Chapter Text
Coming up to Winterfell was… not like coming home. It was the opposite, if Jon was being honest with himself. He only felt this agonizing anguish. Dramatic, yes, but that was the only way he could think to describe it.
His hair was standing up on the back of his neck as he and Aemond rode into Winterfell. Well, technically they didn’t ride into Winterfell, as they were stopped by guards at the doors.
The guard sputtered an apology as he realized who he was. “Forgive me, your gr- m’lord.”
Aemond said nothing as they rode in. They had arrived without warning, which meant Sansa was nowhere in sight. A blessing in his opinion.
Dismounting, a stable boy came over to get a hold of their horses and his eyes widened as he gazed upon him. Although, it was nothing in comparison to the way his eyes widened and his face paled when he looked at Aemond.
“Could you try to look a little less menacing?” Jon snapped at Aemond when the boy had scurried away. There really was no need for him to be putting so much intensity behind the only eye he had.
“If you hadn’t noticed, nephew ,” Aemond began pointedly. “I’m wearing an eyepatch, weapons, and I’m a Targaryen. It is impossible for me to look anything but menacing.”
“My lord.”
Jon turned around sharply. Maester Wolkan was looking at him in surprise.
“Maester,” Jon nodded at him.
“Have you come to see her grace?” Maester Wolkan asked, stepping closer to him with his chains clinking as he did.
He couldn’t keep his immediate scowl in check, but he forced a smile to replace it as quickly as possible. He looked towards Aemond who gave him an imperceptible nod. So they were doing this.
“Yes, tell her I received her letter,” He said with a wry look.
The maester looked uncertain as his gaze drifted to Aemond who stood at Jon’s back. It was like having a Kingsguard in a weird way. For now he trusted Aemond to protect him.
“Don’t mind him, I’ll speak with my… sister about it,” Jon encouraged the maester, his eyes void of emotion. “Go on.”
“That was good, nephew,” Aemond complimented him once the maester had gone. His eye was scanning Winterfell’s courtyard. Asessing. “Huh. I always thought the great Winterfell would be something more than… this.”
“We went through two battles here,” Jon told him pointedly. “Winterfell wasn’t always like this. It used to be… the closest thing I ever had to home.”
“Hm,” Aemond hummed. Considering something deeply. “I think you miss how your life used to be, don’t you? Before the Wall, before the Others, before the murder...”
As they waited, Jon thought about it. Did he miss life at Winterfell before the Usurper’s visit? Yes. Yes, he did. He missed Robb and his little sister, the real Arya—free of a guilty conscience. He missed Bran and Rickon with their easy smiles and even Sansa’s naivety. He remembered fondly all the people that had seen him grow up, Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Mikken and Hullen…
He was still trying to decide on what his feelings were regarding to Lord Eddard Stark. But he knew that even with the anger he held, he missed the man that had made him believe was his father.
A voice inside of him whispered, Now y ou’re calling him the Usurper too.
And wasn’t that an incredible realization? Was he feeling more Targaryen than Stark that he would feel like his own birthright—his own house—had been wronged by Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters?
He settled on an answer for Aemond. “I miss many things, yes. Others not so much…”
“I’m gonna guess your aunt is one of them,” Aemond added. Brushing his hair back from his shoulders. He really did have beautiful hair… soft and silver and so much like-
“I’ll never consider her that,” He found himself answering. “She was a cold-hearted woman. Even if she was a good mother to my si- cousins. She was never anything but a hateful bitch to me.”
At that, Aemond smiled. It wasn’t quite a full blown smile like the one he had when he talked about his sister and children, but it wasn’t a smirk either.
“Very good, Aemond,” He congratulated. “You might yet make us all proud.”
Before he could answer, a page came along, standing breathless in front of him. “Her grace will see you, my lord,” He panted.
Jon smiled in amusement at the child’s state. “Thank you, lad. No need to work yourself so hard.”
That was how he now found himself in front of the Lord of Winterfell’s solar, now the Queen in the North’s solar. When he opened the door and he saw that red hair, it took all of his self-control to put a pleasant expression on his face.
“Jon!” Sansa stood up. Her voice sounded happy, but her eyes were colder than he remembered them. “You came!”
“Hello, Sansa,” He answered, he hugged her when she reached him. “I see you are well.” He motioned towards the little circlet she wore. Well, ‘little’ was too modest for the crown she had fashioned for herself.
“I’m better now that you’re here, brother,” She replied, giving him a small smile, but Jon could see a hint of worry in the lines of her face. Then that worry deepened when she looked past him and found herself staring at Aemond. “There is much I’d like to discuss with you.”
He decided to humor her. “How come?”
She heaved a sigh, it surprised him she still hadn’t noticed Aemond behind him, but her gaze had been fixed on him as if she actually was happy to see him. “The lords keep asking about you, they say you’re innocent. That you’re a Stark and that you should be by my side. I agree.”
By her side…
Aemond’s words rang in his head, ‘ She will do anything to keep her crown...’
“I’m not a Stark,” He replied automatically. He thought he might as well get it over with. “Sansa, I’m not here to stay.”
“Jon, you’re my brother, of course you-” She trailed off as her eyes drifted behind him. “Who is that? Why is there a Targaryen here?” Her voice had gone cold all of a sudden. Now he realized it was the same tone she’d used when talking about her .
How had he been so blind?
“What do you mean?” Jon asked, feigning ignorance. His tone seemed to startle her. She took a step back, the sound echoing in the room over the roaring fire. “There are two Targaryens in this room… I’m sure you remember the contents of the oath you swore, after all. Cousin.”
“But you aren’t-“
“He’s not what?” Aemond’s voice cut her off. Cold and calculating. His steps grew closer to Jon until he stood next to him staring her down, his violet eye intensely narrowed in anger. He could have sworn a chill went over her. He really didn’t blame her, but he couldn’t care less.
“Who are you? Where have you come from?” She glared at him, sneering. “The Targaryens are gone.”
“Not all of them,” Jon replied. “I’m still standing. Even though I know you tried your very best to not make it so.”
“To answer your question,” Aemond began, voice unemotionally amused. “I am Aemond Targaryen. And yes, just the one you’re thinking of.”
Sansa tried to hide her emotions, but the storm that was forming in her blue eyes was growing by the second. “That’s impossible.”
“Yet, here I am with only one eye,” Aemond smirked at her. “With the only other Aemond Targaryen in the history of our house.”
“You are dead, you are not real.” Sansa stepped back again. Looking between Jon and Aemond. “I’m dreaming. My brother would never speak to me as you have today.”
“Well, then it is a good thing I’m not your brother,” Jon replied nonchalantly, yet his anger was rising inside of him. He kept thinking of all the times she’d undermined him, of all the times she’d spoken ill of her or to her . And he kept thinking about Rickon’s face as he fell before him.
Jon kept looking at that ridiculous crown on her head and thinking, All for that ugly thing. My little brother, my love… All for the crown that should be mine… ours…
“This isn’t you, Jon,” Sansa said. He had to give it to her, she was not showing if this interaction was affecting her or not. She was as spineless as they come. “You’re a Stark. You’re my brother.”
“Was Rickon ‘ your brother’ , too?” Jon could barely contain his anger.
She seemed taken aback by this, she walked back behind her desk. The tension growing with her steps. “What does Rickon have to do with any of this?”
“You lied to me, Sansa,” He seethed. “You wanted both of us dead, just so you could have the stupid crown you always wanted. He died because of you.”
“Ramsay-”
“ We’re not talking about that bastard! ” He shouted. She didn’t flinch, she just stood ramrod straight. Aemond was still beside him, and out of the corner of his eye he could see he had a hold on his concealed dagger. “I’m talking about you. The girl that lied to me about the Knights of the Vale. It’s because of you that Rickon is dead, and I was too blindsided by having your supposed affection to see it!”
“Is that really what you think of me?” She questioned, looking down at him with that expression that sent him back years earlier to when her mother looked upon him the same way. “You of all people would dare to call me kinslayer ?”
Aemond held him back from launching himself at her. He would have regretted hitting her, he did not approve of hurting women. But he was furious that Aemond’s hold was all he could register as he shouted at her, “Say it again! I dare you to say it again!”
“Aemond, calm down or our heads will end up rolling… her time will come soon enough,” His namesake whispered in his ear. Jon shrugged him off roughly, but heeded his advice.
He pointed at her. “You’re going to pay for all you have done, Sansa. This, I swear to you. I thought you cared for me, but I was so horribly mistaken… I thought I was doing the right thing by saving you and Arya over her, but I was wrong. She was a thousand times the woman you will never be.”
“You dare to compare me with the Mad Queen?” Sansa seethed. “Daenerys Targaryen was a foreign whore that went mad just like all her cursed family before her! Just like you’ve now lost your senses.”
His pulse was racing with fire burning through his very veins at hearing her name uttered in such a way. How dare that oathbreaker talk about her in such a way? How dare she call him mad when he was as clearheaded as ever? He was finally seeing her for what she truly had become…
“I’m going to take everything from you just as you’ve taken from me…” He told her. He promised her.
“Oh, you and what army?” Sansa mocked him. She dared! “Go back home to the North,Jon. Take all this madness with you. Let the dragons die…”
“We need no army,” Aemond snarled at her. His dagger shining against the glow of the fire
An angry roar fell over the North, and Jon realized the gods had come through on their promises made through Aemond.
“I am not Jon Snow! I am Aemond Targaryen and I will not rest until you’re nothing but ashes and House Targaryen regains back all we have lost. I will take everything back with Fire and Blood. The dragons are back, Sansa Stark, and they’re here to stay.”
With that he walked out of her study before she could do anything else, although he heard her shouting for the guards to stop him. He and Aemond were running. They made it to the courtyard where they were surrounded.
“I thought this is what we were trying to avoid…” Aemond whispered to him. Weapons at the ready.
“Yeah, well, I’m not the smartest of the bunch,” Jon sighed. “I thought you knew that.”
Just when they thought they were going to get screwed over and captured, the flapping of wings was heard above them. To Jon, the sound was as sweet as the horn sounded after victory.
Viserion had always been the most extraordinary looking out of his brothers—gold and cream colored as he was. As the dragon landed, he was not as majestic as he had once been, but he was much better than when Jon had last come face to face with him.
His wings were void of holes, yet the scars were there. Ugly reminders of all he had suffered. The mark where the Nigth King’s spear had shot him down so long ago remained, although now it looked red, as if it was some sort of burn. His scales weren’t as beautiful as they had once been, the colors a bit muted. The bright gold turned more into dark bronze, the soft cream turned ghostly white, almost translucent. His eyes, once looking like molten gold, and later on terrifying blue, were now a copper color that contrasted nicely with his new bronze body.
Although Viserion still looked quite ghostly, the purring that came from him when Aemond held out his hand towards him, was as sweet and as lively as any maiden’s song.
“Dohaerās, Viserion,” Aemond told the dragon, approaching him carefully. The people in the courtyard were panicking at seeing the previously undead dragon come to life. Screaming and shouting rang around them. Aemond ignored everythin, eyes on Viserion, his palm on him as he whispered, “ Lykirī ...”
Surprisingly enough, Aemond had to scramble a bit to get on the dragon. Jon supposed it was the lack of a saddle, or perhaps the difference in size between a dragon as young as Viserion and the behemoth he used to ride when he was alive.
“Come, nephew!” Aemond shouted down at him once he was settled. “We have a long trip home!”
So Jon, carefully, did as he was told. The last thing he saw before they took off was Sansa’s look of contempt, staring back at him in fury and slight shock.
What he had imagined would be an easy take off—considering Aemond was experienced at this—was actually just as bad as his first flight on Rhaegal.
“Seven hells!” Aemond cursed, as Viserion rose over the North’s landscape. Jon knew Ghost would follow from the ground. And even if it might have taken his direwolf longer to reach Dragonstone, Jon was not leaving him behind. He was the best friend he had. He would never leave his most loyal friend behind ever again.
“It’s not easy without a saddle, is it?” Jon teased, shouting out into the open skies.
“Shut up,” Aemond told him, which only made him laugh more hysterically than it should have. Jon was… free. He had spoken his mind to Sansa and now he had a purpose. He’d reinstate House Targaryen… he’d do it for himself, for Aemond, for her …
“It’s like I’m going to slide off…” He heard Aemond muttering. “How do you steer?”
Jon guessed this question was directed at him, so he said, “You just kind of lean into where you want to go with your body. I don’t know. She told me that no one knows how to ride a dragon until they ride a dragon.”
Aemond grunted. “Yes, well, in any case Viserion is a lot easier to manage than Vhagar, and unlike with Vhagar I can actually feel him. He’s so… eager. It is quite adorable.”
“The big, bad Aemond Targaryen thinks his dragon’s adorable?” Jon questioned, once again teasing him.
“So do you, if you don’t want me to push you off, smart-mouth. ”
Jon laughed quietly to himself as they flew on. Aemond was getting more comfortable with Viserion as they continued on their journey. Jon was enjoying himself, as flying on a dragon was a truly unique experience.
They landed before reaching Dragonstone, around the Riverlands, he guessed.
“Well, I suppose it all grew back,” Aemond shrugged, as he looked around at the green fertile land. “Ash is the best fertilizer after all.”
He ignored Aemond’s apparent lack of remorse, even if he had a strong suspicion that Aemond did regret it. He’d hinted at it more than once.
“Maybe King’s Landing will be better now, then,” Jon muttered, trying to convince himself. To justify. Although, he knew not how. How does one justify the mindless murder of so many? It sounded mad! Yet, he knew it was not. It couldn’t be. She wasn’t. She… was just unwell. Her mind was clouded from grief. It had to be.
Jon sighed. The closer he got to Dragonstone— the closer he got to her —the more his thoughts betrayed him. Well, no matter. Soon he would see her .
“So, how does it feel flying with Viserion?” The dragon raised his head at his name. She always told him that Viserion was the cuddlier of the three. The most affectionate, she’d said. Aemond didn’t really scream affectionate but he supposed there wasn’t a lot of choice for riders nowadays.
“It’s…” Aemond hesitated. “Fun. I’ve missed it. A lot.”
“I won’t say I understand, but I get what you mean,” Jon replied, smiling pleasantly. “I think he’s glad to have found you.”
“I think he’s glad he came back to life at all,” Aemond snorted. Viserion seemed to throw him a glare, puffing out some smoke.
“Well, at this point Drogon will be the only one in this crew that hasn’t come back to life,” Jon commented. Indeed, Aemond wasn’t quite alive, and neither was Viserion from what Aemond had explained to him some time back. Then there was Rhaegal… his poor dragon shot down by fucking Euron Greyjoy. And… both him and her.
Betrayed. Murdered. Brought back.
They had parallel stories the two of them. It was truly a wonder Melisandre’s stupid prophecy of the supposed prince wasn’t about either of them. If it had to be anyone, he would have bet on it being her. She was impressive and magnificent enough that the tittle ‘The Princess that was Promised’ would have fit like a glove among her other ones.
“It’s a ghost crew,” Aemond joked. Wait, Aemond was joking? The world must really be in the eye of a giant named Macumber if Aemond ‘One-Eye’ Targaryen was joking.
“You can make jokes ?” Jon asked, perplexed. “I would have never guessed…”
“You really try my patience, you know that?” Aemond glared.
“I live to serve,” Jon said, although the irony of just how true that statement really was, wasn’t lost on him.
“Talking about serving, I need to start teaching you High Valyrian,” Aemond said, examining his nails.
“What for?”
“It is our mother tongue,” Aemond reprimanded. “You are to know it, if you also want to command your dragon.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to command our dragons,” Jon thought back on that conversation.
‘The idea that we control dragons is an illusion.’
“Command of your mount is one thing, control of it is another. An impossible one at that,” His namesake corrected. “I would know.”
“Fine, I’ll learn High Valyrian,” Jon agreed. “Gods know I already don’t look the part of a Targaryen. Might as well speak like one.”
“It can be arranged.”
Jon looked at Aemond in surprise. “What do you mean?” He chuckled. “I can ask for silver hair and they’ll give it to me? Is that it?”
“Well, I don’t know about the hair, but I’m sure they could arrange something for the eyes,” Aemond mused. “Hmm. It would certainly help. You look too much like a Stark.”
“I look like my mother,” Jon protested.
“And it saved you,” Aemond added. “Imagine you had looked like Rhaegar… what could have Ned Stark done with a silver-haired, purple-eyed babe? Hmm. It would have certainly been interesting to hear him call you his bastard if you looked Targaryen.”
“People would have probably put it together,” Jon thought out loud as well. “It’s a bit of a shame I don’t look anything like him. I mean, it saved me but I’m sure my mother would have liked for me to look like him. Since she loved him.”
“You don’t really believe you don’t look like him, do you?” Aemond asked him suddenly. Sounding truly perplexed. “You do look Targaryen, Aemond. Features-wise. You have the nose, the high cheekbones and a pointed chin. It is a sharp beauty not found in the people of the North.”
“Well, no wonder everyone enjoyed calling me pretty so much,” Jon commented, eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t know if he quite believed Aemond. He didn’t see it. He looked so different from Aemond—a true Targaryen.
“You have your father’s smile,” Aemond told him, voice soft. “And his facial expressions too. You also excel at brooding just as he did.”
“He… did that?”
“Oh yes, all the time,” Aemond chuckled. “He also sang to the people. Bought them food with the money he earned. I told you this. He read stories to your siblings, and sang them lullabies. He was quite a kindhearted man, your father, but he chose love over duty.”
“I’m not saying he was right, but I’m also not saying he was wrong,” Jon replied. “I’ve been miserable ever since I made my choice. The wrong choice. I know that now.”
“Hmm. Well, I must say I’m content with your progress. You might yet make us proud.”
“I can only hope I don’t let down any more people.”
In a very un-Aemond thing to do, he slung an arm over Jon’s shoulder. “You’re on the right track, nephew. With Fire and Blood.”
“Thank you, uncle,” Jon said, chuckling a bit at the ease he called him so. It was a pleasant feeling that settled over him as he looked at Viserion and stood next to Aemond. He thought of what was next for them…
Dragonstone. Essos. Her.
“With Fire and Blood.”