(Prologue).
Beyond the Wall 303 AC.
The man with a thousand eyes and one.
Impatient, impetuous, and impertinent, he'd name the boy as all three for what he'd done. For millennia they had remained safe and secure in this sacred place, then in the blink of an eye, it was no more. It made him question, doubt, revaluate and rethink his plans and yet in truth, they were now set in stone. There was little he could do to change things now, for he had run out of the one thing he'd known far too much of in his life, time.
He had known he had little and mayhap not enough to do what was needed. It was why in the end he'd settled on the boy when there were other choices he could have made. Some had almost flown as Brandon Stark had, none of them however had a connection of blood with the true heir to the throne. Blood had always meant so very much to him, all he'd done had been for it. For it, for his House, and for his family and it had cost him everything he'd ever wished for and seen him held in contempt and disdain.
Lord Bloodraven they'd named him, the White Worm. Reviled, hated, and feared he had been and he'd borne it all because it had been left to him to bear it. He'd taken the stain to his name and to his honor, given up the only woman he'd ever truly loved, and accepted exile and damnation, all to see his House survive and for the Great War to not be the last war that men would know. Now all of that was at risk and all he'd sacrificed could very well turn out to be for naught. All because he chose a boy who was not yet a man. A boy with boyish thoughts and dreams. One with hopes that could never be and with not the patience to do what needed to be done.
Was he wrong?
Had he made the wrong choice?
Was he too late to make another?
He knew not the answers to those questions, and he no longer had the time he needed to find them. Life and its little ironies had once again managed to find a way to surprise him and so for the first time in an age, Brynden Rivers actually laughed. Leaf looked at him, the confusion clear in her eyes and he wondered if she could sense that their doom was almost upon them. If she did, then she hid it well and so instead Brynden turned his attention to the young boy that all his hopes now rested with. He did not like the sight, nor how it made him feel and so he closed his eyes and went deep beneath the sea once more.
They were here, he was here and now his time was done. In a way, he welcomed it, for he had long outlived his time in this world and mayhap in the next, he'd see her once more. Were it not for the worries he held for his kin, for his family, and for his House, then he'd go to his gods with a smile on his face. If he had more faith in the boy that would take his powers, he'd go to his death believing that his life had meant far more than in truth it probably had. Yet he had little faith and he was not yet ready to go quietly into the long night.
"It's time," he said to Brandon Stark.
"For what?"
"For you to become me."
"Am I ready?"
"No."
He showed him much but not everything and hoped that he was doing the right thing. Originally he had planned to show him it all and yet something in him had now decided to hold back some of it from the boy. That truth would be shared with another when the time was right, the last act he'd do before he was no more. The tower and what happened inside of it was not for Brandon Stark to learn from him and while he could not keep it from him when he was gone, he'd hidden it from him all the same. Looking around at the place where winter had fallen, he found he, as always, enjoyed the sight. Even now at the end of his days and while imparting what he hoped would be the last lesson that the boy needed, he welcomed seeing the keep and its large grey walls.
"Go, Go Now!" he said as he felt the cold creep towards them both.
He had more time, some more time, a little more time. Brynden wondered if it would be enough and even more so that he was doing the right thing. It was a contingency, nothing more and nothing less or that's what he told himself. Hoping he was wrong, he prayed to the only gods he'd ever believed in to give him the strength to do this last thing, then he reached out and found her as he always had. She'd always been easy to find, had always welcomed him when he visited her in her dreams and she welcomed him now. Those dreams had taken much from her over the years and it was now time to give her some respite from them. To give her that and as much of his power as he had left in him to give.
"Be at peace, Malora of the Tower, be at peace unless there is a need for you to go to war," he whispered to her as he took the dreams away.
Brynden knew that if he was to open his eyes, he'd see him there. The thing that was to finally end his life and which sought the end of them all. He knew if he looked, that he'd see the icy sword as it was swung and yet it was to the walkway above him that his eyes were drawn. She looked as she had always looked. Her beauty was as exquisite as it had always been. Shiera, his star of the sea. The love of his life and the only thing he'd ever truly wanted and yet he had been a fool to never realize that simple truth until the time had passed them both by.
"Come to me, my love," she said and he smiled as the sword took his body from this world and sent his soul to the one that she waited for him in.
King's Landing 306 AC.
The Broken King.
Knowing the moves before anyone had a chance to make them had brought him a crown. He'd looked into the future and though it was ever-changing, he had known exactly what he needed to do to make that future the one that was most beneficial to him. Sansa's ambition and her feeling that she deserved to be queen had been a boon and one he'd barely needed to help along. Not until it had come to dealing with Jon had he needed to truly convince her of anything, and even then it took little convincing on his part.
Arya had been harder, though, in the end, she'd accepted his word on things and had believed that he wanted Jon to be both safe and happy. Neither of which was true, he just wanted him gone. In time he'd seek his death, but at first, he'd just wanted him gone. Tyrion was a clever man who was truly a fool, Sam a craven who wished for his own comfort more than he cared for anyone else's, and Davos a man who knew little of the game and even less of the players in it. Why Jon had not thought to speak to the man about his truth, Bran knew not, but it had helped him greatly.
It had been hard for him to not give the game away when they said their goodbyes. Hard for him to hold his tongue and if there was one thing he regretted, it was that. He wished he had someone he could confide in, someone he could tell the truth to. The boy in him that wished to be praised had wanted the world and everyone in it to know that he had won the game. That the crippled boy they had all discounted had beaten them all. Varys, Littlefinger, Tyrion, Cersei, Daenerys Targaryen, the Night King, and Jacaerys Targaryen too. Yet another of his little japes at Jon's expense. Bran naming him for his brother when anyone with half a brain would know just how ridiculous that would be.
All it had truly taken was for him to help things along when needed and to do so at the right time each step of the way. Telling Sansa the truth about Littlefinger at the perfect time so that it would bring her and Arya closer to each other than they'd ever been. Sending the raven about the Night King's moves so as to take the first piece from Daenerys Targaryen's side of the board. Having Sam tell Jon his truth just when it would hurt him the most and when Sam's own desire for vengeance would be at its zenith. Sending dreams to a man who Bloodraven had once sought to take his place so that he'd think of them as visions from the shade of the evening and would be ready to leave the Dragonqueen at breaking point. Then he just sat back as each of the steps he made took him ever closer to the Iron Throne and brought him just a taste of all he deserved.
"Not that it's enough," he muttered to himself.
He'd wished to be a knight, a member of the Kingsguard. Bran Stark had wanted to be spoken of as another Barristan the Bold, Aemon the Dragonknight, or Arthur Dayne. Yet in truth, even was he to have been trained by the greatest knight in Westeros, he'd still never even come close to any of their achievements. Jon would have, Robb could have, but he never would. In the end, losing the use of his legs had been a blessing in disguise, not that he thought of it that way or truly did not. Yet were he able to think about such things with a calm and collected mind, he'd know this to be true. As a knight he'd be mediocre at best, as a king, he'd be the one to define how others looked at him.
Seeing the sun come up, he readied for the day ahead. Bran called for his servants and was helped to dress, then for Podrick and he was soon being wheeled through the Red Keep. The repairs were being attended to and yet some of it would take years to finish. Winter was upon them, though it would be a shorter and milder one than any of the people expected. He'd seen the truth of it and he knew that when it ended, people would name it so because of their good and gracious king.
He was wheeled into the Small Council chambers and as was the right of a king, he was the last one to enter the room. Tyrion sat as his Hand, Bronn as his Master of Coin, and Davos as his Master of Ships. He'd appointed his uncle Edmure as his Master of Laws and he was his own Master of Whisperers. Sam served as Grandmaester and Brienne was his Lord Commander, and as councils went it was a truly poor one in comparison to the ones that came before it. Yet it served his purpose well and as he looked to Tyrion, he bid the Imp get the meeting started.
"The Queen in the North has sent yet another raven, your grace. She seeks our aid in dealing with the Iron Bank."
"Respond to it as we have the last one, Lord Hand, they are a separate kingdom and if they seek our aid they know our price," he said emotionlessly, for he'd always known the gifting of the North to his sister was a temporary thing.
Bran wanted all of his kingdoms; he refused to be looked at as a lesser king and so the North would eventually be brought back into the fold. He had time, they did not. The wars they'd been through, the losses they suffered, and the threat of a long winter, even though it would not be, would see them seek to kneel within a year or two at most.
"The Reach Lords are withholding taxes, your grace," Tyrion said and Bran looked to Bronn.
"I'll see them collected."
A nod of his head was the only reply he gave him and he knew it would be so, he even knew what way Bronn would go about collecting those taxes.
"Lady Greyjoy refuses our request for her ships to be used in the eastern seas, your grace."
"Send word that it's no longer a request, Lord Hand, it's now a demand and to refuse it will incur my displeasure."
"Of course, your grace."
He listened as Edmure spoke of the Riverlands and Tyrion of the Vale, there was mention of the last of the Dothraki having left their shores and some other talk that he barely paid attention to. Dorne had reverted back to the same relationship it had with the Iron Throne under Robert Baratheon and yet Bran cared not. Its prince was a weak and vain man and the rebellion he'd one day plan was very easy to counter.
"The Night's Watch sent a raven, your grace. Regarding Jon." Sam said and Bran noticed how Tyrion tensed and Davos moved forward in his seat.
"And how is my brother?" he asked trying to add some concern to his tone.
"Missing, your grace. Jon has not returned from his ranging and the Watch believe he's deserted." Sam said shakily.
"Jon Snow would never. Your grace, surely you don't believe this horseshit." Davos said angrily and Bran nodded his head to bid the man continue "No man is more dutiful, your grace, no man lives to his oaths as truly as Jon Snow does."
"Mayhap," he said and saw that Tyrion wished to speak.
"If he has deserted, your grace, then you understand what we must do."
"You can't be fucking serious." Davos said, rising to his feet "I'll not be a part of this."
"Jon accepted the sentence that was passed, Ser Davos. I wish not to see my brother harmed, but there was a reason he was sent back to the Night's Watch, and were we to just ignore him not living up to his oath, then …"
"I'll not be a part of this, your grace. If this is your will then you'll need to find yourself a new Master of Ships." Davos said as he turned to walk from the room.
"Anyone who seeks to aid my brother in his crimes will face the same sentence, Ser Davos. I accept your resignation but that's all I'll accept."
"You all should be fucking ashamed of yourselves," Davos said as he stormed out of the room. Bran waited until he was gone before speaking and he tried not to smirk as he did so.
"Send word to the Night's Watch and to each of the keeps in the North and South, Sam. Should Jon Snow not report back to the Watch and we receive no word that he's done so, then he's named as a deserter and will face the same sentence as any man would."
"Your grace," Sam said with a bow of his head.
"Podrick," he said a few moments later and the young man moved to him and then wheeled him back to his rooms.
Once he was alone, he closed his eyes and sent the birds flying. Hardhome, the Fist of the First Men, Milkwater, Skirling Pass, the Frostfangs, he sent them flying in a hundred different directions. The last he'd seen of Jon, he was riding with Tormund and the Free Folk and was dressed in black as was his wont. Ghost was beside him and despite it all, he looked happy and content. Though Bran wagered that would not last too long.
He'd thought it would come down to knives in the dark once more that would bring about his end. That he'd have needed to send Catspaws to see Jon dead and the one remaining threat to his rule removed from the board. He'd seen a future where Jon would take his own life as he'd not be able to live with the guilt over what he'd done, but he'd seen others where he'd seek vengeance for what he'd lost and what had been taken from him. Now as his birds flew, he saw nothing at all and for the first time since he'd learned how to truly control the powers that Bloodraven had given him, Bran felt fear once more.
"Where are you, Jon? Why can't I see you?" asked no one at all.
The Arbor 306 AC.
The Azure Lady.
Desmera Redwyne looked out over the Arbor and sighed. Her father was soon to pass and her brothers were long gone. Soon it would be just her and her mother and other than her aunt Janna, she was now the last of her grandmother's line. Mayhap that was why she had been so determined to refuse the offers that had been made for her hand. Or was it more simply that not a single one of them had made her heart stir in any way whatsoever?
She should be wed by now, she knew it, her mother knew it, and on his deathbed, her father worried over it. He believed he'd failed her in some way when in truth it was simply down to the world they'd lived in these past few years. Constant war and upheaval, the extinction of her cousin's House, and their betrayal by Randyll Tarly, all of it had played some part. Desmera had at first wanted to make the best choice to protect her family. Then she had found those choices to be ever diminishing, and finally, she'd been caught up by events beyond hers or anyone's control.
A part of her almost demanded that she reach out to the sellsword who'd been named Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South along with Master of Coin. Yet unless it bought her father a few more years, it would never be something she'd actually go through with. Had Horras and Hobber not foolishly given up their lives, then she could have looked to leave the Arbor and be wed to a strong House from another region, but they had and so she could not. Losing her grandmother had been hard as had losing Margaery and Loras, and she had and still grieved for them. Had Olenna Tyrell still been alive, then Desmera could have simply gone to her and allowed her to pick a match for her, comforted in the knowledge that she'd pick the right one.
"Would she though?" she said and then placed her hand on her mouth, shocked by her words.
Though she wished it not, she couldn't help but feel some bitterness at some of her grandmother's mistakes. Wedding Margaery into the Lannisters simply because they held a crown was a foolish notion and it had cost her dearly. Joining with the Dragonqueen for revenge had been shown in hindsight to be just as bad. For while Joffrey Baratheon was cruel and vicious, Daenerys Targaryen had turned out to be something even worse, her father come again.
She moved to the looking glass and stared at the reflection she saw there. Three and twenty she may be but she looked as if she was five or six years younger. There was no extra weight on her figure and the dresses she fit from a few years earlier, would still fit her still. Her red hair shined and the freckles on her face were attractive where on her brothers' and father's faces they had very much not been. In terms of looks alone she knew she was a catch. Now given that she was soon to be the Lady of the Arbor and all that went with it, she was even more of one.
"Am I to remain a maid and become like Malora?" she sighed as she rose to her feet and moved to the door.
Desmera left the room and made her way to her mother and father's chambers. When she arrived, there was some commotion and she entered to find her mother in tears. Fearing the worst, she hurried to the bed to find that her father breathed still and yet she knew by looking at him that he had little time left.
"Father, Father, I'm here." she cried out.
"My sweet child." her father said and coughed, "Forgive me…"
"There is nothing to forgive, father," she said and the words she spoke were as true as she could make them, she had no issues with any of her father's actions, she had ever thought him to be the very best father a girl could wish for and she thought that still.
"I wish I was not leaving you alone, you….Mina, Mina…"
She moved slightly so that her mother could place a kiss on her father's head and then she did the same. Then she heard the rattles in his chest and the trembling in his breathing.
"Horras, Hobber, I come to you, I come to you...my sons."
They held a full week of mourning and then she set to work. She knew much of their ships as it was and had been trained to rule from a young age. Though it was only in these last few years that she had been trained to be the Lady of the Arbor. Within two weeks, she was both proud and shamed to say that her father's death had affected that aspect of their lives not. So she then set to work to find herself a husband who'd bring her an heir if nothing else.
The raven arrived as they ate their dinner that night. Maester Ballabar brought it to the table himself and it felt odd that she was handed it and not her mother. Looking at the seal, she was surprised to see the white tower with the flames of House Hightower and she wondered why they'd be sending her a raven. Thinking that it was expressing their sympathies over her father's death, she almost didn't break the seal then and there, and yet something made her wish to.
"Desmera?" her mother asked after she'd read it and while Desmera held it in her hand and looked at it in confusion "Desmera?"
"Lord Leyton bids us travel to the Hightower, mother. He says he has news of great import to share with us."
"When does he wish us to travel?"
"Now," she said, shocking her mother somewhat.
Looking back down at the raven's scroll, Desmera wondered about the words that it contained, some of them more than others. Lord Leyton bidding them attend a meeting was strange enough; as the Lord had not been seen for years at this point to her knowledge. It was him making mention of his daughter, though, that truly intrigued her.
What does the Mad Maid have to tell us that's so important?
And why do I wish to know it so?
Winterfell 306 AC.
The Red Queen.
Numbers, lists, and stocks, her life had descended into a never-ending battle against each of those things. The battle against the Night King had been won far more quickly than she had expected and it should have left them in good stead afterward. Even the losses they incurred should have made things easier for them, and yet they very much did not. For not only did they create other problems, such as who'd take over the holdings of those who lost their lives, but it made some voices far stronger than they would have been had others survived.
Robett Glover had not fought at all during the battle against the Night King and so by right he should now be amongst the weakest of her vassals, yet by not fighting he had by default made himself one of her strongest. Something that the man knew all too well and he had made clear by his words and actions so far just how much he intended to use his newfound strength. Thankfully the man was wed, for the thoughts of having to name that man her king consort was as repulsive to her as the thoughts of having to lay with him were.
Lord Manderly was still the strongest of her vassals and while he knew it too, he used it differently. That the man had not been best pleased about what had happened with Jon being sentenced to the Wall again, was not something he was shy in speaking of. Nor was Lord Reed when it came to it. The Crannogman had finally shown himself after so many years and to say he'd been a disappointment to her eyes would be an understatement. To say he was disappointed in her would be an even larger one and Sansa shuddered still at the words they'd shared.
"I came here expecting to find wolves and I find a trout in wolf's clothing. That crown you wear is not yours, Sansa Bolton, and while you may have my oath, you'll never have my fealty."
The most annoying thing about it all was that she could deal with rebellious and difficult lords, she could handle them and bend them to her will in time. If she had time that was. For winter was no longer coming, it was here and the North was suffering because of it. They may have fewer mouths to feed because of the Battle of Winterfell, but there were still far too many and so she had needed to be harsh and firm. Not something that had endeared her to her subjects, especially since said subjects hadn't yet accepted that it was a queen and not a king they were to be ruled by.
Sansa had found that she now hated Jon more and more each day which was something that took her aback a little. She'd never hated him, mayhap she'd not loved him as a true brother, but she'd never hated him until now. True she'd thought him a fool and not fit to be king, and that he had no right to be a King of Winter or to sit the Winter Throne, but she'd not hated him. For had she not wished him to sit the Iron Throne? Had she not wished for him to be given his birthright, just as long as she was given hers?
Yes, she'd wished it because with him on the Iron Throne he was easily manipulated. Jon would not only give the North its independence, but he cared for its people so much that he'd go out of his way to see them fed and to see them prosper. Unlike her true brother, he'd not only see that was so, but he'd not seek anything in return either. He'd not ask them to kneel, he'd not even asked the Wildlings to do that after all. Bran though, his actions perplexed her and infuriated her, and more than that, they worried her.
Had he played her?
Played them all?
Could he truly foresee what was to come?
While part of her dismissed those questions completely, her sense of self not allowing her to believe that anyone could ever play her again, another part whispered that the answer to all of them was yes. As she looked back down at the figures she'd written on the parchment in front of her, she sighed. They lacked everything, but coin most of all, and loathed though she was to do so, she knew that in the end, she had no other choice.
"Jeyne," she called out and the girl who'd once been her friend, and was now simply a servant, entered the room.
They'd found her in the rubble of King's Landing and her tale was one that would have brought tears to Sansa's eyes was it one she heard but a few years earlier. Had she not undergone her own trials and tribulations, then Sansa's heart would have broken over what had happened to Jeyne Poole. Her heart though was made of sterner stuff these days. So she'd simply accepted her back into her life, offered her a role in her household, and the friendship they'd once shared was now a thing of the past. Truth be told, Sansa had no room for friends anymore. Allies she could use, enemies she'd no doubt encounter, family she knew no more, and friends were a luxury she just couldn't afford.
"Ask Lord Wyman to join me, Jeyne, and see that refreshments are brought, for you know how he is," she said without looking up from her papers.
"Of course, your grace," Jeyne said before curtsying and leaving the room.
It took some time for Lord Wyman to make his way to her solar. Though given the man's girth, that was not something she was too annoyed about. After he'd greeted her and taken his seat, the food was brought and as was his wont, he ate heartily as they spoke.
"We're in dire need, my lord. Of most things but of coin most of all." she began as she sipped her wine.
"Indeed, your grace."
"In time we'll restore trade and the North will grow stronger than it's ever been, but we need some breathing room before then," she said, and while she was divulging mayhap too much, she knew that the Lord of White Harbor was a smart and clever man who'd no doubt discerned this long before she spoke of it.
"We can raise taxes, your grace, though it'll bring little to our coffers."
"No, it won't. We need to treat with the Iron Bank, Lord Wyman, a loan no matter the cost, or this winter may very well be our last," she said almost annoyed by having to do so.
"What of your brother, your grace?" Wyman asked and for a moment she glared at him thinking he was speaking of Jon "King Bran." Wyman added when he caught her eye and then she wondered if he'd done so on purpose.
"My brother has forgotten his people, my lord. He cares not for our suffering and is only willing to help should we accept him as king." she almost snarled.
Luckily for him, Wyman didn't bring up something that she'd heard he'd spoken of more than once. For it was not just Jon Snow that Wyman Manderly would prefer to be their king if the whispers were true. A son of Stark on the Iron Throne was worthy of their fealty too, or so he'd been heard to utter. Were it anyone other than Robett Glover who'd spoken of it, then Lord too fat to sit a Horse, would be dead by now.
"A pity. Do you wish me to negotiate, your grace, or just to make the initial proposal?" he asked and she knew she couldn't allow him to be the one to actually seal the deal.
"The initial proposal, my lord. I'd seek a representative to come and discuss the size of the loan and its terms."
"Of course, your grace." Wyman said as he rose to his feet, "Has there been any word from Lord Snow, your grace, has he returned from his ranging?"
"No, he has not. I fear my brother has lost what little remains of his mind, I fear it'll cost him his head," she said and how she did so with just the right amount of worry for Jon was a testament to her time at both Cersei and Littlefinger's sides.
"Hopefully it'll not come to that. Your grace." Wyman said bowing his head slightly as he left the room.
She waited until he was gone and then looked down at the raven's scroll. Bran had declared that should Jon not come back then he'd be named as a deserter and his head was forfeit. It didn't pain her as much as she believed it should, in truth it didn't pain her at all. Alive, Jon Snow was a threat to her, even if was still as much of a fool as he'd always been. Dead, he was simply a memory, a ghost. He would be just like her father, her brothers, and mother, and yet unlike them, she'd mourn him not.
Oldtown 306 AC.
The Lady in the Tower.
It was a strange thing to suddenly wake up one morn and be free of the dreams, visions, and nightmares that had plagued her for years. The thoughts and worries that she had and had led to her being named the Mad Maid, had been there one moment and then gone the next. Her father had thanked the Seven who are One and yet Malora knew that it hadn't been them who'd sent those visions to her, nor was it they who'd taken them away. They came from gods far older than the Seven and so it was to them that she prayed to and sought answers from.
She had then traveled to numerous places where the Weirwoods still grew and did so under the cover of finally being free of her affliction. Yet it was in a place devoid of them that she received the answers she sought and from a woman who she'd heard whispers about as she had traveled through the Riverlands. The Ghost of High Heart was rumored to be many things. In the end, she turned out to be a dwarf albino who spoke in riddles until she did not and who drank your wine with much abandon.
"Long have I waited for you, Malora of the Tower."
"Why?"
"To tell you the truth of things. Many things have I seen, as have you and yet unlike your own dreams, mine are more clear. One day yours may return, but if they do, then fear not for it shall not be the same as afore."
She shuddered, she'd thought them gone and while she somewhat missed them, she didn't truly wish them to return.
"Watch from your tower on high, watch and see and take note. For should you be called upon again, all will finally make sense to you."
"I.."
"Chose wrong, did he. Chose wrong and yet in the end, he knew so and chose right. In this he'll not be alone as this realm may well choose wrong when the time comes too and if it does, then it'll be left to you to choose right."
"Choose? Chose what?" she asked as the Ghost walked away from her "Chose what?"
"Whether the song is to be sung or left unheard."
Almost two years had passed since she'd spoken to the Ghost of High Heart, almost three since she'd had her last vision or dream and during that time the realm and Westeros itself had gone to shit. Daenerys Targaryen had arrived and after dealing with the threat in the North, she had looked South and to the Iron Throne. Her Goodbrother, niece, and nephew had been murdered by a crazed queen and their matriarch had been betrayed by one of her Bannerman. House Tyrell was no more and Randyll Tarly and his son were dead and only one of those things did she and her father mourn.
They'd all watched with eager eyes as the Dragonqueen and her armies headed south and then with horror as Daenerys Targaryen proved she was Aerys come again. They'd been as horrified by that as they had been by the naming of a sellsword as their warden and liege. Then they'd heard tales that the man who'd taken Daenerys Targaryen's life had been sentenced unjustly and had watched as the North seceded and a Broken King was placed on the Iron Throne. It was then that the visions and dreams had started again.
She'd seen a wolf burn away his fur and turn into a dragon before her eyes. An army marched that bore many banners, her House, Redwyne, Lords of the Narrow Sea, and others all joined the White Dragon with the Red Eyes in putting the realm to rights.
She'd seen a broken man sit and stew and yet when she looked closer at him, it was clear he was far less broken than he seemed.
Had then watched as the same man wed a red-haired woman who seemed familiar to her and yet who for some reason she couldn't at the time name.
A sellsword, a dwarf, a fat craven, a bastard stag, a broken falcon, a brown trout, a snake prince, a Kraken queen, a red queen, and a broken king, all had run from the flames the white dragon spewed from his mouth and none of them had found that they could outrun a dragon.
She saw herself stand beside a man with a white wolf who bore an eagle on his shoulder and whose grey eyes were like winter itself. They stood on the bow of the ship and the sun beamed down upon them before they then docked and rode on horses through a desert. She saw a tower and heard a soft sob come from the man beside her and when she turned her head, she saw he was crying tears of blood.
"My beginning and her end," he said shakily and then he faded from her sight.
She moved closer to the tower and saw a fight taking place beneath it. Seven fought against three, men in poor armor against men wearing white cloaks and she gasped aloud when she saw the white sword as it cut down man after man. Then before she knew it she was walking up some stairs and had entered a room to see a brown-haired man leaning over a woman who was bleeding out in the bed she lay in.
"Promise me, Ned, Robert will kill him, Promise me.
"Lyanna…"
"Promise me, his name….his name...is Jacaerys Targaryen, Ned. Tell him who he is….tell him he was loved, tell him….."
She felt a hand take hers and she turned to see the dark-haired and grey-eyed man from before, his face covered in red streaks from where the blood had fallen from his eyes.
"Only death can pay for life and mine was a poor one and not worthy of her death." the man said sadly.
"Who are you? Who is she?" she asked, though had she but thought of it, then she'd have easily figured it out.
"I was born a prince, a king, named a bastard and yet was always an orphan. He named me Jon Snow, but Jon Snow died when they sentenced me for doing what was right. All my life I did what was right and I've been punished for it. Those who punished me had no right to do so. They had no right to sentence me to a life of servitude and they forgot a lesson that I'll soon teach them again."
"What lesson?"
"A dragon is not a slave."
Unlike before, the dreams now came to her much differently. She wasn't overwhelmed by images, dreams, or visions that made no sense. They didn't have her fall to her knees and cry out for relief from them, nor did they have her unable to rest and gain some respite. After she'd had them, she was able to remember them as clearly as she hoped and so she wrote them down in a journal. Just by reading those words, she was able to go back into her head and see them as if they were happening again right before her eyes. Mayhap that was why she took so long to bring them to her father.
"Father we need to speak," she said as she entered his room.
"About what, my child," he asked even though she had long reached her thirtieth year.
"The wrong king sits on the throne, father, and it falls upon us to make it right."
Her father sighed, she had heard him and her brothers speak about the wrong king sitting on the throne. They complained about that as much as they did about the sellsword who sat a seat that he had no right to.
"There is naught we can do, daughter." her father said resignedly.
"We can crown the rightful king." She said and her father looked at her confusedly, "Jacaerys Targaryen, the trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark."
"It cannot….there was a babe? Where? Who? How?…."
"Jon Snow, father," she said and she had to move to catch him as he almost collapsed to the ground.
He called for her brothers and she explained it all to him and them. Her father chided her for not telling her that the visions were back and then he grew worried about them. Malora's words about how this time they were different, however, soon alleviated his concerns. Talk then turned to what to do, how to bring about the crowning of a king that none of them knew how to contact or even if he wished to be crowned.
"You'll find him Beyond the Wall, near Westwatch by the Sea at the Bridge of Skulls," she stated.
"Why there?" her brother Baelor asked.
"Because he seeks his crown, brother mine, and he'll not find it north of the Wall," she said.
It had been decided that Humfrey and Garth would take a ship from Oldtown to Westwatch and would seek to bring Jon Snow, no, Jacaerys Targaryen to Oldtown. Once they returned their plans would be made, and once again House Hightower would seek to crown a king. This time she would ensure that it worked out far better for her House and the king they sought to crown than the last time had. Ravens were sent to those they could trust and it was as they were flying that Malora felt it. The presence that sought to look into their actions was dark and malevolent and the ravens were his or so he thought.
She'd never warged before, had never even imagined it was something that she'd be able to do. In her studies though she'd read about it. From what she'd gathered it was a First Men thing and there was little if any First Men blood in their line. Yet she had managed to do it easily and the dark presence she'd felt had quickly scurried away. Its thousand eyes were, for now, no real match for her one. Though why she thought of that particular phrase she knew not. Regardless, the ravens flew, and the lords they were sent to, answered. All of them then made their way to the Hightower under the guise of a celebration of her father's Nameday.
When she saw her, she smiled and knew she was truly blessed by the Old Gods. Just as she knew that once she laid her eyes upon the White Dragon, then all her remaining doubts would fade away. Moving to her, Malora could see that the young woman was eager to find out the true meaning behind being called to her father's keep.
"Lady Desmera, allow me to introduce myself, Lady Malora Hightower," she said as the red-haired woman looked at her with intrigue.
Beyond the Wall 306 AC.
The White Dragon.
He sat cross-legged, Longclaw was unsheathed and laid on his lap and he looked out on the white empty expanse. Behind him, the Free Folk encampment had grown and while he spent time with them and helped where needed, he spent just as much time here doing this. To some, it may look as if he was broken and that was partly the point of what he was doing, and yet it was not the only point. It had taken him a long time to truly open his third eye and once he had, he had cursed himself for not doing so sooner.
Jon had always been able to see what Ghost saw, even if he had never truly understood his wolf dreams. Now, he and Ghost were as one, they not only saw what the other saw, but they smelt, heard, and felt it too. His most loyal companion was not his only bonded either and flying high in the sky, Syrax soared looking for her prey. While nothing matched Ghost's eyes at night, during the day Syrax was queen. An eagle's view of the world truly showed you just how small and insignificant you were and Jon would match what Syrax could see against any of the ravens that Bran controlled. He'd match her claws against them even more and he'd be a liar if he said that he didn't enjoy it when she took one of the carrion eaters from the sky.
He'd found her as a wounded chick and had hand-reared her. Something that the Free Folk had tried to talk him out of, but something that he'd needed greatly. A part of him had at first wondered if there was a connection to Orell's eagle, yet he never let his mind follow that path too deeply. Their bond had come quickly and it was a mutually beneficial one. He'd gained another bonded animal and the eagle had fed off the magic in his blood, literally on some occasions. She'd grown quickly too, so much so that he'd had to fit some padding to his shoulder so she could land on it when she wished to. For while she was an adult eagle in size, she was still little more than a fledgling in nature, and just like Jon, she too had no family to name her own.
He heard the footsteps long before they reached him and smelt the stew that his truest friend bore with him. Tormund had more than proved himself the most Leal of those he'd trusted. The Free Folk didn't know how to lie and Tormund was as clear an example of that as Mance or any of the others he knew or had known had been.
'Would that I could say that about others I named as friends or family' he thought darkly.
"Eat, Jon Snow." Tormund said as he took a seat beside him "Where are they?" he asked as he handed him the bowl of stew.
"Ghost is some miles to the south, while Syrax is but a speck in the sky above our heads," Jon said before he took a spoonful of the hot stew and ate it down hungrily.
"You're still planning on leaving us, Jon?" Tormund asked sadly.
"My place is not here, Tormund. My heart cannot rest easy here, it demands things of me that for once I intend to give it. Too long have I denied it what it deserved, old friend. No longer will I do so."
"They'll kill you, Jon."
He laughed, a bitter sound but a true one. Ripping a chunk of the bread that Tormund had given him with the stew, he dipped it until it soaked up all the soup it could and then ate it in one swallow.
"I thought you knew I can't be killed?" he japed "Did I not hear you tell the younglings so?"
"I tell tall tales, Jon, it's who I am. But tales are all they are, all men must die, Jon. Not even a mad fool like you can live forever."
"I don't seek forever, Tormund. Just enough time to right the wrongs that were done to me and my House. To make up for the wrongs I did and to bring justice and vengeance to my enemies. I'm owed that much at least am I not?"
"You're owed far more than that, old friend," Tormund said as he rose and left him alone.
That was the truth of things, he was owed much and he still owed much himself. Right or wrong, he was a Kinslayer and the worst of it was that he'd done it for them rather than for those he should have done it for. For Sansa, Arya, Bran, Tyrion, and even for Sam. He'd done it for them and not one of them had stood for him when the time came. There had been others who'd not spoken up for him too and yet it was those five that he truly held in contempt. Grey Worm stood for his queen as did Yara Greyjoy, while Davos had not known the truth about him and wished him only to live. His friends and his family, though, had cared not for Jon Snow and so he cared not for them. Not any longer.
He finished his stew as Syrax finished her own meal above him, yet another raven falling to her fury and hunger. His eagle then landed on his shoulder the moment that he rose to his feet and sheathed his sword. She was needy for his attention and he for the distraction. So as he moved to the stream and washed his bowl, he spoke to her about her day and about his own, even though there was no need for him to voice the words. Once he was done, he made his way to the fires and spent the first part of the night listening to Tormund tell more of his tall tales. He was more than happy to hear that these ones were about his own adventures and not about Jon's.
Later as he lay down for his night's sleep, he wondered what dreams would come this night. For the ones he'd had for moons had shown him the truth of things, or some of it at least. Syrax rested on the perch he'd placed for her near his bed and only that Ghost was still some miles away, or the white wolf would be adding to his blankets. Closing his eyes, he was hit by the sight of her violet ones and as always, he felt the shame of what he'd done.
"I'm sorry, Dany," he said softly as he drifted off to sleep.
He found himself standing on a hill and watching as arrows flew down on those below. The black dragon banner flew high and named them as the Blackfyres they were. Turning to the archers, he saw the tall silver-haired man with the wine-stained face and knew then for certain who he was and where he was. This was the Weeping Ridge and the man he stared at was Lord Bloodraven, the White Worm, the Man with a Thousand eyes and one. What surprised him most of all, however, were the tears that flowed from Bloodraven's eyes as he fired arrow after arrow.
As he turned away from one sight to look at another, he almost wept himself. The twin boys could be no more than two and ten and yet Jon knew that would save them not, not this day. He swore he heard the pained roar from a man who could only be their father as the first of the twin boys fell. Daemon Blackfyre refused to leave his dead son's side even as he too fell to the arrows that Bloodraven and his Raven's Teeth fired down upon them. Jon tried to call out to the other boy to run far from this battle. Yet his words went unheard and the second twin picked up his father's sword before he too was struck down by the arrows that had killed his father and brother.
"A heavy cost, but one I had to pay," Bloodraven said and when Jon turned to face him, he could see that his tears had now turned to blood.
Within the blink of an eye, he was at the gates of King's Landing and he watched as the Blackfyre army took the walls and swept through the city. Following after them, he saw them sack the city and it was a cruel and grisly sight. One that he had witnessed firsthand before and yet it was not to be the end of the horrors he was to be shown before his night's sleep was done. He watched as a king and queen and their sons were put to the sword. As men, women, and children all bearing the silver hair of his House, now all met their ends at the hands of bloodthirsty men.
War spread over the land for the next few years or that's how it seemed to Jon's eyes. Lannisters, Arryns, Tullys, Tyrells, Baratheons, Martells, and Starks all fell in the blink of an eye and all at the hands of those bearing the banner of the Black Dragon. He wanted to scream at them to stop, to loudly decry their idiocy and bloodthirstiness, and yet no words left his mouth. Then once again he was atop the Weeping Ridge and he looked to see that the battle had not yet begun. Bloodraven raised his hand and yet his eyes were not on the valley below him but on Jon's own.
"Fire," Bloodraven called out and Jon once again saw the tears as they fell from his eyes.
He woke up screaming, Syrax screeching as he did so, and had it been anyone other than Tormund that had entered his tent, then he may have struck them.
"Be at peace, Jon Snow, 'tis but a dream," Tormund said and after Jon pointed to the jug, he filled a mug of water for him that he drank down. "The same as the others?" Tormund asked worriedly once he'd done so.
"Worse," he said to a frown from his friend.
"It's morning now, Jon, time to rise."
"Thanks be to the Old Gods." he japed or tried to at least.
His morning routine was the same as it had been since he'd rode out with the Free Folk. He broke his fast and then spent the next few hours going through his forms and training those who wished him to do so. By mid-morning, he was hungry again and so he ate some bread and dried meat. Ghost arrived as he took his shift looking out on the white snow and Syrax once again took to the sky, this time to simply kill as many ravens as she found. Jon welcomed the thought of that as he let his mind wander to the things he wished it to and not to the dreams that he'd had more and more of these past few moons.
He'd seen Bloodraven order the arrest and execution of another of Daemon Blackfyre's sons. Had been shown a different and even more cruel set of battles, where yet again the black dragon's army reaped havoc across the lands. A king who sought vengeance and justice for his fallen kin and a man who'd become a Kinslayer for the fourth time to stop it from happening. While Bloodraven didn't weep tears this time around, it was clear just by looking at him that he hated what he was doing and yet had taken it upon himself to do it. It had been made clearer then in the words that he spoke to Jon when he looked his way.
"Cursed is the Kinslayer, young dragon, but at times some kin needs to be slain. You know this as much as I do and that great burden fell to us both, did it not."
Had it not been for those words, then Jon would have been certain that the message the gods, his dreams, or even Bran, was trying to send him was that vengeance was a dark path and one he should not travel. Now he was certain that instead, the message was that while he'd done a terrible thing, he'd done the right thing too. Dany had been lost, her losses had broken her and he was too broken to fix her. He'd not had the time, there had simply not been enough of it and in the end, that had always been the true curse of his life.
"Time fucks us all," he said under his breath.
It had truly been the story of his life after all. His mother and father had run out of time, his uncle and brothers too, and he'd been racing and fighting against it from the moment he arrived at the Wall right up until he fell to the blades of traitors. From his march to Winterfell to the Battle of the Bastards, his arrival on Dragonstone, to the fight against the Night King, and then to the fall of King's Landing. Time and timing had fucked him every step of the way and it had taken him time to come to terms not only with that but with the fact that it had been helped along in doing so.
Sansa with her plots, Sam with his telling of his truth, Tyrion with his pleas, Arya with her words, and Bran with every single thing that he did or did not do. Jon laughed yet another bitter laugh at the last of those, the irony not lost on him. The only one who was unaffected by time was the one who somehow knew more about it than any of them. The Three-Eyed Raven could swim in the rivers of time itself and so he'd been able to place the pieces on the board in the perfect position to get what he wished from them all. Bran Stark had won the game by making it seem as if he wasn't playing. When in truth, he'd fixed the damn board from the start.
"Let's see you fix this game, cousin," he said rising to his feet.
The dreams came to him again that night. Though these were different, they were far more pleasant.
He now clearly saw the silver-haired man and the dark-haired woman that he'd only glimpsed before. They lay on the covers of a bed and the man sang softly as he stroked the swell of the woman's belly. When he was done, the woman spoke and her voice was the most soothing sound that Jon had ever heard. For it was the first time he'd ever heard his mother speak.
"Will he sing too, my love?"
"His song will be the greatest of all, Lya, his will be the Song of Ice and fire."
"My sweet prince, my sweet Jacaerys."
"Our prince who was promised to us."
He tried to walk in and speak to them, only to find himself standing on the deck of a ship as it sailed into a harbor. Were it not for the sheer height of the tower that he could see ahead of him, then he'd not have had any idea where this harbor was. For it was not the North, Dragonstone, Eastwatch, or King's Landing and Jon had been to no others. The tower though named it as Oldtown and he smiled at the sight, only to then be taken completely by another.
Her hair was even redder than Ygritte's had been, yet she was as different from the wild woman that he'd loved once as any could be. Her sigh seemed sad though and yet when she began to sing a song it was anything but. He must have coughed, spoken, or even tried to sing along, for she turned in his direction as if she heard him do so. Then before he could see her face, he was standing at the base of the Hightower itself and he looked up to see a woman jump from the top of it.
She didn't hit the ground, however, as before his eyes, she turned into an eagle and then soared into the sky. Then she was a raven and then a crow before she finally stood before him as a woman once more. Her lips moved and it was clear that she was speaking to him. Yet he could hear only one word and it brought him back to another time and another place. Jon was now standing in Lord Mormont's solar and his eyes were on the raven he had kept there.
"King, King, King."
This time when he woke up he felt much different. He quickly rose from his bed and began to pack the things that he'd need into a sack. He'd not be taking much with him for he didn't actually own much. Something that amused him now as he felt just how empty the sack was. Walking from the tent, he made his way to where they would break their fast and he ate a little before seeking out Tormund to say his goodbyes. It took him some time to find his friend and when he did, Tormund looked at him resignedly.
"Come to say your goodbyes, Jon Snow.?"
"Aye, it's time. I…."
"You'll speak no words to me, for where you go I go," Tormund said and Jon looked at him to deny him, only to see that he'd not accept his words, still, he tried.
"I go to war, Tormund, it's not one I'm sure of winning and not even one I know how I'll begin."
"So just like old times then, Har!" Tormund said, laughing loudly.
"I'd see you know peace, old friend."
"Peace is fucking boring, Jon Snow, you're never boring."
"Thank you," he said, his voice choked by the emotion he felt.
"Come, we have many miles to walk do we not," Tormund said, clearly feeling it too and yet trying not to.
Two weeks later.
They'd eaten well, though Tormund had complained that other than the few settlements they'd passed through, he'd found no goat's milk to quench his thirst. While they'd started out as two, there were now close to fifty in his party. Warriors one and all and more than one warg too. It had been they who'd sought him out, words had been spoken of dreams they had. Dreams where a white dragon had called for their aid and had seen them live lives that none of them could imagine. Food, drink, gold, women, they'd earn it all by his side or so the dreams had told them and while Jon had tried to dissuade each and every one of them from the notion, he'd failed completely.
This morning as they crested the hill, they were stopped in their tracks. The giant weirwood leaned to one side and yet its roots were still attached. As for the ground beneath it, some sort of battle had taken place here and it looked as if a dragon had laid down its flames. Though the closer he got to the destroyed cave that had once lain beneath the weirwood, the more it became clear it was no dragon that had done this.
"This is an evil place, Jon Snow," Tormund said and yet Ghost moved to a gap in the ground and entered it without a second thought as he did so.
"There is something there for me, Tormund, I know not what, but there is something I need in there," he said pointing to the gap that Ghost had disappeared into.
"Then go alone. We'll wait for you here." Tormund wasn't scared, it wasn't who he was, but it was clear that Jon had found the one place where he'd not follow, which did give him some pause.
"I'll return. I always do," he said and was pleased to see the smirk that appeared on Tormund's face at his words.
It was easy enough to squeeze his way into the gap and once he did, he found Ghost waiting for him. Reaching down his gloved hand to stroke the white fur, he bid Ghost lead the way and then followed behind him, dagger in his other hand just in case. When he reached the large almost collapsed cavern, he knew where he was and kicked himself for not figuring it out before now. Bran had come to this place, this had been where Bloodraven had trained him and as he moved the earth in front of him, Jon almost jumped when he felt the hand beneath it.
Moving the earth to one side, the body that he then found beneath it didn't look much like the Bloodraven he'd seen in his dreams. It was older and decrepit. Basically, it was just skin and bones and Jon believed that this wasn't simply a result of it having been left to the elements for some time. This was the fate that Bloodraven had wrought upon himself, the curse that he'd brought down upon his head and it was a sobering thought. For it may very well be the fate that would one day be Jon's too.
"This is not how a dragon should be honored," he said softly as he dug up the rest of the body not noticing that he was not the only one who was digging things up.
By the time he'd fully uncovered Bloodraven's body, Ghost had dug up his own little treasures. Jon moved to where the white wolf was and found himself looking at a large chest. Opening it, he found some black armor tinged with red and its breastplate was embossed with a large white dragon that was loosing its red flames. There was a scarlet cloak that was hooded and some jewelry that looked expensive. There was a folded banner and when he opened it out, he saw it bore the same sigil that the armor did. Yet it was the white weirwood bow that truly took Jon's breath away. As he was admiring it, Ghost nudged him and Jon turned to see that he bore a chain in his mouth that had a single blood-red ruby as its stone. He patted the wolf's head and turned away, only for Ghost to nudge him again and then again.
"What is it boy?" he asked before he closed his eyes and saw through Ghost's own "You want me to wear this?" he then asked when he found nothing through their connection and Ghost then nudged him again.
Placing the chain around his neck, he felt it immediately. The power of the gem was clear to him, and yet he knew not what it did. When he went to remove it, Ghost stopped him, his wolf snarling at him and so Jon nodded and left it where it was. He dragged the chest to the surface and pushed it out through the gap before he turned and moved back inside. Jon then lifted up the body of Bloodraven, before carrying it from the cavern and out into the open grounds above.
Tormund looked at him aghast when he saw what he bore in his arms and he was not the only one of the Free Folk to do so.
"An ancestor of mine," he said which changed the looks somewhat "A dragon just like me and we don't bury dragons, we burn them."
Some of the men gathered wood for the pyre and he laid Bloodraven's body atop it before he then set it ablaze. He said few words, none of them aloud and he hoped that wherever he was, his kinsman heard him and welcomed what he'd done. As the fire burned, Jon moved to the chest, took the armor out, and began to put it. While it was ill-fitting, it actually fitted him a lot better than he'd expected and in time he knew that he could get it more tailored to his body. Placing the quiver of unused arrows on his back, and the weirwood bow across his shoulder, Jon put on the cloak and he almost chuckled at the whistle that came from Tormund as he did so. He put the gems and the banner into his sack and then nodded at the men to make ready to leave. Tormund then moved to stand by his side.
"Now you truly look like a Dragonking, Jon Snow."
"Jon Snow is dead, Tormund. He burned in that fire just as my ancestor did. Many years ago a man I knew not was my great uncle told me what it was I must do, though I mistook his meaning. Now I very much do not. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born."
"Good advice."
"Aye, it was. The boy is dead, Tormund, Winter is here and that boy is finally dead. My name is Jacaerys Targaryen and the time has come for Fire and Blood." Jacaerys said firmly as he, Tormund, and the others he'd gathered now left the giant weirwood behind them and began their long trek south.
A/N: Not sure yet where this fits in the update schedule, but we'll see.
Up Next: Jacaerys Targaryen finds more allies at the Bridge of Skulls while Davos has a dream which takes him from King's Landing to Oldtown. Malora and Desmera speak and plans are made to welcome a King to the Hightower. While in the North, Sansa makes a costly deal with the Iron Bank and In Kings Landing, Tyrion hears worrying news about the man he convinced to kill a queen.
So this was an idea I couldn't let go, based in part on the speculation of what a Jon Snow post-season 8 Show could look like and with the addition of a paring that was suggested to me for a different fic.
For those who say I've too much on my plate already, I feel it's time I truly explained my writing process.
In order not to have any writer's block, I move away from the story that's given me any trouble and either go to a different story, a different chapter in the original story or a completely new one. That way I'm always writing and never just sitting looking at a blank screen.
I find that it allows me to work around the writer's block and then I can easily go back to where I had the problem and then carry on as if I never had one.
The result of that is things like this and more stories ongoing than maybe I should have, but it's a price I gladly pay to avoid the alternative, of not having anything to write at all.
