authorsnote: house of the dragon has gotten me even more hype for this fic, if you haven't watched it stop reading this, go watch and then come back, not for spoilers or context it is just that damn good
do enjoy, leave a review if ya like
songrecs: running up that hill - kate bush
He hadn't been able to refuse, not here, not with who he was here.
He hadn't been able to, and he was glad he hadn't, as he had felt absolutely nothing like it before.
"Come Jon" His Father here said, that was harder to reconcile. Not just because it was the legendary Aegon the Conqueror (though Northern boys weren't bought up on the legends of Aegon, to worship as Southern lads did, no, Jon and Robb were raised on the glory of Brandon the Builder, Theon Stark who'd defeated the Andal's, and King Torrhen who had put his people first.
Still, that wasn't why it was hard to see Aegon Targaryen and think 'Father', in his mind he had a Father, Eddard Stark had been that, regardless of the truth, of his blood, Eddard Stark had raised him, and Jon still called him Father in his mind.
With Visenya … his Mother here, the lines were more blurred.
He'd never had a Mother, Lady Catelyn certainly hadn't wanted the job, and as he'd learned his Aunt Lyanna was no Aunt, but his Mother long gone from this world though, never to meet.
Jon had visited her crypt once, alone, when feeling especially broody. He had descended the stairs, cold (though it never bothered him, not anymore, not since he'd returned the first time), and gone to see his Mother.
Ice had started to creep along the floor, 'Winter is here' as Sansa had said grimly, the white raven having arrived weeks earlier, it had come, as their words, as Eddard Stark, his Father, but not really, had always promised.
Jon didn't shiver, though he did tremble as he approached.
Apparently, the statue was a good likeness, hardly anyone remembered Lyanna, but Howland Reed, who'd told him the truth had promised him it was a decent likeness, not quite there, 'None could capture her beauty in full' he'd said wistfully, but it was close.
And so here she was, in the crypts, long gone, his Mother.
There were no flowers to place at her grave, not with the frost settled and every inch of the glass gardens taken up by food. No, instead he just knelt, knelt at her statue, and quietly, ever so quietly none could hear … he wept.
Wept, tears freezing on his cheeks, silent and alone, but not for long.
It hadn't taken long for Sansa to find him, even though he'd gone alone, and she had left him, hung back and heeded his wishes, he hadn't known she'd been nearby, waiting in case he needed her, and as he did, as the tears froze on his cheeks, she was there, arms around him, cheek resting on his shoulder, as he cried for his Mother, for never knowing her.
And yet here … that was what confused him, here he had a Mother, here Visenya was his Mother, or whoever he was here (it hurt his head to think about), he had her, her smile, kind when she looked at him, her palm on his cheek, soft, loving.
He'd never had a mother's love, could anyone blame him for craving it?
"Where shall we ride today my love?" Rhaenys asked? Her white hair sparkling in the sun, a mischievous smile on her features to which her sister rolled her eyes with a grin.
Yes, the history books had gotten this dynamic wrong.
"Over the Blackwater?" Aegon asked, eyebrow raised as he strode forward, a true King as Jon looked at him.
Jon knew he had been a King once too, but here he was a Prince.
It was confusing, obviously magic, or the Gods, or both were at play, but they'd barely had a second to discuss it, to think why they were here, and now Sansa had been hurried inside and he was expected to ride a dragon.
It hit him then (hence no time to think, he felt he hadn't stopped since they woke, how had it only been half a day?), he was about to ride a dragon.
"Over the bay and Dragonstone?" Visenya asked then, and she was the mirror of Aegon as she stepped forward, whereas Rhaenys more skipped, smiled, Visenya was cold, a fierce stride, though she saved her smile, kind and loving for Jon.
And it warmed him inside … a mother's smile, something he'd never had before.
Where was his mind? Hurtling from one thought to another, perhaps dying for a second time had driven him mad or scrambled the thoughts he had. Perhaps he was just overwhelmed? He knew he and Sansa needed to sit, unpack it all, talk through what they knew and what to do next, they'd barely had a chance too.
And wouldn't if he fell off the back of his dragon, he thought wryly.
"Here we are" Visenya … his Mother, said then, and Jon realised they'd been walking for at least fifteen minutes, he lost in his own thoughts, and here they were at the Dragonpit, and the roar made him jolt.
A roar, of not three as the history books had placed here, the history they were perhaps altering, but a roar from four dragons, one for each of them, and by the Gods, they were mighty.
He had seen sketches of course, an so he looked at each to identify them, he was half Targaryen he knew but when he'd looked at these as a boy he had been in awe, but not had the stirring in his chest he felt now; was it a side effect of seeing these creatures in person? Or his Targaryen heritage, now known to him calling to him?
He didn't know.
To the furthest left was his Mothers here, Vhagar was beautiful, a bronze colour, with some almost blue highlights and piercing green eyes, mighty, fierce, and his Mother strolled up and climbed on his back without a flinch, a true Dragonrider.
He felt proud.
Next was Meraxes, a bit bigger than Vhagar, with silver scales and golden eyes. His Aunt here, Rhaenys, with a grin skipped to a top of him, he noticed then all three had mounts on the dragon-back, places to sit, and he also saw a storage space in the dragon-pit that held amour for the beasts, now that did make him shiver, how could anyone hope to beat that?
He understood truly then, how Aegon the Conqueror, his Father here, had conquered the Seven Kingdoms with only 1600 men to start.
What were men in the face of dragons?
Then to the right was Balerion the Black Dread, the creature of legend, and for reason. He was massive, eclipsing the others with ease. His head alone was the largest thing Jon had ever seen on a creature, and then with the rest of him, he was a sight to behold, and Jon would have trembled were he not made of sterner stuff. The other two dragons were small compared to him, and yet his Father, just had his Mother and Aunt had stepped atop of him without a flinch, but to claim him, as he was a dragonrider.
And yet, Jon was no dragonrider, not here nor before … would they accept him? He supposed he had to hope his Targaryen blood would allow him, and not expose him as a fraud.
Oddly, he didn't feel fear; he should, and had felt some of it when they'd made their way over, but he didn't, not now, instead he just felt an odd feeling in his stomach as his family here, Targaryen's, figures of legend mounted their beasts, and he was expected to do the same.
He turned then, as he knew it was his time, and he looked to the left of Balerion, and there it was…
The fourth dragon, his, he presumed, was next, the one that must have been as new as he was, or perhaps had always existed, but belonged to him now.
And somehow, he had no idea how, but when Jon looked at it, the drake, he knew, he knew he could ride it, he knew it was right. Just as he had looked at Ghost for the first time and they had connected, Jon felt something similar here.
Was warging the same as dragonriding? Jon in hindsight had known he had, had an affinity with Ghost that went beyond the usual bond of man and direwolf, would it be the same here? Or was that just the connection forged between dragon and dragonrider? He supposed he would find out, but also resolved to pick up a book on the subject.
He had no idea what trials were to come, why they had been sent back here, what he and Sansa would need to do, but he knew having a dragon would certainly help.
And here was his dragon, and Jon stepped forward and that feeling persisted, that this dragon was his to ride, his and his alone.
Dragons sometimes changed riders, he knew from the history books for example Vhagar, his mothers mount had been later rode by three other riders, but this drake, as Jon looked at it, right now, in that moment, was his.
But … as Jon stepped closer, he had to smother a gasp so not to give himself away, he'd seen this drake before.
Good Gods.
It was Caraxes.
They had learned Targaryen history in the North, regardless of the fact they learned Northern history first they had still been taught the history of the South too, Maester Luwin was a historian and scholar, and valued teaching them everything, and so Jon had learned of the War of the Stepstones, Dance of Dragons, of the Battle above the Godseye, of the legendary Daemon Targaryen.
Of Caraxes, the fierce Blood Wyrm that shouldn't yet be alive, not for perhaps 50 some years, and yet here he was, fierce, about half the size of his Mothers mount, and yet long, lean, a smoky red colour, and beautiful.
And his.
Jon didn't hesitate as he stepped forward, he felt it in his blood, especially as Caraxes watched him approached and then bowed his head to allow Jon to climb atop, onto the seat positioned for him, waiting, ready.
He was a dragonrider here, and though he'd never admit his hands did shake as he gripped the beast, his thighs clenching as though riding a horse, his hands finding purchase there on the mount, he shook, felt a flash of something in his mind then, of having done this before, of having this feeling before.
It was gone in seconds, for it had never happened. Not here.
And yet, it was too easy almost how it felt to sit atop Caraxes, he should be shaking, nervous, scared to be thrown off, and yet, sat on the mount it was almost comfortable, and again he felt that something sing in his blood, that felt natural, felt right.
Perhaps he was part Targaryen after all.
In a way it reminded him of Ghost, of the feeling when he'd looked into his companions red eyes for the first time and had known, had know he was his.
Half Stark, half Targaryen, perhaps it made sense to feel akin with both.
And he was thankful of it, particularly as his Father here, Aegon Targaryen, (it sounded ridiculous in his head and he near laughed) called out, 'Fly'.
Then they flew, and it was nothing short of phenomenal.
With a swoop Caraxes was in the air, his powerful back legs hurtling them into the sky, and then all he knew was flight. He did have to smother a scream initially, and the fierce surge of adrenaline injected into his veins did near have him regret his decision, but then said adrenaline hit like wildfire, or dragonfire, and the rush in his belly felt good, not bad.
Sure, in part it was still terrifying, especially as Caraxes followed Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes into the sky, and the three above climbed high, forcing him to follow, before levelling out, high above Kings Landing, over the buildings. And yet, the terror was easily offset by the wonder of it.
Jon was too much of a brooder to ever woop and cheer at anything, but he did grin as Caraxes slashed through the air, the rush was incredible and like nothing he'd ever felt before. The wind was harsh on his face, but the mount made it easy to sit, and Caraxes almost felt like one with him, banking as he did, and as the others sped up so did Caraxes, even stripping past Meraxes to which he grinned at his aunts curse of outrage, flattening himself down, urging his dragon forward.
His dragon, it came to him as easily as the flying had.
He even settled into it, as they flew over the water then, dipping a touch lower, the clouds near brushing his shoulders, it wasn't cold, though perhaps it was, Jon rarely felt the cold anymore.
Half Stark, half Targaryen.
In a way, riding Caraxes, as his Mother let out a fierce cry to urge the drakes on, had brought him to a peace with his heritage more than anything else had. Sansa's acceptance had been the most important, and the Northern Lords, but still he'd always felt at odds, half Targaryen when he wished nothing more than to be Stark and Stark alone, and yet as they banked left, as he swooped next to his Mother here and she shot him a happy grin … perhaps this wasn't so bad.
Perhaps he could marry and accept the two sides, his place as a Stark, as he was through his real Mother, Lyanna, and then his place as a Targaryen, through his real Father, Rhaegar, who was descended from the people he flew with now, his family here. Perhaps he could be both, and still be Jon Snow, Jon Stark or here … Jon Targaryen.
The thought made him smile, giving him some sense of peace, not entirely, not fully, not with the situation they were in, but enough that he grinned as he urged Caraxes forward, and allowed himself to enjoy the flight.
It was a long flight, and by the end though Jon's thighs ached, and his face stung from the wind, and he no doubt stunk of dragon, he still smiled as they turned back over to Kings Landing, having circled Dragonstone and the bay before returning, all smiling.
He knew they felt that was where they belonged, his family, the Targaryen's in the sky, and it had felt right to him too, and so all of them were happy as they returned to Kings Landing.
As they turned towards the Red Keep, he scoured the windows, his vision not to poor from the skies for Sansa, to see where she had gone, he felt a touch guilty he'd enjoyed himself so much when she had been alone in the place she hated most, perhaps next time he'd take her with him, perhaps every time.
And then he saw her, and he smiled to himself, feeling for once a little mischievous, and with almost a flame going off in his head, realised he had a solution to their problem.
A very good solution.
Sansa stood where they had left her, near the walk they'd taken, hands clasped, and he felt warmth spread over his chest; she was waiting for him, and that warmth he could feel.
The most important person here to him was Sansa, and that he didn't have to work to remember.
He pointed towards her as his Mother flew next to him, and though she rolled her eyes she nodded, and his Aunt laughed, to which he rolled his, having no idea how much he looked like Visenya when he did so, before pushing Caraxes down, to land in the clearing by where Sansa was stood, tucking his mount among the gardens.
Thankfully Caraxes was delicate, though Sansa still shrieked as he did so, and as he landed, he could see her glare when she realised, he sat atop.
He barely made it down though until she ran forward, first to pull him into a hug, and though he hadn't trembled he felt her shake, felt that tinge of guilt again and crushed her close to him, he understood she must have been worried, he had been for a flash, until it had felt natural, normal.
Though maybe riding a dragon shouldn't feel normal and just did for him, for his Targaryen heritage.
"I was so worried" She said rushed as he held her in his arms, that felt natural too.
"I know" He said, and he did, felt a touch bad again, "But I was fine"
"How?" She demanded, drawing back then, eyes searching, her hands gripping his arms, as though to stop him going to the dragon again, which she had stepped away from. "How did you not fall off or how did the dragon not eat you?"
"Caraxes" Jon offered, "The dragon is Caraxes"
"What?" Her tone was as astonished as his would have been had he spoke when he'd made the connection to who his dragon was and he nodded, "Daemon Targaryens mount?"
"I know" He said with a nod, for he had processed it, and yet it was still mad to him too.
"How is that possible?" She asked, and she flinched as she turned to look at Caraxes again, who seemed at ease in Sansa's presence, odd, or perhaps that was how dragons were, Jon could hardly know after all, and resolved again to get out a book on dragons and dragonriding, he had the blood and ease to ride, but it wouldn't hurt to learn more.
"How is any of this possible?" He whispered, and Sansa nodded then, that was the truth.
"Come on" Jon said, and held out a hand and felt warmed as Sansa took it without hesitation, though as he stepped forward she halted, and he resisted the urge to laugh, that would hardly help. "Come on"
"Come where?" Sansa asked, eyes wide as she looked at the dragon, Jon sympathised, though didn't feel that way now, he just needed to get Sansa there.
"I've found a solution to our problem" Jon said, and then nodded at Caraxes who sat up, lazily almost, he looked so at ease, and Jon smiled before petting his snout, at ease with it now.
"No, no, no" Sansa said, shaking her head furiously, "You can't be serious"
"Why not?" Jon asked, "It's a perfect solution, we use Caraxes to fly us to the secluded bay to plan and talk, and we can always fly further if people are around"
"I can't fly that!" Sansa said furiously pointing at Caraxes who seemed to huff to which Jon couldn't help but laugh.
"I did" Jon said, "And you know I'll keep you safe"
"I …" Sansa faltered then, for Jon knew she couldn't deny that, which pleased him, "I don't know how"
"Neither did I" He paused then, "And don't completely, but I'll ride and steer, you just hold on"
"I…" She paused and faltered again, "I'm scared"
"Me too" Jon knew honesty was best here, and though he felt a tiny hint of fear still, he had felt more earlier before it had come to him, and he felt no shame in admitting that. "Come on, we don't have much of the day left" It was true, the sun was setting, "And we should see if it works before we have to have dinner"
He liked that about Sansa, her sense of logic stopped her from arguing, and she was just as brave as him, and so she nodded, and as he tugged her forward, still hand in hand, she followed, putting her trust in him (and Caraxes, who once again bowed his head and seemed unphased by Sansa climbing aboard even as she was all elbows and knees).
And he helped her, as he always would, though he did laugh at Sansa's shriek as they took off, earning him a glare before another shriek, … and a third.
bahaha
I loved writing this, the dragons, Caraxes! I know! trust me it'll make sense, you have to suspend some disbelief with how fuckery everything is (is that a word, it didn't spell-check so I hope so!).
I do hope you enjoyed, do review, fav/follow if you did.
speak soon