PART III: A City This Darkness Can't Hide

Eternity

Jon was flying again.

This time, combined with the howling winds was the constant spit of fresh rainwater. As he glided deeper into the inky night sky, Jon continually brought up his hand to wipe away the buildup of perspiration on his cheeks and eyebrows. His hair quickly grew wet, sticking to his forehead and temples and occasionally flapping violently with the wind.

The sky rumbled and thundered. Bright lights illuminated the dark grey clouds, and Jon could only just make out the barest of the recognizable shapes in the distance below him.

Everything was moving so fast for him. Just like it had the first time so many years ago.

There was no talking raven this time. Jon wasn't sure where it had gone. But he didn't particularly care. He wasn't in the mood to argue with a bird.

Then, suddenly, the whistling of the winds got louder. It continued to climb, and at the same time, Jon watched as the sky lit up once more, the clouds thickening and beginning to broil into shapes and images before his very eyes.

The screeching noise became damn near unbearable. Jon fought against the resistant winds and bound his palms to his ears so as to spare himself the pain.

And then, THUMP!

Jon landed hard against a smooth stone surface. Harder than he expected, yet there was only a small inkling of pain behind the impact. The wind had ceased immediately, and so too had the rain. Jon wiped his face again, but his skin and beard were dry, and so was his hair.

Jon could now hear himself breathe again. He firmly planted his hands on the stone floor and pushed against it, posting himself above the ground. He glanced up sharply, looking around.

He was back in Winterfell.

More accurately, his father's Solar.

Jon stood up instantly on both feet. He looked around the dimly lit office for any sign of life, but there was none.

The candles and torches were soon dying out, and the great hearth itself had only embers remaining in its cradle. A smattering of new documents was splayed out all over the desk, with only the thinnest layer of dust on each slice of paper. And the large war table on the other end of the room was blanketed in darkness. Someone had used this place recently.

Only the door to his father's office remained ajar, just barely creaking open.

Jon heard something come from between the lips of wood and stone, from beyond the crack in the doorway.

Weeping.

He frowned, and took a step towards the door, gently pulling it open. The sounds of crying got minutely louder.

As Jon stepped out into the hall, he could only watch on as the long dark corridors of grey stone seemed to stretch further and further away from him.

Jon heard the weeping come from the left end. Where his father's chambers would have been located.

Slowly, carefully, Jon made his way down the hall. Each step he took echoed into the walls, each taking him closer to the source of the crying, to the one person he did not want to see. Not because he wasn't strong enough, but because he was sure that his heart would break.

He came upon a window that he'd passed by hundreds of times before then, the same one that would give any who looked through it a glance out into the main courtyard within Winterfell's walls.

And as Jon momentarily glanced out beyond the shimmering clear glass, and out into the nighttime snowfall, he saw a lone figure down in the courtyard, making frantic movements out in the cold. Jon narrowed his eyes. They were bashing away at one of the training dummies left for the men-at-arms. Jon got a better look at who it was, and his heart dived upon recognizing them.

It was Robb.

All of the hard years spent training underneath Arthur Dayne and Starag Mormont had gone out the window as Jon's brother bashed and hacked away mindlessly at the training dummy. Jon could hear Robb's haggard breathing, his red-faced and sweat-beaded face, and the fat tears that streamed down from his purple eyes. Again and again and again, Robb continued to hit the dummy, until finally, his wooden training sword snapped.

Even from behind the window, Jon could hear it. CRRRCK! Robb fell to his knees in the snow almost in the same instant, where Jon saw more and more bundles of snapped wooden blades.

How long has he been doing this? Jon asked himself. And why-

He stopped himself right then. He already knew why. Father…

Jon wanted to climb down the stairs and go out to his brother. He wanted to be there for him if only to help him get rid of his demons. But he knew full well that his being back in Winterfell was impossible. This is a dream. He reminded himself. Or at least, it's a dream for me.

The weeping grew louder in his ears. Jon turned towards it, now looking down at the end of the hall ahead of him.

Sitting alone, was the door to his father's chambers. That same bloody door he'd once chased Arya through with Robb all those years ago. Now it seemed all but drained of color, and far behind it, he knew he could hear the sounds of his mother weeping.

He didn't want to see his mother on her last rope. He didn't want to see the woman who had raised him in such a state. Jon knew full well, from all the looks of sheer admiration that his mother had given to his father, that she could barely live without him. Ashara Dayne could not imagine living without Eddard Stark.

And now, Jon didn't want to see her. Even though he knew full well that he had to. Even if it would break his heart to do so. How can I be there for her, for them all, if I cannot look them in the eyes and comfort them?

It was his responsibility now to be strong for all of them. And that meant that he would need to be strong enough to look them in the eyes. Even at their lowest.

Resolutely, he forced himself to take the first step forward. The next was easier, and so was the one after that. Finally, Jon found himself standing in front of the ironwood door that was also slightly cracked open.

Gently, he pulled open the door. It wheezed on its hinges until Jon glanced inside.

Sitting on the bed was his mother in her nightgown. Her hair was parted and dry, and her face was red, her skin wet with fresh tears. In her arms were the rest of his siblings. Dyanna, Arya, Bran, and Rickon each pressed tight against her as they slept.

Only his mother was awake. Only she alone wept while the others had cried themselves to sleep.

Jon saw the letter on her bedside table. It was the one he'd sent her only a few days prior. Though he'd sent it in one piece, it seemed that the letter had since been torn into three separate sheaves, having only been put back together with great difficulty.

Jon reached out to his mother, hoping only to comfort her, but she took no notice of his presence. His hand simply passed right through her hair as if she were a cloud of smoke.

Through her tears and hiccups, Jon could hear her saying something to his siblings. As if to console them, despite each of them being asleep.

"He'll be alright." His mother said softly, rocking her children back and forth in her arms. "Jon will be alright. Your brother will be alright. He'll come home. Your brother will come home. He'll avenge your father and he will come home."

Jon tried to touch his mother's shoulder again, but the scene quickly changed. All around him, the scenery shifted.

Now he was somewhere else, somewhere different. Jon looked around the chamber, at the tall mounted bookshelves, at the circular fountain in the middle of the room. Crystal-white water continued to lap and spray out from the mouth of the stone bear sitting atop it into the shimmering pool below.

On either side of the room were mounds of dirt, both with newly grown saplings of ironwood and ash.

Yet, Jon quickly spied the fully grown weirwood heart tree that stood within its own stone enclave towards the back of the room. It was not as large as the one in Winterfell, but it was perhaps one of the largest weirwood that Jon had ever seen outside of Winterfell's Godswood. The difference was even more palpable as he made out the grinning blood-red face that had been carved into the white wood.

Bear Island. Jon realized. I'm on Bear Island now, but-

He then saw the lone figure sitting beneath the grinning heart tree. His question had been answered as he identified the figure as Rhaenys. Jon came up behind his sister as she knelt before the tree, her mumbled words barely making it to his ears.

Jon sat in front of his sister and watched her face. Rhaenys' eyes were closed, and her face schooled into complete concentration.

It was then that he heard her.

"See that they're safe." Rhaenys pleaded. "See that my husband and my brother are safe, that they defeat this pretender, that they live long and prosperous lives." Jon felt his heart crack upon seeing tears roll down her puffy cheeks. "I… I cannot bear to lose anyone else. I do not want my children to grow up without their father or their uncle. Please not them, not Starag and Jae… Please…"

He wanted to hug her, to tell her that he'd be just alright. That he'd do everything in his power to make sure Starag came home to Bear Island. Jon tried to reach out to her, too, but like his mother, his hands passed through Rhaenys. She was like a ghost to him.

The scene shifted and changed but one more time, all around him as if he were flipping pages through a book.

When everything settled around him this time, Jon knew full well where he was.

It was the Lord's Chamber, within Snowgate Keep. Queenscrown.

The hearth was crackling with life. His bed had been made recently, likely cleaned by the servants. When Jon turned around, that was when he saw her.

Margaery was sitting on the wide ledge next to the window, looking out into the starry night sky. Normally, nights in Queenscrown would've been harsh. Snow would fall in heavy clumps, and blizzards would rage well into the early morning.

But tonight, it was absolutely clear. Not a single flake of snow had touched the glassy window. And Margaery only seemed to stare wistfully out, up into the white dots that matted the black sky.

She was barefoot and in her nightshift. Jon quickly noticed the distinct swelled bump in her stomach. He gulped as he was reminded again that she was with his child.

Margaery's hair was in loose golden brown curls, and her large brown eyes were distant. She rubbed her swelling belly gently with one hand, while she held onto a letter with the other.

It was his letter, Jon realized, as he came closer. The one telling her the truth about what was going on. About his father's death, about how he was about to go to war.

Jon wanted most of all to hold her. Yet the sweet sight of his woman soon turned bitter in his mouth as he realized that she couldn't see him. Jon sat beside her and tried to hold her hands in his own, but he passed right through her.

Jon looked up to see her expression. Margaery was also crying, but she looked almost like a corpse as she stared out the window. Her skin was pale, and her eyes lifeless.

And almost too softly for him, Jon just barely heard her utter the following…

"I wish I could have seen him…" Margaery breathed out sorrowfully. "Just one last time…"

DING! DING! DING!

It was then that a distant bell began to ring in Jon's ears. The very same bell that had sounded on that fateful day in the Great Sept of Baelor. The very same bell that sounded when Robert Baratheon had been brought into the city, with seven arrows in his belly.

The ringing continued to get louder and louder and louder. Eventually, Jon could not stomach it anymore. He clutched his ears tight so that his eardrums would not explode from the sheer pressure. But on and on they continued to ring and pound his mind.

A flashing splinter had caught his attention. Jon looked up beyond the window and at one of the stars themselves. It grew and expanded until all he could see was orange, red, and yellow dancing before his eyes. Fresh flames popped and crackled forth like torrents of fresh stream water, as it poured out from the mouth of a dragon…

Flames… Flames… Flames…

All he could see was flames, and all the while, the bell continued to ring…

DING! DING! DING! DING! DING!

Maegor's Holdfast

300 AC

Jon shot upright on his bed in a mad sweat.

The knife he usually kept underneath his pillows was firmly planted within his grasp as he glanced sharply around his room, inspecting each corner and turn of furniture with an incredibly detailed gaze.

It was then that he remembered where he was: The Red Keep. Back in King's Landing.

Over on the other side of his room, he saw both Ghost and Lya up on all fours, noses pointed at the twin doors that separated Jon from the rest of Maegor's Holdfast.

And as he forced himself to be ice-cold, Jon soon realized why they had already been up.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

There was a sharp knocking at the door, Jon realized. That was what had interrupted his dreams.

"My lord," It was Jory. "Master Tobho Mott has come to see you."

Jon calmed his breathing and slid out of bed. He quickly found his breeches and pulled them up to his waist. It didn't take him long to find his boots and a suitable shirt.

He then went over to the door, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes and forcing himself awake. He pulled open the door, soon seeing Jory on the other side with two other men-at-arms.

"Where is he?" Jon asked.

Jory nodded. "He's waiting in the antechamber, my lord. Said he's brought something for you. Won't let us take a look at it, though. 'For his eyes only' he said."

Jon frowned. Wasn't the old blacksmith busy reinforcing the Old Gate and the Dragon Gate? And why was he in the Red Keep at this unholy time in the morning?

He shook his head and stepped back inside his room, quickly finding Sunwolf on his table and strapping the Valyrian Steel blade to his belt. He was about to turn and make his way out of his room, but then, something on the table caught his eye.

It was a slip of paper. Large enough to have been a scroll sent by raven. And Jon distinctly remembered it not being there before he'd gone to sleep.

Curiously, Jon unfurled the already opened letter and brought it closer to the dim candlelight that still burned just barely in the lamplight on his table. This is what it said:

Lord Jon,

I understand you're leading the defense of King's Landing. I've heard only rumors from Duskendale that you plan to fend off this foreign pretender's army…

Well, I've done what I can in sending provisions to your aid, as well as fifty of my best household guard. It isn't much, but it's the best I can give you, as I'm sure you understand my own people require protecting. They should be in King's Landing within a day or two.

This Aegon's army is closer than you might think. Many houses from the Crownlands have been helping him and his sellswords make their way to King's Landing. My personal scouts have reported that they are only a three days march from the capital and that they have a thorough supply line set up from Brindlewood all the way down to the Goldroad. How long they can hold a siege, I do not know.

I will do what I can to help slow them down. But the rest is up to you.

I pray to the gods that you will deliver us from this threat swiftly and justly.

Your Friend,

Lady Alyss Langward

P.S. Please give my regards to Starag. I've heard whispers that he's there with you as well. We are praying for you all.

Jon slowly put the letter back down on the table and thought over the contents once more.

Marwyn had probably opened the letter since Jon had put the Archmaester more or less in charge of the duties pertaining to the Grand Maester in the last few weeks. He was up to the task, even if he didn't quite feel at home with the responsibility.

No doubt, Marwyn had probably also shown the letter to Starag, who had then proceeded to leave it in Jon's room so that Jon could read it when he was awake. Though Jon was partially frustrated at his uncle for not waking him in the first place, even if Jon had been lacking proper sleep within the last several days.

And the fact that it had been the former Lady Blount who'd sent him word of the fast-approaching army had simply brought a smile to his face. He remembered the tall young woman with Valyrian features from all those years ago. He wondered how she was doing, despite everything going to shit.

But then he reminded himself: Aegon's army was damn close to the city by now, and Jon was willing to bet that the vanguard was almost within a day's march of King's Landing.

How would it start? They'd send in someone to discuss terms of surrender, but Jon would send them away. But who would they send? Probably Jon Connington. Or perhaps even Aegon himself would arrive. Someone with authority over the combined army of sellswords and traitorous Crownlands houses.

He would need to discuss the matter with his commanders. Then, they'd move forward with a proper plan of, what Jon hoped could be, a counterattack.

But first came Tobho Mott's sudden visit.

Jon made a decision. He held the letter to the dying candle flame and watched as it burned brightly above the tips of his fingers. Then, he tossed the smoldering letter into the hearth inside his room, watching as it turned into small flakes and ashes within moments. Then, with Ghost and Lya accompanying him, he made his way out the door. Jory and the other two Stark guards followed behind the two direwolves.

The walk down the pink marble halls had been brief. Jon's room was situated on the second floor, and the antechamber was the first room that you entered upon arriving at Maegor's Holdfast. After a short climb down the spiral stairway, Jon soon found himself looking at the grizzled white beard of Tobho Mott.

The old man had not appeared to have been well rested, likely having spent hours upon hours contributing to the arms and equipment belonging to the City Watch and the other small armies within the city walls. Jon recalled that the Smith from Qohor had managed to get twenty-nine new ballistae set up on the Old Gate, Dragon Gate, and Iron Gate within four days' time.

But why was he here now? What for?

"Good to see you, Jon," The Master Smith had greeted him first.

"And you as well," Jon replied with a renewed smile. "What do you need? More oil? I can have it up to the northern wall in an hour."

Tobho Mott shook his head. "Not this time," He gave him a small guilty grin. "I've got something for you. When the invaders come, I'd like you to wear it. Would you mind?"

Jon raised his eyebrows in contemplation, his curiosity sufficiently sparked. He simply nodded, and followed his friend outside, into the cold early morning air. The chill barely affected him, as he was already covered in a thin layer of sweat.

They went across the drawbridge separating Maegor's Holdfast from the rest of the Red Keep, and into the main courtyard. All the way to a large carriage that stood in the center of the yard.

Unceremoniously, Tobho Mott had thrown up the thick canvas blanket that covered the objects in question.

Armor. Bits of plate armor, along with a dark grey coat of plates much like the one Jon's father would have worn. There was also a long black gambeson coat, and…

"Is that a… tabard?" Jon asked as the Smith stepped aside, showing him the slightly untidy pile of armor. He picked out the cloth covering and eyed it up and down.

It was a shin-length tabard, just a few inches longer than the actual gambeson coat in the back of the carriage. It was largely dark blue, with borders of chalk white that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. The borders seemed to have small lines within them, weaving together like branches on a weirwood tree. On either leg, facing each other were the heads of two snow-white direwolves with blood-red eyes. And on the chest portion of the tabard, there was also a white direwolf head. It was almost like the Stark coat-of-arms… But… different. It felt more personal.

Jon was absolutely astounded at the height of craftsmanship that went into it. "But… When did you have time to put this together?" He asked. "We've only been fortifying the city for barely longer than a week."

"You can thank Ruby and little Tamara for the cloth," Mott patted the tabard. "The plate and gambeson coat was all me, though. Gendry had a hand in it too. Started putting it together after your visit a few moons back. Meant to gift it to you before you went back North, but…" he paused. "Now seems a more appropriate time than any."

The Master Smith continued, moving his hand over to the armor. Jon quickly made out the pair of pauldrons and vambraces, along with the polished steel gorget that had two direwolves facing one another. "Now, it's quite easy to get in and out of. Shouldn't take you more than ten minutes if you're slow about it. Anyway, it's not a full suit of plate armor, so it shouldn't take you long to get used to it what with your slighter build." Mott went over to the coat. "Coat of plates, but a bit longer in the shins than your household guard, and much studier besides. The gambeson was trickier, but it should be far less stiff than the stuff they give to the boys in the City Watch, and it should also keep you warm. It's all linen instead of cotton underneath, so you should be able to breathe well, move around easily, and keep cool in case you exert yourself too much."

"You've outdone yourself," Jon held out his hand. The older man shook it heartily. "How can I thank you?"

"Drive back these invaders, eh?" Tobho Mott smiled grimly. "And look good while you're doing it. We're all counting on you, Jon."

Jon nodded, the uneasiness had been stirred up in his gut once more. They'll all look to you. He forced himself to swallow it as he looked directly into the older man's pearly gold eyes.

"I won't let you down."

Author's Notes:

And so, Jon finds out that Aegon's army is only a few days' march away from the city-much earlier than he previously expected.

Plus, he gets some pretty cool armor!

It's more or less modeled after Robb's armor, but a bit more regal than your usual Scottish Lord of the North. And more suited to Jon's variant and style.

Also, I did some reconfiguration behind the scenes: I decided to add on a few more chapters because I simply had more character development to serve up.

Now, I won't keep blue-balling you, ladies and gents. For real, Jon throws down the gauntlet next chapter. If he doesn't, I'll be forced to wear eternal shame until the end of time. And I'm not about to let that shit happen.

So, see you then.

And don't forget to do your fuckin' squats