Lightbringer

by FrostFangs016

"...And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him." But what if Lightbringer was not a sword, but a person? An old enemy had risen once more, will Westeros survive this time without the help of dragons?

11. The Grandmaester

Hi guys! So, I tweaked some details of the story, this chapter specifically to match the current situation. This chapter was not supposed to be written at all, and we would move on to Eastwatch by the sea and then to King's Landing and the Lords as they prepare the Great Council but I felt...odd not to address the current and past months' situation in any way, so I made this chapter.

I dedicated this chapter to those who lost themselves, who felt lost, who lost someone/something and to those who kept fighting the odds, who never give up to the end, those who never lose hope and those...who lost theirs...I hope there was something, some magic, a greater power that will stop all of this madness. I hope we can give every people a dose of Fire's Kiss. For a few moments let us pretend.

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Oldtown. The second most prosperous port city in the Seven Kingdoms next to King's Landing. Five years had passed since the War of the Five Kings and the War of the Two Queens had shaken the very foundations of the realm itself.

While the Crownlands and the Riverlands became ruins, the oldest city in Westeros on the other hand experienced little to nothing at all from the war, it was as if they were protected by the Seven. Or maybe the commendations must be given to their wise Lord Leyton Hightower who abstained from taking sides after Lord Mace Tyrell's demise in the Sept of Baelor.

The old city's streets were lively with children and some merchant's who were shouting for their fares. It was peaceful, and that's the problem.

The ports that was explicitly full before were quite empty that day, and the other day, and the day before that. In fact, for three moons, the few boats anchored on the ports seemed to be belonging only to Westerosi traders and with winter upon them, they were few.

The loud accented voices of Braavosi merchants cannot be heard on the markets, nor the Tyroshi silk traders with their hair colored like the cloth they sell, not even the friendly Pentoshi who sometimes gave sweet treats to children when they felt like it.

Something happened in Essos and no one knew what. Baelor, the Lord's first born son and heir wanted to send messengers to the Free Cities to seek help, but with the sudden appearance of pirates on the route to the Free Cities, it was near impossible to enter to any Eastern ports. But the heir was persistent, he wanted answers, so he sent ravens in every ports in Westeros to perhaps look for answers and he wasn't disappointed. He found out that all ports, from North to West experienced the same hardships and just like him, they do not know the reason behind the phenomena.

But that day, the Seven Kingdoms would.

As the city guard take his post on the tower near the port he noticed something peculiar. A boat. A small one and quite thin with black flag sailing straight as if wanting to dock. He thought perhaps it was an Ironborn, begging for scraps once more as they cannot ravage like they used to, they were weakened by the war and maybe more so with a woman as their leader. But mysteriously, they got less and less interaction with the men from the Iron Islands almost the same day the Essosi merchants refused to return to Oldtown.

The guard was about to turn around and sitdown and maybe take a brief nap when the ship was finally discernable to his eyes. He paled and he felt his knees shook as he grab the rope of the bell next to him and pull at it with all his might.

The ship was the famed swanship from the Summer Isles--said to be the fastest ship there was--and its sail were black with a red three-headed dragon at its center.

The whispers were true. The Mad Queen lives and she sent a messenger of her own in the form of a red priestess with eyes as green as emeralds and hair of gold and red. She was captivating but not the news she had spoken.

The Mad Queen had declared that no man or woman of Westerosi descent would be allowed to communicate, directly or indirectly to any of her people. No trades would be done. Westeros will be left on its own.

It was her vengeance the people shouted, but the priestess said otherwise. It was justice. Westeros abandoned the Queen of Queens, it was only fitting that she abandoned them as well, she said.

If that was declared on a better years, the realm could have scoffed and boast of their might, but the previous war had taken so much from the people and with the winter, it wasn't just a catastrophe, it was a massacre.

After the Priestess had a meeting with Lord Hightower in his castle, she left and with them stayed a promise of cold night, a fewer coins, and an empty belly.

Winter had truly come.

Two years had passed quickly, when finally Oldtown and the whole realm felt they could survive, it appeared suddenly like lightning. A plague that only strived in coldness had stricken its fingers but this time it spread faster. The people named it the Traitor's Plague.

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After hours and hours of none stop trekking, they finally reached the edge of the forest. Jon looked up at the Wall much like he did when he lead the wildlings from Hardhome. He can almost see Ser Alliser up there scowling down at him.

"Raise it," he ordered.

The man carrying the flag attached on his spear walked forward and waved it repeatedly.

"Will it work?" Tormund asked.

Jon did not reply, he continued craning his head, looking for movements atop the Wall.

"Can we trust her?" An old chief asked this time.

"Violet needs us more than we need them," Jon finally replied. "She'll gain nothing if we got slaughtered now."

The flag that was given to them was plain white. It was not the flag though that was special, it was the way it was waved.

"A wave to the left then the right. Then raise it up then down. Do it five times then stop. Wait for the horn. If it was one long and a half short, stay your ground and wait. If it was two long blows, run."

The man stopped. It must have been five times now, Jon was too tired to count. He was even too tired to stand. He felt he could topple over with one, light push. He did not sleep last night, when Ghost find him kneeling on the snow it was almost dawn. His old friend stayed with him, sitting on the cold ground until the sun finally set. The rumbling and warmth of his body calmed him in every minute he was there. Finally, he managed to regain his composure. But he was too weak to walk. Ghost, his dear friend might have noticed that that he bowed down and forced his head between his legs, lifting him from the ground. He rode Ghost to the camp much to the surprise of everyone.

Then there was a familiar resounding noise atop the Wall that woke his consciousness.

One blow.

He felt the men around him grip their weapons, preparing for a fight. Jon's arms hang limply on his side. Even if he take his stance, he knew he wouldn't be able to lift Longclaw much less exchange blows with an enemy and that was saying something since his sword was lighter than normal with it being Valyrian steel and all.

Two.

Jon closed his tired eyes.

Please. He prayed to whatever gods there was who would listen to a kinslayer's plea. Let my people live.

When the second blow was cut shorter only then did he breathe.

Tormund and the rest did not relax though, they were all looking at the gate, waiting for it to move.

Ghost inched closer to him, supporting his weight it seemed to him. Jon lifted his hand and clutched at the direwolf's soft fur, thanking his old friend silently.

The gate opened and three riders all in black comes out, then stopped a few feet away from them.

"Who among you is the one named Jon Snow?" The man not older than Jon asked, scanning each faces until it stopped at him. It was pretty obvious who he was with him leaning on Ghost.

Jon breathed deeply before exhaling, his breath made a smoke.

"That is me," Jon said as he moved forward leaving Ghost's comfort behind.

The other two riders looked at each other before looking back at him with skepticism. Jon had doubts as well. They were much younger than he was when he joined the Watch. They were much like...they reminded him of his previous squire.

"Thought the former King in the North would be taller," the one on the left smirked at the much younger, freckly boy beside him.

"I was young then. For me, he was a giant. Ever felt that, Dandy?"

The boy Dandy, shrugged.

Jon's attention was piqued. He shifted his gaze to the much younger boy who looked more uncomfortable sitting on a horse than the other two with him.

He was then distracted by Tormund's guffaw, surely he heard the conversation as well. When he warned him with a glance, the man stifled his mirth and in Tormund's standard, that was only turning his laugh into a chuckle.

Jon shook his head, then stopped, that does not feel good on his throbbing head. He fought the urge to sit down and clutch it between his hands, knowing that he needed to look strong even though he felt nothing but. Ghost suddenly walked forward, his fangs bared at the three riders. Their horses protested and tried to back away from the great white direwolf.

"Ghost, don't scare the boys. They may wet their pants," Jon said, masking his tiredness with boredom.

Ghost stopped and backed away slowly then sat by his side and touched his hair with his nose before looking back at the two boys, as if warning them. Jon casually leaned on the direwolf like he did earlier.

"We came here not to bring harm," Jon announced. He looked directly at the bearded man. "We came here to seek sanctuary and to warn you of the coming--"

"We know," the man said, cutting his speech as he tightened his grip on the bridle of his mare when it kept struggling from the fright Ghost had caused. "We had been preparing for some time now."

Jon wasn't surprised. If Violet knew, then it was likely the Sworn Brothers would know as well. He suddenly felt like a fool, he was farther North and he was the least to know about the dead. He really did know nothing. He fought the smirk that was creeping on his face at that thought. That must be the reason why the Night's Watch did not sent rangers for a few years. They were preparing. How? He was yet to know.

"Then you understood our predicament?"

The man only nodded. For a while they look at each other, Jon was trying to unearth the man's intent from his flat brown eyes. Will the Sworn Brothers let them in? The man, on the other hand, seems to be testing his resolve.

"Leaf, report to the Grandmaester," the man said after a while.

The young freckled boy opened his mouth in protest but a lift from the man's eyebrow stopped him from speaking, while his companion stick his tongue at him, mocking him good naturedly.

Hearing the boy's name made Jon remember something.

"Wait, boy, do you happen to know someone named Pine?" Jon asked.

The boy who was about to turn his mount back to the tunnel faced him, his eyes wide.

"Leaf, he knew Pine," Dandy said to the boy.

"Shut it, Dandy," the man growled to the boy beside him then turned to Jon once more, his eyes cold with suspicion. "Pine..." the man said then breathed deeply. "Pine is inside."

Jon nodded. He was confused by the interaction but he did not show it.

"One of Violet's daughter wanted to give him this," Jon pulled the small, tied blanket from his satchel.

His thoughts turned to the woman who gave it to him before he left the Keep. The sad girl.

When Violet gave him the flag, she only instructed him, then she went inside once more, her daughter's following behind her. Jon did try his best to ignore Lira's murderous looks directed at him and try to suppress the pity he felt from noticing her swollen eyes that must have been from crying all night. But a part of his consciousness knew the tears she shed wasn't from the pain of being rejected by him, it was rather from the humiliation of being rejected twice. Or perhaps she was regretting the actions she had shown him that night for to him, she really did indeed acted like a mad woman.

But it was not Lira that he remembered. It was the blonde girl. As he was to turn around she grabbed his arm, at first he thought it was Lira who wanted to torment him again with her lies, but it was a different girl. It was the sad woman. She did not say what her name was, she just shoved the blanket Jon noticed she was clutching before and said to him rushly; "For Pine, tell him I love him." Then she turned around and went inside but not before Jon noticed the stream of tears on both her cheeks.

The boy, the one named Leaf, swung down from his horse and landed on his feet rather clumsily.

"Leaf," Dandy said, his worry was palpable but with a shake from the older man's head, he was silenced once more.

The boy walked faster towards him, the childish delight he had earlier was gone. The boy looked older as he walked closer and stopped in front of Jon but still quite far for Jon to give the gift.

"Ghost," he said to the direwolf beside him as Jon forced himself to stood straight.

Ghost looked down at him and understood what he wanted. He left his side but he only moved behind him.

Leaf looked up at Ghost with fear but he fought it and chased it away with a loud gulp and walked those three steps.

Jon extend his hand to offer the small blanket to the boy, who snatched it from him harshly. Leaf then stepped backwards still looking warily at the beast behind Jon.

The boy opened the cloth. Jon wasn't curious, he did not dare take a peek of what was inside it but he can tell by touch what it was. And his assumptions was right. Inside the blanket was a pine cone head and a small wooden ball.

Jon watched as the boy's face crumpled in anguish. He looked up and his dark blue eyes looked at each of the faces behind Jon. Searching for someone and Jon had an inkling who he was looking for.

"Violet and your sisters decided to be left behind."

The boy looked at him, his eyes wide and shining from unshed tears.

"What is it Leaf?" the other boy asked worriedly.

"Dandy," the man stopped the boy kindly this time as he was about to go down his horse to console his friend. "Leaf, go back to Castle Black. Report to the Grandmaester. Now. "

Leaf looked at Jon, paying no heed to the man's orders, his eyes glaring.

"If you harmed them..." the boy almost growled.

Ghost, seeing the hostility leaned down, he bared his fangs but did not act, seemingly waiting for the right time to pounce. Jon reached for the fur on his neck, calming him then turned to the boy.

The throbbing of his head did nothing to quell his rising temper and his impatience.

"Do you think we're monsters, boy?" Jon whispered but danger was in his voice that made the boy backed away a bit. "It wasn't us that brings danger," Jon said calmly this time, mollified by the fear on the boy's eyes. "Now, go. Give that to Pine, with...the woman's love whoever she is to this Pine."

Jon felt tired. He rubbed his fingers on his temples, which did not ease the pain at all.

Leaf turned around, almost tripping on his own feet and ride his horse, his friend, looking at him worriedly.

"Go. Castle Black." The man said softly after seeing what Leaf was clutching on his chest.

"You, Dandy, you'll go to the Grandmaester."

Dandy looked horrified.

"I thought it was Leaf that's going to report!"

The older man only gave him a stern look that shut any protests from the boy who only sulked atop his horse.

"Leaf had another thing to do."

Dandy looked beside him, to Leaf who was clutching the blanket near his heart. Worry etched his face once more, but he nodded in agreement.

The boys turned around to the gate and wait for the shutter to be lifted before they went inside.

"Are you done? How long are we going to stay standing here?" Tormund whined behind him.

The man looked at Tormund and a flash of annoyance was shown in his eyes dark brown eyes for a brief second before reverting back to Jon.

"Gareth Hurst," the man said. "Master-at-arms."

It took a few seconds for Jon to realize that the man just introduced himself.

"Well met, Ser Gareth."

"I'm no ser," the man replied blandly.

"My apologies," Jon said equally bland.

How he wished he can shout as well like Tormund. How long are they going to fucking stand there?

"Ah," Gareth suddenly exclaimed. Rummaging on his pockets. "The Grandmaester wanted you to have this."

Gareth waved a small scroll.

He heard Tormund grumbled behind him. "Can't you read it inside, Crow?! My balls are gathering icicles here!"

Jon heard protests behind him as well, not only from Tormund and the chiefs but almost all the Free-folk now. They were tired and hungry, Jon cannot blame them.

"No one will enter until your king decides." Gareth said loudly then threw the scroll at him.

Jon catches it and was surprised to see the gray wax, broken.

Jon lifted his gaze to look at Gareth.

"Grandmaester needs to be sure what it contains."

Jon understood. He had been a squire before. He knew that all the news that was given to the Wall must be known, whether it was addressed to the Lord Commander or not.

Jon studied the wax closely. A wax of grey with a direwolf pressed on it.

Bran or Sansa?

Arya did not mention them much in her stories, it was an evidence of her lingering annoyance for them for what they did. But annoyed as she was, Arya never forget to tell him about the kingdoms their siblings--his cousins ruled, giving him a small insight of how they were faring.

King's Landing had repaired half of its ruins. The Red Keep was the first to finish its reconstruction. The North wasn't faring much, with scarcity of food, but they get by.

Now, he wondered what the both of them wanted from him especially when the last time they were together in one room they did not part nicely. Words had been said and curses as well and threats, mostly from Arya and Sansa as he and Bran looked at each other, gauging each others thoughts. But Bran did say something to explain himself from withholding the truth about his family and it was not...kind. At least it was not something the Bran he knew would say.

'You are exiled, your place is where you were told to go by your King.'

And then Sansa's lies and mocking sneers fuelled his anger further as he remembered it.

'We do not know if she was truly your child. For all we know, the monstrosity the Mad Queen bore was a child she had from her dragon.'

He felt his temper going up just by remembering their words and Sansa's smirk. He unrolled the small parchment and was surprised to see it was two scrolls rolled up together. He read the one in the front with words written in what seems to be Bran's own hand writing.

Not Sam's?

Thinking of Samwell made his hand tremble in anger as well.

'The Queen had many lovers, we did not know.'

The man he thought and treated as a brother, a liar. Jon closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the scroll instead and its contents.

'Greetings, Aegon of House Targaryen

King Bran of House Stark, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, would like to inform you that you must ride with haste to King's Landing to attend the Great Council. You know of the storm that is brewing beyond the Wall at the Land of Always Winter and you know what it will entail to all living, breathing creatures in every corners of the known world. With a deep deliberation, I command you as the King you bend the knee to, to bring the corpse with you in King's Landing. Doing so would make me reconsider your exile beyond the Wall and the Gift might be given to your wildling company as well. A word of warning son of Rhaegar, failure to attend will forfeit the lives of your Wilding friends.

He felt his blood boiling. Is this still Bran speaking? His brother who loved climbing, who, before he reached five loved to follow Jon around, copying anything he and Robb does? Bran who can't even hit his target no matter how hard he trained? Bran, like Arya, who had never treated him differently and loved him like a true brother?

Jon breathed deeply, trying to calm his roiling emotions. After last night's pain, his feelings were still raw. He centered himself and think differently.

It does not matter. Yes, it doesn't matter anymore.

Jon had accepted for years that he no longer had a brother, whether by blood or by oath. He would address the letter as what it was; a threat. It was all there, written in ink. Whomever's words these were, they knew how to sway him. But they did not take into consideration his decision to never commit himself to the realm again. He did it all his life and look where did serving ever got him? It made him a sinner, a pariah, an oathbreaker and a kinslayer. It made him without a family to belong to. Whether the old or the new one he had on Essos.

He decided right then to ignore the summons and just order someone from the camp to bring the undead elk to the Queen in the North or perhaps the men of the Night's Watch will be obliged, but he would never by any circumstance go back South. By delivering the undead animal, surely he would fulfill his part of the bargain. If Bran did not acknowledge it, then he will prepare for a war. A war he knew Bran cannot afford to orchestrate without losing supports from the lords of the realm, especially if they finally found out the truth about the marching undead. It was practical to have every living Westeros to fight together and not to squabble amongst themselves. Bran will lose the trust of his people.

But...that doesn't mean he wasn't angered or worried by the thought of the young King's threat, because even if he thought logically, he knew he cannot be sure Bran wouldn't lay a hand on his people. Bran the Broken wasn't Bran his brother, fool as he was, he knew that much. And he was afraid of what the king might do.

He almost crumpled the first scroll before he read the last line of the message.

P. S. Daenerys Targaryen will come as well her reply was on the attached scroll.

Every thought disappeared from his mind. Bran, his threat, everything.

Daenerys Targaryen will come...

The pounding of his head stopped and seemed to travel to his heart instead. With trembling hands, he looked at the second scroll and there it was, the proud three-headed dragon on red wax at the bottom of the parchment. He scanned the writing. He had never seen her handwriting before but he felt it; her warmth. He read the words and he heard her voice as he did so. The Dragon Queen's commanding voice and not his sweet Dany.

'Greetings, Lord Brandon of House Stark

I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of my name, Queen of Dragon's Bay, Regent of the Free Cities, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, the Resurrected, the Mother of Dragons, accepts the invitation to attend this Great Council of yours. Do expect me a week before the full moon. And perhaps it is necessary, for the sake of diplomacy, to offer my deepest apologies for my daughter's over extravagant gestures. I do hope the bodies of the soldiers came back to their families safe and sound.

P.S. A quarter at the grounds would suffice for me with a wide adjoining garden for one of my children.'

Jon felt his breathing grew shallow. He read it once more.

Dany...He would see her again.

"So, what is your decision?" Gareth asked.

Jon lifted his eyes.

What will it be?

"Oh, fuck this!" Tormund said and grabbed the scrolls from Jon's grip. He stretched it and looked at the words for a while before murmuring to Jon, "I can't read these worms, what does it mean?"

Jon grabbed it back feigning annoyance but he was actually thanking the gods that Tormund never had interests on learning to read.

"It said," Gareth intervened. "That you will all die if Jon Snow did not go to South to attend the Great Council, King Bran had organized."

All the free-folk within earshot grew quiet.

"Oh..." Tormund said quietly then frowned. "Wait, there were two scrolls, what does the other one say?"

"Exactly what I said. The King of the Six Kingdoms had plenty to say he needed two scrolls to say it."

Jon looked up and squinted his eyes to the man. Gareth looked back at him before turning his head away.

"Oh." Tormund said once more while nodding, seemingly not noticing the deception. "That's...we'll die? Hmm...seems to be very important, this council, for us to die."

"I had no choice then," Jon said, feigning resignation.

"You'll go?" Gareth asked.

"Why does it matter to you? Why does it matter to the Night's Watch?" Jon asked as he put the parchments on the satchel hanging on his side.

Gareth was about to say something when the gate opened once more. The man scowled and looked behind him. But it was not the two boys who came out or any of the Sworn Brothers for that matter.

The small frame riding atop the huge destrier--'borrowed' from someone's stables, he was sure--rode towards them.

She looked the same. She was always the same no matter how the times had changed. No matter how he changed. She was still his little sister.

"It's good to see you, big brother," Arya smiled at him sadly as she stopped beside the master-at-arms.

Jon felt his lips lift in a smile and it was as if his body had a mind of its own. His feet ran towards her. When he reached her, she was already standing beside her horse, her arms wide open for him.

Jon reached for her and pulled her small frame to him. He lifted her body from the ground only for a brief time. His limbs felt weak still. He untangled himself from their embrace to look at her, to see how the time had treated her.

She was still small, her dark-brown hair still short, the gray of her eyes was still bright and intelligent and had a pinch of her childish mischief.

Still Arya.

Arya was looking at him as well and by the look of worry in her face it was clear that he looked exactly how he felt; tired, deprived of sleep and food and all the things that would describe the opposite of good.

"Brother," Arya said, sadness and pity was visible in her eyes.

She did not mean it. Jon thought. She did not mean to look at him that way. She was just worried.

"You're thinner." She finished but then the smile returned once more. "And is that gray hair I see in your nostrils? That's disgusting!" She exclaimed while pushing herself away from him to express her disgust.

Jon chuckled and shook his head.

"It's good to see you as well, my Lady." Jon bowed and almost laughed at the annoyed look on her face.

"Can we go now?" Tormund said impatiently behind him.

Jon looked behind and met the sulky face of his friend. The chiefs face though were something else. They were not amused, and he knew the mood was not by Arya's appearance but more probably the threat they just heard. Some of them were whispering to each other, some looking daggers at Gareth, mistrust in their eyes.

Jon looked at Gareth, and seemingly sensing his stare, the man looked down from his horse. A wordless conversation passed between them and Gareth nodded.

"Follow me and fall in line if you want to be inside and fed before night fall."

Gareth turned his horse around.

The Free-folk only looked at his back, no one followed not even Tormund. They then looked at Jon, waiting for his orders.

Jon was suddenly filled with warmth at that moment. His stubborn, arrogant and loyal companions. They learned discipline well.

Jon nodded and they rushed towards Gareth's retreating back.

"Fall in line!" Jon shouted just to remind them but it seems that most of them doesn't need reminders. His companions for years were following Gareth's retreating back with the most organized line they can manage.

See that, Mance? It wasn't so hard.

"At last," Tormund sighed to him then turned to Arya.

"It's good to see you again, She-Wolf."

"Tormund," Arya acknowledged. "I hope my brother is not that of a handful."

"No," Tormund said sarcastically. "He is just a pain in my lovely red-haired ass." He then turned away to follow their companions.

Arya laughed at that while Jon scowled at his friend and sister. The siblings watched as Tormund barked orders to organize the line.

"What say you to riding a horse?" Arya said to him.

"I'm not that old that I need a horse to move forward. But, if my Lady insists, then I have no choice but to oblige." Jon said acting sternly.

Arya scowled then laughed at him and mount first and take hold of the reigns. Jon raised a brow at that. He assumed he would be the one to take control.

"This is what you get when you call me lady, twice." Arya asked mockingly. "Up you go," she pats the place behind her.

Jon only shook his head and jumped on the saddle and sat behind her. Arya manoeuvred the destrier next to the line but quite far that no one would hear them talk. Ghost was following behind them, quite a distance away so as not to startle the horse who seemed pretty wary of him as Arya tried multiple times to control its movements into a slow trot. Finally, the horse being used to the direwolf's presence and convinced that he would not be eaten, started to obey Arya and moved slowly, matching the advance of his people.

"What are you doing here?" Jon asked when he was sure Arya wasn't distracted by her destrier. "How do you know I was to come here?"

"I'll give you my answer if you gave me your scroll."

Jon sighed. Of course, Arya would know.

"I assumed you had one as well?" Arya craned her head to look at him briefly.

"Two." Jon murmured reluctantly. It was no use to lie. Not to Arya.

Arya did a double take and cocked her brows at him.

"Can I see it?"

"You first," Jon countered. He was delaying the inevitable, he knew.

Arya sighed and smiled at him before looking ahead once more.

"I'm so sorry brother but I left mine at my chambers, so..."

"Then I'll show you mine after we reached your room."

Arya grew quiet but after a few moments, grunted at him and unwillingly gave her the scroll that she hid somewhere in her person.

Jon took the small piece of parchment, feeling foolishly pleased with himself.

Don't play games with me, sister.

He smoothed out the deep creases. He assumed Arya must have read it multiple times or maybe she just crumpled it in anger like what he did earlier.

The handwriting was different. That was the first thing he noticed. But it was familiar as well.

It was written in Samwell Tarly's hand.

The words on it was generic and direct. It was devoid of threats or any promises, unlike his.

Jon relaxed a bit. He feared that his sister was threatened as well. It was good to know that at least his sister was spared from that. He handed the scroll back to Arya and she put it inside the pocket of her breeches.

"Was it true?" Arya asked, soft like a whisper. "They're back?"

Jon thought of it for a while.

"I guess," he finally replied.

"You sound unsure."

"What if..." Jon, when not thinking about Dany or their child would often ponder the mysterious reappearance of the realm's greatest enemy and he doesn't like what his mind had concluded. "What if they never left? What if we are facing something greater than what we fought sixteen years ago?"

Arya grew quiet for a while, they were reaching the gate now.

"What did you see there?" She asked.

"Not me, one of the Free-folk. A boy." Jon told her all of the things the boy told him. The elk, the markings on the snow, his cousin's death then his resurrection. The Other in a shape of a woman.

He felt Arya's body shivered slightly. She grew uncharacteristically quiet.

"What are you thinking?"

Arya sighed and shrugged.

"I just wished Old Nan was still here, it would save us time if we just ask her about them."

Jon chuckled despite his worries.

"It's fascinating isn't? Every story she told us had a certain truth in it."

"Yes, except that one about the Others riding huge spiders."

Jon's breathing halted for a second. Arya must have realized what she said for she trembled slightly.

"I take that back," she said, her words rushed.

They grew quiet for a couple of seconds then laughed together. There was something in that silence that amused them greatly.

"Jon?" she asked after their fit of laughter was over. They were near the gate now. A few trod from the destrier and they would reach it.

Jon grunted to her to continue what she was about to say.

"Promise to me that you will sleep and eat."

"I eat!" he exclaimed, annoyed that he needed to be taken care of by his own little sister, no less.

"Really?" Arya said sarcastically. "How many times? And I see you did not correct me when I said you needed sleep. How long since you had a good and complete rest? A week before? A moon?"

To be completely honest, it was sixteen years ago, with a silver haired woman laying beside him.

"Let's us see if you can sleep with the dead coming at you." He growled, his lack of sleep and the memory of her making him suddenly grumpy.

"I don't see your point," Arya said blandly.

"My point!"

"You have men taking watch. You can sleep while they do their duty or am I correct to assume that you take watch as well and did not rest at all?"

Jon opened his mouth to argue but decided to shut his mouth this time. He will never win an argument with Arya.

Arya manoeuvred the horse to squeeze between the line of people. The Free-folk gave way and Jon and Arya went inside the Wall. He can see Gareth Hurst a few feet away atop his horse.

"Jon--"

"Yes, yes," Jon growled angrily. "I promise I will eat. Happy?"

"And sleep."

Jon grunted, that he cannot promise. He heard Arya sigh but did not argue with him anymore to his relief.

He looked around him to distract himself and to calm his temper. He hated it, having someone worry about his welfare and dictating what he must do. It made him feel weak.

He was not used to it...being taken care of.

Did you sleep well, my King? Her voice came to him once more, unbidden. Jon breathed deeply as he banished that thought and memory away.

He tried to distract himself by wandering his eyes around. They were at the tunnel now, beneath the Wall. It was still the same as he remembered. That place hold so much memories. Too much.

The flickering torch hanging on either side of the tunnel where still there, illuminating the place where a brother died defending the Wall from giants. Even the unusual sense of heaviness like the Wall itself was trying to crush him was still present, the coldness that came from a structure as old as time. But above all, he cannot shake the feeling of irony. Sixteen years ago, he promised he would never go back inside the Wall. He told himself that if he cannot say the words of the Night's Watch--not after what happened to him, not after what he did--he would never go back, he would stay on the True North and die there. Forgotten by the realm that was his by right and unloved by the family he killed. It would be his retribution for all his sins, to die alone with nothing and no one to mourn for him but the people he once perceived as his enemies. But after a few years, he went back once more, with her sister. Very much like what he was doing now, and with the same motivation; to see her. To see Dany. To ask for forgiveness and...rest.

No.

That was a lie. He knew it. What he wanted was a chance. A second chance. To be with them to prove himself worthy of being 'her' father. Just be with them...and...Jon shook his head. He didn't know what he wanted anymore. He knew all of those would never happen. He knew he wasn't worthy.

Jon bowed his head and accidentally hit the top of Arya's head. But she did not speak nor complain. Jon sighed and closed his eyes, burying his face on his sister's hair. She smelled of hay and crushed pines, leather and musk, it reminds him of good times running and playing on a courtyard with a father's eyes carefully watching them.

She smelled good.

Jon started to calm down despite himself and the exhaustion started to manifest on his body once more. Then when he was about to close his eyes and sleep on Arya's back, the horse stopped.

"We're here," Arya said, not moving, letting her lithe frame carry his weight.

Jon reluctantly opened his eyes and forced himself to sit upright.

His eyes wandered the place he knew so well but was quite unfamiliar to him now.

The place was bustling with people. Men and green boys who stopped what they're doing to gawk at the coming strangers. Jon watched as Gareth was swarmed with welcomes and smiles and a shout of his name and was surprised when the man reciprocates. A boy approached Gareth's side as he dismounted and took the reigns from him. Gareth ruffled the boy's hair and the boy grinned widely before taking the horse to what seemed to be the stables.

"We're behind schedule, men! Hurry!" A loud voice drew Jon's attention.

It was a heavily built man who gave the command, he was riding a stallion that was pulling the sled and was being loaded with timbers and sacks upon sacks of something. When Jon met his eyes, it glinted with recognition and fury then he turned his head away from him.

"Well met Gareth!" the man shouted jovialy.

"Arris! Done there? Don't make the Lord Commander wait."

"Aye, aye." Arris replied then shouted at the boys to start working faster or they'll be punished with no food.

Jon frowned.

The boys...

"What's happening," he muttered almost to himself.

"I'll explain later." Arya replied as she climbed down. Jon followed after her.

Jon looked around. Castle Black. It was...different. The rickety place seemed to be restructured, fortified. It looks like a proper stronghold. The walls that was crumbling before was now remodeled, the wooden stairs was torn down, replaced by one that was made of stone. The overwatch had scorpions and crossbows fixed atop the balustrade and men guarding each. And there was a gate surrounding the castle, protecting it from would be invaders from the South.

The men and boys who were gawking earlier resumed what they were doing once more. There were men and boys on the grounds shooting arrows on a dummy and a few who where swordfighting and some who were atop a horse and mock fighting with a tourney lance.

And they were plenty. He had never seen Castle Black so lively before even when he first came to swore his oath. Even before when he and Arya went to King's Landing more or less ten years ago.

Is the North really suffering starvation?

"Make way men!" Gareth's voice rang once more as Jon's people started to stream out of the tunnel.

The whole ground grew quiet once more as they gave space so that the guests would enter the courtyard.

"Petyr!" Gareth shouted and whistled loudly to get the attention of a blond youth. The boy seemed to understand what the master-at-arms was saying. He gathered the rest of the boys and then they started to walk towards the same place the Night's Watch kept their weapons. Maybe they were to put back their equipments. And some guide their horses to the stables.

Jon then turned his attention to the men's faces, looking for any hostility there against his people. He saw one who muttered something to his friend, some who were frowning. But he saw none of the fury that the man on the sled had shown him. Their expressions were mainly curious and worried.

As he looked around, he also noticed that, there were none of the faces that were familiar to him. None of Ron, or Lars or the quiet ranger named Pate. None of those rangers that came to his camp long ago for sanctuary and rest.

"Come, Jon," Arya said while dragging him.

One boy approached them, a boy the same age as Leaf and his friend Dandy wearing the black of the Night's Watch. He tugged on the reigns of the destrier and pulled it towards the stables.

Jon looked at Arya for explanation. The boy, wearing black.

"So young," he muttered to himself worriedly. But he was distracted when a voice murmured behind him.

"Aegon of House Targaryen."

Jon slowly turned around to meet a balding, old man in a measter's robes and chains hanging from his neck. He was squat with a scowling face but eyes that shine like pebbles.

"I've been waiting for you. Come." The maester said with no hesitance at all then started to walk away towards the stairs that would lead to the Maester's tower If it was still that after all those years.

Jon looked at Arya and she only nodded at him, then he looked at Gareth and was surprised to met his eyes. He nodded as well, he wasn't sure but before the man turned his back, Jon saw him smirk.

"I'll settle your people, you better not make the Grandmaester wait." Arya told him with a grimace.

There it was again. That title. Jon frowned but Arya's back was already on him.

"I'll join you afterwards."

"No. Just do what the old man wants. Me and Gareth will take them to the Gift."

"Aegon!" The old man shouted with his gruff voice that made Jon felt like he was a boy still.

"Your people cannot fit here. Go, I'll handle this."

The Gift...what if Bran's army was waiting there to slaughter his people? No. No, certainly not. But just to make sure he ordered Ghost to be with Arya, before he walked towards the maester, all the while trying to dispel the discomfort he was feeling.

He felt countless eyes following his every step. He had felt it so many times before, and being a bastard he knew the feeling so well.

His presence wasn't wanted.

Xxx

"Drink," the maester said as he offered him a horn of ale.

Jon drank deeply. He didn't know he was so thirsty. Before he knew it, he already finished the drink.

"Help yourself." The maester opened his hand graciously and sat on the chair across him.

Jon didn't need to be told twice. He drank two more and almost drowning from it but he didn't care. He missed the taste of good ale. He put the horn on the table with a gentle thud, then looked at the old man in front of him who was scrutinizing him with blatant curiosity.

Jon wiped his mouth with the back of his fur gloved hand. "Where are the rest?" Jon asked to dispell the discomfort he was feeling from that old man's gaze. "I don't see any familiar faces. Are they with the Lord Commander?"

"Some of them, yes." The maester said with a shrug. "Some of them were still rotting inside the ice cages as we speak."

Jon was taken aback.

"Mutiny," the old man explained. "Starvation strips away morality and conscience from a man, makes them nothing but beasts. Desperation does that as well, as you would know."

Jon could only nod. The scars on his chest, ached a bit.

"But we are well now, those were years and years ago. You do not need to worry. As you can see, Violet had provided us with ample men to protect the realm."

"The boys?"

The maester grunted in reply. Then murmured, "Some. Some were provided to us by King Bran."

"Anyhow, I would like to offer an apology, my King. The men...well, they don't have a good impression of you."

Jon knew the old man was trying to distract him from something and it worked. Nothing can distract him but the feeling of his life being in danger beneath a host's roof.

"So I've noticed," he muttered.

The maester smiled.

"The Night's Watchs' stigma against the wildlings had never been eradicated completely isn't?"

The smile on the older man's face slowly faded and he shook his head.

"Actually, my King, it is you they don't like."

Jon thought so. But he was confused nonetheless, as far as he knew he didn't do any harm to the sworn brothers and the few that visited them years ago always left with their limbs attached to their body and no scratch that was inflicted by him. His confusion might have been visible on his face as the maester offered another apology.

"Why?"

"Kinslaying." The maester stated looking directly at Jon's eyes.

Of course. He felt like a fool, for a couple of seconds he assumed the Night's Watchs' apprehension towards him was because he brought plenty of mouths to feed or perhaps of an offense he had yet to know. But that wasn't the case and he wasn't surprised at all. He was cursed by the gods and those who would shelter him would face their wrath.

Jon nodded his head. He understood. He knew the price of his sin and what the people would say. He cannot blame them for their aversion of him.

"They knew of your sin and what your action cost them," the maester emphasized.

Jon, frowned. He was more confused by that. He saved the realm, what comes after wasn't his fault surely?

"What do you mean? What cost?"

"Killing her. Ending her, do you ever thought the consequences of what you did? The hunger, the pain and the massacre of the plenty in Essos her death had brought? And the decision she had to make to compensate the suffering of her people?"

Jon had swam a river of ice before, he had fought Walkers while submerged in it. That sensation was the similar to what he was feeling right now. The fire on the hearth was roaring but he felt cold. So cold. He had thought of it. Yes, he did, countless of times but he banished it everytime it came up in his mind. Or to be precise, he assured himself that none of that ever come to pass.

Breaker of Chains, that was what she was.

I don't have children. I can't have one. I am their Mhysa. Their mother.

"It seems you really know nothing," misinterpreting his silence as confusion. "I don't want it to come to me but someone must tell you the truth without sparing your feelings, my liege. Before you came to King's Landing, you must be prepared with every truth that was shunned from you. Especially when you are about to meet her once more."

"I...I am not your king." That was the only sentence he could manage to squeeze out of his tightening throat.

"Oh, but you are. In a different future when everything was bright, you are my king." The maester bowed his head in respect.

"Who are you?"

"Marwyn of the Citadel." The maester stopped, then looked at him probably to gauge his emotions and to maybe to ask permission to continue.

"Marwyn," Jon tested the name as his tongue rolled on it. Why did he had the feeling he heard that name before? Jon disregard the thought and looked at the man in the eyes. "I--"

He can't say it. He had to swallow his emotions before he could continue.

"I know my sins. I know I deserve every scorn of everyone around me, but my people doesn't deserve the anger of anyone for the sins I did. If they got hurt because of a misplaced blame, I swear--"

"They will not be harmed. The Brothers knew that we need every hand we can get to survive the coming war."

"Violet told you?"

Marwyn smiled as he leaned back.

"It was I who told the Night's Watch the year I joined them."

Jon's worry and guilt was replaced by confusion and curiosity. He grew quiet as he contemplate that statement, putting his previous thoughts at the back of his head, keeping it there for the time being.

"Arya--she didn't told me...I--but you are from the South."

"Aye," the maester nodded. "And Princess Arya was kept in the dark as well. Until now. It is necessary to keep this among ourselves. We don't want someone eavesdropping on us. We had our reasons."

The silence grew between them. Marwyn was sitting comfortably on his chair with an undrinked ale on his hands, like he got all the time in the world.

"What do you want to know first, King Aegon?" He finally said after a few seconds of silence.

Jon frowned as he heard the name. Marwyn saw his expression and he smiled, but before he could say anything, Jon interrupted him.

"Tell me everything I need to know; Essos, Da--the Dragon Queen. Everything. Violet told me I'll know everything once I got here."

Marwyn nodded and then drank from his horn then fill it with another emptying the jug. "As you wish," he said, his hands clasped around the horn and then stared at Jon with those uncomfortably, piercing eyes.

"Let us start the story on the Fall of King's Landing, shall we?" The maester smiled at him and he nodded. The old man sighed and leaned back to his chair. Then the smile disappeared. "On that day, me and the other archmaesters decided who will be the next Grandmaester for the Dragon Queen and her rumored nephew and lover."

Jon had to look away as he heard that.

Promise me Jon, you will not tell them...

He had taken her warning for granted and now he was paying the price. The realm knew he wasn't only an oathbreaker or a queenslayer but a kinslayer as well.

And now, millions, dead. Because of him...his sins had grown.

"We knew that Cersei Lannister's fall was at hand and we had to prepare for whatever the outcome of the war will be." Marwyn continued, oblivious by the grief of the person in front of him. "I volunteered. I am the right choice, I said. But I'm too arrogant and that was my undoing, for moons before the burning of King's Landing, I saw in the flames a dragon falling from the sky with fiery blood flowing from its opened chest. I thought it depicted the death of one of her dragons, which in my defense truly happened; twice. But...never in my wildest imagination that it would be her. Never."

The old man's hands started to tremble and he had to drink the ale or it will spill. When he finished he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, his shoulders were hunched as if the weight of his guilt was too much for his body to bear. Jon can relate. Though it wasn't the older man's fault. None of what happened was his fault.

Jon waited for the shouting to came. Waited for the maester to blame him from taking away everything. But it never came. Marwyn lifted his head and sighed, a small smile was playing at his lips as if he still can't believe everything that happened.

"If I only knew, if only...I could have come to her aide before her fall. No. I could've been by her side much much earlier and lead her to the right path. I could've protected her from herself and those who would exploit her weaknesses for their own ambition. But I was there, at the Citadel when the Queen needed me most, at my tower looking at mundane things such as horseshit fertilizer!"

Marwyn roared and started laughing like a mad man. "Can you believe it?" He said through gasps of air. Jon reached for him, offering what, he didn't know. The man simply waved him away and regained his composure. He wiped his face with a palm of his hand and lifted his head, a sad but apologetic smile peeked at him.

"Forgive me my King, I rarely speak about this and I must have bottled my feelings for far too long. It's all mixed up like a mulled wine within me."

Jon could only nod. What could he say if his voice wasn't failing him? Sorry? My apologies for killing our queen before you could serve her? Forgive me for not trying to be a good ally to her much less a nephew and a lover? Sorry for not protecting her from herself, for not stopping her?

"Where was I? Ah, yes. She died. My Queen. And do you know what happened next? I am to be the new Grandmaester for the King. Since I volunteered, they said, I must do it. I refused for obvious reasons." The maester grinned. "The other archmaesters threatened to take my chains away. I knew they were yearning for that day for years but I don't care anymore, my purpose...my life entirely was a lie.

"I wished to serve Rhaegar, but he died, then the sister died as well, then you refused the throne. No, I've had enough. But before I could throw my chains at their faces, a raven came bearing the news and the command of the king.

"He wanted a man...no, a boy sworn to the Night's Watch to be his Grandmaester. A boy who didn't even managed to forge a single chain. A boy who had an oath to keep to never serve any monarch. A boy who was my acolyte, who stole from me and the Citadel."

"Samwell..." Jon murmured with a gravely voice.

Now he remembered the old man's name. Samwell had said it to him in passing, ages ago.

"Samwell." The man agreed with a nod. Jon searched for any hatred or resentment on the maester's wrinkled face and his intentions must be obvious for the man smiled.

"I was supposed to be insulted like all the archmaesters but I wasn't, Your Grace. Truly, I am not. Samwell saved me from serving a place and a person I did not wish to serve. He had brought me enough time to gather myself once more for after his appointment to the position, I saw in the candles her fate. The dragon is still alive." Marwyn's eyes shined and depite himself, Jon felt relieved.

It was true. She was still alive. It was different to have someone, an almost stranger, confirm it. It felt...overwhelming.

"There is hope still," Marwyn continued. "I could still help her, I only needed to wait. When the rumors finally reached Westeros I knew my visions were real. I waited for her for how many moons--but the Queen never returned. I wished to follow her, but I knew I was being watched and all those people whose loyalty did not belong to the king. One step out of line, one word that speaks of treason, my head would be on a spike.

"Then years had passed so quickly. Five years since her death and many heads had rolled, knights, septons, beggars. It matters not. One word of dragons on the East with hope in your voice, you will be punished severely. The King sees everything, knows everything. He might be listening right now as we speak."

"Bran will not abuse his abilities for such things." Jon blurted out of instinct, protecting the younger brother he once loved.

"The Three-Eyed Raven will use his gift for things that would benefit him," Marwyn countered. "Your love and faith for him is still absolute as I can see, eventhough he hid the truth about your family in Essos. That, my King was and will be your undoing. Never trust a raven, for ravens speak nothing but lies."

Jon scowled but he knew he had nothing to say to defend his brother. Bran the king...was not his brother. No more.

The maester sighed. "Drink," he said as he reached for a new jug of ale and he himself poured another in his horn. Marwyn drank deeply, Jon followed suit. They put their horn on the table at the same time. Jon noticed the reddening of the maester's crooked nose, but as he continued his story, Jon knew he was sober.

"My King, no matter what they say, no matter what you think, Daenerys saved us all. In her own harsh way. It was only her will alone that saved Westeros from another war. I had friends in the Free Cities who told me rumors about the Queen. And rumors, sometimes had some grain of truth in them.

"When the Dragon Queen had taken Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor once more with the help of the Dothraki and some say mystics of Asshai, and with the allegiance of Yi Ti, she ruled almost all Essos. And what pray tell do you think would happen next, Your Grace?"

Marwyn did not wait for his answer. And Jon didn't have the strength to say it either.

War. No, a massacre.

"Her death and her resurrection was never hidden from her people. The Free Cities exploited her death after all to take back their priced goods; slaves. Almost the day of her death, slavery business had blossomed once more, countless children had been chained, countless heads rolled on the ground...I know it will cost you pain to hear this but, you might have saved the realm, but you only doomed the rest of the world."

Jon's body trembled. In fear or guilt he didn't know.

"I didn't--"

"Princess Arya never told you didn't she?"

"No."

Marwyn shook his head.

"Princess Arya had her reasons. She loved you too much to cause you anymore pain."

Jon felt like a stone. One move and he would crumble. Marwyn offered him what seemed to be a pitying smile.

"Perhaps...another day, Your Grace. You are tired, you need rest. Tomorrow you'll be riding for Eastwatch. You will be safer there under the protection of the Lord Commander himself."

"No. Tell me, please. Everything." Jon squeezed the words out of his dry mouth. Dry despite the ale he just drinked.

Marwyn measured his conviction then shifted uncomfortably on his seat. "I am torn my King." The maester admitted. "To tell you the truth in its entirety will be too much for you."

"Why?" Jon blurted out, his voice rough with his restrained emotions.

"My King?"

Jon had to calm himself. He was loosing it, he knew.

He tried to control his breathing but his emotions was winning over him.

He clenched and unclenched his hands.

"Why did everyone need to hide things from me?" Jon shouted, his hands gripping the arm rests of his chair. "Am I that weak? Or do you like it, seeing me act like the fool? My father, no, my uncle hid my identity for years. My own siblings, whom I saved from my lover's rage hid from me that she lived. They lied to me saying that the child wasn't mine and like the fool I am, I believed it! I believed it. If...only...I could have been with them now. And Arya..."

The only person that he trusted next to Tormund, was lying to him all this time.

He had tried going to them. He tried, but Arya stopped him. He would die, she said, now he finally knew why she said that. Why she stopped him. But still, he hated her some for it but not as much as he hate himself. So selfish of him, so cowardly. He could have done everything he can do to be with her, to the only person who never hid nor lie to him.

"Lord Eddard Stark did what he had to do to protect you. As did Princess Arya. Do not think their love for you were misplaced nor belittle it."

The old man then sighed.

"If you have succeeded going to the Queen, you would've come to her only with your head and not with the body that accompanied it." Marwyn said patiently.

Jon smiled bitterly.

"Wouldn't that be so bad? At least a part of me would be able to be with them."

Marwyn stared at him. His face devoid of emotion. Jon gazed back, not wanting to lose the one fight he knew he could win.

"Perhaps..." Marwyn murmured as he looked away. "Perhaps you could have tried."

Jon bowed his head and clutched his fists.

"Don't despair. You will see her again...and your child...perhaps."

Jon lifted his head. Yes. Yes. A week before the full moon, he would.

"Perhaps you should take your

rest, Jon Snow."

That was the first time since the few minutes they were talking together that he heard that name from the older man and he didn't know if it was supposed to make him feel better.

Jon shook his head. "No, tell me everything now."

Marwyn sighed in defeat, but he continued his story nonetheless. Jon had an inkling that the maester ached to tell anyone about it for so long, that he grabbed the opportunity to share it to Jon.

"After the Queen freed the slaves in Slaver's Bay; Volantis, Qarth and Pentos and the rest of the Essosi cities who benefited from her death, trembled. They knew they would be next," the maester carried on. "When? They weren't sure, but they knew she would come when they least expected it. And in fear of rebellion, the slavers became harsher, stricter. And like all those who were oppressed, the slaves started blaming those who made them feel the pain. They blamed the slavers, but soon the blame shifted to the Queen and her venture to Westeros. It was a common fact that she was betrayed by a Westerosi lover, assassinated the day she was to be coronated. They blamed your family that was sitting on the throne.

"Can you imagine now what would have happened if Daenerys didn't cut the relations between Westeros and Essos in the early years of her rule in Dragon's Bay? I'm not sure if it was due to hindsight that she did it, but it was cunning and precise for after the Princess's successful conquest of the rest of the Free cities, freeing those slaves whose hatred simmered to the brim? I'm telling you, a war would have ensued. And we would have lost terribly. Daenerys did Westeros a favor. Though her intentions might be...different, she could have done worse. Much, much worse."

The maester grew quiet maybe to let him digest everything he heard. He didn't want to think yet...the slaves, the slavers...But Jon had to ask.

"What...do you know of her intentions? Did she really did that to save the realm from the scorn of her people? I know Daenerys, she was--"

"Not as merciful?"

"She believes in justice as an act of mercy." Jon offered.

Marwyn nodded in agreement before answering.

"Whispers came to me not only from the East, but from King's Landing as well, that the true reason why the Queen cut the interactions between Essos and Westeros was to protect her child--Princess Missandei--from the cutthroats that was sent to kill her. And for vengeance as well."

Once more, Jon was taken aback by the new revelation.

"Cut--Why would. Who did..." Jon stammered. This information was new to him. Arya never mentioned that to him. Arya said his daughter was loved by everyone. Why would someone try to kill her?

"No. Don't ask anymore my King. I merely heard rumors. To accuse someone would be begging for me and your death." Marwyn stared intensely at his eyes as if conveying silent words to him. Which he did not understand.

"Atleast tell me why. Why would they hurt an innocent child?"

Marwyn looked disappointed as if Jon failed him in some way.

"Tell me my King, who would inherit Westeros after King Bran's rule?"

"That wasn't--"

"Bear with me, please."

"Sansa." Jon blurted without a slightest hesitation.

The maester nodded in agreement.

"Whether by natural inheritance or by a Great Council, yes, the probability was great. But who will be Queen Sansa's heir?"

Jon stopped.

"If...she will marry--"

"Which is unlikely..."

"Arya is the possible answer."

Marwyn leaned his head to the side.

"Arya...Arya who is wild. Arya the strong willed. Arya who slept at the stables, or at forests, that Arya?"

Was there any other Arya in the world that wasn't his sister?

"What are you trying to say?"

Marwyn sighed as he looked disappointedly at him once more.

"What I'm trying to say, my King, was Princess Missandei is next in line not only to Essos but Westeros as well. She could be queen of two kingdoms, bringing all the known world together. With her Stark blood and her bond with Arya Stark, she can be the heir to the Seven Kingdoms."

Foolish Jon, stupid Jon. Of course, his child, his daughter will be the queen someday. That little grinning child. His hand flew to his chest where his treasure was kept. And suddenly he felt fear.

"How bad is that? Her to be a ruler? She...she didn't have it didn't she?"

"The madness?" Marwyn asked with a frown. "Do you want the truth, Your Grace?"

Jon nodded reluctantly. Marwyn leaned towards him and with a grave voice, whispered.

"There are madness in all of us. Targaryens, Starks, Lannisters, commoners, it matters not. We are all mortals, we are made to be weak not only in the body, but within the mind as well. And the mind? No matter how maesters, mages, priests tried to understand it, it will always be a conundrum. Madness? Bah. Madness is only a word an ignorant describes something he cannot comprehend."

Marwyn rested his back on his chair once more, assessing him, challenging him to contradict his statement. But in Jon's continued silence, his face softened.

"If you are worried about her attitude, don't be. Base on what I've seen in the flames and reports from different sources, she is simply spectacular."

Jon was slightly curious by the man's statement. He was a maester, but he spoke like some people he knew; a woman clad in red and a drunk balding man with his one-eyed companion with a penchant of burning his sword, came to his mind.

"A Princess with compassion, dignity, and exceptional mind," Marwyn continued with eyes shining with pride as if he had raised the princess himself. "She shines more brightly than her mother. She is Aegon the Conqueror, Visenya and Rhaenys in one body. Such an outstanding young lady."

Then the maester gave a deep sigh.

"But trouble lies in perfection, my King. Some fools disliked the idea of having a dragon for a ruler, no matter how merciful and honorable she is. They needed to make things right before it became too much to handle."

"By killing her?"

The maester nodded.

"Yes, when she was a child. But now? I don't think anyone would dare to come close to her to assassinate her, I assure you. Besides, she is the Gargoyle of the East, your child is a very accomplished warrior. She can pretty much defend herself."

Jon jerked his head slowly at that. A warrior, a girl and a princess at that.

A warrior...

Both men grew quiet. Marwyn's eyes were at the flames, probably seeing another vision like a Red Priest or he was giving him time to comprehend everything he told him. And it was too much.

Jon rubbed his temples as his head throbbed once more. He grabbed his horn of ale and drank again. The effect of the drink was getting through him and he welcomed it but it did not stop the thoughts swirling within his mind.

For years he stopped himself from thinking the consequences of his sins. He saved the realm, saved his family. He did what he needed to do. What he had to do. Tyrion said so. Now, he wasn't sure at all. Those hungry children on the streets that he saw, those hollowed cheeks and bloated stomachs. If...Daenerys ruled Westeros, would she abandon them? He didn't knew the answer to that. But, she came back to Essos, saving her people. She came back when she could have hid herself and their child, protecting them both by pretending to be dead. She could have turned away from all the responsibilities and burdens of being a queen. Instead, she came back and ruled even if the crown was the reason of her being dead.

Was he wrong? Was there any another way that could have stopped that massacre sixteen years ago? Could she have been a better queen, better than any of them could ever hoped for if only she had been given a chance? Perhaps...what if...he made a mistake? What if...he was used?

Jon wiped his palms on his face and he remained that way, his face hidden, for how long, he didn't know. Then he snapped his head up as he realized something.

Tyrion...did he knew? Did he knew the implications of Daenerys's death to her people on Essos? Did he sacrifice their lives to save his own skin? Jon shook his head, fighting off the doubts that was rising within him. Tyrion was his friend. His friend. And his Queen...his Dany...she won't stop, she cannot be stopped. And gods, the deaths, the screaming. The burning. Thousands died to her and Drogon's wrath. So many. Too many. He still had nightmares of it sometimes.

But...

"How many died. After Dan--after I killed her?" Jon asked wanting to know but fearing the answer.

As Jon lifted his gaze to look at the man, he was surprised that he was already staring at him. Watching him with those eyes. His face, expressionless.

"Atleast hundreds of thousands? Millions? I didn't keep count, Your Grace, and the slavers surely did not. But millions were saved by the Queen and your child when they conquered Essos."

"I did that." Jon murmured as the realization hits him hard. He saved thousands, for what? To have millions die instead? To have children chained and raped and slaughtered?

Marwyn didn't say anything to dispute what he had said.

Silence surrounded them once more, and in that silence; he found what he seeks, not from words but through his conscience.

He had slaughtered them. Millions. Gods.

Duty? Was it his duty to make millions suffer? Honor? Where is honor in killing your own blood? What have I done? Gods, forgive me.

"I had prepared the chambers beside mine, Your Grace. You should rest." Marwyn prepared to stand and then a thought suddenly rushed to Jon and he gestured for the old man to sit down once more.

"Marwyn?"

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"I had to ask. Why are you here? Why are you not with her? And please don't give me that bullcrap that Bran was watching you. And the men..." Jon shivered as if those scornful eyes were boring at him again. Judging him for what he had done. Now, not only for the death of one, but millions. "Violet told me I must go here to find answers and I had a notion that she was pertaining you as the one who would tell me all that I missed all this years. So please..."

The maester sat back once more and he hesitated for a while but he must have took pity on Jon.

"You are tired and hungry, my King, and this story wasn't short."

Does the old man thinks he can sleep now when the truth of her people's demise was laid bare to him? Jon knew he can't no matter how tired he was, so why not use the time to know everything?

"Why can't you just answer me? Cut the fucking chase." He almost growled in impatience. He didn't know what was with him. Didn't he knew enough already? Did he want another burden? Of course, the answer was no. He had enough, but it felt so long since he had talked with someone who speaks to him truthfully, without sparing his feelings. The truth was painful, yes, but he felt enlightened. He wanted to know more. No matter how torturous it was.

"Trust me my King, it would only confuse you if I didn't tell atleast half of my story. And, I believe it would help you a little when you met the Lord Commander on Eastwatch."

Jon scowled but didn't speak. Marwyn looked pleased in his silence and he finds a position in his chair to make himself comfortable. Then darkness fell on the old man's face.

"After two years since Daenerys's prohibition came, sickness spread the whole Reach," Marwyn clasped his hands together. Then he smiled with an after thought. "I envy your isolation, my King for that surely saved your lives. You see, our population is both our blessing and our curse. Due to the war we barely had our resources, but we get by. Some brave men managed to smuggle goods from Essos from friendly pirates or other merchants but because of our population, that wasn't enough. We tried trading with Dorne since it came to our knowledge that, unbeknownst to all they were still being supported by the Queen. And the Iron Islands as well, but..."

"They refuse you."

"Yes. The Dorne, the Reach and the Iron Islands--"

"Don't get along well."

Marwyn nodded.

Jon distracted himself by remembering the lessons he and Robb had taken with Maester Luwin. If his memory wasn't failing him, there were some raidings from both sides, some burning thrones made from trees and about a lord with scorpions on his bed and rapes and slaughtering.

"Many tried entering Dorne's borders but the desert, it's too much; too warm at day and too cold at night. And it doesn't help in our relations that the Dornish men perhaps blamed us for the Queen's defeat, especially Lord Leyton Hightower who abandoned Lady Olenna and let the Tarlys and the Lannisters sack Highgarden. The Prince of Dorne might have thought that if only Highgarden hadn't fallen, the Queen would have had the full support of her allies, she wouldn't have fallen so easily. And maybe the Prince was afraid that by helping the Reach whom the Queen didn't choose to help, he would sully the good relationship they both shared. And the Iron Islands? Well, Lady Yara practically worshipped the Dragon Queen like a deity. The Ironborns loved strength and the Queen showed them that with her resurrection. To them she was the living example of their...religion."

What is dead may never die but rises again harder and stronger.

"I'm not sure, either way, we starved. We starved and we survived. Until the Traitor's Plague, that is."

"Arya never told me about this...all of this." Jon whispered cutting the Grandmaester's words.

"As I've told you, she loved you too much that she hid this as not to worry you. Do not hate her for doing what she thinks was better for you and your soul."

Jon closed his eyes and ignore the old man's voice. He was trying to remember anything about this plague from his sister's stories, but he found none.

Arya hid it from him. What else did his sister omitted from him? What else?

"The birth of the disease wasn't known, some say it was a curse from the gods for the Houses who abandoned and betrayed the Tyrells; hence the name." The old man continued. "Others claimed it was the Dragon Queen and her mages and witches who made us suffer. Some whispered it was the gods' way to show their wrath on the realm as so many kinslayers wandered without being punished.

"But we at the Citadel say it was due to the winter and our limited resources," Marwyn said hurriedly as Jon opened his eyes and looked at him intensely. "Without food some looked for alternatives and sometimes alternatives were...not fit for human consumption."

Jon remembered those things being sold on the streets and he had to fight the disgust showing from his face. But Marywn might have seen it either way.

"As I've said, Your Grace, you and your people were lucky. Your population had dwindled, your territory was more spacious, making you rarely fight for your food. And your people was used to the cold; we weren't. Almost twenty years since some experienced the last winter and had forgotten what it felt like. Most haven't seen a single drop of now in their lives."

They grew quiet once more. It was a moment before the old man continued once more.

"The Riverlands, Crownlands and the North were lucky as well, Your Grace. Because of the war there are more horses than there are men to ride it. The plague didn't almost reached them. And Dorne as well with their sands and humidity that acts like a barrier not only from invaders but also from the plague. This new disease cannot survive in heat as I have observed.

"So many perished my King, too many. Lord Leyton did and Baelor's first born; Morgan. Peasants, lords, heirs, septons it matters not, they die anyway. And those gray sheeps at the Citadel...well, I was locked up with them. We would have the people outside fooled that we were looking for a cure, but we weren't. We were waiting for it all to end."

"Like a seige," Jon murmured involuntarily.

"Precisely. We were spared from the war but only to fight an invisible one. And the whole Reach, no, the whole realm waited with us." Marwyn sighed and shook his head.

"And then after a moon had passed, being the center of the plague, the new Lord Hightower was forced by his soon to be son-in-law, the Lord of the Reach and Highgarden and the Master of Coins to close all the ports and roads in the entire Reach, isolating us from the rest of realm. And surely, Lord Bronn of the Blackwater wouldn't act without direct orders."

Marwyn stared deep within his eyes. And Jon had to look away in shame.

"I understand the King's decision. It happened before decades ago. Oldtown survived then, and we survived now. With or without help from a king.

"But atleast he could have offered a hand. There are plenty who had not been inflicted by the plague. They could have been taken somewhere. The Riverlands had many space to be a temporary shelter, the Crownlands, can offer more. But no, we were left alone with our ailments and growling stomachs."

He heard Marwyn sigh.

"You could imagine how...hard it was to sleep those nights. The other maesters, cower and shiver in fear like the sheeps they are. And I must admit...I did as well. From night till day, the Citadel's doors were banged and the cries for help echoed...we all feared that the Citadel will be sacked by an angry mob if we continue to close our doors. We had no choice, Aegon."

Marwyn lifted his eyes to him and Jon was surprised to see It was wide with fear and it seems he was seeking for forgiveness.

"We need to do something to preserve ourselves and our sanity. We must...we must pretend that we were looking for a cure. We would invite one person inside. One person per day."

"What will you do then, if you were not looking for a cure?" Jon asked curiously, his troubles forgotten for a while.

"Me? I experimented on them. That's how I ended up in a dungeon."

"But you were looking for cures."

"From cadavers, yes."

Jon wasn't supposed to be surprised but he was.

"I had no choice, my King. No choice. After they let in one of the patient he or she will be given poison disguised as milk of the poppy immediately. Then at night, they would burn the corpse. This disease was new to us, and the sheeps feared anything that was...foreign to them. I had to do what I can. With the help of my remaining acolytes, we would try to learn anything and everything we can with a limited time and under secrecy."

"You open up corpses?"

"It's part of our job, Your Grace."

"But you said experimenting..."

"Ah. We--"

"No. I didn't need to know. Carry on."

"We didn't learn much other than warmth seemed to be a bane for it and the symptoms. It would start, like any plagues does, from fever. A high one. Then cough and cold and dryness of throat. And the breathing...gods, it was so hard to breathe. After a few days, the limbs would hurt so much it was like having your body sawed slowly with a dull sword."

"You know this much from looking up the insides of corpses?" Jon was impressed.

Marwyn looked at him pointedly and he finally understood.

"That's how the rests of the maesters found out what I did. They can't kill me. My acolytes wouldn't allow it and one of them had deep relations with House Martel, who provided the Citadel with enough provisions that would last years."

"So they locked you in the dungeon to die?"

Marwyn nodded his head slowly.

"My acolytes tended to me carefully, but when I felt myself weakening, I ordered them to leave. And those solitary nights I would often think of what my purpose was. And then when it was too much to bear...oh the pain my King. I welcomed death. Sweet death. I closed my eyes and I saw a vision. Red."

Marwyn closed his eyes and bliss was written on his face. A contrast on what he was showing earlier.

"Red like fire, like blood, then it has taken form. It was lips. The reddest one I have ever seen. And it came to me. The cure. I don't expect you to understand my King, but when you felt so hopeless and then you found a small glimmer of light, you will feel so alive. My limbs, despite the pain moved again. I walked and I screamed each and every name of my dear friends.

"I'll save to gory details from you, but we managed to get me to the herbal garden with much fuss from the other maesters. And right there hanging at the far corner of the garden in a little pot, was a plant. It almost looked like grape vines but smaller and instead of fruits, it bears flowers. The Red Kiss. Or to some the Flame's Lips. Some say the first ever flower bloomed where the Fire God had shed blood. But we got our flower from a merchant with a very low price, mind you." The maester added to perhaps humor him which Jon did not appreciated. Marwyn fake a cough then continued. "The plant had been at that garden for years but because it serves no purpose other than ornamentation and a supposed cure to cold, we rarely paid it mind. If only I knew the plant's purpose I would have let the plant pollinate.

"Inside the garden my apprentices tried to purify the flowers. But we must be careful. We only had one pot and in those pot there were only a dozen flowers for the others had already wilted and died. Red Kiss is a very fragile and sensitive plant, it could only strive when it was exposed to sun every morning, hidden in the shadows by afternoon and let moonlight shine down on it at night. Failing to do that routine on daily basis will slowly kill the plant.

"My apprentices stayed with me for hours to protect me and to perfect the serum. And after that only seven of the flowers remained. We have limited chances and resources, and I am to be the experimental mouse."

Marwyn opened his arms and grinned proudly. "And as you can see..."

"They succeeded."

"Not yet," the man lowered his arms. "I had to be observed for a moon to convince the other maesters that our potion worked. And even then they were reluctant. So I need to do what I must do. I opened the gates of the Citadel without permission. I pretended I had the sickness once more and they avoided me like...well like I've got the plague.

"For the few weeks I've been at the dungeon and the whole moon I've been in self-isolation, the crowds outside had grown tired. There are few who stayed and slept at the steps but they run the moment they saw me. They must have found out in some way that if you were taken, you will never come out. There was one who remained though. I remembered him as the merchant who gave me the flower.

"He was cradling his wife in his arms. He barely recognized me. He begged me to cure his wife. But you see my King, there is no cure for death. Almost." Marwyn looked at him pointedly but he disregard it.

Jon had to scowl as he hid his emotions. He remembered cradling her as she slowly became heavier and colder. He began to sympathize for this anonymous man, this merchant.

"But I have to save him. With the remaining potion I had with me, I poured it in his mouth. When he woke up, he was alone."

Marwyn sniffed and Jon knew he was hiding his sympathy and pity.

"He survived after much pain on both our parts. His body survived, but his soul..." Marwyn shook his head. "When he was fully recovered, he told me he needed to go home. His children were waiting for him. They were not sick he said.

"But the moment he stepped out of our doors, the whole realm found out about the cure. The problem was, we only had seven flowers left. We need more and the only place we could get it was in Essos, near Old Valyria's ruin to be exact but...the restrictions Daenerys placed and the news of the plague had made it harder for us. None of my Essosi friends answered my letters. Then the merchant came to me once more. His son and daughter were having a seizure due to high fever. You don't need to have a chain to know what sickness they had. And we can only make a third batch of potion from that seven flowers...he needed to choose whom he needed to save. He chose both. The boy and the girl shared the cure amongst themselves which was reckless. We weren't sure it will work at that amount but it did."

Marwyn leaned back, no proud smile from his face this time.

"We weren't sure how long it will work. We needed more. The merchant volunteered and his son as well. Stubborn boy. The merchant, before the plague, had turned into a smuggler, he knew how to get inside Essos and how to get out: alive. And so, of they went while the daughter was left with me for observation. We did our best to slower the disease's progress in her body. Three times in a day, she needed to bathe in hot water and be slathered with herbal medicines. Those methods I find it helps me when I was fighting the disease myself. And soon she was recovering. But not for long. She was at the brink of death when the merchant and her brother came back. Thank all the gods for that. Any day more and the child would have died.

"And the merchant...he didn't only successfully managed to get the plants we needed but he also managed to convince Daenerys to lessen the realm's leash a bit. Don't ask me how he did it for he wasn't the storytelling type. And so, Oldtown became the third port that traded with Essos, alongside Dorne and the Iron Islands. Everything was fine wasn't? Everything came back to normal. Or so others thought.

"Soon, we overstretched ourselves once more. Humans, if you feed them, treat their cures they will worship you. The Reach knew who helped them and it was no Stark. Shouts of the Dragon Queen's name was heard, cheers where offered in her honor and talk of rebellion started. It wasn't only the peasants, but knights, swornswords, and even some heirs as well. A petition happened right there in Old Town. Make Daenerys the Queen of Seven Kingdoms...Fools."

Marwyn spat on the floor but his face was that of amusement.

"The new Lord Hightower had no choice. He had to be decisive before the King make a move and hundreds be executed in one night. The only solution left to him was to let all the men take the Black. As for the women? They weren't many, only a handful and they will be exiled to the North. Lord Hightower had made a deal with Queen Sansa; keep the women and he would trade goods with her. She agreed.

"And what do you think happened to my merchant friend and his son? They left to be Sworn Brothers of the Night's Watch, leaving the daughter to serve the Seven to save herself. The son was so inspired by the Dragon Queen that he himself orchestrated that short-lived rebellion, it was only by luck that he managed to leave the Reach with his head intact. I can't blame the child, besides I was one of them."

Marwyn smiled shyly like a boy.

"You--"

"Yes. Fools aren't we? We all board the ship and now we're here. Now you understand why the men hate you, Your Grace. Not only because you're a kinslayer, but also because they saw you as someone who had taken their bright future from them. Imagine how our lives will be if the Dragon Queen is our ruler, that was what the rebels usually asked not only to themselves but others who had ears to hear.

"These men are the Queen's men. And these people suffered because of their beliefs. Separated from their family, their loved ones and their dreams. You must be careful for you are their perceived enemy. Arya Stark, they tolerated for she spent a few moons with the Queen and protected the Princess, but you?"

Marwyn left the sentence hanging.

"You will sleep beside my chambers, eat what I eat, drink what I drink and come morning Gareth will take you and your sister to Eastwatch, there you will meet the Lord Commander. A word of warning, he was a very grumpy man."

Marwyn stood up and Jon followed suit. He was being dismissed.

"Is that all you can say about him?" For being such a storytelling old man, Jon finds it suspicious that the maester did not tell the lifestory of the Lord Commander himself.

"Why my King, I already told you half of it. The rest, is up to him to tell you. If he speaks to you at all."