Kenna Caitlin's Story

Jasunr & Mira



Ajax and Dalila

(Collab TvAddict13, CreativityIsPower & FantasyLife)



"Davina I don't know about this. Wouldn't this take a lot of power to pull off." Amelia spoke with concern.

"According to the old king it had taken the usurper along with several others to send him here and he is just one man." Mira chimed in.

"Shows how much of a god he is." Ajax mumbled and Davina couldn't help but giggle at his words.

"I am not that man." Davina said simply as she continued drawing the symbol of the grass field. Amelia wasn't going to agreed to travel this way unless her children could be brought with her. So Davina had agreed to send not to only send the seven of them but the three large dragons with them. Kenna knew what things could weaken or worst kill a witch and a overuse of power was one of them. How much power it took to teleport someone was a mystery to her but she couldn't imagine it was easy. The idea of teleporting seven people along with three massive beasts did not seem easy.

"Are we all gonna end up puking up blood like the king?" Dalila asked clearly as much on the fence about this as the others.

"No. There will be no blood vomiting." Davina said as she finished the symbol.

"Davina -"

Davina cut her future queen off knowing what she was going to say. "I will be fine. I get that you are all worried about what this could do to me but the truth of the matter is I will be fine. I mean I'll be exhausted and pretty tapped out for a couple of hours but aside from that I will be okay." This seemed to do the trick as everyone quieted whatever concerns still poked at the back of their minds. "I am a tribrid with the power of three dead witches along with my own coursing through my veins. Trust me I am one powerful witch."

"This is where you'll be working. You patrol here until your shift is done and the next shift comes to relieve you."

The South Atlantic guard captain walked the walls of the fortress city that housed the great castle of the royal family. The city had sprung to life after it's princesses returned. Princess Kenna Caitlin had magically appeared in the courtyard just behind the royal castle with several guests, all royalty in their own right. There were even rumors of dragons in the city as well. The guard captain had little time for such rumors as he had the duty of breaking in the fresh recruits. All able bodies were called to service to defend the city. Horrible tales were drifting down from The North and The South Atlantic was not going to suffer a similar fate if their stalwart protectors had any say on the matter.

"Your duty is to look north and watch for any signs of trouble. You spot anything, anything at all and you alert the lieutenant on duty."

"Aye sir."

The young man replied excitedly, eager to get his first assignment underway. The new guard was young, no more than seventeen or eighteen. A boy by all rights but in times of war boys much younger than him have been chosen to take up the call to defend their homelands in the past, now was no different.

"S-sir, is it true? About the dragons sir? I heard from some of the guys in the barracks that they came here with a queen with moon colored hair. They say she is the most beautiful woman in the world and can talk to dragons."

The old captain grunted in annoyance at the young recruit as he stroked his thick mustache.

"You'd best worry about what's out there, lad. War's coming and we need to be ready."

The young guardsmen set his jaw in admirable determination as he nodded with vigor.

"Yes sir!... Umm sir?... What's that?"

The young guard had spotted a single horse and rider approaching the closed city gates. The rider was hunched over in the saddle, little more than a mound of black on horseback. Loping along side the garon was a massive white wolf, bigger than any wolf the captain had ever seen.

"What in seven hells?..."

The captain said as he looked down over the stone wall. They noticed the arrows jutting out of the figure's back and the recruit gasped.

"Is that a corpse?"

The rider seemed eerily still until it weakly looked up with tired eyes to stare right at the captain. As if calling to him the wolf threw back his head and let loose a long sullen howl that chilled all in ear shot to the bone.

"Gods, he's alive! Get down there! Now!"

Jon felt their arms grasp him as he was pulled from the saddle. He was so weak he could barely keep his eyes open. His back burned in stinging pain from the two arrows lodged there. His leg had gone numb from the agony of the shaft in his thigh. If it wasn't for Ghost spurring the horse along he would have wandered off the road and no doubt fallen from his saddle days ago.

"Boy, what happened to you? Boy? Can you hear me?"

Jon blinked his eyes open, it was all he could muster to lift his eye lids. He gazed into the mustached face of a soldierly looking older man, in plate armor. Jon opened his mouth to speak but only weak groans came fourth. The guard pulled a water skin from his belt and dripped some clean, cool water into Jon's mouth. The water was finer than the richest wine to the young man from the North.

"Who are you boy?"

The older man asked once he pulled the water skin away. Jon forced himself to swallow, and took a breath before attempting to speak again.

"Stark.... my name.... my name is Stark."

His voice was little more than a whisper but it registered with the guard captain. His eyes shot wide in shock before he glanced at the white wolf or more correctly dire wolf with the striking red eyes. He knew who this boy was.

"Get this boy to the castle, now! Have the healers tend to him immediately and someone inform the princess. She'll want to know of this at once!"

The captain barked and his man sprang to action. Jon was carried onto a cart and wheeled to the castle while Ghost followed close by. The recruit had watched the entire scene unfold in awe and wonder.

"S-sir?... Whose Stark? Who is that?"

The captain turned to the young man, new to his command and his face showed the years of service under the banners of the South Atlantic.

"The Stark's are kings of The North. That boy is a prince of Winterfell, may be the only one left."

The three eyed raven flew up to perch on an old stone wolf, before the entrance to a crypt. Jon recognized the crypt well. It was at the base of Winterfell, he and his brothers had gone down there hundreds of times as children to hide and play. It was always so cold down there, colder than the rest of the keep. He could feel that cold again as the raven flew through the open doorway and led Jon down. Down and down, further and further he walked until all light was gone and he had only the flapping sounds of the raven's feathers and it's cawing to guide him. Finally he saw light up ahead. The simple orange glow of a burning torch. He neared it and pulled the sconce from the wall giving him command over the light. It flickered and turned blue, growing cold as a winter wind yet the light itself didn't fade. Jon could still see clearly where ever the icy light touched.

Down in the belly of Winterfell Jon looked upon the faces of all the great kings of winter, now long dead. Each tomb was crowned with a stone statue of the king buried within, at their feet was their great dire wolf, carved from stone as their masters to remain by their side in death as they did in life. Jon gazed upon the face of Bran The Builder, the first King of The North and builder of Winterfell. He looked upon King Rickard Stark who defeated the Marsh King in single combat and earned the crannogmens fealty. There was King Dorren Stark and King Eyron Stark, King Harlon Stark and King Walton the Moonking. Yet as Jon neared the end of the row of tombs where the most recent late kings lay resting there were three new tombs he did not recognize from his youth. One was of a young man, proud and strong with a full beard and fierce eyes. In his hand was a stone greatsword as long as Jon was tall. Jon stared up into his eyes and realized he did know this king, he knew him well. He'd played with him as a boy, fought with him and hunted with him. It was his eldest brother Brandon. Jon looked to the tomb to Brandon's right and there was his other brother Edrick. Edrick's face was carved with that impish smirk that made Edrick so well liked, never far from a laugh or a bawdy tale Edrick seemed to be looking down at Jon as if knowing a joke he had yet to fill Jon in on. Jon could feel the sadness welling up inside him so he turned to the last tomb.

This one was different, different from all the rest because this one was not a king. This tomb had a woman's statue crowning it. A beautiful woman with long flowing hair of curls that framed her lithe figure. She was young, barely a woman. Her eyes were sad and full of sorrow. It broke Jon's heart just to look upon her. The three eyed raven flew up to perch on her shoulder, its ancient eyes seemed to peer right through him.

"Look! See!"

It cawed and Jon did as it commanded. He turned back to the stone woman with her sad eyes and began to recognize her as well. He remembered a time when he was young and she was crying. Caught in a tree and too afraid to come down. Jon had climbed up after her and sat with her for hours until she had calmed down. He remembered laughing in that tree as they joked and talked. By the time they had come down she had forgotten all about her fear. She hugged him that day, Jon had always made it a habit of keeping his distance from his kin given his curse but she hugged him anyway, she had told him he was her brother and that she was his sister and that she would never be afraid of him. Jon often thought Mira had helped him that day more than he helped her.

It was then Jon noticed he was crying. He wiped a tear from his cheek and looked back at his sister. Unlike all the buried Kings of Winter who were carved holding the weapons they carried in life, Mira's hand was open as if reaching for someone. Jon rose his hand to touch hers, he could feel the cold stone, smooth as the finest glass. Her stone eyes flicked down to look right at him.

"Remember."

Jon woke with a start, sitting up in bed his body immediately exploded in pain.

"Easy, prince! Easy, take it easy. You must take it slow or you'll tear your stitching.'

Jon clenched his teeth in pain but gently allowed the helping hands to ease him back down. Jon took several deep, steadying breaths before he opened his eyes. He was in a bedroom, finely furnished with exquisite tapestries hanging from the wall. Several scones with candles were hung and lit as well and a warm fire burned in the hearth. Ghost was curled up at the foot of Jon's bed, looking much like a great mound of white that was fast asleep. The windows were drawn with heavy curtains so the only light was what came from the fires burning within the room. He was laying on a fine feather bed easily big enough for four grown adults. He was draped with several layers of blankets and furs, many of which he'd sweated right through. There was fresh linen bindings around his upper chest and over his shoulder, no doubt to wrap his back where his wounds were. His right leg was uncovered by the blankets while a kind looking elderly man sat beside the bed dabbing some foul smelling substance to the wound.

"We've stymied the corruption, prince. We've cleaned and dressed your wounds and it looks like your fever is already breaking."

The old man said as he reached up and touched Jon's sweat beaded forehead with the back of his hand. The old man gave Jon a warm smile before turning back to his work of applying the healing salve to his thigh.

"Good thing too, I know the princess will want to speak with you if you're feeling strong enough."

"I'm feeling strong enough."

Jon replied firmly. The old healer gave a short chuckle deep in his throat at the young mans resolve.

"Oh to be young, I envy your tenacity.

"Don't envy it too much, tenacity get's you shot up with arrows apparently."

Jon said with a tired smile and a weak chuckle. The light laugh made his back hurt which in turn made it funnier in a sad pathetic way. The old healer chuckled as well and shook his head. He finished wrapping Jon's leg and covered it again with blankets.

"Rest now, the princess will be along soon."

With that the healer left Jon alone, with only the sleeping dire wolf for company. Jon stared at the ceiling as his mind began to drift back to the dream he'd just woken from and the people he'd just lost.

Jon had been laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. His back ached and his leg throbbed but those were paltry things when compared to the hurt in his heart. The memory of his mothers corpse as it lay brutalized on the cold stone floor. The memory of his sister's whimpering body in his arms as the last of her life left her. The news of his eldest brother's death in the first of the battles for The North and the discovery of his other brothers demise during the defense of Winterfell. The only member of his household left to him was a father that is said to have been tortured near to madness and is now across the sea in a country he could no sooner reach as he could grant life to those he'd lost. He was an orphan, no better than a bastard with no house or name. Ghost seemed to sense the storm brewing inside him and lifted his head to look at Jon. Those ancient looking red eyes, deep as mountain snow and red as the finest rubies. Jon reached out a hand and felt the soft white fur of Ghost's coat, taking comfort in the touch.

The door opened and in walked a princess. With soft waves of light brown hair falling about her body in smooth tresses with eyes that were warmer and softer than a spring sun Kenna Caitlin smiled at him. Jon had known Kenna since he was a boy, she had spent many a seasons in The North with his brothers and sister. Kenna had been the one to teach Mira how to wear her hair in the high braided fashion of the Southern Kingdoms, a style Mira had always adored. It was Kenna that proved to be the only quarry that was unattainable for Jon's charming older brother Edrick and even out rode Jon's eldest brother Brandon once when the children went on a forest ride. Jon had always seen Kenna as almost another sister, a connection he never realized was as important as it was now when he was left with no other family.

"Jon."

She said with a happy, relieved smile as she approached the edge of the bed. Ghost turned to her and licked her hand in greeting as Jon winced as he pushed himself up enough to press his back against the headboard.

"Your grace, you'll forgive me if I don't stand."

Jon said in a weak attempt to make light of his injuries.

"You look terrible. But you're alive and that is all that matters."

Jon tried to smile but the memories of all that he'd lost wouldn't allow him that.

"It isn't all that matters."

He replied somberly. Before Kenna could say another word there was a knock at the door and the door swung open. In stepped Davina, Kenna's oldest and must trusted friend, a friend to Jon and his family as well as the most powerful being Jon had ever met. Davina was a tribrid and the only one Jon had ever met or heard of. She was unbelievably powerful but fortunately she was no more evil or wicked as Kenna was and for that they were all very fortunate. Jon counted himself lucky to call her a friend. Davina wasn't alone. Along with her were five people Jon had never met. Two men, both warriors by the look of them. One was massive and thick with muscle, built more like a mountain than a man he towered over everyone in the room. The other had a proud, noble look to him and while he lacked the hulking mass of the giant he still had a soldiers build of finely honed muscle. The other three were all women. One had hair that was not black nor even raven colored but noirette and fine as silk with natural waves that framed her face. Another had eyes as blue and deep as the ocean with skin that was a fine bronze. The last woman drew Jon's gaze longer than all the rest. This ones hair was the color of the moon and her eyes were green and gleaming as polished emeralds.

Jon blinked and finally his gaze left the silver haired beauty as he heard Kenna speak to the two men and the dark haired woman.

"Could you heal him?"

She asked and the soldier answered.

"We are the children of Apollo. Of course we can."

The woman stepped forward and pulled the furs and blankets from the bed, exposing Jon's ravaged body. Tended to or not he was horribly bruised and sporting countless cuts but it was the deep crimson stains seeping through the fresh linen bandages that made him look near a corpse.

"This won't hurt. I promise."

She said kindly as her hands reached out to touch his thigh. Even from the light touch of the woman's delicate hands Jon grimaced in discomfort. His leg burned with stinging pain but he said not a word of protest. She took a long, slow breath and her hands began to glow. Dimly at first the light grew brighter and brighter until her hands seemed to be made of golden light. Jon felt warmth spread through him, radiating from his leg up through his entire body. It was soothing and therapeutic and within mere moments all the pain was gone. The flesh knit itself together miraculously under her touch as if it had never been marred in the first place. She repeated the process on Jon's shoulder and back before her hands returned to normal. She removed Jon's bandages and gave him a warm smile.

"Good as new. Do yourself a favor and avoid arrows for a while."

Her smirk was infectious and Jon couldn't help but smile back.

"I'll do my best."

She walked back over to the two men before addressing the others in the room.

"So, just out of curiosity who is the boy I just save from weeks of bedridden boredom?"

Jon tested his newly healed body as he swung his legs over to let his feet drop to the floor. No pain in his leg at all, if anything it felt better than it did before. He rose from the bed and savored the strength that filled him now. He pulled on his leather breeches and slipped his shirt and black leather jerkin on before he answered for Kenna.

"My name is Jon Stark. My father is Edmond Stark, King of The North."

Jon fastened the buckle of his jerkin shut and reached for his sword belt. He strapped Longclaw to his hip before continuing.

"I'm the last son of Winterfell."

"I am Amelia Targaryen. Queen of the Kingdom of Valyrian."

Man and wolf seemed to turn in unison as the silver haired queen spoke, the first of the unfamiliar royals to do so. Ghost rose from the bed to bound to the floor beside the Stark who'd found him when he was just a pup. The great dire wolf with its fur white as winter snow seemed to stare at the woman as if she'd addressed him directly.

"The usurper who sacked your home sent your father to me. Your father told me as well as the others of what happened to him, your family and your people."

Jon looked into those emerald crystals of hers and wondered just what his father did tell her. Did he tell her of the fear in the keep after the news of Brandon's death? Did he say how Jon had caught him comforting his weeping mother the day before the battle? Was it the suddenness of the attack he told her of and how quickly the Khalidorian's overwhelmed Winterfell's unready defenses? Did he mention of how Edrick died atop the battlements commanding the castles defenders? Did he tell her about Mira or mother? Did he know? Jon had been the only one there to bear witness to the aftermath of what Wanhope's men did to them. He remembered the battered body of the corpse that was once his mother, once the woman who sung him to sleep and held him when he was frightened. Her clothes were strewn about her in tatters and her body was so badly beaten she was almost unrecognizable. His sister they had been gentler with if one could call it that. Her lip was bruised and bleeding but beyond that they hadn't marred her. Her cheeks were stained with fresh tears and her hair was astray. Her clothing was no where to be found. She had been clutching her stomach in pain from the stab wound. Jon had covered her in his cloak and held her until she died. He could still feel her body trembling in pain and shaking from her sobs.

"I make you the same promise as I did your father. The self-proclaimed godking shall pay for what he did. They all will."

Amelia's voice pulled Jon from his mind horrible memories. Her voice was full of fire and promised blood. He could hear it in her words, see it in her eyes. Perhaps Wanhope's warning had effected her but not in the way he may have hoped. If he'd desired to frighten her, to weaken her resolve he failed. Jon looked now onto a woman who was resigned to see justice done and if rumor was correct she had three living dragons to see the thing done. Yet while her fires burned hot there was a cold inside Jon, an ice that was growing and cooling his veins. Like a chill wind, frigid as the grave and twice as foreboding. A cold that called for vengeance and a cold that would not end until justice was done.

Jon nodded slowly as he stepped toward her, his eyes, black as a starless night sky and hers, shinning like the finest of emeralds locked onto one another. Two children of murdered families, one of fire and one of ice. He nodded slowly in agreement, Wanhope had just indebted himself to House Stark in a deal for blood. As lightning gave way to thunder so to must murder lead to vengeance, and Jon would have his vengeance.

"Thank you, Queen Amelia."

Jon said gruffly, the grief was still too raw for him to say much more. He gave her a subtle nod and weak smile to show his gratitude.

"My father... is he alive?"