Jaime killed the king he had sworn to defend, and seeing how Ser Jaime served Daveth loyally. Fighting for him, and saving his life particularly against Euron and Yara Greyjoy.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
Turner1416: Oh man that sucks I miss you Sir L
Bvk: Great chapter on trials and tribulations of oathkeeper, so can you please put up the next chapter to the story now please
randomdude24: RIP Ser Lucius
Bio RL: Ty