Westeros, The North
291 AC
They meet in the godswood late at night when all of Winterfell sleeps, as Jon had requested. Robb, excited at the prospect of a secret meeting his brother, dresses himself quickly and sneaks from his room. The halls are silent and dimly lit by light of the hanging lampings; save for the patrolling guards, no else is out and about. Sneaking past them is somewhat difficult, however with the knowledge of their habits and schedules, information Robb is ignorant of how it was acquired by his brother, Robb eventually makes his way into the godswood.
With a beaming smile on his face, Robb sprints to the heart tree where Jon awaits, sitting on one of the many massive roots.
"Jon." he half-whispers excitedly as he joins his brother on the root, his smile not dimming despite Jon not returning his smile nor even lifting his head to look at him. It is the norm between them now, since being rescued from his abductors Jon rarely smiles now and spends most of his time, when not in lessons, in the woods of the godswood for gods know how long and doing nothing but praying. He spends more time praying in the godswood than Robb's mother does in the Sept father has built for her.
"Robb." Jon greets him as he finally looks at him and the smile vanishes from Robb's face.
"Brother!" exclaims Robb as he takes in his brother's appearance.
Jon has always been slightly paler than any of the other Starks, it is one of the few features that many of Winterfell's workers claim that his mother imparted onto him. Looking at him now however, Robb can see that his brother is not well; for his skin is even paler than usual, his hair, usually well groomed and free flowing, is now a matted mess, and his eyes are surrounded by dark circles. Robb knows that Jon has not been sleeping well, nightmares are the reason according to Maester Luwin, but this is worse than Robb thought.
Before Robb can make his concern known, Jon speaks first. "Maester Luwin is wrong." Jon tells him.
"What I dream of are not nightmares, but the future." he says, causing Robb to frown.
"Magic doesn't exist anymore, Jon." Robb says.
"Aye? Then explain this." Jon replies as his left eye becomes white. For a second nothing happens and a jape springs to Robb's mind at his brother's expense for being so dramatic and making a fool of himself. Then the godswood comes alive as dozens of ravens call out his name.
"Robb." they say together, and Robb feels his heartbeat stutter in his chest. For a moment he is the poor victim in Old Nan's tales who is seconds away from suffering a tragic fate; yet as quickly as the moment arrives, it passes as he lays eyes on his brother's face.
"You complete ass!" screams Robb with a frown as he pushes his brother off the root he sits upon, a hearty laugh escaping his brother despite tumbling through the snow and almost hitting his head on a root.
"You should have seen your face." says Jon in between laughs, and Robb cannot help but join him for he cannot find it within him to remain cross in the face of his brother's joy, especially since this is the first time that Jon has laughed since being rescued from those deserters.
Robb does not know how long they laughed, only that once they are finished the distance that appeared between Jon and him since his abduction has been diminished. The tension from earlier however has grown manifold now that Robb knows that magic is not as gone as Maester Luwin claims it to be.
"Brother, what I am about to tell you cannot be told to anyone else. Not father, not your mother, not Maester Luwin. No one. You can never tell it to anyone." Jon tells him with a frown.
"You have my word. Whatever you divulge to me tonight will not be repeated to anyone else." swears Robb.
"I knew I could trust you." Jon says with a smile that quickly disappears yet causes Robb's heart to swell despite its briefness.
"During my first night as a prisoner in those deserters' custody, I dreamt of a Three-Eyed Crow." Jon begins, and Robb feels his heart constrict in his chest. "It beckoned me to follow it as it flew over Westeros. It promised me power to escape my captors. Naturally I did not follow it for I could not fly, and so I fell. Yet before I could die from my fall I was awakened and I did not give the dream more thought."
"The second night I dreamt of the Crow once more, but this time it did not merely prompt me to fly, but rather it pecked at my forehead as it told me to open my third eye and follow it in flight. Once again I fell and was awakened before I could die. However, this time when I awoke, there was a thin stream of blood flowing from my forehead where the crow pecked at. It was then I knew that it was no mere dream, or at least that is what I hoped. And so that day an idea formed in my mind."
"The third night we made camp in a godswood, a chance decision that I am near certain did not happen by chance at all, especially since the wildlings insisted that we all slept before the heart tree. That night, as they slept, I made my decision.
I do not know what madness overtook me that night, perhaps it was desperation, perhaps it was fear, or even the blinding rage that I felt at the thought of them killing you, but that night I did something dangerous.
Whenever we camped at night the leader of the deserters would lay close to me so as to prevent my escape. In my madness I bit my tongue hard enough to bleed, and let my mouth fill with blood; then I turned towards the leader and with no care for the consequences of my actions I sunk my teeth into his neck and ripped out his throat, the bastard could not even make a sound as he bled out.
With his blood spilling onto the roots of the heart tree and my mouth filled with both of our blood I faced the heart tree and in the Old Tongue I spoke 'My left eye shall never see again, and so my third eye awakens.'"
For a moment there is silence in the godswood as Robb processes Jon's words. He does not care that Jon slaughtered the leader of the deserters with his teeth like an animal. Nor does he care that he used the man as a sacrifice. Rather, his mind remembers the various stories Jon would tell him when they still shared a room. They were not tales of knights he had ever heard of, nor heroes in the sense that did good deeds. They are not even tales of gods they are familiar with. Rather, they are tales of foreign gods that no one has ever heard of, and of heroes who accomplished astonishing feats in realms and kingdoms that none have ever heard of.
One of those gods Robb members is Odin, a warrior god-king who sacrificed an eye for knowledge.
"Were you inspired by your tales of Odin?" Robb cannot help but ask with a frown. It was a dangerous thing for Jon to do. Dangerous bordering on madness. At best the ritual does not work, and at worst he offends the Old Gods by invoking the ritual of a foreign god.
"Not only Odin." Jon tells him. "Remember that scroll we found that spoke of King's Blood?"
Robb remembers. In the oldest part of Winterfell's library, there is a scroll that speaks of the power of King's Blood. Within it states that rituals and spells fueled by the blood of a king or someone of that bloodline will be more successful than otherwise. The older the lineage and its years of ruling the more powerful.
"Jon, House Stark has not been kings in nearly three hundred years." Robb tells him.
"What is three hundred years as lords compared to eight thousand years as king?" Jon replies. "Besides, in those three hundred years every lord has ruled as king in all but name. Should your father declare himself king now, none in the North would contest that."
Robb wishes that he could argue but Jon is right, what is three hundred years as lords compared to eight thousand years as Kings.
"What happened then?" Robb asks him, finding that he cares more for Jon's tale than the semantics of House Stark's rule over the North.
"I saw." Jon tells him with an awe filled voice. "I saw the world. I saw the past, the present, and many possible futures. Yet I did not only see this world. No, I saw worlds where the rebellion failed and the Targaryens ruled still, worlds where House Stark conquered the entire continent, and worlds where we did not grow together. I saw, I saw, I saw, and it was too much. I nearly went mad."
…
…
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Westeros, The North
298 AC
That night changed everything for Robb. He could no longer be the carefree heir of House Stark going about his life as if all would always be well, the knowledge of what is to come would not let him. And so, he and his brother began to prepare. From occupying the Broken Tower and repurposing it to become The Rangers' command center, to convincing his father to give him allowances to pursue his own ventures, and even secretive operations such as the creation of the Warriors of Winter, Robb and Jon have done as much as they can in preparation for what is to come. And now as he stands along with his family in preparation for the King's arrival he hopes that it will be enough.
The sound of horses draws Robb away from his thoughts and back to the present.
He must have been spending a longer time in his mind than he thought for when he had first began to reminisce the King's party had still been a distance from arriving, yet now they pour through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whip back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.
Robb knows none of them, but he can hazard who is who based on his brother's descriptions. There comes Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terribly burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them is surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.
Yet the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, seems almost a stranger compared to the great warrior who ended a nearly three hundred year old dynasty.
The man vaults off the back of his warhorse with a roar, and crushes Robb's father in a bone-crunching hug. "Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king says as he looks him over top to bottom, and laughs. "You have not changed at all."
A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covers his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing can hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.
The King is a disappointment, Robb decides. He knew of course. Jon has told him many a times that the King is nothing like the songs nor like how their father believes him to be. However, to see it is another matter compared to being told.
Soon the others are dismounting as well, and grooms are coming forward for their mounts. Robert's queen, Cersei Lannister, enters on foot with her younger children. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, is too wide to pass through the castle gate.
His father kneels in the snow to kiss the queen's ring, while Robert embraces his mother like a long-lost sister. Then the children had been brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides and Robb plays his part as heir of their closest ally as is expected of him despite wishing to do nothing more than skewer the pounce of a crown prince through with his sword.
No sooner are those formalities of greeting completed than the king says to his host, "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects."
And it is there that Robb sees it, his father's love for the whoremongering, war loving, incompetent waste that is their king. For remembering his aunt still after all these years despite her having no interest in the man. Robb cannot understand it. Should Sansa express disdain or even a simple lack of interest for her betrothed, Robb would sooner kill the man than support the match regardless of his relationship with that man.
But Eddard Stark is not Robb. No, Eddard Stark is a man bound by duty and blinded by love. So he calls for a lantern, no other words are needed. The queen begins to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first, she says. The dead would wait, she says. But that is all she says; Robert looks at her, and her twin brother Jaime takes her quietly by the arm, and she says no more.
Before Robb himself can be entwined with guiding the royal part, Larence Snow approaches.
"The Lord Commander wishes to see you at the Tower. It is of great importance." he whispers to Robb.
From the corner of his eyes Robb can see his mother's glare but he pays her no mind beyond an apologetic smile before slipping away unseen by everyone else; his sibling too focused on the royal party while the Queen and her twin are too engrossed in each other to pay him any notice.
"Did he say what the matter is?" Robb asks once they are far enough to not be overheard.
"Best not to be spoken of in public." Larence replies and they continue in silence.
Once they arrive Robb nods to the two Rangers standing guard as he enters the tower and makes his way up. He finds his brother at the top most room, slowly pacing about with a letter in hand. Tied to a chair by the side is a man dressed in the same manner as Winterfell's staff yet Robb has never seen him before.
"Oh, thank the gods you are here m'lord. The bastard has gone mad!" exclaims the man.
Robb does not spare the man another glance as his brother hands him the letter while Larence gags the man.
It does not take Robb long to read it and when he finishes he cannot help but express his disdain. "How subtle."
The letter is exactly what they expected. An admonishment of the Lannisters, and a cry for help from one younger sister drowning in fear to her elder sister. His mother would never be able to ignore such a letter and his father would do anything in power to assuage his mother's worries. No wonder his father accepted the post of Hand so readily. Still, it does not explain why his father accepted the betrothal so readily.
What a farce, even as he ponders the question Robb finds himself answering it.
"How long did it take you to decipher it?" he cannot help but ask as he turns to his brother.
"Longer than I care to admit." Jon replies, causing Robb to chuckle. "Without the letter your mother will find it difficult to sway your Lord Father to accept."
"I hope that is not the extent of your scheme to prevent father from going South." comments Robb.
"Of course not." Jon answers. "That is merely to set the stage. Tomorrow is when the true plan unravels. Though I do wonder, how do you feel about our crown prince?" he asks.
"I do not like the look in his eyes." Robb answers honestly. The boy has the gleam of a madman and Robb would sooner die before he allows his sister to wed him.
"So you see it too. Good." Jon tells him as he begins to lay out his scheme. And as Robb listens he cannot help but be reminded of how terrifying his brother is. The plan is simple in execution yet dangerous in potential outcomes. Wars have been waged for less than what is to happen on the morrow should all go according to their designs.
Once that is finished they turn their attention to the man tied to the chair.
"What is your name?" Robb asks the man as Larence ungags him.
"S-S-Sithric." stutters the man, a northman then. Despite having the look and the accent Robb was not fully sure. Accents can be faked and the north does not hold a monopoly on pale skin and dark hair. The name marks him almost certainly as a northman, and that saves the man's life.
"Sithric, you say?" Robb says, earning a frantic nod from the now named Sithric. "I have questions and you may hold the answers to them, are you willing to cooperate?"
"Of course. A-anything for you m'lord" Sithric says, causing Larence to scoff.
Robb ignores his brother's second in command and proceeds to have an enlightening conversation with Sithric.
AN: Fuck this chapter. Everytime I sat down to write something, something happened to delay it. A month and a half of falling sick, family emergencies, and snowstorms have made this chapter hell to write. Even now, while I'm writing this author's not, I'm doing it with an injured wrist. So yea, fuck this chapter.
I've seen some people question the mc's metaknowledge so I'll clear it up here. The mc, Jon or Aerion(doesn't really matter yet), does not remember the story of GOT or ASOIAF. All of his future knowledge comes from greensight, which allows him to see possible futures(so pretty different from canon greensight), some of the past and the present, and dragon dreams which we all know is not very precise when it comes to details.
He does however remember other works of fiction, and some of his life pre-reincarnation.
Anyway, now that that's out of my system, here's the latest chapter. As usual, tell me what you guys think. I love the discussions surrounding the characters so far, hopefully this chapter serves to fuel them more.