Chapter edited 12/23/2021 for a smoother read
Chapter 10
Jon IX
"How could you let this happen to him? He has faithfully done your bidding and you throw him to the wolves?" Jon asked, staring up into the carved face of Winterfell's weirwood. Was it just his imagination, or was the tree weeping more than usual?
Jon had skipped breakfast in favor of beseeching the gods. He had yet to sleep a wink for the night and resisted the need for sleep, desperate to think of something that would see Jaime removed from his cell, but his thoughts were like leaves in autumn, scattered to the wind. He reached to touch the tree, in hopes that perhaps a physical connection might foster a real one, but the only thing he could hear was silence.
Ghost whimpered and whined at his feet, pawing at his leg. Jon sighed and reached down to stroke his fur, in hopes it might calm him. It did for a moment, but just as quickly as the despair left, it came back, rolling in like an ocean wave. With a heavy sigh, he sat down at the foot of the weirwood.
He ran various scenarios through his head and each one he had to reject. He went so far as considering springing Jaime from his cell, snatching some horses, and riding to White Harbor, but his uncle and his men would be on them in an instant. Every single scenario he knew would end with his own head on the block and then he and Jaime would've been sent back for nothing.
Maybe the changes already made would be enough that the world won't fall completely into shambles, he thought, but shoved that thought away quickly. Tywin Lannister would declare war. He probably wouldn't feel a thing for Cersei or Tyrion, but he would rage against the king for Jaime's death, no matter what he did, or didn't, do. For all that Tywin found the Lannister legacy so important, he would destroy himself for vengeance for his son. There was no doubt about it, there was going to be war soon, and it would be over Jaime's dead body instead of putting Jon on the throne.
His exhaustion caught up to him while he was sitting down. Ghost curled up next to him, his head in his lap and peered up at him imploringly, but he drifted off to sleep before he noticed.
Jon was walking through the empty halls of the Red Keep. At least, he presumed it was the Red Keep, having only been to the Dragonpit in King's Landing. The setting sun shone through the open archway and a warmth he had never known suffused the air and he closed his eyes in contentment. Normally, he would find this kind of heat stifling, but after so many long years in the bitter cold, it felt like his skin was finally thawing.
He walked into the throne room and peered up at the chair of melted swords. From the descriptions he had encountered, it was a great ugly thing, and rumor had it that only those worthy of being king could sit on it without the throne stabbing back. Joffrey was well known for being cut often on the throne.
His footsteps echoed around the hall, emphasizing the eerie emptiness of the room, but he felt unbothered by it. He stopped at the foot of the throne and peered up at it. It loomed before him like a dragon, but he was not afraid. He had ridden Rhaegal for a small period of time before he too was destroyed by the Night King. He knew how to tame a dragon.
An impulse seized him to sit on the throne. It was his birthright after all. He ascended the small staircase slowly. His footsteps took on a new sound, much like a gong, heralding his ascent. When he turned to finally sit, the formerly empty throne room was now suddenly filled to the brim with his allies and liege lords. He could see Ser Jaime standing at the front with a pleased smirk, next to his brother who was puffed up in pride. He saw his uncle, Robb, Uncle Benjen, Lady Catelyn, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Ser Barristan, Samwell Tarly, and oddly enough his great-great-grand uncle Aemon Targaryen. Despite his milky eyes, he peered up at him expectantly.
Jon nodded and sat.
When he turned, his breath caught upon seeing Dany smiling proudly at him, seated just to his left in a throne of equal import. She was wearing a deep blue gown that seemed to give her an ethereal glow. She grabbed his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "Together. Always together," she said to him. "No one man can conquer the kingdoms alone."
Jon closed his eyes at the soft feeling of her fingers, trying desperately to memorize their feel. He seemed unable to speak and was enraptured by the soft glow that seemed to surround her.
Everyone simultaneously bowed or curtsied. The bells sounded above the keep and the herald said, "All hail King Aemon Targaryen, first of his name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men!"
There was a louder gong and he jolted awake. He glanced up and saw the sun hadn't moved more than an hour. His heart soared and he leapt to his feet. He knew what he had to do and he strode with purpose to his uncle's solar. Ghost skipped along after him.
He knocked on the door impatiently.
It cracked open and Ned Stark peered out. His face was pale and drawn and bruises of exhaustion ringed his eyes. He sighed when he saw him and said, "Jon, this isn't a good time. I've done everything I could."
"Not everything. This can't wait," Jon replied.
Ned peered at him a moment, then sighed, and pulled the door open. Jon walked in to find fresh rolls of parchment scattered across his uncle's desk; he was clearly in the middle of writing a letter. Knowing full well he was violating his uncle's privacy, he peered at the parchment.
To the Lady Maege of House Mormont,
His Grace King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals … requires that the North answer his call to arms. Please make haste
The letter trailed off from there. Jon looked up at him with a condescending expression.
"Already prepared for Lord Tywin's wrath in a foolish war?"
Ned drew his mouth into a line. "Yes, he will undoubtedly declare war on the realm when his children are executed. Hopefully, his grandchildren kept as royal hostages will be enough to keep this conflict from becoming too bloody."
"There wouldn't be a war if you could convince His Grace to spare Ser Jaime." Here, Jon narrowed his eyes at him, "You know the children aren't Jaime's. He took the fall to save them. I know you don't kill children. You were always going to save them. Why did you let him claim them?"
"These matters are complicated, Jon, you wouldn't understand," Ned replied and there was an undercurrent of anger in his voice.
"I understand more than you know … Uncle," Jon replied.
It took a moment for Ned to realize what he'd just said. He fell back, pale and shaken, into his chair. "H-how do you know?"
"This isn't my first time on this earth, Uncle. I was here before. That time went considerably different. I went off to the Wall, ignorant of my true heritage, and you went to die in King's Landing. You told me when we parted that you would tell me about my mother when next we met, but instead, you died and left me and the world ignorant. Even now, you refused to tell me."
"If you know the truth, then you know why."
"Because it's dangerous? You know what else is dangerous? The Long Night. It's coming, Uncle. The next winter will be the world's last. I would know; I died facing the Night King. Westeros was torn to shreds, we weren't united, and the Night King picked us apart."
If it was at all possible, his uncle's face became even paler and he saw his fingers tremble. "I-I'll speak to Robert about this. He'll want to know. There's no reason for you to-to get involved."
"That's not good enough, Uncle. That won't save Ser Jaime Lannister."
"Wh-why are you so intent on seeing him free? This isn't just about being his squire, is it?"
"Very astute," Jon replied, not able to hold back the biting edge to his voice. "Ser Jaime was with me when I killed the Night King. In fact, Ser Jaime made it possible for me to kill the Night King. But he died and so did I. The gods have sent us back to rectify the situation."
"The gods sent you back…? He remembers your other life too? This was never about becoming his squire, he wanted to take you back to King's Landing to claim your throne," Ned said, trying to keep his voice to a whisper, but he was having trouble. He stood up and started pacing the room.
"Yes, that was part of the plan. This sword? Its design is from Jeor Mormont's ancestral sword, Longclaw. When I went to the Wall, I saved the Old Bear's life and he gifted me his ancestral sword as a reward. I carried that sword for near ten years. I'm more comfortable with this sword than any other. Jaime knew that and commissioned it for me."
"This is too much. Far too much," Ned said, clutching at his head as though the action would somehow cause everything to make sense. "I'll see what I can do about Ser Jaime."
"No," Jon snapped. "We're far past the point of persuading King Robert. I'm not going to let Jaime's life hang on whether Robert's feeling merciful. You could just get him banished to the Wall. I've already been on the Wall and all it did was cut me off from the rest of the world and prevent me from properly coordinating with the Kings."
"Kings…?"
"Some other time, Uncle," Jon replied through gritted teeth. "I need Ser Jaime by my side. You're going to help me overthrow Robert."
Ned's eyes grew large. "Son, do you realize what you're saying?"
"I do. It's perfect. It would be so easy to take King Robert as a hostage. Most of the soldiers he brought are Lannister men*. We save Jaime and they'll fall on our side, not Robert's. At the same time, we'll win Lord Tywin's loyalty."
"What of Queen Cersei?"
Jon glared. "I'll make her a hostage of one of our vassals. She's far too dangerous to be allowed free rein. Plus, she still raped her brother. I don't think I can justify beheading her. I want her exiled, but she's too dangerous to just be sent across the ocean. She needs to be our prisoner for the rest of her days."
"Too dangerous? What-?"
"Not now, Uncle," Jon hissed. "I'll fill you in about what happened in my other life another time. We need to prepare!"
"Jon, you're asking a great deal of me."
"I owe Ser Jaime a great deal."
"He's a snake, Jon. He can't be trusted."
"With all due respect, Uncle, I know Ser Jaime a lot better than you do. I have his loyalty and he has mine. I intend to honor that pledge."
"If I don't do this?" Ned was looking at him nervously.
"Then I shall be on the chopping block right along with him, much to his chagrin, I'm sure."
Ned let out a shuddering breath, burying his head in his hands. "What do you need me to do?"
"Prepare your men for a fight. If you need a pretense then just say you're making sure the traitors don't get away," Jon said and drew in a full breath, feeling as if he could breathe for the first time. It was always possible this could dissolve into a pitched battle, but they had a chance.
Ned frowned at him. "I never taught you to fight like this."
"Life taught me I need to do what is necessary. Is this any worse than concealing your dead sister's son for sixteen years and lying to the realm and your best friend?" Jon knew it was a low blow, but his uncle deserved it for all the grief he had given Ser Jaime. Not to mention the untold grief he had received for being thought a bastard, especially from Lord Stark's own wife.
Ned's face grew dark with rage. "I did it to protect you!"
"Ser Jaime's reasons for killing the Mad King were much the same, but you didn't give him the benefit of the doubt," Jon replied coolly.
His uncle grew quiet and critical. He studied Jon for a moment. "He told you why he murdered your grandfather?"
"He did," Jon said. "And if I had been alive then, I would've helped him."
Ned stared at him like he didn't know him anymore. It was probably true, but did he ever really know him? You tried to play the game far too safe, Uncle. It is required we take some risks and, unfortunately, we may be forced to do things less honorably than we'd like, but this is about the fate of the world. More than a few may fall dishonorably at my feet if it means being prepared for the Long Night, he thought. His own men of the Night's Watch murdering him rose to the forefront of his thoughts. He had done the honorable and right thing in that situation and was literally backstabbed for it. Never again.
"Tell me then," Ned began, "why did he do it?"
"That's his secret to tell. Not mine," Jon replied curtly. Ned had a stern expression, but he nodded. Then Jon added, "He hates you. Not enough to want you dead, but he hates you."
"Everything he indicated about his motives when I first saw him did not suggest someone who acted out of the best intentions."
"He was barely older than I. And alone. You think all men know what to do in such a situation once they're deemed a man?" Jon asked and snorted in derision. "I was a fool too. One of the youngest Lord Commanders of the Night's Watch. I did things as you would have, Uncle. And I suffered for it." Once more, questions grew in Ned's eyes, but Jon shook his head. "Another time, Uncle. We need to plan."
They put their heads together until lunch. This was delicate work and both of them shot down ideas that the other proposed. Jon scoffed at Ned when he felt he was being too soft, and Ned countlessly warned him about appearing too hard lest the people be reminded of the Mad King. Finally, they drew up something they could be confident in.
"You've been here too long already. I'll make the rest of the preparations."
"Very well," Jon replied. He wanted to trust his uncle, but his propensity to follow his honor even in the face of a grave threat had him concerned. He was, after all, asking his uncle to depose his best friend and usurp his position. It has to be done. If his uncle failed to follow through, Jon's death would be quite quick and he would no longer have to worry about the state of the world. He left his uncle's solar looking anxious and fuming, as though he'd had another failed discussion about releasing Jaime.
His anger wasn't completely without merit. Ser Barristan had already come to him about continuing his squireship under him. He'd been forced to curb his tongue at the nasty things he wanted to say to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who looked merely troubled that one of its members was facing the executioner's block on the morrow.
He sat down next to Robb for lunch and muttered a greeting before reaching for bread. His scowl was renewed at the thought that Jaime was enjoying a meal not even suitable for the ravens on the wall.
"Jon, cheer up. I know Ser Jaime was a great fighter, but do you really want to follow in the footsteps of someone who fu-" Robb stopped himself at his mother's glare and amended, "-who lays with his own sister? He's a traitor and a Kingslayer. The world will be better off without him."
Robb winced when Jon stabbed violently at the roast in front of him.
Theon snorted at Jon's anger. "If I didn't know better, I'd say Snow was already sucking his cock."
"Theon Greyjoy, that is enough from you! You don't deserve to be at my table until you can speak with manners and respect," Lady Catelyn snapped at him.
He rolled his eyes, but got up and moved from the table with the family to the table with the guards.
"I don't believe that horseshit about him sleeping with his sister!"
"Jon," Catelyn yelled, pointing the same finger to the guard table, but Jon lingered where he was, glaring at Robb for a response.
"But he confessed!"
"Under duress. That's never a true confession and I can't believe you swallowed it."
Robb drew his mouth into a line of anger, but Jon had already moved to the same table as Theon, though he sat a few seats away. He ate silently for the rest of the meal and finished quickly. He needed to be calm and focused for the morning and nothing could do that like going to the training yard looking for unwitting victims.
*In the books there was a decent chunk of descriptions about how many Lannister men came with the king and how King's Landing was filled to the brim with Lannister cousins. I've written the story with this in mind.
