Chapter Text
The lines appeared first when he was young. Dark, blue and black against his skin. He never saw them form, but from time to time he would discover a new mark on his body.
On his chest, his back, his arms.
They became a reality he had to live with, just like being a prince in the Red Keep. His mother mostly kept him out of his father’s sight. When he was brought to see King Rhaegar, she would repeatedly straighten his clothes to ensure they covered his marks.
The strange marks no one else had.
Most people had marks from injuries and birth. Those with facial scars were often deemed lucky, although Jon did not think the Hound, Sandor Clegane, seemed happy. It was even said that in ancient Valyria, people would intentionally write on their faces with knives.
To find their soulmate.
He knew that they were strange, these marks he could not read. Grandmaester Pycelle described them simply as gibberish, but his teacher and minder, the dwarf Tyrion Lannister, assured him otherwise.
These were lines of purpose. Just in a language no one in King’s Landing or even Westeros could read.
Whoever his soulmate was, they were far away.
He will never be able to go look for them. His father is King. He has to be the next King.
His mother does not like to speak of the marks. As he grew older, he started to understand how these were a point of contention between his parents.
His father was a Targaryen. After he had taken over from his father, whom the silent whispers called the Mad King, he had introduced reforms. Tyrion Lannister had attempted to explain the technicalities of these reforms, but he still struggles with understanding taxes and laws even when the dwarf is endlessly patient in his explanations.
One thing he did understand. Rhaegar Targaryen had saved their family from certain doom by changing the lawless chaos of his father to normalcy. Even the business with his first wife, Elia, who no one was allowed to talk off now, could not detract from this stability. He is the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Sitting on the Iron Throne, Rhaegar rules the realm with a strict hand.
At least in name. From what Tyrion has told him about the Small Council, he gathers that most practical decisions are made by the Hand, Tyrion’s father.
Tywin Lannister is a scary man, who always stares at him intensely. He knows Tyrion fears his own father, even though the dwarf will not tell him why.
In the future when he is King in his father’s stead, he will take Tyrion as his Hand. It is one of the things he tells himself at night when he worries about the weight of the Crown.
If it was up to him, he would leave the ruling and the responsibility up to someone like his aunt Daenerys. He would have liked to be a great knight like Ser Loras Tyrell who teaches him swordfighting in the afternoons.
Instead, every time he is brought to see his father, he is concerned that Rhaegar will order him to marry. Soulmate’s marks aside. He will have to marry some girl, pretty, from a prominent Westerosi family. Together they will have to have many children together.
An heir.
A spare.
And many more.
He is an only child. He knows from the hallway’s whispers that it is one of the reasons why things have cooled down between his parents.
His parents who married for love.
When he looks at himself in the mirror of polished glass, he tends to be more concerned by the shape of his muscles than the marks. Most people never discover their soulmate. Some do not even have any marks.
They are the lucky ones. Some days he is jealous of those people.
He tends to shudder as he thinks about how he will have to undress in front of his future wife. Bearing the marks to her. He hopes she will not be too repulsed or angry.
Or jealous.
Wars have been started for less.
He looks in the mirror as he traces the lines on his pectorals. Swirling and intricate, they are pleasing to the eye and if it would be allowed, he would cover the walls in his chambers to match these fine black and blueish lines.
Not for the first time he considers that his soulmate is a man. The lines would be different if they were to flatter a woman’s breast. It is a strange thought. The Seven forbid such relationships, but he knows that it still happens in secret. At least based on what the whispering walls have been saying about Ser Loras. It does not matter anyway. He will never meet him anyways. It is better that he does not.
His father would kill any soulmate of his without a doubt.
Anything that could be a risk to eternal Targaryen rule has to be erased. Not with the brutal force of the Mad King, but with the subtle persuasion of his father. One will leave his chambers smiling and be found dead in the morning.
Drowned in the Blackwater.
A suicide they will say, but the whispers whisper differently. He does not want that for his soulmate.
He observes his face in the mirror. He looks like his mother. The dark Stark hair and the shape of his face clearly show his heritage. He lacks the light blondness of most Targaryens.
Sometimes his aunt teases him for being a changeling.
When he was younger, his mother would hold him in her arms and tell him stories of her youth in Winterfell.
He has never been, but he used to imagine the towers and the cold, icy snows. His uncle lives there, but ever since the Mad King executed his other grandfather and uncle, Eddard Stark has given King’s Landing a wide berth. From Tyrion he learned that he has quite some cousins and for a while he wondered whether he would marry any of them.
He traces a blink of stubble on his skin. He is seventeen now and still lacks the beard growth to shave everyday.
Then he feels a stinging sensation on his cheek. He gasps as a line appears under his left eye. The line moves from close to his nose towards the side of his face, to his hairline. There it curls upwards. He stands frozen. The slow expansion of the line is mesmerizing.
Just as abruptly as it started, it stops. The black line twists for one final time and curls like a snake.
He will not be able to hide this underneath his clothes anymore. Hesitant, he moves his finger over the line. He almost expects it to stain.
Someone knocks on his door. Tyrion. He rushes to get dressed again and he tries to cover the new mark with his hair.
By Tyrion’s expression, he can tell it does not work.
“It appeared just now-”
“Stay here, your Grace, I will get the Queen.”
—
He rides on his horse. The cap of his cloak covers his face. Against his chest the letter of introduction to his uncle burns. It is the first time he will be away from King’s Landing for more than a week.
Tyrion Lannister rides beside him and he is glad for the man’s presence. He is risking his life.
King Rhaegar will be furious when he discovers his son’s absence. He hopes his mother will be safe from his father’s rage.
He took little of his personal belongings. Just his sword and his mother’s bow.
They roughly follow the King’s Road, but are hesitant to stay too close for fear they will run into anyone familiar. Luckily, the chance is near nil that someone will recognize him due to the sheltered life he has led.
While they travel, Tyrion tells him about the lands they cross. Places he has only seen in books.
Until now.
Westeros is beautiful. The sight of the nature around them is overwhelming after a lifetime in the Red Keep.
The air smells crisp and fresh in a way King’s Landing never could.
They supplement the limited diet of their provisions with the game that he kills.
The weeks pass and he feels freer than ever before. Then he looks at Tyrion and he feels guilty. His teacher is stressed and on edge. Unfortunately, his nerves are not entirely unfounded as they have gathered that the whole realm seems to be searching for the Prince. Of course, most of the peasants they have spoken to, do not have an inkling of who they might be talking to.
They cross into the North, but it is not nearly as snow covered and cold as he was expecting.
He is awed by the strange towers of Winterfell. To him the North seems just as foreign as Essos would. He feels nervous as they ride up to the gate. He hopes that his mother was right to think that Eddard Stark would not turn them away.
He shows his sealed letter of introduction and they pass the gate.
He fiddles with the hood of his cape. His hair is longer than it has ever been, but still not sufficient to cover the mark on his face.
They dismount.
A man and a woman come out to meet them. Lord and Lady Stark.
He hands over the letter of introduction.
He watches as his uncle reads it. The man glances at him intermittently as he reads the words. Then he kneels.
“Prince Aegon, it is an honor to meet you after all these years.”
“Please, Lord Stark, call me Jon.” He nods towards his aunt. “Lady Stark.”
After a moment’s pause, she says, “Come inside, you must be hungry and weary after such a journey.”
—
Jon blushes under the stares from his cousins. They are inside and without much thought he took off his cloak. He can see Lady Stark glare at her children’s rudeness, but it does not stop them from sneaking glances.
It is the first time they see marks like these on someone’s skin.
Tyrion tries to alleviate tension by making conversation, but the one thing everyone is thinking of cannot be brought up. Nonetheless, his uncle and his wife politely smile at him and avoid any stilted moments with grace.
He observes his cousins. The oldest girl is tall and pretty in a way that would probably excite his father. The oldest son looks quite similar to him, except for the obvious. They are almost the same age he knows. Perhaps in another life they would be friends. The younger girl has asked him already if his face hurts to the mortification of her parents. She has nothing of the ethereal grace of her sister. Jon decides he quite likes her. The two youngest boys have been too shy and too impressed to say anything.
Still, for all the awkwardness, Jon feels more at ease than he has ever felt in the presence of his own parents. He wonders if his mother misses this place and her brothers. It seems to be so much nicer than the endless whispers at court.
After the meal, his uncle invites him and Tyrion to the solar. His heart sinks as he knows that they will finally discuss all the issues he has not been thinking about.
The feeling rises as Lord Stark offers them comfortable chairs and his good wine.
“I apologize for my children, your Grace. They have never met a Prince before.”
Jon nods, respecting the tact his uncle shows. “It’s very nice here at Winterfell. I wish my mother could have joined us. I don’t blame them for staring. I probably would gape too if I could see my face.”
The taboo has been lifted.
“Your soulmate then?”
“Yes, there are more marks.” Jon tugs awkwardly at his collar and shifts in his seat.
“Since he was eight years old, marks have appeared on the Prince’s skin,” Tyrion clarifies.
“I presume they have been hidden ever since.” Lord Stark’s voice has a questioning lilt.
“You know the opinions of King Rhaegar on normalcy.” Tyrion answers in his stead. “Your sister has been careful to conceal them once it became apparent that they were permanent.”
Jon barely remembers when the marks first appeared, but he recalls faintly a lot of baths and scrubbing. They must have tried everything.
“Has the King seen this mark?” Unthinkingly, Ned moves his hand towards his face, before refraining from making the same trace Jon bears.
Tyrion shakes his head. “We, the Queen and I, were concerned as to how he might react. We reckoned some distance would be wisest. You, um, came to mind. For obvious reasons.”
Lord Stark hums. “The news will come out soon. I know the Spider. There are eyes everywhere.”
“I hate to think that I may have brought you in danger. My father-”
“Your father is far and so are his armies. I don’t care if you bear the name Targaryen, your mother is a Stark. You are of the North, Jon. We are loyal to our own.”
Tyrion chuckles. “Your sister did think you would say that. We do appreciate your hospitality tremendously.”
Lord Stark turns to look at him. His gentle eyes turn serious. “What is it you want, Jon? Have you an inkling of who your soulmate might be?”
Jon shakes his head as he tries to shape a sentence from the right words.
The short answer is no.
Just that it must be something from so far away that the customs are entirely foreign to him.
When he was younger, he would dream that a heavily tattooed Valyrian knight on a dragon would fly up to the Red Keep to steal him.
“I don’t know anything.” Jon pauses. “But I would like to find h- uh, my soulmate. Even if just to ask them to stop.”
He sighs. “I just don’t know where to start.”
His uncle turns to Tyrion. “I’m not a great man of books myself, but I suppose you already searched for marks like these in Essos.”
“I did. From Pentos to the Dothraki on their planes, no one inks their skin like that. Like I told you before, these markings seem to be done with purpose. Meaning. But I never found any trace of it written. I even consulted the Grandmaester. No one knows what these mean.”
Lord Stark has an expression as if he is considering an idea. “What about the wildlings? Maybe it is because we’re so far North, but they are not as distant as one might think. They have many tribes with different, peculiar customs. I have never seen a wildling man with tattoos, but many years ago I did see a Thenn with strange facial scarring. Apparently it is their habit to mark the face for different life events.”
Jon’s mind spins. He never considered his soulmate beyond the lines on his body. He had so little to base an idea or a fantasy on that the whole thing seemed futile. Now he finds his mind racing with different images of big wild brutes. He feels dizzy.
Lord Stark can clearly tell that he is uncomfortable. “You should take some time to properly rest. Don’t weigh my words too heavily, I may very well be wrong. There is so little we know on the lands beyond the Wall and the people who live there. We can discuss this later when we are fresh of mind.”
As Jon stares at the darkened ceiling in his spacious bedroom, he considers all he has ever been told about the wildlings. Most of it was in relation to the Night’s Watch, the ancient order that mans the Wall.
His mother was always positive about these men. Another uncle, her youngest brother is one of them. Tyrion, however, has been more skeptical of their organization and their role. He has to concede that to have an army of criminals and runaways defend the realm against these wild tribes is a bit strange. Maybe he will change that when he becomes King of the Iron Throne.
The wildlings were never the focus of these stories. Some of the tales were so fantastical that the difference between a fairytale and reality was barely existent. The stories of giants, monsters and cannibals are hard to take seriously when one is above the age of eight.
Still, the past weeks of travel through Westeros have taught Jon how ignorant he is of his own birthright. He knows nothing. Yet.
Perhaps he should take a look at the great Wall that forms the Northern boundary of his territory. The chance is near nothing, but the new hope Jon has of meeting his soulmate is hard to quell.
When it happens he will not have to worry about his other half anymore.
For all Lord Stark’s instructions, Jon rests very little that night.