Be careful what you wish for - IronicallyPresent (2024)

Chapter 1: The Hand of the King

Chapter Text

Otto Hightower had always prided himself on being above all, an intelligent man. It was after all by his own merit that he had risen to the position he held today. He a simple second son was the hand of the King, the second most powerful man in all the realm. One could even go as far as to argue the most powerful, as the King himself diminished every day that passed.

The King attended the council session today. This in its self was enough to perk Otto’s interest as King Viserys had begun to miss several meetings a week. An unfortunate result of the Kings ailing health that Otto as a loyal hand was of course understanding of, and as the loyal hand he was Otto had been more than willing to lead the sessions himself.

But Viserys was present today.

“I received a letter from my daughter, the princess Rhaenyra.” Wheezed out the aging King.

Otto was the man’s elder, but one would not be able to tell looking at the two men. He cursed internally at hearing the princess had managed to get a letter to her father without Otto reading it first. She must have sent it to one of her husbands contacts in the city and then had it past on through a messenger.

“She requests that I legitimise the natural son of my brother, Aemon Snow.”

The council chamber erupted in cries of outrage.

“Your grace this is a preposterous request!” Hissed Tyland Lannister.

“My king I must agree with the master of ships, this is a very bold request indeed… Not to mention I find myself shocked that the princess would be so willing to legitimise her husbands bastard?” Spoke Otto himself, his mind turning a mile a minute.

“First he weds your daughter without your permission and now he fathers a bastard? Your grace this is an insult!” Lord Wylde declared, banging his fist onto the table.

“My Lords, you misunderstand… please calm yourselves and let me finish.” Ordered the King, his shaky tone diminishing the affect.

“Rhaenyra writes that boy is already seven and ten, putting his conception when my brother was still wed to the late lady Royce… Daemon was unaware of the boy’s existence as he was raised by his mothers kin” Viserys continued.

There was more to this Otto decided. Why was that mad fool claiming the boy now? Daemon wasn’t a complete idiot as much as he may hate to admit it. So why would he risk claiming the boy now, when he was already on thin ice with his ridiculous marriage stunt with Rhaenyra?

“My daughter and brother came upon the boy after he managed to claim the Cannibal! Rhaenyra already seems quite fond of him…”

Ah, Otto thought, that’s why. Legitimising your bastard was certainly one way to ensure their loyalty, and it was clear now why Daemon was willing to risk further hit to his reputation. The Cannibal was a monstrosity of a dragon, one that made even Vhagar look tame in comparison. Otto shuddered to think of the character of the boy capable of mastering such a beast. Likely his fathers son, if not worse he decided.

Now how to manage the situation… Daemon and Rhaenyra had the boy currently and had made their claim clear in the legitimisation request. He doubted attempts at having the boy killed would bare much fruit, Dragonstone was already a fortress and he expected the two would be keeping the boy close at hand.

Otto fought to keep the frustration off his face. Truthfully he did not know how to take control of this, he lacked far too much information. How had he never heard of this boy’s existence? He knew of both of the bastards his idiot grandson had sired (no doubt there would be more in the years to come, at least his fertility was proven). It was as if this Aemon Snow had appeared from no where, but that was impossible.

“Rhaenyra has offered to escort the boy here. So that I may meet him in person before I make my decision… I’m inclined to agree to this request, as it will allow me to get a measure of the young man’s character… and it has been far too long since I have gazed upon my daughters face…” Viserys got a far away look in his eye, clearly lost in memories of years past of his daughter and late wife.

Otto could take offence at the man’s clear devotion to his first wife, but his daughter’s marriage had never been intended as a love match, so he focused his thoughts on more important matters.

It was clever of the princess to suggest a visit to the city. The king had been requesting her return for several moons now, but until this she had stubbornly refused.

Other than the odd comment on how disappointing the princess’ absence was, Otto had refrained from addressing this. Why would he when it benefited his own plans so much.

Reluctantly Otto admitted that perhaps having the boy brought to Kings landing was for the best. He would be able to gather far more information from the visit than what he had now, and the boy would be much more vulnerable to the possibility of assassination outside of Dragonstone.

Not to mention his presence at court would allow Otto to take in the boy’s character for himself. As much as he may loathe the thought of working with the son (a bastard one at that) of Daemon Targaryen, the boy could prove useful. Bastards were known for their greed and ambition and if Otto could promise that siding with the greens would benefit the boy more perhaps he could gain another dragon rider for their own cause.

“I believe that’s a wise decision your grace. Invite the boy to court for a while so that you can observe his behaviour. This isn’t a decision that should be rushed or taken lightly…” Otto agreed, to the visible shock of some of his fellow councillors.

“Wonderful! I knew I could count on your advice on this Otto… Maester Orwyle if you could write a letter to my daughter summoning herself, my brother… and his son I would be most grateful. I find myself growing tired… I think I will take my leave for the remainder of the session my lords. Otto I trust you to handle things in my absence.” Viserys announced before hobbling out of the room with the aid of the lord commander.

“Of course your grace” Otto agreed. He would handle everything.

Chapter 2: The Hightower princes

Chapter Text

“Stop dragging your feet! You’re gonna make us both fall!” Hissed Aemond Targaryen to his drunken brother. Said brother was currently using Aemond as a walking stick, his inebriated state robbing him of his ability to walk unaccompanied.

“Mmhh not my fault you're to short to hold me up!” Aegon slurred as he tilted precariously. Prompting an eye roll from his brother.

Aemond was only a head shorter than his elder brother despite being three years his junior. The Grand Maester had already predicted that he would outgrow his brother by the years end, and would likely go on to grow more in the years to follow. Aegon on the other hand had seemed to have ceased growing, and at five and ten he stood only a little taller than their mother. Privately Aemond thought all the wine had stunted his growth.

“It’s the middle of the day! Who gets this drunk at this time! I doubt the brothels you so love to indulge in are even open!” Grumbled the second son of King Viserys, as he shuffled down the hall, practically carrying his brother.

“You wound me little brother I would never get this drunk at this hour… I’m simply still feeling the effects of last night's drinks!” Aegon hollered, his loudness betraying how little he had in fact ‘sobered up’.

Aemond fought a curse, how drunk must his brother have been the previous night for this to be the morning after?

So court up in his musing Aemond failed to notice the open stairway to their left. It was only a momentary lapse, but all that was necessary for his brother to begin stumbling towards it and out of his reach. Aemond feared for a moment he was about to watch his brother fall to his death. An accident though it would be, he had no doubt he would be blamed for it. Ever since his menace of a nephew had taken his eye people had watched him wearily. He knew why, Aemond looked like a monster. It was ironic really, he the victim was given a hellish visage, while his beastly nephew remained the picture of innocence with his guileless big brown eyes and soft ringlets.

“Careful!” A voice cried, and suddenly Aegon was not falling to his death, but in the arms of a stranger.

The man was taller than his brother but only slightly and had inky dark hair that framed his face with curls. This was no stranger after all, realised Aemond, but his uncle's bastard.

“Snow.” Aemond greeted tersely. He was unaware of what to make of the elder boy, his mother had warned him to keep his distance. As the bastard son of his wild uncle could only be trouble. But first impressions of Aemon Snow had left him uncertain.

His new cousin had little resemblance to his father, in manner or appearance. Aemond had watched him be introduced to the King from his mother’s side and had been surprised by the almost shy character he displayed. A stark contrast to the taunting confidence of his father. Not at all what Aemond had expected of the only rider of the revered Cannibal.

“Is Prince Aegon ill?” Aemon questioned, shifting so as to better support Aemond’s brother's weight, and moving them both away from the open stairs.

“I have no doubt he will be feeling ill shortly.” Aemond ground out from between his teeth.

“Ah!” Exclaimed the bastard “he’s just drunk then! That is a relief. Is this the direction to his chambers?” He asked pointing down the corridor.

“Yes?” Aemond answered, unsure why the elder boy would ask. He waited for his brother to be shoved back into his arms, only to be left shocked when Aemon hoisted Aegon into a bridal carry and began to walk down the hall. Aemond hurried to keep pace.

Noticing his evident surprise, the bastard laughed and said “your brothers lighter than he looks, and besides he’s not the first drunk lordling I’ve had to put to bed… though I suppose princeling would be a more correct term.”

Aemond could only look at the other boy incredulously, as someone who had the unfortunate task of manhandling his drunken brother frequently, he knew Aegon was not in fact all that light. His brother's fondness for alcohol and his dislike of arms training, had led Aegon to develop a much puffier appearance than that which the elder teen had displayed the last time they had encountered their sister's family.

“Mhmhh, whoa why is the world spinning?” Slurred Aegon. His drunken mind likely unable to keep up with how he had gone from walking to being carried.

Aemon paid him no mind and continued to walk down the hall at a steady pace, showing no sign of strain under his weight.

“Who was this drunken lordling you had to nurse?” Aemond asked as he walked beside his cousin, shooting sharp looks occasionally at his brother who seemed to have fallen unconscious in the elder boy's arms.

“My father- no sorry my uncle’s ward. In truth, he was a hostage though he was treated far better than most. Despite that, he still resented my uncle, and his behavior often reflected that. We were never close, we clashed often. Likely over having the similarity of being on the outskirts of the family, but differing in nearly every other aspect of our characters… Still, we both loved my brother, and when he asked me to help escort the drunken idiot home I could never refuse him.”

“Your cousin you mean?” Aemond corrected.

“Right… of course my mistake.” Replied Aemon a faraway look in his eyes.

The tale was an interesting insight into the mysterious young man. Clearly, he still held his cousin in high esteem, still thinking of him as a brother- hence his slip of the tongue. It surprised Aemond slightly, though he did not show it, that Aemon would still view his maternal kin positively.

From the little information Aemond’s family had learned since his uncle had presented his bastard at court, Aemon had not received the type of upbringing one would expect to garner feelings of positivity. Lied too about his heritage, and if the whispers of the maids were to be believed, abused. Aemon had little reason to still be so visibly attached to his past.

Aemond’s grandfather would no doubt want a full run-through of the encounter. The hand of the king had taken his second grandson aside, just prior to the arrival of his sister and her party, and had tasked Aemond with learning as much about Aemon Snow as he was able. Sir Otto had been correct in his assumption that Daemon and Rhaenyra would be vigilant in keeping the elder members of the green faction from the bastard boy, but we’re less so when it came to the younger set.

“Did you not resent him for it?” Aemond asked. He knew that he himself resented the constant expectations of his family to be his brother's keeper.

“Oh of course!” Aemon agreed, smiling amusedly at the fair-haired youth.

“But I would have also resented if Robb had gone off after the idiot without me… and I believe he knew that. He also always had this blind belief that if he forced the two of us together enough maybe by the power of his sheer stubbornness and forced proximity, we would bond!” Laughed Aemon, his eyes had a slight mistiness if Aemond was not mistaken.

The dark-haired young man was so distracted by his reminiscing he had failed to notice his slip in giving his cousin's name. Aemon had been so careful about staying silent about his past, it seemed even his own father knew little. A fact Sir Otto fluctuated between being amused by and disbelieving whether Daemon was faking his lack of knowledge. Aemond felt slightly giddy at the thought of knowing information that others did not, surely his grandfather would be proud of him when he told him of what he had learned.

“I imagine you're not overly fond of having to look after your own drunken charge here.” Aemon surmised.

“It is my duty as his brother.” Replied Aemond, trying not to let his frustration show. So was the duty of the second son, always in his brother’s shadow, always held responsible, never shown the regard he was due.

“Duty… it can be a difficult thing.” Aemon paused his strides and turned to face the younger boy who had been walking by his side. Aegon was still dead to the world and made no response to the cease in movement.

“You're a good brother Aemond, probably better than Aegon deserves when he acts the way he does. And I’m sure your parents must be proud of the dedication you put into your duty… but that doesn’t mean you're not allowed to resent it or Aegon, it doesn’t make you any less… One could even argue that the very fact you still work so hard, even though you resent it, reflects even better on your character.”

Aemond felt himself choke with the emotion that rose within him. It was foolish he knew, he was no longer a child to be so reliant on validation. But Aemond Targaryen had always been hungry for praise, for attention, for love. So went the curse of the second son, always ambitious for what was not theirs to claim.

The crust of it was, Aemond had never had someone praise him the way his cousin just had. Not his father who barely acknowledged his existence. Not his grandfather who dealt out his orders with cold detachment. Not even his mother who despite being the person he was closest to, saw little point in praising his efforts. Queen Alicent seemed to think being dutiful was second nature to Aemond, rather than being something he had to work to achieve.

This was another sin that Aemond lay at his elder brother’s feet. If Aegon was not such a colossal f*ck up, would their mother have put Aemond on such a pedestal? A precarious seat that he had sat uncomfortably his entire life, fearful of failing his only true parent and falling from grace.

“Thank you.” Aemond chose to say, then grew embarrassed by how choked up it sounded. He received a nod in return.

“Are these your brother's rooms here?” Asked Aemon as they resumed their walk.

Nodding in reply, not trusting his voice to answer verbally, Aemond walked forward and opened the door to his brother's chambers, so Aemon could carry him inside.

Placing Aegon carefully on his bed, Aemon rose and straightened his black doublet. Only now did Aemond notice that his cousin was in training garb.

“Should we call for a Maester for the Prince?” He asked, looking at Aemond for an answer.

“No… mother said the next time he got himself in such a state he would have to make it through without the aid of a Maester. I believe she’s hoping it would teach him a lesson.” And his mother didn’t want talk of her eldest son's disreputable behavior making the rounds of the castle, especially with the Princess in attendance.

Aemond clenched his fists in frustration, seeing his cousin's clothing reminded him of his own training. Training which he would now have to miss in order to babysit his brother. The Queen may not want her elder son assisted by a Maester, but that did not mean she wanted him left unattended. So it was left to Aemond to insure his brother did not choke on his own vomit.

“Were you coming from training cousin?” Aemond asked, and if his tone was much friendlier than it had been at the beginning of their interaction neither made mention of it.

“Yes… while being a guest of the King is a great honor, the attention it brings is rather stressful. I needed a release, and training seemed the perfect outlet. I had a friendly bout with Sir Criston Cole in fact, your trainer I believe?”

Aemond felt his brow rise in shock, Sir Criston was far from subtle in his dislike of prince Daemon. He couldn’t help his disbelief that he would have a ‘friendly bout’ with the man’s son.

“Yes, he’s been my primary arms trainer my entire life… how did your bout go?” He asked, now looking about his cousin's form for any sign of injury.

Aemon laughed softly “I’d say it went better for me than Sir Cole, he was quite shocked when I beat him. I’ve promised a rematch in the near future.”

“You… You beat him?” Aemond echoed, shocked.

Aemon nodded abashedly “Yes he was rather shocked as well, as were many of the fight’s onlookers. He’s quite the swordsman! I’m sure there was a large element of luck that went towards my win” he said modestly.

Aemond, and much of the Seven Kingdoms, had long considered Sir Criston the finest swordsman in the realm. The Kings guard had even bested his uncle when the rogue Prince was still in his prime. That Aemon had managed to beat the knight at all, an element of luck regardless, it demonstrated his cousin's martial prowess starkly.

“I’m sure your father must be proud. He and Sir Criston have quite the rivalry.” Aemond had long grown used to the knight's rants on his uncle’s character as he trained Aemond to beat the elder Prince.

It had been made clear to Aemond once he had claimed Vhagar, that it would eventually fall to him to defeat prince Daemon in the inevitable war of succession that would follow his father's death. Second son Vs second son. So Aemond trained diligently, yet even he had yet to come close to defeating Sir Criston.

“He doesn’t know yet… I was on my way back from the training yard when I came upon yourself and Prince Aegon” replied Aemon.

“I’m sure you’re eager to tell him then… I won’t keep you any longer.” Aemond said, moving so the path to the door was clear.

“And you my Prince? What plans do you have?” Aemon spoke, making no move to exit.

“I had planned to join Sir Criston for my own training.” Admitted Aemond, looking down at his feet so that his cousin could not see the frustration in his eyes.

“Had?” He inquired.

“My mother may not want Aegon to be attended by a Maester, but that does not mean she wants him completely left alone. So it falls to me to make sure he does not kill himself through his own idiocy.” Aemond ground out through clenched teeth.

His cousin looked at him with pity before flicking his eyes to Aegon.

“Why don’t I watch your brother?” He offered.

“What?” Aemond asked, entirely baffled.

“I could watch Aegon while you go do your training. It would only be what, a couple of hours? I have little else to do. And in truth, I wouldn’t mind hiding from the prying eyes of the court for a little while.”

Aemond was tempted, extremely so. He knew what his mother would want him to do. The knowledge that he left his brother under the supervision of Daemon’s eldest child would no doubt send her into hysterics. But Aemon had been nothing but honorable during their interaction, nothing like his father or the rest of Rhaenyra’s rambunctious brood.

His mother may disagree, but Aemond felt he could trust his cousin.

“You would be willing to do that? Truly?” Aemond inquired.

“Of course! It’s no hardship, besides helping each other is what family does and Prince Daemon is insistent on me bonding with the family.” Aemon replied, taking the seat beside Aegon’s bed.

Privately, Aemond thought that he and his brother were unlikely to be included in his uncle’s preview of the 'family', that Aemon should be bonding with. But he would not be telling his cousin that.

“I’ll be sure to tell Sir Criston that my training session today will need to be a short one.” Aemond began to head for the door. “Oh and cousin… Thank you.”

He left before he could hear Aemon’s reply.

Chapter 3: The Kingsguard

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When talk began to spread about Prince Daemon’s bastard son, Criston was not surprised. Of course, a man such as the rogue Prince would have a bastard, he probably had several. That was the man Rhaenyra chose, the man she had always chosen. He, Sir Harwin, and even Sir Laenor were just placeholders.

He had been a fool to let the Princess’ pretty visage blind him to the wickedness she held below the surface. But Criston saw it now, Rhaenyra was no gentle maiden like Queen Alicent. She was a lustful creature just like her beastly uncle, they were well-matched.

It was a pity that Sir Harwin, for all he was praised for being the strongest knight in the realm, lacked the strength to refuse Rhaenyra’s charms. The man had been a good knight and a competent leader of the city watch, but he had thrown all of it away over access to the Princess’ c*nt. A fool, a dead fool.

Criston had a picture of the bastard boy in his mind. Hair pale like his accursed father, perhaps the eyes would differ… blue? Or brown? But undoubtedly his father’s son. The rogue Prince struck miniature.

What arrived at court was not at all what the knight had been imagining. When Criston first laid eyes on the boy known as Aemon Snow, he did not recognise him. Criston mistook the boy, at first, for a member of the Princess’s household, perhaps a guard or even a page. It was only when Prince Daemon put a possessive arm around the boy’s shoulders did Criston realise his identity.

Aemon snow was not in fact his father in miniature, he looked far more similar to his fellow bastard cousins. It seemed the children made from Valyrian and first men heritage had an appearance that was set in a hard mold.

Still Criston had expected the boy to at least mirror his father’s character, for all he failed to mirror his looks. Once again he found himself left wrong-footed.

When the king received his daughter, her husband, and his bastard. Criston had expected the boy to swagger forward with all the falsely claimed confidence of a lordling riding on their father's coattails. Instead, Aemon Snow had walked forward slowly, almost reluctantly. He had kept his eyes down respectfully bowing to both the King and the Queen, something his father and stepmother had neglected to do. The boy had also spoken only when spoken to, and made no attempts at bragging about his newly claimed dragon. Though in fairness his father bragged plenty on his behalf.Prince Daemon waxed poetry about how his son had claimed that monstrosity, explaining how the boy had the dragon acting like a pup. A stark difference from the dragon's past behavior.

Yet strangely, two days since his grand presentation to the court and Aemon Snow was surprisingly absent. Until now.

“Sir Criston” the bastard greeted, pausing from where he had been examining the training steel. "I did not think there would be many others at the training grounds at this hour."

"Hoping there would be no one to watch you train?" Criston smirked, swaggering over to the younger man.

"Honestly... Yes, I'm not used to having so many eyes on me. I do not enjoy the attention, sir."

Criston reeled back as if struck. The son of Daemon Targaryen not liking attention, it seemed an impossibility!

"You seem surprised Sir Criston?" said the boy, reading the shock on the knight's face.

Choosing to speak plainly the Kingsguard replied, "it is not the reaction I would be expecting from the son of Daemon Targaryen."

The boy grimaced, flicking his eyes at some of the onlookers that had begun to gather on the edges of the training fields. "Yes everyone has been making quite the point of how little I take after Prince Daemon. Seems I fail to live up to expectations..."

Criston couldn't hold back his snort, "that's not necessarily a bad thing boy."

The knight moved past the bastard and took one of the training blades in hand, "what weapon do you favor then?" he asked.

Smiling mirthlessly the boy replied "the bastard sword."

"Ironic" Criston laughed and handed him one of the bastard blades that he thought would be well-balanced to the boy's build."Let's see if you do share a similarity with your father, being knocked onto your arse by me."

Criston swung at the boy, barely giving him the time to adjust to the sword in his hand. To his surprise, the boy reacted quickly and met the knight's blade with his own. He has good reflexes, Criston reluctantly admitted. The Kingsguard brought his blade around again hoping to knock the boy's own sword from his hands. Only to be surprised once again when the boy held true and parried his strike. He's strong, Criston had to begrudgingly admit.The fight continued following a similar pattern, Criston attacked unsuccessfully while the boy proved apt at defending. Growing frustrated, Criston swung his sword toward the bastard's undefended neck. Blunted tourney swords their weapons may be, but a wound to the neck could still prove fatal. Before the knight could regret his anger fuelled reaction, the boy twisted masterfully out of the way, managing to trip Sir Criston up as he did so. The Kingsguard landed on his arse, and his sword stuck in one of the wooden pillars that surrounded the training area.

The grounds went silent. This boy, this previously unknown bastard had just bested one of the greatest swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms. Castle servants, men at arms, and even the odd courtier looked on with abated breath. what would the bastard son of the rogue Prince do now?Aemon Snow's sword pointed down towards the fallen Kingsguard, Sir Criston was at his mercy. Many believed they were about to witness the Knight's death. after all, Sir Criston had nearly struck a killing blow, and for all he may claim it was an accident, the knight's rivalry with the boy's father was well known. Prince Daemon would no doubt have killed the Kingsguard for such a stunt, but Aemon Snow was not Prince Daemon.

The boy lowered his sword and turned to the wooden beam to the left of him, he reached over and pulled Sir Criston's blade from its unconventional sheath. "Here... Would you like to continue? I believe that pillar got in the way." He said, handing the fallen knight his sword back.

"You... would not claim this as a victory?' Criston asked, looking up at the younger boy in shock.

"In a real battle? Yes. An accident like that would get you killed, but this is just training. Accidents happen, I doubt I would have beat you if I hadn't had a lucky pillar!" the boy joked.

An accident, it had been an accident...

For all the boy's modest claims appealed to Cristons pride, he knew in truth that the boy may very well have won the fight even if Criston hadn't gotten his blade stuck. The boy must have known this too but he made no mention of it, no gloating, no rubbing it in the elder's face. The young man behaved honorably.

Rising to his feat Sir Criston offered the boy his palm and when he took it they shook hands. "Well fought lord Aemon."

Aemon blushed, turning away to head to the sword rack. "I'm no lord Sir... And I prefer Jon."

Placing his sword beside where the boy had returned his own, Criston asked "Jon?"

"It's the name my uncle raised me with" answered the boy. "My mother named me Aemon, but my uncle chose Jon after his own foster father."

"I suppose a Valyrian name like Aemon, may have made your true parentage obvious." Criston guessed.

"Quite" the boy agreed "Prince Daemon has been making a point of referring to me by Aemon... And insisting everyone else does also."

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" Criston inquired, stepping closer to the dark-haired youth.

"No!" the boy lied

Criston felt that old anger rise up within him. Jon was an honorable young man, one that showed skill and promise with a blade. He had nothing of his father in him, a gift they could likely lay at the feet of the boy's departed uncle. But now Prince Daemon had forced himself onto the scene, claiming the boy for his own and going as far as to insist on the name the boy must be referred by!

"I would very much enjoy a rematch Jon, perhaps you could join me in training with your cousin Prince Aemond?" Criston asked, thinking quickly about how to give the boy some much-needed distance from his tyrannical sire.

The entire situation left a bad feeling in the Knight. Prince Daemon would corrupt this boy, he'd twist the honorable young man before him into some perverse mirror of himself. He did not imagine the Princess would do much to stop her husband either. In fact, Criston realised with growing horror, Jon looked awfully similar to the late commander of the city watch, save for the odd Valyrian feature. Just Rhaenyra's type, and Daemon would no doubt take pleasure in the act, seeing the boy as little more than an extension of himself...

He could see it now, the two coming at the young man as a united front, pretending it was all a means of welcoming him into the family. A boy such as Jon who had known little parental guidance wouldn't know the difference until it was too late.The Kingsguard fought off the gasp that threatened to breach his lungs, the Targaryen’s truly were a perverse lot.Yes, Criston decided, he would do what was in his power to protect this young man. Integrating him with his trueborn cousins would be an effective start, the children of Queen Alicent being the noblest of the boy's kin due to the influence of their mother's blood.

"I would be honored, Sir." The boy agreed, much to the knight's relief. "I should take my leave now however, thank you for the spar." and with a slight bow of the head the boy jogged out of the arena, and away from the onlookers that had begun to gather round.

Sir Criston Cole paid them no mind and began to set the arena up for Prince Aemond's training session. All the while thinking smugly about how he had uncovered, and made plans to counter, the rogue Prince's latest plot.

Chapter 4: The Hightower Princes part II

Chapter Text

For all Aegon loved to indulge in his vices, the morning after always made him regret it. Not enough that it encouraged him to actually change his behavior, just enough so that he felt sorry for himself.

It seemed he had managed to find his way back to his own rooms this time, a rare event that he patted himself on the back for achieving. Though now that he thought of it, he did have vague memories of his brother's voice... It would not be the first time that Aemond had taken it upon himself to drag Aegon from his fun, twat that his brother was. The eldest son of the King groaned and turned to flop onto the other side of his bed.

"Are you awake Prince Aegon?"

Shooting up from his sprawl so quickly that the world went out of focus, Aegon scrambled to lay eyes on the other person in his chambers, he had not realised he had company. Aegon recalled little of the previous night's events, only wine, wet noises, and pleasure. Now he wondered if he had snuck a whor* back to the palace with him... But how did he get them past his killjoy brother?

"You should really drink some water, it'll help with the hangover."

Taking in the figure that had risen from his bedside, Aegon could make out through his headache their inky black ringlets and creamy skin. The whor* was male, not the first time Aegon had partaken in such a bed partner, though he usually preferred women. This man was undoubtedly pretty though, so Aegon understood why his drunken self had chosen to partake.

"How much did I pay you that you're staying for the aftercare? Or was the sex just that good? I confess I do not remember it... perhaps you would be willing to jog my memory." leered the Prince, crawling back to the side of the bed the man stood beside.

Rather than bend down to give Aegon the ravishing he was hoping for, the man instead shoved a cup into his face. "I'm no whor* cousin, though I will take the compliment that you think me pretty enough to be one... You are unfortunately not the first person who has told me such."

Aegon threw himself back so aggressively that he bounced back up. "Cousin?!" He exclaimed voice strangled.

The prince had done a great many foolish things while under the influence of alcohol, but this may be his crowning achievement. Aegon had just called his new cousin a whor*, his new cousin whose father was quite possibly one of the scariest men in the Seven f*cking Kingdoms. Was it his imagination or could he already hear dark sister swinging?

"You should really drink this." his cousin reminded, shoving the cup forward.

Aegon took it with shaking hands and drunk deeply. Finishing it he let the empty cup fall onto his bed, "if your not a whor*... Why are you in my chambers?"

"I'll take it you don't remember me coming upon yourself and Prince Aemond on your way here? He was struggling a bit so I carried you the last part of the way." replied his cousin, taking the empty cup from his bed and placing it on the table beside it.

"You... carried me?" Aegon asked with a grimace.

"Like a babe" replied his cousin, Aemon he thought his name was. Their family really needed some new names, they were all far too similar for his wine-addled brain to keep up with.

"And where is my devoted Valonqar?" inquired Aegon, gazing about the room with blurry eyes as if expecting Aemond to appear suddenly.

"Your brother is at his training session with Sir Cole, I volunteered to watch you while he was gone."

Aegon could only gaze at his cousin in shock, why on earth would he do that? Aemond only babysat him because their mother wished him to. He knew that if given a choice his brother would happily leave him in the gutter to drown. So why would his cousin, the son of the man who openly disdained Aegon's mother and her children by proxy, volunteer to watch over him.

"That water wasn't poisned was it?" Aegon couldn't help but ask, resigned to his possible fate. At least dead he would not have this headache.

His cousin snorted, it seemed he knew a joke that Aegon was not privy to.

"Oh gods it was wasn't it? Couldn't you at least have put it in my wine? let my last drink be something I love?" exalted the Prince dramatically.

Aemon was fully laughing now and Aegon fought off a pout. The man was killing him he could at least be more serious about it.

Calming down, Aemon spoke through fading chuckles "There's no poison my Prince, I'm afraid you're going to have to live through that hangover of yours."

Oh, Aegon thought, not a murder attempt then. "If your not a whor*, and you're not trying to kill me then why are you here?!"

"Because your brother had training? He seemed upset to miss it... So I thought it would be nice to watch you for him?" Replied Aemon, looking baffled by Aegon's outburst.

"Nice?!" The prince exclaimed "you thought it would be nice?! Seven f*cking hells who are you?" Aegon cackled. This was the only son of the famed rogue Prince, this was the rider of the monstrous Cannibal? Aegon couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity.

"Do you not have any plans of your own for the day?" Aemon asked, choosing to ignore the Prince's mad cackling.

Aegon snorted, his laughter tapering off. "Well, I usually start drinking again around 4, assuming I don't get dragged off to a lecture from my mother or grandfather first.. if that happens it tends to push my routine back a tad."

Aemon looked down at him, his face clearly unimpressed. "Do you not have lessons? Or training of your own?" He asked.

"I used to... Probably still should, but everyone gave it up as a lost cause about a year ago now... So I'm free to do as I please!" cheered Aegon.

"A lost cause?" His cousin echoed incrediusly. "That's... That's so incredibly irresponsible! you can't just leave a child to their own devices like that... I mean look at you?!"

Aegon obeyed looking down at his wine, sweat, and likely cum, stained doublet. He had to admit he did not strike a pretty picture. But after all, was that not the point? To show the world how lackluster an heir he would be? Ironically his father, the one person whose opinion should matter, needed little encouragement to see Aegon as worthless. That is, assuming his father saw him at all. Unfortunately the rest of his family still held the belief that he would one day be King... What a ridiculous thought. He would be awful.

His cousin reclaimed his previous seat and stared at Aegon with a heavy pensive look. "You know... You remind me of a boy I grew up with."

"One of your cousins?" asked Aegon, moving to sit cross-legged and facing the elder boy.

"No, no. My uncle's ward actually... He used to act out by getting drunk and whoring as well. It never got him the attention he wanted... Though I suppose you may already know that."

Aegon flinched and then regretted it for the pain it caused to bloom in his head. "I don't act out for attention, I f*ck off to the whor*houses and get black-out drunk to get away from it." He hissed, rubbing at his sore head.

"Oh... and that works does it?" Aemon mocked. Aegon's silence was all the answer he needed, prompting him to continue.

"He resented the position he was in as well. So he drank, and whor*d, and started fights he really shouldn't have." His cousin went on, much to Aegon's growing frustration.

"Well, he sounds a lot more fun than you, cousin. Pity he could not be here in your place." Aegon snarled, sensing a lecture coming on.

"I'm afraid that would be difficult for him to achieve what, with him being dead and all." Drawled Aemon with a lazy grace that, for the first time since he had come to court, was actually reminiscent of his father.

"Wait... Dead?" echoed Aegon "Well how did he die?" he asked, leaning forward, now visibly invested in the story.

"After my uncle died, my family got court up in a... conflict. My cousin thought he could trust the boy we had grown up with to gain allies, so he sent him back to his own family... Had I been there I would have told him how foolish that was. For all Theon had been raised as my fath- my uncle's ward, he was in truth a hostage. His family would never have allied with ours. He betrayed my cousin-"

"So your cousin killed him?" Aegon cut in, eyes wide with morbid curiosity.

"No... My cousin was murdered by someone else. Though not before he could learn the treachery of a man he had thought like a brother." Aemon gripped the arms of his chair tightly, clearly fighting to stop the emotions from overtaking him. "In his falsely earned confidence, Theon thought to take and hold my cousin's castle. He killed my younger cousins, as well as servants and guardsmen he had known nearly his entire life."

Aegon sat, horrified at the tale his cousin was spinning. "Then what happened?"

"Before he died my cousin had, ironically, given the task of dealing with Theon to the son of the lord that would go on to betray him... He took the castle from Theon with little hardship-"

"And then he killed him?" Aegon cut in once again.

"No" his cousin replied, much to Aegon's frustration. "He did much worse than that... He tortured Theon, I know not for how long, but enough that he broke. I heard that the man cut of Theon’s co*ck and then ate it in front of him..."

Aegon could only stare, feeling utterly sick, though now not from the hangover alone. He could not imagine living through such a thing, and the man's poor co*ck. What would he do without it? "You... you said he was dead though?" Aegon stuttered.

"Yes... He killed himself..." His cousin paused and leaned forward, looking Aegon dead in the eye. "I can't help but believe, that perhaps if he had spent less time drinking his brains away and feeling sorry for himself. Then maybe he would have known better than to betray and usurp the man that was like a sibling to him. And if he hadn't turned traitor... Then perhaps he would have lived... and kept his co*ck."

Aegon gulped, suddenly feeling like there was not enough air in the room. His mother and grandfather had long warned of the danger he would be in once his sister became Queen. But that was always the danger of Rhaenyra, or more accurately Prince Daemon. No one had ever suggested there may be threats to him outside of the family. Until now.

Feeling on the edge of hysteria, Aegon began taking in big gulps of air, he didn't want to lose his co*ck! f*cking was one of his few pleasures in life."I'm awful with a sword!" He cried, "Even when I went to training Cole was always telling me how much better Aemond was... Do you know how humiliating that was? Being bested by your younger, one-eyed brother!" Aegon began to wail. "I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die and lose my beautiful co*ck!" The wine he had drunk last night, was clearly still very much in his system and in effect.

It was Aemon's turn now to sit wide-eyed and panicked as he took in the wailing Prince before him. "f*ck. No, no Prince Aegon... Cousin, look at me." He took Aegon's face in his hands, an eerily similar gesture to what his mother was fond of, but infinitely more gentle. Aegon could not help but lean into it, when was the last time he had been touched softly by someone he had not paid to do so?"You're not going to die, and no one is going to take your... er co*ck. It was unfair of Sir Criston to play you and your brother against each other like that. I know inspiring a rivalry between trainees works sometimes, but it only takes eyes to see that was not the right method for you and Aemond."

Aemon paused and began, tentatively at first but with more confidence when Aegon did not push him away, petting the hair of the younger man. "Why don't I train you?" He asked, causing Aegon to look up at him in shock. "I've trained men before, men with much less training than you've had, and I got them up to a decent level."

Aegon could answer that the elder boys' father would never allow it, but a small part of him, the part that cried out at never having a friend since Jace left wouldn't let him.

"I could ask Sir Criston if he would allow it... He seems to like me, at least he likes me enough to invite me to Aemond's training." His cousin continued, still petting Aegon's hair.

"He did?!" Aegon asked, shocked by the sudden bolt of jealousy that struck him. Everyone always preferred Aemond to him. For all his brother bemoaned his fate as the second son, infinitely feeling sorry for himself, he had it far better than Aegon did. He found himself surprised by the knowledge that he did not want Aemon to be like everyone else. His cousin would already be poisoned against them all by his sister and her clan, he didn't want to lose what small seed of goodwill existed in Aemon to his brother. After all, Aemond was the reason Jace had abandoned him. Oh of course Aegon knew the specter of their mother's feud had been the catalyst, but if Aemond had not lied that night at Driftmark, If Aegon himself had not had to step up and cover for their mother, Jace would still be his.

"If you're training me you won't have time to train with Aemond." Aegon found himself saying "It's like you said, you wouldn't want to compare the two of us as Cole did, that wouldn't be fair and would defeat the purpose!" Aegon stared at Aemon with hungry eyes, he would not share his cousin.

"I guess you're right" Aemon agreed reluctantly. "I will speak to Sir Cole... Your training starts tomorrow unless I come and tell you I was denied permission. We can do it around 4 I think, your brother's training will be over by then and the yard is usually rather empty at that time."

"And it will stop me drinking" Aegon grumbled realising where his cousin was going with this.

"A happy coincidence" Laughed Aemon. "Now about your other lessons..."

Chapter 5: The Rogue Prince

Chapter Text

Not that Daemon would ever admit it, but he had been nervous to return to Kings Landing. Not for himself, Daemon had thick skin and an even sharper sword, but for those he loved. Both Rhaenyra and Aemon would be open to attack here, and their enemies were far too numerous in the city that should be their family's stronghold.

Viserys looked even worse than the last time Daemon had laid eyes on him, and the green's influence at court had grown like a fungus. This was not a place he wanted his son, wanted any of his children, but Aemon especially. For all the young man was the eldest of their brood, he had a naivety that even his younger siblings did not. Daemon had wanted longer with him, wanted to make up for lost time, but they had only a week together on Dragonstone before they had left for Kingslanding. To Daemon It had not been enough.

His son was still very much a mystery to him, even after trying to spend every second with him during that week. In truth most of the information Daemon knew about Aemon's past came from his other children, his son being slightly less tight-lipped around his younger siblings. Daemon could guess why his son kept his own confidence, he didn't want his father's wrath to rain down on his maternal kin, no matter how much they may deserve it. After discussing the situation in depth with his wife, and planning how best to ease Aemon into the family, Daemon had reluctantly agreed that a gentle approach was best.

For all men like Otto Hightower may claim Daemon was incapable of subtlety or gentleness, he was, and ultimately Daemon wanted what was best for his son. Aemon was a gentle young man, soft-spoken, and at times one could even go as far as to say timid. It was in fact Daemon’s opinion, that most of these qualities were not naturally occurring. Daemon himself was known for his fiery temperament and tended to favour bold women, whoever Aemon's mother had been she no doubt had a wildness in her. Therefore one would expect a similar temperament in their offspring, Aemon did have a fire in him, it was just buried under the years of mistreatment that had kept him low.Perhaps if Daemon had gotten the chance to raise his son himself, as he should have, things would be different. But Daemon could not change the past, he could only do his best to move on from it. He would never know the wild dragon his son may have been, but that did not mean he could not in turn love the gentle one he had now.

In actual fact Aemon rather reminded Daemon of Rhaenyra's mother. Aemma had not been a full Targaryen for all she looked like one, and the late Queen had never claimed a dragon of her own. But Daemon had known Aemma well enough to recognise the steady fire that burned within her, one that could be just as deadly as the wildfire of her daughter when it came to her family. Daemon had seen that same fire in Aemon when it came to his defence of his siblings.

Wheras Aemon and his brothers had clicked almost instantly, his bond with his sisters had taken more work. Baela had clearly felt threatened by the appearance of an elder male sibling, she had always been closer to Daemon just as Rhaena had been to Leana, and had been slow to warm to the boy as a result. Rhaena, always her sister's steady shadow had acted in turn. Daemon had wanted to ensure Aemon's bond with each of his siblings before they left for the capital, not wanting there to be any cracks for the greens to exploit. He had lain awake wondering what he could do to encourage the three to bond, in the end, Daemon had not needed to do anything.

Baela had gone to the dragonmount in order to ride Moondancer, and Rhaena had accompanied her sister so that they may take lunch together after the older girls' ride. While Rhaena had been waiting on her sister, a gaggle of dragonseed from one of the local villages had come upon her. With the misplaced confidence of youth, the young men had jeered at Rhaena, mocking her lack of a dragon. As if it was their place to even look upon a Princess so far above their level. When Baela came to her gentler sister's defence, the smarter of the lads fled in the face of Moondancer, young she may still be, a dragon is still a terrifying sight.

A significant number of the group stayed however, and then both princess' and the young dragon were faced with the group whose rowdiness had only grown. Had Baela been a more experienced dragon rider the situation would have been far more simple, and more deadly for the young men. But Baela had only been riding her dragon for a year now and had never used her in conflict. Neither could Baela use her dragon to flee, as she was not yet large enough for both herself and her sister, and she would never leave Rhaena behind. Before the girls could come to any harm however, Aemon had found them, his monstrous dragon with him.

When Daemon had heard what had happened he had been on the verge of marching to that very village and putting every young man that fit the description to the sword, and considering the amount of dragonseed that littered Dragonstone, that would have been most of the men of the village. But Daemon had been shocked to learn that Aemon had not just scared of the young men, like he had expected of his gentle son, but had fed the lot of them to his dragon.

Daemons girls had been much fonder of their elder brother after the event, and much to Daemon's relief, there was already a clear bond between Aemon and each of his siblings before they had left.

Now in Kingslanding, Daemon only had one child to focus on and he could dedicate himself to bonding with Aemon himself.

"So if you wanted to call someone a two-faced c*nt..." Daemon prompted.

"Lanta laehurlion orvorta" replied his son, tracing the words on the sheet of parchment he had propped up on his legs.

The Valyrian was still heavy on the younger man's tongue, the syllables unfamiliar and awkward. It pained Daemon to see, this should have been his son's mother tongue. Nevertheless, Aemon was learning it now.

Rhaenyra let out an unladylike snort from where she was pretending to read by the fire. "Do you plan on teaching Aemon how to converse properly or just various insults?"

Daemon faked outrage at his wife's comment, prompting Aemon to let out a small laugh that warmed him more than the fire ever could. His son always acted so dourly, it made him seem far older than he actually was. But when Aemon laughed, it brightened his entire face, even his eyes seemed to shine making the purple in them more evident. When Aemon let his happiness show, he looked like the boy he should be. Daemon would happily dedicate the rest of his life to keeping that smile on his son's face, and would happily kill those who had taught him to hide it away.

"I seem to recall learning curse words first was a very effective method for a young Princess, once upon a time." Daemon teased his wife, hinting at the manor in which he had taught her Valyrian as a little girl.

"Yes but that Princess was far more likely to use those insults. I don't envision Aemon here calling anyone a two-faced c*nt anytime soon." Rhaenyra laughed, walking over to join the two on the bed.

"I might... In my head." Aemon defended halfheartedly.

“At the very least, dear one, you will understand what your father is saying when he undoubtedly insults someone.” Rhaenyra said as she reached out and caressed Aemon’s face softly.

Daemon watched his son lean into her touch before abruptly realising what he was doing and jerking away. Seeing the sadness bloom in his wife’s violet eyes Daemon fought down the rage that grew in him. Not at Aemon, never at his son, but at the monsters that had taught him that he did not deserve affection.

“I heard you had an eventful day today!” Daemon announced in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood.

Aemon hummed, neither confirming nor denying his father’s statement. In turn, Daemon fought a growl.

He had heard of the days earlier events from one of the guardsmen, a young man that had served under Daemon in the city watch, and that he had placed in the castle to keep him informed of the goings on.

When Daemon had heard that f*cker Sir Crispin had dared try to harm his son, he had been ready to finally give the soiled white cloak a rematch. But when the guard went on to explain how Aemon had knocked the prat onto his backside, his rage turned to elation. Aemon took after him after all, another warrior for their house.

Even when news of the bout began to circle the keep as the day went on, Daemon restrained himself from parading Aemon around the castle on his shoulders. No doubt his son wanted to tell him of his victory in person, so Daemon acted unaware’s. Even when Crispy had sent him a smug look in passing Daemon had bit his tongue. He could always rub the knights loss in his face tomorrow.

But as day turned into evening, Aemon still did not come to him. When upon confirming with his wife that she had not seen their son since morning meal either, Daemon began to worry. Had Crispy's smug look been a hint that he had disposed of Aemon in retribution for his loss? For his hatred of Daemon himself? The rogue Prince had just been about to march to his brother's chambers to demand an audience when his son revealed himself, arriving at his and Rhaenyra's chambers for his Valyrian lessons as they had agreed he would that morning.

When asked where he had been, Aemon had admitted to hiding away from the prying eyes of the court someplace they would never have look for him. Knowing how much his son struggled with being the centre of attention, Daemon had chosen not press the issue. He and Rhaenyra had vowed to work at combating Aemon’s shyness, such behaviour may be welcomed in a bastard but would not do for a Prince. Yet they knew such work would have to be a gradual thing, so not to spook their newest hatchling.

Still Daemon had been waiting for over an hour now for his son to tell him of his fight, yet Aemon made no mention of it.

“You bested Sir Crispy!” Daemon burst out, unable restrain himself any longer “you knocked him on his arse! Oh my boy I’m so proud! So proud… But why did I learn of it from a castle guardsman hmm? And not my very own son?”

Aemon flushed, and began to mess with his curls, a tell Daemon had began to recognise as a nervous habit of his eldest. “I’m sorry… I wasn’t trying to keep things from you… I just didn’t think it was worth mentioning, it’s not like it was a real fight. I only won because Sir Criston let his emotions distract him. I didn’t think you would care…”

Daemon took his son’s face in his hands, an echo of that first night on Dragonstone. “My boy I would want to hear about your day even if you spent its entirety staring at a wall. The simple fact that it would be about your experience would be riveting enough for me… And you should know I always love to hear about Sir Crispy’s mishaps.”

Aemon’s laughter ruined the serious face he tried to pull “It’s Sir Criston Daemon. Getting his name wrong, funny as it may be, could be perceived as childish by others.”

“A dragon does not care for the opinion of sheep.” His son still had yet to call Daemon father, and for all it made his chest burn he knew forcing the title would get him no where.

‘Father’ to Aemon had been his accursed traitorous uncle, a man Daemon knew his son still put on a pedestal. Until Daemon knocked the man from it, the term ‘father’ would always be tainted, and always belong to another in his son’s mind. Daemon could just settle for being called Kepa, he preferred the Valyrian phrase anyway so it shouldn’t have been an issue. But Daemon was petty, petty and greedy. He wanted to be the only father in his son’s mind, he would not share.

He had started small, picking at the little issues, the ones most visible and needing the least information.

“Such a shame it was that your uncle had never defended you to his wife” he would whisper.

Or “Your uncle must have felt very strongly about his lie to take it to his grave, do you think it was really all about protecting you or…” he would hint, leaving his sons own imagination to fill in the gaps.

When his younger children brought him more information, only snippets but Daemon clung to every piece, he implemented that as well.

“He mustn’t have trusted you very much” Daemon would ponder allowed “if he felt the need to keep a level of separation between you and his own children…” and then Daemon would send his son off to accompany his younger siblings, highlighting the difference between himself and Aemon’s uncle.

It was a slow progress but progress nonetheless. Daemon had began to notice far less slips on Aemon’s part referring to his uncle as ‘father’, and when he did his son always corrected himself. It was satisfying to see a plan come to fruition.

“I’ve had quite a few ladies come up to me to enquire on your romantic prospects you know.” Began his wife, smirking down at their son.

“Romantic… What?” Aemon chocked.

“She means betrothals my son.” Laughed Daemon, taking in Aemon’s horrified face.

“But… Why? I’m a bastard who in their right mind would want to marry me?” Aemon asked, seemingly aghast at the suggestion.

“Have you looked in the mirror lately dear one? I would argue that would go some ways to answering why!” Replied Rhaenyra, patting Aemon’s curls the way she so often did to their younger sons.

“And that’s without even considering the political motives” she continued.

“What political motives? I’m a bastard. Marrying me would be political suicide surely!” Aemon insisted.

“You’re a bastard in name only, everyone knows my brother will agree to legitimise you. So you see my boy you’re quite the catch!”

“I thought the king invited us here so he could observe me? To see if I was worthy of being legitimised… You make it sound as if it is already a forgone conclusion…” Aemon stuttered, eyes flickering from Daemon to his wife.

Daemon snorted and reached over to grasp one of the glasses of wine resting on the bedside table. “Viserys invited us here under that pretence so that he could see Rhaenyra again, and so he could scold me in person for wedding her.” That had been a painful encounter, for all his brother looked frailer than ever his yelling had still been rather affective.

“He will legitimise you sweetling, don’t worry over it” comforted his wife to little effect.

“I haven’t even spoken with him since we were introduced… even that was only the briefest of interactions. Surely he can not base my character on that alone?” Aemon was visibly panicked now and Daemon had to reach out and restrain him from leaping off the bed to pace.

“You displayed yourself admirably on your introduction” Daemon explained firmly “your shyness won’t count against you!”

“That’s not what I-“ Aemon signed “never mind.”

“Father is holding court in two days time and has invited me to sit with him, to hear the claims of those who are in attendance. I want you to come watch, you can stand with your father and make sure he behaves himself.” Rhaenyra joked, yet maintained eye contact with Aemon, making it clear that this was not a request.

“I don’t think I have any clothes fit for acting as a courtier” Aemon tried to reason, “other than those I was presented in, and wouldn’t it be poor form to wear them again so soon?”

“You’re right it would be… Good thing I took it upon myself to have a full wardrobe ordered to a seamstress in the city before we even arrived. Your new clothes will be here tomorrow afternoon, you won’t have to wear your father’s hand me downs anymore!” Smirked his wife, proud of herself for anticipating Aemon’s excuse before he had said it.

“I think he looks rather dashing in my old clothes!” Daemon insisted “it makes the resemblance between us more obvious! Though I do wish you would choose some of the more red pieces, black isn’t our only house colour you know?”

Aemon coughed awkwardly “I’ve been told it’s my colour” he smirked.

There was a hidden meaning there, Daemon knew it. Yet it remained stubbornly out of his reach.

“Do you plan on hiding away again all day tomorrow?” His wife asked softly.

“Yes.” Was Aemon’s blunt reply, causing twin snorts from the married pair.

“Perhaps you could spend your hiding doing something productive… like working on your bond with your dragon? You haven’t visited the Cannibal since you flew him here. I’ve heard from the dragon keepers he is getting antsy. We wouldn’t want him falling back on old habits in order to cheer himself up now would we? Then again… I heard he is nesting in a cave near to Sunfyre, perhaps we could allow the old boy one snack… for old times sake.”

“Daemon. Behave” warned his wife.

“I’ll visit Cannibal tomorrow… and no I’m not letting him eat anyone’s dragon!”

Chapter 6: The Traveler

Chapter Text

When Jon had ridden Viserion for the first time it had been a chaotic affair, scrambling for purchase on the dragon's cream scales and clinging desperately to his horns. Riding the Cannibal was nothing like that. Jon could say that it was because he had never had the chance to bond with Viserion, but he knew that to be a lie. No amount of time spent with Viserion would ever equate to even the first few seconds with the Cannibal, their bond was instantaneous. Jon did wonder why this may be, did he and the first dragon he ever rode fail to bond because of Jon? or was Dany the reason?

For all the mother of dragons had explained at length her want for a family, Jon had seen the conflicted looks flick across her face when he had mounted her son, before she decided to be impressed. Worse still he had felt her rejection when they had found out the truth of Jon's birth. Not the rejection of Jon as a romantic partner, which he could have accepted and would have agreed with even, but the rejection of Jon as kin. Daenerys had wanted Jon to maintain the lie of his uncle, and continue as things had been before, as if that would ever be possible.

It was not that Jon didn't understand why Dany had reacted as she did, maybe it would have been easier if he didn't. Daenerys had built her identity on being the last Targaryen, the only dragon rider, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Jon's revelation shook the foundations of that identity, it threatened them, Jon threatened them. Still, her rejection of Jon as family had hurt more than he would like to admit, despite his own mixed feelings about being a Targaryen he was one, and neither of them could change that.

Or had Jon and Viserian failed to bond because of the very dragon Jon now rode? As far as he remembered there was no recording of the Cannibal's death, the monstrous dragon had just eventuallystopped appearing to hunt, and the people of Westeros had drawn their own conclusions. Was Cannibal still alive in Jon's own time? perhaps waiting for Jon to claim him. The paradox of it all made his head rather sore. Below him, Cannibal let out a mighty roar, making it clear to his rider that headache-inducing thoughts were not appreciated.

The Cannibal was far larger than any of Daenerys's dragons had been, larger even than any of the other dragons on Dragonstone. Daemon had told him that the Cannibal was larger than Vhagar as well, a fact the rogue Prince had revealed with giddy delight.

Jon's dragon was a dark green colour that looked black until the light shone on his scales, and scars littered the great beast from fights it had gotten into (and likely won) over the years. The Cannibal’s snout had a great tusk protruding from the front, which reminded Jon of one of the animals Tormund and Ygritte had shown him how to hunt beyond the wall. Overall, the Cannibal was a very imposing sight.

It was this thought that inspired Jon's flight pattern that morning, not wanting to terrify the citizens of Kings Landing with an unfamiliar Dragon flying overhead. So instead Jon flew over the Kings wood and Blackwater bay, letting the Cannibal swoop down and skim the water as he pleased, displaying feats far more agile than one would expect from a beast of his size. Jon enjoyed the feeling of the wind in his hair and the freedom that flying brought to him, it was tempting to never stop, but Jon knew that even this had its dangers.

He recalled the last time he had flown the Cannibal simply for pleasure, before he had flown to Kings Landing. He had escaped the castle for some peace from his ‘family's’ hovering, and was just returning after letting the ride calm him down when he had spotted Baela's young Dragon Moondancer at the mouth of one of the caves of the Dragonmount. Jon had flown closer to check that all was well when it had become clear that it was not. Both Baela and Rhaena were backed up against the young dragon with a gaggle of Dragonseed before them, posture evidently threatening. Making to land quickly, the Cannibal had touched down behind the group, essentially trapping them between the two dragons. Jon had only intended to scare them off, to make the young men reconsider the idea of harassing a pair of young girls. But then Jon had spotted the tear tracks on Rhaena's cheeks and the small cut on Baela's forhead, the type of wound one would receive from a rock throne at them.

It was only a moment, less than a second of loss of control, but that was all it took. The Cannibal had picked up on his rider's protective rage and had been only to happy to act on it. In less than a Minute, the group of young men had been reduced to charcole, and then dinner for their killer.

Jon had expected punishment, to be ridiculed for his lack of control of his dragon, instead, he got praise. Daemon had thrown a feast in his honour, claiming his defence of his 'sisters' was something to be rewarded. Jon had thought the young girls would avoid him, more so than they already had been, instead, they clung to his side. Perhaps he should have expected that the daughters of the rogue Prince would not be horrified by such a display, that they would instead see it as a mark of affection, as the act that earned him the title 'Big brother'.

Ashamed, Jon had avoided his dragon all he could. However, the very bond that had caused the incident also made avoidance a trial. Jon had an awareness of the Cannibal, one he could only compare to that of the connection he had shared with ghost. This had meant that he could feel the dragon's growing frustration at his avoidance, this pared with Daemon's comment from the previous night about the dragon keepers fears, had meant Jon had finally caved. Leading to his current flight.

Jon couldn't help but feel guilty about how much joy the flight brought him, even when he recognised that a portion of the positive emotions were coming from his dragon, he still loved it. But Jon was wearier now of letting his own feelings bleed into his dragon, he had learned his lesson on the consequences of that... And what far reaching consequences they were.

After what Jon had begun to describe as 'the incident', he had gone down to the village that the young men had hailed from. Neither Daemon nor the rest of the 'family' would have approved of such a venture, so Jon had sneaked out of the castle to go. He knew it was foolhardy, but his guilt demanded it of him. For all he knew that the young men had been in the wrong for their actions towards Daemon's daughters, and that Jon's presence had likely stoped any greater misdeeds, death by dragon was an exceedingly harsh way to go.

Jon ignored the small (but growing) part of him that disagreed.

Jon had wanted to do something for the families of the young men at least. Most of them had seemed to be only slightly older than Jon himself, and he knew from his talks with Grenn and Pyp that the loss of the income a grown son could bring in, would be devastating for peasant families. So Jon had gone to the village, spinning a tale that he was a representative of the crown wanting to pay reparations to the families whose sons had died. All had been going well until he learned of two of the names of the dead men, Hugh and Ulf. Now there was the possibility that these men were not the very same men that history remembered as Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White, but really what were the odds of that with Jon’s luck?

Jon pondered the dilemma this brought, while he circled the Black water upon the Cannibal. What affect would Jon Killing two important figures from the Dance of Dragons do to history, and most importantly, how would it affect Jon’s chances of getting home?

Jon’s previous incursions in history seemed to have made little impact. At the very least, no one had ever made mention of the strange time traveler that rejected the conquerors advances. Jon had checked the library at Dragonstone to be sure, and there was definitely no mention of him anywhere.

Jon did not think he could avoid mention in history this time. Already he had been stuck here longer than any other period, and the longer he stayed the greater changes his very presence could bring. He had hoped initially that he could stay unnoticed at Dragonstone until he moved on, but the Kings summons had put a stop to that idea.

The promise of legitimisation, something he had desired all his life, now filled him with dread. It would be one thing to be remembered as Daemon Targaryen’s bastard. Evenas a bastard son who claimed the Cannibal, if Jon had minded his own business and stayed away from the politics, he could avoid causing too many ripples in history. But as the legitimised bastard? History would not dismiss him so easily.

Jon had thought that if he avoided court, the king would declare he had not seen sufficient evidence to legitimise him, and Jon would have longer to (hopefully) disappear.

Last night had disbanded those notions, it seems that both Daemon and Rhaenyra were confident in his legitimisation happening no matter what. Jon hoped the two were just being overly optimistic, but it was true that they knew King Viserys far better than Jon ever would. His hopes now lay with the hand of the King, whose hatred for Prince Daemon had gone down in history. Surely Otto Hightower would not allow the rogue Prince’s bastard to be legitimised?

The Cannibal made a rapid dive downwards, sticking his great head below the waves and returning with a mouthful of fish.

“I guess I can tell the dragon keepers that they don’t have to feed you today then!” Hollered Jon, his voice fighting the wind.

His dragon grumbled, making his disagreement known.

“Oh alright then you greedy thing” Jon laughed, patting the dragon’s snout affectionately.

Sensing his riders desire to land, the Cannibal began to fly towards the dragon pit. The Cannibal was far too large to be housed within the pit itself, and had instead taken to nesting in the caves that resided in the cliffs above it. Vhagar, Jon had been told, also to large, chose to make her home in the caves that looked out over Blackwater bay.

Daemon had told him that when a dragon rider dies, and their dragon lives on, that a part of the riders soul stays with them. Was Vhagar’s attachment to the sea a legacy of her last rider? Jon did not know if he believed the myth, but he hoped it was untrue. It would make the events of the dance all that more tragic, and the period did not need any more tragedy.

Touching down just outside the pit, the Cannibal crouched down so that his rider could dismount.

“Oh, yes thank you… I’m not a prince though. I don’t think the royal family would be very happy for me to answer to a title that isn’t mine.” Jon replied.

The elder dragon keeper stared at Jon with knowing eyes, he did not correct his statement.

“Would you like us to remove the saddle from your dragon?” The younger keeper asked, looking uncomfortable to not have a title to address Jon by.

The saddle Jon used was not as intricate as the other dragon riders, there had not been the time to create such a thing. But to a man who had only ridden without one before, it was perfect.

“Yes… Thank you.”

Jon rode back from the dragon pit accompanied by the guards prince Daemon had designated to him. The two young men were part of the household guard at Dragonstone, and had been serving the royal family there for a couple of years now. They were both nice enough, but Jon rankled under the supervision. He had never had guards of his own before, not as the bastard of Winterfell and not even as King in the North, Ghost fulfilled the role better than any man ever could.

There was also the factor that Jon was all too aware that the guards would be reporting his every move to his ‘father’. For all Jon knew Daemon’s overprotectiveness was born out of (misplaced) parental affection, it was still deeply annoying to a man that had been taught to be independent since a young age.

So in Jon’s mind the solution was obvious, he had to loose the guards. It would not be an easy feat, Kings landing was unfamiliar to him as was the Red Keep, but Jon had desperation on his side.

When they reached a cross section in the busy city streets, Jon took his chance to slide from his horse, hiding quickly among the crowd. His dark hair, so unique in the palace and on Dragonstone (bar the three princes), allowed him to blend in easily among the masses of Kings Landing.

Ignoring the shouts of his guards Jon walked calmly in the direction of the palace, making sure not to appear to rushed as to draw attention to himself.

He had been held up slightly by the guards at the palace gates, but had been able to convince them eventually that he was a member of the Princess’ household. His fine garments of red and black making his house allegiance clear, while Jon’s dark hair and avoidance of court had allowed his identity to remain a secret.

Jon made for the training yard, hoping to find Sir Criston there to discuss the training of Prince Aegon. He tried to keep to the shadows on his way there, a skill he had honed in Winterfell as a boy when Lady Stark had wanted him out of sight.

Sir Criston Cole stood at the centre of the training yard, Prince Aemond beside him, demonstrating a move for the Prince.

Seeing Jon approaching Aemond called out, “cousin Aemon!” Causing the Kings guard to move his eyes to him.

“Have you came for our rematch?” Called Cole, a much friendlier smile on his (admittedly handsome) face than the previous day.

“I’m afraid not, but I was hoping to speak to you Sir Criston? If it’s not too much of an interruption of Prince Aemond’s training?” Jon asked, approaching closer.

“I can go practice the moves Sir Criston taught me while you talk?” Offered Aemond, turning to his trainer.

Cole nodded, sending Aemond to across the yard where he could practice still in sight.

The knight flicked his eyes down Jon’s form, his brow creasing and a frown slipping onto his face. “Did Daemon dress you in that?”

Jon still had no clothes of his own, save the armour he had arrived in this time wearing. Rhaenyra had promised him a full wardrobe would be arriving that afternoon, and he dreaded how extravagant some of the outfits would no doubt be, but in the interim he had been wearing Daemon’s old clothes.

The particular number he wore that day was a garment that Daemon had thrown at him the night before, claiming Jon could not be trusted to pick out an outfit that wasn’t all black.The clothes were still largely black, thankfully, so did not breach Jon’s comfort zone too much, but had red sleeves and detailing across the leather. There was also an army of silver studs that littered the chest portion of the outer coat. Jon felt far too overdressed, though he knew this was nothing compared to some of the more popular southern fashions.

It was slightly too tight on him across the arms and shoulders, and hung longer than it must have done on the Prince. While not so obvious that it made the garment unwearable, it did hint that Jon was still growing, and that his Stark blood may give him a slightly more bulky form than the usual Targaryen fair.

“Yes, I’m still waiting on some clothes of my own… and Daemon said I need to wear more red.” Jon laughed awkwardly.

“So he’s getting you to dress how he prefers you to then?” The knight summarised unhappily.

“I have little knowledge of southern fashion Sir and would not want to course offence. When Prince Daemon suggested the outfit last night I was more than happy to bow to his superior knowledge. I hope I do not look ridiculous?” Asked Jon attempting to diffuse the situation. How Cole had gotten so offended over a simple outfit, Jon would never know.

“Last night?” Cole asked, eyes wide and looking slightly ill.

“Yes… when I was in his and the Princess’ chambers for my Valyrian lessons…” Jon confirmed, not sure what was bothering the knight so much.

“In their chambers? Of course they would… those sneaky… so subtle… but I know…” Grumbled the Kingsguard largely under his breath, making Jon unable to make out all he said.

“I wanted to talk to you about Prince Aegon” Jon began, deciding to get the conversation back on track.

From the corner of his eye, Jon spotted Aemond pause in his movements.

“Prince Aegon? Why would you… what has he done now? I can only apologise and ask that you do not blame the boy to harshly, he was likely drunk and-“ Criston started before Jon cut him off.

“No, no you misunderstand me Sir! Aegon hasn’t done anything. I came upon the two Princes yesterday after our bout. Aegon was rather drunk, and Aemond was having some difficulty getting him to his chambers so I volunteered to aid him… After, when I offered to watch over Aegon so Aemond could attend his own training with you, we got talking” Jon continued.

“You… Spoke with Prince Aegon?” Sir Criston confirmed, clearly weary over such an idea.

“I was rather alarmed to find that he doesn’t attend any training of his own..” Jon prompted staring at the knight hoping for an explanation.

Cole signed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “It’s not for lack of trying!” He insisted “but the boy just won’t come… truth be told even when he did attend he was a poor student. None of the talent nor dedication of his brother.”

To the side, Aemond puffed up in pride at the praise.

“I thought you might say something like that, it’s kind of the problem…” said Jon.

“I’m not sure what you mean? I’m pretty certain the problem is Aegon’s vices!” Argued Sir Cole.

“You’re an accomplished warrior Sir Criston. I could tell that from our fight, but that does not in turn make you a skilled teacher.”

When Jon saw the Kingsguard begin to puff up in offence he hurried on.

“You do a fantastic job with Prince Aemond, no one can dispute that. He already shows great skill with the blade and will no doubt get better still.”

Criston seemed to calm with Jon’s praise of both Aemond and himself.

“But it’s one thing to teach someone who has skill and talent… and another to teach someone without it.”

Aemond moved closer now, making little attempt to hide his ears dropping.

“I’ve done that before, train those without talent or previous knowledge of swordsmanship, I mean… I spoke with Prince Aegon and he seemed rather open to the idea, I just need your permission as his previous trainer… I’d like to be in charge of training the Prince.”

“What?!” Screeched Aemond, throwing his practice sword to the floor in the process.

“Aemond!” Scolded Sir Criston “that is not how I’ve taught you to treat your weapon!”

The Prince ignored the knight, eyes only on Jon.

“You can’t be serious? Why would you want to train Aegon of all people? You’ve seen what he’s like! Sir Cole has told you how useless he is with a sword! Why would you waste your time training him, when you could train with me?” Insisted Aemond, his singular eye alight with a flame reminiscent of his uncle. (A comparison Jon knew the boy’s family would not care for.)

“Are you sure about this? Aegon may have seemed willing at the time, but the boy is known for his whims… He may have changed his mind already.” Said Sir Criston.

Thinking of the way the Prince had sobbed over the thought of loosing his co*ck, Jon rather doubted it.

“I’m sure” he answered both the Prince and the knight.

Pausing for a moment, Cole looked lost in thought and Jon worried he was about to refuse, but Criston seemed to break from his musing in a hurry before nodding frantically to Jon.

“You can train him! You have my permission… But it will be a lot of work, you’ll have to spend a lot of time with Prince Aegon to get him to a passable level, he hasn’t trained in over a year. You may be too tired for your nightly… Valyrian lessons…” informed the Knight.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine” Jon reassured him.

With a frustrated yell, Aemond fled the yard.

“Prince Aemond! Our lesson is not done! Where do you think you are going?!” Sir Criston called after him, making moves to follow the boy.

Jon stoped the knight with his arm.

“Let me? I believe I’m the source of this outburst, let me fix it? I’m sorry to have ruined your training session sir.”

When the Knight nodded his permission, Jon raced off in the direction Aemond had headed.

Coming to a halt by a small alcove, Jon joined Aemond on the stone floor. He likely would have ran past such a hiding spot, if he had not spent his childhood chasing after Arya who always seemed to find the most creative spots to hide.

“Well that was quite the performance” Jon sighed.

Aemond only glared in response, a mulish look on his young face.

“Are we gonna talk about it? Or just brood about the situation? I’ll warn you, you won’t win in a contest of moping with me. I’ve been told I’m the world champion.” Jon joked, shoving Aemond slightly to get the boy to respond.

“That’s hardly something to brag about” the boy grumbled, bringing his knees up to his chest.

“Is Sir Criston angry at me?” Aemond asked, refusing to meet Jon’s eyes.

“I think he was more shocked than anything, running off like that isn’t usual behaviour for you is it?”

“No… because I have to be perfect all the time… perfect because Aegon isn’t.” Aemond turned to face Jon now, and he could see the tears the boy was fighting off.

“Why? Why do you want to train him?” Aemond gasped out.

“Because he needs it. Not just to be a better swordsman, but to be a better man. Aegon has nothing to do but drink, whor* and feel sorry for himself. He needs something else.” Jon answered, reaching over to wipe the tear that had slipped out of the boys eye.

“But Aegon’s always had the choice to do something else! He could have come to training with Sir Criston! He could have kept up his lessons with the Maester but he chose not to! Why do you think this will be any different!” Cried the young Prince.

“Because I didn’t tell Aegon he has to attend lessons to be a better son, or a better Prince. I told him that learning to fight would help him protect himself… And I may have made a heavy handed allegory about him loosing his co*ck.” Jon admitted, grimacing at the last part.

“You what?” Chuckled Aemond, staring at Jon incredulously.

“Forget about that last part, my point is I framed this as an offer to Aegon to be something he chooses to do for himself. Not something he needs to do for others.”

Aemond shook his head and whispered “I still don’t understand… how is that not the same, wasn’t it for Aegon before?”

Jon smiled sadly down at the fair haired youth “no I don’t think it was, I think it was about other people pushing their wants, desires, and ambitions onto your brother. Is it really any wonder he broke under the pressure?”

Jon could see Aemond about to rise up, to insist that he wouldn’t have been as week as Aegon. Jon didn’t let him.

“Just because you’ve been able to weigh the responsibility’s put on you, doesn’t mean you would be able to take the ones put on your brother. And that doesn’t make either of you any stronger or weaker than the other… Personally I think both of you have been expected to handle far too much! Being a Prince is overrated!” Jon announced.

Aemond snorted “you’re only saying that because you’re not one yet.”

Jon rolled his eyes, there it was again, the assumption that king Viserys was definitely going to legitimise him.

“I may never be!” Countered Jon, hoping the desperation was not to evident in his voice.

Aemond laughed, “don’t be ridiculous! Of course you will be, everyone knows my father is going to legitimise you, because Rhaenyra asked it of him. And what Rhaenyra wants she gets…”

Aemond paused and stared at Jon pensively.

“It’s not that I have a problem with you being legitimised, or even you training my idiot brother. It’s just they always come first… Aegon, for all our father pays little attention to the children of his second wife, will always be his first born son. That means something to people… And then there’s Rhaenyra, the Kings favourite, the only child of the true love of his life! No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work or how perfect I try to be, i’ll never have what they have.”

Aemond laughed humourlessly, it was not a nice sound.

“I mean, I finally claim a dragon something I had been mocked and ridiculed for lacking and what happens? Am I congratulated for claiming one of the largest dragons around? No! I get attacked and my eye gets cut out by someone I thought was my friend! Someone who was meant to be my family! Meant to be happy for me!”

Jon reached over and took the crying boy in his arms and began to rock softly, making quiet humming noises to calm him.

“I didn’t know you and Luke were close…”

“We were always lumped together due to being the second born’s, never mind the fact that I was closer in age to Jacaerys. Aegon and he were as thick as thieves when we were boys, always up to mischief. Mischief I was often the target of might I add. Luke was quieter, and I had thought at the time, softer. We used to hide in the library together to escape the gossip of court.”

Aemond fiddled with a loose thread on the cuff of his doublet. A rare sign of anxiety from the normally collected Prince.

“I’m the one who taught him Valyrian you know. I used to read to him from some of my fathers books, stories on old Valyria and our ancestors… And then when we got older and I grew more aware of… things.”

Jon could imagine what the Prince meant when he said ‘things’, the tensions between the two sides of the Targaryen family perhaps? or the rumours on the birth status of Rhaenyra’s three sons.

“Aegon started drinking, which pushed Jacaerys to want to spend more time with his own brother. And soon Luke became an accomplice in their pranks, pranks on me.”

Jon could only look at Aemond in pity, this was a very lonely young man, he thought.

"I know this won't change anything, but he is sorry you know, about what happened. He has night terrors about it even now."

"Does he dream about me coming for revenge?" Aemond asked, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"No, he dreams about what happened, about hurting you. He wakes up crying..."

Aemond pulled away and wiped his face with his sleeve. "You’re right... it doesn't change anything."

Looking up at Jon's face carefully, Aemond’s eye suddenly narrowed as if noticing something.

"You have scars... over your eyes! How did you get those?" He asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

Jon laughed awkwardly, he had forgotten about the scars from Orwell's eagle. They were so faint now, and were nothing in comparison to the greater scars his body bore.

"I pissed off a Skin changer" he answered the boy.

"Skin changer? what's a Skin changer? I've never heard of that. Is it some kind of animal in the North?" pressed Aemond.

Jon shook his head, "No, a Skin changer is a person. A person with magic."

Jon considered briefly if telling Aemond about such a thing was a good idea, but saw no harm in it in the end.

There had been rumours, theories, that Larys Strong had been a Skin changer. That the Lord of Harrenhall had used his abilities to spy for the greens. Telling Aemond of the ability would not give the greens anymore power than they had before.

"Their fairly well known in Northern folklore, they say the Starks used to be Skin changers. It's the ability to see through the eyes of an animal, control it even. The man who gave me these scars was bonded to an eagle, it clawed at my eyes before I killed its master." Explained Jon.

This reminded him painfully of when he would tell old stories of the North to Bran, stories old Nan had told him and Robb.

"That's amazing!" Aemond cried "it’s kind of like the bond we have with our dragons... I suppose that would be the first men equivalent." The boy looked pensive, worrying his lip between his teeth.

"Can you do it?" He asked, "Your mother was from the North wasn't she? that means you have the blood of the first men."

Jon fought a curse, he had underestimated the young boy. He had not expected Aemond to ask whether Jon had the ability, so now what did he say? Did he lie and risk being caught out anyway, or did he tell the truth and possibly risk accusations or witchcraft? He had noticed how pious the Hightower faction was, this was not unexpected considering their lands were the seat of the faith of the seven. He did not want to risk coming under fire from them for heresy, it was dangerous enough that he openly prayed to the old Gods.

"You are aren't you?" Aemond declared, Jon's indecision betraying him.

This was becoming a habit.

"Technically... Yes" Jon admitted "But the animal I shared the connection with is no longer with me."

"What happened to it?" asked Aemond concerned.

That was the question wasn't it? But Jon didn't know. Ghost had been with him on his first jump, loyal as ever and growling at Aegon I's advances. Yet, when Jon had found himself at Whitewalls he was alone. Ghost had failed to appear at Dragonstone too, and Jon missed his loyal direwolf the way one may miss a limb. He hoped Ghost had simply been transported home by whatever higher power was doing this to him, but he just did not know.

"We were separated before I arrived on Dragonstone. I don't know if he is still alive... but he's out of my reach either way." said Jon solemnly.

Aemond looked down awkwardly, clearly unsure how to deal with Jon's visible sadness. Slowly he reached over and patted the older boy on the knee."Maybe you could have that bond with another animal? Like your dragon! Is there a limit to how many animals you can Skin change with?"

There wasn't technically, Jon remembered the wildling that had been known as six-skin for the amount of bonded animals he had, but they had all been small prey animals. Both Ghost and the Cannibal were predators, and creatures known for their possessive nature. There was every possibility that Jon wouldn't be able to Warg into another, and truthfully he was unsure if he really wanted to try- especially with the Cannibal or any dragon. For all the Great beast had been uncharitably gentle with Jon, his reputation preceded him, and dragons as a species were not exactly known for their geniality. Was that really something Jon wanted bleeding into himself? it was bad enough when the Cannibal reacted to Jon's own emotions, like the incident, what would happen if that went both ways? Who would Jon become?

"I'm not sure if I could Aemond." Jon chose to answer, hoping the boy would drop the subject.

"We could practice together!"

"What?” Jon exclaimed, entirely blindsided.

"Vhagar is the only dragon close in size to your Cannibal, so she's the only one with a shot of managing him. You could practice Skin changing into your dragon and I could supervise, with Vhagar as back up... And you could teach me more about Northern folklore, since it is a subject that my education is so obviously lacking." Insisted Aemond, a stubborn set to his jaw.

"You want to learn about folklore?" Jon asked perplexed.

"Yes." Aemond insisted "your experience is evidence enough that Skin changers could be a threat! I mean imagine what someone could overhear if they could possess a bird, or a cat, or even a rat!"

He paused, breath ragged with morbid excitement, "And besides, how else am I meant to spend time with you? Aegon won't let you train with us both."

"How did you know that? I hadn't said anything..." trailed off Jon.

Aemond laughed cruelly "I know my brother, cousin. He is a selfish creature as all true dragons are, we don't share." He fixed his remaining eye on Jon, "You will teach my brother the sword and I the legends of the North, there will be no cross over."

Jon nodded slowly, feeling oddly intimidated by the younger boy's stare.

"I will return to my lesson with Sir Criston now” Aemond announced. "I will come find you when we can arrange your lessons for me cousin.”

The boy smiled, a half smirk, that slashed across his face. Once again Jon was reminded fiercely of Prince Daemon.

"I look forward to our time together Aemon."

Jon had prepared himself for the possibility that Aegon would fail to appear. For all he felt he had gotten through to the boy, he also knew how stubborn teenage boys could be, Jon was one himself after all.So when Aegon arrived at the training grounds, sober even, Jon was elated.

"You look like sh*t" Jon declared, his joking tone hopefully lessoning the blow.

"Yes, thank you cousin this is what being two days sober looks like. Remind me why I agreed to be beaten while already feeling like I've fallen down the stairs?" Aegon grumbled, moving to lean on one of the wooden posts that surround the yard.

"So to be able to defend yourself from grievous bodily harm" Jon drawled with amusem*nt, obviously flicking his eyes down to Aegon's groin. Making it clear which body part he was referring.

Aegon flinched into standing "Right! Where do we start?" he gasped.

Jon handed Aegon the sword he had selected earlier, he thought it would be around the right length and weight for the Prince, assuming Aegon wasn't even weaker than he looked.

"Well first things first, show me how you grip the sword" Jon instructed.He hoped the boy would not take the opportunity to make an innuendo, as Theon had so often in their youth.

Aegon took the sword in his left hand and gripped it tightly, he adjusted his feet so his balance was stable, before turning his head to face Jon awaiting his response.

Jon circled the younger man, eyeing his form and grip critically. It was not the worse Jon had ever seen… He had worked with worse, he could work with this.

"Your footwork is correct, but you've got your shoulders to high and stiff. They'll cause you to over balance and fall if your opponent hits you hard enough. You need to loosen up a bit, your not going to be able to flow with your moves if you’re that stiff." Jon reached over and adjusted Aegon's shoulders to a lower position, making him more stable.

"Is that the grip Sir Criston taught you?" Jon asked, indicating to the way Aegon held his blade.

"Yes? Well it's as close as I can remember... its been a while" replied Aegon, fighting the urge to fidget.

"Sir Criston is right handed, as is your brother" stated Jon.

"Yes? So are you... Is this relevant?" Aegon asked breaking his stance to turn towards Jon.

"No get back in position! And to answer your question it’s very relevant."

Jon reached over and moved Aegon's placement of his thumb, and moved his overall grip lower.

"Criston got you to mirror his grip, forgetting that with you being left handed it should be slightly different. It's a small thing but it can affect your whole performance."

Aegon laughed "That’s it? I'm sh*t because I was taught to hold the sword wrong?"

"Holding the sword wrong hampered your ability yes, but your sh*t because you gave up. You could have the best grip In the world and still loose if you didn't know how to swing the sword correctly."

Jon picked up his own sword and gave it a performative twirl, before throwing it into his other hand and doing the same.

"And just because left is your dominant hand, doesn't mean you can't learn to use your right."

Aegon looked on in awe, "are you going to teach me that?" he asked eagerly.

Jon laughed and reached over to muse the boys blonde hair "not today that's for sure! But we'll seen how you go."

Jon had Aegon show him the movements he recalled from Sir Cole's lessons, and was pleasantly surprised that for the most part they needed little correction, the eldest Prince having a shockingly good recollection of his past lessons for someone who had drank as much as Aegon had.

"Had Cole got to shield training yet, when you bailed out?" Jon asked when they took a break to drink water.

"Can we call it something else rather than 'bailing' out... How about bowing out? You know because I was allowing my twat of a brother to take centre stage." Suggested Aegon, between greedy sips of water.

"Aegon. Firstly don't call your brother a twat. Secondly, answer my question, shields did you learn how to use them?" Repeated Jon, taking much more steady sips from his water skin.

"I think I remember the basics..." Aegon drawled, wiping back his sweaty silver locks. "Do we really need to go over them as well?" he wined.

"Your build is suited to barring a shield, being left handed wielding a sword and shield the way you will, will leave most opponents wrong footed... And I thought the entire purpose of these lessons were for working on your ability to defend yourself? The shield is after all the most famous weapon of defence..." Lectured Jon, pulling Aegon to his feat and putting a shield on his right arm.

"I'll take a swing at you, and you need to bring your shield up to block it. When my sword bounces away, that’s when you attack with your own. Do you understand?"

At Aegon's nervous nod Jon stepped back and readied himself to launch an attack, though admittedly not one with his whole strength. Jon swung his sword downwards, a visible and rather sloppy attack he would never utilise in a real battle. Aegon just managed to get his shield up in time, but failed to put any strength behind his block, and was knocked down by the strength of Jon's swing.

"f*ck" the prince groaned from where he laid sprawled on the earth. "That was you going easy on me? Wasn’t it? And you still put me on my arse."

Aegon pushed himself up slowly, groaning all the while.

"Why are you so freakishly strong? Is it a part of being descended from the first men? I remember Sir Harwin, the man was built like an ox! glorious muscles on that one... Do you think the next time I see my nephews they'll look like that? All dark ringlets and muscly."

He held up his arms to indicate the size his imagination was conjuring up.

"I don't see why they would Prince Aegon? I didn't realise that Princess Rhaenyra or her late husband had much first men blood to pass on" Jon said, attempting to further the Princess' rather obvious lie.

Aegon snorted "They didn't."

History remembered the birth status of the Princess Rhaenyra's children as a much less obvious lie than in the present. The suggestion of bastardry still loomed, but no one had ever definitively said if they were or not. Jon had been taught that it was a possibility that the boys had inherited their colouring from their grandmother, Sir Laenor's mother the Princess Rhaenys who was half Baratheon. But upon landing in this time, Jon was shocked to learn from Baela, that her grandmother had the stereotypical silver locks of her fathers house, rather than the black of her mothers. Jon had to wonder how history could have gotten this detail wrong, over others.

Jon did have a theory though. When Aegon III ascended to the throne the boy would have had little control on how his mother was recorded in history, his youth working against him, and by time he was old enough to make such decisions, Rhaenyra's image was set In stone. But something the boy king may have been able to do, was change something as minuscule as how the hair colour of a dead woman was remembered. It wasn't much, it wouldn’t wipe away the rumour or bring his brothers back. But it would cast a shadow of doubt over the bastardry claims.

Jon reached down and pulled Aegon to his feat once again.

"Keep your shield up! or I'll ring your head like a bell."

Neither young men noticed the two green clad figures watching pensively from the balcony above.

Chapter 7: The girl in the green gown

Chapter Text

Alicent stood on the balcony overlooking the training yard her father by her side, and looked nervously downwards. She winced every time her son took a blow.

“Shouldn’t we put a stop to this?” She hissed, the old urge to pick at her fingers rising within her.

“Your son is finally showing an interest in his training, and you want to stop it? Don’t be a fool.” The hand replied, cold as ever.

“It’s who he’s training with that’s the cause for concern, is it not? Daemon’s bastard is hardly who I would call a suitable trainer!”

Alicent did not understand how her father could be so calm while watching this. He who was well known for his scorn of the bastard boys father and his schemes. How could they know that this was not one them? All it would take is one well aimed blow and her son would be dead.

“Watch the boy Alicent… Does he look like he wishes Aegon any harm?” Her father ordered impassively.

Reluctantly the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms focused her attention on the dark haired young man. He had a genial smile on his face as he guided her son through his forms. Admittedly, he did not look like he disliked her son, a rare thing in the red keep, Aegon’s drinking habits had not endeared him well to others.

“It could be a trick” she insisted, a stubborn set to her jaw.

“It could” her father agreed “but from what I’ve learned of the boy so far, it doesn’t seem to be in his nature.”

Alicent snorted dubiously and tore her eyes from the training below. “He’s Daemon’s son! His bastard son! You expect me to believe that duplicity is not in his nature?!”

“I had thought the same myself, but it has become evident that the boy shares little similarities with his sire…”

His appearance, Alicent thought despairingly. The boy looked far more alike his (fellow bastard) cousins than his father. How Rhaenyra could parade a proven example of the product of a Valyrian and first men coupling to the court, and still maintain her lie baffled her.

“Having dark hair doesn’t erase the taint of Daemon Targaryen!” She exclaimed with a shocked laugh. “Why are you championing the boy?”

Her father grasped her by the shoulders, holding her firmly in place, and suddenly she was seventeen again and being ordered to the grieving King’s chambers. Her indignation bled out of her, swiftly replaced by fear.

Alicent feared many things in life, chief among them her children’s safety. But her oldest and most steadfast fear would always be her father. Like all dutiful daughters she feared her father as much as she respected him.

Some days she felt she was made up of fear alone, those were the days when the urge to pick at her fingers was overwhelming, she wanted out. Out of her own skin, out of the Red Keep, out of Westeros

I want to fly with you…

“Don’t misunderstand me. I hold no love for the boy, but I understand his value… I won’t be blindsided by his character like I was his existence. It takes little observation to see the differences between the boy and his father, holding onto the belief that they are the same will do us no benefit. Aemon is not Daemon but a different creature entirely, we must understand that if we are to handle him.” Lectured the hand of the King, his grip on his daughters shoulders just a shade to tight.Alicent would have bruises the shape of his fingers tomorrow.

He retracted his hands and took a step back, Alicent fought a sigh of relief.

“I have a council meeting to attend, we must prepare for his grace holding court tomorrow.” Otto spoke, eyes once more on the training taking place below them.

“I thought the Maester advised against such a thing? My husband is not a well man, the stress of holding court is not in his best interests!” Alicent insisted. Her heart still beating rapidly with fear, for all she pretended to be calm.

“You’ll find no disagreement from me daughter… But his grace was quite insistent, he wants Rhaenyra to accompany him to hear the issues of the people.” The hand’s face was twisted as if he had tasted something sour.

Rhaenyra, of course it was Rhaenyra. Viserys saw little sense when it came to his first born, Alicent should have guessed that she would be the muse of this latest foolishness.

“I won’t keep you then…” she sighed, moving to lean on the carved banister that surrounded the balcony.

She felt her father leave but made little reaction to it, consumed as she was by the scene occurring below.

She was not alone for long however, as soon her white shadow joined her.

“Did you know about this?” She asked not bothering to turn to face the knight as he came to rest beside her.

“He asked my permission this morning” Sir Criston replied, eyes on his Queen.

“Aegon?”

“No my Queen, Aemon was the one who approached me” he countered.

Turning once more from the scene below, Alicent laughed humorously “and you let him?”

“Aegon hasn’t shown interest in training in over a year, and even then he hated it. Aemon made him interested… and I thought the company would be good for the both of them” the Knight replied undaunted.

Baffled Alicent could only stare, “how?” She finally breathed.

“Aegon bucks under the responsibilities given to him when they are laid down by you, your father or even I. He does not realise the gravity of his situation-“

“You do not need to explain my son’s lack of clarity to me sir! It is I who deals with the brunt of his foolishness.” Alicent cut in.

“I only meant, your grace, that Aegon seems far more receptive to advice from someone closer in age, a peer.” Continued Sir Criston.

“Aemond is his peer, his brother for Seven’s sake. He’s never listened to him!” Alicent cried, moving away from the balconies edge in fear of the boys below hearing her exclamation.

“Aemond is a dutiful son, loyal to you and your cause… Aegon knows that, I’m beginning to believe he resents that… He does not listen to his brother, because he sees Aemond as an extension of you.” Explained the knight with a tight expression.

Alicent sighed, her tiredness bone deep. “And the boy? How does beating my son benefit him?”

“It gives him something to do… He’s been hiding from the court haven’t you noticed? And I would far prefer he spend his time doing this than with his father dripping poison in his ear.” Criston hissed, his hatred for the boys Prince father momentarily taking over his handsome features.

She had noticed the boy was hiding, ironically his absence was glaringly visible for all the boy himself was not. Aemon Snow was at the forefront of courtly gossip and yet few had seen him since he had been presented earlier that week.

Alicent had not taken issue with this, the boy’s absence was far preferable to a rendition of Daemon’s behaviour. She had wondered if his absence was part of some scheme, or perhaps Daemon and Rhaenyra wanted to hide him away until they had him better trained…

Now it seemed that his seclusion was entirely self inflicted. Alicent did not know what to make of that, she did not know what to make of the boy at all.

“I’ll allow these lessons to continue for now… but if something happens to Aegon, I will remember whose word I took in making my decision.” She said finally.

“You do not like the idea of Aemon being in his father’s company” Alicent prompted “do you believe he wishes the boy harm?”

If he did, she thought, pushing for legitimacy seemed a wasted effort. Then again it had been Rhaenyra who wrote to the king… No, blight on his already murky reputation or not, Aemon was worth far more to his father alive than dead. The Cannibal too mighty a boon to be outweighed by the shame of an out of wedlock child. Not that the Targaryen couple seemed to find much shame in bastardry.

“I believe his intentions for the boy are impure… and he prefers the name Jon your grace. It was the name his uncle raised him under. It is on Prince Daemon’s orders alone that the name Aemon is used, an attempt of the Prince’s to control the boy no doubt…” grumbled Sir Criston.

Alicent stared dubiously at him, Criston was a loyal knight who had done nothing but serve her honourably all these years. But the man had a tendency to miss the line. ‘Jon’ was hardly an acceptable name for a Targaryen Prince, it was rather understandable why Daemon was so eager to change it. After all, hadn’t Alicent herself chosen Valyrian names for her own children, over more Westerosy names, for similar reasons.

“Of course he wants to control him. He’s a 17 year old boy who now rides a monster. A boy who grew up away from the lessons and knowledge of the dragon lords. I may not care for the traditions of house Targaryen, but even I understand the danger of an uneducated dragon rider.” Alicent hissed at the Kings guard.

Criston gritted his teeth “it’s which traditions they intend to teach him that worry me. Aemon is an honourable lad, I wouldn’t see that ruined.”

Ah, Alicent thought, the boy must have let slip to the knight his father’s intention for him to marry one of his sisters. An ungodly habit of the family she had wed into, but unfortunately a well established one. Reluctantly, under her father’s wishes, she was in the process of arranging Aegon’s own betrothal to her sweet Helaena.

It was not a match that Alicent wanted as a mother, but as a Queen who needed to reinforce her son’s place it was necessary. Having Aegon take Helaena as his sister-wife would highlight his own legitimacy as a Targaryen, compared to Rhaenyra’s clearly bastard sons. It was needed, it was necessary, and yet she hesitated.

Her daughter had flowered already, earlier that year. Younger than Alicent would have liked as it meant she no longer had that excuse to hold off on marriages. Aegon too was reaching the age where people began to wonder why a betrothal had yet to be announced, and as his habits became worse and more well known, his options began to shrink.

Alicent knew the sort of man Aegon was becoming, and it was not one she wished upon her sweet strange daughter, but what choice did she have?

She hoped, suddenly with a fierceness, that Sir Criston and her father were right. That this boy would be a good influence on her son, it would make the sin she was going to commit weigh less heavily on her soul.

“I desire a trip to the sept sir, I wish to pray” perhaps today they would finally answer her.

Alicent walked the rose gardens of the red keep tentatively. For all she admired the beauty of the arrangements they were mired by the reminder of her predecessor. Queen Aemma had designed these gardens, Alicent remembered walking them hand in hand with Rhaenyra after they had first bloomed. The Princess chatting excitedly about her mothers designs. How young they both were…

There was also the added danger of coming upon people unannounced, the tall bushes and hedges providing ample cover. Larys had used these particular gardens to sneak up on her several times, a surprising feat for a man crippled in the way he was.

One would think that the Queen had ample reason to avoid these gardens, but she didn’t.

As a girl her favourite route to the gods wood would be through these gardens. Alicent could rarely bring herself to visit there these days, but the gardens themselves could serve as a sweet reminder of the girlhood she had lost (had stolen from her).

Queen Aemma had designed the gardens so that each section would reflect one of the Seven Kingdoms, flora from each Kingdom had pride of place in each segment, even Dorne was featured.

Rhaenyra had brought her to the section symbolising the reach when Alicent’s mother had died, and the home sickness had become overwhelming. The Princess hadn’t said anything, just held her as she cried. Alicent mourned both those girls, time had killed them both.

She was just passing the section dedicated to the North when she spotted him. Alicent did not usually linger in the Northern section, for its flora were minimal and it lead directly into the gods wood.

Aemon Snow sat among the few flowers that were native to Westeros’ coldest kingdom, chief among them the winter roses.

Alicent could have kept walking, the boy had not seen her, lost in thought as he clearly was. But Alicent felt suddenly gripped by curiosity. Who was this boy to have such an impact on those around her? What made him so special?

“Does it remind you of home?” She asked, walking over to sit beside the young man.

He smiled, it was a small sad thing. “Not really your grace. Most of my memories of home consist of snow, not flowers… But I saw the winter roses and couldn’t help myself.”

Alicent stared at the blue rose that had the boy so captivated. It was a beautiful flower she had to admit, its crisp blue shade making it stand out among the bland colouring of the plants around it.

“A favourite of yours?” She asked.

Aemon shook his head “no… my mothers”.

Alicent felt herself perk up, the mysterious mother. The court had been a flutter with rumours of her identity, each more outlandish than the next. Apparently even Prince Daemon himself did not know her identity, his lustful nature finally coming back to bite him.

Even Alicent herself had to admit her curiosity. What women could have a temperament calm enough to cool Daemon’s fire? Though she had to admit Aemon’s nature likely had more to do with his uncle than his mother. Still she was curious.

“Did your uncle tell you about them being her favourite?” It was impossible the woman herself had informed him, what with her dying in childbirth.

“Yes, though at the time I still thought she was only my aunt. It’s strange to think over the stories he told of her now knowing who she really is to me.” Aemon tore his eyes from the rose to look at Alicent instead.

“You were watching Aegon and I train, I saw you and Sir Criston on the balcony” he said, changing the subject clumsily.

“I was… Sir Criston told me he gave you permission” Alicent replied, eyes steely.

“When Aegon told me he didn’t have any training lessons I was shocked, young men need things to fill their time, or they tend to find bad habits…” he trailed off, implication clear.

Alicent laughed mirthlessly “yes I’m well aware of my son’s ‘bad habits’… I imagine that’s how the two of you met was it not?” She asked.

The boy’s brow creased in confusion, “I’m not sure what you mean your grace.”

Rolling her eyes the queen snapped, “a whor*house, you met my son in one of those didn’t you?”

Aemon flinched, his eyes wide. “No!” He exclaimed, looking vaguely disgusted.“I encountered your sons when Prince Aemond was escorting his brother home from… Such an establishment, he was struggling so I helped him. I then offered to watch Aegon for him so he could attend training, as you yourself had forbidden a Maester being called and it was clear Aegon could not be left alone.”

Alicent felt her fist clench, nails bit into the soft flesh of her palm. She had thought that threatening the lack of aid from a Maester would make her son more reluctant to get himself in such a state, she had been wrong.

Aemond, she would have to talk to. What the boy had been thinking to leave his vulnerable brother alone with Daemon’s son, she would never know. She would expect such thoughtlessness from Aegon himself, but not Aemond.

“Forgive me I assumed that was where your paths first crossed.” She bit out.

“That would have been unlikely your grace, as I don’t frequent whor* houses. I never have.” The boy replied tone equally terse.

The Queen let out a snort “you really expect me to believe that? A boy of your age and bloodline.”

Aemon Snow looked her dead in the eyes. His eyes really were identical to his father’s, and yet where Daemon’s burned with a constant wildfire, the boy’s were cold.

“I have never laid with a whor*. The only times I have been in a whor*house, were to drag my uncle’s idiot ward from out of them. I won’t lie, I’m no virgin, but I have only ever been with two women, and both I entirely intended to wed at the time.”

“Why didn’t you?” She whispered, not daring to speak any louder, feeling suddenly like she was trapped in an enclosed space, for all she was in reality, outside.

“The first died in my arms… and the second left me when she found out the true identity of my father.” He replied breaking eye contact, but not before she spotted the tears in his eyes.

It was Alicent’s turn to flinch.

“I’m sorry” she breathed, guilt hitting her heavily.

“You didn’t know” he laughed wetly, “and you don’t know me, so you had to go on the sparse information you had. The bastard son of the rogue Prince, the rider of the monstrous Cannibal! I can’t imagine what kind of figure you thought up of me…”

“I’m beginning to think an entirely inaccurate one” Alicent answered, taking the boy in with new eyes.

He really was young, she thought. Of age with herself when she had wedded the King, she could sympathise with the act of adulthood when in truth childhood should still be in play. What must it be like to suddenly find yourself in the position the boy had found himself? The jump from bastard son of a minor Lord, to that of a Prince, was quite the leap.

“You’re hardly the first person to judge me unfairly on pre-conceived notions your grace, and I doubt you’ll be the last. Forgive me if I lack the energy to rage over it.” The boy spoke, voice cool, numb almost.

“Have you met all of your cousins yet?” She asked suddenly, catching the boy off guard.

Aemon stared at her warily “if you count their presence at my introduction to court your grace, then yes. If not, then I’ve only had the pleasure of meeting the Prince’s… save of course Prince Daeron, what with him being a ward in Oldtown.”

“Then it would be remiss of me to not allow you to meet all of your cousins properly. As you said Daeron is away, but Helaena is very much here… I’d like it if you could join us for tea tomorrow morning, before court? I’ve always found it helped calm me before a busy session… I didn’t use to like being around to many people either…” The queen offered the olive branch tentatively.

She still didn’t know the boy, not much, not really. But her father was right he wasn’t Daemon. Aemon was a child put in the spotlight with very little guidance, Alicent could sympathise with that.

“I wouldn’t want to impose your grace.” The boy tried to deny.

“You’re not, imposing would be to turn up uninvited. I’m inviting you ergo, no imposing.” She countered, a small smile on her face.

The boy was not one for loudness, and he didn’t make a point of taking up every ounce of space in the vicinity, a rareness in men. Helaena might just tolerate his presence. Her daughter was not often fond of change, introducing new people always proved a challenge, but something in Alicent thought this may be worth the risk.

Alicent did not know what to make of Aemon Snow, but perhaps she could learn too.

Chapter 8: The Traveler II

Chapter Text

"Dragons of ice and fire... Dragons of black and green"

Jon entered tentatively into the Queen's parlor on the heels of the King's guard, and took in the religious apparel that littered the room with a grimace. It reminded Jon of Lady Stark's personal quarters, he had only seen them once but the memory of all the decorations dedicated to the Seven had stuck with him. So out of place as it was in the North where the Old God’s were still worshipped.

"Aemon, please join us." The Queen greeted, indicating for Jon to take the seat beside Princess Helaena.

The Princess had not looked up when he entered, or when her mother had addressed him. The girl's attention was fixed on her embroidery hoop.

"Dragons of ice and fire, black and green, spinning, spinning, spinning-" The girl mumbled softly.

"Helaena!" The Queen snapped, finally drawing the girl's attention "It's impolite to ignore a guest, why don't you greet your cousin?" She prompted unsubtly.

The Princess turned to Jon, and he felt frozen under her violet gaze. Helaena was a pretty girl, though her beauty was softer than her elder sister's more striking appearance, her face was round and her smile slightly crooked. She was no less ethereal looking than any of her kin, and yet Jon found her easier to look at, more approachable.

"I made this for you" she announced, breaking Jon from his assessment of her.

He blushed, realising he had been staring, and took the embroidery she had passed to him. It depicted a dark brown spider that was adorned by detailing in lighter shades of brown.

"It's a wolf spider, it seemed well-suited," Helaena said with a proud little smirk.

"Thank you, princess" Jon stuttered, trailing his hands over the embroidery.

Helaena sat back with a pleased little hum, before picking up another embroidering hoop and continuing on that.

"Helaena is fond of insects..." the Queen trailed off awkwardly, clearly unsure how to manage the interaction.

"It's extremely detailed, your daughter has quite the talent!" Jon praised, eyes flicking between the two women.

Queen Alicent smiled slightly "yes she is... Of course I would prefer she depicted something else... I don't imagine embroidery interests you ever much nephew?" The Queen asked Jon, surprising him slightly with the use of the familial term.

Jon laughed softly and nervously mused his curls, "while I'd never describe it as a passion of mine, I'll admit I likely know more about it than most men..."

"How so?" The Queen asked, leaning forward slightly in her chair, in a way oddly reminiscent of her son.

"My sister, well my cousin in truth... She was quite skilled at it, her younger sister on the other hand had little interest. It used to drive their Septa mad! My youngest sister- no cousin sorry! She always used to flee her lessons, she had far more interest in her brother's lessons. We were particularly close the two of us... so she used to hide out in my room quite often. I used to help her finish some of her patterns, her hand was so messy anyway no one ever noticed the difference!" Jon laughed lost in the memories of Arya playing with a wooden sword while he sat on the edge of his bed working on her embroidery.

"My younger brother used to like to watch me sew..." The Queen admitted softly "He said it was calming, the repetitiveness of it..."

"Have you seen one before?" Asked the Princess suddenly, breaking the heavy moment.

"I'm sorry Princess... Seen what?" Asked Jon tentatively.

Helaena did not verbally answer him, she did not even look up from her hoop, she just moved her hand to pat the embroidery in Jon's lap. He fought the urge to fidget, as the embroidery was placed over certain areas, meaning her hand had gotten rather close.

"Oh, no... I've never seen a wolf spider in real life Princess. But I've seen plenty of cave spider's they look quite similar" Jon replied, crossing his legs.

"Strange... I wonder why I thought that one?" The princess mused, though both Jon and the Queen knew she was not speaking to them.

Helaena returned to her embroidery, and Jon inclined his head slightly to see what it was. It looked, at first like a mess of thread, countless colors overlapped each other in a chaotic array. But as Jon stared at it he began to be able to pick up little circles that seemed to make up one large nott pattern, it was rather headache-inducing.

"I see you have some clothes of your own now!" the Queen announced "Sir Criston told me how you had been borrowing your fathers... These suit you more."

Jon had to agree. He had been worried that Rhaenyra would go overboard in the clothes designs, and admittedly some of them were more outlandish than he was comfortable with, but the Princess had also commissioned several that did not have Jon flinching at the very sight of them.His current attire being one of them.

Jon had been rather shocked at the visible Northern style that some of the garments displayed. True it had been mostly the less fancy clothes, ones meant for less public appearances, but still, the thought that had gone into them had Jon feeling off-kilter.

As a boy, his clothing had been made for him by the castle servants, and their upkeep had been left to Jon himself. As he grew older Lady Stark made a point of having the servants use cheaper fabrics than that used on his siblings, and his clothes had never had the adornments that his brothers and sisters would have had lovingly sewn on by their mother. Even as King in the North, the clothes he had worn made by his sister had been Sansa's imitation of their father's (his uncle's) style, rather than Jon's own. And once the preparation for the battle for the dawn had begun in earnest, people cared little for how you dressed, materials having far more practical uses than pageantry.

In truth, Jon had never really developed a style of his own. How could he? He dressed in what he was given, as a boy it had been muted versions of Robb's attire's, and later it had just been Black.

Rhaenyra had clearly paid attention to the clothes he had favored from his borrowed wardrobe and had based his own off that. She had even made a point of having black be the central color of all the garments, pulling him aside that morning to joke that "his father would just have to deal with it!"

His (assumed) step mother had no need to do such a thing for him. Given Jon’s prior experience with step mothers the bar was rather low for what he expected. Rhaenyra was doing far more than just tolerating his existence for her husband, she actually seemed to care about him?

“Thank you your grace” Jon replied bashfully, fiddling with his sleeves.

His current attire, a black undershirt with subtle scale details under a charcoal over shirt, was made from fabrics far softer than Jon had ever worn before. The shirt had a lattice of red dragons dancing around the neck and wrists that popped on the dark background. He felt good in it, for all it was embarrassing to admit.

“You’d look quite fetching in blue or… perhaps even a purple?” Mused the queen “it would bring out your eyes”

“There were a few blue outfits if I recall correctly your grace, I’m just not so used to wearing such… Bright colours” Jon replied. He didn’t want to bring out the colour of his eyes, he didn’t want to stand out at all.

“Spinning, spinning, spinning… it’s part of a web you see, all connected but not the same thread. Maybe that’s why I thought the spider?” Cut in the Princess, once more voicing her musings aloud.

“What’s that Helaena dear?” The queen asked distractedly, it was clear she had little interest in Helaena’s rambling.

The Princess seemed to know this as she ignored her mother, focusing on Jon instead. He found himself the subject of her odd stare.

“The thread was ripped out!” She insisted to him, suddenly leaning forward and holding Jon by his upper thigh.

Distantly he heard the Queen gasp her daughters name.

“Ripped out and put into a different tapestry, it changes the image don’t you see? Tapestry’s they are like webs one strand affects it all…” The Princess pulled back and rubbed her head. “Mother I think I need to rest before court, the spiders spinning has made me dizzy.”

The Queen lurched to her feat and called for her daughters maid to help escort her to her chambers.

“I’m sorry, Helaena gets over exited like this sometimes… I’m afraid we’ll have to cut our meeting short.” Said Queen Alicent as she moved to support her daughter on the other side to the maid.

“Of course your grace! I hope the Princess is well!” Jon gasped, bobbing into a clumsy bow. He tried to calm the racing of his heart, the girl’s rambling had sounded far to similar to a prophecy for Jon’s liking.

He was reminded fiercely of Melisandre and her terrible whispers…

He was making his way to exit the room when the Princess called after him.

“I hope you’ll visit me again Aemon, I like the way your thread sparkles!” The Princess smiled coyly from her mothers arms.

The Queen blanched, flickering her eyes between the two of them.

“Um thank you Princess? If the Queen permits it I’d be honored to visit you again” Jon offered.

“Yes… I don’t see why not” the Queen agreed, looking rather baffled by the interaction.

“I’ll take my leave now then ladies?” Jon prompted, addressing the Queen primarily.

“Yes, thank you for coming Aemon… We’ll have to do this again… Perhaps we could do a meal with my sons in attendance also.” The Queen smiled, and despite the tiredness that was apparent in her, it lit up her face highlighting how young she truly was.

History remembered Prince Daemon as a legendary figure, at times more akin to a God than a man. Jon wondered what all those historians would think seeing the man fuss over Jon now.

“You’re all rumpled! See this is why you should have worn the outfit I had the maid's layout, that material wouldn’t have creased!” The rogue Prince fussed over Jon as they stood in the man’s solar.

Rhaenyra giggled at her husband's antics from the desk, where she was having a last-minute check of the reports for court.

"That outfit was covered in beads and embroidery! I know people tend to dress up for court but that was too much!" Jon argued, trying to bat the older man's hands away.

"Aemon's right my love, I saw the outfit you picked out and it was better suited to a feast or even a wedding!" Agreed Rhaenyra, taring herself away from the reports to come and save Jon from her husband.

"Betrayal!" Daemon declared dramatically "I should have known the two of you would gang up on me eventually!"

"Those with sense do tend to agree" Jon couldn't help but snark, causing Daemon to chuckle.

"Where were you anyway? Since you managed to slip your guards, again." The rogue Prince asked with false a nonchalant tone. "I'm beginning to think they need replacing..."

"No!" Jon disagreed quickly "I'm just not used to being watched all the time, it makes me uncomfortable... So I lose them..."

Daemon sighed and brushed Jon's hair back from where a curl had fallen into his face. "I know why you do it, my boy, the point is that they should be good enough that you can't."

"We'll discuss the issue of the guards later, I'm sure we can find some kind of compromise" Rhaenyra mediated. "But where did you go Aems? I haven't seen you since I showed you your clothes this morning."

"Oh, I was invited to tea with the Queen and Princess Helaena." Jon replied tentatively

He knew of the tensions present among his ancestors. How could he not when they lead to an entire civil war? But Jon had been attempting to stubbornly ignore them, he did not plan to be around long enough to become embroiled in the conflict known as 'the dance of the dragons'. So his ideology had been to keep his head down and interact with as few people as possible, and to treat the few he did meet with kindness. Jon's life had taught him that even those you expected to be enemies could become a friend if you treated them with respect, it had only gotten him killed once...

"What!" Exclaimed the Targaryen couple in tandem.

"Her grace invited me after she saw me training with Prince Aegon, the Princess was the only one of my cousins I hadn't interacted with yet... I thought it was kind of her to offer, and I couldn't really refuse the Queen... Should I have?"

Both Rhaenyra and Daemon looked at him, silent and shellshocked, before suddenly bursting into a reaction.

"Alicent invited you to tea with her and Helaena? Why would she do that? she won't even let the girl dine with me!" Rhaenyra exclaimed at the same time her husband hissed, "that whor* did what? and what do you mean you were training her whelp? and when did you 'interact' with the one-eyed little creep?"

Jon blinked owlishly "I came upon the Princes after I fought Sir Cole. Aemon was struggling to help his brother to his room after... An eventful night. So I helped him, and then I found out the Queen had forbidden Aegon being treated by a Maester-" he explained before Deamon cut him off.

"Excellent parenting from that green bitch I see!"

"As I was saying" Jon continued pointedly "He was in a bad way and couldn’t be left alone, but Aemond had his own training so I offered to watch him.”

“That explains your acquaintance with the one eyed menace but doesn’t explain how you ended up training his drunkard brother! Wasn’t the boy unconscious for most of your meeting?” Daemon asked while he paced agitatedly.

In contrast Rhaenyra was deathly still, and had a tight grip of Jon’s arm, as if he were about to be ripped away from her.

“Well he woke up” Jon replied in a deadpan tone.

Daemon paused his pacing to shoot Jon a glare, he marched over and joined his wife. Taking Jon by the shoulders, he held him firmly.

“Did they threaten you? Try to blackmail you in anyway?”

Jon thought of the way the two brothers had leveraged his time against each other, but doubted that was really what Daemon had meant.

“No! I just… He was so pathetic lying there and I felt sorry for him! His family had just abandoned him to his vices but continued to complain that he indulged them, it wasn’t fair… and speaking as someone who dealt with his fair share of unfairness it really bothered me! So I thought I’d help him, even though no one helped me…”

Jon did feel a spark of guilt over using his own traumatic past as leverage, but thought it was for a good cause.

Rhaenyra sighed and began stroking Jon’s curls. For all it was pleasant he thought it was more to relax herself than him.

“You’re such a sweet boy Aemon. You have no idea how much it pains me, pains us both that we did not know of you sooner so that we could rescue you! But your situation and Aegon’s could not be more different, his situation is of his own making.” She insisted.

Jon broke away from them both, making Daemon’s eyes flash with rage.

“But it isn’t! It’s obvious he’s like that because of the pressure he’s under! The expectations he’s expected to live up too!” Jon yelled, his frustration spilling over.

As a boy reading about the history of the Dance of Dragons he had always wondered how a family could descend into war. Even as a man grown, conflicts had been house against house, rarely had he seen them split. Even Tyrion, mistreated by the majority of his family as he had been, had been reluctant to fight them.

Now living within the period as he was, Jon was beginning to see. There was a wilful blindness that plagued his ancestors. Everyone knew the rot that was seeping into the family foundations, and they’d all complain about it, make snide comments and shifty looks, but no one wanted to actually address it. No one wanted to do the one thing that may actually solve the problem, talk to each other.

“What expectations? He’s the second born, heir to nothing!” Daemon burst out, eyeing Jon fiercely.

Before Jon could reply, before he could confirm the fact that Daemon already knew, that the green’s wanted Aegon to be King. They were interrupted.

“Your Grace, your father is in the throne room and court is about to begin, it’s time for your arrival.” Stated the steward, either unaware or desensitised, to the drama of House Targaryen that was unfolding.

Daemon clenched his fists “we’ll be finishing this discussion later. Don’t think we won’t be!” He pointed a finger at Jon sternly, he could see it shake with the rage overtaking the man.

Jon nodded slowly.

Sighing Daemon moved quicker than Jon could anticipate and he suddenly found himself gripped in a hug by the older man. Daemon cupped the back of his neck possessively.

“I’m not angry at you, never you my son! You’ve just got to kind a heart, and I fear our enemies are attempting to take advantage of it… I’m sorry, I’ve failed to protect you from them once again.” He whispered in Jon’s ear.

“We’re coming now, thank you.” Dismissed Rhaenyra to the steward.

She reached over and pulled Jon into a hug of her own.

“Promise me you’ll stay with your father during court today? I don’t think they would be so bold to try anything so openly but it would make my heart sit stabler to know you were safe beside your Kepa” the Princess requested, a smile that Jon could only describe as motherly, on her beautiful face.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Chapter 9: The Hand of the King II

Chapter Text

The responsibility of arranging court was a heavy burden, but even after all these years it was one Otto thrived under. That he, a simple second son, heir to nothing owed nothing, had all these people scurrying about under his command, lit a fire in him in a way no woman ever had.

Viserys’ ailing health meant that his loyal hand valiantly took on even greater responsibilities. A duty Otto was all to willing to fulfil. In truth the King shouldn’t have even attended today’s session, the Maester had grown concerned over the rot that had spread to the royal’s right eye, yet, Viserys insisted.

Otto tried to hide his frustration at having the chance to proceed over court himself, swept from under his feet, and all because of Rhaenyra.

Still if there was a tightness to his posture, it could easily be written off as the exhaustion of the man who had organised this entire session.

Otto stood to the left of the Iron throne, his daughter sat in a chair beside him. On the other side of the throne a second chair, notably more ornate, was left empty for the Kings eldest daughter.

Courtiers, and some of the wealthier citizens here to voice their grievances, milled about below the Throne dias. Otto noted with displeasure an increase of those dressed in black.

“I hear you took tea with your nephew today.” He addressed his daughter, keeping his tone light due to the public setting.

“Yes, I thought I would give him a chance to meet Helaena properly, since he already seems on good terms with her brothers.” Replied his daughter distractedly.

Alicent’s father was not the focus of the her attention however, instead her eyes were flickering over the courtiers, lingering particularly on those dressed in black.

Otto leaned down to hiss in her ear “they’re only clothes daughter… It is much easier to pledge loyalty through cloth than in actual battle. Do not let it trouble you.”

“Prince Aegon Targaryen, first born son of King Viserys Targaryen. And his siblings Prince Aemon and the Princess Helaena.” The herald announced, causing the buzzing of conversation to increase.

Otto noted with satisfaction that Aegon was sober, and did not even seem to be suffering from hangover either. When was the last time he had seen his elder grandson not in either state? Aegon was dressed, like his siblings, in shades of green with various gold accents. The boy actually looked presentable for once, he looked like the heir he should be.

His daughter smiled proudly at her first born, as he and his siblings came to rest just below them. A rare thing to be gifted to the boy. Aegon's eyes widened in shock, clearly unused to a positive response to his presence. If the Seven were kind perhaps the boy would finally realise the benefits of doing his duty. It was not that Otto enjoyed punishing the boy, but it had to be done. Aegon was at present a lump of metal, and Otto had to forge him into a crown.

The three bowed before their father, then their mother, before stepping up the dias to line up beside Otto. He noticed Aemond displaying a displeased tilt to his lips. Clearly the boy rankled under his introduction. What did he expect? If he wanted more he would have to earn it, just as Otto himself had.

Though in truth Aegon’s own introduction had only been what it was due to Otto’s aid. He had instructed the herald to name the boy as the Kings first born son, it would be beneficial to remind the court of the truth.Viserys nodded distractedly at his three younger children, not bothering to address them more than that.

Aemond walked over and kissed his mother on the cheek, causing Alicent to smile up at him, ever the dutiful son.

“Mother” he greeted “you look as beautiful as always.”

Behind him his brother rolled his eyes.

“Thank you my boy” she replied brushing a gentle hand along the boys face, lingering over his missing eye.

Otto restrained himself from telling her not to coddle the boy, it would do him no benefit, but he tempered himself due to their public setting.

“Are you feeling better sweetheart?” Alicent addressed her only daughter.

Had Helaena been ill? Otto did hope the girl hadn’t been struck by another episode, they troubled the girl terribly… and it did not reflect well on their cause if one of his grandchildren was known as mad.

“I’m feeling much better now mother, the spinning simply made me dizzy… You don’t think I sacred off Aemon do you? I really would like him to visit again.”

“You saw Aemon?” “When did you see our cousin?” Her brothers echoed in tandem, causing the boys to glare at one another.

“Your sister and I had your cousin for tea this morning, I thought it only fair he become aquatinted with your sister also” the Queen answered her son’s exasperatedly, a repeat of her earlier words to her father.

“And you liked him being there?” Aegon asked his sister perplexed.

Otto understood his grandsons confusion, Helaena wasn’t known for liking new people.

To the families continued shock Helaena blushed and spoke softly “he’s quite pretty.”

Aegon burst out in laughter “he certainly is sister I’ll give you that!”

“Cousin Aemon isn’t pretty! That’s what you call girls!” Aemond glared at his siblings.

Otto sighed in relief, at least one of his grandchildren lacked a crush on their bastard cousin-

“He’s a man grown you should call him handsome!”

Or maybe not.

“Mother said we would all have dinner together… But if you two are too busy arguing I could always dine with him alone.” Helaena suggested in a manner that If it had been anyone else, Otto would call mischievous.

Aegon squawked in outrage “absolutely not! You’d bore him senseless with your chatter on insects!”

Scowling at her brother, showing more animation than Otto had perhaps ever seen in the girl, she hissed “He liked the spider I gave him!”

“You gave him a spider?! Helaena it wasn’t one of your poisonous ones was it?” Demanded Aemond.

The Queen grimaced, noticing the stares her children’s squabbling had began to attract.“It wasn’t a real spider, only some embroidery.” She corrected.

“You made him a gift?” Otto addressed his granddaughter.

Helaena tolerating the boy’s presence was one thing, but going as far as to embroider him a gift? That spoke volumes. As far as he knew Helaena had only given her creations to her immediate family, and even then it had been a reluctant gift to some of them.

They’d all been insects, Otto despaired over the girls strange fascination. Helaena had declared with great solemnity that each of their insects reflected them, Otto wondered what the girl had given the boy… she had been rather intuitive with the rest of them…

"Her Royal Highness Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen! The Princess of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne and her husband the Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the Narrow Sea! And Prince Daemon's first born son Aemon Snow!" The herald bellowed, catching the attention of the entirety of the hall.

Otto scoffed at the use of 'Prince of the Narrow sea' that was no official title. Daemon had surrendered the Stepstones to his brother thus relinquishing any claim he had to them, and Viserys had made no announcement of any such gifts of title. Truly Daemon's boldness knew no bounds.

The hand also rankled under the way in which the boy had been introduced. It was clever, he had to admit, it conveniently side stepped the boys lack of official title and managed to hold of mention of his bastard statues. But still by addressing Aemon Snow in a similar manner to Aegon, it lessened the affect that Otto had been hoping for in regards to his Grandson. They should have just called the boy a Lord and been done with it.

Clearly that herald was too easily bought, Otto would have to arrange his replacement.

"My child" Viserys greeted, wobbling to his feet to embrace Rhaenyra.

Daemon was doggedly on his wife's heels, bowing a short (shamefully so) bow, before too embracing the King. It was a a notably more warm welcome to that given to the Kings other family.

Aemon Snow bowed lowly to the King "Your grace" He greeted before repeating his gesture to the Queen. His father and stepmother had made no such gesture.

Otto noted with pleasure the flare of anger that sparked in Daemon's eyes at his son's action. Only Daemon could find issue with his son displaying good manners.

"Brother, nephew" Viserys wheezed his greeting to the two men. "I'm glad you could all attend, it's been too long since we have had so many Targaryen's in attendance! It warms my heart... And now with us all in attendance, I believe we should commence!"

Aemond clenched his teeth visibly frustrated, and for all Otto understood the boys anger, he would have to work with the boy more in masking his emotions.

Aemond had been in attendance for every court session for years, even when his siblings were not, he had never received such praise. Not that any of them should, why should they be praised for doing their duty?

Rhaenyra walked over to the seat her father had arranged to be placed for her, and her husband and his son lined up by her side. A black mirror of the Queen’s faction.

The courtiers scurried into positions and a line was formed of those who wished to be heard, a larger group than of late. The novelty of the Princess' presence drawing the masses in no doubt.

One of the first claimants stepped forward, a merchant Otto was familiar with, he supplied many of the ladies of the Red Keep with materials for their gowns- his daughter included.

"Your Grace, I thank you for taking the time to here out my humble plea" The man announced dramatically, bowing low before the Iron Throne and its occupier.

The merchants rather garish purple garment was sweat stained under the arms, the over-exaggerated bow making this clear to see.

Across the dias Daemon made no attempt to mask his snort, clearly dubious of the man's claims of humility. Otto had to agree, though he believed Daemon was in no place to judge.

"Long have I been a supplier of fine materials to the ladies of Kings Landing, up to and including your very own wife your Grace" The merchant nodded towards the Queen. "and yet recently I have been subject to sabotage, my supply ships have been unable to reach the city!"

The court buzzed with the announcement, Otto could spot several ladies from his daughters faction looking displeased.

"Have you come to report issues of piracy?" The King asked, leaning forward carefully on his Throne.

This would not be an uncommon subject of appeal. Tyland Lannister, for all his family's wealth brought a large fleet, just did not have the skill or experience of the sea snake. The difference in skill between the crown's former and current Master of Ships meant that piracy was a rather standard issue.

Colyrs Velaryon would be remembered as many things by history, but Otto would always remember him as petty. The pirates that plagued their waters passed by the sea snakes jurisdiction, and he let them. Oh all those that represented a threat to Driftmark or Dragonstone found themselves sunk beneath the waves, but Kings landing "wasn't his problem anymore." That the man could not let his own personal feelings go in favour of the good of the realm spoke volumes, and this would be one of Rhaenyra's advisers! as if the girl would not have been petty and overly emotional on her own.

"No your Grace! My ships have been subject to raids by men of the Velaryon fleet! Men under the jurisdiction of your own good father Princess! What say you?" Bellowed the merchant, pointing a ring laden finger at the Princess.

Prince Daemon straitened were he stood, a dangerous energy in his stance. His son in contrast stood very still, yet Otto didn't doubt that the boy could spring into action at any moment.

"What say I?" The Princess drawled eerily reminiscent of her uncle.

The merchant continued, not sensing the growing danger he was in. "Yes. What right do they have to sink my ships, steal my wears?"

"While I will be the first to admit that we clearly do not have all the context, and I would hope the Princess could enlighten us... It does seem troubling that the Velaryon fleet would act as such. Has Lord Corlys not been very vocal on his opinion on being involved with matters concerning this city?" Spoke Otto, keeping his tone mild. It would not do to be overly obvious in his own feelings on the Lord of Driftmark, it would suit Otto far better if he could present himself as the un-subjective voice of reason.

Rhaenyra only smiled and turned to her father before she spoke, not even acknowledging the merchant who had asked her the question or Otto, she addressed the King alone.

"Father, recently Lord Corlys has been engaging in a method of cracking down on merchant ships with known alligence to living Triacrchy members. My husbands allies in Pentos tell us much and this man is no victim. In fact he may well be an enemy."

The guards that lined the walls of the hall sprung forward at the Princess' declaration.

"We have evidence to suggest that Xano here has been in contact with the remaining leaders of the triachy himself! Spreading the Information he learns from his clients here to them!" Rhaenyra announced with dramatic flare, she could spin a compelling story Otto would admit to that.

"Princess that's a very heavy accusation to make! I would hope you have proof to back it?" countered the Queen, a small attempt at saving a favoured supplier.

"Of course, I would never be so ignorant to believe rumours without solid evidence" the Princess bit back, implications heavy in her words.

"That was the very purpose of the raids Xano came to complain about, we found letters upon those ships! Of the damning kind."

"I believe we have heard enough" Announced Viserys shakily "guards, take him away!"

Outwardly Otto appeared unaffected, internally however he raged. Oh he had known of the man's connections, but he had let him be for the belief that they may prove useful in the future. The Triarchy despised the Rogue Prince for the blow he had dealt to them over the Stepstones, Rhaenyra found an enemy in them through her husband, and resulting Otto could have a possible ally, but now his link to them had been ripped out.

His frustration would only grow as the session went on, his advice to the King and the Princess' opinion would differ, and Viserys (no doubt motivated by his wish for her to not run of again) would take his daughters side. Not only did this mean that Otto's well informed advice went to waste, it also undermined his authority- and in front of the entirety of court.

One small mercy at least was that Prince Daemon had not butted in with his opinions, save the odd snort or grumble. Otto had witnessed himself the man's son lay a restraining hand on the Prince, preventing (a no doubt disastrous) intervention. Keeping the Rogue Prince in check was no small feet, and given his own grandsons sudden change in attitude, it seemed Aemon Snow had a talent for wrangling Targaryen Princes. Otto was inclined to let the boy remain on that characteristic alone.

A hush seemed to descend over the court, and the line, which had been blessedly dwindling, suddenly split in two. Down the middle a woman seemed to glide, her blood red dress hugged her curves so closely she may as well be naked, and yet the tail spilled out like freshly spilt blood on the keep floor. She wore a strange necklace Otto noticed, layers of copper discs inlayed by red stones and in the centre a large red heart that had a flaming affect created by the chains that covered it. The woman was followed closely by two identical brutes, both with shaved heads and flame tattoos that covered all visible skin. They too wore red robes, though much less provocative.

When the woman reached the front of the line she glided past the man who had been about to raise his issues and bowed to the King, her ample breasts heaved with the motion and the low cut of her gown gave the King a full view of them. Viserys did not turn away.

Otto felt his daughter tense beside him and with out looking he knew she had begun to pick at her fingers. Viserys had never physically cheated on his young wife, but Otto did have to wonder how much it was from morality or the fact that his health prevented it. After all the King had a habit of looking.

"Your majesty" The woman breathed, even her voice was sultry, slightly accented and with a husky quality to it. "I am Kinvara, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, and First Servant of the Lord of Light."

The flaming lamps that littered the walls flared brighter at her declaration, causing many courtiers to jump away in fright. Gasps and hissed whispers began to rise from the crowd. Otto could make out the words "R'hllor" and "Red God" from the mass of noise, but for the most part is was in-audible in its chaos.

Just as the commotion began to rise to worrying levels Prince Daemon quited them with a command "Silence!" He bellowed, the room hushed instantly.

"Thank you Daemon" Viserys sighed. "To what do we owe the honour of your presence Lady Kinvara? We have never had a follower of your God among our court before?"

"My God willed it your Grace, I am his humble servant and he told me my presence was required here." She smiled coyly at the ageing King.

For the first time in a very long while Otto saw his daughter and the Princess shoot each other looks of twin disapproval. At the very least, he thought, the blacks would not intercept his move to remove this heretic from their mists.

"One could argue your Grace that the lack of presence of the Lady's order was due to her religion's lack of favour in our fine country. Westerous is devout to the Seven!" Otto declared, glaring down at the Red woman who stared back unaffected.

"Well... that's not entirely true is it?" Prince Daemon interjected.

Otto did not bother to hide the glare he sent the man child before him.

"My family are still devout followers to the Gods of old Valyria, as any true Targaryen's should be" clearly the Prince could not resist the opportunity to make a jab at the Queen's children.

"and much of the North and other houses of first men decent still follow the Old Gods, my late Bronze bitch among them."

The tension in the room rose, and the courtiers who had moments ago been quaking in fear, turned into rabid dogs who had smelt blood, or in this case gossip.

"Yes thank you Prince Daemon for educating us all on the religions of Westerous" Alicent spoke up "but as you yourself have just explained, the 'Lord of Light' was not among them."

Otto could tell his daughter was making an effort to keep her tone bland, to not let her dislike of the man bleed through.

"True." Daemon admitted a mocking smile on his lips, that Otto knew could only spell trouble.

"But who are we to deny this educational experience? I only know some sparse details of your religion my Lady" The Prince addressed the red Priestess. "But what I did learn suggests a notable similarity to the practices of mine own devotion to the fourteen."

Both the King and the Princess perked up in curiosity. Otto felt the chances of a united front slipping away.

"Is this true?" The King asked, ever obsessed with Valyrian history.

"My Lord is the God of light and flame, your Gods of fire and blood. I do not see it as that unreasonable that they could be kin." The woman agreed, giving the Rogue Prince a nod of acknowledgment.

"Fascinating!" Viserys whispered.

"You will be my guest here! while we learn more of this possible connection!" The King declared this time loud enough for the courtiers to hear.

"Husband!" Alicent hissed, before catching herself and smoothing over her features to a soft smile and speaking to the King gently.

"Is this wise? We would not want to offend the faith, the crown maintains a delicate balance... This could tilt that!" She cautioned.

The King dismissed his young wife with a wave of his hand "No one is converting to anything Alicent, this is purely... Academic curiosity. The faith have nothing to fear"

"I am not sure they will see it that way your Grace" Otto insisted, agreeing with his daughter.

"The base of the faith is in Old town is it not? as the youngerbrother of its Lord I'm sure you could write to them to insure no ruffled feathers?" Asked the Princess, an impetus brow raised in Otto's direction.

"What a marvellous idea my child!" Cheered the King.

"Otto my friend, write to your brother at once, all will be well!"

"Of course your Grace" Otto agreed through clenched teeth.

none noticed how the colour had drained from the face of the one known as 'Aemon Snow'. Nor the way the Preistess' eyes had been fixed on him nearly the entire time. The torches on the wall burned brightly, and their shadows were long.

Chapter 10: The Traveler III

Chapter Text

When Jon had been a ‘guest’ of Daenerys on Dragonstone, he had heard of the red Priestess who had visited the dragon Queen. He had been surprised, positively so, that Dany and her followers hadn’t seemed enamoured with the woman the way Stannis had been with Melisandre.

Daenerys had never represented herself as particularly religious, but privately Jon had thought a religion that promoted burning people alive may have aligned with her beliefs- especially towards the end.

Jon did wonder when the Targaryen’s stopped worshipping the Gods of old Valyria, was it the effect of Baelor the blessed’s devotion to the Seven? Or had it been a more recent change? Had Daenerys and her brother’s exile prevented them from practicing? Jon supposed that unless he found himself in several more time periods he’d likely never know.

Apparently Jon had been right that R’hollor would be interesting to a Targaryen Royal, just wrong about which Targaryen.

Jon watched balefully as Kinvara spoke to the three eldest Targaryen’s, he had removed himself before the conversation had begun but had been required to stay close, so to mollify Daemon’s overprotectiveness. Still he couldn’t help but flick his eyes over the exits, how far would he get if he suddenly sprinted now?

“Nephew?” A voice spoke, jarring him from his escape plots.

Jon turned, now seeing that the Queen and her father had approached him. Her children were still where they had been standing earlier, and seemed to be arguing over something or other. He dipped into a short bow.

“Your Grace” he huffed, trying to remain polite despite his frustration.

Why was court so complicated? Jon could understand the need to hear the appeals of the people, praise it even, but why the mingling after? And the false casualness of it all, the conversations were all deeply political, likely planned weeks in advance, but everyone pretended it was a spur of the moment ‘chat’. Frankly it all made Jon’s head hurt!

“I don’t think you and the Hand have been properly introduced yet have you?” The Queen continued, either ignorant or uncaring of Jon’s mood.

“Only in the official sense your grace” he replied, still watching the conversation happening ahead of him.

“Pardon my forwardness young man, but I can’t help but notice you don’t seem overly comfortable with our new guest either…” the Hand prompted.

Jon tore his eyes from the royals to focus on the man now.

Otto Hightower on first appearance was not one you would assume to be dangerous. The Hand was tall, but in the way that would have likely had him described as lanky in his youth. He wasn’t particularly muscular, in fact Jon thought that under his layered clothing the man may be quite gaunt, at least that was how his face appeared, sharp and severe.

However, Jon knew how dangerous the Hand of the King could be, would be. The man standing before him was one of, if not the, leading cause of the Dance of the Dragons.

Jon had sworn to himself when he had landed here he would try to intervene as little as possible, and while he grudgingly admitted he wasn’t doing the best Job of that, even he knew to avoid this man. Besides, Daemon despised Otto Hightower, if he had felt strongly about Jon spending time with his ‘cousins’ he would go bizzerk over this.

“She’s unnerving and also very much not what I expected…” an understatement on Jon’s part.

Even before his heritage was known, Melisandre had ‘sensed’ something in him. At the time he had thought it was his Stark blood, the blood of the Kings of Winter, now he knew it was the fire in him that she sensed. Would Kinvara sense something similar? Would she know the truth? And if she did, would she tell people?

Jon was torn, on one hand he knew the powers of R’hollors faithful to be very real, and if he wanted to try and get home they may be his best shot. But on the other hand he still knew so little about how and why he was where he found himself. What if it was the work of another higher being, and by involving R’hollor Jon messed up his chances of ever getting home?

If anyone else assumed they were the focus of not one, but two higher beings they would be arrogant. In Jon’s case however, assuming it was only two was optimistic.

“Do you know much of her faith? Only you seemed particularly… Ambivalent.” The Hand continued, his voice slick like oil.

Jon bit his lip, how did he answer that? He could lie and say he knew nothing, but then how would he explain his reactions to the woman and her companions? And what if they said something about him?

“I encountered a member of her order in the past” Jon chose to answer “she didn’t leave the best impression…”

The hand opened his mouth, clearly about to ask him further questions, when he was interrupted by Rhaenyra joining them.

“Aemon, you look pale are you feeling all right?” The Princess asked, gently stroking Jon’s cheek.

Rhaenyra completely ignored the Hand and the Queen. An obvious snub as she stood between them and Jon, with her back towards them.

Latching onto the possible chance for escape Jon replied “I actually do have a bit of a headache, would I be permitted to retire to my rooms?”

The Princess smiled that warm motherly smile again, Jon tried to resist how much he enjoyed having it aimed at him.

“Of course dear boy, I will walk you there myself. You need to rest up, my father has invited you to dine with him tonight.”

“Will the King be well enough for a family feast?” The Hand enquired, ignoring the Princess’s ignoring of him.

Rhaenyra turned around slowly and took in Sir Otto with wide eyes, a look of false surprise on her face as if she had not known he was there.

The Queen stood stiffly between the two, anxiously observing their standoff.

“My father is not hosting a feast Sir, the meal will just be he and Aemon… He wishes to get to know his nephew. Now if you will excuse us.”

Rhaenyra hooked her arm through Jon’s own and began leading him away from the green clad paring and towards the the rooms exit.

“Your father thought you needed rescuing” she whispered to him, a mischievous look on her face.

Jon chuckled awkwardly “the Hand is certainly… intense.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes fondly, “yes, intense is certainly one word to describe him, though not the one your father likes to use.”

“I don’t think the word Daemon uses is appropriate for public settings” Jon replied blankly.

Rhaenyra made no attempt to hide her laughter as they left the hall and began to head along the winding hallway. Belatedly Jon noted one of the Kings guard follow them at a respectful distance.

“It wasn’t to overwhelming I hope? The Court”

“No, for the most part it was less awful than what I had expected… though I would have preferred to not stand at the front like that” Jon admitted.

Rhaenyra sighed “you’re a member of the royal family, that is your place. Even my half siblings stand by the Kings side.”

She brought them to a stop at a section that looked over the gardens, from here he could see as far as Blackwater bay.

“I imagine your father and I annoyed you earlier?” She mused, leaning on the wall and looking out on the grounds.

“What? Um no your Grace-“ Jon rushed to re-assure.

“And now we’re back to titles.”

Rhaenyra turned so her back was leaning on the wall and her eyes on Jon.

“I know you’ve probably been taught otherwise, but your allowed to get annoyed at us… Children find their parents annoying no matter their status, even when the parents mean well… Gods know I got annoyed at my own parents plenty, especially when I was your age.”

Jon stoped himself before he burst out that they were not his parents, but that would be rude, and likely ignored like all his previous attempts. So he settled for grumbling “I’m not a child” instead.

“I got married at 17, I thought I was an adult then but… It’s only with hindsight you realise how young that is…” She paused and, looking down, began to fiddle with one of the beads of her gown. Jon had never seen her display such obvious nervousness until this moment.

“When I was your age, if my father told me not to do something it just made me want to do it more… I’m trying to keep that in mind here… Your father and I mean well, it’s not that we don’t want you to take an interest in our family, though we both know my siblings are not whom Daemon meant…” Rhaenyra laughed softly. “And in truth it is not even that I would prefer you to be cruel to them… but the situation is…complicated.”

Jon gazed at the woman who history would dub ‘Maegor with tit*’, how did Rhaenyra become that?

“I’ve found that complicated things became less so when they are discussed…” He offered, squeezing the Princess’s hand encouragingly.

“My mother tried so hard, for years to give my father a son. Ultimately she died trying, and when that happened I buried my hope for a sibling with her… When I was told my father would re-marry, I was so court up in the shock of it… Of who it was, I didn’t really think about what it would mean, that I would finally have siblings, have a brother… You have to understand I had been hoping for this baby boy for years, and here he was, but he wasn’t my mothers son.”

The Princess’s eyes were misty with unshed tears, their violet shade so similar to those of Daenerys.

“I didn’t try to bond with any of them when they were born, the wound still to fresh… And then it festered. It’s bad enough that their very existence feels like a slight against my mother, they now symbolise so much more…”

The tears spilled freely now, cascading down her smooth cheeks that were flushed with emotion.

“Forgive me if this sounds stupid, I realise your situation is far more complicated than mine own was but… When it comes to siblings, especially half siblings, there are always going to be obstacles. And I know more often than not it is easier to just let them get in the way but, if you can get past them… The bond can be amazing. It’s not too late to have the siblings you wanted.” Jon said softly.

The Princess wiped her tears and turned to face the gardens once more.

“I don’t know if that would ever be possible for me. I know my father hoped my sons and their uncles would grown close, and they were for a time… Perhaps you befriending your cousins could be a good thing.” She paused, tone growing colder. “But be weary of the Hand, Otto Hightower is a dangerous man and he would use you as a pawn in his schemes without hesitation… The Queen… Alicent... Has always been her father’s favourite piece, just be vigilant of that.”

The Princess gazed over the gardens, her eyes fixed on the path to the Gods wood. What was she seeing he wondered.

“You speak fondly of your cousins so often, but have yet to ask to visit or write to them… I know you fear your fathers reaction to your elder kin, but you must know we would mean your cousins no harm…” Rhaenyra insisted softly.

Jon had wondered when that would be brought up. On Dragonstone the Targaryen’s had all danced so awkwardly around the subject of his ‘mothers family’. They had been so focused on prying what information from him they could, and attempting to ‘bond’ with him. That none had questioned Jon’s lack of contact.

As it would be impossible to send a raven, or any type of messenger that could reach his kin, Jon went with a lie as close to the truth as he was able, an unfortunate habit of his time here.

“There’s no one left to write too” he admitted.

Beside him Rhaenyra gasped.

“After my uncle was killed my eldest cousin attempted to fight those that had killed him, he even sent my uncle’s ward back home to gain allies…” Jon began to explain, tailoring the tail as best he could.

“What happened?” Rhaenyra asked, her attention fixed on Jon.

“My father’s ward betrayed him, and took over his keep while he was away, killing my uncle’s younger sons. Another ally, perhaps seeing the first betrayal as a sign of weakness, tricked Robb and murdered him and his mother… I don’t know what happened to my sister’s…”

Jon’s eyes were wet now, tears threatening to fall. Though he knew now in truth that all of his siblings save Robb and Rickon were still alive, they were still out of his reach, and for all he knew they could have been killed while he was gallivanting through time. Once again his lack of knowledge and understanding of his situation caused a spike of rage to shudder through him.

“I’m so sorry Aems I… We… We had no idea that something of that nature had happened. Is that how you found yourself on Dragonstone? Were you fleeing the danger when the Cannibal found you?” The Princess’s lack of effort to correct Jon calling his cousin’s siblings spoke of her shock at the tale.

“Er no, I wasn’t… present for most of what happened.” He admitted.

Rhaenyra’s brow creased in confusion, “what do you mean? Where were you?”

Jon really had to stop trapping himself in these situations. He couldn’t tell her he had been with the Nights watch, for starters there would be no record of him, and he wasn’t naive enough to think that someone wouldn’t check. Not to mention it would require an explanation of how he had technically died so the vows no longer applied to him.

“I was travelling with a group bound for the Nights watch, word of my younger brother’s death reached me just before we arrived so I turned around, but I was too late to save my elder brother… I was sort of wondering despondently for a while, that’s when the Cannibal found me.”

He watched Rhaenyra pensively, weary of what her reaction may be.

“The Nights watch?” She echoed her voice eerily flat.

“After my uncle was gone, his wife made it clear I wasn’t welcome. I know my brother- Cousin would have let me stay, but he had enough on his plate without his mother giving him grief over me. Besides in the North the Nights watch isn’t viewed in the same way as the South, it’s seen as an honourable post by many. Plenty of younger sons of noble houses volunteer.” He reasoned.

Rhaenyra was gripping the edge of the wall so tightly her knuckles were white. “But you are not just some son of a minor house, Aemon you are a Targaryen!” She bit out.

“I’m a Snow” Jon corrected gently, unsure why she seemed so angered.

“You don’t… Your not still considering it? Are you?”

Jon was actually, the longer he stayed here the greater the risk of him changing the past, Gods knew he had already done plenty of damage. Joining up with the Nights watch again (or technically chronologically speaking, for the first time) would remove Jon from the key players of the period.

Rhaenyra let out a hiss, Jon’s pause clearly betraying his thoughts. “I forbid it! As will your father, Daemon will be furious! Aemon please why on earth would you want to go freeze your co*ck off far away from your family?”

“Because your not-“

Jon stoped himself before his outburst was complete, but the damage was done.

Rhaenyra jerked back as if struck.

“Oh” she breathed shakily.

Jon sighed and let his head fall into his hands.

“It’s not that I don’t care for any of you… I’ve found myself doing so even when I’ve been actively trying not to but… I had a family, I know it wasn’t perfect and yes I know I probably should have been treated better, but they were mine… And now being here, with all of you just excepting you all as my family… It feels like a betrayal. Especially considering the terrible things that happened to them!” Jon’s voice was thick with emotion, it choked his words and made his accent deepen

Rhaenyra reached over and pulled him into a hug, she stroked his hair softly and held him as his breathing evened out.

“I can’t speak for your cousins, but if they loved you nearly half as much as you so clearly love them, they’d want you to be happy… And for what it’s worth, your father and I, and your siblings… f*ck even my siblings, we’re not trying to replace anyone.” Gently she wiped the tears from his face and smiled shakily at him, her on emotions making her eyes wet.

“We want to be entirely unique characters in your heart, why would we ever want to try and imitate someone else” she smirked mischievously, a spark of darkness in her eyes “especially when we’re so clearly superior.”

Jon exited his room and paced silently down the hall. He knew he should be resting, he'd be dining with the King in a matter of hours, but he had never been good at staying idle- especially when stressed. So he headed towards the training yard, hoping to work out his nerves and frustrations.

The hallway was dark, only lit dimly by the odd torch. The shadows stretched menacingly across the walls and seemed to dance as the flames flickered. Jon was struck suddenly with the feeling of being watched.

"I didn't mean to scare you earlier" a voice announced from the darkness.

Jon jumped and turned to face where the voice had emerged from, hand on the hilt go his blade.

Kinvara stepped into the light, her brown eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting and her dark hair blended into the shadows.

"My Prince" she greeted dipping into a low curtsy.

Jon thought the flash of her cleavage was entirely intentional.

"I'm not a Prince" he corrected, voice hard "Your confused".

"Oh but you are! The Prince that was Promised, blessed by the Gods! My Lord showed you to me in the flames, showed me the truth, so that I may tell it to you... Tell me son of Rhaegar and Lyanna... are you ready to know where you are?"

Jon marched after the woman as she led him to the rooms she had been allocated. His mind kept changing on whether this was a good idea or not. He knew now that she knew the truth of him, who he really was and where he had come from, if he spurned her she could tell others. Jon was so deep in his lie now that he could not take that risk, and then their was the Information she had dangled before him to consider. Ultimately he knew had had to follow her.

Entering her rooms Jon slammed the door behind him and fixed the Priestess with a hard stare. "I'm here, now tell me what in the Seven hells has been going on!"

Kinvara smiled, it was not a pretty thing for all she was a beautiful woman, it was a smile that promised pain. It said I know what you do not.

"Sit" she instructed pointing to the chairs sitting infront of the hearth.

"I'd rather stand" Jon snapped childishly.

"Very well" she spoke, before turning towards a desk in the corner and retrieving a piece of parchment "but you may wish you had shortly".

She handed Jon the paper and he looked it over dubiously. It was drawing of a bunch of circles with multiple chaotic lines connecting them.

"Am I meant to know what this means?" he snapped.

"It's a visual aid, I find the explanation is more palatable when using one"

Kinvara tapped on one of the circles around the middle of the page "That is where we are". She then dragged her finger to one of the circles closer to the top "That is where you first landed". She tapped another circle further down "that is where you were previously. And that is where you are from originally" she punctuated by pointing to a final circle at the bottom of the page.

Jon gazed at the paper, tracing the pattern the red woman had just made "strange... I would have thought time would be more linear" he mused allowed.

She smiled that horrid smile again, "time is."

Jon brow creased in confusion and his mind began to race. "But you just showed me... I thought..."

He gripped the paper so hard is nearly tore.

"Kinvara, are you implying that I haven't been travelling through time at all?"

She laughed, Jon thought it was a rather unattractive thing, akin to a birds caw.

"Did you not think it strange that there was never any mention of you? That each new period you visited seemed unaffected by your previous incursions?" she taunted.

In the face of her mockery, and his frustration at the situation, Jon let his anger take over. He rushed towards her and gripped her by the throat, throwing her onto one of the chairs by the fire he pined her down and loomed over her.

"Enough with your games and half answers! Tell me plainly, where. the f*ck. am. I?"

"Your in another world, Jon Snow... Just like you have been every other time." She choked out, that maddening smile still firmly etched onto her face.

Jon let go of her abruptly, and jerked backwards as if her skin had burned him.

"But why? How" He stuttered, staring at his hands like he expected them to bare a wound.

"The Gods willed it, so it was so" She replied, her voice still hoarse from where he had choked her.

"Thats not an answer!" He bellowed advancing on her threateningly once more.

"That is the only answer I have!" she snapped.

The sudden show of emotion seemed to shock Jon back into reality, and he once more backed away from her. However this time she followed.

Jon found himself with his back pined to the door as the Priestess stood before him, despite her shorter stature she seemed to loom over him.

"My Lord gave me no further answer than that. Perhaps you will eventually get a better explanation, perhaps you won't. It is not my place to question his actions. He sent me here, to you, to your family. That is all either of us need to know in this moment."

Jon began to subtly feel for the door handle.

"That may be enough for you, but it’s not for me! Don't think I didn't notice that R'hollor didn't actually tell you that he was the one who sent me here! I've had experience with your 'Lord' before in my own... World. I know better than to trust his 'help'"

Jon found the handle and gripped it tightly.

"Stay away from me... And my family!"

He threw the door open so suddenly that Kinvara had to jerk back so not to get hit.

Taking his chance he fled from the room and raced frantically back into the growing darkness of the corridors.

Chapter 11: The protector of the realm

Chapter Text

Viserys was never meant to be King, he knew that. The crown should have gone to Rhaenys, but he was to weak, to much of a coward to refuse it so here he was. Ageing before his time, likely dying if the Maesters mumblings were any sign, with one estranged daughter and four children he barely knew.He had been so happy for a time, his mind drifted back to the tourney of the heir, all those years ago. Viserys had been so certain that he, that they as a family, had been on the brink of greatness! Only for the fall to be devastating.

He dreamt of Aemma near every night, Gods knew the amount of times he had awoken with her name on his lips. Alicent, ever dutiful, never mentioned it though he saw the hurt in her eyes. The spectre of his late wife haunted him, he saw her in his dreams, he saw her out of the corner of his eye, he saw her in their daughter.

He had been a young man when he had wed Aemma, but she had been little more than a girl, he wondered now if in his eagerness to do his duty he had damaged her womb irrevocably... And yet Alicent had been young when she had birthed Aegon, and her delivery had been quick with no complications (from what he had been told). Some women just struggled with childbirth more than others, but ultimately Aemma hadn't died from childbirth alone but the Maesters scalpel... on his orders.

Viserys had always loved the idea of fatherhood, the opportunity to dote on a little person, teach them the history of their house and old Valyria, and he had done so with Rhaenyra... At least at first. As she grew he had found it harder and harder to connect, a chasm had opened between them that only widened with her mothers death. His daughter was all fire, the blood of the dragon bred true, her and Daemon were cut from the same cloth. They both burnt so brightly Viserys found himself shrinking from their blaze, his embers had always seemed feeble in comparison.

Daemon had never spoken of fatherhood, Viserys had therefore assumed that his brother had little interest in it. He did not know if something changed, or if Daemon had kept his wishes to himself, but Daemon thrived with his children.

True Viserys had seen little interaction between his brother and his daughters, or his stepchildren, but the few interactions he had seen- and seeing how he was with Aemon showed a bond Viserys had never been able to achieve.

”Aemon Snow Your Grace” called out Sir Arryk.

Viserys perked up from where he had been gazing over his wooden model, he no longer had the strength in his hands to work on it so it sat unfinished and dusty.

The King rose to his feat shakily and shuffled towards the dining table on the other side of his solar.

”Let the boy in Sir!” He replied to the knight, hoping his voice did not sound as weak as he felt.

Aemon Snow entered the Kings rooms tentatively, his eyes wide and his palms clenched. Viserys noted that the boy was in one of his new outfits that Rhaenyra had commissioned, if he was not mistaken Viserys believed it to be modelled after one of Daemon’s old outfits.

The boy was dressed entirely in black, save a red undershirt that was only visible peaking out at the collar. The rest of the young man’s attire was a form fitted leather doublet that was covered in a scale like pattern.

”Your Grace” the boy spoke as he began to bow.

”None of that now my boy, we’re in private and your family. You can call me uncle.” Viserys smiled towards the young man.

He took the opportunity to pause and take a series of heaving breaths.

The boy still stood frozen in the doorway, his mouth slightly agape and a perplexed look on his face. It was rather adorable Viserys had to admit, he had not seen that look on the boys father’s face in many a year. Daemon had decided young the role he would play in the family and had stuck to it ever since.

”Do you… Do need some help?” Aemon asked, stepping forward tentatively.

Viserys sighed “Thank you my boy, it’s been a rather busy day I fear it’s rather tiered me out.”

Aemon stepped beside him and took the Kings arm in his, letting the older Targaryen lean his weight on him. They made their way slowly to the table laden with food.

”Thank you for the invite your- um uncle" The boy stumbled over his words clearly uncomfortable with the familiar term.

"Your more than welcome my boy, I wanted a chance to get to know my first nephew!" Viserys declared as he slumped into his seat.

Aemon circled the table to take the seat across from the ageing King, "still you honour me your grace".

"Help yourself" Viserys indicated to the plates of food, "I asked Rhaenyra and Daemon the dishes they knew you preferred, if you don't mind me saying you have a rather eclectic taste."

There were dishes present that ranged from a rather bland but hearty Northen stew, to a spiced lamb dish popular in the free cities. All dishes that Daemon and Rhaenyra had notice their newest child were partial too.

Aemon laughed softly and served himself a portion of the lamb with a sweetened potato dish common in Dorne, after having waited for Viserys to serve himself a potion of the stew."I'm not an overly picky eater, I've always been willing to try what's available, some of these are just ones I've found I prefer over others."

"A fine attitude to have!" Viserys toasted the boy with his spoon. "I remember how much of a terror Rhaenyra was as a girl with food, she never wanted to eat her vegetables! Aemma despaired of her, in the end we found that if the cooks fried them in butter and spice, she was much more favourable to them!"

The two men laughed imagining the woman Rhaenyra was now as a little girl turning her nose up at her greens.

"I'll have to write to Joffrey and tell him that, I'm sure Jace or Luke would be happy to read my letter to him, he doesn't much like green food either!" Aemon chuckled.

"Like mother, like son" Viserys smiled softly. His daughters youngest had been but a babe when he had seen him last, not having the chance to see his youngest grandchild at Lady Laena's funeral (though given the days events perhaps that was for the best).

"And what of your other children? did they scorn any food in particular?" Aemon asked as he cut into the lamb on his plate.

Viserys felt himself at a loss, he blinked at the boy his mouth gaping. He did not know.

"I confess, I wouldn't know... I was not as young as I was when it came to raising Rhaenyra, tiring tasks such as managing tantrums over food were left to the Queen." He admitted.

Aemon looked back at him, a bland smile on his face. His fork was frozen half way to his mouth, though he returned it to his plate without eating the meat skewered upon it, before he spoke. "Did you know I've began arms training with Prince Aegon?"

"hm? Oh yes... I believe Otto mentioned that to me! I'm very proud that your trying to bond with your cousins, did you know they used to train with Jacerys and Lucerys? I used to sit on the balcony and watch their training sessions! It's a shame Aegon lost interest in training shortly after they left..."

Aemon gave a slow nod, the smile on his face began to look slightly stained. "So you knew that Aegon wasn't partaking in any lessons then?"

Viserys nodded distractedly, sipping happily at his stew. "I was told as much, and he was old enough to make his own decisions. I saw no need to force the issue though I believe his mother would have preferred it if I had."

Aemon's smile became all teeth, "at four and ten?"

"Yes?" The King replied unsure why this was a topic of interest for his nephew.

Aemon sighed and ran his hands across his face, the smile was gone at least- Viserys thought with relief, it was beginning to unnerve him.

"I'm seven and ten" the boy announced to Viserys' ongoing confusion. Did he think that the King didn't know his age?

"Many would call me a man grown, hells until recently I was among them. And yet I'm now realising how naive that thought was! Thinking I knew everything I needed at seven and ten? That I was capable of making massive life decisions?" Aemon laughed a rather broken and wet thing, Viserys found himself frozen, perplexed in his chair.

"You believe that Aegon was a man grown at four and ten, capable of making life decisions? I disagree... When I was that age my Aunt sent me to the wall." Viserys near choked on the wine he had raised to his mouth.

"did- does your father know about that?" he coughed, despite asking Viserys rather doubted Daemon did, his brother had never been subtle with his scorn.

"No, I haven't told him yet, though I spoke with Rhaenyra after court. Considering he didn't march into my room yelling I don't think she’s told him yet either, perhaps she is telling him as we speak!" He joked.

"Then I imagine we should expect my brothers presence any moment" Viserys replied in turn, looking at the door as if Daemon was about to burst through it.

"My point is your Grace, uncle, that when my aunt sent me away I thought it was my choice- that I was ready for a commitment of that scale. It's only been with time and reflection that I realised how wrong I was, but I couldn't have known otherwise at the time- because I was four and ten! How could I possibly have known better?"

"You believe that I shouldn't have allowed Aegon to cease his lessons?" Viserys finally realised the point his nephew was making.

"It doesn't really matter what I believe you should have done years ago... But I have a suggestion of what you could do now if you would permit me to voice it?" Aemon leaned forward his eyes wide and slightly wild, those were his little brothers eyes Viserys realised with a jolt.

"What would you have me do Aemon? You said yourself I cannot change the past." Viserys sighed.It seemed whenever he tried to do the right thing for his children it backfired. Aegon had been miserable, he had thought giving the boy leave from his lessons would make him happier, and after all Aegon had already received a very fine education more than most lords could hope for. What did he need with further Teaching? If his son was to serve on his sisters small council as Viserys hoped, than some knowledge gained from real world experiences would do no harm. However, he had watched with the rest of the court how the boy had only spiralled further, forcing him back into lessons had seemed a pointless endeavour.

"Aegon will never do well in a traditional learning environment, and that's not to say he's stupid! That's very much not that case, but he needs to be taught differently... For example when I was training with him the other day he gave me a full, detailed run down of the gossip of the court, he knows who's having an affair, who has bastards, who's in dept! He remembers the lot of it! Because he finds it interesting!" Aemon waved his hands animatedly, Viserys found a smile coming to his face at the boys clear passion for the subject.

"When the Maesters present information on Numbers or History its always in a very bland abstract way, I think Aegon needs to be taught differently is all!"

"And you have an idea for how he should be taught I presume" Viserys asked, a warm smile on his lined face.

Aemon ducked his head, a flush rising on his cheeks, "Well I was thinking... And this is only a suggestion! But perhaps Rhaenyra could teach him? She knows lots about History and Numbers from her own duties and she's a really good teacher! She and Daemon have been teaching me Valyrian and I've already been making so much progress thanks to their help." He burst out, a nervous but hopeful look on his face.

"It's an idea with merit my boy but... do you truly think Rhaenyra would agree?" Viserys was not blind towards the antagonism between his children, but he was plagued by inaction. There were so many factors, and people, involved that Viserys found himself ignoring the issue and naively hoping it would sort itself out. It hadn't.

"I think if you asked her she would, and I'd speak to her and Aegon to make sure they both agree! All you would have to do is make sure no one else got in the way."

And there lay the issue, Viserys' strong suit had never been in standing up to others, not a beneficial quality in a king he knew. But maybe this once he could try.

Viserys had spent the rest of the meal getting to know Aemon in an attempt to get the young man's measure. Though he thought from the beginning of their meal time discussion alone, that Aemon was more than worthy of legitimisation. In truth there had been little chance that Viserys wouldn't have had legitimised the boy, not when Rhaenyra and Daemon had presented such a united front in support of it. Still it was a relief to see how noble and kind the young man was, Viserys hadn't been blind to the possibility that Aemon could have been more like his father.The King loved his brother, truly he did, but often Daemon was his own worst enemy. He could not rule out the possibility that Aemon would have many of his fathers worse qualities, it seemed (he was relieved to say) that he did not.

Aemon had spoke to him of his younger cousins tentatively, he clearly still thought of them as siblings and their deaths no doubt haunted the boy. Be it fear of his fathers wrath or the chokehold of grief, Aemon did not speak their names, and yet the care in which he reminisced about them spoke volumes.

"You'll make a fine father" Viserys told him, causing the boy to blush once more. Clearly he was unused to receiving praise, a surprise given the boy's attractive visage.

"Thank you your Grace" Aemon replied, his shyness causing him to slip back into the use of titles.

"Have you considered it much? Fatherhood?" Viserys asked, slipping a grape into his mouth.

"Briefly, at times... As a boy I never thought it would be in the Gods plan for me, certainly not when I thought the Nights watch would be my future, my life... I'd sworn to myself from a young age that I would never father a bastard... And then I met someone and I fell in love and I thought maybe?" The boy had a far away look in his eyes.

"Since I've heard of no great niece or nephew I assume something happened?" Viserys questioned.

"She died, and for a time my hope for a family died with her... I was propersisioned by another woman sometime after, she too made me wonder, but ultimately I chose my duty over her... There was another, more recently, I don't know if I loved her… Not really, there were too many issues between us, but I loved aspects of her. I never considered a family with her somehow I think I always knew we would never make it that far... And I was right. She didn't take the revelation of my heritage very well, though then again neither did I."

"You'll find love again, your young, and though you lack the colouring, your clearly blessed by the beauty of old Valyria. I highly doubt you will be without a Lady love for very long... Especially not with your status." Viserys consoled, his mind spinning on the available young ladies he could push his nephew towards. He'd discuss it with Deamon further, no doubt his brother would be eager for grandchildren, and it would be a chance for Viserys and Daemon to bond once more over a project. A Valyrian bride would of course be his brothers preference, but the available ladies of that distinction were slim, although there was always-

Viserys' musings and his nephew splutters were interrupted by Sir Erryk calling out, "The Hand of The King your Grace!”

”My apologies for the interruption your Grace, but I have a matter of grave importance to discuss with you that could not wait.”

Aemon lurched to his feat, his chair rocking precariously before he steadied it with his hand.

”It is rather late your Grace, Sir Otto’s arrival may be a good signifier of a time to end.”

Aemon bowed “Goodnight your Grace, I hope you sleep well.”

He turned to Sir Otto and inclined his head breathing a quick “Sir Otto” before he hurried from the room.

Viserys sighed and looked over at his hand, “Well? This had better be good Otto. I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed tonight.”

Otto bowed his head in apology. “I found the information on Aemon that you requested of me, I knew you were dining with him tonight and would likely be making your decision on his legitimisation shortly after. I thought you should know this information first.”

Viserys leaned forward eargerly “and you found something?”

“Yes your Grace… I know who his mother is.”

Chapter 12: The Hand of the King III

Chapter Text

The Hand of the King stood upon the wooden galley at the end of the training yard. From here he could see the balcony he had stood on with his daughter just days before, which was a more common viewing position for the ladies of the court, the flowers that decorated it made that clear.

Otto’s current position however was more commonly occupied by the young men training, which was why Otto had chosen it as his waiting spot

The hand of the King raised his head in greeting when the young man who was the reason for his presence approached.

He doubted that Aemon hadn’t already been aware of his presence, but had simply ignored it in favour of focusing on training. Otto could respect the dedication, especially considering it was his own grandson the boy was teaching. Besides, patients was a virtue, and a skill Otto prided himself on. A quality that the boy’s father sawfly lacked, considering the conversation he had planned, it would do no harm in distinguishing himself from Daemon.

“We were not expecting you Sir” Aemon Snow greeted, after taking a long pull from his waterskin.

“A spur-of-the-moment decision I’m afraid” Otto lied, “I hope my presence wasn’t too distracting?”

Otto rose to his feet and moved to lean beside the young man on the galley's wooden banister. The extra weight caused the black banner hung upon it to sway, the red three-headed dragon appearing as if in flight.

“No more than our other guest” the boy replied, his tone dry.

Otto flicked his eyes over to where Sir Criston was lurking on the other side of the yard, eyes fixed on Aegon. His grandson was occupied practicing the moves he had just been taught on a dummy.

“The Queen’s condition for allowing our training sessions was that Sir Criston must observe. But only as a King's guard, not a trainer.” The boy informed.

“I dare say you wouldn’t need his help!” Otto declared, the compliment falling short however, as his tone lacked any warmth.

Aemon rose his brow, a grimace on his handsome face. Not one for flattery, Otto noted, he’d make a npoint of remembering that for future interactions. It was more a statement than empty flattery anyway, Aegon had made more progress in the days spent training with his cousin, than the years spent with Sir Cole.

“I’m sure Prince Aegon would appreciate some praise from you on his progress Sir.” Aemon suggested.

Otto withheld a scoff, he would be doing no such thing! Why would he praise the boy for finally doing his duty? Besides, God’s know it would probably go to the boy's head.

“I was sorry to have interrupted your meal with the King” Otto changed the subject in the direction he had already planned.

“I’m sure you were” the boy replied blandly, making it rather clear he thought otherwise.

It seemed Prince Daemon had already started to get his claws into the boy, heavens know what treasonous poison the rogue Prince had poured into the ear of the young man before him. Otto could only hope it hadn't already taken route, so there was still time to counteract it. Aemon was too useful a resource to have corrupted by his father, they already had one Daemon Targaryen they did not need another, younger, version.

Otto leaned against the banister with false casualness as he waited for the boy to ask about why he had interrupted last night. He admired the young man's self-control in pretending he was uninterested, but if he thought he could outlast Otto, he was sorely mistaken. Otto was no young co*cksure courtier, he was the hand of the King, a man with years of political experience under his belt- he could wait.

So he waited, and he waited, and he watched Aegon look up at Aemon for approval- gaining a warm smile from the older boy. And then he waited some more...

Finally, he hissed from behind gritted teeth "We spoke of your mother."

This wasn't Otto giving up defeat, merely prioritising his time. As hand, he had many other duties and did not have all day to play with the boy.

"My mother?" The boy echoed, his eyes comically wide and mouth gaping.

Otto felt a smirk crawl onto his face at finally getting a rise out of the boy, "Yes, you see the King tasked me with finding out her identity... It's an important factor in the possibility of your legitimisation, The King did not want to risk making an enemy of your mother's kin."

The boy nodded slowly, his eyes slightly glazed with confusion, "and because you couldn't find anything he can't legitimise me?"

Otto jerked back slightly, before straightening and laughing softly at the young man's misunderstanding, "no of course not! We were discussing how I had found her identity, the King wanted to know everything I had found, we were speaking long into the night."

"You- You? No. You definitely didn’t” Aemon declared, laughing in clear disbelief.

Otto rolled his eyes at the overconfidence of youth, had he ever been this co*cky, he knew he must have and it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Your mother was the Lady Lyanna Greystark.” He drawled, eyes fixed on the boy for his reaction to his mother’s name.

Otto was rewarded with a slight flinch but he had expected more, so he carried on.

“Prince Daemon and the Late Lady Rhea stayed at castle Greywind, the seat of house Greystark at the beginning of their tour. Your mother died just six moons later… Your uncle hid the truth well, though most of his subterfuge can be attributed to the chaos of the time, what with your grandfather dying around the same time and your uncle getting married himself… I do wonder why your uncle felt it was so imperative to hide your origins? Was it a decision he made himself to spare his sisters honour? Or was it on someone else’s suggestion?”

Of course Otto did not know for sure if Daemon had known of the boy and had hidden him, though he believed there was a chance he had. Still there would be no harm in implying such a thing to the boy.

“Seven hells” Aemon growled, moving to slump onto the wooden bench and burying his head in his knees.

Otto carved what he hoped was a paternal smile onto his face, as he took a seat beside the boy and grasped his shoulder softly.

“I am sorry for your loss my boy” he spoke as softly as he was able.

“My loss” Aemon echoed numbly.

“Yes your uncle’s death was a tragedy… and your poor cousins… I realise knowing this won’t bring them back, but if it helps your grief, Lord Cregan put all the traitors to the sword for their crimes. Your family died defending his claim… The claim of the true heir…”

Otto removed his hand once Aemon no longer had his head bowed “if you had been hiding your identity for fear of your family’s enemies, rest assured there are none left.”

Of course Otto suspected this was not the reason the boy had hidden his past, no he feared not the nameless shadow but his own fathers wrath, he was wise to do so. True he had no maternal kin left for his father to lash out at but that only opened up a wider opportunity for danger. What if Daemon in his madness decided to take his rage out on house Stark? After all the boys kin had died both at their hand and in their name, not to mention the fact that they were even distant kin to the boy themselves. No doubt Daemon would dislike the competition they represented. Otto knew he had to handle this situation carefully.

“What makes you so certain your right? That the boy you speak of is me?” Aemon spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

Otto couldn’t stop the snort that escaped him, the hubris of the boy trying to lie even now.“You expect me to believe there is another boy called Jon Snow who was fathered by a Targaryan Prince and raised by his uncle in secret? A boy with a cousin called Robb who was betrayed by his uncle’s ward called Theon? What are the chances of that?”

The boy chuckled mirthlessly and glared at the heavens “extremely slim my Lord, I’ll grant you that. It would be one hell of a coincidence.”

“Exactly” Otto stated, pleased the boy had realised the game was up. “The King and I spent most of the evening discussing the path forward, and I think we finally came to a decision you’ll agree with.”

“And what decision was that Sir?”The boy was angry, Otto noted, he didn’t like it when decisions were made for him. A trait he shared with his father, yet ironically, Daemon would likely try to do it to the boy often.

“Greywind and its Lordship lays unclaimed, Lord Cregan assigned a regent to it until he could find it a Lord… The King and I thought it would suit you well… And upon your legitimisation I suggested the keep and lands of Moat Calin be folded into the seat.”

Best to be obvious with this one about what Otto could give him, Aemon cared little for empty flattery and he was to useful to threaten. But the bastard boy that had grown up on his cousins heels must be eager for the chance to claim his castle, Otto could give him that and more… And if he could get the boy on side, not only was his dragon alone a powerhouse of a game piece, but if Viserys granted the boy moat Calin it would also give Aegon a foothold in the North. The possibility alone was enough to make the hand consider the suggestion Viserys had put forth on the boys marriage prospects… But one thing at a time.

“The King is holding a council session tomorrow where he will announce your legitimisation and his plans for your holdings… If you would allow me to give you this advice, I would let Viserys speak to your father of your past, I expect he would be less reactive hearing it from his brother…”

Otto hid a smirk as he saw the boy flinch, strengthening the fear the boy already had for his father would be beneficial, and in convincing Aemon to keep the secret from Daemon longer, a secret that Otto now knew, would drive a wedge between the pair.

He was doing the boy a favour in the long run anyhow. Daemon would soon plant his spawn in the Princess and then his fascination with his eldest would fade, best case scenario he would simply neglect the boy, worst case he would remove him so not to threaten his new true born (and pureblood) heirs.

“I’m glad we could have this talk” the hand smiled patronisingly at the younger man as he rose to his feat.Giving the shell shocked young man, who in a days time would be a Prince of the realm, a shallow bow, he took his leave.

The hand of the King walked past by his eldest grandson without sparing him a glance, a smug smile on his aged face, as he strutted back to his tower.

Chapter 13: The Rogue Prince II

Chapter Text

As a boy Daemon had idolised his father, as he had grown the hero worship had been chipped away steadily. There was nothing worse than the moment you realised your parents weren’t perfect, weren’t invincible.

When his mother died and his father had calcified, ignoring his two sons and laying desolate in his bed for weeks. When his father had stood by and done nothing when Daemon had been married of to Rhea, letting his youngest son be dragged to the sept like a criminal being escorted to his execution…

Daemon knew it was inevitable he would fail his own children in some way, become less in their eyes, but he had long swore to himself his failures would not be the same as his fathers.

Then again, had Viserys not sworn the same? Had he not promised to be better when he cradled his younger brother as their father ignored them both in his grief. Had Viserys not then went on to fail Rhaenyra again, and again (and his younger children also, though Daemon tried not to dwell upon them.)

Aemon had never known his father as a boy, Daemon had never had the chance to have his son gaze up at him worshipfully. By the time Daemon had learned of his first born, Aemon already knew the worst of his sire, he already saw him as just a man.

It made bonding with his son that much harder, he knew there was fear there… Every time he felt he took a step forward with the boy, circ*mstances would push him two steps back.

“The Nights Watch? You’re sure?” He asked his wife, hoping that if he asked her the question enough times the answer would change.

“Yes my love, Aemon told me himself.” Rhaenyra sighed, eyeing the tense form of her husband worryingly, as he paced before the fire.

“It’s late uncle, wearing out the tiles at this hour won’t accomplish anything… Come to bed. The sooner we sleep the sooner we can discuss with Aemon how his dinner with my father went.” Rhaenyra cajoled her husband, but to no avail.

Pausing, Daemon strode over to his wife and cupped her head in his hands, leaning down to press a kiss to her brow.

“You go to bed sweet niece I know how tiering being in this rat infested city can be. I’ll join you eventually… I’d be a poor bed partner with my current mood.” Daemon smiled softly, giving Rhaenyra a slight push in the direction of the solar’s door.

Giving her husband one last fleeting glance, the Princess of Dragonstone left the room, apprehensive of what Daemon’s anger may spiral into.

Now alone Daemon resumed his pacing.

How many sins could one man have committed against him? And why was it Aemon, who in the short time he had known his son had shown himself as a paragon of honour and kindness, been dealt such a cruel hand by the gods?

”Am I to blame?” Daemon hissed aloud. “Are you punishing me by making my son suffer?”

”Do you think you deserve punishment my Prince?”

Daemon whipped around, Dark sister drawn in an instant and pointed at the uninvited presence in his room.

”step into the light” he damanded “only cowards covet the shadows!”

Recognising the red Priestess he had met earlier, Daemon lowered his sword, but did not yet sheath it.

”I was unaware you had an invite to my solar my Lady. I’m afraid my days of clandestine meetings with women are behind me… Unless my wife happens to be a participant… And unfortunately she has already retired so I must refuse you.” Daemon smirked, projecting an aura of co*ckiness. However his eyes were sharp, he knew better than to dismiss the woman as a non-threat.

“Enlighten me then… Why have you snuck into my solar at the dead of night?” He prompted.

”You have questions… So many unanswered questions… I can answer them, I may be the only one of two who can.” Kinvara whispered seductively, her hips swaying as she moved closer still, her neck now flush with Daemon’s blade.

”Why then do I need to hear it from you? What’s stopping me from getting these answers from this other person?” He growled, growing frustrated.

She had his attention now.

Sheething dark sister, Daemon took a steadying step back.”Tell me everything, I want to know all you know… Be truthful and you will be rewarded.”

”I require no reward my Prince, I simply do as my lord commands… Your son… Aemon, is very special, he has a great power in him. My Lord commands me to nurture it, make sure he is not lead astray.” Kinvara spoke softly, as if she were addressing a dangerous creature (perhaps she was.)

”I already know he’s special, you need not tell me that, I’m his father… I’d think that no matter the power he may have.” Daemon hissed.

Kinvara smiled knowingly “yes the love of a father… But do you want to see why Aemon is more than just the apple of your eye?”

”You know I do. Stop hinting, and dancing around the subject. You said you came here to answer my questions, so answer them and stop giving me more.” The rogue Prince demanded.

The red preistess sighed, and turned to face the fire. If she rolled her eyes none would know.

“I’m not the first member of my order your son has interacted with… You must have noticed his weariness?” She stated, eyes still on the flames.

”Yes” Daemon admitted “though I had thought his reaction was based on hearing rumours of your sect, rather than actually meeting a member… I suppose your going to tell me about how that meeting went?”

”No” she breathed, a rather sinister smile upon her otherwise lovely face.

“I’m going to show you… Look into the flames my Prince…”

Abruptly, Daemon was no longer in his solar, nor was he any place he recognised.The rogue Prince found himself in an empty tent, like that one may find in a military camp.

”Hello?!” He hollered, turning turning to, and fro, to see where the damnedred Priestess had vanished too.

Kinvara was no where to be seen, infact no one was. Daemon was entirely alone.

Until he wasn’t.

The flaps of the tent burst open with a sudden ferocity and a large ginger man entered. He was covered in furs far thicker than any Daemon had ever seen, though the style reminded him of that worn by the mountain clans of the vale.

Putting down their petty little rebellions had been some of the only fun he had encountered while trapped in his bitch of a wife’s lands.

The ginger held a dark haired figure close to his chest tenderly, despite his frantic movements.

”Quick place him down here!” Another man commanded as he too entered the tent.

This one was smaller than the ginger, significantly so, rather weedy and lank haired. He was dressed in an all black attire that Daemon realised, with a sinking suspicion, he recognised.

The Nights watch man pointed the wildling, for that’s what the large ginger must surely be he now realised, to a cot in the corner of the tent.

Rushing over the red haired wildling placed his dark haired cargo on the cot. Doing so exposed the young man’s face, which had Daemon stumbling back in shock.

”We need bandages or something! f*ck!” Hissed the Nights watchman, frantically searching the tent for medical supplies.

The ginger stayed by Aemon’s side, his large hands trailing over his son’s prone form.

”I can’t feel his heartbeat Edd… I don’t know if those bandages can fix that…” The wildling whispered, his voice surprisingly soft for such a large man.

”What? No, no… He’s not… Jon’s not…” The man, now identified as ‘Edd’, stuttered.

Daemon payed the fool no heed, stumbling instead towards his son and crumbling to his knees at his bedside.

Aemon (for that was his sons name not ‘Jon’, Daemon felt himself awash with rage every time he heard that name) was the colour of spoilt milk. It was a colour Daemon was familiar with, how many men had this colour claimed at Daemon’s hand? Countless. And now his son, his precious boy who he had only just found, had been consumed by it.

Aemon was dead.

”What is this?” Daemon hissed venomously.

”Some kind of threat? An illusion? What?” He hollered at the heavens, lunging to his feat to do so.

He received no answer.

”Do you hear me witch?! You told me you’d show me the past… But this… This can only be the future! Is this what will happen if Aemon goes to the watch? Are you trying to scare me into stopping him from going? Well rest assured I never had any intention of letting him leave as soon as I heard of it! Mission achieved! Now let me out of this! Release me from this hellish vision!” Daemon screamed, ending with a chocked sob, and returning to his son’s side.

The tents two other living inhabitants showed no reaction to his outburst, Daemon was invisible and unheard to them.

Hot tears ran tracks down Daemon’s face as he stared listlessly at the numerous stab wounds that littered the chest of his boy. The woundsweeped weakly, evidence of his son’s lack of heartbeat.

“Don’t be real, Gods please don’t let this be real.” He chanted.

“What’s she doing here?!” The wildling growled, breaking Daemon from his mantra.

A woman with blood red hair and a familiar necklace had entered the tent on the heels of a greying Knight.

“Easy Tormund…” the knight soothed “I don’t like having her here anymore than you do… But she said she could help.”

“Help? Help!” The wildling, Tormund, bellowed. “He’s f*cking dead! Those traitorous crows killed him! How the f*ck is she gonna help that? There’s no helping Jon anymore! So what’s she gonna do? Burn the men who did it? I can tell you now he wouldn’t want that.”

“The Lord of Light has… in the past, granted his followers the power… to bring those worthy back from the dead.” The unnamed red Priestess whispered tentatively.

“Those worthy?” Tormund echoed mockingly.

“And who exactly does your God deem worthy? Your God who you burned Mance for? But oh wait, Jon stopped that. So would he not be worthy then in your gods eyes?”

The wildlings eyes were frosty and full of hate as he stood between the red witch and Daemon’s son.

The grey haired knight stepped forward and put a restraining hand on the wildlings chest, he didn’t remove it even when Tormund growled menacingly at him. Daemon could respect the older man’s balls.

“You think I like this? Relying on her after all the things I know she’s done. But she is our, his, only chance. We can’t afford not to take this chance.” The Knight spoke calmly but with an underline of steel.

Tormund deflated, casting his eyes on Aemon.

“Fine.” He finally sighed “What do we need to do.”

The red Priestess stepped towards Aemon and stared down at him, Daemon fort the desire to block her path, not that it would achieve anything what with his inability to be seen.

”I’ll need a pyre, for this to work we need fire… and if it doesn’t, we need to burn his body.”

Daemon lurched forward in attempt to bat the witches hands away from his son’s fallen form. There would be no pyre! The only one worthy of burning his son’s body in the tradition of their house would be him and Ceraxes! Not these strangers.

Rather than succeed in pushing the woman away, Daemon fell through her and found himself in darkness, only to emerge outside, stood before a steadily burning pyre.

”No!” He bellowed, lunging towards the flames, and his son’s form, which was laying upon the burning wood.

The air was heavy with smoke and the sound of chanting, which Daemon distantly noticed was coming from the red Preastess. He payed it no heed as he desperately tried to get closer to Aemon, but some unseen force kept him from getting any closer.

The chanting ceased and a ringing silence cloaked the clearing, broken only by the rustling of the wind in the trees.

From the other side of the pyre a wolf padded out of the trees, despite its significant size it made no sound on the snow it stepped over, as it got closer and closer to Aemon.

Daemon fort the invisible force with even greater vigour, he was not about to see his son’s corpse be desecrated by being eaten by this monstrous white wolf.

To Daemon’s shock however, the wolf stopped just short of the pyre. He could see now that the creature had hauntingly intelligent red eyes which were fixed on his son.

Behind Daemon, he noticed the wildling begin to berate the red woman, whatever she had been trying to do had evidently failed, and now his son’s body was about to burn.

The wolf tilted his head to the side and for a moment Daemon could have sworn it was looking right at him. Its red eyes burning into his soul.

The wolf then broke the stare lurching to its feat and letting loose a haunting howl.

The arguing behind him stopped, time itself seemed to stop. Only to suddenly come back to itself awakened by the ragged sound of breathing, that came from the figure that had just lurched into sitting on the pyre.

Aemon was alive!

Before Daemon could resume his struggles, before he could do very much of anything, he felt a yank in his naval that sent him reeling backwards.

He landed on his arse back in his solar, the flames in the hearth just as high as when he had left, as if no time had past.

Kinvara stood above him a smug smile on her face.

”What. The. f*ck. Was that?” Daemon choked, his breath having been knocked out of him from his landing.

”The truth, the past for some…” She smirked.

”The truth?” Daemon echoed, forcing himself to climb to his feat for all his body protested.

”So… That really happened? That already happened?” He gasped.

Kinvara nodded solemnly “So now you know why your son is so special… He is blessed, chosen… The Lord of Light brought your son back from the dead.”

Chapter 14: One Eye

Chapter Text

Aemond fought the urge to swing his legs as he sat in the library. He was not a child to engage in such an embarrassing habit, but as his cousin continued his story of legends, Aemond’s legs twitched.

It was just so interesting! For all Aemond was the most loyal of his siblings to their mother’s Gods and their stories, he had loved reading of the Gods of old Valyria- and the old Gods of the first men lit that same flame of interest.

Aemond had long been fascinated with history, but had made a point of not being seen as too interested lest his father decide Aemond would suit the Citadel. As a second son, and so far back in his fathers line of succession, the Citadel was not outside of the realm of possibility.The dark part of him had hoped that when Daeron had been sent away to Oldtown, that his brother would end up among the Citadels number. But alas Aemond’s youngest brother was squired instead to one of their mothers kin.

“You keep talking about the giants in the present tense cousin. Why? They all died out didn’t they?” Aemond asked peering up at Aemon, where the older boy had stoped his animated pacing.

“Did they?” He cousin replied, an amused tilt to his lips.

Aemond’s brow creased as he scrunched his face up in concentration. His cousin’s question felt like a test.

“They were killed off by the first men weren’t they? Just like the children of the forrest?”

Aemon had began their lesson by telling Aemond about the children. The younger dragon rider had known snippets about them, more at least than he had about Skin changers, but Aemon had known much more.

“The children weren’t killed off by the first men though remember? After centuries of war, they made a truce. It was the Andals that claimed their annihilation.” Aemon explained.

There it was again ‘claimed’.

Aemond smirked mockingly “cousin, you’re not honestly implying both those races of creatures live on?”

Aemon only smiled, unruffled by his cousins mockery.

“Who’s to say they don’t?” He drawled, moving to take the seat opposite Aemond.

“Everyone! Everyone says they don’t because it is known!” Aemond burst out, growing frustrated.

Aemon reached over and placed a restraining hand upon Aemond’s knee, the younger boy drooped, his ire bleeding out of him.

“Just because everyone says something, doesn’t make it true. There’s no evidence that either of those races died out.” Aemon explained calmly.

“But it’s what the history books say happened!” Aemond insisted, slapping his hand on the book that sat in front of him.

“And who writes the history books?” Aemon drawled, one of his dark brows raised.

“History is written by the victors Aemond… and this book” l, the dark haired dragon rider indicated to the book that Aemond had slapped, “was written by a Southern Maester, a descendent of the knights who ‘claimed’ their victory over these creatures… Can his account really be trusted.”

“I understand your point about biased historical recordings… But what about the fact no one has seen a giant or a child of the forest for hundreds of years, even you must admit that is valid evidence for their extinction!”

Aemon leaned back a considering look on his face. Aemond felt a smugness rise up in him at winning the debate… Until his cousin spoke again.

“In most of Essos, and even parts of Westeros, some have never seen a dragon. To them they are creatures from the legends of old Valyria. Does that mean that dragons don’t exist?” He asked, a mischievous sparkle in his dark purple eyes.

“Of course not!” Aemond growled “we both ride dragons! The two largest in the world, we know they exist! And so too do the people, even those who have not seen them have heard of them, heard of their, our might!”

“The people of the North hear of the giants, of the children. Many whisper they live on beyond the wall. And in the North where a dragon has not been seen since Queen Alysanne, they are not so different.” Aemon smiled knowingly.

Aemond rolled his eyes, reluctantly giving up when he realised he could not dig up any other argument his cousin could not counter.

“Fine! Fine.” He grumbled “I know more about Northern history now, can you show me your Skin changing?”

Aemon chucked “I thought you wanted to learn about Northern legends? You seemed to be enjoying them!”

“I do! I am!” Aemond whined, though he would deny it if asked. “But can you show me? Please!”

Aemon sighed and mused his curls, Aemond had noticed that to be a nervous habit of his cousin’s.

“I’m not sure if I can, remember? I told you my companion was out of my reach.”

Leaning forward Aemond grasped his cousins hands and gave them an excited squeeze.

“All the more reason to practice! You’re the one who keeps telling Aegon he needs to practice his arms skills! Don’t be a hypocrite cousin!” He teased.

Aemon let out a shocked laugh “This is hardly the same as your brother needing remedial arms training!”

“Of course not” Aemond agreed “but it is a weapon! One you have the opportunity to having in your armoury and you are neglecting it.”

Aemond puffed up in pride when Aemon let out a defeated sigh.

“Okay… I’ll give it a try. But I’m making no promises of grandeur! I have no intention of inhabiting the Cannibal, not now, not yet… I’ll try a bird or something.”Aemon nodded to himself as if trying to convince himself it would be okay.

“My eyes are going to change, they’ll be all white like my eyes have rolled back… and I may not respond to you if you talk to me. But Aemond, and this is very important, if you hear anyone coming, you have to shake me. It’s the only way I know for sure will help bring me back without doing it myself.” His cousin instructed solemnly.

Aemond nodded, his excitement making his movements frantic.

Aemon sighed once more, leaning back in his chair and cricking his neck. His cousin exhaled slowly closing his eyes.

When they opened again they were, just as he said they would be, entirely white.

Aemond jumped to his feat, a shocked gasp bursting out of him. For all his cousin had explained this would happen it was still a shock to see.

Tentatively Aemond began to circle the small table the two had been using as a desk. The room itself was not particularly large, the library they had holed themselves up in not being the main one of the keep. The small library was hidden away in Maegar’s holdfast, accessible only to the royal family and select others. In truth with its size it was more a study than a library. The King had been a frequent visitor years ago, or so Aemond was told, but now it lay abandoned, only used by Aemond himself when he needed a moment of respite that even his own rooms would not provide.

The young Prince stared pensively at his cousins slack face, it was handsome even now. While not a skilled performer of courtly calibre, Aemon was still rather accomplished at keeping his face blank, stoic was how Helaena had described him. Now Aemon’s face was calm, open in a way Aemond had never seen before. He fought the desire to run his hands along the slope of the other boys brow and along his sharp cheekbones. Aemond resisted the desire however, remembering Aemon’s words that touch would bring him back.

Was this how his nephews would look when they reached maturity? He couldn’t imagine any future where Jacaerys achieved this level of loveliness, favouring his sire to the extent he did. But Lucerys… the boy who maimed him favoured his mother more than either of his brothers, he could envision him growing to look similar.

Suddenly, a noise fractured the contemplative silence that had hung heavily over the study like a winter coat.

Aemond burst into movement staring too and fro to see where the noise had originated. Was it a person? Did he need to shake his cousin awake?

But Aemond saw no one in the room save himself and Aemon. Rather the sound seemed to be coming from the window.It was rather large for the size of the room it looked into, and had too large wooden shutters blocking out the outside world. As Aemond crept closer, he confirmed the noise was indeed coming from the window. A soft tap was repeating on the wooden shutters.

Cautiously, Aemond crept closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger ready to wield it at any moment. With a steadying breath he yanked the shutters open allowing moonlight to spill into the room, and with it a raven glided inside, a personification of the dark nights sky.

Aemond stared at the bird perplexed, it had landed on the book of history and lore that he and his cousin had been reading from. It’s little head titled to the side, unabashedly watching him.

“Shoo!” Aemond exclaimed, waving his arms at the bird.

It didn’t move, instead it let out a little caw that Aemond rather thought sounded like a laugh. Even birds mocked him it seemed.

“You can’t be in here” he declared, feeling foolish for having to explain such a thing to an animal.

The bird cawed again though this time sounding far less amused and jabbed his head to the right, towards Aemon.

Aemond’s remaining eye grew wide with realisation.

“Aemon?” He asked

The bird cawed again and bobbed it’s little head, hopping excitedly in place.

“Remarkable” Aemond whispered in awe, reaching his hand out to pet the little creatures feathers.

The bird, which Aemond now knew to be inhabited by his cousin, preened under his touch extending its little wings.

“Not quite the size of your Cannibal is it cousin?” Aemond laughed softly, examining the shades of blue and black that threaded through the wings.

Between one breath and the next Aemond’s cousin lurched forward, and the bird jerked away from his reach. Its little wings fluttering irritably, Aemond saw the spark of intelligence that had glimmered in the birds eye shrink and vanish.

“Bringing a dragon into the library may have been a bit of a challenge” Aemon joked, his voice sounding slightly strained.

Aemond rushed to the water skin that sat on one of the shelves and shoved it into his cousins hands. Aemon drank deeply.

“That was amazing!” Aemond hissed, watching his cousin eagerly.

“Thanks… It took more energy than I remember… Though that’s probably because I was using an animal I didn’t already have a connection too.” Groaned Aemon, rubbing his eyes.

“But you still managed it!” Cried Aemond, his eyes burning with excitement.

The animal in question was, surprisingly, still in the library. It stood, perhaps frozen in fear, on the desk where Aemon had left it, watching Aemond’s cousin fixated.

“It’s still here?” Aemond noted, confused.

Aemon looked up, ceasing rubbing his eyes and sighed.

“I was worried this may happen.”

Growing concerned Aemond once more grasped the hilt of his dagger.

“Worried what may happen?” He asked.

“Most skin changers use animals they already have a connection too, that they already have a bond with. It can be dangerous to use an animal without one. It could fight back or the skin changer could struggle with the connection… I think I over corrected, I put more energy in than needed… that explains why I’m so tiered.”

“Aemon!” Aemond hissed, leaning down to rest his hands on his cousin’s knees and stare into his eyes.

“You should have told me how dangerous it was!” He cried panic rising in him.

Aemon had made it all sound so easy, and Aemond so caught up in his awe at it all hadn’t pressed further. He should have.

His cousin was one of the few family members that Aemond could honestly say he actually cared for, and didn’t just tolerate out of family duty. He would not allow Aemon to come any harm, not when he could prevent it.

Jerking into movement with all the grace his years of training had given him, Aemond grasped the bird firmly in his hands. Not hard enough to harm the little creature, but firm enough to secure its little wings and prevent escape.

“What are you doing” Aemon asked, baffled, staring at the little bird that was wiggling in Aemond’s hands.

“You said it’s easier to use an animal you are familiar with… And since you refuse to use your dragon, this little thing will have to do.”

Turning towards the doorway Aemond called over his shoulder “I’ll get a cage from the Maester, that way we can keep this one around for practice… Your to go to your chambers and have a lie down, do you understand?”

Aemon laughed softly, rising slowly from his chair to follow Aemond from the room.

“Is that an order little cousin?” He joked.

”your Valyrian has improved cousin!” Aemond complimented, with a smirk.

”I’ve been practicing” hummed Aemon, his cheeks flushed prettily.

”I imagine having a teacher like your father helps” grumbled Aemond as the two made their way down the spiral stairs that lead out of the library.

“He’s a very dedicated teacher… I dare say I know more curses in Valyrian now than I do in common!” Aemon replied.

“I- don’t think I know many… most of my Valyrian I learnt from books and various texts… Not many curses in them… At least not in the ones I read, Aegon on the other hand…”

Lewd phrases and curses seemed all his elder brother knew.

“You should join us!”

Aemond lurched to a stop at his cousin’s suggestion. Thankfully the pair had reached the end of the staircase. The little bird in his grasp let out a squawk of protest at the abrupt movement.

“Cousin… That would never be allowed.”Aemond squashed the part of him that lit up at the idea.

For all Aemond knew the sort of monster his uncle was, had long been told of it, he could not help but admire the man.

“Forget about that, I could handle that.” Aemon stoped them both, placing one hand on Aemond’s shoulder and the other on his chin, tipping it up to meet the older boys eyes.

“If I could make it happen… would you want it?”

Aemond froze, he could feel the erratic beating of the little birds heart on his palm, or was that his own? What did he want? When was the last time he had been asked that?

“Yes…” he breathed, barely a whisper, but his cousins soft smile told him he had heard none the less.

“Good, it’ll happen then” Aemon declared with the confidence of a King, had Aemond’s father ever had such quiet strength? He thought not.

“You know I think it’ll go better than you think” continued his cousin “after all you and Prince Daemon are very similar.”

Aemond scoffed taking a step back.

“That’s not the complement you think it is cousin” Aemond grumbled.

“Depends who you ask” snarked back Aemon. “You’re more like him that I am.”

Aemond could understand his cousin’s insecurity now. He felt foolish for not thinking of it himself, of course Aemon struggled with not being more like his sire. After all his only kin who shared his appearance were bastards, and Aemon in short time would be no such thing.

For all Aemond and his siblings had their fathers colouring, none truly looked very much like him. Oh he had heard the courtiers eager to earn favour comparing his brother and father, but they were fools. Aegon looked far more like their mother, Aemond and his sister on the other hand did have more Targaryen features, but not any that were particularly prominent in the King. He could understand his cousins fears.

“Your father clearly cares for you a great deal… similarities or none.” He attempted to console.

Aemon smiled sadly “yes he does doesn’t he… Speaking of the infamous Daemon Targaryen, I had better go. It would be bad form to arrive late to my lesson and then ask a favour… He’ll be grouchy enough already…”

“Why?” Asked Aemond, as the two resumed their walk.

“I may have been avoiding him today…” Aemon admitted sheepishly.

“What brought that on?”

Aemon grumbled and mused his hair “only everything, and everyone, and yet nothing and no one.”

“Clear cousin. No wonder Helaena has taken such a shine to you… Well I wish you the best of luck… Do let me know if I will be permitted to attend your lessons or if I should be fleeing from my uncle’s sight.” Announced Aemond, putting significant effort into sounding indifferent for all he was in truth bursting with curiosity.

“I will” Aemon agreed, “let me know once are knew friend has a home won’t you? Make sure to feed her aswell! I think I interrupted her attempt at hunting!”

As the two boys split down the halls, both focused on their tasks. Neither heard the distinctive thump of a heavy foot on the palace stone, doggedly following the path of one of the boys.

Chapter 15: The Firefly

Chapter Text

What made a man desirable? Many women gazed lustily towards Knights, but what qualities did they possess that made them appealing?

Was it honour? Chivalry? If so then few Knights should receive such looks, honour and chivalry were not common among the Knights of the Seven Kingdoms.

Those Knights who all saw Larys as lesser…

What truly made a Knight well known, what gave them status and the attention of women, was the blood on their hands. Their ability to do grisly deeds and walk away untarnished.

In that respect Larys was better than them all.

“A new pet my Prince?” The Lord of Harrenhall called out.

The boy jerked to a halt before spinning to face the elder man, surprise painted over his young face.

“Lord Larys” Aemond greeted slowly “this is an… unexpected meeting.”

Unexpected and unwanted. Larys could tell from the boys thinly hid distaste, but such a reaction was no new thing to a man such as he, so he carried on.

“My apologies, I had thought you heard me coming.”

Larys put concentrated effort into only being heard when he wanted to, his foot made him slow but not as loud as many would think. Nevertheless he often played up its clunkiness so that his silent approaches were all the more unexpected.

“And your new friend my Prince?” He prompted once more.

Aemond glared balefully up at him. “It’s clearly a bird my Lord”

Larys did not role his eyes, he was not so foolish to do so in front of the person prompting the eye roll, but he considered it.

Aemond was the Queen’s favourite, Larys could not afford to garner any more dislike than he clearly already bore.

“Why a bird? You’ve never expressed any desire for a pet of your own before this? Unless you were to count your dragon of course.”

“A dragon is no mere pet. Lord Larys. You would be wise you rob yourself from such a notion.” The boy hissed, resembling an angered stray cat more than any dragon.

“I meant no offence” Larys covered.

Those of Valyrian blood held themselves in far to high esteem. They thought because of their attachment to their draconic pets, and they were pets no matter what the boy may argue, that they were better than everyone else.

It was not even, that those of Valyrian descent were the only ones capable of gifts outside the norm. Though God’s forbid they acknowledge that.

“The bird is a gift my Lord. I’m on my way to the Maester to find a cage for her now.” Aemond bit out, making it clear he wished for this conversation to come to an end.

Larys took great pleasure in denying him.

“For your sister my Prince? I had thought the Princess was more fond of insects than birds.”

“No” Aemond sighed “she’s for my cousin.”

“Aemon?” Larys asked, though he knew it was unlikely to be any of the boys other cousins.

Aemond nodded sharply.

“Aemon was telling me about how ravens are sometimes trained differently in the North. Not all the keeps have Maesters, so some still use an older technique from before the andal invasion.”

Larys hummed in interest “you’ve taken an interest in the North then Prince Aemond?”

“My cousin grew up there. He considers it his home.” He defended.

Not Dragonstone, interesting.

“Commendable my Prince. Well I won’t keep you. I hope your cousin appreciates your gift.” Larys remarked.

“Thanks.” Was the Prince’s blunt reply before he marched off without another word.

Larys smiled as he watched the boy stride away, the little chirps of the bird growing fainter.

Humming softly he hobbled over to the windows that lined the corridor and leaned against the glass.

The effect of the moonlight on the stain glass lit up the hallway in fractals of colour. The dust spiralling in the air almost looked like snow.

House Strong was of the Riverlands, but the blood of the first men ran thick in their veins. One only had to look at the little Princes to see evidence of it.

Many of the great houses of Westeros were decedents of the first men, but most had mingled with the Andal invaders to such an extent their descendants barely had any first men blood left.

There were the odd few houses of the South that had held out, the Royce’s of the Vale, the Blackwoods of the Riverlands… But none to the extent of the North.

The houses of the North, the only Kingdom that had repelled the Andal invaders, arguably had the purest first men blood of all.

Larys could guess what ‘technique’ the little Prince spoke off. It was after all, one Larys was quite familiar with.

It was an unexpected development, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. It stands to reason that a child with magic in their blood from both sides would be thick with it.

His nephews, though he did not regard them as any true kin of his own, were disappointments. Like his own thug of a brother they lacked the gifts the Old God’s had bestowed on those worthy among their bloodline. He had thought, after three let downs, that the fire of Valyrian blood burned away the ice of the first men. Aemon proved that wasn’t the case.

Larys’s plans would need adjustments, a chore but not an impossibility. Fortunately the boy already seemed fond of his cousins and awkward around his sire, he could work with that.

Aemon was closer to a man than a boy, and had not lived a life that encouraged parental relationships.

Clearly the Old Gods had made it so the boy was found now, and not earlier. A younger Aemon may have been far more endeared by the family the Prince and Princess offered. But a boy on the cusp of manhood, would long more for a family of his own.

Larys would talk to the hand, before delighting in the Queen’s company. The path forward was clear, Larys could already see the new plans forming brick by brick, as the old burned away.

Larys was not like the Knights of the Seven Kingdoms, he would outlast them all.

Chapter 16: The Rogue Prince III

Chapter Text

In fairness to himself, finding out your newly discovered son had once been murdered, and promptly resurrected, was not something anyone could be prepared for.

”It would be a lot easier to calm your worries if you told me what they were.” Drawled Rhaenyra from where she was sprawled upon their bed.

His wife projected an image of ease, but as her husband, and her uncle who had known her since she was a girl, he knew it was false. The slight tightness of his beloved’s mouth betrayed her anger, and though he misliked being the cause of it, it could not be his focus now.

”I don’t have the time, or all the information... When I do my love, I promise to tell you all of it.” He uttered, not ceasing his pacing before the fire.

”A rant for the ages I’m sure”Rhaenyra snarked.“And you still insist I can not be here? I told you when I learned of his past with the watch… About the death of his cousins, I told you it all… I thought we were partners in this.”

Daemon sighed, sending his wife an apologetic glance.

”We are. You know how grateful I am to you for getting him to open up, I would never have made half the progress I have now without you.”

His wife rose to her feet and made her way to him.

Blocking his pacing with her own body, Rhaenyra pressed herself against his form. Daemon could feel the flush of her breasts through the silk of her dress and felt himself harden.

”To banish me from our own bedchambers is most cruel husband” Rhaenyra whispered, her lips ghosting across his ear.

”if I were present I could ease your worries… All night long…”Her hand dragged down his chest before cupping the hardness between his legs.

Daemon hissed between his teeth before letting out a low laugh, grasping his wife by the shoulders he bent his head down and crashed his lips onto hers.

Rhaenyra let out a moan, melting into her husbands embrace, butDaemon had to resist temptation. Taking one last pull of his wife’s lips, Daemon forced himself backwards.

”If I don’t stop now I fear I never will” he admitted reluctantly, taking a further step backwards for good measure.

Rhaenyra laughed softly, and wiped a hand over her now red and swollen lips.

“We wouldn’t want Aemon walking in on us- he’s the timid sort.”

Daemon snorted and rolled his eyes, timid was one way to put it. At times his son was more prudish than a Septa, Daemon pitied the Northern Lords if such chasteness was the norm. Though he doubted it was the case, more likely his son had it pressed upon him alone.

A knock sounded from the door prompting the Targaryen couple to straighten their robes, Aemon would likely guess what they had been up too, but there was no need to rub it in his face.

”Enter” Rhaenyra called, her eyes still sparkling from mischief. No doubt proud of herself at distracting him so.

A dark haired head popped round the door frame.

”I’m not interrupting anything am I? If you two are er… busy… We can postpone my lesson.” Aemon offered, his eyes roving over Daemon’s mused hair and Rhaenyra’s flushed face.

”Nothing we cannot revisit another time dear one. Come in out of the hall, at this hour a chill hangs over the castle.”

Rhaenyra waved their son in with a warm smile, the carnal light fading from her eyes.

”The lesson is postponed tonight anyway” she continued, “your father was hoping to talk with you.”

”Oh?” Aemon’s eyes were on him now.

Daemon did not fail to notice the nervous gleam they had adopted.

”What for?” His son asked.

”Can a father not talk with his son” Daemon replied, his voice a drawl that hinted at danger, like dark clouds hinted a storm.

”And that talk has to happen now?” Aemon prompted, flicking his gaze towards the exit.

His clever boy, Daemon regarded, he knew he was in trouble.

”Apparently so” Rhaenyra answered in his stead.

”Don’t begrudge your father this dear one, at his age he’s due his peculiarities.” She joked easing the tension.

Aemon smiled at her softly, his son was warming up to his wife, he was pleased to see.

In many ways Rhaenyra had an easier task with the boy. Aemon had never had a mother figure, his aunt despising the boy far to obviously to ever fill that role. It was painfully clear to see that had things been different, Aemon would likely had been very much a mothers boy. Hopefully now he could give Rhaenyra that love, and receive it in turn.

”I will leave you too it” His wife winked, amused at the difficult position Daemon had placed himself in.

He recognised that his wife’s presence would likely make thing smoother, easier. But for all when they wed each of their children became each other’s, Daemon knew this hurdle he had to jump alone.

Aemon kept himself very still while Rhaenyra pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

”Be kind.” Were her parting words before she glided from the room.

”Am I in trouble?” His son asked, practically frozen save his left hand which tapped erratically at his leg.

”Is there a reason you should be” Daemon asked, his voice deseptively bland.

”Your giving me the rope to hang myself then” Aemon sighed.

Daemon could not prevent the snort that escaped him.

”Poor choice of wordsmy son.”

Daemon moved towards one of the chairs by the fire and indicated for Aemon to do the same.

”You have not been entirely honest with me.” Daemon said, staring daringly into the eyes that were like a mirror of his own.

”On what matter?” Aemon asked.

Daemon took a moment to be proud of the way his son stared back at him unflinching, before the rage crept back over him like a second skin.

“I dare say them all. Your my kin, my blood, and yet I feel I know more about that c*nt Otto Hightower than I do you.” He growled.

”Daemon I-“ his son began before Daemon cut him off.

”I realise the situation you have found yourself in is not an easy one. I appreciate our family is not for the faint of heart… You have been nervous, uncomfortable… So you have kept your distance more than I would like, kept your secrets close to your chest. I have not begrudged you your privacy. I have tried not to overstep, even when the distance between us pained me… But now… Now I finally learn the truth, finally I feel I understand how you came to be here… And yet I didn’t learn it from you.”

Daemon had not yelled, or screamed, or cried at Aemon. He had spoken with a deadly evenness that betrayed the depth of his anger, his disappointment.

Aemon’s eyes were blown wide with fear, the purple in them swallowed by black, it was a look that Daemon decided he hated.

”I-I’m sorry…” his son gasped, his breath ragged as if he had been carrying a great weight.

”I wanted to tell you, you and Rhaenyra both since the moment I arrived but… I didn’t know how! I would of sounded mad! I had no proof to back up my claims… If the Cannibal had not arrived and claimed me as he did you probably wouldn’t have even recognised me as kin!” Aemon burst out, his words sharp with the edge of hysteria.

Daemon reached over and place a restraining hand on the boys knee, he gave it a reassuring squeeze and was pleased to notice some of the tension bleed from Aemon’s form.

”I would have known… Some how, I would have seen the truth in you. Maybe in your eyes… Or perhaps some kind of cinnamon induced disaster would have pointed me in the correct direction.” Daemon laughed softly, the light of the fire making his smile far softer than the norm.

”How did you find out?” Aemon asked softly, almost like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know.

“While you were entertaining my brother, I had a nightly visitor of my own… The power of the Red acolytes are more than parlour tricks I found.”

Aemon jerked back, his skin paling making the boy appear ill.

”Kinvara… She spoke to you? She told you?” He gasped clearly horrified by the thought of it.

Daemon could understand his sons apprehension now. The faith so interlinked to his resurrection would of course bring up bad memories.

”I do not know if ‘told’ would be the correct term to describe what happened… it would be more accurate to say she showed me” Daemon sighed, leaning back in his chair.

”One minute I was looking into the flames of my hearth, the next I’m in the North, surrounded by black brother’s and wildlings, who could not see me.”

Aemon’s brow scrunched in confusion, despite his current anger Daemon couldn’t help the smile it summoned. It reminded him of Luke, Rhaenyra’s second born being the child who Aemon most resembled. His son had been, and would continue to be, compared to all three of Rhaenyra’s sons. People saw the dark hair and made little effort to look at the boys any closer, it was easier that way to whisper… bastards.

Daemon knew the truth, Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey had not been borne of Sir Laenor’s loins, but the Valeryon knight had claimed them as his own, and that was enough for Daemon. It would have been enough even if Laenor had not, for they were borne of his beloved Rhaenyra, and Daemon would love them for that alone.

”What exactly did she show you?” Aemon asked, now looking more perplexed than anxious.

Daemon couldn’t help the scoff that escaped him, what else could she have possibly shown him?

“She showed me your resurrection my child…I understand now why you were so distracted when you first came to us. Having died is more than enough reason for one’s mind to be elsewhere… I had hoped you trusted me enough… but I know now, we can move forward as a family. As father and son.”

He smiled towards Aemon in a manner he hoped was reassuring. Daemon admitted to himself he did not have a face for reassuring, his mouth naturally formed a smirk and the sharp angles he wore like so many of his kin had a tendency to make all his smiles seem threatening. Still, for his son he would try.

Aemon put a hand over his mouth and sighed deeply, he may even have been muffling a scream.

Daemon came to a sudden realisation, and jumped to his feet.

”That’s not what you thought I was talking about, was it?”

Aemon shook his head slowly, eyes flickering over his fathers now standing form.

”Tell me, now.” Daemon ordered, ignoring his wife’s parting words.

He hated speaking harshly to any of his children, the act reminding him far to fiercely of Viserys’ multiple dismissals, but he had no choice. Aemon was either naive or wilfully blind to the danger they were in, of the threat to their family that loomed large in this city. They could not afford to have secrets separate them.

”We are your family, your blood… Don’t push me away!”

Abruptly, Aemon was no longer sitting but on his feet, glaring at Daemon’s taller form.

”That’s rich coming from you!” He snapped.

Daemon rocked back on his heels, his face contorted into its more natural form- a dangerous smile.

”Excuse me?” He hissed “What in the seven hells is that meant to mean.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, he knew who his son referred too.

”The brats of that Hightower whor* are no kin of mine.” He growled “I was weary of letting you near them and it seems I was right to be! They’ve got their hooks in you!”

Aemon let out a barking laugh.

”Do you even hear yourself?” He hissed, lunging forward to grip Daemon by the shoulders. His eyes glowed with a desperate light.

”Their children Daemon… What is it that makes them not Kin to you? They are the children of your brother just as Rhaenyra is. If it is that their mother lacks Targaryan blood I’d be remiss not to remind you that neither did mine!”

”Thats different,” Daemon insisted “you’re different.”

”They’re a threat Aemon. One day, sooner than I’d like looking at my brothers state, they’ll be enemies to fight. Getting attached will only make things harder, for everyone involved… Keeping your distance, keeping our distance-its a kindness.” Daemon said with a finality.

”You see that’s the problem, you’d all rather focus on the future than fix things in the here and now! They’re only a threat if you make them so!”

”If I make them so?” Daemon laughed mockingly, they both knew the one making Viserys’ younger children a threat, was not Daemon.

Aemon shook Daemon by the shoulders before pushing the older man back into his chair.

”Aegon does not want to be King, Aemond wants to be out from his brothers shoulder and his family’s expectations and Helaena… I have no idea what she wants, but I know the future your all imagining would bring her no joy.”

Daemon sighed, looking up at his son “What would suggest then?”

”The route of the problem is Otto Hightower, he began all this discord, and while getting rid of him won’t immediately fix everything, it’ll be a start.”

Aemon paused, a nervous energy surrounding him once more.

”You asked me what I thought you meant… Well I thought you were talking about my past, my mother… The hand came to me today in the training yard, told me he knew who she was and had told the King… He didn’t want me to tell you, he wanted you to find out in tomorrows council session instead.” He admitted wearily, watching for Daemon’s reaction.

He was right to watch.

Daemon hurled himself to his feet, spitting curses in common and high Valyrian both.

”That snake!” He bellowed “c*nt of a hand! I’ll have his head!”

He paced the room like a cadged beast, kicking over one of the wooden tables and throwing his chair backwards.

Aemon rushed to his side, grasping the older man tightly and halting his destructive spree.

”It didn’t work, I told you what he told me. Whatever plans he spun surrounding me keeping quite are ruined… Breath Kepa.”

The smog of anger that had been clouding his vision red vanished, and Daemon stared into his son’s eyes with wonder. Aemon had called him Kepa!

Daemon knew the boy had only done so as an attempt at snapping him back to reality, but it was a start! Aemon had never called him such before, always preferring ‘Daemon’ or ‘Prince’ if he was in a mood.

“Otto wants more than anything, for Aegon to be King, to continue his hold on the crown. He doesn’t give a sh*t about succession rights, or his grandchildren's safety, it’s about power. If you really want to f*ck him over, then let’s ruin his plans! Don’t play into them by going to war!” Aemon cajoled, playing on his fathers known hatred of the hand.

”I would enjoy the look on that green c*nts face when he realises…” Daemon admitted.

”But despite what others may think, I’m not motivated by satisfaction alone… That’s not enough son.”

”Then don’t do it for yourself, do it for us, your children. Do you truly believe war will benefit any of us? We could be killed, injured, tortured… You can avoid all of that, all you have to do is try!”

Aemon was practically begging now, eyes wet and desperate.

”Please Kepa, please!”

”I don’t relish the idea of any of you experiencing war.” Daemon admitted, leaning forward so his and Aemon’s forehead were pressed together.

”We are dragons my son, you should not fear others, they should fear you… And the house of the dragon will stand strong… And united.”

Aemon looked up at him with hope burning in his eyes, how could Daemon ever deny him.

”so you’ll try?” His son cajoled.

”I’ll try.”

Far away and yet impossibly close, everywhere and yet no where. A being let out a humm of interest, and the tapestry of this world began to unravel.

”Interesting” it hissed, dangling a thread upon its blackened finger.

Chapter 17: The Master of Coin

Chapter Text

Lyman had served as a member of the Kings council since the time of the old King. He had been a young man then, he wasn’t now.

After serving as a member of the court of house Targaryen for as many years as he had, he had witnessed many a drama come and go, as was the tendency of the dragons.He had thought with the years of experience he held, he could no longer be surprised. He was wrong. The emergence of Prince Daemons bastard son had the court a flutter in a way the Lord of Honeyholt had never witnessed before.

The man having a bastard wasn’t in itself that much of a surprise. Daemon had never been known for being chaste, unless one considered his first marriage. Yet the boy had still managed to surprise them all.

Aemon Snow had little of his father in him, be it personality or appearance, which Lyman believed was the cause of the surprise at court. Both of the Prince’s daughters had made it clear they inherited their fathers… Flare. That dreadful night at Driftmark proving such. One would think that the son would hold the same temperament, if not more so, and yet Aemon did not.

Lyman had yet to interact directly with the boy, truthfully he hadn’t seen much of him at all save his arrival, and when he accompanied his father and the Princess at court. But he had listened to the whispers of the courtiers, you didn’t last nearly fifty years on the small council without doing so.

The boy was shy, the ladies would titter. He’s talented with a blade, the Knights cheered. He’s kind, the servants whispered.

The rumour that had shocked him most of all however, was how close the boy had grown to his cousins.

Lyman wasn’t blind to the divide within the royal family, that it had worsened to such an extent that the princess had fled to Dragonstone was evidence enough.

The master of coin freely admitted that a female heir was unusual, and some of Rhaenyra’s actions were certainly dubious…Particularly her latest choice in husband. But had she been a son would they not have overlooked that and more? Viserys had named his eldest daughter his heir, and until the (unlikely) point he changed his mind, it was the duty of the small council to honour his wishes… Whether Otto liked it or not.

“My brother has informed me of yet another skirmish between the Lannister fleet and pirates. We believe they’re Ironborn though there aren’t enough witnesses to swear to it.” Tyland Lannister announced pompously.

Lyman lent back in his seat with a sigh. The younger of the Lannister twins was the smarter of the two no doubt about it, but the bar was rather low. It was clear the council meeting was not to discuss such matters, the King’s attendance should be evidence enough of its unique nature.

“An issue we’ll be sure to revisit in our next meeting.” The hand dismissed with his trademark half smile.

Lyman had known Otto since they were both young men, he had never been one for great expressions of joy, even when his wife was alive.

“My brother and daughter will be joining us shortly” wheezed out the King, sitting slumped in his chair and looking decades older than he was.

“Not the boy?” Drawled Lord Wylde, looking particularly put out.Although, Lyman considered, that could just be the way his face naturally rested.

“We thought it best young Aemon was not present, considering he is the subject of this meeting.” The hand answered in the Kings stead.

“I dare say he would have conducted himself better than his father would. Daemon will no doubt be… Vocal in his son’s favour.” Lyman pointed out.

He had seen the restraining hands the boy had placed on his father during court and, moreover, Lyman had seen Daemon obey them. He hoped that in his continuation of his rivalry with the Prince, the hand had not made a costly era in excluding the boy.

Lyman flicked his eyes over Sir Harold, the commander of the Kingsguard was positioned to the Kings right where the hand, and soon the Prince and Princess, would be sitting, a wise place to guard.

“And do the Prince and Princess plan to keep us waiting long?” Drawled the master of ships, arching one of his golden brows.

Lyman didn’t bother to hide his eye roll at the younger man’s postering, he was an old man now and he lacked the energy to pretend to play along.

As if summoned by the Lannister’s sloppy dig, the Princess and her uncle entered the council chambers arm in arm, dressed in matching robes of black velvet and red silk, they were the very image of Targaryen royalty.

“I hope you were not waiting long my Lords? We were just re-assuring Aemon, before sending him on a dragon ride to ease his nerves. Do not be alarmed if you spot his mount from the window, he normally avoids the cities skies but we reminded him Kings landing was no stranger to dragons in flight.”

The Princess smiled blandly as she addressed the room, before she glided over to press a kiss to her fathers forehead.

It seemed the Princess shared the opinion that the boy should have been present, and her subtle threat of the boys dragon had not been missed, both Lyman and his fellow councillors shifted uneasily and flicked their eyes towards the window with varying levels of subtlety.

Prince Daemon said nothing, only giving his brother a nod of acknowledgment, before moving towards the seats left empty. Pulling out a chair for his wife, he sat between her and the hand. Risky, Lyman thought, how quickly could Otto dodge a punch or a dagger from that position?

“We all know why we are gathered here today, but for traditions sake I will explain the meetings agenda anyway.” Begun the hand, before Prince Daemon interrupted.

And so it begins, thought Lyman with a tired sigh, politics was a young man’s game. Especially when one had to deal with the drama of their ruling house, maybe it was time he retired? Some days he worried that his position would be the death of him.

“As much as I’m sure you love the sound of your own voice Otto, should it not be the King who leads this meeting?” Daemon suggested with a smirk.

“Brother…” sighed Viserys, looking more withered by the minute.

“I’m merely stating a fact, you are the King. He is merely your hand.” The Prince snapped.

Was it Daemon's immaturity that allowed him to age so well? Or was it the spite that kept him young?

“I tire of this, let us move immediately onto the matter at hand. My nephew, Aemon Snow.” The King announced seeking to appease his brother.

“I desire for my stepson to be legitimised as a Prince of the realm.” The Princess picked up where her father left off, looking at each of the council members in turn.

"Your Grace, is this truly wise?" Asked Lord Tyland stiffly, stubbornly avoiding looking at the Prince's glare."The boy's background is still such a mystery, what if in legitimising him you raise anger towards the crown from his mothers house... Whomever that may be..."

"It is a rarity to hear outcry from a mothers house at her child being legitimised, most would be grateful for the gift. Outcry usually comes from the wife, and as I have no objections I do not see why Aemon should not be named a Targaryen." Reputed the Princess, in a tone far calmer that Lyman had been expecting considering how fiery she had been in her youth.

Perhaps the years on Dragonstone had mellowed her temper?

"Be that as it may your grace, Lord Tyland raises a valid point. We do not want conflict over something that could be solved as easily as sending a raven!" Laughed the hand patronisingly.

The King scrunched his brow in confusion. "What would you suggest then Otto? Who would you have me write, considering."

The hand proceeded to turn to Prince Daemon now, a rather smug grin on his face. Otto may grumble at the Prince's immaturity, but Lyman had always said the man had played into their rivalry just as much.

"Well I would suggest Prince Deamon write a letter to young Aemon's maternal kin, but since he is still In the dark on their identity I think it would be best I-"

The hand was once again interrupted by the Rogue Prince, Daemon's chuckle echoing imposing through the council chamber.

"Whatever is it the has you so amused brother? That you feel the need to interrupt my hand?" Viserys asked wearily.

Lyman too sensed the growing danger, and straightened in his chair. He was not a young man anymore, but he'd like to think he could flee the room fast enough if it came to blows.

"Why I'm just happy about Otto here's thoughts, I couldn't agree more!" Daemon announced, grinning broadly, his teeth flashing like his dragon's fangs.

"You do?" Asked the hand slowly, clearly trying to puzzle out Deamons true intentions.

Daemon hummed in agreement, smugness dripping of him as he sprawled in his seat.

The Princess shot her husband a fond glance, and the hand one of smug amusem*nt. She knew what was happening then, at least someone did, Lyman frankly didn't have a bloody clue.

"I'm confused" admitted Lord Tyland, flicking his eyes from Daemon to the hand. "You want Sir Otto to write to your son's maternal kin?"

"Of course not!" The Prince sneered, looking at the Lannister Lord like he were a fool. "I'll be writing to them."

"You? But you don't know who they are!" growled the hand, that special kind of anger that only Prince Daemon could summon pouring out of him.

"Oh Sir Otto I'm so sorry your working on old information!" announced the Princess with a saccharin tone of sympathy."Aemon finally spoke to Daemon! I'm so sorry you went to the extent of making plans based on outdated information." She sighed, a clearly false look of pity on her youthful face.

Lyman bit his lip and fought of a laugh, the smug look Otto had been wearing had melted of his face. Lyman knew he should not take any pleasure in it, the man was his long term colleague after all... And yet he did.

"Forgive me your Grace, but for those of us who do not already know, might we be informed of the boys ancestory?" Asked the Grand Maester, a question Lyman was rather curious about himself.

"Yes!" Otto bit out "enlighten us all Prince Daemon... If you truly know."

The hand and the Kings brother stared at each other for several long moments before Daemon answered him.

"My son's mother was the Lady Lyanna Greystark. She died in childbed, and Aemon's uncle who raised him, along with his family, were killed in the Starks recent inheritance debacle... So sad." The Prince's tone made it clear he thought anything but.

"If his family is dead your grace who would you need to write too?" Lyman asked, despite how much he preferred to stay on the outskirts of this conversation.

"The Starks are currently Aemon's closest maternal kin, and Lord Cregan has allocated a regent to the family seat. With your permission your grace, I intend to write to him informing of his cousins legitimisation." Daemon addressed the King, but his eyes kept flickering to Otto.

Prince Daemon's eyes were burning, but with what emotion Lyman could not tell, happiness? anger? On Daemon they oft all looked the same.

"Impetuous of you" the hand drawled "announcing a legitimacy that has yet to be gifted."

Daemon shifted, and Lyman thought Otto was done for, but the King only chuckled. It was a choked weary thing, like wind in an old building.

"Don't antagonise him Otto, you know well the papers have already been signed. Write to Lord Cregan and tell him of the news. Aemon's maternal family being dead may mean we do not need their agreement but It would not do to have one of my Lord Paramounts feeling slighted."

Viserys paused, taking deep breaths, clearly tired just from speaking.

"In fact, invite Lord Cregan to Kingslanding! If the waves are kind from White harbour he could be at our port in two weeks time, when he arrives we shall through a feast! Aemon will be officially announced as a Targaryen Prince, and with Lord Cregan's input we can decide on a worthy inheritance!"

At the prospect of hosting a grand feast the King seemed to gain a second wind, Lyman saw a glimmer of the man Viserys had been in years long past, Joyful and giddy.

"Your Grace that is a long way to travel, and Lord Cregan is still relatively new to his seat after facing an inheritance conflict. He may not wish to travel all this way for a distant relative he knows not. I would advise a simple raven would be sufficient, and in terms of young Aemon's inheritance... You are the King, what you give him, what you say is law. Lord Cregan has no right to weigh in on decisions of the crown... Let us decide on the boys inheritance now." Otto insisted.

The Princess turned towards the hand, a single silver brow raised. "Were you not the one just championing caution Sir Otto? You contradict yourself."

Her husband snorted from beside her, before reaching over and taking her hand, beginning to rub soft circles into it with his thumb.

"That is because the Kings word is only truly law when it is convenient to him..."

The temperature of the room seemed to plummet with the Prince's declaration. Lyman noticed how many of his fellow councillors seemed frozen in their seats.

"I'm not sure what you are implying..." replied Sir Otto, his tone as icy as the room.

Daemon leaned forward towards the elder man, every line of his body tensed like a predator about to pounce."We both know exactly what I'm implying Otto, but it is as you said... My brothers word is law.They must be obeyed, whether it is convenient for you or not."

The Prince had whispered his threat, but the room was so silent he may as well have bellowed it.

"Lean back Prince Daemon." Ordered Sir Harold, his hand resting on his sword.

The Prince did so, smirking all the while.

"I have good news brother!" He announced, the change in emotion so jarring Lord Tyland flinched in his seat.

"Will I agree the news is good Daemon? Or will it give me more grey hairs?" sighed the King, looking anxious yet eager to change the subject.

"With the official addition of Aemon to our family, Rhaenyra and I have decided it is a sign that we should move back to Kings landing. My wife is your heir after all, she should be here beginning her duties!"

The King brightened once more "Oh! Oh! That is most wonderful news! It has been such a joy to have the three of you here this past week. The children, they will be returning also?" Viserys beamed, giving the room an eyeful of the state his teeth had become.

"Yes father" The Princess answered softly.

Her gaze turned towards Sir Otto, growing colder. "It is important we send a message to the realm that our family is strong and united."

Lord Cregan Stark

You do not know me, nor do I know you. HoweverIbelieve it is safe to say we know of each other. Icongratulate you onputting down your uncles littlerebellion, I respect a man who fights forwhat's right,especially when that concernsinheritance. I'm not one forponcy small talk and from what I remember of you Northern Lords your much the same. So I will keep this letter to the point. I have recentlydiscovered that during a tourI undertook withmy Bronze bitch my first wife, I fathered a child on the Lady LyannaGreystark. His uncle raised the boy, and for some gods forsaken reason decided to claim him as his own. Yet, Aemon, or as you would know him Jon Snow, has now found his way to uswhere he should always have beenand my brother the King has legitimised him as AemonTargaryen, a Prince of the realm. The King plans to host a feast tocelebrate this honour and as my sons closest maternal kin, and the Lordparamountof his homeland he requests yourattendance. There is also the matter ofAemon'sinheritance, but since that is due toinvolve several boring andfrustrating councilsessionsI'll spare you it now.

-Prince DaemonTargaryen, Prince of the narrow sea and Prince consort of Dragonstone.

Prince Daemon Targaryen

Iappreciate thefrankness of your letter, asI know how much yousoutherners love your floweryspeech. I accept the Kingsinvitation, and by time youreceive this raven my wife and I will likely already be on our way. Jon's uncle was a good man, as was his son, I trust that he had a good and honourable reason tokeep Jon'sidentity a secret. It has been many years since I last saw my cousin, I lookforward toreuniting with him! I thank you for sparing me the politics in your letter I can imagine thediscussion ofinheritance will be atedious affair. I only hope we can all come to some kind ofa*greement that allows Jon to have aninheritance worthy of him and in hisrightful place

-Lord Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount of the North

Chapter 18: The Queen who never was

Chapter Text

The sands of the beaches of Driftmark were white. So different from the black sand of the beaches of Dragonstone. Rhaenys’ father used to play with her on those beaches, make little castles of sand and shells. Back when Dragonstone was her home, her island, her birthright.

“What news from Kings Landing” called Corlys from where he sat at the edge of a tarp gazebo, feet buried in the sand, watching the children play in the waves.

“We are summoned by the King” she replied, joining him on the edge of the gazebo.

“What’s the occasion?” Her husband drawled lazily, yet his eyes were alert.

“A feast celebrating the legitimisation of Prince Aemon Targaryen, nephew of the King!” Rhaenys recited with mock heraldry.

Corlys rose a solitary silver brow, humming in interest.

“I did not think he would actually do it” he remarked. “ I was so sure Daemon would be returning to collect the children in a terrible huff.”

Examining her nails the Queen who never was let out an airy laugh, remembering the many tantrums her younger cousin had thrown over the years.

“I was rather split on the matter. It was undoubtable that Viserys would fall to someone’s demands, it only depended on who was better at asking. I suppose on this occasion Otto lost out.”

She paused, casting her eyes over to where her granddaughters played with Rhaenyra’s oldest sons. The youngest boy was sat closer to Corlys and herself, playing with the sand. She noted how her husbands gaze would flick over him periodically, dutifully acting as care taker.

“Daemon wrote us his own letter.” Rhaenys continued, focusing once more on her husband.

“Oh? How many times did he call the hand a c*nt?” Corlys asked, taking her own hand in his.

“Just the once” she replied dryly.

“Restraint, by Daemons standards anyway.” He drawled.

Rhaenys rubbed her thumb over he husbands worn hands, the hands of a sailor, a warrior… An old man.

“He and Rhaenyra are returning to Kingslanding. They intend to bring the children with them.”

Corlys straightened in his chair, no longer was he the doting grandfather, he shed that persona, before her was the sea snake.

“What brought this on?” He implored.

Rhaenys sighed through her nose, and fidgeted in her own chair.

“In essence they finally realised how politically foolish it was to hide away from the court.”

“And what made them finally realise this? I told Rhaenyra and Laenor as much when they first moved, and they ignored me. Who changed their mind?”

Rhaenys kicked off her sandles and buried her feat in the sand.

“Aemon apparently” she replied.

“The children sing his praises” Corlys mused.

“The children sing Viserys’ praises, that does not mean they are earned.” She countered with a roll of her Baratheon blue eyes.

“Well it seems we will soon find out wife, if such praises are accurate or not.” Her husband prompted, which she returned with an amused head tilt of acknowledgment.

They were distracted briefly by the sound of a dragon cry in the distance. She could just spot the silvery sheen of Seasmoke dive over the waves, causing a sharp pain in her heart. A mother should not outlive her child, let alone two.

“He mentioned something else…” she sighed, feeling suddenly tired, her husband was not the only one who had grown old.

“And what was that? Something that troubled you clearly” Corlys queried.

“No, not troubled” she countered “it wasn’t substantial enough to trouble me… More like the foreshadowing of displeasure to come.”

“What did he say my love?” Corlys pressed on.

“He mentioned Laenor, how he had been thinking of him, and how impressive he was during the war of the Stepstones… Daemon said he and his wife would like to reminisce about him with me over a dragon ride, to honour him!” She laughed wetly with no humour.

“So they desire to discuss with you away from prying ears” her husband summarised.

“Clearly” she snorted. “But why use Laenor as the reason, they could have at least said it was about the children and not taunt me so.” She snapped.

“Rhaenys” Corlys sighed, the tone of a man who had this same argument countless times.

“You must cease with this theory of yours, it is baseless.” He warned.

“Baseless?” She growled “baseless! Our son was murdered on the eve of their union, a convenient act that allowed their wedding to occur and you call that baseless?”

“You overestimate their capacity for cruelty.” Corlys chided.

“You underestimate them!” She cried, before biting her lip and preventing the rest of her tirade from tumbling out.

“I do not desire to quarrel with you. Especially over this. We go round and round and never come to an agreement.” Rhaenys sighed.

“Your father warned me our marital rows would be harsh, we are both stubborn… perhaps to a fault.” Her husband whispered softly as he reached over to caress her cheek.

“Speak with them… Perhaps if nothing else, you will finally get an answer.”

“Perhaps.” She agreed softly, watching the waves bob and sway.

Chapter 19: The Traveler IV

Chapter Text

Jon was surprised at his own anger when he had been told he was not to attend the council meeting. It wasn’t even that he was surprised at the command, he had expected the exclusion, but the anger came regardless. Perhaps it was the familiarity to his before that had him gripped by rage. After all, had others controlling his life not been the norm?

He had ridden the Cannibal for hours, circling the city and diving into the waves. Before the behemoth had tired of his rider's tantrum and landed, falling asleep almost instantly, and leaving Jon a long walk back to the castle. He had met his guards at the city gates, his lack of attempt to lose them likely clueing the other young men in on his mood.

He had been met with a giddy Daemon, and a reserved but no less pleased Rhaenyra. The council session had gone as they had planned, and Jon was now officially, much to his dismay, a Prince.

The following days had been a flurry of activity, preparations being made for the arrival of a Lord Paramount, the permanent return of the crown Princess to the castle, and the arrival of her children.

Jon had been all too eager to hide away with his cousins, but even Aemond and Aegon were suddenly occupied. The elder busy with his new lessons with Rhaenyra, which he did not flee much to everyone’s surprise bar Jon’s. And the younger claimed by Sir Criston, who had adopted an even more fervent attitude to training since hearing the news of the Princess and her family’s return.

The Knight had invited Jon to join them, and he had been tempted, for Aemond’s sake if nothing else. But the bargain he had struck with Daemon had specific terms, and Daemon had been clear- training with that Kingsguard would not be tolerated. Jon would not risk losing Daemon’s permission to train with Aegon or his history lessons with Aemond, the chance to put Criston Cole on his arse a second time was not worth that.

Jon had instead found himself in the company of his other cousin, Helaena had appeared by his side one day and had simply stayed there. She was not fond of the loud chaotic energy that had taken possession of the majority of the keep, and Jon imagined his own silent bubble was quite the refuge for the shy Princess.

In the last couple of days, they had spoken little, merely enjoying the comfortable silence of each other’s company.

They were alike the two of them, in that despite being members of the royal family (and Jon still flinched at the thought), neither had any duties of their own. Helaena’s brothers had lessons, and her mother duties as the queen, but she as an unmarried Princess was left largely to her own devices. Jon, as a newly legitimised Prince, yet to receive any duties or holdings of his own, was in a similar position.

He had his self-apposed duties of course, but his attempts to strong-arm the torn sides of his ancestor's family were not as time consuming as one would think. He was, he was surprised to admit, rather bored.

Jon could not remember the last time he had felt as such, he had always had so much going on, and if something wasn’t presently occurring, then he had always had plenty to worry about (brood about). That’s not to say he didn’t have things to worry about now…

“You’re doing it again.” A soft voice interrupted his musings.

Jon jerked, twisting to see where Helaena had joined him on the balcony.

“Doing what Princess?” He asked, his voice coming out rather scratchy from disuse.

“Brooding… My brothers said if I were to see you doing such I should make you stop. Did it work?”

She smiled softly at him, her violet eyes large and glowing with a light he had seen in no others.

“Yes, Princess.” He confirmed softly, smiling back at her with warmth.

“Good, I would hate to report that I failed my mission.” She nodded with false solemnity, an amused quirk on her lips.

“Mission?” Jon laughed.

“Oh yes!” She replied, “Aegon demanded that if I was going to keep you company while they were occupied, that I must keep you from brooding!”

Jon snorted, rolling his eyes at her brother's antics. He could practically hear Aegon making such a request.

“I did not realise you spoke that often, especially not concerning me.” He mused.

“It is… A rather new development.” She answered slowly as if choosing each word carefully.

“We’ve never been close, he and I. He’s always found me odd, and many would agree. It did not help matters that we would constantly be reminded that we would one day be wed. It was easier between Aemond and I, we did not have… that looming.”

“Is… that no longer the case?” Jon asked softly, hoping his face did not betray the way his heart was racing.

The marriage between Helaena and Aegon was a notable event, the children of their union, and most notably their deaths, were some of the most well-known tragedies of the dance. To think he had changed that, prevented it even without truly trying was terrifying. The further this world moved from Jon’s own the less forewarning he would have of events.

“Mother and father have made it clear they are considering alternatives. It is not a definitive confirmation but… It has never been suggested before. Even when others were offered.”

Helaena smiled softly “it makes being in each other's company easier.”

“I’m glad” Jon replied awkwardly, and truly he was, for them...

A comfortable silence rose up between them, and Jon found himself admiring the way the soft breeze made strands of Helaena's hair dance. She was dressed in a gown of grey and blue, and the long sleeves of her dress swayed independently from her own movements. Jon had the strange impulse to reach over and run a finger along the train of the sleeve, or even her hair.

“Would you like to go flying with me?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“I’ve never flown with another…” she admitted, an embarrassed expression falling across her soft features.

“Mother never let me accompany Aegon and my nephews when they used to… And Aemond always flies alone.” She continued bashfully.

Jon gaped, his cheeks flushed, before closing his jaw quickly with a click.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had been diligent in teaching Jon the Valyrian customs of his ancestors. Sharing a flight could have many meanings, most not of the platonic nature.

There was the first flight, typically shared between a parent and a child, the child being taken up upon their parent's dragon. A similar flight would occur later when the child was old enough to mount their own dragon, their parent flying beside them.

Flights in groups were another platonic option, usually undertaken by family members or allies. Daemon had called it ‘Tikor’, or ‘flock’ in the common tongue. Usually consisting of at least three dragon riders, this was likely what Helaena had referred to her brother’s and nephew’s doing. Jon himself had undertaken this a couple of times with Daemon and Rhaenyra, it was sad to think that Helaena (and likely Aemond also) had never experienced it.

Jon doubted the Princess knew of the romantic connotations of sharing a dragon ride, if Aegon’s knowledge was anything to go by, Helaena likely knew as much as Jon had at the start of all of this, which is to say- little.

She had not had to suffer through Daemon’s explanation of the mating flight, where one rider chased another. Or the flight typically taken by married pairs to… Consummate the union.

“Princess” he began, before she cut him off smoothly.

“Helaena… We are family, and of equal standing now, call me Helaena,” she commanded coyly.

“Helaena… While I take great enjoyment in your company, and I would love to share a flight with you… I’m not sure if you understand the connotations of such an act… I would not want to be improper with you…Perhaps we could take one with your brother’s? As I have with my parents?” Jon stuttered out his explanation.

Helaena only smiled and took a step closer so that her chest was flush with his own.

“I wish to fly with you”, she whispered.

Jon’s mouth ran dry, he could not help but flick his eyes to her lips, which she softly bit, tantalising him further.

Unbidden he found himself leaning forward, Helaena doing the same. Her eyes flickered closed as their faces came closer together, her eyelashes were white he noted, as if frosted…

“My Prince, Princess.” Interrupted Sir Criston, shattering the moment and prompting Jon to lurch back, sense and reason suddenly coming back to him in a wave.

So caught up in his panic, he did not notice the glare the otherwise soft-eyed girl shot her mother's sworn sword.

“The Valaryon flagship has been sighted. The King has requested the whole family gather to greet them.”

The knight's face was eerily blank save a glimmer of knowing in his eyes, how long had he been standing there? Jon’s thoughts raced in tandem with his heart.

“Of course Sir Criston, thank you for telling us. It has been so long since I have seen my nephews or my cousins. I shall go find my mother.”

Helaena turned from where she had been addressing the knight, her eyes back on Jon.

“We will have to go on that flight another time cousin.”

With a serene smile, the Princess glided from the balcony, not sparing her mothers knight another glance.

Jon stared after her, still not quite processing what had happened.

“I had better find mine own father” he finally announced, flushing at how cracked his voice sounded, and moved to leave the balcony.

Sir Criston reached out an armored hand halting his exit.

“My Prince. Jon… I wanted to congratulate you on your legitimacy.” The knight's words were awkward and stilted, he clearly had more to say but was trying to work up to it.

Jon did not want to hear whatever the knight had to say.

“Thank you Sir Criston, I am still getting used to it I admit.” He replied blandly.

“You deserve it though!” The knight replied with a sudden fever.

“To be born a bastard is a sinful thing, one must work hard to atone for their parent's misdeed. You have done so… Many others don’t.”

Jon did not need to be a genius to guess who the ‘others’ Sir Criston was referring to. He wanted to yell at the older man, to shake him for his hypocrisy, but he knew he could not.

Instead, he only grimaced and replied through clenched teeth.

“As I said, thank you… If you’ll excuse me I’d rather not have my father come looking for me, it is far easier I’ve found to go to him.”

The knight retracted his arm, nodding with a solemn frown on his annoyingly handsome face.

“Yes, no use bringing his anger down on you. Still, you should not have to worry about that…” He paused, eyes flickering along the hall behind them, as if expecting Daemon to appear any second.

“You and the Princess…” The Knight continued.

“Nothing happened Sir.” Jon snapped, his anger finally escaping him.

The knight smiled and to Jon’s growing outrage winked at him with camaraderie.

“Of course my Prince, nothing happened.”

Chapter 20: The Rogue Prince IV

Chapter Text

Daemon had missed his children. He loved Aemon with all his heart, but his eldest alone could not fill the hole his siblings left behind. Aemon, for all he allowed his father and stepmother to baby him, was a man grown.

There were many things he just did not need his parents for.

It was the little things Daemon had found himself missing most, braiding his girls locks, reading to Joffrey, and talking with Jace and Luke. It had been queer to go from a parent of six to a parent of one, even if it was for just a short while.

He had not run to the castle’s courtyard, though if his walk had been brisk who could truly blame him. If that green clad whor* tried to make any snide comments, Daemon would be all too happy to remind her, of the time she had tried to gouge a boys eye out for her son. She could allow Daemon a brisk walk in his excitement.

His children had grown, it seemed an impossibility, but they had, he was sure of it. Little more than a fortnight and all ready he could spot changes in their features. Both Jace and his girls had grown taller and all had began to shed the baby fat that had clung to their faces. Even Luke seemed older, though his more delicate features making it less obvious than his elder brother. Joffrey, who had always been their baby, seemed to have officially become a child, no longer an infant.

Daemon felt a pang in his heart looking over them all as they eagerly attacked their eldest brother, their voices a chorus of screeching demanding to know every detail of how Aemon spent their time apart.

How long did he have until all his hatchlings would be flying the nest? All ready he knew there were talks of what land and castle Aemon would claim. His eldest, whom he had spent the least time with, would be out of his reach painfully soon. More would follow he knew.

He, Rhaenyra, and Aemon had spoken long into the night, discussing plans they could implement to impede the traitors that sought to usurp his wife’s thrown.

Daemon had wanted to put the lot of them to the sword immediately, but had eventually caved to the words of his wife and son.

“Violence causes violence” Aemon had cautioned.

Daemon knew this, had often used such a fact to his advantage. He was after all, so very good at violence.

Yet, Aemon had pointed out, others were not.

Daemon was no longer the wild Prince who had won the Stepstones near single-handedly, he was a father now, a husband to a wife he actually loved. Any conflict he was involved with, they too would be associated. While his wife and his eldest were both talented dragon riders, neither had seen battle on dragon back, and his younger set were children still, and had no place in war.

So Daemon allowed for an alternative approach. A peaceful approach, and that meant politics.

The first step the three of them had decided, would be to sure up their allies. Rhaenyra had rankled at the suggestion, his sweet niece outraged that she could not expect loyalty out of those who had promised it. Daemon had been quick to correct her however, the loyalty of Lords was a fickle thing and words were wind.

When their ancestors had conquered this backwards backwater of a continent, they were able to rely on their innate Valyrian superiority winning out. Yet their foe was also of Valyrian blood, muddied by that Hightower whor* as it was. If it came to war, they could not rely on their dragons alone, neither in battle nor in intimidating others into allegiance.

No they would need to do more to secure their allies.

They were limited in that the most popular route of securing allies in Westeros was through marriage, and this was an option that was most unfeasible.

Though no official proclamation had been made, Daemon fully expected that their children would wed each other, Jacaerys and Baela, Lucaerys and Rhaena. Rhaenyra had yet to be blessed with any daughters of her own so in Daemon’s mind such matches were the obvious choice. Aemon’s existence had briefly made him think of alternatives, as he knew his son’s own half blooded status meant a Valyrian bride was essential if he wanted dragon riding heirs. Yet observing his son had made it obvious for all he had not been raised with his sisters he viewed them only in the traditional sense.Nevertheless his children’s future matches were all essentially arranged, and even if they were not, Daemon would never lower them to matches made only for political gain, not like he had been. Daemon was determined he would give his children a say.Even Aemon had tentative matches lined up now, prospective women that had been listed by the Kings council. Only two had been worth considering in Daemons mind.

Cassandra Baratheon had been Lord Beesbury’s suggestion. It had merit Daemon had to admit, the Baratheon’s had Valyrian ancestry, admittedly rather far back, and there was the possibility of the girl inheriting Stormsend. While this match meant Aemon wouldn’t have his own seat, he would be the consort of a Lady Paramount, and that Stromsend was far closer than any of the other seats that had been suggested for Aemon … A happy coincidence.

Such a match would also answer the question of Lord Baratheon’s loyalty, and yet… It was not Daemon’s first choice.

Other names such as Tyra Lannister and Prudence Celtigar had been tossed around but Daemon had ignored them utterly. Lannister’s loyalty was far too secure with Otto for even a marriage to break, and the Celigar’s, Valyrian they may be, were little more than a step up from wedding a dragon keeper. No, on second thought, at least the dragon keepers were useful.

The second option, which Daemon found himself favouring far more, was his other niece Helaena.

The girl had crossed his mind previously yet Daemon had dismissed her as he assumed, like when Jacaerys had been offered, such a match would be refused.

So imagine his surprise when Otto had put the idea forth.

Daemon’s gut reaction had been to refuse, simply for the reason as to who was offering it. Yet Rhaenyra’s gentle hand had held him back.

Wedding Aemon and Helaena was a delicate proposal, it had the potential to tip the scales to either side of the war or even, the possibility that Aemon was most favourable for, stop it entirely.

They had hesitated however, requesting time to ponder the matches, at least until Aemon’s legitimacy feast. Viserys, ever eager to please, had been quick to agree.

Logically Daemon knew Helaena was the better match. His younger niece fulfilled all the characteristics of a wife that Daemon would want for his son.

Rhaenyra had been eager to agree to the match, urging him to tell her father he accepted. His wife’s attitude to her sister was far less hostile than that too her brother’s, knowing that the Hightowers would never press her claim over Rhaenyra’s. The only threat Helaena posed was as a wife to Aegon, and this proposal would stop that.

Rhaenyra could have gone over his head for this, told her father they approved without Daemon’s leave, and yet she didn’t.

Briefly Daemon considered if this was how many wives felt when the marriage of their children was decided by their husbands and they got no say. The dynamics of his third marriage had exposed a great deal of the unequal nature of marriages in their country. Daemon, as a consort, now held a position similar to most women. Whereas Rhaenyra, as the heir, had only male piers. It was a disparity Daemon wanted to change. Perhaps if more women held power, and those that did were taken more seriously, he never would have had to wed his bronze bitch in the first place.

Daemon’s feelings on Rhea were complicated, as he got older the rage he used to feel at her name began to cool. Perhaps it was that she was dead and no longer an issue unlike his other foes such as Otto, but Daemon knew in truth there were other reasons.

She had been a woman grown when they wed, twenty moons and already the raining lady of Runestone. Daemon in comparison had been a boy of six and ten, thinking himself far older than he was. Watching his children had exposed how doomed the marriage was from the start, he had been younger than Aemon was now…

Their marriage had been a political match. Aemma’s father, the old Lord Arryn had implored Daemon’s grandfather for the match, he himself being an old friend of Rhea’s father and wanting her title secure.

The fault for agreeing to the match however had been at his grandmother’s feet. People hailed her as the ‘good Queen’, Daemon’s own feelings were far more bitter.

With age he admitted to sympathising with Rhea more. He still hated her, but it was not the burning hatred it had been, just a low ember. Her position had not been that dissimilar to Rhaenyra’s now, and Daemon had been no help, had not wanted to be any help.

They had tried, at first, for all he bemoaned her unattractiveness she was not in-fact hideous. It was awkward though, unbelievably so, he was no virgin when he went to their marriage bed yet he had still crumbled under the pressure and she, who desperately needed an heir of her own, never let him forget it.

He would have been happy with an annulment, they both would have been, and truly Daemon had wanted that for them both. Yet his grandfather refused him, and then Viserys refused him, and Daemon no longer had the patience to wait. He had few friends in the Vale, but coin could adhere any man…

Would Aemon feel the same when he was wed? Daemon felt no guilt arranging the marriage of his younger children, knowing from raising them how well they fitted, but Aemon was still so difficult to read.

If they asked it of him he would wed the Baratheon girl, his dutiful son, but would he find joy in it?

Daemon had seen the little Princess stalk his son through the halls, shooting the boy shy smiles and shining eyes. It amused him greatly to watch, especially given how clueless to the seduction Aemon was. How any son of his could ever be that innocent he would never know.

Aemon liked Helaena, enjoyed her company, and even smiled in her presence, a rare thing from his somber boy.

Aemon would be a good husband, loyal and faithful… And that’s what worried him.

For all his son’s hopes of avoiding war Daemon knew the chance was slim. The petty part of him even desired it, the chance to put his sword through Otto’s gut was so tantalising.

If it came to war, and his son was wed to Helaena what would happen?

Would Aemon side with the father he hadn’t been raised by? Or would he side with his wife’s brother out of marital loyalty?

Daemon hated that he just didn’t know. Gods knew he had seen the elder greens try to get their hooks in the boy.

The younger set had been far more successful, to Daemons apprehension. He knew Aemon planned this, he had explained to both Daemon and Rhaenyra that getting her siblings loyalty was the key to preventing war. Otto could plot all he liked, but if he had no one to crown he was limited.

He knew Aemon had a point, Daemon wouldn’t have allowed his plans to continue if he hadn’t. Still, he hated the uncertainty of it all, war was far more clean cut, either you win or you loose, none of this middle ground nonsense.

Daemon’s brother was not a well man. He had known as much for many a year now, had even joked about it, but as Viserys continued to live on, decayed as he was, Daemon had fooled himself into believing things would continue to be so. This was however, not the case.

Being King had killed his brother, was killing him. Oh there were plenty of other factors, and Daemon wouldn’t put it past that Hightower whor* to be using poison, but ultimately it all came back to the same thing, the thrown.

He would be lying if he didn’t admit that at least some part of his support was born out of furthering his own claim, but still, details.

Standing in one of his favoured secret passages, listening to Otto and the Grand Maester whisper about his brothers state, Daemon couldn’t help but wonder how things had gotten to this place.

His brother was rotting, like a walking corpse. He had heard the way the Maester had hissed about Viserys’ eye. The grey rat wanted to cut it out before it fell out itself. Near half the skin on his brothers face had already rotted away, and now his eye.

He had known the cuts his brother had received from the thrown were causing damage, but surely not to this extent, there must be more factors at play. Otto, or more likely his bitch of a daughter on his orders, must be doing something.

It was this thought that fulled him as he stormed through the passage ways, having the vague peace of mind through the red haze to head for his own rooms.

Aemon had begged for caution, had given reason after reason how trying to prevent a war was far better an idea than any thing else, but how could Daemon not react? This was his brother. His brother whose death was no longer an abstract thing but a real and looming threat.

”Troubled my Prince?”

Daemon didn’t startle, his years of battle had beaten such a reaction from him. Instead he swung around raising a dagger in the direction of the speaker.

Kinvara stood illuminated in the glow of the torch she held aloft, the red glow blending into her gown making the woman herself seem she was glowing. She did not react how most would faced with a dagger mere inches from their person, only smiling that infuriating knowing smile.

”You again” Daemon grumbled, lowering his dagger but not yet sheathing it.

”I thought I’d give you some space after our last talk, you had quite the revelation.” She replied coyly.

Daemon snorted and rolled his eyes, an understatement to be sure.

”What do you want witch?” He bit out, his mood already sour and lacking the patience for her games.

The witch stepped closer, and Daemon could now feel the heat coming from the torch. It’s light exposed the area around him, revealing they were at another opening used for overhearing conversations.

In fact, focusing now he could hear the sound of his children and ,annoyingly, the green brats as well.

”You got a new pet Aems? Can I see? Can I see?” Cried Luke excitedly.

”I wouldn’t if I were you cousin, can’t be sure he wont ‘accidentally’ hurt it” drawled the one eyed little sh*t that was his nephew.

Daemon bristled, recognising the little sniffles Luke was making as a sign the boy was on the verge of tears.

”Who asked you anyway? We’re Aemon’s siblings! Why wouldn’t he show us!” Snapped Baela viscously, always the boldest of her siblings much to Daemon’s constant pride.

“Half siblings” called another voice that he recognised as his eldest nephew. “Gods know that barely counts in this family.” Aegon laughed.

“Aegon you know that’s not true-“ Begun Aemon, his eldest finally making himself known.

“Well I gave him the bird! So I get a say!” Yelled Aemond, cutting off the elder boy and drawing attention back to himself.

The children began yelling over each other, an indiscernible chorus. Was this how it had been that night at Driftmark? Was Daemon about to witness its sequel? Apprehensively he began to search for the latch that would allow him into the room. However his interruption was not necessary as Aemon quickly took charge.

“Enough!” He hollered “you all came here to spend time with me, you each insisted, and yet you’ve spent the entire time arguing.”

Through the little grate Daemon could see the children’s heads dip at the scolding.

“Aemond it’s not nice to imply that Luke means harm, you know he doesn’t. Baela, don’t get so wound up so easily, you didn’t need to yell at your cousin. Aegon, don’t sulk, Rhaenyra only cancelled your lesson today so she could get her brood settled in, you’ll resume tomorrow.” Aemon turned to each of the children in turn, making sure he hadn’t seemed to favour any over others.

“It’s true that Aemond gifted me the little fellow, so he does get some say in his handling. But there’s no harm in showing him to you all is there? Is there Aemond?”

“I suppose not” grumbled the one eyed boy.

“Excellent, well we’ve got some time until late meal so why don’t we head up to the Maester’s tower and pay him a visit. I decided to call him Brynden by the way.” His son spoke with a calm authority that had all of the children perking up, quarrel, forgotten.

“Why Brynden?” Jace asked, his voice sounding quieter as the children left the room the grate looked into.

Daemon wasn’t able to hear Aemon’s reply, only his laugher floating away.

“You must be very proud to have a son such as he.” Kinvara announced breaking the silence the children’s exit had left behind.

Daemon sighed, his frustration still present though lessened by his son’s display.

“Speak plainly witch, and spare me the small talk, you’re too unnerving to pull it off.”

Kinvara bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement before answering him.

“Your brother is sick, dying. I am sorry for the grief it will bring you, but more sorry for the grief that will come with the war his death will usher in.”

Daemon swallowed, suddenly feeling like his throat was very dry.

“You’re bothering me for empty condolences?” He growled.

“Not empty” she whispered “not condolences, your brother is not yet dead… With my help it does not need to take pass.”

Daemon lunged forward, grabbing the torch from her hand, uncaring of its flame, and pressed her against the wall by her throat. “Liar” he hissed.

“No lies” she spoke shakily, the lack of air flow impeding her. “You saw the vision I gifted you, you know its content was true. You know of my power, of the power of my Lord.”

Daemon chuckled darkly

“Showing visions of past events and saving a man on the brink of death are two very different things, that’s a big leap, magically speaking… Maybe you can do it, I heard enough and saw enough during my time in Essos to admit as much… But I also know enough to recognise that sort of magic comes with a price, I won’t let you trick me into sacrificing one person I love for another.”

Daemon lent back, releasing the woman’s throat.

“I’m not interested.” He announced with finality.

The witch rubbed at her throat, the dim lighting showed little, but Daemon could imagine the bruises that daylight would expose.

“It does not have to be someone you love… Your right that kind of magic does demand a price, but you don’t raise to such a position like mine without learning to control who pays that price.”

She took a step back away from Daemon, and her former torch, which he still held.

“But you are not interested… Now. Remember dragon Prince you have enemies are legion, and your brother is not the only loved one you seek to save from their grasp…”

The witch turned plunging herself into the darkness of the passageway and vanishing from Daemon’s sight.

Daemon shook his head as if attempting to shake loose the idea she had planted within it. He failed.

Stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the sinister thought that now lurked at the back of his mind, the eldest Prince of the house of the dragon forged onwards in the passageway. The light of his stollen torch doing little to illuminate the darkness around him, or within his heart.

Chapter 21: The Wolf Lord

Chapter Text

Until Cregan was eight moons old he was as an older brother, and then Bran died, and suddenly he wasn’t. For four years he’d had a little companion toddling after him, his constant shadow, and then he hadn’t. It had been a devastating loss for the Northern heir, made worse by his mother’s death less than a year later.

He had never been close with his cousins, as a boy it had bothered him, he hadn’t understood why they insisted on keeping a distance between them. As a man grown, he understood it was in preparation for treachery.

This was perhaps why Cregan had latched onto the Greystark children so fiercely.

After his fathers death, his uncle Bennard had been quick to ship Cregan away to a banner man he thought would be a poor ally to the Norths true heir.

The Greystarks for all they were kin to the ruling Lord were one of the poorest houses in the North. Once the rulers of Wolf’s den, one of of the wealthiest seats in the region, the Greystarks had been expelled from their ancestral seat as punishment for their betrayal of their liege Lord. The fact that the house survived at all had been by pure chance. Poor and dishonoured, the surviving members of the house had settled in the small grasslands between the neck and moat Callin, and eventually built Castle Greywind.

Cregan’s uncle’s act of sending him to ward with them had been meant as an insult, and yet for Cregan it had been the furthest thing.

In his Greystark kin Cregan found family for the first time since his father died. He found the siblings that he had lost with Bran.

Jon, despite his birth status, had been no less his brother than any of his true born siblings. Or, Cregan thought, he should say cousins.

When he had heard Jon had been sent to the wall, and it was sent for all Jon’s stepmother had claimed he chose to go, Cregan had been furious. He had known how anxious the younger boy had been about his position, not wanting to be a burden on his father or Robb later, but Cregan had made a plan. Well, he and Robb had made a plan.

For all Robb had desired to keep his half brother by his side at all times, Jon was not incorrect in his assessment that the Greystarks just did not have the funds to support a bastard son, as well as five true born children. Cregan as the Lord of Winterfell did not have the same issue.

Jon had always excelled in the training yard, a born warrior. The plan had been for Cregan to take Jon back with him to Winterfell as his master of arms, or captain of the guard, and find him an appropriate match that would keep him around.

But then everything went wrong.

Three years after his fathers death, two into his ward ship, and Cregan’s uncle made it clear he had no interest in relinquishing his hold over Winterfell and rule of the North.

So they had gone to war.

His uncle Eddard (because the former Greystark Lord was far worthier of the familial term than Bennard ever had been) had marched with him. He had fought for Cregan’s claim and he had died for it… And so had Robb. Cregan hadn’t wanted his cousin to fight, at fourteen name days Robb was still a boy for all their laws named him a man. This, Cregan bitterly recalled, was another sin he laid at the boys mothers feet.

Lady Katherine Bracken was a proud woman with an inflated sense of her place in the world. Reluctantly, Cregan would admit that she had loved her husband, and even her children, but she put too heavy burdens upon them. She wanted the Greystarks to be more, and had thought sending a boy to war would ensure it. The saddest thing was that it was an unnecessary sacrifice. Cregan had already planned to restore the house to its former glory, in thanks for taking him in, as well as Eddard’s own sacrifice, but she had been impatient. Or perhaps she had known the only way to get rid of Jon, was if Robb was not there to stop her. The somber boy had been close to all his siblings to varying degrees, but none had the authority of the eldest son.

Cregan had not even heard of Jon’s fate until the dust had settled. He had thought for a time that Jon had perished along with Cregan’s younger cousins, died in their defence at Theon’s betrayal. But when he had questioned the other boy, Theon told him of how Jon had been sent to the wall.

Cregan had never bonded with the other Greystark ward, for all they were closer in age than the other boys. Theon Manderly was the youngest son of the cadet branch of the Lords of Whiteharber. While wealthier than the Greystarks, Theons family vastly lacked the wealth of their house’s main branch, and they’d never gotten over it. Theon’s father, Baelon, had claimed that as Wolf’s den sat on Manderly lands, the uninhabited castle should belong to him and his family. Eddard’s brother Brandon had strongly disagreed.

Brandon had been Eddard’s elder, and had been the son meant to inherit Greywind, but he had died in a skirmish with Theon’s father, kickstarting a family feud. Rickon Stark, Cregan’s own father, had declared to keep the peace Baelon’s youngest son would ward with the Greystarks. A good plan, in theory.

When Robb had ridden to battle in Cregan’s name he had sent Theon home to gather allies, believing he could trust the boy raised as his brother, he had been wrong. Ceasing the chance to not only eliminate the competing claim, but to grab a second seat also, Baelon had commanded Theon to betray Robb, and the spineless c*nt had done so.

Theon had payed for his betrayal, even before Cregan had gotten his hands on him. But torturing the traitor would not bring his kin back. Cregan had won back Winterfell and rule of the North, but he had once again lost his family.

He had sent men to look for Jon, the oaths of the Nightwatch were strict, but as the Lord of Winterfell he, along with the king, had the power to break them. Yet the commander of the Nights watch didn’t have his cousin, nor was there any sign of him on the roads.

Cregan had feared the worst, he knew his uncle still had the odd supporter, men who preferred a Lord who let them do as they pleased to their subjects. While they lacked the strength to do anything to Cregan himself directly, harming one lone bastard boy would be all too easy, and they knew it would hurt Cregan by doing so.

When the Lord Commander finally wrote to him saying they had found one of their recruiting parties, or he should say what was left of them, he had accepted that Jon was gone like the rest of his siblings.

But he had been wrong.

When Cregan had received the initial letter from Prince Daemon he had been in shock, could it really be true? Could Jon be alive?

He had always known there was something strange about Jon’s parentage. Eddard had been suspiciously tight lipped about the boy’s mother’s identity, yet the general chaos surrounding the Greystark house around Jon’s birth had made gathering facts difficult.

In truth Cregan had always suspected that Jon had been the child of Brandon. The elder Greystark had been known for his dalliances, and there had been no shortage of pretty ladies among the entourage of Prince Daemon and the Lady Rhea. In the end he had been on the right trail but the wrong side of it.

Cregan had always known Jon was worth more than his status as a bastard gave him, but for his cousin to be a Prince? It was a lot to process.

“Your going to need to work on masking your emotions better my love if we’re to survive this trip.” Arra called with a smirk, as she trolled over to him from the other side of the ship.

“I’m plenty good at that” he scowled with little heat.

“Your resting brooding face doesn’t count.”

Cregan rolled his eyes in response.

“How are you? Truly?” Arra implored, resting her hand upon his arm.

“Nervous? Angry? And yet somehow nothing all at once… I’ve become so accustomed to losing people, I don’t know how to deal with gaining someone back… if he is anyway.” Cregan sighed, looking over the water which was visibly murkier than that which they had left in Whiteharber.

He could now spot Kings Landing on the incoming horizon, the Red Keep sat like a squat spider over the stinking city.

“It is him, the signs are proof!” Arra announced with finality.

Cregan huffed “you’re reading into things too much.”

His eyes strayed to the cabin where the ‘sign’ his wife was referring to slept.

“Don’t you patronise me Cregan Stark! You were taught about the old ways just as I was. Even you can’t be so stubborn to ignore this.” It was his wife’s turn to huff, crossing her arms and glaring at him with her honey brown eyes.

Cregan grit his teeth in frustration, “I’m not ignoring it am I? I brought it with us didn’t I?”

Not that the beast had given him much choice.

“You get a missive that your previously thought cousin was in fact alive, and then as you’re traveling to meet him you just happen to come across a direwolf, one that is the exact visage of his house signal?” Drawled Arra, a singular brown brow quirked in judgement.

“A direwolf that won’t bugger off.” He growled mulishly.

Arra laughed boisterously “you’re just jealous he has little interest in you!”

It’s not like Cregan’s house signal was also a direwolf, he thought sarcastically.

“My Lord we’ll be making port within the hour.” Their ships captain called from the brow.

Arra smiled at him softly, her eyes sobering of amusem*nt.

“Best we ready ourselves to meet the dragons.” she drawled.

The city of Kings landing was surprisingly both larger and smaller than what Cregan had been expecting.

The city space within the walls was, by sheer land mass, smaller than that of Wintertown, and yet riding through it Cregan could tell it contained far more.

Along the main road their party trotted along, that ran from the harbour to the Red keep. The buildings were large and ornate, built from white stone and polished wood. The stalls that littered the road side were well maintained and sold shining jewels and fabrics in more colours than Cregan had ever seen. But the houses were packed close together, even here in what it took little discernment to tell was the richer district, and between the small gaps and down side streets covertly covered by stalls, Cregan could see a much less maintained city.

The poorer areas of Kings landing were filled with wooden shack like houses that were built precariously on top of one another, rickety spiral stairs tilted to one side and another reaching towards the higher levels.

In the North such living conditions would never be tolerated. Even the ruling Lords known for caring less for their people would never have towns such as this. The state ones people lived in was after all a reflection of their Lord. What the state of Kings landing said about King Viserys I, Cregan dreaded to think.

Riding through the keep’s gates at a gallop, the Lord of Winterfell took in the royal family with a critical eye.

An old man took pride of place at the center of the pack, a man whose position indicated that he could only be the King, yet Cregan was shocked at his visage. King Viserys was a man equal in age to Cregan’s late (and not so dearly departed) uncle, and yet the King looked far older.

The odd strand of silvery white hair hung lank on the man’s withered head, and he stood hunched clinging desperately to a walking stick. From the looks the man’s family were shooting him they, like Cregan, worried the King may drop any minute.

Behind the withered monarch, the rest of the royal family were spread out behind him like a fan. The two sides, which Cregan had heard whispers of even in the North, were a clear divide.

To the left of the King stood the Queen, his second and much younger bride, Alicent Hightower. She was a lovely thing to behold Cregan had to admit, even if not to his personal taste, the Northman preferred his women wild. The Queen had her red hair bound in twin plats that were twisted into buns on either side of her head, little green gems shone out within them, and a small tiara sat in the middle. Cregan had never understood the obsession of southern women and ornate hair styles, they looked heavy and uncomfortable. He wondered if the pinched expression on the woman’s face was due to neck pain.

Stood in the space between the King and his Queen was her father the hand. Otto Hightower loomed over his daughter and his King, with superiority in his eyes as he took in Cregan’s party, this was one he would need to be weary of.

Lining up further left of the Queen was her children. Prince Aegon first, Cregan assumed, as he was followed by a one eyed boy that could only be Prince Aemond, beside him was the Princess Helaena. The Queen’s only daughter was the only member of her party that was not dressed in the colours synonymous with the two rival royal sides, dressed in a gown of white and blue. Her mother and brothers wore shades of green with black and gold accents, not a thread of red to be seen.

Cregan noted the way the Queens gaze tended to stray from her guest to the royals spread to the King’s right. It was not a warm gaze.

Beside the King stood a young woman of age with the Queen, her trademark white hair and coronet marking her as the Kings heir the Princess Rhaenyra, and Cregan’s cousin’s new step mother. He prayed that this one would be kinder…

The princess was a beautiful woman and he found it no surprise she had been titled as the ‘realm’s delight’. In contrast to her stepmother and half siblings, she wore her house’s traditional colours of red and black. Her gown was a dramatic drape of black velvet and deep red silk, he could also spot small drakes embroidered along the collar in silver and gold threads that winked as the sun caught them.

Cregan couldn’t help but compare the Princess’ gown to his own wife’s attire. Arra was dressed richly by northern standards, her dress a grey velvet with small snowflakes that glistened with glass beads blanketing her train. It was a beautiful dress, one Cregan looked forward to tearing off her later, and yet he far preferred Area’s usual attire of riding leathers and fur. He wondered if the Princess dressed this richly when she rode her dragon.

“Presenting, Cregan Stark! Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount of the North! And his Lady wife, Arra Stark!” Bellowed the steward as if the assembled nobles had not already noticed them.

The man to the Princess’ right snorted, making it clear to all, he too thought the steward’s volume had been unnecessary. It was obvious who this man was, if his attire (a near match to the Princess’) had not made it plain, then his attitude certainly did. This was Prince Daemon Targaryen, the rogue Prince… and the apparent father of Cregan’s remaining cousin.

The Lord of Winterfell fixed his gaze on the eldest Prince, his stare piercing as he assessed the man.

Cregan had the traditional grey eyes of his house, though they tended to have a bluer shine to them than the rest of his kin. He had been told many a time how icy his gaze could be, how intimidating.

Daemon Targaryen met his eyes dead on, there wasn’t the slightest evidence of fear there, only challenge.

With a jolt of surprise Cregan realised that he recognised those eyes, a purple so dark they could be mistaken for brown or even black depending on the lighting. Those were his cousins eyes. How many times had dark brows scrunched broodingly over those eyes the way blonde now framed with amusem*nt?

Cregan broke eye contact with the prince as he dismounted his horse, giving the bay a pat on the nose, he handed the rains to a stable hand that had scurried over.

Striding forward, making a concentrated effort to mask his anxiety, Cregan dropped to one knee before the aged King, Arra doing the same to his left. He noted with amusem*nt that he didn’t let show on his face, that even on his knees he came to the King’s chest in height. Standing he would tower over him, would tower over the majority of the nobles assembled before him, save the hand who was perhaps Cregan’s equal in height, but no where near his muscle mass.

“Be Welcome Lord Stark” the King announced with surprising evenness, given his appearance. “We thank you and your wife for traveling all this way for this happy occasion!”

Taking this as his cue to stand, Cregan moved to his feet, Arra following suit.

“Thank you for your invitation your grace, we are honoured to attend a royal event.” Cregan recited the words Arra had written for him, never having being one for political speeches himself.

“Nonsense! This is a family affair and you are Aemon’s only remaining maternal kin. It’s only right that you attend.” The King announced.

Cregan fought off a scowl that threatened to appear at the name ‘Aemon’. The Prince had called Jon that in his letter as well, and while Cregan wasn’t dum enough to counter such a thing from the King, others would not be so lucky.

“Speaking of the guest of honour… Aemon, nephew, come greet your cousin!” The King turned to his right where the Princess’ faction was stood, stretching his hand out beckoningly.

From behind the rogue Prince a shorter figure emerged, dressed similarly in shades of red and black, yet in a style Cregan found more familiar.

The young man that walked tentatively to the Kings side had ringlets of chocolate brown that stood out among the assembly of pale heads. Cregan was surprised he had not noticed him when he had entered, then again, it seemed the Prince had made an effort to cover him.

Coming to a stop next to the King, the boy stood on the step below the Princess, and she rested her hand on his shoulder giving it a supportive squeeze.

“Lord Stark, may I present my stepson, Prince Aemon Targaryen… You will have known him better as Jon Snow, yet given his new status, we all agreed it better he go by the Valyrian name given to him at birth, as befitting a Prince of our house.” Smiled the Princess with challenge in her eyes, an eerie echo of her husband.

Know him Cregan did, the Stark Lord would recognise that anxious brow scrunch anywhere.

Throwing proprietary to the wind he lurched forward, wrapping the younger boy in his arms.

“I thought you were dead!” Cregan hissed wetly “I thought you were lost just like everyone else! I searched the entire North for you! It never even occurred to me that you would find yourself here of all places.”

Pulling back to rest one hand on Jon’s shoulder, and the other on the boys chin, Cregan began examining his cousin for ailments.

Dark purple eyes stared at him in bafflement.

“You- you searched for… me?” Jon asked, his northern accent still strong despite his time in the South.

“Of course!” Cregan huffed.

It seemed even finding out he was a Prince still had yet to demonstrate to his cousin his own worth.

“I’d search the seven hells for you lillevarg” Cregan smiled down at Jon, uncaring of the tears that were gathering in his own eyes.

“You’ve travelled a long way Lord Stark, I’m sure you are eager to rest in a real bed. Our servants will escort you to the rooms assigned to you and your party, and of course food will be brought up to you, so you can dine.” Spoke the Queen, breaking the tender moment between Cregan and his packmate.

Attention broken from Jon, Cregan now noticed the tense way the royals were observing their interaction.

“Thank you your grace, that is very kind.” Replied Arra in his stead, her tone colder than usual. Likely due to the lack of acknowledgement given to her.

“Aemon’s feast will start tomorrow at sunset, but my father and his council would like to talk with you before then at mid meal, feel free to explore the grounds to your leisure until then.” Said the Princess, continuing where her step mother had left off.

Servants began to rush forward grasping bags from the remaining horses, and the luggage carriage that had sat at the back of their party.

The Queen wrapped an arm around her husbands own, and began leading the older man up the steps, her children also dispersing in quick succession.

Jon stood frozen amongst the flurry, eyes still wide and fixed on Cregan. He was still close enough that if he reached out Cregan could take him in his arms once again, he almost did so when he was halted by Prince Daemon’s approach. Cregan tipped his head in a shallow acknowledgment of the older man’s status, earning an amused smirk.

“Well I can certainly see the resemblance, you Starks breed true.” Drawled the rogue Prince, reaching over to muse the curls of Cregan’s cousin.

Cregan snorted, it was an accurate remark. The resemblance between Jon and himself had always been striking, save the few features that Jon bore that gave him a more ‘prettier’ finish (features that Cregan now recognised in this other man) the two northerners looked a great deal similar.

House Greystark, like their fellow Stark cadet branch the Karstarks, inherited the colouring of the former Kings of Winter. Dark hair, long faces, and piercing grey eyes were traits that the three houses shared. Yet, Robb and his siblings had inherited their mothers looks, save Arya. A fact that had made their mother despise Jon even more.

“Ao jurnegon pale ñuha riña issi ao sȳrī?” Prince Daemon asked Jon, a concerned frown carved upon his face.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Jon re-assured, pushing away the hand the Prince had moved to rest on his forehead.

“This is all just… Overwhelming.” Jon mumbled, his gaze once again straying too Cregan.

In turn the Northman tried to shoot his cousin a re-assuring smile, but felt it was strangled by his own anxiety. What was Jon court up in that had him so tense?

“I’ll show you to your rooms” Prince Daemon declared, his purple eyes shining with mischief.

The King and Queen halted at where they had reached upon the stairs, turning to face the eldest dragon Prince in alarm.

“That’s hardly necessary Prince Daemon.” The Queen countered, a displeased frown darkening her otherwise lovely face. “We have servants for such tasks after all.”

“Nonsense!” The Prince cried, now smirking in full.

“This is my son’s kin after all, and one of our most important Lords. I would be honoured.”

That escorting Cregan and his party to their rooms would give him the chance to interrogate them would just be a small benefit. Fine, Cregan wished to do the same. Before he could voice his agreement to the Prince’s offer, the attention of the yard’s inhabitants was captured by the scream of one of the servants unloading their luggage.

“That’ll be your gift.” Cregan smirked at his cousin, unmoved where others had grown alarmed.

Hurling itself from beneath the luggage pile the great white direwolf that had forced itself upon Cregan’s party padded its way over towards them. Quickly dropping to its hind legs before Jon, with its tongue lolled in a sharp wolffish grin.

Perhaps his wife had a point after all…

“Ghost!” Jon cried, darting forward and away from the protective arm the Prince had placed in-front of him.

“Ghost?” Prince Daemon echoed, a baffled expression on his face.

Jon did not reply, too busy dropping to his knees before the direwolf and wrapping his arms around it in a similar way to how Cregan had greeted him.

Cregan tried not to be annoyed at how Jon seemed more excited to see the dog than him.

“Aemon are you familiar with this beast?” Asked Prince Daemon once more, taking a step forward to grasp Jon’s shoulder, his other hand resting on his sword hilt.

Jon broke away from embracing the wolf, a brilliant smile lighting up his face, making him look his age for once.

“Er yes… I saved ghost as a pup after his mother abandoned him, he was the runt of the litter… We were separated after… that business with the Nights watch. I thought he was dead!” Jon replied jubilantly.

Prince Daemon’s eyes sharpened in recognition. “Quite the lucky find Lord Cregan, how ever did you know?”

Cregan winced, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

“Umm… Technically I didn’t, the beast- Ghost kind of just forced himself along…”

The Rogue Prince lifted a singular silver brow in judgment.

“In our culture we believe the old Gods make their voices known through nature, such as animals. Ghost’s appearance on the eve of learning of Jon’s survival was too much to ignore.” Explained Arra, her smile showing just a tad too many teeth.

“Fascinating.” Snapped the Queen. “But mythical sign or not, he will have to stay in the kennel with the other dogs.”

Jon lurched to his feat, his eyes imploring, “Your Grace, I trained ghost myself since he was a pup! I assure you he isn’t dangerous!” Jon paused chewing his lower lip, “well not dangerous except to those who wish me harm.” He admitted reluctantly.

The Queen sighed, her expression wavering “I’m sorry Aemon, but trained or not he’s still a wild animal. One you have been separated from for months, I simply cannot allow it.”

“Mother, why doesn’t Ghost stay in the rooms where Helaena keeps her creatures?” Suggested Prince Aemond, melting out of the shadows.

Cregan had not noticed the younger boy’s presence, having thought he had fled with the same rabid pace as his siblings. Given the surprise on the other royals faces, they had thought the same.

“Those rooms are already guarded because of Helaena’s, er pets… Could Ghost not stay there?” The Prince continued.

The Queen flicked her gaze from her son to her nephew, taking in their twin pleading expressions.

“Fine!” She cried exasperatedly. “But only if Lord Stark can lend some of his guards to watch the beast, none of ours our familiar with such a creature.”

“It would be no trouble Your Grace.” Cregan agreed with a small bow to the queen and a wink in his cousin’s direction.

Rubbing her brow the Queen waved her hand at her son, “Aemond would you show your cousin and his… pet, to Helaena’s enclosure room please.”

In turn Cregan nodded at Will and Turner to accompany them so they could guard the wolf.

“Now that’s settled, shall we get you to your rooms?” Enquired Prince Daemon, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

The Red Keep favoured a more open plan design than any other castle Cregan had ever been a guest in. They passed through several courtyards and balconies, and even one enclosed garden- which he figured must be thier version of a glass house. Such design choices would never work North of the Neck, you’d freeze in your castle at the first summer snow.

It was when Cregan noted that they were passing through the same courtyard for the third time did he catch on to the Prince’s plan.

The Dragon Prince had waved off Arra and the rest of their party about fifteen minutes ago, his wife going off with their steward to go over the supplies they had left from their journey.

“As pretty as I’m sure you southerners find this courtyard, I really don’t have any interest in seeing it again. So why don’t you stop leading us in circles and cut to the chase?” Cregan drawled, tone board.

”Oh so we have!” Prince Daemon exclaimed in false surprise.

”It’s been years since I’ve lived here you see… And what with all the tacky decorations my brothers dear wife has put up.” The Prince smirked as he made a jab at the Queen’s taste in decoration.

”I wanted to discuss my son with you… Particularly his inheritance. My brother and his council will want to talk about it with you, and I know for Aemon’s sake it would be beneficial if we could present a united front.” Prince Daemon continued, stopping where he stood.

Cregan snorted “Jon was always the peacemaker”.

”Yes Aemon is the gentle sort.”

The two men smiled tensely at one another.

”Before my cousin’s death, I had hoped to restore him and his family to their original lands... With Robb and the rest of his sibling dead, by rights it should go to Jon.” Cregan began, looking at Daemon from the corner of his eye for his reaction.

The Prince clenched his fists, and sighed through his nose. “The North then.” He snapped.

The Prince began walking once more, taking long agitated strides.

”The hand, in all his c*ntyness, is going to try to push Moat Cailin.” Prince Daemon snapped.

Cregan came to a grinding holt and grabbed the Prince by the shoulder, uncaring of the sharp glare the man shot him.

”Moat Cailin? is that a joke?” He asked in bafflement.

“Unfortunately no. Based on your reaction I’m assuming you’ll side with me against the suggestion?” Prince Daemon replied, shrugging off Cregan’s hand.

Cregan laughed, the audacity of the South would never cease to amaze.

”There isn’t a castle to give him, it’s a ruin!” He exclaimed.

Even if they had the funds to re-build the castle, which they most certainly did not, his Lords would never allow it.

While Cregan knew in his heart of hearts where Jon’s loyalty lay, the Lords of the North would not have such faith. Cregan would be faced with open rebellion if they thought he was giving the key to the North’s defences to a ‘Southern’ Prince.

Thats not to say such matters wouldn’t be different in the future… in addition to Wolfs Den, Jon would inherit Grey wind, and the lands around it. In a couple of generations maybe a grandchild of Jon’s and one of Cregan’s could inherit the ancient keep…

Prince Daemon snorted, “Trust Otto to be too dismissive of those he sees as lesser to do his proper research.”

Privately Cregan thought the Prince was guilty of that himself, but was smart enough not to mention it.

”we’re in agreement then” Cregan grumbled, “can you take me to my rooms now?”

”With pleasure!” The Prince replied, before swaggering of down a hallway they had already walked down twice.

Chapter 22: The Queen who never was II

Chapter Text

Rhaenys Valaryon was a great many things. A wife, a dragon rider, a princess, a former heir, a mother… She would like to think that one of the things she was not, was a fool.

Rhaenys had known that her son’s days were numbered the minute he failed to appear that faithful night on Driftmark. When Laenor had failed to protect the children he claimed as his own, and Daemon had.

She had known.

Of course knowing, hadn’t meant the moment was any less gut wrenching. Holding her sons smouldering corpse as she wailed, while Corlys yelled the only way men know how to morn.

Rhaenys had been a mother of two, and she had lost them both within a month of each other. It was a cruel thing, having a mother outlive her children, unnatural. It was no wonder they had no word for it. When you loose your parents you are an orphan, when you loose your spouse you are a widow, but to loose a child? What are you then.

Rhaenys had been an orphan now for longer than she had not. She had prepared herself countless times to be a widow, every time Corlys’ sails had faded on the horizon. She had never thought she would outlive her children.

The worst part, the thing that had her lying awake at night, the factor that made her so certain that Rhaenyra had a hand in it… was that she understood. Rhaenys had been heir once, she understood the pressure, the responsibility, the cost, better than any. Especially when all of those factors were weighed down two fold by being a woman. It was why she had told Corlys to refuse Viserys’ offer. Her husband may have shut his eyes to it, but they both knew their son’s inclination. Blood alone did not a royal consort make. Rhaenyra needed a strong man by her side if she were to rule, and Laenor, bless her sweet son, had not been that.

Rhaenys had been in her position once, though she liked to think she had been wiser. When the opportunity was presented to her she chose Corlys. Not because, as many assumed, she loved him, though she did now, but because she knew he would support her, her claim. She didn’t marry Corlys expecting to have a marriage from the songs. Oh they were happy enough, they certainly loved each other, but her husband had slept out of their bed nearly as much as he had slept in it. Countless adventures, wars, and trade deals had seen a distance grow. Rhaenys did not begrudge it, she knew who she married.

Souring over the the black water, Rhaenys contemplated how she had gotten to this place in her life, childless, throneless, and bitter. She did not know.

Syrax roared from above, the younger she-dragon beginning to dive down towards an island that, from their current height, was just a speck.

With a sigh, Rhaenys gave Melys a nudge to follow.

She just might be about to find the answers to some of those questions.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me”, said the Crown Princess, dismounting her dragon, and brushing her windswept hair from her face.

“Let’s not pretend this is a social call Rhaenyra. We are away from the prying eyes and ears of the court. It is just you and I, speak plainly.” Drawled Rhaenys with dry distaste.

She was a patient woman, it was a trait she and her husband shared, they could both play the long game but now, in this moment, all her patients failed her. The weight of the truth, the oncoming revelation, was a tangible thing heavy in the air. Rhaenys would never have justice for her son, circ*mstances being what they were, but now at the very least she would have a confession.

Rhaenyra sighed fiddling with her sleeves, looking in that moment the girl who had only just been named heir, rather than the practiced Princess of Dragonstone that she was.

”Laenor showed me this island… He used to come here with Joffrey.” Rhaenyra began, the softness of her voice forcing Rhaenys to come closer, save the wind steal her words.

”I knew some of the places they used to sneak off too on Driftmark, but I never knew about here… I hadn’t realised Laenor had taken Sir Joffrey on dragon back.”

Both dragon riders themselves, the two Princess’ knew the significance of sharing a dragon ride. It was an intimate thing, shared between a parent and a child, or a lover. For all Rhaenys had known the love her son had born for his companion, she had not realised how deep it had gone.

”He had other lovers over the years, some more successful than others, but none ever matched Joffrey. Qarl had known Joffrey, had known them as a couple, he accepted that he would always be second in Laenor’s heart, I believe that is why they worked.”

”Until they didn’t.” Rhaenys snapped.

”No” Rhaenyra countered, finally moving her gaze from the turbulent sea to the elder royal.

”They worked… They work.”

Rhaenys stared at the younger girl as if she had lost her head. She had heard of those who spoke of lost loved ones in the present tense, some found it easier that way. She had never taken Rhaenyra as the type, had not thought she loved Laenor enough.

”Qarl killed him” Rhaenys stated, not ungently.

Had she been wrong all these years, had Rhaenyra truly not played the pivotal role Rhaenys thought she had? Shamefully, she almost disliked this more. Surely the girl could not be this stupid? Or perhaps she was wilfully blind? Laena had been like that when it came to Daemon as well.

”No he didn’t” Rhaenyra whispered, and yet Rhaenys felt it ring as if it were a scream.

Embroiled by her anger she straightened and levelled the younger woman with a heavy glare.

Distantly Rhaenys felt Melys react to her anger further down the beach.

”Then who did? Who killed my son Rhaenyra?” Her voice could have cut through armour.

Taking a deep breath, clearly summoning her own strength, Rhaenyra answered, “no one did.”

”What?” Rhaenys choked, stumbling back as if struck.

The girl wasn’t truly suggesting… Rhaenys had known her son was not happy, his sisters death dragging him to a low she had not seen in him since his knights death but… Surely Rhaenyra was not suggesting her son had killed himself?

”No! No.” Rhaenyra cried after a pause. ”Rhaenys, cousin, what I’m trying to tell you… Is that Laenor isn’t dead at all, your son is alive.”

”You lie!” Rhaenys immediately countered, her rage returning in full force.

Striding forward and grasping the older dragon rider by the arms, Rhaenyra held her tightly. A crazed intensity in her eyes.

”I do not. I realise this sounds like madness to your ear but it is the truth. A most dangerous truth!” She punctuated her statement with a shake.

”Laenor was miserable, as was I. With Harwin’s death the equilibrium we had found are selves had shattered. Laena’s death only tipped him over the edge… He couldn’t do it any more, live a lie… We tried, we tried so! So hard! And I know, you know, the love we shared was not that of a husband and wife, but believe we did love each other, his pain was my pain.”

The Princess sighed shakily, and to Rhaenys’ shock, she realised Rhaenyra was crying.

”After that night,” she did not need to describe the night anymore than that, they both knew when she was referring too.

”Laenor was beside himself, he felt so guilty for not being there… But he also recognised he didn’t think he would have been much help even if he were… That was the beginning of it, the suggestion that I and the boys would be better without him… With someone else.”

”With Daemon” Rhaenys cut in, tonelessly.

”Yes… It took off from there. We got Daemon involved, and Qarl, and suddenly a suggestion had become very real…”

Rhaenyra released her and stepped back, confident now the Rhaenys had heard enough not to flee.

”Qarl and Laenor staged a fight, when the servant with them ran for the guards, Daemon intercepted him… Killed him. Then they placed the servants body in the harth, wearing Laenor’s clothes, and Laenor and Qarl fled… Free to live their lives as they pleased, as was I.”

Rhaenys felt numb, she dared not let the flicker of hope burn into a crescendo.

”A pretty story Rhaenyra, but it is ultimately just that, you have no proof.”

Rhaenyra nodded, a sad smile upon her face.

”I thought you might say that, it’s why I brought this.”

From her robes she drew a letter, its cream parchment tied by a blue bow.

”You must understand the nature of the agreement means that interaction, particularly communication is risky. But given the circ*mstances… He sends presents you know, every year for the boys name day’s, the girls too. We tell them the gifts are from one of Daemon’s friends in Essos that he met during the Stepstones, not technically a lie.”

Rhaenys reached over and took the scroll with shaking hands. Slowly she pulled loose the ribbon and unfurled the paper. There were no words, save a scribbled signature at the base, one that with a lurch she realised she recognised. The majority of the page was taken up by a drawing of a yellow poppy, painted delicately in watercolours.

As a boy, Laenor had wanted nothing more than to be an artist. Corlys, as he did with many of their sons features, discouraged this pushing Laenor towards map making instead, an art he deemed more appropriate. But Rhaenys had disagreed, had lovingly provided her son with art supplies for years, until Laenor had left for the Stepstones, and returned, as far as she had known, uninterested. It had been a secret between the two of them, Laenor’s ‘artist’ signature. ‘Kele Kokio’ a summer islander name meaning sea horse, a tad on the nose but… Even the poppy... When the twins were young, younger than even her grandchildren, Rhaenys would tell them the stories her mother had told her. Of thunder flowers and how picking them summoned the storm.

”This is real” she gasped, “your telling the truth.”

Rhaenys let her hope grow to wildfire, burning away her despair, she sobbed, though her tears were ones of Joy.

”We did not keep the truth from you so long to cause you pain, but to keep all those involved safe. If the greens found out Laenor was still alive it would be catastrophic, as harsh as it was, your grief sold the lie.”

Rhaenys ignored her, grasping the paper like a lifeline, like it was her son returned. She gave herself this moment, this moment to grieve, to let the pain pour out and begin to fade. Just this moment to be a mother again…

Before once more, she was the Queen who never was.

”What do you need of me?”

In the distance two dragons one red, one gold, roared in tandem, allies once more.

Chapter 23: The Rogue Prince V

Chapter Text

It had been years since he had been an active member of this council, and yet despite the anger he had initially felt at his dismissal, Daemon could honestly say he hadn’t missed it. An hour surrounded by squabbling c*nts was never his idea of a good time, especially when his wife wasn’t present to at least distract him with her beauty. They had agreed that, with all of their children now gathered within this cesspit of a capital, at least one of them would stay with them when they could. Daemon, as Aemon's father had a greater reason for being present than his wife, though the lack of invite extended to her (the rightful heir) by the small council had burned.

It took the third time of Lord Wylde making enquiries towards the betrothal of Lord Stark's yet to be born (or even bloody conceived) heir, for Daemon to snap.

"Can we get to the f*cking point already. None of us here are getting any younger." He drawled agitatedly, his eyes pointedly grazing over his brother and the hand at the mention of age.

Not that Otto had aged much in truth, Daemon figured the older man must have pickled himself with his own spite and superiority complex. Daemon himself remained youthful due to his own impeccable breeding (and his extremely detailed skin regiment).

"Eloquent as always," The hand replied, gaze icy.

"I have to agree with Prince Daemon" Cregan cut in, "I was invited to weigh in on my cousin's inheritance, and it's been an hour now, and all we've talked about is the fair weather, and the future marriage of an heir that I am yet to have."

The Lord of Winterfell's clear boredom and borderline disgust was pleasantly shameful to the majority of the room. Daemon just basked in it, the Northman was his man, after all.

"Of course, of course! forgive us old men for our ramblings Lord Stark" Viserys wheezed, causing both Daemon and Lord Tyland to bristle at the suggestion they were 'old'. Never mind that, like the rest of the room, they were at least ten years the senior of the Northern Lord (frankly a lot more than 10...)

"Shall we begin with the young Prince's holdings?" Began Lord Beesbury, his hands lined and stained with marks of age, already gripping a quill.

Cregan nodded at the master of coin, "Castle Greywind naturally belongs to him, as he is the last blood heir of the Greystarks."

Beesbury nodded diligently and began noting such down, "Was the castle damaged when it was invaded? and if so is the crown paying for its restoration?"

"Superficial damages that haven't been on my list of priorities to fix aye, but will all need rectifying if the castle is to become Jo-Aemon's seat." Stark replied.

Daemon frowned before forcing his face back into mocking blankness, he hadn’t thought of that... Perhaps if he had, he could have prepared a better (more southern) counter offer. He fought off the scowl that wanted to appear, Stark notably hadn’t mentioned that to him when they had spoken the previous day. It was frustrating how he had been unable to discern the agenda of the other man, he surely had one, and Daemon hadn’t been deaf to the northerners near slip on his son's name.

"The crown will of course fund any and all repairs needed to my nephews castle, he is after all a prince of the realm." Viserys declared with a grin.

"However any future repairs will have to be funded by the income the Prince collects from his new lands... Though I'm sure the King would never deny the request of monetary aid from kin." Added Otto, much to Daemon's displeasure.

His brother, blissfully dosed up on milk of the poppy, and long engraved blindness to Otto c*ntowers's schemes, missed how his Hand had neatly failed to say which King or kin would be giving Aemon aide, and he would need aide. As competent as Daemon knew his son to be, that alone did not acquire taxes where there was not the means to collect them. Aemon's mother's kin held poor lands, both in material and population. Lands which had barely kept a cadet branch afloat wouldn’t get anywhere near the required income for a Prince of the realm. Especially a dragon rider at that, and Daemon wouldn’t want his sons mount falling back on old habits…

It was clear to all bar his fool of a brother that Otto was counting on Aemon being dependent on the crown, Daemon felt his blood boil.

"Will it be just the one seat then?" called Sir Tyland, a singular blond brow raised in enquiry.

"I should think not" replied Otto with forced joviality.

Surely for Stark's benefit alone, everyone else gathered already knew how much of a cold hearted twat the other man was.

"I agree, Aemon is a Prince, my brothers first born. He will require larger holdings as befitting his status" Viserys agreed.

None of the assembled men mentioned how the King had failed to arrange holdings for his own sons, who arguably held higher status than his brother’s (now legitimate) bastard get.

Daemon couldn’t hide his preen at his brother's acknowledgment of his value, and as a result his son's.

"So a larger second seat?" Lannister continued leadingly

"Yes" Deamon and Otto both answered in union earning twin glares.

The rooms occupants shifted uncomfortably at the rise in tension within the already taunt atmosphere.

"I have a second seat in mind your Grace, one that seems appropriate on all fronts" cut in Lord Stark, undaunted by the glares that were shooting between to two men either side of him.

"I appreciate how prepared you are my boy... The floor is yours!" Viserys smiled at the young Lord paramount, relieved at someone stepping in between his forever warring Hand and brother.

"Wolf’s den." Cregan declared simply. "It's in a worst state than Greywind it's true, but once repaired my cousin will be able to maintain an income more than enough to cover both seats."

"Wolf's den has a port does it not?" Otto asked, his mouth pinched in contemplation.

"Aye, It used to be the North's main port until the Greystarks's were disinherited. The Mandererly's took up the majority of the slack, but there remains some ships that simple cannot fit up the 'White knife' to reach their port." Stark replied.

"A substantial income..." Otto pondered.

Daemon grinned, the Hand could not possibly offer anything better now! f*ck the slippery man for trying to put Daemon's son in his debt now-

"An excellent suggestion Lord Cregan if you would allow me to build upon it? Aemon's seat being what it is would be the perfect opportunity for the establishment of a royal fleet!" Otto crowed smugly.

"What?" Daemon asked, feelings of victory beginning to fade. "We have the Valaryon fleet." he snapped.

"Yes," Otto replied patronisingly "but as you said that is the fleet of house Valaryon, not the crown. As the past has established, it is not always at the beck and call of the King, if this trend is to continue in the future... Well is it not best to have a royal fleet already in place?"

Had Daemon ever wanted to kill a man more than he did now? He truly could not say. In one sentence Otto Hightower had played a most devastating hand, if it were anyone else Deamon would probably admire it. In suggesting Aemon hold the royal fleet, he had swiftly placed Aemon back under the dominion of the crown, and by implying the lack of trustworthiness of the Valaryon fleet he had also caused a wedge between Daemon's boy and their factions strongest ally.

That fleet would one day be Luke's, with Rhaena beside him, Seven hells the 'Master of Ships' title had belonged to the Lords of Driftmark so often it was near a hereditary seat. Otto's little suggestion would disrupt this, and place Aemon and his own siblings at odds.

Worst still, Daemon couldn’t be the one to refuse it. If he brought up how this would weaken and threaten house Valaryon it would only play into Otto's point further. The grasping c*nt would probably spin it into a tale of Daemon favouring his younger children over Aemon, Daemon was rendered unable to voice an opinion at all.

His only hope was Stark. Surely, trusted cousin or not, Cregan would not, could not, agree to the housing of a royal fleet in the North. It would appear as an act of intimidation on the part of the crown towards the Northern Lords, who were all so proud of being different from the South

"mmm" The Northman rumbled, his face creased in thought.

'Refuse!" Deamon chanted within his mind, willing the younger man to hear, to obey.

"I admit, such a move may displease some of my banermen..." Stark began, "but concessions could be made that I believe would console them."

Daemon scowled at the younger man, what a f*cking time to have an agenda, so much for being on the same side! How stupid could Stark be not to see the danger in this?

"And what would they be?" Otto inquired shrewdly.

"Well, a Northern marriage for a start, you were very curious about the match of my unborn son Lord Wylde, how about to the Prince's first born daughter? or his future son wed a daughter of mine?" Stark drawled with a smirk.

Daemon wondered if his teeth would be crushed from how hard he was grinding them. This was an outrage, his grandchildren would be Targaryen's! they should wed accordingly, to each other!

"Secondly," The Northern pain in Daemon's ass continued, "Aemon's name, I appreciate he is a Prince and thus a Targaryen... But what of his children? Surely they won’t be Prince's and Princess'? So far from the line of succession as they will be... To smooth over ruffled feathers, and to ensure a peaceful transition of Aemon's ownership of his holdings, I suggest they take up the Greystark name."

"You’re Joking!" Daemon chortled, Stark didn't really think that would be agreed too did he?

"It's not an unreasonable suggestion brother, for all Aemon has been legitimised as a Targaryen, his inheritance comes from his mothers blood. It would not be un-heard off for his children to take her name." Viserys countered with a frustrating placidity.

Daemon morned the days when Visery's was not his King but simply his brother... When Daemon was free to whack him round the head.

"I would argue his most relevant inheritance is his f*cking dragon. A right he has due to his Targaryen blood, my blood, his father. And what of the matter that Aemon's children will be of pure Targaryen blood?" Daemon argued "Why would they hold any other name!"

Beside him Stark flinched, and began to inhale as if to begin a argument of his own.

"You and the Princess have come to an agreement regarding Helaena then?" The hand asked smugly.

"She was the only realistic choice" Daemon dismissed with a huff.

"I wouldn’t say the only choice-" Lannister began before being cut off by the Northern Lord.

"He's to wed his cousin then?" Stark clarified with relief.

"In a years time" Viserys nodded, a pleased smile sitting grotesquely on his face.

”She has already flowered, but a year for her to mature into a woman is recommended for her to settle into her childbearing years.” The Grand Maester clarified.

There was a pause as the majority of the men assembled thought of the same woman, though opinions varied.

Aemma had been young when she wed Viserys, too young, even Daemon thought they had coupled too soon. It was a common, though not spoken allowed, consensus that this may have been why she struggled to conceive.

"Well then I don’t see why their children can’t take the Greystark name" Stark continued, the only man not thinking of the late Queen "Both of them are only half Targaryen, Och tack och lov inte syskon.”

“By that logic will their children hold the name Hightower?” Daemon hissed. “They are Dragon riders for Gods sake!”

“But there’s no guarantee their offspring will be." Stark counterered, with a frustrating level of calm.

"Lets not get ahead of our selves..." Otto spoke up, trying to retain control of the conversation.

"No, he makes a valid point..." Viserys announced, each breath clearly taking immense energy. "While my future grandchild will of course be welcome to attempt to claim any unclaimed dragons, they won't be granted any cradle eggs."

Daemon's rage was a palpable thing now, the miasma pouring off him like heat from a fire. Across the room Lord Beesbury shifted, as if preparing to duck or flee the room entirely.

"And what is to be the precedent with eggs then brother? Grandfather had it that only those in the line of succession claim dragons. Yet this is clearly no longer the case. Who will have eggs if not mine own grandchilden, grandchildren that we will share!" Daemon spoke softly, dangerously, the calm before the storm.

Otto's eyes sharpened, he too curious, what the King said next could either help or hinder his own cause. After all Prince Daemon wasn't wrong that the King had broken precedent in allowing all of his children to claim draconic mounts, a fact Otto fully intended to use to his advantage.

The anticipation within the room sat heavy as all eyes were on the King, waiting for his contribution, for perhaps the first 'law' he had passed in years (and quite probably his last).

"All those with at least one Targaryen parent, will be allowed to at least attempt to bond with unclaimed dragons, this will not be barred... But only the children of the ruler, and the heir, may be afforded a Dragon egg." He finally announced.

Though still enraged Daemon took pleasure in noting, "So any brat's your son's whelp won’t get eggs either?"

"No." Viserys answered with finality.

At the very least, Daemon thought with a dark amusem*nt, Otto now too was grinding his teeth in frustration, but it was a hollow victory.

"So says the king" The hand muttered with a tight smile, before making direct eye contact with Daemon. "The children of the one sitting the Iron Throne may gift their children eggs."

No name was mentioned, again the traitorus c*nt was practically show boating his treason, and Daemon's blind brother said not a word.

Lurching to his feat and sending his chair careening backwards with a hair rising screech, Daemon addressed his brother.

"If that is all your grace I'll take my leave." He bit out with not a trace of familiarity.

"Daemon..." Viserys sighed weakly.

"Will that be all" The rogue Prince repeated in a growl.

"You are dismissed brother" The King finally granted morosely.

Barely waiting for the dismissal to come, Daemon stormed from the chamber, making note to slam the door on his leave. Prowling down the castle’s halls, noble's and servants alike through themselves out of the way of his path, a malignant black cloud hang palpable around him warning others away or risk taking the brunt of his wrath.

Daemon had a destination in mind, he had dealt with enough, his children had dealt with enough, he had made a decision.

Throwing open the doors of the chambers granted to the red witch, Daemon did not bother to knock.

"I've changed my mind. Tell your God I accept its offer."

The witch smirked, her brown eyes glowing red and gold in the firelight, "I need not tell my Lord any thing, my Prince. He already knows... Step in further and close the door, let us begin..."

Chapter 24: The Traveller V

Chapter Text

It was jarring how much of himself Jon could see in his ancestors, but even more gut wrenching when he saw others.

Some days he could barely stand to look at either Aegon or Rhaenyra, for fear of Daenerys staring back at him. It was easier with the other Targaryen’s, they only sharing the slightest resemblance to the last Queen of their line, basic traits that near all of their bloodline had shared- the inbreeding had made sure of it.

Jon had almost adjusted to seeing Daenerys’ ghost here, but Cregan’s arrival had fractured his equilibrium.

On the surface the Stark Lord bore a striking resemblance to Jon most of all. Looking how, Jon assumed, he himself may have formed without the influence of his father’s Valyrian blood. But past the surface features were a myriad of background features, smiles, laughs, forehead creases and glares.

For the first time since he had arrived in this world, Jon saw his first family, he saw the Starks.

Cregan had Robb’s smile, or he should say Robb had his. And oh, wouldn’t Lady Catelyn have been proud to know how much of her son could be seen in one of his most famous ancestors. Cregan scowled like Arya, his entire face scrunched in a canine manner, promising retribution. And when he frowned, deep in thought, in contemplation, Jon could only see Eddard Stark staring back at him…

“I still can’t believe he stormed out like that!” Cregan continued. The Northern Lord having hurried to Jon’s side, to recount the earlier council meeting, as Daemon was no where to be found.

“Honestly I think that was Daemon being restrained” Jon mused, uncertain how to converse with the ancestor that seemed to know him but not. “He removed himself from the situation and no one was harmed, I dare say I’m proud of his self control.”

“If that was his calm I’d hate to see his rage cousin.” The wolf Lord laughed, but his eyes were sharp and shrewd.

“Daemon exhibits his house’s element, he burns hot and fast, but is quickly extinguished by those with the tools to do so.” Jon smiled dismissively.

“And by tools you mean…”

“I’ll probably have a new sibling before the years end” the new Prince smirked mischievously.

Cregan chortled before rolling into a full laugh, “and here I heard these southerners think you’re a prude!”

Jon rolled his eyes, “It seems south of the neck visits to brothels are considered a sign of a ‘healthy appetite’ in a growing young man, for all their faith disproves. My lack of attendance is a disparity.”

“If you have to pay for sex you’re already doing it wrong, it should be about two people enjoying themselves and their bodies… I blame these strange Southern gods. Too many rules, the men don’t know how to please their wives… Or each other.” Cregan sent his cousin a saucy wink.

Jon laughed, but made sure to check their surroundings, the terrace garden they were strolling in was empty but surrounded by balconies.

“You need to be careful, such things can’t be spoken of so openly here, no matter how amusing reactions might be.” The younger man advised.

It was Cregan’s turn to roll his eyes, “what do I care of the opinions of these Southern twats?”

He leaned down, a smirk on his lips, “I’m twice the size of most of them anyway! I’d like to see them try something… At least we know where you got your height from now little wolf.”

Jon shoved the larger man with his shoulder, earning a yelp. The entire interaction was so familiar, and yet queer. Cregan was his ancestor, but he was a stranger, yet Jon was not one to him.

What trickery was afoot now he wondered morosely, and how would it come back to bite him.

”So” Jon grimaced, what should he say? Do? Did Cregan know more about Jon’s situation than he had let on?

”I see the heat hasn’t lessened your brooding, and my wife says I do it to much!” The Northman joked, not unkindly.

Jon snorted, “a family trait then”.

”Aye, the blood of Brandon the builder breeds true.” Cregan smiled.

”You.. know me.” Jon spoke slowly, hesitating on each syllable.

Cregan stared down at him, his eyes warm for all they were such a cool colour.

“Jon, cousin… I know being in this place, being with these people… Must leave you feeling out of your depth. This was far from the life you were raised for. Though that’s not to say we’re all limited by our upbringing…”

The larger man sighed, dropping heavily onto one of the benches that littered the garden.

“f*ck, I’m not good at this… I’m a man of action, it’s how I show my love, my hate. But that won’t serve me now… Your uncle loved you. I saw it with my own eyes, everyday, even if he was misguided at times in showing it… As did your cousins, they will always be siblings to you. And in my heart as will I… Prince Daemon may be a prat, but I see that love in him too, and I’m glad. You deserve a father who will love you openly.”

Jon stepped forward, and grasped the offered hand, grasping it tightly.

It didn’t seem like Cregan was lying, Jon didn’t think such an emotional and loving display could be a farce… But then, how? Cregan clearly knew, loved, someone he thought Jon was. Someone who bared his name and a twisted mirror of his own life.

This wasn’t the past, he kept forgetting that. This was another world entirely, had he truly took a moment to ponder on that? On the implications? All this time he had just thought everyone around him was wrong, or putting the threads together in nots, but Cregan’s presence, his story, suggested otherwise.

What if the people they had spoke of who sounded so like Jon’s family, were them? Or at least this world’s version? But then… what had been the fate of their Jon? The real man who had earned Cregan’s love.

”I don’t know if I can be the boy you remember” Jon admitted, joining Cregan on the stone bench.

”Though it pains me, I didn’t expect you to be… If you’d have me, I’d be honoured to get to know the man you’ve become?”

Shamefully, Jon nodded, weak the the allure of the man’s familiarity.

”And a soon to be wedded man at that!” Cregan laughed, a clear attempt at lightening the mood, which Jon allowed.

”It’s an unexpected honour, I never saw marriage in the cards for myself.” He admitted shyly.

”I did”. Cregan winked. ”Though I’ll admit even I never pictured you with a Princess! She’s a pretty little thing, though a tad on the young side. I’m glad his grace has given you a year. It’ll give her the chance to become a woman, and for you both to grow acquainted.”

Jon didn’t bother to hide the blush that set his face aflame. Daemon and Rhaenyra had warned him of the betrothal, for which he was grateful, yet a part of him was still surprised.

Helaena was a sweet girl, she’d made a point of seeking him out and being kind. Still he was grateful for the years reprieve, she was still a girl, on the cusp of woman hood or not, Jon had no desire to marry a child.

He was surprised the King had recognised that though.

”I’m grateful the King did not order an immediate wedding, for all I enjoy Helaena’s company, you have the truth of it she is still only a girl.”

”You thought the King might order sooner?” Cregan asked in bafflement, and a hint of disgust.

Jon’s silence was all the answer he needed.

”The King…” Cregan trailed of awkwardly.

”The King.” Jon nodded, confirming they were both having similar thoughts of disappointment.

”When my father swore to Rhaenyra’s heirship… When the King broke precedent… I thought he’d be… more.” Cregan sighed, a grimace on his handsome face.

“I realise sickness can ruin even the best of men… but if you had seen him in that council… There was no strength in that man, I struggle to believe there ever was.” The Stark Lord admitted. “I guess he just did it out of love, though I’m surprised that’s lasted the course…”

”When Viserys named Rhaenyra his heir, he put a target on her back, and every day since he’s allowed her enemies to load their quiver with arrows. That’s not love. None of this is. It’s guilt.” Jon snapped.

”Guilt?” Cregan echoed, quizzically.

”He robbed her of her mother, and thinks a crown a suitable replacement… it’s not.”

When Jon had learned of the manner of the late Queen’s demise, he had felt nothing but disgust. Daemon had told him, after reminiscing about his own late wife… Of the impossible decision the heeler had given him, of his choice, and the choice his brother had made when given the same ultimatum.

Men called Daemon the rogue, and Viserys the peaceful, but Jon wondered what their wives might have named them, if given the chance.

”Seven hells.” Cregan sighed, staring out over the garden. “Nothing ever would be.”

Joining his northern kin is gazing over the garden, Jon caught a flash of white from one of the balconies.

”Rhaenyra?” He called, rising to his feet and waving closer to the balcony he had spotted her on.

”Aemon!” She called with a grin “how are you my dear boy?”

Out from behind her, Aegon darted into view and leant precariously on the balcony beam.

“Cousin!” He cried, “it’s been an age!”

As if without thought, Rhaenyra’s arm darted out steadying her eldest half sibling.

”I hear congratulations are in order! Though gods know from me they should be thanks! To think how close I was to having to marry that lunatic!” Aegon jeered.

With a frown Rhaenyra cautioned the younger royal, “That’s your sister Aegon. Be kind.”

”Is Daemon not with you?” Jon asked, a frown creeping upon his face.

”mmh?” Rhaenyra hummed, “no I haven’t seen him all day, I was watching your siblings, but they’re with their grandparents now so I thought I’d take the chance to resume Aegon’s lessons.”

She spared a smile for her brother, who positively glowed at the hint of care.

”You haven’t seen him?” Jon echoed numbly, a sense of dread creeping upon him even as he tried to calm it.

”Problem?” Cregan guessed, coming to stand at Jon’s back.

”Is something wronghatchling?”Rhaenyra inquired, spotting the black cloud that was descending on her stepson.

”His grace left the council session on a rather sour note…” Cregan replied in his stead. ”We assumed he’d be with you… er, calming down.”

Aegon paled, his watery violet eyes widening comically. “That doesn’t bode well.”

”Aegon why don’t you return to your chambers, I think I may have to cut our lesson short.” Rhaenyra dismissed him with a false calm.

Aegon wasted no time in scurrying away.

Leaning over the banister in a move reminiscent of her brother display, Rhaenyra finally let some of her worry show.

“I’ll check my own chambers, before seeing if he is with the children. Could you check the yard? And the dragon pit? Both are commonly used to express his anger.” She called, her hands had a white knuckle grip on the bannister.

”At once.” Jon nodded, before marching under the balcony and in the direction of the yard.

”Wait!” Creagan called, hurrying to keep pace with the younger man.

”What’s all the alarm? Are your fathers tantrums that legendary?” He attempted to joke.

”You’d be best to be weary of the rage of any dragon rider, my Lord. To quickly it can spiral into ruin.” Jon hissed, his heart an erratic beat.

He was a fool, a complacent fool. Daemon would always be Daemon, no matter how much he claimed to love Jon it didn’t change his nature. This was a man who had ordered the slaughter of children, Jon had allowed himself to forget that, but now he was all to reminiscent.

Daemon, he had to find Daemon, had to stop him before the did something stupid or terrible. Daemon-

Had just crashed into him as Jon had turned the corner at breakneck speed.

Stumbling back the Rogue Prince rubbed his chest with a laugh, “What's the rush son? Are you being chased? I would think your a tad to old for games of tag!”

”Where were you?” Jon choked, his breathing laboured as his heart attacked his rib cage.

”Pardon?” Daemon asked with a smirk.

”Where were you?” Jon repeated “you stormed from the council in a rage and no one has seen you since. Where have you been?” He growled, prowling forward.

”I wasn’t aware you were my keeper.” Daemon replied, his smirk fading into a frown, disliking the signs of aggression from his son.

”Prove I needn’t be then!” Jon hissed, “tell me your rage was harmless, that there are no casualties to it! Where were you?” He bellowed.

”Mind your tone.” Daemon gave a hiss of his own, leaning forward to grasp the younger dragon by the chin. “Acknowledged Prince now or no, I am still your father.”

The older man sighed, leaning back “I was receiving religious counsel… Is that not recommended in moments of heart ache?” He mocked.

“I wasn’t aware Kings Landing held any practitioners of the Valyrian faith anymore?” Jon countered numbly.

”It doesn’t” Daemon agreed.

Feeling like a pit had opened beneath him, Jon reached for the wall for stability. The cold course feeling of the brick grounded him slightly.

”Please tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t go to Kinvara.” Jon whispered tentatively.

”And what if I did?” Daemon blustered, but his eyes were fixed on Jon, concerned.

”f*ck” Jon hissed, punching the wall that had just given him rest.

”Aemon!” Daemon cried, darting forward to grasp his sons hand. Taking in the now bloody knuckles with a frown.

”What did she promise you?” Jon hissed, wild eyed and sweating.

”How did you know she promised me something?” Daemon frowned.

”They always promise something!” Jon laughed darkly, “and there is always an outrageous price! What did she promise?” He pressed.

”She told me she could heal my brother.”

For a moment Jon could see the boy Daemon once must have been. Young and lost, and forever toddling after his brother, desperate for his approval, for his love, that which he gave to others so freely.

”But you mustn’t worry my son! She promised the price would be taken from our enemies! What’s one less Hightower in the world?”

And just as suddenly the visage was gone, replaced by the Rogue Prince in all his infamy.

”Do you realise what you’ve done? What you’ve unleashed? Curses such as this never result how you think. They last to long, reach to far. You might find them affecting someone you love.” Jon muttered with a heavy heart.

”What’s done is done” Daemon defended, unperturbed.

”How long do we have? When did you leave her?” Jon asked straightening his posture into that of a battle stance.

With a huff Daemon grumbled, “I just left.”

He held up a bandaged palm, brandishing the wound in Jon’s face. “She only took my blood, son. Nothing more.”

Grabbing the extended appendage Jon took in the wound, “Kings blood” he muttered.

The sound of clanking and heavy breathing soon filled the air as Cregan hurtled into view.

”Ah” the man gasped “you found him then! Panic over!” He declared.

”No.” Jon countered, turning on his heels and racing back the way he had came.

”Aemon!” Daemon cried, quickly giving chase.

”Oh f*ck no, not again!” Cregan bellowed, joining the chase.

Thundering through the halls Jon didn’t let his racing heart or burning chest slow him down. Riding a dragon had spoilt him, when had he last run like this? A while if it was such a hassle.

Hurtling into the side of the castle he had only entered the once, Jon didn’t stop till the doors to his destination were in sight, a Kingsguard and a green clad Prince before them.

Both Daemon and Cregan’s cries could be heard from further back, gaining distance.

”Prince Aemon?” Frowned Sir Criston from his post at the door

“What are you doing here? And why are you in such a state?” The knight’s hand had crept to his sword hilt.

”Cousin?” Aemond inquired, his singular eye wide with worry.

”The Queen” Jon gasped “is she in her chambers? Is the Hand with her?”

”She is? What’s the meaning of this.” Criston growled, eyes flicking over Jon’s shoulder to where Daemon had just entered the corridor.

”She’s in danger they’re both in danger!” Jon cried.

”Aemon for f*cks sake!” Daemon yelled, finally reaching him and crashing into his side.

”What have you done?” Cole hissed, his eyes full of poison for the eldest Prince.

”f*ck you Cole.” Daemon snapped, a sheen of sweat upon his brow.

”Not from him!” Jon insisted “There’s-“

He was cut off by the clattering of Cregan’s arrival.

”Jon someone better be dying!” The Lord of Winterfell gasped for breath as he joined them by the door.

”Should we be expecting anyone else?” Aemond snarked.

”What danger is the Queen in?” Rallied Sir Criston, turning attention back to Jon.

Before he could reply he was cut off once again, this time by a scream from the room behind the doors.

”Mother!” Aemond cried, diving forward and prying the doors open before his mothers sworn shield or any other adult had the chance.

Hot on his heals they all piled into the room and took in the scene before them with varying levels of composure.

The Queen lay strewn on the floor beside her desk, her arm raised in a meagre defence. Behind her, still standing, her father the Hand had pressed himself against the wall his face ashen like a sheet.

Before them was what Jon could only describe as a monster.

Sir Davos had described to him the shadow creature that Melisandre had dispatched to do her bidding. He had accounted it as a man made of shadow, red wisps darting off of it like embers.

Jon could see a resemblance in the creature that stood before him, but only in the barest sense. It was certainly formed from shadow, but no man’s shadow had ever been as rotten as this. Nor had any man loomed so large, for all it had the barest resemblance to a humanoid form. Black masses scuttled over each other, in a sickeningly insect like manner. Between one blink and the next small faces seemed to writhe within the creature, pressing against skin of shadow in a desperate attempt at escape, as their agony filled visages were twisted in a constant scream. Shadow seemed to drip of the thing as if it had been bathed in it, as it slinked of its form and splattered on the floor, the castle stone blackened as if scorched.

”Seven save us” Cole gasped, his now drawn sword shaking in his grip.

The exclamation alerted the creature to their presence, where the door opening had not, and it’s head twisted at an unnatural angle to glare malevolently towards them.

It had eyes, if you could call the two gaping voids in its head such. Whatever they were, they were fixed on them now, and Jon refused to buckle in fear.

Recognising it’s change in attention as the only chance he may get, Jon darted forward drawing Long Claw and he did so, and planted himself firmly between the creature and the Queen.

”Aemon!” Daemon hissed, moving forward to grab the younger man and pull him back to the door, but was halted by the creatures growl.

Behind Jon, the Queen let out a near silent sob.

An ear splitting sound whipped around the chamber as the creature reeled back from the force of Jon’s strike. It’s yowl of pain revealing a gapping more of needle sharp teeth that were jarringly white compared to the rottenness of the rest of the beast. The black darkness that had made up its chest was split in two, exposing a rib cage of blackened rotting wood, and a burning ball of paper.

Stumbling back Jon wasted no time in pulling the Queen to her feet and near dragging her to the door, where he threw her towards Sir Criston hoping her sworn shield would catch her, before spinning around to face the creature once more.

It had recovered quickly from Jon’s attack, for all its chest was still gaping open, it hissed in rage. What you might call it’s shoulders, rolled as it prepared to launch another attack.

Later, Jon would wonder if it was his own personal feelings for Otto Hightower that clouded his judgment. In the moment however, he could only stare in horror as the creature seemed to realise a second faster than he did, that the Hand was now alone on the other side of the room, no one between him and it.

Faster than Jon could have moved even if he tried, the creature crossed the space between it and the hand in one disjointed leap. It’s movements jerky and uncoordinated, but deadly fast.

Within seconds it was upon him, heaving the man forward even as it charged into him. Shadows of black and pulsing dark red consumed the Hand, swirling around him in a storm. As the creature seemed to dissipate and reform as it swiped and swirled through the hand, Jon and his companions could only stare in horror at Otto’s fate.

Where the shadows met the man’s skin it blackened and cracked, turning to ash in moments exposing muscle and quickly bone. Where the creature grasped, Hightower seemed to melt, his skin liquifying and sliding off his skeleton in wet squelches. His face shook, quickly overwhelmed with black lines as his blood rotted from the inside. His eyes swelled before bursting and poring down his quickly disintegrating face. Within minutes the Hand had been reduced to a blackened skeleton, still standing eerily in place. Otto’s finger twitched, before seeming to realise all at once he was dead, and the skeleton crumbled to the floor, a blackened heap.

Behind him, the Queen let out a heartbroken scream and lunged forward in an attempt to reach her fathers remains, but was halted by the arms of her son.

”Mother no!” Aemond insisted, refusing to release her even as she struggled.

”What the f*ck” Cregan hissed staring in fear at the remains that only moments ago, had been a man. ”What is that thing?”

”Magic” Jon replied, not taking his eyes off the creature that seemed to be preening, proud with its kill. “Dark magic.”

Skulking over the heap of bones it prowled forward, raking its eyes over the assembled group, assessing them.

Aemond pushed his mother backwards, who stumbled into the doorframe before Cregan reached over and steadied her, guiding the weeping woman to the back of the group.

With Alicent out of sight, and the rest of them between her and it, the creature seemed to freeze for a moment unsure how to proceed. Its uncertainty didn’t last long however, as it soon dropped onto all fours, its limbs snapping grotesquely as it reformed itself into a more animalistic shape, letting out a hair raising growl.

”f*ck, I don’t think Otto tasted good, it looks even more pissed” Daemon groaned, pointing Dark Sister towards it.

Emboldened by the Princes successes in injuring the creature, Sir Cole darted forward waving his sword erratically at the beast.

”Get back!” He cried, aiming for the open chest Jon had created.

What Sir Criston had failed to note however, was that both Jon and Daemon wielded swords of Valyrian steel. He did not.

Striking what he thought would be a killing blow, the knight stumbled back leaving his sword fixed in the creatures chest. Any feelings of victory were short lived as the creature only grasped the sword, melting it into molten metal that dripped harmlessly from its form. Shaking its arms the creature drew sharp claws each the size of a dagger. Swinging it’s arm round it hurtled into Cole, striking him in the face and sending the Kings guard flying across the room, where he crashed into the wall and slid to the floor unmoving.

”Sir Criston!” the Queen cried, before quickly being silenced by Cregan’s restraining arm.

Turning his head slightly Jon met Daemon’s eyes, “don’t let it past you”. He ordered, not waiting for the other man’s response before diving back into battle.

Throwing himself back at the beast Jon echoed Cole’s moves, hoping he was right and the metal his sword was forged in would allow a killing blow.

Ducking a swipe from the beasts claws he swung Long Claw up in defence from the other arm. Cleaving clean through its shoulder and separating the creature’s arm from the rest of it. The dismembered limb dropped to the floor with a clunk, it’s shadowy coat melting off and dissipating, leaving only a rotted piece of wood.

Its shadows solidifying into a smaller shape the creature seemed to calcify. Before with a final ear splitting shriek, it dissolved, its shadows melting into the floor.

Jon waited a moment before raising his sword, not wanting To risk a surprise attack, and stumbled upright.

”Aemon!” Daemon cried rushing forward to take the younger man in is arms, fusing over his wounded side.

The Queen stumbled out from behind Cregan, her eyes on Cole, and notably avoiding her fathers remains.

”Is he dead?” She asked softly, as if terrified the creature would return if she made too much noise.

Slowly Cregan moved towards the fallen Kings guard, careful stepping round the blackened pile of bones, he reached down towards Cole.

”He’s still breathing, but it’s week”.

Nodding slowly the Queen tried to straighten, but the twitching of her hands exposed her anxiety.

”Aemond go get the Maester.” She ordered.

”What?” Her son asked, staring wide eyed at the remains of his grandfather.

”The Maester Aemond!” She snapped “Both Sir Criston and your cousin are injured. They need tending to.”

Aemond snapped his attention towards Jon, his eye on the side where the creature had clawed him. It wasn’t bleeding, rather it seemed to smoke, as if cauterised.

With a shaky node Aemond darted from the room.

”Does someone want to explain to me what just happened?” The Queen demanded, with surprising stamina given her recent ordeal.

Cregan turned to face him and Daemon, making it clear the answers weren’t found with him.

”Prince Aemon” the Queen spoke, only the barest hint of a shake audible. “You came to my rescue, how did you know to do so?”

Daemon snorted, and shot the red head a glare, “Some thanks. He saves you and you thank him with an interrogation! Can’t you see he’s injured woman.”

”I can see that” she snapped. “I can also see my fathers blackened bones!” The Queen gasped wetly, finally allowing herself to look at the Hands remains. ”Slain by a creature not of this world… I am grateful for Aemon’s heroics but I must have the full story.”

Daemon growled but was cut off by Jon’s restraining hand.

”Prince Daemon was telling me of a quarrel he had gotten into with the red Priestess Kinvara. He had dismissed her from court on advice from the Princess. Rhaenyra, intended it as a gesture of good will towards you your grace… But the witch didn’t react well.” Jon spoke liltingly, spinning a lie only Daemon would know to be false.

”She said she’d earn back favour. Prince Daemon thought nothing of it and left her company, but when he told me of it I knew better.” He grimaced.

“And how is it you knew that?” Cregan asked before the Queen had a chance to.

”She’s not the first of her kind that I’ve encountered. I know I mentioned as much when she arrived your grace but I’ve seen what those of her order are capable of, what they deem worthy of favour.” Jon muttered, wincing at the burning of his wound.

”And what was that?” The Queen pressed, confusion evident on her tear stained face.

”The Priestess I met had sworn herself to the service of a Lord in the middle of an inheritance dispute, between he and his brother… The brother ended up dead, and his sworn shield swore the deed had been done by a man made of shadow… Red witches see favour as earned through blood, because that’s what their God demands. If she wanted back in Daemon’s good graces, she probably thought the only way was with the blood of his enemies… It didn’t take a genius to figure out who in this castle would qualify.”

Alicent’s stare dropped on Daemon, and she glared at him with a burning rage.

The Prince remained unruffled, “Stay your horses, your grace. You can’t blame me for something someone did in my name, but I never ordered. Are you responsible for all unpleasantness done in your name?” He drawled.

The Queen flinched back as if struck.

”You have a red witch here? And Jon when the f*ck did you meet one?” Asked Cregan, the Northan Lord looking back and forth at the Queen and Prince Daemon in bafflement and alarm.

Jon was saved from answering however, as Aemond returned with the Maester and Sir Harrold in tow.

”Your Grace!” The Lord commander cried, “are you well? The Prince said you were attacked?”

”I’m unharmed Sir Harrold rest assured. Though in the process of making that so, Prince Aemon was injured.” She waved the Maester towards Jon, who scurried over.

Jon hissed as the man poked at his wounds.

”Careful you grey rat!” Daemon snapped, hovering protectively over Jon.

”It’s as if your wounds already been cauterised my Prince. Were you attacked with a flaming weapon.”

”No just a flaming monster” Jon joked, which fell flat as the rooms other occupants didn’t appreciate his dark humour.

”Where is the Hand?” Sir Harrold asked, taking in Sir Cole’s fallen form across the room.

Aemond said nothing, only pointed at the pile of bones that sat in a ring of black soot on the stone floor.

”What in Gods name?” The old knight gasped, staring at what was left of Otto Hightower.

”What creature could have done such a thing? A dragon?” He asked.

”No dragon Sir, this was a beast of shadow, created by the Priestess of R’hllor.” Jon corrected. Before taking in the Knight pensively.

”Don’t you guard the King Sir Harrold? Why are you here?” He asked with a frown.

”The Grand Maester was with father when I went to find him. When I said there had been an attack father sent Sir Harrold with us… He still has his household guards, and Helaena is with him so her guardsmen are there too.” Aemond answered grimly.

”Seems my brother is in need of a new Hand, and perhaps a new Kings guard.” Daemon drawled, sweeping his gaze from Sir Criston to Otto’s bones.

”Callus as ever Prince Daemon.” The Queen hissed. “I dare say there remains one monster left to slay.”

”Subtle” Daemon laughed mockingly, uncaring of the Queens threat.

”Slay” Jon echoed, his thoughts beginning to race.

”Aemon? Cousin are you well? Is his wound making him delirious?” Asked Aemond, moving towards Jon’s side.

”The shadow monster that killed Renly wasn’t slain… It dissipated once its task was done.” Jon muttered.

”What are you mumbling about Aemon?” Interjected Daemon.

Pushing the Maester away, Jon gripped Long Claw.

”The creature wasn’t done after Otto. One life wasn’t enough, it kept coming, I had to kill it.” He explained to his wide eyed listeners, none of whom seemed on board with his realisation.

”You’re not making any sense Jon” Cregan said as much.

Sighing and pulling his hair Jon began to pace. “Don’t you get it? The Hand wasn’t enough! Whatever spell Kinvara wanted his life force for, his soul wasn’t powerful enough. The monster was trying to kill another…”

”…Which means someone else is still in danger” The Queen finished his thought, finally catching up to Jon’s realisation.

”But you killed it!” Aemond cried, “So it can’t hurt anyone else!”

”It can’t, but the witch still just might.” Daemon realised with a huff. ”Someone with more magic than old Otto.”

It spoke to the tension of the situation that the Queen didn’t snap at him for the jibe.

”Someone with magical potential, someone with power Kinvara would want to use…” Jon continued, thinking rapidly who could be her target.

”Someone who dreams of the future?” Aemond suggested, coming to the conclusion the same time as Jon.

”Helaena.”

Chapter 25: The Traveller VI

Chapter Text

Growing up the bastard of Winterfell, Jon never imagined a grand tale for himself. He would never be the hero, never the dashing knight saving the beautiful maiden, that wasn’t his destiny. Even years later, after serving on the wall and fighting monsters straight out of old Nan’s stories, Jon wouldn’t describe his actions as heroic. No, he was just a chew toy for fate.

“Cregan stay here with Aemond and the Queen! Ice should work if another of those creatures appears.” Jon ordered, already heading for the door.

“Daemon, Sir Harrold with me.” He commanded.

“Aemon! You’re injured” Daemon countered, holding him in place by grasping him by the shoulder.

“I know. And later you can fuss over me to your hearts content, but right now we need to go.”

Shaking of the restraining hand Jon marched from the room, quickly gaining speed as he went, until he was once again sprinting through the castle’s halls. Thankfully the King’s chambers weren’t far, but every second it took him to reach them felt like an hour.

“Why are there so many f*cking stairs” Jon hissed between his teeth, as he leapt along stone step after stone step.

“It’s a defence mechanism!” Daemon cried from where he was hot on his heels.

“Some good they’re doing” growled Sir Harrold, the clanking of his armour nearly drowning out the Lord commanders exclamation.

Thundering to the top of the stairs, the three men dashed into the corridor leading to the King’s chambers.

With a muffled curse, Jon just prevented himself from tripping to the floor as he stumbled over a fallen guardsmen. The black clad soldier had his throat slit so deeply his head was barely attached. Further down the hall, Jon began to spot multiple slumped forms of soldiers, all with their throats similarly slit.

Jon’s momentary pause had given Sir Harrold the chance to over take him, and the Kings guard wasted no time in diving towards the chamber doors, grasping the handles.

“Seven hells!” The knight hissed, as he flinched back from the handle, his hands now a shiny red, clearly burnt.

“It’s hot!” He cried, shaking out his hands as if the breeze created from the motion would be enough to soothe the burn.

“Move aside!” Daemon ordered, grabbing the handle in his own gloved hands and throwing the doors open.

Resulting in the corridor having the sent of burnt leather waft over it, and Jon could see a slight smoke trail coming from Daemon’s hands. Yet none of them acknowledged it as they rushed into the Kings room.

The once grand royal chambers had the air of a tomb with the way darkness hung over it, palpable like a living thing. It was only broken by the stubborn shards of candlelight, that cut through the gloom like knives. But even they had a sinister quality to them, too red to be any natural flame. They caused any light in the room to look like a bloody glaze.

“I see we have company”, a voice called from the gloom.

With a rush of burning hot air, not dissimilar to a dragons breath, a large ring of candles ignited at the centre of the room, exposing the horrific scene.

The King was hung on a wooden sculpture by a singular nail buried deeply in his hand. The heavy robes the man wore were lowered on the raised wrist exposing his arm, where a long cut weeped sluggishly into and golden bowl beneath him. On the opposite side of the sculpture, Helaena was tied with thick ropes and a mirroring nailed hand, she too was bleeding.

Amongst it all was Kinvara, the Preastess immediately recognisable by her blood red gown. But both she and it were looking significantly diminished. The once ornate dress was frayed and burned in sections, the gown that had once fit her so sinfully well, now hung ill fitting in key places. She too looked wane, her once luscious dark hair now greasy and lank, and her skin looking taunt across her face as if she had not eaten in moons.

On the outside of the candle ring the two red priests had never looked more like thugs, their hulking forms held taunt and primed for violence.

“I imagine I have you to thank for the death of my creature, blessed one” she hissed at Jon, ignoring his companions entirely.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He replied with false bravado. His eyes flicking worriedly over the bound royals.

“No” she drawled, a smirk oozing onto her face. “I just thought you’d take longer. My mistake.”

“I demand you cease this witchcraft immediately! Release the King and the Princess!” Commanded Sir Harold, the old knight holding his sword aloft despite his injured hands.

“Oh it’s a a command is it?” The witch laughed. Finally acknowledging that Jon wasn’t alone.

“And by whose power do you make that command Sir? Might it be the King’s?”

She stalked forward, her hips swaying in a mockery of seduction. Jon was rather reminded of the scuttling of a spider.

“It doesn’t look like he has very much power?” She mocked, waving her hand dismissively towards the prone man.

“Perhaps someone else? Your gods perhaps? Though I must warn you, those seven vessels of heretics can’t hear you here… and even if they could, their powers could do nothing for you.”

The witch smirked, “very well! The power of honour and decency versus me! Shall we test it?”

Jon didn’t even see her move, nor hear an incantation pass her lips, before Sir Harrold was lifted of his feet and hurled against the castle stone. Where he was forced to hover just slightly above the ground.

“I don’t think honour and decency have any more power here than your seven idols!” Kinvara laughed cruelly.

Jon suddenly recognised the statue that the two Targaryen’s were attached too. It was from the Queen’s gardens, and usually held pride of place in the Reach pavilion, the statue of the Mother.

“Of all the statues, you had to choose that one?” Daemon drawled mockingly, the rogue Prince projecting an air of disinterest.

He was betrayed however by the flintiness of his eyes. Fixed as they were unflinchingly on the red witch, yet moving occasionally to observe his brother.

“My apologies Prince Daemon, ‘this was a sper of the moment plan and my resources limited. Though I admit, there is a delicious level of irony in using this. My Lord has always been possessive in his Godhood, I hope the corruption of this false idol will appease him.”

She bowed lowly to the the elder Prince, her knees shaking at the effort.

”Appease?” Daemon echoed “out of favour with your God are you witch?”

Kinvara scowled, drawing Jon’s attention to the crows feet that now blanketed her eyes.

”A momentary lapse… My Lord can be… Flighty with his favour. I’ll show him I’m worthy once more!”

No one else would be getting through.

~Daemon~

There is a certain level of Karma in giving a reckless man, reckless children. How do you reprimand them for actions you both know, that you would have done yourself if given the chance?

With a huff, the eldest Prince glared at the two monks, who remained unbothered.

“Cease this lunacy!” Daemon hissed, gripping his sword hilt tightly.

Though he made no outward indication of it, Daemon was all too aware that with his son’s departure and Sir Harrold’s ‘imprisonment’, he would be fighting two on one.

“Are you two deaf as well as ugly? I’m a Prince! And I just gave you an order!”

“If you were meant to pass you would have.” The one on the left muttered, before his companion continued.

“Do not try to interfere in matters beyond your league… If you try we will be forced to stop you.”

“You? Stop me?” Daemon smirked, drawing Dark sister and dropping into a perfect battle stance.

The grumbles and swears about calling back up from the floating knight were soundly ignored.

~Jon~

“Well little hero no one can fault you your bravery… Everything else however…” Kinvara glowered at him, now only a few paces away.

The increased proximity exposed more of her deterioration. Her skin was yellowed and lined, and her hair streaked with white.

Had she gotten worse in the moments since he entered?

“Let them go.” Jon ordered calmly.

“Once started magic can’t be stopped. Even if you kill me boy my spell goes on.” She hissed smugly.

“You lie” he growled, anger taking over his features.

With a cackle the witch spread her arms wide as if taking a great bow.

“Oh but I do not. You should know better than most considering.”

“I didn’t kill your ‘sister’ so I wouldn’t know…” Jon muttered, staring at her in confusion.

“I’m not referring to her, barely more than an acolyte by my visions. I’m referring to you, your creation to be exact! I would have known you as irregular even without my Lords message. You reek of Devine intervention. Of Death.”

Stumbling back as if stuck, Jon shook his head erratically as if to shake off her words.

“What are you even talking about?” He gaped.

She rolled her eyes.

“Both Stark and Targaryen have magic in their blood, an otherness to them that gives them power. Did you not think it strange you are the only product of the two ever? In the history of your world?”

He hadn’t, truth be told, he hadn’t had the time. Considering how his sires house preferred to marry each other, it hasn’t seemed so strange. Now though he wondered about the significance.

“So I’m… gifted, what of it?”

Kinvara drew herself up, still looking unbearably smug.

“Oh it’s more than that boy. It’s power, more power than mortals can withstand… As your parents soon learned.”

Jon felt sick, she wasn’t really implying what he thought, was she?

“You mean they died because of me?” He gasped.

“A gift like you requires sacrifice.” She answered teasingly.

Jon felt like he’d been punched, this very much wasn’t the conversation he’d been expecting. Was it true? Or was it just the witch trying to distract him?

He had a sinking feeling it was true, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. On the implications of it.

“So your life isn’t the spells anchor, but something else must be!” He announced, rallying his strength.

“Stubborn child!” Kinvara cried, through gritted teeth.

“You may have power but you have no respect! What makes you better than I? Why would my Lord favour you yet ignore his most devoted?”

There was a fevered look in her red eyes now, and as her hands rose to grip her hair, Jon noted they had grown to look distinctly claw like.

“Maybe this is a test? Did he send you here to test me… If I destroy you, will he love me again?” She muttered, half to herself.

“I doubt it, but it doesn’t look like you’ll listen to me, so what does it matter” Jon grumbled.

“You’re to powerful to be natural, and to much of a heretic to be my Lords child! No, no, no! You are a false Prince sent to test my devotion, when I strike you down my Lord will favour me once more!” She panted.

Her hair was entirely grey now, and her dress looked like she had rapped herself in bloody cobwebs. Near unrecognisable to the seductive Priestess she had been.

With a howl kinvara through herself towards him, her hands now twisted claws, of what Jon was shocked to note, was exposed bone.

She swiped angrily towards his face, and Jon took the chance to duck her attack, and whack her rear with the flat of his sword.

The witch was sent tumbling towards her own wall of flames, as Jon darted towards Helaena and the King.

All too aware of the incensed witch at his back, he wasted no time in removing Helaena’s restraints, yet hesitated at the bloody nail.

“Pull it out” she whispered softly, her violet eyes hazy from either pain or some kind of drug.

“It’ll hurt…” He warned.

“It hurts now” Helena joked half heartedly.

With a grimace Jon gripped the nail, giving her a quick look of apology, he yanked it out.

Helaena gasped but managed to withhold a scream. She pulled her injured hand inwards cradling it gently.

“Do you think you could free your father while I fight the witch?” Jon asked softly, his hands hovering over her shoulders, not daring to touch.

Nodding solemnly, Helaena looked over at the scrambling witch who was beginning to rise.

“Go” she ordered.

~Daemon~

Swiping at the calf of bald creep number one, Daemon darted to the left quickly to avoid creep number two’s club.

“Aren’t you two meant to be loyal to your God above all others” he hissed between laboured breaths.

“Lady Kinvara is our Lords chosen, his mouthpiece on the mortal plane. Her word is his.” Bald creep one growled from the floor, where he was gripping his bleeding leg.

“Accept it seems she’s on the outs at the moment! So why not cut your losses?” Daemon cajoled, smirking with all too sharp teeth.

“It’s not our place to question, only to obey” Bald creep two grumbled, rising his club high to strike the taunting dragon.

Daemon stood still as the weapon neared, only dodging at the last second, achieving the satisfying crunch of creep two bludgeoning creep one to death.

Laughing cruelly Daemon danced backwards, swinging Dark sister in a patronising twirl.

“Clearly you don’t have the brains to question, my apologies” he snarked.

”Doesn’t look like your friend did either! Let’s cut you open and see who has more shall we?”

Sir Harrold’s grown went unnoticed by both.

~Jon~

Spinning around, Jon was quick to block Helaena’s retreat.

”Reckless child!” Kinvara howled, drool dripping down her chin from where her lower lip now sagged, exposing missing and blackened teeth.

Jon spotted several dotted on the floor near the flames where she had fell.

”Not mock” Jon replied solemnly, slowly circling her till his back was once again to the flame, and hers the alter.

”Just a willingness to bare them.”

Seeing that Helaena had been successful in freeing the still unconscious King, and dragging him behind the bed, Jon charged.

The witch laughed mockingly, not even bothering to move.

”I already told you my death will stop nothing!”

Bringing his arm down, Jon jerked Long Claw forward, slicing her side.

”I wasn’t aiming for you.”

Using the momentum of his charge, Jon let his sword continue forward until it clashed with the golden bowl, sending blood cascading on the floor in all directions. Propelled by the force of the sword, the bowl soured into the far wall shattering on impact.

”No!” Kinvara screeched, extending a rotten arm towards the bowl.

A few shards floated briefly, before dropping once more.

”Fool” she hissed “this is magic of life and death, the consequences-“

~Daemon~

“Maybe if you stop struggling it’ll release you?” He suggested to the red faced knight hung above him.

”A grand idea my Prince I’ll just hang here from now on then shall I?” The longstanding Kingsguard snapped back.

”‘Tis only a suggestion” Daemon grumbled, wiping his bloody hands on his trouser leg.

Bald creep number two had been a bleeder, covering the Rogue Prince head to toe when he had scalped him.

”Maybe if I try pulling you?” Daemon suggested, moving closer to grab the knight.

”I doubt it would be that simple-“ The knight began, before crashing to the floor.

The weight of his armour, and the sudden drop, making him tilt forward and take Daemon down with him.

In their scramble to stand, they missed the flames lower, only noticing when the other side of the room was visible once more.

“Fool” the witch hissed, looking like a walking corpse “this is magic of life and death, the consequences-“

”Are mine to bare” Aemon cut her off boldly, standing strong above the wicked bitch, a stoic look of acceptance on his young face.

Seeming to steel himself, Aemon swung his sword in a perfect arch, sending the red witch’s head careening to the floor where it rolled to stare Daemon in the eye.

He kicked it as he ran to his son’s side, paying neither it nor its body any further attention.

”Aemon!” Daemon cried, his voice heavy with relief.

”You did it my boy! You beat her! You beat her spell!”

”Not quite,” his son muttered, beginning to sway on his feat.

”She was attempting powerful magic. I told you that has consequences… I tried to warn you” he sighed.

”By stopping her, by interrupting, I claimed those consequences.”

”What? Nonsense! Is that what she told you? Lies I assure you! The witch is dead and her spell dies with her!” Daemon announced confidently.

Aemon smirked.

“It’s my job to prove you wrong remember” he spoke softly.

Before collapsing into his father’s arms.

Chapter 26: Aegon the unwilling

Chapter Text

Aegon knew he was a coward. It wasn’t something he was particularly ashamed of. People put to much credit in bravery, and not enough in cowardliness. After all, it was the cowards that lived to write about the heroes bravery!

All his miserable life the only goal Aegon had ever had, beyond his own pleasure, was surviving to the next day. It was probably his mother’s fault, not that she’d admit it. Spend every waking hour telling a boy his sister would murder him one day would give anyone a complex.

Truth be told, after spending more time with Rhaenyra, he didn’t think she would kill him. Daemon however… His uncle was a terrifying son of a bitch, even when he wasn’t trying to be.

He had never shared the obsession everyone else in his family seemed to have with the man, and he did mean everyone. If it wasn’t his grandfather muttering about his audacity, it was his mother preaching about his promiscuity, or his brother waxing poetry about his swormanship. Rhaenyra’s obsession with the man was well known and well documented, and thus not worth dwelling on. At least Helaena seemed uninterested in his general existence, but then again she was unaware of those around her at the best of times, and thus couldn’t really be counted.

His father, he knew, had an endlessly complicated relationship with his brother. Even Aegon, distanced as he was from his father’s orbit, knew that much. The relationship between heir and spare was forever a toxic one, how could it not be? One son promised everything by virtue of timing, and another only existing in case the first died before a father. It’s a ripe and fertile field for jealousy to bloom.

And not to forget, It was a difficult thing to be siblings in a family like theirs, where the relationship meant so much more and yet nearly nothing.

As a Targaryen, you’re raised with the awareness that your sister may one day be your wife, and your relation is the very reason why. In the face of that, what was brotherhood? Knowing that had one of you been born a woman, you might have wed?

Of course Aegon had never felt much beyond fondness for his siblings, usually annoyance was the prevailing feeling. So he couldn’t relate to the complexity that was his father and uncle’s relationship, not that he wanted to.

He’d always preferred brunette’s.

Not that he’d had the chance to partake in any recently, what with the various lessons, ones he was actually attending! Aegon had been settling for admiring his cousin for lack of other options. Not that admiring Aemon was a hardship, the elder Targaryen had inherited all of the standard fine features of their kin, but his mother’s colouring gave him a uniqueness among their largely blonde house. That Aemon was still adjusting to the heat of the south and often removed his out layers during training was also not something Aegon would be complaining about anytime soon.

Alas that sight might too be lost to him shortly.

”Will he be okay?” Aegon near whispered to his mother amongst the chaos of the Maesters tower.

He went unanswered.

His cousin’s prone form was eerily still where he lay, if not for the slow rise and fall of his chest Aegon could easily mistake him for a corpse.

Sir Cole was no better, sprawled on a stretcher, his face covered entirely in bandages dead to the world, and surrounded by three of the grand Maesters assistants.

Helaena was propped up on a padded chair, looking pale but conscious with her hand equally covered, and a septa fluttering around her like a moth to a flame. To her right the King sat in a chair also, though one with far more cushions, and had the full attention of the grand Maester- despite his attempts at otherwise.

“For the last time, I am fine! See to my nephew!” Viserys bellowed. His voice sounding more commanding than Aegon had ever heard it.

“Prince Aemon’s wounds have been seen to your grace! Please let me treat your hand.” The Maester all but begged.

”If my son’s wounds have been seen to, then why is he still not awake.” Prince Daemon hissed from where he loomed in the shadows of the Kings side.

Why Aegon would never understand, why being the cause of his lack of comfort to her. Otto Hightower was dead, slain brutally by a monster conjured by a red witch.

His grandfather had always loomed so tall, his first and most lasting nightmare, Otto Hightower had left a grand legacy in the trauma he had given his descendants.

No, Aegon would not morn him.

”Then magic must be used to heel him, no?” Helaena’s wavering voice broke through the tense atmosphere of Deamon’s growls and the Maesters panicked breathing.

The Queen gasped at her daughter’s suggestion, hands flying to grasp the medallion of her faith that hung heavy around her neck.

”Helaena how could you suggest such a thing? After everything that’s happened? You would invite further heresy!” His mother hissed.

To the surprise of all, Helaena met their mothers wide panicked gaze unflinchingly.

”Yes” she replied simply, as if she had not near spat on their mother’s faith.

Aegon couldn’t suppress the snort that escaped him.

”Viserys this is madness! Look what inviting darkness in has already brought. Your hand… My father is dead. One of your Kings guard lay irrevocably maimed, your own nephew is dying before our eyes… Adding more fuel to the fire will only burn us all!” His mother cried.

”I’ve always been fond of fire” Daemon drawled, a mad glee rising in him at the Queens apparent disgruntlement.

”Mother… Perhaps you would be happier in the sept?” Aegon offered. “If you’re so confident your gods are the one and true, then pray to them… Maybe they will surprise us.”

But then he blinked, and all he saw was green.

Maybe he had loved his mother once, maybe she had loved him, but he knew if that time ever did exist it had long since past. No matter what either of them did from this point on, it wouldn’t change their image in the others eyes. He would always be a disappointment to her, and she would always be an oppressor to him.

Let his siblings cling to whatever they could, he would do what was necessary to protect those he actually cared for. Aegon took a deep breath, exhaled, and mourned whatever relationship they could of had.

”Sir Errek, escort my mother to the sept.” He ordered, turning away from her gaze.

The Kings guard stepped forward tentatively, eyeing the King to see if he would dismiss his son’s order, he didn’t.

Weeping his mother was dragged from the room, her cries ignored by all its inhabitants.

”Well, maybe there’s a dragon in you after all” Daemon addressed him, his smile a cruel slash across his face.

“Your Grace, the Queen…” Grand Maester Orwyle began.

”Will be happier and safer in the house of her gods.” The King declared, smoothly holting any other arguments that could rise in Alicent’s defence.

”If there’s nothing else you or any of your rat pups can do then kindly f*ck off” Daemon ordered, glaring at Orwyle and his junior maesters.

The grand Maester turned to the King, hoping he would dismiss his brothers authority. Viserys just sighed.

”Write to the citadel, tell them of what transpired last night. I know there’s records on magic there even if your order prefers to ignore them these days… You will also need to write to Lord Hightower, and inform him of his brother’s death.”

Reluctantly the grand Maester bowed, gathered his apprentices, and departed the chamber. Silence was left in his wake, broken only by the uneven breathing of the wounded.

”Now what?” Aegon asked, shattering the silence with the confidence of someone used to being the centre of ire.

Helaena looked to their father, then Prince Daemon, before rolling her eyes. Aegon didn’t think he’d ever seen her do that, hadn’t thought she was capable of such a human expression.

“We should search her chambers, she may have had texts that could describe the ritual she was using. We know it involves sacrifices, that’s a start.” Helaena explained slowly, as if they were children who had missed something terribly obvious.

”Right!” Daemon blustered, as if he had not been standing there as clueless as Aegon.

”Prince finally grown a pair, and I will go. You two stay here and make sure my son doesn’t get any worse. Viserys look after your hand, for gods sake it’s still bleeding.” Daemon grumbled.

”My sister is also still bleeding”. Aegon felt himself say before he really thought it over.

Dark purple eyes glared viciously at him, “careful boy, finally standing up to mummy doesn’t mean you can take me.”

Aegon gulped, but didn’t duck his head. Daemon’s glare was chilling, made more so by the fact Aegon knew the Prince could, would, back up his threat.

Yet surprisingly a little part of him couldn’t help but think, his grandfather’s gaze had been icier.

The red priestess’ chambers were as creepy as one would expect them to be. Red candles littered the room, yet other than that it was surprisingly sparse. No towering piles of spell books, no ominous alter to foreign gods, just a room. Somehow that made it scarier.

“I’ll check her quarters, you check on where her two thugs slept.” Daemon ordered, already marching in the direction of the larger bedroom.

”Real delight you are” Aegon grumbled under his breath, making his way to the smaller quarters the two priests must have shared.

The blinds on the singular window were open allowing the early morning light to shine into the room, exposing the jarringly clean quarters. No servants had been in here since the red trio had arrived, Aegon had heard as much from his mother, yet the room was pristine. He supposed if the two really were priests, specifically those of a lower rank, they may be used to cleaning up after themselves, but this was excessive.

Slowly Aegon crept into the room. Why the sneakiness he couldn’t really say, its occupants were dead, they wouldn’t hear him no matter how loud he entered. But the quietness of the room was a palpable entity, and after hearing of the monster the witch had created, Aegon didn’t want to risk finding out if there were anymore.

There was a small writing desk shoved under the window, between the first bed and a tapestry covered wall. Aegon headed towards that first, figuring if there was going to be information anywhere it would be there.

An inkwell sat in the far corner of the desk, a feathered quill proudly jutting out of it. Beside it sat another of those damed red candles, and a metal seal that Aegon picked up to examine. The crest carved into its face was simple in design, far less complicated than that used by the nobles of Westeros, resembling a flaming heart.

Aegon returned the seal to the desk, and began opening its compartments hoping there may be letters going by the seal’s presence. His hopes began to dim as one after another, each draw revealed itself as empty. When finally, the second to last proved fruitful.

From the desk Aegon pulled a small leather bound book, its cover face printed by the same symbol as the seal. Eagerly he opened the book, palming through its pages, ignoring the suspicious red stains that littered many of the pages hoping it was just ink. He struggled with the writing, it unsurprisingly not being written in Westerosi common or high Velyrian. But Aegon’s years of sulking around Kings landing with those of a less reputable nature finally bared fruit.

Aegon was no words smith, no scholar of languages, but he was a recovering drunk. And despite what his grandfather may have preached, Kings landing had citizens both permanent and temporary from all over Essos. Aegon could smugly report he knew how to, somewhat accurately, order a drink in several languages.

The word for cost and sacrifice meant the same in at least four of them.

Hurriedly he searched the book for familiar phrases, letting out a small cheer of delight when he came across it. It being a two page spread illustrated by a gory image of a figure bound and restrained by spikes through the hand. Call him presumptuous, but going by the King and Helaena’s injuries, he thought there was a pretty good chance this was it.

Aegon was just about to call out to Daemon that he had found something, when the tapestry to his left fluttered. The window was shut, so no breeze was flowing through the room, so how did it move?

Letting the tapestry fall onto his back, Aegon pressed his front to the wall and peered through the grate. Looking through it he could spy the other bedroom, his uncle at its centre.

Daemon was looming over an alter that the witch must have constructed at the foot of her bed. He could spy more red candles circling a bowl, bloody dagger, and a flint and scrap the witch must have used for lighting the candles.

His uncle stood over it all motionlessly, pensively looking at the amalgamation with clenched fists. It was only by looking at Daemon’s anger induced grip did Aegon spot the scroll that was clenched in one of them. What had he found? And why hadn’t he called out to Aegon when he found it?

”f*cking bitch” Daemon finally snapped, lashing out his leg and kicking over the makeshift alter.

Not sparing the mess he had made a glance, Daemon lifted the scroll and unfolded it to read. He was stood too far for Aegon to make out its context, and the angle was all wrong, but by the tensing of Daemon’s shoulders he could guess it wasn’t good.

“Rubbish, rubbish, praise for her stupid god, blood powered…” Daemon trailed of, reading the odd word aloud with much distain.

”If interrupted the connection will still be maintained until the host or sacrifice perishes…”

Daemon seemed to sway in place.

”Viserys” He mumbled tersely.

“No, she lied before, this can’t be true… I can have both.” He insisted to the empty room.

Turning purposely Daemon strode towards the bedroom door, and Aegon tensed, ready to jump away from the grate if his uncle came to him. But Daemon didn’t leave the room, instead the eldest Prince closed the door quietly and returned to the centre of the room. Bending down his uncle recovered one of the candles he had disturbed earlier in his rage, and the flint and scrap used to light them. Rising to his feat, Daemon turned the candle over in his hand, inspecting the red wax with a strangely intense gaze.

Lowering it back onto its previous stand, Daemon recovered the bowl as well and placed it by the candles side. Despite Daemon’s earlier outburst, the bowl had somehow managed to land the right way up, and the majority of its mysterious contents remained within it.

Tracing the flint carefully, Daemon brought it down harshly upon the scrap, causing it to flicker with sparks near instantaneously. Undaunted, the Prince brought the flame over to the candles wick and let the spark spread. Task completed, Daemon let the flaming scrap drop into the bowl, where it distinguished and began to smoke.

It had a liquid in it then, Aegon thought half hysterically, what the f*ck was Daemon doing?

Candle now lit, Daemon produced the unfurled scroll, bringing it dangerously close to the open flame.

Surely not? Aegon thought, why would he burn the very thing they had been looking for? What on earth had possessed his uncle to risk Aemon’s life like this?

…Unless it wasn’t only Aemon’s life at risk.

Aegon had heard Deamon reciting some of the scroll, he knew the spell used a sacrifice to do something, and that it had spoken of a host… Why not Viserys, the ailing King who now seemed mysteriously healthy save the odd wound on his hand. Aegon’s grandfather had been a sacrifice, Helaena or his mother was probably intended as the second! And when Aemon had intercepted the witch, it had transferred to him.

Aemon was dying so Viserys could live… And Daemon was covering it up.

When the scroll was nothing but a flaming corner Daemon dropped it into the bowl to join the scrap, before grabbing the bowl in its entirety and hurling it out of the window. Distantly Aegon hoped no one was beneath it.

Darting away from the grate Aegon pulled the tapestry back into place, and shoved the book down the front of his doublet, tightening his belt to hold it in place.

He had just finished righting himself when Daemon marched into the room, a scowl carved onto his face.

”Did you find anything?” Aegon asked nervously, even though he already knew the older man had.

”No,” Daemon lied blankly. If Aegon had not seen the truth himself he wouldn’t have known otherwise.

“Did you?”

Aegon swallowed thickly, thought of his cousin, thought of his sister, and answered.

”No.”

Chapter 27: The Traveler Meets The Map Maker

Chapter Text

The brothers on the wall used to talk about dying from the cold, frostbite was a familiar killer in the far North. Opinions were divided on the creeping cold, some favoured it for the numbness it brought in the end, others preferred a quicker end from a wildling blade.

Despite having died twice now, and therefore being the closest anyone could get to an expert, Jon still didn’t have a preferred way to go.

All he did know for sure is that neither death by the blade nor by crazy witch was very pleasant.

When Melisandre had asked him if he had seen anything the first time, he had told her no. That had been a lie. Jon’s first death was characterised by flashes of the events surrounding his corpse, and deep hunger for something he knew not.

This time was different, there were no blurry images of the Red keep in chaos, nor had he been given a glimpse at his fallen form. Instead, there was just nothing, an endless void in which he sat alone.

It was strange to have an awareness in death, if Jon were to look down he could see himself dressed as he was prior to the fight. Running his hands over where his wounds should be he could feel the contact, but not the pain that should be there.

Was this it then? Was this what death really was? An eternity of loneliness in an endless pit of darkness… Perhaps he was finally in hell, his life and deeds judged and left wanting. Jon took a moment to wonder if in death he had returned to the hell of his own world, or if even in death he was lost. It didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things he supposed, hell was hell, no matter the world.

”Your ability for dramatics is regrettably a universal constant child.”

Jon jerked in place at the sudden shattering of the silence. The voice seemed to come from nowhere, and yet everywhere at once.

”Who’s there?” He yelled, spinning in place erratically so as not to be snuck up on.

”A rather complicated question, that has an equally complex answer…” The voice replied, amusem*nt clear in its echoing tones.

Breathing in shakily, Jon wrestled down his panic. Whatever it is, surely can’t harm him any more than what’s already occurred.

”Perhaps you could make it uncomplicated?” He suggested carefully.

“For you, I will try,” the voice hummed, sounding inexplicably closer, yet somehow still invisible.

”You’ll want to sit for this.”

A weight abruptly slammed into his chest, and Jon felt the floor give out beneath him. Between one terrifying second and the next, he found himself sitting in a chair, and he was no longer alone.

The being across from him, and it was a being for its otherness was apparent, gazed at him with empty eye sockets from a genderless face.

“Comfortable?” It asked from blackened lips.

”I’m dead” Jon drawled, “I don’t think a lack of comfort is my biggest issue.”

”Not quite dead…”

It was smiling, its eerily smooth face cracking with a too-wide grin. The cracks did not resemble wounds, that would imply this creature had flesh, and whatever this thing covered itself in it certainly wasn't that. The cracks did not bleed, they simply reflected more of the black void that surrounded them, a sharp contrast to the pallor of the creature.

”Wait, so I’m still alive?” Jon asked eagerly, his head slightly ducked so as not to stare at the thing across from him, it hurt to look too long.

“What is dead may never die… But are they truly alive?”

Jon grimaced, a boyhood disgust rising in him.

”You’re not the drowned god are you?” He asked with palatable displeasure.

The thing laughed, high and echoing, and Jon felt the hairs on his arms stand on end.

”No, he rarely bothers with humans these days, content to watch his descendant’s slaughter in his name.”

”So who- Or what are you? And am I dead or not?” Jon snapped.

”I’ve had many names, much like the rest of my kin, I am a universal constant and thus have had as many names as there are stars in the sky.”

”Can you pick one!” Jon huffed, feeling childish in his desire to stamp his foot.

”I suppose the Stranger would suffice.”

The god of death, not someone whose presence boded well for his life expectancy.

”You did die child” the Stranger informed bluntly, still amused despite Jon’s aggression.

”Which time are we referring” Jon couldn’t help but snark despite his fear.

The god chuckled again, exposing sharp teeth reminiscent of the Cannibal, “which indeed. You fell at the wall… You fell in the castle of your mother’s forefathers.”

”What?” Jon snapped, staring at the strange creature and wondering if this was a hallucination after all.

Maybe all of this was just his head messing with him while he slowly bled to death.

”I-I never fell at Winterfell. You're mistaken… Unless you meant the Red Keep…”

”You did. You just don’t remember.” It countered, infuriatingly placid.

”I think I’d remember if I died again! The first time is still burned into my eyes, I wouldn’t forget it happening again! How would I forget that!” Jon growled.

”Not under any normal circ*mstances surely.”

There was a palpable air of amusem*nt around the creature, Jon was sure it was laughing at him. If he really focused he could almost hear the echo of giggles, a soft chorus in the background.

”Please” he begged, “it’s been a long… Life. Do you have the answers or not?”

Before the god could reply he corrected himself with a sardonic chuckle, of course it hadthe answers.

”Will you tell them to me?”

”Jon Snow died of a sickness in the halls of his mother’s kin. Years after the great battle, an unremarkable death for a remarkable man. Boring some would say.”

Jon stared, shook his head as if to dislodge something, and stared again. The thing didn’t change its mind. Didn’t crack a joke at Jon’s expense. It just sat there, as planted as an ancient oak, unmoved in the face of the impossibility it just uttered.

“I have no memory of that.” Jon insisted after several moments of astonished silence.

“You wouldn’t.” The Stranger agreed.

It sat so still, under different circ*mstances Jon may have mistaken it for a statue. A very eerie statue that looked slightly different every time you looked at it, but still, a statue.

”The battle hadn’t happened yet! I… I was with Daenerys…”

“Multiple someone’s actually.”

”But why? Sending me to different worlds is bizarre enough but why erase memories? What was the purpose?” He asked desperately.

”Curiosity.”

”Curiosity?” Jon echoed numbly.

”The idea was to observe several different scenarios in order to see the outcome, in order to improve the original.”

The Stranger sighed, the slightest hint of emotion finally being shown through the downward tilt of its mouth.

”The Jumps?” Jon guessed.

It nodded, “All have been key events that, if altered, could have an effect on the final battle, affect the players.”

”Did we not do well enough the first time then? You said I died years later, so I assume we won? What, were we not entertaining enough for you?” Jon glowered, indignation overflowing at the thought that even after the great battle, the gods still weren’t satisfied.

”The Nights King was slain, destroying his army. So too soon was the mother of dragons. This was not how… Certain higher powers intended for things to go. They were displeased with how the great game ended, they desired a winner.”

Various parties had referred to the Game of Thrones as such. He had never agreed with it, It trivialised the lives lost. Though Jon had to admit it did expose the pettiness of the nobility and their endless pursuit of a higher role, higher power, and influence. For all he was part of that cast, his years as an outsider made him all too aware of their shortcomings.

Jon was surprised a god would use the term.

”The Game of Thrones?” He asked tentatively.

"No child, nothing so trivial. I speak of the true great game, the playing field of the gods. I speak of the Song of Ice and Fire.”

Jon’s eyes widened and he sat alert, “I recognise that,” he said. “Melisandre mentioned it, something about Daenerys and I?”

”The red witch was close but not quite right… While Daenerys Targaryen was a vital game piece, she was not a part of the song. That role belongs to you alone.”

Jon had no desire for that role, perhaps a phrase that summed up his life.

Ice and fire. It didn’t take much to guess what they were referring to in his case, Stark and Targaryen. Two bloodlines with old magic that, until him, had never merged.

With a sinking feeling, he recalled the harsh words Kinvara had hurled at him before he killed her. Words about his parents, and their deaths.

”Kinvara said somethings, about my parents… Dying, so I could be born… Was that part of this whole 'song', or was she just trying to distract me?”

The Stranger frowned, a queer expression on its face, looking more like a failed porcelain doll than anything truly humanoid.

”You are a being of magic, a sword in human form, Lightbringer incarnate. Like with any great magical feat, a sacrifice was required. In your case, the intention was to merge the magic of your parent’s houses. To do so each house had to shed blood.”

”So they did die because of me.” Jon whispered brokenly, too caught up in his guilt to truly comprehend all the creature had just imparted.

The Stranger rose from its chair, its height improbably taller than Jon could perceive, and glided forward to loom over him.

It reached a long arm down, resting its hand on Jon’s shoulder in what could, in a very abstract way, be considered comforting.

”There was a war. There was no guarantee of who lived and who died. Your creation could have easily been summoned by the blood of your grandfathers. No, the blame lays on a great many, none of which are you.”

Jon nodded shakily, and both pretended his eyes weren’t wet.

”I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand everything… I’m the song of ice and fire? And a magic sword? And there’s some kind of god game?” He asked, questions pouring from him like a tap.

”I did warn you this would be a complicated conversation.”The Stranger joked.

Jon snorted, that had been an understatement.

”The Song of Ice and Fire is a game between two of the oldest gods, in which many other deities have taken sides.” It reiterated slowly. Waiting for Jon to nod before continuing.

”This game has been millennia in the making, with each faction choosing a champion to act as their representative on the mortal plane, the game board if you will.Whoever claimed Lightbringer through their champion, would win.”

Jon felt rather sick at the thought of being some kind of trophy but refrained from voicing his discomfort just yet.

“The final battle was meant to be where someone won… However events did not play out how they were meant to, and as a result, neither faction won. You remained a free agent.”

The stranger removed its hand from Jon’s shoulder, much to his relief. One could only call it a ‘hand’ in the loosest sense of the word. It felt wet as if it had just been submerged in water, and while the ‘hand’ itself had felt cold, it left Jon’s shoulder burning.

”Such an outcome was deemed unacceptable. As a result, the game has been started over… That is how we come to your current situation.” The Stranger finished without flourish.

”They’re changing past events to increase their chances of winning!” Jon cried in outrage.

”Their testing changes.” The Stranger corrected “Wouldn’t want to commit to one that favoured one side over the other, now would they.” The Stranger drawled, if it had eyes Jon was sure it would be rolling them.

”So that’s what my jumps have been? Tests to see what they’ll change in my original world, so that one side can win me like some glorified flower crown!” Jon hissed.

When the being didn’t correct him, Jon launched to his feet and began pacing.

”Why go to so much effort shoving me into different worlds? They are gods, aren’t they? If these have all been past events shouldn’t they already know the alternate outcomes?” He wondered.

”I imagine that after having their victory swept out from under them once, they’re eager not to leave anything to chance. And as for the effort… They didn’t.” The Stranger explained.

Ceasing his pacing, Jon faced the being, looking at it head-on, for all it made his eyes sting.

”What do you mean they didn’t? I’m in a different world! That was literally the first bit of information I had, you confirmed it!”

”This world is one of many,”The Stranger agreed. “And while you’re technically not wrong, you’re also not right either.”

”And we’re back to riddles,” Jon grumbled.

”This isn’t my world” he snapped. “We’ve established that.”

”Have we?” The Stranger sang mockingly. “We’ve established you have memories from another world, incomplete ones at that.”

The god's teeth sparked as it grinned, looking like fragments of the night sky.

“You were told of the Jon Snow of this world. And yet you were so certain that everyone else was wrong and you were right! I’m afraid once again Jon Snow, you know nothing!”

“I’m- no, but I can’t be! I have no memories of this world, I remember my original and my short trips in others!” He cried in denial.

“And you think that means anything?”The stranger drawled. “These are gods we are talking about. Do you really think overriding some memories is beyond them? It’s the kind of casual cruelty they specialise in.”

Jerkily Jon stumbled back to his chair and slumped into it. If what the creature said was true, and it had little need to lie, his entire identity was wrong- had been rewritten. He was Jon Snow, but not the Jon Snow he remembered. Once again his life was a lie.

All that time he had felt guilty masquerading as this world’s Jon Snow. A young man who was surely dead. Yet all this time it had been worse. Jon was that boy, yet only in body, his memories- his identity- were a parasite that had taken over. In a way the Jon of this world was dead, he had smothered him.

”The prototype worlds already existed you see, They used them the first time. Of course, they’d all met their end before yours started.” The Stranger continued “It was nothing to them to restart them. Putting your memories in each of them was thought to help study your reactions. It was a simple matter of putting the memories in one and then carrying on the process. That's why you remember other words, you were never there, of course, you never left this one.”

Jon felt the sudden urge to claw at himself, to rip his skin and bleed out every drop. Would he recognise his own blood? If he ripped enough of himself could he remove it from the whole? Would doing so allow him to heel what had been taken? Or would he still have the grisly wound that was his blank slate of memories?

”If these gods are so powerful… So prepared as to have had prototype worlds… How did their game fail?” He whispered.

What weakness did the callus immortals that had ruined his life have?

The Stranger grinned broadly, it was far too large for the face it wore and ripped at the edges, causing its head to tilt precariously. Still, it spoke, and Jon realised its voice wasn’t coming from its mouth at all, it never had been.

”There was interference.”

“What kind of interference? What could be powerful enough to disrupt something of that scale?” Jon growled, his anger a coiled beast that hung on him like a cloak.

“Another god… Me.”

Rearing back in shock as if he had been struck, Jon quickly rallied.

”You did this? You’re the reason for all of this?”

”I wouldn’t sound so accusatory if I were you. I saved you from a worse fate. Or would you prefer to be in the palm of one of my siblings right now? Being reshaped in their image.” The creature snapped.

The Stranger seemed to grow in its displeasure, its empty sockets now staring down at him from a mountain height.

”By the sound of it, I’m going to end up there anyway! You’ve just prevented the inevitable!” Jon yelled. ”What was even the point? They’re just going to restart things anyway! And I’m not even the right Jon. I’m just a practice! Why bother with this conversation!”

“Do you know what death is young one?”

There was a deep rustling sound as the Stranger adjusted its cloak. What had previously been a garment of full coverage, began to open.

”I am an end. I am the end. I speak to every soul I collect, I know every life better than anyone else could because I alone see its completion. You ask me why young one, I’ll tell you why. It’s because I care. So many of you pray to my kin, and while some find fleeting favor, all pale in view of their larger goal. I alone care about all the lives lost in this game. In a way, it is similar to your Game of Thrones, it is the innocent who play no role that falls victim to the player’s actions. I interfered to make a point. To show that there is more to existence than each game. Had one of them won they just would have made a new one. I stopped that. I know you think me cruel, and from a human perspective perhaps I am, but I have saved more than I have damned.”

The opening of the cloak revealed what Jon at first thought was a shard of light. But as his eyes focused he realised it was instead millions of lights in every colour he could imagine, and some he could not. A galaxy of stars inside the darkness.

”Beautiful aren’t they?” The stranger asked fondly.

”They’re all souls, every last one… And they matter to me, even if they don’t matter to anyone else.”

”You’re not what I expected…” Jon admitted, still half-entranced by the bright graveyard. “Everyone makes death sound so scary… Not this.”

”It’s in human nature to fear the unknown… I don’t take it personally.”

The Stranger closed its cloak, ripping Jon from the site of its contents. Slowly the god began to shrink, the darkness folding in on itself and condensing until it was only a head taller than him.

“My siblings didn’t appreciate my actions. They tied my hands and made me swear not to use another champion to intrude. What worked last time, can’t be replicated… That doesn’t mean I’ve stopped trying.”

It smirked mischievously as if this was some prank war and not the fate of the universe. Then again to the god maybe they were one and the same, it had said its siblings were the ones playing the game. Had Jon’s own younger siblings not taken joy in disrupting his and Robb’s childhood games?

“I’m not meant to be having this conversation with you. You’re not meant to know any of this. I shouldn’t even be here… But the fact you are, that we haven’t been interrupted, means I’ve snuck past their notice.” It whispered to him conspiratorially.

Jon nodded tentatively, “so you could do it again?” He guessed.

”Exactly!”It grinned.

”Whenthey reset the game, they will expect Jon Snow to know nothing of it. To be a naive prize ripe for the taking… Instead, I will make sure he knows everything, and as a result, the game will see no winner once again and they will be forced to let things play out without their interference.”

Glee rippled through the creature almost sparkling over its form.

Jon met its grin with one of his own, pleased that the god's cruelty wouldn’t go unanswered, that once again their victory would be stolen from them. But it was a bitter revelation. The gods would see their comeuppance, and Jon would finally be free from their schemes! But it wouldn’t be him.

”I have his memories, the original, but he won’t have mine, will he? It won’t be me who sees the end of this. If I survive, if I wake up, I’ll be right back in their trial run- that will be my life.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He after all wasn’t even real, just an imprint riding around in a corpse.

”No,” the Stranger said bluntly, but not unkindly.

“Your situation allowed me the perfect opportunity to test my plan, you being in limbo made you ripe for the taking. Take heart in the part you have played child, not just here, but in your world also.”

“What’s so special about what I’ve done in my world? Was getting my arse kicked by a witch that spectacular of a distraction?” Jon asked.

The god laughed.

”You’ve disrupted things, more so than they intended. The Dance of Dragons was meant to happen even with your presence. You’ve made it so it shall not, this tips the balance far too much for this scenario to be chosen. It is a petty victory I’ll grant you but still, any delay in the game is a win for us.”

Jon couldn’t help but grin, while he had certainly seen a change in the Targaryens he hadn’t dared think it was enough to stop the war entirely. At times he had seen the dance as inevitable no matter what he changed, it was a relief to see his actions had borne fruit.

”So what now?” He asked. “Do I go back? Finish the work I started in wrangling my ancestors- though that’s not right is it… Wrangling my family.”

”In time child, but not quite yet,” The Stranger said softly. “Certain conditions must first be met… At least that’s what people think.”

The mischievous was back.

”What do you mean?” Jon asked, rather tired of asking it.

“Your injury resulted from an interrupted ritual to my brother. Though you disturbed it you didn’t stop it, the magic is still seeking to fulfill its purpose.”

“To heal Viserys” Jon confirmed, earning a nod.

”The death of Otto Hightower was not sufficient… although entertaining. As we’ve established, the gods do not see every life as equal. While Viserys’ magical potential is weak compared to others of your bloodline, it is still more than an average mortal. A greater sacrifice was required, your intended would have been more than sufficient.”

Jon would later blame his panic for his actions, grabbing a god, even one apparently on your side, is simply not done.

Nevertheless, he grabbed the god of death by the shoulders firmly, and insisted ”Is Helaena alright?”

”Sheremains wounded, but yes. Your actions saved the girl.”The Stranger replied, clearly more amused than angered by Jon’s outburst.

”By interrupting the ritual you entered yourself into the bargain. Your power is far greater than that necessary to save the mortal King. A few days of unconsciousness on your part and you would both be fine… Not that your kin know that.”

”What do they know?” Jon asked, wise enough to be wary of the smugness the Stranger oozed.

”Under normal circ*mstances, such rituals would require a life for a life. Your kin has no reason to think this one is any different… Although Daemon Targaryen seems determined to try through sheer stubbornness alone. He’s quite similar to my siblings, your father.”

Jon snorted, “that is certainly one way of saying he has a god complex. So he thinks it’s either me or Viserys?”

The Stranger hummed, bobbing its too-sharp head in agreement.

”But that’s not the case though. So everything will be fine?” Jon pressed.

”My brother may not require a sacrifice under these circ*mstances. But he is no longer the only god in play. I dare say my kin are not the only ones who need humbling… I require a choice to be made. Let Daemon Targaryen learn that he is not entitled to everything, and let my sibling see the flaw in one of their favourites. Your body may live on by my brother's will, but unless your father makes a choice your soul will stay with me.”