FicWad

TRYSTANE

As I was leaving, the villagers were burning down their little Sept, with Gregor Clegane’s body still inside. I had the head in a bag. I would need to find some salt to preserve it so that it would be recognizable when I got back to Dorn and showed it to my family. But I was definitely not taking the short way, by ship. I would be returning by land no mater how long it took. I’m in no hurry. Perhaps I’ll stop by King’s Landing on the way.


TORMUND

It had taken a while for us to get here. The nights were the worse, even gagged, the wights made constant noises that made it difficult to sleep. But now we were stepping out of the forrest, in sight of The Wall, and the gate to the tunnel that went under the wall at Castle Black. It was just Ygrette, Wun-Wun and I. (Unless you counted the bundle of chained up wights on the giant’s back) I waved a parley flag on a stick, hoping the Crows would be willing to parley. On top of the wall I could hear a horn blast two notes. After a few minutes, the gate to the tunnel opened and a man on a horse rode out. We walked forward in an attempt to meet him half-way. As he drew closer, I could see that although he was dressed all in black like any other Crow, he was obviously some high ranked kneeler, a High Lord or something. If it wasn’t clear from the way he carried himself, the fancy, gold and jewel encrusted scabbard on his sword would be proof enough.

“What do you want?” asked the yellow-bearded Crow-knight.

“We want,” I said. “To be on the other side of your Wall.”

“And whom am I talking to?” asked the Crow.

“Tormund Bear’s Bane. This is Ygrette and Wun-Wun-Weg-Wun” I proclaimed. “And who are you kneeler?”

“Ser Jamie Lannister, Ranger of the the Night’s Watch. But that doesn’t matter. We’re not letting the three of you in.”

“Not just us, but all the freefolk.” I explained.

“And why would we do that?” asked Jamie.

“The Others have returned,” I told him. “The Dead walk again.”

“Oh that,” scoffed Jamie. “It’s just a case of madness. We had a couple of our men so afflicted. They went mad and pretended to be dead. Their madness made them unable to feel pain so they were hard to fight. But they died when we burned them.”

“It’s not madness you idiot!” I snarled. “They’re walking dead men!”

“You can’t prove that,” accused Jamie.

“Show him.” I commanded.

Wun-Wun turned around so the Crow could see the chained up Wights in a net on his back. Except of Orys, all of them were badly decomposed enough to make it clear that they were, in fact, dead. They writhed and wriggled trying to get free. I could see the horrific realization in his eyes at the sight.

“This is our proof,” I proclaimed. “Unless every single one of us gets on the other side our your Wall, we are all going to be recruited into the Army of the Dead.”

“The others need to see this,” admitted Jamie. “Wait here.”

He rode back to his tunnel under The Wall. We had to cool our heels for 1/12 of a day before Ser Jamie the Crow came back out to us.

“I’m sorry,” said Jamie. “The acting Lord Commander doesn’t believe me. He won’t let you through and won’t let any of the rest of us come see for themselves. Again, I’m sorry. But Ser Alister said to tell you: “We don’t want your kind around here” Sorry”

“FUCK!” exclaimed Ygrette, as we watched the Crow ride off on his horse.

Wun-Wun huffed in annoyance.

“You’re right,” I agreed. “We can’t climb The Wall with them. Guess we’ll just have to go around it.”

“Which way around?” asked Ygrette.

I looked both ways, before deciding: “East!”


EDRIC

When I regrew the Weirwood Tree, Ser Jon screamed and collapsed into unconsciousness. His scream was the loudest he could manage, the kind that people made from the Cruciatus Curse. And just my luck, when the guards heard that scream they came running. In this case, the guards in question were Reachlander soldiers he had been stationed just outside to guard their liege lord’s daughter.

“My Lady are you in danger?” asked a tall man with an apple painted on his breastplate.

“No, no, I’m fine,” assured Lady Margaery. “Ser Jon, however, needs a Maester.”

“By the Seven!” exclaimed another Guard, this one with a Tulip painted on his Breastplate. He was openly gaping at the sight of the full grown Weirwood tree that hadn’t been there before.

I could feel my self tensing up as I prepared for battle. I was caught at the scene when the magic Tree had re-grown. Who knew if I would get blamed for this. I knew I could simply vanish, turn invisible or apparate away. But that would mean leaving Margaery and Bran to suffer whatever fate befell magi in this world. So I stood on guard, with my wand hidden but ready. The direwolves, sensing the tension has stopped playing and were padding over to us. They stopped on either side of Bran and growled at the guards.

“Summer! Ghost! Stop that!” commanded Bran. “They are here to help Jon.” He then pulled the two massive direwolves away.

The guards gingerly stepped forward and helped lift Ser Jon to carry him away. I serepaticiosly cast a featherlight charm on him so it would be easier for them to carry him.

Bran, Margeary and I followed them to the Grand Maester’s room, where he was placed on a bed. Ghost had followed us, but Summer had gone elsewhere in the castle.

“What has happened?” asked Grand Maester Peycel

“He suddenly screamed and collapsed,” explained Margeary.

“Well, let’s see,” mumbled Peycel, as he felt Jon’s wrists, then neck then opened his eyelids. Then, he began other tests, like lifting arms and legs and letting them drop. The exam had been going on for a while when Summer led a large group of people into the room.

“What is going on here?” asked Lord Eddard Stark.

“My little birds saw the whole thing,” replied Varys, who still stood in the doorway. “Apparently, young Edric Storm here was dabbling in magic. He tried to sacrifice the life of Ser Jon in order to revive the Weirwood tree in the Godswood.”

“That’s not true!” yelled Bran, as a prepared to apparate away. I was uncertain whether I needed to take Bran and Margeary with me.

“Magic of this sort alway requires sacrifice,” replied Varys. “We should kill the boy before he becomes dangerous.”

“He’s just a boy!” scolded Ned. “We’re not going to execute a boy because you think he was doing magic. Magic is gone from the world.”

“Sadly, not entirely,” replied Varys. “I hope you do not regret your mercy, my Lord.”


JON

I awoke to the sounds a pretty disturbing conversation. A man? person with an odd voice was pushing to have a boy killed.

“No. No. Don’t kill him,” I protested.

“Jon! You’re awake!” said my father. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just trained for 3 days straight,” I answered. “I must have fainted.”

“You should rest,” suggested Peycel.

“I think that would be a good idea,” agreed my father.

I let them think I had fallen asleep so I could go into a healing trance. That big burst of anti-Force, which I guess I should call magic, really took a lot out of me. I needed to recharge myself, get back in touch with the Force. I felt like I had been drained of the Force and I need to let it seep back into me.

The next day, I felt fully renewed in my connection to the Force. So I decided to sneak out of the Red Keep. I wasn’t hard for me to persuade the guards to look the other way repeatedly as I stealthily snuck past them. I had been here a few days and still hadn’t met my quill friend Sam Tarly. Once I was on the street, I asked passers by for directions repeatedly until I had made my way to Fleabottom, the poorest section of town. And there was the building that produced the newspaper that he had told me about.

“Excuse me, Is Paul Revere here?” I asked, using the alias that Sam had told me to use.

“Who?” asked the middle-aged man that was trying to operate some sort of primitive printing device. Then, I could see him seem to remember as he said: “Oh! Yes! Paul Revere! He’s at the Fire Station, down the street to the left!”

I followed his directions down the street where a group of men were walking out of a building, each with an axe and a bucket.

“Jon! You are just in time! Grab a bucket and come with us!” said a plumb young man who appeared to be around my same age. This had to be Sam.

“How did you know it was me?” I asked, as I grabbed a bucket from the stack and followed him.

“I saw you from a distance when you were entering the city,” replied Sam. “I was wondering when you would inquire about me.”

“Where are we going?” I asked as I followed the squad of men with large axes and buckets.

“We are engaging in a Fire Drill,” explained Sam, as the other men began shouting “Fire Drill! Fire Drill!”

All around us people were coming out into the street. A boy with a cart who had been yelling “Hot Pies!” changed his cry to “Fire Drill!” as he closed up his cart and joined the line.

“This looks like an advantageous location,” mused Sam, and he halted at an opening to the city’s clogged sewer system.

As soon as he stopped, the people who had come into the street and surged from the alleys, homes and taverns to join them formed two lines, facing each other. As soon as the lines were formed, the men began passing their buckets down the line. I was in the line facing Sam, so I handed my bucket to him to be passed down the line. After a few minutes, the buckets were passed back up the line, filled with water.

“What are should I do with this?” I asked.

“Empty it into the sewer, then pass the bucket over to me,” explained Sam. “We are practicing for a fire. I engage in this activity on a weekly basis. If we train everyone to pitch in and relay buckets, when we do have a fire, everyone will know what to do. An added benefit is that dumping water in the sewers help to wash the effluence out of to the sea, thus helping, marginally, with the bad air that causes illnesses.”

We did this for a few minutes before Sam called a halt to it and the men who had come here with us stopped passing their buckets down the line.

“THANK YOU EVERYONE!” called out Sam. “IF THIS HAD BEEN A REAL FIRE, YOUR EFFORTS MIGHT HAVE JUST SAVED THE CITY!”

With that, the crowd dispersed returning to their previous activities. The fat young man re-opened his cart and resumed shouting:

“Hot Pie! Get your Hot Pies here!”

“That was pretty amazing how you got everyone to come together like that,” I said. “How did you manage it?”

“I composed a series of articles, complete with accompanying cartoons where I pointed out that fires often break out in sieges and just how combustible the domiciles here in Flea Bottom are, and how the high Lords would put out the fires in their opulent mansions before they did anything in our neighborhood,” replied Sam. “So, I hear congratulations are in order for your being raised from bastardy, your elevation to Knighthood and your recent betrothal to the Princess.”

“Shireen is just a little girl,” I replied.

“True,” agreed Sam. “However, time will quickly remedy that situation. She will reach her majority faster than you anticipate. So how are you adapting to your adjustment of circumstances?”

“It’s frustrating,” I griped. “I am still a child in my father’s eyes and he won’t share his plans for the war with me. I have no idea what is going on.”

“I may be able to help you there,” observed Sam. “With my network of reporters I am privy to information before it makes its’ way to the common square. For example, were you aware that Lord Edmure Tully, the heir to the Riverlands has recently fallen to the lances of bandits from the Westlands?”

“No, I did not know that,” I replied.

“There will be a recounting of that story in the next issue of my newspaper,” said Sam. “Might I suggest you get a subscription? And if your want more current information, you are uniquely placed to attend the meetings of the Small Council.”

“I do not think my Lord Father would approve of that,” I pointed out.

“Then do not ask his permission,” replied Sam. “If you are in attendance before the meeting even begins, you will be better able to justify your attendance at the Meeting, especially if you bring your betrothed with you. After all, if you and she are to reign of the seven Kingdoms someday, you should be fully informed as to the specifics of what is the state of the Kingdom. And if you were to hear some bit important news, nothing secret mind you, but something that will soon be apparent to everyone in the Kingdom, I would appreciate it if you could send me advanced notice of it.”

“Thanks! I’ll do that,” I said, grateful for his advice.


JOFFREY

I was standing night guard on top of The Wall. The Sun was starting to rise, so I knew my shift was almost over. Night shift on The Wall was a pretty useless activity. Unless the Moon was Full or close to it, you couldn’t see anything but blackness below unless there was moonlight shining on the snow. I was looking North, the wrong way to notice the owl before it came from behind me and landed on the rampart of The Wall. It held out its’ foot for me to take the letter. When I opened the letter from Edric, I got a shock. There had been a token in the letter that quickly grew into a full-sized white guitar, an actual Guitar! In his letter, Edric explained how he had a supply of Weirwood at Storm’s End and since he needed to make something else for a friend, while he was there, he had made me a guitar out of Weirwood. He also expressed outrage in sympathy for the fate that had befallen my lute. The way he writes, I think I was more famous, for longer, to him than I thought I had been in my past life. I had made a habit of always carrying my latest letter to him, a quill and ink with me at all times. I had to wear the ink in a bag under my clothes to keep it from freezing. In my letter I had already told him about the two men that killed Lord Commander Mormont and what my true father, Ser Jamie had told me he had seen when he went to treat with the Wildings. So I added some profuse thanks for the guitar to my letter and tied it to his owl, before sending it off.

When Pip came to relieve me, I took the elevator down to Castle Black. But instead of entering the hall to break my fast, I instead, stuck out of the castle and headed for Mole’s Town.

“You’re a might early to visiting us, my lord,” said the barmaid at the unnamed brothel/tavern. “The other girls are asleep. But I could give your a ride if you have the coin.”

“I’m not here for that,” I said. “Could I speak to your boss?”

“You are speaking to her,” replied the Madame.

“I was hoping I could make a deal with you,” I said. “A friend sent me this instrument. But it is not safe amongst my Brothers of the Night’s Watch at Castle Black. Can I leave it with you for safekeeping? In exchange for you guarding it, I will sneak down here as often as I can and play it to entertain your customers.”

“I don’t know about that,” she hemmed. “You have to be pretty good for me not to just sell it off. Let’s hear it.”

After making sure it was still in tune, I leaned into Johnny B Goode for her. I could see the surprise in her eyes, as I was playing something unlike anything she had ever heard before. She was tapping her foot and doing a sort of jiggly dance to the music. When I finished, she smiled at me and said.

“Alright, we have a deal. I never heard anything like that before. Is that that Riverland music I heard tell of?”

“No, It’s Rock an’ Roll,” I replied.

“Rokenrole?” she repeated. “I like it! Come play it when ever you can make it down here.”


After that day, I snuck down to Mole’s town in the evening, whenever I could. The songs I had written in King’s Landing seemed too slow and peaceful for this crowd. These folks were more like the people I used to play for before I became famous. They wanted something they could dance to. So I played for them a mixture of the Rock and Rock from my childhood, my early songs and the songs of my contemporaries from when I was in my teens and 20s in my past life. One day, Thom Rivers, one of the the new recruits from the Riverlands, joined me at the Mole Hole Pub, as it had been named. Thom played a racket, which was double reed instrument with many twists and turns. It was about the size of a bread box, and was very boxy looking. But is had a sound very similar to a Bassoon. He had played Jazz with it when he lived in the Riverlands, but had been afraid to play it at Castle Black after hearing what happened to my lute. We played well together. He was able to provide the bass line that my music needed. Before long, I had developed my own band with myself on guitar and singing, Thom on racket, Stan Snow was our drummer. Sometimes he he played a bass drum that looked like a large tambourine with no jingles, and sometimes he would clack bones together. The Working girls appeared to like our music, and would often give me a freebee when I was taking a break between sets. One of the girls, Colleen, was a pretty good singer and she started joining me to sing a high harmony on certain songs.