Chapter Text
The news of his banishment to the cold wastes of the North came just after breakfast, when his mother entered the salon with a smile on her face and a scroll clasped in her delicate fingers. Jon stood at her entrance, though Rhaenys snorted at his antics. The alpha returned to her book, crossing her legs under her lavender dress as she lounged on the divan.
Lyanna came over to Jon and cupped his face in her hands, looking him over critically for a long moment. Jon licked his lips nervously, scanning her face. His mother was still the most beautiful woman Jon had ever seen; he was grateful over and over again that he had her long face, her straight nose, and clear grey eyes.
He was his mother's copy. There was very little of his father in his face, though there were times he wished he had inherited the shining silver hair of his kingly father. Though his mother had a smile, the tension in her frame and eyes was plain.
“Mama… what’s wrong?”
Lyanna held out the scroll in answer, and Jon took it. His heart started to hammer when he examined the paper. The snarling wolf seal of House Stark had already been broken, and he unfurled the scroll with sweating hands, eyes darting over the neat, sloping script and the message it carried. Once he reached the end of the scroll his heart had already fallen down to his slippered toes. He jerked backward from his mother, eyes wide and staring at her in disbelief.
“What is this? Is this… is this what you were discussing with father? I don't want to leave King's Landing, Mama,”
Lyanna swallowed, her eyes creasing in concern. She took a step toward Jon, but he held up a hand to forestall her, as he stalked to the windows on the far side of the room.
“Father agreed to this? He wouldn't. He said… He said I could have a choice! He did! When he married you!”
He couldn’t help the way his voice rose to almost a shriek, ignoring how Rhaenys had abandoned her book by now and was watching the back and forth between Jon and Lyanna like a tourney fight.
“He thinks it might be good for you, my love. Your uncle will take good care of you, and my nephew, his eldest son, Robb— he’s your age, and an alpha. A lovely boy, by all accounts, and so you’ll have plenty of company… And nothing is decided yet. It's just a wardship. No… formal engagement has been made,”
Jon stared at her, face heated and fists clenched. His breaths had already started to come short and fast, not helped by the tightness of his corset.
“You can’t make me… You can’t use me to fix father’s mistakes!”
Before his mother could respond, Jon ran past her and burst out of the salon, eyes moving wildly around the gloomy hall of the western wing, mind working.
His mare was in the stables. Aegon was surely in the training yards, so there was no chance his brother wouldn’t spot him. But if he moved fast enough…
It was a wild thought, without reason. But Jon didn't want to be reasonable right now. He didn't want to be a princess with duties. He wanted to simply ride his horse until the horizon blurred before his eyes, forgetting everything.
He ignored the calls of his name receding behind him as he pounded down the halls, slippers nearly falling off as he took the stairs two at a time, silks flying wildly around his ankles and hair falling around his face. The castle was alive with servants bustling through the halls, and though he could feel startled eyes and whispers following him, no one stopped him until he reached the gravel grounds of the training yards.
As he expected, Aegon was sparring with two other squires in the training yards, and Jon slowed as he skirted the edges of the yard, head down and panting heavily. He knew his scent had become thick and cloying, that once it carried across the yard to his alpha brother, Aegon would notice immediately and hunt him down to soothe his distress.
The ringing of steel on steel continued as Jon hurried across the yard, the stables on the far end, his escape in sight. He wasn't in his riding leathers— hells, he wasn’t even in boots. But even just being in the stables would soothe him a little.
His mare, Quicksilver, was resting in her paddock when Jon slid to a stop in front of her, and she lifted her head and nickered softly at him, reaching out to snuffle at his neck. Her wet nose left him shivering and pushing her away, though he chuckled and stroked down her snout, his breaths finally evening out as he stood before her.
His heart had started to calm as well. Shame was already beginning to creep in, leaving him red-faced and ducking his head as he slipped into Quicksilver’s paddock, leaning against her heavy, solid body and breathing deeply, relishing in the strong smell of hay and earth. Quicksilver always reminded him of his father with her silver coat, and her dependability. She was always there for him, fiercely protective of him, clever and sweeter than any other. She was an anchor for him whenever he was feeling adrift, unsure of his place when his family already had an heir and a spare— what did they need with an omega son? Especially one who didn't even look like he belonged in the family?
But now his father was sending him away.
“Are you alright? You reek.”
Jon turned slightly at Aegon’s voice, though he kept his face buried in Quicksilver’s mane, eyes squeezed shut.
“Leave me alone, Egg. I don’t wish to be disturbed.”
The door to Quicksilver’s paddock swung open with a squeak and Aegon sidled in, Jon shuddering when his brother’s large hand came and brushed through his dark curls soothingly.
“Too bad. You know me— I live to make your life difficult and disturb you.”
Jon smiled a little, and dared to open one eye to look at his brother. Aegon had his silver hair tied back in a thick braid that hung down his back in a streaming river, wearing a thick black doublet with a light chest plate over it, the metal stamped with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Aegon sighed, tugging on an errant curl of Jon's gently, and that finally prompted Jon to withdraw from Quicksilver, turning to face his brother squarely.
“I like a difficult life.”
Aegon shook his head in amusement, smile growing. Jon loved that smile. It often heralded some mischief his brother had gotten into, causing their father and mother no endless amount of grief. But no one ever grudged him it. He never acted maliciously, despite his penchant for trouble— and yet he still managed to do his duty, earn his knighthood, and represent the crown well. Jon tried not to be jealous of his older brother, but sometimes it felt he was nothing but the dark shadow to his brother's otherworldly radiance.
“Trust me, everyone in the seven kingdoms knows that. But what's the particular hardship ailing you now? Favorite dress got mud on it? Or did father not give you a kiss on the cheek after breakfast?”
Jon made a face, and though he knew Aegon was just teasing him, it didn't stop the slight note of truth— Jon knew he was a source of worry for his mothers and father, and it hurt to know that Rhaenys and Aegon had never faced the same scrutiny he had, would never be a source for gossip in the realms like his existence did.
“Mama told me that… that I'm meant to go North. I think they intend for me to marry my cousin, if… if we prove a good match. Mama's nephew, you know. Robb Stark.”
Aegon stilled, and the grin slipped off his face immediately.
“You jest.”
Jon shook his head, and the growl that rattled out of Aegon was frightening, his pale lavender eyes flashing dangerously.
“I'll talk to father. He can't just send you away. You belong here. With us.”
Wetting his lips, Jon opened and closed his mouth, words failing him. He wasn't sure there was any fighting this turn of events, but he wasn't opposed to letting Aegon try.
He let himself be swept up into Aegon's embrace, his brother's arm hanging comfortably over his shoulders as the alpha marched them back across the training yard.
“He's probably in the Small Council chambers. You don't have to come, if you don't want.”
Jon made a non-committal noise, leaning his head to rest on Aegon's padded shoulder as they moved, the clank of Dark Sister's valyrian steel in Aegon's belt soothing.
It was the sound he associated most with his brother— steel at his side, heralding his well-armed coming.
And it was a sound that clearly sent their father on edge when Aegon muscled past Ser Barristan Selmy and threw open the council doors, though Jon smiled and relaxed a little when Ser Barristan stroked his cheek affectionately as he passed.
Light streamed into the Small Council chambers, haloing behind King Rhaegar Targaryen, turning his hair into silver and his eyes into deep pools of lilac. His face was shadowed, but when his eyes flicked up at the door opening, a tiny smile quirked his lips. Lord Jon Connington, the Hand, sat to his right, reclining in his seat.
Their father sat in pride of place at the council table, his first wife, Elia Martell, sitting to his left, one hand clasped with their father's on the table, the other drumming on the wooden surface with her long nails. Everyone at the table turned at their arrival, and Elia's golden face split into an easy smile. She was a vision in a peach colored dress that fell in sheafs of samite around her, her golden arms accented with flouncy sleeves and bracelets with bells tinkling around her wrists.
Jon’s nose turned up as they rounded the table at Varys’s perfume, though he schooled his expression— the eunuch made the hair stand up on the back of his neck whenever the man’s eyes slid over him, but he didn’t want to be rude. The man was still a servant of the realm, after all. And Jon's stomach turned at the thought of being on the Spider’s bad side. Jon Connington stood at their approach, smiling and clapping Aegon on the shoulder, the older alpha’s lined face softened with the expression— Lord Connington had always been affectionate with Jon and his siblings, especially considering the man had no children of his own. Connington turned to Jon and ruffled his hair, chuckling when Jon squeaked and tried to escape from the affection, grumbling when the touch mussed up his intricate braids.
“I believe my children need me, Sers. If you will excuse us— we will continue our business on the morrow.” His lord father's voice rang out decisively, and the table rumbled as the men stood and began to shuffle away, Lord Connington lingering for a moment to share a loaded look with the king.
Aegon stared their father down as Rhaegar shifted in his seat, his indigo eyes unreadable until they flickered to Jon, and Jon was swept up in the soothing, comforting smell of the alpha, myrrh and chypre buoying him in the ocean of his father’s love. That scent was familiar to him, recalling quiet nights in the keep when his father used to tuck him into bed after telling him stories of legendary Targaryen dragon riders, his long silver hair falling like curtains around his face as Jon's clumsy, childish fingers played with the strands and imagined roaring dragons and enormous, flapping wings.
The scent didn't do much to soothe him now. His face felt hot at the eyes on him, aware of how disheveled he looked. He hated wearing his expressions on his face, though he hadn't quite mastered the cool, unaffected look his father wore like a mask.
Elia stood and greeted Aegon with a hug, rubbing her cheek on Aegon’s silver head to scent mark him. Aegon grumbled at this treatment, even as his chest puffed a little and his scent turned into something thick with satisfaction at the affection. Elia turned away and held her arms out for Jon. He stepped into his mother’s arms with a sigh, tension bleeding out of him as Elia folded him into her embrace, luxuriating in her honey-and-lemon scent. It was a scent that he would forever associate with safety and comfort, so well-known to him that his subconscious reveled in it, the same way he would always know the scents of his other mother and father. As Elia held him close, she pivoted to face Rhaegar, and Jon looked at his father, nerves peaking again at Rhaegar’s pursed lips, the way he looked out over his steepled fingers with assessing eyes.
What is he thinking? Does he truly want to send me away? Perhaps he's tired of fighting for me. Perhaps it's easier… to settle the turmoil with me in the North, out of sight.
And if his father was tired of fighting the highborn lords and the men of the Faith who said it was wrong to take a second wife, that Jon was a bastard, that he had no place amongst the children of Rhaegar and Elia? What then?
“Father… Mama told me about the plans to send me North.”
Rhaegar said nothing for a moment, then held out a hand to gesture Jon closer. Elia released Jon hesitantly, running her long, slender fingers down his braids as Jon slid forward, steps unsure and hesitant until he stood before his father.
He reached out to slip his smaller hand in his father’s roughened one, and King Rhaegar smiled slightly at the motion as he pulled Jon toward him gently, until he was looming over his seated father, staring down at the lines that had started to crinkle around his eyes. The sight caused a pang in his heart, and he reached out to brush a tender, small finger along the delicate skin disbelievingly.
His parents were aging before his eyes. And one day, they’d leave him. Everyone will leave me. Rhaenys and Aegon, Mama, Mother and Father, Ser Barristan, everyone.
Jon didn’t want to think about the cold halls of King’s Landing and how gloomy they would be without his brother’s cheerful, easy-going manners, Rhaenys’s sharp wit and hard-earned affection… though if he was to be sent North, he’d be losing them anyway. Not to a veil of tears, of course, but Winterfell was so far away— Rhaenys and Aegon had duties of their own. Who would visit him, when he was among the cold, snow-hardened Starks?
“My treasure.” Rhaegar’s hand came up to cup Jon’s cheek, and he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, feeling guilty from how much he relished his father’s love, even though he knew that love for him was depthless. He was so greedy for it, he couldn’t stop himself.
“Father…” He opened his eyes and stared beseechingly at the alpha, chest suddenly tight with desperate emotion.
“Don’t… don’t send me away. My place is here. With you. With Mama.”
Rhaegar pursed his lips and brought his other hand up to clasp Jon’s hand with his own. With a reassuring squeeze, his father spoke after a tense moment, voice low, yet unwavering.
“My sweetling. This will be good for you. Loathe as I am to part with you— you’ll get to see the realm. Visit all the places your Mama has told you about. Meet your family. And maybe… build a family of your own, when the time comes. This is part of our duty, as guardians of the realm. Do you understand?”
He pulled away from his father, lip jutting out petulantly. He knew he was being foolish, knew it was unbecoming behavior, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want to have to behave like the future of the realm for once, for once he wanted to make his own choices, to live as just Jon, brother to Rhaenys and Aegon, son to Rhaegar and Lyanna, not royalty, nothing but what he chose to be.
“I have a family. Here.” The words hung in the air, and Jon didn't miss the way his father stiffened at that, the way his fingers flexed in the air, now bereft of Jon's touch.
Another long moment, and Jon wished he could tell what his father was thinking. Aegon interceded at last, moving around his mother to lay a hand on Jon's shoulder, jaw set and nearly bristling where he stood.
“Father, there must be some other way. Jon is still young— he's the only omega of the family. There are other houses— other alphas that he could entertain, where he would be closer. Houses that we also need to bring into the fold. The North… let them sulk. The North is too cold for a dragon.”
Rhaegar's lips twitched, and his voice was a little amused as he looked up at his sons.
“Half a dragon. And half wolf. Your brother won't freeze up there, Aegon. And the Starks are an old house. Older than the Targaryens, even. And Eddard is a good man. I know he will look after Jon well. Besides— the North is the largest of the seven kingdoms. It is important to retain their support. Without it, we may very well lose all.”
His father moved to stand, and Aegon and Jon fell back as one to make room for him.
“As for mates and marriages— it is true, Lord Stark has a young son. An alpha boy. And there is hope that perhaps he and Jon will take to each other. But if there is no attraction, I have no qualms with my sweetling coming home and finding a match for him among the southron houses.”
With that he moved closer and brushed a hand down Jon's braids, a smile finally chasing the melancholy from his face.
“Though who could help loving you, my treasure? That alpha boy will be tripping over himself, I am certain. Much like I was when I met your mother.”
Jon ducked his head, flushing furiously, and Aegon made a disgusted, choking sound.
“Now, I do believe you boys have better places to be.”
Jon knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he knew there was little use fighting any further. His father would not change his mind. So he wound his arm through Aegon's and they marched out of the room, leaving Elia and Rhaegar to bend their heads close and whisper together, Elia's high, clear laugh echoing behind them even as the doors to the small council swung shut.
Rhaenys was waiting for them when they emerged, leaning cooly against a wall, her whip at her waist and her fingers laced behind her head. She canted her head sideways to take them in as they approached, and one side of her mouth lifted in an attempt at a smile.
“No luck?”
Aegon shook his head. “Rotten luck.”
Rhaenys pushed off from the wall and crossed her arms over her chest, her silks rustling. She came to take Jon’s other arm and the siblings moved as a trio down the halls, servants scurrying out of the way as Rhaenys hummed, her jasmine and lily scent filling the air like a song, and Jon breathed it in with a sigh. It was another of his favorite scents, soft for an alpha, but with the steel hints of occasional woodsmoke when she was agitated.
“What do we do now, then?”
Jon’s voice did not waver, and for that he was glad. Aegon clutched his arm tightly and slowed their progress so he could turn to face Jon.
“You have to go North, that much is clear. But you don’t have to marry any alpha with an icicle for a cock. You humor Father for a few moons, and then you come home.”
Rhaenys's smarmy grin earned her a nasty look from Aegon when she piped up.
“Perhaps he wants an alpha with an icicle for a cock.”
And thank the Gods for Rhaenys, because her face was so ridiculous, the idea so absurd, that he burst into laughter after a moment, and all his anxiety melted away.
Quicksilver’s feet were sure and swift as Jon shifted in his saddle, head turning to take one last look at the Red Keep as it disappeared on the horizon, before Visenya’s hill blocked it from view. His heart did an odd flop as Quicksilver kept cantering forward, and the red walls of the keep vanished behind the trees. Home is behind me now. Nothing left but to keep going. Forward. And North. Far, far North…