Once We Were Dragons

by ctc1000

Sequel to Maester Wolf. The past is never truly buried. New threats arise and Jon deals with the heritage of the Valyrian Freehold and House Targaryen. The conflict will be more than just the Starks and the Lannisters, and reverberate through all Seven Kingdoms and beyond.

11. The Dragon Revealed

The Dragon Revealed

There were moments in Arya's life when the world seemed to stand still. At the Sept of Baelor, she had closed her eyes when Ilyn Payne beheaded Ned Stark on Joffrey's order. Yoren, the sour old recruiter from the Night's Watch, blocked her view of the pulpit so Arya only heard a dim noise, as if the thousands packed in the plaza held their breath and let out a long soft sigh. At the Crossroads Inn, time slowed down when the three dire wolves burst through the doors and windows. She had wept tears of relief to be reunited with Northern forces led by her brother. Now, Jon announced that he was not her brother, but a cousin - the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar. Rhaegar Targaryen was no longer the Last Dragon.

The sun set over the Bay of Crabs, the last rays of yellow and red shining on darkened waters. The air grew cold and the wind died. Green tongues of flames flickered but without wind and warmth, the wildfire began to dwindle. The walls stood, but the inside of Florian's Tower was burned and blackened beyond repair. They had managed to rescue everyone - the servants and the sick- leaving behind only the bodies of Baelish's men.

A soft and insistent cry broke the silence.

"You should feed the child, my lady." Jon said gently.

Leonette Tyrell shook off her stupor, and stammered. "Yes, Lord Snow. I mean, your grace..." Garlan offered his green cloak with two golden roses to shield the mother and child.

"How do we know that is the truth?" Olenna Tyrell asked.

"Grandmother, he walked through fire without burning." Garlan said.

"Yes, but how do we know that you are the child of Prince Rhaegar, and not a dragonseed? There were two royal children, not three." Olenna continued.

"My father and mother were married on the Isle of Faces."

"What proof is there? House Baratheon claimed that the Crown Prince abducted Lyanna Stark. That was why the North joined the Rebellion."

Barristan stepped forth. "Prince Rhaegar loved his lady Lyanna. He told the three of us - Ser Jonothor, Prince Lewyn and myself - before the Battle of the Trident. He meant to bring Lyanna back to King's Landing and give her a crown. Brandon and Rickard Stark's deaths were for naught. Rhaegar had no quarrel with the North."

"It would have been nice to tell us about this then, and not seventeen years and two kings later." Olenna snapped.

"The knights of the Kingsguard are sworn to keep the King's Secrets. Rhaegar died at the Ruby Ford. We did not know that Lyanna carried the Prince's child. He must have entrusted the White Bull, Oswell Whent and Arthur Dayne with the secret and your safety." Barristan said.

The septons and House Lannister might challenge the marriage but Lyanna had been protected by Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, and two other white cloaks. The presence of three of Rhaegar's best knights would weigh heavily in Jon's favor among the highborn and smallfolk.

"How can this be? How can you live when Elia and her children died? The gods are cruel. Rhaegar shamed my sister and abandoned Aegon and Rhaenys." Oberyn cried.

"Rhaegar had his faults but he loved his children. Aerys held them hostage to ensure the loyalty of my father and Dorne to the Iron Throne. I mourn the deaths of Princess Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys too. They were my family." Jon said.

"Words are wind. What do you care about my niece and nephew? They died before you were born." Oberyn raged.

"Balerion." Jon called. The black cat glared at the Martells, both ears - one torn and one whole - twitching as if the old tom was about to pounce. "You remember him, don't you? Rhaenys loved showing her kitten to you. Balerion was there when she was murdered. You were not."

"But how?" A bewildered Oberyn asked. "That was so long ago. How could the cat survive? And where did you find him?"

"I found him in the tunnels of the Red Keep. Rhaenys told me what she said. "Uncle, this is my dragon." You smiled and claimed the kitten was the Black Dread Reborn. But he wasn't, much to her sorrow. A cat is a willful beast but not as much as a dragon."

Oberyn reeled in shock. "Those were her words and that was my reply. Elia gifted Rhaenys the kitten for her third name day."

"I see her in my dreams. We were to be wed on my 18th name day in the Great Sept before our families. I was Prince of Summerhall, and Rhaenys was the daughter of the sun. She could draw me from my solitude, laugh at my faults, and kiss away my hurts. When I was wounded from the crossbow bolt, she came and showed me three visions."

"What was Rhaenys like, Jon?" Alleras asked.

"Fierce. Proud. Strong. A true Targaryen. We would have been happily wed. She told me that we would have had two beautiful children - a boy and girl - dragon riders both. But that can never be. She died." Jon said.

"Is she happy in the afterlife? Is she with her loved ones?" Ellaria Sand probed.

"She loves me and we are apart. But she is with her family. If Rhaenys and Aegon are not in heaven, then heaven is unworthy of the name, and the Faith and the Seven can all go to hell. One day, we will be united. But until then, I have much to do."

Jon made ready to leave with Ghost at his side. The Winter Town boys grabbed long poles and staves, preparing to enter the tower and see what, if anything, could be salvaged. Before they departed, Ser Jaime bent down on one knee, and laid his sword on the grass.

"What are you doing, Kingslayer?" Lady Olenna said.

Jaime ignored her and spoke directly to Jon. "Before Rhaegar departed King's Landing, he charged me with keeping Elia Martell and his children safe."

"You failed. You were too busy killing the king and sitting your arse on the Iron Throne to guard my sister and her children." Oberyn said bitterly.

"I never thought they would be hurt in the sack. I swore an oath to protect Rhaegar's children. You are his last child and heir. I offer you my sword to shield your back. If you do not accept, then I offer my head as penance for failing your father." Jaime said.

"Ser Jaime, you are a Kingsguard. You swore an oath to the Iron Throne for a white cloak. Joffrey Baratheon is your king." Brienne said.

"Joffrey has no rightful claim. House Baratheon usurped the Iron throne. And Joffrey is not even a Baratheon." Barristan said. "A Targaryen prince outranks Robert, let alone children that may not be his. Prince Rhaegar was the rightful king."

"And yet, you served his killer for fifteen years. Such loyalty." Oberyn snarked.

Her brother took up the sword, slightly wet from the grass. The scabbard glittered with golden lions and red rubies, and the long pommel ended in a roaring golden lion head with ruby eyes that shone like stars. He unsheathed the sword, revealing a dark grey blade, the metal tinted crimson to honor House Lannister. It was a fine weapon, Arya thought - forged from the best steel into clean sharp lines, and capable of deadly thrusts, slices and cuts. Jon inspected the sword carefully, before resting the blade at Jaime's neck.

Arya held her breath. Jon could kill the Kingslayer with a single blow, or accept him into service. In the end, he did neither. After some thought, Jon placed the blade back into the sheath, and held the longsword by the scabbard in his right hand.

"Why do you want to serve me?" Jon asked.

"To be a knight. To keep my promise to Prince Rhaegar. To do what is right and just."

"You want to be a good man, then be a good man. You don't need to swear oaths to me for that. Honor your vows, Ser Jaime."

"Which vows? I have made vows to three kings. I have sworn oaths to my family, the gods, the Kingsguard, and the Iron Throne. Obey your house. Obey your father. Obey the Gods. Obey the King. What if the King is mad and the gods are cruel?" Jaime asked.

"You are a knight, Ser. What are the most important duties of a knight? Have you forgotten your first vows? In the name of the Warrior, to be brave. In the name of the Father, to be just. In the name of the Mother, to defend the young and innocent. Go back to those words. They are the ones that matter." Jon said.

"The Kingslayer has forsaken his vows before." Nymeria Sand said.

"So have others." Jon said sharply. "Tell me, Ser, how many knights serve House Lannister?"

"Thousands." Jaime answered.

"And just as many knights hail from the Reach, the Vale, and the Stormlands. But none of them were willing to fight Gregor Clegane. He was a monster, a rapist, a murderer - a beast in human flesh. No knight would bring the Mountain to justice." Jon said.

"I wanted to kill the fucker. But I never got the chance." The Hound lamented.

"You are not a knight, Clegane. Neither am I. I killed the Mountain by burning him alive. I had help." He gave a slight nod to Arya, the Hound and Brienne. "Knights did not avenge Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys."

"When did you know that you are a Targaryen?" Alleras asked.

"I knew for certain in the Riverlands. That is why I sent Amory Lorch to Sunspear. I hope he died as painfully as Gregor." Jon turned back to the kneeling man. "You say you want to be a true knight. Let your deeds match your words."

"I have done questionable things."

"All men have. You have sinned more than most. What's past is prologue. No man or woman can erase the past, but we can choose our future. The measure of a man is deeds, not words. I cannot grant absolution for your crimes, Ser. The septons claim the Faith can, but they lie just like other men. Salvation lies within. Rise."

Jaime Lannister stood, taller and broader than her brother but there was no question who was vassal and who was king. Everyone present deferred to Jon, even the hot headed Oberyn and the sharp tongued Olenna. He turned again to leave.

"Where are you going?" Olenna asked.

"I came South to help Lady Leonette. I stayed to cure the plague. I am going to finish the task. Ser Garlan, find Petyr Baelish. That should not be hard as he is missing an eye. I have more important things to do." Jon went back into the ruined tower.

---

Nymeria kept the highborn away. The dire wolf rested by Arya as she watched the Winter Town Boys erect a pavilion, halfway between the tower and the Old Plough Inn. The structure was simple - stout reinforced poles dug into the ground holding up a wooden trellis roof nailed together. Guy ropes attached to iron pegs secured large sheets of cowhide and goatskin. The makeshift tent had no doors or windows, and would suffer in a storm but the closed roof trapped the heat and the leather panels offered protection against dust, wind and rain.

Jon could have opted for greater comfort. Baelor Hightower was not the only knight or lord who had been willing to lend a tent. The Reach had an unending supply of tourney worthy pavilions of different shapes and colors. Most were made of stiff cotton canvas but the finest had walls of green silk. Jon had declined the offers, asking only for candles to work into the night.

The sick had been moved to the Old Plough Inn. The smallfolk and servants were scattered around town, some returning to the castle and others staying at alehouses near the gates. The Winter Town Boys commandeered cabins of wood and undressed stone near the harbour, when they were not combing through the ashes. At last, Jon left the tower. Arya noted that very little had been salvaged.

Guards set up a tight cordon around the pavilion. Only Ghost and Balerion accompanied Jon into the tent. When she saw the candlelight, Arya walked in through the flap, giving Brienne and the Hound a brief nod. Her brother's frown lightened when he saw her.

"We lost much of what we bought from the North. The near-eye, the journals and the equipment were destroyed in the fire." Jon said.

"Does that mean we can't produce more elixir?" Arya asked.

He shook his head. "Not without barrels and tubes. That can be replaced but it will take time. And the glass is impossible to make here."

"At least most of the elixir was saved." Arya said.

"And many lives in the tower. No one died from the wildfire. That is better than what happened to the Lannisters in King's Landing."

"Jon, why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It was a hard thing to admit the truth, even to myself. I always wanted to be a Stark. Before I left Winterfell, I would have been happy to be Robb's captain of the guards. In Oldtown, I dreamt of Valyria. At first, I thought that was normal. The Freehold was the greatest empire that ever lived, and invented much of note. But then something changed. I saw the desolation, the eruption of the Fourteen Flames, hurling molten rock high into the air, and clouds raining down dragonglass. I dreamt of the Doom many, many times."

"Was it awful?" Arya asked.

"Yes and no. There is a terrible beauty in destruction. The sea boiled and smoked, the earth shattered, and a mist of fire and ash covered all the land. The visions of the Doom are harrowing - they must be, otherwise the Targaryens would not flee on the word of a young girl. That was how I knew. I have dragon dreams."

"I knew that you were a Targaryen. I saw you at the Twins, Jon. You took the Crown of Winter from Grey Wind's head. You didn't burn then."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Jon asked, bemused.

She bit her lip. "I was afraid. I thought you might be angry or abandon us."

He reached over and covered her hand with his. "One day I may leave but I will never abandon you. We are family."

"But you are not a Stark anymore."

"I was never a Stark. I was a Snow, and now I am a Targaryen. You are still my sister, Arya, just like Robb will always be my brother. That will not change."

"But things must change, Jon. You have the strongest claim to the Iron Throne. The Martells and Tyrells will try to use you in their plots. Why did you tell them?"

"The truth does not stay buried forever. What do people say of my father?"

"Ned Stark? That he died after confessing treason at the Sept of Baelor."

"Ned Stark was not my father. He kept me alive and treated me as well as he could. Rhaegar Targaryen was my father. What do they say about Rhaegar?"

"He started the Rebellion by kidnapping Lyanna Stark." Arya said.

"They say more than that. They say that he was a mad beast that stole and raped Lady Lyanna. Rhaegar was nothing like that. That was a lie, spread by the Baratheons, and accepted for seventeen years. Some people knew the truth but never said a word."

"That's why you told them your name." Arya realized.

"I do not care what others say or think about me. But my parents are a different matter. They were foolish but they loved each other. My father was no rapist, and my mother died bearing me. Let the world remember them as they were, and not the false story told by the Iron Throne. Ned Stark knew the truth but participated in the lie. I want no more lies."

"He wanted to bury the past. The Rebellion was over and thousands had died. He wanted to protect you."

"Yes, by blackening the name of my father and erasing the memory of my mother. Ned Stark placed Robert on the throne. The Whoremonger King told everyone of his great love for Lyanna Stark, even though he fathered a bastard in the Vale. You know her - Mya Stone. She was born two years before the Rebellion."

"That was very long ago." Arya said in a small voice.

"I don't care. If they killed your brother and sister, destroyed your house, and stripped you of your name, would it matter how many years had passed? The Rebellion was built on a lie. The world should know the truth. Let Rhaegar and Lyanna's ghosts hang over the Iron Throne and show that the Lannisters and Baratheons have no rightful claim."

"What will you do, Jon? Will you marry a Tyrell or a Martell to take the crown?"

"The words of my house are Fire and Blood. Not marry others for armies I do not trust. My father relied on the Reach and Dorne in the Rebellion. They failed him. I won't make the same blunder of trusting Mace Tyrell and Doran Martell. When I attack, I will be ready - with fire and blood."

Arya would have pressed further but Nymeria sniffed the air and growled. A moment later, an awkward rap came from outside the tent. An apologetic Little Bird entered through the flaps. "Milord - your grace, a man asks to see you. He says it is important."

"Everybody believes that their needs come first. Who is it?" Jon said

"Jaqen H'ghar."

---

Olenna waited until the babe had been placed down in a cradle by Lady Leonette. Ballabar and Lomys determined that Snow spoke the truth. Garlan's son had been entirely unharmed by the fire in the tower. The infant had eaten well, laughing and smiling as the maids and ladies cooed. The knights and lords of the Reach were less at ease, trying to come to grips with the secrets revealed tonight. The game of thrones had changed.

She sipped a cup of rose hip tea while the servants set out platters of bacon and beef pies and a tray of honey roasted ham, dripping over a stale trencher of brown bread. The modest supper was accompanied by hot bread, cheese, and apples. There was no wine or mead. Olenna wanted the heads in the pavilion to be unclouded by drink.

The Fossoways sat down to eat with Garlan and his wife. Lomys came back from the ruined tower with a few other disciples. Olenna glared at the Fossoway boy. "Did you know?"

"Know that Jon was a Targaryen?" Owen wiped away the mustard and beef gravy from his mouth. "How could I possibly have known that?"

"We had no idea." Alayn, Ser Baelor's nephew, said. "I met Snow soon after he arrived in Oldtown. He sailed on a derelict ship with no guards or escorts. I would not risk my steward on such a trip, let alone a Targaryen prince. At the Citadel, he excelled at every subject and link but that is not a sign of a dragon."

Owen piped up. "He was interested in ancient Valyria. He read every scroll about the Doom. Jon wanted to examine the glass candles. I worried that he would steal them from the Vault."

Olenna sighed. Lord Stark was known for honor and not cleverness. He was Robert Baratheon's truest friend. Yet he had hidden the existence of the Targaryen heir in plain sight. All the clues were there: an infant born in Dorne, a dead sister, a bastard raised at Winterfell. And Snow burned men alive : Bolton at Harrenhal, the Mountain in King's Landing, and all of House Frey. They had been deceived by Ned Stark. The gods enjoyed their little japes.

Ser Baelor entered the pavilion, dragging a salt and pepper haired man with a golden hoop on the right ear. The face had been badly beaten and a large wet spot on the garishly bright pantaloons explained the smell of piss.

"Who is that?" Garlan asked.

"Luko Castein. Captain of the Merling King, Littlefinger's ship." Baelor wrenched the man's head up by his greasy hair. "Tell them."

"I am only an errand boy, my lord." The captain blubbered. "Baelish paid off the debts on the galley to the Iron Bank. He told me to be ready to sail when he gave the signal."

"And what did he plan to do at the tower?" Baelor said coldly.

"Burn it down. That would make the elixir even more valuable. Baelish wanted to steal it all and destroy any way to produce more. The Merling King would sail to Pentos and Tyrosh. Both cities are suffering from the plague, and the magisters and Archon would pay a fortune."

"My child was in the tower." Garlan growled.

"I didn't know, my lord. I just do what I am told."

"We found a headless corpse in the hold of the Merling King. We believe it is Baelish."

"It is, my lord." The captain said eagerly. "He wears a silver mockingbird pin on his cloak."

"Could it be a trick? Littlefinger is clever. He might fake his death." Jon Fossoway asked.

"Tonight did not go well for his plans. The Hound says Baelish lost an eye to a raven. It would be incredible if he hid a dead body in a pool of blood as a diversion." Baelor said.

"Let's hope it is Baelish. But who killed him?" Olenna said.

"We don't know. His sellswords are all dead from the assault on the tower. They were disguised as plague doctors in King's Landing." Baelor ordered a guard to take the prisoner away. "Should we give Castein to Prince Daemon?"

"Is he a prince or a king, uncle?" Alayn asked.

"That depends on how quickly Joffrey loses the Iron Throne."

"Joffrey is still King." Maester Lomys said cautiously. "Jon Snow may be a Targaryen, but there is no record of the marriage."

"That doesn't matter." Baelor snorted. "A child of Prince Rhaegar defeated Tywin and cured the plague. Who would choose the Kingslayer's bastard as king? We know what Joffrey is - a cruel and stupid boy and a Lannister on both sides. The lions are weak. Men believe what they wish. They will flock to Snow's banner if he declares for the Iron Throne."

"I believe that is right, Lady Olenna." Jon Fossoway said soberly. "We should make certain that Snow does not become our enemy. With Baelish dead, the Vale's loyalty is uncertain. Ned Stark had many friends among the Valelords. We do not want to fight the North and the Vale."

"Why would we fight Jon? He has been good to the Reach. He freed the prisoners at the Twins. He saved me from the plague. He saved my child three times and he is the only way the plague will be stopped in Oldtown." Leonette said.

"We are allied with the Lannisters. Margaery is to marry Joffrey soon." Olenna replied.

"Grandmother, we should break the engagement. Owen was right. A betrothal to Jon Snow would have served Highgarden better. Joffrey's reign will not last." Garlan said.

"It is not so simple. I received a raven from Alerie a few days ago." Olenna said. "The Lannisters have taken Margaery and Mace to the Maidenvault."

"Are they prisoners?" Garlan asked.

"No, but they must stay in the castle and are watched closely. The Imp claims they are honored guests of the Iron Throne."

"Hostages." Baelor spat.

"Yes, and the lions also threaten harm to Loras should Highgarden break the alliance. Loras, as Kingsguard, cannot leave Joffrey. "

"What a mess." Garlan said.

"We are in a difficult spot. Margaery cannot leave the Red Keep. Without her, we can make no alliance with Daemon Targaryen. Things will get worse when the Iron Throne knows of Jon Snow's true parentage."

"It is not just the crown. Everyone will hear about the marriage of Lady Lyanna and Rhaegar. Jon Snow is the rightful heir. What will the other kingdoms do?" Baelor asked.

Olenna went silent, like the others in the pavilion. Quite honestly, she did not know.

---

The Lorathi placed the leather satchel down on the grass before handing over two blades - a slender sword and a slim dirk to Brienne and the Hound. Both weapons had a slight curve but Jon had no doubt the Faceless Man could kill with a thrust or any number of other ways. The Lorathi gave Clegane an amused smile before entering the pavilion with the bag.

Jon dismissed the guards, leaving only Arya and himself with the two dire wolves. He pushed forth the wooden board holding a round braided loaf. A salt cellar and silver spoon, both enameled with the salmon of House Mooton, rested in the hollow. Jaqen H'ghar tore off a piece and dipped it into the salt. Jon followed suit, savoring the sweet and slightly sour dense bread.

"A man hears that you are a Targaryen prince." Jaqen said.

"My brother is the rightful king of Westeros." Arya said.

"Is he? Where is his crown or throne?" Jaqen smiled.

"I have none now, but things may change. Why did you ask to speak with me?" Jon asked.

"You took out Baelish's right eye. I have his left."

"Did you capture Littlefinger?" Arya asked.

Ghost tugged gently at Jon's hand. He reached out through his bond. The white wolf had picked up a scent - earthy and metallic, but mixed with fear. In a forest, a dire wolf could smell blood from half a mile away, even through a leather bag. "You killed Baelish."

The Faceless Man opened the satchel, revealing the severed head of the former Master of Coin and Lord Protector of the Vale. In death, Littlefinger's smirk was replaced with an open mouthed scream. Jon noted that the cut across the neck was clean, and the blood had been drained well. Terror could be seen in the one remaining eye.

"He would have run. I found him in the harbor, on the Merling King. He meant to sail away."

"You did not find him. You already knew where Baelish was. You tracked him to Maidenpool. Who hired you to kill him?" Jon asked.

"A man cannot say."

"It couldn't have been the Lannisters. They would kill Baelish in King's Landing. And the Tyrells and Martells seem to have no idea about Littlefinger." Arya said.

"A girl may ask. The House of Black and White does not reveal secrets without payment, not even to princes and kings."

"And what would be sufficient payment?" Jon asked.

"The elixir. The cure to the plague."

"You asked for that when Baelish was alive. Now he is dead. Enough elixir for Braavos is a high price for only a name." Jon replied.

"Secrets can be worth a great deal. Braavos was a secret for a hundred and eleven years, to escape the wrath of the dragons. And Braavos can help you, Daemon Targaryen. The Iron Bank has ties to the crown since the reign of Jaehaerys the Old. You would do well to consult them before you attempt to overthrow the Lannisters. You would be wise to not make them a foe."

"How can a bank in Braavos threaten Jon?" Arya asked.

"The Iron Bank can make and unmake kings. There is a reason Braavos is the richest of all the Free Cities." Jaqen said.

Jon thought there were many reasons why Braavos was powerful. One of them stood in the tent. The maesters long suspected the Faceless Men of murdering rivals to the Iron Bank. He had no doubt the tales were embellished but these were dangerous men.

"I will give you my answer tomorrow." Jon said.

Jaqen H'ghar raised a slender unpainted eyebrow. "Will it satisfy the Iron Bank?"

"My goal is not to please others. It is to cure the plague. You will see soon enough."

---

Jon woke up, refreshed but hungry. He always slept better with Ghost next to him, and he realized with a tinge of guilt that Ghost, unlike Nymeria, had not hunted last night. He scratched the shaggy pale white fur about the neck. The dire wolf's garnet red eyes glinted in the light. Jon followed the gaze to the barrels of elixir stacked in one corner. It was time to end this. Time to move on.

Outside the pavilion, the servants lit fires and drew water from the springs. The sculleries and kitchens of Florian's Tower were ruined but men still needed to eat. He walked north past gawking smallfolk. A few tried to kneel but most were too busy with their tasks. At the stone wall that separated the town from the harbor, Jon counted a dozen masts, although some of the ships were too small to cross the Narrow Sea. That would have to be enough.

The Winter Town Boys had purchased a freshly caught tuna and carried it back on a small wagon. Rather than make a stew, they hacked up the giant fish, and roasted rough cut chunks splashed with salt, lemon and oil over a grill of coals and hot stones. A rickety table held the products of their labor - hot fish on leftover bread, accompanied by jugs of watered down wine. Jon fed a tuna steak to Ghost, and Balerion devoured a smaller fillet. Jon ate the bread dipped in wine with the fish drippings.

"Better food than the Citadel." Alleras cut a large sliver with a knife. She squeezed the juice of a blood orange onto the fish, and threw a large morsel at the black cat.

"That is not saying much. Boiled mutton, apples, and cider that Owen claimed was vinegar."

"That was your choice. Had there been any hint of your parentage, the Tyrells would have feasted you at Highgarden. You would be fatter than Mace Tyrell." Alleras replied.

Jon chuckled. He had only seen Olenna's son briefly at King's Landing. The Lord of Highgarden was a large man. "How is your father taking the news?"

"He is still in shock. It is hard to come to grips with the past. He was very close to his sister. They were only born a year apart, and ten years after Uncle Doran. Oberyn, even though he was younger, felt responsible for her, given Elia's health. Father hates Tywin far more but he still blames Rhaegar for her death. He bears you no ill-will, but…"

"He will not call the banners against the Iron Throne." Jon finished her words.

"It is not my father's decision. Prince Doran rules Sunspear and he is a cautious, careful man. Uncle Doran enjoys his plots. He claims to be working for Tywin's downfall but he accepted a betrothal between Myrcella Baratheon and my cousin Trystane. He would certainly demand that you take his daughter Arianne as queen." Alleras said.

"What is she like? Tell me the truth."

"Willful. Bold. In time, she might make a good ruler but now, Arianne is more rash than wise. She took the wrong lessons from Uncle Doran, I am afraid. She believes in action while Doran enjoys subtlety. She clashes often with her father."

"That does not sound promising."

"What did you expect? No alliance will be perfect. Arianne may enjoy adventure and excitement too much but she is Dornish. Her blood runs hot."

"That is not my concern. I have to negotiate with both Prince Doran and Princess Arianne. Oberyn has no power to bind his niece in marriage, and Sunspear is far away. I do not have the time to go to Dorne, to meet Arianne, and wait for an army to be mustered."

"So you will marry the Rose of Highgarden instead?" Alleras asked.

"They have not offered and I have not asked. Despite her sharp tongue, Olenna may not be able to make a betrothal without speaking to Margaery or her father. Mace Tyrell may be an oaf but he is still Lord of Highgarden."

"Strange. I would think the Tyrells would rush to your side."

"If Ser Garlan was the Head of House Tyrell, it might be different. Margaery is already engaged to the King. I would have to take the throne and the Northern army is far away. "

Alleras shook her head. "They are wrong. I have seen Joffrey in King's Landing. When you burnt the Red Keep, he cowered in fear. He insults his bannermen. He is greedy for power. He won't listen to anyone, not Cersei, the Kingslayer, or Lord Tywin. The longer he sits on the Iron throne, the weaker the Lannisters will become."

"You are certain of this?" Jon asked.

"Yes. He is going to be a very bad king. He is cruel but not clever. His best hope would be to hide behind his grandfather's skirts but he is too proud to do that. In less than two years, Joffrey will come of age and have the power to replace the Small Council. Mark my words. Joffrey is quite skillful at making enemies."

"Even terrible kings can rule for a long time. Baelor, Maegor, Aerys. Aegon the Unworthy stayed on the throne for a dozen years and his reign ended only because he was so fat that he could not walk. It makes you wonder how he fathered so many bastards." Jon said.

"Those kings were all Targaryens. They never had a Targaryen attempting to overthrow them. Your true name is Daemon, correct? The first Daemon started the Dance of Dragons to put his wife on the throne."

"Daemon did not start the Dance. Aegon the II stole the crown. He murdered men loyal to Rhaenyra, and his brother Aemond killed her second son. Lucerys was thirteen years old." The death of Rhaenyra's son truly began the war. Before, there was some chance that envoys and marriage pacts might satisfy the two sides. After Lucerys died, Prince Daemon hired killers to murder Aegon's children. It was not the finest moment for House Targaryen.

"What will you do, Jon? Will you set Westeros in flames?" She asked.

"Walk my own path. I share the same name as the Rogue Prince but we are different men."

---

Besides the tuna steaks, breakfast was a modest affair. Cheese, olives, salted fish, and overly ripe apples and plums completed the simple meal. To his surprise, much of the fish remained, and a servant hovered over the carcass, shooing away flies and cats from the succulent pink flesh. The young girl gave Balerion a fearful glance as they approached.

"Where are the others?" Jon asked. Chett and Gerion were absent, and the smallfolk who had tended the mold were missing.

"They are helping the Tyrells, your grace." The girl almost tripped trying to curtsy.

"The Tyrells? With what?"

"The nice fat lady. Begging your pardon - Lady Leona - she still wants a feast for her baby. The tavern wenches and ostlers say she will pay a silver stag for a beef and bacon pie."

At that price, every house in Maidenpool would fire up the ovens. Jon shuddered, thinking of the wretched fare at the Stinking Goose. The village taverns were not known for the quality of food. "But the fire burnt down the supplies of meat."

"Yes, your grace. But with silver, more can be found. My brothers are hunting rabbits. And there are goats and pigs that can be killed early."

The Tyrells loved their food, but then the Reach was quite fertile, bursting with fruit and grain. The Riverlands were bountiful as well and had it not been for the fire, the feast would have been splendid. "Eat your fill." Jon handed her a seared piece of tuna. "And when you are done, go find the others, and tell them to come."

"Milord, please don't be angry. Glady and them only wanted to earn some coins. Ern as well. We all thought you didn't need us any more."

"I am not angry. I am happy for Leonette and her child. If the lady desires a feast, then she should have one. But there are tasks that must be done. I have coins too. These are for you." Jon pressed five silver stags into the small hand. "There is more for the others. Now, after you finish, bring them to me - all the Winter Town Boys, the Little Birds and the elixir maids."

---

They came quickly from all parts of Maidenpool - the docks, the commons, and the taverns. Jon measured out and handed over a large quantity of silver stags. He explained what he wanted. There were no questions, no doubts, no confusion. Chett and a few others fanned out to the taverns close to the harbor. Gerry sat down in the pavilion with the boys able to read and write. Winter Town Boys gathered ravens, parchment and quills. Frances and some village girls measured out the elixir into smaller bottles and casks. A few left with messages for the Tyrells and Martells. Even after the tasks were allotted, a large passel of children remained, awaiting instruction. Jon decided to give Lady Leonette a hand with the feast.

The bathhouse at Jonquil's Pool still stood but the stone was scorched, blackened and charred. Even a few vials of wildfire had done great damage, as the substance, unaffected by the water, burned any cloth, wood, leather and iron the flames encountered. Jon advised the holy sisters to wait several days so that the springs could flush away the ash and debris. In return, the Faith allowed him to use the entrance of the bathhouse.

The arched doorway opened into a long chamber, lit up by sunlight coming through the high windows. The faint smell of smoke had almost faded from servants washing the room that morning. Men loyal to Ser Garlan and Ser Baelor lined up at the gray walls while Brienne made awkward banter with Barristan and Jaime. The Hound paced back and forth, keeping watch over the chairs placed in the first rows. Only a few were occupied - and many eyes watched those being escorted to those seats.

"Do you think they will come?" Arya asked.

"I don't see why not." Jon had explained the entire plan to his sister. She bit her lip, raised a few questions, but gave him his full support. Besides Ghost, he could always depend on Arya.

She glanced at the crowd. Three men sat uncomfortably at the front - a fair haired Lyseni with a red satin doublet, a weathered greybeard with a black tricorn hat, and a Tyroshi with dyed green whiskers. "We are missing nine of them."

"These are sea captains. On their ships, they would be up at the crack of dawn. Here, on land, with nothing to do, they spent their nights drinking bad rum, telling tall tales, and singing sea shanties. We're lucky they woke up before noon."

"Jaqen is here as well." Arya said.

The Lorathi was hidden in the shadows, between the Reach and the Martells. H'ghar's gray robe peeked out from behind the green cloaks of Lady Olenna's massive twin guards. "He wasn't invited but I suppose that has never bothered Faceless Men." Jon quipped.

The chairs began to fill up. A Summer Islander with a feathered cloak of green and yellow sat next to a dusky skinned sailor from Sarnor. A nervous Braavosi with a gold earring shrank into the background and a slender trader from Oldtown rubbed shoulders with a squat-legged hairy Ibbanese. He did not know whether the two other olive skinned men were from Myr, Volantis, or further east. The final two men, hailing from Driftmark in Blackwater Bay, sat down.

He stood up and addressed the captains. "Do you know my name?"

"We thought you were Jon Snow." The man from Lys said. "But it seems that you are a dragon."

"And do you know what I have done?"

"You cured the plague." The Oldtown trader said. "And not like Petyr Baelish's mountebanks and false doctors. Your elixir works."

"You hail from many ports. They say the plague is raging in the Free Cities and beyond. What would the magisters and archons do if your ship was the first to sail into harbor with the cure to the disease?"

The old man with the black hat and grey beard answered first. "Shower us in coins. The cure is worth its weight in gold. The ship that carried the elixir would be remembered forever."

"Gold? Hah. The cure to the plague is worth more than that. Jewels, saffron, silk. Kings would empty their treasuries. Lys would open their pillow houses to your crew. A captain might become a prince." The Lyseni man said.

"How would they greet the second ship to sail into port with the cure?" Jon continued.

"With joy and delight. The captain would be welcomed by the rulers, and given valuable gifts. His ship would have the choice of the best trade goods. Cedar from Qohor, spices from Volantis, ivory, ebony, tigerwood. Such a trip would be profitable indeed." The Braavosi said.

"And what about the third ship?" Jon asked.

"Bad wine and free food at the taverns. The whores might give you a tumble as thanks. You'd have to watch your purse though." The Oldtown trader said.

"How is that different from the usual voyage?" the Tyroshi roared in laughter.

The Summer Islander stood up, resplendent in his fine feathered cloak. "What does this mean, Prince Daemon? Will you allow us to sell elixir in your name?"

Jon looked over the eager sea captains. "Not sell. I will give you the elixir to be carried in my name. And something more important. The way of making the cure."

"The maester has set down the process for creating the elixir. We have scribed it many times this morning. There are more scrolls to be prepared. With a sample of the mold, a cask of medicine, and the instructions, a skilled healer will be able to produce elixir." Chett said.

"The secrets of the elixir will be given for free?" The Elder Brother of the Quiet Isle said. The tall healer with a shaved head, veined nose, and thick jaw looked overcome.

"Not secrets. The cure will not be secret for much longer. It would be best to hurry. The first ship to arrive at a port will reap enormous rewards. The second and third much less so." Jon said.

"This is madness. Why give it away?" Olenna asked.

"Because this is the plague. The plague does not die. It hides. It lurks in shadows and alleys, in slums and middens, until it sends out rats, fleas and other vermin to spread the disease once again. What will you do if the plague reemerges when I am no longer here?"

"He is right. In Westeros, sicknesses come and go. But in Essos, where there is greater trade, a plague often lingers. In Qarth, the plague reappeared four times in ten years. The so-called Queen of Cities never recovered." Oberyn said.

"The elixir is worth a million gold dragons. And that is only the beginning." Olenna said.

"I know what the cure is worth. Baelish showed all of us that when he tried to steal it. I only need gold for two things - to provision an army, and to develop a land. Before I came South, I was rebuilding the North with roads, dams, farms and mills. I have enough gold for that."

"Your grace." The gray bearded captain spoke up. He had a weary look, like someone who had seen too much and sailed for too long. "Would we be allowed to visit two cities?"

"What is your name? And which cities are you thinking of?"

"Groleo of the Sea Shrike. My home is in Pentos. But I must return to Meereen. Both suffer from the plague. They are dying in the streets - women, children and the old." The old man choked.

"Visit as many cities as you would like. Pentos, Tyrosh, Lys, Volantis and further east in Essos. Go far and wide with the cure. Or go near. Oldtown, Sunspear, King's Landing …."

"You cannot send the elixir to King's Landing." Olenna said sharply.

"Why not?" Jon asked.

The Queen of Thorns glared at Jaime Lannister. "Tell him, Kingslayer. Tell him the truth."

The knight opened his mouth but no words came out.

"Tell me what? You obviously know as well, Lady Olenna." Jon said with a touch of annoyance.

"We believe Tywin Lannister has contracted the plague. He hasn't been seen for weeks."

Oberyn stood up. "Our spies have not seen either Joffrey or Tywin since we left King's Landing. But they may simply be hiding from the plague."

"Lord Tywin has not called a meeting of the Small Council in a month. The man enjoys lording over everyone. Why would he hide from Mace?" Olenna snapped.

"Ser Jaime. What do you know of this?" Jon said.

The Lannister knight squirmed under the scrutiny of the crowd. Then he set his lip in a grim line. "It is true. My father fell ill before I left King's Landing. The maesters think he may recover but they do not know. I have had no news from the Red Keep."

"If Tywin died, we would know. The Lannisters would be hard pressed to keep it a secret. The septons would be summoned for funeral rites. But if he recovered, then Tywin would hold court. With the pestilence raging, the Hand of the King must be seen to rule." Oberyn said.

Jon's mouth twitched violently as he thought for a long moment. The room went silent as both the Queen of Thorns and Oberyn Martell waited for a response. "It doesn't matter. The cure will be sent to King's Landing."

"Prince Daemon." Baelor Hightower said. "The elixir might save Tywin's life."

"Five hundred thousand people live in King's Landing. How many are women and children? I despise Tywin Lannister. If he was on fire, I would not piss on him to extinguish the flames. But I will not allow tens of thousands to die for one man." Jon said.

"Men die in war. So do women and children. You cannot force Joffrey off the Iron Throne without shedding blood." Baelor said.

"This is not war. This is the plague. In war, soldiers know that death waits for them. They are ready to kill and be killed. Men in battle are not the same as women and children dying in their beds. Your family knows the horrors of disease, Ser Baelor. Seventy years ago, the grey death struck Oldtown. Half the city perished, along with most of the acolytes in the Citadel. I have read accounts of the great plagues of Essos - how the epidemic, like a thief in the night, snuck through walls to ravage cities and ruin towns. Death fell on houses, large and small, rich and poor, so that servants and masters fell dead at the same time. Whole villages perished, and towers filled with corpses in a tangled heap. The dead lay in piles like hay in a stack, and the bodies were trodden upon and trampled by those attempting to escape. The frail, the young, and the poor could not flee. The Stranger came for them all."

"This is madness." Olenna said. "The Lannisters will not care about your mercy. Joffrey sent Petyr Baelish to kill you. Let Tywin recover, and he will plot and scheme. He will find more Walder Freys. The Iron Throne will not rest, until you are dead."

"House Frey is extinct. I don't fear the lions or the Iron Throne. Right now, my desire is to banish the plague from the earth. It is within my power to do so. It may be that other pestilences rise in the future but this one ends now."

"I thought that you would take back your throne with fire and blood. Aegon the Conqueror would not lift up his enemies. Jaehaerys forgave Maegor's supporters but only after he was crowned. Why not be like them?" Olenna asked.

"There is truth in her words. With the cure, you only need a small army to march on King's Landing. A siege would be bloody and ugly but with the plague, you would win." Baelor said.

"How would I win? By catapulting plague infested bodies over the walls? By driving the sick and dying into the Red Keep? I will do neither of these things." Jon said.

"You are a Targaryen. Your family's history is conquest. No Targaryen cared how much blood was shed for victory. Aegon killed thousands to unite the Seven Kingdoms. The Burning of Harrenhal was his message to the houses of Westeros." Olenna said.

"Not all Targaryens lusted for blood. Jaehaerys fought no wars." Oberyn said.

"Only because his uncle conveniently died. Had Maegor lived, that statement would not be true. Jaehaerys would have been another Daemon, and been known as a kinslayer." Olenna retorted.

"I am not Aegon, Jaehaerys, or the first Daemon. All three had dragons. If I had a dragon, the war would have ended at the Red Fork. I will not use disease as a weapon in battle. I came South to cure the plague, not spread it further." Jon said.

"Kindness is a double edged sword. Your mercy may be a danger to all of us." Olenna complained.

Jon held up his hand. "Am I your king?" The question hung in the air over everyone in the chamber. "If I am king, then all of you are sworn to follow my orders. But if I am not king, then none of you have dominion over me. I have paid my debt in full. It is my decision on what to do with the elixir and how to deal with the plague."

He turned to the WinterTown Boys. "When will the scrolls be ready?"

Chett answered crisply. "Your grace, by tomorrow noon, the scrolls will be finished and sealed."

Jon addressed the captains directly. "Prepare your ships to sail by the morning. Ravens will deliver the news to the castles and ports of the Seven Kingdoms. Carry the elixir and scrolls to cities on both sides of the Narrow Sea. I expect only one thing in return. Tell them my name - Daemon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Tell them that the cure is my gift."

"I thought you would be more ruthless. A Conqueror rather than a maester." Olenna said.

"You could end the Lannisters now. Hurl the lions off the Iron Throne. In one blow, you would end everything Tywin has ever built." Oberyn said.

"Those are the things that you want. I have no responsibility to live up to what others expect me to be. That is your mistake, not my failing. My path is my own." With that parting shot, Jon departed the room.

---

Like the fair lady in a tale of Florian the Fool, Maidenpool awoke from her slumber. The town rose - not to honeyed words of love but the bustle of wagons and the shouting of captains. The docks were redolent with the powerful and pungent odor of tar as the crews caulked hulls, repaired masts and coated sails. Quartermasters and first mates scoured Maidenpool for any provisions - food and water but also candles, firewood, brooms, buckets, rope, pots and pans. Arya was amazed at how much rope a ship required.

The harbour was not the only busy place in town. Well-rested horses were stabled near the Fool's Gate, ready to take the elixir by land. King's Landing was one obvious destination but there were many others. Ser Baelor would ride again to Harroway and dispatch soldiers along the river road and the Trident. The Elder Brother of the Quiet Isle would spread the news to Crownland septries along the Duskendale Road. Fossoway and Oakheart knights planned to hurry down the Kingsroad and turn west on the rose road. At Tumbleton, they would sail the Mander River to bring the elixir to Highgarden, alerting the castles and towns on the way. In all likelihood, the Reach knights would make it to Oldtown quicker than the Seastrider, a merchant cog hired to make haste to the Hightower.

In the hurly burly, Arya managed to slip away from the guards. Ever since the fire in Florian's Tower, Brienne watched her like a hawk, worried that Littlefinger might return. Arya did not mention the severed head resting in a leather sack in the Northern pavilion. Sitting on the pink stone wall, she watched as casks of salt beef and crates of hardtack were loaded on the swan ship. A slender girl of perhaps twenty name days, with long braided hair and smooth skin of polished teak gave orders to the crew in both the Summer and Common Tongue.

"Impressive. Maidenpool is as busy as Ragman's Harbor." Jaqen H'ghar wore a heavy gray cloak and carried a stout quarterstaff with a sharp metal tip. The long pole was taller than the Faceless Man, and doubled as a travelling stick and a dangerous weapon.

"Are you going back to Braavos?" Arya asked.

"No need. Gulltown and Hull are closer but those are small ports. The first true destinations will be Braavos to the North or Pentos to the South."

"They might sail to King's Landing instead."

"A girl does not understand distances. A man willing to tire many horses can reach King's Landing in a week. It would take longer for a ship to sail around Crackclaw Point into Blackwater Bay. In that time, a ship could reach Braavos and be richly rewarded."

The wharves teemed with people. There were experienced sailors and seamen but also merchants begging for passage and smallfolk flocking to the cogs. Arya even saw castle guards who had discarded the red salmon sigil of House Mooton in the crowd. "Why are so many people eager to join the crews?"

The assassin chuckled. "Gold can do what kings and gods cannot. Great fortunes will be made on these trips. Captains cannot stop sailors from boasting about their future wealth."

Arya bit her lip. "Do you think Jon made a mistake? Should he have kept the elixir?"

Jaqen closed his hands on the staff, taking some time to answer. "Had your brother only given away barrels of elixir, that would be an error. Princes would kill for the cure or send armies to do so. As the medicine was used, each dose would become more valuable. But your brother gave away the secrets to the elixir. That changes things. Men know that more can be made. Every sellsword captain, arch priest, magister and great merchant will expect their rulers to acquire the instructions. At first, the elixir will sell at a high price, but there will be a race to produce more. The healers at the House of Red Hands, the artisans of Myr, the keyholders of the Iron Bank, the Old Blood of Volantis - they will all try to stockpile what they can. The secrets will spread like wildfire, and the elixir may become available even to the common folk." Jaqen smirked. "I wonder how the rulers of the Free Cities will react."

"What do you mean? Shouldn't they be grateful for a cure?"

"I forget that you don't know much about Essos. In Westeros, there is only the Faith with the seven faced God. But in Essos, we have many gods. In the center of Braavos, there are a hundred temples. The Moonsingers, the Lord of Light, the Black Goat, the Dreaming Twins, the Lord of Harmony, the Great Shepherd : these are but a few of the refuges in the Isle of the Gods. When a plague hits, what do priests do? We who serve the Many Faced God do not, but others ask for gifts of gold and jewels, even blood sacrifices, to placate the angry gods."

"So?" a perplexed Arya asked.

"So, priests and rulers claim that their piety allows them to intercede with the gods through ritual offerings. Among many, the plague creates a fervent devotion to avoid divine wrath. But it was not prayers that saved the Free Cities. It is your brother, a lost Targaryen prince. The ancient ways failed. When that happens, kings can fall and new rulers can rise."

"But Jon has no designs on the Free Cities. He doesn't care about Pentos or Tyrosh. He only wants to cure the plague." Arya argued.

"Your brother may have noble intentions but those in power do not. Besides Braavos, the Free Cities were colonies of the Freehold. Your brother is the heir to the dragons. Men fear what they cannot control. Sometimes that fear turns to worship. Sometimes that turns to hate. Your brother is flesh and blood. The rulers of Essos may strike back at him."

"Jon won't care. He is not afraid of any magister or priest." A terrible thought struck Arya. "Would they hire Faceless Men? Would they send you to kill him?"

"We are not hirelings. We are servants of the Many Faced God. I would not kill your brother. I know him. We are forbidden to give the gift to those we know but I can not speak for my order. A girl should know this. The Iron Bank would like to meet your brother."

"Why? Wouldn't they be afraid of him as well?"

Jaqen chuckled. "The Iron Bank fears nothing and no one. They believe they can control anyone, even a dragon. Perhaps the keyholders are right. They have made and unmade kingdoms and peoples. The bank is as old as the city and their power runs deep on both sides of the Narrow Sea. All the Free Cities saw the fall of Valyria but Braavos is richer and more powerful than the other eight combined. Why is that? In Braavos, all men must serve, and one of the masters is the Iron Bank."

Arya chewed her lip. "If my brother does meet the Iron Bank, will he be safe?"

"The Iron Bank does not kill people. It hires others to do that. Nothing is completely safe in life, sweet girl, and that is doubly true for a Targaryen prince."

---

The raven perched on the gilded cherry wood table, savouring the extra allotment of corn. It was the largest of the two dozen birds in the solar - thick necked, with shaggy throat feathers and a sharp knife of a beak. The raven strutted about insolently before its peers, flouting the fierce glare of the black tom. Jon thought the raven was pushing its luck. The only thing that protected the bird from Balerion's claws and teeth was the letter attached to the right leg.

Having fed their bellies, the birds would depart soon to announce to the Seven Kingdoms what Maidenpool already knew : his true name, parentage, and that Daemon Targaryen, rightful heir of Prince Rhaegar, had discovered the cure to the plague. This raven would make the longest trip, over the Vale and the Bite to Winterfell, over a thousand miles to the North. The other birds would head to castles and towns in the Riverlands and Crownlands but a few, the hardier ones, would fly to Highgarden, Sunspear, Oldtown and Casterly Rock. No raven was strong enough to cross the Narrow Sea but the ships would reach Essos quickly.

Jon had moved into Castle Mooton for a few reasons but mostly for the library. There on pine tables lit by wax candles, the Winter Town Boys transcribed the process for fermenting and extracting the elixir. It was quite a good thing that Gerry and Chett had taught so many others how to read and write. Jon's wounded arm made it difficult to do more than scrawl a single letter. The crew, aided by Owen, Alayn, and Alleras, were hard at work scribing scrolls.

A tall shadow fell on the door, the pommel of the great sword hanging over the right shoulder. Jon turned away from the window overlooking Maidenpool. "What is it, Clegane?"

The Hound poked his scarred face through. "A crowd of highborn outside."

"Did you tell them I was working?" Jon said.

"I told them to go fuck off but they refused. They keep asking for an audience."

Ghost sniffed the air and turned to Jon, nuzzling his side. He rubbed the white wolf's ears fondly. "I suppose nobles never listen. Who is out there?"

"The Tyrells. Barristan. Edric Dayne. The Mooton girl. Dondarrion. Should I go on?"

Jon shook his head. "Tell Lady Eleanor that her father is free to leave the tower. She and her brothers have behaved well, so her family will come to no harm. Tell Edric and Lord Beric I will find them later. I will see the Tyrells first, and then Ser Barristan."

Leonette and Garlan entered the solar, leaving their guards and knights behind. Garlan took a knee and his wife curtsied, a difficult thing given the child swaddled in her arms.

"There's no need. Rise." The couple had come alone. The Queen of Thorns was no doubt busy plotting and scheming how best to advance her family's interests. Jon had no quarrel with Olenna but she was best experienced in small doses.

"Your grace, we wanted to thank you for everything." Garlan said.

"Is that the position of House Tyrell?" Jon asked dryly.

"I am not the head of the house." Garlan said apologetically. "My father is Lord of Highgarden. Even my grandmother has only so much sway. My brother, sister and both my parents are in the Red Keep. We cannot declare for you. That troubles me, given all you have done for our boy. If I could, I ….. "

"Stop, Ser. I did not save the babe to gain your loyalty. One has nothing to do with the other. Too many children die too young. That is true, no matter what their names are."

"Your grace, you saved our son three times." Leonette cradled the infant gently in blankets of green and gold roses. "We want to honor you with the name of our son."

He raised one eyebrow. "Jon seems too plain a name for a Tyrell. And Daemon has its own connotations. Daemon Targaryen and Daemon Blackfyre were great men but I doubt you want your son to follow in their footsteps."

"Not Daemon. Harlan Tyrell. The second of his name." Garlan said.

The first Harlan bent the knee to Aegon. After the King of the Reach died in the Field of Fire, Harlan, High Steward of the Reach, yielded Highgarden without a fight. For that, he was elevated to Lord Paramount of the Mander, still a point of contention to houses like the Rowans, Tarlys, and Florents. "That will displease the Iron Throne."

"Joffrey will not know our history. I doubt he is much of a reader.' Garlan said.

The Lannisters would. "I appreciate the sentiment. Has your grandmother agreed to the name?"

"She doesn't know. It is our choice - to show that we are loyal, that if we could, our family would fight for the dragons. One day, we hope that Harlan can bend the knee to his rightful king."

"Harlan is not yet a week old. He won't be bending the knee to anyone." Jon stroked the baby's face lightly, eliciting a sleepy smile. "The first Harlan died in the sands of Dorne with his army, fighting for Aegon. I do not want that nor do I wish to pit you against your family. I ask only that your son grows up to be a good man - just, wise and brave. That would honor the name."

The child gave a soft coo, twisting slightly toward his mother. A smiling Leonette rubbed Harlan's back gently.

"Do you still intend to have a feast?" Jon asked.

"We would like to but provisions are quite scarce. Not much meat, very few spices, little fruit. The pantries, butteries and larders in Maidenpool have run dry." Garlan lamented.

"Leave that to me. Tell your men that we will celebrate Harlan's birth tonight."

---

As Jon dismissed the Tyrells, the old knight entered solar. Barristan Selmy stood tall and proud in a full plate, sans helmet. The hair was white and face lined but the knight looked every bit as graceful as the hero that earned a white cloak in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Despite the absence of a squire, the gray armor was polished to a mirror shine and the afternoon sunlight glinted off the breastplate and pauldrons. Barristan dropped to one knee.

"Rise, Ser." Jon said in a kindly tone. "I doubt that you are able to declare for me."

The knight stood up. "Your grace, I did not know of your existence."

"The secret had to be kept from Robert Baratheon." Jon motioned to the ebony chair. "Sit down. I asked the Winter Town Boys to investigate your presence in Maidenpool. You arrived in the Sea Shrike a fortnight ago. The ship sailed out of Pentos, but Groleo says he must return to Meereen. The sailors say Daenerys Targaryen is in Meereen. That makes sense. Joffrey stripped you of the white cloak and you did not join Renly Baratheon. It is unlikely you joined Stannis given that you sailed from Essos. Do you serve my aunt?"

The knight nodded. "I pledged my sword to Daenerys Targaryen. She is Queen of Meereen. The plague struck the city and your aunt sent me here to find a cure."

"How did she know? Meereen is very far away."

"I do not understand exactly. A witch from Asshai gave her a candle, and somehow the queen saw something in the flames." Barristan said.

"A Valyrian candle. I should have tried to light the three at the Citadel." Jon said softly, almost to himself. "The magic must be strong in her. The ancient dragonlords could see across great distances, and have visions of the past and future. Obsidian is a strange thing to make into a candle. It melts only at the temperature of iron."

"Queen Daenerys has magic. She hatched three dragons in the Red Waste. I was not there but her Dothraki followers tell the tale." Barristan said.

"Magic is in the blood - both my aunt and mine. It always has been since the Valyrians tamed the dragons. Where did you meet my aunt?"

"In Qarth. She left after burning the House of the Undying. I traveled with her to Slaver's Bay."

"Slaver's Bay is a miserable place. Why does she not come to Westeros?"

"Queen Daenerys conquered Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen to free the slaves. She stays in Essos to rule Slaver's Bay."

"You said she is Queen of Meereen, not Slaver's Bay." Jon noticed the uncomfortable look on Barristan's face. "What happened to the other cities? Does my aunt control them?"

"All the cities are troubled and slavery has returned to Astapor and Yunkai. The Ghiscari are sly and debased, false to your face and eager to plunge a knife into your back. Buying, breeding, training, and trading slaves are all they know."

"Have you told Daenerys this?" A shadow passed over Jon's face at Barristan's reluctance. "Is my aunt a good ruler?"

"She has a good heart, your grace. She freed the slaves. She is more Rhaegar's sister than Aerys' daughter. It is not her fault….."

"You did not answer my question." Jon interrupted. "Is she a good ruler? Yes or no - "

Barristan winced. "She may become one, but right now, she is too young and untried. She is surrounded by enemies. The queen is a liberator amidst a sea of slavers."

Jon sighed. In the dream, Rhaenys charged him with restoring the name of House Targaryen. Nothing worthwhile came easily. "Ser Barristan, I wish to know the truth. You do your queen no good by concealing things. I want to know, for better and worse, her triumphs and failures. Do not mislead me. It will not serve Daenerys well. Besides, I have ways of finding out."

"How will you do that?"

"Simple. Groleo has a crew on the Sea Shrike. A jug of wine, a pretty wench, a few stags, and sailors spill everything they know. Tell me everything about my aunt."

Barristan did. Jon listened intently to the old knight's words.

---

As a knight of the Reach, Ser Garlan had attended dozens and dozens of feasts. There had been harvest festivals, weddings, betrothals, tourneys, holy days of the Seven. Highgarden enjoyed showcasing their fabled bounty, a display applauded and much imitated by bannermen. This feast at Castle Mooton would be a strange affair. The presence of a Targaryen prince was a great honor for his son. But then, Garlan wondered about the provisions, or lack thereof.

"Harlan Tyrell?" Lady Olenna hissed. "And you invited House Martell to his feast?"

"That is the name we chose." Leonette said stubbornly. "We know that Dorne and the Reach have some history but.."

"Some history? The sigil of the Martells should be a scorpion. They killed the first King Daeron under a peace banner. They murdered two heads of House Tyrell in Dorne. One of them was named Harlan."

"That was a long time ago. Dorne has been part of the Iron Throne for a century." Garlan said.

"The Martells will behave at the feast. To do otherwise would be an insult to House Targaryen." Owen Fossoway said.

"You should know your history. Dorne has no problem with insulting dragons. But I suppose no one wants to cross this Targaryen. After all, he is quite mad." Olenna said.

"Grandmother…" Garlan pleaded.

"Snow is mad. Who would save their enemies from the plague? Who in their right mind would give away the means of making the elixir?"

"Prince Daemon is a great man, Lady Olenna. The people will love him." Leonette said.

"People!" The Queen of Thorns snorted in disgust. "Will that give Snow gold? Swords? Will it force the Lannisters out of King's Landing? Crowns are won by armies and alliances, not gifts. The love of people lasts as long as a fart in the wind."

"Jon didn't give away the cure to be popular. He did it to end the plague. As for the Lannisters, I doubt they will sleep well when the ravens arrive." Owen said.

"No, they won't. Some maesters claim that madness and greatness are sides of the same coin. They say when a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin and the world holds its breath to see how it lands. This one landed on its edge, and the gods are still waiting."

---

The Tyrells entered the brightly lit feast hall. A place of honor had been made for the infant, a handsome wooden cradle placed in front of the high table, where Garlan and his wife would sit with Snow. A thick woolen blanket lined the crib - two golden roses on green, the Tyrell knight's personal sigil as a second son. A thinner sheet lay on top - the red apple of Cider Hall. The knights and lords from the Reach sat at long trestle tables on the sides of the gray hall.

Jon Snow stood up as they approached. The Tyrell bannermen banged their mugs and cheered heartily. Those at the high table were less spirited but Garlan hardly expected exuberance from Prince Oberyn or Ser Jaime. Ser Barristan was there as well, and Ellaria and the Sand Snakes.

"What a darling child! What is his name?" Lady Eleanor asked. The thirteen year old was the only Mooton who dared to stand near Snow. She had been accepted by the Northmen.

"Harlan Tyrell." Garlan announced proudly.

"Interesting name." Oberyn said. "Does the boy plan to spend time in Dorne?"

"Are you threatening my great grandson?" Olenna snapped.

"My prince is making a bad jape. Children are welcome at Sunspear." Ellaria said.

"So long as he is not marching an army past the Prince's Pass." Oberyn quipped.

"Harlan is a good name." Snow said. "We are gathered here tonight to celebrate. The ravens are already flying to every corner of Westeros. Soon enough, the truth of Rhaegar and Lyanna will be known by the Iron Throne and everyone else. Then there will be ample time to quarrel and squabble. Tonight, let us just enjoy a feast in Harlan's name."

"And what feast will that be, your grace? Bread? Beans? And then more bread?" Olenna said.

"Unfortunately, there is some truth to that. The fire burned the meat and the spices. Bread, cheese, peas, onions and eggs will not make much of a feast." Garlan said.

"We will see. Chett, have them bring the food in."

The Winter Town boy rang a bell. At the sound, servants wheeled in wagons loaded with bubbling cauldrons. A large doughy man with a soiled apron ladled bowls of soup, the pungent yet sweet aroma wafting through the hall. Square chunks of bread floated on a hot yellow sea.

The Queen of Thorns sniffed. "What is this?"

"Roasted garlic soup." The fat man said. "Garlic, bread, wine, chicken broth. And we cooked a few eggs at the last moment."

Before Olenna could make more comments, Arya Stark blew on her piping hot bowl, and then slurped a large spoonful. "It is good." She said, despite the full mouth.

The cook's nervous face broke into a smile. Garlan followed suit. The soup was sweet and creamy with no sharp edge to the garlic. He broke the egg, the yolk running over the bread. There was a faint hint of ham but he could see none in the bowl or cauldron. Garlan took a bite of yolk, garlic oil, and soaked bread, and the mixture warmed him up from the inside out. Even without meat or spices, the garlic soup was delicious.

"What else have you made?" Jon asked.

"Rice cooked with beef broth, onions, butter and white wine, your grace. We mixed the rice with the broth until it is well absorbed and creamy. They say the true dish comes with saffron, but there is none to be had in Maidenpool."

"Saffron costs a fortune everywhere. A pound can cost more than a horse. And not one of the miserable beasts in the Riverlands but a well-bred sand steed." Oberyn said.

"I am sorry, my king. We have none." The cook clasped his hands in shame.

"There is no need to apologize. What else do we have?"

"Roasted onions in gravy. Toasted bread brushed with garlic and oil with tomatoes. Strawberry jam and grape jelly on sliced bread. And a special treat." The cook took off the lid from a plate, revealing fried balls of meat, each the size of a small stone. Servants brought several platters to every table, and the rich smell wafted through the hall.

"But how? How did you find so much meat?" Leonette asked.

"It is not all meat, my lady. The meatball has bread crumbs, sheep's milk, eggs, cheese, garlic, and onions. We use bread dipped in milk to stretch out the meat."

Olenna stabbed a small meatball. "There is more bread than meat here, and quite a bit of cheese. This food is fit for smallfolk, not highborn."

"Pardon, my lady. If you wish, there is a goose in the yard. I could catch it and roast the bird over a fire."

"No." Snow said, his voice carrying so that all at the high table could hear. "You have done well, good man. You served the best you had, and for that, I thank you."

"The dishes are tasty." Olenna said begrudgingly. "But an heir to Highgarden deserves a more lavish feast. So does a man who would be king."

"What do I need splendour and pomp for? This food is nourishing and good enough for my people - those who followed me from Winterfell. I eat what they eat. When the North fought in the Riverlands, I lived no better than the Winter Town Boys. I got no more rest than my men. Many nights I stayed awake on watch so others could sleep. My well-being is not more important than theirs. Let others covet riches and comfort."

"If you care so little about such things, then why do you want to be king?" Olenna asked.

"Wealth holds little interest to me. Nor fame. One thing does matter - my name. For seventeen years, Westeros shat on the dragons, smeared my father's memory, erased my mother's existence. I intend to restore my ancestors back to their rightful place."

"Where is that? On the Iron Throne?" Oberyn asked.

"Rhaegar and Lyanna cannot sit on a throne. I want more than a melted chair. I cannot bring them back to life, but I will restore their honor. They died for me, and I will not let them be forgotten. My house and the glory of Valyria will come again."

"Valyria was destroyed in the Doom. The empire fell to the whims of the gods. That might have been for the best. Life under the dragons was not some paradise." Oberyn said.

"What was life like before the dragons? Was it better under Old Ghis, who built their cities and pyramids with slaves? Before the Conquest, kings fought over disputed lands. The North with the Vale. The Lannisters with the Reach. The Reach with Dorne. The Stormlands with everyone. Black Harren was a thief who beggared his people, and a pirate who raided the North, the Reach and the Westerlands."

"Life has never been perfect. Men have always fought each other for power and lands. That will not change. The gods must be entertained by our suffering." Oberyn said.

"Then we should get new gods - ones that will accept a better world, and not just for the highborn." Jon said.

"The Faith will be overjoyed to hear that." The Queen of Thorn's quip broke the tension. "You are bold, Prince Daemon. But you will need armies, allies and gold. Even then, you may fail."

"I do not doubt that my path will be hard. So what? Failure is not the worst thing in life. There are worse ways to die than fighting for what is right. And yes, I do need allies but I will decide the right time and place."

"Is that why you sent the captains to Essos?" Alleras asked shrewdly. "Are you looking for support in the Free Cities?"

"It is possible." Jon admitted. "But I am satisfied with curing the plague. And one more thing. Lord Beric, tell them my orders."

The Lightning Lord, a slender man with a patch over one eye, stood and spoke in a rasping voice. "Your grace, you gave me Petyr Baelish's head in a sack to bring to the Vale."

"So Littlefinger is dead. Good riddance." Olenna said.

"There are many Littlefingers in this world. Killing one rat does not destroy the nest. Others will replace him." Oberyn said.

"Then I will burn down the nest. Baelish committed crimes that deserved death. So did the Mountain. The world needs to be a better place. The crimes of the past must be punished. Old sins cast long shadows. Darkness can be erased by light." Jon said.

"There are always shadows when there is light. Life is a mix of light and shadow." Alleras said. "Some sins are better buried than exposed."

"Not when those sins are the murders of my brother and sister. The Baratheon claim to the crown rests on butchered children. Ned Stark ignored the crime. He blamed Tywin but not Robert who benefited most from the crime. Jon Arryn averted his eyes. My family died in the Rebellion, not yours. I will set the Seven Kingdoms on fire before I let anyone forget. The story of my house is not done."

---

Maidenpool was silent in the hour of the ghosts. The tap rooms of the inns were empty, and the captains rousted the crew out of the Stinking Goose and other seedy wine sinks to prepare for their journeys the next day. The Tyrells and Martells had long retired, although an excitable Harlan, perhaps stirred from that night's feast, woke up to be fed by his half-awake mother. Ser Garlan, happy with wife and child, slept like a log. Had he been awake, Garlan would have seen lights flicker in the hour of the owl. By torchlight, candles and moonlight, the Wintertown Boys, the little birds, and the Northern guards worked swiftly and quietly. Tents were rolled up, papers were packed, and a few last provisions secured as Manderly men hoisted the rectangular sail of the Wolf Wind.

In the hour of the wolf, still two hours before sunrise, the cog departed, travelling light and fast into the Bay of Crabs. It would take a week to arrive at White Harbour. A few stayed behind, to ensure the orderly distribution of the scrolls and elixir and to fulfil other tasks. Jon had spoken to each of them personally, to explain their duties and give further instructions. He regretted not saying goodbye to the other acolytes but that would have attracted more attention. Owen and Alleras would understand. His work in the Crownlands was done.

The pink stone walls of the harbour receded. Ghost and Nymeria slept in the cabin with Arya. Balerion was in the hold, hunting rats. The Hound took the first watch, and the captain scanned the dark waters with a far-eye, making certain they were not followed. They did not need to worry. All was quiet on board and in the bay. Jon turned his eyes East.

Author's Notes

The execution of Ned Stark is taken from Chapter 65 of Game of Thrones. Yoren forces her to look away and there is an audible sigh of the crowd.

I am fond of Balerion. Arya catches him in the Red Keep, and remembers the one eared cat in Braavos. He also hisses at Sansa and frightens Tommen. But much of the back story comes from Varys' conversation with Ned Stark. Varys's tone is sympathetic but I find it creepy because he had the power to save Elia and the children. No one knows the secrets of the Red Keep better than the Spider.

Balerion would be 18 years old in 300 AC, a very old age for a cat. Chalk it up to magical longevity. I assume Ghost lives forever too.

Jaime's change of heart is based on the fever dream of Chap 44 in Storm of Swords. After the Brave Companions chop off his hand, he sleeps on a weirwood stump. First, he sees Tywin, Cersei and Joffrey in a cave under Casterly Rock. His family abandons him and then six shades mounted on horses come - Rhaegar and the five slain brothers of the kingsguard. I would argue that besides Tyrion, Jaime saw these men as his true family.

The comment on vows is based on dialogue in Clash of Kings. Jaime points out that the vows of knights often conflict. In his case, it was Aerys ordering him to kill his father, as a prelude to turning King's Landing to a funeral pyre. To be fair, Jaime was 17 then.

The vows of a knight come originally from The Hedge Knight. These are the same words that Jaime uses in Season 8, Episode 2 to knight Brienne.

"What's past is prologue." This is a quote from the Tempest. It means that everything that has come before leads to this point, and decisions that come forth. It is interesting that the villain uses "the past" to justify his actions, when Shakespeare notes that it is really their choice. The phrase is engraved on a statue in the National Archive.

In my mind, Valyria is like the Roman Empire (without dragons!). The phrase "a terrible beauty" comes not from the fall of Rome but Easter, 1916. The W.B Yeats poem describes his mixed emotions at the execution of the leaders of the Irish Rebellion. His point is that the killings meant to stamp out the Uprising actually strengthened the movement, and led to a continued resistance. Jon's thoughts about the Doom would also be mixed. The Targaryens became kings only because they had dragons in the world and the other dragon riders had died.

The Tyrells are in an awkward position. With Mace, Loras and Margaery in the Red Keep, it is hard to knife the Lannisters in the back. I don't see Olenna as decisive enough to cut the cord, without ensuring the safety of the others. As for Dorne, Doran still has the Quentyn marries Daenerys scheme. It is pretty clear in the books that was a recipe for disaster. .

The plague does recur quite a bit. In Shakespeare's professional life, the plague hit in 1592, 1603, 1606 and 1609. We know this because the playhouses closed when deaths from the disease exceeded 30 a week in London (likely a vast undercount). The authorities took what measures they could. They lit bonfires, they killed stray dogs, and they quarantined ships for 40 days. In fact, some plague victims and travellers from other cities were taken to pesthouses. In the 1665 outbreak, the death rate at the pesthouse was estimated at 98%.

Groleo took Ser Barristan to Maidenpool. He is also the one dispatched by Ilyrio to bring Daenerys back. She refuses of course but she confiscates and renames the three ships. Groleo is beheaded by Dany's enemies in the Dance of Dragons and Barristan notes that he only wanted to return to Pentos to his wife, children and grandchildren.

I read a book on climate and disease. The evidence suggests that the Plague of Justinian (541 to 549 AD) was the first recorded episode of Yersina Pestis - the bubonic plague. Earlier pandemics - Antonine Plague (165 to 180 AD) and Plague of Cyprian (249 to 262) - are believed to be smallpox, measles, or influenza accompanied by hemorrhagic fever. These were horrible but the Plague of Justinian was worse. There are two excellent accounts of this plague by Procopius and John of Ephesus. I relied on their descriptions for Jon's dialogue. The basic point is that Jon thinks the plague can morph into something truly hideous.

The Mongols sieged Caffa, a Crimean port on the Black Sea, in 1345-46. The story goes that Mongols were angry at a bunch of Genoan was a major port and slave market connecting Europe with the Silk Road. The Mongols catapulted diseased bodies over the walls, and the Italians fled by boat, bringing plague to the Byzantines and Italy. The story may have some truth but there are major holes. First, the Mongol army was the victim of the plague. Second, Western historians think of the plague starting in 1346-47 when the Genoans docked in Constantinople. There are several accounts of the plague in Asia in the 1330s. Third, scientists believe that it wasn't dodgy Italians but fleas from climate change. The plague bacterium is found among gerbils and rodents. When the climate got hotter, the rodent population in Asia shrank and the fleas needed new hosts - humans. Finally, it is likely the plague spread through multiple paths, as the Silk Road was really many routes.

"I have no responsibility to live up to what others expect me to be. That is your mistake, not my failing." This comes from Richard Feynman, the physicist who worked on the Manhattan Project and made important discoveries in quantum mechanics. It is a state of mind, and a point of independence. Jon is responsible for what he can control. This Jon is not so easily manipulated. Why should he be? Heroes should not be led through the nose by a Baelish or Tyrion.

There is a lot written on how the Black Death impacted medieval Europe. There was an extreme labor shortage - lords were forced to give peasants better wages. There was also a huge loss of influence for the Church as people realized the priests couldn't help them. Jaqen is pointing out something similar could easily happen in the Free Cities, and it was a Targaryen who actually saved the day.

It may be different in the future books but the Iron Bank was misused in the show. The plot says the Lannisters loot Highgarden to pay back the Iron Bank. How can that be? The debt is three million dragons. The Tyrells are not Smaug. They don't have that much gold lying around. In a feudal society, wealth is in land, not gold. The Iron Bank morphed from an interesting concept to a heavy handed plot device to unfairly pull the rug out under Daenerys.

The original meaning of pantry is a standing cupboard where bread was kept for the medieval table. A pantler is a servant in charge of the bread. This was prestigious given that bread was a big part of the meal. A buttery is not for butter but a storeroom for liquor (butts of wine). Bread and ale were kept there, often behind a locked door. That is where the term butler comes from. A larder is a cool room designed to store meats, often covered in lard (fat) to preserve it.

I thought about Barristan switching his allegiance from Daenerys to Jon. After all, he would certainly know that Jon's claim is stronger than hers. I decided against that because rereading his chapters in Dance of Dragons, he is a decent guy. Plus, knowing that he promised to bring the cure to Meereen, he would have to complete the quest first.

I always liked the idea of the Valyrian candle. GRRM's world is very low magic but it is a pity he only uses it as a thermometer - the candles are burning - rather than a real plot device.

The line about the coin flip comes from A Storm of Swords when Barristan explains why he needed to observe her before swearing loyalty. Of course, it is hyperbole. There are plenty of Targaryens who are boring. They just aren't the ones people write about. I also thought it was BS that they used the "Targaryens are mad" excuse to justify the terrible season 8.

The dishes at the feast are all peasant food, "cucina povera." The garlic soup comes from Spain. The rice with broth, onions, butter and white wine is risotto alla Milanese. Rice was introduced to Sicily by the Arabs in the 10th century AD. In the middle ages, rice was grown in the Po Valley (it still is, today) and the Milanese added saffron to the rice. The roast onions comes from the North (Winterfell). The bread with oil, garlic and tomatoes is bruschetta. The Romans were known to toast bread by laying loaves in front of the fire. Every society has meatballs but I particularly like the Italian version (polpettini). And yes, the real meatball uses ricotta cheese, breadcrumbs, and other fillers. Still tastes great! In my opinion, the feast for Harlan Tyrell would be much more appetizing than 77 dishes for Joffrey's wedding.

Even today, saffron is extremely expensive, around $3000 to $5000 a pound for premium saffron. Of course, you use only a tiny amount - a pinch for a dish of paella that could feed six. Still, it is not as expensive as gold. A pound of gold would run $25,000 or so.

Jon's thoughts on food and his men mirror Julius Caesar. Caesar, unlike many in his time, didn't care much about food. He was modest in consumption, a man who drank water with vinegar on campaign, rather than get drunk. That is one reason why his legions were extremely loyal - he valued his soldiers and seemed down to earth. Of course he wasn't, given his talents and ambitions, but he inspired loyalty. The sentiment of Jon's reaction to Olenna Tyrell comes from Alexander the Great in the Opis Mutiny.

You can read the words at the feast as an open threat. This Jon clearly cares about what happened to his family. In the books, Jon only wants to be a Northerner, a son of Ned Stark. Here, he identifies with the Targaryens - the dreams, Rhaenys, Bloodraven, Prince Daemon. Show Jon was an idiot and might have said "Aegon and Rhaenys, who are they?" It pains me how stupid he was in Season 7 and 8, although to be fair, everyone got dumbed down to the point where Cersei looked like a genius. This story is about dragons.