Had LOTS of work come in recently. So, I joined the One-Hour-Sleep Brigade for a few days.
Good to be back in the saddle! Let's get cracking!
The Water Gardens
294 AC
Rhaenys had woken just after the sun had come up when the day would be getting underway.
Starag had still not awakened from his deep slumber, which only served to further feed Rhaenys' anxiety and fear. As a result, her uncle had sent her away to wash and change her clothes.
While at first, she was angry at her uncle, she soon began to have thoughts of Starag waking up and seeing her dressed in the filthy rags she'd been wearing for nearly two days. That lightning-blue eye would flash with disappointment…
That wouldn't do. Not in the slightest. She wanted to look good for him when he would finally woke up. So, she had left to change.
With careful efficiency, she had washed the sand and salt out of her brown-auburn hair and made sure there were no longer any dirt marks on her pale skin. Then, she put on one of her usual burgundy dresses. Starag seemed to like those.
When she had returned, breakfast was just being served. Rhaenys was not hungry. How could she be? She had her Bear to look after.
She was not alone with Starag. Sitting next to the bed in a chair, was Jon Stark. He looked as if he'd just woken up, what with his bed-ridden black curls and dry grey eyes. His head was held in his hands, and Rhaenys could see the worried tension that racked his body.
Even with footsteps as light as hers, Jon Stark's head had sharply glanced upward to look at the intruder. The hard grey eyes had softened upon seeing her, though. Rhaenys was glad about that. At least, he didn't blame her for what had happened.
She sat down on her side of the large king-sized bed, next to Starag. Her eyes scanned down his seemingly chiseled and firmly muscled torso. Even when his tanned flesh had been littered with countless, horribly jagged and pink scars… Rhaenys did not consider it an ugly sight.
There had been many far before the Shadowcat, it seemed. No doubt from the many enemies he'd gone up against while she had read damn near all the books in her library. She wondered how many times Starag Mormont had been tended to by a Maester…
Or another woman. The thought was swift and uneasy for her. But it made sense. Women were intrinsically drawn to dangerous men who they could take care of. Rhaenys herself was proof of that. And there were likely many others who could say the same.
Rhaenys did not care for it anyway. She wanted this man. He'd brought new warmth and life into her being. Starag had saved her from a dangerous and desperate beast knowing full well he could die.
And… He came back in spite of his condition… Any other man would've simply given up. But her Bear was not like other men.
She was about ready to weep again when she noticed Jon Stark sitting back against his chair. There was a lute in his lap now. Still, his long face was sorrowful and stolid.
"Why don't you go get breakfast, Jon?" Rhaenys said, forcing herself to hold back her tears. "I'm sure Starag would want you to play for him on a full stomach?"
Jon had shaken his head. "Not now." He said with a sad smile. "As silly as it sounds… I can't eat without him…"
Rhaenys' breath had caught in her throat, but she did not give it away. "I understand."
It's all your fault. A traitorous voice had echoed back at her. She tried to ignore it. The tightly wrapped bandage over Starag's left eye socket had firmly reminded her, however.
Jon was Starag's squire-or surrogate nephew. The least she could do for him was to get his focus away from the Lord of Bear Island…
Yes… That was it. Perhaps it might just take her mind off Starag as well. "How long have you played?" Rhaenys asked with a nod to the lute.
"Only a few moons," Jon answered. His hand snaked around the neck and covered the gleaming silver strings. "It's been hell getting in some practice. What with sparring, card games, and parties… But I managed."
"And how good are you?"
Jon shrugged slightly. "I'm well enough, I suppose…" He trailed off. Those grey eyes had met her gaze once more. "What about you? Ever play one?"
Rhaenys had lightly shaken her head. "I'm afraid not." She answered. She caught herself from mentioning her father, and his love of singing while he delicately and masterfully played the harp. Sometimes she could still hear it before she fell asleep. It was a rare occurrence, but a pleasant one. "I have been told I've quite the singing voice, though."
It was a half-truth. She'd been told rather firmly by her mother that she would not stop crying for weeks as a babe. She'd kept up the whole bloody Stone Drum night after night, apparently.
Still, perhaps she had inherited her father's voice for music, too.
Jon nodded and began strumming the strings one by one, his hand occasionally returning to the nut to properly tune the silver chords. "My uncle Arthur tried to get me to sing once…" He said while engrossed in his current task. "My throat was rather itchy for a few days after."
Rhaenys managed a small smile. She remembered that The Sword of the Morning himself was his maternal uncle.
Far away memories had seeped to the surface. The dark-haired Dornishman with glittering purple eyes had smiled warmly at her in every single one. Arthur Dayne was her father's best friend. Rhaenys had also grown up calling him uncle.
When her mother was busy tending to the needs of the smallfolk or managing the Stone Drum, it was Arthur who would accompany her to Aegon's Garden. They would play hide-and-seek on the grounds. Somehow, Rhaenys always seemed to evade him.
She knew now that Arthur had likely caught her on many occasions, but kept up the pretense that he hadn't seen her hiding behind a small bush of beady cranberries.
Life was much simpler back then. Far before Robert's Rebellion. Far before her brother and mother had been killed. Far before she fell in love with Starag Mormont.
"And what about now?" She asked. "Has your voice improved?"
Now it was Jon's turn to smile. "A little. I can manage a few lines without my voice cracking." He chuckled softly.
Rhaenys' smile had widened at the jest. "Then perhaps I could sing for you?" She had surprised herself with the quick words. "While you play, of course."
Jon Stark gave her a curious glance, and then briefly his grey eyes had landed on Starag's sleeping face. For only the briefest of moments, Rhaenys wondered if she had seen those dark grey orbs turn amethyst.
"I don't see why not…" Jon looked back at her. "I'm sure Uncle Starag would appreciate it." He said with a light smile.
Rhaenys had barely sung before, only trying to match her father's voice during a feast or two when she was barely four. That was where her rather lacking expertise had ended.
But she'd put her best foot forward, naturally. She always did.
"Know any songs?" The inevitable question had come. Rhaenys, while not initially prepared to answer, had her mind quickly scouring its depths for a solution.
Within seconds, the answer had come to her.
"There is one… But I'm not sure if you know it." Rhaenys had begun with an embarrassed blush. "It's called 'Puff, The Magic Dragon'. My father used to sing it to me before we went to sleep."
Thankfully, Jon's nod had affirmed his knowledge of the tune. "I played it back on the Roseroad, I think…" He reached down for the small booklet at the foot of his chair. He opened it and flipped through it, quickly finding the song in question. "Only just the once, but I'm sure we'll manage."
"That works for me," Rhaenys said with a warm smile.
It had taken the unlikely pair a few attempts to finally get in the groove, but they had eventually matched up both voice and lute in the same rhythm.
Outside, passersby would walk the halls. Once they'd gone past the door to Starag's room, they would stop and listen to the harmonious voice and beautifully stringing lute playing in tandem.
Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff
Oh, Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on Puff's gigantic tail
Noble kings and princes would bow whenever they came
Pirate ships would lower their flags when Puff roared out his name
Oh, Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant's rings make way for other toys
One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And Puff, that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar
His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave
So Puff, that mighty dragon, sadly slipped into his cave
Oh, Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Puff the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honah Lee
Eternity
How long had he been falling?
The question had echoed softly in his dazed and groggy mind. It was hard to judge how much time had passed when one didn't know where they were.
All Mormont had seen was the great steaming clouds sprinkled with red and blue stars as if they'd been robbed from the midnight sky itself. Far below him was a great black void with more of the distant and familiar tiny white dots.
It felt so incredibly real. Starag wondered if he really had been killed by that Shadowcat, and his half-dead ride to the Water Gardens had just been a dream.
Was this what the journey to the afterlife was like? A crashing descent through these magnificent and strangely beautiful wisps of black smoke illuminated by a sea-blue light?
Who would he meet once he arrived? Who would be waiting for him? And would Rhaenys be with him, too?
Mormont had paled as he realized who else would be waiting for him. Ingrid would be there, of course. How would he introduce Rhaenys to her? And which one would he like the most?
Perhaps one simply loved all the girls one had met in their life. Tricky business, indeed.
It was all unimaginable to him. How could something like this place exist and simply go unnoticed by everyone else? How had nobody noticed any of it?
This infinitely vast expanse of shimmering black void and floating wreaths of flaming stars had completely stunned him into humiliating reverence for the spectacular scenes playing out before him.
There were few moments in his life where Mormont humbled himself. Usually in the presence of a mentor who knew more about a particular subject than he did or someone who had lived up to their reputation.
But this? The gaping region of black, indigo, and blue space that stretched out endlessly before him? This was a much different beast- if it could be called that… One that made Starag Mormont feel rather small in the grand scale of things.
What was he compared to what the Maesters of the Citadel called 'The Void'? The inky black sky he enjoyed so much in his youthful travels had finally engulfed him in its never-ending embrace.
It bitterly reminded him of the struggles he'd gone through in the past few moons. Of how hard he toiled to keep himself in fighting shape, and how lucky he was on more than several occasions to have made it out by the skin of his teeth.
None of it seemed to matter to him now. All of it was simply just the nagging thoughts and problems of an ant who had come face-to-face with a boot.
Were there other places like Westeros in this dark void? With other people just as hopelessly naive just like himself?
Then again, humans often led short lives. Who else would care for them and their problems if not themselves? The Gods? Perhaps, but it was more often than not that most people didn't give the Gods a reason to care.
Were humans meant to gaze out upon the stars like he was? Were they intended to seek and strive for more besides their little slice of the black void? Of course, they were. He was living proof of that- or at least he was.
But it only raised a stark question in his mind. Why was he here?
Was he dead? Was he sleeping? Was this all some sort of elaborate dream his mind had cooked up?
He saw the shimmering ray of rainbow sunlight in the distance. It glared at him through the thick golden brown clouds and beckoned him forward. In the center was a large and blinking light blue star.
The whole thing looked more like a giant eye staring back at him from the other end of space. And Mormont felt the presence of… something beyond the distant curtain of smoky brown clouds.
He wasn't exactly sure about what had happened next. The stretch of void in front of him had bent and folded upon itself. Immediately, he was pulled sharply forward into a wide circular vortex of spinning white water.
He actually didn't know if it was water since he felt no moisture on his face as he was thrown into the hailstorm and violently shot forward. Perhaps it was the stars? He didn't know.
The narrow blue eye and warm rainbow light had suddenly gotten much closer. Now he could clearly see the source of the sublime glare in front of him.
It was a swirling vortex of nearly blinding white stars and dust. It was unimaginably huge, far bigger than anything Starag had seen in his whole life. In the middle was the multi-colored pupil which gazed back at him emotionlessly.
His voyage through the black void had begun to speed up as once again, he was thrown into the center of the great white eye. That was when he remembered that he only had one eye since he forced it shut so as to not blind himself.
A bitter tang had come into his mouth, but he forced himself out of his musings. He'd already killed the bloody Shadowcat. There was nothing else he could do to get his eye back.
Spacetime continued to bend and shape in front of him. Swirling lengths of lanky black clouds twisted and writhed like worms that had been skewered on a fish hook. He had gone passed them and came out of a vast network of dancing white stars.
Finally, the harsh wind had stopped. When he'd cracked his eye open just slightly to see what was going on, that was when he saw it.
Seeing the Sun up close was not exactly what he had in mind. The great big ball of golden fire had been carelessly placed in the middle of the vast expanse of space. It did not look inviting in the least.
Yet Mormont was not heading for the Sun. No, something had been pulling him towards another, smaller orb in the distance. This one was not orange or smothered in fire. And it was not a lifeless grey rock like the orb he'd also passed by which he assumed to be the Moon.
It was largely blue, with a few patches of green and brown here and there. As Starag pulled closer to the ball, he felt a strange sense of familiarity with it. The green and brown patches… They looked rather similar to-
Of course… The Known World had beckoned him to come closer. Whatever had been taking him back home had propelled him forward once more. As he descended, he could clearly make out both Westeros ad Essos on the great big ball of blue and green. It was just like reading a map, albeit a spherical one.
There were a few other strips of green on the rounded edges which he could not clearly see, and neither did he get a chance to find out as he was roughly pulled towards Westeros and began to feel the biting rush of wind as he fell down, down, down towards the North.
Next, he found himself standing on the rocky banks of Stony Shore, gazing out at the Sunset Sea. The sky above was blanketed in dark grey clouds that rumbled and shook violently with the cracking of thunder.
The clouds had quickly formed into the silhouette of a human, a man. Except the figure was a colossal giant who simply waded waist-deep through the depths of the ocean like Mormont had done in the shallow pools at the Water Gardens.
In the wispy black smoke clouds, Mormont could make out the makings of a long thick beard and wavy back-length hair. Though none of it was any discernible color. It was all tendrils of black smog.
Almost briefly, the gargantuan figure had glanced at him with impassive stormy blue orbs for eyes. They were literally crackling with sparks.
A light rain had begun to pelt down on Mormont, yet he found he could not move his feet. Neither could he say a word as he continued watching the Sunset Sea.
Suddenly, the ground shook violently as something else had come up from the depths. Mormont saw massive black tendrils the size and length of the winding streets in King's Landing shoot out of the dark blue water.
What the fuck… Mormont watched as the massive tentacles immediately grappled the man-shaped storm cloud. Despite the man being made of nothing but air, the fleshy black tendrils had successfully wrapped around his misty arms and torso, attempting to pull him deeper into the sea.
The Storm- as Starag had decided to call it- had raised a closed right fist and sunk his hand shoulder-deep into the crashing and rolling waves. The Storm had quickly pulled his hand up, along with whatever he had found.
Starag Mormont would've taken a step back if he could. Yet as shocked as he was, he still could not move an inch.
In the Storm's hand was by far the most monstrously titanic Kraken he had ever seen.
By the much thicker beginnings of its impossibly long tentacles were endless rows of razor-sharp teeth, each probably the size of a lance, or perhaps even double that. Its outer shell was black and hard chitin, and glowering up at its opponent were four distinct glowing emerald eyes.
Even just for the slightest moment, it too had noticed his presence. The largest of the emerald eyes glared at him with the same intense malicious fury and burning hatred as it did for The Storm.
The two had continued battling, shaking both the sea and the sky above. Forks of lightning cracked down onto the Kraken's hard shell, forcing the massive beast back into the sea. The world shook violently as the Kraken shrieked terribly in pain from underneath the waves.
Meanwhile, the tentacles that had stayed above water had come together to summon an enormous wave. Gods… It must've been upwards of two hundred feet tall… The curved wall of salt black waves had come sprawling forward towards both him and The Storm.
Mormont could still not move an inch. Not even as he tried his best to writhe and claw away on his feet. He didn't budge. He might as well have been a statue.
What was all of this? Why was he here? What did all of it mean? Why did it feel so real?
He was helpless to stop the coming wave of saltwater from crashing into him. Yet… He felt nothing of the impact. And neither was he drenched in salt and spray.
Stony Shore had quickly faded away, and now Mormont found himself standing on the other side of the Wall. Now, he could move his limbs and even felt the cool harsh air that seemed to dry up his lungs.
He could see nothing in the blinding gust of snow and wind. The blizzard blocked his limited line of sight completely, and he-
Wait… No, there was something out there standing among the snow. He just barely saw a figure wearing a billowing black cloak. At his side was a large iron brazier, still burning brightly even in a storm like this one… How?
The figure was holding a sword, which curiously enough, was also set ablaze. And as Starag approached, trying to rub his arms down to warm himself, he then saw the fearsome white wolf, nearly as large as a horse.
Had Mormont not just seen two magnificent and terrifying titans battling it out over the Sunset Sea, he would've been stunned at seeing the massive Direwolf that stood proudly next to the man with the flaming sword.
The white wolf had turned its head slowly to see him. Two ruby red eyes looked at him with… a strange warmth inside of them. As if they had recognized him, even despite Mormont having never seen one of the beasts before in his life.
The man too, turned his head to look at him. Starag nearly stopped breathing when he recognized who it was.
It was Jon.
He was older, perhaps eight-and-ten, and he even had the strong beginnings of a tidy beard. Not only that, but he was much taller now, about as tall as Ned. Those hard grey eyes had softened upon seeing him, and they even flashed their usual violet tint.
Jon didn't say anything to him. Not in this bloody storm. Mormont doubted anything could be heard except the sound of snow blowing hard into the gushing wind.
But… Why was Jon here?
He wasn't wearing the garb of the Night's Watch. In fact, Mormont had seen the familiar dark leather coat of plates that Ned often wore into battle. Around Jon's neck was a thin steel gorget with the twin direwolves of House Stark. His tight black curls were also tied to the back of his head.
He was waiting for something, Mormont knew. But what? The Wildlings?
Jon simply gave him a familiar wicked smirk before he refixed the cold-iron look of the Lord of Winterfell on his face and looked back into the blizzard ahead. His flaming sword was held in the battle-ready stance that Mormont had come to know so well.
Starag followed Jon's iron stare out into the white storm. Even with one eye, it hadn't taken Mormont long to see them.
Rows upon rows of crystal blue eyes stared back at them, stretching as far as the Wall was long in both directions. There were quite possibly hundreds of thousands of eyes focused squarely on Jon and Mormont.
It was then that Starag had thought back to the stories told to him in his childhood by his father. Aemon the Dragonknight, of Bloodraven, and The Last Hero.
Old Nan had told her own version of the third story. It was much darker, and probably more accurate than the heroic and watered-down edition his father had told him. Her rattled and aged voice had told him of The White Walkers, and of the terrible omen that came with them.
The Others… Were they actually real?
It could all just be a silly dream... Yet...
Mormont only saw the vast hoard of piercing blue eyes. They certainly looked real at the moment.
It was not so much of a grand leap to suppose that the Others really did exist. The existence of the Wall was surely more than enough evidence. Why else would it be there if not to keep the White Walkers at bay? The Wildlings- even when united- were defeated multiple times over by the Starks of Winterfell. They alone were not nearly enough of a threat.
Instinctively, his hand reached for his belt. He was immensely satisfied to know that even in a dream as maddening as this one, his beloved sword had not left his side.
What was all of this? A warning from the Old Gods? Of the harsh days to come? That Starag Mormont still had much work to do before he left this world forever?
So be it. He thought to himself. It would take more than a desperate and starving Shadowcat to break him. Mormont still had the fight left within him to survive. And he'd be damned if he left Jon to handle the Others all on his own, even if this was all just a dream.
He drew Longclaw from the bloodied fur sheath and ignored the biting cold as best he could. Mormont stood by Jon's side and watched the growing crowd of ice-blue eyes.
Starag let out a harsh bark of laughter. What were the vows again? Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death…
The first two lines were all he needed. If it came down to it, he would gladly die standing next to Jon, holding the enemy at bay from consuming the rest of Westeros in icy and final winter.
"Wake up, Starag Mormont…" A deepened, rich voice had called out to him clearly through the deafening blizzard. It was a man's voice. It thundered authoritatively in his mind. "Your rest has come to an end… You have so much to do… And so little time to do it in…"
Who was it? Starag glanced around in the winding storm and had looked over his shoulders. He widened his eyes when he saw it again.
The gargantuan smoky black Storm Giant he had seen battling the Great Kraken stood far behind him. It seemed almost as tall as the Wall itself, yet he could still see those large crackling blue eyes aimed directly at him.
What was this… Entity? A God? Potentially, though Mormont was unsure of which one. There were many gods and religions in Westeros and thousands more in Essos. Which one could this be?
The Old Gods lived in their trees, yet he was not fool enough to believe that that was the extent of their powers. They lived in the grass, in the soil of the land, in the rock, and in the water. Perhaps even in the sky, as well…
Those blue orbs of pure lightning had not denied his suspicions, either.
"Wake. Up." The voice said once more. This time, it was final.
The blinding white snow had disappeared. So did Jon, the brazier, and the huge white Direwolf. Even the grand army of ice-blue eyes ceased to exist.
The last thing he saw before his vision had faded to black, were those two beaming lightning eyes staring right back at him.