Chapter 16: A Dragon's Truth, A Raven's Lies (Part 2)

"'Tis no matter, Your Grace."

"Please, call me Baelon. We're milk brothers after all, and I owe your family so, so much… I…"

"Then you shall call me Ned," he said and saw Baelon wince at hearing the name. "Edric would be good too."

"No, Ned is fine. It is a good nickname. I have to say that my latest spats with some of the Lords have stirred a lot of unwanted feelings today, so I beg your forgiveness if I sounded harsh earlier. It has nothing to do with you."

"I understand, Y- Baelon."

"As I said, we are milk brothers and that means something to me. Had things been different, had my father and your uncle been alive still, I believe we would have been friends."

"You do?" Ned gasped, surprised.

"Aye." Baelon chuckled. "You would have been your uncle's squire, of this I have no doubt, and we would have sparred for hours you and I."

"I would have loved that…" he said in almost a whisper, trying to picture the scene in his head.

"Ser Arthur and my father were brothers by choice, Ned. There was none that my father trusted more, and he left him to protect the person he loved the most. I am certain that both of them would still be alive had Ser Arthur traveled with my father to the Trident, but sadly we cannot change the past." Baelon said, his sadness clear.

"What we can do however is to honor their memory," Ned said, seemingly surprising Baelon. "My uncle, the Last Sword of the Morning, devoted his life to be a Kingsguard, to protect your family and you most of all from harm."

"Ned, I -"

"I will, as the New Sword of the Morning, follow in my uncle's footsteps and pledge my sword and my life to you and your family. I will shield your back, and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new." Ned said, kneeling in front of Baelon. "I may not be as skilled as my Uncle was, but I will be yours to command, my King. If you will have me."

"Arise, Ser Edric Dayne, and do not sell yourself short, for few people have wielded the Sword you have. It is an honor for me to have your support and I feel better knowing that the Sword of the Morning will help me in the fights to come."

Edric's heart burst with joy and sadness simultaneously and he teared up, overwhelmed by his emotions. Wylla soon embraced him and whispered comforting words, words he needed to hear, and as he glanced at his milk brother, he knew he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Jaime.

If it was not for Brienne then it would probably have been cells that he'd have found himself confined to in Winterfell. Instead, he was allowed to roam around free and armed, something he needed he had felt. It had been made clear to him that he wasn't welcomed here by the Northern Lords or Ladies nor by their men and they were not alone in how they felt. The men of the Reach looked at him with anger over his failed attempt to attack Highgarden and because of Cersei's actions in destroying the Great Sept. Margaery Tyrell, it seemed was as beloved to them as she had been to the people of King's Landing.

The Dornish blamed him for his father's actions during the Sack of King's Landing and at least here they had company, for he'd always blamed himself for not going to Elia and the children too. Other than the Free Folk and the Brotherhood Without Banners, few spoke to him or didn't look at him with disdain and so it was with them and with Brienne that he would take his meals and go about his daily activities. He'd spar, train, help with the preparations for the battle to come, and all the while he'd wonder why he was here and what Melisandre had meant about him finding the truth to Rhaegar's words in this of all places.

When it came to the Starks, he was somewhat surprised just how little interaction he had with any of them. The youngest girl would shoot him angry glares and the things he'd heard about her made him glad his name wasn't on the list that Brienne told him about. If it was then he had no doubt that she could end him easily, and even were he who he once was it would have been an even fight and one he may not win. Sansa Stark walked around with an air of regality about her and just hearing some of what she'd gone through proved the strength she possessed. Had Joffrey not been a cruel-minded fool then with her at his side who knows where his House would be now. The Young King was every bit a wolf as Robb Stark had ever been, more so mayhaps, he was respected, loved somewhat, and unlike his brother and father, not afraid to let the wolf loose as Lord Glover's death had shown. As for the other brother, Bran Stark quite simply unnerved him.

" The things we do for love."

Just thinking about his interactions with the strange boy in the chair and how he'd reacted to him when he had gone to apologize was enough to send a shiver down his spine. How he looked at him as he spoke, the things he'd said to him that he couldn't possibly have known, and the way he almost looked to be laughing internally at how uncomfortable he made him while staring at him with a face that was devoid of emotion. Jaime had spoken to the boy once and that was more than enough for him. Which brought him to the last of the Stark children, the Bastard of Winterfell and if he was ever in doubt of just how much the Starks had suffered from their foray into the Game of Thrones, Jon Snow would prove that in spades.

To be tied down by oaths and not be able to do what you wished to do was something that Jaime understood all too well. Though he had broken his, while Jon Snow had kept to his own. He'd stayed at the Wall while his family was torn apart, helped protect it, and by all accounts had stopped it from falling when it came under attack by the Free Folk. The boy had even turned down an offer from Stannis to be freed from those oaths and named Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Jaime not understanding at first why that was. Had he not been in the Dragonpit and seen the Wight for himself, he'd not have understood it still.

How had he been rewarded for keeping to his oaths?

How had his brothers in black repaid him for saving their lives?

What honor did he receive for rebuilding a fallen order?

The boy had faced knives in the dark and had spilled his lifeblood out on the cold ground of Castle Black. Jaime had heard the tales as he sat with the Free Folk and the Brotherhood. He'd been laughed at and glared at for daring to name them untrue and Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr had both told him of their own interactions with the God of Death. Unlike the Lighting Lord though Jon Snow retained far more of his humanity on his return and was still who he had once been, or so Jaime had thought until he saw him climb atop a dragon's back and fly north to the Wall. From that moment on he had so many questions. Questions that had finally been answered here tonight in this meeting and as he sat and looked to the High Table, he found he could finally see it for true.

Jon Snow was not the Bastard of Winterfell, he wasn't even Ned Stark's son. Instead, he was the son of a far better man than the Quiet Wolf. A man that Jaime had named as his prince once and as he listened to the word that Baelon Targaryen now spoke, he found himself seeing the father in the son with each one that he spoke. His words on Jaime's fallen brothers almost brought a tear to his eye and his words on Arthur actually did. To hear the regret in his voice when he wished that Arthur was here today was something that Jaime could easily relate to.

When lesser men argued, Jaime almost felt like standing up and shaming them for doing so and was he who he had once been and this friendlier ground for him, then he would have. He knew though that his words of support would not be welcomed in this hall, not by those who took issue with the fact that it was a dragon and not a wolf that they were to follow into war. For him, it was that fact that brought him a comfort he'd not felt in many a year. His prince's words were now being shown to be true and while he was not the sword he had once been and he knew that his was not the blade that Baelon would wish to call upon, call upon his blade he could and if he did, then Jaime would gladly fight for and beside him.

Eventually, the meeting began to end, and though there was mayhap still some things to be resolved, most if not all of those in that room had come to the same realization. Baelon Targaryen was the choice of the King in the North to lead the fight to come, he had the support of his cousins completely and he was the Queen's choice not only for Commander of her forces but future husband too. In time, when clearer heads prevailed, the North would realize they were still getting a king with Stark blood, and in the end, the fight to come would decide how they accepted or not Baelon Targaryen far more than anything else. Should he lead them through the war they faced, they'd kneel and name him king, should he not, then it mattered little what they thought of him, as dead men can speak no oaths.

"I always knew he were more than they named him." Munda said loudly as they walked from the hall.

"Aye, King Crow he is but true." Hrorir said.

"You would name him king even finding out he's a dragon?" Brienne asked curiously.

"Har, Dragon, Wolf, Snow was my king from the moment he saved my arse at Hardhome." Munda said.

"The King Beyond the Wall!" Thodir shouted loudly and as he watched the group of Free Folk walk off ready to get drunk, he heard the shouts ring out.

He turned to look at Brienne who looked confused and unsure what this meant and he was about to speak to her when he saw Lady Melisandre walk his way.

"Ser Jaime, my prince wishes to speak to you. An hour by the crypts."

"Of course my lady." he said as she turned and left as quickly as she had arrived.

For the next hour he hung around close but not too close to the Crypts, the guards at the doors making sure that none could enter, and as the night grew darker and colder he wondered if Baelon would come or was he on a fool's errand. Eventually, he saw the white wolf as it moved across the courtyard, Baelon Targaryen walking alone with it and though he stood in the dark and was unseen, he was not unhidden from the wolf's eyes as it moved to him and almost seemed to bid him follow.

Baelon had walked into the crypts and when Jaime and the white wolf reached the door, the guards stepped aside and allowed him into a place that he and others had been told was only for Starks to enter. He felt the chill immediately and it was far colder than the outside had been. Though there were candles and they offered some light, he felt it was far darker too. Was it not for the white wolf leading the way then he'd had probably stayed where he was for fear of getting lost. Instead, he followed after the wolf and found his eyes drawn to the statues as he passed. The Stark king's of old staring at him with what seemed to be judgemental eyes discomfited him and so he looked ahead and saw Baelon standing alone by some statues.

"Were you there that day?" Baelon asked as Jaime realized that he was standing in front of his uncle and grandfather's statues.

"What day my…." he stopped himself not sure what he should name the boy as, prince or king, what was he truly to him? Melisandre had named him a prince and though he wished to do so too, he wasn't sure his words would be allowed and so he withheld them for now.

"When my grandfather and uncle were murdered?"

"I was. I stood in a hall with five hundred men and not one of us moved to help them." he said with no regret, he may have hated what he saw that day but the Starks had mattered not to him.

"Because a king willed it so." Baelon said and Jaime nodded "And yet you killed that king rather than follow his will, why?"

"You know why." he said sure he was right.

"Aye, Brienne has told the tale, your brother too though I find words that Tyrion says less believable the more I know of him. Lady Melisandre and my brother Bran both have told me, though only one volunteered the information." Baelon said with a frown "I'd like to hear it in your own words."

It took him no time to tell it all, the words though sounded different to him somehow. Mayhap because he was actually telling them to a Targaryen and explaining his reasons for killing Baelon's grandfather and he wondered if he was to tell them to Daenerys would they feel the same.

"Do you have regrets about that day, Ser Jaime?" Baelon asked.

"For killing the Mad King, no. For taking a seat on a throne and thinking my work was done, much and many. I should have done my duty, I should have gone to the princess and her children and there is not a day that goes by since that one that I don't wish I could go back and do what I did not." he said his voice full of the regrets he'd carried with him for more than twenty years.

He moved when Baelon did, the statue one that didn't truly look like the man it was supposed to be, but one that was newer than the others and so he readied for the anger and recriminations to begin.

"You Served him well. When Serving was Safe." Baelon said and Jaime gasped wondering how he knew the words that he and Ned Stark had shared so many years before "He looked upon you and named you Kingslayer and the realm accepted his words because he was Ned Stark and his honor was unquestioned. Even despite the fact that to all he'd fathered a bastard, still, the Realm looked to Ned Stark and saw only an honorable man. Does that bother you, Ser Jaime?"

Turning from the statue to the boy beside him, he wondered how best to answer and found he had none to give.

"I know the truth of my uncle, and I find his honor to be most questionable. The last time we spoke he told me when next we did we'd speak on my mother." Baelon said with some spite "As the young green boy I was then, I believed it was because he'd not the time to do so then and that he wished it done when he had more. Now I know he wished it done when my truth couldn't pose a risk to his brother by choice. What kind of a man does that, Ser Jaime? What kind of a man allows his kin to swear to father no children or hold no lands, to take no wife or win no glory? And because that foolish green boy believes himself to be a bastard and a stain on an honorable man's cloak he does so. Is it the same kind of man that looks upon another and names him Kingslayer and without honor with nary a question as to why that king was slain? Is that why you didn't tell him about the Wildfire that still may lay under King's Landing?"

"I don't know." he said to a small laugh as Baelon moved to a different statue, this one of a woman who once again it had barely captured well.

"Given the statue of my uncle, I doubt this is how my mother truly looked, and certainly it is not how she does in the dreams I have of her. She and my father loved each other, Ser Jaime. With all they had they loved each other and here I stand as the only proof of that love. Men left that hall and my words will not have changed how they think of them both. To some, my father will always be a rapist and kidnapper, to others my mother will be a woman who enraptured a married man and stole him away from his wife. Some may name them as the reason for a war that was not their fault and me as their shame made flesh."

"Then they are fools." he said to a small bitter laugh.

"The world is full of fools, Ser Jaime. Yet they need to be saved as much as those who are not. Lady Melisandre told me what my father said to you all those years ago, it would seem that not only Daenys the Dreamer who had some notion of what the future may bring to our House, but my father did somewhat too. There are those who'll name me a fool for what I'm about to do and yet I care not. Was my uncle still alive and here today he'd no doubt argue with me and tell me I was forsaking my honor and yet I care not for what Ned Stark thinks or says for I know the truth of the man now."

Baelon moved to the statue and Jaime watched as he kissed the cheek and placed something in the outstretched hand.

"I have need of your blade and your counsel, I may not be able to name you what you once were as I am a king without a crown, but I'd ask you to serve me as if I was." Baelon said turning to look at him "The fight to come is one I cannot fight alone, Ser Jaime, will you fight it with me, will you fight by my side."

"With honor, your grace."

"Fuck honor, fight with passion, with desire, with truth and good, but fuck honor. For honor only leads to death and death is our enemy's domain."

They walked out of the Crypts together, the white wolf by Baelon's side and Jaime standing at his back, hand on sword, a Kingsguard without a white cloak. He was unchained by vows and oaths and never had he felt more true than he did right then.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Rickon Stark.

He went into his familiar as soon as the meeting came to an end, the mouse more discreet than Ghost would have been yet as attuned to emotions as his shared wolf companion. She had agreed to be Rickon's spy in exchange for food for her and her family and protection against those who would harm her. As the wolves so loved to play with smaller prey residing in the broken Tower. He had given her a place to live in his rooms and she was quite content with their arrangement, for now.

He could hear the Lords of the North arguing with the Free Folk who still didn't get why they were so hung up on Jon not being his father's son.

"Come on! Stop being so fucking gloomy about a stupid name! It doesn't change his personality or what he feels in his heart!" Nessa, ever the blunt one, exclaimed.

"His father… His uncle lied to us all!" Lady Tallhart said, seemingly still in shock. "To think I've been named after this man!"

"So what? Are you going to sit here and whine about a name and a dead man lying when you have more important things to care about right now?"

"Like The Jon riding a dragon and marrying his aunt." Hugo Wull said.

"Didn't you marry your cousin, Big Bucket?" Brandon Norrey asked, frowning.

"It's different. He's a Targaryen. Nothing good comes for us when Targaryen marry each other." Hugo spat.

"That's horseshit since you didn't seem to mind when you thought him a Stark?" Nessa said shaking her head.

"That's because you don't know our history. You don't know what the last Targaryens put us through." Rickard Ryswell protested.

"Aye, you're right. But I know Jon Snow. I know he saved me and me people and that he paid for it with his life. I know he would do anything to protect his family, his pack. The Old Gods have blessed him with a Direwolf and a dragon for a reason. I don't care about his name. I care that he cares about us and that he is here to fight with us. For us." Nessa said loudly to the nods of some of the heads nearest her.

"She's right." Larence Snow said. "We cannot forget all he did for us. He was willing to fight the Boltons to rid the North of them and save king Rickon. He went to treat with the South for us so they could bring reinforcement against the army of the dead."

"And now he's riding a dragon. He could burn us all."

"For the Old Gods' sake, Rickard, get your head out of your arse for once!" Barbrey Dustin, to Rickon's surprise, intervened. "I don't like this situation either, brother. You know better than most how much I despise Ned Stark, may his spirit never find peace for all the trouble he put us in. It will take time to get over the lies and deceptions, but it is not the lad's fault."

"Barbrey -"

"I was told before you all. The perks of being in the council, I guess." she said nonchalantly to gasps.

"And you said nothing? Wait… Manderly, Mormont, they all knew about it?"

"Our king bid us for some time to let Baelon share his truth, and we followed our king's wishes. What are you going to do about it? Call for a trial by combat because things were hidden from you?" she sneered, making the free Folk laugh. "The point is that I wanted to see if knowing his real parentage would have changed him. That's why I goaded him during the meeting. King Rickon assured us that he was the same and I have to agree with him on this."

"He could have stated that he was a Targaryen, flown off with his dragon to demonstrate how powerful he was, and say that he would rule us all no matter what we decided and end the meeting there." Talia Forrester said and Rickon could feel the sadness in her voice. "Instead, he stood there and took all of your anger and the insults that were thrown at him. I wasn't born during the Rebellion, but my mother lost all but one of her brothers. I remember the pain in her voice when she recounted that they'd lost everything and if she hadn't already been married to Father, they would have had nowhere to go. King Robert took their lands and gave them to a house loyal to him because they were from the Stormlands and fought for the Targaryens. So I understand your anger at being reminded of the past, but I don't think it is fair to put the blame on him."

"You all named Rickon Stark our king because of his name. Because he was the son of Ned Stark. Now that you are angry at his father, will you stop following him?" Nessa asked suddenly. "I bet the idea didn't even cross your mind."

Rickon laughed at the chastised face of the Lords but couldn't stay to hear their answer, as he was still recovering from his warging on Viserion and there was somewhere else he needed to go.

"Do we really have to, Master?" the mouse asked, fearfully.

Yes, I am sorry. I need to get closer to him warg into something else, but I swear you won't have to see him.

"I trust you. It is him I do not trust."

As everyone should. he chuckled.

He looked for him in the keep and finally found him in his rooms, surprisingly. Bran had stayed more and more to the Godswood until Jon's return. Without showing any sign of fatigue or cold which was even more troublesome, especially since Meera and Tormund had pointed out that the weather was getting colder than what they had experienced beyond the Wall.

He was about to search for another animal to share his mind with when Bran's voice rang out from inside his room.

"I am well, brother. Do not worry about me. Is it worry I sense, or fear? In any case, you should not fear me. I am well. You however should not be warging. You should rest, for you have done the impossible and it is no small feat."

Fuck! Rickon swore at the same time as the mouse before exiting her mind to let her run far away from the one thing she feared more than the wolves.

How could he feel his presence so well when he struggled to do the same?

He supposed that Bran's powers had been enhanced through trial and error ever since the incident at the Godswood, but he had never fully shown the extent of his newfound abilities, and thus far neither had Rickon. His words however confirmed Rickon's suspicions about his older brother and that he had something to do with what had happened to Viserion.

Rickon had felt it when he'd warged into the golden dragon, the same presence he had felt following him the moment he'd learned to control his warging abilities. The same presence he'd felt when he'd travel from Greywater Watch to Dragonstone. It had been there too when he was almost burned in the hawk's body. And Meera's own doubts about Bran had done nothing to assuage his fears.

She'd cornered him once the council after Jon's departure was over and almost dragged him back to his solar without a word, looking around to see if they were spied on.

" Do you feel Bran's presence around you, watching you?" she asked hurriedly.

" No. I do not. why -"

" There's something wrong with him, Rickon." Meera said worriedly.

" There's always been something wrong with Bran." he said dismissively.

" No, you do not understand. Have you seen him ever since Jon left on the dragon's back? I mean, really seen him?"

" I… He tried to talk to me about the bullshit he wanted me to believe from our last argument, so I told him to fuck off and I'm avoiding him ever since."

" I think that's what he wanted you to do. I think he knows what is happening or what is going to happen, and I can see signs of happiness in his features."

" Happiness?" he asked confused.

" I told you, ever since his training with the Three-Eyed Raven, he had shown little to no emotion, and the last time I saw him react emotionally at all was to you. Seeing you he was caught off guard meaning that he is capable of emotions. I've been looking at him since I came back and I can see it more clearly now. Something in all this mess is making him happy." Meera said her voice now tinged more with anger than worry.

" You mean that he enjoys seeing us cleaning after the dragons' mess?" Rickon frowned at Meera's lack of an answer. "There's more to it, isn't it?"

" You know he's a warg… The Three-Eyed Raven is supposed to be the most gifted greenseer beyond the Wall… And the most gifted warg as well. I talked to my father about it, and I think Bran…"

" You think he warged into the dragon." Rickon deduced.

" What I don't understand is what he would gain from this. Sending the dragons to the Wall now, unless the army of the dead has to be dealt with immediately, it makes no sense."

" It makes sense if he wants to out Jon as a Targaryen." Rickon mused, knowing that Meera had been told by her father.

" Why would he do that?"

" Because he doesn't want Jon and Daenerys together. He said it would lead to Jon's death and the fall of our family. He's already tried to make me ask Jon not to pursue any relationship with her. He tried to ask Jon himself. I don't know why he would do that, but I can't believe what he says. My instincts warned me about him and I cannot trust him, I know now that he tried to play me because of my love for Jon…"

Meera seemed shaken with this information and sat on a chair to steady herself.

" I… I will talk to him…" she finally said.

" No. I will."

" My brother died so he could become this thing. He thinks he knows me, but the Meera he knew died at that cave too." She said and moved to the door with determination.

" He will see you coming, Meera. He will try to manipulate you."

" Let him try."

Rickon knew there would be no stopping her, but he still felt for her safety. He couldn't outright follow her but he would be with her while she talked to Bran. If Rickon's brother was in the Godswood as he suspected, then he would use the Heart Tree to eavesdrop on their conversation.

He arrived just in time as they entered the Godswood.

" Ask what you want of me, Meera. I know there is something troubling you." Bran said in his usual monotone way.

" What did you do, Bran?"

" What do you mean?"

" Was it you? Did you warg into the dragon?"

" Does it seem like I'm warging now? You've seen me with Hodor, with Summer." Bran asked emotionlessly and Rickon thought he had a point, for he had seen his brother warg more than once and he would not be able to talk. Rickon himself could not stay alert and warg at the same time.

" Not now, but you could have sent him north." Meera said accusingly.

" What would I do that for?"

" I don't know!"

" I tried to warg into one of them, I will not deny it., but it was only to find out what ailed them. I couldn't even reach out to them, and I tried my hardest to make sure Jon would be safe. We need him to defeat the Night King."

" What do you mean? You couldn't warg into them?"

" A dragon is not a slave, Meera. It is impossible to warg into them."

" I don't believe you." she said shaking her head.

" You hate me still. For Jojen. For all the lives lost so that I can live. I hate myself too, you know?"

" Do not try your mind tricks with me, Brandon Stark. I know you better than you think." she growled and Rickon felt all her anger through the roots of the Heart Tree. "I know something happened in that cave that changed you. You've been different ever since the day you disobeyed Bloodraven and got all of our friends killed."

He saw it, the twitch of Bran's mouth that quickly disappeared. The same one he used to make when he was unsettled.

" You saw the Night King. He saw you. What did he say to you? What did he do to you?" Meera demanded.

" Nothing." Bran lied, touching his wrist.

" His mark is still on you, right? It didn't disappear, meaning that he always knows where you are."

" He knows a lot of things about me, and I know little about him, which puts me at a disadvantage. Now if you will excuse me, Meera, Brother, I would like to get on my mission to find out more about our enemy."

" Your brother…" Meera began only for Bran to impatiently interrupt her.

" Is in the tree, watching us. Because he doesn't trust me. Because he doesn't want to admit that I was right about Jon. Soon, you'll realize how far gone he is, and I pray the Old Gods that it won't be too late." Bran said, looking straight to the face carved into the tree and sending a chill deep into Rickon's mind.

He had then discussed his older brother's mark with Meera and Howland before Jon got back.

They talked about the possibility of Bran being controlled by the Night King, of him not being totally himself, and Rickon did not feel as hopeful as Meera when she said that once the Night King would be dealt with, Bran would be better. Both father and daughter promised to always keep an eye on Bran, to alleviate some of his fears, and he was grateful to be able to count on them for the task.

Rickon felt Ghost calling him, meaning that Jon was finally alone. He knew the timing was not ideal, but there were things unsaid between them, things that unsettled Rickon and he was resolute to talk to his brother about what he was feeling.

He joined him silently in the crypts, where Jon was looking at his mother. Rickon never liked this place, as it reminded him of the time the Ironborn took the keep and how Bran and he hid while their people were massacred. He felt a pang of immense guilt about not being able to save any of them. Ser Rodrik, Mikken, Farlen, Gage, Old Nan, Maester Luwin… Even the Septon whom he greatly disliked for his attitude toward Shaggydog. None of them had deserved to die.

"So, how's embracing your new identity going?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"So far, so good. The meeting went better than I expected." Jon said and he chuckled.

"I want to send a gift to Wylla for doing what I've been wanting to do for moons. Yohn Royce is a cunt."

"Aye, he is. Just so you know, while I should not condone what was done to him… Wylla was looking for a warmer cloak." Jon said changing what he was going to halfway through and smiling by the end.

"I'll see one is given to her."

"I haven't seen Lord Glover at the Northern table?" Jon asked.

"You won't see him again. I brought him Northern justice." Rickon answered to Jon's surprise.

"What did he do?"

"His usual, he bitched and moaned and whined about you and me. But he went too far this time." Rickon said hoping the explanation was enough.

"Thank you, brother." Jon said and looked at him for the first time since he arrived in the crypts. "I know the Lords must have given you a hard time because of me and Rhaegal. Thank you for supporting me, for Viserion… For everything. "

"How is he?" Rickon asked, not wanting to show how the distance between them at that moment pained him.

"Better. He knows now that we will help him if the Night King tries to enslave him again." Jon said happily.

"You truly believe it was the Night King?"

"You felt his presence, didn't you? You felt something -"

"I did, but I don't think…"

"I felt him, Rickon, I felt him brush my mind. He called me and asked me to join him." Jon said and Rickon frowned.

"You talked to the Night King while inside Viserion?"

"Aye. He wanted Viserion and he wanted me also." This worried Rickon and it seemed that Jon picked up on his brother's emotions, as he came closer and lifted his head so he could meet his gaze. "I am well, brother. Truly. Now that we know what the Night King can do, we can prepare accordingly and watch for the signs should he try anything else."

Rickon nodded, unable to say anything else. His heart constricted and his eyes filled with tears as he willed himself to say something. Why was it so hard to talk to Jon now?

Because he is not Jon anymore… He is Baelon Targaryen now… a voice annoyingly sounding like Bran answered in his mind.

"Rickon?" Jon asked concernedly.

He shook his head, breaking eye contact with the man he still considered his brother, even though he was not.

"Rickon." Jon asked again and Rickon sighed.

"Do I have to call you Baelon now?"

He hated how weak he sounded at that moment, even more so when Jon forced him to look at him.

"Does that bother you?"

"I… It's hard not to think of you as Jon. It was Jon who came to me when I needed help. It was Jon who helped me rise from the dead, Jon with whom I shared all my secrets. I know this sounds stupid, but since you've known how Aunt Lyanna has named you…"

"You fear I've changed?"

"I can feel the change in you!" Rickon yelled and Jon recoiled in shock. "I could feel it slightly before, but our minds brushed inside of Ghost, then with Viserion… You think a lot about being a Targaryen and embracing your heritage."

"Because I am a Targaryen and I have to deal with the weight of it! But that doesn't mean that I don't love you or don't care about you!" Jon exclaimed, visibly hurt.

"I know that! I know! That doesn't mean that it's easy for me to let you go!" Rickon finally yelled back. "Soon you'll be gone. You're going to get married and live South with Daenerys."

"I thought that was what you wanted. We've talked about it and you suggested it, Rickon."

"I do! I did! I… It's just… I miss when things were more simple. When all that mattered was to survive the army of the dead. When all I feared was that we wouldn't survive the war. Now I can feel our bond weaken. I can feel it and I don't fucking know why and I do not like it."

"Did something happen? Did Bran mess with you again?" Jon asked and Rickon saw how his lips tightened and the angered look in his eyes when he mentioned their brother.

"I think… I think Bran was the one to warg on Viserion." he said shakily.

"What? Why would he do that?"

"Because of who you are. Because he wanted everyone to know you were a Targaryen. Because he wanted to prove to me that he'd been right in saying that it would change everything. I know you said you felt the Night King but I… I just feel that Bran has something to do with this."

"It can't be. I know Bran hasn't been the best brother lately, but we both know that at least he wants the Night King's end as much as we do. Sending Viserion to the enemy would not be the best way to end him."

"You're right. You're always right…" Rickon sighed, mentally exhausted with this conversation. "It's been a long day. I would ask Tormund for some goat's milk and then go to bed."

"No goat's milk, Rickon."

"I deserve a reward for dealing with your mess." he said while forcing a laugh.

"No goat's milk for you. You're too young to drown your sorrows with strong beverages, I'll allow you an ale maybe two but that's it." Jon growled and Rickon stuck out his tongue at him. "I'm serious, Rickon. I know you feel overwhelmed and I'm sorry for not having been there for you as I used to be. It was a tough time for me and I don't seek excuses. I just…"

"You're Baelon Targaryen, now." Rickon said, the sentence summing up all that stayed unsaid between them.

"Aye, I am, and you're still my brother." Baelon added before engulfing him in a warm hug.

"I know." Rickon sighed, finally letting himself go in his brother's arm. "Is it wrong for me to still think of you as Jon?"

"No, brother. I will always be Jon to you. What I'm called can never change what is between us Rickon, only you and I can do that. You are my brother, you've always been my brother and you always will be my brother. I would be lost without you, I'd have floundered and twisted in the wind and been lost. Who I am, what that means, it would have buried me under a weight that I could never bear, had I not had a brother to share that weight."

"Jon.."

"I love you brother, don't ever forget that. I love you."

"I love you too, brother." Rickon said, feeling his own weight be lifted slightly from him and the burden shared once more.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Jaqen H'ghar.

Never before had he questioned a mission from the Many-Faced God and no one in the order had ever refused one, so he did not. Yet as he traveled first to Westeros and then to the North, he found he had no real desire to carry this one out. He felt that they were wrong to seek this death and mayhap he even worried that he'd not be able to see it through. Both because of his own sentiments regarding the girl and her own ability, which was not to be underestimated.

He'd been given free rein on this too, allowed to take other lives as he saw fit, all in order to take the one that was owed. So he'd taken first one and then another and then another. Jaqen knew full well that he'd need more than one face to not just get close to the girl, but to ensure that she didn't know that he was trying to do so. He traveled as a guard among the men of the Reach, as an Unsullied with the Queen's army, and as a Dothraki screamer too. Each face offered him a place to hide and fit in and hopefully not be noticed as he did so.

He knew that once he got closer to the girl, none of these faces would do and that he'd need to seek at least one other and that it would take him time to find the right one. The girl had learned much during her time at the House of Black and White and had she truly become No One, then he believed they'd not have known her equal in time. She had never been No One though, had never fully embraced what it meant to give yourself completely to the Many-Faced God and so she had left not as their servant but as her own.

" I am Arya Stark of Winterfell and a girl is going home."

Those words were said far more truly than when she had ever said others. Yet he'd believed those others too and she'd learned to play the game of many faces just as truly as he or others had. It took some time for the ships to arrive North and even more to ride the distance to Winterfell itself. Jaqen made the journey wearing the Dothraki face he took and not feeling the cold or the long days in the saddle as some others clearly did because of it.

When he saw the large keep come into view it brought a smile to his face, unbidden though it was. Knowing that this was the place that she'd been born and had never truly let go of, was something he could now understand and when they entered the grounds and he dismounted, his eyes began to search her out. It was other eyes that he found though and not her grey ones. Brown eyes of a boy who sat in a wheeled chair and who offered him a knowing smile. It made him wonder if he should take the boy's face, more so when he found out that this was her kin, and yet something held him back from doing so.

The next set of eyes disturbed him even more, these the red of a white wolf and he knew that he would need to keep well away from their owner. As he would the dark gold of the she-wolf that he saw move close to the white one. He was soon to find out that this was easier said than done. For while the white wolf followed after the boy they'd named as king or the brother that Arya Stark of Winterfell was never able to forget, the she-wolf it turned out was far too close to the life that was owed to the Many-Faced God.

"Come there is work to do." he heard a voice call out in Dothraki and so he spent his day doing as a Dothraki should and not doing what a servant of the Many-Faced God must.

He found this was true the next day as well and so it wasn't until the third day after he'd arrived at Winterfell that he began to go about his truer work. He wore the face of a Northman that he'd taken the night before and moved through the grounds almost unseen and unbothered. Though he kept his distance, he saw some of what he needed and then almost believed he'd found the perfect face in the Smith that he had heard people speak of Arya Stark knowing.

For two days and nights, he watched the Smith and found no sign of Arya Stark and so he discarded the idea of using that face. He instead took a servant's face so he could gain access to the keep and found guards almost everywhere he looked, except on Arya Stark's door, and yet he knew that her room would be the hardest of all to enter. She'd wait inside and be prepared for him or who they sent for her and she'd have prepared the room to her advantage just as she had prepared the perfect ground to face the Waif. For him to face her there would be the end of him and so it would need to be on different ground that he gave her the gift.

Different ground and with a different face and so once again it was finding that face that he focussed on. It made him look to the Starks themselves, to the red-headed girl and the young boy king, both of whom spent much time in Arya Stark's company or as much as anyone did. Both were too well protected though and not just by the guards, the number of men and women that sought their time, or the two wolves that spent as much time with them as they did with who he now knew they were bonded to. Arya Stark too watched over them both with a protective eye and he'd not risk being discovered while trying to take their faces and thus failing to do what he'd been sent here for.

He looked to the brother she'd never been able to forget and the fact that he was here was enough to give him pause. A different man had been sent to give Jon Snow the gift and had failed and while he may not, he still was not the life he'd been sent to take and to seek two was to court disaster. Mayhap if he was successful and gave Arya Stark the gift, he could then use her face and bring it to Jon Snow. It would be better than try using his to give Arya Stark the gift, safer too, given the one who'd already failed in doing so.

"A king, can you believe it Artos, Jon Snow is a fucking king and always has been. No wonder he was able to do all he did, the boy's a fucking Dragonrider." an older man said slapping him on the back and it took Jaqen a moment to clear his mind and become No One again.

"Aye Beron, we should have fucking known." he said in a voice not his own, and he felt the slap once more and then a mug of ale was placed in his hand and he drank it down with the man beside him.

Eventually, he settled on the face he would use, it had taken him far longer than he had expected and it was only by the grace of the Many-Faced God that he'd not been discovered. The owner of that face wasn't a friend of Arya Stark and not even someone she liked all that much. If anything they were someone that she'd seek to end sooner than speak to, which was what made them perfect for what Jaqen needed them for. Anger was a tool that some used to their advantage, for those who trained in the House of Black and White it was one of the first things they had to give up on. For anger clouded the mind and didn't allow you to get lost and become No One and so it would be Arya Stark's anger that would be used to allow him to get close enough to bring her the gift.

"Valar Morghulis" he said softly as he followed after his new target.

Winterfell 304 AC.

Bran.

He had been so close, he'd brought the dragon right to where he could be taken and held him under his sway. True, the timing needed to be perfect as he couldn't afford to be connected when the Night King took him for his own, but he was well aware of that danger and so he'd not fall into the trap. Yet the dragon's will was stronger than he had expected and while he'd managed to get him to the Wall, he'd not been able to get him to fly over it. Had he, then nothing could have saved the dragon from what came next and Bran wouldn't have needed to have stayed connected to him for so long.

Even still, he'd believed it was only a matter of time and had almost laughed to himself when he'd felt Jon in the dragon's mind. His cousin may be magical and in some ways even more so than he, but warging was not where Jon's power lay and his attempts would be no match for his own, or so he thought. Jon it seemed was far cleverer than he'd imagined and he'd somehow managed to reach out to his brother and the more time Bran spent around Rickon, the more those old worries and fears he once had, now began to raise their heads once more.

He was supposed to be dead.

He'd sent him to his doom.

The power was his and his alone.

He was to be the Three-Eyed Raven, he and no other and certainly not his brother.

Together Jon and Rickon were more than a match for him and even the presence of the Night King which caused Jon's focus to turn there wasn't enough to stop him from being forced from the dragon's mind. It left him exhausted and even blinded for a while. So he was forced to be like these pathetic others who looked to the skies and sought out the dragon's return. His ravens wouldn't fly and he felt for the first time in so long to be what he had always feared he would be, a nothing, a nobody, an irrelevance.

That was not to be his fate, the world had taken far too much from him for him to allow that be his fate. So since he could not fly for now in this world, he'd instead flown in another and it had been over skies and lands of the past and future that he had spread his wings across. Why it was him of all people he found himself focusing on he knew not, yet the deeper he looked, the clearer it became. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater should pose no problem to his plans and yet following the tread he could see exactly where it led and he liked it not.

Tyrion sat in a room with a whore and looked in shock to the door as the guards burst in. Men of the Reach dragged him outside where his own guard stood with swords to their necks. Through the streets, he was dragged unceremoniously and with not a care for his comfort. His protests fell on deaf ears and soon enough he was in the Red Keep and thrown into a dungeon. It was the eunuch who went to him and told him why he'd been arrested and what his fate was to be.

"You tried to kill a king, Tyrion, plotted to see him fall, and that you sent a man who cares so much about his own hide and that said king is protected by a white wolf and a green dragon is the only reason your death will be clean."

"Lies, I never…."

"The time for pretense is over, Tyrion. Ser Bronn thought more of himself than he did of your offer and confessed his part in things to their graces. He sold you out and not even double what he was offered to do so can save you now. This was not how I wished your end to be, but alas this was the only end you could ever have known it seems." Varys said as he walked away.

Bran didn't watch further, he didn't need to see Tyrion's head be taken nor placed on Traitor's Walk, instead he looked more into the man who would be the cause of Tyrion losing his head and what losing that head would mean for Bran himself. The latter was easy enough to see and it was as bad as he feared. Without Tyrion, the path to the throne and his destiny was not only more difficult but one he wasn't sure he could make come true and so it was to Bronn he looked and to a different path, Bran smiling when he finally found all he needed.

"Could you ask Ser Bronn of the Blackwater to meet me in the Godswood, you'll find him amongst the Dornish party close to Princess Sarella's sister Lady Tyene." he said to one of the servants who feared all that he knew of her.

"Of course, my lord." the girl said nervously and Bran called for his guards and bid them take him to the Weirwood tree.

He was looking at the threads of time when Bronn arrived, watching his plans play out as he wished them to and when the man coughed loudly to inform him that he was here, Bran opened his eyes to look into a set of suspicious ones.

"You sent for me?" Bronn asked, showing no signs of nervousness at being in his presence, one of the few who did not.

"How much have you heard about me Ser Bronn?" he asked, his voice as emotionless as ever.

"Enough." Bronn replied.

"The mission you were sent here on is doomed to fail, you know this?" he asked and Bronn nodded "The plan you've made in its stead will cost you your life. I've seen your death, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, you fall as Lord Glover did to my brother's blade, a different brother though it is."

"What?"

"Lord Tyrion has taken steps to make sure that should you betray him, things will come out that will cost you your head. Or do you think a Dragon Queen will forgive the man who tried to kill one of her dragons?"

"That was…"

"War, a fight for life, a choice between you and her? It matters not, not to the dragons and it's not just that which Tyrion seeks to blame you for, he'll name you as the man who brought the deal to the Frey's that led to the death of my brother and mother." Bran said to an angry response.

"I played no fucking part in the Red Wedding."

"Aye, I know, yet an angry dragon and angry wolves will care not and your words will matter little in the end, nor will they save you."

"Fuck this." Bronn said turning to leave and Bran felt unsure of what steps he'd take and so he readied to ensure they'd be the ones he wished him to.

"Do you know who your father was?" Bran asked stopping the man in his tracks "Would you like to?"

"I care not for that fucking cunt." Bronn said and yet didn't move.

"Your mother was no whore, Ser Bronn, though you have always named her as such to stop further questions and though your father loved her not, he still provided for her and you for as long as he could. Even when he'd found another to warm his bed, he still did all he could for his son. Do you think this is the life he'd have sought for you?"

"Fuck him, he wasn't part of my life. so fuck him and what he sought and I care not who he was, so fuck you too." Bronn said moving to walk away.

"Ser Jonathor Darry was his name, a knight of the Kingsguard and a good man and true. Do you remember the house you were raised in?" Bran asked and Bronn nodded "Under the hearth, there is a metal box with a letter that names you as his son. You should seek to retrieve it. for House Darry is no more and you are its heir. That castle you have always sought is yours by right of blood, Ser Bronn, best you look to it rather than to seeking one from dragons, wolves, or lions who'll help you not." Bran said and with a nod to his guards, he was led from the Godswood, the smile he wore unseen to anyone but himself.

It was one that was wiped from his face many times over the next few days. Firstly when all three dragons arrived back unharmed and unhurt. Then when he tried once more to enter Viserion's mind only to find himself unwelcome and his entry blocked. More clearly though was at the meeting that was held and the dissension and anger that he'd believed would be shown was very much not. Few in the room truly didn't welcome the news of who his cousin was. Oh, it was hidden with some angered words and behind some testing of his cousin's mettle. But the words that Jon Snow, no Baelon Targaryen, spoke were firm and without doubt or hesitation, and the almost broken and lost Jon Snow he'd hoped he'd be when the truth finally outed was nowhere to be seen.

Following the threads of time, he saw even more worrying signs and so he was relieved when his uncle came to see him and though he never came out with the words, he knew what it was he had in his heart. So he suggested that they eat together soon, just him, his uncle and his family, his true family which Edmure seemed to appreciate. After he was left alone, he again began to look to the future, the past. and the present to see what moves could be made to counter the ones he'd not expected. It came to him eventually, the path opening up to him and though it was different, in the end, it led to the same place. Now he only needed to speak to her for the journey to begin.

That proved harder than he expected as Daenerys Targaryen and he did not cross paths and she had never nor ever would seek him out. He tried to warg into Ghost to get the white wolf to lead her to him, but that path was closed to him too and he was not welcome in the wolf's skin. Eventually, though, all things come to those who wait, and the queen, Ser Jorah, and some of her guards along with the young woman Missandei whose death he had foreseen many times and would play a part in the things to come, all made their way to his domain.

"It's beautiful is it not." he said as he sat by the tree that the queen and those with her were looking at.

"It is, a wedding here must be a magical thing." the queen said as she went to turn and walk away.

"May I have a word, your grace." he asked and she looked at him in a way he wasn't quite certain of and he worried she'd deny him.

"Of course, Lord Brandon."

"It's just Bran, your grace, I cannot be a lord of anything." he said and the lie came easily, there was only one Lordship he wished for and that was Lord of the Seven Kingdoms itself.

He saw her nod to Missandei who walked away and to Ser Jorah who moved though didn't leave and then she moved to him. It angered him to see the pity in her eyes as she looked at him in his chair and only the thoughts of what he intended to do to her stopped him from showing that anger.

"I've seen the history of your House, your grace. From when Aegon began his conquest to your father sitting on the throne. I've watched good kings, bad ones, princes who never rose, and princesses who never were allowed the chance to. From Rhaenys the Queen who never was to Rhaenyra the queen who should have been. I've seen your house at its best and its worst. In you and my brother I see the chance for the very best of all." he said and she couldn't hide her smile from him "And yet that's not all I've seen." he said sadly while shaking his head.

"What else have you seen?" she asked curiously.

"The end of your House, your grace. The end of a line that stretches back to Old Valyria. It ends with you and my brother, it ends when you are wed."

She looked at him angrily and he saw the dragon inside of her, a part of him expected to hear the roars of her children and yet the anger was a fleeting and temporary thing and the worry was what she led with.

"Baelon and I won't let that happen." she said shakily.

"It's not in your hands to stop it, your grace. Not if you and my brother wed. I know about the curse." he said and he almost cried out in joy when he saw her crumble "Without an heir. who is to carry on your name, your grace? Who is to lead House Targaryen when you and my brother are no more. "

"I…"

"My brother believes in honor, your grace, and I know that he loves you true and so it pains me to be the one to share this with you, truly it does. I see no children in your future and my brother will take no second wife nor one were you to fall after you were wed."

"You see me fall?" she asked softly.

"I've seen many outcomes, your grace, in all of them the one thing I can say for true is that the witch's words carried weight. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before."

He saw the impact the words had and how Daenerys wrapped her arms around herself at hearing him speak them and so he readied for the final nail in what was to be her coffin.

"I've seen two children born to my brother. A boy and a girl, and though their mother is not yourself, for it's a lady named Desmera that I see my brother wed, they both bear the true looks of Old Valyria just as you yourself do. The boy he names Aegon after the brother he lost or sometimes it's Rhaegar for his father. The girl though always bears the same name."

"Rhaenys for his sister." Dany said softly. and Bran wondered if she'd not heard the woman he'd named as his brother's bride or was just ignoring it for now.

"Daenerys." he said and heard her choked gasp "I'm sorry to bear this news, truly I am, but the choice ahead of you is clear your grace. You and my brother may know happiness though for how long that will be, not even I can foretell. The cost of that happiness is your House and your Line, I do not envy you the choice."

She didn't shed a tear in front of him and it took him warging into a raven outside her window to see the sobs that she shared with no one. As he looked to the threads of time once more, he saw it clearly, the path was as it had always been and the time to walk it was almost at hand.