Uprising

by litwater44

A blue rose, surrounded by fire and ash. Rhaegar Targaryen's triumph at the Trident was bittersweet, shrouded in the mystery of Lyanna Stark's death and her stillborn child. Years later, the bastard of Winterfell returns to Westeros astride a fierce black dragon whose flames will reignite the whispers of war.

29. Poetic Justice

Rhaenys

When she awoke, she found two piercing purple eyes on her.

"You rather watch me than sleep?"

"I scarcely close my eyes anymore."

"You have beautiful eyes. I wanted to claw them out when you looked at any other woman than me." Rhaenys lifted her head from his chest to kiss his cheek. "But it displeases me to see you wide awake when I have slumbered halfway through the night."

"One can say I have won our bout." Jon's smile seemed forced.

Rhaenys bared her teeth at him. "You know nothing, Jon Snow."

Jon turned his face away.

Rhaenys placed her finger on his cheek and turned his face back to her.

"You seem awfully mopey for someone who just fucked the crowned princess."

"My half-sister."

"And?" She rose from his chest, letting the blanket that covered her slip from her shoulders. Her hair fell over her breasts like a black waterfall. Her nipples hardened. She clawed her nails down his chest lightly, watching his breath catch. She loved the way his guarded eyes watched her.

Rhaenys crawled like a serpent until she was by his ear. "I wanted you to be mine when I first saw you in the Great Hall. Do you think I give a fuck that we share blood?" She whispered. "Did you not like fucking your big sister? You pleased me as any good little brother should."

Rhaenys can feel his cock throb against her thigh. "You are a Targaryen like me, Jon. Aegon will know it too." Having said her piece, she rose back up and used her hand to push his cock into her folds. Rhaenys gasped as his length took up all of her. Still having to adjust to his well-bestowed size, it took her a couple of beats before she steadily rode him in a rhythm.

Jon

Tyrion once told him there was no better start to a man's nameday than his cock in a pretty mouth to wake him up and a tight cunt to break his fast on. A princess was that and more.

Despite the Imp's jest running through his head, with pale morning light filtering through his window, Jon felt like he was troubled more than the normal man.

"What's the matter now?" Rhaenys asked without opening her eyes, her arm and leg lazily slung over his body. "I can feel you brooding. Do you want to fuck again?"

I sullied you for petty revenge. It's far from honorable.

"But it's far from unenjoyable," Euron's voice mocked which Jon was forced to ignore.

Jon rubbed circles on her back, hating how much he enjoyed doing so.

"You are very comfortable with the Starks. Tell me about them. There's that one girl that follows you around like a lost pup."

It took him back. An actual chuckle escaped him. "You are talking about Arya. She's a ferocious one." Thinking of the Stark brought a smile to his face. She still had that effect even after all these years.

"More ferocious than me?"

"I'm afraid so. Arya was beating Robb and me in the courtyard at the age of nine."

That got a snigger from her. "It is said you are the best sword in the north and Essos, so how would you be bested by a scrawny girl like her? Why lie to me?"

"I couldn't imagine doing so. We called her Arya underfoot back at Winterfell because she did the total opposite of what people told her to do. She is so willful it makes her dangerous. And fun. She was supposed to be born a boy. I missed her the most."

"Sounds like she would be a joy in the capital or Dorne," Rhaenys said casually, but Jon heard it as a suggestion.

Jon froze as he rolled her words in his head. Dornes' hate for him was something new but well talked about. He tried picturing Arya, whom people know he loved, residing in a city full of Martell supporters – Kingslanding or Dorne – and couldn't do it without concluding how her young life would be cut short. Is this how Lord Stark felt when he took me away? Did he fear for my life? A chill went down his spine.

Jon saw Aegon's smirk, Oberyn's viper eyes, and his anger spiked.

"…...Your cousin could be a war-"

"My sister will never be caught breathing a scent of sand in Dorne," Jon snapped, letting her hear the disgust in his voice. "Nor would I torment her by having her reside in the same stinking city your bother sleeps."

A look of irritation and anger crossed her face. "Jon, that was unnecessary. I sleep in the same stinking city myself if you have forgotten. And I like to visit Dorne. You said it yourself that Arya wishes to be free from expectations of being a lady. Plus, it would heal wounds between the North and Dorne. What better place than Dorne? Have you seen my cousins?"

I see your cousins. They take after their father.

"Aye, one of them gave you quite the scabble from what I heard." I shouldn't have said that. Jon's lips thinned and he turned away. "This was a mistake. We shouldn't have done this. It is best you depart before we are seen."

Maybe I shouldn't have said that either.

Rhaenys almost choked on her laughter. It held no mirth. She started picking up her dress wear. "You have officially ruined my mood after a good fuck. That is a first."

She's visited Dorne many times. Of course. A different type of anger soared. "The first? pardon? The royal princess should not be sullied out of a marriage bed. Whoever bedded you would be faced with the block or the Night's Watch."

"And wouldn't that count you?" Rhaenys finished putting on her dress and fixed her hair. Her smile was without warmth. "Of course. You just wanted to know who it was. Well…. it is someone you are well acquainted with." With those scathing words, she slammed the door behind her and left Jon in the middle of the room.

Aegon

"You are with child."

Those words broke the silence between them. The silence quickly filled back up the void when neither spoke again.

"You are with child," Aegon repeated slowly, not quite believing the words.

"I do not lie," Margaery said, her eyes never leaving his face.

That's another lie from your pretty mouth. You lied about being acceptable with Daenerys being my paramour when you seduced me into your bed. You were the reason my slim chance of having Daenerys was reduced to nothing. That piece of his past still irked him to this day – that he was denied something he wanted.

"This is glorious news, my lady," Aegon said. I am honestly surprised. I only slept with her once on my father's orders since coming to this cursed castle. I fucked Nymeria and Tyene more times than I have spoken to my own wife funny enough.

"Your future queen," Margaery told him. She went to him and guided his hand to her midsection. Aegon can feel the softness of her shift and her finely shaped stomach. "Our child – may I be blessed with a son first – will be the queen."

"He will be." Aegon felt the shadow of Jon more so now, the black dragon, waiting in the dark to snatch everything dear to him.

"We've had our differences. But we have a child on the way. It is my hope we can be the father and mother this child needs to ensure its safety from those who desire to see it fail," Margaery explained, appearing soft and vulnerable, rubbing his chest.

Please spare me from that fake simpering shit. I am not the same naïve boy you took advantage of. I heard from your cousin's mouth of how you and your crippled brother had conversations with other lords behind my back.

Alla Tyrell, who had been sharing Aegon's bed for a minute, had shyly taken off her clothes and told him about the meetings with Arryn, Tully, Stark, and others. He heard the same from Domeric Bolton. The Tyrells had many family members who were junior cadets of their House. Aegon plucked the right rose out of the bunch.

You, my lady, have a grandmother who is named the Queen of Thornes, but you have a couple of them yourself lying in wait between your tits. You and your brother with the lame leg had the beginnings of the scheme before it all came apart by your pregnancy. Now Jon is as much a threat to you as he is to me. I call that poetic fucking justice. It pains me that I need your family as much as you all devious bastards need me.

"I agree, my love." Aegon pulled Margaery to his chest. "Let us kill whatever animosity lies between us for you and I and for our child." I shall not believe for a second you have forgiven me for putting you and your family in the cells. Unfortunately, my little brother and his pack of feral wolves are more of a threat to me currently.

"That is good by me, my love. My grandmother and her retinue shall arrive by noon."

Fuck it all. If there is one woman who would raise up a fucking storm for what I did, it's that fossil. The barbs she exchanged with Rhaenys and sometimes with their mother were legendary whenever she visited the capital.

Aegon hoped she didn't feel his stiffness. He stepped back a bit to look her in the eye. "You sent her a raven." Not only that, if her grandmother is arriving at noon, this damned woman sent the raven as soon as I threw her in those cells. He bit his tongue in irritation.

Margaery looked abashed as she didn't meet his eyes. "With everything so chaotic my brothers thought it best to seek her presence until everything has sorted out, my love."

Now I must play even more nice and keep them pleased. Just because I got their golden rose with a child doesn't make me a friend overnight. I pray the old bitch can keep her mouth closed for at least five minutes when I'm in her capacity. Let Jon be caught on her barbed thorns.

"My love, are you upset with me?" Margaery had a glint in her eye.

I refuse to show she got me off guard.

Aegon smiled at her. "Can you blame me? A husband's duty is to make certain his wife has nothing to fear. I'm afraid I must make up in that department."

Her dainty hand groped at his crotch. "You have a lot of making up to do, I fear."

It was in the latter morn in Nymeria's and Tyene's shared chambers, Aegon was once breathless. Tyene forced Aegon's cock further in her throat as Nymeria watched from her spot on the bed, Aegon's cum drying on her thigh.

"You seem awfully awake after seeing your little rose," Nymeria noted.

"A little bit of pollen can't wholly satisfy a dragon." Aegon smiled and winked. Tyene giggled, sending vibrations through his cock.

"What do you plan on doing for this special day?"

There was a slurp and Tyene's tongue flicked at his tip.

"Hmmm. What's very special about today?"

Nymeria laughed. "Your brother's name day, Egg."

"It almost slipped my mind." It's been on my mind since last night at supper, but I must show he is not worth pouring any sort of love over. "I should send you both to him – two beautiful ladies for his last sight to see. What good big brother wouldn't do that?"

"An actual good brother," Nymeria snorted.

"A jest, my dear coz. Partly – because one, I have an announcement to make tonight, and I don't want his made-up name day to sully that. Two – he is no brother of mine, just my father's mistake." Aegon smiled as he lifted Tyene to her feet and made her get on all fours on the edge of the bed. Her cunt was glistening.

"And what gift I give will surely pale to the one Arianne will give, am I right?"

That paused Nymeria and made Tyene glance over her shoulder.

Aegon smirked. He gripped Tyene's ass and slid two fingers into her cunt. "I mean since she's been close to him lately, she should know what he likes more than I do."

"Arianne is so clever she even has you fooled, Your Grace. She's working to have the Black Prince wrapped around her finger," Tyene said sweetly, grinding against his fingers.

Seems to me our Princess of Dorne is getting too ambitious for my taste and forgetting that family comes first. Do any of them have the slightest idea that Gerris Drinkwater has been in my services yet? He has told me Doran is considering Quentyn to be his heir, something I must keep in mind if Arianne crosses things.

She can have her fun. She could even get his demon sperm in her if that meant she would be capable of slitting his throat. Now, would she do that?

Aegon didn't like depending on assumptions. He is hands-on himself. Arianne has always been stubborn and reckless, partly why my uncle is considering Quentyn to take over instead. Do I want to stake on my life that Arianne would have Jon tied around her cunt men like Darkstar had? I don't think so. I much rather find a willing bride for my little brother that has a dagger in her cowl or a poisonous cunt to choke on.

"You have to be right because what is life without family?" Aegon aimed his shift directly at Tyene's gap.

"Then what does that make Jon Snow?"

"Apparently a dead man" He plunged his cock and made Tyene moan.

Dany

"It is said this tourney of Harrenhal is even grander than the previous."

Daenerys and her mother broke their fast alone. From their spot within one of the towers, they were able to observe the newcomers trickle into the camps. The number of pavilions and braziers surrounding Harrenhal swelled until the lines of tents north and south seemed to be stretching toward the horizon.

Daenerys even saw the whipping bright robes belonging to fire priests from Asshaii. They fascinated her.

Rhaella looked thoughtful. "Your father had bid me to stay in Kingslanding – for that, I was very grateful."

My father. The mad king. It was weird to think of the man who sired her without ever knowing him. But the people who had known him detested him, especially her mother who silently fumed whenever he was mentioned. Except for her older brothers Rhaegar and Viserys. Rhaegar never spoke ill of their father; he just seemed sad.

Rhaegar has always been sad. But there is a spark to him now. For most of his reign, the king hid himself from the realm and thrust most of the ruling to the small council led by his Hand Jon Connington. The king would make an appearance in the most serious of matters and be absent in the pettiest. The result was harsh taxes imposed on the rebels who sided with Robert's rebellion, and extreme bias towards the loyalists who sided with the crown.

But now something was different. Dany can see the gleam in Rhaegar's eyes. He still hid himself, but he indulged himself in the newly built library in the castle. A different cloud hung over Rhaegar.

"There is no mad king to fear. Instead, dragons are soaring through the air once more. Direwolves are bigger and faster than horses and more intelligent than men. Beautiful Targaryen Princes and princesses and unmarried. Long lost princes returned with Valyrian armor and Blackfyre at his hip," Rhaella said.

"Rhaegar announcing Jon to be the one suited to wield Blackfyre caused quite a stir. Some lords called it a travesty. The Dornish views it as a slight for they said the sword belongs to the rightful heir to the Iron Throne." Those who had long been enamored with her at court and angered when she was sent off whispered the news to her. They told her that the Red Viper had been furious.

"Then the sword is currently in the right hands."

Her words jolted Dany in her seat. She gaped at her mother. "Mo-"

Rhaella stilled her with a finger. "I didn't say it was right, child. But there's the look in Rhaegar's eyes that I know quite well. It was a look he had before the previous tourney at Harrenhal."

"Oh my…."

"…. And when it happens – it will be war. But we don't know when or where it will start. This is why I'm going to ask for your help darling."

War was what was ringing in her head as Dany reached for her cup. "Help how?" She asked carefully.

"Protecting my long-lost grandson. The Dornish loves him not. After my grandson embarrassed their best warriors in the courtyard they hate him even more."

Dany along with the rest of the family had witnessed the public humiliation. Their pride and name had been trashed by a single man. The Dornish had been laughed at by the other lords of the realm. From knights and squires to hedge knights they laughed. If my nephew did not have a dragon he would have choked on poison the same day.

"I dislike the way the Red Viper eyes him. The years have not blunted his temperament nor waned the poison on his spear. I fear for my grandson's life. I do not want him taken when he has just now returned to us."

Dany shook her head. "My nephew is already precious to me. I will not let outsiders harm a dragon." His story is a sad tale – beautiful in its own way – but very sad, nonetheless. I believe it is fate that he has come to us – to me.

Her mother smiled. "I believe you, Dany. Together we will help him see what he cannot. And you, my daughter, will help him open his eyes to what he refuses to see."

"Excuse me?"

"Rhaegar has made Jon Lord Protector and given him the lordship of this very castle we are sitting in. He will also give him a bride. Unfortunately for Jon, the hidden blade might come forth from the wedding gown."

"You believe whoever Jon marries will murder him." That made her blood run hot.

"There are those who think the rebels deserve more punishment. And there are many more who wish to garner favor with the Queen and the Prince. To my great disappointment, Rhaegar had chosen to mope instead of rule. Connington and Elia ruled the kingdom in all but name. The result were harsher taxes and undeniable favoritism to whoever took up swords with Robert Baratheon."

"From that they were able to get allies at court," Daenerys said. After all, the same allies were crucial in separating her from Aegon and sending her to Dragonstone. Margaery Tyrell was so happy to oblige.

"Jon's bride might be part of someone's circle who wishes him ill. That bride might have his child, his dragon, his Valyrian steel, and blame his death on a 'plague'." Rhaella sipped her cup. "But I know one woman who has no such ambitions."

Daenerys smiled. "You are too sweet, mother."

"My circumstances prevented me from being the queen I wanted to be. If the Gods are just, they will right the wrongs they gave me in the form of my beloved daughter."

Jon

"Aegon plans to beseech the king to allow him to hunt the Kingslayer."

The Kingsguard who stabbed his king in the back, strangled a boy in his cell and allegedly bedded his sister.

"Then I will be forced to accompany him."

"Forced?"

"He will get himself killed." Jon would not cry about it, but he would be displeased if the other lords, second sons, and renowned knights got themselves killed for Aegon's foolishness. Or made it so that the fragile peace with the Lannisters would crumble like paper. More like he would muck things up.

Arianne glanced back at him, amusement glinting in her eyes. "You think you would have a better chance against the Kingslayer?"

Yes. Wholeheartedly.

"It is my duty as the Lord Protector to help govern the realm." Jon kept his face neutral.

"My duty as Lord Protector," Arianne repeated, mimicking the bass in his voice and sounding utterly ridiculous doing so.

A snort escaped him. "Don't mock me. Unlike you, I take my responsibilities seriously."

This time she snorted. "Sure, if the responsibilities concerned measuring your cock against another prince."

The pebble in her hand she threw and landed in the water with one sad, pitiful, flop.

"What is this game called again? I'm not very good at it," Arianne laminated, narrowing her eyes at the water.

"You're right. It's called skipping rocks and you are terrible at it." Jon picked up a rock and threw it. It skittered across the surface of the water and bounced 10 times, leaving miniature ripples behind.

"Hmpm." Arianne glared at him. It was very cute and very none threatening that a smile broke his face. Strangely, the glare disappeared, and she just stared at him.

"Try again."

The princess did. This time it crashed through the surface and splashed water back on her, making her splutter. How is the second attempt even more pathetic than the first attempt?

Jon hid his smile when he saw the flash of irritation on her beautiful face. It was obvious that it wasn't often the princess tried something and utterly failed at it.

"You will get better at it."

Her large dark eyes swiveled to his. "I don't want your pity, my prince. I want a solution." Her husky voice was fierce.

"Let me show you."

Jon picked up a rock. "You want to find one that's small enough to have in one hand and not too heavy to throw. And positioning is important."

Jon placed himself against her backside and held her arms softly. His fingers brushed over the gold and copper snake jewelry that coiled around her arms. She was short enough that he could rest his chin on her head. Her black curly hair pressed gently against his chest. He can smell the perfume. "Hold the rock properly." He placed the rock in her hand. He adjusted her fingers to where her grip was firm.

"You pissed in Aegon's cup this morn."

"When have I not?"

"He's more crossed than usual."

"Fantastic."

"There were some specifics. There were 'I have no relation to that bastard' and 'he is no brother of mine, just the mistake of my father'." The heavy drawl in her voice made it sting worse.

Of course. Aegon's piercing purple eyes often reminded him of Lady Stark's stares. The queen had the same effect. Jon felt a shift within him. He clamped down any feelings. "Anything else?"

"My uncle Oberyn is whispering to everyone that could hear that it is curious that Blackfyre did not go to the crown prince but instead to the natural-born son."

Of course. Jon could only feel contempt. "I recall the king saying he wed my mother."

"My uncle said the wedding was void." Of course.

"Even if that was the case, I thought Dorne looked more favorably upon bastards."

Arianne shrugged. "They made the exception for you."

His hands on her small waist shifted her slightly. He used his hands to grip her thick thighs, bending her knees slightly. His hands brushed against her snakeskin sandals that laced up to her thighs. Jon could feel the shape of her fat ass press against his crotch through her silk.

"And then flick your wrist."

This time when she did it, it was 3-4 bounces.

"Not as good as mine, but an improvement nonetheless."

Arianne looked back over her shoulder at him. Her face was blank. "Do you want to play?"

Jon was very aware of how close their faces were. He could closely observe her copper headband and feel her breath on his face. "Pardon?"

With speed, Arianne ripped herself from his arms, cupped her hands in the water, and threw all of it in his face. It came at him with a cold slap of humiliation, flooding his nostrils and drenching his hair.

"Now," Arianne said, smiling smugly as the water dripped from his long hair, "that is an improvement."

Smart little shit. Jon kept calm and tried his hardest to get the water out of his nose, Arianne watching him with a smirk. "You know, my responsibilities as Lord Protector also gave me the authority to judge those who have committed a crime. And you, Arianne Martell, have committed a very serious crime."

Arianne yelped as Jon picked her up, his hands on her backside, and threw her bodily into the water. Well, attempted to. Arianne had hooked her arms around Jon's head and caused him to fall into the water with her. They made a bigger splash than any rock could.

When Jon remerged shaking his hair like a wet dog, he was greeted with the sound of Arianne's laughter. "Fuck rocks. I made a dragon rider skip!"

"That's not how it wor-" Her splash of water at him caught him dead in the face. Her mocking laughter echoed over the water as he choked on the water.

"Fine! You want to say fuck appearances and play? Fine!" Jon dived under the water and grabbed her leg and yanked. Arianne squealed loudly and kicked at him. Jon caught her foot and tickled it, gaining more breathless laughter. They tussled and splashed each other. Jon knew they looked ridiculous. A prince and princess playing in the water breached any decorum there was made in the history of time.

But seeing Arianne's olive face, splitting with her smile and breathless laughter instead of the usual slightly arrogant façade, Jon didn't mind.

If the queen caught us like this, she would declare that I was tarnishing her niece and then proceed to have her brother drown me.

The splashing abruptly ended when Arianne crashed her full lips into his. Jon could feel her large round breasts through her silk. It was so sudden it took the breath from him. Jon hesitated, thinking of Rhaenys. It felt wrong.

What would Lord Stark think of me touching on more than one woman? Not very good. He would think Jon was Theon. It wasn't honorable.

When Jon was living the life of a bastard at Winterfell, the servant girls would ignore him for Robb. He never imagined he would lay a finger on any noble woman let alone two very beautiful princesses. There was a part of Jon that was gleeful at this change. There was a part of Jon that was eager for the opportunity to get himself closer to Aegon's inner circle.

It's not right to manipulate the ignorant.

Then Jon remembered what Rhaenys told him. "Of course. You just wanted to know who it was. Well…. it is someone you are well acquainted with," she had said.

"Fuck her and make Rhaenys rue of what she said to you," Euron said.

Jon deepened the kiss, placing his hands on her ass, enjoying how soft it was and how easy it moved. There was so much his hands couldn't grip it all. Arianne wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Jon opened his mouth, and Arianne eagerly invaded it with her tongue. Jon used one of his hands to grip her by the throat, shoving his tongue deeper.

Arianne's hand untied his breeches. His cock sprang free in the water and was gripped by her small hand. She jerked it hard and fast, never breaking off from kissing him as rough as she could. Jon growled in her mouth.

His climax came powerfully. Jon moaned but Arianne stole it by slamming her mouth into his.

"Fuck skipping rocks," Arianne whispered in her husky voice, "I made a dragon rider cum."

Rhaegar

The library of Harrenhal is vast and shadowy, its shelves laden with ancient, dusty tomes. Flickering candlelight casts long shadows on the stone walls. The air smells of parchment. Rhaegar sat on a long wooden table near the fire, a large, ancient book open before him. He could feel Arthur's presence in the corner of the room.

"The night that never ends… a cold wind from the north... death marches in the shadows, and only fire can stand against it."He paused, lifting his gaze to the flickering flames in the hearth, the words echoing in his mind.

"The Long Night... it comes again….and only the rightful prince can stop the death from covering the whole world."

Myrcella

Myrcella found herself in the Dragonstone's Garden once again, the sun shining bright, casting a golden hue over everything. The air was warm, and her mother's laughter rang out like music, clear and full of love. Cersei was sitting on a bench, her green eyes gleaming with pride as she watched Tommen chase butterflies, his boyish giggles filling the air.

"Myrcella, darling," Cersei called softly, her voice tender, drawing Myrcella to her like a magnet. "Come here, my little dragon."

Myrcella smiled, her heart light, and she walked over to her mother, sitting beside her, feeling the familiar comfort of her presence. Cersei wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. Tommen climbed up onto the bench, curling into their embrace like he had always done as a child.

They were together. A family.

Cersei's hand gently smoothed down her golden hair, and Myrcella felt like a little girl again, safe in her mother's arms. Tommen leaned against her, his soft laughter bubbling up as he whispered a joke in her ear, one only the two of them would understand. It was all so perfect, so peaceful.

But then the warmth began to fade. The colors of the garden dulled, the vibrant sand turning to ash, the sunlight dimming until only gray shadows remained. Myrcella tried to hold on to her mother and tried to keep Tommen's laughter alive, but they both began to blur, slipping away from her grasp like mist.

"No," Myrcella whispered, her heart racing. "Please don't go. Don't leave me alone."

But they were gone.

She woke with a jolt, the cold reality of the world crashing over her like icy water. Her chest tightened as she stared up at the dark ceiling of her chambers, her breath uneven. The dream had been so vivid, so real, and now it was gone. Her mother, her brother—both dead.

I am the only child of Viserys Targaryen who still breathes.

A tear slid down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, refusing to cry.

From the corner of the room, she heard a stirring, and then Jory, her cousin and lady-in-waiting, sat up from her cot, her face half-hidden by shadows. Jory's sharp blue eyes, so different from her Lannister cousins, locked onto Myrcella. "What's wrong?" Jory asked, her voice blunt as ever.

Myrcella shook her head. "Nothing," she lied. "It's nothing."

Jory didn't press, though her gaze hardened. "No one in court will show sympathy if they see you shed tears." What would your grandfather say, were the unspoken words.

She's absolutely right. I will not survive by crying.

Myrcella swung her legs over the edge of the bed, rising and letting the cool air wake her fully. "I want to attend court today," she said, her voice steadying as she busied herself with dressing. "Jon Snow will be holding his first session as a prince of the realm, and I want to see him for myself."

Jory's brow raised slightly as she helped lace up Myrcella's gown. "You think he'll help you get what you desire?"

"I don't know yet," Myrcella replied, adjusting her skirts and taking a deep breath. "But I intend to find out. I need to know what kind of man he is."

He is my cousin. But is he more like the King's son, or is he more like Lord Stark's son?

Jory, as usual, didn't argue since she said her piece, nodded and finished fastening Myrcella's dress before they made their way out of the chamber.

As Myrcella and Jory walked down the long corridors toward the great hall, they were stopped by a familiar sight—Rhaenys and Aegon, accompanied by their usual shadows, Lewyn Martell and Ser Barristan Selmy. A group of courtiers and other ladies-in-waiting followed behind them like a flock of birds, whispering and casting glances at Myrcella and Jory.

Myrcella's jaw clenched at the sight of the prince and princess. She had known Rhaenys and Aegon for years, but she had never truly felt a part of their circle. They treated her like an outsider, an oddity among dragons. And no matter how many times she was reminded of her Targaryen blood by her mother, Rhaenys' sharp tongue and Aegon's sly looks always flamed her anger.

Rhaenys looked as though she was barely containing her frustration, her mouth set in a tight line, while Aegon was in a cheery mood, his steps light and his lips curved into a smirk. As they neared, Myrcella felt Aegon's gaze sweep over her, calculating, as if he were inspecting livestock rather than a person.

The only time he would say something to me was with a jest on his lips. My mother hated his attempts to be funny.

"Myrcella," Aegon said with exaggerated sympathy, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "I was so sorry to hear about your mother."

His eyes betrayed him. The way he smiled, the tone of his voice—he didn't mean it. Not at all. Even with her time away at Casterly Rock, nothing changed. Myrcella could see it in their eyes. They still think nothing of her. They don't give a fuck about my mother.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Myrcella replied evenly, keeping her voice cold and formal. She would not let him see how much his empty words stung.

Aegon gave a small, dismissive shrug as if it were nothing. "She must have been… quite the woman."

Before Myrcella could respond, Rhaenys stepped forward, her dark eyes gleaming with something like amusement. She reached out, and with mocking care, she took a strand of Myrcella's golden hair between her fingers, twisting it lightly. "Will the little cub be attending court today?" Rhaenys asked, her voice sweet, though the mockery in her words was unmistakable.

"My little dragon," her mother would say, and whenever Rhaenys would hear that, she would say, "Why Cersei, she's more like a little cub to me." It would usually send her mother into a rage.

Anger surged within Myrcella, her blood boiling at the insult. She lifted her chin, her voice sharp but controlled. "I much rather be called a dragon, thank you. And you will see me in court– right with you."

Rhaenys scoffed, letting the strand of hair fall from her fingers as if it were worthless. She turned without another word, walking past Myrcella as though she were nothing, her skirts brushing by with disdain.

Aegon chuckled, casting Myrcella one last condescending look before following his sister, his laugh light and mocking. Their flock of birds followed their heels, whispering all the way.

"…. Ward of the Crown."

"…...Prisoner."

"…. Fake dragon."

"…. Bastard."

Myrcella stood there, her fists clenched at her sides, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. They thought her weak, an outsider, someone to be dismissed. But she would show them. She would prove them wrong.

I am as Targaryen as any of them. Myrcella heard the whispers and saw the glances. She's the bastard born of incest from Jaime Lannister, they said. She was not. She has fire in her blood she wants to unleash – justice for her mother, for Tommen.

Joffrey…. He was my blood, but I can't lie and say he didn't deserve his fate. He was a piece of shit. But I seriously doubt Edric Baratheon murdered him.

Jory, standing beside her, said nothing, but Myrcella could feel her glare on the retreating party of nobles. Together, they continued toward the great hall, the determination in Myrcella's heart hardening like steel.

She will begin to see what the state of the court was and who her potential allies were. She would make sure Rhaenys and Aegon regretted ever underestimating her.

Jon

The towering doors of Harrenhal'sGreat Hallcreaked open asJon Snowstrides inside, his long black cloak trailing behind him like the shadow of a storm. Beside him, padding silently but powerfully, walksGhost, the massive Direwolf, his fur white as snow, his red eyes burning like embers in the dim light of the hall.

The press of lords, knights, squires, and common folk part slightly as Jon approaches, but Ghost's presence draws an even wider berth. The hall fills with gasps, fearful murmurs, and sharp intakes of breath as the enormous wolf moves with deadly grace at his master's side. Some stare at the beast in awe, while others shrink back, their faces pale with dread.

Lord Vance, an older lord with a graying beard, stumbles back a step, his hand falling instinctively to the hilt of his sword.

"Seven save us…"he mutters under his breath, his eyes wide as he watches Ghost pass.

Lady Piper, standing beside him, clutches her skirts and glances nervously at her retainers, her voice trembling.

"That beast is unnatural. It's... too large. Like something from the stories of the Long Night."

A few lords from the Riverlands, less accustomed to such creatures, mutter in hushed tones, their eyes darting between Jon and the Direwolf.

"They say he found it beyond the Wall… that it's not a wolf at all, but a demon in disguise."

"A rider of Cannibal and keeper of that creature… what madness has taken hold of him?"

ButGhostpays them no mind, his red eyes scanning the crowd with a predator's calm, ever-watchful, his presence commanding as much fear as Jon himself.

Jon walks through the hall, his face impassive, his stride steady. The whispers continue to swirl around him as he passes — some filled with admiration, some with hate, and others with quiet respect.
"The Black Prince."
"The King's missing son."
"The rider of Cannibal… and keeper of that demon wolf."

The knights and lords ofDorneshift uncomfortably as Jon draws near, their hands twitching toward their weapons as they eye Ghost warily. One of the Dornish lords spits onto the floor, his voice dripping with venom.

"A monster, that one."

Jon doesn't even glance in their direction, his mind focused as he walks toward the high table whereJon Connington and theQueensit waiting. The tension in the hall thickens as Ghost follows silently, his presence a reminder of Jon's connection to the wild and to power that none of the Targaryens can claim.

As Jon approaches the table, Ghost moves to his side, sitting down but keeping his eyes trained on the crowd. His massive form seems to cast a shadow over the gathering, his silent menace a stark contrast to the murmuring lords and ladies.

Jon crosses eyes withMyrcella Targaryenin the crowd, standing among her retainers. She's flanked by her mother's Lannister cousins, who stare at Ghost in stunned silence. Myrcella, her cold green eyes briefly flicking to the Direwolf, but then returning to Jon. There was no arrogance in her face, only a calculating intelligence that drew his attention to her.

Jon notices her sharp beauty, so like her late mother's, but the lack of arrogance intrigues him. He briefly holds her gaze, thinking, my cousin or the bastard spawn of the Kingslayer? before he turns and takes his place at the high table. Ghost, ever loyal, stays seated at his side, still as a statue, but the threat he poses is palpable.

Jon saw the royal family grouped together a little further below. His lip curled when Dany stuck her tongue out at him.

As Jon sits,Jon Conningtongreets him with a nod, though his eyes flick uncertainly to the Direwolf. The Queen, however, maintains her regal composure, though her gaze lingers a little longer on Ghost, perhaps calculating the danger that Jon's companion represents.

She won't speak of my mother now, would she?

The hall grew quiet as Jon settled into his seat, the weight of the moment heavy in the air.

"I'm pleasantly surprised to see you, Your Grace. Tell me, what do you know of court?" Jon Connington asked, disdain hidden under his polite tone.

"Well enough to understand the lord of the castle often participates in the petty disputes in his castle," Jon said.

Elia leaned forward, smiling sweetly. "Did it ever occur to you that it might be a tad inappropriate to bring your pet to hold court?"

It's more outrageous for a snake to attend court but here you are.

"Not at all, my queen. It is a matter of protection. I would bring Cannibal if I could," he said and meant it. The Dornish contingent eyed him hatefully.

Elia pushed a goblet towards him. "Here, my dear. Court business can make you awfully thirsty."

Jon said, "Thank you," and did not move to drink the water.

His eyes scan the crowd once more, taking in the mix of fear, admiration, and hostility. His hand falls absentmindedly to Ghost's head, and the Direwolf leans into his touch, his growl low but barely audible, a warning to those who would seek to challenge the Black Prince.

Let them whisper all they want… it changes nothing.

The hall remains tense as Jon prepares to hold court, the presence of Ghost casting a long shadow over all those who dare to oppose him.

Harrenhal was haunted by the legacy of fire and blood, and now, it felt like he was being pulled deeper into it.

At the center of the hall, a petty lord from the Riverlands knelt, his voice quivering as he spoke, begging for relief. Jon barely recognized the man's name. Tylos of Black Hollow. A minor house, one whose history had been swallowed by the Rebellion and the Targaryen victory that followed. But there was desperation in his tone, a quiet sort of pleading that struck a chord Jon couldn't ignore.

"Your Graces," the lord said, trembling, his eyes flicking between the three figures at the high table. "I beg of you, the taxes are too much to bear. My lands are suffering. My people starve while I struggle to meet the demands of the crown. I ask only for some mercy."

Jon glanced to his left, where Jon Connington sat stiff and proud, his face hardening at the plea. Connington leaned forward, his voice cold as iron. "Your father rebelled against the crown with Robert Baratheon. You should consider yourself fortunate you still have your lands at all."

Jon frowned immediately. What? That is the opposite of what Lord Stark would have said.

The lord's face flushed with frustration, but his voice remained steady, if not a bit strained. "My father rebelled, not I. I was but a boy when the Rebellion took place. I bear no fault for his actions."

Jon felt the tension thicken in the air, saw the barely restrained contempt in Connington's eyes. Before he could speak, Elia's voice, sharp and regal, sliced through the hall.

"A father's sins are passed to his son. A father's role is to teach his son all he knows, is it not?" Elia's gaze pinned the lord where he knelt.

That is not fucking right at all, I think.

Jon shifted in his seat. The words unsettled him. His gaze flicked to the young lord, whose hands trembled slightly. It wasn't fair. Jon had heard this too many times, felt it in his own bones—the weight of a family's expectations, the burden of their actions.

Before he realized it, he was speaking. "I disagree." I disagree wholeheartedly, fuck that bullshit.

His voice was steady, though he could feel Connington's glare burn into him the moment he spoke. "It's unjust to punish a man for his father's crimes. He didn't fight in the Rebellion. He was only a boy. Why should he pay for what was done by others eighteen years ago?"

Connington's eyes narrowed, and Jon could feel the tension rising between them. "Mercy is weakness, Your Grace," Connington shot back, his voice edged with disdain. "If we show leniency to those who come from treacherous stock, we invite further rebellion. Strength is what keeps the realm in line."

Jon met his gaze, refusing to back down. "And was it strength that kept you alive after the Battle of the Bells?" His words cut through the room like a knife. The court fell into an uneasy silence, all eyes on the prince now. "Aerys would have burned you alive if not for someone showing mercy. Sometimes mercy is the difference between life and death."

Connington's lips curled into a sneer. "That was a different time. The realm cannot afford weakness now."

Jon kept his face blank, frustration bubbling under his skin. He didn't need to look at Elia to know she was displeased. She always was, when he was in the same room as her. But before the argument could escalate, a herald's voice rang through the hall, cutting through the thick tension.

"His Grace, King Rhaegar Targaryen!"

A murmur of shock rippled through the hall. Jon kept his face blank as the court turned, eyes wide with surprise.

From what Daenerys told me, the King rarely attended court. This was Elia's realm to rule, Connington's realm to manage. And yet, here he was.

Though Jon knew Rhaegar would be here today. Jon knew some would try to undermine his new position. Now this will only undo their efforts.

Jon stood instinctively, as did Connington and Elia. The courtiers murmured around them, whispers swirling like the smoky air above the torches. Rhaegar's presence was magnetic, his silver hair glinting in the torchlight, his violet eyes calm, assessing. He moved through the hall with the ease of a man who knew power intimately, and when he reached the high table, all eyes were fixed on him.

Jon felt the weight of his father's gaze as Rhaegar took his place at the center, sitting in the seat meant for kings.

"Why is there discord in my son's court?" Rhaegar's voice was soft, yet it carried through the hall, silencing the whispers in an instant.

My court, Jon thought and almost wanted to smile.

"Our world," Euron's voice said, wiping the smile from Jon's face.

Elia spoke first, her words clipped and formal. "Your Grace, this lord of the Riverlands seeks relief from taxes. Connington and I have ruled that his family's past treachery does not warrant mercy."

Rhaegar's violet eyes flicked to Jon. "And my son? The one I made Lord Protector of the realm. What does he say?"

He held Rhaegar's gaze and answered, his voice steady. "I believe it's unjust to punish a man for his father's crimes. He bears no fault in a war he didn't fight."

There was a pause, and Jon felt the tension tighten. Connington bristled beside him, his voice rising with indignation. "Your Grace, I have ruled in your stead for years. Mercy only invites weakness. The crown's strength is what keeps the peace."

Rhaegar's gaze didn't waver. His expression remained unreadable as he turned back to Connington, his words calm yet final. "You have ruled well, Jon Connington. But my son is here now."

The words struck the hall like a thunderclap. A ripple of gasps spread through the court. Elia's face tightened, her displeasure barely masked, and Jon could feel Connington stiffen beside him, the betrayal raw on his face. Jon felt some pity for the man.

"Your Grace…" Connington's voice faltered. He then lowered his head. "As you wish."

"He tried to undermine you – your power. He is the next on the list to be thrown in the fire. We can do what Aerys did not."

Rhaegar's gaze was firm, but not unkind. "Then the court may proceed."

Jon stood still, as the hall erupted in whispers. He glanced at Connington, whose fists clenched in silent anger. Elia's eyes bore into him with cold disapproval, the one Lady Stark used to give to him. But it was Rhaegar's calm presence that filled the hall, his quiet authority that had the court hanging on every word.

The looks on their faces. The lords who Jon knew fought as loyalists looked displeased which did not bound well with what Jon was trying to do. We have Ice demons on our borders, and they want to bicker over another lord in another kingdom about how much taxes they should suffer.

Things were much simpler in the north.

Then a voice broke through the stillness, harsh and full of barely restrained fury.

"Your Graces, I would speak on behalf of the Riverlands," came Lord Raymun Darry, stepping forward. His face was flushed with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. He was a seasoned lord, tall and broad-shouldered, but the rage in his eyes made him appear even more imposing.

"My lands have been ravaged by the black beast your son commands." Darry's voice trembled with controlled rage. "Cannibal has burned our fields to ash, slaughtered our livestock, and worse still… the common folk. In the dozens, Your Graces. My people, my tenants—they've been left as nothing more than charred bones. Cannibal feasts on them alike. This is no dragon of legend; this is a scourge."

"For his tone, we can see how charred his bones can get," Euron whispered.

No, the fuck I am not, Jon responded angrily.

The hall erupted into gasps, the courtiers whispering in shock and horror. Jon's heart tightened in his chest, but he kept his face impassive, a mask of calm he had learned to perfect. Inside, however, shame clawed at him. He had known Cannibal was dangerous—how could he not? —but hearing the devastation spelled out in such stark terms was harder than he expected.

Rhaegar turned to him, violet eyes searching, as if waiting for Jon to respond. The court fell silent again, all eyes on him. He could feel their stares, their judgment, their fear. If Cannibal can do this to his lands what stops the dragon from doing it to mine, is what their eyes were saying. Elia's gaze was like a dagger, her lips curving ever so slightly, smug satisfaction behind her otherwise regal facade. She didn't have to say a word. Jon could feel her reveling in this moment, his failure laid bare for all to see.

"Bitch."

Bitch.

Jon took a slow breath. He couldn't chain Cannibal; the dragon was wild, untamable. But he couldn't let him continue to feast on the smallfolk either. The weight of the problem pressed on him like a mountain.

Jon stood, his voice steady but carrying the gravity of the situation. "I do not deny the harm Cannibal has done, Lord Darry. It is difficult to bring justice to a dragon, as I'm sure you understand." He met the man's furious gaze evenly. "But it is not impossible to prevent this problem from continuing."

The hall was quiet, the tension thick as Jon continued, his voice firm. "Cannibal is a creature of hunger, and dragons, especially ones as old as he, are not easily tamed. But they can be satisfied. If we keep him fed, he will not need to hunt your lands or your people."

A ripple of murmurs ran through the courtiers. Jon could see some of them nodding in tentative agreement. He pressed on, his words more decisive now. "I will take responsibility for this. We will bring in men—recruiters, highborn or low, I care not. Those who are skilled enough to help maintain the dragon, to see that he is kept fed and away from your lands. It is a dangerous task, but it can be done. You will be rightfully compensated."

His words echoed in the hall, and for a moment, there was silence. Darry still looked unconvinced, his face pale with rage, but he did not speak further. He simply bowed his head stiffly, as though conceding the point for now, though the tension remained thick in the air.

"Ungrateful piece of shit," Euron said. "Fly Cannibal to his keep and let's see if he can keep the act."

Jon could feel Rhaegar's presence beside him, the king leaning in close, his voice barely above a whisper. "That was clever, Jon. You may have just given the realm something to rally behind—highborn and low, all working to maintain control of the same beast."

Jon nodded slightly, though inside he felt no sense of victory. He kept his voice low as well, eyes still fixed ahead. "I'm just trying to make things right," he murmured.

"You know what I say? Fuck them! If Cannibal is hungry, why should you care if a couple of peasants were eaten?" Euron said in his head and then laughed.

Out of my head, Jon growled.

"I'm a part of you, Jon. Always have been."

"Are you well?" Rhaegar asked, tilting his head.

"I'm fine. I didn't sleep well last night."

"You meant to say more than fine. You are so close to who you are meant to be…."

To be what?

Euron's voice grew quiet.

I'm losing my mind, Jon thought furiously.

Rhaegar placed a hand on his shoulder. "It is still early in the morning. Take your leave and I shall hear the last of the petitions. You need it – the Queen of Thornes arrives today. After that, we can commence with your first name day with us to make up for the time Lord Stark took from us." There was a fire in purple eyes.

Whoever wanted to stop him to acknowledge his name day, Ghost deterred any of those attempts. Soon, Jon was back in his chambers with no princesses in sight. I can't fall asleep. Yet despite that, his heavy eyelids closed, Euron's cackling guiding him all the while.

Jon stood alone in the ruins of Old Valyria, the air thick with ash and the stench of decay. The sky above was a deep, roiling red, as though the sun had bled out into the clouds, casting everything in an eerie, bloodstained light. The once-great city stretched endlessly before him, its towering black stone ruins twisted and broken, like the bones of a long-dead beast. Faint whispers echoed in the distance, barely audible, like ghosts calling from the depths of the forgotten past.

The ground beneath his feet was cracked and scorched, every step sending tremors through the earth. In the distance, dragon fire flickered against the shattered spires, casting jagged shadows that danced in the corners of his vision. Jon's breath came shallow, his chest tight with the suffocating heat and the oppressive weight of the city's dark magic.

And then, from nowhere and everywhere, came the whisper. Soft at first, like a breeze stirring the dead leaves, but growing louder with each passing moment.

"Your destiny... your fate... the hour is late."

The voice was hollow, ancient, and filled with a knowledge that chilled him to the bone. Jon's heart raced, his mind struggling to make sense of it, but there was no escape. The words clung to him like a shadow, following him wherever he moved.

"Your destiny... your fate... the hour is late."

He tried to shout, to demand who was speaking, but no sound came from his throat. His voice had been stolen by the city itself, swallowed by the blackened ruins. He turned in circles, trying to find the source of the voice, but all around him was desolation. The ruins seemed to pulse with life, the stone breathing as though the city itself was watching him, waiting.

Ahead, a broken bridge led into the heart of the city, its ancient stones barely holding together over a chasm filled with molten lava. In the distance, the towering silhouette of a dragon loomed, massive wings spread wide, its eyes burning like two orbs of green fire. It was Cannibal. His dragon. The beast that had chosen him. But in this nightmare, Cannibal did not move, did not acknowledge him. It stood frozen, like a guardian of the dead city.

Jon's feet moved of their own accord, dragging him forward across the bridge. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, crawling beneath his skin, wrapping around his thoughts.

"Your destiny... your fate... the hour is late."

He wanted to stop, to turn back, but his body betrayed him. His legs kept moving, carrying him closer to the dragon, closer to the heart of Old Valyria, where the air crackled with ancient power. Shadows loomed on either side of him, writhing and twisting into grotesque shapes, the faces of men long dead forming in the smoke.

Then, in a flash, the landscape shifted. The blackened ruins melted away, and Jon found himself standing at the edge of a vast pit. Below him, hundreds—no, thousands—of dragon eggs lay scattered across the ground, each one glowing faintly with inner fire. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked down upon them, a deep sense of dread welling up inside him.

"Your destiny... your fate... the hour is late."

The voice was inside him now, vibrating in his very bones, pressing in from every direction. His gaze was drawn to a single egg in the center of the pit, larger than the rest. Its surface was dark, almost black, with veins of red pulsing beneath the shell. As Jon stared, the egg began to crack, a hairline fracture spreading slowly across its surface. The sound of it splintering echoed in his mind, a terrible grinding noise that sent shivers down his spine.

A hand—a pale, ghostly hand—reached out from the crack, fingers long and thin, tipped with sharp nails. The egg shattered completely, and from within came a figure cloaked in shadows, its face hidden beneath a hood. The figure turned toward Jon, and though he could not see its face, he knew—hefelt—its gaze pierce through him, seeing every part of him, every secret, every fear.

"You cannot escape it," the figure whispered, its voice merging with the ever-present chant. "Your destiny... your fate... the hour is late."

Jon's legs trembled, and he stumbled back, his mind reeling. The air around him was thick with heat, smoke curling up from the ground, choking him. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. The figure stepped forward, closer, and with each step, the ground beneath Jon's feet cracked and splintered, as though the earth itself was breaking apart.

"Your destiny..."

The figure reached out, fingers brushing against his chest, and Jon felt a jolt of searing pain shoot through his body. It was as though his very blood was turning to fire, burning him from the inside out.

"... your fate..."

He screamed, the sound lost in the storm of whispers, in the roar of ancient power rising from the city below.

"... the hour is late."

Jon fell to his knees, clutching his chest, gasping for breath. The pain was unbearable, but the voice—that voice—was relentless.

Suddenly, he was no longer alone in the darkness. A shadow loomed over him, massive wings spread wide. His dragon. Cannibal. The beast was close now, its breath hot and sulfurous, its eyes gleaming like green steel. It roared, a sound that shook the very foundations of the world.

Jon looked up at it, his vision blurring, and in the dragon's burning eyes, he saw his reflection—a man cloaked in shadow, with fire in his veins and darkness in his soul. The voice was right. He could not escape his fate.

"Your destiny... your fate... the hour is late."

With a final, ear-splitting roar, Cannibal lunged, jaws open wide, and everything went black.

Jon woke with a gasp, his heart thundering in his chest. The darkness of his chambers surrounded him, but the whispers still lingered in the air, fading into silence.

"Your destiny... your fate... the hour is late."

That dream drove him into an abandoned inner courtyard, ghost-shadowing his movements. Only one person was there. A young boy with fair hair and dark eyes that almost seemed eyes doubled in size when they saw him. He hastily dipped his head. "M-My Prince. Happy name day to you." The straw dummy behind him had several holes in it.

"Thank you, my Lord." Honestly, Jon was not pleased to see him. There was no heraldry to the young man, but his sandy features marked him as a Dornishman. And his stature bespoke of a noble standing.

However, when Jon walked to the secluded corner to attack a dummy for himself, the young stood away in respectful silence and watched him bash the straw man.

He's sharp enough to catch that I am not in a good mood and respectful enough to keep his distance, Jon noted.

No matter how badly Jon wanted to sloppily slam his frustrations away, he wanted to set the right example for the young man. Blackfyre drove forward to thrust at the more important areas: neck, elbow, and crotch. That is how you kill a man, Jon thought, making eye contact with the young lord.

The clank of armor was heard, and then there was Myrcella Targaryen with one of her lady-in-waiting who had the same golden hair but different blue eyes. Jon assumed she was Myrcella's cousin. Five guards with the roaring lion on their breastplate stood protectively. Those same guards dipped their heads when they saw him. Jon saw their eyes flicker to Ghost nervously.

"My Prince," Myrcella greeted politely. "While it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, it seems like I have gotten lost. My apologies." Her cousin beside her dipped her head lower for deference. Her blue eyes held Jon in disdain, taking him back. What did I do to her?

Jon focused on Myrcella, who watched him quietly. You are not sincere in your apology based on the fact alone that I think you are lying. Harrenhal is a bigger castle than it should be, but it's difficult to lose your way to this part of the castle. You just wished to speak to me.

"I can escort you to where you desire to go, Princess," Jon said specifically to gauge her reaction. The whole spectacle of Viserys murdering his wife Cersei Lannister and his son Tommen still circulated in this castle. Viserys murdered your mother because he believed the Kingslayer slept with her and produced you. Do you believe it's true?

"This princess would be most grateful for your assistance." Myrcella's face did not betray her thoughts. Her curly hair shuns gold in the rising sun. Her green eyes seemed cat-shaped; they reminded Jon of Cannibal. She was truly breathtaking as if she sucked all the gold from around into her. She had the beauty. She also had none of the Valyrian features.

Myrcella's emerald eyes turned to the silent young lord who watched the exchange. "Lord Edric Dayne, you also have my apologies for interrupting your training."

Ashara's nephew? Jon observed the young lord more carefully.

Edric blushed under the princess's gaze. "No fear – my practice has concluded, princess. Prince Jon, thank you for your demonstration." The lord bowed to them all and left.

Jon stepped forward, Ghost as well. Myrcella tried to hide her fear well, but Jon was more observant than most. The signs were all there: the small hitch in her throat, the slight widening of her eyes. All the Targaryens are afraid of Ghost. She has that going for her at least. Her cousin was too busy glaring at him to be afraid of the Direwolf.

When Jon took her arm into his, her touch left trails of fire. "Where were you going before you were misled?" Her guards and her cousin fell a respectful distance behind them.

Myrcella did not smile as other maidens usually do. She has nothing to smile about, Jon thought. "I planned to go to the castle's Godswood."

"You follow the Old Gods?"

"After what has happened, I thought it would be prudent to say a pray to another deity."

"What will you pray for?"

"Justice." Myrcella turned her green eyes to him.

The message is well received. But when I spoke about delivering justice, Viserys was merely banished to a princes' paradise in Pentos…...or is she implying something else that I am not aware of?

Myrcella

Whether or not her cousin picked up on her message was unclear to her. Jon's face might as well have been a shard of ice. Is he not as politically savvy as I thought he would be? Myrcella thought. Or maybe he is like my grandfather? Hearing others before providing his input? Or maybe he is like Aegon? Not caring unless it's someone he is close to?

But Myrcella was there in court earlier. She saw how Jon handled the matter with the petty lord who had the misfortune of having a father who was a traitor. The Queen and The Hand, along with half the court who were loyalists, were ready to scoff the man out of the court. But Jon intervened. Right when Myrcella thought Jon would be overruled, The King arrived.

The King came in at the right time, almost too convenient. When I visited the capital, it was always Elia and Connington who held court. Jon must have heard this from someone and planned accordingly. The King said enough that the lords would see Jon above The Hand and even the Queen. The two might as well not appear in court again. Well done, cousin. Her grandfather would be proud. It made Myrcella happy to see The Queen displeased. For all those times you sat back and watched your children kick me down, it was entertaining for me to sit back and watch your husband and the son that doesn't belong to you kick you below the table.

Poetic justice.

"Congrats on your name day, cousin." I will remind you of the blood we share as often as I can. I am not the filth Aegon and Rhaenys are trying to splatter me with. "What does the King and the Crown Prince mean to do to celebrate?"

It took a moment for Jon to answer. "The King plans to hold another tourney and something he named a Cultural Celebration. The Crown Prince's intentions are a mystery."

You said so much but so little. Aegon dislikes you. There is tension within the family.

Myrcella heard it from others but wasn't certain until she saw it at court and saw Elia's face. "The Queen hates your cousin," Joy had said bluntly. Myrcella agreed quickly because it was the same way Joy stared at Jon.

Do they view you as an outsider as well? Myrcella wondered.

The Godswood of Harrenhal was far quieter than Myrcella had imagined. The ancient trees, their thick trunks knotted and weathered by time, seemed to absorb every sound, leaving only the occasional rustle of leaves to break the stillness. Myrcella walked alongside Jon. Her steps were measured as she took in her surroundings.

She could feel Joy's eyes burning into Jon's back, her cousin's silent judgment lingering like a shadow over their walk. Myrcella didn't blame her; Joy had been like that ever since her father, Gerion Lannister, had disappeared in Old Valyria. She had stopped smiling, and any joy that had once filled her heart was long gone.

It was why Myrcella kept her so close, despite her bluntness. She needed someone who wouldn't coddle her, who would keep her grounded, especially in these treacherous times. Or maybe Myrcella's heart just went out to her.

Myrcella looked over her shoulder at her cousin and gave a pointed stare at her. But please stop staring at him like that, don't give him cause to avoid us. You know what is at stake here. Joy's glare lessened and she stared down at the ground.

Ahead of her, her cousin walked with a purposeful calm, his dark hair ruffling slightly in the breeze. Myrcella studied him, curious about this man who had once been a bastard and now stood at the cusp of so much power. He was not like Aegon or Rhaenys, that much was clear. He held himself differently – not in their way of telling everyone of their superiority- and there was something about the way he moved through the world—detached, yet observing everything—that intrigued her.

Jon glanced at her, breaking the silence. "Do you visit King's Landing often?"

Myrcella turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. "Not often," she replied, her voice light but measured. "My mother disliked the smell."

Jon gave her a sidelong glance, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Was it the smell or the people?"

She hesitated for a moment, then gave him a knowing look, amusement sparking in her chest. "Both, I imagine." She could see the flicker of curiosity in Jon's eyes, but she decided to give him something more. "I spent more time at Casterly Rock, with my grandfather."

Jon's expression stayed the same. "Tywin Lannister… I assume he told you how much he hates me now."

She met Jon's gaze evenly. "Hates you? No," she said, her voice soft. "He respects you."

Jon stayed quiet as if weighing her words. Myrcella saw a flash of something deeper in his eyes—confusion, maybe, or uncertainty.

But Myrcella knew her grandfather well, and she knew the old lion did not give out respect easily. Tywin might have hated the King and Queen for many reasons, but he respected strength, even if it came from unlikely places in the King's son.

Jon looked ahead, silent for a moment, as if contemplating her words. Myrcella let the silence hang, feeling the weight of the conversation settle between them.

No. He is not confused. He's trying to gain insight into the relationship between me and my grandfather, Myrcella realized.

She glanced back briefly at Joy, who was still struggling to resist watching Jon as if he were a threat that needed constant vigilance. But I am different. My grandfather taught me the ways of court and how to navigate around the shark and the sheep. My grandfather told me Aegon and his Martell family see me as a threat because I have Lannister blood in my veins. They murdered my mother and placed the blame at my father's feet. Jon and I might have a lot in common. Maybe my grandfather thought this too.

"Do not be fooled as the other lickspittles who grovel at Aegon's feet," Tywin had told her once. "Your uncles told me enough. Aegon is paranoid of his own shadow, and his sister whore pretends to be a dragon. She is more like the dragon's filthy cousin – a snake."

"I wanted to see how you handle court," Myrcella said softly, almost as an afterthought. She let the words hang, curious if Jon would rise to the bait.

Jon looked at her, his expression unreadable. "And what do you expect to find?"

Myrcella tilted her head, considering. "Someone who might share my sense of breathing rightness back into this world."

Her words hung in the air, and for the first time, she saw Jon's eyes darken. There was a bond between them, however tenuous, rooted in loss and ambition. The Godswood felt colder, the wind more biting, as they walked on in silence once more. Hardly any spies in the Godswood, Myrcella thought, and she believed Jon thought so too.

"You have used the words Justice and Rightness now. How have you been wronged in which justice hasn't been already dispensed?"

He must also believe that my father killed my mother, Myrcella thought with dismay. "That is what they want you to believe – that justice was dealt with properly."

"What do you want me to believe?"

"That you can help me."

Myrcella saw Jon's eyes narrow in suspicion. Then, there came a union of haunting howls that traveled through the Godswood. Myrcella shivered and saw from the corner of her eye that it made Jon smirk.

"Bloody hells, here comes more of them!"

Direwolves ranging from silver to Black, big as war horses and twice as fierce looking, came creeping into the Godswood. Their eyes stared into Myrcella's soul. They would not let her move.

"You think she had enough, Robb?" Jon asked, too amused for Myrcella's liking.

"Why do you ask me that, My Prince? I thought dragons were not scared of wolves," a voice jested back. Robb Stark, Arya, Bran, Sansa, and Rickon emerged from behind their respective Direwolves. To her mortification, the younger Starks were laughing at her. All of them besides Brandon, who was gaping at her.

"No one said anything about princesses. She's trembling."

Myrcella found her voice. "Dragons tremble before no wolf. Not even for your overgrown ones, my lords."

"I would protect you, Princess," Bran blurted out. Myrcella sent him a small smile that made the young Stark blush.

Robb laughed good naturally. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Princess. I am Robb Stark, and these are my troublesome siblings." That earned him a glare from Sansa, a tongue wag from Arya, and a kick from Rickon. Brandon continued to sneak glances at her.

The scene knocked the breath from her chest. Tommen, Myrcella thought and closed her eyes tightly, sighing deeply.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Jon smiling. It was a small smile. He has a very handsome smile.

Myrcella smiled tightly. "I'm happy to meet you, Robb Stark. I think your siblings are wonderful. It's good to appreciate them while they are still here."

That paused them for a beat. Jon and Robb exchanged gazes. "We were hoping to steal Jon away to celebrate his name day before the rest of the royal family can get their claws into him."

This one dislikes the Targaryens as well. Myrcella slid her eyes to the cast on his arm. The telling is true after all. Aegon broke his arm in the joust. Knowing Aegon it was very deliberate, likely to make a point. Myrcella glanced at Jon to find that he had his eyes on the cast as well, quickly proving her right.

"I do not mean to intrude. But I would like to come – with your permission, cousin. All I would ask is for my cousin to join as well."

Displeasure instantly settled over the Starks. Robb frowned in clear disapproval. Do they dislike me as well? They don't even know me. I am not like the rest of them. Myrcella did her best to shrug it off. "It is fine with me," Jon said. "Finish your prayers and meet us at the stables when you are done."

Jon

Ghost padded silently at Jon's side, his red eyes glinting in the rising light, while Grey Wind, Nymeria, and the others moved restlessly around the group. The wolves' presence was as much a part of the Stark family as the steel they carried, a reminder of the wild strength that lived in them all.

Jon's eyes swept the clearing, catching Myrcella's figure standing some distance away with her cousin Jory and the guards.If there were spies here, being a Targaryen or not would be the least of her worries.

With a subtle nod to her cousin, Myrcella turned to her guards. "I want to be alone for a bit," she said quietly but with enough authority that none of them dared protest. Jory shot her a sharp glance, clearly reluctant to let her wander alone, but she said nothing as Myrcella began walking back into the heart of the Godswood, the trees swallowing her silhouette.

Jon paused briefly, looking over his shoulder at her retreating form, before returning his focus to his family. Robb was speaking, discussing something about what he had in mind, but Jon's thoughts lingered on Myrcella. There was something different about her from the other royal members of the family. He sensed no ill intentions from her, nor did Ghost, but there was a deep anger in her eyes that made him wary.

I don't think she is necessarily a bad person – I don't know her at all – but I see the shadow of Tywin Lannister.

…. And she implied that those who were responsible for the murder of her mother are still free. But they have told me Viserys did it and was therefore banished. Was she trying to say Viserys wasn't the guilty one?

Regardless, Jon was going to uncover it, hence allowing her to join them. And he caught how she looked at the Starks. She did her best to hide it, and he saw it all the same – a deep longing. Jon knew that look. He had seen it many times in his time with the Golden Company. It was the look of someone who lost something dear to her.

I considered Olly a dear friend of mine, almost a brother. Is her pain like how mine was? I had the choice of taking Olly away from this world – she didn't.

"You liked killing him, don't play it off. You killed him to cover yourself in glory when the Seven Kingdoms realize you killed the Blackfyre pretender," Euron whispered.

"Jon, I want to ask something from you," Robb said as they reached the stables. "I must fix a personal error of mine. I punched Domeric Bolton in the face not too long ago."

"I would recommend you not to do that, Robb Stark."

Robb frowned. "He took the issue of you further than he should have dared. I was so angry I swear I knocked the tooth out his damned mouth."

"Protecting my virtue like I'm a flowered maiden, aye? You can't go around punching your father's bannermen in the face."

"I vaguely remember you pulling a sword out on every northern lord that traveled to the tourney."

"You should have killed them."

"A mistake." Jon waved it away, blinking rapidly. "How can I fix your fuck up?"

"You said you wanted to recruit some folks to attend to your dragon. I would like you to accept Bolton into it."

"He doesn't sit right with me."

"He rubs me the wrong way also. But I must do right by him. Remember his father Roose Bolton whenever he came to visit?"

"I do."

They both cringed.

Jon sighed. "All right, Robb. But you must help me come up with a name for this thing."

"Are you sure you want me to help you with that?"

"You're right. If you can give your wolf 'Greywind', you would have the itch to name this group anything."

"I don't appreciate that, my dickhead Prince."

They shared a laugh as they readied their horses.

Myrcella

The air grew cooler as Myrcella wandered deeper into the woods, the thick canopy of leaves filtering the light until it was dim and shadowed. She inhaled deeply, the crisp smell of earth and leaves filling her senses.

Her footsteps were soft on the mossy ground, her thoughts drifting to the encounter with Jon. He had a presence about him, something quiet but powerful. He was unlike anyone she had met before, and Myrcella couldn't help but wonder how he might fit into her plans.

Suddenly, she froze. A rustling sound came from behind her, too deliberate to be the wind. Before she could react, a strong hand clamped over her mouth, yanking her backward. Panic surged through her, but the grip was firm, and she couldn't scream.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled, her mind racing with fear and confusion. She twisted, trying to see her attacker, but his face was obscured by a hood.

They are going to stab me like they did my mother!

"Shh," came a low, familiar voice, right by her ear.

Myrcella's heart stilled. She knew that voice. The hand over her mouth loosened slightly, and she was able to turn her head enough to catch a glimpse of the man's face. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Uncle," she whispered, disbelief and anger flooding her chest.

He let go of her, pulling back the hood to reveal his golden hair and piercing green eyes. Jaime Lannister stood before her, looking just as dangerous and roguish as he always had. There was a grim determination in his eyes, something Myrcella had never seen before.

"Quiet," he hissed, his voice low but urgent. "We don't have much time."

Myrcella stepped back, her shock too strong to overcome. "What are you doing here? How did you—"

Jaime cut her off with a sharp look, his eyes scanning the trees around them. "I couldn't stay away. Not with you here, alone, in this viper's nest." His voice softened slightly. "You don't know how dangerous it is, Myrcella."

"Dangerous?" Myrcella spat, stepping closer, her voice a harsh whisper. "You think I don't know? I've lived here long enough to understand exactly what I'm dealing with."

Jaime's face tightened. "You don't understand half of it. Aegon… Rhaenys… they're playing a game you don't see. And Jon—"

"Jon," she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. "Jon is the least of my worries. You think you can just appear after all this time and—"

"I'm trying to protect you," Jaime said, his voice fierce but quiet. He reached out, grabbing her arm gently but firmly. "You're family, Myrcella. I couldn't stay away, not with everything that's happening."

Myrcella looked up at him, her emotions a whirlwind of confusion and anger. She didn't know whether to be relieved or furious. She was honestly happy to see a family member. But him being here could invite another disaster.

"You can't stay," she said finally, her voice quiet "If anyone sees you—"

"I know," Jaime said, his voice entirely too light for her taste. "But I needed to see you first. There's more happening here than you realize, and I'm going to make sure you're safe."

Myrcella pulled her arm free, her eyes hard. "Where were you when people needed saving? Strangling children?"

Jaime smirked. But Myrcella caught something flickering in his eyes. "You sound like your grandfather," he sighed.

"We need more of his kind around here."

Jaime snorted. "If that was the case then Harrenhal would've been flooded with the waters around the God's eye with all the women and children in it."

"Uncle."

The Kingslayer changed the subject. "I heard you are going out for a little ride with the bastard prince I hear. It wouldn't be too out of the norm for a man to get caught up in an accident on his name day, right?" Myrcella could see his dangerous smile, the whiteness of his teeth.

Myrcella shook her head. "Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Jaime snapped. "The Targaryens killed your mother. Do you not seek vengeance?"

"House Targaryen is my house also," Myrcella said sharply. At that, Jaime went silent. "The Royal family had a hand in the deaths of my mother and my brothers. Their deaths came too soon in between to be a coincidence. It was planned, uncle. Aegon…... sees Tywin Lannister as a threat, and by that association, me."

"You are certain?"

"You should have seen how Aegon and The Queen looked at Jon in court today." Myrcella stared at the ground, a bitter smile on her lips. "It's how they look at me."

Jaime looked at her for a long moment. "You want Jon to be your ally."

"I want him to be. He is my cousin, my blood. I think he's not entirely aware of the lengths the Queen and her family are willing to travel to eliminate any perceived threats to Aegon's Throne. They killed my brothers and successfully blamed it on my father. What do you think they will do to get rid of Jon?"

"A lot," Jaime answered with a smile. "Did you see how Lord shit face Darry was frothing at the mouth? Bitching about how Cannibal burned some of his lands? The funny thing is that he was lying."

Myrcella blinked. "Pardon?"

"The bastard prince and his dragon were looking for me. I had to hide under filthy taverns for days. I made sure to keep an eye on the beast. I had the Mountain and his men keep track of his movements. In no way did the beast travel to Dary's lands."

They lied. Myrcella's mind raced. "Who would this benefit?" Myrcella murmured and knew. "Lord Darry must be in league with Aegon. But what would this gain? To simply make Jon look bad?"

"Not everything is as obvious as they appear," Tywin had told her once."

"It worked perfectly," Jaime quipped.

Myrcella glared. Jaime shrugged and said, "Maybe it is to rouse him out there to kill him?"

The idea had merit, but she shook her head. "No. If Jon was to go there, it would be on Dragon back. But the thing is if one of the King's representatives goes there and the land is not destroyed as Lord Darry says…...?"

"They made sure they kept up appearances. They would put the people to the sword and put the torch to the villages. That's enough firepower to me."

"The lengths they would have to go," Myrcella said simply, feeling her stomach revolt. Then she looked at Jaime. "You have to protect him."

That knocked the smirk right off Jaime's face. "I have to do what?" His voice rose.

"Aegon and his family want my cousin dead. I want you to prevent that," Myrcella said bluntly.

Jaime laughed. "I would rather much protect you."

Myrcella stepped forward. "This is protecting me. I was fortunate to be at Casterly Rock or else I would be lying with my mother. Who says they wouldn't finish what they started? You know what grandfather told me? 'This is war.' They shed the first blood with them killing Tommen. I will not let them win," Myrcella almost snarled. Her heart felt like it was ripped all over again. Her hands were shaking.

"And you think this cousin will side with you?"

"He will have to. I heard him in court today. He is fair. something tells me he's born from a different cloth than Aegon and Rhaenys."

"And if the price is too high?"

"If the price is too high, then they would know the debt is paid with fire and blood."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to be my white shield and a vengeful lion to those who have wronged me. If Jon doesn't help me, I know I will have you. I want you to spy for me…. kill for me if needs be."

Jaime cupped her cheek. "You remind me so much of your mother." It made her uneasy.

Myrcella softly removed his hand. "Meet here again when I need you."

Jon

"1….2….3…...4…...5….6….7…...8…...9…...10…. Here or not here I come!" Rickon shouted and ran off with Shaggydog to find the other players amongst the trees. The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the grassy fields near Harrenhal as the Stark children laughed and played, darting in and out of the trees, their Direwolves never far behind. The air was filled with the joy of youth and the warmth of a peaceful late morning.

Jon watched them from where he sat on a blanket, the scene peaceful, yet distant as if he wasn't part of it.

Beside him sat Myrcella, her dress simple yet elegant, black and red—colors that marked her as a Targaryen now. Joy, her cousin and lady-in-waiting, sat close by, though her attention seemed more focused on glaring at Jon than anything else. She had barely looked away from him since they'd arrived, her stare cold and unwelcoming, though Jon had long grown accustomed to such silent disapproval.

"Rickon has so much energy," Myrcella remarked, her voice soft as her eyes followed the youngest Stark running wildly across the field.

Jon nodded. "All the Starks do, but especially Rickon. He's like a wildfire you can't put out."

Myrcella's lips curled slightly in a small smile, though her expression remained distant. Jon noticed that she kept a guarded air around her, never fully revealing what was on her mind. Joy, as usual, remained silent, though he could feel her eyes on him, sharp as a knife.

Sansa, sitting nearby, eagerly broke the silence. "Myrcella, I love your dress. It's so pretty. You always wear such lovely things." Jon wanted to snort but held it in for Sansa's stake.

Myrcella glanced down at her attire, the simple cut of the dress a contrast to Sansa's more embellished clothing. "It's nothing special. Just black and red."

Sansa shook her head, smiling brightly. "No, it suits you. You look like a true princess. What was it like at Casterly Rock and King's Landing? Did you wear beautiful gowns there?"

Jon noticed the hesitation in Myrcella's expression, the brief flicker of something darker before she responded. "I spent more time at Casterly Rock than King's Landing. My grandfather always welcomed me there. He taught me how to listen in on his meetings, and I'd sit with him while he spoke to his bannermen." Tywin thinks highly of her, Jon observed.

Sansa's smile faltered slightly. "Tywin Lannister? I don't want to hear about him. He's not liked the knights in the songs."

Not this again, Jon thought, wanting to sigh.

Myrcella tilted her head, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Sansa's tone turned serious, her face set in disapproval. "Tywin Lannister kills women and children. Knights in the songs don't do that—they protect the innocent."

Jon sent Sansa a warning look.

There was a shift in Myrcella's expression, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. "Despite that," she said, her voice sharpening, "I hate the capital more. The city is unpleasant to be in."

Sansa looked taken aback, shaking her head in disbelief. "How could the capital be awful? The royal family lives there. It must be grand, full of beautiful songs and stories."

Myrcella's expression grew colder. "Those people would happily prove your songs wrong."

Before Jon could speak, Joy broke her silence, her tone blunt and cutting. "Life is not a song, my lady."

Sansa's face flushed, her eyes welling with unshed tears. She turned to Myrcella, her voice sharp with emotion. "Maybe I'm talking to the wrong person. After all, you might not even be a real princess."

"Sansa don't say that," Jon said.

The words hung in the air like a sword, cutting deep. Jon felt the tension thicken as Myrcella's face went still, her expression freezing over. Without a word, she rose from the blanket and walked off, her steps measured but filled with quiet fury. Like a lion.

Jon shot Sansa a look of disapproval, his voice low and firm. "That was uncalled for, Sansa."

Sansa's lip trembled, but Jon didn't wait for her to respond. He stood and followed Myrcella, his footsteps soft on the grass as he left the picnic behind.

He found her at the edge of the trees, her back turned to him as she stared out at the horizon. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her posture rigid with anger. Jon approached slowly, his boots crunching on the earth beneath him.

"Myrcella," he said gently, keeping his voice low so as not to startle her.

She didn't turn to face him, but her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice. For a long moment, she said nothing, the silence stretching between them. Finally, she spoke, her voice tight with emotion. "I'm sorry. It has been a while since someone was that bold to say that to my face."

Jon stepped closer, careful to keep a respectful distance. "Sansa's young. She can sometimes say stuff to piss off anyone – let Arya tell you."

"It's not just Sansa," Myrcella muttered, her voice hard.

Jon could see the pain in her, the frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior. He knew that feeling all too well, the weight of being judged for something out of one's control. "I understand what it's like to be judged for things you can't change. But you're more than what they say you are."

She finally turned to him, her eyes sharp and filled with a mixture of anger and uncertainty. "Do you really believe that?"

Jon nodded. "I do. You can prove that you're stronger than they know. And you'll prove them wrong in time."

Myrcella stared at him for a long moment, her gaze searching his as if trying to find something in his words that she could hold on to. Slowly, she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

"Thank you," she said quietly, though the guarded look in her eyes hadn't fully disappeared.

They can both still the joyous shouts of the Starks through the trees. "Isn't Robb Stark a bit too old to be playing this game?" Myrcella said softly.

Right on time, they heard the distinctive voice of Robb yelling, "Arya, I found you! Ha! No, I – that's CHEATING!"

"You tell him that," Jon said.

"I don't think I dare to do so. You all played this often?" Myrcella asked curiously.

"Back in Winterfell. We would play all day before Lord Stark would find us and send us to bed."

"How fun."

"You never played?"

"Not once."

Jon saw how guarded she was, how stiff her back was with anger. "…...Do you want to play? Just you and me."

Myrcella looked at him from the corner of her eye. "I can't have people see me in that manner."

Jon looked around the trees. "What people?"

"I don't have the proper footwear?" Myrcella pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Take your shoes off?"

Myrcella's lips curved upward slightly, finally breaking through the stiffness. She took off her shoes and exposed her bare toes. "Only because it is your name day."

"What a good cousin you are."

Jon's breath was steady as he wandered through the trees, his eyes scanning the woods for any sign of his quarry. Myrcella had darted off, her golden hair gleaming in the shafts of light that broke through the canopy, teasing him with brief flashes as she hopped from tree to tree.

His pace quickened when he spotted a familiar glint of gold, Myrcella's hair shimmering as she weaved between the trees. She was quick, moving with a grace he hadn't expected. For a moment, he considered letting her stay hidden a little longer, just to see how far she could run.

But that wasn't Jon's way.

With a determined grin, Jon disappeared into the trees, using the thick trunks as cover as he closed the distance. He could hear her soft footfalls and the occasional giggle escaping her lips, though she tried to muffle it. She thought she was clever, but Jon had years of practice chasing his younger siblings and years of doing stealthy missions for the Golden Company. He moved silently, his boots barely making a sound on the forest floor. When he was close enough, he stepped out of the shadows.

"Got you," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

Myrcella gasped, her wide green eyes flashing with surprise before she bolted. Jon let her run, counting out loud to ten, giving her a head start as he leaned casually against a tree. But after ten seconds passed, Jon took off after her.

Her laughter echoed through the woods as she sprinted away, her dress—simple, yet elegant in black and red—billowing slightly behind her. She was fast like a lion, but Jon's long strides ate up the distance between them. He ducked under branches and dodged low-hanging limbs, the chase thrilling in a way that felt strangely freeing.

With a final burst of speed, Jon lunged forward, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her down gently onto the soft grass. Myrcella squealed in surprise as they tumbled, her laughter filling the air as they landed together.

"You're caught," Jon said, grinning down at her.

Myrcella tried to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. "I didn't expect you to be so fast," she admitted, still laughing as she lay beneath him.

Jon smirked, his grip loosening as he leaned back slightly, sitting beside her on the grass. "I thought you were too old to be playing hide and seek," he teased, raising an eyebrow at her.

Myrcella's laughter softened, her chest still rising and falling with the effort of running. "Maybe I am," she replied, her smile still lingering. "But you—"

Before she could finish, Jon's fingers found her sides, and he began tickling her. Myrcella's laughter returned in full force, loud and uncontrollable, as she squirmed beneath him, trying to push his hands away. "My-M-Prince! Stop! Please! JON!" she gasped between fits of giggles.

But Jon didn't stop, not right away. He was enjoying seeing her like this—free, lighthearted, unburdened by the usual weight she carried. The golden strands of her hair shimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the trees, framing her face like a crown. And her smile... it was different. It wasn't the reserved expression she wore in court. It was genuine, radiant, and full of life.

He slowed his tickling, letting her catch her breath. There's that smile. I knew it was in there.

Myrcella rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow as she tried to regain her composure. "That's very unfitting for a prince," she said, but there was no malice in her words, laughter.

Jon shrugged, sitting back on the grass beside her. "Maybe. But you needed it."

She met his gaze then, her eyes searching his for a moment before softening. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Jon simply nodded, understanding more than she knew. He had seen the way people whispered about her, the rumors, the doubt cast on her parentage. He knew what it was like to be judged, to feel out of place. That's why he had chased her down, why he had tickled her until she laughed. Because he knew, in a way, what she needed—if only for a brief moment.

They sat in silence for a while, the wind rustling through the trees around them, the distant sounds of the other Starks playing in the background. The world seemed quieter here, more peaceful. And for the first time in a long while, Jon felt a sense of calm, as if the weight of everything didn't press as heavily on his shoulders.

Myrcella lay back in the grass, her golden hair spread out like a halo around her. Jon watched her for a moment, seeing the way the sunlight caught in her locks, and how it made her skin glow with warmth. She was beautiful and bright, undeniably so, like gold, and in this quiet moment, she seemed more real to him than she ever had before.

"I didn't tell you the whole truth," Jon said, drawing Myrcella's gaze. "We did play this game in Winterfell, but we played it in the crypts. Every time, I felt like I didn't belong there."

"I'm sorry," Myrcella said after a while. Jon didn't know if her response was genuine or not.

To his surprise, Myrcella began to speak. "The Starks love to run around with their wolves. Tommen loved to run with cats. He would show me a different cat each day. Mr. Pounce was his favorite."

"What about Joffrey?"

"He was a shitty brother and a worse person. He used to kill Tommen's cats. The Gods should have taken Joffrey alone and left Tommen with me."

That would be harsh to think about your brother like that. But isn't that what Aegon is saying about me?

Jon saw Ghost lurking near some shrubs, watching them carefully. Jon had no doubt Myrcella was unaware of the wolf's presence. None of them usually did. "None of them deserved their fate."

"Not at all," Myrcella said sharply.

"You believe that your father didn't kill them and that it was someone else. You are letting me be aware of it, but you don't trust me enough to tell me who you suspect."

Myrcella got to her feet and pattered herself off. "Thank you for the game, cousin. I'm sure you are the only Prince honorable enough to guarantee my safety out here in these woods." She walked back toward their group.

Shit.

Tyrion

"Prince Viserys…. Tyrion of House Lannister," the servant heralded. The Hound and Bronn followed Tyrion into the chambers, the Hound with his dog helm and Bronn with his customary whistle.

Angry purple eyes sent the servant fleeing with the closing of the door. The shutters were closed shut, shrouding the room in grimness. Clothes were strewn across the floor. Tables were flipped over. The exiled prince himself was on the floor with his back pressed against the feather bed, empty flagons of wine enclosed around him like a crown. His silver-blond hair was matted and disheveled.

My half-brother, Tyrion thought, eyeing the prince closely. Viserys state of dress disgusted him, but he had plans for the exiled prince. They may be of blood, but it mattered little to him. Look at what Jaime did to him.

"I see this paradise retreat has been kind to you, my prince. Rhaegar had the right of it."

Viserys's purple eyes swiveled to him. They were angry with a glint in them. "So…the Imp. You are the cause of my imprisonment."

"Imprisonment?" Tyrion, smirking, made a show of looking around the room. "Is Pentos idea of captivity so different from Westeros where they have featherbeds, wine and whores instead of cells, shit and poxy turnkeys?"

"Don't play me the fool dwarf!" Viserys raged. "When I first arrived, I could go where I pleased with only a servant boy shadowing my movements. With your arrival, I have not been able to see a wink of the sun!"

"Open the window."

The glint in Viserys's eyes grew. "Maybe this is your doing."

"My head doesn't reach your chest, but I am still capable of doing many things, Your Grace." Tyrion bowed.

"You mock me dwarf?!" Viserys stumbled to his feet. The Hound strode forward and pushed him roughly back to the ground.

"Easy little man," Sandor said with a laugh.

"You dare put your filthy hands on me dog?!"

"You dared murdering my dear sister and poor Tommen," Tyrion said.

"That's what you want me to believe!"

Tyrion cocked his head. "How so?"

"You are up to something dwarf!"

Tyrion waddled over to a fresh flagon of wine and poured himself a cup. "I'm here for your help, my prince."

Viserys looked confused. "My help?"

"Yes. You and I have a mutual dilemma. We are both second sons casted down for the brighter and shinier firstborn. We know piss has color – is it better than water?" Tyrion gulped the wine down. "I am the rightful heir to Casterly Rock, yet Lord Tywin still has his eyes set on Jaime and will never give me the time of day."

"Westeros still teeters on the edge 18 years post Baratheon's failed rebellion because Rhaegar got it into his head that it would be better for his fragile queen to rule. The rebels grumble about their defeat and the increased taxes they had to pay. The loyalists grumble about the lack of favoritism from siding with them during the war. The Iron Bank is displeased that Rhaegar used the loans to rebuild the castles along the Wall and has yet to repay them."

"My prince, Rhaegar has always told the small council, the one he forbade you to join, of how he wished to keep an eye on you." Tyrion was keenly aware of how Viserys listened to his words intently and fought to keep the smile off his face. "He married you to Cersei to compensate for the slight of making Jon Conninghton Hand over Lord Tywin. Aegon and the Martells realized the danger you proposed."

"From the mouth of my brother himself, the crown prince and the princess ordered him to lay with my sister and to make sure he cuckold you."

"Lies!"

Tyrion shrugged his stunted shoulders. "I must admit there was no reluctance on my brother's part. But this scheme was by the Dornish to keep the fierce dragon blood in your loins from spreading and to bring shame and future penance upon House Lannister in one stroke."

"Why?" Spittle flew from Viserys's mouth.

"They viewed you and your offspring as threats to Aegon's throne. Exposing your kids as full Lannisters eliminates any ties they might have to the throne. Now that time has come, and they placed the murder of Cersei Lannister on you, effectively removing you from the picture."

If any of them were his trueborn offspring it would be Myrcella. But the chances of that are slim.

"Aegon…. Rhaenys. They are not pure Valyrians – fake dragons I had claimed…Rhaegar was wroth when I said that, but he knew I was right. They are mere half-breeds, sullied by their Dornish blood. And now they have the gall to blame me for the murder of the Lannister bitch. Oh sure I wanted to flog her but someone beat me to it."

Oh, you are going to love this half-breed, Tyrion thought viciously.

"Confined in these chambers you may have missed this. Jon Snow is said to be the son of the king and Lyanna Stark, hidden by Eddard Stark."

Tyrion relished in the shock on Viserys face. The prince shook his head rapidly. "That's impossible! More half-breeds!"

"It is very real, my prince. He is very real. The reveal is said to be very devastating. The story has the whores weeping from the North to Dorne. Jon's person will open festering wounds, whether he wills it or not. Something tells me the king will not have much time to live. And that is the time when Westeros will need you."

"How do I know if you are not playing me the fool, Imp?"

I have your life in my hands and yet you mock my name.

Tyrion mentally brushed off his anger, knowing the prince would rue it in due time. "You just have to trust the word of a Lannister." He gave Viserys a crooked smile.

Tyrion knew Viserys for years. The man always thought too highly of himself. Daenerys and Rhaella were the only calming forces to keep Viserys's pride in check and to keep him somewhat humble. And to keep that tint of madness suppressed.

His sister and mother are not here, nor is Rhaegar, who has little respect for him. He has a dwarf who has uses for him, though.

When Tyrion left, Bronn said, "For your height, you have a lot of blood on your little hands."

"Who can ever deny that I'm a family man?"

Jon

"You missed the arrival of the Queen of Thornes."

"Is she the queen of something other than flowers?"

Dany laughed. "Rhaegar wasn't there either because he thought you would be there. It was left to Aegon and the Queen to greet her and her retinue. Jon…...it was almost as if Aegon wished you were there because she ripped through his arse, and he was looking for another one. It was so obvious of how he kept quiet to keep the Tyrells pleased after his fuck up."

Hmmmm.

"You weren't there but weren't spared either. She loudly claimed the Black Prince thought himself too highly to greet her."

Jon snorted. "I take it that she cut you a new piece of ass as well?"

"No. I merely heard it from someone who was there."

And now so do I.

Dany hummed as Jon rubbed her feet on the couch. His auntie came to his chambers to talk about the arrival of Olenna Tyrell but complained about her feet being sore. Such is the price of information.

"Our beloved prince with the soft hands was courting a golden lioness today," Dany said with her eyes closed.

Am I surprised she knows that?

"I wasn't courting. The Starks wanted to have an outing and Myrcella wanted to join."

"Hmmm." Dany sounded unconvinced. "Maybe the lioness wants a dragon for herself?"

"That's not the proper way to speak of your niece."

"Is she really?"

"That's what she says."

"Viserys…. may have been rough around the edges, but he wouldn't have murdered Cersei and Tommen without reason." Her beautiful face scrunched up in disgust.

She believes the same. She doesn't suspect anything, Jon observed.

Dany shrugged. "But Rhaegar doesn't intend to acknowledge it – undoubtedly to not piss off Tywin even more – so Myrcella is still technically a Targaryen. A Targaryen prisoner."

"The Kingslayer is still out there."

"No one is eager to thread through the woods with the Golden Lion prowling through the trees." Dany giggled when Jon's thumb tickled a sensitive spot on her foot. "The Queen of Thornes wants to arrange a betrothal between Willas and your cousin Sansa."

"To hell with that," Jon said immediately. "Didn't she just arrive? And now she already wants to arrange marriages, for Sansa of all people?" Who the hell does this woman think she is?

"A scheme. It seems like the Tyrells are backing Aegon to go against you," Daenerys suggested. "They may offer marriages between the lower cadets of Tyrells with your other cousins as well."

They may grumble about being thrown in the cells but would never throw away the opportunity of their own family member becoming a queen.

Jon sent her a look. "They are not moving against anything. Sansa will not be marrying any one of the flowers."

"If they bring it before the king, he will have a hard time dismissing the benefits of the match."

"It only benefits Aegon. And they will have a hard to proving their case while I'm here."

Daenerys had a knowing smile. "You played your card well in court, nephew."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Auntie."

"Ashara wants Edric Dayne to be your squire. She spoke to Arthur about it."

I never thought to have a squire before. I've always dreamed about polishing Arthur Dayne's armor. Now I can potentially have his nephew do that for me. It's weird how life works.

"I can have Edric help me with my armor and to ready my saddle for the joust. If he does well, then he can assist me during the rounds. If it all goes well, then he is in my consideration to be my squire."

"You are as thickheaded as Rhaegar so I am not going to waste my breath trying to beg you not to participate in this tourney. Be careful. You have made a lot of enemies in court today," Daenerys warned.

"I made enemies by merely doing the man some kindness," Jon said with disgust.

"Those at court don't want kindness from you. They want you to serve their ends."

"Fuck them."

"Fuck them," Dany agreed with a naughty smile. "But they have a purpose."

"Yes. I have need of them." Jon sighed.

"What are you striving for?"

For what reason do you move against Aegon, her eyes said.

"I want a united front for Westeros…... There's an enemy on the horizon that could mean the end for us all if we are not diligent."

"The current regime is not suited for this task?"

"You lived in court for years. You can answer the question better than I can. I have seen enough, however. If they are still in power along with their lickspittles at court when this enemy marches every single one of us will die."

A silence descended upon them. Jon knew what he said. It is treason of the highest order to plot against your own brother for his Throne. But what is there else to do when the White Walkers march on the wall? I have seen firsthand how the court of the Targaryens handles things. They rather beat a man down than help him back on his feet. That's not going to fly against the white demons.

What does this make me? Oath breaker? Traitor? A Blackfyre? Blackfyre gleamed in the corner of the room. Does my bastardy background that everyone speaks ill of still plague me? Jon thought humorously. I can only try to do this without much bloodshed. I must get the lords to support me.

"From what my mother tells me, you sound exactly like Rhaegar when he talked about his dreams."

"How?"

"Like the world is going to end and you are the only one aware of it." There was a small smile on her face.

"You don't believe me." Jon tried to hide his frustration. How hard will it be to convince the other lords the threat is very real?

"You talk of this enemy as this unstoppable force of destruction capable of blowing away the armies Westeros can muster and your dragon." The skepticism was clear in her purple eyes. "I never heard of such foe."

You have heard of them. They are mere stories to you but very real to me, Jon thought quietly.

"I understand."

"I'm sorry nephew. Please don't be angry with me." Dany bit her lip.

"I can't be mad at you, especially when I do this." Jon tickled the foot he was holding. It took Dany by surprise and sent her into a fit of giggles. Jon yanked her leg to prevent her escape and tickled her some more. After they had their fun, they took a nap in his bed.

It was later Jon escorted her to the Great Hall.

The great hall of Harrenhal was a towering beast, its stone walls heavy with history. Banners of every house in the realm draped the vast space, bright and colorful in the flickering candlelight. Laughter echoed, mixing with the sounds of minstrels playing their lively tunes, and the scent of roasted meats and spices filled the air. Jon's eyes swept the room as he stood at the entrance, his posture straight, his face set. He was no stranger to being the center of attention, but tonight, it felt different.

The herald's voice cut through the noise. "Prince Jon and Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen!"

The room quieted. Hundreds of eyes turned toward him, and he felt the weight of their stares. He didn't flinch, didn't hesitate, though he could feel the intensity behind their looks. Jon moved forward, his black doublet fitting snugly across his broad shoulders. The silver embroidery on the edges was subtle but sharp enough to mark him as someone of importance. His black cloak trailed behind him, the simplicity of the fabric hiding its weight.

Beside him, Daenerys walked with grace, her arm lightly resting on his. She was a vision in white, her gown flowing like water around her. Silver threads shimmered across the dress, catching the light from the torches as they walked. Her hair, braided with precision, gleamed silver in the low light, cascading down her back like moonlight. She was everything they expected of a Targaryen—ethereal, regal, beautiful.

They moved together through the hall, and though the noise of the feast continued around them, Jon felt every pair of eyes on them. He could sense the whispers, the hushed comments, the glances exchanged between lords and knights. His gaze scanned the room, quickly taking in the faces that mattered.

Aegon sat next to Margaery at the royal dais, his purple eyes mocking. Rhaenys, seated beside him, had a blank expression.

Arianne Martell was watching him too, but with that ever-present smile of hers—amused, curious, as if she found the entire situation to be a game. She thinks I'm hers. The glint in her eyes betrayed her enjoyment at the tension in the room.

His father, King Rhaegar, sat at the head of the dais. His violet eyes gleamed with pride as he looked at Jon, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. A little cough escaped the king. Queen Dowager Rhaella, seated beside him, was more overt with her affection, her gaze warm and welcoming.

Jon's attention shifted to the other table near the dais. The Starks, Tyrells, and Martells were seated close together. Willas Tyrell was leaning toward Sansa, whispering something in her ear, his tone low and intimate. Sansa's lips curved into a soft smile, her auburn hair catching the light. Olenna Tyrell sat next to Willas and eyed him closely. Jon's eyes lingered on them for a moment, then continued scanning the rest of the hall.

Jon saw a lower table far from the dais filled with young squires and instinctively stopped by them. Their eyes got wide. Dany had to pull him away. Damned fool. Why would you do that? Jon cursed himself. He avoided Dany's imploring gaze.

As they neared the dais, Jon was suddenly interrupted by a wild force slamming into his side. Rickon. His younger brother's arms wrapped around his waist, his head barely reaching Jon's chest.

"Happy nameday, Jon!" Rickon's voice was loud and full of joy, drawing more attention to their arrival.

Catelyn Stark, seated nearby, looked horrified, her lips pursed, her face pale with barely concealed disapproval. Jon didn't need to see her expression to know what she was thinking, but Rickon's affection was genuine, and that was all that mattered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Aegon and Elia exchanging disgusted looks, their noses wrinkling at the display of affection. Oberyn Martell, however, seemed entertained, leaning back with a smirk on his face.

"A wild wolf indeed," Oberyn drawled, his tone full of amusement.

Jon allowed a small smile, ruffling Rickon's unruly auburn hair. "Indeed. Fierce and strong."

Rickon beamed at the praise, his face glowing with pride before he scampered back to his seat with the Starks. Robb, Sansa, and Arya chuckled softly, clearly amused by their younger brother's boldness.

At the dais, Queen Rhaella rose to greet him, her soft lips pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Happy nameday, Jon," she said warmly, her voice gentle. She grasped both of their hands. "You both look stunning tonight."

Jon gave a nod, feeling the warmth of her words. Daenerys returned the smile, though the quiet mutter from Rhaenys beside her didn't go unnoticed. "Indeed," she said softly, her expression still unreadable.

Aegon, leaning forward slightly, gave a smile. "Black suits you, little brother."

Jon met his gaze, his voice even. "Black has always been my color."

Aegon's smile widened into something else, his voice dripping with false warmth. "The Wall would love your services."

"Cut off his head and throw his worthless body off the wall," Euron's voice whispered.

Jon didn't bother responding, his face remaining impassive. It wasn't worth the argument. Before Aegon could press further, Arianne Martell leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"A man such as Jon would be wasted at the Wall," she said smoothly, her tone teasing. "And Cannibal would freeze and turn into a big icicle."

Aegon's mocking grin remained, but Daenerys spoke before he could retort. "Jon is suited much better in the south with his family." At that, Aegon's smile disappeared. Dany refused to meet his gaze. She's not yours anymore.

Her words, though calmly spoken, carried weight. Rhaegar and Rhaella both nodded in agreement, but Jon noticed the Stark table tense. His Northern family's faces remained neutral, though he could feel their quiet discomfort. They didn't agree, but they wouldn't voice it here.

Oberyn raised his glass, his smirk broadening. "Hear, hear."

Before the tension could stretch any further, the herald's voice rang out once again, louder and more commanding. "Myrcella of House Targaryen!"

The hall fell silent.

Jon's eyes were drawn to the entrance as Myrcella stepped into view. She moved with a grace that belied her years, her posture regal, head held high. Her captain of guards, Vylarr, flanked her, while her retinue of cousins from her mother's side followed closely behind.

Her gown was striking—black with red accents, the colors of House Targaryen, though there was something distinctly Lannister about her as well. The fabric shimmered in the light, catching every eye in the room. A jeweled tiara sat atop her golden hair, which had been styled with precision. Her deep green eyes, guarded and distant, scanned the hall, but she met no one's gaze directly.

She looks beautiful, Jon thought, though it was a beauty with edges. There was something untouchable about her tonight, something that kept the world at arm's length. Her face, usually soft and open, was masked with calm composure, as if she knew every pair of eyes was upon her and was determined to reveal nothing.

At the Stark table, Bran stared at Myrcella as if she was a marvel to be studied.

As she approached the dais, the murmurs began again, but the memory of her entrance lingered. Even as the hall returned to its noise, the tension hadn't left, and Jon couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was brewing beneath the surface.

Myrcella stopped short of the dais. "Little cub," Rhaenys greeted.

"Cousin."

Rhaenys sucked her teeth and sipped her wine.

Rhaegar looked over Myrcella, as did the whole table. Jon liked to imagine the king was attempting to detect any Targaryen in her golden features. "Niece," Rhaegar said finally, "You look stunning tonight." Aegon and Rhaenys looked amused.

Myrcella curtsied gracefully. "Your Grace is very kind."

The King smoothly gestured to the table. "Come join the family." He coughed.

Jon noticed the queen looked like she swallowed a lemon.

There was one last seat next to Jon. Myrcella slipped into the seat quietly.

Rhaegar stood and so did everyone in the hall. "May the feast commence. On the morrow, the tourney will begin."

A few ragged cheers echoed. Slowly the tables emerged back into their merriment.

"Do you see that man over on that table? His name is Osmund Kettleblack. He could be a potential candidate to fill in for the Kingsguard," Dany whispered to him.

"What has he done to be considered?"

"He has Aegon's favor," Dany shrugged. "The queen enlisted his brothers into her service."

"Then he does not have my favor."

Dany giggled. "Do you personally know Jon Arryn?"

"No. My fa- uncle spoke highly of him."

"His son Robert Arryn perished recently. Harrold Hardying is his heir. Lady Arryn raged about it, allegedly."

"What did she expect?"

Dany lowered her voice even further. "It's said Lady Arryn claimed Harrold is the reason her precious Robert is gone. She doesn't give a fig that her son was sickly ever since he was born. It's the reason why you don't see her at this tourney."

Interesting. Jon gazed over the Vale table. He saw Jon Arryn. He saw Harrold further down the table surrounded by his group of friends. He was a handsome man full of laughter. Exactly the knight Sansa sees in her songs, Jon thought with a low hum.

"Aerys Oakheart is another candidate for the Kingsguard. He's from the Reach. The Tyrells wish to fill the void left by Loras with him. Though I have heard the man personally wishes to pledge his sword to whom he deems worthy of serving."

"I do need to bring my own men for my Household guard."

Dany's purple eyes scanned the hall. "Beric Dondarrion is a man to keep your eye on. For his House's part in the rebellion, his proposal for the hand of Lady Allyria Dayne was spat upon. The lightning lord is eager to prove his mantel in this tourney."

"Who's the bald man beside him?"

"The fat man?" Daenerys chuckled. "He is Thoros of Myr. He's a red priest. You wouldn't be able to tell because of the wine stains on his robes." Jon chuckled.

"Do you know of Randayll Tarly? He's sworn to House Tyrell. It's said he sent his firstborn son here as a stopping point before he heads to the wall. Sam Tarly."

Jon frowned. "He's sending his son to the Night's Watch?"

"It's said that he's forcing him because he prefers his second son as heir. Sam Tarly is said to be a very round boy who likes to read books and prefers cakes over swords."

"I would very much like to speak to Sam Tarly."

"You want to eat a couple of cakes with him?" Dany laughed. "I don't like to see your belly get round too."

"I like people who know how to use their brains. We need more of that around here."

While the royal table conversed none of them attempted to talk to Myrcella. The princess hardly touched her plate, preferring to stare in silence at the hall.

"Hey."

Myrcella's green eyes turned to his. "Hey."

"You don't like the food?"

"I'm afraid I don't have the appetite tonight." Myrcella dropped her fork and picked up her goblet. Jon saw it was water instead of wine.

"Is it because of the ache in your sides?"

A small smile appeared in the corner of her heart-shaped lips. "A little bit thanks to you."

"That's a relief. I don't want to think my cousin is insipid." Jon nodded.

Her glare was half-hearted. He saw her glance at the hall. "How many times a feast was held in your honor?"

"One. This one."

"The ones thrown at Casterly Rock are grander if you believe me."

"Does your lady cousin glare as much at those feasts too?" Jon caught the many sneaky glares Joy threw at him from the other side of the hall.

Myrcella shook her head, almost sadly. "No. It's just you."

"Why me?"

"Her father was my uncle Gerion Lannister."

Tyrion recruited me in Bravoos to make the expedition into Old Valyria to rescue Gerion. We never found him or Brightroar. Tyrion never told me he left a daughter behind.

"I was never aware your uncle had a daughter."

"She's baseborn. I took her as my lady-in-waiting when he didn't return. I was afraid the rest of the family would forget about her."

"Why would Gerion make the expedition knowing how dangerous it was? He had a daughter to take care of." It made Jon angry.

"My grandfather told me Gerion always laughed and never took his responsibilities to the family seriously. He says Gerion running off to Old Valyria to recover Brightroar was the first attempt he ever made to benefit House Lannister."

"You don't think that's cold?"

"He's not wrong." Myrcella looked to where Joy sat. "But I dislike how his absence affected her. She doesn't smile anymore."

Myrcella

It was then that Rhaegar stood, which grabbed the attention of everyone in the hall. The king looked over them and said, "With bellies full and wine flowing, I think it's best I played something for you all." The King coughed.

His announcement brought forth a ripple of excitement through the hall. Anticipation arose in Myrcella despite herself.

Beside her, Jon looked slightly confused. "What is it that he will play?"

"The Harp. The King hasn't played it for many years."

"When's the last time the King played it?"

"The last tourney at Harrenhal."

"It has been many years since I played the harp," Rhaegar continued, his gaze never leaving Jon. "Though time has passed, the talent remains with me, as does the memory of someone I once cherished. Tonight, I wish to change that. I wish to honor a memory dear to my heart."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Rhaegar gestured for servants to bring forth his harp. Myrcella's heart skipped a beat—Rhaegar hadn't played in so long, and she could see the curiosity ripple through the hall. Even Jon, usually so unreadable, seemed to stiffen ever so slightly in his seat.

The harp was brought to the center of the hall, and Rhaegar took his seat before it with an elegance that commanded silence. The hall had never been so quiet. Myrcella's pulse quickened as she waited, glancing at Jon's stoic face.

Rhaegar began to play, his fingers plucking the strings with effortless grace, and the haunting melody filled the room. The music was unlike anything Myrcella had heard before. It wasn't just beautiful—it was tragic, full of unspoken emotion, filled with longing and loss.

Myrcella felt the sting of her losses stronger than ever. She blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to spill, but it was no use. Her vision blurred as a single tear slid down her cheek. Don't cry in front of these people, Myrcella thought furiously, wiping her eyes quickly.

All around her, the lords and ladies were enraptured. Myrcella noticed how many of the women had tears in their eyes, moved by the depth of Rhaegar's music. Even Jon Connington, who was known for his stoic nature, looked softened, his usually hard face gentler than usual.

The song came to an end, and for a heartbeat, the hall was silent, as if no one dared break the spell Rhaegar had woven. Then, a wave of applause erupted, a thunderous sound that echoed through the great hall. Myrcella clapped, her hands trembling slightly. She was angry at herself for showing weakness, but the music had reached something deep inside her, something she couldn't fight.

As she blinked away the remaining tears, Myrcella's gaze shifted to those at her table. Queen Elia's face was a mask of displeasure, her lips pressed into a thin line. The Martells mirrored her mood. Oberyn had a strange glint in his eyes.

But it was Jon who drew Myrcella's attention most. He stood suddenly, his expression unreadable, and the hall fell into a hush once more. Myrcella watched him closely, sensing something significant in the air.

"I would honor that memory as well," Jon said, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper—something that Myrcella couldn't quite place.

The room was still as Jon made his way to the center of the hall, standing beside his father, who remained seated at the harp. Rhaegar's fingers moved once more, playing the same haunting melody, but now Jon's voice joined in, strong and clear.

It was a duet, father and son united in a moment of shared history, of shared grief. Myrcella felt her heart clench again, and this time, she didn't fight the emotion that surged within her. The music was beautiful, yes, but it was the bond between Jon and Rhaegar that struck her the most. Even in the face of everything—politics, family, and personal histories—they were united in this moment.

As the song ended, another round of applause erupted, but Myrcella remained quiet, her hands resting in her lap. She felt raw, vulnerable in a way she hadn't expected. This feast, this song, had revealed more than just memories. It had reminded her of loss, of the weight of her title, and of the fact that, no matter how well she played her role, she was still just a girl who had lost too much too soon.

Rhaegar coughed but a bright smile remained on his face.

Jon returned to his seat, his face still unreadable, but Myrcella could see it in his eyes—he had felt something too. She glanced away, hoping no one noticed the redness in her eyes, hoping no one saw through her mask.

Then the time came for the gifts.

The atmosphere in the hall had shifted after the song. Myrcella could feel it, a subtle tension hanging in the air, made even more noticeable as the lords began to present their gifts for Jon's nameday. The ritual of it was slow and deliberate, a procession of Westerosi lords each trying to outdo the next, all offering their congratulations and symbolic tokens of loyalty.

Jon sat at the high table, expression calm yet distant, as if the pageantry before him barely registered. Myrcella watched him closely, feeling a mix of curiosity and something more.

Lord Jon Arryn stepped forward, his demeanor as calm and composed as always. He approached Jon and handed him his gift—a finely wrought, yet practical, silver goblet.

"Happy nameday, my prince," Lord Arryn said, his voice carrying over the silence of the hall. "I hope your presence will steer Westeros in the right direction in the future."

Myrcella's eyes narrowed slightly, her mind catching on to the careful phrasing. It wasn't the usual platitude. The words carried weight, a significance that seemed to hang in the air. She wasn't the only one to notice. Aegon, seated not far from Jon, shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes narrowing as well, though he kept his face neutral. But Myrcella could see the irritation there, a spark of something dark beneath the surface.

Next came the Stark delegation, who presented Jon with a heavy northern cloak lined with fur that came with a clasp wrought in a snarling Direwolf and a matching pair of gloves to ride Cannibal. He has no use for that if he stays in the south, but it is very finely made.

"Sansa made most of it," Arya said happily, making Sansa blush. Jon gave them a genuine smile, so Myrcella deemed it Jon's favorite gift.

As the gifts continued, Myrcella gave a small nod to her captain of the guards. The man approached Jon, offering a finely crafted war horn from Myrcella herself—small but elegant, with an intricate design on the body, a symbol of both beauty and danger. Jon accepted it with a polite nod, his eyes meeting hers briefly. Myrcella held his gaze for a moment longer than she intended, before turning her attention back to the hall.

Then came Rhaegar's gift.

Rhaegar rose slowly, his gaze on Jon, and Myrcella felt the shift in the room once more. The king walked to Jon, presenting him with something small yet precious—a leather-bound book, aged but well-kept.

"This belonged to your mother, Lyanna," Rhaegar said, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "She wrote this during her pregnancy with you. I think it is only fitting that it comes to you now."

Jon stared at the book for a long moment, and Myrcella could see something flicker in his eyes—something deeper than mere gratitude. He took the book with a slight bow of his head, but his face remained unreadable, as if the gesture had affected him more than he was willing to show.

Then came Daenerys, her face glowing with warmth as she stepped forward. She handed Jon a sword belt, finely crafted from black leather with silver clasps, intricately designed to match Jon's Valyrian steel sword Blackfyre. Myrcella didn't miss the way Aegon's face twisted at the sight of it, his lips pulling into a thin line as he tried—and failed—to hide his displeasure. Daenerys's smile, however, was genuine, and it seemed to make Aegon's simmering anger all the more pronounced.

Is it because Blackfyre is supposed to be his or is it because he still grumbles about him being denied Daenerys? Myrcella still recalled the shake-up at court and how it ended up with Daenerys being shipped off to Dragonstone. Aegon would most likely still smother at that. Not because he loves her – but because what he wanted was denied.

Finally, it was Aegon's turn.

Aegon rose from his seat, his movements smooth but sharp, like a predator stalking its prey. He approached Jon with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, holding a castle-forged sword out to him. The sword was fine, but Myrcella knew—as did the rest of the hall—that Jon already possessed Valyrian steel blades. The gift is a subtle insult.

"And what will you name this sword, brother?" Aegon asked, his voice dripping with false pleasantry.

Jon's hand tightened around the sword hilt, though his face remained calm. "I'm not sure if a name will ever come to me," he replied coolly.

Aegon's smile widened, but it was far from friendly. "Perhaps… Bastard's Breach?" His voice was low, but it carried across the hall well enough.

The hall fell silent. Myrcella could feel the tension like a knife's edge, cutting through the air. Rhaegar's eyes narrowed as he gave Aegon a warning look, but Aegon only lifted his goblet, ignoring his father's silent reprimand.

"Speaking of announcements," Aegon said, his voice loud and commanding, "I have a couple of my own." He raised his goblet higher, and Myrcella could see the way his eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Firstly, my wife Margaery is with child."

A cheer erupted from the Dornish and Tyrell contingent, their voices loud and raucous as they celebrated the news. Myrcella smiled prettily. Olenna Tyrell nodded in approval. Myrcella clapped politely, though her attention was fixed on Jon, who remained motionless beside her. She had a bad feeling in her stomach.

But Aegon wasn't finished. He turned, his goblet now raised toward Jon.

"And secondly," Aegon continued, his voice laced with mockery, "I want to raise a toast for my little brother."

He paused for a long moment, letting the silence drag out, the hall hanging on his next words. Then, with a feigned look of deep thought, he added, "How could I raise a toast if no one here knew my little brother's real name?"

Rhaegar's voice was sharp as he interjected, "Aegon, enough."

But Aegon wasn't listening. He stood taller, his voice booming as he shouted, "Let us raise a toast to my little brother, Maegor Targaryen, the second of his name!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Myrcella felt a cold chill wash over her as she looked around the hall. The lords shivered, the ladies recoiled in their seats, some of them staring in horror at Jon. The name 'Maegor' carried weight—a dark, bloody weight that sent ripples of fear through the room.

But most of all, Myrcella noticed Jon.

His fist tightened around the hilt of his new sword, his knuckles white, his face stony as if there was a voice in his head telling him to swing it true.

---

Arthur: When you read the books you will realize Jon is actually very funny but just broods a lot. I wonder why he's letting some of his thoughts through. It's like he has a voice in his head lmao

I brushed my outline for this story and I'm estimating it's going to take 10-15 more chapters to complete this story, and to set up a sequel if there is enough interest for it. If anyone can correctly guess what the ending will be I will give that person an early look at the outline. Have a good day!