So I've wanted to do this since Season 6 but I also wanted to wait until after Jon learned the truth to do it. Now that he, Dany, and his family knows I can finally do so.
BTW if you're looking for an alternate ending to Season 8, you're reading the wrong story.


Night
And the spirit of live
Calling [oh, oh, iyo]
Mamela [oh, oh, iyo]


Tired.

That summed up how Jon felt about it all right now. It was supposed to be done, the Long Night over with, the Night King and his horde of Wights destroyed...so why in all the Hells on this earth wasn't it? The moment one problem ended another began...or maybe it hadn't ever been sorted in the first place, and he was right at the heart of it.

Aegon Targaryen...the name of the man who conquered Westeros, who burned Harrenhal and wiped out the Gardener line and to whom Torrhen Stark bent the knee...the name his mother, Lyanna Stark, had given him on her death bed.

Gods the looks his sisters had given him when Bran told them... but they weren't his sisters, they were his cousins and always had been. Arya, hard and strong like the North, had said not a word and just wandered off as seemed to be her way now whilst Sansa, unyielding and resilient as a Winter Rose, had lost her seemingly permanent frosty stare in exchange for shocked understanding, and somehow that had hurt more.

Shaking it off didn't do him any good and so, as soon as they'd made camp somewhat ironically at Harrenhal, he'd left Ser Davos in charge and vanished into the night on his horse. Jon couldn't be sure how far he rode at first, just having the wind in his hair and the clacking of hooves in his ears was enough for the time being. And that was brilliant because for just a few precious moments he didn't need to think. Because if he started thinking he'd feel the hurt again, the broken shards of his heart, knowing that his old statement of not being a Stark couldn't have been so true.

His father wasn't his father, his mother had always been so close, and his only true family had been an old man who died thinking he was alone in the world. It was a sick prank the gods played that he would find love in the only other Targaryen in existence, his own aunt...or maybe the sickness came from how little that factor bothered him, but then wasn't that what dragons did?

Daenerys did though...

Why? Why of all things would she think that he would crave a crown? The Iron Throne was as far from his wishes as could be...so why didn't she see it? Why did she beg him not to tell anyone? She was the one who worked for it, she was the one who fought for it. He would have been happy with a small holdfast in the North, maybe make his father - his uncle's dream of rebuilding Moat Cailin a reality. So why didn't she trust that? He'd knelt, given up any claim...but she didn't trust that he would stay kneeling...why?

A sudden screeching overhead, coupled by his horse's sudden panicked rearing up, snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Easy boy!" He pulled hard on the reigns, urging the beast to relax as a far more powerful, magical, and terrifying mount came down to make a clumsy landing on his legs, tucking his wings in - one of which Jon could see was still taking on less weight than the other.* Sighing, realising that this usual meeting would have happened regardless of where he'd disappear off to when they made camp, Jon dismounted from his horse and with a sharp slap sent the animal back to his men.

Determining to get it over with, he turned back to face the dragon at his back. "Still following me, Rhaegal?"

His attempt at levity was met with a mild huff from the giant creature, as if to say 'were you expecting different?' Honestly he wouldn't be surprised if Ghost hopped off of his back, his faithful Direwolf companion had not looked happy at being left behind and probably would have found a way to follow him. Probably give him the same look Rhaegal was giving him now too, that one that Sansa and Dany both seemed to have mastered though Gods willing they'd never admit such: That look that said he was being an idiot and to stop being such.

Well what could he do? Really?

Frustration upon frustration finally found his breaking point and Jon let out a ragged growl before glaring up at the namesake of his real father. "Well what do you want me to do?! I don't want that bloody chair and I can't go back to Winterfell! I don't belong there or at Kings Landing! No one knows who I am, the people who do are pulling me in two different directions, and I'm sick of it!"

Rhaegal merely sniffed at him, really helpful that.

For a moment misery warred with anger...which it inevitably won against and Jon let out another sad bark before stalking away from the dragon, chucking himself down on his arse in the grass, eyes glaring upwards at the stars that just twinkled back at him heedless of his plight. Fuckers. Why couldn't Fath- Lord Stark have just left me in Dorne? Would've made things so much simpler, fucking honourable northern fool.

The rather loud rustling of grass and a hot breeze over his head gave away that his dragon had followed him and also laid down to rest, ruining his own attempts to do just that. Huffing, Jon sat back up to look around. Right ahead he could see the God's Eye, the stars reflecting in the calm waters of the Rushing Falls to the west, and straight ahead was the Isle of Faces where this entire mess had been consummated. Bran said that was where his Mother and Father had married, a dual wedding of the Wierwood and the Faith of the Seven, North and South, Ice and Fire. A fucking prophecy that neither had turned out to have anything to do with.

"Quite the view you have here."

The sound of a new voice, so suddenly appearing beside him, sent Jon reeling. Instinctively he leapt to his feet, hand going for Longclaw and he span around to face...a short man dressed in mossy green, his face concealed by a cloak and hood of the same colour save for his mouth which was pulled up in a wizened grin. A woody staff that had seen better days occupied his right hand whilst on his back Jon could make out an old shield that likely was in similar condition. How in the world had he gotten so close?

Rhaegal also seemed shocked going by the way he rose from his spot to hiss threateningly at the little man. But the man merely turned his head to observe the dragon as if it were a horse and then returned his unseen gaze to Jon. "An impressive beast, Your Grace. Deserving of a King."

"Rhaegal's not a beast." The words escaped him before he could stop himself, overcoming his surprise at being snuck up on. And then the other bit reached his ears and Jon sneered before turning away. "And I'm not a King. Daenerys Targaryen is my Queen and the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms."

"Indeed." The little man murmured without inflection, and somehow Jon just knew his words hadn't even registered in his mind. Great, someone come to pull him in another direction. Well he didn't need that right now.

Stiffly, with all the grace of Stannis Baratheon, he turned his back on the stranger and stomped off towards a new patch, Rhaegal falling into step beside him sending another warning snap the little man's way. Such would have sent any sane man scampering, but this one just gave them a little chuckle that Jon found somewhat unnerving. Still he put the clearly mad little stranger out of his mind and continued on his way, looking for a spot to stop and rest. Gods knew he was weary enough.

Finally he came to a stop again, much closer to the water's edge now and that short talk leaving him even wearier. Sighing, he took a couple of extra steps and knelt over the lake, dipped his hands into the water and splashed it into his face. It didn't help. And now he found himself staring at his face. That Stark face that Lady Catelyn had always despised. But was it Stark? What of it came from his mother? Would he even know? Everyone who knew her was dead including his father...and there was a thought. What of that face staring back at him came from Rhaegar? The nose? The mouth? Certainly not the eyes but...maybe if Dany were here, she was his brother after all...and if he shaved, maybe then he could see what he'd inherited from his father other than twenty years of war and misery.

The reflection suddenly rippled out of focus as a stone suddenly skipped passed him. Who-?

"You know, some people would call a man who stares at himself all day quite vain." It was the little man again, muddied hands behind his back smiling at him knowingly, still ignoring the lethal lizard like creature who was again snarling at him.

Frankly Rhaegal's attitude was beginning to match Jon's own as he huffed and turned away from the stranger who apparently didn't value his life at all.

Not that this deterred the man as he fell into step behind him, the squelching of his boots a stark contrast to the heavy thuds of riding footwear. "Alright, perhaps not vain. Considerate, maybe? Or do you prefer thoughtful?"

Another snarl from the dragon mirrored his rider's growing annoyance at this unwelcome companion, who still rattled off words without a care in the world. "No wait, I know the one! You're brooding!"

"Yes congratulations." Jon ground out, picking up his pace just a touch which the man matched immediately. "You've found the word you're looking for, now would you leave me alone?"

"Oh would that I could, Your Grace." The little man replied lightly with an unseen shrug. "But then I'd have to coral your dragon, and I don't think he likes me that much."

No. You don't say. And then there was that title again. "And stop it with 'Your Grace.' Daenerys is the claimant, not me. And would you please stop following me."

Nope, the man was not going to do that as he finally hopped ahead of him, the shield on his back clattering against his cloak, with a mirth-filled smirk which just set him off growling in aggravation until at last he demanded he identify himself. Maybe if he got that he could threaten some sort of discipline from his overlord when they returned to camp. "Who are you?"

That halted them both, though his hanger on didn't seem fazed by the query. In fact he let out another mild laugh before waving it off. "Oh that is a boring answer from a boring man, Your Grace. A much more interesting question would be…"

And then suddenly he was right in front of Jon's face, almost nose to nose despite his slighter stature, shrouded eyes barely twinkling from beneath hi hood as he asked back. "Who…are you?"

Who am...? Lunatic! His temper finally snapped and he was ready to lash out exactly what his name was...only to come short as two answers suddenly shoved themselves up his throat. Jon Snow? Aegon Targaryen? The fire died as quickly as it rose, leaving only a morose sigh to escape his lips.

"I thought I knew..." He admitted, more for his own ears than his audience, eyes finding an interesting patch of grass between them "All my life I was sure I knew...now though...now I just don't know."

His admission brought in a sullen silence between them, only Rhaegal's hot breathing above them disturbing it as both men regarded their chosen observations, Jon the ground and his questioner Jon himself. At last though, whatever those hooded eyes were finally looking for caught it and the man pulled back, his smile for once a touch weaker. "Well...takes quite the man to admit his own uncertainty. Most would hide behind a name."

"I'm not most men." Jon wasn't boasting, he just didn't know that many other people who could come back from the dead. Beric had, but he was permanently dead now so that left only him.

"Hmm..." The little man nodded lightly, though Jon felt he was agreeing for entirely different reasons to his own, his hidden gaze once again pinning him to the ground. "Well, how fortunate then that I do know who you are."

What? Alarms rang in his head, eyes shooting up from the ground to stare at him. He couldn't know, surely Sansa wouldn't have done something so… but then maybe she would.

Then the laughing smile returned as the little man started listing off all the unimportant titles. "Why you're Jon Snow! King in the North, White Wolf, Friend to Free Folk, Shield of the Realms of Men, the Resurrected, the Prince who Was Prom-"

"Enough!" That last one still irked him beyond all measure. It was Melisandre who foisted that stupid name on him first, only to deliver the same to Daenerys, ending in Arya disproving her twice over when she killed the Night King whilst the supposed champions struggled to stay alive. In short, Jon was fed up with the Prince Who Was Fucking Promised!

"Why is everyone obsessed with that bloody prophecy?!" He snapped furiously at the man, made angrier as he just danced around him carelessly. "What's it even supposed to mean anyway?"

"It means," the man replied happily, his staff suddenly coming between them, the end pointing at Jon's face "that you have mud in your ears, lad. You should bathe more." And then he broke into a fit of giggles as if his words were the funniest joke ever told.

Gods, what sort of men marched south with me? Sharing a disbelieving glance with Rhaegal who looked just as fed up as him, Jon turned his back on the mad man one more time and tried to push off again. "Come on boy, let's leave the man to his delusions."

"Delusions is it?" How the-? When did he get in front of him again? For once though he sounded somewhat offended before poking him with his free hand as if lecturing a small boy. "And who exactly of the two of us here doesn't even know who he is?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Sansa's voice lecturing him about showing weakness in front of anyone. But seeing as the as-yet-to-be-named Queen in the North was on a list of people he didn't want to think about right now it just left Jon so vexed that he ended up lashing out.

"Oh and I suppose you do?" He asked back derisively, shoving passed the man and heading off to find somewhere quiet where he wouldn't be interrupted by mad men. Maybe Dorne.

"But of course I do lad." The man's voice called out over his shoulder, a tone of familiarity now colouring his speech. "You're Lyanna's boy."

That name caught him short, shock and fear suddenly running through his veins as he span back around to stare at this little mudcaked man whose face he couldn't see. Who was he to make such a statement? But the man just smiled at him in that hidden way of his before uttering a simple word.

"Bye."

And then he was off.

But now Jon couldn't let him go, not least for the fact that anyone who knew that fact couldn't be let out of his sight. And more than that how did he know? No one should know, Fath... Lord Stark took that secret to his grave. Bran only knew through his magic, so how did this stranger know?

Hells but he was fast too. For such a little man he had already put a decent amount of space between them, the Gods must have been powering him as for all the running Jon did to close the gap not once did he get any closer to catching him.

It felt like he'd chased him half way around the Gods Eye before the man finally stopped as suddenly as he'd started. At last at the man's side again, Jon had to lurch onto his knees his lungs exhausted. He'd been less exhausted after the Battle of the Bastards.

Still not entirely recovered, he managed to pull his head up to look at the man who was now stood still, his focus straight ahead towards the Isle of Faces, as if in silent vigil.

"Who are you?" Jon asked again hoarsely. "How do you know who my mother was?"

"Is, young man, not was." The man replied firmly, still not turning to face him. "I know who your mother is, just as I know who you father is."

So he knew them both? Hard to believe that anyone from the North was left to have known Rhaegar, then again maybe that pointed to his own mental state considering how he had worded it. Shaking his head, Jon finally pulled up to also stare at the Isle, the site of his parents' marriage. "No, I think I got that one right, seeing as both died years ago."

"Nope!" Suddenly the green man was alive again hopping away towards the water's edge where only now Jon could see there was a small row boat waiting there. "Wrong three times, Your Grace. Your parents live on, your father most of all! Come lad, come! He's anxious to see you!"


And the voice
with the fear of a child
Answers [oh, oh, iyo]
Oh, mamela [oh, oh, iyo]