The Twins, 289 AC, Jon Snow's POV
The Twins squatted over the Green Fork like a pair of sullen giants, their stone towers glowering under a bruised sky. Jon Snow—Jaehaerys Targaryen, third of his name—reined in his horse at the head of the Northern host, his silver hair hidden beneath a hooded cloak, his ruby-red eyes scanning the fortified crossing. The Cannibal circled above, its black wings slicing through the clouds, its roars sending ripples across the river. Ghost padded at Jon's side, his white fur stark against the muddy banks, his red eyes mirroring Jon's own.
Ten thousand Northerners stretched behind him, their banners snapping in the wind—Umber's giant, Karstark's sunburst, Manderly's merman, and Bolton's flayed man. Ned rode to Jon's left, his face etched with the grim resolve of a man marching to war. Robb, to Jon's right, gripped his sword, his blue eyes sharp with the weight of their purpose. The rest of the Stark family—Arya, Catelyn, Bran, and Rickon—remained in Winterfell, a decision Ned had insisted upon to protect the North's heart. Jon felt Arya's absence keenly, her fierce loyalty a fire he missed in this cold, uncertain moment.
The drawbridge of the eastern Twin lowered with a groan, and Lord Walder Frey's litter emerged, borne by four sweating sons. The old weasel himself sat hunched in furs, his pinched face sneering as he surveyed the host. A dozen Freys flanked him—knights, heirs, and bastards, their weasel-like features a mirror of their lord's.
"Lord Stark," Walder called, his voice sharp as a blade, "and the dragon boy. Jaehaerys, is it? Hmph. Come to beg passage, have you?"
Ned's jaw tightened, but Jon spoke first, his voice steady despite the bond in his blood pulsing hot. "Lord Frey, we seek the crossing to march south. The North stands for Jaehaerys Targaryen, true king of the Seven Kingdoms. Will House Frey join us?"
Walder's eyes narrowed, glinting with calculation. "True king, eh? Robert Baratheon sits the Iron Throne, boy, and he's got no love for dragonspawn. Why should I risk my house for you? A bastard turned Targaryen, with a beast that could burn my towers to ash?" He gestured upward, where the Cannibal's shadow passed over the Twins.
Jon's hand clenched the reins. He'd faced betrayal before—at the Wall, where brothers' blades had ended him. That memory, shared only with Ned, burned in his chest, but he kept it buried. "The Cannibal chose me," he said, his ruby eyes meeting Walder's. "The gods have marked me. Join us, and House Frey will have a place in the new realm."
Walder cackled, a sound like dry bones. "A place? I've heard sweeter promises from lesser men. If you want my bridge, you'll pay for it. A marriage—your hand for one of my daughters. A king needs a queen, and House Frey needs a crown."
Jon's stomach twisted. A marriage? He'd never sought a throne, let alone a wife to bind him to it. The bond with the Cannibal roared, urging defiance, and he saw Ned's hand shift to his sword hilt. "I'll not wed for a bridge," Jon said, his voice cold. "The North offers alliance, not chains. Will you stand with us, or against us?"
Walder's sneer deepened. "Against, then. The Twins are mine, and no dragon will make me bend. Run back to Winterfell, boy, before Robert's scorpions skewer your beast."
The Freys around him bristled, hands on swords, but Jon felt the bond flare, a wildfire in his veins. He raised a hand, and the air thrummed with power. Above, the Cannibal's roar split the sky, louder than thunder, shaking the Twins' walls. The dragon dove, its black scales glinting, its green eyes blazing with malice. It landed on the riverbank with a crash, its claws sinking into the earth, its jaws snapping as it loosed a torrent of flame at the eastern tower.
The fire was a storm, black and green, consuming the tower's upper stones. The Freys screamed, scattering as masonry crumbled and flames licked the sky. The smallfolk on the banks fell to their knees, praying or weeping, while the Northern host stood firm, their awe tempered by loyalty. Ned's face was pale, but he nodded to Jon, a silent acknowledgment of the dragon's power. Robb's hand rested on his sword, his eyes wide but resolute.
"Enough!" Walder shrieked from his litter, his voice cracking with fear. "Mercy, damn you! The Twins yield! We'll march for you, Jaehaerys or Snow or whatever you are!"
Jon lowered his hand, and the Cannibal ceased its fire, though its growl rumbled like an earthquake. "Swear it," Jon said, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Swear fealty to Jaehaerys Targaryen, third of his name, and your house will stand."
Walder's face twisted, but he nodded, his sons echoing his oath. "For king Jaehaerys," he muttered, the words sour. "The Twins are yours I surrender."
Jon met Ned's gaze, the weight of the moment settling between them. The North had its crossing, but the South awaited—Robert's armies.
in Jon's mind he was no longer just a Snow. He was a king Jaehaerys and the Twins were only the beginning.