authorsnote:

me: I'll just write a fun WIP for jon/dance of dragons, thanks to HOD and y'know I love Jon, I wonder how it will do

you guys: overwhelming response making me want to write more and more!

thank you so much for your response to this fic! 3

a game is afoot... do enjoy

songrecs: Kill the Boy - GOT Season 5

edit: yes I know I made an error with two names, no need for the hate, updated.

'The Others are only a story, a tale to make children shiver. If they ever lived at all, they are gone eight thousand years'

- Jon Snow

-x-

The next morning, he ached.

Perhaps it was him reacclimating to literal time-travel, more likely it was because of how hard he'd gone at the practice dummy, how he'd near obliterated it with exercise after exercise, desperately trying to clear his head and failing.

Failing because how could he clear his head after what had happened to him?

Mystical time-travel, potential intervention of the Gods, being returned to the time of the Dance of Dragons, as a Targaryen; he'd barely accepted the last bit in his old time, but now to be thrust into the middle of it? To wake up now, sore, wash and then be confronted with a wardrobe full of not just black but red? Not any grey in sight?

How could he have a clear head? His mind was racing.

But he knew if he just sat in this room, he'd not only go mad, but he wouldn't learn what to do here, and so he dressed, in a black tunic with red accents at the shoulders, pulled on black breeches and boots, and strapped Blackfyre to his waist, one of the few perks of this life. He was sure there were more … the smell of berries came to mind before he banished that thought, but that was not his priority right now.

He knew why he'd come back, remembered the words;

'Go back and make things right my Prince'

It wasn't hard to guess, how important dragons were and a united 7 Kingdoms for confronting the Others, how he had to stop the Dance to ensure Westeros didn't fall to the army of the dead, that was the easy bit; the knowing why, accepting it, the destiny he'd faced since joining the Watch, that was okay.

It was the how that made him want to scream.

How in all of this world and to all of the Gods was he to achieve this?!

He didn't even know who he was here, yes the King, Viserys and his brother Prince Daemon had referred to him as brother (and thankfully they'd joked about his brooding, it seemed his silence here could be explained away as brooding, not just the fact he felt like an idiot who'd been bludgeoned over the back of the head), so he was clearly the son of Baelon Targaryen, the brave. The fact he was Rhaenyras Uncle backed that up as well.

But who was his Mother?

He almost laughed as he reached for a cloak and pulled it on, it didn't seem common here but the comforting weight of the black cloak on his shoulders, even threaded with red could not be understated, and he needed comfort.

In his old life, before, in the future (and that scrambled his brain), whatever, he had longed for a Mother and never known her, perhaps here would be the same, the irony.

Life really did keep coming for you, regardless of circumstance.

But he knew he needed to figure out his own place here, and fast, he could hardly tell anyone what had happened without seeming mad, and so he needed to work it out on his own.

That oddly, didn't phase him, he was used to being an outsider, to being alone and having to figure things out by himself, he could do the same here.

Especially, to his benefit he held a position of power here, after all it had been easier to get things done as Lord Commander to a Steward, and then to a King in the North, he imagined being a Targaryen Prince gave him some standing, a lot of it in fact, and he could use that.

To do what, to destroy the Others of course, but how to achieve that again seemed like climbing a mountain with bare feet and no provisions.

He'd have to take it one step at a time.

And first things first was to understand the dynamics here, who he really was, where he stood, his relationships with others and where that left him.

It reminded him almost of joining the Watch, those first weeks figuring out friends from enemies, allies and not, it would be the same here, determine his place and that would determine what impact he could have.

Suddenly he was thankful he had 'risen high' as many had said about him, a supposed bastard boy climbing the ranks of the Nights Watch and then to become King, it had taught him about ruling, strategy, tactics and he would need to draw on all three to have any hope of being okay here.

As he made for the door he glanced in the mirror, the first thing he'd done when he'd awoken had been to check his face in the mirror again, not out of vanity, but to see those purple eyes staring back at him once again.

In truth one of the least shocking things of the past day was waking with purple eyes instead of grey, and it scared him how natural they looked, how in place.

Targaryen indeed.

His hair remained dark though, swinging to his chin, pulled back, with some scruff on his face, and that took him back again, begged the question.

Who was his Mother?

Was it Alyssa Targaryen? But then why wasn't his hair blonde? Or would that change too? Or was he perhaps a bastard here as he had thought to be in his old life, a Northern bastard, and yet he'd been called 'my Prince', so surely not?

Perhaps that should be first on his list to figure out, which meant after breaking his fast, he'd need to head straight to the library.

He just hoped, as he opened the door, and headed out, guard following, that fit with his reputation as a brooder, he had much to learn, and little time to do so.

As he made his way to the hall, we reflected on what he knew so far.

First, Alicent had called him Jon and had explained it as a funny nickname the Northerners had given him when he'd fostered there, but his true name was Jaehaerys. He supposed that made sense, Jon was hardly a Targaryen name, but that seemed too much of a coincidence to not think the Old Gods were meddling in some way.

Or whatever Gods had sent him back.

He knew he was brother to the King, Prince Daemon, Uncle to Princess Rhaenyra. Running through the history in his head he'd need to work out if Aemma Targaryen were still alive, and that would tell him if Alicent had yet married the King, he felt repulsed at the thought, for more reasons than one.

He carried the sword Blackfyre, and had seen Dark Sister at his brother Daemons waist (Daemon was no brother to him, only Robb, Bran and Rickon held that claim, even if they had only been cousins in blood by the end, he'd always considered them brothers, but he needed to get used to seeing his family members here as real family members, lest he slip up), the King held no sword, perhaps because he wasn't a warrior? But Jon felt it odd, surely the King should carry Blackfyre? Another mystery to solve.

And that was in truth all he knew; he was reminded then painfully of Ygritte…

'You know nothing Jon Snow'

He should have learned more at the Small Council meeting, but had been mid panic attack the entire time and had just about managed to stay conscious and grunt a few times, never mind listen or take of any of it in at all.

There could be no more of that, he knew little, and he had to change it, listen, learn and absorb.

What had the Lord Commander said to him when he'd first Stewarded for him?

'Take it all in boy, take it in and you'll keep it there'

That was what he had to do here.

And so, when he reached the hall, to find the Ladies and Lords of Kings Landing dining, he made for the top table, it was time to learn, and where else could he get answers than with the family he was supposedly part of?

And learn he did, immediately, as someone called him over with a smile to sit with him.

Aemma Targaryen, a very pregnant Aemma Targaryen.

"Jon!" She said with a smile, and he managed one back, mind whirling as he sat next to her. A servant placed a cup of what looked like wine in front of him, which he pushed away, before he turned to the food, at least the stuff in front of him looked good.

"Do get Jon some of that awful mead Daenyra" Aemma said to the nervous servant, who nodded and hurried off, "I know you can't abide by wine, or Southern food, even though you are a Southerner yourself" She poked fun.

"Far too sweet" He said with a smile, easy to do so when Aemma seemed kind, as he loaded his plate with breakfast, no doubt he'd need it for the training field today, he sensed thumping training dummies to keep his mind straight might become a key coping mechanism, he needed some food. "And I know I'm a Southerner"

Gods, that nearly made him wince to say, the North truly ran within him.

"Mm, all I can eat right now is sweet things" She said, and then his smile was genuine as she reached for a cake, her plate filled with strawberry and cherry pits, it was easier to smile when he was in good company.

"Perhaps the babe will be the same" He said, he could make idle conversation, he had to here, it wasn't like the Wall where meals could pass in silence, or the North where an easy silence was commonplace with Sansa and Bran, and then Arya. Here, there was idle chatter, scheming and charming through words, he wanted no part of it, but knew he had to.

"Or perhaps follow after his Uncle and only enjoy Northern stodge" She teased, and he laughed.

He hadn't read much about Aemma Targaryen, lost to the history books, but he knew she had been described as 'well liked' and 'kind', he could see why. She was beautiful too, classically Targaryen, and so no doubt popular. It made it easier; he could get used to the South if everyone were as nice as her, but he doubted it.

And yet, he glanced down at her belly, and felt horror lance through him, he remembered how she had died too.

Could that be changed?

"Oh, don't look so horrified" She said, as she ate her cake, and he ate his bread, he needed to be better at masking his emotions, usually he was good at being stoic, in guarding what he felt, clearly the entire shock of the situation had rattled him, but that wouldn't do, not here, not now, now he had to be more guarded, and careful than ever.

"I just can't imagine it" He said gruffly, and in truth he couldn't, but his look of horror hadn't been due to that, still he covered well.

"No, I imagine not" She said with a grin, and he noted Rhaenyra coming in then, with Alicent on her arm, who blushed as they passed, taking seats a touch further down the table, he turned back to Aemma, though his cheeks were just a hint pink too, "But you'll have a wife someday, pregnant, tired and craving all manner of foods one day, and you'll get used to it"

"Hmm" He said non-committaly, not quite keen on the subject of a potential wife.

He'd never taken one in his time, though when he'd been made King, even known as a bastard, Northern Lords had practically thrown their daughters at him. He'd had offer after offer, but had basically dumped them in Sansa's lap, told her to keep them at bay for as long as possible, and she had done a good enough job scaring them off he hadn't had to worry.

He hadn't even thought he'd have to here, but…

"And I was talking to Viserys about this the other day you see" She continued, going for the strawberries again, "Isn't it past time you're married Jon?"

"I don't see why" He said, but knew he had to be careful here, "I'm hardly inheriting"

"Don't be silly" She scolded, and that made him smile again, clearly, she would not stand for his negativity, in a way it reminded him of Sansa, and he felt a pang for family.

None would replace the Starks, but he couldn't lie, it was always nice to be with people who cared about you, even if he didn't know them, not yet at least.

He would though, he'd have to, and perhaps, as he smiled at Aemma, it wouldn't be so bad.

"You'll inherit Dragonstone of course" She said with a grin, before the servant interrupted to drop off his mead, and one of the nearby Ladies pulled Aemma into conversation.

Dragonstone?

He methodically, and almost in a detached sense continued to eat, rotating between the foods to seem occupied, but his mind mulled over that, raced perhaps a better word, over Dragonstone. Typically, it went to the Heir of House Targaryen, the Heir Apparent, why was it different here?

Or was it?

It wasn't hard to guess, to come to the conclusion that made his stomach turn, he knew Viserys had disinherited Daemon from the line of succession before naming Rhaenyra, and he felt horror chase through him then, as he ate his food, drank his mead, and kept a guarded, emotionless expression, just.

That surely had to happen again?

Surely that point was set in history?

The King would name Rhaenyra as Heir to disinherit Daemon, that was what had happened … but now of course, there was a new factor, that could change all of that.

Him.

If Daemon were set aside, he would become the Heir, and what Aemma had said about Dragonstone…

He felt sick, dizzy, like he might faint, and perhaps like maybe he had taken one too many bludgeons to the head and this was all a dream.

But he knew it wasn't, and his mind forced him to confront the implications before he could stop it…

Was this how he presented war between the Greens and the Blacks? By preventing there being any kind of sides in the first place? But then there was Alicents marriage to Viserys, which of course hadn't happened yet, and Rhaenyra being named Heir had been as a following to Aemma losing her baby and dying.

Could that all be changed by him being named Heir?

Could it be that easy, but that terrifying?

His mind raced with the possibilities, and he felt dizzy at just how many different scenarios there were, how many different possibilities and outcomes, and what that all meant for the future, for the realm, for him, for the War.

Currently if King Viserys disinherited Daemon from the line of succession, it stood to reason Jon would inherit. That was why he'd take Dragonstone.

Had Aemma let this slip by mistake? And yet he glanced over at her, and she seemed at ease, eating her cherries, and chatting to a few people. Had she said it because it had already been decided? Surely not, King Viserys had only determined his Heir after Aemma had died and he'd had no choice. Was Dragonstone given to him just in case? Or for him to rule until the Heir came of age? Whoever that may be?

His mind raced, and raced, as he forced down his food, drank his mead, and tried not to completely fall apart in the middle of the hall.

It had been mad enough to come here, as a Prince of House Targaryen, displaced in time and confused, and now there was a possibility that he could become King of it all one day?

His mind offered him, that it would be the easiest way to prepare for the War against the Others, hell he could march men and dragons up to Beyond the Wall now to find them sleeping and destroy them before they emerged, could call it a prophecy or some rubbish, an omen from the Gods, and stop it all before it even began.

By the Gods what a thought, to stop all of that bloodshed, all of that pain, he could see the wildlings settled in the Gift, could strengthen the Wall, could stop any wights happening, could save them all, here and in whatever the future looked like without him, he could do it.

But he'd have to be King.

But what would the implication be of all of that?

For him to be King here? What would happen to Rhaenyra? What would happen to all that had played out in the Dance? Would Daemon accept it? When would it happen? Viserys wasn't dead yet. He'd have to marry then, but who?

Had he been sent here to ensure the Dance never happened by being King?

Was that what he'd have to do?

Without a further word he finished his food, and made for the training ground, he needed to clear his head, his thoughts were rattling around, and he couldn't make sense of all of them, he needed to calm down, find some peace and then maybe drink a gallon of ale before confronting it all.

And so, he made his way out to the training ground, hand on Blackfyre, ready to thump something, not noticing Alicents eyes, following him as he left.

Or her Fathers.

The games had begun.

ooooooooooooooooooo

but yeah, its gunna be complicated

also, im going for a bit of a faster pace for this fic initially because there is A LOT to cover, but dont worry I'll still kill you all with jon being a broody boi with lots of introspection 3 you wouldn't have me any other way surely?

do review, ty