Despite himself, Jon felt a smile tug on his face. And for all that he was a man grown, was supposed to comport himself with dignity and pride, Jon let go of Margaery's hand, and when Arthur opened his arms, Jon all but fell into them. "Rhaegar was your brother in all but name, was he not?" Jon asked.
Arthur held him close, cradling him like he had when Jon was a little boy, hurt by the barbs the world liked to throw at him over and over again. "Yes," he confirmed.
"Then how are you not my uncle?" Jon asked.
***
Arthur chuckled against him, his chest vibrating against Jon's. "I suppose I cannot answer that," he said. He gave a small grin. "Besides," he added. "We are still kin. Or did your maester not teach you about Dyanna Dayne?"
Jon let out a breath he had not realised he was holding, and smiled against his uncle's shoulder. Some things had to change - were changing rapidly, as if he needed a reminder of those dragons in his chambers - but some did not. He had to believe that, if he were to keep hold of anything at all. He felt Margaery's hand settle on his back, rubbing in circles of warmth. That, too, helped him hold the pieces of himself together.
Jon was not sure how long he had sat like that, in the arms of the uncle he had chosen, regardless of the distance of their blood, with his wife's hand steady and reassuring on his back. Around him, his whole world must be realigning itself, but right then, Jon did not care to notice.
At long last, he pulled away, straightened up. He felt stronger than he had for hours. Probably longer. Later, he knew, he would ask Uncle Arthur to tell him everything he knew about Rhaegar and Lyanna, and he would drink in every word. But for right now, his head was already spinning. He was not sure there was anything else he could take in. And he had something to share as well. Slowly, he got to his feet, careful on the shoulder that he had forgotten, for a moment, was aching and jolted with pain with every movement he made. "I have something I need to show you," he said, glancing at the both of them. He was suddenly nervous. He was not at all done processing what Uncle Arthur had told him, let alone what had happened down in the Dragonmont. Had not at all begun to even consider what it might all mean, or what anyone might have to say about the hatchlings. Still, he could trust them. If there were two people in his life he could trust, it had to be these two.
Margaery reached out and gripped his free hand, lacing their fingers back together, as though she was unwilling to put any distance whatsoever between them right now. Jon was more grateful than he could say. From his other side, Uncle Arthur gave a sharp nod, though he looked nearly as shaken as Jon felt. Still, Jon steeled himself from it and led the way out of the sick chamber. The walk through the long, dark hallways seemed to take forever even as Jon half felt it went by in the blink of an eye.
***
His breath caught sharply in his throat as he let Uncle Arthur reach out and open the door ahead of them. Before Jon could follow, Margaery tugged on his hand, holding him back. He turned to face her more fully, and she reached up with the hand not already gripping his, cupped his cheek so gently it made his chest ache. "Are you well?" she asked softly.
Jon sucked in a deep breath, made himself nod. "Confused," he admitted. "Scared. But--" He squeezed his eyes shut, could not keep himself from asking. "Did you know?"
"No," she said, and her voice sounded firm now, for all its softness. She hesitated for a moment, stroking her thumb absently over the angle of his cheekbone. "I think Grandmother knew," she admitted then. "I knew there was something they were not telling us. But she would not tell me. She said it was something I needed to learn along with you."
Jon breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, he could not even be bothered that Lady Olenna had known. In the time he had known her, he had come to accept that she knew most everything worth knowing. He leaned in, pressed his forehead against hers. "It does not bother you?" he asked.