Chapter 10

Jon suppressed a sigh as yet another servant approached him with a tray.

"The cook made your favorite pies, dear," Lyanna said warmly. "You must eat to regain your strength."

"Thank you," Jon replied politely. He knew Lyanna meant well, and it felt ungrateful to complain, but this was beginning to feel absurd. If he had thought Aegon had been coddled before, it was nothing compared to this. An entire army of servants had been hovering over him during the three days he'd spent confined to bedrest.

Jon took a bite of the pie out of politeness, though the rich flavor barely registered on his tongue. Across the room, Lyanna hovered near the window, her gaze flicking back to him every few moments.

"Mother," Jon said carefully, setting down the fork. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. Truly. But I'm feeling better now. I need to get out of this bed before I forget how to walk."

Lyanna turned to face him fully, her expression a mixture of concern and mild reproach. "You're still recovering, Aegon. The Maester said…"

"The Maester said I should rest," Jon interrupted gently. "Not be treated like an invalid. I'll take it slow, I promise. But I need some fresh air. Even Ser Fury is starting to look at me like I've gone soft."

At the mention of Ser Fury, Lyanna's lips twitched into a faint smile. The direwolf, who had been lying near the foot of the bed, lifted his head at the sound of his name, his red eyes sharp and watchful.

Lyanna sighed softly and walked back to his bedside. "Alright. But only for a little while, and Rylen will accompany you. No arguments."

Jon nodded, relief flooding him. "Agreed."

"I'll let Rylen know," Lyanna said, placing a gentle hand on his good arm before leaving the room.

Once she was gone, Jon let out a long breath, leaning back against the pillows. Ghost padded closer, resting his massive head on the edge of the bed.

"Well, boy," Jon murmured, scratching behind Ghost's ear with his uninjured hand. "It seems we're finally getting out of here."

A short while later, Rylen entered, looking as composed and professional as ever. "Your Grace, I hear you've convinced the Queen to grant you some time out of bed."

Jon swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly as his body protested the movement. "I did. Let's not waste it."

One of the servants hurried to help him get dressed and this time Jon didn't protest. Slowly, and with Ghost walking beside him like a vigilant shadow, Jon made his way to the door.

The air in the hallway felt cooler, sharper somehow, and Jon inhaled deeply. For the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe again.

"Where to, Your Grace?" Rylen asked.

Jon paused, considering his options.

"I just need some fresh air."

Rylen inclined his head. "Perhaps a short walk in the garden then?"

Jon gave a faint nod. "Sure, that sounds good."

The journey to the gardens was slower than Jon would have liked, but he forced himself to be patient. Every step felt both liberating and exhausting, his body still weak from days of bed rest. Ghost padded silently beside him, his red eyes flicking over every shadow and corner as if he expected danger to leap out at any moment.

Rylen kept a respectful distance, always within reach if Jon stumbled but never overstepping. It was a small kindness, and Jon appreciated it. The two guards tailing them also kept their distance and soon Jon barely remembered their presence.

When they finally stepped outside, the crisp afternoon air greeted him with the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers. The garden was tucked away behind a high stone wall, a pocket of peace within the sprawling Red Keep. Sunlight filtered through the branches of carefully maintained trees, casting dappled patterns across the stone pathways.

Jon took a deep breath, letting the stillness settle over him.

"Do you wish to sit, Your Grace?" Rylen asked.

Jon shook his head. "Not yet. I'd like to walk a little longer."

They moved slowly down the path, Jon's boots crunching against the gravel. Ghost kept pace with him, his ears flicking occasionally at the distant chirping of birds.

Jon's gaze drifted over a small stone fountain bubbling in the center of the path. The water glittered in the sunlight, catching his eye and holding it for a moment.

A sharp cry echoed above them, a bird of prey, perhaps a hawk or a falcon. Jon looked up instinctively, squinting into the light. For a brief moment, he felt like he could see the open sky of the North, the cold winds of Winterfell brushing against his face.

But the moment passed.

"Your Grace," Rylen said softly, drawing Jon's attention back. "Would you like to sit now?"

Jon exhaled slowly and nodded. "Yes, I think that's enough walking for now."

Rylen guided Jon toward a stone bench beneath a tall elm tree. Jon lowered himself carefully, his injured arm protesting even the slight jolt of sitting down. Ghost settled at his feet, his massive head resting on his paws.

For a few moments, Jon simply sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the gentle trickle of water cascading from the stone fountain nearby. The fresh air and soft sunlight felt like a balm after days of confinement.

Movement caught his attention, and Jon's eyes shifted toward the fountain. Lady Faye was approaching with another young woman by her side, a maid, judging by her simpler attire. The two women exchanged quiet words before taking a seat on the fountain's edge.

Jon watched as Lady Faye dipped her slender fingers into the water, her expression softening into a smile. After a brief glance around, she removed her shoes and lifted the hem of her gown just enough to step gracefully into the shallow pool.

The sunlight caught the water droplets as they splashed around her ankles, and for a moment, Lady Faye looked… free. There was a lightness in her smile, a spark of mischief even, as she turned to say something to her companion, who quickly covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Jon couldn't help but stare. This was a side of Lady Faye he hadn't seen before, unburdened, unguarded, and utterly at ease.

Ghost let out a soft huff, and Jon absently scratched behind his ear with his good hand. The direwolf's red eyes were fixed on the two women as well, his head slightly tilted as if he, too, was curious about the scene unfolding before them.

For a moment, Jon considered calling out, letting Lady Faye know he was there. But something stopped him. This moment felt… private, untouched by the weight of titles and duty.

Instead, he leaned back against the bench, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched Lady Faye wade through the fountain's clear waters, her laughter carrying softly on the breeze.

Then, Ghost's head snapped up, ears pricking forward as he caught sight of something in the bushes. With a low huff, the direwolf rose and padded off, his steps surprisingly light for a creature of his size.

"Ghost, wait!" Jon called softly, but the wolf was already moving toward the fountain.

Lady Faye's companion let out a muffled cry, her eyes widening in alarm as Ghost emerged from the foliage, his piercing red eyes fixed on them.

"It's alright," Lady Faye said quickly, her voice calm and steady despite the imposing figure of the direwolf. "That's Ser Fury, the prince's direwolf."

Jon winced slightly at the name but called out, "Ser Fury! Come!"

The direwolf halted immediately, his gaze shifting back to Jon before he turned and padded obediently toward the bench. His massive tail swayed slightly as he passed Lady Faye, brushing against her gown.

Lady Faye sighed with something like relief, though her smile remained intact as she stepped out of the fountain, her movements graceful despite the soaked hem of her gown. She slipped her shoes back on, her companion fumbling slightly to assist her before they both approached Jon.

"Your Grace," Lady Faye greeted him with a composed curtsy. "I hope we didn't disturb your rest."

Jon shook his head faintly. "No, not at all." His gaze shifted briefly to the other woman, who was clutching her skirts tightly, her face flushed.

"This is my handmaiden, Alise," Lady Faye said, gesturing to the young woman beside her.

"Your Grace," Alise murmured, dropping into a deep curtsy, her voice trembling slightly.

Jon inclined his head in acknowledgment, his lips twitching faintly as he glanced between them. "You've both had quite the encounter with my direwolf. My apologies for that."

"It's quite alright," Lady Faye said lightly, her tone carrying a trace of amusement. "Ser Fury is… impressive."

Jon's smile grew slightly at her choice of words. "That's one way to put it."

He hesitated briefly before gesturing toward Rylen, who stood nearby with his usual composed demeanor. "This is Rylen."

Jon paused, realizing he wasn't entirely sure of Rylen's official title. The hesitation lingered for just a moment before Rylen stepped in smoothly.

"My lady," Rylen greeted Lady Faye with a polite bow.

Lady Faye dipped her head in return, her expression gracious.

"Would you care to join me?" Jon asked, gesturing faintly to the empty space on the bench beside him.

Lady Faye exchanged a brief glance with Alise before nodding. "Thank you, Your Grace."

As Lady Faye took a seat beside Jon, Rylen stepped closer to Alise, lowering his voice slightly. "May I escort your handmaiden for a brief walk, my lady?"

Alise's wide eyes flicked toward Lady Faye, who gave her a reassuring nod. "Go on, Alise. Enjoy the garden."

"Thank you, my lady," Alise said softly before taking Rylen's offered arm.

With a courteous bow to Jon and Lady Faye, Rylen led Alise away, their figures soon disappearing down one of the garden's winding paths.

For a moment, silence lingered between Jon and Lady Faye, broken only by the soft murmur of the fountain and the occasional chirp of distant birds.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Your Grace," Lady Faye broke the silence. "How is your arm?"

"Healing," Jon replied.

"That's good to hear. And your head?"

"It's… better." Jon paused, hesitating for a moment. The truth was that his head felt fine, but the injury offered him a good explanation for not knowing everything. "I just… I don't remember everything."

Lady Faye's brows furrowed with concern. "What kind of things do you mean, Your Grace?"

"Just some details. Like… I don't remember how we met."

Lady Faye pressed her lips together and was quiet for a moment before replying.

"Perhaps it's best you don't remember that, Your Grace," she stated, her tone calm.

"Oh. Was it that bad?"

"Well, you called me a plain midget."

Jon winced, his expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief. "I… said that?"

"You did," Lady Faye replied, her lips twitching slightly as though she were holding back a smile.

Jon let out a slow breath, running his good hand through his hair. "Seven hells… I…"

"There's no need to apologize, Your Grace," she interrupted. "It's in the past."

Jon's eyes met hers, searching for any trace of lingering hurt. Instead, he found only a quiet amusement.

"You're kinder than I deserve," he said softly.

Lady Faye shook her head. "Not kinder, just… practical. Holding grudges in court is a quick way to find yourself drowning in them."

Jon let out a faint chuckle at that, though it was brief. He hesitated before speaking again. "Still, I want to apologize. I had no right to talk to you like that."

Lady Faye tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Our engagement wasn't what you wanted."

Jon shook his head. "That's no excuse. I can't imagine that you were too excited about marrying a stranger either. Especially a stranger like me."

"I've always known the decision wouldn't be my own," she replied. "That's just how things are."

Jon looked away for a moment, his gaze drifting to the fountain where the water shimmered in the afternoon light. "That doesn't make it right. We're both trapped by expectations, but that doesn't mean I had to be cruel."

Lady Faye regarded him quietly before speaking. "Cruelty comes in many forms, Your Grace. Words can cut deeply, but they're also easier to forgive than actions."

Her words carried a weight that made Jon glance back at her, wondering what experiences had shaped such an observation. But Lady Faye's face remained composed, her expression giving nothing away.

"I'll try to do better," Jon said finally, his voice low but steady. "In every way. I… I hope to be a better man."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Lady Faye's mouth. "That's an admirable goal, Your Grace."

Jon cleared his throat, glancing back at her. "Is that what you see every time you look at me, my lady? A proud, unkind prince who called you…"

"A plain midget?" Lady Faye finished for him, her lips quirking upward.

Jon winced again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Aye, that."

"No, Your Grace," she said, her voice soft. "You've shown me something different these past few days. Something… unexpected."

Before Jon could reply, Alise and Rylen reappeared in the garden, walking side by side. Alise gave a curtsy while Rylen offered a respectful bow.

"Your Grace, my lady," Rylen said, his tone crisp yet polite. "The Queen is asking after you, Your Grace."

Jon sighed softly, pushing himself carefully to his feet. Ghost immediately rose with him, the direwolf's presence steady and watchful.

"Duty calls," Jon said with a faint smirk, looking down at Lady Faye.

She stood as well, her skirts rustling softly. "It seems so, Your Grace."

As they began walking back towards the keep, Jon glanced at Lady Faye once more. "Thank you… for this conversation."

Lady Faye dipped her head gracefully. "You're welcome, Your Grace."

"Well, if it isn't my nephew, the protector of servants," Brandon said, amusement clear in his voice. "You should hear what they're saying about you in King's Landing now." He paused, shaking his head with a smirk. "I'm afraid your reputation is utterly ruined."

"That's unfortunate," Jon replied dryly, shifting to make himself more comfortable against the pillows.

Brandon chuckled and lowered himself into the chair beside the bed. "How are you feeling, Aegon?"

"Better. But… I don't remember everything."

Brandon nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, your mother mentioned as much. No need to fret, though. You'll be back to your old self in no time. Speaking of which, I ran into Lord Tyrion yesterday. Apparently, the girls are missing you terribly."

Though Brandon's tone was light, Jon couldn't suppress a flicker of discomfort.

"Lord Tyrion… He owns a brothel, doesn't he?"

Brandon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Yes, several, in fact. All your favorite establishments."

"Right… How did that happen after his father and brother were executed for treason?"

"Lord Tyrion is a sharp man," Brandon said, his grin fading slightly. "Few could recover from such a scandal, but Tyrion managed it with wit, coin, and a silver tongue."

Jon nodded, absorbing the information. "I can imagine."

Brandon studied him closely, his usually playful demeanor softening. "How much have you forgotten, nephew?"

"Quite a lot," Jon admitted, choosing his words carefully. "Are you… married?"

Brandon's eyes went wide before he burst into laughter. "Married? Me?" He shook his head, still chuckling. "No, gods no. But I suppose I did teach you some bad habits over the years. If you recall, I was the one who took you to a brothel for the first time. My nameday gift to you. Don't tell your mother."

He leaned back with a wistful smile and sighed. "I haven't always been… the best influence on you."

Jon hesitated, his gaze dropping to his injured arm. Clearly, Brandon had been an important part of Aegon's life, a figure who had shaped him in ways Jon could only guess at. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, why Brandon had given up his rights as the firstborn son, how he had gotten the burn scars that marred his face, but those questions felt too intrusive.

Brandon must have sensed his hesitation because he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Well, I can see your mother has been taking good care of you."

"She has," Jon agreed softly. The whole concept of motherly love had been foreign to him his entire life, but in the past few days, he had felt it in every gesture, every word, and every lingering touch. It was strange, unfamiliar… but not unpleasant.

"She does love you dearly, you know," Brandon said, his voice quieter now. "You'd do well to show her some appreciation."

Jon nodded. "I will. But… I haven't always done that, have I?"

Brandon tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You could've been worse, I suppose," he said lightly. "But no need to worry, your mother would never hold that against you."

Jon pressed his lips together, once again amazed by Aegon's character. He had been born with everything, a crown, power, and a mother who loved him, and yet, it seemed he hadn't appreciated any of it.

"I'll try to do better," Jon murmured.

"Good for you, nephew," Brandon replied warmly. "Learn from my mistakes."

"Your mistakes?" Jon asked cautiously.

Brandon let out a slow sigh, his gaze drifting somewhere distant. "Aye. I've made too many of them to count. But as I've told you before, life will sooner or later teach a man humility. You were born into privilege, Aegon, but with that comes responsibility, to your family, to the crown, and to the realm."

He paused, his voice firm but not unkind. "Never forget that, nephew. Privilege isn't just a gift, it's a debt that must always be repaid."

Jon nodded slowly, absorbing Brandon's words. Privilege isn't just a gift, it's a debt. It was a lesson Jon had learned in blood and loss beyond the Wall, though perhaps Aegon had never truly grasped it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Do you regret it?" Jon asked finally. "Walking away from your birthright?"

Brandon's brow lifted slightly, and for a moment, Jon thought he might deflect the question with a joke or a sharp quip. But instead, Brandon leaned back in his chair, his expression turning somber.

"There are days I wonder what might have been," Brandon admitted, his voice quieter now. "If I'd taken up the mantle of the Lord of Winterfell." He paused, his thumb brushing over one of the burn scars on his cheek. "But the truth is, Aegon, your uncle Ned was always better suited for that role. Perhaps I was once too proud to see it, let alone admit it, but now… it's clear to me."

He looked Jon square in the eyes. "I made my choice. And I've made peace with it. But make no mistake, every choice comes with a price."

"Uncle Ned…" Jon began cautiously. "He has five children, doesn't he?"

Brandon looked at him, concern flickering in his eyes.

"You really did hit your head hard, nephew. Yes, your uncle Ned has five children with Lady Catelyn. You've met their eldest son, Robb, a couple of times. Do you remember him?"

"I'm not sure," Jon murmured, hoping to gather as much information as possible.

"Well, he's much like his father, steady and honorable. He married Margaery Tyrell, your sister Rhaenys' good-sister, a few months ago. I attended the wedding; it was quite a celebration."

"I wasn't there?" Jon asked.

"No, you felt the journey was too long."

Too long… Aegon hadn't bothered to attend his cousin's wedding because the journey was too long for him. Unbelievable.

"They'll both attend your wedding, though," Brandon added. "Along with your uncle, Lady Catelyn, and the daughters. I'm not sure if Ned is planning to bring his younger sons."

"The daughters…" Jon began.

"Yes, Sansa and Arya. Sansa is a beautiful young lady, and I found Arya quite delightful. She certainly has spirit." Brandon paused and chuckled. "Sadly for Ned, she reminds me of myself at her age."

"Arya reminds you of yourself?" Jon asked, his lips twitching faintly despite the weight of the conversation.

Brandon laughed softly, a genuine sound that seemed to lighten the shadows on his scarred face. "Oh, absolutely. She's wild, sharp-tongued, and far too clever for her own good. Ned's going to have his hands full finding her a match."

Jon smirked faintly. "I imagine she won't make it easy for him."

"No, she won't," Brandon agreed with a wistful smile. "But that's what I like about her. There's no pretense with Arya, she's exactly who she is, without apology. It's a rare thing in our world, nephew."

Jon nodded slowly, his good hand gripping the blanket draped across his lap. "It sounds like you care about them."

Brandon's expression softened. "They're family, Aegon. And family… family matters more than titles, more than power, more than anything else."

The words struck something deep within Jon. Family. It was a word that had always carried both warmth and sorrow for him. At Winterfell, his siblings, or cousins, especially Robb and Arya, had been his family. Ned had been his father. At Castle Black, his brothers of the Night's Watch had been his family. Ygritte had been his family, if only briefly.

But Aegon's world… it was a tangled web of blood ties, obligations, and expectations. Here, he had a sister he had never met and knew nothing about. She had a husband, a daughter, and was expecting her second child. Here, he had a mother and a father, though he was still learning to see them as his parents.

"About my sister…" Jon began hesitantly.

Brandon's eyes widened. "Don't tell me you can't remember her."

Jon hesitated, his discomfort evident. "I… It's all still a little… hazy."

"Well, she was a perfect older sister to you, I can tell you that. Always calm and composed, even when you acted out. An admirable young lady. She married Willas Tyrell, if you recall. A great match, I think, he practically adores her. And they have a daughter, Genevieve. She, on the other hand, adores her uncle Aegon, thanks to all those lavish gifts you've sent her."

Jon's brow furrowed slightly as he processed Brandon's words. A sister, a perfect older sister, and a niece who adored him. Gifts sent without thought, perhaps, or maybe out of obligation. Was that all Aegon had been to them? A distant figure who sent trinkets but never truly knew them?

"Genevieve," Jon repeated softly, letting the name settle on his tongue. "How old is she?"

"Five," Brandon said with a fond smile. "Sharp as a needle, that one. Takes after her father in wit and her mother in grace."

Five years old. A little girl who looked up to him, who called him 'Uncle Aegon,' and Jon couldn't even recall the sound of her voice or the color of her hair. It left a hollow ache in his chest.

"And my sister… Rhaenys. Is she happy?" Jon asked, his voice quieter now.

Brandon's smile softened, and he nodded. "I believe she is. Willas is a good man, steady and kind. He cares for her deeply, and she seems content in her role as wife and mother."

Jon nodded slowly, his thoughts a tangle of guilt and longing. A sister he couldn't remember. A niece he'd never met. A family that felt like strangers, and yet… they were his. Blood bound them, even if memories did not.

"I'll… I'll have to make it right," Jon murmured and looked up, meeting Brandon's gaze. "Did I ever make time for them? For Rhaenys, for Genevieve?"

Brandon hesitated, and that slight pause told Jon more than words could. "You had your moments," Brandon said carefully. "But… you did have your priorities. And sometimes, they weren't where they should have been."

Jon let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of those unspoken failures settle on his shoulders.

Brandon leaned forward slightly, his voice low but firm. "But it's not too late. You'll see them soon when they come to your wedding."

Jon nodded, his jaw tightening with determination. He couldn't change what Aegon had done, or failed to do, but he could decide what kind of brother, uncle, and son he would be.

"It seems you've really thought about these things, nephew," Brandon said after a moment of silence. "That's good. You're not a boy anymore, and I'm glad to see you're ready to take your role as your father's heir more seriously."

"I am," Jon replied firmly. "I intend to become a better man than I was."

"That's admirable, but let's not get carried away," Brandon said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "I think several brothels in King's Landing would have to shut their doors without you."

Jon chuckled softly, though it was more out of politeness than genuine amusement. Brandon's playful jab was meant to lighten the mood, but it only served as a reminder of Aegon's frivolous past.

"Well," Jon replied, forcing a faint smile, "I suppose they'll have to find other patrons."

Brandon tilted his head, studying him for a moment. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"I am," Jon said, his voice steady. "I've made mistakes, too many, it seems. But if I'm to be a king, if I'm to honor the people who care for me, I need to do better. I will do better."

Brandon leaned back, his expression softening. "You sound like your uncle Ned. Steady, determined… gods help us all."

Jon allowed himself a small, genuine smile at that. "He must be a good man, if he's the standard everyone measures themselves against."

"The best," Brandon said without hesitation. "But don't try to be Ned. Be yourself, Aegon. Just be the man you're meant to be."

Jon nodded, taking the words to heart. The man he was meant to be.

"I'll try," Jon said quietly.

"That's all anyone can ask," Brandon replied, his voice unusually kind.

For a moment, the room was quiet again.

"Now," Brandon said, his tone lightening once more, "if you don't mind, I'll leave you to rest. You'll need all your strength for the days ahead. Wedding arrangements can be exhausting, you know."

Jon smirked faintly. "I'll take your word for it."

Brandon stood, brushing imaginary dust from his tunic. "And one last thing, nephew, when you see Rhaenys and Genevieve, don't overthink it. They're your family. Start there."

Jon nodded again, watching as Brandon made his way to the door.

"Good night, Aegon," Brandon said, his scarred face briefly illuminated by the firelight as he glanced back.

"Good night, Uncle," Jon replied.

When the door closed behind Brandon, Jon leaned back against the pillows, his mind racing.

He couldn't rewrite Aegon's past, but the future was still his to shape. And he intended to do it right.