Chapter Text
The sound of their footsteps against the pale red marble stairs broke the silence as if the thinnest lear of glass was being shattered by a street arrow. Still, the people seemed to fest on it. Jon could see the crowd from the corner of his eye, staring at him and his uncle has they merely climbed some stairs.
Some of the smallfolk looked at them as if they were gods who come down from the Seven Heavens, the living representation of the life full of luxuries, pleasures, comfort, safety, and bliss, something they, the mere commoners, could only fantasize.
Little did they know that he, Aegon "Jon" Targaryen, the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Heir to the Iron Throne, the White Wolf, as some called him in the North, fantasized about a life filled with their luxuries. A life without politics or ruling or having to hold millions of lives in his hands and decide who lives and who dies based on nothing besides the air they breathe.
"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Whoever said this certainly wasn't from Flea Bottom." said Lord Tyrion to Jon once when the drunk dwarf found him fencing against a dummy at Winterfell a few years ago.
Tyrion Lannister may be "The Halfman" of a disgraced house, but he is also one of Rhaegar's most trusted advisers, the Lord of Casterly Rock, and the Master of Coin. Therefore his presence at Court, or any other place for that matter, is endured by the noble. Though none of them was able to understand why or how the king could even imagine trusting in the demonic son of the man he executed for treason barely after he came to the throne, King Aerys' former Hand, Tywin Lannister.
On that day Jon learned why. Tyrion is every bit of the good man his father pretended to be. With one more trade which made him indispensable at King's Landing according to the king. Tyrion didn't care if you were a lord or a prince or the king himself. If he had something to say about you, or to you, he would say it, in one way or another, no matter what.
Such as "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but a peaceful negotiation with the Stormlands is as possible as me shitting gold. Did anyone see a nugget in my chamber pot this morning? I didn't think so." or "No, you're right. Letting a wooden doll kill you of exhaustion is a way better way to deal with your feelings than drinking ever could."
Regardless of being drunk out of his ass and barely being able to stand on his feet, Tyrion spent the rest of that evening lecturing Jon about what he called The Slum's Knowledge. In truth, he didn't say anything Jon didn't already know or suspect. The smallfolk saw them, the so-called noble ones, in one of two ways: either as the image of everything desirable in human imagination or as the root of all evils spread around the world.
Those were the ways they were looking at him and Uncle Ned right at this moment. Some loathing, others dreaming, ones deadly, the rest anxiously which Jon couldn't tell if it eases him or concern him. Anyway, he was used to such things.
Drinking with your friends in a tavern trying to figure out how big Lyanna Stark's tits must have been to catch the attention of two or three of the most powerful men in all of the kingdoms is considered just immoral and disrespectful fun.
When lords come to "His Grace, The King" or to "My Lord Stark" praising their boy's sword skills with statements like: "He looks just like Ser Arthur Dayne, but I suppose you already expected it, no, my Lord?" or "Truly, Your Grace, I don't remember ever seeing anyone fighting like this seen the Trident. There is truly fury(italic) in his movements. Perhaps we should be vigilantes to that, don't you agree, Your Majesty?" are taken as bitter complements and with a forced smile. Some acted as if they are warning their king of a crime he didn't know occurred behind his back.
While others just wished brothel gossips were real, or at less strong enough to plant a seed of doubt or distrust that could lead to a rebellion. Plotting or attempting to kill any member of the royal family is, without a shadow of a doubt, high treason, but, thankfully, it hasn't happened since The Baratheon's Rebellion, if you choose to believe that's so. The truth is no one has tried to take the Iron Throne by force ever since Robert Baratheon, that's a fact. But another certainty is no king is safe from ambiguous two-faces people who will do anything in their power to rise even beyond the Red Keep.
The people from the North aren't as different from the ones from King's Landing as they like to believe, either low or high born. To Jon, they all reminded him of the hundred billions of thousands of snowflakes he watched falling off the sky from within the walls of Winterfell. Each person was completely different from the other, the way they looked, the way they acted, their beliefs, their visions of the world. However, in the end, they were all made of the same water.
They were all human with their fears, their suspicions, and their doubts. To someone who is frightened, reasoning is as much part of them as a feather is a part of the human being. Their most dread nightmare could be the absurdest thing in the world, like the Dothraki crossing the Narrow Sea to invade their homes, pillage, ravage, rape, and enslave everything and everyone in their way. Those people forget that the Dothraki shit themselves with the mere thought of salt water. But it doesn't matter. Those people would still dread it.
Fear is something a maester or a soldier can find a way to control but never to eliminate. It's part of human nature. Because of it, Jon never resented anyone who had reserved one of those looks Tyrion told him about just for him. And by anyone, he meant everyone who didn't know him at all. The North distrust him because he is a Targaryen and the South doesn't trust him because he is a Stark.
Some eyes appeared to say "Oh my dear seven gods, it's Prince Aegon! I can't believe it!". Others said, "Oh no, the dragon spawn! Another future madman coming to ruin our lives.". Some others said "The Prince! Hmm, Ser Runceford has a nice ring to it. Maybe I could get an audience. ". A few said "Ah, His Almaty Grace has come to visit the plebs. More like a stag-wolfy bastard with a smart whore of a mother." And so on. Of course, there were those who were far more expressive in their opinion about their future King.
Starly Prince. Bastard Dragon. Furry Dragon. The Scaled Wolf Of Winterfell. Those words were supposed to shame him, diminish him, to show him that he hasn't full everyone yet, to expose him as the farce he was and has been pushed down their throats for 22 years by the ones who want to see him in that damn iron chair. No one had the balls of calling him any of those names to his face of course. They knew better than defile him directly in his presence or of his father's or his uncle's.
Still, words fly in the wind like leaves passing through whoever's ears there're in their way, not caring if they could hurt someone. And they did hurt him. For a while, at less, when he was still a child. Back then, Jon couldn't understand why there were people who stare at him in those ways or why they called such strange names.
"Of course you're not a dragon or a wolf or a "starly". You are a boy. A short one but still a boy." said Dany to him when Jon told her about "these strange people with weird stares" he met at a banquet with his father.
They were four at the time, so the connection between a person and their house's sigil was still thin in their minds, but Dany was right. He was a boy like those other boys running in the dirt in the streets, or those who are sword-playing, or those he saw beside the odd people at the banquet. He was a boy just like all of them.
His father and Uncle Ned always tried their best to protect him from this "misshapen tales" as they call them, but, no walls, made of either stone or caring, were stronger than the wind. Especially the winter's wind with its cold blades words which almost were able to prink his spirit. Almost, but they never did.
Though there are always some old battle wounds that scratch from time to time. But when they did, he didn't let it show. When the stares fell like knives slowly piercing his naked body, or the whispers were drops of wildfire raining inside his head, Jon would lift his head, take his stare off the ground and keep going, hoping his face wouldn't betray him. He sucks at it, but he does it. This is what he is, and he isn't ashamed of it. A wolf and(black) a dragon. A Stark and a Targaryen. A warrior and a prince. With time he learned to use it proudly like a newly knight wore its armor.
Was it his choice? No, he never asked for his brother to die and making him the one to hear the crown or to be born as the son of two star-crossed lovers whose love almost destroyed the kingdoms, but no one ever asked him what he wanted. Well, one person did.
Finally, his father's face emerged from the end of the stairway which Jon felt he had been climbing for a lifetime. But it was the sight of two light violet eyes that took him off his thoughts and, more visible to others, off his breath.
"Dany? What are you doing here?" thought Jon while, luckily, not missing the last step of the stairs.
He kept walking towards her without taking his eyes from hers. She was supposed to be in Pentos, not in King's Landing. Why would she come back without telling him? Had something happened? Perhaps someone con-Maybe Viserys, or one of those magisters, or even one of Varys' little birds. Her eyes remained locked on his as two small gems stocked in the dreary bed of an almost frozen river. Then he noticed the dark bags beneath them. Hasn't she been sleeping? Why?
"Oh, old gods. Please tell me she didn't-"
The shoulder brush Ned gave him was what Jon needed. Not because he was getting too close to the king before he greeted him or at less acknowledged who he was to the audience surrounding them, but because his last thought wasn't one Jon wanted to finish.
Jon and Ned stopped, standing in front of Rhaegar and Daenerys. Barely after the two men bowed, the muffled sound of incomprehensible whispers replaced the silence in between the crowd. How Jon wished they were gone, all of them. All he wanted was to take Dany to a place where they could talk, just the two of them, without being surrounded by no-one-knows-how-many nosy ears and curious eyes.
Jon also knew that such a place didn't exist in King's Landing. Saying there're spies hiding in every corner of the city was most more than an understatement. No, he has to find a way around it. Something was wrong. He could see it in Dany's eyes. That slightly dark shade of violet on them that always appeared whenever she was sad or concern.
Rhaegar walked to his son with open arms, but when he embraced him, he felt him jump a little as if he had caught him off his guard. Perhaps he wasn't expecting this sudden expression of intimacy between them, even more in front of probably all of the people in the Crownlands. Such thought turned his caring gesture toward his son into something hollow which he never intended to be.
He and Aegon never spent much time together and when they did most likely was during some dull small council's meeting or to talk about the duties and the responsibilities of a ruler. He wasn't a man of jealousy but in that Rhaegar envy Ned Stark. The way Aegon looks up to him, the way he idolizes him, was enough to make the king himself wish for something he believed could never have, the admiration of his son.
Very carefully, Jon returned his father's embrace feeling his tense body relax if only a little while he was rolling his arms around him. Due to his father being a bit taller than him, Jon lost Dany from sight for a few moments until he found her over his father's shoulder, standing there waiting for him. Only then he realized she was smiling at him which calm what was left of the turmoil within his spirit, at less for a while.
"Welcome back son." whispered his father into his ear before he slowly got out of their slightly awkward hug.
He put his hands on both Jon's shoulders, so they were both looking straight at each other.
"Why did you come back so soon?" asked Rhaegar in his usual cold, melancholic tone though Jon sensed the concern and worry in his voice.
He already expected his father to be troubled, maybe even suspicious, of his sudden return to King's Landing, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind what in return forced his head to play for him all the possible reactions his father could have to why he come back.
The sound of someone's steps coming closer made Jon looking again over his father's shoulder. Her smile had faded a little, making Jon's heart ache a bit, but it was still there. It was one of those real smiles rarely used in front of anyone, not one she had forced herself to use so no one could read her mind. Her usually pale marble skin now was tampered with a lifeless tone of grey. Her eyes had gained some of their colors back, but he could still see that sore trembling shadow on them.
She stood next to Rhaegar, whose left hand let go of Jon and rested it in Dany's shoulder as a sign, Jon believed to be, of comfort. When those indigo's eyes looked back at him with love, care, and uselessness on them, Jon felt the hole in his stomach grow.
"That's my fault. I urged him to come." said Ned Stark while coming towards them speaking the first words Jon heard coming out of his mouth ever since they left Winterfell over a fortnight ago.
Ned hugged Rhaegar forcing the king to free his hands so he could return his brother-by-law's embrace.
"It's good to see you, brother." the two men parted from their cordial gesture with some soft pats on each other's backs.
Ned turned to Daenerys who bowed her head a little in respect for the man in front of her.
"Lord Stark. It's a pleasure to meet you again" she said in a warm tone as one a child would give when a loving relative came to visit.
However, her mood wasn't all warm as she intended to be. There was something rimy in her. Rhaegar saw it every time Daenerys noticed his presence and now he was seeing it again. Ned bowed and grabbed the princess' right hand bringing it to his lips. Daenerys felt a tiny upper bend of the northern lord's lips as he gave her a chaste kiss in the back of her hand. Ned looked up but didn't let go of Daenerys' hand.
"Your beauty glows all over the Seven Kingdoms, Your Grace, and more so every day." he said with a kindhearted smile staring at a now confused princess.
The confusion was short-lived, shorter perhaps than half a moment, for when Lord Stark gently released her hand and stood straight again the same amiable spark that laid in his smile was also in his eyes. But, these are not the dark grey Stark eyes she had been earning to see. Those she could feel staring at her following every slight movement of her body wondering what she was doing here. Dany knew when she left Pentos she needed to tell Jon of her return to Westeros but when they safely embarked in the Black Betha and asked Ser Jorah if they should warn her family of their arrival he answered:
"It was His Grace, your brother, who ordered us to bring you back. He couldn't bear the thought of you being stook in that place any longer. He wanted to take you out of here the sooner as possible, so he paid off this ship's captain to bring us to Blackwater Bay. If he was able to smuggle onions and salted fish into Storm's End during its siege without being caught, then we shouldn't have any problems arriving there unnoticed." explained Ser Jorah with a harm tone "Besides, the captain says that when he left the Twins a few weeks ago, everybody was talking about the royal entourage from Winterfell going south in the Kingsroad. The Prince must be returning to King's Landing too but we should arrive there before His Grace does."
So she waited for him. The weight in her head wouldn't let her sleep but she waited. She hated the stares the nobles gave her while wondering why the princess suddenly stopped her "work with the needy" in the ends of the world only to walk around the castle on her own around but she waited. She couldn't bear the look Rhaegar gave her every time he looked at her but she waited. Now, he was right here with her looking more like that shy confused brooding little boy who used to run after her in the halls of the Red Keep than the loving honorable but still brooding man she last saw in the harbor of King's Landing.
"Your Grace." said Daenerys bowing, turning her long grey skirt into a maiden mist which sheeted the blood red stone floor of the fresh men-tainted grass.
The crowd no longer tried to pretend to be quiet. The princess never bowed for anyone, not even for the king. No matter the place, or the occasion, or the people around them, for him, she would only lower her head or, sometimes she would curtsy but she never bent her knees. Daenerys stayed that way for a few moments, feeling once more everyone's eyes on her wondering what she was doing and once again she didn't care. Let them look. Let them stare. Let them wonder about what they could never understand.
Jon kneeled both his knees in front of her. He held her by her arms forcing her to follow him when he stood up. Those grey eyes hooked hers once more way before they were back at their feet. She could see it now if she had doubts before. The confusion. The concern. Some hurt. It was all there, mixed with that dark shade of theirs, and seeing it, hurt her more than a thousand laces would, more so knowing she was the cause of it. But there was no anger on his eyes. Of course not, he wouldn't be Jon if there was.
He was still holding her though as if he was afraid she would fall or pass out if he let go of her. She looked even paler up-close. One of his hand slipped through her arm until the end of her self the same way it seemed as the wind slides in between the branches of a young autumn tree. From there he let two of his fingertips to remind on her skin, but their touch to others' eyes was inexistent for his fingers were merely floating over her wrist.
In the end, he held her hand and, like the man before him, brought it to his lips. Unlike his uncle's, Jon's kiss was steady and firm and yet comforting and gentle, like him. Daenerys could feel him breathing in against her skin trying to catch a glimpse of her scent as if it could assuring himself she wasn't some illusion or mirage.
The feeling of a long-fingered hand on the middle of her back replaced the one made by Jon's lips although the waves across the back of her hand still lingered. She didn't need to look to know that it was Rhaegar now standing beside her.
"We should go inside. Here isn't a good place to talk." he said before facing the millions of people in front of them.
With his free hand, he grabbed Jon's raising their harms in union forcing Jon also face the screaming crowd which means one thing: Royal Mask - On.
"My son is home!" the crowd's reaction to his father's words reminded Jon of soldiers in a trained field receiving commands from their commander. Only instead of attacking their companions in arms with some rough woods no better than sticks, the people in front of him shouted and cheered just as roughly raising their arms as if they stretched them enough they could touch him.
A few men, not many but still enough to give themselves to be noticed, crossed their arms in front of them. It was to them Jon's eyes went while parading his princely smile for the rest of the people of King's Landing.
"His safe return is the best gift the gods could have granted me. So go, my people, go back to your homes and your families. For today is a happy day." with that Rhaegar brought his and Jon's arms down, took his hand form Daenerys' back only to take one of her hand and turn in direction to the Red Keep. Ned joined them walking right behind them as the loyal soldier he was though none of them heard his steps for the sounds of mob drown any sound from there to White Harbor. And happily, it so was for none, not even himself, heard a gasp escaping the prince's lips when he noticed a silver string resting in Dany's collarbone, for it wasn't a string of hair.