98 AC
Jon hated being a newborn more than anything he had ever hated in his life… in both his lives. Whatever happened to him… this rebirth had not freed him from the ghosts of his previous life, those ghosts had plagued him with nightmares filled with guilt. Nightmares that he had too handle while being a baby, which was a torture if nothing else. Jon couldn't take his mind off his thoughts by training or hunting or reading or working. There was nothing he could do! The only things he could do besides starring at the ceiling, remembering his failures or sleeping, was drinking milk from a giant nipple or listening to his nannies' songs. Both were relaxing, but they were simply not enough to ease his mind from the past or to forget his own inability to do anything.
It hadn't taken long for him to figure out what he was, where he was, or who his new parents were. Apparently, he came from the union of Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, rider of Caraxes, and Lyanna Stark, the niece of the Lord of Winterfell and cousin of the well-known Cregan Stark. Jon hadn't found the irony amusing, despite the fact that he had realized the potential he now had as a Targaryen Prince -and the relieving fact that he was still, somehow, a son of House Stark-, Jon knew very well the story of Daemon the Rogue Prince, and the Dance in which he had died. The timing of his birth was atrocious, he was barely a few months older than the infamous Rhaenyra Targaryen, which meant that he was doomed to participate in the Dance of the Dragons. Perhaps that was his mission, the reason as to why the Gods had seen fit to force him to live a second life; he had to save the Dragons in order to defeat the Others. A difficult task, but not an impossible one.
Despite his nightmares, Jon had started to make plans less than a month after his birth. That was the only way for him to truly occupy his thoughts with something else than guilt, and if he were to change history, who knew what else could change? Perhaps he'd be able to prevent the War of the five Kings? Perhaps he'd be able to save his family? Or Perhaps, he would prevent any of his siblings to exist, or even prevent his own birth but he did not care about that.
First of all, as a Targaryen Prince, Jon had to bond with a Dragon, and he would lie if he were to say that the idea did not excite him in some way.
He needed to be careful though, Valyrian blood did not guarantee success in the process of taming a dragon, and he only had one chance to do so. He would need to choose wisely. Vhagar's size and strength might be appealing - and the opportunity to prevent Aemond Kinslayer from ever acquire her, even more so-, but Queen Visenya's Dragon was old, deadly, and probably smarter than a simple beast. And if that wasn't enough, she currently belonged to his grandfather, Baelon. Jon would need to be patient… just like he'd need to be with everything else.
Now about the Dance itself… Jon had cursed himself for being so fascinated by Daemon's feats when he was a child (for the first time), had he been a better student, he would have remembered Maester Luwin's lessons about the war itself, and what consequences it had on Westeros as whole and not solely the end of the Dragons. As well as all the events that had led to the Dance itself, perhaps he would have found a way to prevent it. Unfortunately he'd have to settle with limiting the damages and survive, those tasks already sounded impossible by themselves, and he was only one man, one prince, yes, but one man with no dragon… for now. Jon had already decided that he would be a black, but he would have to stop Rhaenyra from having bastards, perhaps, that way a lot of terrible things could be prevented.
With all his plots and thinking, Jon had realized that he had perhaps -probably- became like all those vipers that had infested the Court during his father's… Lord Eddard's time as Hand of the King. But it didn't matter, Lord Stark's honor had killed him, Jon would not repeat his mistakes. His Black brothers had killed the boy he had been, a new man had now been born.
(-)(-)(-)
100 AC
When Jon finally turned three, he ran -as best as he could- to the Grand Maester's office and demand being taught how to read.
Grand Maester Allar had denied him, much to his frustration, and had informed Prince Daemon of his son's antics. That ended up being a terrible mistake.
Daemon had seized the Maester by the throat and told him :
"You mean to tell me that you refused to do your duty when it was asked of you by a Prince of House Targaryen? Go teach my son, and he'd better be able to read by the end of the year, or my Grand-father will need a new Grand Maester."
Baelon had chastised his son for his behavior, but Daemon hadn't cared, Allar had failed to save Lyanna when she gave birth to Jaehaeron, he wasn't worth the food he was given in the young Prince's eyes.
Jon and Daemon had… a weird relationship if one had to describe it. For Jon, it was hard for him to consider the Rogue prince as his father, since Lord Stark had never left his thoughts. However, he knew he was loved by the man. Almost every night since he was born, Daemon would visit him while believing him to be asleep. For hours, he whispered to him how much he loved him, how much he missed Lyanna, how he would do anything for him. It was the first time since he was reborn that Jon Snow and Jaehaeron Targaryen had started to… have an inner conflict.
The Snow in him couldn't consider him his father, but the new part of him, the Dragon, roared that Lord Eddard had never defended him as vehemently as Daemon always did. And that if Jon Snow had called Lord Stark 'father', Daemon Targaryen deserved to be called as much.
Jon had shut those thoughts from his mind, believing he was going insane. However, he did feel something for Daemon, was it love? Perhaps it would end up being such once they were to spend more time together. Unfortunately, Daemon didn't spend too much time with him, and he understood why soon enough. His Targaryen father was a warrior with vices. There wasn't much he could teach a three years old toddler, and Jon supposed that they would open up to each other once he grew. A not so small part of him certainly hoped so.
Grand Maester Allar begrudgingly started to teach the young Prince how to read, and said Prince's first trial began. Jon never forgot how to read, but his teacher did not need to know that, what he needed to believe however, was that his three years old student was a prodigy, capable of understanding the concepts of consonants, vowels and syllables with a single and simple explanation. That made his lessons far more difficult than they could have been had he chosen to act like a normal toddler, which he wasn't.
Needless to say Grand Maester Allar had been astonished by his prowess. And of course, the old man couldn't keep his bloody mouth shut and had to inform his father, his grandfather and even his great-grandfather about his intelligence.
Daemon had smiled, Baelon had merely called him smart and precocious, and Jaehaerys had asked who Jaehaeron was. The Old King had not been the same since the death of Queen Alysanne a month prior, and his memory was fading a bit more every day that followed.
Jon officially mastered the art of reading in less than six moons… Unfortunately, his Grandfather, Baelon had died before he had been able to congratulate him. A burst belly had claimed Vhagar's ridder, a brutal way of reminding the House of the Dragon that they were not Gods.
Jon had chosen to follow the events that followed from a distance, he knew his history well enough to not change his daily routine, and was surprisingly kept informed of what was going on by none other than his father.
Indeed, since Jon had been -officially- able to read by himself, he was often seen at the library with Ser Clement of the Kingsguard to watch over him. Ser Clement was a Crabb, as such, he had more than enough education to answer Jon's 'innocent' questions when the little Prince wanted to find an excuse to justify his knowledge, -'Ser Clement told me' was his favorite excuse at the age of four-.
Daemon always found his son reading in the library when he was looking for him. At the beginning, he had been worried that his precious little boy would turn into another Vaegon. If that were to be, then father and son would end up being separated for the rest of their lives, and Jaehaeron would never be the Targaryen that Daemon dreamt to see him become.
"Why do you always read, Jaehaeron?" He had asked with concern.
"Because there is nothing else to do." Jon had genuinely answered.
"You could always play with Rhaenyra."
The black haired prince had frowned at that.
"I hate dolls, every time I see one, I want to throw it in the nearest fire…"
Jon had frozen in place when he had said that, where did that had come from?
Daemon had laughed.
"Well… what else would you like to do?"
"To spar in the yard with you, but I can't! I'm too small…"
The deep sigh of relief that had escaped Daemon's lips wasn't missed by Ser Clement or Jon, a bright smile appeared on the Rogue Prince's face.
"I'm as impatient as you are, my boy. With how precocious you are, I'm sure you'll be fit to wield a sword at a younger age than even I was."
"When did you start?"
"When I was six."
"Then I'll start on my fifth nameday."
"That's my boy!" Daemon smiled proudly and then proceeded to ruffle his son's dark curles.
A wave a sadness suddenly took him by surprise, Lyanna's face appeared in his mind and his hand paralyzed itself.
Jon felt that.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes." His father had answered too fast for his word to be true. "I'm sorry… It's just that every time I see your hair… I think about your mother…"
Jon felt his eyebrows rose, Lord Stark had never answered a single question about his mother no matter how many times he had asked. At least, in this new life, he knew her name.
"What was she like?"
Daemon had to take a deep breath to put his emotions under control, he couldn't afford to look weak, especially in front of his only son.
"She was…" He stopped himself to throw a glance behind him. "Give us some privacy, Ser Clement."
The Kingsguard bowed and left to wait for the meeting between father and son to be over.
Daemon made sure he was far enough before he spoke again.
"Your mother wasn't a lady like the others, she was a warrior, a she-wolf. The first time I met her, she broke my nose."
Jon laughed, his laugh was music to Daemon's ears.
"Why did she do that?"
"I was acting like a fool." His father answered with a nostalgic smile on his lips. "I was trying to seduce her like I would seduce any lady, but your mother was not any lady. I wanted her to be my lady. And it was a lot harder than I ever expected."
During his father's story, Jon completely forgot who he used to be in his previous life. For the first time in years, he truly felt like a child. A child who had finally been given the story he had been demanding for two decades. The more he learned about Lyanna Stark, the more he laughed and his father had laughed with him. When Daemon had told him about their wedding on the Isle of Faces, Jon's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when he heard the part where his mother, naked as the day she was born, had assaulted -and defeated- his grandfather Baelon with Dark Sister in her hand. Excited like a child, he had begged his father to let him hold the sword. Daemon had smiled fondly. His son had wanted to hold Dark Sister because his mother had done so, not because the legendary Visenya or even himself had, just because his mother had. But as Jon took the sword in hand, a wave of sadness washed over him. Despite knowing more about his mother than he could have ever learned in his previous life, he would still never get to meet her, and if the Gods kept playing with his soul, he never would. A tear ran down his cheek, his father immediately proceeded to lock him in a tight hug.
"I miss her too, my boy, I miss her every bloody day."
Jon hiccuped, he had not felt this vulnerable in a long time.
"I wonder what she would have taught me." He whispered sadly. "I wish…"
He shut his mouth, shocked by the strange feelings that were swarming in his head. Where had that came from? When had those wishes and desires emerged from his mind? For they were truly here.
Years ago, when Jon had reborn, his guilt and regrets had devoured him in his cradle. Leaving him with nothing but plots and ambition to arm himself as best as he could to not repeat the mistakes of his previous life, the mistakes that had belonged to Jon Snow.
Was he… forgetting who he used to be? No, he would never forget the Bastard of Winterfell, he would never forget Lord Stark, Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Sansa -Lady Sta… Catelyn could go to hell-. But perhaps… just perhaps… he had changed? Four years was a very long time. He had spent the last four years of his previous life on the Wall and Beyond, he had changed during those years. It wasn't presumptuous to assume that the same had happened. After all… he had died… and had been reborn into the House of the Dragon, as the legitimate son of a Targaryen and a Stark. His long months in the cradle had raised his ambition, never again did he want to end in this kind of situation, he didn't want to be killed again (mostly because he didn't want to be reborn again, he might end up being unlucky next time). And he didn't want to spend his days at the Red Keep the same way he had in Winterfell, he wasn't a bastard anymore and there was no Catelyn Tully to put him down every day. He was a Prince of House Targaryen, the first boy born from the First Men and Old Valyria. He was the pride of his father, and not a stain on his cloak. He could be any kind of man he wanted, and he wanted to be more than Jon Snow could have ever become.
"What do you wish for, Jaehaeron?" Daemon asked, eager to do something for his son.
"I wish… I wish to learn the Old Tongue, as much as High Valyrian. I want to make you proud just like I would make Mother proud. I want to become a great Targaryen among our history… but I also want people to see me as a son of House Stark."
Daemon felt his heart beat in his chest, and his blood flow in his temples. By the Gods of Valyria, how he loved his boy.
"You will be one of the greatest Targaryen in our history, Jaehaeron." He swore as he looked into his son's deep purple eyes. "You will be a greater Northerner than any Stark, I know it, your mother knew it too. It's just a shame that you'll never be as good as your father."
Daemon had pronounced his last sentence with a teasing tone and a mischievous smile. Jon took it as a challenge, and threw himself on his father who caught him easily and proceeded to tickle him. The Dragonwolf laughed as he tried and failed to get the upper hand against the Rogue Prince, and Daemon laughed as well before his boy's attempt to best him so early.
Their game lasted for a few minutes before Jon yielded to his father's tickles, the latter put him down and ruffled his dark curls once again.
"That's my boy!" He beamed with pride.
However a sigh escaped his lips, he wished they could go on like this for hours, but they did not have hours.
"Your Great-grandfather has called for a Great Council." He said a bit bitter. "We must depart for Harrenhal in order to support your uncle Viserys' claim."
Jon frowned at this.
"Why does he need a Great Council? Can't he just proclaim Uncle his heir?"
Daemon looked as irritated as his boy.
"The Sea Snake and the Princess Rhaenys claim that their son, Laenor, has a stronger claim than Viserys. Lord Corlys has called for his banners, he believes he can intimidate the Dragon."
He scoffed, and Jon scoffed with him.
"Laenor is nice but he's stupid. And the Iron Throne belongs to House Targaryen not House Velaryon."
"Well said." Daemon smiled. "The problem comes from your aunt, Rhaenys, she thinks that the Iron Throne is hers by right and is trying to claim it through her son."
"But she never ruled! It's always been her husband who ruled Driftmark, why should she be given a charge she knows nothing about?"
Daemon's eyes sparkled.
"That's a great argument you've got there, I'll be sure to keep it in mind."
He picked his son up and led him out the library with Ser Clement on his heels.
"Now off we go, we need to get to Harrenhal by nightfall."
"How are we going to do that?" asked a dubious Jon.
Daemon smiled at him.
"It's time I introduce you to Caraxes."