Jon V

Jon Snow brushed a strand of silver-gold hair off the forehead of his youngest son. Little Marwyn, who was named for a maester at the Citadel Sarella Sand often corresponded with, shared his coloring with the toddler twins Mara and Morgan.

The nursery at the Hellholt was underground, all the better to keep it cool for the babes, though they hadn't actually needed it so far. All the castle and the lands about had fair air and frequent rains, making the territory watered by the Brimstone River more heaven than hell.

Part of the wood-paneled roof in this chamber was mounted on iron rails, and could be drawn back, revealing a skylight of thick-paneled glass. The stuff was murky and distorted, but served to let in light without much heat. In the night they must needs resort to lamps of whale oil.

He wondered at the look of his sleeping son. When Mara and Morgan's hair began to grow, so did Jon's misgivings. How could he be the father of such? Jealous thoughts and suspicions tormented him, chiefly of the Lyseni boy Carmyn said she knew once. From lessons with Maester Luwin, Jon remembered the folk of Lys oft had such silver-gold hair.

Father's letter served to ease his worries some, but still, why would he not plainly tell Jon the truth? What secret was he keeping? King Maekar of old had a Dayne for a queen, if Jon remembered aright. Had such blood found its way back to Starfall in time? Whatever the case, little Marwyn could be of no seed but his own. There were no Lyseni about, and he and Carmyn shared a bed every night. She even watched him in the yard, and rode out with them when Lord Harman Uller took Jon and Ghost hunting for game and brigands both.

In one such hunt, Jon won his spurs. A gang of outlaws was robbing one of the new villages that had sprung up like the many-colored flowers brought by autumn rains. Jon faced the leader in single combat and cut him down with the longsword. Lord Harman Uller let Jon behead those who yielded before the heart tree in Hellholt's godswood and knighted him in the bargain.

That weirwood had grown large, almost too thick around for your fingers to touch, and Jon had caught some other Uller men looking at it with reverence.

Carmyn was terribly pleased that he was "Ser Jon" now, and alluded to the possibility of them actually marrying, if the gods kept blessing Dorne. Sarella Sand and Hoster Blackwood, who never found the Green Man who had been carving faces in freshly planted weirwoods, thought there might be some truth to it.

"I thought I'd find you here," said Sarella Sand. She was even darker than Carmyn, her ebon skin shining in the lamplight.

"Carmyn likes to bathe in the hot springs after the evening meal," Jon explained. "Her uncle said we were not to bathe together."

Sarella flashed him a smile of perfectly white teeth. "You were sullying the waters by fucking too much. The whole grotto under the castle was starting to smell of it."

Jon looked away in embarrassment. Hopefully the children would stay sleeping. "Have you come to mock me, Sarella?"

"Not at all," the lady answered. "I have made a discovery, well, one very good guess and one hypothesis."

"Hypothesis?"

She waved his question away. "Never mind, the stuff of maesters. So which would you like first, the very good guess, or the hypothesis?"

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"Well, since I don't know what a 'hypostis' is, I'll have the guess, I suppose."

Sarella closed the distance quickly and quietly, her long legs and slippered feet moving with care. For some reason, Jon didn't think she was doing this out of consideration for the sleeping children. "I have a very good guess about your children. I think your mother wasn't Ashara Dayne at all."

"Then who?" he questioned. Jon couldn't keep the shock out of his voice. Sarella was wise and learned. If she really thought something...

"It is an interesting tale," she began, closing the distance still further. Sarella lowered her voice to a whisper. "I came across a queer fact when I was thumbing over a history of recent happenings in Dorne. Did you know that when Lord Stark brought his sister's bones back to King Robert, he was returning from Dorne?"

Jon shook his head. "I didn't. He hardly ever spoke of the war, and never about things that happened after the Trident."

"I thought not. Why do you suppose Lyanna Stark was in Dorne at all?"

He thought for a moment. "Did Prince Rhaegar bring her here? He was great friends with Arthur Dayne. Elia Martell was his wife. Mayhaps he had other friends in Dorne."

"Mayhaps." Sarella took a deep breath and fixed him with her viper eyes. "I think, Jon, that you might be the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. The babes don't look Lyseni. They look like dragonlords of Valyria! They look like your father!"

Jon staggered back, hardly daring to breathe. Only a whimper from Marwyn's cradle kept him from losing himself completely. "Is...is that why Father wouldn't say?"

"It's a definite possibility, and the union of Valyrian and Dornish has produced completely Valyrian-looking children before. Tell me, do Mara, Morgan, and Marwyn look much like Ullers to your eyes?"

Jon stood over the cradle and studied his son. "Mayhaps not, but they might tan in the sunshine."

"They might," Sarella allowed, "but now they are fair as snow, and I think you're not a Snow at all, but a Sand. You were born in Dorne, and to Dorne you have returned."

"Will you...tell everyone else?" Jon asked uncertainly.

She shook her head. "Not now, not while so much seems uncertain, and frankly, I don't trust Carmyn not to brag."

That, at least, made Jon laugh. It was good to laugh. "She would, wouldn't she?"

"Oh yes! Carmyn would tell all Dorne how her man was the last Targaryen and had given her such beautiful children," she japed, but then her countenance darkened and Sarella grew serious. "Lord Stark is no fool, and kept your parentage a secret from you for a reason. You are a knight of Hellholt now; be content with that."

"I will," he promised, though Jon's heart started feeling heavy again. Living his whole life believing a lie... "And the other thing? The 'hypostis'?"

"Hypothesis," Sarella corrected. "You have heard of the plague in Oldtown?"

Jon nodded.

"The 'Red Rot,' they call it, mortal in one case out of three, sometimes worse. It has spread through the Reach already, but has not touched Dorne at all. There is much commerce with Oldtown in the Torrentine region, you know, but not a single case of the Red Rot. I wrote my father in the North. He has a trueborn son, if you can believe it. They named him Willem Martell. I'm surprised he agreed, since that is the name of Lady Barbrey's husband who died. Mayhaps he has grown less jealous with age. Anyway, traders out of Oldtown oft call at Barrowton, and Lannisport as well. Not a single case of Red Rot in either place."

Jon didn't follow. "Why?"

"The weirwoods, I think," Sarella answered. "There is a great heart tree poking out of the mountain at Casterly Rock, and the North is just as untouched as Dorne. I am sending some weirwood sap, pollen, bark, and crushed leaves in vials to Archmaester Marwyn at the Citadel. Gods, if it gets out that the old gods bring the rain and protected Dorne from a plague..." She trailed off.

"What?" Jon asked after a beat.

"Then, Ser Jon, it is likely Dorne will go over entirely to the old gods. I don't know if you've noticed, but attendance in the sept is down, and Lord Harman's knights walk softly in the godswood. They feel the power, as I do."

Honestly, he had no idea. "Truly?"

Sarella nodded firmly. "Aye. All things Northern are popular here. Even I get envious looks when I drag Hoster Blackwood around in public, and he's from the Riverlands. Most can't tell the difference. The Seven were never strong here. It would not take much to push the people. The world is changing around us, Jon Snow, or Sand, or..." Mercifully, she did not say "Targaryen." "Well, it matters not. If Marwyn, the maester, not the baby, can cure the plague, then who knows what will happen next?"