"Father, why are we here?"
Howland Reed glanced at his daughter Meera. "It is time," he said simply. "It is time to pay a visit to our liege lord." And my oldest friend. "It is also time you and Jojen meet the Starks and visit Winterfell for yourself." Howland himself had not set eyes on the great northern castle in over…thirty years at least. The only time he had visited Winterfell before was when he was a young boy and his father the Lord of Greywater Watch. It was around the time of the harvest feast, a tradition that the crannogmen also participated in.
"You are thinking of the past again Father," commented Meera, her green eyes focused on him, "are you not?"
"Yes," affirmed Howland. He rose from his cushioned chair in the guest rooms Winterfell's maester, Luwin, had kindly given him.
"Do you believe Jojen's visions?" said Meera quietly. Howland looked at her. In a steady voice, he replied, "Yes, I believe him. Do you?"
"Of course Father, I always believed them, but this one…it…it is a little fanciful, do you not think? More farfetched than usual? I have believed Jojen's visions ever since we were little. What if Lord Stark thinks it a jape of sorts?"
"Dear daughter, you do not know Lord Stark. He'll not think Jojen's visions are japes of any sort. He might not believe them when we first tell him, but I'm quite certain he will deem them worthy of his attention." Will he? Howland hadn't seen or spoken to his old friend in many years. What if after years of marriage to Lady Ashara Dayne and burdened with the task of ruling the north, Lord Eddard Stark had changed? Married men could change. Second sons thrusted to the position of leader could also change. I too have changed, Howland contemplated with a faint smile. As a boy and young man, he'd been struck with a foolish affliction: the fear of being ridiculed simply for being a crannogman. He was certainly cured of that thanks to the She-Wolf of Winterfell.
"Shall I fetch Jojen?" His daughter's words broke his thoughts. Howland shook his head. "Let him be. He seems much happier in the godswood. You may go and join him if you wish. I will have one of my men fetch both of you when the time is ripe for introductions. Take care of your brother, Meera. If it gets too cold, ensure he comes back inside." Drag him back if you must, he wanted to add. Howland bit his lip to suppress an upcoming shiver the memory of his only son languishing so pitifully on his deathbed resurfaced in his mind. Young crannogmen and the old had often been snatched from life by the dreaded greywater fever. "First you feel naught but winter's touch," an ancient wise woman had informed him. "Cold…all you feel is the cold, Lord Reed. Then slowly, your skin turns grey. Your eyes turn white as milk and you cannot breathe…but you are still alive. After three days, no more, no less, you recover…or you die. Those three days Lord Reed, are vital. For three days, your life rests in the hands of the old gods." No one could escape that awful fever once affected. Howland himself had lost many young cousins and two aunts from greywater fever.
The door suddenly opened and Maester Luwin shuffled in. "My lord Reed and Lady Meera," he said, dipping his head politely. "Lord Stark has arrived and asks to see you at once. He asks for you to bring Lord Jojen and Lady Meera too."
Without a word, Meera headed out the room. "She is fetching Jojen," Howland explained to a slightly confused maester. "Meera is under the belief…she is quite protective of her brother."
"Of course my lord." Without asking any more questions, the maester escorted Howland through the labyrinth of Winterfell's corridors and out to the courtyard. Nervousness and unease wormed around in Howland's gut as he spotted Eddard Stark dismounting his horse with a warm grin on his face. This is wrong, Howland thought agitatedly. Lord Stark should be here waiting as I dismount my horse. He is the Lord of Winterfell. This is his home…I should have waited until he returned before setting out from Greywater Watch. Other lords would be displeased to find unexpected guests at their home; Lord Stark did not seemed unhappy.
"Lord Reed," said Lord Stark, striding towards him. "It'd been…eighteen years had it not? You look well, my friend."
"As do you my lord," Howland responded with a deep nod. "I apologise for not coming to Winterfell sooner."
"We are both fathers and busy lords Lord Reed. I am truly delighted you have come – better now than in the heart of winter."
"Indeed my lord."
Lady Stark and a litter of Starks and other young men rode quietly up to Lord Stark's side. "Do you recall my wife, the Lady Ashara Stark?" inquired Lord Stark, helping his smiling wife dismount from her horse. "These are our children, Robb, Lyarra and Arya. Some of our children," he added helpfully. "I'm certain you have heard our younger ones run and shout around Winterfell." Howland's smile froze as he caught sight of…the boy.
"This is my natural son Jon," continued Lord Stark, gesturing to the boy with a solemn expression. By the gods that boy has inherited more Stark features than his father's. "And my wards Domeric Bolton, Theon Greyjoy and Daenerys Sand." He turned to his wife, children and wards. "Ashara, children, this is one of my oldest friends, Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch."
"A pleasure to meet you again Lord Reed," greeted Lady Stark kindly. Eighteen years ago she was one of the most beautiful maidens in the Seven Kingdoms. She was still beautiful now, but carried a comforting air of motherliness with her. She smiled at him. "You are welcomed to stay here as long as you like, my lord." Lord Stark nodded firmly in agreement.
"Where are your children?" Lord Stark inquired.
"In your godswood my lord," Howland answered. "I'm afraid my son Jojen had taken a liking to it."
Lord Stark chuckled. "Everyone is welcome at Winterfell's godswood. I wasn't unaware your son is a devout boy."
Neither was I until Jojen opened his eyes the morning after that third day. "Jojen is a good boy," said Howland tightly.
"I'm certain he is. Now Lord Reed, you must join my family and household for supper tonight as my most honoured guest. I insist. Your children too. You and I have much to discuss, Lord Reed."
"Indeed we do Lord Stark. I will be honoured to be your guest tonight."
It was a merry supper at Winterfell that night. On the dais, Howland sat alone with Lord Stark. "I will leave the two of you to chat," said Lady Stark, who elected to sit at one of the lower trestle tables with her children and wards. It had greatly pleased Howland to see the Starks speak and eat with his own children. It wasn't only in the south where crannogmen were sneered at with aversion or mockery; proud northerners also looked down on the crannogmen. Some like the Greatjon Umber literally looked down on crannogmen. Unlike southroners who laughed at crannogmen for their appearance and no doubt short stature, northerners hated crannogmen for their apparent 'cowardly' methods of warfare.
"It seems my daughter Arya is engaged in an animated conversation with your daughter Meera," Lord Stark remarked, pleased. "Knowing Arya, she's always the happiest when talking about martial pursuits."
"Oh?" said Howland, who could not help but think of the hot-tempered Lyanna Stark. Lord Stark once told him that she would have carried and learnt to wield a sword if their father allowed it – which he didn't.
"She is like her aunt," Lord Stark said more softly. "Sometimes I see Lyanna in her. I never tell this to Ashara – she likes to believe Arya has inherited wolf blood and the hot Dornish spirit or something."
"That is a likely chance as well my lord."
"Call me Ned, Lord Reed."
"If you insist, you must call me Howland then. Enough of the lord business do you not agree?"
Ned Stark smiled faintly. "Aye. I had enough of that in Highgarden. It had been Lord Stark this, Lord Stark that…" He shook his head. "Southroners. They do love their titles, Howland." He and Howland looked at their children again once Lady Arya's laugh echoed throughout the Great Hall.
"I'm afraid Meera will not help educate ladylike manners here," Howland said with a short chuckle. "Not many crannogmen learn a southron lady's manners. In childhood, they learn more useful skills such as hunting and making nets."
"Do you have a maester at Greywater Watch?"
"We did…once. A most unsuitable man. My men had despised him and had oft wished him gone. This was before Robert's war, Ned. A year or two I think. When he heard I planned to wed Jyana, he tried to convince me to marry a Frey instead. For the good of the Neck, he said." Howland scowled. "Thankfully the Freys were quite horrified at that prospect."
"What happened to the maester?"
"He died of greywater fever not long after. I decided to rely on healers like my ancestors before me. Much more reliable with herbal medicine and climate of the Neck than that maester. You are fortunate to have such a good maester. If I am in need of one, I will pray the old gods will grant me a maester as able as yours." As Howland reached for his cup, he caught sight of his son Jojen staring at him with his green eyes wide with urgency. Of course. His visions. Half a day gone by and he, Howland, had neglected mentioning Jojen's visions – the main reason behind the visit to Winterfell.
"Ned," said Howland hesitantly. "How much do you know about greensight? It is an odd question I admit, but do you believe it?"
The Lord of Winterfell frowned. "Greensight? Is that not an ability to have um, prophetic dreams of sorts? Old Nan used to tell me and my siblings stories about greenseers and children of the forest when we were children. Those were stories almost all northern children are told are they not?"
"Aye. What if I tell you my son is gifted with greensight?"
Ned's frown deepened. "Your son Jojen is a greenseer?"
"Not a greenseer Ned, just a crannogman with greensight." Howland paused. "I could not believe it when Jojen told me himself. It was about five or six years ago when Jojen was gifted with greensight…from a three-eyed crow apparently. That was when Jojen was near death…from greywater fever."
"Are you sure your son spoke truth, Howland? Perhaps what he saw were…ah, deathbed delusions? I'm certain your son is an honest lad, Howland, but I admit, I find green dreams a little…um…"
"Difficult to believe?" Howland supplied. Ned nodded, biting his lip. "Would it be more believable if you speak with my son?"
"How many visions has your son dreamt? Or seen?"
"A couple, Ned. Jojen told me that it was not every night and it was usually in a pool of riddles of sorts. Jojen had dreamt a few, but he insisted this one – the one he received recently – was of the utmost importance, hence our haste here. Jojen said that you must hear of it immediately. I'm afraid all our talk of the past today had me forgetting his green dreams."
"What is the vision, Howland?"
Howland took a deep breath. "It concerns…her son." His old friend stiffened at once, his grey eyes darker than ever. "Pray tell," he said finally.
"Jojen said he saw Winterfell sparkling with a thin layer of snow atop all of its turrets. The sky was grey and full of clouds and it was snowing. There were roars from the crypts…a dragon. Jojen said it was roaring in pain, not anger." Howland swallowed nervously. "At the door of the crypts was the white wolf, prowling in a circle as if ready for war. He stops moving when…when she caresses his white fur. From what Jojen described to me, she had not aged, Ned. She was still young and beautiful – like she was when she died. Outside, there were more wolves ready to fight. Standing in front of them was the flayed man…that young man right there." Howland nodded in the direction of Ned's Bolton ward.
"Him…? Are you certain? Lord Bolton's heir?"
"Indeed Ned. Jojen's visions bear no lies. He described that man. Ask my son if you doubt my words."
"Do your son's visions come…true?"
"It may mean naught," said Howland quietly. "Jojen's vision is full of riddles. It might not mean what you fear. It might mean something else, but I thought that it would be better to inform you than not."
"That vision must be wrong," said Ned, glancing at Domeric Bolton. "It must. I raised Domeric since he was a boy. His betrothal to Lyarra…it was for the sake of peace between my family and the Boltons. Domeric is almost a son to me already. He is kind to everyone at Winterfell and is a young man of honour. I cannot even imagine Domeric leading Bolton forces to Winterfell's doorstep."
"That is what Jojen had seen, Ned."
"Was that all, Howland? How does this concern Jon? I understand that he's the white wolf at the door of the crypts, but…"
Howland looked at him steadily in the eye. "This is a mere observation, Ned. I could not help but notice Lady Daenerys Sand has a Valyrian name and by chance, had been blessed with the traditional Targaryen features. Please tell me that you do not have two of them here." He inwardly groaned as Ned's eyes darted away a little. By the old gods Ned does have two Targaryens here at Winterfell! One was a Targaryen and the other half, but regardless! Howland silently berated himself. If he had only come sooner…much, much, much sooner…
"Are they aware of their heritage?" whispered Howland.
Ned shook his head. "I had more than one chance to tell them but I decided not to. Call me a fool if you must, but I believe it is better for both of them to continue living their lives unaware of it. Unfortunately if it means they must remain under bastard names…at least they will be safe. If Robert ever finds out – or remembers – the truth, I fear what would become of them."
The king knew? "He only knows about Daenerys," said Ned swiftly. "Now that I think of it, I do not think he even remembers her."
"Oh? How is that possible?"
Ned shrugged. "Robert is king now, but he will always be Robert Baratheon. If it is not women who keep him occupied, no doubt it is fine food. It would be wine, but I believe his lady wife did us all a favour by somehow persuading him to stop drinking more than the normal amount."
Howland shuddered. The thought of King Robert as a drunkard king…
"Your Jojen looks old for his age," noted Ned. "Fifteen is he not?"
"Yes," Howland confirmed. He smiled as Jojen glanced up at him again with his unusually green eyes. When he was a babe, he was an almost perfect infant. Jojen rarely cried and had an odd habit of staring around quietly. Even after greywater fever almost took him, he seemed to have retained that childhood activity. "Jojen knows a number of mysterious and arcane things," Howland continued. "He says he learns about them in his dreams."
"A useful skill is it not?"
"Jojen once told me he even knows the day of his death." Uneasy silence chose to descend that moment. Deciding to give Ned a moment or two to think more of Jojen's vision, Howland casted his eyes to the Stark children. It was rare to hear a child's innocent giggle these days, especially with a long winter advancing slowly towards them like a tide of slime sliding sluggishly on top of a swamp. When was the last time I heard a child laugh? Howland wondered. He had no living nieces or nephews and his closest relatives resided in their own homes. As for his own two children, Meera had giggled a little when she was an infant and Jojen not at all. It was music to Howland's ears when he heard the two youngest Starks squeal with joy and excitement as the Lady Ashara presented them gifts she must've brought back from Highgarden. The elder of the two – Arthur? – looked more Dayne than Stark with his mop of light brown hair and brilliant purple eyes. It was fitting for his parents to have named him after the late Sword of the Morning.
As for the younger, though he was a boy of three, he reminded Howland of the Wild Wolf, the late Brandon Stark, Ned's brother. There was most certainly wolf blood in the youngest Stark child like it was in the Lady Arya and their late uncle and aunt. It was said that Starks with wolf blood would lead their House to either greatness…or shame. It's not the youngest Stark boy who will be the next Lord of Winterfell, Howland reminded himself. Young Robb will be.
"When will you return to Greywater Watch?"
"Soon," Howland answered. "Very soon. If the weather remains good, I'll leave with my children tomorrow after breakfast."
"So soon Howland?" Surprise had appeared in Ned's tone. "But…at least stay a day more. Your children have only met mine a few hours ago!"
Howland shrugged. "Winterfell is indeed a splendid castle, but I am needed at Greywater Watch." He paused. "I'll be happy to stay tomorrow though. As for my children, I do wish for them to learn about the north other than our crannogmen ways. Though they I doubt they will venture much from the Neck, it will be quite educational for them to observe and participate in other northern traditions and ways too. Perhaps Meera will enjoy learning to fight with the sword."
Ned smiled. "I will be delighted to foster your children Howland." He lifted his goblet of ale and Howland followed suit. "To old friends and renewing closer ties between the Starks of Winterfell and Reeds of Greywater Watch," Ned declared a few seconds later. The two of them clinked goblets and drank deeply. Putting his cup back down, Howland caught sight of Jojen staring at him again. Not with the sense of urgency…it was something else.
"You plan to depart without us Father."
Howland said nothing as he felt Jojen's accusing glare. When Howland looked at him, he found no reproving signs in Jojen's green eyes. "Father, I must confess that I did not tell you everything I had seen," Jojen continued. "The vision that I'd seen about Winterfell…I was there, Meera too." Howland froze. Was that the…the day Jojen was set to die?
"I will not die at Winterfell," Jojen assured him confidently. "There will be vast bloodshed here, but this is not the place I will die."
"It is not natural for you to have seen your place of death Jojen," Howland said uneasily, "nor is it normal for you to know the day you will die. Why can't you tell me the day you die, Jojen? Or the manner of death? I am your father and I will do anything to save you from death – especially a painful one. Your mother and your sister will both be devastated when you leave us."
Jojen shook his head sadly. "Father, as you said, it is unnatural for me to know the day of my death. I cannot burden you with that knowledge. It will hurt you – I cannot have that Father."
"Come back with me to Greywater Watch. You'll be safe there. Lord Stark will understand why you-"
"No Father. Lord and Lady Stark already agreed for both Meera and I to stay at Winterfell. It will be unfair to leave Meera here alone. Besides…" Howland's heart pounded faster as Jojen could not meet his eye.
"What is it, Son?" said Howland softly.
"I've known since we arrived here that…" Jojen hesitated. "Father…I know that I will never be able to return to Greywater Watch. That day we left for Winterfell, when we breakfasted on the frogs and fish with Mother…that was the last time I would ever see her. And Father…" Jojen bit his lip. "When you leave at noon, we'll never see each other again."
The dream Howland told Ned wasn't particularly creative but I'll try to make the next one more interesting :) I'll be interested to hear your interpretations of the dream though :D
