From the Echoes of Ashes

Chapter Two

In the time that he had been in Valyria, Jon had avoided any news of Westeros. He was then surprised when, during a lazy evening meal on the balcony of his rooms which only he, his son, and his son's nursemaid attended, a servant he did not recognize handed him a letter.

Keeping his features calm as he realized who it was from was difficult, but the nursemaid was a curious sort, and almost certainly reported everything to Rhaegar. The woman he had brought with him had been dismissed nearly as soon as he arrived, though she had been far more interested in coin than politics, and he still did not know whether she had been allowed to leave or had been killed.

He kept the letter turned so it would be difficult for another to view any of the words, mentally braced himself, and started to read.

Apparently, Robert still did not believe that Jon was not his son and had arranged an extraction. A part of him wondered, with the hope of a little boy within him he'd thought long dead, if Robert would have accepted any excuse and gladly welcomed his supposed grandson, his heir's heir. He'd always been good at hiding from unwelcome truths.

Yet, that was no way to live, with the constant threat at his back, with Stannis surely pushing his claim.

He and Stannis had been close, once. Not as close as Jon was to Renly, who spent far more time at court and saw a young Jon as a pretty doll to dress up, but close. They'd both enjoyed quiet contemplation, had both spoken against the worst of Robert's excesses.

Perhaps he could have married Shireen and the whole thing would have been moot.

Now that he was in Valyria, such an option was lost to him. Rhaegar would never allow him to wed a Baratheon, even if it would bring peace. And, certainly, Robert would not allow the throne to pass back to House Targaryen and Rhaegar would not accept Jon as anything else but Aemon Targaryen.

The longer he was in Valyria, the more Jon worried that was who he was becoming. He'd known some Valyrian already, from his studies and for his travels to Essos, but the once-ancient version of the language came easily to him under his brother's tutelage. His feelings for his siblings was…different than he had expected, a draw he wished to ignore as long as possible. And while he would have previously said that the climate that best suited him was the North's, something about the dry heat of Valyria settled comfortably in his bones and invigorated him.

"I heard this land was accursed after the Doom," he'd commented to Aegon early in their new acquaintice, searching for something to speak of that would distract him from his own awkwardness.

"It was. Father spent years working towards breaking the curse, conquering the lands nearby so he could set experts to studying it. This is only a small portion of what we will someday have back."

Jon looked out at the lands beyond, where there was life, but nothing old, no ancient trees or aged grassland. "How was it done?"

The way Aegon had hesitated could have signified a secret he did not yet trust Jon to hold or that however it was done was in a manner he thought would upset Jon. He'd heard enough stories of the ancient ways of magic in the North to have some idea.

"The dragons were what fully broke it," Aegon finally relented.

Dragons which Jon had seen with his own eyes and still felt must be impossible. They were young, small, and guarded fiercely by the people of Valyria. There had been rumors of them in Westeros, but no one had actually believed that they had been reborn, not even those who were the most paranoid about what the Targaryens were doing.

Already there were new eggs, fresh and full of life, easier to hatch than however the first ones were (with fire and blood, Jon could guess from the preachings of the priests and shamans that came to court, with death to pay for life). Someday, Jon might have a dragon. His son might have a dragon.

The promise of dragonriding was not what swayed Jon to Rhaegar's cause, but the threat of the dragons in general. It had been well over a century since anyone in Westeros had seen a dragon, let alone fought one. And certainly none as these would be even as vulnerable as they'd once been, Aegon having poured over every known dragon death in history and creating armor and training to compensate.

His mother had fled to the North with barely a whisper of warning from Jon, she was safe from the Southron threat, but no one was safe from dragons. Jon would not see Westeros covered in ashes to satisfy Targaryen blood lust.

So he called one of his own servants and bid them take the letter to the king, bracing himself for Rhaegar to join them soon, smug and assured of his youngest's allegiance.

But it was Rhaenys who came, sending the nursemaid and his son away, taking the now-empty seat across from him.

He'd known little about her before arriving, she was not involved in the wars and so she held no interest to the Westerosi. That she was married to their brother should not have surprised him, that they both spoke as though they were equally their father's heir did, for a time.

Rhaenys was the steady, slow burning of the sun compared to Aegon's flash fires. Already, Jon felt like squirming under her gaze, feeling like confessing to a dozen small sins that were meaningless to her.

"Father does not wish for you to be alone until the traitors among us are found," she said, her tone not one Jon could manage to protest against. "You will begin attending the meetings that Aegon or I do, as well as training with our Kingsguard." He bit his tongue and nodded along. "Your guard will be increased and you will stay in father's rooms–his household is the most known quantity, with no new additions. A bed and other amenities are being added to his music room."

He'd only just been getting to know the household he was granted. They were impeccable professionals, many taken from the households of the other Targaryens, but he supposed there were enough new hires to make Rhaegar nervous.

"Do you think they will be able to reach me here? The letter made it sound as though…they expected my cooperation."

The letter had assumed many things: that Jon would go willingly, that Margaery had somehow cheated on him with Aegon and his son was not his own, that he was being held hostage now.

Rhaenys' expression turned dark. "They stole you from us once already, we will not give them a chane to do it a second time."

He held back any commentary, knowing he could not change her mind.