𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙍𝙄𝙊𝙍𝙎 (Game of Thrones)

𝙭𝙞𝙭.

It was Vickon's turn to be questioned by the King Beyond the Wall. One of the wildlings had attempted to make Jon leave the tent, but the bastard refused. He wasn't moving. He kept ahold on Vickon's shoulder, a touch that was trying to be comforting but just made Vickon's stomach twist itself in knots.

Mance looked Vickon over as he said, "What's your name, boy?"

That was a question with a difficult answer.

Vickon, Vhagar, the Albino. Three names, none of them ones that the man standing before him would want to hear. One a lie, one a truth that would change all of the histories, and one a jest used by cruel men.

"My name is Vhagar Targaryen."

Perhaps he shouldn't have admitted it. Perhaps he should have kept himself safe and said the name that he'd been living under for eighteen years of his short life. The name he had been given by the Spider who had dragged him away from his home and taken him to the Wall at only nine years old. The name he had given in a shaky voice to Lord Commander Mormont. The name he had used for eighteen years. The name that had made him nearly forget who he was.

Perhaps he shouldn't have, but he did.

Mance froze. "Don't tell me lies, boy," he said.

And Vhagar Targaryen, the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, the second son of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen, shook his head. "Not a lie, my king. I've had quite enough of those."

Tormund even dared to speak, "How in the fuck does a Targaryen find himself manning the Wall?"

Vhagar shrugged, trying to force a smile to his lips. "I didn't exactly have a say in the matter."

"Tell your story," Mance said. "Tell it all, tell it true."

Vhagar gave a nod. "All right," he said.

He braced himself with a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. "I was eight years old when Robert's Rebellion began," he said, keeping his tone as even as he could despite the anxiety welling inside him. "I understood that we were at war. I understood that Robert Baratheon wanted to usurp my father. No one ever told me these things, but I understood. It was easy to hear things from the servants. I was nine when it all came to an end. Days before the Sack, my father's Master of Whispers took me from my bed. He put in place an orphan boy, an albino. That boy was murdered and put off as me. I was loaded on to a ship to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. From there, I went to Castle Black. My great-uncle, Aemon, serves as a maester there. He knows my true identity. As does Ser Alliser Thorne. But I never told anyone else, not even Lord Commander Mormont. I took my vows when I was twelve years old. I served as a steward for my uncle. Then, when I was sixteen, Lord Commander Mormont gave me the position of a ranger. That's what I've been doing since then."

Mance nodded slowly. "And why join us?" he said. "When your roots are sunk so deep with that lot?"

Vhagar shrugged. "Since I was nine years old I've had no choice in what happens to me. I've blindly followed the men who said they knew what was best for me. But I'm not a child anymore. I'm a man grown. I want to make my own decisions. And if that means joining you, then so be it."

Mance gave a stiff nod. "A cloak for the princeling, as well," he said. "I'll be wanting to speak with you more, lad. Your story might just be the most interesting one I've heard in quite some time."

Vhagar nodded. "Of course, my king."

Jon kept looking at him as they dressed in their new furs. He looked angry. After minutes of tense silence, Vhagar spoke.

"What's wrong with you?"

Jon shook his head. "Nothing," he said.

"Jon," Vhagar said.

Gray eyes shot up to meet amethyst ones. "Vhagar," Jon replied, malice filling his tone. 

"I'm sorry that I lied to you," Vhagar offered. "But you aren't the only one. No one at Castle Black knows the truth. They couldn't. Me being alive changes everything that the maesters have written in their history books. Me being alive means that my little brother and my little sister aren't the only Targaryens- -"

"Aye, and it means you're a prince," Jon snapped. "It means you would be king if Robert hadn't taken the throne. It means that you're better than all the rest of us, and you knew it."

"I'm not a prince," Vhagar said. "Not anymore. Not since I was twelve years old. I took my vows, Jon, same as you. Whatever titles I held then don't matter. I was a man of the Night's Watch."

"And now you're a wildling," Jon argued. "That means you forgot your vows. You gave them up. You've a claim to the throne, now, if you want it."

"I don't want it! And don't act like you're so much better than me, Jon Snow, because you've forgotten your vows, too. And for what? You say you want freedom, but I think that you just want that girl! We wouldn't be in this godsforsaken mess if you'd have just been able to kill her!"

Jon said nothing. His hands were shaking at his sides. He stared Vhagar down, not moving. 

Vhagar let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "But I'd do it all again if I had to. I don't regret any of it. The lying, the secrets. It's kept me alive all these years. And I quite like living."

Jon shook his head. "I understand," he said after a long moment. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I'm not asking you to like it," Vhagar said. "I'm just asking you to accept it."

And then, surprisingly, a smile played at Jon's lips. "I suppose I ought to be calling you, 'My prince', then," he said.

Vhagar rolled his eyes. "Gods, no. Just Vhagar. Even Vickon, if that's what you want."

"Whatever you say, my prince."

Vhagar dove at him. Jon dodged, laughing suddenly. "That's not very princely!"

"Shut up!" cried Vhagar.

He caught Jon by the arm, pulling the bastard toward him with a laugh. "Can we be friends again?" he asked.

Jon hesitated a moment. "Aye," he said after what felt like an eternity. "We can be."

Vhagar grinned.

And then for the second time that day, he made quite possibly a stupid decision.

There in that little tent, dressed in wildlings furs and shivering in his boots, Vhagar Targaryen kissed Jon Snow.