15 14-Queen Rhaella was his Mother

Disclaimer: I don't own HP, GoT or ASOIAF.

Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Mirxae. I also want to thank my beta-reader nicknm for helping me bounce ideas around.

***

Jon Stark

Winterfell was brimming with magic. The amount was comparable to Hogwarts, which was built on a magical nexus. When he entered through the gate, Jon felt ancient magical protections wash over him warmly. He was itching to explore everything about it, but he was waylaid before he could even start.

Becoming king was never part of his plans. In his previous life, he never lusted after political power as it came with a great amount of baggage. He was especially unwilling to enter politics and be under the authority of someone else. Being saddled by a vague prophecy with the responsibility of ending Tom Riddle and his merry band of bloodthirsty miscreants had already been more than one could ask of a teenager.

In hindsight, even if Robb Stark's will had never arrived, he'd probably still be declared king. Very few of the northern Lords wanted to be beholden to the south even before the last war. The only thing stopping them was the fact that they had fought with Robert Baratheon during the rebellion, and he had proven himself a formidable warrior. The stag king was also a brother in all but blood with Eddard Stark, so those thoughts did not surface while Robert and Ned were still alive.

Jon could not have declined the kingship without great consequences, but there was nobody else to take the mantle. The North would not follow a queen who had no martial training, especially with a capable and proven brother in the picture, regardless of his perceived bastardy.

Now he was a king with all the duties and obligations that came with it, which would bite a chunk of his time otherwise spent on training or simply exploring the magical side of Winterfell. He could still do all of those things, but he would have less time for it.

The real reason he did not decline the position was that the king had the highest authority. Being on top of the political pyramid meant he could do almost anything he wished within reason. Jon could put the full might of the North behind any of his endeavours, especially since all the internal opponents of House Stark were just defeated in battle, and were either dead or in the dungeons of Winterfell.

The only little glaring problem was that he was not the son of Eddard Stark, but Rhaegar Targaryen. Even with hundreds of years of experience under his belt, Jon was unsure of the precise circumstances of his birth in this life. The runic ancestry matrix showed that his real name was either Aemon Targaryen or Jon Snow and that he was the head of House Targaryen. It would mean that the legality of his marriage was dubious in the eyes of magic. As well as that, the self-proclaimed Aegon the Sixth in the south was fake, for had he truly been the eldest son of Rhaegar, Jon would not be the head of House Targaryen. The Crown Prince somehow married Lyanna despite Elia Martell being alive with two heirs. Unless, of course, his father had managed to annul his marriage with the dornish princess somehow.

He had checked in the library-marriages could be annulled, but that was not something that could be easily or quietly done, even by the crown prince. Only the King himself could directly put his queen aside. The heir had no such powers unless infidelity was involved. Barring that, Elia would have to be forced into the silent sisters or killed to end the marriage. Both would result in pushback from her family. There was also the fact that any trueborn children from that marriage would not lose their place in the line of inheritance, according to a law implemented by Jaehaerys I. Putting aside their mother would create great resentment down the line.

The only other option was if Rhaegar had taken Lyanna as a second wife, despite the Doctrine of Exceptionalism. Jaehaeris the First and the Faith of the Seven had reached an agreement – the Faith would tolerate the practice of incest by House Targaryen, but not the one of polygamy.

Also, could a fourteen-to fifteen-year-old Lyanna Stark that was not even of the age of majority consent to that marriage? Her guards were slain and she was spirited away by all accounts. Did it happen at sword point? After all, how could a girl resist a dozen grown men in armour? Did she even have a choice? Or was she a sheltered noble girl deceived by the flowery promises of the experienced and older crown prince? His mother was either foolish, young, lied to, or kidnapped and forced. Those were the most likely scenarios, and Jon did not like either of them. Unless he managed to somehow summon the Resurrection Stone across the dimensions, he would probably never find out since everyone who had any idea of what had happened was long dead. Even Howland Reed and Eddard Stark only arrived to see the end, and it was not even certain if Lyanna was even still alive when they came to the Tower of Joy. The Lord of Greywater Watch had already been summoned to Winterfell to swear fealty, and soon Jon would know whatever the crannoglord knew.

In either case, he had no love for the House of his birth father. His uncle took him in and raised him as his own, giving him a better life compared to almost everyone else in the world. Most nobles could not even afford the resources that Jon had as the bastard of Winterfell, not to mention the millions of smallfolk or slaves in Essos. Eddard Stark did all of this, despite the potential problems his action would cause in his marriage. He could have simply left Jon to die, handed him over to the new king, or chucked him in a faraway corner of the world with a servant or a trusty bannerman. If nothing else, his uncle's love for his family was undisputed. Compared to House Stark, House Targaryen mattered little to Jon, nor did he want anything to do with the dubious legacy of madmen.

After looking up some laws, he had a few ideas on how to deal with this thorny problem. With his purple eyes and dragons, sooner or later some people would start making the same connections that Barbrey Dustin did. Jon was surprised nobody else figured it out before her. It had been around two months since dragons hatched, and his eyes changed colour. Before his resurrection, the word of Eddard Stark had been more than enough to bait everyone into thinking that his mother was the one with valyrian blood, instead of his father. It greatly helped that Jon had the same colouring as his uncle at birth.

After the conversation with the Dustin widow, Sansa was itching for answers, but he barely managed to placate her with a promise of a heart-to-heart conversation after dinner. As a king for a few hours, he had some things that he needed to do immediately. Like getting familiar with the treasury. Most of the things he had to do as king would cost money, so it was essential to find out how much gold was there in Winterfell's coffers.

As he was on his way to the treasury, he heard hushed voices around a corner.

"-King's mother was the old Queen I tell you! "a furious female voice argued.

Jon quietly stopped and listened on with interest.

"Which Queen? We've had plenty in the last few years," another curiously stated.

"Queen Rhaella, of course. I saw it myself twenty years ago. She and Lord Stark had a secret tryst after the Tourney of Harrenhal. She gave birth to King Jon secretly in Dragonstone and sent him away to protect him from the mad king's wrath!" the first voice explained wisely.

He barely managed to hold himself from bursting out in laughter. This was one of the most ridiculous things he had heard. For all he knew, Eddard Stark had never even seen Rhaella Targaryen in person, nor could the queen hide a pregnancy and a bastard babe. Although considering that the smallfolk were generally uneducated and could not even do simple maths, let alone understand most of the workings of the noble class, it was not too surprising to hear this wild theory. It seems that Barbrey was simply lucky enough to have all the facts at hand and hate his uncle enough to not trust his words.

"Aye, you must be right. That would explain the dragons."

Jon once again barely managed to suppress his amusement at the reply of the second maid. He now fully understood how Eddard Stark had him hidden. After claiming him as his bastard, his uncle masterfully diverted the people's attention toward the mysterious origin of his mother. Lord Stark simply remained silent on the woman that supposedly made him break the marriage vows, and never confirmed or denied anything. With time everyone made their wild theories and very few if any even got close to the truth because they were misled at the very beginning. Jon felt that he had been worried over nothing, as he could easily employ the same tactic with great results.

He quietly continued towards the treasury, ignoring the rest of the conversation. Jon expected to find it nearly empty, if not completely but was pleasantly surprised at the sight that greeted him. The coffers of Winterfell were overflowing – he saw a dozen big piles of silver and gold coins as he entered. It was a bigger version of what he had seen in his trust vault at the age of eleven. There were plenty of closed chests at the bottom of the room too. House Stark would not want money anytime soon if he spent it wisely. The fortune in front of him would take ages to count without magic, so he headed towards the lord's solar and summoned the maester.

Jon was busy trying to make sense of the documents left by Eddard Stark and Roose Bolton when Wolkan entered.

"You called for me, Your Grace?"

"Aye, Maester Wolkan. Are you familiar with the state of Winterfell's coffers?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the maester replied. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

"Do you know how many dragons are there in the treasury?"

"There are about a million and seven hundred thousand golden dragons right now. A third of it is in silver," Wolkan recounted.

"How did the Boltons even get their hands on this much gold?"

"All of the wealth was left from House Stark. The Dreadfort and the surrounding lands do not have a big income. Ramsay Snow looted the treasury during the sacking of Winterfell, and it was eventually all brought back here when Roose Bolton became Warden of the North. He spent three hundred thousand on repairing Winterfell, and generously rewarded all the Bolton men-at-arms and levies, spending another fifty thousand," Maester Wolkan started visibly sweating. Jon wondered if he was truly terrifying, or if the old man was easily scared. Probably the second, considering he served in a House that actively practised flaying.

"And how did House Stark accumulate so much wealth?"

"Lord Bolton had the same question for me, Your Grace. It took me a while to sift through the ledgers, but I found out the reason for the wealth. House Stark collects little more than a hundred thousand golden dragons on average per year in tax from its lands and all its sworn vassals. Part of it was in kind-food, iron, lumber or other resources. A tenth went to King's Landing in gold as tax. The cost of maintaining Winterfell and all of its household expenses was rarely more than forty thousand gold dragons per year. All the leftover materials were sold for profit."

Maester Wolkan wiped the sweat from his brows and continued with his explanation, "Almost every Lord Stark since the Conquest had been saving up at twenty to forty thousand golden dragons or the silver equivalent per year. Even those that were more generous with their spending managed to leave the treasury fuller than they found it after they passed away. Before the death of Lord Eddard, House Stark had gone to war only five times in three hundred years. Combined with whatever they had before the Conquest, the wealth in Winterfell's coffers steadily increased as the years passed by." The maester finally finished tiredly. Jon realised that the old man had been working on the wounded ever since the battle was finished.

With all his questions answered, the king quickly dismissed Wolkan, "Thank you, maester."

Jon was now left alone to plan in the Lord's Solar. No, it was the King's Solar now that Winterfell was once again the royal seat of House Stark. In both of his lives, he was never one to do things halfway. If he was going to be king, he would be darn good at it.

***

Brynden "The Blackfish" Tully

Whatever doubts he had left about Jon Stark were quickly gone after the battle. He had no connection to House Lannister, and the boy had earned the position of Lord Commander of the Night's Watch by his own merit. The immediate annulment of Sansa Stark's marriages and return of her rights only further confirmed that his only loyalty was to House Stark and the North.

The last few hours were quite hectic, as he was tasked to remove every trace of House Bolton from Winterfell, including the servants. Brynden had to speak with every single person inside the keep, but it soon became clear that very few were loyal to the flayed man, if any at all. Who would have thought that terror and torture inspired no lasting loyalty? Still, he dismissed most of those that came from the Dreadfort. After a short dinner, everyone gathered in the Great Hall to report to Jon Stark. His grandniece, Sansa Stark, seemed particularly restless and had a lost expression on her face while looking at her half-brother.

"Ser Davos, how many men did we lose?"

This was the sixth king Brynden had seen in his lifetime. In his youth, he had briefly met Aegon V and Jaehaerys II. The first had been foolish in his ideas about the smallfolk, while the second one had always been pale and sickly. Even young, Aerys II had a spark of madness in him, and nothing could hold his attention for long. Time only made it blossom, and after the Defiance of Duskendale, the insanity had become a raging fire. Brynden had personally seen Robert Baratheon bed whores and drink hard during the Rebellion. By all accounts, his reign continued similarly, and the stag only spiralled further into his vices as time passed. Despite all his prowess on the battlefield, the Young Wolf was foolish in matters of the heart and politics and paid for it dearly. That was not unexpected, considering that Robb Stark had barely been at the age of majority when he decided to rebel against the Iron Throne.

Now, Jon Stark looked more regal than the other five just by wearing a simple doublet and the elaborately embroidered cloak that his grandniece had made. He had a fierce bearing and had proven a legendary warrior with a sword in hand in a single battle, after easily slaying a hundred enemies with nary an effort. He even had dragons at his beck and call.

Brynden had seen the likes of Demon of the Trident, Ser Barristan the Bold, and Sword of the Morning in their prime, and he did not doubt that Jon would make short work of any of them without breaking a sweat. Some of the men had even begun calling him the Demon of Winterfell, as Jon had fought as a man possessed, unstoppable by the enemy. Even when he was just a bastard, he could easily command respect and obedience from the other lords without appearing to be grasping or greedy. He was neither overbearing, nor humble, and everyone was naturally drawn to him. The wildlings followed and respected strength, and Jon had shown to be the strongest. Most worshipped the very ground he walked on.

The King was uncannily similar to Robert Baratheon in his youth, but thankfully showed no inclination to drinking and whoring. It took much more than being good with a weapon to be a proper ruler though. Brynden sincerely hoped that Jon Stark could handle politics better than his brother, or the game would possibly be the undoing of another northern king.

"We lost little less than seven hundred men and one giant. There are twice as many wounded. Torghen Flint, Blind Doss, Howd the Wanderer, and the Harle brothers fell in battle, Your Grace," the Onion Knight spoke, breaking Brynden out of his thoughts.

"And what of the enemy casualties, Ser?"

"About thirty-six hundred, Your Grace. Three thousand surrendered and the rest fled. Most of them are being released after swearing on the Heart Tree to not bear arms against House Stark ever again. The head of Ramsay Bolton was found. Cregan and Arthor Karstark were slain, together with Roger and Rodrick Ryswell. Hother Umber, Roose Ryswell, Barbrey Dustin, and Harwood Stout are prisoners in the dungeons."

After the Onion Knight finished his report, the king was lost in thought for a few moments. "Prepare the bones of all the fallen nobles, and return them to their ancestral keeps with a small escort of released men at arms. Torghen Flint's remains are to be returned to his clan. Burn all the rest."

"The wildlings too?" asked Ser Davos.

"Aye, they burn all of their dead," the king nodded. "Lord Wull, what did the Bolton men-at-arms choose?"

"Only a fifty chose the Black, King Stark. The other two hundred prefer to lose their heads," The old Wull answered with a deep voice.

"Lord Liddle, did you find out what happened to Rickon Stark's remains?"

"Aye, King Stark," the mountain chieftain had a very grim tone. "The Bolton bastard fed his body to his dogs and even his bones cannot be found..."

Sansa gasped in horror. Blackfish saw red for a moment, and the faces around him were twisted by anger or disgust. Ramsay Snow had managed to deliver another cruel insult. The King's face had become an icy mask but his purple eyes shone brightly and gave Brynden chills.

"Lord Liddle, I want all the dogs put down, and burnt to ashes. Retrieve Ramsay Snow's head and put it on a spike at the gates of Winterfell. The Bolton kennelmaster will also be put to death together with the men-at-arms. There is no need to waste food on dead men. I will take all of their heads tomorrow personally," Jon Stark spoke sharply.

Respect shone on the grim faces of the northerners. Brynden knew the First Men tradition but did not think the young king would be willing to kill two hundred of them himself. The Blackfish had ordered many outlaws hanged, but had never killed outside combat with his own hand. If Jon Stark could manage to behead all of them, he would garner even more respect in the North, and quell any potential traitorous thoughts.

"Lady Mormont, take three hundred men and get a surrender out of the Dreadfort. A message of the demise of House Bolton has been sent to the castellan."

"What if he tries to hold it, Your Grace? We cannot take the Dreadfort with three hundred men," Maege asked.

"I will send Stormstrider with you." At their confused looks the king coughed and began explaining, "The name of the dark blue dragon is Winter. The purple one is Stormstrider and the crimson red-Bloodfyre. I will warg every day to keep an eye on things. If the castellan proves stubborn despite the presence of a dragon, I'll bathe the defenders on the walls in Dragonfire and burn the gates down."

Those dragons were fearsome things, even at their young age. Brynden had seen them breaking a line of veterans within seconds during the battle. Even the toughest and most disciplined men-at-arms would not stay and fight when fire and death were raining down from the sky.

Jon Stark's mother must have been a great beauty to tempt Eddard Stark away from Catelyn, assuming the king was conceived after their marriage. Twenty years ago, few were prettier than his niece. Only Ashara Dayne and Cersei Lannister came to mind from the noble ladies. Knowing the honourable Eddard Stark, he probably bedded some beautiful dragonseed with purple eyes and golden hair in a fit of youthful fancy. He could have even met her in the Vale, or on his way back to the North at the start of the Rebellion, before his marriage to his niece. Jon Stark would be the fruit of that union. That would mean his good-nephew never broke his vows to Catelyn, and his natural son had enough valyrian blood to hatch and control dragons.

"-you said that there are four hundred surviving men-at-arms in the Neck?" The king's voice broke him from his stupor.

"Aye, King Stark," nodded Lady Mormont.

"Jorelle Mormont will ride with two hundred men and some stone-masons south to the Moat. If there is any garrison left by the Leech Lord and they refuse to surrender, get some help from the crannogmen and take control of Moat Cailin. The remaining towers might hold, but I want repairs to start immediately. Enlist whoever volunteers from the survivors, and send the rest home."

"Can we even afford repairs, Your Grace?" Jorelle asked cautiously.

"We can. Moreover, Moat Cailin is essential. We cannot be unprotected from the south," Jon Stark said. After a thoughtful pause, he grabbed a thin piece of black stone from his pouch and placed it on the table. "This is dragonglass. Lord Glover, I want you to send men to collect it from the wolfswood."

"Why would you need so much of this black stone, Your Grace?" Galbart Glover asked curiously. He picked up the piece and applied pressure with his thumbs, breaking it in two. "It's quite brittle."

"The cold winds are blowing again from the Land of Always Winter, Lord Glover, and I have seen them myself. Our ancestors did defeat the enemy during the Long Night, but they did not destroy them. The Others were only pushed back. Brandon the Builder did not have a wall seven hundred feet high and three hundred miles long on a whim. Dragonglass is one of the few things that can destroy the enemy. Why do you think I allowed the Free Folk to pass south of the Wall?" Jon Stark asked quietly.

Silence again enveloped the Great Hall and you could hear a pin drop. It took a few moments for Brynden to really process what the king was saying. Judging by the grim faces surrounding him, all believed Jon Stark. Brynden desperately wanted this to be a jest, but from what he had seen so far, the king was as honest as they came. There was no reason to lie about it either.

During their march towards Winterfell, Brynden had also seen the rattling crate that was fully covered in chains. Just the memory of it still gave him chills. The crate was guarded by half a dozen men at any time, and when he had inquired of the contents, the reply was scared mumbling about the 'dead'.

"This dragonglass can be found all over the mountains, King Stark. I can send word for the clansmen to gather it." Hugo Wull proposed sombrely.

"Aye, send word, Lord Wull. We'll need as much as we can," the king rubbed his forehead. "Torrhen's Square is still held by the Ironborn. After the trial of the lords in two days, I will ride southwest with Larence Snow, two hundred horsemen, Winter and Bloodfyre to lift the siege. I want five hundred men to serve as Winterfell's garrison at all times, and the rest of the army can be disbanded."

"What of the Wildlings, Your Grace?" asked Galbart while rubbing his beard.

"They'll go back to The Gift, Lord Glover."

"I heard a few speaking about settling around Winterfell, Your Grace."

Brynden snorted inwardly. The Gift was one of the coldest places in the whole North, and beyond the Wall was somehow even worse. It was only natural that part of those that lived in that harsh land would rather move around Winterfell.

Jon Stark pinched his nose in frustration, and after a few moments spoke heavily. "They can remain here only if they swear fealty to me and bend the knee. Otherwise, they are going back to the Gift one way or another."

This answer seemed to satisfy the Northern Lords. This would mean that the so-called "Free Folk" would not get any preferential treatment. The wildlings had fought for Jon Stark, yes, and they had great individual fighters. But as a group, their discipline was a bit lacking compared to even the mountain clansmen. They were also known to be fiercely independent and refuse to kneel or follow the laws of the land. And that's ignoring the thousands of years of bad blood between the wildlings and the northerners. They were here as guests, perhaps even friends for now. However, if they wanted to live in the North, they would do so as subjects of the king and would be beholden to the laws of the realm, just like everyone else. Anyone who decided to make trouble would be dealt with according to the law. Most of the wildlings respected Jon Stark more than enough to follow these laws, should they decide to stay.

"What of the south, Your Grace?" Brynden asked. He wondered if he could get some help retaking the Riverlands. Robb Stark was declared the King of the North and the Trident. As his heir, Jon's domain would naturally include the Riverlands.

"In twenty years, House Stark lost 2 Lords Paramount, an heir, a king, and a daughter in the south. And it was all for nought. Aye, we fought together with the riverlords and the valemen, but what did we get for it? More wars, that's what. And where were they in our hour of need?"

There was a deafening silence in the great hall. Brynden wanted to speak out and object, but he remained silent as he realised that the only reason he was even here was because of a rumour about his grandniece.

"Nobody cares about the North or House Stark down there, unless they need our army. Even Stannis came because it was his only chance of success. Once you go south, you get pulled into their endless wars and intrigue. We already have a great threat to the north to deal with. Joffrey Waters, Tywin Lannister and Roose Bolton are dead. Walder Frey will get his too, but I will not go south in force and get muddled down in endless war on all fronts, as my brother did. Tommen Waters and Aegon Targaryen can kill each other over their petty titles and iron chairs. If any of them want the North, they're welcome to come and pry it by force from my cold dead hands!" Jon Stark thundered and slammed his fist on the table.

Everyone in the hall exploded in approval. With Moat Cailin and the dragons, the North was practically impossible to conquer from the outside. All the northern lords that had opposed House Stark had just been crushed in battle, and despite being greatly weakened after the Red Wedding, the North now would fully consolidate behind Jon Stark. In the words of a certain House with eight thousand years of history, winter was coming. Armies could not survive in the northern wilderness during winter, as the snow could fall for days or even weeks without end. Any potential attack on the North would have to wait for spring or summer to come, and by that time, the dragons would be fully grown.

Brynden sighed tiredly. The king had no connection to House Tully and the Riverlands like Robb did. Knowing Catelyn, she had been very cold to him during his childhood. Jon Stark scarcely had any reason to care about the future of the Riverlands, especially when it was so open to attacks from every side. While the king could probably easily defeat every army on the Trident with the help of his dragons, House Tully had nothing meaningful to offer in return. And history had shown that while you could win battles or even take castles with the help of dragons, you could not hold land with them. Jon Stark had no real claim on the Riverlands, and he would not bother going south when he could simply sit in the North and let all of his enemies die in the swamps of the Neck or in front of Moat Cailin. The Blackfish couldn't help but grudgingly admit to himself that this was the most logical decision.

The hall fell into a tired silence. They had discussed almost everything of immediate importance. Everyone was exhausted, as they had been awake since dawn. After nearly two moons on the march, a battle and a whole day of activity, few would have any strength left. Jon Stark seemed to notice this and decided to end the gathering, "The meeting is over, my Lords. I bid you all good night."

Just as the men were leaving, the king spoke up again, "Ser Brynden, stay."

As the surrounding men were leaving, Jon Stark ran a hand through his curly hair and spoke. "Ser Brynden Tully, I name you Master-of-Arms and Castellan of Winterfell in my absence. Do you accept?"

The Blackfish was stunned. Of all the things, he did not expect this. After a few moments, he finally realised the reason for this request. He had the experience, and with his grandniece here, Winterfell would be secure in the absence of the king. Sansa had no backing and no way to usurp her brother as a woman, especially with her marriages to a Lannister and a Bolton. Brynden would also be able to have a greater hand in the defence and wellbeing of his grandniece, which was the reason he came here in the first place. If he swore in service to Jon Stark, he could do that and have a proper place in Winterfell.

The Blackfish was considered an outlaw south of the Neck, and the Riverlands were in the hands of the Lannisters. Even if they were liberated, the one in charge would be his foolish nephew, who had even had a child with his Frey bride. Try as he might, Brynden could simply not bring himself to look favourably upon the cursed fruit of a union with a Frey, conceived during the Red Wedding.

There was little left for Brynden in the south, and one did not simply refuse a king as promising as this one without a good reason.

"I offer my services, King Jon Stark. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for you if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New," the old knight kneeled.

"And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and mead and meat at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear by the Old Gods and the New. Arise."