To I.C.2014: Well, Rhaegar was married to Elia, but he married Lyanna too so that the child she gave him would be legitimate. As mentioned by Netherlands12 on AO3, polygamy was never strictly outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms, it more or less just died off. Because of that, Rhaegar could legally marry Lyanna, and Jon is his heir. And even if none of that was true and Viserys was the king, Jon would still probably be the heir, since having a woman as an heir wasn't very popular, and Jon could easily be legitimized (though whether Viserys would do that or not remains in question).

I'm super excited for the next chapter, which is why I decided to post this chapter now. If updates really make you happy, I'm sorry, but next chapter catches the story up to the version on AO3, which means it might be a while between updates.

ANYWAY, thank you to all those who reviewed, and hello to new followers. Reviews are great, just so you know, and much loved, so feel free to just drop one by.


Arthur III

"Enough, you two!" Arthur hissed, gripping the necks of the two boys as he steered them away from the crowded market. Viserys remained as still as he could, not bothering to put up a fight. There was no point, and he knew that. Jon, however, struggled in the young knight's grip.

Gritting his teeth, the young boy growled in frustration, "Arthur, let me go." Reaching out, he made as if to scratch at his older uncle. "Viserys started it, let me go, Arthur. Let me go!"

Arthur shook his head, leading them down a deserted street. Once they were fairly well hidden, he pushed the two boys up against the wall of the nearest building. They both grunted and stared at him with wide eyes. He was very close to losing his temper, and he knew that they knew the tell-tale signs of his anger.

"You two," he snarled angrily, "will stop your bickering. You will keep quiet. You will do only as I tell you too. And you will not, under any circumstances, remove the hoods that cover your faces. It's bad enough that we were separated by those damned spies. We don't need to run around the city trying to hide because you two idiots couldn't keep your mouths shut!"

Jon's eyes immediately lowered in shame, while Viserys glared defiantly for all of ten seconds before lowering his to the ground in a similar manner. Arthur nodded his approval, and putting one hand on each boy's shoulder, he carefully guided them back out to the street. The sun was not at its highest yet, just barely shining down upon the city of Myr. Even so, the people were up and busy with their work, moving around the streets and speaking amongst themselves.

If it were Lys, they may have been able to escape their pursuers without the hoods, as the Lyseni had a similar silver hair and blue eyes to the Targaryen children. As it was, with their light skin and light hair, none of them truly blended in here.

Arthur glanced behind them every once in a while, to check whether they were being followed or not. As he looked back, he could still see the men that were intent on murdering them. There were four of them, and there had been at least three more, but they left in pursuit of the others. Arthur should have had another Kingsguard with him, or at least Bethany, but the attack had been a surprise. His instincts had kicked in and he grabbed the two closest to him and ran. Those two happened to be Jon and Viserys. He had no way of knowing how the others were faring.

Sighing deeply, he continued to lead them through the crowd, closer and closer to the docks where they were to meet with the others. From there, they would board a ship and escape to some other location. Perhaps Qohor, Arthur thought to himself, the Stag expects us to keep near the sea. He might not be expecting us to get as far away from it as we can. Of course, then we would not be able to escape by the sea and our trail would be just a little easier to follow. But maybe it would be worth it.

There were times when Arthur desperately wished they had taken Lord Stark up on his offer. To live in the North, raising Jon and Daenerys, without the fear of being found at any time (well, much less of that fear) would be a relief. Moments like this very minute.

But then, Arthur would of course remember the price of that offer. Jon would be raised as Lord Stark's bastard son, Dany would be hated for the crimes of her father and brother, and the Kingsguard, in order not to draw too much suspicion, would have to leave. They would likely never see the children, who would grow up in the shadows of who they really were, unable to truly ever be at peace with their identities.

Damn you Lord Stark.

Bethany told stories to the children, of her childhood and her life. Arthur listened much of the time, curious about the northern bastard girl's history while he took up the duty of guarding the children during the night. She spoke of what it was like to be a child on the street, of the cold and the dirt, the hate and jealousy, of stealing and running away and getting caught. Of course, she would sometimes make it all the more exciting and less tragic for the children. But on the nights when she kept it truthful and real, she often gave them a lesson by which she expected them to learn from.

Arthur could remember how one night, she had told them of when she had stolen from a man who had more than enough food to spare. The guards had chased her down the streets of White Harbor, and though they were grown men, she easily managed to outrun them. The trick, she revealed to them, was that she knew every nook and cranny, every stop and every corner, every street of that city. Years on the street, practically on her own, had revealed to her the secrets of the city that even the guards did not know.

He too had taken that to heart, and the next day, he had enlisted Bethany's help in exploring the city they now found themselves in. They did it for nearly five months of the year they spent in Myr, learning all they could in the hopes that it would one day help them.

By the gods was he glad they had put in the extra effort! He and Bethany knew the city better than Oswell or Gerold, and thankfully - hopefully - Bethany was with the others, leading them to safety.

Their pursuers must have gotten the same idea, too. It seemed like no matter which turn they took, which street they followed, how many people surrounded them, the spies knew just where everything was. The thought was more than a little troubling, and Arthur had to wonder just how long these men had known they were in Myr.

The men were getting closer and closer, unburdened as they were of boys of ten years and seven-and-ten, in their rush through the streets. Arthur began to despair of keeping the two boys away from their pursuers. In a desperate attempt to get away, he pulled Viserys and Jon down a street and quickly turned right, down another. A street which ended, as Arthur knew, in a dead end. He pressed them against the wall, hoping the men hadn't seen them and that the shadows would hide them if the men passed.

Drawing his sword, Arthur moved so that he stood in front of them, protecting them. Never taking his eyes off the entrance, where the men could appear at any moment, Arthur reached down into his boot to produce one of the many daggers he kept on his person. Holding it by the blade, he moved his arm in Jon's direction, indicating that the younger boy take it. When he felt it leave his grasp, he said, "Only use it if you have to. Don't throw it, it's the only weapon you've got."

In this situation, Arthur had to admit that he trusted Jon more than Viserys with a blade, even if Jon was smaller and younger. Viserys could very well run at the first chance he got, where Jon would stay unless Arthur told him to run.

They waited for what felt like hours but was only a handful of minutes. The sun had barely changed its position. Arthur did not move, only watched the entrance, waiting for the first sign of trouble.

It seemed as though the moment he let his guard down, straightened from the crouched pose he'd had, and considered that perhaps they'd walked past or hadn't seen where they'd gone at all, three men appeared to block their exit. There was no doubt as to why.

"Move," Arthur called out menacingly, "and perhaps I will grant you a quick death." Only a fool would let them live, now that these men knew where they were and could easily chase after them the moment Arthur and the boys were away.

"Give us Viserys Targaryen, and his nephew, Jon Blackfyre."

Arthur hid his panic at knowing the Stag almost definitely knew Jon was alive. Instead, he smirked and answered, "Is the usurper king Robert Baratheon too scared of a boy to acknowledge his House? Or is he just as ignorant as he was during the Rebellion?"

"Shut your mouth, traitor! King Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, Lord Protector-"

"Yes, yes, we get it. Protector of the Realm, King, blah, blah, blah. Please, you're boring us to death. At this rate, you won't even need to draw your swords, we'll be dead by the time you're finished speaking." He waved his hands dramatically, mocking them as best he could. If they wanted to talk, they could. And he would be the most infuriating asshole the'd ever met. With any hope, they'd become angry enough to just charge, and then Arthur could dispatch them easily.

All the men tensed as Arthur spoke. The one who he had interrupted appeared ready to run him through. Good. Another took a step forward, and continued what the first had been saying. "His Grace, King Robert, does not recognize Jon Blackfyre as Rhaegar Targaryen's legitimate heir. He is dragonspawn, borne of the rape of the Lady Lyanna and the blood of innocents."

Arthur smirked, he could not help it. "And Robert knows this to be true? Was he there? Did he see this happen?" True, Rhaegar had raped Lyanna, and Arthur hated Rhaegar for it more than Robert Baratheon could ever hope to, but they spoke of Jon as though he wasn't even human. Dragonspawn. Is that what he called Rhaenys and Aegon, when he was presented with what was left of their bodies? Dragonspawn?

Suddenly, the Sword of the Morning grew serious once more. He spoke, his voice as hard and cold and unyielding as the Wall in the North that Bethany told them stories of. "Jon Targaryen is the true King of the Seven Kingdoms, and nothing your false lord says can change that. Baratheon thinks he's safe? That he has the Seven Kingdoms to support him? He is wrong. We have an army of our own, waiting for the time when their king returns to take the Iron Throne."

As if to indulge him in his fantasies, the men shared amused glances, and one said, "Really? An army? Oh that is frightening! An army of imaginary dragons and men, loyal to dragonspawn. Ha, it's more likely the Others have returned." His companions joined in his laughter.

Their laughter died down, and so Arthur replied, "But you do realize that I cannot let you leave. I cannot allow you to return to your master. Whether you think it is a joke or not, Baratheon could become suspicious, and I will not allow my allies to be put in danger." Any amusement was gone, now replaced by their old anger. "So come on. Try and kill me. I hope you're all prepared to take on the Sword of the Morning. Or else, your fat, pathetic excuse for a king might be the next one with a sword in his belly."

That seemed to be the point at which the men would take no more. Two of them charged, the third one holding back. Immediately, Arthur cut down one. A swing of his sword, and the man was missing his head. The second one was almost just as easy. Arthur dodged the man's second charge, swiping at the man's legs, and then dancing away. The man fell to his knees, both his legs cut deeply at the joint. Feinting to the right, Arthur came in from the left, and sliced the man's throat. He fell to the ground, dead as the first one.

Which left the third one. This one was smarter, Arthur could tell. He'd waited, gauging his opponent's abilities as his two comrades were killed. The man must have been confident in his abilities, if he was so sure that it would be easy to take on Arthur Dayne on his own. Holding Dawn in one hand, Arthur slowly neared the last one.

"You know, it's sad, really," the man began saying, "that the Sword of the Morning has to die for a traitor's son, dragonspawn. A waste, truly. You would have made a wonderful addition to King Robert's Kingsguard. I have to say, it is an honor, fighting you. You were what inspired me to become a swordsman. I take no pleasure in killing you. Killing the dragonspawn however, I might enjoy just a bit too-"

Arthur did not care for the man's speech, and while he spoke, Arthur was struck by an idea. As slow as he could, he began circling the other. The man, so caught up in whatever he had to say, only paid attention to Arthur's movements. He began to circle as well, so that when Arthur stopped, the man had his back to Viserys and Jon. It was a risky move, but Arthur felt his idea would work.

"-and so, if anything, I'm sorry that all your achievements have been for nothing, Arthur Dayne." The man finished, a sort of pleased look upon his face. His opponent was smarter than the other two, yes, but he was still a stupid idiot.

Never taking his eyes off the other, Arthur called out to the princes. "Boys, do you remember what I told you not to do?"

"Yes," came the reply.

"Good. Now forget what I told you." The man before him, while still smiling in a smug way, had just the beginnings of a question forming in his eyes.

Please, please let them understand, he prayed silently.

Just as the man let loose a chuckle, ready to chide Arthur for his foolishness, his eyes grew wide, his body taut and back arched, a small gasp of pain falling from his lips. Taking the opening, Arthur closed the distance between them and shoved Dawn up, through the man's stomach and out his back. His eyes, which had been full of arrogance and glee in life, were now pale and unseeing in his impending death. Blood began gurgling out of his mouth, and choking sounds came from his throat.

Leaning in, Arthur whispered harshly in his ear, "You talk too much," before removing Dawn and letting the body fall to the ground. He turned back to the boys, already walking towards them. He was surprised to see that it was Viserys who stood there, still frozen in his stance after he had thrown the dagger, a shocked expression upon his face. He'd never killed a man before, and now a man lay dead just a few feet away, and Viserys had been part of the reason why.

He approached the boy, and laying a hand on his shoulder and told him, "The first is never easy." Viserys nodded dumbly, and Arthur moved on to the younger of the two. Jon looked fearful, but he allowed Arthur to embrace him gently. "Come on. We have to keep moving. There were four that were following us, and we've only met three. I don't want to wait around for the last man."

They left that street, Arthur continuing to lead them closer and closer to the docks. They needed to leave; they couldn't stay here anymore. The Stag knew of Jon, and his spies knew where they were. The longer they remained, the more likely it was that none of them would leave Myr.

The next time Arthur looked behind him, he found the fourth man. It was like time slowed, and their gazes met. Five seconds passed, then six, then seven. And suddenly, Arthur took hold of both boys and ran. He didn't need to look to know that the spy was following, and gaining quickly.

Arthur saw a street, and just like before, he lead them to it. Only this time, the moment they turned and entered the street, they were greeted by the sight of Bethany Snow, who was just as shocked to see them. Then Bethany yelled, "Get down!" He could see her sword raised, and pulled the two boys down to the ground, shielding them. Nearly right as they hit the street, the footsteps became louder, and were right behind them, until Bethany yelled. Then the footsteps stopped, and the silence was followed by the thud the body gave as it fell to the ground.

Looking over his shoulder, Arthur could see their pursuer had a deep, bloody, gash running across his chest and over his face. The man was dead, and Bethany stood above them, panting as if she'd run for miles. Arthur pushed himself to his feet, and pulled the boys up, too. When he was done checking them for injuries, he looked to Bethany.

The neat braid her brown hair was normally kept in was messy, hair coming loose and falling in her face. She was sweaty, and there was blood on her clothes. She had a cut on her neck and a bruise on her cheek. Her eyes, usually calm and somber, were fearful and wild. For a brief moment, Arthur wondered if this was what Lyanna would looked like when she used to play knight with her brothers. He shook such thoughts out of his head. He couldn't get distracted.

"The others?" he asked her, voice breathless from the exertion of energy. He looked over her shoulder, hoping to perhaps see them, but no such luck. If they were near, they were hidden. If not . . . that idea was better left not thought of.

His throat tightened when Bethany hesitated to answer him. "One of their swords caught Oswell in his leg," she admitted. "He's bleeding, and it's painful for him to walk, but he'll live." Arthur nodded, taking in a deep breath to calm his heartbeat. He didn't like that one of them had already been hurt, and that they were still not to safety yet. "The boys?" Her eyes were brimming with concern and stress, the wildness from the heat of their fight pushed back for the moment. They all probably had that look to them right now.

He realized that Viserys was probably not looking very good, probably a little sick, or worse. And Jon was likely in shock. After all, he'd watched three men get cut down before him, one of them beheaded. "Fine, not injured. Viserys helped me kill a man. If seeing those three killed had not made him ill before, his assistance most certainly did."

Bethany gave her affirmation, and gestured for them to follow. "This way, come on." She grabbed Jon's hand, pulling him along beside her. Arthur kept a hand on Viserys's shoulder, more to guide him than give him comfort. The comfort could come later, once they were all safe.

As Bethany had said, they turned a corner to another street and found the other three of their group. Gerold had taken a protective stance before the others, his sword drawn and held ready. When he saw them, he relaxed, a great portion of the tension in his body leaving, though much still remained. Oswell was behind him, leaning heavily on a wall. His teeth were gritted, and he was sweating. His eyes looked gaunt and sunken in, as if he hadn't slept for a long time. Daenerys was hidden beside him, trying to make herself as unseen as possible.

Jon ran over to his aunt, hugging her tightly. She returned the embrace, stepping away from Oswell. Arthur approached his fellow knight, looking him over with worry. A strip of Bethany's shirt had been wrapped around Oswell's right leg, and blood was already seeping through. The light cloth had turned a shade of dark red. He favored his left leg, and every movement had Oswell inhaling deeply to chase away the pain.

"How are you faring?" he asked the other carefully, already thinking of what they would need to help him. More cloth, and some sewing needles, if the wound was too open. Water and salve, to wash and clean the wound. Bandages. Perhaps a healer, too.

Oswell gave him a grim smile, managing to answer with, "Never better. Bet I could run this entire city five times and still be good as day." His voice was faint and weak, betraying the toll the injury was taking on his body.

"How bad is it?"

"Won't kill me. Will heal with time. Just need rest and some shelter." With an amused huff, he added, "and probably a maester. Guess we're not invincible. Who knew?"

"Arthur!" Gerold's call had him turning his attention to the Lord Commander. "What happened? How many were there? Did any get away?"

"We ran into four of them. I took care of three of them, with Viserys's help, and Bethany killed the fourth just moments ago," he reported. Gerold acknowledged, and twisted to face the others, opening his mouth to say something, before Arthur caught his sleeve. "Gerold, they knew. They knew of Jon, they knew where we were. They've been here for a long time, and we didn't know. Do you understand the implications of this?"

There was no dawning realization in Gerold's eyes, and none in the others' either. Only anger, black rage. Hate. Baring his teeth, he growled, "I suspected as much. Three days ago, I thought I noticed a man following me. He was good. Made me think I was only imagining things. Stupidly, I waved it off as nothing." Subconsciously, he and Gerold began moving in toward the street Arthur had come from.

"And the man?" Arthur asked curiously.

"I stuck my sword through his heart just a little while ago. Fucking bastard was one of them all along. I should have known."

"There is nothing that can be done about that now," Bethany told them in a placating manner. "No use in remaining stuck in the past when the present is more dangerous and the future is on the line."

"If they knew we were here for some time, and only struck now, they must have been waiting for a command." Which means, Arthur realized sadly, the Stag will increase his efforts. It was bad enough having two of the Mad King's children on the loose. But Rhaegar's son? Bastard or not, he will carry a personal vendetta against Jon. "We should get moving and get away from this city. There's probably more, and I'd rather not risk running into them as much as we can."

The others agreed, and Gerold helped Oswell stand. He threw one of the injured man's arms over his shoulders and began half-pulling, half-carrying Oswell with them. Arthur and Bethany walked in front, keeping the children close behind them.

Bethany leaned over slightly, and dropped her voice to a whisper so the others would not have to hear. "Arthur, if they found out about us, and we received no warning, could it mean-"

"Maybe," he said, cutting her off. "The Spider could either no longer be our ally, or even his Little Birds have their limits. Whatever the reason, we're on our own for the time being."

"Blind. I don't like the sound of that," she murmured, a scowl appearing on her face. "If the Spider has truly left us on our own, we could find ourselves in more danger than before."

"I know. Believe me, I don't like it either. But we're just going to have to make do. We should head farther inland, maybe to Qohor or Norvos. They'll have a harder time finding us that way," he suggested to her.

"True. Hopefully we can find some means of travel. But first, we should leave this city. Our hope to throw them off our trail will mean nothing if we stay."

Arthur gazed over his shoulder, flicking his eyes over the rest of their group and behind them. The children were fine, Jon and Dany holding hands and staying as close to each other, Bethany, and Arthur as possible. Viserys remained close, but further back than his sister and nephew. The main concern, however, was Gerold and Oswell. They were lagging behind, a few feet of distance between them and the children. Oswell's limp was very obvious, and Arthur could see very clearly that many assurances he was given about Oswell's wound was far from the truth.

He wanted to slow down for them, continue at a pace that was good for Oswell. But they didn't have time. They needed to leave, and get as far away as they could. Gerold and Oswell would just have to stay as close to them as they could manage.

After nearly an hour, they made it to the docks. Gerold sent Arthur and Bethany to find a ship, while he and Oswell remained behind with the children. Together, they wandered the docks, speaking to captains and merchants, looking for a ship that was not too expensive for passage and would also take them to a destination that would aid them in their escape from the Stag's men.

Thankfully, they did. The fifth ship's captain they spoke to was willing to charge them a fair price for passage and was headed for Pentos. They accepted eagerly, and hurried to return.

The moment they made it back, Gerold asked, "Were you successful? Do we have a ship?"

Arthur gave him a nod, yes. "Indeed. The Iron Lady is headed for Pentos. The ship is going to leave the docks, and some of his men will meet us in a deserted portion of the docks tonight. Bethany and I thought that from there, we could buy some horses and supplies and journey to Qohor."

"It would certainly throw the Stag off our trail for a while. He'll probably be expecting us to aim for water, so we can make a quick escape. He'll have his spies watching anywhere that ships land. We could probably pay off the captain, get him to let us leave before we reach Pentos. We could get horses and supplies from there, and continue on to Qohor." A tired smile on his lips, Gerold clapped his back. "As much as I hate the idea of having to wait, I'll take that. We can rest in one of the taverns. Good idea, Arthur. If we managed to hide for years in Braavos, think about how long we could remain in secret in the middle of Essos."


They found a tavern to stay in for the next couple of hours, and paid off the owner to keep his silence and keep them hidden. Jon and Dany were exhausted, and fell asleep almost instantly. Viserys fidgeted in the corner that he had chosen to sit in, his face an array of emotions that Arthur didn't bother to read. He had to focus his efforts on Oswell right now. His friend was pale, his blood soaking through the cloth covering his injury.

With Gerold's help, he had laid Oswell down on a bed, and propped him up against the wall. Without a word, they quickly began unwrapping the makeshift bandages off of his leg wound, pulling away the bloody cloth to reveal a deep cut across Oswell's shin. Arthur grimaced. He did not need to be a maester to know it was bad. It saddened him to know they couldn't risk looking for a healer, or having one brought to them.

Bethany nudged Arthur away, taking his place where he had stood beside the bed. In her hands was a wet rag, and she began to wash away the blood on Oswell's leg. The children were sleeping, and they thankfully would not have to see more blood.

Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, Bethany began issuing out orders. "Gerold, I need you to find anything to act as bandages. Make sure they're dry and clean. Arthur, get me more rags and wet them. There's not much we can do without a healer. At least we can leave the wound clean and bandaged."

They both hurried to get what they needed, and even though they knew Oswell would not bleed out, there was a feeling that if they didn't hurry, they would lose something. Arthur searched the room, and when he saw that what he needed was not there, he began to step out of the room. But not before he heard Bethany say, almost to herself, "Something isn't right here. I don't get it."

Arthur turned around to regard her with a curious look. "What's wrong?"

She looked at him, and something in her eyes had him sharing her sense of dread. "I just- The assassin that was chasing you and the ones that attacked us. I don't understand."

"What do you mean?" He was genuinely confused now. What could she possibly be talking about?

Bethany waved her hands around in a frustrated manner. "It's just that I noticed some things. The way they looked, what they were wearing, their weapons. They were small details, and I didn't think about it at first. But now that we are resting, and have time to think . . ." She trailed off, her eyes becoming unfocused for a few seconds before she looked at him with apprehension. "You weren't there, but the way the men attacked us . . . it felt like they were holding back. And the one that was fighting Oswell, that did this . . . he looked almost horrified. As if he hadn't meant to do it and was asking himself 'What have I done?'"

"What are you saying? That they were different men? And that the men that attacked you hadn't meant to actually hurt any of us?"

She shrugged her shoulders, but still looked disturbed. "I don't know. But I just hope that whatever I'm getting at, I'm wrong. If there is something else going on, that we don't understand, well, I'm not sure we're really ready to handle it."