We check back on Jon before a long awaited reunion.
44. A Time for Wolves
Jon
Forgive me, my prince. It seems the Lord of Light doesn't want her back.
But I do.
Jon woke up with the anger burning so fresh, he could almost taste it. Bitter, like an old remedy Maester Luwin used to force down his throat when he was a boy.
The memory still stung. He had commanded Melisandre to perform the same ritual she had used to bring him back from the dead on Yara, watching as the red woman went through the motions of cleaning the body and chanting words he could not understand. When she began cutting Yara's hair, he glanced at Ser Davos, who nodded back, confirming it was the same ritual.
The result, however, was a failure.
We could wait, Davos had said. When you came back, it wasn't right away.
But Jon knew Melisandre had the right of it. Whatever god had brought him back from the dead would not do the same for Yara.
Once he realised this, he flew into a rage, grabbing hold of the red woman's neck and squeezing until her eyes bulged in their sockets. Only Theon's intervention had made him pause, the younger Greyjoy's attempt to stop him eerily similar to what Yara had done to him when he had first hopped aboard the Black Wind so long ago.
She's gone, Jon. Let it go.
And he tried. Tried to ignore the pain and guilt to focus on what he knew he could do. Fight. He would train every muscle in his body with the single purpose of becoming a better fighter, a better killer. If this cruel god had brought him back just for that, he would do his duty. If he couldn't be happy, he would at least be useful.
He had even agreed to teach Dany a few things and, considering their early lessons, she could really use the help. Her muscles weren't strong enough to keep up with him for too long, growing exhausted way too quickly. Most lessons ended up with her lying on her back, drenched in sweat and breathless, begging for a break, while he was barely tired at all.
Whenever he could, he also went to Ghost, losing himself in the wolf's mind. He preferred it when his direwolf was hunting, his senses so attuned that it made his own worries meaningless. But lately his friend had been spending a lot of time with Alys Karstark, and Jon tried to avoid seeing that as much as possible. Whenever he spied the lady's large pregnant belly, he couldn't stop worrying about the future.
A future he hoped to escape.
Rising from his large empty bed, he stretched his limbs and yawned, tired eyes drifting to the open window. Used to the northern climate, he couldn't stand the stifling heat of the capital, even in what was supposed to be winter. His guards had complained, claiming that to sleep with open windows was to invite death, but that threat held little sway for him.
Casting his eyes about, he cringed at the spacious chambers he now called home. As prince of the realm, he had been given the grandest of accommodations, even better than the future queen, for Cersei Lannister seemed to have a mind for games. Until the woman relinquished her crown, most decisions went through her, and she had decided to give him her late husband's old bedchamber within Maegor's Holdfast.
His future wife had also agreed to relocate to the Maidenvault, allowing Dany to make use of the other chambers in the old square fortress in the heart of the Red Keep. Jon didn't know much about it save for what he had read in books. That the castle-within-a-castle was built to suit Maegor's paranoia, filled with secret passages and hidden ways to escape within a moment's notice, most of which were lost to time, as the old Targaryen king had all builders killed when they finished its construction.
After relieving himself in the privy, he splashed some water on his face and rinsed his mouth with mint, getting ready for another day. Judging by the darkened sky he had glimpsed outside the windows, it should be a couple of hours until sunrise, just enough time to…
KNOCK KNOCK
His chambers were so large that he had to walk across the small solar between the bedroom and the door, weaving around comfortable chairs and a table filled with fruits and bread and other breakfast foods, along with empty goblets and a pitcher of wine that somebody had already placed there for him.
Reaching the door, he asked, "What is it?"
The door cracked open a bit, "Lady Melisandre is here to see you, my prince."
"Let her in."
Were it anyone else, he might tell them to wait until he was presentable. Not her. She needed to see his scars, to see the mess she had brought back when she chose to play god with his life.
With a flourish, the red woman entered the room, her robe billowing as she walked. After the door closed behind her, she looked him up and down, her eyes lingering a bit on his naked chest before she bowed low.
"My Prince."
"What are you doing here?" He was in no mood to entertain guests, least of all her.
The priestess straightened her back. "I came to beg your forgiveness for having failed you."
"I don't forgive you." He replied almost instantly. "Was that all?"
She seemed to be expecting that, for her expression did not change. "No. I also saw something in the flames. A vision of—"
"I don't care." He interrupted her. "Why should I believe anything you say?"
"Because my visions saved your life."
Jon sank into the closest chair, letting out a weary sigh. "And you believe I should be grateful to you, for having brought me back from the dead?"
"I am but a servant, my Prince." Melisandre intoned, her voice stronger now. "It was not I who brought you back. It was the Lord of Light, R'hllor."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, using his fingers to rub his eyelids shut. "Did you ever stop to think about that? Your red god uses dead men for his army, just like the Night King. Sometimes I wonder what's the difference between me and a mindless wight, brought back just to fight and kill for its master."
"Then please allow me to show you the difference."
He heard a soft thud followed by the shuffling of feet coming closer. When curiosity got the better of him, he opened his eyes to see her nude. Only the ruby necklace remained on her slender frame, her milky skin so smooth and unwrinkled, it seemed almost unnatural.
Reaching for his hand and placing it over her breast, she said, "You are far more than a mindless soldier, my prince." She moved to sit upon his thigh, the heat of her core so strong it spread all over his lower body. "You have the power to make life. To make light. Allow me to ease your burdens." Her knee bumped into his bulging crotch.
For the briefest of moments, he imagined taking his pleasure from her. Imagined bending her over the table and ramming harder and harder until his legs grew tired, then carrying her over to the large bed, where he would continue pounding again and again, using her body in every way he pleased, moaning and sweating and panting until he grew too exhausted to go on.
However, the familiarity of the scene was unnerving. She had tried the same move way back at Castle Black, after Ygritte's death in the battle for the Wall. Did she use the same words then too? He couldn't remember, but he knew it was no mere coincidence that this woman would always offer herself up to him right after he had lost a lover.
She feeds on despair.
With his hand still on her perky tit, he squeezed and twisted her nipple until she winced. "Is this what your Lord commands? Between burning children alive and raising the dead, spread your legs for your current fool. How many times did Stannis enjoy that privilege, I wonder?"
"Fewer than he desired, yet enough to sharpen his mind." Seeing her effort had failed, she wrestled herself free and stepped back. "That was my intent here. Darkness approaches, and the Prince That Was Promised cannot be distracted by a single death. Before the war is over, many more shall fall. And you must be ready."
A mirthless chuckle left his lips. "Thanks for your concern, but I don't need…" He had stood up in the middle of his speech, and the tent on his breeches made a liar out of him.
Glancing at his hardness, the red woman smiled. "There's no shame, my prince. Flesh craves flesh, it's only natural. The offer still stands…" Spreading her arms and legs to give him a better view of her every curve, she said, "As a servant of the Lord of Light, I am also your servant. Take me as many times as you wish, in whatever way you desire, for my body is yours."
His cock twitched and fought its own private battle against the thin fabric of his breeches as his mind entertained the idea. The temptation to pound all of his frustrations into her was so strong, he wasn't sure he could control his urges.
Summoning every ounce of willpower he had left, he took a deep calming breath and said, "No."
"Very well." She nodded, with a shrug. "I'll respect your decision. Should you change your mind, however, I'll always be available to help your… release." Then she moved to pick up her robe.
"Did you even have a vision, or was that just an excuse to come over?"
She finished dressing herself before replying, "In the flames, I saw you… choking a woman."
"That was weeks ago." He didn't understand how her visions worked, but they weren't usually about the past.
"This was a glimpse of the future, my Prince, and I was not the woman in question." Her expression shifted slightly, a few creases of worry on her face. "Also, you seemed… happy, very happy… ecstatic even… as you choked her."
Her words ringed hollow in his ears. He wasn't a man to enjoy hurting women, or at least he hadn't been one in his life so far. Even with Melisandre after the failed ritual, that had been more an action of despair than anything else. There was no enjoyment, only rage. Followed by a deep shame that he had succumbed to it.
But that explains a few things.
"So that's why you came here…"
There was a sad, resigned smile on her face. "If my prince requires release, I am happy to serve." With that, she bowed and left the room, her red robe billowing behind her.
Watching the door close behind her, Jon wondered just how far went this fanatic devotion to their god. They seemed to be ready and willing to sacrifice many lives, including their own, for visions in flames. He could understand giving your life to a cause, for he had joined the Night's Watch and died at his post, but he could never grasp the notion of sacrificing others, no matter how just the cause.
I have led men to their deaths, though. That's one way to sacrifice people.
For what is war if not the greatest sacrifice of human lives?
Shaking his head, he sat down again and tried to enjoy his breakfast. It was far too early in the day to worry his mind with deep questions about life and death.
After eating his fill, he finally got dressed and left the room, heading towards the godswood. A few weeks should have been enough for him to learn his way around the Red Keep, yet he still had trouble with the winding corridors and stairways, as they all looked the same to him.
Glancing behind, he spotted his personal guard. Despite Dany's insistence on three, he made sure to only keep two at any time. Red Ant, Blue Beetle and Yellow Wasp would take turns between sleeping and enjoying some free time for themselves while the other two watched his back.
At the moment, Blue Beetle and Yellow Wasp were following him, keeping a respectable distance. He liked them well enough, though they weren't as personable as Red Ant, who would always try to strike up a conversation. Jon enjoyed those moments as opportunities to learn more about their language. Red Ant had proved to be a fairly decent teacher, all things considered, and he had learned a few simple phrases and the most frequent commands. He couldn't hold a conversation quite yet, but he could confidently give a simple order and expect them to understand.
Eventually, he managed to make it to the godswood. Despite the lack of a weirwood tree, it was easily his favourite place inside the Red Keep, and he made a point to visit every morning to pay his respects to the Old Gods. At first, he would spend his time alone, for nobody in the south followed the northern gods. However, lately he had been sharing the space with…
"Theon!" The man was kneeling in front of the great oak that served as the heart tree. "You're up early…" His clothes didn't give off a good impression, filled with wrinkles and stains, signs that he hadn't changed them in a while. "Or did you even sleep at all?"
Without bothering to rise from his position, Theon only turned his head sideways to acknowledge the new presence. "You think the gods can hear us here?" He asked softly. "Even without a weirwood?"
"I like to think so…" Jon replied, his voice also dropping a tone. "The Old Gods have always been bound to nature, so it shouldn't matter which tree is in the godswood." He turned to look at the great oak and sensed something was missing. "But maybe they can't see very well without those carved faces."
Theon remained quiet, staring at the tree. After some time, he stood up and turned around so Jon could finally get a good look at his face. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his hair was unkempt, which pretty much confirmed that he hadn't slept.
"Uncle Aeron would kill me if he caught me praying to trees…" He said, shaking his head. "But I can't help myself. The Drowned God never answered my prayers, so why not try something else?"
The familiar words triggered another memory for Jon, and he remembered swearing the Night's Watch vows in front of a weirwood tree north of the Wall. Samwell Tarly had said nearly the same thing to him, before kneeling down to swear by his side, only his old friend had mentioned the Seven instead.
I wonder what happened to Sam?
The last time they saw each other was way back at Castle Black, before he had been stabbed by his brothers. Sending Sam to the Citadel to become a maester was one of his final acts as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and he hoped the man had at least managed to forge a few links in his chain.
"What were you praying for?" Jon asked and immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. "If you don't mind me asking."
Theon didn't seem bothered. "Guidance, I guess…" His shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. "I don't know what to do, now that Yara's gone. With Euron gone too, the Iron Islands must be a mess, with every little captain of any tiny sloop claiming to be the next king on the Seastone Chair."
"You think they would still want to be independent?" Jon couldn't believe it.
Balon Greyjoy had rebelled twice, and failed miserably in both times. Then his brother Euron had one of the shortest kingships ever recorded in history. If they followed the trend, the next king would be dead right after being crowned.
"The Ironborn have always been near-sighted, ever since the days of my forefathers. I doubt they'll change now." His expression shifted, his eyes becoming less focused. "The only hope we had was Yara. She could see so far beyond the rest of us, it was a wonder we were related in the first place." A chuckle escaped his lips, leaving a sad smile in its place. "She knew a life of reaving and pillaging wouldn't last forever, that's why she agreed to the deal with Queen Daenerys… She would've changed everything."
Jon took a deep breath. This was part of why he liked these brief encounters with Theon. They got to talk about Yara. He felt a need to remember her, because sometimes it seemed like everyone else had forgotten, or they were too afraid to upset him by mentioning her name.
But I will never forget.
"She was a great woman…" He felt a smile on his lips too, as memories flooded his mind. "I wish we'd had more time together. Did you know she wanted to have kids?"
"Really?"
"Aye." He nodded, remembering the moment with clarity and ignoring the pain that followed. "I was surprised at first, but I think she would've been a great mother."
Theon nodded back, his expression softer. "I think so too. When I was taken by the Boltons, even my father abandoned me. Not Yara. She went all the way to the Dreadfort and tried to save me. I was too far gone to accept her help, but I'll never forget that she never gave up on me. Her kids would've been lucky."
"I know…" Jon replied, pausing a bit before sharing something he had kept secret. "That's why I asked her to marry me."
Greyjoy barked a laugh and shook his head from side to side. "Let me guess: she said no."
"Well, she did say no the first time I mentioned marriage, way back before we landed on Dragonstone, but—"
"I'm not surprised," Theon said, talking over him, "Yara never seemed ready to settle down with anyone, and I didn't think she would ever… Wait, did you say first time?"
Jon nodded. "Aye. When we were coming to King's Landing with the horn, I asked her again…" His voice faltered at the end, the memory of their last happy moments together was still painful. "And she said yes."
"Now that's surprising." Greyjoy said, his eyes boring into Jon. "I knew she liked you, but if she agreed to that…" He left the rest unsaid, but the meaning was clear.
She loved me.
And she wasn't the first to die because of that.
Theon seemed to be lost in his own mind, muttering, "That would've made us family."
"Hmm… I never considered that." At the time, he had been too focused on giving Yara what she wanted, and everything else seemed small in comparison. Her happiness made him happy, and that had been enough for him.
But the marriage really would have been a great way to mend what was broken between the two families. Stark and Greyjoy had been in constant conflict ever since he could remember, so a union between the two would be the first step towards finding peace.
"We did grow up in the same castle." Jon offered, trying to let the past go. "We're already family."
Theon shook his head. "Winterfell never felt like home to me, not with Lord Stark always glowering, Ice strapped to his back, making me watch as he enforced the King's justice."
Jon bristled a bit. Even after learning the truth, Eddard Stark was still his father. The only father I had. "You were a hostage. He had to be ready to do his duty, should the need arise."
"And he made sure I knew that. I lost count of how many heads I've seen rolling on the ground… After a while, I just forced myself to see it all as a joke, planting a smile on my lips and ignoring the hidden threat of that big sword hanging above my head."
Another early memory made its way to Jon's mind, as a Night's Watch deserter pleaded for his life, claiming to have seen what nobody believed at the time, and Lord Stark taking his head clean off. Jon remembered Theon's reaction, and it all made sense now.
We should've listened to that poor man.
"But Robb never treated me like that." Greyjoy was still talking, "We played together, we fought together, and sometimes he even asked for my advice… With Robb by my side, I didn't feel like a hostage. I felt like a Stark." His eyes grew misty, probably remembering something.
For his part, Jon remembered hating the way Robb treated Theon almost like an older brother. They had never gotten along, the two intruders in the family they both got to watch every day.
"Why, then?" Jon could let him be, but the part that hadn't forgiven the man made him voice a question that had been burning in his mind. "Why did you betray him?"
"I don't know, I think…" Theon began weakly, before clearing his throat and looking up at Jon. "I've always felt torn. Two sides, pulling me this way and that, tearing me to pieces until there was nothing left whole. While I was at Winterfell with Robb, it was easier to ignore the pull and pretend it wasn't there. But when I left him…" His eyes drifted away as he craned his head down. "I had to choose."
Greyjoy or Stark…
Jon found his answer lacking. "From what you just told me about Robb and Yara, both sides seemed willing to accept you. Why did you ever think you had to choose?"
"When I reached Pyke and learned of my father's plans, I had to act." His head turned from side to side while his eyes bored into Jon's, a manic intensity about them. "With both sides against each other, no matter what I did, I'd be betraying someone. Even doing nothing would be taking a side. I remember writing a letter to Robb detailing what would happen, but I ended up burning it." Bringing his knees up to his chest, he hugged them close. "I chose wrong."
Hearing that confession made Jon consider his own situation. If Dany and Sansa don't reach a compromise, he might have to choose between his families the same way Theon was forced to choose.
Stark or Targaryen…
He had never even thought about the possibility before this very moment, but it could happen. Sansa had no obligation to accept Daenerys as a ruler, especially not after the northern lords were so explicit in their hatred of Targaryens. On the other hand, the North would never be able to defend itself against the Army of the Dead, and anyone foolish enough to think otherwise would be deluding themselves. Their only hope was Dany and her dragons.
Our dragons, a small voice whispered in his ear. His heart beat a little faster and he felt Rhaegal's tempestuous mood all the way from Dragonstone. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to Theon, who seemed to grow smaller all bunched up next to the tree.
Jon sat beside him. "You were put in a difficult position. It doesn't absolve you of your sins, but it should count for something." Taking a deep breath, he glanced around at the godswood. "I think the Old Gods can see that. And from what I've learned about praying for guidance, they don't give us more than what we already have." He remembered the last time he prayed at the heart tree of Winterfell. "You probably know what to do, you just need the confidence to follow through."
"You're right…" Theon took a deep breath and moved to stand up, using the tree as support. "There's no time to feel sorry for myself, and sitting here praying won't help. I'll just do what she would've done." Looking down, he added a quick goodbye before turning away and leaving the godswood with determined steps.
Jon sat there a bit longer, resting his head against the mighty oak and wondering what he would do if Dany and Sansa actually forced him to choose. With a shiver, he knew his answer and immediately regretted thinking about it.
I hope that day never comes.
Feeling a bit guilty, he went to his daily lessons with Dany. With Tyrion's help, they had found a proper place to train inside the Red Keep. It was a spacious room, wide enough to allow for elaborate footwork while still being private enough to prevent an audience.
On the way, he ran into Ser Davos.
"My Prince!" The man called, walking closer. "A moment, if you will."
"Something wrong?"
"No, no, it's just…" He glanced around, his eyes scanning the hallway. Jon did the same and only found his Unsullied guards close by. That seemed good enough for Davos, who continued, "These past few weeks, I've been following a lead on the red priests and I was hoping you could help."
Jon paused to consider the man. He knew how much Davos hated Melisandre, and from what he had seen since Dragonstone, the feeling extended to the rest of their Order. His own feelings were more complicated. He didn't care for their human sacrifices, but he couldn't deny their power. Or their usefulness.
Without them, I'd be dead twice over.
"I'll help if I can, but they're our allies, Davos." He owed a lot to the man, but he owed even more to the red priests. "We'll need all the help we can get for the war against the dead."
"I know, I know…" The old knight ran his gloved hand over his balding head. "Fire priests will be a great help in the North. But while they remain here in King's Landing, their fire is more dangerous than helpful." He cleared his throat. "I learned they're involved in a wildfire plot which could burn the whole city to the ground."
Jon didn't know much about wildfire, but he had seen the remains of the Great Sept of Baelor. "Are you sure?"
"Aye." The man nodded. "I wasn't surprised when I heard it, but I still went digging for confirmation on my own. What I found was worrying. They've been working with pyromancers to produce even more of that foul substance, selling the excess jars to anyone stupid enough to pay."
"Alright, I'll go talk to the High Priestess." Jon promised. "Maybe they have a good reason to do that, but you're right – that thing is dangerous."
He seemed relieved, his expression brightening a bit. "Thank you, my Prince."
"Davos, you don't have to keep calling me that when we're alone. Jon is fine." He caught himself, remembering the conversation with Tyrion and Dany. "Or Aegon, I suppose."
"Not Grenn?" The old knight asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
Jon let out a chuckle. "Anything else is fine. I just don't like it when people keep calling me prince all the time. Especially those priests." His expression shifted quickly. "They look at me like I'm the answer to their prayers. Not to mention the way they bend over backwards just to please me." Melisandre's supple form floated on his mind. "It's disturbing."
Davos nodded, looking sombre. "Nothing good can ever come from thinking you're more important than everyone else. I'm glad you can resist it better than Lord Stannis, at least." He gathered himself up and turned to leave. "Be seeing you, Jon."
After the man left, he considered going to find Kinvara right away. She and the rest of the red priests had taken it upon themselves to guard the horn, and Jon hated being around that ugly thing. Too many bad memories. So he decided to go train first. Some exercise might help clear his mind.
Even after spending so much time talking to both Theon and Davos, Jon was still too early for his daily appointment with Dany. The room was empty, save for the equipment they had arranged near the eastern wall. A wide open terrace showed him the sun had yet to rise, but the sky was already bright enough to allow him a nice view.
Walking over there, Jon turned his eyes towards the general direction of the Dragonpit. He had not returned to the place after it was burned down. After I burned it down, he corrected himself, the familiar sour taste of guilt finding its way into his mouth. Using Rhaegal in such a way had left him so ashamed he didn't think he could ever face the dragon again, despite Dany's insistence that he should learn how to ride.
Under Tyrion's suggestion, he had remained inside the Red Keep to avoid exposure until the trial. The man had first-hand experience of how these things worked, having been through both a riot and a trial in the city, so it seemed wise to follow his counsel.
When the first rays of sunlight began to break, he heard the door creaking open behind him and turned to see Dany walking inside.
"I thought you didn't like to train in dresses…" Jon said, taking a good look at her clothes.
Instead of the usual form-fitting Dothraki leathers, she was wearing an elegant black dress with silver studs along the shoulders.
"No more than I like being knocked down." She countered, her face lighting up with the hint of a smile. "Unfortunately, our lesson will need to be postponed. Lady Olenna Tyrell arrived just yesterday, and we must go over the details of your trial."
Jon went quiet. He had been trying to ignore it as much as he could, which proved to be rather difficult with her bringing it up at every opportunity.
"She will be our representative," his aunt continued, "so it's imperative that she understands what's at stake. We must avoid a spectacle while displaying a generous amount of contrition. It's a delicate balance."
"Who are the others?" He asked, knowing she wouldn't stop there.
"Cersei has appointed that curious man, Qyburn." Her expression hardened. The man seemed entirely too interested in dragons to be trustworthy. "And I don't know the one from Flea Bottom… Yet. Tyrion and Varys have orders to find out what they can about this person and figure out how to apply the right amount of pressure."
That didn't sound right. "No."
"What do you mean, no?" She asked, eyes narrowing.
"Don't interfere with the judge from Flea Bottom." He had to make it clear. "I don't mind the pressure on Lady Tyrell, since she's our representative and should at least know what you wish to come from this, but the others are off limits."
"That almost sounded like an order." Dany flared her nostrils. "Don't forget, Aegon, that I am still the head of our House. And now that you've agreed to embrace your Targaryen name you'll be subject to my will, not the other way around."
"I know that," He hurried to say, "and I'll follow your lead. But part of taking responsibility means listening to the people you've hurt. Looking them in the eye and understanding their pain. They'll never be able to move on if we don't give them at least that much."
"What if they decide to kill you?" She asked, her eyes shining. "Have you considered that? Because I have. Many of my nightmares begin with that, and my reaction makes yours look tame by comparison." After taking a deep breath, her expression softened a bit. "You may not care about your own well-being, but I do."
"I…" He didn't know what to say. Part of him felt like apologising, while another wanted to thank her for caring. "Have you seen Kinvara?" He decided to change the subject to something less awkward.
"Why do you ask?"
"Ser Davos has raised some concerns, and I'd like to confront her about them." She had her eyebrows raised in question, so he explained further, "He says they're making enough wildfire to burn down the whole city."
"There's always some new way everything can blow up…" Her shoulders slumped a bit as she let out a sigh. "Tyrion mentioned that my father had wildfire stashed all over the city before the Kingslayer murdered him. Varys has been working to find the caches, but it seems that every time we solve a problem, two more show up."
He considered the situation for a moment. "I don't know much about wildfire, but from what I hear it burns hotter and longer than ordinary fire. There's no point keeping it in the city, but we could surely use something like that against the dead."
"Perhaps that's why the red priests are producing so much of it?" She asked, her expression doubtful.
"Possibly." He shrugged. "I'll need to talk to Kinvara first to be sure of anything."
Dany nodded. "Last I heard, she was expecting a new arrival from Volantis. A red priest with more knowledge of ancient tongues to help translate the glyphs on that hellhorn." Her eyes turned softer, knowing how he felt about that specific topic. "She should be at the harbour."
Arya
The trip was taking entirely too long.
Arya had sailed before, but back then the experience was new and interesting by itself. Her eyes were seeing everything for the first time, from the deep blue sea to the vast infinite sky above her, with different kinds of fish, birds and all manner of strange beasts in between to hold her attention. That had been an adventure.
Now it's just a waste of time.
She wished she could be anywhere instantly, skipping travel times at will. With one blink, she'd be leagues away. With another, she'd be right back. Unfortunately, the closest anyone could get to that was by flying a dragon. On a dragon's back, the trip wouldn't even take a single day. Funny that in all the songs she had heard about those great Targaryens of the past, none had ever mentioned the practicality of flight. Those stories focused more on their incredible power for destruction.
As she spent her days aboard the Red Maid, thoughts like that occupied her mind while her body worked through the exercises she had learned from Syrio Forel. Of her many teachers, he'd been her favourite. Despite how poorly it ended, her time in King's Landing under his tutelage was one of her most treasured memories, and his lessons would stay with her forever.
After what seemed an eternity, the ship finally reached the capital.
There was no grand entourage waiting for her, as she had made a point of leaving White Harbour in a different ship than the one that had been arranged for her. The Red Maid wasn't even that same one, since she had switched ships near the Fingers, then again at Maidenpool. It was probably not enough to throw off a potential assassin, but she would never make it easy for them.
Under cover of the many merchants and their servants leaving the ship, she slipped past the port authority and easily blended into the crowd. Arya's destination was the Red Keep, but there was no rush to get there. She was curious about the dragon queen, and the best way to find out the truth was by hearing what the smallfolk had to say about her. Wearing a shabby black vest over a threadbare white shirt and greying breeches, nobody would mistake her for a lady. The only person who could recognise her in this state was her brother.
But if what Bran said was true, Jon wouldn't leave the safety of those walls for any-
"The dragons are coming!"
She turned to see a man running away from the city proper and into one of the many side streets littering the harbour. Many others followed his lead, leaving only a few brave souls and the people who actually had important work to do near the docks. She ducked her head and slipped behind a large stall near the fish market, using it as cover.
"Clams and oysters, fresh and tasty!" Cried the seller while a small group gathered around the stall.
It wasn't ideal, but there was nothing blocking her sight and any sound near water often carried a long way. It should be enough to see and hear what she needed.
Soon enough, a large group was making their way from the River Gate. Several well-armed soldiers led a procession of people on horseback, most of them displaying the Targaryen colours. The red dragon over a dark field was emblazoned on every banner flapping in the wind, but she couldn't see any actual dragons in the sky.
I wonder when I'll finally get to see one.
As they neared the docks, Arya saw the unmistakable silver hair bound in an elaborate braid on the head of a small woman at the centre of the group. She was riding an elegant white mare, and her posture showed some experience on the saddle, for her hands barely did any of the work leading the horse. The woman was paying more attention to the man riding beside her, and Arya couldn't hide the smile on her face at the sight of him.
Jon had his own hair done in the northern fashion, with the top bound up at the back, and his clothes were the fanciest she had ever seen on him. Or Robb, for that matter. Far too much silk. She couldn't deny he looked good, but Jon had always looked good in anything he wore. This change was probably just another hint of the dragon queen's influence on him, and that was what actually worried her.
It was her main reason for such secrecy. If there was any truth to what Bran had said, Jon had become more dragon than wolf, and she needed to be sure just how far he had fallen under the woman's spell. Arriving with a grand welcome would've made her job more difficult. This way, all she had to do was watch and learn.
"Remember how much they've done for us," Arya heard the woman's voice say, "We can't afford to lose such a powerful ally, Aegon."
She frowned at that name, and at the ease with which the woman spoke it. But she didn't have time to think too much as Jon answered right back, "I know… But they can't just do whatever they want. If we let them, they'll hang this debt over our heads forever." He sounded tired, as if he had gone over this many times before.
"We owe them our very lives. Whatever price they ask in return won't even begin to cover that debt." The dragon queen leaped from the saddle and Arya lost her behind the taller men surrounding her. Jon did the same, falling into a sea of raised spears.
They continued talking, but their voices became muffled and she could no longer hear them so clearly, only keeping an eye on their progress. The main part of the group stayed behind with the horses, while Jon and the silver-haired woman walked over to one of the largest ships docked at the harbour. They were followed closely by six guards, two on each side and another two hanging back, ready to leap to their defence should anything happen. Arya noticed several holes in this formation, and made a mental note to address them later.
The ship seemed a recent arrival, with its main sail still unfurled, the familiar symbol of the Red God painted in all its red and golden glory. Her own dealings with the red priests had left a sour taste in her mouth, so that made her double her focus.
A tall woman with dark hair was talking to a heavyset man with charcoal skin and a mane of pure white hair, both of them with the red robes of their order. While the woman hid her figure under a few extra layers, the man displayed his bare chest to the wind, a few tattoos visible even from a distance. The man was also carrying a staff, which seemed to be more of a weapon than support, for he did not lean on it as he walked.
When the two couples met, the red priestess announced rather loudly, "Your Graces, this is Moqorro, our Order's foremost authority on ancient languages." She made a flourish with her hands and bowed low, an action followed by the man, who remained silent.
The reply wasn't nearly as loud, but Arya noticed how the silver queen seemed to take charge of the situation, stepping forward and speaking with confidence. Her trained eyes also spotted Jon's impatience, with his sword hand flexing and his feet unable to stay rooted to the spot, he was clearly just waiting for an opportunity to barge into the conversation.
After some polite and inaudible back and forth, she finally heard his raised voice. "There'll be plenty of time for that later. We have something more urgent to discuss, Kinvara."
That was the name of the priestess, whose demeanour noticeably changed when addressing Jon. With her voice barely louder than a whisper, she seemed to shrink before him, her eyes only daring to glimpse his face on occasion, right before going back to stare at his feet. Arya found it odd that the woman would treat a Prince with more deference than a Queen, especially when said monarch was standing right there.
The silver queen didn't seem to mind, watching Jon with a curious expression on her face. After a few heated exchanges, the woman took charge again, placing a hand on his arm and quietly whispering a few words in his ear to calm him down.
As Arya tried to move closer, a hand shot out to grab her.
"And how much for your clam, pretty thing?" Turning around, she saw a large man leering at her, his slack jaw displaying crooked teeth in what was likely meant to be a smile. Leaning closer, he said, "I bet it's sweeter than the finest nectar. Won't you give me a taste?"
Cheap ale and rotten cheese emanated from his mouth, which seemed to salivate with expectation, his tongue lapping up what it could and wetting his cracked lips in the process.
When his other hand tried to grab something else, she moved faster, landing a swift blow to the arm already holding her and slipping away from his grasp. Before he could react, she put all her strength into a kick aimed at his crotch and the man fell to his knees, tears already forming in his eyes. Despite being at least two heads taller than her, now their eyes were almost level.
"You little b-" Unrelenting, she aimed a punch at his throat and the man's voice was gone. "Wh– Ho–"
Satisfied, she turned to walk away but her little spat had brought unwanted attention.
"What wrong?" The broken speech of one of those foreign soldiers announced their arrival.
Five of them, all wearing studded leather armour, each holding a spear and a shield. Up close, she noticed they all had nearly the same height and build, with their movements in perfect synchrony.
Unsullied. She had heard about them before and she knew they were part of the dragon queen's army, but actually seeing them up close was like being part of a song.
Many ignored the soldier, but the fishmonger spoke up, "I saw it all, ser. This girl here," he nodded at her, "just knocked down a man nearly twice her size." His voice was full of awe.
"Don't be daft!" Another man said, shaking his head. "Look at her. The girl's just skin and bones, she was probably just looking for some scraps of food under the stall."
"Yeah, she don't look that tough." A short man, about her height, piped up. "I bet I could knock her over."
"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it meself, but I'm telling the truth." The fish seller insisted. "She moved faster than a silverpike slicing through the water."
The Unsullied was nodding throughout the conversation, but she wasn't sure if he was following every word. There was a strained expression on his face, which was more than could be said about the other four, who stood almost perfectly still. Before he could say anything, however, another commotion announced new arrivals.
"What seems to be the problem?" That was the dragon queen's commanding voice, and the crowd parted to allow her passage. "Is there any-"
"Arya!" Jon shouted, interrupting his queen and running straight past on a beeline towards her.
In no time at all, he was lifting her up in a warm hug, his arms squeezing her just as tightly as she squeezed back, trying their best to make up for lost time. She shut her eyes and was immediately transported to a simpler time, when her biggest concern was how to sneak away from Septa Mordane and those boring lessons to go practice archery and sword fighting with her brothers. Her feet dangled from the floor, though not as far up as she remembered.
I guess I grew taller. And he didn't.
"I missed you, big brother." Arya whispered in his ear. "So much."
He didn't reply, but she felt some moisture on her neck and knew he was crying. She held him tighter. After a few heartbeats, there was a soft cough coming from behind him. With a glance, she spotted the dragon queen approaching with measured steps.
Jon put her down and they both turned to face the woman. "Arya," he said, wiping his eyes on his fancy sleeve, "this is Daenerys Targaryen, our future queen."
Our queen is Sansa, she wanted to reply, but held her tongue and tried to be polite. "Your Grace."
"I've heard a lot about you, Lady Arya." Not enough to learn that I'm a princess. Jon's future queen kept talking, "It's nice to finally put a face to all the stories. And after what happened here, you'll get another tale told about you very soon."
Jon rounded on her, "So what happened, exactly?" He glanced at the rude man being carried off. "What did he do?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle." He just ruined my plans, that's all.
"And when did you arrive?" Jon wasn't satisfied. "We were expecting you five days ago, on the Green Mermaid."
"Well…" She wanted to tell him all about her troubles and what she had been doing before they met, but not in front of everyone. They were too exposed. "Could we go somewhere private?"
After that, the dragon queen took charge and soon enough they were on their way to the Red Keep. On closer inspection, Jon's left hand was covered by a red glove with the markings of that Red God, and she made a mental note to ask about that later. She rode on his horse, spending the whole trip holding him as close as she could. They didn't talk much on the way, but from the tension in his shoulders she could tell something was wrong.
"She's not coming with us?" Arya asked, noticing how the dragon queen went a different way from the harbour.
Jon turned his head sideways to say, "She went to greet Lady Olenna."
His tone made her refrain from asking further questions. But yet again, she felt that there was more to it. More than he was willing to say at the moment.
So on and on they went, in relative silence, until Jon opened the door to a huge room decorated with some of the finest furniture she had ever seen, along with fancy silverware and frilly curtains. It all seemed a bit too much.
"Nice place." She said, more to see his reaction.
Thankfully, he said, "Not for me, to be honest." Locking the door, he removed his fancy coat and unbuckled his sword belt. "It was Cersei's idea. I think she wanted to play mind games with Daenerys by giving me the best chambers."
"Interesting family you've found here." She said, trying again to spot his reaction.
His immediate reply was to stop and take a deep breath. "I know…" As he exhaled, he fell into the nearest fancy chair. "I don't see this working in the long term, but it was the fastest way to end this pointless war." Turning to face her, he added, "I'm sure you and Sansa have something to say about my future wife?"
"We're not happy about it, but you must know that much." Arya took the seat next to him, finding it extremely comfortable so she relaxed a bit, leaning back and putting her tired feet up on the table. "And you must also know that she's probably planning your death right now." When he nodded, she finally got to her point, "Are you sure it wouldn't be faster to simply kill her?"
By Jon's reaction, it was a question he had heard often. "I'd rather not solve my problems by killing them." His voice faltered at the end, and he blinked a couple of times before continuing, "There's been enough death as far as I'm concerned."
"I heard about the Dragonpit." She noticed something in his tone, so she probed a bit. "What happened there?"
"Fire and blood." Was his only reply.
Arya watched his expression. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, dulled in a way she had never seen before. So she chose to wait quietly. In her experience, the best way to gain information wasn't by asking questions, but by waiting for people to reveal it on their own volition. That was one of the many lessons she had learned at the House of Black and White, when she…
Wait, what am I doing?
He's my brother. I don't have to use that on him.
"Jon?" She waited until his eyes focused back on her. "We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to. I was just worried." Arya put her feet down and reached for his gloveless hand. "That's why I came here in the first place. I'll help you in any way I can, brother."
He patted her hand with his gloved one. "Thank you, little sister." After a moment, he took a deep breath. "At the Dragonpit, I became a Targaryen."
"What do you mean?"
"I used Rhaegal to burn people alive." His eyes drifted away again, almost in shame.
Arya didn't see the problem. Killing people was often necessary, and using a dragon instead of a sword or poison was just faster. If she had a dragon, the Freys would have all burned, along with their stupid castle and everything inside.
"There's nothing wrong with that." She said, "You must have killed people before, so what's the difference between using a dragon and using a sword?"
"Oh, it's different." He stared back at her. "In all the battles I've fought, killing was never that easy for me. It was always a challenge, to look into a man's eyes and decide that they shouldn't live anymore." His expression turned contemplative. "Maybe that's why the First Men created that custom of not employing executioners. Taking a life should be hard. The hardest thing anyone can ever do."
"Well, sometimes you need to kill a lot of people." She argued, thinking back to what she did. "Worrying about each one would just waste time."
It was his time to ask, "What do you mean?"
Arya hesitated a bit, taking back her hand. "Before I got to Winterfell, I stopped at the Twins." She glanced at him to see if he knew anything but there was no reaction, so she went on, "Lord Walder Frey was the first. I needed his face. With that, it was a simple thing to poison the wine and watch as every male Frey took their last sip before they all choked to death."
She left out the part about feeding the man his own sons. That was probably too much. But even without that, Jon went quiet for a long time before he opened his mouth.
"You did that as revenge for the Red Wedding, I take it?"
She nodded. "I was there when it happened." The memory came clearly to her mind, in all its gruesome details. "They sewed Greywind's head to Robb's body, parading it like a mummery, cheering all the way like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen." Her only regret was that she couldn't kill them twice. "They won't be laughing now."
"I'm sorry you had to see that." Jon said. "I only heard about it after I came back to Castle Black from my time with the free folk. Even then, the pain was still fresh." He had a faraway look in his eyes, staring at something that wasn't there. "Robb was a great man. Had he lived, I'm sure things would be better now. I miss him."
Arya felt the loss again. "I miss him too. And mother. And everyone else who died with them when the Freys ignored guest rights."
"Aye, what they did was terrible." Her brother agreed, though she could tell he wanted to say more.
"Go on."
"It's just…" He hesitated, but not for long. "Do you really think they all deserved to die? Maybe it was only Lord Walder–"
"No." Her head was shaking even before he had finished. "Why didn't anybody stop it? If they disagreed with their lord, they should've done something about it." She had given this a lot of thought. "All it would take is for one of them to come forward and warn Robb before the wedding. One. A single letter or a sign. But nobody even tried. So yeah, they all deserved to die."
He nodded. "I suppose you're right. They dug their own graves. But let me ask you this," his expression turned serious, more than ever before, "do you enjoy it?"
"What do you mean?" She feigned ignorance, standing up and stalling for time. She knew exactly what he wanted to know, and she also knew her answer.
"Do you enjoy killing people?"
He won't like it. But I can't lie to him.
Arya took a deep breath and stared into his grey eyes, so much like her own, and replied with a simple, "Yes."
It was something she had been struggling with, even before she joined the Faceless Men and learned how to do it better. After all her troubles, all she had been through since leaving King's Landing, nothing made her feel as good as when she took a life. It gave her a sense of peace, of control, of power… All things that she lacked when she was trying to survive. It made her feel strong.
A part of her knew this feeling wasn't right. She remembered how the Hound spoke about killing when they travelled together. Back then, she knew he was wrong to think like that. So now that she agreed with him, there must be something wrong with her too.
What worried her most was Jon's reaction. She didn't want him to treat her differently for having become a monster in the time they were apart. He was probably still missing the little sister he left at Winterfell.
That girl is gone.
He surprised her by closing the distance between them and wrapping her in another fierce hug. She was stunned at first, but her arms reacted on their own and hugged him back, taking whatever comfort she could.
"It's OK, little sister. There's nothing wrong with you." He said, almost reading her mind.
She wanted to believe him, she really did. But she knew better. "You think father would be proud to see his youngest daughter become a cold blooded killer?" There was no denying it, and she wouldn't hide from the truth. Breaking away from the embrace, she continued, "I think not. He'd probably be ashamed that his daughter became a monster." Her mother too, though she had already been ashamed that Arya didn't turn out like Sansa.
"You're not a monster." Jon insisted. "You're just… You've been through a lot, and you found your own way to survive. It's a shit world we're living in, which makes us do shitty things to each other just to keep going. We do them so much and so often that we end up ignoring the smell."
Arya couldn't help giggling at the ridiculous image in her mind. "You have a way with words, Jon."
"Well, you know what I meant, right?" He smiled back, a bit sheepish. "Just because you feel this way now, it doesn't mean you'll always feel like this." His expression shifted, more determined. "We can change the world. We will."
She was mocking before, but there really was something different about him. He seemed more confident when he spoke, and his voice was stronger, almost daring anyone to question him. A far cry from the sullen boy she remembered back at Winterfell.
"So that's what you meant when you said you became a Targaryen." She said, keeping her tone light. It was half teasing and half true. "I can actually see you as a king now."
"About that…" He went back to sit down and motioned her to take the other seat. "There was more to what happened at the Dragonpit. I didn't just burn a bunch of people with a dragon. I enjoyed it too." He closed his eyes for a moment, probably recalling the memory. "The rush, the smell, the power… It was intoxicating. I just wanted more and more… If Dany hadn't stopped me, I would've burned the whole city."
Arya registered the affectionate name, but focused on the revelation. With his confession, she finally understood how he could accept her so easily.
He's afraid too.
"So you think all Targaryens must feel that way?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it's a blood thing. Daenerys explained a bit about the bond between dragon and rider, but it's so much worse than I thought…" His eyes grew unfocused, lost in memories again. "Our hearts were beating as one, my anger and Rhaegal's anger combining into a massive knot of emotions that could only be solved by the sweet release of dragonfire." Blinking, he stared back at her. "It was… Amazing. And terrible. I haven't had the guts to face Rhaegal since that day, though I still feel his heart sometimes."
Arya had to remember to draw breath again, because she had been lost in that memory too, wishing she was the one who could control a dragon and feel his heart. But she shook her head and ignored the bitter taste of jealousy. Jon needed help, and she would try her best to make him see his bond as a gift to be treasured, not a curse to be feared.
"Have you thought about what Rhaegal is feeling?" She asked.
He looked surprised. "What?"
"The dragon. Your dragon now, I suppose." Arya made sure to mention that. "Have you given any thought as to what he might be feeling after the Dragonpit?"
Jon frowned. After a few heartbeats, he finally said, "No, I haven't."
"If you're feeling this way, isn't it likely that he's also going through the same thing?" He nodded back, so she continued, "Maybe, instead of ignoring him, you should try working together to find a way to control your emotions. Both of you." When she saw Jon actually considering it, she added, "Then you can give me a ride."
That earned her a rare chuckle. "So that's your angle… But you're right, I shouldn't be avoiding Rhaegal. That can only make things worse. Before the Dragonpit, he was being abused by a mad pirate, so who knows what habits he picked up."
Arya wanted to hear more about that, but her stomach chose that moment to let them know that she was hungry with a loud rumble. "We should probably eat something."
He agreed and called for someone. Soon enough, servants had filled their table with all manner of delicious foodstuffs, which she gladly wolfed down as fast as possible, relishing the fact that she didn't have to mind her manners in front of Jon.
And that she would soon ride a dragon.
That was fun to write.
This reunion was one of the major moments in this story, so I'm glad I managed to at least get this far. I recently rewatched the season 8 premiere (finally got HBO Max) and, despite enjoying it more than I did the first time, it was even more evident how rushed everything was. When Arya and Jon met, they only exchanged a few empty words before the show moved on to the next scene. It just wasn't enough, especially if you were really invested in these characters. Which is probably how many people felt about the whole season.
However, writing this story made me learn how complicated those scenes can be. You can't just have two people talking forever because it gets boring fast. The secret is trying to find some compromise. It can't be so short that's insulting, but neither can it be too long or it's self-indulgent. In this specific case, I had to leave out a lot of stuff I wanted to cover in order to properly set up the next chapters. It's a fine line to cross.
01/05/2022