Chapter Text
Jon was dreaming.
It was a dream he'd had since he was a young boy. He was somewhere, anywhere but where he'd grown up, and he was running. He was always running in the dream, not really away from something exactly. Wasn't like he was being chased. Sometimes he thought he might have been running to something. In this case, he was running towards an outline of someone. But he wasn't on land anymore, his feet were no longer beneath him.
He was swimming.
He was in a crystal blue lagoon, under the water, kicking his feet and pushing out with his arms, trying to get to the figure he could barely see now, because she— he knew it was a woman of some sort— happened to be fading from view. "Hey! "Hey! Hey you! " they shouted, muffled, warbling.
Until it was right in his ear, shouting: "Wake up!"
Jon gasped, eyes springing open, the water gone, the image of the girl he'd been swimming towards gone, and the person looking down at him happened to not be a person exactly, but the face of a scowling girl, with pinched silver brows and a wrinkled button nose. Her lips were in a tight line and if he was seeing correctly— he might not have been as he blinked away sleep— her eyes were a shade of violet he'd only ever seen in books or movies.
He flailed, gathering his bearings, and recognized the water around him wasn't water, but the salty morning air off the Narrow Sea, and he was asleep on a bench, with his backpack under his head for a pillow and the little wolf puppy he'd found abandoned in a tree stump near the Riverlands sitting atop his chest, licking his chin, and waiting for breakfast scraps. He glared up at the girl, who had unceremoniously awoken him from his rather nice dream. "What the seven hells? Who are you?"
"Who are you?" she retorted. She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, leaning back on her leg. It was a pose meant for an angry mother, not a little girl, and she snapped at him, "You're asleep on a bench outside my house. I get to ask the questions."
Who was this girl? He sat up carefully, holding the pup he'd named Ghost to his chest to keep from falling off, but the little traitor was scratching his chest, straining his neck towards this girl. She tried not to smile at the pup, keeping her face on him, pretending to be fierce. "I'm no one," he muttered. That's what they told him all the time in Winterfell.
She cocked her head, her face softening, lips pursing into concern rather than disdain. "How old are you?"
"What's it matters?" he demanded, immediately defensive. "You gonna' turn me in?"
"No. I've always wanted to meet a runaway." She held her hand out. "Dany."
"That's a boy's name."
"It's my name. Daenerys, if you prefer." She smirked, arms going across her chest again. "But something tells me that might be too hard for a Northern boy to say."
He glared, his gray eyes flashing silver in annoyance. "I can say it."
"So, say it."
"Daenerys," he retorted, putting emphasis on each syllable, mocking her. She chuckled, shrugging as if to say, 'well played.' He set Ghost on the ground and the pup scampered to her feet, licking her toes. She was barefoot on the pier's hot wooden planks. In fact, she was dressed only in a purple one-piece bathing suit and a pair of cutoff jean shorts, her hair— indeed, silver— knotted in braids behind her head. There were purple sunglasses holding the braids back from her face, perched atop her head. Another glance down at Ghost licking her feet and he noted purple was also the color of her nail polish.
Daenerys— Dany— cocked her head. "You shouldn't be sleeping on a bench," she chastised. Her arms fell to her sides. "Come on."
"You're not turning me in?" He couldn't believe he hadn't been caught by security. Part of why he'd stowed away on the ferry from King's Landing to Dragonstone was because he wanted to get on a ship out to Essos, but on Dragonstone, well...he was as far away from the North as he could be, and he knew no Northerner would dare set foot on an island purported to be inhabited by dragons. They were a superstitious untrustworthy lot. Not even Ned would come this far in looking for him if he even gave a shit.
She waved her hand, snorting. "Naw, I don't care. But you're asleep in front of my house and I want you gone before my brother finds you. He might call you in."
"What if I'm a murderer?"
"You're not a murderer."
"How do you know?"
"You're like my age," she laughed. She picked up the puppy, cuddling him under her chin, squealing. "And you have this cute little thing! No way a murderer has a dog this cute."
He rolled his eyes, girls. "How old are you anyway?" he wondered, getting up and stretching out the kinks in his back from the bench. It was more comfortable than the ground, that was for sure, but not by much. He didn't fancy getting swept out to sea which was why he'd avoided the beach.
"Fifteen. You?"
"Sixteen."
A perverse shot of pleasure twisted his smile when she wrinkled her nose, obviously annoyed he had her beat. She pursed her lips. “What are you doing here?”
“None of your business.”
“Kinda is because I could report you for trespassing.”
“Dock is public.”
“Not this dock.” She pointed to a sign posted above the bench beside his. He read it, scowling.
BALERION PROPERTIES, LLC
NO TRESPASSING AFTER DARK
“Balerion?” he read. “That’s a dragon.”
Her ego, if possible, swelled. “The biggest dragon known to man. Aegon the Conqueror was his rider.” He knew all that, but still didn’t really answer his question. The girl stretched her arms around herself, jerking her head to the big building behind them. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
He stiffened; voice soft. “You aren’t turning me in?”
She snorted. “No, not if you come with me.” She set off, marching towards a large stone building beside the dock, which as he approached behind her, was older than it initially appeared, with moss and water stains creeping through the uneven black brick.
He cocked his head, noting that there was an odd shimmer to the stone. The girl, Dany, puffed up again. “Dragon glass. It’s all over the island.”
“Cool.” He was fascinated by old things, especially ones that you had to dig out of the ground. At the top of the steps to the main entrance, he lightly touched the stone. It was cold. “Wow,” he murmured.
“Come on.”
Ghost led the way, scampering into the front room, which was filled with brochures and a few desks. It was a visitor’s center or a main office, but she kept going and he followed, wondering why he was ignoring all his instincts to bolt. But he trusted this girl. He had no idea why. He went up some stairs after her and into a kitchen.
A tall man with a silver braid and skin as pale as milk stood at a coffee maker. He wore all black but was barefoot. He didn’t turn, speaking an odd, floating language Jon knew as Valyrian. Dany called in Common Tongue, “We have a visitor, Rhae.”
The man, Rhae, turned and smiled politely. Jon was stunned. He’d never seen a man who could be both beautiful and handsome at the same time. Oddly hypnotic, his eyes a deep indigo compared to Dany’s lavender. “Good morning, who might you be?” He glanced at Jon once and flicked his gaze to Ghost, who was pawing at his feet. “Ah, a Northerner. You’re far from home.”
“I think he’s a delinquent but not a murderer. He was sleeping on the dock.”
“Hey!” Jon shouted, pissed. “You said you wouldn’t turn me in!”
“I’m not, Rhae’s not the cops he’s, my brother.” Dany grabbed a muffin off a plate on the table, fearing it in half and giving one part to Ghost.
Rhae chuckled. “Rhaegar Targaryen.” He sipped his coffee and smiled over the rim. “You ran away. From the North.”
Jon stood his ground. He could take these pale weirdos. “Aye,” he said. He scowled. “It was cold and shit.”
“You were at the Wall?”
He blinked. “How…”
Rhaegar nodded to him. “Your clothes. Those are Wall issued. I take it your parents…”
Jon interrupted. “Don’t know my dad and my mom’s dead.” His heart hurt. He had scant memories of his mother. He swallowed the lump in his throat. It fucking sucked. He shifted on his feet, tightening his grip on his backpack. Ghost had proven an excellent judge of character and he was now lolling on his back while Dany fed him bacon and scratched his belly. Or he was a traitor.
Rhaegar studied him a quiet moment and then smiled broadly, gesturing to the table. “Please Jon, have a seat, eat something. My younger brother might have some clothes your size.”
He sat down, eyes shifting warily. Like the wolf he was. “You aren’t turning me in?”
“Why would I do that?”
“You aren’t some sort of Seven freaks?”
Rhaegar scoffed and Dany snorted. She snapped her teeth. It was as ferocious as a teddy bear. “Targaryens answer to neither gods nor men.”
“Our family are Seven followers, but we aren’t,” Rhae answered easily. He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Why did you run from the North?”
“It was too bloody cold.”
“That it is.” Rhae looked over the top of his mug again. “If you stay, I trust you will let your family…”
Jon interrupted. “I have no family. My uncle married a cow who hated me and sent me to the Wall, and he didn’t even care.” He knew it was a matter of time. He’d basically moved out anyway, when he got old enough to realize Ned might not throw him out, but he wouldn’t stop his wife from exerting her hatred. He ended up hiding with some friends, but it was too late. Cat got wind of it, and he’d been wrapped up with some others to go straight North. Wall hadn’t been too horrible but then the superintendent Jeor Mormont had died, and it went to shit. He had to get out of that mess.
He missed his little cousin Arya. She was the only good person in the family. Robb hadn’t been too bad but then Cat started trying to mold him in her image and that was that. He picked up a piece of toast, his tumbling stomach giving up how hungry he was. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”
Dany gazed at Rhae, her lavender eyes turning doe like. “Please Rhae?”
“Please Rhae, what?”
“I’ve got a good feeling! Please!”
Jon got the impression they were talking about him, firing at each other in Valyrian. He ignored it, shoveling food into his mouth, ravenous. He hadn’t eaten in over a day. He forgot what it was like to have actual food and not scraps. Or the shit they served at the Wall. He barely heard them until finally Rhaegar loudly said: “Fine!”
Dany whooped. “Yay!”
“What?” he asked.
She fixed her smile on him. “If you want, you can stay here. Until Rhae finds you a job or something.”
“We can talk about it later but for now Jon, you are welcome here. Let me go find those old clothes of Vis.”
He blinked, wary of the generosity. “Why?” he asked slowly.
Rhaegar shrugged. “Because we can.” He smiled gently. “Don’t worry Jon. You’re safe on Dragonstone.”
And he was. He felt it in his bones. They weren’t going to call the cops, drag him back to the Wall, or make him call back to Winterfell. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he didn’t want to leave and try to hitch more rides or sleep on any more benches. He glanced at the pup, who was asleep under the table, snoring. Ghost seemed okay with it.
He fiddled with a toast crust. “Who is Vis?”
“My other brother. He goes to school in King’s Landing.” Dany frowned at him and then smiled again, eyes twinkling. “Do you want to go swimming?”
He stiffened. “Um…I’m good.”
“Come on, it’s crazy hot and Rhae’s gotta do a bunch of work here and it’s boring. We have a boat and a whole beach to ourselves.”
A beach? A boat? An entire company? “What don’t you have?” he retorted. It seemed like the family owned the whole island.
Her face shadowed. Her tone biting, she said, “Parents. Like you.”
Well shit. He felt like an asshole. His eyes downcast, he dug his boot heel into the floor. “Oh…I’m…”
“I don’t want your pity.” She pushed her sunglasses a bit farther up on her head, glancing over his shoulder. “But yes, we have a lot. We don’t live here.”
He glanced around the kitchen. “But this is a house.”
“It’s an office, it’s the visitor center for the island’s historical society, which we also run. But I don’t care about that.”
Rhaegar emerged before he could ask what she did care about. He had some clothes in his arms. “Vis left these here, they should do for now. There’s more up at the house.”
Jon picked at the clothes, nose wrinkling. They were too fancy for him. “Thanks,” he mumbled, pulling out the baggiest pair of cargo shorts he could find in the pile. It was going to get crazy hot; his curls were spiraling tighter in the humidity.
“Bathroom is around the corner. Dany can show you around, we’ll talk later, office is about to open, and I have meetings.” Rhae unhooked a pair of glasses he had on his shirt collar, slipping them on. “We’ll talk later Jon.”
“Snow,” he supplied.
“Jon Snow.” Rhae smiled. “Appropriate.”
It was a name that suited him. Dany rolled her eyes, pointing to the bathroom. “Go change. I’ll go find a collar or something for this little guy.”
He went to the bathroom and cleaned up a bit, grateful for the fresh cool water splashing over his sunburnt and dirty face. He changed, wincing at the tight shirt. Whoever this Vis was, he seemed to enjoy his clothing a bit form fitting. He finished up and walked out barefoot, not comfortable wearing his Wall issued boots with army green shorts.
Dany had him covered, holding up a pair of new flip flops. “You’ll need these for the beach.”
“Guess we’re going to the beach?”
“There’s not much else to do.”
There wasn’t much to do up at the Wall either. They went to school, which sucked because all the classes were too easy for him, and then they did their “labor hours'' whether it be working the laundry, in the kitchen, or cleaning toilets. He fucking hated all of it. Even when they could go outside for “recreation” it was always freezing and even a simple football game usually ended in someone going to the infirmary. Usually, he spent his time in the library with the Maester, Aemon, who was blind and older than time itself.
He missed Aemon, but it had been Aemon who encouraged him to seek his adventures elsewhere. “You are trapped here Jon Snow; you are a wolf and wolves do not do well with fences.”
Jon followed her out, Ghost nipping his heels. He wasn’t a big fan of water. He wasn’t a great swimmer, and the Narrow Sea was a lot different than the tepid springs around Winterfell. She grabbed a bike from the back of the office, purple of course, and said he could use Rhaegar’s.
They rode away, the small port town now wide awake, people coming out and starting their days. He raced after her— she was fast— Ghost sitting in the basket of her bike, having the time of his life. He pedaled furiously when they got to a series of craggy hills, going off road and bumping along until they reached a beach on the edge of Dragonstone Castle. He peered up at the massive edifice, in awe.
“This is all yours?” he asked softly.
“Yeah, but it belongs to the company. We kind of do everything. It’s a museum. We live in one of the small wings, it’s nice. Cold though.” She put Ghost in the sand, and he ran to the edge of the beach. She shucked off her shorts and kicked her flip flops out, whooping and taking off to the water. “Come on Jon Snow! Don’t be a scaredy cat!”
His back went up at that. “I am not!” He peeled off the shirt and ran to the water, stopping hard on the edge. He bit his lip, a little nervous at the huge waves crashing over Dany. She didn’t mind, laughing and diving in and out, her small body a slash of silver in the clear blue.
It was just the…the endless sea…no bottom in sight or anything. With a current that could carry him straight off to Essos. He swallowed hard and shuffled a little more into the water, up to his knees. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, preparing to just dive in, rip the Band-Aid off, when suddenly he was thrust forward into the water, his legs kicking out under him.
What the fuck! He was lucky he had gulped a bunch of air before his untimely introduction to the sea, his eyes wide and searching. It was so…clear. The sun rippled overhead, and he could see straight to the sandy white bottom, a few little fish lazily drifting along. He felt movement beside him and saw the purple bathing suit, almost like mermaid scales, glinting nearby.
She was fast, spinning around in front of him, laughing. He reached for her, but she moved out of the way, surfacing. He shot back up and gasped for oxygen, salt stinging his eyes and nose. “What the fuck was that!” he shouted.
“You’re swimming, aren’t you?”
“You could have killed me!”
“Naw,” she giggled. “You’re fine. I’ll teach you. You were doing okay anyway.”
Guess I was, he thought, smiling to himself. He reached back and undid the knotted bun he’d pulled his hair into earlier and redid it so it wouldn’t get loose, and took another deep breath, going back under the surface.
Ghost raced up and down the beach while they swam, the waves pushing them to the shore, and they’d run back out again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything…meaningless. It was just dumb and fun.
Dany was extremely annoying, but he also noted that she didn’t seem to have any friends, the longer he stayed with the Targaryens, which soon became forever. He’d intended it to be a couple days and he’d bolt, but he couldn’t. He liked them. And they liked him.
The day she found him on the dock was the turning point of his life, as he’d soon discover. He stayed with them at their “wing”, given his own room, free to do as he pleased. He got his own clothing, Rhaegar went to King’s Landing and there were a few letters from Ned, basically saying he was disappointed he’d run off but if he wanted to live on Dragonstone, fine.
He swam daily with Dany, helping her that summer with the historical society stuff, which she really liked. She hated the business things Rhaegar did. He liked the history stuff too. He also learned Maester Aemon was an actual Targaryen who was their great uncle times a million.
About a month after he got to Dragonstone, he’d been swimming with Dany in a small cove under the castle, which normally wasn’t accessible because of the tides. They only had a few hours before the sea swallowed the beach up again.
She surfaced from diving to look for shells, pushing her mask and snorkel up. “This one is cool,” she said, showing him a funky twisted one that was a pearly pink. “You find anything?”
“Nothing,” he complained. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he hadn’t found it. He swiped his hand over his face, which stung with sunburn. He had turned several shades darker from being outside constantly, to a skin shade Dany said was less “skim milk” and now closer to “ecru.”
Today she wore a turquoise bikini which blended with the waves. She shrugged and disappeared under the water again. He lost sight of her and went back under, swimming closer to shore and near the onyx dragon glass rocks the island sat upon.
After a few seconds of swimming, he moved to go back to shore, but something caught his eye. Dany was near the bottom and the sun had reflected off one of the tiny silver hair clips scattered in her braids. The resulting shimmer had bounced off something else. He furrowed his brow and rose to the surface, blowing water out the snorkel and taking another deep breath. He knifed at the waist and plunged down, zeroing in on what he’d spotted in the sand.
It was probably trash, maybe one of those damn hair clips had come loose and floated away, but he didn’t think so. It compelled him, the item, and he had to get to it or die trying. He thrust his hand forward and pushed by the sand, his fingers closing around the object. It was scratchy, algae or barnacles over it, and he clutched it tight, rising back to the surface.
He pushed the mask up, Dany popping next to him. “What is it?” she asked, swimming to lean over his shoulder for extra balance in the choppy waves.
“Dunno.” Jon scratched off some of the gunk with his thumbnail, his heart skipping a few beats. He smiled, whispering. “Treasure.”
“Let’s go show Rhae.”
They swam to shore, gathering their things, and took off for home. They showed Rhae, who studied it close, running it under water to clean it a bit more. “Where’d you find it?”
“Under the cove, the one that gets flooded, and the beach never appears,” Dany explained. She was vibrating. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you show me?”
Jon and Dany exchanged a look. Must be important. “Sure,” he decided.
They drove back this time and Rhae pulled out flippers and a bag, gearing up. They waded out; the tide was coming in faster now. He pointed to the general vicinity and all three doves down this time. He and Dany stayed off, floating near the surface, snorkels popped up so they could watch Rhae as he dove farther and faster than them, flippers kicking up the sand and silt. He had some sort of device on a weight belt around his waist, which he used to push the sand aside. He surfaced a couple of times for air but could hold his breath a long time.
After about twenty minutes, he gestured for them to go up and they did, popping up in time to see the tide was about ready to swallow the beach up. "We need to get going," Dany called. She glanced up at the sky. It was getting darker by the moment. "Storm's coming."
The winds had certainly kicked up, whistling, and howling through the dragonglass and the stone, chilling Jon and sending goosebumps along his skin. "What did you get?" he asked Rhae, desperately wanting to know what was in his hands. It was the same feeling he'd felt as a kid, digging around Winterfell, finding things, wanting to discover the secrets in the crypts and unearth its hidden history.
"Let's get back to shore."
They swam back, Rhae gliding through the water like he'd been born there. Dany ran out onto the beach and up to the big Jeep, throwing in her snorkel and mask, tossing him a towel. They climbed in, still soaked, and just in time, as the rain began to fall. Rhae drove the Jeep up to the main road, where the tide wouldn't cover it, and turned in his seat, opening his hand.
There were five or six of the same coin that Jon had found, only this time they weren't as covered. "There's something there," he announced. "We'll have to start checking tomorrow, but I'm willing to bet the hurricane a couple weeks ago unearthed a wreck on the rocks."
Dany and Jon exchanged excited looks. His heart beat faster, choking his words. "Treasure?"
"Like real treasure?" Dany whispered, picking up one of the coins. Her fingers trembled. "Like Valyria?"
Jon watched the look pass between the siblings. Rhae was trying to maintain his composure, but even he seemed excited. "Yes," he said quietly. "Like Valyria."
"What's Valyria?" he wondered. He knew it was the ancient land that had basically exploded because of a bunch of volcanoes, ages ago, but wasn't sure why they seemed so reverential to it. He scowled. "Something like treasure?"
Dany flicked one of the coins to him in the backseat; he caught it one handed. "Something like that. I'll tell you later."
And she did, later that night, when they'd showered and were cleaned up, sitting on one of the many open porches around their wing of Dragonstone, looking towards the direction of where they'd found the coins. She was bundled in a huge blanket, watching the rain fall from under the arched doorway to the terrace, wind kicking up the waves, which battered so hard on the rocks they splashed up to drench the furniture sitting out exposed.
She spoke quietly, but he could hear, because he was sitting beside her, Ghost asleep between them. "Valyria is the ancient civilization where the Targaryens came from. They said the Valyrians flew too close to the gods and the gods punished them. Destroyed them. The Doom. People know where it is, they've tried to excavate it, but one of the last ships to ever leave Valyria had priceless treasures on it. Books, spells, gold and jewels, and..." Her eyes darkened, excited, her pale cheeks flushed. "Dragon eggs."
"Dragons?" he whispered.
"Yes, dragons. They had dragons and the Targaryens were dragon riders. There were dragon bones here, on Dragonstone and in King's Landing and they find some here and there...I want to be an archeologist when I grow up. Study them. Discover them." She bit her bottom lip and rolled her eyes. "Rhaegar wants me to take over the company. Vis is...well you haven't met him yet but he's insane. He doesn't want to do anything with the company, he just wants to have fun. But I want to explore. I want to see things and find things and show the world."
That was what he wanted to, but maybe not quite so much on the whole archeology thing. He just wanted to explore. Maybe being locked away at Winterfell had done that to him. "I like history," he said quietly. "Northern history and...and up in the ice and stuff there's said to be things. Swords and weapons and...and all kinds of stuff that the Children of the Forest hid from the First Men. The Wall is just a frozen block of ice and there's said to be stuff in it." He glanced at her; she was watching him. He smiled. "I was a kid, and I found a sword at Winterfell...I think it made me want to find things too."
"Buried treasure," she said.
"Aye."
It was just a simple broadsword, nothing fancy. It had been buried in an area of Winterfell they were refurbishing. Forced the whole thing to stop so that the historical society could do a survey and make sure there wasn't anything else there like bones. The thought made him want to keep digging, but Cat had thrown a fit and after a couple weeks delay, the refurbishment continued. Ned told him to stop digging around, just "leave things alone Jon."
Might as well have said "go become invisible Jon." So, he did, but even that didn't help.
He looked at his hand. It was callused and tan, fingers a little pruny from always being in the water lately. He flexed it a few times. "Rhaegar seemed like he knew what he was doing," he mentioned.
Dany nodded and wrapped her arms around her legs, knees draw to her chest. She was so tiny when she did that. "Yes. He likes history too. Prophecies and things, but he knows that when he starts to get onto it, it kind of takes him over, like a drug or a disease or something. He gets obsessed so he tries not to really get into it anymore. He's busy with the business." She chuckled. "But today he was like the old Rhae."
"The Doom treasure?"
"Hmm...he almost went crazy looking for it, back when I was really little. I think, he never explained what happened, but he stopped looking." She got up and went into the adjacent study, rummaging around. After a few moments, she returned with a heavy old book and dropped it down on his lap. She moved beside him and leaned on his shoulder, pointing when he opened it to the first page. "This is Valyria, before the Doom."
They spent almost an hour going through the book, with Dany explaining the treasure itself. It was on a ship that was called the Balerion, named of course for the dragon, whose skeleton was now on display in King's Landing. She said it was lost somewhere between Dragonstone and Valyria, which was quite a large space, but it was out there, somewhere.
"They said there were three dragon eggs." She pointed to a drawing depicting them, shimmery jade, onyx, and pearl. "And by now the ages have turned them to stone, but could you imagine finding them now? They're priceless."
He didn't know what was pulsing inside of him, but the idea of finding the eggs? The treasure? It crept in his blood, filling it, consuming him. The rush in finding that silly coin, the idea that they might actually find an entire wreck? He was falling in love with it.
And he wanted to find this treasure too.
He turned his face up to Dany's. She was smiling at him, her violet eyes dancing, and he swallowed hard. She was really pretty. Even if she was super annoying. She cocked her head, whispering. "Want to find some more treasure with me, Jon Snow?"
The answer was obvious.
"Fuck yes."
Twelve Years Later
Seven hells it was fucking cold.
Even in his dry suit, his skin protected from the frigid elements around him, Jon could feel it seeping into his bones. It was also darker than night, the water too thick and cold for the sun to bother getting this far down. Not that the sun was even out this time of year. It was Skagos in the Shivering Sea; it was always night. Always snowing, always storming, and he was the dumb fuck who put on a wet suit and dove into the waves.
For what? He finished slicing off a piece of the scrap metal from the sunken fishing trawler with his welding torch, his headlamp cutting through the darkness like a knife. He tugged on the chain beside him, after securing the metal in the hammock, acknowledging for the guys above that they could bring it up. It was a dirty job, but it paid the bills. Not much of a job out there for a washed-up treasure hunter with a pieced together education in ancient Northern history.
He checked his gauges, noting it was time to surface. He secured his equipment and began to ascend, mindful of the depth and his oxygen and nitrogen levels. It was all second nature to him, as natural as breathing. A gathering storm greeted him when he surfaced, rain pelting the choppy frozen seas, the Zodiac craft fighting to get to him to pick him up.
When he climbed aboard the creaking salvage vessel, he had been calling home for the past month, his right-hand man greeted him by smiling enigmatically and holding the flask that he desperately wanted out of his reach. "I got a curious call just now," Davos Seaworth, ancient sailor, giant pain-in-the-ass, pseudo-father, said with one of his annoying half-smiles.
Jon wasn't interested in games. "Give me that," he demanded, snatching the whiskey flask. He took a long pull and screwed the cap on, swallowing the burning liquid hard. He grabbed his equipment, slinging oxygen tanks over his shoulder and his flippers and mask in a separate bag. They walked down the wet deck towards the hatch. "It was shit down there today. I don't get paid enough for this."
"You hardly get paid, lad. That's why this call was interesting."
"I'm fucking freezing, let's talk later."
"Hmm, you'll want to hear this."
They wove their way through to Jon's stateroom, where Ghost was waiting, gnawing on a broken regulator. He lifted his head and wagged his tail, greeting Jon with a lick on the face. Jon ruffled his fur, burying his face in Ghost's ruff for a moment, because he was so bloody warm. He shivered again and peeled off his dry suit, stepping into the tiny head to run the trickle of hot water that constituted a shower. "What Davos?" he called.
In the shower, he ran his head under the trickle, scrubbing salt from his curls. "Most interesting," Davos sang.
"Just bloody say it!"
Thankfully he was buck-ass naked, which stopped him from tearing out of the head to grab Davos by the throat and demand answers, when Davos calmly—with the faintest chuckle— called out:
"Your wife."
Wife.
He shut off the water immediately and wrapped a towel around his waist, leaning out of the open hatch, fixing an intense glare at Davos. "Ex," he bit. "Ex-wife."
Davos waved his hand, dismissive. "She should still be your wife."
He ignored the comment. Davos had his opinions, always let them be known, and despite the fact that Jon wished he could agree with him, he knew he couldn't. She was his ex-wife for a reason. That reason being they weren't bloody kids anymore and had to grow up. Which according to her, he couldn't do and wasn't capable of doing. He rolled his eyes and grabbed a clean pair of his "uniform." Black tactical pants and a black t-shirt with his black boots.
The irony that his uniform as a juvenile delinquent at the Wall was his preferred clothing style as a free adult. He dressed and grabbed some of the paperwork from his desk to take up to the bridge. Davos hadn't said anything further about the ex-wife. He glanced at Ghost, who was glaring at him. "What?" he demanded from his old wolf.
Ghost bared his teeth, which he never did. He rolled his eyes. Davos chuckled. "He agrees with me."
"Both of you are bloody idiots." He exhaled hard, opening his mouth to wonder what exactly the ex-wife wanted— last he'd heard from her was almost five years ago when she wanted nothing to do with him— when the hatch to his stateroom blew open. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, surprised.
It was his "boss." He used the term loosely because Tyrion Lannister might think he had power and control over Jon, but Jon didn't let anyone control him. He gave that up when he was 16. The rich, bored, and often drunk Lannister was the youngest of his evil family, and always trying to prove that he was worth it to his older siblings and his diabolical father. Which meant he was always off hunting for something big.
And in this case, financing a salvage operation in the Shivering Sea in an attempt to locate a wreck that allegedly held the Horn of Joromun. Jon could have told him the Horn was most likely hidden beyond the Wall, close to the Heart of Winter, but Tyrion claimed he knew better. Jon didn't fight it; he was paid either way. "What do you want? Have you ever heard of knocking?" he snapped.
Tyrion scowled. "That scrap you pulled up won't be enough to pay for this boat."
"I'll go back tomorrow and get more scrap."
"You're supposed to be looking for the Horn."
Jon exhaled hard and tugged his t-shirt on over his still damp chest. "The horn," he said, keeping his voice even as difficult as it was right now, and pointed on a map over his desk. "Is probably here." He tapped the North. "And not here." He tapped their location in the Sea.
"My sources said it was on the ship Ice Breaker."
Those sources were lying bullshitters, con artists who saw Tyrion coming a mile away and planned to fleece him. Jon pursed his lips, glancing at Davos, who shrugged. Jon shook his head. "Fine, I'll keep looking, but I'm freezing my dick off down there and I'm not doing it forever."
Tyrion scowled. "Fine." He gestured to the ship phone on the wall next to Davos. "You have a call from the mainland. Someone from Dragonstone."
His heart skipped a few beats. Davos chuckled. "The wife."
"Ex," he mumbled. He waited for Tyrion to leave, the asshole threatening that he better look harder, or he wouldn't be getting paid, as he left. Davos slammed the door shut again and he jerked the phone up at the same time, listening to the beep as he was connected. "This is Jon."
"It's Vis."
His eyes widened. That was unexpected. "Vis? What the fuck?" His sort-of-adopted brother was the last person he expected to hear from. Well, more expected than his ex-wife. This was odd. She called and now Vis? He leaned back against the desk, crossing his ankles and arms. "What are you calling about Vis? Is everything alright?"
"It's fine. IT's better than fine." Vis was manic; not a shock, he was probably on pills. He giggled, high and excited. "I found it."
"Found what?"
Vis's voice dropped, a reverent, hushed whisper. "It."
Jon's heart plummeted to his feet and then back up to his chest, his gaze locking on Davos, who frowned, mouthing "What?" He swallowed hard and chose his words carefully. "Vis, you better not be joking. If this is a fucking Shade of Evening trip..."
"It's not, I get sleepy on those."
"Vis!"
"I found it. Get to Pentos immediately. I wouldn't call if it wasn't true."
That was actually accurate. Jon bit his bottom lip hard, blood stinging his tongue. He closed his eyes tight, pushing his forehead to his hand. "Vis," he croaked. "If you..."
"It's real, Jon. Check your email."
He spun his laptop around, lifting it up and refreshed the page, Davos coming to peer over his shoulder. He opened up an image attachment from Viserys, staring at the mottled brown paper reflecting up at him. He blinked and cocked his head, scanning it and processing. It was real. It matched up. The jagged lines in the lower corner matched up to the new piece, completing the puzzle that had plagued him since he was a kid, first hearing the tale.
"Get to Pentos. Your flight leaves Skagos City in two hours."
Jon slammed the phone into the cradle and grabbed his gear. "We're out of here," he announced.
"That's bloody real isn't it son?"
"Aye."
"What are you going to tell Tyrion?"
Jon shoved his arms into his coat, Ghost jumping down and turning in circles when his harness came out next. He tossed his damp hair out of his eyes and grinned up at Davos. "I'm going to tell him to fuck off. I'm off to find some real treasure."
"You poor baby, what happened to you, my love?"
Dany set down the portion of the orbital socket she had been studying, her fingers in their nitrile gloves cradling the ancient dragon bone like one might a newborn baby. These were her babies, of course, each and every one of the few intact dragon skeletons in existence. She only had pieces of gorgeous Meraxes, who in her heyday would have been a shining ruby and gold, scales harder than iron, and bones twice as strong. Nothing could take down a dragon.
Except something targeting their eye directly, which she believed was what happened to Meraxes. She was close to proving the history texts correct, a stunning academic blow to the general theory that Rhaenys was the one who was shot first and fell, bringing Meraxes down with her. Even if that was true, falling from the sky would not kill a dragon.
She made a few notations in her book, rising on her toes again to peer at the bone through her powerful magnifier, rotating the dial on the size to zoom in further. She tended to disappear into her work, all other sounds blocked out, even the blasting rock music from her phone plugged in on the desk behind her. She paused, brow wrinkling, and thought she heard something. Maybe the door?
When she glanced up, she saw a dark outline of someone standing in the doorway and screamed, grabbing the closest thing she had to a weapon— an empty glass beaker she'd been using as a coffee cup earlier— hurling it at the intruder. It didn't crash or break because he caught it one-handed.
And she realized who it was.
"What the fuck!" she screamed, irritated he'd scared her and confused at his presence. She pressed her palm to her chest. "You scared the shit out of me!"
"Apologies," her ex-husband of five years said, in his low Northern burr, the slight rasp of it sending her toes curling in her boots. Traitor, she cursed her body, and glowered at him. It was unfair. He looked really good for someone she had wished would trip on an ugly stick and stand up with a shaved head and no beard and a beer belly. No, the universe would never do that to Jon Snow, he was as handsome as he was the day, she'd met him.
She had been so young and stupid, falling in love with the dumb runaway she'd woken up on that bench. He'd been beautiful then and he was beautiful now. Back then he was skinny, his face drawn, sickly pale, and his hair too long for his face. Now...ugh. The universe really hated her. He had filled out that skinny teenage body and he had a decent scruff, and his hair was perfectly curled— even though she knew he didn't brush it— his gray eyes sharp and observing, but also light with humor.
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.
Jon set the beaker down on the table next to him. He scowled; she ignored it. Most of the time all he did was scowl. She peeled off her gloves, walking over to the sink to wash her hands. "You called me," he said.
Like she was supposed to know what that meant. "Sorry Snow, I haven't thought of calling you in five years," she retorted. That was a total lie. She thought about it a lot. Except she also didn't. Because she wasn't a stupid kid anymore. She exhaled, leaning her hip against the sink and jammed her hand on her other hip, demanding explanation.
He narrowed his eyes. "You called me up North. On the cargo ship."
"You were in a cargo ship? Did Westeros finally realize what an asshole you are and kick you out?"
"Did Westeros finally realize what a bitch you are and kick you out?" he retorted. He waved his hand around her lab. "Is that why you're here in this Meereenese swamp?"
"No Jon, I'm here because unlike you I have a real job that pays me a real paycheck and isn't just roaming around looking for buried treasure like we're fucking teenagers again," she spat. She was upset he'd shown up, throwing her off kilter. It was just like him. Appeared when she most wanted him gone. She steeled her spine and cooled her voice. "Get out Jon. You don't get to do this to me anymore."
He actually looked like he might consider it. But he didn't. Instead, he reached into his messenger bag and removed a cardboard tube. No, no, no, no, she chanted silently. It was the part of her that liked coming home after a 9-5 job, to an actual home, with bills and four walls. Also, her stupid cat, Drogon, who was evil and hated everyone but her.
The other voice, deep down, buried so far away she had hoped never to hear her again, whispered teasingly, "Yes."
That voice heard Jon, speaking about Viserys, suggesting that he must have lied and said that it was her when he was calling, but no matter, because it worked, and he was here. "Although I will have to throw him in the sea," he mused, uncapping the tube.
"Jon, please," she whispered, tired. Her shoulders slumped. It had been five years. Five years trying to get over him. Knowing she had to get over him. How else was she supposed to grow up? "Just go."
Jon ignored her, removing a pair of cloth gloves from his bag. She watched him unwrap the object in the tube and lay it out on her exam table, with the bright light box underneath illuminating it. He swung the magnifier over and pointed. "He found it," he said quietly. "Take a look. It's real."
"It's not," she said. It couldn't be real. Because if it was real that meant Rhaegar died for nothing. She was so tired of this. "Jon..."
"It's real!"
"Jon, it's a fool's errand! It's for idiots who believe in fantasy over reality!"
He waved his hands around her lab. "Dany you study dragons for a living! That is fantasy!"
"But they're real, this is nothing!" Except she had to look. The scientist in her couldn't stop herself, the one who wanted to prove things real, the archeologist desperate to touch history. She looked at the worn parchment. It was frayed on the edges, a jagged slice through the lower portion. The top half she was quiet familiar with, because Rhaegar had found it when she was a kid. A map to ancient Valyria, to the lost treasure of the Doom, to the dragon eggs she had dreamed of holding.
Except it wasn't complete and he'd died trying to get the rest of it. All he had to do was focus entirely on the business, like he wanted her to do, and maybe he would still be alive. Except he wasn't. He was dead, because he decided to go chasing this dream, and the entire world went to shit because he'd gotten taken in by the nightmare hiding under the dream's surface.
She stepped towards the table, her fingers lightly brushing the edges. It fit so perfectly it couldn't possibly be real. The ink had faded with time, but she knew the outline of it by heart. The route the ship had to take, the lines of the volcanoes, the possible resting place of the Balerion. "Jon," she muttered. She shook her head, one of her braids falling loose, and she idly tucked it behind her ear, before pulling on it, an old habit, fiddling with the end. "This killed Rhaegar. It's not real."
A flash of steel cut through her vision, landing on the map.
She instantly knew it was Valyrian steel. It had a unique sheen, like fire creeping up the blade. Her hand closed around it before her brain could process. "Where did you get this?" she murmured. There were only four known Valyrian steel blades in existence and all of them were in museums. This was not one of them. It was a dagger, with a dragonglass hilt. There were ruins inscribed in it, which she tried to read, but she'd need a better magnifier.
"Came with the map."
"And how did you come by this map?" she asked, finally lifting her face from the dagger. It hardened, wondering how long he'd been keeping this from her, given all it had cost her family. Their family. "Rhaegar died for it."
"Viserys found someone," he said. He scowled at her. "I didn't break the promise Dany. I told you I wouldn't go looking and I haven't. Viserys made no such promise."
No, he didn't, because her other brother was often living in different worlds at the same time. One version might have said he would stop, but another would disagree and continue looking. Viserys had never gotten over Rhaegar's death. None of them had. He coped with it differently. She touched the steel blade again. It was cold, but maintained its sharpness, despite thousands of years of age. "Where did Vis find this person?" she asked.
"Pentos. I went with him, had a conversation with the guy. He's a prick, but that's what you get with people who go digging in the Doom." He referred to Valyria by its ruined name, the region of Essos that no one ventured. They were too afraid of its history, its legend. Some archeologists braved it, but the elements were too much there. No fresh water, volcanic activity, and often mysterious plagues.
Dany looked from him— her ex-husband, her first love...first everything— to the map. The map was also her first love. It was her brother's murderer. Well, someone who tried to steal what turned out to be a hoax piece of the map, he was the murderer. It didn't matter. Rhaegar went digging where he shouldn't have, got caught up. She crossed her arms tight over her chest, wishing she could go back to just looking at her bones. Where she hadn't thought of him at all that day. Hadn't thought of him in weeks. Months. Years.
What a lie, that little voice chortled, you think about him all the time.
Does he think about you? Of course not. They divorced for a reason.
"I'm going to find it," Jon vowed. He leaned closer to her; she turned her face away. He smelled so good. Peppermint, saltwater, and those damn vape pens she wished he would quit. "Dany, I'm going to find the treasure of the Doom, the Balerion."
Tears threatened to fall. "It isn't real."
"Yes, it is. It was real. You told me as much. Dragon eggs, Valyrian steel...the last ship to leave. Magic."
"Why are you here?" she begged suddenly. No more fighting. It didn't work with Jon; he would just ignore her. He always did. Because he knew when he could push her and when he had to leave her alone. He pulled back slightly. "Jon, please, why are you here? You know how I feel about this. Just go away. Just leave me alone."
She pushed by him and began to gather her things at her desk. He called out, desperate. "Dany, I need an archeologist. I need someone with experience, knowledge of Essosi waters, of Valyrian history...I need..." He trailed off.
Please don't say it.
"I need you."
Dany closed her eyes and hung her head. He always needed her. She always needed him. That was the problem. It had always been the problem. She shook her head, keeping her eyes shut. If she looked at him, she might change her mind. It was too much to take right now. She whispered, "No."
After a quiet moment, in which she waited for him to start arguing with her, he didn't. Instead, he moved around putting away the map and the knife. His boot heels thudded on the hard stone floor, reaching the door. She kept her face turned away. He sighed heavily. "Fine. If you change your mind..."
Something fell on the counter with a soft whoosh, like paper. She waited for him to leave, the door closing, before she turned around and saw a small card he'd left. She walked over to it, in spite of herself, because she must have been a glutton for punishment and picked it up.
It was a simple business card for Snow Salvage and Diving. The stupid company thing he'd formed after their divorce. She turned it over and deciphered his scrawl.
Tomorrow, Pier 99, Slip 9
Five
Ghost misses you
That bloody fool, throwing Ghost into the equation. She missed him too. That beautiful lug of the softest white fur, who made her feel better no matter how upset she could be at the time. She flicked her finger on the card and waved it a few times, closing her eyes tight.
Jon.
Valyria.
The Doom.
An image of a skinny teen with dirty black clothes, a permanent scowl and heavy chip on his shoulder, demanding to know who she was, swam against her closed eyelids. It shifted to the same teen in the water, the snorkel mask over them unable to hide his excitement at finding something as silly as a few gold coins.
And then it shifted to a young man, staring down at her, holding her tight, the moon overhead the same shade of gray as his eyes, the sand soft underneath them as they moved together for the first time as lovers, both nervous and fumbling, their hearts beating as one.
Then the face she didn’t want to see came into memory, silver eyes black, shuttered, angry and hurt, pained. Resentful. Turning away from her and walking down a dock, after leaving her with the papers that severed their marriage.
She blinked back tears, cursing under her breath. She knew what she had to do.
“Fuck.”
“So where did you get the money for this venture? I can’t imagine you’ve been socking it away. This is a sweet ride.”
Jon dragged oxygen tanks over to the storage unit, rolling his eyes at his cousin Arya, who was perched atop three massive totes of scuba gear instead of helping him ready the boat for departure. “I have an investor,” he said, throwing her a bag of flippers. “Get off your ass and help me.”
“Can’t you pay someone more than you pay me to do this?”
“No, we’re on skeleton crew.” He didn’t trust anyone and when it came to Valyria? He barely trusted himself. They were running bare on this particular journey. All hands-on deck to help keep the yacht running. He glanced at the gangplank, rolling his eyes again, this time at their investor, who was sauntering on like he was the bloody master and commander. “Vis! Pick up something and help why don’t you!”
Viserys daintily sidestepped a puddle of water on the deck. He was in all white linen, a Panama hat over his silver hair. “That’s what I pay you for,” he retorted. He tapped his watch. “We’re about to depart. The rest of the crew is aboard.”
“Hmm.” Jon wasn’t a fan that Viserys had outsourced. But he was also the one paying for this, so he kept his opinions to himself for now. When they fucked up– which they would– he’d make noise. He turned around to go get another set of tanks, Arya hopping off behind him to actually do something, when he saw movement on the dock. His lips twitched, hiding his smile, and he leaned against the side, watching as their last traveler dragged her cargo up the gangplank.
He called out, arms crossing over his chest. “Welcome aboard!”
Dany jumped onto the deck, pushing her cases forward and turning to lift up another. She dropped it in front of him. She was in her standard research trip fare; cut off shorts, a long button-down over a tank, and her hair in a complicated braid tossed over her shoulder. She pushed her sunglasses– which took up her entire face– up on her nose. He smiled again; he knew she’d come.
She wasn’t as mysterious as she wanted to be.
“Fuck off,” she snapped, pushing by him. “And where is my stupid brother? We need to talk about my pay.”
Jon grinned, pushing his glasses up on his nose. The horn sounded up from the yacht’s bridge, signaling they were ready to depart. He was looking forward to this far more than he had realized.
The yacht made good time, docking off the coast of Lys later that night, in anticipation of some storms coming in from the south that might delay them if they’d pressed ahead. He was fine with that, sitting on the calm waters of the island, looking up at the stars. Jon would rather do that then spend all his time in his stateroom being tossed about in a storm.
He had made a bit of a den on the aft deck, in the open night air, Ghost sleeping comfortably on one of the chaise recliners next to him. He’d stretched out, a glass of whiskey in one hand and his vape pen in the other. He was fiddling with it, not feeling up to actually smoking, thinking about the next couple of weeks. He was managing his expectations. They had the map, but there was still plenty more work to be done. There were some translations that still had to be done, some calculations on distance…
He sighed; he’d think of that tomorrow.
Right now, he wanted to enjoy this first night at sea.
And try not to think about Daenerys, somewhere on the yacht, as gorgeous as the day he’d met her, as the day he’d last seen her.
A door opened behind him, breaking his reverie, and he glanced back. He swallowed hard. “Dany,” he murmured.
She froze, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “Oh.”
Like him, she always liked to spend the first night on a trip outside, and maybe he’d been waiting out here on purpose for her. He gestured towards the railing in front of him. “Have at it, I know how much you like to look at the stars.”
She scowled. “I’ll just go. I didn’t know you’d be out here.”
“Dany, I don’t bite.”
She snorted. “Ha, yeah right.” Except she couldn’t leave, and he knew it. She walked by him; he took a sniff and smelled the same shampoo she’d used since she was a girl. Lavender. She leaned forwards over the railing, gazing out at the still, dark water around them. The sea breeze pulled tendrils of hair from her face. Jon itched to get up and tuck it behind her ear, but he didn’t dare. He wasn’t that stupid.
After a few long, comfortably quiet minutes, she spoke, crystal clear. “I don’t know what you’re doing Jon, but I’m not getting back together with you.”
Irritation flared. He gripped his whiskey tumbler tight in his fingers. “Oh?” He chuckled. “Can I ask why?” Not that he intended this trip to be a reunion tour in that regard; although…his heart hurt.
“Because it doesn’t work like that.”
For some reason, maybe it was the drink, maybe the smoke, he wasn’t sure, he pressed ahead. Get it out int eh open now before they were stuck dancing around each other as long as this trip lasted. “Why’d you leave me?” he wondered, staring intensely at her back.
Dany turned, clutching her blanket around her like a strait jacket. She stared a second, face a mask. “You’re drunk,” she finally said. “I’m not going to talk about this.”
“Fine, whatever.” He wasn’t that drunk. Pleasantly buzzed if anything.
“You left me.” Guess they were still talking about this. He sighed hard; she shook her head and walked by him to the door, back into the yacht. “Forget it Jon. I’m not talking about this now.” Jon closed his eyes, wishing he could go back in time. He thought she’d gone in, when suddenly her soft voice cut through the stillness. “You left me Jon and you found that redhead to replace me. So no, I’m not getting back together with you.”
The door slammed shut and he flinched. He rolled to his side, dropping the whiskey onto the table next to him and shook his head, looking back up at the stars.
And whispered, for no one but Ghost to hear, “No one can ever replace you Daenerys.”
You’re like treasure and treasure is one in a lifetime, he thought, before closing his eyes and falling into a fitful sleep.