12
Summary:
The gang arrives in King's Landing. Jon meets quite a few people, some of them very interested in meeting him. Ned chats with Jon about two important people. Bran has a dream and talks with his brother.
Notes:
1) Look...all I can say in my defense is that I publish more often the GRRM.
2) I don't know if I've even mentioned it to you guys but I'm actually a law student and have, like a lot of people, have spent the past month either preparing for, taking, or recovering from finals. And oh boy, I thought my regular college finals were bad but law school ones are so. much. worse. But they're over now and I should have more time to write.
3) I also wanted to see how S8 would play out and, well, FUCK IT! I hated it, I really did! First Voltron, then The Magicians S4, and now this? Seriously, why is the only finale to satisfy me recently the one with the talking raccoon? Let it be known that anger and me binging Seven Deadly Sins (which everyone should totally watch, especially if you're a fan of One Piece or Merlin) in order to get the bad taste of S8 out of my mouth is what powered a lot of my writing this chapter. So, will be completely disriguard that last season in relation to this fic and I will hopefully never have to think about it again because doing so makes me really, REALLY angry.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Timeline
283 AC/4E 187: Robb Stark is born; (two months later) "Jon Snow" is born.286 AC/4E 190: Sansa Stark is born; RS-3, "JS"-3.289 AC/4E 193: Arya Stark is born; Theon Greyjoy (10) arrives at Winterfell; RS-6, "JS"-6, SS-3.290 AC/4E 194: Bran Stark is born; TG-11, RS-7, "JS"-7, SS-4, AS-1.295 AC/4E 199: Rickon Stark is born; TG-16, RS-12, "JS"-12, SS-9, AS-6, BS-5.296 AC/4E 200: Direwolves are found; TG-17, RS-13, "JS"-13, SS-10, AS-7, BS-6, RS-1.297 AC/4E 201: Robb Stark turns 14; (two months later) "Jon Snow" turns 14; (one month later) "Jon Snow" runs away from Winterfell/appears in Skyrim; TG-18, SS-11, AS-8, BS-7, RS-2.299 AC/4E 203: Jon Whitewolf sends a letter to Winterfell; TG-19, RS-16, JW-16, SS-13, AS-10, BS-9, RS-4.300 AC/4E 204: Lord Eddard Stark asks Jon to return to Winterfell; TG-20, RS-17, JW-17, SS-14, AS-11, BS-10, RS-5.302 AC/4E 206: Jon Whitewolf receives Arya's letter: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(two-and-a-half months later) Jon Whitewolf arrives at Winterfell: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Four days later) Robb Stark turns 19: TG-22, RS-19, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18) leaves for KL with Enzo, Ned Stark, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, and the royal part(two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party are attacked while at the Triton.(two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party arrive at King's Landing.
Jon XII
In Jon's humble opinion, King's Landing seemed to be the kind of place that was best admired at a distance.
As they approached the King's Gate at the southern corner of the southwest wall, he could see the marble-walled Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers rising above Visenya's Hill to the west. In the north of the city, the Hill of Rhaenys was capped by the collapsed ruins of the Dragonpit dome, which had not been in use since the last dragon died a century-and-a-half ago. Jon tried very hard to think about the three eggs hidden away in one of his trunks. Most importantly, of course, in the south-eastern part of the city was Aegon's High Hill, where the pale red bricks of the Red Keep gleamed in the afternoon sunlight from where it loomed over both the city and Blackwater Rush. Surrounded by high, thick walls, it looked both beautiful and secure.
It also stank to the high heavens.
"What is that smell?" Arya gagged; she'd finally talked Uncle Ned into allowing her to ride alongside Jon for the last few days of their journey, even purchasing a lovely dun rounsey -Joffrey had sneered that it was fitting that a girl like her road a horse of no particular breeding; he'd been forced to shut his mouth when the king pointed out that Arya was a far better rider than him despite her age and inferior horse- which Arya had swiftly latched onto, dubbing the mare, Cider, in reference to her color.
"Half-a-million people living on top of each other without a properly maintained sewage system," Ser Barristan commented; the old knight had been seemingly going out of his way to chat with Jon at least once a day, usually about mundane things like swordplay or the pros and cons of different styles of armor, but sometimes he asked about Jon's travels. In all honesty, it had taken a while for the young Dragonborn to stop being awestruck and stumbling over his own tongue whenever the legendary knight addressed him.
"Half-a-million, really?" Jon asked, surprised.
"Yes, I know, I'm sure it seems a bit small to hold that many people. Lannisport and Old Town are both larger in size and Lannisport nearly equals it in population; though, if you ask me, both are far lovelier."
Arya cocked her head to the side, "Why doesn't the smell bother you then?"
The knight chucked, "I've been in this city for a long time, Lady Arya, since I was just a little older than you are now. I suppose that, given enough time, you can get used to anything."
'True enough, but does that mean you should?' Jon pondered before speaking up, "It's quite astonishing; that is more than double populous of Skyrim's capital city. Solitude only has a little over 200,000 citizens living with its walls."
"Truly? Is this land of your's quite small?"
Jon shook his head as Arya urged Cider closer so she could listen better, "No, not exactly. But it's quite like the North, large enough but rather sparsely populated; add to that two wars in the past 50 years and it's far from a crowded land. That's not true of all of Tamriel, however; the Imperial City has a population of about a million, despite nearly being destroyed not too long ago. Needless to say, I was quite overwhelmed when I visited. The city of Jehanna is one of the eight major cities in the country of High Rock and, while it is relatively young, boasts quite the hardy population due to its plentiful trade routes."
Ser Barristan nodded and began to say something else when the King's booming voice cut him off.
"I had the party come this way so I could show you where the tourney will be taking place in a few days," King Robert waved his meaty arms to gesture to where rows of brightly colored tents and stands where being set up. "Going this way means we can also avoid all those shanty towns around most of the other gates, not to mention Flea Bottom."
"What's Flea Bottom?" Arya asked.
"The slums of the city, where the absolute poorest citizens live in horrid conditions," Ser Barristan explain, a gravely serious expression on his face. "It is an extremely dangerous place and I advise that neither of you strays near it. But, if you must, don't eat anything there."
Jon decided not to think too hard about what that warning meant.
"On that note, Arya, it's time for you to get back in the wheelhouse," Uncle Ned instructed.
"But Father-"
"No, do not argue with me, Arya; remember our deal. We're about to enter the city and you'll be safer in the wheelhouse." The stern look on the Lord of Winterfell's face mention there would be no changing his mind, so instead Arya just rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated groan, before finally complying.
Jon gave a chuckle at his youngest sister's antics, as did Ser Barristan before turning back to Jon, "There will certainly be a crowd as we make our way to the Red Keep, will your wolves be alright?"
Ghost shot a crimson-eyed look at the elderly warrior, seemingly offended but the insinuation that he couldn't handle himself around a few people. Jon smiled, "Ghost spends plenty of time in cities, he is always with me whenever I need to stay in one. He'll be fine as long as he gets a chance to stretch his legs every day; in fact, I prefer to keep him close by."
"I don't blame you after what happened, but what about the other one?"
That was a good question; Nymeria wasn't as wild as Shaggydog and, as far as he knew, had never attacked someone without just cause, but Jon still couldn't sure how'd she react. Arya had wanted to take her direwolf into the wheelhouse with her but the Queen had forbidden it; she'd also try to banish the direwolves to the Kingswood, along with Jon's other animals, but Uncle Ned had put his foot down and adamantly refused, stating that after the death of Lady he wanted to keep a close eye on Nymeria and Ghost. King Robert agreed, with the stipulation that the animals be kept under control. This wasn't too hard, Spector and Phantasm were still small enough to be comfortably tucked into baskets and Jon always trusted Ghost's instincts but Sweet Roll definitely wasn't enjoying his cage, biting at anyone who came close enough.
He looked down at the two direwolves, pondering what to do about Nymeria when Ghost caught his eyes; they shared a moment of silent understanding that ended with Ghost crossed his neck over his smaller littermate's, signally that he would ensure she stayed inline.
Jon turned back to Ser Barristan and grinned, "They'll both be fine."
Predictably, a crowd had form almost immediately after they entered the city. Children -and hopeful young men who dreamed of being soldiers- watched with rapid fascination, wide-eyes taking in the gleaming armor of the Kingsguard members or pointed excitedly at Ghost and Nymeia. Mothers pulled their children back, startled by the enormous size of the direwolves. Pretty young maids called flirtatiously to the young men in the party who caught their fancy, which apparently included Jon much to his discomfort. Grown men were the quietest in their attention, but still watched them all with careful, calculating eyes.
The King absolutely basked in the seeming adoration of his people, waving wildly and tossing handfuls of coins into the crowd which sent them all scrambling to grab as many as they could. He stopped to do this every few yards and the congestion in the streets grew so bad that it took an hour to get from the King's Gate to the fish market. Once there, things came to a stand-still as the merchants swarmed to peddle their wares, each shouting out how fresh their fish was and how reasonable their prices were. Coarse-looking fishwives with their giant, sharp-toothed knives sent their children, who were small and nimble enough to slip around the guards, with samples of their products to offer up.
A fair-haired boy sold Enzo a thick paper cone full of fried fish chunks and potato disks drizzled in vinegar while a small, mousy girl with messy dark hair that matched her canvas dress and the dirt smudged on her chin scampered up to Jon with a grilled fish skewer in each hand. She held them up to him wordlessly, shyly peeking through her bangs. He smiled gently and took the skewers from her hands, replacing them with a handful of silver stags without even bothering to ask the price. The girl gasped at the money before rushing away, presumably to go show her parents.
Jon smiled at the girl's joy and began pulling chunks of the grilled fish off to drop into the waiting gullets of Ghost and Nymeria when a yelp of fright drew his attention. One of the Kingsguard -the ugly, mediocre one- had seized the little fish girl by the arm, "Who'd you steal that money from you little street rat? Confess now and I just take a finger instead of your whole hand!"
Anger washed through his veins, hot and humming, "Take your hands off her this instant, Blount! I gave her that coin and any injury you leave on that girl I'll pay double onto you."
The man's eyes snapped to Jon; to say he was an unimpressive sight would be an understatement, especially for a member of the kingsguard. Boros Blount was an ugly man with a broad chest with a stomach that was beginning to border on fat and short, bandy legs. He had eyes that were small and mean, a flat nose, jowls, and a head that was nearly bald aside from sparse patches of brittle, gray hair on either side. In their time traveling together, Jon had observed him to be a man of bad temperament, meager constitution, and no real martial skill; a dangerous combination. His face flushed red but his grip on the girl loosened just enough that she was able to slide out of his grasp and runoff, coins still clasped tight in her fists.
"How dare you speak to me like that, Bastard, I am a member of the kingsguard!"
Jon scoffed, the man's flushed face looked like a half-rotten tomato, "And from what I've seen of you, I genuinely wonder how you managed to achieve such a thing. Tell me, was there literally no other options available?"
"I'll have you whipped for that tongue of yours, Bastard!"
The threat actually made Jon openly laugh, "Are you too much of a coward to try to do it yourself, Blount? I can't say that I'm surprised, you only seem to be brave when facing the small and the weak. Well, I am neither so if you have a problem with my tongue than I invite you to come and take it."
Then he smiled, wild and wolfish, which was mirrored by the bared teeth that Ghost and Nymeria gave Blount. The man -and Jon used that term loosely- glared daggers at Jon, but fear was outweighing his anger; he was brave enough threatening a little girl, but a young man skilled enough to cross swords with Jaime Lannister and a pair of direwolves?
"Oh, that would certainly be interesting to see," Enzo hummed, a small smirk tugging the corner of his mouth as he stared the other man down with unblinking eyes.
At the approach of Enzo, Blount actually pulled his horse back and Jon only just managed to resist the urge to laugh; despite knowing how deadly the giant Redguard could be in a fight, it amused Jon to end how much fear his friend -who he'd witnessed cooing at his shadowkitten, sniffling over romantic Breton poetry, and once getting so drunk that he hurled a very annoyed badger through the window of Nazeem's bedroom- could strike in others. If Enzo's presence wasn't enough of an extra deterrent for Blount, then the addition of Ser Jaime certainly was; the golden knight came up beside Jon, a disgusted look on his face, "What mess are you causing now, Blount?"
"I was simply doing my duty, Kingslayer. Not that you'd know anything about that."
"I wasn't aware harassing small children or the King's personal guests was part of the duty of the Kingsguard," Ser Barristan cut in with a cold look, another recent arrival to the little scene.
"Lord Commander, I-"
"Get to the back of the party, Ser Blount."
It took a moment but after an impressive series of grumbled expletives, the man did as ordered with Ser Barristan following close behind to ensure he went. Jon watched him go, "Was there really no other options?"
"He's actually a halfway decent jouster. Not sure if that makes up for everything else, though," commented Ser Jaime with a half-shrug. "The Kingsguard certainly isn't what it use to be, you should have seen it when I was younger; Gerald Hightower, Lewyn Martell, Oswell Whent, Jonothor Darry, and Arthur Dayne, the best of them all, they were nothing like this lot."
He paused, a dark look crossing his face, "Though even they had their failures."
Jon cocked his head to the side, "What man doesn't?"
Ser Jaime gave a dry huff of laughter, "True, but some have ones that are greater than others." Then he gave Jon a friendly slap on the back, "You'd make a good kingsguard, I think."
Jon couldn't help but glance back to where the Crown Prince was complaining to his father -who was busy still basking in the attention of the crowd- about being tired of dealing with the 'common rabble.' He looked back to Ser Jaime, "Sadly, such a thing is nowhere in my future prospects."
Before the older man could reply, Ser Barristan returned, "I believe you were assigned to ride alongside the royal wheelhouse, Lannister, care to explain why you left your post?"
There was a twitched in annoyance in Ser Jaime's jaw, "The Queen requests that we move along more quickly, the children are becoming unhappy and fitful due to the wait."
That didn't sound much like Myrcella and Tommen; they were just about the calmest children he'd ever known, but, to be fair, he'd only known them for short time and their mother did probably understand them better. The Lord Commander gave a slow nodded, eyeing the sun that was being to set, "I suppose it is getting rather late. Alright, forward men! Onward to the Red Keep!"
The royal party began to move once more, the outer ring of guards pushing through the crowds of civilians and through the streets. Jon's frowned, dark eyes scanned the masses; specifically, those huddled in the nooks and crannies of the buildings, dirty and thin with scared, hungry eyes.
"This is quite tasty. You should have gotten one for yourself, Jon. Jon?"
"Huh?"
Enzo gave him a questioning look, "What is going on in that head of yours, Jonny?"
Jon shook his head, "Nothing."
Despite his dismissal, the giant Redguard traced Jon's line of sight to a thin woman in ragged clothing who was clutching a small babe to her chest. He sighed, "You have more power and wealth than most men could ever dream of, Jon, but even you cannot save everyone."
Every land, every city, every town, every village Jon had ever been too had their poor and homeless; some more than others, of course, but there was nowhere they didn't exist. In Solitude, the luckiest of the unfortunate could afford their own decent enough dwellings in the cheapest, most cramped areas of the city. Those who didn't have families they wanted to stay with -or couldn't stay with- would sometimes find employment in the homes of those wealthier than themselves, getting a room, board, and a -often meager- salary in exchange for cooking, cleaning, and caring for the young or elderly. If they couldn't reach find such an arrangement than poorest citizens of the city could be found spending their days begging outside of inns and shops or perusing the shops and docks in the hopes they could trade a day of labor for a handful of coins.
When night fell, some would head for temples as many would offer a small meal and use of their pews for the night; it was perhaps not the most comfortable, but it was safe from the cold and the potential violence of the late-night streets. But the temples only had so much space to available and those who didn't make it in time to claim a spot would, if they had the money, buy a night at a cothouse. Cothouses were similar to inns, but instead of whole rooms, rented single beds -sometimes actual beds, sometimes simple cots, and sometimes just piles of hay on the floor covered with thin fur- for a couple of copper coins. The nicer ones -which wasn't saying much, in Jon's experience- would offer a simple supper -usually a bowl of questionable stew, bread roll, and a bottle of ale- and light breakfast -sometimes a bit of porridge and an apple with some milk to drink- for about the cost of a silver septim. They were far from luxurious or even particularly safe, but, at the very least, they were better than the alternative.
If they couldn't even afford that, then the only option was to find a place -often a discrete alleyway, hidden among the taller plantlife of some family's garden, or a nook of the city's walls- hidden away from the worst of the elements and Jon hated that. He'd seen poor families turn their children over the to temples in hopes of giving them a better life or sell just about everything they had to afford an apprenticeship and he hated it. There were places and people that tried to help; his fellow thane, Merdekla Childsfend, ran a home for widows and orphans -both of which were in abundance after the war. But those were few and far between and Jon always tried to do what he could but...
"I know," Jon mumbled. "I know."
The fact that he granted a high suite in the royal apartments of Maegor's Holdfast honestly surprised Jon; yes, he was here by the King's personal invitation and was the son of a man who was both the Warden of the North and the King's oldest friend, but -at least officially- he was still just a bastard and there was certainly more important guests visiting King's Landing than him. While his temporary quarters were still a bit away from his father and sisters rooms, he expected to be put in, at most, one of the lower rooms usually used lesser nobles or the high ranking servants that traveled with their lords. Enzo had originally been assigned one of those rooms due to an apparent 'misunderstanding' about the nature of his relationship with Jon -not the first time such a thing had occurred and yet it continued to both irritate the young Dragonborn and amuse the Ebony Warrior- that had sent the castle servants scrambling to arrange the Redguard a room closer to Jon's.
His belongings had already been brought up by attendants while the new arrived royal party had gone through the usual greeting ceremony, a custom apparently kept even when the King was returning to his own home, that had seemed to drag on forever. The attendants had, however, refused to move or even touch any of Jon and Enzo's animals, not after one nearly lost his finger to Sweet Roll's beak. Enzo found this comical and tucked Spector into the hood of his cloak as he went to investigate his own chambers, leaving Jon alone in the hall with Sweetie's giant brass birdcage tucked under one arm, Phantasm's wicker basket under the other, and Ghost -who refused to leave Jon alone and snarled at the very mention of the kennels- by his side.
Sweetie let out an angry swack.
"Oh, be quiet." The Bone Bird gave him a rueful glare, so Jon rolled his eyes, "This is your own fault, you know? If you were a bit more well-behaved than you wouldn't have to be locked up. Just be patient for a few more moments and I'll let you out."
He set the cage on the floor and went to unlock the door with the key he'd been given only for Ghost to catch him by the sleeve with a careful bite, tugging him back a step before pawing at the door. Jon met the direwolf's crimson eyes, "Is there someone in there?"
Ghost cocked his head to the side and deliberately pawed at the door again, 'Yes.'
He set the wicker basket down next Sweetie's cage. "Wait here and watch them," he instructed Ghost, who gave a huff of what was likely agreement, and slowly unlocked the door with a hand on his dagger. It probably would have been smarter to use a detect life spell or Aura Whisper before entering, but it was Jon's experience that the walls of castles often had eyes of their own and Jon had absolutely no interesting in having his more extraordinary talents being discovered. So now, at least, he'd be relying on his more mundane talents to survive King's Landing.
He opened the door just enough to slide through and shut it silently behind him. He scanned the room carefully, with the eyes of both a trained soldier and an expert thief. As far as temporary lodgings went, Jon couldn't ask for much better than this; it was not an overly large room, but it was incredibly well-furnished, decorated in themes of rose red and pale green with rich, flowing fabrics and handsome, carved wooden furniture. The apartment was roughly divided into two areas and a thick green curtain that hung from the ceiling that could be let loose as a makeshift wall to separate them. The first of the two sections -the front of the room- served as the chamber's common area with a cushioned couch in front of the fireplace, a small table with two matching chairs, and a writing desk. The second was where the bed -a big, round, plush looking nest of blankets and pillows that Jon couldn't wait to sink into- and wardrobe were located, along with the bathtub.
It was also where Jon spotted the apparent intruders.
"I'm sorry, I was told the servants had already finished preparing this room. Should I leave and come back later?" Jon asked, knowing damn well these weren't servants.
The young lady lounging across his bed rose to her feet; she was lovely, perhaps a year or so older than him with tan skin, blue eyes, loose chestnut brown hair that flowed in waves down her back, and a knowing grin. She was also severely underdressed, clad in a simple bright yellow shift that exposed her bare arms and a large amount of her bosom. She dropped into a smooth curtsy, "Not at all, m'lord. Daisy and I were just finishing up preparing your bath."
She gestured to another girl who was crouched down next to the tub, an elegant hand skimming the surface of the steaming water scattered with lavender petals. This girl, Daisy, was younger with a rounder face, light brown eyes, fair skin, and reddish-blonde hair that was pulled a simple braid. She was also dressed more conservative white dress with long sleeves pushed up to her elbows and a modest neckline. All these things should have made her appear more innocent but as she pulled her hand from the water, it splashed across her front, soaking the white fabric and causing it to go translucent, allowing her pert breasts to show through.
She came to stand by the side of the older girl with the same knowing smile on her face, "You've been on such a long journey, m'lord, we were sent help you relax before supper. Is there anything you'd like Marigold and I to do for you?"
'Oh gods, this is already happening,' Jon grumbled in his mind. Pointedly not looking at either girls' breasts, he shook his head, "No, I'm quite alright. Thank you for the bath though, I am rather ragged from the road."
Marigold gave a pout, reaching out to stroke a hand down his arm, "Are you sure, m'lord? Daisy and I are skilled in many manners of assistance?"
He stepped out of their reach. "Quite sure, thank you. Here, for your troubles," he tossed both girls a gold dragon, much to their surprise, and ushered them out of the room. He watched them until they turned a corner, whispering rapidly to one another, and left his line of sight before turning to Ghost, "I haven't even been in this city for a day and someone's already up to something."
The direwolf have him a look that could be summed up, 'Are you surprised?' then bolted into the room, leaping onto bed and making himself comfortable.
"I hope you know you're not sleeping in the bed with me, you hog all the blankets," Jon informed his direwolf as he finished lugging his other animals into the room, locking the door behind him and placing a ward on it; he knew better than to believe he had the only key. Phantasm popped out from her basket and made straight for the couch, plopping herself down on one of the cushions and stretching out; one day she'd be a vicious predator and likely longer than the couch she rested on but, for now, she was only viciously adorable.
"Calm down, calm down. I'm opening it." Sweet Roll beat his wings against the sides, making the whole contraption rattle, impatiently as Jon undid the lock on the cage door. As soon as it was open the giant bird burst out, knocking the cage to the floor and proceeding to attack it with unrivaled ferocity. Jon let the punishment go on for sometime before catching the bird in a firm but careful hold. With a chuckle he opened the large window that overlooked the keep's courtyard, "Don't you go scaring anyone now, you may be trouble but I'd still prefer you not be shot down."
The giant bird gave a squawked and flew off, leaving Jon to look over the city of King's Landing as it stretched out under him. To the east, he saw the Dragonpit and to the south, he saw the Great Sept of Baelor with streets and building forming districts that fit together like the jagged pieces of a large, interact puzzle. It would have been quite picturesque if not for the cloud of stink that hung over the buildings and the filth cluttering the streets that he could make out even from his vantage point.
As he took the city in Jon couldn't help but compare it to the cities of Skyrim, especially Solitude. The capital of Skyrim was divided into eight official districts, each serving a different element of life in Solitude. There was Blue District, where the Blue Palace and related grounds, guard barracks, private dwellings for visiting dignitaries, washhouses, storage buildings were located. The Red District was mostly comprised of the sprawling Castle Dour, in addition to the prison, but also the surrounding homes where the soldiers that were either native to Skyrim or had been stationed there long enough to put down roots lived with their families as well as retired veterans with no other home to return to.
The Green District was the merchant district and the first most people saw upon visiting Solitude, as the main gates of the city opened into it; the district was full of every type of shop -tailors, cobblers, candlemakers, blacksmiths, and more- and was home to most of the cities craftspeople who usually above their shops with their families. On the easternmost side of the city was the Orange District, inhabited mostly by sailors, those employed by the East Empire Company, and related businesses. The Yellow District held most of the public works buildings, including the bathhouses, the Bank of Solitude, the Temple of the Divines as well as other smaller temples, several different schoolhouses that families with enough means could send their children, and the Bard's College.
In terms of residential districts, there were three major ones: the Indigo, Violet, and Brown districts. The Indigo District back right up to the Yellow District -Proudspire Manor itself stood side by side with the Bard's College- and was were the wealthiest members of the city lived -Jon included- in tall, lavish manors with sprawling grounds and private courtyards, some even had personal stables as opposed to the stables outside of the city where most families kept their horses when not in use. The families who lived there could afford to hire private tutors for their children -plenty of whom went on to marry into noble families- and most kept live-in servants, cooks, and nannies; it wasn't unusual to see a household of fifteen people, even if the actual family who lived there only consisted of five or six people. Most of Jon's neighbors had actually commented in the past that they were surprised he was able to manage the upkeep of the very large Proudspire Manor with no full-time help. He would always shrug and say he preferred to do things by himself.
The Violet District was probably the most diverse of the residential districts as it contained all the people who weren't exactly poor but also weren't exactly quite rich either. Some citizens lived in houses that were quite nice if a bit closer together than those in the Indigo; usually two stories, most with a small enclosed courtyard that could support a little garden and a chicken or two. Full staffs were rare but a single live-in servant wasn't uncommon and parents could always afford to send their children to one of the schoolhouses or a profitable apprenticeship. Other citizens lived in apartment buildings; buildings usually three or four stories tall that were owned by a third property were separated families would each rent a different floor. Jon had been in a few over the years, usually visiting friends, and they were all perfectly quaint, spacious, and serviceable with all the necessities of life; he'd actually considered investing in a few himself but hadn't gotten around to it yet.
Unfortunately, the Brown District was not nearly as pretty or calm as the Violet or Indigo Districts. It did have its nicer areas, areas were the people living there banned together and worked hard to make sure they stayed clean and relatively crime-free as they attempted to carve out as peaceful and prosperous lives for themselves as possible. But most areas of the Brown District were just that, brown; brown and crowded and dirty and often disease ridden. People lived in packed together, side-by-side in small hovels that were often overrun with pests and vermin. Apartment buildings were common in the Brown District, though they were far less quaint and spacious than those in the Violet District; rather than one family to a floor, most apartment buildings had two, three or even four families stuffed into each floor with each only having access to a few cramped rooms. There was few any sanitary facilities and measures to speak of; it was no wonder that disease ran rampant. All in all, it was not a pleasant place to visit, let alone live.
There was also the two 'unofficial' districts of Solitude, the White and Black Districts. The White District was full of the seedier establishments in the city: brothels, cothouses, gambling parlors, skooma dens, - Jon destroyed those wherever and whenever he found them, but they kept popping up the deadly and very annoying moles- and the like. Jon never went there unless he had too, usually for Guild business but occasionally to buy some more...elusive products that he was fond of. He may not exactly like it, but he'd begrudgingly admit that there was much of value to be found there. The Black District was somewhat of a playground for those with the coin to spare; it was luxurious inns for wealthy travelers, expensive restaurants that served exotic foods, theater houses, posh boarding houses, and stores that sold rare goods. That wasn't to say that many of the establishments in this district were any more legitimate than those in the White District, but rather that they were simply prettier.
So, needless to say, the capital city of Skyrim was far from perfect but that didn't mean Jon didn't miss it. He did, desperately, and more importantly, he missed the people there. Especially…
He pulled away from the window and checked that his trunks were still locked; they were, of course, Jon had placed locking wards on all of them but -as he expected- they were signs of tampering to the physical locks. It was all so expected that Jon felt an urge to laugh, but instead be just popped them open, "Let's get started."
Half-an-hour Jon had, with the help of Ghost and the many lessons Delvin passed on to him, found to three listening pipes in the wall -now stuffed with rags and melted candle wax-, two peepholes -now blocked with repositioned furniture- and a secret doorway that was disguised as a panel in the back of wardrobe, which itself seemed to bolted against the wall. With no small amount of glee, he placed a locking ward on the panel; anyone who tried to get in through there would be in for a big shock.
That finished, it was time to actually unpack a bit; Jon had no intention of settling into King's Landing for an extended period of time, but living out of trunks was annoying. He didn't unpack everything, of course, anything too unusual stayed locked away tight, but clothing, linens, toiletries, and books could be put away. He spotted Serana's enchanted bowl while he was sifting through some stuff and internally winced, he'd been putting off writing to her. With a sigh, he settled at the desk and started to write.
Serana,
I'm guessing you're pretty angry with me, I'd certainly be upset if our situations were reversed. I know that me extending my stay here in Westeros will have made plenty of people angry and that anger will have fallen on you.
I'm sorry.
Gods, it so simple to write but so hard to convey.
I am so sorry about this Serana, but I had to come to the capital. There is something that needs to be done and I have to be the one to do it. I'd give you more details, but you'd probably just call me an idiot and maybe I am. But if you've ever trusted me on anything, trust me on this.
On a slightly happier note, my uncle and I have buried the hatchet. Things aren't perfect and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to truly call him Father ever again, but I feel better now than I have in a while. There was anger inside me that had been simmering for years and I was finally able to let it all out. If nothing else, that makes the trip worth. Though, I fear his relationship with Lady Stark has suffered greatly during my time at Winterfell; now, as I probably will never see her again, I don't particularly care about her happiness but I do worry about how it will affect Uncle Ned and my cousins.
We also finally arrived at King's Landing. It skinks. Seriously, there is filth everywhere. But it's still better than being on the road. I guess I haven't told you that we got attacked once; don't worry, there isn't a scratch on me!
Well, I could write to you forever but instead...try and bear my absence just a little longer so I can tell you everything in person.
If you'll still have me, that is.
Missing you with all my heart,
Jon
With the flicker of a flame, the letter disappeared and Jon could only hope he'd get a response that wasn't just a variety of four-letter words; Serana could be quite vindictive when angered and he knew she wasn't the happiest with him right now. With another sigh -he'd been doing that a lot lately- he glanced out the window; the sun was setting but it wasn't yet time for supper. So -after reheating and ensuring the bath wasn't somehow poisoned -such a thing may sound preposterous, but stranger things had happened- Jon scrubbed himself clean from the grim of weeks on the road before settling in for a nice soak, relaxing in the near-boiling water and letting his thoughts to a certain scarlet-eyed vampiress with her sleek, form-fitting leather armor…
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Jon groaned, 'Somedays I swear that I'll be dead before I get a moment of peace. No, no, no, even after that I'm sure there will be some god or other who's going to still make me run errands for him.' Jon rolled his head back, eyes still squeezed shut, "What is it?"
"Supper will be starting within the hour, m'lord. I am to lead you to the dining hall, " a voice, probably a servant's, called from the other side of the door.
"Alright, give me a moment." Jon dried himself with a mumbled spell, neatened his hair, and pulled on a storm blue tunic under a black jerkin with matching trousers. Pulling on polished leather boots, he glanced around to make sure nothing suspicious had been left lying out; he was positive someone would be investigating his personal effects while he was gone. After one final check of the room and leaving the window open for Sweet Rolls, he turned to Ghost, "Watch the others and do your best to scare off any snoopers who come around without biting anyone."
The servant, an older fellow who stood so stiffly that Jon suspected he may actually sleep standing up, was silent as he led Jon through the twisting maze of corridors of the keep. The young Dragonborn let his eyes explore openly; there was so much history in these stones, some good, some bad, some bloody, but it was his family's history. It was his history. "Is it difficult to navigate this castle without getting lost?"
The older man's lips pursed, seemingly displeased by Jon's attempt at conversation, "I have served at this keep for many years, m'lord, and I make it a point of pride to know it even better than the royal family does."
"That is admirable. I'm no lord though, there is no need to call me such."
A thin, unpleasant smile crossed the servant's face, "Oh, that is quite obvious. But the address is a matter of courtesy, so it stands. Now, please wait in here until supper is started, the other attendees will be here soon."
The man left Jon in a small antechamber with another snide look. 'Dick,' he thought, plopping down on one of the cushioned benches and fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he settled down to wait as his stomach began to grumble. Maybe he should have eaten some of that grilled fish earlier…
"Ah, you must be Jon Snow." Jon perked up to see an unfamiliar figure approaching him. It was a man who appeared to be in his thirties, though at first glance he appeared as if he could be younger due to his short height and slender build; however, threads of grey running through it his dark hair and the lines at the corners of his eyes marked his true age. Despite that, he was not an unattractive man by any means; sharp features, a small pointed beard, and dressed in rich looking silks in shades of rose and plum with a silver mockingbird stitched in silver thread on the breast of his doublet, gave him the appearance of wealth and fine-grooming.
He smiled at Jon with laughing cat-like gray-green eyes that studied the young Dragonborn, taking in the quality of his clothes, the glistening rings on his hands, and apparent Stark coloring of his features. Jon studied him back, taking note of the knot of discomfort that twisted in his gut at the sight of the man; he'd long since learned to trust such feelings. Still, he took the man's hand with a smile of his own, "It's Jon Whitewolf, actually."
The man gave a chuckle, "But you are Eddard Stark's bastard, are you not?"
Jon refused to twitch, "That's what they say. You are whom, exactly?"
"Oh, yes; where are my manners?" The man gave a theatrical bow, " Lord Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin, at your service. Forgive me for not introducing myself soon but I assumed you'd have heard of me. I had the great pleasure of being fostered at Riverrun growing up and am a close friend of Catelyn Tully."
Jon certainly had never heard him mentioned, but that didn't mean much, "Lady Stark and I never conversed much about her childhood, I'm afraid."
Another chuckled, "No, I imagine not. It's a shame she wasn't able to join you all for a visit to this lovely city, I was quite looking forward to seeing her again. Perhaps it is for the best though, I heard you encountered some troubles during your journey."
'News travels fast in cities; that, at least, isn't different from Solitude.' Jon gave a nod, "Aye, we ran afoul some bandits."
"No doubt looking for an easy payout, the greed vultures," Baelish sneered. "Where there any casualty?"
"A few, but not as bad as it could have been. It was also the only trouble we ran into on the road, thankfully."
"Splendid. I know how arguest long trips can be, especially on young people. You should take the opportunity to relax before the tourney; I happen to own several fine establishments that can assist you in such matters," the Master of Coin cocked his eyebrow at Jon with a knowing look on his face.
'So you're the one responsible for the 'visitors' to my room, that's good to know.' Jon faked a cough into his fist, "No thank you, Lord Baelish, I have no interest in such things."
The older man looked surprised by his refusal, "A young man not interested in...company after such a long journey? That is quite unusual. If you are worried about diseased than I promise you that I keep my workers in top condition and if young ladies don't please you then I assure you my establishments cater to a wide variety of tastes and preferences of all types; I'm sure you could find something to your liking."
And with that one comment, Jon officially felt like he needed another bath. Still, he kept his face carefully blank and maintained eye contact just long enough for it to become uncomfortable before speaking up again. "Whores," he clarified. "I have no interest in whores. I have nothing against them, of course; everyone must make their living somehow. But I have no interest bedding any of them; when I want...company, I have no need to pay for it."
A tense silence filled the air as the two men sized one another up. After a long moment, Baelish gave a -very convincing- cheerful laugh and clasped Jon on the shoulder, "I suppose that comes with the territory when you're a handsome young man."
Jon was thankfully spared having to reply to such a remark by Uncle Ned and Enzo rounding a corner. He was surprised to see them together, as the time on the road had not done anything to warm the relationship between the pair. The Lord of Winterfell was dressed in smart blue-gray tunic with thin, pale vertical stripes running the length of the cloth, a direwolf's head brooch pinned to his breast, and brown trousers; more elaborate than what he usually saw his uncle wear but still relatively simple in comparison to the more elaborate dress that seemed to be the standard in the capital.
Enzo, of course, just wore black.
"Jon, where have you been?" Enzo's deep voice boomed as his dark eyes narrowed in on Baelish, who took a half-step back at the sight of the giant Redguard.
"Yes, we've been looking for you; It's time for supper and you weren't anywhere to be found," Uncle Ned added.
Jon felt his brow furrow, "I was told to wait here by a servant." From the corner of his eye, he studied Baelish and his carefully blank for any sort of reaction as he watched the exchange, "Perhaps he was mistaken about where everyone was meeting."
Enzo looked suspicious but Uncle Ned simply nodded, "Alright, well, come on then, its time to eat. The food here should be good, at least.
Dinner was a smaller event than Jon had anticipated, with not even a total of twenty people -not including the numerous guards, including Ser Barristan, that stood around and the court musicians that played a merry tune from the balcony overhead- gathered around one long table covered in a black and yellow tablecloth and glistening silver tableware. At the head of the table sat the king and opposite him, at the end of the table, sat the Queen who took the warmer weather of the capital as an excuse to drape herself in elaborate crimson silks and what must have been a true fortune in gold and gems.
His uncle sat the right of King Robert -a true place of honor- and across from a very old, mostly bald man with an aquiline nose and a mouth with very few teeth that were stretched into a wide, joyous smile. Still, despite his obvious age, the man's shoulders were broad and his blue eyes were sharp. Even without the golden emblem pin to his doublet, it didn't take a genius to figure out that this man was Jon Arryn; The Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, Hand of the King, and the beloved foster father of both King Robert and his uncle.
"It's so good to see you, Ned. But I hoped you didn't put yourself and your family through any hardship coming here just for me," Lord Arryn smiled bright, eyes carefully taking in Uncle Ned's face.
"The road was a little bumpy, aye, but it was worth it; not just to see you but to also get the chance to talk to the heads of the realm about preparing for the upcoming winter. I was actually hoping to begin the discussion tonight but it doesn't seem like they've arrived yet," Uncle Ned admitted, scanning the occupancy of the table. It was true, Jon noticed; while he was far from being the most well-versed in who the most important players of the realm were, they didn't seem to be there.
In addition himself, Enzo, the Starks, Baelish, Lord Arryn, and the royal family there was a handsome, dark-haired man who looked like a...younger version of the king, a strange man who smelt sweetly of perfume and looked like a boiled egg wrapped in layers of silk and velvet, and a unfamiliar woman with a young girl. The woman tall, thin, and none too attractive with pale eyes, a sharp nose, too large ears, a stern mouth with a truly unfortunate amount of hair growth on her upper lip, and an overall unhappy look on her face. But perhaps he was judging her far too harshly based on appearance; after all, she was dressed as a widow in mourning, completely in black with her graying brown hair cut short.
As for the girl? Her appearance wasn't much more fortunate. She looked small -perhaps not so much in actual size but rather in the way she seemed to pull herself inward- and close in age with Arya. The girl had a pair of striking bold blue eyes but no one would ever call her pretty; she had a noticeably broad, jutting jaw -especially for someone who seemed so tiny- and thick, black hair that was left down to presumably hide her most notable feature, a patch of cracked and flaking, gray and black skin that stretched over the left half of her left cheek and most of her neck. It looked hideous and uncomfortable and disfiguring and Jon could only imagine what it was like to have to live with such a thing; people were cruel, especially to those who looked different.
"No, they've all arrived," the king said as he took a break from inhaling the leek and onion soup that was served as the appetizer -it was delicious; if nothing else, Jon wasn't going to starve while in the capital- and nodded. "I just sent word ahead that this dinner would just be for family, friends, and certain trusted members of the council like Baelish and the Spider here."
"Oh, that was thoughtful of you, Your Grace," Uncle Ned said uneasily. "But I will need to speak with as many lords as possible before the tourney is over."
King took a deep swing from his goblet and gave a hearty laugh, "There will be plenty of time spent with the other overstuffed bootlickers of court later, Ned; just relax for tonight."
The Lord of Winterfell gave his own slight laugh, "Alright, I'll try. Still, I'm surprised Lord Tywin isn't here to join us, Your Majesty."
Queen Cersei looked up from watching Sansa and Joffrey -seated at her right and left sides respectively- converse, a frown replacing her sly grin; the look of displeasure only lasted a moment though, quickly being replaced by a lovely smile. "Oh, my father is in the capital as well, but I'm afraid the travel from Casterly Rock has exhausted him; he's not as young as he used to be and needs his rest before the tourney begins."
"I spoke to him earlier today and must say, we should all be thankful that, despite his age, Lord Tywin is still as strong and sharp as ever; the realm will certainly be in trouble once his time comes," Baelish commented pleasantly, raising his glass in a mock toast. "What about you, Lady Selyse, how have you and the new Lady Baratheon been holding up? How long has it been since Lord Stannis' untimely death?"
The black-clad woman -Lord Stannis' widow, apparently- frowned even more deeply, if such a thing was possible, "It's been close to seven months since illness took my husband, Lord Baelish, but my faith provides me with the strength I need to carry on and support my daughter through this trying time."
Lady Selyse voice was sharp as a whip and simply dripping with disdain but Baelish just continued to smile pleasantly and now addressed the girl, who seemed to retreat even further into himself under his gaze, "What about you, Lady Shireen, have you been enjoying your new position as the Lady of Dragonstone?"
The girl didn't say anything, just looked at the Master of Coin with wide, fearful eyes. Jon frowned and decided to cut in, "This hardly feels like a proper conversation for a supper, Lord Baelish."
The smile never fell from the man's face, but the look he shot Jon was far from friendly even as he laughed, "Quite right, my manners have been atrocious today. Perhaps I've just been so excited to meet Catelyn's beautiful daughters that I've forgotten myself?"
Despite his words, Baelish didn't spare the slightest glance at Arya -who was seated in between her father and Jon so as to best keep her out of trouble, Uncle Ned had whispered to Jon- and instead turning his full attention to Sansa, "I know you probably hear this all the time, Lady Sansa, but you look exactly like your mother did when she was your age. We grew up together, you know, and are the dearest of friends to this day."
"Then how come I've never heard of you?" Arya mumbled under her breathe, causing Jon to snicker. But as amusing as they were, the words tickled his brain; it certainly wasn't strange that Lady Stark never mentioned Baelish to Jon, but to never mention this 'dearest friend' to her own children? That was odd.
The first of the main courses, small individual hens stuffed with spinach and herbs with sides of fresh fruits, was brought out to the King's delight. He cut into the poultry with the ferocity of a man starved, but that didn't stop him from addressing Jon.
"So, m'boy," he spoke around a mouthful of chicken, "have you given any thought about joining in the tourney like we talked about? I heard that you went toe-to-toe with Lannister and am excited to see how you do against some of the other so-called knights this kingdom has to offer; don't make me order you to compete now."
Jon fought the urge to cringe at the man's lack of table manner and instead forced a pleasant guffaw, "There is no need to do that, Your Grace; I've already decided to participate in the melee. If you'll vouch for me, that is."
"Why, of course, I will; I'll even put it on paper too, so you won't be argued with. But you're not going to try out the joust too?"
He shook his head, "I know Ser Jaime suggested that I try it, but I'm not nearly confident enough to try such a thing; I'll stick with swordsmanship, it's what I know best. Besides, I'm interested in seeing how my skills compare to other skilled fighters."
A flash of concern crossed Princess Myrcella's lovely young face at the news, "I know you'll do wonderfully, Ser Jon, but please be safe; it would be just horrible if you got hurt."
The entire table let out a soft chortle at her statement, causing Myrcella to blush, "I-I just mean-"
"You don't have anything to worry about, Sweetling," King Robert chuckled, "Any competitor who kills or seriously injures their opinion will automatically lose any claim to the prize money so you can guarantee that everyone will be on their best behavior, especially given how much they'd potentially lose."
The man who looked like a...younger version of the king hummed, "The promise of forty thousand gold dragons for the winner of the joust, twenty thousand for the runner-up of the joust, twenty thousand dragons to the winner of the melee, and ten thousand dragons to the winner of the archery contest is certainly motivation to keep just about everyone in line."
Jon very nearly choked on a bite of his chicken at that and, judging by the sound he made, his uncle was similarly aghast.
"Ten thousand gold dragons for the winner of the archery contest? Your Grace, Robert, that seems extremely-"
"Generous? Well of course! With Jon as my Hand of the King, the realm has enjoyed a time of peace and prosperity; I can't have a tourney in his honor reflect anything less. Besides, if your boy wins the melee like I think he will then he's going to be quite the rich young man; you're not going to say its a bad thing that he has such an opportunity, are you?"
Uncle Ned shifted unconformably in his seat for a moment, "No, but-"
"Thane Whitewolf is already has accumulated more wealth than one man would ever need, more would likely be more of a hassle than a luxury." Even seated, Enzo towered over everyone else at the table and his low, booming voice draw everyone's eyes.
"Ah, yes," Baelish spoke up again, "I'd heard that you'd done quite well for yourself; I would love to talk to you about some wonderful investment opportunities at some point."
"Thank you for the offer, Lord Baelish, but I already have investments in and own several businesses in Skyrim and prefer not to have my attention stretched too far by getting involved in any here in Westeros," Jon waved the Master of Coin off, silently adding, 'I also have no interest in becoming involved with whatever prostitution racket you're running.'
To avoid being pulled into a longer conversation, he turned to Enzo, "That reminds me, I still a have a few people I need to buy gifts for; we should go out into the markets one day to do some shopping."
Enzo nodded, "I would also like to pick up a few things for my family members as well, including something for my nephew's upcoming wedding."
Arya perked up, "You have a family, Mister Enzo?"
The corner of his lips twitching, Enzo cocked an eyebrow at her, "I would certainly hope so, most people do. I do not have a wife or children of my own if that is what you are referring to, but I do have a brother and sister. They are both married with children of their own; my older sister even has a pair of twin grandchildren."
"Wow, I didn't realize you were so old."
"Arya!"
But even as Uncle Ned chided his daughter, Enzo smiled more openly, "I am forty years of age; so, no, I am not a particularly young man. Though you would be hard pressed to find a man fitter than I at any age."
The group conversation lulled after that, everyone splitting into smaller groups as they ate their way through the fourth and fifth courses -saffron seasoned veal and poached fish pie respectively- to talk amongst themselves about different topics; he overheard Sansa asking the queen about the fashions of the capital and Prince Tommen telling the man who resembled the king -apparently his Uncle Renly- about a new litter of kittens he was caring for. But there was one person who wasn't actively engaging anyone; the bald, perfume man only spoke when spoken too, instead choosing to observe silently while taking small, delicate bites of his food. His eyes never lingered on any one person for more than a few moments, but Jon was fairly certain he wasn't his imagination that the man seemed to be looking at him more than anyone else.
Time passed and a pile of delectable fruit tarts was brought out and subsequently devoured when Sansa decided to pipe up, addressing the king with excitement painted on her face.
"Is there going to be any dancing tonight, Your Grace?"
King Robert wiped his mount on his sleeve, "Not tonight, I'm too fucking tired."
Sansa's face fell and Baelish reached over to pat her hand, "It's alright, Sweetling, there will be plenty of dancing over the next few days, you'll have plenty of chances."
A small smile returned and the king gave a grunt of agreement, gesturing his thumb in the directions of the musicians, "And by then we'll have some people who can actually carry a tune!"
"Jon can sing really well," Prince Tommen chirped. "You should get him to do it."
'Oh gods, no,' Jon felt his gut sink. He hated giving spur of the moment performances.
The King looked amused, "And how do you know that?"
"Myrcella told me so; she heard him sing something and said he sound really good!"
The princess nodded excitedly, "He did! The song was really pretty too, even if it was a bit sad."
Arya then decided that she really needed to add her thoughts on the subject, "It's been a long time since I've heard him but always I use to make him sing me something when I was little before I'd go to bed."
"I remember that," Uncle Ned said softly. "I was the only way we could get you to go to sleep most nights."
"I don't recall Jon ever singing anything when we were young," Sansa commented with a frown, her brow furrowed.
"Well, it isn't surprising; I stopped singing for you when you were quite little but I did it for Arya until much older," Jon reassured with a shrug.
"Oh...I guess that makes sense."
Then, for the first time, the bald man spoke, "I'd certainly like to hear the young man sing us something."
"As would I," the queen added, emerald eyes seeming to glow in the candlelight.
Jon wasn't exactly fond of being put on the spot, but he wasn't completely against the idea; he knew he had a singing voice no one complain about so he just shrugged, "I'm not much of a performer but if I would please everyone, I'd be happy to do so; I'd need a lute though."
"Now there's an idea, Spider!" The king pointed to one of the unhappy looking musicians, "You! Let the boy borrow your instrument!"
For his nameday last year, Brynjolf gave him an absolutely beautiful lute; crafted from willow wood and stained a deep cherry color with golden painted flowers. It fit him perfectly and produced the most heavenly sound; he treasured it deeply and Enzo often joked that he treated it like a mother would her first babe. Jon felt no shame over this.
This lute wasn't anywhere close to the quality that one was but as he plucked the strings experimentally, Jon decided he could work with it at least for one song and with a deep breath, he began to play.
There's a port on a northern bay,
And it serves a dozen ships a day.
Lonely sailors pass the time away,
As they all long for their homes.
And there's a lass in this harbor town,
Where she works layin' whiskey down.
They say, "Brundi, fetch another round,"
So she serves them whiskey and wine.
And all the sailors sing: "Oh, Brundi, you're a fine girl,"
"What a good wife you would be."
"Oh, your eyes?"
"Now they could steal a sailor from the sea."
Brundi has a braided chain,
It's the finest silver from the northern plains.
With a locket that bears the name,
Of the only man that Brundi has ever loved.
He came on a summer's day,
With gifts from far away.
But he made it clear he'd never stay,
As no harbor could ever be his home.
But Brundi used to watch his eyes,
As he told his sailor stories.
She'd feel the ocean fall and rise,
And felt its ragin' glory.
But, though his words were honey smooth,
He had always told the truth.
Yes, he was an honest man,
So, Brundi does her best to understand.
And at night when the pubs close down,
Brundi strolls through a silent town.
She still loves a man who will never be around,
And she still can hear him say.
"Oh, Brundi, you're a fine girl,"
"What a good wife you would be."
"Oh, your eyes?"
"Now they could steal a sailor from the sea."
It's what he always said,
"Oh, Brundi, you're a fine girl."
"What a good wife you would be, "
"But my life, my love, and my lady will always be the sea."
Jon let the final line carry until the final note dissipated in the air and dipped into a joking half-bow when the table, aside from Joffrey, gave applause -some far more enthusiastically than others- and pretended he didn't notice both Ser Barristan Selmy and the bald man, the Spider, studying his face intensely.
Ned V
"I really should get around to asking Robert to move me to quarters to a lower floor, it'd be easier on everyone."
Ned laughed, shifting his supportive grip on his foster father's arm as he helped him up the stairs of the Tower of the Hand to the man's private chambers, "This is no burden at all, I promise you. In fact, you can consider it repayment for all those times you helped me to bed when I was young and too sore to move after a long day of training."
Jon gave his own bark of laughter as Ned helped him settle into an armchair before relaxing back into another. The pair sat in comfortable silence for a while, just watching the fire crackle away, before Ned spoke again, "How have you been, Jon? Robert mentioned you've been feeling ill recently."
Jon waved his concerns away, "Robert worries too much; I feel no worse than any other old man. If anyone ever tells you that life is short, know that they are wrong! Life is long, annoyingly soon; at least in my case, it is."
The old Lord's face fell into a frown, "And yet, despite all my years, I still don't have all the time I need."
Ned shifted uncomfortably, "How is your family? I expect them to be here with you."
A sigh, "Robin is ill and Lysa is even more so; she smothers the boy so badly that I'm surprised he can even walk on his own. I blame myself, honestly; my duties to Robert kept me from being a proper father to my son and by the time I realized my error, it was too late. I'm trying my best now, even if it may be too late; I was arranging to foster him at Dragonstone in hopes that the sea air would do him some good but Lord Stannis took ill before the final details could be hammered out. I've been meaning to find another foster placement for him, perhaps at High Garden, but haven't gotten around to it yet. Lysa knows my intentions though, I'm sure that she fled back to the Eyrie under the excuse of a fever in fear that I'd hand him over to someone after the tourney."
The Lord of Winterfell had nothing to say to that, so he just waited. He poured himself and Jon a glass of wine, turning his attention back to the fireplace. It had been an enjoyable night, the food was delicious and the company pleasant enough; seeing Jon again had been like a dream, even if it had been a shock to realize just how old the man truly was.
He just wished his son hadn't been pressed into performing for them all; oh, Jon's singing and skill with the lute was fantastic, but it had sent Ned straight back to that damned tourney where it all started. After dinner, Jon offered to escort Arya and Sansa back to the rooms he and his daughters where staying in, mentioning his and Enzo's plan to do a bit of exploring before turning in for the night. It was hard to let him go, the image of both Lord Varys and Ser Barristan examining Jon like he was some strange, exotic beast burning in his mind.
"I'm going to die soon."
His head jerked up, "What?"
Jon shrugged, "Oh, don't give me that look. I'm old, Ned; even if I'm wrong… well, my days are number and pretty soon I'll need to return to the Eyrie to get my affairs in order. I hate myself for saying these words but, in all likelihood, Robin will not live long enough to produce any heirs of his own, so I need to write out the paperwork to make my line of inheritance clear. I'll have to do it in secret though, or else Lysa will have my head.
The clearest choice would be one of my great-nephews, Harrold Hardyng; he's a decent enough lad -handsome, charming, a skilled fighter- and would likely make a decent enough lord but I still have my doubts. To be completely frank, there isn't much sense in that boy's head; he's already fathered two bastards and may have cost Gulltown one if it's wealthiest merchants. But sadly he may still be the best of a bad lot."
Ned stared down into his wine, "If it makes you feel any better, my marriage isn't exactly the happiest right now either."
"No, surprisingly, that doesn't make me feel any better, Ned; I spend enough time listening to Robert grip about his wife as it is. What is the problem?"
A grimace, "What isn't the problem? I've let nearly twenty years of issues fester only for them to become infected and I don't know how to fix things, or even if they can be fixed."
There was a long pause before Jon asked slowly, "Are you considering petitioning Robert to have her set aside?"
"What? No! I'm not sure that would even be possible, Cat certainly isn't infertile; we've got plenty proof of that!" Ned was horrified his foster father would ever suggest such a thing, so it was a comfort when the man let out a relieved breath.
"By the gods, that is good to hear! The Tullys are too important for such a slight; it caused far too much drama to deal with right now."
Ned shook his head, "No, no, I love Cat and I always will. But...I think it might be a good idea for the two of us to spend some time apart. After I get back to Winterfell and my eldest, Robb, weds Alys Karstark, I'm planning to send Bran down to Riverrun so he can squire under the Blackfish. I think I'm going to...strongly suggest she go with him and spend some time with her father."
"A fair idea," Jon nodded, "though she may not like it; Catelyn may see it as you banishing her from her home in favor of another."
"In favor of Jon." There was no need to clarify whom his father foster was speaking of but he did it anyway, "My son won't be returning to Winterfell; he and his companion are planning on departing from this city after the tourney."
"Ah, but you wish he wasn't."
Damn, Jon really did know him all too well even after years apart. "I will not apologize for wanting to keep my son close to me. Aye, I did -I do- want Jon to stay, but disrespecting his wishes almost cost me our relationship so -though it breaks my heart- I'm not going to stop him."
"Perhaps that is the hardest thing one can do as a parent, to let our children go?" Jon mused wistfully, eyes seeming to go unfocus of a moment. "Your boy, Jon, he looks good; he looks strong. He doesn't look all that much like you though."
Ned froze, the feeling of ice shooting through his veins; he set his jaw and stared the Hand of the King dead in the eye, "I don't know what you're talking about; he is the spitting image of me at that age, perhaps a bit shorter, yes, but everyone says so, including Robert."
The Warden of the East stared right back at him with an expressionless face for what felt like years before giving himself a little shake. "Ah, yes, Robert, he is what I asked you here to talk about. Now, when I retire from my position as the Hand of the King -which I will do sooner rather than later- it will need to be filled again. Robert will ask you to do it."
This didn't truly surprise Ned, "It would be a great honor to-"
"Don't accept."
Ned's eyebrows shot up, "What? Why?"
Jon reached out and took him by the forearm, pulling him close, "I love you and Robert as if you were my own blood, Ned, and there is little in this world I wouldn't do for the both of you. But, that being said, I'd never want you to be forced to do the things this job requires; you are a wonderful man and I am fiercely proud of you, but you'd be ill-suited for this position. So, swear to me that when Robert asks, you will refuse him."
Ned couldn't say anything for a long while; to deny such a request from Robert, his brother in all but blood, someone he'd swore to support as much as possible was almost unthinkable. But it was true there was little in the world he wants less than to have to deal with the venomous pit of vipers that was King's Landing on a daily basis and it would certainly kill him to be apart from his children for so long so… "I swear it."
"Good. Don't you worry about Robert being angry with you either; you know him, his anger comes hard and fast but it fades just as quickly," Jon settled back into his armchair. He closed his eyes and repeated, "Good."
"I'll be stopping by the capital often enough all the same, though," Ned commented. "It looks like Sansa will marrying Prince Joffrey and-"
Jon's eyes snapped back open, "What did you say?"
"Sansa," the Lord of Winterfell answered slowly, now confused. "Robert proposed a match between her and the Crown Prince. I gave my conditional acceptance on the grounds that they get along and while I had my initial doubts, they do seem to be-"
"Don't! Marry that girl to one of the Tyrells or the son of one of your bannermen or a sellsword or a hedge knight but do not marry her to Joffrey; give her to the Silent Sisters if you must but do not give her to that boy! He's...wrong, Ned, wrong in so many ways."
"Jon, is there something I should know?" Ned asked, the air seeming to grow thick and tense around them.
The old man shook his head, "Nothing I can tell you right now, but...know that I still have one piece of work I need to finish before I retire and that I intended to see it through to the end."
Bran Stark I
"Jump."
Bran looked down from his perch high in the branches of an ancient weirwood tree so tall the tips of its limbs disappeared into the clouds to see nothing but cold and ice and silence and death. There was an endless stretch of frozen wasteland where jagged towers of ice rose from the ground like the fangs of some great, horrible beast of night names and speared on them he saw the remains of a thousand different dreamers.
"No," he said. "If I jump than I will die like all those others."
"Perhaps," the crow that sat beside him admitted. "But perhaps you will fly instead."
Bran shot the strange, three-eyed bird an annoyed look, "Don't be stupid, boys can't fly."
The crow let out a cackle, "And birds don't speak, yet here I am."
"Aye, but this is a dream. I once had a dream where it rained honey cakes but that doesn't mean it would ever happen, though I wish it would."
The bird seemed to sigh -could birds sigh? Bran didn't know- and shook its head, "Things were supposed to go differently. He changed the course of events when he prevented you for falling; it's going to be more difficult to teach you now. Yet you still have a role to play in events to come; you and your family need to be ready. The dead are coming and you must learn to fly and I have no time to waste on your opinion of the matter."
"What do you-AHHH!"
Something seized Bran by the legs and pulled so hard he felt they'd shatter; he was wrenched from the tree branch and was sent spiraling through the air down towards the spires of ice below.
'I'm going to die.' The horrifying thought was the only thing in his mind as he desperately beat his arms like the wings of a bird -trying to fly just like the crow wanted- but it did nothing and as the bones of those that came before him came closer, all Bran could do was scream. "HELP!"
"Bran? Bran? Wake up, Little Wolf."
A hand shook his shoulder gently, rousing Bran from his uneasy sleep. He blinked his eyes, "Lord Reed?"
The hand left his shoulder and settled on his head, smoothing back his messy hair, "Aye, it's me. Is everything alright? It seemed you were having quite the bad dream."
Bran starred up into the intense green eyes of his father's dear friend; he'd grown to like the Lord of Greywater Watch of the past few weeks, he was a little strange, yes, but also jovial, and a good story-teller. Lord Reed also made sure to spend a lot of time with him and Rickon, helping them with their archery and taking them ice fishing, which was definitely nice; he hadn't had the chance to spent much time with either Robb and Mother lately, Robb because he was busy with his duties as acting lord of Winterfell and trying to get to know his soon-to-be wife while Mother was supposedly busy planning Robb's wedding, though she'd been acting weird recently so Bran wasn't sure if she was actually doing it. Plus, his daughter, Meera, was neat and had really pretty green eyes. Not that he'd been staring at them or anything.
"Yes," he admitted quietly. "There was this big tree and a field of ice and this bird who talk-"
"A talking bird?" Lord Reed interrupted. "What kind of bird?"
"A crow; it was really weird, it had three eyes and said some stuff about learning to fly and- and- and I need to talk to Robb." He slid from with window seat he'd been curled up in and past the crannogmen, leaving him behind with strange, unreadable expression on his face. Bran wound his way through the halls of Winterfell with practiced ease and soon found himself at his father's -currently his older brother's- solar.
"I need to talk to you about something," he said, not even bothering to knock before entering.
Robb sat at their father's desk, dark bags under his eyes and a few days worth of stubble on his face, paperwork strewn about before him, "I don't have time to play with you, Bran; I've got to take stock of the grain storage reports at Torrhen's Square and Hornwood, not to mention Lady Barbrey Dustin had yet to respond to inquiries about the steps they are taking to prepare for winter. Go bother Rickon, I hear he's terrorizing his nanny again."
Bran rolled his eyes, "I don't want you to play with me, Robb. I want you to listen to something important I have to say."
Robb sighed but looked up, "Alright, let's hear it."
"Okay, I had a dream-"
"A dream? That's why you're bothering me!" Robb rubbed his face, looking exhausted, " Bran, is this about what happened Lady and the guard?"
"No!" When the remains of Sansa's beloved direwolf and the guard, Carton, who had been at Winterfell for as long as Bran could remember had arrived at Winterfell, a shockwave had been sent through the castle and its inhabitants. After Robb ensured Carton was probably laid to rest and his widow -a maid who also worked in the castle- received insurance that she and her two young children would be cared for, all the Starks came together to bury Lady in the Godswood, being sure to save a lock of her fur for Sansa. But ever since then Rickon hadn't stopped shouting that he wanted their father and siblings back home now; Bran couldn't help but agree, but that didn't mean he appreciated being dismissed. "Listen, in my dream, there was this talking bird-"
"A talking bird?"
"Shut up!" Bran was getting annoyed now, "And he told me that some big was going to happen soon, that the dead were coming and that we all needed to be ready."
Robb only stared at him once he finished his declaration, eventually letting out a long groan and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Bran, listen, I think you may just be-"
BLAM!
The door to the solar had been thrown open by one of the head guards who looked pale as a ghost but completely stone-faced. "Lord Robb," he said in a careful, deliberate voice, "there is a situation."
Next Chapter: The tourney begins! Jon meets an interesting group of fighters and decided to stop by the library. Arya struggles to keep herself under control in King's Landing and so makes a deal. Jon's reason for coming to the Capital is revealed!
Notes:
1) Before you all you Stannis fans jump through my screen to kill, I really like his character and part of the reason this chapter took so long is that I kept trying to fit him into this fic with no avail. So he's dead, but will still be post-humorously important though. He'll also be alive for other versions of this story.
2) So, fun fact, this chapter -at 59 pgs and 13,597 words- is the longest one so far, a record previously held by chapter 6, Troubles of Blood. But this was a big set up chapter: world building, introducing new characters and setting up how some interact. Hope you enjoyed it.
3) I've decided that since, FOR THE LIFE OF ME, I can't figure out how to insert images into a chapter and make it look nice, I'd start a Tumblr page just for this story. On it I'll be posting art (most by the fabulous Jess but some reference pictures as well), news updates, chapter previews, and stuff like that. It's probably arrogant of me to think this story is THAT interesting to people, but if you'd care to feel free to check it out and even follow me if you have a Tumblr too. You can also message me if you have a comment or question you don't feel comfortable posting or if you just want to chat (or remind me how long it's been since I'd updated. There is already stuff posted so feel free to stop by at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sweetvix-adshw
4) I'd think it's pretty obvious but the song here is based on
"Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" by Looking Glass.