The Ghosts of the Past - Jaehaeron Taegaryen - The Northern Dragon

To read early

Chapter 12 : 'Siblings'

Chapter 13 : 'The Dream'

Chapter 14: 'The Prince of Dragonstone'

Chapter 15: 'Stormborn'

Chapter 16: 'Siblings & Bastards'

Chapter 17: 'The Punishment'

Chapter 18: 'Blood and Tears.'

Chapter 19: 'Despair'

Chapter 20: 'A bundle of Joy'

Chapter 21: 'Starfallen'

Chapter 22: 'What women think'

Chapter 23: 'Return'

Chapter 24: 'For the Realm'

Chapter 25: 'The Heir for a Day"

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w w w . p a t r(e)on (slash) MonsieurLAH

Enjoy reading !

Chapter XI : The Ghosts of the Past

"Holy shite… I'm not doing that… This is a shite idea!"

Jaehaeron Targaryen was having a very hard time not laughing at his bastard cousin. Since he had met him, Aevyr had always been arrogant, sure of himself, immutable, adamant in his strength and pride. To see him shake in his boots with worry and fear was an entertaining spectacle, Jon decided to carve this memory in his head forever.

They had left Winterfell early in the morning with Lord Rickon's approval, and rode East to the nearby hills. Aevyr hadn't known their destination, he had simply trusted that Jon was taking to someplace where they'd be doing something interesting, now that he had spotted the sleeping figure of Vermithor… he truly regretted his decision.

The Bronze Fury had dug a nest within a hill with its flames the day they had arrived. Jon had not visited it in a moon, yet they had never been apart, dragon and rider would always be together until one of them breathes their last.

Jon heard Ser Steffon's laugh. The kingsguard seemed quite satisfied to see the Bastard of Winterfell loose his usual swagger.

"You should be honored that the Prince had deemed you worthy of flying with him, few in our history have received this honor, and none of them were bastards, or even Northermen for the matter."

"I honorably refuse." Aevyr retorted, his voice was filled with venom, his tone was shaking.

Ser Steffon laughed a cruel laugh.

"What do you know of honor, boy? You swore no oath, never fought a real battle, never honored a woman. You know nothing of honor!"

Aevyr scoffed, Jon knew Ser Steffon was right, another concept he would have to teach his bastard cousin.

"Everyone will know and call you a coward if you refuse." He told him. "On the other hand, if you fly with me, the whole North will know you're my ally. And you will be remembered in History books, as the first Northman who ever flew on a Dragon's back."

Those had been the right words to say, for Aevyr suddenly straightened his back and stoped shacking, he looked at his Prince with an incredulous look.

"He wants to ask 'why'." Jon knew, Aevyr was like he used to be; he felt unworthy of everything yet acted as if he was more than a mere bastard.

Aevyr nodded absentmindedly, he looked at Vermithor as if the dragon was an obstacle, an enemy that needed to be put down, a hardship to pave his way to… Where exactly? Jon didn't know, and was pretty sure that Aevyr himself did not know where he was going. Did it matter? The Prince was not sure. The Bastard of Winterfell was the greatest swordsman his age, perhaps he would become as good as Ser Arthur Dayne when he is done maturing. Jaehaeron could not possibly imagine Aevyr with the white cloak of the Kingsguard, it would not suit him. Black was his color, but he did not belong to the Night's Watch, and if Jon would have his way, he never would. So where was his future? With his Prince? Perhaps Jaehaeron could give him the opportunity to become a Stark. Lord Rickon had looked like he loved his bastard, such an. But a name was not a future, a swordsman, no matter how great, cannot build a future with a sword. As they approached Vermithor' sleeping snout, Jon started wondering where all of this was coming from. He was a Prince of Dragon blood, he was riding Jaehaerys' the Wise's mount, he was the son of Daemon Targaryen, the nephew of King Viserys, the unofficial heir -though he doubted he'd ever sit on the Iron Throne-, he had plenty of opportunities, plenty of ways to live a proud life, why was he so concerned about Aevyr? Had Lord Eddard thought half as much when he was watching him growing? Had he been proud when he had joined the Watch? Or relieved?

"I wouldn't be relieved if Aevyr decided to join the Night's Watch." He thought. "It is too soon, it would be a waste. I might need him to prevent the Dance and keep the dragons alive. Aevyr could become good enough to defeat the likes of Ser Criston Cole. He could be the spearhead of the Northern Forces, he could be anything, but for now…"

He threw a look back to check his cousin's stone face.

"Now, he is my friend, my brother, and I want him to realize that."

Aevyr had asked him so many times, sometimes in a mocking tone, other times in a skeptical tone, why Jaehaeron wanted him by his side. And the latter was withholding the answer until he could find a proper one.

"The truth is… is that I want a brother.A brother like Robb… No… maybe… it would be more accurate to say that I want to be Robb… And I want my own bastard brother… someone I would raise to my level, someone I would never abandon."

Had Robb abandoned him? Jon would never say this, they had chosen different paths, and Jon had chosen the Watch when he could have stayed and fight the Lannisters by his brother's side.

"Perhaps it is I who has abandoned him." He thought grimly. "I will not abandon Aevyr."

Vermithor opened its eyes and slowly rose its head, Jaehaeron Targaryen dismounted and started walking towards his dragon, while his Kingsguard and cousin stopped near his horse. The Bronze Fury shook its head to get rid of the snow and the ash that had covered its scales during its sleep, it then, presented its snout to the touch of its rider.

Jon rarely spoke to his dragon, he never needed to, they both understood each other better than twins. He only ever spoke to it when they were alone together, mostly when he thought about his great-grandfather.

He turned his head.

"Aevyr! Come!"

The bastard looked at him like he was the maddest man alive, but he was no coward. He dismounted under Ser Steffon's mocking glance, and walked slowly towards his royal cousin.

Vermithor's eyes narrowed at the sight of the bastard and a volcanic growl rose in its throat, Jaehaeron calmed him with a thought, informing him of the bond that united him to his cousin. And Vermithor calmed down to smell the bastard's scent. However, what it sniffed didn't please it.

"He's half Dornish," Jon realized, "and Vermithor has burned thousands of them during the Third and Fourth Dornish Wars. Calm down, my friend, he is my blood, not the dragon's blood, but mine. he is a member... of our pack."

The Bronze Fury looked at its rider for a moment, before indicating its agreement by lowering its head. Jon then noticed that Aevyr had stopped, and he beckoned him to come closer. The bastard rolled his eyes and did so, although he slowed with each step that brought him a little closer to Vermithor's scales. But when he finally arrived at his cousin's side, the latter grabbed his hand and pinned it against his dragon. Aevyr shivered in horror but controlled his terror while glaring at Jon, the Prince almost laughed when he felt Vermithor's exasperation and Aevyr's horror. They were going to get along, of that he was sure.

Aevyr took a deep breath, he was not so horrified as not to feel the awe of touching a creature of legend. And the bastard was in awe, never in a million years would he have dreamt of touching a dragon, let alone a beast like Vermithor. Jaehaeron could only imagine what his cousin felt, he wondered how Jon Snow would have reacted had he touched one of the Dragons of Maester Aemon's niece, Daenerys.

Jaehaeron's tyrian's eyes crossed Snow's byzantium's, the prince smiled when he saw how astonished and happy his bastard cousin was.

"Follow me." He commanded as he started to climb Vermithor's saddle.

Once they were both settled, Jon tied leather straps around his and Aevyr's waists. The bastard grab him by the waist, and after dragon and rider exchanged a thought, the Bronze Fury spread its wings and took off while roaring.

Jaehaeron laughed out loud when he heard his cousin scream in his ears.

"Holy shit! What the fuck?! By the fucking Old Gods!"

For more than a minute, those were his only words, an ugly song that went from 'shit' to 'fuck' and back to 'shit' again. And Jon's ribs hurt as he laughed so much.

Vermithor flew for hours, and the boys on his back laughed more than half this amount of time. They flew over Winterfell and Wintertown multiple times, Jon wanting to make sure every Northerner around could see his cousin at his side. They flew over the Wolfswood, Vermithor's unusual and terrifying presence freaked out the woods' wildlife. Thousands of birds flew off the branches and at least hundreds of wolves started howling in chorus. Aevyr howled in return, but Vermithor roared in protest, making the bastard laugh.

"I guess that's why dragons rule over the continent!" He screamed, and Jon could only agree.

The two boys kept on flying for hours, until they found a bunch of wild deers on Lord Rickon's lands. Vermithor roasted them all alive under the fascinated look and disturbing grin of Aevyr. The Targaryen and the Snow dismounted to allow the Bronze Fury to enjoy his meal in peace, but the bastard could not stay in place, he was jumping everywhere like an overexcited flee.

"Now I understand why you Targaryens are all so damn good at fighting and being the strongest!" He laughed as he unsheathed his sword. "I've never felt such a desire to fight! Come on, Jon! Take up your sword!"

"I'm not in the mood to spare." Jon laughed before his cousin enthusiasm.

"How?!" Aevyr waved his arms and sword up and down in dismay. "How can you be so damn calm?! For fuck's sake! I can't stand still, I want to kill someone! Don't you?!"

"No!" Jon screamed out of nowhere, remembering the Halfhand, the free folk, the turncoats, and all the others. "No I don't!"

Aevyr stopped moving, he furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes.

"You've killed before." That was no question.

Jaehaeron could not deny it, yet he did not answer.

Aevyr sheathed his sword and crossed his arms.

"You look like you are ashamed to have liked it."

Jon's eyes widened at these words.

"Looks like I'm starting to know you a bit more, Jaehaeron." Aevyr declared as he walked forward to stand right in front of him. "I wonder though, how many have you killed?"

Jon shook his head.

"This is none of your concern…"

"That much?" The bastard actually sounded astonished. "How? And why would you kill so many? You're ten."

"No, I'm not."

"Aevyr, I do not wish to speak of this. Those are among the things that I must keep to myself."

"Then I will rephrase my questions, what did you feel when you killed?"

Jon groaned, he knew Aevyr would investigate in the future if he gave him no answer, he needed to throw him a bone of truth.

"For some of them, nothing but anger and satisfaction." He answered truthfully. "For they were enemies and nothing else. It's harder to kill people you knew, you never forget about is no glory in killing them."

Aevyr rose an eyebrow.

"You sure? Ever hated one of them?"

Jon frowned, he started thinking.

Did he ever hate one of them? Yes, there had been one, Janos Slynt. The coward had participated in Lord Eddard's death and was full of cowardice, disdain and incompetence. Jon had hated him, but only killed him when the former commander of the King's Landing's City Watch had given him an actual reason. He had not killed him out of revenge.

Aevyr read his face, and asked:

"What did you feel?"

Jon rose his head to meet his cousin's eyes.

"Relief."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

The bastard looked disappointed, he looked at Vermithor feasting.

"You and I are different, I doubt I'll feel what you felt."

"I think you're right." Jon sighed, resigned.

They both remained silent as the Bronze fury ate its burn deers.

"Think Vermithor would let us have a bite?"

The look the Dragon threw at the bastard convinced the latter to fast for a few more hours.

"You could have told me it can understand me." Aevyr grumbled, as he breathed to appease his heart.

Jon only laughed.

(-)(-)(-)

Lady Gillianne Glover hated Aevyr Snow like she had never hated anything or anyone in her entire life.

She knew it was wrong, she knew the boy had nothing to do with her misery, but she simply could not help it.

She married Rickon Stark out of duty, despite him having a bastard son. The fact that he had not sent him away after their wedding had already been hard to swallow but she had understood; he had no heir, his relationship with his brother Bennard had always been difficult. Until she could give him a son of his own, he wanted to keep his own flesh in his home, she understood this. When she got pregnant, she was the happiest woman in the world. And Aevyr, who had never spoken to her before, had offered her a Winter rose for luck. Gillianne had accepted the flower and smiled at him, she had asked him if he wanted a brother or a sister. The bastard had said that he'd hope for a brother. A moon later, she had lost the child.

Gillianne didn't know how that could have happened, the Maester had assured her that she had strong hips, perfect for birthing children, yet her body had failed to do what had been expected of it, of her. And the bastard never showed his face to her ever again.

Gillianne cried herself to sleep many nights after that abominable incident. Rickon did not share her bed for moons, for she was too terrified at the thought of loosing another child. Rickon grieved in another way; he started spending even more time with his bastard son. Never in public though, for her husband always made sure not to humiliate her for all their household to see. But Gillianne was not a naive fool, she knew he loved his bastard as if he was trueborn and always would. The only reason that made her believe that the Lord of Winterfell was not considering Aevyr as successor material, was the little effort both father and son put into teaching the latter how to read. But for the rest, Gillianne was not so sure. Aevyr always clashed with his cousins Brandon, Benjen and Elric, the same way Rickon had always clashed with Bennard. The fact that the bastard kept besting true born sons of House Stark made her fear even more for any sons she might bear, and the way he fought… his smile… the sadistic pleasure he took into beating his cousins… That boy was evil, of this she had become sure.

She grew so paranoid that she brought the Winter Rose that he had gifted him to the Maester. For she had convinced herself that the boy had hidden in it some kind of poison, and that said poison would have caused her to miscarry. But Maester Celtigar had assured her that the flower was normal, and that no known poison could have caused her to miscarry while leaving her without more obvious symptoms.

Gillianne had been so infuriated to hear this that she had locked herself in her room, and cried tears of anger. The same night, she had went to her husband bedroom and slept with him. She had kept doing so until the Maester had confirmed her second pregnancy this very morning. Such joyous news had brought a smile to her face, and as she was crossing Winterfell courtyard to inform her lord husband she heard the most terrifying roar she had ever heard in her life, and saw the most massive creature she had ever seen.

Like every noble girl in the Seven Kingdoms, she had heard and read about King Jaehaerys' mighty mount, and had considered herself lucky to see it with her own eyes. What had broken the joy of her pregnancy and the marvel of seeing such a creature, was the sight of Aevyr Snow, of all people, on its back.

She had liked Jaehaeron Targaryen since the day she'd met him, he was a good boy, a bit too southerner perhaps, but eager to learn the ways of the North. He was a Prince, the first Prince of Stark blood for more than a century, the first Targaryen to foster in Winterfell, and he had taken an interest in Aevyr, of all the boys his age, he had chosen Aevyr, he had even started to teach him how to read, his one flaw that had reassured Gillianne for years.

It was not fair… it was not… She had suffered the loss of a child, suffered the constant humiliation of his presence. But her husband did not love her, he still loved that damn Dornish girl who had seduced him and gifted him with this damn bastard. That she had died birthing him should been warning enough for Rickon… But no, he still loved the Dornish girl, he loved Aevyr, and he did not love her… Would he ever love her should she give him a son? A trueborn son?

She doubted it, he had married her and impregnated her out of duty, he had impregnated the Dayne girl out of desire and love. Gillianne would never be able to compete with her.

She put a hand on her belly, and took a deep breath. At least that child would be hers, hers and no one else. She would carry it, she would birth it, and neither Aevyr Snow nor his dead Dorish mother would ever inherit Winterfell.

She clenched her fists as Vermithor kept circling around the castle, as if to antagonize her. But she was now calm and collected, she had nothing to fear, her son was growing inside of her, he'd grow stronger and better than this damned purple-eyed boy.

(-)(-)(-)

Daemon Targaryen missed his son terribly.

He was not the best of fathers, he knew this, but he loved his boy, he missed his boy, only when they were away from each other did he realize how much he needed him. Jaehaeron was his greatest pride, his greatest joy, the proof of the love he shared with Lyanna Stark, the she-wolf who had seduced him.

Daemon suffered, he suffered the loss of his wife, he suffered the absence of his son, he suffered from Viserys' blindness to his Hand's greed, he suffered from Aemma's failures at birthing dragons. And when Daemon suffered, he buried his pain under blood, wine and flesh.

Over the last moon, he had killed the most renowned murderers in the Flea Bottom, He had tasted the finest wines of both Westeros and Essos, fucked the most beautiful and talented whores… But that was never enough, never… None of those girls or women were Lyanna, he felt only pleasure, never love, he never felt the need to gift his son with siblings.

Lyanna had wanted a large pack of Dragonwolves, of sons and daughters of Ice and Fire, Daemon had laughed at her idea and had promised her they would work hard to accomplish their dream. Now Lyanna was gone, their only Dragonwolf was somewhere up North lost in the Snow, Daemon was slowly awakening from a night of wine and pleasure.

"My son grew up too fast." He thought bitterly. "He grew up too damn fast… Couldn't he remain my little boy for a few more years? Did he have to stretch his own wings this early? I should be proud… Gods… I am proud! He is like me, like Lyanna, free to roam the World and become what he was born to become! But by the blood of Old Valyria! Did it have to happen that fast?!"

Daemon groaned in pain and rose from the feather bed that the brothel he had fucked his way into, had provided. Someone hand him a cup of water, Daemon drank it without thinking and rose his tired eyes to see who had offered him the cup. The whore, he knew her, she had been his favorite for a few weeks now. A young beauty pale as milk, lithe and lissome with Valyrian silver hair and purple eyes.

"She was not a whore." Daemon remembered. "At least not before she met me… She was a dancing girl, a virgin… Why do I keep fucking her?"

He tried to focus, to think… She had been a virgin, like Lyanna… Daemon wanted to be her only man for as long as he pleased. A Dragon does not devour spoiled meat.

The Rogue Prince painfully rose from his bed.

"My Prince…" She said.

"I'll come back tonight." He told her as he looked for a basin of water to wash his face.

But she did not leave, she kept looking at him with hesitant eyes.

"What is it?" He grumbled as his head kept spinning.

"I am with child."

Silence.

Daemon's took a few seconds to understand what he had been told, his eyes widened in anger.

"Are you fucking stupid? You're supposed to take moon tea to prevent this from happening!"

The girl looked frightened, she placed her hands on her stomach.

"My prince… You told me not to!"

Daemon could not believe his ears, he dangerously narrowed his eyes and grabbed the girl by her hair.

"Tell me… Why would I say such a thing? Because I am pretty sure I would remember saying such words."

The girl looked at him with pleading eyes, but he remained unfazed.

"Y-you said… that you w-wanted more children! That you wanted your son to have siblings! That you wanted to keep being a father!"

Daemon looked at her with dumbfounded eyes, he shook his head and released her.

"I drank far too much if I let those thoughts escaped my mouth, I must have dreamt of sleeping with Lyanna."

He gave the girl a severe look.

"How do I know it is mine?" He spat. "How do I know you're carrying a dragon and not some Flea Bottom rat's bastard?"

The girl's frightened face turned offended in a second.

"My Prince!You're the only man who's ever taken me to bed! I have only ever had your seed inside me. The child can only be yours!"

Daemon was not convinced.

"Would you be willing to bet your child's life on that?" He asked in a cold tone. "Because the day it is born, I'm going to introduce it to Caraxes, and if it is not of my blood, my dragon will eat it, and you too."

The girl shook in terror at his words, yet she answered:

"It is yours, my Prince, it cannot be anyone else's."

Daemon stared at her, putting all the violent emotions his sorry state could muster in his eyes, but she did not budge, and he ended up sighing in defeat.

"It looks like the Gods of Valyria have punished my sins by giving me a mockery of what I had demanded… another child… not born from Lyanna's womb… Jaehaeron would probably welcome the news… Mayhap Viserys too… Perhaps it is not so bad…"

He looked at the girl once again.

"Remind me of your name."

If she was offended she did not show it.

"Mysaria, my Prince."