Jon Stark was shorter than Loras - probably shorter than Margaery as well. But then he was in that final, awkward stage of childhood that affected each person differently. While Olenna doubted the boy would ever be tall, he definitely might still grow. He had a solemn Stark face. Some might call it sullen, but Olenna saw intelligence in those dark eyes. That, at least, was reassuring.
She certainly noticed the décor. How could anyone not? She had not seen so much Targaryen splendour displayed since the time of Jaehaerys the Second. And somehow it was still only after they entered the chamber of the Painted Table that Olenna saw the full picture that was being painted in front of her.
Jon Stark, in contrast to his family colours, wore all black, with white accents and red embroidery. At his shoulder, always, was his uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne. And while Dayne did wear the right colours, the white was so prominent the eye could almost forget there was any purple there. They struck a striking picture in and of themselves, but when they finally stood still long enough to offer welcome and refreshments, they were right underneath a portrait of a Targaryen of old.
It took Olenna an embarrassing long few moments to realise the painting depicted Aegon the Conqueror. He was younger than in any depiction Olenna had seen before, face unlined and unburdened, even as a strange solemnity stood out on his features.
Jon Stark turned his head towards his uncle for just a bare second for some reason Olenna couldn't quite read, but it was enough to pull her attention back onto the boy. She blinked, looked harder. Looked back up at the portrait. Looked back again.
Despite Jon Stark's dark curls and near-black eyes, his resemblance to the portrait was uncanny. Identical chin, mouth and jawline. The noses were slightly different, but the cheekbones slanted at the same high, chiselled angle. The shape of the eyes was subtly different, but the eyebrows - unnaturally dark on Aegon the Conqueror but perfectly expected on Jon Stark - were indistinguishable.
While Jon Stark's forehead was higher, it was shaped much the same. Jon Stark's face was longer, and his colouring was Stark as could be. But his features were as Valyrian as they came. Olenna narrowed her eyes, looked closer. Glanced to the other side to take in Jon Stark's other uncle. The colouring alone was enough to mark them as family, and in superficial ways, their features matched up. Jon Stark was a Stark indeed, but far prettier than Olenna thought any Stark had ever been, even the late Lady Lyanna.
She shook her head, subtly as she could, shook off whatever it was she thought she had just seen. Smudged soot could change the perceived angle of cheekbones and jaw and the slant of eyebrows. The pointed chin and square jaw was not so unusual among Westerosi nobility. They were painting a picture; she had to remember that.
The introductions passed her by; she could participate in social niceties in her sleep and never show anyone the difference at this point. Jon Stark's accent was of the North, she noticed, even more than his paternal uncle's was. Even so, he was well-spoken and courteous. It was the sharp glint of his eyes she could not shake.
Once the welcoming meal was over and Jon Stark offered to show her and her grandson to the rooms made up for them, she sent the boys off as courteously as she could and, as she had hoped, Ser Dayne stayed behind. "It is an admirable forgery," she told the knight, glancing at the portrait.
Ser Dayne cocked an eyebrow. "I assure you the portrait is genuine," he said. "It was commissioned three years before the Conquest began. Rhaegar showed it to me after I first joined the Kingsguard. I thought this the most fitting place to put it."
"This is how you got his bannermen to bow down to him, then," she stated. "A slightly altered portrait, some foolish hopes and a spot of makeup."
Ser Dayne laughed. "I have not touched the painting except to move it. And Jon would sooner let me shear his hair than put any coal on him. That the boy looks how he looks is no fault of his."
"When did you stop being a Kingsguard, Ser?" Olenna asked. Looking at his violet eyes and fair face, it was easy to forget that he was a Dornishman, but a Dornishman he was, and suddenly she understood everything.
"Who says I ever stopped?" he countered, as she had expected.
It was a tangled web the Dornishmen weaved, she concluded a few hours later. The Lord of Dragonstone was a Stark, and while he may not have the might of the North and the Riverlands behind him on his own merit, he had it through his father and his brother. No doubt the Dornish counted on that, on the Starks' unwillingness to let another one of their own perish. The plan, in its own way, was ingenious.
Place a pawn on the throne and get their revenge, with the Starks' backing, willing or not. If they struck at the right time, they may even win. The Daynes had always had a strange look to them that could be confused for Valyrian, and Jon Stark had inherited exactly the right features to get the remaining Targaryen loyalists in territories that were nominally under King Robert's control to follow him.
Dorne was playing a game full of risk. What remained to be seen was whether the Reach would follow. She might have queen for granddaughter after all. Or they may all be slaughtered in the attempt. She closed her hands around the railing of the high walk that offered her a perfect view of her grandson training with the Dayne bastard.
Jon Stark was strong for his age, especially considering his size. He was quick on his feet, sword flashing. The way he used his knees and elbows for weapons showed the fact that Arthur Dayne had allowed some Northern influence to infect more than his nephew's speech patterns. Jon Stark beat sweet Loras more often than not.
A dangerous game, but in some ways a believable one. Whether learnt or natural, Jon Stark had the right level of solemnity and melancholy to echo Rhaegar and the legends of Aegon the Conqueror and Jeahearys the Wise. He had the right features, the right body type. And his origins were just enough of a mystery. Ashara Dayne and Eddard Stark, everyone said, and that was what the Starks and Daynes claimed themselves.
The timeline, unless all reports were wrong, was more in line with Ashara Dayne having a tryst in the Black Cells with Brandon Stark, which, given the relationship started at Harrenhal, made sense. However, it did also line up with the time Lyanna Stark had spent with Rhaegar Targaryen, and Eddard Stark returning from Dorne with his sister's bones, a bastard child and a knight of the Targaryen Kingsguard was just suspicious enough to work. Too obvious, though. So obvious Olenna wondered how no one had picked up on it, how no one other than the Dornish had thought to exploit it, or put it down.
Her head was still reeling when she retired for a nap, pleading old age as an excuse. She would need to see the Martells before she could begin to unravel what was afoot and how she might best serve her House.