Catelyn Stark – 296AC
The sun descended, lowering its golden orange radiance beneath the tree line on the horizon to the west, and the miniscule warmth it provided the North fled with it.
The North. Her thoughts had been the most frequent companion this past year. Ever since her Lord Husband came back from that day long hunting expedition with Robb, Theon and…Jon.
A harsh land of vast fields and forests, where one could ride for an entire week along the roads and still not come across a single soul.
The North remembers. A saying that she felt was both foreboding and comforting. The people that resided in this land, they respected honesty and loyalty. In the land of summer snows, betrayal and treachery was snuffed out.
Here in the North, no one house could survive on their own through the blizzards. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. Another of the things told to the children of the north, or the grown and elderly during times of misfortune and panic. This one however, was mostly spoken inside of Winterfell. Something that house Stark had said for centuries, their unofficial yet undisputed house words.
She knew them well, had learned quickly of the differences between the Riverlands and anything above the neck. None of the words strung together helped her in this instance.
Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Catelyn thought she knew him inside and out. He was the epitome of what a Northmen should be. Honorable, honest, just, a man of action rather than spouting pretty words.
That image had not truly wavered even in the face of his return with a child born not of her womb. War was cruel and difficult, she understood that. It was the fact that he expected her to raise the child alongside her own, and the silence over the entire situation that had initially set her ire upon him and the babe.
Her ire turned into a low yet ever-burning resentment towards Jon, her rational mind at war with both her faith and the ache in her heart. The seven deemed bastardry a sin, and whether Jon has asked to be born in such a manner or not, his existence spat on the face of her gods.
If Ned had just kept the child at bay, Catelyn would have been perfectly happy even if she'd come to learn of the child later on. A nobleman having a child out of wedlock was nothing strange. The strange part came with how Ned handled it.
When she had been nearly commanded to meet Ned and Arthur in the Lord's solar, the conversation left her confused and more than a little angry, hating the reminder of how Ned saw no difference between his trueborn and bastard.
"This is a bad idea Ned." Arthur had stated the moment the door closed behind her.
It had been nearly the hour of the bat, the children off to bed and the keep near silent. The Dornishman's lack of regard for formalities only adding to her suspicions of Jon's mother. Why else would the Sword of the Morning be here in Winterfell, if not to be near his nephew?
"Perhaps but given his musings as of late, I think it best to at least try." Quiet as they were speaking, the men's voices still echoed off the stone walls. The crackling fire in the hearth the only other sound in the room, adding a strange finality to the unknown topic.
"What could possibly be so important, that we could not speak tomorrow Ned?" She was irritated about the late-night summons, and it was odd for Arthur Dayne to be a part of a conversation regarding any important decisions to be made. At least, that's how things had seemed before. Ser Arthur seemed to already know what the conversation was about.
Her husband released a sigh and when he looked towards her, Catelyn was most curious. His grey eyes were soft, but his expression hard as stone. It was his apologetic look about something that she would be required to obey, something that she may not like but ultimately would be for the better.
"Truly Cat, I am sorry. I believe that this had to be taken care of now, rather than wait."
Her blue eyes were cast over to Arthur, she saw nothing could be gleamed from him as usual, his mask up and fully in place. The former Kingsguard was never very talkative with anyone in Winterfell, the only people he seemed to hold at length conversations with were Ned and Jon.
Her husband slid his hand over a few pieces of parchment on the desk he stood behind, glancing at them warily.
"What do you think is to become of Jon in the future?" She bristled without being able to help herself, nostrils flaring angrily and her pulse quickening. Ofcourse it was about him.
Arthur scoffed from the side, seeming more alive and responsive then she could ever recall since his arrival here.
"I told you Ned. You should have had this conversation from the beginning or not at all." The glare she sent him was only met with cool indifference, as though the manknew he'd have the last laugh, and it wasn't even worth the time to recognize what she thought of it.
Under her husband's steely eyes, Catelyn took a few breaths to compose herself.
"I imagine that the boy will eventually become a sworn sword to Robb." Much as she loathed to admit it, that would be a great boon for her son. Having someone personally trained by the best sword in the realm was going to give others pause, should they ever think to strike against Robb or his allies.
"At one point, Aye, I thought that to be for the best." Her brow rose. Being that Jon was not ofher blood, Catelyn had never asked about nor interfered in his life directly other than wanting to know about his origin or keep him away from the trueborn Stark children.
"But that is not the case anymore, the winds are changing, slowly for sure, but changing all the same." His tone was assured but reluctant.
"It would behoove you, to treat him better Lady Stark." Arthur spoke with a tone of ice, so unlike the heated blood that the Dornish were known for.
Catelyn did her best to hold back a scathing reply, only barely managing. She looked to Ned for support but found none, in fact it looked like her husband agreed.
"He's right Cat." If she felt that she could do so without trembling, Catelyn would have stormed out. Her body lightly shook in rage.
"I know there is no love lost between you and Jon, nor can I truly blame you for it." Her husband continued, as soothing as he could manage with the serious topic that only seemed to have the purpose of dragging her through the mud.
"Answer me this Cat. You are a smart woman." Ned had turned to look at the crackling fire, the reddish glow reflecting ominously off of the single Grey iris that she could see.
"What has history taught us about those who are oppressed because of a name they had no control over? History, not the views of the seven. What happens to a man that is seen as nothing more than the mistake of his father, rather than being loved and treated as close to an equal as possible?"
Her anger bled away for the most part under the minor praise. Ned had never treated her as the trophy that many noble men saw their wives as.
His implication came after only a few moments thought.
"They rebel…" There were examples through each of the seven kingdoms. The Blackfyres were the most well known, but the Greystarks were only one more example. Anyone who felt appropriately slighted from the ones holding power over them, could join the cause willingly and enthusiastically.
Even the rebellion that had brought Ned and Catelyn together was a prime example of this.
"Aye." Ned turned to her then, but she didn't know what to make of his expression. Sad, happy, angry, proud, disappointed, all of it was there in equal measure.
"I don't expect you to love Jon the way you do Robb, or Sansa, or Arya. One day Jon will leave Winterfell, and he will likely come into power of his own. When that happens, how do you think he would view us? What comes after being told he is nothing but a stain against house Stark? Being alienated for something not of his choosing?"
"Jon would never betray you! You're his father!" The words were strange on her tongue, defending the boy she'd wished would be claimed by fever. Ned merely rose a brow of his own, clearly just as surprised. It settled moments later, and his next words were like walking away from the heat of fire and into the cold embrace of the dead of winter.
"I am not certain he views me as such any longer. My duties keep me busy, and his lessons take up much of the time we would see one another. I have not heard the word father pass through his lips for a few years at least. Where once I saw a distant hope for change, now I only see a cold resignation."
It was Arthur that drove the conversation to a place that had left her confused and reeling ever since.
"When the dust settles Lady Stark, how do you want him to view you and your children? He could very well be your greatest ally, or most fearsome enemy. As the keeper of the household, that decision is heavily placed in your hands."
His violet eyes gave a glimmer of amusement, just as his lips quirked minutely.
"Well, I suppose Arya will be just fine."
That last statement from Arthur Dayne still had her on edge. When the dust settles. What did they mean? What were they hiding about the bas…Jon? Neither of the men were likely to take a matter like his treatment so seriously unless something was afoot, likely involving lives, battles, wars, loyalties.
Perhaps it was none of these things, and she was simply reading too far into it, perhaps not and Ned was trying to make up for lost ground. Whatever it was, Catelyn hadn't been able to learn anything else. The who, what, where, when, why, and how were all kept securely in the minds and memories of Eddard Stark and Arthur Dayne.
She been all but certain of who he was and where he came from before, but as Catelyn Stark watched Jon Snow ride out into the distance with 3 other men, she couldn't help but reconsider everything she may have known about the events during the rebellion.
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Jon Snow
He should have been happy about the prospect of being given a chance to prove himself, leading a trio of men to find a couple of wildlings that had slipped away and were supposed to be hiding somewhere close to the wall.
Instead of what Jon knew he should be feeling, it seemed to him that this was the first step that the Stark's would take in separating themselves from him. Tracking them down may take as long as several months. When he returned, surely they would just send him on some other task that either the Night's watch or another Lord would have been closer to handling.
That was the way he saw it, especially with the way that Lady Stark hadn't been sending him glares over the last year. Why bother trying to make someone feel like they didn't belong, when you were just going to send them away? It wasn't worth her time.
He only wished he'd been able to see Arya before leaving. Robb and Sansa hardly looked like they cared.
"A little young to be brooding my Lord." The deep voice carried through the quaint quarters granted to him in Castle Black. The winds carried through the opened door, being so close to a wall of towering ice, they were chilling even to a Northerner.
"I bear the name Snow, Commander Mormont. I'm no lord." Jon rose from the seat to look over to his host. The man towered over most, strongly built with broad shoulders, and even with the man's age he would doubt that most men would fancy fighting him. The shaggy grey hair on his balding head and in his long beard were the only thing to contrast the black he donned, the uniform of the Night's Watch.
The old bear came to the seat opposite Jon, by the hearth, and sat himself down slowly.
"A man is not determined by the name he holds. If my life before taking the black hadn't spelled that out, I've learned that lesson by far since." Jeor Mormont seemed to lose himself in memory for but a moment, before coming back to the conversation he'd started.
"Well then, Jon Snow, why has your father sent you specifically with these men?"
"Lord Stark wishes for me to put the training undergone to test, I suppose. It was not my place to question his motives." Jeor rose a brow at his guest, the tone and wording were strange to him. Lord Eddard Stark may not be the most affectionate of fathers, but he knew the quiet wolf to be a loving father. Benjen made that quite clear, even if the old bear hadn't seen it himself before coming to the wall.
The boy before him was different, and boy was an apt description. He could not have been more than 13, not with the stature, and little remnants of baby fat still clinging to his face. That was not to say that the boy was hefty or not built for a fight, for he could tell that the bastard of Winterfell had practiced the sword long and hard.
"Hmm, I suppose not. I will say that I was surprised when Lord Stark ordered we merely watch the surrounding area, rather than send a party to find these wildlings."
"You would not be alone in that Lord Commander. The men travelling with me voiced their own concerns as well, once we left Winterfell." Jon's voice was hollow, something that Jeor felt no boy of that age should possess. Sullen, quiet and brooding seemed to be his default expression, from the little he'd seen. It was a far cry from the boisterous and loud boys from his home, and a fair amount of the north in general.
From what Jeor could tell, Jon Snow held much of his father in him outside of looks. The lad was blunt and direct with his words, quiet and observing in nature.
"Concerns I presume you've already dealt with?" Jeor could see it in his eyes. Sullen, quiet and brooding the lad may be, but there was most definitely a wolf in there. He'd seen it before with Rickard, Brandon, even Benjen on an occasion or two.
"Aye." Jon did not bother elaborating. Jeor didn't need to hear of how the men had wanted the command structure to be shifted. When Jon had said nothing to either relent or present his own argument for staying in command, a man of the guard originally from the Westerlands, offered a duel to resolve the issue once and for all. The man had three small cuts, painful but not debilitating in any way.
They had looked at him differently then, after beating one of the better men-at-arms so easily. The men saw their lord in him then, when he didn't brag or yell, but merely said they were to continue once the injured man was bandaged.
"Good. I'd hate to mutinous behavior rewarded in the North. Common as it may be elsewhere, we Northmen are different." Jeor thought better of saying what else was on his mind. Overall, the Starks had been what held the North together. They were the ones to set the precedent of honesty and loyalty so long ago, with the Kings of Winter.
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Daenerys Targaryen
She wanted to think her sister, for Rhaenys could be nothing else to her, could not possibly be telling the truth. Even though Viserys had been cruel, he remembered so much more of their homeland than the olive-skinned Targaryen.
"But…Viserys always said that the Starks were the Usurpers dogs." Dany argued, sitting out on a balcony of a modest room in Tyrosh.
She had no personal knowledge of any Stark, only stories that her brother had told her before his madness had him taking Ser Oswell's life. According to him, they were northern savages that needed to be put down like the dogs they had as their sigil.
"I tell you with utmost confidence Dany, the Starks are nothing like Robert Baratheon." Leaning against the railing, letting the sun set over the top half of her body, Rhaenys looked towards Dany with nothing but love. How her brother could have felt such disdain for a kind soul like her Dany didn't know.
It had always been a topic that Rhaenys avoided bringing up when travelling with Viserys, and since then hadn't really come up in conversation if it hadn't been for Ser Jorah.
He had spoken about Ned Stark with clear respect in his tone and eyes. The former Lord of Bear Island had come clean about his crimes, and how he knew that the Lord of Winterfell had only done his duty.
"How are you so sure?" Dany continued prodding the subject. She was of an age where things needn't be hidden from her any longer. If they were to return to their home country one day, she needed to know all she could.
Rhaenys paused, obviously thinking along the same lines as Dany had been. Telling the whole truth meant tearing down the family in which they were birthed into, of how the Mad King had only escalated the rebellion. But it was better to do it now, let her adjust to the knowledge.
"Do you know why the Rebellion came to be?" Rhaenys asked cautiously. Everyone at least knew some of the details, but most held on to the edited version spread by the now crowned stag.
"Rhaegar, he kidnapped Lyanna Stark. Then the Usurper raised his banners in search of his betrothed." Rhaenys winced at the simplified version being the one Dany had been told.
"No Dany. That's not what happened." Rhaenys shook her head, long wavy curls of such a dark brown they were almost black if not for the sun shining on her.
Violet eyes narrowed in thought. That was how everyone said it happened, and she didn't know how all those people could be wrong about something so monumental.
"My father Rhaegar, he fell in love with Lyanna, and she was in love with him. Ser Oswell told me once, about how my mother nearly died giving birth to her son. According to him, having multiple lovers isn't such an uncommon thing in Dorne, so my mother had no issue with him marrying Lyanna. I only wish they had done it publicly, rather than running away together."
The immediate question was expected.
"Married? Rhaegar married Lyanna Stark?" Dany's violet eyes were wide, having only heard of how her brother had kidnapped the she-wolf. Taking what was his, as a dragon should.
With a smile, Rhaenys nodded. "He did. Her father had betrothed her to Robert Baratheon, but she didn't love him, so they ran away together and got married in secret."
If things had been different, Dany wondered what living with the Stark woman would have been like. Viserys held such polarizing views compared to Rhaenys. Where he saw the Starks as Northern savages acting as the Usurpers dog, Rhaenys saw them as honest and good people. She wasn't sure which was true, or if it were something in between.
Dany also had to wonder how she could be so sure of her view. Had she met the Starks, or any Stark? The person Rhaenys talked about most, that wasn't already with them at some point, was the man she said was to be their king. Dany assumed she meant Viserys and envisioned that one day her brother would turn into the kind man Rhaenys spoke of.
"Lyanna's brother Brandon, he heard about her leaving and assumed that she'd been kidnapped. He went to your father, demanding she be returned and for Rhaegar to answer for his crime. He was arrested and charged with treason. Rickard Stark was called to the Red Keep to answer for the charges brought between my father and Brandon Stark."
Rhaenys paused, Dany waiting with baited breath from the story. The tone of this story was like none she'd ever been told before. Rather than the brutal take down of her family, this tale sounded more like the romantic tragedies. Ones where a forbidden love was kept in secret, and those left unaware had paid with their lives.
"Dany, you have to understand something." Daenerys looked into those copper eyes, wary of breaking the view of their family.
"Your father was not well. Just as Viserys had his bouts of anger, your father had his paranoia. All in the seven kingdoms knew of how the king fared, so Rickard Stark demanded a trial by combat. It was granted, but your father chose fire as his champion. Brandon Stark was held by rope around his neck, watching as his father was burning. Grandfather had a sword laid before Brandon, saying that if he could reach it, Rickard could be saved."
Dany didn't like this story anymore, but she wouldn't turn away or ask Rhaenys to stop. She was learning, of the events that lead to the rebellion, of her family, of why so many houses in Westeros had wanted the Targaryens dead.
"The sword was just out of reach, and Brandon strangled himself to death trying to reach it and save his father. The king wasn't satisfied, and called for the heads of Uncle N-", Rhaenys had to pause once more. Dany would not understand the relation just yet, so she had to correct herself.
"He called for the heads of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon. Jon Arryn refused, and they raised their banners in revolt."
Now Dany understood, or at least had the information to process and see the other side. What she couldn't and wouldn't condone, was how the usurper wanted to kill children for the fault of their family.
"When my father saw that the war was turning away from him, he had Lyanna moved to a tower in Dorne, and prepared to have my mother, Aegon and myself moved there as well. She still sick and could not endure the travel, Aegon was too young to be away from her for so long. Mother never kept to the idea of using a wet nurse. My father had me moved to Dorne, hoping that he'd be able to bring them shortly after. When the sack of King's Landing happened, I was with Lyanna in the tower of joy."
"What was she like?" Dany blurted out, unable to help herself. This woman had captured the heart of a man that could have had nearly any woman in the seven kingdoms, she had to be something special.
"I remember a few times when she would play with me, letting me pet the horse brought with her. She was beautiful, and kind. She loved playing with me until her belly swelled and kept her from going down the tower steps."
"She was pregnant?" The prospect of another family member still alive had hope bursting through every pore of her body.
"Yes." Rhaenys answered simply, a far-off look coming over her. Dany recognized it as the look of dreaming of the 'what if's'. She knew that feeling well. Rhaenys continued, still lost in her thoughts and memories.
"When Uncle Ned came, Lyanna was in labor. One thing I learned of the Stark's Dany, they will go to the ends of the earth and beyond for their family, their pack. I remember his tear stained smile, how he let me hold my baby brother, how he did his best to comfort me when I could hear the men outside fighting."
Dany was not as well learned on succession as Rhaenys, but that was merely due to the age difference. If what Rhaenys said was true, and Dany had no reason to not believe, all of Viserys' claims of being the true king were false.
"What happened to him? Your brother I mean." If he was her brother, then he should have been with them, shouldn't he? It wasn't safe for him to stay in Westeros.
"Uncle Ned took him, claimed Jon as his own son." So that was his name. The name of her nephew and king. It sounded familiar to her for some reason, like she should know it. Not only because it was common, but like she should have a face to put to the name.
Dany hoped that Jon was nicer than her brother, more like Ser Willem Darry, or Ser Oswell.
"He's lonely Dany." Rhaenys said, her voice turning solemn. Daenerys watched her, trying to think of how Rhaenys would know anything about a boy across the sea.
"I see him in my dreams. The same ones I saw you playing with that boy and girl from Braavos. I talk to him, but he can't hear me yet. He hasn't spoken to me so far, but I can see it in his eyes. It's eating at him, being made to feel like an outsider with people that should love him unconditionally. All because the lie keeps him safe." Dany wanted to deny such a thing was possible, seeing a person in your dreams and having it not just be a conjuration of the mind.
She had a hard time doing that, especially after Rhaenys said she could see Dany playing with those children. Those were dreams that Dany cherished, the ones that took from the three times she had played with those other children when she was younger.
If Rhaenys claimed to see her brother, Dany believed her. They were the blood of the dragon, it was said that magic ran through their very veins.
"We'll see him one day, won't we?"
"Of course we will. I promised to love him for all of our days, that's hard to do from afar."
No matter how Rhaenys meant that statement, it was nothing that Dany wasn't already acquainted with. Viserys had proclaimed that she would be married to him one day, that it was the way of the dragon. She was curious however, if Rhaenys intended to wed the king, her half-brother.
She could vaguely recall Rhaenys telling her of the dreams in which she and Dany were queens of the seven kingdoms. Were these dreams a sort of vision into events yet to unfold? Was Dany to marry this unknown family member as well? More so, would she be happy in doing so?
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Oberyn Martell
It felt like a lifetime ago that he had last stepped through these streets.
Essos was a place to taste the exotic, sample the sweet or spicy favors that Westeros lacked. Perfumes, silks, women, knowledge, all of these things had a certain color to them that the Prince of Dorne liked.
Of course, he had found a man or woman in any place he found himself in, and each experience was a joy. Perfumes were never something he took to using personally, but he couldn't deny that there was an allure of someone who used just the right kind and just the right amount.
But this expedition across the narrow sea was not for pleasures.
The brothels were given only the smallest of glances, merchants ignored completely as he stepped through the paved streets. The Tyroshi were so heavily involved in slavery that Oberyn thought the city would fall without the practice. It was an abhorrent concept to him, as free spirited as he was.
If the slave trade was ever somehow outlawed here, the pear brandy and armor smiths would not be able to keep the city afloat. It would end with blood painting the walls and roads, flowing like a river flooded by a storm after the slaves lead a revolt.
His brother Doran was a fool for keeping him from looking into this matter sooner. The moment that Oberyn heard of the darker-skinned young woman accompanying Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen, he had wanted to set out and find them.
The ruling Prince had wanted revenge for their sister Elia and her children, but he was quelled by Jon Arryn upon the return of the remains of Lewyn Martell. Oberyn was not as easily placated by the words relayed from the Lord of the Vale, now hand to King Robert Baratheon.
Tywin Lannister, and the two under his command, Ser Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch would pay. If it proved true that Rhaenys still lived, Doran would fall in line quickly and pledge his more support to the cause, however hidden and muted it may be.
Oberyn knew his brother to be a cautious man, but the treatment of innocents in the rebellion could not go unanswered. If the fat stag or Doran would not act, then he would find a way to enact his vengeance himself.
How had the rest been so easily fooled? How did they not question the movements of Ned Stark once the throne had been claimed by the heir of the Stormlands?
The Red Viper knew it well, the drive to protect one's sister. He and the wolves of Winterfell apparently held that in common. The quiet wolf was no different. Ned Stark had marched to war with the ferocity of his sigil after his sister's disappearance, and the death of his father and brother.
Even though they were on opposite sides, Oberyn could not deny the righteous reasoning that led Ned Stark to the field of battle, spilling blood as easily as tipping a cup and watching the Dornish red spill. Justice and honor had failed the Stark's. He could not help but sympathize with the Lord of Winterfell, reluctant as he was to do so.
From King's Landing, Ned Stark had travelled to Dorne in search of his sister. Rhaegar had been dead and buried by then, and yet no one questioned why three kingsguard were found to be guarding the tower of joy. The Mad King and the crown prince were both dead, the she-wolf had been said to be kidnapped.
Even if Arthur Dayne was a close friend of Rhaegar, the oath that the sword of the morning had taken would not have meant he should be protecting the woman he had supposedly raped while the Dragon Prince left for battle.
No, Rhaegar was not that kind of man, and it only made more sense once Arthur left with Ned Stark.
A source of Oberyn's had told of the day that Ned Stark and Arthur Dayne made it to Starfall, something else that the entire realm had overlooked. Ned Stark had a child in his arms, so the theory that it was Ashara's was false, as the same source had seen Arthur leave empty handed upon his last visit.
It was a good story, but not good enough to fool him. The bastard of Winterfell was not Ashara's, nor was he Ned Stark's son like he claimed. That boy was undoubtedly the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. What remained to be proven, was whether the boy was actually a bastard at all. Oberyn had his doubts on that.
"Where are you hiding…?" He whispered, looking through the courtyard that connected each section of the city. Taverns, inns and houses were scattered all over the city, there was no one area to put emphasis on. But if he were a betting man, which he was, Oberyn would guess somewhere along the outskirts of the city.
It would be close enough to merchants for supplies, but far enough out that they could leave quickly and not be noticed by too many. The island city was not overly large.
Last he had heard, they were in Braavos, Daenerys and Rhaenys accompanied by fair-haired girl around his niece's age. Even though the King knew that the daughter of the Mad King was here, he would not come into any trouble. Viserys not being seen with them, odd as that was.
His features let him blend in across the sea, darker hair and skin, sharp nose and dark eyes. He had forgone the usual quality of clothing in order to keep with the prospect of just being another face in the crowd.
None would think him out of place. Oberyn had been to the city years ago, and his memory served to keep him from looking around like some wandering fool.
He was already walking to the northern part of the city, so he would start there and work his way around, listening and questioning as carefully as he could. His goal was not to arouse suspicion, but to offer his aid. Putting a target on their backs would do him no good.
"Mmmm hey there tall dark and handsome." A voice said from a short distance away.
Oberyn let his cock start to do the thinking, and turned towards it, wanting to see the face attached to that lusty tenor.
She was young, fair of hair and sported light blue eyes. Her frame thin yet not scrawny, a sign that she was at least able to feed herself properly, but still dressed as the slave whores did in this part of the city. He was surprised by the advance, as he was dressed as a man that didn't have much to his name.
That was the moment he saw her a short distance away. The whore quickly forgotten.
Shorter in stature, a full figure that reflected much of the women in Dorne, dark hair and copper eyes. She hid the streaks of silver hair well, but not well enough that it escaped his view, a few strands blowing in the wind and catching his eye.
She was beautiful, just like he knew she would be.
Elia would be so proud to see her. Perhaps not of the circumstance in which she found herself in, but the fact that she was surviving with so little help and taking care of another at the same time.
She was watching Oberyn from her peripheral, the woman that was still trying to talk to him likely the companion that he'd heard about.
From the look of it, Rhaenys didn't recognize him. He couldn't fault her for that, as the last time he'd seen her, Aegon had only just been born the day before.
"If you want a go at my friend there, you'll need me to give you a little prepping first."
Oberyn wanted to scream and rage at how his niece was acting the part of a common whore, but he could tell that's all it was. An act. Without turning towards the commoner woman trying to entice him into bed, Oberyn spoke to her quietly.
"My name is Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne and uncle to Rhaenys Targaryen." Her eyes could not have gone from the fake show of lust to wide and surprised in a shorter amount of time.
"I will give you every piece of gold and copper I have on me and then some if you bring my niece my to speak with me." The crowd continued to walk around them as the girl eyed him curiously, before she quietly walked over to Rhaenys and whispered in her ear.
His niece was alive. His hunch was right all along. Doran was going to be sobbing at their feet in regret, wishing he'd been willing to go out and search for them years ago.
The reign of the stag was going to end, and Oberyn was looking forward to claiming his kills. They would die slowly, painfully, and there was nothing that Tywin Lannister could do about it. For he would meet the same fate for being the one to issue the order.
When Rhaenys started to step towards him hesitantly, Oberyn gave her the truest smile he'd felt in years, opening his arms to embrace his long-lost niece.
She sped into him once she saw the trusting, loving, relieved look on his face. The wetness in his eyes was nothing he felt ashamed of. Tears slowly dripping down his cheek were only the sign that he was genuine, that he was happy for her being alive.
"I am not much of a religious man, but I prayed that I was right. That you were still alive Rhaenys."
Arms wrapped around his torso, her head hardly coming up to his chin.
"I am alive uncle. I wasn't sure how long it would be before I could come back and reveal myself. I never meant to cause you pain."
With part sob, part laugh, Oberyn placed a kiss on her silky dark hair, not caring for a moment at the strange glances he received from those passing around him. He was happy.
"You must be as fierce as Nymeria herself to have persevered."
Rhaenys rested her chin against his chest, looking up to him with copper eyes that so reflected her mother.
"I can't claim to be the commander that the warrior queen was, but I will be a queen that one shall not want to trifle with."
Fierce, adaptable, beautiful. Yes, Elia would most definitely be proud of her daughter.
"I imagine that Dorne will be only the first to bow to your might, my queen."
He took great pleasure in calling her that.
"If it were a race, I imagine the North might be hard to beat uncle."
Oberyn pulled his head away, searching her eyes.
"The boy in Winterfell. You know of him?"
"My brother Jon. Trueborn and noble. My king."
There was much to be discussed, much to be planned. Near the top of that list was her knowledge of her brother. She knew that he was no bastard, Oberyn was looking forward to hearing the tale. Once a plan of sufficient merit came about, Oberyn would venture into the cold wastes of the north.
He and Eddard Stark needed to have words. The man was of no kin to him personally, barely an ally through blood, but Rhaenys was a different story if her tone was anything to go by.
-LineBreak-
Jon Snow
One moment.
That was all it took for the pair of wildlings to bring down the man that had tried to oust Jon as the leader of their expedition north. Weeks of searching lead to that moment, and it was a bittersweet triumph.
Jon had succeeded in his duty, but at the cost of a life under his command.
It didn't matter that the man had strayed from the plan that was agreed upon, he was still dead, and it was still under Jon's watch.
He walked through the darkened halls of the Queensgate, the castle holding them on their apparent attempt to find a hole to scurry their friends through a fabled hole in the wall.
Dark did not seem to properly describe it. Desolate, burnt, ravaged were only some of the things he could think of that came to mind.
Half of wood and half of stone, the Queens gate was probably once a sight to behold, when the Night's Watch was at its best. As things stood, the watch only had the men to barely maintain 3 of the castles along the wall. The Shadow Tower, Castle Black, and Eastwatch-by-the-sea.
He needed a moment alone to gather himself. 5 wildlings total, with 3 dying in the fight before the last 2 had been captured. Lord Stark's orders had been clear. Bring back as many as possible for questioning before execution. They needed to know where the wildlings were getting through, how many had done so already if it were possible to know and were there any other areas they were looking at exploiting.
Something primal was bringing him down this corridor, something he couldn't explain. The double doors of heavy ironwood at the end were the only thing in the hall. Yet Jon walked as though unseeing of it all, lost in the memory of seeing the man under his command having his head split open. He'd been told to keep the helmet on when they were moving, yet he'd refused to listen to a mere boy that was only playing at command.
The doors were pushed open easily, something Jon wouldn't have expected from the length of time being unused and the size and material of its build.
Snow laid across the decaying desk and floor near the back window, the remaining light of the day fading quickly.
It was the shelves built into the wall that Jon found himself walking towards, like a moth to a flame.
The soot was caked onto every surface, yet nothing seemed to have actually burned, everything was as solid as it should have been if only the elements had been brought inside. It was strange to say the least.
The books along the lower shelves were blackened and likely unreadable, not that Jon made the attempt. He was too occupied within himself.
His body acted of its own accord as he wondered just how the death of the guard would come back to haunt him. Would Lord Stark be furious? Would Lady Stark use this as a means to be rid of him even quicker? What would Ser Arthur say? His instructor was hard, not very lenient when it came to the lives of men.
His gloved hand brushed against something along a higher shelf. The settling cold seemed to avoid this object entirely, bringing his focus to it.
It was rather large, a strange egg shape that looked like metal. The black soot was less caked onto it than anything else.
Jon picked it off the shelf, weighing it in his hands as his eyes scanned it over.
It seemed like an egg of some sort of beast but had to be an ornament of some kind due to the metallic shine. Folded over one another were what appeared to be scales, but the only thing Jon knew to have scales like that were the dragons of old. And the world had not seen a single Dragon egg for such an age that they were nearly a mythical thing. Valyria likely held remains of some, but the doom had claimed that area of Essos long ago and the other scaled beasts of the world did not come from eggs this large.
Whatever it was, Jon liked having the weight of it in his hands, a sort of calm coming over him in holding it. The lining of his cloak had a large pocket, and the ornamental egg slid into it perfectly.
Jon turned around, heading back the way he came. They would be leaving the Queensgate in the morning, taking the long ride back to Winterfell.
His wildling captives had been tied together and then to a post in what had once been the kitchen, just to make sure they wouldn't have a way to escape. The frantic look in their eyes unsettled him, it was like they'd stared death itself in the face and hardly made it out to tell the tale.
Even though he'd been given this task by his fath…Lord Stark, Jon still only longed for the dreams of the dark-haired girl with copper eyes, the silver-haired girl with violet eyes, cuddling up to him against a lemon tree in what appeared to be a land of never-ending southern summer. Not being able to converse with them wasn't important. It was the smiles, the peace he felt from being beside them that mattered.
END!
After next chapter, things won't be as time skippy. Much to cover, much to do. Villains to build and plots to scheme.
Where is Viserys I wonder…
I haven't been naming the chapters so far. But if I did…the next one would be Kissed by fire.