Doran

It had been a few months since I'd made land-fall in Westeros, and well, it would seem that fortune had been with me. Well, for the past few months at the very least. I'd put on near ten kilograms, or one-and-a-half stones, as was the Westerosi Unit, and for the most part, I no longer needed the cane to walk around, unless there was a particularly large build-up of Uric Acid in my joints, not that the Maesters knew that was what caused gout. For the learned men of Westeros, they merely termed it an inflammation of the joints, brought about by familial lineage, and did not make the connection to a lifestyle choice.

It was a queer thing to be Doran, especially after the events of the past few months. There were many things I knew, that Doran Nymeros Martell in his original state did not know, yes, that was true. But with the actions I'd wrought in hopes of safeguarding Dorne, and bringing about the downfall of House Lannister, much of the future was no doubt uncertain, a by-product of what scientists back home… well back on Earth, since I'd taken to embracing Westeros as home, esoterically called the Butterfly Effect.

Arianne, for one, had returned to Sunspear, after a sen-night's stay of courting by Edmure Tully, and so I'd questioned her then whether she wished to also meet Garlan Tyrell. The Princess had instead responded, "No… father, t'would be for the better if I wed Edmure, no matter if the Tyrell boy is called the Gallant. I have taken a fancy to the Tully heir, and would wed him if you agreed to the same."

At this, I'd cocked an eyebrow, hours of training helping me in achieving the same I'd been momentarily jealous of Oberyn for, "And of the ruling of Dorne?", she had bit her lip and told me of the conversation she had had with Hoster Tully, and at that I gave a short chuckle, responding with, "Lord Hoster sent me a letter, I would have you know."

At this, Arianne merely raised her own eyebrow before speaking, "Oh?", but her clutching the sides of her dress tightly had given me enough insight to know that this would need delicacy as I spoke, "Lord Hoster told me of the conversation between yourself and him about the succession of Dorne, and even though the Paramount of the Trident understands that… his grand-children ruling the Eyrie, the North, And Dorne in tandem to the Riverlands is a…. prospective windfall. He also told me, that he can scarcely expect you and Edmure to manage both the kingdoms, seeing as to how far they are, and he would not take any grave offence if I chose to make Quentyn the ruler of Dorne."

And Arianne had given him a look, not of vehemence or anger no, but mild confusion and what I had thought to be hope, before she had responded curtly, "In truth, you have groomed Quentyn to rule for a while longer than me, and even I think it is for the best that I wed Edmure and be his Lady Paramount. As highly as I think of my own capabilities, I would think there is no shame in admitting that it is beyond me to help rule over the Riverlands as well as manage the affairs of Dorne from all the way in Riverrun. So make Quentyn your heir again, father, for I would not mind this time, you aren't concealing anything from me after all." She finished, with a haughty air, though tempered by the fact she was speaking to her own Lord Father.

And I'd acquiesced to the marriage, for the parts of Doran within me had wished to see his daughter happy again, for to secure Vengeance, I had in motion the other plans. And so I'd written a letter to Hoster Tully yet again, that Quentyn would ascend, and that if he would accept, the marriage to his heir, and my daughter would take place at the Year's turn, four months from now, at Sunspear. Well, a bit more than three and a half, for I'd landed in Westeros at the Fourth month of the year, and generation-long summers and winters aside, the calendar followed the same twelve months, and oddly, the names were bastardized versions of our own calendar.

And as the week of Arianne's arrival had continued to pass by, Oberyn and Quentyn had returned, bringing with them news of a nephew, and a legion of camels, camel-herders, camel-riders, grooms, and warriors who had ridden camels, respectively, having… linked up with one another, per se, before making shore in Planky Town.

Lords Yronwood and Qorgoyle, had been let into the plan, and I had thanked myself, that enough vestiges of Doran had appeared to be able to convince them of what I was to do. For all the fierceness and hot-bloodedness that dominated the people of Dorne, they had taken to the idea of riding camels like a fish to water, and had learnt to ride the beasts incredibly quickly, allowing for Oberyn to make his journey North for his dual purposes of experience and to seize another Targaryen even quicker.

The Qohorik rulers for one, had sought to curry favour with me, by providing, in addition to the camels, two thousand masterfully forged sets of Camel Armour, which while were not Valyrian Steel, were built with the proportions of camels in mind, and were of Qohorik design, which Doran's memories told me were regarded as some of the best in the world. Most of Oberyn's company was equipped with the same, with the remaining suits being examined by the smiths of Dorne so as to equip more of the camels.

In addition to this, the Qohoriks had dispatched near two hundred dragon-bone bows, fit for a rider contingent to fire to puncture even plate mail , in a manner similar to Berber camel archers of mine own world, though a Planetosi analogue would be the Dothraki horse-archers. I had quickly grasped what they wanted from me, and so much to the happiness of the Qohorik representative that had accompanied the Martell fleet back home, I had granted Qohor a five-year contract for an access to all the produce of one of the… oil wells that Dorne had. And to sweeten the deal, I'd offered the produce of another well for the duration of two years, at which they'd jumped at, swearing the praise of their Black Goat and that they would send Qohorik blacksmiths to teach my own, as well as more sets of camel armour.

I'd inspected a well myself, one of four new ones discovered of late, and realised while it was no doubt, petroleum, the use that the powers of the East wanted it for, were not so close as to develop planes, or machinery, but more as to fuel the magics and rituals that remained in the East, as well as fuel the ship designs they continued to craft in hopes of mapping Ulthos and Sothoryos. The Qohorik representative had even told me that the people of the Shadow Lands would again purchase much of this from Qohor, and that good coin could be made from that as well.

All in all, an interesting prospect, that re-affirmed the fact that GRRM had hammered into the world, that stagnation was the norm, and there could not be any major development such as the development of fire-arms or mechanized industries, without drawing the ire of….. Esoteric powers. In addition to this, I had learnt that the Qartheen would be sending a representative to discuss with us, a deal for one of the other three fresh wells, though since the scale of minerals in Martin's world was absurd… perhaps nothing could ever truly run out.

Well, the matters of the economics of Dorne aside, before Oberyn had left for his journey, he spoke in the same long, slow drawl that was his signature, but as a whisper to my ear, that "Egg is real, they shall make land-fall in Sunspear a week from now." And I had nodded at this in confusion, for I'd expected the boy to be a Blackfyre descendant, and not my own nephew.

He was due to arrive today, and so I had decided to engage in a conversation with the … semi-sentient side of Doran that existed in the recesses of my mind. Though from what I could gather of our situation, we had been fused together, in our own head, there were two consciousnesses. Not quite in the vein of Charles Dance and Tywin duking it out in their minds as was the scenario in another fic, but more akin to that voice you would conjure in your head if you were day-dreaming, but would think that which you did not think, but yet thought. It was a queer thing to explain, but I had learnt quickly that I could have conversations with Doran if pressed for time.

"Doran… your nephew would arrive today, what would you recommend I do?" I thought, some of the Westerosi style of speaking slipping into my own thoughts even.

"Ah… Rahul… so… Aegon is real. The first of your predictions to come true…. But not the last I wager." came the response, slow and calculated, but with a kindly undertone beneath it. If Doran were to be an Earthling, he would have been considered the kindly neighbourhood uncle. But his plans in the books had been menacing enough, even if they'd failed.

"I can hear… well… feel your thoughts… remember?" spoke the mildly amused voice, before it continued, "I may have been a fictional character… to you before you… died. But I think you have adapted to Westeros no? Enough to understand the thirst for revenge… and justice."

I laughed bitterly in my mind, and spoke, "Anger is an acid that damages the vessel it is stored in, more than anyone it is poured on, is what I was taught."

At which came the response, "But your business… with your erstwhile friends seem to tell me you understand the coin of vengeance well enough." And I could do little but mentally agree, at which he continued, "That besides, there is much of your past you have not told me, and I do not wish to know either. You are in possession of my body, and with possession of my future. Already you strengthen Dorne, though as covertly as possible, and my own body walks yet again without a cane. You have found that my nephew, yet lives, and I shall urge you to tell him about your plans, for he shall be the King in the future. Waging war would be a difficult task, and a King must know what allies and foes he must have."

I agreed at this, before he continued… "While Viserys and Arianne's marriage pact's dissolution was…. Perhaps the right choice, you must needs understand that even with Aegon being real to us, there will always be those who shall call him pretender. You must wed him to his aunt to secure any naysayers to his parentage, despite your abhorrence of incest."

And so I asked, "Very well… and of Viserys, and the dragons?" at which Doran responded, "Viserys…. Perhaps make him the Master of Law in Aegon's council, a position ultimately useless, no matter its prestige and with a keep to himself to live his days out eventually with a wife and children. A dirth of Targaryens caused their downfall, unlike the days when the fourth son of a fourth son such as Aegon the Unlikely could ascend. Viserys' lines mayhaps might be useful again if anything untoward were to happen to the lines of both Summerhall as well as King's Landing."

"Once… we conquer it, I suppose." At which Doran nodded, before I continued, "Very well. I believe with the right prodding, and the offer to rule as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, we can seduce Stannis to our side. Turn him into another Orys Baratheon if you will, though it shall be tough to pry him from his duty to his brother, the exposure of Joffrey and his siblings as incestuous ilk, as well as the indisposition of Renly may as well convince him to not press his claim. The Tyrells are conniving and clever folk… but perhaps the offer of a marriage between Aegon's children and one of Mace's grand-children might serve."

Doran cocked his eyebrow… and continued, "What if the Fat Flower wishes a more immediate compensation." At which I was lost… before Doran continued, "Perhaps wed his daughter to this… Jon Snow... with the oath that their children shall wed Aegon's heir, which should satisfy the Tyrells, as well as Robb Stark once he ascends."

But Doran continued, "Why not simply deal with Stannis in the same manner as Renly?"

I thought slowly, "There are those we cannot kill, no matter how big of an obstacle they are, or what they have done, and Stannis is one of them."

Doran raised an eyebrow, and spoke, steel in his voice, "And who are the rest?"

I sighed and said, "Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow, Davos Seaworth, Jaime Lannister, and Tyrion Lannister. No matter if they lose an arm, but they cannot die, not at any cost.

Doran spoke, clearly confused, "What do two members of a near-fallen house, the sons of Tywin Lannister, the Lord of Dragonstone and the smuggler who saved him have in common? This makes no sense."

I spoke quietly, "Lords may call politics the great game, or the Game of Thrones, but any of these individuals might be the lynchpin in a greater game, and I fear the fate of Westeros may lie with them. So no, despite your hatred for any Lannister, we cannot kill those two yet, and nor any of the others."

I continued, dropping the topic with "Anyhow, what of the dragons?" at which Doran momentarily kept his silence before continuing, "You would tell me that Daenerys had three dragons in the future that would never have been. With the introduction of Aegon's egg, and perhaps Jon's own, if Rhaegar gave Lyanna an egg, we would have five eggs, though your theory that lives must be offered in fire, with Targaryen blood too, to hatch them, may mean we should consider it when our position is stronger. As far as you have told me, only Aegon, Jon and Daenerys would prove to be the riders, for Viserys is far too unstable, leaving two dragons without riders. A prospect that does not entice me, for two un-tamed dragons feasting upon the small-folk does not sit right with me, nor would it with you, I suppose."

At which I quipped, "Perhaps Stannis would prove to be a rider as well, he holds Targaryen blood as well, or perhaps Renly, if we choose to not leave him a cripple." And so I rapped the table once, and to my satisfaction, my knuckles did not hurt.

With this final parting statement, I exited the trance, for Areo Hotah, had spoken to me, that I had visitors, a boy and his father. These could only be Aegon and Jon Connington, and so I nodded to him, and we left my room, passing graceful buttresses, delicate arches, fluted columns, tall terraces, and bowers, as the towers of Sunspear jutted into the sky, very much themselves resembling thrusting spears.

I walked past the small garden of Sunspear, which my… memories told me was nothing compared to the gardens of the eponymously named Water Gardens, and in their midst, I found a boy with shoulder length hair, whose dye job of a garish blue was slowly eroding to show the pale platinum-blonde beaneath, silver-gold, he scolded himself, as the Westerosi called it. His eyes were violet in the light, but I knew it was blue, a tad bit more normal to Earth than any shade of purple.

"Prince Doran", came the greeting from the boy, a cherry ring to it, no doubt, but there was aura of royalty that flittered from the edge of his mouth, and his very bearing bore a regal-ness to it. Tyrion was right, I mused, Perhaps he is the Perfect Prince after all, and so I bowed to him before kneeling, "Your Grace, Aegon Targaryen, I bid you welcome to Sunspear and Dorne." The pleasantries coming to me easier now, than when I had landed, I gently adjusted the ring on my left hand so as to make it not chafe.

The boy seemed mortified slightly, as he spoke, "You are my Uncle, Prince Doran, please do not bow to me." He spoke, no doubt out of some concern for my reputation of gout, at which I chuckled softly and spoke, "I thank you for your concern, Your Grace, but I have near triumphed over my gout, and it is customary to kneel before a king." At this the boy nodded, his hands playing with the buttons of the Dornish garb he had chosen to wear for the day.

The boy then raised his hand and waved it away as he spoke, "I have not crowned myself, yet, uncle, I remain a Prince for now.", at which a small smile tugged at the edge of my lips as I spoke, "Then we are near equals for now." At which the boy laughed, seemingly satisfied that I would do as he bid. It was the Griffin Lord who interrupted, as he spoke, "All this is very well, Prince Doran, but your brother told us that there is much about the events in Westeros that you would tell us, and there are plans you must reveal to us." And so we began walking along the paved path in the garden, slowly.

I raised my eyebrow, for I well-remembered how Connington believed Elia did not deserve Rhaegar. His homosexual tendencies were clearly exhibited in that line of thought, but no-matter, I spoke, "Very well, It would seem I shall have to get to the meat of the issue. Prince Aegon, at your disposal, you shall have the thirty thousand spears of Dorne, though our enemies believe it to be fifty. To remedy this further, I have commissioned a powerful Camelry that Oberyn shall be testing beyond the wall." And Connington grunted with what I mused was probably acceptance if not approval.

The boy spoke, "I have sailed across the Rhoyne for most of my life, and I very well know that Camelry is powerful of its own right, a good advantage to have against Westerosi cavalry if well-equipped and trained. Though that your forces are twenty thousand less than believed might be a problem, my… foster-father tells me that he shall bring the Golden Company to our side." And once again Tyrion's description of him as a perfect prince rang true.

I inclined my head, good-naturedly, as I spoke, "That brings our troops to near fifty thousand, Your Grace. And I shall tell you, that Robert Baratheon does not possess any true heirs: Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella are all born of incest between Jaime Lannister and the Queen, and with the truth, Renly and Stannis would no doubt rise in rebellion. Renly is power0hungry, but perhaps that is a by-product of his association with the Tyrells, while the scenario would make Stannis the rightful Baratheon heir." And I plucked a blood-orange from one of the trees and tossed it to Aegon, who caught it deftly and peeled it with his hand quickly, and bit into it tenderly.

The Prince nodded as he spoke, small droplets of juice tenderly rolling down his mouth, which he wiped away, "Your own agents are spread far and wide, then, Uncle, if you know of all this. How would you turn the Reach that would back Renly, and the Crownlands that would back Stannis to our side?"

I spread my hands wide, as we continued to walk about the garden, both Areo and Jon Connington following us like shadows as I spoke, "Renly perhaps, we could indispose… in a hunting incident, but I am of the belief that Stannis can be made malleable to our own side, if we play upon his belief in his duty, and force him to confront that he abandoned his duty to his throne for his duty to his brother. We could turn him into your Orys Baratheon, your grace, for despite the Crownlander lords being more inclined to support you, they respect Stannis too, and if we bring him to your side by offering the Paramountcy of the Stormlands to him, as he believes it was wrongly taken from him, the Crownlands and your rightful seat shall be yours again with no bloodshed. I would even suggest making him your Lord Hand.

The boy cocked his head, though no doubt understanding that the plan had its merits, as he spoke, "And of you, uncle? Would you not be my Hand?" And I thought for a moment as how to respond as the boy continued to bite into his orange.

I made up my mind and laughed, "Nay… I would be happy for Vengeance alone, and you must appease Stannis suitably." At which the boy nodded his head before continuing, "A man has two hands, does he not? Perhaps a King must too. We shall talk more of this later." And for a moment, I was taken aback, for the creation of Two-Hands might prove to create instability, and at this the boy spat out a seed to the side.

I continued anyhow, "Now… Prince, I must tell you that Viserys and Daenerys are not your only family." And there was a large expression of confusion upon the boy's face as he spoke, "Do you mean Aemon Targaryen? Haldon told me that he is my… great-great-grand-uncle, brother to my namesake, Aegon the Vth, or Aegon the Unlikely, who took upon himself the chains of maestership, and then went to the Wall." And once again, the boy bit into the blood-orange, before he tossed the rind to the side.

I shook my head as I responded, for sometimes pulling off the bandage quick was the only solution, as I spoke, "No, your Grace, I do not speak of Aemon Targaryen, but of your half-brother." At which the boy stopped moving as the coin dropped, "Half… Brother?" as he slowly removed his hand from the flower bush he had been appraising.

At my revelation, Jon Connington growled… "So…Lyanna whelped a babe. Where was he hidden? ", at which I raised my hands as I spoke, "Eddard Stark passed him off as his bastard child, and he is two years your junior. His false name is Jon Snow, though my agents tell me his real name is likely to be Jaehaerys Targaryen, for a septon wed Lyanna and Rhaegar under the agreement of Elia that she would smother Jaehaerys if your birthright was threatened. He is no Blackfyre, and Oberyn shall stop at Winterfell to take him on as his squire, after that which they shall continue their ranging beyond the Wall, and then return to Sunspear, where you could meet him if you choose to stay."

The boy mouthed softly, "Jaehaerys… to think I have a brother. Yes, I think I would like to meet him, for there are far too few Targaryens in this world, and brothers should stick together. No? When we win the throne, I shall have Summerhall rebuilt, and he shall rule there." And at this he plucked a few cherries from one of the bushes that I had had planted, and tossed one back to me, which I caught out of the air much as he had the orange.

When, I noted, and if anything, the boy-prince did not lack for courage or confidence. I continued, "It is of my belief we can… sway Mace Tyrell to your side if we wed his daughter to Jaehaerys, and then any child of theirs shall wed your own by your Aunt Daenerys. A generation or two removed perhaps, but Tyrell blood would sit the Throne, and perhaps he shall be satisfied by that, though it remains that he needs to be convinced of your legitimacy. Eddard Stark may not rise for you, but he would not rise against his nephew either, though his son Robb might be malleable enough to convince to go to war on your side, though he would not risk disobeying his father unless Lord Eddard died. "

Aegon laughed, "This is still a matter of atleast two years or more, uncle, as I am sure you already know. And as for my legitimacy…" The boy trailed off, before pulling the sword from his sheath, at which I was momentarily shocked as I observed the beautiful ripples and swirls across its length, and the ruby at its hilt. There was even a three-headed dragon carved gently across the fuller of the bastard-sword. And I realised it was definitely Blackfyre, for as the book of Benifer said, the blade could be mistaken for no other, even sheathed. But I had been looking at the Prince, and not the sword at his hilt, and so I had not thought of it sooner.

The boy spoke, "Magister Illyrio… convinced the Captain-General of the Golden Company, Myles Toyne to entrust it to him, for he informed the man of my heritage before he perished upon his deathbed this year. This, along with my egg, should be more than enough proof." And swung his sword gently at the leaves of a lemon bush, which caused a particularly over-ripe one to come rolling down, so was the sharpness of the legendary blade.

And I nodded at this, as I continued, "Very well, my Prince, I shall hope your stay in Sunspear shall be comfortable, for there is much I wish to speak to you about during your stay, after which we shall talk about your wedding to your Aunt to come in the future."

And at this, the boy nodded, as I pondered if Jon Snow…. Jaehaerys, would find Dark Sister as well, and I looked behind me to note that the over-ripe lemon had split into three parts, a strange occurrence.

The Dragon That Would Be Wolf

The courtyard of Castle Black rang to the song of swords as Jon watched the black-brothers in training train with each other. He mused, that one day perhaps he would have joined them if he had never learnt of his heritage.

Yes, his real name was Jaehaerys, brother to a brother whose head had been dashed onto a wall, and brother to a sister who was stabbed three dozen times, and cousin to those he had considered his half-siblings. His world had been turned upside down not a week past, when the Prince Oberyn Martell, had swaggered into Winterfell with a retinue of soldiers from all across Dorne mounted atop queer creatures called camels.

He'd been told of his heritage by the lord whom he had considered his father, and given a Valyrian Steel dagger and dragon egg before he was made a squire to the Prince.

Oberyn was a… strange man for one. Queer, and fierce, and utterly unpredictable, the man had spent much of the past few days merely gauging Jon's skill with a sword, and his knowledge of the realm, no doubt to see if Jon was worthy of being a King.

Jon didn't want it, to be the figurehead of a war that might very well see him and those he considered brothers on opposite sides, but there was a queer satisfaction in knowing that he was of just as high of birth as Robb and Theon both, and technically of a station higher than either. Oberyn had not seemed the bookish type at all, no, but he had brought with him three books detailing the history of the Targaryens, state-craft, and war-tactics respectively, and Jon for one, liked reading books, despite having been chased out of the library of Winterfell by the servants who tended it at times Lord Eddard's lady wife felt particularly hostile, in fact he had ravaged near the entirety of the books under the tutoring hands of the Maester of Castle Black, Aemon.

Aemon was a Maester unfathomably old, near a hundred, Jon supposed if not more, who made Luwin look like a mere babe. It was quite possible that the ancient Maester had forgotten more than the rest of the Maesters in the North put together ever knew, but his mind remained sharp, though his eyes had long gone milky. He gave his own insights, which Jon realised were valuable too, but he gave his own speech to some of the details in the Targaryen history-book, and Jon for the life of him could not understand how the old man knew such intimate details.

Today however, Jon had not sequestered himself in the Maester's tower; he had instead wished to duel with one of the many knights and warriors that Oberyn's party had brought up from the South. While Lord Stannis remained ensconced at Eastwatch with his men, some of the Eastwatch brothers had chosen to instead garrison Greenguard for the time being.

Loras Tyrell and Ser Jaime Lannister's host of Stormlanders however, had taken the Nightfort and Deep Lake for their own, and Jon had heard the black-brothers say that the Kingslayer, as Jaime Lannister was called, for slaying mine own grandfather, Jon supposed, was apparently clearing much of the rubble of the two castles to make his own stay as comfortable as possible, though some black brothers said the knight was angry with his posting, though being of the Kingsguard, he could scarcely protest.

Prince Oberyn himself had chosen to stay at Castle Black with two dozen men, but the majority of his forces had taken Rimegate, Sable Hall and Woodswatch-by-the-Pool merely due to the fact that stabling the Camels required a large area. Lord Mormont did not mind this it would seem, and the other watchmen said that prior to their arrival, only three castles had been manned, and now a majority of the Eastern castles had men, even if they weren't black brothers.

Speaking of camels, Jon had been made to ride one, and queerly, despite the swaying motions of the large creature, he had found himself get quickly accustomed to the two-humped one that had become his steed. It was a large albino, and Jon had taken to calling it Snow, a relic of his own former name that he wished to keep close. It seemed to like him well enough, and was docile for the most part, though it had bit him once, though not too harshly when he had accidently stepped on one of its hooves.

Prince Oberyn's own beast was a… terrifying thing, to hear the talk of the grooms who tended to the camels, it would bear no rider except Oberyn himself, and was of a size larger than any other camel, being a hybrid of the single hump and dual hump ones. To add to its size, it was apparently incredibly strong as well, as were most other hybrids.

On their journey, Oberyn had said that he would find a way to make the camel venomous, and Jon did not know whether the man was japing or serious, for none could truly tell what the Martell prince ever thought.

His sparring partner was a slender free-rider who bore a wickedly sharp axe the same length as the hand-and-a-half blade that Jon preferred. It was the first time Jon would be duelling with live steel, but the man had promised that he would be taking it easy on Jon, for which he was mollified for one, for he was still ten-and-three.

Jon pressed the attack at the starting, his sword slashing through the air, and parrying the swings that the free-rider, Ser Donald Howe, was swinging through the air with the ease of a veteran. Even with the handicap, Jon was finding it difficult to keep the attack going, and so he switched to a more defensive posture.

Donald did not slow down, and went on the offensive himself, using the wickedly sharp hook on the opposite side of the axe's blade to try to catch his sword and wrench it from his grip. Jon would not give him the satisfaction of the same.

The axe came underneath with a sweeping blow that would have collided against his leg, had he not hacked at the hilt, which had forced Ser Donald to pull it back, lest he be left with half a weapon. Then came his own downcut in response, which to his disappointment was answered by an overhand that carried with it enough force to ignore the blow outright, and would have dented his helm if it struck him.

Jon swung his own blade yet again, and it clashed against the Axe's blade, singing the song of steel as it did so. He swung again, for he knew he would need to press the fight lest he lose by virtue of tiredness, and it connected with the back of Ser Howe's left hand. For a moment Jon thought it would cut through, but the mailed fist was merely struck, and tried catching the blade.

Jon had an idea, and he quickly dropped the blade, which the Knight did not expect, for his momentum in attempting to pull the blade had swept him near off-balance. Jon pulled his own dagger swiftly and kept it under the tip of the man's chin.

Ser Donald laughed at this, "I yield, Jon Snow. You're a finer fighter than many with a sword, but if I was not handicapping myself, and I was using a Morningstar, you would be on the ground seeing stars in a matter of moments." But Jon did not make any boasts, for it was true enough that the man had been pulling his blows, and so he spoke, "It was a good fight, Ser."

At which the knight laughed, "Indeed it was, bastard. Remind me to buy you a drink sometime, for a boy there are few who could do what you did."

Jon frowned, and nearly retorted that he was not a bastard, before came the sound of claps. Garbed in the same ochre that he favoured, came Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, with his hair trailing to his shoulder, and fluttering slightly from the chilly breeze that was in the air, and he spoke, "I thought to find you in the tower with Maester Aemon… not fighting knights in the courtyard." And Jon thought then that the man would punish him, before the Prince chuckled, "Ah… to be a boy again, never-mind, come, you show promise with a sword. But you shall meet Maester Aemon with me now."

And so he followed the Prince to Maester Aemon's tower. As they climbed, he saw the Maester's two assistants, Clydas and Chett, who were both ugly men, descend. Chett, who had a boil at the back of his neck the size of an egg, gave Jon a dirty look out of the corner of his eye, but Jon ignored it as he continued to climb.

It was still late in the morning, but there was always a moderate smattering of clouds in the sky, and it was the same case today. There was a fire burning in the fire-place, besides which the Maester sat, and upon his knee was something long beneath a cloth.

It was the Maester who first spoke, his voice nary a whisper, "Prince Oberyn… Jon Snow… I bid you welcome."

Jon bit his lip as he said, "I apologize, Maester Aemon, for not visiting you. I wished to train with the sword in the yard."

The Maester laughed softly, like the leaves falling upon snow, as he spoke, "You are a boy… ah… so much like my younger brother so long ago, always seeking the song of steel… little thinking of the joy of books."

Jon did not know how to respond to this and so he kept his silence, though he wondered how the Maester recognized that it was them when he was blind. The Maester, almost as if he had read his mind, laughed again, as he spoke, "As my eyesight dimmed… my other senses proved… to be growing in power, though I cannot claim to feel everything that the feeling of sight provides with my other senses. Prince Oberyn's… self-assured swagger is easily recognizable… as is your own muffled foot-steps… no doubt originating from a wish to avoid any attention that may prove untoward from those from your home."

Jon kept silent, but what the old Maester had said was true, and Oberyn had a grin across his face. The man spoke… "Ah… it has been a while since I saw my grand-uncle… Brynden. He left me this package you know." Finished the Maester, gesturing at the package perched on his thigh.

Oberyn spoke, "Brynden Rivers, Maester Aemon?"

Jon was confused, and spoke slowly, "Brynden Rivers… as in Bloodraven?"

Aemon spoke, "Yes… Hand of the King, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch… sorcerer… spymaster… he of thousand eyes and one."

Jon sputtered, "But that would make you…." He tried to think which generation of Targaryen the man before him belonged to.

"Aemon Targaryen… son of Maekar, son of Aerys the 1st, who was son of Daeron the 2nd, half-brother to Bloodraven, and brother to Egg… Aegon Targaryen the 5th who was father of Jaehaerys the 2nd, father of Aerys the 2nd, father of Rhaegar, Viserys and Daenerys, of whom Rhaegar lies dead, and the latter two running from city to city in Essos… and your great-great-grand-uncle, you who are Jaehaerys the 3rd." finished the Maester.

Jon was very confused…. As he spoke "One of the… three remaining relatives I have amongst the dragons… Maester Aemon."

"Four…" trailed off Prince Oberyn.

"Four?" spoke Jon, confused.

Oberyn looked at him as he spoke, "You are not the last of your generation… Jaehaerys Targaryen. Your half-brother… my sister-son Aegon the 6th yet lives, and you shall be the Prince of Summerhall to his Kingship."

Jon whispered… "I have a brother?" at which Oberyn nodded. Jon spoke, "When can I meet him?", and Oberyn chuckled, "After we have finished our business beyond the Wall. Doran plans much, and every plan has its own time… but far be it from me to deny a brother the company of another brother… I loved Elia well, and I understand the same."

Jon nodded, numb still, from learning he was not the last scion of Rhaegar Targaryen, just sat down. At which Maester Aemon spoke, "Brynden disappeared beyond the Wall on a ranging… for what reason I do not know, but he spoke of dark magic and forgotten things… But he did leave with me… his sword… Dark Sister… saying that he did not need it where he would be going" And saying so, the Maester pulled off the cloth gingerly, and Jon gasped as he saw the slender blade, with the same ripples as the dagger he possessed, across its surface.

It had been initially forged for a woman… he remembered, Queen Visenya Targaryen, but its length was similar to the bastard sword Jon had used in the morning. Aemon continued, "Daemon Targaryen… who declared himself King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea… spoke of the blade once… he said that it is meant for nobler tasks than slaughtering sheep. That it has a thirst for blood… I trust that you shall use it well, for the Iron Throne is not the only… thing that would hurt those unworthy of wielding it… aye… and I think you shall need it where you will be going."

Jon was still numb, as he received the blade with reverence, but he recognized the words spoken and spoke, "Where I will be going?"

It was Oberyn who responded however, "We range to the Fist of the First Men. The First Test."