A/N: Happy new year to all! May 2022 be far better than 2021 was. Regardless, what better way to tee off the new year than the sequel to My Father's Son and the second story in the Succession universe?

To set the stage, it's been six years since Jon and Dany hatched the dragons in the last story. Plenty of awesome stuff will be shown in this chapter.

Be sure to comment to ring off the new year :D

The Hedge Knight

a story by Longclaw 1-6

Chapter 1: The Squire's Melee

Dashing through the entranceway into the grand bedchamber, ornately decorated in a mishmash of murals, animal hide rugs, and gilded furniture styled in geometric shapes, the young woman carried a bundle of dresses as best she could without tripping. So big was the pile, she could barely see over it. "The latest from the court seamstress, your Grace," she breathed, dropping it on the bed before she dropped exhausted upon it. Brown eyes shut from fatigue.

Gazing at herself in the looking glass clad in nothing but her smallclothes, Queen Lyanna Targaryen turned only to stifle a giggle. Stifle a giggle rather badly. "Oh Margaery, what is the matter with you?" she chided gently, moving to ease the girl of three and ten to a seated position onto the bed. "You needed not dash over here."

"I… I did…" Margaery Tyrell huffed, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. "I am one of your Ladies in Waiting, and it is my duty to ensure the Queen is not late for the King's Tourney."

Lyanna sighed. She is the youngest of my ladies, so mayhaps she's trying to prove herself… or fulfill a command her grandmother gave her. That Olenna Tyrell never changed. "I admire your dedication, but it isn't necessary."

"But…"

Raising a hand, Lyanna stopped Margaery mid-sentence. "Since I am no longer competing, I only need to be there when my beloveds are also ready. I happen to know for a fact that his Grace is busy with some task or another and will be for some time." Either training her sons with his swordsplay or inspecting the barracks of the City Watch. Ever a devoted father and King, my beloved Rhaegar. "So, next time, please don't rush. I would hate for you to collapse and break your leg," Lyanna told Margaery with a warm smile.

Margaery smiled back, still in awe of the Direwolf Queen even with her essentially nude. This woman was a legend. "So… which dress do you wish for?"

"Hmmm…" Lyanna moved to look over them. Each were quite intricate, most in the latest fashions of Oldtown or Lannisport but also some others. "Perhaps a Dornish gown."

"Their Graces would love that, no doubt," Margaery giggled girlishly.

Fingering the material, Lyanna shrugged. "Today is a day of power for my House, but also levity. I think I'll go with the white Braavosi gown." Slim and slender, it ran in pleats and tied off in the middle with a gold belt. Two straps exposed her shoulders and upper chest. Truthfully, a lovely dress.

Margaery nodded her assent, as much a fashionista as her mother and goodsister. "May I help you don it?"

"Of course." Lyanna stood and spared herself another look in the mirror. Her body was still as powerful and slim as it was when she was but seven and ten, five pregnancies - four to term - only visible in the extra weight in her hips and bust. Nothing that anyone complained about, least of all Rhaegar and Elia. Lechers, both of them. Twelve years of marriage… she wouldn't change it for anything in the world.

In the distance, a loud roar was heard that seemed to cause the stone of the Red Keep to tremble. Many loud roars. "The dragons are active," Margaery had gotten used to all of them, not to mention the large, furry beast currently sleeping in the corner of the bedchamber.

"Yes, always active whenever their riders are." Never did Lyanna not thank the old gods for allowing herself to live in the rebirth of the dragons. It was her childhood dreams come true.

As if knowing when to show up, the guards outside opened the door to let in a humming girl. Her silver hair fell in waves, framing a cherubic face that portended someone of otherworldly beauty when coming of age. "Goodsister, Margaery. Good morning."

"Good morning, Daenerys," Lyanna said back.

"Morning," Marg greeted her friend with a wide smile.

Princess Daenerys Targaryen in the flesh. Once the wild terror of the Red Keep and now… just as much a terror though much smarter at it. One wouldn't know by looking at her. She radiated the image of childlike innocence that could melt the wall. Already dressed for the day in a purple gown of Northern cut that matched her eyes, she simply breezed in, twirling about.

She was happy, though there was no reason not to be. Lyanna and her husband, wife, and goodmother worked hard to make sure no sorrow touched their brood. "A beautiful, beautiful day for a tourney," Daenerys beamed, twirling into place next to Margaery whom she hugged. "Warm yet not hot. Breezy yet not windy. And Jon will be competing in the Squire's Melee!"

Lyanna tried to smile but her eyes gave it away to both perceptive girls. "Forgive me, dears, but I am just as fearful of that as I was when Rhaenys and Aegon participated… and Robb will be competing too." Her miracle son and her nephew both risking themselves. Blunted swords could hurt even if they weren't fatal - usually they won't."

"You need not worry, your Grace," commented Margaery. "They are much too skilled to lose." The entire keep watched the boys train with their knights - Arthur Dayne for Jon and Jaime Lannister for Robb. Boasts of their skills were not invented from whole cloth.

"The only thing that would make it better was if Rhaenys was in the actual melee." Dany smirked. "Or if the Knight of the Laughing Tree returned to reclaim her title." Both she and the Tyrell Rose giggled to themselves in knowing smiles.

"No, I think she's done on the tourney scene. Trying to raise a bunch of rambunctious dragonwolves while ruling a Kingdom at her age leaves her too tired for tourneys." Truthfully she was merely nine and twenty, but those aforementioned five pregnancies and the stress of ruling did a number on her. "She'll save her strength for battle."

The grin on Dany's face grew near fierce. "That is something I do wish to see… and participate in when my time comes."

"That you might, Dany, that you might."

Just as the dress fell into place, all laces tied and all latches secure, two pairs of feet scuffled into the bedchamber. "Muna, muna!"

Lyanna swiveled around and leaned down on her knee, accepting their playful hugs and wet kisses upon her cheeks. "My sweet darlings," she cooed, holding them tight.

"Up, muna, up!" begged Princess Viserra, ever the delight. She looked just like her mother, albeit with the Targaryen hair and eyes - so utterly perfect. When the strong Lyanna lifted her into the air, she giggled. "Weee! I'm dragon!"

"Want me to do you next, Jae?"

Nearing five namedays, Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen had the coloring of Bloodraven and the broodiness of the worst combination of Stark and Targaryen. Quite quiet and taciturn, though the family stuck around enough to know the gold of his heart. "No, muna. I'm not a little boy anymore."

"I see." Lyanna set Viserra down beside Dany. "Not little enough for muna to attack with tickles." Before he knew it Jaehaerys was pinned to the bed, Lyanna tickling his sides to peons of laughter from his sibling, aunt, and Margaery.

"No… muna stop." He half-laughed, half-sputtered. "Spirit, help me…" Entreaties to his muna's direwolf were for naught as the great beast - closer in size to a small pony than an actual wolf, merely leapt onto the bed and started licking his face. Leading to more sputters and Daenerys nearly collapsing over in laughter.

Another figure entered. "My my, I bring the children to see their muna and this is what she inflicts on them? For shame."

Lyanna rolled her eyes. "We are having a delightful time, Elia, do not worry." She ceased her assault, Jae glaring daggers at Spirit… only for them to melt as Spirit yawned and nudged him closer. They snuggled on the bed. Lyanna approached her wife… and the bundle her wife was holding. "Hello, sweet pup." Lyarra Targaryen. Her youngest and a perfect Stark beauty. "How is our littlest pup doing?"

"Hungry, and eager to see her muna, as am I." Elia winked, leading to a quick peck on the cheek. "I see you picked the Braavosi dress. Good choice."

"It is beautiful, goodsister!" chimed Dany. "All it needs is a good necklace to really bring it out."

Laughing at the antics of the children and how excited they were, Elia moved to Lya's dresser. Pulling out a necklace of amber. "Here, I think this one will be best."

Lyanna gladly pushed her hair to the side, letting her wife drape the necklace around her open neck. "Amber? Matches your homeland the way your sapphire and silver matches mine. Clever."

"We both have Rhaegar's dragon sewn into our dresses and we wear our crowns, so why not… lover." The last was murmured in Lya's ear. "You know, I was coming to ravish you before the tourney, but your children demanded my attention."

"My children?" Lya raised an eyebrow.

"They are when they bother me. A trait they get from you." Elia kissed her neck in exactly the right place, making Lyanna shudder. "Later, promise me."

Closing her eyes, Lyanna nodded. "I promise." She turned and kissed Elia. It was sweet, but sealed the promise. "I'll need it, how nervous I am."

Elia sighed. "Don't be nervous. Baelon will win."

"How do you know that?"

"Cause he's his father's son and more."


Reaching out, Jaime Lannister moved the arms of his squire. Making sure they were in the right place. "Shoulders relaxed, nephew. Strength is nothing if you can't move your arm as quickly as you need to."

"Yes, uncle," replied Robb Stark, a huff of breath knocking an errant strand of golden-blonde hair out of his eye.

"Should've gotten you a haircut before the big day." Jaime shook his head. "Whatever, you'll work with what you've got."

"You trained him well, Ser Jaime," commented Ser Brienne of Tarth, cursorily inspecting her squire Gendry Baratheon's warhammer for any stains or dents or scrapes. "He could stand some annoyances in regards to hair."

"Yeah, uncle. Jon has longer hair than I and he's the best of all of us!" Crown Prince Baelon Targaryen grinned at his cousin, raven hair running down to the nape of his neck in lustrous curls. The boy would be a looker when he grew up.

But Ser Arthur Dayne clucked his disapproval. "Do not preen, Baelon."

"Aye, Ser Arthur." Finally, the knights of the Kingsguard departed, leaving the boys to themselves. "Are any of you as excited as I am?"

"To get their asses handed to them by you, not likely," laughed Baelon Velaryon, currently in the middle of his fostering at the Red Keep. Son of Lord Monford Velaryon, his presence was designed to reassert the closeness of the once joined at the hip houses. "But I am excited for the experience, aye."

Cracking his knuckles, Baelon patted the hilt of his training blade. "These were gifts for my fourth nameday by the entire Kingsguard, but one day I shall be leading the forces of House Targaryen into battle with Blackfyre at my hip… or rather in my hand."

Whistling, Baelon Velaryon clicked his teeth. "Think of it, Jon, you'll be weidling Blackfyre. Robb, you'll get Ice. Gendry doesn't get a sword but he'll get Stormbreaker." He stopped for a moment as Edric spouted a series of muttered obscenities that those of twelve namedays shouldn't know. "And if you're lucky, you'll become the next Sword of the Morning, Artie."

"Not being as skilled as Jon says nothing. I could still kick the ass of all of you," Artie boasted.

Baelon Velaryon groaned. "Point is, you'll all be inheriting the greatest of blades yet I'm stuck with nothing."

"Don't be so glum," the other Baelon laughed. "Just wait till Gendry rediscovers the lost secret to forging Valyrian steel."

"What?"

Robb's eyes widened. "You're gonna do that, Gendry."

"No way." Artie was skeptical.

The Baratheon heir glared at Jon. "I told you that in confidence."

"Relax, I only told Dany."

"Daenerys knows too?" Gendry hung his head in his hands.

"If she knows, then she probably told Sansa," Robb mused. "They share everything." That didn't help Gendry's mood.

Artie pushed his way in. "Lay off him, lads." He patted Gendry's shoulder. "You think you could discover it as our resident smith?"

Raised in a smithy before his legitimization, Gendry Baratheon hadn't given up the art. His spare time in Storm's End and even as Brienne's squire was oft spent in the keeps' forges assisting the blacksmiths. They all loved him and donated his armor for today free of charge. Didn't help that he was a natural at it. "I mean… they did it. What someone can do, someone else could learn if skilled enough."

"They used magic, Gendry," reminded Baelon Velaryon.

"So, we have magic around again… and Jon agreed to supply anything regarding dragons if I need it."

"If Valyrax cooperates that is," Jon reminded. "But just think, a Valyrian steel sword for all of us to follow me into glorious battle." He stood tall, like the paintings of Daeron the Young Dragon or Aemon the Dragonknight. "We will rule the fields of war, dominate all that stands before us. Atop my mighty dragon and with you leading my armies we will take everything from the Lands of Always Winter to the Mountains of the Morn…"

"Oh, would you shut the fuck up?!"

Eyes immediately swiveled to the one that shouted, drawing attention of everyone in the tent from the squires, to the servants, to Ser Oswell. The latter had a bad feeling, so he ducked out to get backup. His squire wasn't as circumspect. "You dare speak out against your Crown Prince…"

But Jon held up a hand. "Enough, BV." His eyes glared at the heckler. "Something to say to me, Edric?"

Gendry's brother, just as burly but far more arrogant, stood from where he polished his training sword - a greatsword. "Yeah, my Prince." The last was almost a sneer. "You claim to be the greatest since fucking Aegon the Conqueror, and they all call you 'The Conqueror Reborn,' but all I see is a short, overconfident cock that leans on his future crown to drag him through the day."

"Mighty fine words for a second son," Jon replied.

"Could say the same for you." Jon's eyes narrowed at that, the mention of his place in relation to Egg a sore spot. "You aren't the true heir, yet you act as the only heir… and one of godly status at that." Edric smirked darkly. "As such it'll be a pleasure to destroy you in the melee and show what a craven cunt you are."

The dragonblood was up. "Forget the melee." He raised his fists. "Let's settle this now."

"Even better."

Just before the boys could go at each other, the Kingsguards reappeared alongside Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven, the knight Edric was squiring for. "Just what in seven hells is going on here?" Asked Jaime, crossing his arms as Arthur and Beric went to their squires.

"Nothing, uncle," Robb spoke up quickly. "Just some… heated words among competitors."

Arthur looked at Baelon suspiciously. "There better not be any of that. You're training to be knights, not trained thugs working at a brothel."

"Of course not, Ser Arthur," Jon replied obediently, though he tossed a silent glare at Edric that the other boy returned.

"Good, now, let us prepare. Any minute now will be the end to the archery contest…"

The flap to the tent rustled and the Crown Prince looked around to see if the herald was here to announce the start of the melee, but instead his kepa strode in with Ser Barristan in tow. In an instant everyone within the tent fell onto their knee for their King. "Your Grace," came their voices.

Rhaegar Targaryen had emerged out of his youth into a still strong and powerful monarch. albeit with the rugged features of maturity. No worries of thinning hair were seen in his silver-blonde locks, while the light leather of his armor still fit him snugly. In short, here was someone Baelon was eminently proud to call his kepa - the man he most wanted to be.

"Rise," the King remarked, waiting till the boys did so before immediately going to his son. "Jon, my boy. You look confident."

He beamed up at his kepa. "I am, kepa. None shall beat me."

Brow up, Rhaegar's gaze shifted to Arthur, who seemed… uncomfortable. "I am inclined to trust my son, but should I not?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "There is no boy I have had the pleasure of having as my squire that can match Prince Baelon in skill and daring."

Laughing loudly, Rhaegar ruffled Jon's dark hair, an even darker shade than Lyanna's that accentuated his wolfsblood. "That's my son!" Kissing the crown of his head, the King moved on. "Robb Stark… you're a copy of your uncle here." The lad beamed up at Ser Jaime, who patted the boy's shoulder. "Do you have the ferocity of your father?"

"Aye, uncle."

"Don't be so cavalier. Your father is a quiet one but there was no man I wanted more beside me in any campaign." Every word of praise given for Ned Stark made Robb's smile brighter with pride.

Rhaegar moved down the line with the others, praising both Arthur the younger and Baelon Velaryon, someone who would undoubtedly bring the august family back to greatness. Gendry Baratheon… he liked Gendry and respected the boy's uncle, thus giving him faint praise. "I only seek to bring myself honor, your Grace."

"A noble boy, and humble as well." Rhaegar moved to Edric, who bowed his head while clutching the hilt of his sword in a martial stance. "Young Edric. You remind me of how they spoke of your ancestor Lord Lyonel."

Edric looked up. "I hope so, cousin." His eyes glittered with preemptive triumph. "Are you ready to see how I shall put my other cousin in second place?"

Blinking, Rhaegar looked at his glowering son and put things together. He is more like me than I would care to admit, and this boy more like his own sire than I wish to witness. "While your statement holds a confidence that I should hope in a loyal knight, I am still your King and you will address me as such." He looked at Beric. "Have you not taught him properly?"

"He knows how to mind his manners, your Grace," replied Beric. "Edric! You will respect your King or face the lash!"

The boy looked enraged, but bowed his head again. "Apologies, your Grace."

Accepting it, the King stepped back to look at all of the boys. "This melee will test your skills in the combat arts before the realm as you are the highest elite of Westeros. It is a friendly competition, but a special prize awaits the victor. So may the best squire win."

"We are at your service, your Grace," all the boys shouted, Baelon included, after which they were dismissed to continue readying themselves.

Watching as his beloved boy continue to boast and banter with his cousin and two friends, Rhaegar noticed Arthur approaching him. "That lad reminds me a lot of you, though he has his mother's fierceness."

Rhaegar beamed. "A potent combination, quite auspicious."

"Aye, you may think that."

Raising a brow, Rhaegar glanced at Arthur quizzically. "Something the matter, Arthur?"

"No, your Grace."

"If it's your son, do not worry. He and Baelon are practically brothers."

But he shook his head. "Young Arthur doesn't concern me, for he has been my second strongest student. No… perhaps Prince Baelon is lacking in something he needs to be King."

Confused, Rhaegar thought for a moment. "Mayhaps he's been neglecting the practical aspects of Kingship and court politics lately." Daenerys was always more adept at such matters of governing, though her mind was far more forthright and decisive than was needed in terms of navigating political wheeling and dealing. Rhaenys, Visenya, and even little Jaehaerys seemed more adept at that. "He should hold court with Elia more often. Learn from the best, right Arthur?"

The knight was silent for the longest time, both of them merely looking at Jon as he merrily wrestled with Gendry over some manly competition or slight. "That… could help." He said nothing more on it.


"Baela!" The royal box to the great Elia's Amphitheater was large enough to hold the entire Targaryen brood circled around the royal throne for the King and Queens. Already, Daenerys, Rhaenys, Egg, Alyssa, and Myrcella were there, now joined by their niece the Princess Baela Targaryen, racing towards them ahead of her muna and kepa. "I'm so glad to see you again," Daenerys cooed, hugging her.

"Aunt Dany!" Baela Targaryen was wild and feminine, much like her namesake had been reputed to be. Silver-haired and purple-eyed, she looked like a perfect Targaryen Princess. "Muna, can I sit with Dany?"

"Go ahead," nodded Princess Talisa, who looked exhausted and immediately poured herself a glass of wine. Daenerys could tell she was upset over something - her brother looked furious but kept it in control.

She looked towards Rhae as Baela gawked at the Amphitheater - she usually lived on Dragonstone, it being Viserys' duty to manage it until Jon was of age. "What's wrong with Viserys now?"

Rhaenys shrugged. "Could be jealousy… could be Talisa caught him giving mooney eyes to someone." As if by chance, her niece cast a sultry look somewhere else into the stands. Dany groaned - coming of age truly changed Rhaenys. She'd always been wild and fun, but now… boy or girl, anyone pretty caught her fancy.

"Kepa! Kepa look!" Baela pointed out into the stands. "All of Westeros is here!"

"There are more people than sixty thousand in Westeros, Baela," Viserys snapped. "Gods, do you even pay attention to your maester?"

She straightened, eyes planted to the ground. "I do, kepa."

"Then don't make such stupid…"

"Quiet, Prince Viserys." While not of the royal family, Lord Hand Tywin Lannister held the commanding presence of a King. He also had the ear of both King Rhaegar and - through his son - Queen Dowager Rhaella as well. "Now is not the time for such things."

Glowering, the Prince glared at his daughter. "We will speak of your conduct later, Baela."

"Kessa, kepa," Baela replied, lip quivering and looking to her mother. Talisa sighed with a small smile, but grabbed the goblet by her side and drank it regardless. Daenerys hugged her quivering niece, giving her the comfort she needed.

Myrcella, always one to try and bring a sweet air to any conversation, turned to look at Tywin. "Grandfather, who do you think will win the squire's melee."

"Prince Baelon." He didn't even hesitate.

Daenerys beamed. "See, even Lord Tywin thinks so, and he knows how to fight!" If one looked closely enough, a ghost of a smile formed on Tywin's face.

Chuckling next to his father, Tyrion raised his goblet. "Not just his children he rates below others, but his grandchildren as well." That killed whatever sort of smile on Tywin's face.

But it wasn't he that responded, rather Alyssa did. "Robb is not as good as Jon." She crossed her arms, not budging on her point.

"The brat has a point," Rhaenys added. "Robb's good, but Jon is clearly the better fighter… two swords beat one."

"And a glaive beats two swords, right sister?" Egg remarked with a grin.

Rhaenys puffed up, smugness on her face. "When it comes time for I and Baelon to face in the melee, I shall vanquish him and protect my champion title. Ser Arthur's melee record will not survive my tourney career."

Tywin shook his head. "You will let Prince Baelon defeat you whenever he competes. Do not make it easy for him, but lose you will."

Blinking, Rhaenys glared. "You do not command me, Lord Hand. I am a Princess." While Daenerys wouldn't boast of fighting against her nephew, she agreed with her niece. Jon wouldn't want anyone to let him win. Confident as he was, he was also the most honorable man she knew.

Snorting, Tywin regarded Rhaenys as one would a kid throwing a temper tantrum - Tyrion knew this well and merely sipped at his wine. "Princess, do you realize that Crown Prince Baelon will be King one day? That he will need to be seen as a powerful, mighty King in order to fend off wars and revolts by those that would slit one's throat at the sight of weakness." His green eyes were like Robb's or Jaime's, but cold rather than warm and sweet. "To see a woman defeat the future King… many would witness such as the greatest sort of weakness."

"But…" Rhaenys wanted to fume at the blatant derision because she was a girl, but… Tywin had the knack of making even a grievous insult hold validity. "Muna defeated kepa in the joust…"

"And your father fought two wars, won two wars, and hatched a dragon in the middle of the first in order to ride it in the second. Unless you wish Prince Baelon to prove his mettle in war when he is young, then I wouldn't risk it to satiate your ego."

Running a hand through her hair, Rhaenys sat in her seat, seemingly shook up a bit. "Rhae, you alright?" Egg asked, rubbing the back of her neck.

Dany scowled. "You don't say that to her."

"I can say whatever I want if it's the truth."

"What is the truth and what you claim to be the truth are not the same things, Lord Tywin."

"Muna!" Dany clapped her hands.

The crowd cheered for Rhaella Targaryen as she, escorted by Jaime Lannister, entered the royal box. She waved to them before taking a seat next to Lord Tywin with Tyrion on the Hand's other side. "What did you inform my children and grandchildren of this time?"

"Just the facts of life," he said, rather bored. Only seeing his grandchildren achieve anything set to improve his moods on trivial matters such as these, and he only enjoyed them if Talla was by his side… and she wasn't.

Rhaella didn't buy it. "Daenerys?"

"He said that everytime we spar or fight in a melee with Jon that we shouldn't win lest he be thought weak for losing to a woman." Tyrion took that chance to chortle while drinking - he nearly choked but the scene was that hilarious.

The Dowager Queen groaned. "Lord Tywin… ugh, just leave the manner of how we raise our children to the royal family. You may advise on matters of governance but that is all."

"Whatever you say, your Grace." Dany's smirk of triumph didn't faze him at all.

An immense roar rang out from the crowd as King Rhaegar Targaryen emerged into the royal box, Queen Lyanna and Queen Elia each holding onto an arm. All were immaculate, perfectly dressed to radiate power and mature ability in spite of their relative youth. The citizens of King's Landing and visiting travellers… they were all beloved by them, the epitome of the newfound power of House Targaryen.

Above the amphitheater soared the dragons in a circle, reminding everyone of that power.

Helping her goodsisters both take their seats with a peck on the lips, Rhaegar raised his hands and the crowd stilled suddenly. "Subjects!" he boomed, voice as mighty as that of his dragon. "Welcome to this, the second day of the King's Tourney. Where all those under the banner of House Targaryen can gather in peace for tests of strength, skill, and strategy.

"In the next few days we shall know the truth of the great contests, especially as the champion of the joust has laid down her title to someone else deserving of such honor."

At that the crowd booed, shouting their disapproval of that. "Queen Lyanna!" dozens of different throats shouted, soon picked up by the entire amphitheater. "QUEEN LYANNA! QUEEN LYANNA! QUEEN LYANNA!" Lyanna stood in her glittering gown, waving to her people as they broke into pure adulation for her. Elia squeezed her hand lovingly, while Daenerys gave her a look of awe.

This is my future… as a warrior and as a Queen. Baelon's Queen.

"My children," she announced in just as loud a voice. "As those of potential glory and greatness grow and mature, it is unfair for me to pursue further achievement. Tourneys are for the young, the bold, the eager to prove. Have I not proven my bravery and skill to the Seven Kingdoms?" From the reaction of the people, the answer was undoubtedly yes.

"As my beloved wife has said, on this day we shall see the glory of the new generation. Of our youths showcasing why our future is strong and tomorrow will be a greater day than this one." Waving his hand, gesturing to the entrance to the tunnels, he proclaimed with a flourish. "The Squire's Melee, featuring the squires of the great lords of the Kingdom… including your Crown Prince, Baelon of House Targaryen!"

"BAELON! BAELON! BAELON!" Above, the great black dragon Valyrax - the Black Dread Reborn - as he was called, roared.

Rising from her seat, rushing for the railing of the box, as soon as she caught a glimpse of Jon did Dany break out into a brilliant smile. "Baelon! Win for me!" she screamed, hoping he'd hear.

Waving to the crowd with supreme confidence, suddenly their violet eyes met and a special smile curled onto his lips. One reserved only for her that made her heart flutter. Jon winked, and Dany knew he had heard him.


Standing in a checkerboard formation, Jon was at the van closest to the royal box - his eyes scanning each and every member of his family. Kepa and munas, grandmother and uncle Benjen, Rhae and Egg, Alyssa and Cella, Baela and Rickon, Daemon and Visenya… and finally Dany. His best friend and dearest aunt. 'Win,' she kept mouthing him.

'I will,' he mouthed back. That only seemed to make her happier.

"Present yourselves before his Grace, Rhaegar of House Targaryen!" Ser Barristan demanded.

In order, they proclaimed themselves.

"Trystane of House Martell." Jon's cousin and a sweet lad. They shook hands before the match.

"Robb of House Stark." He and Jon grinned at each other.

"Arthur of House Mormont!" Likely the best swordsman other than himself.

"Baelon of House Targaryen!" The crowd's cheers roared through the amphitheater as Jon introduced himself.

"Edric of House Baratheon." Jon could feel his eyes staring daggers at him.

"Gendry of House Baratheon." He felt no such hate from him.

"Baelon of House Velaryon." His looks were Valyrian, but softer, less striking. No one would mistake him for a Targaryen.

"Matthos of House Seaworth." He could see Lord Davos and Lady Marya in the stands close to the royal box - Jon liked them.

"We who are about to fight bow to our King!" They all announced together, hands clasped over their fists. "Before him and the gods do we swear our loyalty to the Warrior, House Targaryen, and the Seven Kingdoms!" Jon bowed, as did them all.

"May the Warrior bless you all," High Septon Meribald announced, seated alongside his kepa.

"Begin."

At Rhaegar's command, Jon swiveled around and drew his blades, spinning them and approaching his cousin Trystane. The swarthy, curly-haired lad wielded a scimitar much like Rhaenys did as her backup weapon, and was quite good at it. A slashing weapon rather than the hacking and thrusting longswords that Jon was more adept at, he bounced and weaved and darted at Jon. Trying to stay out of his attacks.

But Jon wasn't a burly knight. Trained by the best including both Arthur Dayne and his uncle Oberyn, he held a fluid flexibility and agility - meeting the slashes and getting his own attacks in. After two minutes of skirmishing, he had Trystane disarmed. "Yield."

"I yield." Trystane rubbed the back of his neck. "Good fight, cousin." Jon nodded, only for Trystayne to point behind him. "Look out!"

Swiveling, a sudden swipe came that Jon parried with his left, thrusting with his right. "Almost got me, Stark." He smirked at Robb. "Almost."

"Don't count on me rolling over, Targaryen," Robb shot back, smirking as well. He lunged again, swords clashing together in a furious melee. Swiping downward, Robb wheeled around and tried to slash at Jon's side - the Prince dodged, keeping one blade flat against his arm to parry while the other took the offensive. Forcing Robb to give ground. The two of them did not hold back on each other, though no furious words or angry lashes were dealt with.

Cousins and friends came before competition after all. All that was at stake were bragging rights, though that was worth fighting hard for.

Finally though, a swing bashed Jon's shoulder and he grunted, nearly forced to the ground. Daenerys gasped, rising as her face went white… only for Jon to rather crouch and swipe with his leg, catching Robb's legs and knocking him to his back. A blow from Jon's blade was parried but the other knocked Robb's out of his hand. "Yield," Jon ordered.

Robb groaned, but nodded. "Yield." Green eyes flickered off. "Looks like you're facin' the ass."

Turning, Jon found Gendry rising from the ground, nursing a limp arm and unsteady on his feet. Sword lowered, so too did Edric Baratheon turn and face Jon, his eyes narrowed. "Just you and me, cousin." The last was spat out.

Baelon spun his blades, keeping his wrists flexible as Arthur taught. "Aye, just us."

"If you think you can win, come and fight me."

"If you think so, then make me."

His quip enraged Edric - he was brutish but not stupid - and he charged. Greatsword up and held by both hands, he swung hard, Jon leaping back and finding the blunted greatsword kick up a cloud of dust as it slammed into the ground where he had been. "You're mine, my Prince!" Edric bellowed, putting everything into his charge.

Daenerys fidgeted, shaking nervously. Jon was fully on the defensive, Edric Baratheon's swings both strong and oddly fluid. Able to quickly thrust then swing right after, matching Jon's defensive slashes and parries. "I can't watch…"

Rhaenys snorted. "Jon's toying with him."

"He's pretty good…" murmured Alyssa.

"Aye, he's good, but Jon is better," Egg replied. "All he has is strength and the ability to manipulate his strength. Jon has strategy."

Turning back to the fighting pit, Dany saw that Jon had both his swords crossed in an X, Edric trying to force his blade through the defensive screen. Go, Jon… get him…

She suddenly gasped as Edric slammed a fist into Jon's gut, sending him sprawling and losing hold of one blade. Jon, ignoring the twinge in his back and stomach, rolled out of the way of the chop. He leapt to his feet and fought Edric's blows off one handed before lunging - forcing the Baratheon back before grabbing his discarded sword off the ground. Now on the attack, he pressed forward. Both blades were swung together in the same movements, double the power and momentum…

Until he spun one around, lunged with the other, and then swiped the first one down against Edric's leg. The Stag howled in pain and crumpled. Sword to his neck. "Yield."

Time stood still, Edric's face red and eyes glaring until… "I yield."

Lord Commander Barristan stood. "Your Champion in the Squire's Melee, Crown Prince Baelon of House Targaryen!"

Having been on a knife's edge, the entire crowd leapt to their feet in jubilation. Cheers rang out for the Crown Prince, heralding him to the skies. "BAELON! BAELON! BAELON!"

Nowhere were the cheers louder than in the royal box, the furious clapping of the Queens and Queen Dowager drowned out by the whistles and shouts from the children. "Go, Valonqar!" Rhaenys whooped.

"That's how the dragon does it!" yelled Egg.

"Jon! My hero!" Daenerys was the happiest of all, her smile radiant and threatening to split open her face.

Rising himself, Rhaegar held up his hand and waited for the cheers to die down. "People of Westeros, the gods have spoken and my son is the champion… no pot or crown shall be gained from victory here, but something far more deserving to this young lad of eleven namedays who demonstrated such skill before the gods..

"What will my brother give him, muna?" Dany asked Rhaella.

The Dowager Queen smirked. "You'll see, dearest daughter."

Slowly, flanked by Ser Barristan and his Uncle Benjen, Jon watched as Rhaegar descended the steps from the royal box till he stood right before him. The mighty Sunrise Dragon whom he called kepa standing tall and proud, gazing down at Jon. "Kneel, my son," he said softly.

Baelon blinked. "Kepa?"

"Kneel, Prince Baelon!" he said, louder this time - though not in anger, but as if to proclaim the command to the world. "Receive your prize." Rhaegar's hand went to the hilt of Blackfyre.

Eyes suddenly widening in realization, Baelon trembled as he slowly lowered to one knee. Looking up, he could see the shock in Dany's face - seven hells, in the faces of his brothers, sisters, aunts, and cousins, only his munas and grandmother grinning. They knew... His left hand gripping the hilt of his left practice blade and his right hand behind his back.

Rhaegar drew Blackfyre, the ancient sword gleaming in the sunlight as he softly placed it against the boiled leather of Jon's cuirass. "In the name of the Warrior… I charge you to be brave."

The gentle pressure on Jon's left shoulder nearly made him fall, so profound was this. Even in his anticipation of his victory, he'd never dreamed of this eventuality.

"In the name of the Father… I charge you to be just." He raised his sword back to Jon's right shoulder.

Watching, Daenerys clasped her hands over her mouth, literally shaking with excitement and pride. I need to write Sansa of this… she must know this from me.

"In the name of the Mother… I charge you to defend the Innocent."

It was not just Dany that watched with pride at Baelon's achievement. Elia and Lyanna squeezed each other's hands, ever overjoyed at such a wonderful son. Rhaella sat with a small smile, knowing that her grandson's reputation would soar to new heights. Rhaenys, Alyssa, Cella… all bounced on the balls of their feet for him in moments to be a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, a defender of the innocent, a protector of those who could not defend themselves.

Beside them, Aegon watched with… mixed feelings. Love for his valonqar. Happiness at his achievement - genuinely so. Yet a thought came unbidden. I won last year… why isn't it me knighted by kepa? Egg hated it, hated to feel inside what his uncle Viserys wore pretty openly.

Jealousy, pure and simple.

Unaware of any of this, Rhaegar raised Blackfyre vertically against his chest and face. "Arise Ser Baelon of House Targaryen… Knight of the Seven Kingdoms." As Jon rose, he sheathed his sword just as the beaming Jon launched himself into Rhaegar's embrace as the crowd chanted his name.


"Alright, chins up, backs straight." Lady Genna Umber of Last Hearth was a demanding taskmaster, moreso than even Lady Malera Cassel was for the young girls. "Sansa, butt forward. Don't let it jut out."

"Yes, aunt Genna," mumbled Sansa Stark.

Her frown deepened. "Lady Umber to you while we practice your lessons."

Sansa sighed internally. "Yes, Lady Umber." Normally her aunt was a delight, always slipping her and her siblings sweets, but when it was time for etiquette lessons, she was worse than grandfather Tywin.

"Good, good… ugh, Sansa. Butt forward, not out."

From the tables, watching intently with her little brother Tommen sandwiched awkwardly between them, little Josera and Leria Umber giggled. "Mama said 'butt.'" Tommen, always modest and innocent, blushed at their words.

"Quiet girls," hissed Genna, and they did so. Umber and Lannister, a… potent combination to put it mildly.

Malera, seated to avoid hurting her aching feet what with her very pregnant belly, nevertheless clapped. "Very good, Joanna. You're flawless at this."

Sansa's little sister - as blonde and beautiful as her mother and great-aunt - smiled brightly. "Thank you, Lady Cassel." She curtseyed gracefully. While Sansa was excellent at such courtly manners, Joanna was practically a prodigy at them. "You can see that I keep my butt in the proper place."

"Insults will do you well in court, sister," Sansa remarked dryly as she curtseyed too, getting a smile and nod from Genna as to how she did. "But here at Winterfell they'll get a dead squirrel in your pillowcase."

Joanna flushed red. "Aunt Genna!"

"Sansa, don't waste good food like that." All the northmen in the hall began laughing at Joanna's expense. Sansa smirked at her aunt - Greatjon Umber really rubbed off on his wife.

"You could do well to listen to Sansa, Jo," commented Domeric Bolton, also seated next to Sansa's brother Rickard, who was idly sharpening a dagger their father gave him. "The men at court like a thrust out butt."

Choking back laughter, Sansa noticed her aunt go beet red. "Domeric, where did you hear such course insinuations."

He blinked. "Um… from Rickard."

The redheaded Stark looked up. "Tattle tail."

"Rickard Stark?"

"Ugh, you're such a creep, fish."

"Don't call me that!"

Joanna grinned. "Fish fish fish…"

"Shut up!"

Genna was having none of it. "Rickard, tell me where you heard that."

He shrugged. "Heard Theon say it, whatever it means."

Malera rolled her eyes. "I'll have to have Jory talk to that boy." Theon was currently out with Rodrik on a hunt. He was… pleasant most of the time and very funny, but he had a ribald sense of humor that Sansa found a little off putting.

Suddenly, Joanna screamed. "There's mud in my hair!" She looked around, eyes predatory… and they found the culprit. "ARYA!"

Emerging from behind a column, little Arya bowed. "Thank you, thank you." Unlike Tommen, her twin, Arya was always good for a good scrap. The wolf's blood as their father called it. It always made Sansa laugh.

Joanna though was out for blood. "When I get my hands on you…!"

Suddenly, a servant burst through the doors. "Lady Stark! She's in labor!" All animosity or duty was forgotten, the children racing towards the residential wing of the keep to see their newest sibling be born - excited as ever.

The minutes turned to hours and excitement for the children turned to boredom. "Ugh, hurry up, mama!" complained Arya, head smacking against the table. "Baby out by now?"

"I think she should be done," commented Joanna. "Rickfish?"

"Can't help you," grumbled Rickard, playing with a leather ball by throwing it up in the air. Joanna merely rolled her eyes.

She was definitely her mother's mini me in that moment.

"Don't worry pups," comforted Malera. "All will be well."

The door opened to reveal Old Nan. "Lady Cassel. We need ya' in 'ere."

She stood, baby bump making it difficult at first. "Jory, watch the children…"

"Watch mine and I'll watch these," he called out, smirking. That proved to be a bad idea given her withering glare, but thankfully for Jory the situation required her attention more than getting back at her husband.

Noticing the worried looks on their faces, Sansa turned to Domeric. "Dom… I'm scared. What if something's wrong with mama?"

"It'll be fine. Lady Stark is a force of nature…" while his words were confident, it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than her - Cersei was the closest thing he had to a mother since the death of his, Bethany Ryswell, years ago. "She was like this when Bran was born, remember?"

Sansa blinked. "Wasn't that one over quickly?"

"Um… no… I mean, we waited for hours…" The usually cheerful Domeric - a far cry from his father Roose, who scared Sansa - was gone, replaced with someone… supremely brooding and worried. "More… um… I mean less hours than we have been now… oh gods." He closed his eyes, suddenly going pale.

At that moment a shrill scream echoed out of the bedchamber. "Quick! Get the linens!"

"That's Aunt Genna!" Arya cried. "Aunt Genna, is babe here?!"

"Shut up, horseface. You're giving me a headache." Rickard was covering his ears, wincing.

"Oh shut up, fish. Mama's in trouble," hissed Joanna.

He glared back. "Your mama. She's 'stepmother' to me."

"Just like you're 'half-brother' to me, fish." As the pups bickered, Jory looked very much in over his head.

Ignoring all of them while Domeric moved to calm an irate Joanna - it was always he that did so, much as papa calmed down mama when she was in one of her moods - Sansa moved to the door. Pressing her ear flat onto it in order to hear better… even then it was a strain to make out the words. "Push, Lady Stark. Push." Maester Luwin.

"I can't… it hurts too much…" gasped her mama, voice pained but also supremely fatigued.

"You're doing wonderful, my lioness." Papa. "Just a little more and we'll hold our newest pup."

Then, Cersei screamed again in pain. "You're never touching me again! I'll castrate you if you try!" Sansa shuddered. I do not want that to happen to papa.

"The crown, I can see the crown. Keep going, my Lady."

"Urggggh!" Sansa winced at her mama's pain.

"Again."

"AAAAAHHHH!"

The next words released Sansa from the vice grip on her heart. "It's a boy!" Oh, thank the gods…

"A boy, my love. We have another son." She could almost hear the smile in her papa's voice.

"We have a baby brother," she called out to her siblings, all of them ceasing their bickering to cheer and hug. A new sibling always brought the pack close together.

But Sansa's happiness was dashed as her mother screamed. "He's not crying! Ned, why isn't he crying?!"

"My Lady, calm down…"

"My babe is dying! Tend to him!"

Hot tears blinked back, Sansa ignored the command for her to stay away and burst through the door, running into the bedchamber. "Where's my brother?!" It was muggy in the bedchamber. Her mother was sweaty and crying on the bed, while her father fidgeted nervously as he could do nothing in this instance. Malera tried to comfort her mother while Luwin and Old Nan crowded around a table.

Aunt Genna rushed to her. "Sweetling, please stay outside."

"No!" She rushed out of Genna's arms. "Let me see my brother! Don't you dare let him die!" Behind Sansa, her siblings were watching in equal parts worry and horror. "Let me see him!" she screamed, trying to elbow past Luwin and Old Nan.

"Sansa, Sansa stop," Luwin remarked gently, seeing the redhead in obvious distress. "The babe is fine, he's just a quiet one, see." He parted and let Sasna see her newest brother. He was pink and small, not making a sound but with the rising and falling chest of breathing. "A quiet wolf, just like your papa." He scooped up the babe. "Would you like to hold him?"

She didn't need to be asked twice. "Please." Smiling softly, soon the babe was in her arms. "Hi, sweet one. It's your big sister, your favorite sibling."

"Shut up!" called Arya out from the doorway.

Sansa ignored her, giggling. "Want to see mama and papa?" Kissing the nose of her sleeping baby brother, she gingerly carried him to the expectant parents. "Looks like he just didn't want to cry, papa." She handed him to her father.

Ned felt a tear fall from his cheek. "Thank you, Sansa. You're still my lovely pup." Sansa beamed with pride. "Hi sweet one," he cooed to the babe.

"Give him to me, Ned!" begged Cersei, arms out. The babe soon dropped in her arms. "Oh, my precious thing…" She cuddled him tightly. "You gave mama a fright. Never again. You hear me, never again."

"Mama, papa, what's his name?" Sansa asked.

"Yeah, tell us!" Arya insisted. Tommen nodded beside her.

"I'd like to know!" Joanna was just as forceful, if more lioness than wolf.

Smirking up at Aunt Genna, Cersei kissed her son. "Tytos, after my grandfather."

Ned blinked. "Isn't that the one who your father…"

"Aye. Imagine his face." Cersei giggled, only to see Sansa's brows rise in confusion. "I'll tell you later, pup. Come here to mama." This command Sansa was eager to follow, hugging her mother and baby brother all in one.


It was said that the King's Tourney was just one massive feast with breaks for the jousting and melee competitions. Arthur Dayne, a veteran of dozens of these and the winner of several - though the King and the Queen both tied for the greatest number of jousting prizes, he topped them all for melee wins - could attest to this. In the greatly cleaned up streets of King's Landing thanks to the building work of the Queens, it was a carnival atmosphere where thousands of peddlers and stalls joined with established businesses to cater to every desire of the swollen crowd.

Fortunes could be made in a day, which coincidentally swelled the crown's coffers by several times the order of magnitude it cost to run the tourney in the first place. Such a profit was attributed to the deputy Master of Coin one Petyr Baelish, which earned him great favor.

Arthur didn't really like him, but such was last in his list of pressing issues that night.

"To my son!" King Rhaegar proclaimed from the King's table as the main course was served - whole roasted chickens, honey-braised pork ribs, and grilled aurouch steaks combined with fresh bread and pots of stew to make any mouth water. "Dragonrider, scholar prodigy, and now Ser Baelon Targaryen, Knight of the Realm!"

"SER BAELON!" cheered the crowd, Targaryen loyalists all… or at least trying to curry favor. On the table, Rhaegar ruffled his son's hair while the Queens kissed either cheek. His siblings thumped his shoulder while Princess Daenerys also kissed his cheek, to a blush from Jon. He was the center of attention and it was well earned.

Youngest knight ever to be ordained since Daemon Blackfyre over a century earlier.

Arthur was unsure if such was a good portend or a bad omen. A tossup it seemed.

Baelon settled into his seat and was in an animated discussion with his grandmother and aunts about… likely the melee. At some laughing jest, Robb Stark tossed a roll at him, which drew far more laughter from the royals - including Baelon himself. With King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna having retired from tourneys and Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon too young to compete, all attention would be on Baelon and his knighthood after the squire's melee. Not shocking, but it worried Arthur.

What sort of Crown Prince and later King would Jon be if all around seemed keen on stroking his ego to greater and greater heights? His father had the humbling influence of living while Aerys was in power. For Jon… nothing but peace since the Ironborn Rebellion, which Arthur knew he couldn't really remember.

His gaze turned to Edric Baratheon, sullenly spooning some beef stew while occasionally glaring jealously at the royals, nursing a black eye. Robert wasn't present, thank the gods, though tourneys outside of King's Landing usually found him winning titles and siring more bastards. Stannis was there, as were Lynesse and the young ladies Mya, Bella, and Shireen. The former kept to herself, the middle was the hit of all the young lads, and the latter seemed quite happy chatting with young Baelon Velaryon. A good match there.

But he couldn't get his mind off of Edric, off what he had seen when returning to the tent before the melee. He and Jon were ready to clash with fists, not that either would admit it. Nd Arthur knew the reasons. Never would Edric speak cause he knew the Prince would always be believed, while never would Jon speak since Edric was his cousin. Family was family - his reasonings far less self-serving than the Baratheon's.

Noble of him, but that he'd let himself get to that point…

"I was unaware you were still on duty."

Arthur blinked out of his thoughts to find his paramour, Lady Dacey Mormont, smirking at him. Just as beautiful as the day they met. "Apologies… habit I suppose."

Dacey laughed. "My bad luck that I found the one Dornishman that doesn't like to be merry." She wrapped her arms round Arthur and kissed his neck. "What thing are you worried about now? Our son was amazing today even though he didn't win… is it that?" Her gaze was a bit accusatory.

"Prince Baelon." Arthur knew he could talk to Dacey on anything.

She blinked in confusion. "But… he won. You should be proud as he is your squire."

"It's not that, and aye, I am proud… but I think he's going in a wrong direction."

Looking at the smiling Prince, Dacey furrowed her brows. "He's happy… happy and confident."

"Aye, confident. A virtue now, but perhaps a flaw if left unchecked."

"I… mayhaps you're right. What do you want to do about it."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "I may have an idea, but the King and Queens would have my head for it."

A/N: So Jon is as much a badass as we expect, just like his kepa and munas. All the kids are older and there are some new ones.

Be sure to let me know what you think of everything going on :)

Until next time! Glad to have you on board!