Chapter 1

Nine Moon of 295 AC

Winterfell

The Lord of Winterfell sat in his chambers working over a pile of paperwork that made him wish he was once again young and free of responsibilities, or at least free of the amount of paperwork his title required when a knock on the door stopped his writing.

"Enter."

Jory Cassel entered the room with a worried expression that put Eddard Stark immediately in alarm.

"What is wrong?"

"There is someone who wished to see you, my lord. A messenger. He seems to be here to deliver My Lord a message."

Ned Stark extended his hand to receive the said message, but Jory spoke instead, "the boy insisted that he would only give the message to my lord in a private audience."

The Lord gave at his castellan a confused look. That was most uncommon.

"Did he say who sent him with the message?"

Not even Robert would go through that much trouble. Whatever it was, it must be of most importance, and confidential. He did not like the sound of it.

"I don't believe he speaks much of the common tongue."

Ned Stark took a deep breath. He was getting more confused by the minute. "Send him in," he ordered.

The boy was actually older than he had presumed. He was around Robb's age, taller but skinnier than his son, with cropped jet-black curls, and a dark-brown skin that gave away the fact he was not Westerosi. He entered the room and bowed lowly as if Ned was the king instead of a lord. He looked so out of place that Ned felt some of the lord face, as his sons liked to call it, crumble. The boy was dressed in brown leathers and wool tunic with a green pattern that Ned had never seen. He carried no weapons on his body and didn't look very dangerous. In his hand was the letter. He was holding it close to his body, but it was visible to Ned from the desk.

"I have been told you carry a message." The big black eyes turned to Jory in questioning and back to Ned with more certainty. Ned understood the silent plea.

"Jory, you can leave us." The man followed Ned's order, closing the door behind him. "You carry a message from me," Ned spoke pointing to the boy's hand.

"Lord Stark?" He asked, with a thick and unfamiliar accent. It would be harder if he could not speak to the boy. Ned had little knowledge of any languages outside the common tongue, speaking only a few words of High Valyrian.

Ned pointed to his chest and spoke in a kind tone, "That's me. I am Lord Eddard Stark." That seemed to be enough, as the boy handed him the envelope. The Lord of Winterfell noticed the envelope was too heavy for something carrying only paper. When he opened it, a piece of jewelry fell onto the table, and Ned's body and heart froze as the ring rolled on the wood. Suddenly, he was back to his youth, a green boy, shy beyond his years, chasing after stars.

The necklace was white gold, a five-pointed star-shaped with white pearls decorating each triangle and an old diamond in the middle. Ned Stark knew that those pearls once decorated an old necklace gifted to her mother by his Lord Father as her wedding gift– the chain had long ago been out of use, but the pearls had endured and became an heirloom left by Lady Lyarra Stark to her sons. He knew that the old diamond belonged to set gifted to House Stark during the time of Lord Cregan Stark and that Ned had blushed from head to toe when he wrote to Winterfell from the Vale, to ask Lord Rickard Stark for one. Just like he knew he commissioned the gold star at Gulltown, in his youth, as a courting gift.

It had taken him some time, but he opened the letter with shaking hands, and he read the flourishing handwriting.

Dearest Ned,

I shall not add your titles as this is a personal message and I see to reason to lie to the both of us by being fastidious courtly. I will not ask you about your life and affairs like a jealous lover or a courtly gossipmonger, I am neither.

I wish you no harm or distress, but I fear the last one will be nearby. I am not in any place you can find me in a matter of days. I am still across the ocean, and I feel safe to say, not anywhere close to the lands you call your own. This letter is not a beseeching crave of reconnection after years of suffering without your affections. This is an old friend, as I hope I still count on in your heart as, request.

I have not told you all of the reasons behind my wish to disappear from Westeros all those years ago. There was too much pain between us at the time and a grieving part of me did not trust you with my secrets.

A precious gift was stolen from under the lions and stags noses that tragic day that gave me light in the darkest of times. Hidden in Maegor's secret passages and smuggled out of the Crownlands, like stories of princesses and princes of old, a child survived and endured. I had known that truth by the time you met me in Starfall with secrets of your own, but I could not risk telling you.

I could not risk her safety.

She is the last gift of my dearest friend, my sister in all that mattered, and I will protect her last ray of sun with my life. I trust you know the feeling.

Ned could not believe what he was reading, yet a part of him screamed that it was obvious. It made what happened in Starfall much more clear to deny it as false. But … How? And why telling him now? His gaze kept going over to the necklace, and each time it pierced into his heart more deeply. She had kept the necklace all these years, while he believed it to be on the bottom of the Torentine.

For years we hide ourselves to great effect. After all, no one looks of dead people. I shall pray it stays that way. But I could not keep the secret you trusted me all those years ago. Not from her. More than anyone, she deserved to know the truth. To know a bond that she thought had been taken from her so violently.

As you read this letter, and knowing her plan, I can tell you she is currently outside your castle walls, in Wintertown, and I believe the boy who gave you this letter was probably Arellas. Do not worry about it possible knowing.

My request is then,

She wishes to meet him, her last brother, for the love we once shared, for the love, I know you feel for Jon, allowed her this request. Allow them to know one another. Allow her the last chance at a family. Besides, I dare to say she won't leave so easily. She has a stubbornness the likes I haven't seen in years, and she will get her way, even without help or permission.

And old friend.

"Take me to her," he said to the young man, pointing to the letter.

The Lord of Winterfell entered the room, offering a thankful nod to the young man who guided him as he walked out, closing the door. He ran so fast he barely registered anyone or anything in his trip from Winterfell gates to the Wintertown, just followed the boy with worried thoughts, all of those not even close to being coherent.

Ned stood in the apartment on the top floor of the inn and watched the scene in front of him with sweating hands. The girl at the desk was worked on copying something, eyes shifting between the tome, that appeared older than the Lord of Winterfell himself, to a finer but less opulent book. She was so busy with her scribing that she failed to notice him entering, or standing for some time in the room, her face never shifting from quietness.

He remembered that the boy – Alleras – seemed to have been surprised that he followed him to Winter Town, and now it was easy to see the girl was not expecting him, as he found her surrounded by tomes and with a quill in hand. He felt foolish for interrupting whatever she was doing, but at the same time wanted to scream at her to notice him.

He took advantage of the heavy waiting to look at the girl. She wore a gown of deep plum velvet, with small black onyx sewn from shoulder to shoulder, rounding with the neckline. And even sitting, he could see the girl was tall. Her dark hair was tightly braided above the crown of her head into a severe hairstyle, held together by pearl hairpins. The sunlight shining on the desk turned the hair into a strangest of color as in between the dark hairs shone with grey tones.

The clarity in the room allowed him to notice that the olive skin tone, typical of the salty Dornishmen, a sharp jawline, a pointy chin, and high cheekbones. There was nothing that exposed her true parentage, but even from afar he could see she was a true beauty.

He looked around trying to keep his mind in control, but nothing in the room stand out to him.

The petite girl about Sansa's age, who cheerfully introduced herself as Mae, when helping in him inside the room, let out a low chuckle. Ned turned to her only to see her rolled her eyes, in the same exasperating way, he saw Sansa and Arya look at each other. Thinking about his daughters made him think about Jon who had no idea of his real parentage, or that his sister was demanding to see him. A sister that was still completely oblivious to the Lord of Winterfell presence in the room, as she turned to write another page.

Ned shifted his weight, the sound of the quill only making him more impatient.

Mae took pity on him or got bored of standing doing nothing and coughed twice, but the woman still didn't move from her writing.

Years as a Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North stopped him from letting out a deep breath or a frustrated groan as the girl put down her quill in a slow movement. As she turned to them, the Lord of Winterfell who almost felt a step back as he saw the purple eyes adorning her face.

Her large eyes, however, were fixed on the young girl who was looking sheepishly at the floor. The woman's face then sharply moved to the door. No word was pronounced as the girl left the room.

The silence lasted two heartbeats.

"Lord Stark." She spoke in ways of introducing, but nothing in her voice sounded courtly, but she didn't sound dismissive or displeased. Furthermore, she did not move from her sit, as one would do in front of a lord to show curtsey. He reminded himself that he was interrupting her time and that she was probably not used to the Westerosi costumes. What could she possibly be doing, he had no idea. Ashara's letter had said nothing about the princess other than that she was stubborn. And she is a princess, a voice that sounded like Ashara's reminded him sharply, she has no reason to show you curtsey.

"Please, take a sit." He did as she asked, taking the only available chair, putting them face to face, only a dark table separated the two. And the books.

As he saw her up close, Ned couldn't help but noticed that her eyes were more violet than purple, lighter than Ashara's. Her features were also more defined. He shook the comparison away and tried to think what to say. He should have planned this better, instead of taking off with the boy.

He had finally gathered his wits to speak when he heard her voice.

"I wasn't expecting you to come right away." She told him with a slight accent that he couldn't place. Not the Dornish, Ned was sure. And not the same as the boy.

He focused on more important questions. "How long…"

"Have I known about Jon? Have I been in Winter Town?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, but the rest of her face stood still. Her tone was casual as if asking about the weather, "some years and a couple of days." Her voice took a turned serious as she added, "I must say, I didn't expect the North to be the first place in Westeros I would put my feet on."

For years. Suddenly realization hit him with the weight of years of secrets.

"Ashara..." He whispered the name, trying to hide the pain, and not think about the necklace that felt like weighted a mountain in the sleeve of his cloak.

"She told me, once I was old enough to understand the need to keep it to myself." He saw her lips formed a barely there- yet sad- smile that came as soon as it went. "She raised me." There was some warning in her voice, he could pick it up, but he could not understand why. Once, when he was barely a man, Ashara had been the woman he hoped to marry, he would never do anything to hurt her.

"How did you survive?"

As she closed her eyes, the woman let out a heavy breath. Rising from her seat, she walked to the window, opening it. The cold breeze was most welcome. With her back turned to him, Ned could see the small black buttons along her spine.

"After the Trident-," Her back straightened until they were painfully stiff. "My parents' chambers had secret passages. Well hidden to all but those who know where they were. I ran there when the battle noises started. I tried to wait for them, but one of my mother's ladies in waiting- Lady Myrianna - her name was Myrianna - pushed me into the secret passage, told me to run and closed it. It was just before they came in."

He remembered Lady Myrianna bloodied body, and as much as he tried not to he could recall her face. She had been around Princess Elia's age, and everyone knew had died defending the little princess for the assassins. Fighting to the death, weaponless, for the chance to save the life of the little princess.

Another reason for the Dornish to hate them.

The Lady was married to the Lord of one of the oldest houses of Dorne, and her mother was the ruler of another. A senseless murder covered in Lannister's red cloak.

"The girl-"

She didn't let him finish the question. "She had a bastard daughter who used to play with me," She let a chuckle so dark that send shivers down Ned's spine. Her next words were even more somber. "All that mattered was that the girl looked Dornish. A four-year-old covered in blood and gore. I guess we looked the same."

Prince Aegon Targaryen skull was crushed against a wall, and the body of Princess Elia found next to what remained of her infant son. Princess Rhaenys Targaryen was found underneath Rhaegar's bed and stabbed to death. Her face was still recognizable enough, Ned had never seen the little princess to that point, but all agreed she looked like Princess Elia.

"Your friend was so occupied in hunting down and killing the rest of my family that hiding away in Essos was easy. The Dayne's had given Ashara enough money for a lifetime in comfort, so we never starved or had to beg. And we could pick any city to live in." The deadness tone of her voice made him feel sick almost as much as the memory of those children.

She turned to him, purple eyes unfocused as if far away from the room. Maegor's Holdfast, Ned knew.

"Do they know?" He asked, but his eyes focused on her linked hands. When she turned, the sunlight had hit her finger, shinning it. Only then, Ned noticed the ruby ring adorning one of her fingers. For a heartbeat he was back in the battlefield, staring at a black and red armor. He shook that image away, as he tried to direct his gaze away from the red gemstone.

"Will I challenge your friend's rule, you mean."

He didn't even think about it, all he contemplated was Jon's life being in danger. He never imagined what Rhaenys Targaryen, the daughter of Prince Rhaegar, being alive could mean to the realm. Viserys Targaryen had been the one who everyone knew was trying, and failing, to gather swords for the Targaryen cause across the sea.

Dorne screamed for revenge, and they had become independent in all but name since the Rebellion. A daughter of Princess Elia, they would go to war with open arms for her. However, no word of an approaching war or whispers of treason had come from the Martell's, not since Prince Oberyn failed attempt to crown Viserys.

Her voice broke his thought. The blood-red ring was still in his gaze. It couldn't be, Ned told himself, as he tried to focus on what the woman was saying.

"No. Robert Baratheon rule is safe from me. I would never throw the only family I have left into a war that could wipe them out. Viserys is dead, and they say the Young Princess is lost somewhere in the deepness of Essos. Probably dead too." Her voice was calm, not at all painted by lost.

What she had said had not come as a surprise to Ned. Jon Arryn had sent a raven telling him the Beggar King was found dead in a merchant's mansion. Robert had paid the cheesemonger Viserys weight in gold, his body had returned to King's Landing to be burned, the way of the Targaryen.

But it wasn't that family he spoke off. I didn't expect the North to be the first place… She never told them. House Martell, especially Prince Oberyn, they would fight to the last man for a change to put Princess Elia's daughter on the throne.

"They don't know you're alive," Ned concluded with astonishment.

She just stared at him, pressing lips before saying. "You know why I came here."

She wishes to meet him, for the love you once bore me, allowed her this request, the letter had said. He looked over at the woman who had taken her place on the chair once more. She sat straight and her eyes betrayed nothing but seriousness. She wants to meet Jon. Promise me, Ned.

Does she have anyone to call family?

"He doesn't know." She raised an eyebrow in response. "No one knows."

"All but me, Howland Reed, Ashara, and Wylla. I cannot speak for your friend, but both women will keep the secret." There were others who knew the truth, but they would not betray that knowledge. He had known all those years ago. A part of him is glad she doesn't know, a larger part felt even more guilty. Ashara.

"What about you?"

"I told you. I wish to meet him." She must have noticed the reluctant on his face because the look turned sharper. When she spoke again, her eyes were harsh and fixed on his, "I lost one brother Lord Stark. I will not be kept away from another. Not even if I have to stay my entire life in this town waiting. Or scream at Winterfell gates for all the North to hear. I will meet my brother."

Ned shallow at the conviction on the woman's voice. He knew he could not convince her otherwise. "It stays between us. I promised my sister as she died that I would protect him."

She replied with a barely there nod. The harshness had not left her face.

"I also shall be the one telling him. I own him and my sister that much." She had not refuted and had barely shown enough courtesy as he left.

"I never expected to tell you this. At least not at such a young age." Father spoke, and Jon could see he was very nervous. Jon was too since father told him to follow him with heavy eyes, and guided him to the crypts of Winterfell.

Jon still remembered his dreams about the place. And now where he was. This is a Stark place. I don't belong here. "I wish for us to go to a place where no one will interrupt us. And this is the only place it feels right to tell you about your mother." His father had said to Jon when he stopped at the crypt's entrance, in shock and fear, unable to move.

"Your mother was one of a kind. Beautiful and willful, but with iron underneath." Lord Stark looked as sad as he sounded.

"Did you love her?" Jon found himself asking with a small voice. Was, the word echo in his mind repeatedly.

"Yes, from the moment I met her until the day I die I will love her." Ned Stark took a deep breath as he looked at the statue of his sister. His words made Jon feel sad. He took look at the stone figure. Lovely but cold, he thought. "You look so much like her."

"I look like a Stark." He spoke with a frown. It was one of the few things that made him feel proud. He might not have the Stark name, but he resembled like one.

"You do." Father put one hand on Jon's shoulder and lowered body until his grey eyes fixed on Jon's. He looked sad but serious. "No matter what Jon, you are my son."

"I don't understand."

"I'm going to tell you a story, a painful one, but you must promise to listen to the very end."

Jon ran to his room with tears in his eyes. His father wasn't his father. His father wasn't his father. His father wasn't his father. His parents were dead. They caused a war.

"The main reason we went to war was that of Aerys' actions." Father had told him, but he still left like crying more. His parents were dead. He was alone. Arya. Robb. Bran. Sansa. Baby Rickon. His half-sibling were his cousins. And his true half-siblings –

"Your sister Rhaenys wrote to me. She wishes to meet you. She crossed the sea and risked her life coming here. She is currently staying in Wintertown, when you're ready, if you wish, I can take you to her."

He didn't wait for his father to explain further, before running to his room, where he had locked the door and crumble on the floor, crying. Afterward, he paced around the trashed room, until he had enough. He needed to do something. Grabbing his cloak, he ran out of Winterfell all the way to the inn.

The moon was high in the sky when he opened the door and looked around. Only a couple of men were in the tables, drinking happily. He had no idea where to go. Stupid. It was deep into the night. He looked back to the castle walls, not very far away. No. I cannot go back to Winterfell. I cannot.

Jon felt a hand on his shoulder, making him jumped, startled he look up to see a young man who looked nothing like a northerner, clean-shaved, and with well-cared appearance. His eyes measured Jon's appearance as fought the urge to hide.

"Jon Snow?" the man asked. Jon nodded in confirmation. "Follow me. I will take you to your sister."

Following the brawny man in brown leathers trimmed with light fur, Jon climbed up the stairs to the top floor. On the upper floor, they were met with two large closed doors. A knight, or at least he looked like one, in very dark red light armor, and a warrior bearing, stood by the door, hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes immediately went to Jon who looked down embarrassed by his rash decision to just appear without announcing. The two men, both carrying swords, Jon now noticed, must be his sister's protectors. He was a young boy appearing in the middle of the night. What a figure he must be making.

The man in red turned to the younger man in brown. "Rolly?" The word came as a question from a superior. Jon didn't know personal guards required superiors. You never meet anyone who had personal guards instead of knights in service to a house.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see the Rolly shrugged before asking, "Is the lady still awake?" The red dressed man raised an eyebrow in response. Both share some meaningful look that Jon could not understand.

"You can leave." The brown haired commanded while tilting his head to Jon's direction. Jon didn't know what the gesture meant but Rolly must have found his answer as he nodded and left. The red knight opened one of the two doors.

"My name is Simmon." He introduced with a small inclination of his head, but then added with gentleness and an encouraging smile. "Good luck."

The doors opened to a solar. A table for eight stood in the right covered with books and scrolls. Jon also took notice that the largest one seemed to be of a map but of what he could not be certain of what, as it was covered with much of the reading material. The chairs were unoccupied, and door not far away was closed, but what called his attention was the desk by the window where a woman was writing something in a piece of parchment with arched eyebrows pushed together in concentration. She was surrounded by candles that lightened the corner, and a hearth provided warmth to the room. The cracking blaze was the only sound in the room, besides that of the quill.

She moved her face to consult one of the largest books Jon's had ever seen. Her nose contorted in dislike at whatever she found. Her lips moved for a while, but no sound came out.

"Mi'lady," Simmon called twice, but her fingers kept were moving over the book page, clearly engaged in her work. The third time he tried was louder as he walked closer, almost covering her view of Jon. He heard a small hum coming from her as a reply.

"You are alone, my lady?" The man asked. The woman finally looked up from her scrolls, and Jon was rooted in his place. She stared at the man as if perplexed by his question, but then her gaze turned back to her book, and Jon grew a bit anxious with the dismissive.

"Gherrio and Sarella grew tired of losing arguments and retired for the evening. Haldon grumbled something about the cold as an excuse early on," She replied flatly, without looking up or stopping whatever she was doing. If he wasn't so nervous, Jon would have laughed at her lack of awareness on what surrounded her, and then, would worry about what could be so important that she had failed to notice an unknown man entering her chambers.

"Mi'lady." The blond man spoke clear uncertainty. That made her look up.

"Simmon, I am bu-" She froze mid-sentence and her hands froze in the air when she saw him. Jon could hear his loud heartbeats and his swallowing.

She was beautiful, in a way Sansa dreamed of being in the future, but she didn't have silver hair nor the pale skin he associated with the Targaryen princesses from the stories. She was as beautiful as they were said to be, however.

"Leave us." She commanded, waving a hand, and the man left without any protest of her tone or the order. Not even Lady Stark would act like that.

It was as she got up from the table that Jon noticed her clothing, a scarlet dressing gown was loosely tightened around her waist showcasing an ivory linen undertunic who was unlaced at the top, showing her cleavage. Jon looked down at the floor feeling his face heat up. It took some time to find the courage to look up, and it only happened because he heard the movements and got curious.

He expected that she would have added some thick something to cover herself, but it did not happen.

She stood next to him and blinked twice. She looked nothing like Sansa. Or Arya. She didn't look like any woman he ever saw. He found that her eyes were indeed purple like the stories said. Her eyes were so piercing that he couldn't look at them for more than a heartbeat, but he still could feel them looking right through his skin. He shifted.

He shifted on his feet.

Jon should say something, but he didn't seem capable of forming words. This is wrong. She was his sister, only sister, a voice reminded him. He should be hugging her, and ruffling her hair. She is older than you, idiot. She isn't Arya. She probably wouldn't like you messing her hair.

Her hair was braided onto her right side, to the waist, with a few loose strands loose and smelled like she got out of a bath not long ago.

"My name is Rhaenys." Like Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wife. "But mostly no one calls me that." She stopped talking in favor to looked at him up and down. Jon noticed she was biting her lip. But her teeth left the bottom lip as soon as she realized it.

Her eyes studied him once more, spending most of the time on his face. Something in her gaze daunted him. It wasn't the coldness of Lady Stark that made him feel ashamed and unwanted. It was like she was trying to see him down to his very soul. Absorbing all she could about him. His secrets and shames.

"My name is Jon." He blustered loudly and fought the urge to hide his face with his hands. Idiot. The entire country doesn't need to know. He felt his face redden.

She seemed to be about to say something but stopped at his outburst. The previous look changed into a composed courtesy as she pointed to the chair. "Would you like to take a sit?"

He nodded, following her to the desk, glad that her eyes had softened. He took notice of the five tomes, the sides had titles written, but Jon didn't know the language, and the parchment she was writing had more numbers than words. It made his head hurt just only by looking at it.

"It's Braavosi Valyrian. Some at least. The rest are calculus," she offered in a way of explanation as if those were simple sums and not whatever complex thing they appeared to be. It made him feel even more of an idiot.

The silence had returned after that, and he went from shifting uncomfortably on his feet, to shifting uncomfortably in the chair. Why couldn't he just stay something? Anything to stop the cold silence.

"Would you like something to eat? Or maybe drink?" Her poised ways made Jon feel ever more like a boy. How was she so damn calm? Jon had to constantly top himself from moving his hands through his hair in frustration.

"No." He replied, and then he remembered that he ran off without dining. Stupid.

"Well, I haven't eaten supper yet, would you mind sharing the meal with me?"

Jon nodded.

She got up and walked to the door, opening it and speaking in a hushed tone with the knight. Jon blinked at how fast she moved from sitting up to getting up, for a second Jon remembered how Arya couldn't stay still for long. Then he recalled the calmness of the woman, and almost laughed at the idea of comparing them.

Eventually, she returned and sat down in front of him.

"I wasn't expecting you today." She spoke neutrally. She didn't look serene anymore, but she didn't look unwelcoming. He knew unwelcoming, he saw it in Lady Stark face every day.

"I… I ran." He found himself confessing while looking at the wooden table.

"Because Lord Stark told you the truth?" She didn't sound judgmental, only slightly curious.

"I was the bastard of Winterfell, it might not have been much, but it was something." The words poured out of him before he could stop them. The thoughts that screamed in his head for hours, vocalized in front of a woman he just met. His sister. Half-sister. Trueborn half-sister. It was the look in her eyes. Her eyes seemed to make him even more stupid. "Now I am what?" Hours of pacing in his room and crying resulted in that same question.

"A son of a shattered dynastic," she said, in a low tone, but not weakly, more like, when Maester Luwin explained something complex, yet gloomy.

"A bastard that caused a war," he replied roughly, as his hands curled into fists on top of his lap. He didn't need her pity. He would rather have Sansa's polite indifference. It made him less angry.

"You're not a bastard nor did you caused of a war." Her voice cut through him, causing him to flinch. Jon couldn't help but look at her face. She looked as stern as she sounded. "The only Targaryen bastards in Westerosi history that caused wars were Daemon Blackfyre and Bittersteel. Our father married your mother in the eyes of her faith. And last time I checked you have not been battling anyone to have caused a war." He noticed the condescension tone in which she spoke of the man who sired them.

But them her words rang in his brain. "What?"

She closed her large eyes for a brief second and took a deep breath. When opened them, there was no expression left in her face. "Rhaegar Targaryen married Lyanna Stark under the faith of the Old Gods, entering a polygamy marriage of the Targaryen of old. In the eyes of many you are no bastard, and the eyes of the rest you are a legitimized son. Your name is not even Jon Snow."

"Hum?" His head hurt with all this information.

"As much I would found hilarious calling you Visenya." She replied dryly, "fate got one over Rhaegar Targaryen." She sounded pleased with it, it was an odd switch of mood. "You were named Jaehaerys Targaryen."

"My name is -" he couldn't understand all this. He wanted to curl in his bed and cry. Everything was wrong. His sister was a strange stranger. He wanted to be Ned's Stark son. He wanted to be Jon Stark. He wanted his mother. He wanted to know what it felt to be hugged by his mother. He wanted Robb, and Arya, and Bran, and Rickon, and even Sansa to be his siblings again.

He left a warm hand on his and looked at his sister. Her face didn't hold the sternness or the emptiness of before. She looked at him with understanding in her eyes. He found it easy to look at them now. They were a beautiful shade of purple. Light, but not lilac. But they weren't violet either. They were like amethysts. Old, wise amethysts.

"Jon, Jaehaerys, Jae. You are who you want to be. I recognize it cannot be easy having your life turned upside down."

"You cannot understand. I was raised to believe in a lie."

Something hard flinched in her eyes, but it was gone as fast as it came. "That lie saved you from having my brother's fate. Our brother's fate. You think I go around telling my name to everyone? You grew up in a castle to call home, with brothers and sisters who care for you, and a father who loves you. You had a childhood. You played games with other children. You had food on your table every day, and you learned from a maester, probably as much as a lordling. You might not have the luxuries of a prince or the kindness of everyone around you, but you had a safe childhood, and if not perfect, I gather it wasn't completely unhappy either."

"Like yours?" He found himself asking, and all he got was a sad little smile and something shattered in her eyes, that was replaced with her composed look in a heartbeat. She came here because she wanted to meet me and I've been behaving like a child and asking stupid questions. "I'm sorry." He extended his hand in front of her face and she flinched back a little. Did she think he would hurt her? "My name is Jon." He said slowly.

Her face lost the stiffness and a small but true smile broke out of her face. It made her look younger. "I was born Rhaenys, but I go by Valanei Sarnara. Most people call me Val."