Uprising

by litwater44

Haunted by the mystery of his mother which Ned refuses to reveal, Jon leaves for the Free Cities to forge a path undaunted by the shadow of his parentage. Becoming a Legendary warrior renowned across the realm was expected – But Jon could never have foreseen that his true destiny lay in the ancient ruins of Valyria, where a fierce black dragon still breathes its flame.

28. A Mother's Memory

Arthur: Implicent Mature scene with final two Pov's.

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Jon

Jon found himself standing amidst a battlefield, the air thick with the scent of burning flesh and the acrid tang of smoke. The sky was an angry shade of red, streaked with black clouds that crackled with green lightning. He could hear the distant roar of Cannibal, his dragon, somewhere in the chaos, a sound that thrilled and terrified him.

Bodies lay scattered around him, the fallen victims of his wrath. Some were charred beyond recognition, others still burning with the unnatural green flames that Cannibal breathed. Jon's heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he surveyed the destruction he had wrought.

In the distance, the remains of a grand castle loomed, its towers crumbling under the relentless assault of Cannibal's fire. Walls that had once stood as symbols of strength and protection now melted like wax, their foundations crumbling to dust. The defenders' screams echoed in Jon's ears, a symphony of agony that stirred something dark within him.

Jon felt a sickly thrill coursing through his veins. He knew he should be horrified, that he should feel guilt for the innocent lives lost. And yet, a twisted satisfaction gnawed at the edges of his mind. Each scream, each burst of green flame, was a testament to his power, to the control he wielded over life and death.

As Cannibal swooped low, his green flames licking at the remains of the castle, Jon saw figures running in terror. Their faces twisted in fear, their eyes wide with desperation. He could feel their terror, could taste it in the air, and it filled him with a dark pleasure.

Cannibal roared again, unleashing another torrent of fire that engulfed a group of fleeing villagers. Their screams rose to a crescendo, their bodies consumed by the unnatural flames. Jon watched, his grip tightening on Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel sword he carried. The power, the destruction—it was intoxicating.

He moved through the ruins, his steps slow and deliberate. Each step brought him closer to the heart of the destruction, where the fires burned the brightest and the screams were the loudest. He basked in the chaos, in the sheer might of Cannibal's fury.

In the distance, Jon saw a group of people, untouched by the flames, standing in stark contrast to the devastation around them. There was Aegon, his half-brother, surrounded by their family. Elia, his mother, clung to Aegon, showering him with love and affection. She stroked his hair, her eyes filled with warmth and pride.

Jon's heart twisted with envy and bitterness as he watched the scene unfold. Aegon's family stood by him, providing the love and support Jon had always been denied. He saw their smiles, heard their laughter, and felt the sharp sting of their happiness. It was a life he had never known, a life for which he had always longed.

Aegon's eyes met Jon's, and a cruel smile spread across his face. "Look at you, Jon," Aegon sneered. "You're nothing but a monster. A beast with no one to love you, no one to care for you. You were always motherless, always alone. While I had everything you could never have."

Elia continued to dote on Aegon, oblivious to Jon's presence, her love a sharp contrast to the loneliness Jon had always felt. The words cut deep, fueling the dark fire within him. The jealousy, the rage—it all came bubbling to the surface, a torrent of emotion he could no longer contain.

With a roar that matched Cannibal's, Jon raised Blackfyre. The blade gleamed with a dark promise, a reflection of the rage that consumed him. He moved towards Aegon, his steps quick and determined. The family around Aegon faded into the background, their faces blurring into nothingness.

Aegon's mocking laughter echoed in Jon's ears, a taunt that drove him to the brink of madness. "You'll never be like me, Jon," Aegon spat. "You'll always be a motherless bastard, unworthy of love."

The words were the final spark that ignited the inferno within Jon. He swung Blackfyre with all his might, the blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. Aegon's eyes widened in shock, the smile vanishing from his face as the sword cleaved through his neck.

Blood sprayed, a dark crimson against the backdrop of green flames, and Aegon's head fell, severed in half, to the ground. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Jon stood over Aegon's lifeless body, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps. He looked down at the fallen prince, at the blood pooling at his feet, and felt a surge of triumph.

Jon awoke with a start, his body drenched in sweat, the lingering smell of smoke still haunting his nostrils. The room was silent, the only sound was his ragged breathing. Ghost lay at the end of the bed, oblivious to Jon's dilemma.

Jon sat up, running a trembling hand through his hair. The nightmare had been so vivid, so real. He could still hear the children's screams, and see the charred bodies. The weight of his responsibility pressed down on him, a burden he could not escape.

The damned dreams again. Is the price of using the power of the Glass Candles this goddamn costly?

Frankly, Jon was sick of it.

"What could a murderer expect?" Euron's voice said from the corner of the room.

There was the sweet sound of steel as Jon swiveled Blackfyre to where the voice originated from. Jon held the sword steadily, snarling. The flames from the hearth bathed the legendary sword in a bloodthirsty glow.

But there was no one there to Jon's disquiet.

Ghost perked up, red eyes examining him carefully.

Am I losing my mind? Jon slowly lowered Blackfyre, glaring at the dark spot in the corner. But there was only the slow crackle from the fire in the hearth.

Damn it all. Jon rubbed his eyes, knowing his sleep was ruined.

Aegon

He stood on the plains of Essos, the sun beating down mercilessly. In the distance, a monstrous black dragon soared through the sky, its scales glinting ominously in the sunlight. Cannibal. The beast landed in a thunderous crash, and on its back sat Jon, his half-brother, exuding an aura of power and command that Aegon could only dream of.

Aegon watched in horror as Jon led an army of Unsullied and freedmen, his every word met with unwavering loyalty. The Dothraki, once the scourge of the eastern continent, lay defeated at his feet, their great khalasars shattered by Jon's strategic brilliance and the overwhelming might of Cannibal's green flames. The people of Essos revered Jon, calling him the "The White Wolf," and sang songs of his conquests and ruthlessness.

Aegon felt a bitter envy rise within him. Jon had achieved what he had only dreamed of—uniting the disparate peoples of Essos and bringing peace to a land that had known only chaos. The adoration of the masses, and the respect of fierce warriors, all belonged to Jon. Aegon could see the faces of the freedmen, and the grateful eyes of the Unsullied, all looking to Jon as their savior.

The scene shifted, and Aegon found himself in the Golden Company's stronghold. There, Jon stood victorious, Blackfyre in hand, the legendary sword gleaming with a dark promise. The body of the last Blackfyre contender lay at his feet, lifeless and defeated. Jon had stolen Blackfyre, the symbol of their family's ancient claim, from the Golden Company, claiming it as his own

Aegon felt a pang of betrayal. Blackfyre was meant to be his, a symbol of his birthright, his destiny. Yet here was Jon, the bastard, the outsider, holding the sword with a confidence and authority that made Aegon's blood boil.

The nightmare twisted again, dragging Aegon to King's Landing. He stood in the Great Hall, watching as Jon approached the Iron Throne. Rhaegar, their father, looked on with pride, his eyes shining with a love and approval Aegon had never seen directed at him. Jon knelt before the throne, and Rhaegar placed a crown upon his head, declaring him the true heir to the Targaryen legacy.

Aegon's heart clenched with a mix of rage and despair. This was his birthright, his destiny. But in this twisted vision, it was Jon who was the favored son, the chosen one. The lords and ladies of Westeros cheered their voices a cacophony of support for Jon. Even Aegon's own sister, Rhaenys, stood beside Jon, her hand resting on his shoulder, her face glowing with love and pride.

Aegon's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but he was powerless to change the scene before him. Jon turned to face him, a triumphant smirk on his lips, the crown of the Targaryens gleaming upon his brow.

"You'll never be like me, Aegon," Jon's voice echoed in the vast hall. "You'll always be the shadow, the lesser son. This throne, this kingdom, belongs to me, Maegor Targaryen."

Aegon felt a surge of fury and helplessness. He reached for his sword, but his hands grasped at empty air. Jon laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that reverberated through the hall. The courtiers and nobles joined in, their laughter a chorus of derision and scorn.

Aegon's vision blurred with tears of frustration and humiliation. He tried to step forward, to confront Jon, but his legs felt heavy, rooted to the spot. The nightmare's oppressive weight pressed down on him, suffocating him with the realization of his deepest fears.

Jon's image loomed larger, his smirk growing ever more disdainful. "This is my destiny, Aegon. You were never meant to be the heir. You were never meant to be me."

Aegon's scream of rage and despair tore through the nightmare, his voice echoing in the empty hall.

Aegon shot up in his bed, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a war drum. The darkness of his chamber was stifling, the shadows seeming to mock him with their silence.

He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with the remnants of the nightmare. The images of Jon's triumph, of his father's and sister's love for Jon, were seared into his mind, a torment he could not escape. Aegon knew he had to fight harder, to prove himself, to claim the destiny that was rightfully his. But the fear, the gnawing doubt, lingered, a shadow that would not let him go.

Rhaegar

Rhaegar Targaryen stood alone in a vast, misty field, the air heavy with an otherworldly silence. The ground beneath him was cold, yet he felt no chill. Before him, a figure emerged from the fog, her features unmistakable even in the dim light. Lyanna Stark, her long, dark hair flowing freely as it had on the day he first saw her, walked toward him with a grace that was almost ethereal. Her eyes, deep and stormy, bore into his soul as she stopped just a few paces away.

"Rhaegar," she said softly, her voice carrying a sadness that pierced through him. "Why have you not made our son heir?"

Rhaegar's heart clenched at her words. The question he had buried deep within himself, the doubt he had never dared voice aloud, now lay bare before him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, he looked down at the ground, unable to meet her gaze.

"You know the truth, Rhaegar," Lyanna continued, her tone gentle yet firm. "Jon is your son, the son of the woman you truly loved. He has the strength, the wisdom, the heart that Aegon lacks. Why do you hesitate?"

Rhaegar finally looked up, his violet eyes meeting hers. "It is my shameful desire," he confessed, his voice breaking with the weight of his guilt. "To make Jon king… the son of the woman I loved more than any other. But how can I? Aegon is my son too and has my love. It would not be fair to him."

Lyanna stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek. Her touch was warm, grounding him in the dreamlike reality they shared. "Fairness is not the issue, Rhaegar. The realm needs a leader, one who can carry the weight of the crown, who can unite the people and protect them from the darkness that looms. Jon is that leader, and you know it."

Rhaegar's mind filled with images of his sons. Aegon, easy smiles and strong, but burdened by pride and insecurity. Jon, quiet and brooding, yet possessing an inner strength and resilience that seemed to grow with each passing day. Rhaegar saw Jon's victories in the training yard, his keen understanding, his ability to inspire loyalty in those around him.

Then, the visions shifted. Rhaegar saw Jon leading men into battle, his sword blazing with the fire of the Old Gods and the new. He saw Jon standing victorious on the battlefield, his presence commanding and undeniable. He saw Jon with Cannibal beneath him, a conqueror in the skies, his enemies falling before him like leaves in the wind.

Rhaegar's heart swelled with a deep, unspoken pride, but it was tinged with sorrow. He knew, in that moment, that Jon was the prince that was promised, the one who would bring balance to the world. And yet, the decision to make him heir was a burden Rhaegar could not bear to place on his own shoulders.

The dream twisted again, and Rhaegar found himself in the Great Hall of the Red Keep. The Iron Throne loomed before him, its sharp, jagged edges glistening in the dim light. Seated upon it was Jon, his face solemn and resolute. He wore a crown of black iron and silver, his dark hair framing his face like a shadow. In his hand, he held Blackfyre, the ancestral sword of House Targaryen, its blade gleaming with a deadly promise.

Rhaegar's breath caught in his throat. Jon looked every inch the king, a true ruler of men, destined to sit upon the Iron Throne. And yet, Rhaegar felt a deep ache in his chest, the weight of his own indecision crushing him. This was what he wanted, what he dreamed of in his most secret heart, but the path to making it reality was fraught with pain and betrayal.

"Rhaegar," Lyanna's voice whispered in his ear, though she was no longer by his side. "You must choose. The realm needs its true king."

Rhaegar reached out, but the vision began to fade. The throne room dissolved into mist, and Jon's form became a shadow, slipping away into the darkness. Desperation clawed at Rhaegar as he tried to hold onto the image, but it was gone, leaving him alone in the void.

He awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, the echo of Lyanna's words still lingering in his mind. The dawn's light was just beginning to filter through the windows, casting a pale glow across his chamber. Rhaegar lay back against the pillows, his mind racing. He stood up and made his way to his harp.

Jon

Jon settled into a chair in front of the hearth, laying Blackfyre across his lap. The firelight touched the blade, making the dark steel shimmer with a strange, almost ethereal glow.

Ghost rose and padded over to Jon, lying down at his feet with a soft huff. Jon reached down, running his fingers through the wolf's thick fur, finding solace in the rhythmic motion. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of Ghost shifting his position.

Jon's mind was a tempest of conflicting emotions. The nightmare had stirred something deep within him, a darkness that was always there. The power he had felt in the dream, the sick satisfaction of wielding Cannibal's flames and Blackfyre's deadly edge, lingered in his thoughts. It was a part of him he struggled to understand, a part that terrified him.

He looked down at Blackfyre, the legendary sword of House Targaryen. The blade had a history of bloodshed and conquest, a legacy of power that now rested in his hands. Jon traced a finger along the intricate designs etched into the steel, feeling the cold metal beneath his touch. The sword was more than a weapon; it was a symbol of his destiny, a destiny he was still coming to terms with.

The firelight danced across the blade, casting flickering shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. Jon's thoughts drifted back to the nightmare, to the faces of the innocents he had burned, the castles he had destroyed. He felt a shiver run down his spine, the memory of their screams still echoing in his ears. And yet, beneath the horror, there was that same dark satisfaction, a feeling of control and power that both repelled and enticed him.

Ghost stirred, sensing Jon's unease. The Direwolf lifted his head, nudging Jon's hand with his nose. Jon looked down into Ghost's red eyes, finding a measure of comfort in the wolf's steady gaze. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him.

"Am I a monster, Ghost?" Jon whispered, his voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire. Ghost's ears twitched, and he nuzzled Jon's hand again, a gesture of reassurance.

Jon sighed, leaning back in his chair. The weight of his responsibilities, his fears, and the expectations placed upon him pressed down on him like a physical burden. He was the heir to a legacy of fire and blood, a legacy that demanded strength and ruthlessness. But he was also Jon Snow, a man who had known hardship, loss, and the bitter taste of being an outsider. He was a bastard.

As he sat there, the fire's warmth seeping into his bones, Jon knew he had to find a balance between the darkness and the light within him. The nightmares were a reminder of the power he wielded, and the potential for both great good and terrible evil. He could not ignore that part of himself, but he also could not let it consume him.

Ghost settled back down, his presence a steady anchor in the turbulent sea of Jon's thoughts. Jon continued to stroke the Direwolf's fur, finding a measure of peace in the simple act. The fire crackled, the flames dancing and casting their light on Blackfyre, illuminating the sword and the man who wielded it.

Jon's eyes grew heavy, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up with him. But sleep would not come easily. He knew that the nightmares would return, and with them, the questions and fears that haunted his waking hours.

For now, though, he sat in the warmth of the hearth, Ghost at his feet, and Blackfyre across his lap.

I deserve to be tormented, Jon mused somberly.

When the sun rose over the castle, Jon was still sitting in front of the heart. A knock was heard on the door. "Yes?"

His new captive of the Houseguard poked his head in. "Robb Stark waits without, my prince."

"Let him in."

Robb

Robb noticed right away that Jon zeroed in on the cast on his arm. A soft knock on the door broke the stillness, and Jon looked up as Robb Stark entered, cradling his cast-covered arm. Jon's sharp gaze zeroed in on the cast immediately, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

Robb gave a tired smile and moved to sit across from Jon. "You always notice everything, don't you?" he said, trying to keep his tone light.

Jon's eyes did not leave the cast. "How did it happen?"

Robb sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Aegon broke it during the joust. Deliberately. He made sure everyone saw it too."

Jon's expression hardened, his purple eyes intensifying. There was a dangerous edge to his gaze that made Robb feel both proud and uneasy. He knew Jon saw him as a true brother, more so than he ever saw Aegon.

"The mission with Rhaegar," Robb said, changing the subject. "How did it go? Casterly Rock and Storm's End...were they successful?"

Jon nodded shortly. "It was a success."

Robb noticed Jon's quick, precise responses, the way he concealed his feelings. He could never tell what Jon was genuinely thinking, but he sensed a storm brewing beneath that calm exterior. "Aegon has a dragon now," Robb added carefully, watching Jon's reaction. Jon's face remained impassive, giving nothing away.

"A dragon, you say?" Jon's voice was measured, slow, but his eyes flashed with sharp intensity. "Then Darkstar must be dead."

Robb blinked, caught off guard, but quickly shook it off. "They've started calling you the Black Prince, Jon."

Jon's gaze narrowed. "And what's the purpose of that?"

Robb pressed on, hoping to install the same fire he had in the man he sees as a brother. "To set you apart from Aegon. Or to cast you as the lesser. The whispers grow louder every day—they call Cannibal the black beast from the abyss, and you… they call you the Stranger's servant. Aegon, meanwhile, they paint in colors of light and hope. He's the Silver Prince, they say, and his dragon Mystic, the creature bestowed by the Seven, a dragon from the stars."

A snort escaped both of them, a brief moment of shared understanding. They knew well whose hand was behind the whispers, and it was not hard to imagine Aegon grinning behind his polished façade.

If I had to choose a dragon to take into battle, Robb thought. I know which one I would pick. I am from the North. The Stranger means nothing to me. But Cannibal's savagery? That I understand. I would rather have that fury on my side than against it. And Mystic is not close to Cannibal's side. Robb can admit that the prince's dragon is growing at a startling pace and wonders why that is the case.

But the truth weighed heavily between them. The effect of Aegon's schemes was palpable. The lords whispered Jon's names in shadows, while they cheered for Aegon in the light. They spoke of Cannibal with dread, while Mystic was hailed with reverence. The faithful cursed Jon's name, their words tainted with fear and suspicion. Cannibal's midnight scales and merciless nature only fed their fears. And Jon's roots in the North and ties to Essos painted him as an outsider, a man who did not belong.

There was more, though, that Robb kept to himself—the quiet resentment among the Riverland lords, the way they spat when Jon's name was mentioned. They muttered about Harrenhal, how it had been ripped from House Whent, how Jon held sway over the Riverlands, in truth if not in title.

"But there's something worse," Robb continued, leaning closer as if the words were bitter on his tongue. "The Dornish. They have been harassing our people here—squires, petty lords, all those who serve the North. The tension is growing, Jon. It is only a matter of time before it snaps. House Targaryen has done little to subdue this."

Robb's hand curled into a fist at the thought, his knuckles white. I cannot even protect my own people. If I hadn't lost to that prick in the joust and break my arm, I would take to the court myself and show them the winter's fury.

Jon listened in silence, his expression unreadable, though the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. The truth of it all weighed on them both—the dark tide rising around Jon, the murmurs of rebellion and fear, the looming storm that threatened to tear the realm apart. And all the while, Aegon's shadow loomed larger, his star burning brighter.

For a moment, Jon's calm façade cracked. A flash of wrath darkened his eyes, and Ghost, sensing his master's anger, lifted his head and let out a low, silent snarl. The Direwolf's presence, combined with Jon's intense gaze, was enough to make even the bravest man uneasy.

"They'll pay for their actions," he said quietly, but there was a promise of retribution in his voice. He reached down to touch Blackfyre. He did not say a word.

A stretch of silence issued. The air crackled with strange intensity.

Robb watched as Jon's expression darkened further, the anger in his purple eyes becoming almost palpable. Without a word, Jon stood up abruptly, Blackfyre in hand, and made his way to the door. The force with which he opened it almost tore it off its hinges, and it slammed against the wall with a resounding crash.

"Jon, wait for me!" Robb called out, scrambling to his feet. But Jon was already stalking down the hall, his steps quick and determined. Ghost was at his heels, the Direwolf's hackles raised, a dangerous snarl rumbling from his throat.

Robb hurried to catch up, his heart pounding both from the exertion and the sight of Jon's barely contained fury. They turned down another corridor, Jon's pace unrelenting. As they rounded a corner, Robb's eyes widened in anger at the scene before them.

A northern squire lay on the ground, being beaten by six men of House Martell and Yronwood. The squire's cries of pain echoed in the corridor, but they were drowned out by the jeering laughter of his attackers.

Jon did not hesitate. He moved like a storm, silent and deadly. His first target did not even see him coming; Jon's hand shot out, chopping the man in the throat with brutal precision. The Martell man crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

The second man turned just in time to see Jon, but it was too late. Jon grabbed his arm and twisted it with a sickening snap, the man screaming in agony as he fell.

The third attacker tried to draw his weapon, but Jon was faster. With a powerful kick, Jon sent him crashing into the wall, where he slid down, unconscious.

Ghost leaped into action, his massive form a blur of white fur and teeth. The Direwolf knocked the remaining three men to the ground effortlessly, his snarl echoing through the corridor.

Robb watched in awe and a hint of fear as Jon and Ghost dismantled the attackers with ruthless efficiency. Jon did not say a word throughout the entire assault, his focus absolute, his silence more terrifying than any shout or battle cry.

When the last of the attackers lay on the ground, groaning in pain or unconscious, Jon finally stopped. He stood over the beaten men, his chest heaving with controlled breaths, Blackfyre still clutched in his hand. Ghost padded over to him, his growls subsiding but his red eyes still watching the downed men warily.

The northern squire, bruised and bloodied, looked up at Jon with a mix of gratitude and awe. Robb quickly moved to help the boy to his feet, his own heart still racing from the sheer intensity of what he had just witnessed.

Holy hell, Robb thought, a smile creeping to his face. When he looked up, Jon and Ghost were already marching again.

They marched straight to the courtyard.

As soon as they entered, the atmosphere thickened with tension. Eyes turned towards Jon, drawn by the fire in his purple gaze.

Without a word, Jon walked up to Cletus Yronwood and delivered a savage punch to his face, the sound of the impact echoing through the courtyard as Cletus crumpled to the ground, clutching his blackening eye. The onlookers gasped, their murmurs growing louder.

The commotion in the courtyard had drawn an impressive gathering. King Rhaegar, his regal presence commanding immediate respect, arrived with Queen Elia at his side. Rhaenys Targaryen and Arianne Martell followed closely, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and surprise. The Kingsguard, clad in their gleaming armor, flanked the royal entourage, their eyes scanning the scene with practiced vigilance. Aegon Targaryen, his face blank, was flanked by his own entourage from House Martell and House Targaryen. Daenerys Targaryen, with her ethereal beauty and steely gaze, stood beside them, observing the unfolding scene with a mix of intrigue and unease.

Jon's fury was unrelenting. He seized a man of House Martell by the throat, lifting him off his feet before slamming their heads together with a bone-crunching headbutt. The Martell man fell limp, blood streaming from his nose.

The crowd watched in stunned silence as Jon backhanded William Wells so viciously that he was sent sprawling, the ladies in the crowd gasping in shock. Gerris Drinkwater, Harrold Hardying, and Hendry Bracken stood frozen in fear, their faces pale. Archibald Yronwood and Lyn Corbray took cautious steps backward, their hands on their swords but not daring to draw them.

The elite of the court stood paralyzed, their eyes darting between Jon's ferocious rampage and the powerful figures observing from the sidelines.

Daemon Sand alone stepped forward, raising his blunted sword, his expression determined. Jon's eyes locked onto him, a silent challenge. He raised his hand, not saying a word, and a blunted sword was thrown at him. Jon caught it mid-air, spinning with lethal grace, and with a single, fluid motion, he brought the tourney sword crashing across Gerris Drinkwater's face, knocking him out cold.

Jon's focus turned back to Daemon, who met his gaze without flinching. "Prepare yourself." They clashed in a blur of motion, their swords ringing out with each impact. The crowd held its breath, the intensity of the duel palpable. Jon's movements were swift and precise, his attacks relentless.

The Kingsguard, including Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy, kept their distance, their expressions guarded but intrigued.

In the space of two brutal minutes, Jon's tourney sword cracked against Daemon's hand. Seizing the opening, Jon delivered a punishing punch to Daemon's face, followed by a powerful kick to his chest that sent him crashing into a Dornish squire behind him. Daemon lay on the ground, gasping for air, his eyes wide with pain and shock.

The courtyard fell into an eerie silence. Jon's presence was a storm, his fury a tangible force. He looked around, his voice a low, deadly whisper that carried across the courtyard. "Don't ever attack my mother's people in my own castle ever again," he said, dropping the broken tourney sword with a resounding clatter.

When Jon returned to Winterfell, I sparred with him. I always knew he did not go full speed. Now I know how much he spared from hurting me, Robb realized.

The royal entourage were stunned into silence, Robb saw.

The howls from their Direwolves reached them from the Godswood, cold and haunting. Those in the courtyard flinched, Robb saw.

For a moment, the silence held. Then Arya's voice broke through, cheering for her brother with fierce pride. Robb joined in, and soon every Northman in the courtyard was cheering for Jon. The Dornishmen, including Aegon and Oberyn, seethed with anger, their faces flushed with humiliation and rage, but none dared to move.

Jon turned and walked away, his steps unhurried but commanding. Ghost followed, his red eyes scanning the crowd for any further threats. Robb watched his brother go, his heart swelling with a mixture of awe and pride. Jon had shown his strength, his fury, and his unwavering loyalty to their people. He had proven that he was not to be trifled with, a true Stark in every sense of the word.

Whatever resentment was in the northerners' eyes were gone as they stared at Jon, replaced by reinforced respect.

Robb shared a knowing look with Greatjon. Does he look like a Targaryen now? Or does he look like one of the north? His look said. Greatjon just had to grin.

"Jon," Rhaegar's voice was calm but carried an edge of authority, "why such a display of harshness?"

Jon stopped in his tracks, turning to face the king. His eyes, still blazing with the aftereffects of his rage, met Rhaegar's. There was a steely resolve in his voice as he spoke. "Aegon and Queen Elia have allowed the Dornish men to harass the Northernmen with impunity—my people, my kin. A show of force was necessary. They needed to understand that their actions have consequences."

Rhaegar's expression remained inscrutable, but the weight of Jon's words hung heavy in the air. The nobles around them shifted uneasily, their murmurs rising softly. Jon's statement was not just a justification; it was a declaration of his position and authority.

Rhaegar looked at Elia and Aegon. Both of them remained silent.

Rhaegar nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in Jon's words. "Very well," he said, his tone measured. "But remember, there are other ways to address grievances. We must ensure that our actions serve justice, not merely vengeance."

Jon's gaze did not waver. "Justice and vengeance are often intertwined. Today, I made it clear that such behavior will not be tolerated. I will not allow my people to be mistreated in their own home."

Jon's gaze swept over the crowd, his violet eyes gleaming with a cold, dangerous light that made more than a few lords and knights flinch. "Does anyone disagree?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of a challenge that hung heavy in the air. "If so, step forward, and I'll show you just how wrong you are."

The silence was absolute. Not a single soul dared to move.

In the courtyard, Robb and the others watched as Jon's gaze locked onto Aegon. The challenge was unmistakable, burning in his eyes like a flame. The crowd sensed it too, instinctively parting to create a clear path for Aegon, as if drawn to the inevitable confrontation.

Aegon stepped forward, his own violet eyes blazing with defiance. The tension crackled between them, a clash of fire and ice that threatened to explode. But before Aegon could take another step, Arthur Dayne's hand fell on his shoulder, firm and unyielding.

Robb watched the moment unfold, his heart sinking. Saved him, I dare say, Robb thought bitterly, disappointment washing over him like a cold wave.

Jon did not look away, his gaze unwavering, his presence dominating the courtyard. The message was clear—there was no room for doubt, no place for weakness. And at that moment, no one could touch him.

Jon paused, turning back to face Rhaegar. His expression was still fierce, but a glimmer of acknowledgment flickered in his eyes.

Rhaegar's gaze swept over the gathered nobility, including the Dornishmen and the Targaryens. "Do not let this be a theme. I will not have it."

Jon nodded once, a curt acknowledgment of the king's decision. The crowds, still buzzing with the aftereffects of Jon's earlier display, began to shift with renewed energy.

With a final, resolute glance at Rhaegar, Jon turned and walked away, Ghost beside him. The Northmen's cheers rose once more, their voices lifting in support of their champion. The Dornishmen, their anger still simmering, watched him go with a mix of resentment and hate.

That was something, Robb thought as he shared a grin with Arya and Bran and Rickon. Sansa looked scared while his mother looked contemplative.

The Direwolves howled again.

Arianne

"This is savage," Quentyn hissed, his voice harsh as he knelt beside Gerris's prone form, eyes wide with shock. Arianne barely spared him a glance, her mind already racing ahead. She sped past him, her focus singular.

She slipped away unnoticed, her departure masked by the murmurs and whispers that rippled through the crowd, everyone still reeling from the destruction Jon had unleashed.

"The Black Prince's wrath!"

"My Lord are you ok?!"

"Oh the rage in his eyes!"

"He is as dark as his beast Cannibal!"

It was too easy to disappear.

I need him. I need him badly, Arianne thought, a shiver of desire coursing through her, the heat between her thighs growing unbearable. The way he had unleashed his wrath, destroying anyone who dared stand in his way… it was terrifying, but it drew her in like a moth to a flame. The rage that burned in his purple eyes had sent fear through others, but not her. For her, it only made him more irresistible.

She rounded a corner, her heart pounding in anticipation, expecting to find Jon. Instead, a hand shot out of the shadows, clamping around her throat with a vice-like grip.

Panic surged through her, her world spinning as she was yanked off her feet and slammed against the cold stone wall. The hand tightened around her neck, cutting off her breath, and she gasped, her fear and desire mingling in a dangerous cocktail.

Jon's purple eyes bore down on her with a fierce intensity, his grip on her throat loosening slightly but still firm. "Arianne Martell," he said, his voice laced with a hint of distaste.

Arianne managed a strained smile, her pulse quickening not just from fear but from something far more dangerous. "Well, this is a new development. You speak my name as if I were your enemy."

His eyes flashed, the anger in them unmistakable. "You are my enemy," he replied coldly. "Your family works in the shadows, spreading lies to discredit me and attacking anyone who dares to support me."

The accusation struck her harder than she expected, though she knew there was truth in his words. Still, she had no hand in it. "Not I, my prince," she said, her voice firm despite the pressure on her throat.

His gaze remained icy, his grip tightening slightly again. "And how am I to believe you? Just moments ago, I had to break the bones of men who were beating one of my supporters—a man who swore allegiance to my mother's brother. And they wore the colors of House Martell—your house."

Arianne's heart pounded, but she did not waver. "Not by my orders," she insisted, her tone resolute. "Dorne is not mine to rule… yet."

He snorted, clearly unimpressed. "You lie through your pretty mouth. Your house despises me—hates my blood."

Arianne hesitated for the briefest moment before speaking, choosing her words carefully. "Rhaenys does not hate you," she admitted, her voice softening. "And neither do I, as I've been trying to tell you."

Jon's lips curled into a smirk, a mocking glint in his eyes. "Oh, is that so? Should I believe a woman whose family despises me? A woman who said not too long ago, 'This is not a fairy tale'?"

Arianne's breath caught in her throat, genuine surprise flashing across her face. How does he know I said that? Who told him? She felt her confidence waver for the first time, realizing that Jon's knowledge of her words and actions went deeper than she had anticipated. He was more dangerous, more cunning, than she had given him credit for. And it thrilled her.

Arianne's mind flashed back to the intense argument with Rhaenys, the way their words had escalated into blows. She had tried to convince Rhaenys that loving Jon was not enough to win his loyalty—that it was foolish to think so. But deep down, Arianne's real motive was far more selfish. She wanted Jon's love for herself, to claim him in a way Rhaenys never could. Rhaenys was too prickly and obsessive for Jon. The dragon lord needed someone like Arianne who would give him all he desires.

But if Jon heard that from someone he trusts… I am finished, Arianne realized with a sinking feeling. She had played her cards recklessly, and now she was cornered with no straightforward way out. Words failed her, a rare occurrence, and the weight of her silence spoke volumes.

"Exactly," Jon said, his voice filled with cold satisfaction as he released her.

Her heart stopped, panic clawing at her insides. Desperation took over. Without thinking, she lunged forward, grabbing Jon's face and pulling him into a kiss.

The moment their lips met, a shock of electricity surged through her, tingling from her head to her toes. The kiss was raw, intense, filled with the heat of desire that had been simmering beneath the surface. It was a gamble, but one she was willing to take.

When they finally pulled apart, Jon's eyes were darker than before. For a brief second, she feared she had made a fatal mistake.

But then she let a sly grin curl her lips as she took his hands and guided them down, revealing she wore nothing beneath her dress. "How can I convince you that I am an ally and not a foe?" she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. "There are forces aligned against you, my prince. Why not make me your friend?"

Arianne knew the risks. Spying on her own family was a dangerous game, but the stakes were high. Winning Jon's love—or at least his trust—could be the key to survival. And in that moment, as she felt the heat between them ignite, she knew she would do whatever it took. Because loving this dangerously dashing dragon lord, whose presence made her insides explode with desire, was worth any betrayal, any risk. She just hoped, deep down, that it might one day reward her.

She thought of the approval she had seen in her fathers eyes whenever he looked upon Quentyn. When his eyes aimed at her, she could only see disproval.

And this will stop my father if he ever intends to supplant me as heir in favor of Quentyn, Arianne thought, the determination solidifying in her mind. What better way to prove my worth as his rightful heir than by bringing a dragon lord into our fold? And not just any dragon lord—the offspring of our greatest humiliation.

Jon

Jon's first instinct was to snatch his hand away, to push Arianne back and tell her that he would not be manipulated. The thought of being controlled, of someone trying to use him, set his blood boiling. But as he stood there, with her hand guiding his, he hesitated.

Robb's words echoed in his mind. If what he said is true, I do not have many friends here. Should he really turn away a potential ally, especially one who, at this very moment, was pulling him deeper into her? He imagined Tyrion's reaction—first a scolding, then a raucous laugh at the situation Jon found himself in.

Or should I play along and use this to my advantage? he mused, letting his fingers move ever so slightly, drawing a low moan from Arianne.

Tyrion's voice came back to him, from one of their many conversations over cups of wine. "One thing I don't understand, Snow, is how you're so adept with strategy and the sword, yet you never use arguably the best weapon you have—your looks."

Arianne would one day be the Princess of Dorne, ruling over a kingdom that wished for his downfall. That was a certainty. And currently, she was closer to Aegon and his mother's schemes than he could ever be. But did that justify taking her as his wife? The thought troubled him, and he was not sure of the answer.

And in his depths, it pleased him a princess sought his attention when he spent many years being ignored as a bastard.

Lowering his head, Jon let his lips trail down her neck, eliciting a delighted shiver from her. "Your words will be considered," he murmured against her skin, his voice low. "I shall speak to you again."

They kissed once more, their tongues mingling in a heated exchange before they parted. Arianne's lips curved into a wicked smile as she gave him a playful squeeze through his tight breeches. "As my Lord Protector wishes," she said, her voice dripping with seduction. She turned away, her hips swaying provocatively as she walked off, leaving Jon with a whirl of thoughts.

And what of Rhaenys? The question gnawed at him. Would she be as willing to betray her family as Arianne seemed to be? Jon doubted it. Rhaenys and Aegon were as close as he was to Robb, or even Arya. The idea of Rhaenys being his enemy displeased him. He cared for her, but he could never forget what she had said about his mother.

Rhaenys might give me the best feelings, he thought, but her love would come at a cost, especially with Aegon at her side.

And that cost might be too great to bear.

As Jon walked back to his chambers, Ghost prowling silently by his side, a voice called out, "My prince, may I walk with you?"

He turned to see Ashara Dayne approaching, her haunting violet eyes locking onto his. Her long black hair framed a face that defied time, a smile gracing her lips as she moved toward him. Yet, when those violet eyes slid to Ghost, Jon noticed a flicker of fear. She stopped at a cautious distance.

I have always thought of her as my mother, Jon mused, observing her with a mixture of curiosity and longing. Countless days had been spent pondering whether this woman was the key to his past. Lord Stark was said to be enamored with her once. I thought she had been the link to the truth. He had considered going to Dorne just to find her, but the hatred Dorne bore for the North had kept him away. I would have died there, he realized.

"Of course, my lady," Jon replied, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts in his mind.

Ghost, give us a little space, Jon silently commanded. The Direwolf retreated a few paces, easing the tension that had crept into Ashara's posture. She rewarded him with another smile, one that illuminated her ageless beauty. When she offered her arm, Jon hesitated for just a heartbeat before looping his arm around hers. She might be older, but she possessed a timeless allure that made her seem his equal.

"The last time I saw you was in the Great Hall, when you stepped forward against Lady Stark's lie." Jon's voice held a hint of the shame he still felt, not for himself, but for the disgrace Lady Stark had brought upon them all. "I apologize on her behalf, my lady. I assure you, I took no part in those vile accusations."

It is one thing to lie, he thought bitterly. But to lie and bring shame upon another just to save your own skin? I should not be surprised. She made my life as a motherless bastard unbearable.

Ashara patted his arm gently, her touch a balm to his wounded pride. "Your apology is accepted, my prince. I knew you were not involved the moment you spoke the truth. As for her lie… Let us just say, from what I knew of her years ago, such a disgraceful act was not beneath her." There was a sharp edge to her voice, bitterness that Jon recognized all too well.

So, she and Lady Stark have a history, Jon noted. It seems I am not the only one with strong feelings about her.

But as curious as he was about the past, he was more concerned with the present. "How can I help you, my lady?"

The smile faded from Ashara's face, replaced by a grave expression. "Can we speak in the privacy of your solar? What I have to say is of foremost importance."

Once they were seated in the dimly lit chamber, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words, Ashara spoke. "I can safely assume you know that the crown prince has a dragon?"

Jon's mind raced, recalling the actions he had taken—destroying Cannibal's eggs to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands. But the knowledge that Aegon had secured a dragon still made his blood run cold. This is exactly why I destroyed those eggs. A dragon in the wrong hands is a weapon of unimaginable destruction, and now it has happened twice.

"I'm aware," he replied, his voice carefully neutral.

"The gods are curious indeed," Ashara continued, "to grant Gerold a dragon, only for it to pass to Aegon upon his death."

"You suspect foul play," Jon observed, the implications of her words not lost on him.

"Arthur shares my suspicions," Ashara said, her voice low and intense. "Gerold may have been a fool, but he was not so reckless as to directly attack a royal party led by Arthur himself."

Jon nodded. "He would have used someone else as a pawn, hiding in the shadows like a coward," he said, reflecting on the assassination attempt against him. "It's a pattern we've seen before."

A faint smile touched Ashara's lips. "Yes, my prince. My late cousin was only daring when he was sure of his success. Someone must have emboldened him to make such a brazen attempt on Arthur's life. I intend to find out who and deal with them myself."

Jon's mind whirred with possibilities. Who stands to gain from this? The answer seemed clear, though elusive. "If they were clever, they would have covered their tracks well. But there is always a chance a rat has slipped through. And who better to find such pests than a Direwolf?"

He stood, looking down at her. "I believe your word about this being part of a larger scheme. I will ensure it is brought to light and that justice is served."

Ashara's gaze was fixed on him. "You resemble Ned Stark more than you realize."

Jon stiffened at her words. Why does she say that?

"You may have Rhaegar's eyes, but your features are unmistakably Stark. You do not blend in with the rest of them," Ashara continued, her tone both wistful and piercing.

"Some might say there is no place for me," Jon replied, his voice edged with bitterness.

"Ever since I first heard of you in Essos, I imagined what might have been," Ashara said softly. "Ned would have been my husband, and you would have been my son, raised in a loving home instead of enduring the brutalities you have faced. I never imagined Lyanna as your mother." Her voice carried a deep sorrow.

Jon's heart ached at her words. Sometimes, I wondered if you were my mother, if Lord Stark had kept it a secret to avoid conflict. I never thought Lyanna was my mother. It hurts to think of her and how many times I walked past her crypt without realizing.

"If only Ned and you had been mine…" Ashara's hands rose in a gesture of longing before falling to her sides. "And this is why the queen despises you."

Jon clenched the hilt of Blackfyre at his waist, his thoughts darkening. "Her disdain for me is unjustified."

"To her, it is entirely justified," Ashara replied, her tone sharp. "Rhaegar's choice to crown Lyanna Stark in this very castle shattered her dreams and wounded her pride. Elia and the Martells are proud people, and they have not forgotten the lives lost for Rhaegar to bring you into the world."

Jon's eyes narrowed. "I will not forget their transgressions if they act on their old grievances. Lyanna Stark is my mother, and no one will take that from me." He regarded Ashara warily. "You were supposed to be her closest friend. Why are you telling me this?"

"My relationship with the queen never recovered after Arthur supported the King's marriage to Lyanna. Her smiles were hollow, her eyes icy. And now, I suspect she might have had a hand in the attempt on my brother's life." Fury blazed in her violet eyes. "I thought we were slowly healing to what we had. I will never forgive her for this."

Jon's mind raced at the revelation. The notion of the queen's childhood friend being set against her was a dangerous development. He kept his smile hidden, the gravity of the situation settling in. "Indeed, we have a hunt ahead of us, my lady."

Ashara's hand was light on his arm, her touch gentle and comforting. A radiant smile softened her expression. "Thank you again, my prince," she said with sincere gratitude.

The sun was blinking in the sky as Jon and Ashara left the castle Jon had left abuzz.

As they prepared to mount, Jon extended a hand to Ashara. "Allow me, my lady," he said softly. His touch was gentle but firm, providing her with the support she needed to mount her horse gracefully. Ashara gave him a grateful nod, her eyes momentarily softening from the usual stern resolve.

With Ashara settled, Jon turned to Ghost. The massive Direwolf stood proudly, his white fur almost glowing in the morning light. Jon's bond with Ghost had always been strong, but today it would be tested in a way it never had before. He mounted Ghost with practiced ease, and the two of them moved as one, a testament to their deep connection.

The journey to the ambush site was uneventful, but the weight of their purpose hung heavy in the air. Ashara's eyes scanned the landscape, her face a mask of determination. Jon's gaze remained fixed ahead, his mind already reaching out to Ghost, preparing for what was to come.

As they arrived at the scene, Jon dismounted and walked to Ashara, who was already examining the ground. "This is where it happened," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jon nodded and closed his eyes, focusing on the bond he shared with Ghost. He felt the world shift around him as he warged into the Direwolf, his consciousness melding with Ghost's. The scents and sounds of the forest sharpened, and Jon opened Ghost's eyes, seeing the world through the Direwolf's heightened senses.

Ghost's nose twitched as he sniffed the air, catching the faint scent of blood lingering on the breeze. Jon guided Ghost towards the source, his heart pounding in his chest. They moved with purpose, Ghost's powerful limbs carrying them swiftly over the uneven ground.

It did not take long for Ghost to find the first trace: a small, dark stain of blood on a rock. He urged Ghost onward, searching for more clues.

A few paces away, Ghost's sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual. A torn piece of fabric, snagged on a low-hanging branch, fluttered gently in the wind. Jon's heart raced as he realized the significance of their findings. The fabric was richly woven, a stark contrast to the rough surroundings.

Jon returned to his own body with a jolt, the transition leaving him momentarily disoriented. He stumbled slightly, but Ashara was there to steady him, her hand gripping his arm tightly.

"What did you find?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of hope and trepidation.

"Blood, and this," Jon replied, holding out the torn piece of fabric. Ashara's eyes widened as she took it from him, her fingers trembling.

"This is not from Arthur," she whispered, her voice hard. "This is from one of the brigands. We are on the right track."

"It has been days, but Ghost's sense of smell is better than any hound," Jon said.

Jon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll find them, Ashara. We'll make sure they pay for what they did to Arthur."

Ashara looked up at him, her eyes blazing with determination. "Together," she said firmly. "We'll do it together." She ran her eyes over his face.

Ghost sniffed the fabric, his nose twitching as he caught the scent. With a low growl, he started off, leading Jon and Ashara deeper into the forest. They followed Ghost for over three hours, the Direwolf's keen senses guiding them through the dense underbrush and over rocky terrain. Jon can notice the frequent glances Ashara tried to hide.

I remind her of the man she had loved years ago. Jon did not know how to feel about that.

As they approached a clearing, they saw a figure darting through the trees. The brigand was trying to flee, but not from them. Shadows moved swiftly in the forest, mysterious attackers closing in on the brigand. Jon and Ghost surged forward, intent on preventing the brigand from being killed before they could get answers.

Jon leaped from Ghost's back, drawing Blackfyre as he rushed to intercept the attackers. Ghost's fierce growls echoed through the clearing as he lunged at the nearest foe. Ashara stayed back, her eyes wide as she watched the scene unfold.

Jon's blade clashed with the first attacker, a man clad in dark leather. The force of the impact reverberated up Jon's arm, but he pressed forward, his movements swift and deadly. The attacker swung a heavy mace, but Jon ducked under the blow, driving his sword into the man's unprotected side. The brigand fell with a strangled cry, blood pooling beneath him.

Another attacker came at Jon from the left, brandishing a wickedly curved dagger. Jon parried the first strike, then kicked out, catching the man in the knee. The attacker stumbled, and Jon took the opportunity to drive Blackfyre through the man's chest. He withdrew his blade just in time to see Ghost tearing into a third foe, the Direwolf's powerful jaws clamping down on the man's throat.

Amidst the chaos, Jon caught sight of a figure creeping towards Ashara. The attacker's eyes gleamed with malevolence as he raised his weapon. Jon's heart lurched, and he lunged forward, his sword flashing through the air. The attacker turned at the last moment, but it was too late. Jon's blade struck true, cutting the man down before he could reach Ashara.

"Stay close!" Jon shouted, his voice carrying over the din of battle. Ashara nodded, her face pale but resolute.

Jon turned back to the fray just in time to see the brigand cry out as a blade pierced his leg. The brigand fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Jon's fury was a tangible force as he dispatched the remaining attackers with lethal precision. When the last one fell, he turned to the brigand, who was clutching his bleeding leg and glaring up at him with a mix of fear and defiance.

"You helped Gerold Dayne to threaten the life of Rhaenys Targaryen. Who hired you?" Jon demanded, his voice cold and unyielding. The brigand stared at Blackfyre that was still idle in his hands, drenched with blood.

The brigand spat on the ground, his face twisted in bitterness. "It was Elia Martell and her snake of a brother, Oberyn. They wanted both Arthur and Gerold dead. I have been hiding in Harrenhall before they found me, and I was forced to run for my life."

Ashara's face contorted with rage and hurt. "Elia and Oberyn? They will pay for this treachery! We must go to the king and Arthur at once."

I have a different plan in mind.

Jon's voice was firm and resolute. "No, my lady. We shall reveal the depth of their deceit, but the truth should be withheld from the king and Arthur for the time being. The lords favor Aegon and his dragon; it is likely Rhaegar does as well. When the veil finally lifts from their eyes, it will be our chance to expose Aegon and his bitter family for who they truly are."

He felt a surge of cold resolve. The attempts to tarnish his name and those of the North felt like an affront to the memory of his mother. I will go to war to protect her memory," Jon thought, the intensity of his resolve clear.

Ashara's anger cut through his thoughts. "They have turned members of my family against each other. You would have me delay the truth? Delay my justice for the wrongdoings of those I thought were closest to me?"

Jon met her gaze with unwavering calm. "Yes."

Ashara's eyes flared with indignation. "I will not stand for it! Do you hear me, Jon?" She stepped closer, her finger pressing into his chest with an intensity that spoke of her frustration and hurt.

Jon's mind raced to find the right words. He knew the value of the truth in their current circumstances, but he needed to persuade her to see it his way.

Realizing the emotional connection she felt, he decided to use that. I remind you of Lord Stark, Jon thought, recognizing the familiarity that might work to his advantage. Is he willing to use that against this lady who has every right to be furious?

Jon gently placed a hand on her cheek, halting her passionate rant. "I have every intention to give you what you desire and more. Just give us time, and you will see."

Her anger diminished slightly, replaced by confusion. "What do you expect to achieve by doing this?"

Jon's gaze was steady, his tone deliberate. "The crown prince and his mother want to play games, and I will beat them at it. By the time their arrogance makes them complacent, we will have denounced them before the whole realm." He caressed her cheek gently. "Your correspondence will be invaluable to our cause."

A smile slowly returned to her face, full of promise and understanding. Her violet eyes sparkled with a glimmer of hope that have evaded her for years. "Appreciation from the prince?"

Jon kissed her cheek softly, a gesture of sincere gratitude. Ashara sighed softly, her frustration ebbing away. "I have been forcibly led away on horseback and bound while my brother was forced to kill our cousin. My mind tells me to deny you, but my heart listens to the words of a young man who could have been my son."

"Listen to your heart, my lady," Jon advised, his tone gentle but firm. "Sometimes, that's all we have left to guide us."

He then addressed the brigand, pulling him to his feet and eliciting a pained hiss. "I do not trust my Household guard. Do you have loyal men in your service to hold him?"

Ashara's gaze softened with resolve. "Of course."

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting an orange hue over Harrenhal's outer courtyard where Jon and Ghost lingered. The red and gold banner of House Lannister flapped in the wind, a symbol of the new and uncertain alliances forming within these ancient walls. Jon's thoughts were occupied with Myrcella Targaryen's arrival—whether she would be known as Myrcella Targaryen, Myrcella Hills, or Myrcella Waters, he was uncertain. What was clear was that her arrival complicated the intricate political landscape.

Tywin Lannister, with his shrewdness and penchant for maintaining power, would never openly acknowledge that his granddaughter was the product of incest. Her legitimacy was a point of contention, but Jon saw an opportunity. Marrying Myrcella could secure the crucial support of Casterly Rock and its substantial wealth. While Jon distrusted Tywin Lannister deeply, he recognized the necessity of Lannister gold for the forthcoming conflict beyond the Wall.

Jon thought about the pale wraiths in his nightmares and dread crawled up his spine. Can the Others be a mere nightmare and stay a myth? Can the King's visions of them just be a sign of Targaryen madness in the both of us?

When Jon swept back into the corridors of his castle, a housekeeper came before him and bowed her head. "My prince and Lord Protector, the King has bid you to attend supper in the Royal families' private chambers."

Dinner with all of them? Jon liked it not. To eat in the presence of all those who hated him displeased him; it did not, however, displease him as greatly as giving them satisfaction in not showing his face.

Jon observed the housekeeper, seeing her bow low, trembling. She is afraid of me. This is their doing.

He kept his composure and dismissed the housekeeper with a curt, "Have a good night." As he prepared for the supper, Jon chose an outfit of black, the color of midnight, to reflect his inner resolve and the persona that the court seemed to associate with him.

Let them see me as the Black Prince, he thought. If that is how they wish to label me, then I will embrace it. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of me despising the name.

As he approached the private chambers where the family supper was to be held, he steeled himself for the mix of reactions he would face. Upon his entry, the room fell silent, and Jon could feel the weight of every gaze upon him.

Everyone had their respectful facade of nonchalance, but Jon could feel the weight of their gazes and not all of them were welcoming. House Martell, Targaryen, and Tyrell were all present, including Margaery, Garlan and Willas Tyrell. Jon's sharp eyes noticed the significant space between Aegon and Margaery, hinting at an unspoken rift.

Rhaegar greeted him with a small smile, a gesture that felt both welcoming and measured. Elia's smile was polite, but Jon could see the hatred simmering just beneath the surface. Oberyn's gaze was that of a predator, sharp and unyielding, reminiscent of a viper ready to strike.

Jon Connington announced Jon's entry with a voice that resonated through the intimate space. "Presenting the prince of the king and the lord protector."

The Kingsguard, standing discreetly by the walls, nodded their heads in respect as Jon entered, and he shared a glance with Rhaenys. Her beauty struck him anew, and the sight of her brought a sense of warmth mixed with a deep, lingering uncertainty. Arianne gave him a secrete wink from the other side of the large table. As Jon passed, he felt the brief touch of Rhaenys's fingers on his arm unnoticed by all.

The long table was laden with an impressive array of dishes: roasted pheasant with fragrant herbs, platters of fresh fruits and cheeses, bowls of creamy soups, and loaves of warm, crusty bread. There were rich stews, roasted vegetables, and delicate pastries filled with sweet custards. The aromas mingled in the air, a tantalizing blend that did little to ease the underlying tension. Mya Stone walked around with a full flagon to fill up goblets, working in solemn silence.

Jon moved to the empty seat between Daenerys and Rhaella Targaryen. As he sat down, he could sense the tension thickening in the room, an almost palpable force pressing in from all sides. The air was heavy with unspoken words and simmering conflicts, setting the stage for what was to come.

"Thank you for the invitation, my king," he said, striving to keep his voice steady. The thought of calling Rhaegar "father" still felt foreign, like a piece of armor he could not quite fit. The ache of his true father's absence was always there, more prominent now with troubling news from the North. Lord Stark had assembled a massive army to confront the wildlings, and Jon's dreams of the white wraiths gnawed at him with growing unease.

Rhaegar's smile was warm, his silver hair flowing freely. "You are part of this family and my son. You do not need to be invited to dine with us."

Rhaella, with her ageless beauty and Valyrian features, touched Jon's arm gently. "And how could we dine without the prince who put an end to The War That Never Was?"

Daenerys, sitting right by Jon, exuded an ethereal grace that momentarily took Jon's breath away. "They are calling it that?" Jon asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes, dear nephew," Daenerys replied with a playful smirk. "The minstrels and bards have made songs about it."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "They make songs for everything."

"Indeed," Daenerys said, laughing softly. "There is even one my mother did not find all that amusing—'The Black Dragon and the Toothless Old Lion.'"

The room erupted in light laughter, but Rhaella's face darkened slightly. "Slighting Tywin Lannister will gain you nothing but his eternal disdain," she warned. "And I cannot pretend to be pleased that my son and my grandson have willingly marched into the lion's den."

Jon turned to Daenerys. "You disapprove?"

Daenerys spoke for her mother. "My mother disapproves greatly. I, too, had my concerns. Why not send a Kingsguard to handle it?"

Jon's response was firm and unwavering. "I won't send a man to do my bidding when I can do it myself."

The words echoed a lesson from his past. Ned Stark had often said, "Who gives the sentence must swing the sword." Jon had carried that principle with him, even into battles with Cannibal. Warging into his dragon, he witnessed the fear and last moments of his enemies firsthand—he owed them that.

Jon can feel the passion that Cannibal felt, the one that always threatened to consume who he was.

"I felt the same years ago when I met Robert Baratheon on the Trident," Rhaegar said softly, effortlessly drawing every eye to him. The king's eyes were cloudy. "The waters were knee-high and flowed with blood. I was in the midst of it. Barriston himself tried to reign me in, but I set eyes on Baratheon, and I would have none of it."

Barriston nodded from his section along the wall, a grim smile on his bearded face. "I can assist to that. There were armored men all around us. The king cut a bloody path to meet the usurper in single combat. Only a living dragon could have pulled back the king that day."

Rhaegar smiled sadly. "The war was of my own doing. I had to finish it."

A couple of people shifted in their seats. Jon can see Oberyn stare at the king with something akin to disgust, and Elia who stared at the king with a look Jon knew all too well – bitterness. Mya stood off to the side, her face a mask.

"I knew that as long as Robert Baratheon lived more people would die and my family would never be safe. I truly do not know where you all would be if I lost that day." Rhaegar's eyes slowly swept over the table, looking at every face. "Would you all be sitting together still? Would you even know of each other?"

"And that is why I plunged my sword through his back – a man who believed he was fighting for the right cause. I did it for House Targaryen – I did it for our family. And that is why we must cast away petty grievances and stand as one. For the only thing that can destroy House Targaryen is itself."

The meaning was clear.

Daenerys broke the silence. She placed a hand on Jon's arm. "We are glad you made it back safely nephew."

"I share the same sentiment, princess."

Her laugh was sweet. "Our new Lord Protector and hero."

Her laughter was sweet, but Jon was acutely aware of the attention he was receiving. The amused look from Arianne, the watchful eyes of Rhaenys, and Aegon's barely concealed scowl painted a complex picture. Jon's thoughts turned to the implications of Daenerys's lingering touch. Was there more to her relationship with Aegon than met the eye? How does his lady wife feels about that?

Having said that Jon sipped his water and helped Testing the waters, Jon kissed Daenerys's hand under her bright purple gaze. "What Lord Protector would I be if I didn't defend the innocent beautiful princesses of the realm such as you?" Flattery never served Jon, but a dragon changes things; those in the room raised their eyebrows.

Daenerys, all in her beauty, blushed.

The crown prince spoke. "Where have you learned flattery from, little brother? I doubt it was from the north as your lowly status prevented such things."

Indeed he does.

Jon's satisfaction remained hidden behind a composed facade. He knew Aegon's words were meant to provoke, but Jon had learned the art of subtlety from his time in the Golden Company, the magisters, and from his observations of Tyrion. Aegon's attempt to belittle him was noted, but Jon was prepared.

Jon's gaze stayed steady, observing Aegon's demeanor. Despite the easy-going smile, Aegon's eyes burned with barely contained fire. Jon had learned that eyes often revealed the true emotions hidden beneath a controlled exterior.

"Essos has a different view than Westeros. The magistors, princes, merchants….they cared none for my status. They cared more about my skill with a sword. I took the opportunity to travel across the free cities to dine with the richest and the most powerful men to the west. I observed their customs and how they talked."

Jon looked down by his plate and saw two choices of wine and water; he picked up the water. "I doubt you have much experience in that considering your princely status limited you to Kingslanding. No room for growth there."

Jon helped himself to some bread and roasted vegetables. Clatters of plates and utensils were heard. No one made small talk. It was fine for him. They talked too much anyway.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Daenerys side-eyeing him weirdly. Jon adjusted his head just enough so it would not be noticeable. He was able to see that everyone gave him frequent glances. What were they thinking or scheming? Jon did not know and didn't particularly care.

"Prince Jon," Garlan Tyrell called out from his seat next to his sister. "I have seen you fight two times, and I might I ask, who taught you the sword?"

"We….were most shocked at what we have seen earlier, my prince. Your display of prowess left many to wonder if you were the best swordsmen in the world," Margaery said, her words flowing like honey. Aegon gave her a look, which prompted a small smile from Jon – which only made Margaery smile brighter.

Everyone looked at Jon then, Oberyn and Elia especially, expecting him to give out some sort of apology for the embarrassment he dished out on the people of Dorne.

Jon did not.

Jon felt a great satisfaction for what he did and saw no reason to apologize. Why offer condolences to the oppressors?

"Thank you, my lady," Jon told Margaery. All I dreamed of was to be a great swordsman to be considered in the same breath as knights like Arthur, Barriston, even the Kingslayer.

Garlan leaned forward. "And that is why I am most curious about the training you received. I consider your fighting style to be some sort of orthodox."

You want to know how I bested your brother, Jon knew. Loras and Garlan was said to be the two best swordsmen in the Reach. Jon defeated one of them. "Winterfell's master-at-arms Ser Rodrik Cassel taught Robb Stark and I in the sword and the joust when we came of age…."

"Your cousin overshadowed the bastard of Winterfell more often than not, yay?" Aegon said and took a bite of his chicken.

"Nay," Jon said calmly, never breaking eye contact with Garlan. "I was the better sword, and he was the better joust."

"For whatever good that did him," Aegon muttered in his goblet.

Anger started to brew. Jon kept the scowl from his face. "I left for Essos to join the Golden Company. I sparred everyday with one of their bests and learned. Their contracts had me traveling all over the continent of Essos and meeting men who were far knowledgeable of the body than I. I frequently clashed blades with the Dothraki, and I took some of their styles and adapted to my own."

Garlan nodded, very much satisfied with his answer. "Very impressive, my prince. It explains why your style is incredibly unique."

Willas Tyrell, his leg propped discreetly beneath the table to alleviate the pain, leaned forward with genuine curiosity. "Jon, I've been meaning to ask," he began, his voice carrying the cultured accent of Highgarden. "How did Ghost fare in Essos? It must have been hard for a Direwolf to be so distant from his natural habitat in the North."

Jon paused. Has it been that long already?

"It was a struggle for Ghost," he admitted. "He was much smaller back then, and I could tell he missed his fellow Direwolf siblings, even though he never made a sound. The heat and the unfamiliar lands were challenging for him."

Willas nodded, his interest piqued. "I imagine people must have been wary of approaching you with such a beast by your side. Even when you were a fresh arrival to the lands."

A faint smile tugged at Jon's lips. "They were. Ghost grew rapidly, and his presence deterred many from threatening me. People did not approach much, not with a Direwolf at my side. But it was not just his size that protected me. Ghost did the hunting when we were out on solo missions for the Golden Company. He always brought back good game, enough to keep us fed."

Willas's eyes widened slightly. "A Direwolf hunting in Essos. That must have been a sight to see. Did he ever struggle with the different prey there?"

"At first," Jon replied, "but he adapted quickly. He learned to navigate the terrain, to track the unfamiliar scents. Ghost saved my life in many battles. His instincts, his speed, his ferocity—they were unmatched. There were times when I thought I was done for, surrounded by enemies, but Ghost was always there, a silent guardian in the chaos."

Willas smiled warmly. "It sounds like he was more than just a companion. He was a true partner."

Jon nodded. "He was. Ghost is part of me, just as much as any part of my own body. Without him, I don't think I would have survived Essos, or the battles that followed."

That was the end of it.

Dany whispered to him. "What of Old Valyria? It is said that you and the Imp ventured their alone."

"Tyrion, not Imp," Jon said firmly.

There was a flash of anger in her eyes before she nodded. She must not be used to being corrected, Jon observed.

"You and Tyrion Lannister did what thousands could not. And you returned with Cannibal. What happened?" Her curiosity was obvious now.

Jon grew quiet, memories of Old Valyria rushing back to him. He could feel the darkness of that place seeping into his bones once more, its cold tendrils wrapping around his heart. "It was... something else," he began, his voice low, ensuring their conversation remained private.

"We encountered riches, documents, texts, spells, and Valyrian swords—things Westeros has never seen before. There were weapons and monsters no one would believe walked this world." Jon paused, the haunting images flashing before his eyes. "Even though I am a great swordsman, and Tyrion is the smartest man I have ever met, and Ghost is the biggest wolf there is, we would have all died if it wasn't for Cannibal."

Daenerys's eyes were wide with curiosity and concern. Jon continued, "Cannibal was just one of the many predators there. He was not even close to being the most dangerous monster. Old Valyria is a place where the past lingers in the most terrifying ways."

"If it was so dangerous as you claim, why not ride upon Cannibal, and leave swiftly? Better yet why even go?" Daenerys asked, leaning forward to the point their foreheads almost touched.

"That I cannot tell you," Jon said, the words getting stuck.

Jon's thoughts drifted, recalling the horrors they had faced, the way the darkness had consumed them both. He remembered the cunning that had grown within him, the ruthless efficiency that had taken hold of Tyrion. They had both emerged from Old Valyria as different men, sharper and more calculating, the shadows of that cursed place forever etched into their souls.

The influence had waned after their departure, but Jon will never forget.

Doesn't it make more sense now, Tyrion? We were both focused on how I survived when Cannibal burned the ship, but what about you? The sorcery, the blood, the fire, it made the valyrian power in our blood come alive. It made us temporarily immune to fire. You were my uncle this whole time….

The flickering torchlight played across Daenerys's face, highlighting her concern. Jon's voice softened as he finished, "The darkness in Old Valyria changed us, Dany. It made us more cunning, more... ruthless. It's a place where even the strongest can lose themselves."

Daenerys nodded slowly, her eyes on his face. "Thank you for telling me, Jon."

He tried to give her a smile but could not. "Some things are best kept in the shadows, but I trust you to understand."

Even now, Jon could not open up fully about Old Valyria.

"Your name day is tomorrow then?"

Rhaenys's voice cut through the air like a sharp knife and silenced the room, efficiently bringing the attention to her. Rhaenys eyed him intently from her place by her brother, who on the other hand appeared not to care at all.

I have already forgotten about that.

"It appears that is the case, princess," Jon said. He had not spared it a thought and so why should she?

"So….what are your plans? The princess is most curious." Rhaenys laughed softly, idly swaying the goblet in her hand.

"I'm going to choose and replace those in my Household guard and speak with the Riverlords."

Rhaenys blinked. "For your name day?" She voiced it as if his words personally offended her.

Jon shrugged. "It's just another day for me." Lord Stark never told them the official day of his birth. But it was common knowledge that his and Robb's birth were not far apart. A couple of days after Robb would celebrate his name day, Lord Stark would eventually give him gifts and soft words of affirmation of his love for him. Lady Stark never made it possible for more, but Jon craved it all the same.

Only encouraged, Rhaenys turned to the king. "Father, how can we honor the dragon lord of the family? Jon might be complacent in doing nothing, but we shall decide for him."

Decide for me? Jon almost frowned. Daenerys and Rhaella nodded along with her, however.

"A splendid idea to spoil my nephew!" Daenerys exclaimed, looping her arm through his. It easily drew Aegon's glare and a blank stare from Rhaenys.

Rhaegar noted, smiling softly. "There can be a cultural celebration of sorts. There can be festival of games, art, singing, and poetry to display the cultures of the Seven Kingdoms. This way it can be helpful in choosing those in your Household guards, my son. This will bring those in the realm closer and prepare them for what is to come." Rhaegar gave Jon a knowing look.

This can be the chance to slowly ease the lords about the threat of the Others. It will be easier with the lords having to respect my position as Lord Protector. But will they pay heed even then?

"Thank you, Your Grace." The urge to call him father was still unknown to Jon, who has known Lord Stark as his father his whole life.

"Your Grace, not father?" Aegon asked with a raised eyebrow.

Before Jon could mount a defense, the queen said, "Come now, Aegon. We know your half-brother is still getting accustomed to soaring amongst royalty."

Elia's face looked kind. Jon can only see Lady Stark.

Jon hated it, but Elia was right. It sent anger rushing up his spine.

"As you know, I am the newly acclaimed Lord Protector of the realm. What good would that do for me if the lords see I am addressing the king so informal?" Jon said calmly.

Elia's eyes did not look convinced.

"Ah, let us appraise the bastard turned prince for his station was so suddenly elevated." Oberyn had a sharp smile, his eyes and words mocking Jon both. "The newly found prince has been named Lord Protector and claimed Harrenhall his seat, thoroughly replacing Lady Whent. No doubt the lady is grateful for giving up her seat she had for years to a man who had spent most of his years in the north and Essos. Don't you agree Whent?"

Oswell Whent did not comment, though Jon could see the judgement beneath his bat helm.

"Lady Whent will be well compensated, Prince Oberyn," Jon said.

"Enough for the loss of Harrenhall?"

"Enough where it resembles how Prince Doran well compensated House Yronwood after the unfortunate accident with Lord Edgar Yronwood." Jon's eyes slid to Quentyn, who stilled. The Sand snakes shifted. Arianne looked a little upset.

The amused glint in Oberyn's eyes was gone, replaced with something more dangerous. "Is that so?"

"I believe so."

"Where's the compensation for us after your mother's part in the rebellion?" Aegon asked idly.

Those in the room completely stilled at Aegon's question. Anger burned in Jon's chest. "What are you saying?" Jon asked, almost certain his lip was curling into a snarl.

Rhaenys

This can get ugly. For all her time at court, she can smell when mere chatter can dissolve into something much more hostile. Tension had been marinating in this room and could very much break out. Jon's solemn guarded eyes now were two dark pools of anger. He no longer looked like the guarded man whose mystery clung to him like a shadow. He looked more animalistic like his Direwolf and ready to pounce.

That same animalistic display he showed earlier in the courtyard had given her a warm feeling that quickly made her feel wet. But now she felt dread, dread if a fight broke out between her lover and brother. And she would have to choose.

Rhaenys placed a hand on Aegon's arm. "Aegon was merely jesting, Jon. It was a poor one but an attempt all the same." She squeezed his arm to get her point across.

Aegon turned to look at her, an assured smile on his face that pleased Rhaenys none. "I will not jest about the deaths of our people that could have been avoided." He looked at the scowling Jon. "What is our compensation, half-brother? The sins of the mother passes down to the child, and so how would you repay us?"

"I repaid tenfold by saving your worthless life in Kingslanding," Jon said. The coldness in his voice washed over everyone.

"The crown prince's life is worthless? From the mouth of the man who is motherless?" Aegon laughed. Oberyn and the Sand Snakes chuckled. Elia looked pleased. This only inflamed Jon's cold fury.

"The same man who you insult is the one which you drew your power from. How do you think you got your little dragon? Mystic is but a mere hatchling from Cannibal, my dragon."

Rhaenys watched in confusion, as did everyone else, as Jon raised his cup high in the air. "You speak of my mother and so let us raise a toast to her," Jon sneered. "The queen who should have been. I have the same mind as the king who had the exact same thought years ago. Lyanna Stark would have been a much better queen." Jon did not shout as Rhaenys or Aegon would have. He said his words with ruthless efficiency and coldness that sent shivers down Rhaenys's spine.

You did not have to involve my mother in this squabble. But Aegon did initiate first. Rhaenys stayed silent when the room stood up in an uproar, choosing to sip her wine which was the only thing that made sense to her at this time.

"Enough!"

Everyone grew quiet when the king rose his voice over the din. The king stared in disappointment at both of his sons who were both on their feet glaring at the other. "The night is at an end. Everyone disperse. It loathes me to look at any of you."

Slowly everyone rose up and left the room. They made sure to give Aegon and Jon a wide berth.

"Stay Rhaenys," her father commanded her.

Her brother gave her a lingering look before filtering out with the rest of them. Rhaenys sat down and looked at her father who observed her silently.

"This supper was a disaster," her father said bluntly.

"It was." Rhaenys could not lie. It was a shit show.

"I had hoped this would be a small step to bring everyone closer. But it has not. And I finally see the distance between my own two sons."

Rhaenys saw it. Jon and Aegon had sat right across the table from each other, an obvious seat arrangement made by her father's hand. It only highlighted the two's differences. Rhaenys had been seated right there to witness this. Aegon is a true image of Valyria with straight silver hair and purple eyes and a confident smile that almost seemed arrogant. Jon looked a Stark with his long curly dark brown hair and long solemn face. The only thing that marked him Targaryen was his purple eyes that only seemed more piercing because of his Northern features.

They are both quick to anger it seems, Rhaenys noted. That did not bond well. She took another sip of her wine.

The two could not be more different. And Lyanna Stark's shadow loomed over both of them.

"What of you daughter? The last I recall you have given Jon a sharp slap and a sharp word and now today you were the one to suggest to celebrate his name day in a meaningful way."

Rhaenys was not comfortable being forced to admit the truth of the matter. But her father's insistent gaze prompt her to say, "I shouldn't have hit him. We made amends."

Rhaegar rose an eyebrow.

"Sort of," Rhaenys admitted grudgingly. She had confronted Jon before he left to stop a war. Their conversation was not anything comforting, and the conclusion left much to be desired. I know he has to be mine. My past feelings are irrelevant.

"I loved his mother dearly, and obviously he does as well. You spoke of his mother harshly, Rhaenys. I assume he will forever hold that against you."

She can see the disappointment in his gaze and cannot help but wonder, Is he right? Will Jon always resent me over that despite my apology? It dismayed her.

"And he will hold it against Aegon, the crown prince of the realm. But he at least tolerates you so there is a chance there to make amends. I do not merely mean the childish war you are having with Arianne for his attention. You have brought shame on us for your actions in this, daughter."

If he thought she would feel ashamed, he was disappointed once again. If I have the chance to throttle that whore again I shall pounce on it. She gave a little smile at the thought of it.

Her father sighed at seeing her smile. "I want you to do your best to get in Jon's good graces again."

You did not have to tell me. Rhaenys had already raked her brain for hours on the best way to appeal to him again. She was not worried about his attraction to her, as many times men claimed she was the most beautiful woman in the realm. But if he lost feelings for her? Everything was moot.

"I want you to do this for the good of the family," the king continued. "You can be the bridge between Jon and Aegon and have them act the brothers they were supposed to be. I am afraid I am the wrong person to do this. Jon has yet to see me as a father, and Aegon has the ear of his mother. In the hostility between two brothers who are both dragon lords, you are the best choice."

I will be wedged between them in the hopes they will wake up and suddenly like each other. If it fails I would have to choose, Rhaenys knew. But she can hear the urgency in her father's voice. He is counting on me. She swallowed the knot in her throat.

"I cannot give guarantees I will be successful," Rhaenys said, fingering one of her ringlets.

Her father gave her a smile. "You will your best, my daughter."

As he left the room, Rhaenys had one question that plagued her. "Did you hope to replace mother and have Jon the heir?" She could not help but ask.

Rhaenys watched as the king's cloak flow behind him as the door closed. He must not have heard me.

When she was about to retire, the queen re-entered the room.

"Mother, I thought you were going to bed."

"I was simply waiting for you, my sweet." Her mother's smile was strained and instantly had her alert.

"What troubles you?" Rhaenys took her hands and clasped them with her own.

"Many things, many things…." Elia sat down with a heavy sigh. "This supper only added onto my plate."

"It could have been worse. No one died," Rhaenys simply said, offering nothing more.

Elia rubbed her hands. "It could have gone smoother. The words that were said…..it ached my heart."

"Just as it did mine."

"When….when your half-brother dished out insults on your brother why did you not take to his defense?"

Should I pretend to look shocked or not? Rhaenys wondered with a frown. "They both slighted each other, mother." She did not like what Aegon said; she hated what Jon said more. Aegon provoked Jon. Jon retaliated to the full extent and insulted her mother, her people and even her by association. It was not something she wanted to dwell on.

Her mother gave her a disappointed look. "You would let your….inconvenient feelings for this stranger blind you to the fact of what he is?"

"What are you talking about?" Rhaenys said sharply.

"He is a threat to our family."

Jon, a threat to me? Her laugh bursts out her lips.

"This is no joking matter, Rhaenys. His mother almost torn the realm in two by bewitching your father and sending thousands of our people to their early graves. Do you not realize that she made your father want to replace you and Aegon with his son by that Stark woman?"

To her shame, she had given it thought. But Rhaenys thought about those times when her father would read to her and Aegon and play his harp to the point where she shed tears. Is this the same man her mother spoke of?

"Well, Jon is here now. So why not declare him heir and get on with it?" Rhaenys tested.

"Your father has love for you two, the only piece of mercy that spares you two. But Jon, that man, is the son of Lyanna Stark who wanted to take my position. Did you not hear the words from his own mouth about his mother being a better queen? He desires to pick up the work his mother left unfinished and usurp Aegon's Throne."

"I don't believe it."

"He is working your father's love for the late Lyanna Stark. How do you think he has been given the position of Lord Protector and this very castle which lies in the heart of Westeros? He gave him Blackfyre, the blade that should have been given to Aegon. Little by little, he will reach with his greedy bastard hands and your father will give. Why would your father deny him – the son he had always wanted. Let us give the king the benefit of the doubt and say he will do right by you and Aegon. Well, he is not getting younger. Jon's power and influence will grow. Aegon's life will be forfeit when Rhaegar finally lies to rest."

"Mother stop," Rhaenys told her, having no more desire to hear of this. Her mother's touch on her hands was suddenly cold.

"Are you ok with this?" Elia asked sharply.

"Jon will not do such a thing!" Rhaenys denied, her voice rising.

"Do you think Jon is his real name? Do you really believe Rhaegar named his son Jon, hmm? No, his real name is Maegor Targaryen."

At once the name sent ice down her spine. Rhaenys shook her head. No.

"Is that bad omen not good for you? Does it not provide you with enough agency? Will you let Maegor kill Aegon and destroy our family?"

"That will not happen," Rhaenys growled.

"Will you let Maegor cut your brother down with Blackfyre and let his beast devour upon his corpse? Just for this childish fantasy you have for him?"

"Enough!" Rhaenys snarled, snatching her hand away. Her anger reared its head. "You go too far, Mother, too far!" Her voice was full of venom. "Do not fathom to prey upon my feelings!"

Elia's eyes grew sad. "Do you not love us?"

Some part of Rhaenys soften at the look and gave her enough time to stop the shakiness of her arms and dispense the anger that clouded her eyes.

"Will you protect your brother? Will you protect me? Will you protect your family?" Elia asked quietly.

Elia waited patiently as Rhaenys soothed herself.

When she was done, Rhaenys looked her mother in the eye steadily. "I will always protect what is mine."

Thinking she heard what she wanted to hear, Elia smiled happily and kissed her on the cheek. The kiss was cold. "My little sun." Rhaenys bid her goodnight and walked away the room with her head held high.

Rhaenys did not think, numbing her brain. She walked silently. Her pace was not slow or fast. The torches upon the walls twisted to greet her as she walked the dark corridors alone.

She stopped at the door and knocked once. The door opened soon after. He acknowledged her presence with a cold, detached nod, his dark purple eyes searching hers.

"Rhaenys," he said, his voice flat and devoid of warmth. "What do you want?"

"You." Without waiting for an invitation, Rhaenys stepped forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. She wrapped her arms around him, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble slightly. Her embrace was fierce and desperate. Rhaenys closed her eyes and savored the warmth his body gave her.

"You should not be here. You are my enemy," Jon accused. His body was stiff and unyielding against her.

"Has an enemy ever felt this good?" She tightened her arms around him. She saw his arms in the motion to push her away but pause and then drop to his sides.

"What do you want?" Jon asked again.

"I want….." Rhaenys thinking about the day that has transpired. "I want to sleep with you tonight," she whispered against his ear.

Rhaenys listened to his steady breathing intently as Jon contemplated her words. As time grew old, she grew more dreadful that he would deny her. Does he want nothing to do with me? She thought with anger and dismay.

Then Jon closed the door with a soft click, and her worries were for naught. Jon stepped away to go back to his bed. Rhaenys scanned the dark room. Ghost was nowhere in sight. The fire crackling merrily in the hearth was the only source of light in the room that was shrouded in darkness.

Rhaenys realized she forgot to bring a change of clothes. She began to strip off her gown, letting it fall to the floor in a shimmering pool of fabric. Rhaenys reached up to undo her bun, letting her long black hair fall in loose ringlets down her shoulders.

She walked over to the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping beneath them. Jon was bare chested, and Rhaenys can see the scars that lay upon his chest. The two lay side by side, the space between them filled with unspoken words and lingering tension.

Rhaenys considered bringing up the topic of Aegon but immediately dispersed that thought. How can I help mend his relationship with Aegon when he is still wroth with me still?

The princess propped her head with her elbow and ran her eyes over Jon. The prince stared at the canopy solemnly, offering only silence. Rhaenys then inched closer. Jon did not react. Rhaenys drew even closer to no reaction. Then she scooted all the way until they were pressed together.

It was then Jon glanced at her. Rhaenys gave him one of her special smiles that can melt the hearts of the stoniest men. But it withered away as she considered her words.

"We have never finished our conversation before you left. I was not very clear, but I am sorry for what I said about your mother. It was cruel. It was selfish to let my feelings about the topic hurt you." Confessing felt strange to Rhaenys, but it also felt right.

"Do you still feel the same about my mother?" Jon's purple eyes bore down on her.

"I would be a damned liar if I said I knew," Rhaenys admitted. "For so many years I have been fed the story of Lyanna Stark and none of them were in the positive light. But then here you come and muck everything up. And I realized not everything is what I thought it to be."

"And I realized….I was being a bitch."

Jon smiled. It was a soft thing, almost unseeable but she could always spot it. It sent a warmth to her gut. It brought a smile to her face as well. His smiles are so precious. She wanted to keep him smiling and chase away the sadness that seemed to cling to him. She wanted to draw him out of the solemn shell he wanted covered himself in.

"Yes you were," Jon said.

Rhaenys gasped in fake outrage. "Asshole! You were not supposed to agree with me!"

"The words came from the princess's own mouth, not mine."

They chuckled. Rhaenys slapped his arm playfully. Jon retaliated by catching both her arms and yanking her towards him. Rhaenys struggled but his strength was too much.

"I'm too much for the princess?" Jon smirked down at her.

It only flamed the desire within her. Rhaenys gave him a smirk of her own. "There will never be enough of you for me." With her arms out of commission, she leaned forward and bit his neck. They chuckled again.

Her lips stayed on his neck. The playful nibbles turned into soft kisses.

"You shouldn't do that," Jon warned, his voice low.

"What are you going to do about it?"

Rhaenys then uncorked her tongue, sliding it up his neck to his ear. Jon leaned forward into it, pressing his body on top of hers. Rhaenys sucked on the soft flesh, nibbling it also to mark her territory, leaving a small mark.

Jon looked own at her, his eyes dark.

Rhaenys gave her smile again, full of wickedness. "What are you going to do about it?" she asked again sweetly.

His answer came in the form of his hand wrapping around her throat and his lips crashing onto hers. Rhaenys opened her mouth and clashed her tongue and saliva with his, fighting an endless battle for dominance. They rolled on the bed, trying to press themselves more against each other.

It was full of heat and so much more. Her insides was about to explode with the emotions Jon brought out of her. Jon fiddled with her chest and sprung her breasts forth, kissing and licking them eagerly. Rhaenys let out a moan of pleasure.

I am going to make him howl.

As Jon repaid her favor and sucked on her neck, Rhaenys reached below to grab his cock, wrapping her hands around his shaft. Jon growled, biting her neck harder. Keeping her focus, she used the other hand to untie his breeches. His cock came flying free, throbbing, and hard.

Jon

Rhaenys smiled at him mischievously by her position near his midsection. Her long curly black hair could not hide the heat in her dark eyes. The princess flicked out her long tongue and licked the tip. Jon breathed heavily as Rhaenys clamped her plump lips around his shaft, slowly tasting every bit. The wet slurps were about to drive him mad.

Jon grabbed the sides of her head and forced his cock deeper until he felt it hit the back of his throat. Rhaenys held it in, inching closer and closer to his pelvis, enveloping the whole cock. Her chokes were music to his ears.

Rhaenys rose up, spluttering. Jon can see the hunger in her eyes. Rhaenys spat on his cock and slurped it repeatedly, jerking with her heads, and twisting her lips on the tip.

Shit. Jon could not stop his moaning.

Desire warped his entire being as Jon halted Rhaenys and flipped her on her back. He tore away her undergarments and discarded it without a second thought. In the moonlight from the window Jon laid eyes upon the sweetness between Rhaenys's thighs. It was smooth, with her hair a neat v shape. Her lips were a delicious pink.

Rhaenys laughed at his face. "Memorizing, isn't it?" She lifted her long leg and rubbed it against his cock. "Don't be frightened of me now, my Lord Protector." He can see the whiteness of her teeth in the moonlight.

Jon gave her a smile, the lust taking hold of his thoughts. "What I am going to do to you – you shall be the one frightened." Jon spread her legs apart and lowered himself, trailing his tongue down thighs as he did so.

Rhaenys made an 'O' with her mouth right when Jon's tongue landed on her lips. The princess clutched the sheets tightly as Jon feasted between her thighs. In the thrill, Jon took both of her legs and raised them until they were touching Rhaenys's ears, showing Jon's hunger and Rhaenys's flexibility simultaneously. Jon locked the legs in place as he swiveled his tongue across her clit.

Jon feel her fingers grasping the roots of his hair to the point it almost hurt. She used that leverage to push his face deeper, moaning softly. It encouraged him to work harder. When the princess started to squirm, Jon tightened his hold on her legs.

Her climax came fast and violent. Rhaenys gave a sharp gasp as the fluids of his excellent work gushed out. Jon licked the juices and came back to the surface.

Rhaenys smiled impishly and grabbed his face. "My enemy has a fierce appetite." She licked the juices around his face and then his lips. Her hands gripped his throat.

Jon found himself on his back, looking up Rhaenys. She was a true beauty of Dorne, and her curly black hair cascaded down her back as she leaned back to smirk at him. Her body was the work of gods. She was part serpent as she twisted her body to saddle his sides with her legs. The sight caused his cock to throb painfully.

Rhaenys hovered over it, staring him all the while, and used her hands to slowly guide it into her folds. Sweet and wet warmth welcomed him as she clamped on his cock with a loud gasp that made Jon lay his head back with a moan.

Rhaenys placed both her hands on Jon's throat and rocked her hips. Jon matched her. Both of them pressed against the other, desperately trying to feel as much about each other as they could. The bed creaked.

Rhaenys got up from her knees and onto her legs. She rose her ass in the air and brought it down with a wet plop. It became a steady rhythm, her grabbing him by the throat as she slapped her cunt on his cock with wet plops. Jon put both hands on her cheek to assist her, slamming her ass down forcefully.

The dark room was filled with grunts and low moans and the occasional wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh. They fought to outdo each other, neither willing to yield to the other.

Jon feel her fingers around his throat tightening, doing their best to beat him into submission. "Your mine," she breathed out. Her eyes glinted with victory as if he would submit to her. I am not having that, Jon thought with a growl. With a graceful sudden movement of a honed warrior, Jon flipped their positions. Jon forcefully turned Rhaenys around so that she was on her stomach. He slapped on her backside hard, watching her ample ass recoil. Beautiful.

Jon made her get on her knees and arch it up. Jon's hand forced her to put her face down on the pillow. Jon grabbed his cock and thrusts inside her again, pleased to hear her sweet moan.

Jon grabbed one of her arms and bent it behind her back and held it there, using it as leverage as he pounded away. "No, you are mine." Her ass rippled as he drove his cock deeper. The sound of flesh was now noticeably loud. Jon wondered if Aegon could hear it, and the thought brought him a smile.

Jon was abruptly driven out of his thoughts when Rhaenys, instead of caving into his dominance, met him mid thrust. Rhaenys threw it back with just as much force, her ass wiggling gracefully. The sound of their lovemaking filled his ears.

Gods, Jon thought, feeling his climax rapidly approach.

Thinking on his feet, Jon switched positions again, putting her on her back. Jon placed her legs on his shoulders and pressed his body tightly against hers. He gripped her throat with both hands, making her gasp. Jon tongue entered her gaping mouth. At the same time, he thrusted his hips as deep as he could, filling up her sweet tight cunt with his cock. They kissed, but Rhaenys could not concentrate with her consistent gasps of pleasure. Jon satisfied himself with watching her face, ruthlessly plunging his shaft into her. In and out it went, hard and fast with wet plops. How can she feel this good? Jon did not ever want to leave.

"You feel so good," Rhaenys managed to bit out, her voice a soft whisper. She looked so breathtaking then, peering up at him with her delicious dark eyes, her black hair plastered to her head with sweat, her sweet lips opening to moan. "I need you."

Something took hold of him, something animalistic. The lust and heat of the moment overwhelmed him, and Jon took their fucking to the next level. Whatever restraint he had was gone.

Jon growled and clenched his grip on her throat. He sped up his thrusts, made it harder. He shoved his cock with so much force the bed began to rock. Faster and faster he went, his cock slamming into her cunt. Her pussy was so wet his cock was free to explore its depths. Rhaenys's face twisted, her moans raising in volume when she tried so hard to keep it in.

Jon knew what they were doing should not be happening. That having sex a princess outside a marriage bed will bring headaches. However, imagining the faces of Aegon and Elia if they ever learned about this gave him a dark petty satisfaction. Besides that, Jon liked the way Rhaenys's gorgeous scrunched up.

"Louder," Jon whispered in her ear, kissing her cheek. "This is my castle. All I want to hear is you." He arced his cock deeper, thrusting so deep he felt her cervix. It felt so good touching it, Jon had to moan, controlling himself. But it felt better to Rhaenys who lost all composure, moaning for the entire world to hear. Her moans could easily be heard down in the hall. Jon kept at it, admiring her beautiful moans.

His eyes met her brown eyes. Jon watched as her eyes rolled back, her moans dying out. Her legs on Jon's shoulders trembled. Without warning, her cunt clenched around his cock so rigidly Jon gasped. He then felt her climax. Her fluids drowning Jon's shaft in an ocean of absolute paradise.

It felt so unbelievably good, Jon's climax came shortly after, intwining with her own fluids. But Jon kept going, entranced by the wetness the princess graced him with. Rhaenys's body trembled as another climax came upon her. Then another, then another. It was at this point that Rhaenys merely fought for survival going by her weak moans and the rolling of her eyes.

Jon's second climax was even stronger than the first one. His cock trembled powerfully and exploded. Jon moaned loudly as his seed poured into her, the bursts going strong. A couple of seconds and it finally died down, his cock shrinking.

Jon gingerly pulled his soft shaft out of her, sticky with his seed and the fluids of Rhaenys. Jon looked down on the side of the bed they fucked on and saw it was completely drenched. Jon laid his back on the dry side of the bed. Rhaenys was still recovering when Jon grasped her softly and moved her on top of him, her head on his chest. Jon pulled his blanket over both of them.

Rhaenys lifted her head briefly to place a kiss on his lips. Her face bore a soft smile so full of warmth, Jon could feel it in his stomach. Rhaenys rested her head back on his chest, her arms wrapped around his sides.

They said no words, their previous actions loud enough.

Soon the princess succumbed to sleep.

Jon gently traced his fingers along Rhaenys's back, feeling the rise and fall of her breath. The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting gentle shadows on their entwined forms. The serenity of the night contrasted sharply with the storm of emotions he had felt earlier.

He gazed down at her, noting the way the moonlight danced across her features, softening her sharp edges, and lending her a serene beauty. For a moment, the complexities of court politics and personal vendettas seemed to drift away, leaving behind only the simple comfort of her presence.

Jon could not deny the happiness of this, nor could he banish the thoughts of this being a get-back at Aegon for what he had said earlier. Is that why I did this? Do I do this out of my feelings for her? For Lust? Or was this me spiting Aegon for what he said of my mother?

Jon did not know. But his face being covered by Rhaenys's black hair, the woman he said was his enemy, brought him comfort.

"I accept your surrender," Jon told the slumbering princess. He then wondered who could brew Moon Tee

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Arthur: Almost 20,000 words! My longest chapter yet. I hoped all of you have enjoyed it. Please tell me your favorite part in the review section!

And to be frank, I was very disappointed by House of the Dragon. If you are curious why, I will give you an answer. Have a good day!