Bloodraven

195 A.C.

Bryden has always had the strangest dreams of ravens, always dreaming of black wings and raven eyes. However, the ravens had three eyes in his dreams, sometimes black, sometimes red. Once when he was six or seven, he went to Raventree to visit his mother. While he stayed there, he was fascinated by the huge weirwood tree and the hundreds of ravens that nested there every night. One night, his grandfather, Lord Blackwood found him in the branches. "Brynden, what are you doing in the branches? Come down before you kill yourself.."

"I am waiting for my brother ravens to come back and I will fly with them." Brynden had said with a faraway stare. When Brynden had come down the tree branch, his grandfather had told him the story of House Blackwood by the fire in his study. He had told him that they were an ancient and great house, full of the blood of the First Men. Once, they even were Kings, first in the North, then here in the Riverlands. Sometimes, the blood of the First Men would come out in an old and ancient magic, a connection to the earth and animals, visions and dreams, an ability to see loved ones long dead. Though his grandfather was proud his grandson had a touch of the First Men's magic, he must keep quiet about it, especially in King's Landing. Not all the lords understood or even had the blood of the First Men, Brynden must keep his gifts safe and secret for his safety.

For his thirteenth birthday, King Daeron had got him a trained raven for a pet. Aerys had been jealous because the Grand Maester had said the young raven was trained at the Citadel itself and knew all kinds of tricks. Bryden had named him Justman after the Riverland kings of old. He was a smart bird and would often keep Brynden company late into the night. Night was the one time that Brynden felt like he was a normal boy. He could run through the castle yard, explore the coastline, look in the gardens not having to worry about the sun and sunburn.

When he was thirteen, he started having dreams that he was Justman, he could feel his feelings, think like him, fly in the sunlight. At first, he thought he was going crazy, like Rhaegal who sometimes pranced like a deer or a pony through the Red Keep. Once Rhaegal, ran naked through the courtyard, saying he was on fire from dragon's flame.

Brynden said nothing to no one about his raven dreams or the feeling he was staring through Justman's eyes. It was better to keep silent than to have his family think he was soft minded like Rhaegal.

When Brynden was about sixteen, Daeron allowed his bookish second son, Aerys to have two private tutors of any subject. Aerys could choose the tutors to teach him anything he wanted. Daeron was proud of his son being well-read and smart, as proud as he was of Baelor and Maekar being skilled warriors. Daeron was a good man, who knew it would take all kinds of strength to rule the realm, not just martial prowess.

Aerys was obsessed with magic and so of course, he picked one astronomer from Volantis and a wizard from Qohor, whose name was Leto.

Aerys is obsessed with figuring out a way to make the dragons return. However, Aerys also has nightmares. His nightmares are of the entire world being overrun by the armies of dead and rotting men. At first, Aerys spent time reading books and scrolls, trying to prove to himself that it was a child's nightmare, an impossible but terrifying fantasy of his imagination. However, because of all his reading, Aerys read of a time in the Age of Legends, when the First Men joined with the Children of the Forest to beat back frozen armies of the dead.

Aerys tells no one, but Brynden about his dreams or what he read. Aerys feels comfortable with Brynden, in a way he doesn't feel with his own brothers. He knows that Brynden is a man of learning as well and will not tease him. Brynden does not think Baelor would ever tease Aerys for reading instead of fighting, but he understands what it is like to feel misunderstood by your kin.

Brynden starts to realize that there is something about the magic of Old Valyria in their blood that drives them to the visions and these nightmares. Brynden tells Aerys that he will help him. He will make sure the realm is safe and happy, and Aerys can figure out how to make the dragons return and how to keep the dead from returning..

Shiera and Aerys can often be found together with a host of wizards, mages, maesters, in Aerys' study and rooms. They are always together learning what they can. Brynden thinks they make a mismatched pair. Shiera is flirtatious, beautiful, funny and extroverted. Aerys is quiet, awkward, uncomfortable with too much noise or too many people, and often seen as an odd man.

Aerys seems completely unfazed that his Aunt is the most beautiful woman in Westeros. He seems to be the only one who is not blinded by her beauty. In fact, even at twenty one, Aerys had never expressed interest in a woman or sex. All his other brothers are married but Aerys has expressed no desire. Brynden wonders if he prefers men, but he thinks Aerys would prefer to read. Shiera is often delighted by Aerys complete lack of knowledge of women or sex and tries to make him blush.

One day, Brynden goes to Aerys' study and workrooms which are deep in the Red Keep to speak with Aerys. Instead, he only finds Leto. Leto is in some meditation with only a black fire that burns blue in the fireplace. Brynden is curious with what he sees and would like to ask questions, but the man seems in a trance. As Brynden leaves, he hears Leto speak. He turns around and the man is looking toward him.

"Your feathers are covered in blood, my friend.. Not your blood. Your blood is the red sap of weirwood trees. The blood of your kin covers you. I can teach you many things Brynden. One of them is how to change faces, change skins. A useful skill for a man who collects secrets."

Brynden speaks with him, "How do you know such a skill?"

"I have studied and practiced magic for decades, my friend. My first teacher was a Shadowbinder from Asshai and she had much to teach me."

Brynden does not know if he should trust this man, but it would be a useful skill to have.

"What else can you teach me that would be helpful?"

"To see through trees is another gift. A skill that I do not know. It is an ancient magic and few could teach you that skill."

Brynden wonders how he knew about his dreams about the weirwoods and the feeling that someone was watching him.

"Do not worry someday you will learn, but I will not teach you."

Brynden starts meeting with the mage on a weekly basis to learn all the man could teach him

195 A.C.

Shiera comes to the Master of the Whisperers' rooms in the night . It is said he does not need guards because he has spells that protect his rooms. Hooded in black robes, she opens the door and enters the room unafraid. Her eye is black and her body bruised.

She has come here because she is safe and she wants to rest.

Gingerly, she takes off her cloak and lays down in his bed, where she falls asleep,

When he finds her there, Brynden thinks about why she is there and that he should wake her and tell her to go back to her rooms. However, it is Shiera and he has missed the feel of her body against his, in sleep. There is a soft ache, as he lays down beside her. He pulls her to him and sleeps curled up with her. In the dawn, he kisses her and he brushes the hair from her eyes. He smiles, "You came back."

"I always do."

In the growing light, he sees the bruises for what they are, not shadows, but injury.

"What happened?"

"I made him angry. He was sick of me talking to other men. You know how I can be.."

"Aegor hurt you.."

He is looking at her face and her shoulders, assessing the damage. He wraps his arms around her and she can feel the anger in his veins, in his blood. There is rage, and every time he breathes, it builds.

She tries to soothe him.. "I am fine now. I am safe now. I am here."

"Who is he to put his hands on the King's sister?" He says it and the threat is there, sharp.

Aegor is taller, stronger, brutish compared to Brynden and his thin catlike grace. Often as Shiera would lay with him, together in his bed, Aegor would tell her that he would like to snap his half brother in two. If given the chance, he would hurt him. She never completely knew if Aegor should be so confident that he would be the one to win a fight against Brynden, but she never wanted to see it. She never wanted Brynden in danger. She couldn't imagine her life without him.

"He is the King's brother." She says laughing.

He kisses her and smiles. "I am glad you came, Shiera."

"Now, that I am here, I will never leave."

She kisses him. It is a kiss of longing and love.

He wants to ask if she will marry him, but instead he allows himself just to be content with her here.

"I love you, Brynden."

"I love you, Shiera."

196 A.C.

Daemon and Brynden have not seen each other in several months. Brynden has been busy as the Master of Whisperers. There has been some unrest. He has been tracing it. It all leads back to Daemon and Aegor. There is talk that Daemon is winning overlords to help him overthrow Daeron and become the King.

Daemon has been spending much of his time with Aegor and Aegor has threatened to kill Brynden when he sees him again. Since Shiera has come back to Brynden, Aegor's anger has been solely directed at Brynden.

However, Daemon has reached out to Brynden, invited him to his keep to eat dinner and talk. Daemon tells him that he will wed his daughter Calla to Aegor on the last night of the year. He would like him to come to the wedding. After all, Calla is his first daughter.

Brynden is upset. Calla only just turned 11 and Aegor is 23. Aegor is known to be violent and brutish. He has heard what he has done to some of the whores that have crossed him. There was a whore in Flea Bottom who he knocked all her teeth out because she did not fill his cup fast enough. The whore had silver golden hair and blue eyes. Just like Shiera Just like Calla.

"Aegor is a brute. Everyone in the court knows that he hurt Shiera and she is a grown woman. What will he do to a child?"

"Calla won't anger him like Shiera does. She doesn't have a mean bone. She is not so defiant."

"She is eleven, still a child."

"I know but she has just flowered. Brynden, there are younger brides.."

"I cannot think of any, except those married in the cradle."

"He will not bed her, until she gets a bit older."

"Then, why marry her until she does?"

"You don't understand, Brynden. Aegor is demanding this and it would look good for one of us to stand with him. You wouldn't understand. You are Daeron's man."

"Aye, but I am your brother. Don't listen to Aegor. He is all rage and bitterness. Remember you are the one who named him Bittersteel. Daeron has given you all you need, all you have. He even let you take a name. House Blackfyre is proof that Daeron cares for you. Daeron has your best interest."

Daemon laughs and looks in his glass. Brynden knows what they say. There are many lords that would prefer to see Daemon sit on the throne, but they do not know that Daemon is a man who can be swayed and manipulated, like their father. Daemon is a true knight and believes in chivalry, but he has been told when his father was young, he also did. All he wants to do is convince his brother to not listen to those who would pull the Seven Kingdoms into a civil war.

"You are the right hand." Brynden says.

"And you are the left," Daemon answers

"The King would forgive you, regardless."

"I have just as much right to the throne as he.. Perhaps more."

"Treasonous words.. "

"Perhaps... I have the blood of Aegon III and Viserys I. I have Blackfyre. I have nine children. I have the love of the people."

"Some of the people..."

"Do I have your love, brother?"

"Daemon, you know that I love you."

"Do I have your support?"

Brynden smiled and barely flinched. "I am Daeron's man. I stand by the King in all things."

It is the last time he speaks with Daemon. He remembers it always.

196 A.C.

At first, Brynden was lost in dreams, in memories, scenes of thousands of ravens flying over a field of dying men. It was as if it was a cloud of ravens, or as if one of the gods had thrown a handful of dust and once they left its hand, they flew. He could hear their caws, talking and replying to each other, as they settled on the ground.

He was on the ground among the dead and he heard a voice, "You have lost an eye Brynden Rivers."

But there was another voice, a stronger voice saying, "So that now you might see clearly."

There was a small boy with a shaved head and a big hat next to the tallest man he had ever seen, a girl that looked like Queen Naerys with three baby dragons in her lap, Daemon proudly showing him his twin sons after they were firstborn, a boy with dark curls and a large white wolf dying in snow turning red from his blood, and there was the biggest army he had ever seen of the dead coming to wipe out the living. At this vision of the army, Brynden tried to force himself to wake, but they had been giving milk of the poppy. So, he continued in his dreams..

There were the seven banners of House Targaryen and seven banners of House Blackfyre, blowing sharply in the breeze. The winds were strong and the cloth sounded like it was being slapped by the wind. One by one the Blackfyre sigils broke free and floated onto the blood-soaked ground until the dragons were lost in the blood. However, even in the strong wind, six of the Targaryen banners remained. There was the throne room in the Red Keep, a burnt shell. However, he heard the voice, the strong voice, the voice he had heard in his dreams, "If Blackfyre wins, the dead will win. Only Targaryens will save humanity."

Brynden had heard this voice in his dreams in the months before Redgrass Field. It had haunted him. He had consulted with Leto and the other wise men, but none could give him an answer of whose voice was speaking to him. However, Brynden felt he should trust the voice and its warning. If Blackfyre won, all would be lost. The only war that mattered would be lost.

Brynden Rivers wakes to Shiera in his rooms. He has been sleeping and his mouth feels incredibly dry, like the sands of Dorne. He can only see out of one eye because they have bandaged his head and other eye. From the way his head feels, he knows they must have been giving him milk of poppy and dream wine.

He had memories of dying and terrible pain. Aegor had taken up Daemon's sword, Blackfyre, and he had Dark Sister, brother and sister sword against each other. Aegor was all ferocity and rage and because of that, so much stronger than Brynden. He was yelling, "You killed him and his sons. You are a Kinslayer and a Kingslayer. You are cursed for all time. They will call you Bloodraven."

Brynden met Blackfyre with Dark Sister, parrying the blows, but he did not know how long he could because he was exhausted.

"It is true. I am a Kinslayer but Daemon was never my King. My King sits on the Iron Throne and his sons have beaten you. Give up, Bittersteel."

"Never, Bloodraven."

Brynden was going to say something to congratulate his brother on actually saying something witty, but he missed blocking Bittersteel and fell to the ground with incredible pain. Hugh, his squire must have fought Bittersteel and kept him from killing him. Or perhaps, it was Baelor and his troops that had stopped Aegor from killing him. He could not remember. All he could remember was pain.

When he opened his eye, he saw Shiera, gorgeous in a soft lavender dress in the Dornish style. Her face lightened up and she saw him. Squeezing his hand, she spoke, "Brynden, my love..."

Shiera helped him drink a glass of water by his bed. She was so beautiful and he was so glad that he could see her because on Redgrass Field, he was certain he would never lay eyes on her again.

Brynden spoke, "Shiera, I killed him. I killed Daemon."

"No, you did not. You cannot know that you killed him. It could have been any of the arrows."

She was trying to comfort him. Biting her lip, she tried to smile at him, but she had been crying. Somehow, even with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, she was as pretty as anything he had ever seen. The fact she was here with him, a scrawny albino man, given to visions and voices, surely destined for madness, was a blessing and he would never understand how he deserved it. Now, he was a kinslayer. Now, he was cursed. Shiera should hate him. Shiera should abandon him and find a man worthy of her incredible beauty and intelligence.

Brynden spoke, trying to get her to see the depths of what he had done. "I killed our brother. I killed the right arm of House Targaryen. Then, I killed his sons, twelve-year-old boys. The boys I held when they were little. Aegon and Aemon."

"My love.. Daemon was no longer the right arm of House Targaryen. He was a traitor. What do you think Daemon would have done to Daeron's sons and grandsons if he had won? He would have killed Daeron's sons and grandsons It is war."

"But, he was family. He was the brother I loved."

"Perhaps.. but perhaps you always loved the King. Our brother, Daeron, who loved you and has given you a position at Court and has treated you with respect and honor. Our brother, Daeron, who raised us among his children and has given us all we need. His mother, Queen Naerys, dutiful and loving, who cared for you when you were sick and would hold you like you were her own son. Perhaps, you just never realized how much you love the King because he does not remind us of how we owe him anything. Daeron the Good is just that, a good man who is King. He wants the best for us."

Brynden looked at her. He wished he had the strength to argue with her. However, there was a truth behind it. Daeron had always had a place for him at the head table and he had never treated him as anything other than his brother.

Brynden had remembered, even as a small boy that Naerys had not truly been his mother. However, she had treated him like her son and when it was just Naerys and Brynden, she would sometimes let him call her mother. Somehow, Daeron had known Brynden's child heart and he had been understanding and gentle.

"I killed my family. I could have saved them. Perhaps, Aegor should have killed me."

He wondered if that was true. Since the dreams of the army of the dead had started a few months ago, he had known he would end House Blackfyre so humanity could survive the terrible days ahead.

Shiera kissed his face. "But, you are my family and my heart. I could not face all the days left in my life without you."

He touched his bandaged face, "My eye?"

"It is gone, my love. Bittersteel took it. But you, Bloodraven, only need one and you can see ten times more what another man can only see with two."

Shiera climbed onto his bed with him, touching him. "Let me show you a few things that only Bloodraven can see."

"Bloodraven... Is that what they are calling me?"

"Only your enemies. Every story needs a villain and you have many enemies as the Master of Whisperers. I like it. Bloodraven... It makes you sound dangerous. Let me soothe your troubled mind."

He felt her hands underneath the blankets, running down his chest. Brynden was exhausted and wanted to go back to sleep, but was afraid of what dreams he might have. He put his arm around her, "Just lay here with me for a while, Shiera."

Brynden felt her look at him, questioning but he felt her settle gently on his chest. Quietly she spoke, "I could not face all the days of my life without you, my love."

Bloodraven spoke, running his fingers through her silver-gold hair. He had wanted to say many things, but instead, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep beside the woman he loved.

The North - 233 AC

He is being held in the black cells. He does not know how long he has been held there, not too long, but still long enough. Brynden has lost track of time in the dark. He has been dreaming of thousands of ravens and a an ancient weirwood tree surrounded by snow and ice. He is certain that the injury in his arm is infected and he is feverish. Perhaps, little Egg will leave him down here to die. Perhaps, the Egg has finally cracked and there is a Dragon inside.

When the soldiers come and drag him up from the straw, he wonders if he is being taken to the headsman's block. He had been dreaming of Shiera, talking to her. She was all in silver, laughing and teasing him. Dragged out in the light, his eyes hurt, burning in the bright. Unsteady and blinded, the soldiers carried him almost the whole way, until he was dropped unceremoniously on a cot.

Shiera was there. She took his hand and kissed it. "Brynden, I was so worried for you. I am so glad you are here. I will talk to King Aegon. I will plead with him."

Egg is King. Brynden feels the pleasure at knowing his dreams were right. All will be right in the end. The Targaryens will be able to stop the Others. In the end.

"We need to get you washed and fed. How is your shoulder?" Shiera says, her voice is scratchy and different.

This is the last time he asks her, "Marry me.. Aegon would let us have one night together as husband and wife."

"No," she says.

He wonders if she still thinks this is a game. He knows it isn't. Brynden hears a familiar male voice and Shiera disappears.

"Uncle ..Shiera is dead. She has been gone a long time."

It was Aemon, Maekar's fourth son, the bookish one. Yet, he did not remind him of Aerys, his brother's bookish boy. Aemon was large, like Baelor had been or Maekar, yet they had sent him to Oldtown. They had sent him because there had been so many heirs. Strange that Maekar's one boy, big enough to be a renown warrior, was sent to the Citadel.

"Aemon.. What has happened?"

"We are being sent to the Wall, you for treachery and violating a peace treaty."

"Good. Let the people see Aegon as determined and strong."

"I will go to the Wall with you Uncle. They need a Maester and there are too many of us Targaryens in the Capitol. I would rather be necessary and needed."

The boy was no longer a boy. He was a man and yet still he grieved the loss of that girl. Aemon should have married her, run away with her. At that moment in the torchlight as he helped his Uncle, Brynden realized that Aemon looked the most like his namesake, Aemon the Dragonknight. For a moment, he remembered his Uncle Aemon fondly.

"I was dreaming of Shiera. But I think we have a different future ahead of us.. One away from King's Landing, but perhaps, more important.."

Aemon smiled at his Uncle, not understanding, but always reassuring. Brynden had always wondered if Aerys's dreams were wrong and Aegon should have been sent to the Citadel, instead of Aemon. Now, he knew that Aemon would be their voice in the darkest times ahead. He was reassurance and a witness for those who would need a kind voice and wisdom.

Brynden closed his eyes and saw her, Shiera, smiling and sparkling. He would go to her one day and see her smile, but his journey would not end at the Wall. This was just the beginning.

Days Later

Eight days into the journey and Brynden Rivers has barely left the open air. Each day he stands in the aft-most part of the ship, face to the wind, his hair streaming out behind him, a sheet of bright white. At night he sits out on the main deck under the stars, drinking and speaking quietly with the men of the Raven's Teeth.

Only once they pass The Fingers does he stop staring relentlessly backwards and start to wander the decks a little.

Aemon prefers to rest in the doorway to the Maester's cabin, out of the way of the seamen. From this vantage point he watches his great-uncle slowly and painfully push fire back into his limbs. Lord Bloodraven no longer carries his sword and, to Aemon's eyes, that makes his tentative gait even more stilted.

The men who sit with Brynden at night know him well. Far better than Aemon does. These Raven's Teeth veterans volunteered for the Night's Watch in order to be here to accompany their leader into exile. They do not try to cajole him into better spirits or worry him with questions of his recent incarceration. They are simply beside him, and when he speaks, they listen, and when his thoughts require distraction they tell old stories and gossip about former friends, quietly assisting his mind to re-find its footing. Aemon listens but does not offer words of his own.

On the tenth day, Aemon leans carefully against the port side, trying to catch a glimpse of Widow's Watch. Brynden leaves off his pacing to come and stand beside him.

"The Flints are ever vigilant, and my nephew too, it seems," Brynden observes.

"Yes, uncle," Aemon admits. He has been earnestly studying Brynden for days. There is much he would like to discuss with him and, in truth, there is little else to do while this ship bears them to the Wall.

"The Golden Dragon sits well in the water," Brynden says, "We make good time."

They've travelled well over a thousand sea miles around the coast of Westeros, they have almost as far to go again before they reach Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

"Uncle, I have some ointment that would soothe your eye," Aemon ventures, not meaning his eye but the socket of the missing eye. He has seen how Brynden is irritated by it and he knows it needs to be cleaned and dressed carefully. The skin is dry and puffy and it is lined with dirt.

Brynden offers him a small sneer, the eyebrow above the socket lifts, no less haughty for being empty of its eye.

"Losing the eye did not kill me, but some dirt might?" Brynden challenges, but then relents, "Thank you, Aemon, your attentions would be most welcome."

Aemon nods, grateful for the acquiescence and for the chance to use his skills. He leads Brynden to his cabin and seats him at the small treating table in the corner of the room. He roots through his piles of supplies until he finds the flask he is after.

Brynden stays quiet beneath Aemon's hands as he carefully dusts the socket and then dabs at it with a cleanser that must sting. His attention is fully on his work until Brynden interrupts his thoughts.

"It feels good, my thanks. I forget, sometimes, that not all pain has to be borne."

"I shall give you this ointment, you can apply it yourself when the socket feels inflamed, but clean it first."

"You keep it," Brynden says, "I will come back for you to do it, if you do not object."

Aemon is pleased, "No, I would be happy to do so."

"Thank you." Brynden gets up to go. "I cannot stay too long inside this cabin, but come and join me on the deck tonight."

Aemon nods, again pleased to be invited.

That evening, he joins Brynden for a small supper of bread and cold meat. It is simple and reminds Aemon of his early days at the Citadel. The wine is hot though and Brynden summons up half a lime to squeeze into it. Aemon gives thanks for his food, recognising all the while that it is the wine he is most grateful for. He gazes up at the stars as he drinks; as always, his eyes search out the wanderers that decorate the night's sky.

Aemon wants to say something to Lord Brynden about Egg, about why he had to condemn Brynden's actions. He'd like to offer some measure of explanation or consolation, and defend his brother's decision, but he does not know how to begin. Brynden must know. He was the Hand of the King, he called for the Great Council that appointed Egg, he must have considered this outcome.

Aemon is saved from his own thoughts when Brynden starts to speak.

"I am as stained by my act as I am bloodied by the consequences," he says, "Long have I been considered kinslayer, all too bitterly true, but such is the way of fire and blood. Our greatest enemies have always been our own. My king seeks to assure the realm of the honour of a Targaryen's word. I had thought my bastardy would exclude me from that honour and absolve my perfidy but Aegon feels otherwise."

"You have been too close to the throne, for too long, for your birth to exonerate you," Aemon says.

"Perhaps. I notice it is a risk you assiduously avoid. You protect yourself from it with your Maester's chain and, soon, the Words of the Night's Watch. We must pray it is enough."

"I am the Targaryen they can do without," Aemon tells him, long acceptance drains the bitterness from this statement, and yet it is good to speak the truth aloud. He knows full well that Lord Brynden must have given counsel to King Daeron about sending Aemon to be a novice at the Citadel but Aemon has come to respect that decision.

Brynden directs his one eye pointedly at Aemon.

"They is now your brother and I do not doubt that he will feel your loss."

"I had no choice," Aemon asserts.

"You had more than I," Brynden admonishes him, "And that means you should already know as well as I do that choosing always hurts. If you do not feel it now, you will one day. Still, I cannot regret this course we take and I would make the same choices again. Aegon deserves the chance to rule unhindered and the Kingdoms need peace from pretenders."

Brynden pours more wine into their cups and knocks them together in a toast of gentle solidarity before he continues.

"Loyalty and service have lent meaning and purpose to my abilities in a way a crown could never have done. I have been fortunate not to covet it and I think you are the same. For that we can be grateful. Yet, all my life, I have been putting down threats to the Iron Throne. Perhaps, finally, I shall find a foe I do not despise and have the chance to defend the Seven Kingdoms themselves, not just its rulers. I shall say the Words proudly, I think."

"I, too, uncle," Aemon echoes.

"Not uncle, or great-uncle even; not for much longer. On the Wall, we shall be brothers."

Aemon nods, welcoming that thought - one small piece of family remaining with him. Perhaps Egg had thought of that when he provided this offering of prisoners to accompany Aemon to the Night's Watch, intending the banishment to extend to Lord Brynden.

Brynden gives Aemon a sudden, wry smile. "I wonder," he says, "do you think this splotch on my cheek could have been a crow all along?"

"I don't know," Aemon says.

"I need a favour for you Aemon," Brynden suddenly said, that caught the attention of Aemon.

"Yes?"

"I need you to Live, when the day comes for him to come, you should be there to guide him?"

"Guide Who?"

"The Prince who was Promised,"

NOW

"What is going on here?" Catelyn made a demand on the young maid. The maiden grew white and stared at the ground, mumbling and murmuring.

"M'lady, it's the young one. The bastard," the girl muttered, kicking the ground with her foot and refusing to look the lady in the eyes.

"What about the bastard?" Catelyn inquired, hoping to receive a response as quickly as possible.

"In God's Wood, we discovered him. M'lady, the maester is with him. He's been infected with the pox." The young lady stated. Catelyn was completely taken aback. This was the final straw. This was exactly what she had hoped for. Every time she saw the boy, every night and every morning, she asked for the same thing. Jon Snow was destined to perish. Images of a small child with the pox, frail and weak as glass.

"M'lady, am I free to leave? Because I have..."

Catelyn cut her off, "Yes yes go." What had happened to her? This was all she'd ever desired. She desired Jon Snow's death. And now comes the chance.

The gods were about to strike down her husband's son and some whore; he had gotten the pox from who knows where and was probably laying in a bed, his belabored little breaths echoing out as Maester Luwin watched on, waiting for his last breath, before that little pale chest would cease to move and cold, lifeless, gray Stark eyes would stare up at nothing, never seeing anything again. This was exactly what she had wanted, and she was not pleased. She made the decision to investigate the maester and Jon. Perhaps she needed to see it for herself to believe it and appreciate it.

Her husband was still fighting in the Rebellion, and he had written to say that he would be here soon, but he didn't know when.

As Catelyn walked through the corridors, she noticed that the quieter it became the closer she got to the bastards' room. There wasn't a human in sight, and the silence was deafening. The sound of that bastard having joy, which she had despised, had vanished totally, and the corridor hadn't been the same since. Before she admonished herself, Catelyn had a silly thought that she had missed the sound of it. Naturally, she despised the annoying laughter that emanated from the bastard. She couldn't possibly feel anything else. Except for a woman who occasionally assisted Maester Luwin, there was no one else in the room when she arrived. The woman had the audacity to look at Catelyn in the eyes, as if to say she didn't belong here. Catelyn brushed her aside and walked into the room nonetheless.

Maester Luwin gave her a look that said, 'Why are you here?' as she went forward to see the child she had condemned.

Catelyn paid little attention to him, instead concentrating on the bastard who was hardly breathing.

"W-we found him in the pools with water in God's Wood," he reported, while checking the bastard.

"Pools?!" She whispered the words with confusion, she had been only once or twice in God's wood, but even she knew the water could almost boil someone, and yet in her eyes, the boy's skin was pale, but it didn't look as if it was burned.

Maybe they're wrong?

"Will he Die?" She asked without thinking much as she looked at the maester who looked at her with a look she had never seen before.

"I don't know my lady, I will try to save him, after all every child is innocent in the eyes of The Seven," Luwin stated before telling her to get out.

As the door closed, Luwin looked at the little boy. "Live Jon, I don't want to lose my favourite student," he murmured as a tear rolled down his cheek.