THE BLACKFYRE EXODUS
Of all the rulers of the Targaryen Empire, High King Aegon IV is held to be the worst. So poorly did the council decide in their choice of heir it was they who first called him Aegon the Unworthy.
Aegon's failings were legion, none more so than his unrelenting lust. He gathered mistresses from across the world, preferring those from the distant Sunset Kingdoms. The bastards born from those dalliances ensured Aegon's legacy of rebellion and folly.
The greatest of these bastards, Daemon, was given leave by the king to form his own family, House Blackfyre. Under Daemon's charismatic leadership and with the support of his half-brother, Aegor the Bittersteel, commander of the Golden Legion, the Blackfyres swiftly became one of the empire's most influential families. Some believed Daemon could follow his father as the next High King.
Yet it was Daeron, Aegon's legitimate son by High Queen Naerys, who rose to the throne. Following Daeron's ascension, Daemon and his allies adopted a strange faith that widened the divide between them and the Targaryens. The Blackfyre claimed a seer had foretold the end of the Targaryen Empire through a second Doom. A cataclysm of ice that could only be avoided through a war unlike any other. The Blackfyres held that fabled war to be the invasion and conquest of Westeros, like Aegon the First had wanted. A new realm which would be ruled by Daemon, who the Blackfyres viewed as a natural warrior and savior rather than the bookish Daeron.
The Blackfyre cult preached these views far and wide. They slandered the king, spread fear among the commonfolk, and many questioned whether Daeron was truly Aegon's son. In that they went too far, and the doom the Blackfyres warned against was soon brought down upon them.
Fearful of these fanatics, King Daeron turned to Brynden Bloodraven, another royal bastard and the Lord-Commander of the Dark Order. Cunning and ruthless, Bloodraven moved swiftly to deal with the Blackfyre threat. His Dark Order violently purged Volantis of the Blackfyre taint and influence at all levels. Most legions were loyal to the king or the council and those that weren't soon found their leaders' heads adorning the Long Bridge.
His followers falling in droves, Daemon rallied the Golden Legion and his supporters to the ruins of Ny Sar, where Princess Nymeria had once ruled. It was there Daeron's sons, Baelor Breakspear and Maekar, brought five legions to join with the Dark Order to give battle to Daemon and Aegor.
Unlike Nymeria, who guided her people away certain death, Daemon led his followers straight into its folly cost Daemon his life, and those of his eldest sons. The Golden Legion was crushed and Aegor fled with the rest of the Blackfyre survivors to Dragonstone. Throughout the empire, their cult was driven underground, its followers hunted by Bloodraven and his thousand eyes. With his enemies distant and isolated, Daeron felt content to leave the Blackfyres to their exile on that dreary island.
To the Blackfyres this was an exodus, like the one Aenar Targaryen had led from the Freehold. Dragonstone was a holy place to them and, in time, their strange beliefs hardened. They prepared for the coming war, raising gold by launching slave raids into Westeros. Such was how a young lad was delivered to Essos and would grow to become the famed Highguard, Duncan the Tall.
Now and again, the Blackfyres returned to the empire, launching short-lived uprisings before slinking back in defeat to Dragonstone. Decades would pass and several High Kings would rise and fall before the Blackfyre cult was finally crushed.
So bloody and cruel was its end that even High King Aegon V condemned it. In its aftermath a great man was banished to the Wall. The prophecy of a second Doom and a new realm was largely forgotten. The few Blackfyres left alive were scattered to the winds of exile.
The Blackfyre Exodus enduring to this day.
JON
The cradle was made of the finest polished oak, dark and smooth to the touch. The headboard bore carved depictions of dragons and wolves. All watching over whatever laid within.
Yet the cradle sat empty. Its white sheets were pristine, smooth and untouched. A drop of rainwater dripped off his cloak and landed within as lightning flashed. Outside, the wind and rain assailed Harrenhal with a horrible fury. When the boom of thunder reached his ears, Jon gripped the cradle's edges suddenly.
The castle hadn't seen a storm like this in a moon's turn, the night that Sansa had taken to her birthing bed. The sound of the wind had been as loud as the direwolves howling without, all of it climbing up the tower as Sansa screamed in pain and fear.
Jon suddenly felt himself there again, on that fateful night, standing outside Sansa's chamber doors with Robb and Gendry. The healers' panicked words had made little sense to him as his mind reeled in terror his wife and unborn child. Sansa's cries had shaken him worse than any battle. In the end that was what broke him. When Sansa screamed his name, Westerosi customs were all but forgotten. He had fought his way past Robb and Gendry and broke into the birthing chamber.
Never had the sight of blood chilled him so. Sansa bore the agony with clenched teeth, her face drenched with sweat. Their mothers each holding one of her hands. Her eyes were for him though.
The tears ran like the rain itself. Her screams louder than thunder.
Jon was a warrior. The son of a king. A commander of the Dark Order.
Yet he learned what it meant to be powerless that night. Weeks later, and still his strength had not returned. Staring down into the cradle weakened him even more.
The drain only grew when the chamber door opened and Ghost appeared. The white direwolf ambled ahead of two queens, both carrying bundles in their arms. Two tiny lives that now held such power over him.
For there, nestled in their arms, were his children.
"Jon, when did you return?" Mother smiled, rocking one of the bundled babes. "Fantastic timing, they've just been bathed and smell like the heavens themselves."
"We only just arrived." He said, giving his damp hair a shake. "I see Ghost kept a good watch while I was away. How are they?"
"They're perfect." Catelyn answered, cooing down at the second bundle. "The storm doesn't trouble them one bit. Such brave little treasures."
"They take after their mother." He said as they brought the twins before him. "In so many ways."
Two tiny faces looked up at him then with innocent eyes. That alone took command of his body and soul in a way that only Sansa ever had. He barely felt mother kissing his cheek before she addressed the babes themselves.
"Say hello to your papa, girls."
The twins were far too young to do such a thing, yet his heart leapt when the tiny girl in Lady Catelyn's arms gurgled a bit.
Rhaegina, this little one can only be Rhaegina.
Jon knew he was right when the babe's dark indigo eyes focused on his face, a shade of indigo so much like his father's. His eldest daughter rarely ever just glanced at anything. Those who found themselves under her gaze always mentioned how intently Rhaegina stared at them. Mother liked to say that it was the dragon in her that made the babe so bold. Sansa thought it marked her as having a keen mind. Either way, Rhaegina was a treasure to him.
A small cry came then from his youngest girl, who was also the noisier of the two.
Aemma, you go right ahead and make all the noise you want.
He was thankful Aemma could wail at all. She was the one that they'd almost lost. While Rhaegina had been born strong and wailing, Aemma had come out quiet. Sansa and Jon had held their breath to learn that their daughter drew none. The healers had tried everything. Dunking her in water, smacking her small back. In the end, it was Thoros who saved their child. The warrior priest had put his lips over Aemma's and breathed life back into her.
Her first cry was the sweetest sound that Jon had ever heard.
Jon began running his finger down Aemma's brow, to stop her fussing. Her deep blue eyes stared up at him then, darker than Sansa's yet just as lovely. The babe's cries must have acted like a siren's song of sorts, for his wife arrived in the twins' room soon after.
Sansa's hair was unbound, an auburn wave flowing over her shoulders and down the comely robe of blue. Soft rabbit fur lined the collar and sleeves and it looked almost as warm as her weary smile.
"Is that Aemma again?" Sansa asked with a yawn, walking to him so they could embrace and kiss one another.
"Yes, but I welcome the sound. My daughter welcomes me back with a sweet song."
Jon kissed Sansa again, savoring the lips that he'd gone two days without feeling. The short journey was a trial for him, for it was the longest time he had spent away from Sansa and the girls since they were born. He had not slept right the whole time, yearning to hold Sansa as tightly as he did now. Sansa mentioned being bothered by the weight she'd gained from childbirth, but it didn't matter one bit to Jon. If anything he lusted after her even more. Sansa accepted his attentions with an equal hunger, their kisses drawing out until someone cleared their throat.
When Sansa drew back, they found two sets of highborn ladies watching them with guarded interest. The younger pair was less comprehending than their amused grandmothers.
"See, little ones." Mother grinned. "That's what led to you two coming about."
"My apologies…" Sansa said, touching her lips in mild embarrassment. "Did you bathe the girls? I thought their nursemaids were tending them."
"They were, but we sent them away." Catelyn lifted Rhaegina up to kiss babe's head. "Bathing this child was a joy I'd keep to myself. I did not realize how much I missed it."
"Thank the gods there's two of them then, else we'd be proper rivals." Mother laughed with Catelyn before turning to Jon. "Speaking of, how did things turn out at Darry?"
"Well enough." Jon cupped Aemma's head as she continued to fuss. "I made it clear to the Vale envoy that our troubles are ended for the time being. We're content with the peace we have."
The Kingdom of Mountain and Vale had lacked any sort of peace for years now. After Jon Arryn, the Falcon King and friend to his father, had died of illness, his kingdom had been torn asunder by rival claims to the Vale. Two men, Prince Elbert Arryn and Ser Denys Arryn, both styled themselves the new king. After a war of savage bloodletting and lengthy sieges, it appeared neither side had gained an advantage against the other.
A stalemate that Elbert thought to end. The aspiring king had sent a party of envoys to Darry, demanding the right to speak with High Queen Lyanna and Jon himself. He made the trip for both of them, meeting a Lord Lyonel Corbray in Vyman Darry's small hall. Once the pleasantries were done, it was made obvious that the swift collapse of the Durrandons was not lost on Elbert, who now wished to elicit Targaryen help for his cause.
"The mere appearance of the Dark Order on the field of battle is all our king asks for." Lord Lyonel had spoken over their meal. "The Usurper's forces will surely lose heart when faced by the black riders of the Kingslayer."
The lord meant it as flattery but Jon hated that title. That was but the first of many missteps that Lord Corbray had made in their meeting. The second was when he assumed that the Dark Order was some sellsword company to be bought. The form of payment he offered was equally offensive.
"Young maidens of radiance and virtue, for you to take as wife." Lord Corbray grinned in an obvious manner.
"I am wed." He'd replied simply, to which the lord had laughed.
"Yes, but you Targaryens are known for enjoying the charms of many wives. Though you need not wed them, perhaps you could take one as a mistress. Then you can shape the girl to your uses. I can assure you that King Elbert, unlike the dreaded Joffrey Durrandon, has been chivalrous with all of his lady hostages. They are untouched and un- um… unmarked…"
Jon's glare might have been enough, but his sword hand forming into a fist on the table signaled to lord to change tactics.
"There are certainly other considerations." Lyonel had dabbed at his sweating brow. "We also have many highborn widows in our care, ladies proven to be fertile and capable of bearing sons. A prince would surely be in need of a proper heir…"
That had sealed Jon's dislike of the lord and the king he served. Lord Corbray left Darry disappointed, just as many others were when Sansa gave birth to their little girls rather than a son.
Queen Catelyn and Robb had been overjoyed to welcome the twins' arrival. After himself, Robb was the second man to hold the girls and bore a sincere grin to say he saw much of Sansa and Arya in them. The Starks' enthusiasm was a sharp contrast to that of Jon's own family. Aegon's smile appeared genuine enough, but not for the right reasons.
"Fine looking girls, Jonarys." Aegon had proclaimed. "Truly, who needs a son when they have such darling daughters?"
However thankful Aegon was that Jon had been denied a son, his mother's reaction hurt far worse. When both twins were declared to be girls, he saw the disappointment flash across the High Queen's face. He had no doubt mother loved the girls, but it was clear how much she had hoped that Sansa would give him a son.
A dream that Sansa had shared as well. The first time that the parents were left alone with their twins, Sansa held the tiny girls against her bosom, her joy tempered by shame.
"I'm so sorry." Sansa had spoken to him in a weak voice. "Lyanna told me how much it would help if I gave you a son…"
"I have two daughters." He had kissed her and stared in awe at the babes. "You gave me more than I could have ever dreamed. More than I deserve. Look at them. They're perfect… what do we even call them? How can you put a name to something so beautiful?"
When she had prayed for sons, Sansa thought to name them after his father and uncle. Jon saw no reason why they couldn't do the same with their daughters.
Sadly Jon was still too wet from the storm to hold his darling girls, so he had to be content with kissing Rhaegina and Aemma before they were laid down in the cradle.
"Uncle Edmure was too kind in having this made." Sansa said, running her hands along the oaken carved bars. "He and Roslin have a newborn of their own to worry on."
"I'm sure little Perwyn is well looked after." Catelyn spoke of the newest Tully son in a whisper, trying to avoid disturbing his quieting daughters. "Bran wrote from Winterfell, he speaks of Wynafryd and her children settling in quite nicely."
"I do hope Benjen gets to visit Winterfell." Mother added. "Poor man hasn't seen his own children in over a year. Little Lyarra might not even recognize him. Damn the Greyjoys."
While the lions were tamed here in the south, the krakens had risen in fury throughout the Sunset Sea. Balon Greyjoy was using his massive fleet to torment the western coasts of Westeros, including the North. The Greyjoys had taken Deepwood Motte and Torrhen's Square and Bear Island were feared to be next. Almost the entire Stark army had departed Harrenhal, heading north to defend their homelands. Benjen commanded the march in Robb's stead, for the King in the North still had business here in the south.
They all did.
Such business was why Jon couldn't linger as long as he wanted with the babes. The Darry excursion had been the last task to conclude before they could depart Harrenhal for Dragonstone. The High King of the Targaryen Empire would await them there. His father was coming to the Seven Kingdoms. It was a rare event which would soon draw the most powerful lords in Westeros to the stormy island.
Aegon had left for Dragonstone as soon as they learned of father's plans. His brother said he meant to ready the small castle for such a historic event, yet mother believed otherwise.
"He's hoping the High King will arrive before we do." Mother told him later. "That way he'll have Rhaegar all to himself. Aegon's version of the war will, no doubt, paint him in a wonderful light and you in a poorer one."
That won't be hard to do, Jon lamented, I prolonged the war by killing a king in my rage.
I ended it by causing the death of a child, with nothing but the use of my name.
Amending his tarnished reputation was one of the reasons that Sansa and Queen Catelyn were leading him to Harrenhal's sept. Septon Luceon, the envoy sent from Oldtown, was leading prayers there at this very moment. His stated purpose was ensuring the Targaryens respected the septs and other such holdings of the Faith throughout their new domains. Catelyn suspected it was more likely that Luceon was here to report back to the High Septon on the imperials and all their dealings.
Thus Sansa had dedicated herself to ensuring any reports on Jon would be glowing. Lightning flashed in the distance as they journeyed through Harrenhal's expansive hallways on their way to the sept. They were crossing a covered bridge between two towers when Sansa took hold of his wet cloak.
"It will look good that you come tonight." She said, rain pattering against the roof above him. "Riding out of a storm and seeking the sept soon after, it demonstrates piety."
"You never told me that the Seven hold such high regard for soggy boots."
Sansa smiled. "Really make them squish. Then surely you will rise higher in Luceon's eyes, though I'm sure he already respects you, Jon. It was no small thing that the Septon anointed the girls with the seven oils for us. He's a member of the Most Devout, the highest council of clergy there is. A truly rare honor."
"I'm still surprised he did so." Catelyn said. "Luceon's a son of Walder Frey and certainly acted as such when I asked him to anoint the twins. He refused to give me a firm answer one way or another. He did the same to Olyvar and some of his kin after Robb bid them to ask as well. Your brother did not take Luceon's dithering well…"
"I remember. It was sweet of Robb." Sansa replied. "In the end it all worked out though, after we showed charity to the Faith."
He wanted to think that Sansa was right, but he doubted it. The ransoms they received for captured stormlords, along with their sack of Storm's End, had yielded Aegon and Jon respectable amounts of plunder. When he gave over a portion of the Durrandon wealth to rebuild some damaged septs, Septon Luceon had acted mildly grateful. Truthfully the weasel-faced man seemed disappointed not to receive a greater share.
Myrcella, on the other hand, appeared genuinely surprised to be given anything at all. Jon's family was stripping away Myrcella's castle and lands but he could not abide taking everything from the lady. She acted frightened when he'd arrived at her chambers carrying a small chest but Robb's presence reassured her.
"He means well, 'Cella." Robb had kissed her hand. "Hear him out."
Myrcella's unease abated only the smallest bit, her green eyes following Jon's movements carefully as he placed the chest on her dressing table. If she expected a snake to leap out at her when the lid was opened, he was happy to disappoint. Instead she found a number of items that he'd managed to save from Storm's End.
"I knew not what was yours among the plunder, but Prince Tyrion was of great assistance." He explained when Myrcella lifted up a golden necklace with large, square rubies. "What happened in the war cannot be undone… I wish it was different, but that is the truth. Soon you will make a new home in Winterfell, and I thought to let you take some tokens of your past along the way."
"My mother gave me this." Myrcella whispered as Robb fastened the necklace on her. "It was her favorite piece…"
Within the chest Myrcella would find a diadem bejeweled with emeralds along with other such baubles. Yet it was a small wooden lion that caused tears to spring to Myrcella's eyes. When she pulled free a small blanket with a black doe stitched along the middle, the lady had clutched it tight.
"These were Tommen's." Myrcella sniffed at the blanket and looked at him thankfully. "I made this for him… he slept with it every day until mother made him stop… it still smells like him. I never thought to see any of this again. I thank you."
"Please, don't." He had urged. "I do this not for thanks. Nor forgiveness."
"Why then?"
"For my daughters. For Sansa. They are worthy of a better sort than me. I want to be worthy of such a family."
Myrcella accepted the meager offerings with grace, as she did when the loss of Storm's End was made known to her. None of which upset Myrcella as greatly as the day she bid farewell to her mother. The newly made Queen in the North was wearing her golden necklace when Cersei and Jaime Lannister departed for the west, leaving Tyrion and Myrcella behind. Prince Jaime had accorded himself well enough, staying silent save for the occasional barb or challenge sent Robb's way.
Myrcella was not spared either, for Cersei had shared desperate, whispered words with her daughter that left her pale and shaking. The woman was prone to mad fits ever since Tommen's death, so when Cersei pointed to Sansa and Jon with hate in her eyes, Jon thought he was ready for the worst.
Yet it seemed he knew nothing.
"May your children die in your arms!" Cersei had screamed in the yard. "By the Seven, by whatever dark sorcery that gives you strength, I curse you child-killer! Child-murderer! You and your dim-witted whore of a wife! Your children are doomed!"
The woman was still cursing when Jaime and several other westermen had forced Cersei into her wagon. Her ravings drifted in the air until they were through the gates and on the road. The whole affair had troubled Sansa almost as deeply as Myrcella.
Fortunately Septon Luceon agreed to anoint the twins the next day and Sansa's worries over Cersei's curse were set aside by their daughters' blessings.
When the time came, Harrenhal's sept was packed with onlookers, bright light streaming through its ornate windows. It was a far different place than the one that Jon and the ladies arrived to this night.
The sept was a long room with tall ceilings that were largely hidden by shadows at this late hour. The scores of candles burning before the statues of the Seven barely held against the darkness of night. Luceon's soft-spoken sermon to the few faithful in attendance couldn't compete with the sounds of the storm.
Jon spotted Robb and Myrcella then. While the lady knelt before the Mother's statue, Robb stood a ways back, appearing bored until he caught sight of their entry.
"Oh no." Catelyn muttered as Robb approached them, looking less than pleased.
"There you are." Robb whispered harshly. "What happened to you, mother? We were supposed to share a quiet meal together, just you, Myrcella and I. We waited for over an hour…"
"I'm sorry. Sansa went down for a rest and I took the chance to care for the twins. The dinner just slipped my mind."
Robb scowled. "Myrcella was looking forward to this. Gods, she's not asking much. Just talk to her. She's trying so hard and you won't even give her a chance. Myrcella isn't her family. She didn't choose them."
"And I didn't choose her." Catelyn shot back. "You did. She's your wife, Robb, your responsibility. Whatever you see when you look at her, I only see the husband that I lost because of her kin. I see the people who tortured your sister. The woman who cursed my grandchildren."
"Mother-" Sansa tried to calm the situation but Robb moved in to whisper sharply.
"Myrcella is not Cersei. What the queen said about Sansa and the girls… Myrcella spent most of the night crying about it. The rest of the time she was here, praying. I didn't see her smile again until the twins were blessed. You saw that too, didn't you Sansa? How happy she was for you?"
"I saw." Sansa drew closer to her mother, giving Myrcella an uneasy look. "I saw her with Cersei too. Sharing whispered words, plotting perhaps, I don't know. I do know Cersei means my children harm… Myrcella could mean the same…"
"Are you serious?" Robb looked horrified by Sansa's words. "Myrcella wishes to hold my nieces, not hurt them. She's forgiven all our wrongs against her, can't we do the same for her?"
Robb shook his head at that while Jon stepped back, hoping to avoid being dragged into the conversation. He liked Robb, very much so, and when he thought of how much he loved Sansa, he understood the king wanting to defend his new queen in all ways. Yet this was a matter for the Starks to work out, no matter how personally responsible he felt for Myrcella's misery.
He then glanced over at Robb's wife, noting how she had not moved from kneeling in prayer this entire time. Her gown was simple and unassuming, perhaps as a sign of humility before the gods.
From all that Sansa has taught me, they seem to like that type of thing.
Myrcella even removed her jewels. She couldn't bear to be apart from them when I left-
"Prince Jon!" Septon Luceon called to him, holding out his hands in expectation. "A fine night to seek the Seven, come, come."
He was all too happy for the excuse to leave the Starks and their family squabbles. It was almost worth having to bow and kiss Luceon's weathered, aged hand.
"Rise, my lord." Luceon grinned to lead him by Myrcella and the rest of the faithful. "Your presence was missed during my sermons. You were off at Darry, were you not?"
"I was. Lord Vyman was gracious host."
"Ah, yes, but will Lord Corbray leave with the same impression?" Luceon chuckled at the surprise which crossed Jon's face. The visit from the Vale envoys had been kept quiet, or so he thought. "Mayhaps the lord was disappointed? Will King Elbert be as well? Or is it King Denys who will rue whatever was discussed?"
"I'm afraid I don't take your meaning." He said as Luceon stopped them in front of the Crone, amused once more.
"Do not fear to unburden yourself to me, young man. From the lowest serf to the highest lord, even kings themselves, every man seeks the wisdom of the Faith and its humble servants. We make it our duty to understand the state of our earthly realm, to better guide the pious to salvation. Seven Kingdoms there may be, but the Faith is not bound by borders or fealty to any one crown."
They are powerful, he thought, that's what I'm to take from this.
Am I meant to be intimidated by this power? Or enticed to make it mine own?
Luceon bid them to kneel in front of the statue then, bending his head in prayer while doing anything but.
"A frightful situation in the Vale." Luceon made a disapproving sound. "Prince Elbert was the chosen heir yet not overly popular… especially with High Septon Hugor. Ser Denys is far more amiable, eager to seek the counsel of the clergy. Is it any wonder that Denys was blessed by the Mother with two heirs while Elbert has none?"
He did not bother to answer. Jon was no fool. The old septon was building to something and he saw no point in playing along. Luceon finally saw fit to continue after a long silence.
"I speak with certainty when I say that His Holiness trusts in the Seven to end the conflict in the Vale. If any outsiders were to interfere in the war, especially on Elbert's side… the High Septon would be displeased. Things should be left-"
"To the Seven, yes." Jon said, deciding then to give the man something so they could end this farce. "I find myself agreeing with the High Septon. May the Vale find a peace of its own. My focus is only on the lands we Targaryens now rule."
"Praise the Seven." Luceon raised his hands to the statue above them. "I must say, Oldtown is brimming with talk on the empire's designs for this new kingdom. Some are excited… others wary. The prospect of a strange rabble populating these lands is somewhat… troubling. I heard the High King intends on settling hundreds of thousands of slaves here."
"Not nearly so many."
Father hopes it won't come to that. We all do.
The time was drawing close for the true purpose of this conquest to begin. Slavery was a blight on the empire, one that his father wished to end. Yet if the High King freed all the slaves today, by tomorrow his power would be gone. The chaos that such an act could cause would be all encompassing, tearing the empire apart. So, rather than hacking the rot of slavery away, his father planned to heal it over time.
The High King's effort would focus first on Volantis, the imperial capital. It was the empire's greatest city and the most addicted to slavery, with five slaves to every free man. The aim was to cut that number in half within a generation through a number of edicts and taxes. An influx of freedmen brought problems of its own however, such as finding them work and lands. The politics of land division in the empire did not lend itself well to father's plan.
Expanding east meant full-scale war with the Dothraki, a conflict that would likely never end. Yet to look across the Narrow Sea was to see tracts of sparsely populated lands of no consequence to imperial interests. They had known for many years that the nearest lands to Dragonstone were fertile and lacking in any great settlements.
The whole area held great promise, according to his uncle Aemon. To both the freed slaves in search of new lives, and House Targaryen itself.
"Aegon the Conqueror once thought to look west." Aemon had spoken a year ago at Summerhall. "The Blackfyres believed our future lay there as well. It is in our power and our wisdom to build something magnificent in the west. There will be fire and blood to be sure… but from the ashes of such destruction, something beautiful could grow. A new realm. A better realm."
Father and mother both believed in such a dream. Jon did as well.
We Targaryens have been destroyers and slavers long enough.
Let us build a kingdom where no man is another's slave.
Jon rose from his knees at the thought, offering a hand to help Luceon do the same.
"Ten thousand, maybe twenty." He said simply. "That's how many new freedmen my father hopes to send this first year. Mostly those with no homes left to return to, wandering the streets without purpose. Men and women who were born into bondage."
"All of whom will embrace the Seven, yes?" Luceon pressed. "That was what High King Rhaegar promised His Holiness. The false gods and faiths of the empire should never taint the Seven Kingdoms."
"This kingdom will hold to the Faith of the Seven. Conversion is the price that the freed must pay to reach Westeros."
That was his father's decree, yet Jon suspected that many of the new converts would be mummers at best.
Most slaves had little to call their own, save their gods. They'll say the Seven's words… but I doubt many will hold them dear.
Not like I do… for I said them for Sansa.
"That is comforting to hear, from you especially, my prince."
"I am a lord, not a prince."
"Married to a princess though." Luceon gestured to where Sansa now knelt in prayer while Robb and Catelyn continued their discussion to the rear of the sept. Myrcella and Sansa were now the only ones left actually praying, though as far apart as could be. "I speak often with the princess. She insists that you are dedicated to the Faith and its teachings."
"I am as dedicated to the Seven as I am to my wife. Sansa has helped me view the Andal faith in a way no-"
"A woman's teachings." Luceon dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It would be better if you enlisted a septon to continue your lessons. There are several I could recommend. Good, loyal men. They serve me faithfully and would do the same for you. I trust them… as the High Septon trusts me. He is quite eager to hear of my visit here… though I fear to disappoint him."
"Oh?" He eyed the septon rubbing his hands together, his eyes narrowing in a way that Jon didn't care for.
"Your words sound pleasant yet we have a saying here in the Seven Kingdoms. Words are wind. Marrying before the Seven, showing mercy to the faithful, these are all fine and good. Yet you remain an outsider to us. That could change if you were anointed in the seven oils."
Jon kept the grimace from his face. The twins' ceremony had been lengthy and tedious. The only part he enjoyed was how long he got to hold Rhaegina during. Kneeling for hours so this old weasel could drip oil upon his brow held little appeal to him. Yet Luceon appeared excited at the chance.
"I would be happy to perform the rite for you." Luceon bowed somewhat before his greedy grin returned. "Though salvation is no easy thing to grant, nor cheap to afford. I am a member of the Most Devout, I cannot anoint just any. I'd expect a similar, hmm, endowment as the one I received for your daughters."
"Endowment?" Jon asked, thoroughly confused. "What do you mean?"
Luceon's chuckling grated on his patience again. "I'll admit, it was clever of you to try and purchase my favor by donating your spoils to those Blackwater septs, His Holiness will be won over by such news, but you erred somewhat. The septons in charge of those funds owe loyalty to other clergymen, so your gold went to their pockets instead of mine. The direct approach worked far better. The jewelry will gain me much favor with certain young septas…"
He began to piece things together and struggled to keep his anger in check as thunder and wind shook the sept.
"You anointed Rhaegina and Aemma because someone paid you?" Jon spoke carefully, keeping his temper so as not to shame Sansa by taking umbrage with Luceon before all. "Who did so?"
"It was not you? My, my, this is interesting."
Luceon raised a hairy eyebrow and a gnarled finger to point towards Robb and Catelyn, who were now joined by Myrcella. The young queen had no sooner curtsied to her goodmother then Queen Catelyn offered whispered words to the married couple and sought Sansa's side instead. Myrcella stared in shock and despair at the spot where Catelyn had stood moments ago as Robb swiftly enfolded her in his arms.
"It was her, the Princess, er- I'm sorry, Queen Myrcella now." Luceon said as Robb and Myrcella left the sept together. "She sought me out. Offered me a fine necklace made of Lannister gold, of the most quality craftsmanship. I do love rubies so and the lions know their craft."
"Myrcella gave you that?" He blinked as the storm raged without, lightning flashing lances of light over the statue of the Maiden. "Robb would never ask that of her…"
"I thought it was you who bid her." Luceon shrugged. "When I asked her why, she said that it was for your daughters. For your wife."
"To be worthy of such a family."
SANSA
"Thank you Myrcella."
She did her best to smile sincerely as Jeyne handed Aemma over to Robb's wife. Rhaegina was sleeping peacefully in Sansa's arms, but Aemma had been fussing some before Myrcella offered to take the whimpering babe. Myrcella now held Aemma so that young queen's tumbling hair acted a golden shield against the sun and breeze here on Driftmark.
"It's my pleasure, really." Myrcella took one of her golden curls and dangled it over Aemma's face. "Did Robb tell you how jealous I was that he got to hold the girls? I've been looking forward to this. Haven't I, little one?"
Aemma quieted down at the sight of Myrcella's curls, her daughter showing none of the unease that Sansa felt right now. Before she could stop herself, the image of Myrcella twisted into that of Cersei. The vile woman clutching Aemma in her horrid grasp.
All at once Cersei was gone and Myrcella returned, the young woman cooing down at the girl in her arms.
Myrcella's not her mother, Sansa reminded herself, she wouldn't hurt my children.
Cersei cursed my girls, but Myrcella had them blessed.
Myrcella had her gratitude for that, yet others were not so easily won over. Sansa needed only to glance at her mother to see the truth of that. The dowager Queen in the North watched Robb's wife carefully as they continued their walk along Driftmark's seashore.
The sand twinkled like thousands of tiny diamonds on the windswept beach. The waves lapping against the shore were calm, the air carrying a scent of salt. She much preferred to enjoy the sea in this manner rather than aboard a rocking and pitching ship.
Their overnight stay at High Tide had been a welcome respite. The Jaehaerys might have made Dragonstone by nightfall but Jon had refused to try. The skies had been grown dark with clouds and her husband feared a storm brewing. He refused to risk their children's lives, or hers. Nor did he entertain the notion of leaving them behind while pressing on to Dragonstone, as Lyanna did in the Alysanne with Gendry and Tyrion Lannister.
High King Rhaegar has been at Dragonstone for days now, Aegon whispering in his ear thw whole time.
Trying to steal a crown that I know Jon is worthy of.
To Sansa's shame, she had likely helped Aegon in those efforts. Her heart filled with joy to think of Rhaegina's purple eyes or Aemma's tuft of soft auburn hair. The twins had been a part of her and they always would be. But as much as she loved her two daughters with all her being, Sansa knew they were worth less than a son.
Jon might not fault her for the girls, yet she had failed him all the same.
On Dragonstone she was to meet Jon's family. He would present her as his wife, but that wouldn't change what she really was. A broken woman, married into the most powerful family in the known world.
The power and prestige of House Targaryen was apparent in the company the High King's visit had drawn from across Westeros.
At this moment Sansa walked amidst several of those highborn guests, following after Aurane Velaryon as he showed off Driftmark's beaches. On the arm of the handsome lord was Princess Margaery of House Gardener. The only daughter of King Mace, Margaery was a pretty, confident young woman, able to bandy about witticisms with the lordling in a carefree manner. Her thick, softly curling brown hair bounced whenever she laughed, which was often.
Following closely behind were the ladies from Margaery's retinue, daughters of the Gardener bannermen like Desmera Redwyne, Talla Tarly, and Leonette Fossoway. Behind them walked Alynne Connington and Eleanor Mooton, who came from lands newly won over by Jon. Though of course, the most familiar faces were those from the North. Wylla Manderly had come with her father, Ser Wyllis, and his party, while Mira Forrester had arrived with her husband, Brynden Blackwood.
While Talia and her older sister kept close together, enjoying their reunion, none of the Reach or Stormland ladies dared to approach Myrcella. All likely knew her, whether as a Durrandon princess or from her time with the Gardener court at Highgarden, yet still they kept their distance. Whether out of fear for Myrcella's new allegiances or her old ones, she couldn't say. The whole thing reminded Sansa of when she was an outcast at Storm's End, shunned by many.
A lonely, dreadful time that she wouldn't wish on anyone.
So Sansa reached out to Myrcella herself, allowing her goodsister to hold Aemma. Myrcella's jewels had helped bless the girl, it seemed the least she could do in return. The gesture appeared to gladden Myrcella greatly, for her green eyes ignored the scenery to gaze upon Aemma as she hummed a tune.
"There's another Lannister on this island." Mother spoke quietly, the words clearly meant for her ears alone as she watched Myrcella. "Genna Lannister, Tywin's sister, a princess of the Rock."
"Yes, Robb told me." She whispered back. "She's guesting at Hull with her husband and the other Reach lords. Aurane clearly thought better of inviting her here."
"Genna's no fool. She's a shrewd, with decent influence among the Gardeners. A dangerous woman. It would be a good thing to keep these lions apart."
"Myrcella helps us in that." Sansa said, to her mother's surprise. "She rejected an invitation from Genna's handmaiden just this morning, then burned her aunt's letter without reading it."
"Who saw this?" Catelyn asked suspiciously.
"Her maid. Rickon as well." She was unhappy to admit it. The two of them had recruited many to spy on Robb's wife. Sansa took as little joy in that as Mother did to hear this report.
"Dragonstone will be the true test. Tyrion and Genna must not be permitted any private meetings with each other, nor Myrcella. I worry of what Robb shares with his wife, and what she could share with her kin. I wish he had not brought her here. It was smart not leaving Myrcella at Harrenhal, many there served Kevan Lannister before us. Still, Robb should have sent her to White Harbor."
"Myrcella does well here." She bid her mother to watch Myrcella fawn over Aemma. "Not just with Aemma. Or the bribing of Luceon. She told Robb not press her claim to Storm's End any further, and promised she would say the same to the High Septon. Truthfully mother, I am… I am glad Myrcella is with us."
Mother grew quiet, letting the waves and the chatter of other women fill the silence between them. All she said was already known to her royal mother, save the last part. When mother looked to her then, there was no anger in her eyes, only a sort of sadness. One that grew deeper when her gaze moved to Myrcella with Aemma, who now slept peacefully.
"She's good with her." Mother said after a time, her face like stone. "Tender, caring even. With a family like hers, I did not think it likely… not after everything they did to you."
"Those who hurt me are dead or gone away." Sansa whispered back. "I cannot fear Myrcella like I did Joffrey. Or how Cersei feared Jon. I cannot stop thinking that Robb is right. Myrcella wants to be one of us… is that foolish of me? To want to believe the best in her?"
Mother sighed, reaching up to adjust one of Sansa's braids. "No. That makes you the sweet girl Ned was so proud of. Our little lady, who shames me by finding the strength to do what I cannot…"
Her mother's morose words clashed greatly with the sound of Margaery and her company's laughter then.
"Queen Catelyn!" The princess turned about to address them. "I must commend you on your daughter's splendid escort!"
"Her escort?" Mother asked in a confusion, looking about at Sansa's ladies and then back at Barristan, who followed at a respectful distance. "Do you mean Ser Barristan?"
"Margaery isn't speaking of Sansa." Myrcella noted, pointing farther up the beach. "Is that not Arya?"
Sansa swallowed a groan to catch sight of her sister in the distance. Making a spectacle of herself, as always.
Arya was riding towards them atop a massive black stallion that she kept close to the surf, its hooves kicking water into the air. The five Stark direwolves collected on the island ran with her, Nymeria and Shaggydog leaping up to snap at the splashes. Arya acted just as wild, standing high in her stirrups with her cloak flapping in the wind.
When they arrived at Driftmark, Arya was there waiting. Somehow she had won over the Velaryons to such a degree that they gave her free reign over their stables. A privilege Arya continued to abuse, despite mother's insistence that she attend some seamstresses in preparation for her wedding.
"Princess Arya!" Aurane hailed when she drew close. "Do we catch you returning from another ride to Spicetown?"
"Ha! Farther than that." Arya tossed some errant strands of hair from her face before grinning at the twins. "So that's the reason! I wondered why Lady and Ghost took us this way. They must have caught the girls' scent as far off as those cliffs, even though the wind is all wrong…"
"They truly are magnificent." Margaery spoke admiringly as her gaze moved from the wolves to Arya. "My brother Willas boasts the largest hounds in the Reach and they are only half the size of your pets."
"A direwolf is not a pet." Sansa corrected while Arya dismounted. "They are too strong to be treated as such. Respect must be given to them if you want any shown in return."
"They're as fierce as they are loyal." Arya added with a toothy smile. "Well, loyal to those who are loyal to them.'
Margaery raised an eyebrow. "Then a direwolf can never truly be tamed?"
"Tamed? No." Mother said simply before stand in front of Arya, brushing some sand from her shoulder. "Nor should they be. There is a beauty in their wild hearts, for those willing to seek it. That is, if they are given the chance."
Arya lowered her eyes then. A marked difference from how she glared at Robb when the sibling first reunited at High Tide. Arya's intense stare had broken their brother, who she was evidently furious at for promising her to Gendry. Long forgotten were the smiles and stolen looks that Arya had sent Gendry's way at Winterfell. Her sister's heart had apparently hardened against her betrothed.
Sansa had tried to speak to Arya about the betrothal but her sister ignored that in favor of playing with the twins. She might have pressed things further if Arya's tickling and foolish faces hadn't had such an effect on Rhaegina. Both sisters swore that the babe smiled her first smile for Arya.
"No smile for me today?" Arya asked Rhaegina now, leading her horse onward so she could get a look at the sleeping girl in Sansa's arms. "That's alright, you rest up to howl at some dragons."
"I pray she does no such thing." She swatted at Arya. "I want the girls to be as peaceful as they are now when Jon presents them to his family."
Arya scoffed. "They're practically septas compared to most of the men on this island. I've heard nearly every lord complaining about having to wait here before going to Dragonstone. The worst is the Greenha-"
"Thank you, Arya!" She cut her sister's slight towards Margaery's father there. "Let's hope all get to welcome the High King to Westeros soon enough."
While she lacked in courtesy, Arya was certainly right. Besides the High Septon, only the Stark and Martell royal families were permitted to sail straight on to Dragonstone. All other guests of the High King were to await summons at Driftmark. Mace Gardener considered that an insult, believing his status as a king should afford him the same privileges as Robb. Jon had spent much of the night treating with the Gardener King, promising that his stay at High Tide would be a short one.
Not so short as their own though.
Arya was not the only member of their family to interrupt Aurane's tour. Uncle Brynden and Rickon rode up soon after, with carriages and word from Jon. The skies were clear and the ships were ready.
The final leg of their journey to Dragonstone was set to begin.
Their farewells to Margaery and the others were hurried. Their journey back to the docks swift. The High King of the Targaryen Empire surely deserved such haste.
When she met Jon upon the deck of the Jaehaerys, the rocking of the boat was only part of the reason she felt queasy. Men were moving all about, preparing the sails and oars to depart, yet it was her that Jon worried on.
"This will be a short trip." Jon said, kissing her brow and rubbing her shoulder. "A few hours and we'll be on Dragonstone. After that, I swear, no ships for at least a moon's turn."
"What if your father wishes you back to the empire at once?" She asked, watching Arya and mother carry the twins about the deck. Jon's eyes followed them as well, a grin pulling at his mouth.
"I doubt that very much." He spoke in High Valyrian, more practice for what was to come. "The High Septon brought five ships and hundreds of his people to Dragonstone. I'm guessing there's more talks ahead. I'll likely be called upon for such, or to advise the new viceroy of these lands. From what Aurane has told me of Dragonstone's newest guests, this isn't going to be a short stay. Father wouldn't bring our entire family here otherwise."
"Your whole family?" She felt both nervous and excited all at once.
Jon nodded. "Well, I could do without Viserys... but it'll be nice to present you and the girls with Aemon there. Daenerys too. Don't worry if Aemon takes to touching the twins' faces some, he lost his eyesight long ago and…"
He was still speaking when her mind seized on the name. Daenerys. The ship was pulling away from the docks at High Tide, leading Robb's galley and many others on to Dragonstone.
Yet Sansa's mind was back at Harrenhal. To a night where she laid abed with Jon, wrapped in his arms. A moment when she'd finally found the courage to ask her husband something she'd worried on for months. Ever since Aegon's angry words at Storm's End first planted the idea of a dalliance between Jon and his aunt. The murder of Tommen, the ending of the war, the birth of their girls, so much had kept Sansa from asking the question she could no longer ignore.
"Jon, I wish to ask you something…" She'd laid a hand upon his bare chest, over top the heart he swore beat for her. "It's about Daenerys. It's about what your brother said at Storm's End"
"Ah." Jon had cringed some. "Aegon always had a big mouth… I didn't know how much you understood of our talk."
"Enough." Sansa could not meet his eyes. "Aegon... he loved your aunt, yes?"
"He says he did." Jon grumbled before shaking his head. "Damn, that's not fair. Aegon loved Dany. Not as much as himself I think, but she was his first love and he was hers. They had something special for a time."
She dared to look into his eyes then. "And you? Did you love Daenerys?"
Her deepest want was for him to say no. Perhaps even act offended at the question. That if he had loved Daenerys, it was simply the love of a nephew for his aunt. Instead Jon simply nodded.
"Yes, many years ago. We were lovers. I was young, and I loved Dany with all my heart. I owe her a great deal."
The simple manner in which he spoke and the lack of humility he had admitting to such, hurt her deeply. Men were like to boast of their fornications yet Jon was not such a man, nor did he speak of Daenerys Targaryen in that manner.
He spoke her name with love. She saw the truth of that in his eyes.
She was who he was meant to marry. A Targaryen princess.
Not some scarred girl whose family forced him into it.
"You wished to marry her." She had choked out, separating their bodies and looking down upon her husband. "Didn't you?"
"I did. She rejected me. Twice." Jon took hold of her chin and bid her to meet his gaze. "And for that I will forever be in her debt. Had she said yes, I would have never found you. I was a young boy, ignorant to the world, fumbling about at what he thought was love. The man who came to Winterfell didn't believe in true love anymore. He knew nothing."
The last part he spoke in High Valyrian and she understood well enough. Jon was professing his love to her, yet all Sansa could think about were comparisons between herself and this woman she had never met. Daenerys would speak Valyrian fluently of course. Her body was likely free of scars. She would be wise in the ways of the empire. A proper Targaryen princess.
Stop! Stop! This is madness. You would never compare Jon to Sandor.
That's not how love works… not really… they are not numbers added up in a ledger…
A cry had erupted from beyond their chambers doors, one of the twins waking in their nursery and waking her sister as well. Sansa had risen to tend them, with tears in her eyes, when Jon barred her path. She spoke not a word of her turmoil yet he knew. He knew and he forced her to hear him out.
"Sansa... the life I led before you is over, my life with you is the one I want." Jon pledged as he ran his hand through her hair. She loved it so when he did that. "Whatever loves I've held, whatever loyalties I had, this is the family I shall love and cherish before any other. I am yours. You are mine. They-"
"They are ours." She finished as the twins began to wail and Jon kissed her again.
Her heart had ached only slightly worse than her breasts at that moment. The twins needed to be fed and her body joined with them in telling her so. When she left to nurse the girls, Jon had followed. Sansa still had a thousand more questions to ask about Daenerys but watching Jon cradle Aemma as she nursed Rhaegina caused them to drift away.
The pride she took in her family overtaking her worries.
Though now Sansa fretted over impressing Jon's family. Their ship was moving swiftly through Blackwater Bay and the Targaryens grew closer with each passing moment
The next few hours were spent readying herself and the twins for their arrival at Dragonstone. While the girls napped, Jeyne and Talia came to see to her dressing. Her gown was a gift from Royner Darklyn, who would be a part of Jon's retinue at Dragonstone. An honor that the lord clearly esteemed, for her new dress was wonderful. Made of the softest black silks, Sansa was especially fond of the white embroidery stitched about the bust and sleeves. The skirts were wide and billowing, meaning her every step would draw the eye.
Since she wore Jon's colors, so would their babes. Rhaegina was garbed in a long gown of black with pearls sewn all along the sides. Aemma's gown was white with black obsidian sequins. Neither child cared for the uncomfortable clothing, yet by the time they reached Dragonstone, their cries had calmed again.
Barristan knocked lightly on her cabin door to announce their imminent arrival. When she bid him within, the older knight blushed as he was wont to do.
"How do they look ser?" Sansa asked, gesturing to the babes in Jeyne and Talia's arms. A smile creased Barristan's weathered face. He reached out to let Aemma take hold of his finger.
"I wish there were three of me, so I might lay down my life for three great beauties."
Jeyne shot a glance to Talia. "Not five? Ser, you do offend."
"Are we so ugly?" Talia blinked her eyes in mock hurt.
"N-no! No, you mistake me!"
Barristan was one of the finest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. Yet when her ladies played at torturing him, it was too easy to be called sport. Jeyne and Talia had Barristan nearly on his knees in apology before she saved him, requesting that he escort her back to Jon.
"I'm nervous." She admitted to the older knight as they climbed to the upper deck. "Like my wedding day all over again."
"The best swordsmen are always wary." Barristan patted her arm. "Overconfidence is a failing. As is cowardice, yet you persevere. You might not wield a sword, your grace, but you're more sensible than most knights I've known. I believe the Targaryens will see that."
She wanted to believe Barristan yet she found herself wishing for some overconfidence when the island of Dragonstone appeared ahead of the Jaehaerys. A large volcano jutted from up the rocky isle and, upon its face, stood the Castle Dragonstone. The port they sailed towards had been a simple fishing village in Aegon the Conqueror's time. Now it was a sprawling town with guard towers and keeps dotting the harbor. What looked to be scores of ships were anchored there, nearly all flying the Targaryen banner.
The town itself was well ordered, its buildings and pillars made of black marble, the streets teeming with life as trumpets and bells announced their arrival. Ghost and Lady did not care for the noise, the two wolves pressing close to Mother and Arya as they held the twins.
When they docked a large carriage of foreign design and Highguard warriors awaited them. So while Robb and the rest of their companions were still sailing into the harbor, Jon and Sansa's party was spirited through the town. Arya took in the strange place with wide eyes, mother also displaying some curisouty as she peered out the carriage windows. Outside them Barristan and Uncle Brynden clung to either side of the carriage, on guard like the direwolves which followed behind.
Jon was holding her hand when their travels brought them to the dark fortress of Dragonstone. She had never seen a castle of its like in her life. Its black towers were carved in the shape of dragons using some sort of masonry beyond her grasp. Hundreds of gargoyles lined the walls and everywhere she looked there were dragons. The beasts were even carved into the gates that they passed beneath to enter the castle.
Two men awaited them without, taking Jon quite by surprise. One was a young man that Sansa nearly mistook for Aegon, with his silvery hair and handsome features. Yet this stranger was lankier and armored like a knight. His shield bore a black dragon on red, which she had a vague memory of from one of Maester Luwin's lessons. Before she could rightly remember it Jon moved towards the second man.
He was of middling age, with dyed purple hair and whiskers. She thought him of Valyrian descent and he wore armor similar to the Golden Legion yet plainer and dented from battle.
"Legate Qoherys." Jon saluted in the imperial fashion, which the stranger returned. "It is always good to see a man of the Ninth Legion. Though I thought you had retired from your command, Garmon?"
"Where Targaryens lead, House Qoherys follows, yes?" The man spoke the Common Tongue with a heavy Valyrian accent. He then gestured towards the inner castle. "High King, he wait inside. Happy to see the son again."
"His son and his family." The young knight added, his queer blue eyes blinking with nervousness. "Lord-Commander, princess, if you would follow us. The court awaits."
Jon eyed that one in a wary manner and she caught him hiding a hand behind his back, signaling Brynden in two swift movements. Whatever this meant caused her uncle to whisper something quickly to Barristan, whose expression was stern. She only caught one of her uncle's words as the men moved in close around them.
'Blackfyre.'
This knight is a Blackfyre? I thought the cult of pretenders was wiped out.
Why would Rhaegar have one with his court?
Her confusion only grew as they were led to a building carved into the shape of a huge dragon lying on its belly. Its tall doors were set in the dragon's stone mouth, which gave Sansa the sensation of being swallowed by the beast when they went inside.
They found a spacious hall within and their path ahead flanked by lines of Highguard warriors. Each of their number wore white cloaks and armor yet Sansa spotted all manner of men among them. Westerosi knights, Tyroshi bluebeards, Norvosi axemen, all quite ordinary compared to some others. There was a copper-skinned Dothraki who had a braid full of bells and a curved blade at his waist. Another man, possibly the tallest she had ever seen, wore a spider silk sash and watched her with coal black eyes. The oddest was a short, bowlegged man, whose large head peaked like a cone and bore only a single strip of hair down the center.
Some frightened her but she kept her face impassive. It helped to have Arya and her mother so close, and the twins in her arms. She held her head high as the three generations of Stark women passed the ranks of staring strangers.
No, not strangers. Subjects of the empire.
People you must learn to care for, should Jon become High King one day.
That was where their path took them. Straight to the High King of the Targaryen Empire.
The Targaryens awaited their coming on a raised marble platform. Around them stood three tall pillars, each with an obsidian statue of dragon atop it, their wings outstretched and mouths gaping. Sansa understood the feeling when she saw the king.
Rhaegar sat upon a black throne, handsomely garbed in purple silks as dark as the first signs of dawn. His crown was a simple gold band with different colored stones inset. Beneath it his hair was a lengthy, pale mane which fell to his chest. One of the king's hands was entwined with Lyanna's, who sat in a throne of her own at Rhaegar's side. Her aunt wearing her rose crown and a strained expression.
There were others on the platform too. More dragons eyeing her approach.
Aegon kept an awkward distance from a lithe woman with Dornish features who wore a bright red gown. She thought perhaps that to be Aegon's wife and Jon's half-sister, Rhaenys. Near to Rhaenys stood an ornately dressed man, who shared in Rhaegar's good looks, yet Sansa did not care for how his lip curled in a dismissive manner. Sansa named him Viserys but paid Jon's uncle less care than the odd pair closest to Rhaegar.
There an ancient, shrunken looking man sat in a simple wooden seat, peering about out with sightless eyes. He nodded now and again at whatever whispered words were spoken to him by the striking young woman to his side. She wore a billowing gown of violet, but its loveliness could not compare to her long, silver-blonde hair and aquiline features.
In this woman, Sansa saw the beauty of Old Valyria. This was Daenerys Targaryen, the princess that Jon had loved before her. A beauty who now smiled widely at Jon, in a manner that made Sansa want to take hold of her husband.
Yet she could not. Now was not the time for her to make any claims on Jon. Soon it would be him presenting her to the king.
When they halted in front of the platform, Sansa handed off the girls to Jon, who disappointed her by stirring some.
"They'll be fine." He whispered as she smoothed her skirts. "As will you. Sansa, you know this rite better than I by now-"
His words were lost as Ethan Glover stepped off of the platform, beating the end of his longaxe into the floor.
"Who comes before Rhaegar Targaryen, Highest of Kings?" Ethan demanded, his scarred face offering a small smile.
"His son!" Jon's Valyrian was spoken with elegance. "I am Jonarys Targaryen, a proud son of Summerhall and the empire. Raised beneath the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Wed to this woman, who I beg leave to present to my king. To my father."
"Let her be seen." Rhaegar's iron tones rang throughout the hall. "Let her stand before the dragons."
Sansa took hold of her skirts and walked on, leaving Jon and the girls behind. None could come with her. Not mother, nor Arya or Barristan, she had to do this alone. The brand on her back suddenly hurt as it had years ago. She feared it burned so bright it would be seen from beneath her gown. A mark to remind all of how unworthy she was to wed Jon or to kneel before the likes of the High King.
Yet she did so anyway, ignoring the instinct to lower her head as well. The Targaryen custom demanded that Sansa face the man who judged her. She watched as Jon's father rose from his throne, his violet eyes meeting hers.
"You are bold to meet my gaze." Rhaegar spoke firmly. "Who are you to do so? By what right do you challenge the blood of the Conqueror?"
"It is my right." Her words were careful, every bit of attention given to her accent. "I am Sansa Stark, born a daughter of the North. Now I am bound to a dragon. He names me a dragon. I embrace the power of fire and blood. I challenge any who would deny it."
"I am High King." Rhaegar began to descend the marble steps towards her, his fists raised before him. "You must bend to my will alone. You are loyal to me before all others. I am the power you must fear. I am the blood."
She spread out her arms but not in submission. Instead Sansa was meant to appear as if tempting the towering king to strike her.
"I serve my king, I kneel to my king, but a dragon is no slave. There is none I am more loyal to than my husband. He is the only dragonlord I shall ever have. For the rest of his days and mine. Until then we are together. Soaring as one."
Rhaegar paused above her, as silent as the hall itself, save for the fussing babes. She wanted to go to them, to be back with her family. Sansa thought she could see herself in the king's unyielding stare. A small thing, pretending to be something she wasn't.
"Sansa Stark." Rhaegar unclenched his fists and lowered his open hands down to her. "By the fire and blood which forged our realm, I raise you up. Whatever you were when you knelt, rise now a dragon of House Targaryen."
He took Sansa by her hands, which felt small in the king's grasp, and helped her rise. Rhaegar smiled to plant a kiss upon the back of her hand.
"Welcome to our family, my daughter." Rhaegar spoke softly in the Common Tongue. "Forgive my delay in saying so. Rituals and pretense must be served. Would it be alright if I kissed you as a father might?"
"I would be honored, your grace." She felt a blush climbing her cheeks when Rhaegar did so.
"Rhaegar, or father if you would allow." Rhaegar guided her to face Jon and the rest of the onlookers then. "Allow me to present Sansa Targaryen! Let all know that I look upon her as a daughter! That I name her a princess of the empire! To Princess Sansa!"
"Princess Sansa!"
Hundreds of voices answered in several accents. None as loud as Arya or Barristan, though even they could not best the shrill cries coming from the twins. Jon looked somewhat like an overwhelmed juggler as he tried to calm them.
"I'm sorry." She apologized to the king. "They are still very young and all the noise-"
"Look at my son." He sighed in a sad way. "I feared that I would never see him with children of his own… that he would die before ever knowing such joy. I thank you Sansa. You have my eternal gratitude. For this gift, for all my wife has said that you've done for my house and Jon. Might I meet my granddaughters now?"
The introductions fell to Jon again. He walked proudly with the twins in his arms, only wincing a little as Aemma's cries reached shrieking levels. The king was chuckling when Rhaegina was passed to him. The Targaryen rite for accepting the twins proved to be far simpler. Jon merely claimed each girl as his, and Rhaegar lifted one after the other into the air, shouting their names for all to hear.
"Rhaegina and Aemma Targaryen!" Rhaegar boomed. The applause that followed rose high enough to cover the girls' wailing for a moment.
Afterwards, she made to spare the king any more noise by taking Aemma from him but the High King waved her off.
"I've become accustomed to this sound again of late." Rhaegar said as Lyanna joined them, Aemon and Daenerys following after. "It will be just like it was at Summerhall, after you and I were crowned my love."
"I imagine it will." Lyanna said with little cheer as she made to kiss Jon and Rhaegina. "Though Dragonstone is no Summerhall, husband."
"After the war, Summerhall was dreary enough." Aemon's weathered voice added, his eyes moving about, trying to seek the source of the crying. "The little children made it a better place. I remember. It was common then to hear three little dragons, singing at once. Jon, Aegon, Daenerys. All babes, all born within a year of each other, all eager to be heard."
Daenerys laughed happily. "At least that will never change. Not like everything else it seems. Jon, Jon, Jon... you left a warrior and come back to us a father! Congratulations!"
The princess went straight to Jon, doing as Lyanna had done, kissing Sansa's husband, then her children. A pang of jealousy sprung in Sansa's heart, tainting the happy moment. She stamped that feeling down when Daenerys turned to her and curtsied in the Westerosi fashion.
"Congratulations, Sansa." Daenerys put a hand to Jon's arm. "You have a fine husband, and I've never seen such lovely little girls. I am almost jealous."
"You are too kind." Sansa answered in High Valryian. "As lovely as my daughters are, they are surely just as loud. I fear these tales of babes making a palace shake with their cries will be a bad influence on them. There's only two of them but they might be noisy enough for three."
It was meant to be a jest but no one laughed.
"They'll have help, trust me." Daenerys said before shooting a knowing look to Rhaegar. The king nodded and raised a hand to some unseen person at the edge of the hall. Jon shared Sansa's confusion in this.
"Why?" He asked, inclining his head to where Aegon, Rhaenys, and Viserys still stood watching on the platform. "Is Viserys going to pitch a fit over something?"
"Do be courteous, Jon." Rhaegar chided gently. "Remember what I taught you. Courtesy is important to a peaceful court. That is why Daenerys waited to do this until after your new wife and daughters had a moment to all their own."
Daenerys was smiling when the Highguard parted to allow a dusky-skinned, golden-eyed girl to pass. She carried a bundle of black cloth in such a way that Sansa knew it to be a babe. One Daenerys soon cradled and held out for all to see.
"Jon, I want you to meet my son."
His eyes were the color of amethysts. His hair as pale as the king's.
His demeanor as silent as Jon's.
Her husband, who now paled as he stared down at the child. Likely thinking the babe to be exactly what she feared.
Everything Sansa had failed to give him.
JON
All of Westeros lay before him.
The massive, painted table stretched from one end of the chamber to the other. It was carved in the shape of Westeros itself, a detailed map made to guide a conquest Jon's ancestor had abandoned in favor of a grander one.
"Would the Conqueror smile to see us now?" Aemon's voice carried over to him.
The old man was sitting near the northern part of the table, near to where the Wall was depicted. Aemon's words bid a grin to pull at the High King's mouth as he strolled along the other side. His father had summoned them both here, to the top floor of the Stone Drum. The large, rounded chamber had four tall windows facing the north, south, east, and west. Each offered an excellent view of Dragonstone's approaches and illuminated his father in the morning's heavenly glow.
"You and your brother brought us here." Father said, running his hand near to Lannisport. "My sons, waging war to establish a Targaryen realm here in Westeros. Something the first High King only ever dreamed of."
"The Conqueror wanted far more." Jon shook his head. "Look at this map, there are no borders. He sought to conquer all the Seven Kingdoms, not just one of them."
Aemon chuckled. "Balerion the Black Dread began as a mere egg. Our empire was born of this tiny island. Beginnings Jonarys. Humble beginnings for great things."
He pushed away from the table then, growing impatient. The summons had come at dawn, the steward finding Jon already awake in his chambers. That's where he had tried to sleep after the argument with Sansa, which proved to be a fool's errand. When the light of a new day broke he had hopes to mend what Daenerys had broken between them.
None of this is fair to Sansa, the burden should be mine to bear alone.
Not shared by my wife.
Sadly, Jon had no choice but to follow his father's messenger here. He had expected that matters regarding this new kingdom would call for his involvement, but never with such urgency. Setting things right with Sansa would have to wait, which made waiting on his mother even more maddening as father refused to speak on any issues of import until she arrived.
Something was off between his parents, Jon had sensed that during Sansa's presentation. Mother's smiles were strained, her demeanor towards father bordering on cold. Nor was she the only one in poor spirits among his family. The successes the High King and his sons enjoyed of late had left Viserys acting petty and jealous. Rhaenys's ire had been stoked as well, his sister begrudging father's welcoming of the High Septon and his Andal faith to the island, for her red god was a jealous one. Though her anger paled in comparison to Aegon's, who likely stormed about Dragonstone's keep in a black rage even now.
Aegon has reason to be angry. With Daenerys. With me. Even himself.
None of us are innocent in this.
Unlike Aegon's temper, the skies around Dragonstone were calm for once. The sun's golden rays lifted the bleakness from the rocky isle. A fine day for Jon to take his wife and children on a walk about the grounds... if Sansa would have him.
Those thoughts lingered still when the High Queen finally arrived. Her hair was done in two tight northern braids, her grey eyes refusing to even glance at her husband.
"Am I late?" Mother asked of no one in particular, making her way to Jon. "I do apologize, my rest was fitful. Unlike my last stay on Dragonstone, I could find little peace when I bed down."
"Peace?" Jon noted with surprise. "Mother, when you here a battle waged without. You nearly died birthing me."
"Yes, but when I held you in my arms for the first time... all that war and pain went far, far away. In the end we both survived. Aerys's fleet was broken and my little prince of Dragonstone slept against my breast. So quiet. So full of promise."
Father smiled at that. "Which you have lived up to, Jon. Time and time again. I will be honest, I did not sleep either. For the first time in a long while, I can sense House Targaryen on the cusp of something great. A feeling I could not wait to share."
"Then it was good we bedded in separate chambers." Mother shot father a sharp look that he endured in his stoic manner. This only fueled the queen's annoyance. "Did you tell him yet? Or did you wait to crush Jon in my presence? Why not gather his wife and babes here as well?"
"Lyanna…"
"Crush me?" Jon asked, mindful of how somber the room became. A worry began nagging at the back of his mind. "Father, you cannot mean to send me on another campaign? My service in the order is nearly done. I promised Sansa that we would be free of marches and war. I want-"
"Jon, Jon." The king came to grab his shoulders, steadying him. His father cupped his face, and his strength made Jon feel like a boy again. "May the gods of Old Valyria help give your family such a life. Let the Seven do the same. I would weep with joy to know my son had such happiness."
"We all would." Aemon spoke, rising from his seat with a wrinkled hand to his heart. "Remember that, and remember that your father knows your worth."
Mother cringed then, and father released him. The king's eyes were twin storms of purple turmoil. None of which made sense to Jon.
"So I will not be sent to war?"
"No my son. I swear, you will never again be commanded to war on my behalf." Father spoke in iron tones. "Not by me or my successor."
The words were so welcome that it took him a moment to comprehend what he heard. When the meaning sunk in he spoke to it without hesitation.
"You've made your choice, then." Jon said numbly. "Aegon will be named heir. You will support him and not me."
Father's nod was a small one. "That is how it must be. With my approval, and his support on the council... Aegon will be named heir within the year."
He was surprised at how much it hurt to hear that. The crown had never appealed to Jon. It was forever a duty that his mother and others pushed him toward. What hurt more was his father judging his two sons... and finding Jon wanting.
"A fine choice, your grace." He managed to salute his father. "May your reign be long, and Aegon's longer still."
"We must hope so." The High King became grim. "Know that this decision was not made lightly. The empire enters a difficult time. Possibly one of its darkest."
Aemon tapped his cane. "Today we have victories, glory. Tomorrow our enemies will rise again. The Dothraki grow bolder. The Ghiscari seek alliances with Qarth and Asshai. Then there are the threats from within the empire."
"Rebellion? Treason?" Jon was startled by the thought.
"Perhaps." Father answered. "There are those who dislike how I rule. Others who dream of an end to the empire and a land of free cities. To survive, the empire will need unity. You inspire fierce loyalty among your men, Jon, yet they are few. Aegon has earned the love of many across the entirety of the realm."
"Like slavers." Mother's tone was ice cold. "Lyseni money lenders. Warmongers. The worst of the empire-"
"And the best." Jon's words were as much a surprise to himself as they were to his mother. "Archons, triarchs, legates, many fine men hold great esteem for Aegon, more than me. They would follow him. As will I, when the day comes."
That was his duty after all. He would not play the selfish fool and lead the Targaryens into another dance over petty differences between him and Aegon. Things were broken between them now, but they were blood before anything else. Such wounds could heal with time.
He is my brother. I will always be loyal to him.
May he feel the same for me.
"Lyanna, look at our son." Father clasped the side of his head, a touch of tenderness quite rare of the king. "Clever, noble... and true. You shall make a fine king, Jon. Better than me, of this I have no doubt."
He blinked. "King? Father, you just said Aegon would be-"
"The next High King, yes. Aegon will inherit my realm, but you shall rule another. A kingdom of your own."
His father took hold of Jon and brought him before the table, running his hand over their new holdings in Westeros.
"This is what I give to you, my son. The burden of a crown. The power of a king. Freedom from any other's rule. A new beginning."
"A realm apart." Aemon shuffled over to his side. "Something we have not seen before. A union of Westeros and the Targaryen Empire, yet beholden only to the lands and people it calls its own. Capable of building a better legacy than its parents."
"Which will be a challenge but one we trust you to overcome." Father spoke as much to him as to mother. "Jon, you were born to rule this kingdom. Destined for greatness."
"These people won't have me." He shook his head, remembering the war and all his follies. "They call me Kingslayer. I burned half these lands and the other half names me the murderer of kings. One of them a child."
Aemon put a shaky hand on his arm. "Aegon the Conqueror did worse, I assure you. Thousands of noblemen and their beloved leaders, fathers, brothers, sons, all killed in the conquest. The survivors still knelt and did fealty to him. And he is still remembered fondly for his great accomplishments."
"He had dragons-"
"And you will have allies." Father pointed to the north and south parts of the map. "The Martells and the Starks here in Westeros, the empire across the Narrow Sea. We need these lands to settle the newly freed, so should you be in need, we shall be there."
"The Dark Order will stay with you." Mother broke her silence, breathing deeply and crossing her arms. "For a time at least, I insisted on that. Rhaegar is also sending Garmon Qoherys and thousands of other veterans here. They shall settle the lands you give them, to tend and protect your kingdom, their swords and spears loyal to their new king. A better king."
"We can only hope." Father replied, to which mother shook her head.
"No, we can do more than that. We can help."
The three royals all began to speak in earnest then. They discussed what other resources Jon would have to build his rule here in Westeros. Of gold and loans, ships and craftsman, all things that would come in the future. Yet his mind was stuck on the problems that he faced in the present. He thought of the past, and all the actions which brought him here.
"Sansa." His words interrupted their conversation, all three turning to him. "I must speak to my wife."
They would make her a queen. Queen of a fragile realm in a land prone to war.
This is not the life I promised her… would she even want it?
"That can wait." Father admonished him like a child. "Robb Stark and Arianne Martell must be told first, to respect your alliances. Much needs to be discussed with the High Septon as well. I underestimated his cunning. He wrangled many promises from me before he would agree to anoint you as King of-"
"Are you set on naming me king?" Jon interrupted his father. Something few dared to do and never in such a tone. "Ruler of a free kingdom?"
"I would have no other rule such a realm."
"Then I do not need your leave to seek my wife." He met his father's gaze. "Sansa should have been here. If we are to discuss her fate and that of our children. Sansa has earned that much."
His parents were stunned when he left their side. He wore no crown but he felt its weight in that moment. Something he would not burden Sansa with like he had so much of late. He strode by the Highguard at the door and was halfway down the dark stone corridor when he heard the tapping.
"Jonarys." Aemon's voice called down to him, the small man leaning heavily on his cane as he followed after. "Jon, dear boy. Would you begrudge the company of an old man?"
He would. Aemon had a hand in much of the woes that had awaited Jon at Dragonstone. There was little doubt in Jon's mind that the old man had helped push father into naming him king as well. Growing up, Aemon had been like a grandfather to him. A teacher. Someone to respect.
Now he saw Aemon for what he really was. A puppet master of sorts, pulling all their strings, having them dance to a tune of his making. All while blind to the world and making Jon feel much the same.
Following Dany's revelation in the hall, every bone in Jon's body had yearned to learn the truth of her son's parentage. Sansa was no fool. When that boy was presented in that manner, with no father being named, she shared the same thoughts as him.
That this could be his child.
She barely accepted that Dany and I were once lovers…
Andals and First Men... they think themselves so different from each other, yet in this they are exactly the same.
To them, sex outside of marriage is a sin and a folly… and I might have proved that last part correct.
Much was wrong in how things unfolded after the hall. He was forced to separate from Sansa and rather than meeting with just Dany, Jon found himself cramped and crowded in Aemon's chambers. The blind man's presence was odd, yet Aegon took up Jon's full attention, his temper flaring before Daenerys could even start explaining.
"Why? Why must you always be so defiant!?" Aegon had demanded of her, cursing to see Jon and Aemon present at well. "Don't you dare, Jon! If you try and steal this from me, I swear-"
"Jon has stolen nothing from you!" Dany had bared her teeth in fury at Aegon. "You might think everything you want is yours by rights, but not me! Not again, Aegon! Not my son! Never my son!"
That Aegon laid claim to Dany's child was no surprise. His brother had long wished for a son, and lusted for Daenerys longer still. Evidently they'd reconciled at some point following Dany and Jon's last night together. That peace had clearly fractured as Aegon and Dany continued to battle. A conflict Jon was eventually drawn into.
"Is that my son?" Jon had cut through their shouting. "Dany please, tell me honestly, is that child mine?"
"Baelyon." She whispered, her hands at her middle. "His name is Baelyon and he is mine. Before anyone else's, he is mine."
That answer did little to impress him, nor Aegon. His brother accused Jon of trying to steal his son, to make up for the one that Sansa had failed to give him. That had nearly led them to blows.
It was all nonsense in the end. In truth, he would be happy if the boy was Aegon's. If Jon was the father, he would have no choice but to care for the child. A duty which would shame him, for it would hurt Sansa more. He knew he would care for such a son nonetheless, it was his way. So for Sansa's sake more than anyone, he wanted the babe to be Aegon's. To be anyone's but his.
Which turned out to be the case.
"The child is mine." Aemon had startled Aegon and Jon both, pressing them apart with his cane. "I am to be father to Daenerys's son."
"Have you gone mad, uncle?" Aegon had asked and Aemon clucked in disappointment.
"My brother Aerion was mad. As was your grandfather, Aerys. Not I. Not quite yet. So hear me well, the both of you. Baelyon Targaryen is my son."
Aegon scowled, and Jon had found it hard to believe as well, even when Dany moved to Aemon's side.
"No Aegon, it is not nonsense. Aemon has adopted Baelyon as his son and heir. Rhaegar has already granted his imperial seal to the adoption. To spare the imperial family any further scandal."
Things made more sense after that. Aemon was not claiming to have fathered Dany's son, but by all the laws of the empire, the babe would be his lawful child. Such a thing was a common arrangement for older statesmen with no children of their own. It was a way to keep their estates within the family and reinforce old alliances. As Aemon's son, Baelyon could inherit fine manses and the position of triarch of Valysar.
Jon saw the wisdom in such an arrangement, but hearing the news broke something within Aegon.
"Daenerys, why?" Aegon had reached for her, tears glistening in his eyes. "When I saw the boy… I-I could feel it. I knew. Why have Aemon pretend to be his father when I am right here? Just tell me the truth. Let me know that boy is mine-"
Dany had pulled away from him, her face wrinkled in disgust.
"All you care about is what you can claim. I trust Aemon. Do not pretend that my son would be anything more to you than some pawn in this game of thrones that you like to play with Jon. Either of you could be Baelyon's father, and neither of you will ever use him. If that upsets you seek out your wife. Or your mistress. Just not my son. His only father will be Aemon."
"Dany…"
Aegon looked torn between rage and heartache at her words. Jon remembered him looking much the same when Dany ended their first relationship. Aegon had departed Summerhall without a word to join the Golden Legion after that, just as he had departed Aemon's chambers, slamming the chamber door behind him.
"You must think the worst of me." Dany had said after a moment, looking to Jon with a strange detachment.
"No more than you do of me it seems." Jon replied, trying to tamp down his annoyance. "I would not use your son to gain the council's favor, Dany. I am not Aegon. I thought you knew that."
"But you could. When I learned I was with child, I knew what would happen. I saw it in my dreams, many a restless night. If I were to name either of you as Baelyon's father, the council could choose an heir based simply on that. I would not let my son become the kingmaker. "
"Or a target of war." Aemon's grim tone sent a shiver through Jon. "I have lived long enough to see how easily we Targaryens can turn on one another. Let the boy do as I have done, become an observer rather than a player in this game. I can protect Baelyon. Offer him a good life, a peaceful one. Could you do the same?"
"I will give my daughters that kind of life." Jon had returned, evading Dany's attempt to take his hand. "Do you truly have no idea if the boy is mine?"
Dany paused and glanced to the door then, a brief betrayal of the truth he suspected. Yet one that she refused to give voice to.
"All men want to claim what is mine. If Baelyon was yours, you would want to raise him, as your mother's Northern honor dictates. And Aegon, he... he's good deep inside, but he can be so jealous at times and... and if he believed Baelyon to be his son... I just know he would snatch my boy away from me... force me to wed him…"
She was right. If Dany named Aegon the father of her child, by law he had the rights to take the boy away and raise him in any way he saw fit. A part of Jon wanted to think his brother could never do such a thing to Dany. Yet Aegon had disappointed him before.
"All of that is harder for Aegon to do if Baelyon is named my heir." Aemon had finished for her. "Not impossible though. Hence your role in this Jonarys. Aegon's desire for a son is great, but his pride is greater. He would never move to take the boy if there was a chance... any doubt... that Baelyon is another man's son..."
Aemon had taken hold of Jon's arm then, just as he did now in the stairwell of the Stone Drum.
"This changes nothing." Aemon whispered as they climbed down the winding steps. Each step was a possible broken hip for his uncle if Jon did not steady him. "With Daenerys. With the boy. You understand this?"
"It could." Jon had already thought on this. "I am to be a king, uncle. With a kingdom of my own. Dany and Baelyon could live here, someplace where they would be happy. I could protect them, the truth could be known, and I would-"
"Risk the wrath of the next High King." Aemon wheezed some. "It is the doubt that protects the boy. By refusing to claim or deny the child, you shield him. Like these walls once shielded you."
That wasn't what Jon wanted to hear. Mostly since they confirmed his own arguments against using the new kingdom to host Dany. And he knew Sansa wouldn't have welcomed that solution at all. Sansa knew the truth of this plot, and she made her disdain of it plain. Aemon could reason all he wanted, but none of that eased the hurt that Jon did to Sansa in accepting his role in Baelyon's life.
Whisperers will name me his father. Baelyon Targaryen. My bastard son.
Tales that already do Sansa harm.
After he and Aemon parted ways, it was Sansa whom he sought. She was not in her chambers, instead he found Catelyn minding the twins. The queen was courteous when answering his queries yet he sensed that she might be one of those thinking the worst of him now.
His search took him to the best part of the castle, Aegon's Garden. Built near to the arch of the Dragon's Tail, it was a lovely place. Tall trees and wild roses grew to all the sides of the walls. His mother had told him once that she would bring him here as a newborn, to enjoy the smell of pines and remind herself of the distant north.
Many were enjoying the garden this morning, far more than he expected. Two parties of ladies sat upon blankets, watching a sparring match. Sansa was with Arya, Talia, and Myrcella on one, while Arianne Martell shared hers with Tyene, Sarella, and Gwyneth Yronwood, her goodsister. No one noticed him at first, their eyes all locked on Gendry as he sparred against the Blackfyre knight.
"Daegon Blackfyre." The High King had named him. "A hedge knight Varys reached out too. I lifted his exile in hopes that he could be of use to us. The Blackfyres once held great influence. He represents the last of that line."
A long line of rebels and fanatics as far as Jon knew. He saw little of that now though as Daegon and Gendry battled. Daegon's face was calm, his strikes careful and defense firm whenever Gendry launched an attack. Both wore light armor, suitable for training. Ser Barristan watched with an appraising eye while Ser Olyvar whispered observations to Jeyne as they stood beneath a tree together.
Sansa believed they made a handsome couple. She expected Olyvar to write Winterfell any day now, begging leave of Vayon Poole to wed Jeyne. Something his wife welcomed more than she did Jon's arrival before the women.
"Ladies." He bowed as Sansa averted her eyes from him. "I was not aware the garden had become a training yard."
"Things change quickly these days, my lord." Arianne laughed. Her smile was warm but her eyes were sharp as she brushed back some of her long, lustrous black hair away from her buxom form. "Your wife invited us to break our fast with a picnic. I thought we should liven things up more. Add some spice to our meal."
"A pleasant distraction." Sansa added, moving to fix Arya's hair some. "Gendry was kind to agree to the match. You should have given him your favor, Arya."
"Why?" Arya blushed. "It's not a tourney. They're just poking each other with practice swords. He's best with his hammer anyways."
"He would be pleased if you say so." Jon said quickly, trying to help Sansa ease the awkwardness between Arya and Gendry. "My brother might not act like it, but he's a glutton for compliments. Especially from fair maidens."
"Brother?" Gwyneth eyed him in confusion. "I thought Captain Gendry was King Robert's son."
"He is." Myrcella spoke softly, pulling at her golden hair as Gendry pushed some coal-black locks off of his sweaty brow. "Anyone can see that."
"Queen Myrcella is right." He said. "Gendry is King Robert's son, but my mother found and raised him like he was her own blood. We grew up together, fought together. He will forever be a brother to me."
Gwyneth brightened then. "Oh! So he was a ward. Like Quentyn was to my father before we wed."
"Well, not exactly-"
"Targaryens do things differently." Sansa's voice was sharper than she probably intended. "Their ways can be strange. Foreign. Hard to understand-"
"Ow!" Arya cried out before slapping Sansa's hands away. "Gods, Sansa. Keep that up and I'll be as bald as Rhaegina."
After Sansa muttered an apology, he begged a chance to speak with her in private. He feared for a moment that she would reject him but she proved herself the better person. Soon enough, they had disappeared together to a small corner of the garden. He pointed out the rarer flowers as they went, the ones brought from Valyria which survived the Doom itself, hoping to pique her curiosity. Sansa merely nodded, following in silence until he believed they had privacy.
When he stopped, Sansa continued on to a rosebush, admiring it in an idle manner.
"I met with my parents this morning." He said, causing her hand to pause just above the petals of one rose.
"So that's where you were. I sought you at first light and could not find you. I wondered if you'd slept there at all."
"Where else would I..."
She thinks I would go to Dany. That I could share another's bed when all I wanted last night was to be in her's.
I want nothing more than her.
"People are already whispering." Sansa made a fist at her side, her shoulders tensing. "Spreading that woman's lies, tarnishing your name. Has she no shame? She forces my husband to perform some mummery for the sake of a child you believe to be Aegon's. Mother and Robb both asked me about it-"
"What did you say?" He pressed her, already unhappy at how loud her words grew near the end. "Sansa, I asked you to never speak of this to anyone."
"I told them the truth!" Sansa snapped. "That as far as I'm concerned, you are father to our daughters. How they are the only children you owe any duty to. Not Daenery's bastard, never him. That's all they need to know."
It was a relief to hear her say so, yet her harshness towards Baelyon tore at his heart. His wife was a gentle, caring soul, and he had pushed her too far. He could have excluded Sansa from the lie, let her think the worst of him. Had the girls been born as boys, he might have. Yet that would be too cruel. To allow Sansa to believe that Dany had given him the son that she did not.
What was his was hers, that was Jon's vow before the sept, so he had shared the truth with Sansa. She was given no choice in playing along though. Strangers had once died outside these walls to protect him as babe. He would do no less for his newborn cousin.
"The boy is my blood, Sansa." He spoke brusquely. "That's all anyone need know. Let them see how I only act as a father to our children. My daughters. That is truth enough."
Sansa said nothing more to that. Her fingers moved deftly over the leaves and petals of the roses. When they slid down the stem of one, her thumb lingering about a thorn, he feared she might hurt herself. Perhaps worse than he already had.
"Is that what King Rhaegar wished to discuss?" Sansa asked, thumbing the thorn. "The boy? I saw Aegon this morning. He was most displeased."
My brother will have plenty of reason to be happy soon enough.
"I am not to be my father's heir."
The words came out so plainly that they almost sounded like jest. Sansa was in no jesting mood however. She spun about so quickly her skirts twirled some and he thought of their first dance at Winterfell. Sansa had smiled for him then. Now her eyes were widened in disbelief, her sweet lips twisted in shock.
"Aegon." He went on. "It is to be him, if the council agrees. Which they will."
"Oh, Jon… I'm-I'm sorry." Sansa took a small step toward him "This is so sudden… Lyanna led me to believe that such a decision would be years away."
"My father has his reasons."
"Was it…" Sansa lowered her eyes and wrung her hands then. "Was it something I did during the ceremony? Our marriage? Did he wish you had wed another?"
"No Sansa, that has-"
"Is it the girls then?" She raised her chin up proudly, yet her voice was heavy with sadness. "After the hall, your father seemed so taken with them that I thought… I can still give you a son, Jon. Not one made of whispers. Tell your father I can, please…"
He closed the space between them and took hold of her hips, the touch sending a jolt through him. This was not a touch of lust though. His pull brought her a step closer so that there was no chance of her mishearing his words.
"None of this, not one bit, is about you and the girls. Who I am, and what I did long before I met you, these things made the decision for my father. Heed me, Sansa. Father bears you no ill will. In truth, he wants to make you a queen."
Like it was for him in the tower, it was Sansa's turn to be baffled. He explained it all the best he could. It was strange. They had come to Dragonstone with so much uncertainty surrounding their future. Now that the High King's plans and their role in them had been made clear, Jon could not say he felt any more assured. Their futures would soon be tied to the fate of a kingdom built on the ashes of another.
A reality that Sansa accepted with such swiftness it baffled him.
"Where shall you rule from?" Sansa pressed two fingers pressed to her lower lip. "Will it be Storm's End?"
"Never." He would not abide returning Sansa to her former prison. "Somewhere else."
"Dragonstone then?" She asked, but he realized then that he wasn't sure if the island would be counted among his domains or remain with the empire. "No, it will not do. It is far too removed. Your name is spreading, Jon, but to most you are still a stranger. Your lords must learn to love you. Renly had more men than Stannis and Joffrey because he lured them to Tumbleton first. It was easy to reach and bustled with life. He held feasts and jousts- "
"This is what you want?" He asked, searching Sansa's eyes for fear. Instead they appeared lively and bright. "I can reject the crown if you want. Insist on some quiet life in the empire, if that's what you would like."
Sansa put her hands to his chest, running her fingers over his doublet as her brow furrowed in thought.
"This is not the crown that Lyanna wanted for you. We spent so long talking about you being High King. I wanted that for you. The idea of the empire scared me, but in my heart, I know you would make a good kin. If you cannot be a king of the empire, then I wouldn't deprive Westeros a ruler of your like."
"I am the Kingslayer-"
"Stop that." Sansa snatched at his chin, her usually tender touch now firm and unyielding. "Daenerys already has you pretending to be something you're not. Don't add to it. Take the crown, husband. You have my blessing."
"I want more than that." He took one of her hands and tried to ignore how unsure Sansa acted at his touch. "I need you as my queen Sansa. To rule by my side. To be the one I trust most. This must be our reign. Yours and mine."
These were no idle words. If this kingdom were to have any chance at success, it would depend on Sansa. She knew the lords, the customs, and she him better than most.
Father sees me as the union of the Targaryen Empire and Sunset Kingdoms, but he's wrong.
I am a son of the empire first and foremost. My wife is a daughter of Westeros.
It is in our children that my father's dream is made reality.
"I swore vows." Sansa held his hand in her soft grasp. "We share in all things now. Whether fair or foul. Winter is coming, and when it does, I shall be at your side."
He wished to kiss Sansa then. To embrace his wife tight and show her what such words meant to him. Yet Sansa made no move to close the gulf between them and he would not force it.
Enough had been asked of her and more was surely to come. He settled for presenting Sansa his arm, to lead her back to the Stone Drum. His parents were waiting for them there, their future kingdom as well.
"I would check in on Aemma and Rhaegina first." Sansa took his arm in a formal way, a small smile breaking free. "If my king would not mind a delay to see our little princesses."
"He would welcome it." His heart bid him to say. "To hold both pride and joy in his arms."
"And do his queen's bidding."