The Princess and the Bastard

The Dreadfort

Ch 27

Cold grey lands passed beneath them, the barest hint of fading green grass underneath a growing frost. Snow drifts Dany had only known during her time at the Wall were now reaching further out into the lands of the North. A shiver rushed through her body. Whether from the chill or her grief, she did not know, as she could feel neither the crisp winter air nor the warmth from Dreamfyre's scales.

Cheeks raw and throat dry from crying, she was terribly thirsty. If not for her baby, she wouldn't care if she ever tasted water again, but for the child she would have to drink soon.

A fresh sob cut her in two, her voice cracking from overuse. The cruel reality was Jon would never hold the babe growing inside her, and she couldn't bear it. What she wouldn't give to go back and tell him they didn't need a throne or the Red Keep. All they needed they already had, and they could fly away from this hateful place.

Westeros was a dark and twisted hell. It had taken everything from her family and was taking still. Every moment, every decision that led here weighed her down so heavily, it was a wonder Dreamfyre's wings could keep them in the air.

Aemon; her poor sweet son. She sent prayers to Jon's Old Gods to keep him safe and to the Mother to watch over him. He would be frightened and confused, in need of comfort; he would miss his mother. And he would miss Jon.

The pain was too great, and she doubled over. "My poor Aemon," she cried miserably.

Arya shuddered behind her, reminding her that she was not alone, as the girl's own cries began anew. "Ghost will protect him," she told Dany bravely.

There was a disturbance of movement as Arya railed against the black hearted traitor. "Jon was always right about you!" she yelled, "Robb is going to kill you! Kinslayer!"

Dreamfyre grumbled in warning beneath them, and Viserion chirped anxiously alongside. The golden horned dragon had followed along faithfully, but there'd been no sign of Rhaegal since their departure from Castle Black.

More movement from behind had Dany tightening her half hearted grip on Dreamfyre's red horns. Arya grunted in pain before going still.

"He was never my kin," Greyjoy muttered angrily. "And neither are you. I was your father's hostage, and I'll not be a hostage any longer."

The traitor's voice consumed Dany with a vicious rage. For now she would play along with whatever game this was, but when she had the chance, she would make him beg for death. And then she would return to her son. Until then, she had to believe Ghost and Ser Barristan would protect him.

"Those are the lonely hills," Arya said uneasily, "Where are you taking us?"

"The Dreadfort," Theon said impassively.

A small bolt of fear pierced Dany's weary heart. Her mind searched for scenarios in which she could rid herself of the turncloak without killing Jon's little sister.

"We can't go there," Arya said fretfully.

"The Lannisters will win this war," Theon replied unmoved, "the Boltons will rule the North and I will be Lord of Pike."

"Robb is King in the North!" Arya spat. "You're a dead man!"

Greyjoy went quiet for a moment. "What is dead may never die."

The dark ugly walls of the Bolton fortress came into view below them, the merlons like sharpened teeth, looking more sinister than they had the first time she'd seen them. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

"Dany," Arya began to plead, "we cannot let the Bolton's take us. Burn this turncloak and fly to Aemon!"

Dany was frozen, her eyes trained on the blackened walls, archers stationed at the ready. Right or wrong, she considered commanding Dreamfyre to loose himself of the extra riders, but she couldn't do it. Arya was her little sister too.

"If they take us inside," Arya continued, "we're both dead."

"She burns me, you'll burn too!" Theon said forcefully

"Do it, Dany!" Arya screamed, "find the Red Woman and bring her to Jon!"

"The red woman won't help you," Theon snickered, "Stannis will be happy to learn Jon's out of his way. Land this beast within the castle walls."

Suffering the turncloak's commands was an indignity and though she could not bring herself to sacrifice Arya, nor could she obey. Outside the gate, all was deserted and Theon spat empty threats as they landed there. Viserion touched down beside them while archers on the walls took aim.

Greyjoy grabbed a fistful of her hair so violently her scalp burned. "Any more mishaps, and I'll slit her throat, and your son won't see another sunrise."

Dreamfyre raved as they climbed down, remaining close to Dany's side while Theon held onto Arya tightly, the only earthly thing keeping him alive.

"Send the beasts away," he ordered her.

"A dragon is not a slave," Dany told him, "and they know you mean harm to their mother."

The Iron islander muttered irately under his breath, his eyes darting between the possessive dragons as he forced Dany and Arya toward the keep. The great gate groaned and bellowed as it was slowly opened, and Dany found herself light headed.

"Kill him, Dany," Arya pleaded weakly, "kill him and run!"

Exhausted and overwhelmed, she thought she could collapse, and she avoided meeting Arya's panicked gaze.

They passed through the gates, and into a silent courtyard, the only sign of life being the distant sound of barking dogs. Theon's fear was palpable, eyes dodging, and face shining with sweat while he led toward the keep's nearest entryway.

A large oak door creaked open, and a ghostly white hand waved them in. Dany paused for a breath, if she was going to put up a fight, now would be her last chance. Seeming to read her mind, Theon wrenched back Arya's head, pressing his accursed dagger to the girl's throat.

"It'd be a shame to kill her," Theon said desperately, "she was always Jon's favorite."

She loathed him with her whole being, but relented. Pressing forward, ready to give in, surrender herself to whatever fate might await. Passing through the entryway, she was pulled inside, and the door was quickly closed behind them, Dreamfyre and Viserion grunting and spitting outside.

Finding herself before Ramsay Snow and several equally sinister looking men, she forced herself to straighten her spine. His eerie pale eyes were predacious and his wormy smile made her want to turn and run.

Ramsay looked at Theon sharply. "Is the bastard dead?"

"He is, My Lord," Theon replied.

Ramsay's eyes narrowed as he scanned his guests. "Where is the babe?"

Greyjoy tightened his grip on Arya. "We couldn't get to him, but the lady is with child."

At that, Ramsay smiled cooly and set his sights on Dany. "My lady, welcome to the Dreadfort. I can't tell you how honored I am to have you as my guest. Although I suppose, sympathies are in order for the new widow."

Dany mustered a glare that only served to delight her dangerous host.

They were swiftly ushered down a dimly lit corridor, Ramsay himself leading the escort. The halls were grim and smoky, the wall torches held by skeleton hands. Dreamfyre and Viserion's worried shrieks could still be heard outside the solid oak door, and she was desperate to run to them.

Ramsay stopped outside a chamber door and offered her a chilling smile. "We'll give you time to rest and refresh yourselves before we speak more. Perhaps I'll even introduce you to my girls."

Theon relaxed his hold on Arya just as they were being led inside, and wasting no time, Arya slammed her elbow into his gut before running blindly down the dark hall.

Ramsay laughed brightly as his men began to give chase. "Stop!" he commanded, "let's give her a head start. It's only fair." He smirked at Dany, "I think I'm going to like the wolf girl."

Jon filled his lungs with a desparte breath like he'd just come up for air after being too long under water. His limbs were like ice, numb and impossibly cold. He shot up as his lungs continued to fight for breath, suddenly becoming aware of the men in the room around him: Uncle Aemon, Sam, Edd, Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane, Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarion. All eyes were trained on him.

Cold sweat beaded at his hairline as he frantically tried to remember what was happening. Dany... she was hurt, and he'd been on his way to her when… Greyjoy. He remembered the feel of the cold hard ground, and the icy stab of steel, again and again. Once he was able to catch his breath, he realized he was no longer in the wormwalks, but back in the library, sitting up on a table in the center of the room.

"What's happening?" he asked, his voice a crackling whisper. "Where's Dany? Where's my son?"

No one spoke, some men studying the dirt floor and others exchanging uncomfortable glances. Dread and rage coursed through him, staving off the cold. Jon set his sights on Sam, the steward jumping nervously under the scrutiny. "Where's my family?"

"Little Aemon is safe," Sam said, "he's in the next room with Ser Barristan and Ghost."

"Where's Dany?"

Jon didn't like the way his friend averted his eyes. Climbing down from the table, he had to brace himself until his unsteady legs adjusted to his weight. He felt naked as he realized he was without his sword and cloak. "Sam," he began again, "where is she?"

Sam's eyes grew wide like they did with Ser Alliser on the training yard. "Theon took her... and Arya on Dreamfyre after… he killed you…"

The memory of Theon's attack flashed across his mind like lightning, and he examined his chest, fingering the numerous tears in his tunic. Through a rip he could feel the raised flesh of a ghastly wound over his heart, and he grasped the table as the room began to spin.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Sam suggested carefully.

There's no time for it, Jon told himself as the panic started to set in, I have to find Dany.

"How long has it been?" he asked, casting aside his emotions, "Where did they go?"

"A day," Sam answered. He gestured toward the red priest, "Thoros arrived at Castle Black late last night. He's the one who… brought you back."

The bald man in the red robes offered Jon a humble bow, but Jon was nonplussed. There wasn't time for any of it. "Where did they go? Where did Theon Greyjoy take my family?"

"Scouts were sent to follow them," Edd stated, "but they flew south."

South could be anywhere… the Twins, the Red Keep… worse… his insides were twisting, but he pushed that aside too.

"Where's my sword?" Jon asked, scanning the room, he'd wasted too much time already. Rhaegal was waiting for him, he could still feel his presence near the castle.

Edd handed him Longclaw wordlessly, the weight of the sword was a comfort in his hands, a promise of retribution.

Uncle Aemon approached him on feeble steps, concern creasing his milk white eyes. "You cannot be hasty, Jon. By now she'll have been taken somewhere secure. It will take more than one man to save her- even with a man with a dragon."

"The free folk will help you," Mance Rayder said, "For what you did for us."

Tormund Giantsbane nodded in agreement beside him. "For the Mother of Dragons."

Sam spoke up. "Daenerys said Bloodraven told her the Lannisters and Freys were conspiring against you. There are two Lannisters in the dungeons at Winterfell."

Jon was relieved to have some plan of action. "I'll take my son and leave for Winterfell now. Sam, you'll accompany my uncle there at first light."

Turning on his heel, he left them all behind as he went to find his son. His head was pounding and his thoughts began to creep to dark places. Dany and Arya could be anywhere, anything happening to them. Sam said he'd been dead for a day… dead… and there had been nothing.

Stopping just outside the door, he pressed his palms into his temples to lessen the pain. He was going to do terrible things to Greyjoy. Things that would make grown men wretch, things so awful it would be centuries before anyone dared to harm his family again. But first, he would save Dany.

Forcing the chilling thoughts away, he entered the room to find Ser Barristan standing at the ready, little Aemon in the arms of a nursemaid and Ghost sitting at her feet.

The red eyed direwolf greeted him promptly, pressing his great nose against Jon's hand. Little Aemon began to fuss and squirm as he reached out for him.

Color drained from Ser Barristan's face and he quickly bowed before him even as Jon glowered at him. Uncontrollable waves of fury rolled through him. "You let Theon Greyjoy get his hands on my wife. I commanded you to protect her."

Ser Barristan kept his head down. "We found you in the tunnels, Your Grace. My Queen commanded me to protect the prince."

Sickness gripped him, but he crossed the room and pulled his son into his arms. Little Aemon quieted, resting his head against Jon's shoulder. "I'd like a moment with my son. Prepare to leave at once."

When the grey knight and maid were gone, Jon kissed his son's soft cheek and held him closely. "All will be well, little one," he promised, "I will make it so."

Kneeling before Ghost, the great beast looked as somber as Jon felt. "Thank you for protecting him, boy," he said, offering a scratch behind his ears, "now go find Dany."

The winter air was as frigid as it had been at the Wall, but Dany cast open the shutters of the lone window in her small dark room. Were it not for the menacing black bars, she'd climb out and call for Dreamfyre to liberate her.

If only he were an older dragon like Balerion the Dread. He could make short work of steel bars then… the castle walls too. She'd be liberated and free to return to her son.

An hour or two might have passed since their arrival, and gloomy maids with dull eyes had helped her change into a coarse black gown and boots. She'd heard nothing of Arya, and she could only hope she'd not be harmed, though Ramsay's Snow's reputation made that unlikely.

She looked on with envy as her black dragon flew with his brother above the walls of the forbidding castle. Her fingers curled around the frozen bars, nearly numb from the cold as the sun began to set. The sunset of the first day without Jon in the world.

The dark vision of her future had been false, and reality was far more heart-rending. All this time she had been concerned with her own death, she'd not been considering his. He was her strength, and her refuge, and like a foolish young girl she'd believed she'd have him for all of her days.

It was unlikely she'd leave this castle alive. Robb would take Aemon in, she was sure of it; he'd make sure he was well looked after. Rhaegal would be by his side, and in time, perhaps Dreamfyre and Viserion too. Ghost would watch over him.

Agony gripped her and angry tears spilled from her eyes. Neither of them wanted Aemon to grow up the way they had, motherless in a harsh and lonely world. She should have listened to Jon, they should have left this dreadful place behind.

The creak of her chamber door sent a ghostly shiver up her spine, and she whirled around to see Ramsay Snow's grotesque face peaking into the room. "Good evening, My Lady," he greeted her with feigned reverence, entering her chamber uninvited. "Or is it Your Grace? I've hitherto sworn myself to Joffrey but it could be our little secret."

He advanced toward her as he spoke, and she threw her shoulders back though her flesh crawled. "Your good-sister has refused my hospitality. I'll allow her to amuse herself tonight, and give my men a chance to find her on the morrow." He was standing closer than was comfortable, but Dany resisted the urge to shrink away. "I hope your gown is to your liking. I thought the color of mourning was most appropriate."

"You'll never get away with this," she promised fiercely, "tales of your death will make men tremble to hear."

The bastard's cruel smile grew wider. "Who's going to stop me? Your dead husband? By now he's rotting, and blue as a winter rose. I wonder how your son is faring?"

Fresh terror reared up inside of her. "What have you done with my son?!"

His eyes laughed with malice. "You have a hot-temper, My Queen. Do you imagine I could ever harm a child? What a foul thought." He closed in on her, the room shrinking with each passing moment. "And you have another babe on the way?"

He made to touch her with a meaty gloved hand and she smacked him hard across the face, pain stinging across her palm.

Her defiance only seemed to make him more lively, and he grabbed her wrist painfully. "You have more spirit than sense. Girl's like you give the best sport."

Dread eclipsed her thoughts as she struggled to free herself of his hold. Outside the window, she heard Dreamfyre's booming roar, and her cries mixed with his as Ramsay twisted her wrist, bringing her to her knees.

There was a loud crash, and panicked screams. Another crash, and then another, the last so close to her chamber window, she felt the walls shake as though from a sudden and violent storm. Ramsay threw her to the ground and darted to the open window.

Dany rose to her feet and watched as Dreamfyre and Viserion raged against his towers with bolts of fire and powerful talons. A soldier loosed an arrow at Dreamfyre from the castle wall, and it bounced soundly off his hard scales before falling to the ground. The ill equipped archer stood frozen in fear as Dreamfyre turned and set him aflame.

Ramsay was seething. "If those beasts destroy my castle, who says I won't kill you?"

Dany massaged her aching wrist, her resolve returning. "Dragons are intelligent creatures. They know there are worse fates than death. If you harm me, they'll know, and there will be nothing I can do to stop them."

He pinned her with an icy glare before rushing out of the room. Her shoulders dropped, and the corners of her eyes pricked with tears she'd been fighting. Returning to the window, she watched the orange flames dance about the towers.

Jon's clothes were soaked through, dripping onto the stone floor as he waited in the Great Hall for Robb. Heavy rain pelted from a blackened sky shortly after they departed from Castle Black. He had shielded little Aemon beneath his cloak as best he could and blessedly, the boy had slept peacefully in his arms for much of the journey.

Ser Barristan had accompanied little Aemon and a nursemaid to the bed chambers that had been prepared for their planned arrival the day before. His son had wailed to be separated from him, tearing at Jon's heart, but he needed to focus. Dany's absence was suffocating, and they both needed her.

It was midday and servants bustled about the hall attending to daily chores. They gave him a wide berth, eyes growing wide at the sight of the shredded tunic he'd not bothered to change. Their trepidation was understandable. He was newly risen from the dead and probably looked it.

The great iron doors crashed open and Robb entered wild eyed. "Jon?! What in seven hells is going on? I received a raven last night telling me you were dead!"

Jon stood to meet him, prickling with irritation. "Aye, I was dead, and now I'm not, it's not important right now."

Robb was dumbfounded. "Not important?! What of Arya and Daenerys? The letter said they'd been taken! And by Theon no less!"

Jon swallowed down his frustration. "Greyjoy murdered me in cold blood, and made off with my wife and our sister. I don't know where he's taken them, but I believe there's someone in your dungeon who does."

Color drained from Robb's face as he scanned the ruined tunic beneath Jon's heavy cloak. He shook his head in disbelief. "I took him for my brother, and he betrayed us all."

"Of course he did," Jon replied curtly, anger hardening his heart, "I always knew what he was."

Robb scowled, his face turning from pale to red. "I'll kill him," he growled.

"No matter what happens, Greyjoy's life is mine," Jon said resolutely.

"How is it you're alive?"

"Red priest, Thoros of Myr. I'm not entirely sure but we've more pressing matters to attend to."

"I'll send for Maester Lewin."

"There's no need. I'm going to talk to Tyrion Lannister."

"We'll both go."

The smell of smoke and decay was all around them as they descended the winding stone steps to the dungeon. Jon had not ventured to this part of the keep since he'd explored it as a boy and it was just as dank and dreary as he remembered. Rage pounded in him like a drumbeat to think of Dany and Arya being kept in such a place.

Somewhere within, Tywin and Tyrion were being held separately, preventing communication. A guard led them past rows of empty cells, until they came upon the dwarf. They could see him through the iron bars snoring on his bed of straw with a book on his chest, and a low burning candle on the floor.

The moment Jon saw him, he knew, and he was brimming with hostility. "Wake up, Lannister!" he snarled as the guard unlocked the cell door.

Tyrion grumbled as he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I'm awake," he said groggily, "you must forgive me, I'm not used to visitors. I'd offer you refreshment, but my stores seem to be empty."

Jon struck him hard across the face with a closed fist. He'd never imagined himself one to find pleasure in attacking an opponent half his size, but it did feel good.

Lannister spit up a mouthful of blood. "Something wrong, Snow?"

"Where is she?" Jon asked, his clenched fists ready at his sides.

A slow smile spread across the dwarf's lips. "Did you lose your wife?"

This time Jon sank his fist into Lannister's gut, knocking him onto the floor.

Robb knelt down and grabbed his collar while he gasped for air. "We know the Lannisters are behind this. Tell us what you know."

"How could I know anything?" Tyrion said, with exasperation, "I am a guest of your dungeon."

His false words did nothing to quell Jon's anger. "Theon Greyjoy took my wife and sister, and you put him up to it."

Tyrion eyed Jon skeptically. "Another man has taken your wife, and you're still alive? I didn't take you for a coward."

Jon's anger was a vortex of chaos. He threw Lannister against the bars, unleashing his rage as he bloodied his face. Holding back only enough so as not to kill him, he vented his frustrations.

"Enough, enough," Tyrion croaked, his eyes beginning to swell, "The Bolton's have her. You know they do. You can't be that stupid."

Jon knew it. Somehow he knew, but he didn't want it to be true. It might have been better if the Lannisters had them than the Boltons.

"Why?" Robb questioned, "why would they betray the entire North? How can this possibly end well for them?"

"Roose Bolton's bastard thinks he can use the Targaryen girl to control the dragons," Tyrion confessed, "I suppose his honor does not concern him if he has them."

"How does this serve your cause?" Robb asked.

"By weakening yours," Tyrion said sardonically.

The space around him began to spin as every horrific rumor he'd ever heard about the Bolton's and the Dreadfort fought for his attention.

Robb's voice was tight but he managed to keep his cool. "How did you accomplish all this from your dungeon cell?"

"Theon sent messages for me," Tyrion confided while he tried in vain to slow the blood gushing from his brow. "I would have thought your father would have told you, never trust a Greyjoy."

Jon wrenched the lord up by his neck and pressed him into the black bars. "I'm going to bring my wife home safely, and when I return, I'll let her decide how you die."

Dropping him back on the floor, Tyrion coughed through his laughter. "Do you imagine she'll leave the Dreadfort alive? You're smarter than that."

All semblance of self restraint left him as he grabbed Tyrion by the nape of this neck, dragging him out of the cell. The dwarf grunted and groaned as he stumbled while Jon forced him to keep pace back up the winding stair.

Heavy drops of rain were splashing down from a grey late afternoon sky when they entered the courtyard. The few men remaining outdoors stopped in their tasks to stare at the spectacle they were making.

"Fetch me a block!" Jon yelled to a stable hand who immediately jumped to the task.

Tyrion's eyes were wide with terror. "I thought Robb Stark was lord of this castle."

"I am," Robb said confidently, "but it's not my wife you've harmed."

The ground was covered in muddy puddles, and the wooden block splashed on the ground where the stable hand dropped it. Tyrion submitted as a pair of guards compelled him to the cold wet ground, all fight having left him.

Jon stood over him. Lannister's eyes were tired and weary. "Any last words, My Lord?" Jon asked as he unsheathed Longclaw.

Tyrion regarded him indifferently. "You've lost this war."

The words boiled his blood, but when he brought the blade down through bone and sinew, there was peace. He would destroy all of their enemies, and no one would dare to harm them again. He wiped his blade off on Lannister's mangled remains, and resheathed it. Perhaps he should have used Dark Sister so Dany could wield the blade that killed him. He would remember that for next time.

Robb approached him cautiously. "When I received the raven yesterday, I sent Grey Wind to the Dreadfort. When Daenerys and I were there, something felt wrong, and I don't believe Ramsay's claim that his father died in a hunting accident."

"I sent Ghost ahead too. I expect he'll be there tomorrow. He's always known my enemies better than I do. I'm going there tonight."

"That's a bad plan," Robb said, "one that's like to get you killed… again."

Jon turned on him. "What would you have me do?! Just leave them there?!"

"No, I would have you use your head! Ramsay has the upper hand as long as he has Daenerys and Arya."

"A monster has taken my wife and our sister!" Jon yelled, his hackles raised. "We've all heard the stories! What he does to those girls in the woods! Flaying people alive!" His head was spinning, surely this couldn't be happening. "I will tear down his castle myself if I have to!"

Robb stood firm. "If you do that, he'll kill them. You know he will. If his plan doesn't work he knows he's a dead man." He grabbed Jon's shoulders. "We are going to save them. You don't have to do this alone. Tonight we must rest. We've sent our best scouts ahead."

It was hard to breathe. "You're right," admitted begrudgingly. If he flew there tonight, there was no telling what he would do, knowing she was there, out of his reach. "We can use Ghost and Grey Wind to find a way into the castle."

"Go," Robb said, "see to your son… and I'll see to my daughter."

"Daughter?"

"She was born two days passed," he said with a subdued smile, "beautiful little thing."

"Congratulations," Jon replied awkwardly, his knuckles red from Lannister's blood. "What's her name?"

"Myriame."

"That's pretty," Jon said, observing his pleasantries, "I'm happy for you." In truth, Jon wasn't feeling anything at that moment, but he wanted to be happy for his brother.

"We're going to get them back," Robb assured him, clearly sensing his distress, "get some sleep… and new clothes. You smell like a wet dog. A dead one."

Robb headed back to the Great Keep and Tyrion's corpse was hauled away, leaving Jon alone in the courtyard. Alone with the gruesome block, bleeding into the mud like butchered flesh.

Rhaegal appeared in the sky, landing on the broken tower, looking down at Jon expectantly.

"Soon, boy," he assured the green dragon.

There was a flash of black feathers that had Jon's hand reaching for his hilt reflexively. He stared in disbelief as Mormont's raven landed on the bloody block.

"Seven hells! Where did you come from?"

"Dead!" screeched the bird, "dead!"

"Not anymore," Jon said grimly.

"Dead, dead, dead, dread!" the bird squawked.

Jon's heart jumped to his throat, and swift and silent as it came, the bird flew out of sight.

Examining his person, he saw he was covered in blood and grime. Dany would kill him if he let Aemon see him like this. He'd have to clean himself up. He thought to make his way back to the Great Keep but instead his feet carried him back down into the dungeon.

A lonely drip of water echoed off in the distance as he retraced his steps back toward the dwarf's cell. The candle he'd been reading by had burnt out and was smoking faintly. Jon retrieved the book from the floor, and made his way further into the dungeon's depths.

It didn't take long to find him, the now toothless lion, his golden whiskers scraggly and unkempt. There was still a fierceness in his old green eyes as he glowered up at Jon.

Jon tossed Tyrion's book through the bars, and the old lion let it hit the ground. "I'm here to inform you your son is dead."

Tywin's face twisted with malice. "I've hated him since the day he was born. Sometimes I believed he was sent by the Gods to mock me, but he was my son. And a Lannister. He deserved more than to be murdered by a northern bastard."

Jon found himself laughing, and he wondered if he was losing his senses. "To some I'm a bastard, and to others the heir to the Iron Throne. Sometimes I've wondered myself, but the truth is, it doesn't matter. Bastard or king, I'm going to destroy your family the way you tried to destroy mine. And I'm going to do a much better job."

Jon did not wait for a reply, and made his way to the Great Keep.