Viserys was dead.
Jon read the letter from Daenerys two more times before he began to believe it, and then he sank back, letting the parchment and all its dark words fall to the ground. Alone in his chambers, for he had sent away his attendants as soon as he had caught sight of her private seal, the young Prince sat and stared at the dancing glows of his hearth until the glare was too much for him and his eyes stung with pain and sorrow.
For all his faults, Viserys had been good to him through the darkest days of youth— and as King, he had kept the realm in line when many had thought the Targaryens finished.
When Jon looked once more towards Daenerys' words, he could almost feel her own grief alongside the pit of his own, but he refused to think on it. Not now, he thought, when both their heads could be at stake. As well as the personal feelings of loss, he was forced to consider how Viserys' passing would change the balance of power in King's Landing.
The longer he pondered it, the more he did not like the conclusions he drew. Aegon would likely suffer least from all this. As Prince of Dragonstone, he already had a hand on the throat of the capitol— his half-brother needed only to summon his warships at the right time and the crown would fall neatly into his lap.
If Viserys had lived, some new compromise could have been hammered out between the two princes, however that hope had now died along with him. Perhaps if they had still been boys, things would have been different, but it had been many years now since Dragonstone and Summerhall had seen eye to eye on matters related to the crown. And the prospect of another Great Council to settle the succession was even more unlikely.
With a sudden dart, he stepped over to the table and opened the rest of the letters, looking only at the first lines of each, until he froze and took a deep breath. His half-brother had in fact already written to him and Jon felt little other than fury surge as he read his haughty commands. There was not even a mention of Viserys in the lines, and Jon threw the letter down in disgust as he began to pace around his room. Though he knew he should have expected no more from the Red Viper's nephew, it was still a shock to be reminded of Aegon's true nature.
The door to his chambers slammed open behind him as his cousin entered, his own bundle of letters gathered in his arms.
"Have you heard the news, Jon?" Robb said, glancing up to meet his wary gaze.
Jon nodded carefully, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. "Send riders out to collect the men in their camps. They've grown fat and slow now that our campaign has ended and I want them out of Riverrun by dawn tomorrow to begin maneuvers."
Robb gaped at him. "Are we marching back north, then? What about your uncle? I don't think—"
"Did you hear me?" Jon thundered at him. "Half our men are near useless with their whores and wine. Tell Edmure that we will be leaving. Have him summon the commanders to come meet with me again, and hurry back here once you are done."
Robb stood very still. Questions came to his lips but the heir to Winterfell throttled them, forcing a nod to his Prince. He left and Jon could hear his voice beyond the door rousing the others.
Left to his own devices once more, Jon thought again of the letter from Aegon and the betrayal. No sign of the shared blood and name that connected them— no hint of the grief that should have brought them together. Instead, all he had from his brother was a formal order to return to King's Landing—alone.
Jon felt unsteady as he considered the implications of it all. Aegon had no true rivals to Viserys' throne except him now— not with both Daenerys and Rhaenys ensconced in the Red Keep— and Jon didn't trust his promise of safe passage for a moment. Yet to disobey would launch a dance that could very well bring ruin to the realm once more and everything Viserys had worked to hold together.
He shook his head to clear it. The castle was stifling him and he longed for the focus that came with being on the march. There, at the head of an army, he could think and plan his answer. He would gather his men on the banks of the Green Fork and pray to the Gods for the wisdom to make the right choice.
