Chapter Eight

The throne room glittered with the light of a hundred torches. Two rows of pillared arches marched along the chamber, illuminating the raised dais and monstrous iron throne. I stood among the gathered nobles, staring up at the barbed seat forged from conquered swords.

A herald's voice rang out. "All hail His Grace, Robert of the House Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!"

Robert strode forth dressed in black velvet and golden mantle, his heavy crown resting upon his head. The courtiers and guests bowed low as he took his seat atop the Iron Throne. I noticed his face was ruddy and his eyes bleary.

The herald continued introducing the other nobles present - Lords Tywin, Varys, Baelish and all the rest. My eyes scanned the glittering assemblage until I spotted a glimmer of golden hair half-hidden behind a pillar. Rhea's piercing green eyes locked with mine for a fleeting instant before darting away.

At last my father's name was called as the new Hand of the King. He strode forth and knelt before the throne. I saw a flicker of sorrow cross Robert's face as he bid my father rise.

The feast and festivities stretched long into the night. I picked at my food, eyeing the Lannisters warily as they laughed and drank. What sinister schemes were they brewing?

At last I could slip away unnoticed to an empty balcony overlooking the sea. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the feasting hall's stifling heat.

"Not enjoying the revelries?"

I spun around to see Varys materialize from the shadows. How had he followed me so silently?

"Forgive me if I startled you," the eunuch said in his lisping voice. "I often stroll the balconies at night to clear my thoughts."

His powdered face regarded me curiously. I chose my next words with care. "I needed fresh air. But you walk quietly, my lord."

Varys smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. They remained cold and calculating.

"In my line of work, one learns to tread softly." He leaned beside me against the balcony railing. "You and your baseborn brother have stirred some trouble, I'm afraid. The queen most of all would rejoice to see your heads on spikes."

I shrugged. "We've done nothing wrong. Jon Arryn and my mother were murdered by Lannister hands."

Varys raised a hairless eyebrow. "Politically prudent accusations. Yet proof remains elusive." He leaned closer. "If you require help unmasking these killers, you need only ask."

I frowned, considering his words. Varys was a cunning player in the game of thrones. But his true motivations remained shrouded.

In my first life, he had conspired to seat a Targaryen on the throne before Daenerys burned his plans to ash. Perhaps I could play on his lingering Targaryen sympathies.

"If justice is not served, the Targaryen succession must be secured and protected," I said slowly.

Varys smiled. "Justice, protection...worthy goals." He straightened. "I shall help however I can. Come see me when you wish to discuss further."

With that, he glided silently back inside, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.

Rain pattered softly against the balcony as I stood watching the darkened shapes of ships rocking on the restless black waters of Blackwater Bay. The torches along the castle battlements cast rippling reflections across the wet flagstones at my feet.

Somewhere out in that murky darkness, one ship sailed north bearing my brother Jon - or should I say Aegon Targaryen? - to an uncertain fate.

It had been a fortnight since Robert ordered Jon to be smuggled from King's Landing in secret, to join the Night's Watch on the Wall. Even now, few knew the truth of his royal blood.

As Robert saw it, the Wall was the perfect place to hide Jon away where he could never threaten the throne nor marry and continue the Targaryen line. Either he would live out his days as a sworn Brother of the Watch, or perish in the frozen wilderness beyond the Wall.

The king had not even allowed Jon to speak in his own defense. But I had pleaded fervently with my father, the new Hand of the King, to make Robert reconsider.

"Jon knows nothing of his parents or heritage," I argued in my father's solar one rainy night not long after our arrival. "Sending him to the Wall is cruel and unjust. Let him stay here in King's Landing as your ward."

Father shook his head wearily. "Nothing is just in this matter. I thought the Wall a kinder fate than whatever revenge Robert might seek if his Targaryen rage overcomes him."

He stared broodingly into the crackling hearth. "But you speak truly. The boy is blameless. Perhaps in time the king's pardon can be secured, and Jon brought back from the Wall if he so chooses."

I paced the Myrish carpet before his desk. "By then it could be too late. Jon could be lost beyond the Wall on a ranging, or dead of sickness or starvation at one of their wretched frozen forts."

I stopped and met my father's tired eyes. "We don't know what awaits him. I've heard troubling reports from the north, whispers of strange events beyond the Wall. Dark tidings."

Father frowned, leaning forward in his seat. "What tidings?"

I hesitated. I had let too much slip already. "Rumors and gossip, likely exaggerated," I covered quickly. "But the Night's Watch is dwindling, you know that yourself. If the Wall falls..."

Father was silent for a long moment. Finally he sighed. "I will speak with Robert again. You make a reasonable case." He gave me a long, considering look. "You've learned your lessons well, my son. The king would do well to consult your wisdom more often."

I swelled at his praise. Perhaps my skills at subtly influencing the game were improving.

In the end, Father was able to change Robert's mind - in part. Jon would still be sent to the Wall as ordered. But a compromise was brokered; he would serve only a five-year term in the Night's Watch. If he served faithfully and took no wife, after his term he could return south and be officially pardoned by the king.

Jon agreed reluctantly when we visited him in the castle towers where he had been confined this past fortnight. He understood too well the tenuous line between life and death he walked.

"I don't like it, but I'll serve at the Wall as commanded," he told us as we walked the castle yards, flanked closely by guards. "Just promise me you won't forget me. Write to me, tell me how you all fare."

"Of course," I vowed. Arya echoed her promise more fiercely, on the verge of tears as she hugged Jon tightly.

We halted at the winding stone steps down to the harbor where a modest ship waited to sail that night. Jon ruffled Arya's hair affectionately before turning to pull me into a brisk embrace.

"Take care of our family," he told me somberly.

"I will. And I'll make sure you can come home soon," I swore, clapping him on the back. I blinked hard, fighting back childish tears.

Jon nodded and stepped back. "Don't let this place change you. Remember who you are."

"And you remember your vows," Father cautioned. "Serve with honor. Duty begins at dawn. Your brothers will help you find your place."

Jon gave a curt nod and descend the steps. At the base he turned to look back once more, raising a gloved hand in farewell, his face stoic. Then he strode down the wet cobblestones toward the gangplank where men loaded supplies, his dark cloak rippling in the coastal winds.

We watched from the harbor wall as the ship's sails unfurled, snapping taut in the gusts. The hull slid slowly out on the midnight tide, shrinking smaller and smaller. Even after it dwindled to a dark speck on the moonlit horizon, I lingered, watching and wondering what fate carried Jon toward.

I was still standing there when the first rosy fingers of dawn stretched above the city. Vague foreboding gnawed at me. Jon's five-year term seemed too long. Anything could happen in that time. Changes were coming; I felt it in my bones.

Soft footfalls sounded on the wet stones behind me. I turned to see Eddard Stark join me at the harbor wall, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the empty horizon.

We stood awhile in silence. Finally Father spoke. "You should try to sleep. Today we meet with the small council, and you know Robert will be in a foul mood."

I nodded reluctantly. My throat choked with words unsaid. There was still so much I longed to tell Father, about my mysterious past and powers, about the future I sensed looming.

But I did not know how to begin or what he might say. Would he even believe me if I revealed my secrets? The ripples were spreading too far already. It was too late to turn back now.

I followed Father up the winding steps back to the Tower of the Hand. My bedchamber window looked out over the sea, and sleep eluded me as I lay staring at the fading stars. When would I gaze upon those same stars again beside Jon and my brothers on Winterfell's ramparts? A melancholy ache seized me.

Sunrise found me seated around the painted table in the council chambers as Father and his bannermen met with the king and the Lannisters to conduct the business of the realm. But the air was thick with tension and bitter words.

"This absurd worship of your northern gods has gone on long enough," proclaimed Grand Maester Pycelle, his chain of office clinking. "The High Septon insists you allow construction of a royal sept here."

Father's jaw tightened. "Our gods are just as valid as yours, Maester. But let us discuss it another time."

Lord Baelish gave a disparaging chuckle. "Do you Starks still worship trees? Quaint."

"Trees have eyes too, my lord," I countered, meeting his gaze. "The old gods watch."

An uneasy silence settled around the table.

Father placed a placating hand on my shoulder. "You must forgive my son, he is still young," he said diplomatically.

"Boy's got a point," grunted Robert, swilling his wine. "No sept, no septons. That's my final word." He scowled around at the protests forming. "Enough! Varys, what news from the east?"

The eunuch's soft whisper filled the room. "I regret to report that Viserys Targaryen has wed his sister Daenerys to a Dothraki khal. They gather an army across the Narrow Sea."

Robert's face reddened alarmingly. "Dragonspawn!" He slammed his goblet down. "I should have had them killed years ago. The fool girl will birth more Targaryen brats to vex me. This must be stopped!"

The squabbling intensified. Cersei made pointed remarks about controlling the king's temper, inciting Robert to storm from the chamber in a rage. The rest dispersed shortly after, the tensions palpable.

Father held me back as the others shuffled out. His expression was grave when he bent tospeak softly in my ear. "Do not provoke those snakes, no matter how your pride demands it. That was foolish."

I swallowed my protests and nodded meekly. But inwardly, my thoughts churned in tumult. I had to find a way to protect my family from the vipers surrounding us.

After that day, I became a quiet observer when attending court and council meetings with Father, listening carefully as I sought to sway events to aid House Stark and foil our enemies. Subtle suggestions here, a murmured word there. Slowly, ever slowly, I began guiding things in a new direction.

Father started consulting me privately on matters of policy and diplomacy. My advice often tempered his honor-driven northern sensibilities with southern practicalities that advanced our interests. And when alone with the king, I subtly redirected Robert's rash anger to benefit our causes and counter Cersei's manipulations.

Meanwhile, my strange powers continued developing. I found I could muddle a man's mind if I stared at him long enough while focusing my intent. Useful for avoiding punishment or difficult questions.

The stableboys never found who put burrs under the Lannister horses' saddles, though Jory and Arya found it quite amusing. Windows high up in the castle towers, when left unlatched at my whispers, had a way of blowing open at night to chill the bedchambers of those I disliked.

Servants seemed more clumsy around Cersei and Jaime, spilling food and wine. Lords who offended or threatened me developed troubling rashes or stomach pains that sent them fleeing councils.

And when Arya stumbled on the tunnels beneath the Red Keep, I made sure she could not tell a soul, sealing the secret by the power of my will alone. Her filthy explorations must continue undiscovered.

I did not fully understand this strange magic flowing through me, but I learned to channel it nonetheless. Each success emboldened me further. Though I took care not to be caught overreaching.

The Red Keep's maze of shadows became my domain. With subtle tricks I adeptly avoided the queen's spies, eluding watchful eyes and loose lips. Though the eunuch Varys sometimes stared at me a little too closely for comfort.

During the days I was the dutiful son, attending court and councils to aid Father. But at night I wandered the castle freely, listening at doors, observing all.

It was on one such night that I slipped into the tower chambers housing the royal library and records. Shelves heavy with dusty tomes surrounded me. Faint moonlight shone through the high windows as I slid past the snoring steward's desk unnoticed. My soft leather boots made not a sound.

The ravens rustled above in the rookery, uneasy at my intrusion. But a long stare stilled their cries. I continued deeper, searching for any crumb of knowledge to aid my cause.

On the southernmost shelf I found it - a heavy leatherbound tome stamped with the three-headed Targaryen dragon. Within were lineages and histories of the fallen dynasty, along with detailed maps of the old dragonroads crossing Westeros.

I sat right there upon the cold stones to study it voraciously. One name leapt off the page - Naerya Targaryen. An aunt to the Mad King, who had scandalously wed a norhtern lord from House Mormont decades past. Rumors said they fled west across the Narrow Sea to bear children away from the Targaryens' murderous intrigues.

A possible ally for Jon, if any of Naerya's line endured in exile. I etched the clues deep into memory before returning the tome precisely to its dusty place.

Down shadowed corridors I crept, avoiding the twisted maester and his ravens who both eyed me with suspicion in the high chambers. There was little that old spider did not see, but I escaped the rookery undiscovered.

Later, lying restlessly beneath the hot furs of my bed, I decided to write Jon of my findings on the morrow. Perhaps fresh hope would help strengthen him at that bleak northern post. I could not in good conscience let him languish there completely forgotten.

But deeper matters still troubled my dreams that night. I dreamt of a dark tide sweeping up the Trident, leaving only dead direwolves in its wake. And above the swell, a black dragon spread its wings and shrieked a pale winter moon from the sky into bloodied darkness.

I woke in a cold sweat, fumbling for a candle. The night stretched endless and silent around me. Parchment - I needed parchment to record all I witnessed in this vivid dreamscape.

The quill scratched swiftly as I etched the haunting images in the lonely hour before dawn. But no matter how I tried, I could not decipher their meaning.

A faint sound stirred me from my brooding thoughts. I crept to the window, peering down at the torchlit gates below. Riders were arriving. But so late at night? I hurriedly dressed.

By the time I joined Father where he stood watching the riders approach across the inner yard, King Robert was already swaggering forth, red-faced and draped in his nightrobe.

"An urgent message from the Wall," Robert bellowed to the men below. "Well, out with it!"

One rider stepped forward. His face was obscured by thick furs and ice-crusted beard, but the sensation of familiar eyes drew me in.

"Jon?" I asked increduously.

Robert frowned. "Who the devil are you?" he demanded of the mysterious rider.

The man bowed his head respectfully and pulled back his hooded cloak, revealing the youthful but weary face I would have recognized anywhere.

"Jon!" I rushed to embrace my thought-lost brother. He gripped me tightly for a long moment before stepping back. Dark sorrow lingered in his grey eyes.

"This cannot be," Father exclaimed in shock.

Robert erupted. "Escaped the Wall already, bastard? Thought to evade your punishment, did you?"

"Peace, Your Grace," Jon said quietly. "Let me speak. I rode here swiftly from the Shadow Tower, by order of Lord Commander Mormont himself."

"Mormont?" Father questioned with a puzzled glance. "What's happened, Jon?"

Jon met his eyes grimly. "The dead walk, Father. Wildlings mass in the tens of thousands. And..." He hesitated. "One of the frozen corpses rode here with me. The creature is held safely in a prison cart for you all to bear witness."

Murmured exclamations of shock rose around us. I stared at Jon in chilled wonder. Father and Robert wore matching frowns, peering toward the mysterious cart now being hauled into the torchlit yard.

"Go see to this, Lord Stark," Robert commanded. "I'll get no more rest 'til it's settled." He waved an irritated hand and trudged back to his chambers, flanked by his muttering Kingsguard.

Father clasped Jon's shoulder. "Come. Let us examine this dead man and hear the full tale."

Inside a guarded chamber, we gathered around the large form of a wildling corpse, chained tight to a sturdy table. Though the flesh was torn and partially rotted, the chest clearly never drew breath. Jon kept back, his face grave as he avoided touching the thing.

The maester delicately examined the body. "A curious preservation. Dead, no doubt, yet unchanged by decay. And you say it moves?" He glanced uncertainly at Jon.

Jon nodded. "It tried attacking the rangers transporting it. They kept it chained day and night. Fire kills them."

Tentatively, Father pushed back the furs from its neck, revealing dark gouges surrounded by blackened veins. The marks made him frown. "And these wounds?"

"We cannot say for sure, my lord," Jon said grimly. "Wildling arrows, perhaps, or some beast. All we truly know is they are not men, not anymore." His haunted eyes lifted. "And there are more of them. Far more."

A chill crept down my spine as I peered at the corpse's half-sunken face. For the first time, I noticed thin crystalline forms glinting in the folds around its neck. Ice.

Kneeling closer, I carefully grasped one frozen shard between my fingers. A vision flashed through me at the touch - snow swirling, ravens circling above barren trees, and a dark tide creeping slowly but inexorably forward, bringing cold, dark death in its wake.

I dropped the shard with a gasp. The men looked at me in surprise.

"This is deeply troubling," Father declared, ushering us all outside where Jon recounted his full tale. He spoke of the vanished rangers, the spiked wildling heads, skirmishes with hostile tribes, and reports of something deadlier rousing in the icy northern wastes.

Father's frown deepened as Jon described the Lord Commander's growing alarm. "He sent me here to plead for more men and supplies from the king before it's too late." Jon hesitated. "I'm to return with whatever aid can be provided."

"No!" The word escaped before I could stop myself. Surprise flashed across Jon's face. I fumbled for an excuse. "I only mean...surely the king cannot spare you so soon. Stay awhile and rest before such a ride."

Father nodded thoughtfully. "Your brother speaks wisely, Jon. I will discuss all with Robert come the morrow. For now, get yourself a hot meal while I have a room prepared."

After Father departed, I pulled Jon aside. "There's more we must discuss in private," I whispered. "Meet me at midnight by the godswood."

Jon raised an eyebrow but agreed before traipsing off wearily toward the kitchens. I hurried to my chambers and sat writing a lengthy letter to send ahead to Winterfell, warning Robb of the dangers I sensed coming and urging preparations. The hour grew late as I wrote page after page by candlelight.

Well past the castle's midnight bells, I crept to the edge of the quiet godswood and slipped