บท 8: The North Remembers
To read early
Chapter 9 : 'The Bastard of Winterfell
Chapter 10 : 'Bonding with a Snow'
Chapter 11 : 'The Ghosts of the Past'
Chapter 12 : 'Siblings'
Chapter 13 : 'The Dream'
Chapter 14: 'The Prince of Dragonstone'
Chapter 15: 'Stormborn'
Chapter 16: 'Siblings & Bastards'
Chapter 17: 'The Punishment'
Chapter 18: 'Blood and Tears.'
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Enjoy reading !
Chapter VIII : The North Remembers
Jon flew on Vermithor with Ser Steffon Darklyn at his back. Had it been up to him, and him only, he would have chosen to fly alone to Winterfell. He was far too eager to see his old home, and felt a Kingsguard would have been unnecessary. However, he had to remind himself that he was not Jon Snow anymore, but Prince Jaehaeron Targaryen. And he was not going home, he was going to foster at Winterfell for a few years, the Northerners knew nothing of him, for them, he was another pompous southerner. He would have to prove himself, like he has always done in his past life and his new. The cold winds of the North came to slap his face the day he landed in front of Riverrun in order for his kingsguard and him to rest under the hospitality of Lord Grover Tully, who welcomed them with open arms and a knee to the ground.
Jon had to resist the urge to smile, Catelyn Tully would only be born in more than 160 years, the fact that her ancestor was now kneeling to him had pleased Jon in a way he had never felt before. He enjoyed being Jaehaeron Targaryen far more than he should have, yet Jon Snow was of the North, and the North had a long memory. A feast had been prepared in his honor, meaning he sat on the Tully's high table next to Lord Grover himself, closer to him than were the Warden's own wife and sons. Was it his greatest victory in both his lifetimes? No, for he had done nothing to be rewarded with a princely title, yet satisfaction flowed through his body like blood through his veins, it felt good to be alive.
Ser Steffon and him left on the morning, with the cheers of the riverlords and the rivermen and women behind them. Jaehaeron smiled at them but shook his head once he had been back in the sky. The North's cold winds slapped harder and harder, a feeling of guilt rose suddenly inside the Prince's chest. For a horrible moment, Jon felt as if Lord Eddard Stark himself was throwing him a disappointing look for acting like the Southern Prince he had became.
Vermithor's roar echoed his rider's pain and pulled the latter out of his depressed mood. Jon frowned when he realized that his dragon was scolding him for falling so low so easily. He felt like apologizing, but knew the Bronze fury would not care. So he sighed, and buried himself in his thoughts. If Ser Steffon had noticed his brooding, he did not mention it or let his thoughts known. As he silently admired the lands below him, he lost himself in his thoughts as the familiarity of the North hit him harder with each of Vermithor's wing flapping. Has his behaviour truly been as scandalous as he felt it has been since his rebirth? Would it have been better had he acted like who he used to be in his past life? Jon thought, something about him did not feel right. He had acted dutifully in both his lives, he had loved his family in both his lives, he had never forgotten what had happened to the Starks, his family the ones he still loved with all his heart. Yet, that had not prevented him from loving Daemon Targaryen, his second father, that had not prevented him from loving Rhaenyra the same way he loved Arya. So what was wrong with him? Why was he feeling as if he had done something deeply inappropriate? The answer hit him like an anvil on the skull, and he saw red.
None of what he had done in his new life was worth blaming himself for it. Sure, he may have enjoyed the life of a Prince far more than he should have knowing he had the mind of a sixteen years old man. But the rest? This shame, that was the shame of being a bastard, something he was not anymore! He was not a stain on his father's honor, he was his greatest pride! He was not a bastard without a future, he was a bloody prince! Why in the world would he restrain himself as a bastard should? He was not doing more than what Robb had always done! He was not arrogant or a slave to his needs, he was working as hard as he could to be the best man he could be! He had been brought back to this shit world to keep the dragons alive and that was what he was going to do! No one in the entire history could judge him, for no one had ever been in his situation! He let out a long and deep sigh in order to calm himself and collect his thoughts from his internal rambling. He could still see it; Lord Stark's disapproving look on his back. Yet this time, Jaehaeron Targaryen shook his head.
"You will always be my father." He thought sadly. "And I will always love you and admire you, I will never forget what you taught me and everything you have done for me. B… however, I know how you would treat me had I been your Prince. The Gods have given me an important mission, they have gifted me with a new life, a new family, and with them come new values that I must learn in order to accomplish my task. The blood of the First Men still flows through my veins, but there is now a Dragon in my heart, and as such, I can never be Jon Snow ever again, I am your bastard no longer."
The ghost did not answer, probably because Jon himself had no idea how Eddard Stark would have answered had he truly been here. He just faded away as the wind took away the young Prince's tears.
"My name is Jaehaeron Targaryen." He thought as he looked straight ahead. "I am the blood of the Dragon, the blood of the First Men, and my task is to protect the World from the greatest danger mankind will ever face."
As he flew above Moat Caillin, he felt the comforting presence of Jaehaerys Targaryen at his side. He smiled sadly as Vermithor lowered his head in mourning.
(-)(-)(-)
Ser Steffon and Jon had made one last stop at White Harbour before reaching Winterfell. Despite Lord Manderly's offer to hold a feast and a small tourney, Jaehaeron declined politely and told his host a private diner and a good bed for him and his kingsguard were everything he required of him. Lord Manderly had still managed to find a minstrel, in order for Jon to share a dance with each of the ladies of Newcastle. And even though said ladies were all lovely and polite, the oldest was twelve, their prince was still ten, he had the perfect excuse to reject each of their advances.
Moreover Jon had no wish to stay in White Harbour for more than a day, even though he had missed the city. Winterfell awaited, and in Jon Snow's old home, Jaehaeron Targaryen would learn how to be a son of the North, as well as a son of Old Valyria. He would learn to contain both fire and ice in his heart, and perhaps, he would build Targaryen and Stark dynasties that would stand strong against the Others. And a more united North than the one that would betray Robb Stark. So much to do, so much uncertainties, and he was only ten namedays.
Yet, when Winterfell finally appeared on the horizon, Jon felt the greatest relief he had ever felt throughout his body.
He did not land in the castle's courtyard, knowing that would be disrespectful toward his uncle. Instead, Vermithor landed in front of the castle. Jaehaeron and Ser Steffon dismounted and the kinsguard followed his prince while the dragon went back into the sky, to find a place to nest.
Jon was anxious, each time he drew a breath of cold air was a new surge of nostalgia that flowed through his veins. It was hard for him to ignore the laughs of his Stark siblings resonate inside his skull.
"Who goes there?" A guard asked, though more out of duty than out of wariness, for he had seen Vermithor, like everyone else.
"I am Prince Jaehaeron of House Targaryen." Jon answered before Ser Steffon could introduce him. "I have come to pay my respects to my Mother, Lyanna of House Stark, and to become my uncle's ward.I ask for the right to enter my ancestors' home."
The guards stared at him with wide eyes, nodded respectfully and opened the gate for him.
"How easy it is to be a child." Jon thought. "No one suspects you of being a traitor and politeness is enough to impress anyone."
His arrival, although long anticipated, had aroused the curiosity of almost everyone in Winterfell. Even more so since Vermithor had flown over the castle. While Lord Rickon, Bennard Stark and three young Stark-looking men waited for him at the entrance to the Keep - with critical and severe looks - the young prince greeted the crowd who had gathered to meet him with a sincere smile. And it was there, that his gaze met the one of a young boy his age, whose appearance disturbed the young Targaryen. Said boy was slightly taller than him, he wore clothes that were elegant, but old and seemed to have been patched up many times. He had the appearance of a son of the North, tall, with a long face, dark, fine hair, but much more disturbing still; purple eyes. Not radiant and deep like Jon's, whose color had been called "tyrian" by the Grand Maester. Those were dark, somber and yet bursting with an emotion that the young prince would be incapable of describing... And that grin he wore... could it even belong to a child so young? Jon ignored the answer, and chose to focus on his uncle and aunt who were waiting for him.
Jaehaeron straightened his back, in the North he was, as a Northerner he would behave. So he bowed respectfully but not too low.
"Uncle," he greeted in a neutral voice. "I am honored and proud to be here. And I thank you for offering to support my education."
"It's not me you have to thank, nephew." Rickon replied coldly and rigidly. "But your mother who died to birthing you. I refuse to see the child for whom she gave her life die because he was not forged by winter. This is the North , If you are expecting balls and masks and dances, you have come to the wrong place."
"I am expecting honesty, hardships, family, a home and a Winter cold enough to turn the southern child that I am into a northerner. Have I come to the right place?"
A septuary-like silence followed his declaration, a number of servants, guards and grooms exchanged stunned looks at the audacity of the young prince. Rickon didn't smile, but Jon thought he saw approval in his eyes.
"If this is truly what you are looking for, and if that is truly what you wish to be, then you are indeed in the right place."
The Lord of Winterfell rose his eyes for a few moments before looking back at his nephew.
"Your dragon will not be fed by any of our people, I hope that is clear."
"It is, uncle." Jon replied. "Vermithor will fish and hunt on his own. He will not attack any herds, nor plunder any larders. If he ever attacks anyone in the North, then I will leave with him. But I will not be not held responsible if he were to devour someone who had the idea of bothering him or disturbing his nap."
Rickon examined him with his stony gaze, before nodding soberly.
"It's reasonable." He concluded. "Now follow me. It's high time you paid your respects to your mother."
Jon lowered his head, he could only agree. Ser Steffon took a few steps to follow them, but Rickon gave him a stern, uncompromising look.
"Only Starks are allowed inside the crypts of Winterfell." He stated dryly. "We will make an exception for my nephew, because the blood of my ancestors and his mother who is buried there run in his veins. But no southerner will ever set foot in there as long as I live."
Jon was forced to intervene to prevent his sworn sword from protesting in front of everyone and attracting the displeasure of the northerners.
"Wait for me, Ser Steffon." He ordered. "I'll be back as soon as possible."
And he disappeared with the Lord of Winterfell, into the darkest place of the castle.
(-)(-)(-)
The crypt's ironwood door was located in the oldest section of Winterfell near the First Keep and the lichyard. Strangely enough, it looked as old and heavy as Jon remembered it. In order to access it, Rickon and him had to go down narrow and winding spiral stone steps. The chilly and dark crypt had a floor that contained a long line of granite pillars, two by two, between which are entombed the dead of House Stark. The vaulted ceiling was still the same.
The last time Jon had been inside the crypt, he had covered himself in flour and hid in one of the empty tombs in order to jump out and scareSansa, Arya, andBran, who had been brought to the crypts by Robb. Both oldest brothers had laughed on the ground after Sansa had fainted and Bran had ran away, Arya had stayed to kick them both but she had not been strong enough to hurt them. Lord Eddard's punishment on the other hand, had been harsh, but the memory was still a good one in the young prince's mind.
This visit would not be half as nice though.
In his previous life, the woman who had been known as Lyanna Stark had a statue made on her tomb, but Rickon Stark had not been as keen on breaking traditions as Eddard Stark, therefore, he and Jon stoped in front of a tomb that looked just like the others, except for the name written on the tombstone.
"Here lies your mother, boy." Rickon stated in his voice firm and cold. "Your Valyrian of a father sent us her ashes with a message informing us those were her's, and that was it. He cremated her without our consent, nor even that of his wife. He did not come to bury her himself. How do you interpret that?"
Jon wondered if the Gods, old and new, were mocking him and this second existence they had granted him. It was as if he was doomed to pit each of his lives and families against each other.
"My father is capable of every extravagance a man can imagine, but he has never been quick to share his pain or show it in any way. Except with me, sometimes. So I am the only one present capable of affirming without a shadow of a doubt that he loved my mother dearly, and that he did not want her body to rot."
Jon spoke in a firm tone but with no sign of defiance. Daemon Targaryen had been a loving and protective father, regardless of his character. Jon would defend him with the same fervor as many times as necessary.
Rickon looked at him, then back at the tomb.
"Leaving with your father, leaving her family and her country was her choice. It only brought her death, and you. Your mere existence will demonstrate whether she was right to betray her family or not."
Jon couldn't believe his ears, and glared at his uncle.
"Do you honestly believe that she betrayed her family? Is that the only image you have of her? A traitor?"
The immutable Rickon remained hard as granite, only his lips moved.
"No." He admitted. "Yet she fled, and her flight led to a conflict with one of our most powerful bannermen for many moons. It only ended with her death."
Jon felt something boiling inside him, it wasn't the dragon's blood or Vermithor's consciousness, it was his wolfsblood, the one he had almost forgotten existed.
"My mother ran away from a marriage she never wanted." He replied fiercely. "A marriage with a bannerman who has conspired against us too often since the age of heroes. A bannerman who dreams of only one thing: to slit our throats in our sleep. Our ancestors should have exterminated the Boltons centuries ago. "
Rickon raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Your mother had a duty to her family which she failed to do."
"That's what all southerners say when they sell their daughters for power, gold or influence." Jon replied angrily. "Maybe that's why the Old Gods didn't bless you with a daughter."
His uncle's blow was much stronger and more painful than any Jon received during his second life. Rickon Stark was strong as a bear, but his nephew knew how to take a beating.
He challenged him with a look.
"I won't apologize." He warned. "I'm proud to be my mother's son. What she did was brave, what they tried to force her to do was disgusting. I don't care what you do to me, I will always defend her!"
Jon's statement echoed through the empty, dark corridors of the crypt and into the skull of the Lord of Winterfell. Their gazes challenged each other for a few seconds, before Lord Rickon heaved a deep sigh.
"May the old Gods have mercy on me." He said. "I never would have believed you would look so much like her."
Jaehaeron Targaryen raised his eyebrows in surprise, the sorrow in his uncle's voice was not lost on him.
"Do I?" He genuinely asked out of curiosity. "I'm not as sure as you are…"
"Trust me, boy, you do." For the first time since they had met, Jon felt some warmth in his uncle's tone. "Your mother was a fighter and the most curious child I had ever met. She spent her days reading, training or riding. I heard you do the same. But you still have much to learn if you do intend to become a northerner as you proclaimed."
Rickon Stark sighed loudly, and walked past him.
"I am leaving you alone with your mother, tell her what kind of son you are. Perhaps your presence will ease my conscious."
Jon watched his uncle disappear in the dark, before his purple eyes came back to Lyanna Stark's tomb. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He thought about something to say, but nothing came to mind. He had dreamed of meeting his mother in both his lifetimes, but now that he was in front of her grave… he had nothing to say. Perhaps because deep down, he knew his name was Jon Snow, and not Jaehaeron Targaryen. Perhaps Lyanna Stark, wherever she was, knew the truth about him and cursed him for taking her babe's place. Jon felt extremely uneasy as he thought about that last theory. How would Daemon react if he knew the truth? Jon could not even began to fathom this… He was supposed to be a babe, a newborn who knew nothing. If Daemon were to learn that a sixteen year old northern bastard had taken his son's body and life… No… No one could possibly predict what would happen.
And now here he was, in front of the grave of the woman who had died so that he could be reborn… Jon felt sick. He felt the need to apologize but no words came out. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to repair the damage he had caused. If only Jon Snow had known more, then perhaps he would not have needed to die and be reborn to stop the Others.
"You know nothin' Jon Snow." Ygritte mocked him.
And Jon agreed, he knew not what to make of this situation, he knew not what to say or what to do. He just stood there, in silence, feeling sorry for Lyanna Stark and hoping she would forgive him wherever she was.
"The Gods are cruel." Was all he said when he turned his heels and left the darkness of the crypt, leaving the ghosts alone in their regrets.
To read early
Chapter 9 : 'The Bastard of Winterfell
Chapter 10 : 'Bonding with a Snow'
Chapter 11 : 'The Ghosts of the Past'
Chapter 12 : 'Siblings'
Chapter 13 : 'The Dream'
Chapter 14: 'The Prince of Dragonstone'
Chapter 15: 'Stormborn'
Chapter 16: 'Siblings & Bastards'
Chapter 17: 'The Punishment'
Chapter 18: 'Blood and Tears.'
support me on
w w w . p a t r(e)on (slash) MonsieurLAH
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