บท 16: Chapter 15
Jon set Newt Scamander's suitcase on the ground, his heart doing that weird mix of nervous thumping and excited fluttering. Because let's be real—if someone had told him a month ago he'd be standing in the middle of Westeros, opening up a magic suitcase straight out of the Fantastic Beasts movies, he would've laughed, checked the expiration date on his soda, and maybe even done a quick Google search to make sure he wasn't losing it.
But here he was, and instead of questioning reality, Jon did what any sane person trapped in an epic fantasy would do—he opened the suitcase with a dramatic flourish, half expecting the Harry Potter theme to play in the background. "Voilà!" he said, as the interior unfolded like a Mary Poppins bag on steroids. He tossed a few random items inside just to show off, grinning as they vanished into the suitcase's endless depths. This never gets old.
Selina, who up until recently was more into diamond-studded cat masks than magic suitcases, leaned in with genuine awe. "Wow, this is seriously cool. A perfect way to carry everything without dragging it all around."
Jon nodded, his grin widening. Even Catwoman approves. Score one for Team Jon.
Diana, ever the warrior princess, gave a solemn nod. "This will definitely make our travels easier."
Jon's brain fired up with an idea, the kind that usually got Percy Jackson in trouble but had Jon feeling pretty confident. "We should definitely stash Ghost, Midnight, Shadow, Vermithor, and Arthur's horse in here. It'll simplify things on the road."
Arthur raised an eyebrow—because apparently, that was the medieval version of Are you for real, bro? "You think Vermithor will fit in there?"
Jon just grinned. Oh, Arthur, ye of little faith. "Trust me, he'll fit just fine. This thing's magic."
Next, Jon pulled out the Sling Ring, the ultimate fantasy-meets-superhero gadget. Sliding it onto his finger with the kind of flair that would make Doctor Strange proud, he felt a rush of excitement. "And this," he said, letting the suspense build, "is the real showstopper." He flicked his wrist, concentrating on a destination—preferably somewhere cool and not full of White Walkers—and a shimmering portal materialized right in front of them, showing off a landscape that looked like it belonged in a high fantasy novel.
Arthur, Diana, and Selina stared at the portal like Jon had just pulled a dragon out of his back pocket.
"Seriously impressive," Arthur said, his voice full of that *knight in shining armor* awe. "This will save us so much time."
Diana's tactical brain kicked into overdrive. "Covering large distances in moments? That's a game changer."
Selina's usual aloofness melted, replaced by something that looked suspiciously like admiration. "Jon, these gifts are beyond anything I could've imagined. You've really outdone yourself."
Jon couldn't help but bask in their praise for a second. I'm basically a superhero now. Take that, binge-watching skeptics. "Glad you think so. These will be super useful for our trip to Essos and beyond," he said, trying to sound casual but feeling a little too proud of himself. "Now, let's make the most of them."
Turning to Arthur, because even with all the magic at his disposal, Jon knew that leadership was kind of Arthur's thing, he asked, "So, where to first?"
Arthur thought for a moment, doing that noble, thoughtful face that Jon had seen a thousand times in fan art. "Braavos is our best bet. We should visit the Iron Bank to check out the emergency funds Rhaegar stashed away. It'll give us the resources we need."
Jon nodded, practically buzzing with energy. "Braavos it is. Let's get everything ready and head out."
Diana and Selina exchanged determined glances that said, *Let's do this,* and Arthur's face hardened with resolve. Jon felt like he was on the edge of something epic—like the start of one of those giant battle scenes where the good guys charge into the fray. Only this time, he wasn't just watching it happen on a screen—he was in it.
With their combined skills, the ridiculously awesome gear they'd just acquired, and a head full of spoilers from his binge-watching days, Jon felt ready to take on whatever crazy plot twists this world had in store. "Let's get started," he said, leading the charge into the great unknown.
—
The team jumped into action, organizing and packing all the gear Jon had brought along, like they were prepping for the ultimate crossover between Game of Thrones and National Treasure. They carefully stashed provisions, weapons, and anything else they could think of into Newt Scamander's magical suitcase. Watching as Ghost, Midnight, Shadow, Vermithor, and Arthur's horse trotted into the suitcase's seemingly endless compartments was like watching a scene out of Doctor Who. Only, you know, with less time travel and more medieval vibes.
Jon still wasn't over the fact that he was living in an actual fantasy world. Every time something magical happened, like fitting a dragon into a suitcase, part of him wanted to double-check that he wasn't just dreaming. But nope—this was real. The fact that his companions didn't seem all that fazed by it? Yeah, that was real too.
Once everything was packed, Jon turned to Selina and Diana. "We'll need to pick up horses for both of you once we hit Braavos. Until then, we'll manage with what we have."
Selina's eyes sparkled with that catlike curiosity she was famous for. "Braavos sounds intriguing. I'm definitely looking forward to it."
Jon could practically hear the underlying, And I'll probably swipe something shiny while we're there. He'd have to keep an eye on her.
Diana, of course, was her usual Amazonian self—tall, confident, and ready to take on anything. "We'll be prepared for whatever challenges come our way."
Jon nodded, trying to channel some of that confidence for himself. Challenges, right. Like avoiding spoilers and not accidentally triggering the apocalypse. No big deal.
Arthur clapped Jon on the shoulder with enough force to nearly dislocate something, but Jon just grinned through it. "You've done a great job, Jon. With everything in place, we're ready for the next step."
Jon felt a rush of accomplishment. Sure, organizing magical gear and stashing horses in a suitcase was a far cry from the problems he was used to solving back home—like how to finish a ten-page essay in one night or how to convince his mom that video games were a legitimate career option—but still, he was nailing this whole "medieval fantasy hero" gig.
As they sealed up the suitcase and prepared to hit the road, Jon took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. The road to Braavos stretched out before them, and with his modern-day brain crammed into Jon Snow's body, plus a team that could probably take on an army without breaking a sweat, he was feeling pretty good about their chances.
As they set off, Jon couldn't shake the feeling that this journey was going to be as epic as any story he'd ever read—or binge-watched. Here's hoping I don't mess up the plot too badly, he thought, as they headed toward Braavos and whatever lay beyond. Because the last thing I need is to end up on a medieval blooper reel.
—
Jon took a deep breath, mentally flipping through his mental playbook on portal magic like he was skipping through a Netflix series. Sling Ring on his finger, he visualized a quiet, hidden spot in Braavos. With a swirl of his hand (and maybe a tiny prayer that he wouldn't accidentally open a portal to, like, Mordor), the air shimmered, and an orange glow began to form.
Please be Braavos, please be Braavos, Jon thought as the portal solidified into a narrow, secluded alleyway in the city. When he saw the familiar Braavosi architecture, he let out a relieved breath. Score one for Jon Snow—or, you know, the kid who's currently borrowing his body.
He turned to his companions, trying to look all cool and collected. "Alright, team," Jon said, channeling his inner game show host, "let's make a grand entrance. Or, you know, just get in and out without causing a scene."
One by one, they stepped through the portal like it was no big deal, with Jon bringing up the rear and making sure the glowing gateway closed behind them. The alley was quiet—like, we're in the middle of a fantasy city, but it's eerily calm kind of quiet.
"Welcome to Braavos," Jon announced, trying to sound all cool and mysterious, like he hadn't just panicked about sending them to the wrong dimension. "Our first mission: find the Iron Bank, get what we need, and maybe avoid any dramatic monologues or overly dramatic chases."
Arthur, Diana, and Selina exchanged looks. You know, those kinds of glances that say, *We're totally ready for this, but also, what have we gotten ourselves into?* Diana stood tall, poised like she was ready to take on the world—and probably win. Selina? She was already scanning the area like Catwoman on the prowl, which, Jon supposed, was pretty accurate. And Arthur? Well, Arthur was as knightly as ever, but Jon swore he could see the guy silently thanking the Seven that they weren't in Westeros anymore.
Jon tried to keep the smug smile off his face as they started weaving through the labyrinthine alleys of Braavos. Look at me, he thought, the kid from modern-day Earth, now the guy with the magical portal, a suitcase that could fit a dragon, and two superheroes by his side. Honestly, if this wasn't setting him up to be the next big reality TV star, he didn't know what was.
Leading the way through Braavos, Jon felt like he was in the first episode of a new season—one where the stakes were high, the plot twists were epic, and the chance of accidentally derailing the entire Game of Thrones storyline was probably a solid nine out of ten. But hey, what's life without a little drama?
As they navigated the winding streets, Jon couldn't help but wonder what awaited them at the Iron Bank. He had a feeling it would be more than just a simple withdrawal. But with Diana's strength, Selina's cunning, and Arthur's unwavering loyalty at his side, Jon figured they could handle whatever Braavos—and the plot—threw at them.
Here we go, he thought, leading his mismatched but undeniably epic team deeper into the city. Next stop: Iron Bank. Please let there be no dragons involved.
—
Jon, or rather the 16-year-old modern-day kid stuck in Jon Snow's body (yes, that's me—surprise!), took a deep breath. If anyone had told him he'd be standing outside the Iron Bank of Braavos, ready to play high-stakes money games with the most powerful financial institution in Westeros, he would have laughed and asked if they'd been binging too much HBO.
But here he was, about to waltz into the most intimidating building in the known world, armed with... okay, some pretty kickass allies. Arthur Dayne, the legendary Sword of the Morning, was at his side, still looking like he just stepped out of a fantasy novel (because he totally did). Behind him, though, were Diana and Selina—better known as Wonder Woman and Catwoman. Yeah, you heard that right. He might have upgraded his party a little since arriving here.
"Alright, Arthur," Jon whispered, trying to ignore the fact that he was internally freaking out. "You take the lead. You've got the paperwork, and, well, they'll recognize you. Because who wouldn't recognize a living legend?"
Arthur nodded, calm and composed as usual. It must be nice to have the cool confidence of a knight who's never heard of reality TV. He stepped forward, leading them into the bank. Jon followed, trying to look like he belonged here and not like he was waiting for a jump scare from around the next corner.
The interior of the Iron Bank was just as grand as Jon had imagined—high ceilings, intricate carvings, and all the opulence you'd expect from a place that probably charged late fees in kingdoms. They approached the desk of a stern-looking official who seemed to have been born with a permanent glare.
"Good day," Arthur began, his voice the perfect blend of respectful and firm. "I am Ser Arthur Dayne, here on behalf of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. I believe you have records and accounts pertaining to his holdings."
Jon could practically hear the ominous music playing in the background. If this were a movie, this would be the part where the official gave a sinister smile and said something cryptic. Instead, the guy just raised an eyebrow. "Proof of your claim?"
Arthur reached into his cloak like a total pro, pulling out a document sealed with Rhaegar's sigil. Jon wondered if there was a class at knight school for "Looking Epic While Producing Important Documents." The official took the parchment, inspected the seal, and then spent what felt like an eternity reading the contents. Finally, he looked up, the glare softening just a tad.
"Follow me," the official said, rising from his seat.
They followed him through a maze of secure corridors, and Jon couldn't help but wonder if this was how it felt to walk through a bank vault in real life. Maybe next they'd pass the room where they kept the dragon eggs on ice.
They reached a private chamber filled with ledgers and scrolls, and the official pulled out a big, dusty tome, setting it on a table with all the gravitas of someone unveiling a holy relic.
"Prince Rhaegar's accounts," he said, like he was announcing the winner of the Iron Throne. "The records indicate significant funds deposited here, along with assets and investments spread throughout Braavos and beyond."
Arthur flipped through the pages with the air of someone who actually understood what he was reading. Jon, on the other hand, was mostly pretending not to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of zeros involved. Arthur turned to him, a satisfied look on his face.
"We have access," Arthur said.
"Awesome," Jon replied, doing his best to channel his inner Tony Stark. "Let's secure the funds and make preparations for the next phase of our journey." Because that's what he was doing now—planning the next phase of the journey, just like any self-respecting transmigrated teenager-turned-medieval hero.
But, of course, Arthur had to go and be all epic again. "There's one more matter," he said, and Jon could hear the dramatic pause in his voice. "My brother, the current Lord Dayne of Starfall, discreetly smuggled our ancestral sword, Dawn, to be kept in Rhaegar's vault after my supposed death. I would like to retrieve it now."
The official nodded like this was just another Tuesday and flipped to the relevant section of the ledger. He led them to a high-security vault that required more keys and passwords than Jon had ever seen in his life. The door finally swung open to reveal a smaller chamber, filled with various treasures.
And there, resting on a velvet cushion, was Dawn. The sword looked like it had been crafted by the gods themselves—gleaming, otherworldly, and probably worth more than everything Jon had ever owned, combined.
Arthur lifted the sword, clearly feeling all sorts of feels Jon couldn't even begin to understand. "With this, our mission gains another edge," Arthur said, holding the sword out like it was Excalibur or something.
Jon just nodded, trying not to geek out too hard. "It's a powerful symbol and a formidable weapon," he said, which sounded suitably Jon Snow-ish. "It will serve us well."
In his head, though, Jon was thinking, Great, now we just need the One Ring and a Death Star, and we'll be unstoppable.
With Dawn secured, they finalized the transfer of funds and assets. Jon tried not to think too hard about the sheer amount of wealth they now had access to. His life had turned into a fantasy RPG, complete with legendary weapons and an epic quest.
As they exited the Iron Bank, Jon felt a surge of confidence. With their new resources, the legendary sword, and his growing team of overpowered allies, they were ready to face whatever Westeros—or Essos—could throw at them.
—
With the funds safely tucked away, Jon—aka the 16-year-old who used to binge-watch Game of Thrones and was now somehow living it—found himself in Braavos, leading his band of misfit superheroes and a cat burglar through the city's winding streets. Yeah, it was just as surreal as it sounded. But hey, when life gives you lemons, you roll with it, right?
They soon arrived at a stable that looked like the equestrian version of a luxury car dealership. The horses in the front practically had halos around them, and Jon could swear one of them winked at him. The stable master greeted them with a grin that screamed, I'm about to rob these tourists blind.
"We need two sturdy horses," Jon announced, trying his best to sound like a seasoned medieval knight and not a kid who just learned to drive. "They must be reliable and able to handle long journeys."
In other words: Please, for the love of all things holy, don't sell us the horse equivalent of a rusty old jalopy.
The stable master nodded like he had Jon pegged and led them to the section where the horses were practically glowing with health and nobility. After some nodding and pretending to know what he was doing—while Diana and Selina did the actual horse-picking—they finally settled on two beauties.
Diana's pick was a black mare that looked like it was ready to lead a cavalry charge into battle. It had this aura of calm authority, kind of like the horse equivalent of Wonder Woman herself. Selina, meanwhile, chose a sleek, agile bay gelding that practically radiated sass. Jon couldn't help but think the horse was plotting something, but then again, so was Selina. They were a match made in heaven—or possibly in a jewelry store mid-heist.
"These should serve you well," the stable master said as Jon handed over what felt like a dragon's hoard in gold coins. The horses were saddled up and ready to go faster than you could say "plot twist."
Once they were out of earshot, they ducked into a conveniently secluded alley because, well, Braavos had those in spades. Selina popped open Newt Scamander's magical suitcase—yes, that suitcase—and they coaxed the horses inside. Jon half-expected the horses to throw a fit, but instead, they just trotted in like it was a luxury suite. *Because, why not?* The suitcase probably had horse-sized cushions and gourmet hay or something.
With the horses stashed away in their portable stable, Jon led the group to the famed Braavosi fighting ring. This place was legendary, and he knew it because, hello, Game of Thrones superfan here. The air crackled with excitement, the kind of buzz you get right before a major fight scene.
As they found their seats, Jon's brain kicked into Taskmaster mode. That's right—he had all the analyzing and copying abilities of the Marvel villain, which made watching these Water Dancers a masterclass in swordplay. The duelists moved like they were choreographed by the universe's best fight coordinator—quick, fluid, and deadly precise.
Jon's eyes locked onto their every move, his brain dissecting each step, every flourish of the blade, every dodge and parry. It was like watching a YouTube tutorial on 2x speed, only instead of learning how to bake a cake, he was downloading the art of Water Dancing directly into his mental hard drive. Eat your heart out, Taskmaster.
Meanwhile, Diana watched with a serene smile that said, I could do that in my sleep, and Selina's eyes gleamed with that "I'm totally stealing these moves" look. Jon felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. This was like the ultimate crossover episode—only the stakes were a lot higher than who got the Iron Throne.
By the time the final duel wrapped up, Jon felt like a kid who'd just left the best martial arts movie ever, but with the bonus of actually knowing how to replicate the moves he'd seen. He stood, stretching, feeling a surge of excitement. Yeah, he might be stuck in a medieval fantasy world, but he was armed with some seriously next-level skills now.
As they continued their journey through the city, Jon couldn't shake the feeling that he was living out some kind of crazy fanfic—only this time, he was the one calling the shots. And with Diana, Selina, and a whole arsenal of borrowed abilities, he was ready for whatever Westeros—or his crazy new life—threw at him next.
—
Arthur's heart sank when he spotted a familiar face among the bustling crowd of Braavos. Of all people, it had to be Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper. The guy who made flirting an art form and killing a hobby. Arthur knew that encountering him could lead to unwanted attention. After all, Arthur Dayne was supposed to be dead, slain at the Tower of Joy. Not exactly a great place to make a comeback tour.
Quickly, Arthur signaled to Jon and his companions to move to a quieter corner of the street, hoping to avoid detection. But, of course, Oberyn's sharp eyes had already locked onto Arthur, and with a smirk that screamed, "I'm about to make your day a lot more complicated," he began to weave his way through the crowd.
Arthur's mind raced as he tried to formulate a plan. Running? Not really his style. Talking? Well, let's just say small talk wasn't going to cut it with Oberyn.
"Ser Arthur Dayne," Oberyn greeted, his grin all teeth and no warmth as he approached, his voice cutting through the noise of the crowd like a blade. "What a surprise to see you alive and well."
Arthur's expression stayed neutral, but inwardly he cursed his luck. "Prince Oberyn," he replied evenly, trying not to let on that his day was officially ruined. "It's been a long time."
"Indeed it has," Oberyn replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And yet, here you are, walking among the living."
Arthur tensed, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his sword. He knew he had to tread carefully. Oberyn wasn't the kind of guy you could simply wave off with a "nice to see you, gotta run."
Jon, sensing the tension, stepped forward. Diplomacy wasn't really his thing—more like sarcasm and bad jokes—but he figured he'd give it a shot. "Gentlemen, perhaps this conversation would be better suited for another time," he suggested, his tone calm yet tinged with that 'I'm totally making this up as I go' vibe. "We all have our own matters to attend to."
Oberyn's sharp gaze turned to Jon, and for a moment, Jon felt like he was being sized up by a particularly dangerous snake. A snake that could also seduce you, then kill you. In that order.
"Well, well," Oberyn began, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You must be the infamous Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard, if I'm not mistaken."
Jon met Oberyn's gaze, trying to seem calm. "That's correct," he replied with a nod, though inwardly, he was thinking, Yup, that's me, the world's unluckiest bastard. And also, not a bastard at all. Spoiler alert!
Oberyn's smirk widened, and there it was—the subtle challenge in his expression. "You know, you bear a striking resemblance to Rhaegar Targaryen," he remarked casually, his tone tinged with intrigue. "Especially around the eyes."
Oh, crap, Jon thought, his heart skipping a beat. Of course, he notices the eyes. Why does everyone always notice the eyes? "Perhaps it's just a coincidence," Jon replied evenly, though his brain was screaming, Abort! Abort! He knows!
Oberyn's gaze lingered on Jon, a knowing glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Jon's spine. "Perhaps," Oberyn mused cryptically, "or perhaps not."
Yeah, he knows, Jon concluded, trying not to let his panic show. He could feel the sweat forming under his collar, and it wasn't just because of Oberyn's piercing gaze. It was also because of the figure emerging from the shadows, and wow, did his day just get more complicated.
Rhaenys Targaryen stepped forward, her presence commanding, her features a blend of Dornish beauty and Targaryen allure. Midnight-black hair cascaded in waves, framing a face that could only be described as dangerously beautiful. And those violet eyes? Yeah, Jon was in trouble. Immediate, can't-look-away kind of trouble.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he recognized her immediately. The little girl he once knew was now a woman who could stop traffic with just a look. And Jon? Well, Jon was more than stopped—he was completely derailed.
"Princess Rhaenys," Arthur greeted, his voice a mix of surprise and nostalgia. "It's been far too long."
"Ser Arthur," Rhaenys replied, her tone carrying a hint of reproach. "If you were alive all this time, why did you not come to me? Why did you let me believe you were dead?"
Arthur's expression softened, but Jon barely noticed. He was too busy trying to keep his jaw from dropping as Rhaenys looked his way, her eyes doing that thing where they smolder. Targaryens, man, Jon thought, they've got the market cornered on sexy stares.
"I did not know you were alive until this moment," Arthur confessed, but Jon wasn't really listening. Rhaenys' gaze flicked back to him, and yeah, there it was—definite 'fuck-me' eyes. And, because he was apparently part Targaryen, Jon found himself responding in kind. Not that he could help it. It was like gravity.
Rhaenys turned her full attention to Jon now, and he felt like he was being pulled into orbit. "You must be Daemon, my brother," she said, her tone cool, but her eyes said something entirely different.
"Uh, actually, it's Jon Snow," he corrected, but even as he said it, he knew it didn't matter. His real name might as well have been "Smitten Fool" with the way she was looking at him.
Rhaenys gave him a slow, assessing smile, one that Jon was pretty sure should have come with a warning label. "Jon Snow," she mused, as if trying it out. "It suits you."
"Thanks," Jon managed to say, his voice a bit rougher than usual. And here I thought fighting White Walkers would be the hardest part of my life.
Meanwhile, Oberyn's smirk was back, and Jon had a feeling the Red Viper had caught on to the vibe between him and Rhaenys. The guy was too sharp not to notice.
"So, what's the plan now?" Oberyn asked, and Jon got the distinct impression he was enjoying this way too much.
Plan? Jon thought, Yeah, good question. He cleared his throat, trying to get his brain back on track. "How about I show you something truly magnificent?" he suggested, aiming for confidence and hopefully not sounding like a complete idiot.
Rhaenys' eyes sparkled with interest—among other things, Jon noted—and she nodded eagerly. "I'd love to see it," she replied, her voice a little too breathy to be entirely innocent.
Arthur, sensing where this was heading, snapped back into action. "Ser Arthur, make sure nobody enters the alley," Jon instructed, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. Then, turning to Selina, he added, "Open the suitcase, please."
Selina moved to open Newt Scamander's suitcase, revealing its magical interior. Oberyn's eyes widened in surprise, but Jon barely noticed, too caught up in the way Rhaenys was watching him, like she couldn't decide whether to admire the magical marvel or drag him into the nearest dark corner.
Rhaenys stepped closer to the suitcase, her excitement palpable, but her attention kept straying back to Jon. "Incredible," she breathed, though Jon had a feeling she wasn't just talking about the suitcase.
As they stepped into the suitcase, Jon couldn't shake the feeling that he was stepping into something much more dangerous than a magical space. Rhaenys followed him inside, her eyes never leaving his, and Jon? Well, Jon knew he was in way over his head.
But, as they ventured into the unknown, Jon couldn't help but think that maybe—just maybe—he didn't mind getting lost. Not if it meant being lost with her.
—
As Rhaenys and Oberyn stepped into the expansive interior of Newt Scamander's suitcase, their eyes widened in awe. Jon, or rather the modern-day 16-year-old trapped in Jon Snow's body, couldn't help but feel a bit smug. He had always wanted to see someone's jaw drop at his new magical digs, and it was even better to see it happen to the likes of Oberyn Martell and Rhaenys Targaryen.
The magical space seemed to stretch infinitely, filled with fantastical sights that would make any fantasy geek like Jon, well, geek out. Midnight, the shadowcat, slinked by with a grace that made Jon's inner fangirl squeal. Ghost, the direwolf, lounged with an air of aloofness that was totally in character. Jon couldn't help but think how these two majestic creatures would make excellent Instagram models.
And then came the grand reveal. With a flourish, Jon summoned Vermithor, the Night Fury. The dragon's entrance was dramatic, and Jon couldn't help but enjoy the show. The dragon's wings spread wide, filling the space with a presence that demanded awe and respect.
Oberyn's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "By the gods," he exclaimed, his voice a mix of astonishment and reverence. "I've never seen anything like it."
Rhaenys's reaction was no less enthusiastic. Her eyes sparkled as she took in Vermithor's imposing figure. "He's magnificent," she whispered, her voice dripping with awe. "Absolutely magnificent."
The way Rhaenys looked at Jon while admiring the dragon was impossible to miss. There was something in her gaze—a mix of intrigue and attraction—that made Jon's heart do a little dance. The Targaryen connection was real, and boy, was it electric.
"Did you enjoy my little surprise?" Jon asked, trying to keep his voice casual but feeling his cheeks heat up from the attention.
Rhaenys's eyes met his, her smile playful and a touch flirtatious. "Surprise is an understatement," she said, her tone rich with excitement. "Seeing a dragon up close was beyond anything I could have dreamed."
Oberyn stepped in, his gaze flicking between Jon and Rhaenys with a knowing look. "Indeed, Jon Snow," he said, a teasing note in his voice. "You seem to have a flair for the dramatic. But I suppose one must expect nothing less from a Targaryen."
Jon's smile faded slightly as he became serious. "Are you truly okay with me being the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna?" he asked, the uncertainty in his voice betraying his nerves. "Considering what they did to your sister, Elia?"
The weight of Jon's question lingered in the air. Oberyn's expression grew somber, his eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and resignation.
"Truth be told, Jon Snow," Oberyn began, his voice measured, "the sins of Rhaegar and Lyanna are their own burden to bear. Elia, my beloved sister, paid the ultimate price for their actions." He paused, a shadow of regret crossing his face. "But you are not to blame for the choices they made. You are a son of both Stark and Targaryen, and it is not for me to judge your lineage."
There was a moment of silence before Oberyn continued, his voice softening. "In the end, what matters is how you choose to carry yourself and honor the legacy of those who came before you." He glanced at Rhaenys, his gaze warming slightly. "And from what I've seen today, you carry it with dignity and honor."
Oberyn's smirk returned as he added, "And perhaps, in time, you'll also be the instrument of justice I've long sought against the Lannisters and Gregor Clegane."
As Jon processed Oberyn's words, he felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination. The weight of history was heavy, but the promise of a new path forward was invigorating.
Rhaenys stood close to Jon, her eyes occasionally flickering with a mix of admiration and something more. It was clear they shared a magnetic connection. Jon felt the attraction pull at him—after all, they were both Targaryens, and apparently, that came with its own set of irresistible charms.
As Vermithor soared gracefully within the suitcase, the air seemed to crackle with their shared energy. Jon and Rhaenys ventured out of the bustling streets of Braavos, the journey ahead shrouded in uncertainty but filled with potential. With Rhaenys by his side, Jon knew they were bound for adventures that would test their limits and deepen their connection. And with the Targaryen bloodline in play, he suspected their journey would be as thrilling as it was unpredictable.
---
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