Jon stared up at the Heart Tree, admiring its beauty as well as the tranquility of the godswood. He and Robb used to play all the time in the woods and around Winterfell, pretending they were ancient heroes. One of their favorites was Daeron I Targaryen, the first Targaryen king to conquer Dorne. Looking back now, Jon couldn't help but chuckle wryly. Daeron I had been known as the 'Young Dragon', a moniker not too dissimilar to the 'Young Wolf'.
Now, Jon couldn't help but see some similarities between himself and Brynden Rivers, otherwise known as 'Bloodraven'. The Great Bastard served the realm faithfully for years, forgoing honor in order to keep Westeros safe on several occasions. Jon was positive he didn't have the political ruthlessness or knowledge of Bloodraven, but he could understand why the man did what he did. Jon knew that he would give up everything to keep Robb, his family, and the realm safe from harm.
"Jon?" Arya said, coming up behind him.
Jon was still surprised by how much his sister had grown. She was tall and slim with a boy-like frame and wore her hair in a simple style. She still dressed like a boy and had Needle sheathed at her side. He knew that she practiced daily with her Braavosi swordmaster and Jon couldn't be happier that Lady Stark was allowing Arya to follow her heart. He knew that Arya would never be a lady like Sansa or Lady Stark, but a great warrior wasn't exactly a step-down, just in a different direction.
"Arya," Jon said with a soft smile as his sister moved next to him, the two siblings gazing at the giant white tree.
"Daenerys Targaryen is approaching the gate," Arya said quietly. "Do you think she's found out who you are?"
Jon pressed his lips together thoughtfully. Arya, more so than Robb or their father, worried that someone might find out about Jon's true parentage. When her father first told her about Jon's birth, he told her that a lot of people would kill for Jon or try to kill Jon. Arya took that to heart and became constantly worried that Jon would die because of the truth.
"I don't know," Jon said quietly. "If she is, then she must've given Robb or Father a good reason to tell her."
"Like the Long Night?" Arya asked.
Jon nodded. "Aye, like that."
Arya frowned and gripped Needle. "I won't let her make you a Targaryen. You're a Stark."
Jon chuckled and hugged his sister closer, kissing her atop her head. He looked down at her with a small smile on his face.
"Don't worry yourself, Arya. She won't make me a Targaryen." Jon promised. "I'm a Stark. Always have been, always will be."
"What if she wants to marry you?" Arya asked. Jon stopped chuckled and stared at his sister. She shrugged back.
"Targaryens used to wed each other."
"I'm not going to marry her, Arya," Jon said. "Why do you even think she's here to see me? She could be simply spending the night on her way back south."
"Lord Jon?" a guardsman coughed apologetically, interrupting the conversation. "Lady Targaryen is here to see you."
"Go back to the castle. Tell your mother she has a guest." Jon said, ignoring the look Arya was giving him before turning towards the man. "Bring Lady Targaryen here, please."
As Arya and the guard left, Jon took a moment to himself to wonder why Daenerys Targaryen had come across the world to find him. Despite what he had said to Arya, he was sure that she had come for him, there was no one else in Winterfell she'd want to see. Unless she had some weird desire to make amends and say she's sorry to Lyanna's tomb, Jon was who she was here to see. All that remained to be seen was why?
A slight breeze moved through the clearing, spreading some of the blood-red leaves onto the black pool beneath the white tree. Jon gazed at the horrified face across from him, his thoughts turning to the Old Gods. Why did they have the Children carve faces of terror and anguish in the trunks of such beautiful trees? Perhaps some things in life, the beautiful things in life, do not come without pain and suffering. Perhaps beauty and misery go together.
"Jon?" Lady Targaryen asked, walking slowly into the woods.
Jon looked over his shoulder at the woman, feigning disinterest. "Lady Targaryen."
"Daenerys is fine," Daenerys said. "Do you know why I'm here?"
Jon shook his head as the silver-haired beauty took Arya's place by his side, except she wasn't looking at the tree, but at him.
Jon had seen the Targaryen woman a few times, the last time being High Hermitage, but he was still astounded by her beauty. Women like Cersei Lannister and Margaery were undoubtedly some of the prettiest women Jon had ever seen in his life, and Sansa was not far behind them, but Daenerys Targaryen was something else entirely. Silver-blonde hair swayed with the wind while her violet eyes pierced his soul.
"Lord Stark told me about you." Daenerys continued. "About who your mother and father were."
"You mean my father told you who I was," Jon said, keeping his tone conversational.
Daenerys crossed her arms. "You deny who you are?"
Jon shook his head. "I know exactly who I am, my lady. Jon Stark, Lord of Long Lake. I think some men also refer to me as the 'White Wolf'." he glanced at her. "I'm sure you understand why."
"Are you not the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark?"
"I know who my birth parents are, but they are not who I choose to call my parents," Jon explained. "Eddard Stark raised me, protected me, cared for me. Eddard Stark is my father. I have five siblings; Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon."
Daenerys gazed at Jon curiously, as if she stuck between pressing the subject further and dropping it entirely. She looked around at the trees as if admiring the view, before coming back to Jon. She sighed in annoyance.
"I don't care whether you consider yourself a Targaryen or Stark," she said finally. "I have a proposition for you."
"And that is?"
"To ride a dragon," Daenerys said. "Rhaegal needs a rider and we are the last blood members of House Targaryen. With the Long Night coming, both my dragons will be needed to fight the Others."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "You seemed fine controlling both by yourself at the Battle of King's Landing."
Daenerys gritted her teeth. "It was easier then because they were younger. They are older and more independent and I need someone else to ride Rhaegal," she explained before adding. "I named him after your father."
"You named him after your brother." Jon corrected.
It was clear that Jon's answers denying his father's house were beginning to irritate the Lady of Dragonstone. He knew that it was not easy for the young woman to come find him and to ask for his help after he had helped take away her throne. She must be truly desperate to find him.
"You seem certain that it must be me," Jon said. "Why?"
"Both the Grand Maester and the Green Man said that the dragons would be needed," Daenerys answered. "That was enough to convince Robb. Is it not enough for you?"
Jon glanced at the woman, finally looking at her. "I will think about it," he said politely. "I will give you my answer in the morning."
Daenerys frowned, not liking the answer Jon gave, but she nodded nonetheless.
"Thank you," she said before going to leave. After taking a few steps, she stopped and turned around. "Why do you hate House Targaryen?"
"Who said I hate them?" Jon asked, facing the woman.
"You clearly do." Daenerys pointed out. "It's undeniable even if you never say it."
Jon shook his head. "I don't hate your house, Daenerys. I hate what your brother and father did, but I don't hate your house."
"Then why are you so adamant about being a Stark?" Daenerys asked. "Eddard Stark raised you as his bastard for almost your entire life."
"He did." Jon agreed before spreading his arms. "But he treated me like his son, and I grew up believing that I was. Were you not raised with the belief that you would one day be queen?"
Daenerys flinched slightly as Jon spoke. She took a long moment to rally herself, and hold back a torrent of words, before responding to Jon's statement. Her tone had gone from accusing to restrained anger.
"I was raised believing that I could help people," she all but snarled. "I thought the son of Ned Stark would have been raised in the same fashion."
Without another word, Daenerys swept out of the godswood where a fur-cloaked Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah were waiting for her at the gate. Both knights glanced at Jon before falling in line behind their mistress.
Arya Stark
Arya's chest was heaving as she sucked in a lungful of breath. Syrio had been making her work hard for the past two hours, not relenting until her shirt was soaked with sweat and her face was as red as an apple. Ever since she had begun secretly training with Bran as well, Syrio had been testing her skill and dedication to his craft with extremely harsh training sessions. Arya stubbornly refused to give, knowing that the man wanted her to be great.
"When you are tired is when you must be like a cat." Syrio lectured her, his practice sword leaning against his shoulder. "You think a lion tires while chasing its prey?"
"No." Arya sighed.
"No indeed." Syrio nodded. "Come, child, back to the lesson."
Arya sighed and raised her sword as she set her feet without thinking. Several months of practicing the basics of water dancing allowed the young girl to immediately drop into a perfect stance, just like Syrio had taught her. Her breathing became steady and measured, relaxing her arms and legs. Needle's tip did not waver from where it was perfectly in line with Arya's shoulder.
Syrio, with a slight smirk, dropped into his own stance that was similar to Arya's. His eyes glittered with the excitement of their dance but gave away nothing as the two fighters, the master and the apprentice, began to circle each other.
Without warning, Syrio struck, his wooden blade flying through the air towards Arya's head, but his apprentice deflected the blow and thrust towards the braavosi's unprotected chest. In one fluid movement, Syrio's blade came back up, parried the attack, and restarted the dance with his own strike.
The two went back and forth for a long moment, the yard ringing with the echo of steel on wood. Arya would attack and then defend as her master parried or dodged before counter-attacking. Back and forth they went, turning in a circle as they fought. Each movement was fluid, like water. There was no blocking, barely any use of strength. Their dance was one of speed, not brute strength.
The dance ended with Syrio's sword pointed at Arya's chest. She was sucking air into her lungs, her face red with both shame and exhaustion. Her master noticed this and planted his sword in the mud, leaning on it.
"We're done today, little one," he said. "Go clean up. We'll dance again as the sun rises."
Someone began clapping above the two. It was a white-haired man, though still athletic-looking despite his age. As he walked down the steps towards them, he moved with a warrior's grace. He wore a kind smile and his eyes twinkled with excitement and respect. He nodded to both Arya and Syrio.
"Braavosi Water Dancing, is it not?" he asked, hooking one thumb inside his belt and his other hand on the pommel of his blade.
"You have a good eye, my friend," Syrio said, pleased with the man. "I have been teaching Lord Stark's daughter for many months. She is still as stiff as a board, but she has become a pliable one. With more work, she will be like water."
"You're Ser Barristan Selmy," Arya said, remembering the man. "You were Lord Commander of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard."
Ser Barristan nodded slowly. "I am and I was, my lady. You must be Arya Stark. I remember your father brought in a dancing teacher for you. I never thought that it was a braavosi. A former First Sword if your master's skill is any indication."
Syrio bowed deeply. "Your words are kind, my friend. I have heard tales of Barristan the Bold. You slew the last Blackfyre, no?"
"Maelys the Monstrous," Arya said, enjoying sharing facts about her master and the famous knight. "You killed him during the War of the Ninepenny Kings."
"Aye, that was a fierce, short war." Barristan smiled grimly. "I slew Maelys in single combat. One of the toughest warriors I've ever faced. Unnaturally big and strong, but he was too wild and emotional."
"A good lesson to remember when dancing with the enemy." Syrio agreed, glancing at Arya.
"You've come with Daenerys Targaryen, haven't you?" Arya asked, the smile fading from her face as she remembered why the old knight was here.
"I have." Ser Barristan said, noticing the change in the girl's mood. "She needed to speak with your brother Jon. I was never told the reason why."
"You fought my father at King's Landing." Arya continued.
Now it was Ser Barristan's turn to lose his smile. He nodded sadly, his eyes downcast. "It was one of the hardest choices I ever faced. Your father is my friend and a great man. One of a kind. I never wanted to fight him. Fate put us on opposite sides. Not for the first time, I'm afraid."
"I have heard of Lord Stark's prowess, yet never saw it myself." Syrio mused. "Is he as good a dancer as the stories say?"
"Lord Stark is one of the deadliest swordsmen in Westeros." Ser Barristan explained. "But since he's never taken part in tourneys or melees, no one ever knew. Men like Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell earned their fame through these contests. Your father," he nodded towards Arya, "earned his on the battlefield."
"He defeated Ser Arthur Dayne," Arya said proudly.
"Yes, he did do that." Ser Barristan said slowly, almost like he was convincing himself of the fact. "I still have a hard time believing that, but he's alive and Arthur is not."
"What troubles you?" Syrio asked.
"Ser Arthur Dayne was the last Sword of the Morning, a title bestowed upon a knight of House Dayne who has proved that they are worthy of wielding the greatsword Dawn. The title is envied by all knights. I served on the kingsguard with Ser Arthur, and he was the deadliest of us all." Ser Barristan said. "He was left with two others to defend Lyanna Stark after…."
The old knight stopped for a moment and seemingly aged right before Arya's eyes. He was an old man, but he looked ancient now as he remembered the sins of his former brothers and those of the Bard Prince. For Arya, those crimes were far worse because she knew that they had robbed Jon of a true mother and robbed her father of a sister.
"Forgive me, I have taken up too much of your lesson." Ser Barristan said softly.
"It's alright," Arya said gently. "Our lesson was done for the day. If it helps, Ser Barristan, my father did say that he wouldn't be alive if not for Howland Reed."
"Howland Reed," Ser Barristan nodded. "I will keep this in mind, my lady. Thank you."
"Ser Barristan?" a beautiful, silver-haired woman called from the balcony. All three pairs of eyes turned towards her.
Arya looked back at Ser Barristan before nodding to Syrio and walking off, leaving the Lady of Dragonstone and the old knight far behind. She wanted to find Jon, but if she came across her mother, she knew that she would be redirected to her room to bathe.
She chose the safe path and headed for her room. She would talk to Jon at supper.
Tyrion Lannister
The Hand of the King sighed and rubbed his head as he read Lord Dickon's report, words from the mouth of both Jaime and the Green Man. It was annoying and slightly worrisome to the small, but powerful man.
Apparently, some minor, religiously fanatical lords had kidnapped the Green Man and put him on trial on account of him defending the Isle of Faces. Jaime had intervened and somehow managed to include himself in the trial as the Green Man's associate and therefore deserved to be included in the 'crime'. By doing this, Jaime managed to demand a trial by combat where he and the Green Man all but slaughtered the three lords and three of their men. Jaime also made sure to add that he also slew the troublesome septon who was whispering in each of the lord's ears.
Now, the two men were riding back from Horn Hill after being guests to Dickon Tarly for a night.
"You seem troubled." a silky, familiar voice mused.
From seemingly nowhere, Varys appeared in the room. He hadn't aged a day and looked the same as when Tyrion last saw him by Daenery Targaryen's side. He still wore a silk robe, hairless, and had an overwhelming lavender smell. His facial expression was one of amusement, but there was a look in his eye that Tyrion had never seen before and couldn't place.
"I thought I smelled something unsavory." Tyrion sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It seems your stay in Essos has done little for your hair or skin."
"Yes, it was quite boring." Varys agreed, folding his hands inside his sleeves. "I suppose you're wondering why I've come back."
"Close. I'm currently debating on whether to call the guards now or later?" Tyrion said. "You caused a lot of bloodshed by bringing the Targaryens back here, my dear vermin."
"Vermin? You always had such a talent for insults," Varys chuckled before the smile faded before it was replaced with a frown that could almost be mistaken for sadness. "Yes, I misjudged how desperate Connington had gotten during his time in Essos. I am truly sorry for my hand in that. I'm sure you know that my actions were only for the benefit of the realm."
"The realm or yourself?" Tyrion asked.
"All I have done, I have done for the realm," Varys said seriously. "Give it a few more years, my lord Hand. You'll see that not all my actions are worthy of judgment."
Tyrion waved his hand. "Save me the lecture, Varys. Why have you sailed all this way to bother me? Have the songs of your little birds become boring already?"
"Not boring, my lord, but silent," Varys said gravely. "Particularly the one I had in the North. Something happened at Winterfell that has stopped her song."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Varys, do you know where Daenerys Targaryen is?"
"She's in the North if I am not mistaken. She traveled there with the king." Varys said. "Do not mistake one lost song for complete silence, my lord. I am still well aware of where each player is."
"Daenerys Targaryen is no longer a player if you weren't already aware. She gave up her right to rule." Tyrion said, wagging a finger. "But if your words are true, then you know that the Green Men have left the Isle of Faces and that the wildlings have been let south of the Wall."
Varys nodded. "I also heard you had a little trouble with a barefoot septon."
Tyrion resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Small problem in the colossal mess that the crown now finds itself in. What do you know of the Green Men?"
Varys raised an eyebrow. "They're priests, are they not?"
"Guardians, my dear eunuch." Tyrion corrected. "They take a vow to never leave their precious island, but now they have. Would you like to know why?"
"You're enjoying this," Varys commented.
"Oh very much," Tyrion said, smiling grimly. "The Green Men are only allowed to leave their island when the Long Night comes again. Now, they've done their part. What do you think comes next?"
Varys frowned. "Surely you're not implying that the Long Night is coming, my lord. I would have thought the true son of Tywin Lannister was better than that."
"You insulted my brother and complimented me at the same time. You haven't changed at all." Tyrion retorted. "And no, I'm not implying it, I'm telling you that the Long Night comes again."
Varys's face went very still for a moment, and Tyrion knew exactly why the spymaster had his reservations. It's not that he disliked magic, he absolutely abhorred it because it was some psychotic sorcerer who had taken his cock and balls. So the concept of White Walkers and dead men walking was not one that the eunuch relished.
"Does the king believe this?" he asked finally.
"Soon all of Westeros will too," Tyrion said. "Benjen Stark is currently riding south with a wight. I have confirmation from both Winterfell, Riverrun, and Casterly Rock in due time. Trust me, Varys, there are still many who are skeptical, but there are too many signs pointing at the Long Night to ignore it."
"I'm rather surprised you're not going to war with the Iron Islands after Euron's attack," Varys said.
"Yes, that," Tyrion said, clasping his hands in front of him. "Another bit of magic, I'm afraid. If our competent Grand Maester is correct, then it's probably the work of the Drowned God."
Varys stared at Tyrion as if he'd grown into a normal-sized man. Tyrion, who was usually left confused during their many conversations over the years, was taking great pleasure in confusing the eunuch. He decided to push his advantage further.
"I'd check on your birds, Spider. Some of their tunes are not as nice as they seem." Tyrion chuckled before waving the man away. "Fly back to your nest, Varys. You're no longer welcome in Westeros. If you have something else to say, say it now or else the next words out of my mouth will bring in quite a few men with swords."
Varys raised an eyebrow. "Is the Stark boy worth it?"
Tyrion answered without hesitation. "He's the best king Westeros has had since before the Mad King. You said that all you've done is for the benefit of the realm, correct? Robb Stark is the best thing for Westeros. He's respected, loved, deceptively smart, and has a wife and child. Stability, Varys, is that not what you want? Stark. Is. Stability."
"You're confident," Varys noted.
"I'm right." Tyrion corrected. "Now leave. I have work to do and our conversation is over."