Chapter Text
JON
Jon woke with the earliest rays of dawn filtering into the tent. He stretched a little, taking care not to wake the sleeping woman wrapped around him. He turned to look at her and smiled. Rhaenys was peaceful with her eyes closed, her arm splayed out over him. Her head rested on his chest and rose and fell with his steady breathing. She was beautiful in every way, and warm and comfortable. The feeling of her skin was luxuriant on his. She stirred and woke. Lovely violet orbs glanced up at him, and then she pressed a kiss to his chest.
"Good morning, my love," she murmured. "I dreamed you were gone when I woke."
"Just a dream," he assured her. "Besides, your head was heavy and made it impossible to escape."
A whispered laugh bubbled out of her mouth and she traced patterns on his skin. Her olive complexion contrasted with his paler one, though Essos left a permanent mark on him and he was not so pale as he once had been. "I would rather we never leave this tent. The world outside has little peace, but here there's calm."
"I don't want to leave it either," Jon said. "But it won't stop for us no matter how much I wish it." There were truths to face outside. A pang of guilt rippled through him. He ran off and left Bran and Robb to grapple with Father's death alone. No, he forced them out of their own grieving to come deal with him. And then Father...
The man he thought to be his sire his whole life was his uncle. He did not know how to come to terms with that. Ned Stark had never been anything other than a father to him, and Jon missed him horribly already. He felt as though there was a gap in his heart where he had once been. With so much of it gone, he was not sure if there was any room left for Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. He was an orphan twice over.
"Jon?"
"Mhm?" He turned to look at her and shook himself out of his own thoughts.
"I think we need to tell Viserys," Rhaenys said. Her fingers traced his jaw and then his lips. "If need be, issue a legitimization - or at least a declaration that he considers you a trueborn Targaryen."
"Rhae..."
"Don't 'Rhae' me," she said sleepily. "He is our uncle - and your family as well. If he was here, or Daenerys, wouldn't you want them to know?"
Daenerys he most certainly would, remembering his warm interactions and friendship with the silver-haired princess. A pang of hurt shot through his heart at the thought of her now, doubly so now that she was not only a friend but his kin. Viserys was another matter entirely... and he did not even dare to think of Aegon, lest he be sold to a Dothraki khal as well. "I suppose there is no running from it," he accepted grimly. "But no declaration. As of now, the Faith has not openly taken a side against any of the kings in the war, be it Joffrey or Viserys or even Stannis if the man truly has chosen to press his claim as well. Arguing my legitimacy involves the Faith and the idea of marriages. Targaryen kings have had ruined reigns because they chose to joust with the Septons. Viserys has more pressing issues."
She stared at him. "You don't want to be Aemon Targaryen - despite what you so filthily whispered in my ear last night."
Jon flinched, remembering that mad fit of lust that overtook him. "No, love. That's not it. I just don't want to cause more trouble for him than he needs right now. We can deal with that once he has been coronated by the High Septon."
"Then why not a legitimization?" she argued. "That power remains within the realm of kings. But then doing so would acknowledge that even we believe your mother's marriage to Father to be on shaky grounds."
"Don't you?" Jon asked with surprise.
"Not if it means that you keep the Targaryen name," she said forcefully. "Besides, Lord Reed never claimed that Father set my mother aside, or stripped me and Aegon of our titles or our inheritance. He took a second wife as the Targaryens of old did. But enough of that. Let me think of what to tell Viserys, and I'll write to him only once you agree upon it."
Jon agreed. She extricated herself from him gently and got up. Jon admired her naked form as she stood and washed her face in the washbasin. She looked as good from behind as she did from the front. Shapely thighs curved into a rear that looked as though sculpted by the gods themselves. Her back was smooth with deep, toned backline.
"I can feel your eyes burning a hole through my back," she said with a laugh as she toweled her face. "Don't worry. You can stare all you like for the rest of your days."
He left her tent and went to his own. Bran was not there, but Jon was not upset by that. He armored himself, though it took some time with all the straps. He had to flag down a page who was rushing outside his tent to help with the cuirass. Sometime later, as he was nearly done, Ghost poked his snout through the tent. He came to Jon and sniffed at him, then sat on his haunches and rubbed his head into Jon's lap.
Jon ran his fingers through the wolf's snow white fur. "There you are, boy. At least you think I'm still me, right?" Ghost stared at him with those intelligent ruby eyes and said nothing. Jon chose to take that as agreement, which was oddly reassuring. If the direwolf did not abandon him, at least he was no less a Stark than he had been before. To his surprise, he found the cloak Robb gave him in Winterfell, with the inverted Stark colors, lying neatly folded on his bed. He wondered if the woman they found in Lord Harroway's town returned it. He fastened it to his armor, and Frostbite, and headed to Robb's tent.
The guards parted as soon as they saw him. Both of them had been with Robb when he found Jon by the dead Lannister stragglers. He nodded to them, but one said something before Jon could walk past.
"I'm very sorry about your father, mi'lord," he said. He tilted his helmet back and Jon recognized him - Hilda's son, Bren.
"Thank you, Bren," Jon said. "Tom doing alright?"
"Took an arrow in the battle, but he's healing," Bren said. "Medic and maester both said he should be fine in a fortnight. Got the wound burned and cleaned before it could fester."
"Good," Jon patted his shoulder. "Maybe best not to tell your mother about that when we get back to Winterfell, then." He slipped inside the tent. Robb was sitting at his table, drinking ale and eating a biscuit. Jon came and sat by him, though he could not look him in the eyes. He stared instead at the map splayed over the table. It was a smaller version of the one they had in the council tent, where Robb met with all the lords. Little pieces were scattered across it, representing armies and castles and the latest information they were privy to. "Morning," he said flatly to Robb.
"Morning," came the reply. "How are you feeling?"
"I don't know," he said. "Likely the same as you."
"I could only wish. I have one burden to bear. Lord Reed gave you a second. Look at me, Jon." Jon glanced up to catch Robb's icy-blue gaze. "You are my brother and you will be my brother until the end of my days. Father was your father, no matter who sired you. Never forget that. Never think otherwise."
Jon's throat constricted with emotion. "Aye," he said, nodding his head. "I need to speak to Lord Reed further. There were things he mentioned in that chest... letters and journals kept by Rhaegar and Lyanna, and other things." Robb nodded in agreement.
"Would you like me and Bran to be there?"
"It might help," Jon said. "At least one of you might stop me if I try to run again."
Robb snorted and then shook his head. "Even humor seems ill-suited today. It's strange how the world goes on even when those we love die. I half expected the sun to fail to rise this morning, and yet it did. I ate this bread and cheese and drank this ale, as I always do. My squire came to help me don this armor. And we still have Lannisters to kill," he said. "I'd have been hard pressed to imagine a world without him, but he is gone and the world still exists. It isn't right. It isn't just. It isn't fair."
Jon shook his head. "Life rarely is," he said. "If it were, there would only be good men like him, and no men like Tywin Lannister or the Mountain or the Kingslayer or the Mad King, for that matter. Those are the type of men that make men like Father stick out for they are rare enough. Sometimes I feel as though the septons and their seven hells lie empty. We have enough devils here."
"Father once told me that when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. Now I must be Lord of Winterfell and lead our little pack. My shoulders are heavy with this weight."
"I will help you carry it, as much as I can. It is what brothers are for," Jon said. "Maybe I can start by killing more Lannisters for you."
"You got off to a good start last night," Robb said. "The man you killed was Damion Lannister, one of Tywin's cousins."
"So he claimed to me before I killed him. Shame - had he confessed to being anyone other than a Lannister, I might have let him live," Jon said with a dark laugh.
"Yes, well... Damion Lannister isn't the only dead Westerlander highborn. The Blackfish recognized one of the knights you ran through during the flanking charge. There was a Ser Alyn Marbrand - flaming tree sigil, ring a bell?"
"Aye, faintly," Jon said. "Who else?"
"You, personally, aside from the Mountain? I'm not sure." Robb pointed at some of the castles in the Westerlands. "Among our prisoners there are countless household knights, several landed ones, and a handful of major lords. Lord Roland Crakehall is chief among them. His middle son Lyle, who they call Strongboar, is also in irons, but his eldest son Tybolt and his brother Ser Burton Crakehall both lie dead, food for the crows at the ford. Ser Flement Brax, also captured, is the third son of Lord Andros Brax. Lord Lewys Lydden and Lord Lucas Serrett were also both killed when the center routed, as was Ser Harys Swyft, goodfather of Tywin Lannister's brother Ser Kevan. And of course, the Mountain that rides. Let him try riding headless. By my estimate, nearly four thousand Lannisters died in the battle and an indeterminate but not insignificant amount in the rout thereafter. You're the talk of the camp, you know."
Jon was pleased to know they had struck heavy blows to the Westerlander nobility. Let them know the price of servitude to their bastard king and the Old Lion, Jon thought savagely. "And our own?"
"After a tally of the dead, we lost fifteen hundred men at the Ruby Ford. Most of the casualties came when first under heavy fire from Lannister bows, and then some more when the Lannister reserve and Gregor Clegane countercharged. Lord Karstark's middle son, Eddard, died crossing the ford, and Lord Hornwood fell to the Lannister countercharge. Today I must confirm Daryn Hornwood the new lord of that house. Aside from that, there were knights and castellans and distant cousins to the Northern houses - some Lockes, Flints, Umber men and Karstark men, and retainers of House Manderly, but most of the banners largely remain untouched. Between our existing host and the Rivermen who joined us on the Kingsroad, as well as those you picked up with Ser Brynden, we have nearly twenty-three thousand men in our ranks now."
They ate in silence for a few moments, before Robb broke it to say, "Theon came to me with a proposal this morning. He wants to go to Pyke and court his father to join our alliance. I was leaning towards accepting it."
"No," Jon said quickly. "That would be a mistake. Theon has fought well for us, but it is his father I fear. Keeping his heir is the only thing that keeps him in check. If we hand Theon back to him-"
"I'd only send him as a messenger, not as a gift," Robb said.
"It doesn't matter. The moment he steps foot on that boat headed to Pyke, he's out of your hands, and out of your control. There is one thing that Balon Greyjoy wants, and neither of us is able to give it to him. You have to be careful, brother. We can't depend on the honor of others. Living with Father too long made me think other men were like him. They are not. It is a world full of thieves and liars. There are exactly four people I fully trust with my life. One is Asher Forrester, for he and I have fought side-by-side through countless battles. Two of them are my brothers, and the last my..." Jon trailed off.
"Sister? Lover?" Robb said. His mouth was flat but then he burst into an uncontrolled laugh. "Admit it, brother. It's rather funny if you're standing in my shoes."
Jon tossed a crumb of bread at Robb. "Enough of your mockery."
"To think I tried to dissuade you from it," Robb said. "But she is as besotted with you as you are with her. Does it... change things?"
Jon shook his head, thinking of last night. No, it had not changed things. Some small part of him was afraid of how much he did not care. "No, it doesn't. I suppose that may seem... disgusting. But to tell you true, it revolts me to think of Sansa or Arya in that manner. With Rhaenys, it's different. It's as though... as though I can't get enough of her," he admitted. That felt good leaving his chest when he said it.
Robb nodded. "Well, as if I needed any other proof that Lord Reed told the truth. Must be the dragon in you. If it matters to you - and it most likely does not - then I don't look down on you for it. A queer custom, perhaps, but... a custom of the Valyrians."
"Whose blood I know now to run in my veins." Jon shook his head. "A strange thing. I know you have faith in Theon. He's fought well. But Balon Greyjoy? I'd sooner douse myself in wildfire than trust him." Jon took a deep gulp of his ale. "If we crush the Kingslayer, Greyjoy will smell lion blood in the water. Point him at the Lannisters, at Lannisport and Casterly Rock, and we may have something to speak of. Don't send Theon but invite Lord Balon to meet us somewhere south of Seagard. If we send Theon to him I fear we'll see Ironborn sails by Sea Dragon Point in a moon's turn."
Robb looked away. "It puts an ill taste on my tongue to mistrust him so, but every word you speak reeks of truth."
The tent flap opened up behind Jon. He turned to see Lady Stark enter with Bran, and then Rhaenys a few moments after followed by Lord Reed. Both Lady Stark and Bran looked exhausted. Lady Stark had not slept, clearly, for her eyes had deep, dark bags around them. It crossed his mind that she was his aunt by marriage. Never had he considered any sort of relationship to her save that she was the mother of his siblings. Now she was his aunt. His father - he could not think of Ned Stark as anything different, even if there was an undercurrent of bitterness to it now - had lied to her too. Jon stood and pulled Bran into a hug.
"I'm sorry about last night," he said. "Thank you for looking for me."
"You would do the same for me," Bran said as he pulled away. "You're my brother. I know you would." Jon fought away the mist that came to his eyes.
Lord Reed brought the chest with him. He looked at Jon apologetically. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, for how I broke this news last night. It could not have been easy to hear, not with what happened to Ned. But I was told that you wish to know more. Before I tell you anything else, please allow me to give you this. The contents of his chest are your birthright." He slid the chest over for Jon and produced a key. "It's already unlocked, but this is for your safekeeping."
Jon nodded mutely. He turned to Rhaenys. "Help me with this?" She patted his hand and lifted the lid. Her violet eyes lit up when she saw the contents.
"Go ahead," Jon urged.
Rhaenys reached it and pulled out a oblong object, rocklike in its exterior. He might have mistook it for a rock in truth, except that the ridges were not rocky imperfections but scales. It was grey and white with thin red streaks. "It feels warm," Rhaenys murmured. "Hold it, Jon. It's your cradle egg. You have more of a right to it than anyone. It belongs to you. Father wanted it for you." Jon reached out gingerly and touched it, and gasped. It was more than just warm - the egg felt close to burning, but it did not hurt at all. He grasped it with both hands for fear of dropping it.
"It's beyond warm," he said. "I can feel its warmth."
Robb gaped at him as did Bran. Even Lady Stark looked astounded. Jon handed it to Robb. "Feel it. Do you feel it?"
Robb took it tenderly but then frowned. "No. It's as cold as rock to me. Are you sure?" He glanced at both of them. "Surely both of you can't be wrong." He gave it back to Jon who caressed it tenderly before placing it back in the crate. There was a cloak that he pulled out. It was a Targaryen wedding cloak, but there were snarling direwolves of silver thread stitched by the fur trim on the edges.
"That would have been your mother's," Lady Stark said quietly. She glanced at him for the briefest second, but then averted her eyes. "All the time I wondered who she was when she was under my feet and in front of my eyes this whole time. I wondered who she might have been for Ned to break his wedding vow to me so, to shelter her son in his house even among his own. I wondered and I wondered, but it was in front of me all along. The only woman Ned loved more than me - his own sister."
"I wish he did not lie to you."
"When he brought you back to Winterfell, we were little more than strangers, despite Robb's birth. And then as time went on, perhaps he felt it was too late. I might have asked if he were here in front of me, but now I will never hear his reasons why. I only have his memory and the knowledge that he lied." She blinked away a few tears and looked away, as though she could not stand the sight of him. "He always chose you over anyone else, and now I understand why. Ned would have died before breaking his promise to his sister. When you disappeared from Winterfell, I had never seen him in such a state - not even when Bran had the fever. I saw him weep for the very first time."
"Would you have done anything differently had you known the truth?" Jon asked.
"If he told me when he brought you, I might have come to care for you as I would any nephew or niece of mine. But it is too late for all that, and my Ned is gone. What use is it for me to forgive a ghost?" The ache in her voice was deep, and Jon did not know what to say to that.
He went through the remainder of the items. There were letters, and a wedding document, and even signatures from witnesses - Sers Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne, and Oswell Whent. He remembered that Ser Oswell would have been distant kin to Lady Stark. Then he found something rolled up. It was sealed with the oddest of seals - divided in half, there was a single-headed snarling dragon of red - on the other, an equally ferocious wolf howling. Perhaps his mother had her own seal, her own arms to signify her status as a Targaryen.
"I believe that is a letter Lyanna wrote to you," Lord Reed said. "There are a few more in there. There is also her personal journal in there as well. Though it is not up to me to decide, if I may make a suggestion, Your Grace - read it later. You would not want to be rushed by the imminent meeting of our Northern lords before we set to march."
"You keep calling me Your Grace," Jon muttered. He put the items away neatly in the chest.
"Many men will call you that before the end of your days," replied Lord Reed. "The lords will have questions. I will help answer as best as I can - but Your Grace, I beg of you, do not shy away from what your parents gave you. The name Aemon Targaryen means nothing to you, I am sure, but it meant everything to Lyanna. She chose it for you. And for this to end well, for you to find a place for yourself, I think you will need to make peace with Aemon Targaryen in the end." Quietly, Jon put everything back in the chest. The last item he put in there was Rhaegar's ruby, which Rhaenys wordlessly handed to him.
From there they went, all of them, to the great tent pitched for the war council. It was not large enough for it was made for Robb and a handful of lords. This time, they were joined by every lord in the army, major and minor, all of them come to give their oaths to Robb and for Robb to return them. It was a grim procession, marked with sullen, aggrieved, and angry faces. Jon was gladdened to see they shared the same rage that he did. The North was a different place; the North remembered. Whether it was through Ned Stark or Lyanna Stark, Jon was proud to be one of them.
It was the Greatjon who came first and foremost, nearly pushing Lord Reed out of the way. He drew his sword and plunged it into the ground in front of Robb. "Lord Stark," he said. "To Winterfell I pledge the faith of Last Hearth. Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you. I swear it by earth and water. I swear it by bronze and iron." Each of them came, one by one, and offered the same oath to Robb, and Robb accepted it and returned it with the Lord's pledge. Daryn Hornwood, only a few years older than the two of them, took longer, for Robb took the time to commend him on his house's fealty and to confirm him as the next lord of the Hornwood. For Lord Karstark he pledged vengeance for the death of Eddard. Jon watched them all. Robb may not have had the Stark coloring, but he had father's bearing, that same solemn face that belong to each member of their family. He was Father's heir, through and through, and he would make a good lord of Winterfell. It was his place and he had been born for it.
That same question plagued him now more than any other. Who was he, and what was he born for? Jon Snow was born to nothing, but at least he had been given the tools of a lord by his father. He could take those tools and make something of himself. It was why he went to Essos in the first place, and he was doing a fair job at it. A memory of the ruined castle in the Wolfswood floated in his mind's eye; that was something Jon Snow could have aspired to. The name Aemon Targaryen came with loftier ambitions - ambitions of thrones and palaces.
Lord Reed was the last of them. His words were the same, but in the end, he swore one more, and his eyes darted to Jon as he said it. "I swear it by ice and fire," he said, and then he stood.
Robb looked around at the gathered lords bannermen. "Your loyalty to my house has been demonstrated many times these last few moons, my lords," Robb said. "I take it as a testament to the honor of the North, and our loyalty to our own. But you honor me not only because House Stark has been your liege lord for many centuries, you honor me because my father and my grandfather were good lieges to you all. Do you agree?"
Solid, heartfelt 'ayes' rang around the room. "You came not only out of loyalty to my house, but also to my father. I know he was loved by you all. He was loved by me and my brothers and sisters and my lady mother. He was the best father that any of us might have asked for. He taught me the value of honor, the value of leadership, the value of one's word and the strength to live up to it. That was one thing he held closer to his heart than we could all imagine." Robb glanced at him, and Jon's pulse quickened. Rhaenys, who stood behind him, grazed his back lightly with her hand. He nodded to Robb. Tell them, he thought.
"But my father also told one lie," Robb said quickly. Confused heads looked about the room at each other, curious and whispering. "Not a lie of malice, but a lie of love. A lie borne out of a promise made to his dying sister." His hand grazed the chest and he looked to Jon. "Brother?"
Jon stepped forward and opened the chest. It seemed to open louder than it had before, ringing as the lid hit the table with a sound of doom. He pulled out the wedding cloak and laid it on the table in front of all the lords, and then placed the dragon egg there. He still did not see the light of recognition flicker in their eyes, in any of them save for one. Lord Bolton's pale, watery eyes looked at the cloak, then at the egg, and then at him, and then the leech lord smiled a soft, knowing smile. Of course he would be the first to piece it together. Those cruel eyes were intelligent as they were unnerving.
"When my father went to Dorne near the end of the Rebellion with Lord Howland Reed," Jon began, his voice rusty to his own ears, "he found Lyanna Stark dying in a tower in Dorne. Everyone believes a fever claimed her. It was not a fever. She died after birthing a child. A boy she named Aemon. Someone had brought word of what happened to the children everyone believed to be Rhaegar's, and what happened to Princess Elia. Afraid of the same fate for her own child, as she died, she exacted a promise from him - to keep her son safe. My father promised, and so he rode north with Lyanna's bones and his bastard that looked just like a Stark. Me."
There was a stunned silence in the room. Some simply looked down at the cloak, others' eyes widened as they realized what his words meant. "We have a marriage certificate and writings from Lyanna and Rhaegar to prove it. The ceremony was witnessed by the Kingsguard who were there at the time - the same Kingsguard my father and Lord Reed and the other Northern lords who ventured with him to Dorne did battle with. Ser Oswell Whent, Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, and Ser Arthur Dayne."
"Lyanna was never kidnapped," said Maege Mormont in realization. "Aye, that matches what I knew of the girl. Robert had a way of making her sound a wilting flower, but that was not the Lyanna I knew." She looked at the wedding cloak, and then up to Jon. "A second marriage, eh?"
"Like the Conqueror and his two wives," Rhaenys said.
"No man can have two wives," muttered a voice in the back. There were some murmurs of assent. Jon did not see which lord said it.
"No man," agreed Rhaenys, "but Targaryens are not like other men. It does not matter either way. My mother does not live to give her opinion, and yet I do. I am her daughter, the child of the sun and spear and the child of the dragon, and if I call him my brother, he is my brother. He was born Aemon Targaryen and so I shall consider him to be. When His Grace King Viserys acknowledges it, I dare any man to come and challenge me on that." She drew Dark Sister and raised it high. "By all rights, my brother is the only other male of House Targaryen, and thus the heir to His Grace King Viserys, and also the Prince of Dragonstone." Most of them seemed unconvinced to Jon.
"But I ask you, my lords - does any of this change who you see him as? Is he not the man who broke the enemies' ranks on the ford yesterday?" Now there were murmurs of agreement and nodding heads. "Is he not the man who slew the Mountain who rides, who avenged my mother and my house?" The murmurs of assent grew louder. "You know who he is, and who he has always been. That the name Lady Lyanna chose for him was Aemon Targaryen should change nothing. If I have learned one thing about the North since my return to my homeland, it is that the North values men for who they are and what they do, not what their names are. Or was I mistaken?" The command in her voice was unstoppable, and few of the lords in the tent had the will to resist her. She was exaggerating. The Northern lords cared about bastardy only marginally less than the Andal-descended southern lords, but Jon did not cut her off. She played to their pride and insecurities, and it worked.
"You were not, Princess," the Greatjon rumbled gruffly. He pointed to Jon. "The boy rides alongside a wolf and fells mountains. Aye, if that isn't a sign of his blood, if he isn't a dragon and a wolf both, then we all live in old Macomber's blue eye." Some lords pounded on the table, including Lord Gregor Forrester and Asher, who shot Jon a smile. "Hero of the Trident!" declared Galbart Glover.
"It is written in the histories that Jacaerys Velaryon made a promise to Lord Cregan Stark when he came north to secure our support for his mother Rhaenyra," Lord Reed added softly. "My fellow lords, it is not a tale oft told, but I wager that at least once we were all told of the pact of ice and fire. It was never fulfilled, for there never was a co-mingling of Stark and Targaryen then or thereafter. But the pact has been fulfilled in Jon Snow. I tell you now - Rhaegar never raped Lyanna. She loved him, and he her."
"And what of the lives lost in Robert's Rebellion? They were lost for this pact of ice and fire, were they not?" Roose Bolton said, his voice like icewater down Jon's back. "We sacrificed much for Lady Lyanna's choice." There were some lords who agreed with that, too. Bolton's banners, of course, but Jon saw some nodding among the smattering of other lords, including Roger Ryswell, the son and heir of Lord Rodrik who led the Ryswell men, and even proud old Lord Karstark.
"Aerys was madder than a rabid dog," said Lord Cerwyn. "I saw him at Harrenhal, and I know others among you remember. We didn't rise because Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark and ran away to some tower in Dorne, else we would have marched south with Lord Rickard to answer the King's summons for Brandon. No, we only rose when Lord Rickard was killed and the Mad King demanded Lord Eddard's head."
"That was Lord Rickard's mistake for involving himself too much with the South," growled Lord Karstark. "Arranging all those southern betrothals for his southern ambitions."
"Come off it, Rickard," countered Lady Maege. "I haven't forgotten how much you wanted to arrange a betrothal between Lyanna and your heir - never mind that she was four years his senior. When the Mad King demanded Lord Stark's head, all those southern alliances came in handy, didn't they? Or do you think we would have defeated Rhaegar at the Trident if it was just us and the Baratheons? Lady Stark's kin played a role in that victory as did the Arryns. You lot, all of you - we swore oaths to House Stark. Whether this boy is Jon Snow or Aemon Targaryen or Aemon Rivers or hells, Aegon the Conqueror himself, it doesn't matter one whit to me. He's fought and bled alongside us, and the same Stark blood runs in his veins today as it did yesterday." The Greatjon banged on the table to show his approval.
"Lyanna's boy is as much one of us as Ned's!" he roared. "Yesterday we all toasted him as the hero of the battle. Is he any less a hero because he's Lyanna's boy? A Stark is a Stark, and she was as much a Stark as Ned and Brandon and Benjen!" Jon might have kissed the Greatjon then.
"My lords," Jon shouted. Though some of the lords were not in his favor, the show of support by the others kindled a fire in his chest. "My parentage does not change the fact that Eddard Stark was the only father I ever knew. He raised me as his own despite the dishonor it brought on him and on Lady Stark. He treated me the same as he treated Robb, and though he cloaked me in the colors of a bastard, he did it for my own protection. I will think of him as my father for the end of my days. And my intention is to avenge my father by taking Joffrey Waters' head from his shoulders and throwing it to the crabs in Blackwater Bay. I don't care what you think of my name. What I need is all of you with us as you have been these last few days, with House Stark as we make our own justice. Justice for my father!" That earned more cheers and ayes and thumps, but Jon now knew who lay in his camp and who did not. Bolton's little sly smile did not disappear.
VISERYS
Their arrival at Harvest Hall was marred with little fighting.
It was Viserys' first war. He hoped it would be his last. There was a fair bit of tedium in the marching, and the only resistance came in the form of marcher lords who stood up against them here and there, but not with any real force. Their supply lines were harried, but it was nothing their outriders couldn't deal with. The way through the Boneway would have led to Blackhaven, but it was on Lord Anders Yronwood's suggestion that they took a slower, less traveled road instead. It was a hard march, but they came out on the other side of the mountains by Harvest Hall.
Since the decision was made to send Prince Oberyn north with the smaller portion of the Dornish army, Lord Anders Yronwood was second in command of the main force. Viserys was commander in name, but he was not so foolish as to not listen to the counsel of the more experienced lord. Yronwood, a competent lord who quickly gained Viserys' trust, fought at the Trident alongside his brother, and was a good hand at the organization and the logistics of a large fighting force. Along with him came the great majority of the Dornish highborn. With Viserys came Prince Quentyn, and his newly betrothed, Princess Arianne.
The Gods had clearly enjoyed themselves when shaping Arianne, and Viserys wasted little time taking her to bed. They were to be man and wife, king and queen soon enough; what was the reason to wait? And as much as the Gods enjoyed themselves, he enjoyed studying her shape. She proved to be a sharp intellect and a match for him in tongue and wit. She was caustic in a way he liked, but sweet when she wanted to be, and seductive - she seemed not to know how to turn off the seduction. Quentyn seemed to not get along with his sister, and they kept their distance from each other.
When they arrived at Harvest Hall, the gates were thrown open for them without a second thought. To Viserys' surprise, Lord Arstan Selmy waited for them inside. He was a younger man, no more than thirty, blonde, tall, and pale eyed. A man stood beside him that Viserys recognized instantly, though it had been years. He was older than Viserys last remembered him, no longer so spry, but still graceful. His blonde hair, which was greying when Viserys knew him, was now nearly all white. He got to a knee in front of Viserys as did Lord Selmy.
"Your Grace," said Lord Arstan. "Harvest Hall is yours. Be welcome." They were given a gift of bread and salt after dismounting. Viserys took it and faced Ser Barristan in the eye.
"It has been years, ser," he said flatly. "Last we met, you served a different king."
The knight had the decency to look shamed. "I took Robert's pardon, Your Grace, 'tis true. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King's Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, it shames me to admit. But when he took the cloak the White Bull had draped about my shoulders, and sent men to kill me that selfsame day, it was as though he'd ripped a caul off my eyes. That was when I knew I must find my true king, and die in his service." Ser Barristan stood up. "I failed your brother, Your Grace. If you grant me a chance, I shall not fail you."
Viserys stared at the knight. No, he had gotten older, but he had not changed. "We could have used your service in Essos."
"Had I known, I would have come," Ser Barristan said. "But when it was discovered that all of you were still living, it was too late."
"Too late?" Viserys questioned. "It would not have been too late, I assure you. Not while the Usurper made one attempt a moon at my life and that of my family." Ser Barristan's eyes widened, and he seemed to be taken aback at that statement. Viserys found that curious, but left it aside for now. "However, my niece Rhaenys would be terribly disappointed in me if I had your head without hearing you out, so I shall give you the chance to redeem yourself, Ser Barristan. Only a fool would toss away the Bold without pointing him at his enemies first." Viserys gathered his cloak and swept in the direction of the great hall.
Lord Arstan took them in, but no sooner had Viserys been led to the greatest guest quarters did Lord Arstan produce a scroll. "This came to me from Lord Stannis. He rallies men at Storm's End and his fleet at Dragonstone. I have not sent anyone, but many of the Stormlords have declared for him, as have the Florents in the Reach. Soon he will march on the capital. But there is other news as well. The Starks have defeated Tywin Lannister at the Ruby Ford and forced the Lannister forces into retreat along the Kingsroad, but a second Lannister army gathers in the western Riverlands under the Kingslayer, ready to assault Riverrun. If Lord Stannis makes his assault on King's Landing soon, it will be him you have to contend with, not the boy king." Viserys' eyes lit up. The news of the Stark victory was welcome. It bode well that Stark's son and bastard had proven themselves capable allies in war.
Ser Barristan sighed. "There is other news as well, Your Grace. Lord Stark is dead. I was set to leave the city, stripped of my white cloak, when I saw it happen. Queen Cersei tried to prevent it, but Joffrey executed him in a fit of rage for sending messages to the Seven Kingdoms about his parentage. Now Robb Stark is the new Lord of Winterfell. When we sent messages to the Starks proclaiming our loyalty to the Targaryen cause, we received two ravens back. One is from the new Lord Stark," he said, presenting a scroll with the direwolf sigil. "The other bears a Targaryen seal."
Viserys took the Targaryen seal letter first. "Most likely it is the Princess," he mused. His eyes scanned the scroll. It was indeed Rhaenys' handwriting. The scrawl at the top said,
Uncle,
There is grave news. Lord Stark is dead. I did not think I would shed tears for a man I once considered the Usurper's dog, but things have come to light in the past few days.
Lord Stark may have been one of the greatest supporters of our house, without our knowledge, for he kept one of us alive at great personal risk to himself and his entire family.
We have always suspected that my father took Lady Lyanna not against her will, but with her consent, and that their affair was of love, not of force. They wed in a ceremony with witnesses, overseen by a septon. This was confirmed to me with evidence, both physical and that of an eyewitness. Lord Stark is dead, but he was not the only man to fight against the Kingsguard in the rebellion and survive. He went south to Dorne with other Northmen, and one of them, Lord Howland Reed, yet lives.
When news of Lord Stark's death came to us, Lord Reed approached Jon Snow. Jon had been instructed by Lord Stark to seek out Lord Reed in case of his death. Lord Reed related to us the events following the Sack of King's Landing and the death of my mother. When Lord Stark and Lord Reed rode south the finish the war and find Lady Lyanna, they found her. This is common knowledge. She died after - that too is well known.
Uncle, she died not of a fever but of childbirth. She died giving birth to my brother.
On her deathbed, Lyanna had heard of what happened to my mother and the babes posed as Aegon and I. Fearing the same fate for her boy, she pled with her brother to keep him safe from Robert at all costs. Lord Stark pledged to do so, and held true to that pledge his whole life. He disguised the boy as his bastard and raised him as his own son, along with his heir and other children, until that boy grew dissatisfied with the lot of a bastard and fled to Essos.
I loved Jon Snow before I knew who he truly was to me, and now that I know who he is, I love him more still. He is my brother, your nephew. His name - the name his mother gave him - is Aemon Targaryen. I think it will take time for him to wear that name, and in truth, I am convinced he will go by Jon for most of his life. Jon has begged me not to raise the issue with you, for fear of putting you at odds with the Faith before victory is certain, over the legitimacy of my father's second marriage to Lady Lyanna and his legitimacy of birth, but in my eyes he is one of us, a Targaryen as much as you or I. Aegon is lost to us and to his own madness. Jon is your heir, and the Prince of Dragonstone, until a son is born to you.
Vis, I intend to wed him and have him all my life. I will not be dissuaded from this. Understand it and know it well. I will do my duty to our house in all respects, but I will not let him go. He is my jorraeliarzy, my valonqar, my sun and my spear. Proclaim him a true Targaryen for the realm to hear. The House of the Dragon remains strong. Do this for the love we bore each other as children, and for the love I bear for you still.
You saved me from a terrible fate and I have been nothing but angry at you for it. It was petulant, but I blamed myself for what has happened to my dear aunt. Had you not done what you did, though, I should not have had the chance to be with Jon now. You stole me away out of love. I only wish you had succeeded in stealing Daenerys, too. I hope to see you soon in person. I have had enough of my own bitterness. When I saw the tears Lady Stark and Lord Robb and Jon wept for Lord Stark, I knew it could end as easily for any one of us. I do not wish to shed tears for you but to embrace you once more as kin and family.
We move now to secure the Riverlands. I expect Lord Robb will have written to you in greater detail about that. We await Uncle Oberyn's spears and yours as well. Soon this war shall end and we will return home to the Red Keep, dear uncle. Until that day, I remain your loyal and faithful niece.
Princess Rhaenys Targaryen
Viserys' calmly set the scroll aside, but his heart was hammering in his chest. Perhaps it was a cruel jest. Rhaenys was so angry with him, even when she left. But he dismissed that thought; Rhaenys was bitter, but she would not tell this sort of lie. "Your Grace?" Ser Barristan said with alarm. "What is it?"
"What do you know of Lord Stark's bastard?" he asked the knight. "You knew Lord Stark. Did he ever speak about his bastard's mother?"
Ser Barristan frowned. "I actually met the boy once, in King's Landing - just some moons before Lord Stark's arrest. He came by way of Essos - some trouble on the seas with Ironborn, or so I heard. He seemed a strapping lad, polite and humble. In truth he reminded me less of Lord Stark in looks than his brother Brandon, and to a certain extent his aunt, the Lady Lyanna. He had a Valyrian steel sword, which was unusual in and of itself." Viserys handed him the scroll and Ser Barristan began to read. The old knight's eyes grew wide and his breathing rapid.
"It... it cannot be. How could I not have seen?" the old knight wheezed. The Bold was now the blanched, for his face could not be any paler or devoid of blood, Viserys thought, but Ser Barristan's face did not lie.
"Does he resemble my brother?" Viserys asked. He could remember Rhaegar's face clearly, but the details of Jon Snow's were more blurry to him.
"At the time, I would not have said so," Ser Barristan admitted. "The first thing you see is the coloring. But I saw Prince Rhaegar's face nearly every day of his life. Once you look past the grey eyes, and the black hair... yes. His face is longer in shape than Rhaegar's, more like his mother's, but his nose, jaw, his chin and the shape of his eyes - that was all Rhaegar. Lord Eddard lied to everyone. No one knew the truth, else Robert would have found out and Lord Eddard's head would have been on a spike atop the Red Keep far earlier."
Viserys sank into his own thoughts. "Very well," he dismissed the knight. "Leave me. I must think on this."
"Of course, Your Grace." Ser Barristan bowed and disappeared. Viserys walked over to the fire burning in the fireplace of his quarters and stared into the flickering flames. He wondered what possessed Rhaegar to abscond with Lyanna Stark. Could she have been so beautiful? He had never seen the woman, only heard stories of her when he was a boy and later, in Essos. Were the rumors of Elia's frailty true? He remembered even now asking his mother when he could expect more Rhaenys and Aegons to play with. Rhaella Targaryen's face loomed in his memory, a beautiful, sad, haunted specter. She was never without some horrid mark on her face, some now tribulation inflicted on her by Father. "No more Rhaenyses and Aegons, my sweet," Mother had said. "You will have to make do with the ones that you have." She patted her belly which grew rounder by the day. "And of course, this one, when she comes."
"She!" Viserys said excitedly, putting his hands on his mother's bump.
Rhaella laughed softly. "Yes, darling. She. I think you have a sister on the way."
The flames crackled and the vision in the embers vanished like smoke up the chimney. Viserys shook his head. No more Rhaenyses and Aegons, no, but an Aemon instead. Jon Snow had been devoted to the princesses in Essos. He saved Rhaenys' life, which was certainly a mark in his favor in Viserys' eyes, and Rhaenys was convinced that he held the key to an alliance with the North, one that had materialized and yielded actual benefit. But more than that, Viserys longed for one thing more than any of the other Targaryens - family. He was the last of them to actually remember their family - with memories of Rhaegar, his brave, kind older brother who played with him when he could, of sweet goodsister Elia, who always doted on him, and of his mother Rhaella, who was the most enchanting woman in the world, full of love and grace and immeasurable sadness. They lived on only in him. He was the safekeeper and guardian of their house.
Did he have room for Aemon Targaryen or Aemon Waters or Aemon Sand or Aemon Snow or whoever he was in his heart? He thought once more of Rhaegar. He and Mother had not gone to Dragonstone until word reached them of Rhaegar's death on the Trident. He remembered still what Rhaegar said to him before he left, with a gentle finger lifting up his chin and his kind, kind eyes.
"Will you keep my family safe, little brother?" he had asked him softly
Viserys had done all he could do to only nod, not let tears spill. "I will, I promise, lekia," he swore. He put every little ounce of his being into that promise.
"Good," Rhaegar said with a smile. "Aside from me, you are the other man of our house. I know you'll be a good uncle to them and a good brother to the little sister we have coming." Rhaegar winked at Mother, who had not been able to stop crying the whole day. "Muna told me you wanted more nieces and nephews to play with. When I come back, I'll endeavor to give you more." With a kiss to his forehead, a kiss on Mother's cheek, and a kiss on Elia's lips, Rhaegar left them and went to die.
"My love?"
Viserys was shaken out of his thoughts. He turned to face his betrothed. The Dornish beauty smiled at him and pulled closer, placing her hand on his chest. "What troubles you, Your Grace?"
"Memories," Viserys echoed. "Memories and ghosts. I need parchment and ink. I have a promise I must keep."