Chapter 4
Meanwhile in Westeros . . .
King Robert Baratheon made his way to the small council chamber with his kingsguards, Sir Barristan Selmy and Sir Jaime Lannister. Robert had been attending more and more meetings since the arrival and subsequent departure of the envoy from Tamriel. Jon Arryn had been thrilled with Robert's attendance, even if it was only to hear more about the incoming envoy from Skyrim.
He had been enraptured by the tales of both Tamriel and Skyrim. The leader of the crew that had been sent to treat with them, Hadvar, had told Robert many tales and histories of Tamriel, but mostly Skyrim. They had traded tales of their most recent wars over dinner and wine, mostly wine, in Robert's case. Robert had spoken of his glory days during the war, alongside his brother in all but blood, Ned Stark. Hadvar had spoken of his unwillingness to kill his kinsman, but ultimate resolve to join the fight.
Hadvar had also spoken of the Prince of Skyrim and his adventures. He had told Robert of Jon's defeat of Alduin and performance in the war. Robert has listened, enraptured by his tales of slaying dragons and leading men into battle. He had told Robert of the assassins' guild that had haunted the shadows of Tamriel for thousands of years. The prince himself has told Hadvar the tale over a few pints of mead at a local tavern. The leader of the group of assassins had been trying to recruit Jon and had given him a trial. He was told someone had put a price on his head and that one of those people was in that room. Three people had been presented to him, bound, and gagged; he would have to kill one in order to leave the cabin alive. Instead of killing the civilians, he turned is blade on the assassin. He had then worked with the Imperial army to destroy the guild, all with Jon at the head.
Robert had not been the only one who had been in awe of the young prince and his adventures. Several tales had been shared between the King's court and higher-ranking soldiers. The whole court had been talking about the envoy's arrival and the foreign prince that the soldiers spoke of as if he were a god. Tommen has been trailing after a Khajiit soldier, asking every question he could think of. The soldier, Mokir, had been patient with the boy, telling him all he wanted to know about him and his people. The soldiers and sailors had been speaking to all within the city of the land they had come from and its prince.
The streets of Kings Landing were filled with tales from Tamriel and of a dragon slaying hero. There were many nobles and commoners alike that doubted these tales or thought them exaggerated. Even so, all the soldiers and sailors spoke with such conviction that more and more of the people of Westeros began to believe them. Traveling merchants from all over the known world were also subject to these tales and rumors, taking them back to their lands to spread the news of this foreign land even further.
Robert walks into the small council chambers, Sir Barristan trailing behind him and Sir Jaime shutting the door behind them to take his place outside. The chatter died down a bit while Robert and Barristan took their seats. The meeting continued with Lord Jon Arryn, the hand of the king, and Lord Stannis Baratheon, the master of ships, discussing the maintenance costs for the country's ships with Lord Baelish, the master of coin. Robert waited, feigning interest when he needed to, till the end of the meeting to ask about the envoy, and whether there was any news.
Jon Arryn smiled placatingly. "Grand Maester Pycelle received a raven just this morning bearing the crest of Tamriel."
At this the old Maester straightens and pulls out a letter with the dragon seal of the empire. "The letter was written by prince Jon Whitewolf himself, addressing the King." At this he hands the letter to Robert, who takes it excitedly. Pycelle continues. "He tells us that the envoy has left Solitudes port and will be arriving in just over two moons, if the weather and tides show them good fortune. He mentions that he is bringing his entire family and a number of nobles and merchants from Skyrim and surrounding provinces."
"Family?" Littlefinger asks imploringly.
Varys speaks up here. "He has a wife and son. He and Serana Whitewolf were married over two years ago and their son, Kodlak Whitewolf, just celebrated his first name day. It is said that she is very beautiful and has an active hand in Skyrim's politics. He also has two adopted daughters. Lucia Whitewolf, who is three and ten name days, and Sofie Whitewolf, who is two and ten name days. He dotes on them as if they are his blood daughters."
After Varys finishes Pycelle continues. "The letter brings more news. The emperor of Tamriel named the prince as his heir as well. Evidently, the country has just ended a great war that had almost ended the Mede male line. All that remains is the emperor himself and a female babe. As it stands prince Jon stands to not only rule as King of Skyrim, but as Emperor of Tamriel."
Robert lets out a mirth filled laugh. "This Whitewolf fellow keeps getting more and more interesting! Jon! Make plans for a tourney to welcome our guests."
Olenna Tryell nee Redwyne had left luncheon with her son and his heir when she decided to take a stroll through Highgarden's many rose gardens. She was being escorted by her guards, left and right, and would look to be lost in thought. Mace and Willas had been discussing the newly discovered continent, Tamriel.
Tamriel held great promise for her family. Oldtown would be the closest port between their respective continents. The discovery of a new continent always presented a chance to build relationships and broker trade agreements. A fool her son may well be, but even he knew that. Though Olenna knew her son would be more interested in getting to know the nations prince and various odd races than brokering trade agreements. Olenna would have to see to them herself, as her more competent grandson would not be able to make the trip to Kings Landing. Though she too was curious to meet an elf or cat man.
She looked forward to seeing if the rumors were true about this foreign prince. So seldom did men live up to their reputations. She would be bringing her granddaughters with her to Kings Landing, including her golden rose, Margaery. There would be many important lords and heirs present, hoping to meet this prince. With the blue rose of Winterfell set to marry the heir of house Karstark, her golden rose was sure to catch the prince's eye. After all, who better for the golden stag than a golden rose.
Margaery had been unmarried for too long. The prince was now seven and ten and more than ready to marry. She would see her family grow strong. Even if she had to wrap her thorns around the entire country to see it done.
Summer had lasted for eight years and was looking to be the longest Summer on record. Ned Stark knew that a long Summer meant an even longer Winter. Even with Winter nowhere in sight, Eddard Stark was still preparing for its arrival. He spends many afternoons pouring over parchment with detailed accounts of the North's larders, granaries, and glass gardens.
While looking over these reports Maester Luwin entered his solar. "My Lord, a raven has arrived from King's Landing." Maester Luwin handed him the letter. It is written in Jon Arryn's hand, and despite himself he is happy to hear from his father in all but blood.
Had Jon Arryn not been a strictly factual man, seldom giving in to fantastical thoughts, Ned would have thought him mad after reading his last letter sent all those months ago. The letter told of a faraway continent, filled with several races of humans, elves, and beastmen. It told of a dragon slaying prince, loved and admired by his people. The letter should have been nonsense, but Jon did not seem to have left his senses, his penmanship the same as always and his words straight to the point.
In this letter Jon mentions that the land the prince hails from is very similar to the North in both climate and its people. He asked if he would send a northern party to meet with the envoy, said to be arriving in less than two moons. Jon thinks that having men of a similar lifestyle will help endure them to Westeros as a whole.
Ned would do almost anything for Jon Arryn. Sending a party to Kings Landing would be of no consequence. Rob had been wanting to travel and see more of the country he lived in and the Kingdom he would one day lead. Robb's wife of almost one year, Wylla Stark, nee Manderly, had been missing home as of late. They would pass through White Harbor on their way to the capital, spending a few weeks there before continuing their journey.
Ned passes the letter back to Maester Luwin. "Read it." With his permission, Luwin begins to scan the letter's contents. While waiting for Luwin, Ned begins to reminisce.
When his son, Jon, had gone missing Ned had been wracked with grief and sorrow. He had searched all over the country, no kingdom had gone unmolested in his search for his son. In that time, he was quick to anger, snapping at the smallest of slights. It was during one of these moments that he had finally snapped at his wife and revealed his best kept secret.
It had been a month since Jon had been missing. Ned had been in his solar, double, and sometimes triple checking reports and ravens from his various scouting parties. Cat had stormed into his solar in a fury of rage, demanding why he was so concerned for the bastard, and whether or not he even remembered he had other trueborn children who still needed him. Ned had lost is composure, all of the Starks famous icy anger directed at the woman he had come to love.
In this fit of unbridled rage, he had admitted his most dearly held secret. The secret that Jon was not his son, but Lyanna's. His shoulders had shaken with sobs, he'd held his wife by her arms, and bellowed his sorrow and regret into her shocked, tear-stained face.
He had been fortunate that Jory had been on duty that night and had sent the rest of the guards away at the start of their argument. Ned had left Winterfell the very next morning, escorting the next round of search parties himself. He would not return to Winterfell for the next six moons.
Robb had been left as Lord of Winterfell, a grieving and frightened boy of three and ten. Looking back Ned would become immensely proud of his heir. He had stood strong in his grief, comforting his younger siblings, and managing the North as only a true Stark of Winterfell could. When Ned returned six moons later, he would meet a man where he had left a boy.
His relationship with his wife had been strained for a time. She had been remorseful in her treatment of the boy, toeing the invisible line he had drawn between them. Ned had eventually forgiven his wife, almost a year after Jons disappearance. He had been visiting the crypt on a cold summer's morning when he heard quiet sobs coming from his family's side of the crypt. He had found Cat sobbing into the cold, hard ankle of his sister's statue, mumbled apologized into the unforgiving stone. Ned had gathered her into his arms and let her sob her apologies into his chest.
The Lords of the North had stood strong for their liege Lord. None had looked down at him for his grief. Instead admiring him for his love and dedication. All his Lords had lent men and supplies for the effort. None more so than Lords Rickard Karstark and Wyman Manderly. Both men had proven not only their loyalty to their lord, but their unyielding friendship as well. Wyman had sent ships and men as far as Slavers Bay, search for a young boy with the Stark look. Rickard had led men from the Neck to Dorne, checking every inch of the Seven Kingdoms for Ned's son. Only when the search finally ended, did Ned allow himself to truly grieve and release the anger he had been holding.
Rickard and Wyman had accompanied him back to Winterfell. Despite his grief he came to admire and respect both true men of the North. Two years later, during Robbs five and tenth name day celebration, betrothals were mentioned. Initially he had wanted to turn them down or push them aside, but instead he considered the offers. Both Rickard and Wyman had proven themselves trustworthy vassals and true friends of the Starks. When Wyman had mentioned his youngest granddaughter was still unbetroth Ned had thought. When Rickard had mentioned his heir had yet to take a wife, he had considered.
He remembered watching Robb spin Wylla around the hall, smiles on their faces and Wylla's dyed sea-green hair brushing Robbs' face and making their laughter impossibly brighter. Ned had turned to Wyman and asked if he thought Wylla would like to become Lady of Winterfell one day. Wyman had looked at him in shock before puffing up in pride, claimed he would be honored should she be considered.
He remembered Sansa's heart filled eyes when she had met Rickards son and heir, Harrion. Harrion had looked at Sansa as if she were the Maiden born again, kissing her hand in near reverence. Rickard had met his eyes with a raised eyebrow, amused and questioning. Before, Ned may have scowled and thought his daughter too young for such things. Instead, he had raised an eyebrow back and smiled slightly in agreement.
Ned had gone a step further than betrothals. When Lords Rickard and Wyman left Winterfell for their respective castle, one had left a Stark heavier. He had Robb foster with Lord Wyman until the time for his and Wylla's wedding. While there he would learn both Northern and Kingdom trade and get to know his future good family. Robb's sense of adventure had seemly met an untimely end with the disappearance of his brother and other half. It had been reinvigorated with his fostering in White Harbor. He had flourished while there and fallen deeply in love with his now wife.
Sansa had been ecstatic when her betrothal had been announced to the young and handsome heir. Ned had also discussed sending his son Bran to foster with the Karstarks when he was a bit older. He had in turn fostered Rickards youngest son, Torrhen. Sansa had been sent to foster on Bear Island with Maege Mormont and her girls. Ned hoped that the She-Bear would help his daughter become the northern lady she had hidden under her mother's southern teachings. Ned had similarly fostered one of her daughters, Lyra, who got along exceedingly well this his youngest daughter, Arya.
Ned was disturbed from his musings by Maester Luwin, clearing his throat. "The Hands letter is very . . . unusual." Ned chuckles softly before discussing the letter and how to respond. Ned tells him of his decision to send Robb and Wylla to greet the envoy, as well as a group of Stark men as both guards and escorts.
He had just finished writing a reply and handing the letter to the Maester when his solar door opened suddenly. Arya rushing in, Bran bringing up the rear, both wearing identical smiles. "It's time Father! You promised, remember?"
Ned smiles kindly at his daughter. "Of course, sweetling. Give me a moment to prepare." He would be taking the children out into the wolfswood for some hunting. Sansa had returned from her fostering a moon ago, wanting to help with the preparations for her upcoming wedding that would take place just after her six and tenth name day.
Sansa had finally shed her youthful foolishness and become a true northern woman. She still enjoyed dancing and embroidery, however, now she also enjoyed archery and prayed to both the old gods and the new. She would be joining them on the hunt, along with Arya, Bran, Lyra, Torrhen, Robb, and Theon.
The castle was bustling with servants preparing for their Lords' hunt. It wasn't long before Ned found himself atop his horse, surrounded by excited children and Stark guards. He notices Arya and Sansa talking excitedly to one another, as if the sisters' time apart had brought them closer together.
The hunt was normal in the beginning, the children quieting as they got deeper into the forest, leaving their horses behind in order to walk silently through the summer snow and brush. Ned had split everyone up, having Sansa stay with him, as she was eager to show off her new archery skills to her father.
Show off she had, as the sun started to set Sansa had shot down no less than five pheasants, not missing a single shot. They had been making their way back to their horses when the sound of Arya's screams had sent icy fear through his body. He had turned to Jory and ordered him to watch after Sansa before sprinting through the snow towards his daughters screams, playing to any god that would listen that he would not be too late.
When he finally reached his daughter, he had not been prepared for the sight that greeted him. Arya was on the ground, her dark grey eyes staring at him from underneath a giant direwolf. His daughter looked to be unharmed, the Direwolf standing protectively over her. In front of the wolf were two wildings, their throats torn out.
One look at the wolfs muzzle and he knew the culprit. Just as he began lowering his sword, he hears the sound of thundering feet coming from the woods behind him. The wolf shifts Arya more firmly under her, protecting her from any who would harm her. Robb bursts through the trees, Torrhen and Theon hot on his heels. The Stark guards were arriving too, circling the wolf and his daughter. Theon notches an arrow and Robb moves forward before Arya scrambles out from underneath the beast.
"No! Don't hurt her!" Arya crawls from underneath the Direwolf, pleading with her brother and Theon. She leans gently on her massive torso spreading her arms wide as if to protect the direwolf herself.
Ned interjects. "Put away your blades! Theon, nock your arrow now! I will not have you hitting my daughter." At Lord Starks orders everyone lowers their blades, slowly, looking at the scene in a new light.
Now that Ned is calmer, he notices more than he did in his panic. The Direwolf is obviously female, when accounting for her swollen belly. She stands almost as tall as himself, dwarfing Arya almost comically given his daughters now protective stance. He also notices a wilding woman, cowering under the blade of one of his men.
The mother direwolf watches them with strikingly intelligent gold eyes. After everyone lowers their swords, she seems to relax, deeming them not a threat. She looks away from them and back to Arya, sniffing her neck and licking the scratch on her cheek. She then pushed Arya to the ground, pinning her in order to lick her face and hair.
Arya giggles delightedly, petting her large ears and trying to wiggle out from under her massive paw. Ned breathes out in disbelief, slowly approaching his daughter and mother direwolf. As he approaches her large eyes meet his and his chest begins to fill with warmth. As he approaches the warmth only grows, filling him from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes.
He kneels in front of the massive beast, their eyes never leaving one another. Slowly, the wolf frees his daughter and approaches him, until their faces are only inches apart. The Stark children, wards, and guards seem to be holding their breath in anticipation. Ned raises his right hand to touch her at the same time she leans her massive head down to press her forehead to his.
The men and women surrounding them stare in silent awe at the man and wolf in the middle of the clearing. Ned Stark kneels in front of a massive silver Direwolf, his right hand buried in the fur of her neck, their foreheads pressed together, and their eyes closed. Ned felt the warmth within his snap, settling near his heart, like a part of him he hadn't known he'd been missing. In that moment an unnatural cold wind whipped around the humans and wolf in the clearing. Ned knew the winds were changing, Winter was coming.
"You would have me go to Kings Landing to greet our foreign guests?" Prince Oberyn Martell spoke, as he looked out at the pools outside his brother's, Prince Doran Martell, solar. He watched his children play in the pools below. Even his older daughters were in the water splashing each other playfully. His paramour, Ellaria Sand, watching from a distance with a fond smile gracing her lips.
"The prince from this land is said to be a well-traveled adventurer. I believe you two would get on well with each other. You can speak of your own adventures, while getting a feel for this prince and his nation. We know very little about them. Information is power, as you know."
Oberyn had been looking out the window when his brother spoke. Upon hearing his words, he rolls his eyes before turning to look at his brother. "I admit I find myself quite curious about this new continent. Who wouldn't be? Dragon slaying princes, elves, beast men who look like cats and lizards. Yes, very curious indeed. I will accept your offer to go to Kings Landing."
Doran watched his brother, his expression severe. "Excellent. You will leave by the end of this moon. This should have you arriving less than a moon before the envoy. Please, brother, try not to get into too much trouble. The Usurper and his loins will be watching your every move while in the capital."
Oberyn scoffed, dropping unceremoniously into the chair across from his brother. "Do you think me a fool, brother? I may not be a schemer like yourself, but I am more clever than you give me credit for." Oberyn smirked from across his brother, who merely raised an eyebrow back.
"I suppose we will see." Oberyn was soon dismissed, given leave to tell his family of his upcoming departure.
Within Varys office Petry Baelish began speaking. "Do not take me for a fool, Varys. You must have noticed the new player in Kings Landing. The same organization that just happened to appear months after the first envoy returned to Tamriel."
Baelish had come to Varys after the most recent small council meeting, asking what he knew about the new secret organization lurking within Kings Landing. For months he had been losing spies within the capital. Recently he had stopped receiving information from a number of his informants in the Crown Lands as well.
Even his whores were not being as loose lipped as usual. His men within the city watch had been useless, not having the smallest of leads on where the organization was hiding.
Varys gazed at Baelish steadily. "Of course, I know of them. There is very little others can hide from my little birds. Though it pains me to admit even I have found little in the ways of information on this organization." At his own words Varys looked slightly annoyed.
Baelish considered Varys's words before speaking again, crossing his arms behind his back, and walking slowly forward. "What information have you been able to gather?"
Varys smirks lightly. "Why Lord Baelish, surely you do not expect me to part with such information for free?"
Little fingers face remained impassive. "What is your price, Spider?"
Varys's smile widens slightly. "Information for information. A trade of sorts. Surely you know something of our mysterious new friend who seems to lurk in the shadows of Kings Landing."
Baelish's grimace is barely there before his expression evens itself out. He pauses briefly, before speaking. "I have not been able to discern much about them. Many of my . . . friends have been silent for too long. Long enough that I fear their loyalties are not as unwavering as before."
Baelish pauses. Varys raised a brow, encouraging him to continue. "Valuables go missing with no witnessed. Deeds are swapping hands, no one the wiser. Ledgers are being forged, causing coin to seemingly appear from nowhere and disappear just as suddenly. Whoever we are dealing with, they are a master of their trade, and very good at staying hidden."
Baelish pauses for a second time in consideration, before focusing on Varys once again. "The organization must be from Tamriel. The timing is too perfect. The espionage and larceny to foreign, not like what we see in Westeros, hell even in Essos. I have not been able to find even a crumb of information on where they are stationed, or who their members are. I was hoping you would know more."
Here he looks to Varys imploringly, barely concealing his own desperate hopes. "I will admit I did not know their thievery to be quite so severe. I myself do not know much more than you have just revealed."
At this little finger looks annoyed, before he can speak Varys continues. "My little birds have not been able to identify any of the members, let alone the leader. However, -" Here he looks smug. "- they have been able to learn the name of this organization. The Nightingales."
Varys pulls a small, burnt piece of parchment from his sleeves, handing It to Baelish. On the parchment is a strange symbol he had never seen. The image depicted a bird, its wings open in flight and wrapped around a black moon. Before he could ask the questions brewing in his throat, Varys continued.
"The symbol was found before it could be consumed in the flames. I believe it is the symbol for the nightingales. From what I have been able to find their presence is centered around the common folk. Every time I have gotten close to any information concerning them my efforts are thwarted by the plethora of peasants that appear to be protecting them."
"I believe the conditions that have been improving in flea bottom to be their doing. They help the masses in order to keep themselves concealed. Its very clever, and they did it all right under our noses." He titters softly, his eyes never leaving little finger's.
Baelish is staring with open suspicion, searching Varys's face for any signs of deceit. "Surely the master of whispers knows more than the name of a secret organization, the nightingales, hiding in our very own city."
Varys merely raises his eyebrow. "I assure you that is all that I know. But, soon we will have lords and ladies from all over Westeros visiting the capital. Plenty of valuables to pilfer and pockets to lighten. Even the most tightly run organization such as this one is bound to make a mistake when such a banquet of wealth is presented to them. "
Varys tittered again, turning away from Baelish. His last words rang loudly through little fingers thoughts as he left Varys's office. Much would be happening in the coming days. Important figures from various kingdoms, all gathered to meet a prince and envoy from a foreign nation. A perfect recipe for chaos, and chaos is a ladder.
Somewhere On the Summer Sea . . .
Before Jon was the entrance of the Stark family crypts. Just like when he was a child, he felt a nagging feeling that he didn't belong down there. After a moment he felt an invisible force move him in the direction of the crypt.
When he blinks, he is inside the crypt, being led by the same invisible force through the maze of Stark statues. As he moves deeper through the crypts, the statues change from Lords and Wardens to Kings of Winter, rusty swords and direwolf companions beside them.
Eventually the tunnels become older and less maintained. Until he comes to a dead end, the path long caved in from age. He watches, a passenger in his own body, as he raises his arms towards the crumbled doorway and speaks.
"Bex Miraad Se Vennestiid."
The crumbled doorway begins to move, stones rearranging themselves and reforming to create an open doorway. His body begins moving once again, following the path being recreated before him. The pathway begins to dip, leading him further underground before ending at a large ordinant door. The door has no handles and is made of heavy stone. He brings a dagger from his belt and makes a small cut on his thumb before smearing his blood into the crack of the door.
The door opens before him, heat spilling out suddenly into the cold halls of the crypt. Before him is a large open chamber. Before he can take in the sight before him, he begins to walk to the other side of the chamber. While walking he looks around at the intricate carvings of direwolves, ice spiders, giants, and more. The wall depicted a great battle on a snow-covered field against a foe with bright blue eyes.
He wanted to take a closer look at the carvings, but his body pressed forward, despite his wishes. He stopped at the end of the chamber and turns his attention to the altar in front of him.
His breath caught as he realized that before him, upon the altar, were five dragon eggs. All different sizes and colors. The leftmost egg was a deep, dark indigo, with specks of black scattered across it. The same shade of purple as his son's eyes. The next egg was blue, the exact shade of the winter roses in Winterfells's glass gardens. Instead of random dots, this egg had a set of long indigo strips.
In the middle was the largest egg. This egg was as bone white as the bark of Winterfell's weirwood tree and had blood red veins running across it, the same color as the leaves of the weirwood. Next was an egg as red as blood, darkening to black near the bottom. The final egg was a bright golden yellow with black speckled in.
After looking at every egg, Jons gaze was drawn back to the egg in the middle. He felt it calling to him. He tried moving closer and was relieved to see that he once again had control over his body. He made his way cautiously over to the altar before reaching out to touch the egg in the middle. Just as he was about to touch the egg everything around him vanished.
He felt confined, barely able to move an inch. He had been warm and safe for as long as he could remember and now everything around him seemed to be changing. He struggled as much as his weak body could manage, to no avail. Everything around him was dark until it was not. He felt as if he was being squeezed impossibly tight before everything was cold. Cold surrounded him for the first time in his life, he cried as much as his little lungs could but not a sound was made. Just as quickly as the cold came it was taken away by a gentle and warm pressure. He felt as he was lifted up and reunited with his sibling, once again surrounded by warmth.
As he drifted to sleep, he heard a deep northern voice, the same voice he had longer to hear for many years. "You did good, Anna. Now you can rest."
Jon Whitewolf bolted awake in his bed aboard his ship, the Swift Wolf. He tried to calm his breathing while checking to make sure he hadn't disturbed his sleeping wife and son. He was relieved to see them both sleeping peacefully beside him. His wife was as beautiful as always, even with the little bit of drool at the corner of her mouth and her light snores. His son was sprawled between them, his head pillowed on his mother's arm.
He smiled down at them, sweeping their dark curls out of their faces, slack with sleep. He glanced across the room at Lucia and Sofie, both still sleeping soundly. Gently, he moved from their bed and silently got dressed before making his way out of their shared cabin.
He made his way onto the deck of the ship, the early morning sun lighting up the water surrounding the ship. He looked out to the sea, pondering his news dreams, the past moon, and the moons yet to come. They would be sailing through the Stepstones at some point that day. Afterwards they would be less than a fortnight from Kings Landing.
The beginning of his dream had confused Jon. He felt a renewed sense of anxiety and longing, having heard his fathers voice after so long. He had sounds just as Jon remembered him, strong and kind. The other part of his dream caused him to feel conflicted. Why had the gods shown him these five eggs? What was he to do with this knowledge?
He also wondered why they were there. How had five living dragon eggs come to be housed in the crypts of Winterfell? He had felt oddly . . . connected with one in the middle. He still felt a prickle of longing for it, as if he needed it, and it needed him. He would mention these dreams to Serana later that day.
Right now, they were a sizeable fleet, but not all the ships currently within his fleet would be accompanying him to Kings Landing. Before crossing into Blackwater Bay, the merchant ships from High Rock would break off to head to Bravos with a few of his own ships.
He would be sending Marcurio, posing as a noble of Tamriel, to work with the High Rock merchants to establish an account with the Iron Bank in his name. He would also be sending the mages from the college for extra protection from Iron Born and pirates. Farkas and Aela would be posing as Marcurio's guards, not that he truly needed them, but appearances were important. He trusted Marc to keep up the act, he already acted like a snooty noble as it was, it would be an easy persona to sale for him. He brought several ships full of his riches to exchange for both Westeros and Essos currency. He would likely be in Westeros for several years, best to be prepared.
A ship carrying the Skaal would be accompanying Marcurio but would be instead docking in White Harbor. Once there the Skaal would wait for him to join them and journey together to Winterfell. The Skaal would be better suited to staying in White Harbor instead of the political snake pit that was Kings Landing. He would also be sending some of his more powerful weapons with them, ones best equipped to deal with the White Walkers. He would trust Frea and the rest of the Skaal to keep them safe.
Brynolf had been sending him periodic updates about the current proceedings of the courts of King Landing. He was highly skilled in illusion magic and thus after donning his nightingale armor was practically invisible to the people of Kings Landing. As most did not believe in magic they had no protection against it or awareness of it. This made it laughably easy to infiltrate the Red Keep and secure secrets normally inaccessible to anyone other than the most powerful of the court.
Jon did not want to bring his precious family and friends into an unknown political landscape if he could help it. He wanted to be as prepared as possible for not only the safety of his people but also the mission they had come here to complete. He already knew he would need to convince the King and his court of the threat beyond the wall. He and Serana had already come up with a plan to see it done.
With his infiltration of the Red Keep he had already put that plan in motion. He has learned a lot of info since then. The Iron Throne was currently several millions of gold dragons in debt to both Tywin Lannister and the Iron Bank. He knows that the master of coin, Petry Baelish, had been stealing from the crown and whispering in the ear of the Hands wife, Lysa. His most recent discovered had been that the Hand current suspected that the royal Baratheon children were not Baratheon at all, but the Queens bastards.
He is not sure who the Hand suspects of fathering the Queens children, but Brynjolf had watched the Queen for several weeks and discovered her less than innocent relationship with her brother, Jaime Lannister of the Kings Guard. Reports were also sent to him about the cruelty of the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. The stories from servants described in Brynjolf's report had both enraged Jon and worried him. He had already made sure to tell his daughters not to be alone with the boy. He knew his girls could protect themselves well, but he would take no chances.
The reports were troubling to say the least. Tension was running high within the capital. The hand was doing his best to hold the kingdom together, but he was only one man. Jon hoped that he could manage to hold it together for a few more years, or at least until the threat beyond the wall could be dealt with.
Afterwards, if the seven kingdoms fell into chaos, he would assist his family as best as he could. He was not eager to fight in another war, but he would, for his family. Jon hoped it wouldn't come to war, but Brynolf's report all seemed to lead to a power struggle in the near or distant future.
Jon and his closest allies had debated interfering with the happening of Westeros. In the end they decided they would not interfere unless things became dire. They would, however, continue to monitor the political situation in order to stay prepared.
Jon felt fortunate that his wife had such a mind for politics. He was a quick learner but would have been lost in any court without her wise counsel to guide him. He and Serana made a wonderful team within Skyrim's court. He was a natural leader and often times could fill a room with his presence. He was better suited to dealing with military matters but could discern a lie from those with even especially silver tongues.
Serana on the other hand was better suited to domestic matters. She seemed to always know what to say, even to the more disagreeable of nobles. The knowledge that he would have Serana by his side while ruling Skyrim, and now all of Tamriel, had been a deciding factor in his acceptance of the crown.
He and Serana had worked well together from the moment they had met. He had been a young man, fresh off the battlefield, at the time, traveling with Marcurio. Their feelings had not developed instantly, instead they had become comrades and then friends. The three of them had went on a harrowing adventure together, finding elder scrolls, killing vampires, and saving the world on the way.
Their feelings started developing during their travels through Solstheim dealing with Miraak. It was right before his final battle with the first dragonborn that they shared their first kiss. When he had returned, battered, and bruised but still very much alive, things had been awkward between them for a short time. Neither wanting to disturb the tentative peace that had settled between them. They had waited less than a fortnight before talking about their feelings for one another. Serana had been conflicted about her feelings, given the age gap between them and her vampirism. At that time Jon had only just seen his one and eighth name day. He had tried reassuring her that such a thing did not matter to him, he loved all of her and would until the end of his days.
In the end, Serana had been in tears and even more conflicted than before they had begun their conversation. When Jon had checked her room in The Retching Netch the next morning, she was gone. He had returned to Skyrim not long after, where she would eventually return to him, mortal and with an open heart.
As the sounds of the sailors around him started to pick up, Jon made his way to his cabin to check on his family and break his fast. He thought on how peaceful the past moons had been aboard the ship. The weather had been fair and the company even better. Though he looked forward to being able to have a proper bath and have his feet back on solid land. Serana had not been fairing well either. She had been struck by sea sickness a moon into their voyage. She hadn't struggled with it before in her life. Although she reasoned that this was the longest she had been at sea, as well as her first time sailing sea as a human in a very long time.
As he approached their cabin, the door opened before him. Serana walked out, their eyes locked almost immediately. Before Jon could question her, she spoke, her eyes filled with worry. "You received a letter from Brynjolf, it brings bad tidings."
He makes his way inside, mind racing with possible scenarios. The girls are sitting with their brother, all three up and ready for the day. They seem to be in their own world, playing together, ignorant of their parents worry. Jon takes the letter from Serana, scanning over its contents quickly. The letter is only one sentences and straight to the point.
"The hand of the king, Jon Arryn, is dead."
"Bex, Miraad Se Vennestiid." / "Open, Doorway of Destiny." In Dovah.