Note from the Author:
I just want to say thank you so much for all the support!
I hope you enjoy the update!
Quick Recap:
Tony is at Castle Black with Jon, Mormont, Pyp, Edd, Sam, Gilly and Ghost. Mormont is injured from his previous fight.
Steve, Sansa, Tyrion, Brienne, Jaime, Joffrey, Varys, and Bronn are at King's Landing.
Nat and Clint are with Arya and Gendry making their way through the Riverlands.
Robb and Catelyn are fighting in the war near Harrenhal.
Theon has taken over Winterfell.
Bran, Rickon, Hodor, and Osha are heading north for the Wall.
Bruce, Selvig, Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy remain in New York with the Tesseract.
And Thor remains on Asgard awaiting Loki's trial.
Chapter 31 - What the Blind Can See
Deep inside Castle Black, Pyp, Edd, and Jon had carried their Lord Commander into his chambers where Sam and Maester Aemon worked quickly-or as quickly as Maester Aemon could, giving Sam orders to fetch cloth, herbal poultices, water, more wood for the fire, silk for stitchings, and archaic metal tools by Tony's standards. Aemon gave them instructions and asked questions regarding his condition.
Pyp and Edd had retrieved the heavier items such as the wood, cloth, and pots, while Sam handled the "medical" supplies. Gilly boiled the water and, to Tony's surprise, cleaned Mormont's wounds without a shred of fear, while the young maester in training gagged. Tony could smell something foul and nearly wretched himself, spreading his fingers over his mouth and crossing his other arm over his chest to stop the rude action. He stayed towards the back of the room with Jon to not contaminate it further.
Jon looked like a ghost, if not for his thick Night's Watch cloak. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the stone walls. The cold of the castle stone seemed to seep into his bones through the soles of his feet if not for the fire's warmth, mirroring his inner turmoil. Jon watched as the medical procedure on Mormont unfolded, his stomach churning with a mixture of helplessness and frustration, for all he could do at this point was watch.
"Samwell! Milk of the Poppy!" Maester requested eagerly. Sam left immediately.
"Milk of the Poppy?" questioned the mechanic.
"It's for the pain," answered Maester Aemon.
Tony rubbed his eyes in vain to hide his grimace before putting on his high-tech glasses so he could analyze the process. He lightly shook his head. The results were not good, he thought to himself as he peeled the wearable tech from his face. Tony was surprised he had lasted this long.
"He's going to need a lot more than that..." Tony said as generously as he could. Sam came back into the room with the medicine and a pair of leather gloves. Tony didn't even see an ounce of soap, and the room couldn't be sterile. He just kept glancing at the fire and back to the bad parts of Mormont's wounds.
"He'll... he'll be alright," said Samwell nervously. Tony remained unconvinced.
"He needs antibiotics," he said.
"What's that?" asked Pyp. Edd shrugged. Tony moved his hand up his face to cover his massive eye roll. Jon had no idea what he was talking about either, but ever since this man fell from the sky, all he did was deliver one criticism after another. He claimed to be a 'mechanic' and now decided that he was a maester. Jon clenched his jaw.
"And how do we get that?" demanded the bastard. The frustration in his voice echoed through the chamber.
"Jon Snow," said Maester Aemon. The room grew silent as the old blind man got up from his seat. Edd guided him to where he wanted to go. "Come with me, please," he said, reaching around for the door.
"Maester Aemon," Jon said, about to complain.
"Do as you are told Jon Snow. And... Mechanic, help Samwell, will you?" said Maester Aemon as he took Jon's hand. The blind old man shut the door before Tony could come up with some quip. Maester Aemon guided him to a nearby area, using his memory for a sense of direction, where some of the ravens rested.
"Maester Aemon, you should be in there with the Lord Commander-"
"How long has it been since Ser Thorne departed for King's Landing?" said Maester Aemon abruptly.
"Umm... I dunno... two... three days... "
"Three days? Then, we mustn't waste any time. Send two men from the watch to retrieve him," said Maester Aemon.
"I don't see how that is going to help the Lord Commander," said Jon Snow.
"If the Lord Commander should succumb, who will lead?" questioned the old blind man. Jon froze, a bit taken back by the maester's words, running a hand through his curly raven hair in frustration. The news finally sank in him like a physical blow, and he struggled to process the maester's words.
"You think he won't make it... "
"If he doesn't, we need to prepare," answered the Maester calmly.
"What? Just because one man, who believes himself a Stark, acts like he knows everything?" snapped Jon. To the young man's surprise, Maester Aemon laughed out loud.
"Sounds like someone I know," the old man jested with a small smirk. Jon sneered at him. He wanted to respond defensively but dared not. Thank the gods for the old man's inability to make direct eye contact for Jon might have been more offended and in more trouble.
"Have you ever read 'The Dance of Dragons,'?" asked Maester Aemon, interrupting Jon's inner dialogue as calmly and as smoothly as a hot knife to butter. Flustered, Jon expected some sort of reference.
"No... I can't say I have," he answered as politely as he could.
"Or 'The Doom of Valyria'?"
"No... "
"Hmm... I haven't read them in some time," said Maester Aemon, losing himself to a very distant memory long past. "A thousand books and no eyes to read them, and then he came along," he continued. A chilly wind blew between them as Jon Snow stood still and expressionless, searching the blind man's face for answers. Jon's gaze dropped to the floor. His silence spoke louder than any words could.
"Knowledge is a weapon, Jon Snow. Arm yourself well before you ride forth to battle... I know he's not what you were hoping for. You don't have to like him, but we need him... now more than ever, and he plans to leave for King's Landing," said Maester Aemon.
"What," said Jon, stunned, "Why?" That entire city would be nothing more than a death trap in waiting.
"He needs supplies to rebuild his armor. Supplies we do not have. Try to convince him to stay... or learn as much from him as you can," said Maester Aemon. The blind old man could hear a deep sigh from Jon Snow. "He's not a man of the Night's Watch. He has no obligation to stay here... and frankly, I don't think many here can stop him," said Maester Aemon with an uneasy laugh towards the end of his last sentence.
Bran woke up in the godswood, only it was springtime, and Osha, Hodor, Rickon, and the wolves were not there. The air was warm and the light, blinding. He pushed himself up from the soft green grass, fuzzy like patches of kitten's fur, and got to his feet. Bran must be dreaming, only he couldn't remember when he had fallen asleep. They had traveled farther North, deeper into the woods. It was cold, brown, and stale where they set up camp. Here, flowers bloomed, and the birds sang. Bran remembered the last time he entered the dreamland. Jon was in trouble. Bran turned towards the weirwood tree with its caved face, and rich red five-pointed leaves that contrasted against its brilliant white bark, searching for him. Four figures stood before it instead. They startled Bran. He didn't even know how long they had been standing there waiting for him.
The Three-Eyed Raven crowed nearby, flying to perch in the tree where the figures stood. He approached; once they came into focus, he recognized the mysterious entities. It was the dark-haired man that resembled his older brothers, the blonde-haired man who slept for seventy years, the bowman who could see like a hawk, and the woman, as dangerous and beautiful as the hourglass spider. Next to them rested the statue of the giant fist wrapped in green vines protecting the ancient yet new hammer. They stood like statues, silent, staring, waiting. They appeared desaturated in the shade of the tree compared to the springtime colors and rich red leaves around them. Bran nearly thought them fake if not for their wandering eyes that followed him when he approached.
"Who ... who are you?" asked Bran. None of them made a sound.
"They won't answer," said a familiar voice. Brandon Stark turned to face it only to find the strange boy again. More questions and still no answers, Bran thought.
"Why not? Who are you?" he demanded. The strange boy came towards him with a walking stick, wearing patchy leathers and furs.
"I'm Jojen Reed," the boy said with a confident smile, "And you've only had glimpses of them so far." The young lord glanced back at the mysterious figures.
"Who are they?" he asked Jojen.
"Potential allies ... far from here," said Jojen. Bran walked closer to them, but only their eyes and heads moved when he moved.
"If they are then why don't they say anything? They have spoken before," asked Bran.
"Because you have to discover them for yourself," said Jojen. Bran didn't understand.
"They appear in my dreams, and yet I don't know anything about them," said Bran.
"Yes, you do," said Jojen with a confident smile. Bran wasn't sure if this strange boy meant to trick him or not. He seemed to know a great deal for someone he never met in person, but Jojen was the only one in the dreamland that talked to him directly, like they were having a real conversation. The young lord turned back towards the silent figures again.
"They have all given you clues ... as the Three-Eyed Raven, it is your job to figure that out ... only then will they speak to you," said Jojen. The figures waited, characters desperately yearning to be unlocked.
"Find out who they are ... and they will speak to you," said Jojen simply.
"Why can't you just tell me?" Bran asked, testing him. Jojen laughed.
"Because I'm not the Three-Eyed Raven. You won't learn anything if you are just given the answers, besides ... I don't even know everything about them," he said, slowly letting his gaze rest on the statue guarding the weapon. Bran carefully observed each person, trying to remember what each of them said or did in his dreams. The one who resembled an older version of his brothers disturbed him the most. Bran didn't truly understand why. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen his brothers. Happy memories of them, hunting with them in the woods or practicing in the courtyard with their father watching even before his accident, felt like painfully side reminders now of a home he will never have again. Seeing this imposter, though Bran knew nothing about him, only rubbed more salt in the wound, so he avoided him.
Bran decided to start with the woman. He walked up to her. She looked at him with a great aura of confidence.
"You replaced a black spider with ... a red hourglass ... " said Bran, but the woman remained quiet and statuesque; cracking secrets out of her was going to prove most challenging.
"You said 'Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature,'" Bran pondered out loud. Still, she said nothing and gave no change in her expression.
"Your house ... sigil ... has to do something with a spider, right?" Bran attempted. She smiled, a warm and infectious grin, but still said nothing. He had to be on the right track; he just did not have the right words just yet, so he turned to her companion, the archer.
"You ... " said Bran. The archer stood just as confidently and still as the woman. "You asked me if I 'could see' ... " said Bran. The man stood motionless, arms crossed with his bow strapped to his back. The young lord tilted his body to peek at it. The weapon looked highly sophisticated, a sleek metal bow with what appeared to be a metal drawstring, and completely straight metal arrows each with a private slot in the well fashioned quiver. A cutting edge weapon, made with every intention of accuracy. "You told me ... that I could not kill the Raven because it was me ... but the Hawk was you ..." said Bran. A grin also formed on his face, crinkling some of the crows' feet around the corners of his eyes. Bran liked his smile, which clashed with his deadly weapon. Oddly, it made him feel at home.
"I don't know ... The Hawk then? Hawk ... marksman?" Bran tried, but to no avail. People had odd titles derived from their skill, house or deeds in battle good or bad, The Hound, The Mountain, The Blackfish, The Young Wolf ... Kingslayer. Bran was supposed to be 'The Three-Eyed Raven.' The man just smiled and remained silent.
"Keep going," said Jojen practically on the edge of his seat. The young lord recalled a moment when the color of the man's eyes changed to a bright gold.
"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" He recalled his father's words. "Can you see? And how about ... now? Can you see?" for what was a marksman's true weapon but his sight.
"The ... Hawk's ... eye?" Bran struggled. The man's face practically lit up with more color.
"Hawkeye?" Bran asked, and the archer stuck a hand out to make a more human connection.
"Clint Barton," he finally answered. Elated, Bran took it.
As Bran grasped his hand, the surroundings shifted. Clint's hand transitioned into smoke and traveled up his arm to the rest of his body. Bran gasped as he watched not only the figure dissipate but the transition metastasize from him to the air around him to the woman next to him and the other two men next to her until all surroundings morphed, shifted, and faded into something else.
As the smoke settled, Bran and Jojen found themselves in a strange place, one they had never seen, a metal room with bright lights and what Bran could only make out to be loud alarms somewhere in the distance. Jojen touched the wall, amazed by the material. It was cold, smooth, and solid, a wall welded and structured better than any stone fortress.
"What is this place? Is this ... still a dream?" said Bran as he slowly turned in a circle absorbing his surroundings. He only stopped when he heard someone else speak. Hawkeye and the woman were with them in the corner of the room. Clint was laying on what Bran could only assume was a healer's bed while the woman watched over him. He shook his head in anguish. His wrists were bound to the bed. His eyes were bloodshot. Bran and Jojen approached.
"What's wrong with him?" Bran asked.
"I don't know," said Jojen, just as lost as him now. Clint shook his head again in pain and tugged a bit at his unknown restraints. The red-headed woman watched over him with great care. Her hair was a mess, and a few fresh cuts found their place on her beautiful face. Both of them looked like they had been through hell, especially the hawk man.
"Clint, you're gonna be alright," the woman reassured him. Clint nervously laughed.
"You know that? Is that what you know? I got...I gotta go in though. I gotta flush him out," he tried to explain.
"We don't have that long; it's gonna take time," the woman said sternly but from a place of security. Clint searched the ceiling for some kind of answer with his bloodshot eyes.
"Is ... is he blind? What happened to him?" asked Bran, not sure if they could hear him.
"I don't understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and send something else in? Do you know what it's like to be unmade?" he asked in a trembling tone. He tugged at his wrists unconsciously. The woman kindly unfastened them once she decided he wasn't a threat anymore. He rubbed where the restraints were and sat up gingerly without fighting back.
"You know that I do," she said. There was a deep-seated sadness in her truth.
Bran didn't understand. The surroundings flickered and became unstable again.
"Wait!" said Bran, reaching out towards Clint and the woman. They melted into smoke again, and Bran lost all control.