295 A.C

Winterfell

It seemed Lord Stark had not gotten over his surprise as he unceremoniously dropped the legendary sword and quickly approached. Arthur also did but stopped at a shake of Aemon's head. Eddard Stark meant no harm to him, but what he did still took him by surprise, as he soon found himself engulfed in a hug from the larger man, larger but not taller.

"You're alive…"

Though taken aback by the unexpected gesture, Aemon still returned the hug, chuckling. "Of course, I am, uncle. I had Arthur by my side," he said, spotting a slight smile on his kingsguard's lips.

His uncle broke apart, but his hand came to Aemon's face, examining him. "Gods, you look alike…"

"Daemon and I?" Aemon asked, which seemed to snap his uncle out of his daze.

His eyes widened, and he coughed, trying to hide his embarrassment. "Forgive me,"

Aemon waved him off with a smile.

He turned to Arthur, "You were right, Ser," Eddard said, "I could not have hidden him here." He turned back, "Those eyes, cheekbones, and nose are all Targaryen… But everything else is Lyanna's,"

"It would be customary to address the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms by his title," Arthur said, not an ounce of warmth in his voice.

Aemon saw his uncle tense at this. It was clear it was far too soon for this.

As the Lord of Winterfell opened his mouth, Aemon interrupted, unwilling to let him commit so soon. "I'll not have family call me your grace in private, Arthur," he chuckled and managed to diffuse the tension. "But I thank you, uncle, for your kind words, though I assume I look somewhat similar to my twin brother, no?"

Eddard nodded, swallowing his previous words. "Jon's eyes are darker than yours; they're only a shade of purple when the sun shines. He also has more of the long face of the Starks, but your lips and even the hair are very much alike."

"Jon?" Aemon feigned ignorance, "I'd assume you'd call him by his given name, uncle,"

The Targaryen watched, almost hawk-like, for any sign of discomfort in the Stark Lord. And sure enough, his jaw clenched, and Eddard closed his eyes. His uncle would not make for a great occlumens, but neither did he when he was first taught.

"Have you not told him who he is?" Aemon pressed, already sure of the truth.

"I have not."

"So what?" he narrowed his eyes, feeling his anger surge through his body. "You're telling me he believes he's a bastard? A Snow? Or is it a Sand?"

For days on end, he had had to swallow his worries as they traveled through the North. Would his brother be alright? He knew from experience how damaging it could be to ignore who you were, who your parents were, and if they had ever loved you. And even then, he had learned on his eleventh birthday, not on his sixteenth.

"Well?" he demanded rather than asked, frustrated at the lack of answer.

"A Snow," Eddard swallowed, "Jon Snow, my son."

"How dare you?" Aemon kept his voice low so that no one would interrupt, but one could feel the anger sipping in his tone. "You let my brother believe he's a worthless bastard? That he has no mother? What else, then? What did you plan on doing with him?" Aemon had trouble controlling his rage as he saw another flash of shame on his uncle's face.

His wand had slipped into his hand without realizing it, ready to unleash whatever horror his mind could conjure at that moment.

"I protected him," his uncle answered defiantly. "I did all I could to protect him from the moment we left the Tower of Joy, as I would have with you had it been needed."

"For what reason?" He spat back. "So that you could send both of us to the Wall? Are you that desperate to protect the Usurper's reign that you'd send your sister's sons to be wasted away at the edge of the world?" Aemon discreetly sheathed his wand back in its holster. "That's it, isn't it?" he asked, taking a deep breath as he saw another flash of shame cross his uncle's traits. "Do you even know who your king is?"

"Robert won the throne," Eddard simply answered. "We defeated your mad grandfather, and we crowned Robert. The Baratheons rule Westeros."

"Mind your tongue, Stark," Arthur threatened, his sword ready to be drawn.

Aemon could not help but laugh, "is that what you think? That the Stags rule Westeros? Then you know nothing, uncle."

The Lord Stark bristled but remained steadfast in his belief. "Robert seats the Iron Throne, and his son will after him,"

Aemon snorted. "He might sit in the ugly chair, though I doubt he fits in it any longer. But he doesn't rule the Seven Kingdoms; that honor, I'm afraid, belongs to Tywin Lannister. The man who ordered the slaughter of my brother and sister. The man who was rewarded for his treachery by a Queen."

Again, shame crossed the Warden of the North's face.

"I know you spoke against it," Aemon did his best to calm himself, though it worked only partially. "That you argued for punishment, but in the end, as Aegon, Rhaenys, and Elia lay before you, the slaughter concealed by red cloaks, you took a knee to the man who not only condoned it but laughed at it."

It was easy to see he had struck a nerve as Eddard lowered his eyes to the leaf-covered ground.

"And if you want to speak of why Robert is king, then again, I am afraid you are wrong, uncle." Aemon continued, his voice firm and unwavering. "The reason the Usurper was crowned was because out of the leaders of the war, he had the closest relation to my family through his grandmother. You would have been forced to call a Great Council if it had been because he had won it, but you didn't. And that's not even talking about his son…" Aemon made air quotes as he snorted. "Did you know that all Robert's bastards share the same looks? Dark hair and piercing blue eyes?"

"What does it have to do with…" Eddard began but stopped at Aemon's raised hand.

"Surely, uncle, you have wondered where Jaime Lannister disappeared, did you not?"

His grey eyes widened, "it was you… I thought you in Essos. It's what we had agreed," he gave a reproached-filled glare to the knight.

"And we had agreed you'd name the prince as Brandon's, Stark," Arthur answered with a raised eyebrow. "That you would tell him of his identity well before he was a man grown."

"The past is the past," Aemon waved them off. As much as he felt angered by his uncle's lies, nothing could be done about them. "And while I would be glad to take credit, it was Arthur who captured the kingslayer and brought him to face his king's justice."

"I assume he is dead, then?" his uncle sighed, his brow creased with age lines.

"Very much so," Aemon smirked, "and his death was far more meaningful than anything he could have ever achieved alive, but it is not the Kingslayer's death that should interest you, but what he asked of me before he passed. To protect his children." Aemon resisted the urge to laugh at his uncle's surprised looks. "What? Is it beyond belief that a man who would betray his oaths so thoroughly would continue to do so?"

"Did he name those children?" His uncle shook his head, no doubt already knowing the truth in his heart.

"Yes, he did," Aemon took his time. This secret was worth a lot and would undoubtedly throw the Seven Kingdoms into war if it were revealed. "Trust me, I was surprised, but if you care to know, uncle, he named the first Joffrey." Eddard's eyes widened once more. "The second Myrcella and the third was named Tommen."

Aemon could see horror fill the Warden of the North's grey eyes with each name.

"Those are…" Eddard breathed. "The royal children. I must tell Robert." He began to move but stopped as Arthur unsheathed his sword.

"No, you won't." Aemon simply said.

"Will you have your knight strike me down? Your own uncle?" Eddard turned to him with fury etched on his face. "In front of mine own gods?"

Aemon laughed. "Please, Arthur," he shook his head, still laughing. "No, uncle. I am no kinslayer, but even then, you will not tell Robert."

"And why?" Eddard asked, calming down. "Why should I not tell my king he has no heir?"

"First of all, you have no proof, and you are a fool if you think Tywin Lannister will let you or Robert depose his line with only your word. But that's not why you won't tell your friend." Aemon raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You won't tell him for the sake of the children."

He paused and watched as his uncle gulped.

"What do you think Robert will do when he finds out? Killing Cersei is a given. But do you think he'll spare the children? Tommen is ten, and Myrcella is the same age as Sansa! Or do you think it more likely he'd order their slaughter and laugh when presented with the corpses, calling them Lionspawn?"

"If I may, your grace," Arthur said, and Aemon nodded as his uncle remained silent. "He would not have the opportunity. The red cloaks would cut him down before he got even close to that cursed hammer of his."

"Yes," Aemon conceded with a chuckle, "or that. What is it already, Arthur? Five Lannister men for every Baratheon?"

His lord commander only nodded in answer.

"And if that happens, what do you think the lions will do with the two dozen bastards Robert has in King's Landing? Never mind the other dozen that are across the Seven Kingdoms. Are you willing to condemn children to death for who their father is?"

Aemon knew he had aimed perfectly as his uncle released a defeated sigh. And Aemon lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. While they had their differences, he was still kin.

"It is not my intent to insult you, uncle, nor to cause you pain, but you must see the truth for yourself. I ask not that you give me an answer now, but one day I will. Robert Baratheon might have been your friend, but he is a terrible king. The realm has been racking up a considerable debt in the past decade. I'm talking of six million dragons, uncle."

Eddard's face grew pale, and he silently mouthed the number.

"You can only thank Jon Arryn for the continued survival of his reign, but the Falcon is an old man who has to contend with numerous enemies. Tywin Lannister will do anything to see his grandson sit on the Iron Throne. He'll burn the Seven Kingdoms if he has to. And once the truth of Cersei's children is out, and trust me, too many know or suspect it not to, the Baratheon brothers will refuse to let a bastard sit on the Iron Throne as many will, and there will be war. Whether I am here or not. And if you were to reveal the truth of the children's birth, the Lannisters would not stop while a single Stark lives. You know what Tywin did to the Reynes and the Tarbecks. What he did to my kin."

The Lord Stark stayed silent for a while. Processing all he had learned in mere moments. While he had more than enough cause to wish his uncle ill, Aemon did not one bit.

More than most, he knew the true value of family. However, upending his uncle's views on his brother by choice was necessary, though he was unsure that a single talk would convince a stubborn man.

"You have mentioned nothing of Joffrey but his name? I know Robert wants me to wed Sansa to him. Jon has hinted at it in several letters."

"For her sake, uncle, I would urge you to refuse. Joffrey is the reason why Septas and Septons across the south preach about the vileness of bastards." Aemon sighed. If Robert had insisted before he could take the throne for himself, his uncle would have little choice but to agree. Even having never met his cousin, he knew he would not wish the vile thing that was Joffrey on anyone. "I've been told he once presented the Usurper with the kittens he had cut out from his little brother's cat."

Eddard looked at him with horror in his eyes. Even after learning of such, Moons could not wash out the very graphic picture presented to his mind whenever he thought about it. It was said Aerys had only truly become mad after his torture at the hands of the Darklyns; Joffrey had never suffered such. He had no such excuse.

"I hear he likes to punish the servants. Not because they failed in their tasks but just for pleasure. His own. In the Red Keep, they whisper he is madder than my grandfather. I do not know for you, uncle, but I don't think the realm needs another Mad King."

"The whispers of maids and cooks…" Eddard began, but Aemon cut him off.

"I know," he sighed; this was not why he had come this far North. "I am wary of them too, uncle, but whispers and rumors are not my only source of information. Though discussing my claim to the Iron Throne or the Usurper's many failures are not why I came to Winterfell, uncle."

"Jon is already sleeping…" His uncle began, but Aemon shook his head.

"Daemon, you will call him by the name our mother gave him. He'll know it soon enough." Aemon left no room for disagreement. "And you will wake him if that is so, I expect learning his identity is important enough that my brother misses a few hours of sleep."

His uncle sighed but nodded, nonetheless. "I'll need to call someone here," he said, and Aemon knew it was better to hide in the shadows while he did so. "I wish to tell my wife first,"

"No," Aemon refused. "You had years to tell them on your terms; you failed. Now it's on my terms, uncle."

Whether it was knowing he told the truth or something else, Aemon knew not, but his uncle offered no rebuttal. Simply closing his eyes in anticipation of the headache that was no doubt coming.

"But I will tell him myself. He deserves it."

Aemon thought to refuse but instead agreed. As much as it pained him to know, Daemon had no idea who he was. There was no reason for him to believe Aemon's word for the sake of it or for a somewhat similar face.

"Jory!" Eddard called loudly, and he and Arthur melted back into the shadows of the godswood.

A man with brown hair and strict traits, close to ten years older than Aemon, arrived seconds later. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, apparently ready for anything.

"My lord," he bowed his head, relaxing as he saw nothing was amiss.

"I need you to go fetch my wife and son,"

"Right away," Jory nodded, "you mean for your heir, my lord?"

"No, I'll speak to Robb before we break our fast. I meant Jon," Eddard threw a glance in Aemon's general direction.

"Shall I wake them, my lord?"

"Yes, Jory, tell them it's important."

With another bow, the Stark guard disappeared into the thicket of trees.

Jon rubbed his eyes tiredly as he followed his father's guard through the quiet halls of Winterfell.

He had been woken up quite unexpectedly, only a couple of hours after going to bed.

What could his father want at this hour? Jon had no idea. But he also knew he would not be woken if it was unimportant.

"Go wait for me in the courtyard, Jon," Jory whispered as they approached the lord's chambers. "I need to wake Lady Stark as well."

Jon frowned. What could require him and his stepmother to be pulled out of their beds this late? Still, he nodded and took the opposite path.

Still trying to wake himself, Jon yelped as a hand pulled him into an unlit alcove. "What the… Robb,"

His brother gave him a small, tired smile. "Why are you awake?"

"Father, he…" Jon began but stopped himself, "Why are you awake?"

Robb rubbed his neck, looking somewhat ashamed. "I was with Theon…"

Jon sighed; it did not take a genius to figure out what they had been doing at this hour.

"Why did Father wake you?"

"Don't know," Jon shrugged. "Jory is also waking Lady Stark…"

"Now?" Robb chuckled softly, "I don't fancy being Jory then,"

"I need to go," Jon clapped his brother on the shoulder, "you should sleep, else they'll know you were out,"

"Fat chance of that," Robb snorted, "I'm coming with you. It has to be something important to wake you and mother now."

Jon could do naught but shrug; it was not like he could forbid his brother from following. "Come on then, I don't think you want Lady Stark to see you,"

Robb snorted as he followed. "You're right about that,"

They both quickly got out of the keep, hearing several times the voice of the Lady of Winterfell almost catching up to them. As soon as they were out, Robb began to hug the walls, and Jon waited only a few minutes for Jory and his stepmother to reach the courtyard.

"Come, my lady, we're almost there," Jory led his lord's wife in the darkness of the night.

As usual, she did not bother giving him a nod of acknowledgment.

"Did Lord Stark ask for the bastard to join us?"

Jon had no reactions to the recurrent insult. It was what he was after all, a bastard. A stain of his father's honor. Though he wished she called him anything else but that.

"Aye, my lady,"

Jory gave him a small, contrite smile as he gestured for Jon to follow after them, leading them into the godswood. One of the places Jon enjoyed the most in Winterfell. The calmness of the sacred ground had always been a source of respite for him whenever his father's wife became too much, or since Theon's had arrived, whenever he wished to get away from the dirty squid.

It was a place neither of them felt comfortable in. No doubt the Old Gods did not take kindly to the presence of Andals. Nor were they fond of the Drowned God and whatever foolishness the squids had devised.

Still, Jon followed, his eyes sticking to the ground as was the norm whenever he was in his stepmother's presence.

A small, insidious part of him could not help but hope. Was this the day? The day his uncle had often promised to tell him of his mother?

No, Jon had stopped hoping this day would come. It was better not to get his hopes up for something that would likely never happen.

As they walked to the often-treaded path, Jon was sure he could spot his brother's shadow following behind.

They reached the clearing around the weirwood, which dominated the rest of the godswood with its incredible height. They found his father standing, though not as straight shouldered as he usually was, with Ice leaning on his hip.

"Thank you, Jory," his father said. "Take the guards with you,"

"Of course, my lord," Jory gave a small bow and retraced his steps out of the godswood.

"Jon, I…" His father began but seemed at a loss for words, which was rare enough to be noted.

"What is so important you had to drag us here at night, Ned?" Catelyn asked; his stepmother shivered through the thick fur cloak that covered her. "You know I dislike it here…"

"I know, my love," he gave his wife a tentative smile, though Jon could easily tell it was not a true one. Whatever the reason his father had dragged them here at this hour, it was not one he was happy nor eager to tell. "But this is important,"

Living in the same household as his stepmother, Jon had to learn to spot the little signs of someone's mood very early on. It was a very useful skill, but right now, it only confused him.

"Jon," Eddard began, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "There is something you should know, you too, Cat."

Jon frowned but said nothing.

"Something I've kept hidden for years that I can no longer keep to myself," his father steeled himself. "You know a man cannot lie in front of the Gods,"

"Yes, Father," Jon said, his frown only deepening. It was among the first lessons he could remember his father teaching him and Robb. To lie in front of a heart tree was as good as surrendering your life, if not to the Gods, then to the men of the North who would not kindly take to such an offense.

"Good," his father said, nodding his head. "Then you know I will speak nothing but the truth,"

"What is this, Ned?" Lady Stark started to get impatient, and Jon wished she would just shut up.

"Is it about my mother?" Jon asked, gulping. He had not dared to hope, but why else would Lord Stark keep insisting he would not lie? Jon knew that already. The entire realm knew how honorable the Lord of Winterfell was.

"It is,"

The Lady of Winterfell bristled. Even five and ten years later, she had never managed to move past it. But Jon could not find it in himself to care as he felt his heartbeat get louder and louder against his ribs. He could feel his blood pump in his veins, providing heat that defied the North's constant cold. This was it, a moment he had waited for longer than he could even remember.

His father closed his eyes and breathed out. "It is, but what I need to say is long and complex; I need you to swear not to interrupt or ask questions before I finish."

"I swear, father," he offered immediately. He had waited years for this moment, and all thoughts of sleep were long forgotten.

"What do you know of Harrenhal, Jon?"

"Ashara Dayne," Lady Catelyn whispered loud enough that her voice carried over to Jon. "I knew it was the dornish who…"

Jon could not help but glance at Catelyn Stark. Who was Ashara Dayne? It was likely someone from Ser Arthur Dayne's family, the legendary knight, but if so, it was even weirder that he had never heard the name before.

"Enough," He cut her off before she could speak her thoughts and a for a second, Jon was sure he heard the leaves ruffle, but in the darkness, his eyes could find nothing. "Do not interrupt me," his father ordered.

His tone leaving no room for disagreement or debate. His wife nodded, her eyes wide, no doubt unused to her husband losing his temper.

Jon's eyes widened; he had never heard his father speak this way to his wife.

"Little," he began, thinking of every instance when he had heard of the great castle of the Riverlands. "I know it's the largest castle in all of Westeros, that Aegon the Conqueror and Balerion the Black Dread destroyed it during the conquest, and that Lord Whent organized a tournament before the rebellion. But otherwise, nothing, Father."

"Aye, you have the gist of it…" Lord Stark nodded, his brow creased. "It all began there, at the tournament organized by Lord Whent for his daughter's nameday. I was still at the Eyrie with Robert when we received the invitation, and the Vale joined with the North as Brandon led our bannermen across the Trident, along with Benjen and Lyanna."

Jon kept his eyes wide; it was probably the most he had ever heard about his uncle and aunt. Which was saying a lot.

"Almost all of the realm was present, but for Tywin Lannister. Right before the tournament began Lord Reed was assaulted by three squires, only for my sister to run to his rescue and beat back the squires with a tourney sword."

Despite the tension he felt, Jon smiled at the previously unheard tale. His aunt must have been quite the woman. Which made it all the more queer as Jon could count on one hand the number of times his father had mentioned his sister. It was obvious her loss still hurt him, and Jon could not help but empathize. He could not imagine what it would do to him to lose Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon, or even Sansa.

"Later, during the tournament, a mystery knight, short of stature, entered the lists, wearing a mismatched armor and a distinctive shield, adorned with a weirwood and a laughing face."

Someone of the North then, Jon assumed, there were very few houses that still worshipped the Old Gods south of the Neck. But he could remember his father telling them that House Dayne was one such house. Was his stepmother, right? Was his mother named Ashara Dayne?

Jon had to restrain himself from asking directly. He had waited so long for this time, and he could not risk offending his father.

"The lone knight defeated three knights, whom squires had bullied Howland but not before attracting much-unwanted attention. From the Mad King especially. He charged his son, Prince Rhaegar, to find the mystery knight and present him to his king. But the Prince failed and only brought forward the shield."

Again, he smiled. Knowing what he knew about the Mad King, it was good that the mystery knight had managed to evade its pursuers.

"I remember," Catelyn said, "it was quite sensational during the tourney, he must have been quite the knight to escape."

"It was she," Eddard smiled, "my sister Lyanna, and she did not escape either. Rhaegar found her, and he let her go. Several days later, at the end of the tournament, the prince won the joust, and instead of crowning his wife as his queen of Love and Beauty, he crowned Lyanna."

Jon felt dread fill his heart. He knew not how or why, but the more his father talked, the more he knew where this was going.

"The day the smiles died…" His stepmother breathed out, her eyes lost in the distance, and his father nodded, clenching his jaw.

"At the time, I had no idea of what had happened, I only learned the full truth after the war was over." His father sighed. "Still, the tournament ended, and I returned to the Eyrie as my siblings traveled North. It only became relevant when, barely a year later, Lyanna disappeared. Apparently kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar, though there was no witness. My brother, Brandon, rushed to King's Landing when he heard of it, demanding Lyanna's return and the Prince's head."

Jon gulped; this could not be true. It could not be happening. He discreetly pinched himself, but to his horror, he did not wake from some kind of disturbing nightmare.

"The Mad King murdered my father and brother and demanded that Jon Arryn deliver mine and Robert's heads to King's Landing. There was no choice; Benjen had called the banners before I returned to Winterfell, and we marched; we defeated the Mad King and his armies, and the Lannisters sacked King's Landing and slaughtered Rhaegar's children and wife. And only after breaking the siege at Storm's End did I find my sister,"

Jon tried to breathe, but he found he could not. Somehow, someway, he knew where this was going.

"You told me you found her dying of fever," Catelyn observed, and her husband nodded.

"Aye, I did," His father lowered his head, shaking it. This was the moment of truth. "We were Seven from the North, Lord Reed, Lord Dustin, Martyn Cassel, Ethan Glover, Theo Wull, and Ser Mark Ryswell. When we arrived there, we found three of the Kingsguards, the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne, the White Bull, Ser Gerold Hightower, and the Black Bat, Ser Oswell Whent."

Jon could still not find his breath; this was not happening. Yet it was. There was no denying he was awake and aware.

"We found Lyanna dying, not of fever as I told you." His father took a deep breath in. "But of childbirth,"

Finally, Jon found his breath, inhaling sharply as his eyes widened with horror. No. This was a lie.

"It is not, Jon," the Lord of Winterfell said, answering words Jon was almost sure he had not spoken aloud, a sad smile on his face. "My sister, Lyanna, is your mother, Jon,"

"You lie! I am your son, father! Why do you lie?" Jon snapped, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I do not," Eddard Stark stayed calm in the face of Jon's anger. "I cannot lie in front of the Gods. I did so for five and ten years; I can no longer. Lyanna gave you life in the Tower of Joy in Dorne. With her last breath, she made me swear to protect you, to care for you as if you were my own, and though you might not hail from my loins, Jon, you will always be my blood, my son."

Jon felt tears pour out of his eyes as his back straightened. His fists clenched and unclenched; he could feel his entire body shake with anger, grief, and betrayal.

"All these years…" Jon whispered, venom lacing his voice. "You made me believe I was worth nothing, less than nothing, that my own mother could not be bothered to claim me, that she never loved me."

With each word he pronounced, he got louder and louder. Meanwhile, Catelyn Stark's face had progressively gotten paler and paler, her eyes fixed on Jon, though he found he did not care. She hated him, and he hated her as well.

"Son, I…"

"No," Jon snapped again. "You made me live a lie, fa-uncle. Do you think I could not hear the whispered insults or see the looks everyone gave me? I thought I was the sole stain on your honor, the only mark of shame the great Eddard Stark had on his white cloak!"

"How could you do this, Ned?" Catelyn questioned. "You lied to all of us for five and ten years… Does our love mean so little to you that you cannot trust me?"

His uncle took his wife's hand in his. "At the beginning, I could not; we had met only once before, on our wedding day. And yours and your father's anger at seeing Jon was plain to see. After, I could not see how to tell the truth, I kept the secret, and I can do none but apologize for not having told you, and you, Jon, the truth sooner."

"You could have told me years ago…" Jon whispered, his voice laced with hurt. "She was in the crypts all this time, and I never visited her; how dare you?"

His father lowered his head, pain written all over his face, but once more, Jon could not find it in himself to care.

"My life is a lie…" Jon breathed out as he realized the truth of it. He was not the bastard of Eddard Stark.

He was something far worse. He was a bastard born of rape who had killed his own mother.

The more the thought repeated itself in his mind, the harder it was to think, to breathe.

"Jon, I…"

"I hate you." Jon's voice was cold and barely above a whisper as he turned around and ran. Feeling the tears run down his cheeks as he disappeared into the thicket of trees.

"Wait!" Aemon yelled as his brother ran from the godswood, but he was too slow and only emerged from the shadows with Arthur at his back when Daemon was long gone.

Before he could give chase, he turned to face both his uncle and aunt. The latter stared at him with shock in her eyes. "Ned, who is that…"

"You stand before Aemon Targaryen, the first of his name and rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms," Arthur announced and if anything, the shock she felt only increased.

"But he's a bastard…" the Lady protested and found herself facing Arthur's drawn sword. Her husband seemed ready to defend her, his hand inching closer to Ice's hilt, but he stopped himself at Aemon's glare.

"I'll spell it out for you, Tully," Aemon sneered. The Lord Paramount of the Riverlands was not a man Aemon carried in his heart, far from it. And it seemed the apple had truly fallen right below the tree. "Since it seems you're too slow to get it, neither I nor my brother are bastards. My father wedded my mother on the Isle of Faces and in a sept near Harrenhal, in front of the Old Gods and the New. And just so you truly understand, it means the boy you have despised all his life for a fault not his own is a Prince of the Blood!"

His uncle bristled as Aemon insulted his wife but given the hurt he had seen his brother experience, he could not care the slightest. And said wife flinched, even though Arthur had sheathed back his sword.

"I am sorry, nephew," his uncle said, looking defeated.

"It is not I you must apologize to." Aemon answered swiftly. "I'd like to see his room now," he said, needing to find his brother.

A flicker of shame crossed his aunt's face. And Aemon knew he had been right to ask. It might have been decades, and in another world, but he knew that particular look. Petunia Dursley had worn the same on the day Albus Dumbledore had confronted her for her treatment of him.

"Now."

Both his uncle and aunt looked at each other awkwardly.

"I can take you there," a young man came out of the shadows, having both Aemon and Arthur tense before they realized who this was.

"Robb, what are you doing here?" his father asked, and though they relaxed, Aemon could not help but be impressed by the stealth of his cousin.

"Learning the truth, father." The red-head, broad-shouldered young man answered coldly. "You taught us to be honorable, when you were lying all this time."

"Do not speak to your father this way, Robb,"

"Why not? It's true isn't it?"

"You're right, son," Eddard nodded. "I lied, for good reason. Had I not, we would all be dead. Still, I hope you can understand my choice one day."

Robb nodded stiffly, obviously unwilling to accept his father's words right now. "You can follow me," he turned to Aemon and inclined his head, "your grace,"

Aemon only nodded, a bit stunned by the display of loyalty his cousin had shown to his brother. It seemed that despite his mother's treatment of Daemon, the heir of Winterfell had still forged strong bonds with him.

They were halfway out of the godswood when Aemon remembered to speak. "Call me Aemon," he said, part of him could not ignore the eagerness he felt at knowing more of his family. "We're cousins after all,"

"Then call me Robb," he said, giving him a tight smile, "it's all true then?"

"What have you heard?"

"Everything my father told Jon,"

"Daemon," Aemon corrected, far more gently than he had his uncle. "Our mother named him Daemon."

"Right," Robb answered, frowning as they exited the woods, finding the courtyard completely empty. Aemon rose his eyes and could only notice the Moon had gotten much further on its path. "I guess it's going to take some time getting used to it, can I ask something else?"

"Of course, cousin,"

"Who is your guard?" he jerked his thumb at the knight who had been following them. Aemon chuckled, realizing Arthur had not taken his helm off at all since they had infiltrated the stronghold.

"Ser Arthur Dayne," he answered, smiling as Robb came to an abrupt stop, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

"For true?"

"For true, my lord." Arthur took his helm off, revealing his face.

"Others take me," Robb breathed, unable to do anything but stare. "I thought you were dead, Ser, everyone does."

"As was intended then," Arthur gave a small smile before donning his helm again.

"Do you have other secrets like that, cousin?" Robb asked as they resumed their walk.

"A few," Aemon chuckled. "Can I assume you and Daemon are close?"

"The closest," Robb smiled, and Aemon could not help the pang of jealousy in his heart. "We grew up together," he explained.

Mayhap Daemon's life had not been so bad after all.

"How do you feel then? About all of it?" he asked.

"I…" Robb hesitated. "I think it's the best thing that could have happened,"

Aemon raised his eyebrows, "really?"

Robb nodded. "When we were little, I can remember we were always together, playing with wooden swords. Sometimes I'd be Lord Stark, sometimes I'd be Aemon the Dragonknight, honestly," Robb chuckled, "I think Jon, sorry, Daemon, always wanted to be the Dragonknight. One time, my mother found us playing, and that time, I wanted to be the Dragonknight, and he was Lord Stark."

He winced; he could not imagine it had gone over well with a woman who believed all bastards were wont to do was to usurp their legitimate siblings.

"I think I've never seen her get that angry… We didn't really understand back then; for us, we were brothers, and our father was someone important. So I think we assumed we'd both be important when we grewup, like father. I think her anger was only the first sign, but maybe I was too young to understand everything. And then, when we were six or seven. My father took us to his solar and he explained what Jo-Daemon was, who he could be but most importantly who he could not be."

Aemon smiled sadly. He could not imagine it had been easy to deal with that as a child.

"And one time, just the once, when he wanted again to be Lord Stark, I said something I'll regret til' the day I die…" Robb looked ashamed of himself.

"Don't be too harsh on yourself, cousin," Aemon tried to comfort him. "You were a child."

"Mayhap," Robb shrugged. "We never talked about it, but I think it somehow divided us. I always had it in my mind that, somehow, I'd find a solution to keep him here. Except that's not really a solution, is it? Sure, it'd be better than most bastards ever do, but he'd still be a bastard. So if you ask me, I think that's the best thing that could have happened. He isn't a bastard, he's a Targaryen Prince,"

"Thank you," Aemon swallowed thickly. If there was ever a proof that his brother had been loved in Winterfell, this was it. "For having been there for him when I couldn't,"

"No need to thank me," the young Stark shrugged. "He might not be my father's son, but he's still my brother."

Aemon smiled. "I think he'll appreciate you telling him. Are we not going in?" He asked as they passed by the entrance of the keep.

Robb shook his head, a disgusted look on his face. "My mother, she can be petty, but she never allowed Jon – sorry – Daemon in the family wing. He sleeps there,"

He pointed at the wing on the opposite side of the keep, where Aemon assumed guests slept. It was by no means terrible, but he still felt a spike of anger for his aunt and her family.

While it was not his goal to punish every house that had done House Targaryen, he knew that if he wanted a rather peaceful rule, he would have to make an example of what happened to traitors and oathbreakers.

The fate of many houses were still undecided in Aemon's mind. Some like the Lannisters or the Baratheons would suffer and lose much for what they had done to his family but unseating a Great House was out of the question. Some like the Lorches or the Cleganes, he had sworn to see destroyed. Others would be rewarded for the faith they had kept. Like the Tarlys, the Velaryons or the Celtigars for example. And most, like the Tullys of Riverrun would greatly depend on the choices they were going to make in the coming years.

It was also not lost on him that the Trout owed everything to the Dragon. After all, it was Aegon who had liberated the Riverlands from Harren the Black. Yes, the Tullys had been primed and ready to help, unlike the other river lords who had depleted their forces. But the only reason they had was that they had not resisted the occupation nor the enslavement of their people. And what was a lord's purpose if not to protect its people?

Still, it was not his cousin's fault. If anything, Robb seemed angry and resentful at his mother's treatment of Daemon.

But even the heir of a powerful house like the Starks could do little if his own father stuck by the lady's decision. Aemon could understand why, after all, the saying was true. Happy wife, happy life. But it still did not make it right.

So lost in his thoughts was Aemon that he only noticed they had arrived at his brother's room when Robb knocked on the door. No answer came, and the Stark Heir pushed it open to confirm that no one was inside.

Aemon felt a pang in his heart as he lay eyes on the room his brother had slept in for over a decade and a half.

It was dreary, not so cold compared to the temperatures outside, but still. There were no decorations or objects besides the bed and a small table next to a fading hearth.

He could easily compare it to the closet under the stairs he had inhabited for ten years at number four Privet Drive. The only difference was the size.

"Do you know where we can find him?"

"Aye," Robb nodded. "If he isn't in his room or in the godswood, I think he's in the crypts,"

Aemon nodded, gesturing for his cousin to lead.

They re-entered the courtyard, finding it as empty as before, and Robb led them past what Aemon could only assume was the old keep. A squad and round drum tower decorated with age-worn gargoyles. In its shadow stood a small cemetery, and right beside it, a broken tower that must have been over a hundred feet high once upon a time.

They soon reached ironwood doors, one of them left slightly ajar.

"Do you want me to come?" Robb asked, handing him a lit torch.

"I think I need to see him alone," Aemon answered, "but I thank you, cousin,"

"No need," Robb shook his head, "but I'm afraid Ser Arthur cannot come,"

"Where my king goes, I follow," the kingsguard simply answered, as if stating a truth of the universe.

"Only Starks can enter, Ser," Robb stood his ground.

"It's alright, Arthur," Aemon smiled, "I doubt statues and ghosts of the past will hurt me,"

Perhaps he had spoken too quickly, Aemon thought as he passed statue after statue. Each Stark that was buried in the crypts had what he recognized as a direwolf laying at their feet and an iron sword on their laps.

As if even in death, their duty to their House continued. As if one day, they would rise and fight to protect their home.

It was a ludicrous thought to have, and yet, Aemon felt magic thrumming in the air. Whatever anyone pretended, this place was not just a tomb for past Starks.

After a time, having passed by dozens of Starks, most having had their names wiped by the passage of time. He almost felt like he was being watched, and more than once, Aemon was tempted to retreat.

Most of all, it felt like he did not belong there. As if everything in him told him to get out.

The sensation only got stronger as he burrowed deeper and deeper into the crypts.

But for his brother, he persevered.

At some point, he began to be able to read the names of the Starks. Benjen, Rickon, Brandon, Cregan, William, Artos, and Brandon again. It seemed only men were buried here. And while there were a great many Starks buried here, one had to consider the House was thousands of years old. There would be a great many more if every male Stark had been entombed in the crypts. As such, it seemed only the Lords and Kings had been honored this way and perhaps those few that had also proven their worthiness by their deeds.

And finally, he saw another light. The statues now looking much more recent.

Daemon did not react as Aemon got closer, apparently lost in his thoughts.

The light of his torch lighting both his tear-streaked face and that of the statue he was silently admiring.

Though he had seen his brother moments ago, Aemon could not help but take time to observe him. There was no denying they looked alike. But not so much anyone could guess they were twins.

Daemon definitely looked more like a Stark, despite not having quite the long face of their northern ancestors, but for those willing to look deeper than the surface, it was here. Targaryen traits, the proud and straight nose, the high cheekbones, and in the light of the torch, Aemon was sure he could spot a sliver of purple in his eyes.

Even though his steps resonated around, Daemon seemed so lost in his thoughts admiring the statue that had been carved for their mother that he failed to notice.

"She didn't look like that," Aemon said, making his brother startle at the sudden intrusion.

Daemon turned around, his hand reaching for a sword that was not there as his dark eyes met Aemon's purple ones.

"Hello, brother," Aemon smiled as his brother made his best impression of a gaping fish. "It's good to meet you,"

"Brother?" Daemon questioned, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you? And what are you doing here? This place is only for the Starks."

"Good thing there isn't a Stark around then," Aemon chuckled, though he could immediately tell it was perhaps a poor choice of words given what his brother had just learnt. "As to answer your other question, I'm Aemon, your brother,"

"I don't have a brother," Daemon answered hesitantly. "Fathe-uncle would have told me." He spoke more assuredly.

"I'm afraid you ran before he could get to this," Aemon approached slowly, not wanting to disturb his twin more. "Don't you wonder why he lied for five and ten years only to tell you the truth now?"

"I…" he began but stopped, at a loss for words. "No more lies," Daemon answered, "I've had enough of lies."

Aemon smiled sadly. "Then you have my word, I will not lie, Daemon."

"Daemon?" he questioned warily, but his posture relaxed all the same.

"It is the name our mother gave you," he answered, closing the distance. "Daemon Targaryen."

"I…" Daemon spoke again, his eyes scrutinizing Aemon's, looking for the smallest sign of deceit. "You speak the truth? You're my brother?"

"I do," Aemon smiled though it hurt him to see his brother so distrustful, not that he could blame him. "I am."

Hoping he was not making a mistake, Aemon went to hug his brother, and though he tensed at first, Daemon soon reciprocated the gesture. Aemon felt his heart leap in joy. "You don't know how long I've waited for this brother,"

"I don't understand…" Daemon said as they broke apart. "How? Why?"

"All pertinent questions," Aemon smiled. "I guess there's a lot you need to know." He gestured for them to seat in front of their mother's statue. "It's going to take some time,"

Daemon used his cloak to stave off the cold emanating from the stone-floor.

"Uncle was right to begin his tale at Harrenhal," he began, and his brother did not let Aemon leave his sight, almost as if to prevent him from disappearing. "It's where it all began after all, it's where mother and father met. From what I have learned, father meant to reunite the lords of the Seven Kingdoms to plan for a Grand Council in order to unseat his father. As you can see, it did not work. And instead, the realm got to witness Aerys' madness for themselves. Then it all happened as he said, mother disappeared, our uncle Brandon rushed to King's Landing, demanding Rhaegar's head and Lyanna's return, committing treason in the process all for something that was not even there in the first place."

"Why?" Daemon immediately questioned. "I thought the Prince had kidnapped aunt–mother,"

"The whole realm did, still does," Aemon said, "but mother and father fell in love at Harrenhal, and they were wed a year later, when she disappeared."

"That means we aren't… Bastards born of rape?"

Aemon clenched his fists, had it been anyone else that suggested such a thing, they would have lost their tongues. But it was not so hard to imagine why his brother wondered such.

"No. You aren't a bastard, you never were." Aemon sighed. "You are a Prince, brother; you always have been. As I said, our parents married when our mother disappeared, once on the Isle of Faces in front of the Old Gods and again in a sept near Harrenhal, in the Light of the Seven."

Daemon stayed silent, but almost unconsciously, his shoulders straightened, and his head rose, gaining him a few inches and bringing him much closer to Aemon's height.

The turmoil he felt after learning so much in so little time was plain to see.

"Why didn't you come then? Where were you all this time?" Daemon turned to face him once more, but Aemon was surprised by the venom in his voice. "What brother abandons his own?"

Aemon closed his eyes. He had not expected the hostility; perhaps he should have.

"I…" Aemon began but found himself at a loss for words.

"Is that all you have to say?"

Aemon felt his shoulders slump. "I'm sorry, Daemon,"

He had often been taught by his mother and kingsguards that a king should never apologize, but knowing what he did, Aemon had always felt this was rubbish.

"My name is Jon." His brother stated rather forcefully.

"It isn't, though," he sighed. "I thought you were happy here, that you were safe. It's why I didn't come sooner. I thought you were better here, happier than you would be at my side. I'm sorry I was wrong."

Daemon's look softened and though his anger was entirely gone, he was at least listening.

"I was in Starfall with the Daynes, and I know that your life here was not ideal, but there wasn't an ideal situation. I know you faced scorn, for something not your fault, something that wasn't even true. But you had a home, a bed to sleep in, and three-square meals a day when the slightest mention of who we truly are would have gotten us to meet the headsman, as well as the entire Dayne and Stark Houses."

Daemon looked quizzically at him, his anger having abated, if only a bit. But this time, he offered no rebuttal.

"I was raised in secrecy, and while I was told of who I was early, it did not mean I could do anything about it until a year ago. And yes, I agree that even then I could have come faster, but I cannot apologize for this, as it would mean our aunt dead, or worse."

"Our aunt?" Daemon's dark eyes widened. "There is another… Targaryen?" he said the last word in a whisper. As if speaking of a taboo.

Aemon smiled, "There are two more, in fact, though once they were three. But perhaps I should begin at the beginning, yes?"

His brother nodded.

"As I said, I only left Starfall a little over a year ago. For many reasons, I will show you later," he said with a smirk, thinking of his children. "First, we headed to the Citadel…"

During the next hour, Aemon told him everything he had been up to. The assassination attempt in the center for Knowledge, the discovery of the conspiracy against magic. And though his brother, like many, scoffed at the concept, the mere mentions of the Wall and Dragons convinced him to hold his judgment. He told him who he had found in the Westerlands and what he had done.

"It was you?" Daemon stared at him with horror. "I heard fath–uncle talk about it with Maester Luwin. They said he was stabbed fifty times and beheaded."

Aemon rose his eyebrows. He had not expected his brother to defend their sister's murderer. Before his eyes widened, in realization, of course he did not know. "You don't know what he did, do you?"

Daemon shook his head. And Aemon sighed; he seemed to be doing a lot of that that night, but thinking about the fate of his stepmother and half-siblings never failed to bring out his anger. One that was constantly present in the background, never fading, and he doubted it would until the guilty paid for their crimes. It would not bring them back, nothing could but justice was a necessary step of the grieving process, and it had yet to be delivered.

He had never hated Voldemort the way he hated Tywin Lannister and his dogs. At least, the psychopath had been relatively merciful in how he killed. The killing curse was instantaneous and horrid to witness, but as far as death went, there was far worse. And it was far from the Old Lion's sole atrocity.

"When Tywin Lannister ordered the sack of King's Landing, he needed a way to prove to the new king his fealty, he found one. He ordered Ser Gregor Clegane and Lord Amory Lorch to scale Maegor's holdfast, the Mountain that Rides killed our baby brother, he bashed his head against the wall so much it caved in." Daemon gasped. "And covered in our brother's blood, he raped Elia Martell before splitting her in half with his greatsword." Daemon had a look of horror etched on his face, tears brimming in his dark eyes but Aemon did not relent. His brother needed to know the truth of what had been done to their family. "Meanwhile, Lorch stabbed Rhaenys. She was three, Daemon. Arthur has often told me of how gentle she was, how kind she was. And he stabbed her fifty times over. And then they presented their bodies to Robert Baratheon, and do you know what he did?"

Daemon shook his head, his face pale as snow.

"He laughed, Daemon," Aemon answered, his voice trembling with untold fury as he felt a tear escape his eyes. "He laughed, and he called them Dragonspawn. Clegane and Lorch were never punished; they were rewarded with our family's spoils. And Tywin Lannister was given a queen."

If anything, horror had been replaced by fury in his brother's traits. Righteous anger had what had been done to babes, to their brother and sister.

"So yes, I did the same to him. And when I find Gregor Clegane, I'll make him scream so loud the whole Seven Kingdoms will hear him pleading for his life. And yes, Tywin Lannister will suffer, he already has, but he will know more pain than a man can possibly take before I take his head, this I swear."

"And I'll help you." Daemon reached out his hand, laying it on Aemon's shoulder as he took deep breaths to try and calm the rage he felt.

Once he had managed to calm himself, Aemon continued his tale. Telling Daemon how they had found their way to King's Landing, only to see the utter filth that permeated the city. The conditions the citizens of the capital lived in, especially in what little he had seen of Flea Bottom, of the bowls of brown, the streets filled with literal shit, and even the odd dead body. And even then, he had only spent moments in the poorest district of the capital; there was likely far worse to uncover. And he still had to go through Baelish's ledgers.

He then told him of his travels across the Narrow Sea. First, in Pentos, he had managed to save their aunt only by the narrowest of margins, finding her at the time she most needed, but sadly, not early enough to save Viserys as well.

"How could he do this? To his own sister?" Daemon asked, frowning, visibly trying to make sense of it all.

"I don't know, Daemon," he answered with a sad smile and he noticed his brother flinching at his use of the name. It was normal, he guessed, it was not like it was common to leave your entire life under a false identity and then have to change your name. "There are days I wish I had arrived sooner to save him as well, and other days I wish it had been my sword that pierced his throat, if only for all he put our aunt through."

Then he told him of Braavos, passing over his dealings with Lorenzo briefly and recounting how he had seen Daenerys bloom under his watch, becoming the true Targaryen princess she was always meant to be.

"So who's the other one?" Daemon asked eagerly.

"Who else but the Maester at the Wall, brother?"

He opened his mouth and closed it, his eyes widening in realization. "Uncle Benjen spoke of Maester Aemon… I didn't realize until now, but how?"

"He is a really old man," Aemon answered, thinking fondly of his namesake. "Close to a hundred name days, he knows we live, but little else, I wager he has been waiting a long time to meet us,"

"You mean to go see the wall?"

"I mean for us to go," Aemon answered. "Our great-uncle deserves…"

"Boys?" Eddard Stark's voice interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.

Daemon tensed immediately, his jaw clenching. Aemon lay a comforting hand on his brother's shoulders as a light began to approach them. "Come on, no need to scare our uncle."