JonSnow/Aenar Targaryen (293 A.C. Second Moon)
Winterfell
"Ah, so you know the truth now, little dragonwolf?" the voice asked, its tone filled with intrigue.
"Yes… I finally know the truth about my mother and my father," he answered with a heavy sigh. Why am I here? Am I going mad, like my grandfather? he wondered silently.
"NO!" the voice thundered. "You are nothing like that cursed traitor to the blood. Aerys was your grandfather, true, but Rhaella, Rickard Stark, and Lyarra Stark were your grandparents as well. They were good at heart, all of them, except him. Though Rickard, perhaps, was too ambitious for his own good."
The words struck Jon like a warning, as if the voice would not permit him to doubt.
"You were planned for, eight thousand years in the making. Six hundred years ago, the prophecies were revealed to me, allowing me to prepare for the fall of one of your ancient homes. The others did not listen. Sending Daenys away was part of the prophecy. 'When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves.'"
The voice shifted, almost teaching.
"It translates to this: Go to the west, where the sun sets. From the west will come your descendant, who shall travel east. Where the seas still boil with heat, your footsteps will turn them dry. The mountains that covered the land will blow away, and the lands of old will be reopened."
Jon frowned, speaking his thoughts aloud. "But does that mean I'm supposed to go to Valyria? That's where Daenys came from. The west is where I was born… so when I go east, the sun will set on me."
"It may be so," the voice admitted. "Much was lost in the Doom, both good and ill. Yet I am certain you will be the one to return what was lost to glory. As Daenys foresaw the doom, so too can I glimpse pieces of what lies ahead. From your blood, the Forty will return. But instead of a senate, there shall be one head to rule them all, bound by blood."
"The return of the Forty?" Jon asked, bewildered. "As far as I know, three Targaryens remain, with me and my aunt and uncle in exile in Essos. How are we supposed to give life to thirty-nine more?"
The voice rumbled with certainty. "You will have many children. Some born of marriage, others outside of it, born of love, lust, or pact."
"What? No." Jon shook his head. "I swore I would never sire a bastard."
"Oh, but you will, little dragon. And those children's paths will be more illustrious than any before. They will become lords and ladies of new great houses. Some will rise high, others remain smaller, but all will be revered. There will be no shame, only honor, when the pattern falls into place. Still, it is your choice. You may take up this destiny… or you may remain Jon Snow, cast off Aenar Targaryen entirely. Join the Watch, and swear your life away. Mayhaps the world will live, or fall into darkness."
Jon bristled. "The Watch is an honorable calling."
"Perhaps once," the voice replied coldly. "But no longer. Now it is a refuge for criminals, the hungry, and restless younger sons chasing scraps of glory. A few, like your uncle, still cling to the old honor, but the Watch's true purpose is long forgotten."
Jon exhaled, torn. His father or uncle had spoken of the Watch with reverence, calling it a noble path. Yet when had his father last seen it with his own eyes? Then there was Benjen, always contrary to his brother. Benjen urged him to live first, to seek life before binding himself to the Wall. Perhaps his uncle hadn't known what to do with him and cast him there. Or perhaps his father had simply chosen peace and Robert Baratheon over him.
The voice pressed on. "Your uncle likely bears deep scars from war and loss. To choose you over Robert could mean war… and perhaps the death of his family."
Jon shivered. It unsettled him how easily the voice plucked the thoughts from his mind.
"I don't know what I should do," he admitted. "I don't know how my uncle will react when he learns the truth. I just… I need someone to talk to. Someone besides you, someone who knows what happened."
"Then hear me," the voice replied. "Tomorrow, after your training, go to the godswood. I have brought one who may aid you. He will help you find peace and show you truths no one else can, not even me. Later, I may guide you further. But first, you must be willing to take this step."
Jon's heart swelled with a fragile mixture of hope and confusion. Who could it be? Who waits for me in the godswood?
"Very well," he said at last. "I shall go."
"There is one more thing I wish to discuss. It's about the eggs, two of which, unless I'm crazy, are talking to me," He stated to the voice.
"True, two of them are talking to you; they are part of the spirits of your lost siblings. Your father must have carried them to Dorne when he went there with your mother for safekeeping. The two eggs you mentioned belonged to your brother and sister. They were already bonded, but when they died, part of their essence merged with the eggs. One holds Rhaenys, and the other holds Aegon's spirit. That's why they feel different; they are bonded through sibling ties. So there's a chance you will be able to ride both of them, as well as the dragon made of stone. And there's also a dragon with three heads to come forth," the voice explained further.
"Really? Part of them is still around?" His voice trembled with emotion.
"Yes, a part of them is still around, but not fully like you. They are still with you and will be with your family and its protectors until the end of their days," the voice assured him.
"Well, it feels good to not be alone, to have them close. But tomorrow, I will speak with the man I thought was my father, to finally understand why he never told me before," He stated determinedly.
"I would wait for a moment, see if he wants to tell you, but until the time is right. I have set a plan in motion that should help your uncle be more amenable to your peal, and see the truth of things." The voice explained. He wondered then what that plan was, but he suspected it had something to do with what was happening here.
"Well, you have given me the answer I have been waiting for my entire life. So I will trust your judgment on that." He stated.
"Remember how it was in the days to come. We will speak again in the future." The voice noted before everything turned black once more.
Darkness closed in again.
Then he woke with a gasp, covered in sweat, and felt groggy and dazed. Rising from his bed, his thoughts turned to his nameday; he was now officially ten nameday old. He knew he would be receiving some things, like the well-wishes from his family. As well as a present or two from his father, and some extra delicious food. Yet they weren't a celebration like those that had been held for Robb three moons ago. Where games, a feast, and other things would be organized.
His father or uncle now was still an odd thing in his head, as well as his heart. The man who raised him was his uncle, and he kept the truth from him for far too long. Something he deserved to know; it was as if he would go into a rampage and proclaim himself Rhaegar's and Lyanna's son.
Yet his uncle probably held that fear, or maybe the fear of losing him. More kin than he already had, as the voice had said.
Still, he clothed himself and opened the chest where the other letters were. He wondered what was in the letters for Doran and Oberyn. They were from Elia and likely meant to explain what truly happened. He thought briefly, what if the Mad King had allowed his siblings and their mother to leave King's Landing; they might still be alive. Yet that man saw treachery everywhere. He sighted, yet he thought that at least some part of them was still alive in the eggs.
Then his eyes turned to the letter addressed to him, or what would have been his name had he been born a girl. For Visenya and Aenar was described upon it, with the unbroken seal of House Targaryen.
He picked up the letter, broke the seal, and started reading it.
My dear Visenya, my dear Aenar,
If these words have reached your hands, then I am no longer with you. I pray that you are in the care of those who love you, whether kin or friend, for that is my greatest hope. Yet in truth, I fear that if I am gone, much of our family may be gone as well. That thought weighs heavily upon me.
I wish I could have been there, together with your mother, to raise you, to love you as I loved her. She was the light of my life, and you are the legacy of that love.
If ever you should find yourself in need, know this—the Velaryons of Driftmark are our oldest and most loyal allies. The blood of Old Valyria runs in their veins, as it does in yours. They will remember our bond, and many lords of the Narrow Sea will rally to the banner of the three-headed dragon when called.
There are truths and safeguards I must leave you, for they concern your welfare and the fate of our house.
You are the heir now, whether son or daughter. Remember that. I could not allow your uncle Viserys to stand as heir, for he was too much like my father, your grandsire Aerys, whose reign brought only ruin. For this reason, I have set down a decree, sealed and secured within my vault at the Iron Bank, with a copy sent to the Citadel. With it you will also find proof of my marriage to your mother.
I have also taken care to set aside funds for you. The Kingsguard who watch over your mother know of them. An account has been placed in the Iron Bank, and a vault that old the funds of the Iron Throne we stored there, that may only be opened by the blood of the head of House Targaryen. It will answer to you, my child, or to one you entrust with a vial of your blood. A second vault lies hidden upon Dragonstone, holding treasures of our house, guarded by the same key of blood.
I am proud of you, my little dragonwolf, though I fear I will never see the person you will become. Forgive me for not being there. Remember always our words, Fire and Blood, and also your mother's—Winter is Coming. Between them lies the truth of who you are.
And never forget: a dragon has three heads.
Find your path, my child, and may it bring you happiness. That is my dearest wish.
Goodbye, and know always that I love you.
Your father,
Prince Rhaegar Targaryen
Heir to the Iron Throne
"Oh, I love you too, the memory of you," He murmured to himself. As tears fell from his cheeks, he stroked the letter of his father's softly. He put the letter away and locked the chest. After he clothed himself, he stepped outside the room, toward the great hall.
Soon enough, he arrived, and when he opened the doors, he saw that Arya and Robb were already there, waiting for him.
Before he could say something, they both shouted. "Happy nameday." And both rushed to greet him. Arya arrived first and gave him a bone-crushing hug.
"Thank you, little sister," Jon said, although in truth he was her cousin.
After Robb arrived and did the same thing. "Congrats, brother." It hurt him to hear those words, though now they weren't true; yet Robb would always be his brother, no matter what. "Thank you, too, Robb."
Robb let him take the table, where little Bran sat beside Sansa, and gave the small child a hug. While Bran said, "Happy," Bran frowned, then added, smiling, "Nameday."
"Thank you, little brother." After that, he sat down, and Sansa looked at him and said softly. "Happy nameday, Jon." She tentatively.
"Thank you, as well, Sansa." He added, and she gave a small smile. He sighed inwardly. A year ago, Sansa, just like Robb and Arya, would have come to him and given him a hug. Soon, the servants began to bring out the food and place a lemon-strawberry cake in front of him. "For you, young Jon. Your siblings arranged it for you." Malra noted, before heading back to the kitchen.
"Thank you," he said to the table, as he began to cut the cake and started to give everyone a piece. Just as he was serving, Theon arrived in his usual flamboyant style. "Ah, cake wonderful, give a piece please, and congrats, son. Ten almost a man like men." Greyjoy stated, grinning.
Theon is maybe three years older than him and Robb. Theon still acted like ass. "As you wish, your lordship." He stated, and he gave him a mocking bow.
Soon enough, everyone was eating, while Bran was helped by Sansa, who giggled as Bran eagerly ate the cake, if a bite crudely. Soon they were talking and joking, and it felt like a normal nameday for him. Had it not been for the night that had had.
Eddard Stark (293 A.C. Second Moon)
Winterfell Greathall
He entered the Great Hall, his eyes searching for the boy. Ten namedays, it was something to be marked, ten years since that fateful day. Promise me, Ned. Promise me, still echoed in his mind.
His gaze settled on the children. Jon was already surrounded by his siblings; Arya and Robb pressed close on either side of him, while little Bran sat beside Sansa, who giggled at something. Then Sansa turned back to her lady face, and she appeared to be, and Ned suppressed a sigh. Too often, he saw his wife's bitterness taking root in the girl, and today was no different. Catelyn was nowhere to be seen. She had chosen absence rather than sharing in Jon's morning joy.
He forced a smile and greeted them. "Good morning, everyone."
But his steps carried him onward, straight to Jon. He rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Congratulations, Jon."
"Thank you, Father." Jon turned, and they embraced. For a moment, Ned felt him stiffen, as though something weighed heavily on him, though he could not tell what. He let it go. Today was Jon's day, and unless it grew into something greater, he would not press him.
"I see your siblings have already given you your cake," Ned said, glancing at the plates. A strawberry cake, touched with lemon. Jon's favorite, Lyanna's as well. The memory softened him.
"Yes, Father. And Robb and I have something else planned for Jon," Arya announced with a grin.
"I'd have expected nothing less," Ned replied, settling himself at the head of the table.
He ate with them, though his eyes strayed often to Jon. The boy was quiet, too quiet, and more than once, Ned caught those grey-purple eyes fixed upon him, a haunting mix of Lyanna and Rhaegar.
"Jon," he asked gently, "is everything well? You've been unusually quiet. It is your nameday."
Jon lowered his gaze. "Yes, Lord Stark. I was only thinking."
"Jon, don't think too much," Robb said, half-jest, half challenge. "We're sparring later, and I want a fight worthy of your nameday."
Theon leaned back with a smirk, carving into a sausage. "As if Snow could give you one. He always loses, and badly."
"Enough, you two." Ned's voice carried quiet command. His eyes stayed on Jon. "Tell me, what were you thinking of?"
Jon hesitated, then lifted his head. "Of my aunt. That's all. I went to the crypts this morning."
Ned's heart stumbled at those words. "Why were you in the crypts?"
"To reflect on myself," Jon said, his voice steady but thoughtful. "I'm ten now, and I wondered what to do with my life. I stopped at my aunts' and uncles' statues, and I wondered what they might have done with their lives if fate hadn't taken them."
Ned studied him, feeling a pang of recognition. "I understand. I felt something similar when I left for the Eyrie at your age, uneasy about the road before me. But you will find your way, Jon." He prayed the words were true. Perhaps the Watch, he thought. There, he might rise high, and he would be safe from the danger of his true name.
"I hope so too. Father… if I could speak with you after the sparring session, I would welcome it," Jon asked quietly.
"Of course. One of your presents is in my solar. We'll talk there."
A few moments later.
The sparring yard rang with the clash of steel. Ned watched the boys circle, Robb pressing forward with eager strikes. He expected Jon to yield ground, as he so often did, not wishing Robb to be shamed before others. Jon was the stronger swordsman, and Ned knew it, but the boy always held back, protecting his brother's pride. Just as his mother had done. Lyanna had always been better with a blade than he or Benjen, a natural.
But today, Jon did not hold back. He parried Robb's first strike with ease, then pressed his attack. Within moments, Robb's sword went spinning to the dirt, Jon's point at his throat.
Jon was not good. He was perfect. Better even than Ned had imagined.
"How did you do that, Snow?" Robb asked, half amused, half breathless.
"Just practice, brother. Practice and patience. And luck," Jon said, though Ned saw the truth. It had not been luck, it had been skill.
Theon stepped up, and Jon showed no hesitation in striking him down as well.
"Well done, Jon. Robb, you too," Ned called. "Go again. One lesson before you start: watch your opponent's eyes. They often betray where the strike will fall. But in true battle, you cannot always rely on that. Learn to trust your instincts."
The boys nodded and resumed. The bout lasted longer this time, but Jon still outclassed Robb. Ned's brow furrowed. Where had Jon found the time to train to such perfection? Alone, perhaps? I'll ask him when we speak.
"Ah, Catelyn," Ned said as he noticed his wife approach. "Come to watch the boys?"
"Of course, Ned. How is Robb faring? Proving himself the great future Lord of Winterfell?" she asked, her tone laced with expectation, as if the answer should be obvious.
Ned hesitated, then offered the truth as gently as he could. "He does well. He holds his ground. But there is still much for him to learn."
"Good. That is what I wished to hear." She smiled faintly. But when she looked down and saw Jon best Robb once more, her smile faltered.
"Yield?" Jon asked, grinning as he held his cousin at blade's point.
"Yield, damn you, Snow! Three times in a row! How did you grow so good all of a sudden?" Robb demanded, astonished.
Jon lowered his blade. "I no longer hold back. I practice often, alone."
"Holding back?" Robb frowned.
"Yes. But certain fears are gone now, and I thought it time to show you what I can truly do." A hint of guilt touched his voice.
Robb studied him, then broke into a grin. "Good. This will make things more interesting. Now I see why you always beat Theon before. But what fears are you talking about?"
"I hope to tell you later, after I've spoken with Father," Jon answered quietly. He looked up toward the walkway. Looking him straight in the eye. In them was something that Ned did not like.
Ned rose. "Well, Jon, shall we? Come with me to my solar. You all did well today."
"As you wish, I change and I see in your solar," Jon said.
"Very well. I'll wait for you in my solar."
As he passed Catelyn, Ned caught the glare she sent Jon. He felt a sigh rise in him. Cat, it was only a spar. Robb must lose sometimes. If he wins every bout, he will think himself unbeatable, and that is a dangerous lesson for any lord. Can you not see that?
Later, a gentle knock came at his solar door.
"Come in," Ned called, weariness softening his voice.
Jon entered, a red mark visible on his cheek. It hadn't been there before. Ned's concern deepened. "Come in, son," he said, gesturing to a stool. Something weighed heavily on the boy, and Ned meant to hear it.
While Jon sat down, he rose and opened the chest where Jon's present was. He picked up and gifted the leather-wrapped statue he had commissioned.
"Here, you go, I hope you like it." He stated as he sat back down and placed the present on the desk. Jon looked at him and wrapped the statue. Inside was a grey direwolf, a statue with ivory eyes. "Thank you, father."
"I'm glad you liked it," He said with a pause before he continued. "So, Jon," he asked gently, "will you tell me what's been troubling you? I thought of saying nothing, but you've been acting odd."
Jon sat straighter, no trace of nervousness in him. "Aye, I will. But before I do… I would like to know who my mother is." His tone was steady, but longing filled his eyes.
Ned's heart twisted. "Jon, we've spoken of this before. I will tell you when the time is right." His voice carried sorrow.
"Fine, then I will not tell you what is bothering me, but still, I deserve to know who she is, it's my right as her son," Jon shouted, and he saw the tears building in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jon, but I can't yet." He replied.
"Very well, then I wish for something else then." Jon sated, his voice still filled with anger. "I will see what I can do." He replied.
"You may be curious as to why I have been holding back in my spars. In my sparing with Robb and Theon." He nodded at that. "I do, you always hold yourself back. However, I can tell you that you don't have to. It'sn't good for Robb nor you."
"Well, you can tell your wife that." Jon retorted angrily. "I'm sorry, Jon, I know she is cold to you. But expected, wives generally aren't accepting of children not of their blood." He stated.
"Accepting of a bastard, you mean. Well, your wife isn't just cold father." Jon almost spat out the word father. "She told me I couldn't beat Robb. It first happened when you were away. She sent me away to bed without supper. She also hits me when I don't do what she asks. A moon ago, she even asked me the same to not beat Theon too. If I do something else that displeases her, when you aren't around, I either get hit, or my food is made so salty I can't eat it." Jon finished.
No, Catelyn had struck his son! And from Jon's account, this wasn't the first time. His heart sank in his chest at the thought.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I have failed you. Upon hearing this, I have been blind to the truth. I will see what you have to show me. Now, let's go and have lunch together. Afterward, I will ensure your protection, and I will gift your final gift." He declared, and he rose from his seat, and embraced him. The boy sobbed then, and he felt like a failure as a father, brother, and uncle.
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