Jon Snow
Queenscrown, 294 AC.
Jon ducked beneath a wild, clumsy swing from a shaggy-haired wildling, then brought his greatsword across the man's chest in one fluid motion. Castle-forged steel sliced through fur and flesh alike—clean, effortless, lethal.
An arrow whistled past his shoulder.
Jon didn't flinch.
Instead, he surged toward the archer who'd fired it. The wildling fumbled with his next shot, eyes wide with panic. He never got the chance to loose it. Jon's blade came down, shearing the bow clean in half before continuing on, severing the man's head from his shoulders in a single brutal stroke.
A few feet away, Ser Arthur Dayne moved like a ghost of death—graceful, efficient, relentless. Three wildlings faced him. None lasted long. His blade was a blur in the dying light, already surrounded by the still-warm bodies of his fallen foes.
Jon turned to find one last wildling alive. The man was already backing away, eyes filled with terror as he looked between Jon and Arthur, like he thought the Others themselves had returned from beyond the Wall.
He turned to flee.
Jon was faster.
The throwing knife sailed through the air, embedding itself in the back of the wildling's knee with a sickening crunch. The man collapsed, screaming in agony.
Expression unreadable, Jon approached and drove his greatsword into the man's exposed back, piercing his heart. He wrenched the blade free, wiping the blood on the corpse's furs, then turned toward Arthur, who had just finished his own final opponent.
"You alright there, Arthur?" Jon called.
Arthur gave a curt nod, already cleaning his blade with practiced ease before sliding it into its sheath. "Aye. They were no match."
Jon's eyes scanned the battlefield—matted snow and churned mud, now littered with corpses. This was the third ambush since they began their journey to the Wall. And they had only just neared Queenscrown.
After a sennight on Bear Island—basking in the glory of their shared victory—he and Arthur had returned to the mainland, setting their sights next on the mountain clans.
The clans had welcomed them warmly, especially Jon, son of "the Ned," as they called his Uncle, always with a grin and a hearty slap on the back. The nickname made Jon laugh every time.
The mountain clans were rough, no doubt about it—but loyal to the bone and fierce as direwolves in a fight. Jon had been bested in spar after spar by the older clansmen. Even Arthur had found a few of them challenging.
Besides the wildling bands they'd encountered on the way north, Jon and Arthur had joined the clans in fending off two more raids. The victories earned them even more respect, with some of the clansmen reaffirming Jon's growing legend—the White Wolf, they called him, a name born from blood-slick furs and eyes that burned white with fury in the chaos of battle.
Two weeks had passed since they left the mountains. The descent had been rough, but they reached the flatlands a few days ago. Since then, they'd been harried by wildling scouts, small raiding parties, none brave or organized enough to present a serious threat.
Still, Jon frowned at the frequency. This many wildlings south of the Wall was troubling. The Night's Watch clearly no longer commanded the fear it once did. He'd have to send word to Winterfell—to his Uncle—just in case any of the raiding parties had slipped past and toward the North.
"We should burn the bodies," Arthur said, nudging one with his boot. "Queenscrown's only a league from here, and dusk's not far off."
Jon nodded, stooping to loot what little the wildlings carried. They piled the bodies together and set them ablaze with torch and flint, smoke curling toward the grey sky like an omen.
Moments later, they were mounted once more. Balerion, Jon's great black courser, trotted at a steady pace toward the ruins of Queenscrown.
The medium sized tower on the island surrounded by oak and apple trees appeared in the distance, the two of them riding one by one across the stone causeway onto the island.
He gave an apple to his trusty mount, grabbing his saddle bag and heading into the abandoned tower to set up his furs.
They started a small fire in the middle of the room, the smoke billowing out of the windows. Jon kicked off his boots, and removed his sword belt before lying on his furs, sighing in relief after the long day of riding.
"You sound like you've seen a dozen wars the way you sigh like an old man." Arthur teased from across the room where he was leaned up against the wall, munching on an apple picked from one of the trees.
Jon glared at the man, "It was a long day, and those wildings didn't make it any better. It's nice to have an actual roof over my head instead of sleeping in a tent, no matter the state of it."
Arthur chuckled, continuing to munch obnoxiously loud on his apple, earning him another heated glare.
Jon sighed, looking around the room they were in. It was sparse, no more than fifteen to twenty feet across, with little furniture and belongings inside, most likely looted by passer byers and the few wildings that felt safe enough to enter.
The place was in a strategic position, with fertile lands and a small village surrounding said lands that was mostly abandoned due to wildling raids. There hadn't been an overlord to guard the lands in nearly three hundred years, so the smallfolk were easy picking for the savages beyond the wall.
Sometimes he wondered if his ancestors' decision to give these lands to the watch was more of a mistake rather than a boon. Over the years, the watch had become less and less populated, rumors stating that they only numbered 1,000 at this point.
The watch was not an organization of farmers, but rather a group of fourth sons, bastards, and criminals that served beyond the wall, not behind it. Alysanne had left these lands vulnerable, and over time the watch had less and less men to farm these lands.
Maybe Jon could suggest to his Uncle to ask the King for these lands back. One thing King Robert was good for was his love of anything Stark. Having given his Uncle nearly 250,000 dragons at the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion, Jon was sure he wouldn't mind giving the lands of the gift back to the Warden of the North, especially when wording it as another blow to the Targayens.
Repairing Queenscrown and potentially giving it to Bran, or the baby that he had recently heard was in Lady Stark's belly would be a boon for the North, having someone to be the first line of defense against the wildings if the wall was to fail in its task.
"What's got you thinking so hard over there." Arthur asked, breaking the silence.
He shrugged, "Just thinking about another mistake my ancestors made by taking the lands of the gift away from the Starks."
Arthur nodded, "Understandable. We certainly would have run into less trouble if there had been someone overseeing these lands other than the dilapidated Nights Watchmen."
Jon agreed with him, deciding it best to tuck in for the night before he spent it lost in his thoughts.
"G'Night Arthur." he murmured, sleep already overtaking him.
Castle Black, The Wall.
294 AC.
"Your ancestor built that?" Arthur said in awe, marveling at the large seven hundred foot structure made of ice spanning across the North.
"He did. You have to wonder if he was compensating for something by building such a big wall." Jon joked, earning a deadpan stare from his companion.
They rode up at a sedate place to the gate of Castle Black, guards stationed on the wall looking down on them with a mix of suspicion and annoyance, probably not used to getting visitors from the South so often.
"Halt! State your name and business." One of them yelled out.
"Jon Snow, son of Lord Eddard Stark and my guard Ser Alaric Sand, here to visit my uncle, First Ranger Benjen." Jon responded in kind.
The guard whispered to his friend before nodding, followed by the creaking sound of the old wooden gate opening, letting them through.
"You might want to keep your head down, many here are former Targaryen soldiers, they might recognize you." Jon whispered to Arthur, who nodded in agreement.
The Lord Commander, as well as his Uncle were waiting for him as they rode into the court yard, dismounting from their horses and handing the reigns to the stableboy.
Jon was slightly suprised that the Lord Commander himself was there to greet him, but that could possibly due to him thinking he either wanted to join the watch, or because he wanted to relay information to him about the state of the watch that Jon could give to his Uncle Eddard.
"Lord Commander," Jon greeted, inclining his head towards the man.
"Snow. Good to see they haven't forgotten us up here. Looking to join the watch?" Lord Commander Mormont returned his greeting, even going as far as to clasp his arm with what Jon could see as respect.
It was then that Jon remembered the man was a Mormont, being Lady Maege's brother. He wondered if he had heard of his exploits even all the way at the wall, but brushed that off to greet his Uncle.
"Unfortunately no, I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh too much to swear myself away at the end of the world." Jon informed the man after he embraced his Uncle.
"Gods, look at you. It's like looking at your Uncle Brandon all over again." Benjen breathed out, holding him at arm's length and looking him over.
"Ah, that's too bad. My sister tells me you're one hell of a fighter. Slaying the Unsmiling is no small feat, especially for a boy so young." The Lord Commander praised.
"Come let's talk more in my solar, I'll have my steward take your things to the available rooms we have, It's not much but it's much better than a tent." Mormont added.
Jon nodded, following the man to his solar, motioning for Arthur to settle in their room.
Walking up the rickety steps, Jon had to make sure he did not slip on the many patches of ice that littered them, snow dusting the railings leaving nothing for him to hold on to.
The aged wood creaked under the footsteps, Jon trailing behind Mormont, Benjen falling into step next to him.
"Exiled from Winterfell eh? That's even further than Brandon went at your age." Benjen commented with a smirk, earning a laugh from Jon.
"It's not too bad, If anything I'm having more fun than I ever was at Winterfell." Jon pointed out, "Though I do miss my siblings." He added at the end.
Benjen hummed in agreement, his gaze far off. They approached an old weirwood door, the Lord Commander entering through it, Jon and Benjen following close behind.
He was instantly hit with a wave of heat he did not expect from a place so cold, the hearth roaring as they entered.
Mormont sat behind an old desk that had probably seen nearly a thousand previous Lord Commanders, his Uncle Bryden being one of them.
He and Benjen took the two remaining chairs, Mormont giving them each a cup of ale once they were situated. Sipping on the drink, Jon had to fight a grimace at the taste.
"Aye, I'd say you get used to the piss, but you don't. It's the best that we got however." Mormont pointed out at seeing his pinched expression.
Jon discarded the cup on the table, not even bothering to force himself to drink it. "So. What is it you wished to speak of?"
Mormont stared out the window, swirling the ale in his cup absentmindedly, "If you couldn't tell already, the Watch is in a piss poor state." He started, turning his gaze back to Jon. "Only three castles manned, and barely a thousand men, most of them criminals sent up by the few Southern Lord's who actually remember us."
"I assumed that was the case. Ser Alaric and I ran into three groups of wildlings on the way here, another two had made it all the way to the Mountain Clans territory." Jon informed him, Mormont scowling at the information.
"More and More have been heading South. I keep telling you Jeor, something is stirring out their beyond the Wall that has them fleeing." Benjen intoned, speaking directly to the Lord Commander, who grimaced.
"Aye, I know. Didn't want to believe it though, just hoped it was superstition."
Jon looked between the two men, wondering what they were speaking of.
"Rumor has it that Mance is gathering followers, a few clans already joining up with him." Benjen added.
"Care to inform me of these rumors, and how they pertain to me?" Jon asked, a bit impatient at being left out.
Mormont sighed, eyeing Benjen who gave him a nod of confirmation.
"Rumors, tall tales by the few friendly wildings that we have contact with." Jeor paused, as if thinking over what he was going to say, before steeling his resolve and continuing, "Tales of dead men rising, of creatures made from ice with chilling blue eyes moving in the shadows, bringing the cold with them."
Jon looked at the two men incredulously, thinking they were joking, but after seeing their deadly serious gazes he stopped himself from speaking.
"You speak of the Others?"
Jeor and Benjen grimly nodded, and Jon leaned back in his chair, wondering how a simple visit to the wall had him enthralled in what appeared to be another Long Night.
"And what would you have me do? I mean I'm just a bastard, and a young one at that. I have little sway over what goes on South of here." Jon mentioned.
"Speak to your father once you return home, tell him of the goings on up here. I would have, but I am needed at the wall, and I don't think my brother would believe me if I told him through a letter." Benjen told him.
Jon sighed. Only here for an hour and already such a burden was placed on his shoulders. What's next, he is some hero that is destined to fight them off with a flaming sword like the legends of old?
"I'll see what I can do, though don't expect help for at least another year. I am not allowed to return for a few more months." Jon informed them.
"That's alright, any help is good enough. It's more than what the Southern King has been doing for us." Jeor scowled, and Benjen grimaced.
Jon raised an eyebrow at that. So King Robert is not as loved in the North as he thought. That would be even better for Jon if he ended up staking his claim.
He exited the solar to the sun setting on the horizon, a steward leading him towards his rooms where Arthur was already situated, laying on his cot and staring at the ceiling. He looked up as Jon entered, a raised eyebrow at the stressed expression on his charge's face.
"All is well?" he asked in concern.
Jon nodded, "Just some mildling concerning information, nothing too important."
Arthur tilted his head, and Jon wondered if he saw through his lie. It looked as if he didn't because he went back to staring at the ceiling.
Renewing the fire in the small hearth, Jon shucked off his boots before plopping in his bed, completely skipping dinner. The long day of traveling, plus the news of legends coming back to life taking its toll on him.
It was early next morning that he was roused from his slumber by his faithful knight, groaning as the man shook his body so he would wake up.
He was having the best dream, his face buried between Dacey's beautiful breasts while she rode him, but It looked like he couldn't have peace even in his rest.
"Really Arthur, couldn't you let me sleep a little longer." Jon groaned, removing the furs from his bare chest and throwing his legs over the side of his bed, wincing when they touched the cold stone floor.
His pseudo Kingsguard just chuckled at his predicament, already dressed and ready for the day ahead of them.
Jon had many reasons for visiting the wall, one of them was to obviously see the massive legendary structure that he had grown up hearing tales of, and the other was because he knew he had more than one Uncle stationed at Castle Black.
Brynden had told him of coming North with Maester Aemon, who had sworn his life away to service at the wall instead of staying in the South so he wouldn't be used against his brother.
When Jon heard that he was shocked, the man had to be at least ninety name days old, yet he was still alive. He had decided then and there that he had to speak to the man, and also reassured the man that he had more family alive.
There was also heading to the weirwood tree North of the Wall, not the one Brynden was trapped in, but the one that the men of the Watch swore their vows in front of. Apparently it was a sight to see, especially now that he needed to speak with Bryden after hearing these new tales of the Others returning.
He quickly dressed, making sure to bundle up due to the cold. A long sleeve tunic, followed by a wolf fur coat given to him by his Uncle before he left. Throwing on a simple pair of breeches and boots, he strapped his Greatsword to his back and left his rooms, Ser Arthur dutifully trailing behind.
Instantly they were assaulted by the cold Northern chill that bounced off of the large seven hundred foot ice wall, and while Jon was used to it, Arthur certainly wasn't.
"I don't understand how you aren't affected by this weather. You've been in the North the same amount of time as I have." Arthur pointed out as they headed towards the dining hall.
"It's the Wolfsblood Arthur, you should know this by now." Jon teased.
The dining hall was packed as they entered, though it quieted down after they entered. They were getting a few stares, and some of the men grumbling about the new arrivals, but they quickly went back to their meals.
They found a somewhat empty table in the back, and quickly filled their plates with whatever was being served, some bread, bacon and the piss poor ale he was served last night.
"What's your plan for the day then?" Arthur asked as they ate, keeping an eye out for any hostile intention the whole time.
"Probably visit the weirwood beyond the wall, maybe spar with a few of the men here." Jon casually spoke.
Arthur nodded, "You'll need to be careful, some of these men wouldn't hesitate to kill you knowing you're the Warden of the North's 'son'."
Jon scoffed, "I'd like to see them try."
The Knight gave him a pointed stare, but Jon just shrugged, not worried about some petty thugs at the wall.
"What did I tell you about that arrogance? What good is a Greatsword when you get ambushed in a narrow hallway by five men." Arthur chastised him.
Jon decided to shut up then, not wanting to argue with his mentor so early in the morning.
Thinking on the weirwood North of the wall had him wondering how he was going to speak to Bryden with Arthur watching, because he knew the knight would not allow him North of the Wall without escort.
It was times like these where Jon wondered if keeping Brynden a secret was a good idea. Telling Arthur would not be such a bad idea, knowing that the man had some experience with magic and visions, having guarded his father Rhaegar, who had been prone to having dreams that would have the man waking up screaming in the dead of night.
Arthur knew of the warging due to Jon's close connection to Aegarax, and when he had caught him all those years ago, he had been too stunned by Jon knowing who he was and his real identity to ask questions about what he was doing.
He decided it was best to tell him when they went past the Wall, not wanting to speak of such sensitive information in the presence of criminals who would sooner sell him out to get a pardon from the King instead of keeping their mouths shut.
They left an hour later, heading through the gates on their horses, his trusty Balerion not minding the cold weather. It was about an hour's ride to the weirwood, so it was best to keep their eyes out for any trouble despite being so close to the wall.
Approaching the large weirwood that had to be at least eight thousand years old, Jon and Arthur dismounted their horses, tying them up to the surrounding trees in the grove.
The three-eyed raven was already present, along with a flock of a dozen normal ones situated beside him on the branch.
Jon slowly walked towards the weirwood, taking off his glove and running his hand over the aged tree, marveling at the amount of history it had probably seen.
He gazed back at Arthur, who was watching him with a confused expression on his face.
"You're going to see some strange things Arthur, and I'll answer your questions after I am done. You are by no means to wake me up, understood." Jon told Arthur in as commanding of a tone as he could muster, the first time he had used his 'Princely' status on him.
Arthur looked slightly surprised at being given a command, and a mix of skeptical and confused, but he reluctantly nodded.
Jon sat with his back against the tree, leaning his head against the aged white bark, and stared directly into the eyes of the three-eyed raven, his eyes rolling back into his head, his consciousness being transferred to the familiar cave that signalled the start of his lessons.
"Gaemon." Brynden greeted, "I did not expect you so soon."
"I decided it's best we get what I need to speak of out of the way." Jon looked at the man expectantly.
He sighed, "So you found out then?"
Jon nodded, "About these rumors of the Others returning, yes I did. How could you not inform me of something so important. Your life could be in danger!" Jon nearly yelled out at the end.
Bryden shook his head, "I did not think it necessary to burden you even more."
"Burden me! Uncle this is life and death, Of course I need to know." Jon paced around the cave, muttering about idiotic old men.
"So it's true then. The Others have returned?" He finally paused, looking at his Great-Uncle expectantly.
The Bloodraven nodded in confirmation, "They have, but that Is all I will speak off about them. For now, you have time. It will be at least ten years before they decide to make your move."
"That's not good enough! I need to know more. How am I to go on with my life when you are trapped North of the wall." Jon asked him in a petulant tone, clearly showing that he still had some childish tendencies.
"That's enough! I told you all I can. For now you must focus on your future. Live your life, Do not worry about these things that are out of your control." Bloodraven firmly stated, glaring at Jon, suitably cowing him.
Jon nearly pouted, though he managed to refrain from doing so, not wanting to act like a spoiled child.
"Now let's speak on happier topics. Are you going to speak to Aemon?" Brynden asked, tensions easing between the two.
"I will, It would be nice to let the man know he has more family alive, despite him being trapped at the wall." Jon informed him.
The man looked pensive at that last part, his head tilting in contemplation, "He may not need to be trapped for long." He mysteriously commented, gaining that look that told Jon he was examining possible futures.
Jon frowned, confused at what the man was getting at.
Brynden sensing his thoughts, continued on, "The man has served nearly sixty years at the wall, forgotten by most in the South. It would not be unreasonable for the man to be released from his service to live out the rest of his days in peace."
Eyes widened, Jon thought that the idea wasn't such a bad one. He would appreciate having the man with him at Moat Cailin, to guide him and tell him more of his family. "You think the Lord Commander would agree?"
Brynden nodded, "A few bribes of more men and coin would easily have him accepting, especially with the state of the watch."
Jon looked thoughtful, before nodding in agreement. "I'll make sure to do so. Enough talk, let's get on with the lesson.
Brynden smiled, waving his hand, the scene changing to a familiar island, Dragonstone. A loud roar drew Jon's attention to the sky, gasping in awe at the sight of a huge Black Dragon soaring through the clouds, a speck of silver hair on his back the only indication of its rider's identity.
"Let me tell you the story of your namesake, Gaemon the Glorious, the first rider of Balerion the Black Dread."
It was a few hours later that had Arthur and Jon riding back towards the wall. Jon still had a big smile on his face from the lesson, all thoughts of Others and the dead rising gone from his mind, replaced with images of Dragons, and his namesake Gaemon fighting in Essos during the Century of Blood.
The man was one of the few who had been alive to see Valyria, along with his sister Daenys and his mother and father.
He was a well built man, similar to Jon in frame, and a warrior without peer. The Glorious, as he was nicknamed, made a name for himself in Essos during the wars that followed the fall of the Valyrian Freehold, as well as enriching the Island of Dragonstone, becoming one of its most renowned Lord's.
"What's got you all happy." Arthur asked as they approached the gate on the wall.
"My latest lesson with Uncle Brynden. We learned of Gaemon the Glorious today, my namesake. It is an honor to be named after such a renowned warrior." Jon giddily explained, Arthur amused at his child-like expression.
Jon had told the man what he was up to soon after he came out of his lesson, the knight taking it surprisingly well all things considered. Jon was able to tell he was a bit skeptical that Bloodraven was alive, but he had eventually taken his word for it, trusting in his 'Prince' to not lie to him.
The large metal gates screeched open, Jon and Arthur waiting for what felt like hours but was only a few minutes until they were fully lifted.
A few brothers of the Watch were waiting for them, making sure they did not return with any unwanted visitors, before giving them the all clear and letting them pass through.
After watching Gaemon's many battles, Jon was in the mood for a few of his own, even if they were going to be friendly spars in the yard.
Entering the yard, Jon observed a few of the new recruits being drilled by a man with salt and pepper hair, sharp features and beady black eyes that gleamed like obsidians.
"Ser Allister Thorne. He was exiled for refusing to bend the knee to Robert Baratheon. He served as a Targaryen guard at the Red Keep." Arthur informed him, leaning over to whisper in his ear as they watched the man bark out commands.
He continued to watch, letting out a light chuckle when one of the new recruits fell on his face in the mud, the weight of his sword to heavy for him.
Ser Allister must have noticed, because his beady black eyes locked onto Jon's mismatched ones, glaring even harder when he noticed who was watching.
"Think it's funny Snow? Not all these lads have been taught in Castle's by proper master-at-arms like you have." Ser Allister snarled, and Jon held his hands up in surrender.
"Easy Ser, I meant no insult." Jon explained, but Ser Allister did not care.
"No? Why don't come show some of those skills your traitor father taught you then." The man mocked, motioning for him to enter the yard.
"He's goading you, don't take the bait." Arthur tried to warn, but it was too late, Jon's blood running hot after the insult to his Uncle.
Unsheathing his blade from his back, he handed his cloak and scabbard to Arthur, before entering the yard searching for the opponent the man was too put him up against.
His eyes widened when instead of one of the recruits, It was Ser Allister himself entering the yard.
"What? Thought you were going to go up against this sorry lot?" The man taunted, unsheathing his own blade, and getting into his stance.
Jon, not to be cowed, readied himself, knowing this fight was not going to be an easy one. However, If Jon could slay Andrik the Unsmiling, then a man like Ser Allister should be no match for him.
Oh how wrong he was. Jon thought as he was instantly put on the back foot, a flurry of precise strikes sent at his right side, the man moving with the speed and strength of a seasoned knight.
Blocking a slash towards his ribs, that were still a bit sore even a few moons after his last battle, he quickly had to back away from a strike sent at his right shoulder, which was quickly followed by a thrust towards his middle that Jon was able to parry.
Regaining his momentum, he quickly followed with a strike to the man's left shoulder, followed by an overhead strike to his right, both blocked with ease, though Jon could see the man reevaluating his thoughts on him.
The fight continued on, neither of them gaining much ground until Jon backstepped blow aimed at his mid section, Ser Allister having caught on that Jon slightly winced more and more each time a blow was sent in that direction.
Using the opening, Ser Allister swung over his head heading towards Jon's left shoulder, but instead feinted at the last second, switching towards his right, Jon wincing as the blunted blade made contact with the appendage, the force of the blow nearly causing him to lose his grip.
Allister, noticing the loose grip capitalized on it, striking Jon's hands with the flat of his blade, his Greatsword falling out of his hands and clanging to the ground. Before Jon could react, the tip of Ser Allister's blade was at his neck, forcing Jon to reluctantly yield.
The man stared at Jon for a few seconds after the fight, both of them regaining their breath. Allister made eye contact then, his eyes widening for a second, before he quickly schooled his feature.
"I hate to admit it, but you're a damn good fighter Snow, nearly had me there for a second." Allister commended him, clasping forearms in respect.
"Aye, nearly did. You fight well Ser, It's a shame you're stuck in this hell hole." Jon commented while motioning to their surroundings, earning a sad nod.
"It sure is. Many times I wonder If i made a mistake not bendin' the knee, but I take pride knowing I stayed true to my liege." Ser Allister told him, eyeing him directly.
Uh oh, he definitely suspects something. Jon thought, nearly groaning at yet another person figuring out his identity. Am I really that recognizable?
Arthur approached them just then, looking at him with a mixture of pride and concern. When Allister spotted the man, who had taken to growing out a beard to hide his features, his eyes widened even more, looking between first Arthur, and then Jon.
"Can.. Can it be?" Allister breathed out, still darting between the two.
Arthur nodded grimly, motioning for the man to be silent, "Aye It can, though we'd like to lay low for now. You understand of course."
Ser Allister eagerly nodded, understanding, "There are still many that are loyal to the cause here, and I'm one of them. Pleasure to see you alive Ser." He said to Arthur, before looking in Jon's direction, "My Prince." He murmured under his breath before walking away.
Arthur and Jon just stood there in silence for a few moments, before Jon broke it, "So… That just happened.
It was midday the next day that Jon finally decided to visit Aemon, having been to tired the night before to do so.
A quick knock on the door had an old ugly man with no chin and a few grey hairs left on his scalp answered,
"Can I elp' ya?" the man asked, and just by the way he spoke Jon knew this wasn't Aemon.
"Aye, I'm looking to speak to the Maester." Jon answered.
The man stared at him for a few moments, before an aged voice rang out from inside the room,
"Let the boy in Clydas."
Clydas did so, opening to door and leaving when Aemon instructed him to do so.
Arthur followed behind Jon, taking his position at the door as Jon proceeded further into the room.
The chamber smelled of old parchment and woodsmoke from the hearth, and it was sparsely decorated. A few bookshelves held what Jon assumed was the Maesters personal collection. Behind a desk littered with parchments and half full ink wells was the man he was looking for.
A candle half lit illuminated the man's features. There was not much Targaryen left to see, Aemon's hair all but gone, his eyes a milky white, though Jon could see feint hints of violet in them.
"Maester? I am Jon Snow, Benjen's nephew. I came to speak to you about a matter of importance." Jon started, taking a seat across from the man, who's milky white gaze snapped in the direction of the sound.
"Ah, the Bastard of Winterfell. Yes, Benjen has told me a lot about you in his visits to me, a boy with a fondness for the pleasures of the flesh, and a warrior incarnate on the fields of battle. What made a boy like you want to visit an old boring man such as I." Aemon spoke, his aged voice rasping out.
Jon eyed Arthur, a silent question whether this was the right move. Seeing the mans nod of confirmation gave Jon the strength he needed.
"I was actually sent by someone you once knew, he told me you might have some information I would like to hear." He informed the Maester, Aemon's head tilting.
"And who alive would know to send you to me? Many have forgotten my existence down South, and only few acknowledge me at the wall."
"Brynden Rivers." Jon stated, causing a startled gasp to erupt from Aemon.
"I.. Is this some kind of jape? Do you seek to mock me with my dead family members?" Aemon started, anger creeping into his tone.
"No… No, I swear I mean no harm, I…" Jon paused, feeling like a little boy in front of the old man's milk white gaze.
Aemon slightly softened, taking pity on the boy, "Spit it out young man. I learned long ago It is best to rip off the bandage quickly instead of slowly."
"I.. I'm not actually the son of Eddard Stark. He is really my Uncle. My mother was Lyanna Stark, and my father was…"
"Rhaegar Targaryen." Aemon breathed out in awe, his hands trembling. "Come… Come closer, let me see." he raised his hands towards Jon. He was confused at first, but realized the maester likely wanted to trace his facial features, not being able to actually see them.
Jon let the man do so, the old, cold and worn hands tracing the features across his face, his nose, his chin and cheekbones.
"You have my brother's Egg's cheekbones, and my sister Daella's nose." He breathed out, tears welling up in his eyes.
"The Unlikely?" Jon questioned, eager to hear any information on his family.
"Aye, that is what they called him. Though I knew him as simply Egg, my little brother who loved to speak of Dragons and his adventures with Dunk." Aemon informed him, a reminiscent smile on his face.
"Your coloring nephew?" Aemon asked.
"Black curly hair, and mismatched eyes, one green the other violet."
"Like Princess Alyssa was said to have." Aemon marveled. "I had thought you had perished at the tower with your mother after the tale came of the battle there. I should have known to look into it more." He added.
"You knew about my mother and father?" Jon questioned.
"I did. Rhaegar wrote to me often after that tourney, expressing his feelings for his 'She-Wolf' as he would call her. He informed me that he wanted to pursue a formal betrothal with her. The last letter I received from him was mention of Lyanna being pregnant, and then the news came. One by one, our family slaughtered, even the babes." Aemon explained, finishing angrily when mentioned the atrocities that happened at the end of the rebellion.
Jon gently grabbed his grand-uncle's hand, gently calming him down.
"Thank you nephew, I needed that." Aemon told him after they stayed still for a while, "Who is the other occupant of the room?"
"Ser Arthur Dayne, my Prince." Ser Arthur spoke from his position at the door, watching the scene with fondness.
Aemon chuckled, "Now that's a title I have not been called in nearly eighty years. I am glad to see that my nephew has a valiant protector."
"Your name nephew, what did your mother name you? I know Rhaegar thought you were to be a girl, so he only mentioned female names such as Visenya or Rhaenyra." He asked.
Jon smiled, "Gaemon, Uncle, after the Glorious."
The aged maester smiled, "A strong name, named after a strong man."
Their conversation continued on for a while, Jon informing the man about his upbringing, Aemon talking more to him about his days in the Red Keep.
Finally, Aemon asked a question that saved Jon from bringing it up, "and how is it that Brynden is still alive. He disappeared nearly forty years ago."
"He became something more, a three-eyed raven he called it, a position granted to him by the Old Gods of the forests and streams." Jon explained, Aemon looked curious.
"And how is it that he communicated with you from such a long distance?"
Jon paused, wondering if Aemon would believe him, "I.. I used to dream a lot as a young boy. Events of the future and the past. It wasn't until after my first kill on a man trying to kidnap my little cousin that he contacted me through the weirwood in Winterfell."
Aemon had a pensive look at that. "Dreams. Many of our family had them. My own brother was one of them, known as the drunken since he would drown himself in wine and ale to try and stop them. I even had a few during my many years of living, but nothing as serious as you mention."
"Aye, they were rough at first, though Brynden helped me control them by moving my consciousness into the weirwood. From there he has been teaching me about our family, the goods and the bads." Jon answered, a smile coming over his features, thinking of his most recent lesson, "Just yesterday we learned of my namesake, Gaemon the Glorious. Seeing the Black Dread, even in a dream, was surreal."
Aemon had a similar smile on his face at that, "Aye, I can imagine. His skull in the Red Keep could swallow a mammoth whole."
"How long will you be staying nephew, there is much to tell you that you would not be able to learn from Brynden." Aemon asked after a few moments of silence.
Jon took a deep breath, the moment Brynden had told him about finally surfacing, "Actually Uncle, I… I was wondering if you would like to come South with me, to Moat Cailin, my future seat."
Aemon looked at him confused, "I am bound by my vows nephew, you know I can not leave here."
"I asked the Lord Commander, he agreed to release you from your vows to live out your days at the Moat, he only said I would need to convince you." Jon informed him.
The aged maester sighed, hesitant, but hopeful.
"Please Uncle, live out your remaining years with family, In a warmer climate." Jon pleaded, and It looked as if it was the final push Aemon needed.
"Oh, alright. I'll come." Aemon relented, a bright smile lighting up his features, "It would be nice to leave this freezing Castle, even after sixty years of service I am still not used to it."
Jon smiled, gently embracing his Uncle, "We leave In two days, I'll be by tomorrow to help you with your things. Unfortunately, You'll be on your own for a few moons, I am still exiled from Winterfell you see." He said sheepishly at the end.
Aemon raised a brow, "And why's that?"
"I may or may not have slept with the horsemaster's daughter?" Jon informed him, and Aemon chuckled, shooing Jon out of the room.
It was two days later that Jon and Arthur left Castle Black, Aemon and Benjen heading towards Winterfell, and Jon and Arthur towards Last Hearth.
Mission successful. Jon thought as the wall faded in the distance.
