The King of the North – in his tent with his sisters
Everyone had finally settled down. Perhaps not entirely. The dragon that Jon had flown did not join the Dragon Queen as she left the battlefield. The other two did. But 'his' dragon did not. It sort of stuck to Jon's side – in a manner of speaking. It stayed right outside their camp and flew on and off as it pleased. No one dared venture near it, yet it didn't harm anyone of their army either. Jon was still amazed at the events of that day as he ate his evening meal with his sister. He'd invited only them, for the moment, wishing for some privacy after a long day.
They ate in silence, until Sansa broke it. "Who do you think will be the third rider?" Sansa asked her brother. Jon had no idea.
"Do you think there will be another one?" he replied. "I don't see who could be."
"I think there will be," his other sister said. "Three dragons thus three riders."
"Like in the stories of old," Sansa whispered. "But who will it be? And why did it choose you? Do you think dragons have…. foresight of some kind?" She finally posed, sighing. "I know it sounds ridiculous," she said, "but still…"
"How do you mean?" Jon asked. "Foresight of what?"
"The battle in the North," she said. "The last one that we will win or lose – and if we lose…" She didn't finish her thoughts.
"Dragon's fire would help," Arya said. "Like Valerian steel and dragon glass. If the parley has a good result, perhaps you could cooperate somehow."
"I don't see it," Jon Snow said, more pessimistic. "She hands out these Marks for her own enjoyment it seems. She sounds quite cruel to me, to be honest."
"You'll have to try," his youngest sister urged. "You owe it to every one of us."
"I know that," Jon grumbled. "And I will. I just don't think she'll be very open to it, is what I'm saying." He picked at his meat. Even the soft and tender chicken didn't taste well today. "I wish I knew why it has chosen me," he said. "I thought I was about to be torched, this morning, but instead I saw the country from the sky!" His eyes lit up for a brief moment. "It was wonderful," he said, "thrilling but so unreal as well."
Arya suddenly looked rather strangely at him he noticed. "All the dragon riders from the past," she said, "they were, well, they were related to each other."
Jon almost choked in his wine. "What did you say?" he said. "How could I? Where did you get that idea?"
"It's history, that's all," she shrugged. "And you don't know who your mother is…"
Jon shook his head. "She was some unknown someone. Just someone father met during the war. Surely I would have blond hair, had she been a Targaryen?" He smiled uneasily.
Arya didn't let it go though. "Father never told you?" she pushed. "He never told you even the slightest bit?"
Jon bitterly shook his head. "He said he'd tell me the next time we'd meet," he said, "when I saw him last." He thought back at that poignant moment. "Father," he suddenly said, "it did seem as if it was important though. Like he felt that I did have a right to finally know; that I was a man now and deserved the truth."
"See," Arya said, "He did want you to know because she wasn't just some… woman."
Tyrion – in his tent
The three Starks were not the only ones who wondered about an eventual third rider. Tyrion did as well. A thought had entered his mind the moment he had seen Jon Snow take to the air. A conversation – long ago – where he had asked Daenerys' interpreter, Missandei, if the dragons were hostile towards her. They were not and Tyrion had been foolish enough to enter their den and free them. Free the remaining two as Daenerys and the one she flew – Drogon– had been gone for quite a while. The dragons had not harmed him and Tyrion had taken this as a sign of their intelligence. He had assumed they had realized that he was friend of hers and had therefore been friendly to him in return. But, now, he was not so sure….
His father had said something. It was quite a while ago now. "I raised you as my son." He'd wanted to kill him the moment he'd been born – get rid of the little monster – yet he had not. He did not say: you were my son and, therefore, I kept you alive. He had said: "I raised you as my son," casting doubt on whether or not he was, in fact, his son. Tyrion hadn't thought too much of it at the time. He since long knew his father hadn't wanted nor liked him, yet it was a strange way of putting it. Perhaps it was not just his mother's death that his father had resented. Perhaps it was not just his being an imp. Perhaps there was something else going on as well. There had been rumors. Rumors he had disregarded. It seemed there were always rumors about his family. About his parentage. About Joffrey's –which had in fact been true – about any number of things. Tyrion had long since decided to not listen to them. Rumors would always poison minds and hearts. They existed to sow doubts; that was their only true purpose. His father had never believed the vile rumors about Jaime and Cersei, even when the truth of it had stared him in the face. Tyrion knew his father had been good at deluding himself that way. Perhaps he had also deluded himself about this. Perhaps those rumors had been true after all.
Tyrion knew there would be one way of telling the truth. Perhaps he should try to ride a dragon as well. He laughed out loud, all by himself. Him! Riding a dragon, when he found horses to be high enough. Yet if he somehow had a drop of Targaryen blood inside him, perhaps it would come quite easily to him. Tyrion looked at his empty cup of wine – it had been his fifth – and he briefly wondered if it had been the wine that gave him such strange and unsettling thoughts.
AN: Despite there being a bit of focus on Jon Snow in thise chapters, the story does not revolve about him or about him and Dany. I don't intend for them to become a couple, but they will have some interaction with each other during the War.