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Chapter 10: Ch10 The Ripples SpreadChapter Text

Chapter 10 The Ripples spread

Jon Targaryen

Jon didn't let go of Bran as he dragged him though the halls of Winterfell. Angry and upset at Bran, he continued walking, looking for Sansa.

He passed a servant and quickly questioned her. She answered quickly, but she had wide surprised eyes that never left his face. He thanked her and continued on his way, as a part of his mind recognized that she had probably heard of his secret. He paid it no heed and continued on. It was something to be dealt with...later.

He found Sansa where he'd been told. She was with Lady Catelyn and Vayon Poole in the courtyard. Sansa was speaking animatedly with them while they stared at her with more than a little shock on their faces.

"Sansa!" he called out.

Sansa turned towards her name and he gestured for her to come.

She cast him a confused look, before her eyes focused on Bran. The look hardened as she took in Jon's unamused expression and how he was holding onto Bran.

He noted that Lady Catelyn's face was pale and she was looking down at the ground now, not daring to look at him, while Poole was staring at him in unabashed trepidation.

Sansa said something to them that had Poole bowing and scurrying off, she left her mother standing alone.

"What did he do this time?" Sansa asked with vexation, glaring at Bran as she neared.

"He told uncle how you dealt with Ramsay," Jon said with a grimace.

Her vexation deepened as she turned to Bran, "Bran!" she cried

"...he's not happy and he's going to speak with you," finished Jon.

Sansa winced and shook her head.

Jon opened his mouth to speak but instead nearly jumped out of his skin as Arya's voice suddenly came from behind him.

"What's happening?" Arya asked, while giving Jon an innocent smile.

Jon glared at her for a moment, "Must you do this every time?" he asked in annoyance.

Arya gave him a sweet look, "Yes."

Jon scowled at her halfheartedly before repeating his news, "Bran told Uncle about what Sansa did to Ramsay."

Arya shrugged, "And? He got what he deserved."

Jon rolled his eyes in annoyance, as Arya missed the point, "He may have deserved it but we should have been more merciful, Uncle is not pleased."

"And? Father should hear about everything, he will find out, one way or another. We should tell these things first," retorted Bran tonelessly.

"It's been less than a day, Bran! We need to space these things out," cried out Sansa in exasperation. She rubbed at her brows in pain and annoyance.

Bran looked unmoved by Sansa's ire.

What needed to be done was plain to Jon, "One of us needs to always be with him," he announced unamused.

"So we'll be nursemaids for him?" Arya asked.

Jon nodded, "Aye, the less he says the better. Uncle still doesn't know about Jaime..." he gave Arya a dry look, "Never mind what you did to the Freys. He needs time to adjust first."

Arya had the decency to redden and her smile became strained, probably imagining how upset uncle would be when that secret came to light.

Sansa was still frowning gravely, "Who goes first?"

"Don't I get a say in this?" Bran asked.

"No!" Jon and Sansa retorted in one breath.

Arya poked Bran hard in the shoulder, "You're coming with me, we'll chase cats first, then we can go to the Godswood." She grabbed his arm and dragged him off, ignoring his protests.

Jon sighed and then smiled at Arya's antics, for a moment it was almost like old times, seeing her dragging Bran away. Him helpless to deny her, just like when they really were children.

Jon turned back to find Sansa looking at him, "What did Bran tell you? What has he seen?"

The smile disappeared and he said morosely, "Some good, some bad...let's talk privately."

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Brynden Tully

He stood in one of the many balconies of the Eyrie, staring at the vast vista in front of him. The spectacular view did nothing to calm his tremulant mind.

Two Day ago, the madness came. Raving and ranting, screaming for Petyr Baelish's head. Murder, betrayal and mad ramblings. Two short days had pasted since the madness came to Lysa. Since the strange awakening of many of the people of the Eyrie.

It stank of mummery...if not for the fact several no nonsense men under his command were also speaking of it. This...Awakening as it was coming to be called by some.

He grunted unhappily, he remembered that first night, Lysa's screams echoing thought the Eyrie. She screamed so long and loud he thought she would awaken the dead from their graves. She'd clutched at Robin so hard, they'd had to pry the crying boy from his mother's embrace, her nails had gouged grooves in his skin.

He shook his head mournfully at the memory. Lysa had always been a fragile girl. Whatever this, Awakening had done to her it wasn't good. Ever since, the maester had been forced to feed her a steady diet of dreamwine and milk of the poppy to keep her docile.

Heavy steps broke him from his revere, he turned to look. A large, grey haired man in bronze armour approached him. He wore a grim expression on his face.

It was Bronze Yohn Royce, the Lord of Runestone.

"Ser Brynden," he called out, the welcoming tone, not matching his grim face.

"Lord Royce," Brynden smiled amicably, turning to face him, and nodded at the honorable lord. "What brings you the Eyrie? Is there business for you here?"

Lord Royce paused, frowning for a moment before casting a measuring look at Brynden.

"You don't remember?" Lord Royce finally asked in surprise.

Brynden scowled darkly, his mood souring, "More of this damn Awakening?! No I don't remember- or understand this strange mummery!" he spat angrily.

Lord Royce's grim expression darkened further, "I assure you this Awakening as you call it is no mummery. It is very real and without it all would be lost."

Surprise blossomed, "You know what is behind this?! What do you know?" he asked urgently.

"I know what the plan was..." Lord Royce waved his hand about, "But this is not it. Too many people remember...I have many things to tell you then." he announced far too grimly for Brynden's peace of mind.

Brynden's eyes narrowed, "What things?"

Lord Royce looked at a loss for words for a moment before, he began gravely, "Lord Edmure begs your forgiveness," Lord, "And he asks you to meet him at the Twins."

"The Twins?" Brynden raised an eyebrow in surprise, "He's not taking a Frey bride is he?" he asked in disgust.

Lord Royce shook his head, "Not this time."

Brynden rocked back on his heels, "This time?"

Lord Royce nodded, "Yes. He was wed once to Roslin Frey...but he will not marry her again...not after Walder Frey's betrayal." he scowled and spat scornfully as he spoke Walder Frey's name.

Brynden scowled at the words, "Betrayal?" there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, as his mind wondered what could that old bag of piss could have done?

Lord Royce nodded gravely, "Lord Edmure has summoned your brother's banners and goes to punish the Freys. Houses Reed And Manderly march to join with him from the North as do the nearest of the Vale Houses."

Brynden gaped at the news. What the fuck did you do, Walder?! His mind scrambled trying to imagine what could warrant such a harsh response, but his mind was drawing a blank. This went beyond a Lord Paramount punishing a rebellious House, not if Houses from the North and the Vale were joining with Edmure.

He frowned, "Even so, I cannot go, Lysa needs me here."

Lord Royce winced and hesitated before answering, "I am aware of Lysa's worsened madness and her other actions."

"Worsened madness? Other actions?" he asked in surprise, "What other actions?"

"Forgive me, Ser Brynden, it is a long and arduous tale, and much stems from her first action," Lord Royce gravely intoned.

Brynden cocked his head warily at Lord Royce, "Which was?"

Lord Royce looked as grim as death now, "I beg your pardon for my coming words, Ser Brynden- but this is the truth. Jon Arryn was murdered...poisoned by Lysa."

His hand grasped the hilt of his sword and he just barely managed to stop himself from drawing steel on the Lord of Runestone. Only the long years of the Royces loyal service to House Arryn stopped him. He reined in his emotions as he reminded himself that Lord Royce was among the most honorable and good men he knew. Lord Royce would not say such an obscene thing without evidence.

Brynden was shaking his head rapidly, denying the words, "Why the fuck would Lysa do such a thing?!" he growled angrily at Lord Royce.

Lord Royce frowned, mightily unhappy now, "I can explain...you will doubt my words but I swear on the Old Gods and the New...and on the lives of my children, everything I will tell you is the truth. There is a great many things I must tell you. Much will strain your nerves."

Brynden calmed himself with great effort, he grunted, grasping the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening, "I will listen..."

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Tormund Giantsbane

Killing a person for a second time was even more satisfying than just killing someone once. He grimaced as he raised his arm for yet another blow. The bastard had gotten in a few good hits this time. He brought the heavy club down a second time.

The gurgling sound the Lord of Bones had been making stopped completely now. Blood was pooling and there was no question who was the harder bastard now.

He stared down Rattleshirt's men as just as before they backed down in fear.

He smiled and threw the heavy club down over Rattleshirt's corpse and walked away. He gazed about watching the gathered Free Folk as they went about their business. The camp was the same as he remembered, it was the people that were changed. Men and Women clutched there weapons tighter, eyes were more haunted than he remembered. And most important of all, there were too few fights happening.

Some remembered- enough to cow the rest. The Free Folk had always been a quarrelsome bunch, but not now. The whispers of Hardhome and all that happened there was scaring them all into a more cooperative state of mind.

He looked back at Rattleshirt's cooling body, well at least most of them.

Tormund snorted, at the absurdity of it all. This wasn't the plan, it helped here more than than what the Three eyed Raven had planned. Even the fucking Thenns were being nice now.

He reached his destination, Mance Rayder's tent was just as he remembered it. He pushed inside, Mance was pacing in his tent when he entered.

"Mance."

"You're finally here," Mance said evenly, as he stopped pacing, turning to face him. He noticed the blood on Tormund's furs, "What happened?"

Tormund shrugged, "Had to kill Rattleshirt again."

Mance raised an eyebrow, "Again? So you remember as well?"

"Aye."

"And why'd you kill him the first time?" added a voice from behind him.

He turned and found Ygritte standing at the door of the tent, staring balefully at him.

Tormund smiled and shrugged, "He was being stupid. I knocked some sense into him."

"A little too much sense," Ygritte snorted in derision.

"Seems having sense doesn't agree with him," agreed Tormund with a laugh and toothy smile.

Mance watched the byplay with musing eyes, "You as well?" he asked with a curt nod at Ygritte.

She nodded silently, her face a myriad of emotions.

"It's a strange and disturbing business, this...remembering." Mance stated in a disturbed tone.

"Aye, strange...not really disturbing, we did this," Tormund admitted.

Mance's eyes displayed surprise at Tormund's words, "We did this? Who's we?"

"It was Brandon Stark and the Children of the Forest," he paused and gave Ygritte a wink, "Your pretty crow helped."

Surprise blossomed on both their faces at the revelation.

"The...Children of the Forest?" Mance asked with bated breath.

"Aye, still some of them down South," Tormund nodded with a smirk.

"Why did you do this?" asked Mance with a fearful tone.

Tormund lost his smirk, "Why do you think? We lost." he spat with disgust.

Mance gave him a beaten look and shuddered.

"And Jon?" came Ygritte's unsteady voice.

"What about Jon?"

"This is powerful magic...how did he help?" Ygritte asked in confusion.

"The boy...the man led us. Free Folk. Kneeler. We all followed him," Tormund added with admiration, he paused for a moment before continuing, "Things will be better this time, we'll save more of our people this time. We have friends on the Wall now. We have friends down South now," Tormund finished with relish.

Mance grunted, "This is...good, very good. What else happened?" his tone was lighter now, some of the strain gone from his face.

Tormund nodded, "Lot's of surprises came after you both died," he suddenly gave Ygritte a wide toothy smile, "Some more than others...you know, your pretty little crow. Turns out...he's the King of the fucking Kneelers," Tormund laughed heartily at the irony of it all. "Who knew? Ha, King of All the fucking Kneelers!"

Ygritte stared at him with a disturbed look on her face, "What the fuck are you talking about?" she demanded in a disturbed and disbelieving tone.

"Snow. He ain't no wolf. He's a Dragon." Tormund retorted, enjoying how the girl was squirming at his needling.

"A Dragon?" echoed Mance a look of supreme shock on his face.

"He ain't Ned Stark's bastard," Tormund added, "His father was...Prince Ragger? Prince Rogher? Some weird southerner name...."

Mance sat down heavily on a stool, "Prince Rhaegar? Rhaegar Targaryen? That Rhaegar? The Mad King's son?!" he breathed heavily.

"Aye," nodded Tormund with a big grin, he was enjoying seeing Mance so flabbergasted. It was felt good to know so much. To be the one with all the answers.

"Sit you arse down and tell me everything!" Mance quickly ordered with an intense look in his eyes.

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Balon Greyjoy

He stood staring in the fire, dark thoughts swirling in his mind.

Damn you Euron! You fucking Kinslayer! Just as he was on the cusp of greatness that perverted fuck came back and ruined everything! That thieving bastard! To dare steal my throne? Not this time! This time all will bow to the Ironborn!

This time...this time, he would, do things right, he had Yara and perhaps it was time to have some more sons...Theon was a lost cause, that damned wolf ruined him. And the boy was too damned stupid to protect his own cock! Better death than that!

Balon sneered haughtily, idiot boy, he thought with another shake of his head.

The door to his solar opened and Yara bustled in all business, armed and ready for battle. There was set look on her face, eyes as flinty as castle forged steel.

"You summoned the captains?" he demanded gruffly.

Yara nodded, "Most have arrived."

"Bring them," he ordered with a sneer.

He stared at the men that entered his hall, all scowling and angry, all typical and excellent examples of Ironborn strength. Here was the strength of the Iron Islands, his best and most loyal captains. This time he would make all the other kingdoms quail in fear. From Lannisport to White Harbor, no ship would be safe from the Iron Fleet.

He walked to the map table and gestured for them to join him. The men were silent as they gathered around.

"Whatever has happened...however this has happened. We are restored and we will make them all bow to us this time! We will start here in the North..." he began, his voice strong and flushed with bitterness.

A blow to the back of his head smashed his face into table. Pain exploded across his face and nose as his eyes crossed, his vision stayed dimmed as the blows kept coming. He reeled back and felt as a leg was hooked behind his leg, he crashed to the floor. The sudden assault didn't stop. A boot landed in his stomach and the breath was knocked form his lungs. Blows rained down on his face, arms, legs and stomach, the attack was relentless. He flopped onto his back and suddenly, a heavy boot was across his neck.

His eyes uncrossed enough to see his attacker.

He could barely breath, but it was Yara's boot that was on his neck. She was pressing down harder and harder with every second. He gripped her leg trying to move it, digging his nails with desperate strength, into what flesh he manged to reach above her boot, but she was unyielding.

"You stupid fuck! You want to repeat all of your mistakes! Again?! You stupid fool! I should kill you here and now! Growing up, I heard how cursed a Kinslayer would be...and yet all these perverted fucks here gladly followed Euron! He boasted to them all what he did to you at the Kingsmoot! And he still took the crown!" Yara wailed at him, her face flushed red.

Her words barely registered with his starving mind.

The pressure suddenly disappeared from his neck and he gasped for breath, he coughed and coughed, greedily gulping air, "You...bitch...you...ungrateful...bitch..." he croaked.

"Ungrateful? Ungrateful!" Yara roared back in contempt, "Ungrateful for what? For getting my brothers killed in your stupid rebellion? For driving my mother to her grave?! For spurning Theon?! He loved you despite it all and you destroyed him!" Yara spat in his face, "That's what I think of all your damn mewling...of your precious grand plans. We don't need it to be great. We ARE great! We are feared all across the fourteen seas!"

Balon grew redder and redder with each of her pronouncements, he tried to rise and face his rebellious daughter, "You dare!"

Her response was to kick him in the head- hard, snapping his head back and laying him out flat on his back once more.

The world spun and his eyes were dim again as he struggled to fight off unconsciousness.

Yara's commanding tone came again, "You are pathetic and the worse kind of fool," she sneered, "Get him out of my sight and throw him in chains! I'll decide later what to do with him!, she paused her face red contorted with rage and anger, "...And when Euron shows his face...bring me his head!"

He felt hands grabbing him and roughly dragging him away from his usurping daughter.

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The Forgotten Lady

The crowds in the marketplace of Duskendale, were more subdued than normal for a thriving coastal town. The smallfolk here had started calling whatever was happening, the Return. And it's all its affects were being felt here.

Oh, the merchants were out in force selling their wares, the farmers were buying and selling their produce, whores stood at their corners hoping to entice men into their dens of flesh. Guards patrolled and kept an eye out for thieves.

But there was an edge to everyone, eyes stared warily about, guards clutched at their blades while staring in suspicion at everything and everyone around them...and some insane Septon was shouting abut the end of the world.

She shook her head in disbelief as she passed him. The Septon continued screamed about the army of the dead and the coming Winter.

She paid him no more attention then the rest of the people as she passed him, heading towards the docks.

Eventually, she reached the docks, she stopped and looked about searching for what she wanted and after a few moments of looking she found it.

She walked towards her objective, a large ship with purple sails. At the foot of the ship, an older man in aged brown leathers and with dark skin, stood barking orders at sailors as they loading the ship.

She neared the man, and one of the sailors saw her and pointed in her direction. The sailor said something to the captain but she was too far away and it was too noisy to hear him. The captain turned and gave her a surprised look.

She clutched at the dagger hidden under her cloak and straightened her back, approaching them, radiating confidence and assurance, "Are you the captain of this ship?" she asked, putting forth confidence and an edge in her voice.

The man stared at her warily, the surprise faded and was replaced with a strange look in his eyes, he nodded, "Aye, Captain Varan Nesteros, my lady," the lilt of his Braavosi origin heavily coloured his words.

"They say you're going to Braavos." she stated with firm authority.

The man nodded but didn't add anything.

"I'm looking for passage there, are you taking passengers?" she questioned.

The old man raised an eyebrow at her, "Aye...we could."

She frowned at the captain, he seemed to be a man of few words, something unlike most Braavosi she'd met before, "I have good coin. I want my own room and no questions asked...and don't ask for my name."

The old sea captain huffed before giving her a long look, "That can be arranged, always looking for good coin," the man paused and gave her a big knowing grin, "I don't have to ask your name...I already know who you are...your grace." he finished with flourish a mocking bow.

She froze, paling at the captain's remark.

"...so do you prefer Queen Talisa? Or Queen Stark?" he asked insolently, "Queen in the North, maybe?"

She rallied mightily and gave him a dark glare, "Neither. I'm only Talisa Maegyr now." her tone had more bite in it than she intended.

He raised his hands in surrender and gave her a toothy smile, "Now, now, put the claws away, I actually like the Starks- and the Northerners. Made a pretty penny dealing them over the years, always good money to be made bringing them food during the winters. Good honest traders there...and their pride isn't as prickly these southern Westerosi...least not concerning honest trade."

His words didn't really reassure her, but she put on a fake smile and nodded at the captain.

The captain smiled at her, a glad look in his eyes now, "Be glad to have a good healer, on this- or any voyage," he nodded, "You help keep my crew healthy- help with any and all ailments and wounds. Do that and I can knock down the price of your passage."

Talisa haggled with him over the exact price for a few moments before nodding quickly, "I accept you terms, captain."

He smiled, "Good...just so you know, we'll get to Braavos after a stop in Pentos. Have some cargo to deliver there first." he explained quickly.

She kept smiling but was inside she was frowning, Pentos, yet another slave city she didn't want to set foot in again, but it would be a small price to pay to get to Braavos.

The captain was looking at her strangely again, "You sure you don't want me to take you to White Harbor?" he asked suddenly. "I'd have thought Robb Stark would be happy to have you back?"

Talisa's face reddened and she cast aside the sudden, keening, longing that comment brought to the forefront of her mind and heart, her heart beat faster. She missed Robb dearly...she missed Grey Wind's wet kisses. The booming voices of the Northmen in general and the Greatjon's off colour jokes. The openness and their gruff nature. She even missed Lady Catelyn's disapproving stares. They'd been so different than her native Volantis and the convoluted nature of noble life there. Things had been good for a while. They'd actually been happy for a while, more happy than she had thought possible, even with the war ongoing.

The phantom pain of the Frey's knife in her belly ached.

It had all come crashing down at the Twins.

She shuddered and cast it aside.

"They won't welcome me there," she replied despondently, "I cost Robb the war."

The captain shrugged nonchalantly, "That's one way of looking at it...from what I heard, a lot of mistakes were made to get to the Red Wedding. Personally, I blame the damned Freys...fucking misers the lot of them. A King in the North was good for business."

Talisa winced and her belly ached again.

"....though I think you're right, these Westerosi are a queer bunch when it comes to these things. Not as enlightened as we Essosi are." He straightened up and gave her a welcoming smile. "Welcome aboard the Wild Yalla...." he gave her lecherous look, "I named her after my own wife."

She gave him a pained smile and retorted dryly, "I'm sure she was very pleased to hear that."

The captain roared with laughter, "Aye, she was at that," he replied with a broad smile, "Get aboard, we leave with the next tide."