Jon woke with an uneasy feeling. The dreams of Daemon Targaryen were becoming more intense and disturbing. He got out of bed and went to the bathroom, where he washed his face with cold water to clear his mind.
Going down to the great hall, he found his family already seated at the table. Ned Stark looked at him with a worried expression. "You look tired, Jon. Is everything all right?"
"Yes, father," Jon replied, forcing a smile. "I just had a strange dream."
Catelyn Stark eyed him suspiciously, but made no comment. Breakfast passed in awkward silence. Jon ate little, his mind wandering to his dreams and training with Daemon.
The sun was beginning to set as Jon made his way to the training yard. The cold northern breeze ruffled his hair as he unsheathed his sword. Today, his training would be different. Instead of facing a single opponent, he would face several.
Ned Stark had gathered several of Winterfell's finest warriors to test Jon's skills. The men, hardened by years of battle, formed a semicircle around him. Jon took a deep breath and braced himself.
The first signal was a bell. The warriors came at him like a wave, their swords gleaming in the evening light. Jon dodged, blocked, and counterattacked, moving with a grace and ferocity that shocked everyone present.
His training with Daemon Targaryen had been brutal, but it had provided him with the tools necessary to survive this deadly dance. Every blow he landed, every guard he raised, was a reflection of the lessons he had learned.
Jon moved with a fluidity that seemed unearthly. His eyes, once a clear, innocent blue, now glowed with a wild intensity. It was as if he had transformed into a predator, hunting down his prey.
One by one, the warriors fell to the ground. Some wounded, some unconscious. But Jon did not stop. He continued to fight, each fight more intense than the last.
At last, when the last warriors lay on the ground, Jon stood, panting but victorious. Ned Stark looked at him with a mixture of pride and awe. "I've never seen anything like it," he said.
Jon put away his sword and sat on the ground. He felt exhausted, but also exhilarated. He had pushed his limits and shown what he was capable of.
That night, as he lay in his bed, Jon relived the battle in his mind. He had learned much more than simple combat techniques. He had learned to control his emotions, to stay focused under pressure, and to trust his instincts.
Exhausted but satisfied, Jon retreated to his room. The feel of the cold shower water revitalized his aching muscles. As he dried himself, his mind wandered to the books he had found in the library at Winterfell. He had spent hours immersed in Targaryen history, fascinated by their conquests and their power.
After he finished dressing, Jon returned to the library. He found the tome he had been reading and dove back into its pages. He read about the Dance of the Dragons, a civil war that had nearly destroyed the Targaryen dynasty. And he read about Aegon the Conqueror, the man who had unified the Seven Kingdoms under the fire of his dragons.
As he read, Jon couldn't help but feel a connection to these ancient kings. He saw himself reflected in their stories, a bastard who had risen to become a mighty warrior.
When dinner was ready, Jon joined his family in the great hall. The atmosphere was tense. Ned Stark cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "Tomorrow we execute a traitor of the Night's Watch," he announced.
A murmur ran through the table. The Stark brothers exchanged worried glances. "A black brother," Ned said, his voice gravelly. "He has been found guilty of desertion and aiding the wildlings."
Jon felt a chill run down his spine. The Night's Watch was a sacred institution, and desertion was the worst crime a man could commit. But he also felt a pang of sadness. He had known many men of the Watch, and he knew that life beyond the Wall was hard.
"It will be a reminder," Ned continued, "that the oath we swear is for life. There is no turning back."
After dinner, Jon retired to his room. The news of the execution left him thoughtful. Would he have been able to do the same? Would he have been able to execute a man he had sworn to protect?
As he lay down, Jon closed his eyes and visualized the face of Daemon Targaryen. The rogue prince had taught him that mercy was weakness, that the strong must make hard choices. But Jon wasn't sure he agreed.
Jon lay in his chambers, deep in sleep. Daemon Targaryen appeared from the shadows, his imposing figure cast by the moonlight.
"Bastard," Daemon began, his voice echoing with a mix of contempt and amusement, "it's time you stopped hiding behind that title."
Jon looked up, surprised. "I'm not a bastard," he replied firmly. "I'm Jon Stark."
Daemon stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are much more than that, Jon. You are Aemon Targaryen, the crown prince to the throne. And as such, you must act like it."
Jon felt a chill run down his spine. The truth Daemon was revealing to him was overwhelming. He had to stop acting like a wolf bastard and more like a dragon king.
"I'm not telling you this to inflate your ego," Daemon continued, "but so you understand your true potential. The Starks are good warriors, but the Targaryens are kings."
Suddenly, a Valyrian steel sword materialized in Daemon's hand. It was Dark Sister, the ancestral Targaryen sword. With a gesture, Daemon tossed it to Jon.
"This is a replica I've created for you," Daemon said. "Use it from now on to practice until you find the truth."
Jon took the sword in his hands. It was lighter than it looked, but it radiated an ancient power. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The sword became an extension of his body, a part of him.
Daemon led him through intense training. Jon learned to channel the energy of the dragon blood that ran through his veins, the one that conquered the 7 kingdoms.
"It is time for you to see the true power of the Targaryens," Daemon said, his voice echoing with a mix of pride and anticipation.
Jon shuddered, feeling a surge of excitement and fear. Would he finally see a dragon? Would he be able to control such a powerful creature?
Daemon led him to the shore, where a massive dragon lay dormant.
"This is Caraxes my dragon," Daemon said.
Jon approached the dragon cautiously. The animal raised its head and looked at him with piercing eyes. Jon felt a chill run down his spine, but he did not back away.
"The connection between a dragon and its rider is a deep and powerful bond," Daemon explained. "It is a connection forged through fire and blood, a connection that only the Targaryens can understand."
Jon nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and fear. Would he be able to forge such a bond with Caraxes?
"To ride a dragon," Daemon continued, "you must open your mind and your heart. You must allow the dragon to enter your being and you into its being. You must be one with him."
Jon closed his eyes and concentrated. He tried to imagine Caraxes, his power, his strength, his spirit. And slowly, he began to feel a connection, a resonance between them.
"Well done," Daemon said, his voice full of approval. "Now, climb onto Caraxes' back and let him carry you."
"Ride him," Daemon ordered.
Jon climbed onto Caraxes' back, feeling the heat of his body and the power of his muscles. The dragon rose into the air, its wings beating hard, and Jon felt as if he could do anything.
The wind whipped at his face as they flew over the sea. Jon felt free, powerful, as if he could conquer the world. And for a moment, he believed it.
"Rest, Aemon, you'll have a long session tomorrow," Daemon tells him.
For Jon everything went dark and he would begin to sleep normally.
The next day
The dawn found Jon was more alert than ever. The night before, the connection with Caraxes had made him have more follow him. He was no longer just Jon Snow the bastard of Winterfell, he was Aemon Targaryen the crown prince.
At breakfast, the tension was palpable. Ned announced that it was time to carry out the execution. Jon and Robb, along with a group of guards, went to the wall where they found the three traitors, pale faces and eyes full of fear, were taken from their cells. One by one, they were led to the black casetel courtyard.
Ned, in a grave voice, read the charges against them. All three men denied the accusations, but his words rang hollow.
"Robb, you will take care of the first one," Ned ordered. Robb, although nervous, nodded and stepped forward. He drew his sword and, with a quick movement, decapitated the traitor.
The second traitor, seeing the blood of his companion, began to scream and struggle with the guards. Jon stepped forward mercilessly and cut off his head.
The last traitor, seeing his companions fall, went mad. He tried to flee, but Jon intercepted him and slashed his leg, sending him screaming to the ground.
The remaining traitor, wounded but still conscious, began to moan. "Hold on," he pleaded, his voice weak and shaky. "I have important information to give you."
Jon and Robb stopped, exchanging a glance. Ned, frowning, approached the wounded man.
"Speak," Ned ordered, his voice cold.
"The White Walkers are closer than you think," the traitor panted. "I have seen their armies, their undead. They are coming to destroy us all."
Jon and Robb looked at each other in awe. The threat of the White Walkers was a legend told among the men of the Night's Watch, but they had never believed it to be real.
"Go on," Jon said, his interest piqued.
"We fled because we knew we couldn't stop them. We wanted to warn the others, but they captured us."
Ned thought. Could it be possible that this man was telling the truth? Was the threat of the White Walkers more real than they had imagined?
"If you tell the truth," Ned said, "I will grant you exile. But if you lie, you will regret it."
The traitor nodded vehemently. "I swear by the old and new gods that everything I say is true."
Jon and Robb exchanged another look. They knew they had a difficult decision to make. Could they trust this man? Was his story a ploy to save his own life?
"I hope I'll cut your head off if not, Ned said.
"Take him to the maester to heal his leg and then have some guards escort him to the nearest port," Ned said ready to leave for Winterfell.
"Lord Stark would give me a few minutes to look something up in the Black Cassette library," Jon asked.
"Sure while I speak to the Lord Commander, come Rob." You two would go Commander Mormont.
Jon headed to Maester Aemon's tower with a knot in his stomach. He knew the old maester was an endless source of wisdom and could help him better understand his place in the world.
Entering the warm room, he found Aemon sitting by the fireplace, leafing through an ancient scroll. The maester looked up at Jon and offered him a warm smile.
"Jon, what brings you here?" Aemon asked, his voice soft and husky.
Jon didn't know where to begin. He sat down in a chair across from the maester and told him everything that had happened: his parents' revelation that the rebellion was due to a misunderstanding, that he is the rightful heir to the throne, and his conversation with Brynden and that he had told him he had something that would help him.
Aemon listened intently, his eyes shining with wisdom. When Jon finished speaking, the maester nodded slowly.
"The blood of the dragon flows through your veins, Jon," Aemon said. "And with it, great power and great responsibility."
"But you are not alone," Aemon continued. "The Targaryens have left a legacy, and you are their heir. This legacy includes not only power, but also wisdom and knowledge."
Aemon stood up and walked over to an ancient chest. He opened it and pulled out a sword wrapped in black cloth. He unrolled it and handed it to Jon.
"This is Dark Sisters," Aemon said, his voice shaking slightly. "One of the Targaryen ancestral swords. Wielded by Visenya Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, and others."
Jon took the sword in his hands. It was lighter than it looked, but it radiated ancient power. The blade was adorned with dragons and Targaryen symbols.
"This sword has seen many battles," Aemon said. "It has served kings and queens, heroes and villains. Now, it belongs to you."
Jon looked at Aemon in wonder. How could the maester give him such an important sword?
"You are the last Targaryen, Jon," Aemon said. "And the future of the Seven Kingdoms depends on you."
Jon nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He knew he had a long road ahead of him, but he also knew he was not alone. He had his friends, his family and now the dark sisters. He tied her to his waist and would leave.
"Thank you, Master Aemon. It was a pleasure. I hope we see each other soon." Jon tells him.
"Of course, young Targaryen. I hope so too." Aemon said goodbye to him.
Jon would meet Ned and Rob at the doors of Black Castle.
"We're leaving, Jon." Ned tells him.
"And that sword?" Rob asked.
"I met Master Aemon and he gave it to me. He said it would be in the right hands with Migo." Jon explains to Rob and Ned.
Ned, knowing Jon's true origins, seeing the sword and the white hairs on his head that were growing, knew that Jon would not be long before he tells him his true origins.
The sky was darkening, painting the horizon in shades of orange and purple. Jon, Ned and Robb had decided to camp with their guards, taking advantage of the heat of the fire to share stories and secrets.
"I remember when I was a little boy," Ned began, his voice soft as he watched the flames dance, "and my father would take me hunting in these very lands. Winterfell has always been our home, but the North is so much more than that. It is our blood, our identity."
Robb nodded eagerly. "Yes, father. And soon I will be the one protecting these lands."
Jon remained silent, watching the shadows play across his father and brother's faces. He thought about everything that had happened in the past few days: his true identity, his connection to the dragons, the threat of the White Walkers.
"Jon," Ned began, noticing his bastard son's thoughtful look, "I know this has all been a lot for you. But I want you to know that I consider you one of us. I always will."
Jon felt a lump in his throat. His father's words touched him deeply. "Thank you, father."
"And you, Jon," Ned continued, "are a Stark. You have the strength and courage of a wolf."
Jon nodded, feeling the weight of those words. He knew he had an important destiny ahead of him.
The conversation continued for hours, the three men sharing stories, . At last, they retreated to their tents, tired.
The next day
As they reached the gates of Winterfell, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, bathing the snow-capped towers in a golden light. The guards flung the gates open as they recognized Ned Stark and his entourage.
A roar of joy rose from the central courtyard as news of their return spread like wildfire. Women, men, and children poured out of their homes and corrals to welcome them. Younger children waved flags and adults waved their arms excitedly.
Jon, mounted on his horse, watched the scene with a mixture of wonder and excitement. He had never seen such a display of affection. Ned, with a smile on his face, led his family towards the castle.
As they entered the Great Hall, they were greeted by Sansa, Arya, and Bran. Sansa, now an elegant young woman, ran up to her father and hugged him tightly. Arya, with her trademark twinkle in her eyes, gave him a friendly punch on the arm. Bran, run to embrace your father
After the initial greetings, Ned called for a feast to celebrate his return. Musicians played merry songs, cooks prepared feasts, and servants bustled about serving the guests.
During the feast, Jon found himself surrounded by old friends and acquaintances. Many of them asked him about his adventures and what he had learned during his time at the Wall. Jon told them his stories with enthusiasm.
The party at Winterfell stretched into the late hours of the night. Jon, exhausted from the day's emotions, retreated to his room and fell onto his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but his mind was too active.
Suddenly, he found himself in a strange place. It wasn't Winterfell, or the Wall, or any place he'd ever seen before. It was a place filled with fire and dragons. And there before him stood a tall, thin man with the silver hair and violet eyes typical of the Targaryens.
"I am Aemon III Targaryen," the man said, his voice echoing in Jon's mind. "The Dragonknight."
Jon was stunned. He'd heard of Aemon in history books, but he'd never imagined he'd see him in person, even in a dream.
"You're different from other Targaryens, Jon," Aemon continued. "You are the blood of Starks and Targaryens. You are the balance between ice and fire."
Aemon spoke to Jon about his destiny, the importance of his lineage, and the threat to the Seven Kingdoms. He showed him visions of the future, of epic battles and dragons soaring through the skies.
"You are the one who will unite the kingdoms," Aemon said. "You are the one who will bring peace and prosperity."
"Now, Aemon, let us dance," Aemon would say, drawing his Dark Sisters sword.
Jon draws his own Dark Sisters.
Aemon challenged him to a duel.
Jon, eager to test his skills, accepted the challenge. The battle was fierce. Jon, influenced by Daemon's aggressive style, struck quickly and hard, looking for a surefire blow. Aemon, for his part, moved with surprising grace and fluidity, dodging Jon's attacks and responding with precise counterattacks worthy of his title.
Jon's sword, Dark Sisters, resonates against Aemon's sword, creating a symphony of steel. The clash of weapons shakes the air, and sparks fly in all directions. Jon realizes that brute force is not enough to defeat Aemon. Aemon's calmer, more fluid style seems to anticipate Jon's every move.
As the battle continues, Jon begins to understand Aemon's teachings. Strength is important, but technique and strategy are just as crucial. Jon begins to incorporate some of Daemon's moves into his own fighting style, and the battle becomes more balanced.
In the end, the duel ends in a draw. Both warriors are left breathless, but with a new appreciation for each other's skills.
"You've come a long way, Jon," Aemon says with a smile. "But you still have much to learn."
Jon nods, feeling a mix of pride and humility. He knows this dream is a test, a preparation for the challenges ahead.
Jon emerges from the void between dreams to rest completely.