It begins

Winterfell, The Northern Realms

It has been a month since Aryan revealed the story of the Long Night to his family. He was looking down from the balcony with his uncles at Jon, Robb, Torrhen and Lyarra trying to teach Bran the bow. Despite having been trained at this for a couple of years now Bran seemed to be struggling with it and despite their help he had yet to get the hang of the bow.

As was proven when the arrow went wide and hit a bunch of barrels next to the target. Bran groaned with frustration at the failure and while Robb looked on with a slight smile and his arms crossed. Jon went over to his younger brother and said quietly yo him with a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Go on. Father's watching." Aryan and Ned couldn't help to smile at Jon calling Ned 'father' and Aryan remembered their discussion.

(Flashback starts)

Aryan was in his solar with his uncle Ned and they were discussing about their bridge at the Green Fork before Jon arrived in the room. He looked at his cousin who sat down and looked at him, "I don't want it."

Aryan questioned without surprise, "Why?"

Jon replied and looked at Ned, "Because, no matter who my sire was, you are my father." and then looked at Aryan, "And I know that you want a North free from the South. So, why did you ask me if I wanted the Iron Throne?"

Ned smiled proudly at his son, because no matter what, Jon is his son. Aryan also smiled and said, "Well, you are right but you are also my family. If you really wanted the throne, I would've put you in it and call you my king. I would have just said asked that the North declare his independence during the time of our great-grandchildren. What did Rhaella think about your decision?"

Jon replied, "She understood it and didn't push me to claim my birthright."

Aryan then said, "Good. Jon, I am gonna send a raven in King's Landing to ask the King to legitimize you as a Stark. Do you want it?"

Jon eyes grew wide and nodded, "There is nothing else, I ever wanted. Thank you, cousin."

Aryan smiled and watch his cousin leave his solar, he then heard his uncle, "Do you think the King and Hand will accept with the growing tension between us?"

Aryan smirked and replied, "Of course, they are going to accept."

Ned asked, "Why are you sure?"

Aryan grinned, "We still have two years in our tax-free period. So, in exchange for Jon becoming a Stark, we will start paying our taxes in a year instead of two. Seeing that the Iron Throne is in debt, they will accept immediately."

(Flashback Ends)

Bran turned around and looked up to see that his father was standing his cousin and uncle and they smiled encouragingly at him. Bran nodded and turned back to the target and tried again only for the same thing to happen again. Jon, Robb and Torrhen couldn't help but laugh at the failure which only made Bran feel worse and his father felt the need to intervene.

"And which of you was a marksman at ten? Keep practicing Bran. Go on." his father encouraged and Bran smiled at that before turning back to the target, Jon, Robb, Lyarra and Torrhen spoke, trying to give some helpful advice.

"Don't think so much."

"Relax your bow arm."

"Even your breath."

"Watch your target like a hawk."

Bran strained as he tried desperately to get it all right, his small body near shaking and sweat on his brow but before he could loose another arrow appeared from nowhere and struck the target dead centre. They all looked for the source and saw Arya standing therewith a bow in hand and have a cheeky little curtsy before Bran, now enraged dropped his bow and raw towards her causing his older sister to run.

Everyone couldn't help themselves and started to laugh as they watched the siblings running around. Aryan was interrupted by Ser Rodrick coming up to them, "My Lords." Ser Rodrick's grim expression revealed his bad news. "A Ranger just rode in from Widow's Watch. They've capture a boat from Slaver's Bay who wanted to raid the land."

The faces of the three Starks were clouded in fury, Aryan said, "Send word to Widow's Watch, tell them to kill everyone and put their head on spikes along the coast." Ser Rodrick nodded and left.

Aryan sighed and said, "It was a good thing that only one boat appeared and it appeared now. After destroying the Sisters, we had only eyes for the North, the South and the West. We almost forgot about our eastern coast. How troublesome."

~

It has been a month since his family returned to their lands, he was in the Godswood with his son Leon sleeping in his arms peacefully, he saw Gabriella coming towards him with a scroll. She said, "A message from our spy, Jon Arryn is dead."

Aryan asked, "How?"

Gabriella replied, "Poison apparently. By his wife's hand on the order of Petyr Baelish."

Aryan shook his head and sighed, "My uncle?"

"Already at White Harbor, he will sail to Ibben tomorrow with a huge escort."

Aryan nodded and passed Leon to his wife, he looked at the Heart Tree and smiled, "Now, it begins."

~

King's Landing, The Crownlands

The bells rang out as the mourning for Lord Jon Arryn continued, for a Lord even a great Lord this was unusual but as the King's late foster father and key advisor despite whatever troubles they had in the past, he was to receive the highest form of respect. Around his entire body, elaborate candles burned creating a sweet scent around the room which was supposed to preserve the body and mask any smell of rotting.

Two figures watched the septas as they moved around the large chamber of the throne room, around the deceased Lord Arryn. Both were the same age and had the same general features; golden blonde hair and green eyes not to mention matching looks of disdain for the great Lord and wearing clothes of the most expensive and best materials.

The man spoke with an easy going smile that seemed almost slightly mocking.

"As your brother I feel it is my duty to inform you, you worry too much. It's starting to show." He said to his darling sister who only leaned on the balcony overlooking the throne room.

"And you never worry about anything." She answered back, Cersei turned her attention back to the corpse at the centre of the room and her worries for what the old fool might have said to the husband she so hated reared their ugly head again. "When we were seven you used to jump off the cliffs of Casterly Rock and drop straight down into the water and you were never afraid."

Jaime merely shrugged before saying with a dismissive voice.

"There was nothing to be afraid of until you told father. Lannisters, Lannisters don't act like fools." He said doing his best impersonation of their father and glad he was not here to hear it. Cersei turned back to late lord in the centre of the room and said.

"What if Jon Arryn told someone?" She asked getting to the main point of her concerns, Jaime again dismissed these worries by asking his own question.

"Who would he tell?"

"My husband." Cersei insisted knowing the consequences if they were found out would be very grave indeed. Again however Jaime dismissed this with a single piece of logic.

"If he did our heads would be skewered and in pride of place on the city gates right now. Whatever Jon Arryn did or didn't know it died with him and Robert will choose a new Hand of the King to do his bidding while he is out fucking boars and hunting whores, or is it the other way around." Jaime said with a rather poor joke to try and lighten his twin sister's mood which failed but her mouth did curl up a little. He then added to try his best to reassure her.

"And life will go on."

Cersei tried to take comfort in his words and in her heart which beat for only the two of them she knew his assertions were true but her fears were scratching hard at her confidence. She decided to change the subject a little.

"You should be Hand of the King." She said with pride, she would dearly love for her other half to have such power at his command especially as that power would secretly also be hers. Jaime looked almost horrified at the idea.

"That's a sentence I could do without." He said looking over to the dead Lord as if he were proof of his claims. "Their days are too long, their lives are too short."

The pair then stopped talking and looked over to the body of Jon Arryn and knew soon they would have to be preparing to leave the comforts of the Red Keep for the dreary and cold setting of the North.

~

Dragonstone

There could be times when it was hard to sleep in his chambers. When the wind came from the North in a certain strength then sometimes it set up a low rumbling shriek through certain passages. Tonight the wind was shrieking more than usual and eventually he gave up and got up.

As he dressed he cocked his head to one side. Yes, the wind really was howling and perhaps there was a storm coming. He sighed and then padded down the corridor, opened the small door at the end and then entered the main passageway. Yes, there was a storm coming. The wind was strong and he hurried down the corridor and turned the corner to the stairs.

He was getting old. He had to admit that as he huffed up the stairs, his knees and ankles complaining more than a bit. He paused what he reached the top, took a deep breath of air and then walked down the corridor. Opening the door at the other end he peered out at the dark room beyond and the great stone arches. The wind was roaring outside, and a gust wrenched his hair all askew. He could hear the sound of waves breaking somewhere not too far away. A high tide then, higher than he had predicted. The fleet should be alright though. Dragonstone was a good anchorage for a storm from the North. He looked at the opening to the outside world. On a fine day you could see for miles. Tonight was different. The moon would appear and then disappear, as clouds scudded over its face. Occasionally something flickered on the Northern horizon. Yes, there was indeed a storm there.

It was only then that he slowly became aware of the noise. Someone, somewhere was screaming in the far distance. Disconcerted he turned and looked behind him. There was something terrible about that scream. It was the scream of someone who was in torment. Moreover, it was a scream that came and then went as if that person was… running around?

As he pondered whether or not to investigate he heard booted feet approach. It was Harys, the second under-castellan, and he looked like a man who had reached the end of his tether. "Maester Cressan!"

"What is that noise? Who is making that awful noise?"

"It's the jester, Maester Cressan! The Fool, Patchface! He's gone mad! Running all over the place and screaming all kinds of wild things!"

He winced. He had been long afraid of this. He had always wondered what might happen to set the poor creature off. He was bad enough at the best of times, with his nonsensical songs and shouted rhymes, and of late he had been odder than usual. He had barely been eating for a start and his skin was starting to sag on him. "Take me to him."

They found Patchface in the Great Hall, the idiotic place that had been built in the shape of a dragon. A small group of servants and guards were huddled by the main doors whispering amongst themselves. They fell silent as Cresson approached – but he could still hear the whoops and curses and shouted nonsense within the room. Patchface.

"What is going on?" Cressen barked as he looked through the doors carefully.

The others looked at each other and one of the older guards took a step forwards. "Beg pardon Maester, byt the Fool's mad. Well – madder than usual. Ran past me screaming something about dragons waking up and then turned around like a child's top and screamed something else about the old cold ones coming. Next thing I know he's gone, screaming as he went. We finally forced him into here."

Cresson finally caught sight of a slumped figure at the base of the chair where Lord Stannis normally ate. He nodded. "Stay here," he said softly. "I'll talk to him. He seems to have quieted now."

He walked in slowly, watching the motionless Fool carefully. His clothes were dishevelled and his head hung low, his chin almost on his chest. As Cresson approached he looked up, his head shaking. "Do you hear them?" The fool spoke in a voice almost too low to hear.

Cresson paused and then sat in a seat. "Hear who?"

"Cresson. Oh. I hear them, Cresson. Oh oh oh. Sharp teeth and narrow eyes and flames in their gullets. They will wake again at last. Dragons. Oh. Dragons."

He peered worriedly at the man. Patchface's eyes were closed and he seemed to be weeping. "Dragons?" He said the word carefully.

"Dragons." It was a whisper. Then his head snapped up and his eyes opened and Cresson swallowed as he saw the eyes of the Fool. They were very wide - and very mad. There seemed to be little sanity in them. "And that is not all. He fights again, he twists, he scowls, he weakens, he hears the other voices, the voices that he thought he killed. Oh, so many voices. He denies them. Denies, denies, oh, oh, oh."

"Who, Patchface?" Cresson asked gently.

The Fool twisted his face away a moment, and then back and force, before wrenching himself to one side and then pulling himself to his feet. His face worked and then something seemed to ripple through it, just for a moment. "Can't you hear them all? All the VOICES! They sing, oh, no, argue. Dark things come, terrible things."

"Calm yourself!" Cresson said as soothingly as he could. "Calm yourself!"

"NO!" Patchface howled as he clawed at his face for a moment. "There is not time! No time Cresson!"

And then he screamed and clawed at his temples, before stumbling around – and then he ran. He ran like a madman, arms flopping everywhere, gait uncertain at first, but then he tore out of the doors, bowling people over by the sound of the startled oaths.

By the time that Cresson made it to the doors Patchface had vanished from sight. "Where did he go to?"

"That way," Harys said, pointing a trembling finger. "He's gone mad, hasn't he?"

"Aye. Find him! Find him before he harms himself – or anyone else!"

They went, scattering as they fanned out down the various passageways and doors. Cresson paused – and then he thought hard, before walking off down the corridor that he had used to get to the Great Hall. He had an inkling. There were times when he had found Patchface in the room that he had been in earlier.

But this time, The Fool was standing in a balcony. He was as still as a statue, even though the rain was trickling down his face mixing with the blood from his self-inflicted wound.

Harys had followed Cresson and seemed to be about to take a step forwards when Cresson held up a hand and then gestured for him to step back. Then he himself stepped forwards. Thunder rumbled somewhere to the North and lightning jabbed into the sea a long way away.

"Patchface? Come down from there please. The Lady Shireen is very fond of you. It will upset her if you fell."

"It matters not," Patchface replied in a voice that almost sounded sane and normal. "It's too late."

"What is too late?"

He then put his hand on his face and started to laugh, his laugh echoing with the rumbling thunder and mixing with his tears and blood were shivering.

"It already started. Soon, the demon will too die and everyone will dance. Stags will dance for their believes and greed, the Red Stag, the False Stag and the Stag of Flowers. Dragons will return and will also dance, the Red Dragon, the Black Dragon and the White Dragon. Ancient foes have risen for those were here first. The Wolf of the Night who seeks an eternal winter and the Wolf of the Dawn who dream of spring will each command millions in their dance." he then continued to laugh hysterically, "What about the Crow's Eye? The Tower? The Snakes? The Roses? The Fish? The Falcon? What about all those minor Houses?"

He then screamed, "Who is going to ally with who? And who will betray whom? It begins now, the biggest wars and the bloodiest era in the history of Westeros. But I can't see anymore." He then stopped as if he had a realized something and quietly said so no one could hear, "Ah, I see. It is time. The Gods demand a price. The maid with laughing purple eyes' child survived, a life for a life." he then looked at Cressen and said, "Thank you." he then jumped from the balcony and his last thought before dying were 'I do it gladly. I too, dream of spring.'