The Red Keep 306 AC.
The Cells.
Jon Snow.
For weeks he'd sat and seethed, his anger threatening to burst loose and only that he had no visitors other than the men who brought him his food and water, or by now it would have. None of them had come to see him other than the Imp, not Arya, not Sansa, and not Bran. Davos, Sam, to them all he was a ghost, someone forgotten and discarded, and never did he feel more a bastard than he had these last few weeks. The dreams he had when they came made it even worse. Dreams of a silver-haired man playing the harp in the shadows while a grey-eyed woman held a babe in her arms and named him Aemon. Dreams of purple eyes filled with betrayal and then a clarity in them right at the end that had not been there for far too long.
Betrayal was something he knew all too well. He'd tasted the sharp edges of knives filled with it. Seen it in the faces of the men who had wielded those knives, men that he'd named as brothers once. He'd felt it from those he'd named as friends and those he'd thought of as family. The true nature of that betrayal was only now becoming clear to him. They'd even stolen his name from him, the thing he'd thought a brother not just content with stealing his throne, he'd stolen his name too. How he must have enjoyed that little jape at his expense. Naming his for his true brother when that was not the name his mother had given him. Starks, the pack, the family he'd chosen over his own and who had never seen him as part of thiers.
"You are to me."
"I missed you, Jon."
"I'm not your brother, not anymore."
Words in the wind, spoken by those he had named his kin and who he'd gone against his heart for, only to find he never truly had a place in their own. Friends and family, he'd thought he had both only to find that he only had one friend in this world, only one that was family. Tormund was true and a part of him now wished he'd just gone with him, and that his honor hadn't made him come to this godforsaken place.
Had he not, would she have done it still?
Would she still live?
The answer to both was perhaps yes, and that alone was the only reason he couldn't fault himself for following her here. She had to die, he knew that now, though it had taken him time to get over his guilt for killing her. That though was more to do with his reason for killing her, as it hadn't been as true as it should have been and he'd killed her for them, rather than for who he should have killed her for. It should have been for the people, for those she would harm in the future, and yet he'd killed her for his family. To save them only to find they cared not that he did so.
Tyrion may have thought his words had hit home and so he let him think so, the dwarf was a fool who thought himself so very clever. Even after all his plans since coming to Westeros had led to naught but ruin. Jon though had been aghast to see what she had done and that he'd played his part in helping her to do so. True she was grieving and he'd abandoned her when she'd needed him, though she'd abandoned him when he had needed her too. Her worry for the throne had overridden any concern for him and how he may feel about all that he'd learned.
He knew the loss of Rhaegal and Missandei had pushed her over the edge and that his attempts to pull her back were pitiful, but he was not himself and it had taken him all these weeks alone to come to terms with who he truly was. Having your life turned upside down had that effect upon you and going through it alone made it that much harder to make peace with it all. As did having one side of your family tell you that you were not who you were and were who you always had been, while the other side told you that you couldn't be who you now knew you truly were.
"I was never a Stark." he said with a bitter laugh "Never a Snow." he added as he rose to his feet "I was born a Targaryen and a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing." he said as he began to laugh.
When the guards came he demanded to see someone in charge and wasn't surprised when it was Tyrion who came to him. The false look of sympathy on his face was one that he recognized more clearly now, and his own false smile was one that seemed far truer than it had ever been. In another life, at another time, he had said that lies wouldn't help in the fight to come. That man was dead though and only he remained and so for now it was time for him to be a liar.
"You look well, Jon." Tyrion said and Jon chuckled.
"Do I, perhaps confinement suits me." he said as Tyrion looked at him curiously.
"You wished to speak to me?" Tyrion asked.
"Aye, what's to become of me?"
"The Wall, Jon. Giving you to the Unsullied will start a war and letting you go free will start a war. So the King has decided to send you to the Night's Watch" Tyrion said with his sympathetic look, one that Jon could now see the lie in and he had to resist the urge to rise to his feet and strangle the dwarf where he stood.
"I wish to address the king and my sisters. Tyrion, I wish to address the court." he said and Tyrion finally showed his true face, the look he gave him now was one that Jon knew all too well, suspicion and doubt had always been something that he was well used to.
"For why, Jon? What use would it do?" Tyrion asked.
"I feel I deserve it, my lord. Deserve the chance to kneel before the king and for all to see me kneel. To show the realm that I accept a fair and just sentence. I want my brother's reign to be unquestioned, Tyrion. That there is no doubt that he is the king the realm needs." he said and it took all he had in him not to say deserves.
"I'll see to it on the morrow." Tyrion said and Jon nodded before smirking.
"Some water and a blade, I had best look presentable." he said with a chuckle and Tyrion reached out to place his hand on his shoulder, Jon looking at the dwarf and somehow hiding his contempt for the man as he did so.
"I'll see it done, Jon"
He ate heartily when the food was brought to him and then he washed and shaved. The beard on his face was now nicely trimmed and his hair was clean for the first time in weeks. For the next few hours, he moved around the cell swinging his arms and loosening himself up, glad he'd done so each day he'd been held prisoner here. What he intended to do would require it of him and so he was relieved that he still had his strength and hadn't been mistreated too badly.
Sleep now came easier, his dreams not of silver hair and violet eyes or of Winterfell but of a tower in Dorne and a woman holding a babe in her arms. A babe she had loved and named as her trueborn son. When he woke and rose he was to be given a decent meal to break his fast and then he was surprised when his clothing was brought to him, though Longclaw was not. It mattered not, his sword was no longer his and whatever one they gave him was one that he'd welcome.
"The man makes the sword, not the other way round." he said softly, knowing now that was true and that he'd been wrong when he had thought himself unworthy of the blade all those years earlier.
The wait to be brought to the Throne Room was never-ending, Jon sitting and almost dozing off so bored was he. That it showed just how little they really cared for him only added to his anger, yet that anger was held deep inside him and muted for now. It was not yet time for them to see who he truly was and to see the mistake they'd made. Until then it was a mummer's farce that he would perform, and only when they couldn't back out would he show them his true face.
The Red Keep 306 AC.
The Throne Room.
Ser Davos Seaworth.
The great and the good had been called to the Throne Room, the temporary roof and walls making it seem far more sound than it really was. The molten mass that was the Iron Throne was covered and would need to be removed and the king sat in his wheeled chair with Ser Brienne standing at his back and Tyrion Lannister standing to his side. To one side stood Sansa and Arya Stark and to the other Lord Bronn of Highgarden. While he stood with the new Grandmaester and the rest of the room was full with those who'd come to swear their fealty.
His eyes were drawn to the door when he heard the hush come over the room and it took him a moment to see who was being led inside. Davos heard the gasp from beside him when Samwell Tarly saw Jon Snow and though he smiled at the man who had been his king, it was not returned. Nor were the smiles given to him by either of his sisters and then a moment later Jon stood in front of the king, Davos looked and could see the surprised look on Tyrion and Bran's faces that he'd not taken a knee.
"Your grace." Jon said, the words carrying more than a little bite.
"Jon, you wished to see me." Bran said, his own words as emotionless as ever.
"I wished to speak to you about an injustice, your grace. A travesty being carried out on your behalf. A man being sentenced without being given leave to be tried and a trial held without a prisoner and against the laws of gods and men." Jon said and Davos heard some of the gasps and looked on as Tyrion took a step forward.
"Jon…"
"My name is not Jon, my lord, as well you know." Jon said turning his back on the king and his Hand and looking to the lords and ladies of the realm "I was tried for killing a tyrant, for the murder of a woman who destroyed this city, tried without my presence by men with gain in mind. Is this fair, my lords? Is this justice?" Jon asked and Davos saw people shake their heads.
"Yet guilty you are, Jon." Bran said and Davos was surprised to see the smile on Jon's face, a true one and yet one that held no mirth or happiness in it too.
"Not by the laws of men, your grace. Or are you not a man?" Jon asked leadingly to hushed whispers and some loud gasps.
"Very well, a trial is to be held…" Tyrion said and Jon now smiled even more, and Davos felt his heart begin to race as he knew the words that he would say even before they were spoken.
"I demand a Trial by Combat." Jon said and the shouts of both eagerness and doubt rang out, only for Bran to raise his hand and for the room to quieten.
"King Tommen outlawed such things, Jon, there can be no trial by combat." Bran said and Jon glared at him, the look taking even the emotionless boy aback.
"First I'm denied a fair trial and then denied the right that's been freely given for hundreds of years. Our way is the Old Way, remember that, your grace? Are you a Stark or not? A fair and just king or not? Or is it fear that drives your decision-making?" Jon said and Davos listened to how by the end he was almost mocking his brother.
"Jon…" Arya said standing forward.
"As I told the Imp, my name is not Jon, and well you know it, Arya Stark." Jon said his voice full of bile "Or were you not present when the truth was spoken?"
He was surprised to see the girl move back and yet it was the words that Jon said that confused him. What was the truth? What did he mean his name wasn't Jon Snow? Had the king not spoken, then perhaps he'd have had more time to think on this, as it was he did not.
"Very Well, I grant you leave to face Trial by Combat." Bran said and Davos swore he heard Jon snort.
"Name your champion, your grace." Jon said, his contempt clear now for all to see.
"This one will fight against you." Grey Worm said moving forward and Jon shook his head.
"Dying isn't a way to remember them." Jon said and Davos for a moment wondered who he meant as they, only for Bran to accept Grey Worm as champion and make him lose his train of thought.
"The crown accepts." Bran said and Davos thought it would be left at that, the thoughts of the two men fighting against each other were not ones he took comfort from, again though it seemed that Jon was the one in control, his words stopping everyone in their tracks.
"Grey Worm cannot represent the crown in a matter involving the crown's will, your grace." Jon said as Davos looked to him and to the king. Only one of them knew what he was talking about and it wasn't the one in the wheeled chair.
"The crown may name its champion.." Tyrion began only for Jon to cut him off before he could speak any more.
"No man that is not a subject and no other than a Kingsguard when it's the crown that's laying the charge. Unless of course, you want to admit that I did no wrong, my lord?" Jon said smirking as he looked at Tyrion who was glaring at him, spittle coming out of his mouth at the thoughts of being outplayed perhaps.
"I will stand for the crown." Ser Brienne said and Jon looked at her and nodded.
"Very well, two hours from now." Tyrion said as he tried to reassert some control and Davos looked to see Jon being led from the room, his sisters following after him and he wished that he could follow too.
The Red Keep 306 AC.
The Cells.
Jon Snow.
By the gods it had felt good, to finally be the one in control and the one in the know. Seeing the shocked look on the imp's face and on the faces of those in the Throne Room had been a boon to his soul. As he was led back to the cells he was so very close to whistling, was he a man with a voice he may have sung, instead he simply walked in silence and tried not to laugh openly. He knew that they should perhaps take him somewhere else. That he should be given time to prepare for the upcoming trial, and that they did not, only proved his thoughts about them true.
They cared not about his comfort or his wishes and simply wished him gone. Stupidly they had thought that he'd just go quietly into the night and so he'd been able to take them by surprise. Oh to be a fly on the wall in whatever room they were speaking of him now. To hear how Tyrion would sputter and rage and decry the fact that he'd been played by an honorable fool would be something he'd much enjoy. Though playing them some more and then walking from this city a free man would more than make up for it.
He was led to his cell and heard the door close behind him, Jon taking a seat and then hearing the voices outside as they sought entry. The smile on his face was quickly removed as he stared at the door and looked to see Sansa and Arya being led inside. His sisters had finally deigned him with their presence and all it had taken was for him to foil their plans. Looking at their faces and seeing the false concern they showed for him made him angry. Though for now, he fought the urge to let them know just how much.
"Jon, what were you thinking?" Sansa asked and he chuckled, catching her by surprise.
"Whatever could you mean, Sansa?" he said rolling his eyes and not even Arya seemed to react to that, his little sister not the girl she had once been and a stranger to him now.
"To fight, Jon, to fight and risk yourself so. It's not what I would wish for you." Sansa said and her false sympathy was very clear to him, making him wonder if she still thought him to be an honorable fool.
"No, perhaps I should have just accepted my fate." he said sarcastically, something that Arya at least picked up on.
"Then I can speak to Bran? I can tell him there's been a grave mistake?" Sansa said and he found he lost his control, the laugh that came from him was one of his truest ones and one he had no idea he still had in himself.
"You believe I should be sentenced to the Wall, that I should blindly accept this to be my future? Are you a fool, Sansa? Have you taken leave of your senses? And what about you, Arya? Do you think I deserve the sentence you've all deemed to be my due?" he asked, receiving nothing but silence from his sister.
"You killed someone, Jon, I may not have liked the woman, but you killed her." Sansa said and he rose to his feet so fast that even Arya shrunk back a little.
"Aye, I did, for you, for Arya, for Bran. I killed the woman I loved because I feared for you all. A fear that was placed in my head by a girl I thought was a sister and a dwarf I foolishly thought of as a friend. I took it upon myself to kill a tyrant and bring peace to the realm and what was my reward? How was I feted? By being sentenced to live my life as a prisoner in a place where I was killed once before. You think I would accept this? That I would see this as just or fair? If so then you truly are a fool, Sansa. All of you are as foolish as each other." he said, his voice calm though he was anything but.
"We wished you to live, brother." Arya said softly.
"Then why not kill her yourself, sister mine? Why not use all that training you have that allows you to sneak around and wipe whole houses from existence and kill her yourself? If you cared so much about my living or dying, then why make me a kinslayer?" he spat as Arya looked at him in shock.
"It wasn't…I…" Arya stuttered.
"Cared not about me or what it may do to me to kill a woman I loved and to curse me for eternity." he said angrily "As for you." he said turning to Sansa who moved a step back as he moved forward "Do you remember any of the lessons of the North, Sansa? Or are they all forgotten just as you forgot the bonds of family?"
"I never…I…Would never forget my family." Sansa stuttered.
"Would you not? Hmm. Perhaps you are right." he said before smiling "You don't forget them, you just abandon them. First Rickon and now me, both of us in the way of your wish to be crowned and both acceptable losses to the rise of Sansa fucking Stark. All bow before the Queen in the North." he said as he bowed mockingly.
"Jon." Arya said moving forward only to stop when she saw his face and the fury in his eyes.
"While you were busy looking South and ignoring the lessons of the North, I was not. An oath sworn in front of a Weirwood is binding, Sansa. To break that oath is to run afoul of the gods and while I may be cursed as a kinslayer I take comfort in knowing I'll not be alone." he said relishing the worried look on her face and the way her blue eyes darted from side to side.
He looked at them both for a few moments before moving back to his seat and sitting down, Jon stretching out his legs and placing his arms behind his head as he casually lay against the wall.
"If you have any feelings for Brienne, you should tell her to stand down. I have no quarrel with her and unlike both of you, she at least lives up to her oaths and bonds." he said, seeing Arya look to the ground while Sansa glared at him.
"You fear her." Sansa said smugly and he laughed loudly once more.
"Aye, believe what gets you through the trial, the truth will be clear enough when I end her. I'll take no comfort in it, no joy in taking her life. Her death is not the one that will bring me that." he said and his voice was like ice as he looked at them both.
"Mother was right, you're no Stark, no wolf." Sansa said agitatedly.
"Your mother was a fool who along with your father led to the doom of your house. Believe her to be right if you wish, I care not. Though both of you and that thing upstairs that names himself your brother should remember what your father was often wont to say." he said rising to his feet
"Jon?" Arya asked, confused.
"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.' Jon said and as he saw Sansa smirk and so he then moved closer "Where is your wolf, Sansa? Or yours, Arya. Where is Bran's? Strange, don't you think, that the only one of the four of us whose wolf is still with us is me. I think Lord Stark had it wrong, it's not the pack that survives, it's the lone wolf. You should remember that when you lay in your beds and when you wrap your blankets around yourselves to warm yourself from the white wind's chill. Remember that and at the hour of the wolf listen out for the howl and know that it's a dragon that comes your way." he said as Arya grabbed Sansa's hand and almost dragged her from the room.
Sitting back down on the seat he finally began to whistle, the tune one that he had heard once as a boy, and the sounds of the Hammer and the Anvil soon rang out from his cell.
The Dragonpit 306 AC.
Trial by Combat.
Jon Snow.
He was surprised that so many people were allowed to attend, though perhaps they hadn't been able to stop them, or maybe they were just eager to see some blood and were keen to enjoy the show. Some he knew were there simply to see him die. They would be most disappointed with the day and days to come then, he thought with a smirk. As they were leading him from the cells they kept him unarmed and it was not until he was in the Dragonpit itself that he was finally given a choice of weapons.
That they didn't allow him to wield his own showed both their fear, pettiness, and their stupidity. Allowing Brienne to wield it, that showed the truth of their feelings for him. He had never mattered to them, not to the sister who had come to him for aid when everyone else she'd turned to had simply used her for their own ends. Sansa had learned the wrong lesson there and became just like those she claimed to hate so much. To the other sister, the one that had held his heart for so many years, he was simply a means to an end. She had wished Dany dead and like all good assassins had found her weapon to wield and wield it she had. As for the thing that had once been his brother, whether or not he could still feel was a question he'd one day seek the answer to, but not today.
Across from him, Brienne wore her armor and wielded a sword she had no right to bear. Jon didn't hate the woman, she'd fought well and bravely while those she had served previously and those she now served, had not. No, he didn't hate her, he just didn't care about her at all. She was an obstacle, an inconvenience, and another who clung to honor as if it was a shield against the wrongs of the world. Little knowing that honor or what some named it as was one of the greatest of the world's wrongs.
"You fought well at Winterfell and for a far better cause than you fight for now. I give you one chance to walk from this arena and yet still breathe." Jon said, looking at Brienne.
"I fight for my king and my gods." Brienne said looking at him, her eyes showing conflict where her words did not and Jon felt his resolve harden and the fire inside him begin to yearn to be let loose.
"I have led armies from Hardhome to King's Landing. I am responsible for the death of thousands." Jon said as he picked up the longsword, no bastard blade for him anymore, for he was no bastard. "You are nothing but a lowly sellsword who kills sheep for the lords and ladies who command it. So this is your last chance to fuck off!"
"I stand for my king!" Brienne responded.
"Your mistake." Jon replied coldly.
He watched as Brienne nodded to the broken king, a name he'd heard Tyrion had coined for Bran and one that the fool of a dwarf thought worthy of grand tales and song. "And who has a better story than Bran the Broken" with those words his birthright had been stolen from him once again and again by the hands of a Lannister and a Stark. Tyrion had never led men, never inspired men and so of course, he'd not know what it was that men looked for in their leaders. It wasn't a story, a tale, a song, though Jon would give them all of that too. No, they looked for a king that did and not said, who fought and bled with them, something that Bran the Broken could and would never do.
"In the Name of His Grace, King Brandon Stark the first of his name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm and who is joined by Her Grace Sansa Stark, The Queen in the North. We are here today to witness the Trial by Combat of Jon Snow who stands accused of Queenslaying." the herald said loudly.
While some cheered and willed him dead, others stayed silent and did the same. Jon saw Grey Worm and his men all looking down on him with hatred. Some Northmen booed, just loud enough to be noticed, something that made Sansa flinch and Jon smirked at that. So desperate was she to be crowned that she had assumed the title before being named as queen, whether it was against that or for him the Northmen cheered it mattered not. Her head would not rest easy with a crown that she didn't earn nor didn't deserve.
"Standing as the crown's champion. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Brienne of Tarth." the herald shouted when the crowd quietened down.
Jon shook his head, a worthy knight Brienne may be but she was not of the Kingsguard. Robert Baratheon and Joffrey Waters may have filled the order with lesser men, but it had meant something once. Good men and true, and three who'd given their lives to protect him and his mother. Lives that he had once thought wasted given who it was who had taken them. Now he looked at them in a far different light and he felt the wrong men had died that day. They had fought for him and given what his uncle had done with him once he had won, Jon was now sure they had been right to.
"At his grace's command." the Herald said, taking Jon from his thoughts.
Bran raised his hand and then dropped it, a simple gesture, and were he fighting anyone other than Brienne then he may have been attacked right away. Her honor wouldn't allow her to do so and while he cared not for such things, he held his blade a moment longer and waited until she nodded that she was ready to begin.
The first blow was hard, Jon feeling the strength of the woman as he deflected Longclaw with a far poorer blade. She came at him again and he moved back, blocking the attack and trying to get used to both wielding a blade for true once more and wielding a blade that he'd not wielded in almost ten years. Longclaw had become a part of him, something that he wielded with no more thought than he did using any of his limbs. It was that and the lack of sparring, fighting, and maybe even a loss of strength and muscle that was to be his biggest challenge in this fight.
He soon began to move quickly, fighting on the defensive still as he tried to adjust. Each moment that passed though made him more and more comfortable. This was where he belonged and where he had always excelled. It was the one place where who people thought he was didn't matter and who he truly was shone through. Jon stood out with a sword in his hand, here he led, he inspired, and it was his skills and his talent that had drawn others to him. With a sword in his hand he was not the Bastard of Winterfell nor was he Jon Snow. He was the White Wolf, King Crow and soon he'd be what he was born to be, Aemon Targaryen the True King.
With a glance to the seats where Bran, Sansa, Arya, Tyrion, Sam, and Davos looked on, all apart from Arya and Davos wearing an almost excited look as they assumed Brienne to be winning. Jon began to fight back, his sword moving faster and faster and Brienne now beginning to look worried. She blocked some of his attacks, parried some of his thrusts, and didn't fall for most of his feints. More and more though he was taking control of the fight, his blood flowing for true now as he reveled in being who and what he truly was.
A crash to her shoulder which would have taken her arm if she was not so heavily armored was followed by a thrust that would have cost her an eye had she not moved back so quickly. The blood that flowed from the wound brought gasps from some in the crowd and excited cheers from others. Jon saw her shake her arm when he crashed the blade against her gauntlet, Brienne moving backward as she tried to put some distance between them both. Something he didn't allow and he heard her heavy breathing as she barely blocked his strikes.
"Walk away." he said, his words carrying in the wind and he heard the resigned sigh she made.
"I cannot." Brienne said and then she tried to gain a second wind.
As she moved towards him, Jon sidestepped and the thrust found its mark. The gap between her gorget and helm was a small one and yet the longsword slipped into it with ease and he heard the gurgle as her lifeblood flowed from her throat. He pulled the sword back out and then moved behind her, then he took off her helm and closed his eyes.
"What a waste." he said as he drove the sword down through the now larger gap and deep into her chest.
Her death provoked very different reactions. Ser Davos smiled and yet he was the only one who did so. Sam looked just as he always did, be it the sight of blood, the sight of him, or thoughts of himself, he paled and turned away from what was in front of him. Sansa looked at Arya worriedly which was something that Tyrion was also doing to Bran. While Arya's expression was just as emotionless as the thing in the chair that had been his brother once. Both of them however couldn't hide the fear in their eyes and he welcomed seeing it.
He looked to Longclaw on the ground, the white wolf hilt now covered in Brienne's blood and he considered picking it up. Instead, he stepped over Brienne's body and removed the longsword, feeling it catch on the dead flesh as he pulled it from the fallen knight. She deserved a better fate than this, but they lived in a world where people didn't get what they deserved. Turning to look at Bran and the others, Jon smiled as he bowed, it was a world that he would soon change for the better.
"Jon Snow is dead." he said softly as he walked from the Dragonpit.
King's Landing 306 AC.
Jon Snow.
He expected them to send guards after him and that even perhaps Arya herself may have come to see about ending him. It was why he walked with the sword still unsheathed, that and he had no scabbard to sheathe it in. Behind him, he'd left a trail of blood from the Dragonpit and through the burned city that had once been King's Landing. Even now as he walked, the blood still dripped off the sword and he cared not for how it made him look or that people moved fearfully out of his way.
Where he was going he had no true idea, what he would do from here though, that he was far more sure of. How long it would take, what form it would take and who he'd seek out to help him, those again were thoughts for later on. First, he needed to be gone from here, to take a ship and be gone, and then and only then could he plan for his return. He heard them as he walked, the sound of them hurrying after him and of the purposeful steps they took. Walking with a deliberate pace he led them to where he wished them to go, the street was open but not too open, the space tight but not too tight. Then he turned and waited for them and for him in particular.
"Jon Snow." Grey Worm called out, spear in hand and an angry look on his face.
Closing his eyes, he held the sword tightly in his hand. The images coming to his mind of days long gone and only some of them were days he remembered with any fondness. He had loved her once, perhaps a part of him would always love her, just as a part still loved Ygritte. Not who she had become at the end, but who he had thought she was, who he had hoped she was. It was that which made him wish to stay his hand, to just walk away, to run even should it save the man who'd served her truest of all in this life.
Yet soon other images forced themselves past the fond ones. A dragon laying down fire on a city, men being slaughtered after they'd surrendered. Being surrounded by men with spears and thrown into a cell because he'd done what had needed to be done. There had been beatings and at least Grey Worm had been man enough to carry them out himself. Jon had been too lost to fight back and had felt that he deserved each and every single one of them, and so he had not.
"This is not how they'd wish you to end, Grey Worm. You honor them not." he said his voice firm and he was surprised they were the words that came out when he spoke. They were the last remnants of a love that could never be and thoughts of a debt to that love, rather than the anger he was beginning to feel about the man who faced him and the monster he had served.
"I have to fight." Grey Worm said.
"I know." Jon said. He knew this fight would happen and be bloody.
"For my Queen." Grey Worm said charging forward, spear raised and shield in hand.
It was over in moments, Jon while angered had used it to fuel himself, to ready himself. Grey Worm had not and as he moved and thrust his spear, Jon caught it between his arm and side and held it tightly. He pulled him in and smacked his head against the Unsullied's face, hearing the nose breaking as Grey Worm fell to his knees. With his eyes on the other Unsullied ahead of him, he drove the sword down so hard that he felt it as it pierced Grey Worm's shoulder and came out through his opposite side. Jon then quickly pulled the sword back out as Grey Worm breathed his last.
"I have no quarrel with any of you, you're all free men, walk away." he said looking to the other three Unsullied, though he knew they would not.
Walking away from the alley, he felt no shame or regret for the lives he'd taken. Nor did he care that the blood dripped from his sword in larger drops now. When he reached the docks he looked for the first ship that was making ready to set sail. The captain eagerly welcomed him on board when he saw who he was and once Jon had agreed to act as the ship's guard on their journey. Braavos he felt was as good a place as any to begin his own.
As he stood on the deck of the ship and watched King's Landing fade from view, he made himself two vows. Jon Snow would never set foot in Westeros again and when Aemon Targaryen returned it would be to settle all debts.
King's Landing 308 AC.
Tyrion Lannister.
At what point he realized he'd made a terrible mistake he knew not. Was it when Ser Davos walked away from the Small Council or when Bronn executed a Lord of the Reach for no real reason? Or mayhap when Dorne began to rebel against both its new prince and the crown itself? Maybe it was even further back than all of that, mayhaps it was when Jon Snow walked out of the Dragonpit and the whispers had begun that named him the Uncrowned King.
He had sent men to end him, knowing that he couldn't be allowed to live. Had even suggested to the king that he send his own sister after him, though the girl had refused and simply sailed away on some fool's quest to find what was west of Westeros. When the bodies of Grey Worm and his men had been found he knew they'd tried to do as he had. Their failure only reinforced that his own attempts would have ended similarly. For moons afterward, he'd feared a knife in the dark and yet that was not Jon Snow's way. When he came for him it would not be from the shadows.
For a time he'd believed his fears to be for naught, both those concerning Jon Snow and those concerning the king he'd named and the plans he'd put in place. Other than hearing of the death of Asha Greyjoy and surmising that she had attacked whatever ship that Jon Snow had left King's Landing on, he'd heard nothing more of the Uncrowned King. So it had been the one that he had crowned that had caused him sleepless nights. Bran proved himself to be uncaring, unfeeling, and whatever powers he once possessed, no longer did they serve him or the realm. Drogon, Jon Snow, events in the realm that he should have known about, all being things that he couldn't find or predict.
Coin had quickly become an issue, for the Iron Bank was owed a debt and they cared not that it was his sister and not he who'd borrowed it. The North's independence caused friction with the other regions, Bronn as Master of Coin and Lord of Highgarden caused issues with the Lords of the Reach. As for the Westerlands, they didn't accept his authority and while not in open rebellion with the King, they were very much so with his Hand. As he rose from his bed and looked to the whore that lay there, he cursed the fact that these worries affected his performance. The girl had done her best but he had not risen and perhaps he never again would.
"My lord?" the girl said softly and Tyron threw her the coins, seeing her eyes light up and he was finally aware that it was only ever that which had brought him affection.
"I must make ready for my work, you may leave, Marei." he said in a soft voice, she may not care for him but he had found himself longing for someone, anyone, to care for and so what mattered it if his own affections were misplaced.
Given her blond hair and green eyes, perhaps this was even more true. He dressed, broke his fast, and then made his way to his solar. Tyrion soon sighed as he drank his wine and looked over the reports from the realm. He was his own Master of Whisperers, something that he'd not found strange at the time but he had the more he thought about it since then. The need for one that was. Why did they need a Master of Whisperers when Bran was the Three-Eyed Raven? Perhaps it was a question he should have asked himself at the time, among the many he perhaps should have asked before and after naming Bran his king.
With a nod to his two guards, he left his room and made his way to the Small Council meeting. Bronn, Samwell, the King himself, Gendry Baratheon who served as Master of Ships simply because they needed him on their side and not for any understanding of his role. Gods what fools they were to have let Ser Davos simply walk away. Though after the Trial by Combat and Jon Snow's departure they were left with no other choice. Bran served as the Master of Laws and what a dumb foolish thing that had been for him to agree with. Tyrion had found himself relieved when the king said he wished to play an active part and then very much not at what that part entailed.
Taking his seat, he was soon joined by the others and by the king last of all. The big hulking man who wore the white cloak and walked behind the king as Pod pushed his chair was a poor substitute for Brienne of Tarth. After dealing with the mundane, he turned to ready to deal with the important. The request for aid from Sansa Stark, both in terms of food and coin and militarily, was one that he was certain would be denied. Just as the last one and the one before it had been. They couldn't help even if they wanted to and yet Bran didn't want to regardless, something again which should have given him pause.
"What news of Jon Snow?" Bran asked and Tyrion looked to the king, noticing the worried frown on his face.
"The same as always, your grace, none. We know only what we've known since he left Westeros. His ship docked in Braavos and that was the last anyone heard or saw of him." Tyrion said.
"I told you the fucker is dead." Bronn said with a chuckle "Were he not then we would all be." he added a moment later as he took a bite from an apple, a green one which he'd started to eat to mock House Fossoway ever since he'd killed their lord, Ser Jon.
"He's not dead." Bran said and Tyrion shuddered when he heard the words.
"There have been…" Sam began only to be silenced when some guards came running into the room, Tyrion rising to his feet and ready to dismiss them only to see the worried looks on their faces and feel his heart begin to pound in his chest.
"Your Grace, Lord Hand, an army approaches." the guard said and Tyrion looked to Bran who seemed as shocked as he was.
Later that day he stood looking out at the ships that sailed into Blackwater bay and to those who stood with him. The army had surrounded King's Landing and was made up of men from the Reach, West, and Dorne, all bearing the same banner that flew over the fleet of ships that would soon be docking. Even though he was not certain of who was leading this army, even though Bran had no foreknowledge of their coming, this day had been inevitable. Closing his eyes he prayed his end would be quick and painless though he feared it would not. Dragons don't forgive and they don't forget and as Drogon flew over the Red Keep and roared and Tyrion opened his eyes and saw the Three-Headed Dragon flying high and he knew that a dragon came their way.
Blackwater Bay 308 AC.
Aemon Targaryen.
He looked at her as she lay sleeping, her dark hair strewn across the pillows and her tanned skin contrasting against the pristine white sheets. The rise and fall of her chest showed she was content, her sleep one he hoped was full of the sweetest dreams. He kissed her on the forehead before he moved from the bedside and then he dressed in his armor, the Three-Headed Dragon standing out proudly on the black plate. The rubies on its breastplate were worth more than he had ever owned in all the years he'd named Westeros his home.
Picking up his sword and belt he looked at the ruby that served as its pommel and smiled, the sword was now finally back in the hands of who it truly belonged to. Blackfyre was the sword of kings and the crown he put on his head a moment later, named him as such. A wedding gift, a dowry, a token of affection, the crown was many things and it too was finally where it was always meant to be. From Aegon to Daeron and now to Aemon, the Conqueror's Crown would be used to lead a conquest once more. This one would be far quicker and far easier than his ancestor's, as most of the major battles had already been fought not on the field but in rooms and with words.
Less than two years it had taken him and it made him ponder certain things. Was this the will of the gods? Was it always supposed to have been this way? Had his path always meant to lead him to Essos and his uncle's arrival at the Tower of Joy simply delayed that path? One day he may find the answers to those questions, it would not be today and with a last look back at the woman sleeping in his bed, Aemon walked from the cabin and out onto the deck. He was waiting for him, the white wolf running to his side and Aemon kneeling down to feel his tongue licking his face, the smile coming unbidden as did the small laugh.
"Aye, it'll be meat again soon, Ghost, long has it been since you hunted for true." he said to another lick of the tongue.
Rising to his feet he nodded to the guards and the sailors and moved to the bow of the ship, Ghost walking by his side and standing still when he did. Around him were more than a hundred ships that all bore two flags. The Three-Headed Dragon flew highest of all while beside them few flags from Dorne, from the West, and from the Reach. Men who'd sworn to him and sought him out and were now ready to fight by his side. It had been them who'd sought him out, just as she said they would and he turned when he heard her walk behind her.
He heard the other footsteps and looked to the sky and saw the Black Dragon as he flew. Drogon was not his, he never would be but he'd sought him out too and he too wished for what Aemon did. As did Ser Daven Lannister who stood behind him in his golden armor and looked every bit the lion he was. Ser Baelor Hightower who looked every inch a Reach knight and though he was now Lord of Oldtown, sought a far bigger prize. Lord Ned Dayne who just like his uncle bore Dawn and it made Aemon feel even more true to have the Sword of the Morning guard his back. Aemon laughed when he saw Tormund move towards him, the mug of ale in his hand as his truest friend readied himself for the fight to come and then he smelt her perfume and felt her hand in his.
The Dragon's Wroth 308 AC.
Arianne.
She should hate him, for who his father was and for who his mother was. For the fact he lived while they died and the shame his living brought to her aunt's memory. Arianne should despise him for being a dragon and for all that meant. Dorne should reject him for what he represented and for both sides of his family tree. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken, those should be the thoughts she had each and every time she looked at him. They would have been her father's thoughts, her uncle's too and yet they were not and had not been her own from the moment she'd met him.
Her first thoughts were that she'd rarely if ever seen a more handsome, confident, and determined man. Nor had she ever seen one with such an air of sadness hanging over him. She'd stuttered through her words and his own had been spoken with a deep northern lilt that did things to her that none before them ever had. The second thought she'd had was this man may very well be the most dangerous man she'd ever met. Not just in terms of what he could and would do to his enemies, but what he may very well do to her heart and in that she was proved right.
The first night they lay together he brought her more pleasure than anyone had ever done before. He wore her out as he feasted on her like a dragon did its prey. That and that alone would have been enough for her to retain an interest in him for some time, and yet that while delightful, welcomed, and now longed for, was not what fuelled her interest even more. Never before had she met someone who interested her outside the bed chamber as much as they did inside of it. No one had ever stilled her heart with just a look and for all the years she'd been alive, never had she felt what it was like to truly love.
Did he love her too? She hoped so, she believed so.
Would he do anything for her? She knew so.
Was she his, and he hers? Most definitely.
Aemon had never told her that he loved her, never said the words out loud, and were he any other man, then it would have annoyed and frustrated her that he'd not. She knew the reason why, he'd been free enough with it for her to know and had told her without prompting. The losses, one by his own actions and the other by his own hand and what they meant to him were enough for her to understand his hesitancy in saying those three little words. The words he had said to her though had meant so much more because they had come from him.
"I am yours and you are mine, from this day to my last day."
Who could ask for more than that? Why would she wish for more or seek more when the truth of how he felt about her was in his eyes, his smile. How he'd look at her when she or he entered a room and how he touched her constantly as if to convince himself that she wasn't a dream. Each day she'd spent with him was one he opened up a little more to her, one that she learned more of who Aemon Targaryen truly was, and each night that she went to sleep it was with the same realization in her head.
"Aemon Targaryen is the man I love, the man who loves me." she whispered as he finally slept and so did she.
Oldtown a year earlier.
The crowds gathered for a crowning, the first done in Oldtown since Baelor the First himself and it was fitting that it was a man who aimed to usher in a new era. Another dragon who bore the only living one with him and while that one he would or could not ride, he once again would unite Seven Kingdoms into one. Around the base of the Starry Sept people cheered as Aemon made his way up the steps, he and the white wolf cutting out distinctive figures as he did so.
Had she herself not seen Aemon's effect on people then she'd have named this a mummery. Were tales not told of just how bad the Broken King's reign was or how inept the new Warden of the South was then she'd have looked to the Hightowers with suspicion. Mayhaps she'd have wondered why the High Septon had been so keen on this crowning given Aemon's non-acceptance of the faith. She may have had she not heard of what was said about the heathen that sat a throne he didn't earn, deserve, or was not worthy of.
Aemon though had won the people over simply by being who he was and what he'd already done. His part in the War for the Dawn may have been ignored by the storytellers the Imp had sent out to spread his tales, but the people knew. As they did about his killing of the Dragonqueen and how he'd been rewarded for it. Tyrion Lannister may be Hand of the King and think he knew how to play the game, but Aemon had not only had learned it but had mastered it. The Faith had much more influence than the Imp. Once he'd done his deal with the remaining Lannisterrs, the Hightowers, and her, word had been spread and the Uncrowned King had been born. Today that king would gain his crown and soon afterward he'd take back his kingdom.
"We are gathered today to right a great wrong. To witness the crowning of the true king and to see Westeros righted." the High Septon said to loud cheers "On behalf of the people of Westeros, on behalf of the Faith of the Seven, I ask you to kneel as Aemon Targaryen and to accept the crown and the responsibility that comes with it."
Arianne held her breath, around her she reckoned everyone else did as well as Aemon knelt and was anointed in the holy oils. With a nod from the High Septon she stepped forward carrying the crown and as she looked to Aemon she saw the beginnings of a smile on his face. How she kept her composure when he winked at her, she knew not, but she was able to hand the crown to the High Septon and to take a step back without laughing.
He'd been surprised and she believed quite touched when she'd gifted him the crown. Her words to him that he was the only dragon worthy of wearing it had meant so much to him and she had meant them with all her heart. It hadn't just been her love for him that had made her finally give back the Conqueror's Crown. True it had played its part, but it was more than that and she truly believed there had never been and other than his descendants, there never would be a dragon more worthy of it than him. That those descendants would be ones that she shared with him, well that was more than something she wished for.
"I name you King Aemon Targaryen, The First of his Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." the High Septon said to loud cheers, cheers that only grew louder a moment later when Aemon rose and turned to the crowd and Drogon flew overhead.
Now.
She woke to an empty bed, his absence no doubt being the reason for her waking. Looking around the room she could see that he'd dressed and had taken both the crown and the sword which meant they were close to or already there. Rising quickly she stretched and moved to the looking glass, the small marks on her body from the night before standing out as she looked at her naked body. The smile that she wore on her face was a true one and she reached to the bedside table and grabbed the brush so that she could fix her hair.
In far less time than she would normally take to dress she had done so. Her dress's colors were of her house and sparkled like the sun or so he had told her. She moved from the cabin and up the stairs and saw him standing there at the bow of the ship. The man she loved was wearing his house colors too, his red cloak accenting the black and the Conqueror's Crown on his head making him look like Aegon Reborn.
Around him, she could see the others had already gathered. Tormund who he loved like no other man and named no truer friend or brother. Daven Lannister who even she had come to think of as being unlike the other lions. Ser Baelor Hightower who though ambitious was Leal and True and Ned Dayne who bore Dawn on his back and would no doubt stir memories of his famous uncle. Especially given it was a Targaryen that the Sword of the Morning stood behind once more. As she moved to him she saw how his body relaxed, how he breathed in deeply when he got her scent and how his hand moved to take her own even though he'd not turned to see her there.
"You are ready my love, it's time to be the king that you were born to be." Arianne said and Aemon leaned close to her to place a kiss on her cheek.
"My queen." he said as Drogon flew towards the Red Keep and she looked on as he closed his eyes and she knew he saw their armies as they began to take the city.
A/N: My good friend Sph0015 and I have been working together on some stories, some full larger stories, and a series of one-shots that take place both within the canon world of Game of Thrones/ASOIAF and are AU's within that world. Upcoming we've got a different version of Jon leaving the Wall and taking back WF with an alternate Battle of the Bastards as well as an alternate Purple Wedding among others. We've also got fuller stories which include a Jon as the son of Cersei/Rhaegar which will come once the one-shots have finished. I look forward to bringing them to you as does SPH0015