Dragons and Wolves

Arya watched Rickon sleep, to make sure he’d keep his end of the bargain.

They had missed a great deal of time together, almost ten years to be exact. But nonetheless the wolf blood was strong in him, just like her father described, the hotheadedness that appeared in some of the Starks.

His quick temper, his fervent stubbornness, he was just like her.

As a child she had always been close to Bran and Jon but as she got older, after the terror they experienced, she didn’t know Bran anymore. He was practically a stranger. And Sansa, well, her sister might as well been a woman of a different species.

She felt kindred with Rickon. She would make sure he would survive.

She wouldn’t just make him Warden of the North.

She would make him King of the North or die trying.

--

Jon jumped expecting to see the ghost of Catelyn again.

He wasn’t ready for another visit.

He didn’t have to look at the dead, black and bloated hand on his shoulder to know who it was.

Through Ghost’s sense of smell he knew.

Dead meat, dried blood, cold oh so cold, smells of ice and death, a tinge of rot.

“Coldhands.” Jon whispered.

Brienne had brought Sansa back, Osha had brought Rickon, Arya had brought herself but this creature—Cold Hands had brought Bran.

“Brother.”

Jon turned to look at the specter, he wore black like a Crow. The only light on him was the gray scarf that covered his face, icy blue eyes the only part of him visible.

He had appeared to Jon once before, when Jon had been tempted to force the Watch south to avenge his family and his men had gutted him.

“You only seem to show up if I’ve done something stupid, what have I done now?”

Coldhands laughed, chilling Jon to the bone, “I remember you boy, chasing your brother’s coat tails, wishing you were half the man your father was, now look at you, Commander.”

“Do you know me somehow beyond our last meeting?” Jon’s heart thudded against his chest, he dared to whisper, “Uncle Benjen?”

Coldhands snickered, “Uncle Benjen, once a wee little brat himself, is food for the buzzards now. The trees are whispering, I can hear them on the wind, war approaches the wall, from the south for once.
There are dragons at the wall. They do not belong.”

The trees are whispering.

“Are you a greenseer like my brother Bran?” Jon asked.

“You seem like you are listening but you aren’t asking the right questions,” Coldhands shook his head,

“The wall is ice, dragons are made of fire, send the three away.”

“No, no, I will not,” It was Jon’s turn to shake his head, “We have given the queen and her dragons sanctuary here, hear that? Two dragons not three. The woman is not bringing war, her nephew is.”

“If you let her stay she will be the end of the Watch, you have been warned.” Coldhands stood.
Jon stood with him but the specter was on him before he could pull his sword, he shoved him back into his seat and towards the fire place.
Jon woke falling onto the bricks in front of his fire place and Ghost growling out his open window.

“Ghost, to me!” Jon struggled to pull himself into an upright position.
Ghost obeyed, whining, he licked Jon’s hand.

“Everyone and everything is warning me against her, why can’t I let her go?” Jon ran his hand through Ghost’s alabaster fur.

Ghost’s red eyes met Jon’s

Jon knew he was looking right through him.

--

The stars through dragon eyes were amazing, brighter even.

The color of the night sky a more vivid blue, the world even smelled better, Bran mused as the wind caressed his midnight scales.

“Are we close, human?” Viserion growled, obviously growling more tired and irritated by the moment.

Bran was carrying the girl and blacksmith, Viserion was only carrying his body, an insurance policy the dragoness had insisted upon.

“In case you try to fly off in my mate’s body, I will crush your puny, broken shell into paste with my claws,” Viserion gave him her twisted version of a smile, all fangs.

Bran shook the thought away, his body was safe, for awhile. He chose not to inform the dragoness that if she destroyed his body, he would be permanently in the body of Drogon.

For all of the beauty of the night, he could not shake the impending dread he felt in the pit of his stomach. Seeing Meera again was going to kill him.

Once again, the feeling of self-loathing burned in the pit of his stomach. Why was he worrying about his unrequited feelings for Meera when he should be thinking about the king’s impending attack on the north, Rickon’s safety as Lord Stark, what his mother’s phantom meant about Jon’s heritage!

What about Sansa? What if another king of the Seven Kingdoms demanded her as a bride? Aegon could demand her in lieu of battle. The thought was too unbearable to think of. He knew how well that would go over with Jon and Arya.

“We approach,” Viserion growled.

“How can you tell?” Bran frowned, his mother had shown him the position of the stars over Greywater Watch.

“The smell of swamp.”

Bran nodded his draconic head as they started to descend.

--

Sansa woke to kisses along her neck and a smile on her face.

“Your stubble is scratching me,” Sansa whine.

Sandor’s response seemed to be caught between a growl and a chuckle, “Deepest apologies my lady.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Does your sarcasm have no end.”

“It’s as bottomless as my affection for you.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“It wasn’t supposed to,” He growled, his eyes mischievous as he crawled on top of her and trailed his kisses downward, his kisses turned to nibbles and then to bites.

Sansa looked at the night sky out of her window and couldn’t remember the last time she’d been

more happy

--

Crannogmen brandishing weapons surrounded them. Just like in King’s Landing, their presence was causing widespread panic. Bran wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

Bran inhaled deeply, he could smell Jojen and Meera near.

Smoke started to escape from Viserion’s throat as the crannogmen raised their weapons, the dragoness wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all.

Bran’s heart thud against his chest, he was rapidly losing control of this situation, “Most beautiful, powerful dragoness I beg of you not to harm the humans, they are just scared and shocked, I—“

“Silence!” She hissed, turning her molten eyes to him, “Your pretty words are meaningless, if they attempt to harm me I will not hesitate!”

Bran could smell the flame forming in her throat, the dragoness ready to release golden fire on the Reed’s men.

“Stop!” A man ran out, Bran’s heightened sense of smell told him it was Jojen.

The greenseer looked exactly the same, skinny, gaunt even but far taller.

“The white one carries Brandon Stark! Stop!” Jojen ran in front of his father’s men.

The men put their weapons down and Jojen looked up at Bran, in Drogon’s body.

“Release the dragon, Bran, come down, my father’s been expecting you,” Jojen smiled up at him.

“I’ll stay in this body thanks, I don’t have my wheelchair,” Bran projected the thought into Jojen’s mind.

Jojen just tilted his head to the side, “Well that’s an interesting ability you’ve obtained since we’ve last met but what my father has to tell you is rather private and I’m afraid you don’t fit in the castle as a dragon.”

Bran nodded his head and turned to Viserion, “Will you grant me a bit of time to speak to his father? After we will journey to the wall to drop the humans off and then I will help you find your queen. Is that agreeable?”

Viserion growled and set his body down on the cobblestone ground of Greywater Watch, “Alright but choose your words wisely, I will not wait forever.”

Bran nodded and let the warg reverse, making sure to stay partially in Drogon’s body so he wouldn’t awake. On the off chance the black behemoth decided to attack, he couldn’t count on Viserion to calm him.

When Bran awoke in his body Jojen and one of his father’s men were carrying Bran into the castle.

Jojen looked down at Bran, “You still have dragon eyes , that is interesting.”

Bran gave his old friend an awkward grin, every second with the Reed boy was like being picked apart, examined.

“Jojen what are you—“ Bran knew that voice and from her pause, he knew she recognized him. His heart clenched.

“Brandon,” Bran looked to Meera. She was older now and carrying a babe in her arm and holding the hand of a curly haired toddler.

“Meera, what I did to you was unforgiveable, I wish I could take it ba—,“ Bran sputtered unable to help himself, he didn’t care who heard.

“Silence!” Meera was beautiful in fury, Bran couldn’t help but think. She’d been his first crush as a boy, he had been unable to not like the charismatic and tough archer, “There’s no coming back from what you did.”

She ran off further into the castle.

Jojen shook his head, “She is not your concern anymore, do not think of it.”

Bran stared at Jojen in shock, did the greenseer know the despicable thing he did?

“Aw Lord Brandon Stark, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” Howland Reed stood before him, he looked a great deal like Jojen, tall, skinny but his hair was the wild, brown tangle of Meera, “We’ve been expecting you, so happy you could finally make it.”

“And what an entrance he made, right father?” Jojen snickered.
Howland led them into an empty room, Bran assumed it was Lord Reed’s private study. The guard who helped carry Bran in with Jojen set him down in a chair in front of Howland Reed’s desk and took his leave. Jojen followed him to the door and locked it, pressing his ear to the stone of the door.

“He is out of earshot,” Jojen smirked.

“Lord Reed, how did you know I’d come?” Bran whispered. Did his mother appear to him too?

“Please call me Howland, whispers from the weirwoods, we have been expecting you for quite some time now, though not exactly riding in the body of a dragon. Jojen always said you were a tad reckless with your warging. You know by now that you should only take the mind of weak minded creatures or your familiar, your house sigil, the direwolf, for us a lizard-lion and a dragon is neither your familiar nor a weak minded creature. My son, what you did in King’s Landing,” Howland met Bran’s draconic eyes in concern, “And what you’re doing right now is very dangerous.”

“It was definitely a task to take Drogon’s mind but now that I’m in, only death could remove me,” Bran sighed. It was strange being back in his body, he stared down at his hand, now missing one finger. He sighed, his own body just broke more and more and there was nothing his powers could do to stop it, “My mother’s ghost came to me in a dream and said you have important information for me.”
Howland sighed and walked around his desk to the book case next to it and pulled a bottle of liquor off his desk along with three glasses, “I’ve a story to tell you and you aren’t going to get through it without a drink.”

Bran nodded, watching Howland poor the amber liquid into the glass, with his dragon eyes colors were still too vivid. Maybe a drink would dull them, help him concentrate.

--

A knock on Jon’s door jarred him from his thoughts. He had been sitting at his desk for the last couple hours, staring into the fire, mulling over his options.

Ghost whined at his side.

Daenerys walked in, despite the night chill she had changed into a translucent blue dress that highlighted her every curve.

Must she make this so hard on him?

“Lady Daenerys.”

“I’m leaving,” She sighed, making eye contact, “I want to thank you for your hospitality and I will thank Lady Sansa and Lord Rickon in person before I leave.”

There it was.

She was leaving.

Making it easy on him, after all.

With her gone, things could return to normal.

He could do things in his family’s best interest once more.

He could be the commander the Night’s Watch needed.

She would no longer plague his dreams and every waking, conscious thought.

Her leaving was the best thing that could happen right now.

“I’m sorry for what I told you before, I turned one man from his ways and it led to his death, I won’t do the same to you, I am a spoiled, selfish person and I want to take a cue from you and be selfless. I—“

She jumped back as Jon rose from his desk so fast, his chair fell to the stone ground with a loud clang.

He moved so fast, he pulled her roughly into his arms and crashed his lips onto hers before either knew what happened.

--

Bran knocked back his first two glasses with ease, when he started to sip lightly at his third was when Howland began his story.

“When I was a boy, the Crannogmen were even more isolated than they are now, we were practically a myth to the other houses, we are strong in the old way like the Starks, if not even more so, we kept the old gods, sang with the children of the forest, the greensight and warging was still strong in our blood. We used to watch the other men in swamps, through the eyes of lizard-lions and crows. But one year, my fifteenth year if I recall correctly, my father had us attend a tourney at Harrenhal. Now this was quite a scandal in and of itself, this led to me being bullied and nearly being beaten to death by some squires that had decided I was less than human.”

“It was embarrassing but to my defense came Lyanna Stark. In her finest silks she took one of their shields and knocked them all of their heads with it. I was smitten. She brought me to where her family was sitting and I found my father with her family, we were there bannermen after all. After this I became rather close to your father and your uncle Benjen. Your namesake and uncle Brandon was always a little too brusque for me. Things went south when Rhaegar Targaryen won the tourney and crowned Lyanna as the queen beauty. This was quite the scandal for he was already married to Elia Martell. Robert Baratheon was furious, he was a good friend of your father’s and was besotted, well obsessed, with Lyanna even though she showed no interest in either man. I don’t know if anything occurred between Lyanna and Rhaegar at the tourney but I once had to defend her from Robert’s wrath, he had approached her and accused her of sleeping with Rhaegar, though he said it in far more colorful words than that. He easily overtook me and this infuriated Lyanna who helped me up and we ran away from Robert. I didn’t see them for quite some time after the tourney.”

“I’m sure you know about Rhaegar kidnapping your aunt, this along with the assassination of your grandfather and uncle incited Robert’s rebellion and your father, now Lord Stark himself, to go to war. I joined as well and us three fought in many battles together. The story goes that your father and I found your mother and saved her at the Tower of Joy. That is a lie, your uncle Benjen and I found your aunt fleeing towards Dorne.”

The loud clang of glass hitting wood made Howland pause, Bran clenched his glass, “Fleeing towards Dorne?”

“Yes, we stopped her, surround her horse with our two. She dismounted and she was well into pregnancy, her belly full and round. Benjen who was usually quiet and calm nearly lost his mind, thinking that Rhaegar had impregnated her. She calmed him and told us that Rhaegar was just a dear friend who was helping her. It’s not shock, we were at war with the man, partly for her. We asked what she could be running from. She had always been rebellious but she was level headed and a lady, not the type to get impregnated by any random man.”
Bran’s heart was in his throat, pounding so hard, he tried to calm it with more liquor but it just made it worse. His hands began to shake.

“She swore us to secrecy, an oath I am breaking now, to never tell who the father was of her child. For not only would it destroy the Seven Kingdoms but it would destroy House Stark. After she and I had escaped Robert at the Tourney and I had escorted her back to her quarters. Robert had found her and forced himself on her, in a drunken rage. She told us he had passed out after and when he awoke he apologized endlessly claiming he wanted to marry her and he’d spend a lifetime making it up to her. She turned him away. She refused to go to her brothers or father, she ran away south, unable to even listen to your father speak of him. The only person she could turn to was Rhaegar. She told us that Rhaegar tried to turn her away but his wife, Elia, was the one who convinced him to let her stay. Tensions were already high in the kingdom, war already brewing, by the time she discovered she was pregnant, her father and eldest brother were already dead and your father already marching south with her rapist.”

“When her story ended we were silent, the next morning a raven arrived. Robert had taken the Iron Throne, Rhaegar, Elia and Aegon dead. She collapsed in a heap, the shock had thrown into early labor. We ravened Ned and told him to come alone, that it was an emergency. Your father killed his horse he rode to us so hard. Her labor had been hard, lasting days as it sometimes does for women, but she was losing too much blood. She cried for your father and so did we. Benjen and I delivered the child with tears streaming down our faces. We heard Ned arrive and with fire in her eyes Lyanna told us that Ned must never know the truth. Ned finally came into our makeshift home, a dirty room in a rotting tavern. Lyanna handed him the child and made him promise to take care of it. She died moments later. Your father with his eyes on the child asked us who the father was. Unanimously, Benjen and I named Rhaegar and told him that he must lie to protect the child, if Robert suspected a Targaryen heir he would no doubt kill it. Ned nodded and from what I know, he lied to both Robert and his wife about the origin of the child, claiming the boy to be his own bastard. Benjen took the Black right after the war, afraid he’d be unable to control his anger around the then king and afraid he’d endanger the child as a result. I returned to the Greywater Watch, in isolation.”

“J-Jon is the son of Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon?” Bran couldn’t believe it.

“Aye, so you know the danger he’s in, the first born Baratheon, heir to Robert’s dynasty. Now you know the danger he is in, the remaining Targaryen’s hate the Baratheons. If King Aegon or Queen Daenerys find out, they will kill him without a second thought!”