A Dragon Kissed by Sun

Ned Stark

Ned felt the sun shining on his face, his hand in front of his face, slightly closing his eyes; he tried to stand up when he felt a weight on his chest, only now. Ned saw Ashara resting her head on his chest; her naked body pressed firmly against his body, his hands caressing her beautiful hair; he softly moved away her hair covering her face; Ned wondered if this was what it was like to wake up with the person you love.

Ned couldn't remember the last time he felt so fresh, and he felt full of energy, and that just by having Ashara with him.

His eyes looked around the bedchamber, and only now, he saw the small bundle sleeping peacefully in a crib close to their bed.

Is this a Dream? Ned asked himself and wasn't sure if it was, then it was the best dream he ever had. He wanted to stay like this forever, no iron throne, no Robert, and no shame of a broken promise.

But looking at Alysanna, everything returned to his head like a hammer slamming on his face, and he remembered that he had shamed the woman he loved. He had a bastard daughter. At the same time, he felt happier than ever before just by looking at her; he thought it was his fault that she was born a bastard. He had failed both his daughter and Ashara.

He turned to look at her face, just looking at her; he still didn't know what he did to deserve someone like her, he still remembered the first time he met her.

Ashara had once told him what she had first thought of him when she first met him.

'A bit earlier, in that very same night...

"I'm tired," Ashara confessed to Elia as she took a seat next to her at the royal table.

"I can imagine you are..." Elia said, smiling. "How many men have you danced with?"

"Thirteen."

"That many? I might be jealous now..." Elia teased.

"Don't be," Ashara said, while she took a look around the room, to see many men still gazing at her...most of them would probably ask for a dance with her, and most if not all wouldn't give anything for the plot... "Besides being tiring, especially to your feet, most of them were rather dull."

"I see..."

"And why are you here alone? Where are the girls?" she inquired.

"Jasline and Nysah are dancing with some handsome Reachmen, and Ynys is with her betrothed, of course," Elia explained.

"And Rhaegar?"

"Went to bed already to avoid raising suspicions from you know who."

"I see...and what about you, Elia? Have you danced enough for the night?" Ashara inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Me? Oh, I shared a few dances with Rhaegar earlier, one with Arthur and one with my uncle Lewyn and I'm waiting to have one with Oberyn, but I have to confess that I had the most fun right here, contemplating someone who has been watching you quite attentively..." Elia murmured with a smirk.

"He is certainly not the only one," Ashara replied, laughing. Another one who fell in love with her beauty.

"This young man has been watching you since your first dances without stopping..." Elia added. "He is so lost in you that he didn't even notice me staring back at him."

"Has he really?" Ashara couldn't deny that she was rather intrigued now; despite her opinion on this unknown man, not many men would watch her that long without doing anything... "And where is this man you speak of?"

"He is in the North's table," Elia explained. "He is still watching you right now."

She took a look at the said table and saw a man staring at her, and as soon as she laid eyes on him and showed him a teasing smile, he seemed to blush and look to the floor in shame. She was certainly not expecting that reaction, especially in a full-grown man... "He looks rather shy, doesn't he?" she muttered, smiling.

"Apparently, yes." Elia agreed, smiling as well.

"He does look sort of cute." she found herself giggling at the sight. Perhaps she might have misjudged him a little bit...

"Perhaps you could grant him a dance for his admiration to you?" Elia teased. "I mean, he has been watching you for quite some time."

Perhaps I can... "I will wait a bit more, see if he musters the courage to ask me and if not, I will go to him myself..."

"So you are interested in him?" Elia inquired with a raised eyebrow, surprised.

"Maybe a little..." she confessed. "But it's more to tease him than anything..."

"You are evil, and you know that?" Elia rolled her eyes as she said this.

"Oh, I know it quite well..." Ashara replied with a devilish smile.

"Lady Ashara?" A manly voice was heard, and both of them turned to their left to see Lord Jon Connington or, like the girls liked to call him, Jon Connington standing next to them. He was one of Rhaegar's most loyal and trustworthy friends, a diligent man, and overall lovely, but...he was a cunt to Elia, and therefore the girls came up with the name Connington for him.

Rumours in court said he was trying to be more than just one of Rhaegar's friends...that would explain why he was always trying to find flaws in Elia or any woman that got too close to Rhaegar for his taste...

The man in question offered his hand to her with a fake smile that he tried his best to make look genuine. "Would My Lady grant me this dance?" he asked her.

Ashara noticed that Elia was not even looking at him, returning her gaze to her admirer, who now seemed to have some companions. Elia was kind and caring, but she would never allow people to make fun of her, especially Connington. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken were House Martell's words, and Elia was a Martell after all.

"I will," she replied with courtesy, like always, and took his hand, despite not liking the man. She had to admit that she was pretty surprised by his request...perhaps he was trying to discredit those rumours about him?

He led her to the dancing floor, and they started the dance as soon as the next song did, a fast song much to her relief. Her surprise continued as Connington spoke something she did want to hear...

"Would My Lady be so kind as to tell the Prince that besides most of the court backing him up, I can assure him support from some of the Lords in the Stormlands that I met today, not many but a considerable amount," Connington explained. "I can't, however, say what the big stag's intentions are. When the right opportunity arises, I shall give him more details, but I'm afraid it won't be soon as I'm going to spend most of my time with the storm lords to gather their support to the cause."

She nodded and smiled at him. "I shall inform him as soon as it's possible for me, Lord Connington. Thank you."

"Thank you, My Lady," he replied, this time with a genuine smile.

With everything that needed to be said, they went on to finish the dance, not raise unnecessary attention from someone they both knew very well. The tension between both of them was something that anyone could see, and that was bothering Ashara.

"Excuse me, My Lord, may I have a word with the lady?" A handsome stranger asked Connington as soon as the dance ended. Tall, with grey eyes and a dark brown beard and hair, her admirer also had dark brown hair and clothes of the same colour as this stranger, were they related somehow?

"Of course, do go ahead, My Lord," Connington replied and then nodded to her as he left, undoubtedly happy to be free of her and the tension between them, just like she was.

"What does My Lord wish to talk about?" she inquired, interested in his looks, by far one of the most handsome men she had talked with that day...until she saw her admirer being dragged to her by a lady and a young man that looked a lot like him, together with a dark blond man who looked almost like a child due to his size.

"Brandon Stark, My Lady." the stranger said with a smirk. "And these are my youngest brother Benjen and my sister Lyanna. The small man over there is Howland Reed, a crannogman and a friend." he then grabbed her admirer's arm and brought him closer to them. "And this, My Lady, is my middle brother, Eddard Stark."

"Is there a reason why My Lord is introducing your family to me?" she inquired, still wondering what his point was. "I'm certainly delighted to meet each one of you, but..."

"Then I should perhaps cut the crap and go straight to business," he said boldly. "My Lady, we have a rather awkward request to make to you."

"An awkward request?" she asked aloud, not knowing what he meant by that. Were the Starks such complicated individuals?

"Yes...you see...Eddard here confessed to us that he would like to share a dance with you, My Lady, but he is a shy person by nature, and as such he is too shy to ask himself but...would My Lady grant him his wish?" Brandon Stark inquired; she noticed that he had lost his smirk...

Her admirer was gazing at the floor, redder than a tomato, his siblings were all looking at her with worried looks, anticipating that she would rebuke their request somehow...but she found herself interested in the request and on this shy admirer that she had and somehow kept surprising her.

"I accept," she said without hesitation, surprising them all in the process; even her admirer looked at her open-mouthed; his eyes were grey like his older brother, she saw.

"My-my Lady accepts?" Eddard Stark himself asked incredulous, still not believing she was accepting or perhaps on how quickly she replied positively.

"Shouldn't I?" she teased him. She had met many men, but she couldn't remember any of them being as shy and awkward as him.

"Why, of course, you should, My Lady!" The girl, Lyanna joined in, in her brother's defence. "My brother Eddard might be shy, but I assure My Lady that you won't find a better man in the world."

Eddard gazed at the floor, blushing so much that she began to worry if, besides being so shy, he had a fever...So I will not find a better man in the world? "Come, My Lord," she said, smiling as she extended her hand to him. "The next dance will begin shortly, and we can't be late, can we?" '

Jon Connington

The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, which was fragrant with the exotic scents of Essos. Fruit, rich smelling flowers, with only the mild scent of the sea. With the sound of heavy footsteps, the exiled lord walked through the cheesemonger's estate.

The sun hung above him in the clear blue sky. The weather in Essos was usually sunny, he found. Not the nearly constant rain and winds of the Stormlands, his home. The home he missed, even for its faults. Not that he wanted to go back there now, with the usurper's claws tightly wrapped around Westeros as he sat on the Iron Throne. My princes' rightful throne.

After being exiled after the Battle of the Bells, the former lord of Griffins Roast had been exiled. The defeat still tasted bitter on his tongue. A stain that caused the collapse of an entire house. I should have burnt the whole town to the ground. My prince would still be alive. After hearing of the disastrous battle of the Trident, the lord saw the little point and decided to sell his services to the Golden Company after eating away the few coins he managed to bring with him. Four years ago, he had landed in Essos, and he could still remember the events clearly.

With cautious glances, Connington examined the portly eunuchs on guard around the grounds. Like statues, they stood with their spiked helms. He didn't trust eunuchs, not since Varys – the king's spymaster who swiftly turned his services to the usurper after whispering poison in the mad king's ear. The spymaster wasn't easy to forget in his bright lavender robes and with a scent of sickly sweet flowers clinging to him like the ones used to cover a corpse. The Master of Whispers was always quick to point out anything which could pose a possible threat to the king, only serving to increase Aerys' paranoia.

The grand doors opened for him with a horrible groaning sound, and a slave hurried through the marble corridors. The mansion was much nicer looking than the castles of Westeros, even more, beautiful than ones like Highgarden or the Eyrie. But castles are fortresses first of all. To be defendable against all threats, a palace isn't. However, the high and spiked walls around the villa painted another picture.

The Lysine slave bowed her head before leading him into a small and highly furnished room. "This one requests that you wait, milord. Magister Illyrio needs to be properly informed of your arrival." Connington nodded, and the girl rushed off, almost running by how quickly she moved. Even though slavery was illegal in Pentos, these servants were slaves in all but name.

Thankfully he didn't have to wait long before the doors swung open, and the most obese man he's ever seen walked in. So this is Magister Illyrio. The merchant prince was grotesque, with a yellow fork beard that shuns like gold. His bright red and yellow robes could be the size of a tent, yet they did little to wrap around his fat belly, which almost had his hairy breasts hanging out. How he's not eaten all his gold, I don't know.

"Hello, my friend," the Pentoshi magister said with a laugh, his entire belly bouncing vigorously. "May I welcome you to the fair city of Pentos. Wine, food? It has sure to have been a long ride from the Disputed Lands, I am told. Anything you require?"

Jon shook his head. "It was a long ride. That is why I don't want to waste time. What is it you require?" Bodyguard work was fine for the knight. While it wasn't as glamourous, it was a steady line of work.

Illyrio smiled a sly smile as he nodded. "I heard you have an interesting history, my lord. Exiled by the king after your failure . . . and still loyally follow your prince."

"For serving my prince, I have lost everything I had and could want." My lands, my titles, my honour. But it was losing him which was the worst.

Rhaegar with his silver hair, dark violet eyes which could piece into a man's soul, and the grief he carried around with him.

"It was a shame. You are an inspiring person. To stay so loyal. One of his closest friends and most loyal supporters." He was twisting one of the pongs of his beard.

"Tell me what you want," Jon growled from both frustration and anger. The cheesemonger brought back up all the memories Connington tried to suppress. He had made a life for himself in Essos, serving the Golden Company. Not the one he wanted, but the best an exiled lord who knew how to use a sword could do in a foreign land where the coin was power.

Mopatis's grin returned, the one who made Jon Connington want to smash the merchants' crooked teeth in. "My friend, but what if I tell you that there is something for you to live for." He paused as if for dramatic effect. When Jon didn't respond, the cheesemonger continued, "His son. Rhaegar's son still lives."

What in the seven hells is he talking about? "Aegon?" His silver prince's son? The one which Princess Elia Martell remained bedridden over. No, it can't be. The mountain killed Aegon. He had his head smashed against the wall. "Aegon is dead. Killed during the sack of King's Landing." By the Lannister monsters who killed him, his mother, and his sister. The babe was ripped from his mother's breast before the monster raped the princess with the child's brain still on his hands before crushing her head.

Illyrio shook his head. "A false story people believe, I insure you as it should be. Prince Aegon lives under this roof."

Jon's eyes widened, but he did not let himself be fooled by the magister's words. "What proof?" He wished the eunuchs didn't take his sword, so he could press it to the fat man's throat and see if he kept smirking then.

The magister turned to the slave and nodded. The blonde-haired girl rushed off. "It is simple, my lord. Varys had switched the prince with another . . . one of lesser birth from a family with too many mouths to feed. That was the boy who was killed, not Aegon." He cocked his head. "Do you wish to see him for yourself?"

If he didn't offer, Jon would grab the magister by the neck and demand it. Aegon . . . my silver prince's son. He thankfully didn't have to wait long before another two people entered. A young boy and Varys the Spider.

"My sweet lord," the plump, bold eunuch said he the effeminate way he did. "How pleasant it is to see you've come."

"Don't play games with me," Jon almost growled. What is he doing here? He turned to the boy who was standing by the door, his silver hair hiding his eyes. The exiled lord knelt to examine the boy, raising the child's chin so he could look at the face. The boy seemed desperate to look away and was fidgeting, but after a stern look from Varys, the child looked straight ahead but no less nervous. Connington wasn't surprised by the boys' actions. Rhaenys was similar when he first took the little princess from the mother. But whilst the princess looked more like a Dornish girl, with olive skin and dark hair, Aegon looked completely Valyrian, with barely any traces of his mother.

The Master of Whispers giggled. "He's a smart boy. Courteous, brave, and not the kind of staying in the same place for long." He showed a smile, but not the kind people would find comfortable. "A fan of stories with valiant knights as well. Ser Arthur Dayne, Aemon the Dragonknight, and Ser Galladon of Morne."

Jon wasn't fully listening, instead of examining Rhaegar in the boy's face. It was hard for a child so young. "Aegon?" The child's eyes were purple but a slightly lighter shade than the silver prince. Close enough . . .

"Y-yes," the boy replied shyly, his voice soft and barely hearable. "W-who are you?"

Before Jon could answer, Varys said, "The boy is without a father. One to raise him, one to teach him the ways of the world, and one to help him gain his rightful throne."

Connington felt his chest tighten as he struggled to get out a reply. This is Rhaegar's child, his son, his heir. He swallowed. I failed the father, and I won't fail the son. He stood up and turned to both of them. The child was quickly ushered out. "What will you have me do?"

The spider giggled. "You will help him regain his rightful throne when he is old enough. Ten, fifteen, or even twenty years from now. Anything can happen during that time that can benefit Aegon. No matter what, the Lannister and Baratheon alliance can't last. When the realm is under threat, our young dragon will come and take back what is his." He smiled. "The bards will sing of that day for decades to come."

But Jon wasn't that wide-eyed. "What if anything happens to the boy? What if he is like his mother and weak . . . what if he is like his grandfather?" There was a saying that the gods flicked a coin for every Targaryen.

Illyrio laughed, his chins and belly wobbling. "No need to fear. He's a strong lad, and if he falls from a tree, he's back up it a moment later with even more dedication." His smile grew. "And he's not like his grandfather. That much is certain."

Shy is what he seemed. But Jon didn't know enough about the boy, so he took their word for it. "He's not the last Targaryen. There is Viserys and the girl, Daenerys." The prince was sent to Dragonstone before the fall of King's Landing with Queen Rhaella. The queen died giving birth to the princess, but now the two royals were somewhere in Essos. "What of them? Are they here?"

The magister shook his head. "Whilst Robert believes that Aegon is dead, he knows that the other two are still alive and well. He will be more than glad to kill them. But for now, they are hidden and safe with Ser Willem Darry."

A good man and genuine.

Varys quickly added, "This is a dangerous game I'm playing. If Robert finds out about me, I'll be in danger and with the chance that all our plans are found out and undone. I'm doing my best to protect them, my lord. But I need to keep up the rouse." Jon grudgingly accepted it. "But when they are older, they can reunite. It brings a tear to my eye to think of a family coming back together." He tittered.

Jon glanced at the door where Aegon had left. "You saved the boy, but what about the girl? The princess. Why didn't you save Rhaenys?" He shot a cold stare at the spider. The girl was only three when she was killed by the Lannister's. Stabbed half a hundred times if the rumours were correct. He remembered the little girl staring at him with warm dark eyes and with that black kitten rubbing up against her as she cuddled it.

Varys didn't back down from the stare. He tilted his head slightly and almost showed a sympathetic face. "I couldn't. I wanted to, but I couldn't. A babe like Aegon would be easier to remove from the Red Keep and switch with another. But Rhaenys was older . . . and not many children have Dornish blood in the capital—"

"Not many people have Valyrian blood either."

Varys shook his head. "Blond hair, blue eyes. That was what the boy from Pisswater had. Enough for a child of Aegon's age. But Rhaenys was a different matter . . . I didn't believe they would kill her. Aegon would be in danger because he's a prince and a claimant . . . a girl on the other hand . . . not many in Westeros want a girl to be a ruler. I was hoping that Stark could get there first. He wouldn't have killed Princess Rhaenys even if Robert demanded it—"

"You were expecting Aegon to be killed?" Of course, he would.

The spider nodded. "He's a threat to Roberts reign. Of course, Aegon would be put to death, with Stark knowing or not. Robert Baratheon didn't think twice about the killing of two children, calling them Dragonspawn."

Jon pressed his nails into his palm. I should have razed the town to the ground; He inhaled sharply. "What are the plans for me?"

It was Illyrio who answered. "My lord Connington, you have experience in the Golden Company, and it is known you have a high position within it . . . but not for long. You will have to disappear and fake your death."

"What?" Fake my death?

The spymaster nodded. "You will steal from the company's war chest and die from drinking in your grief. Not a heroic way to go, but that is exactly the point. No one grieves or sings for a common thief and drunkard. Your name will turn to sand and blow in the wind. No one will remember you."

The exiled lord barely restrained his anger. "You ask me to dishonour myself? I have lost everything but my honour, and you ask me to lose that?"

Varys was unfazed. "The need for secrecy is greater than your honour, my lord. This is the safest cause of action. If people remember you, they could follow our trail, as little as it is. It would be easier if people believed you were dead and disgraced. A person is forgotten." He tilted his head. "If you want to avenge your prince, then help us. Help his son gain the throne, which is his and raise him to be the best king. One who the smallfolk can look up to and love, but one what the lords both respect and fear."

Jon lowered his head and clenched his fists. A hard line to walk, eunuch. He exhaled deeply. "I will do so," he said grudgingly. "But be careful; if you try to deceive me or put the boy's life in danger, I will find you and end you." He looked up, and the plump man's face showed some level of fear to Connington's satisfaction.

"Fear not, my lord. I will do nothing of the sort." He smiled that sly smile. The smile Jon didn't trust.

Illyrio smiled. "It has been a long ride, and there is much more to say. I'm sure you'll like some rest, and perhaps you can speak with the boy some more." He chuckled. "Fear not, my griffin. He's shy, but he will talk when he's used to your presence." Jon agreed, and they walked out.