A/N: Okay, I know you guys wanted this and I head y'all. All right?! I got you! Haha. Honestly, I was a bit at a loss with what would come next. There's so much I want to write for this story but I don't know how to fit them all or when or how to even place them. Sometimes, it's coherent in my head but most of the time, it's a blank. And I was a little preoccupied with personal things. So, yeah. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It's a bit important and, honestly, one of the first pieces I ever wrote for this story. So, this draft is YEARS old! I'm so glad to be able to use it now. Leave a comment and tell me what you think! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Game of Thrones is not mine.
Summary: When Ned finally told Catelyn about Jon Snow's mother, he had not expected for things to turn out the way they did in the end. It was so unfortunate that Robert had been smarter than Ned ever thought he was. AU.
JON & ROBERT
Robert observed Jon as they broke their fast together for the first time since the boy was injured.
His movements were slow and mechanical; his silverware cutting his cheese, his bread, and his venison were all shoved into his mouth like a well-worn routine, like a soldier. He looked pale and exhausted, his eyes seemed to have dimmed, but he was slowly regaining the weight he'd lost. Jon was strong enough now for what Robert had planned, the maester assured him.
Now that he wasn't blinded by rage and vengeance or haunted with nightmares of Lynna's ghost, he saw Jon with bright clear eyes and each time Robert looked, Jon did not disappoint. Yayne had sung his praises from The Wall to bloody Dorne. Despite Jon's strong reluctance and resistance to learn from the maester, he was a smart lad. He was decent in most of his lessons, good in numbers and hopeless in the arts. But he excelled best in battle tactics and warfare. Robert remembered his youthful days in the Vale, where all he could ever stand to learn were great battles across the Seven Kingdoms, swinging a wooden ax with Ned by his side. Simpler times. His happiest days.
He took in Jon's soft black curls and dull grey eyes. A piece of Lyanna, a fragment of Ned. Robert would hold on to that any way he could. He'd just have to show Jon. He'd just have to prove himself.
Jon's grey eyes are Lyanna's. Something of Stark's. His black curls could be Robert's. A Baratheon's.
"Jon," Robert began. Jon stopped eating and looked up at the king, a polite mask of interest on his face. Robert nearly frowned at the sight of it but refrained from doing so. Frightening Jon would only work against him.
Jon could not fathom what the king wanted from him. With each passing day, the things he saw were becoming stranger and stranger, he almost screamed in frustration at Tyrion or Sir Barristan. But he stayed his tongue and kept his own grievances to himself. It would achieve nothing to be so visibly vexed with his situation. He kept the appearances of sulking when they became too personal with their probes—too close or familiar with him—and convinced everyone his aches bothered him more than it actually did for as long as he can stretch it.
He knew he was a terrible liar, and much as he needs to, he doesn't want King's Landing to change who he is. Not at his core. Not the person his father raised. So, he wants to learn how to lead people away from the truth yet not tell an outright lie. It was terribly exhausting work, his mind stretching as political as it can go. Jon is sure only Tyrion and the Spider were not even remotely convinced by his facade. But they said nothing, so, Jon carried on honing his skills of misdirection. Jon thinks Tyrion wants him to give it a good run for as long as he can.
His newest and trickiest challenge laid before him now.
When the king wanted Jon to join him for breakfast, he paled slightly, but caught himself quickly enough that Pod never noticed the slight hesitation that made him pause. If Tyrion were in the room, he would've said something. But Tyrion was busy with matters of state that Jon was not privy to. He wasn't privy to a lot, he noticed. He has to change that. Knowledge is power, Tyrion always preached. Power was something Jon sorely needed. He needed to have information.
The easiest way to do that would be to have the king undermine him.
Robert Baratheon had claimed that nightmares of his mother's ghost had led him to release Jon from the dungeons. He also claimed that if everything had been as it should've been, Jon would've been the king's firstborn son. The king had also offered Jon a way to communicate with his family even if it was nothing but a mention in passing that Jon missed them.
Jon thought there must be something there he might be able to use. Something he could turn to his advantage. He just has to figure out what and how.
"I would like to thank you, Jon, for saving King's Landing." says Robert, eyes shining with pride, a smirk on his lips. "It was a brave thing you did."
Jon bowed stiffly, low enough to be considered subservient. "It was nothing, Your Grace."
"Come now," Robert chuckled. He approved of how Jon did not seek glory or fame. Ned had fully given this boy a part of him that not many in the Seven Kingdoms possess. "There's no need for humility. The city has sung nothing but your heroics. The whole of King's Landing is impressed by your deeds."
"I'm glad the city has recovered." Jon responded diplomatically.
Robert sighed. "It has. Yet the war continues. It is only a fragile truce. The people are in no hurry to break the peace that you've given them."
Jon nodded and chose not to say a word. He lost his appetite but maintained a neutral expression, waiting on the king to continue speaking.
Robert grimaced, looking more serious. Jon reflexively stiffened.
"I know you're confused about what's happening to you." The king began, heaving a sigh. "I want you to know that it's true I want to save my own skin, but this is more than that. Doing this would prevent more bloodshed. I don't want to go against Ned more than I already have. I don't want to fight him and his son on the field of battle. We will make peace with the North."
"Your Grace?" Jon whispered, his eyes widening. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I don't—"
Jon swallowed. He didn't realize that it would be this soon. Whatever Tyrion alluded to days ago in his chambers, he didn't realize that the king himself would be the one to tell him. He cursed himself. He should've realized this.
Robert nodded and steeled himself. He faced Jon with stormy eyes. "I have declared you to be legitimized as Jon Stark, Ward of House Baratheon. You will be my heir. I have made you Jon Stark, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms."
Any façade he had carefully cultivated over the past few days melted away to reveal genuine shock and horror at the prospect of being this man's heir. This man who had threatened him and his family. This man who tore him away from his father. This man who had taken perverse satisfaction in torturing him until he grew a conscience. This man who laid a hand on him without mercy even after he had begged and groveled for the pain to stop.
He would never forget that. He will never forgive that.
Jon had never known to hate someone until Robert Baratheon. He shook with rage, felt its flames run up and down his spine like insects crawling under his skin. He wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out and unleash his wrath. He wanted to kill—
But that's not who Jon was. That's not who Jon wants to be.
And damn this wretched, gods forsaken place, he will hold onto that.
So, Jon carefully took the pieces of his shattered mask and placed it back where he left it. He inhaled and slowly exhaled. "Your Grace… I don't know what to say…" Jon said with all of his genuine confusion.
Misdirection is not a lie. But it's as good as one.
"I meant what I said before," Robert spoke with gentleness. The gentleness he is trying to give Jon since he woke and healed from his injury. Whatever the reason behind it, Jon didn't want it. But he knew he has no choice. "If it happened as it should have, you would've been our firstborn son."
Jon can feel something crawling out of his chest, a sort of numbness that consumed him but he managed to croak, "Your Grace, I—"
"Father," Robert said, there was a hint of desperation in his voice. "Call me father."
He already had a father! Jon wanted to scream. Robert had taken him and everything he had cared about. He tore the entire country apart, and here he was, demanding Jon to desecrate something sacred.
His family. His father—both of them.
"I know I don't deserve it," Robert admitted when Jon didn't say anything. When he couldn't say anything. "I know I've made mistakes, that I've hurt you. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to sit beside me each day and not kill me like I deserve. But today's different. The past few weeks have been different. I used to see who sired you, the man I hated for years. The man who stole the woman I loved." Robert shook his head. "I should have looked for Lyanna first. I should've seen your eyes and saw her. I should've heard your words and heard Ned. He was right, you were all Stark. Just Stark. I am truly sorry for everything I've done."
"I don't understand…" Jon whispered. He wanted to know why. Why was the king doing this?
"I intend to make you my heir. My prince. My son." Robert said again, leaning towards Jon imploringly. "We will start over. We will be as it should've been."
Jon shook his head. But even as he wanted to deny everything Robert was saying, a voice in his head hissed, you must survive; survive at all cost.
Jon couldn't breathe but he had to. He must. "Your Grace—" Jon began.
"Father," Robert insisted, a tender smile of a father on his lips. "Call me Father."
"Father." Jon said with a small smile and his mouth was filled with ash as he says it. But that didn't matter. Afterall, Jon must survive.