Chapter 9: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 8

"This is insanity!"

Alaric was willing to support many things.

Among them was breaking into the crypts without permission on the word of a child and possibly defacing the resting ground of a former Stark (or snow, apparently) on the orders of a child.

In that sense, he was very open-minded.

However, he drew the line at the very same child in question diving into a hot spring ( though given that to an ordinary person it was hot enough to boil them alive….well)

Personally, I'd very much like to draw the fucking line there too, or ideally much farther back, but I had a strong suspicion of exactly what was down that spring, and if it was true my problems went from impossible to near impossible. Not great by my former life's standards, to be sure, but by Westerosi standards, it would mean that I may as well have won the lottery.

"The dreams were clear!" I yelled at him as I shrugged off my now thoroughly dirty cloak and kicked off my boots "And in your own words, I did not come all this way only to turn back now. I refuse to be thwarted by a little heat!"

"I was raised in heat, Jon. I know heat."

The man's voice was labored, and I knew the temperature was getting to him with every passing second. By contrast, I was hardly phased

"This? This isn't heat, it is a death sentence. I can not let you dive to your doom!"

"You won't, I promise." I stared up at him, a myriad of feelings bubbling inside of me. Guilt and fondness, to name a paradoxical few. "You've trusted me so far, Alaric, and I haven't led you wrong. I'm asking you to trust me now."

I held his gaze as he stared at me, and for a moment I feared he'd stop me. Tired and barely tolerating the heat he may have been, he could still prevent me from doing a thing if he so pleased.

He looked down at me for a few moments longer, then he stared up, closed his eyes, and cursed.

With feeling.

"Every bit as stubborn and bull-headed as your father ever was."

I grinned as I chucked off the last of my clothes. Modesty was a moot point here anyway. I wasn't even five yet.

"I'll see you in a moment!"

And before I could chicken out, I ran around, holding my breath while pinching my nose, and sprinted for the spring and dove. But not before I registered Alaric's words and a strange thought crossed my mind

"Was?"

Then I hit the water, and the thought was lost in the urgency of my mission.

The first thing I noticed was that it was hot. Very much so, but far from deadly, or even truly dangerous at that.

I likened the feeling to the experience of taking a bath with water that was more hot than comfortable, but bearable all the same.

No, the temperature I could handle.

Navigation? Not so much.

I couldn't see anything but blurry blue and green colors. I angled myself down, kicking in a butterfly stroke to push myself deeper and deeper into the water. The silence and the barely their vision made for a discomforting combination, but I pushed myself forward regardless.

The pressure built up the lower I went, and the strain became more painful. A meter, two, three, then I lost count, if I ever had it to begin with,

I grit my teeth. I'd tried to prepare myself for the pressure from what little diving practice I remembered, but I either did it wrong, or this literally under-aged body didn't have anywhere near the tolerance I was used to. In all likelihood, it was a combination of both of those.

And because fate may very well be my genuine enemy in this life, my problems didn't end there.

I could feel the burn in my lungs as I started to run out of air. My eyes widened when the color I was seeing seemed to darken.

The spring's floor.

Progress!

The strain on my lungs became too much, then, and righted myself before kicking upwards as fast as I could. The trick was balancing more force and moderate speed to every kick.

I broke the surface of the water and gasped for breath, greedily gulping in air. my blurry eyes stung, and I blinked rapidly. Somewhere to my right, Alaric voiced an exclamation, but I shook my head.

"I'm going back down!"

The second dive was less tentative and more driven.

I knew roughly where to go and how deep it was, and that made a world of difference in how fast I was willing to push myself. within a few moments, my outstretched hands touched the rough, uneven surface of the Spring's floor. here, the heat was at its highest, and even though the tolerance I had I was getting uncomfortable. I angled myself, the kick of my legs moving me as my hands trailed across the stone, trying to find anything that stood out.

No such luck.

I switched directions, maintaining my pace and aware that I could barely hold my breath for much longer.

When the burn became too much, I kicked up, swimming and surfacing once more. This time I waited for no acknowledgment from Alaric. A breath later I was once more underwater. I was aware of my building exhaustion. Magical heat immunity or not, a young child's body wasn't built for anything even approaching this kind of strain.

No such luck.

When next I surfaced, my vision was blurry, and not just from the water and steam. I dove

Again

And again

And Again

My movements were sluggish, I could barely hold my breath for a full minute every time and It took nearly half that time tor to reach the spring bottom. But I kept going at it because I couldn't give up.

"Craven!"

I refused to let my new life, however unwanted it may have been, get ruled by the miserable failure of an old man too busy moaning about having his plans thrown to the wayside and using me as a convenient excuse. Fuck that!

I struck gold on the 8th dive. My hands came across two distinctly different surfaces, both separate with edges but possessing a smooth feel to them. I directed both hands to the first that I'd found. This one came easy, a brief pull proved to be all that was necessary to free it from where it had been buried. Both hands on the rectangular object I could barely see, I kicked with desperate strength, letting out a gasp as I broke the surface right next to the shore and I gulped in air. The chest, for I was sure that's what it was, felt like it weighed more than I did as I lifted it over my head with desperate strength. I opened my mouth to call for Alaric, but I needn't have bothered, for he was already there.

He plucked it from my hands, holding it for barely an instant before hissing and tossing it behind him, thank the gods. There were no words to describe the fate I would've visited upon him if he'd tossed it back into the spring and forced me to look for it again. Speaking of which, I dove back in. My lungs screamed, my arms and legs were scarcely functioning and my head was getting cloudy from the pain and exhaustion.

One last time. Just once more!

I found the second chest easily enough, and I could feel the vague imprint of a handle on its side that I grasped eagerly, but moving it proved nigh impossible. Whether it was too heavy or I was too weak, the box was a trial to swim with. But I couldn't leave it. Alaric literally couldn't dive in else he'd be cooked alive, and leaving it behind was out. So I pushed. I pushed until I couldn't anymore until I was sure I had reached my limit, and then I pushed some more.

All the confusion, the anger, the pain I'd felt since I'd come to Westeros seemed to culminate in this one task.

This one chance.

I refused to fail. I refused!

I kicked up, dragging the box with me. Farther and farther, till I felt like my lungs would burst in my chest.

And then, salvation.

My head broke the surface and I let out a strangled call of triumph and exhaustion, but my vision clouded, darkness closing in. I tried to move, but my body didn't respond, and I felt a clawing sensation of terror as I felt myself begin to slip back beneath the surface.

Then-

Hands reached for me, wrapping around me and my prize. I heard a strangled scream

And I knew no more

...

I awoke slowly, limbs stretching comfortably. My thoughts were blurry, lost in the haze of lost sleep. I winced at my sore muscles before mentally reaching back, trying to remember when I fell asleep...

Wait

The memories slammed into me, and I shot up in....bed?

What?

My bed. I whirled to the left, and Robb's bed was empty. Light streamed into the room from the empty window, giving it a faint yellow glow. I threw the blankets off, panic starting to cloud my mind because last night was certainly no dream.

What happened!?

Then the door opened, and Alaric walked in, closing it behind him. His eyes were full of relief "You wake, at long last"

I couldn't help the impulse, and I ran right at him. He had the good sense to kneel so that hug wasn't awkward.

"What happened?" I asked him when I finally pulled back "Are the boxes, or chests, or whatever they were safe? How did you even get us back ou- hat happened to your arms?!"

They were wrapped in thick bandages well past the elbow, what little uncovered skin I could see was blistered and red.

"Fret not" He reassured, before leaning in and whispering "Both of your discoveries are safe, Jon. I took great care to hide them away before I took you to the maester. my arms are of no consequence. When you made your last journey up, you broke through that damnable spring's surface but lacked the strength to lift your prize onto the shore. I reached in and grabbed you and it both, at the cost of burns to my person. The maestar has assured me the wounds will heal and I'll lose no functionality in either of my arms."

"....That's good" That was not good. He'd only gotten hurt to help me.

He either saw my expression or heard the guilt in my tone for he smiled gently and laid a hand on my head "A price well paid. Do not disrespect my injury by feeling guilt over it."

I took a moment to nod and compose myself "...How did you explain our conditions to maestar Luwin?"

"Yours? I'd already dried and dressed you on the way out. I simply informed him I'd come to check on your health at night for you'd confided in me earlier that you felt ill. He fed you some cool water while you slept and let me carry you back into bed."

"Makes sense" I nodded in agreement "But what about your injuries?"

"I told him I dropped my coin purse into a hot spring, one of the ones that the servants of the castle are free to explore and use at their leisure"

"...I see"

"....Indeed"

For a moment, I kept my eyes focused on his shoulder, and that worked fine. But then, just for a moment, I glanced toward his face.

Our eyes met.

I leaned back and howled in laughter, dimly aware of him doing the same.

"Why would you say that?!"

"What else could I tell the man that would make sense!? The truth? No, not even that would!"

That set us off again, and we spent the next few minutes losing it.

Looking back, that laughter probably steadied me more than anything else could have at the time.

I wiped a tear out of my eye while he calmed the last few chuckles "How did you even carry me out of the crypts? That ladder would have been impossible to scale with a child in your arms."

"I didn't. When I realized the futility of the task, I searched the chamber before stumbling on a passageway. Seeing no better path I followed it, and within a few moments, we both emerged from the ruins of an old, forgotten tunnel leading into the broken tower. Truly, it was by the grace of the gods that we weren't spotted. I made sure It would remain uncovered should we have cause to use it once again, and then I left. The rest you are well aware of."

The broken tower, huh?

Well, canonical importance aside, it was once a bustling part of Winterfell. This castle was eight thousand years old and counting. It was no surprise that it held surprises of its own.

"Robb?"

"Already in his lessons" He replied "You were relieved for the day, on the orders of Lord Stark once he heard of your 'illness", much to the little one's dismay."

The image of Robb's pouty face had me chuckling again.

Good.

Treasures were collected and safe, both of us were healthy and above suspicion. Good. Opening the boxes could wait until the castle slumbered, which only left...

"Who are you?"

Alaric stiffened instantly.

"I know I can trust you. You have protected me where no one else has" I began carefully "But you swore to me the truth after our trip to the crips. I would have it now."

Because I was not going to go through this mad journey of life with secrets right under my nose. Especially not from one of the few people I now trusted unequivocally

For a moment, he looked haunted, desperate to be anywhere else, then his face cleared, relief and acceptance in his expression.

"My name is not Alaric, and I am not of Pentos"

It was my turn to stiffen. I had half known already, of course, but suspecting it and hearing it were two different things.

"Eddard Stark is not fond of liars" I spoke with a questioning tone, but lacking in judgment "How did you come into my father's service"

He smiled and leaned in, his voice a whisper once more "I didn't. I swore my oaths of protection to your grandfather before him, though before the end my only loyalty was to your father alone. As were those of my sworn brothers."

Alaric (except that's not his name, apparently) had made no mentions of brothers. And swearing to my Grandfather? Rickard Stark? Those timelines didn't match up. Alaric only came to Winterfell after the Rebellion. And sworn brothers? Oaths of protection? that implied sworn swords at the very least. Where did they go, then? Death in the rebellion? The only other thing that would make sense was that they died with Rickard himself when Aerys-

Oh.

And suddenly, all the pieces started snapping into place.

Grandfather. Father. Oaths of protection. Sworn Brothers.

Compared me to my stubborn father, implying familiarity despite it being known that Eddard Stark, for all his storied patience barely tolerated Alaric. He recognized my mention of dreams and implied experiencing them before, by proxy. I may not genuinely have them, but those of my blood too. Targaryen relatives. And only one fit the criteria for having known Arthur. My blood father in this world. Which means...

"Y-" My voice cracked as I leaned in to whisper "You're not talking about Rickard Stark or Eddard Stark are you? You know"

The consequences if it turned out that I was wrong would be cataclysmic, but I knew I wasn't

His eyes widened with shock, whilst awe and a hint of joy appeared on his face as he shook his head.

"No, I am not. I will not ask how you know the truth, for it is clear that you do. I suspect your dreams though, for Eddard Stark wouldn't have spoken if faced with the stranger himself"

I snorted without humor, too busy drowning in my disbelief. Where the hell had this come from?

"True enough, Al- that's not your name"

I raised a hand as he went to interrupt "But I think I know who you are, anyway?"

I stared straight into his purple eyes, a trait common in Essos. In Westeros though, very few noble houses could boast the trait. House Targaryen, Velearyon, and amongst others,

House Dayne

"Tell me, Ser Arthur," the name was a whisper, but it seemed to ring in the silent room "How does a dead kingsguard find himself in the heart of the North?"

"How else, your grace?" He whispered back "Protecting his King"

***

A/N: For those of you who guessed it, clap yourselves on the back!

Arthur Dayne in da house, people!

Who's curious about the chests? Oh what there are two???

Stay tuned, because the next chapter is the Endgame, the finale of the Boy Who Would Be King, and the beginning of the story proper. It's only going to get more wild from there.

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

Next Chapter: The Boy Who Would Be King - Part 9