AN: Thanks for all the favs, follows and reviews!

Jon (Aegon) III

"Good news, my Prince!"

Jon looked up from his Valyrian studies to see Oberyn, followed by Ser Jorah, walk into the sitting room with exuberance. The Dornishmen had another letter in his hands, making his heart skip a beat. He may have said that it is good news, but the last major news he had received from Westeros had been anything but.

"Bran Stark has woken up," Oberyn said with a grin as he sat down and helped himself with some wine.

Jon had not realized how tense he must have been, but upon hearing this, he nearly collapsed. He covered his face in his hands and laughed. This was not simply good news. This – this – it was fantastic news.

"That's wonderful!" Rhaenys wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so glad for you, little brother!"

Another hand joined his sister, the familiar feeling of his aunt's fingers combing through his hair making him relax. "Finally some good news for you, Aegon. You deserve this."

"Does the letter say what happened?" he asked, looking at Oberyn.

"That is the one disappointment: it says that he doesn't remember a thing." He looked at Jon, then gave a small shrug. "Your cousin is alive and awake. That should be enough for now."

Disappointment indeed. But Oberyn was also right. Bran was alive and awake and while he would never be able to walk or run or climb again, it was enough for now. Still, he wanted to know who had done this and why they had done this. What had Bran seen?

"Cease your brooding, my Prince, and enjoy a good cup of cheap wine! Drink to Bran Stark's health!" Oberyn filled his cup and filled his aunt's, his sister's and Ser Jora's as well before they all raised them for a toast once everyone was back to their seats.

He took a couple of deep gulps of the sweet drink. Quite some time had passed since he had come to Essos, but he still hadn't gotten used to the sweetness of their wine.

"Does the letter say anything else, Ser Oberyn?" Jon asked.

Oberyn shook his head and slid the letter across the table to him. "No. Bran Stark woke up, doesn't remember anything and that's it."

Skimming over the letter, he confirmed what the Dornishmen told him. He nodded in thanks at Oberyn, who just raised his cup with a wink in return.

It was good to hear good things from Winterfell for once.

He needed a different perspective.

After difficult conversations about his claim for the Iron Throne, he was more conflicted than ever. Four and ten years of being nought but a bastard son of Eddard Stark's had taken their toll it seemed. Imagining himself on the throne, where, before him, had been the likes of King Jaehaerys The Wise, King Aegon The Conqueror himself or King Daeron The Good – it was laughable.

He wanted to be more than a bastard. He wanted to show that he could bring just as much honour to House Stark as Robb or his uncle himself could. He wanted everyone to see that he could make House Stark proud. Because of that, he had been set on joining the Night Watch – an honourable band of brothers protecting the Realm against the Wildling threat. He would have been out of Lady Stark's hair and he would have honoured his father.

But now, things were different. Things had changed. Suddenly, he was Prince Jon Aegon Targaryen instead of just Jon Snow. Suddenly he was the legitimate son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark. Suddenly he had a real claim to the Iron Throne. He had an aunt and a sister who wanted to see him take it.

When he wanted to prove himself he had never considered doing so by ruling the Seven Kingdoms. It was a bizarre idea to even entertain, no matter how much time had already passed.

He needed to talk.

Prince Oberyn was about to leave for his daily patrol, which was as good a time as any to ask for his counsel.

"I would like to join you today, Ser," Jon said, walking to the Dornish Prince in the hallway.

He raised a single, thin brow at him and nodded with that smile of his – a smile that told Jon that Oberyn knew what he truly wanted. "I would be delighted, my Prince."

Quickly slipping into his boots, Jon followed Oberyn outside. They walked past the whore's house, her daughter waving at them with a bright smile. Jon watched her return to her worn-out dolls, then walked side by side with Oberyn in silence. The road was parched and dusty, dry patches of grass being the only decoration. Left and right old and small houses were lined up. Colours were peeling off, cracks in the walls were visible. There were only few children to be seen.

"I don't know if my counsel will be of help, my Prince, but I am willing to try. What is the matter?"

Straightforward. Jon liked that about Prince Oberyn. "What makes a good king?" he asked. "What qualifies someone to be king? Other than their name and claim."

Oberyn grinned at him. "I see the princesses have been busy." He thought for a moment, silence settling around them once more before he answered the question. "That is a good question, my prince. What do you think?"

"I think...above all, it should be decisiveness. It should be the ability to make difficult decisions, to have the strength to go through with them."

Oberyn nodded. "A good answer, though it lacks finesse." They passed more rows of tightly packed homes before reaching a fork. Oberyn took the right. "You have to be decisive, but you cannot ever be deaf to counsel. You have to be strong, but you have to know when to compromise. You have to be a father to your subjects – to all of them: the Lords, the small folk, women, men, children. You have to want all to thrive under your rule, but you will have to be ready to punish those who step out of line." He stroked his beard, which had grown full in the past months. "A king needs to be many things, but he always has to be the right thing at the right time."

"I think I understand." He breathed out through his nose, glancing at the darkening sky. The sun was setting, bathing everything in red hues.

"The Princesses are impatient and I can understand," Oberyn said. "They need to know if the last male Targaryen heir is on their side or not."

"I am!" Jon said with vehemence. "But forgetting fourteen years of being a bastard is not easy. Fourteen years of being nothing and no one and suddenly–"

"Stop, my Prince," Oberyn interrupted him. "Why is it not easy?" The Martell prince glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. "You were a bastard and are not anymore. It's that easy. You are the rightful heir for the Iron Throne. Other bastards would kill to be in your place, my Prince."

Jon opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn't find a proper reply.

He wasn't wrong, Prince Oberyn. Other bastards would kill him for the opportunity that had seemingly just fallen into his lap. They would sell their hearts and souls to be in his place. They would spit on their honour without even thinking about it.

"Allow me to give you something to think about, my Prince," Oberyn began. "Do you think you would make a better king than the Mad King? Than Maegor the Cruel? Than the Usurper? Do you think your reign will be just? Your answer won't be for me or the Princesses. Your answer will be for yourself. Think about it. Think about all the kings this realm has seen, the good and the bad, and ask yourself: 'where, in this list, would I be'? And answer honestly."

Jon cocked his head. It was a lot to ask, to compare oneself to kings, but he indulged the idea for the moment. Where would he be, among all those names? He knew himself, his morality, his code of honour. He knew how he had been raised, he knew the rights and wrongs of the world. Could he rule as King Jaehaerys I had done? By and large, he was considered to be one of the greatest, if not the greatest, among the Targaryen kings.

He would certainly be better than Kings Aerys and Maegor – which really was not a high standard – though he could not say whether he would surpass King Robert. Then again, however...King Robert was the man who had not issued any punishment for the murder of his and Rhaenys's brother and the rape and murder of Princess Elia.

And there was also the unflattering title of The Whoremonger King.

Jon would not want to be remembered as such.

He could not say if he would be a better king than King Robert, but he would be a better man. He was certain of that. But did he want to? Did he want to reign over the realm, did he want to sit on the Iron Throne?

Did he have to want to? Was it not his duty? Was it not his duty to fulfil as the rightful heir? That was the big question he had to ask himself.

"I know I could never be a good king. King's hand, maybe," Oberyn added with a grin and wink, "but not a good king. I don't have the right temperament. You, on the other hand...I can see it. Better than any Baratheon or Lannister by leagues."

The rest of their patrol was spent with idle chatter and in comfortable silence.

He felt a bit lighter, the day after. Talking with Oberyn had proven to be a good idea. Could he do better than kings before him? Yes. He knew he could because Lord Stark had raised him to be a good and honourable man. He had seen Lord Stark lead his people, he had seen Lord Stark earn the respect and loyalty of his people. He had been raised by as good an example of a leader as he could have hoped for.

Oberyn had been right. He needed to let go of the past fourteen years and his life as a bastard and see this opportunity he had been given as what it was. He need not see it through Targaryen eyes and he need not see it through Stark eyes. He need not see it through the eyes as someone who had been raised a bastard.

The choice was still not an easy one to make, but he felt better. His sleep had been restful for once.

"Good morning, brother," Rhaenys said, cleaned and washed up in the sitting room by the table and eating cheese and fruits.

He was a bit surprised at the greeting in Valyrian but didn't mind. He could only improve further by speaking it.

"Good morning, sister," he said, earning himself an approving nod and smile.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you. And you?"

Rhaenys snorted. "This conversation is something else. Join me, Aegon. Let's break our fast together."

He sat down next to her, picking some fruits and cheese for himself. "Did you tell your uncle that you need new spears yet?"

"Yes. He said the rate at which you break them is impressive."

Jon chuckled at that. "I should feel proud. Prince Oberyn is not an easy man to impress."

"Indeed. What did you talk about yesterday?"

He did not wish to share the conversation just yet, but he also wanted to honour the promise they had made to each other. He remembered what Aunt Daenerys had said as well when he had told her his real name: Lies and secrets sow distrust. Honesty builds trust. No, he would tell her.

"...I asked him about what makes a good king."

"Oh?" Rhaenys looked genuinely curious and interested. Jon could even see a hint of a smile on her face. She must be delighted to hear that. "Was his answer to your satisfaction then?"

"It certainly gave me a lot to think about."

"Then I don't suppose you are ready to stake your claim yet?"

"No, sister. Not yet."

She looked at him, hopeful, and placed a hand on his arm. "But...you can...you will think about it? You will not dismiss the idea entirely?"

"I never did, Rhaenys," Jon answered, covering her hand with his. "When you are being raised a bastard your whole life and something like this suddenly falls into your lap – I find it difficult to move from having nothing to my name to having everything to my name." He sighed, then gave her a small, gentle smile. "But your uncle made a good point."

"Did he?"

"Most other bastards would kill to be in my position. I think he meant for me to not think of this situation as a burden, but as an opportunity."

"I'm glad. I really am, Aegon."

He chuckled. "Then I did something right."

"You sure did, little brother!"

He gave her hope, in some way, he supposed and he was glad he did. The choice he had to make – or maybe it was less of a choice he had to make and more of an opportunity given to him he had to accept – was difficult still, but he felt more confident. If he could change the world, if he could better the world, should he not take it? Should he not weed out the corruption poisoning the lands, should he not lead the realm to thrive? Would any of this even be possible or was he just dreaming a dream?

He was not meant to be king. He was not made to be king.

Was that even true still? The joy and relief on Rhaenys's face –

But what if…?

"Why are you and Aunt Daenerys so set on my being a king?" Jon asked. "Do you really believe I could be a good king or are you just desperate to get the Targaryen name back on the throne?"

"A good question, nephew."

Jon looked towards the threshold, where his aunt was standing. His heart sped up and he felt the lingering touch of her lips again. He felt it on his temple, he felt it on the corner of his lips. He felt her hot breath on his skin – so faint a caress, he could not be sure if it had been real or if his mind had played tricks on him. The sudden tightness in his breeches made him shift uncomfortably.

With slow, elegant and sure steps did his aunt cross the room to sit across from him. Her long and silver hair cascaded gently past her shoulders and her big and violet eyes gave her a look of innocence that belied her shrewdness. He had to fight hard to keep his eyes away from her deep cleavage, the pale blue dress she was wearing a scandalous piece.

"Good morning, Aunt Daenerys," he said, echoed by Rhaenys.

"Good morning." She took a piece of cheese and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly. "To answer your question," she began after swallowing, "the reason is both. We think that you would make for a wonderful king, but we also want our family back on that throne. It is our family's legacy and the Usurper has no place there."

"The Baratheons have Targaryen blood, though," Rhaenys said and immediately held her hands up at their aunt's furious, furious glare. "I'm just saying! Founded by Aegon the Conqueror's bastard half-brother, or so it is rumoured. And the Usurper's grandmother was also a Targaryen, but I forgot the name."

"I do not care if he is our – our – distant great-great-great cousin or uncle or whichever it is!" their aunt shouted shrilly. "He has no place on our throne! He paid for it with the blood of our family, of innocent women and children!"

"I know, Aunt Daenerys," Rhaenys said. "I want him dead as much as you do, believe me! It was just a small piece of knowledge, nothing more."

Aunt Daenerys shot Rhaenys another glare, who looked quite chastised, which irked Jon a little bit. "There is little harm in knowing and sharing these things, Aunt Daenerys. I think you are overreacting a bit."

"Have I hurt your feelings, Rhaenys?"

"Well, no, I was just surprised by your reaction." His sister shrugged.

"I apologize regardless." Aunt Daenerys took a calming breath, then turned to look at him again. "What say you, Aegon? Are you content with our reasoning to want you as king? Your name makes it obvious, but so does your heart. You have a beautiful heart, befitting a great king."

He nodded bashfully. It certainly was more than he had expected. The small seed of sudden doubt had flowered immediately after his mind had planted it, but his aunt's answer made him relax again. He trusted her. He trusted both of them.

"Good. Is there anything else you want to ask or talk about? It is refreshing that it is you opening this conversation for once."

"Not for now, no," Jon said.

Silence settled around them, only interrupted by the incessant tapping of his fingers on the tabletop. That quickly stopped, however, when Rhaenys covered the offending hand with hers. It must have been annoying her.

His aunt was the one who broke the silence. "You will be a good king, Aegon. You will be just and strong. Most of all, however, you will never be alone."

He nodded but didn't say anything further. Coming to terms with the situation, to accept this chance, this duty – it needed time, it needed patience. Aunt Daenerys appeared to be certain, however. She talked as if a decision had been made and as if everything was already set in stone.

Mayhap it was. He did not want to commit to anything yet. He could not. But doubts...the doubts were not weighing so heavily anymore. They were not smothering him anymore. He could breathe and he could think clearly. Mayhap it was meant to be him, in the end. Mayhap it was just a series of events and coincidences that had led him here. Whichever it was, the time to commit was inching closer. He could feel it.

He watched his aunt and sister. One had accepted him from the beginning. She had taken him in with open arms and done her best to make him feel loved and welcomed.

The other...he chuckled inwardly. So much anger and pain and in the end he felt nothing but respect for her. His name was Jon Aegon Targaryen. If she spoke his name, she spoke his middle name – the name of their dead brother. He knew how it pained her, but she did it as a way to heal and because it was 'a strong and true Valyrian name.' She may be half Dornish, but she had immense pride in her Valyrian blood. 'You should as well, Aegon. There are two sides to us and we should be proud of both.'

Jon looked at them, talking with smiles on their faces. They loved him, both in their own way. He knew that. He grew to love them as well. They were his family as much as the Starks were. He didn't need to choose.