No Surprises
For the Watch
The courtyard was in chaos.
For the Watch
You know nothing
For the Watch
A silver blade flashed in the black darkness
For the Watch
I will cut out your bastard's heart and eat it
For the Watch
Red blood stained white snow
For the Watch
Kill the boy and let the man be born
For the Watch
A black body lay face first on the cold ground
For the Watch
Stick them with the pointy end
For the Watch.
…
Jon could barely breathe. Sometimes he imagined he was looking through Ghost's eyes. Sometimes it was through his own, dying in the cold. He could hear the men shouting. A fire had started. There was the clanging ring of metal and shouting. He couldn't understand them. This was a dream. None of this was real. His sister was not being hunted by the animal that wore human skins. Stannis Baratheon was still alive. Bowen Marsh and Yarwick had not mutinied. This was not reality. It couldn't be.
But if it was a dream why did everything hurt so much? He didn't feel the blades and tears in his flesh. Only the freezing miserable cold. Jon wished he was dreaming.
His vision cleared slightly.
The Shieldhall was in flames. He was flying in the sky. He was no longer Lord Snow nor Ghost the Direwolf but Mormont's raven. His vision returned to his husk of a body. He began to think of how he got here.
He imagined his grandfather and uncle he never met, one cooked alive in armor and the other strangled. His lord father beheaded, head on a spike. The corpse of his brother Robb paraded around a wedding, Robb's head replaced with that of a wolf's. Mutineer's using the Old Bear's skull as a chalice. Bran and Rickon's charred bodies hanging from Winterfell's bannisters like banners. Qhorin Halfhand's throat slit by Longclaw. Donal Noye dead at the gate with a giant slain at his feet. Ygritte filled with arrows. Maester Aemon passing away on a boat. And now himself, betrayed and murdered. Like his father, like his brother, like his predecessor.
It was fate. It surely had to be fate 'for he never had chance. What would the odds of not only his father, brothers and mentor all being betrayed to violent deaths.
He didn't feel it but someone turned him onto his back. A girl, chestnut haired in Summer clothes. She was freezing too. Ghost sniffed at his feet. The dream only continued to get stranger. Leathers was covered in flames, before disappearing completely. Rory swung a sword at a black brother before vanishing instantly as well. Tormund and Satin peered into vision and dragged him into a dark room. He thought he could see blonde hair with white furs and crimson hair with reddish black robes. The last thing he saw was Ghost's face, staring into his own, before it faded into black.
•
The brown haired girl wasn't supposed to be here. She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She was also on house arrest, waiting for a trial. She was certain this was some strange dream. But she had never felt so cold in her life. It hurt too much to be a dream. It was more of a nightmare. She prayed to the Seven, if they existed, that her feet wouldn't get frost bite. Her dress, plain and not as extravagant as she was used to, did little to help her situation.
This was a bonafide nightmare. Men wearing stags in red burning hearts, Stannis's men. The men had begun to battle with each other, men in black clothes were fighting each other as well and now some savage looking people entered the fray. Buildings were on fire. She kept her head low as she crept, none of the Baratheon men recognized her.
Fifteen yards out there was a boy around her age laying in the snow, some ornate sword in his hand. Just barely she could see his breathe. She moved closer. Maybe if she helped he could protect her or he had something she could defend herself with. Maybe she just didn't want to be alone. Its not like he looked to be in any shape to hurt her.
Two cold dirty metal hands roughly grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around. She let out a yelp. The man was ugly and terrifying. Fat with a white beard and tattoos along his arms, one of the savages from earlier. Next to him was a man in black. She screamed and a hand covered her mouth.
"You, wilding girl. Did you do this to the Lord Commander!" the one in black spoke. He had a sword out. Lord Commander?
"She's clearly not a wildling you nimwit! Girl, did you see who did this?" The older of the two answered. She nodded 'no'. Another man in black clothing came to them. Younger, he looked like a boy.
"Move him into the tower! Hurry!"
She really wanted this horrible dream to end.
•
Doran Martell stared at his burning city from the Old Palace. The Targaryen girl was mad, he was sure of it. Sunspear was burning. This was no dream but reality. It was joining the fate of all the other castles in Dorne met during Aegon's Conquest. The Targaryen girl had accomplished what her ancestors only dreamed of. He was grateful he sent Arianne away. He knew for certain she was safe at least.
She had no cause nor reason for this, the Dragon Queen. Quentyn was a good boy and couldn't have done anything to offend her. The Dornish Prince sent her his oldest son with fealty and she replied by sending her dragon to burn his home. There'd be no escape now. His ancestor Meria had time to flee Sunspear, preparation. He had years worth of preparation but not for this.
Maybe he should have known better than to trust the Mad King's daughter. Her father had gone mad and dreamed of burning the Sevens Kingdoms down, her brother Rhaegar went mad and got his family overthrown, and by all reports her brother Viserys had a cruel streak before being killed by the girl's husband. Why would she be the exception?
He was a fool. A weak, crippled fool who had nothing left. His sister Elia was raped and murdered. Her children slaughtered. Olyvar and Mors died young. His wife left him. Brother Oberyn's head was crushed in a failed attempt to avenge Elia. What had they done to receive this curse? Why did House Martell deserve this? He didn't know.
But at least he had his children. Elia was long gone, to meet with the boy claiming to be Aegon. Likely a faux dragon but he had the Golden Company and lords were bending the knee. The little reputation he had shown the boy wasn't as mad as his supposed aunt. Daenerys must have taken Quentyn hostage. His heart wouldn't be able to take it otherwise. Trystane… He needed to find a way to get Trystane out of the city. Areo was gone and so were the sandsnakes. Trystane would need protection.
Grass green scales swooped into his vision and he could see nothing beyond it. The dragon had come for him now yet there was no rider. The queen from across the waters was not there. When the monster smiled directly at him; bronze eyes staring, black teeth as sharp as swords and fiery breathe beginning to boil from inside, Doran realized both his sons were dead.
•••
Just a cool concept i had. Please follow/favorite if you're interested and leave a review. Its been awhile since I've read the books so my lore's rusty. Any and all feedback's appreciated. Thank you and peace out