Chapter 4: The Darkest Echoes

The court had been in an uproar the last few days, a multitude of strangers had been coming and going from the capital, ravens were streaming in and flying out even more than usual. With dark wings came dark words. The fleet at Lannisport went down in flames in its entirety, much of the port had been ravaged by the rebels and the ensuing inferno. From Fair Isle to Crakehall, lords were asking for assistance. Fears of further attacks on other coastal settlements was spreading like wildfire. It frightened Jon, to think that the war may spread across Westeros. But it was even more saddening to think of all those harmed by such wanton violence and destruction. Why did this happen? Why has Balon and his family taken up the sword against us?

Jon had tried to flee the uproar of the court in the castle's great and extensive gardens, but he merely found himself alone with these thoughts. Thoughts of war, and a sadder thought. Jon was reminded of the last time he had enjoyed the garden, and the terrible night that day had brought. Jon wished the others were here to keep his mind off things. The moment Aegon had returned from his vigil he had been squirreled away by the Hand to attend to the Small Council. Robb had been taken aside by the Lord Hand as well, so Jon had been left to his own devices. A small saving grace was that Viserys was more distracted now, apparently preparing himself to go off to war and return a hero. It was unfortunate however, that was not to last.

As Jon came upon the grove of dragon's breaths, those lovely deep red flowers, so too did he come upon Viserys. They saw each other, and Viserys' eyes narrowed. There was no walking on now.

"Jon." Viserys said, his jaw barely moving.

Jon noticed the sword at his uncle's waist.

"Uncle." Jon was never sure what to say around him. "You're going to war?"

Viserys thumbed at his sword. "Indeed, I'll be squiring for our Lord Commander. I'll be leaving with Lord Velaryon's fleet."

"Lucion told me about what happened in Lannisport." Jon added dumbly, unsure of how to feel about Viserys leaving. "It sounds dangerous in the West."

"Gerold expects Lord Greyjoy to not keep himself confined to the West for long. Everywhere up and down the coast is threatened now." Viserys' grip tightened on the hilt of his sword; he worked his jaw, his mind far away in the Sunset Sea. "We'll be sailing South soon, pick up some soldiers in the Stormlands and Dorne, then we'll meet up with the Redwyne fleet at the Arbor. Balon was a fool to challenge us, he woke the dragon and now he'll pay the price. The Greyjoys will all hang for this unprovoked attack."

"Will you be fighting; will it be dangerous?"

"Of course, a prince shouldn't shy from battle." Viserys said that almost defensively, before glaring at him. "Why? Hoping I won't come back?"

Jon's eyebrows knit together. "I was th-"

"Why are you here?" Viserys cut him off suddenly.

"I wanted to get away from th-"

"Why are you here instead of my brother?"

Stared, aghast. Jon wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"I've been wondering what he'd have done when faced with a war such as this. Ride out to meet it I expect, as he did the traitor Robert. There may never have even been a war had he sat the Iron Throne today."

Jon remained silent as Viserys drew closer.

"How many are going to die before this war is done?" Viserys' words were growing heated now. "No doubt Balon recognizes Aegon's weakness. Rhaegar would have-… He was a real king; he didn't need that fat old septon to name him so." Viserys loomed over Jon, like a giant about to smash him into the ground. "I wonder why he spared your traitor uncle. He rode south with my dying brother, and Rhaegar never came back. Three kingsguard came back with you though."

Viserys seized Jon's arm. Jon cried out in alarm at that.

"He died for you, bastard. How many died in Robert's Rebellion because of your mother? Because of you?!" He yelled, giving Jon a shake.

"Stop, I'm sorry!" Jon yelled, pain knifing into his arm where Viserys grabbed him. Tears were beginning to flow now.

"Why are you here?!" He shoved Jon, who slammed painfully against the ground.

Jon scrambled to his feet and ran.

He soon found himself wandering the many corridors of the Red Keep. This had often been a pastime that Jon enjoyed rather frequently now that they did not leave the castle as they used to. Although now Jon's thoughts were filled with a tumultuous mixture of fear and sadness and frustration. A number of those wandering these halls didn't appreciate the company or attention of a bastard, though he had found some welcoming individuals, and the serving folk seemed to care less of Jon's parentage. He liked to listen to their gossip, as he climbed down the winding stairs of the Red Keep and roved through its long hallways.

"She's been raving against her father for days!" One washerwoman had guffawed. "You know how she is? Always so commanding, she doesn't like it when she's the one being given orders!"

"Shh." Her companion tried to shush, but her giggling betrayed her. "You could get in trouble for talking about the lady like that."

"Sounds like her father sorted her out, he's been quite wroth, we could hear shouting all the way down the hall. She can't seem to stop ranting about the injustice of it." Another chimed in. "We all thought she'd turn into some old spinster, spending so long in the poor Queen's service. I heard her lord father finally found a match for her. Some poor lad from outside the capital."

"So, she'll have to leave?" The giggling one asked, her glee evidently growing.

Jon kept walking; some lady's evident misfortune did not interest him in the least.

Feeling somewhat hungry, he found himself arriving at the kitchens. It was almost always busy in here, there was never an end to preparation for meals for all the people of the castle. Chunks of red meat were already being laid out for the night's meal. Several cooks were sprinkled a number of spices over the dish. The heavy smell of cloves and peppercorns, ginger and garlic flooded Jon's sense. Across the kitchen more cooks were chopping up long hot peppers, onions, green cabbages, and fresh leeks.

"Now don't be getting in the way, young dragon!" The fat cook yelled out, crossing the room to loom over Jon. "We need to be getting these into the oven, can't have a little one like you underfoot, tripping anyone up."

"Sorry Leyton, I was looking for something to eat."

"And you thought my kitchens were the right place to look?" Leyton peered over his belly. "Well, you'd be right." He declared with a grin. "Here, we have some honey cakes left from breakfast. Take this apple as well, can't have sweets alone, now can you? Now, you best be off. A young child like you is too easy to trip over."

He shoved an apple and a bit of honey cake wrapped in cloth into Jon's hands and pushed, more than steered, him out the door.

"You send Prince Viserys our well wishes before he's leaves, now. We pray he squires well under Ser Gerold, and returns home in good health."

"I will." Jon lied between mouthfuls of cake, he did not want to see Viserys anytime soon.

By the time the door to the kitchens shut, the honey cake was half gone. By the time Jon made it to the cellars, he was already brushing the crumbs from his jerkin.

As Jon climbed deeper into the castle, light from the sun quickly dimmed, to be replaced by the scant presence of a few token torches. As he paused to let his eyes adjust, with a loud crunch he took a bite of his apple. Its sharp tartness burst across his tongue. Sometimes it was hard to navigate these halls, especially when it was dark and when one was journeying so deep into the cellars, but Jon was getting more and more practiced. It was fun to disappear on one side of the castle, only to appear on another. The route that Jon was taking now was one he had enjoyed taking in their children's games. Coming upon one intersection of corridors, a sound caught Jon's attention. Not too far off, he heard angry whispering approaching around the corner. It was faint, but their voices carried down these cold stone hallways.

"He's leaving soon, running back home to fight the Ironborn. There won't be much stopping us then." A frustrated voice with a thick accent quietly echoed down the hall.

"-But we aren't ready, too many left the capital after the funeral. And who knows how many will be sent after Balon's ilk." Responded a second pleading voice.

They were talking about the war, that was something Jon was very interested. Indeed, Jon was about to turn the corner and ask them more himself, when what he heard next made him pause.

"He's leaving behind Damon, with but a small guard. We'll never get another opportunity like this."

"But the kingsguard-"

"-Are but men, as skilled as they are. With so many off to war, only two will be a problem."

'Off to war…' Jon worked that thought through his head, confused. These men weren't talking about fighting in the war?

"And what of the bastard?" The second voice questioned; the steps were growing closer.

"The insult won't stand for much longer. He'll be gone, one way or the other."

This did not sound like a conversation that Jon was supposed to overhear. Frantically, he looked back. The hallway was too long, the voices growing to close, could Jon make the run without being caught?

"He's a threat, so long as he lives…"

"If it will put your mind at ease, then when we move, he dies."

'Too close, too close.' Was all Jon could think. He froze for a moment, before pressing himself tightly to the wall, kneeling low. There was nowhere to hide, but it was dark, and Jon was small, if he stayed still then maybe he wouldn't be seen. He hoped they wouldn't be able to smell the scent of the apple he'd eaten. That thought only helped to make his heart pound even louder, and it did nothing to stop his mind from conjuring thoughts of just what these two would do when they discovered him, if what Jon thought they were planning was true.

The voices were drawing closer and closer. Jon pressed himself even more tightly against the wall, trying to fuse into it and become part of the background. Just when the two were about to turn the corner, something in the wall gave way. And suddenly, Jon was falling through the wall.

'A hidden door!' Jon scrambled to shut it closed, sealing himself in complete darkness. His chest felt like it was going to burst. 'Surely they hear it.' Jon held his breath as they passed by where he hid.

"It is a treacherous undertaking..." The two were but inches from Jon now. "Will we have the support of the Lord of the Red Dunes? With his help we may well legitimize our actions."

"With the child in custody, we'll have everything we need. The rest will follow…" The voices faded down the hall, and cut off as they turned another corner.

Jon let out the breath he was holding, wondering at just what he had overheard. The immediate danger out of the way he tried to push the door, it didn't move. He tried to feel around for another switch, a lever, anything that might have opened the door once more. But it was too dark, and the wall was flat. Jon scrambled for something, anything.

"Oh, no. No, no. Please no." Jon muttered, a cold dread beginning to seep into him. He debated calling out, but the thought of those two men hearing and turning back frightened Jon too much to risk it. He sat there for a time, trapped in this dark hole in the walls of a dark cellar that was too rarely traveled. Jon wondered if he would ever get out, and the walls began to feel as if they were closing in on him. But then a whisper of a breeze reached him, and Jon decided to follow, deeper into the darkness. Jon kept a hand on the wall, to assure himself that he was making progress. Small scratching sounds made their way past him once, Jon didn't want to think of what may have made them.

In his blindness, Jon walked right through a cobweb. To Jon's icy horror, it draped itself across his face and he scrambled to swat it away. It would be just his luck to have disturbed a den of spiders. With that thought disturbing his mind, Jon was perhaps not as careful as he should have been. His leg hit something and Jon tumbled down. With a painful smack, his cheek hit stone. Rubbing his throbbing cheek with one hand, Jon felt around where he had fallen. It appeared that he had tripped over a set of stairs leading up.

The hall he'd been following continued on past the stairs. Jon was growing very anxious now. Should he go back and call for help? It had been some time since those men had walked past. Should he continue on through the dark hallway? Or climb the stairs and hope for a way out? Going up will surely lead to light, or perhaps some people to call out to, Jon wondered. It may also lead nowhere. A couple more forks in these pitch-black passageways would get Jon thoroughly lost. But then that ghost of a breeze whispered its way down the stairs. That made up Jon's mind, up was the way out, the air in the hallway was dead.

He climbed, slowly and unsteady in the darkness, he didn't want to fall. At the top was a short hallway, and what appeared to be the faintest glimmer of light. Jon had come upon the thinnest tendril of light, shining down from a short ceiling. It wasn't much, but to Jon it was the Seven's favor bestowed upon him. He felt around the edges of this light and discovered it to be one side of a stone slate.

'An exit!' Jon couldn't help but give a cry of excitement.

The slate was heavy but moveable, and with some struggle Jon lifted it. And found himself once more in the castle gardens and the godswood. With a heave Jon pulled himself out, and lay there a moment in a small private alcove. He was surrounded by high hedges, immense planters, and a leering stone dragon opposite the narrow entrance. Jon tried to calm his mind for a moment, but the conversation that he had overheard in the cellars had never left his mind, Jon picked himself up and ran.

He kept running until he nearly slammed into Ser Jaime and Oswell Whent.

"Woah, slow down there Jon, you're not ready to joust just yet." Oswell said with a laugh.

"Oswell, Oswell! I was just in the cellars-and I heard two men-I think they want to kill me!" Jon shouted breathlessly.

The two kingsguard exchanged a look, one that appeared more disbelieving than Jon would have liked.

"Hold on, take breath." Jaime set a hand upon Jon's shoulder to steady him, Jon was surprised to find how tired he was. Indeed, the sky outside had taken on golden hues with streaks of red. "Did someone say they wanted to hurt you?"

"Well," Jon took a breath, "they said bastard, that when they move, then the bastard dies."

"They were probably talking about Balon," Ser Oswell supposed, "he has made few friends of late. With what he's done to the Westerlands, most everyone in the castle wants him dead now."

"No, that's not it! They were talking about here!" Jon objected, growing upset. "They want to capture someone; they said the Lord of the Red Dunes would make it right!"

"Lord of the Red Dunes? You mean the Master of Laws?" Ser Jaime asked quizzically, frowning. "I don't believe Lord Taubert is interested in capturing anyone at the moment, let alone have anyone killed. He's too busy pouring over the old law books, now that we have this war on our hands."

"But the two in the cellars, they said someone would be leaving soon, and that there won't be a guard here!"

"You must have misheard them Jon," Ser Oswell stated dismissively, though there was a worried look upon his face. "Damon Lannister will be overseeing things here while the Lord Hand is away. Still, perhaps we best share your story with Ser Gerold. Come along."

"Don't worry Jon, you'll have my uncle Damon to look after you. He's a reliable enough man." Ser Jaime added, as they herded Jon towards the White Sword Tower. "And while I may be off to help things in the Westerlands, you'll have three kingsguard knights to protect you. They may not be lions, but they've the hearts of lions. A lion defends their pride fiercely, and the kingsguard's pride is those they're sworn to protect."

Somehow that didn't reassure Jon. He could already tell; they didn't believe him.

Author Note: Intriguing, now we have some real foes to worry about now. A war is well underway, plots are being whispered about in King's Landing, Viserys and Jon have a little confrontation regarding ghosts of the past, how much will the kingsguard react to this plot they don't quite believe that is coming from a hysterical little child, etc. I'm wondering a bit about how some of these plot points are landing. Am I being too subtle with some of these? Too blunt? Comment what you think is going to happen to give me an idea.

I'm a little impressed with the quicker pace I've been picking up on things. Only a month for me to get interested in the story again. Much better than the year wait or the four months wait for the last couple updates.

Tell me how you feel about the first Jon chapter, I wasn't originally planning one this early and had thought to just write up another Aegon chapter, but felt this was the right addition to the story. I have an early struggle for Jon set up, and Viserys has been taking on something of an antagonistic role in regard to Jon as well. I had a bit of fun with this chapter, my little guilty pleasure in this one was shoehorning in the discovery of one of the secret passageways in the Red Keep.

As an aside, I went back earlier this month to the previous chapters to fix up some spelling and capitalization mistakes, added a few hundred words to chapter 2-3. I smoothed out Whent's story about Aerys, Rhaegar and Lyanna a bit. Made the dream sequence a little more dramatic, added a bit to Tywin in the funeral scene. Not much, but I think it all flows a little nicer now. And I guess you can all tell by now that I am entirely dedicated to making up an overly dramatic title for every chapter.

I guess we're moving into Fall now, I hope everyone in the Northern hemisphere is enjoying the last few warm days while they can.