277AC Kings Landing
Preparations for the feast had been underway for the past month. Compared to the northern feasts Jon was accustomed to, it sounded like it would be enormous. However, from what he could tell, by southron standards this was a small one.
The celebration of the return of Aerys and Rhaegar's departure to ensure the Lords fealty arrived a moon's turn after Jon had been transported back to 277AC. It had given him time to become adjusted to the ways of court and some of the faces. His amnesia had helped him considerably. People understood if he didn't recognise them. Although his seemingly altered personality had caused some to be wary of him. Even with the owner of the body he inhabited guiding him, Jon couldn't act like the man. Especially since the aura of darkness had lifted.
Ever since Jon died at Castle Black, he hadn't entirely been himself. Something had been amiss, but since he'd been in the past, he felt whole again. Jon wondered whether a part of Jon Blackstar held the missing piece of Jon Snow. For despite the man's vices, he was less brooding and far more talkative than himself.
The night of the feast had arrived. In his chambers, Jon gazed upon his reflection. Under the guidance of Lord Blackstar, found himself transformed. Gone was the usual sombre attire, instead he wore a more vibrant ensemble, providing an unexpected metamorphosis. Lord Blackstar chose fabrics and a style which screamed of opulence. An ebony silk doublet adorned with threads of lilac and silver, brocade. A lilac silk shirt and black velvet breeches completed the ensemble.
He stood before the mirror, the stark realisation of his altered appearance pierced through Jon's stoic facade. His long hair, a cascade of either messy curls, or pulled into a bun, was a fashionable half ponytail, revealing his widows peak and violet eyes. He looked the epitome of princely refinement, a departure from the humble guise he had always worn.
Not being one to appreciate subterfuge, Jon was uncomfortable with the task ahead. Lord Blackstar had helped ready him for this feast, and all its trappings. Jon had experience of keeping the peace as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and king in the north. However, immersing himself with charming a bunch of southron courtiers, caused Jon to feel out of his depth.
Lord Blackstar had offered to take over, to charm the lords and ladies, but Jon didn't trust the man. Not only that, Jon needed to learn these skills for himself. After all, he was going to have to put these abilities to the test throughout his trip to the lords he was proposing to visit.
Jon no longer automatically read the thoughts of Lord Blackstar. He'd learned how to separate himself and his emotions from the other inhabitant of the body. Jon had no choice but to learn how to prevent Lord Blackstar from accessing his thoughts and memories after discovering the reason for him imagining Sansa being the one to suck his cock. Lord Blackstar had seen Sansa in Jon's memory and with his penchant for redheads, and had forced him to think of her sexually. Sansa might be his cousin, but she was still his sister. Beautiful as she was, imagining her wrapping her mouth around his cock, repulsed him.
After residing in the Red Keep for over a month, Jon was finally able to navigate the corridors without getting lost. Jon navigated his way to the expanse of the Great Hall. There the walls were adorned with the Targaryen banners of the three-headed dragon, the skulls of dragons lined the hall, both a reminder of a bygone era.
The Iron Throne, a monstrous testament to centuries of power struggles, loomed over the proceedings. Forged, as the tales claimed, from the thousand swords surrendered to Aegon the Conqueror. However, time had stolen some of its former glory. The dragon skulls replaced an area where swords once stood. Rendering the once majestic throne, a diminished relic, albeit still imposing. According to Sansa, the throne was now made up of less than three hundred of those swords.
The tables, arranged in meticulous rows, sprawled across the hall. A setting fit for a hundred and fifty guests, deemed a modest gathering within the Red Keep. The ambiance resonated with the clinking of goblets and the murmur of hushed conversations, the very air pregnant with the weight of courtly intrigue. Jon, newly attuned to the nuances of power play, moved through the room with a borrowed grace, taught him by a mix of Lord Blackstar and memories of Sansa.
Despite the grandeur of the setting, Jon couldn't shake the instinctual feeling of discomfort. His Northern sensibilities clashed with the opulence and cunning of the southern court. Not for the first time here in the past did Jon wish Sansa were by his side. This would have been easy for her, although Jon wasn't sure she'd be happy being stuck in the Red Keep once more.
The garments of the guests bore the sigils and colours of their respective houses. The green and golden hues of House Tyrell, bronze and black for House Royce, fiery orange and red of House Martell, the contrast of black and yellow belonging to House Baratheon, and the red and gold of House Lannister.
Jon couldn't help but notice the glaring absence of Northern houses. A stark reminder of the geographical and political distance separating the North from King's Landing. The Targaryens, ensconced in their southern affairs, seldom cast their gaze beyond the Neck.
Anticipation hung thick in the air as the guests awaited the Targaryen royal family. Rhaegar's arrival would be first, followed by Aerys and Rhaella. It was a meticulously orchestrated affair, ensuring that every noble in attendance was seated and in their place before the royal procession arrived.
The focal point of the grand hall was the elevated dais, a platform reserved for the royal family. Perched on the raised platform, was a table which accommodated four individuals. The King, Queen, and princes Rhaegar and Viserys flanking them. It was the pinnacle of courtly hierarchy, an exclusive enclave reserved for the Targaryen bloodline. Despite Jon's personal proximity to them and his upbringing within their circles, the political nuances relegated him to a position of lesser influence.
Rhaegar occupied a seat beside Rhaella, meanwhile, young Viserys, the apple of Aerys' eye, was perched in a high chair, a testament to the King's fixation on his one-year-old son. Viserys nursemaid stood behind, ready to attend to the needs of the toddler, who showed more interest in exploration than the feast.
Jon found himself seated among the small council, a position influenced by the directives of Tywin Lannister. The move was undoubtedly a calculated one, but Jon couldn't shake the feeling that Aerys intended to keep a watchful eye on him. Positioned beside him were Lucerys Velaryon and surprisingly, a young Lord Varys. Although not officially a small council member yet, Jon knew Aerys was contemplating the appointment of the enigmatic eunuch.
While Jon harboured reservations about Varys, he also understood the machinations of the man. It was a rare advantage for Jon as he had known the man in another life, albeit an older and wiser version of the man next to him. Taking in a deep breath, Jon did his best to mimic Lord Blackstar.
"Lord Varys, I presume." Jon smiled.
"Lord Blackstar. I am pleased to meet you at last. I have heard so much about you."
"All terrible I hope. I would be so disappointed if anyone were to be too kind. Those sorts are liars of the most grievous type, my lord."
"Oh, I'm no lord." Varys responded in his trademark coy style. "You, however, are viewed with much admiration, even if you don't hear it for yourself."
"Bollocks!" Jon chuckled. "Lords with daughters fear me, in case I deflower their precious blooms and create havoc for their chances of marriage." Jon leaned in, covering his mouth so nobody could overhear. "Not without cause, may I add." He said in a hushed tone. "Enough about me, I want to know more about your little birds. Have they flown the length and breadth of the realm, awaiting mine and Rhaegar's envisaged cock-ups while we travel the Seven Kingdoms? More specifically my cock-ups, not Rhaegar's. He's a good boy. The problem you have, Lord Varys, is that I didn't become as wealthy or as powerful as I did by cocking up."
"Oh, I never thought you did." Varys said, his voice dripping with sweetness. "I would never underestimate a man of your capabilities." He said, as they were interrupted by loud clapping. The room fell silent.
King Aerys rose to his feet, allowing Jon a closer inspection of the king. Jon couldn't help but notice the length of Aerys's fingernails, longer than the average man's, a testament to the king's aversion to being touched. Despite being back in Kings Landing for less than a moon's turn, the lack of grooming was already apparent. Combined with his untamed silver hair matched the wildness of his purple eyes, he already looked mad.
"I've returned, ready to rule once more," Aerys declared. "My gratitude to Ser Barristan for saving my life. Those responsible for my abduction will face justice." Aerys cast a glance toward Jon, who swallowed uncomfortably. "My son will embark on a royal progress around the kingdoms, securing fealty. There can be no repetition of my abduction, and I won't allow myself or the crown to be endangered. Should anyone attempt anything of this magnitude again, it will be dealt with by fire and blood. Ser Arthur Dayne will accompany my son, while Ser Barristan guards my darling Viserys." Aerys smiled down at the toddler beside him.
The first of the twenty-two course feast unfolded with a serving of a quail's egg. However, Jon noted how the king ate nothing. Likely consumed by the paranoia that someone might attempt to poison him. Jon couldn't help but wish someone had the courage to carry out such a deed. Of course, this was not the place to voice such thoughts.
Leaving such treasonous notions behind. Jon decided being in proximity to Lord Varys presented him with a chance to manoeuvrer himself into the king's good graces.
"Lord Varys, I would put a question to you. If you give me an honest answer, I'll willingly lend you a hand, with your ever-growing nest."
He settled back in his chair, extending his long legs in a more graceful and catlike manner than Jon could ever have managed without the tutelage of Lord Blackstar.
Varys raised an invisible eyebrow. "Certainly, my lord. Although I fear I may not be of much use to you."
"If you speak the truth, we might find each other quite useful." Jon said, and Varys nodded, although Jon wasn't entirely convinced of his sincerity. "A clever man, once said, 'Fight every battle everywhere, always, in your mind. Everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend. Every possible series of events is happening all at once. Live that way and nothing will surprise you. Everything that happens will be something that you've seen before.' Despite my disdain for the man, it is a politically astute philosophy. So, Lord Varys, where do your loyalties truly lie? Yourself, the king, or the realm? A word of warning, I will know if you lie to me."
Varys furrowed his brow at the question. "Are not the latter two interchangeable?"
"Usually, the king and the realm are interchangeable. Unless, of course, the king happens turns out to be bad for the realm." Jon said.
"That could be deemed treasonous," Varys replied.
"It all hinges on my motives. If I asking this question on behalf of the king, it's a valid question. Similarly, if I were intending to act against the king, wouldn't it be prudent for me to know your position?" Jon asked.
Varys raised his chin with an air of moral authority. "I serve the realm."
Jon grinned. If Varys had lied, he would have claimed to serve the king. While Jon couldn't fully trust Varys, at least he seemed to be honest in this instance.
"Good. I know you tell the truth. Now it is time for us to swap information. I've got a list of houses to visit. His grace wants them to sign the new contract, which is fair. However, I do not wish to lose money and I am already expecting trouble getting the houses to sign. I expect them to demand a reduced price, which I am not prepared to accept. Therefore, I need a bit of help with persuasion. Something only you can assist with."
"Blackmail?" Varys grasped the concept.
Jon nodded. "I see we are on the same page. This is the will of the King for the safety of the realm. I am looking to make a charitable investment towards the Night's Watch. One which will placate the north and gain the northern favour. It benefits the king. However, should I lose coin during my contract renegotiations, I am afraid I cannot make such a gesture."
"I see, from me, you're asking for whispers, my lord. Granted, whispers are my trade. Weapons are yours. What can you offer me in return?"
"Not all my dealings are in weaponry. I have other ventures. Places to cast your web, where your little birds can soar. I might even hatch a few for you myself," Jon smirked. "I boost your trade, you boost mine. All for the good of the realm and his grace." Jon raised a second goblet of wine. Varys nodded, picked up his own, and clinked it against Jon's.
Jon knew this would be relayed straight to Aerys, but he didn't care. He wasn't lying. He was going to mine dragonglass for the Night's Watch, help them build up supplies. Jon had gone over the figures, and despite the wealth of Jon Blackstar, most of it was tied up in production. He was wealthier on paper and could not afford to pay recompense to the lords and provide free dragonglass to the Night's Watch.
Varys contemplated Jon's proposal for a moment. "We have an agreement. I'll send you what information I can find on your houses. You leave in the afternoon, it will be too soon for me to gather what you require, at such short notice. Is there any stop which would be secure?"
"Starfall." Jon smiled. "Send it there. It is one of the houses which would be an early stop. They would never break my seal, and they know I am coming."
"Very well, Lord Blackstar. Anything for the realm."
The rest of the feast sailed smoothly. Jon found mingling far easier than he'd expected. His lessons with Lord Blackstar, seemed to have brought out another side of him. However, he had subconsciously wondered if Lord Blackstar were interfering without Jon's knowledge. Jon found he could charm anyone. The women adored him; the men aspired to be him. However, weariness had settled in and Jon retired to his chambers. He bid his farewells and departed for the night.
Jon had found the greatest mystery of the Red Keep, was the uncanny knack of how people were able to slip in and out of the chambers to change the bedding and leave breakfast, all while a man made water, washed and cleaned his teeth. The speed and efficiency was a mixture of breathtaking and unnerving. How in seven hells did they know when he woke? Unless they were spying on him, something which seemed entirely plausible.
After dressing himself, ready for the day ahead, he made his way to the stables, where he found Ser Arthur checking the horse Rhaegar was to be riding.
"Hello brother." Ser Arthur smiled, as Jon collected his own horse, where he began the same process of checking it had been tacked up properly.
"Good morning Arthur. Are you ready for our trip?"
"I would be if we weren't visiting the fucking Tarly's." Arthur sighed as Jon frowned. "I forget, you dealt with Randyll's father, not the man himself. I should warn you, he might be loyal to the Targaryen cause, and in all likelihood will be one of the easiest to sign a new deal. He's a miserable fucker."
"What should I know?" Jon asked.
"He likes to hunt, and that is about all you and Rhaegar will have in common with the man. Of course, I'm sure he'll be most interested in your weapons, but that is all. He's a military man through and through. If you can't talk about war, then you're fucked."
Jon smiled. "Good job. I've been reading up on such matters of late." Jon lied. He knew more about war than most. As much as he was likely to despise Randyll, simply for being a shitty father, he might as well try to charm the younger version of the man.
"You've never gotten your head around that sort of thing. Gods, you couldn't even understand what an envelopment was, let alone a double-envelopment. Your head was always in spoils of potential war, not warfare itself. You can't just read it in a book and be an overnight expert." Arthur rolled his eyes.
"We'll see." Jon patted his white courser, who was ironically named Ghost. "I'm sure I can sound convincing enough."
Footsteps prevented Arthur from answering as they spotted Rhaegar approach. They both bowed their heads, before Rhaegar took the reins of his golden Dornish Sand Steed, called Vaeron.
"Are the men ready?" Rhaegar asked.
"Of course, my prince." Arthur said. "I've come to an agreement with his grace. Only one hundred and twenty soldiers will accompany us."
Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "I hate being a prince." He turned to Jon. "How about you, me and Arthur, on the road, under the skies. No tents."
Jon wanted to say yes, but he knew Lord Blackstar would hate the idea. It turned out the Lord was used to being pampered. More than the prince, however, it would not be in his nature to admit defeat.
"Can you imagine Rhaegar trying to light a fire?" Jon asked.
Rhaegar and Arthur looked at each other and laughed. "Rhaegar can." Arthur said. "You, however, are so pampered, you don't even know how to stoke a fire, let alone light one."
Jon simply huffed and climbed up onto Ghost. "Come on, boy. Let's leave these two to their japes." he said, as they rode off towards the gates, ready for the long trip to Horn Hill.