7 Blood Sealed Trunk and A Tired Wolf

[Greywater Watch 298 AC]

Jaehaerys.

Howland was more than willing to speak to Jae about his mother, dare he say excitedly, getting started with the tourney at Harrenhal. Then, however, the crannogman's joy fled him as he got deeper and deeper into the story, replaced by sorrow and remembrance. "Rhaegar rode brilliantly," Howland told Jae, "but Lyanna outshone him like the sun outshines candlelight."

"My mother rode?" Confused, Jae's brows furrowed, and he cracked his forefinger with his thumb. Suddenly, awed, Jae realised. "The Knight of the Laughing Tree?" He grinned widely as Howland did.

"Though she only rode three tilts," Howland said after he sipped from his tankard. "She beat them quickly and demanded they chastise their squires to ransom back their armour. After that, she left."

Frowning, Jae wondered aloud, "Why would mother demand such a thing?"

Howland laughed softly, and Jae looked at him, embarrassed. "You must fix your habit, My King, or everyone will know your thoughts. But, anyhow, to answer your question, Jae," Howland said after Jae rolled his eyes. "Strange as it was, your mother's demands were to defend the honour of a crannogman, a boy no older than you are now, who had been bullied by the knights' squires earlier that day."

Jae caught on quickly; he looked at Howland, and the short man nodded. He smiled as Howland resumed the tale. After Lyanna's jousts, Howland told him, the King sent out men to search for this mystery knight, fearing that they were conspiring against him—Aerys sent his son and heir as well. Howland knew not what had happened after that, but later, during the feast at the end of the first day of the jousts, Lyanna Stark had cried as Rhaegar Targaryen sang for the hall.

"Oh, Lay My Sweet Lass Down in the Grass," Howland said, scratching his beard and wiping his eye with his sleeve. "I, as well as many others, I believe, noticed that it was to Lyanna he looked as he sang."

Jae felt a tug at his heart. He looked down into his tankard, half full of warm brown ale; Jae swallowed his breath and muttered the song's name. Howland likely saw the barely concealed sadness in Jae, so he continued on to a more joyful moment of the tourney, at least in his eyes.

"When Rhaegar unhorsed Barristan Selmy, the cheers shook the towers of Harrenhal, I swear to you." Jae smiled slightly. "And when he plucked the garland of blue winter roses from the pedestal, the realm fell silent. Only the sound of his horse's graceful trot was heard for that short while before he rode past Elia and placed the garland in your mother's lap."

"The day the smiles died," Jae remembered what Old Nan told him.

"Aye, but no one mentioned the smiles your parents wore," said Howland, running his fingers through curly brown hair. "Elia, too, was smiling, yet no one was looking at her but a few, I think."

Jae also thought about that quite a bit; what would he do when he inevitably ran into the Martells? Indeed, they would hate his guts for simply existing, but perhaps he could. . . It was still too early for that; best not to think about it now. Now was the time to learn about his parents.

Politics and placating could wait a while.

"Gods, they were a vision as they danced that night," Howland's mossy-green eyes twinkled, remembering.

Jae's lips curled. "Not many saw it that way," he said, more of a statement than anything else.

"More's the pity," said Howland, annoyedly. "If only they had. . ."

"If only," Jae echoed. There was silence for a long while until Jae finished his ale. "I wish I could have met them."

"As do I, Jae," Howland said softly. "As do I. Now. . . what else is there? Ah, yes. I have another story about Lyanna, your uncle Brandon, and a brood of ducklings. . ."

When the story was over, Jae was breathless, red-faced, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes and holding his aching stomach. But that was the last bit of joy he'd felt that day, for as night fell, Howland rose to his feet and brought out the heavy black trunk with the three-headed-dragon of House Targaryen carved and dyed red on top; in its talons, Jae smiled to see, was a blue winter rose that reminded him of the one he'd left for his mother when he believed her to be his aunt many a year ago now.

"I've not opened it," Howland told Jae, who traced his finger over the dragon. It felt warm. "I couldn't if I wanted—there's nothing TO open it with. No lock and no cracks in the wood. Nothing at all."

Running his hand along the side of the trunk, Jae saw that Howland was right. The chest was only a black box, but somehow, remarkably, Jae could feel something inside. Jae thanked Howland for watching over it, picked up the heavy trunk, and left the small grey and green solar.

In his chamber, Jae placed the trunk on the desk in the corner and simply stared at it. Cocking his head to the right, Jae glimpsed a small, sharp fang in the dragon's mouth. The black, he saw, was a red so dark it only seemed black in truth. It moved like waves—or blood—but Jae shook his head, and it stopped. Then, unconsciously, he reached out his finger.

He hissed in pain as his finger pricked the fang, blood dripped into the dragon's mouth, and a single click echoed in his quiet chamber, followed by a dim blue glow of the winter rose. "A blood seal. . ." Jae breathed. If he recalled correctly, he'd seen one of them in his dreams—Aenys I.

Still, the trunk stayed sealed, but now he knew what must be done. The letter opener's razor-sharp edge glinted in the candlelight, and Jae slowly picked it up and held it against his left palm. He couldn't do it. A primal fear filled him as Jae stared at the small knife that almost broke the skin of his palm. He turned away, dropped the opener, and crossed his chamber, climbing into bed and throwing the furs over himself.

He never wanted to open that trunk.

But he so very much wanted to see what was inside.

His eyes grew heavy not long after, the exhaustion of the day catching up to him now, and as he started nodding off, Jaehaerys sang softly:

"My featherbed is deep and soft,

and there I'll lay you down,

I'll dress you all in yellow silk,

and on your head, a crown. . ."

When he opened his eyes next, it was not the grey-green of the drafty ceiling, but the bright blue of a midday sky he saw, and the bed he lay on was neither deep nor soft but shallow and earthy. The grass, he saw, was greener than anything he'd ever seen before. 'The Reach, perhaps,' Jae thought. 'But who am I now?'

Four dragons soared overhead—three of green, gold, and red, and one of black that dwarfed them all. He knew the bigger one. It was the same one Aegon had shown him in that first dream almost two moons ago, but the three others he knew not. His finger twitched, and, with sudden interest, he realised he was in control this time. Still, Jae did not turn away from the black dragon with green eyes.

Grass crunching softly warned of the approach of another person. He saw a small, pretty thing with silver hair from the corner of his eye as she lay in the grass beside him. She seemed to have her violet eyes locked on the red dragon. Sudden familiarity washed over him as the girl breathed a shaky breath, and a name came to him, yet he had no clue how.

"Hello, Dany. . ." he said.

". . .Hello, Jae," Dany said, sniffing.

[Castle Darry 298 AC]

Eddard.

First, his nephew had run off in the dead of night, likely having found out the truth, and now Bran had fallen from the Broken Tower? Had he been cursed to never have a decent night's rest? Was he to suffer despair until the day he was put to rest alongside Lya and Brandon and his father? Ned felt he was—for that was what he deserved, wasn't it?

He'd broken his promise to his sister, not that he'd wanted to, but hadn't he broken it the year before? Tell him when he is old enough, she begged him in that tower that smelled of blood and roses.

Jon had taken his first life at four and ten, years younger than even Ned had been, than even Robert had been when they first killed a man. Had he been old enough then? Ned supposed he had been, for he was sure he'd not have handled it as well as Jon had.

Or so Jon had told him when Ned had asked him about it after they'd ridden out to meet a deserter. That was when he'd decided Jon was still not ready; Ned thought Jon was trying to seem strong in front of him. Now, Ned wasn't so sure of that. Maybe Jon did handle it well; the thought gave Ned a sense of pride. But, on the other hand, it frightened him somewhat to know Jon could kill and not fret over it.

The flap of his tent lifted, bringing Ned back to the present. He looked up from his hands, his knuckles white, so hard had he clasped them together, and saw Alyn peeking in. "My Lord," he said, "your daughters."

Ned nodded absentmindedly, and his girls walked in together, both finding interest in their shoes, their wolves following not nearly as downbeat. Ned thanked Alyn, who nodded and closed the tent flap.

"Girls," he started, but they both spoke over each other before he could continue. Ned caught Arya saying Sansa had started it and heard Sansa say she hadn't taken it, but what "it" was, he knew not. "Girls!" They fell silent.

He looked at them, at his precious daughters; Sansa, who looked so much like Cat with her red hair and blue eyes, and Arya. . . who looked like Lya, sounded like her and behaved like her. Ned ran his fingers through his brown hair, looked at it, and noticed the loose strands tangled around his fingers. He was so tired. Sighing, Ned poured them all some water.

Arya downed hers in one swallow, so Ned poured her another, happy to see her sipping this one; Sansa drank sparingly. "Why must you girls fight so much?" He asked wearily. They looked at him, ashamed. "You are sisters, and sisters love each other, their differences, too, and the Gods' know there are many, but you love them despite that. How many times must I tell you both this?"

"Sorry, father. . ." Arya said softly, sounding so much like Lya it brought back the memory of Ned and his siblings being chastised for sneaking away to race their horses. "I-I was only angry because I can't find. . ."

"What can't you find, Arya?" Ned asked, glimpsing Sansa shoot her sister a look from the corner of his eye.

"My pin," said Arya, sniffing. "Jon gave it to me."

"Oh, Arya. . ." Ned said, massaging his temples.

"If you'd only asked, I would have helped you find it," Sansa said quietly. Arya's head snapped to her sister so quickly that Ned feared it would fall off. "What? I miss Jon too, but I wouldn't take something he gave you. I have my own. . ." She drew out a thin leather strap tied to a tiny black bone. Dragonbone, Ned realised.

"Where did you get that, Sansa?" He asked his daughter before Arya could.

"Jon gave it to me shortly after father returned from the war," she said. "He told me he found it in the crypts."

Closing his eyes, Ned swallowed. Then, he sighed, "Be careful with it, alright? It looks sharp. And please, help your sister find her pin."

"I don't need help-"

"Yes, father," Sansa cut her off, to his and Arya's surprise. "I'll help immediately, father. You were playing by the river, weren't you? We'll look there first." Ned looked at his eldest daughter suspiciously; there was no argument? No, I won't do it? No complaining about looking around in the dirt? What was happening? Was he dreaming? If he was, he didn't want to ever wake up.

Shaking his head, Ned told them to be careful, and, without a word, Sansa dragged Arya out of the tent and toward the river. Arya moaned and groaned in annoyance, but Ned saw the appreciation in her eyes from where he sat. He sat there, shocked, silent for a while before he rose and went to bed, craving a short rest from such an exhausting day.

But it was not to be, as Alyn came in and told him of a summons from Robert. "Others take him," he swore coldly, turning and throwing his cloak over his shoulders. "Best not keep him waiting, then." And they left to meet the King in Castle Darry, where the royal family were (quite reluctantly) given comfortable chambers for their short stay.

Ned felt more tired than ever, almost unable to keep his eyes open while Robert ranted and raved about the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea. The Company of the Dragon had gained another ten score recruits. The Company of the Dragon have made deals with Braavos. The Company of the Dragon had done this and that, and Ned almost wished Robert would bite his tongue so he wouldn't have to hear that name again.

It was only when Robert said, "I should have sent someone to gut the dragon bitch years ago," that Ned paid more attention. "That Viserys wouldn't understand a jot about running things if she hadn't lived."

"Rhaella is dead ten years," Ned reminded the King, yawning. "Whatever Viserys Targaryen is doing, it is of his own pursuits, not hers anymore. And, if you have forgotten, the boy has no ships."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you tired of hearing about the threat of war? Because war is coming!" Robert scowled. "Viserys Targaryen is making deals with Braavos, Ned! The fucking Sealord is giving him ships!"

"Or," Ned said slowly, "that is what Viserys wants you to believe."

Robert sat back with a huff and downed a glass of wine. "You think the Spider's wrong? So what, his little birds are singing false songs?"

"We know Viserys has a Spymaster of his own, don't we? How else would he know when to escape your cutthroats?"

"Brave men," Robert corrected, "following their King's commands."

"Oh, yes," Ned said icily. "Brave men indeed. There was a long silence after that, Ned and this King he scarcely knew anymore staring at each other coolly. "Perhaps he's feeding Varys lies with his spies, as you said. After all, he has more gold than the Spider, and even children know gold can buy more treats than some coppers," Ned finally continued.

Ned thought that Robert needed the privy for a moment as his face contorted before he realised that it was just Robert thinking hard. And, not for the first time, Ned reflected on how much the man he'd called a brother had changed with a throne to sit on. Of course, Robert had never been very clever, but at least he used to be able to think without wearing his thoughts on his face so clearly that Rickon would be able to see them.

"The sister, Daenerys, I believe," Robert said. Ned liked not the look on his face, not one jot. "I heard from one of my spies that Pentos is where she's held up now."

"What are you thinking, Your Grace?"

Robert's face darkened.

—————

Alex here!

Sorry, sorry! I know I've been gone a while, but I couldn't for the life of me get this chapter done. This is actually the fifth iteration if you can believe it. Yeah, I'm picky :P

Anyway, I know what you're thinking, and no. It isn't Dany. Jae's LI is someone else, someone more important (in the political sense) than her, so don't worry about it being Dany... much.

Anyhow, thanks for reading my fic. I appreciate it a bunch.

Have a dandy day, you beautiful bastards!

-Alex :D