The Greatjon

Jon Umber had not set his flagon of wine down all night. He felt like he was watching a mummer's farce. He was supposed to feel great, all their dreams had been achieved and the kingdom was at peace. There was a new king on the Iron Throne, and a beautiful new queen by his side. He glanced over at Cersei Lannister. He couldn't help but notice that he never seemed to see the woman without seeing her father nearby. It was as if there was no Cersei without Tywin, and she seemed to complete this picture with everything that she did. Everyone said that it was even worse with Cersei and Ser Jaime, but he had wisely left the city and fled to Casterly Rock within days of killing Aerys. The truth was that without him there was likely no way that anyone could have beaten the Mad King, but it had taken almost a fortnight before any man dared to acknowledge that Ser Jaime had done what no man before had been able to do.

The shame did not come from the deed itself, Jon agreed, but because it came from a man wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard. Plus, the way Ned told it, he had found Ser Jaime sitting idly on the Iron Throne with Aerys's blood still dripping from the edge of his sword. He knew that it was not as if Ser Jaime meant to try to take the Iron Throne for himself. Still, given Ser Jaime's role in the final moments of the revolution that had just occurred, the way he'd acted in the moments afterward seemed wrong. It was as if the Iron Throne meant no more to him than a bench to warm his arse, rather than the symbol of a once great and thriving kingdom of people. It will be great again, he thought to himself.

He turned his gaze to Ned Stark, his new liege lord. Ned had just become the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, but there was no joy in him, Jon knew. Of course not, Jon thought to himself. Only a callous man would be excited already about his new title. He knew that Ned would gladly trade his new station in life for his father and brother back. A proud smile found its way to Jon's eyes when he thought of that, although it never betrayed the firm solid expression on his face. He knew little of the new king Robert, but he knew the Starks well, and had known them for all his life. His father had been proud to fly the direwolf banner of Rickard Stark, and he will be proud to fly the direwolf of the new Stark lord. And if the Starks were proud to fly the crowned stag of House Baratheon, then Jon Umber would be happy to do the same as well. A northman's loyalties run deep and true, his father had always said to him. Ned would not give his out lightly.

Ned looked up at him and met his gaze. A meaningful glance passed between them. He understood Ned's pain. All northmen understand our pain, he thought to himself, and they always will. The North will remember.

He decided he needed to get some fresh air. He grabbed his flagon and excused himself as a polite northman will when other drunken northern lords are the company. Atta boy, men. Gotta drain the weirwood tree. Don't kill no one while I'm gone, alright? Wouldn't want to miss the fun. Har! He walked toward the back terrace of the Great Hall of the Red Keep, watching the looks and stares he got as he made his way past the northern and southern lords. Most were foreign to him although they seemed to recognize him to some extent because many of them glanced his way and nodded as he walked. Most had a similar kind of grief in their eyes that he could understand. They had lost people to the evil whims of the Mad King. Others had a bit of malice in their eyes but they tended to look away quickly. Turncloaks, he knew. Those that had supported Aerys until the end, mostly. They look away because they have lost, he knew.

One of the ones that looked at him with scorn did not look away quickly, but held his gaze for several seconds. It was a strange look, and borderline insubordinate, Jon thought. He was about to look away and let it go when the man stole another quick casual glance back in his direction. He was a large man with impossibly dark skin, one of the Quarthi merchants seated in a table of honor at the wedding feast. He looked different from the others at that table, donning a robe of simple brown wool where they were clad in fine silver robes trimmed with gold. They all bore similarly shining, bejeweled trinkets around their wrists, including this one. This one had skin that far darker than the others though, almost black. It almost looks like coal rubbed onto the man's skin, Jon thought, then dismissed it as simple paranoia. The way he'd looked at Jon aroused his suspicion, but he had come to expect that from those foreigners. Everything they did seemed strange to him. He kept his gaze fixed on the man's face as he walked but the man did not turn his way again. He let it go but decided to keep his guard up as he walked through the great back doors of the hall and out onto the terrace overlooking Blackwater Bay and the sea beyond.

As he stood watching the sea he thought back on all that had happened. The Mad King's gradual descent into madness, the questionable new people he'd invited into his council despite objections from everyone around him, Lyanna Stark, Robert's declaration, the death of Rhaegar, followed shortly after by the death of Aerys, Robert's coronation and then marriage. It all seemed so long ago now, and yet it been just two turns of the moon since Robert sat the Iron Throne for the first time. Things had begun to calm down already and were expected to continue to get better. Robert sat the Iron Throne, Jon Arryn was the King's Hand, and Tywin Lannister had his own place secured in the king's council as father of the Queen, which was necessary although far from ideal.

He thought back to the eyes of the man in the hall as he'd walked out. There was something familiar about those eyes, but he didn't know why. He must have been someone who was here with Aerys before. But who? Did it matter? There were hundreds of men in the hall right now who had supported and thrived under the Mad King, but all feasted and toasted the new one. All would thrive under the new king just as before, except those who continued to fight against Robert even now.

A noise behind him pulled him from his thoughts, and he stepped sideways quickly and looked back, dropping his hand to the hilt of his dagger. It was only Ned, walking toward him. Their eyes met, and they nodded to each other as he joined him on the terrace. Jon offered him the flagon of wine. Ned took it willingly and took a large gulp. A northman's gulp, Jon thought to himself, then smiled a bit. He had come to realize that he separated everyone into northmen and southernmen, and he mostly saw the bad sides of the southerners and the good sides of the northerners. He would be happy to get out of here, he knew, but he was also thankful that he and Ned and the other bannermen were here to help Jon Arryn and King Robert put the realm back together after all this. He was glad to have Jon Arryn on their side. He's not quite a northman, not quite a southernman, Jon mused. Perhaps therein lies the strength of his character. He can see how silly we all can be from time to time, northmen and southernmen alike.

"Well, it's over," Ned said to him as he handed the flagon back to him. "Why do I still feel like things are about to fall apart at any minute?"

Jon Umber didn't answer, just shook his head. He knew the loss of his father and brother was still fresh in Ned's mind, and it would be another fortnight before he and his men recovered enough to set out to try to save his sister. He couldn't imagine what such a thing would do to a man. Still, Ned was a Stark, proud as all Starks are, through and through. Jon Umber had no doubt that Ned would rise and fulfill his duty to the North, and the future of the North would be in good hands. He was about to say as much when Ned spoke again instead.

"When I was a kid, I fantasized about being Lord of Winterfell someday." He reached his hand out for the flagon, and Jon handed it to him. Ned took another big swig. "I used to wish that Brandon would take the black, for some reason." Ned looked over at Jon. He was puffy around the eyes as if he hadn't slept in weeks. It was as likely true as not, Jon knew. Ned handed the flagon back to him. "I never thought it would happen like this, never wanted it like this…" his voice trailed off and he looked away, out toward the bay. Jon couldn't help sympathize for the man so he did the best he knew how to in this situation: he offered the flagon back to Ned before he himself had a chance to take a swig. Ned accepted it.

They were standing there, watching a lone boat traveling across the bay, when a noise behind them made Jon look back. Sssshhhhhhhh… It was the sound of a blade sliding from a scabbard. Jon turned to see a large figure draped and hooded in brown wool stalking swiftly toward Ned. It was the man with the coal-black skin. Ned's back was turned. He was still looking out at the bay, flagon in hand, lost in thought. The dagger was small, its blade was only about four inches, but it didn't need to be large to deal a fatal blow directly into the shoulder blades of Ned Stark, where it appeared to be aimed.

"Aye!" Jon Umber leapt into action at once, barreling his shoulder into the man's chest on his right side. The knife went flying from his hands. The figure was knocked off balance but he didn't fall down. His hood fell, and Umber looked into the eyes of Kahaerys, the dead king's demonic henchman.

"Stark, you filth!" Kahaerys spoke then. He recovered his balance and took a step back away from them and let the cloak fall from his shoulders. There was no mistaking the half Dothraki, half Quarthi monstrosity that stood before them. The man stood six feet and a half again, and was more muscle than man. To any other than Jon Umber, who stood nearly seven feet tall, the figure would have been a giant. The olive skin that covered his enormous shoulders and arms glistened in the moonlight. A leather belt held up black breeches. Kahaerys reached for another, larger dagger tucked into his belt. Ned had turned around by then, but he was clearly too much in shock and still struck in his grief to fully understand what was happening. The Targaryen was coming toward him again, the dagger now firmly in his left hand, away from the side Jon Umber was on.

Jon grabbed Ned by the shoulders and did something he never thought he would do to his liege lord – he swung him and tossed him several feet across the terrace. Kahaerys turned to Jon. His red-purple eyes were a fury that sent a chill through Jon's spine but he stood his ground between the two, his own dagger firmly in hand at the ready, preparing for the Dothraki's next attack.

The Targaryen swung the knife at Jon, nearly clipping his cheek. Keeping himself between Ned and the big man, Jon swung his own dagger. It took a chunk out of Kahaerys's forearm, but he did not drop the knife. The big man let out a loud hiss as blood came oozing down his arm, hitting the ground in little splatters. The Targaryen swung again, but Jon was ready. He caught the big man's arm at the elbow and slapped the man's forearm toward his face, forcing the arm into a curling motion. The knife in the Dothraki's arms snapped sharply upward but caught him on the shoulder instead. The big man lurched backward, and Jon took a step forward, his own knife held up to his face, ready to take the Targaryen down. He kicked with his foot as the Dothraki stepped sideways, catching the man in the stomach. "Ooof," he groaned as he bounced backward. Jon looked back. Ned was now on his feet.

"Guards!" Ned yelled and pointed to the big man, who was now coming at them again. "Seize him!" Jon knew there would be guards nearby, but they wouldn't be here in time. Ned had pulled his own dagger and was trying to get in position to confront the man, but Jon stepped in front of his new liege lord. The Dothraki monstrosity was fast. As Jon stepped to his right to get in front of Ned, the Dothraki tossed the blade back and forth from left hand to right and back from right to left. Then he swung it around with his left arm, catching Jon in the lower back, taking a slice of skin off right above his kidneys. With the adrenaline Jon barely felt it, and as Kahaerys's dagger was low, Jon swing his dagger high. It landed firmly in the right eye of the big man. Jon heard the dagger fall from the fingers of the lifeless body. Just like that, it was over.

Two of Ned's men were running up now, spears in hand. There was nothing more to do though.

"Who was that?" one of the guards asked when he'd had a chance to get a grasp on what had just happened.

"That was the last of the Targaryens," Ned said. "Supposedly." He gave Jon a look that betrayed something slightly more than what was being said. The guards didn't notice but Jon knew what that look meant. There were two Targaryens that survived the rebellion, but they were far away from here and Jon hoped that they'd never hear from them again.

"Who?" Jory Cassel, a young squire from Winterfell who had recently been trusted with guard duties after having acted valiantly during the rebellion, asked.

"His name was Kahaerys. He showed up about eighteen moons ago and claimed to be a Targaryen. He came from across the Narrow Sea, practically from the shadow lands. His mother was Dothraki and his father was some kind of Quarthi prince. He was the Targaryen's most loyal servant right at the end, when Aerys had destroyed the loyalty of all the good people around him. The man lived for Aerys. It's not surprising he would make an effort to come after us even after Aerys is dead."

"He was sitting with the Quarthi merchants in the hall," Jon looked up at Jory. "What do they have to say about this?"

"My lord," Jory looked solemn. "The Quarthi are gone. I had just noticed that when I heard you call out." His eyes were wide. Jon and Ned looked at each other.

"It's not surprising," Ned said. "I think this is the world that Robert will be living in from now on." He and Jon exchanged a meaningful look.

"I, for one, will be happy to get back to Last Hearth," Jon said.

"Aye, I'm with ya there, Jon. Happy to be rid of this place." Ned paused as he looked at his friend, a sparkle in his eyes. Then he said, "You know, I don't think that name quite does you justice. From here on forward, Jon Umber shall be appropriately known as Greatjon. Greatjon Umber! The Greatjon, even! That's a much more fitting name for you. The man who put down the very last of the Targaryens!" Ned put his arm around Jon's shoulders.

As Jory and a few other men dealt with the dead body that was now gathering flies and onlookers, Ned and Jon handed the flagon back and forth to each other and shot the breeze for a while longer. When the body and the others had made their way off the terrace, Jon Umber asked his friend something. "Ned," he said. "Why did you tell them that they were the last of the Targaryens? There's at least two trueborn Targaryens left and possibly one…"

Ned's eyes went wide and he raised a hand to stop Jon Umber from finishing his sentence. "There are two Targaryens, true," Ned responded. "We will do our best not to speak of them, for fear that they may be targeted as threats to Robert's rule." Ned gave Jon another, much deeper and more concerned look. "As for my sister… if there is a bastard child of Rhaegar's, it will not live. My sister will not want it, I am certain, so there will be no choice to make, and nothing to speak of."

Jon could hear the pain in Ned's voice, speaking of these things. He hoped that Ned was right. A bastard child of Rhaegar Targaryen would be more of a threat to King Robert than even the two of Aerys's children that had fled to the east. A surviving child of Rhaegar would be a child of the first-born heir to the Iron Throne. He nodded his agreement, but said nothing.

They talked for a while longer, out on the terrace overlooking Blackwater Bay and then back inside again with the other men, celebrating the newfound peace and prosperity that the realm was ripe to enjoy now that Aerys was gone. They shared big swigs of good wine and big laughs and toasted their new ruler, a man of strength and honor rather than fire and trickery. Greatjon Umber hoped he'd be able to drink to that for a long time.