AEMON THE DRAGONWOLF
Part 2 - The Son's Song
Jaime I
King Jon was as good as his word. He'd asked a reluctant Lady Sansa to find Bronn and Jaime a room in the guest wing of the castle, though it was difficult with so many lords holding court in Winterfell. The two southrons had been happy to find a roaring fire, furs aplenty, and mulled wine in their new quarters.
"It's decent, this," said Bronn, sipping eagerly at some wine. "Not quite up to the level of a Dornish red, but not bad. It'll warm you quick enough."
Jaime wrapped a bear-pelt around his shoulders, shivering. He'd been mad when he'd decided to ride north in winter, though staying in King's Landing would have been madder. Still, he disliked the cold and always would.
"You look like a twat," the sellsword laughed. "It's not that cold, not inside the castle. You ought to sail into the Bay of Seals sometime. You'd be frozen solid there."
"You've been north of the Wall?" Jaime asked, surprised.
"I have," said Bronn, not looking up from his goblet.
"Well, I won't go," Jaime decided. "I may go to the Wall if it comes to that, but going any further in winter is insanity. The Northmen may have ice flowing through their veins, but I certainly don't."
"The boy isn't as cold as that," protested Bronn. "In fact, if he weren't a king, I'd say he's alright. A man that comes back from the dead is a man worth respecting, at least a little. He was stabbed in the heart and lived to tell the tale," he finished, and the usually unflappable sellsword sounded a little impressed.
Jaime snorted. "He may be the king now, but he's only the bastard brother of the last King in the North. Apparently Northmen will forgive bastardy if the boy looks like his father."
Bronn shot Jaime an unimpressed look over his wine. "And southrons will forgive bastardy if even if they don't."
That was a low blow, and Bronn knew it. He went on, unflinching at Jaime's glare.
"I may like you and the little lord, but I remember your King Joffrey well enough. He was a cunt and a bastard, both. I can't see King Jon ordering his men to beat a girl when his grandfather loses a battle."
"His grandfather was cooked alive in his armor, but you've made your point," grumbled Jaime. "Jon Snow is a paragon among bastards, I'm sure. I'm going to nap for an hour or two. Wake me when it's time to eat."
And curling up on his comfortable guest bed, Jaime Lannister closed his eyes and slept. He didn't quite get his two hour nap, however, because another group of riders arrived. They clattered into the Winterfell courtyard below his window, and the Northmen were happier to see them than they'd been to see the Lannister men. Curious, Jaime and Bronn looked out of the small windows and saw a group of leather-clad riders, small in stature, riding in under a grey-green banner.
"Is that a lizard-lion?" asked Bronn, squinting at it.
"It is," replied Jaime. He couldn't remember which house owned the sigil, though he knew the lizard-lion was a creature of the Neck, a swamp-dweller. "Looks like the crannogmen are here to visit their king. They're taller than I thought they'd be."
"Maybe they brought frogs for supper," the sellsword said. Jaime hoped he was joking. "I've had frog soup before. It's not bad in a pinch."
Jaime couldn't help the noise of disgust that escaped his mouth. For all his trials and travels, he'd been raised at Casterly Rock. Not even as a prisoner of war had he eaten frogs.
"I'm sure they're delicious," he told Bronn, shaking his head. "I think I'll have a bath before we dine. Winterfell has some lovely hot springs, you know."
"Go on, get yourself all prettied up for supper with the King in the North," Bronn replied, still peering out the window.
Jaime left, scoffing at his companion. He spent a long time scrubbing the dirt of the road and the salt of the sea from his skin and hair, letting his mind wander to anything but Cersei. Remembering his bath with Brienne, he made a note to speak to her later, and see how she fared among the Northmen. With her naive, honorable nature, she should have fit right in. The North had at least one family of women warriors, so she wouldn't be the odd duck she was back home in the Stormlands.
Once his fingers had wrinkled from the hot water, Jaime stepped out of his bath and dressed in a red doublet, the warmest he owned. He felt naked without armor, but he knew the Northmen would do him no harm, not now that they'd given him bread and salt. With a pang, he remembered how his father had stomped all over that tradition, and hoped they wouldn't see Tywin when they looked at him. He hadn't come all this way to be butchered while on the privy.
The King in the North was already seated when Jaime entered, chatting quietly with his sister and the lord of the crannogmen, now seated at the high table with the other northern lords. When they saw him, the king gestured for Jaime to sit across from him. The others at the table looked surprised and wary, except for Sansa Stark. Clearly, Jon Snow had spoken with her of his visit to Jaime's cell.
"Lord Howland, this is Ser Jaime Lannister," Jon Snow introduced. "He says he's come to help us against the White Walkers. Ser Jaime, this is Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch."
Jaime finally got a good look at the man, and remembered him. He'd seen him in King's Landing, long ago, before his hair had gone gray and his eyes had gained that look of endless grief.
"I remember you," Jaime said. "You came to the Red Keep. You stood vigil over the girl's bones."
Lord Reed nodded. "I did," he answered. "It was my honor to guard the Lady Lyanna on her final journey."
"You were holding a babe," Jaime recalled, sitting next to Lord Reed, then realized the babe was now the king sitting across from him. Jon Snow caught the look.
"Me?"
"Yes," Lord Reed answered, smiling sadly. "Ned and I rode to Dorne with five others to rescue Lyanna, and failed—but Ned and I carried you home when we brought her bones to rest here in the crypts. That was after the siege of Storm's End," he trailed off, lost in his memories.
The servants entered then, setting down hearty northern food to stave off the cold. Twisting in his seat, Jaime caught a glimpse of Bronn, chatting away with a group of wildlings. He looked strangely comfortable with them. Perhaps he had truly gone north of the Wall before.
"Does that mean you met my mother, Lord Howland?" asked the king, so quietly that Jaime almost missed it.
"Of course I met her, long before you were born," Lord Reed replied, bewildered. Looking at the bastard's face, his jaw dropped. "Ned never told you about her? He said he would, once you were grown."
Jon Snow shook his head, and Sansa gave him a sympathetic smile. "I don't even know her name, or if she's alive or dead. He always said he'd tell me when I was older, but he went south with Robert Baratheon and I never saw him again. I always thought he was too ashamed to say anything in Lady Catelyn's presence," he finished, looking down at his plate.
"Your grace," said Howland Reed gently, "Ned loved you dearly, as did your mother. It was never shame that kept him quiet—it was fear."
"Fear?" asked Lady Sansa incredulously, and Jaime saw several northern lords look at Howland Reed with renewed interest. "Of what?"
"We ought to discuss this in private, Princess," replied the crannogman, "but your father feared that if King Jon's parentage were known, certain people would wish him dead, even as a babe. He promised her he'd keep you safe, and that meant hiding your true identity."
Jaime was terribly curious, but he knew they would say no more in his presence. He decided to diffuse the tension with a jape.
"I always thought Ned had bedded Ashara Dayne," he said airily. "We all saw them dancing and laughing together at the Harrenhal tourney, and Ned Stark did not dance and laugh with just anyone. Can't fault his taste—she was the prettiest lady at court, if you liked that violet-eyed look."
Lord Reed shook his head. "Ashara Dayne danced with him as a favor to Brandon Stark, Ser Lannister, but no more. Ned was a bit shy then, always compared unfavorably to his older brother."
"Poor Father," sighed Sansa.
"I will speak with you both tomorrow morning, if it please your grace," offered the crannogman. "It is time you knew who you are, and the consequences will be greater than you know."
Jaime raised an eyebrow, and pretended he wasn't listening as he speared a piece of venison. It had not escaped him that his meat had arrived already cut. He supposed Lady Brienne might have spoken out, or perhaps Lady Sansa, and he was quietly grateful for it.
"Gods, that sounds ominous," Jon Snow replied, startled. "Am I the son of a Skagosi spearwife, or mayhaps a pirate queen?"
"I doubt that very much, your grace," Davos Seaworth spoke up, grinning. "You don't smell of the sea, and an old smuggler would know."
"She can't have been a common fishwife or whore," the King in the North realized, watching Lord Reed's face for confirmation. "If she'd been some lowborn tavern wench, no one would care enough to want me dead."
Lady Sansa scoffed at that. "Tell that to Janos Slynt! He had all of King Robert's bastards in King's Landing rounded up and killed, even the sons of whores and tavern wenches. Even the babes."
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Jaime caught a few glares aimed in his direction.
"I can't tell him anything. I cut off his head at the Wall," the king said finally.
"You did?" asked Sansa, looking at her brother with a sudden smile.
"On the Wall, if you don't follow your commanding officer's orders, you die. He thought he needn't follow his Lord Commander's orders if he didn't like me. I taught him how the North handles such men."
"He deserved it," Jaime said, toasting the king ironically. "Slynt was a coward and a fool."
"He also failed at his task," Ser Davos spoke up. "One of Robert Baratheon's older bastards made it out of the city and all the way to Dragonstone, an armorer's apprentice by the name of Gendry. He looks just like Lord Renly did when he was younger."
"Why did he go to Dragonstone?" asked Lady Sansa, turning her head quizzically.
"I only heard parts of the story," Davos admitted, "but he said Jon Arryn and Lord Stark both came to the shop to see him. Clearly, they knew whose son he was," he went on. "After Lord Stark's visit, Gendry said his master shipped him north with a group of criminals headed for the Wall. Without any explanation, he said, Master Mott told him to pack his things and go, quickly."
"Father was protecting him," King Jon realized, frowning in thought. "At the Wall, no one would care that he was a king's bastard with a king's face. If a Targaryen prince could hide at the Wall all these years, why not a Baratheon bastard?"
Jaime saw Howland Reed look at his king rather strangely, but the Onion Knight nodded. "I suspected as much, your grace. But the gold cloaks followed and slew the wandering crow that led them. The group scattered after that. Gendry joined the Brotherhood Without Banners, along with a filthy, small orphan boy with a skinny sword, who was in fact, a highborn lady from Winterfell."
The entire table froze, except for Ser Davos, who looked rather calm after dropping that bit of news.
"Arya!" cried the King in the North. "Arya made it out of King's Landing?"
"To the Riverlands," Lady Sansa realized, covering her mouth in sudden horror. "The war-torn Riverlands, with Gregor Clegane running wild."
The king's Hand nodded soberly. "Gendry says the Brotherhood meant to ransom her to King Robb, but they never had the chance."
"Well, they certainly didn't mention that when they came last month!" Jon Snow exploded, sounding furious. "They kept our sister hostage, Sansa! I've half a mind to ride to Castle Black and take their heads!"
Ser Davos shook his head. "Beric Dondarrion was a decent man, once. But that priest—he's turned them all into fanatics of the Red God. They sold Gendry to the Red Woman, and she meant to sacrifice him for his king's blood. That is how he came to Dragonstone. I've no idea what happened to Princess Arya after Gendry last saw her."
"Ser Jaime?" asked Jon Snow. "Would you tell us true, if the Lannisters ever found Arya?"
"We did not," Jaime answered immediately. "She disappeared after your father's execution, and we knew nothing after that. I thought she'd perished in some Fleabottom gutter, but clearly she's made of stronger stuff. Your father hired a bravo to teach her sword-fighting, now that I think on it."
Lady Sansa's mouth had fallen open in a very unladylike way. "Sword-fighting! She called it dancing lessons with Master Syrio!"
The King in the North laughed, and Jaime saw the Mormont girl's mouth twitch upwards. "That does sound like our Arya."
"Your grace," said Brienne of Tarth quietly. "I searched for Princess Arya and Princess Sansa for some time, as you know. I heard rumors of both girls, and the latest of Princess Arya was that she'd escaped the Hound and made her way to Saltpans."
"She must be alive," Jon Snow said firmly, clutching his sister's hand. His gray eyes shone with renewed hope. "If she could survive all of that without any help from Northmen, she must live yet."
"And the news have spread," Jaime added, "that there is a new King in the North, and the Stark direwolf flies over Winterfell. If your sister lives, she will return home at last."
"You're the last person in the world I expected to tell me good news, Lannister," the king said, raising his goblet. "But I thank you all the same, and you as well, Ser Davos. To Princess Arya," he toasted. "May the gods—and her sword—bring her safely home."
"To Princess Arya," chorused the hall.
"And if we ever see the Hound again," he added, quieter, "he will tell us what he did with Arya, or I'll burn the other half of his face off."
"I don't think he'd hurt her," Lady Sansa said quietly. "He did warn us of Littlefinger's treachery, and he was mostly kind to me in the capital. Still," she admitted, "it was a very important piece of information to withhold."
For a while after the toast, there was little sound except the metallic clinking of cutlery against plates, and a low hum of conversation from the low tables. The northern council seemed lost in thought. Jaime, now comfortably full, looked around the room. There was a shocking lack of guards, a strange oversight when the Starks had ruled as Kings in the North for millenia.
"Your grace, do you not have a Kingsguard?"
Jon Snow looked up in surprise. "I'm at home, surrounded by Northmen."
"Even so, you should have guards, and food testers. My sister might try to poison you one of these days, and Varys went missing. He has spies and assassins everywhere. A king cannot afford to trust without reservation."
"He's right, Jon," Sansa murmured, looking worried.
"Northmen are loyal," the boy argued, watching his council out of the corner of his eye. Jaime saw the fat lord of White Harbor squirming.
"And some are not. Remember the Boltons," his sister reminded him.
"And the Karstarks," Lord Glover added, shaking his head.
"And the Greystarks," Lord Reed pointed out quietly.
"If I have guards following me, it will send the message that I don't trust our people," objected the bastard king.
"Our people would understand, your grace," said a little girl wearing the Mormont bear. "After what happened to King Robb, we want you and Princess Sansa safe."
The King in the North sighed. "Very well, I will appoint some guards. But it will not be a lifetime appointment. Our guards will be free to leave if they wish, and start families."
"Your grace," Brienne of Tarth spoke up, her voice slightly too loud. "I offer you my sword. Let me serve you and Princess Sansa as a guard."
Jaime fought a snort. Of course the wench would be the first to volunteer!
"I thank you, Lady Brienne, and we are honored," the king answered. Sansa beamed at the taller woman.
The king stood, and the chatter at the low tables died as bannermen and wildlings, commoners and lords, turned to look at their chosen monarch.
"It has been brought to my attention," King Jon began, "that I need a Kingsguard to protect myself and my family. Unlike the southron kings, I have no desire to keep a man from his family forever; you may serve as long as you are able to do so, and leave when you wish to. I will not bind a man—or woman—to guard me for life. Lady Brienne, please," he gestured.
Brienne knelt at the king's feet. She was ridiculously tall even while kneeling, but no one laughed. For once, the wench knelt in a room of strangers as earnest as herself.
"Lady Brienne of Tarth has been as faithful as any knight, though she is not of the North and owed us nothing. She found Princess Sansa in the Wolfswood and brought her to the safety of Castle Black, where she guarded my sister faithfully from the rapers and thieves of the Watch. She has asked to serve the Stark family as a guard, and I am happy to accept."
The king turned, and his sister caught the look and walked to his side. Jaime suspected she'd be whispering knightly vows in his ear, but in the end, it was the bastard king who invented his own. Lady Sansa simply squeezed the king's left hand, and smiled down at Brienne.
"Lady Brienne, will you swear to defend the King in the North and the House of Stark from all enemies, by the old gods and the new, for as long as your service shall last?" asked Jon Snow.
"I will, your grace," she answered, blue eyes glittering in the candlelight.
"Will you guard the secrets of House Stark, act with honor and speak with honesty?"
"I will, your grace."
"Then I, Jon Snow, King in the North, swear by the old gods and the new that you shall have a place at our table, and no Stark shall ask service of you that might bring you into dishonor. When you wish it, you shall be released from your service with thanks, and may return to your family by the grace of the gods. Arise the first member of the renewed Wintersguard, protectors of the King in the North and his family, the Starks of Winterfell."
There was a smattering of applause from the lords, but the wildlings hollered madly, especially a wild-eyed fellow with a bright red beard. Jaime disliked him on sight. Brienne rose, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, and walked away with a glimmer of pride in her beautiful eyes.
"Your grace," called one of the crannogmen. "I would be honored to serve."
The tiny man dressed in greens and browns knelt at Jon Snow's feet.
"We accept your offer, Dorren of House Blackmyre."
The king then had Dorren Blackmyre swear the same vow Brienne had made, though there was no mention of the new gods. The crannogman rose, and moved to the wall with Brienne, looking comically small next to the lady.
"I've saved your kingly arse too many times to lose ye now, King Crow," the redheaded wildling called out, and the king and Lady Sansa laughed. "I won't kneel to ye or the lady, but I'll keep ye safe."
Jaime tried not to imagine what Joffrey would have done with such a pledge.
"We are honored, Tormund Giantsbane," Jon Snow told the wildling, before hugging him as a brother-in-arms might. For a moment, his solemn, Stark-like face broke into a smile. "Welcome to the Wintersguard."
On it went, with mountain clansmen, wildlings, and northern lords swearing to defend the King in the North and any surviving Starks. The wildlings did so standing, and the Northmen were proud to kneel at the feet of Ned Stark's lookalike. After the seventh Wintersguard, a boy-faced Norrey clansman, three more had stood up, stretching the Wintersguard to ten members. Jon Snow finally stopped at twelve.
"I appreciate your enthusiasm," he told his people, "but surely, with six guards for myself and six for Sansa, we should stay out of trouble from now on. Even when Arya comes home we'll have four guards each, and a direwolf. We'll be quite safe."
"I doubt that!" snorted the wildling guard Suregg. Everyone laughed at this, even the lords.
"I suppose we ought to have some livery for you," the king mused. "Sansa?"
"I'll have something made up. Leathers, no white cloaks," she added, glaring at Tormund Giantsbane as he made a face. "You needn't worry I'll dress you in yellow silks, Tormund."
"No pink, neither!" hollered a spearwife.
"No pink," the King in the North promised. "That's a Bolton color, or it was. There is no such thing as House Bolton anymore."
A mighty cheer went up at this. Lady Sansa, widow of the last Bolton, did not cheer, but a small, slightly crooked smile appeared on her fair face.
"You needn't stick to your dull house colors, you know," Jaime japed, once the king and princess had taken their seats once more. "Renly had a Rainbow Guard instead of a Kingsguard. Brienne there was the Blue, but there was Robar the Red, and Bryce the Orange, Guyard the Green, and so on."
The King in the North wrinkled his nose in distaste. For a moment, Jaime was reminded of a five-year-old Viserys Targaryen, making that same gesture when forced to eat vegetables he disliked.
"There's nothing wrong with simple gray and white, Ser Jaime," Lady Sansa said, gently but firmly. "Lord Renly's usual outfits would have fed a Northern family for a month, at least. Jon is not that sort of king."
There was little Jaime could say to contradict that, so he said nothing. He spent the rest of the meal silent, observing the King in the North and his council. Never had he seen a king so comfortable with smallfolk and lords, wildlings and Vale knights. Robert hadn't cared, and Aerys and Joffrey had disdained anyone who wasn't of their blood. Jon Snow listened carefully to what his people had to say, and it showed. Jaime was sure these gruff Northmen would die for him if he asked.
Jaime revised his previous thought. He had seen a royal behave this way, but he'd never been king. Rhaegar Targaryen had waded unafraid into the streets of King's Landing, dressed in plain clothes and carrying his harp. He'd wandered through the city, disguised, and talked to anyone he could, from the gutter rats of Fleabottom to the merchants and whores.
Jaime was lost in melancholy for a time, as he always was when he remembered the Silver Prince. The chatter around him went on, growing louder as the Northmen became more and more drunk.
Once they'd finished dinner, an increasingly merry King Jon had called for music, with a group of crannogmen happily obliging. It was fascinating to watch. Jaime had never seen dour old Eddard Stark drunk, but his son seemed to have indulged more than usual tonight. Was it worry over Howland Reed's news? Joy at the creation of the Wintersguard? Stress at Jaime's own presence here? He didn't know, but he enjoyed seeing the uptight bastard loosening up.
An hour later, Jon Snow was drunk enough to sing. The crannogmen struck up an old tune, a sad northern one about a girl named Danny Flint, and Jon Snow hummed along, then sang. Even his sister looked surprised. His voice was rather good, though the strong northern accent was jarring to Jaime's southron ears.
When the musicians started playing Alysanne, a chill went down Jaime's back. King Jon sang, his voice smooth and sad, and Jaime knew he'd heard this voice, singing this very song, long ago. Now confused, he gulped down some more ale, and kept listening. Lady Sansa, seated next to her brother, sang along, a tear falling down one cheek.
They sang a few other northern songs that Jaime didn't know, and then began The Mermaid's Lament. After downing another ale, King Jon's voice was strong and confident, and Jaime was frozen in his seat, trying to remember. He'd never heard the Bastard of Winterfell singing before, but he knew his voice. The hairs on the back of Jaime's neck prickled.
Your father feared that if King Jon's parentage were known, certain people would wish him dead, even as a babe, the crannogman had said.
Who would kill a babe? His father, for one, but Tywin had had Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen killed, not the motherless bastard of the Warden of the North. Joffrey had killed babes as well, but they'd been the bastards of King Robert, while Jon Snow was not. Unless...
Jaime remembered Howland Reed holding the baby Jon Snow in his arms as he watched over Lyanna Stark's bones. Rhaegar had raped her, they'd said. Raped her and locked her in a tower to die of fever. But Rhaegar Targaryen was not Aerys; he was no rapist, Jaime was sure of it.
A dark-haired babe with gray eyes. Eddard Stark's eyes. Rhaegar Targaryen's voice!
Thunderstruck, Jaime realized how he knew the king's voice. It was the voice of the long-dead Targaryen prince, the eternally melancholy singer who should have been king.
Why would Ned Stark's bastard have Rhaegar Targaryen's voice? Because he wasn't Ned's, of course!
Ned Stark and Howland Reed had gone to Dorne to find Lady Lyanna. They'd found her. They'd found her newborn son, the last living child of Rhaegar Targaryen. And they'd hidden him from Robert Baratheon, and any other that might have killed him.
...Certain people would wish him dead, even as a babe...
Robert Baratheon would have slaughtered anyone who claimed his precious Lyanna had gone with Rhaegar willingly, and Aegon with his crushed skull would have been a pretty picture next to his half-brother.
The room was fading. Around him, the singing and drinking went on, but Jaime could no longer see or hear it. He could see Rhaegar Targaryen's face swimming next to his son's, his indigo eyes accusing.
I left my wife and children in your hands, he said.
And you left your lover and third child in Arthur Dayne's hands, Jaime thought bitterly. Dayne, Hightower, and Whent guarded one pregnant woman in the middle of Dorne. I had to deal with mad Aerys, and guard him, Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon, and all of King's Landing by myself.
Jaime staggered to his feet. Before he collapsed, a strong pair of arms guided him out of the hall. Immediately, he recognized his savior as Brienne.
"You're meant to guard the king, not his guests," he chided.
"I'm not guarding you," she replied. "I'm keeping you upright so you don't vomit all over the clean floor."
Jaime laughed, and let her half-carry him to his rooms.
"Was it your idea, the Wintersguard?"
"Yes," replied Jaime. "I've never seen a king go without guards. I suppose a man that has already died doesn't fear death, but still. It would be a shame for Sansa to lose her last brother to stupidity."
"I agree," murmured Brienne.
They'd reached his bedchamber. Brienne poured Jaime some water, forced him to drink it, and then left, telling him to get some sleep.
Jaime fell onto his bed. In his dreams, he heard male voices singing. One singer was a silver-blond, with indigo eyes too old for his face. He played a silver harp with expert hands, and the song was sad.
The other singer had dark hair and the face of a Stark. The same voice poured out of his mouth, but the King in the North held no harp; in his hands he held a Valyrian steel sword.