Jon

I

The dark red sails hadn't been visible until they had entered the mouth of Blackwater Bay itself. Under the dark of night, they had crept in and by sunrise, Jon found himself on the beach surrounded by a variety of soldiers, with archers scattered along the rocks prepared for any surprises. Daenerys had sent ravens out, Jon knew, but not so long ago that ships from Volantis would be here by now. No, these people had come of their own accord, and Jon sorely hoped he would be pleased by the end of this.

The ships began to get closer than most they had seen and began to gracefully pour out into the small boats that would row them ashore. He saw at least a thousand men clad in orange robes that looked like billowing flames when they moved, covered in ornate armor that shined in the sun with gold and crimson and oranges so bright Jon could see them from several yards away. There were others, in a dark red armor that was of a simpler build, that looked more like squires and scribes than they did soldiers, Jon thought to himself. They were the ones who prepared the boats, lowered them from the ships and assisted the fiery soldiers with their flaming spears abord and were now escorting the priests and priestesses robed in red.

He thought of Melisandre, and her pale skin, and her fiery red hair. Whereas Melisandre was the fire of R'hllor, these men who came before him were only the banner-bearers, Jon knew, though if that was better or worse, he did not know. Behind him were the Northmen and Valemen that had come south with him in a time long forgotten, though now there were swords from Driftmark and Massey's Hook at their back. Gendry had ridden north with a fresh host of knights and squires and archers and footsoldiers from the Stormlands, most provided by Lord Selwyn Tarth who bore a strong resemblance to his daughter, who had impressed Jon. Many from the reach had flocked to them quickly as well, as had Edmure Tully and his men. Lord Arryn had sent word that they were making the journey from the Eyrie and sent apologies if it took too long, though no word had come from the west. Sansa and her men, and the Prince of Dorne were also taking their time to arrive, though they had been told to expect the Greyjoy ships within the next few days.

"You stand in the presence of Kinvara, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, the First Servant of the Lord of Light." A man declared in front of her in poor westerosi before quickly standing aside to allow her to pass through.

This woman was beautiful, though unlike Melisandre's dark beauty that was so like a shadow calling you to see what was hiding beneath its veil of darkness. This woman's beauty burned bright, like the dancing tendrils of a fire licking at wood as it burned everything to ash. She glowed, though it seemed almost like it may be unnatural, as much of Melisandre's practices were.

"I am pleased to see you again, my lady." Tyrion said, with a smile that was likely false. "We are in even worse fortune than the last time we spoke."

"I have seen this in the flames. Westeros is a burnt woman, now," The woman chuckled to herself. "Now that she has burned, she can be reborn from the ashes, and we are here to help. I am glad that you still know the way, it would be unfortunate for you to go as your friend, Lord Varys, did."

She reached out and touched his arm, though jerked her hand back quickly as though she had touched fire.

"A fire burns in you, though something else as well," She took his hands in hers before he could protest. "The lord of light has plans for you, Aegon."

Jon could only stare at her and watch as she walked away, followed by her procession of priests and priestesses, and soldiers. He turned to Tyrion and Davos who looked just as in awe as he was. Tyrion was aware of his identity, he knew, but Davos was not.

"Pardon, Aegon?" It was expected, and Jon couldn't lie to the man.

"Aye, I am Jon still, but my mother named me Aegon."

"And who was your mother, exactly?" Davos raised an eyebrow, looking like he desperately wanted a drink.

"Lyanna Stark," He took a deep breath, finally telling someone who wasn't family felt freeing. "And my father was Rhaegar Targaryen."

"Well fuck me." Davos muttered to himself something after that which Jon couldn't understand. "You're certainly full of surprises, your grace."

Jon scowled at him which only earned a laugh from Tyrion and Davos. He didn't want to be king, he wasn't a king, not truly. Daenerys was the queen, his queen. Not only that, she was his aunt, and his betrothed, and the mother of his children. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, truly. It was not uncommon, and he would not pretend he was some great exception to that, nor would he pretend that she didn't still make his cock stir when he saw her.

As the rest of the men got off of the Volantene ships and made their way into the city, they began to follow them for a bit with their small host at their backs. The two groups split off once they reached Visenya's hill, Jon and his company making their way up while the red crowd proceeded to what could only be the queen. How could they know where she was, Jon thought to himself, nobody told her. Though he was living proof of the magic of R'hllor, and he didn't want to think much about it or question it.

The hill had become far too crowded recently and so they were forced to push some further down the hill, allowing only for the nobles and their immediate council, guards, and maesters. They had been receiving lords Rosby and Rykker, Bar Emmon and Baratheon. Tarth and Estermont, Dondarrion and Swann, Oakheart, Beesbury, Dayne, Fowler, all of their banners strung up amongst the sea of tents, the flags hanging from poles staked into the ground. Edmure Tully and much of his bannermen had arrived a few days past, with the most aid anyone had provided so far, though they hoped when the Redwyne and Hightower ships came up there would be more aid.

There, in his tent, was a tall woman with dark ringlets that went down her shoulders, wearing a long gown of a light purple silk. Her eyes were as dark as her hair, and narrow, as though she was staring hard at whatever she looked upon.

"I was informed of your presence, my lady, but not your name, my apologies." He kissed her hand and gave her a formal bow of respect.

"My name is Saera, my lord, I am the daughter of the Archon of Tyrosh. My father sent me here to represent our city's interests in this great council so that the Iron Throne and Tyrosh may be friends once more." Her smile was not a warm one, it was formal, was the best word Jon could think of.

"I am pleased to receive you, my lady." He resumed his normal demeanor, abandoning the one he had learned in the south, the one that the southern lords lived by. "I will have my men give you proper accommodations for your station."

And with that, he left her, having done what was necessary and nothing more. He had already offended her once by not seeing her for so long. Her ship had arrived before sunset the previous day, but he had been passed out, after drinking too much. That was the routine that he found he had fell into, when he didn't have to be the Warden of the North. That was the routine he was falling into now, knowing he had nothing left to do for the morning, and wanting desperately to fix the throbbing in his head.

In the area of the city still standing, there were a few areas where drinks were sold along the streets. The highborn and lowborn alike were coming to and fro, so long as they had the coin. When he saw the children running through the streets, he winced, thinking of his own growing in Dany's stomach. How could I possibly think I can do this, Jon thought to himself, I can't be a father, I can't even be a king or a lord properly. She would not even see him, she did not trust him anymore. How could they be parents and wed and rule together if she would not even allow him to be in the same room as her. She hadn't said anything about the marriage, though he knew by the look in her eyes that she agreed.

And so he found himself, for the eighth day now, drinking mug after mug of ale in the streets, talking to some of his Northmen and resting with passersby, highborn and low. He had to prepare for the council, later, he was informed, and soon regretted the drinks, though permitted himself one more. That one swiftly became four more and soon he was walking along the street of steel with a group of men clad in white and purple. They were led by their lord, Edric, who was a younger man, perhaps Arya's age, with fair blond hair almost like Dany's and dark purples eyes unlike her bright violet ones. His sister, the lady Fiona was not unlike her brother, with eyes like black amethysts from Asshai and her hair spilling down her shoulders and back like liquid sunlight, a pale white gold that was not quite Valyrian.

The Daynes were an old house, tracing their blood back to before even the coming of the First Men. Legend said that as a comet fell across the sky, the first Daynes followed it and built their home, Starfall on the very island that the comet had struck, and forged their greatsword Dawn from the stone of the comet itself. Dawn didn't hang from the young Lord Edric's belt, only steel with an ornate silver pommel, engraved with the image of a star falling down from the hilt toward the blade, with a dark stone set in its place to represent the comet.

"What do you think, my lord?" Fiona asked him, and he became embarrassingly aware that they had been talking while he was staring.

"About what?" The words came out in almost one word, and Jon found his ears reddening deeper, a burning setting in.

"We were saying that perhaps now that King's Landing is in this state, the Queen will desire to move her capital elsewhere." Fiona was kind for that, he thought. "The maesters and singers have always said that King's Landing was one of Aegon the Conqueror's poorer choices. Why not at Dragonstone, or Oldtown, or even Harrenhal?"

"I'll be sure to pass it along to her, though honestly, I think the queen might want to stay here. Maybe now the city could be built properly."

"Wouldn't that be an idea. I like the way your mind works, my lord." Lord Edric laughed and the party continued walking up to the Hill of Rhaenys, where the Dragonpit was being turned into the site of the Great Council.

Lady Fiona fell back and began to walk alongside Jon as the others continued ahead. She took his arm, not in an unladylike way.

"I expect the queen will be naming you Jon Stark, soon enough, don't you?" She adjusted her dress, lowering it a bit to show off her breasts more. "You'll be needing a lady, I expect."

He couldn't help but laugh a bit, hoping he didn't offend her.

"That's looking a bit far in the future, my lady, and I imagine a woman of your station would not care for a legitimized bastard."

"You are not just any bastard, my lord." She smirked as she spoke and then walked forward, leaving Jon feeling dizzier than he had before.

The rest of the Street of Sisters was a straight walk, thankfully for Jon, as he began to feel his balance slip. Looking up at the hill of Rhaenys nearly made him throw up as his head began to spin further. The Dayne procession began to walk up the hill and he followed suit, seeing as hundreds were on the hill, setting up the necessities for the council. There were carpenters and masons getting the seats in working order so that they could seat as many as possible, and hundreds of squires and lords' menn were stringing up banners, preparing for where this lord and that lord planned on sitting. There were well over a hundred banners, with the Targaryen banner looming largest of all, and the Stark and Greyjoy banners were beside it, smaller than the dragon banner though larger than all the others.

A dais had been erected directly across from the entrance to the dragonpit, at what might be considered the head of the arena where the Queen and her council were having seats built for them worthy of their station. Jon drank from his skin of water, not quite sure of when he had gotten it or who had given it to him. His vision still blurred though he thought perhaps it was getting a bit better, though his balance had gone to shit.

"There you are." Tyrion sounded annoyed as he approached Jon, eyeing him up and down as though he had spots. "You're drunk."

Jon's ears burned bright red as he realized that Tyrion was an equal politically, but this man was still as old as his Uncle Benjen had been, and somehow it felt as though he was being scolded by a member of his family.

"Aye, I'm drunk." He had not been raised to lie, and if there was one thing he had been holding on to lately for strength, it was his upbringing, and the man it had made him. "And what of it? I'm not a child."

"No, but you are one of the Great Lords of Westeros, still, and to some, even a King." The small man's brows furrowed. "Is this how you want the people to see you? Is this how you want Sansa to see you when she arrives. She's only a week away!"

"The Others take Sansa." He muttered, turning to walk toward the dais, thinking of broken vows.

"Sansa is your sister, well your cousin in truth, but has been raised as your sister alongside you and has been that to you in heart til recently. Why would you say something like that?"

"She swore a vow!" His voice rose at the end, becoming a shout that caused many to look, which made Jon lower his voice in turn. "She swore a vow before the heart tree of Winterfell. Our father lived his life in dishonor to keep this secret, for no gain other than fulfilling his vow to my mother. She broke that vow, she made to me, to her family. Simply because she didn't like Daenerys, and refused to bend the knee. Why is she so sure I would allow that? What if I do become King? Why does she think I would not want Winterfell as a part of my realm?"

Tyrion's face was moving constantly as he studied Jon, contemplating every word with a thick layer of uncertainty. Jon, on the other hand, was spinning. The bout of rage had made his heart begin to beat so loudly he could hear it. Jon had no family left, in truth, none but Ghost. It had been nearly eight years now since he had left Winterfell for the first time, back when he had a family. He knew the household and its guard of Winterfell, he knew Maester Lewin, even his step mother Catelyn. There was his uncle Benjen and his brothers and his sisters, and even Theon. His father had mattered to him most of all. The man who made Jon feel as though he was worth something, as though there was something about him that made him a more unique flake of snow than all the other millions. Now they were dead, all of those at Winterfell, even the direwolves, Catelyn, Robb, Rickon, Benjen, and Eddard, worst of all. Now, he had only Sansa, Arya, and Bran.

Though all unrecognizable, Sansa resembled herself the closest of what he remembered. She was firm in her beliefs, and even firmer in her drive to get what she wanted. Now, this was causing more damage than anything as Sansa Stark was plowing a path and all be damned who got in her way. She wouldn't stop until the North was free, he knew this, but what price would they all have to pay by the end of it? Arya was still herself in many ways, she was still lively and small and easy to spark a flame in. Though now, there was a darkness to Arya. It was as though death itself lived in her, slowly rotting her. She didn't have the same joy in her, he realized. Now, when he looked in her lies the light had gone out. He had met many broken men in his years, broken by war and famine and other terrors, and Arya had become one, Jon knew.

Bran was not just broken, he was gone. There was no Bran left. It took all he had to not cry when he saw the boy for the first time again at Winterfell when he arrived with Dany. Bran had stared at him so blankly, as though he wasn't even there. He looked at Daenerys with more information for fuck's sake, Jon thought to himself, is all I have now truly Ghost and the child in Daenerys' womb? And that same empty man was who I'll have to abdicate the title of Warden of the North to, Jon thought, him or his sister, Cersei the Second.

"Jon, you need to rest." Tyrion put a hand on him, looking at him with sad wide eyes. "It is not too early, and I will make sure that this is arranged properly."

Jon almost protested before turning to Tyrion's gaze and seeing the sun begin to set on Blackwater Bay. Jon was beginning to have thoughts too dark for his liking. The drinking was getting to him, as was his head as these feelings remained inside, threatening to burst. He drank from his skin of water again, longing for times when his family made decisions that he did not have to feel this way about. The Others take them for making me choose between my honor and my love for them, Jon thought. Love is the death of duty.

"Aye, you may be right." Jon admitted, lowering his head. "Thank you, Tyrion."

Jon fell asleep the moment he laid down in his tent after the short walk to it, waking some hours later, as a cold breeze came into his tent and chilled him awake. He sat up in his bed, his head throbbing, though the cold was worse and he was grabbing more coverings for his bed. Their allies had started to bring in warmer clothes and bedding as of late, after the declaration of false winter, which now had scorned him harshly as he had no cover to ward off the chill. His blood was of the North, he would be used to the cold again before he knew it.

He had slept for nearly half a day, however, and begun to stir, drawing a bath for himself and sinking into it, letting the steaming water melt away the aches that came with sleeping off being drunk. Jon felt himself growing wistful once more, thinking of Dany and her soft violet eyes. Was it wrong to think these things? To feel this way? He had felt cold and empty when Melisandre had brought him back, something in him had not felt complete anymore. A part of Jon had died with him and it was only when he met Daenerys that he felt that a fire had been lit inside of him again. He loved her, that he couldn't deny, he thought as he washed the soaps from his hair and his body, though is it right?

Contemplations of morality began to melt from his mind as the throbbing in his head began to peak, causing his vision to nearly blur. He poured himself a cup of wine and drank quickly, letting it run down his throat like a torrent of blood. It did nothing at first, and he began to dress himself as best he could, stepping out of the tub and drying himself off. The sun was beginning to rise above the horizon, painting the sky orange and yellow and Jon found himself missing the way that the sun would rise and set on the wall, casting its glow across the ice crystals.

The city was beginning to come alive with the come of morning, as the birds began to sing and squawk above the bay and the noise of laughter and conversation was beginning to grow below. Jon was thankful for this, to know that some semblance of normalcy remained, after all he had seen. It has been about ten minutes or so, Jon thought, and the wine had not helped much with the throbbing in my head. He crossed his tent and poured another cup of dark wine.

"Your grace?" The voice startled Jon, and he began to choke on the wine that he had been swallowing, dropping the rest on the floor along with the cup. "I apologize, I didn't mean to startle you, I had only meant to see if you were okay. Yesterday, many saw you looking ill and leave early, my lord."

Lady Arabella Velaryon was an older woman that seemed to Jon like the type of woman he wished Catelyn could have been, one he would have liked to have been around while growing up. She wore a simple gown with the familiar seafoam green of her late husband and son's house, with turquoise embedded in her necklace, rings, and earrings.

"It is okay, my lady, I hadn't seen you, I'm sorry." The second cup of wine had helped with his head at least. "Thank you for coming to see me, I am fine."

"Well, you look fine physically, but something is wrong in here." She pointed to her temple, giving him a kind smile. "I come as an ally and hopefully a friend, my lord. None of your family is here, though I have heard that your sister should be here soon. That will be good, but until then, I would like you to know that I understand much of the pains you have experienced. War has devastated our lives, and many of us suffer well before that."

She was being genuine, he realized. Though she didn't seem as much like a mother now, he realized, more like an aunt or an older sister, if he had had either.

"Thank you, Lady Arabella," Jon gave her a smile, which he imagined was a sad one. "There is a lot on my mind, I won't lie to you. You can sit if you would like."

He gestured to the seat that he had sat down in, by the makeshift fire that was a bit to the left of the entrance of the tent. There were other seats around it and she took the one opposite him.

"Would you like any water or wine, my lady?"

"Water, please." He began to make his way to the tray where he poured them both cups of water in odd ornate goblets that had been found in the manse, with Blackfyre emblems on them. "I imagine that the future of the country is not the largest concern in your mind."

He sat up straight at that, suddenly feeling bad. Look at me, he thought to himself, I'm feeling sorry for myself having to marry the queen, when so many have lost everything, with nothing but the knowledge that they get to live to move forward with.

"You would be right, my lady." He took a drink of his water, though the cold of the air only made it harshly cold as it slid down his throat. "Is that wrong?"

"It might be," She laughed, also sipping at her own water. "Though if so, all of us are wrong. We're only human, my lord, folly is our nature."

"How can something truly be right, when there is such a heavy cost? How can it be the best choice when I have to struggle with guilt about it?"

"Life is not easy, Jon." She hadn't asked permission for such informality, but Lady Arabella didn't strike him as the type who asked for permission for much in life. "Let's say that you are sailing out on the water and you come across a tight bullet. Let's assume there is a storm and as you are trying to leave the bay, another rushes beside you, also trying to leave, and across from you both, is another ship racing in. You are going to crash, there is no question of that. However on the ship sailing in, is only a skeleton crew, perhaps fifty men at most. On the ship rushing to leave, though, is nearly three hundred men, women, and children, all departing fast to head to some land. You will be crashing into one of them, and you will be sinking whichever ship you crash in to, killing them all. Which do you choose?"

She sat back and drank deep, almost smirking at him as though the point spoke for itself, though in truth, Jon was just horrified.

"How can you make a choice like that?"

"The same way you will have to make the choice once I walk out of this tent." She took his hand in hers, and for a moment, Jon allowed himself to just sit with how nice it was to just talk to someone, after so long without being able to. "The point is, Jon, is that there is no true choice. You are only one man, and all you can do is what you think will cause the least amount of harm, or alternatively what will benefit you the most."

She rose then, crossing to the table and pouring herself a cup of wine.

"Now, your immediate concern is the Great Council coming up soon. You are still seen as the Lord of Winterfell and you are the Queen's closest man aside from her Hand and her Unsullied, therefore it is your responsibility to be up there arranging this." She gave him a teasing smile and set down her cup, walking out of the tent with a small curtsy before leaving