"I had a happy childhood, believe it or not," he finds himself telling his veritable stranger (that oddly doesn't feel like a stranger, what's up with that?). "I was kept in the dark about my true identity for most of my life. It wasn't until recently that I was told."

His father uncle had implied before he went to the Wall that he would tell him the truth soon. Jon wonders if the 'truth' that Ned had to offer would have been another fabrication designed to placate his curiosity or the actual truth in hopes that he would remain true to his vows and be another 'useless' Targaryen at the Wall like Maester Aemon had.

(And oh, how it genuinely hurts to know that Maester Aemon was his great-great uncle. That he'd been around family the whole time and hadn't known. That the old man had taken his last breath thinking that he and the great-niece he'd never met were the last of his kind when Jon had been around him the whole bloody time and neither of them knew.)

Jon's eyes dart in the direct indicated, but he doesn't see anything. There's an awareness at the back of his mind that he's only just been clued into that tells him something is there, but what, he can't say. Caraxes? Was that a horse or a boat or was he the type to name a gilded carriage or—

"Caraxes," he echoes, looking over his shoulder at Rheagal, then back at Daemon. "Wasn't that the name of the fabled Blood Wyrm?"