Hail to the Stag Kings

Chapter 26: Return of the Three-Eyed Raven

—The North—

Winterfell...

Rodrik's death had left Daemon inconsolable. During the entire trek from White Harbor to Winterfell, he had said nothing. The scene of the lone wolf charging to what was certain death played repeatedly in Daemon's mind, further fueling his sadness and his rage. Had he been stronger, he could have done something.

But he had been too weak.

If he could not protect the ones he loved, how could he protect the Kingdom of Westeros? This was the question that he asked himself as the great castle of Winterfell began to loom in the distance.

The harsh climate had left a devastating toll on Daemon's body – to the point where he had been rendered incapacitated. He refused any offer of food or drink. The tears that he had shed for his kin and friend had frozen on his cheeks. Dreams plagued him; the Three-Eyed Raven calling out to him telepathically, a civil war where he found himself leading a rival revolutionary faction, assassins hunting him and his companions down, Rodrik's death...

Daemon had been tossing in turning in a bed in one of Winterfell's guest rooms for who knows how long. But after several weeks, he slowly opened his eyes to see his maternal great-uncle, Lord Jon Stark – ruler of Winterfell and Warden of the North – standing over him. His hair was white, long, and waving around his Northern furs, his beard extended to his upper torso, and his age affected him with wrinkles surrounding his mouth and eyes but retained a long vertical scar across his right eye and left cheek. Though his left eye was dark, the right was white – indicating he was blind in one eye. Stern, cold, and mistrustful to outsiders, Jon Stark remained hovering over his great-nephew with his arms crossed with a deep frown.

Daemon, still shivering from the cold and reeling with survivor's guilt over Rodrik's sacrifice, could not bear to maintain eye contact with his great-uncle. "Lord... Lord Stark," his voice was hoarse.

Gilliane Stark, one of Jon's daughters, maintained a fire close to the bed. "Father..." she spoke cautiously. "Our brother... Rodrik."

"I... I am so sorry... It is my fault. I tried... I tried to save him, but I—" Daemon's throat was hurting and his body continued to tremble.

"Shhh, shhh. Easy now." Gilliane sat by his bedside and filled a goblet with cool clear water, which she then held to his lips to let him gently sip.

All the while, the Wild Wolf of the North continued to stare at Daemon. There was something almost predatory about his gaze as if Jon were staring at a rabbit that he was trying to decide whether to devour. Finally, Jon spoke, his voice was deep and possessed little warmth. "My son claimed you were a King and yet I only see a boy before me, a shivering fawn."

"But father," Gilliane spoke again. "Rodrik and Brandon both wrote reports indicating that the signs were surfacing. The southerners do not know them, but we do. We've watched and observed for the past 20,000 years and for the first time in eight centuries, they've returned." She glanced at Daemon briefly. "He's aunt Elesra's grandson, father, our second cousin. Rodrik and Brandon couch for him. What would she do in your position?"

Jon had not thought about his younger sister for many years. The last they saw each other, Elesra had been betrothed to and married King Ormund II Baratheon and moved south to King's Landing. Still, despite the long distance, they retained a close line of communication. The last message Jon received was from Elesra describing the birth of her new grandchild. When the constant flow of letters stopped coming, it was then that he learned of Elesra's death during the Great Spring Sickness. When his niece Shiera wrote letters, Jon did not respond. The last he heard was that Shiera died of illness, and Argilac ascended the throne and began a reign of tyranny.