Notes:
- VERY AU (Alternate Universe)
- Some characters are out of character.
This is a story based on the Game of Thrones books and TV series, but be warned, it's a very AU (Alternate Universe) story. If you're someone who doesn't enjoy a story that deviates a lot from canon, where certain characters may act out of character, or if you're not a fan of romance with a good amount of fluff, and a story that ultimately has a happy ending, then this may not be the right story for you.
NEAR WINTERFELL, 298 AC - MERA AND JOJEN REED
"Can we trust these Valyrians?" Mera inquired, her voice tinged with apprehension as she surveyed the distant walls of Winterfell.
Jojen, her brother, responded with gravity fueled by his green sight. "I've glimpsed into the past, including Valyria. Throughout history, Valyria has been steeped in tales of ambition and cruelty. But we reside in the present."
He reassured her, "We must put our trust in Elaena Targaryen's word. Her heart and spirit have already taken deep roots in the North of Westeros."
"Moreover," he added solemnly, "the more allies we have to face the terror that comes from beyond the wall, the better."
"Is it true what you told me about Winterfell?" Mera countered, her gaze still fixed on its imposing walls.
"Yes, Winterfell will be the gathering point for people from many parts of Westeros, Essos, and beyond."
As they pressed on towards Winterfell, the ancestral seat of House Stark, Mera mulled over her brother's words. The alliance with the Valyrians was fraught with risk, yet Jojen's conviction lent her a glimmer of hope for their people.
KING'S LANDING, DISTRICT OF FLEA BOTTOM, 298 AC
"Pray tell, Illyrio, what brings you to King's Landing? And what is the purpose of this clandestine meeting?" Varys inquired, his curiosity piqued by the sudden appearance of the merchant.
"Good to see you, old friend," Illyrio leaned forward, his gaze flickering with intrigue. "But the reason for this meeting, Varys, is that I am but a messenger, a conduit for old acquaintances who seek an audience with you."
Before Varys could press for further explanation, a knock echoed through the room, heralding the entrance of two intriguing figures. One, with long hair, half white and half red, exuded an air of exotic mystery, hinting at origins from the distant land of Lorath. The other, with curly locks framing his face, carried himself with the grace and poise of a seasoned warrior.
Varys's sharp eyes took note of their distinct appearances, recognizing the potential significance of their presence. However, he held his tongue for the moment, allowing the scene to unfold.
"Illyrio gestured toward the newcomers with a cryptic smile. "Allow me to introduce you to Jaqen H'ghar and Syrio Forel. They have traveled from Braavos to meet with you," he said, his tone carrying a hint of intrigue. "They are servants of the Many-Faced God, the god of death, Varys."
Varys nodded in acknowledgment, his mind already racing with possibilities. As the enigmatic figures took their seats, a sense of anticipation hung heavy in the air, signaling the beginning of a meeting that could shape the fate of the realm.
"Not staying for this meeting, Illyrio?" Varys asked, somewhat surprised as he noticed Illyrio heading towards the door.
"No," Illyrio responded. "As I mentioned before, I am merely the messenger."
After Illyrio exited the room, Jaqen turned his gaze toward Varys and greeted him, "Good evening, Varys," his voice smooth yet carrying an unmistakable weight of authority. "As Illyrio has mentioned, we are servants of the Many-Faced God, the god of death."
"Are you members of the Faceless Men?" Varys asked with a tinge of nervousness.
"No," Jaqen responded. "I no longer work for the Faceless Men, but I still serve the god of death."
Varys's expression remained guarded yet curious. "The Many-Faced God," he repeated. "And what business does the god of death have with me?"
"Our final destination lies to the north, in Winterfell," said Syrio Forel, breaking his silence. "Our god, the master and lord of death, is angered, Varys. Another deity, proclaiming itself as 'the Great Other,' has been meddling in his domains, stealing his subjects, and bringing them back to the earth as abominations."
"The dead have no business in the realm of the living; they belong to the Many-Faced God in the realm of the dead," Jaqen intervened with seriousness.
Varys felt a chill run down his spine. In that moment, he recalled his conversation with Elaena Targaryen from years past in Mole Town. However, maintaining an impassive demeanor, he responded, "My esteemed guests, Winterfell lies quite a distance from King's Landing. Forgive my insistence, but what business does the god of death have with me?"
Jaqen and Syrio exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable. Finally, Jaqen spoke, his tone measured yet firm, "The business of death concerns us all, Varys. The machinations of gods and men often intertwine in unexpected ways."
"Go on," replied Varys.
"We are in King's Landing because, by orders of our god, we were instructed to bring Jon Arryn to Winterfell," said Syrio. "He will be a key player in the impending war," Jaqen explained.
"Easier said than done," Varys replied, his tone tinged with apprehension. "Do you actually know where Lord Arryn is at this moment? Do you comprehend the turmoil engulfing Westeros right now, all stemming from King Robert's death?"
"Yes, we are aware of what is happening in King's Landing, and that is why we need your help, Varys," Syrio replied, pulling out a small bottle from inside his coat. He looked at Varys with seriousness and continued, "We need you to speak with Jon Arryn tonight, explain the situation to him, and please, have him drink from this bottle. If you do that, Jaqen and I will take care of the rest."
"I need more information," Varys replied with some exasperation. "Lord Jon Arryn is not someone who is easily convinced."
"Tell him that Lady Jeyne Royce and her daughter Elys are watching him beyond the veil. That will convince him," Syrio said firmly.
KING'S LANDING (THE RED KEEP), 298 AC
In the damp and dim depths of the Red Keep's dungeon, Lord Jon Arryn sat on the cold stone floor, his once proud demeanor now replaced by weariness and resignation. Accused of treason in the chaotic aftermath of King Robert's death, he awaited his fate with a heavy heart.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside his cell, signaling the approach of an unexpected visitor. Jon raised his head, squinting through the darkness to discern the figure that emerged from the shadows. It was none other than the Queen Regent herself, Cersei Lannister, her golden hair shimmering in the faint torchlight.
"Lord Arryn," Cersei's voice was tinged with a mixture of disdain and intrigue as she regarded the man before her, the former hand of the King and a powerful ally to her late husband. "It seems fate has dealt us a curious hand, does it not?"
Jon's gaze remained unwavering, a mask of suspicion concealing the rapid churn of thoughts within his mind. "What brings Your Grace to my modest dwelling?" he inquired with a hint of sarcasm. "Surely there are weightier concerns demanding your attention."
Cersei stepped closer to the iron bars that separated them, her expression inscrutable. "Oh, but you see, Lord Arryn, I find myself intrigued by the notion of loyalty in times of turmoil. Loyalty to one's king, to one's family... Tell me, where does your allegiance lie now?"
Jon's brow furrowed with controlled anger, sensing an underlying motive in Cersei's words. "My allegiance lies where it always has, with the realm and now with the rightful heir to Robert, Stannis Baratheon, not the bastard currently occupying the Iron Throne. You need not question my loyalty, Your Grace," he asserted firmly.
A flicker of fury flashed across Cersei's face, but quickly her lips curled into a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief. "Lord Arryn, I must acknowledge your cunning and intelligence in uncovering dark secrets. But now, as I see you rotting in this foul-smelling cell, I must tell you that I am glad that in Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, the seed of another man flows through their veins, rather than that of my late husband, that drunken pig," she remarked with a venomous edge to her voice.
Jon's heart skipped a beat at her revelation, his suspicions confirmed at last. "You speak the truth, then. Robert's children are not his own."
Cersei nodded, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. "Indeed. And what's more, there are some other truths you are unaware of, truths that greatly satisfy me."
"What other truths?" Jon inquired.
"I orchestrated his demise. I ordered my cousin Lancel to ply him with wine during the hunt, dulling his senses and sealing his fate," replied Cersei without a hint of shame.
"You... you're a murderer, Cersei. A traitor to the realm, to the King, and to your husband, to whom you swore loyalty before the Seven," Jon replied, his voice tinged with defeat, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place before his eyes.
Cersei's smile never faltered, her gaze cold and calculating. "Call me what you will, Lord Arryn. I achieved my goals; Robert lies rotting beneath the ground, and my son Joffrey now sits on the Iron Throne."
"Why did you truly come to see me, Your Grace?" Jon Arryn asked, his voice heavy with resignation.
Cersei reached through the bars, her hand hovering just inches from Jon's face. "You swore allegiance to my son, King Joffrey, and I want you to publicly confess, Lord Arryn. Confess your crimes of treason, do that, and I shall ensure that your punishment is merciful. You will be given the chance to redeem yourself, to serve the realm once more as a member of the Night's Watch."
Jon recoiled from her touch, his mind awash with conflicting emotions. "And if I refuse? What then?"
Cersei's smile widened, though there was a glint of steel in her gaze. "Then you shall rot in this cell until your dying breath. Remember, furthermore, that things can worsen for your wife and children. They may have escaped to the Vale, but the throne's fury can reach even there. Choose wisely, Lord Arryn, for mercy will not last forever."
With that ominous warning hanging in the air, Cersei turned on her heel and strode away, leaving Jon alone in the darkness once more. As he pondered her words, torn between duty and self-preservation, he knew that whatever path he chose would shape the destiny of the realm for years to come.
A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER
"Your Majesty, if you intend to make frequent visits, I must inform you, it's a futile endeavor. My stance remains unchanged," Jon Arryn's voice carried a tone of annoyance as he sensed yet another approach to his dungeon.
As the figure drew near, Jon's clenched jaw softened slightly, replaced by a flicker of surprise as Varys, the enigmatic Spider of King's Landing, stepped into view. Jon's gaze narrowed with suspicion, questioning the motives behind Varys's unexpected visitation amidst the chaos of the realm.
"Lord Arryn," Varys began, his voice a soft ripple in the oppressive silence of the dungeon. "I come not as an adversary, but as a harbinger of truths long shrouded in darkness."
Jon's brow furrowed, skepticism etched into the lines of his weary face. "And what truths might those be, Varys? More half-truths and deceptions spun from the shadows?"
Varys inclined his head, acknowledging the skepticism laced within Jon's words. "You mistake my intent, Lord Arryn. My loyalty has ever been to the realm, to the delicate balance that sustains it amidst the tempest of ambition and intrigue."
Jon's gaze hardened, his distrust of Varys rooted in years of political machination and subterfuge. "And yet, you now serve the very regime that seeks to condemn me to this cell, accused of crimes I did not commit."
Varys's expression remained impassive, his gaze steady as he met Jon's accusing stare. "Appearances can be deceiving, Lord Arryn. There are forces at play beyond even my own comprehension, forces that seek to reshape the realm in ways both subtle and profound."
Jon's curiosity stirred at Varys's cryptic words, a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows that enveloped him. "And what role do you play in this grand design, Varys? Are you but a pawn, dancing to the whims of unseen masters?"
Varys's lips curved into a faint smile, a hint of amusement gleaming in his eyes. "I am no pawn, Lord Arryn. Merely a player in the game, a whisperer in the ear of kings and queens alike."
Jon regarded Varys with a mixture of wariness and intrigue, sensing a depth of cunning beneath the Spider's enigmatic facade. "And what brings you to my cell, Varys? Surely you did not come solely to exchange cryptic platitudes."
Varys's smile faded, replaced by a solemn gravity that belied the weight of his words. "I come bearing a proposition, Lord Arryn. One that may offer you a chance at redemption, a path fraught with peril yet paved with the potential to alter the course of history."
Jon's interest piqued, his curiosity overshadowing his lingering doubts. "Speak your proposition, Varys. I will hear what you have to offer, though I make no promises of acquiescence."
Varys inclined his head, his gaze steady as he met Jon's resolute stare. "Allow me to share this tale with you," he began.
For the next few minutes, Varys explained to Lord Jon the meeting he had held only hours ago and the proposal presented to him. When he finished his explanation, Varys noticed anger in Jon's eyes.
"You take me for a fool, Varys. I know not what you aim to achieve by recounting this fantastical tale of conflicts between gods in the North," Jon retorted skeptically.
"You must believe me, Lord Jon. Believe me, or remain in this cell awaiting the judgment of Cersei and Joffrey," Varys replied firmly.
Jon's jaw tightened at the mention of Cersei's name, his distrust of the Queen Regent still fresh in his mind. "And what assurance do I have that this offer is not but a fantasy, a means to further her own machinations?"
Varys's expression softened, a rare display of empathy crossing his features. "Trust is a rare commodity in times such as these, Lord Arryn. But know this: Lady Jeyne Royce and your daughter Elys are watching you from the other side, beyond the veil."
Jon's eyes widened in astonishment as he looked at Varys, his voice breaking as he said, "How do you know that name, Varys? Elys was the name Jeyne and I had chosen in case our first child was a girl. That information was known only to my late wife and me."
"Trust in my words, Lord Arryn. Drink from this bottle and wait for them to come for you tonight," Varys replied.
"Very well," said Jon as he took the bottle, observed it for a brief moment, and then drank from it.
Varys nodded, a glimmer of respect gleaming in his eyes as he extended a hand towards Jon. "Lord Arryn, may your journey to the north mark the beginning of a new chapter, one fraught with peril yet filled with the promise of redemption."
5 HOURS LATER
"Wake up, wake up," Jon Arryn heard a voice urging him from the depths of his slumber. Groggy and disoriented, he opened his eyes to find a figure looming over him, clad in the attire of a guard. But something felt off; the guard's features seemed unfamiliar, almost distorted.
Before Jon could fully process the situation, the figure before him straightened, the facade of the guard melting away to reveal the enigmatic features of a stranger. "My name is Jaqen H'ghar. I am a servant of the Many-Faced God, Lord Arryn," Jaqen replied, his voice smooth and unyielding. "And yes, I am one of the individuals Varys spoke of earlier."
Jon's mind reeled at the revelation, his thoughts racing, but before he could say anything, he felt something lying behind him.
Jaqen's expression remained impassive, his gaze unwavering as he gestured toward the figure lying beside Jon. "This," he said simply, "is a gift from the Many-Faced God."
Jon's eyes widened in astonishment as he turned to behold the figure lying beside him. To his shock and disbelief, he found himself staring into a mirror image of his own visage, every feature and detail replicated with uncanny precision.
"What sorcery is this?" Jon whispered, his voice barely audible above the pounding of his own heart.
Jaqen offered no further explanation, his silence a palpable presence in the dimly lit dungeon. Instead, he extended a hand toward Jon, his gaze steady and unwavering. "Come, Lord Arryn. The time for questions will come later. For now, we must make haste."
With a sense of trepidation mingled with reluctant curiosity, Jon accepted Jaqen's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. As he stood beside his doppelganger, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.
Before departing, Lord Arryn gazed upon his double with sadness. "When Cersei's sentence falls, will he feel any pain?"
"Our god is merciful to his subjects; his passage beyond the veil will be painless," Jaqen replied calmly.
With a final glance towards the darkness that had been his prison for far too long, Jon steeled himself for the journey ahead. Whatever lay in store for him, he knew that the path forward would be fraught with danger and uncertainty. But as he followed Jaqen into the shadows, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope ignite within his heart, a glimmer of possibility amidst the chaos of the world around him.