Note: I have uploaded two chapters here today as I expect to be away from writing for some time with my wedding and following honeymoon. I do hope that you enjoy regardless and a massive thank you to BrokePerception and Hadian for helping me push this through.

Clairvoyance

"You're a right little shite, you know that?"

Jon loved his little brother, he really did, but sometimes the younger man was, as he'd just stated, a little shite. He could understand wanting to be certain that you weren't crazy before coming out with something strange; that just made sense. And yeah, he supposed that he had been away for most of the time Bran had been having his visions, but still, it was annoying that his youngest brother had waited until that precise moment to tell him about the whole thing.

He liked to think that it was mainly because it meant he had been deprived of a big strategic asset in preparing the defence of Moat Cailin but he knew himself well enough to know that it wasn't the only reason. With age and experience came some experience with self-reflection, it seemed, because Jon knew that he was mostly just hurt that his little brother hadn't thought to come to him with this as soon as he had known.

Some part of him was still just a big brother who wanted the admiration of his little brother for just a bit longer.

Just as he was growing up himself, it seemed that Bran was doing the same. Probably doing a better job of it than Jon himself if he was being frank with himself. Out of the Stark siblings, Bran was the one who focused more on the bigger questions – the 'why was there a fire?', rather than 'how do we put it out?' sort of thing.

And, apparently, dropping rather big revelations on people when they were least prepared and then not expanding on them at all.

That was probably why Jon was still sore about the revelation that his little brother had the Greensight. He could accept that, but Bran had told him the truth before declaring that they were going to go out riding the next day and he would explain more then. Well, they were out riding now, along with at least fifty other men, and Bran had still not said a word about the Greensight. Meera and Jojen Reed probably already knew more than him too, judging by Meera's amused expression.

Jojen, though looked a little jumpy, to be honest.

Tightening his grip on the reigns, he cast a glance to his right, where Gendry was just trotting happily alongside them, whistling a happy little tune. So his friend was going to be of no help since he seemed to be doing his best to utterly ignore the conversation that Jon was trying to have with Bran. Perhaps insulting his brother wasn't the best way to start a conversation? Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Jon moved a little bit in the saddle, trying to find a comfortable way to sit in the saddle while wearing his armour again.

The ache in his muscles from the sparring he'd done the day before was pleasant when he was stationary, but on a horse, it was annoyingly painful.

He was distracting himself again.

"Right…" he started again with a sigh, "So this has been going on for a few months now. The Reeds know about it. And so do those Greenmen. You have the Greensight but you're able to use it whenever you like and for whatever you want… I miss anything out?"

Jojen, from slightly behind the brothers, spoke up before Bran could. Jon noted that his brother didn't seem surprised by the interruption.

"I don't think you quite understand how remarkable a gift your brother has, Ser Jon."

There was a sense of mild reproach in the young man's tone, but, honestly, he looked so pale that Jon couldn't tell if he was just sick and he was imagining the tone. It was surprising that the boy was actually up and about. Jon would call him a boy, in the privacy of his own mind, despite his age, because he looked tiny and frail, like a young boy stretched in an unhealthy manner. So Jon didn't take offence to any tone that may have been used.

"Oh, I understand. Seeing the past and the future is an amazing gift."

It really was.

Jon had heard the same stories from Old Nan that Bran and Robb had when they were growing up; − those that the old lady had thought too 'scary' for the girls. Tales of the White Walkers astride their giant ice spiders. Legions of the dead marching against the living. Skinwalkers possessing great beasts and eating people alive. And, of course, the Greensight: the ability to see and know things about the distant past and the far future.

According to the old lady's stories, Bran the Builder had had the Greensight and he had used it to see which building techniques, materials and spells would ensure that The Wall would stand forever.

"Though the Sight in itself is marvellous, Ser Jon, the remarkable part of your brother's talent is that he can exercise unparalleled control over it. I have the Sight, and it robs me of rest in my sleep and strength from my body."

Huh.

So that was why Jojen looked like a stiff wind would snap him in two then? If Jojen was the rule, and Bran was the exception, then he supposed it was rather amazing. To have all of the advantages of an ability and none of its downsides? That was downright unfair.

Considering it was balance in favour of his little brother, Jon was not inclined to complain to anyone about the advantages his brother had, though.

"Jojen is correct, but not in his wording, as is to be expected considering he cannot See my gift with his own," Bran cut in, ignoring the rather dirty look the Reed male sent his way, "I don't have total control over what I See – it's almost like I can ask for guidance on a certain topic and it shows me something. When I do it that way, it doesn't drain me at all, but when I force it, it leaves me weak like Jojen feels when he uses his own."

Okay, so that was slightly more concerning. That suggested that something listened when Bran 'requested guidance', and coming off the back of his own religious experience, he could only really see one collective that would answer Bran's requests. It made sense, though; seeing the past and future was something that was often thought the privilege of the Gods alone. Perhaps it was an argument that his own vision had been the Seven then? Jon's experience with deities was not pleasant after all, even if the end results were exactly what he had wanted.

Or maybe the Gods just felt like taking a gentler hand with Bran? To be fair, Jon recognised that he had a lot to answer for when he died so that might have coloured any interaction he had with them. If he had actually spoken to Gods… It was a confusing subject, to be honest.

"So you can push for it to go in the direction you want, with the drawbacks, or you can go with the flow with gentle nudges and it doesn't affect you too badly." He blinked a few times before sighing. "Sounds like a load of bullshit to me. But I'm not exactly in a position to doubt any miracles nowadays, am I?"

They continued down the track, the lush greens of the Riverlands making the ride rather tranquil. It helped Jon that this time he wasn't making the journey writhing in agony in the back of a wagon. It gave him a chance to just get himself used to being in the saddle again. Thankfully, it appeared that none of his skills had degraded too much, so all he was going to need to do in the future was get back into the habit of honing his skills as he had done before his encounter with the last Clegane.

He reached down to the flank of his horse and lightly clutched the pommel of his sword.

The road was peaceful and the people he rode with were allies, but there was just something 'off' about the whole scenario that he couldn't shake. At the same time, he wasn't quite able to put his finger on it just yet.

Was it a gut feeling about the approaching Lannister forces? It could be, but their scouts were certain that they hadn't crossed at the Twins. Which made the idea of Lannister forces in this region rather unlikely. Maybe some type of bandits? Maybe. War was a very profitable time for men who would wave a sword around at peasants for money, especially whenever the Lannisters and their gold marched off to battle.

Still, though, the vague feeling of unease stayed, tightly coiled, in the pit of his stomach.

They were passing a small stream when he began considering that it might just be his own paranoia. Sometimes a tree was just a tree and not a message from the Gods. He had lived with an almost omnipresent feeling of paranoia for quite some time now; perhaps this was one of the reasons why Bran had suggested they go for a ride? People did that for fun as well, not just to ride down their enemies or train to do so.

It went a long way to showing how out of touch he was with what people expected someone of his age and station to be doing. Even in his own mind, he categorised things that were enjoyable as distractions. Perhaps Gendry was right and perhaps he did really need to just take all his stress out on one of the local whores? There hadn't been time yesterday with the assessment of his skill level, but there would be time tonight, he was sure.

It would be nice to be able to relax, because right now, that feeling was still going strong in his gut.

Lucky for him that he had someone on hand who could give him some clarification then, wasn't it? He turned slightly in the saddle to focus on Bran, freezing in place when he found his brother already looking directly at him with a small, knowing, smile.

"This was planned, brother."

For a wild second, Jon felt white hot fury race through his veins as his mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that Bran had taken him away from Moat Cailin because he intended to have him killed. It lasted only a second, though, because this was Bran. Almost as quickly as his anger had flared up, Jon regretted letting it get that strong in the first place, and for doubting his brother at all. His face flushed from the anger and the embarrassment at having assumed the worst of his brother in the first place.

Before he could speak his mind, however, sounds distracted both him and the men they'd brought with them. Metal clashed, war cries and death rattles resounded.

Fucking hells.

How had he missed the signs? There wasn't any wildlife because animals tended to steer well clear of battlefields until the dying had stopped. Then they came out to pick at the remains, naturally. Still, he'd been involved in battle enough to have seen the signs, so he reserved the right to be angry at himself for just casually trotting onwards with his younger brother now in danger.

He hadn't been directing them, though.

Jon's grip on Red Rain tightened as his head snapped back to regard Bran directly. He wasn't sure what expression he had on his own face right now, because, honestly, he seemed to be running a gauntlet of different emotions right now. Had Bran manipulated him into a battle?

"Yes, I planned for you to be part of this battle." The answer came, once again, before the question, "We've already had this conversation, Jon. I know everything you're going to say, so can you save us both the time, lead the charge and rescue the 'delegates' from the Martells?"

What?

No, no, the only question he had right now was: what the fuck?

Alright, so he had decided that he was angry. That was a start, and it was better than he'd managed to do before Bran's declaration. Growling darkly, Jon drew Red Rain easily from its sheath aside his horse's flank. If he was less annoyed at being manipulated, he might have noticed the way Meera tensed at his fast motion. As it was, he only had eyes for his brother, who still looked so Gods damn calm.

Though now he seemed to be a little sad.

Fuck that. The little shite didn't get to manipulate him into a battle before he was back to full form, keep valuable information from him and then dismiss his concerns with a pithy comeback. He was probably being unreasonable, but he would apologize later.

"We'll be having words about this later, Bran," he promised his brother, gripping the reigns tightly in his free hand and raising his sword up high as a rallying point for the men, "Men of the North! The rearmost five of you – stay with Lord Brandon. The rest of you… ride with me now!"

Spurring his horse into motion, Jon could have heard Gendry's bellowing shout of agreement from leagues away as the men pushed their own mounts into motion.

Thundering around the corner of the track, which had tree cover on both sides to obscure the view like most tracks in the Riverlands, Jon had only a split second to take in the situation as it unfolded and he charged straight on into it.

Overturned wagon with spearmen using it as a barricade against mounted attacks by lightly armoured horsemen. Dornish spearmen behind the wagon according to what little information Bran had given him. Light red armour on the horsemen – Lannister scouts? This far ahead of the bulk of the main force?

They couldn't be allowed to report back.

"Death to the Lannisters!"

Gendry had taken the time to bellow his war cry even as they approached their prey, the forty or so Northmen riding on their tail no doubt terrifying the dozen or so mounted scouts. They probably would have taken this chance to run away, but they didn't have time, and Jon didn't have time to think on their actions anymore.

Catching one of the scouts before he could think of the correct block, Jon stabbed forwards with the tip of his sword as their horses drew close. The reddened steel of Red Rain caught the man between his helmet and breastplate with barely a few inches before he yanked to the sword point back. Of course, with his aim being so true, a few inches of steel entered the man's neck before tearing out muscle and veins on its exit.

A gush of claret splashed against Jon's face.

It was exhilarating, to feel his enemy's lifeblood against his skin and know that he was still alive and an enemy was not. Also, the feeling was probably heightened by the fact that he had clearly forgotten to put his helmet on, so death was actually looking more likely than it normally should have done.

Fuck, did he not even have a helmet anymore? Did that get left with the Mountain's rotting corpse?

It meant that the next encounter wasn't going to be easy. One of the scouts who had managed to gather his wits about him was charging him with his sword held for a strong horizontal slash that would be hard to parry with just a sword in hand. Nevertheless, Jon spurred his horse onwards towards his foe, knowing that presenting his back to the man would be asking for death at this point with the distance between them disappearing by the second.

Jon roared a challenge as he pushed his horse forwards, gripping Red Rain tightly in hand as they came close. He forced his horse into that of his opponent and the two beasts bucked and jostled for a place to settle, causing enough of a disruption that Jon was able to grab his own blade halfway down the blade in his gauntleted hand. Using the better leverage and control that half-handing his blade gave him, Jon knocked his opponent's sword up and away from him.

The distance between the two of them meant a full thrust wouldn't have the strength to pierce the man's armour. With both hands being used to deliver the force, and a much shorter length of blade direct, Jon was able to thrust the blade through the man's armour up to the hand gripping his blade. With a good fifteen inches of blade through the heart, or lung and spine, Jon released his grip on the blade itself, very careful not to move his hand along the blade at all.

That was the trick with half-handing; a sharp blade wouldn't cut through your gauntlet if you just gripped it because you needed to move your flesh along the blade to cut yourself. Still, cutting yourself on your own blade was a scary fucking concept, so the surprise he saw etched into the dead man's face made sense.

Even more so when you factored in that his blade was Valyrian steel.

Gripping the man's shoulder, he pulled his sword free of the corpse with the added leverage and surveyed the battle quickly. He relaxed ever so slightly when he realised that the battle was over. The combined advantages of numbers and surprise meant that the Lannister scouts hadn't had chance to either escape or put up much of a fight, so Jon was unsurprised, though pleased, to find that none of the Northmen had fallen in battle.

Dismounting from his horse, Jon sheathed Red Rain at his side rather than back onto the horse. Though Bran said the spearmen were from Dorne, Jon wasn't going to be taking any chances when it came to armed strangers. He ran his fingers through his hair, mindful of his own vulnerability right now. Standing before the still mounted Northmen, Jon was confident in what the positioning suggested as he squared up to the spearmen still half-hidden behind their linked shields.

"Afternoon." He greeted them bluntly with a smile that probably showed too many teeth. "I hear you're Dornish… You're all a very long way from home if that is the case. Who speaks for you?"

One of the spears lowered and the accompanying shield was dropped to the ground. The toughened leather armour was cut for a woman. Jon had a good idea who was standing before him before she removed her helmet and shook her hair clear. Obara planted her spear in the ground and stepped closer, now holding no weapons but smiling a little.

"Ser Jon."

She looked… good.

Let it never be said that Oberyn Martell ever had unattractive daughters. Though many would say that Obara was the least striking of them all, none would deny that she was an objectively pretty woman and the slight sheen and glow she had now from combat just elevated her looks. This was a woman who was pretty but wasn't content with being pretty – she wanted to be deadly too. To be fair, she had proven her fighting ability before to Jon so the bodies before her were hardly a surprise.

She stepped up closer to him, a slight hint of breathlessness about her as she squared up to him. Jon was hard pressed to finish a thought about how striking her eyes were, because she'd punched him right in the mouth.

Jon waved away his fellow Northmen even as he reeled from the blow, stumbling backward slightly with a hand to his lip. Taking his hand away, he noted the blood on his fingertips, but it didn't stop him touching the cut gingerly with his tongue. It probably said something about his life that Jon found the taste of his own blood rather soothing in its familiarity. His footing now steady, Jon noted that Obara looked, at least slightly, concerned.

Well, she had just struck the leader of a group of armed men.

Though her two sisters at her shoulders might have been the reason for that. He didn't doubt for a moment that her distractingly stunning sister Nymeria had probably told her why it was folly to strike him.

Or maybe he just wanted the striking woman to like him unbloodied?

It didn't matter.

Tyene, Nymeria and Obara Sand were here.

If Jon had been back in the Riverlands, this would be something strange enough, but they were in the North. The Neck, to be sure, but the North none the less. The Sand Snakes had no business being so far away from their namesake as far as Jon could see. They had a nice little contingent of men with them as well, though nowhere near enough to count as a force fit for a true battle.

So the nieces of Doran Martell were in the North with barely enough men to count as an escort, had come under Lannister attack, and he had just so happened to be close enough to deliver aid at the crucial moment to women he knew.

Jon barely held in a snarl at the thought of his little brother manipulating him into this situation.

He wasn't saying anything, though, and people were beginning to look a little concerned. Honestly? As if he was mad enough to try and make something out of this. House Martell kept grudges, and he didn't doubt that any fighting now would be pointless. They probably had enough poison between them to kill all of Jon's men even if they did die themselves.

No, better to talk and play out his brother's little farce.

"I'm sure I deserved that for something." He pushed himself to jape, "Though you'll have to enlighten me as to the specific reason."

Nymeria didn't change her stance or react in any way, but both of her sisters visibly relaxed at his response. Obara put her hands on her hips, confidence coming back but with some more caution now that the battle madness was probably gone from her system.

"That is for nearly getting yourself killed fighting The Mountain. We have heard of your exploits, Ser Jon."

Her sister Tyene, whose grin made Jon honestly a little bit uncomfortable, skipped forward and placed a sweet kiss against his cheek. Blinking dumbly, Jon looked down at the smiling woman before turning his attention to Nymeria and Obara for an answer that they didn't seem inclined to give. Tyene herself just smirked, patting him on the shoulder.

"That was for blooding him up! Now…" she declared happily before her entire expression seemed to change to be much more predatory as she looked around the assembled men beside him, "Which one of you men is Gendry, The Bull of the Barrowlands?"

By the Gods, you could hear the fucking capitalisation of the title.

Jon joined her in watching the men, who all seemed to be rather surprised by the events and altogether uncertain as to how to proceed. One of the men, a man from White Harbour if Jon remembered correctly, slowly raised a hand.

"If the reward is from you, my lady, then I can be Gendry for you."

Tyene laughed, thank the Gods, which seemed to allow Jon's men to relax a little bit themselves and laugh, too. Gendry took off his helmet and smacked the other man over the back of his own helm with it.

"You're about a foot too short and far too polite by far, Jasper!" Gendry declared before eying Tyene and the other Sand Snakes with a mixture of amusement, caution and interest, "I have the dubious honour of being that Gendry in particular."

Sharing a glance with the woman, Jon nodded to answer her unspoken question. With only a little bit of surprise, Jon watched as the Dornish woman climbed up onto Gendry's horse with him, wrapping her lithe body around his and whispering into the dark haired man's ear directly. It was with bemusement that Jon noticed how his friend's face began to slowly redden, getting more so as Tyene seemed to have no intention of finishing up her whisperings anytime soon.

Nymeria and Obara came to stand beside him as their escort set about preparing the wagon for movement again. As nice as it was to see his rather 'worldly' friend blushing like a maid, it answered none of the questions he had about the Sand Snakes' arrival.

"I highly doubt you've travelled to scold me and congratulate Gendry," he noted dryly, perhaps a tad bluntly if he was honest with himself, "Can either of you two tell me why three of the most dangerous, and well-connected, women in Dorne are here at the Neck?"

The sisters shared a glance that Jon pretended not to notice.

Before either of them could answer, however, Bran and the rest of the Northerners had arrived on the scene. His younger brother smiled as he dismounted and approached.

"Why, I hardly think that matters right now, Jon," he declared with a bright and enthusiastic smile, "These young ladies have travelled far, and we would do well to get them to Moat Cailin so that they might rest! Whatever their reason for being here, they are now guests of the North, and I refuse to be anything but a gracious host in our father's absence."

His brother was laying it on a bit thick, wasn't he? Jon had absolutely no doubts that Bran knew all about why the Sand Snakes were here. Hells, he wouldn't put it past Bran to have known about it for days or even weeks. His younger brother could see the future at will – nothing of note would ever be able to surprise him ever again, he'd wager.

Just as Jon himself yielded the discussion to his younger brother, so too did Obara step back and let Nymeria engage Bran in conversation.

"You are most kind, my lord," she declared with a slight bow that made it practically impossible not to have your attention drawn lower than her eyes, "My sisters and I are here to speak with a representative of House Stark. It seems a stroke of luck that we have met with two members of House Stark here instead! Indeed, we have been sent by our lord uncle, but I fear he requested we avoid any possibility of battle so we, regrettably, had to steer clear of your eldest brother and lord father."

Bran managed to look sympathetic, but Jon noticed that the expression didn't reach his eyes properly. He resolved not to draw attention to his brother's falsehoods if neither of the Sand Snakes had not caught it themselves.

"And yet you have still been assaulted by men of House Lannister… Well, my lady I will not have you out in danger any longer!" he declared with a small bow of his own, "I insist that you two take the horses of myself and my dear brother. Some small measure of comfort for the last leg of your journey before true rest. My brother and I will simply need to exchange some words regarding how best to assist your escort to Moat Cailin before we set off, so if you'll excuse us."

Nymeria and Obara both made some polite remarks but Jon didn't much care. He was being given the chance to talk to his younger brother, and he was under no illusion that it was probably to have a conversation to stop him from feeling quite so much like a game piece on a board. Jon jerked his head to one side, and he led Bran a few feet away so that they could have some measure of privacy for their brief discussion.

And it would be brief.

Jon forestalled Bran's opening statement with a raised hand, asking for his patience as he pulled his thoughts together. Letting out his breath in an explosive sigh, Jon raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed hard at his eyes.

"Bran, you know I don't like being manipulated. And you, I've got no doubt, know all of my objections and have prepared counter arguments in advance." He lowered his hand and met his brother's eyes steadily. "Don't lie and say otherwise. You knew this would happen and you knew we would argue about it. You know what everything that I can say or do before I can do it. You could engineer your manipulations to be forever unseen with your ability to see every pitfall and every possible outcome or any action or word."

Neither man said a word as they just stared at each other. It was the truth, after all; Bran could, and would, always be several steps ahead of Jon, so any argument they had would end exactly how Bran allowed it to. There was no possible way that Jon could get Bran to stop manipulating him if his younger brother wanted to continue.

However, Bran was still a Stark of Winterfell.

"Bran… swear to me that you will use your gift to the betterment of our family and the North." He urged his younger brother, "Use me if you must or if it is convenient. But please, have that pure purpose in mind when you do. Can you swear that to me, brother?"

A much truer smile crossed his brother's face.

"Of course, Jon. I swear it." He agreed easily before glancing back at Obara and Nymeria, an action mirrored by Jon. "Besides… their arrival is good for you, for them and for their family. And, in the long run, it will mean stability and prosperity for the North as a whole."

Jon was relieved that Bran was being so forthcoming with his designs regarding the Sand Snakes, but he didn't like the way his brother turned back to him with a sad expression firmly in place.

"I hope you'll remember that when the time comes."

He didn't know what to say to that cryptic comment, so he said nothing and just watched as Bran mounted a spare horse and began to play the role of the happy young lordling again for Nymeria and Obara's benefit. What did it even mean? He supposed it meant that Jon wasn't going to like something about this particular scheme, but when and why were unclear.

Gods be damned for giving his brother the Sight, for it was going to drive him to an early grave. He knew it.