ARTHUR: The chapters will all be the same except until this chapter 16. I have decided to come back and the story will be very different going forward after this chapter. There will be another note at the end of this chapter to answer questions you may have.

Robb

It was the sensation of his eyelids being pried open that stirred the heir of Winterfell from his slumber. Robb Stark blinked groggily, only to be met by Arya's wide grin and Jon Snow's smirk. Arya held one of his eyes open with her fingers, leaning close.

"Wake up! Wake up!" she whispered, at least showing the courtesy not to wake his sleeping wife. "We want you awake."

Robb batted her hand away with a groan. "Mission accomplished," he muttered darkly. "Congratulations. Now leave me in peace."

"We also want you up, my lord," Jon suggested, his tone much too calm for Robb's liking.

"For what?"

"I promised Arya we'd see the God's Eye this morning."

Robb groaned, rolling onto his side. "Why must I come with you? And wasn't that planned for nightfall?"

Jon's face stiffened, his expression guarded. "You know why I'm not going after dark."

"You're not?" Arya piped up, frowning. "Why not?"

Neither man answered, but Arya's sharp gaze darted between them, frustration clear on her face.

"There's something else I wanted to show her," Jon said finally, his voice measured.

Robb sat up, scrutinizing him. "You can't be serious." When Jon didn't respond, Robb's brow furrowed deeper. "That thing's a monster, Jon. And Arya's just a girl."

"I'm not a little girl!" Arya interjected hotly, glaring at both of them. "And what monster?"

Jon opened his mouth to retort but seemed to think better of it. His expression shifted, unreadable as ever, and without a word, he turned and left the tent.

"Jon!" Arya called after him, but he didn't look back.

Alys stirred beside Robb, sitting up with a sleepy frown. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure," Robb replied, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He dressed swiftly in his white and grey doublet, his mind already racing. "But I intend to find out."

Arya crossed her arms defiantly. "I'm coming too."

"You'll stay here," Robb ordered, knowing full well she wouldn't. He left before she could argue, stepping outside to find his mother waiting with two guards.

"Mother," he greeted, his tone cautious.

"We need to talk," Catelyn said, urgency in her voice. Her sharp gaze flicked to Grey Wind, who padded silently at Robb's side, his yellow eyes gleaming in the early light.

Robb hesitated. Whatever Jon was dealing with, he could handle. For now, he'd hear his mother out. Together, they walked through the camp, past thinning rows of tents and into the dense trees where the guards hung back. Grey Wind shadowed them, his presence steady and comforting.

Catelyn didn't waste time. "This is about Jon."

Robb tensed, his gloved fingers curling into fists. "Your opinions of my brother are no concern of mine."

"He's not your—"

"Yes, he is!" Robb snapped, his temper flaring. "He's lived with us, fought with us, bled with us since I was a boy. Nothing you say will change that. He's more of a Stark than you'll ever be." Grey Wind rumbled low in his throat, echoing his master's anger.

Catelyn's lips pressed into a thin line. "I say he's not your brother because I know the truth."

Robb froze, the heat of his anger fading in an instant. "You know?"

She nodded, her voice softer now. "Your father told me the truth after Jon returned."

"And he didn't see fit to tell me," Robb muttered bitterly. "He didn't think to tell Jon, either. All those years—he could've been spared so much."

"I know." Her eyes, so like his own, softened. "And I've told him I regret it. But that's not why I brought you here."

"Then what?" Robb demanded.

Her expression hardened, determination etched into every line of her face. "Jon is the rider."

Robb stared at her, stunned into silence.

"Don't deny it," Catelyn pressed. "I've known since his duel with Darkstar. You may try to hide it, but I raised you, Robb. I know when you're lying."

She reached out, her hand gentle against his cheek. "Do you understand the danger we're in?"

Robb shrugged her off, his temper flaring once more. "A dragon should make us safer, not put us at risk."

Catelyn's eyes narrowed. "And what happens when people find out? When they learn the truth of his parentage? The realm will descend into chaos. They'll use him, bed him, and claim his dragon through his children."

Robb grimaced, unwilling to admit her words held weight. He thought of the way Princess Rhaenys's lilac eyes lingered on Jon, of Arianne Martell's sultry smiles.

"No one knows," he said firmly. "And no one will."

"Can you be sure?" Catelyn's voice was low, urgent. "Even if the truth doesn't come out, Jon's dragon will lay eggs, Robb. The balance of power will shift. And the king—"

"Enough!" Robb growled, cutting her off. "Jon's loyalty is with us. That's all that matters."

For a long moment, Catelyn said nothing, her expression unreadable. Then she smoothed her skirts and turned away, her guards falling into step behind her. Robb watched her retreat, tension coiled tight in his chest.

Robb's walk back to his tent felt like a march through a mire, far longer than it truly was. When he arrived, Jon stood with Arya, Tyrion, and Alys, the flickering lamplight casting long shadows around them.

"We've been waiting for you," Arya said, arms crossed and her expression stormy. She was clearly still annoyed about being left behind earlier.

"Arya says you walked off with Lady Stark. What's going on?" Jon asked, his sharp gaze unwavering.

Robb forced himself to meet it. "She wanted to lecture me about the camp's layout," he said smoothly. "Apparently, someone reported a brawl between a Dornishman and a Northerner." His stomach twisted at the lie, burning like bad ale.

"I did warn you," Alys said gently, her words laced with reproach. "You were too lenient assigning the tents. There's bad blood between the Dornish and the North. We should've separated them more."

Jon nodded thoughtfully. "Being closer to the river wouldn't be a bad idea. Easier to avoid trouble that way."

Robb stiffened, knowing Jon didn't believe him. It was there in his eyes—a quiet, probing doubt. What does he think? That we're scheming behind his back? Robb clenched his fists. He's just returned to us. I won't risk setting him off again.

"Are we ready to move out?" Tyrion broke the tension, adjusting his gloves. "I was in the middle of reading an intriguing tome and would like to get back to it before nightfall."

"What's it about?" Arya asked, her curiosity overriding her usual disdain for books. "Reading is boring."

"Reading is only boring to the boring, little girl," Tyrion replied, his tone dripping with mockery. "And this one happens to be about the process of dragons laying eggs."

Robb closed his eyes, stifling a groan.

"We're ready," Jon said decisively. "Your wife stays here, though."

"I wish to go," Alys protested, her frown deepening. Robb stepped to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I'll be back soon," he promised softly. Alys glared but retreated into their tent without another word.

It seems everyone's mad at me today, Robb thought with grim amusement.

Their party set off, with the three Stark siblings astride their direwolves—Grey Wind, Nymeria, and Ghost—all now massive enough to dwarf the largest destrier. Tyrion, riding a jittery mare, struggled to keep her from bolting in terror at the wolves' proximity.

"Relax, you stubborn beast!" Tyrion barked, gripping the reins with white knuckles. "That's an order from the dwarf of Casterly Rock!"

Arya rode ahead with Tyrion, leaving Robb and Jon trailing slightly behind. The forest pressed close around them, vibrant and alive. Deer darted through the underbrush, stray dogs barked from the distance, and smaller creatures skittered away at the sight of the wolves.

"What's bothering you?" Jon asked quietly, breaking the companionable silence.

Robb scratched Grey Wind's ears absentmindedly. "Remember what we talked about? The princess?"

"What about her?" Jon asked, his tone cautious.

Robb met Jon's lilac eyes, steady but conflicted. "I think you're right."

Jon blinked in surprise. "Am I? You never admit when I'm right, Stark. And I'm right most of the time."

Robb tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. "I've been thinking about what could happen if… your bond with her deepens." He broke Jon's gaze, looking instead at the path ahead.

"It won't," Jon said firmly. "She's my half-sister. Even if she doesn't know, I do. Nothing will come of it—I promise you."

Robb exhaled sharply, the knot in his chest tightening. "From what I've seen, that's untrue. What happened after the feast by the bank? We retired to our tents, but where were you?"

Jon's expression hardened. "I didn't know you were so interested in my whereabouts. I said nothing when you and Theon went to Winter Town and did as you pleased."

We brought you along, Robb thought. But you refused to touch a single thing that moved. Are you still the same?

Robb laid a hand on Jon's shoulder, his voice softening. "It's my job as your older brother to look out for you. If anyone finds out about your dragon, she—and everyone else—will want to use you. Or worse, destroy you."

Jon gave him a side-eye. "You're only a few months older. There's nothing 'little' about me."

"A few months is still older, isn't it?" Robb shot back with a grin. "Don't tell me all those years on dragonback knocked the sense out of your skull."

Jon smiled. "No, but all those years of me knocking you to the ground in the courtyard must've knocked the sense out of yours."

They bantered back and forth like the old days, the tension between them dissolving into laughter. For the first time in what felt like years, Robb felt at peace. His brother was finally home.

Jon

Jon's thoughts were restless as they rode in silence. Robb's voice earlier had carried an edge—a quiet tension Jon couldn't ignore. It had been a subtle shift, a tone he couldn't quite place, but it lingered in the air between them. Jon noticed it but chose not to comment. He could easily pry out the truth, but sometimes silence spoke more than words. If it was important, it would come out eventually. After all, the truth always found a way, just like blood.

The dense underbrush crunched beneath their feet as they pressed deeper into the woods, the sounds of the forest growing more distant as something else stirred in the air. Arya was the first to notice, slowing Nymeria. Her wolf crouched low, her fangs bared. Grey Wind mirrored the motion, while Ghost stood still, eerily calm. Tyrion's horse, however, was not so composed. With a panicked whinny, the mare reared, and despite Tyrion's best efforts to regain control, it bolted, the dwarf cursing loudly from its back.

"What's happening?" Arya demanded, her voice taut with both fear and curiosity. The noise, distant at first, was growing louder—ominous, like the approach of a storm.

The earth trembled beneath them, sending vibrations through their bodies as the sound intensified. Birds took to the skies in a panic, and trees began to shake violently. Before their eyes, massive roots tore free from the ground, rocks cracked apart, and leaves swirled in a frenzied dance. A dark shadow loomed, swallowing the forest as it approached.

Robb's face tightened with raw, unfiltered fear. "Gods…"

Arya, her eyes wide, whispered in awe and fear. "It's the Black Dread…"

"No," Jon replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's Cannibal."

Cannibal emerged from the smoke and chaos, its emerald eyes glinting with an insatiable bloodlust. Its massive black form was an unnatural sight—far more terrifying than the legends of the great dragons. Its jaws were stained with the blood of its latest victim, and the wild beast's gaze fixed hungrily on the wolves, the Northern creatures, and even the horses.

Jon gave a subtle command, his voice calm despite the threat before them. The direwolves hesitated but retreated a few steps, sensing the dragon's power. Jon's presence was enough to keep them from charging. But it was clear: Cannibal was no tame beast.

"You're the rider," Arya said, her eyes wide with awe, her voice full of wonder. She looked from Jon to the dragon, and her lips curled into a small smile.

"I am," Jon confirmed, holding up a hand to stop any further questions. "But before you ask," he said, leaning toward Arya and putting a finger to her lips, "I have something for you."

He dismounted Ghost and approached Cannibal carefully, knowing full well how temperamental the dragon could be. Cannibal had spent far too long separated from Jon, and its resentment was palpable. It was a creature of pride, one that would only allow Jon near it when it felt worthy. Jon was cautious, but his bond with the dragon was strong.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as he reached the beast's massive ebony snout. Cannibal growled low, a rumbling sound that made Jon tense—but he stood firm. "I know you're angry," Jon thought at the beast. "But I'm sorry, very sorry."

Cannibal's green eyes narrowed, but it only exhaled a hot breath, a warning. Jon swallowed and carefully climbed into the saddle, settling himself before turning back toward the others.

He walked toward Arya, who had been watching him intently, her curiosity piqued. In his hands, he held a gleaming Valyrian blade, its edge catching the sunlight in a flash of silver. Arya's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's mine?"

Jon nodded, offering the sword to her. "It is. I'll maybe get you something better when you prove you can handle it."

Arya's face lit up with joy, and she grinned broadly as she took the blade. "I'll make you proud," she promised, already admiring the craftsmanship.

Robb, unable to resist, grinned. "She already has a Valyrian dagger. Where's mine?"

Jon chuckled. "You have to beat me in the yard first, Stark." He turned, setting on getting Robb one, too.

But as the conversation lightened, Jon's attention shifted. He scanned the clearing, his eyes narrowing. Where was Tyrion? He should have returned by now. His horse had bolted, but Jon had expected him to regroup with the others.

That's when Jon's sharp gaze caught something else—something gleaming in the sun, the broken remnants of egg shells caught in the sunlight. His heart skipped a beat.

"Oh…" Jon thought numbly.

Before anyone could react, the sound of hooves thundered through the woods, and the direwolves tensed. Jon and Robb drew their swords in unison, the gleaming Valyrian steel of Jon's blade calling for blood.

From the trees, men on warhorses emerged—battle-hardened soldiers clad in plain, grey armor, their helmets featureless. They carried no banners, no sign of their allegiance. But they froze when they saw Cannibal, its jaws wide in a low growl.

"It's the dragon!"

"It's Cannibal!"

"Fire!"

Jon acted on instinct. "Calm down!" he shouted, both to the soldiers and to Cannibal. But before the words could sink in, a loose arrow flew from the trees, striking Cannibal's dark scales. It was useless—merely a nuisance—but the damage had been done.

In an instant, Cannibal's rage boiled over. With a deafening roar, green fire erupted from the dragon's mouth. Jon barely managed to tackle Arya and Robb to the ground as the flames shot overhead. The men who had dared to attack were engulfed in the fire, their armor melting into their skin, their screams drowned by the roar of the dragon.

The wind picked up, fanning the flames as Cannibal advanced, devouring the remains of the men and their horses with brutal efficiency. Trees caught fire, and the air was thick with smoke and death.

"Get up!" Jon yelled, pulling Robb and Arya to their feet. "We have to move—now! He won't stop!"

Without a second glance, they were mounted and racing through the woods, their direwolves leading the charge. The forest blurred around them as the sounds of fire and destruction echoed behind them, growing ever louder.

Darkstar

It was a bitter humiliation for Darkstar to walk the grounds of Harrenhal, each step punctuated by a painful limp. The young Targaryen beside him, Joffrey, seemed all too eager to enjoy his discomfort, a wineskin in hand, sloshing with every exaggerated motion.

"How does my father take offense on the behalf of traitors more than his own son?" Joffrey ranted, his voice dripping with frustration. "Mother says I was right to put that bastard in his place. He had no right to lay a hand on a dragon!"

Darkstar, however, was long past tolerating the endless whining of the golden-haired boy. He gritted his teeth, offering nothing but the occasional nod when Joffrey's gaze flicked toward him, seeking approval.

"You are limping," Joffrey observed gleefully, his golden curls catching the light like a halo of arrogance.

You think I don't know that, imbecile? Darkstar fought the surge of anger rising in his chest. Joffrey, despite his appearance—so clearly Lannister—still carried Targaryen blood, and with it, an undeniable claim to power that Darkstar could never touch. Worse still, the boy had the means to do as he pleased while Darkstar could only seethe in silence.

"Of course I know," he muttered tightly.

"How did the bastard of Winterfell best you?" Joffrey asked, his voice thick with disbelief. "They say you were the most dangerous man in Dorne. Well, it's a blessing from the gods that he's from the north."

Darkstar's hand twitched toward his sword, but he kept his calm. "This is why we came to an agreement," he said, lifting his purple eyes to meet Joffrey's haughty green ones.

Joffrey waved him off impatiently, dismissing the matter entirely. "Yes, yes, he'll be dead soon enough."

The boy's eagerness was palpable. "That bastard dared to upstage me in front of my father and family," Joffrey hissed, eyes flaring with anger. "Blackfyre was supposed to be mine! Mine to wield, mine to command! Not Aegon! He's not worthy of it!" He fumed, barely noticing as the first light of dawn spread over the distant shore.

Darkstar allowed himself a small smile, reveling in the warmth of excitement that began to build in his gut. Does he think he can best me, that he can threaten me in my own chambers? The thought stoked the fire of his fury.

"At least, when your cousin dies, there's a chance Dawn will pass to you," Joffrey mused. "You're the finest swordsman of House Dayne, after Arthur. That's what they say."

"I'm better than him," Darkstar snapped, the words coming quicker than he intended. "Arthur was the sword of the morning, but the blade was passed to the wrong man."

Joffrey flashed a smirk that barely hid his glee. Darkstar's eyes narrowed as he fought the urge to slice that arrogant smile off his face.

The sudden sight of smoke rising from across the bay caught both men's attention. Black and twisting, it shot high into the sky, swirling in a bizarre, unnatural dance. Then, green flames, fast and furious, spread through the trees.

"Wildfire?" Joffrey asked, voice tight with fear.

Darkstar, his senses sharpening, shook his head. "No, it's the dragon," he said, his own words betraying a trace of shock. What is it doing here?

The flames engulfed the trees, crackling and rising higher with each passing moment. The two men watched, transfixed by the beauty of the destruction. On the opposite bank, a crowd had gathered, drawn by the fire's hypnotic lure.

Then, a hiss. The sound made them both freeze. From the water crawled a serpent, its scales gleaming with a deep purple hue, silver lining its wings. It hissed again, its eyes narrowing as it observed them, before standing on its hind legs and screeching loudly.

"A dragon," Joffrey gasped, eyes wide with awe. "It's a baby dragon."

Darkstar's heart skipped a beat. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he was paralyzed with disbelief. A dragon? The serpent's gaze met his, piercing and intelligent, before it turned to Joffrey.

Before he could make sense of the situation, Joffrey, blinded by greed, shoved Darkstar aside and rushed toward the dragon, eager to claim it. "It seems the gods have blessed me with a dragon, rather than that worthless Dark Sister! A much better prize!" He stretched out his hand to claim the creature.

The dragon hissed, steam curling from its snout, but Joffrey remained oblivious. His hand reached for the beast, but the dragon struck first—its jaws snapping onto his fingers.

Joffrey screamed in agony, falling onto the ground as the dragon's bite left deep, bloody marks. "I'm a Targaryen! You can't hurt the blood of Valyria!" he roared, writhing in pain. "You will obey me!"

You are not the dragon you think you are, Darkstar thought bitterly as he watched the spectacle unfold.

The dragon's eyes shifted to him, and something in those ancient, predatory depths made him freeze. The beast slithered toward him, its tail flicking behind it, before it perched on his shoulder with a screech.

It claims me, Darkstar realized with a sickening thrill.

Joffrey, his face pale, scrambled on the ground. "H-how? You're not a Targaryen!"

"Aye," Darkstar said quietly, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'm not. I'm Darkstar."

Before Joffrey could say another word, Darkstar unsheathed his sword, its edge gleaming in the morning light. He thrust it deep into Joffrey's chest with a clean, practiced strike. The boy shuddered, his final breath rattling in his throat.

Darkstar wiped the blade on Joffrey's crimson and black doublet, a grim smile pulling at his lips as he looked at the dragon perched upon him. "I name you Twilight."

The distant sound of footsteps made him dive over a bush.

Edric Baratheon came marching toward the scene, his sword drawn. "I saw you, Targaryen! Do not run now! You will not speak ill of my father Robert!" His voice was high, filled with the characteristic Baratheon fury.

Edric stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Joffrey's lifeless body. The young Baratheon poked at the corpse with his sword, confirming what he had already guessed. "Targaryen?" he said uncertainly, confusion in his voice.

The crowd began to surge forward, murmurs of "murder" filling the air. Darkstar crouched behind the bush silently, watching as Edric tried to distance himself from the crime. The dragon on his shoulder snorted, as if in agreement with the unspoken truth: You cold murderer.

The royal family soon arrived, Cersei's scream cutting through the noise. She cradled Joffrey's lifeless head, her wail raw with grief. Viserys' face was twisted with shock and rage, while Jaime seemed torn between grief and confusion. Tommen was dazed, overwhelmed by the scene. Aegon, however, wasted no time. He drew Blackfyre and pointed the blade directly at Edric.

"You murdered someone of royal blood," Aegon declared, his voice ringing out for all to hear.

"No! It wasn't me!" Edric cried, dropping his sword and shaking in terror. Tears welled in his eyes.

Aegon's grin widened. "I see it differently. Take him to the cells."

Cersei, her voice hoarse with rage, spat at Edric. "Kill him! Kill him now!"

"Not on my watch," declared Brienne of Tarth, her massive form standing firm beside her lord Renly.

Swords were drawn, tension crackling in the air as Viserys stepped forward. "I will have justice! What is a stag compared to the might of a dragon?" His voice was laced with fury, his eyes burning with rage as he looked at Renly.

"Enough of this," Aegon said coldly. He seized Edric by the neck, dragging him forward. "You will step aside, by the order of your crown prince. Edric will face trial."

"I assume when the king arrives?" Renly asked with barely concealed disdain.

"No," Aegon replied with a glint in his eye. "The trial begins when we say it does."

Rhaenys smiled sweetly. "Move aside, Baratheon."

Arianne Martell spoke next, her voice languid. "If you know what's best for you—and the future of your house." The Sand Snakes next to her bounced on the balls of their feet.

Renly stepped aside, his expression tight with barely contained disdain. The crowd began to filter out, the weight of the moment still heavy in the air.

Cersei's sobs faded as Darkstar looked to Twilight, the dragon now curling around his neck, content. He couldn't help but chuckle darkly, savoring the moment.

"Interesting," he muttered.

Twilight screeched in agreement.

Jaime Lannister

"I want his head now," Viserys growled, his voice seething with rage. Rhaenys and Aegon exchanged a quiet, knowing glance, but said nothing. The solar of Lady Whent's estate was spacious, yet the heat was stifling, hanging heavy in the air. Jaime sat with Cersei in his arms, her sobs breaking the silence.

"The trial begins at dawn, uncle," Aegon said firmly, his tone even, betraying none of the tension that hung between them.

Viserys glared at his nephew, fury flickering in his eyes. "Why are we even bothering with a trial?" he spat. "The Baratheon was found standing over my son's body, a sword in his hand. He dares attack the blood of the dragon!"

Rhaenys, her fingers idly playing with her nails, leaned back in her chair. "It's by custom, uncle. Every man deserves a trial, you know that. We're starting it even before our father arrives. You should be grateful for that" She sat with her cousins, her expression oddly serene, as though Joffrey's death meant nothing to her.

"That's not enough!" Viserys snapped, his voice rising. "I'll go down to the cells myself. I'll cut off his bastard head!"

"No, you will not," Aegon countered coldly, his voice unwavering. "If you do, you'll find yourself in the cell right beside his. He will have his trial." His words were less about justice and more about maintaining the order of the process. He seemed less angered by the Baratheon's guilt and more by the threat of disrupting his trial.

Viserys shot him a look of betrayal and stormed out, fury in his every step.

Cersei, her voice small, whispered, "What if he demands a trial by combat?"

"Then he will have it," Oberyn replied, his tone simple and matter-of-fact, while he nuzzled his paramour, making her giggle.

"But what if he chooses a champion?" Cersei pressed, her mind racing. "What if he chooses the Hound, or Brienne, or that bastard Jon Snow? He could walk free."

Jaime noticed the sharp glare Rhaenys shot Cersei, but said nothing.

"Jaime Lannister would be a champion none could stand against," Aegon said dismissively. "There's no one who can match him, except for Ser Arthur. Edric will lose his head. No Night's Watch for him." He turned to Jaime. "Please, escort your sister to her chambers. She's stricken with grief."

The dismissal was clear, and Cersei's glare could have cut glass. Both Aegon and Rhaenys smiled at her, their eyes cold and distant.

In her chambers, Cersei sobbed into Jaime's shoulder. She looked up at him, cupping his face in her hands. "Jaime, my sweet Jaime... our baby boy is gone..." Her voice broke with the words.

Jaime stiffened. And you want me to avenge him.

Her gaze hardened. "Jaime, you have to kill him."

Jaime recoiled. "Why? The whole realm would erupt into war."

Cersei ran her fingers along his clean-shaven cheek, a slow, deliberate motion. "What is war against love?"

"It's not wise," Jaime said, the weight of it pressing on him. "The boy will lose his head tomorrow. Why risk everything?"

Cersei's eyes were filled with a fierce intensity. "Don't you understand? He'll demand a trial by combat. And someone will fight for him."

"And as our beloved prince said, I'll fight whoever it is," Jaime replied, confident. "Only Arthur or Selmy might match me."

"The North and the Stormlands are united by the memory of the usurper," Cersei warned, her voice low. "Jon Snow would fight for him. That bastard could ruin us. Did you see him against Darkstar? If he survives, they'll come for the Lannisters."

Jaime clenched his jaw. He had seen Jon fight, the raw aggression, the strength he carried despite his bastard blood. He was good, better than Jaime had expected.

But still...

Jaime shook his head, trying to push the doubt away. He was a knight of the Kingsguard, a prodigy with a sword - Barristan himself said so. No bastard could best him. Only Arthur could best him.

"It'll be fine. You worry too much, dear sister" Jaime said, his smile a mask of reassurance. He leaned in for a kiss, but Cersei pulled away, her expression hard.

"No," she said, her voice ice cold. "You can leave, Ser Jaime. Joffrey's true father will be here soon to comfort me. He'll see that the boy dies."

Her words stung like a slap, but Jaime laughed, the sound hollow. Why do I care? But he did.

Night fell over the castle as Jaime made his way to the cells. The darkness seemed to swallow him whole, the only light coming from the flickering torches on the walls.

I'm the Kingslayer, Jaime thought bitterly, accepting the label that had haunted him. He wasn't a good man. Not after what he had done. Not after everything he had been through. After he killed the Mad King, the rest of the Kingsguard made sure he'd never forget it. His old idol, Arthur Dayne, looked at him with disdain. Even Aegon and Rhaenys mocked him, as though he hadn't saved their lives. He had nothing—nothing but Cersei, Tyrion... and now, only Tommen and Myrcella who was far away at Casterly Rock.

But Rhaegar... Rhaegar had understood.

The two Targaryen guards at the door of Edric's cell watched him with sly smiles, muttering about the "Kingslayer," and yet they let him pass.

Inside the cell, Edric, ragged and bruised, looked up at him with wide, pleading blue eyes. "Ser Jaime, I didn't do it," the boy said, his voice filled with desperation.

Jaime felt something twist in his chest. Is this... guilt?

He thought of Cersei, how she had crumbled when their son died, holding him as though her heart was breaking in two. And now this boy, staring up at him with hope and fear.

What was a bastard compared to his son?

Jaime blinked away the moisture gathering in his eyes, forcing the emotion down. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, a cold smile tugged at his lips. A true Lannister smile.

"The things I do for love," he muttered, his voice dripping with bitterness.

ARTHUR: As I'm editing these chapters, I wrote Darkstar claiming the dragon as a unique way of introducing the idea of the Emperors of Dawn and the Gemstones and how Cannibal was unique compared to Targaryen dragons, including his batch of eggs. Darkstar was never meant to live long...and doesn't. So...ha?! Just for giggles I guess.