AN: Hi all. This is my first work for AsoIaF, so I hope you will bear with me. The universe is vast and full of terrors, so I might make a misstep here and there.
Also, this will heavily focus on the three main characters and their relationship. Cloaks and daggers, intruigue, scheming, war – it will be there but far removed in the background. Jon, Dany and Rhaenys will be the three heads of the dragon and how their relationship develops, how they make this work, that will be my focus.
Be warned, the ages of the characters are true to the books. Expect AsoIaF-typical warnings.
So, enjoy!
Jon I
"Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Your mother…"
"...Lyanna Stark."
"...aye…"
The conversation with his father – no, his uncle – was still stuck in his head.
"Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Your mother…"
"...Lyanna Stark."
"...aye…"
And he repeated it, again and again.
Four and ten years. Four and Ten years he had been Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son. His mother had been a whore named Wylla, he had said. His mother had been Ashara Dayne, others had rumoured. Now...now he was the result of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's and Lady Lyanna Stark's illicit dalliance. A dalliance that had led to a secret, legitimate marriage. A dalliance that had shamed Princess Elia and cost her her life and the lives of her children.
Jon wasn't sure if he should cry or laugh. He didn't know if knowing the truth made everything better or worse.
"Are you troubled, my Prince?"
Jon winced inwardly as he glanced at the balding, muscular man riding alongside him.
'My Prince.'
Even after knowing and understanding the things he now knew and understood, nothing had changed.
He didn't feel princely. He didn't feel like a Targaryen. He still felt like Jon Snow, Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son.
"No, Ser Jorah."
He looked around, the busy streets of Pentos filled to the brim with colourful people, so different to what he had seen and gotten used to in Winterfell. His thin, grey tunic was drenched in sweat as the oppressive heat of the sun shone mercilessly down on them.
He longed for the comfort of home; even for Lady Stark's cold glare.
They reached the guarded entrance to a vast garden with a marble pool farther in the centre, decorated with the statue of a naked boy-warrior. The extravagance of this place was almost bizarre, perverse even, but so were the people of this city, with their coloured and queer beards and hair.
"Is this it?" he asked his guardian.
"It is, my Prince." Ser Jorah gave him a kind, almost soft smile. "I would never have thought to be part of the ones who bring the last Targaryens together. Yet here I am."
'The last Targaryens.' Was he even really part of them? Would they even accept him? He knew nothing but how to be Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son from the rebellion.
Their horses were taken from servants – no, slaves, he knew– before they went deeper into the garden, Jon taking in the sight as well as he could. A high brick wall hid the Magister's manse, but it was still easy to see. Ivy covered the large wall. He saw several gates leading to different parts of the garden and only one leading towards the manse.
"It is very different from what you are used to, is it not?" Ser Jorah said. "Not for my taste, I must admit."
"No, Ser. I much prefer what I had in Winterfell. I quite enjoyed the Godswood there."
"You follow the Old Gods then?"
Jon shrugged. "I do not follow any God, in particular, I would say. I find the Godswood peaceful, is all."
Ser Jorah nodded as he led them through the gate leading to the manse, which was also guarded, and up some marble stairs. At the door, an obscenely fat man with an oiled and forked yellow beard waited for them. The heavy perfume, mixed with the man's natural stench, made Jon want to gag, but he steeled himself.
"Ah!" The man spread his fat arms wide, his flesh and large breasts bouncing wildly beneath his orange silks. He had crooked yellow teeth. His plump fingers bore several rings with big gems. "The secret son of Prince Rhaegar himself! Welcome to Pentos and my humble home!"
"Thank you, Magister," Jon said, his voice low.
"Are Princess Daenerys and the young King inside?" Ser Jorah asked Magister Illyrio.
"They are, good Knight! And oh so eager to meet their nephew."
Magister Illyrio walked inside his manse, which turned out to be just as extravagant as everything else he had seen so far. Statues, flowers, sweet, sweet smells and servants – which, in reality, were slaves – were seemingly everywhere and everything was obscene.
They were led to a large terrace at the other end of the manse, overseeing a portion of the court and garden he hadn't been to and then he saw them.
Silver hair, both of them, and purple eyes, complimenting their pale skin in ways he had never seen before. The girl was slender, a bit short and if he had to take a guess, she would be close to his age. The boy had as false a smile on his face as he had ever seen. He, too, was slender, but older and taller than both he and the girl.
"Dear Nephew," Viserys said, standing up to greet him, followed by Daenerys. "We could not await your arrival! It is good to see more who carry the blood of the dragon – even if yours has been sullied by that Stark whore."
Jon didn't like Viserys. Ser Jorah had warned him and had told him that he was angry, bitter and prone to take it out on his little sister. It had taken but a greeting to see that Ser Jorah was right – and how right he was. It was better to just ignore it for now. "It's good to see you...Uncle Viserys. Aunt Daenerys." He felt himself blush. It was awkward, tense and uncomfortable.
Daenerys gave him a small, kind and soft smile. "It is good to see more family."
"Splendid!" Magister Illyrio clapped his hands together. "Let us all sit down and celebrate this heartwarming reunion with a small feast!"
A servant-slave standing at attention left immediately, probably to prepare, maybe get the food. Viserys took his seat on a pillow across from Daenerys, Ser Jorah next to the would-be king, while Illyrio took the head. Jon sat next to Daenerys with a slight blush.
He glanced at his aunt from the corner of his eyes. The soft smile from before was gone and she looked out into the garden. There was an aura of sadness to her and Jon had an inkling about the reason; his fa– no, his uncle had told him.
'Do what you must, Jon. Do what is right. She does not deserve this. She is but a child and she is your family, just as we are. The Targaryen children have suffered enough.'
Daenerys's own brother was willing to sell her to a horselord.
Watching them, seeing them – there wasn't this feeling of kinship he had with Robb, with Arya, Sansa, Brann and little Rickon. They were still family, though. He touched the coin purse fastened to his belt, then cleared his throat. The conversation between Viserys, the Magister and Ser Jorah stopped and for a moment he wondered when that conversation had even begun.
"Uncle…" Again, he winced inwardly. It would take some time to get used to it. "I have heard about...the marriage set up for Aunt Daenerys." His aunt shifted just a bit. "Is there a way to release her from it?" Now she turned fully towards him, her eyes widened.
"Why would I do such a thing, nephew?" Viserys asked with a low growl.
Jon unfastened the heavy coin purse and, with a thud, placed it on the Magister's table. "You need not sell your sister to a horselord. There is plenty of gold to pay for mercenary companies. You can buy yourself a real army."
Daenerys bore a look of hope, her eyes darting from the purse to her brother and back.
Viserys eyed it as well, wide eyes filled with greed. Then he looked up with a grin. "Nephew, you must think bigger! With this gold, I will buy an army and with my sister's maidenhead, I will buy the barbarians! Our army will be even mightier!"
As fast as the hope came, it left, Daenerys deflating again. It made Jon angry. Viserys reached for the purse, so smug it made him sick to the stomach, and Jon pulled it away, tying it back onto his belt.
"What do you think you are doing?" Viserys hissed.
"If you sell your sister, you will get no gold."
"I will be your king!" Viserys was up on his feet, nostrils flaring, his breath laboured. "We accepted you as family – you, whose whore of a mother cost us everything!"
Jon clenched his jaws but didn't say a word.
"Annulling the offer to Khal Drogo would be a grave insult," Illyrio added smoothly. "An insult neither of us wishes to make."
Jon glared at them. Cravens, the lot of them. He glanced at Daenerys, who was again staring out at the garden. A wisp of a girl. Delicate, like a freshly bloomed flower. His aunt.
His aunt.
Such a foreign thought still.
Their small feast was a sombre and subdued affair, but Jon couldn't bring himself to care much. Ser Jorah's warnings had not been able to prepare him for Viserys. Only tales were what Jon knew about the Mad King, yet he couldn't help but compare his Uncle to King Aerys, The Second Of His Name. What else could bartering your own sister's maidenhood to a horselord be but madness?
He walked through the garden, allowing his mind to wander a bit until he caught sight of the princess. She must have had the same desire as him: to get away, to have some time for oneself. He walked a few steps closer to get her attention, which she gave him with a sweet smile once she saw him.
"Aunt – Princess – h-how do you wish to be addressed?" He felt foolish, but such was the situation.
She giggled; barely there, gone as quickly as it came, but he made her giggle. "We are family, nephew. There shall be no titles between us. Aunt is fine. Maybe, one day, I may allow Dany." Even with the darkening sky could he see the glimmer of mirth in her eyes.
"I should hope so."
"Would you care to accompany me?" she asked before starting to walk at a leisurely pace. Jon caught up to her.
"So, Jon. How have you liked Pentos so far?"
"It's...new," he finished with a shrug, causing Daenerys to giggle again.
"I suppose southern customs would not suit a Westerosi northerner."
Chuckling, Jon rubbed the back of his neck. "Aye."
Daenerys raised an eyebrow at him. "'Aye'?"
He looked at her and shrugged.
"A Targaryen with a northern accent. I must wonder if such morbidity had ever befallen our forefathers." Humour tinged her voice but was replaced with her earlier sullenness once more. "I cannot bring myself to hate you, nephew. Or your mother."
Jon looked at her, a small frown on his face.
"Viserys takes great pleasure in ranting and raving about the Usurper." She paused, then turned to look at him. "Make no mistake, I hate him just as much and it is my greatest wish to strike him down with fire and blood...but when my brother has – when he gets angry, he likes to curse the Usurper and then he curses your mother. It's a natural progression."
"I...I understand." And he did.
"I can't bring myself to hate you. Meeting you has been a kindness so far, dear nephew. I am glad."
Jon smiled. It was shaky and he had to sniffle. "Thank you, Aunt Daenerys." His smile became determined. "I will find a way to help you."
"What do you mean?"
"I will not allow you to be bartered like aurochs. Family or not, it is dishonourable."
"Thank you, but there is little to be done," she said with a sad, resigned voice.
"My father – I mean, uncle, Lord Stark – he didn't send me here to become king or to help our house Targaryen. He sent me here after news of your – of your situation reached him."
Daenerys scoffed. "I do not need the lapdog's pity, nor do I want it."
Jon stopped and grabbed Daenerys by her shoulders, causing her to flinch away. "I apologize – I didn't mean to –" He sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides. "I grew up close to my siblings – and I count all of them as such – and if anyone would ever even dare to think about selling Arya or Sansa off, I would have their heads." Carefully, he reached for her hands and took them in his. "As long as it is within my power, I will not allow for it to happen. I swear it by my honour."
Her eyes glistened a bit under the moon's light and she retracted a hand and cupped his cheek. "You sweet, sweet boy." Pulling her hand away again, she resumed their walk around Illyrio's lush garden. "Viserys was not always like this. In Braavos, there was a house with a red door. It had a room with animal faces carved on a wooden beam. You could see the lemon tree if you looked through the window." Her voice was full of melancholy and longing. "Ser Willem Darry would care for me and my brother then. Viserys would tell me stories and brush my hair. I was happy there." She reached a hand up and wiped her cheeks, causing Jon's eyes to widen in alarm. The princess was crying. "I want to go home," she said, her voice cracking slightly.
Jon didn't know what to do and just walked next to her silently. She took a deep breath and a bit of time to calm herself again.
"After Ser Willem died...servants stole our last coins. We could not stay there anymore. We wandered from city to city, sold all of our possessions and when my brother had to finally sell our mother's crown…" She trailed off.
His brows furrowed and he looked at his feet as they walked in the following silence. Suddenly, being the bastard of the Lord of Winterfell didn't sound so bad anymore. He would take poisonous tongues and vicious glares over an empty stomach every day. He would take the cold hospitality of Lady Stark over a beggar's life every day. Empathy for Viserys wasn't such a queer idea anymore. But still…
"It does not make it right," he told her. "Treating you like meat."
"No, it doesn't." She turned to him and touched his cheek again, again with that sad smile of hers. "I pray you find a way, Jon, lest I will be no princess any longer but a Dothraki Khal's whore-bride." Retracting her hand, she stopped by the gate leading to the mensa. Do not be insulted if I do not expect much, however. I have accepted my fate. It is easier and less cruel than holding onto empty hope."
A wisp of a girl, slender, with small breasts, silver hair, violet eyes and fair skin. She was beautiful.
She was a dragon that had lost its fire.
'The Targaryen children have suffered enough.'
Yes, father. They have.
Father. Not uncle. Rhaegar may have sired him, but Lord Eddard had raised him. He could never forget. And Lord Eddard valued family, justice, kindness and honour above all else. He had raised him with those values.
"I will find a way."
Daenerys only smiled her sad smile.