authorsnote: god this took me ageeeeeees to write, because I wanted to get it perfect! it was difficult but I do hope you enjoy!
as always do fav/follow for updates and lemme know your thoughts - I love to hear them!
songrecs: in the end - tommee profitt, fleurie, mellen gi (mellen gi remix)
"She always loved winter roses" His Father's voice was quiet, controlled, calm, with just the hint of emotion lingering underneath. Jon could hear him perfectly, the rest of the crypt quiet. The dead were silent, and he did not need to strain as he walked closer.
"Loved them" He repeated, almost to himself. If not for his footsteps and the fact Jon was sure his Father could see him in his peripheral vision, he would think he was talking to himself. "She was never really one for frilly things, Lyanna, but not these"
"She never liked flowery dresses or sparkly crowns, but these she loved" Jon could see them, the blue rose between his Father's fingers, before he placed it in the statues hand, the statue of Lyanna's hand, the blue gentle and glowing against the cold stone. "Always loved them"
Jon went to speak but closed his mouth before a word came out. He wanted to know why his Father had asked him here and so urgently but then he caught the wistful, sad look on his face and thought better of it. Eddard Stark would say what he had came to say, when he felt it was right.
Jon had infinite respect for the man, regardless of his mistakes (or how painfully busy Jon was), infinite, and so, he would wait.
His Father showed no sign of changing the subject, "God, she was always so fierce" Jon did find himself smiling, his Father never spoke much about his Aunt Lyanna but when he did his tone had always been filled with love for his sister. "So carefree and always standing up for everyone. She never backed down, never"
"Not even at the end" He whispered then and Jon dropped his gaze. He knew his Aunt had met a tragic fate, he wished his Father didn't have to have the pain, of a brother losing a sister, he wished he could take it from him.
He thought then of losing Arya and felt a horrible cold shiver race up his spine. He knew Arya was still alive, or else she would have returned with the rest of the Starks. He was hardly surprised to know she'd survived.
Jon had always considered his unruly younger sister 'missing' rather than 'dead' - considering her resourcefulness he wasn't surprised she was still alive and hadn't been when she hadn't materialised under the Weirwood. He was sure she was out there, he just wished she would come home, and soon.
He thought of his only other sister then, Sansa and felt a weird horrible funny feeling as he associated Sansa with Arya, that they were the same relation to him. He shook off that strange shiver and instead tried not to think of how he'd feel if Sansa died. With Arya he felt sad, with Sansa he felt like ripping someone or the world apart.
He loved them both dearly, but differently. He just wasn't sure what the difference was, and had never (perhaps on purpose), tried to figure it out.
"Father" He spoke then, his voice, his accent harsher than it had been when his Father had last been in Winterfell, echoed off the walls, but still silence continued across the dark and damp crypts. Silence.
A silence he was breaking.
"Are you alright?" He asked, less concerned for the moment about why he'd been summoned and more by his Father's mood. He didn't seem sad, just lost, perhaps wistful. It unsettled him.
Eddard Stark was a practical man, knew of the constraints on Jon's time and his own, to see him so filled with melancholy disturbed him greatly.
"Aye" His Father said, though Jon wasn't sure he believed him, "Just remembering"
"My Aunt?" He asked, looking at the statue, at the stone that represented her. He didn't know if it was accurate. Next to Lyanna was the statue of his Father, carved in stone, and that didn't match the man in front of him. Did Lyanna look as she did here?
His Father didn't nod, but instead dropped his gaze. Jon felt an odd sense of foreboding, made worse as he turned to him, his expression grim, his face set in lines but his expression determined. The foreboding only squirmed an grew in his belly upon seeing that expression.
"Jon" He began but paused. Jon could feel some tension balling in his stomach. His Father looked serious, grim, resolute, and the ominous sense Jon was feeling only grew. Why had his Father called him down here? Why did he look so tense? What did he have to tell him?
He didn't think it was going to be good.
Of course, had he somehow moved forward in time to just minutes later he would have known it was not.
"There is something I must tell you" Lord Stark said, face stern, "I should have told you a long time ago" He paused then and Jon was sure he'd stopped breathing, waiting, waiting, "It's about your Mother"
He had definitely sucked all the air from the crypt, his mind flashed back to the last time he had seen his Father, before the Old Gods had reunited the Starks, on the path, Lord Stark going South, Jon Snow going North.
'Next time we see one another I'll tell you about your Mother' It seems he was to keep true to his word.
Jon could hear his heart beating in his ears, he'd waited so long, so long, and now he was here he felt an odd urge to run away, but he stilled that, feet firm on the floor, bravery winning out, as it always did for him, as he waited, waited to hear the news he'd craved to hear his entire life.
His Mother…
"Who was she?" He managed to ask, though his lungs felt strained, his heart thudding hard, his hands only not shaking because of how hard he was screwing them into fists, "Tell me" He didn't meant to command but he needed to know, and his Father even looked a little relieved at his directness, "Please" He added, and he meant it, he'd beg if he needed to.
Beg, run, how did he feel? He had no idea. All he could feel was anticipation, and an urge that Sansa was here, she'd clutch his hand and make him feel better, but she wasn't, he was alone.
He'd never felt more alone in his life.
"Jon" His Father paused then and Jon felt an odd flash of rage, he had waited so long, why wait any longer?! He forced himself to remain still, quiet, waiting, waiting, "I am not your Father"
"What?" He asked, his mind racing immediately, first there was a scream of denial and then so many thoughts he couldn't even understand them. He wasn't a Stark? No, no, no. This felt like his worst nightmare. He had never been a Stark, not really, he remembered…
'For Winterfell' Rob would shout as they pretended to charge into the battlefield.
'For Winterfell" He would cry too.
'I'm the Lord of Winterfell' He called in their pretend games; wooden sword held high.
'You can't be Lord of Winterfell, your bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell' Robb had replied, innocent, not meaning to cause pain, but had done so.
Jon had known he was a bastard had accepted it, but he had always had Stark blood, 'Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins' Now that was a lie, all a lie.
What was he?
Not a Stark.
He thought briefly of Sansa, would she be upset? What did that mean? Not a Stark, not the King, but not her sibling. He wasn't sure why his mind drifted there, but it was quickly back to the crypt as his Father, no … as Lord Stark, spoke again. What other revelations could he have?
"Your Mother was my sister" His now … Uncle? Spoke, "Lyanna" He turned then to look at her statue and Jon blindly followed, his mind felt like it was full of water, as though he'd submerged and not come back up. Or perhaps he had fainted, it was possible. All he could hear was roaring, he could see Lord Stark's lips moving but he couldn't hear, as he looked at the statue, the winter rose in her stone hand.
His Mother.
He was a Stark, but that barely mattered to him now. His Mother was here, in the crypts, this whole time. He had hidden behind her statue when playing hide and seek with Robb, he'd asked Lord Stark about her as they all had and received little answer, he'd bowed his head on the moments silence on her birthday. And she was here, his Mother.
It was cruel, beyond cruel, as he looked at the stone carving of her face. Is this what she had looked like? Or was it not as close as Lord Starks was? His Mother…
"I…" He couldn't speak, could barely think, "I don't understand" He didn't, he'd never felt more confused in his life.
"I'm sorry Jon" He was suddenly being pulled into a hug, and he felt a little steadier on his feet, "I wish I could have told you but it was too dangerous, still is, but you deserve to know"
"How?" He asked again, though he wasn't sure what he was asking, wasn't sure of anything, "How was it dangerous?"
"Because of your Father" His Uncle said, though Jon could barely make the change in his head, Father, Uncle, and here she was Lyanna Stark, his Mother. He shed no tears, but he knew he would, when alone. He'd never get to know her … he'd always suspected his Mother wasn't alive but to have the confirmation, to know, his heart hurt.
"Who?" He asked, apparently able to only speak in one-word questions. He felt dizzy, this was too much, so much, but he couldn't stop now, he needed answers, all of them.
He knew who his Mother was now, and had the heart wrenching reality that he was not his Father's son, so who's was he?
Who was he?
"Jon…" Lord Stark began, "This will change everything for you…"
"I need to know" He said, and as simply as that his F…Uncle, nodded, accepting.
But as he spoke Jon almost wished he hadn't.
"Your Father was Rhaegar Targaryen" He began, "You are Jon Targaryen, though your Mother first named you Aemon"
Everything was spinning, the room, the lights, and his eyes fixed, found a point, so he didn't fall, found the point of his Mother, Lyanna, he remembered the story,
'Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna and raped her'
Was this his origin? His life's start? Was he a product of such horrors? He felt sick, as though he might throw up in the crypt, his stomach churned, spots appeared in his vision, he was sure he might fall until he felt a hand hold onto him by the shoulder, squeeze, and the next words he heard had him focus. He f
"The story you've heard about them is a lie" He said, "One perpetuated to keep you safe"
"Keep me safe?" He asked, the feeling of all the air being released back into the air hitting him, almost like a punch to the stomach. Suddenly he could see everything again, Lord Stark's face clear in front of him, the roaring in his ears gone, and instead questions and words pouring from his tongue, answers, he needed more answers, "From what?"
"Jon" His Uncle said, his expression almost pitying, "Rhaegar married Lyanna, two wives is common in Targaryen culture, and he defied the Seven by doing so again" He paused then, a grim expression on his face, "He loved her and she him"
"They did?" He asked, clinging to it immediately, his eyes searching the honourable Lord Starks face for any lie, he found none, "Truly?"
"Aye" His Uncle did not smile, instead he looked sadder, "Lyanna ran away with him, had you, and died in childbirth"
His words stopped then, his questions, his thirst for the complete picture. Stopped, as he knew, he realised all of it, all in one second everything came to him, all the answers, all that mattered.
His Father was a Targaryen.
His Mother, Lyanna Stark had loved his Father and given her life for him.
They had been married.
He wasn't a bastard.
He was a Targaryen.
But not a bastard.
He still had Stark blood.
Not a bastard.
Of all the ways he expected this conversation to go, it hadn't been like this.
"If Robert had known" Lord Stark shook his head, "He'd have killed you, and I'd have gone to war to stop him" He felt a little warmer, and nodded, he understood his Uncle's motives, appreciated him sacrificing his own honour for it, but he did feel a hint of resentment.
Not a bastard…
"And so, I hid you" He said, "I'm sorry I lied, I'm sorry you grew up as a bastard" He said, and Jon nodded, "But you have become a brave young man Jon, a true King" His Uncle looked proud then, truly proud, and Jon somehow managed a smile, though barely, his mind continued to race, and his Uncle's words elicited something further.
King.
He was King of the North, and yes, he had Stark blood but his name would be Targaryen. A Dragon, not a Wolf. Was he worthy of the Kingship here?
What was he?
"I'm a Targaryen" He managed to say, "A Targaryen"
"No" His F…Uncle, shook his head, "You are in every sense a Stark, honourable, just, honest" He didn't imagine the pride on Lord Stark's face, "You are a good man Jon, one of the best, your heritage doesn't change that"
"I'm not a Stark" He said, and he had said that many times before, but this time it was truer than before. Before he had been a Stark bastard, now he would never carry the name, even if legitimised … well, he didn't need to be now. He was a Targaryen, a dragon. He thought of the Dragon Queen in the South then. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"You are in every sense that matters" He knew he was trying to be reassuring but Jon's mind raced, he was no Stark, a Targaryen, not a bastard but a product of a line of madness.
Fuck.
"I don't know what to do" He said, because he didn't. He felt lost, and again he wished Sansa were here to comfort hm, but glad she was not to hear what he had heard, though he knew he'd have to tell her. But how?
"I know" His Uncle spoke, his voice kind, "This is a lot to take in I know, but Jon, nothing has to change. I know this makes you the heir to the Throne, but that doesn't matter"
"What?" He asked, his gaze whipping back to the man who had raised him.
He was the Heir to the Iron Throne.
He hadn't even thought of that, and yet it added up, that was how the lineage worked. The Throne would be his.
Fuck. He felt dizzy again.
"I…" He couldn't speak again, spots in his vision, "I…"
What could he say?
Stark blood, Targaryen name, King, but not to the North, to the South, the Iron Throne. Not a bastard, but not a Stark.
What would Sansa say?
'The King in the North!' Was he?
How had a conversation that had meant to give him answers yielded so many more questions? He felt more confused than he had walking down the stairs. Everything he had known had been turned on its head and flipped.
Stark, Targaryen, Bastard, True-Born, North, South.
The Iron Throne.
Who was he?
Five minutes later he found himself outside the crypt, and he wasn't sure how, his mind still swimming with thoughts, with the revelations his F…Uncle had given him. He could barely even see with how full his head felt. He remembered Lord Stark telling him to get fresh air, to process, they'd talk more later.
The cold air entered his lungs and it helped to shock him a little, his vision cleared, his mind a little too. He still had it racing, running but he could move, and he did, dismissing the guards and trudging through the snow alone.
He knew he'd have to tell the others, to make decisions, to perhaps tell everyone. He knew this would cause consequences, would change things, but for now he couldn't even consider that. For now, he just needed to process, to understand, to be steady.
He certainly didn't feel steady.
"Jon?" It was Bran who spoke, eyes wide, and knowing, "You've been told?" He turned to his brother, cousin now he realised, like Sansa, and only offered a nod. Bran sat as though holding court, in his chair, next to the arrow station, watching. Jon realised he looked almost in charge, and by law he was the Lord of Winterfell and King more than he.
'King in the North' … not him, not anymore.
Could he be?
"Go and understand" Bran said, though he was barely Bran anymore, "We'll talk more later" Just as his Uncle had promised, and yet Jon had never felt less inclined to talk. Another nod and he moved on, but not before Bran spoke once more.
"Remember Jon, the dragon and the wolf are sometimes one in the same" He didn't linger to decipher that riddle, and only nodded again, no words, as he pushed himself away, through the snow, ignoring all else, head down.
He needed to be alone, he needed to think.
And yet, he could see approaching across the courtyard, that flash of red hair, the long black skirts, flanked by guards giving orders. Her eyes widened as she spied him, bright blue and beautiful, as she changed her direction to hurry toward him, no doubt lips full of questions.
And yet what could he answer?
Stark, Targaryen, Bastard, True-Born, North, South.
Who was he?
He had no answers, not yet, what could he say? He felt a curl in his belly, surely Sansa would be disappointed? To hear he was no true Stark? No true King?
What could he possibly say to her?
He had no answers, and so, even as she picked up her skirts to pick up her pace, red hair dancing in the cold wind, blue eyes piercing and curious, he turned away, to the Godswood. He knew she would follow, be confused as to why he'd turned away from her, but he needed time, even if only minutes, and the walk to the Godswood gave him some of that, through the snow, to the place it had all changed, where it would again.
Stark, Targaryen, Bastard, True-Born, North, South.
Who was he?
He needed to find out.
sooo thoughts?
can we all say: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
this was so good to write but took a while as I wanted to make sure I got it right! It was hard to do, considering the revelations but I am pleased how it turned out. it was short I know but I wanted to dedicate the full chapter to this before the next spicy chapter - it's time for some reveals ... or is it? mwahahahahah
anywho, do review and tell me watcha thought, follow/fav for updates on this crazy ride and most of all always enjoy!
speak soon