295 AC, the North.
Across the vast snowfield, a column of riders moved slowly further north, a bitter icy wind cutting into their faces until their cheeks ached with the cold.
Jon sat in the saddle, gripping the reins tight.
He had already guessed the true purpose of this journey.
Much had changed in his life these past few years.
Most notably, Lady Catelyn’s manner toward him.
Ever since he was seven, she had slowly stopped treating him with the same disdain and neglect as before, and would sometimes even smile at him.
And his father had, quietly, begun passing him book after book on old Valyria and dragons, for him to read.
Those pages recorded the blood of the true dragons, the dreams of dragons, and all manner of forbidden lore handed down from Valyria.
He had once asked where such precious books had come from.
Ned had told him only that they’d been sent by an old man.
Now the column was riding straight for the Wall — his father had not brought him here, surely, to hand a “bastard” over to the Night’s Watch, as the world outside might assume.
Perhaps his father felt it was finally time to tell him everything.
Whinny—!
Jon suddenly pulled hard on the reins.
The horse beneath him let out a whinny and came to an abrupt stop.
The sudden move sent a ripple of commotion through the riders behind him; several knights reined in their horses, looking toward him in confusion.
At the head of the column, Ned noticed the disturbance too, and quickly wheeled his horse around, riding back to Jon’s side.
“Jon, what is it?”
Jon didn’t answer right away.
He raised a hand to his chest, where a faint, half-felt throb pulsed, as though something were calling to him.
The closer they drew to the Wall, the stronger that call from deep within him grew.
Jon was certain now where the call came from… Frostflame.
He glanced around them, then gave Ned a meaningful look.
“Father, let’s step away from the column first.”
Ned looked at him for a moment, asked nothing further, and rode after him away from the column.
Only once they’d gone some distance did Jon lower his voice and say: “Father, I can feel Frostflame.”
Ned’s expression shifted slightly.
He, of course, knew exactly where the dragon was hidden.
But now was not yet the time for them to meet.
After a moment’s silence, he said:
“We’ll go to Castle Black first.”
“Once our business there is done, Benjen will take you to see her.”
In the fading light, Castle Black stood silent at the foot of the Wall, its worn stone walls wrapped in wind and snow.
By the time the column reached the Wall, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont was already waiting at the gate with a small party of his men.
“Lord Stark, if you’ll come with me. The maester is already expecting you.”
He then led them through the dim corridors to the maester’s chambers, and stood quietly outside with Ned’s guards in the passage beyond.
Maester Aemon, now nearly a hundred years old, sat by the brazier, and turned his head slowly at the sound of footsteps.
His eyes, long since dulled of all light, gazed forward, looking all the more withered and gaunt in the glow of the hearth-fire.
“Lord Stark. You’ve brought him at last.”
There was a gentleness in Maester Aemon’s hoarse voice.
Jon’s step faltered slightly.
This was the first time he had seen Maester Aemon.
The old man’s dulled eyes turned toward them, and his very first words made Jon’s heart clench without knowing why.
“Yes, Maester Aemon.”
After Ned said this, the two of them sat down by the brazier, and he rested his right hand on Jon’s shoulder.
“Jon, let me introduce you.”
“This is Aemon Targaryen, maester of Castle Black.”
Ned then stated plainly the purpose of their coming.
“There are things I meant to let you face when you were a little older. But matters… have changed somewhat.”
Jon quietly clenched his fists, and met his father’s gaze steadily.
Ned drew a deep breath, and in a low, restrained voice, spoke the truth he had hidden for twelve years:
“You are not my bastard son.”
Though he had long since suspected as much, hearing the words spoken aloud still left him with a tangle of feelings he could not easily name.
“Your mother was my sister. Lyanna Stark.”
Ned closed his eyes slowly, each word coming with great difficulty.
“And your father… was Rhaegar Targaryen.”
A log in the brazier let out a sharp, sudden spark.
Jon sat motionless, staring at the flickering red flames.
Rhaegar Targaryen.
Once the most dazzling crown prince the Seven Kingdoms had known, and the man whose actions had brought disaster down upon House Stark.
And now, that man was his father.
“You were born at the Tower of Joy, in Dorne.”
Ned opened his eyes again, sorrow and guilt showing plainly in them,
“Lyanna named you, with her very last breath…”
Ned fell silent for a moment, and at last spoke the name that had been hidden for twelve years.
“Jaehaerys Targaryen.”
Jon lifted his head, repeating those syllables over and over in his mind.
The name sounded so foreign, and yet so noble and so heavy, carrying with it the lingering warmth of an old age of dragons and fire.
Ned told him, one by one, of the deathbed oath he’d sworn all those years ago, and of everything he had done over these twelve years to keep him safe.
“Robert would never allow you to live. As long as that Iron Throne belongs to House Baratheon, he will never let Rhaegar’s blood go free.”
Maester Aemon closed his eyes, and a soft, barely audible sigh sounded beside the brazier.
The whole room fell into a deathly stillness, broken only now and then by the crackle of wood in the brazier, and nothing else. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
In his heart, Jon repeated his true name to himself, silently.
Jaehaerys Targaryen.
Ned looked at his foster son, and went on to lay out what would come next:
“Robert won’t allow you to live and grow to manhood. Not, at least, until he changes his mind.”
“So you must go on being Jon Snow.”
Jon nodded faintly, a little dazed.
“I understand, Father.”
His voice carried nothing but respect and understanding.
“All these years, you’ve carried so much, just to protect me.”
Ned said nothing, only reached out and clapped Jon’s shoulder firmly.
“You’ve grown up.”
Jon looked out the window at the towering wall of ice, and asked what weighed most on his mind: “Father, how is Frostflame doing now?”
“These past years, Benjen has been looking after her at Gorne’s Passage.”
Ned said: “There are hot springs and geothermal vents there. However hard winter grows, it doesn’t reach down that far.”
“I want to see her.”
Jon could hardly wait to see his own dragon.
“In a few days, once your uncle Benjen is back, he’ll take you there himself.”
That night, as Jon rested at Castle Black, his mind slipped once more into that familiar dream-snowfield.
Amid the flying wind and snow, a bell-clear cry of delight rang out, and Daenerys came running, throwing her arms tightly around him.
“Jon, it’s been so long. I missed you so much.” She said it softly, her face against his shoulder.
“Me too.”
Jon let her go, and looking into her clear, amethyst-bright eyes, said plainly: “Dany, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“I’m not Stark’s bastard son.”
Daenerys blinked, startled: “What do you mean?”
“My true name is Jaehaerys Targaryen. I’m Rhaegar’s son.”
Jon looked at her, and spoke the true identity hidden for so many years, plainly and without hesitation,
“After Robert Baratheon’s rebellion, Ned claimed I was his bastard, to keep me safe.”
Daenerys stared at him, disbelief filling her eyes: “You’re… Rhaegar’s son?”
Jon nodded solemnly.
Once she had her confirmation, the girl’s lips trembled faintly: “Then… does that mean I have one more family member now?”
“You were never alone.” Jon held her close again.
Roooar—
A dragon’s cry rolled up from deep underground, and the rock beneath their feet trembled with it.
Deep within the lava-lit cavern, two violet-gold dragon eyes slowly lit up, and amid the mist rising from the hot springs, Frostflame’s massive form slowly came into view.
Jon let go of Dany, turning to meet the white dragon’s gaze, and murmured a quiet promise: “Wait for me. I’ll come find you soon.”