[ jon's dismount is surprisingly graceful given the lack of saddle, sliding easily down the dragon's side and landing firmly on both feet. he gives rhaegal's side an affectionate pat before leaving him to his meal and meeting his great-uncle halfway.
there's a rare grin on his face, a sign that yes, he did indeed find enjoyment in commanding his dragon to burn something. ]
[ Look at those happy dragons. Bones crunching, the smell of charred flesh, a painted sunset against the Crownlands. It's impossible for anyone to grouse here. Not for Aemond, not even for a Northman. ]
It's... amazing. I'm not sure I have the proper words for it.
[ especially since jon, a man who has literally died and was dead for days before his revival took root, struggles with actually feeling alive these days. most are spent going through the motions and completing tasks like he's checking them off a list; it's rare for him to actually feel something even remotely close to satisfaction, let alone exhilaration. the truth of his lineage and the bond he's formed with rhaegal may just be the key to living again β truly living. ]
Makes me wish I'd known sooner. [ oops, slip of the elated tongue wrt masquerading as a man that's always been and always shall be a bastard. ]
[ It doesn't occur that it might be a slip. All that occurs to Aemond is his own experience watching his nephews and siblings bonding with their drakes and dragonlings. Even though he was a boy of ten when he'd finally claimed Vhagar, the years of agonizing in his lonesome beforehand felt a waste. ]
You've got fire in your blood. You must have felt its ache long before you came to knew what it was.
[ A lone hunger gnawing away at something deep inside. A life is changed once one bonds to a dragon. He finds it unfathomable to think on what it was like without it. Though maybe that's just him. Maybe Jon had much more on his plate being a bastard already making him feel out of touch and out of place. ]
How that fire got there, I wonder.
[ Now that he has his great nephew cornered off somewhere where no one can hold Aemond to some standard of decorum. He can begin to press the matter of his pedigree. Because he has run the numbers and they are fascinating. ]
[ jon's always been lonely, and for the vast majority of his life, he attributed that loneliness solely to his supposed bastardy. it wasn't until fairly recently when the truth was revealed to him and he bonded with rhaegal that he began to realize that there had always been more to it; something missing beyond not being ned stark's trueborn son.
because he wasn't. he was rhaegar and lyanna's. ]
I did, [ he admits. ] And I had no way of knowing what it was.
[ those lies protected him, and he was grateful to his uncle for guarding him against the wrath of the baratheons and all those who would have seen to his end. for keeping his promise to jon's mother and ensuring that in spite of being labeled a bastard, jon grew up knowing that he was loved and wanted. just as lyanna (and presumably rhaegar) had wanted him.
jon contemplates lying further himself, but what would that really accomplish when he's here instead of where he ought to be? ]
From my father, [ he admits after a moment, looking away from his ancestor and towards his dragon. ] Rhaegal was named for him. Rhaegar Targaryen.
[ Though Jon looks away, Aemond continues to look on. Studying him as he speaks, as though something letting can be found in the way his strange kin holds himself. The fact of the matter is he has spent too little in his company to divine the truth anyway.
The name is distinctly Valyrian, though unfamiliar in its placement in his family tree. Certainly based on their similar age, it would have been paramount that a fringe branch of their line existed that still carried their name and not one of a bastard born. ]
Is that what you were told?
[ A little condescending, despite the fact there is a living and breathing dragon that Jon has bonded to.
Still, plenty of men and in this realm only dream of being a Targaryen. It only takes one of some matter of their kin's features to masquerade as one of their own. A dragonseed, a Celtigar, a Velaryon. His poor mother must have been duped, that's the only explanation he can muster. ]
[ jon laughs, because someone questioning what he was told is (bitterly) hilarious in hindsight. ]
To understand what I've been told, you would have to be willing to believe that I'm not from here. That I won't be born for another hundred and fifty years or so.
I'd like to believe you're less daft than to try and make a fool out of me with Vhagar so near.
[ He doesn't think it's funny, he thinks Jon might be trying something. Nothing to do with his demeanor, of course. Aemond just has a long history of being pranked and humiliated. Old, old wounds. He's not so gullible.]
Go on then. Something of the Old Gods, is it? Cursed by a witch? What's the rest of the story, Jon?
[ if anyone can relate to a history of being pranked and humiliated, it's a man who was raised as a bastard. the world can be cruel to those who don't quite fit in to their expected molds, especially when friends and family hold you accountable for not fitting in. ]
The Wall. It was built to keep more than just the Free Folk out and when parts of it came crashing down, the magic held within its stones was released. We [ a nod towards rhaegal ] were fighting to keep more wights from coming through and flew too close to the fissure in the ice.
[ it's the only explanation he has for what could have happened to send him and his dragon centuries into the past, leagues away from the wall and the north. (aka the easiest vague handwave reasoning for timey wimey nonsense.) ]
[ His response seems genuine, though it takes Aemond a longer bit of silence and a longer bit of staring Jon down to try and discern the man's earnestness. Because everything he's said sounds like it's out of some nutjob fairy story. No wonder he's kept quiet about it, they'd throw him in the cells to deal with his madness. ]
Wights.
[ Happens to be the thing he latches onto out of all of this. Somehow the most fantastical of it all, if he's looking to poke holes in his story. ]
Like from the stories of the Long Night, those wights?
They're not just stories. Where I'm from, winter has come and the Long Night is right around the corner. The Night's Watch has been undermanned since the Baratheons took the throne and the Wall's defenses have been breached and the North is the last thing standing between the armies of the dead and the rest of Westeros.
[ it sounds fantastical. so very fantastical. jon hadn't believed it until he'd seen one the wights and the others for himself, until he saw how quickly they seized hardhome and claimed the fallen free folk for their own. so much horror that happened so quickly, with only his valyrian steel sword able to do anything to the white walkers that had the power to make more wights. ]
[ Aemond has spent a time consuming books about the higher mysteries and the legends of these lands and that of Old Valyria. Still, he wants to think that Jon has either hit his head or is sincerely fucking with him.
Because, out of all of that —] A Baratheon took the Iron Throne? The Targaryen's have dragons, that hardly seems feasible.
[ sorry, great uncle, he's going to. an unfortunately relevant part of this tale. ]
The Targaryens had dragons. They hadn't been seen in a hundred years, not until Dβ my aunt [ will he ever get used to thinking of daenerys targaryen as his aunt? probably not. ] hatched three petrified eggs on her husband's funeral pyre.
[ rhaegal makes a noise in the distance, as if he knows that his rider is talking about his mother. ]
The last Targaryen king was plagued with madness, unfit to rule. He was easily overthrown and the remnants of his family killed or driven into exile. My aunt was no more than a babe, whisked away to Essos by those loyal to her mother. My father died fighting the usurper on the Trident. I never knew him. My mother was a Stark and she feared that Robert, the new king, would have me killed if he knew that Rhaegar had a living son. Before she died, she made him promise that he would protect me.
For most of me life, I thought I was the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Hidden in plain sight. Robert never suspected anything. No one did.
It wasn't until recently that I was finally told the truth. Jon Snow was the name my uncle gave me, but my mother called me Aerion. Aerion Targaryen.
[ By Jon's loose math, that would mean dragons die out within the next century years. Big news considering how many are flying about currently. That's about one generation away, something his sister's children might see the end of. Something he might see if he, well — Jon might know the answer to that as well.
He is getting ahead of himself.
The prince's head tilts. He draws towards Jon a bit closer. As though he might be looking for some signature embedded in the Starkgaryen's person that might veil some truth more than words. Close enough to try and see if there's purple in those dusky eyes of his. ]
You don't look anything like a Targaryen to me. Apart from the dragon. Saying you are the son of a son of a mad king, I suppose you may get off being a bit mad yourself.
[ more like the majority die out within the next handful of years, but history has never been jon's strong suit and he isn't about to bring up what happens during and in the years following the dance. especially not with one of the known power players whose fate was a dismal one at that. (all their fates were pretty dismal, even those who lived, from what he recalls of old nan's tales.)
there is some purple, often masked by the shadows of the north and the harsh glare of the snow, allowing the grey flecks he inherited from lyanna to dominate, but out here in the unobstructed sunlight of the south, the lavender hue is more apparent. ]
My mother was a Stark. The blood of the First Men is strong in the North. [ said proudly, as the people of the north aren't too different from the targaryens in the way that they value the near purity of their ancient bloodlines and hold steadfast to the traditions of those who came before instead of allowing themselves to be fully assimilated into andal culture. ]
Perhaps there is a touch of madness to be wary of, but it is your bloodline, tooβ [ how are they related? jon couldn't put together an accurate targaryen family tree if his life depended on it, but considering rhaenyra's sons survived the dance but none of the hightower children didβ ] Uncle. The madness of Aerys II had to have come from somewhere.
[ Doubtful as to he is more a descendant of Rhaenyra's than he could be of Aegon's, Aemond would prefer to assume the latter in this relation. He cannot afford to assume anything else. ]
And where would that be from exactly? None of my ancestors have been particularly considered mad.
[ Maegor was paranoid, there is a difference. ]
It would seem the pool has been spoiled. Losing one's dragons certainly can't have helped.
[ What is a Targaryen without a dragon? Certainly, not all his aunts and uncles over the years were able to claim one. They also tended to live short lives or incredibly mundane ones. Not at all that Aemond himself has a rather unhealthy, co-dependent tether towards his own dragon. ]
[ it's for the best that they don't discuss the details of how exactly aemond is jon's (very distant) uncle. ]
Time and the loss of the dragons, I imagine.
[ jon barely understands the correlation between his targaryen blood and the dragons, but he knows it's a significant one. his bond with rhaegal made him feel whole in ways he never thought possible, filling the void that had plagued him for most of his life that he'd mislabeled as his inability to truly fit in as a bastard who would never be an legitimate stark.
losing the dragons and the order they helped to maintain probably delivered a blow like no other to the targaryens who ruled in the aftermath of the dance's devastation. ]
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there's a rare grin on his face, a sign that yes, he did indeed find enjoyment in commanding his dragon to burn something. ]
Invigorated. Alive.
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[ Look at those happy dragons. Bones crunching, the smell of charred flesh, a painted sunset against the Crownlands. It's impossible for anyone to grouse here. Not for Aemond, not even for a Northman. ]
Not so bad now, is it?
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[ especially since jon, a man who has literally died and was dead for days before his revival took root, struggles with actually feeling alive these days. most are spent going through the motions and completing tasks like he's checking them off a list; it's rare for him to actually feel something even remotely close to satisfaction, let alone exhilaration. the truth of his lineage and the bond he's formed with rhaegal may just be the key to living again β truly living. ]
Makes me wish I'd known sooner. [ oops, slip of the elated tongue wrt masquerading as a man that's always been and always shall be a bastard. ]
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You've got fire in your blood. You must have felt its ache long before you came to knew what it was.
[ A lone hunger gnawing away at something deep inside. A life is changed once one bonds to a dragon. He finds it unfathomable to think on what it was like without it. Though maybe that's just him. Maybe Jon had much more on his plate being a bastard already making him feel out of touch and out of place. ]
How that fire got there, I wonder.
[ Now that he has his great nephew cornered off somewhere where no one can hold Aemond to some standard of decorum. He can begin to press the matter of his pedigree. Because he has run the numbers and they are fascinating. ]
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because he wasn't. he was rhaegar and lyanna's. ]
I did, [ he admits. ] And I had no way of knowing what it was.
[ those lies protected him, and he was grateful to his uncle for guarding him against the wrath of the baratheons and all those who would have seen to his end. for keeping his promise to jon's mother and ensuring that in spite of being labeled a bastard, jon grew up knowing that he was loved and wanted. just as lyanna (and presumably rhaegar) had wanted him.
jon contemplates lying further himself, but what would that really accomplish when he's here instead of where he ought to be? ]
From my father, [ he admits after a moment, looking away from his ancestor and towards his dragon. ] Rhaegal was named for him. Rhaegar Targaryen.
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The name is distinctly Valyrian, though unfamiliar in its placement in his family tree. Certainly based on their similar age, it would have been paramount that a fringe branch of their line existed that still carried their name and not one of a bastard born. ]
Is that what you were told?
[ A little condescending, despite the fact there is a living and breathing dragon that Jon has bonded to.
Still, plenty of men and in this realm only dream of being a Targaryen. It only takes one of some matter of their kin's features to masquerade as one of their own. A dragonseed, a Celtigar, a Velaryon. His poor mother must have been duped, that's the only explanation he can muster. ]
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To understand what I've been told, you would have to be willing to believe that I'm not from here. That I won't be born for another hundred and fifty years or so.
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[ He doesn't think it's funny, he thinks Jon might be trying something. Nothing to do with his demeanor, of course. Aemond just has a long history of being pranked and humiliated. Old, old wounds. He's not so gullible.]
Go on then. Something of the Old Gods, is it? Cursed by a witch? What's the rest of the story, Jon?
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[ if anyone can relate to a history of being pranked and humiliated, it's a man who was raised as a bastard. the world can be cruel to those who don't quite fit in to their expected molds, especially when friends and family hold you accountable for not fitting in. ]
The Wall. It was built to keep more than just the Free Folk out and when parts of it came crashing down, the magic held within its stones was released. We [ a nod towards rhaegal ] were fighting to keep more wights from coming through and flew too close to the fissure in the ice.
[ it's the only explanation he has for what could have happened to send him and his dragon centuries into the past, leagues away from the wall and the north. (aka the easiest vague handwave reasoning for timey wimey nonsense.) ]
lmao sorry for making him explain the timey wimey
Wights.
[ Happens to be the thing he latches onto out of all of this. Somehow the most fantastical of it all, if he's looking to poke holes in his story. ]
Like from the stories of the Long Night, those wights?
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[ it sounds fantastical. so very fantastical. jon hadn't believed it until he'd seen one the wights and the others for himself, until he saw how quickly they seized hardhome and claimed the fallen free folk for their own. so much horror that happened so quickly, with only his valyrian steel sword able to do anything to the white walkers that had the power to make more wights. ]
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Because, out of all of that —] A Baratheon took the Iron Throne? The Targaryen's have dragons, that hardly seems feasible.
[ Pls, Jon. Don't say they lost their dragons. ]
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The Targaryens had dragons. They hadn't been seen in a hundred years, not until Dβ my aunt [ will he ever get used to thinking of daenerys targaryen as his aunt? probably not. ] hatched three petrified eggs on her husband's funeral pyre.
[ rhaegal makes a noise in the distance, as if he knows that his rider is talking about his mother. ]
The last Targaryen king was plagued with madness, unfit to rule. He was easily overthrown and the remnants of his family killed or driven into exile. My aunt was no more than a babe, whisked away to Essos by those loyal to her mother. My father died fighting the usurper on the Trident. I never knew him. My mother was a Stark and she feared that Robert, the new king, would have me killed if he knew that Rhaegar had a living son. Before she died, she made him promise that he would protect me.
For most of me life, I thought I was the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Hidden in plain sight. Robert never suspected anything. No one did.
It wasn't until recently that I was finally told the truth. Jon Snow was the name my uncle gave me, but my mother called me Aerion. Aerion Targaryen.
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He is getting ahead of himself.
The prince's head tilts. He draws towards Jon a bit closer. As though he might be looking for some signature embedded in the Starkgaryen's person that might veil some truth more than words. Close enough to try and see if there's purple in those dusky eyes of his. ]
You don't look anything like a Targaryen to me. Apart from the dragon. Saying you are the son of a son of a mad king, I suppose you may get off being a bit mad yourself.
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there is some purple, often masked by the shadows of the north and the harsh glare of the snow, allowing the grey flecks he inherited from lyanna to dominate, but out here in the unobstructed sunlight of the south, the lavender hue is more apparent. ]
My mother was a Stark. The blood of the First Men is strong in the North. [ said proudly, as the people of the north aren't too different from the targaryens in the way that they value the near purity of their ancient bloodlines and hold steadfast to the traditions of those who came before instead of allowing themselves to be fully assimilated into andal culture. ]
Perhaps there is a touch of madness to be wary of, but it is your bloodline, tooβ [ how are they related? jon couldn't put together an accurate targaryen family tree if his life depended on it, but considering rhaenyra's sons survived the dance but none of the hightower children didβ ] Uncle. The madness of Aerys II had to have come from somewhere.
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And where would that be from exactly? None of my ancestors have been particularly considered mad.
[ Maegor was paranoid, there is a difference. ]
It would seem the pool has been spoiled. Losing one's dragons certainly can't have helped.
[ What is a Targaryen without a dragon? Certainly, not all his aunts and uncles over the years were able to claim one. They also tended to live short lives or incredibly mundane ones. Not at all that Aemond himself has a rather unhealthy, co-dependent tether towards his own dragon. ]
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Time and the loss of the dragons, I imagine.
[ jon barely understands the correlation between his targaryen blood and the dragons, but he knows it's a significant one. his bond with rhaegal made him feel whole in ways he never thought possible, filling the void that had plagued him for most of his life that he'd mislabeled as his inability to truly fit in as a bastard who would never be an legitimate stark.
losing the dragons and the order they helped to maintain probably delivered a blow like no other to the targaryens who ruled in the aftermath of the dance's devastation. ]