AN: Hey Guys! Thanks for all the feedback on chapter 9 I really love hearing from people who like where this story is going. I've had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you like this next chapter. As always comments are very much appreciated! Thanks so much. TJ

Jon

As he padded along in the semi-darkness he found himself marveling at how accustomed to life in at the Wall he had become over the years. If someone had asked him, he never would have said that the place felt homey, or even comfortable, and yet after his weeks in the Capital he found these nightly excursions to be a blessing – both for staying on top of the situation with the white walkers and for keeping a sense of homesickness at bay.

True, when he slept he only saw the world through Ghost's eyes – without many of the details or meaningful interactions that his own human form would have afforded him, but it was still far better than nothing. Not only was he able to see his men going about their duties on the wall, but he found that he drew strength and patience from the calming monotony of his nightly forays, from the crunch of snow beneath his feet and the familiar cold stinging in his nose. They were not nice feelings, but they were what he was used to, and in these uncertain times he was grateful for them.

Which made him all the surlier as he felt himself being tugged away from his icy solace by someone calling him back to King's Landing. Leaving a warg prematurely was a disorienting experience, and it took him a moment before he realized he was back in the four-poster be he'd been given in the Red Keep, being shaken awake by one of Daenerys' unsullied.

"Azor Ahai, the Mother of Dragons requests your presence…" the young man said, bowing low as Jon sat up and looked around the chamber.

"For the hundredth time, its Jon," he mumbled throwing off the covers and swinging his legs out of bed.

"Yes, your grace," the Unsullied said, bowing low again and backing away as Jon walked over to the dresser and grabbed a shirt. Although Winter had come, even for the people of Kings Landing, for Jon the Red Keep was still stifling compared to home, and he'd taken to sleeping in nothing but light linen breeches. As he pulled the shirt on over his torso, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over that had been set out for him over his wash basin.

Looking at his reflection, Jon couldn't really blame his aunt's messenger for refusing to use his given name. Even in the dim light of the chamber, you could plainly see the silvery lines of dozens of stab wounds crisscrossing his pale abdomen. His death sentence had been carved into his skin, and yet here he stood, brooding at being awoken so suddenly but otherwise very much alive and well. The wounds hadn't even handicapped his fighting abilities, though sometimes at night he woke to the pain of a dozen steel blades piercing his gut again, with nothing to distract him from his agony but the sound of his own screams echoing through the darkness.

But Jon knew the truth – he was no God. He was an abomination.

"Your Grace…"

The Unsullied's timid voice tore him away from his ark musings.

"The Mother of Dragons, she awaits your presence."

"Yes. Yes, I'm coming. Thank you." He mumbled, pulling on his boots and following the young eunuch out of the chamber.

Despite the lateness of the hour he found Daenerys in the throne room, attended by Tyrion and Jorah Mormont. Gendry was nowhere to be seen which disappointed Jon. He'd grown closer and closer with the Bastard son of Robert Baratheon during his time in King's Landing. He suspected it was due to the fact that both of them went through their days with the assumption that at any moment someone would come up, tap them on the shoulder, and ask them what the hell they thought they were doing presuming to have authority around so many of their betters. Once the battle was done Gendry had dealt with this fear by reverting as much as possible to his comfort zone – aiding with the rebuilding of King's Landing by melting down the weapons of the Baratheon troops and forging everything from spades to drain pipes.

While Jon had won the glory of the battle, it was Gendry who was capturing the allegiance of the people of King's Landing for the Targaryen cause. His absence from this meeting then, meant that Daenerys had called Jon there to discuss something that had nothing to do with the capital. Perhaps it was time at last for him to return to the Wall to secure it once and for all from the threat of the White Walkers.

One look at his Aunt's face, and he knew that wasn't the case.

"Thank you for coming Nephew. We apologize for waking you at this hour."

Formality. Daenerys wanted something then, something he likely wasn't going to enjoy giving.

"Aunt. How may I be of service?"

"We need you to go to Casterly Rock."

He raised his eyebrows at that. Last he'd heard the missive from Obara Sand had said that the campaign against the Rock was going well – and that message had been sent before Aegon arrived with Rhaegal. Besides, they'd intentionally kept Jon away from dealings with the Dornish to keep from offending them. Unlike Aegon, who was first cousins with all of the Sand Snakes, Jon was the product of the adulterous union that had not only shamed their Aunt but had also caused her rape and murder. Daenerys had asked him to give the Dornish as wide a berth as possible to avoid any offense, and Jon had been happy to oblige. He could only think of one reason why they'd change strategy so drastically.

"Has Aegon been hurt?"

His aunt shook her head. "No, it's nothing like that, though we have received word that Ellaria Sand has been slain. Still Obara is more than capable of managing the Dornish troops."

"Is the Rock really that impregnable? Surely its too early to know that they won't surrender. Its been less than a week—"

"They already have surrendered. Well, some of them at least, the rest will not. Not after what Aegon's done to those who have," Tyrion said bitterly.

"What has he done?"

"He's been feeding them to Rheagal. Leaders and foot soldiers alike. He's told them he'll accept nothing but an unconditional surrender, and he's somehow managed to strain relations with his own kin – something about a fencing instructor and their youngest sister going missing. He's also managed to create a truly gruesome spectacle of my brother's body, just for good measure." The hatred in Tyrion's voice was unmistakable.

Jon felt his blood boiling at the words. Jamie Lannister was no friend of his, but he knew well enough the pain of having a brother's body desecrated for other's sick amusement. It was no way to forge peace, particularly not with a house whose motto explicitly promised retribution.

"I am aware of the peace you were able to forge with the Wildlings," Dany said, fixing him with her purple-eyed gaze, "If you could lend assistance in this…"

"Consider it done."

As he flew in low over the Dornish encampment outside of Casterly Rock Jon couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious. Being inconspicuous while riding a dragon is impossible – and for every face that turned up and stared at him in awe Jon knew it was that much more likely that the commanders had heard of his arrival. Daenerys had told him that the Dornish and Aegon were not getting along, but Jon knew there was a very decent chance that they would be united in feeling that his presence was unnecessary and unwelcome.

Still, now was not the time to let his embarrassment over his bastardy get to him. The issue with the Lannisters needed to be settled swiftly and decisively. And so it was with steely resolve that he landed in front of the encampment next to a resting Rhaegal. He left the two dragons to greet each other in their own way, and turned to see a tough looking woman in full battle gear walked towards him with a determined look on her face. Though she was far from ugly, she seemed the type of woman who had no time for the pettiness of beauty, and her dark black hair was tied away from her caramel colored face efficiently in a tight bun. Behind her, a younger woman who could only be her sister stood, leading against a post. Though the younger woman's hair was cropped short, she exuded a very different aura than the woman who had stepped forward, her body gracefully arched in a way that exuded effortless sex appeal; her head cocked at Jon inquisitively. He realized from her expression she was probably curious about how he, the third of the mysterious Targaryens, looked and feeling slightly abashed he removed the helm he'd been wearing for the flight.

While he was used to people looking surprised at the sight of his dark brown curls (a far cry from his family's typical slivery smooth lochs) he was taken aback by Obara's reaction. Though she was a woman who clearly had excellent control over her features, she stopped in her tracks momentarily – her eyes widening in surprise. Behind her, the sister that had been leaning casually against a post stood up and took a step forward, her body tense and alert. Had they been expecting someone else?

"My Prince, Welcome." Obara said formally, her face once again an impeccable mask as she dipped into a bow."

"Thank you, general," Jon said, giving her a formal nod in recognition of her deference. "Our Queen has sent me to appraise the progress which has been made, and to try to see if we can come to a resolution of our conflict with the Lannisters as quickly as possible."

She nodded, understanding the message hidden in his seemingly neutral words.

"Would you like to visit with your brother privately before we convene a meeting of the Commanders? Or should I have my men gather at once?"

"A private meeting with Aegon first might serve best," he said gruffly, following the woman through the camp to his brother's tent.

It went worse than expected. Aegon was livid that Daenerys had sent him, and even more enraged that Jon was planning on directly contradicting his current decree of accepting nothing but an unconditional surrender. Privately, Jon was worried that his brother was suffering from some of the same madness which had plagued their grandfather.

Rather than focusing on their conversation about the campaign against the Lannisters he kept going back to his fury that the woman who'd killed Jaime Lannister – Meria Snow or some such person – had not yet been found. According to Aegon, the woman, who was a companion of the Sand Snakes, had attacked him when he was speaking to her about Jamie Lannister's demise, and had fled while he was unconscious with Oberyn's youngest fighting-age daughter Elia.

Jon had seen his brother around women enough to have a fairly good notion of what "speaking to her about Jamie Lannister" had really entailed, and was therefore not as surprised as Aegon at the Sand Snakes refusal to assist him in the search for their wayward companion. If he was being completely honest with himself he was more than a little impressed with the accounts he'd heard of this mysterious weapons instructor, but still he understood that a commander could not simply be attacked by one of their troops without some action being taken. And so he promised to assist Aegon with the search for this woman, and promised that when she was found he'd see to it personally that she was properly court marshalled (that was far from what Aegon wanted, but Jon would be damned if he helped his brother met out his own twisted version of justice). Aegon – who apparently had gotten absolutely no inkling of support in his search for the woman thus far – seemed to feel vindicated by Jon's commitment, and eventually agreed to come to attend the council meeting Obara had called.

The meeting was far from friendly but eventually they were able to hammer out a plan for parlaying with the Lannisters and trying to garner a surrender. With Jon there the pressure to broker a peace was raised on both sides – Aegon could no longer act with impunity and the Lannisters could have no hope of holding out against the onslaught of two Dragon Riders. Finally after hours of back and forth they settled on the terms – Tommen and Queen Cersei would be surrendered into the custody of Obara Sand and the Dornish Army. One in every three Lannister fighting men would immediately set forth for the Wall – where they would join Jon in the fight against the White Walkers. The Mountain, and all of the members of the King's Guard who had abandoned the Targaryen's would be Aegon's to dispose of as he willed.

Not thrilled, but far from distraught at the outcome of the meeting Jon made his way wearily back to the tent he'd been given as the meeting let out – mind already focused on the events of tomorrow. Had he not been so used to living in a state of paranoia (justified paranoia given the assassination he had endured) he wouldn't have heard the light footsteps at all. As it was, it took him a second to realize that they hadn't simply been in his head. But no, there they were, soft but sure, pattering after him under cover of night.

He strayed away from the camp, walking into the woods as if he planned on relieving himself. Sure enough, the soft tapping of feet on packed earth continued. He glanced around, then seeing nothing quickly took a turn to the right and then quickly ducked behind a tree.

Sure enough moments later, a slight figure came creeping softly around the bend. He lunged, dragging his tracker by their jerkin against the a tree trunk and drawing his knife in one fluid movement. The tracker, to their credit, also had a blade out before he had a chance to realize they'd made any defensive mores at all, and he found himself gazing into angry almond-shaped brown eyes with the all-too-familiar prick of cold steel against his neck.

It was the younger Sand Snake – Tyene. Throughout the war council her eyes had remained locked on him, like a hawk examining its prey. He had no idea why the younger of the Sand Snakes – who hadn't even been alive when his father had betrayed her kinswoman – should take such offense to his presence when it was clear her older sisters were appreciative of his help. Yet here they were. He was about to give her a piece of his mind when she spoke.

"Who are you." She said, her voice deep and full of purpose.

Whatever he'd been expecting to hear that wasn't it. Wasn't that exactly why she was here? Because she resented him for his damning parentage?

"What?!" he said in surprise. "I am Jon Targaryen. Prince of Westeros, and your commander in this camp."

She shrugged a delicate shoulder, as if what he was saying was boring her.

"But you weren't always. No one but Daenerys was always a Targaryen, at least not anyone raised in the Seven Kingdoms. So who were you, before you were a Targaryen?"

So his story had not spread as far as he'd thought. He was relieved to learn it, but in no rush to hurry the spread along.

"And why in Seven Hells should I tell you?"

"Because I recognize your face."

He lowered his weapon and peered at her. He was wary of Tyene – he'd never known what to make of women like her, with their flirtatious sing-songy voices and they thinly veiled secrets. They had floored him during his years at Winterfell, and his time at the wall had not made him any better equipped to know how to handle himself in their presence. He really couldn't tell what she was hinting at, or even if she was just toying with him all together, but something in his mind made his heartrate quicken as if something important was on the cusp of being revealed.

"What do you mean?"

She smiled, but ignored him, instead repeating, "who were you?"

Jon, unwilling to give up his whole past but intrigued by what Tyene clearly had to say, decided to go with a partial truth.

"I was a Nights Watchmen."

Tyene sighed, and looked him as if she were exasperated with him, and then pushed herself off the tree where he'd pinned her, sliding past him and moving back towards the camp.

"My mistake. I am sorry for troubling you. You look like... but no, you're clearly not who I am looking for."

For some reason, he felt an acute sense of loss at her ending the conversation.

"Wait!" he called, his voice more passionate than he'd meant it to be. Still there was something, something making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, screaming to him from his subconscious that he should not let her walk away without telling him why she'd come.

She turned and looked at him curiously.

"Please. Tell me who you are looking for. I promise you, if I can, I will help."

She gazed at him again, and then abruptly strode back towards him and looked him straight in the eyes, with something between curiosity and pleading in her eyes.

"It's not me who is looking, it's my friend."

"I understand."

"She's not looking for Nights Watchmen."

He let out an exasperated huff.

"I am more than a Nights watchman."

"She's not looking for Targaryens either..."

She looked at him purposefully as if he were supposed to make something of this, but he had nothing. Frustrated, he took hold of her shoulders and turned her to look straight into his eyes.

"Tyene please, who is she looking for?"

She sighed, and reached up a hand, brushing his hair away from his face with an almost wishful look in her eyes, before shifting her gaze back to him and saying in a hushed voice.

"She's looking for Starks."