Game Of Thrones: The Dragon Targaryen

Anger had been Aelor Targaryen's constant companion since Robert's Rebellion, but it hadn't been quite this potent in a very long while.

Lyanna Stark had hated him for separating her from Jaehaerys—had told him so the day he'd escorted her and the other Starks from the capital—but she had been wise enough to stay north of the Neck for all these years. Robb Stark had travelled to the capital many times, befriending his cousin during his time in King's Landing, but his aunt had never accompanied him.

Jaehaerys had asked about her of course, and once he had turned ten the then-Prince Regent had only told him fact. The realities had been less than flattering, but Aelor had seen no point in feeding the boy flowery half-truths. Jaehaerys hadn't taken it well, for several years skulking around and trying to blame himself for the Rebellion that his parents had helped to start, with none of his family able to pull the boy from his depression. Only a combined and very long-term effort of Aegon, Ren and Robb had succeeded in calming him down and assuaging the massive guilt he had placed on his own shoulders.

Though it still ate at Jaehaerys, all could see. The heir to the Iron Throne was a permanently somber youth, alternating between being fine and blaming himself for a war that had claimed thousands.

He'd told Aelor when he was two and ten that he wanted to go North and meet his mother, and the Dragon of Duskendale had made it clear he wouldn't stand in his way. Aelor cared little for Lyanna Stark and had told Jaehaerys as much, but he knew it wasn't fair to his nephew to stop him, so he hadn't. Rumor had, as well as a mixture of understandable apprehension. The court's opinion of Lyanna Stark was brutal, even after all of these years.

Which made it that much more confusing that she had finally come south after all this time.

"Is something wrong, Aelor?" The Lord of Duskendale felt the familiar touch of his wife's hand on the inside of his arm, bringing him back to reality from the daze of thought he'd been in. Aelor's eyes refocused to her concerned face, dark eyes staring into violet.

Aelor smiled at her as reassuringly as he could manage, though he already knew she'd see right through it. From day one that night at the Golden Tooth Alysanne Lefford had been able to break into his head as easily as he'd broken the levy lines during the Slaughter of the Straits, and sixteen years together hadn't changed that fact at all. "Of course." Her eyes tightened into a small glare, proving that she was the last person in Westeros he'd be able to lie to.

Aelor sighed in defeat after only a moment under the stare, leaning across the small space between them while maintaining his hold on Saera, the two year old alternately fascinated by the dancers and the faces Alaric Langward shot at her. "Lyanna Stark is here."

Alysanne kept her face carefully blank, but as she sat back in her chair, hand on her swollen stomach, Aelor saw her eyes seek out Jaehaerys. 'Good Queen Alysanne' as many called her—though she had never been a queen and the nickname had been taken years prior by one of Aelor's ancestors—was Jaehaerys' mother in all but blood, having raised the curly-haired youth alongside her own children and cared for him all his life. Concern for him was clear in her eyes, when she looked back to Aelor, clearly waiting for him to decide on the course of action.

Placing a quick kiss to the top of Saera's head, he lifted his daughter out of his l.a.p and stood, standing her lightly on her feet. His youngest—for the moment—was still in the process of fully mastering walking, and accordingly he kept his hand steadying her until Alysanne took her. "I'll handle it. Alaric, join me if you would."

Lord Langward of Brindlewood had watched the exchanges between the peasant boy and Aelor and Aelor and Alysanne quietly, in the unassuming manner that was his nature. With a nod he rose to his feet, having grown an inch or two taller than his former mentor in the years since the Rebellion though he had remained thin. The two men slipped to the back wall, skirting the edges of the revelry as they made to leave the hall, Aelor casting one final glance to his nephew Jaehaerys and fat Sam before exiting the grand hall.

Two young nobles who had been rather thoroughly engrossed in one another's tongues scattered in embarrassment when the dragonlord and his bannerman stepped out into the hall, Aelor unfamiliar with either of them though he was too preoccupied to worry. "Lyanna Stark is here," he explained to Alaric as they strode side by side down the hall, Alaric limping ever so slightly from the wound he'd received outside Lannisport.

Alaric nodded. "Does Jaehaerys know?"

"No."

"You knew they were going to meet sooner or later, Aelor. It was only a matter of time."

Aelor grunted. "Yes, but I'd hoped it would be later. I don't know what possessed the Stark woman to travel south after all these years; I made it perfectly clear to her that she'd reunite with her son when Jaehaerys sought her out, not the other way around."

"You weren't a parent then. We both are now. If it were one of our children, would we wait?"

While still quiet by nature, Alaric had become unafraid to voice his opinion to his old mentor, and Aelor often sought out his judgement, the hero of the Rebellion possessing a just, prudent mind…and a spine of steel, as evidenced by his ability to survive sixteen years of marriage to the beautiful but venomous Cersei Lannister. "You have a point, but it's been sixteen years. Why now?"

"Prince Jaehaerys turns six and ten in only a few weeks' time; perhaps she believes you were f.o.r.c.i.b.l.y preventing from seeing her, and now that he is nearing the age of majority when your ability to stop him would be questioned has decided to seek Jaehaerys out herself."

"I told her when she went north that I would not stop him."

"And what reason does she have to believe you? Besides, it is her child, Your Grace; her only child. The only question in my mind is what has taken her so long."

Aelor was silent for a moment as the two made their way towards the castle's stables. "I suppose you are right, though I fear what this will do to Jaehaerys. We both know he has always been...reserved."

"This was destined to occur eventually, my Prince. It is best that it occurs now and whatever happens happens. Besides, anyone would seem reserved in comparison to Ren. He has danced with Myrcella four separate times tonight; I am growing concerned."

Aelor chuckled lightly, having noticed his son's inclination towards Alaric's eldest child as well. It was odd for Ren to become so attached to one girl; the boy was much like his namesake Renfred had been at his age, no matter Aelor and Alysanne's attempts to stop him. "I'm certain his intentions are nothing but honorable."

"I'm certain you are full of shit."

Aelor couldn't help but laugh, though he patted the taller man on the shoulder in reassurance. "While I won't deny Ren's penchant towards bedding anything he can find, he knows better than to attempt and seduce Myrcella. I've made it clear to him that I will not defend him should he anger a lady's father, and he knows perfectly well how capable you are with a sword."

Alaric grunted, though it was clear to Aelor he was less than convinced, a fact that made him chuckle all the more. The mirth at their banter faded however as Aelor stepped out of the keep and into the night air, walking towards the stables located within the Dun Fort's innermost walls and the mass of torches and bodies—both human and horse—gathered there.

He found Robb exactly where he had expected the heir to Winterfell to be, even with a feast going on; the Stark boy with the Tully coloring had been obsessed with Warrior since his first year in the South at the age of five, and no matter how many times he had seen the old warhorse in the years since he never grew tired of him. The lad was currently stroking the stallion's massive black head and speaking to another, smaller boy who looked much like him despite his more Stark-like look.

It seems Lord Stark has brought even more of his family than I had originally believed.

"This is the Dragon of Duskendale's stallion," asked the voice of the young boy, who could have been no more than seven or eight.

"Aye," Robb said, smiling down at his younger brother. "The very same one he rode in the war."

"And every day since," Aelor called out to them as he and Alaric approached, both Robb and his sibling turning to face them. "Though we're both more comfortable charging spear lines than simply riding for joy."

Robb smiled as his blue eyes met Aelor's, nodding his head in greeting. "Prince Aelor, a p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e to see you again."

"And you, lad," the Dragon of Duskendale returned. He genuinely liked the Stark boy, as Robb seemed as honorable and just as his father was. Just because Aelor had willingly forsaken his honor long ago didn't mean he couldn't respect it in others. Aelor looked down to the other Stark, who was staring up at him in a fascination many eight or nine year olds held for Aelor. "I suppose you are a Stark as well, boy. What's your name?"

The youngster could only nod, apparently tongue tied. Robb laughed at his brother's speechlessness, ruffling his hair in a way the younger boy clearly was not a fan of. "This is my brother Brandon. Bran, this is Prince Aelor Targaryen and Lord Alaric Langward."

Aelor smiled down at the boy, even as his name brought back memories of burning wolves and burning cities. "It's a p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e to meet you, Bran."

"I'm sure the p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e is his; he has spoken of nothing else for weeks." Aelor looked up to the new voice, finding Lord Eddard Stark approaching as the rest of his men unpacked the Stark luggage. A lovely young woman with the look of a Tully followed him closely on one side, another young girl who looked much like Bran on the other. The Lord of the North bowed slightly as he came to a stop beside his sons, the older girl instantly dropping into a curtsey. The younger girl did not, staring at the Prince—in particular his scar—intently. Aelor returned her stare with an amused raise of his eyebrow. "Prince Aelor."

"Lord Stark," Aelor returned, clasping the Lord Paramount of the North's wrist in greeting. Ned Stark and Aelor Targaryen were by no means friends, but there was a healthy dose of respect for the other on both sides. While Aelor's ruthlessness clashed with Eddard's Stark honor and he was disapproving of Aelor's rough treatment of Lyanna all those years ago, the Warden of the North appreciated Aelor's treatment of Robb and his nephew Jaehaerys, which had never been anything short of exemplary.

"These are my daughters, Sansa and Arya." He gestured to the lovely redhead and the still-staring younger girl respectively. "My son Rickon is currently the Stark in Winterfell, and my lady wife Catelyn remains with him." Sansa smiled sweetly, while Arya stared for another moment before abruptly blurting out.

"Did you really burn down a whole city?"

"Arya," half the Stark family hissed, clueing Aelor into the fact that this was normal behavior for the youngest Stark daughter. While the question may have bothered other men, it certainly didn't bother the Dragon of Duskendale; of all the mistakes he knew he had made, the Lighting of the Lions wasn't one of them.

Aelor peered down at the sharp-faced girl. "Yes I did, Lady Arya."

"I apologize for her, Prince Aelor," Eddard said, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder, Arya's face twisting in annoyance that she couldn't ask further questions. "She has always been untowardly willful."

"Just like me," spoke another voice, and all smiles vanished.

Lyanna Stark stood a few paces behind her brother and his family, still a rather attractive woman though the years separated from her son had not been overly kind to her. She was staring defiantly at Aelor, looking for all the world like she had been preparing for this verbal sparring match for years.

Aelor realized she had been, for sixteen of them.

"Robb, settle your siblings down." Eddard stepped back, gesturing his heir to do as he said but also clearly intending to facilitate the coming argument. Robb needed no more instruction, immediately ushering his siblings to move.

Arya hesitated, clearly unhappy about being ordered away from the brewing storm. "But—"

"Now, Arya." Eddard's voice was as cold as the ice that ran in his blood, and even his clearly spiteful daughter obeyed.

As soon as the Stark children were gone, leaving only Lyanna, Eddard, Aelor and Alaric—even the stableboys leaving mid-job to escape the coming war—she took off. "I am here to see my son. You will not stop me."

"I made it perfectly clear that you will see my nephew when my nephew wants to see you. And if you truly believe I won't stop you, Lyanna Stark, you are even more foolish than the day you ran off with my brother."

"Do you expect me to believe Jon has not wanted to see his mother in sixteen years? Not once, in all his life, did he ask who his mother was or where? You may think me foolish, Aelor Targaryen, but I am not stupid."

"Jaehaerys expressed a d.e.s.i.r.e to see you several years ago, it is true. I did not stop him."

Lyanna curled a lip in clear disbelief. "Then why didn't he come to Winterfell, if you didn't stop him?"

"That is something you'll have to ask Jaehaerys. Later, when he comes to see you." Aelor glared at the Stark woman, making it perfectly clear that she was not welcome. "I warned you once, Lady Lyanna. I am warning you this last time."

"What will you do if I do not heed you, Targaryen?" Lyanna asked, clearly past caring. "Kill me?"

Aelor was blunt and utterly truthful. "Yes. Just as dead as Rhaegar. Maybe you can have my brother in death in a way you should never have tried to have him in life."

The blow struck both Starks, Eddard clearly unpleased about the threat to his sister, but it hit Lyanna harder, the mention of the man who had been the reason her life had gone to shit offsetting her balance. Whatever cruelty she had expected Aelor to spew—and she was clearlyexpecting cruelty, something Aelor was more than willing to oblige—she wasn't expecting that.

But Aelor wasn't in turn expecting her next move. Lyanna's face hardened, and she suddenly started moving forward, straight towards the Lord of Duskendale. "Do it then. If I am truly so evil for wanting to see my own son, kill me, for it is a sin I am not sorry for."

She marched towards him, and for a moment Aelor wasn't ready, the Stark woman taking him off guard. But then his heart hardened as her face had, and Aelor took an aggressive step towards the Lady Lyanna, already planning how he was going to duck Eddard Stark who was quickly moving to intervene.

"Uncle!"

The one voice Aelor hadn't been expecting froze them all three midstep. Aelor turned slowly, and standing in the entrance to the stables was his black haired nephew.

"Jon," he heard Lyanna exhale quietly, staring at the son she hadn't seen for sixteen years.

Jaehaerys Targaryen was returning the stare, face and voice oddly calm. "Mother. I hear it has been quite a long time."