295 AC, The North.
Across the vast snowfields, a party of riders made its way slowly northward.
A bitter wind blew straight into their faces, stinging their cheeks with cold.
Jon sat astride his horse, gripping the reins.
By now, he had already guessed the true purpose of this journey.
His life had changed a great deal over the past few years.
The most obvious change was Lady Catelyn’s attitude toward him.
Ever since he turned seven, she had gradually stopped treating him with the same loathing and indifference as before.
Sometimes, she even smiled at him.
His father had also begun secretly giving him ancient texts about Valyria and dragons to read.
Those parchments contained records of the Bloodline of the True Dragons, the Dragon’s Dream, and the many taboos handed down from Valyria.
Jon had once pressed him about where such precious books had come from.
At the time, Eddard had merely told him that an old man had sent them.
Now their party was heading straight for The Wall.
His father certainly had not brought him here, as the rumors claimed, to cast a “bastard” off to the Night’s Watch.
Perhaps his father believed it was finally time to tell him everything.
Jon suddenly pulled hard on the reins.
The warhorse beneath him whinnied and came to an abrupt halt.
The sudden stop sent a ripple of confusion through the riders behind him.
Several knights reined in their horses and looked toward him in puzzlement.
Eddard, riding at the head of the column, noticed the commotion as well.
He quickly turned his horse and rode back to Jon’s side.
“Jon, what is it?”
Jon did not answer at once.
He pressed a hand against his chest.
There, he could feel the faintest stirring, as though something were calling to him.
The closer they came to The Wall, the stronger that summons from deep within him became.
Jon was certain where it came from.
Frostflame.
He glanced around before giving Eddard a meaningful look.
“Father, let’s leave the others for a moment.”
Eddard studied him briefly but asked no questions.
He guided his horse away from the column and followed Jon.
Only after they had put some distance between themselves and the others did Jon lower his voice.
“Father, I can feel Frostflame.”
Eddard’s expression shifted slightly.
He knew, of course, where the dragon was hidden.
But it was not yet time for them to meet.
After a moment of silence, he said, “We’ll go to Castle Black first.”
“Once matters there are settled, Benjen will take you to see her.”
…
At dusk, Castle Black stood silent beneath The Wall, its weathered stone walls shrouded in wind and snow.
By the time the party reached The Wall, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Night’s Watch was already waiting for them at the gate with several men.
“Lord Stark, please follow me.
The Maester is waiting for you,” Mormont said quietly.
He led them through a dim corridor to the Maester’s quarters.
Then he and Eddard’s guards remained outside, standing watch in the passage.
Maester Aemon, nearly a hundred years old, sat beside a brazier.
Hearing their footsteps, he slowly turned his head.
His sightless eyes stared ahead, his gaunt, withered features made even more pronounced by the glow of the hearth.
“Lord Stark, you have finally brought him.”
There was a gentle note beneath Maester Aemon’s hoarse voice.
Jon’s steps faltered slightly.
This was the first time he had ever met Maester Aemon.
The old man’s sightless eyes faced them, and his very first words made Jon’s heart tighten for reasons he could not explain.
“Yes, Maester Aemon.”
After saying this, Eddard sat down with Jon beside the brazier and placed his right hand on Jon’s shoulder.
“Jon, let me introduce you.”
“This is Maester Aemon Targaryen, the Maester of Castle Black.”
Eddard then came straight to the purpose of their visit.
“There are some things I had hoped you would be older before you had to face them, but circumstances have changed.”
Jon quietly clenched his fists and met his father’s gaze.
Eddard drew a deep breath.
His voice was strained as he finally revealed the truth he had concealed for twelve years.
“You are not my bastard.”
Jon had already suspected as much, yet hearing the words spoken aloud still left him with a tangled mix of emotions.
“Your mother was my sister, Lyanna Stark.”
Eddard slowly closed his eyes.
Every word seemed difficult for him to speak.
“And your father was Rhaegar Targaryen.”
A log in the brazier cracked, sending a bright spark into the air.
Jon stared motionlessly into the dancing red flames.
Rhaegar Targaryen.
Once the most dazzling heir to the throne in all the Seven Kingdoms, and the man whose actions had helped bring disaster upon House Stark.
And now, that man was his father.
“You were born at the Tower of Joy in Dorne.”
Eddard opened his eyes again, sorrow and guilt in his gaze.
“Before Lyanna drew her final breath, she gave you a name…”
Eddard fell silent for a moment before finally speaking the name that had been hidden for twelve years.
“Jaehaerys Targaryen.”
Jon raised his head, repeating the syllables silently to himself.
The name sounded strange, noble, and unbearably heavy, carrying with it the lingering warmth of dragons and fire from an age long gone.
Eddard told him everything, from the promise he had made at Lyanna’s deathbed to all he had done over the past twelve years to keep Jon safe.
“Robert will not allow you to live.
As long as the Iron Throne belongs to the Baratheons, he will never spare Rhaegar’s Bloodline.”
Maester Aemon closed his eyes.
A nearly inaudible sigh escaped him beside the brazier.
The room fell utterly silent.
Only the occasional crackle of burning wood broke the stillness.
Jon repeated his true name silently in his heart.
Jaehaerys Targaryen.
Eddard looked at his foster son and continued.
“Robert will not allow you to grow to manhood.
At least, not unless he changes his mind.”
“So you must remain Jon Snow.”
Jon nodded faintly, still somewhat dazed.
“I understand, Father.”
His voice held nothing but respect and understanding.
“You’ve carried far too much all these years just to protect me.”
Eddard said nothing.
He merely reached out and gave Jon’s shoulder a firm pat.
“You’ve grown up.”
Jon looked toward the towering wall of ice beyond the window and asked about what had been weighing most heavily on his mind.
“Father, how is Frostflame?”
“Benjen has been looking after her at Gorne’s Way all these years,” Eddard said.
“There are hot springs and geothermal fissures there.
Even the bitterest winter cannot reach what lies below.”
“I want to see her.”
Jon could hardly wait to see his dragon.
“In a few days, once your Uncle Benjen returns, he’ll take you there himself.”
…
That night, as Jon slept in Castle Black, his consciousness once again entered the familiar snowy dreamscape.
Amid the swirling wind and snow, a clear, bell-like cry of delight rang out.
Daenerys came running toward him and threw her arms tightly around him.
“Jon, it’s been so long.
I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“I’ve missed you too.”
Jon released her and looked into her clear, amethyst eyes.
“Dany, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“I’m not a Stark bastard.”
Daenerys stared at him in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“My true name is Jaehaerys Targaryen.
I’m Rhaegar’s son.”
Jon looked directly at her as he revealed the identity that had been hidden for so many years.
“After Robert Baratheon’s rebellion, Eddard claimed I was his bastard to protect me.”
Daenerys stared at him, disbelief filling her eyes.
“You’re…
Rhaegar’s son?”
Jon nodded solemnly.
Once she had his confirmation, the girl’s lips trembled slightly.
“Then…
does that mean I have another member of my family?”
“You were never alone.”
Jon pulled her into his arms again.
A dragon’s roar came from deep beneath the earth, and the rock under their feet trembled.
Deep within the lava cavern, two purple-gold dragon eyes slowly opened.
Through the mist rising from the hot springs, Frostflame’s enormous form gradually emerged.
Jon released Dany and met the white dragon’s gaze.
“Wait for me.
I’ll come to you very soon.”