The King Who May Yet Be - A Jon Snow SI

[Firewillreign]

"Gods damn who ever raised this cursed tower to all the seven hells!" Ned snarled as he took the steps four at a time. His foot missed a landing and he tripped forwards, barley managing to get his hands up in time before both of his forearms slammed onto the very edge of a set of stairs "Fuck!"

Scrambling up to gain purchase, he resumed his frenzied run. A distant part of his mind could acknowledge footsteps behind him, but he gave them no heed. He almost tumbled forward again when a scream of pain cut through through the sound of his laboured breaths and pounding feet with almost physical force, before righting himself and leaping forwards again.

"Lyanna!"

Please gods, let her be safe. Please, please, please-

His head feels too heavy, his breaths too loud as he finally (Gods it's been a year) slams open the door that stands between him and his sister.

He doesn't know what he expected (that's a lie. He expected his sister. He expected vibrant, brave and fierce Lyanna, who rode a horse better than all of them put together, who picked up an arming sword and knocked Brandon on his ass when he laughed at her, the girl who was the face of everything that was good in the North.)

The girl on the bed before him is a pale shadow of the sister he remembered. Skin pale. Drenched in sweat, hair mattered with sweat and stuck to her forehead, and white dress soaked with blood, so much blood, why is there so much -

Ned startles as a grip (weak, so weak, why why why) closes around his wrist. Grey eyes, so familiar and at the same time so different focus on him "Ned? Is that really you?"

It's the voice that convinces him, that tells him that this isn't a cruel jape but the cruel truth instead. Weaker, softer than he remembers it, but Lyanna voice is unmistakable.

Falling to his knees besides her bedside, he grips her hand firmly, and gives her a smile that was equal parts relief and dread. He tries to speak, but the words die in his throat and all that leaves his mouth is a shaky breath. He tightens his grip.

Lyanna's smile is heartbreaking, more so than the fresh tears that spring to her eyes "You're not a dream?"

"No I'm not a dream." Almost instinctively, his free hand brushes the hair from her eyes and rests on her head(she's here she's here she's here) "I'm here. Right here."

She laughs, and the sound is relief and grief given form "I've missed you, big brother"

Ned's expression crumples, and his tears are suddenly falling freely "Me too"

The words seem pathetic to him. incapable of summing up the tide of emotion that's washing over him.

"Gods" Lyanna cries freely "Ned I-"

"Hush" Ned tries (begs) gently " It's alright. They told-"

"Ned Ned Ned" She speaks his name like a mantra and he stops "I'm trying to be brave"

"You are!" Ned tries, because she is. Lyanna was nothing if not brave. "You-"

She raises a bloodstained hand and Ned can feel something in his chest curl up and die, leaving a pit of hollowness in it's wake

"I'm not" she shakes her head "I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die." The lie tastes like ash in his mouth. And Ned knows his sister knows it too, from the way she shakes her head.

The grief suddenly ignites into fury, and he whirls on the woman behind him, who rears back in fear "Get her some water!" The words are garbled, and heavy, and Ned hates himself for it.

Behind him, Lyanna starts "No, no water"

"Is there a maester?". The woman only shakes her head sadly. He chokes on a sob and turns to his sister once more.

"Please listen to me" and Ned wants to scream when he realises that her voice is weaker than before (she's dying right in front of him). He leans towards her, so she can whisper in his ear "Protect him, Ned. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him. You know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me."

Ned thinks about Robert, how he sat on the iron throne and stared down at Rhaegar's butchered children and declared them dragon spawn "I promise"

"Liar" Ned starts, as Lyanna's sickly visage twists with rage and hate. He jumps back, but her hand shoots out and grasps his wrist, and this time her grip may as well be steel. Suddenly, they're not in the Tower of joy, but a place Ned knows with the same familiarity. Overhead, the vaulted ceiling of the crypts of Winterfell looms, the Dornish heat of the tower replaced with a more familiar, dry, cold air. Ned looks down, and fear grips his heart. Lyanna pale skin has turned mottled, and bloated, her face beastly. Half of her hair is gone, reveallng an equally horrifying scalp. Her hand is skeletal, and the nails on her fingers are gnarled and twisted. They tighten on his wrist and draw blood.

"Liar" She snarled, and it's only as she draws herself up that Ned realises that her bed has been replaced with an open tomb.

Her tomb

"You promised me you would protect him"

"I did" Ned cries desperately "I am, Lyanna I swear-

"Liar!" She screams and her other hand wraps closes his throat "Bastard, they call him. My son, a trueborn son of Stark blood, shamed in his own home ! Because of you!"

"What was I to do?"

"Protect your kin from those who would seek to hurt them" Another voice calls out, and Ned's blood turns to ice once more "Protect him. Yet you failed him as you failed us"

"You let your outsider whore of a wife shun him in our own halls" Brandons' face was purple, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, a noose wrapped around his throat.

"Coward" Rickard Stark steps into view, his face a lump of charred, melted skin and exposed, blackened bone, his armour red hot and dripping with every step he takes.

"Failure!"

"Liar!" Lyanna screamed

"Coward!" Brandon snarled

"Failure!" Rickard spat

"No I swear!" He struggles to breathe, to speak and defend himself, but what could he say? And then their hands reached for him and he closed his eyes-

"Ned" He shot up, a ragged scream cutting off abruptly. Blinking, he turned to stare at his wife's concerned look. The lord's chambers in WInterfell were always plenty warm, courtesy of the water that flowed through them from the underground hot springs and back again, but Ned had never found them more uncomfortable than he did now. Slipping from beneath the covers, he slipped his clothes on.

"Ned-'

"Just a dream, Catelyn" He assured her quietly. Wrapped in their covers, and staring at him, he could see he'd worried her greatly. These dreams were not a nightly occurrence, but nor were they few and far between. Eventually she nodded "Will you return to bed?"

He shook his head, and raised his hand when she went to argue "I just need a walk, Cat. To clear my head"

Else the grief and guilt would drown him once again.

'Gods forgive me'

...​

A little while later, Ned stood on the ramparts of Winterfell, sighing deeply as he gazed at the wild expense of the North. The oldest, largest and harshest of all the seven kingdoms, but it had an enthralling beauty none the less.

'Jon Snow' The thought of his bastard son (his true born nephew in truth) rose unbidden. The boy was every bit the stark in looks, and Ned's very image according to just about any Northerner who met him. But they weren't Ned. They couldn't see the slightly shorter face, the delicate features that his colouring disguised.

'They can't see the Targaryen in him' Ned thought grimly 'And he's all the better for it'

At four namedays old, the boy was, in Maester Luwin's own words, brilliant.

He was polite, courteous, mores than any child Ned had ever met. He took to his lessons like a duck to the water, and his skills with his numbers and letters were leaps and bounds beyond even Robb ( A fact that led to no small amount of anger on Catelyn's part).

But the oddest thing about him was his intelligence.

Ned leaned forward as he thought. The boy learned too quickly, and in the rare occasions he spoke, he did it with a good deal more eloquence than any child Ned had ever met (or heard of, in any case). Though Ned found no fault in it, he was well aware that the denizens of the castle were uncomfortable, and that rumours of Eddard Stark's bastard had spread to Winter town already. Though none dare speak infant of Ned, or the boy for the matter. Not since his unofficial sword shield, who went by Alaric of Pentos these days near killed a guardsman who'd taken it upon himself to teach the boy 'his place' for trying to sneak out after curfew. For what purpose, Ned couldn't fathom, but the fact of the matter was that it had ended with a man beat near death, and Ned himself had the man dismissed once he found out who had occurred. Since then, not a should had spoken out against Jon Snow where he Ned or Alaric could hear . Northerners may be stubborn and brash, but they weren't idiots.

No, it wasn't those rumours that bothered Ned. It was the rest. The ones that sprung when people looked at Jon Snow, with his quite nature and Stark colouring, with his keen mind and courteous nature and compared him with his other(only) son Robb, who was yet a child, with all the manners that implied and his distinctive Tully colouring. Ned had yet to see Catelyn so wroth as when she first heard the rumours of "The heir that should have been"

Ned snorted derisively "If only they knew"

But they wouldn't. Not ever.

That was a secret Ned had vowed to take straight to his grave. Perhaps, when Jon was older, he would tell him. By then, the boy will have found a place for himself in the world, perhaps as the master of arms of Winterfell, a prestigious position for a bastard, or even as maester or man of the Night's watch. Though perhaps not the Watch. Benjen had joined, (All to willing to leave him once the truth had come out, once neither could stand to face the other without hating the other for their sins) but he was not blind to it's pitiful state and the quality (or lack thereof) of it's men.

Regardless, He would find a place for his son to prosper. Robert's reign would be secure, and Jon would accept his position in life. Gods he hoped he would. Ned loved the boy as if he was truly his own, oddities and all, and he wouldn't stand see him toss his life away for a throne that he no longer had any claim to.

Perhaps he'd even tell Catelyn then. Gods know he hated having to lie to her, and hated himself all the more when she brought up sending the boy she was so cruel to away (her own nephew, if only by marriage) . But no matter what, Jon would stay, his secret would remain just that and he will never sit the iron throne. "No matter what anyone thinks" he whispered softly into the night, mind drifting to Jon's protector. Perhaps Ned could speak to Ser Rodrick about starting Jon's martial lessons early. The boy was nearing five name days, and far too young to lift even a wooden training sword, but he could begin to shadow Ser Rodrick, and learn in the coming years the responsibility of a master at arms. Yes, Yes. With any luck, Catelyn would mellow out, Jon would take his place at his brother's side in the future and everyone would (finally) be at peace.

...​

Not two moons later, Ned Stark would be found by his terrified wife, weeping in his demolished solar, cursing himself, the gods, and everything in between and begging the ghosts of the past for forgiveness.

Ravens would fly to every great keep in the North, and many beyond, bearing grim tidings. Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark had been kidnapped by a man of Winterfell, Alaric of Pentos.

...​

My first story ever, though not for lack of trying Please leave any reviews and comments, I'm excited to hear what people think.

If you don't like it, please be courteous about it.

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King

 

[TyricGaias]

Not a bad start. Watched!

 

[patrickmm1]

I saw this posted on Spacebattles several months ago; is this the same person, or is someone taking said person's work and posting it here?

edit: same username, so not someone else; nice to see this on a different site.

 

[CrowQrowKrow]

Well, a bit too early to say much on the story, but it was definitely a start that left me curious.

Is Jon already a SI? If so, how much does he know? Who the heck is Alaric and how did the four years old SI change enough to get himself a sworn sword? Or is it just Arthur Dayne put in there by a canon change unrelated to the SI?

And if the ghosts aren't just Ned's imagination, wonder if they are haunting him so since technically he already failed to protect Jon, who is dead/taken over by the SI.

As I said, a short start but one that definitely left me eager for more.

 

[Firewillreign]

There was no one moment where I snapped awake and realized I was not who I should be.

It was a gradual thing, a slow process that left me equal parts confused and lost before ending in equal parts terror and horror.

My earliest memory was more of a sensation. I could quite clearly remember being held aloft in a pair of arms. I could also remember being afraid

(Because this was not right, I am an adult, what is this where am I where where where)

But the emotion was...strange?

I knew I was terrified, but I didn't know why (I wasn't even sure I understood what fear was).

My eyes were no help. All I could see were colors (bright bright bright) and the barest outlines of shape. (Familiar? Where have I seen this before?)

It was so, so hard to focus. What little I can remember is murky, and half-formed thoughts would be abandoned and forgotten with the same ease as breathing. I was a baby with the attention span that implied.

Above all, the earliest memories of my life(my new life) were of staring up at a face. Long brown hair fell on both sides of an equally long face, a white skin tone with the beginnings of a beard, and the most startling pair of deep grey eyes.

On one occasion I reached for the beard with both hands and ended up poking the man in the eye

The hands supporting me moved as the man chuckled deeply.

"Excited are we? I'm your papa, Jon"

(No you aren't who are you what is this here am I who am I)

One day I would learn that those memories were formed in the first few weeks of my birth, when Eddard Stark would hold me in his hands for hours every day as we journeyed from Drone to King's Landing, through to Winterfell.

…​

My arrival at Winterfell marked the slow return of my sense of self. My memories were still disjointed, and impossibly hard to comprehend, but the process became easier every day. More than that, I started to become aware of my surroundings.

I spent most of my early (aware) days in a crib, alternating between sleep and peaceful wakefulness when I wasn't being tended to by my wet nurses.

The face of Eddard Stark became a common fixture in my life, along with two others. One was that of a man, brown of hair, handsome(how do I know what that word means?) with eyes even odder than those of papa. They were a shade of light purple.

The third face I remember was that of a woman. Red hair and blue eyes, and I may have even considered her beautiful if not for the hateful sneer that twisted her face into something ugly.

"Bastard" she spat, though her voice was hardly a whisper, then she whirled around and was gone. Her visits were few and far between.

I saw her the least but she stayed in my thoughts the most because… bastard. The word was spoken with such hate that it stirred something in me. Indignation, confusion, and…recognition?

What was happening to me?

…​

Someday after my second name day, I was permitted to venture out of the main keep with Alaric (the second face I remembered from my childhood). I could already walk, had learned to for well over a year ago (and what whispers it had brought, when the Lord Stark's bastard, who looked like him and had his coloring learned to walk well before his true-born son. Oh, the hate in Lady Catelyn's eyes when she looked at me on my own two feet while her son remained on his knees)

Alaric accompanied me as he always did. He never did stray from now, looking back. Always there, allay present. He held my hands when I took my first step, he picked me up when I tumbled and he corrected my broken, childish speech and helped me refine it well before Papa could try his hand ( I could tell that hurt, seeing with his own two eyes that I didn't depend on him. I could see the frustration and he felt. I hated that I felt guilty and that I didn't know why I did).

Lost in my thoughts, I almost face-planted into a puddle of mud before Alaric's hand, holding my wrist, tugged me up and righted me.

"Careful, little one" His voice was warm and deep, and so so different from the Northern burr so common in Winterfell "It would not do to get your clothes so dirty"

I grinned "Thanks Laric"

He smiled " A - la -ric

"No!" I giggled "Laric is a far better name!"

"Perhaps it is" He grinned "As you will it then"

His smile died a quick death when guardsmen in stark grey leather passed by and shot me a look of pure disdain

"Unnatural bastard"

Alaric whirled around, fury writ in his form, but instinct I didn't yet understand pushed me to grasp his hand firmly as he moved forward. He glanced down at me, lingered on my frown, and shook his head.

"Come little one" He tugged me firmly in the other direction "I find the godswood is the best place to get away from the whispers"

And he wasn't immune to them. Far from it, as Both a foreigner to Westeros and companion (protector and family) to the famous bastard of Winterfell, he was an outsider twice over, especially to the parts of the household that had accompanied Lady Stark from the Riverlands after her marriage. He would know how to deal with whispers better than anyone else in the keep.

"Perhaps it is" I tried to deepen my voice (and failed miserably) "As you will it then"

He outright laughed this time, and we made the journey to the godswood. And it was a journey, for Winterfell was a titanic keep, spanning several acres. Crossing from one end to another took a noticeable amount of time.

It was beautiful and majestic, and the fact that it wasn't the largest by a significant margin made my head hurt

"I wonder how big Harrenhall is?"

"Big. Far bigger than Winterfell. And with a horrific beauty to it. A testament to the power of dragons." Alaric responded absentmindedly, before starting and glancing down at me "Wherever did you hear of Harrenhall?"

I opened my mouth to answer, before pausing in confusion.

"I don't know"

Alaric gazed at me curiously for a moment, before shrugging it off.

"No matter" he murmured gently, but a curious lilt remained in his tone "We are here"

My mouth dropped open in wonder, for it was the most majestically beautiful thing I'd ever seen (I've seen this before!). As far as my eyes could see trees of all shapes, colors, and textures into the sky and towered over me, their branches, leaden with vibrant leaves packing together and creating a dense, gorgeous canopy. The smell of wood and roses, of untamed nature filtered into my nose, carried by the cold northern winds, and the sounds of critters and birds created a cacophony of noise unlike anything I'd heard before.

"Magnificent, is it not?" Alaric voice sounded distant to my ears, and when I nodded, my head fell heavier than it should be. My heart sped up with an excitement and apprehension I could not rightfully explain. Before I was even aware I was moving, I had already darted forward and into the woods, Alaric's exclamation sounding behind me before he rushed after me.

Wood and earth cracked underneath my feat as I leaped over branches, ducked under low-hanging branches, and had the time of my life. I laughed outlaid when I heard Alaric stumble over a particularly thick root and curse more freely than I'd heard

"Jon, wait!"

"Too slow, Laric!" I continued to giggle as I charged forward and turned around "You'll never catch me!"

"Just you - Gods!!" He cried as he tried to push a branch out of his face, only for it to rebound and smack him all the harder for it. I howled in laughter and almost got caught when he shot toward me. Adults were unfairly fast with those legs.

I bolted left coming into an open clearing and

The laughter died in my throat. A steaming pool stretched out across the clearing, and ahead of it…. White bark. Red leaves. And a titanic face carved into the massive tree.

The heart tree of Winterfell stood proud as it had for thousands of years.

Dimly, I could hear Alaric reach me and still, gaze catching what had enchanted me so "ah"

"They say the eyes carved into the old heart trees are the eyes that the old goods see through, so that they may judge all who enter their domain fairly and justly" He spoke gently "And that no man can lie in sight of a heart tree"

The eyes of the god's wood seemed to stare right at me

This wasn't right this can't be can't be can't be

"Is that true?" My voice was raspy, and my breathing had sped up. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I don't know what possessed me to ask, but I did "The last part. Can no one lie in front of a Heart tree?"

He looked at me then, and his smile, the kind smile I'd seen all my life (what life which life?) had vanished. A sheen formed in his eyes, unfocused as they were, and he spoke so quietly that I doubted he'd intended for me to hear "I've come here every day for years now. To pray to the gods for guidance, and to tell myself that I had done right by my oaths. That I had done right by you".

His gaze focused on me "And I lied every time".

I stepped back glancing towards the hear-tree(I knew what it was before Anyone had ever told me how?). Red leaves rustled on an invisible breeze

And then

I remembered everything.

My name... My first day of school. My graduation. My family.

Alaric's hand was on my shoulder, his frame behind me as he dropped to a knee, his face was twisted in panic but when he spoke, the words didn't make any sense.

I remembered everything

My favorite author. My favorite books. A Song Of Ice and Fire

Why why why why why

I remembered the end. My end

I stared up at the heart tree. It stared back, ancient and foreboding

My name was Jon Snow. And that was a lie

I tipped back my head and screamed.

…​

Dun Dun Dun.... and now it begins

Please leave your comments, feedback, and ideas. Love to hear them. If you don't like it, please be courteous.

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 2

 

[Firewillreign]

"Don't you dare"

The very face of evil giggled at my warning

"If you put it down, I will let you go" I promised, hand reaching for him "That will be the end of it, but if you-"

And then he bolted

"Adam, don't!" I leaped after the pre-schooler from hell as he fled my room, phone (my phone!) in hand. It was a fool's errand anyway, by the time I was out of bed he was made across the doorway, slammed his room's door shut, and locked it with a distinctive click

"You little jerk!"

"Language!" Mom called from downstairs, over the sound of Dove Cameron blaring through the speaker "Not in my house, you little shit!"

I snorted and leaned over the railing "He took my phone. Again. Also, do you hear yourself, hypocrite?"

"Your dumbass fault for leaving it where he can reach it. Again. And I am your mother, hypocrisy for your sake is my prerogative"

I rolled my eyes "Ooooh, big word"

She marched up the first few steps of the stairs and turned to look up at me, black hair tied into a bun, face scrunched up in mock annoyance, and blue eyes glaring at me.

"I swear to god boy" she growled up at me "I don't care if you're leaving today,I will kick-

"And violence too!" I swooned "Horrible! Horrible I say-"

I had to lean back to dodge the pink slipper, and ran back to my room, cackling all the way.


...

no no no no no no

...


I dropped to a knee "Are those tears I see?"

Adam's lower lip wobbled, and a hand quickly rose to furiously rub at his glistening eyes "No!"

"Buddy" I spoke gently "I'm only gonna begone for one semester. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone"

He shuddered once, twice, and then he started wailing. Behind him, Mom cursed and turned around, shoulders shaking.

My first year at University abroad was off to a great start.

I tugged him towards me and wrapped him in a bearhug, the top of his head resting comfortably underneath my chin

"Do you wanna know a secret?" I whispered. He didn't step back, but I could feel him nod against my chest "I hid all my candy under your bed"

He stiffened, and I continued "I can trust you to take care of it, right?"

Slowly, he nodded again.

I breathed for a moment

"You're going to eat all of it aren't you?"

He reared back and laughed "No!"

"Yes!" I snorted "Save me a little okay?"

He nodded, smiling. We both knew he wouldn't

I stood up and walked over to Mom, who still had her back turned to me "Well this is it! I'm off"

"Yeah, yeah" her voice cracked at the end "Get your ass going before you miss your flight! And don't forget to call"

"And forget your dulcet tones?"

"little shit"

I snorted, and my eyes were getting a little misty. Taking a breath to study myself, "I love you mom. Thanks for getting me to this point. It's only because of you that I got this far."

she whirled around, tears in her eyes and face twisted into incredulous disbelief "That was the corniest shit I've ever heard!"

And suddenly we were both laughing hysterically "I know! Oh my God, I think I threw up a little!"

Her hands wrapped around me, and I returned the hug, both of us still laughing our hearts out (and if there were tears mixed in there, well, neither of us said anything).

A car horn interrupted us, and I perked up, sliding on my backpack and grabbing my suitcase "That's my ride!"

She pushed me forward, smiling all the way "Go go go! before you say any more stupid shit!"

As I loaded my suitcase in the trunk and glanced back, Adam, sat on mom's shoulders and yelled so loud the whole neighborhood probably heard "Call me when you get there Eli!"

As the car started to slide out the driveway I called back and promised I would, just as loud.

...

no no no please no no no

...
​

Then,

A plane. The world tilting on it's axis, fire and screaming and air rushing past my ears and-

...

No why I don't wanna die not fair not fair no no no I promised I promised no!

...​

I screamed in grief and rage and a thousand emotions I couldn't understand.

Hands reached for me, but I lurched back, falling on my back. I rolled on my belly, instinct pushing me to my feet, but not a moment later my stomach heaved, my vision blurred and I voided the contents of my stomach.

It was all snapping into horrifying clarity.

My name was Jon (Eli) and I had lost everything. This was no dream, no nightmare. This was my life(my new life) in a world I'd thought nothing more than a figment of a writer's imagination. A world where danger lurked at every turn and powerful people played with other's lives like a game. A Game of Thrones. And I (who I'd become) was a part of it. Why why why?

But I knew why

I. I died.

I would never see my family again.

I heaved again, then I collapsed onto my back once more and howled.

...​

After a short while later (a lifetime gone past), my senses returned. My eyes focused, and I became aware of the canopy of the Gods wood overhead from where I lay on my back in a puddle of my own sick, but for the life of me, I couldn't bring myself to move. Not until I heard the voices

"-dare you accuse me of hurting my charge!" Alaric?

"Who else but you!?" Papa (Ned Stark, not papa)

It took a herculean effort to raise my head and behold the scene laid out in front of me. Alaric was pressed up against the heart tree, an expression of unyielding fury on his face, matched only by the one on Ned Stark's face as he held him there, hand fisted in his cloak.

"Unlike you, my lord of Winterfell" Alaric's voice was pure poison "When I swear a vow, I strive to fulfill it to the very best of my ability!"

Ned snarled, other fist raising to strike

"No!" I screamed, my voice hoarse and ragged. Both men whirled to me in an instant, and suddenly Alaric was there, scooping me up in his hands, concern clear in his eyes

"Jon-"

Ned Stark's voice cut through my thoughts as he, too reached for me. I flinched, and he retreated as if he'd been burned. I wrapped my hands around Alaric's neck and turned my face to his chest

Oh god, this was all real, wasn't it?

I could feel the hysteria beginning to swallow me once more, as irreconcilable memories of two lives warred in my head. Alaric was the only positive anchor I had in this new life, more so even than Ned Stark, so I clung to him and refused to let go of anything.

Because if I let go I was alone, and in this world that might as well be a death sentence.

Suddenly the godswood was no longer a beautiful haven of nature, but a dark and twisted prison that seemed to suck the life out of me. I whispered

"Little one" Alaric murmured

"I don't wanna stay here" I croaked pitifully "I hate the Godswood"

"Come then" I couldn't describe how deliriously grateful I was when he just nodded "Perhaps a visit to the maester, then a bath to clean up."

"I can take him-" Ned Stark's voice sounded once more, and I whined again.

Not you. You stay right the hell way from me, you, and all the baggage you'll inevitably bring with you.

"There is no need, my lord" I dimly noted that while Alaric's voice was no longer hateful, the tone was still arctic "I shall take him myself"

And then we were moving, and the last I saw of Ned Stark over Alaric's shoulder was his face staring at me, twisted in guilt, grief, and apprehension.

...​

The visit to the maester was a blur, my mind seeming to retreat as I was fed a sickly, foul-smelling syrup and told to stay in bed for the rest of the day. A bath later, and I was in my small bed in the nursery, mind whirling.

Tears prickled my eyes and my breaths became erratic

My life was gone. My life, was all of its hardships, the bad parts and the good, was just gone. Over (why me?)

Was I even Eli anymore? Or am I Jon. Jon Snow

What was I going to do?

Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell and one of the last remaining scions of the greatest dynasty this whole fucking continent had ever seen. Half of the major players I knew of would use me if they knew who I was, and the others would have me murdered. and to top it off, I was under the protection of a guilt-driven, fatally honorable mess of a man who, for all his promises of protection would sooner see me shipped off to a den of rapists, murderers, and thieves than see me within a foot of any position of power, let alone the throne that I had a rightful claim to.

I paused.

Did I want it?

I had to suppress the urge to scream. I was supposed to be at Uni, making friends and planning out my life, not in a body not my own and in a world where one misstep means death.

Death. The White Walkers and the end of the world of men.

I couldn't stop myself from hyperventilating at the realisation that I would almost certainly die (again) regardless of whether or not I did anything.

The White Walkers were coming, and they didn't play political games. they didn't negotiate. They would butcher every last living being in the world and plunge it into eternal darkness, or so the stories say If they weren't stopped. And Jon Snow was one of the very few contenders who might be able to save the world (my world now).

Why me?!

I couldn't do this. Where would I even begin? I had no allies, no knowledge. For fuck's sake, I didn't even know if I was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, god knows the author never explicitly stated it!

I laughed hysterically, the noise bouncing off the walls. Nearby, I could hear shifting in the bed beside me. My brother? Cousin?

I only had one brother, and I was never going to see him again.

If only I'd died after finding out for sure, I might have a fucking chance! Instead, I had the memories of an 18-year-old who hadn't even made it past high school in terms of education, had no experience that could prepare for this, and-

Wait

The laughter ceased, and hope bloomed

Memories

A thousand eyes and one. All the memories of the world of man. The only person who might know who I really am (who might know what I had to do)

"Bloodraven"

...​

Miles and miles to the north, past the Wall of the Builder, there lay a great Weirwood, the likes of which very few existed south.

Deep beneath it, ancient roots shuddered.

Two red eyes snapped open

...​

Crap baskets I forgot the Author's note!

Welp, anyway, that noise was cannon dying a horrible death!

Again, I promise we won't be overusing tropes here, my dear readers.

Leave your comments and opinions, love to have them. If you don't like it, please be courteous.

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 3

 

[Firewillreign]

I couldn't sleep.

And not just because I had just realized that I was an 18-year-old in the body of a toddler, right smack dab in the middle of what I previously considered a very dangerous and very fictional setting (what the fuck why why why?)

A desperate hope had been ignited in me. Bloodraven was one of the most valuable and probably the single most critically underused resources Westeros had to offer. Both in the show, the books, and what little fanon I'd picked up on from my friends (I don't have those anymore) through cultural osmosis.

A living being with access to all the memories of man, in a world where information could and was often worth more than gold was a godsend. Perhaps literally, if some of the theories on the origin of the three-eyed raven were true.

Of course, there was the fact that the man (entity? force?) was miles and miles to the north, and well beyond the Wall at that, but even that hurdle had a solution.

The Heart tree.

From what I understood, Bloodraven was connected, literally, to the weirwoods in a way that no one fully comprehended. Thankfully, I didn't have to understand the mechanics of it to abuse it, just the basics.

A weirwood, blood, and prayers. It was my best bet (my only chance), and faced with it sleep was all but impossible.

(And I feared what my dreams would bring, flashes of fire and death and a life cut short)

I tired myself eventually, fear and anticipation falling in the face of exhaustion.

...​

The relief I felt when I woke up from a dreamless sleep, more rested and feeling a lot less like the world was about to be yanked out from underneath me was indescribable. I must have made an unnerving site to the servants who acted as my unofficial caretakers when they found me up in bed early and laughing in sheer relief.

My reputation as an unnatural freak of nature had done no favors, that much was certain.

Then my plans to rush out to the Godswood before anyone (Alaric) could stop me were shredded by possibly the one thing, one person that could.

Robb

My brother?

No. Only Adam.

Cousin, then.

The overly excitable toddler had, after being changed and fed by our caretakers (and wasn't that an experience, now that I was myself again) spotted me (carefully) climbing down my crib. I didn't make it five steps toward the door before he screamed.

"JON!"

Right eye twitching, I looked straight at him with an expression so dead the white walkers would be jealous "You've got to be kidding me"

That was hilarious as he fell on his ass and howled in laughter, chubby hands clapping together.

Robb Stark was an adorable child. Chubby, with vibrant red curls and sharp blue eyes, got from his mother. And though the facial structure and the coloring were all wrong, when he smiled, glee lighting up his eyes-

(Call me when you get there, Eli!)

Nope.

No. To hell with that. Right back in the trauma box you go.

I turned around, only to freeze when Robb outright wailed "Jon ome back!"

That pronunciation was horrible, and his 'Jon" was more like 'Don', but he was a literal toddler.

When I turned around, he'd reached out over the crib. My blood pressure spiked when he wobbled dangerously, and I was across the room and pushing his dumb baby ass back into the crib

"Sit!"

Cue the hysterical laughter

More than that, cue the frustration.

The wet nurses and servants were gone, off to complete the rest of their duties, and no matter how desperate I was, I couldn't leave a child to fend for himself, especially not when he'd already demonstrated the ability to tumble out of his crib.

Bloodraven had waited for decades, he could wait a little longer.

Damn it. Not one day of full awareness and my plans were already going to hell.

Goddamn Westeros

"I'm going to fit right in this hellish continent, aren't I?" I asked the toddler miserably.

Robb laughed in my face.

...​

Entertaining Robb was easy. I'd always had a way with children (I had experience). When in doubt, go with fairytales. I regaled Robb with tales of Cinderella, Snow White and Goldilocks, for hours. I even tossed in Aegon's Conquest, or what I could remember from-

Anyway

I wasn't convinced he understood any more than one in every five words, but he didn't have to. So long as I kept miming shapes with my hands, exaggerating my facial expressions, and changing my tone, he remained well and truly enthralled. Not just him, either. I was always a good hand at storytelling, and I got quite caught up in it.

It was nice, and more than that, it allowed me to breathe, to forget the utter horror that kept trying to strangle me.

Time blurred

I didn't even realize we'd been interrupted until Robb's face perked up and focused on something behind me, and I glanced back at the two who'd snuck up on us.

At twenty-five, Lord Eddard 'Ned' Stark was, as always, an intimidating figure. Tall, and with a wolf's pelt cloak wrapped around his shoulders.

"Jon. Robb" His voice was warm, and it brought up the complicated feelings I had for the man. On the one hand, he sacrificed his honor and good name to protect me from the king he swore to. He was having me raised in his own keep, besides his true born child (his only child) and his love was unquestionable. On the other hand.... well.

The other hand stood to his right, in a deep blue robe with her own cloak wrapped firmly around her. Catelyn Stark nee Tully was a beautiful woman, that could not be denied. High cheekbones, fair skin that contrasted beautifully with her auburn locks, and sharp blue eyes made for quite the picture. That said, while she may not have been born a northerner, the utterly frigid expression on her face could give glaciers a run for their money.

I, for my part, glared right back at her.

See, I could sympathize with the woman.

Born and raised in a society where women were only as valuable as their blood, name, and looks, the shame and social pressure she must have felt when Eddard Stark returned from the war with a bastard in tow must have been unbearable, and made all the worst by the fact that he refused to send him away and instead had him raised alongside his own trueborn son, a move that was essentially unheard of amongst even the most honorable of lords.

I could understand the hurt and the resulting misplaced anger. But I couldn't forgive it.

My mother grew up in an old-fashioned neighborhood. She was a university dropout who chose to have me rather than get an abortion. She got kicked out of her parent's home for refusing one, in fact, and spent the better part of a year on the streets. My dad took her in when he'd returned from service, but she was still that woman, the one who had a child out of wedlock and disgraced herself. Yet she never once, not ever, held me responsible for her social status. She raised me and loved me and if she could do that against all the odds, then Catelyn Stark, daughter of a lord paramount and wife to another, who had the highest social standing a woman could have in Westeros without outright being royalty had no excuse.

Catelyn's glare turned to an unsubtle sneer, and she nearly lunged forward and pulled Robb into her arms so abruptly, that his feet almost smacked me in the face.

Well, fuck you too then

"Cat" Ned's tone carried only a hint of admonishment. If I had truly been a child, I wouldn't have even caught it

"I'll take Robb for a walk, husband" The woman's tone was as cold as her expression "It is a beautiful day out, one better spent in the company of his mother"

'Instead of his present company' wasn't spoken, but it was heard nonetheless

Ned grimaced but said nothing. From my (new) memories, this was a recurring thing. They would both visit, she'd take Robb with some mean-spirited comment on my status, or my 'unnatural' development, and he'd play the world's worst mediator.

Only this time, Robb piped up as he was being carried away

"Jon! Jon!" He reached for me with his hands, and flashed that big gummy smile of his "Come go wid mama!"

Catelyn spoke "No my dear. The bastard stays here."

"Cat!" Ned's voice was an out-and-out snarl this time

"Jon stay with mama and me!" Robb wailed

And then shit hit the fan.

"Go on, Robb" Ned spoke more gently "Jon will join your moth-"

Ned hadn't even meant it like that, but Catelyn's voice rang out "I am not his mother!"

Ned's mouth snapped shut. She turned to me, expression carved from stone, before she spat "And all the better for it!"

(Black hair, blue eyes and a smile that could light up a room)

(I love you, mom)

"On that, my lady" I stared the foul woman right in the eye "We quite agree."

Her face twisted into a rictus of fury and... guilt?

What?

Her mouth opened, but Ned beat her to the punch this time around.

"Enough!" He roared so loud I started back and fell, and she full-body flinched. A moment of heavy silence, and then with a twirl of her robes she was gone, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Jon." Ned's voice dragged my attention back to him, a pained expression on his face "That was ill-done, my son"

"No, my lord" He was startled at the honorific, but I paid him no mind, already lost in memories of better times "That was the truth"

And you should savor it while you can because I sincerely doubt you'll get much more of it from me.

...​

Finally.

I had to wait nearly the entire night, but when I heard the guardsman who was charged with protecting the nursery lumber away, I made my move. The door creaked open as I leaned my weight on it, and I slipped out of it as stealthily as I could.

Though the summer snows had been few and far between these last moons, Winterfell was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and made your teeth ache. I wrapped my blanket around myself tighter, and thank god I had my boots in the nursery, or else my feet would snap off from the cold. I had to hurry. Stark blood or not, children were not built to handle colds like this for long.

I bolted down the nearest staircase, jumping from step to step till I reached the lower floor. The nursery was only a floor above ground level, and the main keep itself was not too far from the Godswood. I kept to the shadows, sticking to the wall and running past the guardsman who remained oblivious to my presence. If this were any other time I'd probably be concerned with the abysmal security, but then again I was a child who knew Winterfell and already within its gates at that. I had an excuse.

I remained close to the wall of the main keep before finally spying on the path to the godswood. I looked around for a moment, heart thundering in my chest, steam rising from my breaths and squinted. The coast was clear. I bolted across the path, well aware of the fact that anyone with a good enough vantage point on the higher level would see me quite clearly, illuminated by the lights of the night lanterns.

And then I was there.

Where before the godhood had seemed beautiful, now it was dark and foreboding, the trees twisted into dark, looming beasts, their branches gnarled and twisted limbs stretching into the pitch-black sky. A low cacophony of noise sounded from its depths, but not one noise stood out. The cold wind rustled through leaves and blew past me, and its whistles seemed more like faint screams.

Fuck.

The fear was made all the worse by the fact that I knew with bone-deep certainty that the supernatural not only lived but thrived in
Westeros.

And one way or another, I would meet it.

"Better on my damn terms" I swallowed "At least If I die this time, it'll be because of my stupidity, not my cowardice"

God. That was a terrible consolation, but it was all I had.

I stepped forward, into the darkness.

...​

Far to the north, deep beneath an ancient Weriwood, things once dormant stirred

Vocal cords long resting stretched, and a raspy, inhuman voice cut through silence decades in the making

"Well then. What have we here?"

...​

Mwahahahaha!

Things are starting to get real, people! the pacing's going to pick up from here on out! And some brief advice: In the coming chapters, if things start getting familiar, don't get comfortable. We don't overuse no stinking tropes here. (we try not to anyways!)

As always, please leave your comments and feedback, I would love to have them. If you don't like the work, please be courteous.

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 4

 

[Firewillreign]

Finding the Heart Tree was a trial all on its own.

There was no path in the Godswood, no doubt to avoid disturbing the plant life, and were this any other time and any other situation I would respect that, as a (former) environmental enthusiast.

In the middle of the night, by my lonesome and off to meet an eldritch supernatural force that may or may not shatter my mind and reduce me to a vegetative state.... well.

Think happy thoughts

(Fire and air so cold rushing past my ears, broken promises and why what did I do why why why?)

Fuck.

The earth underneath me crunched with every step I took, and It took genuine effort not to flinch with every movement forward. The Godswood seemed more shadow and blackness than nature, and it seemed to go on forever and ever. The cold was getting harder to bear, my makeshift cloak proving to be a flimsy protection against long exposure. I had almost lost my nerve and turned around when I came across a very familiar clearing.

The Heart tree of Winterfell was foreboding, to begin with, but in the dead of night, its face looked outright monstrous, seeming to glare down at me like a beast a heartbeat away from pouncing. Its leaves, color near black in the night rustled with the wind, and I swear what should have been a rather commonplace sound instead resembled whispers, as if the tree was talking to me.

I exhaled. This was it. I stepped over a massive white tree root, thrice as wide as I was tall. Shakily, I reached out and placed a hand on the white bark, between the two carved eyes.

"Bloodraven"

Leaves rustled, and the wind seemed to pick up for an instant before settling.

Nothing happened

(No no no no no no)

I pressed my hand into the wood with more force, the rising tide of hysteria nearly drowning me "Brynden Rivers? Grand uncle? I need your guidance. Please"

Tears started to prickly in my eyes as I held my hand there to no result, and the cold dread set in when I realized that it didn't work.

Anger and fear shot through me, suddenly, as the reality of my failure set in (it didn't work I was alone I was going to die AGAIN)

Between one heartbeat and the next, I was hammering the tree with both fists clenched, headless of the cuts and bruises I accumulated as I screamed my rage and cursed everything.

Why?!

Then,

Brilliant crimson light erupted from the eyes and mouth of the heart tree, blinding me instantly. White hot pain seemed to lance clean through my body before skewering my brain, the agony so intense I could hardly scream.

I get a strange sensation, as though something was wrapping around me before tugging me forward with inescapable strength, and then,

I

Was​

Falling​

...​

My eyes opened at the sound of thunder. Overhead, the sky was darkened with thunderclouds, the wind howling.

I sat up groggily, brushing the sand off my - sand?

I stared around in wonder. Right ahead of me, the ocean stretched until the darkened horizon, waves nearly twice my height slamming onto the beachfront. The sand was, despite the weather, some of the most beautiful I'd ever seen, a shade halfway between dull yellow and white that was most pleasing to the eye. I stood up, only for shock to slam into me like a freight train. The smell of salt, sulfur, and.... brimstone, perhaps, was prominent.

I stared in stunned disbelief at my, hand, before staring down. My favorite plain white shirt, a cotton blue jacket, and a pair of loose-fitting jeans. My hands trembled as I rubbed them over my face, beholding the oh-so-familiar sharp jawline, straight nose, and soft conditioned hair.

It was my body, my adult body.

"Yes!" I howled to the sky in victory, arms shooting up overhead "I'm back!"

I jumped around like a hooligan, glee coursing through my veins because I was back, back back,

Then I turned around and was struck dumb (This was going to thing, wasn't it?")

A titanic pitch black volcano, for what other mountain could spew ash in such a way, towered ahead of me, and at its base...


A castle stood there, seemingly built into the base of the volcano itself, with black walls, walkways, and towers built in the most foreboding architecture I'd seen in either of my lives.

"Dragonstone" I recognized it instantly, and thunder boomed overhead once mo-

I froze. That wasn't thunder. I glanced up and fell to my knees

Dear god above.

My mind blanked, my body went numb. I didn't believe I had the capacity to react to what I saw. Overhead, a black, winged behemoth flew forward, the snap of gargantuan wings so loud it rivaled the thunder itself. Scales so black they seemed to eat the light around them and a massive tail that extended from its lower back.

The dragon roared, and the sound was so loud I could literally feel it.

It rocketed towards the castle, before circling once, twice, and landing, disappearing from sight.

Two other roars followed, and overhead two similar beasts passed, one deep silver and the other sharp green.

I stayed on my knees. Dragons.

"I'm not back." My voice was the faintest it had ever been, and could hardly hear myself over the crashing of the ocean's waves and the thunder booming overhead "This is a dream. A literal waking dream"

"No" it sounded as though an innumerable number of people were talking at once "A memory of a time long past"

Before I could even hope to react, The world fell away again, and I found myself in a chamber of black stone, overlooking the beginnings of a great storm. Outside, I could see the dragons had returned to the sky, their cries and awe-inspiring song.

"Well, Aegon?"

I whirled around. Three people stood over a table covered in a white tarp. One was a tall, well-built man, dressed in a black and red tunic and breeches. The other were two women, the similarities between them so obvious they had to be family, and closely related at that, though one looked far stricter than the other. All three of them had eyes of deep purple and silver hair of a shade I'd never seen before.

"The dreams haven't changed" Aegon's voice was grim, and tinged not with defeat, but resignation as he bowed his head "Someday in the future, a great evil shall come from the distant north to end the world of man and plunge it into darkness eternal. I've never been surer of anything."

"I will not dismiss your dreams, Aegon" The woman with the strict features had a voice that was not kind, but nor was it unkind "The dreamer saved our house from the Doom. To dismiss them would be folly. But we must discuss what you intend to do"

"Missives, perhaps" The other woman spoke up "Send missives to the rulers of the Kingdoms, and have them prepare."

The other woman snorted "We would be laughed out of hand, Rhaenys. Dreams of the end of the world at a date not specified? They hardly believe the story of Daenys, Aegon would become a laughingstock and our house with him."

Rhaenys scowled "We are the last of the dragon lords. They laugh at us at their own risk, Visenya."

"It's been well over a century since the doom, sister." was the reply "The world has forgotten why Valyria was so feared. To them, we would be foreign upstarts trying to disturb their kingdoms with tales more fit for frightened children than self-important kings and queens."

"Then we do nothing?" Rhaenys shot back "Leave things as they are, and all that stands between the world of men and certain doom is a continent divided into seven ever-warring kingdoms, ruled by 'great' houses that have stagnated for so long they've forgotten what greatness is"

"Peace, my loves" Aegon the conqueror, for who else could he be, looked up. And I flinched back, for the resignation was gone, replaced by fiery determination. Rhaenys and Visenya straightened, sensing the change in mood, and the latter had the barest beginnings of a smile in place.

"I will not let the world of man end" Aegon's voice was hard as iron, conviction in his tone "I will not let all there is and could still be end because petty rulers care more for lands and titles than they do their own people. I will not have it."

Outside, the black dragon landed. "Balerion, the black dread' I thought with awe.

Aegon gripped hold of the tarp and heaved, unveiling a table in the shape of a continent, major holding, boundary lines, and paths painted in clear colors.

"I will unite Westeros" He promised, his sisters staring at the table in amazement as they circled it and came to stand at either side of him "Seven kingdoms will be forged into one, and house Targaryen shall sit a throne worthy of the last descendants of Great Valyria and the protectors of the realm for all time, ever vigilant and ready for the day where the doom comes for us all."

He turned to his sisters "Will you support me?"

Visenya glared at him, offended, and Rhaenys snorted "Dear husband, must you ask? However, I do believe we need to discuss strategies. I doubt the rulers of the seven kingdoms will be eager to hand you their crowns."

He smiled for a moment, then, and looked to the table "You were right. The rulers of old who established the kingdoms were great in their own way, but their descendants have forgotten what that truly means. No matter."

Outside, The Black Dread roared.

"I will teach them"

'What is this?!"

...​

I blinked

What the fuck?

The room had shifted, and I now stood in a gargantuan chamber. Ahead of me... A dragon skull so large an elephant could have comfortably fit in its maw.

"Promise me, Rhaenyra"

I whirled to see a man who vaguely resembled Aegon, though pudgier and wearing a crown of gold, looming over a girl who was the very image of Rhaenys.

His hand reached out to grasp her shoulders with fervor

"You must pass this dagger, and the legacy it holds, onto your heir alone. Promise me, Rhaenyra, Promise!"

The girl nodded "I promise, Father"

Why are you showing me this?

...​

This time, I found myself staring in open-jawed horror as I flew (how I knew not). The ocean stretched in every direction, and a fleet of ships was burning. Directly beneath me was a dragon, green of scales with golden frills. It was injured, though, with a massive black iron bolt lodged into its upper chest. Its flight was erratic, and I knew it wouldn't last long. On its back, a boy who was even younger than my real age was tied to a saddle. Grim acceptance was in his expression.

"We'll die, Vermax. I've known since before this war began that House Targaryen will fall." the boy spoke with certainty 'But there is still hope. The conqueror's legacy shall remain protected, safe from those who would seek to destroy it, and hidden where only the blood of the dragon will be able to reach it. Now come, old friend, once more to the end!"

My head hurt too much too much I don't understand!

And with a vicious (and final) roar, the dragon dove.

...​

"My Prince?"

"Let me tell you, my lady, of the Song of Ice and Fire

"Stop!"

...​

A throne of iron that stretched in all directions, blades jagged and deadly. On it sat a mad husk of a man, disheveled features and hair that trailed to his lower back, gnarled nails so large they sank to the floor in waves.

"Burn them all! Burn them in their homes! burn them in their beds!

"No please!"

...​

A mountain, a wailing babe held brutally in his hand as he reared back while a woman screamed.

"No more please!!"

...​

A little girl screamed as the weight of a vile monster pinned her in place. A knife rose and came down

"Stop!"

...​

"Promise me, Ned."


"Nononononono!"

...​

I gasped as I stumbled to my feet. A cave, this time, earthy black with pale roots crisscrossing through the walls, the ceiling, and the ground.

Oh god

In front of me, a pale, skeletal man in black rags that had long since rotted lay entwined in a throne of Weirwood roots. His skin was pale, making the red blotch on his cheek and skin stand out all the more. As I watched, his skin seemed to writhe as something tore and ripped its way through it. Before my horrified eyes, his left eye burst as a pale, thin root speared its way out, dripping blood and viscera. His right snapped open, the red orb focusing on me with terrifying intensity.

"Let us speak then, Usurper"

...​

Wooohooo! Hot damn this chapter was hard to write. I'm kind of sick, so. no dual updates today, folks.

But anyway, our boy just got the world's most interactive history lesson, and Bloodraven sure as hell isn't done with him yet!

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 5

...​

 

[Firewillreign]

A lifetime of instinct had me opening my mouth to defend myself, but then the root that had speared clean through his eye twitched, dripping blood, and I turned around as horror and nausea clogged up my throat.

'Isn't this a dream?' I wondered hysterically 'How the hell do I feel sick?'

A chuckle sounded behind me, the noise not unlike what I imagined tree bark scraping together "Not very pretty, is it?"

I turned around, keeping my focus on his skeletal chin as he went on "I should have died decades ago, boy. The Weirwood I willingly gave myself to prevent this, but greenseeing and dream-speak are gifts of the natural living, though few have the power to sustain it as I do so now. The weirwoods can deal with both of those limitations but at the cost of consuming more of me"

I shuddered "I thank you for your sacrifice ..." What should I address him as? My lord? Great Uncle?

He chuckled once more before I could make up my mind, and there was something distinctly sinister about the sound.

"I did not do so for your benefit, usurper. I did it for my own. If all my efforts and that of my kin and more are to go to waste, I am at the very least owed the chance to see the abomination that has brought ruin on us all!"

My heart stuttered.

This was very, very bad

"I did no such thing." I replied with as much strength as I could muster "And I am no usurper, lord Bloodraven"

Formality seemed the safest bet..

"No?"

There was a hint of mocking to his tone now, though I wouldn't have caught it if I hadn't been fixated on every word that left his mouth with the kind of attention only someone truly desperate could manage.

"Few can lie to me, boy, and fewer still in mine own domain. I see you for what you are"

A hand, entwined with roots, rose and gestured at my body. My adult body.

"Go on then, Jon Snow." he goaded "Tell me that this is your flesh. Perhaps I've slumbered too long, and my mind plays tricks with me. Or perhaps, and I believe this to be far more likely, you are a liar and a thief, one who has taken that which was not his to take and in doing so has DOOMED US ALL!"

His sudden terrifying bellow had me stumbling back in fear, almost tripping over the now shifting weirwood roots. Soil and powdered rock began to rain from the ceiling, and I knew, despite this being a dream, that I'd never been in more immediate danger.

I dropped to both knees immediately "I beg of you to listen, Lord Bloodraven! I can explain everything, please!"

To hell with pride and dignity, we were well past that point now.

The shaking tapered off, though I could feel faint movement underneath the soil. 'Underneath me', I thought with trepidation.

"And now," The satisfaction in the withered being's voice was unmistakable "the truth. Lie to me again, boy, and I will show you horror the minds of mortal men could never comprehend"

Knowing the exact scope of his powers, I had little doubt the man meant that literally.

Shit.

"I swear I am not in this body of my own free will" I spoke as fast as I could, not even giving myself time to stop or reconsider what I was about to reveal. "I died, Lord Bloodraven, died in a land far beyond Westeros, or the known world at that. I woke up as Jon Snow, and I've spent the last two years barely aware of who I was. It was only when I saw the Heart tree at Winterfell that I remembered who I was."

I tried to meet his gaze, despite how sickening a challenge that was.

"I swear to you, I don't know how I've come to inhabit this body or be in this land, I swear it. I am aware of you, and portents of the future through knowledge written in books I once read in my homeland, and that's how I knew to reach for your assistance."

And just like that, the cat was out of the bag.

For a moment, silence reigned, long enough for me to imagine the myriad of ways that I was going to die. I didn't elaborate on the books, but if it came down to it I would tell him everything. An insane truth was better than a lie.

"You speak the truth" Bloodraven whispered, a note of wonder in his voice "You speak the truth! ha!"

Then he tipped back his head and roared with laughter, the sound of bark on bark all the more painful for it. I stood nervously, wringing my hands.

"These books of yours?" His question caught me off guard "Books of prophecy, perhaps?"

I went to answer, but he carried on "No matter. It is of no consequence now. For all that I have the look of one, boy, I am no monster. I will not punish you for crimes not your own"

He looked me in the eye once more, and this time his expression was that of defeat, than anything else.

"Even If I wished to, it would be a waste of effort" He grunted "I have seen it. Your presence here means that Jon Snow, the real Jon Snow, will never come to be, and without him, we have already lost the Great War yet to come."

My blood turned to ice in my veins.

"That can't be" I whispered "You can't let that happen!"

"LET!" He roared again, though this time I was half expecting it and only flinched. He gestured to himself by spreading both arms wide "Let, he says. Look at me boy, look at the horror I've become and realize this is nothing. I, my ancestors, and forces far beyond your comprehension have been fighting endlessly for millennia to save the world. And all it took for all that effort, all that sacrifice, to go to waste was one fucking boy greener than fresh grass in the middle of spring!

Anger coursed through me suddenly, the emotions that'd been burning underneath the surface exploding at the insinuation that this was my fault "I played no part in this! I am not here of my own free will!"

"That changes nothing" his voice dropped, and he leaned back "Intentional or not, the Long Night shall come again, and nothing shall stand in its way"

"Then help me stop it!" I screamed. Dimly, I realized I meant the words. I couldn't stand by and let the end come, not when it was indirectly my fault "Lend me your aid, and together we can-

"No"

I froze, hopes brutally cut down at the dismissal. He carried on "I have seen what will come to be. Jon Snow was an integral factor to defeating the Long Night, and you are not he, and no amount of preparation will change that"

"What could he possibly do that I can't!"

I howled in panic, as I could feel my one chance slipping through my fingers like sand

"A naive child with a pitiful sense of self-worth, brought on by years of being stared down and considered a stain on the oh-so-perfect Eddard Stark's honor! The same man who would rather have the nephew he swore to protect be sent off to freeze his balls off in the utter, pathetic joke that is the night's watch than help him claim a throne that is rightfully his!"

"It is precisely that honor that would have made all the difference" Bloodraven intoned "For all his many faults, Jon Snow would stand firm where others would bend. He would unite the realms of men because of that honor. You? I could give you all my knowledge and put words that would give you the kingdoms freely in your mouth and you'd never be able to match him."

The words struck me with physical force, and I desperately rallied "I tried! The moment I woke up I came to you!"

"You came to me driven by your fear, boy." He sneered at me "You came hoping I would save you from the dangers of the world when your very presence has left us vulnerable to the greatest of them all. Craven!"

"Please" I begged, bringing my head to the floor with no shame, as the cave shook once more "Please, please, please, just tell me what to do! What am I supposed to do?"

"Join the Watch. Become a maester. A Sellsword, a Lyseni pleasure whore, I care not" Bloodraven's voice grew distant, "It makes no difference to me."

The wind howled, suddenly, whispers I couldn't make out rose, and the last I saw of Bloodraven was his hand stretched out towards me, a thunderous look on his face.

"Now begone from my sight!"

...​

I woke up in the Godswood once more. My hands were pressed to the white bark, and the skin of my fingers was torn and bleeding where I struck them against the tree. The early light of dawn filtered through the red leaves, illuminating my vision.

I paid it no mind.

I had no help, no support. The world would end, and It would be my fault simply for existing.

I pressed my face to the tree trunk and wept.

...​

So. Blood Raven's a jackass. Any agreement, Folks?

The next chapter will be a two-year time skip, and the end of The Boy Who Would Be King (the arc, not my dude) is coming soon.

Secrets will be unveiled, and a path will be chosen.

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 6

 

[Firewillreign]

Two Years later:

"Well done, Robb. You may go" Maester Luwin's tone was faintly proud as he beheld the parchment Robb was practicing his letters on. From what I could see, it was indeed a notable improvement.

The boy beamed, more so when maester Luwin ruffled his auburn locks. He jumped off his stool, stuck out his tongue at me playfully, and was out the door to the learning room, as it had been dubbed, between one heartbeat and the next.

'Always so excitable' I smiled fondly as he bolted away, down the stairs and out of sight.

"Jon?"

"I'm finished, maester Luwin." I slid my parchment to him as he leaned in over my shoulder. Dressed in his grey robes, he was a diminutive man, and heavily aged, with grey eyes and grey hair still that reached near his chin. But he was kind, and he never once looked down at me, so I offered him a curt smile. Those were few and far between, these days.

"Skorkydoso Jeva Valyrīha?"

"Eglie" I nodded

"I see" He murmured as he stared at the glyphs on my parchment, before looking up and giving me a smile "Well done, Jon. Such progress is phenomenal"

The man had me practice writing and reading Valyrian when it became clear that I had long since become fluent in the written and spoken variants of the common tongue. It was fun, and more importantly, it passed the time. Modern entertainment was something I'd come to realize I'd taken for granted horribly.

"A learned man is a prepared one" Luwin advised gently "Perhaps when you grow older, you may travel to the Citadel and forge some chains"

My expression curdled like expired milk.

Luwin, perhaps sensing my change in mood, took my parchment and stepped away. "I shall speak to Lord Stark about your progress. Such a good effort deserves a reward, no? Perhaps you may accompany your father when he next travels across the north"

My face remained stony.

He sighed "I feel as though I have upset you, child. Very well. Go on, lest your brother comes back to drag you away himself."

I slid off my stool and without another word stalked out the room. mentions of my future always managed to douse my mood in a way nothing else did.

Because what future? I probably wouldn't even make it to my twenties, and the world would die with me.

Outside, dressed in a formfitting black tunic and black breaches stood Alaric. When I was younger, he would always make time for me, spending up to half a day with me before leaving to complete his duties. Now/ Unless I was with Maester Luwin or Ned Stark, he was my ever-constant shadow, a comforting safety blanket in a world as outright shitty as Planetos.

And in the end, he won't make a fucking difference.

His constant presence was caused by my second episode in the Godswood (the one where all hope died fuck fuck fuck). When I'd eventually managed to scrape together the energy to go back, my body weak and half-frozen from the cold, I'd been waylaid by an utter shit of a guardsman, the same one who'd named me an unnatural bastard the day before.

The ass was a former river-lander who'd come with lady Catelyn as part of her household, and he proceeded to tug me by my bleeding hand and berate me viciously for being out without permission, all the while I wailed at the result of my disastrous meeting with Bloodraven. I don't even remember the words, I wasn't even hearing him, and then the asshole decided to smack me into the earth with an admittedly weak but still painful backhand.

Right as Alaric rounded the corner, frenzied in his search for me as it was discovered I was gone from the nursery.

Though I was still out of it, choking on the ashes of my hopes, I'm told the resulting beatdown was the stuff of legends.

The ones you don't tell children.

As soon as the man could walk five paces without falling over, he was dismissed from Winterfell post haste, because bastard or not, you do not lay hands on Ned Stark's alleged son in the man's own castle. Or anywhere else for that matter. Since then, though the states hadn't lessened the whispers I'd hear regarding myself reduced to a fraction, because no one tangled with Alaric, period.

Well except for that one drunk idiot with the chicken, but we don't talk about that.

He also doubled over as my only friend aside from Robb. I had no intention of making any others (what would be the point of befriending dead men?)

"A productive lesson, I hope?" He asked as he pushed off from the wall he was leaning against

"My high Valyrian is progressing well. Maester Luwin says my progress is phenomenal."

"And what else did the good maestar say that has you so wroth?"

Because of course, he had to be that freaking observant

"It is if no consequence" I replied as we descended the stairs

"… Very well. Now, look out"

I blinked " What-

That's when Robb slammed into me, giggling his head off and knocking us both to the ground. Thank the gods I didn't have my back to the next set of stairs, or else we would have surely tumbled down.

"Be careful, Robb"

"Let's go play, Jon!" he giggled into my chest, before leaping to his feet and tugging me up "I'm going to be Aemon the Dragon Knight, and you're going to be

"Anywhere but here" I spoke as gently as I could as I freed my hand from his grip. Seriously, a child should not have strength like that.

His expression crumbled, and I hurriedly back-pedaled "I must take my bath and do my reading, Robb. We can play later"

His lower lip trembled "You're always reading those dusty old books. Playing is better"

Right, how to play this? Must instill good habits in children early.

"If you read more books, you'll learn more and finish maester Luwin's practice faster. Then you can play even longer!"

A corny ass excuse, to be sure, but one that worked from the way Robb's eyes lit up.

"Then let's go read right now!"

Crapity crap.

I'd taken to reading the last two years, out of genuine interest in the world I'd been reborn to (And if the books I focused on the most were myths from the time of the Builder, well….). Regardless, if Robb came with I'd never get anything done.

"But if you come with me now, you won't get to play today" I spoke quickly, and once more Robb's face fell. Behind me, Alaric snorted.

The poor kid looked close to tears when an idea occurred to me.

"How about you go play with Sansa, and tonight I'll tell you two stories instead."

He jumped at me again, though this time I was ready for it "Promise?!

"I promise"

He cheered, then bolted after greeting Alaric

"That boy can play you like no one else in this Keep. And he doesn't even know he's doing it.

What's with the admiring tone, asshole?!

Alaric snorted when I remained tellingly silent "Will you not go visit your sister?"

Sansa Stark had been born two moons past. She was a beautiful baby and thinking about the fate that would've awaited her in the story I knew hurt physically.
Then again, If the three-eyed jackass is to be believed, I'd doomed her to one far worse.

I strangled that particular line of thought and turned to stare at Alaric incredulously "With Lady Stark undoubtedly hovering over her?"

That woman put the average helicopter parent to shame. It would be impressive if I hadn't been subject to thrice the usual loathing when Ned first dragged me to meet Sansa.

It was my turn to snort at his sudden silence.

...​

"And so Prince Jacaerys Velaryon negotiated the pact of ice and fire, promising that in exchange for their joining of his mother's cause, a Targaryen would wed a Stark."

I wasn't sure how much this Robb was getting, but he seemed to enjoy the tale, and that was all that mattered.

He lay on his back, head resting on my legs and eyes attentive. We shared a room at his insistence and Catelyn's outrage. I wasn't the only one whom Robb had wrapped around his little finger, so when Ned put his foot down that was that.

As for the story, Robb, like most other children and even myself enjoyed stories that featured dragon riders. Given that I was possibly one of only two people alive who had truly seen living dragons, my fascination was justified, I felt.

Jucaerys Velaryon, whose last moments I had seen impressed me more than most.

The sheer grit it took to face literal death inspired me.

That thought forced me to remember snippets

"Craven!"

I shook the thought away and slammed the book shut, the noise startling Robb.

"The rest, we shall continue at a later date"

"No!" Robb kept to his feet and shot me a pleasing look, but I refused to be swayed once more.

"Tomorrow, Robb"

My tone must have brooked no argument because his face fell and he pouted "But you didn't even talk about the dragon eggs!"

What?

"What?" I asked, genuine confusion coloring my tone

Robb nodded so fast his hair flew up "Old Nan told me when Prince Jakarys-"

"Jacaerys" I corrected

"Him!" Robb waved his arms and I snorted "Old Nan said his dragon laid eggs in the crypts so one day Starks could be dragon riders too."

Ah. This old wives tale.

"Do you think I can ride a dragon one day? Jon"

I didn't have the heart to tell him that even if they didn't all die over the course of the Dance of the Idiots, he'd never ride one on account of having no dragon-lord blood in him whatsoever.

I put the book down, leaned in, and whispered "Perhaps if you go to bed right now. Boys who sleep well grow, and no dragon is going to want a tiny shrimp for a rider."

He squealed and jumped off the bed, running to his own and diving under the covers "Night night Jon!"

I snorted "Never change, Robb. Never change."

I blew out the candle and sank into the mattress.

...​

The Conqueror's legacy shall remain protected, safe from those who would seek to destroy it.

...​

I was startled awake, a gasp leaving my mouth. The room was pitch black, and the silence was rhythmically cut by Robb's breathing.

I paid him no mind because…..

No fucking way

Back before I…. When I was still in my world, one of the most popular fan theories regarding A Song Of Ice And Fire was that there was something hidden in the crypts of Winterfell. Too many references and clues, like the original Jon Snow's dreams of the place for them to hold no significance.

What are the odds?

I never paid the memories I glimpsed before I met with Bloodraven any mind, but if my thoughts rang true….

Hope flared once more, and with it, fury.

That one-eyed sack of shit!

...​

I'd been to the crypts once before, With Ned and Robb. The man has shown us where his family lay, Rickard, Brandon, and Lyanna.

Lyanna

I was curious about my biological mother, you see, and I asked Ned if it was a good likeness.

Lost in his grief, he looked at me and answered:

"No stone mason could ever capture Lyanna's likeness"

The words had unnerved me, and Robb started sniffling. Ned ushered us out and I'd never had much interest in going back. The place was dark, damp, and foreboding, and as far as I was concerned the farther away I was from it the better.

Now, though…

The crypts were located not far from the first keep and the litch yard, and the area was not so heavily guarded that I needed to worry about being spotted. No one but a Stark could enter the crypts without permission from the Lord of Winterfell, in any case.

"This sneaking out habit of mine is going to bite me in the ass one day, I just know it" I whispered to the cold winds as I huddled in my fur cloak, hesitating before walking up to the ironwood door of the crypts. I knew it wasn't locked, thankfully.

Nerves clung to me, and I felt fear flash through me (because if this last hope is revealed to be false, I may just lay down and die)

"Craven!"

I growled as best as I could and steeled myself. My mother didn't raise a coward, and I refuse to let some old, failed relic brand me as one.

"For Robb" I whispered once more "For Robb and all the other children who'll never have full lives if the Great War isn't won."

I stepped forward…..

…. Only to choke on a scream as a hand clamped on my left shoulder.

I whirled around

"And just where" Alaric's face was twisted in unholy fury "Do you think you're going?!"

…"Balls."

...​

The end draws near, my friends.

As you can see, our boy still has leftover PRSD - Post-Raven Stress Disorder.

One reminder before the next chapter ….. We do our level best not to overuse old tropes here, so whatever you're expecting…Well, wait and see

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 7

 

[Firewillreign]

"No!"

I tried to dig my feet in, but the cobblestone path gave no purchase as Alaric kept dragging me by the hand.

"No,no,no!"

"Irresponsible, reckless, foolhardy!-"

Old gods green and wise, but the man was pissed.

I suppose that the man's concern was driven by concern regarding the results of my last great escape. I'd be touched, honestly, if his concern and anger weren't in the process of quickly and surely fucking up my goddamn plan!

"Alaric!"

He gave me the cold shoulder and kept dragging me away.

What to do, what to do?

Wait. I'm an almost 5-year-old.

I lunged towards the hand holding me and latched on with my teeth before biting. Hard.

I was rewarded with a curse as Alaric let go, and I took the golden opportunity for what it was "Alaric listen to me-"

Fuck. I was an almost 5-year-old.

Alaric flung me over one shoulder like a sack of flour, though he finally deigned to give a response "What in the name of all the fucking gods were you thinking? Did you learn anything?!"

"Alaric" The judgment was starting to get to me, now.

"First the godswood, then the fucking crypts. One day I fear I'll go take a piss, only to come back and find you at the fucking Wall!"

"Alaric!"

"When Lord Stark hears of this, you'll be lucky to leave your chamber for a moon!" He continued ranting "And that would be too soon!"

"Alaric!" I screamed, "Put me the fuck down right now!"

He stilled, before to my immense relief he did just that. He dropped to a knee, then, and placed both hands on my shoulder "Why? If you wish your respects, you need but wait till morn, and I would escort you myself. Why choose to go about in the most ridiculous, foolhardy way possible? What purpose could it serve?"

Fingers crossed? Give me a dues ex Machina to save the world with.

"Alaric" I could hear the frustration in my own voice. How the fuck do I go about this without sounding like an overimaginative child, or a batshit crazy one? "I need to go into the crypts, I'm not going to pay my respects, but there's something I have to find!"

Oh, hell. That didn't sound reassuring at all.

The man agreed with me, given his face scrunched up in confusion, and as I wracked my brain in confusion, I realized...

I realized I was damn tired. I was tired of feeling insecure, tired of feeling the massive lack of control that my life had devolved to, and tired of having my hopes trampled.

So I went with the previously unthinkable option.

"I have strange dreams, Alaric" I gave him a partial truth, something I'd never give anyone in Westeros besides Bloodraven "Dreams that show me things that are yet to happen."

He froze, and I bulldozed ahead anyway

"There's....something horrible coming, Alaric, for everyone. I don't rightly know the full scope of it, but it will result in the end of everything. I need to go down into the crypts because something down there may be the clue to giving me a chance to fight back against the coming storm, please."

I expected disbelief, incredulity, and irritation.

I did not, however, expect the look of horrified realization on his face.

What the hell?!

"Gods be good" He whispered as he pressed his face into his palms "Gods be fucking good, it was all true"

This is not right. This is not a normal reaction to something that, if I didn't know better, I would dismiss as a joke at most and delusional lunacy at worst.

Alaric knew something I didn't, something that made him recognize my warnings.

How?

I blinked, a surge of anger growing inside of me once more

'I swear to all the gods that if the three-eyed jackass has been fucking with Alaric's mind, consequences be damned I'm going to find my way beyond the wall and to his tree, then I'm going to detonate it. With bloody wildfire.'

"You know something," The hint of realization in my tone had him looking up at me, his expression the oddest mix of dismay, shock, and relief 'You know something or suspect at least. Tell me"

But Alaric's face had hardened with grim determination "You must go into the crypts, Jon. I shall accompany you"

...

Say what now?

I went to refuse out of hand, but then I thought better of it. The crypts were known to be structurally unstable and got harder to navigate the further down you went. Going on my own was a dumbass idea.

"...Yes. I must. But I want to know what you-"

"When this is done, I will tell you everything. The time for secrets has long since passed" The man promised, honesty ringing in his tone "I swear it by the old gods and the new, but now we must begin your search"

For a moment, I just stared at him, slack-jawed, before being forced to admit that he was absolutely right. I was on a timer, and every second counted.

Oh, believe me, it burned to be denied an answer at a time like this, but I nodded anyway. Alaric was the one person I knew who was unquestionably in my corner, more so even than Ned Stark. I could grant him this much leeway.

Raising the lantern he held in his right hand, Alaric stepped towards the ironwood door and pushed against it, while I followed behind quickly. The light from the lantern illuminated stone steps that led further down than the light extended. I imagined I could hear the faintest of noises in the dark, and again, given that this was Westeros, that might very well be true.

I sighed dejectedly "And...Here. We. Go"

We descended into darkness.

...​

"Gods!" I swore violently as I stumbled over a pile of rubble and barely avoided tumbling headfirst down the steps.

"Mind your step, Jon" Alaric's voice was sharper than I'd ever heard it, his very posture unyielding. I was grateful I hadn't argued over him accompanying me. Aside from the nerves brought on from traversing underground chambers filled with entombed corpses, the crypts took the words 'structural hazard' and made them their own. With vigor.

The upper floors, containing the most recent dearly departed relatives of mine were perfectly safe to traverse. It's when you made it past the three upper levels that things got dangerous. Twice now the very stairs had nearly crumbled out from underneath us, and thrice we had to literally climb over oceans of rubble.

Add to that we had to move slowly to avoid the lantern going out and, well.

Cremation is the way to fucking go, in my opinion.

I nearly cheered in relief once we finally reached our destination. See, each level had stone tablets carved into their entrances, spelling out the names of the Starks that lay there. I needed to find the grave of the one Stark who was deeply connected to Prince Jacaerys. Lord Cregan Stark's tomb, stood beside that of his Father, Rickon, and his bastard sister, Saera Snow. Their visages were stern, though it was impossible to tell individual features on their stone statues. Time and a lack of maintenance hadn't been kind to those, though the massive stone tombs were in nigh-perfect condition.

And that was it.

"Jon?" Alaric's voice rang with uncertainty "What are you searching for?"

"I don't know" I felt stumped and looked down What to do now? Open the tombs? That would be a special kind of morbid shit. I had no clue where to begin.

(Damn you, Bloodraven. To hell with your arrogance and to hell with your destiny. To hell with you, you one-eyed-!)

My thoughts were cut off and my head snapped up as I focused on something new. "What's that noise?"

"Jo-?"

"Ssssh!" I waved my hands at him, a habit I'd picked up from Robb. I tried to focus on the odd noise, and I caught Alaric's small exhale. He'd heard it too.

"Below us!" We both exclaimed at the same time.

I lay flat against the ground, pressing my ears to the stone. Below I could hear the sound of .... movement of sorts. my eyes widened.

"Rushing water from the pipes that connect to the hot springs and circle through the castle" I murmured.

I crawled across the floor, following the movement to... Oh. Of course.

I stood up, a miserable expression on my face that Alaric somewhat mirrored as we both gazed directly at Sara Snow's tomb.

"Gods be good" Alaric sighed in misery

"Let me know when that happens." I muttered to myself, then I spoke louder "Alaric, open it up"

To his credit, he didn't even protest. Leaning to one side of the ancient stone tomb after placing the lantern safely away, he crouched, got a firm grip on the lid, and heaved.

Half of it was wrenched off, the rest crumbling inwards. I choked on the dust cloud that was raised. When it cleared, though, my mouth dropped open. there were no remains. There was no inside of the coffin, instead, metal rungs extended down into darkness in the form of a ladder.

Alaric and I shared an incredulous gaze before staring back down.

"Well, I've got to hand it to them. When they wanted stuff hidden, they hid it damn well."

"Indeed. I would say this settles the debate of Sara Snow, but it only raises more questions in turn."

I raised an eyebrow "Debate?"

"Though the tales of the Prince Jacaerys and his love for Sara Snow are known far and wide, particularly among the small folk for the romantic value if nothing else, there is much debate on whether she actually ever existed, for her supposed father, Lord Rickon, was never known to have mentioned her. Yet many believe the pact of Ice and Fire was created as a result of the love the prince and his Lady Snow shared. It is... a conundrum, made all the worse by poor record keeping."

Huh.

Confusing secrets in Westeros? Who'd have thought it?"

"But if she never existed, why use her tomb as a passageway? Why not use anything else? It is less secure, especially given that bastards are not normally given the funeral rites of their true-born kin, and the Starks were no exception. Her tomb would draw attention if it was noticed. Therefore, something is missing" I reasoned

He nodded "Just so"

"And what do you think?" I asked. I had to admit I was getting curious myself "About all of this?"

He was silent for a moment, then he answered "I think that one must keep an open mind when it comes to the affairs of Targaryens."

I grinned "Had a lot of experience with Targaryens then, Alaric?"

He looked outright amused then, before moving forward again "Come. We have tarried too long."

Well, then.

Pushing back my raging curiosity at what could have triggered that kind of response, I followed suit. I'd have my answers soon enough in any case.

Naturally, the man decided to climb down the rungs first after tying his lantern to his hand using a strip of his tunic that he tore off. He warned me to go carefully.

The temperature rose the farther down we went.

"The piping connected to the hot springs runs directly through this tunnel, so no wonder."

When the rings came to an apparent end, Alaric told me to halt, while he let go and fell gracefully, landing on both feet. I could hear him below me, though seeing him proved difficult.

"Let go!", he called up

"What?" I yelled down at him indignantly "No!"

"We came all this way, and you want to turn back now?" He asked incredulously "I'll catch you, I swear it"

"I just-" It was likely one and a half meters down, and while that's next to nothing to an adult, I was physically a small child.

That was terrifying.

"Craven!"

….. I was going to kill that asshole. I didn't know how, but I would.

Before I could lose my nerve, I let go. One heart-stopping moment of free fall, and Alaric plucked me out of the air before lowering me to my feet.

"Seven hells!" He voiced as he rubbed the sweat off his forehead. "This heat is unbearable!"

"It's not that bad" I replied, giving him a strange look.

It was a bit toasty, sure, but nothing that warranted that kind of response.

He shot me a flat look before untying his lantern and raising it overhead. The light illuminated our surroundings, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

We were in an open chamber of sorts, with a large domed ceiling hanging above us, supported by six great pillars engraved in what at first looked like gibberish, but on closer look were revealed to be lines and lines of painted runes and symbols, interlocked to form strange shapes.

I touched the nearest one curiously "I've never seen these before. Old tongue, perhaps?"

"I wouldn't rightly know" he murmured as he turned around, and I followed his gaze.

The walls of the chamber acted as murals, depicting stories I wasn't sure I recognized.

I saw what I assumed were illustrations of the Stark Winter Kings, and what had to be their ancient direwolve companions…. only they weren't fighting together, as I would expect.

From what I could see, it seemed as if the Starks were fighting against them, at the signal of a twisted, beast-like man on a throne made of bones. His features were gnarled and ghastly, as though he himself was half-wolf, and his posture was hunched and predatory.

I shuddered at the sight, before panning my eyes over to the next mural.

There, the same beastly man was run through by a Stark king, while several men shattered the throne of bones and seemed to carting the fragments away. Near the end, there were several women who appeared and knelt around the corpse of the beast-man, as though in grief.

Then, on the final mural, there was yet another depiction of the Stark king, this time with one of those very same women from before, the both of them tied at the arms before what was unmistakably heart tree in some sort of ceremony, and there men and Direwolves kneeling to both.

What was this?

"You possess a rich ancestry, Jon. You should be proud" Alaric murmured, too oddly faint. "I daresay that no man of Stark blood has set foot in this chamber for centuries at least."

I turned around and didn't reply. It was fascinating (and more than a little discomforting) but it wasn't what I was here for.

Behind us, the source of the heat was revealed.

Steam rose from a beautiful hot spring, the air around it shimmering and the waters themselves somehow a striking litany of colors. Blue, green, yellow, and sky blue.

It was gorgeous.

But it still wasn't what I was here for.

Looking around the chamber once more, my stomach dropped when I realized that I'd seen everything it had to offer, and still nothing screamed "Targaryen" at me.

Had all this been for nothing?

And, typically, the moment I had that though was the moment that the situation started to get even worse.

"Have you found that which you seek?" If Alaric's voice had been weak before, now it sounded strained beyond reason.

I glanced at him to ask him what was wrong, only to immediately recoil in shock.

The man looked awful, sweat pouring down his now visibly red face in waves, and he looked slightly unsteady, as though he was moments away from collapse.

What the hell? The heat wasn't even that bad!

Then it hit me.

Heat. Targaryens.

I thought about Jacaerys's words, really thought about them.

"Hidden where only the blood of the dragon can reach it."

The blood of the dragon is a term that was used almost exclusively to refer to those of Targaryen blood. Like Aegon the First, like Jacaerys, and like…

Daenerys…

My currently exiled biological aunt, who, in the story, I'd loved was famous not only for hatching dragon eggs long believed to be fossilized but for how she did it.

Walking into a raging pyre, and coming out unburnt.

If that same level of immunity or at least resistance to heat ran in the family, and the difference in my and Alaric's reaction proved that it was…

If I was a Targaryen prince (hah!) convinced of my incoming death and determined to hide something in this chamber where only I or one of my kinsmen could retrieve it, where would I put it?

Slowly, I turned to stare at the positively steaming hot spring.

"……Honestly, I feel like I should've seen this one coming at this point"

...​

Just a little bit left before the end of the arc, my dear readers, and the revelations it will bring.

Hope you enjoy the story so far and how I'm starting to dig into the deeper lore of Planetos.

As always, leave your comments and feedback, love to have them! If you don't like it, please be courteous.

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 8

 

[Firewillreign]

"This is insanity!"

Alaric was willing to support many things.

Among them was breaking into the crypts without permission on the word of a child and possibly defacing the resting ground of a former Stark (or snow, apparently) on the orders of a child.

In that sense, he was very open-minded.

However, he drew the line at the very same child in question diving into a hot spring ( though given that to an ordinary person it was hot enough to boil them alive….well)

Personally, I'd very much like to draw the fucking line there too, or ideally much farther back, but I had a strong suspicion of exactly what was down that spring, and if it was true my problems went from impossible to near impossible. Not great by my former life's standards, to be sure, but by Westerosi standards, it would mean that I may as well have won the lottery.

"The dreams were clear!" I yelled at him as I shrugged off my now thoroughly dirty cloak and kicked off my boots "And in your own words, I did not come all this way only to turn back now. I refuse to be thwarted by a little heat!"

"I was raised in heat, Jon. I know heat."

The man's voice was labored, and I knew the temperature was getting to him with every passing second. By contrast, I was hardly phased

"This? This isn't heat, it is a death sentence. I can not let you dive to your doom!"

"You won't, I promise." I stared up at him, a myriad of feelings bubbling inside of me. Guilt and fondness, to name a paradoxical few. "You've trusted me so far, Alaric, and I haven't led you wrong. I'm asking you to trust me now."

I held his gaze as he stared at me, and for a moment I feared he'd stop me. Tired and barely tolerating the heat he may have been, he could still prevent me from doing a thing if he so pleased.

He looked down at me for a few moments longer, then he stared up, closed his eyes, and cursed.

With feeling.

"Every bit as stubborn and bull-headed as your father ever was."

I grinned as I chucked off the last of my clothes. Modesty was a moot point here anyway. I wasn't even five yet.

"I'll see you in a moment!"

And before I could chicken out, I ran around, holding my breath while pinching my nose, and sprinted for the spring and dove. But not before I registered Alaric's words and a strange thought crossed my mind

"Was?"

Then I hit the water, and the thought was lost in the urgency of my mission.

The first thing I noticed was that it was hot. Very much so, but far from deadly, or even truly dangerous at that.

I likened the feeling to the experience of taking a bath with water that was more hot than comfortable, but bearable all the same.

No, the temperature I could handle.

Navigation? Not so much.

I couldn't see anything but blurry blue and green colors. I angled myself down, kicking in a butterfly stroke to push myself deeper and deeper into the water. The silence and the barely their vision made for a discomforting combination, but I pushed myself forward regardless.

The pressure built up the lower I went, and the strain became more painful. A meter, two, three, then I lost count, if I ever had it to begin with,

I grit my teeth. I'd tried to prepare myself for the pressure from what little diving practice I remembered, but I either did it wrong, or this literally under-aged body didn't have anywhere near the tolerance I was used to. In all likelihood, it was a combination of both of those.

And because fate may very well be my genuine enemy in this life, my problems didn't end there.

I could feel the burn in my lungs as I started to run out of air. My eyes widened when the color I was seeing seemed to darken.

The spring's floor.

Progress!

The strain on my lungs became too much, then, and righted myself before kicking upwards as fast as I could. The trick was balancing more force and moderate speed to every kick.

I broke the surface of the water and gasped for breath, greedily gulping in air. my blurry eyes stung, and I blinked rapidly. Somewhere to my right, Alaric voiced an exclamation, but I shook my head.

"I'm going back down!"

The second dive was less tentative and more driven.

I knew roughly where to go and how deep it was, and that made a world of difference in how fast I was willing to push myself. within a few moments, my outstretched hands touched the rough, uneven surface of the Spring's floor. here, the heat was at its highest, and even though the tolerance I had I was getting uncomfortable. I angled myself, the kick of my legs moving me as my hands trailed across the stone, trying to find anything that stood out.

No such luck.

I switched directions, maintaining my pace and aware that I could barely hold my breath for much longer.

When the burn became too much, I kicked up, swimming and surfacing once more. This time I waited for no acknowledgment from Alaric. A breath later I was once more underwater. I was aware of my building exhaustion. Magical heat immunity or not, a young child's body wasn't built for anything even approaching this kind of strain.

No such luck.

When next I surfaced, my vision was blurry, and not just from the water and steam. I dove

Again

And again

And Again

My movements were sluggish, I could barely hold my breath for a full minute every time and It took nearly half that time tor to reach the spring bottom. But I kept going at it because I couldn't give up.

"Craven!"

I refused to let my new life, however unwanted it may have been, get ruled by the miserable failure of an old man too busy moaning about having his plans thrown to the wayside and using me as a convenient excuse. Fuck that!

I struck gold on the 8th dive. My hands came across two distinctly different surfaces, both separate with edges but possessing a smooth feel to them. I directed both hands to the first that I'd found. This one came easy, a brief pull proved to be all that was necessary to free it from where it had been buried. Both hands on the rectangular object I could barely see, I kicked with desperate strength, letting out a gasp as I broke the surface right next to the shore and I gulped in air. The chest, for I was sure that's what it was, felt like it weighed more than I did as I lifted it over my head with desperate strength. I opened my mouth to call for Alaric, but I needn't have bothered, for he was already there.

He plucked it from my hands, holding it for barely an instant before hissing and tossing it behind him, thank the gods. There were no words to describe the fate I would've visited upon him if he'd tossed it back into the spring and forced me to look for it again. Speaking of which, I dove back in. My lungs screamed, my arms and legs were scarcely functioning and my head was getting cloudy from the pain and exhaustion.

One last time. Just once more!

I found the second chest easily enough, and I could feel the vague imprint of a handle on its side that I grasped eagerly, but moving it proved nigh impossible. Whether it was too heavy or I was too weak, the box was a trial to swim with. But I couldn't leave it. Alaric literally couldn't dive in else he'd be cooked alive, and leaving it behind was out. So I pushed. I pushed until I couldn't anymore until I was sure I had reached my limit, and then I pushed some more.

All the confusion, the anger, the pain I'd felt since I'd come to Westeros seemed to culminate in this one task.

This one chance.

I refused to fail. I refused!

I kicked up, dragging the box with me. Farther and farther, till I felt like my lungs would burst in my chest.

And then, salvation.

My head broke the surface and I let out a strangled call of triumph and exhaustion, but my vision clouded, darkness closing in. I tried to move, but my body didn't respond, and I felt a clawing sensation of terror as I felt myself begin to slip back beneath the surface.

Then-

Hands reached for me, wrapping around me and my prize. I heard a strangled scream

And I knew no more

...​

I awoke slowly, limbs stretching comfortably. My thoughts were blurry, lost in the haze of lost sleep. I winced at my sore muscles before mentally reaching back, trying to remember when I fell asleep...

Wait

The memories slammed into me, and I shot up in....bed?

What?

My bed. I whirled to the left, and Robb's bed was empty. Light streamed into the room from the empty window, giving it a faint yellow glow. I threw the blankets off, panic starting to cloud my mind because last night was certainly no dream.

What happened!?

Then the door opened, and Alaric walked in, closing it behind him. His eyes were full of relief "You wake, at long last"

I couldn't help the impulse, and I ran right at him. He had the good sense to kneel so that hug wasn't awkward.

"What happened?" I asked him when I finally pulled back "Are the boxes, or chests, or whatever they were safe? How did you even get us back ou- hat happened to your arms?!"

They were wrapped in thick bandages well past the elbow, what little uncovered skin I could see was blistered and red.

"Fret not" He reassured, before leaning in and whispering "Both of your discoveries are safe, Jon. I took great care to hide them away before I took you to the maester. my arms are of no consequence. When you made your last journey up, you broke through that damnable spring's surface but lacked the strength to lift your prize onto the shore. I reached in and grabbed you and it both, at the cost of burns to my person. The maestar has assured me the wounds will heal and I'll lose no functionality in either of my arms."

"....That's good" That was not good. He'd only gotten hurt to help me.

He either saw my expression or heard the guilt in my tone for he smiled gently and laid a hand on my head "A price well paid. Do not disrespect my injury by feeling guilt over it."

I took a moment to nod and compose myself "...How did you explain our conditions to maestar Luwin?"

"Yours? I'd already dried and dressed you on the way out. I simply informed him I'd come to check on your health at night for you'd confided in me earlier that you felt ill. He fed you some cool water while you slept and let me carry you back into bed."

"Makes sense" I nodded in agreement "But what about your injuries?"

"I told him I dropped my coin purse into a hot spring, one of the ones that the servants of the castle are free to explore and use at their leisure"

"...I see"

"....Indeed"

For a moment, I kept my eyes focused on his shoulder, and that worked fine. But then, just for a moment, I glanced toward his face.

Our eyes met.

I leaned back and howled in laughter, dimly aware of him doing the same.

"Why would you say that?!"

"What else could I tell the man that would make sense!? The truth? No, not even that would!"

That set us off again, and we spent the next few minutes losing it.

Looking back, that laughter probably steadied me more than anything else could have at the time.

I wiped a tear out of my eye while he calmed the last few chuckles "How did you even carry me out of the crypts? That ladder would have been impossible to scale with a child in your arms."

"I didn't. When I realized the futility of the task, I searched the chamber before stumbling on a passageway. Seeing no better path I followed it, and within a few moments, we both emerged from the ruins of an old, forgotten tunnel leading into the broken tower. Truly, it was by the grace of the gods that we weren't spotted. I made sure It would remain uncovered should we have cause to use it once again, and then I left. The rest you are well aware of."

The broken tower, huh?

Well, canonical importance aside, it was once a bustling part of Winterfell. This castle was eight thousand years old and counting. It was no surprise that it held surprises of its own.

"Robb?"

"Already in his lessons" He replied "You were relieved for the day, on the orders of Lord Stark once he heard of your 'illness", much to the little one's dismay."

The image of Robb's pouty face had me chuckling again.

Good.

Treasures were collected and safe, both of us were healthy and above suspicion. Good. Opening the boxes could wait until the castle slumbered, which only left...

"Who are you?"

Alaric stiffened instantly.

"I know I can trust you. You have protected me where no one else has" I began carefully "But you swore to me the truth after our trip to the crips. I would have it now."

Because I was not going to go through this mad journey of life with secrets right under my nose. Especially not from one of the few people I now trusted unequivocally

For a moment, he looked haunted, desperate to be anywhere else, then his face cleared, relief and acceptance in his expression.

"My name is not Alaric, and I am not of Pentos"

It was my turn to stiffen. I had half known already, of course, but suspecting it and hearing it were two different things.

"Eddard Stark is not fond of liars" I spoke with a questioning tone, but lacking in judgment "How did you come into my father's service"

He smiled and leaned in, his voice a whisper once more "I didn't. I swore my oaths of protection to your grandfather before him, though before the end my only loyalty was to your father alone. As were those of my sworn brothers."

Alaric (except that's not his name, apparently) had made no mentions of brothers. And swearing to my Grandfather? Rickard Stark? Those timelines didn't match up. Alaric only came to Winterfell after the Rebellion. And sworn brothers? Oaths of protection? that implied sworn swords at the very least. Where did they go, then? Death in the rebellion? The only other thing that would make sense was that they died with Rickard himself when Aerys-

Oh.

And suddenly, all the pieces started snapping into place.

Grandfather. Father. Oaths of protection. Sworn Brothers.

Compared me to my stubborn father, implying familiarity despite it being known that Eddard Stark, for all his storied patience barely tolerated Alaric. He recognized my mention of dreams and implied experiencing them before, by proxy. I may not genuinely have them, but those of my blood too. Targaryen relatives. And only one fit the criteria for having known Arthur. My blood father in this world. Which means...

"Y-" My voice cracked as I leaned in to whisper "You're not talking about Rickard Stark or Eddard Stark are you? You know"

The consequences if it turned out that I was wrong would be cataclysmic, but I knew I wasn't

His eyes widened with shock, whilst awe and a hint of joy appeared on his face as he shook his head.

"No, I am not. I will not ask how you know the truth, for it is clear that you do. I suspect your dreams though, for Eddard Stark wouldn't have spoken if faced with the stranger himself"

I snorted without humor, too busy drowning in my disbelief. Where the hell had this come from?
"True enough, Al- that's not your name"

I raised a hand as he went to interrupt "But I think I know who you are, anyway?"

I stared straight into his purple eyes, a trait common in Essos. In Westeros though, very few noble houses could boast the trait. House Targaryen, Velaryon, and amongst others,

House Dayne

"Tell me, Ser Arthur," the name was a whisper, but it seemed to ring in the silent room "How does a dead kingsguard find himself in the heart of the North?"

"How else, your grace?" He whispered back "Protecting his King"

...​

For those of you who guessed it, clap yourselves on the back!

Arthur Dayne in da house, people!

Who's curious about the chests? Oh what there are two???

Stay tuned, because the next chapter is the Endgame, the finale of the Boy Who Would Be King, and the beginning of the story proper. It's only going to get more wild from there.

As always, leave your comments and reviews, I would love to have them. If you don't like it, please be courteous.

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 9

 

[Firewillreign]

In true Westerosi fashion, everything I'd experienced only forced me to ask more maddening questions.

It made a great deal of sense that the tunnel Alaric- Arthur had found led out of the Broken Tower.

The thing was built close to the first keep and the lich yard, which put it in very close proximity to the entrance of the crypts. Its position was strong, and the view it would have given at its highest would have no doubt been excellent, worthy of the once largest watch tower in Winterfell.

It was a pity it had burned from a lightning strike a little over a century ago and had never been rebuilt.

I frowned in thought, wondering why that was. Surely some Stark wanted to restore the castle to its glory?

Speaking of Stark's, there was that Sara Snow mystery. Too many pieces and I had no idea where to stick them.

Arthur's reappearance startled me, though my heart rate rose in anticipation as he carried my chest, one in each hand. We'd managed to avoid any debacles, and aside from the visits of concerned Robb and Ned, I kept to myself. Now, once more in the middle of the night with only a lantern for light, I waited for Arthur to drop the chests with a dull thud in front of me, where I sat cross-legged on the floor. We were on the second floor of the broken tower, having snuck out under the cover of night, and Arthur had left me for a moment to retrieve the chests from where he'd buried them the night before.

Arthur

I turned to stare up at the man, and quite involuntarily my mind swirled with thoughts.

The freaking sword of the morning, Kingsguard, and loyal friend to Rhaegar Targaryen, my father, until the bitter end. Only apparently, he'd never met his end in this world. None of the Kingsguard who'd been at the Tower of Joy had. He'd told me as much, as the night before.

I asked about Lyanna first.

I don't know why, and it didn't affect who I was in any case, but I had to know.

Did she come willingly? I'd asked, and he'd sworn up and down that she had, that the kingsguard members were only ever there for her and Rhaegar's protection, not to keep her captive.

"I swear it, yet...." The man gritted his teeth when I asked him to go on. "Your grace, I do not know how it happened. King Aerys had sent the prince in pursuit of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, but Rhaegar seemingly abandoned that mission when he found Lyanna instead. They looked to be happy together, despite each knowing the other for so little time.

But near the end of the tourney, they were both unhappy, your grace, before Rhaegar ever crowned her. Both were miserable, but Lyanna came willingly all the same. I do not know what occurred, only that her unhappiness was not the fault of Rhaegar, nor was she the cause of his. I was curious, of course, but it was not my place to inquire."

Then I asked about how he'd managed to find his way to the North, and the tale turned grimmer still

Ned Stark had arrived in the final hours of Lyanna's pregnancy, yet tempers had run high, blades had crossed and neither side had conversed until nearly the entire Northern party had been butchered. When Ned had revealed what he knew, the fighting had come to an almost reluctant pause, and Ned went up the tower to reunite with his sister.

The rest, as they say, was history

"Ser Oswell was sent east" Arthur had told the tale "I've had no communication from him, but his goal was to find your uncle Viserys, your grace, and the young princess and fulfill his oaths to them. One kingsguard with foreign looks could pass as a foreigner your grace, hidden behind Ned Stark's shadow and reputation, but two would have drawn attention. More to the matter, he was kin to Lady Catelyn, and though they'd met very little she would have likely recognized him all the same.

When I asked about Ser Gerold Hightower, though, he had looked away, pain in his eyes.

"H- He fled, your grace, I know not where. When Eddard Stark made clear his desire to take you as his bastard and raise you in the north, he flew into a great rage, more when I and Oswell agreed with the plan for your protection. He drew steel. I was forced to duel him and in doing so... it was not my intention, your grace, but I wounded him greatly. We left him to rest, bound for all our sakes, but he escaped days before we arrived at Starfall and no words have reached my ears of him since."

It had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions, one that all sides had contributed to in nearly equal measure.

Par the course for this world, naturally.

I brought myself back to the present, staring at the two chests with great anticipation. One was large, about a foot and a half thick, and nearly as high as I was tall. How the hell I managed to swim with it was a mystery, all things considered. The other, though, was far smaller, and thinner to boot.

The size difference, however, wasn't what immediately stood out. no, that honor went to what exactly they were made of.

"Ah," Arthur spoke as I passed my hands over the smoky, grey metal "You've noticed. I had wondered how anything could've survived in that spring, besides you, Jon, but it wasn't until I just saw them that I realized how valuable they were. That's without taking into consideration their contents, I've yet to see those."

The chests were both made of Valyrian Steel.

Worth more than gold, the material was so valuable that houses could beggar themselves before acquiring even a scrap of it, and someone had gone and made chests out of the stuff.

I reached for the largest and dragged it towards me. Anticipation was almost a physical force on its own, now, as I searched for a way to open it. I almost immediately noticed a protruding metal bar, in the middle of the larger side of the chest.

Leaning forward, I grabbed onto it and tried to turn it, to no result. Then I pulled, and I could feel movement.

Grinning, I pulled and twisted to the left, the bar following my movements.

Once, twice, thrice, and then...

An audible click

I sucked in a sharp breath. With shaking hands, I held each side of the lid, then pushed up, the lid catching on hinges that held it in place.

.....Well, I'll be damned.

Behind me, Arthur let out a noise I couldn't identify, nor did I care to as I beheld the dragon eggs.

Five in total, all lined up in a row. Two were a beautiful shade of Green, though where one had blue swirls the other had swirls of deepest black. Another was blood red with black beside one that was pale pink with sharp white swirls. All magnificent.

But I could barely shift my eyes from the first of them, the one that had first caught my eye. Brilliant gold, with shades of deep yellow so similar I could scarcely see the contrast. I reached out for it, pressing my hand against it.

Warmth

I hardly realized I was laughing until the world came to focus with me on my side, tears in my eyes as I laughed and laughed and laughed.

(Finally, a chance!)

...

When I composed myself once more, Arthur had already closed the chest, locked it, and replaced it with the smaller of the two.

"I understand your excitement" he spoke as he noticed my disappointment "But the night is not long

I winced at his choice of words.

"And you have another prize to investigate"

I stared at the smaller chest. I had expected and hoped for the dragon eggs. Even thinking of them brought a smile to my lips. But what else could be left? It wasn't another egg, that's for sure. The box was just a hair too small. Carefully, I grabbed the lock and went through the same unlocking process.

When the box clicked, I lifted the lid with confidence and peered in. The first were two objects. First, a small book. My eyes widened considerably when I beheld the title

"The life and will of Jacaerys Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne"

Well.

Interesting, and worth a read if only for possible family secrets, information that I could take advantage of.

The second object was by far the oddest of the bunch. I lifted the bundle of cloth and unwrapped it, staring at it with bare confusion.

"The eggs and the journal I can understand" I turned to show Arthur "But what's a shard of metal going to do?"

"Not a mere shard" Arthur murmured curiously as he held the piece in his hand, small enough to fit in his palm "A fragment, of a blade at that. You can tell from the edge. One in pristine condition, as though it was only shattered a day before"

Strange

...​

Arthur hid the chests and escorted me back to my room for appearance's sake. That night, when I slept, I dreamed of dragons

...​

The next few weeks were almost overwhelmingly tense.

I had the beginnings of possibly the greatest military advantage I could have in Westeros, an incredibly loyal and massively skilled kingsguard, and the advantage of complete anonymity.

So now what?

What do I do now that I wasn't lost, that I had support and the strength to fight back?

Surprisingly, It was Ned Stark who helped me decide.

He found me laying on my back, at the very edge of the godswood (because I was not going into the godswood proper, fuck that noise!) and staring ut ap at the canopy.

I was startled when he spoke "That's not a very comfortable place to lay"

"I like it"

Conversations between us tended to turn awkward very fast. He tried to parent me, but my adult memories clashed with that and I would respond curtly but politely, and things devolved from there. Though this time, it appeared he would not be so easily deterred. He walked towards me, before sitting down and lying next to me.

"When I was your age," He began "I loved the godswood. But not because I was very pious, mind you, but because the calm provided me with a place to think. I was often found here by my father growing up."

He turned to look at me, then "So what bothers you, my son"

For a moment, I considered telling him nothing. Then I relented "The Rebellion"

He stiffened, and I carried on "You fought a war, father, you and Robert Baratheon fought a war to save Aunt Lyanna and depose Aerys and Rhaegar. You set out to do something good, and you succeeded, but at a cost. Do you wish you had done it differently, now, after everything?

Because that's what my hesitance boiled down to. Fear of the consequences. To fight the coming end, I would likely have to be king of the seven kingdoms if I wanted to have any impact at all. But what the hell happened if I messed up? Did something the wrong way? Should I just give what I know to Robert Baratheon in a way that didn't get my brains bashed via a massive war hammer, then take Arthur and get the hell out of dodge?

"Craven!"

Yeah, fuck you asshole. You sat on your dusty ass and did nothing for decades. Your opinion is irrelevant.

Ned chose to interrupt my thoughts "Gods, you're but a child, but you have always been quick-witted. I will tell you this much -I have my regrets, Jon "

I whirled around to stare at him, and he carried on

"I regret the deaths of men. Of all goodmen who fought for a cause they believed in and died for it. Yet, I can not wallow in them. I fought for my father and brother, unjustly murdered. I fought for my sister, unjustly taken. I have regrets, ones that I will carry until my dying day, but If I were to spend all my days pondering on mistakes long past, I'd waste my life and I'd only gain more"

His eyes were unfocused, and I had the sense that he wasn't talking to me alone.

"There will come a time in your life, Jon" He began, voice heavy "When you will face challenges. I pray you never have to, but you almost certainly will. My only advice for you then: Do not wallow in your mistakes and regrets, and do not give your fears and doubts purchase. They will crumble your resolve, and break you where your enemies don't."

He looked me straight in the eyes then "Choose a path that rings true to who you are, and walk it with your head held high"

He left me there, lying on my back.

Which path rings true to who I am?

I thought of my mother, who endured hardship after hardship for my sake. Of my father, my brother.

Of Ned and Arthur, of Rhaegar and Lyanna, and all the others.

I made my choice.

...​

"We're leaving" I whispered to Arthur the next night at the broken tower

His gaze widened "Winterfell-"

"Winterfell has kept me safe" I cut him off "Ned Stark (this was going to destroy the man) has kept me safe. But now it's time for me to prepare to take back what's mine. With Fire and Blood"

I gestured to the largest chest, and his face paled a shade. He was very smart, and scarcely took a moment to catch on.

"Jon" he stressed the name "The eggs have remained unhatched for well over a century. They're valuable and worth a good deal of coin, nothing more."

"No." I replied firmly "I'm going to hatch them"

"Do you hear yourself?" He questioned, incredulity coloring his tone "I know you learned your histories well! The last attempt made to hatch dragons almost completely decimated House Targaryen! It put Aerys on the throne!"

"I am aware!" I shot back "But I have to try. My dreams make that much clearer. Besides, we have next to nothing, Arthur. If I hatch these eggs, within a few short years we'd be next to unstoppable! My ascension would be guaranteed!"

He drew back, a thunderous look on his face that I met head-on. After a moment, though, he sighed and leaned back.

"Even," He began, a hand on the bridge of his nose "Even if we did this, where would we even begin? there's no-"

"I have a good idea" I grinned and he froze, staring at me in shock.

I lifted the journal of Jacaerys Velaryon. I'd been reading it for the last few weeks every night under the cover of darkness with Arthur as my protector

"This started as an irregular telling of the prince's days. He could go moons without adding an entry, but towards the end, he'd filled page after page, with barely legible scribbles, drawings, and notes. Right after an entry that detailed that he'd started having-"

"Dragon dreams" Arthur cut in. At my confused look, he added "Rhaegar was much the same way. He filled pages and pages of books with his notes, detailing his dreams"

"You mention this now?" I asked incredulously "Where?-"

"Oswell took them, for safekeeping" He answered with a grimace "What little Rhaegar left with us at the tower, that is. The ones in Kingslanding have almost certainly been destroyed, among any other possessions of your father."

Fuck. It's like this stupid continent is trying to get itself and everyone else killed!

"....Regardless," I continued sourly, before my excitement "The last entry is the most important, I think"

I turned the book to him, showing him the page. Only two sentences were written, repeated over and over again

Zaldrīzoti hen dōron va Zaldrīzesdōron. Perzys Ānogār kessa urnēptre se ñuhoso

His eyes widened. He could read Valyrian better than me.

I grinned again "It says: Dragons from stone on Dragonstone. Fire and Blood shall show the way"

He stared down at me for just a moment, expression unreadable.

"Well then. It would appear we must prepare."

...​

The night we left Winterfell was unassuming. No especially ominous clouds, no storm to dramatically disappear into, nothing. I stayed up late, telling Robb stories.

"You must never stop learning, you understand?" I told him seriously "Always pay attention to your lessons, try your best at everything and you'll be the greatest lord that ever was, you understand me? promise!"

"I promise!" He nodded thoughtfully for a moment, before beaming at me and asking for another story, one more than I promised. Just for that night, I agreed.

Arthur slipped into the room silently, long after Robb had fallen asleep. I slipped off the bed, fully dressed in my warmest clothes as he nodded.

"It's time"

Slipping out of the castle proper hurt. For better or for ill, this had been my home for years. My eyes felt blurry as we passed by the kennel and the kitchen.

"I've told the guards we're leaving on Lord Stark's orders, which gives us until morn before the lie is discovered. We'll take the east gate" Arthur explained gently "It opens to the Wolfswood, and tracking us through there will be more difficult. We'll ride hard the first few hours, circling around and through the wilds, before rejoining the kingsroad proper far later."

Made sense. People didn't lie about having their lord's permission, that was a good way to find yourself short by a head.

We arrived at the Gate, a saddled horse with full packs, one of them holding my chests. Arthur hoisted me up first before joining me. I took. a deep breath as we rode out. The guards never even paid us a second glance.

The last I saw of Winterfell, we had just crested over a hill. The castle stood in all its glory, a great light burning in the dark.

Then we were gone.

...​

We stopped briefly hours and hours later, as the light of dawn shone through the trees above us. Arthur had gone to relieve himself and had warned me not to stray.

A gurgling croak caught my attention, and I stared up into the eyes of a

-oh

The raven stared down at me, and I didn't need to hear it croak "snow" to know who it was.

I didn't care though. He had no claim on me.

I smirked at the bird, and smirked, even more, when it croaked "Fail. Fail. Fail"

"Is that supposed to...what, exactly?" I asked as I stared right at it "Anger me? Make me second-guess myself? give up, perhaps. You'd know all about that, wouldn't ya, Rivers?"

The raven didn't reply, and I carried on anyway "You really fucked me in the head, you know? I spent a lot of time having to face the realization that my very fucking existence had lost the world it's one chance of survival. But no more. No more, you hear me!?"

I pointed my finger straight at the bird "Your failures don't define me, old man. I don't care If the original Jon Snow was Azor Ahai reborn, or anything like that. I'm here now. Me. I'm going to face what's coming, and I'm going to do it headfirst, and if you don't want to help, then fuck you, because at least I'm trying. Your plan went to shit and you just roll over and die? Now, who's the fucking craven!"

I laughed when the raven puffed up, unmistakably angry croaking rising.

"Don't like that, do you? Shouldn't dish what you can't handle, you old hypocrite."

The raven croaked "Snow. Snow. Snow"

"That's my name" I paused, looking down "Except, no it isn't. At least, not just it. I'm as much Eli Cauley as I am Jon Snow. But by the time I'm done, old man, the world won't know me as either of those."

I thought of the name that Arthur had told me. The name Lyanna and Rhaegar had both agreed on, the one that Ned Stark had buried in his effort to protect me. The name the whole world would know, before this was all over and done with.

"I will be everything you said I wasn't, and I will do everything you said I couldn't, and not to spite you, you old shit, you aren't nearly that important, but because I refuse not to stay true to who I am, who I was raised to be." I declared "I will unite all seven kingdoms, kicking and screaming if I have to, and I will prepare the realm for the Great war to come. "

I looked up at the raven, face set in fiery determination

"My name is Gaemon Targaryan, and I will bring the dawn. And when I'm done, assuming you survive, I'm going to find you, Rivers, and I'm going to ruin your day!"

Then I spun around without another word, leaving the raven behind.

...

Later, as we rode into the night, I observed the beautiful northern landscape, an environment untouched by industrialization. Gorgeous, and so easy to find comfort in.

Arthur spoke up then. "I have a suggestion"

"Yes?"

"We need support before we travel to Dragonstone. The island is ruled by a Baratheon, and while they will not be aware of our existence, an ally can make a great difference should difficulties arise."

Thinking on it, I could certainly see the logic, but-

"Will this take long? You aren't suggesting we go looking for Ser Oswell, are-"

"No, no" He reassured me "They are in Westeros, and we will travel quickly"

I sighed in relief "Very well. Where is this mysterious ally of ours then?

Arthur sighed, as if in preparation, before speaking calmly "We must go to King's landing, your Grace"

..."What?"

...​

Far to the North:

Deep beneath the earth, an old man lay entwined in a weirwood throne.

Through the eyes of another, he saw a boy he had scorned declare his intent to the world, and gave a smirk

It only grew more pronounced as he heard movement behind him. From the shadows of his cave, a figure emerged, wearing a cloak of green leaves. Small, almost like a child, with dappled, nut-brown skin. Voluminous hair of browns, reds, and gold with flowers woven through it, amongst vines and twigs. Large, slitted liquid gold and green eyes focused on the man on the throne, who opened a single red eye and spoke in a raspy voice "Awake, are we?"

"I was stirred from my sleep" The figure replied in a high voice "How may I serve?"

"You may not. I did not call for you"

"You?-

...

"I was stirred from my sleep" the figure repeated

"And it was not my doing" the old man replied "Not directly, in any case"

"Direct-?" The figure's eyes widened "The greendream, It stirred me awake?"

"Perhaps. What of it?"

"I have little affinity for it, and yet I awoke all the same" The figure replied frantically, then reared back, as though finally catching the expression on the old man's face " I felt -change unforeseen has occurred. Things are shifting in ways they should not, everything has unraveled... Raven, what have you done!?"

"What the scions of my family do best!" The man laughed then, long and hard "Look at what stands in our way, and burn it all. Now? Now we wait, and see what rises from the ashes."

Then he closed his sole remaining eye, and silence reigned once more.

...​

Soooooo. I'm the author, and I say Bloodravens is still a jackass who needs a reckoning.

haha. So the arc is finished, folks. The next chapter will probably be an Arthur interlude, to flesh stuff out, though it won't come for some time. See, I plan a lot before I write each arc, and then I write individual chapters in one sitting. This Arc is done, so to the drawing board. Stay tuned, though.

As always, leave your comments, notes, and ideas, I would love to have them. If you don't like it, please be courteous.

 

[Firewillreign]

Arthur would never forget the day he was knighted

Days before, he'd ridden out without his lord father's knowledge along with a small band of armed men, seven in all, two of whom were knights to go searching for a group of bandits who'd taken to terrorizing small fishing villages on the edge of the Torrentine.

Atop the finest of Starfall's sand-steeds, they had spent days scouring the paths and wilderness for miles along the coast of the Torrentine, hoping to catch the dishonorable curs who'd taken to attacking innocents to satisfy their greed.

However, as the days passed, his men had lost their excitement for the hunt.

"Too much land to cover, my lord" one had spat angrily on the eve of the third day "too much land and too few men."

Arthur refused to relent

"I am a son of House Dayne" he addressed the men, steel in his voice "And these are Dayne lands. It is my duty to protect them and those who dwell in them peacefully. We shall continue."

And so they had. For days they rode, following old tracks and questioning men and women they came across on their travel until at last an old man had come to them, hunched and dressed in rags.

"My children" he"d told them, voice faint but full of grief and fury "Killed them all, they did, and three of my grandchildren as well"

"My respects" Arthur had nodded gravely "I pray they find peace with the gods"

"I pray for their peace" the old man nodded fiercely "But I'll have my piece from you, once you kill those whoresons!"

"Watch your mouth with your lord-" one of his men began

Arthur waved the man off, and the old man continued

"I know where you'll find them, I do!"

Intrigued, Arthur ordered him to go on "They always come down from the north. I'll wager all I own that you follow the river up north and you'll find them all!"

Seeing no better alternative, Arthur and his men had ridden up the river for a day and a night, until at last, they found a trail of campfires to follow

"We'll have them by morn, my lord," the same man who'd advised him to call off the chase said, face full of satisfaction.

Indeed, as they moved through the cover of darkness, they found the men, a motley band of eight, dressed in mismatched leathers no doubt stolen and armed with weapons that ranged from swords and spears to bows and arrows. They even had four steeds, tied to trees nearby.

All of them sat around an open flame, laughing merrily and drinking wine.

Arthur's blood boiled when he caught sight of them. So much carnage and chaos, and yet here they stood proud and self-sure.

Then one of Arthur's men stumbled, falling on a knee. It was not a particularly loud noise, but it traveled well enough. The men roused, steel being drawn, and Arthur and his own in turn charged.

Arthur went for the bowman first. A swordsman he could fight, but few opponents were so dangerous at close range as a bowman with a knocked arrow. The man saw his approach and snarled, raising his bow desperately, but he stood no chance. Though Arthur had never killed before, he had been trained and honed his ability for years. He swung his sword.

The blade sliced through the horrified man's throat with hardly any resistance, a wet noise sounding from his mouth. Arthur watched, for a moment equally horrified as a veritable geyser of blood erupted from the ruined throat and painted his vision red. His hand shook, and it was only instinct that ensured he didn't drop his blade.

Instinct saved his life.

A roar sounded behind him, and he whirled around, briefly noting the look of grief and maddened rage on the man's face before he raised his sword to defend himself. Their blades met with a clash of ringing steel.

The man retreated a step before raising his blade and swinging down brutally, a move that spoke of great strength but little skill.

It ended quickly. Arthur feinted, pretending to lower his blade, and the man raised his own, roaring in victory. Arthur once more dodged to the side, and, as the blade passed through, where he was but a moment ago, he stabbed up. His sword tip rammed through the man's skull, skewering his brain and tearing its way out of the back of his head. A quick death.

He turned, ready to assist his men, but the battle had already run its course. Eight bandits with good weapons and no doubt stolen horses were a danger to the small folk, to be sure but attacked in an ambush and by trained men at arms at that they were no danger.

"Our task is completed, my lord" One of his men nodded "Justice has been served"

Arthur merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He took a moment to compose himself, then said aloud "Indeed. Strip the bodies and their packs. Any belongings they possess that are of value will be used to recompense the people of the villages that were attacked. Then bury them."

His men nodded and voiced their agreement, and he turned around and stalked off, voicing his desire to clean himself off. The moment he was sure he was not within sight or hearing distance of his men, he collapsed to his knees and retched violently, tears in his eyes.

He did not doubt the necessity of his action, but to have taken a life, to have ended a life.....

Later, once he'd cleaned himself up, he found one of his men waiting for him with a wineskin, a kind look in his eye.

"The first one is always the worst, my lord. Your conduct was admirable nonetheless"

Arthur only nodded stiffly. He'd done his duty, nothing more.

They departed for Starfall, a small number staying behind to repay the villages and inform them of the end of the. bandit threat. They pushed their horses hard, and they arrived at Starfall just as the sun was setting.

Arthur had scarcely set foot in the castle before men had him whisked to his father's solar.

Beric Dayne was a powerfully built man, tall, with pale blonde hair and blue eyes. He had stared at Arthur, only the stiffness of his features portraying his rage.

"You left the castle, without my knowledge. You took my men at arms, without my permission, and you pursued bandits across my lands, without my leave. What say you?"

"It was not right of me to do so, and I will accept any punishment for my mistakes." Arthur began "But I will not apologise for defending our people. It was my duty. "

Face blank, his father simply stares at him for a moment, before declaring that Arthur would never do so again. Arthur was then dragged out before the assembled men and women of the household, and ordered to kneel.

Arthur knelt, stunned, and his father knighted him right then and there.

"It takes great bravery to stand by one's choices in the face of their consequences, and greater still to defend them" His father had grinned, then, a rare occurence.

"Now come."

...​

Being knighted was an honor like no other. But as his father led him deep into the bowels of Starfall and into passageways none but the Daynes were permitted to navigate, realization washed over him and he paled.

"Father-"

But the man had merely waved his hand and quietened him. Then they were there, and his father was stepping forward.

The base of Starfall, the spot where the falling star that had defined his family's legend had struck the earth.

And from its remains, a blade unlike any other was forged...

"You are brave, my son" His father spoke, pride colouring his voice "Kind, honourable and dutiful. You embody the best of House Dayne and now, all the seven Kingdoms and beyond shall know it."

Arthur Dayne, the second son of lord Beric Dayne left Starfall days ago.

When he next left, it would be as Arthur Dayne, a knight of the seven kingdoms and the Sword Of The Morning

...​

Years later he would find himself knelt at the foot of an Iron throne, donning a cloak of finest white.

"Arise Arthur Dayne" spoke the king "A knight of my Kingsgaurd"

As the year 276AC dawned, Aerys II Targaryen had proved to be a good king for peaceful times. Though known to be quick to anger and lacking in patience (though none would dare say so to his face) he governed the realm with Tywin Lannister as his hand.

Arthur could barely contain his elation. A position in the Kings guard, alongside men the likes of Barristan the Bold and Gerold Hightower, and a just King to serve at that

The gods had smiled down at him

...​

Arthur befriended Prince Rhaegar easily enough. The man was well-learned, polite, courteous, and the very image of a dutiful prince of the realm. And as time went by, Rhaegar too began to trust Arthur.

Until one day, Rhaegar divulged the first of many secrets

"Arthur, what do you know of Dragon Dreams?"

...​

Then-

Duskendale

...​

Wildfire and burning flesh

Smoke and tears and horror

Queen Rhaella's screams and The monster he was sworn to cackling endlessly

Gods, why have you cursed me so?

...​

"My father has proven himself an unworthy ruler," Rhagar says flatly. His eyes were sunken, face pale, and hair disarrayed. Arthur knew his nightmares were tormenting him more, and if he walked into the Prince's chambers he would find tomes worth of scribbles trying to make sense of them "I intend to call a great council and strip him of his throne"

Oswell froze, and Gerold paled silently

And Arthur?

Arthur thought of the horror Aerys sowed, of burning pyres and screaming innocents and mad, deranged laughter.

"What would you have of me?"

...​

"You grew up here?" Arthur asked incredulously, voicing his questions only days after the King had dismissed them for the night.

They had arrived, much to Arthur's dismay only a day after the beginning of the tourney, and Rhaegar likely wouldn't have had time to set his plans in motion.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Oswell grinned smugly as he gestured to the wide expanses of Harrenhall

"Beastly is a term far more apt, I think"

And it very much was.

Monstrously large, and whatever Balerion hadn't turned to ash outright he had left twisted and deformed. The tales of Harrenhall, Arthur thought, were not aided by the fact that the castle itself looked more fit for demons than men.

Though, if half the stories of Harren Hoare are true, that might not be far from the truth....

The thought proved genuinely disquieting, enough that Arthur turned and murmured to Oswell "Has he begun?"

All traces of levity fled the man's face as he leaned in to whisper as well "Not yet, though I believe he intends to begin soon"

Arthur raised a brow "What makes you say that?"

"Talked to him earlier" He shrugged. He caught the worried look on Arthur's face and patted him on the shoulder "Have faith. Rhaegar knows what he's doing. I believe he will succeed without a doubt"

Arthur wished he could say the same.

...​

When the Prince meets Lyanna Stark, Arthur hopes he found a friend and an ally. She was brave for one so young, and within moments of Rhaegar stumbling onto her struggling to remove her mismatched armour and explaining he wished her no harm, they were both laughing.

"Entering the joust as a mystery knight to avenge the honor of one of her father's Bannerman and a friend at that" Arthur grinned "That's a tale that even Barristan's can't match"

...​

When the Prince crowned Lyanna Stark, Arthur only hoped it wouldn't end in blood and tears.

...
​

He should have learned not to hope

...​

How had it come to this?

The news of Rhaegar's death shattered them. The news of Elia and the children's deaths took the pieces, ground them into dust, and scattered them into the Dornish sands.

Arthur wanted to tear his hair out in frustration, to scream and rage and curse.

Instead, he merely drew Dawn and prepared as Ned Stark and his men approached.

Behind him, Gerold and Oswell did the same.

Their failure to defend their prince and his children had only ensured that they would die before allowing harm to come to his last remaining legacy.

...​

Ned Stark stares at him, fear on his face, and Arthur freezes.

He had told himself many things, over the years. That he could not strike Aerys down without breaking his oaths and honor, that his inaction was all to give Rhaegar the time he needed... But this?

There was no justice in killing a man whose only crime was attempting to save a sister he thought had been taken.

"Enough" His voice washed over the battlefield. Ned Stark and Howland Reed looked at him in disbelief, as did Gerold and Oswell.

He told the Northerners everything. Rhaegar's plan, the secret of the tourney, Rhaegar and Lyanna's incomprehensible and strange relationship, everything.

Once he was done, he stepped aside and let a pale and horrified Ned Stark step past him and run up to the tower, against Gerold's furious protests, because the Northenor was right.

"Now it ends.'

...​

Later, when Ned was finished weeping over his sister, they came to discuss the babe.

Gaemon Targaryen, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Jon Snow, Ned argued instead, and though Arthur hates the despicable lie that would see his king (his friend's son) reduced to nothing more than his uncle's by-blow, he could not deny its effectiveness.

So he agreed.

But Gerold didn't.

Furious and mad with grief himself, the lord commander of the king's guard charged Eddard Stark and Howland Reed once more.

Dawn meets his blade, a pale milky blade against silver-grey steel.

"Traitor!" Gerold spat and Arthur didn't have the strength to speak again, so he settled for defending the Lord of Winterfell in silence

(He's sure if he opens his mouth he won't stop screaming)

Gerold's blade missed his throat by inches, and Arthur reacted without thinking. Dawn flashed and the lord commander fell to the ground, howling, blood pouring down his face in rivers.

...​

Howland Reed cleaned Gerold's wounds and assured Arthur that aside from the scar, he would have no lasting damage.

Arthur merely nodded.

The next morning, they discovered Gerold and one of the horses gone. Ned, terrified of the secret getting out, suggested they chase him down

"Let him be," Arthur said instead (grief grief grief nearly drowning him). When both men whirled around to look at him, he simply stated "He is loyal. He will not endanger the young king so."

And that was the end of it.

...​

They snuck into Starfall under cover of night. They couldn't afford for a mouthy servant to recognize them, not if their lie was to have any hope of fooling the realm. Oswell has already left, traveling towards the Queen Dowager and her children.

His father meets him on his way to return Dawn (and it hurt to part with the blade, agony sharp and brutal).

He raised a hand, and placed it on Arthur's shoulder "I am proud of you, my son"

(Later, when Arthur was alone, he wept for all that he has lost.)

...​

Winterfell was a beautiful castle, Arthur, now Alaric, could admit. With its deep warmth, it was welcoming in a land so cold.

Its people, on the other hand, were far from welcoming.

Northerners were a proud, isolationist bunch. Any outsiders are reminded of their status with mistrusting eyes, hostile speech, and sharp avoidance.

Alaric did not mind, so long as he could protect Jon.

(He will never admit to the vicious satisfaction he felt when Catelyn Stark is reminded that she, too, is an outsider)

Jon grew quickly and healthy, and for a time, all seemed well.

...​

When Jon collapsed in the Godswood, he had but moments to fuss over him before a hand grabbed him by the shoulder and he was lifted and slammed back first against the heart tree, a furious Ned Stark's visage filling his vision.

It softens only slightly when the man recognizes him.

"What did you do?"

Ned Stark likely wasn't thinking straight, but the implication is enough to drive him into furious denials and rage.

"Who else but you?" Ned Stark roared right back in his face

"Unlike you, my lord of Winterfell, when I swear a vow, I strive to fulfill it to the very best of my ability!" He spat back

The implication is clear to both of them (How can you let him be treated like this?)

Ned Stark raised his fist, and Arthur prepared for a fight.

Then Jon interrupted, and Arthur remembered his duty.

...​

The years passed by and Jon grew even more intelligent, far surpassing any children he's ever seen. He also, to Arthur's concern, grew all the more isolated, aside from his experiences with Robb.

When he catches him out by the crypts, having caught a glimpse of him, Arthur expects many things. But-

"I have strange dreams, Alaric"

Everything changed in that moment, and Arthur remembered Rhaegar's warnings

"Should I fail, all that awaits us are an endless night and the death of all"

So Arthur, without hesitation, followed into the crypts of Winterfell.

...​

'Dragon eggs" Arthur thinks to himself "Godsdamned dragon eggs"

He laughs himself silly at the thought of it.

Very well then

...​

As Winterfell disappears into the distance behind them, Arthur thinks.

He thinks of his oaths of a knight, his promises, his family and sworn brothers, Rhaegar and Lyanna, and all the others who have suffered for a future yet to come.

He thinks of Jon, the young boy who would be king.

He feels hope and determination light his heart.

As Alaric of Pentos steals Jon Snow away in the dark, the Sword Of The Morning prepares to serve his king once more.

...​

Soooooo. Arthur's a badass. Just thought I should acknowledge that.

Whatcha think?

The next arc won't arrive for a while. Need time to plan, but when it does.....

Hahahaha - be prepared

Next Chapter: The Home Of The Dragons - Part 1

 

[Firewillreign]

Grandmother Rhaenys arrived at Dragonstone with news blacker than the stones of the castle

Grandfather, the King, was dead

And Aegon had been crowned.

It's a disgrace. A mockery, a disgusting and despicable insult to his memory. The foul vipers denied him a funeral and left him to rot in his bed for days so they could secure oaths of loyalty from the lords present within the city and go through with their farce of a coronation.

This cannot stand. This will not stand

Even as I write these words, my mother, now the one true monarch of-

Then the boat lurched and I bit off a curse before angrily slamming the book shut. At this point, it was all too clear I'd never manage to read comfortably.

Behind me, Arthur snorted "I told you you'd never manage it."

"Given that the alternative is sitting in this cabin doing nothing but getting seasick, I do believe I can be excused in my desire to learn more about my ancestor."

Arthur merely shrugged "I suppose that is as reasonable a pass time as any other. Though, again, attempting to read in circumstances such as these is next to impossible.

And what circumstances they were

Traveling across the north took the better part of a week. We kept to the forests and wilds and rarely made use of the Kingsroad for fear of being pursued by Stark men. At first, near our third day from Winterfell, I'd started pressing forward towards white harbor I had tried to convince him to let us join the kingsroad proper, to his immediate refusal. My protests had lasted until the next day when an honest-to-gods Stark hunting party had passed by on the Kingsroad just as we were planning to rejoin it. We took another day without getting back on the road just for that.

The white harbor was a beautiful city, and far cleaner and well-built than I'd expected it to be. The houses were commonly made of pale brick, with grey slated roofs, and the streets were huge paths of cobbled stone that stretched all across the majority of the city like spiderwebs.

However, if the city was clean then the docks were spotless. Fair, considering they were most likely the pride and joy of House Manderly and overlooked directly by Newcastle, the Keep of House Manderly. That's when things started to get difficult. Though there were plenty of ships traveling to Kingslanding, many of them happened to be merchants carrying their wares, and few were willing to take in the additional and relatively deadweight of a man and a child who couldn't contribute to the ship. The few that were wanted exorbitant amounts of gold, so much that Arthur wasn't willing to part with it.

Finally, we found another ship. The captain nearly turned away, but then happened to notice the sword on Arthur's belt.

"You any good with that blade?" The lean man asked. The idea of having another skilled blade onboard in case of pirate attacks appealed to him.

I nearly died laughing when Arthur merely shrugged "Good enough"

Apparently, the word of a stranger wasn't sufficient for the good captain.

Common sense? In Westeros? I was stunned.

The captain had one of his men give Arthur a spar to check the veracity of his claims. My protector let it last for a few moments, long enough to show his confidence and skill, and then promptly disarmed and took the man down with two graceful swings I could barely follow.

The Captain changed his tune in about three seconds flat and even gave us a small cabin to boot, and here we were. Small and cramped it may have been, but it did the job well and as a bonus, it had two beds so we didn't have to share.

I'd never traveled like this ever

There was an ocean (heh) of differences between medieval and modern sea travel, and that's discounting obvious factors such as speed and comfort. The constant motions of the ship, the constant motion of the crew, and the nerve-wracking but still incredible experience of standing on the deck and seeing the open sea stretch out for miles were all things I'd never experienced before. It made the adventurous part of my soul cheer.

"In any case" Arthur's voice brought me back to reality "I've spoken to the captain. Kingslanding approaches."

That drained my enjoyment like nothing else, and I snapped my gaze to him "How long?"

"We'll be there by dawn"

Damn. The moment we set foot in the city is when our biggest challenges begin. And speaking off -

"Are you sure your plan is going to work?" I asked him, and his face turned grim "Look, Arthur, After everything you've done for my sake I'm the last person in the world who's going to doubt you, but from what I know of the man, he's fiercely dedicated to his vows-

"He!-" Arthur cut himself off, took a moment to compose himself, and breathed out "That may be, but he took other vows, once, and his love for Rhaegar was great."

I measured my next words very carefully "And Rhagar, my sire... is dead"

The silence between the two of us grew stifling before Arthur finally relented with a sigh.

"Even so" His eyes were closed and his voice seemed shaky and I felt sharp guilt fill me for causing it "Old oaths are not so easily forgotten in favor of new oaths taken at sword point."

I hated to push, but-

"And if they are? You'll give us both away, Arthur"

"No" He replied, and this time there was iron in his voice "No. He will honor his vows and kneel to his rightful king. Should he not?"

His eyes snapped open, fire blazing in their depths "I will strike him down myself."

... Well.

That was that, then.

...

Ash and smoke, a mountain blacker than night rising into the sky

Heat and rock and lights so bright.

Shadows shifting, scales gleaming

A three-headed dragon set in black stone.

Then-

Jaws and teeth descended...

...​

I startled, staring up into Arthur's light purple eyes, his face creased in slight concern

"You seem to be having many a restless night"

"Dreams, Arthur" I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and tried to get the vestiges of inexplicable fear out of my system. I tried to remember what I dreamed about, but to my everlasting frustration, I could only catch the barest nonsensical bits and pieces. "Fucking dreams"

"Language" he chided gently before rubbing my back "Perhaps a journal of your own, then?"

When I looked at him in askance, he elaborated "To keep track of your dreams. Rhaegar had several, and if the journal already in your possession is any indication, other Targaryans over the centuries may have had some."

"...Perhaps that would be for the best" I agreed. At least It may give me a chance to make some sense of this madness. I grinned tiredly "In any case, why have you chosen to wake me up at this ungodly hour?"

He gave me a serious look "We have arrived."

Crap. All traces of sleep fled as I lept off the bed and slipped my fur cloak on. Arthur grabbed my hand when I was ready and walked us up to the deck, before picking me up and putting me onto his shoulders.

'It will afford you a better look" he said with a barely visible grin as I glared at him.

Then I looked upon the city that had sprung in the wake of Aegon's landing, illuminated by the light of the dawn. From our vantage point, the first thing that stuck out with great clarity was the red keep, built high on a hill overlooking the city. So large it was that it dwarfed even Winterfell, red towers seeming to scrape against the clouds. Below and all around it, the city stretched, far larger than a white harbor. Where white harbor was organized and made of two distinctive colors, for the most part, Kingslanding was a wild swarm of browns, reds, and yellows stretching out like a sea. And that was only the comparatively small portion that was visible for us from this far out.

"It's impressive" I admitted, and it was true. The city had my inner geek stirring despite the danger I knew was hidden in its slums and dark alleyways, to say nothing of the Red Keep

"It is in size and scope, most certainly" There was a wistful note to his voice, then an amused tone when he continued speaking "Though that impression may be overshadowed when we step into it."

"What?" I asked, confused as I leaned forward to peak down at his face

"The smell." Arthur grinned "The smell of half a million inhabitants in a city with an utterly pitiful sewage system."

….. "Ah, shit"

Arthur only chuckled "Exactly"

...​

Bit of a warmup chapter, just to set us off.

Believe me though, in this arc escalation is the name of the game hahaha

As always, leave your comments and ideas and if you don't like it please be courteous

 

[Warmachine375]

"The smell." Arthur grinned "The smell of half a million inhabitants in a city with an utterly pitiful sewage system."

….. "Ah, shit"

Arthur only chuckled "Exactly"

Click to shrink...

Badum tiss.

The adventures of SI Jon Snow and "Alaric"/Arthur Dayne in King's Landing enters a new chapter and this is gonna be fun to see how it goes for the two.

Anyway, this is a really promising story and I look forward for the next chapter. Watching this with great interest.

 

[Firewillreign]

Arthur was, as I had repeatedly discovered him to be, quite right

King's Landing smelled like something out of a nightmare. It was awful, and walking through the docks with my hand firmly gripped by his own hadn't prepared me for it, but as soon as we entered the city proper near the street of steel the smell became impossible to avoid. Wet and unsavory sewage, the smell in this part of the city was so strong it quite literally brought tears to my eyes.

"Gods be good" I gasped as I held my nose with my free hand as firmly as I could while he navigated us through crowds of people "How does anyone deal with this?"

Even Arthur was grimacing "Experience, and a great deal of it at that. I have forgotten it after so many years, but I assure you it becomes more bearable as time goes by"

I shot him a glare "Ar-Alaric, the idea of anyone getting used to this is horrifying."

He sighed then, before pulling us past another crowd "I am aware. But this has been the state of the city for many decades at this point. Following the conquest, the city grew too quickly, people from all across the newly conquered kingdoms flooding here"

I grimaced "Too many. You think they'd be weary of heading towards a fledgling city that not only was barely comparable to its counterparts but also guarded by dragons."

"It is precisely for that reason that many did. At that point, a good deal of Westeros was in turmoil, the newly conquered kingdoms settling, and no place was as safe as the conqueror's fledgling city. The dragons were deadly weapons to Aegon's enemies, but they also provided protection unparalleled. What army would march when faced with the titanic Vhagar and Meraxes? What fools would face the Black Dread on an open field? No, Aegon's dragons were as much reason to travel here as they were to stay away."

...Damn, but that made sense. I was a child in this world, and though it was dangerous I received the beginnings of a lord education and never had to fend for myself, and that was more than any of the smallfolk could say. The idea of being defended from the threats of this world by Balerion the freaking black dread would have been incredibly appealing.

Personally, it very much still is, but I was working on that bit.

"But surely Aegon or one of his advisors tried to implement a sewage system" I complained "It's essentially the backbone of building any good settlement!"

"They did, Jon. But the city grew too large too quickly, and Aegon and his descendants could hardly turn the smallfolk away. Add to that the beggaring costs and work required to improve the city, and here we are." Arthur sighed again "The people who come here adapt, and the ones born here know nothing else. As grim as it is, it is the way of things."

That wasn't a satisfying answer, and though this journey I'd set us both on was still in its opening act, I had a bad feeling I was going to have to get a good deal more.

Freaking Westeros!

We walked in silence for a good deal after that. The city also seemed to lack any great organization, but Arthur navigated streets and alleys with the grace only considerable experience could bring. It gave me a chance to shoot glances at the crowds we passed. Though many looked about as well off as they could be considering their circumstances, it still made me feel pangs of discomfort and guilt when I could see beggared men, women, and children dressed in what could only generously be described as dull grey rags trudging along pitifully or shifting through rotten food and the like.

This disparity was awful enough as it was, and coupled with the smell and lack of development, it was clear that for all it looked beautiful from a distance, Kingslanding was barely functioning as a city.

What had my ancestors been doing?

Isn't it obvious? A decent chunk of them had either been sitting on their asses, being spineless, bloodthirsty, useless, fanatic, or starting country-spanning civil wars through sheer stupidity. And that's discounting the unmitigated shitshow that was the Dance Of The Dragons.

For god's sake, I had my work cut out for me, and I haven't even started yet!

Arthur took a brief moment to shoot me an odd look when I began growling.

Suddenly, I caught sight of a man in brown but fine clothes, leering at me in a way that had dread forming a pit in my stomach. Before I could voice my concerns though, he pushed through a crowd and was gone. A glance up revealed Arthur glaring at the spot where he'd been with a look of fury, before tugging me forwards far faster.

We walked for a while longer before the crowds started thinning and the streets started expanding. We were out of the slums, near the more beautiful portions of the city, and I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Then I caught sight of it, and my jaw dropped. Huge and cavernous, the structure of yellow-brown stone towered over the simple structures surrounding it, the difference in size so extreme as to be comical. It was spherical, and I could see where the dome had collapsed, but I could barely imagine what it looked like at the height of its glory.

The Dragonpit, the destroyed and abandoned structure that had once housed the dragons of House Targaryen.

"Awe-inspiring, is it not?" Arthur asked softly "For all that your ancestors made mistakes, Gaemon, they also accomplished wonders."

.....Sly knight. I didn't miss the exceedingly rare use of my real name.

We set off with a purpose, then, our excitement pushed us forward. We stuck to the lesser populated alleyways and streets even then, but our destination was clear in sight now. It hardly took any time at all to climb to the top of Rhaenys's hill, abandoned as it was, and we had no guards or officials of any kind who could pose a problem.

The first step into the cavernous pit felt monumental, as If I was treading on hallowed grounds.

In a way, I suppose I was.

"You're sure it's this way?"

Arthur merely nodded. Man of few words, my knight was "Rhaegar discovered the passageway himself. He believed it was almost certainly commissioned by Maegor himself."

I raised a brow "Not that I'm doubting you, but why Maegor?"

"The Cruel started a war with the faith, something no other King in-then recent history had ever done"

The response was delivered somewhat dryly

"As a consequence, he made many, many enemies. A quick path to the dragon pit, to the Black dread at that, would've been very appealing to him."

I nodded and withheld a grin. I was still a geek and little trivia like that was fun despite the ridiculous danger of the situation we were about to embark on.

Navigating the abandoned structure, though, my grin dimmed considerably when Arthur guided as to a cavernous hole dug into the ground, a ramp of earth descending into darkness. I barely withheld a sigh when he pulled a dry lantern from the confines of his cloak and grabbed the timber and stones he needed to light it.

"I'm getting tired of traveling through old and very likely dangerous structures without a small army at my back."

"You've only done it once"

"And once that was enough"

"I couldn't agree more, but there was a great reward to the first journey, and perhaps yet another great reward on this one" He shot me a grin that was equal parts excitement, regret, and determination "If this mad gamble works, you'll have two Kingsguard at your back."

Then with a simple move, he ignited the lantern and held it aloft "Shall we?"

I sighed "Please don't let this become a trend"

And with that, we descended the ramp and into the darkness.

...​

The next Chapter is an interlude (hmm, whose I wonder?), and things start getting dramatic and deadly, hahaha XD.

.... Wait, haven't they been like that from the start? Freaking Westeros!! XD!

As always, leave your comments and ideas and if you don't like it, please be courteous.

 

[Firewillreign]

Barristan, in his early years at least, had never lacked bravery.

From the moment he'd first gripped a training sword in his hand he'd strived to be brave, to be noble and honorable, and a fine man worthy of his Selmy heritage and blood. Though he was the heir, a position that could and often did bring strife between families he was loved by his father and kin and he strived to be worthy of that love.

The tourney of Blackhaven was the culmination of years of desires and aspirations of a child with more dreams than sense. He squirreled away bits and pieces of armor from the smithy and the armory alike and became a mystery knight at the age of ten. The crowd laughed at him, but despite the humiliation, he steeled himself and steadied his horse.

His heart had nearly stopped with equal parts fear and excitement when he, the mystery knight, was set to ride against Prince Duncan. It stung something fierce when he was knocked off his horse, but Prince Duncan was no cruel victor, and the man had laughed himself silly when he'd claimed Barristan's helmet and revealed his identity to the crowd cheering.

"A bold boy" The prince laughed, though not unkindly

And so Barristan Selmy was forevermore 'Barristan the Bold'

...​

Six years later he would once more don the armaments of a mystery knight and prove himself a fearsome foe, unhorsing Prince Duncan and Ser Duncan the tall one after the other.

His skill, his identity, and his courage would garner the attention of King Aegon the Fifth, and the Unlikely had him kneel right there before a crowd that now cheered for him.

"Arise, Ser Barristan Selmy" The King grinned "A Knight of the seven kingdoms"

"The bold!" Prince Duncan cheered "Barristan the bold!"

"Bold! Bold! Bold!" The crowd cheered in turn.

Barristan's smile was nearly blinding.

...​

For many years, there was peace, but then the sins of a king long past reared their head from the far east.

Maelys Blackfyre, Kinslayer, and would-be usurper had risen and intended to come for what he thought was his rightful throne, and the Kingdoms would burn if that was the price he had to pay.

The War Of The Nine Penny Kings had come.

Barristan was no coward. He cut a swath of death across the ranks of the commanders of the golden company and attacked the last heir of House Blackfyre himself.

Amid battle and death, the Bold and the Monstrous clashed before the eyes of men from all across the known world, two titans fighting with strength and conviction few could equal.

Maelys' strength and skill were as monstrous as his appearance.

Barristan was better.

With a final blow, Barristan drove his sword through the last Blackfyre's throat, ending their threat once and for all.

The knowledge that he had struck the killing blow and brought an end to the war would fill him with pride and earn him eternal fame across the Seven Kingdoms.

When he thought of the death, the carnage he'd seen, though, his victory tasted like ashes in his mouth.

...​

Gerold Hightower took Barristan's vows to the applause of the noble lords and ladies of the court. King Jahaerys himself bestowed the White Cloak upon him.

Though the king was sickly and weak, his smile was full of respect as he nodded to him "Arise, Ser Barristan, a Knight of my Kingsgaurd."

And so he did, older, wiser, and with pride in his movements as he prepared to dedicate himself to a worthy cause.

...​

The death of King Jahaerys struck Barristan like a physical wound, for all that he had only ever been cordial with the King. the man had Barristan's respect for his dedication to the realm, however, and his death pained him greatly.

As he watched the Price Aerys, now King ascend the throne, he could only hope that the gods would be kind to the house of the dragon. They had suffered far too long as it was.

...​

Alas, he had yet to truly learn that the generosity of the gods was only matched by their cruelty.

...​

Aerys named Tywin Lannister as his hand and overlooked all that Barristan found distasteful about the man. His well-hidden but everpresent ambition, his desire for absolute power, and his unrestrained cruelty.

The culling of the Reynes was brutal and an affront to everything he believed in, and to decency itself.

But for all of Barristan's distaste for the man, he was an efficient hand, and for a time the realm prospered and there was peace.

Aerys was perhaps a little quicker too angry, held an almost visible dislike of his wife, and was generally impatient, The Hand curbed the worst of his tendencies, and for a time that was the end of it.

He felt only cautious relief.

...​

Then,

Duskendale

...​

Aerys unraveled into a monster, and cruelty and unjust monstrosity became standard fixtures in the court of the king.

The first time wildfire was brought to the keep, Barristan spent a day and a night cursing the existence of the Alchemist's guild and their unholy abomination.

The first day he was forced to stand vigil and hear the good and king Queen Rhaella's screams, he lasted only until he was relieved of duty before he weeps in pain and rage.

He had once been brave, but that courage had abandoned him, for he could not break his oaths and do what needed to be done for the good of the realm.

If only he had left that monster of a King to his fate.

...​

Rhaegar was the one shining light in all of that darkness. Though the young prince was melancholy and prone to fits of silence, he grew to be kind and generous, dutiful and merciful in equal measure.

Barristan had no doubt Rhaegar would be just as his father never was.

...​

When Lyanna Stark was crowned as the queen of love and beauty, it took real effort on his part not to abandon his post and ring the fool's head like a bell.

What is this? What was he doing?

Gods be good, let this end well, please

...​

When Rhaegar returned, he tried to question him on what he'd done with Lyanna Stark. He tried, but the Prince of Dragonstone only glanced at him with anger and regret

"I am no monster, Barristan"

And to Barristan's everlasting shame, he couldn't help the seed of doubt that sprung within him

"Then what are you?"

...​

Rhaegar fell at the trident and with him the last few hopes he held in his heart for a fitting ruler on the iron throne. When Robert Baratheon offered him mercy, Barristan wanted to spit in his face.

And yet... The Targaryen cause was dead, and he had no sworn brothers to aid or receive aid from.

What could he have done?

Declare for Aegon? The young boy would never be king, not with the kingdoms so deeply united behind the charismatic Baratheon lord and so fiercely against the Targaryen dynasty.

He could have died and preserved what was left of his tainted honor.

Instead, he chose to bend the knee and hope he could regain his honor with a new king, one who for all accounts was neither cruel nor monstrous despite his lust for battle.

At the time, it was an easy choice.

...​

Years later, as Barristan walked the halls of the Red Keep, having been relieved of his duty as the knight, he reflected and acknowledged the truth that had been forming in his mind for years.

Robert Baratheon was not fit to be king.

He wasn't even fit to be a lord at that.

Charismatic and battle smart he may have been, but he lacked any sense of duty, openly shamed his wife with his whoring, and paid hardly any attention to the matters of court. To say nothing of the poisonous queen, and the already spoiled rotten crown prince.

He passed a startled Jaimie Lannister who grinned in greeting to him. Barristan shook his head and turned away.

Tonight was a night for ghosts, it seemed, and he had no wish to experience the childish wit of the Kingslayer.

(He missed the way the young man flinched, as though he'd been struck.)

He entered his quarters and relieved himself of his cloak before beginning to unstrap his armor.

In a better time, he would have had sworn brothers to aid him, but he had no trust in Robert's Kingsgaurd. Arrogant fools with more bluster than skill.

He was struck, then, with a sense of longing and grief for his old companions, true and loyal men who had more honor in them than all of the fools in the Red Keep combined.

Or so it had once seemed.

"How times change" He whispered sadly

"Indeed, old friend"

He had no time to react before hands wrapped around him and dragged him into the darkness of what he dimly recognized to be a hidden opening to a passage built into the back wall itself.

...​

Man. Proper communication in Westeros seems to be a foreign concept.

Anyway, hope you liked my take on the bold. Shit gets real next chapter.

Does anyone notice any parallels between The Bold and the Sword Of The Morning? XD hahaha

Please leave your comments and ideas and if you don't like it, please be courteous.

 

[Firewillreign]

The passageway was hidden deep into the back wall of one of the underground caverns built to house dragons, and given its titanic size and who had likely built it and why, I was willing to bet gold on the fact that it had once housed Balerion himself.

Getting down the cavern was tricky, and we had a scare when the earth had literally crumbled underneath us and we went sliding for a good dozen feet before regaining our bearings.

We traveled the passageway in near total silence, giving me a chance to think.

Architecture in Westeros was incredible, period. Perhaps not in terms of design or efficiency to so some people, but the homes and holdings of nobility tended to be anywhere from modest to mind-boggling. Winterfell, Newcastle, The Red Keep, and The Dragon Pit had all been well and truly magnificent, and seeing them firsthand had been equally so.

This however? Traveling down an ancient, possibly unstable tunnel deep beneath the city with only one lamp for lighting? Not how I'd like to spend my time, but alas.

If an ordinary life can give you lemons, then life as deposed royalty in Westeros will force-feed them to you and squeeze the leftovers in your eyes.

Arthur's grip tightened on my hand, breaking me from my thoughts. I looked at him in askance, but he merely shot me a weak half-smile and we continued on in relative silence.

Right. Even the Sword Of The Morning was nervous. How encouraging.

Though considering that if this went wrong he may be clashing swords with Barristan 'the bold' Selmy, I figured nerves were fair. Actually, while I was on that...

"Whose better?"

"Pardon?"

"Between you and Ser Barristan" I asked, and I could see his understanding of the question from the slight change in his posture "Who'd the better swordsman"

I expected him to take a moment to consider it or something, but instead, he replied immediately

"I am."

Well. That was direct.

Arthur must have noticed my sudden quiet for he sighs in response "It is not mere bluster, Jon. I trained with Barristan for years and even then our skill was comparable. Now, though he is still mighty and skilled like few others, he is not my equal. That is not to say a battle between us would be effortless, no, far from it. He is perhaps one of the very few men In Westeros who could best me should I falter.

I nodded once, and silence reigned once more.

They'd trained together, were friends and sworn brothers, and if the worst came to it Arthur was his better, if only slightly. That was a good enough reassurance that it calmed my frayed nerves and if anything it seemed to calm Arthur's, if the way his pace and strength of movement rose.

This was the right way forward. This would work, damn it, it had to.

...

Ash and Smoke and deadly heat

A three-headed dragon set in black stone

Shifting scales and a storm of flames.

...​

My eyes snapped open

Shit!

I scrambled back into my dark and barely lit alcove as an old man who could only be Barristan Selmy roared in outrage, sword drawn and ready to charge. Making it into the tunnel beneath the white sword tower had been the easy part, it would seem. We'd climbed up flights of stairs in near total silence, and Arthur had hardly given me any warning before he was placing me in a small alcove hidden from view and reaching forward to listen through a wall.

That's how we'd stayed, though, for hours. Arthur had to wait for just the right time to make his move, and going into the keep itself was suicide. Time passed, and the darkness and lack of stimulation led to me falling asleep.

The dreams that had been plaguing me since the day I touched the Dragon egg (since I'd felt that inexplicable warmth) seemed to get more frequent and nonsensical, and had I had the time I would have been ranting with frustration at my inability to not only comprehend them but even to fully remember them.

Unfortunately, I certainly didn't have the time given that I was far too close to what appeared to be the beginning of a death match than I'd ever wanted to be

"Honor less cur!" The bold roared, and old gods green and wise, was that voice powerful "To strike a man from behind speaks more to your nature than any foul words ever could, assassin!"

He lunged forward and swung the blade in a move so fast that It devolved into a blur of shining silver.

Arthur, with his cloak and hood firmly in place quickly raised his own blade to meet it, and the clash of weapons set my ears ringing.

"It is most amusing, old friend." Oh shit. I'd never, ever heard that kind of barely controlled fury in Arthur's voice before. "To hear you speak of honor. You who turned your cloak to the usurper."

Though I suspected it wasn't, If by any chance Arthur's goal was to de-escalate then he failed outstandingly.

The light of the lantern did nothing to soften the black rage that stole over Barristan's face, nor did it do anything to slow his charge as he retreated a step back and to the right before lunging once more, blade raising from the ground in an arc so savage Arthur leaped back to avoid it "I will not have my honor questioned by a hired knife who slinks in the shadows, a man who possesses none himself!"

"Whatever honor you once possessed was long since tainted!" The roar Arthur let out was possibly the most horrifying thing I'd heard yet. To see the levelheaded man lose himself so was anxiety-inducing in its own right "You betrayed your oaths! You betrayed your white cloak! You betrayed your prince's memory!"

He punctuated each accusation with a devastating blow of his sword such that his opponent could barely parry, and Barristan faltered for a moment at the last accusation. He paid for it by being incapable of fully moving out of the way of the positively brutal kick that had been aimed at his ribs. The thud of the impact alone has me wincing, though the man himself was already righting himself and dancing out the way of the follow-up blow with grace I'd expect of one far younger than he.

"You...You are no mere assassin. You are here for me" Barristan's eyes went wide in realization and he took several steps back, though his posture did not lose its defensiveness "Who are you?"

"Do you not yet know? Do you not yet recognize me?" Arthru's voice was an ocean of rage and grief, and I knew with certainty that this meeting was driving a blade into very old wounds. he pulls his hood off with a sharp movement "We were brothers, once!"

A moment, then-

"By the old gods and the new!"

Barristan Selmy's anger left his paling face, replaced with a look that was equal bits horror, wonder, and joy "A-

"No!" Arthur snarled, then, startling both of us. "Not here. This foolishness has already risked our discovery as it is. We shall await you in the Dragon Pit on the morrow, at the hour of the wolf. You will have your answers then, and not a moment before."

"You cannot-" the old man blinked "We?"

That was my cue then. With a swift movement, I jumped from the alcove I'd remained in, and Barristan whirled to stare at me in shock "Evening?"

Before the man had a moment to respond, Arthur was already pushing past him and lifting me in his hands, balancing both my weight and the lantern "The hour of the wolf, Barristan."

"I cannot abandon my post-"

"Why ever not?" The venom in Arthur's tone was unmistakable "You've done it once before!"

The man flinched, face twisting in guilt. Then he refocused on me.

"The child, who is?-"

But we were already moving down the passageway back to the pits, and the last I saw of Barristan Selmy was him staring at us in desperate confusion and pain.

Then the light of the lantern left him, and he was consumed by shadows and hidden from sight.

...​

Woohoo. Even Arthur's got issues to work out people. Especially Arthur.

The next chapter is not gonna be easy on anyone, I promise. hahaha XD

Leave your comments and Ideas and if you don't like it, please be courteous.

 

[Firewillreign]

When we emerged from the ruined husk of the Dragon Pit, it was to discover that dawn had already come. Looking down from atop Rhaenys's hill, Kings Landing seemed to shift and stir like some great beast, its inhabitants beginning to stream from their homes to begin the new day. A gentle wave of noise rose to meet us, the sound of half a million people rousing. Peaceful, and it almost let me forget my worries.

Almost.

Arthur was not calm in any sense of the word, nor was he approaching the situation with anything resembling his common level-headedness. I couldn't judge given that I wasn't too far off myself, but it did mean he was more likely to make an emotionally driven mistake, and at this point, those only came in the deadly variety. Deadly to us or deadly to other parties, I couldn't tell.

"Where will we head now? I asked as we began our descent "There many hours till nightfall and more still to the hour of the wolf"

"The ship."

I raised a questioning eyebrow at that, confusion painting my features "They won't wait for us, if that's what you're aiming for, they've already assured us this was a one-way trip. And even if they were they won't be traveling to Dragonstone, so it's a moot point."

"I am aware" he reassured me, and I disliked how distant his voice was "They intend to spend another day within the city, and I only need one able-bodied man for what I have planned"

"What do you have planned?" I glanced at him suspiciously "What are you plotting, Arthur?"

Eyes still distant, he shot me a quick glance "A test of sorts. One that will test my former sworn brother's mettle"

Naturally, that answered one question and begot half a dozen others.

When I pointed that out, Arthur merely requested my patience and picked up the pace

...​

Barristan emerged from the cavernous lair and into the heart of the Dragon pit, a lamp held high and eyes shifting this way and that, seeking out his quarry. The pale moonlight shone down through the demolished dome overhead, lighting the pit adequately, but shadows still clung desperately to the far ends of the structure, providing many a space where men could evade his sight.

Barristan was not fool enough to call out. and draw possible attention to himself. Arthur had chosen the pit for the secrecy it offered, but he would not trust it to be empty in its entirety. Young children, drunk men and women, and people of every sort occasionally stumbled into the remains of the Dragon Pit if only to glimpse the once home of the dragons. Arthur would announce himself only when he arrived, and only then.

Arthur

Wonder and joy, pain and confusion, and half a hundred other thoughts stirred in the old knight's heart, an ocean raging inside of him and threatening to spill out and consume him.

How was his sworn brother alive, despite Eddard Stark's insistence on having slain him? Where had he been?

More importantly, what had roused him? What had drawn the Sword Of The Morning out of the shadows and into the light, in Kings Landing of all places?

One thought came to mind, and it nearly had him screaming in rage and grief.

Where Barristan had been a mentor, teacher, and friend to Rhaegar, Arthur had been a brother in all but blood. Had he emerged to avenge the Silver Prince? Had he come for Robert Baratheon's head?

Barristan had come alone. He needed to know.

He had sworn oaths to guard and protect the Baratheon King and had turned his cloak for a chance to repent for his past sins. He was sworn to protect the man, and yet the thought of crossing blades with Arthur was like a knife to the heart, searing and twisting and -

A sudden noise and his sword was drawn and raised between one breath and another even as he whirled around, feat balanced and form strong "Who goes there?!"

"Easy! Easy good man!" The hooded stranger approaches, hands raised and steps slow and measured "I mean no harm, I swear it."

"State your purpose" Barristan replies, for it is clear from the man's form and tone that he had one. Both betrayed caution and wariness, but no surprise. He'd been expecting Barristan.

"Delivering a message" The cloaked man responded, and he is close enough that he can place his northern burr and see his facial structure, sharp and rough. He slowly withdrew a scroll and carefully handed it over, taking care to keep his other hand within sight. Slowly, without taking his eyes off him, Barristan took the scroll and retreated a dozen steps, before warily lowering his blade.

"Well that's done, then" The man nodded "Enjoy your evening, then"

And with a sharp turn, he was moving away. Barristan waited until he'd disappeared and his footsteps were no longer audible before breaking the seal on the scroll and unraveling it.

A code, one that he recognized. What in the god's name was-

...

Barristan's eyes misted over. It would seem that whether or not they crossed blades Arthur would cut him all the same.

The code spelled out merely four words.

"Where once he sang"

...​

We stood in a small grove on the very outskirts of the city, dressed in matching dark cloaks. Our packs, holding all of our provisions and my chests rested on a tree trunk nearby.

"Arthur, you told Ser Barristan that we'd meet him in the Dragon Pit, yes?"

"Indeed"

"So" I began leadingly "Should we not, perhaps, be... In the Dragon Pit?"

"Of course not"

My eye twitched, and he sighed "Imagine you are a King's guard, one who had once served another ruler and then turned his cloak and swore service to his killer and usurper"

...Okay. Awfully specific, but... "Go on"

"You serve dutifully for years, but one night you discover that one of your former sworn brothers, skilled with a blade and capable of traversing your King's keep through secret passageways few now of and none have mapped. He then requests your presence in an abandoned ruin under the cover of darkness. What is the reasonable thing to do?"

...Oh. I get it "Round up a score of men to assist me in capturing him since he may be there to either kill me or kill my King,"

He nods approvingly, a smile on his face for the first time that day "Clever and quick-witted. Well done"

"Then, when we went back to the ship-

"I secured the service of one of the northern sailors for a sum of gold" He nodded "To deliver a coded message to Barristan, but only if-

"He came alone" My eyes widen in realization "If he does, he gets the real location, and if he doesn't, well, we know where his loyalties lay and he knows nothing truly dangerous aside from your survival."

"A threat to be sure, but hardly as dangerous as the alternative"

Right. Because if he was truly loyal to Robert and knew about me then we'd be in deep shit.

"Even that is not as great a threat as you might believe it to be" There was something mean about Arthur's smirk as he went on "For my survival to be accepted, Eddard Stark would have to have lied, and Robert Baratheon-

"Will sooner swear eternal chastity than hear any disparagement of Eddard Stark!" I couldn't help my thrilled cackle, not when Arthur was grinning right along with me "Far more likely that the aging Kingsguard was attacked by a skilled assassin and lost his senses than for a dead man to rise from the grave!"

Sly Knight

Curiosity assuaged, we fell back into a silence rich in anticipation. Where would Barristan's loyalty lay? If it wasn't with me, then aside from losing an incredible piece of protection and legitimacy, it would shatter Arthur.

I could tell.

Thankfully, we did not have to wait for long.

Footsteps, only one set thank the gods, sounded and we both rose to attention, Arthur drawing his blade and standing ready.

Dressed in a simple brown cloak and with a lantern held high in his left hand, Barristan Selmy stepped into the clearing. relief and grief warring for dominance on his features.

Finally, after a moment of tense silence, he spoke in a raspy voice "It was a cruel thing, to summon me here"

I looked at Arthur in confusion. What?-

"Where else would be more fitting?" Arthur voice was no longer wrathful, merely tired but firm "I needed to know the measure of your loyalty"

"I did not reveal you, old friend"

"If you had, you would not be here"

Silence reigned for a moment longer. I expected Barristan to question Arthur, to ask the questions that were no doubt boiling beneath the surface. What he did next, though, surprised us both.

"I did not kneel to keep my head" He spoke, the confession laced with pain "I swear. I was and am not so much a coward that I would kneel for so petty a reason"

Arthur regarded him with piercing violet eyes "Then why? Why betray your oaths so? Why betray Rhaegar?"

The last word was heavy, and the feeling of being an outsider out of his depth struck me quickly.

I shouldn't be listening to this. This meeting may ultimately be for my benefit but this conversation? This was a dive into old wounds and older regrets and I had no part in it.

I listened all the same.

"Because Rhaegar was dead" The Bold answered with the voice of a broken man "Rhaegar was dead, the realm was broken, and I knew that had I stayed true to my oaths as a knight, had I slain the mad beast that sat the iron throne none of that horror would have come to pass. Rhaegar would have ascended, he would've brought order and justice, his children and wife would have lived and the realm would be whole and prosperous.

He looked up, eyes clouded with tears "I did not turn my cloak for my life, or a position in the Kingsguard. I turned it for a chance to atone for my sins"

"Did you?" Arthur question was quiet and my attention was absolute

The old knight tipped his head back and laughed, a noise of grief and derision and pain that had me flinching

"I am sworn to a whore monger of a king, a man who cares not a wit for the ruling of the realm and prefers to dishonor his wife and mourn a dead girl rather than take all that he has been given and make himself anew"

"I have atoned for nothing and achieved nothing. I am a broken relic, old friend, fit only to be forgotten"

"No you aren't!"

By the time I realized it was me who had howled, I was already striding into the middle of the clearing. This...This wasn't right. This wasn't going to stand!"

"You tried!" I glared up at the stunned man and pointed my finger straight in his face "You tried. You made mistakes, but you tried. You picked yourself up and you tried to stand once more for what you believed in, and other people's shit life choices don't take away from that at all! You, Barristan Selmy, are one of the few truly honorable men on this continent, and you are going to accept that or so help me!"

For a moment, the dumbfounded man could only gape at me, a small child waving my fist at him as though I could actually harm him, before raising his eyes to Arthur helplessly

"He's right. I thought you and honor less turn cloak, but I see the truth of it at last, and forgive me for not doing so sooner." Arthur intoned, and those words stirred shock and hope alike onto the old man's expression. My greatest protector merely smiled, eyes misty "It is good to see you once again, brother."

A moment, then,

Both men surged and embraced, the sight drawing a beaming smile on my face.

When next they separated, Barristan's attention turned to me, gratitude and curiosity in his expression "Kind words from one so young. Who might you be?"

Oh. Here we go. My joy faded, and I turned to stare at Arthur, who nodded and moved to step at my side, causing Barristan's curious gaze to follow him

"You wondered where I was, all these years" Arthur only went on when the old knight nodded "I was in Winterfell, under the purview of Eddard Stark"

"...What in the god's good name could draw you there?" Barristan asked incredulously before his visage twisted in anger "Were you a prisoner-?!"

"No" Arthur closed his eyes. Moment of truth, then. My heart thundered in my chest. "I was fulfilling my oaths as a Kingsguard"

"I do not understand?" Barristan asked helplessly "What Is a Kingsguard without a King?"

"I had a King. When Eddard Stark returned from Dorne, what did he bring with him?"

There was a paise

"His men" The old knight replied in stark confusion "The remains of the men who'd accompanied him, his bannerman Howland Reed, the remains of his sister and a... a newborn-" His eyes fell on me, and I could see the moment all the pieces snapped into place. He gasped, as though he'd been struck, and stumbled back "Lyanna. Lyanna Stark, gods be good!"

"Ser Barristan Selmy" Arthur intoned gravely as I straightened "You stand in the presence of Gaemon Of The House Targaryen, First Of His name, Rightful King of The Andals, The Rhyonar And The First men, Lord Of The Seven Kingdoms And Protector of The Realm."

...​

Mic Drop. I regret nothing hahaha

So whatcha think? Things aren't gonna be cooling down quite yet either.

Shout out to people who liked my naming choice. Thanks for that.

Leave your comments and ideas and if you don't like it, please be courteous.

 

[Firewillreign]

"And that is how it is," Arthur concluded, sitting on the grass and leaning against the bark of the massive oak tree behind him.

Similarly positioned, Barristan sat opposite him, face unreadable now that the tale that simultaneously defied all reason and explained everything had run its course.

And me? As ironic as the notion was, I was guarding the two men, making long walks in a spherical perimeter around the clearing with a lamp in my hand for the sole purpose of ensuring we weren't overheard. At this point, even a member of the smallfolk hearing us could snowball into disaster. The fact that it also helped me avoid Barristan's wild glances was merely a benefit. I respected the man beyond words but he wasn't in the right state of mind at the moment and it was showing.

Though given everything, I could hardly blame him.

Something moved in the far corner of my sight and I stifled a curse as I whirled around, but there was nothing there. Damn. For all that I loved nature and its abundance in this world, being in this grove in the middle of the night brought back unpleasant memories of my... adventure in Winterfell's Godswood.

Hadn't that been a singularly unpleasant experience?

"Jon."

Arthur's voice drew my attention and I headed back into the open clearing. Both of the knights had stood, and if the strength in their posture was any indication they had regained their bearings, or enough of them to make do. Barristan's eyes had lost their wild edge, and his expression instead was one of heartbreakingly tentative hope, a small but genuine smile on his face.

'I see it now" He spoke directly to me, smile still in place. When I shot him a curious look he elaborated "The Targaryan look. It's there when one knows what to search for, your gr-"

"Jon" I cut him off quickly. Best nip that in the bud now "It's better to get used to Jon first. To avoid any mistakes"

Barristan opened his mouth, closed it, then spoke again "Very well...Jon."

I smiled. This stilted conversation was awkward in the extreme, and I did my best to dispel it "So do I resemble my sire, then? I've been told I'm the very image of Eddard Stark"

"Not quite" It was Arthur "You have the Stark coloring and a similar face"

"But the Targaryan is there" Barristan nodded "Your features are softer but more pronounced. Elegant. Though it's not Rhaegar you greatly resemble, but his mother, the Queen Rhaella, and..."

He trailed off and looked down, and Arthur seemed to catch on immediately if the grim look on his face with any indication.

"Rhaenys. You resemble your sister, Rhaenys"

Ah. I had to look down at that too. A little girl whose only crime was being a threat to a burgeoning dynasty, A girl who was my sister by blood. Then There was baby Aegon and...

Arthur must have sensed the dark turn our thoughts were taking, for he spoke up "We must away, now. Barristan, you must return to the keep, lest"

"Lest my absence is noted" The old knight finished grimly, to which Arthur merely nodded.

"We have not yet arranged for a means to flee the city, a failing on my part. We will do so now. You must return here every night and be ready to leave at a moment's notice" Arthur intoned, to Barristan's nod "We shall find lodgings within the city and begin our preparations. Be ready, brother"

"I will"

"Very good" Arthur nodded, before to my surprise a smile of pride flashed across his face "And now only one last business remains"

Slowly, Barristan tuned to me, Arthur at his side. The old man nodded in respect before dropping to a knee "Your Grace, I am an old knight, and to my everlasting shame, I failed your father before you. I can only offer my apologies, my regrets, and my oath. Allow me to take a place at your Kingsgaurd, and I swear with all the strength that remains to me, I will not fail you again."

The conviction in his tone awed me. The look in his eyes was even more so. Had Arthur not prepared me for this precise moment, I would've likely faltered. Instead, I drew myself up, straightened my spine, and looked him in the eye

"There were failures on the part of many, Ser Barristan" I spoke, and for all Arthur's preparations the words were my own "It does not benefit us to dwell on the. You are a loyal man, of fierce conviction and great bravery. Swear your oath to me, now"

"I swear to obey to obey your commands, to keep your secrets, to counsel you when requested and to keep silent when not, and to defend your name and honor."

"A fine oath, and one that I have no doubt you will uphold" I nodded "Arise, Ser Barristan, a knight of my Kingsguard."

The bold knight rose, and the look on his face said it all. What happened next, though, was very much a surprise. Arthur dropped to a knee.

"You don't have to" I started but he cut me off

"It is customary for a knight of the Kingsgaurd to renew their oaths when the crown passes to the heir, and I have not yet done so"

I would've argued on how necessary that was given that he'd been performing the duties of a Kingsgaurd above and beyond given the circumstances for half a decade, but his tone stopped me. This was important to Arthur, it meant a great deal, and I would not deprive him of it. I owed him this and more.

With a nod from me, he recited his oath.

"An oath you have and continue to uphold. Arise, Ser Arthur Dayne, a knight of my Kingsguard.

Despite everything, despite all the danger and the threats we were likely going to deal with, the smiles, the hope, and the conviction that both of them seemed to radiate made it seem surmountable.

Now to begin preparations.

...​

The next few days would prove difficult. Arthur could not find merchant ships traveling to Dragonstone willing to take on three additional passengers, nor did we have enough gold to hire one for that sole purpose. The easiest part of our preparations was finding discreet lodgings within the city. In times of peace, King's Landing saw much trade and it was not uncommon for travelers to seek a good strong roof over their edge.

I passed the time trailing Arthur everywhere (Not that I had a choice, the man literally would not let me walk in public without holding my hand, and for good reason) and sleeping.

More specifically, sleeping with the golden egg (that warmth was special). My dreams (flames, shifting scales and black stone) grew in intensity as if the rapidly approaching trip to Dragonstone was hastening them. Perhaps it was.

When Arthur announced to me and Barristan that he'd found a ship, I was just about ready to tear my hair out in frustration. The dreams had risen in frequency to the point that I had them nearly every night. I was waking up confused, irritable, and hardly pleasant company.

Regardless, according to Arthur we only had to endure one other night, and in the meantime, preparations were taking place to explain Barristan's disappearance. Very thorough preparations.

Things were progressing according to plan.

So of course, it was around that point that shit went sideways.

...​

We'd just finished a meeting with Barristan, where he'd taken to checking in with us and then regaling me with stories of Rhaegar. I didn't have to fake my fascination, for biological father or not the Silver Prince was a man worth learning from.

I'd been particularly curious regarding his dream journals, but Barristan had backed Arthur's words. Anything even suspected to have belonged to a Targaryan was destroyed on the order of Robert Baratheon.

Arthur and I left the grove, and I stopped for a moment to take a pull from the waterskin. That's when they struck.

Two of them lunged for the immediately alert Arthur, swarming him as he drew his blade and cut into the closest. The men were dead in seconds, the surprise being unable to trump skill, but four more struck, surrounding him even as he yelled for me and moved to cut down the last. I was terrified, scared out of my mind, and barely comprehending what I was seeing, which was why I didn't even manage to spot the seventh before he'd already wrapped burly hands around me and was running into the grove

"Arthur!" I screamed in hysterical fear, and my captor only laughed "Ser Barristan!"

"What, you think a Kingsgaurd is going to save a little shit like you" The monster grinned down at me, black hair, eyes, and course features wild while I kicked and screamed. Remnants of self-defense classes kicked in and I raised my free hand to poke at his eyes, but he merely laughed and switched positions, holding me with one hand as he ran "A fighter already, are we? Good! They'll love you down in the pits. Knew you'd fetch good coin the moment I laid eyes on ya."

What? Who-?

The man, I realized with horror, was the man who'd been leering at me on my first day in this city. Oh, gods oh gods oh gods!

Behind us, a scream of rage sounded out.

"Barristan" I whispered, before hollering "Barristan! Ser Barristan! We're here!"

"Shut your fucking mouth you little cunt!" The man snarled as he slowed and shook me roughly "Else I'll make sure you can't make no more noise!"

No, no, no it couldn't end like this. Things were finally becoming clearer! I was making progress! This can't be it it can't it can't it can't!

Then I caught a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly we were tumbling to the ground. A moment of silence, then with a scream of hysterical joy I lunged up and away. I was free I was free I was free!

I stumbled when the howling started behind me, and I turned to stare. My former captor was screaming nonsensically as he beheld the gushing stump that ended just below his right knee. Standing over him, blade dripping red a cloaked figure stood. The blade rose, and the man regained a fraction of his senses

"No!" he begged "Mercy! Mercy! I'll do anything, ple-"

The blade arced left and down, and red sprayed. The head rolled to a stop a few feet away from me.

I turned and retched, tears burning my eyes.

Gods, why is it always me!? why why why!?

"Jon!" Arthur's voice cut through the night, and I sobbed with relief when my two Kingsgaurd rounded the cover of trees, splattered in blood but unharmed. I ran towards them, my eyesight still blurry from tears, and I was only vaguely aware of Arthur lifting me in his hands while Barristan moved forward, sword at the ready.

The cloaked figure raised his hands, blade held up "I mean no harm. I'm not with their sort."

"Then whose sort are you with?" The Old Knight's voice was sharp and strong. There would be no more surprise attacks.

Then the cloaked figure surprised us all by laughing, and the action drew what remained of my conscious attention to him. he in turn seemed to stare straight at me. "With any luck, yours, your grace"

Arthur stiffened, Barristan cursed, and what little calm I was regaining fled.

He knew. Someone knew.

This would only end in the man's death. There was not a chance either of my Knights would let the fool live, or else he'd spell doom for us all.

"Honestly, you shouldn't be so surprised" The cloaked figure spoke casually, inching backward as Barristan approached. "If you want to be discrete, then perhaps you shouldn't be having screaming matches in the white sword tower of all places, honestly. Granted, you were in a hidden passageway, but it's easy enough for certain people to overhear such wonderful surprises through there. Barristan's not the only Kingsguard who lives in the tower, after all."

Barristan stopped in his tracks, and I did not need to see his face to see that it had lost all color. Where before Arthur was stiff, now he may as well have been carved from stone. His grip around me tightened to the point of being uncomfortable.

And me? I merely watched in stunned disbelief as the man drove his blade into the soil and raised his hands to bring down his hood.

Sharp aristocratic features, blonde hair, deep green eyes, and a confident grin.

"Well," said Jaime 'The Kingslayer' Lannister "Isn't this quite the mess, eh?"

...​

You didn't think I'd let you guys see all the plot twists coming, did you?

Hahaha XD

Leave your comments and ideas and If you don't like it, please be courteous.

 

[Firewillreign]

When he'd been but a boy, Jaime had struggled to read.

A small thing, some would say, for a boy of five namedays to be unable to read. Then a year passed, and another. Cersei learned, their cousins learned, and children younger than he learned, and the maestar declared him incapable.

His father did as he was wont to do and refused to accept any notion that so much as implied inferiority on the part of his golden heir. His practice blade was taken, his privileges cut and his lessons would henceforth be with father.

Jaimie wept the first few times. The words were reversed, he argued desperately, and the letters shifted. Tywin had no patience for excuses and less for failure.

It culminated in one lesson where Jaimie did something he'd never once dared to do. Tired of the heedless repetitions, tired of his father's relentless approach, tired of the judgment for being the stupidest Lannister, he'd flung the book off the table and screamed in the Old Lion's face.

He'd had enough, he couldn't, he wouldn't, not anymore, enough!

When he was done, his father had merely regarded him with cold eyes and spoke with a tone colder still.

"Such a disappointment."

Then he'd turned around and strode out of the room.

It was his mother who found him hours later, hiding beneath his bed and weeping.

"Come, my little love" she'd cooed as she sat on the floor and drew him into her arms "We all stumble, sweet boy"

"But I always stumble!" He cried into her chest "I can't read. Cersei can read and the others can read and I can't! Father says I'm a disappointment!"

"No, you can't" She'd hummed "But that doesn't mean you won't, my little love"

He'd looked at her then. He didn't have a clearer memory of Joanna Lannister than when she sat there, golden locks shining from the light of the fire and green eyes warm and full of love

"Your father pushes you hard, little love because he knows the same truth that I do" She brushed his tears off with her thumb "That you, Jaime of the House Lannister can do anything. You are a lion, my little love, and lions do not falter. We stand tall and proud, come what may. You are brave, Jaimie, and kind and dutiful, and you embody the best of House Lannister. One day, when you inherit Casterly Rock, all the realm will behold as you stand taller and prouder still than those who came before you"

Tears dry, he'd asked in wonder if she truly believed that.

She chuckled lightly "Have you ever known me to lie?

He had not

"You will prove my words, Jaime, I know it"

And so he would

The next morning Tywin Lannister would find his son standing in front of his solar, waiting with a pile of books under one arm and wearing a look of determination.

"I'm going to read today, Father"

And though he spoke no words, Tywin Lannister smiled, and that was enough.

...​

For a time, all was well. The years passed, and though Jaimie learned to read his passion lay with his sword, and so that is where he excelled. Now it was his cousins who looked at him in wonder for his skill, It was he who proved his worth, who'd proven mother right. The smile he received when he'd told her as much had been near blinding.

And then,

His mother stared at Him and Cersei in horror, before separating them. Confined to opposite ends of the keep, Jaime had promised his mother never to play with Cersei like that again, and that was that.

Later, when he learned mother would soon have a child, he drove himself into his lessons with even greater fervor, for his newest sibling deserved only the finest older brother there was.

His mother was proud.

His father even occasionally graced him with a rare smile

All was well

Until it wasn't

...​

His mother was gone, and all the warmth of Casterly Rock with her.

His brother was a hideous thing, but a babe all the same.

His sister was once more by his side.

His father never smiled anymore.

And Jaime?

Jaimie was lost. Joanna Lannister had been what bound them together, and now she was gone and their unity with her.

It is only a few short years before the loneliness and the despair has him breaking his promise.

Cersei was all he truly had.

...​

He trained. He trained and trained until his skill with a blade became a legend and still, he trained.

He would be a knight, he decided, a knight of renown. His mother's faith required no less.

Tyrion grew, a lovely boy who worshipped the ground Jaime tried on. Cersei blossomed into a beautiful woman, and though he had many a fault she was his and he was hers, and damn the consequences.

He was happy.

He was

Wasn't he?

...​

Ser Arthur Dayne knights him with Dawn, and for the first time in years, he feels truly alive. The difference has him near tears.

For so long he'd been drifting, now he'd found a purpose.

He could live up to what his mother once thought he'd be. He could be great.

He could be good.

He was introduced to the court. He learned his duties quickly and diligently. Most importantly, he met Queen Rhaella, and perhaps she saw something in him for she she made the time to tell him stories of her youth with his mother and treat him as though he were her own.

Perhaps he'd finally done something right.

...​

Then the Mad King showed his true colors

"Were sworn to defend her as well" He speaks (he begs)

Jonothor Darry merely shook his head "But not from him"

...​

Aerys went too far, and a rebellion was born.

He swore to Rhaegar that he would protect his family, the last sparks of conviction burning within him.

...​

When he drove his blade through the Mad King's back and slit his throat for good measure, he felt nothing.

When he sat on the iron throne, he felt only the grief of having betrayed his oaths, of having betrayed his principles, of having made his mother a liar.

By the time Eddard Stark walks into the throne room, Jaime Lannister is dead, and only the Kingslayer remains.

...​

The years went by, dull and grey, as he became a monster, the oathbreaker, a man without honor, and all the rest of them. He bares them with silence.

What would be the point of speaking? Of telling his tale? He knew that whether they celebrated him or cursed him he was a failure. The whispers may cut but they did nothing to change the truth. Let them speak.

Robert Baratheon proved beyond all doubt that he was not fit for the throne and Jaime was torn between his desire to kill the man for the constant insults to Cersei or his pity for the broken husk.

Like calls to like, after all

The only bits of color were the moments he stole with Cersei. He felt only numb helplessness when even those became dull as she grew more and more poisonous and bitter, as their love became a weapon she used to hurt Robert (to hurt Jaime) in ways he'd never know.

Love. Is that what it truly is anymore? Is that what it ever was?

Joffrey?

He may have sired the boy but that was as far as that relation extended. He showed nothing but vague interest in the boy, and even then to appease Cersei at that.

The more he broke inside, the more he smiled and joked and boasted throughout the castle. He was a Lannister after all, and he had to stand tall and proud.

And continue to stand he would, even though fell in all the ways that mattered long ago.

...​

Though the man didn't know it, it was Barristan who managed to bleed him more than any of the others. The rabble may whisper as they like, he cared not a whit, but Barristan was his sworn brother!

His mentor!

Ask me! Ask me why I did it!

He screamed on the inside and smiled when Barristan looked at him with poorly hidden loathing.

The old knight didn't ask

Jaime didn't speak.

And for the longest time, that's the way they remained

...​

Jaime burst into Barristan's chamber when he heard the roars. He pressed his ears to the walls and listened.

What in all the seven hells was this?

That night, he did not visit Cersei.

No, instead he emerged into the Dragonpit dressed in unassuming clothes just as Barristan prepared to leave.

He followed him and in doing so discovered a truth that could burn the realm to cinders.

His first thought was profound disbelief at how not one person had seen that which was hidden in plain sight.

The second thought was that Cersei needed to know.

He was just outside of her chambers when he remembered his oath to the Silver Prince.

He remembers little Aegon and Rhaenys, who he'd played with.

Remembered the young boy's (the young king's) words to Barristan.

"You tried"

He remembers his mother's words

He didn't try then. But maybe he could now. He turned around and walked away.

...​

He followed them into the clearing every night, sticking to the shadows and keeping a distance. He listened. He learned and ... he tried to make a choice.

When the boy was attacked, he faltered for but a moment.

He could let him be taken, and it would be no fault of his own.

It could end right here, he could return to Cersei, and the boy would just be another dull regret.

"You will prove my words, Jaime"

He was moving before he fully comprehended what he was doing.

He made a choice and leaped.

When the deed was done and the boy was safe, for the first time in years Jaime Lannister faced both Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne and grinned.

"Well. Isn't this quite the mess, eh?"

...​

So Jaime is a complicated character. He is also a fucking mess.

Seriously though, the impact of his trauma is just as bad as Arthur and Barristan at least, if not more so.

Are you ready for what comes next? XD

As always, leave your comments and ideas and if you don't like it, please be courteous.

 

[Firewillreign]

After the utter disaster that was our last meeting, we'd moved from the grove to avoid the possibility of drawing any more attention to us, be it from more attackers or anyone else.

Held in Arthur's vice grip, I had been too out of it to voice an opinion, still shell-shocked at my brush with death (or a fate far worse) and the subsequent revelation of just who my savior was. By the time I'd regained a modicum of sense and calm the four of us were already moving across the city and into the Dragon Pit.

We'd secluded ourselves in a small cavern to the far opposite of Balerion's lair, one that had no doubt belonged to a far smaller dragon once long ago.

"Easier to defend" Arthur had murmured most gently when he noticed my look of quiet curiosity "and far easier to keep a watchful eye out."

A watchful eye for any more unwanted listeners went unsaid but heard all the same.

And so here we were, me having finally regained enough calm over my frayed nerves that Arthur had set me down to no doubt figure out a way out of this mess.

And what a mess it was.

Jaime Lannister stood opposite us with a look of unrepentant smugness, one that was met with blank consideration from Arthur and fury from Barristan.

The silence stretched on, no one knowing quite how to break it.

I had so many thoughts furiously churning within my mind, and yet when I tried to speak I could only think of what had just happened.

Why me?

"What are the pits?"

My companions started violently and directed their attention to my face, shifting slightly when they noticed the look of barely maintained calm I was putting on

"The man who t-took-" The words died in my throat, and I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath "The man who almost stole me away. He said that they would love me in the 'pits'

I opened my eyes, meeting the suddenly somber look on Jaimie and the twin expressions of wrath from Barristan and Arthur 'What did he mean?"

For a moment, they shared hesitant glances, and that told me they all at least had at the very least a suspicion they were guaranteed to share, a notion that had some of the fear and panic I was struggling to keep down boil into anger. Before I could demand answers, though, it was none other than Jaime who provided me with an answer.

"There are rumors" he began in a measured but knowing tone "That children in the city get stolen away and are made to fight to the death. The sacking of the city ensured that nearly an entire generation of children or close enough were orphaned, and many saw the chance for a good coin there was."

Calm calm calm calm

"Fight? Fight against who?" Barristan's voice was thunderous, rage and disgust wafting over him, and Jaime merely shrugged.

"Wild dogs bred for battle, large rats, other children, who knows?" There was something dark in the Lannister's eyes "This is King's Landing. There no limits to the uses the scum of the city will find for warm bodies that can't fight back."

Calm calm calm calm

"The Crown" Though his expression was still eerily blank, Arthur's voice was akin to thunder "What has the crown done to end this?"

Jaime laughed, though there was no humor in his tone "The only small folk that Robert cares for are his whores and Jon Arryn is far too concerned with stabilizing this fledgling Baratheon dynasty to care for mere peasants. And then the gold cloaks? Please, I'd wager all the gold in Casterly Rock that half the commanders are all appraised and make good coin off of it."

For a moment, we just stood in silence, before I nodded once "Thank you for saving me from such a fate, Ser Jaime. You have my utmost gratitude.

Ignoring the flash of surprise on his face (and what did that say, that he hadn't even expected thanks?) I turned around and screamed in apocalyptic fury

Gods-damnit!

It wasn't simply the horrifying experience endured and its implications. It wasn't that another knew a secret that could end in my death.

No. It was that this wasn't part of the script.

It was foolish, but I'd never taken into consideration the real-world issues I'd be facing.

Corruption, exploitation, and real lives were being ruined.

I'd been so hyper-fixated on dealing with noble politics, their plots, and their schemes, to say nothing of the Long night that I'd forgotten the one singular truth of my new life.

This wasn't a story. This wasn't a game where I'd be facing nicely labeled and obvious threats and dangers. Anything and anyone could kill me because I wasn't the protagonist of a book. I was a child, and in this world, threats could come from anyone, from the mightiest of kings to the lowest of small folk.

It was perhaps a good choice that none of my Kingsguard or our companion chose to interrupt me as I howled my rage and fear and horrified realizations out loud, lest they shred my sanity.

When I finally regained my bearings, nearly all my strength had left me and I staggered over to lean against the back wall.

"Well" Jaime hummed conversationally "That was….. entertaining"

Though I doubted he meant harm by it, sounding disinterested and aloof was perhaps the worst thing he could've done.

With a snarl of rage, Barristan drew his blade and advanced, Jaime paling and scrambling to a ready stance. Arthur moved to intercept his sworn brother, but he didn't have to.

There had been enough blood spilled for the night

"Enough!" Barristan froze, and Jaime was brief but the genuine look of relief was unmistakable. A fight between these two would've been ugly, in more ways than one "Ser Jaime meant no harm, I'm sure. And my gratitude is genuine"

I nodded at the man, who merely smirked cockily. Not for long, though.

"And now for important matters" My words had the three men stiffening once more "Why are you here, Ser Jaime?"

"Wasn't that obvious?" the man's answer was prompt "I came to see what all the fuss was about. I must say, Barristan, Arthur, you two are terrible at being discrete"

The old knight gritted his teeth, hand tightening in the pommel of his blade, but did not rise to the bait. Good.

"Mistakes have been made" I admitted "But what do you intend to do? Will you swear fealty to me as your King?"

The tension skyrocketed then, with both of my knights shifting in place. They were ready for the worst possible outcome, though I suspected that they needn't have bothered.

Perhaps it was because I simply knew what to look for, but I could see through Jamie's false confidence, the sharp indecision, the grief and longing, and the hurt in his posture.

To him, this reunion must have been agonizing. Still, he decided to answer with a cheerful (false) smirk

"Perhaps, perhaps not." The words have even Arthur tensing and going for his blade "But if I was was, why in the name of all the gods would you want me? I did kill the last Targaryen King I was sworn to, after all."

Oh, dear Jaime, you couldn't have given me a better opening if you tried

"Why?"

He stilled

Barristan turned to me, mouth opening to speak but I merely shook my head. Arthur shot me a glance, and I gave him a knowing look and mouthed the word "dream". His eyes widened before snapping back to the unbalanced Jaime, who stared at me in disbelief.

"Kingslayer they call you," I told him quietly "Man without honor. But you saved me, despite having killed my grandfather, and so I ask why."

I met his green eyes with my own "Why did you kill the King, Ser Jaime?"

"N-n-" His voice cracked as he spoke, voice rich in hysterical disbelief "No one's ever asked. Why does it matter, after all these years?"

"I'll decide if it does" I answered, quietly but firmly. I refused to let him escape this. His secret had been buried long enough. "Now, please, tell us the truth of it"

Emotions warred for dominance on his face. Disbelief, fear, wonder. I knew the moment he decided to answer when his expression settled into grim acceptance.

Slowly, hesitantly in a manner that seemed foreign to him, the so-called Kingslayer spun his tale.

The story of a mad tyrant who would see a city of innocents burn to with his enemies, a tyrant whose delusions had grown so far he thought he'd rise from the ashes of a pyre of half a million souls as a dragon in truth.

He spoke of how the beast on the Iron Throne demanded a boy bring him his father's head before ordering that it all burn.

Yet driven by desperation and helplessness that had chained him for so long, the boy refused the tyrant's orders, killing his chief advisor before ending his threat once and for all.

"And so rose the Kingslayer" Jaime's eyes were wet as he finished his bitter tale, voice a cacophony of despair and mocking "What judgment will you pass on me now, your grace?"

I closed my eyes to steady myself, though not before I saw Arthur's lowered head and Barristan's broken visage. The ugly truth was laid bare, and no one remained unaffected.

I knew the man before I was capable of monstrous acts, but I had always sympathized with his story. To hear it, though, to hear the shame and the pain and the pure, unadulterated hurt?

That felt like a blade to the heart.

When I opened them, it was to find Jaimie looking at me with unfailing intensity

Here I stand, he seemed to say.

Did he want my judgment? Then he would have it. I may be in no position to fix so much of what was wrong in Westeros, but this?

This I could

"I see no Kingslayer before me" I speak the words with every bit of strength and honesty I can muster, and he staggers back a step, eyes wide in disbelief "You upheld your oaths as a knight, as a protector of the innocent, and honored your title. You, Ser Jaime, are a hero."

It's Arthur, as it somehow always seems to be, who proves to be the tipping point

"No finer knight" Arthur intones, voice soft "Have I ever known"

The weak, tentative look of desperate hope that blooms in response to the words is perhaps the most genuine expression I'd seen from the man yet.

Barristan makes a choked-off noise before turning his back to us, shoulders shaking. I rub my own misty eyes, While Arthur breathes deeply to steady himself.

And Jaime?

The Lannister knight closes his eyes and exhales, as though a great weight had been lifted from him. When next he opens them, gone is the entitled facade, the arrogance and false confidence he once cloaked himself.

Instead, there stood a man reborn, or perhaps simply returned. I couldn't help my sharp Inhale when he moved.

With a slow, deliberate movement, the savior of King's Landing dropped to a knee

"Your Grace"

...​

Man. I am traumatizing Gaemon. Hahaha XD

What do you think about my approach on Jaimie?

Be prepared. The next chapter probably concludes this arc.

Leave your comments and ideas, and if you don't like it please be courteous

 

[Firewillreign]

"How goes the search?" I asked directly

"I've managed to secure a vessel to Dragonstone" came his reply "Two days from now, but that doesn't take away from the immediate concern."

That had me wincing.

After I'd taken Jaime's oath (and wasn't that still wonder, even now), our original plan of leaving within a day had died a fiery death.

For starters, the ship Arthur had just barely managed to commission was already reluctant to take on two additional men and a child as a passenger. Three? Not without raising the cost in gold to a truly beggaring amount, and so our search for a cease to Dragonstone recommenced.

And that wasn't the biggest concern. No, no, that honor went to figuring out how exactly we were supposed to disguise the disappearance of the two most infamous members of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard without setting off red flags the size of Harrenhall.

Three days later, here we were.

Jaime and Barristan were keeping up appearances in the Red Keep while Arthur and I were sat in a shaded corner beside the central stairway of the Great Sept Of Baelor. Though I had bigger things on my mind to be worrying about, I couldn't help but occasionally admire it. Like all other notable pieces of architecture I'd encountered in Westeros as of yet, it was a beautiful building so large as to utterly dwarf the homes and markets of the smallfolk that surrounded it.

Though I understood why it was still a shame that it got destroyed in the-

I froze.

Arthur must have noticed the look on my face if the raised eyebrow I received was nothing to go by

"I have either a very good idea" I muttered gravel, wary of someone listening "Or a very, very bad one. Possibly a bit of both"

In hindsight, the immediate look of suspicion and wariness that stole over his features was entirely justified.

...​

"This is a terrible idea" Jaime complained flatly

"So you have said" Gods be good, keeping a civil tone was physically challenging at this point "Many times"

"Targaryans and fire are a bad combination" He went on anyway "Ordinary fire. Targaryans with-"

"Jaime." Arthur cut him off, a slight reprimand in his voice

"I was merely voicing an opinion" Jaime argued, though mercifully he acquiesced and fell silent. I hid a half smile at Arthur's ability to shut the man up and raised my lamp further up as we explored the caverns of the Dragon Pit.

As expected, not one of my Kingsgaurd (and that seemed to be a growing team, nowadays) were exactly thrilled by my plan, though none were as vocal as Jaime in regards to expressing their measure. Fair, given what this meant to him, but inconvenient given that his ability to talk endlessly didn't change with his loyalties.

A worthy price, but an irritating one all the same

It took hours and we had nearly given up when we struck gold.

Barristan caught up with us just as we finished exploring the seventh lair we came across.

"I've found it." Barristan's voice was firm but he'd lost his color "Gods be good, but I've found it"

Another lair, far smaller than what we'd been exploring but filled to the brim with dozens and dozens, perhaps hundreds of barrels stacked atop and beside each other.

Jaime bit off a curse as Arthur and I exchanged grave glances.

Well. That was the easy part. Now figuring out how to move enough of it to suit our purposes without setting it off and taking ourselves and at least half the city out in an explosion of hellish green flames.

Wildfire was a bitch like that.

...​

We had our way out.

We had our smokescreen

And now…. came the execution

...​

The next night, the Red Keep would be thrown into a frenzied uproar unlike anything seen since the sacking of King's Landing.

The staff of the castle would awaken to screams of fear and terror, as chaos consumed the keep. Some would remain within their quarters, too fearful to run. Others would flee.

Many, however, would follow a great commotion to one of the open courtyards of the Red Keep, and there?

There they would find a crowd, though none of its members were as important as those who stood ahead of it.

Stand on there were but five members of the Kingsguard, protecting the enraged king and desperately attempting to console the wailing Queen as they all beheld the sight of the once proud White Sword Tower being consumed in unnatural green flames, the heat so mighty red stone dripped down the deforming structure like hot wax off a candle.

All the while, out in the Blackwater, a small unassuming trading vessel cut through the waves, leaving the City of Kings behind.

...​

Perched on Arthur's shoulders, the ship rocking underneath us, I had to resist the urge to throw up. Even out here, the burning tower was visible, shining as it had for hours at this point.

"How many people died in that blaze?" I asked quietly, horror still coursing through my veins

"I will not say none, for while that is not impossible it is unlikely" Arthur finally answered, words careful and measured as he lowered me back to the deck "But not as many as you would expect. The white sword tower is home to few servants, and many have duties that lead them across the castle during the nights. Perhaps even those that didn't have a chance to escape"

"But that's unlikely "

The truth made me sick. People died.

They died at my order.

"This was a hard choice" Arthur spoke, looking down at me with gentle but firm eyes "And now that you have chosen this path, choices harder still await you. Do not forget them, but do not allow them to break your conviction, else then they will have truly been for nothing."

I remembered Ned Stark's words, then.

'Walk it with your head held high :

I could do that, I thought as I breathed in.

This was horrible, but the alternative was Jaime and Barristan being hunted and being with them by extension. Though I hated the notion, the ends would, if not justify the means, then at least honor the cost of them.

Steeling myself, I raised my head and stared at Arthur's approving nod, before shifting my attention to the right. Side by side, Barristan and Jaime beheld the destruction of what had once been their home.

For a moment Jaime opened his mouth as if to speak, eyes far, but merely shook his head instead. He turned to us, and Barristan with him.

"That was an end" I spoke freely, for we were alone, the rest of the crew either performing their duties or gawking at the fire away from us "For all of us. No more sins and regrets of the past chaining us. No more hurting ourselves or each other, because we'll soon have enough enemies to do that for us. "

I thought of the threats that I knew would come in one form or the other, of my fears and uncertainty, and with all the strength and determination I could muster, I banished them away

"The road ahead will be dangerous as nothing else could be, but I believe in our strength. I believe in our cause. We will triumph, and right here, right now? We move forward as one."

The words were as much for me as they were for them, and I would stick with them come what may.

I turned to stare in what I knew was the direction of Dragonstone, aware of how my three protectors drew close, and I breathed.

"Now, it begins"

...​

And that's a wrap for this arc haha

So, what did you guys think? Let me know.

The next arc won't start for a while, but when it does, you best be prepared

And because I've always wanted to do this:

Gaemon Targaryan Will Return In:

The Home Of The Dragons

 

[Firewillreign]

He stood on the prow of the vessel, companions close at hand.

The cool ocean breeze caressed his face almost gently and carried with it the sharp smell of the salty sea, and the faintest hints of ash and brimstone. Gulls sang overhead, a rising cacophony that accompanied their approach to Dragonstone, bathed in the light of a new day

Even from this distance, Arthur could see the great keep well enough. Just as it was the first time he saw it, The ancient home of House Targaryen was unlike any other keep he had seen before or since. Rising from the base of the rumbling Dragonmount, the castle was built from black Dragonstone, crafted and shaped into a looming monolith of power and might, a fitting home for the last descendants of Valyria of old.

The looming structures built into the castle he could spot when he squinted, gargoyles and stone beasts of every sort. Basilisks, demons, griffins, hellhounds, gargoyles and stone beasts of every dark sort snarled and snapped and rested within and atop the castle walls, their likeness so perfect it seemed as if the creatures themselves had been trapped in the black stone rather than shaped in it.

The castle stretched out, its many towers spread out from the looming great citadel. By far the closest and by far the easiest to see was the Sea Dragon tower, tellingly fashioned in the shape of a dragon overlooking the sea.

A mighty keep, though Arthur doubted he could ever live comfortably within its walls. It seemed to emanate power, a warning to outsiders to keep well away lest they be consumed for their folly. He didn't believe that many not raised on the island could ever take comfort in it.

Awe, perhaps, but comfort would be far.

He glanced downwards and withheld a snort. There were exceptions, it would seem. Jon's eyes were wide, face awash with awe and delight as the wind ruffled his hair. The smile that stole over his features was so familiar it made his heart ache.

Rhaegar had not been prone to smiles in those last few years, but his children?

Perhaps it would be best to let old wounds lie, he thought, as his charge turned to him giddily

"That" he pointed at his ancestral seat, excitement clear in his posture "is how you make a castle!"

Targaryens, honestly.

Still, he would take this giddy excitement over the alternative. The boy had spent hours in silence, seemingly tormented by the events they'd set off to disguise their escape.

There would likely be more decisions of its like, and ones harder still. Let the child keep what innocence he had left before the cruelty of the world burned it out of him.

"It is magnificent" He acquiesced with a nod "Though I much prefer Starfall myself. When you climb to the tip of the highest tower you can behold the sight of the torrentine spreading out clear across the horizon."

"Come now, Alaric" Barristan smiled in jest, face clean-shaven and hair cut down to only a few wisps atop his head "Surely you favor your home unjustly?"

He grinned, the joy of simple conversation with a man he thought lost to him surging forth once more. He was always loyal to the cause, but Barristan's presence had made the mountain of woes and challenges ahead far more surmountable.

"Honestly, you're all in the wrong" Jaime cut in "Casterly rock is the mightiest keep in all the realm. It's never fallen. Not even Aegon's dragons could take it"

Barristan's expression shuttered, as did his own. Silence struck like a snake, and the air between them turned tense and uncomfortable. Jaimie's amiable smile turned decidedly strained.

He glanced at his sword brother, the boy he had once knighted and beheld the tightness of his expression as he seemed to retreat into his hood.

A week, it would seem, was not nearly enough time for old woes to be forgotten. Too many unspoken words and buried regrets boiled between the three of them, and where years of companionship had made Barristan's easy to overcome, Jaime's were not.

Because the both of them had trusted the boy, and then they'd both hated him, and for what? They had failed him, in the end, left him for that monster on the throne to torment and loathed him for doing what either one of them should have done years before the rebellion erupted across the seven kingdoms.

Now, as they united to serve a new king, What could either one one of them say? What mere words could settle all that lay between them?

He would not find out that day, it seemed, for Jon spoke up then

"The conqueror and his dragons didn't have to" He spoke flatly, though there was a smile on his face "Or has the field of fire escaped your memory, Jason?"

Jaime's smile returned, weaker yet thankfully present, and the two began arguing right in their midst, though not before Jon shot him a look that informed him everything he needed to know.

The boy was smart, he always had been, far more than any child he'd ever known, and that? That had been a deliberate interruption, and a successful one if Jaime's genuine smile was anything to go by. His dreams had proven Jaime's innocence, had affirmed his honor, and his charge's faith in him made him invaluable.

They could not continue like this. They needed to lay their demons to rest, all of them, lest they fester and rot.

Now how to do that?

...​

Despite its urgency, the answer evaded him, and soon the ship was docked, and with a giddy cheer Jon ran down the plank and onto dry land, packing seemingly light on his back and Jaime close behind.

He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. Children, both of them.

Having already paid their dues, He and Barristan, now Arstan, followed close behind, keeping a wary eye on the crowds milling about.

The village of Dragonstone was a small thing, hardly more than a thousand souls, but it was directly administered by the ruler of Dragonstone. And given who that was…

Arthur suppressed a flash of distaste as he noted a Baratheon banner hanging from a post. Untamed anger would do them no good. Best to keep an eye on the Baratheon men he could see shifting about and avoiding attention.

The time for setting wrongs right would come one day, but for now, they'd best avoid any chaos.

...​

Unfortunately, it would seem that chaos had no such desire to avoid them.

They'd sequestered themselves in an inn, the least populated they could find to store their packs. Aside from Jon's belongings, Jaime and Barristan had retrieved the White Book, saving it from destruction, thank the gods. They'd also pilfered what arms they could safely carry and what little else they could discreetly smuggle away, and they needed to organize themselves and prepare for what came next.

Then Barristan had pulled a very familiar leather-bound book out of his personal pack, and Arthur's heart had nearly stopped.

"It was the only one I could find" The old knight spoke mournfully at Jon's wide-eyed glance "The only one that wasn't burned. I kept it as a reminder, but it is yours by right"

And with those words, he handed one of the very few remaining journals of Rhaegar Targaryen to his last remaining son, and their charge had seemingly given in to his frustration and had taken to tearing through his father's journal like a man possessed, murmuring nonsensically.

"What now?" he'd hissed

Arthur did not rightly know, but he knew that the answer would not come in a state like this. He suggested a walk and firmly cut down the protests that had erupted

"To clear your mind" He intoned firmly "Besides, it may be dark out, but would you truly rather not explore?"

That bait had proved irresistible, and they'd emerged from the inn under the cover of darkness, Jaime and Barristan following closely behind, for none were willing to leave the others to wander freely. Not here of all places.

They did not get far.

Drunk guardsmen in Baratheon livery stumbled as he neared them, the oil torch slipping from his hand and landing at Jon's feet. Flames blazed, catching the edge of his breeches, and Arthur lost all sense as he reached a gloved hand and smothered the flames viciously, though not before the boy howled in alarm and pain. He picked him up and fled back into the inn, dimly aware of Jaime viciously kicking the drunk wretch.

When he placed him down, the boy was pale. eyes glassy with tears and parted open in shock. ignoring his furious fear with years of experience, he unsheathed his dagger and cut off the lower end of his breaches, before sighing in relief. It was no great wound as he feared. It would hardly scar.

"Arthur"

He winced at the use of his real name. How could he reprimand the child for-

"Arthur" The fear and the urgency had him looking up, shocked at the depth of it. He tried to reassure Jon that it was no grave injury, but he was given no chance to speak "Arthur, it hurt"

He nodded "Do not fear. It was no great wound, and a poultice will-

"No!" Hands reached out to grab him, and he met wild grey eyes "Arthur, the flames hurt!"

His brows furrowed.

What-?

Oh.

Oh, by all the gods

Jon's eyes were wide in hysterical disbelief as he looked at his injured leg "They burnt me"

...​

And we are back baby!

Sorry, I was super eager to get back to this and the thoughts would not leave my head!

Fair warning, thing's are getting wild

As always, leave your comments and ideas, and if you don't like it, please be courteous.