The Prince No One Wanted

The sun was almost completely below the horizon before Jon decided to come down from the castle walls. He knew the feast had already started, and he had given his word to both Lord Eddard and the King that he would be in attendance. The sounds of laughter and merriment had already begun to waft through the air with the smell of roast meats. He took one last look at the sun as it streaked the sky with red, giving way to the black of night.The colors of my house. It was a strange thought, but one he supposed he would have to get used to.

By the time he had descended the stairs and wandered down to the courtyard, Ghost was waiting for him, silent and ready. The wolf had taken up the habit of wandering around the castle, often being paid no mind by the various servants, guards, and others that seemed content to go about their business. Ghost didn't seem much to mind going unnoticed, almost as if he was born without the expectation of receiving attention. Jon thought it was because he was the runt of the litter, a bastard just like his master. But I'm not a bastard, am I?

Once the doors of the great hall were in view he allowed himself a deep breath before taking the plunge. As soon as he stepped through those doors, his life would never be the same. He had some knowledge of courtly manners, but from what he had been told there was a much greater emphasis on them in King's Landing than in the North. This would be a Northern feast, to be sure, but he decided he would ask someone in the royal party how he might be expected to carry himself at a Southron dinner. Oddly enough, he thought it might be easier to ask Lady Catelyn. Unlike the Targaryens, she wasn't a stranger, and had seemed to have warmed to him in the short time since they had all learned the truth of his parentage. But she was still the woman who had treated him with hate and mistrust, who had tried to drive a wedge between him and her children, though she had only succeeded in doing so with Sansa. Although even that seemed not to have lasted. Sansa sought Jon out after his talk with Lord Eddard and the King to prattle on about how his life was just like one of the songs. How he had been hidden for his safety by his noble uncle but could now take his rightful place as a gallant prince. The whole thing made Jon want to wretch.

"Hello, bastard," came a voice from across the courtyard. Jon turned and saw a small man approach, goblet of wine in hand as he waddled over to where the boy was standing. He was perhaps a bit taller than Bran, with hair both pale-blonde and black and two mismatched eyes, one emerald green and one black as night. He walked up to Jon, took a sip of wine, and began to look him up and down, as if he were appraising an animal for auction.

"You're Tyrion Lannister, the Queen's brother?" Jon asked. He had heard tales about the Imp, and just like many of Old Nan's stories they were somewhat exaggerated. The little Lannister was ugly, to be certain, but the fabled scales and fangs were fortunately missing.

"And one-time Master of Coin! Quite right, bastard! It seems that is a head on your shoulders. Mayhaps you'll actually survive down in King's Landing."

"I'm no bastard!" Jon shot back, somewhat halfheartedly. He could still barely believe it himself.

"And if the Children of the Forest still walked the earth they would say I'm no dwarf, but neither of those things would do us any good in the capital."

"I…I'm still not sure if I'm going to King's Landing," Jon admitted. Other than the King and his…Lord Eddard, Jon still hadn't spoken of his looming decision to anyone else. It felt good to admit his insecurity though, and despite the dwarf's jape he could tell there was something sympathetic in his tone, as if he might have some inkling of what Jon was feeling.

"If not, you should consider accompanying me to the Wall on this little fact-finding mission of mine. The King has tasked me with a thorough appraisal of the state of the Night's Watch. You seem the quiet sort, but you'd doubtless be better conversation than some of these pig-headed knights who came north with me."

"I thought the King was a learned man." Jon said, surprised at Tyrion's apparent disinterest in King Rhaegar's company. The man who had just revealed himself as Jon's father was supposedly well-read and skilled in poetry and song.

"Oh, he most certainly is," laughed the Imp, "but of late he's become more learned in snarks and grumkins than the world we live in. I should warn you, if you do return with him to King's Landing he may be your only friend there. You're now one more warm body to stand between my sweet sister's little Daeron and the Iron Throne, and when Aegon and Rhaenys find out about you they'll no doubt resent having a living reminder of their father's betrayal of their mother around. Gods be good, lad, you haven't even arrived and you've alienated the entire court!" At this Tyrion let out a little chuckle, causing Jon to laugh along nervously.

"With so many princes in the capital, I can see why it wouldn't count for much," Jon tried to pass this off as a joke, but from the way Tyrion looked at him he realized he must have sounded sullen.

"Had you been raised in the court it might have," said the Imp, taking another swig of wine at the prospect. "But as a secret prince? Your mother and father were wed in a ceremony scarcely performed south of the Neck, and one which a clever septon would denounce in the name of piety and at the behest of an interested party. You're the prince no one wanted, which is why no matter what your father or anyone else may say you'll always be a bastard."

"You would speak to your Prince that way, Lord Tyrion?" Jon wanted to feign anger, to appear as a slighted noble might when his birth was called into question, but he had little practice and doubted he had been convincing. He had gone his entire life without being able to defend the honor of a mother he never knew and a father who claimed him as a mistake. Even now he couldn't make himself feel anger, just an old familiar ache. Ghost seemed to understand, whimpering and nuzzling his master's leg.

"Let me give you some advice, bastard," said Tyrion. "Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it will never be used to hurt you." At last, Jon found his fury.

"What the hells do you know about being a bastard, Imp?!" Ghost joined him in a low growl. Tyrion sighed, shook his head, and took another swig of wine, this time not stopping until the cup was completely dry.

"All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes, Your Grace. But come! Let's to the feast! It's almost beginning to sound lively and I need more wine." The Imp went over to the doors to the great hall and Jon followed him in, unsurprised to see he was right.

The feast was definitely now in full swing, but it was evident many of the more notable attendees were in no mood for celebrating. Jon had seen Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn speaking after he had left the man's solar, but those wounds had yet to heal, and after a long, awkward conversation with Lord Eddard and King Rhaegar it was obvious that they did not enjoy each other's company. When the Queen deigned to look at Jon at all, it was with utter disdain, although her children seemed to mostly just be curious. Baelor and Visenya were the two youngest, a boy and girl of seven and eight. Daeron, the eldest, was nearly of an age with Sansa. He looked at Jon with contempt, but not a contempt mixed with the hatred Jon could see in his mother's gaze. Tyrion took a seat at the far end of the main table at the hall beside his youngest nephew, and pointed to where Jon was expected to sit, to the left of his father the King. As he approached he caught Robb's gaze and the two shared a smile. The boy who he once knew as his brother's face was already somewhat flushed, meaning Jon wasn't sure if he would like to hear what he was about to say.

"So nice of you finally to join us, Jaharys!" Robb japed. "Jaeharys? Jarjarys? You Targaryens make your damned Valyrian names so hard to pronounce!" Jon shared a laugh with his cousin as Robb motioned for Jeyne Poole to pour him some wine. As she approached Jon with a goblet, the steward's daughter offered it to him with a guilty stare and a slight blush. Jon hadn't spoken with Jeyne much, but he knew she gossiped about him with Sansa and that her father Vayon would not allow her to spend time with him. Jon had heard since he was too young to understand that the passion that led to bastardry made bastards passionate themselves, and he suspected that had been a part of the steward's reasoning. Not that he had ever felt any more passionate than Robb, or Jeyne Poole for that matter with the looks she was giving him. Jon decided to thank her politely and excuse himself.

"I think my first royal decree will be to forbid that name to be spoken in my presence!" Jon said as he quickly and good-naturedly wheeled on Robb.

"As you wish, Your Grace!" Robb replied facetiously as he stood up from his seat to bow.

"Robb!" Lord Eddard called from the middle of the main table where he sat to the right of the King. "Keep your wits about you. There will be an important announcement and we can't have you looking like a fool in front of our bannermen."

"Yes, father." Robb poured the rest of his wine into Jon's goblet, causing it just barely to run over.

"Thanks," said Jon.

"Anything for a brother."

"Cousin," Jon corrected before looking down at his wine. "Though after a few more of these I think the distinction will be lost on me."

"Jaehaerys!" Rhaegar's voice resounded and Jon looked to see the King staring expectantly at him, silently demanding that he take his seat. Jon excused himself from Robb, only to see him, Bran, and Rickon all snickering at the use of that awful name, and sat beside the King. Rhaegar took a sip of his wine and a bite of meat before turning to his son. Seeing the King's cheeks somewhat flushed at well, Jon was unsure what might come next.

"The venison here is different than in King's Landing," he said evenly. "More gamey, though reasonably well-spiced, all things considered. Do you know if there is anything different in the preparation or if it has something to do with the animal?"

"It's elk, Your Grace," Jon told him.

"So it is," the King mused. Much of their conversation continued on that way, but it was to be expected after the long, painful talk they had had in Lord Stark's solar. It was hard for Jon to be this close to the King and not think of the some of Rhaegar's answers to his questions, how cryptic some of them were, as if he wasn't sure of them himself or as if he couldn't explain his behavior without recourse to hunches and feelings only he had known. The worst was when Jon had asked the King if he had loved his mother. The words would no doubt haunt him for years.

She was…important to me. The Wall began to look more appealing.

"Are you excited to finally be leaving this frozen waste of a kingdom, brother?" Jon remembered, much to his dismay, that the Targaryen children had been seated in order of seniority, putting him next to Daeron, who had just returned from chatting with a now red-faced Sansa. The prince stared at Jon as if he were talking to a simpleton.

"Daeron, be good to your brother," counseled the King. "He has lived in the North his whole life. And even if he hadn't, I doubt he would be as uncharitable in his assessment of it as you are in yours."

"If I'm to be Daeron the Good, father, shouldn't I defend my inheritance against jumped-up bastards?" Rhaegar shot his third son a murderous glare, one that made the boy cringe a bit. But then he turned his attention back to Jon. He wasn't finished.

"That's a reference to the family history, in case you were wondering."

"Clever," noted Jon. "Reading all those history books must take time. Tell me, have you ever found a moment to put down one of those books and pick up a sword?"

"I've been trained by some of the finest knights in the Realm," Daeron pronounced, choosing his words more carefully now that the eyes of his father were on him.

"If you mean those white cloaks of yours, with a mouth like that I imagine they spend more time defending you than training you."

"Peace, Jaehaerys," warned the King. "Do you both wish to wake the dragon this night?" Jon speared himself a sausage off a passing tray and quickly filled his mouth to avoid further conversation. He almost spit it out when he heard the voice of a small girl behind him.

"Hi Jae, my name is Visenya too." Swallowing his food, Jon turned to see the smiling little Targaryen princess tugging at his sleeve.

"Father told me you were supposed to be a girl, and he and Aunt Lyanna were going to call you Visenya, just like me. Jaehaerys was a just-in-case name for if he was wrong."

"I had also considered Visenyon," the King added, "but it was unattested in any of the genealogies." Jon groaned. When a figure all in black caught his eye, Jon turned to see his uncle Benjen approaching the man he once thought his father. Jon asked the King to excuse him without waiting for a response, running over with the other Stark children to greet the First Ranger of the Night's Watch.

"Uncle Benjen!" shouted Bran, wrapping the lean man in a warm embrace. Arya and Rickon joined him in doing so, while Sansa curtsied politely and Robb waited until his younger siblings were out of the way to grip his uncle's forearm in greeting. Jon approached and tried to copy his former brother, but Benjen would have none of it, pulling him into a hug with almost as much abandon as Bran.

"Jon! Look how you've grown! Or is it—"

"Jon. It'll always be Jon."

"Whatever you say, Janoris," joked Rickon, although Jon wasn't sure if the boy has mispronounced the name on purpose or was genuinely unaware of how to say it.

"Listen, uncle, I was hoping I could talk to you," said Jon, "about maybe joining the Night's Watch."

"And I was hoping to talk to you about the same thing," Benjen replied. Turning back to the others, he said, "Excuse me, loves, as soon as Jon and I are done I promise I'll have enough time for all my nieces and nephews." They took a few steps to the side until they were out of earshot of the Stark children before Jon spoke.

"I promised the King I would make my decision by tomorrow night," Jon said. "But I'm still not sure what I should do. I don't know anything about King's Landing, and I don't want to go all the way down there just to find out I'm no good at being a prince."

"Jon, there's much you don't know about life at the Wall, either," his uncle counseled him. "You may think you understand it, but it's a hard life, and not one suited for a prince with so much to live for."

"But everyone says I'll still be a bastard, and I'm the second son!" Jon almost shouted. "Everything will go to Aegon, and I've got no friends at court!"

"Then make some. It's what you would have to do as a sworn brother. I wouldn't be able to be there for you as often as you think. My duties as First Ranger take me far beyond the Wall for weeks at a time. You would have to make a new family for yourself, same as in King's Landing."

"But the every man of the Night's Watch swears an oath! There's honor up there. I could trust my brothers more than I could those Targaryens." Benjen sighed at this.

"There's little honor among thieves, Jon. Or among rapers or murderers for that matter. Who do you think your new brothers would be? There are many of us who care for the Realm, but many more who chose the Wall over an executioner's block."

"So you don't want me either?" Jon knew his uncle could hear the hurt in his voice. This is not what he had wanted to hear. He realized now that he had just wanted Benjen to say that he was needed at the Wall, that it was the one place where he could belong and where he could do good, without living under the shadow of an older brother or trueborn siblings.

"The Night's Watch would be lucky to have you," Benjen said consolingly. "But in all your reasonings and justifications, all you've done is talk about King's Landing. I know it's a hard thing to go to a place like that, but if it isn't a home for you, you needn't try and make it one. If the Wall really is your destiny, it will still be there when you're done in the South." Jon gave his uncle a weak smile, showing he had gotten through to him, before turning to look at the Lord of Winterfell as his voice echoed through the hall.

"My Lords!" Lord Eddard had risen from his seat, holding his tankard of ale aloft as he called the attention of the hall to himself. Jon could see why Robb had been chastised about looking foolish in front of the Stark bannermen. Most of the important ones were here. He could see the Umbers, the Manderlys, the Glovers, the Ryswells, the Flints, the Dustins, and even the Boltons. Most of them had ridden down with Lord Eddard to meet the King at Moat Cailin. It had no doubt made the feast hideously expensive, but from what Jon had heard everyone had put something in, and the North was in a stable enough position financially because of the lower taxes Lord Eddard had negotiated out of the Rebellion.

"The King and I have an announcement!" One of Jon's father's gave way to the other as Rhaegar also rose, his smile warm and unburdened. This was not enough to stop some of the murderous glares he received from many of the Northmen. They looked to Lord Eddard, who despite the fact that he was announcing what he clearly considered to be good news, could only manage a civil countenance as Rhaegar began to speak.

"My Lords!" the King shouted, his voice strong and musical. "The North and the Crown have had many years of peace and friendship, as have House Targaryen and House Stark!" The hall had grown tense, but undaunted, Rhaegar continued.

"Indeed this is how it was in days of old, when my forebears made a pact with those of Lord Eddard. A pact I would see honored this night!" Murmurs could be heard amongst the assembled lords.

"When my ancestors fought and killed one another in the Dance of the Dragons, Lord Cregan Stark came to the aid of Queen Rhaenyra. In exchange, the hand of a Targaryen princess was offered to House Stark. When I leave your fair country I may take a Targaryen from you, but you will not be long without our presence." Jon clenched his teeth at this. With the way the King was talking in front of so many lords it would be difficult to refuse him. He looked at Benjen, who nodded understandingly. The murmurs grew.

"For it is to Lord Stark's son and heir that I pledge the hand of my sister, the Princess Daenerys!" The initial response was gasps and shocks. Not quite what the king had hoped for, Jon thought.

"And as her dowry, I offer a reprieve on royal taxes until she is wedded and bedded!" At this cheers and roars of approval thundered through the hall.

"Lord Umber!" bellowed the King. "What say you of my offer?" Why King Rhaegar had asked the opinion of Jon Umber, the massive man known as the Greatjon among Northerners, was something Jon couldn't wrap his head around. The man was the head of an important enough house, with their seat at Last Hearth being the first line of defense against the any Wildlings that got over the Wall, but the man was clearly drunk, and from what Jon had heard he had little love for the Targaryens.

"You were right to ask my opinion, Yer Grace," slurred the Greatjon. "For I'm a man who speaks his mind, especially when I've gotten a few of these in me!" He lifted up a tankard Jon suspected had come with him from Last Hearth, for it hard the Umber sigil upon it and was twice the size of any Jon had seen in Winterfell.

"You spoke of friendship and service, and the North has given the dragons that! We've even forgiven you for things other friends might find unpardonable," at the mention of the Rebellion Jon was terrified at the change in mood. There were "here, heres" and murmurs of assent throughout the hall. Queen Cersei's face was twisted into a scowl, as hardened into place as the face on a heart tree. King Rhaegar watched Lord Umber carefully, his expression revealing nothing.

"BUT WE GAVE YOU A GOOD BLOODY BEATING IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE REALM FIRST!" Rhaegar lifted his goblet in assent at this and the whole room cheered. The King was smiling and laughing, something Jon hadn't expected. Perhaps the wine is starting to affect him, Jon thought. I haven't known him for long, but there's something strange about that smile. The Queen remained mortified. Daeron was fuming, but with his father present he seemed to know his place.

"Not to be draggin' up old quarrels, Yer Grace, but the point is the Northmen are the strongest fighters and the truest friends the Realm has ever known. You'll see it more clearly when you take yer bastard down to that rat's nest you call King's Landing!" Still a bastard, Jon thought.

"So what do I say of yer offer? I say it's about time we got some bloody respect up here! To Robb Stark, a good lad and a good-brother to the King in the North!" Jon noted how the last few words had been emphasized, as had the royal family. He had heard it said that after years of being left to their own devices, some in the North would have the Starks take up their old title, going from vassals of House Targaryen to kings in their own right. His doubts over whether this had just been a coincidence were erased when he heard the Greatjon start a chant that many other lords joined him in.

"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!" Lord Eddard had to calm them, suspecting the unruly crowd of his own bannermen might not have stopped for Rhaegar.

"Peace, Lord Umber," he said, before turning to the King, who clearly wished to speak.

"Well said, Lord Umber," chuckled the King. "You clearly have some of that famed Northern sense and fondness for plain talk. Those are things I hope to avail myself of should my son join me in the capital. What say you, Prince Jon, will you help me clean out that rat's nest of mine?" All eyes in the hall had turned to Jon, who was surprised to hear the King call him by the name he grew up with. He looked to his uncle Benjen, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Aye, that I will, Your Grace."

"But he shall not go alone!" This time it was the Greatjon's son, called the Smalljon by many, who spoke. "My father has had his say and so will I! Prince Jon may be the son of a dragon, but the blood of wolves flows through him, and a wolf is nothing without his pack! I swear by the Old Gods, the only real gods north of the neck, that Jon can have my sword as long as he has need of it in the south!"

"Aye, he shall have my sword as well!" roared Jorah Mormont.

"And my bow!" shouted Domeric Bolton.

"And my axe!" bellowed Eddard Karstark.

"I had intended to send a few of my own men to accompany him," said Lord Eddard. "But a pack's strength lies in its numbers, so I have no doubt Jon will welcome you."

"Every last one of you is welcome to come with me!" shouted Jon. "I know not what possesses you to leave your seats in so fair a country, but I could use your strength in the times ahead."

"So it shall be!" cried the King, apparently eager to celebrate. "Music! Someone bring me my harp!" The bard at the feast came forth with both Rhaegar's harp and one of his own. The two shared a look like that of old friends and moved to the center of the hall, where they began to play a surprisingly lively tune, though one not so bawdy as to sully the image of the King. Nonetheless the joy that had previously been somewhat absent from the party was now fully evident. Jon grabbed a flagon of mead, which truth be told he preferred to the Southron wine his brother-cousin-good-uncle had poured him and drank the whole thing in one mighty gulp. As he felt his face become flushed he allowed himself a laugh that his uncle Benjen joined him in. Perhaps this could be the start of something good.