#also its REALLY hard to write a scene with more than 2 people 😅🤣

[moondancer71]

A collaboration fic with @arielchelby​

AN: We are nearly done with this chapter, so we thought it would be fun to share a sneak peek. Jon meets some new friends 🤭👀. 

Jon emerged from the flames at the entrance of the Cave of the Three-Eyed Raven. Located beyond the Wall, the Fates domain resided below a towering weirwood concealed by magic, its existence known only to the Children of the Forest and the Lord of the Dead. The cave was a labyrinth, consisting of smaller caves and tunnels which interconnect and lead back to the main cavern.  

Though the cave lied outside of Castle Black’s borders, no natural light streamed through. With a wave of his hand, Jon created a blue fire ball in his palm to illuminate the path to the main cave. The withered bones of ravens and Children of the Forest that litter the tunnel grounds crunched beneath Jon’s feet as he made toward the cave. The roots of the weirwood clung to the walls in twisted webs, slender fingers reaching toward their master, trapped in a cage of his own making.  

At the cave's entrance, he could see the smattering of torches lining the tunnel and he extinguished his blue flame. The torchlight created macabre shadows of the giant skulls embedded within the walls.  

The three Fates resided at the center of the cave. Brynden Rivers, or Bloodraven as he was now called, Maggy the Frog and the Ghost of High Heart. Encased in his throne of weirwood roots, Bloodraven appeared more tree than man. A murder of ravens are perched on the bone white bark. His milk-white skin and blood red eyes seemingly glow in the darkness and his long-white hair hangs loose, covering the wineskin birthmark on the right side of his face. 

“Good evening, Your Grace. You received our raven?” Bloodraven smirked. 

Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes. I hope it’s important. As you well know, I have many duties to attend to.”

The Ghost of High Heart was a small, old woman and similar to Bloodraven she has long white hair, pale skin, and red eyes. “Your Grace, you should be kinder to my dear friend, Jenny. She is haunted by the grief and sorrows of Summerhall, as am I, yet you punish her for it,” she said, her frail hands gripping the handle of her black cane. 

Jon scoffed. “I’d like to send her to her final resting place along with the monsters haunting my castle. If you can tell me how, I’d gladly free her of this torment.” 

“Monsters are your territory, Your Grace,” Maggy laughed, a wicked gleam in her charcoal rimmed eyes. Unlike Bloodraven and the Ghost of High Heart, Maggy was youthful, her honey-brown hair cascading down her shoulders, her brown dress forming to her curves.  

He felt ire rise. “Is this why I’ve been summoned? You intend to scold me for banishing a singing maiden?!” 

“Careful, Your Grace,” the Ghost of High Heart warned. “You forget where you are and to whom you are speaking to.” 

Jon bowed his head. “Apologies.” The Fates’ powers were tied to the King of the Underworld, their greensight permitting them to guide the past, present, and future of the mortal realm. Careful, fool, their knowledge of magic and death far exceeds your own. 

“Enough,” Bloodraven bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls causing the ravens to scatter their caws reverberating through the space. “The Queen is still mortal,” Bloodraven continued. “She has not eaten from the pomegranate.” 

Jon studied the floor. “It’s more complicated than I imagined,” Jon lamented. “She’s frightened and I cannot force her to eat the fruit.”

“She will eat the fruit,” the Ghost of High Heart intoned. “The Old Gods have not let me rest. I dream of two unhappy sons and a cruel father who’s time should have long since passed. I see a cloud looming over the land, one that grows darker with each year that passes. The Old Gods demand payment. They want their Bride of Fire.” 

“Yes,” Bloodraven said, leaning forward, his fingers curling over his handrests. “We gave you the pomegranate for King Aerys as you promised us a bride for the Underworld. Men forget the promises they make, but the trees remember.” 

“I’ve not forgotten. The debt will be paid. I just need more time,” Jon pleaded. 

“You shall have it, Your Grace,” Bloodraven replied, leaning back into his chair. “However, bear in mind that though we Fates control the threads of time, our patience is not endless. Time is fleeting for mortals, just like the winter snows that I can see your sister chasing after your brothers in.”  

Jon’s heart dropped at the mention of his siblings, but he pressed forward, unwilling to show the Fates his fear.  “I understand. Am I free to leave?” 

Bloodraven laughed. “None of us are free, Your Grace. We serve the Gods and we are bound to our duty to maintain the balance between life and death. But you may leave.” 

“Your Grace,” Maggy called, halting Jon’s steps. “I can tell you your future and that of your Queen’s.” She slunk over to him, dark eyes full of mischief. 

Jon hesitated. Despite the immense power he wields, the mage's dark magic makes him weary. Yet, after Daenerys refused to eat the fruit last night, he’s afraid that this might all be for naught and that he’s subjected them both to a life of misery. “Fine,” he relented. “Tell me what will become of Daenerys and me.”