The next morning, Robb awoke to a mouthful of curly auburn hair and a massive form laying across his legs.
"Bwah!" he spat, yanking his head back and grimacing.
Blinking hard against the gray, dim morning light, consciousness slowly returned to Robb's sleepy mind as he looked around. Registering a weight on his chest, Robb glanced down to see a sleeping Rickon sprawled on top of him, one tiny first maintaining a death grip on his nightshirt.
'Still just a pup,' Robb thought, pressing a warm kiss into his youngest brother's forehead and nuzzling Rickon's curly mane.
The weight on his legs shifted and, over the top of Rickon's head, Robb's Tully blue eyes met the unnerving green-eyed stare of Shaggydog. The massive, black-furred direwolf made no attempt to move, content to simply watch over Rickon and make sure he was safe in his sleep.
Though he'd never admit it, Shaggydog made Robb nervous. While no direwolf could ever truly be tamed, not even gentle Lady, Shaggydog was wilder and fiercer than the rest by half; he obeyed only Rickon and the littlest Stark was far from the calmest creature in Winterfell. There were days when Robb wondered how much of Rickon was Shaggydoy and how much of Shaggydog was Rickon. The pair was rarely apart, more so than even he and Greywind, who still enjoyed his independence enough that he occasionally -like last night- preferred sleeping in the woods or stables.
'Knock! Knock! Knock!'
At the gentle rapping on his bedroom door, Robb squirmed to sit up in bed and called out, "One moment."
He tried to shift the still-sleeping Rickon from his chest but the boy squirmed, his face scrunching up and tightening his grip on Robb. When Rickon whimpered at the loss of warmth after Robb managed to slide out from under him and pry his youngest brother's fingers off, Shaggydog let out a low, threatening growl. Robb froze, but when there was another knock at his door, he decided enough was enough.
He glared down at the direwolf, bearing his teeth, and growled, "Get! Off!"
Shaggydog cocked his head to the side, blinking his large green eyes, and then, with a huff, rolled over to curl around Rickon. Satisfied, Robb grimaced at the uncomfortable sensation of all the blood rushing back to his lower legs but forced himself out of bed and hobbled to the door.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he grumbled as the knocking continued. Throwing open the door, "I said, I'm- Oh, Lord Howland! What can I help you with?"
The slender man's strangely bright eyes seemed to stare into Robb's soul as he frowned and said gravely, "Robb, you need to come to your father's solar immediately. We've received... troubling news."
His initial instinct was to ask what was going on, to hopefully calm the horrifying thoughts racing through Robb's mind. But Howland Reed's stone face killed all the words in his throat and Robb could only nod.
The Lord of Winterfell's solar was not a small room but having Maester Luwin, Hallis Mollen, Howland Reed, Mother, Greywind (who'd appeared by his side almost as soon as Robb had left the bedroom), and Robb himself all in there made it cramp and uncomfortable. Which, considering the general atmosphere of unrest and anxiety that perforated from everyone, was probably appropriate.
"What is going on?" Robb demanded, forcing himself down in his father's seat and trying to look composed. "Have you learned anything about Bran's attacker?"
"No, my lord," Hallis said, shaking his head. "My men are still looking into it but this isn't about that."
"Then what?"
The men in the room all shifted uncomfortably, no one wanting to speak up first, and all Robb could think was, 'Dear gods, please don't let the be about Theon.'
Eventually, Maester Luwin sighed deeply and stepped forward, pulling out stack of letters from his robe sleeve. "We've received some ravens with troubling news while you've been gone, Lord Robb. I originally considered waiting a few days for you to be rested to turn them over, but after the one we received this morning it can no longer wait."
Taking a deep breath, the old Maester started. "The first is from the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jeor Mormont. He requests that Lord Stark visit the Wall immediately to discuss some pressing matters."
"What kind of matters?" Robb asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Luwin shook his head, "He did not elaborate, I'm afraid."
"Then it can wait."
If the man was a Mormont, then he was probably a reliable, honest man. In the back of his mind, Robb vaguely recalled Uncle Benjen speaking highly of the Lord Commander. But, quite frankly, he had too much shit going on to pay much attention to a vague request.
"The second letter is for you, Lady Stark," Luwin continued, passing a scroll to the Lady of the House.
Mother snatched it up quickly, her eyes pouring over the parchment. Robb watched as her face scrunched up in concern before growing grim.
"Mother? Anything to share?" he asked.
"It's from my sister," she said, folding the letter back up and sticking it into her sleeve. "Nothing to worry about at the moment. Please continue, Maester."
The old man hesitated, his face pale, but nodded and turned back to Robb. "While you were gone, we received word that King Robert passed away from an injury sustained during a hunting accident."
"What?" Robb explained, a rush of cold and sadness coming over him. "Why wasn't I informed immediately?"
Honestly, he hadn't thought much of the -former- king. When the man visited Winterfell, the overweight drunkard didn't exactly match up to the impressive stag warrior from the stories Father had recounted. But the man hadn't been unkind and Robb could only imagine the grief his father was going through right now. There was also something incredibly... eerie about the person you were named after dying and a chill ran down Robb's spine as he thought of it.
"That was my decision," Mother cut in, smoothing an errant strand of hair from her face. "In my mind, the most pressing issue was the attack on Bran. I wanted to speak with you about that before anything else. As Ned was in King's Landing, I believed he was handling the situation on behalf of the Starks' so you knowing of it was less vital."
Several responses rolled around in Robb's mind and he considered each carefully. Part of being an effective ruler was knowing when, or when not, to say something. He knew that Mother's standing in the castle had taken a hit and contradicting her in front of some of the most important members of staff, as well as one of their vassals, would not help that matter. But allowing her, even passively, to make decisions about the political information he needed to know at any given time would make Robb seem like a weak and indecisive leader.
"That is an understandable position," Robb eventually said, giving a slow nod. "Bran being attacked is certainly worthy of attention and investigation... but it is also important that I always be aware of what is going on in the realm. You told me so yourselves, Mother."
The woman gave him a small, tight smile but said nothing. It was almost a nice moment but then a horrifying realization struck Robb and twisted his stomach.
"If Robert is dead then that means Prince Joffrey has taken the throne, correct?"
While Robb hadn't been impressed by King Robert, he had been disgusted by the Crown Prince and completely disheartened by how Sansa seemed to completely fall for his shallow charm and false niceties. King Robert may have been unimpressive and uncaring about his duties, but his son seemed... all too eager to have power over others. Not that Joffrey gave the impression he wanted the responsibility of leading the kingdom either.
'And if he becomes king, there is no way for Father to refuse a marriage between him and Sansa any longer,' Robb thought grimly, fighting back a shiver.
"No. Well, yes , that would have been the case but... " Luwin said, shaking his head and trailing off.
"Maester Luwin?" Robb prompted, heartbeat speeding up.
The old man drew a shuddering breath and handed him the third scroll, his hand quivering. "But then this arrived late last night with your brother's strange red bird. The beast nearly took my fingers off when I tried to retrieve it, but the news it contain is... grave. See for yourself."
The words effectively killed any hope for good news left inside of Robb. As he unraveled the scroll, his blue eyes scanned through the text. It was not a long letter, maybe a page-and-a-half, but he stared at it for what felt like years. His mind could read the words before him but it felt as if none of their meanings were connecting in his mind. Robb might as well have been staring at one of Rickon's colorful scribbles.
"Robb?" Howland Reed spoke up, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"This has to be a joke," the Heir of Winterfell spat, the parchment crumpling in his fist. He scanned the letter again, words finally beginning to take hold.
….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...
"This can't be real!" he threw the letter down on the desk before him in disgust. "Someone must be trying to trick us into making a move against the Crown!"
As if Robb couldn't recognize his own father's handwriting. As if anyone else in the Seven Kingdom had a pet bird that looked like Jon's. As if anyone else could put a name to all of Robb's secret doubts and insecurities about his own leadership abilities.
"That... would be a possibility," Hallis Mollen conceded, shifting from one foot to the other. "We were certainly worried about it, but then we received this- " he held up another scroll, this one thicker and tied with a scarlet red ribbon, "-early this morning."
Now it was Robb's turn for his hand to shake as he took the final letter, turning it over in his hands as he worked up the courage to break the golden wax seal.
'That is the emblem of House Lannister,' he realized, tilting his head to the side. 'That's odd.'
Robb broke the seal with his thumbnail and fought back the urge to wretch as he slowly unrolled it. There were two pages; the first of which was a general declaration to all the noble houses of Westeros. Its script inside was tight, neat, and written in dark red ink; the words were so small that it took Robb a moment to decipher them. And, when he did, he immediately regretted it.
...crimes against the royal family...
...wanted for the murder of King Joffrey, Prince Tommen, and Jon Arryn...
...Stark and his bastard spawn abducted my daughter, Princess Myrcella, in a bid for control...
...the death of my beloved father, Tywin Lannister, at the hands of the now disowned Tyrion Lannister...
...the betrayal of the former knight, Barristan Selmy...
...while colluding with Renly Baratheon and the Tyrells...
...hereby declared them traitors along with all those who aided them...
...Her Majesty, Cersei Lannister. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
Before he could stop himself, Robb looked to the second letter. This one was directed at him personally, as the heir and the current acting Head of the Stark House. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, he began to read.
...turn in your traitorous father and bastard half-brother...
...surrender your sisters as wards of the ruling family to be married...
...If you wish to stay in power...
...demand that you come to King's Landing and submit to the Crown personally...
...put to death...
...swear loyalty to me immediately or...
With a disgusted snarl, he threw the letter down.
"It's madness," he said. "Complete madness! Cersei Lannister is accusing Father and Jon of killing the two princes and abducting Princess Mycrella. She claims he wanted to take the throne for himself!"
"What?!" Mother grabbed the letter, reading it over for herself. After she was done, she passed it to Lord Howland. "This is terrible. Oh, Ned, what have you gotten yourself into now?"
"He, Jon, and the girls all escaped safely; let's just focus on that for now, Mother," Robb reassured, reaching over to give her arm a comforting pat while he tried not to think about poor Wyl and Heward. "That Lannister bitch is demanding that I publicly disavow Father and Jon, give Sansa and Arya over to the Lannister family to control their future marriages, and personally come to King's Landing so I can swear loyalty to her!"
At his words, everyone in the room shouted, "Never!"
"I will never let that woman have my daughters," Mother growled, for once looking more wolf than fish. "We may not know what exactly went down in that city, but your father and brot... Whitewolf would never do the things she is claiming! Whatever happened, I'll bet my life on her having far more blood on her hands than either of them!"
' Mother saying something even slightly positive about Jon? We really have descended into madness,' Robb thought, before taking a deep breath.
"We need to call the Banners."
It was later that the horrible realization that, with the control of the throne now shifting, Theon's 'death' was now pointless. The deception was for nothing.
Jon XXIII
An excruciating silence fell over the deck of the ship as everyone stared at the squirming dragon in Arya's arms. The small snarls and squeaks of the creature, along with the grunts and growls of Arya as she attempted to maintain her grip on it might have well been as loud as thunder crashes for how easily they could be heard over the slack-jawed quiet that blanketed the deck.
Then, all at once, it ended in a flurry of curses, shouts, roared questions, and the stomping of feet as dozens of armor-clad men attempted to rush forward all at once so they could get their hands on the dragon. Being charged startled Arya, causing her to let out a yelp and throw her tiny body backward, attempting to scramble away from the crowd. A few of Adelaisa's men stepped forward to shield the girl as another helped Arya to her feet. That only caused the crowd to grow more agitated, however, and the air became thick with tension.
"This is bad," Uncle Ned muttered, shaking his head. "If we don't get people to calm down, there is going to be bloodshed soon."
"Good idea," Jon said.
"What?"
"Do you want me to handle this, Jon?" Enzo whispered, his deep voice low and calm even as his dark eyes scanned the deck.
"No, I need to do this myself." Jon turned to his uncle, "Cover your ears and... try not to be alarmed."
'Time to see how my throat is doing,' J on thought, drawing in a deep breath. "GOL HAH!"
The power of the Thu'um rolled across the deck of the Bell Singer, sweeping away the individual anger and will of all those there. Jon purposefully only used the first two words of the Bend Will shout; he only wanted to pacify the crowd so that they would hopefully listen to him, at least for a little while. Using all three words would have been overkill and, from his own experience as well as warnings from Arngeir, could be devastatingly overwhelming to the average man. A power that was meant to subdue the will of an eternal being like a dragon could permanently damage a human's sense of self and internal strength.
"QUIET DOWN!" Jon commanded. He was used to shouting orders to units of Legion soldiers and, even without the use of his Thu'um, his voice carried loud, clear, and strong.
Once more, a hush fell over the crowd. But this one was a tight, unwelcome, involuntary thing. It was as if an invisible hand had reached out and forced everyone's mouths shut. All eyes turned to Jon, staring him down with stares full of anger, suspicion, hatred, recognition, and, yes, even more than a little fear.
"This isn't how I wanted to do this but I suppose it's best to just come clean," Jon said, stepping up onto a crate so everyone could see him better. "Some of you know me as Jon Snow, the acknowledged bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell! The truth is that my name is Jaehaerys Targaryen, the legitimate son of the late Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his second wife, Lady Lyanna Stark! I know what I'm saying may seem unbelievable and I have proof to back up my claims but I think that -" he gestured broadly to Smokey, who was still fighting against Arya's hold "-should be more than enough to convince you all!"
.
.
.
"Dragonspawn!"
A large, burly man wearing Tyrell colors pushed his way through the crowd, face red under his bushy, silver-streaked beard and one hand already on the hilt of his sword.
"Your kind was killed off for a reason! The entire Targaryen bloodline was a tainted, vile thing. They birthed madness and monsters from sin and witchcraft! They had to be stopped!" he bellowed, gesturing around. "Just about every noble family in Westeros has their own horrifying memory about your grandfather! That man was evil made into flesh! We fought an entire war to get out from under the Targaryens' thumb and that was only possible because they didn't have any fucking dragons! Do you really think anyone will let you use those beasts to force us back into submission?"
The man paused to look around the deck, perhaps searching for allies. When none immediately stepped forward to join him -and Jon was under no illusion that such a lack of immediate action meant that everyone was automatically on his side- he just shook his head and pulled his sword. "I won't allow it! Those strange powers you have and the allies you have on this ship may get me in a rush but, by the Seven, I'll spill that tainted blood of yours, boy! Those dragons will be easy prey when they have no master to protect them."
The threat to his newly hatched dragons sent a rush of protective rage coursing through Jon's body but when Enzo, Uncle Ned, and the newly arrive Jory Cassel tried to move forward to disarm him, he stepped down from the crate and held up a hand to stop them. If this was going where he thought it was then Jon could use it. After all, sometimes words were most convincing when paired with a demonstration.
When the man charged, Jon was ready. Once his opponent got close enough, the young Dragonborn pulled his ebony dagger from the hidden hilt on his belt and used it to parry the man's blow. Rather than force it away, Jon threw himself forward. Frostbite's glossy blade scraping mercilessly against the common steel of his attacker's weapon until he was right in front of the man, only a hair's breadth between them. Too stunned to pull back, the man wasn't able to stop Jon from headbutting him in the nose, following it up with a boot to the gut that sent him sprawling on his back. As he fell, Jon snatched the sword from his downed opponent's hand.
"I could have killed you," Jon warned, holding the tip of the sword under the man's chin. A small group of the Bell Singer's crewmen surged forward, two on either side of the man and the rest forming a barrier between Jon and his group and the rest of the Westerosi. With this extra display of force on his side, Jon continued, "But I didn't. And I don't want to."
He threw the sword down.
"Now, I understand your fears, your suspicions, and, yes, even your hatred," he said, once again addressing the gawking crowd. "However, I am open with all about the truth of my parentage as a gesture of good faith! I am not my grandfather! I have no interest in wanton cruelty or any of the other things you are worrying about. I am not your enemy; it is thanks to my friends and myself that you have safe passage on this ship. We are all on the same side!"
Jon glanced around the crowd; there was still animosity and confusion and fear, but also less open hostility and more confusion in the faces staring back at me. He decided to push a little harder.
"But, by all means, anyone who doubts my sincerity is welcome to try their hand at taking my life," he declared. "Just know that the bodies left behind will not be mine."
Then he knelt down and offered his attacker his hand.
It took a long, hard moment of the man staring suspiciously at the offered hand but, eventually, he took it and let Jon pull him up. He still pulled away as soon as he was steady on his feet though.
"I don't expect any of you to trust me," Jon finished. "I just want you to hear me out."
.
.
.
"Are you after the Iron Throne?" Olenna Tyrell asked, her raspy old voice cutting across the deck. "Is that why you returned to Westeros?"
Jon shook his head, "I have no interest in the Iron Throne; to me, it is just an uncomfortable old chair that comes with more responsibility than it's worth. I came back to visit my family, nothing more and nothing less. And that is why I will be staying, at least for now -to keep them safe."
"And the dragon?" someone called out, shooting a glare at the tiny creature in Arya's arms and causing his little sister to tighten her hold on Smokey as she glared right back.
"He... they- " Lying, even just by omission, about the other two dragons would only serve to undermine Jon's efforts to get these people to trust him "-are a long story. I stumbled upon the eggs and tried hatching them merely as a curiosity, I had no reason to believe it would even work. I have no intention of using them as weapons of war and, even if I did, they are just babies. It will be months until they could be even a small threat to people, years until they'd be useful in battle."
Taking a chance, Jon stepped away from his small group -brushing off Uncle Ned's attempt to hold him back- and parted the crowd as he strode towards Ayra, ignoring the murmurs and hushed conversation emanating from those around them. In Jon's experience, men were like horses. He couldn't show fear or overt aggression, lest he risks them all bolting. So, when he crossed the deck to his sister's side without being stabbed, Jon considered it a good sign.
"Thank you, Little Sister. You did just as I said," he said loudly, winking at Arya when she flushed red with embarrassment. "Give him here."
He took Smokey from Arya's arms. The little beast squirmed, his clawed feet digging into the scarred and tattooed flesh of Jon's forearm as Smokey tried to balance. Handling him as he would Sweet Roll or some other bird of prey, Jon held his arm out as Smokey flared his wings out in an adorably impressive display of his small size and slender musculature.
'You better cooperate with me on this, you little terror. Many people's safety may depend on it.'
"Despite how he may look, this dragon is no more dangerous than a house cat or lap dog," Jon claimed, scratching Smokey under his chin.
The animal stiffened at his words and, for a moment, Jon was worried that he would start biting and hissing. Smokey turned his burning red-orange eyes on Jon with what the young Dragonborn could swear was an annoyed glare before letting out a small huff and bumping his small head against Jon's cheek, cooing loudly.
'There is no mistaking it, he can understand me. Even if not my words, he understands my intent,' Jon realized. 'I know the Targaryens' dragons were supposed to be more intelligent than a common animal but is that the reason why? Or is it because of something I did?'
The looks of fear and anger lapsed into eyes glimmering with awe and fascination -Jon noticed that Tyrion Lannister, in particular, looked as if he'd died and gone to the afterlife of his choice- as Smokey put on a show for everyone, swishing his tail for a moment before deciding to scale up Jon's arm. Smokey seemed to find the young Dragonborn's shoulder an acceptable perch because he settled there, flaring out his wings once more and staring out at the masses. Jon felt his lips twitch as several people took a step closer, openly admiring the young dragon in all his glory. For all they might hate the Targaryen bloodline and fear the idea of massive, winged fire-breathing war mounts, no one looked capable of disregarding how amazing it was to see a creature long thought extinct.
His internal revelry in this small victory was cut short, however, when another voice broke through.
"And what of revenge? What do you intend to do to those who've done your family ill?" asked a slender older man with graying brown hair and beard, his voice carrying loud and clear over the wind and waves.
Jon started to respond when he noticed the small, scarred face of Shireen Baratheon peeking out from behind the man and it clicked -both who this man was and why he asked the question.
"Rest assured, Ser Davos Seaworth, that any revenge I sought has already been taken," he assured. "I have no desire for there to be bloodshed on this ship and-" he gave a pointed look toward Shireen "-I would never hold the child responsible for the sins of their parents."
Neither Shireen nor Seaworth said anything but there was a visible release of tension in both their bodies. A twitch of pain hit Jon in his heart; he'd spent a large part of his childhood believing he was at fault for -supposedly- being a bastard. He could remember Septa Mordane telling him at age six that Jon must live his life serving others so that he may repent for the 'sinful' nature of his birth. In short, he absolutely knew what it was like for the consequences of your parents' actions to weigh on your shoulders like crushing boulders.
'Now more than ever,' he thought to himself.
Before he could say anything more, Uncle Ned cleared his throat and stepped forward.
"Let it be known that I alone committed the treason of hiding the son of Rhaegar Targaryen from the world," he announced. "I lied to all who would suspect it to keep my nephew safe! I saw it as my burden and my burden alone. Jon... Jaehaerys here knew nothing about who he was until he was a young man. And I ask you all, what would you have done?
"I know that you look at him and see a Targaryen but I see the son of my beloved sister, Lyanna, and I see the boy I raised as my own. I loved the late King Robert like a brother but I know what he'd have done if he knew the truth. We all know what happened to Princess Elia and her children! Could any of you turn over an innocent babe, turn over your own flesh and blood , to meet the same fate?"
No one answered the Lord of Winterfell's question but a discomforted quiet settled back over the crowd. Many shifted uncomfortably, averting their eyes from both Jon and his uncle. Jon could only imagine the war of thoughts that was going through their minds. Undoubtedly they were asking themselves what they'd do in Uncle Ned's situation.
'I've wondered about it myself too,' he mentally admitted.
It couldn't have been easy to have such divided loyalties and while Jon did not agree with many of the choices his uncle made, he also could not imagine many better ones.
B-b-b-b-BOOM!
A loud clap of thunder put an effective end to any more discussion, especially when a look starboard revealed a large cluster of dark storm clouds just over the horizon.
Seaworth clicked his tongue and let out a low growl, "That doesn't look good." He turned to Adalisa, "You should tell your helmsman to make a sharp turn left. If we put some distance between us and the storm we can eventually loop around it without straying too far from our course."
Adelaisa and two of her sailors blinked at the man, surprised. The captain gave Seaworth a calculating once over before nodding and turning to one of her men, "Pass on his orders to the Helmsman Glarrien immediately!"
She turned back to Seaworth and said, "Well, you seem to know your way around a ship. My men and I are unfamiliar with these waters. If you'd agree to assist us then I'd be greatly appreciative, we'd compensate you for your aid as well."
"As for the rest of you," Adelaisa called out, turning to address the crowd. "I'm ordering you all to return to your cabins! I won't have you all distracting my men by wandering around the deck during a storm! Disperse!"
On a ship, the Captain's word was law but, unused to taking orders from a woman, everyone lingered.
'Fools,' Jon thought with a scowl. 'She's sheltering and feeding their ungrateful asses and they don't even give Adelaisa the respect she deserves.
He opened his mouth to say something but Enzo spoke up first.
"You heard the Captain!" he boomed. "Unless you fancy a swim with the sharks, you will do as she says!"
"Exactly," Uncle Ned agreed, stepping forward. "We may not enjoy being stuck on this ship together but, the fact remains that Cersei Lannister tried to kill all of us so, for better or for worse, we are all in this together! Now, it was decided that Lord Tyrion's trial would be tomorrow. My fellow lords and I should retire to think about the future of our houses and plans that need to be made!"
There were the expected grumbles and hesitation but when the raspy old voice of Olenna Tyrell piped up with an agreement -echoed louder by her son, which no one paid attention to- that the deck finally cleared out. Adelaisa watched them go, sharp eyebrow raised, and then let out a frustrated sigh.
"You've gotten yourself into a special brand of mess this time, didn't you?" she asked Jon, an exasperated but fond smile playing on her handsome face. "I won't pretend to understand what is going on or why you being a Tar- Targy- Targaryen mean anything, and I won't pretend to be thrilled that you brought a dragon on my ship, even if it is mercifully tiny, but you're still my friend. No matter what, Jon, you have the loyalty of me, my men, and the East Empire Company."
"Thank you, Adelaisa. I'm sorry to have gotten you all mixed up in this. It truly wasn't my intention," Jon replied sadly. "Sometimes it feels like no matter where I go, no matter what I do, everything always goes to-"
"No use dwelling on it now," Adelaisa cut him off. "What's done is done. Now it's just a matter of figuring out our next step."
"If I may, I think it would be best if we port in Dragonstone. It's close enough and we can stock up on supplies there," Jon said, folding his arms.
The Captain nodded, "That man who spoke up earlier -Seaworth I believe his name was?- asked that we stop there so that he and the girl who arrived with him could disembark. I'll need to speak with him, but it sounds like this island would be a good place to rest and plan... If we're allowed, that is."
Jon scoffed, "Oh, we'll be allowed. Just remind those two of who saved them. Life debts may mean less in Westeros than they do in Skyrim but saving someone still carries weight."
That got a chuckle out of Adelasia, who gave him a wave as she walked away. Enzo gave Jon a small grin and a silent wink as he followed her.
'A Captain's work is never done,' Jon thought fondly. 'Captain Aldis always complained about all the paperwork he had to do. Of course, being a captain in the Imperial Legion isn't exactly the same as being a captain on a ship but I imagine the frustrations are similar.'
"Arya, Jon and I told you to wait in his cabin with the... the dragons," Uncle Ned said, shaking Jon from his thoughts. "I know you dislike being cooped up but you must listen to me, now more than ever."
"It wasn't my fault," Arya snapped back. "The dragon got out and I couldn't just let him run around the ship."
"How?" Jon asked. "Adelaisa made sure Enzo and I got one of the cabins with a good lock. I guess she didn't want a repeat of the incident with the cabin boy and the invisibility potion."
"What? Whatever, it doesn't matter," Arya shook her head. "For your information, I didn't do anything. If you want answers, ask her! "
She rolled her eyes and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder towards the door leading down into the cabins. Or rather, she jabbed her thumb towards a specific figure that was peaking out around the doorframe.
"Sansa," Uncle Ned sighed. "What did you do?"
At first, the older Stark daughter tried to duck away but when her father called for her again, Sansa finally stepped forward.
"I just wanted to see if I could hear any of what was going on up on deck. I got worried when neither of you came back," she said, her face as red as her hair. "I swear I only opened the door a crack, just enough to let some sound through, but that little monster-" she glared up at Smokey, who just puffed up his little chest and hissed back "-slipped right by my feet before I could stop him."
The Lord of Winterfell sighed once more, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, Sansa..."
"And besides, it wasn't all my fault," the young lady was quick to add. "Arya was the one who dropped it!"
"He was fine until you opened the door!" Arya growled. "Then he started trying to bite me! And I still held on until he scratched his way free!"
She held up her arms, showing a set of deep, bloody scratches on each, and scowled up at Smokey, "I tried my best but his claws are really sharp."
'And they're only going to get deadlier as he and the other dragons age,' Jon mused. He took one of Arya's arms in his hands and, after a quick muttered spell, healed the wounds. When he was finished with them, there wasn't even a mark where the scratches once were.
"By the gods," Uncle Ned gasped, eyes wide as he watched Jon heal up Arya's second arm.
"This isn't natural," Sansa said, shaking her head.
Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes, "The world is much bigger than your understanding of it, Sansa. Things that seem unnatural to you are just a normal part of everyday life for others."
"I think it's neat," Arya piped up, examining her now injury-free skin. "Useful too!"
"As do I," Jon laughed, playfully tugging on a loose strand of his little sister's hair. "Now, where are the other two? Did they escape as well?"
He didn't want to imagine the danger -or, for that matter, the mischief- two intelligent baby dragons could get into while loose on a ship.
"I locked them back in one of your trunks," Sansa said, still red-faced and guarded. "It was the best I could think of at the moment."
"Well, at least you made the right call in that," the young Dragonborn sighed, but giving what he hoped was a comforting smile.
His words seemed to have little impact though, as Sansa turned away from him without another word. 'Oh, Sansa. I can't help you if you're not willing to help yourself.'
Jon scratched at his stubble, trying to think of something else to say or do to help his cousin, only to come up frustratingly blank. Even if he were to try, he doubted that Sansa would listen. The girl was still stubbornly convinced she was in the right or, at least, convinced nothing that happened could be considered her fault. And Jon could understand that! Admitting your own faults could be excruciatingly hard and, like anything, doing it gracefully and humbly was a skill that needed to be learned over time.
'But it is one Sansa will need to learn if she hopes to survive these coming events.'
"Fath- Uncle, why don't you take the girls down to where the animals are being held?" he said. "I'm going down later to see them but I'm sure Ghost, Nymeria, and the others would appreciate a visit."
"Oh, yes! Please, can we Father? I need to see Nymeria. She isn't happy being on the ship," Arya pleaded, grabbing Uncle Ned's sleeve.
"Well..."
"You can forget it, I have no interest in playing with some smelly animals," Sansa huffed, crossing her arms.
Uncle Ned looked at the girl with a blank face before scowling. "Good, because you'll be returning to your cabin immediately ."
"What? But-"
"Come on girls," the Lord of Winterfell said, pulling his two daughters away and back down into the bowels of the ship.
Watching them go, Jon rubbed his eyes. Even though it was barely mid-afternoon, he was ready to pass out. For all it may have been his idea to share the truth of his parentage, doing so had left Jon both mentally and emotionally exhausted. Blinking away the tiredness, Jon caught the eye of Serana from across the deck. She and her mother had stayed quiet through the entire event, watching it unfold and ready to pounce should violence erupt. Lady Valerica had left with the rest of the crowd, heading in the direction of the infirmary, but her daughter remained up on deck.
The pure-blood vampiress winked and nodded in the direction of his cabin, cocking a sneaky eyebrow as she walked off. Jon grinned back and started to follow her when a hand on the elbow stopped him.
"Jon," Ser Barristan said, bright blue eyes fixed on Smokey who, at this point, decided to drape himself around Jon's neck like a warm, scaley scarf. "Jon, I had my suspicions but for it to truly be you... Jaehaerys Targaryen."
"Oh no, none of that!" Jon said, hurrying to stop the old knight as he dropped to one knee, pulling out his sword. "No kneeling, no oaths of loyalty, no vows! I have no interest in any of that!"
He pulled Ser Barristan back up so they were standing face to face. "As I said, I didn't reveal my parentage for prestige or flattery. I have no interest in titles or men swearing their lives to me, I have to deal with enough of that back home as-is. So please, don't."
The old man opened his mouth to say something but Jon held a hand up to stop him. "But, if you are interested in assisting my family and I in these coming conflicts then I certainly wouldn't turn you away. Your skills as a knight are legendary, Ser Barristan, and I believe your aid would be invaluable. I hope you will decide to stay with us but I only want you here as an equal."
Ser Barristan stared at him like Jon was a puzzle he was trying to solve. Then, after a moment, the old knight burst out into laughter. It was not necessarily happy-sounding laughter, however. Instead, it sounded old and pained, if genuine; it was as if the man was remembering a happy memory that'd been tainted by sadness with age.
He wiped a few stray tears from his eyes and said, "You are so much like your father, Jaehaerys. He would have been proud of the man you've become."
"It's Jon," he automatically corrected, even as the words tugged at his heart "but thank you. I wish I could have met him. I wish I could have met all of them."
'Rhaegar, Lyanna, Elia, my brother and sister... They're all connected to me and yet I'll only ever be able to see them in my dreams,' Jon thought. 'In another world, in another life, could we have all been together? Could we have all been a family? Or would something else have come along to crush any happiness we might have had?'
"I could tell you about him," Ser Barristan offered. "I'd wager that I know more of who Rhaegar was as a person than anyone else left in this world and, to be honest, it would be nice to speak openly of my dear friend."
"Really?" Jon asked, perking up. "That would be wonderful. I have some letters and journals of his but they aren't the same."
"No, I imagine Rhaegar wouldn't have recorded the time we got so drunk at a pub that he fell headfirst into a horse troth," the old knight chuckled, eyes twinkling. "I can even tell you a bit about Princess Elia and her children, though I wasn't around them nearly as much."
"I would like that. I would like that very much."
They lapsed into silence, though not a sad or unpleasant one. Still, Jon couldn't help but wonder if Barristan's head and heart were as filled with the ghosts of the past as his own.
'I wonder if he'd be able to advise me on making amends with the Martells. I have the armband and the medallion, along with Elia's letter, but I still have no idea what I'd even say to her family,' the young Dragonborn wondered. 'We will need their support if this erupts into an all-out war but they also have no reason to help me.'
Jon was pulled from his own thoughts when Ser Barristan cleared his throat.
"Well, I'm going to retire to my quarters for now," he said. "I want to mull over some potential strategies, as well as to think about who in this damned kingdom I can trust to remember their vows."
"Any help you can offer would be greatly appreciated, Ser," Jon said. "Have a pleasant evening."
"I believe it is just Barristan now, Jon ," the old knight replied, giving him a little grin when he emphasized Jon's name. "And you as well."
With a final smile, the man left and Jon was finally able to slip back to his cabin. But even there he found no solitude, though this company he didn't mind.
"So that was a spectacle," Serana said, leaning back against the door to Jon's cabin
Jon snorted, "And it will get worse before it gets better."
With a tired grin, the vampiress held up a bottle of Dragon's Breath Mead. "I thought it would be fitting. Care for a drink?'
"Always. I have some cups in the room."
As Jon set Smokey down on the bed, Serana kicked the door closed behind them and pulled the cork off, taking a long drink. "No need."
She wrapped her arms around Jon's neck, pulling him close and kissing him. Running his tongue along Serana's bottom lip, Jon could taste the alcohol over the barely-there salty tang of the blood potion she must have drunk earlier. The natural coolness of the woman's skin was in stark contrast to the heat of the embrace but he barely noticed it in favor of smoothing his hands down Serana's side to settle on her shapely hips.
When Serana pulled away to nip at his neck, Jon couldn't help but smirk. "Something has gotten into you, I see."
Letting out a huff of laughter, Serana thumbed his bottom lip. "I wanted to enjoy some alone time with you when I can. I doubt there will be much in the days to come."
"Aye, there is Tyrion's trial tomorrow," Jon nodded. "And I'm sure I'll be swarmed with questions about the dragons and my parents. Then there will undoubtedly be talks about war strategies, rallying martial forces, starting up supply trains, alliances..."
"Marriages."
"Huh?"
Serana's lovely face twisted into something resembling anger mixed with resignation and regret. "If this whole thing erupts into war, which it will, then there will need to be alliances. And marriage is one of the best ways to do that. Soooo..."
It clicked in Jon's mind what she was talking about.
"Aw," he chuckled. "Somebody is jealous. OW! "
"Oh hush!" Serana snapped, glaring as she gave his hair another sharp tug. "I'm being serious here! You get enough marriage proposals back home in Skyrim as is! Now I guarantee you that plenty of those self-important lords and ladies are plotting to throw themselves and their children at you too. And you may not have the luxury of being able to refuse so easily here, not with your family's safety on the line."
She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Back when we traveled together, I hated watching all those barmaids and bards flirt with you. I hated it even more when you'd disappear up into a room with one of them. But I never said anything because I knew I had no right to. We weren't together; I had no claim to you and, honestly, I wasn't even at a point where I could put a name to what I was feeling for you. But, now that I know how good it feels to be with you, I can't stand the thought of losing you to someone else."
"Oh, Serana..." Jon pulled her into a hug, kissing her floral-scented hair.
"I have no intention of getting roped into an arranged marriage with anyone," he reassured, kissing her once more. "And, besides, as far as everyone here is concerned, I'm already engaged."
Serana's eyes met his, their burning red irises seeming to peer down into his soul, and she smoothed a cool hand over Jon's stubbly cheek.
"I love you," she said.
Jon felt his eyebrows shoot up, "I-"
The vampiress cut him off with a finger to his lips. "Don't say anything yet. I didn't mean to spring that on you and I don't want you saying it just because I did."
"But I- Smokey, get away from that!"
Serana and Jon both lunged for the bedside table to stop the baby dragon from trying to get at the small flame of a lit bedside lantern. Smokey let out a squawk and darted away from their hands, knocking the lantern over and spilling the open flame out onto the wooden surface.
"Shit!" Jon hissed, slapping a callous palm down on the smoldering bedside table. "You, Ser,-" he glared at the squirming creature in Serana's arms "-are going to be a problem child, I can just tell!"
"He is certainly spirited," Serana commented, paying no mind to the dragon's tiny jaws that were clamped down on one of her thumbs. "Where are the other two?"
'Oh right... Damn, Enzo is right! I need to find some relief or I'll constantly be thinking with the wrong head. Not that I'd ever tell him that,' Jon scolded himself, shifting slightly to hopefully ease the discomfort in his trousers. "Sansa said she locked them in one of my trunks."
Serana shot him such an alarmed look that Jon couldn't help but laugh.
"I agree that it might not have been the best solution but, considering how foolish most of her actions have been lately, I'm not going to complain," he said, popping the lock of the trunk.
As soon as the lip was open, Little Blue and Ebony poked their heads up and started trying to scramble out of the trunk. Unfortunately -or, from Jon's perspective, very, fortunately- the sides were too tall for them to get a purchase on. As they rolled around, Serana unceremoniously dropped Smokey down between them, resulting in a three-way wrestling match between the hatchlings.
"They're like pups," Serana commented, gently stroking the length of Ebony's wing. "Especially with those childish names you've given them. Why not give them proper dovah names?"
"I want to get a feel on their personalities first," Jon said, scratching Little Blue under the chin. "Dovah names are special, they have power, and I want to be careful with what I call them. Little Blue, Ebony, and Smokey may be a touch unimpressive compared to the Targaryen dragons of old, yes, but they'll do for the time being."
"Well, no one can argue the names fit," the vampiress replied. "They're cute, just like them."
Jon sighed, "They're cute now but it won't be long until they're dangerous to themselves and others. All children in Westeros grow up hearing the stories about how destructive the Targaryen dragons could be. Robb and Sansa both used to have nightmares about being eaten by the dragons that lived in the crypts."
"What?"
Jon laughed, "It's just an old wives tale the people in Wintertown tell. The castle is built on hot springs and the story goes that a dragon lives underground and uses its breathe to heat the water."
Serana blinked slowly as Ebony was finally able to scale up the side of the trunk to escape and crawl into her lap. Then, mostly to herself, she said, "All legends have at least one kernel of truth in them."
Then she shook her head, "So, how does it feel?"
"How does what feel?
"You came to King's Landing to avenge your step-mother and half-siblings and, despite everything, you managed to do just that," the vampiress said, tilting her head to the side. "How does it feel?"
With her words, the twisted trophy of a medallion he pulled from the Moutain's corpse seemed to grow heavier in Jon's pocket.
"Good," he said. "Many people say that revenge leaves you feeling hollow and empty afterward but not this time. The Mountain was a monster; even if it wasn't personal, I wouldn't have hesitated to kill him. Yes, it still saddens me that Elia and her children are dead and I will never get to meet them but I will sleep soundly at night knowing Gregor Cleagane will never again put another family through that pain."
He pulled the medallion out of his pocket and handed it to Serana, who turned it over in her pale hands.
"Should I recognize this?" she asked.
"No," Jon said. "But if my suspicions are correct, and they often are, the Mountain made that out of a piece of Elia's jewelry he likely pulled from her corpse."
Serana flinched and handed it back. "That would explain the blood smell, both old and new. How did you get it?"
"I plucked it from his corpse. Fitting, don't you think?" Jon asked with a dark smirk. He glanced down at the embedded rubies 'eyes'. "I want to give it make to her family -the Martells."
.
.
.
"I swear, you just love to make things more complicated for yourself, Jon," the vampiress sighed, shaking her head. "What do you know about these Martells?"
"I can tell you that they're the ruling family of Dorne and that they're not fans of the Lannisters and Baratheons," he explained. Then, after a moment, added, "Or the Targaryens. And I can't blame them, not after everything that resulted from Rhaegar choosing my mother."
"You can't blame yourself for what your parents did," Serana said. "You told me that once."
"Do as I say, not as I do," Jon shot back, knowing Enzo would be laughing his arse off if he heard him say that. "But, in the end, blaming myself isn't what is really what matters. The real question is if the Martells will hold me responsible for the actions of my parents."
"Do you think they will?"
Jon could only shrug. "I don't know, but I have to try. We'll need their support to fight against Cersei."
Serana dragged a hand down her face, "Oh, what a fine mess we've found ourselves in! And I haven't even told you about Myra yet."
"Myra? You mentioned that name before, said she was your niece but I doubt that."
"You'd be right. My beloved niece, Myra Volkihar, used to be known as Princess Myrcella Baratheon."
"Right! Enzo mentioned that we 'kidnapped' her," Jon nodded, the pieces clicking into place.
"Kidnapping? That is an interesting name for saving a little girl from her monster of an elder brother," the vampiress snorted. She shook her head and sighed, "I couldn't leave her there, Jon. Even as I thought of the hell-storm it could bring down on us, I couldn't bring myself to leave a helpless little girl in the claws of a mother who'd only use her."
Part of Jon wanted if they were still talking about Myrcella but thought better of it. "So your plan is to claim her as your kin? That is a good idea. It might even keep the people here from trying to use her as leverage against Cersei. We'll have to disguise her though. Princess Myrcella was a public figure and plenty recognizable to anyone who has spent time in the royal court."
That got a smile out of Serana. "Myrcella is ahead of you on that. She and Arya have already cut and dyed her hair black. Add some new clothes and a splash of face paint to make her look older, maybe some glamour magic if needed, and no one should be able to refute the claim that she is my niece. Especially if you, Mother, and the others back up it up."
"Of course I will and I let Enzo in on the plan too. Considering he has successfully terrified most of the good nobles of Westeros and their men, I don't think anyone would refute the claim to his face," Jon said. Then added, "Smart girls, those two. They may survive us all."
"Yes, they are smart," Serana agreed. "The other one though... If we're lucky, she'll just get herself killed."
"Other one? Oh, Sansa. Aye, she certainly likes to make things difficult for the rest of us."
Serana rolled her eyes, "I can't believe you're related to someone like that."
"You complain about my foolishness all the time," Jon laughed, trying to get Little Blue and Ebony to each balance on one of his shoulders while Smokey made himself comfortable on Jon's head. His sharp little talons pulled at Jon's hair and pricked at his scalp but couldn't bring himself to care, too busy basking in the three little miracles he helped bring into the world.
"Rushing ahead because you are in a hurry to save someone or getting distracted in a fight because you are worried about a civilian being injured is different from foolishly selling out your own family and helping ignite a near-massacre because you want to wear pretty dresses and marry a prince!" the dark-haired woman snapped. "And I blame her parents and even you for not teaching her better!"
Jon's eyebrows shot up and he twisted to face Serana so quickly that the dragons almost fell from their perches. "What are you talking about? Sansa is my sister -of course, I care about her."
"No, you may love her but I don't think you care about her," Serana said, shaking her head. "And I don't blame you for that, but the fact remains that someone still needs to care enough to teach her to survive."
.
.
.
"What a fine mess my family is," Jon sighed, collapsing back against the bed.
Serana gave a dry chuckle, "And that, Jonny, is why we're perfect for one another."
Tyrion V
"So, Stark's bastard was a Targaryen all along?" Bronn asked on one in particular. "Who would have figured that?"
Tyrion glance over at the sellsword. The man was sprawled across his narrow bunk, arms crossed behind his head and staring up at the roof. For someone who nearly drowned that morning, was fished out by was strange tiger-man of all things, and was nearly killed by angry nobility, Bronn looked relax and at peace. But maybe that was the magic of a pair of dry, clean clothes, a bowl of chicken and onion stew, a warm cabin, and a tankard of decent ale?
"Well, I certainly didn't," he admitted, fumbling around to tuck a pillow under his own head. While his bunk may have been small -not that Tyrion minded; very occasionally being a dwarf had its advantages-, it was comfortable enough. Nothing compared to his lavish quarters at Casterly Rock and King's Landing, not even as nice as his traveling tent was, but far better than some damp, freezing ship's brig. "It's true that I suspected there was something unusual about his parentage. The timeline of him being Ashara Dayne's son didn't quite match up, and Eddard Stark was always elusive when Robert questioned him about the identity of the boy's mother."
"I'm surprised you and that big brain of yours didn't try to dig deeper into it," Bronn said.
Rolling to his side, Tyrion peered over the edge of the bunk down at the sellsword. "What you mean about that?"
The man didn't even have the decency to look ashamed of his cheek. "Lannister, people like you are the reason the phrase, 'Curiosity Killed the Cat' was coined."
"There is a second part of the saying, you know?" the dwarf grumbled before laying back in the bunk. "But, in all truthfulness, I did question Jon back at Winterfell. I pushed a bit but he deflected and I decided it wasn't worth pursuing the quandary. The lad has his own identity, after all -one he was quite proud of it. And I can admire the desire to be known for more than just your family name."
Bronn let out a low hum. "Quite the fucking thing, hiding a secret that big for so long. Do you think the dragons were part of it?"
Oh, the dragons...
Tyrion's heart leaped at the mere thought of the marvelous creature he'd seen. It was like something out of one of his childhood fantasies. No, it wasn't large or strong enough to burn those who teased and taunted him into ash, but the small dragon on Jon's shoulder was alive and real! Not something from his dreams or books or history lessons or even like the bones hidden down in the tunnels of the Red Keep!
"No, that dragon was a hatchling. I doubt it or its siblings were ever a part of Stark's plan," he said.
"How can you tell?"
"I've studied dragons for years, ever since I was a boy," Tyrion explained. "I read every scroll or book on the subject I could find. I've spent weeks, sometimes even months, finding reliable sources. Do you know that most of the widely available books on dragons are hogwash? Superstitious nonsense scribbled down by fanatical septons, fanciful bards, and superstitious maesters."
Bronn snorted, "Aye, those old codgers like to keep the best knowledge for themselves."
"It was always worth it though," the dwarf continued. "I thought that, if I was lucky, I might have someday been able to get my hands on a petrified dragon egg; there are still quite a few of them kicking around, kept as interesting trinkets or family treasures. They're expensive but you can get them, especially in Essos. But I never imagined I'd get to see any living dragons in person! It seems like it could be a-"
"A miracle?" the sellsword asked. "I don't believe in any gods or miracles, rich man. But, I will admit that three dragons being born after all this time sounds... Well, I don't know if it is a miracle , but it is definitely special. Whether or not it's a good thing remains to be seen. Say, maybe you can use all that fancy dragon knowledge you have as a bargaining chip to keep your head?"
"That isn't a terrible idea," Tyrion said. "As it stands, Jon seems to be one of the few people willing to give me a chance and his word certainly has weight on this ship. I can only hope that people see how I can help them will the coming war with minimum casualties to their families and lands as possible."
"Don't count on it, they hate you and your family."
"You do know that, if they kill me , they are likely to kill you as well?"
"I never expected to live a long life anyway," Bronn shot back cheerily.
Tyrion heard him shift in his bunk. "Well, goodnight! It may be your last. If no one tries killing us in our sleep, that is."
Sooner than he expected, Tryion heard his bodyguard snoring.
'Oh, to be so calm in the face of death,' he thought. ' I can only hope that this shit life can finally give me a nugget of gold to work with.'
Next Chapter: Tyrion's trial arrives and he must plead his case to the angry nobles of Westeros. Catelyn finds herself struggling after some disturbing advice. Arya makes a decision about her life.
Notes:
Like I said, I wish this could have been longer but I hope you guys like it.
Also, just in case you think I've been going easy on myself, some friends and I did a reading of the infamous 'My Immortal.'
Two of us drink the entire time, we get distracted like Magpies with ADHA, just about every group on Earth is insulted via stupid accents, I sound like I'm speaking through cotton, and I think we all lost about 5 years off our lifespans but give it a listen if you're brave enough!