Once We Were Dragons

by ctc1000

Sequel to Maester Wolf. The past is never truly buried. New threats arise and Jon deals with the heritage of the Valyrian Freehold and House Targaryen. The conflict will be more than just the Starks and the Lannisters, and reverberate through all Seven Kingdoms and beyond.

10. Fire and Blood

Fire and Blood

In the years to come, after he had replaced his father as Head of the House and Defender of Oldtown, Baelor Hightower would often entertain his grandchildren, great nieces and nephews with their favorite tale. No matter how many times they heard the story, the little ones always asked the same questions. "Did you know? Did you suspect the truth?" Baelor would shake his head. He had no inkling and if they were honest, neither did anyone else. Perhaps they should have. After all, that first night, an omen appeared in the sky.

The roads in the Eastern Riverlands were in poor condition. From Maidenpool to Saltpans, the dirt tracks were heavily rutted, and pocked with weeds. In many stretches, the passage was narrow and uneven, and only two horses could ride abreast. The twisty, windy road would have been a problem during the day. But at night, the ride to Harroway was far more dangerous. There were sinkholes and bogs, and piles of stone that had been scattered by rain and wind. Ser Baelor would have balked at Garlan's command but for the moon.

A great red moon hung in the sky, a bright disk of blood. A knight hailing from Horn Hill called it a hunter's moon that followed the harvest when animals had gorged themselves in the valleys, hills, and forests. Such a moon rose later in the night, so that sunset and moonrise were close, allowing more hours for farmers to glean fields and hunters to track prey. Baelor did not trust the explanation. He had lived a long time and never seen any moon so large. Harvest and hunter moons were no brighter than others, yet the blood moon lit up the sky, casting fearful shadows.

"Do you think it means war? A bleeding star appeared before the wolves and the lions battled." Lord Costayne asked nervously. His house was one of five sworn to Oldtown.

"Fighting in the Riverlands started before the comet appeared. The Mountain already raided the Red Fork and the Kingslayer smashed the Tullys at Riverrun." Thoros would know. The Red Priest had been tasked by Ned Stark to bring Gregor Clegane to justice.

"In King's Landing, they call the star, King Joffrey's Comet." An Oakheart man said. "The smallfolk believe the red honors the crimson of House Lannister."

"That's what the servants say when highborns ask. Smallfolk don't really believe that nonsense. The wolves kicked the Lannisters' arses, and now a plague rages in King's Landing. The stars have nothing to do with Joffrey unless one of them is pissing on his head." Thoros added.

As the tracks met the Kingsroad, Baelor looked up at the giant blood moon. "A moon is not a star. The maesters taught me that much. A star with a bleeding tail might herald war but this moon is only red and bright. We should be glad that it lights our way in the dark."

The dozen horsemen galloped north on the kingsroad. Besides Thoros, these were all men of the Reach, and they rode hard through the night, under the red moon.

---

They arrived at Harroway the next morning. A squad of men-at-arms carrying a banner of the burning white tower greeted them near the two story daub and wattle inn. The tired horses were led to a stable by the ostler and his two boys. As smallfolk gaped and gawked, more Hightower soldiers emerged from the roundtower, the docks, and the hills overlooking the Trident. "Ser, your raven arrived yesterday afternoon. We sent thirty outriders to the nearby villages, with instructions to bring back merchants and craftsmen by noon." the sergeant said.

"Good. Inform Lord Roote of my arrival at the inn. Send the other knights to me and make sure the horses are fed and watered. Some men may have to go further north or west."

"Yes, Ser."

In name, Harroway was the seat of House Roote, an insignificant noble house. In reality, Baelor controlled the town, his five hundred men outnumbering House Roote's twelve. Harroway sat on the river, less than five miles downriver from the junction of the three Forks. Before the battle at the Red Fork, the nearby bridges had been destroyed to force the Westermen to cross at a single point. Half a year later, the bridges were still unrepaired, and impassable to heavy wagons. Here, the Trident was wide but calm, and a ferry with two carved horseheads travelled back and forth.

The Reachmen broke their fast on porridge with honey and butter, loaves of bread baked with dried apples, and hard boiled eggs. Baelor listened to his captains about news concerning the Riverlands. The outriders returned, bringing back a motley group - merchants, elders, gentry, healers, and children. Lord Roote arrived with the septon, passing through the smallfolk gathered outside. Finally, when the sun was high, Baelor rose.

Before he said a word, a tall girl called out. "Are the rumors true, Ser? Did Snow cure the plague?"

He was not surprised that the story had spread. More than one raven left Maidenpool yesterday. "Yes, it is true. There is a cure."

The room exploded. Lord Roote looked at his septon with shock. "How is that possible? You said the bastard would die due to his heresy!"

"The Faith only claimed that he was being punished for blasphemy against the Seven Pointed Star. He violated the dead." A scowling septon replied.

"Snow was wounded badly with a crossbow. For three days, he was unconscious. When he rose, he found a cure. But the plague is not over."

A tall muscled boy with thick black hair moved forward. "What does that mean, milord?"

Baelor did not fully understand what Snow had done. But then, neither did the maesters. "The cure is difficult to make. More work must be done."

"But what can we do? You must have come to Harroway for a reason, my lord."

"Snow wants empty barrels. He needs them to produce elixir." Baelor said.

"Barrels? What do barrels have to do with the plague? Has he gone mad?" the septon asked.

"It doesn't matter why. If the Bloody Wolf wants barrels, then we bring him barrels. Do you want to tell him no?" The boy turned back to Baelor. "Did Snow say what size, milord?"

"The size that a strong man could carry, or even larger. He does not care whether they once held beer or wine - just that they are empty."

The hard-faced girl who asked the first question spoke again. "There is a journeyman cooper near the Ruby Ford. He is a hard worker. There are others at Fairmarket and Ramsford but that is many days of travel on the Blue Fork. And the Blue Fork has overflowed its banks again. Gendry can make barrels too. He has repaired casks at the Inn at the Crossroads."

"How do you plan to bring the barrels back? By wagon, it will be at least a week to Maidenpool." Gendry said.

"That's the other reason we are Harroway. We will load them onto a ship, and sail down the Trident. It will take only a day. Snow wanted the barrels yesterday. The quicker the better." Baelor did not need to say why. Time was running out.

---

The day before his anointment as a knight, Garlan Tyrell stood dutifully outside the Starry Sept. Barefoot and dressed in an undyed wool tunic, he had walked across the Honeywine into the great plaza where the statues of the Seven stood. In silence, he prayed and prayed, struggling to keep his eyes open, until many many hours later, the septons blessed him with the seven oils, and he buckled on his sword belt before swearing the vows before the Warrior. That vigil had been a long night but it was a blink of an eye compared to this.

Jon Snow had woken up yesterday morning. After announcing the cure, he stumbled, like a man in his cups. The Northman was dazed from his ordeal and weak from the loss of blood. The little birds gave him hot broth and fresh bread, and changed the dressings on his wounds. Snow asked for clean clothes and water to wash. He relieved himself in the privy. Then he began.

The hall in Florian's Tower was divided now into four areas. Snow's desk occupied the center, where he gave orders to healers and children. Another space was cleared near the staircase. The patients stayed behind curtains and screens on both sides of the long room. Everyone else was crowded in the front. That was where Garlan waited, powerless to do anything.

"Stop pacing about. You are wearing down the stone." Olenna munched on crackers and white cheese. The servant brought out a tray with hot lemon water, and a small pot of honey.

"Leonette is receiving the elixir right now, grandmother. And Snow has forbidden me from seeing my wife!" Garlan complained.

"Jon explained why. When Leonette wakes, she will be tired and confused. The Winter Town Boys want her to be roused slowly, so there is no shock and risk to the child. That is why we cannot be there. They will call us when ready." Owen said.

"Are you certain it will work? Leonette will be the first person that Snow cures." Olenna said.

"That is not true. Snow cured himself. The plague animalcules were in his blood, and now they are gone from his body." Owen said proudly.

"I cannot believe that the cure for the plague is mold. If I left this cheese out, would I be awarded a silver link?"

"It is not the mold. Jon says it is the juice from the mold that fights disease. That juice grows apart from the mold, and in different quantities. It takes days to appear. That is why no one has discovered it before. And, without the near-eye, we could not see the effect." Owen said.

"Mold juice. That is why I am not a great healer. I eat my bread and cheese too quickly." The Queen of Thorns quipped.

"Grandmother…" Garlan said with some exasperation.

"Ser Garlan." The Reachmen turned to see Jon Snow standing in front of the wooden screen. "Your wife is awake."

---

Leonette sat up on the bed, her face sallow and her brown hair brittle and dry. Her normally bright eyes were watery and red, matching the thin and sunken cheeks. The plague had scarred her arms, shoulders, and neck with black and red marks but the swelling from the buboes was gone. Garlan rushed over to her side. He had never thought her more beautiful.

"Stop, Garlan. I do not want to get you ill." His wife cried.

"That is unlikely unless you bleed on him. Your variant of the plague spreads through blood. And you are no longer sick." Snow said.

Garlan held her hand carefully, and knelt by the bed. "Can that truly be the case?"

"Full recovery takes time but the plague bacterium in the buboes are dead or dying. She will need more elixir but the lady is past the worst."

"But my lord, what about my child?" Leonette asked.

"That is a more difficult question." Snow paused. "The child is alive, but during the last few weeks, you have eaten and drank very little. I suspect that your body has given what it can, but that is not enough for a growing babe." Tears fell down Leonette's eyes.

"But Jon, surely something can be done to save my sister's child." Owen said.

"What can I do, my lord?" Leonette asked, wiping her face dry.

"The best thing would be to eat and drink more. So your body replenishes what was lost and gives sustenance to the child." Snow called out to a little bird. A short dark haired girl ladled out hot soup from a large cauldron and carried the humble bowl filled with onion broth with bits of goats, carrots, and pork. The girl handed Leonette a plain wooden spoon and a hunk of warm brown bread drizzled with melted butter. "Have what you can. But do not rush."

"Goat stew? A rather old and small goat at that. Shouldn't my grandson's wife have better food than that?" Olenna said.

"We have no roast swans or peacock pies. Besides, plain food is healthy. Leonette needs more liquid. The onions and carrots are filling. The goat and pork have been simmered with ale until the meat becomes tender. It might taste better with spices - pepper, cloves and cinnamon - but we have none and the child will not care." Snow turned to the lady. "You should eat fruits, nuts and vegetables. As much as you can. The Wintertown Boys have picked apples, blackberries, pears and plums. Frances can boil eggs too for a salad of greens and nuts."

"But will it be too late?" Leonette asked, worried.

"I will not lie to you, my lady. We cannot be sure. But the more you eat, the better your chances. Do not give up hope. And do not bother with fancy food. Simple is better." Snow said.

---

"Lord Snow." Nymeria Sand, supported by the Sand Snakes, made her way across the hall. Her face was pale, and her long unbound hair fell freely on a silk cloak of yellow and orange. She walked slowly but with determination. "My sisters say that I owe you a great deal."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "Why are you up, my lady?"

"I told her that she should rest." Alleras complained.

"I wanted to thank you for my life. I did not expect to survive. What reward can I give you? Gold, jewels, silks - I might even pledge my spear."

"How about not dying? Your body is still weak and must recover. The best thing is rest, water and food - soups, stews, fruits, vegetables. You will also need more doses of the elixir."

"If Nymeria is cured, why does she need more medicine?" Obara said.

"The plague animalcules are dying. The swellings have shrunk considerably. But dying is not dead. We need to make sure they do not return. I plan to give injections over the next few days to kill the bacterium completely. That is the true problem. We don't have much elixir."

"Do we have enough for my wife?" Garlan asked.

"Right now, no. The yield of the mold juice is quite low. I used up all of it for the two ladies."

"Why don't you simply spread the mold on a hundred loaves of bread?" Olenna asked.

"That discovery was an accident, which happened only because I was almost killed. I have no plans to rely on accidents in the future. Come with me."

Snow stood up, and led them deeper into the tower. He pushed aside homespun wool curtains, revealing a room, well lit by torches. Children watched over an odd mix of containers, from small glass bottles to large wooden tubs. The vessels were in all sizes and shapes, including basins, bedpans, milk churns, metal sheets, pitchers and buckets. A musty, earthy smell pervaded the room, like dirt and rotting leaves.

"Is that mold?" Garlan asked.

"Yes. We are farming the mold here in different containers with different materials. Pears, plums, apples, berries, grapes, wheat, barley and rye. So far, it has been frustrating. A gallon of mold yields only a fingerful of broth. That broth needs to be cleaned and filtered to provide a few drops of elixir. Mold on bread does not produce the medicine in sufficient quantities. It is a curiosity, not a solution. A disappointment, really."

"A disappointment? Jon, you cured the plague!" Owen cried.

"I cured two patients. Three, including myself. That is not enough. My ambitions are greater than that. I mean to end the plague. I need elixir in vast quantities. Not thimbles, but barrels."

"How will you do that with a few children in a small room?" Olenna said.

"Not a few."

A Winter Town boy walked over, leading a troupe of six village girls. They were older than children but not quite women, too shy to meet the eyes of the highborn. The boy had no such problem, and spoke boldly. "Milord, this is the first batch. Becca the baker, Jez, a serving wench, Kayla of Shermer's Grove, Rosie the Maid, Morra the miller's wife, and Palla, a fisher girl."

"Do they know their duties?"

"Yes milord. Tend the crates and barrels, and measure the amount of mold at morning, noon and night. Extract the juice and put it into bottles, so that the broth can be filtered and cleaned. Above all, pass along any information about the differences of each container. They are ready."

"Excellent." Snow said. "Your contributions will be important. Chett, pay them now for their first five days. Think of the coins as a thank you for your efforts." The villagers smiled broadly as the boy took out fistfuls of silver from a fat pouch.

"Half a dozen smallfolk girls, who cannot read or write, will not make much of a difference. Why not use maesters?" Olenna asked.

"Why should I? I don't need maesters. I prefer people who will follow orders. The young can learn how to read and write. Maesters are often set in their ways. I would rather train someone in new ways of thinking than waste time arguing against preconceived notions. Besides, they will be loyal to me, not the Citadel or some lord."

Olenna harrumphed. "They are loyal because you are paying them."

"Ten silver stags a day. In less than a moon, that will be one golden dragon - more money than their families have ever seen. I intend to hire as many bright village girls as I can find."

"You are generous with your gold."

"I am generous with your gold, Lady Olenna. The coins come from the ransom the Reach paid. If I need to spend twenty thousand dragons to make the elixir, I will. It is less than a single prize at a tourney in King's Landing."

---

The worst part of prison was not the terrible food, the lice infested pile of straw that served as a bed, or the bucket in the corner that held shit and pee. It was boredom. Except for Ser Barristan, Jaime had not spoken more than a few words - and that was to yell at the guards to take away the tray before rats devoured the remains. At Riverrun, he kept company with other captives from the Westerlands - cousins, squires and knights that he had known for years. He also enjoyed mocking the Tully guards and their fat captain. Jaime forgot the man's name, preferring to call the old knight, Ser Big Belly.

"Jaime Lannister." A tinge of disgust crossed the well lined face at the cell door but any knight would flinch from the stench. At least Ser Barristan refrained from calling him the Kingslayer.

He stood up, the chains on his wrists and ankles rattling against the stone floor. More guards were lined up in the corridor, garbed in the green and gold of Highgarden.

"You are wanted outside." Barristan said. The jailer opened the door, and unlocked the chains.

Under heavy guard, Jaime was taken from Castle Mooton to Florian's Tower. The hall bustled with activity. The sick had been moved to the sides of the great room, and maesters and guards watched as Winter Town Boys and other children went back and forth. The Red Viper gave a mocking bow as Jaime passed the Dornish contingent. He was taken up the stairs by the Hound and Brienne, with Barristan in tow.

The room was less of a solar than an unfinished space, drafty but with ample sun. The Queen of Thorns sat in one corner, her veined wrinkled hands clutching a green and gold shawl. At the window, a young dark skinned man in a loose fitted doeskin tunic fed corn to ravens. Garlan Tyrell stood next to a few other nobles, and Arya Stark rested with a sword across her knees, the naked steel exposed to the air. But the clear and dominant force in the room sat behind a crude desk, bracketed by two dire wolves. The right shoulder was bandaged, and the face pale, but Jon Snow showed no other sign of injury or weakness.

"You are a hard man to kill." Jaime japed. No one laughed.

"Sit." Snow pushed forth a wooden bowl. "Eat."

His stomach growled but Jaime hesitated to take up the wooden spoon. "Onion soup?"

"We ran out of goat and pork, so the broth is mostly onions and carrots. Eat, Ser Jaime. If I wanted to poison you, you would already be dead."

Jaime lifted the bowl and drank his full. The soup was warm and nourishing, the browned onions surprisingly rich and sweet. He put the empty dish down and wiped the traces from his mouth. "I had nothing to do with the attack. I have no desire for your death, Snow."

"The second statement may be true. But the assassin was waiting outside the tower and knew your presence might lure me out. How would he know that?"

Jaime stayed quiet in the prison. The Tyrells could do little to compel him to speak. After all, they were marrying their rose to Joffrey. If anything happened to Jaime, his father, brother and sister would lay waste to Highgarden. "I knew nothing about a shooter."

"I believe you, Ser. You were duped into playing your role. But even so, you were involved in the attempt." The gray eyes turned hard and cold. "I know why you came to Maidenpool, Ser Jaime. And unless you want everyone in this room to know, you will give me the name. Who?"

Jaime forced himself not to groan. All his life, he had treated Tyrion well, except with Tysha. His brother had been blissfully happy in his cottage by the sunset sea, but it could never last. If the story became public, Tyrion would be humiliated. "Baelish. He found me in Maidenpool. He told me where..." Snow raised a hand and Jaime stopped speaking.

"Petyr Baelish is in Maidenpool. Why?" Olenna asked, surprised.

"He must be trying to kill Jon on Joffrey's orders." Arya exclaimed.

"Where did you see him?" Jon asked.

"Outside Jonquil's Pool. Baelish informed the king and the Small Council that Garlan marched to Maidenpool. But I had no idea that Baelish would come here."

"Where is he now?" Arya asked.

"A strange question to ask someone who was in prison for the last four days." Jaime snorted.

"We found no trace of the shooter. Baelish may have left Maidenpool and be on the road to King's Landing. He could be hiding in the riverlands or gone to the Vale." Garlan said.

"Men like Littlefinger hire assassins to do their killing. The shooter might be in the town waiting for another chance. But they may have also left with Baelish." Barristan said.

"Wonderful. Baelish may be in Maidenpool. He might not be. His hirelings may be here. They might be elsewhere. Littlefinger may be in the Vale, or Crackclaw Point, or rowing in the Bay of Crabs. How does this help us?" Olenna snarked.

"We have searched Maidenpool and Castle Mooton extensively." Garlan said. "But outside the walls, there are many farms and fields where a man could hide. That doesn't include the forests and hills to the West and South or the coastal bogs. I do not believe Baelish is within the gates but he could be outside the town proper."

"Ser Garlan, do all your men know that Lady Leonette is cured?" Snow asked.

"Some do. The Fossoways, and the chief knights in my service. But Leonette is still in Florian's Tower. Word of her recovery is no doubt spreading." Garlan replied.

"I want the Reachmen to know. Tell them that I have the cure for the plague. Alleras, make sure all the Martell guards are aware that Nymeria Sand is better. Spread the news far and wide."

"The sick will flood into Maidenpool, Jon. Have you enough elixir?" Alleras asked.

"Not yet, but the cycle of production is four to five days. That will give us some time."

"I will double the guards on the town walls. We will monitor anyone going through the gates, and record their names." Garlan said.

"Littlefinger will not give his name. He is clever enough to slip past the walls. If he does, he may make another attempt on your life, Snow." Olenna warned.

"So be it. The Stranger comes for all of us in the end. Baelish has caused enough trouble. Rats cannot be allowed to hide in the shadows." Snow said.

---

The Queen of Thorns departed the room, taking her sweet time. Jaime was certain the old harridan could walk more quickly, but the lady dawdled until Barristan offered a gallant elbow. Better him than me, Jaime thought. Garlan hurried away with the other Reachmen and the WinterTown Boys left after receiving orders. Snow motioned with a hand, and the Hound and Brienne backed out of the door.

"Arya, I need to speak with Jaime Lannister alone."

The girl with the naked blade stood up and snarled. "Kingslayer, you had better not cause any trouble." The grey wolf glared at him with obvious disdain, before following her mistress out.

Jaime refrained from any clever repartee. His hands were unchained but he had no weapon, armor or shield. Arya Stark might only be one and five but the dire wolves were fully grown. Besides, he would look ridiculous brawling with a girl half his size.

They waited in silence until the others had retreated a fair distance. The ravens cackled, and a sleek black cat hissed at the caged birds. The white wolf was quiet as a grave. Jaime wondered if the red eyes were passing judgment.

"Why did you try to abduct Gerion?"

"I didn't. I only wanted to speak to him in private. I wanted to bring him to the East Gate. But the boy ran as soon as he saw me." Jaime insisted.

"You are a Lannister. The Lannister army burned and pillaged the Riverlands. Gerry has a good head on his shoulders. A boy should run from armed strangers."

"I mean him no harm. I swear that on my honor as a knight. I only wish to speak with him."

"Very well." Snow rang a bell on the desk, summoning a dark haired Winter Town boy and Tyrion's son. "You wanted to talk, Ser Jaime. So talk."

Gerion had lost any fear from their past encounter. The boy stared at him intensely, with curious skepticism. Jaime had seen that look on Tyrion many times. "My name is Jaime Lannister..."

"I am not an idiot, Ser. I know who you are. You were a prisoner at Riverrun, and Lord Snow informed me that you would want to speak. Even if he had not, Chett knows your name."

"Gerry, we share blood. You were born a Lannister. My brother, Tyrion, is your father. "

"That can't be. Mother told me that the lions took my father away. She was forced to leave Lannisport. Why did my father abandon us?"

Jaime squirmed. "Tyrion never knew about you."

"How? He was wed to my mother. She fled for her life from the lions. Did your brother drive her away?"

"No - not exactly."

"Either you are lying or you are hiding something. What did the Lannisters do? What did your brother do? Why did he never look for us?" Gerry asked.

"Ser Jaime is not lying, and neither is your mother. Tyrion is your father, and it was his father, Lord Tywin, that broke the marriage and drove your mother away." Snow said.

"Did you know, my lord?" Gerry said.

Jon nodded. "I did, but your mother swore me to secrecy. It is her story to tell, not mine. Had Ser Jaime not confessed the truth, I would not say anything."

The boy's eyes hardened in anger. "To this day, my mother is afraid of highborns. She refuses to enter a castle. What did they do to her?"

Jon broke the silence. "Something terrible. But the shame belongs to those who committed these acts. Your mother bears no fault. As for your father, that is a harder question."

"Tyrion would make amends. I hoped to take you back to the Crownlands. Not to King's Landing, but I could bring you outside the city where you could meet my brother."

"Make amends? He abandoned us. He can come to Maidenpool. I will not go to him." The angry boy turned to Snow. "My lord, what will happen to me? Am I to be traded to the Lannisters like a sack of wheat?"

"Of course, not. You are a Winter Town Boy. You earned the position through hard work and cleverness - not your name or birth. It will be your choice to reconcile with Tyrion or not. Whatever may happen, you have a place up North. That will not change." Jon said.

"You are one of us, Gerry. You will always be welcome." Chett said.

The boy took a deep breath. "Thank you, Lord Snow. What do you think I should do?"

"Nothing for now. Do not make a decision out of haste. Tyrion and Ser Jaime may mean well. The other Lannisters will not feel the same. Lord Tywin will see you as a stain on his honor. So will the Queen and Joffrey. The Lannisters have murdered people for much less. It is not safe for you to go South." Jon said.

"The King is my cousin. I wish I had never learned that. Milord, please excuse me. I need some time and air." The dazed boy ran away.

"I will go and make sure Gerry doesn't do anything foolish." Chett left a moment later.

"That went poorly." Jaime said.

"What did you expect, Ser? Did you think the boy would embrace you with open arms? This confession was always going to be difficult. And Gerry does not even know what your father did. The real truth would make it much, much worse." Snow snapped.

Jaime rose to leave. "Thank you, for not telling the others about Gerion, and for not revealing what Lord Tywin did."

"I didn't do that for you. You are free to go. It is Gerry's choice whether he wishes to speak to Tyrion or not. You will respect his decision." Snow said.

---

The harbor at Maidenpool was full. From a porthole of the Merling King, Petyr Baelish looked out at the two-headed flat bottomed ferry that docked that morning. Longshoremen unloaded barrels from Old King Andahar's water horse, and soldiers brought the cargo into town.

The Merling King was a Braavosi trading galley. Like all such vessels, it had two surprising qualities. Despite the ample cargo space, the galley was fast and easy to maneuver, performing well under both sail and oars. And just as important, the Merling King was a smuggler's ship, with concealed compartments to evade customs sergeants and harbormasters.

Baelish had spent the last few days here, hiding in plain sight. The gates of Maidenpool were under heavy guard but the stone wall that separated the harbor and the town was sparsely manned. After the Tyrells had ordered the crew to depart and the ships to anchor, the harbor was rarely used, and fishermen passed without scrutiny.

He heard the code rapped out, 2 beats, a pause, and then two more. Baelish opened the secret door, and saw a stocky man in drab brown garb.

"Ah, Ser Lothar. What news?"

"Jon Snow has cured the plague, my lord." The sellsword blurted out.

"What does it take to kill this man? He should be dead from the poison or the plague."

"He rose from his bed two days ago. Since then, he has cured Leonette Tyrell and Nymeria Sand. The septons claim that Snow must be blessed by the gods."

"I need Snow to be blessed by the Stranger." Baelish quipped. "Wait - you said Garlan's wife is cured. Are you certain? This is not some trick or a sleight of hand."

"No, my lord. Leonette Tyrell went on a walk near Jonquil's Pool. Nymeria Sand was seen with her sisters. Snow really did cure the plague. He makes more medicine every day."

Baelish stroked his small pointed beard. "Astounding. Do you know what this means?"

"Joffrey will be furious. If Snow survives and becomes famous for defeating the plague..."

Baelis waved a hand dismissively. "Who cares about Joffrey? Think about it. Quack nostrums and false remedies were worth thousands of golden dragons. How much would people pay for an actual cure? Millions. Imagine what archons and princes will pay to save their children."

"But, my lord, Snow will not give you the cure." Lothor said, his mouth open with shock.

"Then we will take it. Where did you store the wildfire?"

"In a cellar near the Stinking Goose. Why?"

"Snow is not the only one who understands diversion." Baelish smiled.

---

The numbers did not add up. Jon examined the rows and rows of raw figures on the sheets of parchment. He did not fault the Winter Town boys or the dozens of new hirelings, eager to work hard and try their utmost. Their effort was not the problem. From pots, pans and tubs, the village girls collected mold juice at a trickle, only filling up an inch of one small beaker. The production was not enough. More plague patients arrived at Maidenpool every day. The elixir needed to multiply - to grow in leaps and bounds.

Jon took a walk to clear his head. He passed by Lady Tyrell at the head of a table, urging Leonette and the Mooton girl to sup on lemon cakes, apple crisps and honey biscuits baked with blackberries and nuts. The Queen of Thorns sliced a thick slab of pungent cheese, the blue veins stretching across the crumbly and moist body. Jon wondered if he would ever enjoy any food as much as Olenna liked her cheese. Near the fires, townsmen cured barrels of white oak with warm but not scalding water. The purpose was to wash out any traces of sour beer and spoiled wine, and to seal any leaks. Further away, the tubs of blue green mold gave off a musty aroma, although some of the smell came from a clay jar of pickled pig's feet in Clegane's hands. The Winter Town Boys ate warm bread and melted cheese with broth and Chett poured a jigger of amber liquid into the bubbling cauldron.

"What are you doing?" Thoros of Myr shouted.

Chett turned around, the half full bottle in his hand. "It adds flavor to the onions."

"You are using whiskey in the soup?" The Red Priest cried in horror.

"Whiskey? What is that?" Owen raised his head up from his food.

"A gift from the gods. Whiskey is meant to be savored like a beautiful woman, not thrown away like piss in a pot."

Something tickled in the back of Jon's mind. The stinky blue cheese, the soured beer, the musty mold, the pickled trotters, the spoiled hindquarters of the hog, and the whiskey. They were all connected - a pungent smell...

"I am an idiot." Jon announced loudly, clapping himself on the forehead.

"I doubt that." Arya snorted.

"Gather everyone around. Chett, bring the bottle."

---

A large crowd surrounded the work table. The guards had dragged over a few chairs for Lady Olenna and a few of the highborn, but most sat down on the floor. Jon held up the glass bottle. "The Northmen know that this is whiskey - more potent than strongwine and better tasting than the spiced liquors of Essos or the black tar rum of the sailors. But how is it made?"

"Milord, we distilled it in a tall copper still." A boy said.

"That is the middle step. There are three. Start at the beginning."

"We mix and ferment the mash in vats. Then we heat and distill the liquid in a sill. Lastly, we age the whiskey in barrels." Chett said.

"The first step is the key. The mash turns barley and corn into liquor. Fermentation makes cheese, beer, pickles, wine, whiskey - and the elixir that cures the plague."

"The cure for the plague is made the same way as cheese?" Olenna asked.

"The same technique. Nomads fermented the milk of goats, sheep and cows thousands of years ago on the plains of Essos. They preserved fruits and grain, baked bread, made beer and wine. We used the process for whiskey in the North and now, we can produce medicine."

"That is wonderful, my lord." Chett said, echoing the other eager Winter Town boys.

"Why? Why are you so excited?" Garlan asked.

"Because we know fermentation. When the war ended, the maester built Goldenfields at the fork of the White Knife. We have been busy turning the bounty of the land into whiskey, bourbon, rye, and other liquors. We know the ways of preparing the best malt." Chett replied.

"Tell me, then. What are the most important factors for fermentation?" Jon said.

"Air." A young girl volunteered. "Some fermentation doesn't, but this elixir grew on bread exposed to air."

"Heat." Another boy added. "It needs to be warm to break down the mash. But not too hot, else the mixture spoils."

"Moisture. The rooms with the mash vats are damp."

"Mixing." Chett said. "We mill the grains and mash them up, so that our yield is higher. By breaking down the mash, it yields more alcohol."

"The material." Gerry added. "We used many different grains, but the best was corn. We should use corn, milord, and not other grains or fruits!"

"Well done." Jon said warmly. "The mold juice grew too slowly, and only on the surface of trays and tubs. That is why it failed. The better way would be large barrels with the right warmth and moisture. A deep tank for the corn mash to ferment."

"But milord, if we use a sealed barrel, how does the mold get air?" the first girl asked.

"Simple." Jon picked up a copper alembic, his fingers on the metal tube connecting the large and small flasks.

"I understand, my lord." Chett cried out. "We hammer tubes into the casks, and blow air through or use the metal and glass to stir. That way, we can mix or give air to the mash."

"How do you know this will work, Snow?" Olenna asked.

"I don't. We will test these ideas out. We have dozens of barrels, and enough workers to measure and record the results. Once we have proven the methods, there is no limit to what can be done or how much elixir can be produced." Jon said.

---

Her brother Jon was right. The only thing that surprised Arya was that others were surprised. Four days passed, and the first new batches had been extracted from barrels, yielding much greater amounts. The operation had been divided into three stages. First, the mold was started in shallow trays on a soup of cooked grains. After spots of blue green appeared, it was moved to casks full of thick molasses-like corn liquid. The barrels rested on the sides with holes drilled through the top and plugged with tubes made from pig bladders. The last part was the trickiest. Under Jon's watch, the medicine was separated out, and sealed in freshly washed bottles.

They discovered three things. First, the mixture in the barrels needed regular attention. Bellows pumped air through, constantly agitating the goop. Second, the corn liquid was immensely productive, improving yields tenfold. Third, a servant from the Reach found a green-golden mold on a sweet melon. Jon mixed this new mold with the original spores. Lady Olenna quipped that the elixir would be the colors of Highgarden.

With success, came the ability to treat more patients. Word of the cure had spread, bringing ships and caravans to Maidenpool. The gates were crowded with horses and wagons, and Arya wondered if they came out of curiosity, rather than being sick with the plague. Certainly, that was why Jaqen H'ghar was here.

"Remarkable. Quite remarkable." The Lorathi said. "How much elixir has your brother produced?"

Arya didn't know. "You wanted to speak to Jon, not count barrels."

The man with half red and half white hair chuckled. "A man is curious, like all the others."

Arya scowled and bit her lip. Too many maesters and septons hovered about the hall, trying to learn all they could. They were like rats in a granary. She wondered who they spied for, if it was the Reach, Dorne, the Citadel or some other group. "Come along. He is waiting."

---

As they entered the solar from the staircase, a grim Barristan Selmy left. The room was brightly lit, and her brother was alone, except for the white wolf, the black cat, and the ravens. He motioned for them to sit down as Ghost padded over to the closed door.

"You are a Faceless Man." Jon said.

"We prefer to be known as servants of the God of Many Faces." Jaqen answered.

"I would thank you for helping Arya escape Harrenhal but you are not here for that."

"A man owed a girl for three deaths stolen from Him of Many Faces. Those lives have been repaid. No thanks are needed. A man hears that you have created a wondrous cure, unknown in any Houses of Healing. He wishes to know the price." Jaqen said.

"You are not a Lorathi. You can speak in the argot of Braavos." Jon said.

"Which one? The chatter of boasting bravos? The refined speech of the bankers, the cant of merchants and thieves, or the cryptic words of priests? The slang of the wharves, the workers at Chequy Port, the captains of the Purple Piers or the foreign sailors at Ragman's Harbor? Braavos contains many people, but for all of them, I ask the same question - how much?"

"How much do you need?" Jon shot back.

"Enough to cure Braavos of the plague."

"And how much is that? Braavos has tens of thousands in the inner sanctum. Many more live in the islands across the lagoon. The city also controls the lands to the harbor of Lorath, to the Flatlands of Pentos and the hills West of Norvos."

"The Sealord would quarantine Ragman's Harbor. If the plague has spread, the Braavosi would need quite a lot." Jaqen admitted.

"You are not the only one who wants elixir. Ser Barristan has asked. Ser Baelor says there are many ill in Oldtown. Alleras tells me the plague is in Planky Town and may spread to Sunspear."

"But I can kill your enemies. Can they?" Jaqen said.

"I take it that you know who tried to kill me."

"Petyr Baelish. Speak the name and a man will do the rest." Jaqen said.

"Where is he?" Arya blurted out.

The assassin shook his head. "You are not paying for that. If you knew his location, you might kill him yourself. Then who would pay a price to the Many Faced God?"

"Baelish hasn't been spotted at the gates. But he must be close, if you are sure he can be killed." Arya reasoned.

"How quickly can Baelish be killed?" Jon asked.

"Death is certain. The time is not." Jaqen said.

"That is hardly reassuring." Jon said. "We are making more elixir, but I can't promise enough to treat an entire city. Why do you want the cure anyway? You are an assassin, not a healer. "

"Who would not want a cure to the plague? Braavos is not the only Free City that has suffered from the epidemic. We are merely the first to ask. We will not be the last. And the next requests may not be so polite."

"Is that a threat?" Jon replied.

"Merely a warning. Men are willing to pay gold for life or death. Your elixir holds that power over the Free Cities. What people cannot buy, they steal or take."

"I will give you the same answer as I did Ser Barristan. The elixir is for the sick. I am thankful to you but I cannot promise medicine only to Braavos. I did not grant Barristan's request even though he saved my life. I will not pay that price for Baelish's head. But I will help those who suffer from the plague." Jon said.

"Words are wind. A man puts more trust in deeds."

"Agreed. Deeds will prove my words to be true."

---

Jon dismissed the assassin. Jaqen rose and gave a short quick bow, before departing the solar. Unlike Barristan, the Braavosi betrayed no anger or frustration. Arya wondered what the Lorathi thought behind that polite smile.

"Jon, maybe we should promise him some elixir."

Her brother shrugged. "No one gets everything they want. He is hiding something, but I suppose secrets come easily to a society of assassins."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Why did H'ghar come to Maidenpool? You saw him only a day after I was shot."

"He claims that he had nothing to do with Baelish's attempt." Arya said.

"I believe that. But he came to town before I cured the plague. Faceless Men do not visit places for no reason. H'ghar is a killer, so who is he here to kill?"

"Someone important. A name to offer the Red God. It could be a Tyrell or a Martell or …. Petyr Baelish!" Arya exclaimed.

"Possible, perhaps even probable. The Faceless Men charge a high price, but Baelish is the sort to make enemies. Powerful ones. This is only a guess. But if he is here to kill Baelish, then I have no desire to pay twice for the same deed."

"Jaqen has been here for over a week. Why isn't Littlefinger dead?" Arya asked.

"He may already be dead but I doubt we are that lucky. Jaqen might be waiting for Baelish to emerge from hiding. Or he might know where Baelish is and still be biding his time. That would be more troubling."

"Do you think he means to betray us?"

"I do not know. Arya, the Faceless Men are a cult of assassins who worship the God of Death. They have their own goals and despite the talk of saving Braavos, I doubt they match ours. But H'ghar is not Baelish or Tywin. He is a cold blooded killer, but not our enemy. And it would be better not to make him one." Jon mused.

"Milord, Milord." A little bird burst through the door.

"What is the matter, Frances?"

"It is the lady - the babe is coming." The young girl blurted out.

---

The crowd parted before him as Jon made his way through guards and knights to a curtained square area. The makeshift room was even more thronged, but Owen led him to the bed. Lady Leonette had regained her rosy cheeks and bright eyes from days of good food and drink, but she looked frightened and tired, her forehead dripping sweat, and her mouth pursed with worry.

"Snow, thank you for coming." Garlan stood with his grandmother and wife's father.

"Why are so many people here?" Jon frowned at the large crowd.

"The maesters from the Reach all wish to attend. But there are also many local healers, septas, and midwives. Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria have offered their help." Owen said.

"Who is in charge?"

"We're not certain. My grandmother is trying to determine that." Garlan said.

Jon rolled his eyes and pushed forward, getting the attention of the healers. "Who among you has delivered the most babies?"

A round pink faced man puffed up. "I have delivered two and twenty." Ballabar was Lord Redwyne's maester, and borrowed by the Tyrells from King's Landing.

"And I have seen hundreds give birth. And that is only the ones I remember." A shriveled woman with a sharp nose and steel gray hair tied up in a bun claimed. She looked older than the Queen of Thorns, and just as tough.

"Your name?" Jon asked.

"Hruda. I have lived on the Bay of Crabs all my life and delivered babies from Claw Isle to the Saltpans. Been a midwife longer than these beardless fools have been alive."

"She has, milord. I have tramped these roads for thirty years. Hruda was old before I got here." A shabby septon with thick gray hair said.

"Very well, Hruda. You will deliver the child. Maester Ballabar - pick the most experienced healers among the Reachmen to assist the good wife. Chett and Gerion, make certain that there is hot water and clean towels for the lady. Prepare a batch of elixir."

"Are you certain of this? Ballabar has a good reputation as a healer." Garlan said.

"Who do you trust in a duel? The man who has swung the sword ten thousand times, or the one who has read about fighting in books? Hruda may not have studied at the Citadel but she knows childbirth. Experience matters here. And cleanliness." Jon wrinkled his nose.

"Should I leave the room?" Garlan asked.

"No, but order everyone else to go. Stay with your lady wife. Give her food and water. Walk with her if she wishes. The labor can take many hours. You must do everything possible to make Leonette comfortable."

"Fat chance of that. The birthing bed is a miserable place." Olenna said.

"I have no doubt that is true. Perhaps one day, things will be better." Jon departed the room.

---

Arya tried her best to ignore the shrieks and grunts coming from behind the curtains. Garlan's knights - brave men eager to fight at tourneys and battles - shuddered and paled at the noises. Ser Barristan winced, as did many of the highborn and maesters lingering outside.

"I am never having a baby." Arya declared with disgust.

"That will make Robb happy." Jon quipped.

"You may change your mind one day, sweetling." Ellaria Sand said.

"No, that's not me." Arya said.

"Milord. Milord. Come quick." Chett's voice cried out. "The babe!"

Jon sprang to his feet, and ripped the curtain aside, with his sister following closely behind. There was no wailing or crying but looks of grief and confusion on the healers and priests. The newborn child was laying silently on a blanket of gold and green. When Rickon, the youngest Stark, had been born, he had screamed so loudly that all of Winterfell heard his cries.

"Hruda, what happened?" Jon asked.

"The babe is not breathing." The midwife replied.

A fat man raised hands with the septas. "Let us pray that the Father will receive your child into his blessed hall, and the Mother Above will greet the boy with mercy…"

"Screw that. The Father and Mother can wait their turn." Jon brushed the child's forehead and inspected the nose and mouth carefully. "The skin is cold. Get some warm compresses. Chett, find me tubes." He took a moist towel, and began to wipe the mouth and nose, clearing any snot and blood. The children rushed to action. A WinterTown Boy scrambled to bring pipes of different shapes and materials. A young girl brought a heated basin, full of warm water.

Jon gently rubbed the baby's chest, before pushing his fingers into the belly. He grabbed a tube made from a pig's bladder and then blew up the child's nostrils, first the left and then the right. He opened the baby's mouth, kneading the throat and jaw with care.

"What are you doing?" Garlan asked.

"The child needs air. His lungs must learn to breathe. We must provide that air if he cannot."

"The Seven Pointed Star teaches that a newborn is easily snuffed out, like a candle in the wind by the gods. The Stranger cannot be denied." the septon cried.

"The Stranger can go fuck himself." Jon replied, splashing water on the child's legs and arms. "Chett, I need fresh linens. I need warmth - put the embers of the fire into a pan. And I need air, more air." He continued blowing through the bladder, sending air vigorously into the child's nose. He thumped the chest gently, trying to start the baby's breath.

"There is more air outside the tower." Gerry said, handing over washed blankets.

Jon lined the basin with a blanket, the water soaking the wool. He gently placed the infant into the tub, the head resting well above the water. "No, a baby must be warm and comfortable." Jon repeated the cycle - the rubbing, the breath, and palpitations. "No one prays for breath but nothing lives without air."

"Snow." Thoros spoke hesitantly. "There is a secret known to the priests of the Lord of Light..."

"Speak up, Ser. The child has little time." Jon said impatiently.

"At the Red Temple in Volantis, the high priest taught how to use smokes and powders. There is one that caused flames to burn more brightly - so that yellow ripened to gold and reds turned deep crimson. The air would….."

"Become clean. The light would be brighter and the shadows darker."

"Yes. Until the powder burned away." Thoros said.

"That secret came from ancient Valyria - the powder is an ingredient in the glass candles of the dragonlords. The Citadel claims the three black candles in the vault cannot be lit, but they are wrong." Jon extended out his hand. "Give me the powder."

Thoros removed a small bag from the pouch hanging on his belt. "I don't have much."

Jon opened the drawstrings to reveal a fine dust, as white as Ghost's fur. "I know this. This is saltpeter. We used it in Goldenfields for wheat and corn, and it also makes stronger glass. I have never burned it directly though. Bring me a flame."

Arya raked through the fire with a poker, pushing the cinders into a short bucket, the embers glowing against the iron bands. Guards carried the wooden bucket over. Jon placed the white powder into a glass beaker and stretched the tube over the top. He held it over the heat, the powder turning darker as it began to burn. Jon sniffed the air coming from the bladder, a smile lighting up his face.

Jon waited until the bottom of the flask darkened from the fire. Then he placed the end of the tube near the baby's face. In the silent room, as the Tyrells and healers looked upon, the small head turned, groping for the rush of air. The infant coughed and then inhaled - a short gasp at first but then more steady and slow - the chest rising and falling. The child gave a soft cry.

"He is breathing." Owen cried in wonder.

"He needs more. Chett, find the saltpeter we brought from the North. We have many flasks in the boxes. The other salts might work too." Jon said to the Winter Town Boys who rushed off.

"It may still not be enough." Ballabar pointed at the newborn's face. The skin and the eyes were an ugly yellow. "The color - that is a sign of illness."

"Ebrose lectured about this. The child has jaundice. If the skin stays yellow, he may not survive. It will be hard to drink and sleep. Somehow the yellow weakens a child." Alleras said.

"The Stranger comes all too often at the birth of a babe." The septon bowed his head.

"The Stranger will not have this one." Jon washed the boy's mouth and nose with a damp cloth. The child accepted the touch. He thought of his trueborn siblings, Rhaenys stabbed to death and Aegon torn from his mother's breast. This child was much younger, but did not deserve to die. Jon thought of his parents, Rhaegar and Lyanna. They did not deserve to die, either. Only Aerys deserved the kiss of the Stranger. Sinners should pay for their crimes, not the innocent. What had Rhaenys told him in the sept before she said goodbye? After darkness, after the rains and storms, the sun heals. The sun heals.

"This is how to save him. Place the child in the light of the sun." Jon said firmly

"How do you know?" Ballabar asked.

"I can't say how I know. But I know. It is the truth. The sun will save the child." And it did, the golden rays bathing the newborn child in the solar.

---

The boy gazed sleepily at her, the head resting after a long feeding. The swaddled child curled up against Leonette's bosom, nestled between his parents. Olenna had rarely seen anyone as happy as her grandson. And why not? Two days ago, Garlan's newborn could not even breathe. Now, the baby suckled down his mother's milk, burped, and yawned, his belly full.

"The child needs to rest." The dark skinned girl dressed as a boy said.

Alleras was no man. No doubt, she was one of the Red Viper's byblows, hiding her sex to study at the Citadel. The maesters must be blind, Olenna snorted. Garlan nuzzled his son, and then handed the boy over, to be taken up the stairs to the solar. There, the boy would sleep in a large wicker basket, padded with warmed linens, his now pale skin warmed by the sun.

"Well, how is my great grandson?"

"Completely healthy." Garlan said with wonder. "He eats, he drinks - he even smiled at us."

"He's growing well. Even after a few hours, he feels heavier. He pees, poops, and still grows." Leonette added happily.

"But how has the boy recovered so quickly? Is it the fire air conjured from rocks and powders? Or the sun? Or mother's milk? Do the Northmen have other secrets?" Olenna said.

"No one really knows." Owen Fossoway said. "Snow tried many things. What worked and what didn't is unclear, even to the maesters. The baby thrives and we must give thanks for that."

"Why have you not named the boy?" Olenna asked.

"We were worried that he would not live." Garlan admitted. "Now that he is healthy, we want to celebrate the birth with a feast. We plan to give him a name there."

"Well, as long as it is not Mace. One oaf in the family is more than enough. I always wondered if Luthor was hit with a mace that morning to want that name for his son." she said acidly.

---

"Lady Olenna." An old maester walked over with a few other Reachmen.

"Yes, Lomys. What have you found out?"

"Not much, my lady. The Winter Town Crew keep Snow's secrets well. Even a bag of golden dragons would not tempt them to speak."

"Grandmother, are you spying on Snow?" A shocked Garlan asked.

"Of course, I am. Unfortunately these children are an unhelpful bunch, and rather loyal. Lomys, can we make the elixir?" Olenna asked.

"A little - enough to treat a few people but nothing compared to the vast quantities that Snow can produce. Their yield increases every day." Lomys said.

"We need that elixir. What if the plague worsens or spreads up the Mander?" Olenna said.

"The elixir may be even more important than we thought." the rosy cheeked Ballabar said.

"More important than the plague?" Olenna replied.

"The plague spreads through animalcules in the blood. But other diseases - the pox, the sweating sickness, the bloody flux - may also be caused by these animalcules. Snow gave Lady Leonette a shot of elixir after the birth."

"As a precaution. He said that was to make sure I did not fall ill. He thought my milk would be better for the child than a wet nurse." Leonette added.

"So this elixir may cure other sicknesses as well?" Olenna said.

"We cannot be sure. It certainly may work, but some diseases may be unaffected by elixir. Jon has yet to test the medicine on other ailments." Owen said.

"Not yet but he will. Snow has a curious mind and more than enough helpers to run tests. With time, he will uncover all the secrets of the elixir. He could stop deaths from childbirth. He could cure sicknesses that kill the young." Lomys said.

"Snow could do more than that." Garlan realized. "Half the deaths in war are from disease. An army that can heal their wounded and fears no plague would be hard to face."

"The North has already won once against the Reach." Olenna said.

"The next war will be worse. With the elixir, Snow will crush us." Garlan said.

---

Her sister had recovered with alacrity. As Tyene and Alleras watched, Nym sparred with Obara. The oldest Sand Snake was taller and stronger, and used a shield and Dornish spear. Nymeria preferred exotic weapons - hidden daggers, a powerful recurve bow with horn on the belly, and the scimitar, halfway between the arakh and sword. She relied on speed and quickness for the curved blade to offset Obara's reach. The fight was a draw. Nym was on the offense but the scimitar could not penetrate the heavy wood shield, double layered with bronze and iron.

"A good match. But not a true representation of battle. The scimitar is better used on horseback. Obara would be more likely to fight in a phalanx with other spearmen." Oberyn said.

"Is there news, Father?" Alleras knew that a raven had come that morning.

"The plague has shut down King's Landing. The streets are empty and the Court is closed. No one has seen any trace of the Boy King or Tywin Lannister for many days."

"Do you think the plague killed House Lannister?" Obara asked eagerly.

"I hope not. I want to kill Tywin with my own hands." Oberyn replied. "If there were royal deaths, they would ring the bells of the Great Sept. Although, that may also be closed. The plague rages in King's Landing, just like it does in Duskendale and all of the Crownlands. The Lannisters are hiding behind the castle walls, like the rest of Westeros."

"What about Dorne, Father? What of our cousins and sisters?" Nymeria said.

"My brother has returned to Sunspear from the Water Gardens. That does not bode well. I sent a raven that you were cured but it would take days to reach Doran, and longer for him to respond." Oberyn said.

"How will we repay Snow? How do we get elixir for Dorne?" Nymeria asked.

"He has not asked for anything. We are not the only ones who want elixir. The Queen of Thorns will be eager to secure medicine for Highgarden. She may outbid us with lands and gold."

"Jon did not want gold to save Nymeria. A title or castle in the Reach will not matter to him. He never cared for glory or fame at the Citadel." Alleras said.

"All men have desires. What lies between their legs, gold to buy comfort and pleasure, power and dominion over others - Snow must want something besides dusty books and little brass tools for seeing invisible creatures." Tyene said.

"Jon is a man, and men have wants. That is true. But those wants may be very different from others. You assume his ambitions are small - gold, women, or power. But I do not think that is the case. It may not be within the power of either House Tyrell or Martell to grant his wishes."

"We have underestimated Snow. I did not think it was possible to cure the plague or save a child born without breath. The Tyrells are in his debt, and so are we. There is no easy way to repay that. We will deal with that later. Garlan and Leonette have invited us to a feast for their child. Let us celebrate that first." Oberyn said.

---

The ravens returned from their forage, flying so densely through the windows that the flock blocked the light of the setting sun. Jon hushed them as the birds entered the solar. He did not want the baby to wake from slumber. The ravens grumbled at the troughs of water and corn. They preferred to feast on flesh over grain but had not found any carrion to scavenge.

The birds had also not found Baelish. Jon was certain that Littlefinger would make another attempt on his life. Baelish was not the sort to give up, and Joffrey was not a king who would accept failure. The Lord Protector of the Vale could not risk Jon returning to Winterfell. And Jon wanted the confrontation to occur in Maidenpool, not the Vale or King's Landing.

A growl came from outside. A gray she-wolf pushed through the door, and Arya, breathless from rushing up the stairs, ran in as well. Nymeria snarled, the dark golden eyes full of fury. Arya rubbed the gray fur around the neck. The she-wolf was taller than his sister.

"I don't know why Nymeria is so upset." Arya said. "She has been snapping at the servants since the morning."

Ghost approached and sniffed the air. The white wolf bared his teeth, and sprang alert, the snout pointed toward the door. His dire wolf had no voice but Jon could feel the restless energy.

"What changed this morning?"

"They are preparing for the feast. The Tyrells have ordered barrels of ale and wine. Hunters delivered venison, rabbits and ducks. Clegane was more excited about the chickens and pig's feet from the nearby farms."

"Then there are many strangers in the hall?"

Arya understood immediately. "You think they are spies? Littlefinger's men?"

"We should always trust Ghost and Nymeria. There is no doubt of their loyalty or sense of smell. On the night I was shot, the dire wolves might have picked up the scent of a stranger. That could be Littlefinger or his assassin."

"Should we alert the guards?"

"No. If Baelish is here, we want to catch him. If he is not, then his men might lead us to him. Alerting the guards might allow him to escape." Jon calmed Ghost and Nymeria down, and motioned to the black cat. "Come, Balerion. Time to hunt."

---

The hall was full of roses but fortunately most were adorned on green banners hanging from the walls or emblazoned on shields, cloaks and tunics. There were other flowers besides golden roses on the trestle tables - golden dandelions, bunches of purple lilac, blue forget-me-nots, red dragon's breath. Platters of luscious fruit - melons, fireplums, peaches, red and white grapes - made a mouthwatering display. Jon was amused that there were no apples but that was not a slight of the Fossoway sigil. He could smell apples baked with cinnamon and butter into cakes and tarts, as well as great racks of meat roasting over fires.

The Tyrells were generous hosts. Ravens, roosting on the window ledges, watched the steady flow of men and supplies through the doors of the great hall. Stevedores and other dockhands carried in barrels of ale, mead and cider. Draft horses pulled wagons loaded with crates of salt pork, casks of sausages, and sacks of flour. Somewhere in this mass of servants, merchants and farmers, Baelish and his lackeys were hiding. There were too many strong scents for Ghost or Nymeria to locate the schemer. Then, Jon noticed something odd.

"Where are the ladies?" He did not see Leonette, Olenna or the Sand Snakes. Oberyn and his paramour were missing as well.

"They went to bathe at Jonquil's Pool. So they can dress fancy for the feast."

Jon laughed. "I take it you have no interest in gowns and kirtles."

"I have no gowns and only one other set of clothes." Arya said proudly.

"We will look plain compared to finery of the Tyrells and the Martells. Like a true Northerner."

Their banter was interrupted by a loud cry. "Fire! Fire! " A voice shouted from outside the tower. "The bath house is on fire!"

"Leonette!" Garlan cried in panic. House Mooton built the great bathhouse centuries ago, claiming that the waters were blessed by the Mother Above. In time, the Faith accepted that explanation, and an order of holy sisters attended bathers in Jonquil's Pool.

A mass exodus followed Garlan out of the tower. Knights from the Reach, maesters, Tyrell and Dornish guards rushed out the great hall. Brienne joined them with Edric Dayne, but Clegane did not. Most servants remained as did many of the workers who were delivering goods. The first made sense. The preparations for the feast would take time, and they could not leave cauldrons and ovens unwatched. But farmers and merchants would check on their horses and wagons.

"Clegane, aren't you going to help?" Barristan asked.

"Run into a fire when no one is paying me? My job is to protect Snow, not to pretend I am a knight in some silly song." The Hound retorted.

"Sandor." Jon said quietly. "Arm yourself. And Barristan, stay with me."

The two men were surprised, but followed orders. Clegane unsheathed a greatsword, and Selmy kept a hand on the pommel of his blade. Jon motioned for silence, and reached out with the ravens to look for anything unusual. Ghost detected the scent first, a whiff of mint that wafted past the kitchens and storerooms into the castle.

---

They found the interlopers, cloaked in the green and brown roughspun of farmers and hunters, near the stairs. One man, shorter than the others, held a knife to the throat of a blond boy.

"Baelish!" Jon yelled.

The slender man turned, the Valyrian dagger still poised to cut Gerion's throat. His guards drew swords and fanned out in a half circle around their master. "Jon Snow. Risen from the dead. How unfortunate." Littlefinger drawled.

"Milord, he is here to steal the elixir." Gerion gasped. A thin line of blood dripped from his neck.

"Joffrey sent you to kill me, not steal medicine." Jon said.

"Who says I can't do both? I have to thank you, Snow. Your elixir will command more gold than my wildest dreams. And I have a wonderful imagination."

"Unhand the boy." Jaime carried a longsword in two hands, the naked blade resting lightly on the right shoulder. It was an awkward pose, but Jon had no doubt the Lannister knight could unleash a whirlwind attack, just like he did at the Whispering Wood.

"I thought we were allies. We serve the Crown."

"I am no ally of yours. You used me to lure Snow out. And you set fire to the bathhouse." Jaime snapped back.

"Surrender, Baelish. You are a blackguard who would risk the lives of women and children for your schemes. You can't hope to win against us in battle." Barristan said.

"Do you ever tire of being smug and noble? Exile has not improved you, Selmy." Baelish replied. "Four men cannot beat the three of you. You and Ser Jaime are reputedly the greatest knights of the land and the Hound is a brute. But what about forty? Are forty men enough?"

More men poured into the corridor. Jon saw the glint of mail under the drab cloaks and patched breeches. Some carried swords and knives but the smarter ones used spears. That would give them enough reach to offset their relative lack of skill.

"Hand over the elixir, and I will let you live." Baelish smirked, as his sellswords and freeriders surrounded them.

Jon laughed. "You are a bad liar, Littlefinger. It is astounding that you fooled so many. But then again, kings sitting on thrones are often fools. We are not. You cannot afford to let us live. You set fire to the bathhouse. Ser Garlan will kill you. He will hunt down your men and hang them if they are lucky. Prince Oberyn will torture them if they are not. You are all dead men walking. It is only a question of when and how."

"All men die. But I have the upper hand now." Baelish said.

"No, you do not. Your attempt to kill me ten days ago took me by surprise. This time is different." Jon held a hand up. A faint rustle could be heard, and then a low gurgling croak that grew shriller and harsher. Dark shapes swarmed the air, and black wings thumped together in a loud knocking call as ravens swirled over their heads. "Now, Arya."

The dire wolves emerged from the shadows. Nymeria growled and snarled while Ghost stayed by Arya's side, guarding her flanks. Then the ravens, flying with one mind, dived and attacked, biting and stabbing at the sellswords. One particularly vicious bird swooped down and plunged a long curved beak into the whoremonger's right eye. Baelish screamed in pain and the raven cawed in triumph, wrenching the eyeball away like a trophy. The other birds, maddened by the bloody sight, pressed the attack. Beaks, wings, and talons harassed Littlefinger's men who tried desperately to fend off the birds.

That was a grave error. The sellswords were densely packed and more likely to strike each other than the ravens. Worse, the unified wall of spears and swords collapsed. The Hound flanked by Barristan and Jaime smashed through the enemy line in a deadly wedge. The dire wolves ripped out throats and bit at shoulders and flanks. The wood floor grew slippery with blood as the fight quickly became every man for themselves.

Baelish, still moaning from the loss of an eye, dropped the knife, allowing Gerion to scurry away. He reached into a pouch, and tossed a clay jar at Jon. Baelish missed, but the jar smashed against a wall, and a murky green liquid flowed out. Then it burst into flames.

"Jon, look out." Arya yelled.

Baelish hurled another canister, this time at the scrum of fighters. Barristan caught it on a shield, now dripping with green goop. With one smooth motion, Barristan threw the shield like a discus, knocking down several freeriders. The iron edge sparked, and emerald flames lit up cloaks and hoods. A sellsword on fire screamed and ran for the hall, leaving a burning trail behind.

"Wildfire? Why does it have to be wildfire?" Jaime said with disgust as he cut down more men.

"Baelish can't have many jars. He only has one pouch. He would be mad to carry more without a satchel or bag." Barristan said.

"Milord, the casks. The casks." Gerry cried.

"Baelish's men delivered barrels of food and drink for the feast. How much wildfire did they bring? And where are those casks now?" Jon said.

Sandor Clegane slammed the flat of his sword into the face of a stocky gray haired man, breaking the already squashed nose. With his left hand, the Hound grabbed the throat and squeezed, choking Lothor Brune. "What is the answer?"

"A dozen. The wildfire is in a dozen barrels." The sellsword gasped.

The Hound stabbed through Brune's chest with the greatsword. "We are fucked unless Baelish tells us exactly which barrels. Wait, where is that cocksucker?"

In the chaos, Littlefinger had run away, but not before dashing another jar on the floor. Green flames flickered against the wood. Jon knew the real explosion came when the heat made the liquid expand. By now, the sellswords had all fled, leaving a score of dead and dying bodies. Screams came from the hall and Jon could smell the sweet pungent aroma of wildfire drifting through the castle. It might even be a pleasant odor if not for the fear of an inferno.

"We have to go." Jon announced calmly. "Barristan, Jaime, Sandor. We need to get everyone out. The tower will go up in minutes. The top priority is to save as many as possible. Tell the servants and anyone remaining to escape. Immediately. Gerry, find the other Winter Town Boys. Take what medicine we can."

Chett dashed into the passageway. "Lord Snow, there is wildfire on the floor of the great hall."

"I know. We need to leave now. Save lives. Grab elixir. Forget everything else." Jon said. The ravens squawked and flew for the windows. The wolves jumped over the flames, making certain not to catch any green substance on their paws. The knights and the Hound followed Jon and Arya out to the Great Hall.

Men, women and children streamed out of the burning tower. The little birds helped the sickly off their beds, and carried them out in crude litters. The servants abandoned the feast, leaving the pies, roasts and desserts to cook in greater heat than planned. Jaime, Barristan and Clegane helped the Winter Town Boys rescue the elixir while the few guards did their best to maintain a semblance of order. The evacuation went surprisingly well, and a dirty Arya, her face smeared with soot, sat down next to her brother and the dire wolves.

"If I ever see Littlefinger again, I am going to kill that fucker." Clegane said, gulping down a wineskin. Despite their silence, Barristan and Jamie clearly agreed.

Jon stood up abruptly. "Garlan's boy. The babe is still in the solar."

Smoke billowed out the windows. The tower was lit up with red, yellow, orange and a sinister green. A mysterious hissing could be heard through the doors, but whether that was water boiling over or stones cracking from heat or ghosts crying out for mercy, no one could say.

"There is no hope. The hall and corridors are on fire. The steps to the solar will be blocked. We do not know how much wildfire is left to burn." Barristan said.

"There is always hope." Jon said. "I will not let the child die, if there is any chance."

"Jon!" Arya cried, realizing what was about to happen.

"Stay here, sister. Keep the others safe." Her brother walked back into the tower.

---

Petyr Baelish staggered into the hold of the Merling King, clutching his ruined eye socket. How had everything gone so awry? He did not expect Jaime Lannister but forty sellswords were enough to kill and capture a few men. Everyone in King's Landing had heard stories that Snow was a sorcerer who summoned wolves and ravens to hunt down his foes. Baelish dismissed the tales as so much claptrap until the bird swooped down and pecked out his eye.

All was not lost. If a few of his men survived, the galley could sail to Gulltown. The news would not have reached the Vale. The Eyrie sat on the Giant's Lance, thousands of feet above the valley. No army without dragons could take the fortress or the three way stations overlooking the path carved into the mountain. He could hole up and then slip away across the Narrow Sea. Baelish had ample gold and silver deposited in the banks of the Free Cities.

A steady rapping broke his thoughts. The pattern was not the pre-arranged code, but Littlefinger needed to know how many hirelings survived. "Lothor - is that you?"

The door opened, and a man with shiny straight hair of white and red walked through. "A man is not Lothor Brune but I doubt he survived."

"Who are you?" Baelish backed away.

The elegant figure switched to a dialect of bastard Valyrian. "A man of Braavos. You know why I have come. The Iron Bank dislikes thieves. They frown on those who kill their envoys."

"I can pay you - gold, silver, gems. Anything you want. I have ten thousand dragons with me. And much more in the Vale."

"You know our sayings. The Iron Bank will have its due. All men must die, Petyr Baelish."

Jaqen H'ghar stepped forth and cut two slits on both sides of the jugular, severing the veins with great precision. Baelish was unconscious but not dead when the assassin finished the job, slicing through the neck and letting the head bleed out on the floor.

---

Arya lost track of time. She remembered yelling, but the hoarse voice did not even sound like it came from her body. The dire wolves stayed at her side, a somber Nymeria and a silent Ghost. She took some comfort in their company, as the three of them stared into the blaze.

The Tyrells and Martells had returned. Both the highborn and the smallfolk gaped at Florian's Tower, the flames licking at the walls. Unlike White Sword Tower, there was no great collapse, but stones crashed, wood warped, and smoke rose to the sky. Sometimes a roar could be heard, accompanied often by a boom, and Arya guessed that the many fires had ignited an untapped cache of wildfire. The barrels must not be full or the green liquid had been stuffed as clay jars into the casks.

"Wildfire! Was this Snow's work?" Olenna asked.

Barristan shook his head no. "Baelish tried to steal the elixir with his thugs. They had already delivered the barrels of wildfire into the hall for the feast."

"Snow took out Baelish's eye with a raven but the cunt ran away. He threw a couple jars at us, and the fire began to spread." the Hound said.

"He must have used it at the bathhouse. We could not put out the flames for a very long time. We are lucky that no one was seriously hurt." Ser Baelor said.

"Water does nothing to wildfire." Oberyn brooded. "Littlefinger used very little of the substance, just enough to cause a diversion. But did he mean to kill all of us, or just the ones in the tower?"

"My child. Where is my child?" Leonette sobbed.

Arya came out of her daze. "Jon went back to the tower to rescue your boy."

"He must be mad to go back." Olenna stared at the dancing flames.

"Jon may survive. If anyone can…" Alleras said.

"The inside of the tower is an inferno. Wildfire burns incredibly hot." Oberyn said.

An one eared black tom sprang from the rubble, bolting to Ghost. The cat yowled and hissed, claws almost scratching the white wolf on the nose. Ghost stood up alertly, and made his way to the tower, accompanied by the tom. Nymeria hesitated but joined her brother.

"Clear the door." Arya shouted. "Clear the door."

"It is no use, girl. I am sorry for your loss but nothing could survive these flames." Olenna said.

Garlan ignored his grandmother. Clegane, Barristan and Jaime joined the Tyrell knight as they hooked long poles about hot fragments of wood, stone and iron. The Winter Town boys rushed to help, bringing shovels and carts to take away the debris. In minutes, they reached the charred door, gnarled by the fire. With a bundle of staves ripped from the wagons to make a crude battering ram, Garlan and the others pushed the entrance open.

The heat of the hall was incredible. A shape moved through the hazy hot air, and Arya knew then that everything would be fine. Jon Snow passed through the door, cradling a small wrapped bundle. His clothes were torn and seared, his hair had been singed, and embers clung to his skin. Arya almost laughed at the scorched eyebrows. Her brother was unburnt.

The crowd was stunned into silence. Then a baby's wail broke the quiet, greedy for milk after waking up in the cold air. The sun was setting over the Bay of Crabs.

"Lady Leonette. I soaked the blanket with water. The child came to no harm." Jon handed the bundle over. The babe poked his head out and sought his mother's teats.

"What about you?" Arya asked.

"I am unharmed as well, sister." Jon shook off the cinders and ash.

"Snow, you do not burn." an amazed Baelor Hightower said.

"Snow is not the name my mother gave me. Nor my father either. My true name is Daemon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. I am Blood of the Dragon."

Author's Notes

A super blood moon occured in January 30, 2018. It was actually a blue moon as well (second full moon in a month.) The blood color comes from a lunar eclipse where the Earth's shadow and light scattering leads to a dark red brown color. In the Middle Ages, travel at night was restricted to the few days around the full moon.

The red comet (mentioned in Chap 29 of Maester Wolf) is based on Julius Caesar's comet. The comet came two months after his death, and may have been the brightest daylight comet in recorded history. According to rather suspect ancient historians, the comet burned for seven straight days during Caesar's funeral games. Shakespeare also refers to the comet in the play.

GRRM never really nails down distances. We know the Inn at the Crossroads is close to the ruby ford. We also know Harroway is close to that junction as well. And in Maester Wolf, the battle in Chap 21 is only five miles away from the inn. And that is Gendry and Jeyne Heddle.

Penicillin is mold juice. I don't want to bore people with the science but it grows at a different scale and pace than the mold biomass. Alexander Fleming named it penicillin because he thought it was a pain in the ass to call it "mould broth filtrate."

In the middle ages, there was a gap between high cuisine, cooked by professionals for kings, and peasant cuisine. This was particularly true in France and China. In places like England and Denmark, the food choices were limited due to a colder climate and less choice of ingredients. In Italy, the best food is found in regional home cooking. Jon is a fan of good peasant food. The onion broth with bits of goat comes from The Inn at the Crossroads website.

Like any antibiotic, penicillin needs to be taken several times. For plague, you would probably get doses for a week or two. The first human recipient, a 43 year old British policeman, made an incredible recovery the first few days. Then the penicillin ran out, and he died a few days later. This was 1941, when the total amount of the drug in the UK was less than a single vial.

Alexander Fleming is famous for the discovery of penicillin in 1928. But it was considered unimportant because he did not have the skills/knowledge to produce it in any volume or make it stable. Howard Florey and Ernst Chain did the hard work of figuring out how to make the drug. It took them two years, and the story includes penicillin girls who worked in the lab (smallfolk in this story) and tubs and baths to grow the mold. For their work, Florey and Chain also shared the Nobel Prize for Medicine in 1945. Frankly, Florey and Chain deserve more of the credit.

The story of Gerion and Tysha (Aysha) is covered in Maester Wolf chapters 9 to 15. Jaime stumbles but it is a very difficult conversation. Plus he was never known for being a diplomat.

The Merling King is the Braavosi galley that Baelish uses to get Sansa out of King's Landing.

Olenna is eating Roquefort cheese. The irony is that the mold for Roquefort is Penicillium Roqueforti. It is related to, but not the ultimate mold that creates the antibiotic.

When people picture whiskey, they imagine fields of golden barley. But the actual mashbill is mostly corn. American whisky is 75% corn, 15% rye, 10% barley. Irish whiskey is 80% corn. Corn, particularly filtered before aging, makes a smooth drink.

The story of penicillin is not just Alexander Fleming. The scientists at Oxford - Howard Florey and Ernst Chain - did incredible work. And the kicker is that the Brits, knowing it was getting harder, went to the Americans to really produce penicillin. Pfizer was an expert on fermentation through the production of citric acid in deep tanks in controlled environments. In the early 1940s, the British sought help in making penicillin. In 1942, Pfizer proposed moving to deep tanks and using corn steep liquor, a by-product of corn milling. Most of the penicillin that accompanied the Allies in D-Day came from one Pfizer plant in Brooklyn. That is the real story of penicillin - a lucky discovery, hard work to refine the process, and then industrial grade production in the US.

Saltpeter is one of several substances that early chemists burned to produce oxygen. Chemists in the 1700s were keenly interested in what made up air. Carbon dioxide, hydrogen and nitrogen were discovered first. Later, two scientists working separately in Britain and Sweden - Joseph Priestley and Carl Scheele - figured out that certain materials - potassium nitrate (saltpeter), mercuric oxide, manganese nitrate - produce a much purer air, oxygen. Of course they didn't name it that. Scheele records that placing a burning candle into the "fire air" made a flame so vivid that it dazzled the eyes. Saltpeter has been around since early Rome. It makes sense that the red priests would discover the qualities and use it as a magic trick.

The real John Snow, the English physician who founded epidemiology and medical anesthesia, actually wrote a paper on how to resuscitate newborns in 1841! Many stillbirths happened because the baby was not breathing. I am not sure this is definite but I read a scientific paper claiming that John Snow saved a baby with a tracheal catheter. No less remarkable is that the French were also working on similar technology at the same time.

Jaundice is an ailment that affects newborns, particularly those born prematurely. A clever nurse in England discovered phototherapy in the 1950s! It is excessive bilirubin in the blood. She realized that babies exposed to sunlight had reduced jaundice. It took ten years for them to study this phenomenon and another ten plus years for the treatment to become widespread.

The sweet and pungent smell of wildfire is based on benzene and naphtha.

The fire here is less destructive than the Wildfire Wedding. Joffrey gave Baelish jars of wildfire. It is not anywhere near the volume Jon poured into a keg to destroy White Sword Tower. Arya is right in that the wildfire is hidden in small pots. It would still burn but it is not the vast quantity that destroyed the Tower of the Hand in the books or blew out the Sept of Baelor in the show.

I wrote some stuff from Baelish's POV but I decided it didn't work - early knowledge of the plot disrupted the suspense. Baelish's plan is simple. Get in, steal elixir, and then light the wildfire in the casks and crates. Imagine a fuse that gives him a few minutes. Or the heat of the kitchens would cause the jars to explode. The Tyrells might suspect that the fire spread from the bathhouse to the tower. The chaos would also allow Baelish to escape.

Baelish is dead as a doornail. The lesson is don't steal from Jon Snow or the Iron Bank.