The letter of Jon Connington, Lord of Griffin's Roost and Amador, to his nephew, Rhaegar Connington.

Dear son,

I will not lie to you. The war in Amadicia is far from over. Queen Elayne has answered the calls of queen Alliandre and they have both attacked our lands. We are surrounded on both sides and don't know when the reinforcements will arrive. This has gone too far.

Victarion Greyjoy is a madman! While I was absent negotiating with the Aiel clans, the queens sent two messengers into our camp. Victarion thought it smart and brave to have them both killed and sent their dismembered corpses to the queens. "Let the bitches of this land know the Ironborn won't kneel before them." That is what he said to me when I returned.

Everything is divided. Prince Matrim has tried to make peace with Tarabon and Arad Doman, but the Ironborn cannot stop pillaging every settlement they come across. The Queen Daenerys is still at the Black Tower, dealing with Logain Ablar.

The hope is lost. The Dragon's Peace is completely broken. And so is my heart. It was the only thing he left behind, the only thing he asked from us as ransom for his sacrifice and we couldn't even keep that!

I remember that day, the day he came to Westeros.

It was the beginning of winter, when the first snow was falling. I sailed from Braavos a few days before, having finally gathered the money I needed. I didn't think, didn't have a plan, didn't have a goal. I grew sick of the Free Cities. I never journeyed to Essos or to the Aiel Waste that lies behind it. I spent almost twenty years in the Slaver's Isles: Lys, Astapor, Yunkai, Pentos, Volantis. I travelled around, wasting all my gold and silver: I even sold the banner my father gave me all those years ago.

Then, after your father's death, there was nothing. You alone understand it. I may have been the eldest by birth, but it was Bowen who was the wisest, the most mature and knowledgeable. Yet, though he was better than me in all ways, he followed me. He was my rock. He was all I had.

Gods were cruel to me. I left Braavos and sailed back. I knew the moment I set foot in Westeros and Great Lords found me, that they would kill me, but I did not care: I wanted to see the walls of the Roost for one, one last time. I wanted to see the clifs and the bay around it. To feel the wind once again be not so cruel to me.

And I was there, with only a sword and no armor. I did carry the griffin on my chest: if I was to die, it was to be as a Connington.

It must have been the Lannister men who recognized me on the shore.

I was prepared to die. I put down my sword and said to them: "Do as you wish. My time is done."

I looked up at the Roost, waiting for the blade. But then the soldiers stopped and looked upon the shore. I turned back too and then I saw: dozens of ships were sailing towards the beach and their banners clearly shone in the sun: a red dragon. It was on a white field, it had no wings and it's body was like that of a snake: but it was a dragon for sure.

In that hour, I believed that my lord Rhaegar returned from the grave. And I could swear to you, I even heard a slight whisper in the wind that said: "This is your Prince, who comes with the Dawn of Life. Behold him: the dragon who rides again on the winds of time!" Some soldiers ran buck to their lords, but most stayed, for a battle that was never fought.

Many other banners were seen on that day, some I have seen before like the green banners of Illian and the crescents of Tear. It was a great and mighty army, greater in number and power than any army that we have in Westeros. Legion of the Dragon is how they called themselves.

My euphoria passed soon, because I realized Rhaegar could not return from the dead. So I wondered: who is it then? Who is so great that he would dare to use the dragon as his banner and call such force to his allegiance?

And then I saw him.

He went down from his horse, dressed in simple red shirt. For someone with such a reputation, you would think he would dress like an emperor from the ancient times. But he did not dress glamorously and, despite what many say, he did not pride himself. But he looked like a king. He was a man who could have every lady in all of Seven Kingdoms with his appearance. His blue eyes had an ancient wisdom behind them, but I could also see how tired and tortured they were.

He was a man who carried the the entire world on his shoulders. Today I hear many claim he was heartless and I have never heard a more wicked lie. I was there in King's Landing when the Forsaken Graendal revealed herself queen Cersei's adviser (and some would even say her lover) and when he fought her and banished her. There were explosions all around the city, their magic causing the wildfire that the Mad King set up all those years ago. After the battle, I saw him stand there among the dead, crouching and closing their eyes. He ordered a proper burial for every person who died, whether they were a lordling or of smallfolk. One lord found it prepostrous that peasants should get a burial: he claimed money should be spent on giving those of high birth burial and the reparations of the city. That same lord spent three next weeks in a dungeon.

I was there behind him, near the caves of Shayol Ghul. There he fought with the Enemy's chief servant and won. No one was around to carry his body, so I did, back to the camps of the Light.

I am writing this with tears in my eyes. He was the noblest and greatest among the sons of men. He gave us his life, his blessings and all his strength. And what did he ask of us in return? To have peace. To have love.

All those years ago, when Robert raised his banners against Aerys, I would have thought there is a holy war, that peacemakers are weaklings and that love is a lie sung by poets. But the Lord Dragon taught me differently, without ever speaking more than a word.

If I die, I will join him in seven heavens. If I live, I promise you: I will leave this cursed place. Victarion can have this war if he wants and, frankly, queen Daenerys can go to all seven hells as far as I am concerned. I have had enough. I have fought long enough. My years are coming to an end. I am tired.

Do not waste your life the way I did, my son. As I told you before, your love means a lot to me. But do not look up to me. Instead look up to your father.

And to Lord Dragon.

Until we meet again,

Your uncle, Jon