Legacy of the Last Dragonlords

The voice barked from outside the tent flap. "Udrāzmio, issi ao bē?"

While Grey Worm had every incentive for just remaining asleep, years of training had conditioned his rest to be light and his senses to be alert. His eyes opened immediately - groaning. "Skoros iksis ziry, Timpa Grēges?" At the words, a very nude Missandei stirred, nuzzling further against his chest. A more beautiful sight, Grey Worn hadn't ever seen… orders had been for White Ant and the other commanders to leave him be unless it was urgent. "Sȳrī?"

"Ya better get out here, ya dumb cunt!" The booming baritone of Marden Tanner was enough to pull the last sleep away from him - and pull Missandei out of her slumber.

"Turgon Nudha…" she mumbled sleepily.

"I know bout your girl and our fuckin', but it's important!"

Hearing, Missandei blushed. Grey Worm clenched his teeth. "Tanner… fuck off!"

As the burly northerner bellowed a merry laughter, White Ant continued. "Istia māzigon, se zaldrīzes iksis kesīr."

That got them both up, wide awake. "Skoros!" Grey Worm shouted, grabbing his leathers as Missandei went for her thick dress - so much for enjoying a quiet morning, though the thought of Daenerys actually having escaped was too important to pass. "Iksis ziry zirȳla dārōñe?"

"Daor, udrāzmio. Se kasta mēre."

Well, that hope was gone. But still they dressed. Jon Snow arriving with Rhaegal was an urgency that merited the intrusion. Sighing, the Unsullied Commander fastened the straps of his cuirass. "Missandei." She looked up at him with her beautiful brown eyes. "I am not comfortable with Lord Snow taking our Queen's place."

"You don't have to worry, my love," Missandei replied, smoothing out her dress. When alone, they spoke Common Tongue as much as possible - making sure Grey Worm was fluent now that they were in Westeros. "His Grace has Her Grace's best interests in mind. I am certain of it."

Grey Worm raised an eyebrow. "His Grace? Queen Daenerys not marry him."

Oh, how little you know, my dear Grey Worm. Missandei bit back a knowing smirk. Walking over and looping her arms around her lover. "You trust me, don't you?" Offering a small smile, Grey Worm nodded. "Good, so you'll trust me when I say that Lord Snow rivals you and I in loyalty towards Queen Daenerys." She leaned in to kiss him sweetly.

The kiss had just deepened when Marden Tanner burst in, causing them to break apart. "Whoa…" He wore the biggest leer on his face. "Sorry to interrupt yeur' fuckin', but the dragon's bout to land!"

Dozens of Lords both major and minor - along with thousands of onlookers - crowded on the outskirts of the large field where Rhaegal was circling. Where the green dragon landed with a thud, roaring his return to the Targaryen Army with a fiery fury. One all were glad to have on their side. But in one swoop the collected men and women gasped. Stunned silent except for Missandei, who hid a smirk.

Climbing down from Rhaegal's back, Jon hopped onto the ground. Mud squelching beneath his boots. Gazing out at the onlookers, noting their disbelief at his appearance. His hair was tied back in its normal bun, Longclaw fastened to his hip. There, the similarities to his normal dress ended - all else a radical change. The thick fur cloak was replaced with a cape of dark red, leathers and chain mail also did away with. Instead, Jon was covered with a light armor plate, black leather underneath lined with red felt. Two snarling Stark direwolves adorned his gorget on either side of his neck, but the effect of them was negated by what was emblazoned on his chest plate. A three-headed Targaryen Dragon in bright crimson.

Visible to all.

Unperturbed, he trudged forward and stroked Rhaegal's snout. "Think we gave a good entrance boy? Stunned them all?" The snort of hot air answered in the affirmative, Jon chuckling softly. "Go find some food. I'll take care of things and then come find you." A hoot from Rhaegal and he took off with a gust of air from the massive wings. Turning, Jon was faced with Ghost. "Let's go, Ghost." A quick ruffle on the head and the direwolf fell in line behind his father.

Reaching the front of the crowd, Lord Royce, Lord Tully, Grey Worm, and - surprisingly - Lady Mormont all bowed. "Welcome back, Lord Snow," began Edmure Tully, eyeing the dragon on Jon's chest plate with unease.

"Thank you, Lord Tully. I am glad to be back with my men." It was true… the actual fighting men. He spotted a new sigil. One of a shooting star crossing a sword. The Dornish have arrived! "Lord Dayne, I am heartened by your arrival." A grin formed on Jon's face. "And is that the famous Dawn?"

Edric Dayne offered a smile. "Aye, Lord Snow. Carried by my Uncle Arthur himself." He couldn't help but feel pride of that fact. "The entire Dornish relief force has reached the camp, as has some Stormlanders. Lord Hightower's son Ser Baelor will be here within the hour, and the bulk of his men on the morrow." A better development Jon couldn't have asked for.

"Such is good, Lord Snow, along with your arrival. Your council has been greatly needed," Royce responded. "The Golden Company is on the move from Hayford Castle."

Jon's gaze darkened. Fuck, they move fast. He would need to retake the initiative, but first… "We will meet in the command tent. I have something major to discuss with all of you. The Lady Missandei and Commander Grey Worm will escort me to my tent for a quick refreshment, and then I will meet you there. No exceptions." None had asked yet about the choice of dress, for which Jon was grateful. Better to be in - semi - privacy.

He could feel the pinpricks of eyes - dozens or hundreds of eyes - on him as he trudged through the camp. Honestly, Jon didn't blame them. The great White Wolf of the North was legendary among the forces of Westeros gathered in the large camp north of the Dusken. Trotting by his side, Ghost was simply part of his legend. Rhaegal… less so, but he had ridden the green dragon during the Long Night so he was baked in. But dressed from head to toe in the colors of Aegon the Conqueror, led by the foreign translator and foreign slave soldier of the Dragon Queen… Such was different. Such was puzzling at best and fearful at worst.

What happened to their King in the North?

As they approached their tent, it became clear that one among the onlookers could answer that question. "Lord Snow!" Stilling in his tracks, Jon looked over to see a man the age of his fath… uncle, short but with a spry power. "Or should I say, your Grace?"

Grey Worm eyed him suspiciously, but it was Missandei that the hint drew out her protective, guarded anger. "And who are you to speak to Lord Snow that way?" Weeks had passed since the Naathi translator saw Jon and Daenerys as one unit, and owed loyalty to both.

"Forgive me, my Lady. I am…"

"Howland Reed," Jon finished the man's sentence for him. "Lord of Greywater Watch and friend of my… father." He reached out his hand, letting Howland clasp it. "Your men were most appreciated during the Long Night, though you weren't present."

"Apologies for that, your Grace. I'm not that spry as I used to be, and would just be a liability for my men. Meera led them well enough."

Jon nodded. "Aye, she did." He eyed the short lord warily. "Well, I shall see you in the command tent."

Instead of breaking off, Howland clasped Jon's hand with the other as well… Grey Worm's hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. "Your mother would be so proud of you, your Grace."

Eyes widening, Jon felt his throat start to dry. Worry start to bubble up. "Not here," he whispered harshly.

"Shall I deal with this man, Lord Snow?" Grey Worm asked.

Shaking his head, Jon motioned for Ghost to go inside the tent. "Go to high command. I shall speak to Lord Reed alone." He was faced with Missandei's raised brow. "It is alright, Missandei. I can defend myself."

Wanting to protest further, Missandei instead sighed and curtseyed. "As you wish, your Grace." Grabbing Grey Worm by the arm, she led him away. I hope you know what you are doing, Aegon.

The tent flap swayed as Jon led Howland in. Seeing Ghost curl up next to the dying fire, Jon reached for the woodpile and dumped a log onto the flames. Manipulating it with his poker until the fire was roaring again. "So you know," Howland said simply. A statement rather than a question.

There needed not another explanation. "Aye, I know." Jon didn't even need to ask how Howland of all people knew. "You were with my uncle that day. Facing the Sword of the Morning."

"Everyone knows that story, aye. That half a dozen men went into Dorne and only I, Ned, his sister's body, and his bastard son came out. But few know the truth about the latter two." Howland looked him over with tired but piercing hazel eyes. "I won't ask how you know, but who else is among us?"

At that moment, Jon decided he could trust Lord Reed. The man kept the secret longer than his uncle, after all. "Myself, Daenerys, Lady Missandei, Lord Tyrion, Lord Davos, my… siblings, Samwell Tarly, and… Lord Varys."

Howland whistled. "It's getting away from you, your Grace. Best disclose it on your own terms before someone else does on theirs."

"I was planning on that."

"Given your choice of dress, I deduced that." Expression earnest, Howland rested his hand on Jon's shoulder. "I owe your mother a lot, your Grace. She was… the best woman I've ever known." The lord of Greywater Watch grew misty-eyed. Jon understood, for he was the same despite himself. "You'll have me to support your claim to the other Lords, as well as my loyalty and fealty in the battles to come, King Aegon."

Looking up, Jon peered at Howland. It still sounded strange, but he knew he was going to have to get used to it.

"The northern lords will not like this," Varys observed, as calm and collected as ever.

"When have those stubborn shits liked anything?" Davos, however, was biting. "At this point they owe their Grace's their fookin' lives. They should show gratitude, on their hands and knees if need be!"

Five figures sat around the painted table, last among those residing on Dragonstone. Jon had ordered all but a skeleton crew of castilians to the mainland, and the advisors would be the last to ship off. "Reality is a fickle thing. What ought and what will are quite different."

"They should be made to show gratitude, then." Missandei held quite the uncharacteristic annoyance. "His Grace's dragon will turn heads."

"Forcing compliance by dragon is one of those tactics the Queen sailed across the Narrow Sea to avoid," Tyrion commented tersely. "I see both sides, but would be cautious of how to tell the Westerosi… or bear in mind even the Dothraki…"

The figure at the head of the table hung his head, done with the bickering. "Enough!" Silence followed. "Too many know. I fear it will become knowledge soon, so perhaps I should follow my Hand's advice and preempt it myself."

Wincing slightly, Varys leaned in. "The Lords of the North, Vale, and Riverlands swore to follow the bastard son of Eddard Stark, not a Targaryen. It can be sorted out when the war is won, but now is not the time."

A scoff from Davos. "And when would the time be then? I doubt you want his true name out at all."

"That is not true, Lord Davos. I just wish for our King's fragile command not to disintegrate. He is honorable as his uncle. That is what he should embrace."

"How will restraint keep my children alive?" Jon's fists clenched. "I need to defeat Cersei's armies in the field, and to do so will need the trust of my command."

Tyrion sipped at his watered wine - a compromise between him and his King. "I'm sure they already trust you…"

"What if her Grace isn't with child?" All eyes turned to Varys. "I'm not claiming it to be so, but we should consider the possibility."

"Are you saying my child is a lie Lord Varys?" Jon's voice burned, controlled anger dripping from every word.

Varys shook his head, easing down the angry dragon before him - he was quite the expert, considering he was a close confidant of the Mad King. "I'm not saying I personally believe such, but wouldn't it make sense for Cersei to try and goad you into doing something impulsive?"

Jon glowered darkly, but didn't unleash the dragon at Varys. Instead, he shifted to the Imp. "Lord Tyrion, do you believe that your sister could be lying about my child?"

Pursing his lips, Tyrion took a moment. A long moment. Eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled in thought. "While I do believe…" he began, drawing out his words. "That my sister is capable of hatching such a mad scheme as this in order to drive you to do something utterly mad yourself - she bankrolled the Faith Militant right into the ability to imprison her - I don't think she would lie about this. It's just too… complicated. Why give the Targaryen Army an heir to fight for? On the other hand… it sounds just like something she'd do. Cersei has lost it."

Rolling her eyes at Tyrion, Missandei gave Jon an urgent look. "Tell me, your Grace. When you looked at her Grace, did she look like Cersei was not telling the truth?"

Sighing, Jon hung his head. "No. She looked afraid."

"She is with child, then. I am positive." Missandei watched as Jon's scowl deepened, shoulders slackened, and eyes start to lose their luster. Daenerys had wanted a child more than anything, and Missandei knew that Jon wanted the same with the Queen. Elation turned morose in the current situation, and it was up to their advisors to keep their spirits up. "Davos' plan is the right thing to do. It gives you complete legitimacy while also shielding our Queen." A look to Varys found the man nonplussed - Missandei didn't buy it.

A sigh left Jon's lips. "It isn't honorable to lie."

Are all Northmen this stubborn, or is it a Targaryen thing? Her time with Daenerys answered that question in favor of the latter. "Your Grace…" Missandei stated, hoping to get through to him. "When the Lady Melisandre told us of you, I went to the library here on Dragonstone and read up on the North.

Jon's brow rose, expression morphing into something more neutral. "Go on."

"The Kings of Winter read like a fascinating tale, how they fought to unite the North against the Bolton Red Kings and fight against the Andal invaders."

"Aye, they were the only Kingdom of First Men to retain their independence." Jon was proud of his mother's heritage, of his uncle's.

Missandei nodded, eying Davos for a moment before continuing. "Lady Olenna Tyrell told her Grace before the first campaign against Cersei started, that if she was to get the Lords of Westeros in line behind her, that she couldn't be a sheep. That she should be a dragon. Aegon conquered the whole of Westeros, your Grace." She looked around. Davos was beaming at her statements, Tyrion intrigued, and Varys affronted. It isn't up to you, you little shit. "And Theon the Hungry fought the Andals to a standstill, sailing to Essos to bring them to heel. Neither bloodline allowed themselves to be sheep." Missandei looked Jon straight in the eye. "You are a dragon, and a wolf. Be a dragon, and a wolf."

The words of Daenerys' most trusted confidant and advisor - now slowly becoming his along with Davos - still repeated themselves. Playing on a loop in his mind over and over again as he walked into the command tent. Watching each of the Lords. The grim and boisterous northerners, those he grew up with, both thirsting for revenge and eying him doubtfully. The Rivermen and Vale Knights, wary of him. The Reach and Dornish, more curious than anything as to who they were now allied to. The Free Folk, still gazing at him as some kind of god. The Dothraki, visibly contemptuous of him. And lastly his small council, still divided into the same lines as the meeting a few days prior.

"Shall we begin, my Lords?" Best get it over with. "Upon arriving at Dragonstone a month ago, her Grace the Queen Daenerys was ambushed by Euron Greyjoy and the Iron Fleet. We believe that this was due to faulty intelligence that placed the Iron Fleet close to Blackwater Bay." Jon didn't have any evidence to this, but it was a sure bet. Even the most feebleminded idiot out there wouldn't forget about Euron. "She was captured and placed in the Black Cells of the Red Keep."

Murmurs among the lords, including some rather guttural chatter between the bloodriders. "So whose orders have we been getting?" asked Alys Karstark, standing next to her betrothed, Sigorn of the Thenns.

"Mine," Jon replied. "I have assumed command in her Grace's absence, ordering our forces here instead of closer to King's Landing and replacing Tyrion Lannister as Hand with Davos Seaworth."

Grey Worm opened his mouth to continue his argument from weeks before, but was stopped by an insistent glare from Missandei. Instead, Rokharo was the one to speak. Voice sounding quite angry. "He asks… essentially what gives you the authority to give us these orders? Or to wear the Queen's dragon on your armor?" From how Missandei translated, it appeared Rokharo used far more profanity than she was willing to communicate.

Wish me luck, father. "Because I am the true King."

Several blinks chorused around the room. "I'm sorry, Lord Snow." It was Ser Baelor Hightower - the newcomer. "But it is my knowledge that you bent the knee to Queen Daenerys, extinguishing your claim to be King in the North."

"Not King in the North, but King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Darting in before any mood could set in, Missandei cleared her throat. "You stand in the presence of Aegon Lightbringer of House Targaryen, Sixth of his Name. Rightful King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, Father of Dragons and Prince who was Promised. The Resurrected. The White Wolf, the Hidden Dragon. Friend of the Free Folk and Protector of the Realm." She and Davos had fun in picking titles for him. Jon had the urge to shrink in modesty, but willed himself to stand tall and firm.

There was silence. One could hear a pin drop in the tent. "Is this some kind of joke?" Lord Royce asked, incredulous.

"This is madness," stated Edmure Tully. "What the hells is this about?"

"It is not madness, Lord Tully." Jon took several scrolls from Davos, who stood behind him. He hadn't wished for Sam to have given them to him when they left Winterfell, but now he was glad for the fact. "Samwell Tarly, rightful Lord of Horn Hill." A quick glance to the lords of the Reach. "Informed me of my true birth before the Long Night. That I am the son of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife Princess Lyanna Stark Targaryen. In these documents, you will find the diary of High Septon Maynard in which he annulled Rhaegar's first marriage, and documented his wedding to Lyanna Stark - who was pregnant with myself at the time."

The documents were passed around, eager Lords leafing through them. "This is… fantastic to me, my Lord," Royce said, skeptically. "You have to admit, it's far-fetched for the heir to the throne to live as the bastard of Ned Stark?"

A loud whistle echoed through the room. Jon smirked - Tormund. "Ah shut up! Why do ya' think this Crow can ride a fookin' dragon? Gots to be some of 'dat dragon blood in 'em." He laughed. "Finally makes sense!"

While the Free Folk were still seen as outsiders by most, Tormund's logic was turning heads. "I don't believe it. It's impossible." Lord Robett Glover was tagged by Jon and Davos as a likely naysayer. "Lyanna was raped by Rhaegar. I don't know who this Sam Tarly is, but he sounds like a damned liar…"

"Am I a damned liar, Lord Glover?" All eyes turned to Howland Reed. The older man was angry himself, fury in his eyes. "I saw the She-Wolf on her deathbed. Saw her give her beloved Prince to my friend Ned Stark! Saw her tell him everything, about how she loved Rhaegar and wished to marry him instead of the whoring drunk Robert Baratheon! Now her beloved Prince stands before you with evidence, but you deny him and his identity!" He slammed his fists on the table. "We fought a war for the She-Wolf, and now we spit on her memory."

Further silence, the Lords rather stunned. "None of us think you are a liar, Lord Howland," the She-Bear of Bear Island stated. The fact that Jon was the true King starting to fall in place. "My Lor… Your Grace." Lyanna Mormont believed it immediately. Jon learned from Ned Stark, and the great Lord of Winterfell wouldn't lie unless it was to protect an even greater oath. "We stand behind you, King Aegon. I swore to the man with Ned Stark's blood, and now I swear to the man with Lyanna Stark's blood."

Several other Lords began to swear to Jon, some actually gleeful at the fact, before Rokharo drew his blade - leading to Grey Worm to draw his. The bloodrider hissed at Jon, Missandei quickly translating. "Dothraki follow strength, and the Khaleesi is strong. You are not our Khal just because the Khaleesi seeks out your… cock." Tormund actually laughed boisterously at that. "We will not follow you. Only the Khaleesi."

Feeling the dragon rise, Jon looked at the bloodrider. "I am your Khal as she is your Khaleesi. If you do not follow me, I will kill you." If the Dothraki only followed strength, then he knew that he would have to defeat their strongest in a blood duel. "Outside the tent, one hour."

The bloodrider laughed. "I will enjoy cutting his pretty hair."

Storming out, the Dothraki left a still stunned gathering. "Well, any further questions, my Lords?"

"What do you intend to do with this information?" asked Lord Royce. Where he went, the Vale would go. And he seemed to be moving to Jon's side.

Jon pointed at the marker for King's Landing on the map. "I shall defeat Cersei Lannister, free Daenerys, and assert our claim to the throne."

That set off the firestorm that Jon expected. "Our claim?!" Lord Tully, Sansa's uncle and not someone inclined to support a Targaryen, shouted. "If what you're telling us is true, the Dragon Queen has no claim to the throne!"

"You would rule alone. She is merely a foreign interloper and usurper," commented Ser Hightower.

Grey Worm seethed. "You would be dead if not for Queen Daenerys. She is Queen we Choose."

"Not by me," hissed Edmure.

"But by me, Lord Tully." Attention was back to Jon. "Daenerys is carrying my child." Gasps all around. "Before she left for Dragonstone we were married in the Winterfell Godswood." Ned Stark had taught him not to lie, but just as he had lied to protect Jon, so too did Jon need to lie to protect Daenerys. "She is my wife, my Lords. Carrying the Crown Prince inside her and the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"She is nothing but a foreign whore. One I will never support!"

One could feel the temperature of the room rise several degrees - a far off roar shaking the ground and a growling direwolf filling the tent. "Watch your words, Lord Glover."

"I shall not. You are the true King. Now is your chance to bring justice for our Kingdom! Do you think the daughter of the Mad King would have our best interests at heart? The daughter of the man that burned your grandfather and uncle alive?"

"I am well aware of the history of our family, Lord Glover. But I don't hold Daenerys to the same standards as her father. My grandfather."

Ser Baelor huffed. "She burned Randyll Tarly alive."

"Randyll Tarly was a traitor and an oathbreaker," Lord Royce sneered. "I would have done the same."

"Regardless, I will not support any dragonspawn," hissed Glover."

Jon glared. "You support me."

"You have the blood of the She-Wolf. Of course I would support you over the Dragon Whore."

Another roar, this one far louder, boomed into the tent. "Support me?" Jon's voice took a dark character. "Like when you abandoned us at Winterfell to fight the dead alone? Where my wife and I lost countless friends, nearly lost countless loved ones - humanity nearly died! And you claim to support me!"

Looking much like a puffed up peacock, the old man didn't stop. "I support anyone of the North who fights for the North, but it appears your priorities are not on straight. You marry her without telling your Lords. You destroy the chance of the North to be independent, spit on the dreams of your own brother, while also making the same foolish mistakes as he did? And for what, Jon Snow, just because you want to stick your cock in some foreign cunt?!"

Barely a second passed before Jon's fist flew from his side, Glover's nose crunching as it slammed into him. Two more punches flew out, knocking the man to the floor. "Lord Fucking Glover!" Jon punched him in the stomach. "The only reason you still have a head is because I need your men! If you dare act in a manner that would hurt my wife or my children, not only will I kill you, but I'll bring back the Blood Eagle to make an example of you!"

The lord of Deepwood Motte trembled in his grasp, eyes wide with fear. This was not Eddard Stark, nor the Mad King. This was Aegon the Conqueror. This was Theon the Hungry Wolf. A dragonwolf protecting his wife and cubs.

Another punch, blood sprinkling from Lord Glover's mouth and staining the grass below. Jon's fist throbbed, but he cared not. "Listen to me closely you little shit," he hissed, venom in his voice. "Nothing will stand between me and her. Not Cersei Lannister! Not the Iron Fleet! Not an army of corpses!" All eyes were wide with fear in the tent except for Davos, Missandei… and a hooded figure hidden in the rear. "I FACED DEATH ITSELF! ALL FOR HER!" Image of Dany at King's Landing… her only words being her love for him… they drove his pain. Stoked his fury hotter than Rhaegal's flames. Turned his eyes a dark violet-grey… "No cowardly, bitter old men will threaten to take my Queen away from me! Targaryen's answer to neither Gods nor Men, and neither do Starks!"

"Please… your Grace…" Lord Glover babbled. "Mercy…"

He was faced with the darkest rage any of the men present - even those that had known the Mad King - had ever seen. "I swear upon the old gods and the new, if anyone. ANYONE! Dares speak out against my Queen again, I WILL FEED THEM TO MY DRAGON! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!"

None answered. None dared to answer, all knowing that Jon was absolutely serious.

"I saw how all of you treated Daenerys. She saved all of your fucking lives, and yet you treated her like rank shit. Her men love her, her people love her. My men, my people… they all love her. I love her, but all of you are too petty and stupid to give up an ounce of pride to acknowledge her as your Queen even though she earned it far more than I did. I will say this, my Lords. If you wish to follow me, you must follow her as well."

And with that, Aegon Targaryen left the tent with a whoosh of his cloak.

Word had spread like wildfire about the battle. The duel between a fearsome Dothraki bloodrider and the hidden Targaryen Prince! Who was actually Lord Jon Snow! While the bored soldiers and bannermen would have been eager to watch a duel, the fact that Jon was participating under such circumstances caused a flood of men to pack the field to the west of the camp to watch it happen.

Many a bet was made, all but the Free Folk and Northerners favoring the bloodrider. A northerner didn't betray his own, while the Free Folk would be damned if they didn't support the Crow Who Rose.

Taking slaps on the back from his comrades, jeering and undulating his hips lewdly, Rokharo clearly didn't understand humility. Jon, however, stood alone. Hand on the hilt of his sword, he was stripped down to his boiled leather cuirass - also emblazoned with the three-headed dragon. "I will use your cock as a bit for my horse!"

Holding a hand up so that Missandei wouldn't bother translating, Jon got the gist of it. "Let us begin."

Rokharro let out a battlecry and charged, thick muscles bulging as he swung. Jon, leapt back, Longclaw drawn. Dodging the first heavy blow, the others were far less forceful. Steel clashing on steel - Jon parrying with ease. Not breaking a sweat. Sword twirling and batting the arakh aside before sending an uppercut into Rokharo's chin. The bloodrider staggering.

Jon smirked, still twirling his bastard blade. "Had enough?"

His words only seemed to enrage the Dothraki, screaming and charging again. This time crashing into Jon through his shoulders. Forcing the King to stagger back, nearly on his knees.

Missandei cringed, while Davos yelled at his King. "Come on! Footwork! Footwork!"

"Ya killed a Thenn Magnar, fucking Crow!' Tormund was just as invested, Tyrion beside him making motions with his fists. "Fucking destroy the fucker!" His wasn't the only shout, the entire crowd in awe at the furious duel.

Taking punch after punch, fist and arakh hilt knocking the wind out of him, Jon surged his energy to kick Rokharo in the shin. Forcing him to break off. Allowing the two to catch their breath.

"He's got nothing!" Qhono, another bloodrider, yelled.

"He's not human," murmured Rokharo. Attacking again, but feeling the fatigue begin to take hold. The arakh slashed at Jon, Rokharo using a surprising agility to overcome two parries and slice across Jon's side. A light wound, but one that stung.

Red filled Jon's vision. A literal roar leaving his throat, Jon rammed into Rokharo. Knocking him off balance before a hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him forward. Head slamming into his. A wild lashing out of the arakh was easily batted aside, Jon bellowing his own battle cry as he brought Longclaw's hilt down on the bloodrider's wrist.

The arakh clattered to the ground, Rokharo falling to his knees. Jon brought the blade to his neck. "Yield," ground out the King. Nodding, the Dothraki bloodrider was allowed to pick up his blade and draw back. Silently grabbing his braid and cutting it half way - full for actual battle, half for a spar.

"You truly are my Khal," he said with a humble respect through Missandei.

Sheathing Longclaw, Jon turned his head around, gazing at each of the hundreds of onlookers. "Hear me now! Men of Westeros!" His voice boomed. "I am Aegon Targaryen! Born of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark! Husband of Daenerys Targaryen and rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms! My wife promised long ago that she would break the wheel, to create a world better than the shit one we all live in. To claim the Iron Throne to do so, but only to give up such a fight to save humanity along with me from the threat of the Long Night. Now, she and I join together to fulfill that promise - to overthrow Cersei Lannister and break the wheel."

He cleared his throat. "So I ask you now - give you a choice - do you wish to leave? Or do you wish to join us in this fight?!"

A great cheer rose up from the army. Exultant cheers of the men-at-arms joining with the whoops of the northerners, battlecries from the Free Folk, chants from the Dothraki, and the spears against shields of the Unsullied. All men of the united army pledging themselves to Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen once again. It was both humbling and elevating to Jon, allowing himself to bask in the adoration…

A wisp of red hair poking from underneath a hood. Small smile on the feminine face that he knew so well. Someone he would have to face eventually. Sansa...