The Ancient One

[King's Landing 298 AC]

Jaehaerys.

He raised the helm, and Sansa's gasp, Arya's call to him, and the murmurs of the Lords and Ladies reached his ears, though he paid little attention to the reactions of strangers among the crowd. His focus was fixed solely on his Uncle, disregarding all else. The Starks of Winterfell were known for their pale complexion, but now Eddard Stark's visage presented a terrible pallor as Jae stood before Robert Baratheon.

A shout pierced through the air, exclaiming, "SNOW!" Jae, as well as many others, turned their attention to the robust bearded Northman. Smirking as the blush crept up Jacks's neck, visibly flustered by the collective gazes of a thousand or more people, Jae nodded at his friend.

"Snow," Robert Baratheon exclaimed. "Jon Snow, eh? Aren't you a little young to be a thirty-something-year-old knight?"

"Aye," Jae said flatly. "Aye, I am."

Robert guffawed, causing a ripple of sniggers from the viewers, for when the King laughs, the court laughs with him. "Playing the part of such a notorious knight," he said. "Why go through all the trouble, my young friend?"

Jae reluctantly turned his gaze towards the man responsible for his Father's death at the Trident. "I'm but a poor copy, Your Grace," he responded. "I've done my utmost to pay tribute to the original."

Robert nodded, his grin peeking through his rugged black beard. "I must say, you've done a remarkable job, lad!" he proclaimed. "Wouldn't you agree, gentlemen? A bastard wolf can still let out a mighty howl!"

His Uncle's entourage let out a chorus of whistles, and FatTom unleashed a deafening howl from the stands. Jae couldn't help but snicker, casting a quick glance at his boots before raising his gaze once more. "Come on, Tom, that's hardly a fitting way to talk about your dear Mother," he quipped. This time, Tomard, the man himself, led the laughter.

"Ah, a Stark with humour," Robert announced loudly, looking at Eddard Stark with a raised brow. "You certain he's yours, Lord Hand?" Lord Stark did not deign the King with a response to that, choosing to remain silent, his eyes on his nephew.

"I sometimes ask myself that very question," Jae said, "Your Grace," he added after a short pause, nearly forgetting this man was still a King.

Robert hummed. "Now, fetch Snow here a horse," he said. "There's still a Queen to be crowned, and it seems his has run off."

A boy led a spirited horse onto the field, and Jae swiftly mounted the mare. Accepting a lance handed to him by Brynden, he set off toward the adorned garland, deftly spearing it on the tip. As Jae circled the field, he noted the numerous Ladies watching him, Jeyne Poole more captivated than the rest. Yet, Jae steered his mount towards the seats where his sisters sat, purposefully bestowing the garland onto Sansa's lap.

"Sister," he said warmly, "I name you Queen of Love and Beauty. Wear this crown well, for I hope it's many years before you receive a better one."

Sansa gave him a bright smile, the same one she'd given him every time he returned from a ride years back at Winterfell, and she put the garland on her head as the crowd cheered for their Queen of Love and Beauty and the victor of the jousts. Jae smiled at his sister, shot Arya a rueful look as she glared at him, and steered the white horse away.

"We shall move on to the melee at noon," the herald announced as Jae accepted the handshake and the paper from Robert.

Returning to his camp, Jae was followed closely by Meera, Jojen, and Brynden. With each approving nod from this knight or that Lord, his squire puffed out his chest, brimming with pride. "Here," Jae said, handing the boy the missive promising a hefty sum of gold dragons, and Brynden's hands trembled as he stared at the impressive figure.

Bursting into laughter, Meera clapped Jae on the shoulder, her grin stretched from ear to ear. "That'll be enough to get what you wanted and some," she said. "Maybe a better sword before we leave this foul city."

Jae slowly shook his head with a smile, his mind returning to the letter he'd read earlier that morning, one from an Uncle at the Wall. Not Benjen, an older, more Princely one. "No," he said. "My sword is in the North."

"Yeah?" She lifted a brow before it dawned on her, her eyes sparkling. "You don't mean..."

"Aye," Jae nodded. "Letters from the Wall with Maester Aemon say she's waiting... I'd like to see more of my kin before we leave." He was ashamed to admit he'd forgotten about Uncle Benjen, but another part of him was afraid of finding out that he knew the truth and kept it to himself.

"That's a large detour," Jojen said, frowning. "But I also agree. North is the right direction. As far north as we can get without crossing."

"Skagos," Jae said, nodding. The pull to the island was more compelling with every dream.

"Oh, to all the seven hells with that," Brynden almost shouted, his blue eyes wide under thick brown hair. "Haven't you heard the stories? There are cannibals on that island!"

Jae chuckled. "How right you are, lad," he said, garnering a smirk from Jojen and odd looks from Meera and Brynden.

As they neared their modest camp on the fringes of the tourney grounds, Jae's gaze caught a glimpse of Jacks and FatTom striding purposefully toward them. Jacks wore a look that bordered on fury and relief, while Tom only beamed with delight. He wouldn't be escaping this. Turning to his squire, Jae told Brynden to help Jojen and Meera gather their things and wait for Winter before joining him at the Stark pavilion.

After, Jae turned and opened his arms with a wry smile, Jacks shaking his head and embracing him fiercely. "The Others take you," his friend cursed, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled back and put a large hand on Jae's shoulder. "I knew you weren't dead, Jon. I knew it."

"I'm a hard bastard to kill," Jae said. "Good to see you in good health. You too, Tom. How's TomToo? Jeremy?"

"Tom's well, last I heard," Tomard said smilingly, Jacks answering that his son was well, too. They started for the riverside, where Jae could see the King's gold silken tent beside the gloomy grey of his Uncle's.

"Where have you been, lad?" Jacks asked.

"On an adventure, my friend," Jae told him. "I camped in Moat Cailin for a night before I stayed at Greywater Watch. Then I stayed at High Heart for a few days..." That old crone's words still rang in his ears.

"Greywater?" Tom asked. "The crannogmen help you find it?"

"Aye," Jae nodded, a humorous gleam in his eyes. "Lord Reed is every bit as impressive as Lord Stark claims. Loyal to the bone and, believe it or not, a far better drinker than one would expect." They burst into laughter.

"What grand plans do you have for your winnings?" Jacks asked as they passed by Meryn Trant's battered shield, bearing the worn emblem of the hanged man of House Trant. "I highly doubt you'll be heading back north."

"Who knows," Jae shrugged playfully. "Forty thousand dragons can work wonders. Perhaps I shall acquire a ship and crew, turn myself into a dashing pirate King."

Jacks couldn't help but burst into laughter. "You, on a ship? Have you conveniently forgotten your retching episode on a simple rowboat down a gentle stream?" Tomard joined in, chuckling heartily.

"Tell that to my squire, and I'll personally see to it that you take a plunge into that very same stream," Jae shot back with a roll of his eyes. "The little scoundrel will never let me live it down."

A few minutes later, their laughter and jesting lingered in the air as they stepped into the welcoming embrace of the tent. Yet, in an instant, all mirth dissolved within Jae when he felt a small body collide with him. He held his little sister tight. Jacks and Tomard quietly departed, dismissed by his Uncle, leaving Jae, Arya, Sansa, and Eddard alone. Feeling Arya pull away, Jae loosened his hold on her, but before her fist could connect with his gut, he caught her wrist and held her firm.

"Why did you leave?!" Her voice rang out, tears glistening in her eyes. She furiously brushed them away with the hand he didn't hold. "Why didn't you say goodbye? Did I upset you? I never meant to!"

Kneeling before her, he tenderly wiped away her tears with his thumb, his voice choked with emotion as he saw his Mother's features reflected in Arya's face. "Oh, little sister," he whispered, breaking the silence. "I learned the truth about my Mother. I needed to speak with the last person who knew her before she died."

A tremor escaped his Uncle's lips, a sigh burdened with sorrow and understanding, but Jae's eyes stayed on Arya.

"Oh," she let out sadly. "But you would have come back, wouldn't you?"

"For you, Arya, always," Jae replied truthfully.

"Will you stay with us here, in the city? Please?" she asked, her words barely audible amidst her plea.

Jae tenderly kissed Arya's brow and drew her closer, cradling her against his chest. In that embrace, she finally let her tears flow freely. As he whispered comforting words to Arya, his gaze shifted to Sansa, who appeared to be restraining a flood of tears. For a fleeting moment, Jae glimpsed the little wolf who had been his sister before Mother Trout, and that pious Mordane twisted her perception of him.

"Come here, Sansa," he beckoned softly, and she broke into sobs, rushing into his arms.

With both sisters enveloped in his embrace, Jae cast a fierce glare at his Uncle over their heads. Anger churned within him, a tempest of fury, yet he did not harbour hatred towards Eddard Stark. Deep down, Jae knew that was the truth. However, his Uncle could only see the anger, and a sigh escaped him as he closed his weary eyes.

Ned Stark looked mentally and physically drained.

"Your wolves?" Jae asked, gently releasing his grip on his sisters and holding them at arm's length. The girls, their eyes swollen and noses still sniffling, gave nods, telling him that their wolves were being kept within the confines of the Red Keep, sheltered within the Godswood. "Good. Keep them close. The wolves have an uncanny ability to smell the intentions of others."

"Jon?" Sansa asked, her confusion evident.

"If the wolves bristle and growl at someone, be cautious around them," he warned, his voice firm. "Even when you don't see it, they protect you."

As his words sank in, realisation slowly etched onto Sansa's face, and she nodded, her understanding dawning. Arya, ever perceptive, had already agreed the moment he spoke. After assuring them that they would talk more later and promising Arya that he wouldn't leave without a proper goodbye, his Uncle called for Jory and Jacks to take the girls away for a while, Arya grudgingly following after Jae gave her a look.

Jae rose abruptly, his gaze fixed on his Uncle as the tension thickened. His Uncle poured himself a horn of ale, downing it swiftly before filling another for them both.

The weight was heavy on his voice as Eddard Spoke, "I never intended for this to happen. I didn't want to break my promise."

"But you did," Jae reminded him sharply. "My Mother's dying wish was for you to tell me when I was old enough. She wanted me to know that she loved me."

His Uncle stood frozen, his eyes growing misty. After a prolonged silence, he muttered, "Howland mentioned you had a gift. But I never imagined that gift would manifest as green dreams."

"No, my dreams are not green," Jae disclosed, his voice barely audible above a whisper. "They are filled with dragons, both human and not."

His Uncle stared at him intently, his expression laden with contemplation. "What will you do now?" he asked, his tone tinged with unease. "Where will you go? North? East... to them?"

"The more pressing question is, what will YOU do, Uncle?" Jae countered.

Lord Eddard Stark remained silent for a long while before he sighed, bowed his head, and admitted, "Whatever you command."

"What?" Jae's disbelief was palpable. Anger, confusion, happiness, and relief battled within him. He struggled to discern his honest emotions.

"Robert may have once been my friend," his Uncle confessed wistfully. "But he is not my blood. You are, and I would prefer not to be at odds."

Jae was taken aback by his Uncle's unexpected declaration, but he shouldn't have been. He shook his head to dispel the surging thoughts, offering only a subtle nod in response. Swiftly, he seized the ale from the table, downed it in one gulp, and returned it to its place.

"The girls should not be here," Jae told him. "But I have someone watching over them, someone who can protect them if necessary."

His Uncle regarded him for a long while, incredulous, yet he must have glimpsed something in Jae's eyes that persuaded him to withhold his questions. "The melee," his Uncle redirected the conversation.

Jae sniffed disdainfully, his words dripping with venom. "I will do what should have been done sixteen years ago."

His Uncle closed his eyes wearily. "And what should have been done?"

"I'm going kill Gregor Clegane," Jae declared, his tone laced with darkness. No amount of persuasion could change his mind on this.

[King's Landing 298 AC]

Barristan.

He didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but Barristan knew who was beneath the image of the infamous knight. As his King raised the helm, a smile plastered on Barristan's face. Jaehaerys rode brilliantly, better than his Father ever had. Though his lance work could use some training. Still, with the knowledge that his King was in the viper's nest, Barristan's vigil heightened. Varyss could easily connect the dots.

Moreover, Robert could recognise the Targaryen traits that abounded his King. The otherworldy beauty, the unnatural shade in the eyes. Lyanna Stark left very little in her son. That was extremely dangerous.

Barristan shook his head gravely. Perils aplenty. Jaehaerys should have departed for Essos already, yet Barristan sensed a purpose anchoring his King here. A duty that bordered on foolishness but a duty either way. His gaze turned to that duty now; Gregor Clegane downed a goblet of wine while his squire laboured over the colossal greathelm in his lap, scrubbing it with a rag.

'I could exhaust it,' he pondered, 'drain the creature of its vigour and let it beat me, shame be damned.'

Perhaps he would indeed do so. Barristan remained oblivious to his King's prowess with a blade, and it was his responsibility to safeguard his King, even from himself. Yet, it was not his place to end Gregor Clegane, nor his duty to exact revenge on the false knight. In Barristan's eyes, only one man was deserving of such retribution.

And lo and behold, here he came now.

With the helm cradled beneath his arm, his face uncovered, revealing lilac eyes and raven tresses bound in a knot, while his once untamed beard now boasted a close-trimmed contour along his chiselled jawline. Draped in simple steel, his King strode onto the tourney grounds, emanating an aura both powerful and regal, tinged with a hint of danger. And in the moments that followed, unbeknownst to him, Barristan found himself joined by his sworn brother.

Contempt seeped through his veins, unabated and unrelenting. If it were solely up to Barristan, he would swiftly rid Lannister of his cloak, casting him into the abyss of disgrace. Aerys, mad as he may have been, merited a fate better than being betrayed by the man tasked with his protection. Yet, that was not the core reason fueling Barristan's animosity towards Jaime—although it undeniably played a part.

No, the source of his disdain lay in Jaime's despicable choice to nestle his pampered arse upon the Iron Throne, forsaking any attempt, however feeble, to rescue the Princess and her innocent children.

"Ser Gerold, if my memory serves me right," Lannister drawled, his gaze shifting towards Jaehaerys, who leaned casually against the divider, engrossed in animated conversation with his cousins. "He used to scout for future Kingsguard candidates. 'Good men and true,' he called those who caught his attention. Remember?"

Barristan stole a sidelong glance at the Kingslayer, whose eyes remained fixed on his King. "Aye," he replied, his words dripping with measured disdain. "I do recall a couple of them proving anything but true."

Jaime's gaze dropped to his boots, his head shaking in apparent anger before he spat upon the floor. He raised his head, his jaw clenched. "This Jon Snow," he mused, a hint of disbelief tainting his tone. "Surely you jest, suggesting that a bastard from the frigid north could climb to the rank of the revered seven."

"Young Jon surpassed boys three or four years his senior at the tender age of seven," Barristan retorted, suppressing a trace of pride that threatened to surface. Then, with a bitter undertone, he added, "I would have gladly taken him as my squire if Lord Stark had permitted it."

Lannister's eyes darted towards Barristan, his surprise undisguised, before redirecting his focus to Jaehaerys, who meticulously tightened his gauntlets while Arya Stark leaned over the railing, bombarding him with relentless questions. And yet, his King seemed unbothered, responding to her with a genuine smile.

"Don't blame Stark for his refusal," Lannister quipped, tilting his head with a sardonic smirk. "They don't fare too well in the south, do they? How many was it again? Three dead?"

Barristan scowled at the callous amusement underlying his words. The Starks were not dear to his heart, but to make light of their deaths in such a manner was nothing short of monstrous. Not to mention that one of those fallen Starks was his King's own Mother.

"I wish you luck in the melee, Ser Jaime," Barristan curtly declared. "But do be wary. Accidents have an uncanny way of arising." With that final barb, he swiftly departed in the direction of his King, leaving Jaime to stew in his own bitter brew.

[Skagos 281-298 AC]

The Ancient One.

As the ancient dragon stretched his mighty wings and settled on the rocky cliffside, his mind wandered back to the long years that had passed. Both bitter and cherished memories swirled within, weighing heavily on his conscience. Though time had eroded his scales and dimmed his flame, the weight of his shame remained as potent as ever.

They would never have hatched, he told himself. And if they had, they would have been weak, unable to grow as they should.

In the depths of his being, the Cannibal, as they'd dubbed him, carried the anguish of having to feast on his own kin—the young dragons and hatchlings of the island. The sorrow of his every meal was a heavy burden that etched deep furrows in his ancient heart. Oh, how he despised the necessity of it, the cruel irony of survival entwined with destruction.

Yet, amidst the sea of misery, a faint hope kept him here.

His rider—the one whose bond had formed over centuries, exceeding the boundaries between species—had been foretold in ancient prophecies. A destined soul that would change the course of their existence. He clung to this prophecy, nurturing the belief that salvation would someday come.

With fervent anticipation, he yearned for the birth of his rider. His rider would provide him with an alternative to the harrowing feast on his kin. The idea of breaking free from the cycle of destruction and forging a new path filled his being with a renewed sense of purpose. But even in his anticipation, doubts clawed at his thoughts—would the arrival of his rider be too late? How many generations of dragons had already fallen beneath his jaws? The answer was one he'd prefer to not know.

Regret knotted his ancient heart as he contemplated the lives he had taken. The lives extinguished to fuel his existence and stave off the inevitable decay that plagued him.

He longed for absolution, a chance to make amends, to ensure that the Cannibal was not the only name he would be known as.

[][][][][]

He perched atop his rocky abode, his senses attuned to the shifts in the world around him. Then he felt something. A tremor rippled through the very fabric of existence. With three beats of his mighty wings, he took to the skies. For the first time in many a year, he unleashed his fire.

His rider, at last, joined him in this world.

Elation surged in his ancient heart as he caught glimpses of the joyous event unfolding in a distant realm. He turned to the sky, the stars racing across the morning light. The cosmic dance and whispers of magic spoke of a new life. His heart swelled with pride, knowing that the prophecies were coming to fruition and his rider would come for him.

He revelled in the visions of what lay ahead. Picturing the bond he would forge with his rider, the kinship only a dragon and rider could understand. Together, they soar through the heavens, their united strength heralding a new era. His mind overflowed with anticipation, imagining the adventures he and his rider would set out on, to the far reaches of the world, where the shadows danced, to the land of his kin, where the magic would surely empower them as one.

But as his joy reached its crescendo, a darker emotion stirred within his ancient being. Anger gnawed at his core, fueled by the realisation that fate demanded he waits, bide his time while the years stretched and his rider grew before their destined meeting. How cruel the world seemed to grant him a glimmer of hope only to make him endure more isolation.

Each passing day was a trial, a test of patience and endurance. He cursed the limitations of his existence, the shackles of time that held him captive. He yearned to spread his wings and traverse the Known World to reach his rider, so close yet far; to guide his rider along their path, but he knew he must abide by the cosmic order, by the whims of magic that seemed both generous and sporadic.

Yet, amidst the anger and despair, a glimmer of determination flickered in his being. He would endure the waiting, the torment of separation, for he knew that his rider's birth had set into motion a chain of events that would reshape their world. The Cannibal would soon be a distant memory, but first, he must prepare himself.

With a deep breath, the ancient dragon let go of his anger, channelling it into an intense determination. He would cherish each day that passed, knowing that every sunset brought them closer to the fateful meeting. The years would be a fleeting moment in the extensive expanse of his existence, and when the time finally came, their union would be all the more potent for the trials they had endured.

[][][][][]

He sensed his rider's power growing and bemoaned that he was not growing along with him. Six years, a mere blink in his life cycle, but he'd not done a thing to better himself for the inevitable day of their meeting. So now, as he lumbered out of the cave, shattering the bones of his prey, he had a clear goal—become the strongest that there ever was.

He unleashed his flame in furious, merciless bursts and devastating infernos, relentlessly pushing himself to fly faster. His colossal body hindered him, exacerbating his already infuriating problem. Yet, he persisted, and with each passing day, he and his rider grew stronger. He practised sharp turns, slicing through the air with a grace that mocked his colossal size... only to plunge into the wretched sea below.

In a fit of rage, he plunged deep into the treacherous depths.

And when he emerged, the abomination with its grotesque number of appendages wailed in agony as his teeth and talons ripped into its slimy form. It dared to coil around his thick neck, but he roared with unbridled fury, sinking his jaws into the beast's stubborn skull and tearing it apart. His mighty wings battled against the current, defying the forces of nature, as his scorching flame consumed the wretched varmint.

Once he'd calmed the raging inferno that burned within him, he decided that he'd had enough training for one day and flew back to his domain. He still had many years to correct his mistakes, so he knew getting angry would do nothing but annoy him.

[][][][][]

As the dragon soared through the skies, his movements grew more graceful, and his flames burned hotter and longer than ever. He revelled in the thought of the day when his training would converge with his rider's arrival when their powers would intertwine in a symphony of strength and unity. And when that time came, he would be ready—his body, fire, and flight would serve as a testament to his unwavering dedication to becoming the greatest ally his rider could ever hope for.

Landing harshly, the very earth shaking under, he stalked into his cave, the bones of his previous meals filling the entire dwelling. He huffed a flame, swept them away with his tail, and fell heavily to his paunch. His eyes closed, weary, and a deep breath escaped his snout.

In the vast expanse of his consciousness, he felt a familiar presence—a flicker of emotion that was not his own. As he delved deeper into the ethereal bond between himself and his rider, he sensed a flourishing rage, a tempest of fury that coursed through his very essence. The dragon's heart clenched, mirroring the anguish and anger that consumed his rider.

The weight of his rider's emotions bore heavily upon his soul. The seething rage, like molten rock, threatened to consume him. It ignited a protective instinct that burned with ferocity. His mind swirled with a mix of emotions—a desire to shield his rider from harm, to obliterate any threat that dared to encroach upon their destiny.

And then, like a bolt of lightning rending the storm-laden sky, his senses jolted with the chilling touch of imminent peril. The looming threat against his rider's life seeped into their bond, casting a dark, suffocating shroud over his heart. Desperation tightened its grip, and his majestic wings unfurled wide, readying himself to soar away.

No! A voice screamed within the depths of his mind.

In that fateful moment, he sensed the encroaching tendrils of death inching ever closer to his beloved rider, a ruthless predator poised to strike its final blow. The ancient beast bellowed with a primal surge of fury that reverberated through the very fabric of the realm. The anguished echoes of his wrath rippled across the vast expanse of the world.

"Take my power," he roared once more, feeling a part of himself being drained away. His eyes squeezed shut, and he collapsed, sprawling out on the unforgiving floor of the desolate cave, consumed by a sense of surrender and desperation.

—————

Hi!

Alex here :P

So, first off, so sorry I haven't been updating; life problems and all that. But if there's anyone still here, thank you so much for sticking with the fic. It means so much to me. Really, it does!

I also wanted to address Jae's dreams more. When I thought of him living as his ancestors, I thought of it like the animus from the AC series, where he gains the experiences of the ones he dreams about.

NOTE: He still needs to bring his body up to standard; he won't just be gaining muscle memory, or normal muscle, from magic dreams. Just experience.

BYE! :D

-Alex