authorsnote: oof.

I'm here to remind you jon here is book jon, he does what he needs to do, he is not weak and ineffectual, and he knows sometimes personal honour has to be put aside.

read on to see what that looks like.

reviews always appreciated

songrecs: how did it end - taylor swift 'the death rattle breathing, silenced as the soul was leaving' - you'll see.

also, I highly recommend watching: house targaryen - fire & blood by ItsATwinThing, I watch this often to get inspo for my targ stories

Sansa lingered on the outskirts of Kings Landing, two guards' paces behind (as her status as wife to the Heir now denoted), far longer than any other, far longer than any would.

She watched Jon go on the back of Caraxes, and he looked more comfortable on it than he had any right to, having only ridden the dragon a handful of times, that helped, but her heart remained in her throat.

She watched him go, didn't move, hand pressed over her heart, eyes wide, barely daring to blink, until he was just a speck on the horizon, and then with a turn, a swoop, and a blink through watery eyes he was gone.

And Sansa was sure the world would fall out from under her.

It was a surprise when it didn't.

When she forced herself to walk back to the Keep, guards trailing behind, her hands clasped in front of her. She daren't show her emotions on her face, knowing how they could be used, weaponized, knowing she could not be herself here, especially with Jon gone.

She was not Sansa Stark with Jon by her side, able to smile and laugh and be real. She was Sansa Targaryen, Princess and wife to a dragonrider gone into battle.

She would weep later.

Instead, she kept her face blank, walls of ice sliding into place in her mind, shuttering her eyes, the brilliant blue a touch icier, closing of to all who dared meet her gaze. It was as she had been last time she'd been in Kings Landing, false, detached, alone.

Alone.

And she was, as she went about her day, nodded her head at Lords she passed, smiled at Ladies who vied for her attention and affection, ate lunch with Rhaenys, the two quiet in their contemplation, didn't visit the Sept (not for now, tomorrow morning she would make the public display required of her at the Sept), but the gardens, knowing the Old Gods might not hear in the South but trying for a prayer anyway.

Trying and hoping.

And at night, when she was alone, truly alone, she wept.

Wept and wept, curled up in the bed she'd briefly shared with Jon, steeped in guilt as it had been, she'd happily feel that guilt eating at her again to have him next to her, her head tucked into the crook of his neck, breathing him in, Jon, her Jon.

Let the guilt eat her alive, let it encompass her, let it hurt her heart and soul to think of the fact that she felt for Jon, so quickly, so consumingly must surely be frowned upon, let it, as long as he were next to her.

She'd take the guilt, hold it near her bosom, take it to live, as long as Jon did too.

She wept until her tears threatened to drown her, and even then, it wasn't enough.

Enough to get it out of her body, to stop her missing Jon, worrying for him with a panic that threatened to choke her, that wouldn't go until he came home.

If he came home.

That was how historians would write the first night of the Targaryens going to Dorne again, with the sound of the young Heirs new wife's sobbing filling the empty cold corridors of Kings Landing.

Like the echoes of a ghost.

A hundred miles away, Jon, also alone did not weep, but it was a close run thing.

If he had been taught less stoicism growing up, if he hadn't hardened to ice on the wall, if fire didn't run through his veins and scorch him now, he'd be past the brink as Sansa was, but that was not Jon, it was not who he'd been forged to be.

Instead, on the outskirts of Dorne, just days later, in no war camp, no armies, no tents, just two Targaryens, their dragons, and each other, Jons face was blank, Jons face was one of a warrior, ready to charge into battle, there would be no question if he would hesitate.

It wasn't his nature, it wasn't on his face, it wasn't as he gripped his sword and patted Caraxes, Jon knew who he was, and he knew what he needed to do.

His duty.

A duty that took him away from Sansa, and the ache of it was palpable in his chest.

Duty is the death of love.

He would not let this duty kill what they had, he would not die on the sands of Dorne, not today.

"What should our next move be son?" His Mother spoke then, and he turned to her with a smile, a real smile.

His bond with Visenya was already that of Mother and Son, a prick of guilt at his chest thought of Lyanna, his real Mother, but what was real? He mourned her but he had never known her, he had never really had a mother.

Now he did, was he supposed to throw it away for a woman not yet born but marked for death? Wouldn't she want him to soak up the love he'd never known?

He hoped so.

If the Gods were listening, he hoped she was too.

And so, he nodded, his mother passed him a waterskin which he drained, it was hotter here South of Kings Landing, and Jon, fire in his blood he may be, was not adept to the heat, he was too Northern for that, even if that had been hidden here.

"We go straight to Sunspear" Jon said as he stored the waterskin, he knew his mother was asking as more of an exercise, to talk through their planning, their thoughts. There was no ultimate authority here, they made the decision together.

And it was not a light one.

He supposed they were already at war, but this would be an escalation, a calling card to the Dornish, a display of anything but mercy. With this they would show themselves for what they were; ruthless.

What had he read once in a book on Targaryen history?

'The Targaryens believed they were closer to gods than men'

Would this only reinforce that belief in the realm? The Targaryens saw no consequence in burning thousands, for those thousands were beneath them.

Perhaps that was what the history books would write but it was not what Jon believed. He knew this was the swiftest path to ending the war, to keeping his Aunt safe, to unite the realm quickly and easily, and Jon knew, ruthless, harsh as it was, it was the best plan.

His father before, Eddard Stark had taught him honour, but on the Wall and as a man he had learned that sometimes honour had to come second.

Old Gods forgive him.

Perhaps if the histories were right and he was closer to them than the people of Westeros he could forgive himself.

For a million different things, he failed plenty on that front.

"As agreed at the Council yes, but have you mapped a best route?" His mother asked an apple in her hand, she handed another to Jon with a kind smile, she was a tough woman Visenya Targaryen, but she always had a smile for her son.

Jon nodded, he had spent the night, restless, alone going over the mapped route from the Crownlands to Sunspear, they had flown high and quick from Blackwater Bay down past Sharp Point and Evenfall Hall, now they stood concealed in the forests of Rainwood.

Jon had justified this by the fact dragons were often seen swooping over Massey's Hook and even as far as the Parchments, he knew his Aunt often took long trips on the back of Meraxes, and so they would raise little suspicion on the East of the continent, before they had plunged fast and quick into Rainwood.

Sunspear was just a hop, skip and less than a days flight over the Sea of Dorne.

"Why do we fly over the Sea of Dorne then?" His mother asked, she was a tactician, a General just as much as her husband and son, she would question his plan until she was satisfied it was the best, and Jon would have it no other way.

It was how they would ensure victory.

"Any other route, over Dorne, down past Highgarden, Nightsong we would be spied by Dornish houses who could quickly inform House Martell" Jon rattled off, they'd flown on and off for almost two days to reach Mistwood, he had plenty of time to think on his plan, "And if we swooped round past Greenstone and the Broken Arm we'd be highly visible"

"And so instead you plan for us to fly over Planky Town?" His mother asked, eyebrow raised under the crunch of an apple.

"We will be spotted eventually" Jon conceded, "But there is no other way without being spotted at some point, we just have to hope Caraxes and Vhagar can outfly a raven"

"Why not go via the Stepstones?" Visenya asked, "Go around the long way and then strike from the South?"

"It will add a day to our journey at minimum" Jon said, he had already thought of this, the best tacticians didn't just devise one plan, they considered all others to determine the best, "And the forces in Essos may be sympathetic to Dornish trade and still inform them"

His mother grinned before she nodded, "Clever, now tell me how we attack"

"We go quickly from the Weeping Tower, it should take us less than a day to reach Sunspear from the North, less if we skirt past the Broken Arm close to land" He prattled on, he'd memorized the route, the best tacticians also didn't rely on written down planning, "We sleep here tonight, we sleep as long as we need, we fill our bellies, and then we go, and we don't stop"

"Until what?" His mothers eyes flashed, she enjoyed this in a way he didn't, but it didn't make what he was doing any better.

But Jon had accepted the stain this would mark on his soul, he didn't expect to ascend to any heavens or peace when he died for good, but if he could save Westeros, save Sansa, he would accept whatever the Gods had instore for his sins.

Blacken his soul to save Sansa? It was the easiest trade he'd ever considered.

"Until Sunspear burns" He said, flat, simple, for that was their plan wasn't it? Sunspear would burn, Jon knew it was the best chance they had of a Dornish surrender, and if not surrender it would severely weaken the Kingdom, until it crumbled.

Everything did eventually.

"And once we get there? How do we make it burn? She asked, she was as good as he, thorough, they would not be sloppy. They had one chance before Sunspear brought in reinforcements, scorpions, called for aid, this would be their easiest shot to burn House Martell to the ground.

They could not squander it.

"You and I go quick and fast" He said, Jon was a novice on dragonback compared to his mother, but he was a natural, the bond he had with Caraxes was just as it had been with Ghost, if a little less familiar, but he knew that would come. He felt that bond inside him, felt its strength, could feel Caraxes even now, slumbering between the trees, could feel the pulse and pull of him, could feel the bond in his blood.

He truly was the blood of the dragon.

"One after another he swoop, we burn, we pull out, but we mix up our methods, we pull away to the side, up, even dip South" Jon said, he hadn't had the time to dedicate to reading up on dragon warfare, but he had his instincts, that would have to be enough, "That will make it harder for them to target us"

"We do that until there is only ash" He said quietly then, and he heard his mother come close, he didn't lift his head, Jon was no coward, he would wear his decisions, but it didn't make them easy.

He felt his mother cup his cheek, he was not ashamed to lean into her, the warmth and comfort of having a mother, of one who loved him, was not something he could deny.

"You are truly a warrior" His mother said her voice soft, proud, he could hear it bursting out of the seams, "Just like your father"

His father here, and perhaps Rhaegar Targaryen, but Jon didn't' even want to consider what Eddard Stark would say to his plans, what shame he would feel that the boy he'd raised planned to burn men alive, and do so under the banner of House Targaryen.

"It will get easier" She added to Jons surprise, her voice quieter now, and Jons gaze met hers, purple to purple, mother to son, "This is who we are, we are Targaryens" She said firmly, but with a love Jon had only ever dreamt of, "This is our right"

Jon nodded, not that he believed it, what right did a man have over another? None, they fought, they killed, Jon would burn, he would do it to protect those he loved, it didn't make it right.

But he'd accepted that.

"We should rest" She said then, and Jon nodded, his hand raising to press over hers, and with a smile he stood, unbuckled his cloak and lay it on the floor. It was warm enough here they could sleep under the stars, in their armor, boots, Caraxes and Vhagar close enough by they need not worry of being attacked.

No, they were the predators out here, as Dorne would soon learn.

Jon did not sleep easy, but that was some comfort, he did not want to be the kind of man who could on the eve of what he was about to do.

Come morning Jon was tired, but he shook it off, still young enough to be able to do so. Water was drank, breakfast eaten, and then they were on dragonback, at one with their companions, ready to go to battle.

Jon felt the anticipation in his stomach, the nerves of battle, but they were always easily quashed, the guilt was harder, but he forced that aside ruthlessly, Jon knew what battle meant, he knew what it required, guilt had no space here, nothing but determination, bravery and the strategy burned into his mind did.

It became easier as they flew, just as Jon had planned, high as they took a line between Greenstone and the Weeping Tower, good cloud cover meant they should not be spotted, though perhaps the ships circling Greenstone docks might note them. The day was crisp this high up, but warm, Jon was thankful he wore light armour, not that he needed it.

If all went well he'd never face a sword.

They swooped lower over the water, the Sea of Dorne, they opted to fly over The Tor, rather than waste time over the Broken Arm, this way was quicker, though Jon knew they were racing ravens as they swept over Godsgrace, though that settlement was abandoned, as was Shandystone, Ghost Hill would have spotted them by now, Vhagar vast, Ceraxes with his shrill cry, as they passed Planky Town, and onto Sunspear.

They were met, as expected, with a city knowing they would soon be under siege, if not one they were used to.

And yet the dragons were far too fast, Sunspear had not had enough time, Jon could see only one scorpion on the battlements, men hurrying to their stations, it was near evening now, fires burned low, men had been eating dinner, they had not anticipated two Targaryen's on dragonback descending.

Their mistake.

Still, they put up a fight, not that it mattered.

None of it did, when faced with dragons, it never would.

They paused for just a second to get their bearings, and then as they looked down at the vast city, at the people inhabiting it, at lives Jon would soon snuff out, at the innocents, Jon knew, he knew this was what he had to do.

This was war.

His duty.

He dove first.

He was quick, Caraxes lean as he was, was snappy when Jon nudged him downward with a need to only whisper, "Naejot"

And they swooped down, over the battlements of Sunspear, Jon didn't hesitate, as he saw them winch the scorpion, he spoke loud and clear then, decision made, it was who would fire first.

But hadn't it always been?

"Dracarys" He yelled, resignation in his voice, but fury too, he was a Targaryen after all.

And that was clear as Caraxes, with a guttural cry flooded the battlements of Sunspear with fire.

And then, as Jon knew his tactics, he knew not to get swept up in battle, even with his blood up, the hot fire of it running through his veins, he immediately tugged on Caraxes saddle, and his dragon shot up, not that it mattered, none of it did.

Jon learned there and then, over the screams, the smoke on the air, the lingering of ash in the wind, that battle on dragonback required far less thought than traditional warfare, dragons were too good, too fast, too strong.

There was a reason Aegon, his father, had conquered six kingdoms with 1600 men and three dragons.

As his mother swept down, her cry one of war, and Vhagar bathed not just the battlements but what looked like half the city in dragonfire, there was no one to fire the scorpions, arrows glanced off the dragons' scales as light as feathers, and then as Jon attacked again as his mother pulled away, he burned the archers this time, one burst of fire and any threat to them, minimal as it had been was screaming.

And then ash on the wind.

They burned everything.

It took a few waves, his mother swooped left, he would turn right, as they came up and down, flowing like water, their dragons obeying them with a nudge, a word, the best soldiers there were. Whereas Dornish men screamed and tried to reform lines, Caraxes moved with just a nudge, Vhagar needed only their words, "Dracarys!" To flood the sand with fire.

Within minutes, in what had felt like hours the battlements smoked and the screaming stopped.

There was no one left to scream.

Only the back of the city remained unburnt, but even then buildings fell, people cowered, smoke smoldered. The people had fallen silent as they waited for their certain end, to burn as their fathers, uncles, brothers and sons had.

But Jon, monster as he might be to these people, had some good left in him, "Soves" He ordered, and with a quick turn Caraxes peeled away, his mother followed on Vhagar, Jon had acted first, Jon pulled them away. Three quarters of Sunspear burned, a quarter could remain as a lesson.

And a lesson it had been.

And as the two Targaryens on their dragons flew away, past the Water Gardens, where silence had fallen, and the water reflected the columns of fire, it was quiet behind them, and only the ash danced on the wind, only the ash spoke, with no words for what had happened, no words for what they had seen.

Historians would write of the Battle of Sunspear, it would later be revised as the Burning of Sunspear.

There had been no battle here, no war, only a massacre sharp enough to remind Dorne who they were trying to fight, and why they would lose.

It was only a question of how much more had to burn.

yup, this isn't a fairytale.

this isn't just a jonsa love story, there is more to it than that, and though we will have our jonsa love, we will have two people in a very difficult situation making very difficult decisions.

do review if you can!

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