Author's Note: Hey everyone sorry for posting so late! I updated it on AO3 and completely forgot to put it up here. As always we own nothing and it all belongs to GRRM and the show creators. Comments and Reviews are appreciated!
Chapter Four- Doubling Down
Ghost wound around the tables and people scattered through the hall. Was this woman his human's new mate? Reaching them, he leaned over the table and sniffed, her scent completely alien, a mix of heat and sand, horses and something sulphuric with scales and claws and fire. Walking around the table he stood behind her and buried his nose in the long fur coming from her head inhaling deeply. His human was stiff next to him as he smelled his mate, the subtle hints of Jon under all the fire that wrapped around the woman. Pulling back, he gave her trembling hand that reached towards his face a soft lick, she was strong, stronger than the one who caused his human so much pain before, hurting him with the pointy sticks. This one with the fire scent was gentler, more pack than the other. Turning to his human he snorted before lowering his head ever slightly for pets until Jon obliged, yes it would be good for his human to mate with the fire woman. A second hand ran along his back as she joined Jon in petting him, yes she was a good choice indeed.
A smile broke out across his face as Ghost licked Dany's hand, yet another sign that she was perfect. Jon leaned back to watch the Northern Lords as Dany ran her hand through Ghost's fur, the range of amusement to sheer horror that crossed their faces made Jon feel certain that his choice to ally with her (and more) was the right one, even if his bannermen didn't think so.
Arya watched the Lords and Ladies around the hall gasp with shock as Ghost accepted the Dragon Queen with a smug smile. Of course Ghost would approve, she was a warrior woman who Jon obviously adored. Twirling a knife in her hand she looked over at Gendry and wondered if Nymeria would approve of him. She'd been so wild when they met on the road, with a new pack of her own. A pang of longing hit Arya's heart as she remembered her goodbyes to Nymeria all those years ago, seeing her again had been a sign that coming home was the right thing to do, but she was afraid that she'd never see her beloved direwolf again. Starks and their wolves were bonded, that's what Bran had said, they had the blood of the First Men, of the Children of the Forest, they were wargs and greenseers. Gendry shifted in his seat as she stared off into in the distance playing with her blade, and laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to provide support for whatever issue she was grappling with. Arya stiffened at the hand on her shoulder, before relaxing as she saw it was Gendry.
Sansa looked up from her conversation with Tyrion to take in Ghost's interaction with the Dragon Queen, her lips twitched but she forced the smirk down as she turned back to her former husband. While she approved of Daenerys now, she still couldn't shake her dislike of queens, Cersei had poisoned her mind against the rank. Running a finger along her goblet, she traced the ornate pattern, she'd brought out the fancier dining ware for the guests, but seeing the Dragon Queen go to toe with Jon for drinking ale she second guessed her decision.
"Yes I didn't think that would go over very well but she seems to be holding her own," Tyrion commented, raising his own goblet for a sip as his mismatched eyes focused in on the couple across from them interacting with the massive albino direwolf.
"It seems there are a great many things that have happened that we could not anticipate Lord Tyrion," Sansa smirked, her eyes meeting her former husband's, the warmth of the Dornish red she'd been sipping throughout the night flooding through her cheeks.
"Sansa, can you gather everyone in Jon's solar, we have important matters to discuss," Bran asked, his speech slurring a bit over the s's in discuss making Tyrion raise his eyebrow ever so slightly.
Nodding her head, Sansa began to gather the Dragon Queen's advisor's while Tyrion gathered Jon's.
The fires in Jon's solar crackled as Brienne added another log before turning back towards the more than slightly inebriated War Council thankful once again that she never quite picked up Jaime's drinking habits from their travels together. She felt a blush creep up her neck though, as Tyrion began to loudly describe a bet regarding Missandei and Grey Worm, as he vigorously waved around a cylindrical carving in a thrusting motion. Staring up at the ceiling Brienne begged the gods old and new to end her suffering, as Sansa's sworn sword she understood why she was there, but the increasingly perverted atmosphere was getting to her. Tyrion stopped his gestures after a stern glare from Sansa, that immediately turned into giggles as he started to wax poetic about the best plans for world domination involving the propaganda and betting pools he and Missandei had conceived of hours before. Rolling her eyes, Brienne tried to tune out the Imp's drunken rant about how detailed drawings of the King in the North's melting the heart of the Dragon Queen-naked would win the war and watched as said King in the North tried to lean over and whisper in his sister's ear only to end up with a mouthful of her fiery hair. They were definitely all going to die.
Spitting out Sansa's hair, Jon sent a glare at everyone who dared to laugh before sinking back into his chair into his patented Brood Slump.
"Thank you all for gathering," Bran paused for dramatic effect before deepening his voice, "I have some very important new to share with you-Jon."
Grabbing Bran's arm, Sam tugged him to the side, wincing as one the wheels on the chair rammed his shin. "Don't you think we should wait until he-they are sober? And in a smaller, family only setting?"
Locking eyes with Sam, Bran tilted his head in imitation of the three eyed raven before slowly shaking it, "No. It is better to do it now," a smile crept along his face as he let out a wicked little chuckle, "Besides, this will make it, far more interesting, something that my life of late as a greenseer has lacked."
"I have a bad feeling about this," Sam muttered as he sat down across from Job, the old Maester's book on his lap.
"I thought we were here to finalize Tyrion's insane battle plans of betting and ridiculous love stories," Jorah grumbled from the corner, glaring over his tankard of ale as Dany scooted closer to Jon.
"No," Bran cut Tyrion off before he could say anything, "We'll do that later, I have important things to tell Jon… and all of you."
"Bran have you been drinking?" Arya arched an eyebrow at her younger brother.
"No. As I was saying," Bran wheeled his chair around to face Jon as he affected a lofty voice, "Jon, you have long wanted to know who your mother was. The last time you spoke to Eddard Stark he told you he would tell you when you met again. As the Three Eyed Raven-"
A loud crunch interrupted Bran's speech as Tyrion smacked a walnut against the arm of his chair, cracking it open to eat the nut inside, chewing loudly with his mouth open, mismatched eyes twinkling. With a snarl, Bran warged into the Lord of Lannister as he went to crack open another walnut, forcing him to toss the small pile he had gathered in his lap to the ground. Warging back into himself, Bran cleared his throat and leveled a glare worthy of Catelyn Stark at everyone.
"As I was saying, as the Three Eyed Raven I have the power to see the past, and I have. Jon, your mother is not who you think. In fact, it's not so much a question of who your mother is so much as who your father...isn't."
Varys let out a small gasp as his mind worked overtime to piece together the clues from that ever so simple statement. Eddard Stark a man who held honor and truth above all things, even unto his death, if he wasn't the King in the North's father, then…
"Your father is Rhaegar Targaryen, the Uncrowned King, the Silver Prince, and your mother was Lyanna Stark, the Wild Wolf. You are the song of fire and ice, the culmination of a union of love between two houses, the product of a pact fulfilled, the trueborn heir to the Iron Throne, Jaehaerys Targaryen."
Silence filled the room for a split second before everyone burst out into conversation. Jon's eyes wide and no longer clouded as he stared his brother-cousin down as Arya blurted out, "What did you just say?"
Jon kept his eyes on Bran as Tormund shrugged in the corner and drank more ale while Jorah did a fantastic rendition of a mummer by falling out of his seat. Rhaegar Targaryen-his father? Eddard Stark a liar? It made no sense and yet... his thoughts still muddled by drink began to fly, Drogon's reaction to him, his "father's" reluctance to tell him who his mother was, his connection to Dany... it made, sense. But where did it leave him and Dany? She was his-aunt. Shuddering at the thought, he turned to face his Queen, disgust and love and confusion, with an undercurrent of betrayal flooding through him.
"Blood of my blood," Dany whispered as she looked over at Jon her hands trembling in her lap, her lover was her nephew. Well it wasn't all that strange for Targaryen's. And it wasn't as if they'd grown up together knowing they were family, though knowing now that she wasn't alone, that she wasn't the last Targaryen in the world, well that was worth any disgust at the nature of their relationship. She could imagine their future now, ruling side by side in Kings Landing, though they would have to do away with the Iron Throne, but not before they had a few, memorable moments on it.
Sansa's mind was spiraling, if Jon was actually a Targaryen then he had a claim to the Iron throne, meaning if he married Dany... they could reclaim it for the dragon's, popular opinion in the south would be towards them, but the Northerners, they were fickle enough as it is, would they back him as a Targaryen? Not to mention the Faith of the Seven and their attitude toward incest, while nephew/aunt wasn't as bad as siblings, it wasn't great either.
Tyrion took a sip of wine, the revelation startling him but ultimately changing nothing, as long as the King in the North still married Daenerys, his new plan to win the minds and hearts of the people through rapid propaganda would work. He could definitely spin the doomed love story of the Wild Wolf and the Silver Prince, yes this would work out. And the honorable Eddard Stark keeping such a secret for so long, protecting his nephew to the death, taking on the scorn of his wife and public for fathering a bastard, valuing family above all else, well that was a definite selling point for the Northern Lords.
Varys fell back into his seat, for all his little birds, for all his plots and machinations to get a Targaryen back on the throne, he had not foreseen this. Ned Stark's honor, it was never questioned, and now he felt the biggest fool of the seven kingdoms.
Davos wanted to go home, of course something else had to go bottoms up, of course his new king had to be a Targaryen. All his work getting the Northern lords behind Jon, would they still follow him after learning this?
Brienne sagged against the wall, the news was startling but ultimately she served Sansa, and as long as it did nothing to harm her, she would not interfere. But perhaps she should retire soon for the night, the constant babble was making her head ache.
Bran sat back and cackled, he'd finally been able to show how far sighted he was as the Three-Eyed Raven, and pay Jon back for the prank he pulled all those years ago, convincing Bran to stay a night in the crypts to catch 'the ghost of night'.
Arya was working over what Bran said, he was the Three Eyed Raven, she knew he could see the past as proven with Baelish, but if what he said was true, then Jon wasn't her brother-no. No, he would always be her brother, even if not fully by blood, she chose him, he was a Stark and he was hers, her pack, this revelation meant nothing.
Gendry curled further into the back corner, wondering even more why he was there when the horrifying thought hit him, his father wasn't friends with Jon's. No his father had killed Jon's.
Jorah felt vindicated, his love for the Khaleesi now stood a chance. There was no way a Stark, let alone one raised by Ned Fucking Honorable Stark would marry his aunt. While it happened occasionally in the North, it was still frowned upon. Jon Snow would pull away from Daenerys in disgust and she would come to him for comfort, him her first friend and most loyal Knight.
Ghost yawned pointedly, showing his sharp fangs at everyone as they shouted around him. He would never understand humans desire to be so loud, stealth and quiet was a much better way to go about life.
Lyanna shrugged and went back to polishing her daggers. She'd said it before and she'd say it again, House Mormont knew no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark, so what if this one was was also Targaryen, being the son of her namesake made him a Stark.
The room fell silent after the arguments and yells grew to a lull, the only sound permeating the thick fog of confusion being the crackling of the fire or the sloshing of wine in Tyrion's cup. Jon looked over at Dany, blushed and looked away, while Arya and Sansa both shrugged and made kissy faces at the couple, he may not be their blood brother but they could still embarrass him. Jorah stood up to talk to his Khaleesi but before he could step around Sam to reach her, Missandei had grabbed her queen's arm and pulled her from the room. Groaning at his lost chance, Jorah grabbed a tankard of ale from Tormund and stormed off to drink in peace, he'd try again tomorrow once the dust settled and his Khaleesi was calmer, with the White Wolf as her nephew there was no way their romantic relationship would continue, the boy was too Stark for that.
The next morning found Sansa trailing after Tyrion as he sought to relieve his hangover and find Bran for clarifying details in the early morning crisp chill of the godswood. Walking behind her former husband Sansa pursed her lips, holding in a laugh at his intermittent groans of pain, after all these years he still acted like a child when hungover. She wondered if he had changed at all, seeing him plotting with Missandei and joking with Varys showed her a much more cany side to him than she'd seen before and she was interested to see if her own skills could match, or even surpass his. A battle of wits would be an intriguing way to pass the time as they waited for Cersei's forces to arrive and supplement their own in the battle for the Dawn. Brushing a hand along her skirts, she gathered them up to step over a half frozen mud puddle before the trees cleared in front of the Heart Tree, but before she could take the step Tyrion stopped in front of her causing her to stumble. Righting herself with a huff Sansa looked down at her former husband with a questioning brow raised. Smirking Tyrion's mismatched eyes seemed to twinkle in the pale light of the sun as he gestured over to the base of the Heart Tree. There passed out along the roots with a mug of ale sloshed all over his armor was Jorah Mormont. Sansa let out a soft giggle as Tyrion shook with laughter, his chuckles barely held in as they watched the bear knight snore impudently along the base of the Heart Tree, the seat of the Old Gods in the North.
Sansa leaned down so her lips brushed Tyrion's ear, "What is he doing out here? Has he been out here all night?"
Tyrion shrugged and pushed the Lady of Winterfell away from himself. He knew if she was too close for too long is would bring up old desires, desires that he didn't like to admit to involving the northern lady writhing beneath him or on top of him, he wasn't picky in the fantasy world. Sansa Stark was no longer a child like she'd been when they first wed, but she'd been through too much, and would never love a dwarf like him.
"Should we do something? If he were not snoring I would have sworn the black frost had claimed him," Sansa spoke softly, respecting Tyrion's space.
"The black frost?"
"It's when you get so cold that you get ice in your blood and your limbs start to turn black and if it gets too far you can die."
"Probably at least in his toes. Those boots do not seem designed for the cold of the north. They are probably the same boots he was wearing when he first met the Queen," Tyrion never understood why the disgraced knight felt such a sense of duty to that young woman.
The Dragon Queen was beautiful and had the ability to inspire those around her, but she was often quick to anger and her rage frightened him. The knight in question began to groan as he shifted further beneath the heart tree, his boots perilously close to the water's edge.
Jorah moaned as his head pounded, his mouth tasted like the back of a horse after a long ride across the Dothraki plains. Shifting into a kneeling position he let out a sob as the events of the previous night came back to him. Leaning over he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the roots of the Heart Tree until he was left dry heaving in the snow.
He'd been so sure that the crippled Stark boy's revelation that the King in the North was a Targaryen would be the death knell for the budding relationship between him and his Khaleesi. There was no way the boy raised by the ever honorable Eddard Stark, and he was a boy not a man, would ever continue such a relationship with his own aunt. He'd been so sure of this, that after he'd fortified himself with several quaffs of ale, he'd made his way to the Khaleesi's rooms determined to show her his loyalty and devotion after the boy-king broke her heart. The old stone work of the halls of Winterfell made him miss his own childhood home, the happiness he had been searching for when he found the young beggar prince and princess.
He knocked once on her door, the solid wood smooth against his palms, but after a minute of no answer he didn't bother knocking again, as he knew his Khaleesi would always welcome his visits. When he entered he couldn't see into the bed chamber but heard noises that he had heard many time while traveling with the khalasar. He finally walked all the way to the doors leading to the bed-chamber to find Dany sitting on her knees on her bed, naked. His Khaleesi, beauty personified with her pale golden-white hair and smooth curves, head thrown back in ecstasy, she must have been pleasuring herself, like her handmaid's taught her after she lost Drogo. It was a thought that kept him company many long nights in her service, her pleasuring herself until he could step in and do it for her, his hands sliding down her nubile body. A grin slid across his face as he thought of her desperation in doing it now, the boy-king surely had left her.
It was not until a hand reached up to cup Dany's backside that Jorah realized there was a second person in the bed. Who could possibly be worthy of queen Daenerys, Mother of Dragons? It couldn't have been the boy king, he was barely a man and was raised by Ned Stark to boot, he wouldn't know what to do with a woman like her. He refused to believe it, to believe that Jon Snow could cause that expression, that he would be with his newly discovered aunt in such a way, it defied all knowledge he had of the Starks. And yet, when the man sat up to kiss Daenerys and Jorah's heart sunk to the pit of his stomach, there was no denying the wild black mane of Jon Snow. The bastard Stark pulled his sweet and golden Khaleesi down on his lap, now undoubtedly he was fucking her.
His queen had chosen the boy king. They were there in her bed, in a castle full of people, laying together as if they were married. It appeared the bastard Jon Snow (for the truth of his birth notwithstanding he was raised a bastard) might be making his own bastards with Jorah's Khaleesi.
By some miracle he remained unseen to the newly joined couple and rushed out of the castle after stopping to grab a cask of ale and found the Gods Wood. He had not prayed to the old gods in many years but perhaps they would be able to offer some advice; if not he could always drown himself in the pools.