As soon as the three chests were buried by the Kingsguard, Jon felt a sudden force shove him backward.
The next moment, he found himself once again kneeling near the Weirwood tree. His breath was ragged and his back drenched in cold sweat as he gasped for the air. Exhaustion washed over him like a crashing wave and he could not even muster the strength to stand.
Slyvia, startled, ran over and caught him by the shoulders.
"What happened to you suddenly?" she asked, her face tight with worry.
Jon shook his head, signalling that he was fine, though his chest still heaved with ragged breaths. He reached for his water container, gulping down large swigs to calm himself.
It took several minutes before Jon fully regained his composure and pushed himself back to his feet.
The moment he felt stable, he closed his eyes again, desperate to return to the vision. He wanted to discover what had become of the ravens and horsemen Rhaegar had sent to Ned Stark. Had those letters ever reached Ned?
But no matter how hard Jon tried, the vision did not return. It was as if something was blocking him, an invisible barrier he could not break through. It was the same barrier he had always felt to be present around him. He could feel it. A veil. And he lacked the strength to pierce.
He sighed heavily in defeat.
Slyvia, still staring at him with a mixture of concern and confusion, tilted her head. Her brows furrowed.
Jon chuckled at her expression. Since he could not return to the vision, he needed to move forwards with his plan.
"Bring some shovels from the tower," he said.
"What for?" She questioned as she looked at him, clearly suspicious.
"You will see," he replied, and did not explain.
Slyvia nodded slowly and turned back toward the ruins. A few minutes later, she returned carrying two old, rusted shovels. Likely the same ones used sixteen years ago.
Jon examined them and sighed. They would take more effort, but they would have to do. He cursed himself for not bringing a shovel from Sunspear. On what treasure hunting expedition you go without a shovel?
He grabbed one and began digging. Slyvia followed, though she kept glancing at him sideways, still unsure of what exactly they were uncovering.
It took them half a day, under the relentless Dornish sun, before they struck something solid. The top of a chest.
Slyvia froze in disbelief. They dug faster, clearing the surrounding soil. Soon, all three chests were exposed and dragged out from their shallow grave.
They stood before them, coated in dust and age, yet sturdy. Jon's heart beat faster. What could his father have left behind?
With great anticipation, he opened the first chest. The golden glow that burst forth from the chest, stole the breath from both of them.
Gold coins. The entire chest was filled with gold coins to the brim. Jon stared, wide eyed, before laughter bubbled from his chest.
He laughed. Deep, joyful sound. His fingers sifted through the coins. Each was pure gold, without any royal insignia. That meant they could be used anywhere. It was completely discreet and untraceable wealth. And a humongous amount at that.
Slyvia blinked in astonishment.
"Where did this come from? And… how did you know about it? Did you have a treasure map or something?" She fired the questions rapidly.
Jon gave her a noncommittal nod and a wry smile.
"Something like that," he responded.
He then moved on to the second chest, his excitement still high. It, too, was brimming with gold. Though grateful for the gold, he could not help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Valuable, yes—but not what I hoped for.
Then came the third chest. Jon hoped for his expectations to come true. Dragon eggs.
The chest was opened. Unlike the others, this one was mostly empty. Only a few items lay nestled inside. Jon's anticipation peaked.
Slyvia stepped closer, peering in. Two oval-shaped objects caught her eye.
"Are those… stones?" she asked uncertainly.
Jon stared at them, silent for a long moment.
Then he whispered, "Dragon eggs."
"Dragon eggs?" Slyvia gasped.
The two eggs were rough and scaled. One was smoky grey in colour while the other a deep, obsidian black.
Jon crouched down and placed both hands on the eggs. A jolt of warmth surged through him. He felt something stir deep in his blood. A primal connection. Something waiting for its awakening.
But the connection was not complete. Something held it back. It will awaken fully when the dragons hatch, he realized. He drew his hands away with reverence.
Then he noticed something else nestled in the chest. Two long objects wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped them carefully.
Two sword sheaths. His heart pounded in anticipation. Swords valuable to Rhaegar that he had buried them with dragon eggs. There were only two such swords he could think of.
He unsheathed the larger blade first. A long, majestic sword with rippling grey steel. It was Valyrian steel. Its identity was unmistakable. Blackfyre. Jon had never seen the sword, but the moment he touched it. He knew what it was.
The fabled sword of Aegon the Conqueror. Though he had been expecting it, Jon still stood frozen. How did my father get this? No record ever mentioned Blackfyre after it passed through the hands of House Blackfyre.
He sheathed it and turned to the second. It was smaller and more slender, but equally elegant. Dark Sister. The sword of Visenya Targaryen.
The last known wielder was Brynden Rivers, Bloodraven, who vanished beyond the Wall and later became the Three-Eyed Raven.
Some theories had suggested he left the blade behind at Castle Black in the care of Maester Aemon. So how did Rhaegar acquire both?
Jon did not know. But what he held now were two of the greatest relics of House Targaryen.
He smiled.
With the dragons, the swords, and the gold, he had more than just a legacy. He had a future.
All his plans could now be placed in perfect motions.
But there was a treasure remaining inside the third chest.
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