The sixteenth day of the seventh moon — 298-AC:

Numerous horses and carriages travelled into the Red-Keep. Jon Snow dismounted from his destrier, handing the reins to a stable-boy from the welcoming party. Rhaegar Targaryen got off of his stallion.

The journey to King's Landing had been uneventful. Jon had kept to himself and steered clear of the members of Rhaegar's large retinue. Though—Arthur had offered him decent advice on his swordsmanship.

Ghost stationed himself next to Jon, blinking his disinterested crimson eyes at the people in the welcoming party who had gathered around the bronze entrance of the Red-Keep. He patted Ghost on the head.

Dozens of lords, servants, and ladies were in the crowd. Garmented in a silken yellow dress, Elia Martell stood at the front of the welcoming party.

Standing behind her, Lewyn Martell wore silvered armour. House Martell's sigil was woven across the bodice of Elia's dress and a gilded circlet sat on her head. A green gemstone was engraved into it.

"Jon." Rhaegar approached him, garbed in crimson and black samite. "The small council and I have some important matters to discuss."

"I find no issue in such a decision, your grace." Jon responded. "Would it be possible to have someone escort me to my chambers?"

"Your chambers are being prepared." Rhaegar looked at the welcoming party. "Fret not, your belongings are safe and sound."

"But I have organized a tour around the keep for you in the meantime."

'A tour was prepared, but not my room?' Jon nodded. "And who shall be the one to guide me around the Red-Keep during this tour, sire?"

"That would be me, Jon Snow." Elia sauntered up to the two of them and curtsied—Lewyn shadowed her. "Husband, I welcome you back."

"Elia." Rhaegar smiled, kissed the aureate ring on her index finger, and left for the small council chambers. "I place Jon in your hands."

Arthur bowed, then followed Rhaegar into a different part of the Red-Keep.

'I'm doomed.' Jon closed his grey eyes. 'Why would Elia be okay with the idea of hosting her husband's bastard? This makes zero sense.'

"Do make sure to not dally around and waste time, Jon Snow." Elia said. "It would be best if we began this tour of the keep."

(-)

Elia and Jon walked through a hallway in the Red-Keep — Lewyn and Ghost tailed them. For the last forty minutes, Elia had taken Jon to different chambers, courtyards, gardens, towers, and kitchens.

Whenever lords, ladies, servants, scullery maids, knights, and squires encountered them in the hallway, they bowed in Elia's presence. Many of these people had gazed at Ghost in shock, fear, and amazement.

'I expected Elia to be more scornful to Rhaegar's bastard.' Jon mused. 'But she's been nothing but civil and tactful to me throughout this tour.'

'All these lords and ladies will be interested in me.' Jon subdued his grimace and kept his face blank. 'I am Rhaegar's mysterious child.'

'They do not know what to expect from me.' Jon turned the corner, walking across a much larger hallway. 'I'm a mystery to all of them.'

'Besides Varys, of course.' Jon sighed. 'But I don't even know if he's on the small council in this universe. So many details are different.'

Elia pushed open a bronze door and guided Jon to a wide balcony—a courtyard stretched out beneath it. There was a crowd of armoured boys in the middle of the yard and everyone in it was watching a duel.

"You have not had the pleasure of meeting your siblings, have you?" Elia commented. "I believe it is time we remedied such a travesty."

Jon leaned on the balustrade of the balcony, observing the match in the middle of the courtyard. The first boy sported obsidian armour and a horned helm. House Baratheon's stag was stitched into his surcoat.

"The one wearing a helm styled like a stag's horns is Steffon Baratheon. He is Cersei Lannister and Stannis Baratheon's firstborn son."

'Cersei Lannister and Stannis Baratheon?!' Jon blinked several times. 'How the hell—or is it seven hells?—did those two end up marrying?!'

"Of course, that makes the boy heir to the stormlands." Elia said. "His father—lord Stannis—sits on the small council as the master of laws."

The second boy wore simple crimson armour and an ebony half-helm outlined in red. A three-headed dragon was carved into his vambrace.

"The one in red armour is Aegon Targaryen—the heir to the Seven-Kingdoms and my son." Elia remarked. "And your brother..."

Jon focused on the duel in the courtyard in silence.

Wielding a hammer forged from the finest of materials, Steffon lunged towards Aegon and swung it downwards. Side-stepping the blow to his half-helm, Aegon unsheathed his blade and smirked.

"The blade Aegon wields is Dark-Sister." Elia spoke. "His grace somehow recovered Dark-Sister and Blackfyre a decade ago."

"Some do wonder why his grace gave Aegon Dark-Sister instead of Blackfyre." Elia glanced at Jon. "But it was his grace's final decision."

Dark-Sister smashed into the hammer and swatted it aside. Aegon buried a kick into Steffon, pushed him back, and slashed his blade into his armour. Steffon brandished his hammer once more, charging forth.

"Smallfolk and nobles alike call him Aegon the Talented." Elia announced. "They all believe there is nothing he cannot excel at."

'Does she want to use his title to intimidate me?' Jon thought. 'No, I don't think so. But I am surprised to hear that he has Dark-Sister.'

Aegon parried each swing from Steffon's hammer, then kicked his armoured stomach and shoved him away. Disarming Steffon in one swift motion, he sheathed Dark-Sister. The crowd cheered for him.

"I yield." Steffon rose to his feet, retrieved his hammer from the dirt, and rumbled out. "A fine match, my prince! Your steel is sharp."

"Indeed, it was a good duel." Aegon nodded, but boredom flared in his dark purple eyes. "But I believe that I have spent enough time here."

However, the crowd around them parted when Elia, Jon, Lewyn, and Ghost trekked into the courtyard. The silent direwolf sat beside Jon while the squires and knights stared at him in astonishment.

"Mother." Aegon approached them, appraising Ghost for a moment. "Are you here to witness my countless victories amongst my peers?"

"Enough of your senseless japes, dear." Elia dismissed the crowd, gesturing her hand at Jon. "It is time you met your brother."

"I am Jon Snow, my prince." Jon placed his palm on Ghost's head, ruffled his fur, and said. "And this would be my direwolf — Ghost."

Ghost's crimson eyes peered at Aegon in disinterest.

"It is a pleasure to meet you at last, brother." Aegon responded. "Balerion is as much a companion to me as Ghost must be to you."

'Balerion? That must be the name of his dragon.'

"Your graces." Steffon had not left alongside the crowd. "I confess I have not fought many northerners. Would he care for a short duel?"

Elia clapped her hands in delight. "That would be a wonderful idea!"

'I shouldn't have left my blade in the wagon.' Jon sighed. "I have no issues against a spar, but I will have to visit the armory for a weapon."

"Yes, you have no armour on you." Aegon chuckled, unsheathing Dark-Sister. "But I believe this weapon shall work well for you."

"Dark-Sister?" Elia was surprised. "Are you sure about this, Aegon?"

"Of course. He is my brother, is he not?" Aegon handed Dark-Sister to Jon. "And I am curious myself about his skill in battle."

The crowd of lords, squires, and fresh knights had regathered in the middle of the courtyard after Jon trudged into it in grey armour. Elia, Aegon, Lewyn, and Ghost stood on the sidelines.

He donned his silvered helm and withdrew Dark-Sister from its sheath.

'Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel, huh?'

It was silent in the courtyard until Steffon rushed forward and aimed a blow from his hammer at Jon's armoured shoulder. Dark-Sister struck the hammer and redirected its course upwards.

'Cregard is faster than that.' Jon slammed his gauntleted elbow into Steffon's shoulder in retaliation. 'He's strong, but also too slow.'

Steffon regained his balance, swished his hammer into Jon, and shoved him backwards. Jon bashed Dark-Sister against his hammer, batting it downwards and slicing the blade into Steffon's armour.

'I have to be more violent—like Robb, Cregard, and Serena.' Jon slid back and Steffon's hammer grazed his armour. 'And faster.'

Dark-Sister's pommel crashed down onto Steffon's hammer and it slipped out from his hand. Jon motioned the blade at his neck. "Yield."

"I yield this match!" Steffon chortled and twisted his mouth into a grin. "Your skill in combat is impressive!"

"So is yours." Jon stabbed Dark-Sister into the ground. 'If his hammer had even hit me two or three more times, I might have lost.'

"Your swordsmanship is adequate, brother." Aegon walked up to them. "But there were several flaws in it that you should work on."

"I will endeavor to work on those flaws, my prince." Jon returned Dark-Sister to him. 'Valyrian steel blades are something else.'

"So formal." Aegon smirked in amusement, placing his blade into its sheath. "You are free to call me Aegon or brother."

"You two can talk more at a later time." Elia cut into their conversation. "There are still places in the Red-Keep for you to see, Jon Snow."

"Of course, your grace." Jon said, removing his helm from his head. "But I hope you will allow me to return this armour to the armory."

(-)

Redressed in his usual leathers, Jon followed Elia through a corridor in the Red-Keep. Ghost walked beside him this time, sniffing the air and licking his teeth in hunger. Lewyn trailed behind them, silent.

'Aegon was not like what I expected at all.' Jon thought. 'I had thought he'd be less receptive to a sibling who he's never even seen or met.'

'And his title—Aegon the Talented?' Jon let himself grimace a little. 'Why the hell am I always surrounded by so many prodigies, huh?'

Jon was guided into a different hallway in the Red-Keep—where he heard the sound of light chatter. Rhaenys Targaryen was with her ladies-in-waiting before she saw her mother and dismissed them.

Sporting his bronze armour, Barristan Selmy stood from afar and bowed in respect.

She was garmented in a bejewelled violet dress—a sapphire was embedded into the silvered circlet curled up around her long black hair. Aloof purple eyes gazed at Ghost and Rhaenys approached Elia.

"Ah, mother." Rhaenys' voice was warm, but bored. "I had heard that father returned from his trip to Winterfell. How does he fare?"

"Well enough, dear." Elia smiled at her daughter. "I'm sure you have also heard that his grace has brought your brother from Winterfell."

"Indeed I have." Rhaenys looked at Jon. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I am sure you've realized it, but I am Rhaenys Targaryen."

"I am Jon Snow, your grace." Jon inclined his head, ruffling Ghost's fur. "This direwolf would be Ghost."

Ghost nudged his nose against Jon's palm.

"I have seen dragons, but never a direwolf." Rhaenys answered. "But I have heard that there are still direwolves beyond the Wall."

"I believe that would be true, princess."

"Oh, have you met that arrogant dunderhead Aegon yet?"

"Rhaenys." Elia shook her head. "Must you insult him?"

"You know how the praise affects him so, mother." Rhaenys rolled her eyes. "The Talented they call him. No wonder his ego is so mighty."

"Yes, I did have the honour of meeting prince Aegon."

"He fought Steffon Baratheon in combat." Elia said. "The duel took place in the courtyard. Aegon gave him Dark-Sister to use."

"Dark-Sister?" Rhaenys raised an eye-brow in mild surprise. "And what was the outcome of this duel?"

"I disarmed him of his hammer, princess." Jon spoke. "His skill in combat was commendable."

"I'm afraid we must cut this discussion short." Elia declared. "I believe it is time to take Jon to see his grace."

"Of course." Rhaenys remarked. "Let's hope you can survive down South, brother. But it was nice to meet you at last."

She curtsied, then left for her chambers. Barristan bowed and accompanied Rhaenys through the corridor.

"Come along." Elia announced. "It is time you met the small council."

(-)

Jon stepped into the council chambers, glancing at the two Valyrian sphinxes positioned on the left and right side of the door. Elia had departed with Lewyn from him and Ghost to return to her duties.

"You have arrived at last, Jon." Rhaegar ascended from his chair at the head of the table. "I trust that you can get around the castle?"

"Yes, your grace. The tour was excellent."

"I've also heard you've met Aegon and Rhaenys." Rhaegar proclaimed. "I am glad you had the chance to speak to them."

"Forgive me, my lords." Rhaegar addressed the small council. "I don't believe I have introduced my son to you yet — this is Jon Snow."

'I guess it's time to meet the small council.' Jon mused. 'I wonder if any of them will protest against my presence here. I am a bastard.'

The master of laws—Stannis Baratheon—wore a black doublet and dark brown breeches. House Baratheon's famed stag was sewn into his cloak and its bronze clasp was shaped like an antler.

"This would be lord Stannis Baratheon, master of laws."

Stannis remained silent, instead nodding at Jon in acknowledgment.

The master of ships—Monford Velaryon—sported a green brocade doublet over a blue silken tunic. House Velaryon's seahorse was woven into the tunic and engraved into a ring on his pinky finger.

"Lord Monford Velaryon, master of ships."

Monford drank his wine from an aureate goblet. "A pleasure."

The master of coin—Kevan Lannister—was dressed in a red samite doublet and brown leather gloves. House Lannister's feared lion was stitched into his doublet. A linen orange cloak fell over his shoulders.

"Lord Kevan Lannister, the master of coin."

Kevan cradled a tankard of Arbor red. "I welcome you to the small council chambers."

The Grand Maester—Pycelle—was garbed in red woolen robes and his chains forged at the Citadel were encrusted with many gems.

"The Grand Maester, Pycelle."

Pycelle had dark circles of exhaustion beneath his eyes. "A true pleasure to meet his grace's child."

The master of whisperers—Varys—was garmented in modest robes of different shades of purple. A platinum necklace hung around his neck.

"Lord Varys, the master of whisperers."

Varys simpered. "It is an honor to meet you—Jon Snow."

The Hand of the King—Jon Connington—was wearing a crimson doublet. A black velvet cloak had been placed over his shoulders. Connington's badge of office was a griffin-shaped clasp.

"The Hand of the King, lord Jon Connington."

Jon Connington grunted. "Welcome."

"And you have met Arthur—the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

Arthur stood behind the chair at the head of the table, but smiled.

"Brother." A drunken voice said from the council table. "You must have forgotten to introduce me to my hidden nephew."

The Commander of the City Watch—Viserys Targaryen—sat at the end of the council table. He was fitted into chainmail and a yellow cloak billowed from his shoulders. A silver circlet had been planted on his head — bright crimson stones were etched into it.

"Your uncle—Viserys Targaryen." Rhaegar spoke in a dry tone. "He is the Commander of the City Watch, but is not a member of the council."

Viserys poured more wine into his cup. "We must install a cupbearer soon, brother! I tire of having to fill my cups myself!"

"He is quite the warrior when he is not drunk." Rhaegar shook his head. "Best not to underestimate him because of his love for wine."

"Your aunt—Daenerys—resides at Dragonstone."

"A pleasure to meet you all, my lords." Jon said. 'There are a few differences in the small council in this universe, but not too many.'

"This is my direwolf—Ghost."

Some of them stared at Ghost in amazement. The direwolf flashed his teeth at them in disinterest, letting out an inaudible yawn.

"Your grace, have my chambers been prepared?"

"I believe they have." Rhaegar replied. "You will have a room in Maegor's Holdfast. All of your belongings have been taken there."

"Your grace." Varys inserted his hands into the sleeves of his robes, standing from his chair at the council table. "You would do me a great honor to allow me to escort him to his chambers."

(-)

Rhaegar had given Varys permission to take Jon to his chambers.

"I must admit, Jon Snow, I am surprised his grace has brought you here." Varys walked down a hallway. "It was most unexpected."

'Here we are — the usual riddles and wordplay.' Jon snorted a little. 'I'll just have to be ambiguous whenever I talk.'

Ghost ambled next to Jon in silence.

"I am sure you must miss your Stark kin at Winterfell." Varys said. "But I believe you will do well here at King's Landing."

"House Stark will do fine without my presence at Winterfell, my lord." Jon replied. 'Damn, I won't be able to return to Winterfell for a while.'

"Of course." Varys giggled. "Winter is coming, is it not?"

"Indeed, lord Varys." Jon responded. 'Why did he offer to bring me to my room?'

Varys took Jon across the draw-bridge of Maegor's Holdfast and they sauntered through a massive hallway. Jon saw countless portraits, oremental armour, and trinkets set down around the castle.

"I hope you will be there when his grace holds court on the morrow, my prince." Varys put his sleeve over his mouth. "I believe that session of court will be an interesting one."

"I am no prince, lord Varys." Jon said with a bland smile. "I am a Snow."

"Just as I am no lord." Varys stopped in his tracks, gesturing his hand at the entrance of Jon's chambers. "Here we are. Farewell, Jon Snow."

Varys flourished, traversed the corridor, and vanished around the corner.

'Touche, Varys, touche.'

Jon shoved open the door, entered his chambers alongside Ghost, and stared at the massive room—a wide bed sat in the middle of the room and it had several shelves pressed against its walls.

Shutting and barring the door, Jon removed his black cloak and placed it on an exquisite wooden table on the left side of his bed. He noticed his chests tucked away at the foot of the bed.

A crimson carpet had been put in front of the hearth in the chambers. Ghost walked onto it, curled in on himself, tucked his head into his paws, and fell asleep. Jon ruffled Ghost's fur, then went to his chests.

The bastard sword that he had left on a wagon was in its sheath and it had been planted on top of his first wooden chest. Picking it up, Jon crammed it into the corner next to his bed and walked to his wardrobe.

Countless velvets, silks, linens, wools, samites, brocades, and leathers were in his wardrobe. Jon recognized none of them. All of his own leathers had not yet even been taken out of his chests.

Jon checked out the breeches, tunics, and doublets in his wardrobe once more before he sorted through the leathers and clothes in his chests to wedge them into the wardrobe between all of his new outfits.

Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out the small oaken chest from Cregard and put it on a circular table close to the foot of his bed.

Once he had finished inserting his clothes into his wardrobe, Jon took a seat at his table. There was an oaken container on the table—where he retrieved a blank piece of paper. He also found a bottle of ink and a quill.

Dipping his quill in ink, he penned a short letter to Winterfell about his journey to King's Landing and his earlier meetings across the Red-Keep.

Jon slipped the letter into the oaken container on his table. 'I'll take the letter to the rookery later. I'm sure someone will try to read it, though.'

'There are also hidden passageways here.' Jon mused. 'I'll have to look into that later.'

(-)

Several hours had passed since Jon's arrival at King's Landing. He was seated on the superb chair in his room crafted from timber. A leather-bound tome about the history of House Stark was on his table.

Luwin had let Jon borrow a few books from the Library-Tower and his own collection of tomes that he had gathered over the years. Jon had just finished a short detailed chapter about Cregan Stark and the Hour of the Wolf when he heard a soft knock from the entrance of his bed-chamber.

'I've lost track of time.' Jon rose from his chair, unbarred the door, opened it, and looked at the servant in the cold hallway. "Yes?"

"Prince Aegon bids you to join him and prince Viserys for lunch. If it pleases you, I shall escort you there."

"Do give me a moment to change into a suitable outfit." Jon shut the door, then walked to Ghost and woke him up. "I'll be going off to lunch. Make sure no-one comes snooping around, boy."

Ghost stared at Jon, licked his palm, and went back to sleep.

"I'll bring you a plate." Jon chuckled in amusement, patted Ghost on the head, and sauntered to his open wardrobe. 'So many clothes…'

He decided to sport a blue woolen tunic, a black velvet doublet outlined in dark red, brown leather boots, and thick woolen grey breeches. Exiting his chambers, he closed its entrance.

"If you would follow me."

The servant bowed for a split-second, turning around and escorting Jon through Maegor's Holdfast. Jon was taken into a wide room — it had a long wooden table with large dragons engraved into its corners. Even the seats tucked into the table were dragon-themed — they had their arm-rests modelled after dragon heads with vivid rubies for eyes.

"Hah, brother!" Aegon sampled a modest helping of watered down wine from a silver cup. "I see you have arrived!"

No longer wearing his armour, Aegon instead wore a silken crimson jerkin. House Targaryen's infamous three-headed dragon was embroidered into it in light red thread. A silvered circlet had been placed on his head of silver hair — it was covered in rubies and garnets.

"Aegon."

"You are free to call me that." Aegon snorted in amusement, sipping more of his wine. "Sit! The servants will carry out the dishes soon!"

"And where is that direwolf of yours?"

"Asleep." Jon took a seat next to Aegon, pouring himself a tankard of weak mead. "He can be quite lazy at times."

"Much like you, uncle!" Aegon pointed his cup of wine at Viserys, smirking in mockery. "I believe I saw you stumbling around drunk and searching for a place to laze around in earlier!"

Viserys was on the chair across from them and was dressed in a purple tunic. House Targaryen's sigil was woven into it. Holding a chalice of Arbor gold, he scowled. "Mayhaps it was an imposter."

Aegon scoffed, amused. "Of course."

"Um, yes, other nephew." Viserys' voice was unsure. "Have you ever had the pleasure of seeing a dragon?"

"I have seen his grace's mount—Vermithor—in person." Jon replied. "But that was only when it was in the air and not lurking outside of Winterfell's gates."

"A shame." Viserys swallowed his wine. "You should take time to see my Vermax in the Dragonpit. He is a magnificent creature."

'Vermax? So Viserys' dragon is named after Jacaerys' one.'

"You could see Balerion." Aegon looked lost in thought. "Rhaenys entrusted her dragon with the name Meraxes and aunt Daenerys calls her one Dreamfyre."

"I am not against seeing more dragons." Jon said. 'Just how did House Targaryen regain their dragons?'

"Excellent." Aegon drank his watered down wine. "On the morrow, then."

The servants opened the doors, putting plates and bowls of food on the table. Jon ate a slice of pie coated in a variety of fresh berries. Aegon opted for a bowl of warm chicken stew. Viserys selected a plate of cooked lamb and a handful of fruits to sweeten his meal.

(-)

Jon walked into his room, carrying a plate of cooked venison. Ghost stirred from his slumber, sniffed the air, and blinked one red eye open. Shutting the door, he set the plate on the carpet.

Ghost lunged at the plate, devoured the venison in greedy bites, and licked his lips.

'Ghost doesn't look alarmed, so no-one came snooping around.' Jon ruffled Ghost's fur, then walked to his desk and took out his letter to Winterfell from the oaken container. 'It wouldn't be an issue if anyone here read this letter, but I'm not a fan of the idea of anyone looking through my letters to Serena and Cregard.'

He placed the letter into a pocket from his doublet, opened the door, and went out of Maegor's Holdfast with Ghost. Finding the rookery, he managed to dispatch a raven and his letter to Winterfell.

Returning to his chambers, Jon placed the book on his desk into a shelf. Ghost curled into himself on the carpet and slept.

Sitting himself down on his chair, Jon set a different book on his desk.