Chapter Text
North of the Wall it was as cold as it was desolate. No birds flew by, and no green leaves grew from the branches. Everything was plain. Fierce. Wild. Unforgiving.
It was the perfect place for Jon Snow’s soul. For he had once been fierce in all that he attempted. For he had once been wild when his anger rose. For he didn’t seek forgiveness, and were he to seek it, he hoped he would never find it; if only so that he could feel as much pain as he had given her . If only so he could grant her the smallest bit of justice by living as miserable a life as possible.
Jon didn’t seek peace, for he knew he did not deserve it.
Cursed be the kinslayer.
He had killed his aunt. His queen.
But that’s not all she had been to him. She was so much more than that…
He couldn’t bring himself to say her name. Wasn’t worthy of the honor. She had been a warm summer breeze that left him feeling happy after a life of so much sorrow. She had breathed life back into him—as Rhaegal and Viserion had once breathed fire on her enemies—when he thought he would never feel alive again.
He had repaid her by snuffing her life in the most cruel of ways…
In a lover’s embrace.
With a kiss he had stabbed her, while what he really should have done was pledge his love.
With this kiss I pledge my love.
Jon wished he hadn’t been such a fool. Wished he had listened to his heart instead of caring about what people may think.
She was his aunt… so what?
But then he remembered all she had done. And again he couldn’t stop the guilt he felt, for if he had stood by her, for if he had offered his shoulder and his arms to cry on. A hand to hold on to in the sea of her grief…
‘I really am a bastard…’ He would think to himself often. And aptly named.
Aemond Targaryen, the Kinslayer.
It was poetic when he thought of it, really.
He liked Targaryen history. As much as he’d refused to accept his parentage, he knew lots of stories… from the brave Daeron the Young to Aemon the Dragonknight. It was because of his aptitude for history that he knew he was only the second one named Aemond Targaryen in the history of his sire’s house.
He was as much a sinner as the first one. Both of them cursed by having spilt the blood of their family.
Aemond ‘One-Eye’ had killed his nephew Lucerys Velaryon, had helped kill his cousin Rhaenys Targaryen. Then his uncle Daemon Targaryen had fallen to his death, leaping from Caraxes to kill Aemond who rode atop the great Vhagar.
And now an Aemond Targaryen had once again earned the tittle of kinslayer.
The gods had a sense of humor.
“That’s why they’re gods,” A voice said. Jon was completely startled. He turned around himself, looking for whomever had spoken, only to be startled to see a dim figure, looking more like a mirage of the icy winds and heavy snows of the North.
Perhaps, he was going mad too… He wouldn’t put it past him after all the trauma he’s suffered.
“You’re not mad, unfortunately,” The figure answered to his thoughts. It stepped closer, moving with a proud stride and deadly grace. The snow didn’t crunch beneath their feet and it kept making him think that he was mad. “If you were mad, perhaps you’d feel less guilty about being a kinslayer, Aemond.”
He flinched. Was this a trick of his mind or not?
“You could say I am a gift from the gods themselves.”
Jon was finally able to see clearer who the figure was, but being able to see didn’t mean being able to understand. Long silver hair, pointed features, and one violet eye stared him down. An eyepatch covered where the other eye should be but instead a scar peaked from underneath.
“Others take me,” He mumbled in utter astonishment.
The man, Aemond ‘One-Eye’ Targaryen—because it couldn’t be anyone else—smirked. “Well, the Others sure did try to take you more than once… but no, you’re still here.”
“How are you here?” Why him of all people? Of all the Targaryens of the past he could have met he was stuck with Aemond the Kinslayer?
“Watch your tone, it’s not like I’m having a blast here with you.”
“Then leave,” He told him simply. He didn’t want to deal with any more demons. He had enough to last him a lifetime.
“I don’t think I will,” Aemond replied. His eye shone with mischief. Jon couldn’t help but think that the color of his hair reminded him of…
No, he would not utter her name. He had not the right.
“You know, we were all very proud of Daenerys Stormborn for what she did to that shithole of a city,” Aemond commented like he was commenting on the weather and not mass extermination. “Of you? Not so much.”
He heaved a sigh. “Wouldn’t be the first time I don’t make my family proud.”
“Well, some of them thought you were right… Weaklings. Even so, they condemned you just as they did to me, for becoming a kinslayer,” Aemond explained. “I thought it was poetic.”
“Likewise,” Jon grimaced. Not finding any humor like his namesake was doing. What were his parents thinking in naming him Aemond? They could have minded the ‘d’, and he would have been proud to be named after Maester Aemon, or the Dragonknight…
“Yeah, yeah, nobody likes Aemond,” His namesake mocked him. “Still, it was me who was brave enough to tame the great Vhagar. It was me who held the realm together while my brother indulged himself and risked losing the war.”
“Well, most people remember you like a madman,” Jon shut him down. “A madman that burned the Riverlands for fun, and that killed many of his relatives.”
“Lucerys Velaryon took my eye! Why does everyone conveniently forget about that?” Aemond snapped at him, but there was a hidden feeling in his expression. Not a full truth, perhaps? He’d try to find out. “Not even my father cared about it enough… he cared more about the fact I called my nephews bastards.”
Jon flinched again. Memories of his childhood in Winterfell coming back with full force.
“Oh, just get over it!” Aemond dismissed. “You were never a bastard, unlike my nephews, Aemond.”
“Were you this annoying when you were alive?” Jon spat at him. Annoyed beyond measure.
“If you think I’m annoying you would have hated Aegon,” Aemond laughed merrily. “I disliked my brother very much, and he was my brother.”
“Why? Didn’t you sacrifice your soul for him?” Jon asked, genuinely intrigued. If anything he had the opportunity to get a real account in regards to the Greens perspective during the Dance of Dragons. It was a good opportunity, and he didn’t have anything else to do.
“No,” He denied. He looked away for a moment. “I sacrificed my soul. Because I had to. I don’t blame my choices nor my mistakes on my brother nor the rest of my family. I am what I am, and what I am, unfortunately, is a kinslayer. That’s why I’m talking to you.”
“Cursed be the kinslayer…” Jon murmured. “Is this your punishment? Talking to the last of House Targaryen? Another Targaryen kinslayer like you?”
“Oh, so now you accept it, huh?” Aemond glared at him. “Not when Daenerys Stormborn was falling apart and all she wanted was the loyalty of the last of her blood?”
“I’ve had time to think,” Jon said. “It’s not easy to discover you were lied to your whole life.”
“I suppose not, but you’re the Blood of the Dragon. It is unbecoming of you to behave as you have.”
“Well, I used to think I was just a lowly bastard, so you’ll have to forgive my manners,” He added sarcastically, huffing.
“You can take the prince out of the bastard but not the bastard out of the prince,” Aemond told him. “That’s ingenious because it works both ways, see that?”
“What?” Jon was lost.
“I can’t believe this is the last of House Targaryen,” He thought he heard Aemond mutter as he shook his head away from him. Turning back he said, “The bastard Lannister prince, shared a name with my nephew?”
Jon thought about that. Well, Aemond was right. Jon had discovered he was a prince and had kept thinking of himself as a bastard; Joffrey had been bastard-born all along and acted as sinful and as horrible as they were always accused of being even when he thought he was a prince.
“Ingenious,” He agreed.
Aemond hummed in answer. Looking more solid than he had a moment before. It brought a question he should have asked earlier to the forefront of his mind.
“Am I the only one that can see you?” He voiced.
“Worried someone will think you’re following in your mad grandfather’s footsteps if they see you talking to nothing?” Aemond taunted. It made his blood boil to be reminded that he was related to the Mad King.
“Your grandfather wasn’t always mad, did you know?” Aemond posed it as a question. Jon had heard that, yes.
“So I’ve heard,” He answered. He didn’t want to talk about Aerys II. He didn’t want to talk about his father Rhaegar or his uncle Viserys or his…
“I see I touched a nerve.” Aemond started pacing around him, like a direwolf getting ready to strike. “Tell me, what is it that scares you so of your heritage?”
“You haven’t answered my question,” He avoided the older prince’s question. He didn’t want to think or talk about that either.
“I believe you shall have an answer when I accomplish my task.” Aemond stared intently at him, stopping his pacing. It was quite unnerving considering he only had one eye, and it was intense enough for both of them.
“And what is your task then?” Jon asked, feeling a bit miffed about the whole exchange. “I’ll help you get it done so you can leave me alone.”
“Rhyming words, lying words,” His namesake taunted. “Answer my question and we’ll get farther along in this situation.”
Jon huffed. His breath condensing in front of his face. He had started noticing ever since he learned the truth about himself how no matter how long he stayed out in the cold, his breath always remained warm.
Dragon’s blood, he supposed.
Aemond groaned in front of him, looking incredibly bored, even if his stance was that of someone ready to pounce. Jon supposed that he would be quite the foe to go toe to toe with.
“Come on Aemond, answer me! I don’t have all day!”
“Don’t you have all eternity since you’re dead?” Jon asked cheekily. Enjoying the glare he was sent. Admit it or not, he was slightly pleased to be having a conversation, even if it was with Aemond ‘One-Eye’. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in over a week. Quite common nowadays. The only person that he spoke with on occasion was Tormund. It was a rare occasion when he did though.
“No, actually I don’t,” Aemond snapped, any mirth his words could have had was nonexistent. “I have until sundown to accomplish my task to get what I want.”
“And what is it you want?” Jon questioned. “I doubt I can give it to you. I have nothing.”
“And you know nothing,” He told him. His voice far, lost somewhere else. Jon glared at him, remembering Ygritte. Her death, specifically. It still hurt to know that the only other woman he had loved he’d betrayed too.
Aemond paced again. He seemed to do that a lot. A nervous or anxious habit? No, the man looked like he was so confident and self-assured Jon doubted he had even an anxious bone in his body. Perhaps, he paced when he was strategizing…
Then, all his theories came to a stop when he did something that surprised Jon.
His namesake stopped. He looked at where he sat on the snow, rolled his eyes, and went to sit beside him. It didn’t feel as chilling as he’d thought to have a ghost sitting next to him.
“Little Aemond,” He clicked his tongue. “You’re more like me than you think, and more than I like.”
“We’re not,” Jon denied immediately. He didn’t want to be.
“You loved your Daenerys, I loved my Helaena… And in one way or the other we both killed them.”
Jon paused. “Helaena…” He wondered. Thinking. “Your sister? Your brother’s queen?”
“She was never Aegon’s,” Aemond said fiercely. “She was mine.”
“So,” Jon thought for a moment how to word better what he wanted to ask. “Aegon’s children were-”
“Mine.”
Jon’s eyes widened. Trying to think hard on the history of the Dance. Something incredibly sad came to him.
“A son for a son,” He whispered. That’s what the maesters called it. The Rogue Prince’s revenge for his stepson Lucerys. The life of Aegon’s firstborn.
Except it was never about Aegon… it was Aemond all along.
“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for,” Aemond contemplated, lost in his memories. “I can tell you understand.”
“Daemon had your son killed, as you had killed his wife’s,” Jon voiced. Aemond looked up to the skies, shoulders tense, as if he were remembering something very vividly. Jon wondered what it could be that managed to render him so melancholic in so little time.
“A path was taken, and the course couldn’t be changed at that point. My uncle Daemon was ruthless, and I liked to think I was worse than he was. I had something to prove. But in the end everything I provoked caught up with me, and it killed my son, and my Helaena too,” Aemond admitted. “She was never the same. She ended her life, and I was never the same. But I couldn’t show it. Never. I held it together for everyone in my family. When my mother had an emotional outburst, when my brother was deep in his cups and cried about how unfair it was he’d been forced to take the throne, when Daeron came to me with worries about the future, when my grandfather needed someone to do what was necessary regardless of the consequences.”
Jon remained silent. Waiting for him to continue, as he looked towards the winter horizon.
“It wasn’t like that with Helaena,” He said. “She was sweet and kind, the only one I had ever wanted. My brother treated her horribly. He made fun of her even before they were wed. In the beginning he was vicious in the marriage bed, then he abandoned the bed altogether. But my sister… she was always so sad. She would come to me and cry about how horrible Aegon was, and she’d talk about her dragon dreams. They always came true. She’d said she would have children, but they wouldn’t be Aegon’s, and so it was.”
Jon processed all Aemond had told him. It was… a lot.
“So you see, when they killed little Jaehaerys, they killed her too,” Aemond murmured. “It was my fault. All because I wanted revenge. I didn’t see it like that then. No. I wanted blood for what my uncle and my half-sister had done. I killed Rhaenys, I ruled for my brother, I burned the Riverlands. I lost myself, the honor I had once been proud of was no more. I had lost Helaena, so I didn’t care about losing myself anymore.”
“Do you ever wish you had been part of the Blacks? I’d say they won in the end.”
Aemond chuckled. “Yes, and no.”
He waited, but he didn’t continue.
“Because…”
“Curious little thing, Aemond,” His namesake teased. “Because I loved my family. My mother, and my brother, and even my grandfather. If anything I wish my mother had accepted Rhaenyra’s offer to marry Helaena and Jace. Perhaps, she would have been safer, away from Aegon… and away from me. Jacaerys was a lot kinder than I ever was. I would have died before admitting it then, but now I see it as the truth. We would have never gotten revenge on Helaena, and I know if she had married Jace, Rhaenyra would have taken care of her. She was the only one of my mother’s children she liked.”
“Sometimes I forget just how messy the Targaryen family tree is,” Jon sighed.
“You should have remembered it when you were refusing Daenerys,” Aemond told him harshly. “An aunt and nephew is not the strangest we’ve done.”
“Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?” Jon snapped. He didn’t want to hear her name. He didn’t want to remember her. It only hurt his heart and his head.
“Yes, I would,” He said proudly. “I loved my sister Helaena, and she was the mother of my children Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor. My half-sister Rhaenyra loved our uncle Daemon; my father loved his cousin Aemma; and my great-grandfather Jaehaerys loved his Alysanne. You were not the first and I will not allow you to be the last Targaryen to love inside the family.”
Jon frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What in the bloody Seven Hells do you think I mean?” Aemond snarled, all gentleness when speaking of his long lost love gone. His eye narrowed, his expression promising the use of violence if Jon didn’t get his act together. “Think, for fuck’s sakes!”
“I won’t have any children if that’s what you’re implying,” Jon yelled at him, losing his composure. Who did he think he was to be scolding him like a child? Well, he supposed that technically Aemond was his uncle many many times removed. But in any case, he was a man not a child!
“How the mighty have fallen!” Aemond complained. He got up to stand in front of him. He looked down. “The gods of Valyria have given me a chance and I won’t let your shortsightedness and lack of ambition stop me from taking it!”
Jon was aghast. What in the seven hells was this madman raving about? Perhaps he was the madman considering he was talking to someone long dead, over 150 years ago.
“Please stop it with riddles! I get it, you grew up in King’s Landing,” Jon said. “But we’re in the North, so just be plain and simple.”
“Fine,” He huffed, rolling his eyes. Then his face grew incredibly serious, his eye narrowed and he leaned down so their faces were closer. It was an incredibly ominous stance. “Listen carefully because I won’t repeat it. You will go to Dragonstone. We will nurse your dragon back to health. You will go to Volantis. You will talk to Daenerys who is bound to be furious. You will take the Iron Throne with Fire and Blood, and you will restore the good name of House Targaryen. Is that plain and simple enough for you?”
If Jon hadn’t been sitting already he would have fallen to his knees.
Rhaegal’s alive? She’s alive? Iron Throne? House Targaryen?
He must have been quiet for longer than he thought because Aemond started snapping his fingers in front of his eyes. “Are we clear or not?”
“I have so many questions,” He breathed. His voice was so hoarse it sounded like he was coming down with a cold. Maybe he had passed out in the snow and this was all a product of his own grief.
“Ask then,” Aemond said. “But be quick about it. My time is almost up.”
Jon tried to ask the least heavy questions first. At least Rhaegal’s was a name he could still utter. “You said my dragon. Is Rhaegal alive?”
“He is,” Aemond answered. “By the grace of the gods of Valyria, that is. The Greyjoy madman did kill your dragon.”
“And Da- her?” He couldn’t say her name.
“She has been blessed with life as well,” He confirmed, bowing his head. “As you were.”
Jon shuddered, his hands were shaking inside his thick gloves, and not from the cold.
She was alive.
“What do you gain from all of this?” Jon thought to ask next.
Aemond crouched down and grasped his chin. He actually touched him. Jon was wide-eyed as his touch rested heavily on his face.
“I…” He began dangerously. “Get to see Helaena and my children again if I help a fellow Targaryen kinslayer absolve his sins before death claims him. We’re not gonna screw this up, am I right Aemond?”
“How are you touching me?” Jon whispered. Sounding a lot more fearful than he’d meant.
Aemond hummed. “We’re gonna have a problem if we screw up, because I will become your shadow. I will haunt every waking and sleeping moment until the madness drives you to end yourself. I will do anything to see my family again. Anything. ”
Jon was a mute. He may as well have been part of Euron Greyjoy’s crew with the silence that befell him. Aemond’s grip was bruising and he couldn’t for the life of him even attempt to push him away.
Aemond let go, and patted his cheek neither harshly nor softly. “I know we understand each other.” His smile was predatorial. Now, Jon could understand why out of everyone, Aemond had been the only one able to claim the great Vhagar as his mount.
“Now, get up, and let’s get going to Dragonstone.”
“What?” Jon found his voice. “How? I’m exiled, I can’t just call a ship and go? In any case how would I even take the throne? My br- cousin is the King and Sansa is the Queen in the North. I’m not going to kill them!”
“I’ll kill them for you if that’s what’s bothering you,” Aemond said, patting the sword Jon just noticed was at his hip. “The Starks are no kin of mine, and some revenge is well overdue.”
“I can’t let you kill them!” Jon protested, but he found himself incredibly worried about the fact that he didn’t feel as strongly opposed as he thought he should feel. A part of him was calling for their blood too. He was angry that after everything, he’d been the only one that ended screwed over by his own cousins. Whether he wanted it or not—which he didn’t—the throne was still his.
Gods, did he really just think that? Where did that come from?
“We’ll think about what to do with the traitorous Starks later, Aemond,” His namesake told him urgently. He extended a hand to help him stand. “Now, say you accept. Say you accept yourself as Aemond Targaryen, the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms. Say you will take back what was stolen from our family in the name of Old Valyria. Say it!”
Was this really what he wanted? Did he want to go to war again? With what allies? What right did he have?
Your real name is Aemond Targaryen… you’re the heir to the Iron Throne.
The voices in his head grew louder. Every single time he’d been put down, every single time he’d been called a bastard, every single icy glance of Lady Stark… Who stole who’s birthright, Lady Stark?
Thoughts were coming to him from the farthest recesses of his mind.
Betrayed … once, twice, thrice. By the Watch, by Ned Stark, by Sansa…
Betrayer … once, twice, thrice. To Ygritte, to his real parents, to Daenerys…
He shook his head. He tried to get a clear thought in but he couldn’t help himself from thinking of her. The way he looked her in the eyes after she’d burned down the city, the way her eyes shone with love for him even after an act of hatred.
Did he truly want this? Was he really considering going to war for the throne? For what should have been hers? Did he want to help his far removed kin see his love again? Should he save himself from the wrath and vengeance Aemond One-Eye was bound to bring should he deny him?
Jon did not want to be responsible for keeping Aemond from his family. If he were to be bound and cursed for killing her he would like someone to help him back to his family, wether she wanted to see him or not.
She’s alive, though.
And maybe that was part of it too. Jon wanted to apologize—even when he knew that would never be enough—and he wanted to tell her it was a mistake to be so trusting, to let himself get manipulated into killing her, that he judged too soon, too fast. He had believed in her, and he still did. Even after the thousands of lives she took… he wanted to believe he’d been right to bend the knee, to respect her, to love her…
He knew that maybe he’d never be the Aemond Targaryen the older Aemond wanted him to be, but he could be a Targaryen Daenerys would be proud of.
A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, maester Aemon used to say. In the past few months of desolation he thought that mayhaps he’d been more right than he’d known. After so long of being alone, he could feel his blood sing towards Aemond, the closest kin he had for now. He had been such a fool to push Daenerys to the brink of madness, when all he should have done was to embrace their song.
So, with that in mind, Jon—no, Aemond—took his many times removed dead relative’s hand, and stood.
“I…” He took a deep breath. “I am Aemond Targaryen, rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms. I will take back what was stolen from House Targaryen with Fire and Blood.”
He’d thought that saying that would have felt more like a lie, but it didn’t. The truth of his words rang through the expanse of snowy wasteland. In his grip, Aemond’s hand became even more solid under his.
His namesake was grinning like a madman. “The die is cast.”
Aemond II exhaled heavily, feeling oddly comforted by his words. He motioned for his namesake to follow him. “Well, let us gather my things and go to Dragonstone, then.”
Aemond must have heard something in his tone, because as they walked he leaned in to whisper in his ear. “No funny business, little Aemond,” He warned. “Remember, I can touch you now…”