9 A Hall of Doors and a Certain Song

[Greywater Watch]

Jaehaerys.

The night before, he'd dreamt of Aemon Targaryen, the one they called the dragonknight, not the one who first claimed and rode Caraxes; he'd learned much about fighting during his time as Aemon, Jaehaerys soaking it all up as best he could. He'd learned that the tales of the dragonknight's nobility rang true. . . as did the ones of his affair with his sister Naerys.

But Jae did not want to think of that any longer. Sitting up, Jae ran a hand through his hair. It had gotten so long that it started to bother him. Lady Jyana had said it would, but Jae had been stubborn and did not want to cut it. He regretted that now. Rising, Jae crossed the room, stood before the black box, and touched the Winter rose clasped in the three-headed dragon's talons. Then he swallowed and quickly backed away.

Dressing in the clothes that Lady Jyana had made for him — black cotton breeches, a blood-red cotton blouse beneath a leather tunic of the same colour, boiled black leather boots, and a warm wolfskin cloak, the leather straps embroidered in the likeness of Ghost — and left his chamber, eager to break his fast. As he passed Brynden's chamber, Jae noted that his squire was already up and about.

Lying beside the small hearth in the dining hall, Ghost's ears perked up at the sound of Jae's entrance. Then, he closed his eyes and lay his head back down, and Jae smiled at his friend before sitting across from the only other person there. Jojen Reed was a strange boy, no older than Sansa and more enigmatic than anyone had a right to be.

"Good morrow, Jojen," he greeted, smiling as a serving girl placed a bowl of warm oats, a portion of duck cooked with cherries and lemons, and a tankard of ale. "Thank you." The girl gave a shy smile and scurried away.

"I trust you've slept well," Jojen said, looking at him, and Jae could see the question in his moss-green eyes.

"Aye," Jae said, nodding. "I dreamt of the Dragonknight this time and learned some new tricks."

Jojen nodded. "And warging into Ghost?" He asked. The direwolf lifted his head at the sound of his name, gave a silent wine, and moved closer to the table. Jae dropped him a chunk of duck, and Ghost licked his hand before starting his meal. "Are you making progress?"

"I am," Jae said, taking a swig of ale. It was nut brown, thick on the tongue, and just how he liked it. "The doors are less faded."

Jojen looked nonplused for once. "Doors?" He asked. "You see doors?"

Jae frowned, confused; do not all skinchangers see the doors? "Aye... Hundreds and hundreds of doors, no two alike," Jae told his friend, for even if Jojen was a little odd at times, he was Jae's friend.

"A hall of doors," Jojen reflected, his eyes shaking as the gears turned.

"And there you've gone and named it for me," Jae smiled wryly. Then Jojen gave him a look. "Don't look at me like that. What do you see when skinchanging into Estrid?"

"Only darkness," Jojen sighed. "Then, out of nowhere, Estrid lands before me, cawing, and then I see through her eyes and direct her to where I want to go."

Jae tried to think about why he was so vastly different from Jojen, but all he could come up with was his Stark blood, merged with the Targaryens' magical attributes. He recited as much to Jojen, and his friend somewhat agreed with him, though Jae knew he would dig deeper into this before the day was done. That was just how Jojen was; he found something that intrigued him and thought about it until he had all the answers.

After a while, when Jae was about done breaking his fast, Meera decided to join them. "Good morrow, Jae," she greeted as she sat beside her brother. "Slept well?"

"If you can call being surrounded by snakes for what felt like days sleeping well, then aye, I slept well," he told her.

Meera looked at him with an odd look on her face. "The fuck?" She said, and Jae snorted into his ale, nearly spilling it all over himself.

Jojen spoke after a while, "The door you go through to join Ghost, it's open?" Jae nodded. "I thought so... But the rest are all shut?"

Jae nodded again, ignoring the confused look on Meera's face before she started eating what the serving girl put before her. "For Ghost, it's a gate. It's made entirely of ice, and Ghost is always beside it." The wolf pressed his snout against Jae's hand when he reached down.

Jojen nodded after a moment of thought, then asked almost anxiously, "Is there another door that feels that way? Perhaps one that feels hot?"

"I don't know, I'll look," he said, closing his eyes.

When he next opened them, he was in the Hall of Doors, as he decided to name it, a space stretched as far as the eye could see. To either side of him, rows of doors went on forever, no two alike. There, a pine so thick Jae wondered if even Hodor could open it, with the likeness of a stag engraved large upon its face; here, a splintering driftwood with a Kraken; and there, upon the sandy red wood of acacia, a shadowcat snarled.

Jae felt the cold pull to the left, calling to him, and looked to see the giant ice gate at the very end of the hall. It was as tall as Winterfell's tallest tower, and Ghost, in size so large he dwarfed Greywater Watch, lay beside it, long, silent breaths leaving the giant wolf.

Jae ignored the pull and turned right.

He walked and walked, the likenesses of creatures Jae had never seen or heard of before presenting themselves upon woods that he was sure not even maester Luwin knew of. Yet, he ignored them and kept walking toward the warm pull. It was faint, barely conceivable, but Jae felt it. He walked, the doors growing grander in some instances and less so in others until he finally came to an opening. It was empty, bland and black, but he knew this was where the feeling was coming from.

Then, the warmth exploded into a fierce heat, and a gate of pure fire erupted from the ground. The world shook, and Jae looked back, only to see the hall was gone, save the Ice Gate and Ghost leagues away. Then he turned back to the gate of fire. He'd never seen anything as captivating as this. Not even the winter roses in Wintrefell's glass gardens could compare to the beauty of the uncontrollable power behind the flames.

He unconsciously reached out to touch it, to feel the heat, and when his fingers lightly grazed the flames, the gate burst into a vivid green and consumed him wholly. He felt his clothes burn away, his skin melt, and his bones turn to ash, and yet. . . there was no pain.

Then, suddenly, he was standing in the middle of a field. To his left were snowy mountains, frozen waterfalls, ice pillars as tall as any castle, great curving ones here and there, and harsh, cold winds. Ghost leapt from peak to peak before halting on the tallest mountain and sitting back on his haunches. Glowing red eyes peered down silently at Jae before Ghost lifted his head and stared at something else.

Jae turned as well. Volcanoes, rivers of molten rock, caverns sinking into the chasms of the world, burning fields and molten castles to the right. Ash and smoke rose into the heavens from the mouth of the largest volcano, and Jae saw glaring green burning through it all. The smoke fled from sight with three beats of its wings, and the dragon roared into the sky. Ghost, perhaps for the first and last time, added his voice and the world trembled. A name from the right, a promise from the left, and Jae smiled to hear them both.

The Song of Ice and Fire was an exquisite piece.

[Greywater Watch 298 AC]

Jae woke with a painful gasp, sitting up and looking around in confusion as he drew deep breaths to calm his racing heart. How was he back in his room? What happened to him? Jae didn't know. Everything ached; he was hungry and thirsty, and his bones strained as he sat upright.

Come to me, the voice said in his mind. Open me and see.

Jae lifted his head, blinked, rose slowly, and felt his knees buckle under his weight. He pressed a hand to the wall to keep from falling, allowing the voice to draw him in. When Jae stood before the trunk, he grabbed hold of the letter opener that hadn't moved since he'd dropped it days ago by this point.

Jae held the blade against the palm of his hand, the fear he'd felt last time replaced by enthusiasm. He barely hissed as he dragged the edge across his hand and watched the blood pool in his palm before closing his fist and letting it drip into the dragon's three mouths. Click click click, and the trunk steamed as the top shited.

Inside were books and letters, some new and some very much not. A cloak of black and red, one of black and blue, and a dagger nestled betwixt them. The dark-as-smoke blade named it Valyrian steel, and the dragonbone and gold hilt gave away the owner. This blade had belonged to the heir of House Targaryen for ages; it had rested on the belt of Kings for centuries and been present for all their tales, both noble and not.

Something hit the floorboards with a thud. "Jon!" Brynden called.

Jae held the dagger before the flame of a candle, admiring the edge. "We leave as soon as I'm able," he said. "Fetch Lord Reed for me, Brynden."

[Brindlewood and King's Landing 298 AC]

They arrived in Brindlewood a fortnight later, thanks to Howland finding them the swiftest horses in Riverrun before the crannog Lord bid them farewell and made for his castle, not before reminding Jae that he'd answer the call whenever it came.

The innkeeper's daughter, a young girl with a large white smile, was more than eager to offer any information that Jae desired. "You're off to King's Landing?" She asked giddily. "Oh, how I wish to attend the tourney."

"The tourney?" Jae asked, glancing at Jojen and Meera. "We've not heard of any tourney." Now that he thought about it, that was probably why the Kingsroad had been so busy.

"Where have you been?" The girl asked, her brown eyes wide. "The Hand's tourney, Ser! The whole realm is going to celebrate!"

"A tourney," Brynden breathed. "Jon, will you compete?"

"Yes, Ser Jon, will you? Will you?" The girl asked excitedly.

Jae pondered that for a long while. He'd made leaps and bounds in his sword work and even learned some tricks from Daemon Targaryen for the lists, but he wasn't confident he could win. And what was the point of competing if you can't win? Glory? He'd never cared much for that. As much as he loathed to admit it, Jae took after his uncle regarding his thoughts about tourneys.

"I hear the Mountain's competing," a man put, bringing down his tankard of ale and groping the wench that came to pour him another. She slapped him and emptied the pitcher of ale on his head, and the man's friends laughed. "Bugger off, fuckers! What was I sayin'? Ah, yes. . . Clegane will take the melee, no doubt, him or that mad priest Thoros of Myr."

Jae felt hot rage flow through him as he heard. And he glared into his ale, Meera putting a hand on his shoulder. "Aye, might be I will compete," he said lowly, and the innkeeper's daughter clapped excitedly, clearly not picking up on his tone.

He'd argued with them later, but they relented the following day when Jojen suddenly changed sides, saying that Jae SHOULD compete and that he'd dreamed about it. When Brynden asked what the dream was about, Jojen said only, "Nobody gets anywhere if they don't take risks," he then looked at Jae. "And fire can not kill a dragon."

Jae thought it was something to do with Thoros of Myr, for it was known that the man wielded a flaming sword. . . But then he remembered that fire can also represent hatred, and who could be more hateful than the Mountain that Rides?

A foul stench that forced a frown to his face pulled him from his thoughts, followed by a coughing fit from Brynden. Jae looked up from the journal of Viserys I to see the tall walls of King's Landing. The seven crystal towers that crowned the Sept of Baelor atop Visenya's Hill, the great crumbling dome of the dragonpit nestled on the Hill of Rhaenys, and the Red Keep that loomed above the city on Aegon's High Hill.

"Seven hells," Brynden gasped, pinching his nose, tears in his eyes. "It's horrible! You want THAT?"

Jae shook his head. "Believe it or not, it didn't stink as much during my grandfather's reign," he said and found he savoured the thought that, as mad as Aerys was, he was still a better King, if only to the smallfolk than Robert Baratheon. "King's Landing was never planned out properly, and that mistake falls to Aegon the Dragon. It grew like a spider's web from a military encampment to... this steaming pile of shit and piss."

Meera looked at Ghost standing beside Winter, the wolf already taller than her. "He'll need to run around the city to get to the Kingswood," she said, and Jae looked at his silent friend.

"Aye, he will," Jae nodded. Then, Ghost looked at him and cocked his head to the side, his ears twitching. "Go on, boy. I'll check in on you whenever possible."

Ghost looked at the city forlornly, sensing his sisters' presence, but he turned and dashed into the woods. Jae sighed and urged Winter forward. They rode along the walls, Jae trying his best to ignore the poor shanties, tightly holding his coin purse and noticing the others doing the same.

The sun was westering when they reached the tourney grounds, and a boy no older than ten and two came and offered to take Winter to the stables. Jae handed the boy the reins and watched as he jumped when Winter snapped at him playfully. Chuckling, Jae turned to Jojen, Meera, and Brynden and told them he'd like to explore the city briefly. What were the chances that Jae would run into someone he knew?

'Not high enough to stop me,' he told himself, and they were off. Entering through the King's Gate after paying the outrageous toll of three stags, Jae and his party walked down River Row. The smell wasn't so bad on this side of the city, where the fish markets and harbours lay.

After a while, when the smallfolk lit the night fires, Jae, Jojen, Meera, and Brynden were ready to leave and return to the tourney grounds to rest. However, a child ran up and bumped into Jae's legs before they could. He grabbed the girl's shoulders to steady her, and she grabbed his tunic and tried pulling him down.

She whispered something and ran off a moment later. "We need to follow that girl. Now," he said and started after her, his friends following soon after.

The girl ran into a small building, an inn, or perhaps a brothel; Jae prayed it was the former. He shouldered through the door and was met by a rowdy atmosphere. Beside him, Brynden looked about the room excitedly.

A serving wench saw them and approached. She leaned up and whispered, "Follow me, My Lord. A man invites you to his table."

The man in question was bearded, scarred, and wore tattered leather. A shortsword rested on the table before him in the far corner of the inn. Jojen looked at the man sceptically while Meera tightened her grip on the hilt of her dagger; Brynden glanced nervously at Jae when the scarred man rose.

"Who are you?" Jae asked.

The man bowed deeply. "Only a faithful servant to the House of the Dragon," he said. "But you may know me as the Spider."