A Hungry Dragon Chapter 8 (A Song for The Past) (Patreon)

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Winterfell - Two Weeks Later

"My Lord, we have received answers from House Mormont, Glover, Bolton. Every House in the North has answered your call and the King's call. I'm sure they are preparing their armies as we speak." Maester Luwin informed him as he opened the door and handed him several letters that had arrived from ravens.

Ned sat down and carefully read each one, making sure he didn't miss anything. He noticed that Roose Bolton informed him that he wanted to discuss something about his son with him.

Ned and Roose never saw eye to eye, but Ned knew how to keep a man like him in line. He wondered what Roose could want from him with his heir.

Ned didn't know much about Roose's heir, but if he were anything like his father, then his son would have a madman on his hands like Ned does with Roose. Great Jon had even once said that Roose is so pale and strange that he might be a corpse that is somehow still alive.

One week ago, they received a raven from King's Landing, informing them of something they already suspected. Balon Greyjoy had claimed himself King of Iron Islands. Robert had called his banners; another War was on the horizon. Ned cursed his luck; not even a decade of peace passed, and already another was starting. He could only hope it wouldn't last as long and that he could safely return to his family.

Ned read more letters, one of which was a personal letter from his brother Benjen. It seemed his brother was riding to war with him, and his wife would ride to Winterfell with their son and heir to stay during the war and for their son to introduce himself to his cousins.

Ned saw nothing wrong with that, and he was thankful he wouldn't be here long for Lady Barbrey Dustin to remind him of his sins. Ned hoped she would one day find it in her heart to move on and accept what happened, even if Ned himself couldn't help but blame himself for burying her husband and never bringing his bones where they belonged.

For the past two weeks, Ned had started preparing for war; the presence of Balon's second son here was more than enough proof that this was more than just a group of Iron Borns disobeying orders and doing their own thing without permission.

After they arrived back at Winterfell. Ned had ordered for the prisoner to be questioned sharply for information. The boy had kept his mouth shut, but after three days, he opened his mouth and informed them about his father's plan to rebel, and just as Jon had said, they had come here to kidnap Sansa, frame the wildings, and then force the North to lay down their arms or Sansa would lose fingers first, and then other things.

The boy was still imprisoned, and Ned wasn't sure yet what to do with him; his mother had made it quite clear that he should cut his head off and be done with it, but Ned didn't want to be so hasty about this. Unfortunately, even Catelyn was telling him to execute the prisoner, in her words, having a prisoner under the armory. She told him she didn't want to close her eyes, with the knowledge that he was still alive and that he could somehow free himself.

Ned escaped his thoughts when he stumbled on Lord Flint's letter. He flattened the scroll on the table and read what was written. Ned cursed his luck once he read it, knowing Catelyn wouldn't be pleased. He knew she had yet to even acknowledge that it was Jon who saved Sansa that night, but at the very least, she wasn't bringing up Jon anymore, not insulting him, but just acting as if he didn't exist for now. Ned knew this was a great opportunity for Jon; even if his wife disagreed, Ned would never try to change Lord Flint's mind.

He could only hope his mother was satisfied with Jon becoming Lord of Breakstone Hill and wouldn't try to make him pursue a higher position. The castle was enough, a good enough life, and far away from the Royal Family's eyes—far away from another ugly, needless war.

Ned read through all the letters before telling Maester Luwin to prepare Winterfell for the Lords' arrival. Ned knew all of them would be here, and this was a good opportunity to introduce Robb to them. His son was ready, and Ned knew he was ready to prove that despite his auburn hair, he was still a Stark through and through.

After three more hours of working on his solar, Ned allowed himself a moment to rest; Maester Luwin told him that Jon and Robb were in the training yard training with Ser Rodrik, so Ned knew where he should be right now.

After walking through the castle, Ned reached the balcony that showed him the training yard; with his arms against the wooden railing, he leaned forward, his head over the railing. He watched as Jon and Robb sparred, but it didn't take long for Jon to get the better of his son, and Robb ended up with his butt on the snow.

"Try to move more, Robb. You are standing way too still," Ser Rodrick instructed as he helped Robb to his feet. Ned watched his son start once again; this time, he was quicker on his feet, but his mistake was being way too quick and moving too much, which resulted in Jon just kicking his leg, causing him to fall on his face.

"Robb, when he said to be quicker with your feet, he didn't mean jump around like a frog," Jon said teasingly as he extended his hand towards Robb, who groaned loudly.

"It's not my fault that you move around like you're dancing with me." Robb countered, and Ned chuckled slightly at their antics.

"Exactly, this is a dance. This is the dance of death, and you shall always fall before me," Jon said dramatically as if he were in a play and acting.

"Never. I will not allow you to plunge the Kingdom into Darkness." Robb countered, sounding way too dramatic, as he stood up, spreading his arms in a challenging way.

"You dare challenge, Daemon, The Rogue Prince." Jon continued speaking dramatically, making Ser Rodrick shake his head but still smiling in amusement. Neither noticed the way Ned's smile faded away the moment Jon said that name.

'His name is Daemon Targaryen. You have to protect him.'

Ned always knew Lyanna liked reading about the Dance of the Dragons. He knew she fancied Daemon Targaryen, but he never thought she would name her own son after him; thankfully, Jon was nothing like Daemon, 'The Rogue Prince' or Daemon Blackfyre. Jon was a kind boy who knew that the hardest choices were sometimes the only choices.

"For the future of the Kingdom. I shall defeat you...with snowballs!" Robb and Jon started laughing as they threw snowballs at each other. Ned felt like he was watching himself; he hadn't stayed in Winterfell for long before his father sent him to Vale, but he still remembered throwing snowballs at Brandon and Benjen. Those were the days, but those days were long gone.

Soon, the snowball fighting game ended, and Robb was declared the winner for hitting Jon fifteen times, and Jon only hit him thirteen times.

The two stopped their silly games when they saw their father walking downstairs to the courtyard. "Father, can we come with you?" The two boys asked at the same time as they sprung on their feet and ran towards their father.

"Come where?" Ned asked, already having an idea of where they wanted to go.

"To War. Pretty Please!!" Robb begged, jumping up and down, while Jon repeatedly nodded.

"No." Ned's voice was sharp and final; the day he took two seven-name days boys to war with him was the day he went mad.

"But fath-" "The answer stays No. You two are young for war, you don't even know what war is like." Ned interrupted his son with a strict voice; he remembered his father's voice when he wanted them to listen to him. He would use the same voice.

"How hard can it be? Jon easily dealt with that Iron Shit two weeks ago." Robb said almost dismissively, pointing at his brother, but Ned wouldn't hear this. He still felt troubled that Jon did not seem shaken by what happened despite being so young, but he knew his mother and Lord Flint trained him, and Ned knew Lord Flint was an honest man, someone he could trust.

"The answer stays no, Robb. Don't make me repeat myself, but since you two want to do something. I have a duty for you both." Their ears perked up like deers as they looked up at him with expectations and hope.

"What?" Robb asked excitedly.

"I will soon leave Winterfell, and until I return, I want you two to protect your family. I will sleep much easier knowing that I have you two protecting Winterfell in my stead. Will you two do this for me?"

"YES!!" The two shouted excitedly, and Ned laughed in amusement, glad he wouldn't hear more of that question.

Sansa

Her eyes looked at the piece of cloth; the needle held firmly on her fingers, and she started stitching. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to imagine what she wanted to stitch, trying to picture it, but then, she felt cold, too cold.

She opened her eyes with a silent gasp. He's not here; he is locked away; he cannot hurt you; your brother will protect you, you are safe, and your family will protect you. I'm safe, she told herself repeatedly. She looked down at her work and realised that she had barely made any progress. It was all crooked and ugly—her worst work.

"Sansa, are you feeling well?" The Septa's voice reminded her that she wasn't alone. Besides her was Jeyne working on her own needlework, but often, her eyes flickered at her with concern.

"I'm fine," she said with a blank voice almost automatically before clearing her throat; this wasn't how a lady should act. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like that. I just haven't slept well." She apologised right away, rubbing her eyes; she felt a little sleepy.

"Oh, it's okay, sweetheart. I'm sure your next work will be as pretty as all the others." The Septa said a little dismissively about her ugly work, and Sansa smiled at the compliment; it always felt good when people talked about her beauty. Many told her that she would grow to become more beautiful than her mother, and Sansa was ecstatic at the thought; her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, after all, only second to the Queen. Jakon, a Southern knight, always said that Cersei Lannister was the most Wonderful Queen Westeros had the pleasure of having since the days of Alysanne Targaryen, The Good Queen.

Cersei Lannister was Fair, Beautiful, and a proper Lady. It was known.

Sansa wanted to become like her—a Queen. She wanted nothing more. Becoming Queen would mean that her children would be little Princes and Princesses, and she would always be safe and live in a Land full of handsome knights and fair Ladies.

With her newfound strength, she tried the needlework again. This time, she made sure not to make it crooked. Her father would leave soon, and she wanted this work to be perfect. As Sansa pulled out the needle tip, her eyes flickered at the second work she had made.

'Why did Jon want me here?'

'Someone tried to get to you, Sansa, but don't worry; your father took care of him, ' her mother said. Sansa fell quiet for a moment, her mother's hand caressing her hair.

'But Jon told me to come here. What would have happened if I had been in my chamber?' Sansa asked, looking at her mother over her shoulder. She looked away, her hands stopped moving, and she seemed to be struggling with what to say. Sansa had never seen her like this; her mother always had an answer for everything.

'Mother.'

'...The boy....your...brother. He did the right thing. He protected you.'

Sansa remembered the words that shook her. Her mother always told her to avoid talking with Jon, reminding her that he was a bastard, and that he would one day become a danger to their family. Sansa always wanted to please her mother; she was always right after all. She told her how a Lady was supposed to act, and Sansa always made sure to follow her lead, yet since that night...

"Septa Mordane, can a bastard be good?" Sansa abruptly asked, knowing that Septa was a woman of God. She would never lie to her, and she would tell her how it really was. The Seven had the answers to all questions.

Sansa saw the color on her face slowly draining away. She blinked once before replying, "Why are you asking Sansa?"

"...My...half...Jon...he saved me that night, he went after the bad man. Isn't that good? You always told me that bastards are born of sin and lust and, therefore, are seen as sinful by the faith of the Seven. What does this make him?"

Her Septa took a deep breath as if trying to come up with a good enough answer. "Your half-brother...did a good deed, Lady Sansa, but that doesn't change what he is, and you should remember that. It doesn't change his true nature."

"True Nature?" Sansa repeated the words, not liking the way she said them. "But if it is in his true nature to be bad, then why didn't he let the man attack me? Why did he warn me to go to my mother's chambers? Why Septa Mordana?"

"Lady Sansa, I did not teach you to talk like this, now back to your work." She said strictly, but Sansa was no longer in the mood to do needlework. Instead, she placed her half-done work on a table, stood up, and strode towards the door.

"Sansa, where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, Septa Mordana, but I don't feel well." Sansa quickly apologized, reminding herself that she was still a lady; before leaving the room, it didn't take long for her to hear Jeyne's approaching footsteps.

"Sansa, where are you going?"

"I don't know." She cried out. She had no idea where she was going or where she was supposed to be. She wanted to talk with Jon, to say something. The last time they talked, she had tried to fool him. In return, he saved her from a fate that made her skin crawl. He still chose to help her instead of leaving her to her fate.

"I think I know. You want to apologise to him for trying to play with his feelings." Sansa wasn't surprised that her friend could read her like an open book; she always seemed capable of doing that somehow.

"A Lady should never be in the presence of lowborns and bastards." Sansa repeated what her mother had told her many times.

"Yes, but he saved you. The Seven teaches us to give people a second chance and to reward when someone does a good thing," Jeyne told her, and Sansa pondered deeply before replying.

"He said you called him a bastard the last time you talked with him." For what it was worth, Jeyne looked guilty.

"I guess, that makes two of us that want to apologize to him." Jeyne mumbled under her breath. Sansa nodded, but she didn't know how to do this. Her mother would not be pleased. Her Septa would not be pleased.

Am I supposed to just not ask for their permission? She wondered before quickly shaking her head. No, she was a proper lady. She would never do something to disobey her family. That was known.

"Will you apologize to him?" Sansa asked with a quiet voice, almost afraid someone would hear them.

"Yes," Jenye said so easily that Sansa was almost shocked. Would she not ask her father if she should apologize?

"Can I come with you?" Sansa asked with a hushed tone right away.

"Why?" Jenye asked, a little dumbfounded.

"So we can apologise together," Sansa said with a cheeky smile, hoping Jeyne would agree. However, her hopes were crushed when Jeyne shook her head.

"No. If you want to apologise to him, you will have to do it yourself as will I. I was not kind to him, and I know that. Oh, and Sansa. You don't need permission from your Lady Mother to apologise to someone, even if their status is lower." Jeyne said with a knowing smile, and Sansa was sure her friend could read her mind.

How? she wanted to ask, but the words died in her throat when she heard someone cough behind her.

Sansa was sure her mother had come to scold her for leaving Septa Mordana's teaching; she knew she would have to stitch another Seven Stars. But as she turned around, before her stood someone else.

"Grandmother, it's good to see you." Sansa greeted her with a smile.

"It's good to see you too, my lovely granddaughter. What are you doing here in the middle of a covered bridge?" Sansa opened her mouth to answer, to tell her what she had been talking with Jeyne about Jon and how to apologize to him.

"Lady Stark, we...we were talking about the South, my Lady," Jeyne said quickly. Sansa was relieved her friend had saved her.

Lady Lyarra's eyes felt like they could read her mind as she cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, then why didn't you come to me. I have been in the South, to Harrehal, and even Highgarden."

"Ohh! Grandmother can you please tell us more?" Sansa said the words enthusiastically, almost pleading.

She didn't know why, but she always tended to avoid her grandmother. Her face was harsh, and her mother always told her that her Grandmother was a bad influence and that she wasn't how a lady should act. However, the opportunity to talk to someone who had been in Highgarden was something she could never let pass.

Her grandmother laughed at their faces before answering. "Of course, follow me."

Sunspear - Five Months Ago

'Ari, can you sleep with me tonight?' Rhaenys felt a little embarrassed asking that. Only the two of them were in the chamber, but she still felt embarrassed, and from the look she got from Ari, she felt even more.

"Sure, but we haven't slept together for a whole year now. What changed? Or are you suddenly afraid of the dark?" Her cousin teased her, but Rhaenys didn't want to tell her that she wanted to test whether or not Arianne would appear with her in the strange dream she had every time there was a full moon.

"No. I just wish-" She was interrupted when Arianne giggled in amusement. "No need to justify yourself, Rhaeny. Yeah sure, we can share a bed and we can talk about boys until we fall back to sleep." Arianne said with a bright smile as she gently swatted at her shoulder before walking away.

Rhaenys had to fight the urge to roll her eyes, she could not understand why her cousin liked talking about boys, but she knew Arianne was fourteen name days, and Rhaenys knew girls at her age started changing.

Rhaenys was still young, but she knew these changes would happen to her, too, one day. She remembered Arianne crying to her mother when the pain first started, but Rhaenys had no mother to cry to; all she had was an old painting that could not talk back to her, a painting that could never make her feel better.

All because of them. Baratheon, Lannister, Tully, and Starks. I will kill all of you, she thought determinedly.

The night came, and Arianne joined her in her bed. She had brought sweet wine with her, and Rhaenys had accepted a single small glass. She took a small sip. The taste was sweet and bitter at the same time, and she felt like vomiting.

"Blugh!" She felt like spitting the wine when she heard Ari's laughter, the glass full of wine almost pouring out of the glass's rim.

"If you stain my bed with wine, I will have you spend a whole day with Quentyn." Rhaenys threatened her, and Arianne wrinkled her nose at the thought of doing that as she stopped moving so much in her bed.

"You are ruthless, Rhaeny. You should be more merciful with me, how about a whole day with the Maester, that sounds...ahhh..." "Boring. That's the word you are looking for, unless you are into old man, Arianne." Rhaenys asked teasingly, and Arianne snarled at her words before taking a small sip of her wine.

"No. But I have my eyes on Daemon." she revealed with a glint in her eyes.

"Daemon!!" Rhaenys said, a little surprised, before her voice quickly changed into a more serious one. "Are you sure? Just because of Uncle Doran. You know what he is like. Bring him tea, and he won't drink it until it gets cold, in a desert. He is always like that. This is why Uncle Oberyn went to Old Town." Rhaenys said in a matter-of-fact tone as she took another sip of wine before continuing.

"Uncle Doran is not trying to replace you; he just waits, too—" "I know that, Rhaenys." Arianne interrupted her with an angry gaze.

"And it's not because of that. I'm not doing this to get a reaction out of him. I don't care about my father; he can drop dead right now for all I care." She said bitterly before drinking the remaining wine in her glass.

Rhaenys knew better than to talk when her cousin got angry with her father, so she chose to play the quiet game.

"I have wanted to experience this for a long time. Tyene keeps saying how good it feels, and she always tells me the first time is not as good. So I want to get rid of this 'first time' so the other times will feel pleasurable." Arianne continued, her voice growing louder with every word she said, and Rhaenys remained silent until she knew her cousin was done.

"So you are using Daemon for sex?" Rhaenys questioned with a sharp look, looking at her cousin over the rim of her glass.

"So what? He knows that. He is using me for sex, and I'm using him. We know there's nothing deeper there besides pleasure." Arianne said dismissively as if she was talking about something unimportant.

"Are you sure?" Rhaenys's question caught Arianne off guard as she almost choked on the wine she was drinking.

"What do you mean?"

"I won't pretend to be able to read people's minds, Arianne. But what if Daemon grows to have feelings for you? If not now, then maybe next year or maybe after two years? What then?" Rhaenys questioned. She didn't have much experience in this, but her uncle made sure to give her books and wisdom from what he personally knew. She knew pleasure could be a good weapon for a woman, sometimes it was the only weapon they had, but Rhaenys was no whore.

If she were to sit on the Iron Throne one day, it is not because she spread her legs to anyone with a cock, but because she convinced them to follow her, she would earn their respect with her strength and wisdom, not because of her cheekbones.

Arianne seemed deep in thought. She turned to look at her cousin, the full moonlight spilling through the open windows, the curtains moving gently. "If Daemon grows to love me, then I will have an ally for the future—someone I can trust to do things for me," Arianne said with a small casual shrug.

Rhaenys didn't like what she heard but decided not to fight her cousin on this, at least not now; she would pay close attention to her and make sure she didn't mess up.

Soon, Rhaenys and Arianne fell into slumber, and Rhaenys once again met Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell.

Rhaenys was disappointed to see that Arianne wasn't present in the dream, and she was once again stuck with the child of one of the men responsible for the downfall of the Targaryens.

The boy tried to talk with her, but Rhaenys ignored him.'

Now

For the next five months, Rhaenys and Arianne shared the bed two more times on a night with a full moon, and by the third month, they shared the bed quite often despite it not being the full moon. They stayed until late at night, talking about the future and rarely about the past.

Rhaenys knew tonight would be another Full Moon, and she wasn't looking forward to this one.

Jon Snow was getting more persistent and trying to have her talk, but Rhaenys tried her hardest to ignore him. But a part of her just wanted to let out her anger at him, to tell him what his father had done, what his father's friends had done to her family; she wanted to tell him that just so he could leave her alone, but she was above such things, she wasn't one to lose her temper, she was above that. She could accidentally reveal her identity to him if she lost her temper. It would ruin everything.

With Fire and Blood. I Will destroy all my enemies, she thought, feeling better.

She turned her attention back to Obara and her uncle. The two were sparring for an hour now, and Rhaenys wondered how much longer it would take.

She had no one else to spar with in Sunspear. She was already better than Daemon Sand. She knew her Uncle was still more capable and faster than her. The same was true for Uncle Doran's personal guard, Areo Hotah. The man was built like a brick wall and was much better than her, maybe even better than Uncle Oberyn, but he wasn't one to spar with anyone. He was a Guard, and that's all he wanted to be.

A Spear hit the sand, and Rhaenys strode forward as Obara kneeled down to grab her spear, a look of anger in her eyes. This was the third time today that she didn't even come close to hitting her father.

"Obara, move faster. You are not a swordsman. Your whole strength relies on how fast you can move, but instead, all you do is stand almost still like a brick wall." Rhaenys heard her uncle scold Obara harshly.

Uncle Oberyn could be the sweetest uncle one could have in one moment and the most strict in another. Some would even call him a little cruel.

"I'm ready, Uncle," Rhaenys said ecstatically as she took her stance, a short sword in one hand and a dagger in another. She had waited the whole day for this, and she would show her uncle how much better she was than his daughters, but much to her disappointment, he shook her hand before pointing at Obara.

"Not me. Obara first, then you can fight me for a whole hour." Rhaenys almost rolled her eyes, but she quickly reminded herself that she was a Princess—a Targaryen Princess—and she was above this. She was above her cousin in every way. So, she turned and faced her.

"You know we don't have to fight; there's no point in you eating dirt again," Rhaenys said haughtily to her cousin. Obara said nothing but growled like an animal; Rhaenys knew she had already won this fight. Obara was already angry with her poor performance, and it was easy to make her slide over the edge.

"You know what, I don't even need to use my sword." She said, almost mockingly, as she sheathed her sword. "I only need my dagger." This was enough for Obara to run towards her with a look of pure anger. She used her whip, but Rhaenys easily sidestepped; before rushing her, Obara tried to use her sword, but Rhaenys kicked her in the shin; Obara gasped in pain, and her knee gave in, falling on one knee with the dagger's tip under her chin.

"Obara, next time you use a whip, try to spread it more, and you need to sharpen the end," Rhaenys instructed her now that she had won the fight, she pulled the knife away and offered her hand to her. Obara sighed in disappointment before accepting Rhaenys's offered hand and standing up.

"I will," Obara said meekly as she walked away, her head hanging down in shame. She walked with difficulty towards a wooden bench to rest a little.

Rhaenys looked back at her uncle and smiled, ready to test her skills.

.

.

After the first loss, Rhaenys easily snuffed out the anger. She was above that; she wasn't one to act like a spoiled brat when things didn't go her way. But after losing five more times, Rhaenys started to get angry and make more mistakes, and it seemed her uncle noticed that as well.

Rhaenys tried to swing at him when he grabbed her wrist and punched her in the gut. Rhaenys gasped, all air escaping her stomach as she fell to her knees. Defeated.

"Rhaenys." Her uncle said softly as he kneeled to her level; she breathed heavily. "Remember what I told you, you should know how to pick fights. If you are losing, you retreat to fight another day. You use the knowledge you earned to win next time. But never fight a losing battle, because if you lose. There's no second chance." Her uncle said gently before helping her to stand back up. Rhaenys still breathed heavily from the punch, but she had listened to his every word.

Night

' Once again, Rhaenys found herself in Jon Snow's company.

The boy had changed a little from last month; maybe it was his hair, but she was sure there was something new with him. But she once again decided to just ignore him and wait until morning came. Just like how she had done many times before.

She had to endure him telling her about his day at Winterfell. She made sure to remember if he told her anything important, something she could use in the future, but all he told her was his day with his brother Robb Stark, who she knew was the heir. He told her that House Greyjoy had rebelled against the Iron Throne.

She almost asked for more information but closed her mouth at the last second.

Unfortunately, Jon didn't tell her much, only that someone had tried to kidnap his sister Sansa Stark.

She wondered why Uncle Doran hadn't told her about this Rebellion and what he had decided to do; she doubted he would try to help the Greyjoys; one thing she agreed with Jon was that the Greyjoys were nothing but worms, and their piss-poor Rebellion was nothing but a sinking ship.

But after seven hours of waiting, she knew morning would come soon enough. But then Jon said something that grabbed her attention.

"My grandmother says that I'm good at singing, but you know how grandmothers are; they will always take your side." Rhaenys felt her anger flare up; she wanted to tell him, no shout at him that all her family was long gone. She had no grandmother, no mother, only her uncles and her cousins. But she held the anger inside and counted the seconds until morning came.

"Can I sing you a song? I would appreciate it if you could be honest about my voice," Jon asked innocently; once again, he was met with silence.

Rhaenys then heard him clear his throat.

"Alright. I hope you enjoy it."

"High in the halls of the Kings who are gone

Jenny would dance with her ghosts

The ones she had lost and the ones she had found

And the ones who had loved her the most

The ones who'd been gone for so very long

She couldn't remember their names

They spun her around on the damp old stones

Spun away all her sorrow and pain

And she never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

They danced through the day and into the night

Through the snow that swept through the hall

From winter to summer then winter again

​​Til the walls did crumble and fall

And she never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

And she never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave

High in the halls of the kings who are gone

Jenny would dance with her ghosts

The ones she had lost and the ones she had found

And the ones who had loved her the most."

Jon finished his song and looked up to see her reaction, but what he saw wasn't what he expected. Rhae had tears running down her face. Her beautiful purple eyes were bright red and she looked at him as if this was her first time seeing him.

"Rhae, I'm sorry. Did I do—" "How?" she interrupted him as she jumped from the bed and walked up to him at a slow, steady pace, not looking away from his eyes.

"Your voice! Why-Why do you sound like Kepa?"

Jon didn't know how to answer that, he had been certain that her father was Prince Oberyn, but from the way she was crying and looking at him so strangely, he figured Prince Oberyn wasn't her father. Then who was she?

"I-I don't know. I don't know who your father is. I didn't mean to make you cry. I just wanted us to be friends again."

A Lump formed in her throat as she tried to talk. His voice sounded too much like Kepa, almost like her Kepa was singing in his place.

Finally, she found her voice to ask a question.

"Who are you?"

"I am Jon Snow." Before Rhaenys could give an answer, the light blinded her; the sun had peaked over the horizon. It was Morning, and Jon seemed to have noticed the same.

"I guess this is it then. Until next time, Rhae..." His words trailed off as he disappeared from her view. '

When Rhaenys opened her eyes, she turned around. She wanted to tell herself this was just her imagination—this was just someone who could sing. But his voice kept replaying in her head—over and over again. She remembered the many times her Kepa had sung to her. She still remembered his singing voice, and the more she compared his voice to Jon Snow's voice, the more similar they were.

Who is he? Why does he sound so much like Kepa?

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