Game of Thrones(ASOIAF): The Sorcerer Prince

Disclaimer:

Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM

I own nothing but the original characters I make.

”Dialogue”

’Thoughts’

-Author notes-

Chapter 88: A Way Out

The chamber was small and cold, a narrow room in one of the towers of Castle Black that had once been used for storage.

Now it served as a prison for a boy who had done nothing wrong. The walls were rough stone, the floor uneven, and the only light came from a single barred window set high above.

Snow had drifted through the cracks, forming small piles in the corners that never seemed to melt.

Bran Stark sat on a thin pallet, his back against the cold stone wall, his grey eyes fixed on the barred window. He had been staring at it for hours, watching the grey sky shift to a darker grey, watching the snow fall without cease.

He did not know how long he had been here. Time moved strangely in this place, measured only by the changing light and the growling of his empty stomach.

Summer lay at his feet, his grey fur warm against Bran’s legs. The direwolf had been restless since they had been brought here, his ears twitching at every sound, his golden eyes fixed on the door.

He did not growl, not anymore, but his tension was palpable, a coiled spring waiting to release.

Ghost was curled in the corner, his white fur almost invisible against the snow that had drifted through the cracks in the wall. The two wolves had been allowed to stay with Bran, a small mercy from Stannis’s men, or perhaps a calculated kindness meant to keep the boy compliant and the beasts away from them.

The lock clicked. The door swung open.

Jon Snow stepped inside, his face grim, his dark hair matted with sweat. He looked tired...more tired than Bran had ever seen him.

The guards outside pulled the door shut, and the lock clicked again.

”Jon.” Bran rose to his feet. Summer rose with him, his hair lifting slightly, then settling. ”What is happening? Where did they take Father? Is he hurt?”

Jon crossed to the window and looked out at the courtyard below. Men in Baratheon colors moved through the snow, herding wildling prisoners into pens. Smoke rose from the cookfires, and in the distance, the great pyres were being constructed.

”Father is in the ice cells,” Jon said. His voice was flat, controlled. ”King Stannis has not decided what to do with him yet.”

”The ice cells?” Bran’s voice cracked. ”Are they planning on freezing him to death?”

”He is a Stark of Winterfell. He has survived worse cold than that. Those cells will not kill him any time soon.” Jon turned to face him. ”But you are right. He cannot stay there forever. King Stannis will have to decide soon.”

Bran’s hands clenched into fists. ”Then we fight him. We get him out. We-”

”Bran.” Jon interrupted him. ”We cannot fight an army by ourselves.” His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. ”The king has thousands of men. We have the Night’s Watch...just around a hundred men who swore not to raise their arms against the realm or get involved in political disputes.”

”Then what do we do? Just wait for Robb to come here with the Northern armies?” Bran’s voice was sharp with frustration. ”How long would that take?”

Jon was silent for a moment. Then he crossed to Bran and placed a hand on his shoulder. ”The king is keeping you here as a hostage. He knows the Northern houses are loyal to your family. He cannot rule the North without a Stark to bend the knee.”

Bran frowned. ”You keep calling Stannis king, but he is no king of mine.”

Jon shook his head. ”That does not matter. He is a king, even if he is not the only one in Westeros. And right now, he is the one with the swords pointing at us, so you should show him proper respect.”

”I will never bend the knee to him!”

”You may not have to. But for now, try to be polite. Be careful… and if the king summons you, do not give him an excuse to hurt you.”

Bran met his brother’s grey eyes. ”Jon. Are you planning something?”

Jon did not answer. He squeezed Bran’s shoulder one last time and turned toward the door. ”I will keep you informed. Stay strong, little brother.” He glanced at his direwolf. ”And Ghost… keep an eye on him.”

The white direwolf made no sound and simply returned to Bran’s side. It was his way of saying he understood the assignment.

Jon smiled and walked away.

He knocked on the door, and the guards unlocked it. He stepped out, and the door closed behind him.

Bran stared at the barred window, his face set in grim determination. He would not stay here forever. He would find a way out.

The courtyard of Castle Black was chaotic. Stannis’s men moved through the snow as if they were in a rush, their yellow and black banners snapping in the wind.

Wildling prisoners were being herded into pens, their hands bound, their faces blank with shock. The smell of smoke and blood still hung in the air, a reminder of the battle that had ended only a day ago.

Jon walked toward the common hall, his hood pulled up against the cold. He kept his head down, his eyes on the snow, trying to avoid notice. It did not work.

”Well, well. The traitor’s bastard.”

Alliser Thorne stepped into his path, a sneer twisting his thin lips. His eyes were bright with malice. Behind him, a few of his cronies lingered, watching with hungry eyes.

Jon stopped. ”Ser Alliser. Is there something that you need?”

Thorne’s smile widened. ”I heard that your father, the great Lord Stark, has been arrested and thrown into the ice cells for his treason. How fitting. The honorable Ned Stark, brought low by his own stubborn pride.”

He shook his head. ”I hope they hang him soon. And you, too, little bastard. And your weird little brother. It would be a mercy to rid the world of such filth.”

Jon did not flinch. His eyes were cold as he stared back into Thorne’s. ”Be careful what you wish for, Ser Alliser. You may find yourself on the other end of the rope one day.”

Thorne’s smile faltered. For a moment, fear flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the same old sneer. ”Empty threats from a bastard boy.” He stepped aside, gesturing for Jon to pass. ”Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Snow. It will not be long. I’ll make sure of it when I am Lord Commander.”

Jon froze for a moment. He had almost forgotten about that. They would need to choose a new Lord Commander, now that the Old Bear was dead.

And Thorne was certainly the favorite candidate for the position.

’If he is chosen… I will know no peace in here.’ He was sure of that.

But he did not let this show on his face. Jon walked past Ser Alliser without another word. He could feel Thorne’s eyes on his back, but he did not look around.

He had more important things to worry about than a bitter old knight with a grudge against his family.

A black brother approached him as he neared the common hall. ”Jon. Maester Aemon wishes to see you. He said it was urgent.”

Jon was surprised by the request and wondered what the maester could want with such urgency, but he nodded at the other man and responded, ”I will go to him now.”

He was on his way to the maester’s quarters when something in the courtyard called for his attention.

He saw Stannis’s men constructing several large pyres. Great piles of wood rose from the snow, and the smell of pitch was sharp in the air.

Ser Davos Seaworth stood nearby, his weathered face lined with worry. The Onion Knight was watching the pyres with an expression of deep unease, his hands clasped behind his back.

Jon approached him. ”Ser Davos.”

Davos turned. His eyes were tired, but there was a kindness in them that Jon had not expected. ”Jon Snow. I have heard a lot about you from your brothers. You are very much respected around here.”

”I just perform my duty, that is all.”

Davos almost smiled. ”That is already a lot.” He looked back at the pyres.

”They will burn them tonight. An offering to R’hllor. Stannis believes it will bring him more victory in the near future.”

Jon stared at the pyres. ”It is barbaric.”

”It is.” Davos’s voice was heavy. ”But it is the faith his Grace has chosen. And he is the King.”

”You could try to convince him to stop this madness. Aren’t you one of his advisors?” Jon asked.

”I have already tried more than once. But Lady Melisandre is... persuasive.” Davos shook his head. ”I may not like it. But I have learned that some battles cannot be won. Not today.”

Jon said nothing. He watched as the prisoners were led toward the pyres, their chains clinking in the cold air.

”For what it is worth, I am sorry about your father,” Davos said quietly.

”He is a good man… and an honorable man.”

Jon turned to look at him. ”And yet… the king is planning on executing him.” He had not said this to Bran, but he knew what awaited Ned Stark in the near future. The punishment for treason against a king was death. And Stannis was someone fond of rules.

Davos met his eyes but quickly looked away, feeling a bit of shame. He did not respond, and it was not needed.

Jon left the Onion Knight standing in the snow and made his way toward the maester’s tower.

The corridor was dark and narrow, lit only by a single candle at the far end. Jon knocked on the door of the maester’s quarters and waited.

”Enter.”

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was warm, at least for Castle Black standards, and cluttered with books and scrolls and the paraphernalia of a lifetime of study. Maester Aemon sat in a chair by the fire, his pale eyes fixed on the flames.

”Jon.” The old man’s voice was thin, reedy, but there was a strength beneath it that had not faded with age. ”Close the door.”

Jon did as he was told. He crossed to the fire and stood before the maester. ”You wished to see me?”

Aemon was silent for a long moment. His gaze drifted from the fire to Jon’s face, and his blind eyes seemed to see more than they should.

”I know what you are planning,” the old man said.

Jon stiffened. ”I do not know what you mean.”

Aemon smiled gently. ”You cannot lie to me, Jon. I have lived too long and seen too much to be deceived by a young man’s half-truths.” He leaned forward. ”You intend to free your father. To take him and your brother and leave this place.”

Jon said nothing.

”It is a noble plan,” Aemon continued. ”Foolish, perhaps, but noble. You will need help. And you will need a way out.”

Jon’s throat tightened. ”I have a way.”

”Through passages beneath the Wall?” Aemon shook his head. ”They are heavily guarded now. Stannis’s men have secured them. You would be caught before you even got close to that door.”

Jon’s heart sank. He had hoped this was not the case. ”Then what do I do?”

Aemon was silent for a moment. Then he rose from his chair, his old joints creaking, and crossed to a shelf filled with scrolls. He pulled one down and handed it to Jon.

”There is another way,” he said. ”An abandoned tunnel that leads to the other side of the Wall. It was used by the builders to move materials back to the castle, and it was sealed after the construction of the castle ended. But the tunnel is still there… if you know where to look.”

He pointed at a scroll on the table. Jon glanced at it. It was a very ancient map of Castle Black. A detailed map that included all secret tunnels and passages. He did not think that the other members of the Night’s Watch knew about this. Perhaps only Maester Aemon did.

Jon stared at the scroll in his hands. ”Why would you help me?”

Aemon’s pale eyes met his. ”Perhaps because I see something familiar in you, Jon. Because I understand the dilemma of wanting to help your loved ones, but being restricted by your oaths.”

Jon looked down at his hands and recalled the words of Ned on that night. He wondered if Maester Aemon had known something about his blood that even he was not aware of until a couple of days ago. Perhaps the old man was just following his instincts.

Jon did not know that.

”You know nothing, Jon Snow.” Her voice resounded in his head.

’I do know some things…’ He glanced at the map. ’I know what to do with this information.’

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