Aegon stood in the courtyard, making no move, waiting. Jon approached him, and bowed, taking the man's measure as he did so. Aegon was a bit taller than Jon, and a bit heavier, but had a similar build. Jon suspected he would be quick in a fight, and his steadiness under spoke of self-control and confidence that might make him dangerous. Then he caught himself. This is my brother, he reminded himself. And my king. I am not here to fight him. Jon opened his mouth to offer greetings.

"Shit!" he said instead, as hundreds of pounds of hot scale-covered flesh and bone collided in the air above their heads. Visarion and Rhaegal were roaring and twisting their necks around each other as they dropped into the courtyard. Spectators had assembled to watch the arrival of the king and the reunion of the brothers; they scattered like mice as the dragons came to ground together. Screams filled the air. Jon saw a chicken coup shatter under a green claw and the number of winged creatures creating chaos quadrupled. His eyes met Aegon's shocked gaze. The brothers looked at each other in dismay, then together they ran for their dragons.

Neither of their shouts had much effect on the beasts. Jon cursed again, prolifically. Visarion's mind was filled with excitement and happiness at the reunion, although he was fiercely determined to show Rhaegal that he was the stronger dragon. Jon's attempt at diverting him bounced off the surface of the dragon's mind with little more effect than his verbal calls.

"Everyone inside," Aegon yelled, and the few people still in outside vanished. "Damnit," he said more quietly to Jon. "They are going to crush everything in this courtyard."

Together they looked around. The Eyrie was a small castle surrounded by steep cliffs. The courtyard was obviously the main outdoor space for the inhabitants. The sound of bleating from an archway suggested that the goats and sheep had taken refuge indoors along with the humans, but the space was filled with pens and feed, small gardens in trenchers and piles of vegetables. Together they watched Rhaegal stagger backwards into a line hung with clothes, and emerge with a rope and a bright orange tunic wrapped around one leg. He turned away from Visarion to snap at it. Faces looked down at them from the parapets, from windows, from archways.

"Well," Aegon said, a wry tone to his voice. "This is embarrassing. If we mess up here, our reputations as Dragonlords are not going to do the Conquerors and his sisters proud."

Taken by surprise, Jon found himself laughing with Aegon. "I think our legends will survive a broken chicken coup." Jon winced as Visarion snapped a chicken out of mid-air. "We may have to pay for a few chickens."

Aegon grinned, and Jon thought of Robb, of how they had played together, learned to fight together, loved each other and competed in all things. Robb had been his opposite – bright where Jon was dark, strong and tall where Jon was wiry and graceful, joyful when Jon was brooding and bitter. He had known Aegon, in truth, only these few minutes, but it was a shock to look at this man, this stranger who was his brother, and to see for the first time, a thousand mannerisms, gestures, patterns of thought that were his own; all the things that had made him an outsider among the Starks were reflected back at him. How is a stranger who is no more me than the blood more myself than the family I grew up with, Jon wondered.

"Rhaegal's in harness," Aegon said. "I'm going to try to get on his back."

"You're mad," Jon told him. The two dragons were both flapping their wings, almost filling the small space. "They'll calm down, and we can make our apologies. If they are really mad, well, the soup is good."

Aegon looked quizzically at Jon. Before he could say anything, one of the dragons knocked over a pile of hay bales, and everything changed. Four children, the oldest looking no more than seven, had been huddled together behind the makeshift shelter. They must have been too terrified to run, or even to scream or cry, thought Jon. The youngest was a boy wearing a shirt but no pants. He looked no more than three. Jon thought of Rickon as he had been before Jon rode north, of Bran when he was a child following at Jon's heels. But he didn't remember either of them looking as terrified as this boy as he clung to a girl little older than himself. Aegon cursed, and moved as if to go for Rhaegal.

Jon slammed an arm into his chest. "Just keep them away from the children!"

Aegon frowned, looking like he wanted to argue. Jon suspected that nobody had given his brother an order since he had come to Westeros. Then Aegon looked at the dragons, and at the terrified children. "Do what you can to fix this," he told Jon. He moved forward, placing himself between the children and the dragons. Visarion hissed at Aegon and Rhaegal raised his spinal crest and roared. While the dragons were distracted, Jon ducked into an open archway. Several people stared back at him – an old man, a girl with her arm around a goat, two men-at-arms, a Knight of the Vale with a richly embroidered surcoat. There was nowhere to sit, so he slid down against the wall and closed his eyes.

The colours were different through the dragon's eyes. That was always the first shock. He could see a thousand shades of red and orange, blues that shimmered in the light. Strangest of all, he could see heat a deep red bloom and cold as grey and black. Rhaegal was the brightest thing in this space of dim cold stone, but he could see the smaller figure standing beside the dragon.

In the back, Visarion knew what Jon had done and he raged and struggled for domination before stilling into resentful silence. When Jon had achieved control, he spread his wings and gathered himself for a leap into the air. The Eyrie fell away behind him. Rhaegal took wing after him, and they flew together, the sun on their wings, revelling in their strength.

Mountain goats were jumping down a rocky slope on the other side of the waterfall called Alyssa's Tears. Jon stretched his claws, folded his wings, and fell upon the largest. The hot red blood ran down his throat as he tore at the beast's flesh. Rhaegal was there, and that was good because he was no longer alone, but it was bad because he was a threat to Jon's kill. Dragons hunted alone. Jon roared warning to his brother and bit his teeth deep into his kill.

Jon returned to his body to find himself nestled into a deep chair. While he had been in the dragon's body, someone had walked him inside. For the sake of his dignity, he hoped he had not been carried. Jon opened his eyes and blinked hard. Slowly he became aware that he was being scrutinized from nearby.

"Your legend has not suffered from today's work," Aegon said. "The people of the Eyrie will be talking about this for years to come." His violet eyes were shadowed.

Jon looked around, checking the room for threats. He was in a chamber much grander than the one he had been initially shown to. Tapestries showing tales of the Winged Knight adorned the walls, and the furniture was upholstered in rich fabrics of cream and sky-blue. Jon and Aegon were in comfortable chairs by the fire. Robert Arryn was sitting in a window seat, at some remove from the two brothers, bundled up into himself and watching the two brothers intensely. Jon thought the boy looked more than half falcon himself. Then he wondered at the thought. The boy is just a boy. Do I think that the boy looks like a falcon because I know him an Arryn, or has a lifetime of being called a falcon made him think of himself as one?

"What are you doing here?" Jon asked Aegon, as he attempted to struggle upright. The soft cushions must have been stuffed with finest down. Whenever he thought he had a secure hold it melted away on him, and the fine silk coverings offered no purchase. Belatedly, he realized that his tone was less respectful than perhaps it should be. "Your grace," he tacked on.

Aegon blinked slowly, indicating that he had noticed the belated honorific but chose not to make an issue of it. "I might ask you the same thing, brother. After receiving your raven that you were coming south, I took Rhaegal and came to meet you. We hunt in these mountains often." He smiled and leaned forward. "Sansa is fine, Jon. I saw her two days ago at King's Landing. Not a scratch on her."

Jon closed his eyes as a wave of relief swept over him. He looked like a bit of a fool, he knew, rushing south on a bad dream and an worrying letter, but he didn't care. She was fine. This had all been one of his paranoid fantasies, no truth in it at all. Sansa was safe and well, and there was still time to pick up the pieces of the duty he had made such a mess of.

"Although …" Aegon hesitated, and Jon's eyes snapped open. "A lot has happened in the past moon."

He felt his stomach drop. "Tell me."

"I blame myself entirely. I knew that Sansa was shaken when there was violence in my throne room. We all were - but I never thought she was truly in fear for her own safety. Sansa … Sansa is good at what she does. All my councillors are good and I expect a great deal of them. Perhaps too much." Aegon shook his head. "Be that as it may. I understand that your Maester wrote to her and suggested she leave?"

Jon nodded. He found himself flexing and stretching his right hand, a habit he had developed when he feared that the burns would compromise his ability to handle a sword. The scars had been lost after his resurrection left the flesh as smooth and supple as if it had never been burned. Strange, he thought. I haven't caught myself doing that in years.

Aegon sighed. "Well, she did. Leave, that is. In the dead of the night, she and her captain of the guard snuck out through a water gate that had not been used in decades. The man had befriended one of the maids who was born in the castle, and she showed them where to go."

"Your grace, with respect," Robert Arryn interjected. He gave Jon a sly sidelone look, and a smirk, as if to make sure Jon noticed the address. "Could my cousin not simply have ridden out openly with a proper escort?"

"In truth, I would have stopped her," Aegon said. "Sansa is on my Small Council, and she is privy to sensitive information about the realm. With all the tension, I would have objected to her leaving court." He ran a hand through his hair. "But when she vanished in the night without an explanation, and nobody could determine how she had even left the castle, I assumed the worst. It seemed impossible that a woman like Sansa would have left of her own free will to ride through the woods almost alone. I doubt she had ever even slept out of doors. Edmure Tully and I sent ravens to all the Riverlands lords saying she was believed to have been abducted by her captain of the guards and persons unknown."

Jon began to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"They made it surprisingly far given that neither of them knew the paths or had much woodcraft. It was pure luck that Lord Ashby's hunting party encountered them just north of High Heart. He had seen Sansa at a Riverrun tourney where she was crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty and he recognized her instantly. He took her into his custody and brought her back to Harrenhal." Aegon looked uncomfortable, and more than a little angry. "But they had hung her guardsman on the spot."

Jon flinched. He remembered the man – Joram the Bear he had been called – from when he was in Stannis' service. Sansa had been attached to him, Jon knew. He dimly recalled Rickon saying that when she met the man she had taken to him immediately and refused to even consider candidates with superior blood and training.

"Lord Ashby said it was because of the raven about the abduction, but my men questioned his huntsman, and they said it was because …. Well, Sansa had some bruises and they thought that the man had taken liberties."

Jon froze, feeling sick to the pit of his stomach, and Robert Arryn gasped.

"She swears nothing happened. I am inclined to believe her, but who is to know? The man called himself a Northerner, but he was Ironborn and he had been a sellsword in Essos before the War. In any event, Sansa was distraught when she was brought back to Harrenhal. Edmure wanted to take her to Winterfell, but she insists on staying with Tyrion – he's been ill. The maesters say there is nothing wrong with her, but she doesn't sleep and she barely eats." Aegon glared at Jon. "Your maester doubtless meant well." Aegon said. His tone was clipped. "But he should have minded his own affairs."

"Perhaps," Jon said, "you should make sure your councillors are not afraid for their lives while at your court." Jon thought of Sansa in the woods, alone with a man of questionable reputation. What had she been thinking, he wondered. Then he thought of what Robert had told him, of all she had suffered as a child hostage of the Lannisters. It barely seemed comprehensible to him. Delicate, defensless Sansa. Who could ever want to hurt her? But it explained so much.

They had talked about their time in the war, all the Starks. Rickon had tales of Skagos, of unicorns and hunts, but also of cold and hunger and fear of the Others. Arya had spoken of her travels with the Night's Watch, her blacksmith, the Hound, even sometimes of Braavos, although Jon knew he had heard only a part of that story. Jon had kept much of the worst of his time in the war from the younger Starks, but they knew some of it from songs. Still, he had shared tales of Val and Tormund Giantsbane, of sparring with Wildlings and riding with Giants. Sansa had told her tales too – of a decadent and corrupt court, of her own foolishness for being infatuated with a Prince she now agreed was 'a little shit.' There had been no talk of beatings, or brandished crossbows, or being stripped and mocked before the court.

Jon shook his head, and looked at Aegon. "There is something you are not telling us. Your grace. Why would Sansa have been so afraid that she fled into the night? Who would she have reason to be fear?"

Aegon blew out a long breath. "The list is longer than you might think. When we found she was missing, I first suspected Martyn Lannister. In truth, I expected to find a fresh grave in the woods. Sansa is Tyrion's wife and in her prime childbearing years. If she were to produce an heir, Martyn stands to lose Casterly Rock. Then there are the Martells. I assume that you know that there is talk that I should put Arianne aside, and that if I were to wed again … well some have whispered that Sansa was almost Queen once and that she might now seek a crown for her sister, or even for herself if her marriage could be annulled."

"I know that you have done plenty to fuel those rumours," Jon said.

Aegon shifted under Jon's glare. "I like Sansa," he said defensively. "I think that perhaps she likes me, too, although she is not the easiest woman to read. That said, I behaved poorly during Arianne's childbirth, I admit it. The Martells are sensitive about Stark women, after what happened between our father and your mother. My kin can be hot blooded. But beyond that …" his voice trailed off, he took a deep breath. "I myself may have had a part in her taking fright at Harrenhal. We had acrimonious words not long before she left – I was unhappy about some of the trade agreements she had negotiated for the north and I confronted her. I also questioned her about some recent events at the Twins. Does the name Alayne Stone mean anything to you?"

Jon shook his head, mystified, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Robert Arryn stiffen.

"Two years ago the bridge at the twins was damaged in a flood."

"I am aware. The north has been bringing goods by ship, into White Harbour and Barrowton. We had to divert labour from Winterfell and the Wall to shore up the roads." "Why are we talking about this?"

"A few months ago, the Freys discovered that the mortar they had been using to reconstruct the bridge had been tampered with." Jon noticed that Robert Arryn suddenly seemed to find something fascinating in the designs of the carpet. Aegon was looking, too, and his lips quirked into a smile. "They were forced to tear down half a years' worth of work. The Frey's tribulations struck me as odd. I had my Master of Whispers and Master of Coin look into it, and they traced rather large payments to a Frey craftsman made by an Alayne Stone."

Robert Arryn was now mesmerised by whatever he could see on the floor. Aegon gave him a cool look. "I need the support of the Vale, so I am not going to ask where the coin for that payment came from. But once we found that, we started looking deeper. Alayne Stone has some very unsavoury connections, including some of King's Landings more popular brothels."

"Again, this is all very interesting, but why are we talking about this?"

Aegon looked at Robert. "Tell him."

"Alayne Stone is Sansa," Robert said reluctantly. "That is the name she used when she lived here during the war." His face set defiantly. "And the Freys deserved to have their bridge fall down. They killed my aunt and my cousin. I hate them."

Jon realized that his mouth was hanging open. He tried to wrap his mind around the concept of Sansa and brothels being linked in any way and failed. Until today, he would not have thought that Sansa even knew what a brothel was. He closed his mouth. "You told me off for not protecting Sansa from danger, and the two of you have been knocking down bridges together?"

"Calm down, Jon. Everyone is corrupt in King's Landing," Aegon said. "Sansa's problem is that she was more effective at it than most. Still, she's had a terrible shock. For her sake, I would be grateful if you could make plans to stay at court for a time."

Jon had come south with the plan of going to King's Landing, of seeing Sansa, and there was not an instant when he intended differently. If Aegon had suggested Jon not go, in his present mood Jon likely would have struck him. Yet, hearing his brother – his King, say the words, suddenly made it all real for Jon. Going to King's Landing. He had known more than his share of Kings, long before he had met this stranger-brother before him. Ned Stark had been a king in all but title, ruling a north that cared nothing for lords outside its borders. Jon remembered him wielding Ice with his own hands to dispense justice, hearing the words of his lesser bannermen patiently. As a man grown, Jon could look back and see that his disappointment with Robert Baratheon, fat, jolly, impulsive, Robert, who would had killed Jon in a heartbeat if he had known who the boy was, had their foundations in the expectations set by Ned Stark.

Then he had gone to the Wall, never to see the man he had called father again. He had met other kings there, though. Mance Raydar, who had no claim on the title except ability, who had knit together a disparate people facing annihilation, and had lead them to the brink of safety, only to be defeated by Stannis Baratheon, another King with less charisma, but an equal sense of duty to his people. He thought of what Jeor Mormont had said to him when Robb was named a king, when he had reminded Jon of the glories and riches his brother would know. Tell me you are not troubled, the Lord Commander had said, and I'll call you a liar. What will you do? Jeor had asked. "Be troubled," Jon had answered, brash and safe in the carelessness of his youth, "and keep my vows." That had seemed so simple at fourteen. But what shall I do now, he wondered, when I no longer have my vows to guide me?

Jon felt so utterly unprepared for the court of his brother. How can I help Sansa, he wondered. What do I know of her life in King's Landing? He very much doubted that dealing with Selyse Florent Baratheon, the only southern noblewoman Jon had ever truly known, would be much assistance. He hoped not.

There was a moment then, when he looked over the shoulder of the brother he didn't know, that he thought of a girl with crooked teeth and hair kissed by fire. What he had felt for Ygritte had not been the all-consuming passion that he had felt for Daenerys, but he had cared for her, had fought beside her and against her, and she had forced him to question everything he thought he had known. Even after he lost her, Ygritte had walked with him in some of his darkest days. Now he thought of the words she had said to him so often. "You know nothing." If he had been alone he would have smiled back at her ghost. I know nothing, but I can learn, I can see, I can help those who need me. Oh Ygritte, he thought, and loved and grieved. I know nothing, and those words taught me to see.

The inhabitants of the Eyrie were treating the visitors as not officially here, Jon was told, to avoid the need for formal receptions and honours. Given that both of them had arrived on dragon-back, Jon thought that was a thin bit of deception, but he had no interest in ceremony and a great interest in the promised bed so he was happy to play along. Before retiring, Jon and Aegon agreed to set out at first light for King's Landing.

"I did have one question Aegon," Jon said. His brother raised an eyebrow. "You spent, what, two days flying north to the Eyrie?" Aegon paused, then nodded. His eyes were fixed on Jon. "Quite a coincidence that you arrived less than an hour after I did. But then, a dragonrider who knew these mountains could find a good vantage point and wait until he saw us coming into the Vale."

"So he could," Aegon agreed affably. "On the Giant's Lance, say."

"What would that dragonrider gain by arriving after me, I wonder." Aegon was silent, so Jon answered his own question. "Only the chance to speak to Robert Arryn and I together, and gauge our reactions. Robert isn't a very good liar."

"Neither are you," Aegon said. "You don't get too much practice, with that Stark honour of yours." He shifted. "I learned that Robert Arryn was in on Sansa's schemes, and that you weren't. That is something worth knowing."

"You don't trust me."

"I don't trust anyone. From the time I was at my mother's breast, people have wanted me dead. I am still alive. I have sat the Iron Throne for seven years. I am still alive." He spread his hands. "Do you know that the Throne of Swords has never cut me? The trick is to remain still. Easier said than done. No, brother, I don't trust you. You should get some sleep. We have a long flight tomorrow."

Aegon turned away to go into his chambers. "It doesn't work, you know," Jon said to Aegon's back. His brother didn't look. "Not trusting anyone," he continued into the silence. "I tried. You go a little mad, every day, and it gets worse and worse until you forget what it is to be human."

Aegon didn't move, and Jon waited as the silence stretched between them. "I wanted you to come," he said. "But you aren't the first man named Jon to betray me." Then his brother walked away from him into his bed chamber, and quietly closed the door.

Jon stared after him. Jon was no fool; he trusted Aegon no more than Aegon trusted him. Yet Aegon had been open about his own hesitancies, he had given Jon no true grounds for dislike, and he had himself admitted that distrust was only to be expected between two stranger-brothers, one a king and the other a prince of the realm. Jon had wasted years fearing phantom daemons, he knew that … but. When he had been Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he had opened the ledgers left by Jeor Mormont and had read the histories of the men he commanded. Jon knew the darkness in men's souls. There was something in his brother that made the blood run cold in his veins. He flexed his unscarred right hand and touched Longclaw at his side.