Chapter 23: A Difficult Discussion- Jon XXI; Shireen Baratheon I; Ned X; Tyrion IV
Summary:
As lines start to be drawn in the sand, many must decide where they stand and what they stand for. This includes learning who they are willing to work with and if they can put aside their own pride for the sake of others.
Notes:
...so how as everybody been?
Yeah, I promise I didn't intend for this to take so long but, eh, life sucks sometimes and 2020 was a hell of a year. I also nearly burnt myself out on this fic by doing the One Chapter per month thing, so I had to take a break. And, not helping matters, on more than one occasion I lost 1000+ words worth of work. That was fun, freaked my housemates right out with my enraged dinosaur shrieking. I do plan on getting back on a set schedule though, probably a new chapter every two months.
I actually spent some of these past months reading my OLD fics on FFN and, goddamn, they're bad. t is good to know how far I've come as a writer but... the cringe! I'm just surprised they're still there...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Timeline
283 AC/4E 187: Robb Stark is born; (two months later) "Jon Snow" is born.286 AC/4E 190: Sansa Stark is born; RS-3, "JS"-3.289 AC/4E 193: Arya Stark is born; Theon Greyjoy (10) arrives at Winterfell; RS-6, "JS"-6, SS-3.290 AC/4E 194: Bran Stark is born; TG-11, RS-7, "JS"-7, SS-4, AS-1.295 AC/4E 199: Rickon Stark is born; TG-16, RS-12, "JS"-12, SS-9, AS-6, BS-5.296 AC/4E 200: Direwolves are found; TG-17, RS-13, "JS"-13, SS-10, AS-7, BS-6, RS-1.297 AC/4E 201: Robb Stark turns 14; (two months later) "Jon Snow" turns 14; (one month later) "Jon Snow" runs away from Winterfell/appears in Skyrim; TG-18, SS-11, AS-8, BS-7, RS-2.299 AC/4E 203: Jon Whitewolf sends a letter to Winterfell; TG-19, RS-16, JW-16, SS-13, AS-10, BS-9, RS-4.300 AC/4E 204: Lord Eddard Stark asks Jon to return to Winterfell; TG-20, RS-17, JW-17, SS-14, AS-11, BS-10, RS-5.302 AC/4E 206: Jon Whitewolf receives Arya's letter: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Two-and-a-half months later) Jon Whitewolf arrives at Winterfell: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Four days later) Robb Stark turns 19: TG-22, RS-19, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18) leaves for KL with Enzo, Ned Stark, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, and the royal party.(Two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party are attacked while at the Triton.(Two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party arrive at King's Landing. (Three days later) the Tourney of the Hand begins.(Five days later) Serena arrives at the Red Keep.(Ten days later) King Robert Dies(Six days later) Cersei Lannister's attempted coup results in the deaths of Boros Blount, Preston Greenfield, Gregor Clegane, Jon Arryn, Selyse Baratheon, Joffrey & Tommen Baratheon, Eden & Sierra, Sallem & Morie, and Tywin Lannister.
Jon XXI
The first thing Jon felt as he awoke was the sensation of nibbling on his fingertips. It was a series of sharp, needle-like pressures but wasn't exactly painful, more like a puppy or kitten was gnawing on his hand with its milk teeth.
"Phantasm, knock it off," he grumbled sleepily. Then immediately broke out in a fit of dry raspy coughs.
Jon sat up in bed, bent over and very nearly hacking up a lung. His mouth was dry and his throat felt like he'd had an entire meal of broken glass. Blindly, he groped at the small nightstand by the side of his bed until he managed to grab a hold of a metal pitcher. Completely forgoing a glass or any sort of cup, Jon gulped down all of the water in the pitcher -much of it spilling down his chin and neck- and was finally able to quiet the coughs and breath again.
There was another sharp nip on Jon's little finger and this one actually hurt, causing him to jerk his hand back with a hiss. " Ouch , Phantasm, what did it tell..."
A pair of tiny, molten gold reptilian eyes met Jon's and their owner let out a delighted chirp before diving for Jon's hand once more. A stretch of azure blue scales caught the dim light of the ship's cabin and flexed over a delicate, but defined musculature as the small creature misjudged its jump and landed right in Jon's lap.
'A... dragon?' His sleep idled brain scrambled to identify what he was seeing. 'This is a baby dragon... By the gods, I actually did it! I actually hatched a dragon!'
.
.
.
Then the reality of the situation hit him.
"By the god, I hatched a dragon!" he exclaimed, grabbing at his hair as his eyes went wide. "I can't believe that worked! Why did that work? And how in the hell am I going to hide a dragon from everyone?"
The fact that Jon was a Targaryen, at least by blood and birth, was still a secret to the world at large, something he doubted that would hold true if he went to breakfast with a baby dragon perched on his shoulder. Not to mention that, while Adelaisa and her crew weren't likely to care about his parentage, no one from Tamriel had any good recent memories of dragons.
"You're the first of your kind to live in, what, a hundred years?" Jon mused quietly at the little dragon who had seemingly lost interest in eating Jon's hand and was now trying to pace up and down Jon's tight on its unsteady legs, spreading its wings out to help with balance. "And yet I doubt anyone will be happy to see you alive... I know the feeling."
" Cheep! "
A smile forced its way onto Jon's face and he gently tapped a finger against the creature's tiny snout, causing it to sneeze. "Maybe you can win them over with your cuteness. After all, how much trouble can one adorable baby dragon be?"
This small, not much? But once it got bigger... Well, if the history lessons that Maester Luwin had pressed into Robb, Theon, and Jon's head was anything to go by, then plenty.
'Wait a moment... One? Why is there only one dragon?'
Jon caught the eye of the blue-scaled creature once more, "Where are the other two? Did you hatch alone?"
Clunk!
The scratching of nails... or, rather, claws on wood and the sound of wood shifting against wood drew Jon's attention, causing him to turn -accidentally throwing off Little Blue's balance, leading him to tumble off Jon's lap and get tangled in the blankets- just in time to see another baby dragon, this one with glossy black scales and deep green eyes leap from his perch on the footboard of Enzo's bed towards Jon.
And missing the jump by quite a good foot.
" Yeeek! " the tiny beast shriek as he fell.
Quick as a whip, Jon shot a hand out, bending over the headboard to catch the dragon so he could keep it from hitting the ground. He pulled it back up to eye level so he could stare into those green eyes that seemed to shine with intelligence as the little creature stopped its squirming and settled into Jon's hold, only giving a low gurgle when it was the young Dragonborn set his new friend down on the bed beside its sibling.
Little Blue finally managed to kick his way out from a tangle of blankets and righted himself so he and the black-scaled dragon were both staring up at Jon.
The two were of similar size but their coloration was completely different. Little Blue -as Jon had already mentally dubbed the first dragon- had a body that was mostly the same azure blue as his eggshell had been but darkened around the animal's joints and stomach while lightening to a near white on the thin membrane of the wings. A line of small quill-like spikes grew along the dragon's spine and at the creature's arrow-shaped tail, matching the frill of spikes that grew out from around Little Blue's head. The spikes themselves were mostly pale yellow, only darkening at the tips to the color of molten gold, matching Blue's two tiny horns and the claws on his little feet.
The second dragon -Ebony, Jon decided after noting how the light in the cabin reflected off the creature's scales in a similar way it did to his ebony sword- was almost entirely black with the only color on its body coming from the deep green of the tiny beast's eyes, belly, claws, and spikes. That being said, when the light hit the dragon just so, it looked as if it could be an extremely dark shade of blue or purple. The wings also stood out as being quite astonishing to look out, rather than being black, green, or even gray, the membrane or the wings was a sleek silvery color.
"Alright," Jon mumbled, cocking his head to the side; an action that he was shocked to see the two newly hatched dragons automatically copied, "that is two... Where is the third one?"
Ebony chirped and Little Blue squawked, but neither offered much of an answer.
" Hmmm ," Jon pondered out loud, swallowing against his still aching throat and scratching at his stubbly cheeks. "I wonder if-"
Clank!
The sound of the metal lock of the door to Jon's cabin opening sent a sharp jolt of fear up the young man's spine as he quickly looked around the small room for a way to hide his new friends from potentially unfriendly eyes. Seeing nothing of immediate use, he acted on instinct and flipped the bed covers up, throwing them into a clump at the foot of the bed with the two dragons tangled up inside.
'Not my best plan,' Jon admitted to himself as he turned to the door, his muscles automatically tensioning in preparation for a potential confrontation, 'but stupider ideas have worked in the past.'
Then he pulled the dagger he always kept under his pillow out. Jon had been attacked in his bed far too many times to count and, well, he'd learned the lesson to never go anywhere unarmed hard and fast.
"Best you always keep it close, Jonny," Delvin had told him once, when he handed Jon a dusty glass dagger, "so that if you ever need it -even if it is only once in your lifetime- you'll have it."
'Good advice, Delvin,' Jon thought with a wry grin, 'but I bet even you could never have guessed how useful it would be.'
He'd killed seven men with that dagger over the years, after all.
The door flew open with a solid bang and it was honestly kind of amazing how fast all the tension in Jon's drained away when Enzo entered the cabin, swiftly kicking the door closed behind him. Anticipation for a potential attack was replaced by amusement at the frustration on the giant Redguard's face as he lifted a small gray and orange dragon up to eye level and glared at it.
"Damned demon chicken," the man growled. "How did you escape this time?"
The dragon gave a defiant huff and twisted its head away to look around the room. Brilliant red-orange eyes fell on Jon and the little beast began squirming in Enzo's arms, fighting to get free. Jon openly chuckled, causing the Ebony Warrior to roll his eyes in disgusted annoyance and, after one long side brought him over to Jon's bedside, dropped the dragon down onto the bed.
Turning his glare on Jon, the giant man grumbled, "Even asleep, you manage to maintain your endless campaign to give me gray hairs!"
Jon snorted, nodding towards the man's graying goatee, "Oh, so is that what you tell Rayya when she teases you for looking like an old man?"
"I will have you know that Rayya finds my goatee to be rather refined; it is the rest of me she appears to take issue with," Enzo replied indignantly. Then his eyes softened, "How are you feeling? Is your voice back?"
"Well enough," Jon rasped, indulging his friend by not pulling away from the man's prodding callous fingers. "My throat still hurts and I won't be singing any time soon but I'm on the mend."
"Good."
Smack!
"Ouch!" Jon yelped, rubbing the back of his head. "What was that for?!"
"For hatching dragons on a ship, a wooden ship!" Enzo snapped back, even as he continued to lightly press on Jon's throat to check for swelling. " Why did you do that? How did you do that? You told me that no one knew how to do so anymore?"
"It, uh..." Jon rubbed the back of his neck, knowing that the honest answer would probably get him another smack. "...came to me in a dream."
Then he ducked away, hoping to avoid retaliation.
Thankfully, a second smack never came and, instead, Enzo just rolled his eyes. "A dream? Of course, it did, I should be used to this sort of thing when it comes to you by now. Do you know how hard it is to hide three baby dragons from everyone else on this ship? This one-" he pointed accusingly at the gray dragon "-is a little escape artist! And the other two... Where are the other two?"
"Oh!"
Somewhat embarrassed, Jon quickly went to work unraveling the blanket and untangling two recently hatched dragons. After some disgruntled squawking and a couple of snaps at his fingers, Ebony and Little Blue padded up to their sibling and began exchanging a series of chirps and hisses. None of it made any sense to Jon, which meant that they weren't 'speaking' Dovahzul, the language of the Dovah.
'I guess they really are different, the dragons of Tamriel and those from Valyria ,' the young Dragonborn mused. 'But they still look so much alike- two legs, two wings, the shape of the neck and head. If you shrunk Odahviing or Paarthurnax down-' Jon paused to give a chuckle at that amusing mental image '-they'd look just like this. Of course, Sahrotaar looks quite different, mostly around the muzzle, but even he has a similar body. I wonder why that is?'
Putting aside that question, Jon lightly scratched Ebony under the chin, causing the little creature to close its eyes and lean into the touch as it let out a long, low content gurgle.
"I will admit it -they are cute," Enzo grumbled as he began tickling Little Blue.
"You did say that you wanted to see a baby dragon," Jon replied with an amused huff.
The three dragons' heads flicked back and forth between Enzo and Jon, tracking the conversation. A sign of intelligence, Jon noted as he took in the three, observing the subtle differences between the three. They were all different colors, of course, but it was more than that.
Little Blue was the longest of the three, roughly the length of the barn cat from the tip of the nose to the end of the tail, but he was also the thinnest with the most delicate-looking musculature. Ebony was the shortest of his siblings as well as the... roundest, if that made sense. The tiny beast was shaped like a glossy black ball with a broad chest and rounded shoulders. He also had the least amount of spikes or horns, being quite smooth to the touch which added to the glossy sheen of Ebony's scales.
Then there was the gray one -' Smokey will do, I suppose.' - and he was the tallest of the trio and by far the spikiest. Even running a finger down the dragon's back was led to a small scrape on one of Jon's callous fingers. The dragon's rough hide was a deep gray, like burnt wood, aside from the wing membranes, which were a lighter, ash color. Swirled through the spiky scales were thin lines of a vibrant red-orange that matched his eyes, horns, and claws. It was quite striking, like magma pushing through the surface of volcanic rock, glowing with deadly heat.
"So, care to update me on everything going on?" he eventually asked. As much as Jon would like to enjoy these three little miracles, it was time to face the real world. And that meant consequences.
Enzo let out a long, low sigh. "You have gotten us into quite the situation, Jonny; the past few days have been... stressful for everyone. This country of yours, it's a mess."
"No shit," Jon grumbled. "Wait... day? Have I been-"
"You have been asleep for the past three days, on and off," Enzo confirmed with a nod. "You would wake up every so often and one of us -Serana, Lady Poison, or I- would force some water and soup down your throat. Then you would just fall back to sleep, leaving us to deal with... these! "
He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the dragons with that last part.
"Well, that wasn't my intention," Jon chuckled, before his soft laughter turned into another coughing fit that had him folding over on himself and covering his mouth as his torso shook.
"Easy, easy," Enzo soothed, rubbing a gentle hand up and down Jon's back as he held a cup up to the younger man's lips. "Deep breaths and drink."
A few long sips of something smooth and minty later and Jon could speak again. "Sorry," he rasped, "Go on, tell me more about what is going on. What did I miss?"
"It is... bad, Jon," Enzo said grimly, taking a seat next to Jon on the bed. "We did not exactly make a quiet exit from the Capital. Your family is all here-" he added that part quickly, obviously sensing the question on the tip of Jon's tongue "-but some members of the household were murdered; Wyl and Heward, I believe their names were. Some others -Jory, Hullen, and Harwin- managed to escape, however, and brought along most of the Tyrell family and Renly Baratheon."
The news hit hard and Jon felt himself flinch. 'Did they die because I sent them to the stables? Did I send them to the chopping block?'
Enzo pressed on, "My spies in King's Landing-"
'Spies? When did that happen? You really don't waste any time, do you, my friend?'
"-tell me that Tywin Lannister is also dead and his son, the Imp, is missing and presumed guilty for his murder. And..."
The older man took a shaky breath and, for the briefest moment, when ashen, "And little Prince Tommen was also killed, by his own brother no less. That little shit is dead too, at least, and the world is far better off for it."
Perhaps it was strange how much the news of Tommen's murder hurt, like a hot, sharp knife to the heart; Jon had only known him for a few brief months, after all, but he had been so kind, so sweet, that it reminded Jon that there was still innocence left in the world.
'And, once more, it was snuffed out by cruelty,' he thought bitterly. "What about King Robert's children, did they..."
"Myrcella is here on the ship actually. Serana managed to evacuate her from the city along with your one sister... Sanda? We are keeping her hidden for now but the Cuckoo Queen has publicly accused the Starks and their allies of abducting her," Enzo explained. Then he grew grave once more, "But, to my eternal shame, I was only able to save one of King Sload's children. I got Dustun and his mother back to the ship but the others... Edem and Sallem, they and their mothers were slaughtered."
Guilt shone dark and wet in Enzo's eyes and, though Jon couldn't read minds, he just knew that his friend was picturing the dead bodies of all those he believed he failed.
They were so much alike in that way.
"You're not a god, Enzo," Jon comforted, patting the man on the knee as Smokey crept up his leg to bump his head against Jon's stomach. "You've told me that, often enough."
"Do as I say, not as I do, brat," Enzo replied with an amused huffed as he flicked the tip of Jon's nose.
The two share a brief, silent moment of relaxed comradery before a snort from Little Blue drew their gazes.
"Have you told anyone about them?" Jon asked, nodding toward the dragons.
"No, the only people who know are Serana, Lady Poison, and myself. And it has not been easy to hide, by the way!" Enzo added that second part with theatrical exaggeration, even if it was probably true. "But we can not hide them forever. The people on this ship have seen an Argonian and a Khajit, some have seen magic... I know you wanted to keep them in the dark, but-"
"It's time to tell my family the truth," Jon finished solemnly. Then he sighed, folding in on himself, "I just wanted to protect them... but you're right, they deserve to know."
"Maybe not the whole truth," Enzo added quickly. "That would take far too long and, quite frankly, your uncle knew half of the more... morally dubious things you have done, he would likely keel over."
"Are you suggesting I lie by omission?"
"No, just... keep it simple," the older man suggested.
"Sneaky sneaky, Enzo," Jon playfully chided. "You do have a-"
Knock! Knock!
From beyond the door, Lady Valerica's voice rang out, "Is the fool awake?"
'And here I thought we were finally bonding,' Jon thought wryly.
"Oh stop it, Mother," he heard Serana scowled as Enzo went to unlock the door.
With a quick wave, the giant Redguard man ushered the two undead women inside before locking the door once more. "Did anyone see you?"
"Did anyone see us bring soup and medicine for an ill friend? No, perish the thought," Valerica rolled her crimson eyes, holding up the bottle of pulpy blue liquid. "Can you imagine the implications of such a thing?"
"Mother..." Serana warned. She was carrying a tray with two different bowls, one smelt like soup, and the other, if he had to guess, was probably applesauce. She looked to Jon and he felt his heart flutter like a bird was trapped in his ribs as the vampiress smiled shyly as Serana looked over his bare chest and arms. "Glad to see you up, Jon."
"Glad to be up."
Valerica rolled her eyes and strolled forward, shooing the Ebony Warrior away as she took a seat on the bed beside Jon. Her stone-y, ice-cold finger prodded at Jon's throat. "Still swollen, I would wait another day or two before you try using any Shouts again. Drink your medicine and rest more."
Then, before Jon could say anything, she was off once more. Grabbing Enzo by the bicep, she pulled him to the door. "Come on, Large One, let's leave the love birds to their own devices."
Enzo snickered as Jon blushed and Serana... well, she didn't blush but she did shoot a glare vicious enough to peel paint at the two's retreating back.
"They are never going to stop being smug about this," Jon grumbled.
"About us?" Serana asked somewhat shyly, which was a strange emotion to see on a person who thought nothing about stripping down in front of him or ripping out the throat of bandits with her own teeth. "No, they're not."
"Well... at least they approve," Jon smiled, causing his friend to turn away and fiddle with her hair.
Still, she settled the tray of food over Jon's lap and took a seat on the bed. "Now, this soup is still hot so be careful with that."
"Aw, you aren't going to spoon-feed me?" he teased.
The question got him a light slap to the leg as Serana grumbled out, "I think you're strong enough for that."
" Gwhraaa ."
"No no no, stop that!" Serana snapped, waving away Little Blue who was currently in the process of trying to shock his snout into Jon's soup. Defiantly the tiny dragon snapped up a chunk of chicken and scampered away to the end of the bed where he settled down into a self-made nest of blankets to chew the meat smugly. Serana just sighed, "Well, at least they aren't trying to escape."
Jon snorted, "Are they really that mischievous?"
"They managed to run Sweet Roll of your room... though I suppose that it could be worse," Serana mused. "They could have taken after him."
'Now that is a thought,' Jon shivered, imagining the trio of baby dragons under the control of his favorite ill-tempered, grouchy, and eager-to-bite bone bird.
Smokey, perhaps understanding that they were speaking of him and his brethren, chose that moment to stretch out his wings to their full glory while flexing every muscle in his little body. This action prompted Little Blue and Ebony to mimic their sibling and the trio let out a choir of long, low squeaks. It was quite adorable, actually.
"I've got to admit, they are amazing," Serana breathed.
The praise had Jon smiling, proud of the little miracles he helped hatch. Reaching out, he gently brushed his knuckles down Ebony's neck. "Yes, they are."
The warmth of his voice seemed to have Serana amused, judging from her giggle, and she copied his action. "Have you thought of names for them yet?" she asked, rubbing Little Blue under the chin as Smokey watched on.
"Well, I've been thinking of them as Little Blue, Ebony, and Smokey," Jon admitted, somewhat sheepishly. He was well-aware those were not the most intimidating names in the world and were a far cry from the elegant, fearsome names his Targaryen ancestors gave their mentors. "But I plan on giving them proper Dovah names in the future, once I get a better feel for their personalities."
"Hmmm, I think they fit," Serana hummed.
She let her hand drift over until she was also stroking Ebony and, after a long moment, caught Jon's fingers with her own, tangling them together. Neither said anything for a long while, Jon just wanted to enjoy rubbing his thumb over the back of Serana's hand and watching his little miracles squawk at one another.
"I'm sorry," he eventually blurted out, "I got you and Enzo and your mother involved in the mess that is my family. Now I have to tell them about magic and all the mess that comes with it. You all are going to have to deal with the questions and disbelieve and-"
Serana cut him off with a cool, quick kiss to the lips, effectively silencing him.
"Hey, you literally traveled into another plane of existence to help sort out my family drama. This is nothing," she comforted. "Besides, I'll need you to back me up when it comes to my niece, so I'm not in the position to complain."
Jon gave her a confused look, "You have a niece?"
"I do now, but I'll explain later," Serana shrugged. "Right now, I want to practice some more."
"Practice?"
The vampiress cocked her eye and gave a sly smirk that went straight to Jon's groin.
"Ooooohhhhh, we can definitely do that."
And so they did.
Shireen Baratheon I
Shireen had never liked posing for portraits. Despite it being traditional for a noble family to have a new portrait painted whenever a new member was added or, barring that, once every 3-5 years, it had always felt like an incredibly cruel experience to Shireen.
Shireen knew she was a homely child (the kindest description she'd ever heard about herself) who had the misfortune to be born with the worst combination of her parents' features. Perhaps that could have been disguised with the right hairstyle or jewelry, but fate had seen it fit to make her even uglier by the greyscale that had left her neck and part of her cheek stiff, grey, and cracked despite the pastes and creams and oils she was instructed to rub on it.
The kind and talented portrait painters her father hired always did their best to depict Shireen in the best possible light without making her entirely unrecognizable. But it never worked and their kindness always hurt her more than if they'd just been honest about her appearance, that way she wouldn't have to be faced with their unspoken belief that her flaws should be made to disappear.
'Cruel mercies often cause the worst pain,' Shireen mused, a sentiment Stannis Baratheon believed in fervently. It was part of the reason he was always so blunt with people.
And despite this, she still found herself staring down at the small, travel portrait of her family and weeping.
The portrait was an older one, done about two years ago, and, up until now, it had never elicited positive feelings in Shireen. Father looked too grim, Mother looked too stern, and Shireen just looked solemn. Her maids had braided Shireen's dark hair into a thick wave of thin plaits, each tied with a tiny blue ribbon that matched her eyes, trying to hide the greyscale scarring and at least one of her abnormal large ears. It was a noble effort but Shireen just ended up looking lopsided and like she was missing half of her face.
And yet it was still one of the last times her family, unhappy as it could often be, was whole.
"I miss you both," she blubbered, her tears dripping down onto the portrait. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the child you wanted."
In the back of her mind, Shireen heard the door to the cabin open and close, followed by boots on creaking wood approaching her bed. She paid it no mind though, too lost in her own grief.
'I'm sorry, Mother, but I can't be as strong as you wanted me to be.'
"Oh, sweetling, let it all out."
Uncle Davos swept the girl up in his strong arms, cuddling Shireen against his chest. After only the briefest moment of hesitation -neither Mother nor Father ever held her much- she wound her fingers into the man's tunic and breathed the comforting scent of seawater that clung to the man like perfume.
"I want to be strong," she whimpered. "I want to be strong for Mother and Father but I can't! I don't have it in me!"
Her guardian smoothed a callous palm down her hair, "Oh, Child, crying doesn't make you weak, it just makes you human. You've been through something horrible, lost so much so quickly, and you're in pain. So cry all you need to right now, that way you can move forward in the future."
"What future?" she demanded, voice wet and bitter. "The Queen is going to have me killed!"
When the man tried to protest, but Shireen pressed on. "I'm not stupid, Uncle Davos! I know what all this means! There is going to be a war and if I'm lucky then my vassals will just push me out of Dragonstone so they can control my seat! That other boy, Gendry, he is my cousin! No one can argue that; he looks just like my Uncle Renly. Even if he is a bastard, there will be people who'd prefer him to me!"
"That is not going to happen," Davos declared, face stern and resolute. "I swear on my last breath that it won't happen."
Shireen just shook her head though, "I am a child! I am a girl! I have this-" she pointed at her scar "- damned thing on my face to remind everyone that I'm weak and a danger to everyone around! I should just hand over my seat to someone because there is no way anyone will listen to me!"
"Then we'll make them listen!"
Davos pulled away and knelt down so they were eye-to-eye. Gripping Shireen by the shoulders, he continued, "We'll prove all those who doubt you wrong and we'll make them listen! If they wouldn't listen to you because you're a young lady then we'll use that! People will underestimate the two of us and we'll use that to get them under control!"
Shireen was stunned by her guardian's words, so much so that her tears actually stopped. "B-but... you always said that deceit and trickery were dishonorable?"
"Deceit and trickery have their place in the world, much as I may dislike them," the man replied, pulling her in for another hug. "And I'm more than willing to stain my soul if it means protecting you and what is rightfully yours. I may not be a fighter but I'll always fight for you."
Squeezing the man tight, the Lady of Dragonstone just nodded into his chest, "Alright, then as long as I have you with me, I'll fight too. We need to start making plans then."
At first, Uncle Davos' only response was just to hug Shireen tighter but, eventually, he nodded and said, "We should send a raven ahead to Maester Cressen with instructions. Maybe the ship's captain will agree to lend us one?"
"I'm not sure they even use ravens," Shireen replied, the realization that she hadn't seen any being used. There also didn't appear to be any sort of ship rookery.
"That is odd. This is a cargo ship, built for long voyages, and long-distance sailors usually need a way to communicate with other ports. Oh well, perhaps we can ask Stark's son for assistance?" Davos scratched at his stubble in contemplation, then his eyes slid down to look her in the face, "What do you think of them, Jon and his friends? The rest of the Starks too?"
Shireen bit the inside of her cheek and fought the urge to blush, "Ser Jon is... nice. He didn't make fun of me for reading about mermaids, danced with me during the tourney, stood up for me to Lord Baelish and-" she hesitated, not wanting to speak ill of the dead "-Mother, and never stares at my scar. I like Lady Arya too, she is smart and funny; we don't have much in common, she doesn't like reading much, but she never looked at me like I was a freak either. I don't know much about the rest of his family aside from what Father told me, but they seem decent. And his friends helped save us... so we can probably trust them, right?"
The girl felt it was probably for the best that she didn't mention that she often caught the Starks older daughter, Sansa, staring at her with a look of disgust or pity. The pity always made her feel worse and it probably wouldn't endear the group to Davos.
The former smuggler clicked his tongue, "Possibly. He seems like a decent enough lad... but he is definitely involved with somethings that I won't claim to understand. Still, it is not like we have any other options for getting to Dragonstone, do we?"
"No, we're at their mercy," Shireen mumbled, the realization setting in. 'Father once said that, if I am to be a proper ruling Lady, that I should never allow others to have too much power over me. But, for now, Davos and I are forced to rely on Ser Jon and his friends to protect us. I'm not sure how much I like that.'
"Well, there isn't much we can do about it now," the Lady of Dragonstone decided, drawing herself up with her hands on her hips and steeling herself with resolve she didn't quite feel. "We need to decide what to do when we get home. I think the first step will be gathering allies and strengthening our defenses."
Davos beamed at her with pride as they both took a seat at the cabin's small table. Shireen grabbed a scrap of parchment and a charcoal pencil so she could begin outlining a letter as the man started again, "Now you're on to something. Now, do you know the main strategic benefit of Dragonstone as a seat of power?"
"It is an island," Shireen answered automatically. "That makes it harder to attack, but it also carries the risk of being surrounded with no means of escape."
Once it became apparent to her father that, in all likelihood, he was not going to have a son, he'd seen to it that Shireen was given what Maester Cressen referred to as a 'Lordling's education. Mother hadn't been too fond of the situation, nor had the Queen when she heard of it. Shireen had told Myrcella about her new studies and her cousin had gone to her parents to request that her own lessons be altered; the king had been dismissive but Queen Cersei had thrown a fit. If the conversation Shireen had overheard between Father and Uncle Davos was to be believed, the Lannister Queen had been pushing for Tommen to take over Dragonstone. But, in the end, it was what Father wanted and his word was obeyed.
"Excellent," Davos nodded. "Now, this is where we will have an advantage. I'm sure you know that your father was King Robert's Master of Ships, correct?"
Shireen nodded. 'Of course, he complained about it often enough.'
"Well, one of his main priorities before Stannis fell ill was to rebuild the royal fleet. Most of Aerys' fleet was wiped out during the war and increasing the number of ships under his control wasn't much of a priority to King Robert so, right now at least, the Queen and her Lannisters will be limited in their marine warfare capabilities," Davos explained. "And, with poor Lord Renly in his coma, the majority of the Baratheon ships are under your control."
'That's right, there is no one leading Storm's End either,' Shireen realized. The thought of potentially being responsible for even more land, even more people, had her drawing in a shaky breath. 'Gods, what if someone pushes for me to sit the Iron Throne?'
That was unlike to happen, thank the gods, given her age, gender, and the perception of her health. Shireen never thought she'd be grateful for such a thing, but she was now.
"Master of Ships was a position usually members of House Velaryon of Driftmark," the girl eventually said, her young mind whirling... planning. "Perhaps Lord Monford Velaryon would be able to assist us."
'Lord Monford had no love for my father or my house,' she mused, 'but maybe he will hate House Lannister enough to cooperate with me? His son is still a little boy but maybe…'
"Risky," Uncle Davos sighed, rubbing his face. "I doubt your father would try to work with him. Your Mother wouldn't agree with the idea either."
.
.
.
"I love my mother and father, Uncle Davos," Shireen admitted, quiet but earnest and truthful. And it was true! Hard as they could be to love them at times, Shireen's quiet, deep familial bond with her parents was still strong as steel. "I love them but I don't want to be like them and I don't intend to rule as either of them would. My decisions moving forward will be my own, not the Queen's or Mother's or Father's or Patches or Lady Melisan..."
The girl's voice trailed off as the image of her parents' crimson-clad adviser flashed through Shireen's mind, her strange glowing eyes that matched the ruby Lady Melisandre wore at her throat, and she shivered.
Something about the Red Priestess scared Shireen, it had for the long as she could remember. This was despite the fact that Lady Melisandre often acted nicer to Shireen than her own mother, soothing Lady Selyse's nerves whenever the woman was annoyed by something Shireen had said or done. The Red Woman even encouraged Shireen's fascination with strange animals and far away places.
But there was always something... off about the woman, something not quite right. Shireen had never seen Lady Melisandre sleep, only briefly close her eyes and doze when seated by the fireplace. She rarely ate, seemingly only ever taking meals with the rest of the household of the social aspect of them. She drank often enough, usually wine but sometimes tea or one of her strange concoctions, but still less than a regular woman should. She also went unbothered by the cold, wet winds of the Dragonstone, carelessly strolling around in just her sleek, exotic red silk robes. Then there was the way Lady Melisandre moved, too smooth and seamless for a regular person. It reminded Shireen more of a snake or cat.
'A predator, ' she mused. 'Lady Melisandre reminds me of a predator. One who likes blood.'
"Davos," she started slowly, "do you think I will have to let Lady Melisandre stay at Dragonstone?"
Davos opened his mouth to say something but closed it as he mulled over the question. "Lady Melisandre holds sway over Lady Selyse's closest confidantes... some of whom are the wives of important men. I'm not against uprooting her from the castle, I quite like the idea actually, but it may not be as easy as hoped."
"There are many more that fear her," Shireen retorted, wordlessly including herself in that category. Then, after a moment of contemplation, reluctantly added, "But that fear could be useful... if I could get her on my side."
'What would I have to give up to win her over?'
Whatever the cost was, the sinking feeling in her gut told Shireen that she wouldn't want to pay it.
"I just wish-"
Creek!
The pair both jumped when the cabin door -which Shireen could have sworn Uncle Davos locked behind him- and in strolled the slender, yet intimidating form of Valerica Volkihar.
"Oh, hello," she greeted, low and purring. "Am I interrupting something?"
Every hair on Shireen's body stood on end as she felt herself shrink away from the green-eyed woman. Lady Melisandre may be unnerving but Lady Valerica absolutely terrified her.
'She is a witch,' the girl thought. 'A witch who can shoot lightning from her fingertips and bring statues to life and who killed my mother!'
And yet Lady Valerica had also saved Shireen's life, along with Davos and Samwell Tarly. Did that mean she wasn't actually a monster? Or was she only able to do all of that because of her monstrousness?
Davos swallowed hard, shifting himself so that he stood between her and the woman. "Lady Shireen and I were just discussing the best course of action to take once reached Dragonstone."
Staring up into Lady Valerica's hard, eerie green eyes, Shireen forced herself to nod. "Y-yes, we were making plans on how to get my f- my men into line."
"You're worried they will not listen to you?" the woman questioned, sidestepping around Davos so that she was right in front of Shireen.
Cocking her head to the side, she reached out with long, pale fingers and cupped Shireen's scared, craggily cheek; tilting the girl's face to examine the scar more easily, she continued, "I assume this has something to do with that?
Shireen nodded wordlessly and shivered at the woman's icy touch.
People seldom touched her greyscale scar, especially not with their bare skin, either too disgusted by its appearance or too afraid that they'd be infected by the disease to do so. But Lady Valerica did so without a moment of hesitation or hint of fear. Maybe it was because she was from a faraway land and didn't know the dangers of Greyscale or maybe it was because Lady Valerica was something... else, something other than human.
Cold, cold hands and hungry, hungry eyes,
These predators come from far and wide,
To hunt down all the innocent men and women,
And devour them with a thirst that will never be forgiven.
One of Patches' old songs echoed from the recesses of Shireen's mind and a shiver of fear ran down the girl's spine. Whatever Lady Valerica may be, the woman was dangerous and Shireen would be sleeping with one eye open until they were no longer on the same ship.
"Fascinating," Lady Valerica muttered, dipping her head to examine the scar closer. "What is this from?"
"Greyscale," both Shireen and Davos blurted out. They blinked at each other and then Shireen pushed forward with an explanation that was painfully familiar on her tongue. "Grayscale is a... a disease that affects the flesh, causing it to stiffen, turn gray, calcify, and crack. It is almost always fatal, but sometimes if children catch it they can survive -I was one of those cases. I caught it when I was still in the cradle; I survived but was permanently scarred with this thing -" she pointed to her face "- on my face."
The woman hummed, still eyeing the damaged stretch of skin. "We have a similar sounding disease back in Tamriel called Rockjoint that can be caught by being scratched or bitten by infected animals or eating tainted meat. Though, instead of working from the outside in, it starts inside the body -affecting a victim's manual dexterity, causing painful swelling and immobility of all joints and eventually stiffens the muscles- and works its way out."
"Is it fatal?" Shireen asked, her curiosity peaked. Her father, despite being a fractal and frugal man in nearly all aspects, had spent a ridiculous amount of time and coin trying to learn more about Greyscale. He'd often argued with Mother about this but Father had wanted to find a way to improve Shireen's life, which included trying to find a way to lessen her scars and ensure the disease would not re-awaken.
"It can be if left untreated," Lady Valerica said, her eyes boring into Shireen's, "but, in the early stages, it is quite easy and inexpensive to treat."
"That is... interesting," the girl all but whispered, unable to tear her eyes away.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Five heartbeats passed before Uncle Davos coughed and asked, "Is there something we can help you with, Lady Valerica? Did you need something?"
The question caused the woman to look away from Shireen, breaking the trace that had seemed to form between the two of them. The girl shook her head, trying to clear the strange, empty feeling that was clouding her mind.
'It was like she was staring into my thoughts.'
"Ah, yes," Lady Valerica replied, straightening herself and stepping back from Shireen, which was a relief. "I was sent to request that you join everyone else on deck. There is going to be an announcement and both Jon, Lord Stark, and the Captain would like everyone to be in attendance."
"And if we refuse?" Davos inquired, surely understanding that Shireen did not feel ready to face everyone else on the boat.
Lady Valerica smiled, dark and poison sweet. "I insist that you do not."
Ned X
"Sansa, I cannot even... begin to understand why you could have possibly thought it was a good idea to tell the Queen you and Arya were leaving King's Landing," Ned growled, frustration dripping from every word as he attempted to deal with the mess his eldest daughter created.
"This isn't my fault!" Sansa snarled back, folding her arms around herself and turning away from him as the girl sat huddled at the little cabin's desk. "She is the Queen! One of the highest authorities in all of Westeros; I'm supposed to be able to trust that she would be kind and just!"
Ned rubbed his face and hissed out a long breath, "Sansa... this isn't a story or song! People aren't inherently good or trustworthy because of their position in life! You are too smart to believe this kind of thing! This isn't what your mother and I taught you."
Sansa shot him a withering glare, "Mother taught me to respect authority and Septa Mordane taught me to trust the Seven saw fit to place the right people in power. And you taught me that it is alright to ignore others' feelings to get what you want."
"What are you talking about?"
"You kept Jon at Winterfell despite it hurting Mother and causing trouble because you always loved him best!" Sansa's face was as red as her hair and she was spitting mad, "He hit me, you know? Jon hit me over an honest mistake! It looks like Mother was right about him; Jon is as violent and untrustworthy as any bastard."
By the gods, it was like Ned was looking at a younger, twisted mirror version of his wife. It was as if all of Catelyn's anger, frustration, and doubts had taken form in the shape of his daughter.
'How did I let it get this bad?' he wondered. 'I should have never left the girls' education up to the septa, even if it was at Cat's insistence.'
Regret filled him... but it was overruled by anger at Sansa's spiteful, cruel words about Jon and her stupid, stupid actions!
So he turned cold.
"And look where those lessons got you," he pressed. "Despite your behavior to him in the past, Jon and his friends saved your life, saved all of our lives. Your mother, in the meanwhile, is losing standing with the family, household, and the North as a whole due to her actions? Do you want to follow in her footsteps? As for Septa Mordane, well, she is dead now... and it is partly your fault."
SMASH!
Rage overtaking her, Sansa grabbed an inkwell off of the desk and hurled it at Ned's head with all of her might,. He ducked, of course, causing it to shatter against the wall behind him and spray ink everywhere.
"IT! WASN'T! MY! FAULT!" she screamed. "I! MADE! A! MISTAKE!"
"Yes, it was a mistake!" Ned roared back. "A stupid, childish, selfish mistake! It was a mistake that could have gotten all of us killed! It was a mistake that got members of other major Houses killed and maimed! Do you have any idea what that could mean for our family? If news about your involvement gets out then the Baratheons and the Tarlys could demand that you be punished and that I pay them restitution!"
Sansa went silent and sullen once more, so Ned just continued.
"It was a mistake that got members of this household killed! A mistake that Wyl and Heward killed! Two men who have been loyal to the Starks for decades, along with their families, and who watched you grow up! Do you feel nothing for their deaths, Sansa? Do you not understand how you carry some of the blame?"
His daughter just scowled and turned away again, only asking, "How was I supposed to know what would have happened? I thought the Queen was just and believed Joffrey was perfect."
The Lord of Winterfell just shook his head, frustration bubbling up again, "You should have used your common sense, Sansa. You should have remembered when Joffrey and Cersei wanted poor Nymeria killed for simply defending Arya! By the gods, if your little sister was smart enough to figure out they weren't to be trusted then-"
"Oh, of course, I should be more like Arya!" Sansa snarled, cutting him off.
Ned fumbled with his words and, when she saw that, Sansa continued on with her rant. "Arya, Arya, Arya! No matter how much work and effort I put into doing everything I'm supposed to, no matter how much I work at being the perfect lady, you've always preferred her to me! Arya always messes everything up, always gets in trouble, and yet I'm the one who you tell to be patient! I always listen and Arya never does but you never punish her for it! You'd never let me get away with half the things she does!"
Finally coming to a stop, Sansa panted hard, her face flushed. Blue eyes met gray and Sansa's pretty face twisted with anger once more. Taking a deep breath, she hissed, "So, tell me, Father, why is it that I put in so much work into being perfect but everyone still loves Arya more?"
.
.
.
"Don't go blaming your own faults on others, Sansa. It isn't becoming of you as a young lady or as a Stark," Ned scowled, even as the regret came back in full force. "Now, you are not to leave this cabin or speak to anyone without my express permission. It is time that you learn the consequences of your actions but I'd rather keep your head off the chopping block."
And, with that, the Lord of Winterfell left the cabin, letting the heavy wooden door slam shut behind him and never once giving in to the urge to go comfort his eldest daughter when he heard Sansa sniffling.
No, instead he pressed on, making his way through the ship until he came to his own quarters. There, Ned froze when he saw a familiar slender figure leaning against his door.
"Jon," he breathed, a thousand emotions rushing through his body at once. "You're awake."
"Yes," the dark-haired youth croaked, his voice raspy, "and we need to talk."
"We shouldn't have gone to King's Landing," Jon admitted. "None of us. Gods, what a mess we've found ourselves in."
"I begged you not to go," Ned retorted, "but you said you had business in the city. I asked for details but you gave none. You asked for trust, which I gave then, but now I want answers to the secrets you've been keeping, Jon! The things you can do... the people on this boat? I got served breakfast by a giant talking lizard! What the hell is going on?"
"The people on this ship are helping us and Veehsi is my friend, don't go insulting him," his nephew warned. But then he frowned and gave a solemn nod, "But, yes, I suppose I do owe you some answers. What do you want to know? I'll answer as much as I can."
A thousand questions raced through Ned's mind but the one that ripped his lips first was, "Why did you... incapacitate me?"
Jon cocked an eyebrow. "Why? Not how?"
Ned recalled the sharp sting and tingling sensation that overtook him right before he lost all ability to move and winced. "Of course I want to know how but I also want to know why ? Why did you do that to me, Jon?"
The younger man just shrugged, no trace of guilt on his face. "You weren't listening and there was no time to explain in detail. You were dead set on your plan and, mark my words, it would have ended with your head getting chopped off. If we were lucky, Sansa and Arya would have just been taken captive... but Starks rarely have that much luck in the South. I love you, Uncle Ned, but I wasn't about to let you be the doom of us all. Don't ask for an apology because you won't be getting one... but I am sorry you had to find out in such a way."
Torn between disappointment in Jon's apathy in the face of his upset and bitterness that his son thought so little of his abilities, Ned eventually decided on confusion. "...Find out about what?"
"Magic."
The situation was not funny in any way but, despite this, Ned snorted. The simple, matter-of-fact way Jon said the word, like this was something he thought Ned would just accept, was completely ridiculous.
"That is enough, Jon," he huffed. "No more lies. Tell me the tru..."
A small ball of fire burned in the palm of Jon's hand, innocent and miracles all in one.
"...uth."
"I never wanted any of you to know," his nephew sighed, shaking his hand to extinguish the flame. "I wanted to keep all of you ignorant of magic and the details of my life in Tamriel, but I suppose it was not to be. Maybe it was foolish to believe I could ever keep it a secret in the first place, especially after Arya-"
"What? Arya knew? For how long" Ned demanded, surprised... or maybe not.
'If Jon were to confess anything about his strange, sorted life it would be to his beloved little sister,' the Lord of Winterfell considered. 'No one could ever break into the bond, not Robb or Bran or Rickon or myself and certainly not Sansa or Cat.'
"Since the attack at the river," Jon admitted a touch of bashfulness in his voice. "I used a lightning spell to save her from a pursuer and, well, the rest is history."
Then, after a short pause, "Please don't be mad at her for keeping it a secret, that was at my request. Arya was just... trying to help me."
That actually got a genuine bark of laughter out of Ned, "I would expect nothing out of the two of you. I'm just surprised she did immediately start begging you to teach her how to-"
The guilty, wide-eyed look that flashed across Jon's face yanked Ned back to a time when his son was small and vulnerable and trusting. To a time when he and Robb would get caught stealing sweets from the kitchens and attempt to use their big eyes and sweet faces to plead their way out of trouble. To a time when his family was complete.
"You've been teaching Arya magic?" he asked, already sure of the answer.
He got a small, sad smile in response, "When have I ever been able to deny her anything?"
Ned swallowed every conflicting emotion warning inside his body back and sighed, "I suppose your lessons helped her survive this ordeal and return to use safely. For that, I thank you... I just wish you'd felt comfortable enough to tell me all of this, Jon."
"Would you have believed me if I tried to explain in my letters?" Jon asked.
When Ned couldn't answer, the younger man just shook his head, "No, at best you'd think I was lying and, at worst, you'd have thought me mad. It was better not to say anything. And it wasn't so much that I outright lied. Most of what I have told you about my life in Tamriel is true, I just... omitted some of the more fantastic details of my adventures."
"A lie of omission is still a lie, Jon," the Lord of Winterfell scolded gently, earning him a scowl.
"Don't go claiming the high ground when it comes to lies," Jon replied coldly.
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.
.
"Yes, you're right," Ned apologized, holding up his hands. "My apologies, I'm just... trying to wrap my head around all of this. To me, tales of magic have always been just that -tales."
"Don't you believe in the Old Gods?"
Ned gave a slow nod, "Yes... but that kind of belief is about making oneself feel more secure, it is about comfort, not necessarily about thinking magic and miracles are real."
Jon hummed, "Well, I can't speak of the Old Gods but I can assure you that magic is very real indeed." Then he frowned, "I think it's dead in Westeros though, or at least suppressed."
"What do you mean?" Ned asked, confused.
His nephew bit his lower lip, deep in thought, but, after a long moment.
"It is hard to explain... but, in Tamriel, magic is kind of like the air; it is everywhere, even if you can't see it or don't think about it. Some places innately have more magical energy than others and those who have been trained can even sense it but nowhere is complete without magic. I felt it in Braavos too, though that magic was different than what I'm used to... darker, I guess. But in Westeros... I don't know, there is almost nothing. I could feel something in Winterfell, especially in the crypts, but the further south I went the less magic I felt. I wonder if that is the reason why..." Jon trailed off, going silent for some time before shaking his head.
"You wonder if..." Ned pressed.
Jon just waved him off though, "Don't worry about it, I was just thinking out loud. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. Magic. In Tamriel, magic is just a known fact of life; even if you don't like it or personally use it, you know it exists. Many aspects of life are structures to factor it in -military, politics, healing, religion, academia- and I know it would have been hard for all of you to comprehend, so I thought it would have been best to just... not say anything."
Ned wanted to argue. Back when they were still exchanging letters, he'd all but begged for details of his son's life and would have accepted just about anything he was told. But, no, he was never one to believe in what he couldn't confirm for himself. If Jon had written to him about such things, he would have likely assumed some horrible incident had driven his son to insanity.
"It... all sounds so unbelievable, to imagine a land so different from Westeros," Ned said. He gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle, "I suppose my idea of the world has always been rather small."
Jon shot him a sympathetic grin, "I felt the same way when I first arrived there; everything was so different from what I knew, and in order to survive, I had to become different too. I had to become..."
Once more, the dark-haired youth trailed off. But Ned didn't even have time to prompt him to continue this time because, with a long, tortured sigh, Jon closed his eyes and said, "I'm only telling you this because I know you'll hear about it at some point"
Ned said nothing, remaining respectfully silent while Jon seemed to mull over what he was about to say, getting his thoughts together.
Finally...
"Tamriel, like every land, has its own tales of heroes and legends," Jon explained, "and one of these revolve around something called the Dragonborn."
Dragonborn.
The name sent a shiver down Ned's spine. It sounded ancient and powerful, like something out of one of Old Nan's stories. It sounded Valyrian, something pompous and overly-important befitting those who held themselves so above others. It sounded like 'Dragonspawn,' a word spat with malice and hatred for those who'd never even had a chance to do wrong.
"Dragonborn, or Dovahkiin, are... special people who, according to legend, have the body of a mortal, but the blood, soul, and power of a Dragon. No, not the kind of dragons you are thinking of," Jon quickly interrupted, stopping the words that were already on Ned's lips. "The dragons of Tamriel are different from those the Targaryens had; they are smaller, though not by much, capable of far worse destruction than just breathing fire, and vastly more intelligent."
Ned had never seen a dragon, only ever heard the tales and read some historical accounts of Harrenhal and the Field of Fire, but his ancestor Torrhen Stark had decided to kneel instead of facing the might of Aegon's dragons and, considering how stubborn his bloodline tended to be, he liked to believe that he had some grasp of the might of a dragon. The idea that something could be more destructive than the dragons from Westeros' history was... terrifying.
'Then there is the intelligence,' he shivered. 'Smarter animals are always deadlier.'
"How smart?"
It took Jon a moment to answer, which only added to Ned's growing suspicion that his nephew was still holding some information back.
"They are capable of human speech," he eventually said.
Ned felt his jaw drop, something that caused Jon to snicker.
"Does that surprise you?" he asked, lips twitching in amusement. "After everything you've seen in these past couple of days?"
"...I don't know what to believe anymore," the Lord of Winterfell admitted, collapsing down into a chair. "But, go on, tell me more about this mythical Dragonborn."
"It would take days to tell you everything but there is more you need to understand," Jon shook his head, picking up a quill from Ned's desk and rolling it between his fingers. "Due to a supposed divine blessing, a Dragonborn can... learn the magic of the dragons in a way that others cannot. It is unknown as to how a Dragonborn is chosen but it is believed by many that a Dragonborn appears in history during times of great need by the command of the Gods to tip the balance of power or right the wrongs in the world. All peoples of Tamriel have some story of the Dragonborn but, in Skyrim, the Dragonborn represents what a Nord should strive to be; they believe Dragonborn represents the end of all of Skyrim's foes and the triumph of its people. So, needless to say, to be a Dragonborn is a big deal."
This was all quite interesting but Ned still wasn't sure why he was hearing it.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked slowly.
Jon closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath, "Because shortly after I arrived in Skyrim it was discovered that I was one of these legendary beings, the last one actually, and that meant... a lot."
Ned waited for his son to elaborate but nothing came. Eventually, he prompted, "...And?"
But the younger man just shook his head, pulling his arms tight around his body. "I'm not telling you anymore. It wouldn't give you any comfort to know and, quite frankly, you'd look at me differently if you knew half of the things I've done."
"I wouldn't," Ned promised, but Jon just let out a dry chuckle and shook his head again.
"I've done... so much in the past four years, more than you could ever believe," Jon sighed, looking far older than his actual age. "I've done good things for the right reason and good things for the wrong reason, justifying to myself that so long as more people benefited than not, it was okay. But I've also done bad things for the right reason because, well, you can't get many results in life by being gentle and forgiving all the time."
Then his son paused, took a drink from his seemingly ever-present hip flask, and leaned backward in his chair so he was staring up at the ceiling. "And sometimes I've done bad things for the wrong reasons and sometimes... sometimes those things felt best of all."
Ned felt something in him grow cold but Jon wasn't done just yet.
"If you ask me again, I'll tell you some of the things I've done. But, once I tell you, you'll never be able to unknow it; you'll have to live with that knowledge." Jon looked down from the ceiling and straight into his eyes, "So, do you want to ask again?"
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.
.
"No," he whispered.
"Good choice," Jon nodded approvingly. Then a look of immense sadness overtook his handsome young face, "But it looks like you may gain an idea soon enough."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's not kid ourselves, there is going to be a war," his son replied.
Then, silently, he reached into the narrow writing desk and pulled out a roll of paper. He passed it to Ned and said, "You need to write Winterfell. You need to tell Robb and your wife to prepare."
The Lord of Winterfell looked at the boy he had raised since birth, down at the blank paper in his hand, and closed his eyes, wishing for a better tomorrow.
... I cannot claim to understand everything that happened in King's Landing but one thing is clear -the North is in danger. I cannot see a future where the Seven Kingdoms will not descend into war soon. Cat, Robb, I had foolishly hoped such a thing would never reach our home but it looks like it will be inevitable.
You both must be strong. Robb, your entire life has been preparing for this possibility and I trust that you can maintain a hold on the situation until I can return. Until then, summon our bannermen, trust the advice of those you hold dear, and keep our family close. I trust Howland with my life and you can as well; he stayed in Winterfell after I departed for the south to help look after Bran and Rickon on my request.
Keep him close and tell him that we need to choke the Neck.
The fewer soldiers that can get to the North on foot the better; it'll allow us to focus on the naval attacks.
Robb, I know you must be scared and nervous because I was too, but I have faith that you can do this. Cat, I have faith that you will guide our son as strongly as you have guided me throughout the years.
Give my love to Bran & Rickon,
Stay safe.
Ned.
Quill hovering over the paper, Ned hesitated. Rereading over the letter one, two, three times, he reassured himself that everything needed to be said was already in here but yet it still felt incomplete.
'There is more I need to say,' he thought, chewing on the end of the quill. That very something was tearing at his mind and heart... mostly because he knew exactly what it was. 'It is time to face my demons.'
At the bottom of the paper, Ned added one last line.
Cat, when I return we need to talk about Jon.