Sorry everybody! I won't write a novel about excuses etc… I just wanted to apologize for the delay in updates! I was really sick these past few days and let's just say that fevers don't really get along with computers! I hope you will like the new chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything apart from the plot and every few original notions and ideas. Everything goes to GRRM for his wicked mind and HBO for their awesome adaptation.

Also I have a question in passing, if you could answer it by review or pm so I could see: is my summary bad? Because I feel like it is and that it doesn't really give any want to read the story… And I'm not really gifted for summaries in general, so it doesn't help! Waiting to hear from you so that I could improve it, thanks!


It has been a couple of weeks now, or maybe a little less, since Tyrion started his research about dragons and old dragonlords from Valyria. Unfortunately for him, and the queen consequently, he found only mere scraps of information in the Library of Meereen,. And it was rumored to be a great one … he knew that if he wanted to be thorough in his research he had to get away from the city of the Harpy. Old slaver families maybe had the good resources, but they surely wouldn't ever let a foreigner, a less than man as they like to call him behind his back, get access to them, even if it was under the queen's command. An other source, an other Library had to be combed through for him to succeed in his pursuit of forgotten knowledge.

He had decided to go to Volantis, instantly. The Queen had asked him why that city in particular, and his answer had been fairly simple and cutting: Volantis had been founded as the first outpost to the Valyrian Empire. It was most probably certain that they had at least a little on the subject of dragons and dragonlords.

After days on the sea where thankfully the conditions had been amenable if not luxurious (he had a bed in a tiny little chamber that reeked a little of piss and retch instead of rat infested merchandise in the bottom of the boat like on his way to Essos), he finally reached the Old Free City of Volantis. He had to admit that the famed oval Black Wall and the Long Bridge both made of fused stone by dragonfire was a sight to behold as he entered the Harbor of Volantis.

Tyrion Lannister was a man that greatly appreciated art and beauty… unlike most of the stupid men from Westeros, and it was only right to say that those Valyrians certainly knew how to build and show off to any possible visitor. The glimmer of the blue water reflecting on the polished stone only added to his fascination as he gazed at the centuries old memorials of Valyria's power.

As he descended from the ship he had been cramped in for too long a time to his taste, he was greeted by an envoy of one of the current ruling triarchs: Doniphos Paenymion. Just as he expected.

Tyrion didn't just decide to go to Volantis on a simple whim. He wasn't that kind of man. Jaime often liked to repeat that he was the brains, where he himself had been the brawn and the bitch Cersei, the beauty. Maybe not with those particular words, he conceded. Unless the circumstances were so dire, or he hadn't the time to, Tyrion always liked to be prepared as much as possible. One doesn't survive as a hated Imp with Cersei and Tywin Lannister as relatives with only luck, or escape alive from the devil hole that is King's Landing without a great mind for machinations and perceptiveness.

He knew that going to Volantis in those times was very risky to say the least. The tiger triarch, from the military party, Malaquo Maegyr tries incessantly and without real results to suppress the R'hollor servants from crowning the Dragon Queen Daenerys, as some sort of reincarnation of their faith. Unfortunately for him, most of his men serve R'hollor too. That is without including the various plots of assassination he had in mind for her and all her associates.

Varys' birds did a good job. Not only with the tiger but also one of the elephants, the diplomats. Nyessos Vhassar was one of the triarch majority. The man based his fortune on the slave market and selling his power to the best bidder: Illyrio Mopatis, Yunkai… it didn't matter. Daenerys posed the biggest threat to the slavery business he had ever encountered, it was only natural he had plans to dispose of her. Those were secret and underhanded of course, but a well placed bird as a courtier or servant had its utility.

Among the ruling triarchs, only Doniphos wasn't hostile to the Queen of Meereen, or he just didn't express his hostility, who knew... He wasn't the most wealthy nor the most powerful triarch, but he was well liked, respected and a good diplomat. None could be reelected that many times without any skills, ant the man who was now in his sixties made his political debut in his late twenties. He was evidently the one Tyrion contacted.

Of course, the westerosi didn't expect his help to be free and offered without any compensation, he just didn't know the conditions yet. So, he wasn't surprised when the envoy that came to greet them at the harbor led him directly to the ruler's personal rooms in the Round House, where the triarchs executed their duties, officially.

The man didn't quite look like what Tyrion would have imagined an older powerful ruler of a Free City would. He did have the typical clothing: a burgundy cloth wrapped around his head to show his political inclinations, the jewelry and permanent drawings on his arms to show his wealth and knowledge, and the white and purple airy robes with the golden belt honoring their Valyrian heritage. What differentiated him from the picture Tyrion had in mind was his tall and proud stature standing straight but still remaining a humble air in his body language. His welcoming face, that had smiling lines and clear, almost transparent brown hazy eyes that somehow appeared nonthreatening only furthered his impression of a gentle soul.

The looks didn't make the man as he himself knew very well, but the Lannister Imp always knew that the look in someone's eyes was one of the first and most truthful signs to look for if one wanted to really have a thorough impression. He couldn't detect any ill attention, only careful examination and intelligence. He was glad to not be disappointed in that aspect.

"Welcome to Volantis, Lord Tyrion." His accent was strong but from lack of practicing, not unknowledge. "I hope your travel has been uneventful and supportable. Please, sit." He gestured with his hand towards the low cushioned seat at his right.

"Thank you, your Honor. It has been as pleasurable as one could expect on a merchant's ship. I thank you for your generosity and your welcome."

Doniphos smiled a little at the use of the correct term, and accepted his thanks silently with a nod of his head. Tyrion could see he observed him carefully. It was only fair, he guessed. A moment of mutual contemplation and assessment passed between the two men. It was clear that both knew why they were here, it was only a question of which approach would be the best with that particular interlocutor.

"Let us not exchange meaningless courtesies and words full of void, Lord Tyrion, I know you are a man that likes to cut to the essential matter. Your impatience and cunning can be read in your eyes and betrays you, I am afraid. Am I not right?"

Tyrion smiled ruefully at that, content that he wouldn't have to hold back. "You are not wrong, your Honor. Let us be truthful and direct. Thank you for allowing me to search through the Great Library, I have always been an avid reader and researching such an important subject for the Queen herself only makes me more glad to go through the great walls of such a place. I would imagine that according me such a privilege will not paint you kindly in the eyes of your fellow Triarchs. So, what I would like to know, Master Paenymion, is what will you get out of it?"

The old man smiled a little while rubbing his finger on his mouth in contemplation, then, he stood up from his golden stuffed low chair and walked to the grand open windows looking out to the vastness of the ancient city. He hummed silently and admired for a moment longer the populated streets, the energetic running children, the Great Market full of merchandise and people. As he sat back on his seat he replied.

"I respect the heritage of Volantis my Lord. It was made by dragonlords, it obeyed dragonlords and it mourned for the dragonlords' absence. Most of the Valyrians died through the Great Doom, only the Targaryens subsisted thanks to their gift of foresight…"

'Interesting…' Tyrion thought.

"… and escaped to other territories. Through my family, the old Valyrian religion has been passed on and vowed to. One could say that I represent the ancient Volantis. I could wish no ill to the reincarnation of Dragonlords in the person of the Queen Daenerys. Furthermore, I don't want my city burned by the dragons because of greed and fear men have for a woman. The dragon that passed over our heads some days ago was enough of a warning to me." He paused.

'A dragon? Which one?'

The Volantene triarch continued after a moment. "The Queen has an ally in me. However, nothing comes without a price as you may know very well if your political prowess I heard about is accurate. I already have riches and power, it would be pointless to ask for that. My son is already married, and my line is continued, I have no need of future political unions. Few things I ask for. First, I would like the Queen to visit Volantis, people here worship dragonlords and deserve to see them flourish again, I understand if it isn't possible in soon times, but eventually it could be beneficial to the Queen. I won't be reelected once more, my time has ended in the Great Service, and continuing would only endanger me and mine… I want to be one of the Queen's personal advisers and subjects to serve her...

And, lastly, I wish that she let Volantis free. The Old City has been founded by Valyria, but I fear it is not prepared for the times of dragon's rule. The system isn't perfect, but it works. People don't live in despair nor famine. Slavery exists but cruelty is punished. My wish is that the Queen respects our traditions and status as a Free City.

I would like it if you could transmit my … recommendations, to the Queen. As a token of honor, I will lodge you and let the Library free of access. Is it amenable to you?"

Tyrion sat and thought out every possible outcome for a long moment of silence. Rudeness wasn't something he cared about if it lead to stupidity of actions.

"I cannot guarantee that the Queen will address every single demand, but I can say that I will do everything possible to make you meet her, or at least discuss it fully with her on your behalf. I respect your opinion and think that what you ask for is understandable and the mark of a worthy man. In the meantime, I would like to thank you for your hospitality."

Their meeting soon ended with a brief meal and sweet Volantene ale, and Doniphos led him towards his family's mansion on elephant. Never has Tyrion thought he would one day ride an elephant. They talked all the way through the city. Apparently, a dragon of light scales has been spotted through the skies going east some days ago, and either scared the populace or made them kneel on front of R'hollor's servant. Only one of them. No signs of Rhaegal. Tyrion sighed when he imagined Daenerys' reaction to the letter he just sent her.


« My beautiful baby boy, Jon… »

The few words that were written on the sealed letter already broke his mind. The penmanship of the author indicated it could only be a woman. The elongated whirls, the curls of the letters and the elegance and airiness the writing shared with the reader were signs that couldn't be wrongly transmitted. A grace no man could ever hope to imitate. Furthermore, only those first few words of the first letter he had found were needed to identify the person as female. His mother…

He sat down heavily on the cold grounds of the crypts and raised his hands to his head. Even after the life he lived, the recent upheavals of his young life, heavy tears still managed to break away from the hold he tried to have on them. Sobs that he couldn't hope to contain broke through and left his sore throat.

And it could only be sore after inhaling the frigid cold air of the north on the back of a dragon. Jon had mounted Viserion and they flew, Ghost in his clutches when they passed over the Wall, towards the western end of the gigantic construction. They had passed over the empty and decrepit Shadow Tower and after a few miles deposited Ghost to the earth he belonged to. From there they just had to descend in a straight line to reach Winterfell.

They had flown at a moderate pace in order to not leave the direwolf behind and to better examine the current situation in the Northern Land. Still an entire day passed, the downside of being the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, he guessed.

Jon was disappointed by the sights of hungry and afraid people running from soldiers in one of the towns, or beggar children being spit on by the cruel Bolton men. Where were the true men from the north that would rather die than harm an innocent child? Were they that powerless in front of the traitors?

As he saw one of his father's bannerman's body hanging, flayed with only his face and cloak intact, the Stark banner still in his hand, from the wall of the fort watching over the Long Lake, he understood. Terror was a powerful way to make people obey.

It tore his heart when he realized that he couldn't do anything, for the moment. Unless he wanted to be found and the surprise effect to be taken away, he must beware and practice caution, constantly. Thankfully, the freezing wind made people stay inside as much as possible, and the falling snow concealed them further so nobody ringed the alarm at seeing a giant dragon flying over their heads.

As they reached the heart of the Wolfswood, Jon made Viserion carefully land in a cleared area. Just before landing he could see the First Keep protruding from the black burned mass that was the great castle and concluded that with a few hours of walk he would reach Winterfell.

Before going by foot alone, he decided to wait for Ghost and in the meantime try to find some food. The booty was meager with only a few roots for chewing and some nuts, but it was enough for the moment, he couldn't take the risk of making a fire and being spotted.

Not long after, he and Ghost departed, leaving Viserion to sleep and be on the look out for a sign of distress from him through their mind sharing. The trek through the wood was uneventful for the most part, only meeting some hungry wolves that bowed to the direwolf and avoiding a few drunken guards in the vicinity of the castle.

Jon knew that he couldn't barge in through the grand doors, he would be recognized immediately by his stark features. He had to take one of the secret passages they discovered as children with Robb, and later Arya. The entry of the tunnel was behind a great willow. It was a lot more cramped than what he remembered, and Ghost couldn't go through. He told him to wait at the outer exit of the kennels so that he could hear if he was needed.

After a long while of blindly kneeling and sweating in the paved way, Jon finally arrived near the kitchens, not far from the stairway leading down to the crypts. He only had to cross one corner of the inner grounds. Unfortunately for him, there was a lot of agitation and movement right at this time, just before dinner. He had to wait for the opportune moment to act.

In the meantime he observed the various runnings in the castle. Drunken men guarding the walls, archers raping the female servants out in the open, a soldier cutting a finger off one of the young stable boys and what seemed to be a young Bolton, judging by his clothing, grabbing a young crying Lady by the hair and making her walk behind him.

"Come my dear Arya, and stop your pitiful whining or I will fuck you so hard right in the middle of the yard that you will bleed!" his disgusting voice yelled.

'Arya?!"

At the moment Jon was about to leap towards the couple the girl turned her head towards him letting her see her features more clearly. It was not Arya, but the poor Jeyne Pool. Sansa's childhood friend. Why was she taken for his sister? Their eyes met, even if he was still a little concealed in the shadows of the nook he had hidden into, and her eyes widened of surprise. Tears sprung up from the shame, he guessed, and helplessness he had witnessed. He only nodded to show her he would do something. He promised himself to try to help her when he could.

After a few more moments, the grounds finally cleared up and night descended fully on Winterfell. He moved swiftly towards the passage leading to the stairs of the crypts. His walk was vigilant, always on the look out for a guard, but luckily they were too drunk and overconfident to believe someone could infiltrate the castle they took.

The sound of his soles hitting the stone steps was muffled by the oppressive atmosphere, as if his ancestors tried to protect him themselves. The heavy door that in his memories always croaked a little when pushed didn't even make a shuffle when he opened it to get inside the dark cave. No torch inside. Thankfully, he had anticipated and grabbed one just before the entrance.

He stepped inside silently, respectful of the past Starks respite. With each step he looked at the faces of each statue, paid his respects and vowed each time more forcefully that Winterfell won't be lost eternally. A Stark will once again dwell in the great walls that Bran the Builder made for his descendants.

As he reached the last sculptures, he knelt in front of each, kissed the cold stone, and looked for a lock. He looked first around his grandfather's Rickard but none were found. The same result when searching around his uncle's Brandon statue. Finally, and he thought he should have guessed as much for the various times his father talked him about her, he found just aside his aunt Lyanna's sadly smiling portrait a small piece of metal that slid to reveal a lock.

He took off the key that hanged around his neck since the last time he saw Ned Stark, and kissed it gently, as if saying goodbye to covered truths. The key unlocked a small compartment where a beautiful wooden box was stored. The wood was dark and engraved with decorations.

It was when he opened it that his world was further shaken up. As if a dragon and reviving thanks to fire weren't enough.

Now, he admired the unopened letter that made him weep like a babe with only a few words. He knew that whatever he found out inside, it would completely change his entire life. If the great Ned Stark had to conceal the truth for so long, not even revealing it to the King, it could only mean that whatever it is it could only be of utmost importance.

After a few moments where he caressed gently the rich feel of the parchment, weighing down his options, and going through the rest of the box where he found jewels, rubies and various texts (mostly journals), he took firmly again the precious letter.

He couldn't push it further anymore. He broke the seal representing a crown and opened the letter.

"My baby boy,

I hope that wherever you are, you are safe and healthy. It breaks my heart to write this to you instead of saying it to you as a young handsome man, but I feel my body already fading away to nothingness. If Ned respected his promise as I know he will for that is the man he is, you have been protected and kept away from numerous people. You will probably think you are his bastard, a Snow, or maybe Sand if he instead takes in consideration that you were born in Dorne. However, dear, it is not the truth of the matter..."

Just as he was going to continue his read with tears coursing down his unshaven cheeks, he heard a call of "Intruder!" resonating just outside the door in the staircase. Guess someone saw his footprints thanks to the mud and the missing torch.

He quickly put back the letter in the wooden bow and shut it down. He grabbed the key and put the panel back in place to conceal the empty space. He knew that further down the crypts, there was a trapdoor made for aeration that he could use to escape. He smothered the fire of the torch with the lid and ran blindly in the dark to the end of the room.

'Viserion! Please, your sight!' He didn't know if the dragon heard him, so he repeated it like a psalm until his vision changed.

Suddenly, he could see in the dark just as clearly as in the peak of the day. He could hear the door he had shut down forcefully before, as he knew it was harder to open thanks to the uneven stone of the porch and ran even faster.

He could see the small forged door hanging a little open, as if someone forgot to close it entirely in their precipitation, and reached for it. It groaned a little as he widened the hole, but thankfully the guards still hadn't opened the great door. He quickly jumped inside and closed the door behind him. He crawled up towards the small exit just outside the smelling kennels.

As he reached the opening, he could see that the yard was agitated with running guards and the hounds all barked from fear. A guard stood a few feet to his right. He looked back to see if anybody was in the small passage with him, and then turned a little to reach his waistband.

He took in hand the small dagger he scavenged from one of his betrayers and opened suddenly the forged trapdoor. The sound startled the swaying man, probably one of the drunkards, and he didn't even have the time to react as the blade lodged itself in his throat. A gurgling sound was the only thing that escaped his throat.

He got out of the cramped space swiftly and closed the door. Prudently he approached the dead body and retook his dagger. Slowly, he made his way to the kennels, the box under his left arm.

The dogs still barked, covering the sounds of his steps. As he passed an empty box, a murmur made him jump slightly.

"I fed Ghost, Jon. I hope you will come back, take back the north for the true northerners."

He looked at the man that startled him so much and recognized Old Kriegson, the kennel master that taught them how to take care of their wolves and horses. He embraced the man swiftly.

"Thank you, old friend. I'm happy to see you well and alive. I promise. If there are others out there that share your opinion tell them soon. I will send Ghost in a few days with a message."

The old northerner with his great beard nodded. "Go! I will grant you some time."

Jon looked into his eyes once more, nodded and ran to the secret door that the hunters and kennel masters used when they didn't want to use the Hunter's Gate, and that he discovered during one of the feasts he escaped.

Ghost waited for him outside at the border of the trees so that they wouldn't take sight of him. Together, they ran through the Wolfswood as fast as possible, while he could hear guards yelling for him.

Fortunately, he knew those woods by heart, since Viserion's vision just left his eyes, and found some big rocks making a little space to hide in. Ghost hid himself in small shrubs covered in snow, melting with the whiteness of his pelt.

He guessed that the rest of the letter would be read elsewhere then since the light of the moon wouldn't be enough in the night he will spend in the woods.

Was he not Ned Stark's bastard?


I hope that you all liked i!

As usual, if you have any question, recommendation, an error to point out,or just a feedback to communicate please feel free to do by reviewing so I could answer you!

See you soon (I promise!) with the new chapter!