Chapter 12: Names
Summary:
Ned Stark arrives in White Harbor with his daughters, and makes a choice. Jon and Daenerys share another Dragon Dream, and help Doreah with names for her unborn child.
Months pass, and they are confronted by three of the most dangerous men in Westeros.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter Twelve: Names
Ned watched the sun rise from the bow of the ship, eyes fixated to the south. Throughout the night, he'd half-expected to see another vessel from King's Landing come after them.
If they didn't know yet, they'd realize soon that he and his daughters were gone.
Arya was managing well enough. She was sleeping with Nymeria and Ghost for the time being in his cabin. Sansa was in her own room with Lady.
The thought of his eldest daughter made Ned sigh. She'd been distraught by their sudden leave of King's Landing, to say the least. They'd left behind most of their possessions to escape the Red Keep unnoticed, including her jewelry and dresses. But more than that, she didn't seem to fully understand why they'd been forced to leave.
He needed to talk to her. Sansa had been living with her head in the clouds for too long. It was partially Ned's fault—he and Catelyn loved to dote on their daughters, but they'd clearly spoiled her too much. She would never survive with that attitude, especially not now.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of boots on the wooden ship, and he looked back to see Ser Davos approaching him.
"Begging your pardon, Lord Stark," the man dipped his head. "Are you doing well?"
"As well as can be expected," he admitted. "Thank you again for this."
"There's nothing to thank. Lord Stannis has spoken to me about you," Davos told him. "He says you're the most honorable man he's ever met, though he says it can make you foolhardy at times."
Ned snorted. "Well, he's not wrong—I'm aware of my faults. I see Stannis is as blunt as ever."
"It serves him well, most of the time," Davos admitted, smiling somewhat. "Our greatest strengths are often our weaknesses."
"True enough."
The Onion Knight reached into his coat. "I was instructed by Lord Varys to give you this once we were well on our way to White Harbor."
He offered Ned a letter, which the man accepted and opened up.
Lord Stark,
I write this letter following our last meeting. The entourage you brought with you from Winterfell will be heading north on-foot by the time you get this. Their path will be riskier than your own, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. I have also sent Syrio Ferrel with them for additional protection, as well as Gendry Waters—Robert's bastard. Cersei is purging the country of his children as we speak.
Alas, I suspect you will soon be hunted. My birds have told me Lord Baelish intends to report to the Queen Regent that you are spreading malicious rumors about the true nature of her children. Her wrath will be terrible, but more worrisome is that this will worsen the chaotic state of Westeros. I do not know how much help you will receive against the Ironborn threat from the other Kingdoms.
I also fear the boy's identity will be brought into question sooner than either of us hoped. The spies of Baelish and Pycelle are starting to bring their own information in. His Northern origins will be brought to suspect soon.
I urge you to get ahead of their reports. Bring the tale to your Northern Lords before they hear of the boy from someone else. I suspect your best chance will be when you call your banners to deal with Euron. You must influence them with your word before they are poisoned by another.
Good luck to you.
Ned folded the letter back up and let out a long breath. While he was happy to hear about Jory Cassel and the rest of his people escaping the Red Keep, Varys' warning that the realm would soon know—or at least suspect—Jon's identity was alarming. He'd known that once Jon revealed himself with Frostfyre that the ruse wouldn't last, but he'd hoped it would be longer than this.
At least he and his daughters were out of King's Landing before the truth came out.
Varys was right. He needed to talk to the Lords of the North about Jon before they were influenced by the words and rumors of the south. Ned would not hold anything back any longer. He would take the narrative by the head himself.
There was an additional problem Varys had outlined: he could not expect help from the other Kingdoms against Euron. They would likely deal with the Ironborn whenever they came into their territory, but they would not help the North if they thought Ned was falsely accusing Joffrey and his siblings of being bastards borne of incest, even if that was what they really were.
He suspected the Stormlands would rebel against the Crown for it—he knew Stannis already had his doubts about Robert's supposed children, and Renly wouldn't take that lying down, either.
But the moment the other Kingdoms realized he had hidden away the Dragon King and Frostfyre in his own home, they would likely reject his calls for help entirely. Such treason would not be looked upon kindly, especially if those in the Red Keep started to poison Jon's reputation.
Ned pursed his lips. He needed help to deal with Euron's Ironborn, or else he risked the North being crippled in a bloody war that would last for years.
A thought struck him, and his eyes drifted to the northeast. Jon was in Braavos with Daenerys.
If he called, would his nephew answer? Would he take the risk, after all he'd given up to save Daenerys? He'd thrown himself into exile on a foreign continent for that girl. Coming back to Westeros was nigh-suicidal for them…
But Euron would come for him eventually. He had a magic Dragon Horn and a dragon egg on top of that.
He needed to think. Ned put the letter into his coat and headed belowdecks to find something to drink, so he could focus.
They were dreaming of the tower again.
Daenerys watched as Rhaegar took Lyanna's face in his hands and kissed her sweet. The two of them lay their foreheads against one another, and Dany could see that her brother's expression was tight. Dark circles lay beneath his eyes.
He was wearing black armor, with the sigil of their House, a three-headed dragon, decorating the chest-piece in rubies.
"You will come back to me," Lyanna whispered. She took his hand and guided it low to her belly. "To us."
"I will fight for nothing less, my love," Rhaegar murmured, kissing her brow. "But if…if the worst should happen—"
"Your nightmares do not mean we are doomed," she told him fiercely. "I do not care what the dragon told you."
"What else could it mean?"
"What about the first prophecy it gave you? 'Father and Mother, and quickened in fire'?"
Rhaegar pursed his lips, pulling back to look at her. His amethyst eyes, darker than Dany's, were wet. "I don't know if it's meant for us."
"Who else would it be for?"
"Our son."
Lyanna stilled as Rhaegar's voice broke. "I saw him. A Stark boy with the white dragon. It was never meant to hatch for me, it was meant for him. And he wasn't alone. There was a girl. A Targaryen girl."
"She could be our daughter, Rhaegar! That doesn't mean—"
"My mother is with child again."
Lyanna's breath caught. Rhaegar swallowed. "I hope I'm wrong. Gods, Lyanna, I want to be wrong more than anything. I don't want to believe this new prophecy is meant for us, but we must prepare for the worst. If…if our son must grow up without us—"
"Rhaegar, no," her voice broke.
"'Only death can pay for life'," he whispered. Dany felt her skin crawl when she heard those words. She heard Jon whimper beside her and reached for his hand, squeezing until it hurt. By the fireplace, Frostfyre let out a mournful cry that brought tears to her eyes.
"I fear this rebellion may lead to the destruction of our House," he told her. They were both of them crying. "If I fall, my guard will take you, our son, and the dragon to the North. They'll keep you and the babe safe. If you die, and I live…they'll—they'll bring him to me. I don't know how I could raise him without you, but…"
"I cannot imagine our son growing up without you, either," Lyanna cried. "What if…what if we both…"
"Then he must be taken North. Hidden with the dragon. If our House dies, he might be the last Targaryen. My mother and Viserys are at Dragonstone by now, but…we will see. Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon are being kept in the Red Keep by my father. He won't let them go to safety."
Lyanna looked up at him with eyes filled with horror. "But…but your son and daughter are just children!"
"He doesn't care," Rhaegar shook his head, swallowing hard. "He doesn't care. My father is broken beyond all reason."
She looked down at the ground. He sighed. "If House Targaryen is reduced to just our son, I want you to name him Aegon."
Lyanna frowned until he explained. "If my dreams are true, he'll look more Stark than Targaryen. But if he's discovered, he…he could use the name of my other son to protect your family. Do you think they would take him in?"
"I think so," she whispered. "I hope so. But I do not think naming him Aegon will hide the truth of him for long…the Stark traits are nothing like the Dornish. He won't look like Elia at all."
Lyanna paused, then her voice tinged with a brief, dry humor. "Assuming our world does not burn to the seven hells, I will name him Jaehaerys. I do not want his true name to be a deception."
"If it keeps what is left of our family alive after this madness…"
She nodded tightly. "Very well."
Rhaegar cupped her cheek again to kiss his wife. "It does not please me, either. But that is the worst-case scenario. Should fate take us down any other road, I would see him named Jaehaerys, as well. Having two sons named Aegon would be confusing."
Lyanna cracked a slight smile. "Indeed."
They heard footsteps coming up the stairs and then a Knight stood by the entrance to their room. "Your Grace, we cannot linger any longer."
"I know. Thank you, Ser Arthur," Rhaegar sighed.
He looked down at Lyanna and they kissed one last time. "Goodbye, my love."
"Goodbye," she whispered.
And then Daenerys woke up.
Jon was already in tears, waking with a choked gasp beside her. She was cradling him close in an instant, kissing the top of his head and holding him tight. Their nakedness meant nothing to her.
"Oh, Jon," she pressed her lips to his brow again and felt her own tears fall from her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
It was some hours, when the first stirrings of morning's light were trickling through the cracks of her window, before Jon calmed down.
He was still curled up into her, his face nestled in her neck as Dany ran her fingers soothingly through his hair, held his hand between them, and pressed kisses upon his face to help him settle. His breathing finally slowed to its natural, steady pace, but she could sense he was still distraught.
How could he not be?
Jon leaned into her a bit more. "Thanks."
She just squeezed his hand in response.
He was silent for a time. "I don't know who I am supposed to be anymore, Dany."
"Who you are supposed to be does not matter," she chastised gently. "Who do you want to be?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "Jon Snow is what I've known for so long, but it's the name of Ned Stark's bastard son. Aegon—Aegon is a name I was given to protect the Starks. A mummery of a dead brother I will never meet. But I have never called myself Jaehaerys. I know it's what my mother and father wanted for me, but I have never called it mine."
Dany was quiet for a moment. "We have the names you were given from before you were born. Aegon was a disguise to protect the Starks who raised you as their own. Jaehaerys is the name your parents wished for you to have. And Jon…Jon is who you know yourself to be. Perhaps that is your truth. You are not a bastard. You are a true born son of the Targaryen dynasty."
She took his face in her hands and lifted it so she could look into those tired, dark grey eyes. This close, she could see the tiniest flecks of violet—the only trace of Targaryen lineage in his features. "You are Jaehaerys Targaryen, called Jon by those closest to you. One day, you will shed Aegon to honor your brother, and you will be Jon…Jaehaerys in-full."
He looked exhausted. "…That's going to take some time to wrap my head around. Gods, how is a child born with three names?"
"You are just that special," she told him, smiling. It got a weak laugh out of him, but seeing his lips rise was a wonderful shift from his stressed expression. "Jaehaerys."
His nose wrinkled. "That's going to take even more time to get used to."
"And I will be here to help you with it every step of the way," Dany promised. "But you will always be Jon for me."
He nodded and nuzzled back into her neck again. "Well, Jon, Aegon, and Jaehaerys wish to sleep here beside you for the whole day, Princess."
Daenerys couldn't help but smile widely. "As much as I would love to humor such a request, Your Grace, our companions will soon be up to clean my room. They will likely find our current circumstances to be rather…scandalous."
Jon grumbled. "We could tell them to leave us alone."
"But then how would you court your intended as you wished?" Dany asked teasingly.
"I have a few ideas."
She smacked his shoulder, laughing, and watched as light returned to his face.
Some time later, when they were cleaned up and dressed—and had, for the most part, made sure their nighttime escapade remained a secret—Jon and Daenerys found themselves with Doreah by the fireplace.
The dragon eggs were still being kept warm in the flames. Jon knelt by the fireplace and reached into the fire, making a few minor adjustments to the way the eggs were arranged. They shifted sometimes as the logs burned and crumbled to ash.
"That really does not hurt you, Your Grace?" Doreah asked. For all that she'd seen Dany and Jon put their hands into the flames, it never ceased to make her anxious.
"I can feel the heat," he answered. "It is hot, but it does not cause me pain. It feels…not soothing, but something like that."
Doreah tilted her head from her chair. Her belly was swelling more these days as the child in her womb grew. She was nearly five moons along now. "Do you think my child will really…"
"We will see. There are plenty of Targaryens in history who never rode dragons," he murmured quietly, glancing back at her. Doreah pursed her lips, as though she couldn't decide whether or not she wanted her baby to be a Dragon Rider at all. He didn't blame her. He loved Frostfyre, but he knew how dangerous it could be, to be what he was.
"Dragon Rider or not," he told Doreah. "The child is still one of us. We will protect it."
The blonde woman smiled gratefully, dipping her head in response.
Dany stood by her chair and reached for Doreah's shoulder. "Have you thought of any names yet?"
"No," she admitted, then looked from Jon to Daenerys. "I wanted to ask about that, Princess. I would like to give my child a Targaryen name, if you would allow it."
"Of course," Dany beamed, moving around Doreah to sit by Jon near the flames. She sat facing them, Doreah to her left while Jon and the dragon eggs were on her right. "Shall we start with names for girls?"
"That would make me happy, Princess."
"Well then…" She leaned her head back. "Let us start with the first Targaryens who came to Westeros from Old Valyria. There was the daughter of Aenar, named Daenys, better known as Daenys the Dreamer. She was said to have had the Dragon Dreams that warned her father of the Doom before it could consume our House with the other Dragonlords. Next was Elaena, Daenys' daughter…"
She continued from there, trying to recall her family tree as best she could. She knew well the most prominent members of House Targaryen, having memorized as many of them as she had learned. What she didn't remember or know, Jon filled in for her—he knew much of their House's kin from the years he spent under Aemon's tutelage.
"Much of our House in the past few centuries is descended from the line of Aegon and his sister-wife, Rhaenys," Daenerys murmured. "Their son, Aenys, had…five children, I think? Two daughters, if I recall: Rhaena and Alysanne, who married the first King Jaehaerys after King Maegor's death."
"Six children," Jon corrected, and Dany blinked at him. "Alyssa Velaryon had a third daughter, Vaella. She died in her cradle."
"Vaella," Dany murmured, putting the name to memory. She frowned. "Rhaena had two daughters by her brother, Aegon. Aerea and Rhaella. Rhaella was also the name of my mother. Then Jaehaerys and Alysanne had…a lot of children. Jon how many—"
"Thirteen."
Even Dany's eyebrows rose high at that. Doreah spluttered. "Thirteen?!"
He couldn't help but smirk a little. "King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne's love for each other was something of a legend. Their reign was the longest and the greatest, or so I was taught. Jaehaerys ruled for fifty-five years."
"My word," Doreah breathed.
Jon looked into the flames and Dany wondered if he was thinking of the name his parents wished for him—the name of a peaceful, wise King who had been the pinnacle of the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros. She thought it suited him better than Aegon. He had never wanted to be a conquerer.
"Jaehaerys and Alysanne loved their children," Jon murmured. "Their daughters were…Daenerys, Alyssa, Maegelle, Daella, Saera, Viserra, and Gael."
"Still…thirteen children!"
"A bit much for your tastes?" Jon asked, chuckling.
"I think that's a bit much for anyone, Your Grace," Doreah shook her head in bewilderment. She looked from him to Daenerys after a moment, and her eyes became somewhat mischievous. "How many do you think you want?"
Jon's eyes widened in surprise and he glanced at Daenerys for a moment, both of them flushing with color. Doreah looked all-too amused by their uncertainty.
"We haven't talked about it," Dany told her friend.
"Yet," Doreah smirked. But she let them off easy and lifted a hand to her belly, rubbing at the swell. "May I hear some names for the boys now, Your Grace?"
"Certainly," Jon agreed, pleased to have avoided that particular topic for the moment. "Well, if we're starting again, there was Aenar, the father of Daenys the Dreamer. He brought House Targaryen over from Valyria, as Daenerys said before…"
They went on like that for some time. Doreah mulled over several of the names suggested to her, but House Targaryen was massive. There were probably names Jon and Daenerys had left out simply because it was difficult to remember them all. The chaos of the Dance of Dragons and the Blackfyre Rebellions only made things more difficult.
They eventually reached the end of the family line.
"King Aerys II and Rhaella had…" Jon frowned, tilting his head back in thought and lifting his fingers as he counted in his head. Daenerys stared at the number as it grew, eyes wide in surprise. She'd known that her mother had birthed more than three children, but she didn't know exactly how many.
"Eight? I think it was eight," he said quietly. Jon shook his head after a moment. "But most of her children were sickly. Rhaella suffered through many miscarriages, as well. Few of her babes survived past their first year, if I remember right. She only had two daughters; Shaena, who was stillborn, and Dany."
"I see," Doreah murmured. "What of her sons?"
"My father, Rhaegar," Jon answered, his face pained. "And Viserys, of course. They were the only sons she had who survived infancy. The others were…Daeron, Aegon, and Jaehaerys. She had another stillborn, I think, but I cannot recall the name of the babe."
"That poor woman. I cannot even imagine…"
"My mother's fate was not a kind one," Daenerys agreed softly. She had not known the names of her dead siblings until now. The thought saddened her—she had already lost Viserys and would never see Rhaegar outside of her dreams with Jon. But to imagine that she might have had many more siblings, all of whom were lost before she took her first breath…
"No. And now we reach the last of the Targaryen line," Jon looked up at Doreah. "My father and mother had my sister, Rhaenys, and I. And now your child with Viserys. That's where we are now."
"How do you even remember all of that?" Doreah asked, looking impressed.
"There's a lot I'm sure I do not remember clearly," Jon admitted. "The civil wars in our family make everything complicated. I learned a lot about them during my life in the North, but even so…without a physical family tree to look at, I cannot say if I've recited all the names of our House. I certainly do not know many names beyond those Targaryens who came to Westeros."
"I have a lot to think about," Doreah proclaimed. "I hope I do not bother the two of you if I ask about this again. I certainly will have trouble remembering all of these names."
"No trouble at all," Dany replied, smiling.
Ned Stark set his eyes on White Harbor and felt relief course through him for the first time in the past three months.
It had taken them quite a while to get here from King's Landing. Ser Davos had insisted on taking a more indirect route to reach their destination, to ensure they were not followed by any of the Lannisters. Though it consumed much time, it had left them safe in the end.
When he set foot on the docks of White Harbor, Lord Wyman Manderly was waiting for them.
The Lord of White Harbor looked relieved to see them. He took Ned's arm in his and squeezed it firmly in friendship. "Thank the Seven. We feared for your life, Lord Stark. Many rumors have pervaded Westeros since you vanished."
"Aye," Ned agreed. "It was not what I wished, but King's Landing was more a nest of vipers than I feared. Ser Davos is likely the only reason I live and my daughters remain free."
He would not mention Varys. He couldn't. The Spider, for all his intentions, was not a trustworthy man. His Northmen would not like to hear his moniker brought up.
"I will see to it that you have our hospitality before you ride home to Winterfell," Manderly told him, smiling.
"I am thankful for it. But my work must begin now," he said. "Our voyage has left us pressed for time."
"Of course," Manderly began to lead him towards New Castle, with Sansa, Arya, and Ser Davos in-tow, along with the dire wolves. The wolves seemed happier than anyone to be off the ship. "How may I serve you, My Lord?"
"I must summon my bannermen and the Lords of the North to Winterfell," he began. "Many ravens must fly today. I will need to write several letters."
"You will have all you need to do so. What else?"
"I will hear the news we have been absent for at sea," Ned continued. "What is happening in King's Landing?"
"Nothing good," Manderly admitted. "The Queen Regent has sent ravens throughout the land declaring you a traitor. She says you falsely accused her children of being bastards borne of incest between herself and her brother, the Kingslayer."
"And?"
"None of the men in the North believe her. You know our people. The South has always been in suspicion, and the Lannisters more than most we have little trust in. They were more outraged that you disappeared. We all feared for your life."
"I will explain all I can when my bannermen are summoned to Winterfell. Anything else of note from King's Landing?"
"House Baratheon did not take the news kindly, either," Manderly said. "Stannis and Renly seem to think there is truth to the Queen's accusations towards you. Not that you falsely accused her children of being bastards—they seem to believe you are right."
"But that's nonsense!" Sansa, who had been hurrying to keep up with them, protested. "King Joffrey is—"
"A bastard, Sansa," Ned stopped and turned to face her. All the guards paused with them, listening with Manderly as the Warden of the North spoke his truth. "Or at least, I have little reason to believe he is Robert's true born son. Him and his siblings. I met a number of Robert's bastards in King's Landing, and I have searched long and hard through the history of House Baratheon.
"All of his bastards were black of hair and blue of eyes, as have been many more true born children of their House. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are all blonde of hair and green of eyes. There is not a single Baratheon trait in them. They are pure Lannister."
Sansa paled. "But that doesn't mean…"
"It is true that without Cersei or the Kingslayer's open admittance I cannot prove it beyond a shadow of doubt," Ned told her. "But I have met many Baratheon children, and their blood always flows strong. Their traits are clear. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are devoid of any and all of them."
"Stannis and Renly seem to think the same," Manderly added grimly. "By line of succession, Stannis has claimed himself to be the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. He and Renly have both taken up arms against the Lannisters. War hasn't started yet, but it's in the wind. What will we do about it, My Lord?"
"Nothing yet," Ned replied, looking at the Lord of White Harbor. "What about Euron Greyjoy?"
"The Iron Fleet have been reported to be raiding up and down the west coast. Now that Winter has nearly passed us by, I expect they will become worse. They haven't invaded far inland yet, but Euron Greyjoy has made it clear he means to take the North for his own. He hit Flint's Finger not a moon ago. They say he'll be sailing for Torrhen's Square next."
"He'll use it as a staging point to strike at Winterfell and the rest of the North," Ned growled. "We must make haste."
When they reached New Castle, Lord Manderly was quick to usher them into his solar while food and drink was brought in for them. Ned told them he would be busy for a time, but he wanted his daughters and Ser Davos present as well.
He had made a big decision while they sailed to the North.
"I will ride out at first light with the wolves and any men you can spare, Lord Manderly," Ned told him. "I would have you send the ravens out with our departure. I will write all the necessary letters to summon my bannermen tonight."
"It will be done, My Lord," Manderly dipped his head.
"Ser Davos," Ned looked up at the man who had saved his life and the lives of his daughters. "I must make a selfish request of you."
"If it is within my power, I will help you, Lord Stark."
He took a breath. Steeled himself.
"I need you to take Arya to Braavos with a letter to summon the Dragon King to Winterfell."
Silence filled the solar.
Manderly spluttered. "The Dragon King? For what reason?!"
"He will help us crush Euron Greyjoy and the Iron Fleet," Ned told them. "I have thought long and hard about this. Euron possesses a Dragon Horn said to be capable of binding a dragon with its magic, as well as a dragon egg. He means to claim the dragon Frostfyre for his own to conquer Westeros. If we strike now with the Dragon King himself, before he can take them by surprise, we will stop an even greater threat from attacking the realm."
"How could you even suggest such a thing? The boy is the child of Rhaegar Targaryen, the same man who stole away your sister and killed her!"
"He did neither of those things," Ned said quietly. Manderly stared at him, eyes wide, as did Davos and his daughters. "Much is not what it seems. But I cannot explain yet. I intend to share this information with all of my bannermen in Winterfell—including you, Lord Manderly.
"But I will make this clear: I would never summon the Dragon King if I did not know beyond a shadow of doubt that he is our ally. And he is. That boy was raised from infancy in the North. He is one of us. You must trust me on that. When I send out the call, he will answer. That dragon of his will make the losses our people suffer a fraction of what they would be if we fought the Iron Fleet without them."
Ser Davos licked his lips nervously. "This could mean war, Lord Stark. If you ally with this boy…"
"War is already coming to us. The boy's identity will be discovered soon enough, anyways," Ned sighed. "The spymasters in King's Landing will see to that."
"His identity?" Sansa frowned. "What do you mean, father?"
"I will explain everything in Winterfell," Ned looked from Davos to Manderly. "The boy is not a conquerer. He is not evil. And with him on our side, Euron will fall. If I have it my way, this is going to be the very last Greyjoy Rebellion."
"Stannis and Renly will not like this."
"Neither will Tywin Lannister, Joffrey, and most of Westeros. I am aware. Believe me, I am all-too aware of what is going to happen. But it is already going to happen whether we like it or not. Even if I do not summon him, the wheels of fate are already turning."
Davos pursed his lips. "Why send your daughter? It is a terrible risk, Lord Stark."
"Not as risky as you think," he sighed, looking at Arya. "Jon is with the Dragon King."
"Jon?!" Arya half-shrieked. "What in the seven hells is Jon doing with him?!"
"I thought he was at the Wall," Sansa also looked stunned, but her face was screwed up with distaste. "It's where the bastard belongs."
"Bastard?" Lord Manderly frowned. "Your bastard son, Lord Stark?"
"Aye. He is with Aegon and Daenerys now in Braavos. Arya will know him when she sees him. They will never harm her, and if she goes, they will know my message is true and not a trap."
The Lord of White Harbor regarded him carefully for several moments. "He is truly our ally?"
"That boy would die for us," Ned told Manderly. "For the North."
Ser Davos studied him carefully for several moments. "If you bring him here and defeat the Iron Fleet, depose Euron Greyjoy…what then?"
"Then…" Ned pursed his lips. "Then he will likely return to Essos. He will not wish to endanger Daenerys more than is necessary, and Westeros is not safe for Targaryens. Perhaps it never will be again."
"He'll go away just like that?"
"If it is what is best for all of us, yes."
"He won't want the Iron Throne?"
"He never has. He is a good child who does not seek power."
"…You seem to know him well," Davos said cautiously.
"As I said, I will explain everything as soon as my bannermen are summoned to Winterfell. Even if he refuses my summons for some reason or is unable to answer them, I mean to tell them all who he is."
The Onion Knight mulled it over for some time. "What would you need for me to do once I reach Braavos with your daughter? Assuming we even find him there?"
"He will likely request you bring Daenerys to Winterfell with Arya," Ned admitted. "I would have you do so. If he fights to protect our people, I would see that we can do at least that much for him in return."
"Suppose that makes sense. But how am I meant to transport a dragon?"
"I imagine the dragon is too large for any ship to carry, Ser Davos. Once he answers the summons, he will probably fly ahead of your ship straight to Winterfell. With any luck, he will arrive there with my bannermen. It will make explaining things easier."
Davos nodded slightly. "Very well. I'll do it."
"I will see to it that you are well-rewarded for your services," Ned told him. "My House owes you a tremendous debt."
The Onion Knight smiled at him. "It has been my pleasure to help you, Lord Stark. I only hope you speak true about the Dragon King. I have a wife and son to go home to, you know."
"I would never ask this of you if I believed you would be threatened by him."
"Very well. I trust you. We will leave at first light tomorrow."
Ned let out a long breath. "Arya, prepare yourself. I will take Nymeria with us to Winterfell—I imagine she has seen enough of the ship."
"Yes, Father," Arya agreed, feeling excitement swell within her.
She was going to see a dragon!
They had been living in Braavos for nearly five moons now.
Winter had passed them by, and the weather was starting to warm. Jon let out a breath in the nighttime air near the Moon Pool, ready for another night of sparring amongst the bravos.
The past few moons had been quiet, but a good sort of quiet. They hadn't encountered any assassins (yet) or found themselves threatened by much of anything. Living underground the way they did meant they didn't receive word of Westeros often these days, but a few things had reached their ears.
The death of King Robert and the ascension of his son, King Joffrey, to the Iron Throne had been huge news for them. With any luck, it meant they wouldn't be hunted quite so viciously, but they could not relax completely.
Hearing about Ned Stark's disappearance after the King's death had been less comforting for Jon. He wished he had some idea as to where his uncle was—he'd fly to help him if he could, but without any idea as to where Ned was, he could do nothing.
That reminded him of perhaps the greatest con of living in Braavos.
He had met with Frostfyre on brief trips outside of Braavos, when he and Ser Jorah left to gather more firewood for the dragon eggs, but not nearly as much as he'd like. He missed his dragon, but she couldn't stay in the city. She stayed far away from it, roaming the mountains of the Andals to the south. He didn't want to chain her down, but he wanted to see her more often.
They would still be here for some time, he knew. Doreah was large with child. The babe would be born in the coming weeks for certain, if not sooner. Once it was born, they'd spend a little while longer in Braavos to ensure the child was healthy, and then they would leave.
His lips rose into a smile.
He and Daenerys were going to marry before they left. They already had a sept in mind. It would be a quiet, private ceremony, but it would bind them together in the eyes of men.
He couldn't wait. He and Dany spent almost every night together. Oftentimes they would lie beneath the sheets and simply talk. On some days, they were so tired they just curled up together and fell asleep. And on more nights still, they would fall into bed to have new adventures and explore one another.
It had been absurdly hard to not just have each other in-full, but somehow they'd managed to wait. Once they were married, there would be nothing to hold them back.
Jon's fifteenth name day had come and gone, as had Dany's. Though they were not fully grown, they were certainly old enough to be wed by now. It wasn't uncommon for some to be wed at an even younger age.
He shook those thoughts from his head as he spotted Terro, the bravos he'd sparred with many a time on these grounds. Jon had managed to defeat Terro in the past months, and he'd become rather good at besting all but the best of Water Dancers.
Ser Jorah and Dany were watching him amidst the crowds, who by now were quite familiar with the young Westerosi swordsman.
Jon started to approach Terro when a stranger he did not recognize slipped from the crowds and made his way towards him. He blinked at the man, who was clearly a foreigner judging by his features.
He was tall, slender, and graceful, with thin eyebrows and black eyes. His hair was lustrous and black, and he wore fine clothes that were exotic, as well. A large spear was strapped to his back.
Jon stared at him, reaching for the handle of his sword. The man stopped a short distance away, studying him for a few moments.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Jon," he answered, eyes narrowed. Something about this man wasn't right. He shifted his stance, watching him warily. He caught sight of two men in hooded cloaks not far away in the crowd, and his alarm increased.
"That depends."
He drew his sword slowly. "On what?"
"Your name. I saw you with the Targaryen girl and that Mormont. Are you Aegon?"
Jon's eyes flashed back towards Ser Jorah and Daenerys, who were already hurrying towards him with worry in their eyes. It was a nearly fatal mistake.
The man had his spear in-hand and slashed at him rapidly. Jon barely ducked under the swing and backpedaled, scowling. "Who are you?"
"My name is Oberyn Martell," the man hissed angrily. "My sister was Elia. Aegon was my nephew, pretender."
Fuck, Jon mentally swore, stepping away from a jab by the spear. This was the Red Viper of Dorne!
"You've got this all wrong!" Jon snarled, parrying a stab with his sword.
"Oh?" Oberyn glared at him. "I do not think so. You are clearly not my nephew."
"Will you just listen for—"
"No."
He swung the spear again and Jon ducked under it, only for Oberyn's foot to fly up and strike him in the chest. He was nearly flung backwards, barely parrying another stab from the spear, but he knew there was no way he'd win such a fight. The Red Viper's notoriety in Westeros was legendary.
"Jon!" Dany was there then, and Ser Jorah as well. He held a hand out to keep Dany behind him, but she had a dagger at the ready. Though she wasn't yet ready to fight with a sword, she'd learned to use knives and smaller blades well enough in the recent months.
Oberyn's eyes flashed with annoyance at the Targaryen girl. "Back off, Daenerys. You have been fooled."
"I have not," she snapped. "Who are you?"
"This is Prince Oberyn," Jorah told her grimly. "Elia Martell's brother."
Dany paled, but then steeled herself. "You are making a mistake, good-brother."
"This pretender is—"
"Prince Oberyn."
They all stopped as the two cloaked men Jon has spotted before came in behind Oberyn, though they kept their distance. When they removed their hoods, he saw an old, gray man and a tall blonde with striking green eyes.
Oberyn's eyes were blazing, but Ser Jorah paled, inhaling sharply. "Your Grace, Princess, you must run."
"There is no need for that," the old man told them, holding his hands up placatingly. The blonde said nothing.
"Seven hells there isn't!" Jorah retorted. "You brought the Kingslayer here!"
Jon felt his blood run cold. The blonde man was Jaime Lannister!
Dany's breath came sharp and fast beside him. This was the man who had slain her father, madman or not.
Jaime stared at her, his eyes wide. Jon did not like that in the slightest.
"If we might speak in private," the old man offered, flashing a glare at Oberyn. "Without threatening them, Viper."
"You expect me to allow this pretender who sullies the name of my nephew to live?"
The old man blinked in surprise as he studied Jon. "You are Aegon Targaryen?"
Jon glanced at Dany, who bit her lip. She nodded tightly, her voice barely a whisper. "Oberyn won't stop until he learns the truth."
"He might kill us anyways. All of them might."
"It's our only chance," she told him, voice wavering. She was trying hard to hide her fear. "Frostfyre—"
"She's already—"
"Enough," Oberyn snapped at them, growing tired of the whispers. "Do you claim to be Aegon or not, boy?"
"…I am not Aegon Targaryen," Jon admitted quietly. Ser Jorah spun towards him with a stunned expression, but he ignored the Knight. "But I am Prince Rhaegar's son."
The old man frowned deeply. "How can that be?"
A dragon's roar silenced any further questions.
Frostfyre's enraged bellow shattered the whole of Braavos into silence as the dragon dove from the sky, the moon behind her growing wings with her silhouette. People screamed and began to flee as the great, white fury came down, wings flapping hard as she landed protectively over Jon, Dany, and Ser Jorah. She lowered her skull towards the three men and roared at them dangerously, teeth flashing and eyes blazing
Oberyn, Jaime, and the old man all froze, pinned by her terrible violet gaze.
His heart calmed some. They would still have to leave quickly—get to Doreah and the others somehow and get the hell out of Braavos—but now…now they had a chance. He was just grateful Frostfyre had been hovering near the city lately. She had been missing him.
And she would defend them now, no matter the consequences.
He lifted his hand and Frostfyre leaned towards him, but her teeth were still bared and her snarl was still vicious as she glared death at the men. Jon took comfort in her presence and matched her fury with his own. Dany was being threatened. All of them were, and he would not stand for it. "Do you believe me now?"
Oberyn stared at him, then the dragon, then back again. "Who are you?"
"Drop the spear or you burn," he ordered flatly. Frostfyre's jaws were bathed with threatening embers. Oberyn lowered the weapon, but did not let it go. Jon's grip on his sword tightened. "Drop it!"
The old man had not lowered his hands, but he also showed himself to be no threat to them. "Let's all put down our weapons. Ser Jaime and I are not here to threaten you."
"You didn't come with him?" Jon nodded at Oberyn, already at the height of suspicion.
"I do not need turncoat Kingsguards to track down a pretender," Oberyn snapped.
"I took Aegon's name to protect the people who raised me, and I am sorry for that," Jon retorted. "It gives me no pleasure to do so."
"Who raised you, then? Who are you?"
He was grateful Frostfyre had scared away the locals. Or at least, they were all far away, far where they would not hear him speak. Dany took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
What choice did he have? If Frostfyre attacked, the citizens of Braavos would take it the wrong way. He didn't want to make an enemy of the city.
Jon swallowed. "My name is…Jaehaerys Targaryen. I am the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. I was born at the Tower of Joy, in Dorne. Ned Stark raised me in Winterfell as his bastard son, to protect me from King Robert."
Oberyn's face became ashen, as did Jaime's and the old man's. Jorah was staring at him with eyes as large as the moon. Dany did nothing but hold his hand tight.
Frostfyre's low growl brought the steel back to his spine. "Now give me a good reason as to why I should not incinerate the three of you where you stand."
Oberyn's eyes flickered to Daenerys. "You knew about this?"
"I did," she admitted, tilting her chin up.
"And you did nothing? Allowed him to sully your nephew's name?"
"What right do you have to demand anything of me?" Dany hissed at him. "You and anyone else from Westeros? You would have left me to be sold like livestock to a Dothraki Barbarian, so I could become a whore-bride to a savage! Jon—Jaehaerys is the only reason I haven't been raped and defiled for the past year!"
"It is not his place—"
"You have nothing to demand of us!" Dany shouted back, fully enraged now. "Where were you, where was Dorne, when my brother and I were on the streets begging for food? When we were running from assassins? You have no right to tell us how we can survive! How we protect what little is left of our family!"
Oberyn opened his mouth and Frostfyre drowned him out with another furious bellow, shoving her jaws so close to him that he could stare down her throat as she nearly deafened him, Jaime, and the old man. A good distance away, the citizens of Braavos scrambled to hide again.
Jon glared at Oberyn. "I did not take my half-brother's name out of ill-will. I did it to protect the Starks who saved me from King Robert and the Lannisters. They did more for me than you did for Daenerys. Stand down now, turn away, and I will let you leave alive. I have no quarrel with you, Prince Oberyn. But if you threaten my and Daenerys' safety one more time, I will not hesitate to kill you."
The Red Viper's eyes were narrowed, undoubtedly caused in-part by the pain of his ringing ears.
The old man hesitantly moved forward, pausing only when Frostfyre's gaze snapped onto him with a threatening growl. "Your Grace…"
Jon studied him for a moment, frowning. "Who are you?"
"My name is Ser Barristan Selmy," he answered. Jon tilted his head slightly. This was Barristan the Bold?
"And what are you doing here with the Kingslayer?"
"We came to pledge our swords to you."
Dany glared at the Lannister. "Do you take us for fools?"
"No, Your Grace," Barristan replied calmly. "I speak the truth. Even Ser Jaime—"
"Jaime Lannister betrayed his vows and slew Aerys Targaryen," Jon reminded him, flashing a glare at the blonde man, who had still not moved his gaze from Daenerys. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Even if Aerys was insane, I need more than that to not kill him where he stands."
Oberyn was slowly backing off, his spear lowered as he watched Jon and Daenerys. Jaime finally stirred and looked away from Dany to Jon. Slowly, he unsheathed his sword. Frostfyre hissed threateningly and Jon was a second away from commanding her to burn the man alive.
The Kingslayer slowly knelt and threw his sword away to their feet. He looked at Jon and then Daenerys again.
"I came to serve Queen Rhaella's last child, if I could," he told them. Jaime swallowed. Jon almost startled when he realized the man's eyes were wet with tears. "Gods, but you look just like your mother, Princess…"
"Do not trust him, Your Grace," Jorah warned.
Jaime lowered his head. "Kill me if you wish. It is true I slew King Aerys. It is true I failed to protect Princess Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon. I deserve to die, Your Grace. You would be right to kill me where I stand. But if you let me live, I will swear on whatever honor I have left that I will protect the Queen's daughter to my dying breath."
Jon frowned at him deeply. He glanced at Daenerys, who was staring at him with a convoluted mixture of fear, anger, curiosity, and desperation.
"Your Grace," Jorah urged. "You should kill them now."
Jon pursed his lips, studying the three men again. Oberyn had backed off, spear reattached to his back and staring at the ground as he processed what he'd learned. Barristan still remained passive, eyes fixated on Ser Jaime.
The Kingslayer remained on his knees, his sword at Jon's feet and ready to die.
Frostfyre took the matter into her own hands.
The dragon's head snaked forward towards Jaime, puffing hot air onto the man. She growled at him and he slowly lifted his head to stare at Frostfyre's deadly violets. The dragon breathed in his scent, sniffing once, twice…
She suddenly paused, studying him more closely. Jon watched the interaction curiously.
He half-expected Frostfyre to eat Jaime or burn him alive, but the dragon tilted her head slightly and then pulled away. She twisted to look at Jon, and though she was still on-guard, her rage had abetted somewhat.
Jon's gaze flashed to the Kingslayer again, who remained waiting for his sentence. They were fortunate everyone in Braavos had been scared into their homes, far and away from them. It was eerie how empty the huge square around the Moon Pool was, but he would not complain about the solitude for the time being.
He looked at Daenerys. She glanced from Jaime to Frostfyre, and then back to him. Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded.
"…You will not die tonight," he decided at last.
"Your Grace!" Jorah protested.
"Enough!" Jon snapped. He was still wary. "We will take your weapons and you will come with us. If you try to betray us, mark my words, Frostfyre will burn you alive. She will destroy the whole of the city, and she has your scents now. She will follow your smell home to Westeros and she will annihilate everything you hold dear."
Truthfully, he had no idea if his dragon would go that far, but he would not take chances with these men. They would learn the price of betrayal now or suffer the consequences.
Barristan nodded and removed his sword, tossing it to them, as well as a dagger. Jaime did the same, removing a knife and passing it their way.
Jon stared at the last of them. "Prince Oberyn?"
The Red Viper pursed his lips for several seconds. He couldn't seem to decide.
Jon really didn't want to kill this man. "You have every right to be angry with me. But I did not choose to be born to Rhaegar and Lyanna. I did not choose the circumstances that forced me to take my half-brother's name. If you must only ever trust one thing I have to say, trust that."
Oberyn studied him for a while. Jon was about to order him to disappear or die when he nodded at last, removing his spear and tossing it to them—along with five daggers and knives.
Jon took Daenerys' cloak with a quiet request, wrapped up their weapons in it, and then offered it to Frostfyre. She took the bundle in her claws and launched herself into the sky. She could not follow them to their home.
Jon kept his sword unsheathed, as did Ser Jorah, and Dany had her dagger at the ready.
"You get those back only if you speak the truth and do not betray us. For now, you will do as I say," Jon ordered.
The three men nodded. Quickly and quietly, they spirited away in the night, fleeing into dark alleys before the citizens of Braavos found the courage to emerge from their hiding places.
Just for good measure, Frostfyre roared overhead, frightening the people one last time.
Notes:
Did some timeskips here. I know it's a bit confusing, but here's where everyone stands by the end of the chapter:
Jon, Dany, and the others have been in Braavos for nearly six months. Doreah is nearly at the end of her pregnancy. Jon and Dany are fifteen years old by the end of this chapter. Roughly ten months have passed since Jon left Winterfell to save Daenerys.
Arya and Ser Davos are also nearly at Braavos, while Ned, Sansa, and the wolves have almost reached Winterfell, along with the bannermen he has summoned.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!