All my friends…
'Ghost'
A tangled mess of red, white and black lay mushed together. A messy painting.
Snow fell from the sky. The black sky sprinkled with white snowflakes. They glittered like the stars of the night. And blurred into them too.
*creeek*
A boy awoke groggily. The snowy stars that once lit up the dark ceiling of his world were gone now. Replaced with clouds. And the white snow that surrounded his body was gone as well. He was in a cart. The back of a wagon.
It felt as if it was all a dream. As if his whole life was but a dream. Alas here he is alive, surely it must've been a dream. Or maybe he was being ferried. Into the realms that those living cannot see. He did not know. He knew nothing.
The boy looked upon his apparel. His black tunic had not changed, Longclaw lay at his hip. He felt his face. His old scars were still there. New scars too, one on his neck where he got nicked. Quickly he unbuttoned and pulled off his shirt. New scars were likewise on his body. 'for the Watch'. The driver of his wagon paid him no mind. The boy pulled the shirt back over his head quickly.
'They turned my torso into a pincushion.'
Were the dead allowed to bring their swords with them? He heard that when Father was beheaded Ice became lost too. Surely his assassins would not be foolish enough to do away with Valyrian steel. Could a sword die?
All the best swords had names, after all.
The boy was black of hair, black of clothes, with the name Snow. Jon Snow. His breathing soon got heavy. He clutched his chest, his heart. His other hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if he was about to die again. It must have caused some commotion because the driver of the carriage finally turned his head.
"It's alright lad… It's alright" the man rubbed Jon's shoulder. "It's all going to be alright." Jon could only wheeze.
"ye'r not dead Lord Snow. Maybe you once were dead. Perhaps you still are dead. But you are more alive and real now than you've ever been. Maybe more than you will ever be! And I have a bet going that you'll become even more alive than this!" the man continued, laughing. If his words were meant for comfort, they did not reach their goal.
"Anyhow m'lord" The driver readjusted his hat, Jon could hardly make out his face or appearance. "we'll soon be arriving to our destination. You need to be strong. Like a king."
With that Jon began to pull himself together. He did not bother asking where he was or where he was going. He figured he would discover that soon enough. He spent the rest of his ride mentally licking his wounds. He eventually found a peace on the journey. The man's voice was soothing, the ever changing clouds served as a distraction. Something to concentrate on.
After an endless time, that felt both short and long, they reached the end of the ride and came to a small wooden structure. It looked not to different from a sept. But the architecture was different. The art was far more plain, simple. Jon liked simple. That he could appreciate.
Wordlessly, Jon stepped out. To his left and his right were several other wagons, carrying others his own age. Some dressed in rags, others in armor, and some again in garments lords and ladies would wear. Each were moving closer to the wooden building. He joined them. And they all filed in.
•
Inside the strange building was a round table with seats. No chair was greater than the others nor was any chair lesser. A table of equals. The boy in black sat down first. A seat that bore his name, he could see no names on the other chairs.
A skinny girl, maybe four and ten years of age stared at him. Her garments looked like that of middle nobility. Her shoulders were hunched, her face looked hurt emotionally. She followed suit and sat down beside him on his left. Her hair was dark, but now that she was closer Jon thought he may've seen a glimmer of red.
Next was another lady. Whereas the first was timid and shy, this one was more confident, more polished. She wore a plain green dress but held her chin high. Curly brown locks and big brown doe eyes. Very pretty in a conventional sort of way. She followed the younger girl with a curious glint, that lit up when she saw the two of them sitting together. She sat down on the other side of the younger girl.
A brown haired man. Her brother? He followed the brown haired girl and sat next to her. He walked with a limp. Jon noticed no sword.
Soon two- no three more sets of what looked to be siblings came in. An older, more voluptuous girl. Olive skinned, must be from Dorne. She walked loosely with a sway. The eldest person here. With her a nervous young lad, the youngest of the group followed her.
Now a confident young man, roughly Jon's age. His hair was platinum with a tint of blue. He wore Valyrian steel at the hip. He was confident and joyful. The girl from Dorne eyed him like food. Beside him was a Targaryen girl. Her clothes foreign and dirty. Her hair short, roughly around her shoulders. Tan, not naturally but burnt from the sun. She looked angry. They both had purple eyes.
Lastly a ghost of a man. He looked familiar but Jon could not recognize him. Curved back, white hair, missing fingers, walking with a limp. He looked solely on the ground, being led by a girl. Whereas others felt pity, something about him made Jon feel hate. His companion had black hair, short for a girl's like the Targaryen's. Maybe same age as the Dornish woman. She wore pants and a tunic like a man and a bewildered, horrified look on her face. Hooked nose.
They all stared at their seats before sitting. As if their seats too bore their names. Perhaps they did. Not that he could see it.
A note, a piece of parchment appeared before each of them. Out of thin air. A few jerked back, a few gasped, but no one rose from their seats. It said:
'introduce yourself. Name, status, house.'
•
Margaery was so sure this was a dream. It had to be. Either that or some twisted trickery, could the Spider have been behind this? She did not know. Staying here was dangerous, but leaving was even more so dangerous. Whoever brought them together was powerful, in control. Everyone here looked like someone Cersei wanted dead. Some a lot more than others. And she was very sure that everyone at this table would want each other dead very soon.
"I suppose I sat down first, therefore I must go." the man who looked like a Stark spoke up. Or at least he looked like how she always heard the Starks described. "Jon Snow, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. House Stark" he leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the white pommel of his sheathed sword in one hand.
The reactions were varied. The little familiar face next to Marg, looked up at the name, although Marg could not see her reaction. The Targaryens and the Martells looked offended at the very mention of the name Stark. The couple on the other side of Sansa's half-brother looked even more traumatized than they already were. The old man looked as if he had to cry and the ugly girl squeezed his arm. Not a sad cry but more of a brief cry one would get from hurting oneself.
Marge could have sworn she heard the feminine voice next to her whisper 'bastard brave' before speaking up nervously. "Alayne Stone, lady in waiting, House Baelish"
'So thats who you are' The brunette in green said in her head, but judging by the face of 'Alayne', she must have said it out loud. She looked around and the others were staring at her too. "I suppose it's my turn." 'Should I lie? but Arianne could identify me. No use'
"Margaery Baratheon, formerly Tyrell. Queen Consort to the Seven Kingdoms." she curtseyed best she could in her chair, which wasn't very much at all. With the exception of the Targaryen girl, who seemed perpetually offended, reactions were indifferent. But if push came to shove the Targaryen had more friends here than she did. The Lord Commander looked annoyed if anything.
"Lord Snow, I must share. I was quite close friends with your sweet sister Sansa back in the capital. She always was such a dear friend of mine, and we talked of you and your siblings quite often" She put on her best smile. It was a slight exaggeration at best and a gross lie at worst. Nevertheless it must've worked for his expression softened. 'Alayne' frowned.
Then her older brother Willas introduced himself. Next were the Martells. Snakes that they were, Arianne was sitting very close to the young pretender. The pretender stood up;
"I am Aegon, son of Rhaegar and true he-"
"LIES!" spat the 'Beggar Queen'. She stood as well. "You are a paper dragon. You dare abuse both the names of my dead nephew and my dead brother! If my dragons were here-"
"SILENCE! Dear aunt, you disrespect me. As it stands, your dragons are not here" 'But my blade is' was the boy's unspoken words. He gripped his sword and the silver haired girl sat down. Margaery could have swore she heard Jon Snow mutter a jest about sticking his direwolf on both of them. Alayne let out a hushed giggle, like a blushing maid at a tourney.
"You want proof of my authenticity? Of how genuine the fire in my blood is? A fair request- Behold!" With that he unsheathed his sword, the Lord Commander tensed and had his own partially pulled. Willas clutched her arm. "Blackfyre! The ancestral sword of my House!"
"And your true name" mumbled the silver haired girl next to him. She then stood up after he sat down.
"I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, and rightful Queen of Westeros and Mereen" She paused, as if she was expecting the rest of the table to bow down and worship her. The did not. Awkwardly she sat back down. Grumbling that they were all 'Usurper's dogs' and 'traitors'.
The old man in rags went to speak next but choked on his words. The girl next to him spoke up as he stuttered. She held his arm protectively.
"I am Asha Greyjoy. My companion's identity doesn't matte-" the old man kept stuttering. "Th-th-th" "JUST BE QUIET!" She jerked him with an elbow.
"The-Th-Theon… My name is Theon…"
Upon hearing that: Lord Snow leapt over the table and pummeled him.
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Hello readers, if you're interested in seeing where this story goes; pls follow, fav and review. I know i kinda ghosted yall with my past asoiaf stories. I'm more confident I'll finish this one, just because I have a better grip on what themes I am looking to convey here. Take care of yourselves.
Note: sorry for deleting this before guys. I've decided to rewrite and just clean up this story a little bit. So behold: the new and improved slightly edited version. Most of this fic is character interaction. Debating worldviews, morality and most of all: What is a true king? As with my previous story: expect to see some theology bleed through. Peace, be safe