THE LOST DRAGON POV :after two weeks of THE HIDDEN DRAGON POV.
THE QUIET WOLF POV :after a week of last THE QUIET WOLF POV.
THE 'DEAD' DRAGON: two days after THE LAST DRAGON POV.
THE QUIET WOLF POV: two weeks after above mentioned THE QUIET WOLF POV(CH2).
THE LOST DRAGON POV: two and a half weeks after the above mentioned THE LOST DRAGON POV(CH2)
THE YOUNG DIREWOLF: five days after THE LOST DRAGON POV(CH2 Part2)
The Lost Dragon
It had taken nearly two weeks to travel between Winterfell and Castle Black. The travelling had been easy because of the strong horse he had stolen from the stables letting him cover a good distance and because of Ghost and him. He and ghost used to go and bring food usually small rabbits and ghost had always won because seeing the brown rabbits in the growth was difficult. Still he had brought a fair share of rabbits. The ration and the water skins had depleted in the first week of travel, so he had to look for ponds to drink water and fill water again.
After the long and hard ride, he saw the massive, booming wall in front of him. It was a massive structure fully made of ice, stone and earth. Legends had said that Brandon the Builder, the first King of Winter, had constructed the wall using giants and mammoths and used magic and runes of the old tongue to bind the stones to stop magical creatures, like the others, from entering the realm. He knew how Brandon the Builder had used Giants and Mammoths. He was a Warg, a Skinchanger. He knew this because he was one himself. He used to warg into Ghost and had aptly named them wolf-dreams. After he had figured it out he tried it when he was still awake. The results were not like he wanted to be but had considerably gotten better. Ghost was now the size of a small wolf and had started to hunt for bigger creatures.
At times he had looked into a pond and saw his face. The stark face had completely gone away and he had a much more beautiful and unearthly valyrian face. The high cheekbones, the pale skin, the slanted eyebrows and the large forehead. Whenever he went to some town the women over there would look at him and blush. A few days prior not a single stark feature was present on his face. Even his eyes had started to change, and the grey was returning into the corners while the purple shade of wine came forward. The transition was painless but slow. By the time he reached the wall the grey was still present in great quantities, while the wine was in less. His hair however had not changed at all. It was still raven in color, but he knew it would change after some time because even as a baby he had the Targaryen hair. He had even crafted himself and identity. Jae Sand. He had had been a bastard in name for a long a long time. A few weeks would not hurt him.
He also had different dreams. Dreams of meeting his father. His father playing his mother a song. A song he said, he made especially for her.
As he neared the gates of castle black he heard the sound of a horn and the gates of Castle Black opened to welcome him in. he trotted into the courtyard where he saw the brothers of the watch practicing their sword play. He had heard the story about the nights watch. How honorable men had manned the wall and how that had been reduced to rapers, poachers, and thieves. He could hear the mutterings of men.
One man boldly asked him, "Are you her to take the black, Ser."
"I've come here to meet Maester Aemon, and I am no Ser." He said coolly.
"The Maester is attending more visitors that the Wall is." One grunted.
"Aye, while one is already staying here, another comes to meet him." The second one grunted.
Another man came forward. He had the look of a knight. He looked at him and asked him, "Who are you and why have you come here?"
He replied indifferently to the knight. "My name is Jae Sand and my grand-uncle has sent me here to meet him. He was a friend of Maester Aemon."
He nodded at me and the looked towards the side and muttered something to the brother beside him. The brother ran and called someone. The person who came was one of the most hideous persons I had met. He had a red face covered with boils and had a large cyst on his neck.
"This is Chett. He will take you to Maester Aemon." The knight said.
I got down of the horse and the man, Chett guided me to uncle Aemon's solar.
"Maester Aemon someone is here to meet you." Chett spoke.
The man in front of him was his uncle. His looks betrayed his age. He must have been well above a hundred years old. He was thin and looked sickly. The lilac had been taken away from his eyes and had been replaced with the white of cataracts and he had become blinded. His uncle beckoned him closer so, he took a chair and sat down beside him.
"Maester Aemon, I need to speak with you privately, if possible." He said politely to his uncle.
"Chett." He asked for his steward.
"I'm right here Maester."
"Please, leave us." Aemon said and Chett left them. Only after Chett left he started to think what he was going to tell his uncle.
"M-Maester," he stammered, "forgive me for intruding upon like this but this something that needed to talked face to face and could not be sent by a raven."
"Maester I was born amidst the sands of Dorne. My mother was Lady Lyanna, of House Stark, and my father was…," he wanted to say but couldn't find the words. He gathered up his courage and spoke it. "My father was Rhaegar Targaryen. I even have documents to prove it along with a locket and my father's harp. I even have by mother's nuptial and wedding cloak with me if you want proof." He had spoken the last part in a hurry.
Aemon's hand reached and touched my face. Even in such an old age and in such a frigid place warmth was present in his hand. I leaned into his touch which felt so familiar even though he had never experienced it before.
A grandfather's touch.
His other hand came up and started exploring his face. He gathered that this was how he used to get to know about a person.
"You have a valyrian face. Do tell me your coloring?" He asked inquisitively.
"I had the Stark coloring." I answered truthfully.
"Had the Stark coloring."
Uncle Aemon was very inquisitive and observant.
"Yes. I had a dream. A dragon dream, I think, like Daenys the Dreamer had. But it was about the past. It showed me that when I was born I had the classic Targaryen features. The eyes however were a purple shade of wine. Slowly but gradually my hair and eye color changed along with my face to resemble the Starks. It was until that night that Lord Stark told me who I was. After that on the way, my face has completely changed, and my eyes are changing. I think in a week or two I will resemble the Targaryen's completely."
He nodded at it as if he understood it. "Magic. It is present in the blood of all Valyrian's."
"What do you call yourself now days."
"The name my parents gave me is Jaehaerys III Targaryen but I prefer to be called Jae nowadays. As a nickname of course."
"You aren't going to ask for some confirmation?" He asked, raising my brow.
"I knew you were a Targaryen the moment you walked through that door. Which one that I didn't. Now I do."
"How…" he started asking but Aemon cut it.
"Magic. It was why I was driven away. All because of my blood. The blood of Old Valyria which has everything rooted in Fire and Blood. Because of the magic present in my blood." He commented sorrowfully. "I do not regret being here on the wall because being here has only cemented my beliefs' of magic still being present. The Wall is a living proof."
"Anyway, why would you want to listen to the ramblings of an old man."
"No, uncle Aemon, I would love to listen to your counsel. It would be valuable to me as would my sword. After all the only battles fought are not only on the battlefield." Uncle smiled at this.
"It seems that you have a budding politician in you as well Jae. Anyhow let me make you meet someone. He is as close to me as he would be to you. Would you help this old man get up?"
He hastily stood up and helped uncle Aemon get up. Aemon took his cane and they started walking towards his private chambers. The chambers were sparsely decorated. There was bed, a table where Uncle Aemon kept his things and a hearth which was roaring with flames. What caught his eye was another man in the chambers. He was young, maybe, around thirty but what really caught his eye was the massive gape on his chest. his eyes were instinctively drawn to the man's eyes. They were indigo in color.
The same color that my father had.
"Jaehaerys, I present you Rhaegar Targaryen, your father." He half-whispered to him.
"And Rhaegar, I present you Jaehaerys Targaryen, your son with Lyanna Stark." He half-whispered again.
There was an eerie silence which was broken by them shouting 'Father' and 'Son' at each other quizzically.
The Quiet Wolf
Jon had left after he told him the truth. It had come as a shocking blow to him. He had men sent to search for him, but Jon was nowhere to be found. He had blamed all of this on himself that he told Jon and Jon had left him. He was angry, bitter, and a host of other emotions flowed through him. The child he had raised gone. Even dead Rhaegar seemed to have stolen Jon right under his grasp. Rhaegar had even bested Robert. Dead and he was the one who got Lyanna. He had sent raven to the Lords of every house in the north to look for and if they found him to keep him there until he came. Even after a week there had been no report of Jon. All of that had been pushed back to his mind with him attending the king and his court.
Robert had changed for the bad. He was all fat and he could not see the 'Demon of the Trident' as people called him. He used to drink a lot and his face was all red. He had grown a wild black beard. He was not the person he had grown up with.
The very first thing that Robert did after he arrived here was paying respects to Lyanna. He so had wanted to shout at Robert that Lyanna did not love him. She loved Rhaegar and had eloped with him and that they had a child. But he knew that he could not do that without letting Robert know his secret. Robert had also asked him to become his hand. Sure, the position would appeal a number of lords, but the position meant little to him. The last Stark who served as hand of the King was Lord Cregan Stark serving to Aegon III Targaryen. He was reluctant to accept it and Catelyn had supported him, but Sansa had pressured him into accepting it.
Sansa had brought up another topic of a betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa. Robert had asked him, and he had said that he wanted to ask Sansa about it. Sansa had accepted it without a moment's hesitation. Robb seemed to dislike Joffrey a lot and so did he. The boy looked more Lannister and less Baratheon. Well, he looked full Lannister and no Baratheon.
Today however he and Robert were sitting in the courtyard watching a fight between Robb and Joffrey. The boys had, had a spat yesterday. Well Joffrey was screeching, but Robb had kept a cool and impassive face. He was proud of his boy at that moment. Robert had suggested that they decide who was right by fighting each other in the courtyard tomorrow with live steel. The notion had made a chorus of aye's and here he was now sitting and watching as the Robb got ready for his faceoff with Joffrey with the whole of kings party and half the Winterfell watching.
The two boys came out wearing their armor. Robb was wearing the customary boiled leather armor with mail, greaves and gloves, while the price was wearing his fashionable golden armor with rubies on his breastplate. Joffrey had a sword strapped to his side. The sword itself had gleaming blue steel, was castle-forged, double-edged with a gold lion's pommel. The longsword was proportioned to fit a twelve-year old's hand.
Robb on the other hand had a sword strapped to his back which was taller than him. He took it out of the sheath and the people around him gasped at him. There was Ice in all its mighty glory, the blade itself was drinking in the sunlight around it with its smoky and hazy appearance. Then also, he could see an addition to it. The pommel of Ice had been replaced with a large head of a wolf with chips of topaz as its eyes.
Grey Wind. The wolf head was resemblance to Grey Wind and it was bigger to resemble the head of a direwolf.
"You gave him Ice?" Asked Catelyn, her eyes blazing with fury.
"Aye. The Heir to Winterfell always trains with a Greatsword and Robb has been practicing with a Greatsword the same size of Ice but heavier than it. I've seen him wield that with ease, Ice is nothing compared to it in weight." He calmly explained to her. He wanted to see how his kid would fare with it in a battle.
He could see Cersei muttering to Robert about him giving Ice to Robb. Why couldn't they wrap their heads that, yes, he had given it to him.
"The boys agreed to fight with live steel and Ned gave his son the ancestral sword to fight. Now shut up you damn woman." He looked at the courtyard and spoke, "Let the fight begin."
"Why aren't you wearing your helm, Stark?" The prince asked Robb, fear and doubt evident in his voice. No doubt from Ice.
"We northerners, unlike you southerners, don't wear a helm, your grace." Robb said impassively.
"This duel will continue till one of you yields or is thrown out of the ring." Ser Rodrik's voice cut the dense silence that surrounded the courtyard. Both of them nodded at that. Ser Rodrik then shouted, "Begin."
Joffrey charged at Robb swinging his sword with all his might and Robb side-stepped it. Joffrey then went wilder, slashing, stabbing, and all of it but Robb parried it all away.
"Attack Robb show him what the north is made of." Screamed Arya, cheering for her brother.
Robb looked at her and then smiled, promising her with the smile he would show what the north was and much more. Then Robb pushed back slashing and stabbing at the price who had no choice but to go back considering the sword's exceptional reach. Soon enough he had Joffrey on the floor with Ice pressed on his throat.
"P-P-Please, please don't. I-I-I yield." Joffrey said stammering and squealing like a pig.
The result of today's match had been declared. The direwolf had beaten the lion. He could see Robb muttering something in Joffrey's ear. Joffrey was shit scared when he saw Cersei shove Robb and cooed to Joffrey. he saw Robb coming towards them. He went away and clapped his son's back affectionately.
"You did well. You've made all the Starks proud today." He said. Robb took off Ice and handed it back to him. He instead pressed it back in his hand. "Ice was never meant to be mine, but it is meant to be yours. Brandon trained with a greatsword for most of his life and I preferred a longsword. I still prefer a longsword, but you deserve Ice. Keep it. And I like the new pommel."
Arya came out of nowhere and hugged Robb tightly. She was telling how good he was and with how ease he handled Joffrey and Ice both. Robb was grinning like an idiot while hearing her praises.
"What did you say to him after the match." This poked his interest too. He wanted to know.
"A lion may be the king of the jungle, and a stag may be fast, but no one either questions or outruns a direwolf."
Pride shone clearly in his eyes though he didn't know if Robb saw it or not. At that very moment a crying Sansa come and shouting at Robb.
"It is because of you. All because of you. The prince is not talking to me, the queen is not talking to me, Joffrey probably hates me. All because of you. If you had let him win, it would not have happened."
"So, what. I just forsake my honor like that. Just so that you could get all comfortable with your prince. He agreed to it and he lost. And anyhow, who is your family. Us or that baby prince of yours." Robb snapped at Sansa and continued. "Tell me Sansa."
"You are, but Joffrey is my betroth." Sansa said, timidly.
"Everything before the word 'but' is horse-shit." Robb said.
"When the snows fall, and the white winds blow…., what comes after that."
"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." Sansa said.
"Do you want to be the lone wolf and die, Sansa, or will you stay with the pack. Always remember, Family first in any situation." Robb said.
At that moment he had been proud of his boy. He was all a father could hope for.
All and more.
The 'Dead' Dragon
Rhaegar Targaryen had not been it his best of shape from the day he had been healed by the fire priest. He remembered the fight all well. Robert and He both were perched atop horses, Robert swinging his hammer wildly while he parried blows. He had even landed cuts on Baratheon's body, but the man was unrelenting. In the end Baratheon had finally hit him with his hammer and crushed his chest. Only one name came to his mind.
Lyanna.
He thought he was dead until he awoke at the dwelling of a red priest. The priest that his time was not over, and he would live to see another day but would not be able to fight because of the blow that his chest took. The priest told him that all his ribs were broken some even puncturing his lugs. He even asked how many days he had been here. 1 year the man had replied. He left the humble abode of the man creating a new identity for himself.
Lord Daeron.
He had retired himself away from Westeros. All the politics and wars and alliances. He left all of it and went to Lys. From Lys he travelled all of the nine free cities. It was at the time of him travelling Pentos that he heard of two Targaryen children being hosted by Magister Illyrio Mopatis. He had confronted them and revealed his identity. He was happy to see his sister Daenerys and his little brother Viserys.
Daenerys was a hearty little girl who loved books and she could sing very well. Viserys on the other hand become bitter and cruel. He could see the mad streak of his father clearly imprinted on his character. After he had enough money he planned to visit Maester Aemon in Castle Black.
During the go and forth between to Maester Aemon he had also found the legendary blade of the Targaryens'.
Blackfyre.
The legendary hand and half longsword was used by Aegon the Conqueror to bind the previously broken Seven Kingdoms. Even though he had united Six of the Kingdoms. That in itself was an incredible feat. He thought that he would present Viserys with the blade after he grew but Viserys seemed to only disappoint him. Soon he thought of not giving the blade to Viserys.
Instead of all of those things his thoughts were currently diverted towards the child sleeping beside him. He looked so peaceful and beautiful. A child befitting the Flames of Valyria. One of the last embers of Old Valyria.
His and Lyanna's child. Jaehaerys Targaryen.
He had a crown of brown hair and grey eyes, but he had said that they would change and melt into his Valyrian features. For all of Ned Stark's faults, he was indebted to Lord Stark for keeping his son alive. Today he had become the world's happiest person. No one could have matched his happiness. The happiness to find his child alive who he thought of being dead with Lyanna.
Tomorrow they would be leaving. They would go beyond the wall to retrieve an object of much importance to House Targaryen. They would go and retrieve Dark Sister. The famous longsword wielded by Visenya Targaryen, and Brynden Rivers, Bloodraven as people called him. Before getting lost in a private ranging north Bloodraven had told his nephew where Dark Sister would reside. Just the thought of going beyond the wall was appealing.
Morning came not much after and Jae and he were dressed in the armor provided by the nights watch. At the last moment he cornered Jae.
"Look, son, I'm not much of a fighter now. Not since Baratheon's bloody hammer came down on my chest." He said with conviction.
Jae shrugged at it, "What do you mean father?" He asked.
"It means that you will carry Blackfyre and I will carry your sword. And there will be no more questions. That is an order from your father." He said with determination.
Jae puffed up his chest with pride in having to carry Blackfyre. The sword was after all Aegon the Conqueror's. we traded sword and Jae strapped Blackfyre to his waist. They went and stood near one of the tunnels which led them to the wilderness on the opposite side. They just had to go to the Godswood beyond the wall. Aemon had said Dark Sister was lodged in the weirwood.
He looked at the Lord Commander and nodded. He had informed him of the dangers of the wildlings, but he relented when he told him that they would be going only to the Godswood. He looked at Mormont and nodded. The gates opened, and he and Jae went beyond the wall.
After half-a-days walk in the haunted forest amongst the ironwoods, sentinels and oaks they finally reached the Godswood beyond the wall and to say it was not spectacular was false. The weirwood over here was a weirwood even larger and older than the one against which Lyanna and he had married. Both of them were silent before the gods of the north. He turned to his left seeing his son's eyes closed in lips moving in an inaudible prayer.
The Gods of North are as much of a part of him as the Gods of Valyria.
When he saw his eyes there was a different light to them. They seemed to glow with power.
"Did Aemon tell you were the sword is?" Jae asked him.
He assumed that Bloodraven might have hidden the sword inside the tree. He shuddered to think what condition it would be in. The roots of the weirwood were inside the dark, hostile waters of the pool.
"It can be inside the tree." Jae nodded at him.
Jae unbuckled the sword belt that was around his waist and started to take his clothes off. He grabbed his hand as he went to unclasp his cloak.
"What do you think you are doing? Uncloaking yourself in the midst of such cold." He hissed at his son.
"I am going to take out Dark Sister by jumping in the pond." Jae answered.
"And how do you know it is there?" He asked.
"The raven was pointing towards it." Jae quickly continued to prevent any further questions, "The raven was warged into, and I know how it is warged because I myself can warg into Ghost and I saw the same look in its eyes."
"Fine." He relented. Jae took off his boots and tunic. He was impressed. The physique of his fifteen-year-old son was no doubt impressive. A rock-hard abdomen and strong pectorals. His body was lean but filled with muscle. Jae dived into the lake. He looked hard to see where he was, but it was impossible to figure it out in the dark waters of the pond. A hand came up and put a sword on the ice beside it. Jae came up gasping for breath, shivering from the cold waters and the winds. He picked up the sword and ran his eyes through its length.
Valyrian Steel.
He held the legendary blade of Visenya Targaryen in his hands. He was overjoyed at it. He had found it. No, they had found it. But it was in a horrible condition.
The Quiet Wolf
Eddard Stark sat at the horse prepared for him, looking back at the grey looming walls of his home, Winterfell. He could see the faint outline of his son and the outline of a sword even bigger than his son. Ice, he thought. He had left the Valyrian greatsword of the Starks in capable hands. He still didn't feel like he should have left Winterfell. Inside the walls he felt home, that was half the truth. The other half was more terrible than that. Someone had pushed his son Bran out of the broken tower.
Brandon like all his other children except Arya and Jon favored the Tully colouring. Bran was not meek just a little shy, but the boy could climb like no other man could. He had seen him climbing and he had even scolded him too. Bran was always quick on his feet and he had no doubt that he had mapped the castle walls more time than he himself could remember. He sensed someone else at work. Somebody had pushed Bran out of the window. He just couldn't figure who. Why would someone need to push a nine-year-old boy? Why? Why? Why? The question just kept ringing in his mind.
They had found Bran near the broken tower due to his direwolf's constant howling after the hunt. The people had immediately rushed him to his chambers with Maester Luwin in tow. Cat had shortly come after him and was followed by the girls. All of his family had shed tears that day and Robert had done his best to offer him words of comfort. Cat had never left Bran's side till now eating very little. He closed his eyes trying to remember how Bran looked the last he had seen him. All his mind could conjure was of Bran's broken body on his bed, his left hand held between Catelyn's soft hands. His face looked at peace as he was one and not broken like he really was. There was a strange sense of peace and serenity around him, but he could smell the anger too. Hidden beneath the false layers the anger was present in palpable waves. He was angry at the person who had thrown him from the tower.
He gripped at the pommel of his longsword and turned his horse and started riding for the kings party. He had accepted this, and it had become his duty and he would fulfill his duty even it meant staying away from home.
The Lost Dragon
They were riding through the thick undergrowth of the wolf's wood towards Winterfell. His father and he had wanted to their wife and mother, respectively. Jae himself had wanted to leave a message to Robb, in the crypts describing his run-off but he in the letter he was clever enough to leave the topic of his father being alive. He was desperate enough to meet his Targaryen side of the family as he had grown up with the Starks. On the way they also had to hide from the men of the night's watch and the new recruits. He had seen Uncle Benjen with them and he was disappointed that he could not meet him for the final time, until he came to Westeros.
All the body hairs he had, including the ones around his cock, had turned silver-gold but a few hairs still had black roots. He had dyed his hair black like his father as to avoid getting caught. On the way to Winterfell he had heard snaps of many incidents and one them was the falling of Bran from the broken tower and how he would never wake up. He had been in an emotional turmoil that night and shouldn't he have been? His brother had fallen from a tower most probably never to wake up. Today was different.
He had strapped Blackfyre, in its sheath, to his waist, it was only a few inches shorter than Ice, shorter than him by three inches. His father however had Dark Sister strapped, in its sheath, to his waist. The blade, though still sharp, had an assortment of twigs glued to it by ice. Only after they had come to back to Castle black did Uncle Aemon tell us to dip it in hot water and clean it with an oil cloth. Since then both of them had carried an oil cloth with them.
After an hour of walking in the wolf's wood the grey granite walls of Winterfell loomed ahead of them. He was jovial, looking at the walls of Winterfell. They approached the Hunter's gate, it was nearest to them, while Ghost roamed outside as he would certainly make Robb come to them.
"Hey, look more hunters'." One guard said snobbishly. The guards had certainly changed since he had left.
"Aye, one with fancy swords too." The other laughed.
"We have a meeting with Lord Robb, and I don't think he would be pleased when he realises that his guards kept us late." He said impatiently.
"And who might you be then." The guard said derisively. He was starting to get on his head.
"We are from Karhold and Lord Karstark has sent us specially to deliver this message." He snapped at them. The guards', eyes held the particular emotion that he wanted them to have. They opened the gate and let us through. We walked till the end of the courtyard, near the kennels. The kennel master, Farlen, was there tending to the dogs. The two direwolves were there in a secluded corner where no one wanted to go. Even with being so far from the hunting dogs they still produced the wanted fear in the eyes of the dogs. he could spot Grey Wind with his smoky fur and Shaggydog with his black one but he could not find Bran's direwolf.
"Last I heard, there were three direwolves in Winterfell with two heading south. I only see two." Father questioned, rhetorically. Even I had had my doubts of where Bran's direwolf would be. I shrugged it off. We crossed the guest house and arrived at the armory.
I could see Mikken working in the armory, as usual, covered with soot, dust and sweat. He was in the process of making a sword. We walked inside the armory and Mikken looked towards us.
"Can we borrow a shovel. We need to dig up something outside in the woods." He asked in a clipped tone. Mikken nodded tersely at us and we then grabbed the shovel and walked out of the door. They were headed towards the crypts the views in between making his mind catapult back in time. They arrived at the door, after what felt like hours. He was really preoccupied with drinking the sights of Winterfell which he was not going to see for a long time. They opened the door to the crypts and made their journey down the crypts seeing the dead Winter Kings and the Lords of Winterfell until they arrived at the crypt. The most dreaded crypt for them, his father and him. He could feel the soft mushy ground which had been dug up a month ago. Both of them bowed their heads in remembrance, trying to occupy their minds with every little thought of hers.
He picked up the shovel and thudded the ground. Once. Twice. Then he finally started to dig it up until he reached the strongbox. He looked at the indigo eyes of his father asking for help to remove the strogbox. His father bent down, picked up one of the ledges while he picked up the other. Together grunting, huffing and puffing the brought out the box and opened it. His eyes met his father's asking him a father nodded to unspoken question and he brought the contents from the satchel.
He got a last look at the cloak's that had kept him warm during the whole journey to Castle Black. He remembered their scent trying to commit it to his memory and the he laid them inside the box. Next came the documents. The proof to his identity. His father and he both had agreed that this was the safest place for something as delicate as this. Placing them both inside the box they kept it back at its rightful place and buried it.
At the end he placed a letter for Robb, on the base of his mother's statue. A letter with the seal of House Targaryen. A seal which had not been used since the 'death' of Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident. House Targaryen had returned to Westeros that day and in the subsequent days Fire and Blood would be brought on its enemies.
The summer snows enveloping the grounds of the North were one of the most beautiful things he had seen, a scenery that he would never get to see again. His father and he had stayed in Winter Town for one night enjoying the comforts of a room for one last time until such they reached another castle where they could stay. Father was in the washroom cleaning the muck and smells they had gathered during their way back to Winterfell. He remembered the tongue-lashings they had given each other for many-a-days until it quieted down and the began to understand each other. The most troubling thing to him was the fact that his mother and father had forsaken their duty and plunged a realm into war. A war which had killed thousands and he had been at the end of it. For a person who had been raised by an honorable man, who put duty ahead of everything he couldn't bear for this. He wore his clothes, the traditional red and black of the Targaryens but with hints of grey and white honoring the Starks', the house which his mother had belonged to and the house which had raised him and given him shelter. He had his own personal insignia as well, a shield quartered, bearing the insignia of the Targaryens' and Starks'.
He walked outside the room down the rickety, old steps of the holdfast and ended up in the hall. He went to the counter carrying a purse of copper stars, he had won in gambling from a drunk man, and slapped it on the table. A girl came out, a pretty one at that, with red flaming hair and bright brown eyes. She blushed on seeing him. He nearly had that kind of reaction on every girl and some boys wherever he went. She fidgeted and looked down at the counter. "We are checking out and would like a meal, for two of course and two horses, saddled." he walked towards one of the tables but turned his head back and said, "Keep the change." The girl bit her and lip and nodded, her cheeks still bright red.
"Could you ever stop doing that?" his father asked, momentarily surprising him. He turned and sat on the chair, facing his father.
"It's not my fault. I don't do it intentionally, it just happens." He replied. The girl came and put the breakfast on the table and left quietly, after giving him a longing stare. He huffed at the thought of maids swooning over him, after all he was raised a bastard and who would want a bastard. Another was that he had promised, in front of the heart tree, never too father a bastard and he intended to keep that promise. His father calmly ate his breakfast and he broke the silence around them. "What are they like?" He asked his father.
"Who?" he asked back at him between his bites of bread.
"Daenerys and Viserys, of course. Who else would I ask for." he shot back, in hushed tones.
"Daenerys is nice, kind and caring and holds an exceptional love for books. She is exactly like mother sweet and caring. Viserys on the other hand, well he can be hard to describe. The only thing he has ever wanted was the throne ever since mother, your grandmother Rhaella, crowned him king. Daenerys has described his rants about winning the Iron Throne and crushing his enemies, namely the usurper and his dogs, the Starks'."
"So, in short, Daenerys is the kind of company you want, like grandmother Rhaella's and Viserys's company you don't because he is just like The Mad King." He summarised it.
"Could you please not call him 'The Mad King'. You can call him Aerys, after all he is your grandfather." His father said to him.
"No. I will not call him Aerys because he deserved his title justly. He may be my grandfather by blood but by relation he is not and never will be. He wanted to kill innocents and thousands of them just because he wanted no one to take the Iron Throne. Seriously, Father." He shot back at him. All of this was true. Aerys Targaryen had planted caches of wildfire beneath King's Landing. They were still there most probably, protected by sands and spells interwoven into each other, otherwise King's landing would have been smoke and ashes by now. He glared heatedly at his father.
He pushed the chair and got up walking towards the door. He went outside the scent of pinewood and freshly soaked ground filling his lungs. He walked towards the stables and found the two horses, he had ordered, saddled kept over there. He looked at the grey looming walls of Winterfell for the last time. The place was associated with so many memories. The spars between Robb and him, the loving memories of playing the harp in the gardens, the studies with Maester Luwin the fun-filled moments with Bran and little Rickon, the times Sansa would braid his hair. Any amount of distance between them couldn't and wouldn't change things between them. They would always remain his brother and sister that he would remember. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. He turned around met the comforting gaze of his father. His eyes like himself were rheumy. He raised his hands and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He nodded at his father and the both sat atop their respective steeds and started journeying towards White Harbor. The next leg of their journey.
The Young Direwolf
Robb Stark was tired figuratively and literally. He was tired of sitting on the iron throne of his ancestors ruling the north for Robert Baratheon. He had wanted to rule Winterfell ever since he had been aware that he was the heir. He had even chastised Jon on how he would never have have Winterfell because he was a bastard. What he didn't understand that time was that holding winterfell was even more painful than before. He didn't know how his father did it and he could never know it. People expected him to be his father, they didn't understand that he wasn't the honorable Eddard Stark. He was Robb Stark and he didn't have any acclaims to his name.
He had finished with today's proceedings distributing a bit of grain, sparing some guard's to find a rapist and sentencing men, from the dungeons, to the wall. He was happy for Maester Luwin's council and he was angry at his mother for not looking at baby Rickon and focusing all her attention on Bran. he had some of the best soldiers guarding Bran's door and Summer was always seen with Bran never away from him except when he went to hunt. He had visited Bran daily after carrying out his lordly duties and he would also play with baby Rickon and look after Greywind and Shaggydog.
Bran's unnamed direwolf was named summer because his mother, of course, and he had found him stroking the coat and kept muttering Summer. They were overjoyed that Bran could speak and garnered that he would wake in some days. The warm furs that his mother had made him had greatly helped in keeping him warm from the summer snows that rained outside. He liked visiting the hidden corners of Winterfell that he and his siblings had found and many a time found himself on the top the broken tower, where Bran had fallen from. That was the general truth that everyone knew but he knew better. He had seen Bran climb firsthand and it would be no surprise to call Bran a monkey. The broken tower at one time used to be the highest watch-tower in Winterfell but had been broken due to a lightning storm. He had wanted to improve the conditions of the broken tower, it had been a dream to him, but he had pressing matters to his concern. Everything before the word 'but' is horseshit. A voice spoke in his mind, a voice he knew well. The voice of his father. And then he vowed that he would start the construction of the broken tower and it would be no longer broken. He would restore it to its former glory.
That was another day. Today he was with Greywind, the direwolf already had grown to the size of his waist and by the end of two to three months he was sure that Greywind would grow to the size of a horse and he could ride him. He desperately wanted to feel how riding a direwolf would be. He knew, somehow that he had a connection Greywind ever since he had those wolf dreams. Last knight however was peculiar one. He had seen two people in the crypts, and it was not during night as usual but in the broad daylight. He had been informed that his eyes had gone blank, the whites of his eyes present and then he was back to normal. He wanted to go and investigate then and there but he had been advised by Maester Luwin not to. The very same night he was back at the crypts looking at the statue of Torrhen Stark, through Greywind's eyes, and sniffing at the base and the stone slab which oddly contained the smell of Iron and Bronze. The next he visited was that of his aunt Lyanna. The very same crypt that the strangers had visited. The smell was of freshly dug ground and after that he woke up to the blinding rays of the sun striking his face making him assume his lordly duties again until he could go down the crypts and figure the mystery for himself. So , now here he was in front of the ironwood door of the crypts of his ancestors waiting for himself to be judged in their eyes and figure out the mysteries of the crypts of Winterfell.
He opened the door and the earthy smell of the crypts accompanying him. He descended down the winding staircase, from the oldest crypts with their iron swords replicating Ice, to the newest ones. He stopped in front of the crypt belonging to Torrhen Stark, The King who Knelt. He hung the lantern at the pommel of the Greatsword of Torrhen Stark and called Greywind to him who was looking at the other crypts in a foreign manner. He paid reverence to Torrhen Stark for making the right decision of the banks of the Trident willing to save the lives of thirty thousand soldiers and his bannermen, even the leech lords of Dreadfort, from the fate of dying by wildfire. It was because of him that his seed still continued and the Starks still held Winterfell. Greywind, in his dreams, had smelt the stone slab containing the bones of Torrhen Stark. With the help of Greywinds stoky and meaty paws and his hands they removed the stone slab and found the bones of Torrhen Stark, not a bit decayed but that was not what drew his attention. Beside the bones of Torrhen stark was the crown of the Ancient King's of Winter in all its glory. He gingerly picked up the crown fearing that he might break it. He marveled at the plain simple beauty of the crown.
The crown was a open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the first men, runes that he couldn't describe. The circlet was surmounted by nine black iron spikes in the shape of longswords with a giant wolf's head, most probably a direwolf, and two smaller side turned heads howling, pinned in the front. It was beautiful and it showed the strength of the north. He placed the crown on the head of the stone direwolf and put the stone slab back. He then picked up the crown and begun balancing it on his hand inspecting every nook and corner of the fabled crown. Of all the crown that been given to Aegon the Conqueror only one remained and it was with the Starks'. Overjoyed he nearly forgot that he had to visit his aunt Lyanna's grave. Having no place to punt the crown he put it on his head. The crown fit on his head perfectly as if it was made for him. I'm the first person to wear this crown since Torrhen Stark kept it at the feet of Aegon the Conqueror. He stopped in front of the grave of his aunt. The only aunt on his father's side. The aunt he never knew. On the palms of her hands was a bouquet of Winter Roses, freshly plucked, by the rich aroma they filled the place with. On the slab was a letter. He picked up the letter and saw the seal and he dropped it with a shock. It was a seal of the Targaryen's, a seal that had not been seen since Robert Baratheon's bloody Rebellion. A letter with the seal now resided it the crypts of Winterfell. He picked up the letter and broke the seal, wanting to read its contents.
To Robb Stark,
Robb, I know you have been shocked by seeing the seal but you will die if I tell you who I am. I know you are afraid, I mean who isn't afraid of a seeing a seal that hasn't been seen since fourteen years. I was raised in Winterfell it is my home so don't be afraid. I was raised alongside you and I can never forget you all. As for who I am. Lady Stark called me a bastard. The infamous bastard of Winterfell. Yes Robb it's me Jon, but I prefer to go by my true name Jaehaerys, in short Jae. Remember the night when father said that he and uncle Benjen wanted to speak to me and everyone thought it was about the night's watch. It wasn't. It was about my mother. I know you will have one question "Who is your mother?". Well my mother is Princess Lyanna Targaryen, Consort to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Sister-Wife of Princess Elia Targaryen. Yes my mother loved both the royals and married them. My mother died from childbirth fever in Dorne. She died giving birth to me. For more proof you can dig up the ground in front of the grave and you will find a strongbox there. Open it and see for yourself but keep the things back in the ground. My facial features have also changed. Now I look like a Targaryen than a Stark due to magic present in the veins of Valyrians but have dyed my hair black to blend in. Also I have Blackfyre and Darksister both. Blackfyre is just like Ice and and Darksister is like any longsword but all valyrian steel. I cannot put all my thoughts in this letter but know that I love you and all of our family, holding a bit of animosity towards your mother.
Warm Regards,
Jaehaerys III Targaryen
Heir to Dragonstone, Summerhall and The Iron Throne.
He felt his breath knocked out of him. Jon Snow…...no, Jaehaerys Targaryen. They had hosted him for fourteen years. A Targaryen Prince had been brought up as a northern bastard, with no claim to any castle his only hope going to the wall and freeze off his balls protecting the realms of men. That very same bastard was now a prince, the heir to the Targaryen legacy and the Iron Throne.
His mother would be terrified that she had treated someone so important such rudely, Sansa would cry out in joy bragging how they had been hosting a prince. How she had brushed his hair and what not. To Bran, Arya, little Rickon and him it would not matter because he would have still been their brother. He could not believe it but there was little to believe after he had found the ancient crown of the Winter Kings and the Kings in the North. The script was not Jon's ruddy one, but the elegant script of a prince. He didn't need to dig up anything because he believed in the letter. It was an honest letter, true to any fault and the things belonging to to the Targaryens would be kept there. Safe until he had to take it out. He clutched the letter in one hand, planning to burn it so nobody would see it, and took the crown off his head and hid it in the folds of his cloak and he walked out merrily from the crypts of Winterfell, finally able to solve the mystery down there.
