48

Chapter 48 How we got here

The Three Eyed Raven

The man that had once been called Brynden Rivers returned to his body. All night he had felt the magic building all across the word. The build up in the weirwoods slowly leaked out into everywhere else, til it had encompassed the entire world. In Westeros, reaching even the most distant parts of the true North, seeping through the weirwoods and bypassing the Wall completely. Essos, the Summer Isles, cursed Valyria, Yi Ti, Leng, Sothoryos, Ulthos, the magic stretched everywhere and no matter the distance.

He had never seen this possibility while flying before…and yet…here they were .

The magic blossomed and shook the world to its foundations. He saw the Wall crack and fates change in less than the blink of an eye. Enemies became friends and friends became enemies. Those that had never been bound together, were together now, new bonds formed of unbreakable strength holding them together now.

It was the edge of madness in many cases, the shifting of an entire continent's paradigm tilting to form a new, stronger axis. Schemes years in the making unwound and laid bare, broken simply by the fact of knowing. Silence reigned as the magic disbursed, even as the world still hummed with magic, but the crescendo was muted now. 

The fate of the world changed after that. Open paths, closed with a resounding finality, even as new paths formed, seamlessly replacing the old.

A lion cub was surrounded and ripped to shreds by three burned dogs. A mockingbird was swallowed whole by a lion's maw. It's bones crunching loudly much to the lion's smug satisfaction. A young rose wilted and died even as a young stag's antler's tasted blood for the first time. A red fish flapped around gasping for air, high in the mountains. A nest of serpents snapped at each other, drawing blood and throwing dust into the air, obscuring everthing. An iron stag shattered and wallowed in defeat. An old fire that had blazed an age, flickered and became a dying candle. A little lion rose to dominance of his pride. The foundation of a bridge shook as the two towers above it wobbled, casting rocks into the water underneath.

And beneath it all, a three headed dragon awoke, eyes flashing open, shifting around, remembering and marking out its once forgotten domain. The reptilian eyes marked out enemies and friends alike, Even as one head remained firmly pointed north seeing the threat of the true enemy.

Never had Brynden Rivers seen fate shift as it had in all his long life and in all his travels through time. Not even the Doom of Valyria had caused so many changes so quickly .

And in the midst of it all, he felt his future apprentice's fate shift. As he watched, the boy's third eye opened and his power blossomed into maturity, as suddenly there were two Three Eyed Ravens. Where he should have found a naive, innocent boy, he found a second Three eyed Raven. His replacement, fully realised and ready to take his place.

Slowly, he withdrew from the whirlwind of changes and returned to his shrivelled body. He opened his eye and found Leaf staring up at him. 

The child of the forest gazed up at him, "What has happened?" she asked in confusion. She and the other children had felt the build up of magic.

" Everything has changed. " 

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The night continued and he watched as positions shifted in Winterfell. A king was born this night in Winterfell. The dragon reared its head, and would no longer back down.

He watched as a second Raven took flight from Winterfell's Godswood.

The second Raven skated along the skeins of time, he followed behind, watching as it took stock of the changes that had been wrought in fate. 

Brynden watched for a moment, the changes seemed to be in their favour- for the moment . 

He picked his moment and approached, "Caw! CAW! I see you! What have you done?" he demanded of the second Raven. Of the new Three Eyed Raven, Brandon Stark. 

"What had to be done!" Brandon Stark retorted, his voice strong and forceful, without a tremor of hesitation, or doubt.

"We will see," he cast a final look at the new Raven, before retreating back over the Wall, turning towards more pressing matters. The die was cast, the new Three Eyed Raven would have to live with the altered world they were living in now. 

A cloud was starting to grow north of the Wall, the Night King was striding forth, spreading his ever multiplying minions wide, trying to reap a warned population. Soon enough the cloud would obscure his vision of the Others. He could see the Free Folk running to the Wall, the only fear they had of those who chased them. Most held no fear of the Night's Watch now. Too many knew the truth of their return to fear them now. Old rivalries and hatreds forgotten in the blink of an eye, all to fight for survival.

The wights were spreading out. A large group of them, with a pair of dead Giants, accompanied by a single White Walker, marched for the Wall. Brynden could feel the weakness in the Wall no, and so could they. It was not enough for them to break through it, otherwise the Night King would have joined them, ready to bring war to the South now, and not needing to wait for Winter.

So what were they doing here now?

He continued to watch, still mystified. The Giants were carrying large bows and moving with purpose under the merciless eyes of the White Walker. He continued to watch them work.

What were they doing?!

This area of the Wall was unmanned and they would not be noticed here. Even if the Night's Watch weren't too busy adjusting to the new changes, they would not have had anybody here.

It had been a long time since Brynden had seen anything that had dumbfounded him.

It seemed madness. And wasteful.

He watched as the Giants used their bows and ropes to throw the wights over the Wall.

The wights went up and then came down. 

Messily . 

The number of wights decreased rapidly. Shattering into so many useless pieces. The bony ones especially, shattered everywhere, completely useless to the Night King now. The flesher wights were in better shape, but not by much.

Brynden looked away and left them to their madness.

The Night King himself was moving towards another prize. 

The cloud could not hide his full intent, not yet anyway. And that was of far greater urgency to Brynden. 

He was coming for Brynden. 

He knew where they were now. He was coming for them all. 

Soon .

Again, Brynden returned to his body, Leaf and the other Children were waiting for him now, they knew that their time was short. The enemy was coming for them. They listened intently as he spoke.

"You must leave. He comes for me...but my task is already complete, Brandon Stark is now the Three eyed Raven. Go to him, aid him." Brynden commanded smugly.

"We will not be able to cross the Wall," Leaf retorted, shaking her head.

"Before, no. Now yes. There are weaknesses there that can be taken advantage of," Brynden stated firmly.

Leaf frowned and shared looks with the other children, "They will be able to cross as well then," she stated mournfully.

He shook his head, "The Wall is still strong. They cannot. The wights…some may . I have told you where they will be. Go. There is no more time to spare. Every second you waste here brings the danger closer."

Leaf nodded once, before turning and walking away from Brynden, the rest of her kind followed in her wake. Without a backward glance, the Children left Brynden to his fate, leaving through the hidden door.

And now, he was truly alone.

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Time passed and his fate came for him.

The wards around the Heart Tree were overpowered, the Night King strode through them like they didn't exist. His cadre of White Walker guards following diligently behind him.

As the end approached, taking stock of all the changes he had seen and foreseen from Brandon Stark's actions, the ripples that had become a flood. For now, all seemed to be going well, but only time would tell if the plan continued true.

The Night King strode into his den, emotionless eyes looking around for a moment before locking onto Brynden's form. The Night King sneered, reaching for his blade as he stepped forward purposely.

Brynden smirked in response, an emotional reaction from the Night King was unexpected. After everything, it was a welcome surprise.

The Night King raised his blade and then brought it down.

Brynden Rivers, Lord Bloodraven, the son of Aegon the Fourth, died smirking in the face of death.

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Maester Luwin

His quarters were wrecked, the maids would be mad at him for what he'd done. He'd torn the place apart looking for evidence of this unspeakable Maester conspiracy. 

Never in his life had he been so shaken in his beliefs. 

The life of a maester was something he had aspired to from a young age, the thirst for knowledge had been palatable and pointed out to him by many of his teachers in his time as a lowly acolyte at the Citadel.

A maester was supposed to be a healer and a scholar, a learned man, armed with the secrets of science, and apart from the vagaries of life and the selfishness of men. To be objective and stand as a beacon of calm and understanding, serving faithfully wherever they found themselves.

And yet…

The Citadel and the Archmaesters had turned out to be the same selfish, corrupt and conceited men as could be found in back alleys and seedy taverns all across the world.

His stomach turned at the thought of all Lord Hightower's letter had revealed. The depth of the Archmaesters' depravity and arrogance. Maesters were supposed to stand objective, loyal only to the castles they served, helpful to all that came to them for advice and help.

How had they become so perverse and twisted?!

He shuddered and shook his head, "What a nightmare…" he lamented under his breath. Between this and the Others, he truly didn't know what was more shocking for him.

He looked around his room again and grimaced, for all the mess he had made he had found nothing. If the previous maester had kept things here, then they had already been sent back to the Citadel or destroyed. Whatever arrogance they had was limited to their vaults in the Citadel. There was no trace of anything untoward here in Winterfell.

Luwin found a chair and sat down, drumming his fingers against the armrest, his mind wandered aimlessly. He sat in silence for an unknown amount of time, so completely lost.

Finally he stood up, he knew that had too many duties to see to, to be wasting so much time, but the foundations of his life had just been shaken…was it too much to ask for a few moments to come to terms with all that had been revealed?

He left his quarters, and found himself aimlessly walking through the corridors of Winterfell. So much to do, so little time to do it all in. And yet he couldn't focus on anything. 

Eventually, he came out of his haze. He blinked as he found himself nearing the entrance to Winterfell's dungeons.

The dungeons of Winterfell were not somewhere he needed to visit regularly. Most days they were empty. These days there were only a couple of thieves waiting for judgement. Though now, there were a number of important prisoners there. The two Frey scions and the errant maester Qyburn.

…

He stopped and stood still, his mind latching onto that last point.

Qyburn.

The rogue maester was there. He had been expelled from the Citadel. Had he seen what Luwin had not at the Citadel? Was there more than just his perversions that drove him from the Citadel once upon a time?

He paused for only an infinitesimal second, before moving with renewed purpose towards the dungeons.

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Mira Forrester

In the end, the wedding went off without a hitch. Margaery and Dickon made a stunning and inspiring couple, who looked like something out of a song. The beautiful highborn lady and her gracious, handsome, heroic knight.

All things considered and with the sheer speed of the wedding, it was all remarkably beautiful.

Her new duties as part of the household of House Tarly had been surprisingly easy and enjoyable. Both the Tarly women turned out to be energetic, warm women. Lady Melessa Tarly had turned out to be a gracious and kind woman, who seemed just as maladjusted to the changes, as much as Mira was herself. She seemed proud of both her sons, especially Samwell. Talla Tarly was a bundle of excitement, who seemed to flip from child to lady at a moment's notice, an aftereffect of remembering being older.

Her new responsibilities as Talla's handmaiden were limited for the most part to helping out with the wedding and keeping the girl out of trouble. Which was much easier than Mira had expected.

The day started with Dickon and Margaery exchanging vows in Highgarden's Sept. The feast that followed was something worthy of the bounty of the Reach and Highgarden. And in just a day everyone seemed to forget that they would be marching to war within the week. Outside Highgarden, banners and peasant levies were gathering, soon enough they'd be marching east towards a confrontation with King Robert.

But today, everyone was merry and wishing the new married couple well. 

Hours passed and night fell, Mira found herself in a quiet alcove, watching as the revelry continued after Margaery and Dickon had been bedded. For many, the night was just beginning as she saw many a drunken man eyeing passing maids.

Lord Tyrell sat at the high table, ever the gracious host, smiling and conversing with the other visiting lords. Whatever else could be said of the man, he was always a gracious and jovial host. Though not every lord was appreciative of his nature. Lord Hightower, as grandfather of the bride and Lord Tyrell's goodfather sat to his left, a strained and long suffering expression set on his face. 

The chair to Lord Tyrell's right was conspicuously empty. Earlier, Samwell had occupied that chair as the new Lord of the Reach and head of House Tarly. His wasn't the only empty chair, beyond the empty chair sat Lady Melessa with her cousin, Lord Axell Florent. An empty chair separated them, one that had been occupied by Lady Talla. 

Lady Talla had retired much earlier, with poor grace, complaining that she was old enough- technically, to not need to go to bed like all the other children. Lady Melessa was having none of the 'I'm actually older than I look' excuse from her daughter.

Mira was alone for the most part, Sera and Margaery's other handmaidens had dispersed, most off dancing with squires or knights, all hoping for potential good matches.

Mira left her niche and drifted around the feast, avoiding the more drunken men. And their drunken hands. There was still dancing ongoing but none of her potential partners attracted her interest. 

She left the main banquet hall, wanting to get some fresh air, a quiet walk through the gardens before heading to bed? Lady Talla would likely be up early as all children her apparent age.

Mira left the hall, leaving behind all the revellers making merry, and escaped into the coolness of the night and the majesty of the gardens of Highgarden.

The gardens of Highgarden were every bit as impressive as they were supposed to be. Majestic and regal with flowers and plants from all across Westeros. A testament of the wealth and power of Highgarden and the Tyrells.

It had been one of Mira's favourite places ever since she came to Highgarden. Ironrath was beautiful in its own way, but it had never been as verdant as Highgarden. The gardens were filled with every colour imaginable and a number that she hadn't thought existed. 

She walked peacefully through the garden lost in the colours, though they muted by darkness and only illuminated by distant torches. She was so lost in thought she never even noticed the shadowy bulk of Lord Samwell Tarly sitting alone, on a badly illuminated stone bench.

"Lady Mira."

She jumped but managed not to screech in surprise at his unexpected greeting. 

He was smiling sheepishly now, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," 

"My Lord," she curtseyed breathlessly, "It is alright, forgive me for not noticing you there," she retorted politely as her heart calmed down from the inadvertent fright.

Samwell Tarly gave her a long look before shrugging, "Alright then." He smiled a welcoming smile, "Did you enjoy the wedding?"

She smiled back, "It was a grand and beautiful ceremony," she replied gracefully.

"And yet you're out here," he countered idly.

She nodded, "It has been a long day, a quiet walk before bed seemed appropriately calming."

He nodded in understanding, "Aye, I can understand that. I'd rather have a quiet meal with people I actually like," he admitted with a soft chuckle.

Mira smiled and nodded, but remained silent. She was hesitant to speak, though Samwell had been gracious and kind with her since his ascension to Lord Paramount, they had exchanged few words not related to the wedding, barring the few surprising and cryptic remarks he had spoken when claiming her as his sister's first, and so far only, handmaiden.

Those cryptic remarks had planned on her psyche, suggestions of evil things that had happened in the now changed future. She knew of the atrocity that was the Red Wedding, many good Northern men she'd known had fallen then, including her father and eldest brother.

After that revelation, she'd avoided anything else, the loss of her father and brother, too much for her to contemplate, especially considering that it had been undone. 

But here and now she felt compelled to speak and ask about those things. Samwell was a busy man, she doubted she'd have another opportunity after today. Soon enough he and the armies of the Reach would be marching down the Roseroad. 

Samwell was frowning now, "You look like you have a lot of your mind, my lady."

Hesitantly, she nodded, "I do, my lord," she paused searching for how to begin, "I understand you know Asher?"

Lord Samwell smiled, "Aye, I do. And Gared as well."

She blinked, remembering another of his earlier surprising remarks, "Indeed my lord."

"I met Gared when he joined the Night's Watch after the Red Wedding. Met Asher later on. He and Gwyn came to Winterfell after Jon defeated Ramsay Bolton," he explained simply.

She was still surprised at Gared joining the Night's Watch. As far as she knew, he'd always wanted a family. So why would he join the Night's Watch? Disquiet filled her as a number of unhappy possibilities came to mind. She said as much to Samwell now.

He frowned in response, "He took the Black because he killed some Bolton men when he returned home after the Red Wedding," he sighed, "The Bolton men, they'd killed his family."

The news came like a punch to the stomach. Gared had been close to her family and she'd known them as she'd grown up in Ironrath. 

Her shock must have shown on her face as Samwell seemed embarrassed now.

" Sorry . Should probably have given you a warning. After the Red Wedding, a lot of people died in the North because of the Boltons," he stated sympathetically, with a sheepish look on his face.

Mira took a deep breath, calming her nerves. She nodded, "As you say, my lord." She looked around and found the nearest bench to Samwell and took a seat facing him. 

Benches were evenly spread around the gardens of Highgarden. She could have sat on the same bench as him, but proper southern manners had to be observed, especially considering that they were alone now.

"Has anyone actually told you what happened to your family?" Samwell asked with a nervous tone.

She shook her head, "I have not asked, I expect that it's not something I'd like to know," she admitted with trepidation, "and I think no one other than you would know the whole truth."

Samwell nodded in agreement, "Yeah…" he paused hesitantly, looking for a moment like the nervous Sam that she'd met before, "Is this something that you want to know now?" 

Mira was unsure, from Samwell's demeanour she didn't expect it to get any better, and it probably would get much worse. After a moment, she nodded. Better that she knew all the bad things, she would not allow herself to be willfully ignorant.

Samwell nodded, "All right, just remember…it's all been undone . They're all still alive now," he stated vehemently, giving her a reassuring look.

Mira bit her lip, hesitant but adamant, willful ignorance would not serve her. And Samwell had a point, no matter how bad it had been, it was undone now.

She forged ahead and nodded in understanding and affirmation of her desire to know the truth.

Samwell gave her a small sympathetic smile, "Brace yourself…" he started speaking and almost immediately, she could feel her stomach clenching and falling down into her legs.

He didn't speak for long, but it was far worse than she could have imagined. Her father; dead at the Red Wedding, Rodrik surviving only to later sacrifice himself to save Asher. Dear sweet Ethan, murdered protecting Talia from that insane monster Ramsay Bolton. Her mother died, consumed by grief and vengeance, starting a fight, the one time Asher showed real sense and chose not to fight. Asher and Gwyn, taking Talia and Ryon; fleeing from Ironrath, eventually joining up with other Stark Loyalists.

And her own fate…

She shuddered, he wasn't finished talking, but she could understand now why neither he nor Asher wanted to have her anywhere near Margaery and the other Tyrells.

"She could have saved you and chose not to protect her own handmaiden," Samwell explained angrily.

She sat back, numb with confusion and fear at what Samwell had said. It explained a lot, including all the guilty nuances of Margaery's voice when they would speak these days.

"...as I said, I promised Asher and Gared that I would keep you safe and close once we returned," he repeated, "And I fully intend to keep my word!" His eyes full of determination and emotion.

She was taken aback at his vehemence, though a part of her was touched that he was going to such effort for her sake.

"...also, you're probably going to need to speak to your father. I'm pretty sure there are a couple of things he needs to tell you about himself," Samwell warned with a wince.

She blinked at Samwell's non sequitur, "Thank you, my Lord," she said gravely, it would take time for her to come to terms with the number of calamities that once had been laid on her family. Almost too many for her to bear thinking about.

And apparently she needed to talk to her father about something rather… ominous from the tone of Samwell's words...

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Maester Luwin

The dungeons of Winterfell were rather simple for the seat of a Great House. The frugalness of the Starks included their dungeons as well, neither extensive, nor elaborate like the Black Cells of the Red Keep or the Skycells of the Eyrie.

Prisoners did not dwell here long, either freed or executed after the judgement of the ruling Stark of Winterfell. During Lord Stark rule, Luwin hadn't witnessed anyone thrown into the dungeons and left to rot there just at Lord Stark's whims.

These days, there were a couple of thieves waiting for their judgments, in addition to a few important prisoners. A pair of very anxious and terrified Freys…and Qyburn.

The few times he had interacted with Qyburn, he'd found that the man was surprisingly calm and collected during his stay in the dungeons. The guards were wary of him, necromancy was not something that was endearing to anyone. Even among sorcerers and warlocks of the far east, it was not a common thing, at least according to the Citadel. 

Where the guards threw threats, taunts and curses at the Freys, silence and wariness was all that was thrown at Qyburn.

Luwin walked down the line of cells of the dungeons of Winterfell, ignoring the other prisoners, the thieves were curious as he passed them, while the Freys who were in separate cells had differing reactions. Lothar Frey seemed to be trying to shrink into the shadows, afraid that his time had finally come, while Olyvar Frey looked towards Luwin with a dejected, unhappy look as he sat with his back against the wall.

Luwin paid them little heed and came to the far cell, Qyburn had been imprisoned there far away from any of the others. As he approached, the errant necromancer looked up, he had been sitting at the back of the cell, what passed for a very meagre bed roll was spread out there. 

Qyburn caught sight of him as he approached and gave him a curious look, still just as unalarmed as he had been when he first came to Winterfell. He stood up and came nearer to the bars of his cell.

"So is my judgement at hand then?" he asked politely.

Luwin nodded in greeting, "Not yet," he stated evenly.

Qyburn shrugged, "Too bad, it is getting rather tedious here."

Luwin marvelled at the man's composure, "The Hand may yet change his mind," he stated, reminding Qyburn of Ser Davos's initial intent to simply kill him out of hand.

Qyburn nodded, "Indeed, thankfully cooler heads have prevailed so far. I truly am not your enemy and I mean no harm to any of you, I am well aware of our true enemy." He reiterated his claims.

Luwin remained undecided about the intent of the rogue maester, but Qybrun had unwittingly given him an opening for his questions.

"Then perhaps you can help me with something…we have received word of the Citadel," Luwin began.

"Indeed?" asked Qyburn with some interest.

Luwin nodded, "Lord Hightower sent word of a conspiracy among the maesters."

Qyburn blinked in response, then his eyes narrowed, paying closer attention to Luwin now.

Luwin continued, starting to explain what the conspiracy was, the depth and just how long it had been ongoing. He named the conspirators among the Archmaesters and a number of the more prominent, well known maesters from across the Seven Kingdoms.

Qybrun's attention grew more rapt with every passing revelation till Luwin was finished with his revelations. Qyburn remained deep in thought for a good long while. He paced back and forth for a moment before turning back to Luwin with a thoughtful expression on his face, "That…actually explained a great deal…" he trailed off, seemingly lost in thought now, his eyes unfocused now and seeing something only he could see.

Luwin blinked in surprise, " It does? "

Qyburn nodded firmly, "Indeed it does. Ebrose for one. For all his supposed open mindedness, he was against all my observations. I knew of a number of ways to help people there and yet, he was uninterested in my discoveries. Vehemently so, even before I started my more…let us say questionable activities," Qyburn explained.

Luwin frowned and stared stonily at Qyburn in disgust at the reminder of some of the disgraced maester's actions. He cast that aside as his memories turned back to his time at the Citadel.

Ebrose had been noted in Lord Hightower's letter. The Archmaester of the Silver link, now he was just another head on a pike.

"He wasn't the only one, Benedict and Norren, both remarkably close minded for Archmaesters- and don't get me started on Perestan. That man was an affront to all historians!" he paused and snorted in amusement, "Though it's reassuring to know that Vaellyn isn't a part of the conspiracy. He doesn't pay attention to anything closer to him than the sun," Qyburn chuckled at his own jape.

Luwin bit back his own laugh, old Vinegar Vaellyn, the old stargazer had been the butt of many an acolyte's jape, even back when Luwin had been at the Citadel. Qyburn's observation was very accurate.

Qyburn was staring at him now, scrutinising him from head to toe, "You seem a rather reasonable man- a tad idealistic even. In light of all this, I expect that's why you ended up so far north," he mused idly.

Luwin met his gaze with unease. The man's words made a great deal of sense in light of everything that had been revealed. There was much he had to think on. Had he too also witnessed the actions of the traitors and not understood what was happening at the time? Were the limitations they forced on acolytes and maesters all a part of their nefarious plans?

"You look like a man with a great deal on his mind," Qyburn commented, snapping Luwin out of his thoughts.

Luwin gave him a harried look, "Aye, there is truth to that."

"Did you come here to assure yourself that you weren't the only blind man that walked through the Citadel?" Qyburn mused.

He didn't answer him. The statement rang with more truth than Luwin wanted to admit.

"...in this I think we were all blind, though perhaps some were more willfully blind than others," Qyburn continued. He held up a placating hand, "I do not mean to insult you, we have all been played, most masterfully at that," he finished grudgingly.

Luwin stood for a moment before nodding, "Aye, we have."

He took a deep breath and moved away from the cell, "We have indeed."

"If you wish to speak more- I believe my days and nights are free," Qyburn called after him with a cheeky tone.

Luwin didn't stop walking, he left Qyburn to his cold cell. There was too much to do, perhaps now he'd be able to focus on his duties?