Chapter 24: What Lies Ahead
Summary:
Jon tells Ned and Robb about his Dragon Dreams of Aegon Targaryen. The North receives an alliance proposition.
Jon gets the good news.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Four: What Lies Ahead
Two months.
Two months had gone by since Jon and Frostfyre had run into the Ice Dragon. They'd heard nothing of the beast since then. No whispers or sightings of its presence throughout Westeros had reached them.
Currently, they were taking a break from their patrols with the main force of the Northern army. A small group of soldiers had been sent south to secure Borrowton, but all of Jon's scouting hadn't revealed any Ironborn activity in the area. If they were there, they were doing a great job of hiding.
The Ironborn seemed to be dedicated to increasing the number of ships they had available to them. The number of raids from the pirates had decreased noticeably since the Battle of Torrhen's Square. Losing such a significant portion of the Iron Fleet must have made Euron more wary about sending out his forces into territory patrolled by an enemy dragon.
A wise decision, although it made everyone more tense to not know exactly what the Crow's Eye was up to.
They had managed to keep tabs on Tywin Lannister's progress, at least. With his forces marching north, they'd deduced that he was heading for Moat Cailin. He'd passed through the Twins a little less than a moon ago and had made swift travels up the Kingsroad.
At this point, it was a race to see which army would get to the old fortress first.
Lord Howland Reed's scouts had been keeping them informed, and reported that more heavy weaponry and supplies were close behind the main Lannister force. Word came that Tywin had commissioned the construction of large, mobile Scorpions. Ballistas almost certainly designed for the exclusive purpose of shooting down Frostfyre.
Jon was wary of the new weapons. He wasn't so afraid of them that he wouldn't fly his dragon into battle against the Lannisters—he was confident that Frostfyre's armored hide was too thick to pierce even with such tools at Tywin's disposal. But the Dornish had proven that a lucky shot could fell even a fully mature dragon. If they shot her through the eye, even Frostfyre would be felled.
But war carried risks. He'd been wounded on the back of his dragon before. And the Lannisters would only get one shot with each machine, because Frostfyre would destroy those weapons the moment they missed. Unless the man behind that first Scorpion had impeccable aim, they'd have no chance of taking her down.
He hadn't had another Dragon Dream since the last, when he and Dany learned that the Young Griff in Essos was actually Aegon Targaryen.
Well. Supposedly. He'd talked to his uncle about the matter when he and Frostfyre returned from that first patrol along the coast, after their encounter with the Ice Dragon.
Jon finished giving his report to the Lords and Ladies of the North, granting them as much detail as he could manage on the subject of Euron's Ice Dragon. Everything from its size and how thick the armor might be, to its uncertain response when it came face-to-face with Jon and Frostfyre.
There were many unsettled mutters throughout the tent. Only Lord Stark and Lord Bolton were quiet and pensive, eyes narrowed in thought. Lord Bolton was drumming his fingers absently on the table.
The Greatjon pulled away from his conversation with Lord Karstark to look at Jon. "Can you kill it?"
Jon pursed his lips in thought. "I think so. Frostfyre would have to burn through the ice—it's…not scales or armor. It's not really like a living thing. It's hard to explain. Think of…imagine the thickest, hardest ice you can envision. Like the ice that makes up the Wall. Give it life and the shape of a dragon. That's more or less what we're dealing with."
"You think it's made completely out of ice?" Lord Bolton queried. He sounded genuinely curious.
"The eyes were natural enough," Jon replied. "It could be that the ice is…like a shell of sorts. But unless we melt it down or find a way to break it off, I cannot say for certain. It won't be an easy fight if it comes down to violence."
"No battle against a dragon will ever be easy," Ned muttered grimly.
Lady Mormont spoke up. "You said it wouldn't obey you? Despite the dragon's blood?"
"I don't think the Targaryens had Ice Dragons in mind when they bonded with Frostfyre's ancestors thousands of years ago," Jon admitted. "Perhaps they never even knew about them. Whatever magic they used, it was not meant to bond Dragon Lords to Ice Dragons. But it did respond…it felt something…"
He considered her question for a few more moments before he went on. "I might be able to…if not command it, at least guide it, but I would need to win its trust. Depending on how often Euron lets it fly away from the Iron Islands, we might not get that chance."
"None of that will matter if he bewitches the beast with the Dragonbinder," Robb said.
"That's true," Ned agreed.
"So climbing onto its back and whipping it into shape is out of the question?" Lord Karstark prompted.
Jon snorted. "Even if this was the sort of dragon I'm familiar with, I would not dare try to fly with it. Dragon Riders can only bond to one dragon at a time. Attempting to mount a second dragon is suicide—they would be rejected rather violently. Even Aegon the Conquerer once said he would not dare try to mount Vhaegar or Meraxes, the dragons bound to his sisters. They would have killed him for trying."
"Then any attempt at diplomacy with the beast is out of the question."
"Not necessarily. If I can win its trust, it might at least be less inclined to bother our forces. I cannot ride the Ice Dragon, but it may be possible to…divert it away from the war. Best-case scenario, it decides to follow Frostfyre into battle. I do not think it will bother to differentiate between our armies once it starts fighting."
"It is a risk, but even if we can just get the damned thing away from Euron Greyjoy, that could decide the war," Lord Bolton pointed out, glancing at Lord Stark. "If he loses his dragon, he won't recover from it. Tywin would turn on him immediately. The old lion does not suffer threats."
"I agree, but the same holds true for us. We cannot lose Jon and Frostfyre," the Lord of Winterfell looked up at his nephew. "If you think there is a chance you can sway the beast, then do so. But do not entertain unnecessary chances."
"We will be careful should we encounter it again," Jon promised, then sat down in his chair.
"Good. If that is all?" Ned looked around the tent to see if any of his other commanders had more news to relay, but it seemed they were done. The scouts had not reported much in the last few weeks and everyone already knew the army's path for the coming days. "Dismissed."
The Lords and Ladies of the North rose as one and left the tent, still muttering amongst themselves. Jon got a clap on the shoulder from the Greatjon on his way out and the slightest of nods from Lady Mormont.
Slow and steady. Progress was progress.
Ghost prodded Jon's leg with his nose and the boy reached down to scratch the wolf's ears absently.
"Something on your mind, Jon?" Robb asked. Grey Wind was dozing at his feet. Blackfreeze sat beside Ned, almost shoulder-height with the sitting man thanks to his immense size.
"I had another Dragon Dream with Dany not long before we ran into the Ice Dragon," Jon confessed.
"How is she?"
"She's good. We still don't know if she's…" Jon trailed off and shook his head. "She said it was too early to tell."
Ned offered a comforting smile. "You'll know one way or another when next you see each other."
Jon nodded and pushed away any thoughts of impending fatherhood because that was frankly terrifying. He focused on the subject of the dream itself. "Uncle, what do you remember of Aegon Targaryen?"
Ned frowned. "Which one are you referring to?"
"My…my half-brother."
The frown deepened. "I saw him once and he was…the babe wasn't even recognizable for what the Mountain did to him. Why do you ask this?"
Jon licked his lips. "You're sure it was him?"
"Jon."
"The last two dreams Dany and I have shared followed two men in Essos," he confessed. His hands felt a little shaky. "They simply called themselves Old Griff and Young Griff in the first dream. But the second—one of them is a boy. Maybe a bit older than me. He spoke to a handmaiden and told her that he is my brother."
Silence filled the tent. Ned's eyebrows rose high and Robb jerked to attention, startled. Jon leaned his elbow on the table and pressed his forehead into his hand. "Is it possible someone switched the child before Gregor Clegane got to him?"
"…I wasn't there when it happened. At the time, I was seeing to it that Jaime Lannister was put away in a cell. I didn't know Clegane and Lorch were…" Ned trailed off. His face was shifty as he sifted through grim memories. "King's Landing was…chaotic, when I arrived. Tywin had just sacked the city. I suppose it's not impossible, but even so…the Red Keep was heavily guarded by Lannister soldiers."
"How do you know it's him?" Robb demanded. "How do you know he isn't just…a pretender?"
"I do not know why Daenerys and I dream, but every dream we've had relates to our family in some way," Jon murmured, closing his eyes. "First it was each other, then my mother and father, and now…I cannot imagine why we would dream of someone simply pretending to be a Targaryen."
"Magic is a strange and complicated thing, Jon," Ned reminded him. "It could be that the nature of these dreams will not always be the same. Perhaps it means something else."
It was certainly possible. Daenys the Dreamer had, after all, had that prophetic dream that foretold the Doom of Old Valyria.
"What did you say they called themselves again in your first dream? Griff?"
"Old Griff and Young Griff, yes," he confirmed. "Not their true names, I imagine. Young Griff certainly seems to be hiding something."
"What about the older one?"
"He…he might've been your age. Perhaps a bit older?" Jon frowned, trying to recall details of the man in question. "He was not pleased to learn that Rhaegar Targaryen was my father. Even less so to find out Lyanna Stark was my mother."
Ned frowned thoughtfully. "Did you see the color of his hair? Or any symbols that might indicate a House or organization?"
"Both Griffs dye their hair blue," Jon shook his head. "Neither bore any symbol that stood out to me, but I can look for one if Dany and I dream of them again. Do you have any idea who the older one might be?"
"The name is somewhat telling," Ned admitted. "Griff. During the days of the Mad King, there was a man in the Storm Lands named Jon Connington, the Lord of Griffin's Roost."
"Connington?" Robb tilted his head in thought. "Connington…Landed Knights, aren't they?"
"They used to be a Noble House with a Lordship," said Ned. "Jon Connington was a close friend of Rhaegar Targaryen in their youth. During Robert's Rebellion, Aerys named him Hand of the King. Connington tried to hunt down Robert at Stony Sept in the Riverlands. Lord Tully and I arrived during the search and we drove him off together. Robert nearly killed him."
"The Battle of the Bells, wasn't it?" Jon recalled. Ned nodded in confirmation.
"Aerys held Connington responsible for that defeat and sent him off into exile. He was lucky to leave with his life, to be perfectly honest. The Lordship of Griffin's Roost passed on to Ser Ronald Connington, the castellan. But as you can imagine, when the war was won, Robert did not look favorably upon the men of Griffin's Roost. For a House in his own lands to favor the Targaryens, and for Jon Connington to be a close friend of Rhaegar's to boot…well, he stripped them of their Lordship entirely and took nine-tenths of their lands to grant to other Houses who were greater supporters of the campaign."
"What happened to him? Jon Connington?"
"He left for Essos when he was exiled. No matter how much he admired or perhaps even loved Rhaegar—there were some rumors that Connington did not look upon Rhaegar as a friend would—he could not stay in Westeros. Stories came of him from across the Narrow Sea, now and again. Some say he joined the Golden Company. Others claim he drank himself to death in Lys. Nothing has ever been certain."
Jon found himself briefly surprised that Connington might have loved his father, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Rhaegar was gone. No matter how the exiled Lord of Griffin's Roost might have felt once before, it did not serve to linger on the dead.
Robb glanced at Jon. "Suppose it is him…it would make sense if he chose to look after Rhaegar's other son, wouldn't it? He wouldn't have known about you in the first place."
"It does make sense, but he knew where Daenerys and Viserys were for years, or so it seems," Jon muttered. "Gods, Viserys could have used an advisor who was close to Rhaegar…he might've been able to help stay off the madness. Dany might not have been threatened by Drogo at all."
"And Aegon might have married her instead," Ned pointed out.
An ugly scowl filled Jon's face. "I suppose that's true."
"I agree that you should be suspicious of him," his uncle admitted. "Until we know his motives, I would advise you to be wary of him should you dream of the Griffs again. Learn what you can. Do you know what they are doing now?"
"They're heading to Pentos to get a ship, then they mean to sail for Westeros. To meet Daenerys and I, and gain our support."
"The Iron Throne, then," Robb grunted. At his feet, Grey Wind's ears twitched, but the wolf did not wake up.
"They said it would be about a year before they reached Westeros," Jon added.
"Then we have time to prepare for them. But we must focus on the threat that is here and now," Ned told him. "I say: learn what you can when you can, and share it with Robb and I. We shall discuss this as much as is needed. If Jon Connington truly is keeping Rhaegar's eldest son safe, I would not see the two of you pitted against each other. Your House has suffered enough infighting as it is."
"I know. I…I do want it to be him," Jon admitted after a moment. "If it's really Aegon—if he's…good. Gods, what I wouldn't give for that. I'd like nothing more than to see more of our family alive and well. But even so…I can't trust him. Not now, not like this."
"That is wise of you, Jon," Ned smiled. "I hope for the same. I think I would rather like having another nephew."
Jon cracked a small smile at the thought. Robb also seemed to be entertaining the idea, then paused. "What about your half-sister? Rhaenys?"
Jon opened his mouth, paused, and looked at Ned. His uncle's expression became grim again. "I'm more certain Rhaenys is dead. Lorch stabbed her half a hundred times and left her face alone. If she was swapped out for another child, no one said anything. Then again, none of the people responsible for her murder knew her before she was killed. I suppose it's possible…she looked more Dornish than Targaryen. It would have been easier to swap her out for another child. But I would not chance to hope. The Lannisters were very thorough."
"We'll talk about Rhaenys if and only if Dany and I dream about her," Jon decided. "I would leave the dead in peace unless we find reason to believe they are not as dead as we think them to be."
"Agreed. Now—the both of you go and rest. We have another long march tomorrow."
That conversation had been background noise in Jon's mind ever since. He was itching to dream again—mostly to see Dany, but also because he needed to know for certain if Aegon was alive and what his motives were.
If they could get the dragon eggs to hatch, there'd be enough for all four Targaryens. Jon would have Frostfyre, and the three hatchlings would go to Dany, Visenya, and Aegon. Their House wouldn't be so at risk as it was now.
He pushed the thought away as he strode towards the tent belonging to Tyrion Lannister. Lord Stark had seen to it that the Imp had enough space to do the necessary research for constructing a saddle Jon could strap onto Frostfyre. It would be badly needed should they ever have to actually fight the Ice Dragon under Euron's command.
Having it just to ensure he was never accidentally thrown from her back would be nice, too.
Jon reached the tent and pushed open the flap, stepping inside. "Lord Tyrion?"
The dwarf had another man in the tent—a tanner who worked with the horse saddles. Both of them looked up from the project at their hands when Jon walked in. Tyrion waved him over. "Ah, the commissioner of our mad science! Please, come in, Your Grace."
Jon found himself amused as he often was around Tyrion. The Imp had a wonderful sense of humor and no small amount of snark.
He was also excellent at telling hysterical stories. Jon and Robb had laughed themselves to tears more than once listening to Tyrion's incredible tales.
"How are we looking?"
"It's getting there," Tyrion admitted. "Not done yet, but it's going in the right direction."
Jon cast his gaze upon the saddle. The seat itself was already done, but stretching out from it was a mess of long leather straps and ropes he couldn't make sense of.
"The problem's been the straps," the tanner explained to Jon, who focused on the man. "Have to get the proper length, but your beast is damn well bigger than any horse, yer Grace."
"That she is," Jon agreed. "Ropes won't work?"
"They chafe horses," the tanner answered. "But yer dragon's scales might just cut right through 'em. Won't hold for long, for how much it moves when it flies. Gotta be leather with some steel, we thinks."
"It's been done before, obviously," Tyrion reminded them. "We just have to figure out how. It'd be easier if I had access to the Citadel library in King's Landing, but as we do not have such a luxury, we will have to make do."
"You'll have to teach me when you figure it out," Jon mused. "Or at least how best to maintain it. If the saddle is ever damaged when I'm patrolling the countryside, I'll need to know how to attempt repairs."
"At least you can ride the dragon bareback if it's needed," said the dwarf.
"True," he agreed. "Well, you already know to keep me posted. Do you need to see Frostfyre again? I can distract her long enough for some more sketches."
Tyrion considered the offer. "Not at this moment, Your Grace. Perhaps when we go to make final adjustments, I will take you up on that distraction. But for now, I believe what I have will suffice."
"The offer stands whenever you need it," Jon said just to remind him. He nodded to the tanner—who seemed startled that the boy would acknowledge him in such a way—and then twisted on his heel to leave the tent.
Hearing that the saddle was nearing completion was good news. Though he sincerely hoped they would not have to fight the Ice Dragon at all, the saddle would be a great help during flights with Frostfyre. She wouldn't have to be so careful about throwing him off by accident, for one.
Jon heard a bark and turned to the north, smiling when Ghost came bounding towards him. Judging from the fresh coating of red around his muzzle, he'd been busy hunting.
"Hey there, boy," Jon knelt to pet the Dire Wolf, who leaned into his touch with an eager whine. Ghost and Grey Wind had grown even bigger in recent months. They still weren't as monstrous as Blackfreeze, but both were a good bit larger than the average wolf found south of the Wall by now.
"Jon!"
He looked up to see Robb striding over. Grey Wind ran ahead and started playing with Ghost, licking at the white wolf's muzzle to try and taste whatever he'd been eating.
"Is something amiss?" Jon asked as he stood from his crouch.
"Not sure," Robb admitted, turning to walk towards Lord Stark's tent. Jon fell into step beside him and listened attentively. "One of father's guards came by and told me a raven arrived not long ago. He's summoning all the Lords of the North, far as I can tell."
"Hmm."
They set a brisk pace, reaching the tent in question in a matter of minutes with their wolves in-tow. Some of the Northern Lords were already present, as well as Lady Mormont.
Lord Stark looked up when they entered. He had a letter in his hand, which Jon deduced was probably the cause of the summons.
"Ah, you're here," Ned greeted them. "Take a seat. We're just waiting on a few more people."
"Trouble?" Robb asked.
"Not of the sort I've come to expect," he admitted.
Well, Jon was already curious.
It wasn't long before the Lords were gathered. Ned held up the letter that had brought them here and began to speak.
"We have an offer for an alliance."
That got no small amount of interest. There had been plenty of threats in recent months following Cersei's accusations towards Lord Stark, not to mention backlash throughout Westeros when it was discovered that the Warden of the North had hidden away the young Dragon King and allied with him.
The Lannisters and Baratheons had made their sentiments on the matter known. Euron Greyjoy would have declared war anyway.
More enemies would not have been a surprise. But a potential friend? That was unexpected.
"Who is it?" Greatjon demanded.
"The Queen of Thorns herself," Ned proclaimed. "Olenna Tyrell."
"Southerners," Lord Glover grumbled.
"Do you mean to tell us there is a Kingdom further north than our own we have not heard of?" Lord Bolton retorted dryly. "Of course they're southerners. What has she proposed, Lord Stark?"
"She wishes to offer us assistance in the war to ensure Euron Greyjoy does not emerge victorious. She claims that should we join in an alliance, she will see to it that the Lannister lands are assaulted from the south."
That got a few interested murmurs. Jon considered the offer thoughtfully. If they had another army pressuring Tywin Lannister from the south, he wouldn't be able to devote all of his attention to the North, no matter what Euron Greyjoy wanted. He would risk having his lands sacked by the armies of Highgarden.
"Would King's Landing and the Crownlands not intervene?" Ser Tallhart queried.
"Stannis and Renly Baratheon have been slowly making their way from the Storm Lands towards the Iron Throne," Ned answered. "They devote forces to defend the Westerlands at their peril."
"Stannis isn't an ally," Lord Dustin pointed out.
"No, but he wants Joffrey out," reminded Lord Bolton. "As long as the Lannisters are taking damage, I do not think he would intervene with the Tyrell's efforts. They'd save him a great deal of trouble."
White Harbor's master, Lord Manderly, was more suspicious. "And how, pray tell, does the Queen of Thorns mean to solidify an alliance with the North? Especially given that we will not be sharing the same battlefields as her armies."
Ned Stark looked over to Robb, who was seated next to Jon.
"She has proposed a marriage between my firstborn son and heir, Robb, and her granddaughter, Margaery Tyrell."
Jon's eyebrows rose as Robb spluttered in surprise. The Lords of the North responded with more than a little uproar.
"The old bat thinks she can just claim the heir to the North with a letter?" Greatjon scowled. "Your son should marry a Northern woman, Lord Stark."
"Aye!" Lord Karstark called in agreement. "My own daughter, Alys—"
"Enough!" Ned cut them off sharply, silencing the tent. "I know more than well that Robb has many options in the North, and in happier times I would gladly see to it that he married a girl from our homeland. But I know better than anyone that wartime often sees men and women betrothed whom otherwise might never have laid eyes upon one another."
"You're considering this offer?" Lord Glover sounded utterly bewildered.
"Do I need to remind you that we're at war with two of the most deadly armies Westeros has seen in centuries? The Crow's-Eye, an Ice Dragon, and Tywin Lannister! We are outnumbered and we will lose many, many men even when we claim victory from them. That's to say nothing of what Stannis Baratheon might do when the war is over. How many women and children will wait at home for sons and brothers and fathers and husbands who will never come back to them?"
Ned set the letter down. "It is my duty that I consider this offer seriously. If the armies of Highgarden can take Tywin by surprise, many more of our men will survive this war. We will not come out of it so badly that we stand no chance of defending ourselves should conflict arise again."
"How does she want to do this?" Jon finally broke his silence, garnering the attention of the Northern Lords. "It's all fine and good to ask for a marriage, but Highgarden is on the other side of the continent. Does she mean to see them wed before the Reach commits to war, or does she just want it on paper that Robb and Margaery will be betrothed?"
"She has offered a solution entailing the latter," Ned admitted. "But she has…suggested the possibility that you, Jon, fly with Robb on the dragon to Highgarden to see them wed. That was another detail of the letter; she is also seeking an alliance with House Targaryen through your relation to House Stark."
"Oh, now she wants the heir to the North married outside of Northern lands?" Lord Karstark threw his hands up. "Shall we send her one of the Dire Wolves next?"
"It is a suggestion to speed up the strengthening of a new alliance," Lord Bolton explained calmly. "And a sensible one. Given the distance and armies between our lands, we can hardly spare a force that will have to march for some moons through enemy territory to witness a marriage."
"Agreed. I mean to send her a draft of my own making detailing such a proposal," Lord Stark told them. "If she agrees, we would have assurances that the Tyrells would honor their word and not try anything underhanded simply to place Olenna's granddaughter as Lady of Winterfell. That being said, I do believe she is being genuine; she is adamant that she does not want to see Euron Greyjoy in a position of power, and on this, I think we can all agree with her."
There were no protests on that subject.
"Robb? What are your thoughts, lad?" Greatjon demanded gruffly.
Robb looked rather uncomfortable, but his voice was steady. "My father married a Tully girl during wartime to secure an alliance. It proved invaluable for Robert's Rebellion. I will do what I must if it means we have a greater chance at victory."
"Well said, lad," Lady Mormont praised.
"It will take time for my raven to reach Highgarden," Lord Stark told them. "We will have some time to consider this further."
"Perhaps not," Jon said, a thought striking him. "Let me take your letter to Highgarden with Frostfyre."
His uncle's brow furrowed, but he pressed on. "We were lucky this raven wasn't intercepted by the Lannisters. Tywin would have destroyed it to prevent such an alliance from being born. If I fly this proposal to Highgarden personally, it'll get there faster and more safely. And if what she claims is true, that Olenna wants to ally the Reach with House Targaryen as well, I can discuss that with them in person."
That got a few more murmurs. Lord Manderly gave Jon a thoughtful look. "How long would it take you to reach them, Your Grace?"
Jon stood and reached for the map a little further up the table. He scanned it for a moment, locating their current position and then searching for Highgarden. "If I push Frostfyre, we can reach it in just under a week. I imagine we'd spend a few days recovering and discussing the alliance with the Tyrells…I can be there and back in under three weeks, uncle."
"That dragon's bloody fast," Greatjon rumbled, shaking his head in disbelief.
"That's still almost three weeks without it to guard our army," Lord Dustin pointed out.
"We are wolves, not sheep," Lord Karstark reminded the man. "We've fared well enough without a dragon guard before."
"Lord Stark?" Jon waited for his uncle's reaction patiently. Ned was putting some serious thought into the suggestion, he could tell.
"…Let me consider this while I work on my counter-offer tonight," Ned decided. "I will not make any decisions for certain yet. And keep in mind that this does not solidify a betrothal—if Olenna does not respond within reason, then we will fight as we would have without her assistance."
That got a spattering of approval. Lord Stark dismissed his commanders and then motioned for Jon and Robb to join him.
"Forgive me," he sighed when they were alone. "This was sprung on me rather suddenly and unexpectedly. Never in my wildest imagination did I think Olenna Tyrell would…"
"I can't say I really blame her," Jon admitted. "The alternative is Euron Greyjoy on the Iron Throne."
Ned snorted. "Yes, I suppose that has everyone feeling rather uncomfortable. Robb?"
"You needn't worry about me, father," Robb told him.
Ned's expression was pained. "I wanted more than anything for this choice to be more yours than mine. I hoped beyond hope you would not be driven into a marriage by a war. I don't regret marrying Catelyn, of course I don't, but our wedding was…it was less than ideal."
"I understand. I stand by what I said; I will do what I must," the boy was firm in his decision. He only hesitated slightly when he looked at Jon. "If you do end up flying to Highgarden…could you perhaps meet her? I would like to know more about Margaery Tyrell if we are to be wed."
"If it comes to that, I'm sure I'll get to meet with her," Jon agreed. Lord Stark nodded.
"Why don't the two of you return to your tents?" Ned suggested. "I have much to consider and a letter to write. I imagine I will be at my wit's end trying to match Olenna Tyrell's barbed tongue."
And although neither of the young men knew much of anything about Olenna Tyrell, both of them felt a twinge of sympathy in that moment for the Lord of Winterfell.
They wound up going to Jon's tent, which was still close to Lord Stark's, but generally was a bit quieter than Robb's. Since Jon spent so much time patrolling the territory in the North with Frostfyre, he didn't have nearly as many visitors whenever he was with the army.
The dragon was off hunting at the moment. The cousins were kept company by their Dire Wolves.
Robb sat down on the furs on the floor of the tent. None of this was actually Jon's, but Ned always ensured he had a tent and some simple furnishes at the ready whenever his nephew returned from his scouting missions.
"Right, start talking," Jon said. He shrugged off his boots, but kept the thick, woolen socks on his feet.
"I'm sorry?"
He gave Robb a look. The other boy—a little shorter than Jon now. Gods when did that happen?—ran his fingers through his hair. "I mean—I knew it was going to happen sooner than later, but I didn't think it would be this soon. Or that it would happen like this."
"It might not happen," Jon reminded him.
"Maybe not," Robb paused as Grey Wind lay down next to him, resting a large, furry muzzle in the boy's lap. He sighed and stroked the wolf's fur in thought. "What's it like?"
"What?"
"You know. Marriage? All that madness."
"It's different for me, Robb. Dany and I—we've known each other since we were just small children. Even if we never saw each other that often, I still remember every time I spoke to her when we dreamed."
"Humor me."
Jon scoffed, but he was smiling. "It's…well, for us it's not that different from how we were before we were married. We're still great friends, just…we do things that married people do, I suppose."
"So I've heard. Well, Arya heard."
"Fuck off," Jon grabbed one of his boots and threw it at Robb, who swatted it out of the air with a laugh. He sat down and Ghost immediately got into his space, demanding affection. Jon humored the Dire Wolf as he went on. "It's not as complicated as people make it out to be. You're together, you say your vows, and then life just…goes on. You're married."
"Sansa always makes it sound like a maddening, royal affair. Every little thing has to be done just so, lavish amounts of coin must be spent, and every man who is not drunk before the night is over is a sad sight, indeed."
"Dany and I were married in a Sept in the middle of the night at Braavos," Jon reflected. "It had to be secret. Cloaks and daggers and darkness. Besides the Septon, we had Arya and two of our Knights as the only witnesses."
"No Heart Trees in Braavos?"
"We've been entertaining the idea of getting married again at Winterfell before the Heart Tree. It's still important to me."
"I know. Maybe I'll do the same if I marry this Tyrell girl. Get married in the Reach, then marry her again at Winterfell."
"We could all get married the second time together."
"There's an idea."
"But Dany and I are sneaking out before the bedding ceremony."
"Coward."
Jon threw his other boot at Robb.
Within two days, Ned had made up his mind: the information he was sending to Olenna Tyrell was too sensitive to risk being intercepted by the Lannisters. Whether they decided to marry Robb to Margaery or not, this potential alliance had to be kept close to the chest.
Jon was flying to Highgarden, farther south than he'd ever been before. Frostfyre adapted to the change in temperature well, enjoying the warmth on her scales. Even though Westeros was going through an unusually long Summer—which was saying something given how unnatural the seasons were—the air so high up was still cold.
Given how much more heavily populated the land beneath them was, Jon had opted to fly higher than normal to ensure they weren't spotted by unfriendly eyes. For safety's sake, they were going a bit further west so he'd be close to the thicker woods of the Neck when they rested for the night. The sooner they got through the territory occupied most by Lannister and Greyjoy forces, the happier he would be.
But somehow, he imagined he'd still be tense until he was back with the Northern army. There were so many ways this excursion could go wrong, especially if the enemy picked up on the fact that he wasn't present.
That first night, Jon leaned back against Frostfyre's huge body and let the exhaustion of the long flight take him into his dreams.
He was back on the pole boat. The moment Jon realized where he was, he twisted 'round and she was already reaching for him.
He crushed Daenerys into his arms, pressing his lips to the side of her head. She squeezed him back, ran her fingers through his hair and scratched down his scalp. He shivered at the sensation.
Jon could vaguely hear the two Griffs speaking. He didn't care. He needed to just—just focus on her right now. Nothing else. He'd been waiting for this for two months.
"Dany," he breathed. Anxious. Scared. Hoping.
She didn't say anything at first. Daenerys pulled back a little to look at his face. She opened her mouth, closed it. Grabbed his hand.
Guided it to her belly.
Jon's throat closed up and he let out a sob. He drew her into a kiss, crying and then laughing with her and his heart felt like it was flying and falling all at once. The dream could never have lasted long enough.
"I think it's a boy," her voice was watery, but they were quivering as one with joy.
"Am I obligated then to say it's a girl?"
"Are you sure you want to bet against me?"
"What sort of bet is that? I win either way," Jon laughed, and he could barely see for the tears in his eyes that were borne not of evil, but a happiness as old as life itself.
"We win either way," she corrected, kissed him, and there they stayed until the dream ended.
Notes:
Sorry it took so long to get this out. Work is finally letting up on me now that the Hellidays are past us. This chapter is a little dialogue heavy, but it's another necessary setup chapter for the story in the long run.
Still working on my other stories for those of you who will inevitably ask. I'm getting there. Let me recover fully so I can write more quality chapters. My health is at an all-time low. Please bear with me.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!