Chapter 4: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 3

I couldn't sleep.

And not just because I had just realized that I was an 18-year-old in the body of a toddler, right smack dab in the middle of what I previously considered a very dangerous and very fictional setting (what the fuck why why why?)

A desperate hope had been ignited in me. Bloodraven was one of the most valuable and probably the single most critically underused resources Westeros had to offer. Both in the show, the books, and what little fanon I'd picked up on from my friends (I don't have those anymore) through cultural osmosis.

A living being with access to all the memories of man, in a world where information could and was often worth more than gold was a godsend. Perhaps literally, if some of the theories on the origin of the three-eyed raven were true.

Of course, there was the fact that the man (entity? force?) was miles and miles to the north, and well beyond the Wall at that, but even that hurdle had a solution.

The Heart tree.

From what I understood, Bloodraven was connected, literally, to the weirwoods in a way that no one fully comprehended. Thankfully, I didn't have to understand the mechanics of it to abuse it, just the basics.

A weirwood, blood, and prayers. It was my best bet (my only chance), and faced with it sleep was all but impossible.

(And I feared what my dreams would bring, flashes of fire and death and a life cut short)

I tired myself eventually, fear and anticipation falling in the face of exhaustion.

...

The relief I felt when I woke up from a dreamless sleep, more rested and feeling a lot less like the world was about to be yanked out from underneath me was indescribable. I must have made an unnerving site to the servants who acted as my unofficial caretakers when they found me up in bed early and laughing in sheer relief.

My reputation as an unnatural freak of nature had done no favors, that much was certain.

Then my plans to rush out to the Godswood before anyone (Alaric) could stop me were shredded by possibly the one thing, one person that could.

Robb

My brother?

No. Only Adam.

Cousin, then.

The overly excitable toddler had, after being changed and fed by our caretakers (and wasn't that an experience, now that I was myself again) spotted me (carefully) climbing down my crib. I didn't make it five steps toward the door before he screamed "

JON!"

Right eye twitching, I looked straight at him with an expression so dead the white walkers would be jealous "You've got to be kidding me"

That was hilarious as he fell on his ass and howled in laughter, chubby hands clapping together.

Robb Stark was an adorable child. Chubby, with vibrant red curls and sharp blue eyes, got from his mother. And though the facial structure and the coloring were all wrong, when he smiled, glee lighting up his eyes-

(Call me when you get there, Eli!)

Nope.

No. Fuck that. Right back in the box you go.

I turned around, only to freeze when Robb outright wailed "Jon ome back!"

That pronunciation was horrible, and his 'Jon" was more like 'Don', but he was a literal toddler.

When I turned around, he'd reached out over the crib. My blood pressure spiked when he wobbled dangerously, and I was across the room and pushing his dumb baby ass back into the crib

"Sit!"

Cue the hysterical laughter

More than that, cue the frustration.

The wet nurses and servants were gone, off to complete the rest of their duties, and no matter how desperate I was, I couldn't leave a child to fend for himself, especially not when he'd already demonstrated the ability to tumble out of his crib.

Bloodraven had waited for decades, he could wait a little longer.

Damn it. Not one day of full awareness and my plans were already going to hell.

Goddamn Westeros

"I'm going to fit right in this hellish continent, aren't I?" I asked the toddler miserably.

Robb laughed in my face.

...

Entertaining Robb was easy. I'd always had a way with children (I had experience). When in doubt, go with fairytales. I regaled Robb with tales of Cinderella, Snow White and Goldilocks, for hours. I even tossed in Aegon's Conquest, or what I could remember from-

Anyway

I wasn't convinced he understood any more than one in every five words, but he didn't have to. So long as I kept miming shapes with my hands, exaggerating my facial expressions, and changing my tone, he remained well and truly enthralled. Not just him, either. I was always a good hand at storytelling, and I got quite caught up in it.

It was nice, and more than that, it allowed me to breathe, to forget the utter horror that kept trying to strangle me.

Time blurred

I didn't even realize we'd been interrupted until Robb's face perked up and focused on something behind me, and I glanced back at the two who'd snuck up on us.

At twenty-five, Lord Eddard 'Ned' Stark was, as always, an intimidating figure. Tall, and with a wolf's pelt cloak wrapped around his shoulders.

"Jon. Robb" His voice was warm, and it brought up the complicated feelings I had for the man. On the one hand, he sacrificed his honor and good name to protect me from the king he swore to. He was having me raised in his own keep, besides his true born child (his only child) and his love was unquestionable. On the other hand.... well.

The other hand stood to his right, in a deep blue robe with her own cloak wrapped firmly around her. Catelyn Stark nee Tully was a beautiful woman, that could not be denied. High cheekbones, fair skin that contrasted beautifully with her auburn locks, and sharp blue eyes made for quite the picture. That said, while she may not have been born a northerner, the utterly frigid expression on her face could give glaciers a run for their money.

I, for my part, glared right back at her.

See, I could sympathize with the woman.

Born and raised in a society where women were only as valuable as their blood, name, and looks, the shame and social pressure she must have felt when Eddard Stark returned from the war with a bastard in tow must have been unbearable, and made all the worst by the fact that he refused to send him away and instead had him raised alongside his own trueborn son, a move that was essentially unheard of amongst even the most honorable of lords.

I could understand the hurt and the resulting misplaced anger. But I couldn't forgive it.

My mother grew up in an old-fashioned neighborhood. She was a university dropout who chose to have me rather than get an abortion. She got kicked out of her parent's home for refusing one, in fact, and spent the better part of a year on the streets. My dad took her in when he'd returned from service, but she was still that woman, the one who had a child out of wedlock and disgraced herself. Yet she never once, not ever, held me responsible for her social status. She raised me and loved me and if she could do that against all the odds, then Catelyn Stark, daughter of a lord paramount and wife to another, who had the highest social standing a woman could have in Westeros without outright being royalty had no excuse.

Catelyn's glare turned to an unsubtle sneer, and she nearly lunged forward and pulled Robb into her arms so abruptly, that his feet almost smacked me in the face.

Well, fuck you too then

"Cat" Ned's tone carried only a hint of admonishment. If I had truly been a child, I wouldn't have even caught it

"I'll take Robb for a walk, husband" The woman's tone was as cold as her expression "It is a beautiful day out, one better spent in the company of his mother"

'Instead of his present company' wasn't spoken, but it was heard nonetheless

Ned grimaced but said nothing. From my (new) memories, this was a recurring thing. They would both visit, she'd take Robb with some mean-spirited comment on my status, or my 'unnatural' development, and he'd play the world's worst mediator.

Only this time, Robb piped up as he was being carried away

"Jon! Jon!" He reached for me with his hands, and flashed that big gummy smile of his "Come go wid mama!"

Catelyn spoke "No my dear. The bastard stays here."

"Cat!" Ned's voice was an out-and-out snarl this time

"Jon stay with mama and me!" Robb wailed

And then shit hit the fan.

"Go on, Robb" Ned spoke more gently "Jon will join your moth-"

Ned hadn't even meant it like that, but Catelyn's voice rang out "I am not his mother!"

Ned's mouth snapped shut. She turned to me, expression carved from stone, before she spat "And all the better for it!"

(Black hair, blue eyes and a smile that could light up a room)

(I love you, mom)

"On that, my lady" I stared the foul woman right in the eye "We quite agree."

Her face twisted into a rictus of fury and... guilt?

What?

Her mouth opened, but Ned beat her to the punch this time around.

"Enough!" He roared so loud I started back and fell, and she full-body flinched. A moment of heavy silence, and then with a twirl of her robes she was gone, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Jon." Ned's voice dragged my attention back to him, a pained expression on his face "That was ill-done, my son"

"No, my lord" He was startled at the honorific, but I paid him no mind, already lost in memories of better times "That was the truth"

And you should savor it while you can because I sincerely doubt you'll get much more of it from me.

...​

Finally.

I had to wait nearly the entire night, but when I heard the guardsman who was charged with protecting the nursery lumber away, I made my move. The door creaked open as I leaned my weight on it, and I slipped out of it as stealthily as I could.

Though the summer snows had been few and far between these last moons, Winterfell was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and made your teeth ache. I wrapped my blanket around myself tighter, and thank god I had my boots in the nursery, or else my feet would snap off from the cold. I had to hurry. Stark blood or not, children were not built to handle colds like this for long.

I bolted down the nearest staircase, jumping from step to step till I reached the lower floor. The nursery was only a floor above ground level, and the main keep itself was not too far from the Godswood. I kept to the shadows, sticking to the wall and running past the guardsman who remained oblivious to my presence. If this were any other time I'd probably be concerned with the abysmal security, but then again I was a child who knew Winterfell and already within its gates at that. I had an excuse.

I remained close to the wall of the main keep before finally spying on the path to the godswood. I looked around for a moment, heart thundering in my chest, steam rising from my breaths and squinted. The coast was clear. I bolted across the path, well aware of the fact that anyone with a good enough vantage point on the higher level would see me quite clearly, illuminated by the lights of the night lanterns.

And then I was there.

Where before the godhood had seemed beautiful, now it was dark and foreboding, the trees twisted into dark, looming beasts, their branches gnarled and twisted limbs stretching into the pitch-black sky. A low cacophony of noise sounded from its depths, but not one noise stood out. The cold wind rustled through leaves and blew past me, and its whistles seemed more like faint screams.

Fuck.

The fear was made all the worse by the fact that I knew with bone-deep certainty that the supernatural not only lived but thrived in

Westeros.

And one way or another, I would meet it.

"Better on my damn terms" I swallowed "At least If I die this time, it'll be because of my stupidity, not my cowardice"

God. That was a terrible consolation, but it was all I had.

I stepped forward, into the darkness.

...​

Far to the north, deep beneath an ancient Weriwood, things once dormant stirred

Vocal cords long resting stretched, and a raspy, inhuman voice cut through silence decades in the making

"Well then. What have we here?"

...​

A/N: Mwahahahaha!

Things are starting to get real, people! the pacing's going to pick up from here on out! And some brief advice: In the coming chapters, if things start getting familiar, don't get comfortable. We don't overuse no stinking tropes here. (we try not to anyways!)

As always, please leave your comments and feedback, I would love to have them. If you don't like the work, please be courteous.

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 4