JEAN
Her gift was that of the mind; the ability to read it and understand it, to speak to it and to listen to it. Ever since she was born the thoughts of men and women and child alike had come rushing into her brain to the tune of a thousand voices, and it took all her life to learn to not to scream when they flooded her. Jean Grey was still not used to the extent of her gifts, but she could live with them.
For a time she thought she was the only person in the Seven Kingdoms who wasn't touched; she got into endless fights with her brothers because of things that they thought, not said. Initially thoughts came out like muted whispers from a person's head. A man's own mind was like jumble of words, cascading and melting together into a contradictory yet logical yet imperfect yet perfect symphony. She would always hear them at all times, and it confused and frightened her for a time.
"You have a gift from the Gods child," her father told her when she revealed her abilities, "best keep it secret." Her father told her tales of how some people were born different in the world. A person could have gifts, or talents. Many called themselves the next generation of greensers, and drew large crowds with their supposed powers given from the old gods. People simply called those powersthe gift.
She was the only one she knew who had the gift, and it made for a strange, lonely life.
She made her way over to a table of sell swords, a pitcher of ale in her hands. She could hear the thoughts of the men; like most of the sell swords that stayed in the inn their thoughts were focused entirely on her. As she poured ale into their cups, she avoided their stares. Her mother once told her that you could always tell what a man was thinking by just looking them in the eye; Jean replied that she never needed to look, she just listened.
The sell swords were thinking of all sorts of things to do to her. Lewd thoughts of how shapely she was, how comely her face was, and how much they'd like to tear off her dress and give her a proper bedding. Jean was used to these thoughts; she was six and ten, almost a woman grown, and she was often told how beautiful she was, and she often heard those words repeated in thoughts a thousand times after that. Luckily, the sell swords weren't dining in a standard lowbrow tavern, and thus could not treat her like a common tavern wench. They were dining in The Stag's Rest, the finest inn in the stormlands.
The Stag's Rest had been in her family for generations. The Greys were not exactly a noble house, as the only land they owned was the inn. But noble blood had helped them keep their place. Records said that Ronard the bastard had visited this inn, and had his way with the innkeep's wife. The singers sang that Ronard was between wars at the time, and so enjoyed the food and ale that he decided to stay and run his kingdom from this tavern for a year. When the innkeep's wife gave birth to a bastard son, Ronard, who was quite drunk at the time, called the babe Steffon Grey the ale king. And so what was once a lowly tavern that sat a few miles up from castle Bronzegate quickly became a favored stopping point for the Storm Kings.
So the small tavern quickly became The Stag's Rest, a large inn suitable for kings. From the outside it looked almost like a castle, so large was it. As the years grew longer it took on a compound like appearance, four large stone rectangular buildings with a central courtyard. But there was no need for any defensive walls, as it was an inn, and inns had no need for defense. Each building served a different purpose; the welcome hall was where guests were admitted and were kings or people of import stayed, the feasting hall was where the guests dined, the common hall is where the guests slept and the Grey hall is where her family and servants lived. Stag's Rest could house and feed over five hundred people, and the Greys had also installed several secret rooms in each hall, where Baratheons could meet and plan battles in times of war.
The Stormlands bred a people as stubborn as the tempests that gave the lands its name, and the Greys picked an appropriately stubborn place to make their legacy. The woods nearby teemed with wolves, and the game was often harsh and unyielding. Crops were difficult to grow, for the soil was stony and difficult to till. Lumber was plentiful, but the Graywood was often heavily contested by local lords and petty kings. Yet the Greys stood by their motley inn, and in time weathered the land down to suit their needs. Their sigil became a cup of ale, in honor of the ale king Steffon, who was the first to begin expanding their family and business.
Jean was the eldest child, and the only girl. Her parents Jon and Elaine Grey had trained her from birth in the art of inn keeping. At some point she was expected to marry somebody, and there was a wealth of potential suitors. She heard her father and mother discuss often what would be the best match, and every time they presented her with one she eloquently outlined why it would be a bad idea. Her two younger brothers, Liam and Roger, already had a match lined up for when they came of age. But Liam and Roger couldn't read the minds of their intended.
She made her way to the other tables, pouring ale for the patrons. Though she could ask the servants to do it, she often did it herself. A Grey was still expected to do menial tasks time to time, and this was her favorite one, as she got to hear all the gossip and intrigue from the patron's mouths or their heads.
The feasting hall was moderately housed this day; many sell swords and knights had been making their way to King's Landing in preparation for the Hand's Tourney. Many rumors had spread across the tavern about who was going to compete, who would be the best fighter, and who would be crowned queen of love and beauty. Thus many lords and knights and sell swords squabbled about minor details.
One man of particular note was Berric Dondarrion. The lord had come up from the red mountains to participate in the Hand's tourney. The man's copper gold hair stood out in the stormlands, making him easy to spot in the crowded hall. Berric sat at a table with his squire and two other minor lords. As Jean went to refill her pitcher of ale, she caught wind of the conversation.
"I think that old fool Thoros will be in the tourney again," said one of the lords. "He'll be taking Swann's place if he's smart. Poor bastard won't likely be able to hold a sword again."
"Good, now Leonard has the skill to match his character." Lord Berric stated softly. "He was never an honorable man and probably got crippled for a good reason."
She casually made her way over to the table. "Planning on winning the Hand's Tourney Lord Berric?" She asked with a smile. Berric Dondarrion had always treated her like a little sister, and his thoughts towards her were always full of pride and mirth instead of lust. He always stayed at Stag's Rest whenever he was on the kingsroad, and shared good conversation with Jean.
"No my girl, I'm simply planning to earn a bit of gold." Berric replied simply. "And I don't really care who wins either."
"Truly my lord?" asked his squire, Edric Dayne. Jean caught a few shy glances directed her way, and heard a few shy thoughts about her, though none as dirty as what she had heard previously. "Aren't tourney's of great import?"
Lord Derric smiled at the lad before turning to her. "My lady Jean, what do you think Tourney's are good for?"
Jean hid a small smirk as she began her reply. She and Lord Berric had this discussion years ago when she was ten, and she still remembered what he told her to this day. "Well my lord, their good for many things, such as coin, valor, knightships, and other sorts of things. But most importantly they make a good distraction."
"Now right there is the smartest lass in the seven kingdoms. We need distractions like a tourney to make sure the smallfolk don't make their own entertainment. Keeps the wheel turning, for good and bad."
Jean stayed and chatted with the group a little longer before returning to her duties. It was midday by now, and in the stormlands, men drink the most at midday. A perfect example was the group of sellswords she had served previously.
Their thoughts became sluggish less coherent as the ale did its work on the mind. They began arguing about something, and Jean could feel their tempers flaring. She snapped at two serving men, then pointed at the sellswords. They knew what was about to happen.
As the serving men went off to get guards, Jean approached Lord Berric and gently tapped him on the shoulder. "Lord Berric, I require your assistance."
After motioning to the sellswords Berric nodded and walked with her to their table. Both of the men were standing up and shouting at one another. A flash of words appeared in Jean's mind, and she instantly knew what the cause was. Again, a fight over somebody's mother.
"Sers, this is not the place for this." Berric informed them sternly with a hand on his sword. "You can do your tavern brawling elsewhere."
One of them didn't take very kindly to Lord Berric asserting his authority, and reached for his dagger. Time then slowed to a halt.
She felt every intention the man did, every bit of rage in his body, and it washed over her in a tidal wave. She saw a million different outcomes, each ending with a knife in Berric's throat. A single word formed in her mind against all the rage and fear.
No.
The next thing she knew the man was on the floor, convulsing with foam leaking from his mouth. Berric rushed to the man's side, and Jean called for help. Servers and guardsman rushed to aid the man, but Jean did not care.
She was running now, through the feasting hall and through the welcome hall, passing the crowned stag statue at the entrance and passing the clerk at the desk, avoiding any questions or inquries about what she was doing, for she did not care, for now she was in the Grey hall and her room was so close, so close, she needed to get away from them, from all of them, from all of the voices and the-
She shut the door, gasping for air even though she did not need any. She had almost drowned in the thoughts again, and she had nearly killed a man this time. She reached out to the sellsword to make sure he was stable. His mind was twisting and turning like the typhoon, but it was no longer in freefall. She didn't go any deeper however. She didn't want to drown again.
She felt immensely tired, and her eyes grew heavy and weak. She shuffled to her bed wordlessly, not bothering to undress. She collapsed on the soft mattress and instantly fell asleep.
She dreamt that day, of things strange and wonderful. She found herself in a plane of pure ice, dead and deserted. The sky was filled with a billion stars, each one older than the last. She gazed up at the stars and learned a story from each of them. She heard a tale of a billion worlds smashed together in one with a king in a metal mask. There was a tale of a land ruled by utter savagery, where lizard-lions and wyverns without wings reigned supreme. There was a tale of a thousand ships that glided through the stars like a swan through water, searching for something. She smiled blankly as each star told its tale, speaking to her in a million voices, each voice in a billion languages. The ice beneath her cracked and she fell into a black void, and the stars followed her down.
The stars continued to tell her tales, and they began to mesh together. Whispers of "Promise me…" echoed in her ear as she plummeted down into the abyss. More visions came; two five pointed stars, both white circling each other in a strange dance. They are the same, yet none is the other. Said a voice in the common tongue, and the words were repeated again in Valyrian, then Dothraki, then the language of Qarth, and then in the tongue of Leng.
She stopped falling and the stars were gone. The only thing in the black void was a boy no older than eight, with thick auburn hair and deep blue eyes. He was looking directly at her with surprise in his eyes.
"Are you… real?" He asked Jean.
Before she could upon her mouth, a crow with three eyes landed on his shoulder, squawking and shuffling wildly. Jean suddenly felt a presence on her shoulder to. She turned her head, and saw a bird with red feathers perched on her left shoulder. The bird let out a single sound, a primal roar that was older than time itself. She saw its feathers catch fire, and an aura of flame consumed the bird and her. At the moment she could feel the stars opening their mouths to tell her what everything meant, what the billion tales and what she was and-
Jean opened her eyes, and found herself floating above her bed.
AN: Well that was hard to write up until the dream sequence. For some reason I'm much better at writing crazy dream sequences than anything normal. It's weird because I always picture Jean Grey as Sophie Turner (thanks X-Men: Apocalypse), but I also always picture Sansa Stark as Sophie turner. Its a world with two Sophies.
The book The World of Ice and Fire has been immensely helpful regarding lore and where each character is. I decided to put Jean in the Stormlands because it seemed like a fun location, and it isn't visited much by the show or the books.
Thats all I have for my add rant, so please, review and ask questions. I'll respond to anything you guys ask. Even to the guy who just posts "need more." I hear you Mr. need more, and I will oblige with more chapters.
