(285 A.C.)
Where am I?
As he looked at the water's reflection on his face, he looked at his own characteristics, with silver-blond hair and eyebrows with brown eyes, his face expressed his suffering and his silence. All because of a single person, of a single woman of reddish brown hair whose blue eyes expressed her dislike of him, of her hatred.
Catelyn
That was her name. As he looked at his composition, he could feel blessed, he was healthy enough and looked not to be lacking, although what he lacked was not in nutrition or even education with the Maester, he however lacked in love, aside from the fraternal love of his half-sibling Robb who was hard-headed and mischievous as he was nice. His father, Eddard he realized was the head of the family and ruled well as a Lord, he found himself admiring his father, even though it was his own fault that he was the pariah of the place that should be his home. It made him bitter at melancholic, if he had no home, where would be his home if not here.
'Perhaps I have no home at all.' He thought with sadness as he scrubbed his body well one last time before emerging from the pool bath and wearing his briefs and shirt before putting atop himself a chainmail armor, black trousers that were perhaps slightly tight and atop the chainmail armor he wore a normal common tunic of a black color with an emblem of a white direwolf in a gray field. He knew not the symbol or the reasons why he had to wear it that way, but the seamstress of the household and the elders seemed to be contemptuous of all his clothes having that emblem. Wearing a pair of boots he emerged out of the bath and went through the courtyard, all his morning classes were given by a man named Luwin who called himself a Maester of all subjects and taught him his numbers.
It was so easy; they were all mostly sums of three up to four numbers. History which made him wreck his mind slightly with so many confusing terms. Walking the tiring spiral stairs, he ended up before a wooden door, pushing it forward, a man wearing gray robes and a choker made of multiple different colored chains turned to him.
"Ah, Jon. I saw you not." The man replied as he shrugged.
"maester Luwin." He regarded with respect, he tucked deeper into his cloak and winter clothing to perhaps hide from the fresh climate, which even though his body was used to, it still chilled him to the bone. As the Maester turned to him, he gestured to a chair.
"Take a seat, Jon. Although you're advanced. For the sake of your brother, we will start with lessons again and you'll both learn at the same pace." The Maester replied which made him frown, what?
Does he have to learn again the process of doing sums, he already knows it!? Who can't do a 1 plus 1 sum? And he'll have to take the process again when he was already good at multiplying and dividing!?
"It is an order from Lady Stark young boy, and you better know who to obey lest you be scolded again." Maester Luwin replied to his irritation, with grumbling he had to take material and rehearse again what he knew while Robb made his way to the Maester's tower. Robb was his half-brother who is the trueborn son of Catelyn and his father Eddard. Robb is the heir of the Land his father rules.
"Thank the Gods I made it." A heaving Robb grinned widely, unlike him who constantly had his expression fixed with the melancholy his status causes him and the feeling of being a Pariah, his half-brother barely had motives to be sad and whatever made him sad was corrected almost immediately to make him smile once more. His brother had dashing reddish hair and Tully blue eyes. Compared to his odd silver-blond hair and his common gray-brown eyes, he was nothing special or worth noting.
"Now both of you Pay attention. We will start with the subject of mathematics. In the subject, the most basic unit of math is the sum. Either adding or removing numbers to be able to reach a liminal and logical result to an operation."
Rolling his eyes, he paid halfway attention to Luwin, as he rehearsed the last exercises Luwin left him and did some of the few exercises he remembered. The class shifted into history class, most of the time Maester Luwin preferred to touch the subject of History.
"In our Planet named Planetos, The modern history of Westeros starts with the event which ultimately brought the Seven Kingdoms together in one, Aegon's Conquest."
He felt a headache as he found the names familiar and on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't remember. As Maester Luwin went on to explain first the state of the Seven Kingdoms and the Kings at the time. He went through each of the Factions of the Seven Kingdoms and Dragonstone, the lesson of the day ended with a lecture on the Great House Names, Sigils, and Castles. His head was dizzy by the time Maester Luwin ended with House Targaryen, Three-Headed Dragon, and Castle of Dragonstone in the Crownlands. He swore he could feel a damned aneurysm on the very center of his head which caused him to grunt and clutch his head.
"Jon, are you okay?" Robb turned to him, both were walking side by side in silence yet he stopped.
…
Then it hit him like a thunderbolt. The memories and the instincts are a thousand miles per hour. Yet his eyes were seeing only gray.
"JON!" He heard a loud cry but he couldn't distinguish the voice as darkness slowly filled his vision.
Eddard I
Father, it's Jon.
He didn't remember his heart beating so fast or running as fast, the only day he thought he ran that fast was that particular day in the the Dornish Marches. By the time he arrived at Jon's room, two men were in the room; Ser Daeron and Ser Daemon were carefully watching over his son who lay on a bed as Maester Luwin frowned and went through herbs and medicines in an attempt to heal him.
"No doubt about my Lord, it's the Shivers." Maester Luwin replied earning his frustration, things were looking up well. Jon and Robb were the best of brothers, Catelyn is pregnant with Sansa already and now of all moments, his son is falling ill. He sat down by his son's bed, as his son fell ill and moaned.
"Mamma…"
Both knights widened their eyes all while Eddard closed his eyes and hung his head, it broke his heart each day to see Jon's sad face, to see him staring longingly towards Robb openly being treated with affection by his wife Catelyn while she treats Jon only with distance and formality. It tore his heart apart, it made him feel for Jon of all things. 'I'm Sorry.' He apologized as the maester seemed to fawn over herbs.
"I'm here Jon." He whispered as the boy grunted and moved in his sleep. Yet his whispers served for nothing, grasping his son's frail hand.
*Knock* *Knock*
"Enter." He replied slightly irritated as the Master of Arms Rodrik opened the door.
"My Lord, Lord Commander Qorgyle is in the gate. He wishes to speak with you about the Night's Watch."
With a sigh, he looked at Jon and then at both knights. With a single nod, he turned away and followed Ser Rodrik into the halls of Winterfell's Great Keep, once in the Great Hall, a man with grayed dark brown hair and wearing black on the entirety of his clothes and a winter coat made of animal fur, he approached.
"Lord Stark." The man outstretched his hand ready to grasp his, he outstretched and grasped the Lord Commander's hand.
"Lord Commander Qorgyle, it is an honor to meet you."
He spoke solemnly as he led the Lord Commander to his Solar, the Night's Watch is one of the most important contributors to the realm and their Wall is the most important place of defense of the North against the Wildlings.
"We received your letter notifying the acquisition of Queenscrown and the Gift by the grace of King Robert I Baratheon." The Lord Commander replied as he nodded and passed along a letter, Robert was a heavy contributor to his projects. With the Civil War won, Robert tried to pay him for his loyalty although he only asked for a single thing, to hand to the North back the Gift. As the Lord Commander took the edict from the King of the Seven Kingdoms.
"I see. So the King has finally returned back your Lands." The Lord Commander offered as he handed back the letter, taking it. He maintained himself reserved and poker-faced, the will of the king is absolute, and even if the Night's watch remained aside from the affairs of the realm, if it's the King's will to give back a land that was originally donated by a King, then his grace could do so. Although, the Night's Watch won't like it.
"I preferred to have a mutual agreement with the Watch Lord Commander Qorgyle. The last thing I want as Lord Stark is to have a feud with the Night's Watch that defends the North from Wildlings."
The Lord Commander scratched his cheek and crossed his arms.
"We need more men, Lord Stark, we're barely surviving."
He bit his lip, he had been trying to emphasize the need of the Night's Watch for men but even Robert had already sent all the men he could.
"I'm with my hands tied Lord Qorgyle, Robert has sent all the men he could as did I." He replied with a frown to the Lord Commander yet Eddard spoke.
"Yet I promise that with the shipments of grain and food, we will send you for your reserves Lord Commander."
One of the Brothers almost snorted yet with the Lord Commander's glare it was enough to get him silent once more. Eddard knew the sorry state of the Night's Watch, he hoped the watch could resist yet with the few men it had, not even a third of its manpower, with only 200 men at their disposal in castle black and perhaps 30 in each of the castles it made a meager force of 260 men of the once 10,000 which were once the force Lord Commander Hoare boasted.
"As promised Lord Commander, the worth of the Gift in Gold will be the payment to have you make a letter where you accept handing The Gift and Queenscrown back to House Stark."
The Lord Commander was although lenient or perhaps mildly frowning at the prospect, he accepted as he brought forth a piece of Parchment and slowly the Lord Commander took an ink bottle and a feather pen and started to write the edict which would mark the Night's Watch handing Queenscrown to House Stark. Once the Lord Commander took from the depths of his pocket a seal, he took some wax and then placed the seal against the wax to mark it official.
The Night's Watch will hand over the territory of the Gift, with it the Land would return to House Stark and it will be his duty to hand it to a Lord worthy of it. The Gift is one of the most valuable plottable lands of all the North, aside from perhaps the Neck. Leading the Lord Commander through the Great Keep to his room.
"Lord Stark, I have a warning." The man replied to which he raised an eyebrow at the man, adjusting his gray-colored tunic the Lord Commander replied.
"Beware of making enemies with your blood Lord Stark, or your household will suffer."
The Lord Commander left with the obvious advice but he frowned as the man closed the door right at his face, as his face pondered and wanted to ask the reason for such a rough and course advice. Who was he making his enemy? Certainly not Benjen, he was rather happier of the fact that he was being given a Holdfast to take instead of wasting his days on the Wall, not that the wall is a Waste however, the fact remains that Benjen will kickstart the Northern Fleet, greater achievement in life, he knew not. With a frown, he marched out of the halls back to his solar where already his wife was waiting for him, she seemed anxious.,
"Did the Lord Commander ponder on my offer?" His wife asked which made him raise his eyebrow as he pushed his solar door, his wife turned to the side with a bitter face, she wore a green colored dress with blue details.
"He told me nothing. Why?" He asked as he went to sit on his chair, ready to continue his work and check any letters Benjen might've sent him.
"You already know, taking away the bastard." She replied which made him growl.
"He has a name."
"A name which it's not worth to waste my breath on," Catelyn remarked as she glared. "And remember, this shame I've lived for days. Resting underneath my roof, convening with my son, and eating in my kitchen." She heatedly replied and he gripped the table hard.
"I should remind my Lady wife, that it is the castle Irule, he's my blood, I take care of him."
Catelyn however narrowed her eyes and her hand touched her pregnant belly.
"I won't have the bastard here in Robb's home."
Already a headache came to his head, he tried to maintain himself postured and stern yet the affair was already grating on his patience. Catelyn hated Jon, there was son other way about it. Catelyn saw in Jon a threat to Robb's status as trueborn, which in the end deterred any possible relationship of motherhood that Catelyn could've had with Jon. It wasn't his intention to have Jon suffer the hatred of Catelyn, his intention was for his wife to redirect that hatred onto him, him for being the weak man who lied for another woman and now has to carry his bastard around, instead of any hate Catelyn could've had against him she redirected it always at Jon. Only Jon and nothing else, and that, is what broke his heart even more.
"Cat, please. Can you have at least some mercy at all? He's ill."
He stared into her blue eyes to see them actually afraid, she turned around evading his gaze.
"Is...is he alright?" Catelyn asked and he frowned and sighed afterward closing his eyes as he did so.
"Maester Luwin says he has the shivers."
His voice faltered and Catelyn gasped, yet she remained prim and proper, folding her hands on her front, she turned to the floor with sadness.
"Robb has been crying nonstop." She trailed off in realization.
"It is obvious, whether we want it or not. Robb sees Jon as a brother, both were raised side by side, so it was only natural for it to happen." He went on to check the sums of the castle and the Taxes, one last verification after the end of the year 285, since now it is the year 286. His wife went back to the Great Keep to keep watch over their son, all while Jon remained alone. After checking the taxes on his ledger, he got up from the chair and left his office, his expression one mortified as he rushed through the halls not greeting anyone or sparing away from his path, which led him straight to the Weirwood tree of Winterfell. Before the Heart Tree, he got on his knees and closed his eyes. He prayed to the Old Gods.
For his nephew Jon Snow.
For his family.
For his wife's mercy to his son.
For his son's sadness.
For his future daughter to be well of health in her mother's womb.
"Hodor." Old Nan and Hodor were extracting any excess Weirwood tree sap, as Old Nan instructed the gargantuan man what to do. He closed his eyes and continued to pray, in the Godswood of Winterfell the presence of the Old Gods was slim but it was felt, the weirwood tree was clean as it was beautiful. As expected of the timeless Heart Tree of Winterfell, of the very Kings of Winter.
Benjen 0
Braavos, The Drowned Town
In the Oldest Section of the City of Braavos, in between the Summer Heat, a dark-haired man walked the alleys wearing a black tunic with brown breeches and dark brown boots, his beard, and his composition identified him as a member of the first men and those characteristic grey eyes as a stark. Underneath his tunic a chainmail cloaked, preferring to wear chainmail than to be at the mercy of a blade in the Essosi city. Although he had stayed already for almost three moons in search of a competent man, it wasn't easy to find a man who could endeavor in the ambitious project of building Westeros's biggest Shipyard such a thing would be a task only the best, and most knowledgeable would be willing to do. Through the sections of the Drowned town, by its gates there is a tavern with a particular design, taking out a slip of paper to see the information, he confirmed the location and got inside. A group of people were around a fish tank as two serpentine-like creatures swam around each other, to his surprise flashes of light were emitted and the people around roared and cheered at the battle.
"Quite surreal, wouldn't you say?" His eyes turned to meet the figure of a dark-haired man with a trimmed beard and a very odd mustache, his dark blue eyes staring at the flashes as the eels attacked one the other to seek dominance of their territory to the amusement of the crowd around them. All while the Bartender served drinks and mild-chest revealing hostesses served drinks and for a few more coins allowed the men's hands to wonder them.
"Arkhaglias?"
His rough northern accent asked as the man nodded.
"To what can this miser serve you?" The man's lips curled up lightly as he opened his mouth.
"Wait." The man interjected as he raised his right arm lightly to the bartender and from his closed palm rose only two fingers, index and middle, to which the bartender with his head nodded and gestured to an isolated wing of the establishment. Walking through the crowds and tables, a hostess opened the door and handed the key to the man to show to his surprise a room with a balcony that had a look out to the beautiful port of Braavos, there was a table with some fruits served.
"When I heard about Northmen in Braavos I was quite surprised, no one aside from the Wolf Pack and the Company of the Rose come here. More so when that man wins the Wolf Pack back." The man sleazily walked towards the only table and took one of the chairs.
"Please sit down, I wish to know the story."
Holding his opinions to himself, he approached and stared at the chair.
"I prefer standing up," Benjen called out, he won't die of a blade to the back by sitting up in a city like this and under the watch of a stranger.
"Most wise, you are."
"I come on the behalf of House Stark. There are rumors all over Essos that you are next to the Yi-Tish the best Shipyard Manager." The man lightly chuckled, on his head already there were some gray hairs and even some white.
"Ah, it was what a miser who has dedicated himself to ships most of his life could do? This is but a passing fancy I have." The man replied as he placed forth a scroll.
"I have a contract I wish to establish with you, we are willing to pay whatever's the price necessary for this project."
The man raised an eyebrow and went for a pocket myrish spyglass of a single lens and brought forth the scroll and started to read it.
"I see." The man answered as he stared at the detailed project.
"You made this design?" He asked to the nod of the Northerner who had his arms crossed, all while the Braavosi man leaned back and let the myrish glass on the table.
"I see the amount of dedication you've placed on this. What you're asking for is quite humongous, nothing compares, perhaps the Shipyard of Gwon-Tang in the Yi—Tish is the only similarity that comes to mind." The man replied as Benjen lightly smiled.
"Aye, I based the design using the Yi-Tish Account as a reference and with some atlases from the age of Brandon the Shipwright's biggest Shipyard."
The dedication was easily seen in the design, the younger brother of Lord Stark based his work using a map of Sea Dragon Point's land as a reference. It was quite dedicated and quite specific, on a level with a Maester.
"Your design speaks for itself, you know what you talk about, or at least what you wish." The Braavosi man replied which earned Benjen's nod.
"Aye, I wanted it to be the most specific, this of course being on overview. There are certain sections I've mapped more in specific the more I learned from Lord Wyman who I foster with."
This caused The Braavosi man's smirk.
"Ah, so you come from the Merman. Interesting." The man mused. "Yet, what will be the payment. What do I get and how much?"
"If you accept this job, we will start commissioning in your shipyard the first ships for the Northern Fleet."
"How long?" The man trailed off in a sing-song voice, which sparked his irritation.
"Four years minimum. This contains the details and Lord Stark's deal."
The man took the scroll and pocketed it, so he did the contract of the shipyard and the design.
"I will take these you gave me and meditate on it. I will breach you to tell my verdict."
"Understood."
He spoke with palpable tension, he never thought the man would take his design. But he guessed it would be a prize for the services rendered. Being led outside the establishment by the same man, by the time they were out of the Drowned Town they went their own ways. Going to the Ragman's harbor to not lose reference and then navigating through the city, he found a white house with a red door, approached it and knocked on the door. The door opened to reveal a dark-haired man with gray hairs on his head and a smile.
"Lord Benjen." The man's brown eyes hinted at mischievousness as he smiled.
"How is my favorite niece?" He smiled as he stepped inside the house, the door closed behind him.
"She's been attempting multiple times to ignore the Maester's lessons and has crept off to instead learn the sword with Ser Willem."
With a light chuckle, he raised his right arm and placed his hand on atop his heart.
"I confess being guilty of corrupting the Crown Princess with stories of Warrior Women of the North." He smirked as did so the knight in tunic before him.
"And so do I with tales of Queen Nymeria."
The Dornish Man lightly chuckled as he adjusted his brown tunic.
"How have things been Ser Lewyn."
"Same old same old; the trio are just at that age where they are just about to hit their terrible twos."
Benjen lightly chuckled as he was led by the former Kingsguard knight through the house, on the courtyard inside the household, there was a porch-like room, with a roof-less area that allowed the light of the sun to reach. On the very center, a girl of Six Years old trained the spear. The Princess of the Seven Kingdoms looked every inch a dornishwoman brandishing the sigil of her household to fight.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" The Kingsguard knight asked and he nodded, just as a silver-blond-haired woman approached, she wore a light-purple dress that fitted her well.
"Lord Benjen."
"Queen Rhaella." He bowed in respect yet the woman shook her head as she approached. In her arms, she carried one of her children, Princess Rhaenyra if he didn't miss the characteristics of the youngest of the Targaryens. Rhaenyra pointed at Benjen and giggled.
"Unca!"
He lightly chuckled.
"Please Benjen, we're family. There's no need for such instances used for other sections of the nobility."
"I still feel it proper your Grace."
"Nonsense." The woman smiled as Rhaenys fought fiercely with her spear against Ser Willem, showing quite the skill, not compared perhaps to greater men like Oberyn Martell, but still showing significant improvement.
"Did you find the Sealord's brother?"
"Aye, I found him indeed. He was quite...odd. But he took the offers and said he would seek me." Benjen clarified to which the Queen Dowager of the Seven Kingdoms during the last of the Rebellion beamed.
"They don't trust you, and it is quite a common phenomenon in the Free Cities." The woman added her advice.
"Uncle Benjen!" Rhaenys turned from the battle, dissing away her weapon of choice and rushing to Benjen who was so suddenly glomped by the young girl, carrying the girl in his arms.
"You came earlier." The princess of the Seven Kingdoms wondered and he spoke.
"Walked most of the day through this bearing hit princess, didn't wanted to leave you alone with Ser Willem." He smirked to which she raised her arms and flexed them to show her biceps.
"I've had it under control."
Which earned Queen Rhaella's and Prince Lewyn's chuckles.
"Now those are quite something. Perhaps someday you'll be able to use that spear of yours to hunt down some northern game, beasts are fierce there." Benjen called out with a smirk and she nodded.
"Do you think I could have an animal pelt around my neck like Cregan Stark, Uncle?" The Princess asked to which Benjen smirked.
"That depends my Princess. For you to have such a pelt you have to win it on a hunt. The man who strikes down the animal-."
"Should swing the blade," Rhaenys replied with a big smile on her face.
"Aye, and never forget it."
"Have you heard of my brother Uncle?" She asked to which he shook his head.
"No, your uncle Eddard still is to answer my last letter."
"He takes too long." Rhaenys protested with a frown.
Queen Rhaella took Rhaenys in her arms, even despite her age.
"I promise to kick his arse for you Princess, count on that."
"You better!"
Rhaenys cried out loud as Rhaella left with the princess for her bath. Which he lightly chuckled.
"That girl!" Ser Willem lightly protested, the man wore his characteristic tagless plate armor like the one the Kingsguard used to have.
"Have you heard any news from Dorne?" Benjen inquired to the surprise of the Dornish Prince who nodded.
"Aye, Oberyn was ready to meet us here, he's been anxious to meet his niece for quite a long while."
Benjen gulped at the prospect of meeting with the Red Viper. The last thing he needed was to upset Dorne, the Rebellion left Dorne quite sour and bitter after Princess Elia's death, and if no one knew the complete version of the Tale, they might feel Princess Elia was slighted. He sweatdropped as Lewyn smirked and slapped his back.
"Cheer up Ben, I'm sure Oberyn won't dice you to bits when he comes here."
If only, Prince Lewyn. If only.
Catelyn Stark I
'What am I doing here?' She thought lingering longer before the door to his room. Already a night has passed and Jon still hasn't recuperated at all. It's the 11th month of the year. The shame of her life, the shame of her household, the shame of her name, the shame of her womanhood. Sleeps in her very home, prowls around her very family, throttles around carelessly, and dares to smile and treats Robb as a blood-brother. Yet even with how much she hates him, she still lingers at the door pondering her hesitating hands went on to open the door and she stared at the ever two guards that came with Jon that for some reason came with him. According to her husband, they were former knights of House Dayne who swore loyalty to Lady Ashara, those vows of fealty transferred to her bastard son with her husband.
He loved her first.
Her womanly mind brought poison which made her suddenly want to turn away and hate him, everyone knew of Harrenhall. Of how her husband became tongue-tied before the Dornish beauty requesting her a dance, she was there also in the Tourney at Harrenhall fawning over Brandon while her husband fawned for that woman, in the end, the specter of herself was left with this silver-haired gray-eyed boy. She wouldn't have the motive to hate him knowing that he had no Stark look, but the boy had some of the features in his face, he had the eyes of a stark and washer son.
She hated this all.
As she went inside she could feel the stare of the two knights at her, she sat down and glanced at the innocent silver-blond-haired boy who struggled with the shivers, she wanted to cry. When she prayed to the Seven for the Gods to take him away, she didn't mean this way. She didn't mean to be so cruel and to make a boy leave so cruelly the world by something as damning as the shivers.
"Mamma."
She closed her eyes and hung her head, she was not kin of his. Who would she be to answer to those pleas?
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry for asking this. I'm sorry." She whispered as she hung her head, her intention wasn't to make Jon ill and die this way when she prayed to the seven. She adjusted her gray dress attempting to not writhe in her seat at how awkward the room was. She closed her eyes and held the boy's hand as she started praying for the seven. Pleading for them to not take her husband's son, pleading for his health, pleading for her family.
Robb would be broken, Sansa's birth would be stained by Jon's death, and Winterfell would fall in silence.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have prayed for you to be gone. I'm sorry." She trailed off with regret as she lightly squeezed the boy's hand, getting up after two hours of prayer and silent mourning, just when she neared the door a blade was between the door and herself. She turned to meet the fierce eyes of Ser Daeron staring at her, glaring daggers into her.
"Are you satisfied, my lady?" The man asked to which she frowned.
Staring haughtily at the man.
"I have nothing to speak to you."
"You do, for cursed be thy kinslayer."The lowly knight mused to which she snorted.
"He's no kin of mine." She growled, pushing the man's sword arm away, going to the door, and just about to slam close the door behind her, a hand gripped her wrist, it was Ser Daemon's.
"You know nothing Catelyn Stark."
Tearing her arm away from the hold of the knight, haughtily turning away, she went on with a cadence to her step as she felt shame. Such disdain were the dornish knights, she knew not why Ned allowed them here in the North but he'll know her mind when she speaks to him. If they dared to raise their blades for the bastard, what else would they do?
No, she won't have it. She will have them away from the north at haste.
Yet she had other priorities, as she grunted and took a stop, her pregnant belly was already at least five moons, almost six, in two more moons it would be the new year 286 and her daughter was expected in the second. Anything before it, couldn't be tolerated. Therefore all she could do was take a breath, exhale, and caress her abdomen, she smiled.
'Sansa.' She thought dearly at her first daughter, the love she will have for her will be just as much as that which she holds for Robb.
Yet, none will Jon have.
Eddard Stark II
'A sennight.' Eddard thought with tragedy, that the boy was a fighter, best of them. Surviving a war, surviving being his bastard, and surviving this. He wanted to cry, to laugh, to beseech the Old Gods for treating his nephew so cruelly, what has he done to deserve all this misery and pain in his life. What has Jon Snow done for them to be so upset with him? It was him! It was his fault! He shouldn't have let Lyanna run away, she shouldn't have told Robert of Lyanna, they shouldn't have gone to that damned turney, they shouldn't have ever left the north!
It was his fault!
As he looked at a map of the north and another one of Westeros, by his side, a book he held was a recent acquisition he paid a handsome quantity for.
The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms
3rd Edition
Archmaester Perestan
The book was a revised updated version of the original written by Grandmaster Malleon back in the days of King Daeron I, the 3rd Edition was written during the reigns of King Aegon V, Jaehaerys II, and published halfway through the Mad King's reign; Pareestan acknowledged Malleon's work and kept most of the original things the original had and had only updated it for the sake of keeping a record of the marriages and lineages of the Seven Kingdoms of The North, The Riverlands, The Vale, The Westerlands, The Crownlands, The Reach, The Stormlands and Dorne. With an added chapter on the Iron Islands. The book was posted a year ago in 284 when Robert married Cersei to mark the start of the new Baratheon Dynasty. By then many of the Great Alliances that forged the Rebellion were already with heirs or already had families, therefore Preston did a great job at keeping things clean.
Eddard was no fool, he knew that Robb would be Lord of Winterfell and that he would be an adult. The last thing he wanted was for his son to not know the responsibility of having a wife, and neither did he want Robb to be as Brandon and gallivate around the north leaving bastards, the shame of such an event would haunt him even more already. And he didn't want any of those children to do horrible things.
'Jon is enough.' He thought with a frown, Jon was enough testimony and testing of his wife's patience, anymore made by his son and the North would go bonkers. It was nothing new that the Reach was one of the last kingdoms to give up in the Rebellion, the powerful houses of the Reach were plenty and they were powerful all. As he crossed his arms and pondered his decisions, he brought a sewing needle as he read the book on the lineages of the Great Houses of the Reach.
House Redwyne
Lord Paxter Redwyne married Lady Mina Tyrell in the year 280 A.C., having three children.
Horas Redwyne and Hobber Redwyne. Twins born in the year 281 A.C.
Desmera Redwyne was born in year 283 A.C.
House Redwyne was one of the powerful houses at the reach aside from the Hightowers and the Tyrells, Robb could use the advantage of such a marriage to be able to haggle and negotiate prices of grain and other necessary things for the north during winter, a Great Lady of the North who comes with a Great Dowry. He took a sewing needle, and a piece of paper, wrote the young Lady's name, and pinned it to the Reach. As he flipped the book's pages, he pondered out.
'Why should I count the Vale?' He asked as he stared at the Vale of Arryn on the map. The Vale is a vast kingdom and the North, The Vale, and The Riverlands are already tied by marriage, it would bring no new advantages to this alliance by re-tying the Vale twice with the North this time. Yet he frowned, he would sully the honor of his foster father's bannermen by not including them on the list. Therefore he went to the list and sought out Ladies of Vale Houses that perhaps would do well in a marriage with his son.
House Royce
Lord Yohn Royce married Lady Rhea Belmore in the year 275 A.C., having six children.
Andar Royce was born in 276 A.C.
Robar Royce was born in 278 A.C.
Waymar Royce was born in 279 A.C.
Ysilla Royce was born in 282 A.C.
Emma Royce Born in 284 A.C.
Jayne Royce was born in 285 A.C.
Yohn Royce is a good friend of his, the man who taught him so much during his time in the Vale and also who fought by his side during the Rebellion. He wrote the names of Ysilla and Emma on paper and with another sewing needle he pinned them to the Vale. Considering Yohn Royce would be an honor, regardless of the Dowry they might or not bring to him, Robb would have a wife who would be aware of First Men Culture, a wife who wouldn't be frowned at the North, and a willful wife who wouldn't shirk in doing her duty and won't cower in honoring him during their marriage. He didn't bother looking a the Stormlands, the Crownlands, and the Riverlands. The former two because he didn't trust those houses and knew no one and the latter because he was already married to House Tully, anything else would be useless. He didn't bother looking at Dorne either since they would rather heck his son and blood to pieces than marry it. Yet he frowned, there was something he hadn't considered because he didn't want it to be considered. He passed it off as an awkward memory but a memory nonetheless.
He could still remember it vividly; he rode with his most leal men to break the siege of Storm's End. Rickard Karstark, Jon Umber, Howland Reed, Theo Wull, Ser William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, and Mark Ryswell. With them came an army from House Wull, the Ryswell and Dustin Armies, and of course a third of that of House Glover. It was a rainy day, and the skies were gray as they reached the peripheral area of the siege of Storm's end, his horse stopped as he was received by a fat man with brown hair, a man with reddish brown hair who held himself normally and a man with dark-brown hair who frowned.
"Lord Tyrell." He received and turned to the other reddish-brown-haired man.
"Lord Redwyne."
"Spare us your curtsies, Traitor." Lord Mathis Rowan spat at him as he spoke.
"Prince Rhaegar Targaryen has been murdered on the battlefield by Robert, he has claimed King's Landing. The Westerlands have backed his claim and he is going to be crowned as King of the Seven Kingdoms by right of conquest." Eddard stated out loud for the three Lords of the Reach who held Storm's End.
"What about Prince Aegon Targaryen, he's the heir of the Iron Throne by the Rights of Gods and Men."
Eddard closed his eyes and turned to the three Lords.
Eddard shook his head, trying to banish the image from his mind yet he couldn't. Drunk in the remembrance, he took hold of the table.
"Ser Gregor Clegane smashed young Aegon's skull against a wall of the red keep and killed Princess Elia Martell. By orders of to be King Robert of the House Baratheon the First of His Name King-."
"That usurper is no King ours Stark! Accursed is the kinslayer in the eyes of Gods and Men." Lord Mathis protested atop his horse.
"My Lord, please, Prince Rhaegar is dead, the Mad King lies beneath the ground. The realm needs no more bloodshed." He tried to plead but Lord Rowan's ears heard not.
"What stops us from claiming Storm's end for the Reach. Your King won the War Lord Stark but at the cost of his home." Lord Rowan inquired.
"We could negotiate-."
"There won't be negotiations Lord Stark." Lord Rowan interjected before Paxter and Mace could speak while Eddard closed his eyes and frowned.
"Then we shall end this as men. One against One, your Great Lord against Me. We shall see which prevails; a senseless siege or common reason."
"Paxter."
"I wish you good fortune in the Wars to come, Lord Stark." Lord Mathis Rowan rode away back to the camp of the siege alongside Lord Paxter and Lord Mace.
He fought a battle against Lord Mace Tyrell, one-on-one for the freedom of Storm's End. He won against the man who had no choice but to lift the siege of Storm's End and leave his defeat as a personal matter between his Lords and Himself. Still, Lord Mace gave him an accursed piece of paper with his defeat came also his insight.
"You could've swung a blade to end my life, Lord Stark. Life debts are something sacred in Westeros...I hope this pays back enough for your mercy."
The accursed piece of paper sat on his solar's desk the whole time, it was an arranged marriage paper between House Tyrell and House Stark, Mace Tyrell Wrote it, Signed it, and stamped it; the only thing lacking was of course his signature and stamp to make it official. Lord Mace felt indebted for his mercy back in their combat when all he did was defeat him to stop the madness of maintaining a useless siege. In the end, he pondered greatly on what he could do, on the one hand, he was already the making of what could bring the Reach's power to their fold. Yet he knew the Tyrells better, they would want their daughter to be Queen by any hand.
'If the Reach touches the North, Jon will be in massive danger.' He thought promptly, that the only way Jon's secret identity would be safe was to maintain a distance from the Reach. As glared at the scroll which could tie a potential Stark-Tyrell Alliance, he rolled it and pushed it away lightly.
'It will be Robert and Jon's job to bring the Reach to the Fold, that also means removing Lady Desmera from this.' His hand hovered yet at the same time he hesitated. Perhaps choosing would be better, he got ready to make letters to Yohn Royce and to Paxter Redwyne on the offers regarding Robb's hand. While a Northern Marriage was a perfect prospect, Eddard cannot forget what gave food to the North and the war left them very scarce. The latest winter left their stocks at their lowest amount compared to the last century. Therefore, he would feel vain by saying he would offer his son for the North to have a breadbasket, but sacrifices at times had to be made. And House Stark always prepared for winter.
Lord Paxter Redwyne
Greetings,
I would like to ask if you are available to negotiate a deal to provide food to my people. Winter was harsh and even though it is summer, I prefer to prepare my storages for the next coming winter. I also extend an invitation for your family to Winterfell, I would be honored if we could negotiate this eye-to-eye.
A wait for your answer
Lord Eddard Stark
He sent a more personal lengthy letter to Yohn Royce, Yohn Royce was a man of more experience and also one who didn't meddle with affairs, he was straight to the point himself. He didn't hesitate to send a letter detailing his interest in his son's prospects for marriage and asking about his daughters Ysilla and Emma. Delivering those letters for Maester Luwin, his eyes surveyed as the maester attentively tied them to the ravens and saw them fly away. With them went the hopes of marriage for Robb, in his mind however he hoped for Lord Redwyne's marriage to bear fruit, in the long run, it could help his 'Northern Fleet' project by bringing his naval advice and support, while also the man would do anything and everything to make sure his daughter and grandsons don't suffer hunger.
'I will give my daughter a Northern marriage, it wouldn't do me well to neglect them either.' He thought cryptically, he hated the game, the way it perverted people.
However, being raised in the South Eddard saw that the game could be played cleanly and bloodlessly; and being a ward of Jon Arryn gave him the best tools to be the best Stark to help bridge the North to the South enough to be able to not loose its essence. Crossing his arms as the ravens flew away, he turned back to Maester Luwin.
"Is Jon Well?" He asked wearily, hoping that his son showed a sign of progress. Hoping that he did.
"His temperature lowed my lord and he's showing remarkable answers to the treatment. I think he might be able to recuperate in the next week up to a sennight."
His lips slowly curved as he heard the answer, the Maester was kind to hand him that. Leaving the Maester's tower, on his mind he contemplated Jon's fate. He frowned as he looked at the keeps in the North; Eddard Stark glared at the map and looked at the two most important regions to occupy. The Gift and The Neck; are two of the most important borders that have always seen a state of war between enemies of the north, from the South the Ironborn, and the North the Wildlings.
'Benjen is a good contingency plan for the former, yet the latter still proves to be too much for an unmanned night's watch.' Eddard glared at the map, Lord Commander Qhorgyle spared no further time on his visit and was already gone by the morning after signing that document. The Lord Commander didn't shy from saying the Night's Watch's actual abysmal state, and the fact that the Order might be dissolved in the next century.
'I need to occupy the Gift and fast.' Eddard massaged his forehead, his tenure as Lord of Winterfell has been one issue after another.
First of all, the near risk of extinction of his family with the death of his elder brother and his sister, alongside that of his father. Paired with being forced to fulfill an arranged marriage that wasn't his to fulfill and end up only slighting Northern Lords by rejecting them of any marriage; Benjen was his last hope.
His sister gave birth to a legitimate prince of the Realm that many would either kill or parade to give Robert problems.
The threat of anyone being aware of Jon's real name causes all eyes to settle on the peaceful north.
The Ironborn is seen near the Saltspear on the Rebellion.
The Night's Watch is on the verge of being dissolved.
And problems haven't stopped yet.
"The Gift." He replied with a frown, Moat Cailin was a good project that could take time and no one would mind, more so his ancestors from the times of Torrhen have left good designs and concepts about Moat Cailin, including a late revision made by his Grandfather William Stark. He frowned, having to divide two projects to build two different castles would be difficult. 'Perhaps seeking Ben's advice on this would be better.' He thought with crossed arms, seeing the point of view of someone in the family would bring him another insight, knowing that the lords would attempt to hoard the lands to expand themselves.
While he knew they were loyal, the chance to augment their power and influence was there nonetheless. Either way, Queenscrown and Moat Cailin have to go directly to House Stark, those castles are far too valuable to fall into the hands of any other Northern family. With a frown on his face, he brought out his personal Journal and started to write using a thin charcoal bar with one of the ends sharpened via dagger. While he would've been comfortable during the start of his tenure with only the Gift proving to be the only challenge, by handing to Benjen the responsibility of a Northern fleet, he was able to maintain his brother to the family with the cost of having to spend some of the fortune House Stark had for his brother's new ambition of having a city-sized Ship-yard. Whatever that is.
'And then there's Jon.' He glared into the map as if it held the answers, either Moat Cailin or Queenscrown were far away from Winterfell which would give his wife the metaphorical release of breath that she wanted. Still, Sending Jon away was by far too early. With a sigh, he dripped the charcoal pen and instead went to a nearby chair and sat down, massaging his forehead. He hoped that Benjen could give him good advice.
Brother
How is your trip through Essos? Is Wyman missing you already? I am sending you this letter because I felt confused and already have a thousand headaches of different thoughts and fears running through my mind. Today Catelyn spoke to me frustrated about her brother ignoring his duties to find a wife, given his age. This in turn reminded me of Brandon's own tendencies with women and how he almost impregnated Barbrey in Barrowton. The last thing I want for Robb is to evade his duty or for my own negligence to be detrimental to his duty as Heir of Winterfell. I have been attempting to breach the Subject of Marriage in my office and after a long deliberate analysis; I concluded that Desmera Redwyne, daughter of Lord Paxter Redwyne was the aptest choice, with that marriage the North would have a safe breadbasket source for at least the next centuries; a marriage that would be near enough for our survival but far enough from the Tyrells and any other potential former Targaryen Loyalists. I also sent one to Yohn Royce, a good friend of Jon.
What are your thoughts?
I know that a northern marriage would be the most important, however by the time Robb's sixteen winters will come again possibly, and with the war, most of our stores are gone. I don't trust the Tyrells for selling us at a fair price, therefore having the Redwynes on our side is the most...reasonable, choice. I've also been thinking about the next castle to rehabilitate; it is imperative to make an advancement on either Moat Cailin or Queenscrown; Lord Commander Qorgyle told me that the night's watch is reduced to 400 men in three different castles and numbers continue to dwindle. Meanwhile, we need a good defense in the south to protect the north from any attacks. Which do you think is more important to build? What are your thoughts on Robb's marriage?
Is Rhaenys Well? Are you well?
I am waiting for your answer
Ned
Benjen looked into the Braavosi sunset leaning back into the chair of the Guest Room of the Targaryen Maison in Braavos, they were kind enough to offer him accommodations. As he thought about his brother's letter, Benjen glanced at the roof of the room, it was of a plain color yet it felt so relaxing to stare at it. Eddard was a worrywart that was no doubt, then again like him, Eddard went through the trauma of going through the deaths of their family. Yet, Eddard had to be the one to pick up their ashes and bones from the South back to the North and attempt to build their crypts. While also carrying their sister's child back north. , Ben respected his elder brother as a stronger man than him, yet that also may carry a bias.
A bias to overprotecting.
'If he plans to marry Robb to the south the northern Lords will need reassurances.' Benjen lightly frowned as he went with a blank page to write the Lords and what they knew. His Lord Father was a respected Northman but he always harrumphed and complained about Roose Bolton, he always regarded the Dustins warily; Barbrey was heavily infatuated with Brandon only to be taken away from him at a moment's notice for Catelyn, the woman ought to be vengeful. More so when her husband died in the war south.
'Robb will have to be fostered.' Benjen frowned as he crossed his arms and glared at the paper, sending Jon south would be detrimental. Therefore the only he could do was send him north, to a loyal house, the most loyal of households he could have. Unlike Eddard, Benjen and Lyanna were around Winterfell far more to learn from their father and from that odd master Walys Flowers himself. Lyanna barely paid attention but he paid attention enough and whenever Brandon and Eddard were not at Winterfell, he would sneak into his father's office and the man would humor him with some lecture or two into his insight of northern politics.
Though he regarded everything as rubbish and in the end ends up blaming his father's ambitions in the south for the downfall of their family, knowing the perspective of the Great Game from his Father's own plays was enough to get him going and reel the wheel to go on. He took out a book and in it was a miniaturized map of the North with its nobility.
With a charcoal pen, he started to mark those houses less likely to send Robb to.
'Barrowton, The Rills, and Dreadfort are a no-go.' Benjen marked with an X the nobility less likely to 'Educate' Robb and be welcoming of him. As he checked more, he started to encircle those more likely to receive Robb.
'Lord Karstark had a son named Rickard named after our father who was near to the Age of Brandon slightly older for a few years.' Thought Benjen as he placed a half-circle on Karhold. As he went to the next.
'Bear Island absolutely, no more loyal than them, the poorest of our vassals. A foster would be a good way to pay them, but even then that wouldn't be enough for so much they've done for us.' Benjen encircled Bear Island boldly.
'The Umbers are fiercely Loyal.' He thought and massaged his forehead.
'Ned's wife wouldn't be pleasant having Jon around and Robb away. Both will have to leave Winterfell at the same time.' He thought with a frown and glared at Last Hearth and encircled it, underneath it a J for Jon. He had the makings of a potential fosterage project for Jon and for Robb as he thought more about it.
'Undoubtedly the most important thing would be reinforcing the nearest we can to the wall in case the Night's watch finds itself lacking and a King Beyond the Wall starts to rise.' Benjen frowned as he crossed his arms, that way a Lord could indirectly supply to the wall. 'A new deal with the Night's Watch would prove fruitful in maintaining it alive at least for one more century before our descendants decide what to do with the decayed order.' The Wolf Pup thought as he started to write a letter for his brother Eddard.
'If Eddard plans to marry Robb South, the second son or a daughter will have to marry North.' Benjen thought warily as he continued to write the schematics of the politics that could aid his brother's household, and with a lengthy letter, he started to write the prospect of marriages for his next children if he ever had after the next birth of Catelyn while also providing advice on fosterage.
'Early Fosterage is useless, Winterfell has resources and the adequate equipment to go through most of Robb and Gaemon's early education. However, that doesn't mean that they cannot be fostered at an older age, perhaps at age 10 or 11 would be good enough. Having Jon and Robb close to each other would allow them to continue to strengthen their brotherly ties while being away from home.' Benjen smiled and had the perfect idea.
"Uncle Benjen." Without realizing it, in his politicking one of Queen Rhaella's daughters Daenerys yawned holding a stuffed dragon toy, her eyes shone with tiredness, staring at him.
"What are you doing?" She asked innocently.
"Your Uncle Eddard is a little bit worried about his son Robb ending like our elder brother Brandon. Never settling down and being just immensely reckless." Benjen lightly chuckled.
"I didn't realize it was already late at night. I've been so far managing the fosterage project of your nephew Gaemon and his cousin Robb in a way that, if Robb ever marries a southern lady it won't slight or make the Lords of the North estranged." Benjen replied earning his niece's giggle.
"Is my mephew ok?"
"He's well, trying to adapt to his growth but well," Benjen spoke a half-truth as the girl nodded and he escorted the girl back to her room. As they passed through the hallways of the rooms, Benjen frowned and stared at the open ceiling. Widening his eyes a cloaked individual with hooded robes rushed against Daenerys.
"Get back!" He cried out as the assassin immediately threw two projectiles, he placed himself as a shield before the princess, which managed to go through his abdomen, hitting the mesh armor. Rushing against the assassin, he summoned his blade from its scabbard and swung it against the assassin who jumped away and tried to blow him a cloud of dust, easily using his free hand to raise the neck of his tunic, the assassin grunted and tried to throw more blades in the running Daenerys who cried for help.
"You won't!" He rushed and tackled the assassin who stabbed him in the thigh with a dagger.
"RAAAGH!" Benjen screamed with his anger, he had the assassinated pinned under him, and his blade pierced the man's chest which was already bisected by a sharp spiked blade of ice that emerged from the floor.
"Ugh.." Benjen grunted and turned to his thigh, he was bleeding but there was something else.
His eyes widened.
'Poison.' He thought with realization and fell on his left and felt weak.
Stark!
Ser Ilyn. BRING ME HIS HEAD!
He cried out in shock, rising from the bed and heaving a breath. How was he so stupid, when it used to make no sense now it made even more sense than ever. How could he be so foolish and not realize where he was. He closed his eyes as rushed steps were heard and the door slammed open.
"Jon!?" He turned to his father's gray-brown eyes, the eyes of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord Of Winterfell, and Warden of the North who lost his head because of Prince Joffrey the Illborn Bastard. His honorable homely father whose death will catapult the realm into war. Will cause House Stark to go extinguished, and his brother Robb who although the best commander in this pile of rocks called seven kingdoms, he very much betrayed in a wedding of all places.
He was at a loss of words, he didn't felt the strength to reply. Not knowing what to feel or what to make out of everything that hit him so hard, he was born as Lord Eddard Stark's bastard child. His name is Jon Snow, yet he doubted that in this reality he had anything to do with Lyanna Stark. The Original Jon Snow was a dark-haired, stark-looking thing not this Silver-blond haired boy with confusing gray-brown eyes, no; he was the son of Ashara Dayne.
Yet, at the same time. He felt, estranged of his identity.
Why?
And he realized why soon enough. His name is Jon Snow, yet, at the same time his name wasn't always Jon Snow. It was, well that hardly mattered now. If he asked anyone now who he was, they would all answer him that he's Jon Snow, that bastard boy Lord Eddard Stark, his father, took pity from. He was brought with his father after the War.
And it's true, he was born Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne. Yet, at the same time, he was someone else before that. Tentatively.
'I've been reincarnated.' It was his realization, as surreal as it felt, he couldn't believe it. Maybe this was just some illusion that his mind cooked up -either before or after, he didn't knew. What he knows now is, that it feels all real.
'No choice, huh, live it or die.' He thought with realization as he pondered about it all. He has been reincarnated in a Medieval World where there is only tradition and violence, men learn the sword since they are born and women learn to sow as they are born, they are expected. The reason why he was silent it was because of the surreal nature of everything and how it all was so hard to believe. You see, he has seen this in TV and read it in a book somewhere.
This is the World of Ice and Fire.
Such a surprise.
"Thank the old gods you're safe." His father took a stride and brought him into an embrace, he melted into the man's warm embrace. He almost dared to feel loved.
"You had us all worried." He protested and he lightly chuckled, in awkwardness.
I could only hiss under my breath, cold.
Such cold that bites my soul and the ice.
Cold that tears away my being and existence.
When was the last time I could remember, i know not; I only remember hunger.
A half-life of hunger which made me consumed, and angry. Why? Why did I consume? Why when I try to remember I cannot? All I know is that this darkness and cold makes me feel sad.
Trhum
That…
Bump, Thrum
Fire.
Fire and Ice, warm and cold at the same time. I need fire, breathe my fire, I need it.
Bump
I need to reach it. Yet it was too late and only a flicker. As the darkness clutched onto my being once more, I felt its damnation surround me and freeze over once more.
Bump
...you exist, but you're far away.
I see.