Jon Snow/Aenar Targaryen ( 292 A.C. Third Moon)
Kings road.
His heart pounded in his chest as he knew what he must do while he searched for the location where he had hidden Blackfyre. He rode beside Lord Reed, and behind him was Allyn, who rode beside a guardsman of House Reed.
"My lord," Jon began. "I wish to pick something up. I left it somewhere close so we could pick it up along the way."
"Very well, Jon. Lead the way." Howland looked at him thoughtfully.
They rode a little further, moving around a hundred meters until they reached a large boulder near a group of trees. "We can dismount here. The rest can stay on their horses."
Aenar walked to the back of the boulder and removed some stones, revealing the hidden sword underneath.
It looked like an old sword now, but underneath the disguise was Blackfyre. He walked back to where Lord Reed and the men stood. "It is an old sword I found once when I was walking in the godswood. Mayhaps a previous lord forgot it. It was the first sword I ever owned. I know it is not much, but it is my first, and it will be part of my new house, a legacy. I may be a bastard, but my blood is old, just like this sword." He stated this as the men looked at the weapon in surprise.
Howland looked at him, then back at the sword, and nodded. "Hmm, take it with you then."
Jon moved closer and whispered to him, "It is Blackfyre."
Howland's eyes widened, but he smiled at him. After they mounted their horses again, they continued on. Late in the afternoon, they passed Castle Cerwyn. Castle Cerwyn itself was not a large fortress. Its walls stood ten meters high, with three stone towers rising fifteen meters, and within stood a great wooden keep. There was also a godswood, if he remembered correctly.
He had come here once two years ago, when his father-uncle had taken him and Robb to the castle. It was one of the few times he had actually left Winterfell. He remembered the peace he had felt then, for during that trip, just as now, the disapproving and sometimes angry face of Lady Stark was not on him.
He shook his head as they rode on over the bridge, and he saw men of House Cerwyn atop the battlements watching them. He also saw the small river port that lay against the castle walls. People were loading cargo, and Jon knew they would likely ship it downriver, likely toward White Harbor.
They rode on for about a quarter of a day more before they decided to make camp. Just like the rest, he set up his own tent. Even if Allyn wished to help, he refused, saying he would do it himself like the others.
Not much later, Jon began asking questions about the Neck, and the guards and Howland were happy to reply. "I will do my best to try and learn your ways," he said after a while. After a meal of salted beef and bread was given out, the party went to sleep.
As he woke, he immediately realized he was not where he had fallen asleep. His surroundings revealed black walls, dragon-shaped gargoyles, and dragon-shaped towers. He wondered where this could be. There were a few options. Valyria? No, that place was still broken since the Doom. Somewhere in Essos? No. But then he spotted the Baratheon stag banner, and the sight of it made him angry. Then he knew exactly which place this was.
It was Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of his house. Now the seat of Stannis Baratheon. He remembered the drawings and what he had read in books. Jon stood there, taking in the sight of Dragonstone and looking out toward the vast expanse of the eastern sea.
It was odd. He had not been here before, but Dragonstone felt like a second home to him, much like Winterfell, especially after learning about his dual Stark and Targaryen heritage. Winterfell was his home just as Dragonstone was, through his mother, no matter what Lady Stark said.
However, he was abruptly shaken from his thoughts as he noticed two black figures on the battlements of the castle's black walls. Curiosity sparked, he approached cautiously and called out to them, but received no response.
Suddenly, a loud roar filled the air, and everything went black.
A voice then addressed him, saying, "Hello, Aenar. It has been a while. It seems you have encountered the other two heads of the dragon, but their inner dragons have yet to awaken as yours did. For now, you can enjoy the last remaining home of the dragons. Additionally, I have sent you a companion from Dragonstone, who is waiting for you in a land described by his name."
Damn the thing, he thought after that answer. Do not get me wrong, it was all nice. The thing helped him discover the truth about himself. But the thing was not clear at all, speaking in metaphors or riddles. He groaned at the thought.
"Hmm, thanks for sending me to Dragonstone. It felt like home. But why must you speak in riddles? Why not just tell me the whole truth?" he questioned.
The voice explained, "I can guide you and set certain things in motion, but I cannot make choices for you. Doing so would disrupt the balance of the world. I have waited because bringing the prophecies forward prematurely would upset that delicate balance. The Great Other is similar to his champion. He can only be guided and set on a path that is not entirely controlled. As for you, a significant part of ancient power resides within you, but I cannot reveal or unlock it all at once, as it would be overwhelming. Your journey will gradually unveil your true potential. The other two heads of the dragon and your pack mates will help you stay grounded."
It was still an odd thing. He did not want to chase after girls, get married, or have kids. He was a child himself.
"A child with potential, and with a chance to change the world. In time you will know what it means to love and hold these women. Especially the dragons and the wolves. They are more part of you than any other. Blood calls to blood," the voice replied.
Dragons and wolves. Wait a second, wolves.
"You do not mean Arya or Sansa? They are my sisters," Jon muttered.
"They are your cousins, and I see paths for both of them, and I see many of them leading back to you. Yet I did not just mean the girls you call sisters. There is another, one you travel closer to at this very moment."
At that, he began to feel heavy again, and his consciousness began to fade.
Ser Arthur Dayne (292 A.C., Third Moon)
Greywater Watch
Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, sat in anticipation within the halls of Greywater Watch. When Howland had told him the news that he would be bringing his king here, he had been filled with excitement.
Now, if the raven was correct, his king, together with Howland, was on his way to Greywater Watch. After ten long years of waiting and training, the moment was finally approaching. He would teach Aenar how to fight, to defend himself better than his father could. Even if it meant being harsh, for life after Rhaegar had taught him hard lessons. Honor was all well and good, but it did not keep one alive. Rhaegar had let Robert rise, had tried to reason with him after the usurper had slipped in the river, instead of finishing him. Robert had taken advantage of Rhaegar's mercy and buried his hammer in the prince's chest.
He sighed, for he had done the same, sparing Ned Stark, and now he was not sure he had made the right choice that day. After what Howland had told him had happened to Aenar in Winterfell. The thought of it made one swing his sword at something. Over the years, Dawn had found its way into many a tree in the Neck. His thoughts wandered back to that day ten years ago.
He watched as Lord Stark approached on a horse with seven companions. He sighed. Let us hope they can be reasonable, he thought.
"Lord Stark," he greeted.
"I looked for you on the Trident," Lord Stark said with determination on his face. Ah, this is going to be difficult. "We were not there," he replied.
"Why were you not there to protect your prince?" Lord Stark continued.
"Our prince wanted us here, and if we had been there, your usurper friend would be dead, rotting in the ground," Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower had said.
"Well, the Mad King is dead, killed by Ser Jaime Lannister's golden sword. Rhaegar fell on the Trident and his children…" Lord Stark paused then, a grimace forming across his face.
"Murdered by Tywin Lannister's dogs," Lord Stark finished. Damn them. He would make sure that when they would die, they would die slowly, Arthur had thought venomously.
"Well then, we stand more true than our other traitors. Our fellow brother and your friend is just as bad as Aerys," Oswell growled and spat on the ground.
At the Stark party, they drew their swords.
"Wait, it will all begin here. A chance for peace," Arthur had said.
A cry then came from the tower. Very wrong moment to cry out, not that he blamed her, she was in childbirth, he thought sadly.
"Where is my sister?" Lord Stark snarled. Looking at him, he then turned toward the tower.
"She is in the tower. Lay down your arms, and we will let you in," Ser Gerold had said.
"No. We have come too far to lay down now. You lay down your arms, and we let you go to Essos," Lord Stark countered.
"No. A Kingsguard serves for life. I wish you good fortune in the wars to come. Now it begins," Arthur countered as he drew Dawn, the pale blade shining bright in the midday sun. With that cry from Lyanna, there was no chance for conversation.
"No. Now it ends," Lord Stark declared, his voice filled with determination and a hint of sorrow.
The air crackled with anticipation as the combatants prepared for the final clash that would decide their fates.
With a fierce charge, the adversaries collided. Howland Reed launched himself at Arthur, but Arthur's skill with the blade allowed for a seamless parry, his sword finding its mark and slicing through Lord Reed's leather armor, inflicting a grievous wound that sent him tumbling to the ground.
The clash of swords echoed through the air as warriors fought with unwavering strength and determination. He heard the cries of Lord Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, and Ser Mark Ryswell, and his fellow Kingsguard Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent, as they met on the battlefield. Each strike reverberated urgently, steel meeting steel in a relentless dance of life and death.
Oswell fell as he engaged Lord Stark and Ethan Glover. Oswell's shield swept away Ethan's sword, leaving the man open, and Oswell pierced his throat, piercing the mail and cloth. Yet in the same move, Oswell left himself open for an attack. Lord Stark struck, the greatsword Ice coming down in an arc that split the man's collarbone down to his chest bone. Plate armor, mail, and gambeson were no match for Valyrian steel.
Oswell and Ethan fell. Ice still looked in Oswell's chest.
Arthur then blocked a strike from Ser Mark Ryswell, still a youth. Arthur gritted his teeth, darted forward after the blow, and with quick speed pierced through the man's brigandine, mail, and gambeson.
He had to be quick, for Theo Wull came at him together with Martyn Cassel. During that, he looked toward Ser Gerold, who was engaged by Lord Dustin. Both combatants fought with remarkable speed, but Ser Gerold's strength proved formidable. He was able to crush the block of the Lord of Barrowton, leaving the man open for a strike.
Lord Stark, seeing it, had pulled Ice free of Oswell and tried to intervene, but it was too late. Gerold's blade struck forward, piercing Lord Dustin's face, driving through his eye.
Gerold pulled back his sword just in time to parry a strike from Ice, but in the process, Gerold lost the end of his sword, Ice breaking the blade.
Then Gerold was on the defensive, blocking a fury of blows, but each chipped away at his shield. Until Ice broke through it and cut Gerold's left arm, severing it, leaving the man with a bleeding stump. In that chaos, Lord Stark struck, driving Ice into Gerold's Neck, the Valyrian steel breaking through mail and gambeson.
As Arthur continued to parry, he saw his mentor fall. Rage overtook him.
He saw red.
With fury and speed, he swung Dawn, breaking the guard of Theo Wull and knocking Martyn Cassel's sword from his hand. Still in the momentum of the move, knowing he needed to be fast before Lord Stark joined his companions, he charged into Theo Wull's chest, sending the man crashing to the ground.
He quickly blocked a shield bash from Martyn Cassel and parried with a downward cut, breaking his guard. Martyn knew it too, and with a brutal strike, Arthur cut off the man's head.
Eddard Stark shouted in rage as he came for him. Before the man reached him, Arthur swiftly pierced the chest of Theo Wull, a dishonorable kill, even if he had broken the man's guard. He sighed as he braced his stance.
A somber silence settled in his mind as his sight descended upon the carnage. All lay dead: Lord Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Ser Mark Ryswell, and his fellow brothers Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent. Even the rage-filled cry of Lord Stark was drowned out.
Then Arthur turned to the man. So young, yet having lost more in this damn mess than most.
Arthur gritted his teeth. As Lord Stark lunged forward, Arthur caught Ice, but Stark swung it with power, hoping to break his guard. Yet Stark overextended, leaving himself unstable, and Arthur pushed him onto the back foot. Arthur countered quickly, leaving Stark soon without Ice. The man stood there, defenseless and vulnerable.
Arthur paused in that crucial moment, Stark's life in his hand. He remembered who this man was. He was the father of his beloved niece, and the uncle of the king.
"No more," he whispered to himself, resolve solidifying in his heart. "I cannot spill the blood of my king's uncle," he said toward the defenseless lord.
"What?!" Lord Stark uttered in shock.
"Yes. That is why we could not allow you entry without disarming. Oaths are sacred, and your nephew, the king, is inside along with your sister, who is Rhaegar's wife. Your sister's scream was likely afterbirth," he said, his voice weary as he looked toward the tower.
"Damn your brother for his impetuous actions. All this bloodshed, all in vain. She was never taken against her will," he said grimly.
"I thought… we all thought Prince Rhaegar had taken her against her will," Lord Stark said with an exhausted breath, his voice full of confusion and grief.
Arthur sighed. "Come then, and I will lead you to your sister, now that you are not armed."
As they began to walk, they heard a cough. Both turned and saw Howland Reed coughing.
"Howland," Lord Stark said, rushing to his friend.
"I will be fine. The cut is not deep. I was fast enough to step away from it, or I would have been spilled," Howland said with gritted teeth as he looked at Arthur. "Go find Lyanna. I will be fine for at least a while."
Lord Stark nodded and turned to Arthur, and both walked up the tower stairs, where Wyla was waiting, holding the babe.
Lord Stark rushed to his sister's side, clasping her hand tightly.
"Is that you, Ned?" Lyanna whispered weakly, lying amidst a pool of blood. "This is not a dream, is it?"
"No, it is not a dream, Lyanna. I am here," Lord Stark replied, sorrow in his voice as he cradled her head gently.
Arthur nodded to Wyla, and she brought the king closer to them.
Lord Stark took the babe, and although the man knew the truth by now, seeing the child made it real. Lyanna gave a small smile as her brother held her boy.
"His name is Aenar Targaryen," Lyanna said, and Arthur smiled, though it was a sad one.
"Ned, I need you to promise me something. Promise me that you will protect him, both you and Arthur. You must. Robert would show him no mercy if he ever knew," Lyanna pleaded, her voice carrying the last remnants of her strength.
Lord Stark looked as if he was breaking. "Is there a maester somewhere?" he asked Arthur, and Arthur shook his head.
"Please, Ned, promise me. Promise me you will keep him safe," Lyanna implored once more as the wet-nurse carefully placed Aenar in his uncle's arms. "I loved Rhaegar, Ned. I will join him soon. Protect our little Aenar," she whispered, her voice filled with overwhelming tenderness.
"No, do not leave us, dear sister. I have only just found you again," Lord Stark's voice trembled with grief. He held her close, tears welling in his eyes.
"Promise to protect him, Ned," Lyanna asked a final time, using the last of her strength.
"I promise you, Lyanna. I will protect him as if he were my own. I swear it, little sister," Lord Stark vowed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
A serene smile crossed Lyanna's face, and then she closed her eyes, releasing her final breath.
He stood there silently, unsure how much time had passed, enveloped by the weight of their shared loss.
Rhaegar, Lyanna, Aegon, Rhaenys, Elia, and his fallen brothers of the Kingsguard were all gone. He felt the heartache deeply.
"Arthur, we must devise a plan. I will take my nephew to Winterfell, where he will be raised as my bastard. It is the safest course of action for now," Lord Stark said, his voice heavy with grief and determination.
Though the thought pained him, Arthur understood the necessity. We had to protect the young prince at all costs. Winterfell would provide the sanctuary he needed, shielded by loyal subjects and the might of House Stark. It was a bitter reality, raising him as a bastard, but it was a sacrifice they were willing to make to ensure his survival.
"Very well, I will take care of Howland, ensuring his recovery and nursing him back to health at Starfall. Afterward, I will await news of the king's actions. I am far too recognizable, even in the North. I shall leave for Essos and try to find the other Targaryen children. The truth must be told to him, and there can be no debate. When he reaches his sixteenth nameday, you will inform him and send him to Greywater Watch. Then I will return," he stated firmly, outlining his plan.
Although he knew he was lying to Lord Stark, he would not travel to Essos; he would stay in Westeros, in the Neck, close enough to protect his king if need be. Where he didn't know yet.
"I promise, Arthur. I will fulfill my part, even if I must lie. For my family, I do anything," Lord Stark replied.
"On your head be it if you do not. I swear, I might have spared you now, but if you break that promise, I will kill you myself. Even if it is the last thing I do," Arthur said, his tone stern as he ensured Lord Stark understood the threat.
That all took place ten years ago. Now, his king was approaching, and he would help him to reclaim his rightful place.
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