A New Verse

by InsaneSmirkingRevenge

An AU retelling of the Song of Ice and Fire. Rhaegar didn't fall at the Trident. Elia and her babes weren't slaughtered. Jaime didn't kill the Mad King. And a certain member of a Kingsguard didn't do his duty. Watch as A New Verse is played in the Song of Ice and Fire and new games begin to be played. A boy raised across the Narrow Sea is only the beginning.

1. Gilded Lips and Steel Teeth

A New Verse

Gilded Lips and Steel Teeth

I do not own ASOIAF or Game of Thrones

Myles Toyne- Portrayed by Judd Hirsch

Arthur Dayne- Portrayed by Luke Roberts

Wylla- Portrayed by Eva Longoria

Black Balaq- Portrayed by Forest Whitaker

Lysono Maar- Portrayed by Leonardo DiCaprio

Aegon Blackfyre- Portrayed by Josh Hutcherson

291 AC Pentos

The summer sun cruelly glared down at a certain tent in a sea of canvas set upon a sparsely vegetated flatland. Currently, the tent of the Captain-General of the Golden Company held only one person. But that man was soon joined by another younger man with dirt-encrusted plate armor.

"Ullwyck! There you are son. How did your commission fare?" Myles Toyne, the tent's formerly sole resident called out. Ser Myles Toyne, otherwise known as the 'Blackheart' was not a handsome man. An oversized nose, crooked jaw, leathery skin, balding head and grizzly scars made the exiled knight look to be the cruelest of men.

The only thing 'black' about this man is his title, Ullwyck mused. The sellsword smiled affably at the older man, taking the offered seat at the Captain-General's table. Ullwyck pulled his full face helm from his head, setting it heavily upon the wooden table. Long dark hair framed bright green eyes and a comely face that often earned him ribbing from his brothers-in-arms. The coarse and familiar nature of his fellow sellswords had taken him by surprise initially. Though as time passed he found that despite the uncouth language of the men, there was a type of genuine respect that passed between the warriors of the company.

"We fended for ourselves well, there were no casualties and the magister was pleased with our services." Ullwyck reported dutifully. As always, his eyes were drawn to the treasures that adorned the Captain-General's tent. Glamorous weapons and pieces of armor piled forth from chests and littered a handful of wooden stands. Precious gems and jewelry hung from furniture and spilled from bags haphazardly laid on the floor. Each portion of treasure signified the success of a venture for the mercenary company. And the Golden Company had completed an innumerable amount of contracts. The Pentos branch of the Golden Company was both the oldest and richest of the three contingents of the largest sellsword company of Essos.

Myles crooked an eyebrow at Ullwyck. "You encountered an opposing force?" Ullwyck cleared his throat. "Well, we had a slight conflict with a small number of bandits on the return trip. But as I said, there were no casualties." Myles chuckled jovially at the younger man. "If it were any other man but you Ullwyck, I would have your pay docked for leaving details out. But because it is you, I have no doubt that it is as you said. You're the best damned swordsman in the company and too much of a straight arrow to lie maliciously to your Captain-General."

Ullwyck frowned as if unhappy with the title. "The men of these lands rarely wear appropriate armor and their styles of the blade reflect that. I merely-" Myles waved his hand as he rolled his eyes, cutting off Ullwyck. "Yes yes, you merely take advantage. I've heard it so many times now, I've lost count." Ullwyck nodded back at the man, content to wait in silence until the Captain-General gathered his thoughts.

"Speaking of losing count, how old is that son of yours now? The last occasion I spoke with the boy he said his nameday was close. Soon enough, he'll be training with our recruits." Ullwyck grinned widely, pearly white teeth on display for the first time. "Jon's eighth nameday would've been yesterday. He's growing up remarkably fast and he's quite larger than the other boys his age. But I doubt he'll be able to keep up with grown men at this point."

Myles grinned at Ullwyck, a most prominent golden tooth glinting in the light. "You can never know for sure Ullwyck, that boy is more capable than most of my men by more than half."

---

Jon bared his teeth at his foe, slowly raising his blade as he fell into a stance. "The sea air must be dulling your mind, Ormund Baratheon. I am Samarro Saan and I suffer no mittī!"

His foe hissed and swung at him, quick as a diving seahawk. Jon tucked his head and erected an arm even more rapidly in defense. He growled in frustration at the throbbing pinch of the landed blow and glared at the enemy. "Taste steel fiend!" Jon struck with all of the might he could bring to bear, wounding his opponent across their chest.

"Yowl!" The stray cat screeched as it twisted in the air and landed on its feet. The mangy animal inflicted Jon with one last strangled hiss before fleeing at a limping, rapid pace.

"Coward..." Jon muttered angrily, wincing at the discomfort of the scratches upon his arm.

"Jon!" The boy flinched before innocently letting his wooden sword hang to his side.

"Yes Muña?"

Wylla was not his blood mother but rather she was a mother to him. She was the one who carried him when he was small. Wylla taught Jon his first words and letters. And she was certainly the one to discipline Jon when his father was gone.

Wylla's normally warm expression was absent at the moment with her round features molded into a stern frown. Her iron countenance was poised at odds with Jon's feigned innocence.

"What have I told you about playing with your swords?"

"To practice outside?" Jon half said, half asked.

Wylla folded her arms, as unbending as the Titan of Braavos. "I told you that you may practice your swordplay outside, yes. Furthermore, I instructed you to be careful and to refrain from engaging with any strays."

Jon pouted. "But he was inside the estate, you always say that unwashed men aren't allowed inside."

Wylla held a hand to her head, feeling an encroaching headache. "I said to your father, that I didn't want him inviting any of his friends to our home because they are more like to be dirty ruffians than noble warriors. And that wasn't a man, that was a cat."

Jon averted his gaze and winced as a breeze ruffled against the bright red scratches upon his arm.

Wylla's expression softened. "Oh you fool child, come here."

Jon approached and Wylla leaned over, examining his war-wound.

She brushed at the raised skin and tutted. "It's only bleeding a tad, you ought to be fine. You know how to dress it correctly?" Wylla pressed him, her eyes meeting his.

Jon nodded in affirmation. "It's barely a wound at all but I'll dress it at once. I wouldn't want to get sick."

Wylla rose to her feet. "Well, off you with you child. Your father shall be home soon and you mustn't let him see you in this state." Jon smiled at the mention of his father before walking off.

"Jon."

The boy looked back and frowned at her outstretched hand. "But I-"

"Jon." She intoned once more, frowning lightly.

Jon sighed before handing off his wooden blade with reluctance. He turned and plodded off sadly deeper into the villa.

Wylla shook her head at his antics. Ordinarily, Jon was a delight to look after. He was polite, all types of curious, kind and intelligent beyond his age. But as he grew older so did his ambitions. At age three Jon began playing with mock blades, at age 4 Wylla found her boy buried among tomes of all languages until he fell asleep and at 5 Jon could be seen running and climbing anywhere along the estate and oftentimes outside among the children of the surrounding manors.

With eight years of experience, Wylla knew handling Jon required a firm hand or two. But that didn't mean she liked being stern with her child.

"Mistress Wylla?" A servant girl addressed her, Glendora was her name she believed.

"Yes Glendora?" A grateful smile answered her correct estimate. While Pentos had outlawed slavery under threat from Braavos, it hadn't changed a thing in the city. 'Free bond servants' were slaves all but in name as the magisters of Pentos couldn't even conceive following the spirit of the law. Kind masters and mistresses were as rare as kind-hearted magisters. And there were no kind-hearted magisters in Pentos.

While Wylla couldn't do a thing for the state of the low class of this city, she could at the least treat those under her purview with kindness and respect.

"Master Ullwyck has returned. He's washing in the bath chamber if you wish to greet him." An almost teasing smile crossed the face of the servant.

Where a strict mistress might have disciplined a servant for being so familiar, Wylla only reddened in embarrassment.

"Th-thank you for telling me Glendora, but that won't be necessary." She handed the practice sword to the girl. "Please take this to my quarters. And don't let Jon see it, he'll sneak in and take it back if he sees where you put it. Once you are done, you might as well dismiss the rest of the servants and yourself for the day."

The girl nodded and left Wylla by herself in the empty hall. The mother patted her cheeks in an attempt to calm herself. She picked at the hem of her dress as she strode off towards the dining hall.

As part of their arrangement Wylla and Ullwyck played the part of a married couple. Wylla certainly didn't mind. The man was easier on the eyes than any man she had known and his nature was naturally kind and earnest. Exactly the kind of man she desired.

That said, while the two of them were close friends, secrets, promises and a little boy bound them closer than any marriage before the Seven would.

---

Arthur Dayne smiled down at Wylla as he came into the dining hall. Free of the eye dye that crucially aided his disguise, his vision regained its normalcy compared to the green tint everything had when in disguise as Ullwyck.

It was only here in the innermost rooms of their home that Arthur could be himself once more. Once the servants had been been sent home, it was only Wylla, Jon and himself left in the house. Jon was blissfully unaware of the true reasons as to his disguise. He only knew that his father Ullwyck had always changed his appearance when leaving the house and that his true visage was a closely guarded secret. Jon was a smart boy though, he was sure to draw his own innocent conclusions until Arthur saw fit to correct them.

"Thank you for keeping the house in order Wylla." Arthur said gratefully as he sat beside her with a relaxed sigh.

Wylla was truly a gift from the Seven. Ever since that night at the Tower she had faithfully stayed at his side and raised Jon. Even when he had been less than a friend to her in return and had displayed his lack of knowledge on how to be a father, she had been kind and encouraged him.

In those early years it had felt as if she were the one taking care of them. Arthur had been one thing and only one thing for the entirety of his life. Suddenly changing his life irrevocably did not suddenly enlighten him as to the intricacies of fatherhood or life outside the Kingsguard.

He still remembered when he had first joined the Golden Company. Arthur had gotten ahead of himself and had almost brought Dawn to his meeting with Myles Toyne. Thankfully, Wylla had the common sense that bringing one of the most infamous swords of Westeros with him was not quite a smart idea when they were trying to be discreet.

"You're welcome Arthur, it was hardly any trouble as always." Wylla smiled kindly at him with a certain cheer she reserved for Jon and him.

While Arthur may have lacked some common sense in the past, he did notice Wylla's affections. He was Dornish after all. There was a time where Arthur wouldn't have even considered such a thing. Whether it be because of his oaths or the person in question, Arthur hadn't taken a woman since before he became a Kingsguard. Yet he would be lying if he said wasn't sorely tempted. It had been years since they came to Pentos. In all that time they hadn't been discovered or even come under suspicion. They should be safe. Maybe it was a part of him that hadn't let go of his oaths, that past life of his that refused to move on. Before he had thrown away everything out of misplaced hate and love.

"How was Jon's nameday? I'll have to apologize that I missed it." Arthur swept aside his wandering thoughts. Maybe he was getting old. Wylla cringed. Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "Was something amiss? You did tell him that I would give him my own gift on my return?" Wylla shook her head. "No, it's not that. He was very happy for his nameday. I caught him singing as he dressed that morning." Wylla smiled lovingly. "We went to the marketplace and he picked out his favorite meats and fruits and I was even able to get him another book of history for that collection of his."

Arthur grinned. "What I wouldn't give to hear him sing, I'm sure he's a natural. And I'm not surprised about the book, that boy seems to devour whatever he gets his hands on." The knight turned sellsword crossed his arms. "Yet something happened, what was it? He didn't get into a fight with one of the neighborhood rascals did he?"

Wylla sighed in exasperation. "No, those 'rascals' are devoted to him something fierce. Even if they did get into a fight, I'm sure they would keep that to themselves. No, our Jon got into a fight with a stray cat. And with his practice sword this time, like he was dueling some knight."

Arthur chuckled at Wylla before coughing into his hand at her expression. "Again? He's been told off for that before." Wylla nodded. "Yes, I've spoken with him about that several times. What if one of the cats possesses some kind of disease Arthur? He got scratched across his arms today, he could've gotten sick from such a thing."

"I'll talk to him about it, maybe he'll listen to me... Did he win?" Wylla gave him a deadpan look of annoyance. Arthur smirked at her expression. "I'll take that as a-"

"Kepa!" Jon exploded into the room, a blur of motion. Arthur barely had time to flinch before he was slammed into at high speed. Wylla gave Jon a questioning look. "Where did my polite little boy go hmm? I could've sworn Jon would never act in that manner."

Jon pouted as he stepped back. "Sorry muña, I was just really happy that father was back." Arthur stood and embraced the boy tenderly. "That's quite alright Jon. There's no need for formalities among family."

Jon grinned up at him. "How was your trip? Did you fight any Dothraki? Did you see any pirates? Oh, did you bring me anything?" Arthur ruffled the boy's midnight black hair. "Fortunately, nothing of the sort. We had a slight scuffle coming back but it wasn't the Dothraki or a band of pirates. And of course I did, but now that I'm here I'm not sure if I should give it to you. You haven't been as well behaved as I thought you would be."

Jon frowned as he thought of the incident in question. "I'm sorry father, I know I shouldn't fight with the cats. This one got inside though and I couldn't let it think that was allowed." Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "I understand son, truly if there were a stray inside I would have chased it out as well. But you are not me Jon. You are younger and more apt to injury or sickness. If you encounter a cat inside, I expect you to tell one of the servants and see that they remove it." Jon nodded in acquiescence.

Arthur smirked down at him. "And if you truly must defend your honor from a cat, wear thicker clothing and strike first." He gestured to Jon's lightly bandaged arm.

"Arthur!" Indigo eyes winked at Wylla as he hefted Jon from the ground. "I daresay you've gotten even bigger since I left son." Jon grinned as he stretched out his arms in response. Arthur laughed with a happy glint in his eyes. "Let's collect your gift shall we?"

---

Jon patiently waited off to the side as Arthur searched through a rucksack of jangling metals.

He hoped it was a sword. Or maybe a spear! Or even an axe! Jon desired a real weapon a great deal. If he had a real sword than that blasted stray wouldn't have had a chance.

A sword would be best though. Kepa was the best swordsman. Ever.

Even better than Maegor the cruel or the First Sword of Braavos or even the Sword of the Morning!

"Ah, here we go." Arthur said as his hand closed around a specific item out of Jon's sight.

Jon leaned forward on his feet and craned his neck to see the gift he was being given. Arthur stood and hid the item behind his back as he fixed Jon with a stern look.

"Heed my words son. This is not a toy. This is not a plaything you swing about wildly or use to play games with. This is a true weapon and it deserves the respect such a thing is owed. A trained man could injure and even kill another person with such a blade. Someone who is not ready or mature enough would surely harm themselves with it. I expect you to only draw this blade when you truly need it, Seven forbid you are ever attacked by men who wish you harm or if you wish to practice. If I ever catch you playing with this or threatening one of the other boys... You'll wish you had never received it."

Jon's excitement rose and then waned as he listened to his father. While Jon did like to play games, he knew that real life was not a game. He had seen men die before. A real blade in his hand did not make him a legendary knight or pirate. Just a boy with a dangerous weapon.

Jon nodded solemnly. "Yes Father, I understand."

Arthur smiled down at him. "Good, I trust your judgement."

With that, Arthur revealed a dagger of fine, well wrought steel and a dark stained leather handle. Jon took the knife carefully, running his fingers across the flat of the blade. It was around 2 span lengthwise and a quarter in width and the hilt was a tad large for him but he was sure he would grow into it.

It was heavier than he thought it would be.

"Here, keep it in this when it's not in use. I'll show you how to maintain it later, it should be around time for the evening meal now."

Jon nodded sheathing the dagger in the hard boiled leather of the sheath. "Don't worry Father, I'll be safe with it."

Arthur sighed with some indiscernible emotion. "Treat the dagger with care and it will keep you safe if I cannot." I only pray that day is not near.

---

Jon grinned as he strode confidently by his father through the brick streets of Pentos. Today was the day he was to start his training seriously. Father had told him that part of his gift was learning how to use a blade from the Captain-General of the Golden Company! That man was vaunted to be an epic fighter and a great strategist. Blackheart was his name because of his fearsome look and the way he sent lesser men fleeing from him like a demon was after them.

"Jon, stay close." Jon blinked, realizing that he was some distance from his father along the path. The streets of Pentos were notoriously narrow and always crowded from end to end. It was talked among the denizens of the city that the reason the Dothraki never conquered the city was in part because their steeds were too large for the streets. Truthfully, Jon knew that magisters kept the Dothraki sated with gifts of gold and servants but he also liked the thought of giant Dothraki horses trying to cram themselves through the roads.

"You'll never see me again, but Milady I must say- your beauty is of the sea."

Jon paused listening to the smooth tone of the singer. He looked to be a young man, perhaps of twenty years with a dyed beard as was common in Pentos and clothed in ragged wears.

Performing singers, artists and poets were not quite so rare in Pentos. In fact, it wouldn't be a lie to say such a thing was more common than not.

But there was something about this singer that piqued his interest. Whether it be his blinding white facial hair at odds with his age or his delicate singing voice, he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Jon!" Arthur spoke loudly, looking exasperated.

"Coming Kepa!" Jon squeezed through the crowd till he reached his father's side. He wondered why the singer seemed so sad.

---

"Don't stray Jon, focus yourself, you've been rather distracted today." Arthur said. Jon nodded, even as his eyes darted around the camp of the Golden Company. The mercenary organization was stationed a short distance from the walls of Pentos and the land it took up spanned a great deal of the width of said walls. His father had said in the past that only about a third of the Golden Company was stationed in Pentos and that was mostly the serjeants and knights. Yet their simple 'camp' took up a considerable amount of land. As far as Jon could see, tents of all colors cloaked the land while their occupants went about their own business.

"Don't look now, it's the cruel serjeant!" A man hissed rather unsubtly to his fellows as they passed "I thought he wasn't coming today..." One of them nearly whined as he sweat prodigiously in nervousness.

His father had quite the rather fearsome reputation among the company for being the strictest drill serjeant any of the men had ever had the displeasure to encounter. New recruits both admired him for his skill and abhorred him for his training methods.

"Ey, he's got Serjeant Smalls wit 'em!"

"Oh thank the Seven." A small voice spoke up in relief.

A much larger cacophony started up as the worried knights regained their confidence and started greeting them in turn.

"Hail, Serjeant Smalls!" Jon smiled as he waved at them as they passed. Jon was akin to a younger sibling to the men of the Golden Company. He had been spending time with them ever since he was a babe and they knew him well with a familiarity usually reserved for only their fellows.

"Ullwyck, my good man!" As always as Black Balaq approached, Jon's eyes were drawn to his attire. The Summer-Islander wore a cloak of interweaving green and orange feathers creating a beautiful blend of colors. Along each of his dark, well-muscled arms were bands of gold that gleamed in the sunlight. And of course his thick locks of dyed white hair created a stark disparity in appearance.

"Serjeant." Arthur said in acknowledgment even as an easy smile came across his face at the familiar man.

Balaq grinned at the man in good cheer and held out a hand. "Oh, I'll be having none of that, Ser. We are good friends you and I." Balaq's sing-song accent was strange and easy on the ears even as his appearance seemed almost daunting.

Arthur clasped the offered hand. "Of course Balaq, but that goes both ways friend."

Balaq laughed, sounding very much like a bleating goat. "And how are you today, Serjeant Smalls? Have you come to help me run our new archers through their paces?"

Jon grinned warmly up at the man. "Hello Balaq, I'm doing well. We're going to the Captain-General's tent."

Balaq raised a hairless eyebrow. "The Captain-General's tent? How is that?" Arthur ruffled Jon's hair affectionately. "Well, this one's eighth nameday was just a few days past and he received a fine steel dagger. I had mentioned the idea of the gift in the past to the Captain-General and he insisted that he be the one to teach Jon how to use it."

"Ha!" Balaq laughed uproariously. "Now that sounds like something our good captain would do. Come, I will take you to him; he's moved his tent again." Arthur snorted as they followed the tall man through the camp. "Again?"

Balaq shook his head. "I swear upon my mistresses' teats that one went mad a long time ago. He said some droll words about the sun not quite catching the skulls at the right angle but I swear he did it just to give the men another task to do."

Arthur sniffed. "He's a brilliant man, I'm sure he had his reasons." Balaq waved his hand. "You say it like being mad is such a bad thing." He turned his head to give Arthur a crooked grin full of golden teeth. "In our business, madness is a valuable commodity."

As they approached the Captain-General's tent, Jon felt a shiver of something between excitement and anxiety rush up his spine at the dwelling's appearance. The cloth-of-gold shone radiantly in the sun and the ring of pikes planted in the ground around it gave off an air of significance and dread. The gold-dipped skulls demonstrated that wonderfully. All three of them stood at an equidistant ring around the tent. Aegor Rivers, Bittersteel. Daemon Blackfyre, the Victim. And Maelys I Blackfyre, the Monstrous.

Almost as if to prove his words, Maelys' large skull was stringed along with a smaller misshapen skull that looked to be screaming in eternal agony.

Jon wasn't sure he liked this particular tradition of the Golden Company.

Yet the boy regained his determination as Balaq said his farewells and followed his father into the tent.

"Uēpa vala? What are you doing here?" Jon asked in confusion as they came to a stop inside the tent. Sure enough, sitting at the table, reading a tome without a care in the midst of all the famed golden treasures of the Golden Company was Myles Toyne. Jon's strange and quite ugly grandfather figure summarily ignored him as he stood to greet Arthur.

"Ullwyck, there you are. The greenboys are raring to go I'm sure. They're ready to enter your tender care whenever you deem fit." A sadistic smirk flashed across the older man's face before it was replaced by a genial smile.

Jon blinked.

"And Jon, I'm glad you took me up on my offer." Myles winked down at him as if they shared a secret. "Wha- You're the Captain-General? How is that possible?" Jon asked in confusion and trepidation.

The grizzled warrior chuckled at Jon. "Since that kinslaying bastard Maelys got himself killed. That's when. What? Don't give me that look, I gave you plenty of hints. I told you that the Captain-General was a seasoned veteran with fearsome looks that earned him the name 'Blackheart'."

Jon shook his head. "That's stupid. You're just ugly, not evil." Arthur covered his laughter with a cough.

Myles glared down at Jon. "Alright then, that'll be enough of that brat. We'll see if you still think that when I put you through your paces." Myles put a gloved hand on Jon's shoulder, steering him along.

"You go ahead and work your victims into the dirt while I teach the boy how to kill someone." He called over his shoulder, stepping out of the tent.

As Myles lead him over to a lone target sack, Jon's mind caught up with his words. "Wait, what? I don't want to kill anyone, I want to learn how to use my dagger." His almost whining tone caused Myles' face to stiffen.

"Don't play that with me boy. You're not stupid and I'm too old for your shit." Jon seemed to sigh as his fingers wrapped around the sheathed dagger. "I'm sorry. It is true though. I'd rather not kill anyone."

Myles shook his head. "Look Jon," His tone softened. "War, glory, knights, all of that is dressed up horseshit. It all centers around killing. And killing is a nasty business. There's no shame in not desiring to take a life." Myles' deep set eyes pinned Jon on the spot. "But there is shame in not being willing to do what it takes to protect yourself and your family. You need to decide that you're willing to kill, to stain yourself in another person's blood so that those close to you can keep their lives."

Jon took in a slow breath. "I understand. I think-no I can do it." Jon's chin jutted out in determination. Myles smirked darkly. "You never know until the time is at hand but that is a start. Now stab me."

"Huh?"

In an instant Myles' hand mimed drawing an imaginary blade of his own and 'stabbed' Jon in the chest, resulting in a blunt impact that made the boy wheel back and gasp. Jon's eyes narrowed in bewilderment and anger. "What was that for?"

Myles cuffed him over the head without a word and Jon growled as he clenched his hand around the handle of his dagger. "What are you doing?!" Myles huffed at him. "You're already dead boy and we just started our lesson." Jon blinked at him.

The older man crossed the distance between them in an instant. "The first thing you need to pound into your thick skull is that death is quick." He poked at Jon's chest rigidly. "Faster than anything." Another poke. "Can come at any moment." Jon tried to slap away Myles' hand only to step back again as another jab came at his head. "And cannot be avoided."

Jon's breaths came in fast as a strange feeling welled up in his head. "Valar morghulis." He recited. Myles came at him as an unstoppable wall of steel in his decorated armor. Jon's blood boiled as Myles' motion was arrested and searing cold steel kissed the side of his neck. Myles' gravely voice came from beside his ear. "Valar dohaeris. Do you feel that Jon? That whisper in the back of your skull that's saying, screaming at you to either run as far as you can or to strike me with all of your might?"

Jon did feel it. His limbs had come alive with a quality that he had never before felt. Its reach was numbing and all-encompassing even as he twitched in its grasp.

"That's what keeps you alive Jon. When a man seeks to take your head, that's what drives you to fend off death and take his own in return. When death comes for you Jon, do you know what you say?"

Jon shook his head carefully, heedful of the near foot of steel nestled at his neck. "When death comes for you and your loved ones there is only one response."

Myles stepped back, allowing Jon to take in shaky breaths even as the hardened man's eyes blazed with an unseen fervor. "Not today."

---

Arthur thumbed the hilt of his sword as he strode back towards the Captain-General's tent. Myles seemed oddly intent on showing Jon on how to use his dagger. While the man was quite friendly towards Jon, it struck him oddly that the captain-general would take the time to do such a task. Jon was a kind boy, Arthur wasn't sure that he was ready to wield steel with the kind of ill intent a warrior should possess. Then again, maybe that was a nonsensical thought. His father was a deadly warrior and his mother wasn't a soft maid either. Arthur had seen glimpses of both of them through the years. Rhaegar's talent for singing and forethought. Lyanna's adventurous nature and her love of horses. If Jon inherited either of their dispositions towards warfare, Arthur shouldn't have reason to worry.

"Again! Eyes on your opponent, not your blade. He's not going to wait for you to aim for his heart. That's not a blade you hold in your hand, that's death itself! Wield it with speed and precision. Do I need to show you how to unsheathe it again?"

Arthur wasn't sure exactly what he expected out of Jon out of a few hours of practice but it certainly wasn't this.

Jon stood before a practice target positively soaked in sweat and grime. The boy he had left only a few hours before unsheathed his dagger and in one motion stabbed in a short vicious jerk before fluidly switching his grip and slicing across his victim's neck. Without a pause he stepped back and sheathed the steel at his waist before beginning again.

Arthur stood in an empty-headed daze as Jon diced through the target in a handful of different vectors, practicing them until they reached Myles' standards.

"Keep at it boy. Maybe in a year I'll trust you to draw that blade without gouging your own eye out." Myles came over to Arthur and stood beside the man, the two of them watching Jon.

"Ullwyck, done with the fresh meat already?" Arthur nodded numbly. "Yeah." He shook his head through his stupor. "I mean yes, they performed as expected and I let them have an early day. Myles, how is he practicing with the target like this already? I expected the two of you to practice with him drawing the blade and maybe some forms if he got too distracted. I've never seen him so focused and, and-"

"Ferocious? Serious? Aye, he's shown himself to be talented beyond what I initially imagined." Myles nodded, scratching at his broad chin. "I asked him about it and apparently he's been watching you practice at home."

Arthur worked his jaw up and down in contemplation. "He learned this from me?" Jon stabbed the dagger down to the hilt into the straw bag. Myles snorted. "Don't give yourself too much credit, he's learned a fair share from me today as well. But, well Arthur I have to say you've been underestimating him by a large amount."

Arthur fixed Myles with an aggrieved look. "What? Underestimating him? Myles-" The man held a hand up. "Don't work yourself up about it, it's easy enough to do so on account of his age and nature. But before I explain more, what made you give him the blade in the first place if you didn't think he could handle it?"

The Sword of the Morning frowned. "I- There's a difference between giving him a blade and showing him how to kill a man. I didn't even expect him to use it until he was older. Why, I myself received my first dagger at that age and I hardly unsheathed it except to clean it. I didn't learn this until I was much older."

Myles nodded. "Therein lies your problem Ullwyck. Look at it like this, would you give Jon say a harp or a flute and expect him not to use it? Not to practice with it, to find out how it works, what sounds it makes and how he needs to play it so he can perform when it's requested of him?"

Arthur sagged. "No, I wouldn't."

Myles put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "This isn't inherently a bad thing Ullwyck. What I was getting at before is that Jon is a smart boy. Wise beyond his years by far. He understands how the world works better than most and knows that it is a dangerous and pitiless place. He likes to hides it, to pretend to just be a rambunctious boy who likes reading and mimicking knights and lords. But more than just being smart, your boy is capable and knows it. If he thinks that he might need it, Jon will take it. I wouldn't doubt that he's gone far above just his letters and started learning history and tactics and even other languages beyond the phrases of High Valyrian you've taught him. He has a will and determination to be more capable than any man because he understands that's what breeds success and safety for those he loves. You ask how it is he's learned how to wield a dagger like this from just watching you? I'm sure he's been analyzing how you fight since he could walk. If I gave him a sword I wouldn't be surprised if he could run through your practice exercises just from memory."

Arthur sighed as he watched Jon attack the target with a growl before stepping back as the abused target tore and fell to the ground. "I suppose I have been." Once again, Arthur had underestimated the lengths a Targaryen would go to for what they considered important. "Jon, it's time for us to depart, say goodbye and thank the Captain-General for his tutelage." Arthur called out as he said his own goodbyes to Myles, the old man showing a bit of concern as he squeezed Arthur's shoulder.

He had some matters to think on.

---

Jon ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair as he followed dutifully behind his father. His oddly silent father. As far as Jon knew, he hadn't done anything wrong. Was he mad that Jon broke the training target? That was his fault but he doubted it. The Golden Company must have had tons of those. Besides, what was he supposed to do? Stab the bag without tearing it? That would have gone against what Myles taught him. And more than that, the bag was oddly infuriating to him. It just hung there as Jon labored and sweat without pause as if his struggling was for naught.

"Jon." The boy turned to look up at his father. Arthur looked to be struggling for words for once. It was a strange sight as he had never seen his father act without confidence. "Have I underestimated you?"

Jon tilted his head, not understanding. "Huh?"

Arthur shook his head. "What I mean to say is.. how are your studies going?" Jon was nonplussed by the question but answered nonetheless. "They're going well, Muña has been teaching me about the War of the Ninepenny Kings."

"And what have you learned about by yourself?"

Jon blinked. He supposed that could be important. He had never shared what he learned by himself before. "A lot of things." Jon found himself saying as he thought. "I studied an atlas of Essos last moon but recently I've been studying the history of the Rhoynar. Did you know that they were the second biggest threat the Valyrian Freehold faced behind the Old Empire of Ghis?"

Arthur shook his head with a tired grin. "I did not. I confess to not learning my history as well as you have. What about languages? Have you studied any of those by yourself?" Jon grinned caught up in academic pride. "I have actually. It might be important one day so I decided to learn more of them. Umm Mother taught me Westerosi and Low Valyrian in the Pentoshi dialect obviously but I've learned the Braavosi, Norvosi and Myrish dialects on my own. I know a lot of High Valyrian but not all of it because we don't have a lot of books in that. I know some Dothraki too because I thought it would be fun." Arthur's eyebrows climbed as Jon spoke. He himself knew Westerosi, Pentoshi Low Valyrian and a smattering of High Valyrian from his days serving the royal family. If he really tried he supposed he could identify some Dothraki or Braavosi but that was it.

Arthur looked at Jon, an indecipherable look in his eyes. "Is there some reason you've been learning so much Jon? Do you think Wylla and I can't provide for you? You should be having fun when you're this young."

Jon shook his head. "It's not like that Kepa. I love you and Muna. I want to be able to keep you safe and protect you when I get older. If I've learned anything from history it's that people die when they don't know things. I know it's not that simple but it is important. And don't worry about me not having fun. I actually really like learning about new languages and the histories of other peoples."

Arthur's worn heart warmed at Jon's words. He felt much better now that he had spoken with Jon about this. "That's good son. Why don't you run along home, Wylla wanted me to run some errands before we returned."

Jon looked at Arthur in curiosity. "Are you sure? You've never let me travel by myself in the city before." Arthur nodded. "I'm sure you have enough sense to stay out of trouble." Jon grinned up at him. "Thank you father, I'll see you when you get home." Jon dashed off, disappearing into the ever clogged streets of Pentos.

"You as well son."

---

Jon smiled in satisfaction as he cracked open the newest volume of his collection. It continued off from where the last book ended, chronicling the events of the Rhoynar Spice Wars. The Valyrian Freehold was a fascinating subject of history in its rise and fall but everyone knew that practically all of the Valyrians were dead. Their blood was ever dwindling and there didn't seem to be any hope of reviving that. The Rhoynish on the other hand interested him more at the moment if only because their people and remnants of their culture were alive to this day in the kingdom of Dorne.

"Master Jon, would you like a cup of tea?" Huh? That was strange, mother didn't like the servants giving him tea because of all the sugar involved, but who was he to not take advantage?

"Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea, thank you." Jon said to the servant who seemed oddly unfamiliar. Maybe his parents had hired new servants and didn't tell him. As the servant walked closer Jon watched him out of the corner of his eye in veiled curiosity.

It was strange. The man possessed a hardness to his features and eyes that Jon had only seen in warriors and his lack of hair only served to exaggerate his out of place appearance. The men of Pentos were known for dying and decorating their hair in many ways, only a non-native would think to shave their hair.

In the end, despite watching the servant closely, it was luck that saved him. The manservant dropped the tray he was carrying and Jon without a blink leaned out to grab it, lowering himself close to the ground. In doing this, his eyes followed the dull pewter of the tray and didn't catch the gleam of a knife in the hand of the servant that was most definitely not from the kitchens.

The servant's arm lashed out and instead of the knife slicing through Jon's neck it only struck across his cheek. Jon cried out in pain and jerked away with the tray still in his grasp distantly feeling a thud at the end of it as he backpedaled and fell over his chair.

The hot penetrating pain fogged his senses and Jon thrashed on the floor hitting several somethings. The strange servant- no not a servant, a killer? Assassin? He had only read about these things, he didn't know! The man with the sharp blade seemed to growl as he got to his feet. "Just stay still boy, there's no need to drag this out." The words the assassin spoke were harsh and self-assured as if the man knew exactly the pain he faced.

Ah, there it was. The sensation Myles had spoken about-what was it? That's what keeps you alive.

The pain was washed away as Jon's blood churned in his veins. His own dagger was still sheathed at his waist. The assassin, in a moment of utter confidence or stupidity-Jon didn't give one whit, turned his back on the boy to pick the chair up and set it down on its legs.

Not today.

In a single fluid motion, Jon's blade streaked from his sheath and across the calves of the assassin. Blood sprayed across Jon's face. "Agh!" The killer yelled out as he fell to his knees. Jon skittered to his feet, holding his blade out threateningly. "Stay back!" The assassin laughed thickly. "You should've finished me off boy." Impossibly, the man got to his feet even as blood streamed from his legs into his sandals.

Jon froze as the man lunged at him with his own naked blade. He didn't want to be a killer.

"JON!"

Jon's vision was filled with the image of his mother placing herself between him and the assassin.

There was an odd sound, almost like that of a meat being punctured as everything just stopped. Jon's body went numb as his mother turned her head towards him.

Run.

Jon felt his body slip from his control as he mindlessly fled.

---

Arthur's grip on Jon's nameday sweets slipped as he beheld the open door of their home. Arthur could have explained to himself that the very sight of the open door was wrong as the servants or Wylla would have closed it but the truth was his gut was screaming at him fiercely in a way it hadn't since the rebellion. While playing at sellsword helped keep his fighting skill from growing rust his keen instincts and intuition had lain dormant until now. Something akin to panic buzzed in his mind even as he clamped down on it and drew his short sword with his dominant hand. There wasn't enough space to swing his longsword in the halls and rooms of their villa. Indoor combat was hell even with a suitable weapon. For every room or corridor there could be several hostiles with unknown weapons and possibly even hostages. Thankfully he knew the layout of their home well and wouldn't have to spend time acclimating to any unfamiliarity. He would proceed with care and check every room and hall with its due diligence despite his thoughts of running straight away into the building yelling the names of his family.

Speed and caution was key in times like these.

The first hall and accompanying rooms were empty and clean of any kind of commotion. Yet the house was silent and no servants walked about the estate.

He soon found why.

A young woman of perhaps ten and six lay brokenly over a table in the kitchens, her throat slit and eyes wide with alarm. He examined the room with a clinical sense of detachment finding no sign of an altercation besides the servant's body. He wondered at how easy it was to dismiss the death of that innocent. It seemed that fatherhood had not softened his hard heart.

Arthur drew his dagger alongside his sword as he left the room. While wielding two weapons at the same time was the height of idiocy on the battlefield when facing a wall of men in steel armor, in this land he encountered more men wearing leathers and mail than he did those with armor. He supposed that there might only be a limited amount of such armor to go around. In Westeros, full plate armor went hand in hand with a certain standing in society and your position in a lord's household or guard. Here, a magister might gift a set to a favored bodyguard or a prince to his best fighting soldiers but there was a distinct lack of order to such things. In truth, his chosen weapons would more than prove their usefulness in the close quarters of indoors.

Arthur's gaze darted to another servant's corpse as he traversed the halls.

His pace sped up as he encountered one by one the whole number of their household. Seven hells, why did he leave Jon alone? He should've known something was bound to happen sooner or later.

Arthur slowed as he heard the sound of movement from the library. The sight he saw made his teeth grind in rage. Wylla slumped on the ground, a spreading pool of blood soaking the stone floor. And an unfamiliar man hobbling away and using a chair to stand as his own injuries hampered him. He was dressed as a servant yet he had a blade of his own stained with blood that Arthur was certain belonged to Wylla.

Arthur was a blur of motion as he moved towards the assailant. His dagger was sheathed. His sword gripped with both hands. And two strokes of his blade with expert precision literally disarmed the man. A third scraped against the man's throat as Arthur held him up by his clothes. The unknown man screamed in agony as the stumps of his arms bled freely and messily upon the floor. The guttural sound of the man's pain only caused Arthur to grip him tighter.

As the man seemed to regain his senses, Arthur nicked his neck lightly, reminding him that he had much more to lose. "Who sent you?" Arthur's voice was a deadened whisper of grim rage. He had failed to prevent this. Now he could only act to name the perpetrator and act against him to regain the safety that was so easily lost today. The assassin's eyes glazed over as he fought to retain consciousness. "F-Fuck you-" A simple slide of his sword and the man would speak no more as his face fell flat on the floor. He had to admit that he had been too hasty in his dealing with the assassin. Losing his hands would have been a death sentence of its own, only serving to fuel the desire to spite him.

It seemed that the years of purposeless living had dulled his more subtle learnings.

Arthur turned to Wylla. He had seen the amount of blood that lay on the ground. Arthur would be dead himself twice over if he had lost that amount of blood and he was a good deal larger than Wylla. Yet that didn't make things easier as he lowered himself to his knees to turn over the corpse of the woman he had lived closely with all these years. "Oh, Wylla." His traitorous heart gave a painful squeeze as it finally seemed to come to life. Wylla had been stabbed in her lower extremities and the blade had been sloppily carved upwards, opening her body in a violent manner that enraged Arthur. She would have suffered before death came for her. "I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve any of this." Arthur closed the woman's eyes. He retrieved a cloak to cover her body in solemn silence as he prayed for her soul. When Arthur had come to this land with Wylla and the babe he had given up so much to be a new man. That man had failed so much this day. If the Father would judge him for his inadequacies then so be it. He would continue on as he always had in the face of impending failure, head raised, determined and unflinching at inevitable loss.

The Kingsguard rose.

His thoughts stalked around one particular idea. There was only one person who would have had the chance to figure out exactly who Jon was.

---

Myles looked up with confusion as Ullwyck entered his tent without announcing his presence. "Ullwyck? What are you-"

The Captain-General was cut off as the man glared at him with steely eyes, one indigo and one verdant. "You will answer my questions truthfully if you wish to leave this tent alive."

Myles nodded warily as he kept an eye on the naked blade leveled at his head.

Arthur scowled down at him. "Did you send a killer after Jon?" Myles blinked. "What?"

"Answer me." Arthur barked coldly as he took a step closer.

Myles shook his head vehemently. "No, of course not, that boy is like my own grandson." Arthur scoffed. "Spare me your sentiment. Convince me." Myles felt sweat bead along his forehead even as he grit his teeth in frustration.

"He's our last chance." Arthur raised a brow at the older man.

Myles wet his lips nervously. "That boy is the Golden Company's last chance to become something great, to do something great. If you haven't noticed, we're fresh out of Blackfyres. It will take less than a generation for the company to fall apart and become just like any other mercenary organization. Already some of our younger warriors are thrashing at the bit waiting for their chance to do something more than escort rich magisters or settle their petty arguments. So forgive me if I see promise, hope even, in the young Targaryen you shield."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "You know."

Myles shrugged. "Your eyes are their true color now." Arthur lifted his sword to peer into its reflection and Myles reacted in that window of time. In an instant the two of them were aimed to kill the other, Arthur with his shortsword and Myles with the loaded crossbow he had lifted from below his desk.

Myles glared at him. "Settle down boy. I am not the perpetrator of this. If I was, would I even have allowed you to take a step in this camp?" Arthur's nose flared with frustration. "Prove it." Myles frowned at the order before setting the crossbow down and kicking it across the tent.

Arthur sheathed his sword reluctantly and sat with a pained expression. If Myles was not his man then who was? Silence took the tent.

"Paranoid old man." He finally said in an effort to start the conversation without the previous tension.

Myles smirked. "Experienced, not paranoid. How did you manage the eyes?"

"You don't really believe that all the whores at Jessa's have Valyrian eyes."

Myles huffed. "Don't belittle me. I'm old not addled in the head." He looked tentatively up at Arthur. "When I encountered a young man with unmatched discipline and skill with a blade and a woman with a babe less than a year old, I thought that I had finally received my just fortune. When I heard that the famous Kingsguard Arthur Dayne had absconded with the newborn Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, I thought a bit more."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" Arthur asked curiously as the tension bled out of the room. Now that the weapons had been put down and his heart had stopped pounding in his ears it felt easier to think clearly.

Myles shrugged. "I was going to. Preferably after Jon signed up with the Golden Company or when you told him." Arthur opened his mouth to argue but was cut off. "Please Arthur, you can't honestly tell me that you thought the boy was going to stay at home all his life and read books all day."

While hearing his birth name from Myles was strange, Arthur cringed at the topic. "Well, I had thought of giving him the option of returning to Westeros once he found out."

"Even if it meant your head?" Myles questioned. Arthur shrugged.

"Oh you fucking fool, you weren't going to tell him that part were you?" Arthur winced. "I swear Arthur, in the event that you do tell him I expect that he will wish to meet the rest of his family. But not if it means your life in return. Words are as wind, you are his father in all that matters." Myles sighed. "But now that we've dithered around long enough, what's happened?"

Arthur clenched a fist. "I sent Jon ahead on the path back to our abode. I intended to gift him with some sweets. Something to remind him to enjoy his time as a child." The words tasted bitter in his mouth. "When I returned, all of our household servants were dead and Wylla lay bleeding out on the floor. The man who had done it was still there, hindered by some wounds that I imagine Jon gifted him with. I questioned the assassin but he refused to tell tale of his employer. As much as I could tell, Jon ran from the man after the initial encounter. I believe that he saw Wylla's demise and the boy simply ran."

Myles grimaced. "I'm sorry." Arthur shook his head. "Don't be. I'll be sure to make the man responsible pay." Myles stood. "I'll muster Balaq and his boys, there's nothing with legs that man can't track. And I'm sure that Jon will be fine. He's resourceful, once he gets his head on straight I wouldn't be surprised if he found his own way home."

Arthur frowned, implacable. "And the perpetrator?" Myles scowled. "I believe I have the man in mind." Arthur stood at his side, fists clenched. "Who?"

"Illyrio Mopatis."

---

Jon came to in a dark alley between two towering brick buildings, his head pounding and his mouth dry and fuzzy. Even as he hugged his knees and eyed the bloody dagger lying on the ground across from him, he could only see that assassin's blade ending Wylla's life.

She told him to run.

And he did.

Past the bone deep sorrow of losing his mother Jon was frustrated with himself and far, far angrier than he had ever been. If he had just killed the man as he knelt then everything would have been fine. He could have been home crying away his hurt instead of in some alley he had never been in before contemplating picking up that blade and going back to finish the job.

Because he could. Jon had never been more sure of anything in his life. If that monster was in front of him Jon would have eagerly driven his dagger into his throat. He knew it wouldn't bring Wylla back, gods he knew. But damn him to the Seven hells if he didn't want to anyways.

Jon breathed out slowly as he picked up his dagger and wiped it off his breeches before sheathing it. He wasn't sure where he was at the moment. While Jon could navigate a fair portion of Pentos unaided, that was during the day. At night most of the streets and paths blended into each other and his only landmarks were the walls and the sea breeze that came in from the port. He stood and wiped his face off messily, scraping off some of the dried blood. His cheek had stopped bleeding, he was pretty sure that meant that it wasn't a deep cut. If he regained his bearings, perhaps he could find his way home and find father. Would he blame Jon? Surely not, but Jon had read that grief could turn men mad. He wasn't sure what he would do if he lost both parents in one day.

"You slut! I should've never purchased you!" Jon turned towards the sound of a young girl screaming. The sound broke through the quiet of the night and set his nerves aflame. Jon walked quietly on instinct down the alley until the other occupants were in view.

An older, balding man with copious amounts of gold around his neck and his arms had his fat hands wrapped around the neck of a young girl struggling on the ground that seemed to be a few years older than Jon. "Just die you worthless bitch!"

Jon eyed the vacant, empty door that they had emerged from and slid his dagger from his sheath. The man was seemed to be either a merchant of some great wealth or a magister of low standing. He would have guards in his tower, most likely not that far behind. He would have to run again.

Jon had seen the corpses of servants beaten to death by their masters in the streets before. He had heard of how oppressive people were to those less fortunate than them in this city. Yet he had accepted it, if not despised the practice. He had said to himself that it wasn't any of his business or that there was nothing he could do.

But now? Here?

Now, he knew what it felt like to lose someone. Wylla may not have been his true mother but she was just as good. He knew that this girl's mother would feel a loss comparable to his if she died. And here Jon was, in a position to do something about it.

Jon chose speed over stealth as his small form bounded towards the man crushing the girl into the ground. At the sound of his approach the man turned his head as Jon struck, remembering Myles lessons.

As quick as death itself.

Jon wrenched the dagger out of the man's neck brutally even as he panted and rolled his body off of the girl. Once again he wiped the blood off his dagger and sheathed it. The girl lay motionless on the ground. If not for her gaze and deep breathing he might have suspected her dead.

"Who are you?" The girl spoke in Westerosi. Curiously, her tone was even and almost serene as she spoke as if he hadn't just killed her would be murderer.

"My name is Jon." He replied in the 'Common' tongue as he helped her up. She leaned in close to him as disbelief entered her eyes. "You speak Westerosi?" Jon shook his head, eyeing the doorway.

"We don't have time for this, his guards will be close. Do you have any family you can go to?" Jon asked as he looked her over with a cursory gaze. The girl looked to be ten and two, maybe ten and three years of age and her deathly pale skin and golden blonde hair was indicative of foreign descent.

She shook her head absentmindedly as she continued to stare into his eyes. "No, my mother was raped to death by that man." Her voice seemed to evoke a distant quality as she pointed at the corpse on the ground.

Jon clicked his tongue. Sympathy and annoyance bled into determination as he heard the echoing noise of booted feet from inside the tower. "Come with me. My moth-My father wouldn't mind providing for you if I ask him." His tongue slipped and he frowned. Despite his blunt nature and the circumstances the girl seemed almost delighted.

Her prim features lightened as she smiled happily and she took his hand. "Okay."

And with that, they ran. Hand in hand Jon lead the girl through the alley and onto a main street. "Where are we?" He asked as they strode quickly down the road. The walls were quite close but he couldn't tell if they were near the southern or northern part of Pentos and the lack of sea scent in the air just proved they were somewhere along the eastern side of the city. The girl shrugged, seeming almost apathetic to their situation. "I don't know. Maybe near the southern entrance to the city?" She said as she let herself be tugged along. Jon scowled. That was far from the northern district. At least two hours on foot. Jon wasn't sure if he could stay on his feet for another couple more streets.

Jon had exerted himself physically several times that day. Far more than he had ever needed to before. To his surprise, he felt immense frustration from this thought. He shelved that feeling as he thought of the present. "Is there a Lysene pillow house nearby?" He asked abruptly.

The girl slowly furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you need that for?" Jon squeezed her hand. "Just tell me, please." She was silent for a moment.

"I think there's one a few streets that way. I'm not quite sure though, master only brought me there once."

Jon nodded and they left in that direction. "Lysene pillow houses tend to have gardens attached to them. Gardens that they only tend to during the day. I can sleep there undisturbed until morning at least. After that, we can go back to my father's estate in the northern district."

She nodded absently at his words as they approached the iron fence of the garden. With ample squeezing and pushing they managed to fit in through the bars of the fence. Jon sighed as he immediately spied a bush that looked to have soft ground underneath it. He didn't think that the dirt could ever look that soft. The girl sat beside him as he laid down and tried to relax.

"Why do they have gardens?" She asked, looking around in dreamy wonder at all of the greenery and vibrant flowers in the moonlight.

"For their poisons."

"Oh."

Jon sighed as he reflected on how short he was being. "I'm sorry for being so rude, what's your name?" The strange but pretty girl lay beside him, blinking unfocused amber eyes at him. "My name is Lucy, Jon. And you haven't been rude at all." She smiled widely. "You're the kindest person I've ever met."

Jon's eyelids grew heavy. "Then you haven't met a lot of people." His breath evened out as he drifted off into much needed sleep.

"You'd be surprised."

---

Arthur thumbed at the hilt of Dawn, feeling both invigorated and determined as he wielded the legendary blade once more. Myles had followed through on his words and tasked Balaq and his trackers to find Jon within the city. In addition to that, Myles had mustered the older serjeants of the Golden Company and informed them of the situation. To Arthur's surprise, they were all both familiar and fond of Jon. Enough so that Myles barely had to convince them to help bring death to Illyrio. Their cover story, if any of the other magisters took offence, was going to be that Illyrio had cheated them on a deal. That was more than enough incentive for them to take Illyrio's manse for their own. There was precedent for such a thing of course, any Qohori could attest to that.

Myles plan to take the manse was simple. Lysono Maar, the Golden Company's Lysene spymaster, apparently had enough information on the property to make such a thing possible. There were two public entrances into the manse, the main gatehouse and the postern gate by the kennels. Lysono had revealed a third entrance by the gardens that was unguarded but secured by a thick iron chain. Myles would enter conspicuously through the main gate by demanding an audience with Illyrio. Lorimas Mudd, a fierce serjeant known for his skill at axe-throwing, would take a small contingent through the postern gate killing any guards they came across without raising too much of a fuss. At the same time, Arthur and Lysono himself would take the garden entrance. Arthur would make quick work of the chain using Dawn and find his way to the dining hall to confront Illyrio with Myles. Lysono's task was to gather all of the non-combatants he could find and sequester them somewhere out of the way.

"We're ready when you are Ullwyck." That was yet another matter that weighed on the man's head. Arthur had decided that until that dreaded day he would tell Jon of his heritage that the Golden Company would stay in the dark until he was ready.

Arthur nodded, donning his helmet, his once again green eyes shadowed in the darkness of the evening. He turned to the men, ten and one of them including himself and Lysono. "Beneath the gold." He chanted lowly.

The men all eyed him fiercely and straightened with discipline. "Lay the bitter steel." Arthur gave them a once over before stalking over to the gate. Lysono joined him shooting him a wry smirk. "If I'm correct, this is our first time working together Ullwyck. I've heard good things about you." Arthur grunted as he swept aside the vines disguising the gate and its chains. "Ah, I can admire a stoic man at work friend. But I do have to ask, how do you plan to break through this gate? While I have no doubt you are a strong man, breaking through chains such as these should take more than the time we've been given."

Arthur replied by drawing his blade.

Dawn's visage was as ethereal as it was daunting. Six feet of a gleaming milkwhite metal forged from the core of a fallen star and blessed by the High Septon of the Starry Sept in Oldtown. Its fame eclipsed that of any Valyrian blade and its metal rivaled the strongest of those weapons. In Arthur's eyes it was the strongest and most beautiful blade anyone would ever lay eyes on.

A gasp sounded from beside him and Arthur frowned. It was also one of the most recognizable blades. "That's-"

Arthur growled and Dawn flew along the arc of his swing, cleaving through the chains and lock of the iron gate as if it were simple clay. "Stay your tongue spymaster. Lest you lose it." He eyed Lysono steely.

The Lysene sellsword seemed to regain his composure and winked at Arthur before turning back to the men. "It seems the gods are looking down on us this day friends. These chains are older and rustier than even Brendel and his battleaxe!"

The men guffawed quietly as they looked at Brendel Byrne, an old, graying serjeant with a battleaxe that looked nastier than any other weapon Arthur had seen. The veteran scowled at the other men. "Alright that's enough jabberwockin' let's take this whoreson's life and gold for all that it's worth!"

Arthur scoffed as the men stampeded through the garden entrance and into the manse proper. It seemed that age had not bred prudence or caution into these men.

"I must say it's an honor to meet you Arthur Dayne. I never even imagined you were still alive, though I suppose that was the point. And I imagine this means that the boy- ah I see how it is." Lysono smiled congenially at the Kingsguard.

Arthur frowned at him. "You will keep this to yourself." His hand clenched around Dawn. Damn this man. Eight years without an incident and suddenly all of his luck has turned on its head.

"Don't worry your pretty head about it Arthur. I swear on all of your gods and mine and all of my gold and even my cock that I won't tell a soul." He said mock-solemnly as he smirked. "Besides, I don't think this is the time for this, I have a job to do, you should be getting to yours." He winked again and sped off, disappearing into the shadows of the garden.

Arthur growled and took off after him.

By the time Arthur reached the inside of the manse, his contingent of warriors were already dispatching the last of a group of guards. The Unsullied that Illyrio had hired for his manse seemed less than what Arthur imagined of the storied unfeeling and disciplined warriors.

Arthur looked to the three halls that lead throughout the manse. "Damn it, Lysono, which way?" The Lysene seemed to appear at his side with nary a sound even as Brendel lead men towards the leftmost hall. Lysono wiped a dripping dagger off his cloak before pointing straight. "Just keep on that way until you hear the music and see the great wooden doors." Arthur grunted in thanks and strode down the hall, Dawn at the ready.

"And don't get lost!"

Arthur's scowl deepened.

It wasn't long before he encountered the first patrol of guards, two plump looking Unsullied with shortswords instead of the spears of their armies. Their reaction speed was admirable, but not nearly fast enough to stop Arthur.

His first stroke split one man's throat in twain, his head ripping back as it barely hung from the body. The second man drew his shortsword and attacked frantically letting Arthur easily sidestep the swings. A thrust with the superior reach of Dawn and the man's head was impaled through his mouth. Arthur kicked the body with an armored boot forcing it off the blade sloppily. If the rest of the guard matched these two in skill perhaps this would be over sooner than he first thought.

His advance was halted by a set of wooden doors guarded by another set of Unsullied. These ones held spears.

As the point of one spear was thrust at him Arthur dodged it nimbly even as he grasped the haft. With a tug of his arm the first Unsullied's spine was severed with a precise thrust of Dawn. The second Unsullied thrust at him in that moment and Arthur smacked aside the attack with the butt of the spear held in his left hand.

Arthur let go of the spear and with both hands on Dawn swung it around at the guard. The guard backpedaled as the corpse of the first man flopped towards him. Arthur wheeled around with Dawn held up and with a guttural growl nearly bifurcated the man from shoulder to waist.

"Ha.." Arthur breathed slowly as he strode closer to the doors leading to the dining hall. With any luck, Myles had been able to keep Illyrio occupied. "Hup!" Arthur grunted as he kicked the doors open and the music petered out.

It seemed as if no warning of their attack had been passed along. Illyrio Mopatis, the fat slug he was, sat at the head of the table opposite of Arthur at the doors while Myles sat beside him animatedly talking while partaking of a plate of seasoned meat. The room was oddly free of guards and besides the three of them there was only a lone musician sitting at the back of the room, a lyre in her hands.

"-And you can imagine how I would feel, once I heard that Jaehaerys Targaryen, my grandson in all but name is attacked but a few days after you come to me with your offer? Well, I'm sure however incensed I feel, his father would feel much more inclined to demonstrate that rage." Myles finished as he motioned to Arthur with a steak knife. "Arthur Dayne might have been an honorable member of the Kingsguard but right now? He's just a very wrathful father."

Illyrio stood abruptly, his obscenely styled beard swinging over his gut. "Guards! Dispose of these men, now!"

Myles struck, violence threading every motion of his aged body as the steak knife in his grasp pinned Illyrio's hand to the table. "Sit. Down." He growled venomously as Arthur approached.

Arthur looked over Illyrio as he approached from the right hand side of the table. Illyrio Mopatis was a whale of a man with an oversized gut and hanging jowls. His frame was practically swimming in silks and sweet perfumes that overwhelmed the senses. The twin tails of his beard seemed to shine with the man's pride, adorned with many jewels and golden dyes.

Arthur removed it with one swing, carving a shallow line of lifeblood across the magister's breast.

The magister grit his teeth at him in both pain and frustration. "What do you want? If its gold, you can take as much as you can carry. Just leave me and my servants alive." Arthur scoffed. "You mean your slaves? Don't bother, I've seen how men like you treat them. I'm sure they'll be glad to leave once we're finished with you."

Illyrio laughed at him before wincing as his hand was jarred by the knife skewering it. "You'll find that my servants have been trained to be quite loyal traitor."

Arthur's instinct had him duck as a quarrel shot past his head. He squared his body, sword before him, ready to engage the musician that had fired at him with a crossbow. Only to stop as he saw the knife jutting from her forehead. The woman stared blankly at nothing for a moment before crumpling to the ground in a heap.

"My apologies Captain-General, the servants were less than amicable. I was only able to sequester away a few of the cooks and the like before I had to kill the rest." Lysono Maar said casually as he strode through the room, smirking as Illyrio reddened and then paled a ghostly white.

"Y-You're the Blight of Lys!" Lysono twirled a curved dagger in his hand as he stood by Arthur who slowly relaxed from his fighting stance. "That would be correct Magister Mopatis. Though these days I tend to work more legitimately."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow at Lysono before looking at Myles who seemed unperturbed. He had never heard tale of this Blight of Lys before but he imagined it must have been the title of some infamous assassin or rogue.

Lysono pointed a thumb at Arthur flippantly. "Now, I believe that my good friend Arthur Dayne has some questions you need to answer." Arthur sheathed his greatsword and crossed his arms. "Did you send an assassin after Jon?"

Sweat beaded across the forehead of the magister. "I don't know a Jon."

"Hmm." Arthur hummed as he flexed the metal of his gauntlet. "You will find that I am not, in the mood for your games." The steel of his gauntlet rocked Illyrio back in his seat causing the wretch to wail as the dagger tore through his hand even more.

Illyrio panted. "I-I sent a man after him, a traveling sword for hire that was all!"

"That was all? You just up and decided that the Second Prince of the Seven Kingdoms needed to die? Why would you ever commit to such a decision?" Arthur stared at him with a rage tempered by discipline. "Because he has his own prince."

Arthur turned to Myles in confusion. "Speak plainly Myles. There aren't any other princes." The older man sighed as he leaned back in his chair, giving Illyrio a look as the toad started to remove the knife from his hand.

"Illyrio came to me a few days ago with an offer. He wanted the full and unconditional support of the Golden Company in return for 'a dragon' taking us home. After my refusal, I'm sure his curiosity was peaked and he was able to discover the truth of Jon simply by talking to the right people. As for a prince... Now there aren't any Targaryens other than the ones we're aware of. The Blackfyres on the other hand..."

Arthur scowled angrily. "There aren't any Blackfyres left! Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard killed the last of them on the Stepstones." Myles raised a hand. "Ah but that was the last of the male Blackfyres. The women of the Blackfyre line were forced into prostitution in Lys many years ago. Is it not possible that Illyrio encountered such a woman and discovered the truth of her? I for one, believe he did. And I don't doubt that our cheesemonger here begat his own prince from her."

Arthur stepped close to Illyrio who's visage was forlorn and closed off. "Is this true? Speak Illyrio!"

The magister nodded rapidly. "Yes, yes it's all true. I gave up the daughter of a prince for my beloved Serra. And she gave her life to give me my sweet Aegon. Don't harm him, I beg of you sers. I only wanted the best for him!"

Lysono sat at the table putting his feet up nonchalantly. "And what does your son think of this Illyrio? What does he know?"

Illyrio shook his head vehemently. "He knows naught of my business Sers. He doesn't even know that I am his father! He believes himself to be the son of a dead Blackfyre and a noblewoman of Volantis."

"I know." Illyrio looked at Lysono with surprise. "What?"

Lysono spun his dagger continuously almost absentmindedly. "I spoke with him before coming here. He's quite a brave boy. He tried to lie to me." Illyrio lurched forward as he tried to lunge at Lysono only to be pushed back into his seat as Arthur shoved at him. "You bastard, I'll strangle you if you dared to-!"

"No need for any of that fuss, I left him well alone. I told him that if he stayed in the cellar I would spare as many servants as I could. Not quite a lie as I was able to save a few of them." He replied peaceably.

Arthur shook his head. It had been a long time since he had been involved in such schemes. Another Blackfyre, by the Seven what was he to do?

Myles snorted at Lysono's antics. "You're a handful boy. You're lucky you're useful." The spymaster shrugged, his signature smirk stretched across his face. "I try." Myles stood and yanked the knife from Illyrio's hand eliciting a scream from him. "I suppose we're done here. Arthur, the cheesemonger is yours."

Arthur unsheathed his sword as Illyrio fell back in his chair out of fear. "No, you can't! I-I have valuable information! Information that could save your lives!"

Arthur paused as twisted Dawn in his hand. "Then enlighten us Illyrio. What information could possibly be more valuable than your life right here and now?" Illyrio, shifted to sit on the floor, looking up with wide eyes at Arthur. "The-The magisters! They plan to betray you!"

The silence in the hall could have shamed a funeral's own.

Myles stepped forward threateningly. "What do you mean by that?"

"The magisters tire of giving up their wealth to the Khals of the Flatlands. They seek to make a deal with Khal Bharbo in return for protection from the other hordes. They plan to close the city off from the Golden Company and let you die at the hands of his khalasar."

Arthur took a breath rapidly. This was serious. While the Golden Company's force of 10,000 men was nothing to scoff at, the Dothraki hordes ranged from less than that to three times that size. And the Golden Company as it was were separated. Only a force of around 3,000 men were stationed permanently at Pentos. While those forces were the veterans of the mercenary company and they would bloody anyone who came at them, the Dothraki would stampede right over them. Maybe if they had the advantage of the walls and their full force of men they could break a large Khalasar. But without those and with no warning? The Golden Company would have been finished. Their branches in Norvos and Myr would have abandoned the Golden Company name and become just like the lesser mercenary groups.

"When?" Myles' voice was dead and monotone as he spoke.

"I-I don't know, Bharbo's khalasar will be slow to treat with them at first, Khal's have their pride. But I would have to say that maybe in a year or two he'll be tempted enough to attack you for your weapons and gold in return for that kind of protection. B-But you need me! I can save you, I have plans to convince the other magisters otherwise, all I need is-"

Illyrio was cut off by Dawn bloodily separating his head from his body.

Myles sagged as he leaned against a chair. "Seven hells. A plot to destroy the Golden Company. I never thought I'd see the day when the city we loved so much turned against us."

Lysono was for once without a smile as he paced back and forth with clenched fists. "I-I haven't heard anything about this. Some of my people within the magister's manses have been quiet but I had no idea that it was related to something like this. Curse the magisters! I'll bleed them for this." Lysono's voice was full of venomous anger.

"You won't do anything of the sort." Myles said, his tone as unflinching as steel.

"What?!"

Myles pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. "We'll have to leave, set up in Norvos or Myr with one of the other branches. Our reputation will take a hit but we'll be able to build it back up in a decade or so."

"Is our reputation all you care for old man? What about the people of this city? You don't actually believe that Bharbo would honor that deal like those fools do? What about our men? Many of them have family in the city and won't be agreeable to leaving like this. And do you think we won't weather attacks when traveling? The only thing worse than facing the Dothraki with a wall to our asses is facing them in the open fields. We'll be cut to pieces at the end of their arakhs." Lysono ranted as he glared at Myles.

"That's enough Lysono!" Myles roared, slamming his meaty hands on the table. The spymaster seethed as he sheathed his dagger. "We'll speak on this later." He paced out of the dining hall leaving them in silence.

Arthur himself was feeling frustrated but underneath that resentful feeling was resignation. They would have to leave the city. Maybe that was for the best. Jon would be able to get away from the events that happened here and try to be happy again elsewhere. Maybe Braavos.

"I'm sorry about all this Arthur. I had no idea of knowing this would happen. Though I suppose it is for the best that we found out this way instead of waking up one day to see the horde bearing down on our asses." Myles sighed.

Arthur nodded in agreement. "Maybe." While Arthur would leave if he had to he found himself thinking over Lysono's words. If they left would they be leaving the innocent people of this city to the Dothraki? If Bharbo didn't receive his bounty in the form of the metals and gold of the company then would he turn his gaze to the city? Pentos hadn't faced a Dothraki force in years, they didn't have anything resembling a standing army and relied on their wealth to pay off their enemies. The city might not recover from a scorned and ambitious khal.

"The manse is yours Arthur." Myles said suddenly.

Arthur looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"I'll send men to your estate to clean it up and wait for Jon when he finds his way home. You can wait here and deal with the Blackfyre boy, do with him what you will. I'll even send a man to the eastern district to hire some servants for you. If the magisters inquire what happened here you can direct them to me. We should be able to leave in a few moons if I hurry anyways."

Arthur furrowed his brows. "I'll join your men in searching for Jon, he'll be looking for me." Myles shook his head. "Arthur, so much has changed. If you get this place in order maybe the two of you can relax for once. If only for a few short moons."

The Kingsguard sighed, acquiescing to the older man. The Blackfyre boy would have to be talked to as well. Seven only knew how that conversation would go.

---

Jon woke slowly to the noonday sun and the humming of a young girl. He groaned lowly as he sat up, feeling all the aches and pains of yesterday as his mind recalled his tragedies. He spied a yellow rose and thought of the flowers in his mother's garden.

"Oh Jon, why are you crying?"

Jon sniffed and wiped away his tears quickly. "It's nothing."

Lucy smiled peacefully at him as she settled down across from him. "Well that's a silly thing to cry over." Jon cracked a small smile before looking down. "My mother died yesterday. She was killed by an assassin." Lucy took one of Jon's hands in her own. "Was your mother a good singer?"

Jon raised an eyebrow at her. "I-I suppose, she didn't sing very often though." Lucy grinned at him, her pearly teeth shining in the sunlight. "Good, she can sing for my mother in the heavens. My mother didn't know how to sing but she loved hearing me sing. Wait, can you sing in the seven heavens?" She asked ponderously as she tapped a finger against her chin.

Jon laughed despite himself. "I'm sure you can Lucy. It'd be a shame if you couldn't sing in the heavens." The boy stood brushing dirt and leaves off himself. "Where are we going now?" Lucy asked as she stood with him. Jon lead the two of them back through the bars of the fence coming out onto the busy main road. "Back to my home, I'm sure my father is-"

"Jon! You wild child there you are!" Jon was interrupted as the deep voice of Black Balaq boomed over the din of the crowd. Jon turned to see the man himself with a golden grin followed by a trio of his trackers.

"Balaq! Is Father okay? We were attacked by this man, he-he killed Mother, I think he was an assassin." Balaq nodded and placed a large hand on Jon's shoulder. "Your father is fine. He arrived home just a short time after you fled we believe. He killed the man and the perpetrator who hired him was taken care of as well. You don't have to worry."

Jon heaved a large breath. Father was okay. And though Jon wasn't able to kill that man himself, he was glad nonetheless that he wasn't able to escape with his life. "Good." Jon motioned to Lucy, "This is Lucy, she helped me find the a safe place to sleep last night. I promised her that she could stay with Father and I. I know mother wouldn't have minded." Balaq looked over the small blonde girl before snorting. "Bah, I am not your father, he can decide what to do with the girl. Now come, follow me. A great deal has changed since last we spoke."

Jon listened with bated breath as Balaq explained how his father and Myles had mustered warriors of the company to both search for him and to strike back against the man who hired the assassin. Why a magister would ever want Jon dead, Balaq either didn't know or wasn't told. Myles and his father had assaulted the manse of the magister, killing him and all of his guards and claiming the estate for themselves.

It was a strange feeling to be happy that someone he didn't know was dead. He wasn't sure what he thought of feeling like that.

Balaq had said that a messenger had been sent to the other magisters with Illyrio's 'crime' of cheating the Golden Company and that his father had been given the property. Jon was a little confused by that but was okay with it. Their old home would feel wrong without mother in it.

"Wow." Jon said in astonishment as they stopped at the front gate of his father's new walled manse. Their old home wasn't small or poor in appearance but it definitely did not hold a candle to a magister's home. Even past the twelve foot high walls Jon could see the enormity of the building beyond with its towers, decorated spires and painted glass. Balaq lead him past the gate and his wonder grew. They passed the stone courtyard out front and went through the pillared arches of the entrance and Jon could feel his eyes widen at all of the decorations on the walls and the rich furred carpets on the floors.

"You best save me some of that boys!" Balaq called out to a small group of Golden Company footsoldiers carting away barrels of ales, wines and drinks. "Aye Ser!" They chorused back with laughter. Jon found himself smiling at their good cheer even as they moved past them. Soon enough, Balaq brought them up a flight of stairs and into a room with a view of the courtyard. Ordered bookshelves and the smell of inks denoted it as some sort of office. His father sat at a wide desk made of a dark varnished wood.

"Kepa!" Jon lunged at Arthur who only had time drop the papers he was looking at. "Jon, thank the Seven you're okay. You're not hurt are you?" He asked as he traced over the scabbed cut on his cheek. Jon shook his head. "No, he barely cut me. I got him first before he did but I-I didn't kill him. If I just tried to kill him first he wouldn't have been able to kill mother." Arthur squeezed Jon tight. "It's not your fault son. Wylla's life was taken from her by that man, not you. And I killed him for it." Jon basked in the embrace of his father for a long moment before pulling back. Balaq had left a few moments before but Lucy was still standing aside in the room looking curiously at all the ornaments in the room. "Father, this is Lucy, she helped me when I was running." Lucy curtsied at Arthur clumsily. "It's nice to meet you Ser."

Arthur nodded back at her. "Thank you for helping my son." Jon tugged at Arthur's hand. "I promised she could stay here. Maybe she could work as a servant? She doesn't have any family and the master she had was awful." Jon said as he sidestepped the question of exactly what he had done to her master.

His father frowned but nodded. "I'll see that she is provided for like the other servants. Jon, we need to talk but I'll allow you to clean up first. There's a great deal we need to cover but I won't have you walking around covered in blood and filth."

Jon blushed as he looked down at himself. He hadn't noticed. He must have looked a fright walking across the city like this. "Um, where's the washroom?" He asked.

Arthur smiled tiredly with good humor at the boy. "Don't you mean which washroom?"

---

Jon tousled a hand through his wet hair feeling rejuvenated as he wandered the halls. He imagined it would take him quite some time before he grew used to the scope of the manse. The wealth displayed throughout the building seemed mind-boggling. Even the Golden Company wasn't this audacious with showing off their gold. A small example would be the the clothes Jon found waiting for himself as he exited the baths. They were more fine and softer than anything he had ever worn. The tunic was a soft white with golden thread sewn in patterns across it and seemed oversized as it hung to his knees. Jon assumed it was meant to be part of the style of the clothing. The shoes provided for him were the same, being more feathered and soft than anything else he had worn on his feet before.

Jon was interrupted from his ruminating by the sound of glass shattering in a room adjacent to him. Jon laid a hand on his sheathed dagger. He was positive that he wouldn't ever be bereft of a weapon from now on. The boy slowly entered the room.

The chamber was a bedroom with a single boy who looked to be around his own age holding his hand in pain over a shattered glass cup. "Damn." The boy muttered before looking up. Jon looked over the boy's charming features and dyed blue hair before pulling his dagger from its sheath.

The boy's eyes seemed to widen. Jon cut a strip of cloth from his ridiculously long top and sheathed the dagger. "Here." The boy remained silent as Jon walked over to him. He frowned at Jon and gripped his wrist, a shallow cut stretching over the palm of his hand. "Let me see it." Jon prodded as he stretched out the strip of cloth. The boy's frown didn't disappear but he did offer his hand.

Jon wrapped the paltry wound and tied it off neatly, tearing off the excess neatly with his hands. "You know, if you smash a glass with your bare hands, you should probably expect to be cut." He said with a wry smirk as he kicked away the shards of glass into the corner of the room.

"What's your name?" Jon asked the silent boy curiously. The blue-haired boy crossed his arms and glared at him. "Aegon." Jon's eyebrows raised. "Now that, is a name to live up to. Any relation?" He asked jokingly. The boy sneered back at him. "Aegon Blackfyre."

Jon's eyes widened. There was a Blackfyre in their house? There was a Blackfyre still alive?

"Wow. You don't have a second head you're hiding somewhere I don't suppose?" He asked curiously as he looked at the boy in a new light piecing together his lilac eyes and dyed hair. Why was there a Blackfyre in his house?

"No!" The boy snapped in offense as he glared angrily at Jon. The black-haired child raised his hands. "It was an honest question." The boy calmed a bit. "Who are you?" Aegon asked inquisitively.

"Jon. Just Jon. My father is the one who's taken your home, apparently." Aegon frowned at him. "And killed my father, apparently." Jon blinked at him. "Forgive me, but you don't seem all that broken up about it."

Aegon shook his head. "Illyrio was just a magister that fed me empty promises and lied to me for years. He was a fat cheesemonger who mistreated his servants and brought whores home nearly every day. He wasn't my father." Aegon shook his head again. "No, I'm not sad or enraged about that. I'm angry because your father has taken away my only chance for me to accomplish what I'm meant for."

Jon tilted his head off to the side. "What you're meant for?" Aegon scowled. "I'm a Blackfyre you dolt. I was meant to hire the Golden Company with Illyrio's gold and cross the Narrow Sea to take the Iron Throne."

"What then?"

"What?" Aegon asked as he turned to Jon with confusion in his eyes and relaxed his stance.

Jon furrowed his brows at the other boy. "What then? I mean at that point you've hired the Golden Company and ravaged your way across Westeros killing members of the great houses until one of them kneels to you and you've eradicated the Targaryens of King's Landing and Dragonstone. You would probably have to kill off either all of the Starks or the Martells as their blood would have been on the throne if not for you. You've probably taken a wife from the Yronwoods or the Boltons, maybe both and promise them titles and riches. Lets say a good third of the houses side with you. You would have to kill off maybe less than a remaining half of those who oppose you and secure the loyalty of the church before crowning yourself king. So what then? What would you do if you were king? Would you be just like the other numerous Aegons?"

Aegon crossed his arms again. "You're mocking me."

Jon shook his head. "No, it's an honest question. You want to be king so badly, tell me why? Is there something you have to do or that you can only do once you're king?" He asked.

Aegon frowned as he thought. "Rule well?" Jon nodded. "Okay, what does it mean to rule well?" Aegon's eyes seemed to brighten. "To protect the people, to champion the faith and to bring prosperity to the realm." The dark-haired boy tilted his head. "What do you protect the people from? Invaders? Their own ambition? Their ignorance? Each other? And the faith. There are multiple religions in Westeros but I assume you speak of the Seven. To what point do you champion the faith? Until they force people into converting? What do you do when they tell you how to rule? What about when they break the laws you've put forth? Because they will. If you've learned your history you know the church isn't any less evil than the rest of man. And finally, bringing prosperity to the realm. What does that mean? Will your nobles get richer? Your merchants get fatter? And your peasants? What about all of those peasants you're now ruling-"

"Stop!" Aegon cried out. "I get it, I'm not ready to rule. But I can learn." The boy said defiantly.

Jon nodded. "You can. But what about the next king? What about your son or grandson? Will they learn? Will they even want to learn? My point is that while kings and nobles are charged with duty, too many of them choose to forsake that for the realm to truly prosper. It's a vicious cycle of kings abusing their power and the smallfolk suffering for it." Aegon nodded tentatively. "I think I get it. What would you do then?"

Jon smiled weakly. "Me? I'm not the Blackfyre here." Aegon frowned at him. "Please. You can't just call me unworthy to be a king by your questions and not be able to answer them yourself."

Jon shrugged. "I would break it."

"What?"

Jon's fiery gaze pinned Aegon where he stood. "I would break that system that keeps unworthy heirs on thrones and good men in the dirt. Nobles have no power or authority over those in their lands other than what they earn or I allow. Those who do their duty are rewarded. Those who go above that are rewarded greatly. Judge a man not by his blood or standing but by his capability, talents and character. Educate the smallfolk that wish to learn. Give them rights that even those above them can't take away. I don't have all the answers Aegon. I'm only eight. But I do have ideas and I believe that the world can be changed if you give it a chance."

Aegon gaped at Jon. "You speak of such radical changes I might think you mad but for the look upon your face. But say, Jon what place would a Blackfyre have in your world?" He asked tentatively, a strange expression on his face.

Jon grinned at him. "Your place would be as low or as high as you could make it. The only limit to your standing would be your capability."

"I think I quite like this world of yours."

---

After Jon's entertaining conversation would the last of the Blackfyres, he still wondered upon that, he finally found his father breaking his fast in the dining hall. He silently joined him, a servant bringing forth a platter of sweet-looking foods. He kept a wary eye on the woman as he thanked her. He didn't think he'd ever let his guard down around another servant again.

Jon was swiftly distracted by his growing appetite. It had been some time since he had last eaten and it was only now that he had noticed, feeling all of his empty stomach. It wasn't long before he rapidly had his fill of the food provided.

"Father, why did that man try to kill me? Why did mother die?" Jon spoke bluntly as was his nature. Arthur slowly put his cutlery down on the table. The sellsword looked pained as he folded his hands. "That is a dangerous question Jon. The answer lies in a long tale that was difficult to live through and just as difficult to relate to you. As I'm sure you have surmised, it has to do with why I change the color of my eyes when I could be seen." Arthur motioned to his currently green irides.

"Okay."

Arthur furrowed his brows at the boy. "What?"

Jon frowned but nodded looking older than his eight years. "That's okay father. I'm curious but if such a thing is difficult than I'm willing to wait. I trust you." Arthur sagged in relief. "Thank you son." He grimaced soon after as if other thoughts came to mind. "But Jon, we must speak on something else. Things have been revealed that will.. change our future in Pentos." Arthur said suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I hope you will explain this?" Jon asked with no small sense of anxiety. He had to admit that a lot had changed in the past two days. More than he could take in stride. "When we interrogated Illyrio Mopatis, the magister who lived here, he spoke of certain things."

"Father what is it? You're hardly ever this hesitant."

Arthur sighed. "The magisters wish to betray the Golden Company. They have tired of paying off the numerous khalasars that come to the city so they seek to only pay the one. The peace agreements between Pentos and Braavos state that the city is not allowed to buy the services of any mercenary company. They've usually circumvented that by having a single merchant or magister buy up portions of our men but even that wouldn't be enough to face off against the khals time and time again. They are going to make a deal with a Khal named Bharbo. According to what I know, he has a khalasar numbering nearly 25,000. The magisters will close the city to us and allow the Dothraki to batter us against the walls. Our arms and wealth will fall into the Khal's hands and in return Bharbo will supposedly fend off other Khalasars from Pentos."

Jon's head swam as he tried to make sense of it all. "The magisters want to destroy the Golden Company? Why?! We've served them faithfully for years, so many of the men have family in Pentos and the city loves us for the business we bring them and the protection we offer."

Arthur frowned. When had his little boy started considering himself a part of the Golden Company? "The city might love us but the magisters only tolerate us. And in the end, they are the ones that control the city. No, there is no sense fighting when we aren't wanted. Myles is making preparations for the Golden Company to leave in a few moons and so will we. Whether we follow them or head to our own destination is undecided for now."

Jon was quiet as an unheeded rage began to stir within him. The magisters couldn't do this. He thought of Lucy, the innocent and sweet girl who had suffered under the hand of a cruel master and the injustice of it burdened him. He thought of the blameless droves of low born that lived in the city, unaware that the magisters would sacrifice them for Dothraki cooperation and his heart burned in righteous anger. He thought of the Golden Company, the men he already thought of as brothers and family and hate boiled in his gut.

"We can't let them do this Father." Jon's voice was even with rage laced underneath.

Arthur blinked, surprised at Jon's tone of voice. "Jon, I'm not quite sure there's anything we can do."

Jon shook his head. "There's always something, we just need to think of it."

Arthur shook his head. "Jon, we can't do anything against a khalasar of that size. Especially if our whole force isn't here. The best action we can take is to leave."

"That can't be true Father. We would be leaving so many people to die! You know better than me the kind of trophies Dothraki take. They won't be satisfied by just weapons and gold when there's an undefended city just sitting here. They'll take it out on the people and the magisters won't lift a finger! You're a good man father, you can't just let these people die."

Arthur looked pained beyond words as he furrowed his brows. "I.."

Jon's eyes widened as he leaned forward. "What if we took the city?" Arthur frowned. "That might be possible with the troops we have but we wouldn't be able to hold it for any length of time, much less be able to defend ourselves from the Dothraki."

"No, this can work Father. You said the magisters hadn't reached out to the Dothraki yet, right? We could recall the other branches of the Golden Company and at the same time stop any messengers that they send to treat with the horde. The Golden Company is camped right outside of the walls, any messenger they send would have to travel right by our men. We wouldn't have to worry about the Dothraki at all."

Arthur massaged the bridge of his nose. Who was this child who could so easily come up with valid tactics against their enemies? He'd swear Jon couldn't ever conceive of something like this but here Arthur was, underestimating Jon again. And why was he considering his idea?

"Even if such a thing were to happen Jon, I'm not the one you need to convince." Arthur couldn't believe he was going along with this. But, he supposed that a part of him wanted so desperately to be the good man Jon believed him to be. It is the right thing to do. But is it the smart thing?

"You would have to convince Myles to move thousands of men in a matter of moons so they might take the city. And holding it? The Golden Company has never done such a thing before. We would be deposing a government, albeit be a weak one, and the Golden Company would have to be made to be responsible for Pentos. Who knows how the Free Cities might react to such an act? Braavos might not be a problem, but the other cities... Pentos is the gateway to Westeros and most of the trade routes for Essos pass through its harbors. Pentos would need to be made a strong independent power in a short amount of time. I couldn't fathom what changes would need to be made." Arthur said as he thought furiously. He would support Jon in this decision. It bore well for him to be standing up for his values and working towards saving the innocent and hapless. But Arthur swore to himself if this ever even looked as if it were to go sideways, he would drag Jon kicking and screaming to Braavos.

Jon stood, a look of determination crossing his face that reminded Arthur so much of Lyanna. "Then I will convince him. I will not allow this city to suffer further when I-we could have prevented it." The boy strode out the door sparing only a look for Arthur as if he was asking 'Are you coming?' and he disappeared beyond the threshold. Arthur frowned, following after him. This boy will be the death of me Lyanna, Rhaegar. But Seven Hells, if he isn't making you both proud right now.

---

Jon found his way to the Golden Company's encampment within the hour, a swift pace bearing him beyond the city's walls. The camp was dim and mournful, as if the spirit had been ripped from the proud warriors of the company. Its presence only emboldened Jon as he located and entered the meeting tent without pause, Arthur dogging his steps.

The large tent reserved for the highest brass of the Golden Company was filled to the brim with their serjeants and officers, Myles at the head of the table. The man himself had been presiding over a large spread map of Essos, conferring with the serjeants when they entered. The din of the men was silenced as they turned to look at both Jon and Arthur. Myles' surprise was hardly masked as he outright gaped at the sight of Jon leading Arthur into the tent with a serious countenance.

"Ullwyck... I expected the two of you to spending time together after your tragedy. None of us would begrudge you this time of mourning." A scowling Jon made his way to the table, the bewildered soldiers letting him brush past.

"I wanted to speak to you Captain-General. So that we might avoid another tragedy." Jon said, his sudden seriousness taking those in the tent off-guard. Myles raised his brows at the boy. "What do you speak of Jon? We've met today to save our men and to survive another day."

Jon shook his head vehemently. "No. You're running from a tragedy when you should be trying to stop it from happening." Myles scowled as the men around him shuffled uneasily. Jon was beloved by the company to be sure but here he was questioning their Captain-General for the first time. "Careful Jon. Those are dangerous words. Besides," Myles motioned to the men around him. "We are all old hands at surviving and making necessary choices. You, however are young. Smart and certainly wiser than many but still a boy yet."

Jon clenched his fists. "I am a child. But when has the world ever discriminated between a boy and man. We suffer the same. I am but a boy but I know regardless that Khal Bharbo wouldn't- will not care when he carves his tribute from this city."

"Boy." Black Balaq spoke up from among the men with crossed arms. "You speak as if we are an order of knights sworn to protect women and children. We are the Golden Company. Our word is as gold but we uphold ourselves to little else. And the things we have done to keep that word would terrify and disgust you."

The men of the tent nodded and grimaced in turn. It was true. In a word, the Golden Company were not 'good'. Many of them had been good men at a time long past. But as they were now, shame and regret were familiar companions.

"I did not come here to learn of your sins and shame you all Balaq. I am here to convince you to take Pentos. I am here to urge you into taking the Golden Company to new heights, to leave a legacy besides failed invasions and monstrous Blackfyres. If I cannot appeal to your honor or morals then I will appeal to your ambition and greed." Jon said grinning viciously.

The raucous sound of a crowd of men arguing and talking to each other filled the tent as they thought over his proposal.

"Quiet down the lot of you!" Myles pounded his fist on the table. He fixed a fiery gaze at Jon. "How would you have a sellsword company hold a city? To take it for our own? This has never been done in our history."

Jon folded his arms. "What difference does that make? You have been on the other end before have you not? You've assaulted and defended cities before. You would know exactly what to do. The challenge lies in properly administrating the city and changing it for the better."

Harry Strickland, a young man of the company better suited to his position of paymaster than any type of real conflict came forward with avarice glinting in his eyes. "To do such a thing we would have to depose the magisters and their prince. We would have access to all of their treasures, their gold and spices and wines. We could pour that money into the city and start the construction of an Arsenal like that of Braavos or even raise an army."

"And what would be done with the magisters and their prince? To let them live would be to invite retaliation if they receive support from one of the other free cities."

Arthur performed a double take as Lysono spoke beside him as if he had been there the entire time.

Jon frowned. "They... They would have to die. All of them. To do otherwise would be to say that they have no blame in the events coming to pass. No. No one can threaten us like this and live another day."

Arthur stepped forward, concern on his face. "Jon.."

"No Father, someone else would have said it if I didn't. The magisters regularly abuse and sell the people of this city for their own benefit. They would sacrifice them in a moment for more gold in their coffers and slaves in their estates. We cannot let them continue to live."

Brendel Byrne cleared his throat. "I believe we're forgettin' something here. What are we to do about the horde of horse-fucking savages on their way to kill us?"

Myles shook his head. "They haven't sent a messenger yet." Lysono smirked deviously. "The magisters hold a council once every moon. With Illyrio dead they might have one sooner. I can sneak my people into that meeting, find when they're sending someone and who. We would be able to apprehend them beyond the city and the magisters would have no way of knowing whether their men reached their destination or not. Or-" Lysono tapped a painted finger against his chin. "I could buy out or replace the man they choose, that would be even better."

Arthur found himself hard-pressed to suppress a smile. "You would have them believe the Dothraki are coming until we are upon their walls and in their palaces."

Myles had an unreadable expression upon his face as he crossed his arms. "Jon, you would have us take and hold the free city of Pentos. Three-thousand men or 10,000 won't make a difference. We will lose men in the attempt. Why should we sacrifice those men for a city that does not want us?"

Jon leaned over the table glaring strongly at Myles. "I would have the Golden Company conquer Pentos. In the name of a better future for the Golden Company and an age of prosperity for Pentos. And damn you Captain-General if you think I'm not willing to lay my life down willingly like the rest of them."

Myles' inscrutable expression broke into a wide grin as he looked over the men. "All those in favor of-" He locked gazes with Jon. "Conquering Pentos and sticking it to those arrogant magisters?!"

Jon's bones shook as the men responded. "AYE!" The next thing the boy knew he was being tossed over the shoulder of Balaq as the men left the tent in an unmatched good cheer.

Arthur looked at Myles, the two men being the only left in the tent. "I have to say Captain-General, I'm surprised you didn't agree when he first suggested his plan. This seems exactly the sort of action you were hoping he would take." Myles grinned back at him. "Aye it is. I have to admit, I wasn't expecting anything like this for some time and I certainly wasn't thinking we would turn to conquest as result. That kind of audacious and reckless undertaking is precisely what we need. Of course, it's not a particularly thought out plan but we can work off of it. As for me questioning him, what would it look like if I capitulated to his whims after a single proclamation? Besides, it wasn't me he needed to convince. It was them." He finished by pointing toward the exit of the tent. "Did you see them cart him out like a king after he fought for their ideals? For their ambitions and hopes? Jon needed our full cooperation for this to work and I had to maneuver it so such a situation would come about naturally. When the men discover his parentage, such devotion will only be a boon."

Arthur sighed as he looked down. "I-I admit that I am still hesitant about that conversation." Myles looked at Arthur as if he could see straight through him. "Ha! Of course you are man. You worry about him resenting you or feeling deceived. You care for him more as a son than a prince. And that is not a such a distressing notion. He is the boy he is today because of you Arthur. I doubt telling him he was born from another man's cock would change his feelings towards you. He's too good for that."

Arthur coughed to hide his embarrassment. "Thank you, I appreciate your words Myles." The old man snorted. "No need for that drivel Arthur. Of course, if you don't tell him after we conquer Pentos, I will." Arthur nodded. It wasn't such an unreasonable request. Jon deserved to know the truth sooner than later. "What would you do if he decides to leave for Westeros? To see his family? It's not such an unlikely course of action."

Myles sighed to himself. "Hope that Braavos will be willing to offer support. If we don't have a figure to follow, to devote ourselves to, it would only be a matter of time before we fell to an assault by another city. They would hesitate at attacking the domain of a king but to attack the Golden Company? Many men hunger for such a victory."

"And if he decides to stay?"

Myles grinned. "Then we might have ourselves the first proper kingdom in Essos since the fall of Sarnor. And did you see the drive in his eyes? He means to fight for the people. He won't stop at Pentos."

Arthur shook his head despite his grin. "Targaryens." Myles laughed. "No, Ser Arthur, that's just Jon."

---

Translations-

mittī- fools

Muña- mother

Kepa- father

Uēpa vala- Old man