Sansa
The weirwood tree oozed out an ugly yellow and white liquid as putrid as puss from a wound. The bark was rotting away it smelled terribly. Sansa required a hanker chef being this close or she would gag on the stench. Corruption had set in and none of the maesters or gardeners could restore it to life. She touched the bark tenderly. She felt the cold, slimy liquid clinging to her fingers and tried to wipe it off in desperation. Weirwood trees across the realm were dying. From Last Hearth to Storms End they rotted and died.
Is this some sign from the Old Gods? Is this some ill omen for House Stark?
The liquid streamed down the bark, and Sansa couldn't look away.
Will I not become queen?
"No." It seemed to whisper. "You'll be queen of nothing."
Tears threatened to form as she fell to her knees before the rotting tree. She didn't weep, for no queen should shed her tears. Was this the reason fathers leg wouldn't heal? Did the Old Gods curse her?
Members of House Starks household spoke in hush whispers about the dying weirwood trees. They spoke of curses and ill omens of the Gods.
This should be my hour. The hour I become queen.
Instead, her stomach was twisted up in a painful knot. Mothers words dug in deep.
"Please tell me father is going to be okay. I don't want him to die. I didn't mean to drive him to a collapse. I swear it."
"What were you thinking!? Spreading such vile slander about your future good sister. Your cousins wife." Mother's eyes were as hard as a Starks and her voice cracked like a whip. "You dishonor yourself with your conduct. Family! Duty! Honor! Did your father and I teach you anything?" Sansa erupted into tears. Her voice frightened her more than fathers ever did. The tears flooded out in a ugly throb.
"It's her fault. She started it." She sobbed. "She's evil and awful and I just wanted to be queen. I just wanted to be queen, like you always said." Her breathing came in hard and heavy as she curled up. "For the good of House Stark. I'm good, I promise I'm good. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Sansa couldn't stop staying it like one of her silly songbirds. It was the only word she seemed to know.
"Shh," Mother said in a soothing tone. "There's no need to worry, sweetling. Everything will be okay."
"I'm sorry." She added again.
Mother reassured her that Father would get better and then ordered her to tell the truth about Princess Myrcella. She told her everything. Myrcellas manipulations. Tommens threats. And the letter Sansa sent to humiliate her. When she finished, she expected Mother to look furious, but she merely looked tired like a worn cloak. "Your father-"
"You must not." Sansa begged. "He's unwell. You know that. Please don't tell him."
"You shall write your apologies." Mother said. "And we shall put this behind us. Nothing that's been done can't be undone."
Was that true? Sansa wondered as she stared into the rotting Weirwood tree. Could they simply move on? Of course not. Sansa hand curled into fists. I will not send those letters. It would be a weakness. When a lady crossed her, she humiliated them and broke their resolve. Once Lady Ryker didn't seat her in the proper place of honor and she made sure everyone knew about her dalliance with the Ser Jaclyn. The laughter and scorn made her meek and compliant. If she apologized, she would be toothless and Myrcella would get her revenge somehow. Mother believe otherwise, but it was a vain hope.
Yet she considered it.
One letter could put her fears to rest.
Sansa was tired. She slept little father's health weighed her down.
I slept easily in Winterfell. Sansa remembered.
The knot grew tighter in her stomach.
Please give me a sign.
Sansa prayed to the Old Gods and the New for a sign. Should I swallow my pride and make amends? Or hold my tongue? Surely Myrcella was cowed by her words like all the rest.
"The poor thing." A familiar voice chimed. "How sad. I wonder what matter of disease ails it."
"What are you doing here?" She said with icy courtesy. "Shoo Spider, I didn't send for you." She had little need for him to browbeat some noblewoman who earned her ire by disrespecting her authority. Or learn the secret of some lord or knight to hold over their heads.
Vary giggled. "Oh, but I sing a sweet song your grace would be anxious to hear." She turned to face him. The mans thick perfume overpowered the stench of rot. "About a sweet princess perched on the mountain tsk. I think it'll please you."
She bit underneath her lip. "Speak quickly. I'm in little mood for riddles."
"Tsk. Tsk." Varys said. "You wound me, my lady." He didn't look offended. "I've spun my little web. Oh, yes, my birds don't take flight in the Vale. Their wings always get clipped, but I heard a chirp. A surprising fact, wouldn't you say? A chirp of displeasure about the truth being revealed before the realm."
"I don't understand." Sansa struggled to find meaning in his words.
"The dog that doesn't bark my lady." Varys said. "Princess Myrcella displeasure at the rumors from Kings Landing is known and she wanted you to know it."
Her heart fell at the fact. Myrcella did nothing without a reason to it. She was very tidy and meticulous with everything she did and moved people around like they were pieces on her board.
"What do you intend to do, I wonder? She's clearly not cowed like most by your rank or title. Wife of the future Hand of the King. Brother to His Grace." Varys sounded giddy. "An implacable foe whom you've angered when you spoke the truth of her crimes. I wonder what she shall do?" Sansa feared the answer. "Our kind princess isn't incapable of removing weeds in her garden." Something twisted in her tummy. The thought was sickening, but she refused to pale infront of Varys.
Murder.
He means murder.
"You've said your peace ser." Sansa said. "Now leave me to my prayers before I summon my guard."
Varys bowed his head.
I'm only a weed to her. Varys words plagued her as she stared into the rotting bark.
I shall rot in the ground with the worms, if I don't act.
Mother was wrong.
It was too late for her.
Princess Myrcella started this quarrel, and Sansa had to finish it before it cost her everything. I will not let her take my crown. A dark thought, too vile to say, emerged as a solution. Sansa wouldn't speak it, but it swam in her head.
I need to remove her from the board.
If the foul deed was done it would overwhelm Cousin Jasper with grief. Everyone spoke of the love he held for his golden princess. Her cousin would shatter into a thousand shards and would flee back to the Eyrie and Tommen would need someone to trust to be his Hand of the King. Bran his boyhood friend, would make a natural choice. House Stark would have the spoils and wouldn't have to share with the Lords of the Vale. Cousin Jasper would recover in time and would remarry a better sort of woman who would give him many sons.
I'll have my crown…I'll have everything.
A fool would have gone to Varys to arrange something, but he would hold it over her. A single whisper to Tommen and her life would be forfeit. A dagger aimed at her heart and the Spider was no gallant man. The Eunuch felt no shame in holding a vile secret against a woman. No I can't do the deed. I can have no connections to it. No sell swords or catspaws would work. They required coin and Varys would know. Someone else needed to be aimed at her.
But who would wish to harm Myrcella?
Who would lay a hand on a single golden hair of her head?
Golden Princes…Golden Hair.
Sansa pictured the perfect catspaw. A perfect arrow capable of slaying the wicked monster who would never point the finger at her. Even if caught, he would deny it.
The weirwood tree seemed to smile at her cleverness.
Later that evening, outside the doorway to her quarters, Martyn Lannister offered a dip of his blond head. His sullen face sported a rare smile. "Lady Sansa." He said formally. "Lord Stark sent me to fetch you for dinner."
She kissed him chastely on his cheeks.
"I'm fortunate father sent you. You are delightful company."
"My lady is kind." Martyn replied.
As they wandered the hallways and down the spiraling staircase, she peeled away his sullen armor with sweet smiles and light laughter. "You look very handsome Martyn when you smile," Sansa teased. "You really should smile more."
"I have little to smile over." He said sullenly.
"Then I shall endeavor to cheer you up," Sansa vowed. "On my honor as a Stark of Winterfell."
Martyn's face remained impassive, but the corners of his mouth threatened to turn up into a smile.
"Are you trying to make an oath-breaker out of me?" Sansa teased in a playful tone.
Martyn smiled. "I would never dream of it my lady."
She leaned in to his ear. "Good. I do think I would win ser." She smirked. "Tell me true Martyn, did you find a coin from the days before the Conquest? I know you were hoping to find one from the Storm Kings." Soon Martyn was tripping over his tongue, talking about his coin collection. Sansa didn't care a fig about them, but if you pretended to care about something, a person loved. They loved you for it.
Poor fatherless Martyn. Collecting coins to replace a dead father.
"The craftmanship is simple. Unlike the beautifully sculpted coins of Old Valyria. I hope one day to acquire some."
Father's ward was a lonely soul. She had come to know him over the years of dinners and attending court functions together. His Lannister name earned him few friends in court and Sansa knew he still missed his father and older brother despite pretending otherwise. Ser Kevan left a large hole in his heart that brooding silence refused to fill. Poor boy. It made him painfully easy to do what she wanted. It helped he was infatuated with her like many boys and snuck looks at her bosom.
"Please tell me, my lady, if I'm boring you."
Sansa smiled. "I'm not bored. I'd like to see one of these coins as well, my lord." And it seemed to put his fears at rest as he prattled on. Sansa listened intently to every word.
I was going to make him my Master of Coin. He would have been perfect for it. Tommen needed the gold of House Lannister, and he felt guilty for the terrible crimes of his mother towards her kin. But he would have been mine. She had him wrapped up around her finger.
Plans changed.
Sansa bit her trembling lower lip. "Sansa." Martyn said, concerned. "Your shaking. Are you well? Did I do-"
She sniffled in response. "No. no, no. You've been such a good friend to me, Martyn." She turned away from him. "Yet, I feel you should hate me. I'm keeping a wretched secret." She shivered as if she had a chill.
He twisted her around. "I think of you as a friend as well, my lady." He swore. "Speak the truth. I swear by the Seven not to hold it against you."
Martyn steadied her shaking hands.
"The rumors are true, Martyn. My lord father has denied them, and I as well, but Princess Myrcella killed brave Ser Kevan." He paled. "It was not only Queen Cersei who did the deed." She lowered her voice in a pleading tone. "Please don't do anything Martyn. I don't wish you to get yourself hurt, but I couldn't bear to keep the truth from you."
His face darkened. Yes! Sansa almost squealed in delight. Seek revenge Martyn.
"Why would Lord Stark not?" He paused as his tone turned bitter. "Because his last name was Lannister."
Sansa had the cunning to look guilty.
"She murdered my father Sansa." Martyn sounded repulsed. He shoved her away. "And you ask me to ignore it? I'm no woman."
Sansa gasped. "What shall you do?"
"What a man needs to do." He vowed. "And not a word from your lips my lady." Martyn sounded murderous.
Oh Martyn, my lips are sealed.
Jon
The Sea Dragon slithered across the dark waters of the Blackwater and slowly drifted into port. The chattering of the crew increased as they rowed ashore. Men spoke of spending coin in taverns and whore houses. Others about seeing their families. Kings Landing was home to many of the sailors' families.
Lucky sods. It's no home of mine.
Do I even have a home? Jon wondered. Or merely a white cloak? A lifetime ago, he had a home in Winterfell with siblings in Robb, Arya, Sansa, Bran, and even the babe Rickon. Yet would his siblings be the ones he remembered? Robb was a man grown with a wife and child. Sansa a queen to be. Bran and Arya fostered with great lords and ladies. Would things be different between them? Yes you fool. Everything has changed. He left during summer and a whole winter had gone and past since he saw any of them.
Time changes everyone.
It changed me.
When Jon closed his eyes and he pictured the tall grey walls, a feeling of comfort enveloped him like a mothers kiss. Memories of summer swam in his head; riding in the Wolfswood with Robb. Teasing Arya.(She kicked hard) Teaching Bran how to use a bow.
One could get lost in memories like sweetwine. It was easy for a green boy or a greybeard to lose himself in the past where every moment was a never-ending blanket of warmth. A mans memories played tricks on him. It dulled the bad and replaced it with the good.
I was only the Bastard of Winterfell. Jon remembered. A stain on my lord fathers honorable name.
The cold eyes of Lady Stark following his every step looking for the slightest hint of treachery.
Jons heart quickened as he walked down the board to the pier Ghost at his side. He swallowed. I've faced worse than Lady Starks stares. He had served with honor and distinction and made something of himselfSlaying renowned sell swords, pirates, unsullied. Jon was first through the breached walls of Morra. He commanded the right flank during the Battle of the Dunes and shatter the Tyroshi left. King Robert credited him for their victory. We faced a host double our own. The years in the east were filled with battles as numerous as the stars. Entries of valor to fill the parchment of the White Book.
I shall have to do the entries for Ser Barristan and all my sworn brothers in the White Book.
Glory men called it. Fools. Jon thought, tired. The battles were tiring. Blood was shed, so King Robert may avoid the responsibility of ruling and indulge himself in the thrill of battle. For that men died. Friends and foes alike for his desires.
Good friends…
"Robert the Blessed." The Septons named him. "Son of the Warrior himself."
Red Priests called him. "The Prince who was promised." Lady Melisandre and Septon Bayen preached to their flocks and battled for the kings ear as His Grace quibbled over theology. King Robert loved debating the finer points of theology with anyone that would listen. The Company of the Crowned Stag worshipped the ground he walked. Men believed he would save them from some nursemaid tale and make them rich in glory and coin. But to Jon he was only a child in a mans body who he was sworn to protect. I swore a vow.
Don't judge the king. Ser Barristan would chide him. It's our duty to protect him and his honor.
And he rose high for holding his tongue and would rise ever higher. My name is finally an honorable one. Maybe his father would finally tell him the truth he had never dared ask. Surely I have earned my keep? I have washed myself of my bastardy!
Ghost rubbed his snout against him, trying to lessen his dark mood. "Valiant effort boy." He scratched behind his ears. "Let see what is awaiting us."
The answer revealed itself in a bone-crushing hug from a woman masquerading as his sister. Long beautiful auburn hair tumbled down her shoulders as pretty as a porcelain doll with a womans figure. A silver tiara on her brow glittered in the sunlight.
"Varys told me you arrived! It seems my spider has spoken true."
A beautiful direwolf as large as a horse lunged at Ghost in a playful tackle.
The spectacle drew attention from Stark men patrolling the walls or servants scurrying around on their daily chores. "Sansa?" Jon cleared his throat. "Men are staring."
"Let them stare." Sansa replied. "I'm to be queen, you know. I can hug my brother. Especially one who has been away for so long." She smiled, releasing him. "You know I told you white was your color. Not black. It brings out your grey eyes."
Jon chuckled. "Good thing then." He said dryly. "It's my only color now."
"But I don't like the beard. You'll simply have to shave it." Sansa commanded.
"Not a chance. It took ages to grow."
Sansa giggled. "I'm glad my Aemon the Dragonknight has returned. I shall have need of you ser."
"I hope our future king isn't Aegon the Unworthy?"
Sansa laughed. "No, no. Tommen is the height of valor and chivalry." And he wondered what it would be like to serve with pride? He found little to be proud of in the East with King Robert. A shadow crossed over him as he darkened. Sansa picked up on his mood change before he shook his head. The twinkle of worry in her eyes confirmed it. But she made no mention of it. "Ser Jon will you not escort me inside?" Sansa asked demurely.
Jon entangled their arms together as they walked through the double doors of oak. Servants tended to them offering them refreshments cold milk and goblets of wine as they settled down on velvet couches. The faces of the household were little more than strangers to him. He scarcely recognized any of them. However, Sansa had wrestled a smile out of him as they spoke of childish games they played in Winterfell. "And then Arya kicked Robb in the shins." She said cheerfully. A chuckle escaped his lips as he rubbed his chin, recalling the misadventure.
"I remember our lord father made us clean the stables for it."
"As you and Robb should! You played a rotten prank on us."
In the middle of his laughter, he noted a red-haired boy scowling at him with wild blue eyes. His knuckles were covered in bruises with several scratches on his face from some fights. For a moment, he believed him to be Bran, but that couldn't be. He was too young. Behind him prowled a direwolf with black fur and piercing green eyes glistening with anger and rage.
"Rickon?"
His little brother darkened.
"Oh Rickon. It's so lovely you're here. Join us." Sansa patted on a cushion. "Our wayward brother has finally arrived. Isn't that lovely?"
"Very lovely." Rickon said mockingly. "But I have other things to do your grace. I'm sure Jon understands."
Sansa stood up. "Rickon Stark, do not use that tone with me." Her voice was firm and unflinching. "Apologize to our brother this instant."
Rickon mumbled something that might have been an apology before disappearing down the halls with Shaggydog hot on his heels. "Don't mind him." Sansa said. "He has been difficult since he arrived. Getting into fights with other boys. Scaring knights and servants with Shaggydog." She complained. "He's wild. Only mother seems to have any control over him."
"Lady Stark is here?" Jon asked, his voice turned small.
Sansa shot him a look of sympathy that made him feel shame. He rose quickly. "Are you leaving me, Jon?" Her hands latched onto his own. "I don't like that. We were having a grand time."
"Don't you have other obligations, Sansa?" He asked. Jon knew he needed to tend to father. He would expect him to visit, especially with new buzzing around the Red Keep about his arrival. Here rumors flew like arrows and little stayed secret for long.
It amused Sansa. "I had some droll tea party being hosted by Lady Stokesworth, but she'll beg my apologies for hosting at an inopportune time should I fail to show." Her voice was dripping with satisfaction. It took him aback as she continued. "She'll practically trip over her tongue. The perks of being betrothed to the future king." Sansa laughed lightly.
"It would be ill done, sister, to make you break your word."
"How honorable ser," Sansa noted. "Give father my love." And kissed him chastely on the cheek.
How did you know where I was going? Has court made you shrewd sweet sister?
She brushed a loose strand behind her ear."You may find him different, Jon." She whispered and sniffled. Sansa looked on the verge of tears. "He is unwell." Unwell? Jon thought, stunned. Were the rumors true? Sailors brought word that Lord Edmure held court in Eddard Starks name. But they also spoke of dying weirwood trees and mermaids walking amongst the living. Nonsense of drunks and gossip one couldn't rely upon. No messenger from Kings Landing spoke of ill health for the Lord Regent.
Sansa was clearly upset, so he brought her into the safety of his arms to comfort her. "Shh." He soothed. "It's going to be alright Sansa." He comforted her, not as a knight, but a brother. If Robb were here, he would have done the same.
"I hope so, Jon." She sniffled. "He'll love seeing you, though. It shall brighten his day." Father is strong as unmovable The Wall.
The sight that greeted him in the Tower of the Hand made him wince. Fathers skin while a healthy shade, looked worn and tired. Long sags drooped underneath his eyes and cushions and pillows propped him up. His right leg looked twisted from some bad fall from a horse that never healed properly. Lady Stark tended to him fluffing out a cushion for him. "Ned, you silly man." She chided.
"Oh, Cat, stop nursing over me like a babe."
"As soon as you stop acting like one, my lord." Both of them were oblivious to his presence for the moment.
The room itself seemed to turn as icy as the Wall when father said. "Jon?" The distant look Lady Stark gave bounced off his chest. He wasn't a boy anymore and the likes of her didn't frighten him. Jon offered her a polite nod of acknowledgement, which she returned as a well-bred woman would. She begged for father's leave, and father gave his consent with a tired nod.
Jon dipped his head dutifully. "My apologies Lord Stark. I was sidetracked."
"You have nothing to apologize for Jon." He rose from behind his desk clutching a black thorne cane, his body shaking like a leaf as he did so. With every tap against the stone, the sound echoed loudly, until father reached out and steadied himself by grasping his shoulders. "It's good to see you healthy and hale. You shall dine with us tonight. We shall celebrate your return."
Jon wished he could say the same. "Lets sit." He suggested. "I'm tired from my travels."
Lord Stark held him for a moment longer before replying. "Aye." In a gruff tone. "Now you treat me like some newborn." He chuckled but did as bid. "Tell me whatever you wish, Jon. Lord Edmure holds court in my name."
Jon fiddled with the parchment in his pocket. One last gift from King Robert.
I don't need it…
A shadow hung over King Robert, as large as the realm itself, but his smile remained large and gregarious. He dressed as he often did in the robes of a septon when he wasn't wearing heavy plate for battle. His Grace led them in prayer, reciting words from the Seven-Pointed Star and the Book of Light beseeching the gods to bless them with a loud booming voice that even made the deaf stir. Before any audience, His Grace demanded they join him in prayer. They fell to their knees and mumbled along. Jons knees were stiff and raw from the position.
"My valiant knights." He paused. "You have followed me across every fucking battlefield I dragged your sorry lots through without complaint." He guffawed. "Not that you had much choice!"
"We swore an oath." Ser Barristan chimed.
"One, we do so again." Edric Storm swore zealously.
King Robert gently removed the crown from his head and placed it in Ser Barristans hands. "You are sworn to the King of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Your grace?" Ser Barristan asked, puzzled.
"I was never meant to be king." He admitted. "The Gods made me their champion' tis true. The Blessed Seven. The Lord of Light. I've seen the signs and heard their voices in my dreams. My Lyanna and my mother speak to me. They refuse to shut up some nights. Damn prattling women!" He laughed. "Why I was chosen? I know not! The Gods are elusive buggars with their schemes and riddles." He guffawed. "And their prophets are blind as mice. The written texts are a series of contradictions that make one's head spin." He pressed on. " But I'm The Warrior reborn I know that much for certain. I'm destined to defend the realm of the living. All the miracles I've seen confirm the favor the Gods have bestowed upon me. Wounds that should have killed healed with nay a scratch. Rainbows have formed above me without a drop of rain in the sky." His tone was reflective. "Not to rule, but to fight my enemies. I made a shit king as I made a shit father, but with my warhammer I can slay gods." Jon couldn't help but agree with his assessment, but he heard the voice of Lady Melisandre in his words. And that sent a shiver down his spine. Her voice had power, evil, unspeakable power.
We used it to defeat many a foe…
"But you are our king." Ser Rolland Storm declared.
"Nay. Your king is in the Eyrie. My son was raised to be every inch a king. A good man worthy of the crown. Lord Arryn made certain of that."
Edric Storm the newest of their order, shook his head. "But you go to fight the Mad Kings whelp. Let me the honor of fighting at your side," He begged.
King Robert grasped his bastard sons shoulders. "You are strong Edric. The blood of the Storm Kings flows through your veins. Your brother needs such strength to protect him. I have little need for any of you where I go. I sail for the Dragons Lair to finish what I started on the Trident." He smiled and ruffled his hair. "I need only my warhammer and the graces of the Gods." And he would listen to no more protests from their lips as they swore to attend to Prince Tommen in the Eyrie. Yet, before he rose to leave, His Grace asked him to remain.
"Jon." King Robert voiced with regret. "I'm not blind. I've seen the disdain in your eyes. Aye, the disgust thought you don't voice it."
He said nothing.
"Ned would look the same way were he here." He would. "I wouldn't change anything, but I have something for you. To try to make this right." What could bring back the dead? Or take back the monstrosities of smoke and shadow? The guilt was palatable. It only made him more revolted with the man as he pressed the parchment into his hand.
"What is this?" Jon asked in an even tone.
"My last command to Ned. Commanding him to reveal the identity of your mother." King Roberts words made something get lodged in his throat. "You've served with distinction, Jon Snow, and deserve answers to questions you seek. Hand this to him and discover the truth." The offer mocked him. Should he accept it? Use the kings own commands to discover what haunted him every moment of his life? It tore at him. He wanted father to tell him without the command of a king beckoning him. Still, he could finally get a name, and mayhaps the story.
Jon didn't speak for a long moment. "Thank you. Your Grace." He meant it.
The man proceeded to squeeze the life out of him with a powerful bear hug before dropping him like a sack of flour roaring with laughter.
He told Father of his exploits in Battle of the Dune Sea where his assault had collapsed the right flank, and the heroism displayed in the Battle of Rats within the sewers of Myr and the wound he took. A bolt to the right shoulder protecting King Robert. "We held, and the day was ours." A dozen stories filled with valor and praise of King Robert. "Ser Barristan wishes me to succeed him as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." He declared with pride.
"You would do great honor to the post." Hope grew in his chest at his praise. "King Tommen would be wise to select you."
"Father." His heart pounded in his chest. "I've served with honor and distinction by your own word." He paused, thinking his words over carefully. "I've washed the stain of my bastardry away."
"Jon." Father sounded pained. "You have nothing to prove."
Jon pressed on. "I wish to know who my mother was." He finally said the words.
Father said nothing.
No one said anything.
Jon only heard his pounding heart and their breathing.
Jon waited for what felt like an eternity, but the silence persisted.
"Am I such an affront to you?" Jon rose with heat. "His Grace says her name was Bessie, but he was uncertain. Is she my mother?"
"Enough Jon." Father said, rubbing his temples. "You have my blood. That is all that you need to know."
"Ser Barristan tells me it was Lady Ashara." Jon raised his voice. "But he said it was your brother who sired me. Are you even my father? Are my siblings merely my cousins?"
Father rose as furious as he had ever seen him. "I SAID ENOUGH JON!" Guards peered through the door, alarmed. "OUT ALL OF YOU! NO ONE COMES IN!" His grey eyes glistened with fury that matched his own. "We are done here, Jon! Never bring this up again! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" He looked half mad with grief as he fell back into the chair wheezing. Father must have loved the woman fiercely.
Jons trembling fingers ripped out the parchment and slammed it on the desk. "You have no choice. King Robert commands you to do so." He felt sick for resorting to the kings writ. Father snatched it up and read quickly, his eyes growing hard as stone. But Eddard Stark could never ignore a lawful command. It would besmirch his honor.
Then his father tore the parchment to shreds.
It almost brought him to tears.
"We shall never speak of your mother." Father vowed. "There are no words to describe her spirit. No words that shall bring life back into her lungs. Her voice remains silent save to the worms! I promised-" He swallowed the emotion and calmed. "Jory." He called. "See Jon out." My mother is dead. His spirit sunk lightly at the confirmation.
Jory grabbed him gently. "Then I shall seek my king in the Eyrie. I have nothing keeping me here."
Father winced. "Maybe that's for the best Jon." He sighed. "Steward Poole shall find you some quarters."
Jon waved them off. He would spend his night in some tavern.
Dead.
Dead.
His mother was dead.
By the word of Eddard Stark, Jon's mother no longer walked the same earth or breathed the same air.
She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,
But he licked the honey from her hair.
Her hair! Her hair!
He licked the honey from her hair!
Jon sang a rowdy tune.
Ghost joined in with a loud howl that swirled with his own voice.
"We shall never speak of your mother." Fathers voice cut deep into his chest. Dishonorable stain. His eyes told him.
He sang to drive away the memory. Back in the east he sang with Ser Barristan to the commons, as he had once done with Prince Rhaegar. Jon only had a modest talent, he was no greater singer that sung in the Great Halls of Great Families. Still he found some joy in it.
For a moment, he banished the bitterness from the Tower of the Hand and focused on the song as the audience grew around him.
Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!
My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!
And off they went, from here to there,
The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair.
Were his siblings actually his cousins? Jon wondered. He couldn't imagine them as his cousins. Other questions lingered that only his lordly father had the answers too.
Coin clattered in his white helm as he finished the Bear and Maiden Fair. The audience showed their approval with a round of clapping and a few whistles. One saw all sorts in the audience, fishermen coming from the docks, farmers coming to market, great metalsmiths, or knights on the way to the Street of Steel. Jon even spotted a blue-haired man in the crowd, who had not moved a foot since he started singing.
You love her? And yet you can't tell me a name? Jon thought bitterly.
Jon switched to a sadder song. This one always made Ser Barristan quiet.
High in the halls of the kings who are gone
Jenny would dance with her ghosts
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found
And the ones who had loved her the most
The ones who'd been gone for so very long
She couldn't remember their names
They spun her around on the damp old stones
Spun away all her sorrow and pain
Some women shed a few tears as coins rattled against his helm. Not that it mattered. He was no longer Jon Snow, the bastard of Eddard Stark but Ser Jon Snow Knight of the Kingsguard. Coming to Kings Landing in search of answers was a mistake when duty called him to the Eyrie. Fool! Fool! Fool! Not that it mattered. The Captain of The Little Mermaid had secured his passage on his cog back to Gulltown. He was leaving on the morrow. Jon finished his song and offered a light bow, signaling the end. The crowd evaporated away like morning dew back to their errands or their lives. He looked at the haul they netted and his lips twitched up as coins slipped between his fingers.
"We had a good day. Didn't we, boy?" And rubbed his hands through his sleek fur.
Ghost let out a low whine of warning.
"You are a knight of the Kingsguard." A voice called out. "You sang beautifully." Jon looked up, and it was the blue-haired man with deep blue eyes. The young man seemed good natured. Jon observed him warily, unsure of what he might do. Hand hovering over his pommel as he approached. Jon noted the pouch of coins in hand. Some trader's son he supposed.
"The cloak makes it obvious." Jon replied dryly. " Ser Jon Snow."
The blue-haired man chuckled. "I wasn't aware knights of the kingsguard sang for coin? Surely His Grace sees to your upkeep?"
Jon snorted. "I have no intention of keeping a copper." He gestured. "Around the bend there is an orphanage. Sad thing I'm told run by Septon Yanis, always struggling to purchase bread for hungry mouths. They shall earn this day's work. My ser taught me a good cause is its own reward." From the look, he expected to hear a few coins rattling into his helm, not the loud thud of the entire purse dropping.
"This is too much." Jon handed it back. "I cannot accept." His eyes narrowed lightly at the generosity, but he couldn't find anything malicious in his eyes. Though they looked almost purple rather than a deep shade of blue. This wasn't some jape to the man, but a genuine act. I shouldn't be so jaded or cynical.
"A good cause is its award ser. I have more than this."
Jon did the only thing he could and offered his hand in thanks.
"I hope you sing more, Ser Jon. You added immense beauty to this day." Immense? Big word for a traders son. A hint of suspicion gnawed at him, but he shrugged it off. There was nothing to gain from the act.
"I didn't catch your name." Jon added.
"Griff." He said cheerfully. "The Young Griff."
Authors note:There we go Young Griff has been introduced into the plot! He shall get a POV soon. Next up we'll be going to the Eyrie to see Bran, Arya, Tommen, Myrcella, and Jasper.
However, I want to ask you guys about the last chapter cause I've honestly been having some doubts about killing Jaime off at the end of the chapter and the attack sequence in general. Do you guys think I'm wasting potential Jaime and Dany interactions? I'm just wondering if maybe I should go back and change that aspect of the story. Or do you guys think it's fine that Jaime died the way he did? I like some feedback from you guys.
Link to A Falcon of Summer Discord. /3ZCw9F8t
