Fire And Blood

Aunt And Uncle

Jon I

"Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Your mother…"

"...Lyanna Stark."

"...aye…"

The conversation with his father – no, his uncle – was still stuck in his head.

"Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Your mother…"

"...Lyanna Stark."

"...aye…"

And he repeated it, again and again.

Four and ten years. Four and Ten years he had been Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son. His mother had been a whore named Wylla, he had said. His mother had been Ashara Dayne, others had rumoured. Now...now he was the result of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's and Lady Lyanna Stark's illicit dalliance. A dalliance that had led to a secret, legitimate marriage. A dalliance that had shamed Princess Elia and cost her her life and the lives of her children.

Jon wasn't sure if he should cry or laugh. He didn't know if knowing the truth made everything better or worse.

"Are you troubled, my Prince?"

Jon winced inwardly as he glanced at the balding, muscular man riding alongside him.

'My Prince.'

Even after knowing and understanding the things he now knew and understood, nothing had changed.

He didn't feel princely. He didn't feel like a Targaryen. He still felt like Jon Snow, Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son.

"No, Ser Jorah."

He looked around, the busy streets of Pentos filled to the brim with colourful people, so different to what he had seen and gotten used to in Winterfell. His thin, grey tunic was drenched in sweat as the oppressive heat of the sun shone mercilessly down on them.

He longed for the comfort of home; even for Lady Stark's cold glare.

They reached the guarded entrance to a vast garden with a marble pool farther in the centre, decorated with the statue of a naked boy-warrior. The extravagance of this place was almost bizarre, perverse even, but so were the people of this city, with their coloured and queer beards and hair.

"Is this it?" he asked his guardian.

"It is, my Prince." Ser Jorah gave him a kind, almost soft smile. "I would never have thought to be part of the ones who bring the last Targaryens together. Yet here I am."

'The last Targaryens.' Was he even really part of them? Would they even accept him? He knew nothing but how to be Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son from the rebellion.

Their horses were taken from servants – no, slaves, he knew– before they went deeper into the garden, Jon taking in the sight as well as he could. A high brick wall hid the Magister's manse, but it was still easy to see. Ivy covered the large wall. He saw several gates leading to different parts of the garden and only one leading towards the manse.

"It is very different from what you are used to, is it not?" Ser Jorah said. "Not for my taste, I must admit."

"No, Ser. I much prefer what I had in Winterfell. I quite enjoyed the Godswood there."

"You follow the Old Gods then?"

Jon shrugged. "I do not follow any God, in particular, I would say. I find the Godswood peaceful, is all."

Ser Jorah nodded as he led them through the gate leading to the manse, which was also guarded, and up some marble stairs. At the door, an obscenely fat man with an oiled and forked yellow beard waited for them. The heavy perfume, mixed with the man's natural stench, made Jon want to gag, but he steeled himself.