13

13: Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Jon

Flanked by Smalljon on his left and the Blackfish on his right, Jon descended the damp steps off the dark hallways of the black cells. The deeper one went, the more vile the criminal. For what he knew, his father was down where no light but that from a torch or candle could reach. But to Tommen's conditions, he agreed to house Cersei in the upper cells where it was not as horrible as down below.

The Mountain was in one of the deepest cells where no outside light could be found even if the Red Keep was removed clean from the surface. It was a large cell and the brute was chained up by many in the center, unable to move and unable to escape. Jon ordered twenty separate cold rolled chains cuffed to the monster and staked taut and routinely guards checking the way.

At Cersei's cell, there were two men guarding it, both of them Northmen that Jon had complete assurances would not be bought off. In the corner of the cell, still in her fine nightgown, was Cersei. She was sitting in the corner with her knees pulled to her chest and a furious scowl upon her face.

"Open it," Jon ordered and the guard with the key did so. He stepped in and Cersei averted looking at him. "I'm sure you've heard who I am."

Cersei smirked. "I have heard the lies you cloak yourself with, bastard. You take advantage of false history and crown yourself with glory and status since you can't get it from your dear departed daddy."

"I've hardly lied in my life. The few times I did I lost someone I loved. But you though, you can't go a day without, can you? The realm, your husband, father, lover, your own children. All of your lies have finally come to collect their due." He walked forward and knelt down to her. "I want nothing more than to take your head myself. Maybe I will get the chance one day. But not now, right now you live in a place that just barely reflects a small bit of your black heart." He stood and brushed the dust off his knees. "Tommen has accepted his heritage. He's going to denounce his name and has surrendered the Iron Throne to me."

Cersei glanced up at him, still smirking angrily.

Jon turned and left her cell. Once the door was closed and he began to walk back up the steps, he heard Cersei speak to him. "Enjoy the Iron Throne, bastard. You claim to be a dragon, so know how many of your kind met their ends upon it." She chuckled. "Wouldn't want it to happen to someone as pretty as you."

"And look where you are now after holding onto a chair no matter the cost. Stripped of your gold, your finery, and cast into the darkness."

Her smirk twitched, but it remained. "A dragon's fire is just as painful as a lion's claws, but yours will spread where you cannot control."

Jon ended their meeting with silence. He stepped out of the cell and let it be locked behind him. He didn't care about getting the last word in like a Lannister did. Always getting the last word, last laugh, last pain inflicted. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the woman who until last night slept in the finest quarters of the Red Keep was just a shadow of the real Cersei Lannister, the one who was in the black cell. She was just an empty woman now. Tommen was her only light left in the world, but that didn't make her any better.

Her words though, they did reach him a little and pricked at his anxieties of taking the Throne. He had always strived to be the man he was brought up to be in Winterfell and who he was at the Wall. He knew he was just, honorable, dutiful, and good. But power was always power, a corruptible substance that even the best of men will falter at the reigns of it.

Once, Jon had the same thoughts, ones he voiced to Daenerys while they were on the boat. She was worried about such as well. It had been Jon's hope that they would check each other's worrisome impulses, that they'd stop each other from descending down the dark path that Cersei Lannister and many others before her did.

No matter what he thought could have been done better, especially now that Sansa was seemingly changing, Jon knew he couldn't risk it. Daenerys would find a better life without him. He would simply have to endure.

He pressed on up the steps. It was nearly time for the deed to be done.

The Throne Hall was filled with many of the city's nobles. All of them were confused and muttering to each other. Some glanced over to Jon and his company of men as they should. They were a sight to behold. The Hound, Beric Dondarrion, and Northern Barbarians all in the Red Keep.

Tommen entered alone. He was dressed neatly but not in his usual attire. He wore all red and his crown was atop his head. He ascended to the Iron Throne but did not sit. He stood facing his audience.

Jon quickly turned to Ser Brynden. "You made the arrangement?" he whispered.

"It's all taken care of. Myranda Blackwood is over there in the corner."

Jon looked to the corner the Blackfish meant and he saw a very beautiful woman with a subtle but constant smile. She was heavy buxom and had long black hair stretching down her back. Yes, she was perfect.

"And she agreed?"

"Yes she has. Quite eager when we told about her intended match. I'd mistake her for Dornish if I didn't know her."

Jon narrowed his eyes. "She doesn't look Dornish."

"I'm not talking about her looks."

Tommen began his announcement. "In light of the chaos and the confusion, I have found the clarity and wisdom that we as a kingdom need to persevere through these troubled times. Through others, I have learned the truth of myself, or perhaps I knew it all along and ignored it." Tommen's fingers tightened into nervous fists. "I accept my truth, that I am a bastard of incest, a false King unworthy of a Throne. I am Tommen Waters, not Baratheon." He removed the crown from his head and descended down the steps and straight in front of Jon. "As of last night, I have surrendered the city, my crown, and the Iron Throne to the true heir, a man whose claim is undeniable and stronger than any others in Westeros, one who possesses more wisdom and strength that the realms need."

Tommen fell on one knee and offered his crown to Jon. People began to converse, questioning who Jon was, some whispering that he might be a Baratheon. But to everyone's surprise, Jon did not take the crown. "I want you to keep this," he told Tommen, "and when you look at it, wherever you put it, you remember to aspire to be wise as a King should be. That it is through your will that leads, not others." Tommen arose and stepped aside.

Jon looked to the Iron Throne and proceeded forward, his steps heavy as he climbed the steps. He stood tall to the people of King's Landing. "Many of you may know of me as the bastard of Eddard Stark, Jon Snow. But my real name is Aegon Targaryen," a collective gasp and silence overtook the crowd of nobles. "I am the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, born in Dorne, raised in the North, a secret to spare me from Robert Baratheon's wrath by Ned Stark… I wasn't there the day he died, the day many of you ate the lies of the Lannisters so easily and called him a traitor even when the truth was standing right before you." His fists tightened. "Is this what I am to lead? A troop of fools and grovelers? I expect better or else you will have no place here." He let the words sink into all the nobles before him.

The doors burst open and escorted by a host of Tyrell men was Ser Jaime Lannister with Bronn behind him. They both were disarmed and stopped halfway to the Throne when they saw Jon standing before it.

"What is this?" Jaime demanded. "Usurpation? Treason?"

Tommen stepped into view of his father. "None of it, father."

Jaime went pale as a ghost and swallowed the lump in his throat.

Ser Davos cleared his throat. "You stand before the Rightful King of Westeros, Aegon of the House Targaryen, the Sixth of his name, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

"That's a lie!" Jaime exclaimed. "I remember you, Jon Snow."

"And I remember you, Ser Jaime. And my name and birth are no lie. With witness of several Archmaesters of the Citadel, there is documentation that confirms this. The diary of High Septon Maynard has within it the record of Rhaegar Targaryen's annulment to Elia Martel and the marriage of him to Lyanna Stark in Dorne, witnessed by him, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Gerold Hightower, and a maiden by the name Wylla."

"That's your truth? A book and some old farts nodding their heads at it?" Jaime demanded. "Where is my sister?"

"In the Black Cells where she will remain hostage." Jon shifted his gaze to Jaime's companion. "Ser Bronn, I believe?"

"Aye. Can't say we've met. Have I threatened you before?" Even under confinement, the man was still able to keep his head calm.

"I understand your allegiance with House Lannister is rather upsetting at times. You have been promised Lordship and a Highborn beauty for several years now."

Ser Bronn looked to Jaime. "Even your enemies know you're fuckin' me for what I'm worth."

"I am prepared to take on the debt the crown owes you. Simply swear your allegiance and I will make it so that today you are granted Lordship over your choice from several vacant castles ranging from the Reach to the Riverlands." With two fingers, he beckoned for Lady Myranda Blackwood to step forward in view of Ser Bronn, "and a Highborn beauty to marry tomorrow night."

Bronn's eyes widened a tad when he saw Myranda. He bowed his head to her and she winked at him with a growing mischievous smile. He patted Jaime on the shoulder. "Must be the end of the world when a Lannister's enemy pay's a Lannister's debt." He stepped away from Jaime and joined Myranda. "My loyalty is yours, your Grace."

Jon looked back to Jaime. "You have a lot to answer for. But as per agreement with Tommen, you are to be spared a cell and a beheading. But for now, you have no place here." Jon nodded to the Tyrell knights and two of them came forward and seized Ser Jaime. "Take him to his regular quarters. He's to be confined until I see him later. But first," Jon motioned to one of the guards, urging him to retrieve the crate, "I think all of you are entitled to some proof of my words."

A minute later, in marched four strong men carrying the crate into the throne room and dangling behind was a long steel chain held only by the Hound. The people of court backed away, their curiosity and fear getting the better of them, and Ser Jaime was pulled up closer to where Jon was.

The men dropped the crate and undid the latch. With a single kick, one scream filled the room before dozens did as the wight burst out in a great rage and lurched forward immediately at Jon. Everyone in the room scrambled as far away as they could, most tried to run out of the room but they hadn't realized the doors were shut. They all had to see this.

The Hound yanked hard on the chain and the wight whipped backwards, falling hard before all four crate carriers tackled the monster and held it firm.

"Look!" Jon shouted over every voice and the court went silent except for the horrid squeals from the wight. "The monsters are real! This is one of thousands! An army that cannot feel pain, or tire, or show mercy. The greatest and most powerful force is on its way!"

The men struggled hard to cram the wight back into the box and latched the lock back on. The moment the lock clicked, the panic calmed and the box was hauled away.

"I have served in the Night's Watch, I rose to be Lord Commander. And in that same time, I saw the truth of what lies beyond the Wall, the monsters that the Wildlings would do anything to run from. And those monsters are coming for us all. It is time we stop caring about who rules over who and who is better than the other because it won't matter when those monsters come to kill us all. I have fought them before and will continue to fight them until my dying breath. I am no longer of the Night's Watch, but I shall always be a shield to guard the realms of men. I make this declaration to you all!" Jon announced fiercely. "When the armies of the dead arrive at our doorstep, I shall not cower in the halls of a castle or flee across the sea, I shall stand against them. For me, My family, for the people, for Westeros!"

Jon sat himself down on the Iron Throne, now King of Westeros. The damn thing felt cold through his clothes.

Ser Jaime was taken away from the throne room to be locked into his chambers, all the while stunned at what he witnessed.

Jon straightened himself and looked to the two bastards he was to give what they deserved. "I have not lived in King's Landing, nor been south of the Neck in my whole life, but I have heard of the good rulings of King Tommen, a just man with great potential. His influences misguided him from reigning true, but I believe in second chances for the worthy. Tommen," he looked straight at him, "I do not believe you are done yet. I offer you another chance to be a great ruler of men. I would bestow your family's name of Lannister unto you and the right to rule Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. What say you?"

"You are wrong." Tommen announced, "when you called my rule good. Mine was not true and I saw it. The city suffered and I cared not to look. But I want to make up for that. I want to prove that I can be a good ruler. I will accept."

"Then I bestow upon you the name of your father. You are Tommen Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and the Westerlands from this day onward."

And now the fealty of the Westerlands was his. Five Kingdoms down, one to go.

"Stannis Baratheon and his daughter died in the North. Renly Baratheon fathered no trueborn child or bastard. Robert Baratheon died without any trueborn children but there are few of his bastard children who escaped the extermination ordered by Joffrey. And the eldest male is there." He pointed to Gendry. "Gendry Rivers, step forward."

Gendry looked absolutely nervous. Jon told him this would happen but he still looked shocked by it all.

"I offer you the same as I have Tommen, your father's name, his seat, and his kingdom. Will you accept such a duty as the eldest male of his?"

Gendry straightened and nodded. "I will."

"Then from this day onward, you are Gendry Baratheon, the Lord of Storm's End and the Stormlands."

"House Baratheon lives!" Beric Dondarrion cheered and many followed with rejoice. It was always a great impact when a major House fell extinct. Having it live on by a thread of hope was wonderful.

"I do have one task to ask of you as a smith, however. Bring forth Ser Jaime's sword."

One of the knight's at the door did as ordered and presented Widow's Wail to Jon. He took the sword and unsheathed it halfway. "This sword was reformed from Ned Stark's. It deserves to be returned to its rightful owner." He sheathed it and looked to Gendry. "But it should have a new hilt to match the House. This task is yours."

Gendry walked up and took it delicately. "I'll make it my best work yet, your grace."

Jon leaned over to Sansa. "Do you think Rickon will think it'll make up for all the namedays we missed?"

That made her show a wide, beaming smile fully genuine, yet without the same frivolity that such smiles came with before their family entered the den of snakes and it was good to see it from her. It was only then he realized that was the first time he did that for her without it being to help her shift from her path of becoming what she once did.

Jon straightened up and addressed the mass once Gendry had stepped back with Widow's Wail in his possession. "There is much to do and so little time. But we start at home. The city and its people need care they haven't been receiving from House Lannister. We start by feeding the people with meals, not scraps. House Tyrell is providing much needed grains and livestock despite the harm the Lannisters have brought to them."

There was a low applause that came from everyone but Olenna didn't even acknowledge it.

"And to ease the burdens from the past decade, there shall be no toll, fee, or cost to people. They shall be fed freely by House Targaryen." Truthfully, there was absolutely no way to afford such costs but Tyrion and Davos were the ones who came up with the ideas to remedy that before he made the journey to the past. "I will also be seeking out the aid and talents of the finest architects to fix and restore the city's sewers. The Gods know the city has smelled fowl for too long." Many looked grateful for that decree. "And lastly, while it is traditional to appoint a Kingsguard, I shall be postponing such for now until worthy candidates can be found and tested. The standards and upholding of the sacred oaths were a shambles with the past collection of knights in the golden armor. No more. I will expect the new seven to uphold their oaths as knights and of the Kingsguard to the highest. That is all."

Jon arose from his seat and made way for the Small Council chambers. Sansa, Davos, the Blackfish, and Olenna all followed behind him. When they got to the finely made table of polished oak, each of them sat after Jon took his place at the head.

"Wonderful start," Davos remarked, "you certainly made an impression. Rather hard at the start but the truth's opened many eyes to what's important. I think Gendry and Tommen's naturalizing will help."

Olenna scoffed, not at Davos but the statement. "Sadly, first impressions aren't always everything. It's always an easy start but there will be so many rough patches in the road ahead."

Jon straightened. "Then we'll just have to smooth them as we go along. Another item of business is to start a Small Council and name a Hand." He looked over to Davos. "The pin got lost in the scuffle, so I'll have a new one made soon. Until then, do you think you can muster the strength to not wear it for now?"

Davos cleared his throat. "Never had one serving Stannis. Won't need one now. Frankly I think it does nothing more than narrow me down as a target." There wasn't a doubt that dozens would be plotting to get into the fold or get Jon off the throne in any way possible. He was glad that he had The Raven to help him see what he couldn't.

"Sansa," Jon continued, "I'd like to appoint you as the Stewardess of the Red Keep, but also keep you as my closest advisor both when Davos is and isn't around."

She sat up, eyes wide. There had been a slight tinge in her face when he appointed Davos as his Hand, but the last words of his cleared it. Her eyes told the whole tale of her emotions. "Any particular desires you want to make of the castle?" she asked with perfect composure and obedience. "Decorations, staff-"

"I trust your judgment, Sansa. Just make it nice, with something other than lions everywhere," Jon told her with half a smile, enjoying her quick snort of amusement. He turned to the Blackfish. "Ser Brynden, you are the most fair and just among those I know. I would name you Master of Laws, and also task you with appointing a new Commander of the City Watch and reorganizing it to be proficient, root out any unnecessary men wasting our time and money, and make sure the people are being treated fairly."

Ser Brynden nodded. "It shall be done, and I have just the man in mind. I'll send a raven for him before the hour's up."

"Good. That will be all. I have some private words to exchange with Lady Olenna." Everyone not needed arose from their seats and excused themselves.

It was just him and Olenna for now, both seated at the small council table. "How is Margaery's recovery?"

"Better every day. She's confined from sunshine until her skin heals and will eventually be regarded with some stupid title partnering her to the Hound. The Rose of Highgarden burned. She'll likely age into an old crone like me, alone and upset. But she is alive as is my grandson and my future. The crown is yours now, your Grace. What do you need from us now?"

Jon sighed. "The Crown's debt still weighs heavily. It's up to six and a half million gold dragons now If I was told correctly. We need to lighten the load and with counsel as yours we can get to work on it. I need the best as my Master of Coin."

"The Reach needs me, your grace. My grandchildren need me now that my son and his wife have departed."

"And I need your skills and knowledge just as much. And in return, I shall prioritize your demands and repayments first so you may get back to the Reach as soon as possible, and once we find someone just as suited to take your place."

Olenna breathed in irritance. "If we're being honest, there is no one better suited. That's the curse of being a Tyrell. But very well. I'll start looking for a suitable replacement when I am no longer needed."

"Thank you." Jon said sincerely. "First thing we need to discuss is the crown's debt to the Iron Bank."

"House Tyrell's is financed enough to pay off the entire debt, but only barely. We'd be left with next to nothing."

"I'm not ordering that you do. I have a few ideas to bring money back to the crown. But as far as managing it to what is best for us and the people, that's what I need you to do. This city is crumbling and smells of shit. We need this place to heal. Can you do that?"

"I can. I have relations with the Architects Guild in Myr. They have a sewer system similar to Old Valyria or so they claim. It is the finest, no doubt about it. I'm sure they would love to claim the job of serving the new King. It will take time and money. Now tell me these ideas you have. You don't strike me as the financier or merchant I think you assume you are."

"Aside from the public secrets I've unveiled, I have a few more to share with the right people. One of them is a possible solution to creating Valyrian Steel once again."

Olenna looked like someone pushed her back in her seat with a light shove. "Impossible. The technique was lost when Valyria burned. Many have tried to no avail."

"Not the way I've discovered. There are four smiths who we'll need for this. One is from Volantis and another is from Tyrosh, and both of them are on their way from Pentos as we speak." Both of them were among the people Jon had sent messages out to the first night he came back. "The third smith is here in King's Landing and the new Lord of Storm's End is a potential fourth. Now if this works, we'll have access to the rarest material possibly in the whole world."

"And with it in your control, you can sell at the highest price you please."

"Or at a low enough price that can't be refused. But we'll get to that if we get to that."

"Quite right. I'll take this chance to make you an offer. House Tyrell has no blade to call its own. If this works, I want you to put a Valyrian Steel Sword in Loras's hands and I'll see to it that the North is given a generous share of food they need at little to no cost."

"We have a deal," Jon said without a second thought. "Speaking of Loras, have you spoken to him about being Lord of Highgarden yet?"

Olenna sighed. "I want the best for my grandchildren and above all I want them to be happy. But Loras won't find any of it to his liking. He is a knight, through and through. But his interests hold him back. I fear he may refuse his obligation to wed a maiden and father children."

"It's up to him to decide the fate of his name. What about Margaery?"

Olenna stiffened. "She's decided to stay as Tommen's wife. Lady of Casterly Rock has a certain ring to it. She'll make the Westerlands hers no doubt if Tommen can't and I have every reason to believe he can't. For now, she'll rejoin his side once she's able and keep an eye on him when he leaves for his new home. I simply hope she has the strength to bear children. Elia Martell nearly died after her second." She shuddered at acknowledging someone with Lannister blood ruling her family seat. "Speaking of heirs, your grace, what about you? The only other Targaryen is your aunt, Daenerys. And she's coming faster than winter is."

"By blood and natural law, she is my heir. I know she comes to have the throne and not to just be in line for it. But I will not meet her with hostility." It was taking everything in him to bottle up his swell of emotions at even thinking of her. "I'm arranging an envoy to be sent to Dragonstone and join a host of my men already there. They shall welcome Daenerys and extend an invitation to the Red Keep. If she accepts, then we can get into that."

"Now, you know I don't have an issue with a powerful woman. But others might and while she may be everything you told me, tread lightly. Enough has been said about her to cause real worry in many lords. But what do you plan for yourself? It's no lie that you embody what many young maidens desire. A handsome face, warrior's body, and fierce leadership. There will be much expectancy for you to take a wife sooner than you think and there are quite many candidates who will present themselves."

Jon shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want to talk about this of all things. "We'll save that for another day. You're not the only one who needs time to process the big surprises." He made to stand up, concluding their meeting, but Olenna brought a hand up.

"One more word, your grace. As Master of Coin, I am also sworn to offer my regular counsel."

"I welcome it."

"You are indeed going to be a good king. You do things honorably like Ned Stark. But that will not get you far unfortunately. Even as we speak there are many who will plot against you and as long as Cersei is alive it is a guarantee that someone is plotting for her. A Direwolf is a fearsome creature, but it is not the strongest. You are a dragon. Show the Kingdom that you can be a dragon."

As Jon and Olenna left the Small Council room, they found Sansa waiting outside. Olenna kept on as Jon stopped to meet his cousin. "Is everything alright?" Jon asked, his voice echoing in the empty throne room with only four guards, two Reach knights and two Northmen. "Did you meet some resistance in regards to your station appointment?"

"No. I've informed the staff and they accepted without resistance. And I will be weeding out the ones I know are still loyal to Cersei. We'll be recruiting soon so best to find people that don't feel like their trust is a lie… both for House Targaryen and House Stark," she added with a tiny smile.

"I'll appreciate that."

"Jon," Sansa grabbed at his arm when he stepped away. She let go as soon as he stopped. "Since you've made me an advisor, it is my task to offer counsel I think is best to hear."

There was a subtle tremor in Jon's stomach, like a large chunk of ice settled there and chilled his insides.

"The Boltons are dead and Tommen is certainly not his Grandfather or his mother. House Stark is finally free of enemies. We should not let Father's and Robb's death have been forgotten now that we have the chance to make things how they wanted."

Jon's fists clenched and he felt a vein press on his forehead. "Seven Hells, Sansa," He grunted. "Don't tell me you're trying to use my position for Independence."

"Jon," she said in almost retreat, "our father was murdered for the very throne you sit upon. Robb died fighting for the North's freedom of that rule! Everything the North has fought and lost, suffered, bled, all of it to be free from the rule of that throne."

"You think I don't know that?" Jon exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to restrain his ire. "Sansa, I was raised alongside all of you. Regardless of my true parentage, Ned Stark was a father to me and you, Arya, Robb, Rickon, and Bran are my brothers and sisters. I feel exactly what we lost, I almost deserted the Watch to join Robb fighting in the South."

Sansa blinked. "Robb would've won had you been by his side," she said sadly. Sighing, she walked to Jon and placed a hand on his shoulder. "For the longest time, I thought going south and being a Queen was all I ever wanted… yet when I nearly had it, all I wished for was to be in Winterfell again. I trust you as the King… I don't trust all the backstabbing, conniving southern Lords hiding in the masses. I saw how they operated in Joffrey's court. The North is better off away from them."

"You'd think so, Sansa. Seven Hells, Robb probably thought that completely genuinely, but it's not true. We've been blessed for centuries but we forget what it was like before. Cold, scarce, and barren. We won wars because we were hard men and women. We were hard because there was barely enough to keep us from starving, no better than the Free Folk except with castles and steel." Jon had seen it, the famines, the scarcity.

Confused, Sansa stroked his arm, trying to calm him. "If this is a worry over loyalty… we're siblings and as monarchs we would be unshakable allies. I would never betray you…"

Suddenly Jon's eyes found Sansa, making her gasp and stumble back. They were alight with pure rage. "And what would the other Kingdoms think of this? They would murmur and stir up because I grant boons out of blood and preference. If I grant the North independence, then why shouldn't I grant it to the Reach? I owe them so much for their help getting the throne. And then the Vale could ask for it for being the key point in our victory retaking Winterfell, and more and more they ask until the unity we need to survive is all but gone! Westeros is the shield that needs to stand up against the dead, Sansa. And any political moves like this will turn it to glass."

Sansa went silent when Jon finished and looked hurt by what Jon had said. She took a deep breath and walked away without a word, her head held down and trying to avoid Jon's gaze.

"Sansa," Jon said but she kept going, ignoring him. "Seven Hells," he whispered to himself.

'You could have handled that better,' The Raven suddenly said, 'She's not the same as before.'

"I know," Jon whispered, walking his way to somewhere private, "I just… I can't seem to believe it yet. Every time I look at her I only see the woman who betrayed me, betrayed everything I held onto. For what? A throne. She still wants it, Bran." Jon laughed to himself. "Why do you think she came all this way?" he mocked.

'She has changed, Jon. You just haven't noticed it yet. It's a subtle way, but it's there. Why do you think she came all this way?'

"Because I asked her to."

'And why do you think she said yes?'

Closing his eyes, Jon recollected the state Sansa was in when she arrived at Castle Black, both times. Each was the same, a young woman battered and destroyed by evil manifested as a human. "I know, Bran, I know. Yet even if she saw me as a protector, she still betrayed me…"

'Jon… you are not the same either. You are a dragon, and you cannot underestimate or ignore how they are seen by those around them.'

Jon stopped, looking off into the distance as though The Raven was standing in front of him. "What do you mean?" There was no response. "Bran?" Nothing followed, only Jon's thoughts wondering what he was supposed to make of it.

Jaime

It hadn't even been a whole day since he entered to see Ned Stark's bastard on the Iron Throne, since his friend left him alone to fend for himself, since Tommen fully admitted the truth to everyone in court, and since he was locked in his old chambers and stuck wondering what the fuck was going to happen. The sun had set and the moon was out, but he couldn't find sleep. How could anyone? He paced vigorously like never before in his life.

He got a meal at the very least, a piece of bread and cheese, half a pork sausage, and nothing but water to drink. What he wouldn't give for some wine right now. Is this how Tyrion felt every moment of the day?

No one had told him anything of what was going on, no one came to see him except the servant providing his rations, and nothing gave him any sign of what his fate was to be. But Cersei, no one told him what became of her. She was in the cells, but an evening was enough time to be taken out, tried, and executed, especially by those who scorned her like Robert scorned Rhaegar.

It was late dawn when the door opened, he knew it wasn't his meal so he had great anticipation for this, and in stepped his son, dressed in an attire that was different from what he wore as king. Tommen wore leathers that were styled after what his father wore regularly but instead of blacks and reds, they were a dark yellow. And stitched above the left of Tommen's jerkin was a red lion. He reversed the colors of the Lannister Sigil as a bastard normally would. But this shouldn't be right. The only news Jaime received about what happened was that Tommen had been legitimized as a Lannister so he didn't need to do this to himself. Or was it the real bastard's doing?

"Tommen," Jaime stood and approached him, not able to resist pulling his son into his arms. To his surprise, Tommen returned the feelings and hugged back. Jaime had been thinking all through the night that if things were as they are, maybe Tommen would have resented him for all of this and hated him. "What's been going on? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine… father." Tommen struggled to say it naturally and stepped away. "The King granted me permission to see you before he does."

"What about your mother," Jaime asked, getting straight to the point, "is she still alive?"

"Yes. That was part of my conditions of surrender. She'll live as a hostage in the Black Cells."

Jaime ran a hand through his hair. "Why, Tommen? Why all of this?"

Tommen turned around and angrily exclaimed, "Why did you lie to me my entire life!? I'm not a prince or king, I never was! I'm a bastard of incest! All the things the people said about me, the things they said about mother, they're all true! She killed fa- Robert Baratheon, Ned Stark, hundreds in the Great Sept, burned my wife, and caused a war because of your lies!"

"To protect you! If Robert hadn't died and Ned Stark told the secret he discovered, do you really think the man you called father would have shown mercy? You, Joffrey, Myrcella, and your mother would have had your heads spiked on the wall of the Red Keep!"

Falling silent, Tommen looked confused and angry. He strutted over to the door. "I'll be going to Casterly Rock soon. I need to gather the Westerlands' Lords and have them swear fealty to the King. When I come back, I hope you'll have seen reason by then."

Jaime sighed. "Your King calls you Lannister now, but you dress as a bastard. Why?"

"Something he told me uncle Tyrion said to him. The world will not forget what I am and nor will I. This will be my armor so it will never be used against me." Tommen left without another word and it was only seconds later that Jon Snow entered with two Northmen guards behind him.

"Should I bow because I'm in the presence of a King or because you'll be taking my head now?" Jaime asked.

Jon regarded him with a raised brow. "Your fate is up to you, Ser. I had considered letting you go with your son to advise and protect him. With Cersei a hostage, it might be enough to keep you in line. But with Cersei a hostage, who's to say you won't rally the other lords in rebellion to get her back. So I'll keep you here where I can keep an eye on you. But," the bastard started to pace, "I don't see much point keeping you in here unless you want to be. You swore the oath of a Kingsguard. And while I have exiled the other Kingsguard to the Wall, I would extend the offer to you to retake the white cloak."

Jaime was stunned by the offer. Deep inside, you knew he yearned to uphold what it truly meant to be a knight. "You wouldn't trust me to be with Tommen, but you would trust me to be one of the closest men to you? Close enough to pull a dagger and not be stopped in time?"

Without blinking the bastard smiled like he knew something Jaime didn't. "I would. I know you didn't think most of your sworn brothers except Ser Barristan Selmy deserved to wear the white cloak. You'd help me assemble five more Kingsguard and find new honor and respect in your service if that's what you desire."

"Wait," Jaime squinted in confusion, "five? I saw none with you that day. Who's the first?"

"No one, just a potential candidate you'll see soon enough."

"And if I say no?"

"Then we can discuss another arrangement. Don't get me wrong, I have no desire to make you my loyal friend or subject. I find it absolutely justifiable for me to draw my sword and run it into your leg." Retribution for Ned Stark then. "Or perhaps I should throw you out the fucking window instead." Retribution for his crippled brother. "But, after much discussion I had with Brienne of Tarth in Winterfell, with Tommen, even Ser Bronn and several others, I'll give you a chance, only one, to show that the man you once were is gone and there is a knight in front of me still."

Jaime stilled. Brienne? Was she here? He didn't see her at court. But if she was Sansa's sworn sword then she should have been at Sansa's side unless something happened.

The Blackfish entered and whispered something to his king. "They're here? Excellent." The bastard looked at Jaime. "I'll give you three days to think about my offer, Ser. But one thing that will not happen is a black cell. You'll be too close to your sister, even in the deepest of the darkness." The bastard strode out with his men behind him and the door was almost slammed shut and locked.

Jon

The meeting with Ser Jaime went better than Jon thought it would. He expected more threats and anger to come from it but luckily it didn't. The best part was the look of surprise on Ser Jaime's face when the offer to rejoin the Kingsguard was extended. Jon almost wished he could have laughed or found it funny.

Walking with a rush in his step, Jon smiled when he entered the throne room to find his old friend Samwell with Gilly and Little Sam waiting for them, and Ser Jorah as well. He didn't get close enough before one of the Reach knights ordered them to kneel before the King but Jon waved it off in time. "Friends have no need of formalities," Jon announced with a grin and embraced Sam in a large hug.

"Jon!" Sam exclaimed in surprise, "you're the King now!"

"Glad you made it after it happened. I was worried time wouldn't be on our side."

"That would have been a rustle, wouldn't it? But look here, I brought the journal like you said." Sam gently pulled the Septon's journal from his rucksack and presented it to him.

This was the first time Jon ever set his eyes on it. Sam had opened it up to the exact page that had the words that threw everything into catastrophe the first time. Now that the very passage was in front of him now, he felt his stomach turn to ice. He didn't know how to feel about it.

Jon patted Sam on the shoulder. "I'd like you to be the one to write to the maesters about spreading the news in this. By my order, of course."

A great big smile grew across Sam's face. "I'd be absolutely glad to."

Jon turned his attention to Ser Jorah. "Welcome, Ser. It's an honor to meet you again. I think the last time was-"

"Winterfell, after the Greyjoy Rebellion." Ser Jorah nodded but looked grim. "It's Aegon, I believe? King Aegon the Sixth."

"Call me Jon, at least when formalities aren't needed. You have my thanks for keeping them safe on their way here." Jon extended a hand out and Jorah took it with some reluctance for a handshake. He looked to his other companions. "Ser Davos, could you show Sam and Gilly to their room?"

"Certainly," Davos said, leading Sam, Gilly, and Little Sam out of the throne room, leaving Jon alone with Jorah.

Jon led the way with Jorah following him to the outside balconies overlooking the Narrow Sea. "I understand your allegiance to Daenerys is strong, and I don't mean to try and sway you from it. No point in trying."

The Bear Knight became unsettled. "You know much of me, your grace. But I know little of you. I heard you replaced my father as Lord Commander."

"Aye. He picked me as his steward to groom me. I regret not being at his side when the mutiny happened. But we avenged him. I want you to know that every mutineer found justice.

"I'm glad. I only feel ashamed that he was betrayed." Jorah closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "He would have put his life up for every man under his command and they butchered him." He looked at Jon attentively. "Thank you."

"It was my honor to serve under him." Jon tensed as he grew nervous of what they had to speak about next. "I have a favor I'd like to ask of you, Ser. Nothing comprising your loyalties, upholding them actually." He didn't want to turn Jorah to his side. If anything that would make things worse if he actually did that, even though it was a guaranteed impossible task.

"What do you mean?" Jorah stood straight, almost like he was expecting to fight back at whatever Jon would offer.

Luckily, it wasn't anything of the sort. At least, Jon hoped Jorah interpreted it as he meant it. "I'd like for you to go to Dragonstone and welcome Daenerys Targaryen back to Westeros as part of my envoy."

Ser Jorah didn't seem surprised but looked at Jon cautiously. "At what price?"

Jon paused. "I don't expect immediate peace when she arrives. I know she's coming for the Iron Throne and I don't want hostility or war between us. Not when we need unity. So can you help me by helping smooth the news of my existence to her?"

Ser Jorah cocked his head. "If you are asking me to convince her you are the better ruler, then no. I won't. My loyalty, my love, my devotion, is in my Queen, your grace."

Jon withheld a curse escaping under his breath. If only Jorah had lived through the battle, maybe, just maybe he could have kept Daenerys from becoming what she did. But what if Jorah did follow her still? His devotion was obsession instead? "Then please believe me when I ask you to extend my invitation to meet her. I don't want war, I want peace. We can find a solution to this if we talk, Jorah. No blood has to be shed for the Iron Throne."

A pregnant silence followed as Jorah thought on his answer. Those eyes of the Bear pierced Jon the same way Jeor's did. "If you were not raised the son of Ned Stark and trusted by my father, I'd say no. But I will. Not for you, but for her."

Jon sighed out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I wish I had a man like yourself in my company. I trust many of them but men of loyalty that you have for my aunt are rarer than my father."

"You give me too much credit. When I was Lord of Bear Island, there wasn't a single Lord who had unyielding loyalty to Ned Stark."

"Except for Roose Bolton." For the first time since meeting the man in both lifetimes, Jon witnessed Ser Jorah laugh. "There is something I do need to know about her though, or rather about yourself." Jorah looked intrigued and curious. "I want to understand your faith in her, how much you believe in her."

"In what regard?"

"If she gets the Iron Throne, what happens next for her?" He knew what it could be, but he wanted to know what those who followed Daenerys believed it would have been. "You know her the best out of all in this castle and country, being her sworn sword since she was but the bride of the Dothraki Khal. What sort of ruler do you think she'd be? What sort of Queen do you think she'd be?"

Jorah's lips parted, an answer seemingly on his tongue… only for them to close. Then open, then close again, the knight of Bear Island clearly struggling to formulate an answer. But eventually he spoke. "She is a conqueror. Visenya come again, one that will bring fire and blood to her enemies… but as she knows she must be strong, she also wishes to be good. To be loved, and to leave a world better than one before it."

Jon's heart clenched. "So she… she wants to be remembered as a great Queen? A kind Queen?"

There was no hesitation this time. "She wants to earn the right to rule, not merely take it."

He swallowed. "I need to be sure that if things find their way for Daenerys to be on the throne, she won't be beaten down until she decides to become the Queen of the Ashes."

"You haven't seen the miracles Daenerys Targaryen was responsible for."

Oh, he had. Jon very much had, and was responsible for snuffing them out. "I hope you are right, Ser Jorah. I very much yearn for it. Good day to you."

"I wish you the same, King Aegon."

The rest of the day passed by. Night gathered and now the coronation would begin. The Throne was his now, but at the counsel of Sansa and Davos, traditions should be upheld, regardless of the image it gives him.

Since Targaryen attire was completely absent from Jon's wardrobe, he changed into a black doublet and a red shirt to present his father's family colors on him, but remained wearing his northern cloak.

The whole of the court of King's Landing assembled in the Throne room of the Red Keep.

Jon walked alone and silently to his ancestral seat forged by the fires of Balerion the Black Dread, wanting nothing more than to get further away from it.

"I don't want it."

Those words were the best he could say. He wasn't sure what else there was to say. He wasn't sure how else to say it.

All of his life he was trying to do what he believed was right, to be honorable like his father, to be a good man, someone who could lead a path he knew to be true to himself. Then he learned that horrible truth. Everything he was told about himself was a lie, a betrayal. How was he supposed to go forward with everything so fast? He committed incest with his own aunt, but that was alright because their ancestors practised it all the time so he was simply supposed to just go along with it? Every time someone came to him with a reminder of who he really was, his heart pounded like a hammer on an anvil. Nothing ever made him so terribly confused and unfocused in his life. And if he kept down that path, it would mean becoming someone new, someone he was afraid of being.

How else could he sum all of those feelings together? I don't want it.

He didn't want this. These nobles all looked up at him with awe and judgment as he sat upon the throne of iron swords, the most hideous and vain thing to exist for a monarch. He hated these tight fitting clothes that were meant to make him look like something he wasn't. He hated everything he had to do now that he was becoming the King.

But who cares what a bastard wants?

And that was the crux of it. Raised the Bastard of Winterfell, but in reality not. Barely knowing how to be a Stark since in both the lies and in the truth he wasn't one. Knowing nothing as to be a Targaryen, denied the chance in his past because of the schemes of his only family left… he still didn't know. Still couldn't know how to be of the House of the Dragon.

A bastard yet not a bastard, one who knew nothing of how to be anything else but the stain on Ned Stark's honor.

Davos straightened as he began the coronation speech for the crowning. Since there was no High Septon, or any religious leader up to the task, it was up to the Hand of the King to do this. And Davos had been thorough to look into the practices.

"The age of chaos and instability is over with. A new era begins through the one that brought conquest without bloodshed in the Seven Kingdoms. Here we stand on the return of a dynasty that almost collapsed, one forged unlike any in the world by Kings and Dragons. Today, House Targaryen returns to the seat it built three hundred years ago." Davos took the crown in his hands and stood over Jon. "May the Old Gods and the New bless health and longevity upon our King, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his name, Lord of Westeros, and Protector of the Realm." The steel crown was set upon his head and in unison, the entire host gathered before him bent the knee.

Jon closed his eyes as the crown sat uncomfortably on his head. 'I hate this. To my dying day, I will forever hate it.'

"Long may he reign!" Davos called out.

"Long may he reign!" The host said in chorus. "Long may he reign! Long may he reign!"

The words left a horrible feeling in Jon's stomach when he heard them. It wasn't at all like being declared King in the North. This was going to be far different. Back then he only had to do what he knew before giving up his title, lead soldiers into battle and war. Now, he was going to do everything else that was part of the job.

The bells of the Red Keep rang out, echoing outside across the whole city and the court grew in applause, though not thunderous or quiet, it was from a host of people unsure of what is to come for them from their new King. What is to happen with the grandson of a Mad King on the Iron Throne?