The black obsidian castle stood tall and foreboding against the horizon, its silhouette reminiscent of a massive, slumbering dragon, its black scales glinting in the dim light, a dormant beast guarding the secrets within its stony lair. One day, in the future, a black dragon, may indeed occupy the castle, with its siblings and owner. Unless Jon claimed it first. Then the dragon would be white and red.
"It's..." Arya tried to find the right words.
"Intimidating?" Jon replied. "It is as unpleasant on the inside as it is on the outside."
"Well, I think it is quite beautiful." Arya stated.
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." Jon admitted.
Arya turned to Jon and laughed. "Says him who fucked the dragon queen and married my sister."
"Don't you dare bring Sansa into this." Jon warned.
"Yes, your grace." The sarcasm was dripping from Arya's mouth, although Jon could tell there was no malice behind it, as she had a cheeky grin on her face.
"Anyway, the castle is cold, dark, damp, and dingy. The Targaryens clearly did not need comfort."
"Just ask a dragon to breathe a bit of fire to warm them up. Although Targaryens have been known for their hot air." Arya japed.
Jon could tell she was eager. Arya was usually quite a sombre person these days. She rarely got overly enthusiastic by anything. Yet, here she was, enthusiastic at the prospect of seeing the hideous island of Dragonstone. An island which, by all rights, should belong to him. However, it would belong to his firstborn, that Jon was determined to see.
The ship laid anchor about half a mile from the shore. Jon and Arya boarded a small boat, with six oarsmen, who rowed them to the beach closest to the entrance to the cave, where the dragonglass was being mined.
The men were still busy at work, taking little notice of the boat which came to shore. However, not everyone had missed their arrival. A woman, with long red hair, in a red dress, was there to greet them. Beside her, was a weathered-looking man, with a small bag hung around his neck, no doubt containing the bones of the fingers, Stannis Baratheon had once removed as a punishment for the crime of being a smuggler.
"Lady Melisandre," Jon bowed his head, turning to Ser Davos and holding out his hand to shake, "Ser Davos. My name is Lord Whitestark, and this is my cousin, Arya Stark." Jon and Ser Davos shook hands.
"My lord, my lady." Ser Davos nodded his head towards Arya. "How can we help you?" He asked.
"We heard about the battle of the Blackwater." Jon explained. "Our men are on this island, and as you can appreciate, we want to ensure their safety. We will take them back north, with all the remaining dragonglass they have mined. Before the Lannisters take this place."
Melisandre stared at them both, with the intensity Jon came to recognise. She turned to Arya, and lifted her chin, staring into her eyes. "I see a darkness in you," Melisandre said. "And in that darkness, eyes staring back at me. Brown eyes. Blue eyes. Green eyes. Eyes you'll shut forever."
Arya rolled her eyes. "Seven hells, not this shit again."
Jon chuckled, as Melisandre turned her gaze to Jon, shutting him up. "There's a power in you, Lord Whitestark, yet you resist it."
"I know, I know." Jon nodded and sighed. "Can we come inside? It is windy out here and I would prefer if we spoke somewhere a little more comfortable. I know the way." Jon set off, leading Arya, with Ser Davos catching up with Jon.
"Lord Whitestark, if you don't mind me asking, how did you know who I was?"
"The pouch around your neck. The bones from your fingers, the ones Stannis chopped off." Jon replied.
"I didn't think that fact was widely known." Davos frowned.
"I suppose it depends on who you know." Jon said, as they climbed the long, winding steps up the hill towards the castle.
Jon was wearing the cloak Sansa had made him, the one like Lord Stark's. It billowed in the wind, making his journey slightly harder, an experience not unusual on this island. What was different, was the heat. Jon had visited the island in the winter, where the cold winds blew, despite its southern location. Now it was autumn. The sun was shining, and the temperature was far warmer. It was too warm for Jon's liking.
Arya didn't seem to mind the heat. As much as she was a Stark, Arya had spent more of her life in warmer climes than Jon, or even Sansa. Jon's wife, preferred the colder weather of the north, despite looking more like a Tully, yet Arya was the other way around. Jon, whose blood and birth, was the most southron of all of them, tolerated the heat the least of them. He assumed it was probably because he had lived north all of his life, and had even spent quite a lot of time beyond the wall. The wolfs-blood overwhelming his dragon-blood. Jon wondered his dragon-blood would come to the fore, when his dragon hatched.
Jon made his way to the room with the painted table. He noted the exchange of confused looks between Ser Davos and Melisandre. A person who had never visited the island before, yet seemingly knew his way around comfortably. Jon was going to tell them the truth of the matter, for if anyone were to understand, it would be the red woman. Yet it was Ser Davos who broached the subject first.
"Have you been to Dragonstone before, my lord?" Ser Davos asked, looking confused by Jon's familiarity with the castle layout. "I don't remember seeing you among Stannis' men before."
Jon turned to Melisandre. "What do the flames tell you? My Lady?"
Melisandre glanced around furtively. "I did not ask. Though I certainly wasn't expecting you. I thought you were Stannis." She admitted.
"Why would I be Stannis?" Jon asked.
"I asked him for Azor Ahai to be returned to me."
"And Stannis is definitely Azor Ahai?" Jon wasn't sure whether Arya would be able to hold her tongue for much longer. "Does he show a picture of Stannis when you look into the flames?" Arya asked.
Guilt spread over Melisandre's face. "It does not. When I ask to see Azor Ahai, I see snow."
Arya's face turned serious. "Do you mean snow as in the white stuff that covers the ground? Or someone with the name Snow?" She looked at Jon with a raised eyebrow, Jon shook his head slowly. He did not want Arya to tell Melisandre his name was Jon Snow.
"I have been to Dragonstone before, but not in this life." Jon said, before Arya could tell them who he was. "I have lived a life where the long night came and the dead came with it. I was fighting them, as was Arya. We died, including you both. Arya, my wife and I, already know you both well. And I can say, with some certainty, the Stannis is not Azor Ahai, or the Prince that was Promised."
"How can you know with certainty?" Melisandre asked.
"Because he died two years before the army of the dead crossed the wall. At one point, you thought I was the Prince that was Promised. You also suggested Daenerys was the Prince that was Promised. Whether that is the case for me and Daenerys, who knows. But I know neither of us will survive the long night if we do not work together."
"What about Stannis? He's imprisoned in the black cells." Ser Davos asked.
"He will be too heavily guarded to rescue, if that is what you are asking." Jon said.
"But we can get to the princess Shireen." Arya offered. "I doubt she will be as heavily guarded, she is less of a risk to Joffrey's throne."
"But Stannis is the one true King. He must be rescued. As well as the princess Shireen." Davos argued.
"Impossible." Arya shook her head. "Even I can't get into the area of the black cells he is being kept. Although, I could get to Shireen."
"How do you know where they will be kept?" Melisandre asked.
"I spent some of my childhood in the Red Keep." Arya smiled.
Ser Davos stared at Arya. "You still are a child."
Melisandre turned towards one of her braziers, and as he predicted, she stared into the flames. Jon put little faith in what she would see, but he suspected she would believe them once she had done so.
Seconds passed into what felt like minutes, while Melisandre stared into the flames. Her face took on many expressions. All minor, not to give too much away of what she saw. When she returned, she gave Jon an expressionless stare. "They are telling the truth."
Ser Davos turned to her in shock. "So now you say Stannis is not the one true king?" He asked.
Melisandre shook her head. "The lord showed me Stannis, to lead me to Lord Whitestark." She said.
"Is he the special one now?" Davos asked.
Melisandre shrugged. "I know not, whether it is him or another. The Lord shows me visions in the flames, and I interpret them."
"By getting Stannis wrong, you've condemned him, his wife and his daughter to death." Ser Davos practically growled at Melisandre.
The red woman snapped her head to one side. "He acted on a letter, believing he was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. I had nothing to do with that."
"But didn't he ask you to look into the flames, to see if the letter about the Lannister bastards were true or not?" Davos asked.
"The letter was genuine." Jon replied.
"You know about it?" Davos asked.
Jon looked to Arya. "We need to tell them most of it. Most of the important stuff which currently involves them."
"You're right." She nodded. "I think we're all going to need a stiff drink for this one."
"Aren't you too young?" Davos asked Arya.
"I'm one and twenty, stuck in the body of a girl of one and four. It is shit, believe me. But Jon understands and allows me to do what I would do if my body were the same age as my mind."
The Dornish red for Melisandre and ale for the other three was brought to the table. Jon tried to be careful around the painted table. It was a legendary piece of furniture, and it was the only thing he liked the Targaryens for. However, they forgot to add any detail to the lands beyond the wall, which meant it was incomplete.
The next few hours was spent discussing all that had happened to Stannis, Selyse, Shireen, Davos and the Melisandre. Davos was absolutely enraged by the burning of Shireen, and even threatened to kill her himself, there and then. Until Jon reminded him that the deed hadn't happened, and would be unlikely to happen.
"Well, fuck me." Davos turned to Arya. "Sorry, my lady."
"I'm not a lady." Arya replied. "I think that is rather obvious from our story."
"Aye, I suppose." Davos said. Jon suspected the Onion Knight wasn't quite as convinced by their story as Melisandre was.
"Why did you tell us all of this?" Melisandre asked. Jon saw she looked deflated, not quite as bad as she had done at Castle Black, but still she wasn't as exuberant as she was when they were introduced.
"Both of you played an instrumental part in the long night." Jon said. "I believe, my lady, if you would be less prone to burning people, you might be of more use this time around. You lost your powers, but still brought me back from the dead. I would prefer you don't lose them this time, and not burning people would be a good way to keep them."
"And what if my god demands a sacrifice?" Melisandre asked.
"Go to the kitchen, find a rat or mouse, and burn that. It is sacrificing a life, and you will do the kitchen staff a service." Arya suggested, somewhat unhelpfully.
"Ser Davos." Jon turned to the smuggler.
"Yes?" Davos answered.
"I still wish to save the princess Shireen. She is an innocent child in all of this, and the Stormlands will still need a ruler once the wars are over. And whoever takes the Iron Throne, Shireen will most likely become the heir." Jon said. "I would prefer your help with getting Shireen out of Kings Landing." Jon turned to Melisandre. "I will need you to go to Gulltown. We will meet you there. I'm sure Arya can recommend a place for us all to stay. When the Lannister guards look for Shireen and her rescuers, they won't be looking for a group that looks like us."
"Can I, um, sleep on it?" Ser Davos asked, getting to his feet.
Jon nodded. "Of course."
"It's getting late." Ser Davos said.
Jon glanced over to the enormous window, which overlooked the beaches and out to sea. The skies were dark, and the moon was bright in the sky, bathing light along the rippling surface of the water. The view was one of the few things he liked about this castle.
"Aye, it is." Jon said. "There's a lot for you to think about. And we only told you the basics."
"If we told you everything, you'd be terrified." Arya added. "So sleep well. Or run. It's up to you."
Jon shook his head. Sometimes, he didn't understand his sister. She enjoyed terrorising people, by deed or word. As a child it was amusing, as an adult, it was terrifying, especially knowing what she could do with it.
"Lord Whitestark, Lady Arya, Lady Melisandre. I bid you all goodnight." Davos bowed his head and left the three of them together.
Jon walked over to the window, staring out to sea, remembering what it was like seeing the dragons fly around in the moonlight. He felt a pull in his heart; he wished there were one out there now.
"Goodnight, Jon." Arya said.
Jon turned around. "You going to bed so soon?"
"I want to enjoy a bed which isn't rocking." Arya told him. "Goodnight, my lady." she addressed Melisandre, who simply nodded her head.
Jon had dreaded this moment, but he knew Arya had purposely left him alone with her. The red woman had questions which she didn't want to ask in front of Ser Davos, and Arya didn't want to know too much about.
"How did I bring you back to life?" Melisandre had sidled up to him.
"I don't know." Jon replied. "I was dead. But Ser Davos told me you chanted something in a foreign tongue, you cut my hair and beard. Washed my body. Put your hands on my chest. When it looked like it wasn't working, you said please. Everyone was just leaving the room, and I woke up." Jon turned to her. "Part of me wishes you hadn't brought me back."
"I'm glad I did." Melisandre was staring at him intensely. Jon knew that look, he had a feeling she would probably take her clothes off any moment.
Jon's voice was low, so not to embarrass Melisandre. "Don't bother getting undressed, or trying to influence me, my lady. Fucking Stannis might work, but I am not Stannis. I love my wife, and she is far more alluring to me, than you could ever be. I do not mean that as an insult, my lady, but there is no woman in this world as beautiful as my wife. My head will not be turned. No magic you have will lead me to your bed. You tried it with me before, and you failed. Your magic didn't work on me then, and it won't work now."
"You speak like a king. You never mentioned it, but you were one in your previous life. I sense it about you, kings-blood." The sound she made was as if she were drinking the blood and it was her favourite wine.
"Aye," Jon sighed. "I was King in the North for a short while. It was not my title to have. I believed I was the bastard of Eddard Stark at the time, but it was a lie."
"And now you seek the Iron Throne for yourself." Melisandre surmised in the most sultry voice she could muster.
"I said nothing of the Iron Throne." Jon said.
"You don't support Stannis, you are committing treason against Joffrey. Do you wish to place Shireen on the throne?"
"I would not wish that terrible burden on such an innocent child. She deserves better than that." Jon argued. "There are others with claims, just as good, if not better than Stannis." Jon turned his head and looked towards Melisandre, her eyes were bright red, but not like Ghost's. Jon feared hers, while the eyes of Ghost brought him calm. "Did you know Robert took the throne as he had a legitimate claim through his grandmother. He had Targaryen blood. By disappearing into exile, Viserys and Daenerys, handed Robert the crown, for Robert was behind them in the line of succession. Daenerys still lives. And she has three dragons."
"You support her?" Although it was a question, Jon knew Melisandre was aware of the answer.
"No." Jon replied. "I support no one."
"The you are to take it for yourself." Melisandre surmised. "Which means you have a claim of your own. One greater than Stannis, Shireen or this Daenerys."
"I would bid you goodnight, my lady." Jon said, turning to leave, but she grabbed his arm to stop him.
Jon glanced down at her hand around his and then back up to her. "What do you want from me, my lady?"
"If you were known as Eddard Stark's bastard, then you would be Jon Snow."
"Aye, that is true." Jon nodded.
"I ask for Azor Ahai, and all I get is Snow." She smiled. "The gods led me here to wait with Stannis, so I could find you. And in both worlds, Stannis will die and I find you. If Stannis is not the Prince that was Promised, then someone has to be. You fought in the long night, you were brought back from the dead, twice. It must be you."
"I put no faith in prophecies, my lady." Jon said. "You can believe I am who you want to believe. But right now, I would prefer if you do not shout your support from the rooftops. My mission must remain secret for now. If you wish to be part of my council, I would ask you to stop sacrificing people to your god."
Melisandre bowed her head. "I do as you command, my lord."
When Jon reached the door, he turned back to her. "I will allow you time to grieve Lord Stannis, for his will die. Not by my hands, but by the hands of the false King, Joffrey. Goodnight, my lady."
Upon returning to his chambers, Jon wondered if he'd done the right thing by trusting them. However, for tonight, they needed to be left alone with their grief, for he and Arya would depart the next day for Kings Landing. A trip, upon which Jon hoped Ser Davos would accompany them.