"You have a dragon. He stands before you"
- King Daeron I Targaryen
Prince Jonothor of the Royal House of Targaryen
The Prince of Summerhall
I
Just off of Rhaenys' high hill, deep within the edges of Flea Bottom, stood a small, squat tavern named the Fallen Prince . In truth, it is one of the nicer buildings in the slums, if only because it wasn't falling over, but it made no comparison to the finer, sponsored taverns found off the Streets of Steel or Silk or the Strand.
Jonothor almost laughed, comparing the thinly veiled boasts of wealth, power, and influence made by the great houses when they built the Claws or the Antlers or the Green Hand to this beggar's hall made to insult a long-dead Queen and the death her family brought the people.
Or maybe it was just fanaticism and blood lust that led the angry mob to rip apart a boy of what?, ten and three. The Grand Maester had taught him that men would only follow you if you were shrewd and wise but the Sheppard was a rambling fool with one arm shouting out prophecies of pain and bloody death, and the hordes of King's Landing followed him like sheep.
Hmph, Sheppard and sheep indeed, the idiot was well named at least.
The Fallen Prince seemed innocent enough from the outside for his Grandfather to not have it burnt down with wildfire but when the Whitecloaks are gone, the drunks tell stories of how the hall is built on the spot where they buried Joffrey Velaryon's foot.
"Why do you insist on going to this particular tavern, it is an insult to your family." The tallest of their group of three asks looking towards Jon, his golden face and armor scuffed with mud and dirt. Every few seconds he would down at his dented common guard's armor or at his black cloak and grimace.
"Most things in this city are an insult to my family, the rest were built by them - I've learned to ignore it," Jon responded, wearing a white doublet with red stitching and a black cloak wrapped around his shoulders hiding much of his attire.
"While watching the gilded lion try to make nice with common cutthroats seems entertaining enough, I do have to agree with his question, my Prince." His other companion Cayle Waters, one of the household guards and an old friend of his mutters from his left.
"I enjoy the ambiance, and for tonight I am not your prince but a simple bastard drinking with his friends from the retinues in the city. Baratheon is visiting for some reason or the other, so there should be many men in dark cloaks drinking to the dragon's bane, we'll fit right in." The teenager of ten and five declared with a wry grin from the middle leading them off Regent's Street and deeper into Flea Bottom.
Ser Jaime, the gilded knight currently in a pauper's armor snorted from his right, "Yes, the ambiance, which is why you had poor Cayle carry your harp all the way here, and it has nothing to do with visiting the pretty little dragon seed you make eyes at." he said while smirking.
Jon decides that he should have thrown more mud on the lion. When the Kingslayer had been assigned to him, all those years ago, he assumed it was a punishment - but now he knew that Jaime was the only Kingsguard whose personality wasn't a wet blanket.
Perhaps that was a bit dramatic but still, the good knights of the Kingsguard are too busy trying to impress Ser Arthur and Hightower with their statue impersonations to actually be of any interest.
But what a pair they are, Jaime and him, the oathbreaker and the broken oath - like Dunc and Egg of old - unfortunately, he preferred featherbeds too much to wander the kingdoms sleeping in hedges and Jaime would cut off his hand before befriending the local peasantry.
Jon paused in front of a fountain of mermaids and seahorses, peaked with a grand stone dragon statue that spouted water out of all three heads. He had sponsored this fountain years ago and commissioned a well to feed it with fresh drinking water. His father's councilors were quite confused at his actions, nonetheless, they had no grounds to protest - he had gone out of his way to use entirely his own allowance. No one knew why the Prince of Summerhall had sponsored the fountain, lords and peasants alike had pestered him repeatedly guessing at his motives, but it had made a nice name day gift for Mae.
When he entered the Fallen Prince , Jon immediately moved to the table closest to the roaring fire. It was most often empty, especially during the summer months, and the fire's heat was never uncomfortable to him. He sat down with his back to the flames tossing his coin purse to Cayle for him to buy their drinks while Jaime took a seat on the other side of the table.
Jaime was immediately searching the room for threats, ever the dutiful Kingsguard, and he already looked bored and miserable. Jon sighed before announcing, "So what do you wish to discuss good ser, perhaps duty… or honor… or our collective faith in the seven who are one - all good topics no?" trying to bring some levity to what would otherwise be a boring night.
Jaime looked back, "Nothing so magnanimous please, I've escaped my father's lectures and I have no intention to return."
"I suspect the old lion wasn't lecturing you on honor and faith, doubtless he was preaching loyalty to the crown and the vows of your forefathers above all else. After all, your father's fidelity is above questioning." Jon replied.
"Yes, the loyal lion they call my father, he has always been true to the crown as Pycelle no doubt simpers to any who will listen. But in truth father might as well have lectured on goodness and mercy - I paid little attention to his talks."
'I know' Jon thought, they had discussed before how all Jaime wished for was to be in the yard practicing sword and lance with the men at arms. Jaime had no patience nor skill for reading ledgers and sending ravens or so he said, Jon had never understood it.
"The only lectures I listened to were the ones from Uncle Ty and Uncle Gerry. Uncle Ty taught me to keep my shield up or he'd slam a blunted sword into my helmet until I figured it out." Jon doubted the heavy blows to the head made him any better at lifting his shield or reading for that matter but swords were not Jon preferred pastime. Jaime continued fondly, "Uncle Gerry was the laughing lion come again, he told me of his travels and taught me where to buy the finest Arbor Gold in all the cities of the Seven Kingdoms."
"It's a surprise you're not off wine entirely with the quality you find in King's Landing, the Arbor Gold you could buy here is as likely as not to be rotten grape juice topped off with piss in order to get the right color."
"You think all wine is piss and grape juice." Jaime retorted with a grimace as if he could already taste the wine he was about to receive. He had after all grown up with the wealth of Casterly Rock - making the best of poor wine was not Jaime's forte. He also had suspicions that Jaime would prefer to be at one of those Taverns Gerion Lannister had described, at least then he could get quality wine.
"Not true, Jon enjoys the drinks he sneaks from his family's kegs well enough." Cayle declares as he returns, tossing back a lighter purse of coins than he was given.
"It only takes a couple thousand dragons to make wine palatable to young Jon yet he drinks piss ale from Flea Bottom taverns, you really must respect his resolve to be here in particular." Jaime says as his quintessential smirk returns.
"Piss ale is all there is, it's a peasants drink and no self respecting barkeep will waste good honey or spices on the dregs of Flea Bottom." Jon retorts.
"They would if they knew who was purchasing it." Ser Jaime muttered under his breath before continuing, "And what do you know of making ale, have you found love with some brewers daughter? Will we be meeting her before or after your time here with Maella?"
"More than you and less than your brother on account of ale making no doubt, and on the second question; tell me do you enjoy being a glorified tent guard at Chataya's as well as Lewyn does good ser?" Jon declares daring Jaime to continue this line of conversation, he would spend the next moon at the slummiest whorehouses in the City with Jaime in full regalia if that's what it took to humble him.
"Speaking of Tyrion, why is my brother not joining us, assumably he would enjoy a night of drinks and conversation - his conversations with you are some of his favorites," Jaime asks after a pause, it was a weak deflection at best. Jon thought Tyrion would enjoy the topic of whoring more than anyone else he knew save perhaps Prince Oberyn.
Hmph, as if Jon would ever allow Lord Tyrion anywhere near Mae.
There were actually a few reasons why Tyrion couldn't join them, most of which Jaime doesn't need to know so he decided on a diplomatic answer, "He is busy dealing with the Baratheon visit… as a representative of House Lannister he must be seen annoying everyone as much as possible or we'll all forget about the glory of the lions." No doubt any deals he makes will be made to the disadvantage of everyone not named Lannister. "Beyond that, he is quite recognizable which wouldn't help us evade all the spies of King's Landing." What Jaime doesn't need to know is that while he and Cayle are sworn to keep his secrets and duty-bound to protect his house, Tyrion is duty-bound to advance the goals of House Lannister, doubtless to his detriment. He likes Tyrion, he's a good drinking partner, and is both witty and well-read, unfortunately, he wasn't dumb enough to trust a Lannister - He wasn't his grandfather.
Jaime nodded in understanding, his brother was often busy and not known for his subtlety, especially when drunk. And it is surprisingly difficult to hide a dwarf from public attention despite their small stature.
Jon turned to face Cayle, "And what about the noble black cape here, what news have you heard of our Lord of Baratheon's visit to the capital."
"Little and less," Cayle grimaced. "His arrival was all the show and pomp that's expected out of Lord Renly but he made little note of what he was here to discuss, at least outside of closed doors, the household guard has been put on high alert though. Have you heard nothing from inside the Holdfast?"
"He's not scheduled to meet with the King till tomorrow and I don't sit on the council, so I'm as blind as the Crone as far as Renly is concerned. It can't be piracy in the Stormlands since Viserys has done an admirable job as Master of Ships." Viserys was squired to Monford Velaryon in his youth and spends half his time out on the Narrow sea, Jon thought that they should start calling him the sea dragon. "It could be anything from issues of taxes and tariffs to complaints about the royal lands of Summerhall or some skirmish with his neighbors, Baratheons have always been prickly lords and treason has not made them less so."
Looking up, he saw Mae coming over with a tray of drinks and a platter of bread and salt and butter for the table. She was truly the blood of the dragon, much more so than him, with silver tresses and violet eyes. The lords mock him under their breath, calling him a bastard and his mother the King's bitch, but at the end of the day, they still had to bow and call him prince Targaryen while their daughters simper over his regal clothes and lean stature. Mae has no such protection and the cutthroats and thieves of Flea Bottom stare at her pale skin with hunger and lust. It made him want to burn them all, to rip out their tongues and cut their throats.
Jon knew dragons to be passionate creatures but also possessive, what is ours is ours and none but us are allowed near them - perhaps this is why they have such issues with inbreeding.
Mae smiled at him as she laid out the drinks, she was truly the most beautiful jewel in all of King's Landing, prettier than all the giggling ladies in waiting who tried to give him their favor or the noble daughters here to try and marry Egg. Her smiles weren't the lies he was accustomed to in the Red Keep and her touches were honest and kind - she was so unlike the rest of this accursed city. To Jon, she was all but water to a man dying of thirst, in Dorne, wearing heavy wools and furs - needless to say, she made this city a little less of a miserable pit of squalor and violence.
Jon grabbed her now empty hand and kissed her knuckles while grinning before moving back and looking up at her asking, "And what is the princess of Flea Bottom's opinion on Lord Baratheon's visit?"
She glared down at him, "First, I'm not a damn princess and you should be careful who you say that around, you never know when a prick of a dragon will get his knickers in a twist… " Jaime snorted in the background while Cayle was smiling, "and second, why would I give a single shit what some Baratheon lord is doing in the city."
Jon grins at her, "It's important to keep up to date on politics, you never know when some lord will get offended and start a war."
Mae huffs audibly, "Lords will always get pissy and they will always start wars, that's how it is, how it's always been and it won't change soon." she declares, she's never been one to hide her opinions. Jon thought it was part of her appeal, in a city of liars he could bring her before his father and she would tell him where to shove it or spend hours debating the merits of law in the small council. She truly was quite the firebrand, again he reflected on the strength of her dragon's blood.
"Is that not the point of smallfolk, to die for their lords" Jaime declares grinning, he's always had a caustic sense of humor, at least as long as Jon's known him, and he and Mae get on like oil and fire - as to say badly and often burning those around them.
Before they could get into another row that would no doubt last the night, he thinks they're both too proud by half, a group of seven Stormlanders walked into the tavern demanding ale and strong wine. The size of their group forced a few gold cloaks to move to Jon's table sitting at the edges away from the fire. The leader of the Stormlanders was a knight with black and white swans facing each other embroidered on his doublet. Almost like they were dueling, he couldn't help but think how embarrassing it must be to die in battle to a man wearing fighting swans.
Obviously, the man was a son of house Swann but he was too young to be Lord Gulian and he had seen ser Balon. This must be the heir then, ser Donnel Swann - a Baratheon firebrand if the rumors are true. His lands are near Jon's lordship of Summerhall and he had done some research into the local lords in order to get a grasp of his situation. It wasn't good, the Stormlords had little love for house Targaryen, and even the loyalists have little love for Jon in particular, and were quite content for Summerhall to remain a ruin and for him to stay in the Capital.
The Stormlanders sat at the table across from them and Mae brought them their drinks swiftly, as she knew that stormlanders in particular were quick to anger - especially when alcohol was involved. They drank quickly, many attempting to finish their pints in one chug, and shouted to each other as if they were drunk long before they got there. One of the men at arms tried to grab Mae's ass when she was looking the other way but she was quicker, she appeared to move out of the way instinctually.
It made Jon furious to see these drunken, filthy, lowborn scum dare to try to touch her, if he were Aegon he would have shouted threats across the hall and drawn the dagger he hid on his person but his fire burned quietly where Egg's roared.
"And who are you, the proud lord said that I mus…." The beginnings of the Rains of Castamere were well known and apparently universally disliked by the crowd as even Jaime frowned at the choice of song. Jon guessed that even a lion gets sick of hearing that damnable song over and over again for what must have been decades for Jaime.
"Oh shut it you damn fools, the lion's lickspittles they are." Ser Donnel shouted, perhaps he wasn't an idiot. The Stormlander was no doubt right about the lickspittle comment as well, half the singers in the Crownlands were paid off by Tywin and the other half played the song in hopes to be paid off.
Not wanting to suffer what would doubtless be a long and poor performance Jon grabbed his harp from Cayle and tossed a dragon to the singer before taking a seat on stage. He could see Mae smiling at him from the bar while the other guests just seemed happy the Lannister song was over.
He winked at her with a shy smile before singing, "Farewell and good day, to you Dornish Ladies, farewell and good day to you ladies of Dorne, for we're under orders to sail for old Braavos but… we hope in a short time to see you again." Dornish ladies, a common sea shanty and dock song throughout Westeros, and most important of all generally inoffensive - it was a goal of his not to die in a bar fight, there was a lack of dignity in that sort of death.
By the time he finished the gold cloaks and stormlanders had gotten quite into it, jeering and singing along with the chorus. Their cheering grated on his nerves, he was always of a more somber individual, perhaps not so much as his father but he was well aware the deaths of tens of thousands paid for his life and those who suffered would not soon let him forget it. It was these trips to see Mae that put him in his good moods but not good enough to suffer the rambling of drunks.
"A song to dance to!" Came a shout from some man-at-arms with another serving wench in his arms, much of the hall had gravitated towards the music, and as such Jon now had a decent crowd. The suggestion and flash of Mae walking by gave him an idea of a song he had wanted to sing for her before but never had the chance.
"He rode through the streets of the city, down from his hill on high… For she was his secret treasure, She was his shame and his bliss, And a chain and a keep are nothing, Compared to a woman's kiss…" Hands of Gold was a fine song, but a bit airy for his taste. It was too happy by far and didn't touch on the stress of having a woman you love but hide. The other serving girls were spun in circles and passed about by soldiers and knights, but Mae appeared to be avoiding the issue entirely; she had sat down next to Jaime and was watching Jon sing.
The song ended much the same as the first one, the crowd was loud and joyful and many new guests were entering the pub to see what the ruckus was about. Many silver and copper pieces were thrown onto the small stage where he sat and were scattered around his feet.
"The Age of Oppression!" Shouted ser Donnel Swann while tossing a gold dragon, there were more men in Baratheon black and gold here now, at least a dozen scattered around the stage, although there were also more gold cloaks about.
Jon had read the histories of the so-called twin songs, The Age of Oppression was a song written during or after Robert's Rebellion, about the glories of the would-be king Robert Baratheon and how his treason was actually a noble war of liberation. The so-called 'age of oppression' by the Valyrian kings would be ended by a true Andal king who would unite the realms in holy matrimony. It was a foolish song that ignored the fact that Robert was also the blood of the dragon twice over through grandmother Rhaelle and through the founder of his house, Aegon's bastard brother, Orys Baratheon. It also ignored that the Seven Kingdoms were made of not only Andals but also First Men, Rhoynar, and even Valyrian settlers.
Jon decided long ago that the song was complete horseshit and it was a shame that Robert didn't live long enough to prove it wrong, after all, what kind of holy king would have a bastard by ten and six or so the rumors whispered. Privately Jon thought the song might have been the work of the Faith, always contemptuous of Targaryen rule and the so called 'Doctrine of Exceptionalism' the Baratheons were their greatest chance in decades to return to the influence they had before Maegor, and it's not like the septons and the Most Devout were all that virtuous either.
Unfortunately, Jon's father was reclusive at the best of times and he did not become less so after his mother, father, and sister's deaths during the rebellion. He did not seem to inspire the loyalty that Robert managed to acquire so easily from his men - even in death the man still curses Jon's family.
The song recommendation managed to silence the room when Jon thought nothing else could, even ser Donnel looked surprised at the sudden change of atmosphere. The Age of Oppression was truly Robert's song and though clearly propaganda the Baratheons still found many friends throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The twin song was called the Age of Aggression but was not nearly as popular, only truly being sung by ardent loyalists and in Targaryen taverns.
It was clearly an insult to Jon's house although he doubted Ser Donnel knew who he was talking to. He wouldn't be nearly so bold if he realized he was addressing the Prince of Summerhall while declaring his treason. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cayle reaching for his sword, it was not unexpected he was a Targaryen household guard from a long family of them, this was as much an insult to him as it was to Jon. The gold cloaks also seemed upset by the song choice, after all, they were the ones who would die if Robert made it to the capital, or at least that's why he assumed they were angry, maybe they were just sick of dealing with conflict.
Jon thought for a second of his choices but then saw one of the stormlanders glancing at Mae, he strummed his harp and sang, "We drink to our youth, for the days come and gone, For the age of aggression is just about done…" the gold cloaks and stormlanders seemed to both pause and listen, wondering if they were hearing him right. "We'll drive out the Stag's men and restore what we own, With our blood and our steel we will take back our home."
When Jon sang 'Stag's men' it got loud again, the entire tavern at once seemed to realize at once just what he was singing and many were not happy about it. The stormlanders started throwing down their drinks and drawing swords and knives as Jaime and Cayle moved to defend their prince. Many gold cloaks started getting into brawls with the stormlanders and the entire hall descended into chaos.
Jon considered just leaving now in the confusion, he had faith if need be Jaime could clear a path to safety but he didn't particularly want to slaughter Lord Renly's vassals before a diplomatic meeting - it just seems a bit bad faith, to be honest. But Jon also didn't want to leave Mae in the middle of a riot, he knew what happens to serving girls and peasants during uprisings and he would kill anyone who touched her.
"Are you proud of what you've done? Cause I'm truly impressed, this was marvelously handled… if you wanted to start a brawl that is." Jaime murmurs to Jon with a smirk - Jaime always enjoyed violence more than someone probably should, he once said that it was the only time he really felt alive.
"Not particularly and a brawl was not my end goal, but what is done is done. I couldn't just let such an insult stand, and I certainly won't be the mouthpiece for it." Jon retorts with a frown, he had since put down his harp and drawn his hidden knife.
"Why couldn't you have just sung the damn song, Jon, I know you are a loyalist but I'll have to spend the entire night working to fix the place up again after this. I know you noticed that there were too many Stormlanders to not end up reacting violently." Mae complained from next to him and she was right, Jon had known this would get out of hand quickly.
Jon reached for his waist and grabbed his coin purse, he took five gold dragons from it and placed them in her hand, "This should pay for the repairs, I'm sorry that you're going to have to deal with this but I won't be a mouthpiece for a dead traitor."
She blinked for a second, staring at more than a year's wage, perhaps even more, given to her before trying to push the coins back into his hand saying, "Jon, this is too much by far…" but Jon interrupted her pushing her hands back, "They mean nothing to me but they can help you." effectively ending the issue. And it was true, like Jaime, Jon had grown up offensively wealthy being a prince and all, the loss of five dragons was inconsequential to him.
Jon took her hands in his, "Do you remember when I was ten and three and punched that Riverlord in the jaw because he called his grace 'Rheagar the weak'?"
She looked at him with a fond smile appearing on her face, "You mean when some Riverlord broke your hand with his face and then laughed as you glared at him cupping your swollen fist to your chest. Yes, I do remember, I kissed your hand so it would feel better." She had done that, and he adored her for it - it hadn't made his hand feel any better but it did serve to draw his attention away from the pain. The memory of her kissing it had distracted him for weeks in lessons afterward, Egg thought he was ill and tried to have him confined to his chambers.
Jaime looked like he wanted to break out laughing, Jon could feel a small dumb smile grow on his face at the memory which served only to make Jaime snicker louder, while Cayle looked distinctly concerned at obviously not remembering this incident. If Jon remembered correctly Cayle at the time was serving under his uncle in the Dragonstone guard - learning something to do with fighting on ships, it all seemed quite tiresome to him.
Cayle tried to ask "I'm sorry when did this occ…" but Jon cut him off, continuing "Do you remember how I said that some insults just couldn't be ignored." He never particularly enjoyed swallowing insults but, like Ser Jaime 'the Kingslayer', he had developed a tolerance for them. Where Jaime had his japes and grins and spars he had his rides and the peaceful silence of the countryside or the Kingswood, to each their own he guessed.
"Yes, and you never told me why these insults mattered to you so much, you swore that you're not a lord nor a knight so why does it matter if someone insults the Targaryens?" Mae retorted. It made him happy she didn't worry that he had lied, and he hadn't - his official primary title was Prince of the Seven Kingdoms before any lordship he may have.
"It just does, I swear someday, I'll explain everything but not right now, not when everything is so on edge." He kissed her on the forehead trying to appease her some. Jon hated his own words but they were necessary, he and Egg would put the realm to rights - then none would question them, they were dragons and dragons can court who they like, dragons bowed to neither gods nor men, nor petty, arrogant lords whoever they may be.
Jon wanted to buy her manse, somewhere in the nicer parts of the city where she could be safe and happy and read or sing or dance or do whatever she wanted to but even he couldn't smuggle away that much money without someone looking too closely and eyes are dangerous, especially those in the capital.
Jon also knew that she would take him paying for her as an insult, as much as he was happy to do it, she was proud of her income and independence - she was the daughter of a seamstress and a smith and an only child as her father had died during the rebellion. The fact that she was alive alone was a small blessing and to be literate, even with the help he had provided, was a miracle worthy of the seven.
Bang!
Jon jumped back from Mae letting go of her hands and stepping in front of her as the tavern door slammed open. Soldiers in black capes emblazoned with the three-headed dragon of Targaryen flooded in, filling the room with armed and armored men with spears and swords, ending the brawl immediately. In the middle of the pack of guards came Jon's brother, a man of ten and six with the tanned skin of a Dornishman and the silver hair and purple eyes of the Valyrians. He was flanked by two men in pristine white cloaks that Jon recognized as ser Caldwyn Crabb and ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard.
Jon had no fucking clue why Egg was here or even how he found out where he was. The sheer amount of men worried him though, something important was happening and he was needed, or at least wanted, present in the holdfast. Otherwise, father would not have sent Egg as a courier, a rider or servant can be ignored or delayed, a summons directly from the Prince of Dragonstone less so, this was the only explanation.
Jon's mind raced with possibilities, an assassination attempt would mean that everyone would be centralized to the castle, but they wouldn't send out Egg so recklessly in that scenario. No, it had to be something else, the crowds were too open and calm, no secrets stayed in the red keep for long and the smallfolk grew anxious at the threat of war. Too many gold cloaks were off duty for it to be some other form of violence, in a riot the city watch would be marshaled quickly Jon knew.
Lord Renly had shown up today Jon knew, what had he done? Had he declared war? No, that made no sense, why would he make his way into the Dragon's den with no army if he intended to rise up in rebellion.
Aegon Targaryen looked around the room seemingly searching for something or someone, as Ser Donnel seemed to be the first to grasp the situation, immediately falling to a knee as the men around him both gold cloak and his own retinue followed his example.
"Your grace." Ser Donnel said, staring at the ground as the men around him echoed his words, he seemed embarrassed to be discovered by the prince in such a position as a pub brawl. Perhaps, Jon thought, Ser Donnel should have more self-control as to not instigate a melee in the capital, the seat of House Targaryen.
Aegon's eyes fell upon Jon, who had drifted to a corner near the fire during the fighting, and he grinned before turning back to the kneeling men.
"Rise, please good ser rise, if you'll excuse me I just need to borrow my brother, Prince Jonothor here, and we'll be right on our way. He is needed at the Red Keep for an urgent Council meeting." Aegon declared loudly while nodding his head towards Jon who had since sheathed his knife.
Ser Donnel glanced over at Jon while standing and looked him up and down, to Jon he seemed to grow more embarrassed… before realizing which prince Jonothor is and began to, as far as Jon could surmise, attempt to subtly glare at him - the Stormlords have little love for Rheagar and Lyanna's son.
"Your grace." The men repeated, some more reluctantly than others. It appeared they didn't fear him in quite the way they feared Egg and felt no need to try their best on pleasantries while addressing the second son, how droll. Or mayhaps they feared the surplus of violent Martells and Sands wandering about the city these days, the Dornish have always been defensive where Egg was concerned.
If nothing else, Jon noted that Jaime seemed happy to be able to take off the dirt brown cloak covering his head and Cayle was happy to be extradited from the entire situation of the tavern brawl having sheathed his sword and picked up the harp off the floor. He liked to think Jaime was as embarrassed as him being found by his sworn brothers out of his pristine white cloak and in muddy rags and dented armor. At least then someone else could commiserate in his embarrassment at this whole situation with him.
Jon could see Mae looking over at him, eyes wide, mouthing prince at him wordlessly. He subtly put a finger to his lip and mouthed later. She was shocked into silence for now but when he saw her again, he was in for a tongue lashing. When Maella was offended she would let all of King's Landing know it and doubtless she would be displeased at him having never told her he was a Targaryen. Jon hoped she would also be embarrassed when she realized anytime she complained to him about some law or crown ruling she was doing so to the man second in line to the throne, she always blushed prettily when she was bashful or embarrassed.
He took a deep breath before walking to the barkeep, back straight and head held high - the epitome of princely grace and poise, and dropping five more dragons on the table declaring, "For the damages." before leaving the building with his brother, three Kingsguard, and a small army of blackcapes in tow.
