The Northern Dragon - XIV (Patreon)

XIV: The Prince of Dragonstone

Vermithor was one of the fastest dragons alive; he was large but not old, heavy, but strong. He covered long distances in short amounts of time. They almost reached White Harbor in less than a day, but Jon chose to avoid cities and to camp. He wanted as little attention as possible and he could not lose time being hosted by lords like he had been when he traveled from King’s Landing to Winterfell. No matter his title as a Prince of the Realm and his dragon, he was still a child who ran away from his uncle’s home to gallivant in the wild, his behavior was scandalous to say the least, and many at Court would say that he had started acting like his father.

His father…

Jon loved Daemon Targaryen, he truly did. He was proud to be the son of the Rogue Prince… despite his… bad habits.

Yet, Jon was angry, and he knew exactly why.

Love did not prevent him from judging his father as foolish and arrogant, siring a bastard was bad enough, recognizing it officially was dangerous, but giving it a Dragon egg? This was pure madness.

His Father had splendid reputation as a fighter and dragon rider, but a horrible one as a noble man. Daemon was known in the stews and brothels in Flea Bottom, becoming familiar to every cutpurse, whore, and gambler in the slums of King’s Landing. Jon knew Daemon was a man that Jon Snow would have despised. But Jaehaeron Targaryen… How could he ever his own father? Strangely, it never mattered to Jon whether his father was a whoremonger, a cutthroat or even a tyrant at time. To him, Daemon was his father, simply his father, and he was a loving one, Jon knew it and loved him for it.

There was another reason to Jon’s anger, and that reason was clinging to his doublet.

But the Prince bid his time, he had a sibling to save. So he waited until he found a stream where Vermithor, Aevyr and him could drink from.
Once they had landed, Jon dismounted and looked around to make sure there was no house nor smoke that he would have missed in the sky. But the region was without inhabitant. This was perfect.

Aevyr jumped on the ground, and took off the bag in which he had hidden all the food he had stolen from the kitchen before their departure.
“So…” He said as he searched into the bag. “Bread or salted beef?”

He never saw Jon’s punch before he felt it connect with his face.

Aevyr fell on the ground, stunned by the strength Jon had put in his punch. The Prince did not stop there, he jumped on his cousin, and started beating him.

With his arms stuck under Jon’s knees, Aevyr was unable to defend himself. Jon unleashed an avalanche of punches that turned the bastard’s face bloody. He only stopped because he knew the only maester they would meet during their journey would be the one at Dragonstone, and that was a two day journey.

Satisfied, Jon got up and picked a loaf of bread from the bag while Aevyr was spitting his blood on the ground.

“The fuck was that for?!” He roared, furious.

Jon held his glare with a cold one of his own.
“You betrayed me.” He simply stated. “I trusted you with sensible information, and you used it to extract a promise from me.”

Jon nonchalantly bit his bread, Aevyr got up but Vermithor’s pushed him back on the ground using its snout. Its bronze glare froze the bastard in fear.

“Leave him, Vermithor.” Jon commanded.

And the dragon did, it took off, looking for a proper supper for a beast its size, leaving Aevyr on the ground and Jon eating his bread.

The bastard got up angrily his purple eyes shooting daggers at Jaehaeron.

“You fucking coward, you’re nothing without your dragon!”

“And you’re nothing at all. You were right, I should have listened to you.”

“What are you talking about? The hell did you expect me to be?!”

“A brother.” Jon bitterly replied, thinking of Robb, Bran, Rickon, Sam, Grenn and Pyp. “But your words are nothing but wind, in the end, you’re just a bastard. Just like you said.”

Jon’s words should not have hurt Aevyr, yet they did, for the first time since he had lost his first sibling, Aevyr felt something strike his heart. He remained dumbfounded before Jon who royally ignored him.

“That’s not true.” He ended up protesting. “I did it for my siblings.”

“You did it because you’re a fucking coward!” Jon spat. “You did it because you took advantage of me when I was at my weakest and because you had a way to blackmail me using your father’s authority. You did it because you’re too afraid to trust and too weak to earn anything meaningful. You’re nothing but a fucking bastard, you’re just lucky your father loved your mother enough to raise you, but you’re too selfish to honor his teachings and you use your status as a bastard to act like a piece of shit because you enjoy being a piece of shit. You’re too afraid to be honorable and just, because you’re too proud to put your ego aside. You want siblings so that they act the way you’re too afraid to act, so that you can keep being the piece of trash you enjoy being.”

Jaehaeron had expected Aevyr to rage, to scream, to jump at him and calling him a liar, but the bastard remained dumbfounded, his bloody face made him look like a sad scarecrow.

“I’m not… I… No!” He denied, but he did not even seem to believe his own words. Jon ignored him once more and lay down, waiting for Vermithor’s return so he could go to sleep without fear of being attacked in his sleep. He could not trust his cousin, he had realized this by now, he had blinded himself with the desire of having a brother, all he got was a bastard, who had used him like a toy.

He glanced at Aevyr, the Snow had a blank stare, his bloody face made him look like a corpse that had died in shock.

Finally, the bastard shook his head.
“You’re wrong! I want what is best for my family!”

“Then why do you act like a piece of shit? I’m your family too, and you used me for profit.”

Aevyr had no answer, for a second, Jon thought that the bastard would say they’re not family.

“I… I…”

Watching him speak without confidence reminded Jon of the fact that his cousin was just a boy, the Prince felt a pinch of guilt but remained deaf to it.

“I… thought you were using me.” He admitted, his eyes filled with regret surprised Jaehaeron. “I thought… you were training me… Like a dog… That… you wanted me to fight your enemies while you remained hidden on your dragon’s back. I thought, you did all of this… to use me.”

He wiped the blood of his face, but his wounds were still bleeding, Jon had hit too hard, his pinch turned into a cut.

“Why else would you train a bastard? Why would you teach me how to deal with southerners? Why else would you keep asking me into the damn South? I… I… did not know…”

“All I wanted was a friend.” Jon replied, his tone was still severe, he refused to lower his guard. “All I wanted was a brother.”

Would he apologize? Would Jon believe him if he did?

Perhaps he would have, had Vermithor not come back from his hunt with a belly almost filled and a roasted deer in its jaws.

Aevyr remained silent after the Dragon’s return, he grabbed some salted beef and ate in silence. Jon waited, pondered, tried to refrain himself. But when his cousin was done eating, he got up and went to cover the bastard’s face with a medicinal balm that Maester Alim had gifted him when he had figured that Aevyr and him would not stop fighting.

Aevyr did not thank him, nor did he move when Jon healed him, nor did he move his eyes. Jon went to sleep against his dragon, he threw one last look at Aevyr, wanting to offer him to do the same, but the bastard simply lied on the ground, his back turned to Jon.
No night had ever felt more silent in both of Jon’s lives.

(-)(-)(-)

Otto Hightower was nervous.
Despite the thousand of men he had brought with him, despite the authority conferred to him by the King himself, despite his experience as Hand and the prestige of his name and House, Otto did not feel the confidence he had felt when he had left King’s Landing for Dragonstone.

Daemon Targaryen had committed a treasonous crime against his King and family, by stealing from the Dragonpit, a dragon egg that he had intended to place in his bastard’s crib. A sacrilege, a treason toward the traditions of the Royal House. But Daemon still had a dragon, a powerful one, while his Grace had lost his dragon the day he had mounted it for the first time.

Otto’s plan, now that he thought about it, was a gamble more than anything else, either the Prince submitted to his brother’s will, or he would rebel, and who would stop him? Lord Corlys? Lady Rhaenys? Daemon’s dragon made him one of the most powerful men in the Realm, what good were the laws of Gods and men to a man who believed only in Fire?

As he and his men climbed the long winding path that led to the castle, Otto saw threatening shadows coming out of the thick fog that had enveloped the island early in the morning. The Hand of the King stopped in his tracks and silently signaled for his men to do the same. He held his breath.
Daemon Targaryen’s smirk had always irked him, but the one he displayed today was by far, the worst Otto had seen in all his years in the capital. The Targaryen man was juggling with the dragon egg he had stolen as if it was no more than a toy. The gold cloaks he had brought with him seemed eager to fight, and the whore… Gods, that silver haired and pale skinned woman was displaying her pregnant belly for all to see under the outlines of her dress. Bastard or not, whore or not, Daemon would not be perceived as a monster if he were to defend the woman who was carrying her child.

“Welcome to Dragonstone, Otto.” The Rogue Prince’s tone was far too pleasant to be a ruse, Daemon did sound glad to see him.

Otto would not let him get under his skin, ever.

“Your occupation of this island is at an end.” He proclaimed.

“Occupation? I am the King’s heir, Dragonstone is mine to rule.”

“The King has not named you Prince of Dragonstone, therefore, you have no right over this island.” Otto countered. “You are to relinquish the dragon’s egg, disband your army, banish your whore and leave Dragonstone by order of his Grace the King!”

“And where is our King, Otto?” Daemon interrupted, pretending to look behind the Hightower man. “I do not see him.”

“His Grace would never lower himself to entertain this grotesque farce.” Otto mocked. “This is a truly pathetic show, Daemon. Are you so desperate for the King’s attention that you resorted to skulking about like a common cut person?”

His attempt at angering Daemon failed miserably, as the Prince responded without batting an eyelash:

“I’m simply keeping with the traditions of my house, the same as my brother did for his daughter and as I have done for my son years ago.”

“Those traditions are for the trueborn children of royalty, not for bastards sired on a common whore.”

“She is not so common.” Daemon chuckled, putting a hand on her belly. She stifled under his touch.

Otto had had enough.

“This is an abomination!” He declared. “With every breath you sully your name, your house and your brother’s reign!”

“My brother is unable to sire enough sons with his wife the Queen to restore our strength and secure his reign.” Daemon dismissed. “I’m simply increasing his strength and authority.”

“With a bastard on a dragon?! You would not just humiliate your House or your King, you would endanger their rule and divide the strength of your family by spreading dragons as far as you spread your seed. How long will it take before a dozen of your brood come to King’s Landing to seize the Iron Throne and burn down the legacy of the Conqu…?”

A mighty roar, worthy of the most dangerous animals who roamed the world interrupted the Hand and resonated across the hills and mountains of Dragonstone. Daemon himself stopped smirking; he rose his head in surprise.

Vermithor split the clouds and fog of the island and appeared in all his might for all to see. Startling the men of the city watch and the Hightower soldiers alike. The Bronze Fury roared once more as it circled around the path, which forced Otto and his men to take a few steps back, enough for the beast to lend and for the two boys it carried to get off.

When he saw his son, Daemon smiled like Mysaria had never seen him smile. As she realized who the boy was, she wondered with hope if he would wear the same smile once her baby comes into the world.

Jaehaeron Targaryen was not happy, Otto Hightower had come to Dragonstone with a thousand men at his back, as if he was ready to start a war. But a thousand men were nothing to the likes of Caraxes and Vermithos, and as the Blood Wyrm emerged from the mountains to join the Bronze Fury, Jon felt more powerful than he had ever felt in both his lives.
However, the Hand of the King looked less worried now than he was mere moments ago. Unknown to Jaehaeron, Otto considered the boy Prince to be far more reasonable and obedient than his father, he trusted him to see reason and to listen to the will of the King.

“Prince Jaehaeron.” He greeted. “It is a pleasure to see you, however, were you not to be fostered in Winterfell until your sixteenth nameday?”

“I was! Then I heard my father was going to welcome a sibling of mine into the World and decided to come and meet it! I certainly did not expect to see you, Lord Hand, much less with an army at your back. Pray tell, what is going on?”

Otto pointed an accusatory finger at Daemon, whose grin returned.
“Your father stole a Dragon’s egg from the Dragonpit without the authorization of his Grace and plans to gift it to his bastard to be born. His Grace has commanded Prince Daemon to return the egg, vacate Dragonstone and banish his whore. And as you are well aware, his Grace’s will is absolute.”

Jon gritted his teeth, this was not good. Not good at all. He could not care less about the egg or Dragonstone, but if Mysaria was to be banished, then the child she was carrying would die. This, he could not allow.

“Lord Hand, the egg will be returned to you, and my father, as a Prince of house Targaryen, is free to remain in Dragonstone for as long as he wishes, as long as he does not start a war, which he won’t.” Jaehaeron did not look, but he knew his father was pretending to consider it, just to annoy the Hightower man. “The Lady Mysaria does not deserve to be caught in a family’s feud and to pay for the consequences of our squabbles.”

“Whether she deserves it or not is irrelevant, my Prince. The King has ordered this whore to be banished, and the King’s will is absolute, as you know full well, my Prince.”

Otto motioned for one of his men to come forward, a tall knight wearing the colors of House Hightower, none of the Hand’s sons were this old already, this was either a cousin or a simple man in his employ.

“Now, my Prince, as you should know, you are not yet a man grown, which means that you are under the responsibility of your uncle. Since I doubt he allowed you to leave Winterfell on his own accord, it means that you ran away from your warden’s guard, which is a serious offense against both your uncles’ authority. As such, I must ask that you follow us to King’s Landing to answer for your offenses to his Grace, the King. Ser Aaron? Please escort the Prince back to our ship.”

Vermithor instantly snarled at the knight, forcing him to take a step down, but Otto remained impassive.

“My Prince, call your dragon off, Ser Aaron is acting with my authority, should Vermithor kill him, you would be held responsible for the death of an honorable man. Is that what you want, my Prince?”

Jon tightened his fists, should Vermithor kill a man without actual reason, Viserys would have no choice but to banish his nephew to Essos. Which would, in turn, start a chain of events that he would have no control over: the North would be greatly displeased by his behavior and blame his uncle for being unable to reign him in. He would be forever branded as a barbarian and all of his plans would be ruined. They would call him “Maegor in the making”.

Jon exhaled in frustration and signaled for Vermithor to calm himself, which the Bronze Fury did, reluctantly.

As Ser Aaron approached, Jon was already thinking about his next move. He knew that he could convince his uncle Viserys to keep Mysaria in Westeros until she gave birth, but Otto and Daemon were the unknown parameters. Jon remembered that, in his previous life, Daemon had complied with Viserys’ request and banished Mysaria. Should he take too long to convince his uncle, she would lose the child and Jon simply refused to let it happen.

As Ser Aaron got closer, Jon resisted the turn back and look at his father for support for he was out of options. But should he act like a lost little boy who could beg for his father’s help, Daemon would be disappointed in him, and Jon refused to also let it happen.
He was so absorbed by his thoughts that he had not realized Ser Aaron had grabbed him by the shoulder. It was only when Aevyr stabbed the knight in the wrist with his dagger, that he was brought back to reality.

Ser Aaron screamed in pain in horror as looked flabbergasted at the blade planted in his forearm. Jon’s eyes widened in horror, and he took a step back as the reachman unsheathed his sword.

“You little shit!” He roared, but Aevyr was quicker.
Taking advantage of the man’s shock, the bastard spat in his eye to blind him, then he grabbed Jon’s dagger and jumped to stab the knight in the throat.

When he pulled the blade out, a spurt of blood sprayed his face. He ignored it and pulled the other dagger off the man’s wrist.

Ser Aaron took a minute to pass out before his death, during which, all witnesses had remained paralyzed in shock by Aevyr’s brutality.

The bastard of Winterfell laid his purple eyes on the Hand of the King, and spoke before Otto could order his arrest.

“I am Aevyr Snow, bastard son of Lord Rickon Stark, and you were wrong, Lord Hand; my uncle did approve of my cousin leaving Winterfell long enough to save his sibling to be born. And he charged me to watch over Prince Jaehaeron in his name. Which means you had no authority over a Prince of House Targaryen! Which means that your knight, had no right to put his hand on a prince of blood, such a crime is punishable by losing the hand you used according to the King’s law. I took this man’s life, because he drew steel in front of our Prince, a crime that is punishable by death.”

He pointed a finger at Otto Hightower.

“You, Lord Hand, have overstepped your authority, and even though I am just a bastard, I doubt the King gave you permission to brutalize his nephew.”

Jon’s eyes remained on Ser Aaron’s corpse for short moment, then he threw a look of dismay at Aevyr who looked like he was about to burst out laughing. But it was Daemon who loudly cackled behind the boys’ back.

His cackle turned into genuine hilarity, that seemed to annoy both Otto and Jon himself who was now pinching his sinuses while his father was holding his belly.

“Enough!” Jon yelled. “Lord Hand, the egg will be returned to you! As for the rest of your demands, my father is Lord Commander of the City watch; as such, it is expected of men at arms to protect their leader, for this force to be… disbanded, the King must relieve my father of his title as Lord Commander. If not, then my father is free to do whatever pleases him with his men. Regarding the Lady Mysaria...”

Jon threw a look back to stare at the pregnant young lady who shivered in fear. She barely looked older than Sansa had looked the last time he had seen her.

“She will be banished from Dragonstone, but only after her child is born. She is too far into her pregnancy to travel, she could lose the child, and I know my uncle does not wish to end up with his very own blood on his hands, whether the child be trueborn or bastard, inform his Grace that both my father and the Lady Mysaria will fulfil the King’s order of leaving Dragonstone once the child is born.”

Otto Hightower’s eyes had turned murderous, an expression that Jon had never seen on the Lord Hand’s face. What was even more concerning, was that the man’s glare was directed at Aevyr, not Jon.

“Here you go, Otto!” Daemon said as he threw the egg with all his strength in the Hand’s direction. “Send my regards to my brother!”
The latter barely caught it and threw a furious look at the Prince who replied by a smug smirk.
The silence lasted for over half a minute, before Otto Hightower conceded his defeat.

“It will be done!” He finally said. Then, he threw one last glare at Aevyr who smirked the same way Daemon had smirked, signaled some of his men to pick up Ser Aaron’s corpse, and turned his back once the body was secured. Jon waited until they had disappeared into the fog to throw another look of dismay at his cousin.

“You’re insane.”

“Did you have a plan in mind? Or was my intervention necessary?” Aevyr let the question hang before he took back the floor: “I am not, “just a bastard”, and I kept my promise. I… I’m just sorry about the way I pulled it out of you.”

Jon remained silent for a second, then he sighed loudly.
“I am not sorry for beating you up… But… I’m glad we understand each other now.”

Aevyr snorted.

“Not sure if we do, you were wrong by the way.” He pointed at the puddle of blood. “I felt no relief, quite the opposite, I wanted to keep going.”

Jon’s eyes turned into saucers.

“That is extremely concerning, Aevyr.”

“More concerning than your dreams?” He mocked as he turned to look at Mysaria. “I can’t believe that turned out to be true.”

Jon followed his gaze and smiled in relief when he saw the woman’s bulging belly. He had done it, he had changed history for good.

Daemon advanced towards them and ruffled his son’s dark curls while Aevyr lowered his head and kept his mouth shut.

“What a pleasant surprise.” He declared before looking at Aevyr. “Where did you find that useful bastard of yours?”

Jon repressed a cringe, but Aevyr quietly let the disdain slide by throwing a cocky look at his cousin.

“He picked up a fight.”

“I did not…” Jon started, scandalized, until he realized that it had been him that had volunteered to fight Aevyr during his second day in Winterfell.

“You’re right, I did pick up that fight.” He reluctantly grumbled in agreement before turning towards his father. “Father, this is Aevyr Snow, my bastard cousin. He is a… good friend of mine.”

As Aevyr rolled his eyes, Daemon silently examined him.

“If you’re wondering what happened to my face, my Prince…” He pointed a thumb at Jon. “His fist is what happened.”

As the Rogue Prince rose his eyebrows in surprise, Jon furrowed his.

“You deserved it, and you know it.” Jon defended.

“Maybe, but I have repaid my debt, now I can’t wait to go back in the training yard with you.”

“Really?” Jon laughed. “I doubt your Father will allow us to return to the training yard for a bloody moon at least, especially since you have killed a man. Contrary to what you have said, he never allowed us to leave Winterfell.”

“Aye, but he’ll hold his tongue. I wrote a message explaining everything to him.”

Jon’s eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets.

“You did what?!”

“Did you want him to send riders and ravens after us?” Aevyr defended himself. “He’ll be pissed for sure, and we will probably…”

“All right, enough you two.” Daemon commanded, though, Jon could tell that he was clearly amused. “Lord Stark has had you for moons, he can wait a few days. Let us have supper with my lovely lady here, I assume the bastard knows how to eat properly.”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘properly’, my prince.” Aevyr said. “I’ve seen Jon eat dirt without any grace.”

“You’ll feast upon dirt by the morning.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Daemon chuckled discreetly as he grabbed Mysaria’s arm without sparring her a glance and walked back to the castle.  His boy was growing up so fast, the next one would fill his heart with pride as well, this, he knew.

Next chapter coming soon: “Stormborn”