Shielding Their Realms ForeverGreedofRage, Longclaw_1_6Chapter 8: Chapter 7Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jon
Moat Cailin looked like a dreadful place. The dreary silhouette against the cold sky made it the most unwelcoming castle Jon had ever laid eyes on in the whole of the North. If he remembered his history lessons, this used to be a collection of towers that made the greatest gateway in the world on epic proportions but now it was a sinking ruin that still was the most formidable crossing in all of Westeros. Perhaps the Children knew how to return it to its former glory since they were the ones who built it.
Jon rode at the head of the host approaching from the north to cross south with the Blackfish at his right and Smalljon at his left. Behind them was the Tully army, two hundred of House Umber's men, and three hundred Knights of the Vale at Jon's command, courtesy of Lord Royce for avenging the late Lady Arryn.
From the walls of Moat Cailin hung the banners of House Stark but on flagpoles at every corner of the fort were banners of House Reed. The crannogmen had done well securing the castle from the remnants of the Bolton supporters.
Something that almost startled Jon were the sudden appearances of at least two dozen crannogmen arising from the cold marshes all around them. They were covered in mud and moss to perfectly disguise themselves into the terrain, all of them carrying either a spear or hornbow.
The north gate of Moat Cailin opened and welcomed the army to pass through. Jon rode in with the Blackfish and Smalljon. The castle had a damp, almost decaying atmosphere about it but from what he knew of the Ironborn's occupation things were far worse for them than right now. Awaiting for his arrival were three crannogmen but only one of them wore a belt bronze buckle of a lizard lion. Jon only met Howland Reed once but that was years ago when he was only a child in a life long since forgotten. He didn't recognize anything about the man but Howland did remind him of Mance Rayder in a certain sense of general presence. Lord Reed wasn't as imposing as Jon's predecessor but the stature remained, only more pleasant.
"Greetings, Lord Reed," Jon introduced, "I'm glad you are holding the Neck well. The men of my company are Ser Brynden the Blackfish Tully, and Lord Smalljon Umber."
"Well met," Lord Reed greeted back as they dismounted, "my deepest apologies for my absence in the retaking of Winterfell. Ironborn have been razing our trees to the west, and the Freys have been trying to advance their holding in the south. But recent times bear better news. We received word that Walder Frey and every male worth a second look from the man are all dead."
The news had yet to spread throughout the North that the Red Wedding had been avenged. This would be the start of it.
"How?" The Blackfish asked, almost demanding. "Are there any of them left?"
"The only survivors are young boys and the women. All the men were poisoned in a feast. Rumors say that it was a young woman wearing Walder's face."
"Like a Faceless Man," Jon added, knowing this would be a likely repeat of the past. "I know about them. Assassins from Braavos."
The Blackfish turned his head to Jon, eyeing him curiously. "Your letter… you knew this would happen, didn't you? Your vision foretold this."
There wouldn't be any good chance of keeping secrets from this man. "It was Arya."
A confused look of shock befell both Lord Reed and the Blackfish, both unsure how to react. Jon would have felt the same way once. His little sister who wanted to grow up to be a swordfighter and adventurer transformed into a fierce assassin. The sister he knew was gone, and he would need to accept it.
"Retaking Riverrun should hardly pose a problem now." Jon said, breaking the ice.
"Right about that," the Blackfish agreed with a reluctant but accepting tone, "If we had the stealth of the crannogmen then getting back inside will be a sinch."
Lord Reed arched a brow. "How many would you need?"
"Not an army," the Blackfish shook his head, "only a handful. I'd say twenty."
"Then you shall have them." Lord Reed looked at Jon. "Would you care for a word in private?"
"Aye," Jon turned to the Blackfish and Smalljon, "get the men settled and fed. We march at first light, tomorrow." both of them nodded, leaving Jon's company. Lord Reed led Jon to the southern gate which was open for a small supply caravan from the swamps coming north.
"I am quite surprised your raven found us. None ever do." He looked at Jon almost apologetically. "You know about the truth?" Lord Reed asked.
"You have no idea," Jon replied. "Did Ned Stark ever tell you anything? If he would tell me the truth?"
Howland sighed. "Best way to keep a secret is to not talk about it. Whatever his plans were, he would not share with me, and neither did he give me a chance to ask. I offered to take you in as my ward, repaying a debt I owed to your mother. But he refused. Until you were ready to protect yourself, he was your guardian."
Then that was it then. Whatever Ned Stark's plans were with the truth, they were lost when he died. "The last thing he ever said to me was the next time we saw each other, we'd finally talk about my mother."
Howland placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "If he promised you that, then he knew that the next time you met, you would be ready. The Gods chose otherwise, but here we stand now, and life goes on."
Jon shrugged, Howland removing his hand. "For now. I understand you knew Lyanna as well."
"Aye. She saved my neck at Harrenhal from a few squires."
Jon almost chuckled, reminiscing the nights he and Robb listened as boys to their father's stories. "My father told us the story about the Mystery Knight of Harrenhal a few times when we were children, but never did he tell us about how it was his sister carrying the shield of the Laughing Tree."
"I could regale those events if you'd like," Lord Reed offered but Jon shook his head.
"Another time, perhaps, my lord. But there is something I would like to know if you do. Though I'm not sure if anyone except Lyanna would have the answer."
"What is it?"
"Why she left," Jon said, "why she ran off without a word to anyone. Why any of it." He shook his head, "What kind of woman leaves her family without a word of goodbye? Or stays hidden when war waged because of a lie she could have mended?"
Lord Reed turned sullen. "Alas, I don't know the answer. No one had been her confidant for those choices, not her family, not her friends, only Rhaegar I suppose. But," Howland said with a raised finger, "I can offer a guess. Whether it's true or not, we shall not know, but it's what I suspect to be part of the truth."
"Please tell me," Jon said with openness to ideas.
"Lyanna was indeed the she-wolf of House Stark, just as wild as Brandon and I'd vouch that she was more fierce than he." Jon couldn't help but smirk at that. "But she was also a gentle soul in her own way, loving stories of old, taking in a passionate knowledge for books more than her brothers. I remember once she mentioned that she found a passage from a book in Winterfell's library that coincided with a dream she had of the night after she had donned the shield of the Laughing Tree. I was never told what it was, but it was the days after that I noticed her eyes met with Rhaegar Targayen's more than often."
"My… my father…" Jon was listening more intently than ever before.
Howland nodded. "One night, I saw her wandering the halls with several books pertaining to the North in hand and could have sworn I saw Rhaegar with one of them later that day. I think they shared a passion for certain subjects and it grew to a more affectionate bond between them. Whatever Rhaegar's interests in the North were, I do not know. But I suppose they were significant and great enough that they brought Lyanna and he closer together until some event sparked the final decision to run away together. As I said, it is only a guess."
Jon breathed. It was more than he got from just about everyone, even the Raven. It infuriated him that they couldn't spare any of Bran's power to look into those past events yet. They had to do it when the Bran of the present was also able to. How much longer it would be until then, he did not know. But there were a couple things he found out that may help this speculation.
"You wouldn't happen to remember if my mother studied things about prophecy or things related?"
"As a matter of fact I think she did. She had a great fascination with your Stark ancestors and the Age of Heroes. What brought this guess to mind?"
"Rhaegar Targaryen delved deep into the study of prophecy and the Age of Heroes as well. Perhaps they found something in common that should have been impossible. But like you said, it's only a guess. I think a day will come that we'll finally get answers instead of ideas, but who knows when that will be." If only he had Bran's ability to see through time then it could have been today. That reminded him that he still had to break some terrible news to Howland. "I have news of your children." Lord Reed's interest peaked. "They went north with Bran beyond the Wall. Meera is on her way back with him. But Jojen fell to the White Walkers."
Lord Reed lost his breath and almost stumbled. "My son is… dead." Howland's fists clenched and his breathing staggered, holding back his sorrow. "Woe to us who must grow old and frail only to bury our children. The Gods can be cruel to us all. Would you allow me to send an envoy to intercept my daughter and your cousin?"
"By all means, please do. But I need to know that when the time comes we can count on the armies of the Neck to stand with us against the dead when they come." There were many years that went by that Jon wondered where in seven hells Howland Reed was during the events after the fall of House Bolton the first time. He never would have guessed that it was Bran who warned Meera Reed before her departure to stay in the Neck and to withhold the crannogmen where the dead would not reach them. It was almost like he cared for her, or that he felt guilty for Jojen's death. But it was hard to believe Bran was capable of feeling anything as the Three Eyed Raven. Jon had lost faith in believing in others that much in his original time.
"My armies are strong and ready for war. We will gather here and await your order to march for Winterfell."
"Good. But you are to keep the passage North secure until I do. It doesn't take a seer to know we're not out of enemies."
"Aye," Howland agreed but the fire in his voice had faded once he was given the news of his son's death. The Lord of Greywater Watch bowed and dismissed himself from Jon, his head hung and stride slow.
Jon sighed as it was never easy being such a bearer of horrible news. It only made him more anxious for when the day comes he would have to tell Davos about Shireen. But that was not today and there was still much to do. He had to make sure his men were getting settled rightly so before resting.
"Ease up, lad," the Blackfish's voice came from behind, "you can give yourself an hour to rest. We're far from battle… unfortunately."
Jon turned his head when Ser Brynden came up next to him
"My niece always spoke disdain of you," he said bluntly, clearly not one for pointless chatter. "She was worried that you'd grow up to usurp her children's place at Winterfell, and in the early days said that Ned Stark secretly fawned over you because you had the looks of a Stark instead of the others." They both started walking over to where some carts of supplies had been parked and the Blackfish sat himself down on a wooden barrel. "My brother and I used to get letters about how much she missed her home and wishing she could have married Brandon instead." He gave a soft huff of laughter. "But he wouldn't have been good for her. He was the Wild Wolf and from what I say, marriage wouldn't tame him a damn bit."
"He was usually spoken as thus… though more affectionately," Jon pointed out.
The Blackfish held up his hands. "I don't mean to insult your kin," he pointed out. ''The letters started to change and it only took two years before she started to express how much she loved Ned, and him to her. How devoted he was, both to her and the children, and you."
Jon nodded. He sometimes had flares of anger arise for how he was so easily let go to the Wall, but he made peace with those feelings years ago. His father wanted him safe from the chaos of politics and had faith in his place at the Wall. The Starks have manned it since its conception, and the best years had a Stark as Lord Commander. "I have no grudge for Lady Catelyn's anger at me. Did I deserve it? No. But it's all in the past and she's dead. There is no fixing what happened. So there's no need to hold onto it either."
Brynden appeared content with those words. "You're a better man than most, Jon Snow. And for that, I am honored to be in your service. You remind me of Robb in many ways. Both brilliant fighters and experts at battle."
Jon resisted the urge to grimace. If the Blackfish knew how the original Battle of the Bastards went, he'd probably say otherwise. Jon was the better fighter, Robb was the better strategist.
"What is our plan for House Frey, anyhow? Walder is dead, but last I remember seeing, there were five thousand men wearing the sigil of House Frey on their shields outside of Riverrun. Every single one of them deserves a swift death."
"They'll most likely scatter. If they were smart, they'd all hold up at the Twins, but they're stupid without someone to lead them. We'll be letting Smalljon and his men root out the pestilence of House Frey for good while we focus on Riverrun."
"They won't fall for the same trick twice. Last time it was because we knew the castle better. But this time we'll need some bloody good luck on our side as well."
"Don't worry, I have a plan." Jon assured him. "The Reeds joining us will make it all the easier. But we'll talk later tonight with the others."
"Agreed. I need something damn decent to eat besides stale meat and hard bread."
"I second that," Jon smirked.
"A word of advice," the Blackfish pulled Jon aside, "when we do get south, keep your true name concealed for a little while longer. If people learn who you are, it won't be hard to guess what your goal is. They'll try to weed themselves into your favor to make sure their gain is theirs alone."
Unlike any other ruler that has ever been, Jon had the Three Eyed Raven to help him keep track of such people. They would never have a chance to begin. "Don't worry. Those people will come to realize I have no garden for them to grow in."
Rickon
"Lord Stark!" Maester Wolkan called through the locked door of Rickon's room. "My lord, please. You shouldn't hold yourself up inside like this. You need to eat."
No he didn't. Living in hiding he once went eight days without food. He didn't want to eat or talk to anyone. Jon and Sansa, two hypocrites, were what they were. Jon said he wouldn't let anything happen to him but he went ahead and left him in Winterfell and took Sansa with him. She was the one who kept talking about Winterfell being the place they belonged and deserved.
"Piss off!" Rickon shouted back and returned his gaze out his window to the south, watching and waiting for Jon and Sansa to come back, either alive or dead in the back of a cart as bodies or a box of bones like his father.
"Lord Stark," a new voice called through the door, it was Lady Dustin's. "I'd rather not treat you as a child but if you do not open this door you'll leave me no choice."
"I'm yer lord, so do as I say and go away!" What was she going to do about it anyway?
The answer came with a loud bang against the door. A second one followed which resulted in the door being broken by one of Lady Barbrey's men and a sledgehammer. "There you go, milady," he bowed.
"Oh shut it, Willam. I know you love swinging that thing and smashing down doors." He could only grin in response. Barbary turned to Rickon. "Alright, little Wolf. Enough's enough. You are gonna get out of this chamber and back to your lessons."
Shaggydog stood in front of Rickon, snarling loudly with sharp teeth bared at the two intruders… until Lady Barbrey presented a large, thick cut of meat at her fingertips and tossed it to the other side of the room. Shaggydog calmed and dashed for it as fast as he could.
"Go to the Seven Hells!" he yelled back… only for Barbary to smack him on his cheek and grab his ear, dragging him out. "Hey! Yeh can't do this!" He expected Shaggydog to come after him but with such a big piece of meat, the wolf stayed where he was. Bloody traitor!
"As you can see," Barbrey said in a cool voice, "I already am. And if this stupid behavior continues, I'll strip you naked before we go any further so people will see exactly how little your wolf really is. Honestly, Lyanna has more balls than you."
Rickon pulled himself free and clasped at his throbbing ear. "I don't want to do this stupid Lord thing! Get someone else to!"
"House Stark has ruled the North for thousands of years. I'll be flayed by Ramsay's corpse before I live to see it destroyed by a selfish child."
"House Stark can burn for all I care!" Rickon shouted back. "Douse it in pitch and let it burn," he huffed. "Deserves it anyway." The latter words were a mutter, the lad crossing his arms and sulking.
Barbrey stiffened and glared at him. "Your father would be ashamed of you were he alive to hear you. I didn't like him, that's no secret, but were I or my House or any other House in a perilous storm then he made it his duty to stand with them against it."
Rickon scoffed. "Except for his own children." Whatever noble traits the great Ned Stark had, none of his children seemed to get it, else they'd be here. Made sense for Jon at least since he wasn't really his brother anymore.
Barbrey raised her hand again to slap him, but stopped herself when her hand was level with her face. Her expression, which was full of annoyance, started to soften but still remained stern. "That's fair, why you would think that." She smoothed her skirts. "But sitting alone in your chambers to sulk has been more trouble for you than I thought. You need to do something besides letting these thoughts fester, else you'll earn the name Rabid Wolf before the real winter gets here. First you'll get some food in you and to the sparring yards with you. Let's see if this… wild nature makes you decent with a sword at least. Your Uncle Brandon certainly was."
"I don't want anything to ea- " Barbrey grabbed Rickon hard at the shoulders and knelt down to him at eye level.
"Either you eat or I'll have my men pry your mouth open and feed you horse shit and mold. And believe me boy, I will do it."
Rickon's time with Barbrey as her page was nothing like this. Back then he actually put in an effort for this type of learning. She was strict, but never this angry at him. It was frightening and she was true to her words.
"Fine."
Rather than eat in the Great Hall, Barbrey took Rickon to her quarters and he ate in silence while she went over several documents and scrolls from Barrowton. Despite the protest to not eat earlier, he was secretly glad that his hunger was broken.
Like Barbrey had said she brought Rickon to the training yard where Brienne was privately sparring with her squire, Podrick Payne. They weren't the only spectators to this, however. Tormund Giantsbane, Osha, and Lyanna Mormont, and several others, were all watching in earnest.
Podrick had just gotten himself knocked to the dirt by a swift parry and sidestepped when Brienne took notice.
"Lord Stark, Lady Barbrey." Brienne greeted without a sweat broken from her spar.
"Hello," Rickon said. He never spoke to Brienne that much and didn't care much that she was his sworn sword now. He wondered why in Seven Hells Sansa would leave a woman as his protector but she was a good fighter he had to suppose.
Barbrey had walked over to a rack of wooden swords, taken two and tossed one to Rickon and the other to Brienne since live steel would certainly be the victor in this scenario. "Knock some humility into his arse, will you?" she asked with a smirk.
Brienne gave Lady Barbrey a look that said that she most certainly would.
Rickon could barely remember when he used to have a little toy sword he smacked a training dummy around with it, but he never had his first real lesson training until he was brought to Castle Black by Jon. Jon was a good teacher. Why couldn't he have gone south with Jon instead of Sansa? She liked ruling. He could have been a squire too and learned from his brother who was far better than Brienne.
Nevertheless, he picked up the wooden blade, designed to hold the weight of a true blade but not to kill. Rickon held his sword like Jon taught, got into his stance, and took one step forward but the next thing he knew he was on the ground groaning and his sword was gone from his grip.
"Feeling alright, Lord Rickon?" Brienne asked in a delightful voice.
"I hate all of yeh," he said through the giggles of the women as he got back to his feet and retrieved his sword. This next time, he managed to block a strike at least before getting a hard slap in his arse that made him jump and yelp when it happened. He turned around and charged fast at her, only to be shoved aside and pushed into the dirt and snow once again.
Rickon lay in front of Lady Barbrey and Lyanna Mormont, the latter smiling at his defeat. "It's not so easy fighting someone bigger," he pointed out as he got up to his feet again.
Lyanna Mormont scoffed at him. "If you know how to move then it doesn't matter how big you are. You're just flaying about like a child in tantrum… well I suppose that's no different for you outside a fight anyway."
He gripped his sword tighter and almost felt an urge to hit her, but he'd at least make it fair for the mighty Lady Pipsqueak. "Then go ahead and grab a sword if you think you're a better fighter." he challenged and was actually stunned when without even a single sign that Lyanna's ego was pricked, she walked over to the sword rack, picked up a wooden sword, shed her cloak, and then stood across from him in a ready stance.
"Anytime you're ready, my lord."
Rickon held his sword up and rushed forward with a powerful yell, swinging down for Lyanna's shoulder but when she didn't move or flinch, he hesitated just enough that when Lyanna did dodge, she swiped at his elbow, causing him to drop his sword, then his knee which made his leg curl in stunned pain, and then the back of his leg still on the ground, making him fall to the ground once again.
The next thing Rickon saw was the point of a wooden sword inches away from his face. "You can survive in the wild, but not in a battle." Lyanna pulled the tip away and offered her hand to him.
He had the sudden idea to grab hold but then pull her down to the dirt instead and then pin her down. If Jon or his father were watching him do it, they'd probably say it's a dishonorable act and unsportsmanlike. But one of them was dead and the other left as soon as he got here. Where's the honor in abandoning family?
No, he wouldn't. But he didn't need help, either. He got to his feet on his own and faced Lady Brienne again. "I'm ready to learn this time," He said rather angrily, but Brienne appeared to be done with her little game Barbrey put her up to.
"You too," Brienne said to Lyanna, "that was still sloppy and I won't have you giggling at him until you get your own form fixed or you will find yourself knitting by a fire instead of fighting the dead." But she demurred, sheathing her blade. "You shan't learn true skills fighting against me at your age. Not yet. You spar with Lady Mormont from now on."
"Must I?" Rickon complained. "She should be the one learning how to knit."
Such drew a swing from Lyanna, only just missed by Rickon. "We'll see who should knit by the fire, Stark," she hissed. "Or are you too craven to fight me again?" Rickon glared at her, readying in a combat stance, one that the adults could tell was far better than his earlier attempts.
Nearly half an hour later, the results were… mixed. Both Rickon and Lyanna were heaving in gasping breaths, fatigued as anything. Lyanna had won the majority of the matches, though Rickon hadn't done shabbily at all in spite of his early sloppiness. His strength matched her ferocity.
Not that Rickon would ever admit it. "Alright," Barbary announced. "That'll be the end of this."
Rickon smiled slightly, hoping for a nice bath to ease his aching muscles. Being on the run and a hostage made him appreciate bathing more. "Farewell, Lady Lyanna."
"Aye, farewell," she spat out the last, clearly hopeful she wouldn't ever see Rickon again. The feeling was mutual.
Lady Barbary regarded them both. "You brought out quite excellent form in each other. Lady Brienne?"
"Marked improvement for Lord Stark and Lady Mormont, though her skills are greater by virtue of an earlier start."
"Indeed." She clapped her hands. "From now on, your lessons will be held jointly with the other."
Rickon blinked. "I have to spar with her forever?"
"Not just them, but all lessons."
Rickon set his wooden sword back on the rack, storming off alone while all the women giggled around. Stupid idiots, all of them! He didn't make it twenty paces from the yard when a large hand clapped him on his back and almost sent him down into the cold dirt, again.
"You're a lucky man," chuckled the big, red bearded Wildling that Jon was especially friendly with. Tormund Giantsbane was his name.
"How is getting knocked around by them for hours lucky?" Rickon hissed as the stinging in his back subsided.
Tormund grinned. "It's a lot longer than I've gotten with the big woman," he looked back at the yard and Rickon saw Brienne look back, then suddenly grimace with a roll of her eyes.
"Yeh got the burns for Lady Brienne?" he guessed.
"Enough to melt the fuckin' Wall, lad." He looked back to Rickon, still smiling. "I heard you've been cooped up in that warm room of yours, and it seems right that you've gotten too used to it. We're going on a hunt. Come with us and get cold again."
Rickon eyed this man in confusion. What in Seven Hells was he saying. "Um-" Tormund didn't let him say anymore as he brought a large arm to Rickon's back and pulled him forward. "Hey!"
"When your brother's not here, someone's got to talk about being a man with you, lad. Especially when a little bear as beautiful as that one's having a good time knocking your arse to the snow. Now you're still young, so you don't need the talk yet, but most boys of the Free Folk your age start to get the urges rolling 'round now."
Rickon grimaced just like Lady Brienne did sometimes. This man's grip was strong and there was no escape.
Melisandre
Being a priestess for so many decades did not prepare Melisandre for the duties of what a Lord or Lady would do. She was always an advisor, not one to do work at a desk, filling out inventory reports and organizing miners. She had to call upon a local shipmaster from the northern port town on the island for assistance when she returned to the island. It wasn't so difficult once she learned how to do it herself, but it surprised her that she didn't think to learn such things in all her years. Then again, she never had a need until now.
The easier duties were those of restoring Dragonstone to its proper glory for House Targaryen, and once the reinforcements came from the North and the Vale, all went swiftly and perfectly. Aegon's Garden was no longer overgrown and unattended but clean and pristine. With all the shipments of dragonglass, a proper dock was needed and built.
Dragonstone was almost as new as its first days. Though every time she saw one of Stannis Baratheon's banners being taken away, she felt a pang of great guilt in her heart for her role in the family's downfall. Thousands of lives lost because she made a mistake.
Prophecies are dangerous things, but the interpretations can be even more so.
The time would come for her to atone and face the consequences for what she has done, but she felt in her soul that such a time would not come until she looked at the armies of the dead with her very own eyes.
The castle of Dragonstone was ready to accept Daenerys Targaryen were she to arrive at this very hour of the night, but that did not mean more could not be done. There were only a handful of banners bearing the Targaryen sigil in the cellars of Dragonstone, so more would need to be made.
She had sent her messengers to Volantis, telling everything she could, her mistakes, her current task, and everything Jon Snow had told her. But within her message, she made sure to relay what he had instructed in his letter.
Daenerys Targaryen must not know of his truth until she came to Westeros. That was of utmost importance. Why though, his instructions did not say.
All she had to do now was resume overseeing the mining, sending the ships to White Harbor and Gulltown, and waiting for Jon Snow's next missive once he took Riverrun from the Freys.
Still, Melisandre was just as human as any other woman who wore the red robes of their Lord. Without company, she was alone and bored whenever time was presented to her that was without work or prayer. For the past week, she tasked a collective of the staff to scour throughout the castle, looking for what secrets it had like every castle.
Days ago, the steward came to her when they found the storerooms that were locked off deep below when the Targaryens fell to King Robert. Inside were old relics gathering dust. Arms and armor of Kings and Princes, tapestries and the many generations, personal trinkets and items like pendants, perfumes, wine barrels, and childrens toys. There were dozens of rooms, and it would take many months to sort through all of it.
The most marvelous thing that was presented to her from the cellars was a great tapestry of fine wool folded up. When it unfolded and the image in full view, it was a breathtaking sight. Sewn into the bottom with gold lettering were the words Aegon the Conqueror, Rhaenys the Gentle, and Visenya the Fierce. In the center of the tapestry were three people standing together, one man and two beautiful women. The title made it clear who it was of course but what shocked Melisandre was how much alike Aegon the Conqueror looked like Jon Snow. The image of the Conquer was life sized and the woven detail made the image perfectly clear. It was like looking at Jon Snow but with platinum hair and red in his attire's color. Rhaenys though… It was marvelous.
"Should we put it up, somewhere?" The steward asked.
"Not here," Melisandre told him, "this deserves a place of glory to be seen by all." She knew what Jon Snow was aiming for now that Winterfell was retaken. Once he claimed his rightful place in the world, she would see to it that this image of his family's legacy was restored at the proper seat of the family, the other proper seat. "First, have it cleaned with the utmost care and place it in my quarters when it is ready. We shall present it to Lord Snow when the time is right."
The steward went off to do as he was told and Melisandre decided that it was the perfect time to retire for the night. It was so late and she had woken up earlier than usual today.
She bathed and dressed into her nightgown, nearly ready for bed. But like every night before this one, she would attempt to look into the flames of her hearth and see if the Lord of Light had anything to show her.
The flames burning through the logs darted up in yellows and oranges, but that is all they were, flames. That is all they had been every day since she left Castle Black. She wanted to give up, stop all this and believe that her work was done, the Lord of Light had nothing left for her now. But it was a strange feeling of potential guilt that kept her looking.
And finally, something answered beyond the flames.
Through the fire she saw snow, lands covered with nothing but winter, and a lone figure of ice standing atop a high rock that overlooked the most terrifying army in existence. But it was not the army that troubled Melisandre, it was the dark shadow cast by the figure. It was great and powerful, and split into two different shapes. What strength lies within this avatar of death?
The flames flickered the image away and presented a new one to her, one that made her fall to her knees in defeat.
She saw him once more, but holding a sword of frosted steel high in the air, ready to bring it down on the one he stood over. Jon Snow, bleeding and weaponless, was at his defeat against the Night King.
The fires died down, burning low, and the images vanished. Melisandre crawled backwards until she hit the leg of her bed. She hugged her knees to her chest and shivered. Was this the future? Their only hope was going to be lost? Or was it something else?
Notes:
Next week will be special chapter, but what could that mean?