DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 1 - GAME OF THRONES

Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Ice and Fire Novels, Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon TV shows. However, I decided to have a little play around with the characters. I do not earn any money from writing these stories, it is for my entertainment and is something I like to share.

Jon

The preparations had been long and arduous. He hadbrought dragons and armies and searched all over Westeros, but thebulk of the armies were from the east, which should have irked him.However, there was no time for being irked. The dead would be herewithin hours, and there was little time to spare. The skies weredark; the dawn wouldn't return until the army of the dead wasdestroyed... if it was destroyed at all.

The firelight gave an orange glow, illuminatingthe three other faces in the room. Two of the figures resembled eachother with their bright blue eyes, inherited from their Tully mother,not his own. The boy, or rather a man now, Jon supposed; Bran, hadthick auburn hair and a stare that was not only intense but ethereal.He would have been tall for sixteen, yet he was confined to a chairas he could no longer walk, the result of a fall when he was young.The woman was tall, with the same bright blue eyes as her youngerbrother. Her stare was just as unnerving, but that was due to herlife experiences.

At nineteen, Sansa had already endured too much,which made her not only strong but colder. It reflected in her eyes.However, one could not deny her great beauty, and Jon suspected thatin another life, had he been raised by his blood family, he mighthave appreciated her beauty differently. There was a good probabilitythat she would have been his wife, not... whatever their relationshipwas. He couldn't quite define it. Not like Bran or like the othergirl in the room, the one who bore no resemblance to her siblings butvery much resembled himself, despite them being only cousins—thoughthe girls were unaware of this. Only Bran knew who he truly was, andit would remain that way until the war was over. He didn't want anydistractions.

The younger girl, Arya, had always been hisfavourite sibling. They shared the Stark look—long faces, darkhair, and grey eyes. Arya's hair and eyes were lighter than his,and up close, their facial features were quite distinct. Jon wonderedif he inherited those features from his father, though he hadn'tasked Bran. He didn't want to know. However, everyone said Aryaresembled his mother, which explained their similarities. Once upon atime, she had been wild and carefree, but now she was as measured asthe others, if not more so. He supposed one had to be, especially iftrained as a Faceless Man, a stealthy assassin.

They had all changed, more than most would in thefew years between leaving their home and returning as the last of thepack. Bran had become some kind of all-knowing greenseer known as theThree-Eyed-Raven, Arya a Faceless assassin, and Sansa a differenttype of assassin, a political one. Jon himself was no longer abastard; he was a prince, and truthfully should have been a king hadhe not bent the knee to the woman he loved, though it was a doomedrelationship, for she was his aunt. While it wouldn't matter toDaenerys, it mattered to him. It disgusted him. However, matters ofthe heart were no longer of any concern; only one thing mattered—thearmy of the dead, which was now only hours away.

They should have been in a war council, althoughthere were no more plans to go over. It would merely repeat the samemantra. Yet, it soothed Jon, helping to convince him they couldsurvive this, that Westeros, particularly the North, could endure thearmy of the dead. Jon didn't care if he survived; he had diedbefore, and it wasn't too bad. He was prepared to die again, aslong as he didn't join the army of the dead, for fear of harmingsomeone he loved. That was his greatest fear. Now Bran had broughtthem all together for one last family gathering.

Bran sat by the fire in his wheelchair, draped ina blanket, while Sansa occupied the seat opposite, her back straight,her face hidden behind a mask of stoicism, her hands clasped togetheron her lap. Arya sat on the floor, playing with the ornate Valyriansteel dagger that Bran had given her. Jon stood a little furtherback, leaning against the desk behind him.