Chapter 2: Kill the Boy
Summary:
Jon learns how to fly on his dragon and names her Frostfyre. Daenerys struggles through life at Pentos, under the close scrutiny of her brother Viserys.
As they both reach ten-and-four years, Viserys decides to sell Dany to a Dothraki Khal in exchange for an army to invade Westeros. But the final straw has been drawn for Jon, and he sets off on Frostfyre to save Dany from her fate.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter Two: Kill the Boy
The campfire was quiet.
Jon was leaning back against the skull of the massive white dragon, who had warmed to him as if she were meeting an old friend for the first time in years. Which, technically, she was. He felt a kinship with her he couldn't understand. When he pressed his hand to her scales or met her eyes, it was as though they shared the same thoughts.
Brother. Sister. Rider. Dragon.
She blinked at him slowly and he heard her body shift slightly behind him. Her eye slowly closed, though she spared a moment to study Benjen Stark and Alliser Thorne before she allowed herself to sleep.
Thorne had barely taken his eyes off of the boy since he realized the truth of his lineage.
"I'm sorry for bringing you out here without telling you what we'd be doing first," Jon said softly.
"It is no trouble, Your Grace."
He frowned. "I'm not a King."
"You are the Head of your House, and you are a Prince. You are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."
"I don't know if I even want to be King," Jon confessed. "There's only four of my House left. Aemon is old and has taken the Black. and I've no idea if Viserys and Daenerys will survive across the sea."
Thorne pursed his lips. Benjen studied the man warily. "It's not worth risking him in a war. He might very well be the last sane male of House Targaryen. We've gotten reports that Viserys is getting…more and more unstable. He might have the madness of his father."
The Knight scowled at that. "What about his sister?"
"Daenerys is fine," the boy answered softly.
"…How did you escape, Your Grace? They told us the Mountain—"
"Elia Martell wasn't my mother. My father married Lyanna Stark in secret. They named me Aegon, just like my half-brother."
Thorne's eyes widened. "I wondered why the wolves of all people took you in."
"We would hardly leave an innocent babe to die, Stark or otherwise," Benjen retorted. "Robert would've killed him if he knew the boy was Rhaegar's child."
"Mm. Still, I think it would be wiser if you posed as Princess Elia's son, Your Grace. As her Aegon Targaryen. If anyone unsavory hears the name 'Lyanna Stark' attached to you, they're going to put two-and-two together very quickly."
"Wouldn't they know, anyways?" Benjen queried. "The Lannisters presented the bodies to Robert in the throne room."
A murderous look came over Alliser's face. "You could still get away with it. The Mountain smashed in Aegon's face. His features were unrecognizable. You could say the boy was switched with another babe when the Lannisters sacked King's Landing, and the dragon would erase any further questions on the matter."
Jon shuddered at the mention of his half-brother's terrible fate, but he thought Thorne's idea was clever. "It's worth a try. I don't want House Stark to suffer because of me."
Benjen nodded, but he spared his nephew a gentle smile. "Come hell or high water, we'll always protect you, Jon."
"Your Grace," Thorne corrected him.
"Just Jon, Ser Alliser," the boy smiled dryly. "You can hardly go around Castle Black treating me like a Prince. Someone will take notice. You should get used to it."
"…Very well…Jon."
Thorne seemed uncomfortable, and now he looked back at the white dragon sleeping behind the boy. "What happens now that you've claimed it?"
"Now, I need to learn how to ride her. And fight with her, I suppose," Jon glanced at the dragon, who didn't react in the slightest to his movement. "I need to learn about my House."
"That's why your uncle sent you to Castle Black to stay with us, then. For Maester Aemon to teach you about House Targaryen and to train with the dragon?"
"I'm here to train with the Night's Watch, too," Jon said. "Father—uncle Ned—gods, I'm still not used to that. He's been teaching Robb, Theon, and I how to use a sword, but I still need a lot of practice."
"The Lord-Commander was hoping you'd be willing to teach him, Thorne," Benjen added.
"I wondered that smug smile on his damned face was about," Thorne grumbled, but he didn't seem upset. "I'd be honored to teach you, Your—Jon."
"I appreciate it," Jon said gratefully. "But that's for when we get back to Castle Black. I think I need to be here for at least a few days with her."
"Then I suppose I'll be stuck camping with the wolf."
Benjen rolled his eyes, and Jon grinned.
Morning came and Jon took a deep breath.
He had no idea how to go about this. The dragon was awake, still lying down lazily as she basked in the sunlight. He watched as she yawned, exposing huge, razor-sharp teeth that could skewer a bear.
Jon looked up and down the huge body. How best to get onto her back…
"I should've asked Maester Aemon about this before we left," Jon muttered.
"It's not exactly like jumping a horse, is it?" Benjen agreed uncertainly.
Thorne's eyes were narrowed in thought as he considered the great creature. "You'll want to sit at the base of the neck, I think. Or just behind it. You might try climbing up the wing or shoulder."
He didn't have any better ideas. Jon walked to the dragon, who watched curiously. He lay a hand on her nose and she snorted at him, blasting him with hot air, and he smiled despite himself.
Jon let his hand slide past her face to her neck, and started walking further down towards her body. She twisted her head, watching him and rumbling in her throat.
He set a hand on her massive shoulder and looked at the height he'd have to conquer to actually get on her back. His short stature wasn't doing him any favors in this instance.
Jon turned to the wing. It was low to the ground right now. Assuming he didn't slip trying to get up there, it was probably his best shot.
He put his hands on the massive, extended limb and jumped up onto it, pausing to get a leg over her wing. The dragon seemed bemused by his attempt.
Jon slowly climbed up the wing, managing not to slip. He reached her back, and she suddenly shifted beneath him. With a gasp, he was bucked up onto the hard, scaled back, and scrambled to right himself. She was still moving, rising to her full height on the claws of her wings.
He spotted a space at the base of two long, stormy-grey frills that ran the length of her neck, and scooted up the back until he fit neatly between them. The dragon's head was tilted slightly to look back at him, and then she crouched.
His heart lurched. "Shit!"
Jon reached forward in a rush to grab two of the thick spines on her neck just as the dragon jumped upwards, her wings pounding down to get her airborne. He hugged his knees tightly to her as best he could and leaned close over her back.
This was nothing like riding a horse. Her body rose and fell in powerful waves with each thunderous flap of her wings. Before he knew it, they were hundreds of feet in the air. She loosed a roar, still climbing, and he gasped at the icy air blasting his face.
She banked left and he almost slipped off her back—his heart was pounding and he held tight onto her spines because his life fucking depended on it. By the time she leveled out, he was breathless.
The dragon dove, folding her wings close to her sides for a few moments as they went into a near free-fall. She roared again, and Jon saw the ground coming up a lot faster than he was entirely happy about. He pulled on the flexible spines, and she responded.
She curved back up, shaking her neck and trilling, as if she were enjoying herself. She flapped her wings and regained some altitude, soaring hundreds of feet above the snowy trees. Jon finally had a few seconds to catch his breath from the incredible rush of adrenaline. His lips rose into a giddy, laughing smile.
He looked around from over her shoulders at the ground beneath them and spotted the huge cave she called home. Jon tried to shift her spines in that direction, and he grinned when she turned.
So that was how he could guide her.
They spent no small amount of time in the air as he tried to understand how to direct the dragon. Steering her would take a lot more practice than one flight, but it felt right, sitting on her back and guiding her movements.
Eventually, he decided he'd done enough for now, and guided her to land—roughly—by the cave.
Jon managed to remove himself from her back and stumbled down the wing, almost falling face-first into the snow when he finally touched the ground with a gasp. His legs and abdominal muscles were burning. Clutching onto her the way he had exercised different muscles than those he used for horse riding.
"Ow," he winced, but he kept his footing and slowly trudged to the campfire—or what had been the campfire, before his dragon's takeoff (and landing) buried it beneath the snow.
Benjen and Thorne waited until he was out of the dragon's reach before they approached. She didn't seem concerned, though, and had turned to nibble at a loose scale or something on her wing.
"Next time, warn us when you're going to—to take off like that!" Benjen exclaimed. "I thought you were just going to try mounting her!"
"That wasn't actually my idea," he said, still wincing. "I learned a lot, though. I figured out how to guide her. It's gonna take getting used to, I think. Gods, my legs hurt…"
"Could've been worse," Thorne pointed out. "You could've fallen off."
"Point," Benjen admitted.
The dragon watched them for a moment, looking somewhat amused, and then launched herself back into the air, kicking up a miniature blizzard that doused them in snow.
"Where's she going?" Benjen demanded.
"She's probably hungry," Jon said. "We just flew around a lot. I need to sit down, I think."
"We started working on lunch," Thorne said. "If she didn't just bury it in snow."
Jon snorted. He hoped not.
When Daenerys saw Jon in her dreams that night, she immediately found herself breathless.
The white dragon was no longer in the cave, but sitting outside for all to see her splendor. Her head was lifted high, but as the girl watched, the dragon lowered her snout to meet Jon's hand. The violet eyes focused on her Rider for a moment before looking up at Dany herself.
Jon turned and grinned at Dany. His face said it all.
"You did it," she breathed. A huge smile filled her face and she ran over to him. Jon took only three steps towards her before she leapt and hugged him, and they laughed like giddy children. "Jon! You did it!"
The dragon rumbled, then curled up as if to take a nap. Sleeping in her sleep, Dany thought, still laughing.
Jon pulled back just the slightest, still holding her arms at the elbows. "I flew with her."
"What was it like? Tell me everything!"
He told her everything he could. Neither of them stopped grinning like fools all the while.
She was pretty sure he could've talked forever, but Jon stopped at some point and took a breath, then looked at her more closely. "Enough about me. I've only been on the one flight. I've got a lot to learn. How are you?"
Dany pursed her lips. "I'm doing alright. Viserys and I are staying with a Magister in Pentos right now. He's rich. Viserys loves it, but I know this merchant is probably only in it for the prestige. 'Housing the last Targaryens' for his own gain, I'm sure."
Jon frowned. "How is Viserys?"
"He's…" Dany hesitated and Jon's frown deepened.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No," she said quietly. "But sometimes I think he wants to. I try to just keep quiet around him. If I say anything, it's—it's getting hard for me to not set him off. Talking seems to irritate him if we aren't talking about his upcoming 'great conquest' of Westeros."
"Conquest? With what army?"
"He says there are thousands of loyalists in Westeros who will rise up when we return to strike down the usurper," Dany said quietly. "And he's going to try and build his own army here in Pentos to help."
She looked up at him, and she couldn't tell if she wanted to be right or wrong. "Is he right? Will the people support us?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "Westeros is…quiet right now. But I know some of the big Targaryen Loyalists—the soldiers at least—were either exiled or executed."
She deflated a little at the undoubtedly honest answer. "Ser Jorah tried explaining something like that to Viserys before, but he wouldn't hear of it."
"Jorah?"
"A Knight from Westeros who came to support us. He's nice," Dany said. Jon was still frowning. "What?"
"Jorah…Jorah…I feel like I've heard that name before," he mused, tilting his head. "I'll ask about it before we meet next time."
Her lips quirked up. "Already planning to wake up?"
"I wouldn't if we had a choice," he admitted quietly. One of his hands tentatively rose to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and Dany felt herself flush pleasantly. "I like talking to you."
"Look at you, being so charming," she teased. Jon rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
She loved that smile.
The dragon shifted behind him and they both stilled.
"Time?" Dany asked quietly.
"Probably," Jon sighed. It wasn't fair. They only dreamt of each other every few moons, and their time was so limited. "Stay safe, ok?"
"I will," she answered softly. "You too."
The dream ended and she still had so much left to say.
Dany opened her eyes and frowned, squinting against the morning light. She had to agree with Jon, she decided as she turned on her side and hid away from the sun in her pillow. She wanted to stay in her dreams, too.
Magister Illyrio's servants would probably be here soon to prepare her for a bath, Dany knew. She couldn't deny that she enjoyed the pampering, but it still felt…false. Veiled. Not done out of kindness, but for his own gain.
With a sigh, she resigned herself to another day. Maybe she'd be able to avoid Viserys outside of mealtimes.
Unfortunately, her brother was there as soon as she got out of the bath.
The servants moved aside for him at his request, and Dany watched him approach her warily. She was standing outside of the water, having just been dried, but still bare before him. She did not dare question him—Viserys wasn't the kind older brother she'd loved in her younger days at Braavos.
The way his eyes raked over her bare form made her repress a shudder. There was nothing kind about it. Although Daenerys knew the Targaryens often married brother and sister to keep the Valyrian magic in their blood strong and pure, the thought of being wedded to Viserys was nothing short of terrifying.
If she said "no" she was certain he would not care.
"You're growing again," he purred, lifting a hand. His fingers did not touch her, but they ghosted so close between her small breasts and down her belly that she had to physically resist the urge to step away from him. He wouldn't like that.
No matter how much it scared her.
His hand rose to hold her chin and study her face, as if searching for imperfections. He found none, from the satisfied look on his face. He took her bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, stroking the soft flesh.
"You're not quite ready, I think," he mused to himself. "Maybe another year or two. They won't be able to resist you then."
Her skin crawled and Dany fought tears until Viserys had turned and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, she threw a hand over her mouth and stifled a sob.
She wanted Jon. She wanted to hide in his arms and stay in the snowy woods with his dragon, where she felt safe. Cared for. Respected.
Because here, Daenerys Targaryen might as well have been livestock.
Jon spent a month at Castle Black after his first week with the dragon.
He'd learned a lot. Although he'd only been able to spend a week with her before they had to return to the other side of the Wall, it had been a valuable experience. He'd gotten a lot better at flying her already—even though his muscles killed him afterwards—and when he returned to the citadel, Maester Aemon started teaching him High Valyrian as well as the history of House Targaryen.
He was shite at the language, but the history was interesting. It was the history of his father's House. Of his House.
Aemon was blind, but his mind was as sharp as it had ever been. He recounted the stories of Old Valyria to Jon, telling him of House Targaryen's origins. How the dragonlords left the ancient, advanced civilization of their homeland before the Doom claimed everything.
What followed was the settlement of Dragonstone and how the Targaryens had shaped the island fortress to their liking with old magic and secrets lost to time. Before long, they inevitably arrived at Jon's namesake.
Aegon the Conquerer, as well as his sister-wives; Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys.
That brought up a question Jon had been wondering for a while now. "Why do Targaryens marry into their family like that? Isn't it…well, wrong?"
"In the eyes of some, yes," Aemon admitted. "But it was the way of the Old Valyrian gods the dragonlords followed for countless generations, and it was said to keep the magic in our veins strong. It certainly has its problems—inbreeding often does. But not always. It was the price we paid for our bond with the dragons. And though it is not as common elsewhere in Westeros, we are hardly the only House to have done so, though certainly more than any other. Does it bother you?"
Jon thought about that for a few minutes in silence. "I don't know."
"You're young. You have time enough to think about it more. It's not as if you have a sister to marry, in any case. It's more than likely you'll marry someone outside of our family."
Not a sister, no. He didn't think he'd like that, anyways. But…but Dany…
He shook his head. That was a question for him to think on as he got older, just like the question regarding if he had any interest in taking the Iron Throne back for his House. Right now, he just…wanted to learn.
But he did think that if he ever had a Dragon Dream one night, and Dany told him she was to be married, it would upset him. The thought formed a hot pit in his belly he didn't like.
He took a deep breath and focused as Aemon continued to tell him about the Targaryens, paying close attention.
He needed to learn.
Jon found himself sparring often with Ser Alliser on many days at Castle Black, when Aemon was otherwise occupied or needed some rest from their lessons. It was a sobering reminder that Jon's only family in Westeros was—well, ancient. For the love of the Old Gods, Aemon was a hundred years of age. Most people were lucky if they lived half that long.
He watched Thorne spar with the recruits first thing in the morning, beating them into shape—literally, most of the time. Many of them didn't know how to handle a sword at all, and he realized how lucky he was that uncle Ned had taught Jon something of swordplay already with Robb.
Thorne was a brutal teacher for the recruits, but when they were sent off for their other duties, and Jon met with the Knight afterwards for his own training, there was a clear difference.
When they sparred, Thorne wasn't as brutal a fighter against Jon. He focused more on technique, and rarely did more than tap Jon with the sword when he scored a blow.
The recruits probably wouldn't complain so much if Thorne taught them like that, but Jon had a problem with it.
"Stop going easy on me," he frowned at the Knight after Thorne scored another light blow on the boy's shoulder with the weighted sparring sword.
Thorne raised an eyebrow. "I'm not."
"You're barely touching me."
"You're just a boy. I could hurt you."
"If I have to fight someone for real soon, they're not going to care if they hurt me," Jon argued, readying his sword in his grip. "You can't go easy on me. I won't learn."
Thorne's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered that. Jon had the funniest feeling the Knight was conflicted about hitting him because he knew the boy was a Targaryen Prince. "Very well."
He saw more steel in the Knight's eyes, and they began their fight in earnest.
If Alliser was holding back now, he wasn't holding back very much. He was more skilled than Jon, but also a lot stronger for his greater size. It didn't take much time at all for the first few rounds for Jon to be disarmed. He had to play to his strengths—his smaller size and greater agility.
On the fifth round, he managed to "kill" Alliser after ducking under a swing that would have struck his head and jabbing his sword towards the man's heart. But he slipped, and his practice blade struck the stomach instead.
They backed off. Thorne nodded. "Well done."
"I lost my footing. It was luck."
"It won't be next time."
No, it wouldn't be. Jon readied himself again and focused for their next bout.
He didn't return to Winterfell very often.
Jon had spent much of the past year learning at Castle Black, and sometimes went beyond the Wall with Benjen and Thorne—usually once every couple of moons—to train with his dragon.
She was an independent creature who didn't mind the long absences; she'd been on her own for a much longer time, and Jon thought she actually preferred the infrequent visits. It gave her time to adjust to his presence, and he to hers.
Flying was the best thing he'd ever experienced in his life.
But he had to admit, when he dismounted his horse along with uncle Ned and spotted the little blur of dark hair and boundless energy that was Arya Stark racing towards him, Jon knew he'd missed Winterfell.
Arya leapt into his arms and he laughed, picking up her tiny shape and spinning her around playfully until she giggled. "Hello again, little wolf."
She grinned up at him, mischievous and full of vigor. Arya apparently resembled Jon's mother, Lyanna, a great deal—or so Ned had told him. She was a wonderful girl.
Lady Stark looked a little exasperated by Arya's rush to greet her cousin—though all the Stark children still thought Jon was Ned's bastard son, and thus their brother—but she only nodded at Jon, smiling. Robb already looked like he had a bad joke or two ready to annoy Jon with. Bran was vibrating with eager energy next to the youngest wolf, Rickon. Sansa…well, she was Sansa. The Tully blood was thick in her veins for how much she took after Catelyn.
She didn't like Jon, much like her mother hadn't before Catelyn learned the truth of Jon's parentage. Sansa had been taught that bastards, born out of wedlock, were not good people to associate with. Cravens borne of sin and bound to commit yet more. Ever the would-be aristocratic lady, she behaved as she was expected to.
Even if he had still believed himself to be a bastard, Jon thought it was all nonsense, but who was he to argue against their old customs? He couldn't snap his fingers and change their minds, no matter how much he wished to.
But Sansa's passive-aggressive dislike for Jon was easily ignored since the rest of his cousins loved him.
"So, are you going to regale us with all your adventures at the Night's Watch? Did you fight any Wildlings?" Robb prompted, grinning. "Maybe kill a White Walker? Are you Lord-Commander yet?"
"I flew on a dragon," Jon responded dryly.
Robb snorted and Arya giggled with Bran and Rickon. Sansa shook her head, rolling her eyes. Jon smirked; they thought he was being sarcastic.
If they only knew…
"Come, children," Catelyn ushered them into the hall. "Your father and brother have had a long ride. It's time for supper."
Jon met with Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn in his uncle's solar the next morning.
"So," Ned crossed his arms and smiled at the boy. "Now that we're alone, how have you been, Jon?"
"I flew on my dragon," he said, but he didn't contain his awe this time. "She's amazing, uncle Ned. We were so high up, the trees looked like twigs covered in snow…"
He told Ned and Cat a lot of what he'd been learning, as well as a bit more about the dragon. He also spoke of his Dragon Dreams, and that prompted a frown from his uncle.
"So the reports we've been getting from King's Landing are true," he murmured. "Viserys is getting more…erratic."
"You think the madness is showing in him?" Catelyn asked anxiously, glancing from Ned to her nephew.
"I don't know," Jon bit his lip. "Ever since they had to sell Queen Rhaella's crown for food, Viserys has just been getting more and more bitter. Dany's scared of him. She doesn't say it, but I can see it on her face when I talk to her about it."
"Jon," Ned sighed when his nephew looked up at him pleadingly.
"You're sure there's nothing we can do? That I can do?" Jon all but begged. "I don't want Viserys to hurt her."
"If we brought Daenerys Targaryen back to Westeros, Robert would kill her immediately and our family would be executed for treason," Ned told him seriously, silencing the desperate boy. "I would if I could, Jon. She's just a child, no older than you, and innocent of her father's crimes. But the King won't see it that way. It's dangerous enough that we've hidden you here in plain sight. Your features are Stark enough for us to get away with it, but there's no hiding Daenerys' Targaryen traits."
He was crestfallen, but knew that his uncle was right. Jon certainly didn't want to be the reason Dany was killed, nor the Starks.
"How do you keep hearing about them, anyways?" Jon asked, frowning suddenly.
"The King's spymaster, Varys," Ned looked grim. "Otherwise known as The Spider. He's been keeping tabs on the Targaryen siblings for a very long time now. They're apparently very slippery—even his agents have had trouble trying to keep up with them. Viserys and Daenerys appear to always be one step ahead of them, whether they realize it or not. He knows they're in Pentos, but not exactly where. I'm sure if they stay in the same place for too long that Robert will try to send assassins after them."
Jon stiffened and Ned offered him an apologetic look. "You can't stop them right now, Jon. You only just reclaimed your dragon, and you still have a lot to learn. If you were to try and stop an assassin, chances are they'd kill you."
"I know it's difficult, nephew," Catelyn told him gently. She walked around the desk from Ned's side to place a hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing him reassuringly. "Being helpless is never a good experience."
"I don't want her to die," he whispered.
"She has survived thus far," Ned encouraged him. "I think she'll be able to survive at least a little while longer."
Jon whistled quietly to get his dragon's attention. She was resting close to the campfire by the cave now that night had fallen, but wasn't sleeping yet.
She opened a great, purple eye, and studied him curiously. Jon pointed at the fire and murmured softly. "Dracarys."
It meant "dragonfire" in High Valyrian. Although the campfire certainly was not dragonfire, he was hoping she might get the idea.
She tilted her head, and watched as Jon blew on the flames, causing them to flicker and twist, then repeated himself. "Dracarys."
Something in her eyes clicked and the dragon lifted her head towards the sky. Opening her maw, Jon gasped as a cone of fire, white-hot at its core, was poured out into the sky. The conflagration briefly blinded him and scorched the air with heat.
"Seven hells!" Thorne gasped.
Benjen's mouth gaped as the fire dimmed and faded. The dragon closed her mouth and rumbled, looking to Jon. He smiled at her hugely and her purple eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good girl."
She snorted at the praise and shifted her head closer to him so he could lay a hand on her snout. Jon thought about the fire she'd just breathed; Aemon had told him that each dragon's dragonfire was unique in it's own way, usually reflecting the color of the dragon's scales.
Unsurprisingly, much of her dragonfire was white—the color of the hottest fires there were.
Snowy white fire…
"Frostfyre," Jon murmured. She blinked at him, and he liked the way it sounded when he spoke it aloud. "Your name is Frostfyre."
Frostfyre growled and closed her eyes, intending to sleep. Jon's smile widened and he stroked her scales absently as the white dragon rested.
Daenerys heard the name the next time he saw her, nearly two months later, and loved it.
"Frostfyre," she said, looking at the dragon. Frostfyre had learned her name quickly and looked over at the girl, who was now ten-and-three years of age. "It suits her."
Jon smiled and nodded. "I taught her a command to breathe fire, too. Dracarys."
Dany grinned. "Your High Valyrian still has a Northern accent."
"I do live in the North," he reminded her.
"It sounds funny."
"Funny, huh?" Jon lunged at her, wrapping his arms around Dany and tickling her mercilessly. "How's this for funny!"
Dany shrieked with laughter and squirmed to escape, but Jon kept tickling her until she was breathless. Eventually, she just went limp and he almost dropped her, causing them both to yelp. Jon managed to keep her on her feet and they both laughed some more, flushed and smiling so largely that their faces hurt.
She wrapped her arms around him and set her head on his shoulder, breathing deep. "I miss these."
"What? Hugs?"
"Mmhm. Viserys used to hug me. When I was little, I could crawl into bed with him if I got scared, and he'd keep me safe. He doesn't anymore."
Jon had no answer but to hold her tight, for as long as their Dragon Dream allowed.
When she awoke in Pentos again, trying to linger on the phantom sensation of her friend's arms around her for just a little bit longer, Dany was quickly brought into her usual routine for the day at the Magister's manor.
It took the servants some time to get her ready, as it always did. When she was bathed and dressed, she went to the hall to break her fast.
On the way there, she spotted Illyrio speaking to Viserys quietly in a hallway. Both of them were smiling, and Viserys seemed incredibly interested in whatever the merchant were saying. She didn't linger and kept walking to the hall, but the sight made her uneasy.
Her brother was up to something, and she didn't like that.
"Faster, boy!" Thorne yelled.
Jon felt panic racing in his heart as he urged his horse to run more quickly. He glanced over his shoulder and swore at the sight of the Wildlings chasing them.
There were eight of them, all aggressive, large men covered in furs and scars, brandishing beaten-up steel weapons. They yelled and jeered, running the three "Crows" down on their own horses. An archer took a shot from his horse and Jon watched the arrow miss Benjen by mere inches.
They would never reach the cave in time, but they were close.
He reached for the bond he'd felt more and more prominently between himself and Frostfyre, and tried to alert her somehow. However he could.
The chase kept up. One of the Wildlings managed to get on Jon's flank and slashed at him, but he unsheathed his sword and parried, then cut at the horse's shoulder. The animal screamed and stumbled, bucking its rider from its back. Jon heard the crunch as the man was hurled headfirst into a thick tree and knew he was dead.
The loss of their companion seemed to infuriate the Wildlings. One of them threw a dagger at Jon and the blade's tip was mostly deflected by the thick, fur coat he wore, but he felt it dig into the back of his shoulder and gasped with pain.
Benjen shouted, Alliser pulled on the reins of his horse to face the Wildlings head-on, and—
A roar of fury drowned them all out.
The horses screamed as Frostfyre descended on them, taking down several trees with her huge claws as her purple eyes blazed. The dragon was enraged, locking onto the Wildlings with reckless intensity.
She had come for her Rider. His enemies would die.
She snarled and lunged forward, biting into one of the savages—and his horse—before twisting and sending them both flying in several distinct pieces. Jon watched, eyes wide, as her massive tail slammed into two more horses and shattered their bodies. Their riders screamed.
The remaining four Wildlings were already turning to run for their lives, but Jon steeled himself and shouted.
"Dracarys!"
Frostfyre hissed and a river of white dragonfire poured out of her jaws. The Wildlings and their horses were immediately incinerated, as well as the snow, and charred the frozen ground beneath them black with heat. The trees in the path of her fury ignited, the frozen water coating them superheated in an instant, and left to burn.
The dragon sneered at the scorched remains of their enemies and sniffed the ground for any signs of survivors, but found none. Her gaze immediately turned to Jon, scenting the air and curling her lip when she smelled the magic of his Valyrian blood in the air.
Benjen carefully approached Jon on his horse, terribly aware of how Frostfyre was watching him with death in her eyes, and reached for his nephew's uninjured shoulder. "The knife?"
"It's not bad," he replied tightly. "It's—it's stuck, but it doesn't hurt that much…I don't think it's very deep."
"Better get it sorted out, all the same," Thorne told them. "If it gets infected out here, we're fucked."
"We'll do it now," Jon said, carefully getting off of his horse. He held a hand to Frostfyre, who leaned forward to make contact. Benjen had to take the reins of Jon's horse to keep it from fleeing altogether.
"Thank you," he told the dragon. Frostfyre searched his face for several moments, then rumbled, satisfied that he'd be alright. She turned aside and shouldered her way through a few trees to reach the torched bodies of the horses and Wildlings she'd killed.
Jon looked away as he sat down with Benjen to get the knife out of his back, but he heard the way her jaws crunched through flesh and bone while the dragon ate her fill.
Thorne joined them, watching Frostfyre eat, and shook his head slowly. "In all my years, I never imagined I'd see something like that. For fuck's sake, she just plowed through the trees to get to you."
"She knew I was in danger," Jon replied. "She came for me."
"And we are very happy she did," Benjen carefully grasped the handle of the knife still stuck in Jon's shoulder. "This is going to hurt, but don't give your dragon a reason to eat me, please."
Jon lifted his hand to his mouth, bit onto his sleeve, and readied himself.
Months passed.
Jon's lessons and training were coming along very well. He was mostly fluent now in High Valyrian thanks to Aemon's patience, and he knew much of House Targaryen. His spars with Ser Alliser had also shown marked improvement. When they first started, it was common for Jon to go to bed with bruises from the knight's intense training.
Now Jon wasn't the only one going to bed sore every night.
He had gotten the hang of flying on Frostfyre during their time together, and the dragon was easily attuned to him. She had grown somewhat, but Aemon had told him her growth would probably remain slow until she was in a warmer climate with food more readily available. Jon knew from flying with her on several hunts that she traveled immense distances to eat her fill when she needed to.
He was currently back in Winterfell. Jon had just turned ten-and-four, and they were having a small celebration with his family. The life of the gathering was, of course, Robb and Arya—although Bran was quickly becoming a troublemaker in his own right—with Catelyn ensuring they didn't get into too much mischief.
Rickon was still young and only curious about everything. Ned was pleased for his nephew, and Sansa was…well, Sansa.
But he'd only been back a day when a letter arrived to his uncle from King's Landing.
"The King is coming here?" Robb asked, startled.
"Aye," Ned's brow was furrowed deeply. "He did not say why, only that it was urgent. His family will be joining him; the Queen and their three children. I imagine they'll bring along the Kingsguard and several other knights, as well."
Jon pursed his lips. "When?"
"Soon. The letter was sent after they left. It might be a few weeks, but they're on the way already."
"…I should probably go back to Castle Black before they get here, right?"
"Why?" Bran asked innocently.
"Because he's a bastard," Sansa told her brother.
"Sansa," Ned sighed.
"It's the truth!"
Jon nudged Bran conspiratorially. "I just want to go exploring again. I'm not big on all this nobility nonsense."
His cousin giggled and the tension dissipated somewhat. Jon didn't care what Sansa said; if she wanted to be hurtful, she could be hurtful.
He knew the truth, and her words didn't so much as touch him.
Something was wrong.
Jon knew it the second he found himself in his Dragon Dreams and saw Daenerys. She looked like her soul had been crushed out of her.
"Dany?"
She looked up at him with her big, violet eyes. She'd grown a little in this last year, becoming more and more a woman, but still very much so a girl. Dany swallowed tightly.
"Viserys is selling me to a Dothraki barbarian."
The breath left Jon's lungs in a rush. His body went numb. "No."
"I saw him today," she wrapped her arms around herself. Around her slender body and the pale blue dress she wore tonight, with her fair skin, small breasts, silver hair, and tearful eyes. "He's a savage. He didn't even say anything, he just—he looked at me like I was a piece of meat."
Jon was there in an instant, holding her, and the dam broke as Daenerys sobbed into his shoulder. He heard Frostfyre rumbling behind him, confused and concerned.
"What the hell is Viserys thinking?"
"He's—" Dany took a choking breath. "He thinks marrying me to that horse lord will convince him to join our forces when we come for the Iron Throne."
"He can't be that stupid," Jon said, horror in his voice. "Even if he gave them a thousand women, they won't listen to him!"
"He doesn't care! He so sure he's right because he's the 'rightful King!' He's—Jon, I tried to tell him no and—"
Her breath hitched and he stiffened. "What did he do?"
Dany sobbed again. Jon pulled back enough to look at her face. She said nothing, but the fear and sadness in her eyes told him everything.
"He hurt you."
"He struck me," she cried. "When I tried to tell him I didn't want the arrangement, he hit me and said it wasn't my place to argue. That it was necessary for him to take the Iron Throne. If I argue with him again, he told me I would 'wake the dragon' and…and I don't want to find out what that means."
Oh, a dragon was waking up, alright. It was hot and enraged in Jon's—Aegon's—belly, roaring and screaming like nothing he'd ever felt before.
For the first time in his life, he wanted to kill someone.
In contrast, Dany's fire was dying slowly. If Viserys sold her to this barbarian warlord, Jon feared it might be snuffed out completely.
"When?" He demanded. "Where is it happening?"
"A month," she sniffed. "Not far from Pentos. The Khal is sending word out to other tribes, I think. To be there for our—our wedding. That's what Illyrio said."
Jon's mind raced. Pentos was far away to the southeast, across the Narrow Sea. He wouldn't be able to ride to Castle Black in time to get to Frostfyre, but he'd called for his dragon before, and she had answered. He looked over his shoulder briefly at her, and Frostfyre's gaze was sharp. Understanding.
When he called, she would fly. And she could fly faster than any horse could possibly dream of running.
"I'm coming to get you."
Her eyes flew up to stare at him and Jon set his jaw. "Fuck whatever your brother wants. I'm coming on Frostfyre. He'll stop this or I'll make him."
"Jon, they will kill you! The Dothraki are too dangerous! The way everyone talks about them—they say only a fool would fight the Dothraki on an open field! All of their lands are open fields!"
"Open fields burn."
Dany fell silent and stared at him, wide-eyed. Jon pulled her forward and pressed his lips against the crown of her head. "I'm coming to get you if I have to set every damned field on fire."
"Jon," her voice cracked.
"I'm coming," he kissed the top of her head again. "Hold on, Dany."
He left in the dead of night.
Jon wrote a letter quickly in candlelight, packed a small bag of his belongings, and slipped out of Winterfell in the dark. The guards let him out without a complaint. His voice was short, clipped, and brokered no argument.
Whatever they saw in the shadows on his face, they knew better than to question him.
He rode hard, stopping only when he needed to and tugging on his bond with Frostfyre all the while, using it to guide her. Two days passed before he saw her in the distance.
He dismounted and set the horse loose with a slap on its rump, running towards his dragon as she descended. Frostfyre had never been south of the Wall, but she could find him anywhere with the bond between them. She landed with a heavy thud, and Jon climbed up her wing faster than he ever had before. Everything he carried was in the simple bag he now shouldered, tied around his chest to keep him from losing it.
He settled between her frills at the base of her neck, grasped her spines, and spoke.
"Sōves!"
Fly!
Frostfyre growled and took two steps forward before throwing herself into the air with great thunderclaps of her wings. Jon guided her southeast, towards the Narrow Sea, and Pentos beyond.
She seemed to already know where they were going. Maybe it was because Dany shared Dragon Dreams with him and the dragon, but Frostfyre fixed her route like an arrow and didn't adjust her course much at all.
They would be seen before too long, he knew. He didn't care. The time for secrets was over.
Jon Snow needed to stay in the North. He had to be Aegon Targaryen from now on.
It was reckless and probably the single most foolish thing he'd done in his life, but he would not stand by while Dany was sold to be a bed-warmer to a Dothraki barbarian.
He was coming for her. Viserys could either give her up, or pay in fire and blood.
Aegon tucked himself closer to Frostfyre's back, urging her on, and the white dragon loosed a roar to announce her return to the southern lands.
Notes:
Still continuing this fun experience. No more major timeskip chapters from here on out; I've gotten the buildup parts done with. As stated before, Jon/Aegon and Dany are both fourteen at the end of this chapter, which is where the story will technically "start" if you would. Consider these first two chapters to be something of a prologue.
Let me know your thoughts!