The chair shattered into kindling as it slammed into the stone wall. It joined the collected remains of detritus and broken furniture that covered the floor - strewn there from the enraged force that descended upon the chambers. A veritable gale much like the ones that bared down on Dragonstone during the wet winter months. Bellowing, the true King of the Seven Kingdoms sent a vase to join them, the pottery shattering against the wall as his heart had been upon seeing what he saw.
Daenerys…
Our child…
"I LOVE YOU!"
It had been days since the parlay. Jon having not been in Dragonstone for days, the poor lad off Gods' knows where atop Rhaegal. Just flying. Flying and flying around endless forests, vast oceans, and nameless hamlets filled with people cowering and staring in awe at the great dragon. Numb. Completely numb until the anger and rage just exploded upon seeing the three-headed dragon banner upon the wall.
"FUCKING CERSEI!" Another vase thrown at the wall. "FUCKING LANNISTERS!" Jon had never once felt such a rage, one that welled deep within him as a furious fire. Blood of the dragon… He felt such, surging through his heart and his blood after seeing Dany nearly killed. Their child nearly killed. A power long dormant inside him finally letting itself erupt free to the world. "I WILL KILL THEM ALL!" he thundered, a table joining the rest to crack against the stone.
He would. He would bring fire and blood to King's Landing for what they were doing to his beloved.
"I'm glad to see you accepting your destiny, brother."
Turning, eyes wide, Jon found the standing form of his younger sibling smiling at him. "Bran! You're here. You're… up!"
Bran Stark allowed himself a warm smile, walking to Jon and hugging the shocked King. "It's good to see you as well." He pulled back. "I'm not here… not really. Channelling myself through the weirwood here on Dragonstone, though I'm not completely sure how it works."
Jon blinked, not believing what he was seeing. Instead of the emotionless husk of before, Bran was… himself again. The same happy boy, if hardened by life. "But… why are you yourself again?"
"I often get lost in the past, Jon. Causes my human form to run at… slow speed I guess. Don't worry, I was right there in totality during the battle, and now that the Long Night is won I shouldn't do it as much." Masses of wights, minds captured and turned against their comrades as the Dothraki wheeled back and the infantry retreated into the castle - they would have lost far more without him. Jon was heartened that his brother was back. "But, I need to tell you something. Something important."
Swallowing, Jon just nodded.
"You have finally done it, Jon. You are now a Targaryen, just as you should be. Shed of the ridiculous bastard armor my mother and society forced upon you."
"But… I don't know how the hell to be a Targaryen," Jon admitted. "It scares me, being Rhaegar's son when all I wanted to be was the trueborn son of Eddard Stark. And Dany…" Dany… "I can't take away her birthright."
"The only way to do so is if you don't accept your heritage." Bran stepped forward, clasping Jon's shoulders. "Embrace the fire. Embrace the ice. You are a Targaryen, and a Stark. Become Aegon Targaryen, the Dragonwolf of Winterfell, and not only will you be victorious but so will Daenerys." The young man smiled. "I may not have shown it, but I knew you'd choose her from the moment I became the Three-Eyed Raven. And that choice is something you should never regret." With that, Bran was gone, blinked out of existence before his very eyes.
Jon was just about to finish recovering his bearings when there was a knock at the door. "Your Grace." Missandei.
Among both her and Davos - Varys did as well, though Jon wasn't trusting of his motives for doing so - they had begun to use Aegon Targaryen's title rather than Jon Snow's. The true King of Westeros rather than the ex-King in the North that bent the knee. While it would have bothered him before, now it… didn't.
Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Kill the boy and let the man be born.
Ya' need to live for her.
"Come in, Missandei." The door opened to reveal Dany's trusted handmaiden - and rapidly becoming as trusted an advisor for him as Davos was. She hadn't walked in two steps before her eyes widened at the state of the room. Jon winced. "I know, I know… what is it?"
Wanting to say something about the elephant in the room, the translator bit it back. Perhaps it is better that Jon's dragon comes out. While she admired the brooding and honorable Jon Snow, Missandei found herself liking the still brooding and honorable, but visibly passionate Aegon Targaryen. "Forgive me for disturbing you, your Grace, but it's Drogon." She watched Jon purse his lips. "He refuses to eat even the meager rations we've been giving him."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jon grabbed his cloak. Wordlessly assuming the responsibility on his shoulders.
Long may he reign, Missandei thought with a smile.
Just over the crest of the muddy hill, the grey spires of Harrenhal loomed tall in the distance as would a mountain. Spires taller than the Wall, gatehouse larger than Winterfell's great keep, it was said that tens of thousands had died during its forty-year construction, draining the Riverlands so dry of prosperity that it had led the vast majority of its lords to choose the dragonfire of Aegon the Conqueror over the native King Harren Hoare - or Harren the Black as he was infamously remembered as.
Ironic. Sansa Stark watched the melted spires with a tiny smirk, damage from Balerion's dragonfire still unrepaired. Initially displayed as a symbol to Targaryen strength, then left as such from inertia and neglect. History repeats itself before our very eyes.
"Gods." Behind her, Podrick Payne gaped at the ruined castle. "Looks just like a tomb."
"Aye," replied Sansa. "It was for Harren the Black. His greatest project becoming his tomb from the fires of Balerion the Dread. Hopefully Cersei will be the same, only with the Red Keep instead of Harrenhal." Sansa certainly wouldn't shed a tear for her.
Podrick shrugged. "The people of King's Landing are good people, but the Red Keep, clean it out with fire. Would be another great thing Daenerys Targaryen would do for Westeros since she got here."
Sansa's eyes narrowed. "Jon could also do it. Hope he does, after what the Lannisters did to our family. He deserves it, with all he's lost." He deserves much more than just that. All of us do. "He rode a dragon as well, same as the Dragon Queen."
"I thought that was a one time thing? Dragon Queen let him cause they needed another rider to fight the dead?"
Oh, if only you knew…
"It couldn't have been a one time thing, idiot." Grimacing atop her horse, Lyanna Mormont endured her pain stoically. Nearly getting crushed by an undead giant on top of losing the last member of her family in the War for the Dawn took a toll, but the she-bear didn't earn her tough reputation for nothing. If it wasn't for begging from Jon and Lord Larence Hornwood, the Giantslayer would have have ridden with the troops and not the slower schedule with Sansa. "Not when he rode that dragon in front of the whole army in the Riverlands."
Turning, Sansa stared at the girl with wide eyes. "What? When did this happen?" Why didn't anyone tell her by raven?
"One of the Mormont men with the army kept me abreast. The green dragon appeared out of nowhere, wounded, and Jon mounted him. Rode off, probably to Dragonstone." Looking back ahead, Sansa couldn't help but smile. Jon was really embracing himself, and it heartened her.
The last time she saw the ruined spires - also the only time she had, travelling down the Kingsroad on the ill-fated journey from Winterfell to King's Landing with her father - the forests around the ruined keep had been green and vibrant, filled with life. Now, the bare trees and spots of snow and dead grass only exacerbated the foreboding look. "The War of the Five Kings destroyed this land. Arya told me of the conditions when she and Gendry were captured here." Their horses proceeded slowly towards Harrenhal, the retinue of the collected Lords of the North. Ready to plead their case to Queen Daenerys once she took the Red Keep as expected.
Or another monarch.
Brienne of Tarth, wearing the same scowl on her face since the army had left Winterfell - since Jaime left Winterfell - shivered. "There's a curse on that place, mark my words."
"The ghosts of the eleven families that once held that keep rest in its walls." Sansa had heard all the stories, almost all from Petyr Baelish. Another dry chuckle left her lips. "They say you can hear the spirits from the ruined towers on quiet nights. I don't much want to hear Littlefinger's whines."
"I doubt anyone wants to remember that snake, my Lady."
Sansa glanced at Podrick, grinning in spite of herself. "You speak with a wisdom beyond your years, Podrick." The young lad blushed, even after the Long Night still green around the gills in many respects.
As they drew closer and closer to Harrenhal, horses appeared along the Kingsroad. Many horses. An entire troop of cavalry, trout banners of House Tully fluttering in the wind. At the van was a familiar form, one Sansa had only seen once but in the scheme of things, made sure she remembered. "Lady Sansa."
"Lord Tully," she replied, allowing Brienne and Podrick to ride their horses to flank her. Just a precaution. "What brings you here, Uncle? I thought the Tully forces are with the main army."
"They are, my niece." Edmure reached into his tunic, pulling out a raven scroll. "I was gathering further soldiers at Harrenhal when I heard of your party approaching. Felt it better to deliver this to you myself." He handed the scroll to Sansa. "The Queen has been captured."
This got her attention. "Captured, by Cersei?!" No matter her feelings for the woman… such was a fate Sansa wouldn't have wished on anyone.
Brienne paled. "I'm shocked this hasn't spread." Cersei would have likely spread the news far and wide… unless her position was more precarious than realized. "Learning that the Dragon Queen is held in the Red Keep could spark riots in the capitol. The people would support her over Cersei."
"The smallfolk would support anyone against Cersei," Sansa grumbled, reading the scroll. "Who's in charge of the forces."
"Lord Snow."
Of that, Sansa began to smile. Oh, cousin. You deserve this. Perhaps now the world would see him as the King he deserved to be.
While many would call him insane, Jon missed the cold. The icy blast of his home in the North. Of his stomping grounds in the True North, where he had felt the most alive… outside of Dany's embrace, that is. The south brought nothing but an oppressive heat. Of fetid air and an unforgiving sun. This would have been my home… had my father lived. In any case, Jon didn't dwell on it.
Of all the south, he liked Dragonstone the best. Westerly trade winds hitting it full force, the cold ocean air reminded him of home. A welcome chill to his wolfsblood - a soothing temper to his dragonblood. But nothing could soothe the pain and concern he felt as he stared at the large black mass stretched over the grassy plain before the cliffs. "How long has he been there?"
Missandei, concern written all over her face, turned to the man that had won her Queen's heart. "The Maester says three days, your Grace. He won't eat anything. Barely moves. The wounds seem to be healing, but he just won't fly." In the distance, Drogon lazily yawned, shifting his neck slightly as he simply simmered in place. Above them all, Rhaegal soared, head peeking down to check on his father and brother every now and again.
"Misses his momma." Beside him, Jon could count on Davos for anything matter of fact - he owed the Onion Knight a debt not easily repaid. "Dragons bond to their riders, it seems. I take it her Grace was always Drogon's rider?"
"Aye, since he helped her escape the fighting pits of Meereen." Jon winced at Missandei bringing up such an incident. Dany told him of what had happened, and it petrified him that he had come so close to not knowing Daenerys Targaryen. To never having fallen in love with her.
I am empty without her.
The inner fire within roared, as if saying he was being foolish. Now wasn't the time to brood, but to fix what was wrong - and that first meant Drogon. "I'll speak with him."
Blinking, Davos shared a worried glint with Missandei. "Are you sure that's wise? He could…"
"Drogon could have killed me a long time ago, but he didn't. And now I am connected to his brother, to his mother…" Jon gulped. "I just know I can speak to him." Without a word, he strode forth to the resting dragon.
"Boy's got guts," Davos remarked.
"Hope it doesn't get him killed," replied Missandei.
Boots squelching through the grass wet from sea spray, heart thumping in his chest, Jon nevertheless stoked the inner fire within as he approached the Black Dread Reborn - as many called Drogon. Drawing ever closer to his head, Jon knew what they said about Dany's children. Beasts, monsters, a scourge of death… But Dany never saw it that way. They were her children. Her loves.
Gorgeous.
Nothing but deep, sensitive souls of pure passion. Ones as intelligent as any man. Jon realized this now - as a Targaryen, he shared a bond with this animal as his Stark blood shared with Ghost. "Drogon… it's me. Aegon."
Nothing could have awoken Drogon from his solitude. Well… except for Jon. Neck snaking up, he watched the young Targaryen with annoyance.
Jon sighed. He didn't think - even with the moment they shared at these very cliffs when Dany first arrived from the Goldroad, which was the first time he developed feelings for her - that Drogon would react well to his presence. "I know, boy. I know you miss your mother." Drogon merely snorted, growling. "The Lannisters have her, and I saw her. They… they're going to kill her if I don't stop them."
The growls only increased, Drogon's jaw starting to smoke. It was clear that the dragon both understood him and blamed him for Dany's capture. Hells, I blame myself enough for the two of us. But Jon would not back down. He was as much a dragon as any of Dany's children.
"She's pregnant… with your brother or sister, Drogon." The news only seemed to make Drogon even more enraged. "I know we don't see eye to eye. I know I am partially to blame for this, but I'm asking for your help, Drogon. As your brother's rider, as your mother's love…"
Suddenly something snapped in Drogon. At hearing that, reminded that this man was her mother's lover… was basically his father, just drove him to the brink. Pure rage, his own shame and blame at Jon brought him to his full resting height. Jaw open in an ear shattering roar. Jon involuntarily fell to the ground, hand raised instinctively for protection as Drogon's teeth grew closer...
Only to be interrupted by an even louder roar. Slamming into the cliffs, ground shaking beneath their feet, Rhaegal lashed out at his brother. Jaws snapping, puffs of smoke emanating from his throat, he hissed and growled. Screeching at Drogon, as if saying 'Get the fuck back!' from Jon. Spines up and teeth bared.
"Oh fuck…" breathed Davos, himself guiding Missandei back over twenty feet. Away from what was coming. Gods, please let Jon be unburnt...
Seeing crimson at his brother's righteous anger, blinded by his own rage and sense of loss, Drogon opened his maw to reveal a bright orange-red glow. A well of dragonfire, heated to the strength of the doom of Valyria. Ready to lash out at Rhaegal. At Jon. At the whole world that took his mother away from him…
Only for a loud smack to echo off his scales. Jaws closing, dragonfire dissipating, Drogon's amber eyes stared in shock as Jon glared at him. Hand balled into a fist. "Don't you dare, Drogon." Another slam of the fist into his snout. Not painful, but its meaning clear. "Breathing fire on your own brother? Your mother would be ashamed at you!"
Drawing back, even Drogon seemed to realize he was going too far - but Jon knew that the black dragon was too proud to admit it. He was certain Davos and Missandei thought him mad. Hells, he thought the same as well. I could probably be the only one to hit Drogon and get away with it. Behind him, Rhaegal's head hovered, ready to defend his father and rider… but Jon didn't want that. Feeling the heat seething within Drogon, he had to find a way to calm Dany's child. His child.
Closing his eyes, the only sounds registering to him were Drogon's angered growls and the low hum of Rhaegal's answering resolve in the face. Jon remembered Missandei's words at that moment. Imagining a young, serene Daenerys singing softly to her dragons - her soft, melodic High Valyrian wafting through the stone halls and wind-swept cliffs of Slaver's Bay. Sighing, he knew what he had to do… something he hadn't done in years, and rarely since he was a mere child.
Throat clearing, Jon let the words of the old song tumble from his lips. Out into the light of day.
"You northern lads and lasses too, draw near, both young and old,
"A dolefull lamentation now to you I will unfold.
"With me, ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara."
Rhaegal's simmering stopped, amber eyes flickering to his rider. Drogon's growls lessened - the great beast's anger and irritation an intense heat only just subjected to the cooling of Jon's calming, serene lilt. The sounds that once echoed through the cliffs and fields of the ancient keep of Dragonstone began to wane, exposing the long dormant singing of Rhaegar Targaryen's long lost son for the world to hear.
"One hundred gallant northern boys, we are left for to deplore,
"Whose bodies fell victim up-on fair... Trident's shore.
"With me, ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara."
Blinking, Missandei and Davos stared, only breaking their rapture to glance at each other with wide eyes. Raspy, hoarse, the ballad warbled from Jon's lips with a quality so mournfully breathtaking that all seemed to still. From the neigh of the horses to Ghost's whimpers and barks. Even the dragons quieted down as Jon sang.
"They were engaged by five to one when charged on with Andal steel,
"But Winter's sons did loudly cry 'we'll die before we kneel!'
"With me, ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara."
It was an ancient tune. One dating back thousands of years, to the invasion of the Andals. Every northerner knew it, the sad serenade of Theon Stark "the Hungry Wolf's" northern warriors fighting firm to defend Moat Cailin and the Neck from the hordes that had overwhelmed the Vale and the Riverlands. Of how every time a new death or loss fell upon the north, the young warrior would tell his love that soon the war would end - that she should sleep while he fought for her. A song of sadness, but also of hope.
"The wounded called for mercy but none they did receive,
"They numbered them among the dead and threw them in the grave.
"With me, ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara."
By now all sounds had ceased. Missandei, Davos, Ghost, the Unsullied and Dothraki within earshot, Rhaegal, Drogon… even the birds had stopped their calls to listen to Jon Snow - to Aegon Targaryen sing. Just as they had for his father upon these same shores.
"They had no one to heal their wounds may angels them surround,
"Before the throne of heaven may they wear a brilliant crown.
"With me, ve-lu zavilat aso, velu zavilat iqet dhai aso, houma ma-shiara."
Throat hoarse by the end, the warbling melody petered out - leaving nothing but utter silence. Only broken by the light breeze whipping against the vibrantly green grass growing in the volcanic soil. Time seemed to stand still. Jon stared at Drogon, the black dragon staring back in sheer wonder. As he had upon his mother so long before, an innocent hatchling looking upon the woman that gave him life in the flames.
Now he looked upon his long lost father. The man with the blood of the dragon in his veins. The man that had embraced who he truly was, Aegon Targaryen, King of Westeros and the only man that deserved Daenerys Targaryen by his side. In rule and in life.
But just as the beautiful music tumbling from Jon's voice brought Drogon into the trance, the silence brought him out of it. Blinking, the dark gold eyes flickered away. Jon felt a hot snort wash over him, the dragon turning and ambling away towards the beach. Unwilling to fly, but also not killing him.
Perhaps a grudging acceptance was the best he could do right now.
Defeat and fatigue swirling within him, Jon suddenly felt something large nudge his side. "Yes, boy. I know." He turned to rub Rhaegal's snout, letting the welcome heat of the scales and the loving growl from deep in the dragon's throat soothe his inability to reach Dany's mount. "Your brother is a stubborn one… just like your mother," Jon couldn't help but chuckle. Rhaegal nuzzled his massive snout into Jon's body with a gentleness so out of place for such a beast.
"They are not beasts. They are my children."
My children.
"Rest up, my child," Jon told Rhaegal, patting the scales with the same respect and love that his fa… uncle had shown him. The dragon purred once more before ambling to the edge of the cliff - diving off only for the air currents to carry him into the air. Pursing his lips in a small smile, Jon began his treck back to the castle.
Meeting Missandei's wide eyes and Davos' gaping expression, Aegon Targaryen felt not a little sheepish and embarrassed. Trying to hide his slight blush. "I think Drogon has opened up a bit, but he's still too wounded and depressed to participate." In all honesty, only one week before, that had been him.
Neither of them were going to let it go so easily. "How… that was magnificent, your Grace." Missandei had traveled the world with both Kraznys mo Nakloz and Daenerys, witnessing the finest of ballads and the most melodic of singers. Never had one possessed a voice so hauntingly hoarse and beautiful as to make the very wind stop blowing. "Truly magnificent."
Jon shrugged. "Was rusty, and am no professional bard." Even accepting his dragonblood, he didn't take praise well. Missandei once had heard the late Ser Barristan say his father, Prince Rhaegar, was much the same way. Brooding and modest.
"Well fuck me, your Grace… you put those fools to shame." Davos had never heard anything like it. And Winterfell prior to the Battle for the Dawn had been filled with mournful tunes in many languages. "Why don't you sing more often?"
"I was a bastard." Whereas before the feelings were just shrugged off, now they hissed against a simmering anger - spoken through clenched teeth. "Bastards don't sing according to our childhood septa, and she had Lady Stark's ear." So much he had lost… all over the lie. The lie that destroyed my humanity. Made me a demon to my own family…
The lie that saved you. His half-brother and sister, stabbed and crushed against the wall while their mother was raped.
"Jon?" He was pulled out of his enraged brooding by his Hand, concern marring both his expression and Missandei's.
"I'm fine." He waved them off. "Send a raven to Lord Royce. I want to know the moment Lord Hightower and Lord Dayne meet up with the main force." Cloak billowing in the sea breeze, he pushed past back to the castle.
"He is more like her than he thinks, Ser Davos," Missandei stated, watching him leave. "A fire, but also kindness and pain. Lives filled with pain."
Davos sighed. "They both have the weight of the world on their shoulders. A just woman and an honorable man…" Two traits that the world did not appreciate. "Knowing just how fucked up the rest of us are, they're the only ones I'd trust with the realm. The only one's who'd pull off the miracle."
And they better be ready with fire and blood, for the knives will come for them. The last gasp of a cornered rat. Many cornered rats, all ready to fight to the death to preserve their stake in the game of thrones.
But since when did a Targaryen care about any reaction? Be it a man or even a god?