Chapter 10 : Bonding with a Snow - Jaehaeron Taegaryen - The Northern Dragon

To read early

Chapter 11 : 'The Ghosts of the Past'

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'

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

Enjoy reading !

Chapter X - Bonding with a Snow

Rickon Stark's routine had barely changed since his grand-nephew had settled in his home.

He woke up before dawn, made sure that his wife was still asleep, put on some clothes and left his bedroom. He never minded the cold bite of the Northern wind on his skin, he had been born during a harsh winter, the cold was his oldest friend.

He went towards the dining hall, where he'd start breaking his fast before the rest of his family was awake. Those were the only moments during the day that he could share with his only son.

Aevyr Snow.

His only child.

Rickon was two and fourty, he had ruled the North for nineteen years since his father's death, and for as long as he could remember, he only ever had one failure; he never had an heir.

Rickon felt a knife stab him in the belly and twist him with guilt, he gritted his teeth but never stopped walking.

He had been married to his wife for eight years now, and she had gotten pregnant but a few moons after their wedding. The boy who came from her belly had been stillborn, leaving Gilliane with grief and Rickon with nothing but Aevyr.

Aevyr…

Rickon still remembered his mother, she haunted him, mocked him, whispered honeyed words to him, insulted him when he failed to properly educate the boy, their boy.

Her name had been Daella Dayne, the most beautiful woman Rickon had ever laid eyes upon, his only real love, though his wife would never know.

Rickon should have had married her, he had wanted to marry her, but their gods had not been the same, her house would have never been his, nor his, hers. And she was a Dornish, the enemy of the southerners, marrying her would have been seen as sedition from the other great houses from the south, and even among his own bannermen.

When Daella died giving birth to Aevyr, she begged him to make him a Stark.

But Rickon knew only a King could do such a thing, and since he had a brother and three nephews, his succession was in no danger. Legitimizing his bastard would have been seen as an insult to his brother and would have angered most of his banner men.

So Rickon had done nothing, and he had hated himself for this.

His wife, Gilliane Glover was the kind of woman every Northern lords wanted as his lady, but Rickon did not love her, he never had and knew he never would. Their marriage was one of duty, a duty they had both failed to perform.

Aevyr and Gilliane had never gotten along, Rickon's father in law had even tried to make a scandal about the bastard presence in Winterfell, but Rickon had punched him in the face, putting an end to his complaints.

This had not been a smart move, for his wife had been cold to him for many moons after this incident, and many lords had been shocked by his behaviour while plenty of others had laughed, claiming they wished they had done this to their own father in law.

Rickon had not found it in his heart to care about what anyone would say of his actions, nor the consequences of this punch.

Aevyr was his boy, his only boy, he was a father because of him.

And he'd be damned if anyone were to try to take this away from him.

He finally reached the dining hall, where his son was waiting for him.

Aevyr had never started eating without him, he had always been a good son, Rickon only wished that he'd start becoming a good boy too.

He hugged him tightly, ruffled his hair, and sat in front of him.

"What do you think of your cousin?" he asked as a servant was bringing them bacon and eggs.

"Am I not his uncle?" Aevyr replied with an amused tone. "I believe his mother was my cousin."

"She was, but given the fact that you're both of similar age, 'cousin' will do."

The bastard nodded, and took a loaf of bread.

"He wants to teach me how to read." He said to his father's surprise. "Not just that, but he wants me to be his right-handed man of some sort."

Rickon had not expected this.

"Why?"

"I do not know, he is crazy that Prince of ours."

The Lord of Winterfell rose an eyebrow.

"Crazy?"

"Yes, what he does sounds illogical, yet he finds his own logic. He is no half-wit, but he does not think like the rest of us."

The Warden of the North looked thoughtful for a second.

"It is past time you learned how to read and write Aevyr, I trust you will listen to your cousin's lessons."

"I will," once again Rickon was surprised, he never expected his son to agree so quickly, Aevyr had never expressed any other interests than the sword. "if only because he actually knows how to fight, as long as I get to fight him daily, I don't mind learning a thing or two from him. He surprised me once, maybe he will do it again."

The spark in his son's eye was not lost on Rickon. Aevyr had always been a strange boy himself, a wolf wearing a boy's skin, yet cunning and sly, the Lord of Winterfell had never been able to tame him, his son simply loved him enough to respect him. Their relationship was similar to a pup and an Alpha, soon the pup would grow, and Rickon hoped Jaehaeron's influence would do him some good.

Speaking of the devil, the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms entered the great hall a moment later, he looked at the table for a second, and went to sit next to Aevyr who merely frowned at him.

"Good morning, I hope I did not interrupt an important conversation."

"We were talking about you actually." The bastard said in a nonchalant tone. "My father is surprised by your interest in me."

Jon widened his eyes for a second and nodded towards his uncle.

"My apologies, uncle, I was simply impressed by Aevyr's prowess in swordsmanship and wanted to…"

"Oh for fuck's sake…" The bastard sighed out loud. "Don't talk like a bloody southerner, you ain't in the South anymore, just say what you have to say."

"Aevyr," Rickon warned.

"Don't encourage him to keep being a pompous southern bitch who vomits honeyed words, you wanted him to realize he is a Northerner, so don't chain him up."

The Lord of Winterfell rose, went around the table and cuffed his son. Aevyr never stopped smiling.

Jon rolled his eyes and shook his head. He would have never spoken to either of his fathers that way.

"I know what you mean," he said, "but where I care too much about decorum, you care too much about being rudely honest. You can express yourself without honeyed or crass words."

Now it was Aevyr's eyes who rolled.

"I prefer the way I speak."

"The way you speak is disrespectful towards your father and everyone else. I don't mind if you speak to me that way, but only in private."

The bastard's eyes shone a dangerous glint.

"I have never disrespected my father."

"Yes, you have." Jon replied without a doubt.

Aevyr frowned and looked at his father who remained stoic. A silent conversation seems to take place between them, until the son lowered his head. Jon could tell he was ashamed.

But the bastard looked at his Prince with a suspicious look.

"First, you want to teach me how to read and write, now you want to teach me how to speak, you ain't gonna turn me into a proper southerner, you know?"

"I know, and I do not want to."

"Then what do you want, Prince?"

"A friend."

A moment of silence followed Jon's declaration, Rickon was looking at the boys with amusement and interest.

"That was quite pathetic." Aevyr laughed. "Don't you have plenty of friends down south waiting for their chivalrous Prince to return?"

"I do have a few friends in King's Landing." Jon nodded, "I simply do not have any friends here, in like you."

Aevyr stoped laughing in a blink, and glared at him.

"Who's pathetic now?" Jon japed.

"I'm gonna beat your pompous ass."

"You'd still be friendless anyway."

"Enough!" Rickon boomed. "If you two children want to argue, you will do so after you're done eating, and I forbid both of you to fight unless it is during a spar and under the supervision of Ser Steffon. Now, both of you shut up, eat, and go enjoy each other's company wherever you want."

Jon and Aevyr lowered their head in apology, but Jon spoke again.

"We will study after we're done breaking our fast."

The bastard grimaced.

"No we won't."

"Yes we will," Jon replied sternly. "Do I have to repeat what I have told you yesterday?"

Aevyr grumbled something unintelligible in response. Satisfied, Jaehaeron finished his meal in silence.

He could tell that his uncle Rickon had greatly enjoyed the boys' interaction, surprisingly, so had he.

(-)(-)(-)

"Why is there a bloody 'k' and a fucking 'g' in 'knight'?!"

Sitting in the castle's library, both Targaryen and Snow had settled on a table to advance the latter's education. Aevyr was intelligent, this Jon could not deny, but he had a terrible temper.

"I don't know,it is just the way it is."

The bastard groaned and rewrote the word, he would do it fifty times just to make sure he'd remember it. He was a perfectionist, that would serve him well.

"What's next?" He asked.

Jon wrote another word on a piece of parchment. Contrary to what he had thought, Aevyr knew how to read most of the alphabet, but he knew close to nothing about orthography and was not much of a reader.

"I know that word, it is 'wolf'." He said, looking insulted.

"Good."

Jaehaeron wrote thirty words under Aevyr's dismayed look. Then, he proceeded to read them out-loud to his bastard cousin.

The bastard cursed in response, but wrote, again and again. Jon smiled.

"Well done." He congratulated.

"You're a piece of shit." Snow replied, sighing in relief.

"A piece of shit wouldn't have cared about you."

"Oh, because you care so much about me." Aevyr said in a sarcastic tone.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Jon thought with a smile.

"The better you become, the more useful you will be."

"Oh, so I'm a tool now?"

"No," Jon said, rolling his eyes. "But the more useful you become, then the greater man you will be. Imagine having to rely on others to read for you or teach you things that you could learn by yourself. Is that what you want? To depend on others? Or do you want others to depend on you?"

Aevyr looked as annoyed as he looked suspicious.

"You're awfully good at guiltriping and manipulating someone into doing what you want him to do."

Jon opened his mouth to retort, but closed it after he realized that those words had hurt him. For they were true; he had spent a decade growing up in King's Landing, surrounded by liars and schemers and lickspittles. Yes, he was good, he had naturally grown good.

He thought about the words Aevyr had had for him when they broke their fast, how he had called him 'a pompous southern bitch who vomits honeyed words' . Was it the truth? Had he truly become like this? Did he forget what it meant to be a Northerner?

Jon thought of the Free Folk, how they had called him southerner, how he had been clumsy with his manners and too sure of the way he used to see the World. He remembered that he had been reborn more than two hundred years in the past, and started wondering if things in the North had been different back then. Perhaps those he used to call his ancestors in his past lives had been closer to the Free Folk than Lord Eddard himself. Jon would have never imagined the honorable Ned Stark punching his master at arms.

Now that he thought about it, what was it that Lord Rickon had said? He had warned his own people that if anyone that would try to hurt his nephew would face his wrath. But why? Why did he feel the need to do that?

"What do the people of Winterfell think of me?" Jon asked in a blunt tone.

Aevyr rose his eyebrows and looked at him as if his Prince was stupid.

"'Thought it was kind of obvious."

"Please enlighten me."

"You're a fucking Targaryen Prince, you dolt. You're part of the family that submitted them, is taxing them, you're a foreigner yet you are our Prince, had you had a sister you'd be fucking her.

Oh! And you're father is despised here b'cause Bennard -your grandfather-, claimed everywhere he went that Daemon had raped his daughter and forced her to marry him to spare her the shame of birthing a anything else?"

Jaehaeron Targaryen looked as dumbfounded as horrified for a few moments, then, the dragon inside of him awoken, and rage clutched and shook his fists.

The concern of the Northern people, he could understand. After all, he knew northerners were not fond of foreigners and southerners, and longed for independence once again. Jon knew he needed to prove himself to them… But regarding his grandfather…

Jon was furious, so furious that Vermithor felt his rage through their bond and roared in fury from his nest.

"Fuck!" He cried out-loud and focused on calming his companion.

But it was hard, a lot harder than he'd expected for he couldn't get his grandfather out of his head. Bennard Stark had tried to humiliate him once by sharply questioning him on things that no Stark his age would have known. This, Jon could tolerate, he'd been through far worse. But for a man to publicly lie about his daughter's marriage in order to shame his grandson? Jon had no words to describe someone that was so blinded by his own proud he would tell a horrible lie of this magnitude.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Aevyr asked as he saw his cousin grab his head in pain.

"I'm trying to calm Vermithor down," Jon said without thinking. "I did not want to, but I shared my rage with him…"

The bastard looked at him with awe for a second, and spoke:

"You're a warg."

Jon's surprise evaporated his anger in a blink, he quickly looked back to see if anyone was listening to them.

"How do you know that word?" He demanded.

"I got a nanny telling me stories of the Age of Heroes." Aevyr shrugged as he kept on smiling. "But you are a warg, aren't you?"

Jon gave him a serious look.

"Do not repeat this to anyone, the High Septon would accuse me of sorcery and the most pious lords would demand I be exiled for being a heretic."

Aevyr through his head back and laughed.

"Who cares? You and your father have bloody dragons."

"I do not want a war." Jon hissed. "Especially one that I would cause, so for fuck' sake, keep your fucking mouth shut!"

Snow rose his arms in surrender and laughed.

"Finally, a bit more of this and we'll make a northerner of I guess that with your ability, you got a good start anyway."

Jon rolled his eyes, he did not appreciate his cousin's easy going tone.

"You're probably one too, you know?" He said. "You just don't have a bond with an animal companion."

Aevyr's eyes shone in satisfaction as his smile turned into a smirk.

"That is very interesting, you are actually interesting. I keep learning interesting stuff with you."

"I'm glad you acknowledge this, at the very least." Jon sighed, his temper had not cooled down and his cousin could see it on his face.

"Regarding you grandfather." Snow said. "Don't be stupid enough to confront him, he'll deny it, make it a scandal and demand that you leave Winterfell. I doubt Father will agree but the scandal will hurt your reputation badly and you'll be seen as the southern schemer you are. And… well Father will know it was me who told you this, and I'll be punished."

Jon grumbled but nodded.

"I need to blow off some steam." He said as he got up. "Perhaps you'll benefit from Ser Steffon's lessons as well."

Aevyr rolled his eyes but followed him out of the library.

"Can't be worse than Garrett, I suppose. But I'm pretty sure you'll benefit from my lessons far more than I'll ever benefit from either of you two."

"I doubt that."

"By the end of the day, you won't."

Aevyr laughed a cruel laugh.

(-)(-)(-)

Once the Sun had settled, Jon had stopped doubting his cousin.

Aevyr's skills with the sword were ridiculously amazing. Never before had Jon suffered so much in the training yard. Seven times, they spared, and only once had the Prince emerged victorious. Ser Steffon had stoped two of their duals before they went too far, but those would have probably ended up with Aevyr's victory, like the four others.

At least, Jon could tell himself that they had trained in the Godswood, where nobody had seen them. Yet, he could not help but feel embarrassed, thinking about what the people would say if they saw him being defeated by a bastard.

Aevyr was inhuman, he was simply far too good, and Jon had taken too much time learning other languages, politics and history that he had neglected part of his swordsmanship training, counting too much on his previous life experience. Aevyr had waved a sword since he'd been walking and that was the difference between them, well, this and his unnatural talent.

Ser Steffon himself had been astonished by the bastard's performance, confiding with his prince when they were alone, that he had never seen anything like this. And Jon believed him, Aevyr would become one of the greatest swordsman in history with the way he trained.

Jon liked him as much as the boy dismayed him. His speech reminded him of the Free Folk, his bluntness and honesty were refreshing after a decade in court. Jon would have loved to grow up with him in his previous life, he would have driven Lady Catelyn mad.

He simply found him fascinating, not just because of his skills and his temper, but because he had never read of him in any history books he had read in his past life. How could this be? Someone like Aevyr Snow would have ended up being Jon Snow's greatest hero, even greater than the Dragonknight or the Young Dragon. So how come he's never read or heard anything about him?

He found the answer to this question when he went to bed that night, with his body still aching from the many bruises his bastard cousin had given him; Aevyr had died too young to do anything of note for a maester to write his name in a history book.

Fear seized him as he clutched his fists. Except for his Uncle Rickon and Aevyr, he found nothing in this family that had reminded him of home. He'd be damned if he lost the bastard of Winterfell. Another Snow would not die on his watch.