Rolly laughed and clapped Jon Snow on the shoulder. "Jon, your turn."
Jon took a long pull of wine. "I'm a mistake of a birth," he said at last. "There's not much to tell."
"Bah, fewer mistakes than you think," Rolly said lightly. "Cheer up, friend."
The words made Jon think of a chubby fellow with a simple look and a quick mind—perhaps his first true friend.
He remembered the team melee at King's Landing, fighting shoulder to shoulder with Mondon Waters… He had meant to crack a joke at the end and bow out gracefully, but he'd nicked his leg. A small regret.
Drawing back from his thoughts, he smiled. "You're right. I have friends."
"The most important is that red-haired girl," Young Griff teased.
Jon opened his mouth, but the boy cut him off, playing impatience. "I know, I know—Rhaeniel."
Rolly chuckled. "Heh-heh-heh."
Jon shook his head, smiling, eyes growing hazier. "When I go back, I'll marry her. I hope you'll both come."
Young Griff and Rolly traded a glance as if by chance.
Rubbing his hands, Rolly said, "Thanks for the invite. Don't worry—when it's time to rattle the bridal door, I'll give it my all!"
Jon gave him a friendly punch. "That's what I fear—you'll scare my bride away."
Young Griff scratched his cheek with one finger. "I'll hold the door."
Jon laughed. "Reliable as ever."
The laughter faded. "No kin to invite?" Rolly asked.
Bitterness flashed across Jon's face. "Kin…"
He gulped more wine. "A bastard has no kin," he finished.
Rolly started to speak, but Young Griff's glance stopped him.
Jon mumbled a while longer and, without noticing, slipped into sleep.
Outside, in the pavilion.
Rolly scrubbed his face with both hands. "Young Griff, Jon's mouth is tight. I almost admire him."
Young Griff rubbed his temples. "Varys has an eye like a hawk. He's a good Stark."
Rolly scratched his head. "Hard to pry his lineage from him. Stubborn lad."
Young Griff's smile was low. "Which is why I trust him."
Rolly nodded, half-understanding. "What now? I'm out of ideas."
"We're nearly there…"
At Rolly's puzzled look, Young Griff went on, "We heard it from Jon's own mouth."
"You mean—?"
"If not for wine, how would we ever learn such a staggering truth?" Young Griff said, eyes on the distance.
After a silence, Rolly bobbed his head. "Right. Who remembers everything they say drunk?"
He grinned, then winced. "So simple… I'm not made for thinking, am I?"
"Everyone has a strength," Young Griff said kindly. "I agree with Jon—you're a rare sort of brave."
Rolly chuckled, then hesitated. "I'm curious…"
Young Griff's features were striking in the soft moonlight. "Curious why we'd place Jon in the hands of Viserys and Daenerys?"
Rolly, unusually grave, nodded. "His swordwork is fine, and his character better. He could be your right hand."
"You truly want to know?" Young Griff asked.
Rolly weighed it, then shook his head. "Forget it. Even if you told me, I might not follow."
"I can tell you. In truth, I must tell you soon enough."
Rolly blinked.
"Because your friendship with Jon is part of the plan," Young Griff said gently. "Viserys or Daenerys—neither is fit to command armies. Jon is."
"We'll aid Viserys in the shadows—feed his strength, keep all eyes on him. At the right moment…"
He paused, then continued, "Father taught me: even the best design is only a design. Nothing guarantees smooth water. Accidents come."
He breathed out wine. "Jon Snow is our hedge. Should Viserys stray from the path, Jon will bring his soldiers to heel for us."
"And if they won't give him command?" Rolly asked.
"Targaryen blood, and real talent in war—who else would they choose?" Young Griff replied.
Rolly murmured, "Jon, with Targaryen blood, pledges to them… leads their host…"
Then he started. "Then Rhaeniel is—"
Young Griff's eyes cooled. "So long as Jon's loyalty holds, he and Rhaeniel will love all their days."
Cold sweat gathered down Rolly's back. He swallowed. "Your Highness… do I know too much?"
Young Griff smiled, patting his arm. "I tell you because I trust your loyalty—and because I want you at Jon's side. He'll need a hand."
Rolly wiped his brow openly. "I understand. You have my word."
Young Griff nodded, smiling.
After a beat, Rolly said, "They say the Beggar King is a handful…"
Leaning on the pillar, Young Griff stared up at the stars, violet eyes agleam. "Good. The more Viserys plays to whim, the easier it is for you and Jon to hold the reins."
Rolly's old cheer returned. He rubbed his hands. "Then tomorrow I'll seek audience with the future queen?"
"One of the candidates," Young Griff corrected mildly.
Morning.
Bang, bang, bang. The pounding dragged Jon from sleep. His hand closed around his sword-hilt.
He scanned the room as he moved toward the door, alert.
Bang, bang, bang.
"Who is it?" His grip tightened again.
A young voice from the other side: "In the name of Princess Daenerys—open!"
Princess Daenerys? Jon's pupils narrowed. Why would she seek me?
He glanced around again. Where were Young Griff and Rolly?
After a moment's thought, he sheathed his blade and opened the door. A pale, lanky youth stood outside with several soldiers.
"I'm Angai," the youth said, looking Jon up and down. "You are Jon Snow?"
Jon studied him and nodded.
"Ser," Angai said, stepping aside, "by order of Princess Daenerys, you are summoned to the Governor's Palace."
He added, "Your friend Rolly awaits you there."
City-state of Viserys — Governor's Palace.
Following Angai into the hall, Jon looked up. Upon the high seat sat Daenerys Targaryen—Princess of Dragonstone—straight-backed, hands resting lightly upon her knees, all poise and grace.
In the morning light, her silver hair shone faintly; her violet eyes sparkled like amethysts.
She's beautiful… The boy from the North forgot to bow.
Daenerys's gaze rested on him. Handsome enough… lean but strong… sun-browned skin… brown hair… grey eyes so dark they were almost black.
No outward sign of Targaryen blood. Her eyes shifted to Rolly—caught intruding—and a small frown formed. Are they trying to rouse my dragon's wrath?
The handmaid beside her intoned, "Before you stands the Princess of Dragonstone, Breaker of Chains, Savior and Protector of the City of Viserys—Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."
The titles snapped Jon back. He bowed, hand to breast. "Good morrow, Princess of Dragonstone. I am… Jon Snow."
Daenerys's voice held command. "Stranger—tell me your parents' names."
Jon's head jerked up. His mouth worked. Does she already know?
Rolly's rough voice broke the silence. "Jon—I told her."
Told her what? Jon turned—and saw Rolly kneeling, hands bound behind him.
"What happened?" Jon cried.
"I wasn't sober," Rolly said, lips twitching. "I climbed a wall and… ran into Her Highness."
Osanna, standing guard, snapped, "Trespass in the Governor's Palace and offend the Princess—you'll lose your head!"
Jon pressed fingers to his temple, then faced Daenerys. "Forgive him, Princess. He wasn't sober. I swear he meant no harm."
Daenerys's clear voice rang: "This intruder claims you are of my blood—of House Targaryen."
Her tone cooled. "I can overlook a drunkard's rashness. But do you grasp the cost of such a lie?"
Jon stared at Rolly, stunned.
Cheeks flushing, Rolly lifted his chin toward Osanna. "I'm sorry, Jon. They said they'd kill me—I panicked…"
His head fell in shame.
"How did you learn my parentage?" Jon demanded, grim.
"Huh?" Rolly blinked. "You told me. Last night—over wine. Don't you remember?"
A dull pain throbbed in Jon's head. He recalled the three of them swapping stories… vaguely.
How could I have said it? He didn't doubt Rolly. The smith's son was too blunt to lie—and besides, no one could know this secret unless Jon himself spoke it.
Daenerys raised her hand. Jon's pupils shrank. He knew what that gesture meant. When it fell, they would drag his friend to the block.
"Your Highness!" Jon blurted. "I will speak plainly."
She lowered her hand, chin dipping.
Jon drew a deep breath. "My true father is Rhaegar Targaryen. My mother was Lyanna Stark."
Daenerys rose, studying him. "The False Spring?"
Jon's mouth twisted. "I am a mistaken birth."
"That was never yours to choose," she said.
Her tone remained cool, but the words burned warm in Jon's chest. A heat spread through the cold places of his heart, into his blood, to every limb.
"How do you prove it?" she asked.
Meeting that expectant gaze, Jon knew one thing: he could not bear to see disappointment in those beautiful eyes.
"Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell can attest it," he said solemnly.
Then he told, one by one, the details he had learned from Lord Eddard about his birth.
At first, Daenerys had doubted. Now she did not—not even needing the Usurper's own Hand to confirm it. Perhaps, she thought, it was the resonance of dragon's blood.
She stepped down and stood before him, gaze soft.
Moisture brightened her eyes as she lifted a hand to his cheek. "Jon," she whispered, "I am your aunt."
Jon's eyes reddened. He shut them against the sting. "Forgive me," he murmured. "I… I am only a bastard."
.
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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