Chapter Text
The Tragedy of Summerhall in 259 AC was one of the most significant events in our time. On one hand, it caused the death of the smallfolk's beloved king, Aegon V the Unlikely along with his eldest son. Many grieved his passing outside the nobility and wished for his second son to continue what he built, despite the noble houses protests. On the other hand, this terrible event marked the first breath what our beloved Rhaegar Targaryen drew.
From the pen of Archmaester Vardis, 325 AC
305 AC
Jon Snow
Somewhere in a Dornish Castle
Cold winds blew through the holes where the once magnificent castle wall stood strong. Corpses laid everywhere in the main hall, all bled out and motionless to the gentle touch of snow that fell on their body through the gaps.
„Arrgh!” Jon Snow lifted Longclaw to strike down a resurrected undead soldier. The blade felt heavy and his fingers cried out in pain from the weight, but he finally had some time to catch his breath as the area looked clear. Something wet trickled down to his abdomen.
Blood. He looked down to his stomach and saw blood seeping out from the hole on his black tunic. Despite the amount of bright red color decorating his clothes, he didn’t feel any pain. Most likely because he died once already or just couldn’t care about his wound, he made his way across the Great Hall of the castle its name he long forgotten.
Jon Snow and the remainder of his small army made it to Dorne, hoping that the army of the dead would slow down just a little to give them some time to prepare, yet they continued to recklessly attack like madmen all the same. When he reached a nearby window to look outside, it felt like he was still in the North because of the dangerous blizzard raging outside. This was supposed to be Dorne, the land of deserts, but instead the only thing he could see was white snow.
„Tormund... anyone?” Jon turned back and called out with no success. Sansa, Arya, Bran, they were all dead after he made it past the Dornish border, and Daenerys, the woman he loved, was overrun on land while she was on dragonback in the Riverlands. He could still remember Drogon’s desperate attempts to fly up in the air and shake off the undead from his wings, but the Night King threw an ice-spear into his throat and then they both disappeared in the swarm.
Jon felt dizzy and his legs started to shake just before he could reach the door.
„Anyone?!” he called out again, but no one answered. „Please...” After he used up too much energy, his left leg gave out and he fell to his knees. „No.” This couldn’t be it for him, so he grit his teeth and forced himself up by pressing the tip of Longclaw’s damaged blade against the floor. Small chunks of steel were missing from its edges. Jon used the sword as a cane to finally reach the door leading to a dark hallway.
He looked back and saw the trail of blood he left behind. No he felt sure he would die from blood loss.
At the end of the hallway, two frozen warriors walked toward him. He killed dozens from the ranks of the Others, thinking that by defeating them he would also release some of the undead from their control. But No matter how many he killed, the undead army seemed just as overwhelming as it did when he saw it at Hardhome.
One of the two white walkers started walking faster and raised his ice-sword to end Jon’s life, but the wounded Protector of the Living brought up his valyrian steel weapon at the very last second to deflect the frozen blade. Using up the last drops of strength he had left inside, Jon parried the next strike and slashed through the walker’s chest.
Snap
But then Longclaw snapped in half and the momentum lead him straight against the stonewall shoulder-first. With nothing to keep himself steady, he clung to the wall and slid down to the floor. After many battles and hardships, the blade finally gave out despite it being valyrian steel. Magic must have been the cause. With his back against the cold stones and the second white walker approaching fast, Jon did his best to get up, he tried, but his strength left him.
Then the walker reached him. He, or more like it, stood tall with spear in hand.
’I wish you were the Night King.’ After the long chase across Westeros and the many battles they fought against one another, Jon wanted to die by the Night King’s blade, fighting the one who caused the destruction of all seven kingdoms and possibly even Essos.
But he was out of luck, this was just a simple walker before him.
In defiance, he raised up his broken sword and pointed it toward the walker, wishing he could stab it through its neck if not for it being in such a sorry state. He imagined his blade whole like it was given to him when Lord Commander Mormont entrusted him his family's ancestral blade.
He thought about Sansa, his cousin who went through so much at the hands of Ramsay Bolton only to die when her carriage was overrun during the catastrophic escape from Winterfell. Arya, who sacrificed herself to put Cersei Lannister to rest when she refused to shelter them at King’s Landing. Bran, who stayed behind and tried to warg into the resurrected Drogon hoping to slow down the Night King’s advances at the dornish border, but soon died from exhaustion. Ghost...
’Time...’ he thought how little time he had to prepare the North for the upcoming threat. Jon wished he could have settled their differences with the South so they could fight side by side, but it was too late.
He wished for more time.
Time to gather what remained after the War of the Five Kings. Time to make temporary peace with the regions who wanted revenge or see his people fall. Time to be with his family and grow old with the people he loved.
But he failed.
Jon could no longer hold the broken sword in his hand and dropped it to the cold floor. Ice creeped up toward his body as he stared at the walker who would end his life. „Haha... If only I had more time...” he chuckled, finding his unwinnable situation laughable.
It was an impossible task. No way Westeros could come together after all that happened in such a short amount of time. The wounds were deep and they were still fresh. What was he thinking, trying to unite broken families who hated each other. Poor Dany, he should have told her to conquer King’s Landing, then they could have sought out shelter there from the Night King.
He won’t beg in the face of death however, he would look it in the eye and stay defiant to the very end.
„Arrrgh!” But instead of Jon receiving the finishing blow, someone from the darkness ran up to tackle the walker, wrestling with it before finally pulling out a dragonglass dagger and stabbing it into its chest. „Hargh!” The man let out another battle cry as he stood up victorious.
It was Tormund Giantsbane.
„Tor...” Jon wanted to speak but his throat felt sore and he had difficulty pushing out the words.
„Up, King Crow! That fucker is here around the castle. One good swing and we win!” Tormund grabbed him and flung his arm across his shoulder to carry him out of the hallway.
„I can’t...” Jon whispered and his legs gave out again. Tormund kept him steady but he had to drag him. The world was spinning around Jon and the cold weather tore into his open wound and sent shivers down his spine. He was freezing.
„Yes, you can! We are close!” Hearing Tormund’s encourage made him smile. After leaving the Night’s Watch, he had always been there for him.
But this was it for him, he lost too much blood from the stab wound he received while trying to fight his way out of the castle. Jon thought that the stronghold would give them an edge against the Others, but instead they were all imprisoned and surrounded by them, though there was nowhere else to go either way.
The two escaped the castle through a hole in the wall and entered the snow-filled training yard.
„Dorne is...” Jon grunted, wanting to fight the losing battle against Death, „...supposed to be scorching hot... with sand everywhere...” he spit out blood, the blade must have scrambled his insides more then he thought, „...yet there is only snow, always snow.” The ruthless blizzard outside did not show any mercy.
„I don’t know shit about this Dorne,” Tormund grumbled, determined to carry him away.
„Bran said... I was born here,” he squeezed the words out. It felt like he was back in Winterfell’s training yard with Rodrik Cassel yelling his ears off for holding the wooden sword wrong.
Bran revealed many things to him, including his birth and who his real parents were. At first, he felt angry at almost everyone and everything, being made a fool once more. Jon had problems managing the anger dwelling inside his chest since he was a child, but he kept thinking how Lord Stark would not approve if he were to act on that emotion, especially now with the world ending. He didn’t care about being the heir of kingdoms he knew nothing about, and with the dead capturing every single region, it would be pointless to declare himself anything but a man who failed to unite Westeros. Time, he needed more time.
Time...
Time.
Time!
Someone stood in the distance, shrouded in darkness. Tormund didn’t say a word about this, so Jon figured that this must have been an ally. As he got dragged closer and closer to the mysterious figure, a small spot of red entered his vision. It was hair, the figure’s hair was bright red like it was kissed by fire.
That red hair belonged to a woman he could never forget. She stared right into his half-closed grey eyes, but when he glanced up to Tormund, he understood that the man paid her no mind like she wasn’t even there. When they reached the spot where she stood, he saw her face clearly.
Like a hammer slammed down on hot iron, Jon realized who she was when she reached out to caress his face.
„Ygr...” He saw her smile before a blinding light shone through the field. She was there to take him away... and he would not protest.
Jon Snow, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, heir to the Iron Throne and Warden of the North died from blood loss.
305 AC (???)
Jon Snow
Presumably in the Afterlife
„...dy...sh!”
Darkness.
Jon’s eyes were closed shut and his limbs were bound by an unknown force. He had no reason to fight it, since it was already over. If Death wanted to claim his soul, then so be it. Just as Ser Alliser once said to him, Jon Snow fought, then lost, and now it was time for him to rest. At least he felt some sort of relief that he didn’t have to fight that battle forever.
’Thank the Gods Melisandre can’t bring me back anymore.’ The woman died at the start when Winterfell fell to the dead. He felt conflicted about being grateful for the death of someone who brought him back to life once, but now his heart stopped beating for good.
When Jon died at Castle Black by the hands of those he once considered brothers, he was plunged into darkness. There was no time to think back then, but now he was ready and prepared for the inevitable.
’Just burn my body, Tormund.’ The North was gone, his family was dead, his lover and Queen also somewhere among the undead, but he had to die fighting even if there was nothing left to fight for. He could not give up, but now he was laid to rest.
He earned this moment. It was peaceful, Jon’s second death felt peaceful, like he was floating away in water to a far away land.
„...ady...ush!” An echoing voice reached his ears. He couldn’t tell where it came from, but if Death had a voice, he sure wished it would not be this quiet.
Jon’s fingers twitched, the bounds on his whole body started to come lose, but he instead tried to sleep. It was better to sleep and drift away now while he was still conscious of himself. He wanted to disappear while still remembering who he was and what kind of life he lived.
„...not...ryin...” The voice rang louder this time, much to his displeasure.
He wished the Gods would just let him be and get it over with.
„...why...son...ali...” Louder and louder.
’Let me sleep...’ He felt a faint slap on his back. The bounds disappeared from his body completely and if he wanted to, he knew for sure he would have been able to move his limbs around.
„...can’t...dead...”
Slap
’Let me be!’ That did it. The second slap was harder and almost knocked him upward. Anger started to rise in his body and he finally had enough. But when Jon opened his eyes, he was greeted by an impossible scenery.
Fire.
Fire, large and wild like he had never seen before. A magnificent and expensive-looking structure of a castle was engulfed by the flames, like they were trying to eat it whole. Screams could be heard in the distance and despite him being far away from the disaster, the crackling of wood still reached his ears.
„He’s alive!” Suddenly, Jon was moved away from the scenery and placed in front of a woman who seemed multiple times his size. She had a tired yet happy look before she kissed him on the forehead and let her silvery-white hair flow down onto him as if it was a river.
’What kind of God is this?’ he wanted ask, but he couldn’t speak. His head also felt too heavy and refused to follow his command. 'Dany?'
„Thank you, thank you!” the woman showered him with words of gratefulness to the point that he could see tears in her eyes. What was so good about Jon being in the afterlife? „At least you are alive!” She planted a kiss on his forehead again.
’What, alive?!’ Then, almost as if he was struck in the head, voices, colors and shapes became clear all around him. The air was warm, the woman’s fingers holding him were tight, and the towel she used to clean his face felt soft.
That wasn’t the castle he escaped from with Tormund, and not a single spot of snow seemed to be in the area. He couldn’t be alive, this wasn’t the place where he bled out, also there weren’t many women left, not even mentioning how small he seemed to be compared to her.
„Princess, we can’t be here for long. The fire is spreading, it’s high time we go.” Jon turned toward the new voice, seeing a man clad in armor who looked just as tall as the woman.
„Duncan... Where is Duncan? He was with me when I...” The woman held Jon in her arms as she tried to stand up, but she was quickly helped up by the man in armor.
„He went back, Princess, looking for the King. I have to get you and your son away from danger,” he looked at her, then Jon.
’Her son?’ Jon tried to get out of the woman’s grasp, but when he lifted his arm, it looked small, nothing like the one he had minutes ago inside the blizzard. ’No...’ He tried to piece together what he learned so far.
The burning building, the shouting, the amount of people running around in panic, they all raised up a question in his head about his own whereabout.
’No, not again... I can’t be back.’ Did someone bring him back from the dead again? It couldn’t be true, since he was inside a baby’s body and there were no red priests around anymore. ’Are we in Essos?’
Jon desperately tried to make sense of the situation, but hearing everyone’s distress and agony made that more difficult.
’Did we win? Did we make it?!’ He wanted to yell or scream. ’Someone answer me!’ he cried. His baby voice made the woman look down and give him a weak smile while trying to rock him to sleep or at least calm him down.
„How could this happen to Summerhall?” the man asked.
„Grandfather’s obsession burned it down,” she answered, turning around to look at the burning structure one more time from a safe distance.
’Summerhall?’ Jon stopped crying and he considered the two person mad. Summerhall burned down decades ago and no one dared to rebuild it, he heard the story a thousand times at Winterfell and even Maester Aemon mentioned it once.
„I need to keep Rhaegar safe. I can’t let anything happen to him.”
Why did she look at him while mentioning that name? Rhaegar, his father was named Rhaegar, though he never met him and he was probably dead by the time he was born. Slain in Robert's Rebellion.
„Your Father was born at the tragedy of Summerhall, right in front of the burning castle.” Bran once told Jon about his parents, how they lived and how they died since his powers allowed him to see things no one else could. When he made peace of who he truly was, a Targaryen, he grew curious and asked him about his father and mother in small details.
’No...’
He couldn’t be here. This wasn’t his place nor time.
They reached an encampment, then the woman brought Jon into a tent with several other servants following them.
„No, I’ll do it.” The silver-haired woman refused all the help they offered regarding her baby, then started to wipe his body with a fresh, warm towel.
„But Princess, you must be tire-”
„Leave me alone with my son! And let me mourn my family in silence!” she commanded them to go out and they did as they were told.
There they were again. Those two words: my son. He wasn’t this woman’s son, or at least he did not consider himself her child no matter how kind she tried to mask herself. This was all just a trick to Jon, an illusion he must have fabricated to ease the pain of dying in that blizzard.
Maybe he was still alive and hung on a thin line of thread in the world of the living with Tormund carrying him to safety.
’This isn’t real.’ His brain could not follow what was happening and he did not even realize when exactly did the woman wrap him up in cloth.
„I should have told him...” The woman who looked like Daenerys held him close and her tears fell on his cheek. „I should have told him this was a foolish idea. Trying to hatch those eggs...” She stared at him with her purple valyrian eyes he remembered seeing a lot, then forced a smile on her face.
Jon felt her hands shaking when she wiped down the fallen droplets of tears from him.
„When I saw your eyes shut and your mouth open without a sound, I thought I would lose you too.” Her small, short chuckle sounded anything but happy, instead it was full of sorrow and regret. „But here you are, alive in my arms. Your Mother won’t let anything happen to you.”
’You are not my Mother. This is just a trick.’ His real mother was dead. Maybe the Gods wanted to punish him for his failure to protect Westeros and this was their way of letting him know what he could have provided to all those children who died in the war. A family.
„Live, Rhaegar. Be strong for your Mother, for your family,” she kept calling him by his Father’s name.
Jon wished she could stop using that name. He expected Death to appear at any moment and condemn him for being weak, deserving punishment in whatever hell he was deemed to be placed in. However, Death refused to come.
’Stop, just stop crying.’ The woman’s tears kept rolling down on her beautiful face, showering him with her grief and joy at the same time. Seeing her cry made Jon emotional, after all, he didn’t really wish to die in that blizzard, he wanted to keep fighting the Night King or even defeat him with some kind of miracle. Melisandre kept mentioning a prophesied hero.
At first, he was glad his battle was finally over, but now he wanted to go back. Back to that crumbling castle, back inside that blizzard. Ever since he joined the Night’s Watch, fighting was all he knew, so he had to keep going. Keep fighting his losing battle.
’Enough. Stop showing me this...’ It was a cruel joke to see the world through his Father’s eyes, or were they his eyes now? Jon cried out in his baby voice again, wanting desperately to go back where he belonged.
It was just a moment of weakness when Tormund carried him away. He felt that his role ended, but he was wrong. Jon understood that now, he shouldn’t have given up because of that stab wound.
’Send me back...’ he pleaded, ’...I can keep fighting.’
Yet no one answered.
„Rhaella!” The concerned voice of a man brought Jon back from his wishful thinking. Walking past the guards outside, a man with the same silver hair opened the tent and stepped inside, breathing heavy while searching for the woman whose name he kept calling out. „Oh, thank the Seven!” When his eyes spotted the grieving young woman, he let out a sigh of relief and hugged her.
„Father!” Jon could feel her stop shaking as she returned the hug with one hand while still holding him with the other. „Is Mother...?”
„Yes, she is fine. She inhaled a lot of smoke, so we sat her down to help her recover. She’ll visit you soon.” The man she called Father kissed her forehead before shifting his gaze to Jon, or at least to the body he was currently in.
„Meet your grandson, Rhaegar,” she raised Jon up with her weakened limbs. „Aerys insisted if it’s a boy, he should be named Rhaegar.”
’The Mad King!’ It finally dawned on Jon what kind of situation he was in. Through Bran’s words, he had known that the Mad King, Aerys II was his grandfather, an information he could have gone on without, but he never asked about his grandmother, the Mad King’s wife and Dany’s mother.
Shifting his eyes toward the man who called Rhaella daughter, Jon tried to dig up the name of the king who reigned before Aerys and after Aegon V, but no matter how hard he wanted to remember, it just did not come to his mind.
„A strong name, none what we have heard before. In time, he shall be known as Rhaegar, first of his name.” The older man caressed Jon’s face with his fingers. „Maybe The Prince That Was Promised has finally come as it was prophesied.”
’Send me back!’ Jon kept pleading to whatever kind of God was torturing him. He didn’t want to see the past. ’I’ll do it this time, I’ll finish the Night King!’ Nothing happened.
„Is grandfather truly dead?” asked the woman named Rhaella, looking down to Jon with a sad smile.
„Yes, the flames consumed him along with my brother.”
„No...”
The Tragedy of Summerhall. Fire seemed to follow Jon no matter where he went. Even in the snow, blizzard or sand, some kind of fire always shone bright near him. But now it meant destruction and death instead of peace and liberation. The Night’s Watch burned the dead so that they wouldn’t come back just like Dany did with her dragons against the walkers.
„Rhaella, look at me.” The man knelt down to the sitting woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. „We have to go on, especially in these dark times. Raise this boy right, there’s not many of us left. Talk to Aerys.”
„But he doesn’t care about me, nor will he care about him.” Her expression turned fearful and filled with despair.
„Then I’ll also keep an eye on this boy. He is who comes after.” Someone outside the tent then called out to him. After hearing his name, Jon finally realized that this man was Jaehaerys, second of his name and father of the Mad King. „The prophecy must be fulfilled, we all have a part to fulfill.”
Jaehaerys left with the group of knights standing outside.
„Yet he married for love.” Rhaella’s suffering voice echoed through the tent.
Love. This single word gave Jon enough pain to last for a lifetime. Every time he fell in love, it ended in heartbreak, feeling hurt just like this woman felt right now. First Ygritte, the woman who showed him what freedom meant, then Dany who showed him fighting battles and waging wars weren’t the only things left in his life.
„You won’t have to worry about it like me, dear.” She cradled him gently while whispering sweet words into his ear. „I’ll convince your Father. You’ll find someone you love eventually.”
’Wake up.’ Jon screamed in his thoughts. ’Send me back, it’s time for me to go.' Someone put him in this body, so they could take him back the same way. He believed this was still just an illusion, a trick or a spell to make him think differently.
Rhaella stood up from the chair with him and went to lay down on a small bed that was placed inside the tent.
’Wake up!’ Jon then shut his eyes, wishing for the next time he opened them, he would be back in front of that dornish castle, amidst the blizzard along with Tormund. He would be prepared to fight the Night King this time.
To fight as long as he lived and clean up whatever shit situation he was thrown in. Jon would be prepared for it all.
He had to be.
Days Later
Jon Snow
Near King's Landing
When Jon opened his eyes, he was still in the arms of Rhaella Targaryen, his grandmother, or for now mother; this was confusing to him. He did not care much about who this woman was to him, since he still hoped he could get back to his own body. This farce had gone on long enough.
Jon realized that they were inside a carriage along with Jaehaerys and his wife, a silver-haired and purple-eyed woman with grace he had only seen on Sansa or Cersei Lannister. Or at the very least she looked like someone who carried herself high, yet also kind and understanding unlike the latter. He tried to stay awake as long as he could, but he felt dizzy and his eyes only allowed him to observe the world for two or three hours before he drifted off to sleep. The only thing he remembered throughout the journey was Rhaella pressing her tit against his mouth, trying to feed him. When Jon's eyes snapped open, he tried to push her away with cries of protests, and if not for his sudden hunger, he would have succeeded.
It felt so wrong. Rhaella refused to let a wet nurse near him and nurtured the Warden of the North herself, who was fully aware of the world around him. He had to endure it, otherwise the woman would start to plead for him to eat with such heartbroken eyes that they made him feel guilty.
'There's got to be an end to this trickery. There's got to be...' Jon was just in the right position to stare out the carriage's window. He watched as they passed by tall trees and knights on horseback.
"He is a true fighter, Rhaella." The older woman called out to her daughter with a small smile on her face. She leaned forward across the carriage and stroked Jon's cheek with her delicate finger.
"I-Is he eating enough?" Her daughter looked away from Jon to her mother. "He is quick to refuse, a-am I doing it wrong?"
'If only I could speak.' He imagined the family throwing him out of the carriage while shouting words of madness after the talking newborn.
"Oh, you are doing fine, dear." No matter how hard he tried, Jon just couldn't remember the woman's name. He was taught all kinds of things back in Winterfell, though not as much as Robb, like names of kings, lands and houses, but the wife of Jaehaerys II was left out of the curriculum. Or maybe he just simply forgot. "Children tend to be challenging as they get to know the world around them. Don't you worry, if he were hungry, we would all hear it."
"Your Mother's right. Aerys was just like him, always on the move and wanting to explore." The King - or rather future King - had a gentle but weak aura. He constantly coughed and at first Jon thought it was because of all the smoke from Summerhall, but no matter how far they got, he kept coughing the same. "At least he is quiet."
Rhaella nodded, leaning back in her seat with a relaxed and exhausted expression. Jon had never seen her asleep, she had always been awake when he opened his eyes, watching him carefully like he was some kind of frail object.
He never had the chance to see Lyanna, but for a brief moment, he imagined a dark-haired girl with Stark features in his grandmother's place. Eddard Stark made sure he was looked after, but Lady Stark was far from being a caring mother figure, for good reason he added. Receiving this much motherly affection felt alien and wrong to Jon, even if the woman in question was technically a blood relative. Still, she saw him as someone he was not. His name was Jon Snow, and that would never change no matter where his soul had been placed.
He just had to figure out what to do in order to get back.
"Your Gra-... My prince, we are almost there." An older-looking knight passed by the window to inform them. He had a white cloak strapped to his shoulders, signaling that he was part of the Kingsguard, a brotherhood sworn to protect the king and his family. Jon had seen two or three of them way back when Robert Baratheon arrived in their home, then some more when they had to storm King's Landing to deal with Cersei. They were supposed to be formidable fighters, but defeating them in the Red Keep were not that difficult, so he did not think much about the seven knights.
"Good." Jaehaerys nodded before he shut the window. "Best we get this over with."
"Must it happen today? Can't they wait another day?" His wife looked concerned, no doubt wishing for some peace and quiet after the long journey.
"The more the Iron Throne remains empty, the weaker the Crown gets." He placed his hand above his wife's and squeezed it gently. "Father talked about this, the situation around the Stepstones is dire."
While the couple talked, Jon listened carefully. He knew about Jaehaerys II, so it wasn't difficult to guess what the problem was after hearing about the Stepstones. The War of the Ninepenny Kings, he formed the words in Robb's voice. Sadly, the only thing he could remember about it from Maester Luwin was that a Blackfyre rebelled and the war ended in Targaryen victory. He didn't care about that war, he was more fond of stories about Aemon the Dragonknight or sometimes the Young Dragon. He used to play with Robb while imagining himself as either of them.
How he missed Robb and the rest of his family...
"Long live King Jaehaerys!" A booming voice came from outside, followed by cheers, words of gratitude for their current life, and grief about Aegon V. They were inside King's Landing now and with the window closed and him being held so close to Rhaella, Jon could not see anything from the city or its inhabitants. Last time he had come here people feared him after Cersei's death, then hated him when the undead broke into the capital. It was impossible to retreat forever after all.
"We won't have to worry about the smallfolk at least." Jaehaerys's wife announced, listening how much they loved the Targaryen family.
"But even more about the nobility." He let out a deep breath. "And their cold blades won't be gleaming bright in the dark." His gaze went to Jon, making Rhaella hold him tighter. "I have to find a middle ground. We broke a lot of oaths and promises."
Oathbreak. Jon had known all about that ever since he tried to leave the Watch when news of Ned Stark's death reached Castle Black. Just as Lord Commander Mormont told him, honor made him leave and honor brought him back, his friends' honor whose blood were all spilled fighting the dead or the Free Folk. In a way, he broke his oath to the Night's Watch after he left them behind, and broke the faith of the northern lords by kneeling to Daenerys and giving up his crown. Sacrifices had to be made for the survival of the many, though by the time he had realized he wasn't expendable, it was too late.
"You shouldn't have wed Rhaella to Aerys, we could have forged alliances."
"No, Shaera, I made the right decision!" Shaera Targaryen, that was the older woman's name. Jon could check one question off his long list. "Their line will give life to the prince that was promised. Maybe he is already here." Jaehaerys then looked at Jon.
'Horseshit,' he thought in disbelief. No prophecy could save them from the doom. Jon was the last living Targaryen from the Mad King's line after Dany's death, and in Dorne he died all the same. He still believed that being in someone else's body was just a trick, but after days of sleeping and thinking hard to search for clues, his real body had most likely bled out by now. Since he still had his memories, he could only hope that someone or something would put his soul back. 'No amount of prophecies are going to shield them from the Others. If only they knew.'
"Father, I-" Rhaella looked up but the carriage suddenly stopped.
"We are here, my prince." Judging from the voice, it was the same old knight from before who knocked on the carriage door and interrupted Rhaella.
Jaehaerys stepped out first, followed by his wife, then their daughter with Jon. A small delegation of soldiers and nobles awaited at the entrance of the Red Keep, some happy, some resentful. It felt completely different compared to the cheers on the streets from the smallfolk just a minute ago. A young man stepped through the row of Targaryen household knights, hair silver-colored and eyes purple. He stood tall and had a handsome face if not for his unruly short hair.
"Father, though it will be Your Grace soon, let me be the first to welcome you back in King's Landing." The young man bowed his head slightly, then his eyes fell on Jon that sent shivers down his small back. The pair of eyes stared at him without showing any emotions.
"Enough of that." Jaehaerys waved with his hand and stepped up to hug who called him father. "I'm glad for once you weren't there."
"Mother." Then he was hugged by Shaera too.
"It calms my heart that you are fine. Come, see your son." Shaera kissed him on the cheek and led him to Rhaella, whose hands suddenly squeezed him a bit too hard.
'Wait...' Jon forgot about him completely during the journey. He was too concerned with Rhaella, her parents and his predicament as a whole that there was no time to consider all the problems at once.
"Wife, I read the letter that you have given me a son, Rhaegar." The Mad King, Aerys Targaryen was right in front of him. He took the babe from Rhaella without showing her any affection and for a brief moment, Jon saw her trying to reach out so that she could take him back but then she decided otherwise. "He seems healthy, and he also has our hair and eyes, good. I hear that after the first birth, the rest should come out quick." He pushed Jon back into her desperate arms.
"As is my duty, husband."
Aerys simply nodded and followed after his parents with Rhaella not far behind him. When they reached inside the keep and walked up a long staircase, the knights guided them away while Jaehaerys went down a different hallway.
"Ser Harlan, how long will the ceremony take?" Shaera asked the old kingsguard who escorted them through the busy pathways and into the throne room. Had they entered through the main entrance, they would have been blocked off by the countless participants and observers.
"It shall be short, Princess. The Prince wanted a swift coronation."
Jon was at a loss for words, though not like he could have said anything either way. He had only been in the throne room once and it was a pile of rubble at that time with the Night King blasting through holes on the walls with his resurrected dragon. But now the Red Keep was back in its full glory, decorated accordingly to Targaryen traditions. He wished Dany could have seen it like he was seeing it now.
Entering through the back entrance, the group of Targaryens stopped by the empty Iron Throne to await the new King's arrival.
'I shouldn't be here.' Jon looked up to Rhaella, wishing she could have some kind of answer for him, but she remained stoic.
"Jaehaerys Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne!" Someone announced loudly as a group of Targaryen household knights lined up to draw their blade and raise it up in the middle of the hall.
Jaehaerys appeared under the swords, walking toward the throne while the knights lowered their weapon one by one as he passed. When he reached the man Jon presumed to be the High Septon, he lowered himself to one knee, then waited for the blessings to end and the crown to be finally put on his head.
Out of concern, Jon looked away to spy on Aerys, who instead of the coronation taking place, kept staring into the crowd of nobility. He tried to follow his gaze and happened upon a group he could recognize anywhere. Lannisters. They all had golden hair like Cersei and Jaime Lannister. Aerys was watching them carefully like a predator.
"Jaehaerys Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm! Long may he reign!" The crowd erupted in a series of claps and cheers Jon had never seen anywhere before, not even when the lords named him King in the North.
'What makes someone a good king?' He asked himself the question while watching the coronation.
Was there even a way out for him? It was hard to guess when he could only watch without uttering a word.
Madness.