Chapter Text
ARIANNE
The waters of Blackwater Bay were mostly calm, as seagulls squawked overhead, as other ships dotted the sea. Most of them filled with fishermen, tossing their nets overboard, hoping for a catch, while others were headed right back to port, likely filled with the catch of the day.
At her elbow, Daemon grumbled, his dark eyes on the ships coming and going from the capital of the Seven kingdoms. “Why isn’t he sending them North? To fight against the monsters?”
“I don’t know.” Arianne said as she leaned against the railing, watching as a seagull dived into the waters, hunting for a catch of his own. “I am sure he has his reasons.”
Daemon’s handsome face twisted with displeasure as he glared at the Red Keep, towering over them. She could almost feel the anger seep of him.
His pride was hurt.
“You still stand by me?” She asked him quietly as the ship rapidly neared the harbour. “You still believe that I am my father’s rightful heir?”
Daemon’s head whipped around to face her. “Of course, princess.” His face was drawn together in puzzlement. “My life is yours, you only have to command it, and I will charge against the treacherous cunts who took Sunspear alone. I will risk my life to get back your birthright.”
“Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.” Arianne smiled sadly as she spoke, not sure how to ease the air between them. “I need him, Daemon. You must know this.”
Staring up at him, Arianne beseeched him to understand her. “I need his support to take back what is mine.”
Daemon did not look pleased but held his tongue. How many times had they had this conversation? Arianne wasn’t sure. “I need his armies; I need his dragons. I need him to support me. The Sand snakes hold all the cards in Dorne at the moment, and the only thing that remains to me is my claim and that I am trueborn.”
“Why are you saying this?” Daemon asked, his brows furrowed and his face a mask of anger.
“You must be courteous when we meet the king.” Arianne said firmly, staring her sworn shield down. She was his princess. The rightful ruler of Dorne.
If she couldn’t control one man, how could the king expect her to control a whole kingdom.
“What are you-.” Daemon began but Arianne shook her head.
“No, Daemon. You must listen to me.” Arianne demanded quietly so that the sailors wouldn’t overhear, or that knight who Ser Davos had sent, Ser Martyn. “How can the king take my claim seriously if you are sullen or insulting him.”
“I am not going to insult him.” Daemon huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “If I question him then he cannot-.”
“No, Daemon.” Arianne insisted, shaking her head at the man. “It is not your place to question a king.”
He stared back at her, his eyes blazing with fury. “Because I am a Sand? Is that why? I am lesser and not worthy? I have been by your side for years, I have fought for you, bled for you. I left my homeland for you. But now I am not worthy of-.”
“Daemon.” Arianne hissed, the nails biting into the palm of her hands as sailors glanced at them. “You know damn well that it is not what I meant. You cannot go around insulting a king and then expecting him to help us. He might need me to get Dorne, but I need him as well. I cannot get back my birthright without him.”
Her sworn shield gritted his teeth before speaking in a low voice. “We could go and travel around Dorne, from castle to castle. Gathering support for your cause and take it back from the inside, just the prince’s and princess did when the Targaryens came before.”
“And how do we guarantee that one of the lords don’t decide to take me captive and send me to Sunspear to trade for their heir?” Arianne asked coldly. They had argued this back and forth since leaving Winterfell, and every time it ended the same. Daemon leaving in a huff to cool off.
She was getting rather weary of this. Their fighting was exhausting, and she wanted him to stop fighting her at every turn. She was the princess of Dorne, his rightful ruler. “Is that what you want? For me to be killed by my cousins who desire my birthright?”
“What no.” The horror on his face said it all, and she felt her heart grow lighter. “I would never want you harmed. It is my duty to see that you are safe and ruling Dorne as is your right.”
“Then trust me.” Arianne said, blinking up at him. “Trust that I have the interests of Dorne in mind when I make decisions. I learned from my father, and he ruled wisely for decades.”
Daemon did not look happy but let out a breath though his nose as he nodded. “I will do as you command princess.”
The ship sailed gracefully into the harbour and as Ser Martyn of Dragonstone, walked onto the deck, Daemon glared hard at the man. She knew that Daemon had not liked him when the other knight had winked at her and called her the desert rose of Dorne and had started to compose a song in her honour, when she had first come to Dragonstone.
Daemon never liked it when other men showed any interest in her. Perhaps he thought that now, with her father gone, he could marry her.
The other knight walked over to them, a large grin on his face as he bowed before her. “Princess, it has been an honour to bask in your presence.” Arianne offered the man a hand to kiss and smiled at him.
“You are too kind Ser.”
As they disembarked from the ship, they were met with a young woman standing next to a huge wolf, one much bigger than the one belonging to the queen and more in line with the wolf that had guarded her brother, Bran, except this one did not have the scars littering its body. It was grey as the wolf on the Stark banners and its eyes were dark gold.
Next to the young girl, was a man wearing white of the kingsguard and behind them guards where holding the reins of palfreys and destriers. “Princess Arianne Martell?” The young girl asked as Arianne walked from the ship and on to the docks. “Welcome to King’s Landing. I am Arya Stark, and this is Ser Edric Strong of the kingsguard, we are here to escort you to the Red Keep.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Arianne nodded at the younger woman, glancing at the sword she carried at her waist. The pommel was a golden flame, and the hilt was ink black and it stirred something in her mind but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what it was.
A guard walked forth, holding the reins of a lovely chestnut mare with a strong back and legs. As she was helped into the saddle, she watched as Ser Martyn handed lady Arya a scroll before bowing deeply once more, his eyes then meeting Arianne’s. He winked her way once more before he strode off as lady Arya rode beside her.
As they rode through the streets, many turned to look at them as they travelled to the Red Keep and as they saw the direwolf trotting alongside them, the people let out cheers as they greeted the king’s cousin and the kingsguard.
They rode through the streets of king’s landing, and everywhere she looked, Arianne had to admit herself surprised that life in the city seemed very much like any other city. Which was odd as it had only been a few days since the siege had been broken and king Jon had taken it under his control.
Everywhere she looked, she could see the banners of house Targaryen and men in black and red moving throughout the streets, keeping the peace and handing out food for those who needed it.
How clever of him.
The city still stank as she had heard it did, and she was glad when they arrived in the courtyard of the castle as the wind was coming from the Narrow Sea, washing away the stink of the city.
Arianne wasn’t surprised that the king wasn’t waiting for them at the entrance of his castle, but she could hear Daemon huff as he dismounted. Sending her sworn sword a stern look, Arianne hoped that he wouldn’t do anything to offend either the king or his cousin.
The young kingsguard offered her his hand and helped her down from her mount. “Come princess, his grace is waiting for you.”
Holding onto his arm, they walked after lady Arya and her large wolf, and Arianne could feel her heart hammer in her chest for anticipation. Finally, she would be meeting king Jon.
They walked further into the castle, and Arianne followed lady Arya as the girl led her into Maegor’s Holdfast, they walked over the open draw bridge and as she leaned a little, Arianne could see the dry moat bellow that was filled with cruel looking spikes that jutted out from the ground.
Arya Stark led her into the fortress within the castle and though the halls that had been redecorated with the banners of house Targaryen until they reached a heavy oak door. Lady Arya knocked on the door before brazenly walking into the room.
Seated behind an oak desk, a tall young man was seated, speaking to another man, much older. The older man’s hair had turned grey, and his face was lined with age. The two men looked in their direction as they halted their conversation and when the younger man’s eyes landed on her, she felt as if she had been struck to the floor.
The king was as she expected young and handsome as the stories she had heard about him, and the look on his face was as serious as she had been told that all Starks were, and at the back of his chair, a large raven stared at her, its beady eyes blinking rapidly.
“Your grace, uncle.” Lady Arya spoke evenly, as her hand was in her wolf’s fur. “Princess Arianne is here to speak with you.”
The king looked at Arianne, and for a moment she was certain his eyes were dark purple and not grey as she had been told. “I am sorry for the loss of your father, princess.” Instead of kissing her knuckles as custom dictated, the king shook her hand.
“Thank you, your grace.” Arianne resisted the urge to sniff as the grief still lurked in her soul. “I much appreciate your kindness.”
King Jon gestured for them to take their seats and as Arianne walked over, she halted in her steps when her eyes flickered to an even larger wolf laying down beside the king’s chair, its red eyes boring into hers. She quickly regained her composure and took a seat to the king’s left as Daemon rushed and sat down beside her. “Your grace, thank you for meeting with me. I know you must be very busy.”
The king nodded his head, his face serious and his head lacking the crown of Aegon the Conqueror that queen Sansa had told her he possessed. “Of course, princess Arianne, I assume you are here because of what is happening in Dorne.”
“Indeed I am.” Arianne nodded, and she could feel Daemon move beside her. “My cousins are usurping my birthright. Something that I am sure that you can sympathize with.”
Silence fell over them as the king seemed to study her before he nodded, his eyes boring into her own and as the sunlight fell on them through the window. “Our intelligence tells us that Ellaria Sand and the three eldest of her daughters have intentions of allying themselves to my aunt, Daenerys Targaryen. The eldest two, Obara and Nymeria have already sailed towards Meereen, and that Tyene Sand is helping her mother rule Dorne.”
Arianne felt her heart break as the young king spoke. She had always been close to her uncle’s daughters, and Tyene had been the sister she had never had. Why had they betrayed her this way? What had she ever done to make her cousin’s hate her like this?
Taking a deep breath, Arianne nodded. She would have to remain strong, for herself and for her father. For their house. “Will you help me?” Arianne asked, holding her head high. “Help me take back my birthright?”
King Jon looked right into her eyes, and she was certain that he was hearing every thought that entered her mind. “You have been to Winterfell I hear. Talked to my wife?”
Arianne frowned for a moment before nodding.
“And did she show you?” The king asked, his face like it had been hewn out of stone. “Did she show you the dead man?”
Arianne nodded again. “Yes.” She felt a shiver of terror at the memory of the shrieking corpse as it had tried to break out of the cell to try and get to them.
“Then you can understand we need to deal with the Others before we do anything else.”
“But with Dorne you can field more men.” Daemon insisted hotly, his cheeks turning red. “Without Dorne you cannot win. You cannot be the king of the Seven Kingdoms. Why should we help a man that doesn’t help us?”
Daemon had risen to his feet, his eyes wide and filled with rage, a look that was matched by Ser Brynden and Ser Edric, who looked like the knight had offended their mothers.
Lady Arya watched Daemon with hard eyes as her wolf snarled in Daemon’s direction and the grey wolf’s white counterpart rose to his feet, glaring at Arianne’s sworn shield.
King Jon watched Daemon for a moment before looking back at Arianne. “Does he speak for you princess? Does he speak for the ruling princess of Dorne?”
Arianne held her head high and sent Daemon a cold look before addressing king Jon. “No, only I speak for Dorne.” Gesturing for Daemon to sit down, Arianne felt her frustration rise in her at the man’s behaviour.
“From where I am sitting, princess.” King Jon laced his fingers together and leaned on his elbows. “You are the rightful and lawful ruler of Dorne, and I will aid you in taking back your home.”
Arianne had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from letting out a sob of relief. However, she managed to keep her emotions in check as she nodded, smoothing her orange skirt of the dress queen Sansa had gifted her as discreetly as she could. “Thank you, your grace. Know that I will stand beside you and that Dorne is with you.”
“Thank you, princess Arianne.” The king nodded his head. “There is a small council meeting staring mid-morning, tomorrow at the small council chambers. I would like for you to attend, princess.”
Arianne blinked at him. Her father had always told her that women weren’t taking seriously north of the Red mountains. “Are you sure, your grace?”
“Aye, I am.” The king didn’t look offended that she questioned him in front of his cousin and his kingsguard. “In the meantime, I was hoping that you would try and remember any personal matters between the Dornish houses, that you are able to.”
“Why?” Daemon blurted out, with a heavy frown on his face.
“Winning wars is as much about politics as it is about winning battles, Ser.” The king spoke in a confident tone.
JON
Jon watched as the tall castle rose into the air, ink black and with its towers shaped into dragons, each snarling and roaring as Rhaegal let out one of his own. His large green wings carried them closer to the island where Aenar “the Exile” had made his home.
Dragonstone.
Jon felt his heartbeat faster at the sight of the castle that his father’s family had ruled until the year 284 AC, where both great men and mad had been born. Where Aegon and his sister wives had planned their conquest.
Rhaegal lowered their flight, as they moved in an arch around the castle, observing it as they passed.
Jon felt Ser Edric arms around his waist tighten as Rhaegal made their decent and when they finally touched down in the courtyard of Dragonstone, Jon was having a small difficulty breathing, as the knight’s arms were squeezing his middle like snakes.
Rhaegal lay down on the black stone covered ground, and Jon climbed down from his back, followed by the unsteady knight. Ser Edric looked ready to hurl as he doubled over on himself. “Are you alright Ser?” Jon asked, frowning with concern.
“I am fine, your grace.” Ser Edric managed to mutter, sending him a weak smile and adding as Ser Davos came running out of the castle, along with a young maester. “Flying is not for mortal men.”
Jon fought a grimace that wanted to crawl its way onto his face. The old saying about Targaryens being closer to gods then men ringing in his ears.
How much suffering could have been avoided if his ancestors had not taken those words to heart.
Both men exciting the castle, looked at them with wide eyes. Rhaegal recognizing Ser Davos immediately, sent a cheerful shriek his way in greeting.
The knight righted himself and cleared his throat. “I am going to be fine, I just…I will be fine.” Jon nodded and patted Rhaegal on the nose before sending him to hunt along with Viserion around the seas of the island. As Rhaegal took off into the skies, Jon and Ser Edric crossed the courtyard.
“Your grace.” Ser Davos fell to one knee, along with the maester and the guards around the walls and courtyard. “Dragonstone is yours.”
Gesturing for the man to rise back to his feet, Jon grabbed his hand and shook it. “I got your letter.” Jon pulled the scroll that Arya had handed him. “Figured that I should come and see the progress and see if you have need of anything.”
Ser Davos laughed, and gestured at the young maester, who could only have a few years older than Jon. “Your grace, this is maester Pylos, he has been helping me running the island and overseeing the mining.”
“Well, thank you for your time and efforts, maester Pylos.” Jon said as Ser Davos led them into the central keep of Dragonstone, the tower called the Stone Drum.
“Of course, your grace.” The man bowed his head as they walked through the halls, many tapestries and banners of house Targaryen had been hung on the walls, one of them was a huge piece depicting Aegon and his sisters landing at the mouth of the Blackwater, Aegon holding his sword Blackfyre high as his queens flanked him and the three dragons roared behind them. “As you can see, we have pulled many of the Targaryen artifacts from the cellars, but regretfully we were not able to find any more valuable treasures, like the crowns or any dragoneggs that might have been housed here before the sack of Dragonstone at the hands of lord Stannis.”
Jon nodded as they entered the most famous chamber in the castle. It was a large round room with four tall windows, one facing south, another east, the third North and the fourth and last west. In the middle of the room the large table, carved in the likeness of Westeros stood, showing the castles, cities, towns and the landscape in meticulous detail but it had no borders, showing where one kingdom ended and another began.
“How is the mining going?” Jon asked as he walked around the southern shores of Dorne, his eyes landing on the castle of Hellholt, where queen Rhaenys and her dragon Meraxes had died, shot down by a scorpion bolt. “Have we lost any of the ships in the autumn storms?”
“Only two your grace, but none of the new once have gone down. They seem to handle the storms much better.” Ser Davos walked to where the Arbour had been carved out, the Redwyne straits separating the island from the rest of the Reach. “It would still be faster if we had more ships, and if the docks at Last Hearth were finished but we can make do.”
“Docks at Last Hearth?” Jon asked with a raised brow as the knight grinned at him.
“Indeed, a letter from Winterfell came not too long ago. The queen has commissioned a harbour at Last Hearth, so that the ships can be directed straight from White Harbor to house Umber and be transported by land to Castle Black.”
Jon felt a smile grow on his face at the knight’s words. Of course, it had been Sansa’s idea to build a harbour by the Last Hearth and make supplying the castles on the Wall that much easier. His clever wife.
Ser Davos brought forth scrolls and opened them before Jon, showing the numbers of crates being carried by every ship and how much they weighted when they were loaded. The documents were detailed and meticulously written down by the man. “Each ship has one of these, one that lord Manderly signs and sends back with the ship that it arrived with so maester Pylos and I can go over them once more.”
Jon found himself very impressed with how detail oriented the knight was becoming. “Thank you both for all your hard work, it has been invaluable.”
Jon could see that the maester looked a bit flustered at being praised, but the knight shook his head. “It is the least we can do. The fate of the world hangs in the balance.”
“Your grace, if I may,” The maester said looking very excited as he spoke. “There is something I would like to show you, if you are willing.”
Jon nodded and the man excused himself, hightailing it out of the room, causing Ser Davos to hold in a laugh. “He is excitable but eager to serve, your grace.” Ser Davos moved closer to where the castle of Starfall was carved into the varnished table. “How was the princess when she arrived?”
“She seemed fine,” Jon said with a frown as Ser Edric stood at his back. “Why do you ask?”
Ser Davos shook his head. “I just…I am a bit worried for her I suppose.”
“Worried for her?” Jon rubbed his chin. “Why?”
“Her father has been murdered, her family betrayed her and that sworn sword of hers…” Ser Davos shook his head. “I just…I worry about her.”
“You think that Ser Daemon might betray her?” Jon felt the familiar burning in the scar above his heart.
“No, not knowingly.” Ser Davos looked at him, his face twisted in thought. “But I think… I think that he might have feelings for her, which could make things worse for her in the long run. Especially if he feels scorned.”
Jon let out a sigh, feeling that the man might be right. “Aye, but I cannot tell her who she can or cannot be with.” Jon leaned against the painted table, where the Saltshore had been carved out. “No more than I can interfere with the personal matters of any lord under my command. She must be seen taken as seriously as any other great lord if she is to take rule of Dorne.”
“I agree with you, and she needs all the support she can get.” Davos sat down in a chair with a sigh. “Do you have any idea how to get Dorne under her control?”
“I have a half a plan, but I am not sure yet.” Jon looked back to where Hellholt was carved out. His memories of reading how queen Rhaenys and her dragon had died, were fresh in his mind.
“Half a plan is better than no plan.” The knight said as he looked over the painted table and the maester entered the chamber again, this time, his hands willed with scrolls that looked ancient.
“Here, your grace.” The young maester eagerly placed them on the table before grabbing one and spreading it open. When Jon saw what had been drawn on the scroll, his brows rose high on his forehead.
“I found them deep within the library.” The maester said with a grin. “I don’t think that even old maester Cressen knew that they existed.”
Jon stared at the sketches before him; they were delicate and detailed and there were notes written down in High Valyrian. “This one was made for Syrax.” Jon said as he read the name written in the corner. The dragon of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the half year queen. Even the dragon’s likeness had been drawn, and it looked so life like that Syrax looked ready to jump of the scroll and fly around the air.
“Indeed, your grace.” The maester looked so pleased that Jon could understand the valyrian glyphs. “Now that I have seen your dragon, I don’t think that Syrax’s saddle is a good fit, but there are others.”
The maester took another scroll and opened it, before closing it again and putting it aside and grabbing another one. Jon picked up the scroll the man had discarded and opened it, revealing the saddle sketches for Caraxes, the Blood wyrm.
Jon’s eyes fell on the drawing of the dragon, and he could see that unlike both Syrax, and the dragons Jon knew, that the Blood wyrm had a much longer and slimmer body. More like a serpent than a dragon.
“Here.” The maester announced happily as he spread the scroll open on the table. The drawing of the dragon was almost identical to Rhaegal and Viserion, and at the corner, Jon could see the name, Dreamfyre. “These seem to match your dragon.”
The saddle that had been drawn was not as elaborate as the saddles for Caraxes or Syrax, more designed for function than ceremony. Taking the scroll, Jon thanked the maester for his trouble in a quiet tone.
“There are a few other saddles made for dragons that look very much like your Rhaegal.” The maester said as he opened another scroll, this one marked with the name Seasmoke. “But from what Ser Davos had told me, you do not want such elaborate designs.”
Jon ignored the former smuggler’s grinning. “Well, he happens to be right, this time.”
“Your grace, there is something else I need to speak with you about.” The former smuggler said rubbing his chin. “One of Robert Baratheon’s bastards is here on Dragonstone. Gendry Waters, he is a talented smith and has been working in the forge.”
Searching the man’s face, Jon nodded slowly. “I would like to see him.”
Ser Davos nodded, and Jon was certain that he detected a little nervousness in the man. They walked together out of the room, after thanking the maester once more, and they headed into the courtyard.
The forge was located near the stables and Jon could hear the loud banging of a hammer on steel from within. As they walk through the doors, Ser Davos looked almost immediately uncomfortable because of the heat. “Gendry,” The knight called. “Where are you?”
“Here.” Called another voice. Jon had only seen Robert Baratheon from afar when he had visited Winterfell but even then, Jon could see the similarities between father and son. Both had black hair and deep blue eyes, and it seemed that the son had inherited the father’s height.
However, Jon could see the same stubborn look on Gendry Water’s face that had so often graced Stannis Baratheon.
Gendry Water had to be the same age as Jon, if only a bit older.
The smith stared at him wide eyed when he entered the main room of the forge, his mouth opening with shock before he fell down on one knee. “Your grace.”
“Gendry Waters?” Jon asked as he gestured for the man to stand.
“Yes, your grace.” Gendry Waters bowed, still looking shocked before he looked at Ser Davos.
“Ser Davos tells me that your father was Robert Baratheon.” Jon could see fear creep into the man’s eyes.
“Ye…yes, he was your grace.” Gendry nodded nervously, sweat running down his face from the heat of the forge. “But I never knew the man, I swear your grace.”
Jon held up his hand to stop him. “I am not here to hurt you, Gendry. I simply want to see who you are.”
“Who…I am?” Gendry looked at Ser Davos, his eyes filled with confusion.
“Aye,” Jon nodded and walked over to a table filled with metal work. Jon picked up a handsome helmet, forged in the shape of a bull. It was polished and well cared for, and very life like. “You made these?”
“Yes, your grace.” There was tension in his voice, and as Jon looked from the helmet, he could see Gendry stare at it. Jon could see the tension on his face, and he looked like he was having a hard time not grabbing it from Jon’s hands.
“These are well made, you have put a lot of care in your work.” Gendry was still staring at the helmet in Jon’s hands, a deep frown marring his face.
“Thank you, your grace.” He seemed to be waiting for something.
“Have you been working with the dragonglass?” Jon asked as he placed the helmet back on the table, and he could see the tension lift from the man’s shoulders, and he seemed relieved when Jon’s attentions were no longer on his creation.
“Aye, your grace. I have been experimenting with it.”
“And how is that going?” Jon asked him.
“I have made many arrowheads and daggers, your grace. But the swords are harder and cannot be any longer than a short sword.” Gendry walked back into the room and Jon could hear ruffling around and when he came back, Gendry was holding a short sword two feet long and Jon could see that it was thicker at the base and narrowed towards the tip of the blade.
The smith handed it to Jon, hilt first. The blade was light, and wickedly sharp and it shown black, green and red. “Is it too brittle to make hammers or maces?” Jon asked as he handed it back to the smith.
“It is your grace.” Gendry accepted the blade back. “They always crumble and break when used, but the blades work very well.”
“Well, thank you for your efforts, they are very much appreciated.” Jon looked at the other man carefully. “Has Ser Davos told you that your cousin Shireen Baratheon is alive and well?”
Gendry looked at the knight before nodded. “He has, he told me that my uncle Stannis intended to sacrifice her, but she was saved. He told me that lady Baratheon is now in Winterfell.”
Jon felt relief as Gendry called Shireen, lady Baratheon. “So, you understand that she will rule Storm’s End, and her children after her?”
Gendry Waters nodded. “Yes, your grace. Ser Davos had spoken well of her, says she is good and kind, and even taught him how to read. I am sure she will be a good lady of Storm’s End.”
“I am sure she will.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment before Gendry spoke in a quiet voice. “Your grace, I was wondering if…if it were true that Arya…lady Arya. Is she with you?”
Jon looked at Gendry carefully. “How do you know Arya?”
“We…well we travelled together. From King’s Landing after the Hand was killed.” Gendry said, his ears turning pink as Ser Davos forced down a cough. “For a while at least and we became friends.”
Gendry seemed to prefer to look anywhere but at Jon, almost like Ser Jasper Redfort whenever the young knight was mooning over Arya. “Aye, she is.”
Gendry nodded, clearing his throat. “Well, when she goes North, perhaps I will see her there.”
“You are going North?” Jon asked curiously.
“Yes, your grace.” Gendry was clutching the hilt of the obsidian blade. “Ser Davos told me about the dead rising beyond the Wall, and how you plan to fight them. I should go and do my part as well.”
“Do you know how to wield a sword?” Jon asked him and Gendry shook his head.
“I am better with a hammer.”
Jon looked at Ser Davos before looking at Gendry again. “Well, if you are going to fight then you need to learn how to properly swing a sword. I will write to Lord Manderly so that he knows to expect you, and he can escort you to Winterfell and I will ask Ser Brianne of Tarth to teach you. She is skilled and honourable, and you could even meet our cousin Shireen.”
Gendry stared at him, his mouth opened wide once more. “Thank you, your grace.” He said and bowed deeply.
Thanking the two men, Jon shook their hands, and they walked back to the courtyard, as a roar echoed off the stones before Rhaegal landed, shaking his horned head. “Write to me if you need anything.” Jon told Ser Davos, and the man nodded.
“Of course, your grace.”
Turning to Gendry who was staring in awe at Rhaegal. “And I will see you in Winterfell.”
Bidding them farewell, Jon climbed on to Rhaegal’s back, and Ser Edric followed him, his face growing pale. As the man wrapped his arms around Jon’s middle, Rhaegal hurled them into the sky.
They headed straight west, Viserion following them like a shadow.
Reaching the Red Keep only took a few hours, and when Rhaegal and Viserion landed in the inner courtyard, Jon spotted Arya and the direwolves waiting for them.
As Jon dismounted, followed again by Ser Edric, Arya walked over to him with a displeased look on her face. “I can’t believe that he got to go with you before I got to fly.”
Arya walked over to him before wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning into his side as Jon placed an arm around her shoulders, the two direwolves flanking them as Ser Edric followed, looking like a ghost. “I did offer-.”
“I knoooow.” Arya dragging out her words and interrupting him in a way only she was allowed. “But I had patrol.” She looked at him, her eyes serious and her mouth pouting. “I am a respectable adult. Choosing to do my duty and not go flying. I think I deserve a lordship for my sacrifice.”
Ser Edric choked on his spit as she spoke, forcing Jon to push down a laugh. “Aye, I should give you Harrenhall for all your suffering.”
“Puuuff.” Arya shook her head. “Keep that cursed ruin, I want Summerhall.”
“Excuse me,” Jon pretended to be offended at the suggestion. “But that is my cursed ruin. You can’t have it.”
“And here I thought you were my favourite brother.” Arya raised her head so that her nose was pointed into the air before looking back at him. “How did you fare on Dragonstone? Surely you must have had more fun that I had. Three drunken brawls. During the day.”
Arya sounded so offended that anyone would dare break the law during her patrol that it almost made Jon laugh. “Not sure if I would call it fun.” They walked towards Maegor’s Holdfast, servants and guards bowing as the passed them by. “But I did get this.”
Jon handed her the scroll of the saddle and watched as she opened it. “A dragon saddle?”
“Aye, it’s a good idea.” Jon nodded as they reached his solar. “It will allow Rhaegal greater range of movement when I am riding him, especially if I make a belt that I can use to latch myself in.”
“That’s…smart.” Arya said as she spread the scroll over his desk as Jon sat down in his chair, as she studied the schematics. She then pointed at the dragon that had been so carefully illustrated. “Is that…Dreamfyre?”
“Aye,” Jon nodded pouring ale into cups and handing her one. “There were more, but that one seemed to fit Rhaegal very well, and it can be adjusted if need be.”
Arya hummed in agreement. “Well, you will be safer when you are burning armies down. So, I like that at least.”
Jon took the scroll back and wrapped it up once more. He wanted to say that he hoped to only burn down the army of the dead, but he knew better. He did not doubt for a moment that Daenerys Targaryen would be coming to Westeros sooner rather than later.
And he would not bet on her being eager to order her men to lay down their blades and accept his claim on the Iron throne over hers.
Looking at his little sister, Jon smiled her way. “So, I met your friend Gendry on Dragonstone.” Jon smiled wider when he could see her cheeks turn dusty pink as she stared at him, before demanding to know how Gendry had ended up on the island.