Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Ice and Fire Novels, Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon TV shows. However, I decided to have a little play around with the characters. I do not earn any money from writing these stories, it is for my entertainment and is something I like to share.

Jon I

Hunting wild boar was a team effort, as the beasts were growing much larger since the snows had begun to melt in a few areas north of the wall. They were already larger than the ones south of the wall, as most animals were, but the melting snow leading to a greater abundance of food, was allowing the creatures to grow to their true potential. This was why it took a team of six to hunt a single one. Not because they were difficult to catch, between six of them, they could easily take a animal down within an hour of spotting it. The issue was returning it to camp. The boar tended to avoid the wildling camps, meaning the hunting teams had to track and return the beasts from distances of up to twenty miles, carrying the heavy creature back as they had very few horses available to them.

Every team sent out to hunt contained a warg, one of only eight left amongst what remained of the wildlings after the events of the long night. A warg was able to enter the mind of an animal and see through the eyes of the chosen creature, usually a bird when it came to hunting. When the boar was spotted, the warg would jump into the body of the beast and come to the group, placid and willing to be killed. The warg would leave the body of the prey and the rest of the team would shoot their arrows, disabling it before finally slitting its throat. Then it would be at least a five day walk back to camp, carrying the animal to feed the group. They rotated the hunting groups and there would always be a team out catching either boar or a stag to feed those who had made it through the long night, just over a year ago.

Jon had lost count how many times he had hunted for the boar in the cold snow, winds and ice, north of the wall to feed his people. At the beginning, the catch was easier. Snow is much easier to tread on when deep, but as of late, spring was taking over, which was good for the size of the boar, but walking was becoming much harder. Gone were shortcuts of frozen lakes and soft grippy snow. That had been replaced with tufts of grass, which could now be seen creeping through the once completely white landscape. Melting snow left ice and slush, which made the going tougher, slower and more dangerous. Soon, returning with the kill would take a week instead of five days, which was once three. Of course once all of the snows had melted, then the hunt would be quicker than in winter, but right now it was the worst kind of weather.

The warg on this particular hunt was a man called Horan. Like the rest of the wargs, he preferred to see through the eyes of an eagle, allowing him to soar the skies giving him a perspective like humans only dared imagine. Jon himself had warging abilities although his wasn't a skill which had been nurtured like Horan's. So far he had only ever been able to warg into his direwolf Ghost. He had tried on more than one occasion to enter the mind of a bird, but he had never quite mastered it, which up until recently had made him suspect his abilities were limited and he could only enter the mind of Ghost due to some connection they shared. Jon had always believed his time seeing through the eyes of Ghost were more like dreams than the full warging abilities as he wasn't able to control Ghost unlike Horan could with his eagle. As such, he never told anyone about what he could do with Ghost, it was something private between him and his direwolf. A time he could enjoy freedom without worrying someone would kill him at a weak point, and although he was now reluctantly the de-facto King beyond the wall, he still had many enemies who would like to see him dead. A few were north of the wall, but most lay elsewhere, Essos, the Summer Isles and Naarth, there were even those south of the wall who wanted him dead. Therefore Jon was always on the alert, except when in the mind of Ghost, for those short periods he was free, roaming the land, feeding and running. That being said, something recently had changed.

For the past sennight, when he slept he no longer of entered the mind of Ghost, instead his direwolf dreams had changed, now Jon saw the Lands of Always Winter from the air as he slumbered. When this happened, the creature he entered began to falter and fall as Jon did not know how to control the flying body he was inhabiting, forcing him to pull out within mere seconds of entering it, waking him up, feeling hot and temporarily feverish. He did not know how far away the creature was, but he suspected it was looking for him, a thought which filled him with dread and fear.

Fire and blood was coming to seek revenge, which was why he had chosen to go on this hunt. Had he have stayed at the camp, all of the wildlings would have been in danger from the black beast which was out to destroy him from killing its mother. If the dragon found him on the hunt, then at the most, only six of them need suffer. However, Jon hatched a plan so that once he was far enough away from camp, he could force the others to return to the remaining wildlings, taking Ghost with them as proof to inform his best friend, the crazy red haired Tormund Giantsbane of Jon's fate. Tormund would know to tell his cousin Queen Sansa, although he suspected King Bran would have informed her before Tormund even reached Winterfell, now that Bran was the Three Eyed Raven and knew everything, if he so cared to look. And Jon was sure the King must have spied on his once bastard half-brother Jon Snow, especially with the knowledge that Jon was the biggest threat to Bran's reign as Jon only had to reveal his identity to those who still wished to court the name Targaryen to try to overthrow his cousin. Admittedly those numbers had probably dwindled somewhat after the Dragon Queen had gone mad with grief at the loss of her friends and two of her dragons, she tried and almost succeeded in destroying Kings Landing in the process. Jon had killed her to prevent any more bloodshed, which was why he was now the leader beyond the wall.

Knowing Drogon was coming for him, for his part, Jon did not fear the death Drogon would bring. Instead it would be of some comfort, a relief from his guilt which living among the freefolk hadn't ridden him of. Instead it had brought back memories of another love he had allowed to be killed for the sake of duty, Ygritte, his first love, a wildling who had been kissed by fire.

At night while they slept, when Jon wasn't warging into the dragon, he was dreaming strange dreams, one in particular haunting over and over again. He was in a castle, somewhere he didn't recognise. While walking through the halls he would hear a woman singing. Jon was desperate to find the woman, therefore he followed her voice. He eventually reached a great hall, where at one end he could see a bathtub placed on a dais. As he drew closer, he could see the bathtub contained the naked body of a woman, her pale white skin turning blue from the ice which trapped her body in the bathtub. He couldn't see her hair or face, just her cold dead body. His heart broke, had he have arrived sooner, maybe he could have saved her. Jon ran, maybe there was still time to get her out, but fire surrounded him, he saw blood trickling from the bathtub, but he needed to save her and to do that he had to step through the flames, regardless of whether they burned him. As he stepped into the flames, her name was about to leave his lips when he felt a nudge and opened his eyes. There in front of him was Ghost, waking him up, pulling him from the sleep and stopping him from saving the woman in the bath. Every single time he had the dream, Ghost had woken him at exactly the same time as if stopping him from stepping foot into the flames, at least Ghost would stop him while he was still around. He wondered if Ghost knew and was trying to save him from descending into some metaphorical Targaryen madness, not that it would make any difference. Drogon was coming and Jon was going to die anyway, maybe going out mad would be a blessing.

To ensure his plan went smoothly, Jon had opted to take the five men who would most likely to obey his orders to leave him when told them to. They weren't cowards or stupid, but they were more accustomed to following orders from Jon due to their youth except the warg Horan who was at least ten years older than him. Hopefully the prospect of a dragon coming to burn them all to a crisp would be enough to make him run and leave their leader alone to face the monster. Luckily they were now far enough from camp to try to keep his people safe, his thoughts were now with his companions, he just hoped Horan would see the threat early enough for Jon to save their lives.

Ghost sat next to Jon, his fingers running through the white fur of his direwolf. "You've been loyal to me boy. But I know that we will soon be going our separate ways." he said as Ghost whined in response. "I need you to do two things for me, when the time comes, take these men back to camp. Then I want you to go with Tormund to see Sansa, let her say one last goodbye. You can either stay and protect her or you will be free to roam and find a lady of your own, maybe have some pups." he smiled. Ghost simply looked at him then he laid his head down, his paws crossed with his chin laying upon them. Jon knew the direwolf wasn't like other wolves or dogs. Only those who had a connection like he and Ghost had once shared, fully understood what the other wanted. He just hoped there was enough left of Jon in the wolf for his now very large, faithful friend to carry out his last wishes. As a result of his size, whilst ever Ghost was close to Jon, the others tended to keep their distance as they feared the huge beast. Therefore when Horan approached, Jon knew it was serious.

"The boar has disappeared." Horan told him.

"How?" Jon demanded. "Did your eagle not keep a close enough watch?"

"It's not that." Horan shook his head in fear. "The creatures are all running scared. They are all running and flying north-west. Something is coming, something so bad they are running for their lives."

"How long ago did you realise this?" Jon stood up, knowing the time was coming close.

"Just a few minutes ago." Horan looked at him with fear. "Maybe the white..." he started but Jon shook his head.

Jon nodded, standing up. "It isn't the whitewalkers comin' for us Horan, it is fire. And it's coming for me not you. Take your eagle and get the others back to camp. The dragon won't follow." he commanded.

"How do you know?" Horan asked looking horrified.

Jon ignored the question. "Ghost will protect you. Go see Tormund, tell him to take Ghost to Sansa. Just leave, I'll deal with the dragon. He wants me, nobody else." Jon put his hand on Horan's shoulder. "But you must all leave, now. I need you to GO!" he said sternly as Horan simply nodded and ran towards the other members of the group who looked back at them in confusion.

The message didn't take long to get around, fear took hold as they all realised a dragon was heading their way and Jon was going to take the fire on their behalf while Ghost got them to safety of the camp. Jon just hoped he was right and Drogon only wanted him and his death, if he believed in a god, he would have prayed the fire would burn hot and quick, however his religious beliefs were now all over. He'd experienced death before, but that death had been an icy death, this time it would be through fire, his true nature, the one he kept hidden, or at least tried to ignore. Now, just over a year after his banishment he was going to meet the peace of death, a nothingness, just like last time, but hopefully there would be no red woman to bring him back. The Ironborn almost had it right with their motto, what is dead may never die. The true saying should be what is dead should be left to stay dead.

When the men had gone, as had Ghost. Jon was finally left alone to find the dragon and meet the fire and death he almost craved. He had subscribed to a life of meeting his final moments but they had all been images of ice, but the ultimate irony was that fire would be his ultimate fate.

It was after the men had been gone a day, hoping they were at least ten miles away by his calculations, was when he heard the first screech of Drogon. He was expecting to be haunted by the sound, emoting bad memories of what the sound and symbolised. He should have been repulsed by the noise and even fear it, yet the opposite happened. Jon suddenly felt a sense of peace coming from the presence of the approaching dragon. Maybe it was him making his peace with impending death, this time one which was truly deserved, but Jon suspected that wasn't the the only reason he felt the way he did. He'd had enough of being an outcast, despised for what and who he was, yet none of it any fault of his own. He had always tried to do the right by the many, yet was made to pay the price for failing to do the right by the few. Ever since his conception, people were paying the price of death for his existence. By dying, it would allow the many to live.

On a personal level, as an important figure in the freefolk community, many cared whether he lived or died, but nobody truly loved him, save maybe for Ghost. Therefore he was giving notice of his death out of courtesy, to let the world know that he was no longer a threat to his once half brother. The Targaryen dynasty would die with him in the most appropriate fashion, dragonfire.

The sky darkened and Jon looked up, he saw the red underbelly of the monster above him. Drogon must have grown some ten feet since Jon last laid eyes on him, or her. Jon didn't even know whether the dragon was male or female. When Drogon landed with a thud, his black scales glistened under the now stronger winter sun. He was a magnificent beast. Jon smiled, how ironic, the only dragon to embody the colours of House Targaryen was about to destroy the last living member of the once great dynasty.

Drogon screeched and blew flames in the air, Jon understood, the dragon was angry with him and the world, he missed his mother, but most of all he needed to avenge those who didn't keep to their word and Jon was ahead of the queue. Jon stood in front of the mouth of the dragon, awaiting his fate, yet nothing came. Drogon simply stared at him. Jon frowned, he wondered if the dragon needed some command to do the deed. He remembered Dany speaking a strange sounding language to the dragons, she used High Valyrian which he had little to no understanding of, however he had become accustomed to one word and had used it himself.

"Dracarys!" Jon called out to Drogon, closing his eyes in anticipation of the flames, but still none came. "Dracarys!" he called out once more, this time opening his right eye, looking to see the response of the dragon. What he saw shook him. The dragon had crossed its front legs and laid its chin on them, as if it were awaiting a scratch, just like Ghost would. Jon frowned. Had he misinterpreted what Drogon wanted from him, did he really want him dead? Words from Maester Aemon came back to haunt him.

"A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing."

Jon had heard dragons were more clever than people. If that were true, then maybe dragons understood people better than they did themselves. Either that or it was simply the case Drogon was lonely and having been used to a dragon rider, he needed another and Jon was the only available option left, hence he had searched Jon out in desperation for companionship as opposed to revenge.

Jon laughed, the fear of fire and blood had engulfed him over the past week, yet all it turned out to be were two lonely dragons needing the company of fire. Drogon held out his wing, just like Jon had seen him do for Dany many times, to allow her to climb upon his back so she could ride him. Jon knew he was asking him to climb upon his back so they could ride together. A mixture of emotions fed through Jon, fear, warmth, comfort and dread. The latter was the most important one. If he took to the back of Drogon, would he turn mad like his previous rider? Was it part of his Targaryen blood? Nature or nurture? Jon reminded himself he was part Stark, he needed to cling to the ice in his blood to keep the fire madness away. That would not stop him embracing the dragon, he just had to remember his roots, to know who he was to prevent the flames from overwhelming him.

Jon took a deep breath and looked at his surroundings for one last time. He knew he was dying a second time, except this was a metaphorical death instead of a literal one. The man stood looking at the dragon was Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, King of the North, kneeler, King north of the Wall. The moment he set foot on Drogon's wing, all of those names would be forgotten, he would be Aegon Targaryen.

Tentatively, Jon lifted his foot and placed it onto Drogon's wing. He climbed a much longer climb than he did with Rhaegal as Drogon was far larger. He managed to sit straddled between the spines on the back of the dragon, thinking to himself, there needs to be a seat made for comfort on this damned thing. Drogon turned his head to Jon and nodded as if understanding Jon's thought process. It was at this point Jon once again remembered he knew nothing of his birth language, the one which dragons seemed to respond to and wondered how he was going to get Drogon up in the air.

"Fly!" Jon said, hoping Drogon would understand, but clearly he didn't. "Up boy, up." he suggested, kicking his legs against the beast as if it were a mule, but the dragon stared at him, initially in bemusement, yet something else passed between them, a knowledge like he once had with Ghost, which now seemed to encompass the warmth of the dragon between his legs, travelling throughout his body. Jon tried another tactic, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself inside the dragons mind, to see if it would be possible to find the word he needed, but he suddenly found he couldn't warg, as if the beast was keeping him out. "Not you as well." Jon sighed noticing the dragon staring at him, as waiting his command. Then he had an idea, if he told the dragon where to go, maybe then Drogon would know what to do. But where could he go? Most of Westeros was out of bounds, his sister, no his cousin would reject him right now because he could be putting her lands in danger. He needed to go far away, first take on the danger and defeat the enemies. But first of all, he needed to learn High Valyrian to control his dragon. The only place he could think of which he knew had been left to its own devices was a place Drogon knew well. Some place where there should be texts he could find to teach himself the language before eliminating his enemies so that he didn't become a threat to Westeros. The only place he could go to was Dragonstone.

"Dragonstone!" Jon commanded as Drogon seemed to understand. The dragon screeched before lifting it's head and flapping his wings. Suddenly they were up in the skies, the icy wind, snow and winter forgotten as the body of the huge beast was warm and they were going home. Jon was no longer Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, he was Prince Aegon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and he was make himself ready to take back what was his when the time was right, even if it meant resorting to the use of Fire and Blood.

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Mandzipop.