PART III: A City This Darkness Can't Hide
The Tower of the Hand
300 AC
The walk from the dungeons had been nauseating.
Starag Mormont hadn't a single clue just how bad the situation was regarding the livelihoods and quality of men who were serving in the City Watch of King's Landing. And today alone, he'd been privy to the whole nine.
The newly installed Commander of the City Watch, a fisherman's son named Averey Boddenbruk, had successfully turned each of the seventy-six men in. Neither was he alone in the act. The guardsmen under the command of the corrupt officials had shown up to the Red Keep with their unscrupulous brothers in chains that very same morning.
The change in the guard had, ironically enough, been prompted by the explosion of the Great Sept of Baelor. Commander Janos Slynt had been found among the dead, with the upper half of his body burnt horribly, even having his entire right arm melted completely.
And since the kingpin of the entire dishonest syndicate within the City Watch had fallen, so too had the men attempting to supplant him.
They fell one by one until, eventually, they were turned in and thrown into the dungeons.
Mormont briefly reflected on the possibility of the men within the City Watch wanting to cover up the whole operation by taking out the top brass, but the fact that these some two thousand men had seemingly all gotten the idea to organize and turn in their underhanded superiors while all being in on it, simply didn't fit in. As such, Mormont figured that these men had honest intentions, at least far more decent ones than the previous guard.
And after meeting Commander Averey Boddenbruk himself, a man who once commanded the River Gate, Mormont felt the City Watch was in quite capable hands.
They'd met in Mormont's temporary office within the Tower of the Hand by its base. It once belonged to the former Master of Coin, and Starag had decided to take up residence due to how easy it was to access. If he needed to be elsewhere in the city fast, he wouldn't need to climb down the entire tower.
Though there was a light layer of dust over the wide yew table by the center of the circular room, and the yellow Pentoshi carpets had not been cleaned for a few days now. Thankfully, the gray-stone hearth was still fresh with unburnt wood.
The new Commander had sat across the table from him, while Oberyn had remained a constant presence during Mormont's stay in King's Landing, and had sat at his side. The Dornishman still kept his grizzled long hair and beard, both features essentially making him look like a completely different man.
"I feel I owed it to Lord Stark," Commander Boddenbruk had a hard Riverlander's drawl as he gave Mormont a toothy grin. "'Rounded up the lads in a pinch. Those corrupt men didn't put up much of a fight. Barely had more than a day's training, I should think. One of 'em was even crying for his mum." He laughed. "Always got a kick out of lordin' us around though."
"They usually do." Mormont said. He liked this brash fisherman. He didn't cut corners or mince his words. "In the wrong hands, power is used for more sadistic satisfaction, I'm afraid. You've done the city a service ridding us of those men."
Averey bowed his head. "Just doing my duty, my lord."
"Lord Stark would like to thank you himself, but he's currently meeting with the commanders of the Tully and Lannister forces." Mormont said, which seemed to please the other man greatly.
"Just solving some minor disputes, of course." Oberyn added on at his side, with his usual sardonic grin.
Boddenbruk looked relieved at the implications, and quickly fixed his mask to that of a soldier. "Glad to hear it, my lords. But you should tell Lord Stark that he don't need to thank me or the lads. My boys at the River Gate say he's a good man, even if he's young. He's got the look of his father, may the Seven rest his soul. Good man, too from what I've heard of 'em."
"He was the best of us." Starag agreed. "Before you get back out there, Commander, there's another favor I'd like to ask of you."
Averey inclined his head. "What is it, my lord?"
"There's a possibility of more caches of wildfire being placed throughout the city sewers." Mormont said. "If you and your men could run a few circuits in the underbelly of the city and remove them, if there are any remaining caches, we'd be very grateful."
And so too would the rest of the city. His words were left unsaid, but he'd gotten the message across.
Averey seemed to contemplate the request for a moment. "I'd be happy to help, my lords." He paused. "But we'll be running short of men keeping the peace between the Tully and Lannister men if the rest of us are busy rummaging in the sewers. Afraid this city is a mite too big for us lot."
Mormont, however, had been expecting such an objection. "That's fine." He waved his hand aside, as if dismissing the issue entirely. "We've a detachment of soldiers from House Manderly in the city as well, as I'm sure you're aware. I'm sure Lord Stark would be willing to have some of them assist in this matter. How many will you need?"
"Fifty or so should do the job."
"You'll have a hundred."
Boddenbruk's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. "But-" He cut himself off, so as to not appear rude. "Thank you, my lord." He said with no small amount of gratitude.
"No," Mormont shook his head with a smile. "Thank you and your men for your service to the people. It's not gone unnoticed." He stood up from his chair and held out his hand to the newly instated commander.
Averey stood up from his seat and heartily shook the offered hand. He gave both Mormont and Oberyn one last nod each, and then turned around making his way out of the office.
Once he was gone, Oberyn had shut the door behind him and took up Boddenbruk's former seat. "You're quite generous to the men under your command." He noted.
Mormont sat back down and poured over some of the paperwork sent his way. Financial matters, of course. Not that he couldn't handle it, he simply found it inconvenient. "One has to be. Oftentimes these men risk their lives for wars and battles they barely comprehend." he said. "And they rarely serve under one who values their lives. Best to treat them as men, give them the respect they deserve, not as figurines on a map."
"I agree." The Dornishman nodded his head. "Though one might wonder if they would cease to see you as a commander, and to see you as a friend who gives favors easily."
"Not at all." Mormont laughed. "If a man wants something, he'll have to earn it. And besides," He continued, his smile dying. "We're in wartime. The City Watch will need all the help they can get to help keep the people calm."
For a few moments, nothing was said between either man. Mormont turned his attention back to the documents on his desk, which were several days old.
It seemed that Petyr Baelish, the former Master of Coin, had brought in several dozen ships from Gulltown which looked to house more food and warm blankets for the coming weeks. At the very least, some parts of the situation were turning around in their favor. The people would have more food while he and Jon prepared to deal with Aegon.
Aegon. His thoughts had turned dark upon recalling the name. A dangerous enemy from across the Narrow Sea had appeared, and had supposedly wanted to take Mormont's wife for his own. Neither Aegon, nor Varys would have reckoned with her now being Lady of Bear Island, Sea Dragon Point, and the Stony Shore.
A part of Mormont wanted to head to Dragonstone now and put down this sorry excuse for a dragonlord once and for all. Even more so now that Mormont knew Aegon was responsible for Ned's death.
If, no, when Aegon led his army to King's Landing, Mormont had the distinct feeling he would not lead from the front. His actions had shown as much.
It was clear enough, judging by the style of Robert's execution, and of how the Great Sept was handled, that Aegon had a fair share of disdain and disrespect for the previous establishment. So much so, that he did not see fit to meet his opponents in battle, but only to have them killed through poison and subterfuge.
Aegon saw them as ants. Simple pests that were inconvenient enough to be dealt with immediately. A stepping stone between him and the Iron Throne.
"Do you think he'll come for Rhaenys?" Oberyn seemed to read his mind. Mormont didn't mind. The Dornishman's niece had inherited the talent.
"I don't know," Mormont set down the papers and looked into those black slits for eyes. "It's clear to me that even the Spider hadn't known about her leaving Dorne. He likely knew about my arrival, but if he's not pieced it together yet, then it's likely they don't know when she left. Or if she left with me at all."
Oberyn seemed to be placated by that answer. Mormont realized that the Dornishman had in fact been looking for some small comfort, to know whether or not his only reminder of his long dead sister would also be in danger from this new threat across the Narrow Sea.
Yet, Mormont had to be realistic in that sense. Varys had likely known that Rhaenys was being kept in the Water Gardens under the name of Rhae Sand. And soon enough, when the opposition had more time to focus on the matter, they'd soon piece together rumors here and there of another Rhae Sand who lived far in the North on Bear Island.
Oh, Mormont had taken precautions. Marrying a Targaryen had called for it. Lady Rhaenys of Bear Island was a lady who lived well in the shadows, and only the people on Bear Island and the staff who lived within Bear Keep actually knew what she looked like.
But as the days passed by, Mormont began to wonder just how long the cover would last. It was possible that Rhaenys could be pegged as the very same Rhae Sand who once lived in Dorne, especially by Aegon and Varys.
And with the presence of Bronzie on his island, Mormont began to wonder just how long he could keep up the charade from everyone. The great bronze dragon showed no signs of halting her physical growth. The North was a realm ripe with magic, in the rocks, in the rivers, ground and trees. The Direwolves had been clear examples of how quickly such mythical creatures could grow in such a short time. Bronzie, and likely Snowfyre by extension, would not be exceptions. Mormont could feel it in his bones.
Eventually, Bronzie would reach a size too large for him to keep away from the public eye. She would be damn near as large as the Black Dread. If not bigger. When that secret became known to his people, and to the other lords of the North, Mormont would soon need to reveal his wife's identity as well.
"Doran would never give her up." Oberyn's tone was staunch. "Not even if he believed in Connington's lies. She will be safe on Bear Island."
"But for how long, Oberyn?" Mormont sighed. "How easy would it be for this Aegon to fly to Bear Island right now and collect her?" A part of him knew it wouldn't be that easy. Bronzie would protect her rider. And Rhaenys by extension would protect their children. "My people love her. She's more fair a ruler than I am, but no less harsh. My men would die to defend her and our children. Yet there is little they can do against a dragon."
"And there is something you can do against such a creature?" Oberyn asked with a raised eyebrow.
Mormont paused. He'd never spoken openly about his magic. Not even to Ned or to Jon. Only Rhaenys knew the vague story about how he'd made his way out of the First Flame in Valyria. Only she would keep his secret and take it to the grave.
And he wasn't about to reveal it now. "Possibly." he said cryptically and left it at that.
The answer only served to mystify Oberyn, yet the Dornishman was a skilled courtier, and knew when someone had wanted to drop the subject.
Oberyn had opened his mouth to spark up another question, yet he was interrupted by a series of loud knocks against the door to Mormont's office.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
It was followed by: "My lord! There are visitors at the gates asking for you!" It was Jory.
Mormont frowned. Why anyone would be asking for him of all people at this time of the evening, this ungodly hour by normal standards, was beyond him.
And it was highly suspicious.
He looked at Oberyn, who had already nodded and stood from his seat. While Mormont arose as well, the Red Viper had already collected his spear from the large circular table on the other side of the room.
Mormont already had Longclaw clipped to his belt, so he approached the door and opened it. Jory was there with a few Stark guards at his side. "They were asking for me specifically?" He asked. "Who?"
"A man." Jory answered. "He was in the company of another. We think it's a girl." He added on. "They were both cloaked, but the man insisted that he speak with Ser Starag Mormont of Bear Island."
Ser? Not Lord? That was odd. Mormont had not been addressed as "Ser" in quite a long time. "Did he say why?"
Jory stepped closer to the door. "He said it's a matter to do with something called the Tower of Joy, my lord. He said you'd know what he meant."
Mormont forced himself to be ice-cold. Nobody should know about that. He nodded to Jory. "I'll be right out." He said. "Stay there."
"My lord." Jory nodded.
Mormont closed the door again and let out a heavy breath. Oberyn had been standing nearby. "What is the Tower of Joy?" He asked.
"It's where we found Lyanna by the end of the rebellion." Mormont answered quietly. And where we found Jon. Oberyn squared his features immediately, recognizing the severity of the situation. "There's very few people who know about it. If word of this gets out, it won't be pretty."
"We'll deal with them." Oberyn said. "What do these people want?"
"I don't know." Mormont admitted. His left hand had unconsciously tightened around Longclaw. "But I'm about to find out."
The march into the cold night hadn't taken long. The Tower of the Hand was not far away from the main gates to the Red Keep. Mormont had walked with Oberyn at his side, and Jory behind him with some five extra Stark household guardsmen.
The darkened bronze gates shimmered whitely with the light of the moon. Mormont nodded to the men standing guard, and to the additional unit at the top of the archway along the walls. The gates opened again, soon revealing two hooded figures. The one in front was far taller than the other, whose slight build Mormont had pegged as a woman's. And a small one at that.
It was the man who stepped forward, immediately drawing back his hood. Mormont vaguely recognized the mane of long dark brown hair and the fully grown beard where there had once been a clean shaven face.
A face that Mormont had not seen in eighteen years. Not since the end of Robert's Rebellion.
Two dark hazel eyes watched Mormont like a hawk. It was the trained killer instinct of a man expert in not simply killing, but also in defending. And the way the man stood implied he'd had more than his fair share of combat.
"Whent?" Mormont asked, blinking again as he inspected the man's face in the darkness. "Oswell Whent?"
Sure enough, the Kingsguard had smiled genuinely. "In the flesh." He said. "It appears you've lost an eye, Ser Mormont."
"That's Lord Mormont to you," Jory corrected the man. "You're speaking to the Lord of Bear Island. You best pay him some respect."
Mormont laid a hand on Jory's shoulder. "It's alright, Jory. He meant no disrespect. Ser Whent's just been out of the loop for a while." He approached the Kingsguard, now standing just a few feet away from him. "What are you doing here?"
Whent stepped forward. Mormont's guards had mirrored his action, laying their hands on their weapons. Mormont waved his hand, signalling them to stand down. Meanwhile, Whent closed the distance.
"I must speak with Lord Stark." He said carefully. "We came here from Dragonstone. And we must be back before we're missed."
Mormont looked sharply into the man's eyes. "Dragonstone…" He growled. "You're with him?"
"No!" Whent seemed both frustrated and confused at Starag's apparent knowledge of the situation. "We had nothing to do with the Sept or Lord Stark's death. It…" He paused. "It was not our decision."
"Our?" Mormont asked, still furious. "Who's 'we'?"
Whent let out a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, he looked behind him at the other hooded figure: the woman.
Mormont also glanced directly at her. For a moment nothing was said between all three of them as he inspected past the dark gray hood of linen, and then spied the soft braids of silver-gold hair.
And when he saw the girl's sparkling violet eyes shining back at him, everything became clear. No…
Daenerys Targaryen.
Jon Stark let out an exhausted sigh as he fell back in his chair.
The last hour or so had been a difficult meeting on his end. More so because of the two remaining commanders respectively in charge of the Lannister and Tully forces within the city walls. They'd just left his father's office only a few minutes ago.
My office now, he bitterly reminded himself. Eddard Stark was dead, and Jon was now acting as Hand of the King in his father's stead.
There was nobody else in charge who could deal with the destruction of the Great Sept, nobody who had taken on the stress that came with running the capital of Westeros. His father would've been able to do it, and so would Starag.
But Jon knew it was his duty. And so, he'd endure.
The remaining Faith of the Seven, those who belonged to the council of the Most Devout, had been scattered all across the city, with some of the more popular priests and holy men taking ships to Oldtown or even traveling down the Roseroad so they could retreat to the Starry Sept. The only remainder was a small splinter group called The Sparrows. Led by a man known only as the High Sparrow, who had been one of the first to come to approach Jon.
The Great Sept was destroyed, and the spiritual health of the people had shattered overnight, or so the old man claimed.
"Please, my lord." The hard-eyed old man had said. "The Sept of Baelor was a shining beacon for all of us who worshiped the gods. We cannot rebuild it now, but perhaps you can help us build a replacement? Surely you see that this would indeed be of great benefit to the people?"
It was a matter that Jon was not wholly concerned with. He did not worship the Seven. He kept to the Old Gods, like the Starks of old.
And the High Sparrow had known that.
Yet, Jon could see the forest for the trees. It was not his duty to convert the people of King's Landing over to the Old Gods. It was his duty to keep them safe, and to make sure they had the peace of mind to walk the streets and live their lives in relative comfort away from war.
Having some kind of replacement built in the city would no doubt alleviate tensions between the soldiers and the people. To help the smallfolk get through these difficult times. And it would make Jon's duty far easier.
"I do not worship your gods," Jon said slowly. The old man only nodded with him in agreement. "However, I understand the importance of religion and how it can bring people together. You will have any supplies you deem necessary to build a replacement Sept. And you will have men from my own fleet if you require them. Perhaps on a more suitable lot within the city. Visenya's Hill is no longer a stable foundation."
The High Sparrow had brought his hands together and bowed. "You are doing the Father's work, my lord. Even if you do not belong to him." He smiled graciously at Jon. "I pray to him that you will find those responsible and bring them to justice, Lord Stark."
Next came the remaining members of the Alchemists' Guild, who had come begging to have their nearly collapsed guildhall cleared of all the rubble within. Those who had survived, could not get inside the building, and thus could not continue their wretched experiments.
Jon would not sacrifice valuable time and manpower just for wildfire. He told those men to go build another guildhall somewhere in the city, and that they'd have whatever supplies they needed. They'd begrudgingly went on their way.
There were two more matters which had been brought to his attention as well. The arrest of the corrupt City Watch officials he'd handed off to Starag, meanwhile Jon decided that he'd deal with the respective commanders of the Tully and Lannister forces: Lord Tytos Blackwood, and Ser Kevan Lannister.
That meeting, while tense, had been rather productive. Thank the Old Gods.
"I sincerely doubt this Aegon was behind it all," Kevan Lannister had said as he rose from his seat. "But out of the respect I had for your Lord Father, and for the sake of my family, I will draw back my forces from any skirmishes within the city." he held out his hand to Jon, who had shaken it rather heartily.
Lord Blackwood had been a bit more difficult. Lysa Tully had been his wife, and she was on her way to an early grave while Tywin Lannister was unconscious in the infirmary.
Yet he too had seen the light, and agreed to work with Jon in the meantime.
By the time they'd left his office, it was well into the night. Beyond the windows in the Hand's Chambers, Jon had quickly spotted the midnight black curtain of the night sky. The white-yellow moon was full, and the glittering stars had come out to play in full force.
It's quite beautiful, even on the eve of war, Jon thought to himself.
Had Margaery been seeing the same thing? Gods, what was running through her mind at a time like this? It had been nearly a week since he'd sent his letter to her.
She was probably stressed out of her mind right now, probably trying to keep herself preoccupied with the day to day operations in Queenscrown. Worried that her man wouldn't come home this time.
But even now, in a place so very far away from the North, Jon could feel her support. Across a distance of thousands of miles and wartorn country.
He glanced down at the table before him, and at the two direwolves who each lay in their own spots throughout his office. Ghost and Lya were practically attached to him by the hip these days. Both of them were looking out for his safety.
Jon then looked at the lone box of matches with a sharp bloodstain on its left side. And at the pipe that once belonged to his father. He could still smell the tobacco remnants inside the bowl.
The work would never stop, he realised. More and more of it would just keep on coming. And how would he stave off the threat of Aegon when the time came? How could he defend an entire city against an army of over fifty thousand strong?
He simply picked up the pipe, deciding to distract himself with something else. How did the bloody thing work? How had his father done it?
Jon quickly cleaned the pipe and plucked it between his teeth. Then he took a match out of the box and struck it against the clear red line on its side. A tiny spark flashed, but nothing came of it. He tried again, this time with a bit more force.
A young flame had sparked to life on the match between his finger and thumb. He brought it inside the bowl of the pipe, putting the flame up against the small scraps of tobacco inside. Soon enough, it began to burn lightly, and Jon shook out the flame like he'd seen his father (and Starag) do on many occasions.
He sucked in a lungful of the stuff, expecting to release it into the air as his father had done. Yet Jon was not ready for the heavy cough which was situated in his lungs. He took the pipe out and fought for air.
"Don't know why you took this stuff up, Father." He said to himself as he looked down at the pipe. Then, after a few moments, he put it back in his mouth and tried again.
This time the process was smoother, and Jon was satisfied upon seeing the controlled burst of pipe smoke fuming out of his nose and mouth. Almost like a dragon.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Jon glanced sharply at the door to his office. Both Ghost and Lya had mirrored the action and sprung instantly up on all fours.
"It's Starag." The voice outside had called. Jon relaxed, setting the pipe down on his desk and standing from his seat. He approached the door and opened it, seeing his uncle standing on the other side with Oberyn and Jory.
"What is it?" Jon asked. "Everything cleared up with Commander Boddenbruk?"
"Everything's fine," Starag said uneasily. "But something else has come up. Got some visitors down by the gate asking for you."
"Visitors?"
"Mmmhmm. And they mentioned the Tower of Joy."
Jon felt his blood run cold. He'd not heard of that since his father told him about the end of Robert's Rebellion when he was twelve. Of how his father had found a dying Lyanna Stark who had just recently given birth to a babe. A son. Me.
If these strangers knew about that, then they certainly knew who his parents truly were. "Who are they?"
"One of them is a friend," Starag said. "Oswell Whent. One of Aerys' Kingsguard. The other, well…" He paused. "You'd better see for yourself. I gave them a room in Maegor's Holdfast. They're expecting you there."
Oswell Whent? Jon had thought. Why in the Seven Hells had Whent returned? And now of all times?
Arthur had spoken generously of his comrade in arms. Whent was a dependable man, one who was one of the most cunning warriors in their generation. Yet all Jon had known about the man's whereabouts was that he'd gone across the Narrow Sea, and had completely disappeared from the face of the earth.
And yet, Whent was here. Along with someone else, someone who Starag seemed conflicted about hosting. But who?
Jon decided that he'd find out what this was all about. And then, he'd get himself a good night's sleep.
The walk to Maegor's Holdfast had been silent and brief.
By the time Jon had found the room where Whent and his companion were staying in, he'd already felt the sweat on his palms beginning to dry.
Starag stopped in front of the doors. "Best you go on with the wolves. I'll be out here."
Jon looked at the abnormally tall man. "Do you know who it is?" He asked about Whent's companion.
"I do," He said. "But I'm not about to interrupt a family reunion."
Family reunion? Jon had frowned at Starag's choice of words, but simply nodded his head. He turned to the twin bronze doors and twisted the handle, opening it. Then, with Ghost and Lya on either side of him, stepped inside.
The door shut gently behind him. Jon glanced around the well-lit chambers with scrutinising eyes, quickly spotting the lone sentinel standing guard by the round table in the middle of the room, and the other patron who sat at ease on one of chairs.
The hearth by the right side of the room had already been lit. Must've caught a chill from the cold. They weren't used to winter, it appeared.
The man had quickly seen Jon, and just as quickly had fallen to his knees, laying his blade on the floor. "Your Grace," He said with distinct reverence.
He's certainly a Kingsguard, Jon noted. He approached the man he now knew was Oswell Whent and stood before him. "You may stand, Ser Whent."
The knight glanced up at him with small twinkles in his dark hazel eyes. He smiled graciously to Jon once more and stood tall, just a bit taller than Jon himself.
"I…" Whent started. "I have not seen you since you were little, Your Grace." He paused. "Forgive me for not being able to protect you in your formative years. I have not forgotten my duty."
Jon nodded, though he knew he wouldn't be able to live up to the man's thoughts as Rhaegar's son. Jon was Eddard Stark through and through. "Why have you come, Ser Whent?" he asked, cutting right to the chase.
Before Whent could answer, his companion had risen from their seat, drawing Jon's attention away. Two pale forearms had risen and drawn back the dark gray hood in an instant, revealing a young woman with a shining curtain of silver-gold curls, and two sparkling violet eyes.
Jon narrowed his eyes as he inspected the girl further. Pale skin, and a narrow, feminine face which many would consider fair and beautiful. And yet the eyes… He'd only ever seen those eyes before on Rhaenys, and Duncan and Jeor. Which would mean…
He felt all the tension leave his body as the girl pressed forward and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his chest and hugging him as if it would be her last. "Jae!" she cried out in happiness.
Daenerys. The answer pounded into his mind like a bell. My aunt Daenerys… He found himself hugging the girl back as the realization came over him. "Daenerys?" He asked.
"Yes, Jae! It's me!" She said into his neck. He felt her tears rub wet against his skin.
When they separated, Jon took note of their difference in height. Where Margaery had been just a few inches shorter than Jon, Daenerys was practically a head shorter than him. And the energy within her smile more or less gave him the impression of the spirited younger sister. Almost as if Arya and Dyanna melded into a single person, but with Targaryen colouring.
Jon found his tongue. "What are you doing here, aunt?" He asked. She was behind the Sept. His anger returned one thousand fold. "Tell me now."
Daenerys had quickly taken notice of his change in expression. She backed away slightly. "Jae-"
"The name my father gave me was Jon." He clarified coldly. "He was killed in the aftermath of the explosion at Baelor's Sept. Tell me aunt, and be truthful. Did you have a hand in its planning?"
"No!" Daenerys nearly cried. Now she clung to Jon for dear life. "I-" she paused. "He told me that he wouldn't go through with it. He promised me he wouldn't. I thought we would march on the city and have Robert surrender it to us. But-" she cut herself off.
Jon filled in the blanks himself. "He" had been Aegon. "Elaborate." He demanded.
His aunt complied, gathering herself. "Everyone told him the plan was mad and that it would cause outrage throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Myself, Varys, even Lord Connington. Aegon said that he wouldn't do it, but…" she paused again. "He lied. He ordered some of his soldiers to light the wildfire underneath Visenya's Hill during Robert's funeral."
Jon read her expression, and felt the tension and sincerity in her voice. She's telling the truth, he decided. He ceased his cold expression and warmly wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her into another hug. His aunt had graciously accepted it.
A few moments later, he sat her down by the table, with Whent having taken his place by the doors opposite of Ghost and Lya.
Jon held his aunt's hands. "Start at the beginning. I want to know everything that happened to you."
His concern seemed to warm her greatly. She smiled and squeezed his hands. "Are you sure? It's not nearly as exciting as your story."
"Of course I am. And don't leave anything out."
Daenerys nodded. "There's nothing much to begin with. I grew up in Braavos for a few years, in a little house with my own room." She recanted. "I remember it clearly. It had a little red door, and there was a beautiful lemon tree underneath my window. Have you been to Braavos?"
Jon dipped his head. "Only once. We had to stop and get supplies. Dropped by the Iron Bank as well."
"Oh, well I lived down by the Green Canal." She continued. "When I was about five, we had to leave." She said sadly. "That was when Uncle Oswell found us."
"Us?"
"Mmmhmm," She hummed. "My brother Viserys and I."
"What happened to Viserys?" Jon asked.
Daenerys looked away from him briefly. "He was killed by my husband." She said, "Viserys… He tried to kill me. And he brought a weapon into their city. Weapons aren't allowed in Vaes Dothrak."
What? Jon ran his hand through his beard in contemplation. He never knew his Targaryen uncle, so it was difficult to feel a connection about his death. Yet Jon was furious by the fact alone that Viserys Targaryen had tried to kill his own sister. And how did they meet the Dothraki?
"Nevermind that." Jon shook his head. "What happened to you next?"
Daenerys continued her story. "We went to each of the Free Cities, never really staying in one place at a time. Eventually we were taken in by a Magister named Illyrio Mopatis in Pentos. We lived there until the Magister had me betrothed to a Dothraki Khal."
"What?" Jon's voice was that of cold fury.
His aunt squeezed his hands again. "Please, Jae. By this time, Uncle Oswell had already told me about you. He said you were across the Narrow Sea in the North, that you needed help to take back the throne from the Usurper."
The situation was a bit more complicated than that. At that age, Jon had been mucking about in Winterfell with his siblings. Even if the Tyrells and the Martells had been covertly recruited to Jon's banner.
But Jon seriously doubted there would be a full-blown war. His father loved Robert as a brother, and Jon himself was occupied with ruling Queenscrown. Arthur had married Dacey Mormont and was practically ruling over the city of Westhelm on Sea Dragon Point. Their alliances with the Tyrells and the Martells were more or less there just in case Robert discovered his heritage. Otherwise, they were comfortable just to get on with their lives.
It was now of all times, after Aegon's schemes, that Jon had found himself closest to the Iron Throne, where before, he'd sat on the weirwood throne made for him in Queenscrown.
Daenerys went on. "So… So I decided to go through with it." She said in earnest. "I wanted to find allies for you. So you could take back the throne one day. I knew a little about Dothraki culture, and I knew they'd be a formidable force to have on your side one day."
Jon felt his heart twist. "You did not need to marry a Khal on my behalf. I would never ask such a thing from you."
"At the time, I believed it would help." She explained to him, "And my husband was good to me. He was a savage and a brute, but I loved him. He looked after me and made sure I was safe."
Jon would never have asked a girl so young to marry some warlord at the edge of the world. He couldn't imagine putting Arya through something like that, much less his own aunt. "At least there's that," he muttered darkly.
"But…" She paused. "Drogo-that was his name-he died. A witch killed him with her foul blood magic. It was then that I had her killed." She said with no emotion. "And that was when my dragons hatched."
Jon forced himself to be ice-cold. It slightly troubled him to hear her lack of emotion when she mentioned having another person killed. But then, he supposed, she'd lived in a more brutal environment around the Dothraki. And had gotten used to their ways.
"You… have dragons?" He asked, and decided not to mention his own dragons, who he'd brought back from Valyria.
Daenerys nodded happily, wiping away her tears. "I do," She said. "There are three; Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion. The first dragons birthed from stone in over a hundred years. They've been at my side ever since. I don't know how far I would've gotten without them. From there I went to Qarth. We had a little trouble, we managed just fine. After Qarth, I went to Astapor and I obtained an army of Unsullied-some eight thousand of them. And before I was to go to Meereen, Aegon found me."
Her voice took on a different, more hesitant note. She's afraid of him. "He was much more charming, then. He claimed to be Rhaegar's son, the one who'd been killed by The-Mountain-That-Rides. I didn't believe him at the time, but…" She trailed off. "My dragons took well to him. They liked him like no other. I was surprised, but pleasantly so." Daenerys explained. "He must've been telling the truth. I don't think he would be alive if he wasn't."
"Daenerys," Jon rubbed his thumb over her palm. "Aegon is dead. He died during the Sack of King's Landing. This pretender is not your nephew, and he's not my brother. He's killed hundreds of innocents, and clearly holds honor in no high regard." He stood from his chair and looked at Whent. "Ser Oswell. What do you think of Aegon? You've seen him, have you not?"
The Kingsguard looked back and forth between Jon and Daenerys for a few moments. "I have, Your Grace. And…" He trailed off. "I never believed him to be your own brother. But Princess Daenerys is correct in that he has an affinity for her dragons."
"He must be Aegon." Daenerys said sharply as she also stood from her seat. "I've seen him ride Rhaegal, my second eldest. And…" She looked down at the floor. "I've seen him cast people into the fire."
Jon looked sharply at his aunt. "Who?" A bad feeling began to twist in his gut.
Daenerys had gulped. "Lord Stannis. And his family."
"By the Old Gods," Jon pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Stannis is dead… And Aegon was yet again responsible. "Why?"
"It was the Red Priests," Daenerys said, now gripping Jon's arm. "I swear, Jae, he was better before they came along. He was kinder and noble. But they began to twist his mind. They told him he was Azor Ahai reborn, that he was born amidst salt and smoke, and that he would wake dragons out of stone. They said kingsblood would make a worthy sacrifice to the Lord of Light and Stannis-"
Jon held up a hand to stop her from speaking. And Stannis had kingsblood. Along with his daughter. Aegon was not against burning children, it seemed. The revelation only further cemented that he was irredeemable.
He doubted his aunt's claims about Aegon before the Red Priests had arrived. He was just that kind of man the whole time. Aegon simply got his first real whiff of power with a dragon at his command, and now he was revealing himself. And he did not doubt that the Red Priests only served to further expand Aegon's ego. Difficult when one believes they're destined to save the world.
Jon himself had not grown up with such an ego. Not even under the guidance of Arthur Dayne, who had more or less been the best friend of Rhaegar Targaryen. And in the household of House Stark, Jon had come to see hard work and discipline as the way to get the things he wanted.
This business with the Red Priests was even more troubling. "How did the Red Priests find him?"
"It was the Red Woman. Melisandre, I believe her name is." Daenerys elaborated. "She was with Stannis, but she turned when we landed on Dragonstone. She began telling Aegon he was the "Prince Who Was Promised" and he believed her. Then he ordered her to send for the High Priest in Volantis. Varys wasn't very happy about it, though. Neither was Lord Connington."
"I could imagine." Their prized heir turned into a religious fanatic.
"They arrived on Dragonstone and began to worship Aegon," She continued. "The High Priest had claimed he was destined to defeat something called "The Great Other" and that he would soon claim the Iron Throne. They even brought their slave army with them."
Excellent. Jon thought to himself. A slave army dedicated to killing the enemies of a madman with a dragon. How could this get any worse?
Well, his aunt wasn't done quite yet. "Aegon became so twisted that he said he planned to rebuild the Great Sept as a temple dedicated to the Lord of Light." She informed him. "Varys wanted to rebuild it for the Faith of the Seven, as it was popular with the people, but Aegon just said, "The people will learn the true faith in time.""
Jon held back his rage. That was why the sept was destroyed. Along with the opportunity to get rid of his enemies, Aegon simply wanted to fuel his fucking ego by building a temple for the very same people who were worshippng him. Fucking degenerate.
Hadn't Aegon known that itself was a terrible play? The Lords of Westeros were, for the most part, followers of the Faith of the Seven. Forcing people to accept another religion, one which was renowned for human sacrifice and staring into fires, was practically insane.
It seemed to Jon that his opponent had no shits to give on that front. Aegon did have an army of over fifty thousand strong, and three dragons at his back. For all intents and purposes, it would've been easy to believe the divine importance that the Red Priests had placed upon him.
Aegon thought he was a god. A deity too important to play fair with ants like Jon Stark.
Jon felt himself grow tired with each passing revelation. There was far too much for him to think about, to analyze and sort through. Once he was alone, it would be far easier.
With what he knew now about Aegon, it was clear who he was dealing with: a ruthless opponent, one cunning enough to use underhanded tactics, and one who was incredibly patient at that. His plans to overtake the Seven Kingdoms would've been sometime to fruition. It didn't matter in the end. He had an incredibly large army, and three fire-breathing serpents at his beck and call. His ascension to the Iron Throne was all but inevitable.
And yet… Jon knew that Aegon had a weakness. He thinks himself beyond us mortals. He thought to himself. I can use that. But how?
His mind would find the solution in due time. Right now, he needed to make sure his aunt was safe. And that she would be on his side when it mattered most.
Jon placed his hands on her shoulders. "Aunt…" He pursed his lips. "I cannot let Aegon take the city. I cannot allow him to become King. Even if I am doomed to die trying to stop him." Jon said sternly. "I won't ask you to stand with me. I just… I want you to make sure that if I do perish, that Aegon does not burn the North. I need you to make sure that they're safe. You're the only other Targaryen with dragons."
Daenerys seemed close to tearing up again. "Jae, it won't come to that! I can reason with him. Perhaps-"
"Dany." He said, his voice hardening. His aunt let out a small sigh. "He lied to you about the Sept. And if you tell him about me now, he'll only see me as a threat to his rule." Jon squeezed her shoulders gently. "Promise me you'll keep the North safe if I die. Promise me, Daenerys."
There was complete silence in the room for a few moments. His aunt said nothing as she looked to the floor and took his hands again.
Then, she glanced up, with tears rolling in fresh torrents from her violet eyes. "I promise, Jae. I promise I'll keep the North safe no matter what."
Jon smiled and kissed his aunt's forehead. "Good." He said.
He looked at Oswell Whent. "Ser Oswell, it's time you and my aunt go back to Dragonstone. Protect her as you've always done." He said. "I have my own battle to fight. Consider this my final command."
The Kingsguard bowed once again. "It was an honor meeting you, Your Grace. I pray that we meet again once this is all over."
So do I.
Jon hugged his aunt one last time, and before she left through the twin bronze doors, she gave him a tearful kiss on the cheek goodbye. "Please be safe, Jae."
Jon almost laughed. She would probably still call him "Jae" no matter what. She'd grown up thinking of him in that name. Even if he still thought himself to be Jon Stark of Queenscrown and not Jaehaerys Targaryen III.
Whent and his aunt were gone just as soon as they'd arrived.
"What did they want?" Starag asked him as they walked down the pink marble halls of Maegor's Holdfast.
"Nothing." Jon said quietly. "She had nothing to do with the Great Sept, though. Said she was against it."
"And you believe her?"
"I do," Jon nodded.
That was enough for Starag, who had been suspicious of Daenerys from the beginning. He, like Jon, was still angry over Ned's death. "That one's on Aegon and Varys then?"
"It is." Varys was not in the clear. He'd known about the wildfire before the Sept exploded, nevermind what his aunt had said about the opposition's council. Varys probably didn't like the move, but was forced to go along with Aegon's plot. Hard to disagree with someone who has a dragon.
Jon looked to the older man at his side. "When do you think they'll arrive?"
Starag paused for a moment, considering a proper answer. "Within a moon. Perhaps two at most. It's only intelligent to take the city before the other kingdoms can field their armies."
A moon. What could they prepare in a moon's time? What would change in that time? How could one successfully defend a city against an army of over fifty thousand strong? And with only a fraction of those forces at that.
There were perhaps about just under ten thousand men in King's Landing. Each added up from the Manderly fleet, the Tullys, Lannisters, and the City Watch. But that was about it.
A fledgling force, against an army of fifty thousand and three fucking dragons.
Jon had turned the corner when he spotted Jory making his way down the hall opposite of him. He was coming towards Jon, and with Marwyn in toe.
Both Jon and Starag looked to one another, and then back at the pair heading towards them. Jon managed to spy something in the Archmaester's hands. Something that was shining.
"Letter from Dragonstone." Marwyn said as he stood in front of them. He looked at Jon first. "It's addressed to you, Jon."
Jon Stark frowned and took the letter out of Marwyn's hands. It was a shimmering crisp piece of tan-gold paper, likely Pentoshi. Rimmed along the borders of the page were strips of gold, and there was a distinct maroon wax seal.
Jon broke the seal and unscrolled the letter. This is what it said:
Stark,
How you came to know my plans, I do not know.
But it matters not. You've only inconvenienced me with your flock of ravens.
My army has landed in the Crownlands. They will march on King's Landing soon, and in a fortnight, they will arrive and take over the city.
By then, I expect you to be well on your way above the Neck.
I am not without mercy. I will allow you and your men to leave King's Landing and return to the North without trouble. I trust your brother will bend the knee when the time comes regardless.
Besides, I hear you are to be wed to Margaery Tyrell, and that you are expecting a child on her. Follow my advice: do not leave her a widow so young, and do not leave your babe without a father. Fly to the North and stay there. This is the only warning I shall give you.
If you do not heed it, then I will see your Stark's head placed on a spike for all the Seven Kingdoms to see. Then I will burn the North until there is naught left but snow and ash.
Aegon Targaryen VI,
King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Rightful Ruler of All Westeros.
Jon Stark snarled coldly as he read the letter again and again. Eventually, he could not find it in himself to stomach another read, and had passed off the letter back to Marwyn, turning around and staring off down the hall.
He expects me to leave? Knowing full well he's responsible for my father's death? Jon forced his rage back down and controlled it.
"What's the decision, Jon?"
It was Starag who fielded the question. Yet the older man damn well knew what Jon's answer would be before he asked.
Jon turned around and looked sharply at the much taller man. "We stand and fight." He proclaimed, for the Gods, both Old and New, to hear.
"While I still breathe, Aegon will not take King's Landing."
Author's Notes:
Well, things are certainly powering up for a full-scale battle.
Jon and Aegon are direct adversaries now, and I've got to say-it's a hell of a long time coming.
And I decided to change up Daenerys' end of the story, in little ways at least. She never became Queen of Meereen this time around, as she met Aegon before she could go there. And her birthing dragons from stone line up with Jon and Starag returning from Valyria at the end of Book 2.
Don't worry, she'll find out about Jon's dragons soon enough.
Next time, Jon and Starag prepare King's Landing for the arrival of Aegon's army and fleet.
See you then.