Jon VI

"I was no help at all in the battle," Jon muttered in shame. Some knight he was, riding a dragon and all, high and safe above the fray.

"Nonsense!" the king retorted in that insufferable, self-assured manner of his. Jon Snow, or whoever he was, felt the old jealousy coming on strong. How does anyone get to be that handsome and clever, and a king besides?

My sister is a surpassing beauty, yet she looks at this one like she's lucky to have him, and mayhaps she's right. Jon had never met anyone like Joffrey Baratheon, and no mistake.

"You were exactly where I needed you to be, Jon," he continued with easy familiarity. There was a roaring fire in the hall; knights and lowborn archers both were invited to warm themselves by it. "Targaryen did not dare attack until hope was already lost. If she had hit our lines with dragonfire early, things would've gotten hectic, I think." The king had his arm wrapped around Sansa's shoulders, casual as you like. "Honey?"

He always called her "honey." It was queer to Jon's ears, but his sister never failed to look delighted at being so addressed.

"Yes, my love?"

"We need to see the men off as soon as may be. So many hungry mouths will put stress on our reserves. Let them have enough food to return to their own hearths, but no more. When the snow stops, they must leave."

The army they fought with was not particularly large, but travel in such a blizzard was not easy. To tell it true, the gods were kind to allow them so many swords as they had when the dragon queen marched against them.

"Of course," Sansa agreed. She ran her hand over Lady's fur, newly returned from the cold. All four wolves were damp and covered with frost, yet Jon got the sense that they'd eaten well, whatever it was they hunted in the wild.

Jon snorted. They never fought, the king and queen. Every free hour was spent in the bedchamber, and they had little need of him these days.

"Come spring, we shall discover the secret of Valyrian roads, you and I," Joff declared, his eyes glowing wildfire green. "With dragonfire, we can do much. Mayhaps that bridge across the Blackwater I always wanted is within reach." He put a strong arm around Jon's shoulder, pulling him as close as Sansa was on the other side. "What about an iron bridge? We'll use your dragon to heat a furnace, hotter than anyone has ever known. Think on it, cast iron beams!"

Gods be good, the sheer avarice in his voice! It was so like Joff to see a dragon and think on how it could be put to work.

"You don't fear me?" Jon asked in a small voice. He had to ask.

"Have I cause to fear?" Joffrey said smugly. To ask the question was to answer it.

"Jon is loyal, Joff," Sansa pointed out helpfully. "Lady knows."

The king nodded sagely. "I'm sure she does." Then he rounded on Jon again. "With things as they are, I still have work for you, Ser."

What could he possibly...

"The time has come to set the realm to rights," Joffrey continued heedlessly. "I would have you ride to Storm's End and demand their surrender. Return with my uncle Tyrion if you can." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "We'll have to get you a saddle fit for two. Do you suppose Rhaegal can bear the weight?"

"He can carry me in armor, easily enough," Jon said.

"Excellent! From there, I'd like you to do the same for Dragonstone and see to cousin Shireen. You might be marrying her, you know, so treat her kindly."

Me? He thought Joffrey was not speaking seriously the last time they discussed this. "Marry into the royal house?"

"Why not? Your parents were a prince and a daughter of a great lord. Might be your daughter would be a fit bride for my son with Sansa. Shireen is the Lady of Dragonstone in any case, and will need a husband. Why not you?"

Jon could think of several reasons why not! Of course, Joff would have his way, as ever.

"Please be kind, Jon. I know she still carries the marks of greyscale, but I have faith you can see past it and recognize the beauty underneath. She's always been lonely, my cousin, for Uncle Stannis hardly ever brought her to court. You and Rhaegal could be the balm to that loneliness, and, well, your father was Prince of Dragonstone once. It just fits, don't you think?"

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Telling a king "no" was quite impossible, Jon discovered.

***

While they waited for the snow to end, he and the king spent a great deal of time with the painted table, a copy of the one on Dragonstone. Joffrey lectured him at length on geography and navigation. If he heard the word "azimuth" one more time, Jon might retch.

Birds were sent to every castle on the way, so as not to cause terror when they saw a dragon flying by. Following the Kingsroad was easy enough, even if he lost the trail a bit as he passed over the woods. Jon and Rhaegal were still getting used to each other, so he didn't push the pace too much. On the first night, Jon slept in Bronzegate. Lord Buckler offered every courtesy, though Jon could tell he was eager to see the dragon gone.

Thankfully, Storm's End surrendered without Jon having to make so much as a puff of smoke. A bird was sent to them in advance, and as soon as the threadbare garrison saw green Rhaegal in the sky, they dipped their banners.

"I take it King Joffrey won the war?" Tyrion questioned him when he landed.

"He did, my lord. Though I would not wish to stay in this place. We haven't a castellan or a garrison to replace the one Daenerys Targaryen left. We'll just have to leave these of hers in place for now."

"Sensible," Tyrion agreed. He smiled wildly. "Let's be off!"

On the return journey, the dwarf kept asking him to go faster, among other dangerous requests, whooping and hollering and making sounds like nothing human as they zoomed through the sky. Frankly, Jon was glad to be rid of him and on to Dragonstone on the morrow.

As they got closer to the dark citadel of Dragonstone, Rhaegal visibly perked up. He'd been pushing the dragon harder, anxious to cross the water in a single day, but there was nary a complaint from his mount. If anything, the beast was eager.

Jon circled the central drum tower once, and the knight was happy to see Baratheon banners already flying from the ramparts.

When he landed in the courtyard, a lady in red was there to greet him. "Dragonstone is yours, Jon Snow."

Now that he got a closer look, he recognized her. "I know you! You're that red priestess who was councilor to the dragon queen!"

She inclined her head sadly. "So I was, but no more. She was not the one."

Something in her tone discomfitted him. "The one what?"

The lady looked at him strangely. Even her eyes were red. "There is much to discuss, Ser, and darkness falls. Come in; a feast has already been prepared."

"What about the lady Shireen?" Jon demanded. "Has she been freed? Is she being well-treated?"

"She has, this I swear upon the lord of light. We shall dine together. There are tidings I would put before the king, matters of import."

"Let me see her first."

This red woman had been their enemy, even if she yielded. Jon didn't trust her. He followed her, keeping the priestess in his sight and a hand on the pommel of his sword.

When he saw Shireen Baratheon laughing and smiling in the high seat on the dais, he allowed himself to ease the tension in his shoulders, but only a little. "My lady." He bowed low. This was King Joffrey's beloved cousin. Jon would show her every honor.

"Ser Jon, be welcome in my hall," she said formally. On closer inspection, she looked a bit like Arya, though her face was square instead of long. The scars from a case of greyscale in infancy could not be missed, but she otherwise seemed a happy girl of fifteen or sixteen.

They supped on fish and black bread, plain hearty fare. The wine was perhaps not the best, but decent enough for midwinter.

While Shireen was laughing at her fool's silly song, the red woman caught his eye. "Did you ever wonder why your mother and father ran off together, Jon Snow?"