GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Daeron POV )

Winter tore through another low hanging cloud, revealing the frenzied activity underneath.

Here, almost at the mouth of the Mander, dozens of tents lined the ground, like anthills sprawling out in the countryside.

On the one side, the city of Tumbleton, on the east side of the Mander, and their orange, red and yellow tents, and on the other, on the side of the bountiful fields along the wide river, were the blue and grey tents of Jon's men.

As he got lower to loom over Tumbleton's walls, Jon heard a screech despite the deafening winds blowing into his ear.

He looked above, and saw a cream-colored dragon flying just overhead, soon accompanied by two other, larger, dragons.

Despite having known Winter for just about two years now, seeing other dragons flying in the skies above Westeros was quite a sight to behold. And if they were all smaller than his own, their appearance was no less frightening.

And, to the footmen, it mattered not whether it was a large or small dragon that melted their skin, they carried death all the same.

The three dragons soon outpaced Winter, flying along the Mander, and hovering over the assigned spot, an open area along the Mander, on the east bank, near a small ford.

It seems I am not the only one wishing to make a grand entrance.

Jon nudged Winter downwards, hovering down to land on the grassy field below, whilst two of the three other dragons did the same, with a slight delay.

As Winter hit the ground, Jon undid the straps of his saddle, and slowly moved off the blue-colored beast, giving it a pat as she took to the skies once more, to the admiration of the people gathered around.

Once his entrance was over, the two other dragons before him made their landing, much more gracefully than his own. The larger, black-scaled one was about two-thirds the size of Winter and despite the dragon's ferocious appearance, a delicate woman just jumped off of it, not even bothering with a saddle. As for the green-bronze one, it was only half Winter's size, but much more agile. It almost made no sound as it landed on the riverbank, and its rider, a man, jumped off.

The two dragons then took to the skies, and disappeared behind the Mander.

Hand in hand, the two Targaryens stepped forwards, and Jon had time to get a better look at them.

The woman was the epitome of beauty. Small, slender, pale skin, violet eyes and long, silver-gold hair. She contrasted immensely with the man next to her, a tall and lean-built man, but with equally silver hair, pale skin and violet eyes.

Jon stepped forwards, not letting himself be deterred by their show.

"Welcome to Tumbleton, nephew," the woman he recognized as Daenerys Targaryen spoke with the confidence of someone twice her age, "you were not what we expected."

"Your Graces." Jon bowed his head. "I am sorry to disappoint."

The man Jon now recognized as Aegon Targaryen, seemingly returned from the dead, coughed lightly.

"What our aunt means, is that she did not expect your looks," Aegon fumbled, "but I will not shy away from it. I am glad to be reunited with my brother."

"Brother?" Jon raised an eyebrow. "By blood, aye, mayhaps. But my brothers are dead or in the North. You are no brother of mine."

"I told you that he would be like this." Daenerys sighed to him.

Aegon waved her off as he stepped forward. "I also wished it had been we both were children when we were taken away. I, to Essos, and you, to the North. You are right, we might not have been as close as brothers would have, but we are so by blood."

Jon looked at him up and down with suspicion.

"By blood," Jon agreed. "But that is where it ends.I am a Stark. Stark blood runs through my veins. Stark blood made me king, regent, and gave me the trust of my people. It was Starks that gave me shelter, food and education. It was Starks that gave me a home and a family. I am no dragon, make no mistake. Eddard Stark was my father, and no one else will change that."

He could see Aegon wince slightly, but the tall man still tried to step forwards. This time, Jon took a step back.

"I…our families may not have had the best relations, but I am sure…"

"That's putting it mildly, Your Grace."

"Amends will be made; I assure you of that, Daeron." Daenerys stepped forward with a smile. "You do not wish to embrace your dragon blood; I can see that. But what blood gave you your dragon? Surely, Stark blood had no bearing in that feat."

Jon cocked his head slightly.

"Mayhaps blood didn't play a role. Mayhaps Winter just liked the sound of my voice. And call me Lord Regent, if you may," Jon launched back.

Aegon made to reply but a gruff voice yelled out first."Are you lot going to compare the size of your dragons all day or we can finally start talking?"

Jon turned around to see Edmure Tully, visibly unimpressed, arms crossed. He let out a soft chuckle.

"Lord Tully is right. We have traded pleasantries, but the aim of this meeting is not a kind family reunion, but rather avoid that we kill each other in a few hours," Jon said. "So, then, follow me if you'd like, Your Graces."

Jon did not even turn back as he sped forwards, to a specially arranged large tent, guarded by half a hundred men of both sides.

Inside, many seats were arranged, mostly facing each other. Jon, Edmure, and Harry the Arse would have the most prominent seats, with Arianne also getting a spot, next to him.

Jon took a bite out of the bread and salt presented, and continued walking around.

He had no idea who would sit in front of him, but he would bet on the two Targaryens, Prince Quentyn of Dorne, and Lord Jon Connington, the Old Griffin, of whom he caught a brief glimpse earlier.

Three lords of each kingdom would also participate. For the North, Jon had selected Lords Karstark, Ryswell, and Manderly, whilst the only one he recognized with Edmure and Harry was old Lord Royce. Similarly, as announced, there would be three lords for Dorne and the Crownlands, which made up the bulk of the Targaryen army.

He looked around the room for a brief moment, trying to see if he could recognize any of them, and made a frown when she saw Arianne in the arms of another man. As he got closer to her, to see what went on, or if she was just with Daemon, he realized that the man walked with a cane, and had the same olive complexion as Arianne did.

Jon's stance relaxed slightly, but immediately tensed once he saw she had been crying. Her eyes were watered and she was firmly crested into the man's shoulder.

It was then that Jon got a better look at him. He was about the same height as he, with short, dark hair, and dry lips. Along the right side of his face lay a scar that avoided his right eye, but went from cheek to forehead, though it was faint now. All in all, the man was slightly intimidating, if not pretty.

Jon coughed, startling the two.

"Sorry, Prince Quentyn, I assume?" Jon bowed slightly.

"Ah, yes, Prince Daeron, is it?" the prince replied back with a similar bow. "I must admit, I did not expect to find you…so far south."

"Lord Regent Jon Stark, if you will." Jon winced slightly. "And fate takes us to improbable places."

"Apologies, Lord Regent," the prince leaned slightly on his cane.

"No matter, Prince Quentyn." Jon smiled slightly. "Are you well?"

"A slight case of being stabbed by a Reacher lance, but I should be able to walk normally in a moon or so." The Prince sighed, his brown eyes staring into him. "Although I am just happy to be alive."

"My uncle…" Arianne wiped the tears from her eyes, "is dead."

"What?" Jon approached her, offering a hand, to Prince Quentyn's shock.

"In battle. He fell…" Arianne sobbed slightly, "I'm sorry, Jon, I need to rest."

"Easy, love," Jon helped her to a chair, where she quickly slumped down. "Just, breathe for a few moments, and do not hesitate to run off if you need to, I shall not think less of you."

"I'll be fine." Arianne's hand grabbed his own for a moment, before softly releasing it.

Jon bent down to kiss her forehead, whispering words of encouragement in her ear, making her smile slightly.

He almost had completely forgotten Prince Quentyn's presence at his side, and shifted awkwardly when rising back up.

"I am guessing you are to be my good-brother, as well?" Prince Quentyn quickly said, without a hint of hesitation. "You're pretty, but please, I'm no dragon, let's not try to bring back traditions."

It took him a few moments to realize the jape, but Jon had trouble laughing.

"I would wed your sister, yes." Jon nodded. "She bears my child."

Prince Quentyn seemed struck, but the surprise soon faded and made way for an intriguing smile.

"And pray tell, where do you wish to take her, to the North?" he asked.

"No, the climate would not do her favors. I thought to have mine own keep in the Westerlands, once it is carved to our liking," Jon replied with a shrug.

Prince Quentyn thought for a few moments, leaning heavily on his cane.

"I fear it may be more complicated than this." He shook his head. "I am sorry to disappoint, of course. But that's why we are here. To talk."

"With all due respect, Prince Quentyn, I do not need your permission to wed Arianne." Jon frowned.

"I am not talking about the wedding, but I will need my sister back, and they…" Prince Quentyn pointed to the two Targaryens, who were slowly taking their seat, "will want their little brother or nephew back too."

"I am no dragon, make sure you remember that." Jon scowled.

"You may think so, but that is not what they or the realm thinks, no matter how hard you deny it." Prince Quentyn looked him in the eyes, determined. "Claims are what matters."

"Careful with your words, Prince Quentyn." Jon looked back at him with just as much determination. "You wish for your sister back, but you hold mine."

"At least I haven't put a babe in yours," Prince Quentyn angrily replied.

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