Pylos, who was usually reserved and solemn, looked amazed and excited when he emerged from the cave. He had a few pieces of parchment in one hand and a case of charcoal sticks in the other. Daenerys, Ser Jorah, and Ser Barristan had been waiting patiently for close to an hour as the young maester examined the cave.
"My lady, you best come and see this," Pylos said.
Daenerys nodded and followed the maester. Inside, Greyworm and a few of his men bore torches, further illuminating the inside of the cave. The walls had been carved from living rock, the pick marks from where the cave had been widened being the evidence. The top of the cave was still shrouded in shadow and, as Ser Barristan had noted earlier, the floor of the cave was sand.
The cave looked to have been naturally formed, once upon a time, but it was obvious that it had been altered by man.
But what caught her eye was the painting, which Pylos was standing under. It was a rough sketch of a battle scene. On one side were tall, humanoid creatures, drawn with blue and white paint, and they seemed to be fighting a mixed group of tall and short beings that had been made with black paint. The other difference between the two groups was that the figures in black held what looked to be weapons, like spears and bows.
"I believe that this is a painting from the time of the Long Night," Pylos explained. "This group here, on the right, is a mixture of humans and Children of the Forest. The weapons they appear to be holding are presumably the weapons of dragonglass that the children gave to mankind so that they could defeat the Others. This group here on the left are the Others."
"Why is this painting on the island?" Daenerys asked, holding up the broken shard of dragonglass. "Why is dragonglass on the island?"
"Obsidian, my lady, can only be formed at places like this," Pylos explained, still surprising Daenerys with the excitement in his tone. "It's forged by the fires of the earth. I wouldn't be surprised if there were small caves up on the volcano that is filled with the stuff." the maester turned back to the painting. "As for this? Tales of the time say that mankind went to the Children of the Forest for help against the Others. The Children taught Man how to kill the Others with dragonglass. This is probably where it was mined."
"Surely a painting like this will have already been discovered." Ser Barristan said. "Rhaegar Targaryen spent years on the island. Lady Daenerys and I have walked around the island for days. I've never noticed this cave nor have I ever heard of it."
Pylos shook his head. "I sketched the painting and will have it sent to the Citadel to see if there have been other paintings found. I will also search the library. Like you, if anyone else has ever found this, then the maester at the time certainly would have noted it down."
Daenerys looked at the painting, particularly at the group of blue beings. She felt a chill blow down her spine and settle in her stomach. It was a feeling that she hadn't felt in a long time, not since her marriage to Khal Drogo.
Fear.
"Very well," Daenerys said. "Could you also make a second sketch of this painting?"
Pylos nodded. "Of course, my lady."
"Good. You have three days to go through the library and find all you can before I sail for King's Landing." Daenerys said. "Will that be enough time?"
The young maester nodded again. "It should be, my lady."
Daenerys turned to Grey Worm. "Make sure that Captain Brevan and the Stormborn are ready to sail in three days."
The Unsullied commander nodded and left without a word. As always, Daenerys appreciated the unquestioning loyalty to her Unsullied. They were her staunchest allies and had held against the men of the North and the Riverlands during the battle. She could always rely on them.
"My lady, if I may have a word?" Ser Barristan asked carefully.
Daenerys nodded and strode out of the cave, her two knights following her. When they were on the beach, she caught sight of the look on the old knight's face and knew at once that he didn't agree with her plan.
"Do you think it is wise to sail to the city?" Ser Barristan asked bluntly.
Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "This could be important and Robb….King Robb should know about it."
"Do you need to be the one who brings it to his attention?" Ser Barristan questioned. "Why not a raven?"
"I was the one who made the discovery." Daenerys countered. "I should be the one who tells him."
Ser Barristan glanced at Ser Jorah, who had been a silent witness to the debate. With both Daenerys and Ser Barristan looking at him, Ser Jorah crossed his arms across his broad chest.
"I agree with the Khaleesi on this," he answered. "Robb Stark isn't Robert Baratheon or Joffrey Waters. He will not dismiss this as a picture."
"Why is that?" Daenerys asked, now a little curious. She had wanted to travel to the city to see how it was doing under the guidance of Robb Stark and his queen. It had been purely personal, but now Ser Jorah was making another point that was far away from Daenerys' thoughts.
"Robb Stark is a northerner through and through." Ser Jorah explained. "While the southern houses mock the Night's Watch, the Starks of Winterfell have always been a staunch supporter of theirs."
"The Night's Watch protects the land from wildlings." Ser Barristan argued, looking flustered for the first time since Daenerys had brought him into her service. "Not….mythical creatures!"
Ser Jorah shook his head. "There is something about that picture. I felt the northern air on my bones and the fear in my gut. I do not think it was a coincidence that the Khaleesi found this cave."
Ser Barristan sighed and shook his head. "What if the king laughs in our faces and dismisses it as nothing?"
"Then we remind him that dragons were once dead and gone." Ser Jorah answered firmly. "There is something strange happening in Westeros, and it started the moment those dragons emerged from the fire with the Khaleesi."
"How do you know this?" Daenerys asked.
Ser Jorah grimaced. "Winter is coming, Khaleesi. Those have been the words of House Stark since the Age of Heroes. They are not threatening, like 'Ours is the Fury' or 'Blood and Fire'. They warn of a threat that, in the past centuries, has fallen to legend and myth. But now those legends might be coming back to haunt us. I have seen the signs, or at least shadows of them, and I have spoken to the traders from White Harbor. The North is preparing for a long and grueling winter that is not far off. With that coming and this," he said, gesturing at the cave. "I fear what comes with it."
Daenerys didn't need to ask any more questions. She could tell just from the northman's tone that he was being completely authentic with her. He truly believed that the Others were truly returning to Westeros.
"You have never led me astray nor caused me to doubt your word, Ser Jorah," Daenerys said. "We will bring this to the king, and should he laugh at us," she glanced at Ser Barristan, "we will remind him that winter is coming, and it may carry a much larger threat than the cold."
Tyrion Lannister
Tyrion stood close to the throne as the king held court. So far, it had been an uneventful day. Most of the disputes were about property or money. Petty gripes that both the king and his Hand knew needed to be dealt with. Tyrion had first-hand experience with a populace who felt abandoned and ignored by their king. Their suffering almost always turns violent.
At least that was the message that was sent when the High Septon's arm had been ripped off by the mob.
The final petitioner looked to be a hedge knight. He was tall and scrawny, looking half-starved and as ragged as they came. The joke with Hedge Knights was that they slept under the 'hedges' or Westeros, and this man certainly seemed to fit the image. His hair and beard were long and greasy, looking as if they had been cut with a blunt knife and a poor reflection in a pool, and the man looked as if he hadn't had a proper bath in weeks. He wore a mail shirt that showed rust in some areas and had battered steel-plate armor running along his right arm from his shoulder to his wrist. His shield was slung across his back and his helm was held under his arm.
However, despite his appearance, he swaggered forward with an overblown sense of arrogance. What truly surprised Tyrion was that the man wasn't acting. He knelt before the king, bowing his head until his chin touched his chest.
"Your Grace, I have come to pledge my sword to you." he declared, his statement loud and clear for the entire court to hear.
The king raised an eyebrow. "What have I done to earn such a….reward?"
"I am the finest sword in the realm, sire, and I have come to become one of your sworn seven." the man answered firmly, looking up.
The crowd of courtiers shifted slightly. Tyrion saw that many were hiding smirks, clearly amused with the man's desire. In the days of Robert or Joffrey, the man would have been laughed right out of the room, but King Robb had made it clear that each person, from the highest lord to the lowest beggar, would be treated with respect despite whatever petition they brought before him. People of the court respected the rule, but that didn't stop them from showing the amusement they received from the knight.
Tyrion glanced at Lord Royce, whose youngest son currently served in the elite guard. He did not look amused.
The king leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "Thank you, ser…."
"Ser Harrison Jass, your grace."
"Ser Harrison, thank you for your offer, but I must refuse. I have no absences in my Kingsguard at the moment. Perhaps I can have the captain of my household guard find you a place…." the king suggested, gesturing towards Eyan Hawker.
The man shook his head. "That is untrue, my lord."
Robb frowned. "Are you saying I lied?"
"No, your grace, at least not on purpose." Ser Harrison explained, his mail shirt rattling as he stood up. "You have a woman on your guard who does not belong. I am offering to take her place."
The seven warriors had not reacted when the man had said that he wanted to join the Kingsguard. It was only when he blatantly disrespected their commander, a warrior all in the Red Keep had respect for, did they finally react. All six knights reached for their weapons. Ser Loras, the youngest of the group, even took a step forward.
"Hold!" the king ordered, looking at his knights before turning it back on the man. "You believe that you can serve me better than Commander Brienne?"
Ser Harrison nodded enthusiastically. "Of course. Women are not fit to fight. They belong in the kitchens and running the household. I do not fault you for placing one in your guard as you are from the North and do not fully understand the customs of the south. I only wish to help correct this oversight."
The room was now deathly silent. No one was smirking or smiling anymore. The man in the center of the room had not only disrespected the commander of the Kingsguard but had basically called the king an idiot who did not understand the south. Tyrion wasn't sure if the man had a death wish or if he truly was so stupid. From what he had gathered so far from the man and his brief conversation with the king, he was a fool, plain and simple. Unfortunately, he was a fool who had no idea what response he had just provoked from the king.
The king glanced at his wife, who sat on a smaller stone throne just a step down from the Iron Throne. The queen nodded back to her husband, a silent message passing between the two.
"Ser Harrison Jass, are you willing to prove that you are capable of joining my kingsguard?" the king asked, practically glaring at the man with undisguised annoyance. When the hedge knight nodded in response, the king clapped his hands decisively.
"Good. You will duel my commander," he said. "You are willing to stand here and disrespect her. Prove to me now that you are a better warrior than her and you may join my Kingsguard."
Ser Harrison shook his head. "I can not fight a woman, sire. It is against my vows as a knight."
The king frowned, obviously trying to think of a way around his vows, but Tyrion quickly stepped forward to help put an end to the man's embarrassment.
"Ser Harrison, have you ever fought in a battle?"
The hedge knight hesitated before nodding quickly. "Of course."
Tyrion knew that it was a lie, but it still served his purpose. "So has Commander Brienne. Knights on the battlefield had no problem fighting her, and since you are the greatest sword in the land, neither should you."
All eyes had gone from Tyrion to the hedge knight, who turned red in the face. He glanced between Tyrion, the king, and the commander before nodding choppily, accepting the challenge. He set his helm on his head, pulling the strap tight before setting his shield firmly on his left arm. Finally, he ripped his sword from its sheath. It looked just as battered and rusted as the man's armor.
Brienne glanced back at the king, who simply nodded. The warrior woman removed her helm, handing it to the man next to her before unsheathing her weapon, the valyrian steel sword Red Rain. Her expression was one of disgust mixed with controlled fury, and Tyrion found it quite terrifying.
The two warriors moved forward slowly. Ser Harrison was crouched slightly with his shield up and his blade set flat on its top edge. Tyrion was not a fighter himself, but as the brother to one of the best warriors in the realm, he could tell that this man was far from one. Tyrion could pick out at least five flaws in his form. No doubt more experienced warriors like the king or Lord Royce would be able to pick out many more.
Expert warriors like Commander Brienne could see all of them.
Without warning, Brienne lunged forward, her sword sliding under the shield and was heading right for the man's midsection. Ser Harrison let out a surprised yelp and managed to bat the valyrian steel blade away with the rim of his shield before answering with his own strike, which was battered away by Brienne's vambrace.
The fight continued for a few more embarrassing moments. Brienne would attack suddenly and Ser Harrison would just manage to defend himself before responding with a weak strike of his own. Brienne would parry or block it with contemptuous ease before the cycle repeated itself. Occasionally, the warrior woman would kick or shove her opponent, sending him crashing to the ground, but he was immediately back on his feet every time.
Brienne's sword flashed down at the man, but instead of moving out of the way, Ser Harrison brought his blade up to block. Perhaps he didn't know what Brienne was wielding, or the idiot didn't recognize just how much bigger and stronger his opponent was, but Brienne's blade sheared through Ser Harrison's like a knife through parchment.
The hedge knight could only stare dumbly at his broken blade before he was thrown back. Brienne had taken advantage of the knight's shock and placed her armored boot in the man's chest, sending him flying before he landed on his back, skittering a few more meters from the power of the kick. When he hit the ground, he lost both his helm and his shield, each rolling away as the man lay still, wheezing as he tried to get air back into his lungs.
Brienne placed her sword at the man's neck, her blue eyes flashing like lightning.
"Yield, ser," she demanded. "You have been defeated."
The room had remained silent during the entire fight, and now everyone was straining to hear what the man said.
"I yield." Ser Harrison whispered bitterly.
Brienne nodded and stepped back, turning her back on the man. Ser Harrison scrambled to his feet, his broken sword flying towards Brienne's exposed back. It was the crowd's gasp that alerted the Kingsguard commander. As Brienne turned, her blade came up and deflected the attack while her left hand, curled instinctively into a fist, smashed into the man's face. The crunch of his nose being splattered across his face could be heard clearly in every corner of the room.
The man cried out as his nose broke, dropping his weapon as he fell to his knees, holding his face. Blood streamed through his fingers as tears collected in his eyes. Brienne just looked at the man with disgust before returning to her post, sheathing her sword and reclaiming her helm.
The king nodded to Ser Davos, who strode forward with two of his men. The watchmen put firm hands on the man's shoulders, with their commander standing behind the embarrassed knight, waiting for orders.
"Ser Harrison, you have not only proven that you are far from the greatest fighter in the realm, but you are certainly not fit for my kingsguard or service." the king declared, his voice like iron. "You have shamed yourself here today, and if I were a lower man, I would have taken your head for so blatantly insulting me."
The crowd was quiet as the king spoke. Tyrion knew that Robb was more annoyed than angry, so he knew that the man wouldn't lose his head. He had been shamed during his duel with Brienne, and now he would be punished befitting his crime―stupidity.
"I strip you of your knighthood. You have no right to have it," the king continued. "Your arms and armor will be confiscated as well before you are escorted out of the city. Perhaps they will one day they will go to someone more worthy of them. From this day until your death, you are forbidden from returning from the city. If you are found within ten miles of the walls, then your life is forfeit."
Harrison Jass was openly weeping in the arms of the gold cloaks, his tears mixing the blood running down out of his nose. He looked like a broken man, quite the opposite of when he had strode forward not a few minutes ago. His arrogance hadn't just been pricked by Brienne, but completely torn to shreds in front of the entire court, and there was little chance that the man would ever regain it.
"I will give you another choice if you wish to take it," the king said after his wife leaned over and whispered something to him. "A ship leaves for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea first thing tomorrow morning. You can go with it and join the Night's Watch. Those are your two choices: banishment or the Watch."
"If I join the Watch, can I keep my knighthood?" Harrison asked weakly.
"No," Robb answered immediately. "You have shown that you are not worthy of it. Now give me your answer. banishment or the Wall?"
Everyone waited patiently for the man's answer. After what seemed like an eternity, he looked up at the king.
"I choose banishment."
Robb nodded to Ser Davos, who barked a command to his men and had Harrison Jass dragged out of the room. Thankfully, his humiliation wasn't worsened by cheering. Most people just looked unimpressed with the man, not having an ounce of sympathy for him. He had, after all, challenged the commander of the Kingsguard.
They weren't known as the finest swords in the realm without reason.
Jon Stark
Jon emerged from his chambers, looking out the window into the courtyard. There was a lot of activity in the yard. Jon had heard the horn from the top of the Wall, announcing the return of one of Thorne's men, but there were none currently ranging that would warrant such a reaction from the other members of the Watch. In the chambers next to him, Smalljon and Alysane also came out, looking just as curious as Jon.
"What the hells is going on?" Smalljon grumbled as the trio went outside, stopping at the railing.
Many of the watchmen were huddled around the tunnel that traveled under the Wall. Many of the brothers looked visibly shocked, turning to their comrades and speaking in lowered tones. Jon noticed Ser Alliser marching towards the group, Janos at his side. The knight caught sight of Jon and his friends, motioning for them to follow.
"All right, you lot!" Ser Alliser shouted. "Get back!"
The crowd slowly moved away, allowing the Lord Commander to see what all the commotion was about. Jon, Smalljon, and Alysane jogged to catch up with Thorne, curious to see what was happening. When the trio finally reached the entrance to the tunnel, Jon stopped dead in his tracks, not believing what he was seeing.
It was Uncle Benjen, Bran, Hodor, and a girl he didn't recognize. Ser Alliser had clasped arms with Uncle Benjen, and another man that Jon had come to know as Qhorin Halfhand had forced his way through the crowd to greet his fellow ranger. But soon Benjen looked over and he and Jon locked eyes.
Jon rushed forward, practically sprinting by the time he slammed into his uncle, the two men embracing. Benjen was laughing softly, just like he always did whenever he visited Winterfell in the past, and hugged Jon as a boy. It was a laugh that only belonged to Benjen. Jon had slight tears in his eyes when he pulled back. Benjen kept his arms on Jon's shoulders, a massive grin on his face.
"You've grown," Benjen said proudly, looking Jon up and down. "You've become a man."
"Uncle," Jon said, unable to fully convey what he was feeling. "What happened? Where were you?"
Benjen shook his head, forestalling any more questions. "We'll talk about that later, Jon. Now greet your brother. His story is a lot stranger than mine."
Jon nodded and moved past his uncle, who moved forward to greet Smalljon and Alysane. Jon knelt next to Bran, a relieved smile on his face as he looked at his younger brother. Bran had a smile as well, but it wasn't one of happiness or relief, but grim contentment.
"Bran," Jon said lovingly, ruffling his brother's hair softly before placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank the gods you're alive."
Bran nodded. "I am," he stated bluntly.
Jon was a little confused with how serious his brother was being. He was expecting to see his smile, his eyes shining like they always did. Bran seemed….reserved, almost unemotional, which was odd considering the circumstance. Jon couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something different about his brother, and it was more than just his mood. Some kind of authority that Jon didn't know about. It was the same way their father was able to silence a criminal with a look, yet still different.
"I'm Meera Reed." the girl said, breaking the awkwardness.
Jon nodded to her. "I know your father Howland. He's a good man and a friend."
"How is he?"
"He's well," Jon answered. "I'm sure he can't wait to see you."
Meera shifted slightly. "Thank you."
Off to the side, Ghost and Summer were nipping at each other playfully, the two littermates happy to see each other again. Behind him, his uncle was still embracing the friends and brothers he had left behind.
"There are a lot more brothers here than when I left," Benjen noted, speaking with Thorne and the Halfhand. "What happened?"
"I can explain that, Uncle," Jon answered, getting to his feet. "It seems we both have stories to tell."
It took about an hour for the recently returned party to wash and eat before Meera, Benjen, and Bran gathered in Jon's chambers. Smalljon and Alysane stood by the wall in the back of the room, just as curious as Jon to hear their story.
"You should speak first, Jon," Benjen said, nursing a tankard of ale in his hands. "Our story is a little tougher to explain and will take longer to tell."
Jon nodded. "It truly started when Robert Baratheon entered Winterfell and made Father his Hand, but that's irrelevant at this point. The story you care about happens after the death of Robert Baratheon."
For the next two hours, Jon, with the help of Smalljon, explained the War of the Five Kings. Starting with Robb's battles in the Riverlands and his later journey to the Reach and parts of the Stormlands, Jon's campaign in the North and his father's arrival with the Company of the Rose, Robb's battles against the Lannisters at Harrenhal and High Heart, before ending with the re-emergence of the Targaryens, the attempted assassination on Robb, and the massive battle at King's Landing. Jon had done the best he could to tell what had happened without over-explaining and confusing everything for his uncle, who listened patiently and asked only a few questions. He had been very surprised to hear about the Company of the Rose, but the mention of dragons didn't shock him like Jon thought it would.
"How's Robb been as a king?" Benjen asked as Jon took a long drink of ale.
"He's been nothing short of brilliant, but he has a lot of help," Jon answered after he swallowed. "All in all, he'll be just fine in the south."
"So why are you here?"
"There was word of an army of wildlings north of the Wall," Jon explained. "I've come to see how bad the situation is. My father sent a raven saying that I need to find a way to talk to them."
Benjen raised an eyebrow before nodding. "Aye, that's a good idea."
It was Jon's turn to look confused. "You think that there's a peaceful solution to this too?"
Benjen looked Jon in the eye. "When I explain what Bran and I have been up to, you'll see that there has to be peace between the Watch and the wildlings. The survival of Westeros depends on it."
Bloodraven
The man formerly known as Bloodraven sat upright in his chair, still entangled by roots that were as old and as gnarled as he was. His eyes were closed and his mouth was set in a firm, thin line as he strained. The cave where he resided shook and cracked, but none of the sounds seemed to bother the old man. He continued to focus on the task at hand.
Flashback
Bloodraven eyes returned to normal as his gaze fell upon Leaf, whose elfish features were drawn with worry. He knew that she disproved of his plan, but she had lived long enough to know that there was sometimes no other option. The Great Bastard has always been a realist and a pragmatist, a trait he developed over his lifetime of politics, war, and subterfuge, a trait he had passed on to the leader of the Children.
"You will need to leave soon," Bloodraven wheezed. "They are approaching."
"You will die." Leaf replied. It wasn't a question, but a fact.
Bloodraven nodded slowly. "I am old, Leaf, and I have lived a very long and hard life. I will rest."
"It will not be a painless death," Leaf said again. Bloodraven let out a rasping laugh. It was full of mirth and his own dark humor.
"Ah, there's nothing they can do to me that scares me," he explained. "As I've said, I'm an old man who's sitting at death's door. I've had one foot in it for the past three decades!"
"After all this time, I will never understand humans," Leaf, shaking her head.
Bloodraven smiled slightly. "When you lived a life as long and as fraught as mine, death is a gift that I am waiting to receive." the cave shook slightly, pebbles falling and clattering on the ground. Bloodraven winced in pain.
"A gift I will receive soon," the old man continued. "I will hold them off. Now go."
Leaf seemed stuck for a moment before nodding her head. "You have been a great friend, Brynden Rivers. Rest well and do not give our enemy any satisfaction."
"The same to you, Leaf," Bloodraven nodded, closing his eyes. "Go, return to your home in the south. See the sun and live."
Flashback
Then, he slumped back into his chair, sweat rolling from the top of his head, down his birthmark, and onto his robe. The cave had stopped shaking, but the sounds had been replaced with a cold wind, and with it came the smell of death. A freezing white mist rolled into the room, and before long, a dozen figures followed.
They carried weapons and armor like all men, but that is where the similarities ended. They wore delicate, reflective armor that was as clear and as still as a pond. Their swords were like blades of crystal and faintly glowed blue even the dark cave. Under their armor, their blue skin was stretched taut over bone and sinewy muscle. They moved like death and made no sound wherever they stepped.
The most intriguing thing about the creatures was their eyes. They blazed like blue stars and made the old man feel as like his bones had been replaced with ice.
"You're too late," he wheezed, glaring at the ancient enemy.
There was no point in delaying the inevitable. The creatures before him were incapable of feeling anything but the desire to destroy every living thing. Besides, even if there was a chance he could live, the man was old and all of his past friends had long since been eaten by worms in the ground.
The old man looked at the leader of his enemy, a creature he knew well. While the being did not have a name, the old man knew him by one: the Night King. The name was a great fit, for the creature was the last of his original kind, those who had been created by the Great Darkness that warred with the Old Gods before the beginning of time. The other reason it fir was because it looked like the spiked of a crown grew from around his skull, threatening to tear his skin.
"The Crippled Wolf has made it south. You'll never touch him," the old man spat as the Night King approached, drawing his sword.
The old man's death was quick. The sword pierced his heart and as it was withdrawn, the old man crumbled to dust, leaving nothing but an old robe, a throne, and some roots that used to hold up the man formerly known as Bloodraven.