Chapter 18 3 страница

" Careful now, " the man holding the dagger to his throat smiled. " It'd be a shame to stain those pretty chains of yours with blood. "

" Marwyn! " Ebrose cried out, doing all he could to try and put some distance between himself and the blade at his throat. Or at least doing all he could not to give the one holding said dagger a reason to push it closer. " What is the meaning of this!? "

Instead of answering though, Marwyn merely kept his hands behind his back and started a slow walk around the room as several of Marwyn's acolytes filed into the room behind the armed men that he now recognized as a bunch of sellswords. His fear of what was happening spiked further as Marwyn came to a seemingly random stop before one of the many bookshelves in the room.

" I pull here, right? " Marwyn asked, pointing towards a copper bust that was on one of the shelves.

'No, ' Ebrose panicked. 'He – He can't know about that! '

But to his ever-increasing horror, Marwyn, with an almost dramatic slowness, pulled the copper bust down. A loud click sounded out from behind the shelf as the locking mechanism gave away and the shelf began to move forward of its own accord. With the hidden room now revealed for all to see, Marwyn made his way past the bookshelf and into the now open room.

" Sellsword, " Ebrose swallowed, " I –"

" Bronn. "

" What? " Ebrose blinked.

" My name is Bronn, not 'sellsword', " the now identified sellsword said, pressing his dagger just the slightest bit harder against the thin skin of his neck.

" Bronn, " Ebrose said, swallowing while trying not to cut himself on the daggers edge against his throat, " I don't know what Marwyn told you or what he's paying you, but we will double it. "

The sellsword cocked his head to the side as if he were considering the offer, which gave Ebrose a slight bit of hope. But as quick as the hope came, it went as the sellsword shook his head. " Eh, tempting offer. But the other old man there made a much better offer for my services beyond just coin. Mostly the fact that I wouldn't piss off a few certain individuals and might actually gain their favor. "

Frowning, Ebrose went to ask just what the sellsword was talking about. But the question never came out as Marwyn started laughing from within the Order's vault. " I am not sure if it is just arrogance or stupidity that led you lot to keep a record of every misdeed you've ever performed! " Marwyn chuckled, pulling a book down from one of the shelves within the room. " Gods, you've even kept them not only in chronological order, but you've also kept them separated out by region. Well, this will make our work much easier. Alleras, get our acolytes to start sorting these out. Start with the acts pertaining to the North and House Hightower first as we will need those sooner rather than later. Bronn, take these ones down to the quarantine chambers in the bowels of the Citadel. "

" Wait! " Ebrose shouted as the dagger left his throat and the sellsword roughly grabbed his arm. " Tell us what this is about, Marwyn! You owe us that much! "

The look in Marwyn's eyes was downright murderous as the mage of the Citadel approached him. " You really don't know? Well, let me spell it out for you then. The wolves know, Ebrose. As does the sorcerer. And they are coming. "

Ebrose could feel the blood draining from his face as his heart raced in his chest. 'No…It isn't possible! They – They couldn't know! ' " I – I don't know what you are –"

" Cut the horse shit, Ebrose, " Marwyn growled angrily. " You and your little Order of the Guiding Hand here, yes I know all about you lot, have pretty much guaranteed the destruction of the Maester Order. I'm merely doing what I can to try and save as many as I can before the wolves and the sorcerer arrive here in Oldtown thirsty for the blood of us Maesters. Get them out of my sight and ensure no accidents can befall them while they are in the quarantine cells. The last thing we want is for our offerings to appease the wolves to be dead well before they arrive. "

Ebrose could hear pleading coming from his fellow Archmaesters, but he couldn't form the words to plead for his life. Even as the sellsword roughly pulled him from the room while Marwyn and his acolytes began rummaging through the Order's achievements. All he could think about was what horrible fate awaited him if Marwyn truly was speaking the truth.

He was floating. Where he was or how he'd gotten to here he didn't know. But he felt weightless. Like he was floating in the hot springs of the godswood in Winterfell. But as he reveled in the sereneness around him, he felt a pull, a tug at his naval that sent him spiraling in a direction though he did not know where. But as soon as it came, it stopped. And he found himself in a room so dark that he could not discern anything around him.

" Who – Who are you? "

Jumping at the voice, Jon spun, his hand dropping to his waist ready to grab his lightsaber to combat whatever threat was before him – and found himself staring into a pair of striking violet eyes on a beautiful face framed by silver-gold hair. While her name was unknown to him, Jon knew who she was. It was the young woman he'd run into in Volantis nearly six moons ago. And the same girl he'd been having these strange dreams or visions about ever since they departed from Valyria. As for herself, the young woman immediately back peddled away from him before seeming to trip over something that Jon couldn't see and fall onto her back, her violet eyes staring up at him in fear as her breathing quickened.

" I'm – I'm sorry, " Jon stammered, forcing himself to relax and trying to make himself appear nonthreatening as he held his hands out to his sides, well away from his waist. " I – I didn't mean to scare you. I just…I wasn't expecting to actually, well…this I guess. "

The young girl swallowed and slowly got to her feet, all the while making sure to keep a distance from him. A distance that Jon did nothing to change as he held his ground to ease her concerns. " Who – Who are you? " she asked, her violet eyes seeming to flicker around the darkened room as if looking for something. " How – How did you enter my room? "

Blinking, Jon looked around the room and saw only darkness. " Um, I'm not really sure, " he answered awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. The last memory he had was falling asleep in his cabin onboard a ship heading south. " I – I don't think I'm actually here. Well, I am but – but not in the way you are thinking or – I doubt this is making any sense, is it? "

The girl shook her head. " Um, no. It doesn't. How can you not be here, when you are clearly in my room? "

Still not sure just how to answer her, Jon thought of something. " If you're comfortable my lady, I think I might be able to show you what I mean. Though it might just raise more questions rather than answers. " He said, waiting for her sharp nod before holding out his hand. " Touch my hand. "

The girl looked at him like he'd grown a second head, but despite her mistrust, she slowly inched towards him with her arm outstretched. Once they were close enough, she tapped her fingers down upon his hand, and her eyes widened as instead of hitting flesh, they passed right through.

" How? " she breathed, taking a single step closer to him as she repeatedly tried to touch his hand, only to have her own hand pass through where his hand should be. " How is this…? How can this be? "

" The Force, or magic I guess you could say. But honestly, I don't really know. I think my Master might know what's going on, but even he didn't seem all that sure, " Jon answered as he allowed the girl to continue trying to poke his hand and arm.

" Your Master? " She said, stopping her prodding and looking up at him sharply, a sudden fear and sadness entering her violet eyes. " Are you a – a slave? "

" What? " Jon blinked, her question catching him off guard. " A slave? No, gods no. Why would you – oh. The Master thing. Well, he isn't my Master like you're thinking. He's more like my…mentor or instructor I guess you could say. "

" Oh, " the girl nodded in understanding before narrowing her eyes as she looked, truly looked, at him. " I've – I've seen you before. I've seen your face and – and I swear I know you…"

At this, Jon coughed uncomfortably. " We've never been introduced, my lady, but we have met. Or rather, ran into one another literally. In Volantis. "

The girl's brow furrowed in thought before her eyes widened in recognition. " You…You're that boy I ran into on the street in Volantis! "

" Aye, that's me, " Jon smiled, glad that she at least remembered him. " My name is…Jon…my lady. "

He'd been tempted to tell her his true name, though just why that was he didn't know. But for now, it was far safer to live as Jon Snow than it was as Jaehaerys Targaryen. He'd also half expect her to pull back at his bastard name. Or perhaps she wouldn't know the Westeros names for bastards or perhaps she just wouldn't care. Either way, just naming himself as 'Jon' would be a good place to start.

" I'm…Dany. "

He waited for her to continue, but it appeared that she was content to simply leave it at that. 'Not that I have much room to complain. I didn't give her my real name or even the full name Lord Stark gave me to hide me as a babe. ' " It's a pleasure to finally meet you correctly, my lady Dany. " Jon greeted her, bowing slightly at the waist.

" It's nice to meet you as well, Jon, " Dany smiled back at him, a radiant smile that seemed to light up the darkness around them. " Um, I don't suppose you could tell me just how this is happening? Or rather what your…Master thinks this might be? "

" I don't know to be honest, " Jon sighed, wishing that he had an answer for her. " I told my Master about, well, seeing you before. And he said he could think of a few things it could be but couldn't say for certain at the time. He…He wanted me to try and talk to you should we meet again like this, said it would help him figure out what was going on. I think I can safely say that we can talk to one another now. "

" Yes, I believe it is safe to say that we can talk to one another, " Dany chuckled, raising the back of her hand to her mouth to cover her amusement. " If you don't mind my asking, just who is this Master of yours? "

" Not at all, " Jon replied, liking the way she smiled and wanting to see more of it. " My Master is – ah! What the–?! "

The darkness and Dany swirled in a wash of colors and disappeared as Jon felt something rough and wet attack his face while something poked him in the shoulder. Shaking his head, Jon found himself once more in the cabin he shared with Robb, Theon, and Sam. The wetness was easily identifiable as Ghost, who was laying on his chest and in the process of cleaning his face with long strokes of his tongue. " Gah, Ghost, get off me boy! I'm awake! "

Pushing Ghost off him, Jon rolled onto his side and found the one who'd been poking him. " Um, sorry about that, Jon, " Sam apologized nervously. " But, you…you were muttering in your sleep and wouldn't wake when I tried to wake you. So, I started poking you and –"

" It's fine, Sam, " Jon sighed, it was a lie of course, but there was no reason to make Sam any more uneasy than he already was. And he also knew that Sam wouldn't have bothered trying to wake him unless something had happened, and he was told to come and get him. " What's going on? "

" Wh – oh! Right, why I woke you, sorry about that, " Sam replied, scratching at the back of his head. " Well, thing is we've reached the Whispering Sound and are turning northwards towards the Citadel. Lord Stark and Lord Nox told me to come and wake you because we should be arriving within a few hours or so. "

" The Whispering Sound? " Jon questioned, throwing off the thin blanket he'd been using and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed before rubbing at his eyes as he tried to acclimate being awake. " Right, the bay that leads up directly to Oldtown and the Citadel. "

" That's right, " Sam nodded before looking down at Jon and quickly turning his back. " Um, right, I'll ah, leave you to get ready then. "

Watching Sam bolt out of the room, Jon was left wondering why his friend had made such a hasty retreat until he looked down and saw the reason why. He was in nothing more than his small clothes. 'Damn heat, ' he cursed, getting up out of his bed and scrounging around the small cabin looking for his pants and a light shirt to wear. 'At least I'm somewhat used to it though. Poor Robb, this is his first time out of the North and he is not taking to the heat all that well at all. I swear he has to change his shirt twice to three times a day just from the sweat. Too bad we're not heading to Dorne on this trip. I'd love to see how my brother handles that heat. '

The thought of heading to Dorne once more, even if it was just a passing thought, was enough to conjure a face in Jon's sight. An olive-skinned face with dark eyes and frame with dark curling hair. 'Damn it! ' Jon cursed, feeling his body reacting to just the mere thought of the Princess of Dorne. 'Not fucking now! Think…snow. No, cold water. Yes, that's it, nothing but cold water. Cold water that would prickle her skin and raise her – shit! Not helping! '

Shaking his head, Jon sat down on his bed and closed his eyes and tried to enter a light meditation as he tried desperately to banish the rather impure thoughts that were racing through his mind about the Princess. Thoughts that she had certainly encouraged with her actions and words during his brief stay at Sunspear. 'Shit, this isn't working either, ' Jon cursed, realizing he was losing the battle of control. 'I need to get out of here. Find something to do to distract me and fast. '

Getting up, Jon quickly made his way out of the small cabin, doing what he could to arrange himself so that it wouldn't be obvious he was having a…slight problem. Emerging onto the ship's main deck, Jon took a moment to lean his head back and take in the sun before giving himself a shake and looking around the deck. Truth be told, there wasn't much to do at sea for the most part. Well, there was, but only really for the sailors and not those who were just along for the ride. Robb was standing with their father near the bow of the ship having what seemed like a deep conversation that the sailors were obviously trying to stay clear of to give the two some privacy. Theon was standing at the helm of the ship, one hand resting on the wheel and a more than pleased expression on his face. While Jon might not always get along with the ward from the Iron Islands, though lately their relationship had improved, there was no denying that Theon was indeed at home on the sea and an impressive sailor in his own right.

Walking over to the port side railing, Jon watched as the land of the Reach passed them by as they grew closer to the large mouth of the Honeywine river that would take them inland towards Oldtown and the Citadel. Soon enough, they would be arriving at the Citadel. And the North would be reminding once again of what happens when the wolves are given reason to come south.

High above the busting streets of Oldtown within the confines of the Hightower Leyton Hightower; Lord of the Hightower, the Old Man of Oldtown, Lord of the Port, Defender of the Citadel and Beacon of the South stared southwards down the Whispering Sound while behind him his eldest daughter Malora poured over tome after tome searching for any scrap of information the two could find about the arcane arts. To many of his peers amongst the nobility, his fascination with the arcane was something to scoff at or chuckle uncomfortably. To the faith, his fascination was bordering on heresy according to the Seven. But he did not care for ever changing whims of his peers or the fear mongering of the more devote amongst the faiths ranks. He was an old man, a very old man according to many. He had more children than most and grandchildren. Soon he would even have great-grandchildren. He'd long since past the time where he cared to play the great game. Now he only cared about that which interested him. A fact which he found solace in considering the most recent topic of discussion across Westeros.

The news from the North had completely blindsided almost everyone in Westeros. It wasn't the fact that someone had dared to stage a coup to replace a great house. Nor was it the fact that the perpetrators had broken guest rights, though that did play a small part. No. What truly surprised everyone was that someone would dare to try and move against House Stark during what could be considered the height of their power. The current Lord Stark was a brother in all but blood to the King of Westeros and was a foster son to the current Hand of the King. And if that wasn't influence enough, the North had started prospering under his reign unlike ever before. And, most notably, Stark had the only recognized true magician in all of Westeros sworn to his banner. Why anyone, let alone one of Stark's own bannermen, would try and move against the Starks was a mystery that honestly baffled everyone.

The easiest answer was simply for power. But it had to be more than that. The rivalry between the ancient Kings of Winter and the Red Kings was perhaps the oldest and bloodiest rivalry in all of Westeros. But descendants of the Red Kings had been idle for centuries. And there would've been plenty of times for them to act. The latest of which would've been during the Rebellion against the Targaryens. Had the Boltons switched sides and brought the North back to the dragons, they would've been immediately awarded with Wardenship of the North. But they had not. Which again raised the question: why act now? What was there to gain from this? And why did they think that they're plan would work? Even if they had succeeded in ending the Stark line and the Sorcerer, King Robert would've been out for blood. And he wouldn't have stopped until everyone responsible for ending the wolves was dead.

'I suppose their motivations don't really matter now, ' Leyton thought, fiddling with his short cut beard. 'The Bolton's and their allies are dead, exiled, or on their way to the Wall. And the only thing of true note that they managed to accomplish was to kill the current Lady Stark and one of Stark's pups along with a few other lords and ladies. Though, that isn't necessarily true. They did manage to do one other thing, though I doubt it was their intention. And that was to reaffirm Lord Stark's and Lord Nox's reputations throughout the land. '

While it was true that both men had suffered loss during the attempted coup, both had come out at the end with reputations that would make even Tywin Lannister envious. Stark was now seen as not only one of, if not the, most honorable men in all of Westeros. But he now had a reputation for doing what needed to be done even if it got his hands bloodied. The way that he executed the Lords and even a Lady… It wasn't the most gruesome or inventive execution he'd ever heard of. But it was still quite the statement. And Lord Nox…By the Seven. If the rumors about what and how he executed, or rather imprisoned, Lyn Corbray were true then… Well…he wasn't even quite sure just what to think then. Only that the Sorcerer was holding back on them all and they had yet to truly see just what the man could do. Though considering the word was that Lyn Corbray had run the newly made Lady Nox through with his sword and ended up killing the babe in her womb, Leyton felt that the punishment fit the crime. If anyone were to harm any of his children…he would make sure that their end was a memorable one.

And outside of the tale traveling through simple word of mouth wasn't enough, apparently the bards across the land were all scrambling to try and create the next 'Rains of Castamere'. 'I doubt those fools could've imagined a larger failure on their part, ' he thought, thinking of the Lords and Ladies that tried to revolt against the Starks. 'They not only failed to end the line of the wolves and the sorcerer. And in the end, they only made the Starks and the Sorcerer seem that much more impressive. '

For not the first time, he truly cursed his daughter and her actions that led to him losing his only connection to the North. When he'd first heard of the Sorcerer after the Greyjoy Rebellion, he, like every other noble in the land, immediately started to try and find a way to get a set of eyes and ears in the North to learn everything they could about the man. And as if it were a gift from the Seven, an opportunity was presented at the very next tourney hosted by the King after the failed rebellion when Jorah Mormont managed to win the joust and asked for his daughter's hand in marriage.

Part of him knew that the marriage would lead to disaster. His daughter was, to put it bluntly, a spoiled child who had never truly faced any hardships. And while the Mormonts were a family of note across Westeros, they were also recognized as perhaps one of the poorest of the nobility in the realm who were consistently fighting off raid after raid of pirates and wildlings. But in the end, he'd been convinced to go along with the marriage. Jorah had proven himself on the field of battle and was an epitome of curtesy every time they spoke. His daughter was at least infatuated with the man from the North, so there would be no problems there. While there was a fair bit of distance between Winterfell and Bear Island, the Mormonts were considered one of Stark's principle bannermen. He also would get his set of eyes and ears in the North perhaps before anyone else. So, with no small amount of trepidation, he gave his blessing.

Unfortunately, it all fell through rather quickly. His daughter who'd grown up in the comforts of Oldtown was nowhere near prepared for the harsh reality that was Northern life. Within a few moons of their marriage, she was writing home constantly complaining about one thing after another. He tried to focus her, turn her into a proper lady, but his attempts failed. Within a few years, the union between his daughter and Jorah had gone sour as the Lord of Bear Island spent nearly every coin his House had trying to keep his wife happy. And then the day inevitably came when he could not provide her with what she wanted, and he had to resort to selling poachers into slavery to make some coin to please her. Of course, Stark found out nearly immediately and called upon Jorah to answer for his crimes. But instead of manning up, the Lord of Bear Island fled Westeros with Leyton's daughter and the two had not been seen or heard of for moons.

Members of his family blamed the North for forcing Lynesse to flee Westeros in disgrace. And many in the North blamed House Hightower for the dishonoring and bankrupting of House Mormont through his daughter's actions. And while there was validity to both arguments, the truth of the matter laid in the middle. Both his daughter and the foolish Jorah were at fault. And now he was stuck with trying to figure out a way to salvage relations with the North. If for no other reason than to once again try and gain access to the Northern Sorcerer.

" My lord, " a servant called out as a knock sounded on his door. " You have a message from Archmaester Marwyn of the Citadel, my lord. "

" Enter, " Leyton said, not bothering to turn around as the servant quickly entered and gave him the message before scurrying back out of the room.

Unfurling the message, Leyton carefully read over the words of perhaps the one other man in this city that shared the same passion for the arcane as he did. 'My Lord, I regret to inform you of a grave injustice committed by a group of my fellow Archmaesters. A plot has been hatched, one that you no doubt have heard about. And I am ashamed to admit it, it has come to my attention that the true minds behind the plot reside here in the Citadel. A fact which is known to those who have been wronged. And they are coming to see that justice is meted out. I implore you, my Lord, to come to the docks with all haste and meet with those who are coming to seek justice. While I know that this will end in bloodshed, my lord, my hope is that with your presence we will be able to minimize the life that will be lost to only those who truly deserve it. Your faithful servant, Archmaester Marwyn. '

'What does he mean by this? ' Leyton thought, lowering the letter as his gaze shifted towards the Citadel. 'A plot has been hatched by the Citadel? And it is one I know of? ' As much as he enjoyed the company of the Archmaester, there were times when he wished the man would cease his cryptic tongue and talk plainly.

" Father? " Malora asked, nearly making him start as he'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even heard her approaching until she'd laid a hand on his shoulder. " What did the Archmaester say to put you in such a state, father? "

" Just his usual cryptic tongue, daughter, " Leyton sighed, handing over the letter to his daughter and letting her read it. " You understand his mind better than I, daughter. What do you make of this? "

Taking the letter, Malora turned it around twice before reading it over. " It seems obvious, father, " his daughter said, handing the letter back. " The Maesters wronged someone greatly, and they are coming to take revenge. And Archmaester Marwyn is asking for your help in not stopping the revenge from taking place, but rather in preventing unneeded bloodshed. "

" That much is obvious, " Leyton sighed, taking the short missive back and reading it over once more, trying to see if he missed anything. " But the question is: who is coming? "

His daughter's head cocked slightly to the side as she stared past him out towards the city scape. " Perhaps them? "

Following her line of sight, Leyton squinted towards the south. Far south of the city, still little more than dots on the horizon, were several ships traveling up the Whispering Sound towards the city. Picking up a nearby Myrish Eye Glass, a prized possession of his though now he began to doubt just how 'prized' it truly was with the North making similar objects, Leyton brought the cylinder up to his eye and tried to make out the ships on the horizon. They were still far away, perhaps a quarter of a day at most. But with the eye glass he could just barely make out the blurry colors flying atop the mast of the ships. " A grey wolf on a field of white, " Leyton mumbled lowering the eye glass, " House Stark. But why–? "

As soon as the question came, so too did an answer. A terrible answer that he hoped beyond hope was wrong. 'A plot has been hatched, one that you no doubt have heard about. And I am ashamed to admit it, it has come to my attention that the true minds behind the plot reside here in the Citadel. A fact which is known to those who have been wronged. Those were Marwyn's exact words. Could he…no…It's impossible. The Maesters would not be that…well… Shit. '

" Guards! " Leyton shouted, prompting the two guards of House Hightower that were constantly outside the room to rush in. " I'm descending from the Hightower and heading to the port. Get an honor guard assembled to meet me at the base of the tower immediately! "

The two men didn't hesitate before slamming their fists to their chest and running back out of the room to see his orders done.

" Father, " Malora called out tentatively as Leyton began rushing about the room.

" Not now, daughter, " Leyton snapped at his eldest daughter as he got himself ready to head to the port. " The wolves only come south when they've been given reason to do so. And it never bodes well for the South whenever they do. And now, if Marwyn is indeed correct, then the Maesters might as well have just given the Starks the justification they need to make the entirety of the Order of the Maesters just a little memory. And if Stark brought the sorcerer with him…then I fear there is little we can do to stop them. "

Standing on the bow of the ship, Nox let his senses flow freely before him as the three northern vessels made their way up the Honeywine towards perhaps one of the oldest and largest cities in all of Westeros. 'Oldtown, ' Nox thought with a small amount of mirth. 'These primitives surely are inventive in their nomenclature. One of the oldest, largest cities in Westeros, perhaps the world. Let's call it 'Oldtown'. '

Name aside however, Nox could admit that the city itself was indeed impressive for a primitive world such as this. Oldtown was a city divided by the Honeywine, yet at the same time it managed to seemingly remain one city. The banks of the Honeywine were lined with docks and buildings with hundreds of people milling about their daily lives. And scattered within the river itself were dozens of small isles that had also been turned into one building or another. There was even one such isle that was only large enough to house a single structure, and low and behold, someone had decided to build what he sensed was an inn of sorts. But what truly surprised him was the smell. There was very little stench that he would've expected in such a large city given this world's current age. In fact, the air smelled almost…flowery. No doubt either the artisans and flower merchants of the city were obscenely numerous, or whoever oversaw the cisterns and sewers took their job extremely seriously.

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