Disclaimer: All plot, setting, characters, and etc. of A Song of Fire and Ice/Gameof Thrones belong to George R. R. Martin. No money is being made off this piece of fiction.
Author's Notes: Parts of this has been in the backburner which basically I re-wrote for self-gratification and do some fanfic writing exercises after my long hiatus. Advise me if I mistake any ASoIaF terminology. No beta reader so far.
Credits: photo cover entitled You Win Or You Die by VeilaKs-Wallpapers
Summary: Again and again, Jon Snow's soul lived, died and is reborn in alternate universes. Then, it is the game of thrones all over again. This time, Jon Snow reborn Visenya II bloody Targaryen will play by her own rules.
Warnings: Jon Snow is reincarnated in multiple universes, and is reborn as Visenya II, broken yet she is trying to fix herself & Westeros, R plus L equals J&V, meaning twin!fic, Rhaegar Lives, so did his kingsguards: Ser Arthur Dayne & Oswell Whent, Vermax's Eggs under Winterfell, one egg that hatched is a hydra, the dragon must have 3 heads is NOT a metaphor, Prophecy of the Prince that Was Promised, Fix-It Alternate Universe–Canon Divergence, Magic is back BECAUSE of Visenya II, she is BAMF, Viserys III is redeemed, Ser Willem Darry Lives, bit OOC or aged up slightly, Aemon is Visenya II's dragon knight, twins' platonic devotion just to be clear, pairings are not the main point, lots of implied hints of romance at least, shenanigans with the twins' band of misfits is abound, Wish Fulfillment, to the extreme, author finds tagging spoils a lot
Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken
But you, Lord Snow, you'll be fighting their battles forever."
Coming from a bitter Targaryen loyalist, Alliser Thorne, those scornful words has cursed Jon Snow's life.
Including Jon Snow's third life, Yohan the son he never was to the lone Dragonrider, Murtagh.
Yohan died a premature death in that lifetime.
And is reborn in the fourth life, Kurosaki Ryuu, an apprentice of Emiya Shirou.
Kurosaki Ryuu died with a smile on his lips while defending his comrades.
The fifth life is in the afterlife, as Ulquiorra Cifer, a wandering soul lost in Hueco Mundo for hundreds of years.
And once more is reborn as Yazoo through the super-soldier experiments of Doctor Hojo inside Midgard's walls.
Yazoo is hunted down in that life.
Both seventh and eight lives are magical numbers. Lives that are trapped as Jon Snow once more in several loops which are best not to be remembered in the next life.
His next life is spared for he had forgotten his past lives, and fortunately, for him, so did the lives that follow after the ninth life. None of these reincarnations' memories in many alternate universes are remembered in present lives.
After all, living over and over again can wear anyone down until they are broken.
The ill twist of fate though, has other plans.
A gasp comes out from the small figure on the bed. Disoriented, the lone figure's eyes looked around the familiar surroundings with uncertainty. Then with a hiss of pain and gritting teeth, the figure's body recoils from the wave of memories that storm from within the mind.
JonSnow's-Jaeherys'-Aemon's-Yohan's-Ryuu's-Ulquiorra's-Yazoo's-and other counterparts' own memories: devoted love for his family; thirst for recognition and approval; sweat and tears; nights without an hour of rest; days toiling in learning-labor-sparring; joy of acceptance; victory after victory; faces of rivals and enemies that haunted his dreams; pain of loneliness; rejection; raw emotions from being left behind; breaking of bonds; running away; struggling hope; solitude of distance; new chances; the reunions; utter defeat; fighting back; determination; his will after death, and so on…
The painful rush of memories is bewildering. The pain soars in heights one cannot describe in words. Every seconds give the impression that years has passed rather than one torturous moment.
The warmth from the inside gets more and more real, warmer and warmer. Until, it is hot and hotter and has become unbearable.
Then unexpectedly, it is dosed by cold, freezing water and a crippling sensation of needles in millions prickling the skin. Feeling trapped and drowned, like a roaring force grappling with ferocious strength pounding all over—a sense of being strangle and pinned down by some invisible force. The intensity it plagues is both raging and unforgiving.
The next thing that happens is confusing. Everything is trampled down completely gone. It's like the sense of being in the void of nowhere and nothing.
After a few minutes of resting from the assault of both memories, and cursing Fate and both old and new gods for the nth time, eyes silently peruses the new body through the sense of touch. The face is cherubic with big, midnight black curls that reach past the waist of a five namedays girl, Lyarra Snow.
Of course, she thinks dryly, it is the Game of Thrones all over again. And the Silver Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen had always wanted a girl, his beloved Visenya to complete the set of three heads of a dragon.
Next, a grimace and a tick decorate her features when a sudden thought occurs to hi-her as a quick glance—with a quick review in the present memories which gives her the recognition—to her twin brother, Jon Snow.
No. She corrects herself. Her twin could be originally named as Aemon or Jaeherys Targaryen sleeping on the other bed.
A vice grips her heart from this irony and protectiveness, remembering her first life.
How lucky that you know nothing, little brother.
She sighs wearily, ignoring the impending Prophecy and instead focuses in the present. Twitching her fingers, and wiggling her toes she waits for the signs of hysteria that will be the end of her control. She feels the weight of her body as if it anchors this reality, her reality, and the comprehension of who she is supposed to be.
"Visenya the Second bloody Targaryen."
Apparently, the gods fulfilled said Prince's wish when it suited their purpose.
And who could do it better than the heart and soul who has lived and remembered multiple lives?
The longer she thinks about it, the more tired (as Jon/Jaehaerys/Aemon), annoyed and frustrated (as Visenya) she felt
Why is she here in Westeros? Again? As Visenya the Second? With a twin brother to boot?
What was she supposed to do? Fix it all? Once more?
Must she even have to give a damn at all?
03. Lyarra Snow
This is how her day starts: Too young and innocent to endure the scornful looks, the whispers, the sheer amount of loathing to a bastard child.
And yet young Visenya, who everybody knows in Winterfell as Lyarra Snow remains indifferent in facing most of the should-be-dead people who knows nothing but the present day chores. Much of her concern belongs to her sweet little brother. A brother, whose smiles have become as rare as a shooting star these days.
In the deepest depths of her scarred heart, Lyarra could not help but hate this people. Despite the looming prophecy, she does not understand why it takes two orphan children to save the entire Westeros from the Children's self-fulfilling annihilation.
In the night, it starts with random projections.
It comes to her through dreams.
There is an island under a bright summer sun, or rather islands on the azure waters. Cities built on layered terraces. A wall made of trees and roads lit by shining gold or pathways of divided water. Sparkling bejewelled towers with windows so gigantic dragons can easily get in and get out.
She dreams of flying on top of the cities, deciduous forest, mountainous peaks, and sea green waters with her brother and other flyers. Laughing while walking with Aemon as people of various races passes by them with welcoming smiles of camaraderie.
If that is what heaven looks like Lyarra wants to live in it.
Is it too much to want that?
She dreams and dreams.
In the deepest part of her jaded heart, she hopes…
And then promptly pushes that thought away, too. (Jon Snow has long since given up on wanting truly impossible things. Like unconditional love and acceptance.)
Except she refuses to sit idly by the sideline.
If my twin brother has to become the Prince That Was Promise, Lyarra thinks grimly, I have to do things to arm ourselves and what better help can anyone ask for than the magical creature that breathes fire in this thrice-damned game of thrones?
With this decisive purpose, Lyarra seeks for Vermax's eggs and find the eggs which are heavily guarded by familial runes that only one with both Targaryen blood and Stark blood can open under the deepest spring of Winterfell's underground crypts.
(She remembers…an advantage that she counts as a blessing.
Once a magical half-blood sorcerer of Russian origin with one Dark Lord breathing down his neck who seeks the answer to obtain immortality, the quest made of runes is nearly easy for her.)
Bloodying herself with a Valyrian dagger which she founds beneath the stone pillar. Lyarra drips her blood over the familial runes. She half expects something dramatic like a cave-in of sorts when she has the obtained the eggs and is slightly disappointed that nothing happens.
However, something else happens.
One of the eggs cracks open.
Dragons inside their eggs are supposed to slumber.
But what does she knows?
It took a while for her to come back to the reality.
"Well, hello." Lyarra greets quietly to the hatchlings of one snowy white scaled body that finds shelter on her lap even as the cold draconic primary colored eyes lock onto hers.
They are barely a moment old.
The fast-tracking inspection of intelligent eyes however, begs to differ.
…They are not like the others. Or even the direwolves. They actively look for me.
A dragon inside the egg is supposed to slumber and is supposed to stir into full awareness when they sense their Chosen is near them or if they bother to stay fully conscious while still inside their eggs. That is a fact from Yohan's life.
In Westeros blood magic is involved to quicken the selection like Daenerys from Jon Snow's first life did.
…Magic. Bloodmagic. The eggs have been awakened by her dismantling of the runes.
The three-headed dragon nudges her hand with their snouts to get her attention, she shivers as ice-cold water that burns and tingles her skin as the bond snaps into her heartstring. This comprehension makes her feel a heady kind of sensation with the honor of being chosen by them. (Yohan before did not get chosen by one of the eggs. He died prematurely and by accidental magic, but his studies remain in her memories.)
Hydra, Lyarra recalls with fascinated alarm, they are called can be a grounder or winged three-headed dragons or cut of its head and it will multiply. Most importantly, dragons are frighteningly sentient creatures that have the right to be selective in choosing his or her rider. The Dragonriders. The Dragonlords. The Dragonborns. Come again. For the darkness has comes, and yet the legend yet grows…
The three-headed hydra chirp and warble and chirrup matching hear peals of hysterical laughter.
Even as hatchlings, the three-headed hydra has each of their own personality. Also, it must be temporary insanity to name them after their namesake from Yazoo's memories.
From right, the yellow-eyed one is named Angeal, for being big-hearted and the voice of reason.
From left, the red-eyed one is named Genesis, for his mildly hot-headed temper and vanity.
In the middle, the sea-green-eyed is named Sephiroth, for his cold cunning logic and sombre leadership.
Their minds quickly formed a circle around hers, interweaving, creating partner of heart-and-mind bonds, creating… something new.
Lyarra hopes history will remember this trio of hydra very well.
Once outside the crypts, Lyarra looks up to inspect any signs of falling red star on the skies.
There is none of that prophesized phenomena.
From the back of her mind, she unmistakeably feels the attention of something otherworldly from the godswood.
What did this mean for her?
Why are they interfering now and not before?
Since her hydra hatched, an itch has grown stronger.
She begins to feel this itch after she remembers. An itch in Lyarra that never settles down, that she tucks it in behind her thoughts but it's always been there.
When she is once again aware of her rare circumstances of other counterparts, it's simple to ignore the itch, for she has a lot of things to do:
1. Maintain her Ice Princess persona for her twin brother's protection.
2. Re-orienting her magic, mentality and physicality to its full capacity. Harry Potter is not one of her counterparts, but there is one person who is parallel to him. Another candidate to Sybil's prophesy (other lives' memories never seem to stop on coming.)
3. Bonding with her hydra and training them (magic hides them very well).
4. Preparation for winter. She can't help much of the other families of the North. Her bastard status chained her within acceptable boundaries coughcougcough Catelyn Tully.
Pretty much occupied by her to-do list, Lyarra's attention is fully diverted to fruitful endeavour.
That is why she ignores the itch until she no longer could.
She lives with cold gazes and blank stares and dark whispers when her back is turned, children whose parents pull them by the hand to avoid her and Aemon as if they are contagious.
Jon Snow has once lived with this cruel indifference.
Now Lyarra and Visenya has to live it all over again. Ned Stark reserved affection, Robb's awkward fondness, Arya's cautious regard (her younger cousin always have good instincts), and Bran who adored her and Aemon are never enough.
Can anyone fault her to distance herself by pulling the Ice Princess persona?
Visenya is one greedy dragon.
And she is tootiredtiredtired to prove herself once again even a she shields Aemon from the worst of the judgmental eyes and cold proud hearts and bitter loneliness.
And yet it continues to ache and hurt her battered heart.
At first, Lyarra has been unable to actually tell what is going on.
Second, she speculates the source is her bond with her hydra. For throughout the many lives she remember while moons comes and goes in Winterfell, one of the many things that is constant is her love for fantasy readings that dealt empathic and telepathic bonds between humans and animals or creature of magical kinds that are within her area of interest.
Third, is her realization of dragon dreams. Oh, nonono.
But then she has learnt to tell them apart and recognized the patterns.
She senses a kind of new intelligence, a presence behind the dreams. Strong, primal, aggressive and territorial, it is a strange kind of pressure growing in the back of her head. It kind of feels like an invasion if not a tentative kind of probing her.
With this realization, she panics quietly remembering the madness visions lead to. Her own male sire is the proof. Rhaegar and his obsession with prophecy. Then there is Daenys the Dreamer. The Doom of Valyria…
A vast sort of all consuming grief that continues to mourns surrounds her, the ancient and untouchable presence in the dreams is half-crazed and its seering grief agonizingly burns.
She finds in numbed disbelief that Valyria, the Fallen kingdom is set ablaze by itself.
She somehow feels the sheer fury of disillusionment from the presence as Valyria destroys itself.
Volcanoes erupt with breathing fire.
The precious thousands die in confused terror and disbelieving abandonment.
The near extinction of dragons and deaths of thousands creatures of magic.
The loss of ancient wisdom and knowledge accumulated from the past.
The once azure seas stain crimson.
She hears a gut wrenching sound of a wounded animal howling in pain wailing in devastating waves. No small amount of guilt and remorse amplified its misery and regret.
She can only look in horror as Valyria self-destructs.
It is like the Planet and her Weapons of mass destruction after the Planet had enough of the humans' follies without Aerith, the Cetra to mitigate the damage all over again as Yazoo, one of her counterpart remembers painfully.
Name has power.
Blood has power.
Magic of all kinds is power.
Dragons as Valyria's Original Firstborns represents Valyria's will and power.
Valyria has ties to all four.
Valyria is alive.
Valyria is making a connection to her.
And that it's more than enough.
There is a spark, a flicker, acknowledging her even as Valyria continues to mourn and regret.
Child, that vast Voice, heartsick with grief, whispers in her ear. I have Fallen. But you are Reborn and has risen. Come home.
Visenya opens her eyes, smoldering in warmth from the Call.
Angeal, Sephiroth, and Genesis sing around her.
Before and now, Jon Snow was a sentimental fool, who was force to grow up fast and shackled himself with responsibility, duty, and obligation. Because the coldfish Catelyn Tully—whose jealousy blinded her to love a motherless child—makes it her job to pound through his head that he owed the life that he was living in Winterfell through her grace alone.
In hind sight, apparently he owed Westeros his freedom and happiness which he paid with blood and death. And in the reality of game of thrones where a pawn was as useful as collateral damage, Jon Snow or Jaeherys or Aemon was never one to turn his back on those in need.
Now as Visenya, she has conflicting thoughts as she broods.
Eddard Stark, Visenya thinks with a mixture of icy rage and weary bitterness, our maudlin uncle with blinded loyalty to that thrice-damned oaf storm king who cannot let go of his idealized wolfmaid. Dear Lord Uncle is too honor-bounded to try to think of something else aside from branding us his bastard twins.
The lies and secrecy Jon Snow of before ignored simply because the Starks are his family. No matter how it hurts and demolished his self-worth.
But as Lyarra, importantly the elder twin, Visenya's sleeping dragon is rearing its head which make it indeed possible for her to hold a grudge the size of Westeros.
Aemon—he will always be Aemon, the dragon knight not Jaeherys the Wise nor Jon (like Arryn and Connington)—tightened his grip on their clasped hands, bringing Visenya out from her homicidal thoughts.
"Sister, what's wrong?"
From far away, she hears the Voice again.
Come home, Valyria whispers in welcome. Please, my child. I've waited so long for you, Reborn.
Now, Visenya has her response.
I once know nothing until life made me to know things, brother. Visenya quirks a small smile instead of voicing her inner thoughts. "Would you like to have an adventure, brother?"
This is it.
This is not a whim. This is calculated. This is the only logical conclusion and course of action for Visenya and Aemon Targaryen.
They must leave Winterfell.
They have to go away from Westeros.
Jon-Jaeherys-Aemon or Lyarra-Joanna-Visenya-Reborn whatever or whoever she will be in life, she cannot bury herself and her brother in misery forever.
18. Jon Snow
The Ice Princess.
Jon has heard those three words from the servants' of Winterfell referring to his older twin sister, Lyarra (he has often noticed the faintest grimace on his twin's face whenever anyone use Lyarra's name, and wondered why).
The Ice Princess title has Sansa frowning first but she has to agree after years of distance from the ice princess. Lady Stark has a satisfied smile when that happened, but a puckered brow smeared a line on her face when the princess title is added to Lyarra.
And Jon pretends that everyone is not tiptoeing around him when Lyarra's imposing composure has never broken anyone down in tears and piss like that time when Lyarra has had enough of the servants' children torment to him and has thrown them a knife and she says and stares at the tormentors like a wolf playing with its food, 'Too bad I missed.' Jon has never seen both Father and Uncle Ben pale so fast as if Lyarra is a ghost or a wight from the stories.
Jon lets Lyarra's the ice princess plays as she never harms unless attack first, Lyarra, to Jon's scrutiny, is too coldly calculating for that. What he worries is Lyarra's distance to their family whose members she mostly holds a yardstick length with.
He pretends not to notice Theon's cringe when Lyarra is nearby which she always is—as Jon and Lyarra are always found nearby where each other is (and somehow Lyarra always knows where Jon is).
He pretends how Robb caves like a puppy to Lyarra's whims which she fortunately does not abuse much, the looks Robb have on his face has Jon thoughtful (overprotective) at times.
He pretends not to observe how their Lord Father's eyes do not directly looks at Lyarra's, and if Father looks at an unaware Lyarra he has this pensive like he is not seeing Lyarra but another person.
He pretends to miss Uncle Benjen every other night to hide the sword and archery lessons their uncle spoils him and Lyarra with fond amusement.
He pretends not to hear aunt Lyanna's name and another he did not know—Ashara in context with his twin from the servants and guests in Winterfell.
Jon pretends and continues to pretend to be oblivious to the obvious. As to why he does so is simply because it is rather hard to ask questions out loud and things tend get awkward the last time he ask Robb, who turns redder than a tomato while being horrified at the same time.
And especially their Lord Father's quiet panicky composure.
Jon never got the answers from both that satisfy his curiosity.
And most especially, Jon pretends and covers Lyarra whenever she disappears off at nights and days. (Why everyone else did not notice her absence is beyond Jon's understanding.) Currently, she comes back with a travel sack and a tired but pleased smile. The travel sack which opens and its contents are—
"Are those dragon eggs?" Jon whispers lowly, eyeing if anyone else is eavesdropping to protect his twin. He is not so surprise at the rare find. Lyarra is a seeker at best and a hoarder at worst, and she always finds what she seeks.
"I'm leaving tonight." Is the answer instead of confirmation from Lyarra.
After becoming the Ice Princess, the twin's lives have become better. More fine than before. It is why Jon is very mystified. "If I may ask why?"
"Lord Stark is not always there to protect us. And I believe I had stretched Lady Stark's tolerance too much."
Jon stares. "Like you care about Lady Stark's sensibilities, sister."
Lyarra stares back.
"Do you hate this family that much?" Jon asks in plain curiosity. The question has plagued him for years. Lyarra cares and she can love that much he personally knows. But something in his twin sometimes makes her a stranger, a matter he coins being into the Ice Princess character too much.
"I hate that staying here compromises my freedom," Lyarra clarifies with a dark shadow casting on her face.
Jon can feel that there are more to those words that are untold. However, he cannot ask for more as time is pressing forwards.
A small self-deprecating smirk curled Lyarra's lip. "You can stay here, brother. You love this family more than I do."
Jon always hates that smile. A smile that tells a story that Lyarra deserves nothing good unless she works hard for it. Jon will prove his twin wrong.
"A lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," Jon says, looking at his sister in the eye. "And we are more than that, sister."
Lyarra freezes. Jon could have laugh from catching her in surprise.
"You know something."
Huh. So it is not just him who connected the lines. "Nice to confirm you think so little of my deduction skills, sister." Jon grouches with no heat. "I'm not that bad."
"At least this spares the time to explain that we are dragons," Lyarra muses quietly.
Silence hangs in the air, taking a moment for the words to sink in.
Jon must have look like a gaping salmon."I-I haven't got that far."
Lyarra abruptly grabs him and whispers quietly into his ears. "As forbidden love tales happens, Lyanna, our mother, and Rhaegar, our father, fell in love with all reckless abandoned, got married, and war broke out given that Robert Baratheon's jealous fury and others' greedy pride became a wildfire that torn the Targaryen kingdom apart. And that makes our presence treason to the Baratheon Crown."
This time, Jon slacks his jaw with his limbs flailing. "H-How?!" he whispers furiously, ignoring how she found out the truth as Lyarra has always been odd in knowing secrets she is not supposed to know and figure out.
Lyarra's smile is all teeth. "Why don't you ask our honorable uncle, dear brother?"
Jon opens his mouths, then thinks and snaps his mouth shut in remembrance
("It is not the right time, Jon." Father answers with grim sobriety, turning away from him.
"So when will this right time be, Father?" Jon asks only to the wind.)
Lyarra's face is grim. "Exactly."
Jon keeps his silence as Lyarra's busies herself in preparation for the long journey. Truth to be told, he is seething from all the secrecy. No wonder Lyarra is raring to go.
There is nothing for them here in Winterfell. And Lyarra only tolerates people for his sake.
(At the back of his mind, Jon is a little bit irritated of Lyarra. Not because she kept the truth for gods know how long, but because of the wall between them. The wall is not that high but it is still there. A wall created from Jon's love and loyalty of the Starks.
Does his sister truly believe that he loves them more than he loves her?
It seems likely.
Lyarra has stayed for him, obliges herself to the Starks as a dutiful and responsible member of the family. Hence, blinding and barring others being the Ice Princess.
And her sister utterly believes Jon is the honourable one.)
Peering outside, Jon studies the night skies. He pretends and pretends that nothing has change before the revelation, observing how the skies that stretches on forever compels him to be free.
And he wonders, why not?
Why can't he do what he wants for once?
"After three days, we are leaving together, sister," Jon decides, thinking his choice over. If Jon can see from the corner of eyes, that his sister's composure cracks a little with relief that she will not be alone. That is no one else's business but his. Still, there must be payback for Lyarra's solo flight in carrying the burden. So—
"And you're telling Arya."
"She is going to throw a fit," Lyarra grumbles wearily.
"True, but Arya will understand," Jon says instantly. "She is the clever one in the pack. But Robb and Bran..." he trails off.
There is something complicated between Robb and Lyarra. At least in Robb's side.
While Bran is Lyarra's baby brother who is a brat to anyone else. And Sansa won't care much…
It's today, Visenya thinks with a rush of elation, ignoring her twin who is thrice checking the horses, and their supplies. I can finally leave today.
Last night, she flashes past the lord's solar with a short message filled with an explanation why they must leave for Ned Stark's eyes only. And several bags worth a king's ransom. A due payment from the security the Stark's name has provided them.
A sharp kick in the shin (she has bruises after confronting Arya alone days before), brings her back to face Arya's disapproving frown and Bran with a sniffle. Robb is…she is lost and did not know what to make of her cousin's expression. Jon Snow's goodbye was not this hard and awkward before.
She nods briskly. "We have to go. I don't want your deaths because the dragon's children are alive."
Bran tightens his hug to Visenya. "Father will make the king understand, Lya."
Visenya leans down, brushing her fingers to wipe the boy's tear-stained cheeks and not bothering to filter her words. "Oh, Bran, the whale oaf has gone shit crazy as far as Lyanna's concerned."
Their pack shares some quiet reluctant snickers.
From her twin's side, Arya imperiously demanded, "Take me with you."
"Er," Aemon shot Visenya a helpless look.
Sighing, Visenya stands up, unmindful of the strain her waist is suffering from Bran's tight hold.
The certainty of her voice makes the pack's eyes to pierce her.
Arya removes herself from Aemon. "Seriously?"
Robb and Aemon shot each other a look, understanding the weight behind her words.
Visenya has then taken the three's attention, showing them a carved direwolf pendants with strings. "This will keep you all safe. The others are in our hiding place, Arya."
Cradling her piece, Arya knowingly eyes Visenya. "Charm with magic?"
Arya knows. It is their secret. As for the other boys, they look as if the magic thing is a jape.
Visenya idly wonders how long they will find out that Arya is serious as she accepts a tight hug from Arya.
And then it is Robb's turn to say goodbye.
There is brief moment of awkward silence, before Visenya brazenly tugs Robb forward for a quick hug. Their relationship as half-siblings had never been this ill at ease. She often did wonder what change in this life.
Letting him go, Visenya worriedly eyes Robb's flushed face. "Take a day off, Robb. You're too red in the face."
Together, Aemon and Arya's share a look before snickering.
Visenya is mystified. Was it something I said? But her attention shifts back to Bran and she offers, "When we will see each other again, I'll give you a ride with our dragons."
Bran only smiles tearfully.
They linger for a few moments and after a round of hugs, the twins pull away to straddle their horses.
"Lya—" Robb hesitates before tacking on, "Visenya take care. Aemon be that dragon knight —"he pause with a wry grin, "who protects the Ice Princess."
"Always," starts Aemon who was Jon Snow in this lifetime.
"And forever," Visenya—who was in his past lives Jon Snow—finishes.
With the wind that blows as it ruffles their cloak hair playfully, thrilled smiles are shared as they set off with a gallop on their horses forward.
Remembering one last thing, Visenya pulls her reigns into a stop, raising her right arm above and concentrates. Hearing the sputter of gasps like Arya, Robb and Bran are just directly behind them, while her brother is goggling-eyed. Her dragons, sweep past them and ascends back to the skies above with roars that is muffled by a rather helpful moaning wind.
Visenya smiles. Let the game begins.
"…That was awesome!"
"It was terrifying, Arya!"
"Um, should we tell Father, Robb?"
"Absolutely not! That thing is our secret weapon. Er, weapons?
"…one very odd dragons."
"Aren't they terribly beautiful?"
"They sure are."
Parts of this has been in the backburner which basically I re-wrote for self-gratification and do some fanfic writing exercises after my long hiatus. Advise me if I mistake any ASoIaF terminology. No beta reader so far.
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