Chapter Eight – A Dance with Inner Demons and Monsters
The morning sun warmed the dew drops scattered amongst the damp surfaces as the song birds melody frolicked through the vacated halls with the smell of sea salt in the breeze. The table was brimming with breakfast pastries filled with tart berries picked from bushes lining the southern walls of the city and vibrant fruit that put the sunset to shame. The sweet iced milk with honey snuggled in their bellies.
A merry voice chimed along, sputtering words to an unresponsive audience. Bran and Kinvara were the lone two that sat in the dining hall. Kinvara happily chatted away about daily life in Volantis, how every dawn the smell of local bakeries caramelized the air. People trickled in every so often but at the sound or sight of Kinvara, immediately diverged or rushed to snag a roll before leaving. An uncomfortable calm settled in like a thick fog, breathing in a foul mouthful.
"The baker served us these adorable direwolf breads. You would absolutely love them, your grace." Kinvara yammered on. A servant adorning a dark green gown, held up by a single rope with dirt matted all over their face and hair attended to the table. Kinvara tipped up her arm, tapping the worker on the shoulder. "When are lemon cakes due?"
The servant opened their jaw to answer when she was interrupted by the clacking of heels echoing through the keep, escalating in pace with the slightest panicked hint. Bran and Kinvara both turned to see the approaching individual. Teraell came scurrying into the dining hall. She was clearly rattled as her eyes seeped with shock and her face was a flabbergast. She nears, portraying a bit of hesitancy like she was fearful of the potential backlash.
"Your grace?" Teraell stuttered, completely unlike her typical self-assured self. She halted next to Bran who slowly turned his head to meet her with a blank stare.
She fidgeted, "Your grace, I went to inform Lord Tyrion that the meal was set but…he was not in his chambers and…his chambers, it was in complete disarray. I also found this your grace." She holds up a torn, ragged piece of cloth with a recognizable brooch pinned to one side. "There was blood. A lot of blood your grace." Teraell gently places the object in Brans hand.
He twists the objects between his hands. The fabric was a darkened grey with embroidering that outlined weirwood tree leaves, while the pin was in the shape of the stark family crest. A direwolf, its teeth barred with unruly fur over its neck. Sansas brooch.
"We have searched everywhere for Lord Tyrion my king, but he is no where to be found and no one has seen him since the council meeting yesterday." Teraell claimed as Bran examined the breastpin. None of this made sense. Tyrion had been quite cordial in his drunken state on their wedding night. Nothing to suggest he would act out towards Sansa. "There is something else, your grace. When I was inspecting the room, there was ice covering the window sill and railings."
An exaggerated gasp exploded from Kinvaras mouth, "Your grace, this is obviously an attack on the crown by the Night King himself."
He was quick to reply to Kinvaras dramatic act. "And I wonder if there is a reason for his supposed attack." Bran spoke with a level of brashness while peering up at Kinvara with speculating eyes.
"I am sure he is trying to intimidate you, your grace. Send a message by holding your sister and right hand as leverage till you give up your crown." Kinvara continued her distraught presentation.
"I do not really think that is how he does things." Bran gazed back down at the bloodied brooch. "I will retire to my suite now, thank you for bringing this to my attention." Teraells act lingered till Bran was removed from the hall before stepping to Kinvaras side, a troubling smirk on her face.
"The seed has been planted. Well done, sister." Kinvara whispered.
….
Daenerys tosses and turns in her sleep, unable to stay comfortable as she shivers under the covers. The room was colder than usual. The nagging chill drug her from her sleep, a plume of frozen moisture escaped her lips. Daenerys pushes herself up right to scan the room, only to find Jon sitting in a chair pointed at the floor to ceiling window across the room. His hard stare was planted somewhere off in the distance. But the chair, the chair itself was laced thick with ice, melting down onto the ground. She creeps out of bed, slowly walking around to Jons side. Her arms cross, rubbing either side, trying to warm herself.
"Jon?" As if knocked from a trance, his head shakes in response then gawks at Daenerys. "Are you alright?" Daenerys asks, unsure if the question was directed at him or herself.
Jon stands and makes a few steps to the window. The ice had not dissolved at the absence of his touch, still covering the chair. A pit in her stomach tightened as Daenerys grows more uneasy. Her eyes remained locked on the chair while she gingerly closes the distance between them. He has been so withdrawn, so restrained, his nature forced but moments like this made her realized he was no more in control than she was of Drogon.
He did not recollect coming to her quarters. Just the crushing barrage and onslaught of images, flying down roads and crawling through houses. It felt like he was being drug along through a racing dream he had no command of. Jon wanted to get away, where he would feel safe. It was not until her voice broke through, ripping him out of the nightmare did he discern where he was.
"Jon?"
"Your nagging is becoming quite bothersome." Jon states bluntly as he continues to stare out the window, arms folded and closed off.
Daenerys lifts one of her hands, holding it centimeters from Jons bare back. She hesitates, drawing her lips in and calculating her next move. Cautiously, but firmly she presses her palm to his back. He was cold like the north but the texture of his skin still resembled that of velvety flesh.
Jon could feel a shaky breath leave Daenerys while the whispers gradually chirped louder in his ears. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath through his flared nostrils. His previous distress provoked them into action and now her pestering was agitating them even more. Without forewarning, Jon swiftly whips around grabbing Daenerys by the wrist before it could move from his back.
Both of their faces yanked taut as they look into each others eyes with only their panting breaking the silence. Daenerys stands steadfast as Jon stares her down, unyielding to his disposition.
It was only a reaction, a reaction driven by fear. Jon yearned for her touch. The comfort and warmth of it, something he had been deprived of for a time as he was only covered in a chilled darkness. But everything about her, the way it made him feel disturbed his passenger inside. It flailed erratically, knocking loose restraints and pulling the plug, sending him further into darkness. He was shocked at the unforeseen hush that came over him. Every disturbed thought or troubled feeling slithered back into its hole.
He did not understand. What was different this time than the last? After a couple seconds Jon let go of her wrist, brushing past her and exiting the room. She watches him leave her quarters then turns back at her stilled wrist. Her eyes widen as a blue hand print is wrapped around her wrist in the same location that Jon held it.
Bran was perched on the balcony with his eyes whitened out. He scanned kings road with no sign of her. His ravens flew over Winterfell and Dragonstone, still showing no sign of her return or capture either. Bran decided if the present could not clue him in on her status then maybe the past could fill in the cracks. Stepping back in time, history demonstrates Sansa leaving Kings Landing but goes blank shortly after. The emptiness he experienced could not be described as someones death in the context of his visions but it was unusual to be sure. Snow began to lightly fall within his vision while ice grew on the edges of his ravens wings.
Bran awoke to find himself shivering and his breath visible before him, unexpected for the dead of summer in Kings Landing. At first, it was barely noticeable but he had began to perceive certain changes, specifically while he was in his warg state. The intensity of these developments worsened with every session. He glanced down to see ice had formed around his shoes leaving an outline on the ground below. The hand print left by Jon burned, cold to the touch with a prickling sensation crawling up his shoulder and into his neck.
Bran could remember the implications of the last Night Kings mark. It informed him of Brans location, putting himself and everyone around him in danger but never with these side effects. The meaning behind the uniqueness of Jons mark was intriguing.
"Ser Brienne?" Bran calls.
Brienne marches forward to stand at Brans attention. "Your grace."
"Did you see to it that Sansa was escorted from Kings Landing and was headed north to Winterfell?" Bran asked with no change in his tone.
"I did your grace."
"You rode with them to the edges of the city?"
"Yes, your grace." Brienne's face shifted, contorted in confusion.
"Very well, you are dismissed." Bran returned his gaze over the rebuilding and healing city. Brienne bowed at her hips before turning on her heel and heading back inside.
"If you do not mind me asking your grace.." Brienne stopped just short of the doorway. "Why do you ask?"
Bran craned his head back at Brienne, "I do not see Sansa anymore and I have a growing suspicion there is more to it."
Her rib cage squeezed down on her chest and a fall of her stomach occurredat the sound of those words and Brans voiced apprehension. She was not all that enlightened with Brans vision but knew it gave him great reach and was considered disturbing if it failed to produce.
Though the red priestess had sought to play evidence against Jon, Bran was skeptical he had anything to do with Sansas disappearance. But it was unlike Tyrion to go missing and not show for a couple days.
Bran relaxes into his chair, traveling back to the council meeting Tyrion was last seen at then follows him throughout the day. Tyrions displeasure of the priestess notions were apparent, though Bran did not need his vision to understand that. His pursuit at a further alliance was no less predictable. As the day unfolded, a sequence of events lead Bran to his answer. He witnesses as Tyrion is grabbed and hauled into the kitchen by the two red priestesses, Teraell and Serena. Helpless and overcome with guilt, Bran can only watch as Tyrion is faced with a tortuous fate as he burns to death at the hands of Kinvara.
Exiting his vision, Bran was now aware of the plot that has been brewing underneath his own roof. He had been so preoccupied with Jon and with Sansas disappearance still not solved, he could only assumed his attention had been purposely directed away to hide the truth, Kinvara needed to be removed from the premises.
The daily council meeting was transpiring mid day with Kinvara at the helm, spouting news of subjects within Kings Landing and the surrounding areas. "My priestesses state a baby was born last night of full health while crops have doubled in size over the past couple days. The prosperity of your reign is unquestionable your grace, may there be many years of equal greatness." Kinvara beamed with pleasure.
Council members proceeded around the table discussing various points of improvement for Kings Landing and its people. Bron states that Kings Landing has been able to pay off a greater portion of its debt, created by its former while Ser Davos notes that the naval fleet have arrived and are docked within the harbor. Sam explains of a possible method to maintain clean water to improve the overall health of Kings Landing.
Kinvara pivots in Brans direction with a satisfied grin, an effort to reassure the King he is in good graces with the Lord, and in return the Lord of Light has gifted them with good health and fertility. Her smile fades though as she observes Bran apparent preoccupancy and lack of reaction to the positive events.
Brans mind was elsewhere, giving little attention to the information presented. Kinvara had depicted Jon as an uncontrollable force that would swallow the kingdoms unopposed, convincing him to dedicate his time watching Jon and finding out his plans. With that came a new revelation, there was something more to what was going on with Jon than just the newly assimilated Night King. A dark pit that sucked Brans curiosity, driving him down the rabbit hole and neglecting his own kingdom.
"Thank you, till next time then." Bran voices and shortly after the other council members file out of the room, one by one in silence. Kinvara stilled as movement trickled around her. The Kings unreceptive affirmation of the news was concerning. The gravity and implications of her Lords gifts would spread admiration and devotion in the most unholy of individuals. If this Three Eyed Raven would not allow the Lords Light to shine down on him, then she would have to resort to the champion.
"Kinvara. A word please." An irritating smile soiled her face as she approached Bran and to further her disappointment, he did not acknowledge her nearing.
"Yes your grace." Kinvara waited patiently at the kings side, trying to quell her volatile doubts. She needed another shot at salvaging any hopes of keeping the crown faithful to the Lord but her mind grew restless as Bran quietly delayed until the remaining council members had left.
"I believe your religion encompasses around the notion that through fire you may receive messages or offer sacrifices in the name of your Lord." Kinvara was taken back by the quite frank comment from the King. Surely this was his way of showing interest in thy Lordship and possibly allowing her the chance to indulge his curiosities.
"Is it not standard practice for your rituals to be followed by supposed prosperous events? Prosperous events such fertile crops and healthy babies."
"Well it is in our hopes and through our divine belief that if the Lord requests an offering, we are to oblige. And if those are seen in his good graces, he blesses us. Your grace." Her thoughts were in turmoil as her fragile display cracked under the uncertainty. She was wary of his enlightenment of the truth.
"I wonder what would have made him be so gracious as we have not offered your Lord any form of these offerings?" Bran hardened his stare at her weakened demeanor, as she struggled to deflect his questioning through her flustered nerves. He knows.
"I have been made aware of your nightly activities, priestess Kinvara." Bran gave her the opportunity to defend herself but she could only muster an obvious surprised expression to his accusation. "The Kingsguard will be made aware of your treason and accounts of murder. You and your priestesses will be imprisoned until a trial can be held. They will escort you to the dungeons below the Red Keep."
"Your grace, I apologize. I was only doing what was best for the realm." Kinvara attempted a defense.
"Tyrion was a good man and a good hand. Your decision was not logical nor reasonable. We are done here. Ser Podrick." Podrick promptly enters from outside the chambers. "Please instruct the Kingsguard to escort Kinvara, Serena, and Teraell to the dungeons until further orders are issued."
"Yes your grace." Podrick obediently answers, rolling Bran from the council chambers. Kinvaras demeanor changes when Bran leaves. The main pawn has fallen through her fingers and she would need to quickly recover if the Lord of Light were to reign.
"The balcony will do." Bran adds as Podrick wheels him into his quarters and out on to the circulating stone slab. "Leave me." Podrick wavers, looking down at Bran before trolling out of the Kings quarters and closing the door behind him.
Hundred strands of ebony keratin were propelled through the air, carrying the organic mass they grew from. Two outstretched talons gripped the stony railing as a raven cocked its head at the cripple. Bran gazed at the fowl, mind blank of any thought towards the creature. His eyes rolled back clearing the brown pupils. After gaining its surroundings the raven lifted off, once again tracing the path of his lost sister.
A fierce-some dragon head was etched into stone so dense it absorbed any incoming light from outside with an overcast already hindering the quantity. Shadows grew larger, stretching across and looming throughout the room. The two individuals occupying the Chamber of the Painted Table kept their distance, unsure of how to interact with the other. The Painted Table displayed a detailed map of Westeros, illustrating the bows of valleys and peaks of mountain tops. Figurines scattered across its surface, some laying face down into the carved wood.
Jon hunkers down at the table with his elbows supporting his head while fingers rubbed at his temples. An internal groan leaks out for relief from his throbbing head as he tries to quench the flashing images. Even closing his eyes did nothing to minimize the amount of stimulus his mind was having to handle. Between the ever lingering darkness that tickled the back hairs of his neck and the pestering visions that relentlessly clouded his mind, it took everything Jon could to not succumb to either.
At the other end of the table, Daenerys leans into one of the columns bordering the lookout. The sky was spattered with dynamically colored reptilians gliding through the clouds, occasionally diving into the sea below. They were gods of kings in their own realm. Drogon flew beautifully, dropping down on unsuspecting fish within the bay. He was outnumbered in the skies. Jons dragons crisscrossed, swooping all around him but not really bothering Drogon, if anything it appeared he enjoyed the newfound company in the absence of his brothers. But they never dove into the waters, never burn the nearby farms or herding fields. They were like ghosts, airborne empty shells.
Daenerys could not get this mornings events out of her head. She could see the fear in his eyes. Jons eyes, barely floating above the abyssal darkness. The immeasurable power behind his actions gave her the feeling it was only a fraction of what he was fully capable of. She thought of the immense weight she carried with the loss of each ally, friend, and loved one along her journey, until it was all too much. She worried about how much he was holding in and if or when it will become too much for him. Daenerys was sure that if he were to snap as she did it would be next level cataclysmic.
"He never stops." Jon mumbles. A break in the calm orders Daenerys to cast her sights at Jon.
Daenerys asks, "Who never stops?" Jon grimaces and clamps his eyes down even harder at the additional voice, ignoring Daenerys question.
She was drained from the numerous barrier after barrier she was confronted with. "Jon. Answer the question." Placing her hands on the table like a stern spouse, emphasizing the significance of her question and his openness.
Jon lets out an audible sigh, "Bran." His gruntled breath representing the internal struggle he danced.
"I do not understand."
"And why would you?" Jon groans, his irritation only increasing.
His resistance and cold shoulder sparked Daenerys into an outrage, her patience depleted to nothing. "I have done nothing but try and help you!" Her tone and volume rose with every sentence, stepping closer to Jon. "I am trying to help you, trying to understand, but you have to let me in." She protested.
"Help me." Her proclamation of saving him was infuriating. He was fighting a force attempting to uproot him while his immoral passenger pounded against his skull, seeking to break free. Now this self proclaimed Dragon Queen states herself as his savior in a world in which she could not begin to understand. "You mean help your little red priestess!" The dark circles around his eyes seeped into a larger circumference on his face, illuminating his blue eyes as their brightness intensified.
His accusatory statements catch her off guard, angered by his insensitive ploy. "I have told you repeatedly that I was not made aware of her plan nor did I have a conscious role to play! She has supported me yes, but that is because of my birthright for the iron throne!"
As Daenerys yelling ensues, a barrage of whispers fight for attention and pain explodes inside his head. He can feel the darkness crawling into his peripherals, gripping his shoulders tight. His entire hand clasps the sides of his head, fingers weaving through his hair. Incapable and powerless against everything, Jon is extracted into Brans vision. Daenerys argument jerks to a stop mid sentence when Jons eyes roll back, blanketed white.
Jon finds himself standing in a brightly wooded area, sun rays drop through the trees above with a nearby crackling creek that is clearer than air itself. The greens and the blues of the forest were so vivid. His hair absorbed all light, blackened down to the tips. And his eyes warmed, melted into the comforting chocolate brown. Like a switch had been flipped, his blue eyes and white hair were gone.
Voices could be heard through the brush some paces away. Jon pushes a couple branches aside as he steps through to find Bran, standing on the other side, watching the source of exchanging sounds. Stunned at the sight of Bran standing, his wheelchair not even in sight. Jon notices ice generating around Brans feet the closer he gets. His approach has been anything but muffled, but Bran continues to watch the individuals in front of them.
"Beautiful, is it not?" Bran says. Jon, skeptical of the situation peers around Bran, only really able to make out a couple of people standing together. A smaller brunette women had her hands clasped within anothers, a taller white haired man. She gracefully portrayed her wildish beauty while the man watched her with lilac eyes, his tall and broodish nature miniaturizing hers. Their eyes reaching out, though only being within a foot of each other.
More intrigued by the individuals themselves, Jon took a couple instinctive steps forward till he was standing side by side with Bran. A ribbon elegantly wrapped around their already intwined hands symbolizing the implication of their coming together, a wedding.
"You are their legacy." Bran blatantly states. Jon snaps his head at Bran who is watching him with soft features. He turns back at the realization that before him is his mother and father, his actual by blood mother and father. His mother stood there, hair exquisitely half up and her gown flowing down to the ground below. Every description, every story that was ever told of her, fit her to the letter. Jons emotions swelled, for every question he had, every moment he was denied, stood within an arms length. Jon could feel himself being swallowed up by his toxic emotions and the pursuing darkness that followed but he did not care. He did not care if the darkness took over and never let go. The remaining emptiness in his life, had been filled.
Being able to pull only Jon through proved to be more difficult, but it was only a matter of time before his shadow crept its way inside. Bran observes the creek behind Jon freeze over as ice advances over the blades of grass and the bark on the trees. He looks back to Jon to see pain chiseled into his face yet joy leaking from his eyes. His outward appearance; the black hair and warm brown eyes. Bran knew it was Jon Snow before him. Not the same being that had tried to intimidate him before. His worry expanded as he witnessed the darkness slink back to Jon, dependent on its host. Bran needed to make sure he was able to pass his message to Jon Snow. Ensuring Jon continued to push against the temptation Bran spouted, "I speak to Aegon Targaryen." Jons face relaxed at the use of a familiar name.
"I speak to Jon Snow, my brother." Bran goes on. "I say to them do not let their legacy be destroyed."
Jon raises his brow at Bran to only realize how face to face he was with the impending dark hand. He grunts as his body tenses, shaking while the unwanted passenger scratches and wrestles for dominance. The internal battle forces Jon to drop to knees, clenching his body. Black was now bleeding into the whites of his eyes with ice crystals encompassing the edges of his face.
Bran drops down to eye level, "I fear something has come of our sister and I fear my time has come as well." A figure of shadow and smoke precipitates behind Bran. Jon senses an upsurge in strife in response to the shadowy figure. "Goodbye, brother."
The unknown figure proceeds to reach around Bran and slit his throat. Jon lunges towards Bran, screaming "No!"
Jon jolts up in his chair back at Dragonstone, gasping for air, swallowing between breaths. He was right there. Eyes wide, Jon shakily stands and goes on to rapidly pace back and forth. Dragging a hand down his face to find himself actually drenched in sweat. That felt so real, appeared so real. His mind was in a frenzy, cold familiar fingers were digging into his subconscious. He felt like he was drowning again as he was drawn under a thick coating of black death.
"Jon, what happened?" Daenerys was now exceedingly disturbed by Jons reaction. From the moment she had returned, he has been absolute and unyielding. His current panicked state was quite unnerving for her.
Jon could feel his inner monster trickling over the edge of his vision, closer to complete control. He needed to get away, get away from her. Jon moved to leave but Daenerys intervened by grabbing his face between her hands, "No, no stay with me. Stay with me." She pleads. His eyes physically turned a deeper blue around his constricted pupils. Daenerys stared into his eyes, recognizing the coldness returning as she was losing him. Without another thought, she kisses him.
Jon pulls back at the unexpected gesture but Daenerys holds tight to sustain their embrace. He lets out a pained breath as he raises his hands, hovering them over hers. Scared that he would suddenly lose control and inevitably cause her harm. After a couple seconds, the darkness begins to recede and he relaxes into her lips. With every second delving deeper into the kiss, Jon lightly places his hands on the sides of her face, bringing her closer to him.
His hunger begging, starving for more, Jon began a dance of passion between the two pairs of lips. Tongues tested the waters, requesting permission for entry. The invitation was accepted by the bombardment of Daenerys. Each fighting for territory and their kiss smoldering in intensity. Their pace recklessly quickening prior to coming to a cessation. Their mouths separate, waiting a moment to relish in their long awaited entwinement. Both drawing in air after the lack of for the past couple minutes. Jon clears his throat, dropping his hands and leaving the room and Daenerys. He keeps his eyes pinned to the ground until he was clear of the doorway. Daenerys allows a sly grin to slide across her face at the actualization she was able to keep him in the present.
….
Bran preferred warging outside with the city insight, the fresh air and silence allowed him to focus better. With the failure of not finding his sister hanging over him, he knew his time was short to protect the livelihood of Kings Landing and the Seven Kingdoms. He decided to test out a theory. His research into Jons situation generated astonishing results. If there was a possibility of the whole becoming two parts again, Bran would need to find a way to sever the link between Jon and the entity, if only for a moment.
Bran was oblivious to the real world around him while in the midst of his discussion with Jon. He was not alone, at least not on the balcony. A shadow demon materialized and approaches him in the front. A curved dagger with an imperfect edge was used to slice his throat with a quick movement of the servants arm. The lethal laceration caused Bran to choke on blood running down his neck and the back of his throat.
Brienne strolls past the large bay windows to recognize a shadow standing at Brans feet with an outstretched arm holding a dagger, dripping with blood. She screams, running out to find Bran gulping for air, blooding rapidly filling his lungs. The demon disappears just as it did before with Renly. Brienne drops, releasing a wale as blood runs down Brans neck and chest. Another king, dead under her watch.
The excruciating cry rung through the keep and the civilian dorms. Smoke weaved vertically from the charred remains. Pleasure diffused over her face while Kinvara lounged in her quarters. The slightest distressing request can trick any dense soldier.
"Daenerys is making it rather difficult to get to your brother." Kinvara waltzed over to Sansa, bending down to her level. Sansa mashes her eyes shut, turning her face to the side. Kinvara uses the back of her hand to uncomfortably stroke Sansas face. "If only I had the means to draw him out into the open." Kinvara gasps. "Oh wait, I do." As a smile spread across her face. Kinvara shifted to find Sansa chained to the wall with her hands bound together. Her mouth was covered to prevent any potential screams alerting the keeps residents with a glowing purple amulet hanging around her neck.